#ALSO OF COURSE YOUR FAMILY HATES HIM. HE IS VERY BAD TO BE AROUND.

[countess-of-edessa]

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[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Please Let Me Live - Vil Schoenheit x reader

You get isekai'd into the worst novel you've had the misfortune of reading because apparently your life is a cosmic joke. Now all you have to do is not act like the character you've possessed and it'll be fine, you think? Your fiancé being Vil Schoenheit makes it a little harder to behave like a human being with functional braincells, but hey, atleast he likes you, you think?

Series Masterlist

You'd avoided it for so long. For months, your best friend had been pestering you to read the shoujo isekai novel of the year. According to them, it was the epitome of romantic drama, the kind that would "turn your heart into a mess of feelings" and "change your life." So, finally, after a particularly grueling week, your willpower hit rock bottom. You caved. You bought it, poured yourself a drink, and figured, "How bad can it be?"

Turns out, really bad.

You’d barely made it past the first few chapters before your brain began to leak out of your ears. Every overused villainess plot point imaginable was crammed into the story like a contest of "how much nonsense can we fit in here before the reader gives up?" The evil fiancée everyone inexplicably hated? Check. The perfect cinnamon roll male lead everyone adored even though he had the personality of wet cardboard? Double check. The heroine who was so pure that even her sneeze would be enough to unite warring nations who also happens to be the saintess? You had to put the book down and take a moment when she gave a speech about friendship that was so saccharine, your teeth hurt.

Grumbling and filled with regret, you got up to refill your drink… only to slip on bubble wrap you swore yesterday that you were going to pick up later, fall face-first into the kitchen counter, and began to bleed out.

It was a comically stupid way to die. You knew that as you lay there, watching the light fade from your vision, your last thoughts being, This is the dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.

And then, darkness.

You woke up with a groan, your head pounding. As your vision cleared, you noticed you were lying in a very, very fancy bed. Silk sheets, gold trimming on the canopy, the works. And you were dressed in something frilly, layered, and far too complicated for someone who just woke up from a near-death experience.

"What the…"

You sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to freeze as the realization hit you. This was not your bed. This was not your apartment. This was… Oh god, no.

You whipped your head around the lavish room, recognizing it from the novel you’d been hate-reading just last night. The massive mirror above the dresser, the tapestry with an overly detailed family crest, the obnoxiously large bouquet of roses that smelled way too sweet.

You’re in the book.

Panicking, you scrambled out of bed and rushed to the full-length mirror by the wall. The reflection staring back at you was not your own. Instead, you saw an unfamiliar face—her face. The one mentioned once, maybe twice, in the whole novel before being discarded like an old shoe: the betrothed of the villain.

The fiancée who dumps him for the male lead. The fiancée who gets themselves killed in the process.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned, slapping your forehead. “I’m the villain’s betrothed? I’m that idiot who leaves Vil Schoenheit because I fall for the human incarnation of a sugar cube?”

But there was no escaping it. You were now stuck in the body of a side character so irrelevant that even her death was treated as an afterthought. The one who leaves her handsome, ambitious, gorgeous fiancé for… Neige.

No. No, no, no. You were not about to die over a soggy cinnamon roll.

Determined to change your fate, you gathered your wits and opened the door to leave the room. But of course, you ran headlong into a tall figure, knocking you both back.

“Oof! Careful there!” a smooth, yet stern voice said. You looked up—and froze. Standing before you, looking like something straight out of a high-fashion magazine, was Vil Schoenheit. The man whose heart you were supposed to break, the villain who would later descend into madness after you ditch him.

And wow. In person, he was even more stunning than the novel had described. His golden-blond hair shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the window, his purple eyes were as sharp as they were beautiful, and his posture screamed confidence.

You blinked up at him, utterly dumbfounded. You’re supposed to leave him? For Neige? You nearly gagged at the thought.

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your wide-eyed staring. “Is something the matter?”

You gulped. Right. You were supposed to be cold and dismissive toward him, weren’t you? But how? This man looked like he could make the heavens weep with his beauty. How had your character ever even considered leaving him?

“No, nothing’s the matter!” you blurted out, a little too enthusiastically. “Actually, everything’s great! You look fantastic! I mean, not that you don’t always look fantastic—because you do—but, you know, extra fantastic today!”

Vil’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting strange.”

Abort. Abort!

You quickly cleared your throat. “Uh, I’ve just been… thinking. About us.”

His gaze became sharper. “About us?”

You nodded, plastering on your most sincere smile. “Yes! I’ve realized… I haven’t been very, uh, appreciative of you lately. And I’m sorry for that. Really, I am. So from now on, I’ll be the most appreciative fiancée ever!”

Vil looked at you as though you’d just told him the sun was cold. He clearly didn’t trust this sudden change in attitude. “What exactly brought this on?” he asked slowly, suspiciously.

Time for Plan B. “Oh, you know, just… reflection! Self-improvement! I thought, ‘Why would I ever look anywhere else when I’ve got someone like *you* right in front of me?’ You’re… amazing, really.” You cringed internally at how corny that sounded, but Vil didn’t seem entirely put off.

“Hm,” was all he said, but his piercing gaze stayed locked on you, watching for any sign of deceit.

You were sweating bullets, but at least he wasn’t storming off. Yet.

You knew from the moment you read the back cover that this novel was going to be a dumpster fire of clichés, but you were not prepared for the sheer chaos of it all.

So, first off, we have the heroine—the Saintess—who has somehow never faced a single hardship in her life, despite the fact that she’s supposed to be the kingdom’s beacon of virtue and a symbol of overcoming hardship. She’s engaged to the crown prince, who conveniently disappears on a diplomatic mission and dies offscreen, probably to make room for her new love interest, Neige LeBlanche. Neige. That sparkly ray of sunshine who is so perfect and pure that you feel like you need sunglasses whenever his name is mentioned. Because apparently, what’s more romantic than falling for a guy immediately after your fiancé kicks the bucket?

Then there’s the second male lead, the brooding Duke of the North, who checks all the boxes: tall, brooding, handsome, tragic backstory—yawn. Of course, he’s madly in love with the Saintess, and like any self-respecting second male lead in a trashy romance, he sacrifices himself for her later. Because nothing says “I’m irrelevant” quite like noble self-sacrifice.

And don't even get started on the heroine's best friend. She’s basically there to fawn over the Saintess and then inexplicably fall for Vil, the Grand Duke, after she pressures him into apologizing for insulting the heroine's dress. Like, why? Was his dress critique that alluring?

Now, Vil Schoenheit. The Grand Duke. The guy you’re currently stuck with as your fiancé. He’s actually a decent character—powerful, intelligent, not falling over himself to worship the Saintess like everyone else. But in the novel, he’s wasted. Why? Because he’s engaged to the character you’re now possessing—Miss Mean and Cold—who treats him like dirt because she’s too busy fantasizing about Neige. You know, the guy she has no shot with because he’s destined to fall for the Saintess. Then, when your character eventually dumps Vil for Neige, she dies in a freak accident. Vil, who actually loved her (for reasons no one understands), is so heartbroken that he turns into the main villain.

Yes, that’s right—this whole mess of a plot ends with Vil going full villain mode because the love of his life ditched him for the living embodiment of a children’s snowman and then died in a way that no one can explain. Cue the Saintess and Neige teaming up to defeat him and live happily ever after.

And that’s the story. A tangled web of nonsensical relationships, conveniently dead characters, and more emotional whiplash than you can handle. And the cherry on top? You're stuck in it, watching everything unfold firsthand. It's honestly a wonder the book didn’t end up as kindling.

A few days passed, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to keep up the act. Every morning you would wake up, still half-expecting to snap out of this bizarre isekai nightmare, but instead, you were met with Vil’s meticulous morning routine and the low hum of his voice offering helpful reminders about skincare.

And the more time you spent with him, the more baffled you became.

How the hell could the original character have messed this up?!

Sure, Vil was particular—okay, maybe borderline obsessive—about appearances. His lectures about proper sunscreen application could rival the length of the Odyssey. And yes, the daily inspections of your outfit choices felt a little like going through customs at a royal border.

But… he was kind? Like, actually caring?

Every meal was an event because he made sure you were eating properly and not just shoving random food into your mouth like the gremlin you clearly were before. He listened when you rambled about your day, offering advice with this gentle patience that honestly made you want to weep. How could anyone leave this?

You found yourself in front of a mirror one afternoon, pacing and gesturing wildly at your reflection, as if you could summon the spirit of the character you’d possessed. "What the actual hell was wrong with you?!" you hissed at the glass. “What kind of brain rot would make someone ditch a man like Vil?! Are you missing brain cells, or was your skull just a rental with nothing in it?!”

You paused, glaring at your reflection as if it could offer answers, but nope. It just stared back, helpless.

“Like, hello?!” you continued, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You had a golden opportunity here! He’s literally gorgeous! He’s got hair that looks like it was hand-spun by some ancient beauty god, his fashion sense could kill a lesser mortal, and he—*gasp*—cares about your well-being?!”

You slapped your forehead dramatically. “How did you mess this up? Were you allergic to good things? Did you wake up every day and choose to be a feral raccoon instead of, I don’t know, appreciating this actual masterpiece of a human being? What, did you look at his perfect face and go, ‘Nah, I’d rather yeet myself into self-destruction?’ Because clearly, that’s what happened!”

Your reflection remained silent, offering no help, which only fueled your rant further.

“You absolute donut! You ridiculous bottle of poorly mixed potion! You—” You stopped mid-sentence, running out of sufficiently creative insults to throw at the former owner of this body. Because seriously, what kind of fool would’ve thrown Vil away?

You gripped the sides of the vanity table, leaning forward, narrowing your eyes at your own reflection. "If I find out that you gave up on this because he once asked you to wear a face mask or told you to drink more water… I swear, I'm going to find a way to repossess you just to kill you again for making me deal with this."

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your self-directed tirade. You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning around to see Vil standing in the doorway, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Talking to yourself again?” he asked, his voice smooth but with a teasing edge. “You know, that’s usually a sign of stress. Perhaps we should revisit that meditation routine I mentioned.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, wondering how much he’d overheard. But then you caught sight of that soft smile he reserved just for you, and your brain short-circuited all over again.

Right. The original character was definitely an idiot.

The first major hurdle hit you when you least expected it.

It all started with what should have been a calm afternoon—a brief moment of peace where you and Vil could actually spend time together, no schemes, no weird confrontations, just enjoying tea. You were finally getting comfortable with each other, slowly building the trust that had been so fragile at the start. Finally, you thought, things were moving smoothly.

Then the overused villainess trope decided to rear its ugly head.

Vil was talking about an upcoming event he’d be hosting, his voice calm, his usual stern features softened just slightly by the moment of peace. You were finally letting your guard down.

That was until the door creaked open and in waltzed the heroine’s best friend, a girl with wide, doe-like eyes and a penchant for stirring up unnecessary drama. Behind her, looming in the doorway, was the second male lead—your eternal source of frustration from the novel. He was tall, brooding, and always, always popping up at the most inconvenient moments. A defeated looking Epel walked in behind them, with a look that screamed 'trust me I tried to stop them.'

“Oh no,” you whispered under your breath, recognizing this scene before it could even play out. You knew what was coming, and you braced yourself for the utter absurdity of it.

Vil’s sharp gaze flicked from the two intruders back to you, his brows furrowing in mild irritation. “What is it now?” he muttered, already sensing the impending nonsense.

The heroine’s friend, ever the bringer of chaos, marched right up to your table with a dramatic flair that could only come from someone who believed they were the only purveyor of justice. “I can’t stay quiet any longer!” she declared, pointing an accusatory finger in Vil’s direction. “Vil, how could you treat the heroine this way?! You’ve been so cold, so distant—and it’s clear that you don’t truly care for anyone but yourself!”

You blinked. Excuse me?

Vil’s lips pursed, the irritation growing on his face. “And what, pray tell, did I do?”

“You know what you did!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms like she’d just delivered the most damning statement in history. “You’ve been ignoring her, brushing her off, and acting like she doesn’t even exist. She’s heartbroken because of you!”

You groaned internally. Oh no, this was that scene. The one where, because Vil once made an offhand comment about the heroine’s poor choice in dresses at a ball, suddenly he was painted as some cruel villain who was emotionally tormenting the delicate heroine. It was such an incredibly stupid misunderstanding that you distinctly remembered wanting to throw the book across the room when you’d first read it.

To make matters worse, the second male lead, standing silently but brooding in the doorway, was glowering at Vil like he was ready to challenge him to a duel at any moment. Because of a comment about a dress.

“Are you serious?” you blurted out, the frustration bubbling up before you could stop yourself.

The heroine’s friend gasped, her eyes wide. “Excuse me?!”

“Let me get this straight,” you said, rising from your seat with a groan, “you’re upset because Vil, what, didn’t shower her with praise at the last event? And now you’ve decided to come in here, storming into our tea time, to complain about it?”

The second male lead’s brooding scowl deepened, his jaw tightening. “Vil has been cruel—”

“About a dress.” You cut him off, waving your hand dismissively. “Vil made one comment about her dress. That’s it. And now we’re doing this whole song and dance like he’s some kind of evil tyrant?”

The room was already tense, the heroine’s best friend visibly fuming, but you couldn’t help it. The words just came out before you could stop them.

“And while we’re at it,” you said, your voice dripping with mock innocence, “let’s talk about that dress. You know, the one you’re all so upset about. I mean, I’m no fashion expert, but who in their right mind thought wearing that shade of mustard-yellow was a good idea?”

The friend’s mouth fell open, but you weren’t finished. “I mean, she walked into the ballroom looking like a sad banana trying to go to a high society function. I get it—saintess and all that—but there’s no reason to dress like the interior of an overripe cantaloupe.”

Vil made a choking sound next to you, and you dared to glance at him. His eyes were wide with shock, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement. Oh, he wasn’t pleased with the crudeness, but he definitely wasn’t going to stop you either.

“And you,” you said, turning to the second male lead, who had been standing there like a silent, brooding statue, just staring at the two of you menacingly. “What’s your excuse? You came in here with all this brooding energy, acting like you’re about to duel someone over the fate of the heroine. But seriously, what’s with your whole tragic hero act? Is your personality just permanent raincloud or do you practice that in the mirror?”

Vil covered his mouth with his hand, and you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. He was losing the battle to keep his composure, but he was trying—for dignity’s sake, of course.

Epel, on the other hand, had completely given up. The moment you’d said “sad banana,” he had fallen off his chair, doubled over in laughter, his face red as he clutched his sides. You weren’t sure if it was your insults or the second male lead’s thunderstruck expression, but either way, Epel was in hysterics.

“I—” the heroine’s friend sputtered, but you interrupted her again.

“Oh, and you.” You looked her up and down with a condescending smirk. “You really want to talk about fashion? Because I don’t know who told you that wearing ruffles with plaid was a look, but they were wrong. You’re out here looking like you got lost in a fabric store and fell into the clearance bin.”

This time, Vil snorted. Actually snorted. The sound was so out of place that it almost derailed your tirade, but you powered through, buoyed by his reaction.

The second male lead looked like he was ready to explode, his aura now bordering on murderous. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, can’t I?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Because it seems like all of you came in here with the intent to stir up drama over something as trivial as a constructive remark. If you’re going to go to war over fashion, at least wear something that doesn’t look like you picked it out with your eyes closed. Scratch that, I couldn’t imagine picking that up even with my eyes closed.”

By now, Epel was rolling on the floor, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “C-couldn’t pick it out… with your eyes closed!” he wheezed, slapping his knee.

Vil, despite himself, let out a low giggle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well,” he said, his voice steady but filled with mirth, “I suppose subtlety was never your strong suit.”

The heroine’s friend, now red-faced and flustered beyond belief, grabbed the second male lead by the arm and yanked him toward the door. “This isn’t over,” she spat, glaring at you. “We’ll see who’s laughing when the heroine—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved dismissively, “when the heroine what? Realizes she’s been pining for someone who can't tell mustard from elegance? Trust me, I’m not worried.”

With that, they both stormed out, slamming the door behind them in a huff of embarrassment and frustration. The second they were gone, you let out a breath and sank back into your chair, grinning at Vil, who was now openly smiling.

“You really didn’t hold back, did you?” Vil said, his amusement evident despite his usual calm demeanor. “I don’t approve of such… crude insults, but I must admit—” his lips twitched— “it was rather effective.”

Epel, still recovering from his laughing fit, managed to haul himself back into his seat, wiping tears from his eyes. “That was… that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said between gasps for air. “I can’t believe ya said that right to their faces!”

“Glad to be of service,” you said with a grin, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d actually said all of that out loud. But judging by Vil’s pleased expression and Epel’s ongoing laughter, it had been worth it.

Maybe surviving this trash novel wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You’d barely had time to process how bizarrely normal your life as the villain’s fiancée had become when the next absurd isekai plot point decided to rear its ugly, trope-filled head again.

It all started at yet another lavish tea party. Honestly, you’d begun to lose track of how many of these events you were forced to attend. They all blurred together into a haze of polite smiles, floral patterns, and far too much sugar.

This time, you were seated next to Vil, who, as always, looked like he had just stepped out of a renaissance painting. You, on the other hand, were trying not to spill tea on the new dress he’d insisted you wear. The dress itself was lovely, of course—Vil had impeccable taste—but the whole setting made you feel like you were constantly walking on eggshells. Especially since she was here. The heroine.

Today, though, you were determined to get through it without any drama. Just smile, nod, and let the heroine do her thing. Easy, right?

Wrong.

Everything had been going smoothly, too. The heroine, in all her sunshiney glory, was seated at the table, surrounded by her usual group of admirers. You had been doing a great job of fading into the background until someone—the hostess, perhaps?—brought up your previous adventures.

“Oh, didn’t you once accompany the Grand Duke to deal with that bandit problem on the eastern border?” the hostess asked, fanning herself with interest. “What a thrilling ordeal!”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of too many eyes on you. “Well, I wouldn’t say thrilling exactly…” you began, trying to downplay it, but your nerves had other ideas. “I mean, the heroine here was probably off rescuing some poor lost puppy while I was just, you know, holding down the real danger.”

The air went cold.

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. The table fell silent, save for the quiet clinking of teacups being set down. Every eye was on you. The heroine’s wide, eyes blinked at you, full of hurt and confusion. And across from you, the second male lead—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding—looked like he was ready to leap across the table and strangle you on the spot.

Oh no. Oh no no no. Why did you leave your filter at home?

You opened your mouth to apologize, but before you could, the second male lead slammed his cup down on the table, the porcelain rattling ominously. “You dare insult her honor?!” he roared, rising from his seat like some kind of vengeful storm cloud. “I will not stand for this!”

*Why did I say that?* You cringed internally, face turning a bright shade of crimson. "I-it was a joke—"

“No,” he declared dramatically, pointing a finger at you. “I demand satisfaction! A duel for her honor!”

You were still too stunned to respond, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation. A duel? Over this? All you’d implied was that the heroine wasn’t exactly… battle-hardened. Surely that wasn’t duel-worthy? This man was acting like you’d called his mother a turnip or something worse.

The heroine, ever the epitome of grace, tried to intervene. “There’s no need for—”

But Mr. Broody wasn’t having it. “No! Her honor has been besmirched, and I shall defend it with my life!”

Vil, who had been watching this spectacle unfold with an expression of mild disgust, finally rose from his chair. His cool gaze swept over the table, landing on the second male lead with all the intensity of a snake about to strike.

“If anyone’s honor has been besmirched,” Vil said icily, “it’s mine. And I will not allow my betrothed to be disrespected by the likes of you.”

You blinked up at Vil, stunned. “Wait, you’re going to duel him? Yourself?”

Vil turned his piercing gaze to you, and though his face remained calm, there was a glimmer of something softer in his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I would never entrust such a matter to anyone else. Besides…” His lips curled into a smirk. “It’s been a while since I’ve put an upstart in his place.”

You gulped, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed. Was it getting hot in here?

The second male lead, apparently unaware of just how screwed he was, smirked triumphantly. “Very well! Let’s settle this once and for all.”

The duel was set for the next day in your estate gardens. You spent the time leading up to it pacing back and forth in your chambers, wringing your hands in nervous anticipation. Somewhere along the way, you’d decided that you needed to do something—anything—to support Vil. So you had spent hours learning how to embroider a handkerchief, your fingers aching from the effort. By the time you finished, you were practically shaking, but you were proud of the result.

You didn’t expect Vil to be touched, let alone notice that you’d worked so hard. But when you handed him the handkerchief just before the duel, his eyes widened in surprise.

“You made this?” he asked, holding it delicately between his fingers, as if it were some priceless artifact.

You nodded sheepishly. “I figured, you know, for luck. Or to rub it in his face after you beat him. Whichever.”

Vil chuckled, his usually sharp expression softening. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. He then noticed the small needle marks on your hands and frowned. “You hurt yourself.”

You quickly hid your hands behind your back. “It’s nothing! I mean, I’m fine. Just a few pricks here and there.”

Vil’s expression softened even further, and for a moment, he looked almost… touched. He carefully tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll be sure to put this to good use.”

You didn’t swoon. Well, maybe just a little.

The duel was, in a word, ridiculous.

The second male lead strutted around like a peacock, his sword gleaming in the afternoon sunlight as he swung it dramatically for the small crowd that had gathered. “Prepare yourself, Schoenheit!” he bellowed, pointing his sword at Vil.

Vil, on the other hand, looked utterly unimpressed. He barely glanced at the man before calmly removing his coat and handing it to you. “Hold this, will you?”

You took the coat with a nod, trying not to pass out from how effortlessly graceful he looked even in the midst of preparing for a fight.

The second male lead lunged forward with all the finesse of a drunken ox, his sword clashing loudly against Vil’s. For a moment, it looked like a real duel—until Vil, with a single fluid motion, disarmed the man in one clean strike. The second male lead’s sword went flying, landing in the bushes several feet away with a pathetic thud.

The crowd gasped, and you had to stifle a laugh. It had barely been five seconds, and the duel was already over.

The second male lead stood there, stunned, his hand frozen mid-air where his sword had been. He blinked once, twice, then turned bright red with embarrassment. “W-what?!”

Vil, ever composed, didn’t even break a sweat. He sheathed his sword and gave the man a cold, dismissive look. “This duel is over. Consider your demand for satisfaction... fulfilled. Now, kindly leave before you embarrass yourself further.”

You bit your lip, trying not to giggle as the second male lead sputtered and tried to come up with an excuse, but it was clear to everyone that he had been utterly humiliated. Even the heroine, standing off to the side, looked like she was struggling to keep a straight face.

As the second male lead stumbled off, defeated, Vil turned to you and offered his hand. “Shall we go?”

You took his hand, still trying to process how easily he had won. “You were amazing,” you blurted out, your heart fluttering as you gazed up at him. “Seriously, that was… wow.”

Vil smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Of course I was.” He then leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I expect a proper reward later for defending your honor.”

Your face went beet red, and you were pretty sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Yep, you thought as he led you away, his hand still in yours, surviving this trash novel might not be so bad after all.

It happened at one of those overly extravagant banquets the royal court liked to throw. You spotted Neige from across the room, all bright eyes and an innocent smile. He was the epitome of purity, as if his very presence could summon woodland creatures to frolic at his feet.

And you hated him on sight.

You watched in disbelief as everyone around him melted into puddles of admiration. He was practically glowing, and his overly cheerful, squeaky voice was grating on your ears.

The overly saccharine male lead stood there, looking like a cross between a baby bunny and a sentient cupcake. Everything about him screamed "pure-hearted." You nearly gagged on your drink, hoping no one noticed your grimace.

Vil noticed your sour expression and leaned in. “Is something the matter?”

“That’s him, isn’t it?” you said through clenched teeth. “The one I used to follow around?”

Vil followed your gaze, and for a moment, his lips twitched in the faintest show of amusement. “Yes. That’s Neige.”

You snorted. "I can't believe anyone in their right mind would prefer him over you."

Vil's lips curled into a smirk, and he tilted his head slightly. “Oh? Is that so?” His voice was silky, dangerously low, but you could see the flash of satisfaction behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you muttered, still glaring in Neige's direction. “I mean, look at him. He’s so… good. And not in a ‘wow, what a decent person’ way. It’s like he’s one bad haircut away from sprouting fairy wings and breaking into song.”

Vil let out a low chuckle, right next to you ear, (Lord, have mercy) the sound sending shivers down your spine. “I never thought I’d hear you speak this way about him. You’ve been fawning over Neige for as long as I can remember.”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your hands up. “That was the old me. The dumb me. I mean, have you seen you?” You gestured dramatically toward him. “How could anyone even look at Neige when you exist?”

Vil was quiet for a moment, watching you intently. His violet eyes glinted with something unreadable, but you could tell he was pleased. Oh, he was very pleased.

“You certainly have changed,” he murmured, the smirk never leaving his lips. “And I must admit, I find it rather… delightful.”

Before you could respond, a very familiar voice rang out from behind you. “Ah! What a beautiful reunion this is! A moment filled with l’amour, sparkling like the stars in the sky!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Rook Hunt appeared seemingly out of thin air, his hands dramatically clasped together as he beamed at you both. “I have seen many couples in my lifetime, but none quite so radiant as you two.”

You blinked, trying to recover from his sudden appearance. “Rook… were you just… hiding in the curtains again?”

Rook, ever the dramatist, placed a hand on his heart and smiled wistfully. “Ah, but how could I stay away when the beauty of your love draws me in like a moth to a flame?”

Vil raised an eyebrow. “Rook, you’re not helping.”

“Non, non, mon ami,” Rook insisted, twirling in place with a flourish. “I am merely basking in the glow of what is surely a love for the ages! The way your eyes meet, the subtle tension in the air—it is magnifique!”

You sighed, shaking your head, though you couldn’t help but chuckle at Rook’s antics. Meanwhile, from the other side of the ballroom, Epel was watching the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement. He caught your eye and shot you a grin, raising his glass as if to say, Good luck with this.

But the fun wasn’t over. Oh no. Neige, the human embodiment of a children’s choir, started making his way toward you. As he approached, his bright eyes locked on yours, his smile so innocent and wide that you almost felt bad for what you were about to do.

Almost.

“Good evening!” Neige greeted you, his voice as sweet as sugar. “I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to properly meet.”

You stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

Neige blinked, clearly taken aback by your lack of enthusiasm. He probably wasn’t used to people not immediately falling at his feet. “It’s truly wonderful to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You squinted at him. “Mm-hmm.”

Vil, standing beside you, looked positively elated. You could practically feel the smug energy radiating off of him. He wasn’t even hiding his smile anymore.

Neige continued, oblivious to your complete disinterest. “I’m so glad we’ll have the chance to spend time together in the coming months! I hope we can—”

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” you interrupted, turning away and pointedly ignoring his very existence.

Neige blinked again, looking like a lost puppy. You almost felt a little bad. Almost.

Vil, on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early. His arm slipped around your waist, his touch gentle. “I must say,” he murmured into your ear, his voice laced with amusement, “I’ve never enjoyed one of these balls quite so much.”

Yup, maybe this novel isn't that trashy after all?

Everytime you think this novel might not be that bad, it manages to prove you wrong.

The day had finally arrived: the Founding Day Ball. The event to end all events, where the kingdom’s most distinguished were honored in a grand ceremony. And, of course, at the top of the list of honorees was Vil, who might as well have been carved into the actual history of the kingdom itself with how perfect he was.

As his partner for the evening, you were dressed to the nines, dripping in elegance you didn’t even know you were capable of. When you caught your reflection in one of the massive ballroom mirrors, you had to do a double-take.

"Who is that?" you whispered, eyes wide. "Oh. It’s me."

Honestly, if there was a chance of impressing anyone here, you were impressed with yourself.

The ceremony went as expected. Vil was awarded the highest honors, his name met with thunderous applause as he gave a speech that left the crowd swooning. You found yourself half-clapping, half-gawking, wondering how this man kept getting more perfect. Like, was he actually human?

But as the evening progressed, the dreaded scene you despised the most crept into the evening, like a bad smell at a gourmet dinner.

After the ceremony, it was time for the opening dance. Naturally, Vil, being the epitome of grace and nobility, was the prime candidate to lead it. You were fully expecting him to ask you, but before he could even turn in your direction, the heroine — yes, that heroine — appeared out of nowhere, like she was materializing straight from the pages of the worst romance novel ever written.

“Vil,” she said in a voice that sounded like honey and broken promises, “I trust you’ll grant me the honor of the first dance.”

You blinked. *Excuse me?*

She said it so confidently, as if it were a foregone conclusion, like she was used to the world revolving around her whims. It was the equivalent of someone just cutting the line in front of you at the store and expecting applause for their audacity.

Vil, for his part, didn’t even flinch. His expression was as cool and elegant as ever, but you could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m afraid,” he said, voice smooth and polite, “I already have a partner for the first dance.”

The heroine’s face froze in a way that almost made you choke on your own breath. “W-What?” She blinked rapidly, as if her brain couldn’t process the fact that someone had just told her no.

You, too, were a little stunned, for a seperate. Was she actually planning on throwing a tantrum right now? In public? At a literal state function?

“B-But you always dance with me,” she stammered, voice rising in disbelief, her face turning an alarming shade of pink. “I’m supposed to be your first dance!”

You physically had to stop yourself from snorting. Always? He has never even looked at her for longer than five seconds! You couldn't recall a single time Vil had given her anything beyond basic pleasantries. The only reason she’d be in his line of sight was because she was constantly putting herself there.

Vil’s lips twitched slightly, though whether it was out of irritation or amusement, you couldn’t tell. “I don’t recall ever dancing with you,” he said calmly, as though she were discussing someone else entirely.

The heroine blinked, clearly taken aback. “W-What?”

Vil’s voice dropped to an even icier tone, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “In fact, I dislike the very idea of it.”

The heroine made a strangled sound behind you, like a baby bird trying to scream.

You looked around the room, half-expecting hidden cameras to pop out, because this had to be a prank. Who acts like this?!

And as you floated onto the dance floor with Vil, you couldn’t help but marvel at the absolute insufferable nature of the scene you’d just witnessed. This was, without a doubt, the moment that solidified your hatred for the trash-tier novel world you’d been trapped in. People like her actually existed here?

Behind you, the heroine stomped her foot like a petulant child, completely ignored by the crowd. It would’ve been almost sad if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

And as you twirled under the chandeliers, feeling Vil’s warmth beside you and the heroine’s tantrum echoing faintly in the background, one thing became crystal clear:

This novel may have been trash, but at least you were the one dancing with the prince of perfection.

It hit you like a ton of bricks one day—completely out of nowhere. You had been sitting in Vil’s study, watching him work. He was meticulously going over some documents, his brow furrowed in concentration, his golden hair falling perfectly in place despite him having been there for hours. You were supposed to be reading through some kingdom protocol book, but instead, your gaze kept drifting over to him.

He’s so… beautiful.

You blinked, the thought suddenly snapping you out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

Wait…

Your eyes widened. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

You slammed the book shut, startling Vil from his work as you stood up abruptly. “I-I need some air.”

Vil raised an elegant eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden panic. “Something the matter?”

“No! Nothing’s the matter!” you said, far too quickly, your voice an octave higher than usual. You stumbled over your chair in your haste to get out of the room, nearly tripping on your own feet. “I just—need to—um—fresh air, yes, exactly!”

Before Vil could say anything else, you bolted from the study and down the hall, your heart racing as though you’d just run a marathon. You darted into the nearest empty room and pressed your back against the door, your mind swirling with confusion.

Am I falling for him?

You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified by the realization. “No… no, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I’m in love with a character from this awful, brain-numbing novel?”

You slumped against the door, groaning as the full weight of the situation sank in. How could this happen? How could my first true love— you gagged at the phrase —be from this trash novel?

There was no escaping it now. The butterflies in your stomach every time Vil looked your way, the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled, the fact that you wanted nothing more than to be close to him… it was all painfully obvious.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die of embarrassment in this ridiculous world.”

And the worst part? It wasn’t even one of the good isekai novels. You’d somehow gotten stuck in what could be considered objectively the worst one, and yet here you were, head over heels for a character who—against all odds—turned out to be the most amazing person you’d ever met.

“Oh god,” you muttered to yourself, sliding down to the floor, your head falling back against the door with a thud. “I'm in love with Vil. I’m doomed. Completely doomed.”

“Mon Dieu! What a revelation!” a voice suddenly rang out from the shadows.

You yelped, whipping around to see none other than Rook Hunt—perched in the corner of the room like some kind of overly dramatic bird of prey, his hat casting a mysterious shadow over his eyes. His entire being radiated excitement, and you swore you saw actual sparkles in the air around him.

“Rook?! How long have you been there?!”

“Long enough, my dear,” he said, voice hushed with reverence, as though you had just confessed your deepest, most tragic secret. “Ah, love! The torment, the longing! The exquisite despair you must be feeling!” He took a step forward, eyes gleaming with unbridled enthusiasm. “But fear not, mon ami, for I, Rook Hunt, shall be your faithful cupid! Together, we shall make Vil see the truth of your affections!”

You blinked, stunned. “Uh… I’m not sure that’s—"

“Ah, but you must!" Rook declared, swooping down to kneel dramatically before you. “Love, once realized, must be pursued with all one’s passion and determination! Do not let this opportunity slip through your fingers like sand in the wind! I shall assist you!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sheer intensity of his expression made you falter. Rook was looking at you like this was the most important mission of his life.

Honestly, what did you have to lose at this point?

With a deep, exhausted sigh, you muttered, “Fine. Fine! I’ll do it. Help me, Rook.”

Rook’s grin stretched so wide it was borderline terrifying. “Excellent! This will be an adventure for the ages!” Before you could even process what you’d agreed to, Rook leaped to his feet and clapped his hands together. “But we will need more help. A certain someone with a youthful spirit and just enough mischievousness to add that je ne sais quoi to our plans.”

Oh no.

Cue Epel.

“What the hell are you ropin’ me into?” Epel grumbled as Rook dragged him into your predicament not five minutes later.

“I have volunteered you for a most noble cause, mon petit pomme,” Rook said, not even breaking stride as he swept Epel into the room. “Our dear friend here is head over heels for our Vil, and we are going to help them win his heart”

Epel paused, blinking at you in disbelief. “Wait, Vil? That Vil?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of where Vil’s office was.

“Yes, that Vil,” you said flatly, already regretting every life decision that had led you to this point.

Epel gave you a dubious look. “And you agreed to let Rook help you?”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright, fine. I’m in.” Epel shrugged, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it big.”

Thus began the most absurd, over-the-top, and borderline catastrophic schemes in an attempt to prove your love to Vil Schoenheit.

It started innocently enough. You wanted to make Vil his favorite tea. Simple, right? But Rook insisted that it couldn’t just be any tea. No, it had to be presented with an air of mystery and allure.

“Bring it to him while reciting a sonnet of devotion!” Rook suggested. “Declare your admiration with each step, so that he understands the depth of your feelings!”

“I’m not reciting a sonnet, Rook.”

Epel, on the other hand, was far more pragmatic. “Or you could just… write him a note and leave it with the tea?”

That seemed normal. Rational. You’d take Epel’s advice. So, you snuck into Vil’s room, left the tea and a note on his desk, and slipped out before anyone noticed.

The next morning, Vil eyed you suspiciously over breakfast. “Did you leave tea in my study last night?”

You nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but you swore you saw the corner of his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “I see. How thoughtful.”

Then came Operation: Compliment Vil at Every Opportunity.

Rook, of course, insisted you be poetic. “Tell him his beauty rivals the very stars in the sky!”

“I’m not saying that.”

Epel chimed in with a much more straightforward approach: “Just tell him his hair looks nice. It’s always nice.”

But Rook’s enthusiasm was contagious, and before you knew it, you found yourself blurting out, “Your radiance is blinding today, Vil! Truly, I must shield my eyes from such ethereal beauty!”

Vil, who had been in the middle of inspecting his reflection, froze. His eyes darted to you, and he gave you a strange look.

“Are you… feeling alright? Did you perhaps get bitten by a stray Rook?”

You shook your head vigorously, your face heating up from how ridiculous you sounded. “Totally fine! Just… appreciating your beauty! Yep. Normal stuff.”

Vil didn’t say anything, but you could see a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked amused—and maybe a little pleased—but more than anything, he seemed confused.

At least he didn’t think you’d lost your mind. Yet.

You were convinced this novel had it out for you from the beginning, but this? This was a new low. The memory loss trope, the final attempt to make your life as ridiculous as possible, had arrived—right on schedule.

You knew how it was supposed to go. You’d hit your head (a complete accident, obviously), wake up with no memory of Vil, and immediately make the worst decisions possible, like falling for that knockoff prince, Neige. Cue dramatic heartbreak, public humiliation, and eventual abandonment. Classic trashy novel shenanigans.

But apparently, the universe—or whatever cosmic force was in charge of your suffering—had decided to take a vacation after all the work it had been putting in. Because when you opened your eyes and saw Vil leaning over you, worry etched into his perfect face, instead of forgetting him, you were… immediately smitten?

What?

And it didn’t stop there. When he took your hand in his, gently kissing your knuckles in that heartbreakingly tender way, it was like a light switch flipped. Your memories came rushing back, completely bypassing the whole convoluted plot about amnesia and bad decisions.

Because of course in this disaster of a novel, the solution to everything was true love's kiss. The most overdone, eye-rolling cliché in the history of romance, and yet here you were, living through it.

You almost laughed out loud. Of all the tropes this novel had thrown at you—evil fiancées, jealous heroines, duels for honor—this had to be the funniest. It was as if the universe had taken one look at your situation and said, “You know what? Let’s skip the suffering and go straight to the ridiculous happy ending.”

True love’s kiss. Really. This novel is mocking me at this point, you thought, fighting the urge to scream. But hey, at least you didn’t have to deal with more drama. And as Vil’s concerned gaze softened into a relieved smile, you couldn’t help but think that, maybe, this was one trope you didn’t mind after all.

You'd almost given up on confessing. Maybe you'll just live like this forever, your fate was sealed. The novel clearly doesn't want you to tell him how you feel.

But there was another ball (because apparently that's the only place that nobility had be at in this novel. What was this? the 108th ball of the year?) You'd decided that you'll ask him for a stroll under the moonlight and just tell him.

Of course, the novel is not on your side. What's new?

The ball was going well—well, for you and Vil, anyway. You’d just finished dancing, and he looked absolutely stunning, as usual. You were basking in the afterglow of all the whispered praise and envious stares. That is, until you overheard someone bad-mouthing Vil.

Of course, it had to be the heroine’s best friend, who was apparently using this grand occasion to air her grievances.

“I just don’t understand why Vil is always so cold to her,” she whined, loud enough for everyone within a three-mile radius to hear. “She’s the saintess! She deserves kindness and adoration, not disdain.”

Cue the dramatic gasps from the crowd. Ah, here we go.

You shot Vil a look, but he merely shrugged, rolling his eyes. He clearly didn’t want to start any trouble. But you? Oh, you were about to flip the table on these idiots.

“Excuse me,” you began, stepping forward, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as you made your way over. “I couldn’t help but overhear your incredibly loud complaints about my fiancé.”

The heroine’s best friend froze, clearly not expecting you to get involved. You smiled sweetly, but your eyes were throwing daggers.

“Let me set the record straight. Vil isn’t cold to her because she’s the ‘saintess,’” you air-quoted the title, “He’s cold to her because she’s an insufferable brat who’s so used to getting her way that she throws a tantrum every time someone says ‘no.’”

More gasps from the crowd. You could see Neige stiffening across the ballroom, already sensing where this was going. But there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me started on you,” you pointed at the best friend, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re out here defending her honor like you’re some knight in shining armor when, let’s be real, you’re just as bad. You fawn over her like a lost puppy, expecting her to shower you with praise when all you do is enable her delusions.”

Vil, somewhere behind you, was probably trying not to laugh. But you weren't done.

“And as for your precious Neige over there?” you tilted your head toward the prince-wannabe, who was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. “He’s not some perfect angel either. He’s just a guy with an unsettling talent for showing up at the most convenient times, with that same doe-eyed, clueless expression, making everyone feel sorry for him.”

You didn’t stop at Neige.

"And as for you," you said, spinning toward the brooding Duke of the North, the infamous second male lead, who had been leaning against a pillar, looking every bit the tall, tormented, handsome cliché. “You’re not fooling anyone either. You’re the king of melodramatic entrances. Always lurking in the shadows, trying to look mysterious, but really, you’re just sulking because no one’s paying attention to you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—are you brooding? Again? Let me guess, you’re thinking about some dark secret that you’ll drop at the most inconvenient moment to make things worse for everyone, right?” You mimicked his deep, serious voice. “‘It’s the burden I must bear… alone.’” You threw your head back in mock agony, hands dramatically placed on your chest.

He straightened up, clearly offended, but you didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“And stop pretending like you’re some tragic hero,” you added, lowering your voice with a sharp edge. “You’re just a guy with commitment issues who sacrifices himself because you can’t handle the fact that the heroine doesn’t want you. Let it go.”

There was dead silence. You half-expected a chandelier to drop just for the dramatic effect. Even Vil had to look away for a moment, probably to hide the fact that he in tears, about to burst out laughing.

The heroine was slack-jawed, her best friend looked like she wanted to melt into the floor, and Neige… well, Neige just looked confused. As always.

Satisfied, you dusted off your hands and turned back to Vil, who was looking at you with a mixture of shock and awe, as if he’d just witnessed some divine intervention.

You let out a satisfied huff and turned to leave. "Come on, Vil, I can't stand to be in the same room as these second-rate characters any longer, let's bounce"

Once outside, you saw Vil was still recovering, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I think you may have traumatized half the ballroom.”

“Good,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “They deserved it. Especially that brooding Duke. ‘I sacrifice myself for the greater good.’ Ugh, give me a break.”

Vil chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist. "Still, you didn’t have to go to such lengths for me."

You stopped in your tracks, spun around, and looked him dead in the eye. “Of course I did! I love you, Vil. I couldn’t just sit there and let them trash you like that.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. Oh. Well. There it was.

Vil’s eyes widened, a rare, unguarded expression crossing his face. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in your words. Then, without a word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, soft but sure, like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had.

When he pulled back, his smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You love me,” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded, a bit breathless from both the confession and the kiss. “Yes, Vil. I love you. Even with all your ridiculously high standards and obsession with skincare.”

Vil laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Vil pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your waist, and asked with a quiet, almost teasing tone, "Well then, since you love me so much... should we get married?"

You blinked, your brain taking a second to catch up. "Wait—what? Married? Like, right now?" You stared at him, heart racing, before suddenly, an idea lit up your face like a firework. “Oh my god, yes! Let’s do it. Let’s get married ASAP. Like, today. Right now. Do we even need a ceremony? We can find an officiant and—boom—done. Just tell me where to sign!”

Vil’s eyes widened, taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm. “Are you… serious?”

You grabbed his hand, absolutely buzzing with energy. “Of course, I’m serious! Why wait? This dumbass universe keeps throwing garbage tropes at us, and honestly? Getting married right now is the perfect way to flip the script! Take that, fate!"

Before Vil could respond, an overly excited voice erupted from behind a nearby pillar. “Oh là là! Mon cœur can hardly handle this romance!” Rook leaped out from the shadows, practically sparkling with joy, as if he had been waiting for this very moment all his life. "The passion! The declaration of love! And now, a spontaneous wedding? Magnifique!”

“Rook!?” Vil’s voice was a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Have you been spying on us?”

“Spying?” Rook gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Non, non, Vil! I was merely ensuring your well-being as any devoted friend would!” He gave a wink, clearly pleased with his role as an unintended audience.

“Me too!” Epel poked his head out from behind another pillar, grinning sheepishly. “I mean, who’d wanna miss out on somethin’ like this? Y��all are gettin’ married!”

Vil let out a long, tired sigh, but you could see the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s happening,” you said, grabbing his arm again and dragging him forward. “We’re doing this, and it’s going to be the best wedding in this entire stupid book, Rook, Epel, you’re both invited. Wait, scratch that, you’re both in the wedding party now!”

“C’est incroyable!” Rook twirled dramatically, hands clasped together, already imagining his outfit for the occasion. “I shall be the most loyal and stylish groomsman! Oh, l’amour!”

“And I get to wear somethin’ fancy, right?” Epel asked, already envisioning something much cooler than his usual attire.

Vil was now fully grinning, his initial surprise turning into genuine amusement as he looked at you with sparkling eyes. “You really are something else.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna be your something else forever.” You beamed up at him, still holding onto his hand like you might drag him to the altar yourself right now.

“Well then,” Vil sighed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Let’s get married.”

Before you could even start plotting where to drag Vil to find someone to officiate, Rook suddenly gasped, clasping his hands together dramatically. "Mon dieu! How could I forget? I am more than prepared for this moment!"

You and Vil exchanged puzzled looks. "What are you talking about, Rook?" Vil asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Rook grinned, remviong his hat and and dramatically pulling out a folded piece of parchment. "Behold!" he announced, waving the paper with a flourish. "A certified license to officiate weddings. I took the liberty of acquiring it long ago, knowing that one day I’d be the one to unite you and your beloved. C’est le destin!"

“You’re… licensed?” Vil blinked, looking at Rook like he had officially lost it. "And you're walking around with the license in your hat?"

Rook nodded with a dazzling smile. “Why yes, I’ve been preparing for this glorious day! Every flower petal, every gust of wind, every glance of love I’ve witnessed between you both has been leading to this fated moment!” He struck a pose, the parchment still dramatically held aloft.

You stared at him, then back at Vil. "Okay, I know this is ridiculous, but honestly? This is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I kind of love it. Let's just let him do it."

Vil put a hand to his forehead, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Are we really doing this?"

“Yes!” you declared, squeezing Vil's hand. “If we’re going full chaos, we’re going all the way. Rook, officiate the hell out of this wedding!”

Epel, watching the entire spectacle, burst into laughter. “Only in this house, I swear…”

Rook practically sparkled with joy, bouncing on his feet. “Oh là là, it will be my greatest honor! I’ve been rehearsing my officiating speech in front of the mirror for months”

“Months?” Vil repeated, a mix of disbelief and exasperation in his tone.

“Mais oui! Every day, I’d wake up and say, ‘Today could be the day!’” Rook sighed dramatically, already tearing up. “And here we are. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Now, shall we begin? I have the vows prepared, unless you have your own?”

You leaned into Vil, barely holding back laughter. “I have zero regrets about this. Absolutely zero.”

Vil sighed again but couldn’t stop smiling. “Only you could make something this absurd seem perfect.”

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Okay, this became way longer than I expected it to be but to be fair, i was on an extreme caffeine high and i'd just finished an assignment that had been beating my ass

[nightingale-prompts]

Batboy Meets Batfam

First | Previous | Next

"Relax Batty, it's just one dinner." Dick parked the car inside the Wayne family manor's garage.

"But I hate billionaires. Can't we just go to Batburger and go home." Danny whined slumping in his seat.

"What's so bad about it? He's your grandfather now." Dick asked.

"The last billionaire I met was the only other of my kind. And he was awful. Tried to kill me, clone me, marry my mom, kill my dad, ruined my life. That last one was something he achieved." Danny's wings materilized and wrapped around him as he sulked.

"I know it's hard Danny and I can't promise no one will ever try to hurt you like that again but I can promise I'll stick by you. I can also promise to kick the butt of anyone who tries messing with you." Dick said ruffing Danny's black hair that popped out from under his leathery wings.

"Still don't wanna go." As Danny said this he began to shrink.

Dick sighed, he had learned recently that Danny was a shifter of some kind. It was useful to hide his identity but he would also use it to get out of doing things. When Dick told Danny to clean his room or study Danny would shrink to the size of a toddler and say "Im baby" to get out of it. Dick is ashamed to admit that he's let Danny get away with it because baby bat pictures are precious and worth their weight in gold. He has a wallet full of pictures now.

But Dick has to put his foot down this time.

"Danny being little won't get you out of this. Do you really want to meet your new family like this?" Dick asked.

Danny huffed and turned in his now ill-fitting hoodie the size of a 3-year-old.

"Alright come on." Dick gave up scooping the toddler-sized teen under one arm and walking into the manor. "Alfred still has Bruce's old baby clothes somewhere."

"Ahh!"Danny yelped.

"What? Don't want that? If you show up as a baby, they will think you are one. You know Tim Drake is going to be there. He's going to be in the same school as you. Do you want him to think you're a baby?" Dick said holding the kid at eye level.

In surrender, Danny grew back to his normal size.

Dinner was oddly quite as everyone studied Danny closely.

Barbara was the least concerned as he talked about work with Dick and pushed Danny a bowl of strawberry salad. She wanted good aunt points. Danny would love her the most.

Cassie studied Danny's features. It was almost creepy how much he looked like Dick. She'd believe it if Dick was his biological father. Except for the eyes. Danny had a very particular eye color they were blue in the center but kind of had a green ring on the iris. The condition was called central heterochromia and it's rare.

Damian wasn't glaring like he usually would. He looked almost wide-eyed at Danny but remained silent.

Jason was absent as always apparently he was moved by Dick's announcement.

Then again Danny was supposed to be a surprise.

Tim and Danny seem to strike a cord immediately. Danny despite how silly he was the teen was very intelligent. Tim wasn't as subtle as he wish, mostly because Danny cornered him in conversation.

"So you're more used to living in a small town?" Tim smiled politely.

"Hmm? I didn't say that exactly. I said Im just new to the city." Danny responded.

"So you're from a different city? Metro or Star?"

"Neither, It's nowhere you'd know. Not really notable."

"You're going to be family soon, of course i want to know."

They went back and forth for a while. Tim was probably irritated after finding nothing about Danny's identity. And that meant Bruce was probably suspicious as well. Dick had to bet that Bruce's overactive paternal instincts would overwrite his need to investigate.

"So Danny, have you heard of the new vigilante in Bludhaven? The one they call Batboy?"Bruce asked wiping his mouth with a napkin as he ate.

This was the question Danny was waiting for.

"Of course! Have you seen the pictures on social media! Everyone is talking about him. Like, he has wings like a bat. Do you know what I'd do to get that power?! I mean he's not Superman but come on its so cool. We don't have metas-Is that what you call them? Yeah, metas. We don't have them where I'm from so I didn't think I'd ever met one. Dick said he met him the last time he saw Nightwing and promised to get me a picture but he didn't and he said he forgot." Danny put on a pretty convincing fanboy routine.

"I see. So Dick told you he's friends with Nightwing?" Bruce probed.

"He didn't need to tell me. Nightwing found me after I ended up in Bludhaven. I was pretty banged up and he parched me up and took me to the police station. I tried to leave but he told me that Detective Grayson would look out for me." Danny said digging through his salad to pick out the fruit and nuts.

"What about your parents?" Bruce asked softly.

"Bruce," Dick said in warning.

"Its fine...my parents didn't want me anymore. I can't go back. They'd probably kill me. But it doesn't matter anymore, they aren't here." Danny said stiffly feeling uncomfortable for saying a bit of truth.

They say the best way to lie is to have a bit of truth. Danny disagreed. The best way to lie is to have no truth, so they can't tell the difference.

Dick pulled the teen closer as Danny pulled his hands inside this hoodie hiding one of the burn scars on his arm but just enough to show that they were there.

Bruce didn't say another word.

Damian seemed to make his mind up at some point and joined in the conversation.

"Do you eat meat, Nightingale? I've noticed you haven't touched anything with it." Damian sounded oddly cordial.

"Ew, no. I don't eat meat. My friend always said meat was murder and taught me about how evil slaughterhouses were. We once raided a local farm to-oop. I forgot there are detectives at the table. I promise I'm a law-abiding citizen and not an eco-terrorist...anymore." Danny smiled too innocently.

Damian nodded in understanding. They had found common ground. That still doesn't mean he liked Nightingale. But he couldn't fight him since he didn't seem to know anything about their vigilante lifestyle.

Damian had to begrudgingly admit that Danny's presence was welcome. Soothing even.

It didn't matter. He and Drake still had bigger plans. Finding out who this "Batboy" was. They just needed Dick give up some information about the bat metahuman.

Tim had his suspicions that it was Danny but Batboy had stark white hair with black streaks and green eyes. Not to mention wings.

They would have to agree to disagree.

"Danny you have to eat something other than fruit. Eat the rest of the salad." Dick tried to sound stern but caved almost immediately when Danny pretended he didn't hear that.

Bruce internally sighed. Does he step in and help or let Dick figure it out. How does one be a grandpa to a non-vigilante who you can't threaten with no patrols?

*Bonus*

Danny when he see fruit.

[secretsandwriting]

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that. 

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama. 

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you. 

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were. 

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death. 

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow. 

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone. 

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed. 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders. 

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back. 

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger. 

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections. 

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there. 

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him. 

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating. 

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.” 

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would. 

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself. 

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once. 

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited. 

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting. 

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!” 

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores. 

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving. 

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird. 

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was. 

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind. 

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning. 

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it. 

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped. 

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe. 

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you. 

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to. 

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough. 

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence. 

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear. 

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that. 

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky. 

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you. 

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.” 

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were. 

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it. 

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable. 

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left. 

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had. 

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother. 

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too. 

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her. 

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size. 

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much. 

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.

[mariespen]

Never Alone ₊✩ˎˊ˗

rafe x reader angst/comfort ⊹˚.⋆ Summary: Rafe goes to sleep alone after reader doesn't listen to him, but something's missing. Warnings: arguing/yelling, reader being in the wrong, insults and some stronger language

⊹˚.⋆︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵⊹˚.⋆

“I can’t believe this.. I can’t believe you.” Rafe said, pointing an accusatory finger and shaking his head in disappointment.

You stood there, any bit of attitude that you walked in with had left your body the moment you saw the look in his eyes.

“Rafe, I just lost track of time!” You protested, unintentionally sounding whiny.

“You don’t fucking listen!” His voice raised and you stood smaller as he continued his rant, “Everything I say is in and out with you.” His eyes narrowed at your face.

There was only one thing that pushed Rafe off the edge; not listening to what he tells you. Months ago he had told you not to hang out with the pogues. Since then, you’d been sneaking around with them to not piss off your short-tempered boyfriend. 

It’s proving to be true that you also should’ve listened to him when he told you to be ready for a gala by 6pm sharp tonight. The Cameron family was being honored at the country club for being generous contributors after a particularly large donation made by Rafe’s father.  Of course, you found yourself adventuring with the pogues, stained with dirt and very far from home at 6pm. 

According to him, Rafe had been covering for you all night, saying that you had the flu and wouldn’t be able to make it. Your arrival was heavily anticipated because your grandfather was a big name in the country club. In turn, Rafe needed you there to make conversation and for a good excuse to leave early. He was beyond livid when he stormed into the house at 9pm and realized that you still weren’t home. When you finally tried to sneak into the bedroom thirty minutes later, praying Rafe was still away and racking your brain for believable excuses, he was waiting with an angry red face.

It didn’t help your case at all when Rafe saw JJ Maybank and Kiara Carrera driving away from his house.

“Rafe m’sorry-'' you tried to apologize again, but he cut you off.

“I don’t care!” He stared at you for a moment, taking in your expression before starting again, “Jesus, s’like you’re a child.” he mumbled, ready to end the night angry.

Until you rolled your eyes right as he turned around to face you again.

“Rolling your eyes at me, hm?” He said, the anger coming back into his tone, “y’know what? If you want to hang out with those assholes so bad, go on. S’where you belong.” He said, his tone biting into you as he turned again.

Tears welled in your eyes. You knew Rafe had brought you this kook lifestyle when you were struggling after your mother left the island. You thanked him for two weeks after you moved in with him, then the two of you didn’t speak about it. It’s been a year since then and this was the first time he had brought it up. You didn't think he'd hold it above you.

A sob escaped the confines of your throat when he slammed the door behind him. You let your body crumble, crying into your hands. He had barely let you get a word out and you hated him for it. You knew you were in the wrong, but his words kicked you in the gut.

You picked your own sobbing body up, quieting down and making your way to change from your dirty clothes. You could hear Rafe’s pacing steps and occasional annoyed sighs from downstairs. After wiping the dirt off of your body and getting changed, you laid in the huge bed the two of you shared, trying to distract yourself. You already knew that Rafe planned to sleep in a guest room downstairs and you told yourself it was fine. 

An hour passed and turned into two, the clock ticking as you eventually watched three hours pass. You were restless, just like how you always were without Rafe. You both couldn’t sleep without the other’s company. You were going to lay awake all night until a soft knock on the door sounded around the room and an exhausted Rafe tried to quietly walk in. You sat up, looking at his hooded eyes.

“Rafe, I’m so sorry..” You took in a breath as you prepared to spit all of your reasons out at once.

“No, m’sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He breathed out, sitting on the bed next to you.

“No, Rafe. I was irresponsible, baby please.. please forgive me.” You whispered your last words, tears forming again, “I’ll listen. I promise I’ll listen.”

“Shh baby..” He cooed, laying down and holding you to him, “we can talk in the morning. Js need you..” He muttered.

You meekly smiled into him, happy to know that his soft spot for you hadn’t worn thin.

“I love you.” You whispered into his chest, but the only response you got back were his small snores.

⊹˚.⋆︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵⊹˚.⋆

[plumipal]

I just had a thought- how would Grim and the ramshackle ghosts feel about all the stuff happening to us?

Especially if the yandere(s) are coming over to our dorm too! Would they, depending on the severity of the yandere and their specific actions, range from supporting it cuz yknow reader gets to be happy with someone who treats them well and loves them to concerned because sweetie please get yourself outta there 😭

I can imagine Grim is NOT alright with it and for a multitude of reasons, they are taking away your time with HIM, and once he pays more attention to the bigger picture? Yeah messed up things be occasionally happening that could very well hurt you!! He does not like that!!!

im just imagining Grim being visibly not alright and reader will not have it either when it comes to him, they are a PACKAGE deal and that is that no matter which yandere comes their way 🗣️

we have many people more alright with Grim being reader’s number one priority, or yknow silently(?) wishing it was them, poor Grim and Reader man encountering yandere after yandere 😭

Grim would give us a look if we expressed any sort of romantic interest in any yandere I think lol

‘Pologies if it was too long or ranty, though I am curious who you think would be the most and least alright with this? I imagine Leona and Ace (legally required to bring up Ace he’s my all time fav next to Grim) would NOT like it lmao

.. first off, this is the longest ask ive ever gotten, I gotta just say oml thank you so much????? You, wrote all of this, fpr me?? 🥹🥹🥹💖💖💖 this literally made my week thank you so much bestie 🥹😭 second off, this inspired me to rant too, I hope you enjoy!- (not proofread btw)

So im mainly gonna focus on grim, no offence to ramshackle ghost fans, I just really like the silly little fire-cat/rat/weasel/creature. He was literally our first friend, our first companion (I bet Ace and grim bicker on who was your first).

And oh boy, guy is NOT HAPPY when he sees all these dumbasses vying for your attention and either trying to butter him up with tuna (which will not work on the mighty grim!) or ugnore him completely! Like you stated you and him are a package deal! Get the prefect and get their silly hungry companion!!

Now, grim surely uses his position as your closest companion as a safety net, they can't kill off the closest you have to family in this world! Guess they gotta live with him if they wanna have a life with you.

Ace hates that grim was your friend before him, feeling annoyed whenever he bullied (Juice) Deuce about being friends with you before him only for grim to butt in. Ace isn't too annoyed with grim though, and grim thinks that Ace is one of the better choises of the roster you have, they're both friends after all.

Of course most students in the cast don't liek "sharing" you with grim, especially the more territorial ones. Leona is probably the worst, I mean come on they're both feline looking creatures. With scent being a heavy thing for felines (yes even beastmen dont come at me) Leona is not happy to have his scent on you be muddied by the little rodent (the greatest mage of all, grim). Probably the worst choise since they're just gonna bicker to the end of the world..

Floyd doesn't like this either! Not fair that he has to share!! And with grim no less.. Floyd results in biting you instead of scenting, his chompers being good for nibbling on you. He also has the advantage that grim is sorta afraid of him (honestly who wouldn't be? Especially yan Floyd...).

Kalim tries to brime grim, with anything he could ever think off! Unlimited tuna for grim, and the best there is as well!! Nything grim could ever want on a silver platter, only if grim let's kalim marry you! That alone doesn't sound too bad, but that unsettling horrifying servant that follows Kalim around. He knows what jamil can do, and he sure does NOT want you with that dude!- guy is manipulative and creepy (he would definelty seperate you and grim!-)

Malleus... Malleus scares grim, guys is honestly horrifying. Threatening to curse him into an eternal slumber so he can whisk you away from him, he doesn't want that! You would also get sad id malleus did that, so luckily the possessive dragon had to share (for now...)

Whoever you choose, grim would probably disapprove, guy thinks of you as family (he will never admit that tho). He cares about you, and he is not okay with the invasion of privacy from these teenagers! >:(

I know you didn't ask fpr any drawing or such, but I couldn't help myself sorry 🤭 hope you like my ramblings back at you!

[pawnshopbleus]

The Songbird

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Plinth!Reader

Summary - Lucy Gray Baird was the talk of this year's Hunger Games. She had the beauty and the voice to charm her way through the games, but what happens when rumors spark up around the Capitol that her mentor and your boyfriend, Coriolanus Snow, have shared a kiss?

Warnings - Mild angst, Speculations of cheating, Smut (Coriolanus Snow eats you out), Bad communication, it gets sort of better at the ends so just trust me, Very mild Lucy Grey slander (Rachel Zegler they could never make me hate you.), let’s pretend that Snow has the capacity to love, Not beta read.

Being a Plinth meant two things: people hated you because you paid your way to the top, and people loved you because you had enough money to do it. Getting used to life in the capital was hard, but it got easier when you had a boyfriend who cared for you. Your brother, Sejanus, disapproved of his best friend dating his twin sister, but the two of you could care less. 

You met Coriolanus at the Academy. You were charmed by his white hair and the way he carried himself. He also wasn’t as stuck up and snobby as your other classmates. He was easy to talk to and even easier on the eyes. He must have noticed the way you were entranced by him when he asked you out. After many dates and your father's approval, he asked you to be his girlfriend.

Now, you were sitting in the lunch room, picking at the sandwich that was in front of you. It was no secret that Coriolanus’s tribute was the favorite of the capitol. She was beautiful and swept everyone off of their feet with that sweet voice of hers. Your tribute on the other hand was nothing more than a throwaway tribute from District Nine. To be frank, he was short and skinny. There was nothing much you could do for him. Maybe he could be good at hiding, but he wouldn’t last long in the arena. 

“Are you going to eat?” Coriolanus asked as he eyed your sandwich. “You need to eat, dove.”

“I’m not hungry,” you grumbled as you took a sip of your water. 

“Can I have it then?”

You nod your head and hand him the sandwich. You watched as he put it in a napkin and placed it in his coat pocket. 

You tilted your head in confusion. Was he saving that for later? “Coryo, if you, Grandma'am, and Tigris need something to eat, you can come over. You know my home is always open to you and your family.” 

He smirked and shook his head. “No, I’m saving it for Lucy Gray.” 

“Oh.” That was all you could say. Of course, he was saving that for his Lucy Gray. Him feeding his tribute would fuel the rumors that Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Gray Baird were developing a budding relationship. People were already invested in them after his stunt at the Capitol Zoo. 

You grabbed your tray from the table and left without saying another word. You couldn’t find it in you to confront him about what people were saying. Maybe you were being a bad girlfriend, but your jealousy got the best of you.    As the sun set and the moon rose, you lie in your room, hoping that Lucy Gray wouldn’t accept the sandwich. You wanted her to throw it back at him, scaring him so much that he would never visit her again. But this isn’t about what you want. This is about Coriolanus and his mission to get his tribute to win. 

The next morning, you couldn’t eat. You were physically and mentally sick with jealousy. You were meant to meet with your tribute to discuss a game strategy. In your peripheral, you could see Coriolanus with Lucy Gray. He was so alert when he talked with her. He once talked to you like that, but after the first time he saw Lucy Gray on the screen, he’s become distant. He was always talking about her, visiting her, thinking about her. Part of you wanted her to die in the arena, but your wishes fell upon deaf ears. 

For the first time, you were faced to face with your tribute. He was even skinnier in person. Your heart burned for him. You were so lucky that your parents got you out of the District when they could or else that could have been you on the other side of the table. 

“Okay, Finn, I’m going to be honest, you aren’t the person people root for, but I can make sure that you live as long as possible.” What you said was harsh, but true. You could get your father and his friends to sponsor him. With enough sponsors, he could get food, water, and medicine. That’s as good as it’s going to get. 

“We all know that Lucy Grey’s going to win. Her mentor has been visiting her every night. He brought her half of a sandwich last night. I saw them by the gates. I could see them talking. They were close, real close. I could have sworn I saw them kiss, but-” The rest of Finn’s sentence was drowned out by the sound of static ringing through your ears. 

— — — — 

Your knuckles rapped against the door of the Snow residence. It was later in the day, your tribute was thankful that you somewhat believed in him, but both of you knew that he wasn’t going to make it out alive. If anyone killed the Capitols songbird they would surely live a life of shame. 

Tigris opened the door and smiled when she saw you standing there, but her smile faded as she saw the tears streaming down your face. She opened her arms and trapped you in them, letting your tears stain her dress. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Her voice was soft and almost whisper quiet. She was a gentle soul and you trusted her with your darkest secrets. 

“My tribute said that Coriolanus and Lucy Gray kissed,” you said through tears. 

Tigris gasped and looked at you in the eyes, searching for something to say. “I’m-I don’t know what to say. That doesn’t sound like Coryo. He loves you too much to do that.” 

“Really? Lately Lucy Grey is all he can talk about. It’s like she’s his girlfriend and not me.”  “Because he wants to win the prize money. We need to pay rent and we don’t have enough.” Tigris said as she wiped away your tears. 

“It doesn’t help that the capitol likes them together. He might as well date her instead of me. I mean, she’s pretty and she can sing like none other. I just-” You were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing. In less than twenty seconds Coriolanus was at your side. 

His hands find their place on your shoulders as he pulls you away from Tigris’s grasp. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong, dove? Did someone hurt you?” 

You wipe your nose with your sleeve. Your mother would kill you if she found out you did something so unclassy in front of a man, but right now you could care less about class. Your eyes looked around everywhere, trying not to make eye contact with his. You knew that you would cry again if you looked into his eyes. The eyes that got you hooked on him in the first place. The eyes that Lucy Grey saw flutter close before they kissed. 

Your shoulders wiggled out of his grasp. His hands fell to his sides and you could have sworn you saw his hands ball up in fists, stopping themselves from coming in contact with your soft skin. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and said, “My tribute, Finn. He said that you and Lucy Gray kissed last night at the zoo.” It came out more as a whisper. You hated how pathetic you sounded right at that moment. 

You could see Coriolanus search for the memories of what happened last night. He then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “We didn’t kiss,” he began, “but I can see why the other tributes would think that. We were close, but it was only because I wanted to tell her more game strategies and I didn’t want the other tributes to hear.” 

You felt stupid. You felt really stupid to assume that your boyfriend of two years would cheat on you. “But I-I heard people in the shop the other day say that they wanted you and Lucy Gray to get together. They said that the two of you had so much chemistry.”

“First of all, that’s illegal, and second of all, I love you. And only you.” His hand tilted your chin up and wiped the tears that were still falling on your face. Tigris had retired to her room a long time ago. 

Coriolanus leads you to his room. The window that overlooked the Capitol was open, letting in the cold. “Let me show you how much I love you,” he whispered, inches away from your lips. 

“Yes,” was the only thing you managed to say before he kissed you. The kiss started off soft and slow, but as his hands found their home on your waist, the kiss got harder. Your lips found a good rhythm as they got familiar with one another. His tongue skittered across your bottom lip, begging for permission to enter. Your tongues danced with one another before Coriolanus broke the kiss. 

His lips pressed light kisses along your neck. He nipped at your skin causing you to jump a bit. He smiled into your skin and laid you down on his bed. His hand slid down to the bottom of your dress. You had changed after you got home from the visit with your tribute. You wanted to get that stupid uniform off before it suffocated you. 

“Do you want this?” he asked as his fingers inched the bottom of your dress up inch by inch until the only thing that was left covering your bottom half was your underwear. They were already soaked through. He began placing soft kisses on the skin of your things, but he wouldn’t go any further until he got your permission. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. After all, this was supposed to be about you. 

You nodded your head and Snow nipped your inner thigh. “Words, dove.” 

“Yes, Coryo.” 

“Good girl.” He breathed before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear. He slowly took them off of you, dragging this on as long as he could before you went mad. Your chest rose and fell as you focused on the man in between your legs. 

Right now, the games were the least of your worries. The people who started the rumors of Coriolanus and Lucy Grey could go to hell for all you cared. You finally had the truth. Coriolanus loved you, and no District Twelve songbird could change that. 

Coriolanus nuzzles his nose against your clit as his tongue prods against your entrance. Your hand clamped over your mouth as you tried your best to muffle your moans. You would just die if Grandma'am or Tigris heard what their beloved Coriolanus was doing to you. 

Seconds later, his mouth hungrily sucked on your clit. Your eyes went wide and you let out a silent moan. Overwhelmed with pleasure, your thighs clamp around his head, but instead of pushing them back, he keeps them there. He looks up at you and his beautiful blue eyes flutter close, enjoying the way you taste. 

His fingers trace along your wet hole, gathering your slick. First, he inserts his index finger and then his middle one. His fingers are long and skinny, but they feel oh so fucking good. His fingers fuck in and out of you, stroking along your G-spot. 

You can’t hold on much longer. He can tell by the way your pussy clenches around his fingers. He hungrily laps at your clit, drawing small and tight circles with his tongue. Coriolanus loves this part. The part when your back arches off his bed, when your pussy spasms around him, and when your thighs shake as you let out the prettiest moan. Chills run down your body as you shiver with pleasure. You come off your high as he takes his fingers out of you. They’re soaked with your release and he grins down at them. He licks his fingers clean of your slick and kisses the skin right above your hips. 

“That better?” he asked, lying next to you on the bed. 

You nod your head. You weren’t able to form words right at the moment.

“I’m sorry for making you believe that I would ever cheat on you. I really do love you, my dove.” 

Your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach. You let oxygen fill your lungs before you exhale and turn it into carbon dioxide. “Coryo, I’m sorry for being jealous. I know how much this annual Hunger Games means to you. You know that my father would be more than happy to pay your rent. He knows how much you mean to me.” 

Coriolanus shook his head. “That’s not what this is about. Dove, I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you for your father.” 

You got up and straddled his lap, your bare pussy was just inches away from his hard cock. Coriolanus gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing. Your hands wipe away some hair from his face. “Then what is this about? Please, let me know. I want to help.” 

He hides his face in the crook of your neck. “I want to show the Dean that I can win. I want to show him that Snow lands on top,” Coriolanus mumbles against your skin. 

“Figuratively and literally,” you whisper. 

Coriolanus spent the rest of the night showing you exactly what he meant by ‘Snow lands on top.’

[kirkwallsquad]

favorite da2 battle lines in no particular order

i'm listening to a compilation by danaduchy on youtube rn so

literally every fenris line bcs everyone else is YELLING and he's just speaking in his regular quiet-ish voice. king what are you saying i can't HEAR YOU

except for when hawke goes down. THEN he's loudly upset.

"hawke's down! time to panic!" (isabela)

"the tame elf is down" (varric - what the fuck omg don't call fenris that)

"your pet elf has fallen" (carver - WHAT THE FUCK OMG DON'T CALL FENRIS THAT)

"that moody mage is down" (aveline)

"ugh, can someone pick up fenris please?" (merrill)

"isabela's on the ground... appropriately" (aveline - HELLO?!?!?!?)

"merrill! oh, blood mages are so dramatic" (isabela)

"aveline has fallen?" (fenris - why is this a question babe)

"they got whatshisname, the mage" (varric - i continue to believe he doesn't know anders' name until act 3)

"the dwarf has dropped a few more feet" (sebastian)

"dear varric, please learn to parry. love, your innards" (varric)

"do you have something for this, because it hurts" (carver)

"even my teeth hurt" (anders)

"i've got so many bruises now they've got names and families" (merrill)

"ugh, i have dirt in my mouth" (sebastian)

"you're going to let me walk around injured?" (carver)

"being close to death is very bad for my morale" (isabela)

sebastian describes his wounds as "oozing" or "seeping" more than once

"i know dalish are meant to be close to the earth, but we don't mean literally" (merrill)

"i'm alright, who needs kidneys anyway" (isabela)

"hawke. varric. i think this is bad." (merrill)

"stop being you and fix me up" (carver - BABY. BABY BROTHER.)

"that really gets the blood flowing" but also "i will fight and pray for forgiveness later" but also "this is much more exciting than the chantry!" (sebastian - what is wrong with you <3)

"my face is not a shield!" (hawke)

"and they say drinking doesn't solve anything" (isabela)

"haawke i can't mooove" (sebastian)

"i'm too far away, what do you want me to do? shout at them?" (isabela)

"i'd have to fly to reach! of course, i've always wanted to learn to fly" (merrill - she's literally the funniest person ever)

"alas, no" (fenris)

"my faith is my armor! my cause is my shield!" (sebastian)

"if we kill them, we get their stuff!" (isabela)

"andraste's knees, it's like herding cats!" (isabela)

"AFRAID YET?!" (anders)

"RUN! WHILE YOU CAN!" (anders - he's so loud i love him)

"another one for me! how many have you gotten, hawke?" (varric)

"ah. a shame that you're going to die, no?" (fenris)

"you. me. and an audience. that's what this is all about!" (carver)

"may the creators have mercy on you! i certainly won't." (merrill)

"destructive forces of nature, coming up!" (anders)

"suck on a fireball!" (anders)

"NEVER TAUNT A MAGE!!!" (anders)

"a thrust, now a parry" (fenris)

"i'm gonna taunt you in elvish now! durgen'len! aravel! vallaslin!" (merrill)

"hello, i'm merrill, and i'll be your distraction." (merrill)

"I'LL SHOW YOU WHY MAGES ARE FEARED!!!" (anders)

"maker please forgive your children" followed immediately by "DID YOU SEE THAT SHOT" (sebastian)

"WANT TO SEE WHAT'S UNDER THESE ROBES?!?!?!" (anders)

"I'M RIGHT HERE! HIT ME!" (isabela)

"maker, the idiocy" (bethany)

"MAKER BLESS YOUR CHILDREN IN THEIR HOUR OF NEEEED" (sebastian)

"my weapon does nothing??" (fenris - he sounds so puzzled help)

"this is SO not working" (anders)

"if the pointy sticks don't work, try the other pointy sticks" (isabela)

"ah, dear. why doesn't anyone ever want to be nice to us?" (merrill)

"is there an end to the people who hate you?" (aveline)

"looks like we've got a few more puppies to kick" (isabela - HELLO?!?)

"take a step, kill, repeat repeat repeat" (carver)

"the hate you inspire is unfortunate" (fenris)

"another twenty steps, another batch of deaths" (anders)

"nobody seems to like you. do you get used to that?" (merrill - ouch. brutal hskfjhgksdjfhg)

"i can't take credit for all of this. hawke helped a little bit" (isabela)

[star-girl69]

I Did Something Bad

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

synopsis: you somehow become the target of a deadly vendetta, and it ends in an overnight stay in the infirmary, a lot of blood, and a lot of your scary girlfriend being her scary self.

a/n: save me clarisse “touch her and die” la rue save me save me save me save me save me save me… this is a completely self indulgent fic and no i will not apologize. love y’all!!!!!

inspired by an ask @nvirskies sent me

I Did Something Bad - Taylor Swift

warnings: not proofread, VERY VIOLENT AND GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF Y/N GETTING INJURED!!!!! BLOOD!!!!! WOUNDS!!!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, anyways…. DANNNNNYYYYYY MY BABY!!!!! HES BACK!!!!!, ares cabin bonding time <3, FOUND FAMILY, y/n is crazy too, insane power couple who are insane together!!, y’all know what’s going on…… protective clarisse, possessive clarisse, insane clarisse, murderous clarisse, again clarisse gets a bit too into capture the flag, swearing, attempted murder!, LOTS of violence, kissing, clarisse hates talking about her feelings but she will do it for y/n, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Clarisse loves capture the flag.

It’s the one place where she really gets to be in her element. That’s where she prefers to be- in the moment, hard and fast, a flurry of swords and adrenaline and the feeling of someone surrendering.

Of course, Clarisse is never the one surrendering. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone surrender to her.

Clarisse loves capture the flag.

And that love is also shared by her equally violently-minded siblings, which is why you’re sitting on her lap in the middle of the Ares cabin, listening to everyone scream and shout about tactics and plans and things that are just general boring.

Clarisse, of course, listens to everything. Silently humming to herself, drumming her fingers against your stomach, rolling her eyes and scoffing silently at some of her siblings ideas.

They all shout out ideas, but everyone knows that Clarisse has the final say.

You should probably be preparing with your own cabin- but this is just so much fun.

The tension in the room rises significantly after Nelson shuts down another one of Carrie’s ideas. Carrie has a mind made for the strategy of battle, where Nelson is all tough war and pain.

Clarisse likes to brag that she’s the perfect mix of both.

“I’m bored,” you huff, leaning back into your girlfriend. “Can they start punching each other again? Or something entertaining?”

She laughs and wraps her arms around your waist, kissing your shoulder. “You’re so violent,” she mumbles. “I’m supposed to be the violent one.”

“I jus’ think it’s really funny,” you shrug. “Like, can you blame me? It’s objectively funny.”

Danny, your favorite of Clarisse’s siblings, skitters through his older siblings and throws himself onto the couch next to you.

“Did they start fighting yet?” he asks, practically bouncing in his seat.

“No,” you sigh, dramatically.

Clarisse puts her arm around his shoulder, and you know she feels ridiculously proud over the fact that she’s the favorite of the most lovable member of the Ares cabin, and the fact you’re literally draped over her.

Not your fault she’s so comfy.

“Hey, how you feelin’ about tomorrow?” you ask Danny.

His face hardens. “I’m gonna fuck a bitch up.”

“Oh, my Gods,” you mutter, listening to Clarisse chuckle and pat his back.

“Hell yeah,” she smiles.

“Good!” you say after a second, feeling slightly disturbed over the 11 year-old’s colorful language. But, who are you to stop him?

Clarisse sighs after a moment, and you look up to see Carrie and Nelson finally at each other’s throats. Besides for the fact it’s just so funny when the siblings fight, they should get all of the anger out now so they can work as a team tomorrow.

“Well, no, Nelson, we aren’t gonna fucking ‘kill them with kindness,’ because that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey, fuckers,” Clarisse says, but they’re too absorbed in the fight to hear her.

You scramble off of her, climbing over Danny, watching in amazement as he opens the bag of pretzels he did not have in his hand a second ago- stuffing one in his mouth and holding it out to you.

These pretzels might have been buried in between the couch cushions. But they’re sealed, so who cares.

“You know what, fuck you, Carrie!” Nelson shouts, pushing her back.

“Askin’ for it,” she laughs, winding up and punching him straight in the face.

You can’t feel bad for the crunch, because Nelson should have know Carrie was gonna punch him- he could have at least put in an effort to stop her. Instead, he just stood there and took it.

“Oh,” Matty winces, sliding next to you. Why the hell are random things just appearing? Did he come out of the cushions too? Probably, seeing as he’s always falling asleep. “Askin’ for it,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

Nelson recovers from the hit and jabs at Carrie- but she stands there, hand on her hip, completely still.

Clarisse catches his arm.

He’s breathing out heavily, and the room goes pretty much silent- except for you, Danny and Matty chomping on pretzels in the corner of the couch.

“You’re fuckin’ embarrassing, Nelson.”

He pulls himself away from her and huffs, heading to the bathroom to deal with his bright red cheek.

Clarisse sighs heavily.

“Gods, can’t have one night without someone punching someone.”

Carrie looks around the room with a smug smile, scoffing when Clarisse shoulders her as she walks past. She lays down in your waiting arms, kissing your hand as you wrap them around her.

“Gettin’ on my nerves,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and leaning into you.

“I know,” you soothe, turning around and making a silly face to Danny at her dramatics.

—-

Nelson is obviously still angry the next day. His helmet doesn’t cover all of the nasty bruise on his cheek, a sickening purple against his tan skin.

Him and Carrie swap glares across the the throngs of red helmets.

“Okay, Carrie, stop,” you huff. “He might actually kill you. You’re the one who got a punch in- let it go.”

She turns to glare at you, now.

“Tell him to stop staring at me.”

“Well, you can help by looking away first.”

“Fine,” she mumbles, putting her helmet on and tightening her grip on her sword. Chiron made his usual speech around 10 minutes ago, and Clarisse has finally finished updating everyone- more like yelling incoherently at everyone- about their positions.

But you have a similar strategy.

The blue team has the brains of the Athena Cabin, but the red team has all the brute strength.

Clarisse huffs, walking over to you and Carrie.

“Okay, ready?” she asks, reaching over to tighten the straps of your armor- even through they’re perfectly fine- by habit.

Carrie let’s out a deep breath. “Yes. Very ready to fuckin’ pummel those blue shits and pretend they’re Nelson.”

“That’s the spirit!” you smile, slapping her shoulder. She rolls her eyes and steps away from you, smiling slightly.

Danny and Matty walk over, and your little band is complete. You hunt in the woods just south of the flag, deterring a lot of hopefuls. The older campers know to come up with sneakier ways to get by, but Clarisse is otherwise confident in those she placed by the flag to really protect it.

You strike out into an offensive stance, pointing the end of your blade straight at Danny- and he quickly counters with his own impeccable stance.

“Oh, yeah, they don’t stand a chance,” you smile, and he returns it.

—-

You take your normal routes through the woods.

With the added weight of you and Danny, the group is not as stealthy as they could be- but Clarisse is a secret teddy bear who doesn’t like to be away from you for long, and Danny is too young to be set loose, left to watch the big kids work, occasionally jumping in for a few swings.

Leaves crunch under your feet in the otherwise silent forest. You’ve already come across a few stragglers, and before you could even raise your sword the Ares siblings had disarmed them. Your heart squeezed seeing the absolutely heartbroken look on Danny’s face- he was promised that this time he could really fight.

And after you pulled Clarisse off to the side and reminded her of her deal- Danny was leading the group, with you and Clarisse behind him.

He marches tall and proud, sword pointed out, even though Clarisse scolds him and says his arm will get tired- he’s young and doesn’t listen to his half-sibling.

You smile, watching him, admiring how carefree he is. The walk continues mostly in a stealthy silence- Clarisse, Carrie and Matty has mastered the art of walking silently- so your cover is lost by you and Danny.

Of course, whenever you try to convince Clarisse that maybe you should go somewhere else- she looks at you like you’ve suddenly turned into a female Minotaur.

Clarisse, her hand in yours right now, has a hard time understanding the concept that she can’t be with you all the time. That you might get hurt, that she can’t always stop it.

It’s sweet how constantly concerned she is over you, it makes your stomach twist so good.

She squeezes your hand, bringing you out of your reverie. Voices.

“Danny,” you whisper, almost silently, kicking the back of his leg. When he turns around, frown on his face, you point towards the direction of the voices- and now footsteps.

You all stop in your tracks.

Danny practically jumps up in down, you smile wide, and Clarisse signals to Carrie and Matty, urging you and Danny closer to the action.

When they come into the clearing, a few Hermes kids dressed in blue bandanas, swords in their hands. They’re all strong, you’ve seen them around- recognize them vaguely as potentials that lost to Clarisse in ugly sparring matches.

The siblings have disappeared into the trees.

So it’s just you, unsuspecting, and Danny.

You can see the triumphant looks on their faces.

Except for one of them.

Nicky, maybe? You don’t care enough about him to know his name. But there’s something more in his eyes that you notice immediately, something similar to the passion Clarisse gets in her eyes at the mention of this game.

Danny jumps forward, sword swinging just the way his blood knows, the way his siblings have taught him meticulously.

They seem momentarily surprised at the force his small body can produce, quickly countering with their own jabs, swords clashing together. The other focuses on you.

You’re not worried, you know the siblings are just letting the two of you have your moments before they really come in and you can sit back and watch Clarisse fight. Muscles rippling, sick smile on her face, spear glowing with electricity.

He comes at you and your swords clash together, the force of it making your teeth ring- Gods, he’s strong. He pulls back and you do the same thing a few more times, neither of you able to get the upper hand- until he finally seems to realize his height advantage.

He swings his sword down on you, pressing down hard- and with gravity on his side you have to put all of your focus into stopping that downward sword.

You don’t see his foot coming out to kick you back.

You only feel it, boot in your chest, wind knocked out of you, groaning as you slam into the ground.

“Fuck,” you breathe, tasting blood in your mouth.

“Y/N!” Danny shouts, and that’s when you see his sword coming down on you again. He does it on purpose, that much is sword, the strategic placing of his sword slicing through the top of your arm.

He doesn’t mean to kill you. He means to hurt you.

His purpose isn’t winning the game, you realize as the blade tears through skin, his purpose is to hurt you. That’s what you saw in his eyes.

Delight that his prey was right in front of him.

The realization washes over you like a wave- but like the real ocean, another one comes- an overwhelming feeling of pain, blooming outward like a flower.

He bites his lip in concentration, standing over you as his blade sinks into the dirt. He smiles wide, hitting his target.

You scream.

It’s a quick stop. The clearing is filled with the sound of your screams, swords stopping in midair- everyone realizing simultaneously that you’re really hurt. That this boy hurt you on purpose.

Something cuts through the air, wind in your ears, swiftly burying itself through Nicky’s armor and into his side.

You’ve realized in the last day that men are stupid. First, it was Nelson not expecting to get punched, and now it was Nicky not prepared for a retaliation after hurting you.

The thick armor slowed down the spear, so it unfortunately stabs his side and falls right out.

He yells in pain, ripping off his armor, revealing a small cut. Nothing compared to yours, but you can faintly recognize the fire in his eyes before Matty is leaning over you and Carrie is wrapping a bandana above the pain in your arm.

You hear the sounds of something happening, someone fighting, skin on skin.

You hear all of this, you see all of it, but all you can feel is the burning, burning cut in your arm. It feels like he cut it off. Your mind is hazy, you know blood is gushing, you never knew something could hurt this bad.

You faintly realize you bit your tongue when you went down. Blood spurts from your mouth when you cough, when you groan in pain, when you say her name like a prayer over and over again.

“Clarisse,” you moan, legs twisting around, trying to get away from the pain that you can’t escape from. “Clarisse, Clarisse, please, Clar…”

Matty pulls your head into his lap.

You can tell it’s bad, you can see the queasy look on his face. You clench your fist- the one you can feel, at least- to keep from screaming, heels digging into the dirt. You’re still trying to get away. But you can’t. You can’t get away from this all consuming pain.

“It’s okay,” Danny whispers, suddenly appearing next to you. He voice shakes, he doesn’t know, he can’t tell you anything reassuring.

“Can you go find someone, Danny? One of the Apollo kids, anyone?”

He ignores Carrie, starring at you for a second longer.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, his voice quiet, finally able to act like the young boy he is.

“You can go,” you breathe, somehow finding the strength to make him believe you’re okay. “Go help me, okay?”

His little footsteps disappear into the woods faster than you’ve ever heard him run, even when they have his favorite brownies for dessert.

You let out a sob.

“D-did he cut it off?” you moan. “It feels like he cut it off, please tell me he didn’t… he didn’t cut my arm off…”

“Oh, fuck, no,” Carrie breathes, pressing down agains the wound to try and stop the blood from gushing out- but it doesn’t really help. It’s just too much. “I mean, it’s deep and it’s nasty, but you’ve still got an arm, don’t worry.”

She laughs, awkwardly, nervously. You can feel even more of your arm drifting away, blood pouring out onto the ground.

“Hey, hey, no,” Matty mutters, lightly hitting your face.

“Wha-”

“Can’t fall asleep, Y/N,” Carrie says, nervously. “Sit up against Matty, come on, huh?” you lean against Matty, head clearing now that there’s fresh air in your system.

Your eyes focus on Clarisse.

Except she’s not anywhere near you, she’s 10 feet away, punching Nicky so hard you’re surprised he’s still standing.

Carrie cringes. “Okay, maybe don’t look at that.”

But you’re sort of entranced by her. She’s not outwardly angry, her face reveals nothing- just a mask of hard, unrelenting focus. It should scare you, how much concentration she puts into her deadly punches, blood flying with each hit she lands. Her knuckles are red, his face is a mess, but it’s exhilarating to know she would do this for you.

A sickening crack rents the air. “My fucking nose, fuck, fuck, screw you, you fucking bitch! Fuck-”

The smallest smile creeps it way onto her face. She wipes her mouth, leaving blood on her lips- but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“I can keep going!” she shouts back, grabbing his shirt. “You wanna do that shit? I’m only getting started. I’m gonna throw you around, then I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

“Wait! Wait, okay, wait, shit,” he breathes, holding his hands up in surrender. Blood pours from his nose, down to her hand bunched in his shirt. He’s taller than her, yet he’s surrendering.

“You’re pathetic,” she hisses, pushing him back. He hits the ground with a groan, trying to grab for a rock, a sword, anything to defend himself against Clarisse and her fury.

Clarisse loves capture the flag.

One of the reasons why she does is because she gets to let out all her anger. She looks at you, but not in your eyes- she looks at the wound on your arm. You can see the red pouring out of the corner of your eye- but you choose to ignore it, instead focusing on the way the fire inside of her gets relit at the sight of your blood. She has plenty reason to be angry now.

She grabs her spear, sauntering over to him, laughing at the way he can’t even try to get up.

“So fuckin’ stupid,” she smiles, tilting her head. Then the tip of her spear is pointing right at his neck, she’s standing over him the way he did to you. “How’s it feel?” she smiles.

He coughs, hissing in pain.

“I’m scared, Clarisse, okay? You got your fucking revenge, but it wasn’t me.”

She laughs, loud and boisterous. “I just saw you cut her, dumbass. I really should kill you, just as a favor to the world.”

“Paid me,” he coughs. “Drachmas, in exchange for hurting your girlfriend-”

She presses the blade against his throat, he yells out.

“Who?”

He stays silent.

“Who?!” she yells, kicking his stomach.

“Nelson!” he screams. “Nelson! Nelson paid me, please, Clarisse-”

She moves the blade away, and he hisses- she probably just barely drew blood.

“I’m not done yet,” she whispers, deadly promise dripping from her words. She turns around, fades out of focus for a second, and then she’s right next to you.

Her hands are cupping your face, she looks sick, seeing you like this up close- but all she does is kiss your forehead. Like you, she doesn’t want to look at your flesh and blood.

“I’m here, I’m here, oh, fuck. Gods, what the fuck,” she mumbles, looking very pointedly away from the wound, finally seeing how bad it is up close.

“Clarisse.”

“I know,” she whispers, smoothing your hair back. “I know, baby, I know, but it’s gonna be okay.”

Danny runs into the clearing, shouting “just over here” while healers follow him, immediately groaning at the smell of blood, the sight of it.

Clarisse switches places with Matty, holding you against her, kissing your head again and again, muttering about how brave you are.

You almost laugh at the odd looks the Apollo kids give her, unused to seeing the big bad Clarisse so soft. But they just don’t know her like you do. She doesn’t love them like she loves you.

One of them starts to clean the blood, and your eyes drift shut as the other starts to mend your skin back together.

—-

You wake up with familiar curly hair in your face.

You spit it out, groaning, mouth feeling fuzzy, everything feelings fuzzy.

“Clarisse?” you mumble, eyes not even open, but you wake up with that hair in your mouth everyday, and you’ve memorized the weight of her arm around your waist.

She sits up immediately, jumping out of bed, standing up and fixing her messy hair like someone’s gonna be there.

“Um, hello? I was speaking, crazy girl.”

“Oh, thank Gods,” she mumbles, blowing hair out of her face and sitting back down. “Thought we got caught.”

You look at her, then your surroundings-

“Oh, holy shit,” she says, staring at you like a deer in headlights. “Wait, you’re awake. You’re awake!”

She throws her arms around you, burying her face into your neck, reverberating with the sound of your laughter.

“You make it sound like I’ve been in a coma for 10 years.” Your heart drops. “Have I… been asleep for a while?”

“Um,” she says, softly, biting her lip as she extricated herself from your neck. “Capture the flag was yesterday, so… no.”

“So you’re just being dramatic?”

“Possibly,” she smiles. “It’s not my fault you’ve taken over my entire brain.” She shows her bruised knuckles, split open, already starting to scab. “I said not to fix ‘em up. They don’t hurt that bad, and they look fucking cool.”

You grab her hands, relieved it’s only been a day, kissing the rough scabs. She blushes, although she tries her best not to, breathing in deeply.

“How are you feeling, baby?”

You look towards your totally healed arm, finally realizing that you know have full control of your hands, unlike yesterday. It’s wrapped in a bandage for precautions, but it feels totally healed.

“All good,” you smile.

“You gotta take it real easy for the next week or so, yeah?” she fusses, brushing hair behind your ear. “So you call me, or one of my siblings, anyone to help you with anything. No lifting heavy stuff, don’t do anything too fast- you might tear the healing.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll carry me around like a princess?” you giggle, laying back, inviting her into your arms. She gets back under the covers, head against your chest so she can hear your heartbeat.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. Practical. Very safe.”

You hit her shoulder. “I’m joking.”

“Eh, I’ll change your mind.”

You smile, running your hands through her hair, enjoying the early mornings with her warmth against you, soft sunlight peeking through windows.

She sits up after a moment, laying her head back on the pillow, arm back around your waist. She just sits there for a moment, you can feel her admiring you. Clarisse doesn’t look at you. She traces your face with her eyes, imagining it was her hands, her lips, she admires you like she sees a reverence in your eyes that has nothing to do with your godly parent.

“Can you promise me something?” she asks, whispering softly, even though you’re the only two people around.

“What?” you say, staring at the ceiling, feeling like you might fall back asleep.

“Don’t get hurt. Like, ever again, please.”

You smile. “Okay, baby,” you mumble.

“I’m serious,” she smiles, nudging your cheek with her nose. “I… I was really scared. And I don’t like to feel that way, especially when it comes to you. I was angry, too. I was so fuckin’ angry I’m surprised I didn’t kill him. You can’t get hurt like that, not again, you just gotta let me protect you. Or else I might actually kill someone, Y/N.”

“I know,” you mumble. “I watched you.”

“Did I scare you?” she asks, voice soft. There’s no hint of your loving, smiley Clarisse in this bed right now. She’s worried, as if she could ever scare you.

“No,” you say, honestly. “It’s sweet how far you’re willing to go for me.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “You better like it. Do you know what I got for that? Eight months no dessert. Five months cleaning the fuckin’ stables.”

You barely hide your laugh. “Oh, my Gods, are you serious?”

“Yes,” she grumbles. “But, I’ve decided it’s fine. You’re my loving girlfriend, right? You can sit there all pretty so I have something to look at when I’m cleaning. And you’ll share your dessert with me, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, turning your head. “I will.”

“I really love you. My perfect pretty princess,” she jokes, smiling lopsidedly, and you return it. “You’ll let me protect you, and maybe I can get some decent sleep at night, huh?”

When she presses her hand to your face and her lips to yours, you think nothing could possible ruin this moment. It’s just you and her, and everything that’s beautiful.

“You always protect me, Clar,” you smile.

She smiles, lips grazing yours. This is your Clarisse. The one who smiles just for you, who puts her rough hand softly against your face. This is your Clarisse, the one who would do anything for you, the one who wants to carry you around, the one who wants to protect you and hold you and never let anyone fuck with her baby.

The door slams open, someone is laughing boisterously, another person is groaning in pain, and a familiar voice is shouting your names.

“Clarisse! Y/N! Clarisse, Clarisse! Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Danny shouts, dragging out the last syllable of your name. He jumps onto the bed by your feet, even when Clarisse frowns, looking at you like a puppy dog who’s just brought a dead bird to your doorstep.

And as you look at the scene behind you, Nelson being laid on another bed, Carrie being helped into the corner- laughing hysterically, knuckles split open.

Nelson’s face is practically unrecognizable.

You suppose Danny really did bring something unsavory like a dead bird, dropping it right at your feet.

“So, we all woke up right?”

Your eyes whip to Danny, shocked as he know launches into a story about Carrie waking up to Nelson saying he hadn’t been called to the Big House yet, maybe he would get away from it- but swiftly received punishment in the form of Carrie’s fists. With Clarisse in your bed, no one had the guts to stop them, and they fought for what must have been 10 minutes- Nelson very obviously losing.

“And, now we’re here,” Danny sighs, breathing out after his long and embellished rant. “But you’re awake, Y/N!”

He looks at your skeptically- specifically, at your arm.

“Can I hug you?”

“Oh,” you smile, your heart twisting with such a fondness for this wonderful little kid. “Of course you can, Danny,” you smile, opening your arms wide.

“Yes, just be careful,” Clarisse cautions, her arm around your waist. “Watch the arm, huh?”

“He’s just a baby, Clarisse,” you mumble, breath messing his hair.

“He’s 11.”

“Baby,” you reinforce, squeezing him tighter.

“Y/N… you’re crushing me,” he groans.

“Oops,” you say, letting him go. “You’re just too cute,” you coo.

Clarisse scoffs from next to you. You smile, kissing her cheek. “You’re beautiful. Scary, dangerous. Not cute, though.”

She hums. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Carrie walks over, sporting her split knuckles, also opting to let them heal naturally like Clarisse. She shows them off with a wide smile, even as Nelson screams in the background when they reset his nose.

Matty rubs his temples.

You smile, looking around at your very dysfunctional, very awkward, but loving family-adjacent.

“Hey, did we end up winning the game?” you ask.

Clarisse snorts. “Oh, nah. Without us, they were lost. Who cares, though?”

“Yeah, I liked beating Nelson up much more than I would have liked winning,” Carrie smiles.

“Next time,” Danny starts, “Can I lead again?”

Clarisse squints at him. “…Maybe.”

You wink at him, nodding subtly.

“Okay!” he smiles.

Clarisse kisses your forehead.

“I love you, pretty baby,” she mumbles.

You smile. “I love you too, scary baby.”

—-

clarisse when she sees y/n get hurt: oh so the only natural response to to THROW A FUCKING SPEAR AT SOMEONE

appreciation for the fact she threw it from like really far away and just tore through his armor likkkkeeee

nelson and nicky sitting in the infirmary together hugging each other terrified clarisse and carrie are going to come back for more

nicky does not sleep at night anymore SHE SAID SHE WASNT DONE

—-

shout out to my baby danny he carried this fic fr

shoutout to y/n for getting WRECKED so we could have this beautiful moment w clarisse

shoutout to matty for being his beautiful self

shoutout to carrie for being her violent self

and finally shoutout to clarisse for being overprotective and insane

—-

clarisse after she actually convinced y/n to let her carry her around everywhere: 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

bitch is so happy…

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

[kedsandtubesocks]

seasons of you (year 1 - spring)

Farmer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: it’s your very first spring living in the valley & you’re very sure Joel Miller already wants you leave

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, stardew valley AU, reader is a new farmer & has a family but no physical description, mentions of unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but Joel is older & in his 50’s) very light use of gendered language, handyman & farmer!Joel, grumpy!Joel, wound tending & blood imagery, discussion of family loss with light navigation of grief, Ellie being Joel’s daughter, secret softie!Joel, alcohol consumption mention, use of nickname, budding romance

word count: 5.4k

a/n: our first ‘Joel’ fic for our stardew AU series! Here’s to starting this new aventure with y’all! I couldn’t have the strength to post this without @swiftispunk @lowlights @ahauntedcowboy @burntheedges @perotovar you angels don’t know how much I appreciate y’all and am so grateful for you babes…and to you, if you read this - I’m so thankful for you too ♡

No one in Pelican Town hates you more than Joel Miller does. George, the crabby older elderly man in town, might be a close second, but Joel has him beat by miles.

For someone so incredibly handsome, almost beautiful in a rugged wilderness way with his misty mountain gray hair and sharp lovely nose, his glare could wither your entire family farm’s field.

“He’s just an ass sometimes.” Your Dad had told you with a sigh over the phone. “Been that way even when your gramps was around.”

At first you didn’t want to fully admit it but yeah, Joel is a prickly cactus of a man.

He owns a farm further down the path from yours. You love walking by it when you take the long way home and getting to spot all the sheep roaming around his fields. He’s also the town’s handyman.

“A jack of all trades, more like it.” Pierre, the main store owner, snickered that to you while Joel was in the store fixing a light fixture.

After that Joel helped you set up your first fencing gate. Then he fixed your sink. And then your water heater.

It’s been a lot and you know it. You feel guilty at how bad you can’t seem to get a hang of this new life yet. Your grandpa did it, thrived even. You can too, or you hope you can.

Until Joel glares at you like you’re a bug ready to squash, then you feel incredibly small.

Once you physically and accidentally ran into him walking out of the blacksmith’s shop when he was heading in. You sputtered out an apology, but without a single word Joel walked past you as if you weren’t even worth his time.

One night you went to the town’s saloon hoping to maybe mingle and get to know everyone better. But simply seeing him sitting inside made you turn on your heels and scramble out.

From that point on you’ve been avoiding him.

But now unfortunately, a few paces away from Joel Miller’s farm, your hand bleeds out a bit aggressively.

“Shit.” You hiss, slipping off your backpack to search for your mini first aid kit.

Yesterday you stubbornly tried fixing your fence and accidentally scrapped your hand pretty bad against the wood. Earlier you believed you wrapped it good enough but now the blood soaking through the bandaid mocks you.

“You alright?!”

The sharp accented drawl rings out loud in the early morning and fear collides into you.

Of course Joel hadn’t left for the morning.

You yell back that you’re fine but scramble frantic now trying to find the damn first aid kit.

“Is that blood?” Joel snaps, sounding closer, as his boots rush against the dirt.

“No, I spilled paint.” You grumble to yourself annoyed.

“M’old but I fuckin’ heard that.” Damn.

He’s much closer now, so close his shadow falls over you but you refuse to look at him.

“What happened!?” He barks confused.

Sighing, you give up hope on finding the poor elusive first aid kit.

“Just cut my hand, that's all. It isn’t deep. I’m fine.” You reassure him.

Joel sighs angrily.

“Come on.”

Now you turn and discover his soil eyes stare at you with such a steeled intensity you almost want to scurry away.

“Fixin’ this up inside.” He doesn’t even ask or let you leave. With one yank Joel Miller pulls you towards his farmhouse.

“I’m fine.” You snap back.

“What? Just wanna let it bleed ‘n get everywhere?” An edge in Joel’s voice silences you.

Any argument you wanted to hiss out immediately floats away the moment you cross the threshold into his house. Your eyes go wide. You never once thought you’d ever see the inside of Joel Miller’s place.

It’s larger than your grandpa's.

Joel deposits you into his kitchen. The lingering smell of breakfast, possibly oatmeal with its warm cinnamon notes, hangs in the air. Yet you feel like a caught feral cat that doesn’t know how to react being inside a house for the first time.

So you let your eyes wander.

Beautiful wood cupboards line the walls. A fridge is covered with various papers held up by sweet colorful cartoonish magnets you never would’ve expected from him. A worn cozy, well loved, couch peeks out from the slight view of the living room you spot being inside the kitchen.

Joel’s house seems knitted together by a rustic weathered comfort. Yet, there’s a hollowness to the house, like it’s waiting for more spirit to fill the halls. You can’t pinpoint or describe the stillness here in this place, but you sense it.

After rustling around a drawer, Joel yanks out a rather impressive medical kit. Largely bulky and intimidating, like him, it’s no surprise a handyman and farmer has such a first aid kit.

“How’d it happen?” Joel asks gruff and quiet as he rummages around the bag.

You tell him and his seasoned face scrunches up frustrated.

“Why didn’t ya call and have me go fix it?”

You thought about that. But you couldn’t handle the thought of asking him to help again, to deal with his frustrated sighs and gruff annoyance. He barely said a word to you last weekend when he went to check your sink again.

“Don’t need you to fix everything.” You tell him composed while Joel pulls out various things to wrap your wound.

“Besides, I can fix things on my own.” You add firm.

“Not all the time.” He replies.

You stay quiet and watch his hands, large and callous, gingerly dab away all the crimson from your cut.

He’s never been this close to you. You catch the faintest smell of wood and of something clean crisp, his laundry detergent maybe. It threatens to fog your senses knowing he smells this lovely.

“Y’dont ask for help and shit like this happens.”

Your face hardens at Joel’s words. You even childishly want to yank away your hand and storm off.

“Look I get it, you barely tolerate me and think I can’t do shit. I know I’m still new, but this was an accident. It happens.” Your words come out harsher than you intended, sharpened scythes that cut through the room, and Joel freezes.

“I don’t think that.” He replies clear as a spring blue sky.

You want to bark a laugh of disbelief, but instead you simply stay silent.

Joel sighs, keeping his eyes on the medic tape he readies.

“And I… tolerate you.” He sputters like he’s trying to muster the words out.

A moment passes. Then Joel sighs, ancient and heavy.

“Don’t mind me. M’just some grumpy old fuck-”

“Hey you’re not old. You’re just grumpy.” You interrupt trying to ease the mood and your heart jumps hearing him snort.

“M’old.” He clarifies. He is older, older than you, and that fact creates a strange flutter in your chest you don’t want to explore just yet.

“And…don’t want ya feelin’ like shit.” He continues with a curt softness.

You never knew his voice could sound this layered, so tough but tender.

“Just tryin’ to look out for ya like your gramps asked me too.”

There’s a strange apology shaded in his words but you manage to catch it. A rush of emotions drown you in their current.

“You were close with my grandpa.” You comment with a curious question lingering below the surface.

“Yeah,” Joel answers low now tenderly moving to wrap your hand. “His ol’ ass used to keep me in place.”

You smirk fondly. That sounds like your gramps.

“Miss seein’ him walk by this place and hearin’ him complain that he likes the sheep more than me.”

Joel’s fond and aching voice digs its hooks into your soul. You miss gramps too, so much.

“Used to fish a lot together out by the lake.” He adds.

This is the most Joel Miller has ever spoken to you and you worry the sun might fall out of the sky soon.

“I bet he out fished you.” You tease soft.

Joel snorts. “Damn right he did.”

You can almost picture it clearly, your gramps and Joel laughing together, having a friendship.

“He’d be proud of ya.” Joel mutters but his words chime clear.

Your attention flickers to Joel. He keeps his focus steady on your hand. However his words crystallize deep in your heart and you blink away tears. You ever expected Joel Miller to almost make you cry like this.

“Thanks…means a lot.” You truthfully tell him while you swallow back the heartache and love threatening to spill over.

“He’d also say you’re a fuckin’ stubborn thing for not askin’ for help.”

You snort at that.

“Well you knew the old guy, it runs in the family.” You reply.

Joel chuckles.

It’s small - like the faint flash of seeing a cardinal in the trees. But you heard it, his amusement, and it’s lovely for a man quietly layered as him.

“Alright, all fixed up.”

The wrap is tight, secure, and speaks of his many times previously doing this before.

“Thank you Joel, appreciate it.” You do.

“Can't be a handyman if I can’t fix up people sometimes.” He shrugs but there’s a deadpan charm to his words you’re slowly catching now.

“Doctor and a handyman, no wonder the town keeps you around.” So you dryly joke back.

This moment isn’t much. Yet it feels like gaining a good step in the direction of something right and solid.

Gathering your things, you decide to head out. Even though curiosity claws at you to take in a few more moments being inside Joel Miller’s home, you have seeds to buy.

“Where ya headin’’ to?” Joel asks.

“Pierre’s.” You huff. “Need more parsnips.”

He hums a noise of acknowledgment.

Back outside the mid morning sun’s warmth soaks you in its gaze. Maybe you could fish for a bit before you head to the store. After all, the weather is so nice.

“Hey.” Joel barks out and before heading back on the road, you turn to him.

He’s a sight on his porch. You think of the typical romance movies of the handsome farmer trying to woo the newcomer in town and how right now he puts them all to shame.

Hands crossed over his chest, his broad shoulders seem like mountains against the doorway, so striking and large taking up the entire focus.

“Don’t hesitate to call y’hear? Don’t fuckin’ care what it is or what it’s for, call me.” Joel’s face is hardened and serious, reflecting the unwavering tone in his voice.

Something heated crawls up your throat and makes you dizzy. You blame it on the blood loss.

“Besides, s’what neighbors are for, right?” He adds a bit awkwardly.

It hits you. He’s the closest homestead to you. You are neighbors with him.

“Alright will do, promise.” You nod and mean your words.

“Thanks again neighbor.” Those words tingle on your lips.

Joel nods and with that you head out.

You’re on such a strange high you simply float straight to the pier and fish. It’s comforting being among the crashing waves, the sea breeze, and the wonderful weather. You also think of your gramps and Joel here.

But by the time the sky starts to turn into a ripe tangerine you realize in horror you forget to buy more seeds.

You almost scream in anguish when you find Pierre’s doors locked. Accepting momentary defeat, you head home.

When you reach your porch, there against the steps a bundle of parsnip seeds and a small pack of bandaids sit waiting for you.

- ☼ -

Your hope to quietly enjoy the egg festival, your true first event here in the valley, is diminished when Mayor Lewis practically drags you into the egg hunt saying it’s a rite of passage.

His deadly polite politician smile said there was no way you could worm your way out of participating. So you simply start the hunt thinking of the strawberry seeds you can’t wait to plant once this is over.

You’re not overly competitive, but these eggs are getting harder to find. You want to finish at least with some dignity.

Besides the area around Stardrop Saloon you scan every inch like a hawk. Someone coughs, clearing their throat, and it catches your attention.

Under the shade of the building, nursing a cold drink, Joel slightly turns towards you.

Now instead of a hawk you feel like a surprised field mouse caught in his gaze.

Without saying anything Joel flickers his eyes a couple of times towards the corner of the building. Is he giving you a hint?

Heading to the spot his eyes vaguely guided you to, you discover a colorful egg.

You almost want to keep it as proof this happened. Joel helped you.

By the time the egg hunt ends everyone already seems to be packing up and the mysterious Mr. Miller has vanished from the commotion.

Abigail wins the egg hunt and you aren’t even upset. In fact you walk home feeling like a champion.

The next morning on the help wanted and errands bulletin board in town you spot Joel’s name. Below it is a request asking for a small pack of wood.

You readily answer it and drop off the bundle eagerly, a way to help pay him back for everything.

The pretty decent payment he gives you is nice but the crooked soft hint of a grin on his face when you arrive to deliver the request is worth iridium.

A few days after that he mails you a recipe. The letter is so simply Joel - a straightforward recipe then a scribbled JM below it. You hang the letter up proudly on your fridge.

Spring blooms more and more before your eyes.

You decide to take advantage of it by foraging for the day.

“Where y’heading?”

You’ve been taking the long way to the forest these past few weeks in hopes of seeing him again. Now that you’re not actively avoiding him, you discover, small town or not, Joel is a surprisingly busy man.

When you catch glimpses of him, instead of glares being thrown your way, Joel Miller simply nods acknowledging you. Comforting as it is to know he doesn’t outright detest, you don’t like how much you hope to run into him more.

Now he’s here sliding on his backpack while moving to lock his gate.

“Just heading to the forest, gonna forage and walk around for the day.” You answer him.

“Works out, hafta head that way myself.” Joel explains falling into step besides you.

Alone with Joel Miller once again.

The small talk comes - asking each other how your days have been, anything new or interesting happening. The heat is starting to pick up announcing summer’s close arrival. Thankfully it’s still not unbearably hot as you and him fully enter the woods.

Cindersap forest is tranquil. A beautiful glimmering evergreen haven you enjoy simply strolling through. You never thought you’d ever be here with Joel.

“No new crops coming in?”

“Nothing exciting.” You shrug. “I’m more upset that I didn't plant any tulips this season.”

“Those your favorite?” Joel asks, surprisingly curious.

“Not mine, my gramps.” Your memories of the farm might be hazy, but you always remembered fresh tulips in the kitchen.

“They’re for the fairies.” Gramps would tell you with a wink.

You were bummed after realizing Pierre had flower seeds and it was too late to see them bloom in your kitchen.

“Damn,” Joel sighs. “Ain't your fault. Pierre’s an ass and hides all the good shit, flower seeds included.”

You’re almost positive Pierre doesn’t do that, but you burst out laughing.

A giddy twinkling glee consumes you and fills you buoyant. He’s trying to comfort you in his own Joel way. And it’s dangerous how fast you’re growing to enjoy the company of this grumpy cactus of a man.

You move to snag a few dandelions and wild horseradishes. You make a face at one that smells a bit ripe and decide to leave it for the forest.

“You can eat those y’know.” Joel comments.

“Yeah so I’ve heard.” You tried your first ever daffodil this month. “A wild horseradish might be a bit too much right now though, but who knows. Maybe one day I’ll try ‘em.”

“My kid used to eat these all the damn time. Never took a likin’ to ‘em myself.” Joel grumbles kicking the disposed horseradish.

Kid.

“You have a kid?” You ask curiously.

Joel blinks to you and there’s a gleam in his earth eyes of something reserved slowly revealing itself.

“Uh… yeah. A daughter. Ellie.”

A daughter. He’s a dad.

It fits him in a way that you never would have expected.

“She doesn’t live here?” You ask but then quickly apologize for pressing the subject. Joel waves you off, casual and unbothered.

“She did, just graduated highschool this year. Wanted to do the whole college deal. She lives out west now.”

So he’s an empty nester.

Delicately, wanting to know more about him and his daughter, you ask about her.

Joel inhales deep then exhales slowly, as if an immovable weight on his shoulders rattles deep to his bones.

“She’s a headache, my Ellie.” Fondness trickles out of Joel a steady stream.

“Stubborn, damn near impossible to argue with cause she’s so fuckin’ smart. Got a good heart. Good head on her shoulders too, wants to be an astronaut.”

“An astronaut?! That’s incredible!” You exclaim in brilliant excitement.

Like the proud dad he is, adoration tugs at Joel’s lips.

“Yeah, been wantin’ to be one for years. That’s why she’s going to school.”

“She sounds incredible, Joel. You must be proud.” You earnestly tell him.

“I am…” His voice is thick, and you don’t miss the way his eyes gloss over distant and misty.

You decide not to press the subject any further. He instead does it for you.

“She loved livin’ here until the damn flower festival rolled around. Then she’d swear up ‘n down about how much she hated this town and was gonna leave the second she could.”

The flower festival is just days away. The town swirls in a controlled chaos for its arrival.

You laugh warm. “I’m guessing she’s not a fan of dancing.”

“Takes after me.” Joel nods.

“Ahh…so guess that means you’re not asking anyone to dance this year.” You comment lightly and Joel snorts.

“Ain’t danced with anyone in a very long time.”

A wistful ace now twists your heart thinking of Joel alone in his home, alone watching the others in town pair off.

“You gonna ask anyone?” Joel turns the question around to you and you almost choke on an inhale.

Not wanting to get flustered or react wildly you focus on the wild springs among the lush forest.

“Uh no. Don’t think anyone wants to dance with the newbie in town. Which is fine.” You answer.

There are lovely and gorgeous people in town. Some have caught your eye. However, you didn’t feel brave or interested enough to ask anyone to dance. And no one seemed intended to ask for your hand in the dance, and you find you’re not too upset about that.

Joel hums low, a sign you’re catching on means he’s listening without having to reply much.

“Hopin’ someone will ask ya to dance?” That question takes you by surprise.

You shrug not wanting to fully answer the question either.

Someone suddenly calls out to Joel from behind. At the edge of the forest leading back into town stands Maria, the town’s legal counsel and assistant mayor.

“Caught playing hooky, busted.” You snicker and Joel scoffs.

Maria yells out Joel’s name again.

“Can you come back to town and help us with something? Thought you’d be at home seeing how it’s your day off today. I’ve been trying to call ya but nothing went through.” She yells.

The service here in the forest was awful compared to the town, a hard lesson you’ve learned quickly.

But you also don’t miss Maria’s comment.

Joel had today off. Yet he decided to stay a bit with you. That thought has teeth and you can’t stop their bite from sinking into your heart.

Joel groans but doesn't hesitate to head towards where the assistant mayor stands. Maria of course spots you and a wonderful grin lights up lovely her face.

“It’s good to see you.” She calls out.

“You too!” You reply back thankful your voice is level.

Joel glances over his shoulder to catch your eye.

“Good luck foragin’. Don’t eat any weird shit.”

You sputter out a squawk at his casual comment.

“Next time I see you, I’m giving you a wild horseradish!” You playfully snap the ridiculous reply before you can even stop yourself, but Joel thankfully rolls his eyes unbothered.

Maria’s eyes however flicker curiously between you and Joel. Too many emotions heat up your skin now. So bidding Joel and Maria a quick goodbye you stomp back into the forest to continue foraging.

Now along in the woods, your thoughts still think of Joel. The bag of parsnip seeds, the bandages, and the recipe, come to mind. You never once discussed any of it with him or him with you. It’s something you keep locked in your heart, just like today will be.

Soon the day melts into early twilight. You snag a couple of dandelions and a few other forageables before deciding to head home.

Joel’s farm house looms quietly still with no lights. You can’t bring yourself to open the gate to his farm and walk up to the house.

So instead you place a few dandelions along with a nice fresh large wild horseradish on top of the mailbox by his gate then head home.

Even when you unwind for the night, you mind still feels like it’s snagged on Joel Miller, still there with him foraging in the forest.

- ☼ -

The flower dance, as strange of a custom as it is, is rather ethereal. So many vivid floral arrangements decorate the space with dynamic colors and the air even smells fresh.

The flower dance honors the legacy of celebrating the final days of spring. But it also is a celebration of love blooming.

“It has roots dating back to fertility rituals.” Demetrius, ever the town scientist, told you while you were chatting with him and his wife.

He was right of course. The flower dance is the opportunity for someone to extend a hand of romantic feelings towards another. Those who hope to participate in the couples dance, or possibly win the crown of Flower Queen, are dressed in glorious attire. Soft light fabrics and flowers woven into crowns create a scene conjured out of a fairy’s kingdom.

Compared to the others in lovely attire with flowers in their hair, you didn’t even dress up or change out of your messy dirt covered jeans. And the only flowers in your hair are actually twigs and leaves from cleaning up more of your property.

With no need to worry about someone asking you to dance, you instead simply enjoy the various foods prepared for the occasion.

“Be careful, the salsa actually has a pretty good kick.” You’re about to go in for a second helping when a gentle accented voice floats out to you.

Besides you is a man with the kindest eyes you’ve seen. Faintly you recognize his face and can recall seeing him around town.

“Tommy Miller.” He reintroduces himself seeing your slight hesitation and your eyes go big.

“Oh, Maria’s husband!” You fully remember her introducing him to you. But now something else clicks.

He’s Joel’s brother.

“Yup.” He grins proud at his wife’s mention.

You apologize profusely for not remembering him sooner and with a kind understanding smile Tommy reassures you it’s fine.

“Been a busy first month for ya, I get it. You’re a tough cookie handlin’ it all.”

Even though his twang mirrors his brother’s, Tommy already radiates a much different energy than Joel. He’s warm in a way that reminds you of a soft summer day welcoming everyone with his vibrant energy.

You thank him earnestly. “The town’s been good to me.”

A part of you wants to add Joel has been good to you. Weeks ago, you would’ve laughed at just the idea of Joel Miller showing you an emotion other than annoyance. But now you and him seem to slowly be warming up to each other.

“Don’t go stealin’ all the good stuff, y’little shit.” Joel arrives with a gruff grumble of a voice and quickly nudges Tommy.

Yet his eyes remained glued on you.

You also seem to notice how striking Joel looks in the crisp light jean button up shirt he wears.

“Speak of the devil… was just about to ask our new farmer here if ya haven’t scared her away yet.” Tommy jokes.

Joel’s face flickers with a scowl fighting to form but he keeps himself surprisingly composed.

Guilt sinks in your gut. You know he’s hard to read and you even feel bad for thinking he’s mean. Because you’re learning fast Joel is earnest in his own way.

“Nah,” you tell Tommy, answering for yourself and Joel almost. “His sheep are actually scarier than he is.”

Tommy busts out laughing and you grin. Your eyes flicker to Joel but see he isn’t grinning. Instead Joel’s handsome aged face stares at you guarded and you can’t read the emotions shimmering in his eyes.

Shit.

You might have overstepped and upset him. So to physically stop yourself from saying anything else you take a bite out of the delicious cornbread on your plate, wave a weak goodbye to the Miller brothers, and scurry away.

Now alone under the shadow of one of the lovely cherry trees, you’re aware of how new you still are, a fresh bud still trying to foster roots in this new ground. You wonder how your gramps dealt with this every year.

Soon enough, the music starts and Mayor Lewis claps excited ready to begin the dance.

At least this will be over soon.

The couples slowly sway to the soft melody then rustling arrives at your side. Gently your eyes turn to the source and you almost collapse seeing Joel move in besides you.

His eyes though stay on the couples dancing among the blooms.

“Could’ve at least picked better music to dance to.” He mumbles bored.

Your lips press hard trying not to smile ridiculous and wide.

“Could you imagine if someone played the wrong song?” You whisper back. “Like, some heavy metal rock song suddenly started screaming out?”

Joel snorts, masks it with a few coughs, but you did it. You made him laugh.

Golden soaked triumph fills you and it feels like the first morning you woke up and found a sprout peeking up from the dark tilled soil.

He’s a complex man and you’re barely even scratching the surface of him. But it’s a tender start you want to continue kindling.

For all the commotion and production given to the festival, the dance only lasts a few moments. It’s over thankfully fast.

“Bit anticlimactic.” You mutter under your breath.

“Yeah it’s dumb.” Joel deadpans.

Your lips fight from letting out a laugh.

Everyone claps joyously at the couples concluding their dance. You wonder, even as silly as this is, if one day maybe you’ll dance with flowers in your hair. But you don’t give that thought too much attention. Just imaging yourself next spring already seems so far away.

“Headin’ home?” Joel asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You hum, narrowing your eyes at the gorgeous meadow.

“I’m kind of tempted to maybe see if I can steal some of the leftovers but yeah, I’m heading back.” You reply.

“Tell me which food you’re eyein’ and I’ll grab it. No one will tell me no.” He offers and you laugh.

“Tempting as that is, I’m just gonna go home.” You wish Joel a warm good night.

He continues walking alongside you.

Your heart jumps until you realize he lives in the same direction. The chatter from the festival still lingers in the air even while you walk further away from the meadow.

“How do you deal with that every year?” You ask with a sigh.

“Alcohol.” Joel dully answers and you snicker at his reply.

“Maybe one day you’ll be dancin’ out there.” Joel comments like he’s trying to continue the small talk. But the suggestion makes you skin itch for a reason you can’t pinpoint.

You only reply with a simple ‘maybe’ and a shrug.

“I’d pay a hundred bucks to see you dance though.” You joke, but also quickly imagine Joel a picture of softness with a flower behind his ear resting beautifully among his silver curls and it makes your knees weak.

Joel however rolls his eyes.

“Next year we’ll just sneak in and take over the music. See what happens.” You offer.

“Now that sounds like a plan.” Joel agrees gruffly.

It sounds like a promise.

You bid him good night until his eyebrows crinkle so classily grumpy Joel.

“Whadya doin’? Ain’t lettin’ ya walk home alone, sprout. Now come on.”

He continues walking as if nothing while your mind tries to recover being tilted on its axis for a bit.

Joel is walking you home.

And he called you sprout.

You want to cradle this new nickname so tenderly in your hands.

Joel quietly asks about your plans for the upcoming season, almost as if he’s trying to keep you focused.

To settle your flutter heart, you manage to ramble about the new incoming seeds you’ve heard about. You talk about your hopes of going to the beach more, not just to fish but to simply enjoy the ocean.

Among all that discussion, in a blink you’re back at your farm.

Instead of Joel rushing home, he lingers.

He checks your porch almost like he’s making sure the thing still stands.

“Hope one day to see that dang greenhouse up ‘n runnin.” He points to the broken greenhouse and you can’t help but sigh at the sight. You hope so too.

Then Joel moves to stand next to you on the land.

It feels different seeing him here.

Just a few weeks ago he was shouting every profanity known to man trying to fix your ancient water heater. He also glared at you the entire time.

Now he stands next to you suggesting on what to grow for the upcoming season.

“You could plant the tomatoes over on this side, give ‘em more shade to grow.”

Joel already reminds you of a back alley cat, one that hisses and refuses to let others near until he decides when to warm up to others. And, like a fresh new sprout, you want to soak up this warmth of him up.

“Also… Don’t forget to plant flowers.” He adds with a soft grumble.

“I won’t.” You grin impressed he remembered.

When you bid him goodnight and thank him again, you almost want to promise you’ll stop by with coffee tomorrow morning.

However that feels too much, like you might make the wrong move and spook him. But you do want to know if he makes it home okay. You can’t even bring yourself to ask him for his phone number.

So you watch Joel leave until your thoughts move fast and you blurt them out.

“Wait how will I know you made it back?”

Joel suddenly stops then glances back to you.

A very soft twinkle comes over his face and he gives you a crooked grin. It colors him with such a boyish expression. This new face of Joel feels sacred, special, and it steals your breath away.

“Hang outside for a bit. I’ll give ya sign, don’t worry.” He nods then melts into the darkness.

You stay frozen on the spot, not wanting to miss whatever it is. You wait, hoping he makes it back safe. Then out from the darkness, far down the path, you see it.

A light from Joel’s house blazes alive.

Then it flickers on and off, like someone flipping the switch a few times. The movement of it against the darkness even feels like a wave of some sorts.

You wish so badly to wave back.

Reassured that he’s home, you head back feeling as light as a feather.

Stepping onto your porch, something catches your eye.

Resting on the main railing barrier are a batch of tulips that were not there when you left.

Your heart jumps into your throat. You didn’t even see Joel place them there.

Delicately placed, the tulips so brilliantly colored sit warm and bright for you - the most beautiful end to your spring.

Though, in your heart, these blooms feel like something closer to a beginning.

[eu-nicola]

arranged marriage part 1

sinopsis: After the death of his girlfriend in an accident, Rafe falls into a severe depression. His family offers him a family friend, Arabella, with whom he has always had a bad relationship, to marry him for the good of the family.

warnings: death, arranged marriage, etc

author's note: english is not my first language and this story is very long and it is only the first part

word count: 8647

some labels are not correct

Arabella had always lived a quiet life on the Outer Banks. Her family was very close to the Camerons, and family reunions were a tradition. Since they were little, she and Sarah Cameron had become inseparable. They spent summers together, swimming, exploring the small islands around the coast, or just talking. However, Arabella's relationship with the other brother, Rafe, had always been different.

Rafe Cameron was everything Arabella hated: arrogant, conceited, and with an ego that barely fit in the room. Every time they met at a family reunion or event, their exchanges were cold and tense. They didn't openly insult each other, of course, but the looks and sarcastic comments were constant. The truth is that Rafe also saw her the same way: he thought Arabella was a haughty girl who thought the world revolved around her. Despite everything, they both knew how to behave in front of others. It was a tacit agreement, a sort of silent truce to not cause problems in their families.

Parallel to their tensions, both their lives had continued on their course. Arabella had been dating a boy from the Outer Banks, Matthew, for a year. Matthew was the complete opposite of Rafe: charming, humble, and always ready to make her laugh. He was easy to be with, and their relationship gave her the peace of mind she had always sought. For his part, Rafe had met a young woman a few years ago and, in an unexpected turn, was preparing to marry her. The wedding was the most talked about event on the island. Everyone seemed to be excited, from close families to childhood friends.

Arabella, in particular, couldn't help but joke about it with Sarah. Every time the topic of the wedding came up, she and Sarah used to laugh and say that, once Rafe got married, they could get rid of him once and for all. "Can you imagine?" Sarah said with a laugh, "we'll finally not have to put up with his 'I'm better than all of you' attitude." Arabella smirked, knowing that even though they were joking, a part of her actually believed it would be a relief to not have to deal with Rafe on a regular basis anymore. With the wedding approaching, he'd be busy with his new life, and she could enjoy her days in peace.

One afternoon, while helping Sarah pick out a dress for her brother's wedding, Arabella and Sarah sat on the store's couch, surrounded by fabrics and catalogs. Sarah showed her one of the dresses, and Arabella looked at it, nodding in approval. "It's beautiful, Sarah. You're going to be the prettiest bridesmaid I've ever seen."

"And you? Do you know what you're going to wear yet?" Sarah asked curiously, glancing at her friend out of the corner of her eye.

Arabella let out a soft laugh, crossing her legs as she settled into the couch. "I haven't decided yet, but honestly, I don't care that much. The important thing is that you'll look spectacular and that your brother is finally getting married."

Sarah smiled. "Can you imagine what it'll be like? It'll be weird not having him hanging around the house."

Arabella laughed, nodding again. "Exactly. It's like he always has to remind us that he's Rafe Cameron, as if we could ever forget." She paused, leaning forward. “Speaking of which, how is everything going with him and his fiancée? Do they have everything ready yet?”

Sarah sighed. “Mostly everything. I won’t lie to you, though, there have been tense moments. You know how my brother is. Everything has to be perfect for him, and his fiancée seems to be the same way. It’s like two perfectionists have met, which should be a good thing, but… sometimes I think they’re going crazy with the details.”

Arabella nodded, imagining Rafe being picky about every little aspect of the wedding. “I can see that. He’s probably checking every flower, every napkin, to make sure everything is up to par.”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, laughing. “But, well, it’ll be a wedding everyone will remember, for better or worse.”

The days leading up to the wedding were complete chaos. Arabella had anticipated it, but nothing could prepare her for the magnitude of the storm that was brewing. Between last-minute meetings, planning details, and the endless list of tasks Sarah had set out to complete, they were both swept up in a maelstrom of stress. Rafe, of course, was at the center of it all, making sure every aspect of the ceremony and reception was flawless. It was nearly impossible to see him without a worried or annoyed expression on his face, which, to Arabella, was a normal occurrence for him.

Despite everything, Arabella tried to stay out of the way. She reminded herself that this wasn't her wedding, and that no matter how much everything got out of hand, the best thing she could do was stay calm, help Sarah when necessary, and avoid Rafe as much as possible. But things didn't always go as planned. During the days leading up to it, she was forced to cross paths with Rafe more times than she would have liked. Every time she saw him, he was arguing with someone: an organizer, a caterer, or even his own sister.

The wedding day finally arrived, bringing with it a mix of emotions. The Cameron household was bustling early, with servants and family members running back and forth to make sure everything was ready. Arabella had slept there the night before, as part of tradition. Sarah had convinced her that it would be easier to get ready together from the Cameron household. They had both thought they would get ready with the bride, as was customary for close friends and family of the couple. However, that expectation was quickly dashed.

At the last minute, Rafe's fiancée had decided that she preferred to get ready elsewhere, alongside her mother and some members of her family. Not only that, but neither Arabella nor Sarah had been invited to join them. It was a clear sign of distancing, and although Sarah tried to hide her irritation, Arabella noticed how she clenched her jaw at the news.

Arabella, for her part, considered it disrespectful. Wasn't Sarah Rafe's sister? And hadn't she, Arabella, been by Sarah's side all these years, sharing every important moment in the Camerons' lives? She tried to ignore the small flicker of anger that was beginning to form inside her. There was no point in making a scene over something so trivial. Besides, she had Sarah, and the two of them could turn any awkward situation into something fun. If the bride didn't want them there, then they would enjoy getting ready on their own.

“Can you believe it?” Sarah said, slamming the bedroom door shut as they entered. “He didn’t even tell me directly, can you imagine?”

Arabella, sitting on the edge of the bed, shrugged. “Truth be told, I was expecting it. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who wants to share his day with us. At the end of the day, it’s his wedding, and he can do whatever he wants.”

Sarah let out a sarcastic laugh as she sat down in front of the mirror. “Yeah, sure. But I’m his future sister-in-law. And you’re my best friend. I don’t know, he just seems… cold.”

“Well, better for us,” Arabella said, getting up to find her dress. “At least we won’t have to pretend to like his every comment and smile all the time. We’ll get ready together, like always.”

Sarah let out a sigh and looked at herself in the mirror. "You're right. But it still bothers me. Anyway, let her get ready by herself. Today's all about my brother getting married and I honestly want this all to be over with."

Arabella laughed softly, patting him on the shoulder before starting to change. The sun's rays streamed through the curtains, illuminating the room in a warm, golden light. Although they were annoyed by the bride's lack of consideration, there was something almost magical about those moments.

As they both got ready, the silence was filled with soft murmurs and occasional laughter. Sarah tried to comb her hair while talking non-stop about how chaotic everything had been, and Arabella, who had already finished getting dressed, helped her with some details. It seemed like the small frustrations of the day were being left behind.

As Arabella and Sarah got ready in the bedroom, chaos quickly took over the house. The screams and constant movement of people running through the halls soon interrupted the calm that had prevailed only a few minutes before. Arabella, who was finishing adjusting her dress in front of the mirror, frowned as she noticed the growing sense of anxiety that was beginning to fill the air.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asked, glancing out the window and then back to the door. The door to her room opened and closed frequently, but no one stopped to give them an explanation. Servants walked back and forth with tense faces, exchanging hurried whispers. The two friends began to grow restless.

Arabella stood up, smoothing out the folds of her dress as she walked to the door. “I’ll ask. This is already too weird.” Sarah nodded, following closely behind. They both stepped out into the hallway, hoping to find someone who could tell them what was going on. But every time they tried to stop someone, the employees avoided their gaze, mumbled apologies, and walked on, as if they were under strict orders not to say anything.

Nerves began to set in at Arabella’s stomach. The laughter and conversation that should be filling the house on a wedding day had turned into tense whispers and palpable nervousness. They tried to approach various people, but the answers were always vague, almost as if no one knew what to say or how to handle the situation.

Sarah, for her part, was starting to lose patience. “Is someone going to tell us what’s going on?!” she exclaimed, glaring at one of the servants who hurried past without stopping.

Their frustration grew by the second. Finally, they decided to try something more daring: approach Rafe’s room. They knew he must be getting ready there, and although they didn’t feel like facing him in the middle of a possible disaster, they couldn’t stand to be in the dark any longer.

The atmosphere around Rafe’s room was even stranger. The door was closed, but people passing by avoided looking at it as if they feared what was happening inside. Arabella and Sarah stopped in front of it, exchanging glances. Sarah, frowning, took a step towards the door, but before she could knock, a muffled scream came from someone behind them.

“No! Don’t go in there,” one of the women working in the house said, quickly approaching with a look of pure panic on her face.

Arabella crossed her arms, facing the woman with a mix of confusion and impatience. “What’s going on? No one’s telling us anything.”

The woman hesitated, nervously glancing at Rafe’s bedroom door before looking down. She seemed to be torn between what she should do and what she was supposed to keep secret.

“It’s… it’s the bride,” she finally murmured, her voice shaking. “She… she had an accident. On the way to church.”

Arabella’s world stopped for a second. Her brain was slow to process what she had just heard. Beside her, Sarah let out a soft gasp, her face paling.

“An accident?” Arabella repeated, trying to understand. “Is… is she okay?”

The woman looked down even further, unable to hold her eyes. “No… he didn’t survive,” she whispered.

The silence that followed was deafening. Arabella felt the room around her seem to fade away, her mind caught up in the brutality of that simple sentence. Rafe’s girlfriend, the woman he was set to marry in a matter of hours, was dead. There was no softening that reality. Arabella slowly turned her head to Sarah, who had stood frozen, her eyes filled with shock and horror.

“What…?” Sarah stammered, bringing a shaking hand to her mouth. “How… how did it happen?”

The woman, clearly uncomfortable and distraught, tried to explain. “It… it was a car accident. The car he was in lost control. He died instantly, we were told.”

Rafe’s life, as arrogant as he was, had just changed forever.

Before they could fully process what they had just heard, the silence of the hallway was suddenly broken by a crash coming from Rafe’s room. Both friends turned sharply toward the door, their hearts pounding.

The noise continued: something heavy had fallen, followed by a thud, and then more sounds of things breaking. It seemed like everything inside the room was falling apart. Arabella and Sarah exchanged a panicked glance, and in that instant they knew Rafe had heard.

"No," Sarah whispered, bringing a hand to her chest as she took a step toward the door, as if she wanted to enter.

Arabella grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Don't go in," she said quietly. She knew the last thing Rafe needed right now was for someone to see him in the midst of his pain.

The noises inside the room continued: more glass breaking, furniture being dragged or overturned, and the occasional muffled scream that could barely be heard. It was as if everything Rafe had held in for days, weeks, or maybe even years was finally coming out in the worst possible way. Arabella could imagine him throwing objects at the walls, taking out his fury, his pain, and his helplessness on anything that could be broken.

Arabella nodded slowly. She knew that the day they had joked about “getting rid of Rafe” once she was married seemed far away now. All that was left was unimaginable tragedy.

The day of the funeral arrived with a heavy, oppressive air enveloping the Cameron household like a suffocating blanket. From the moment the news of Rafe's fiancée's death had hit their lives, the atmosphere in the house had changed. Everyone, from the servants to the family members themselves, walked with a caution that had not been seen before. Arabella had hoped that the funeral would be the moment when, finally, everyone could begin to process what had happened. However, that day only brought more bewilderment.

At breakfast, Ward Cameron had summoned the entire family into the dining room. It was a strange scene: the sun shone softly through the windows, illuminating the table covered with plates of food that no one had any intention of touching. Arabella sat next to Sarah, both silent, waiting for Ward's words, who remained standing at the end of the table, a stern expression on his face.

When he finally spoke, his tone was cold and authoritative. “No one from this family will be attending the funeral,” he announced, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

Arabella blinked, shocked by what she had just heard. She glanced sideways at Sarah, expecting her friend to protest, but she was motionless, her gaze fixed on her plate, her hands clenched in her lap. There were no murmurs of disagreement, no attempts to debate the decision. The silence was absolute.

Ward continued, as if he had not expected anyone to question him. “It is a tragedy what has happened, but it is not wise for us to be there. The family of… the deceased,” he said, pausing before mentioning Rafe’s fiancée, as if he could not bear to say her name, “can handle the funeral. We need not involve ourselves further in this matter.”

Arabella felt a wave of disbelief run through her body. How could she say such a thing? Her son’s fiancée had died tragically, and now they intended to simply ignore the funeral. It was inhuman. Yet the coldness with which Ward spoke made it clear that he was not willing to argue. To him, this was a matter of convenience, of avoiding further unwanted attention.

“This includes Arabella,” Ward added, giving her a brief but firm look. “You are part of our family and on this occasion, it is best that you follow our decision.”

Arabella felt a pang in her chest, but said nothing. This was not the time to challenge Ward’s authority, not when everyone was so tense.

Sarah, who had remained silent until this moment, finally spoke, though her voice was barely a whisper. “And Rafe?” she asked, her eyes lowered, as if she could not bear the answer.

Ward set his jaw. “Rafe won’t be attending. He’s not fit.” The way he said it made it clear that Rafe’s “condition” wasn’t something he was proud of.

Arabella knew what that meant. From the moment he’d learned of his fiancée’s death, Rafe had disappeared into a self-destructive cycle. Empty bottles piled up in his room, and servants whispered that they’d seen him with bloodshot eyes, walking the halls like a ghost. He was doing everything he could to avoid the pain, drowning himself in drink and other things to escape reality. He hadn’t bothered to see anyone or face what had happened. The funeral, of course, wasn’t an option for him. Not when his only concern was evading everything that made him feel vulnerable.

The weeks following the funeral were like a minefield in the lives of everyone around Rafe. There was no talk of the accident, or of Rafe’s fiancée. It was as if his name had been erased from everyone's memory. However, the absence of words did not mean that the pain had disappeared.

Arabella watched everything with a mixture of uneasiness and curiosity. She had grown accustomed to the rhythms of the Cameron family, to their coldness and the way they solved their problems without ever talking about them, but this time, the pressure was different. Something in the air indicated that, although Rafe had begun to get his life back on track, something had broken inside him that would never be the same again.

At first, Rafe had disappeared completely. He did not come down to meals, he was not seen at family gatherings, and the few times Arabella saw him around the house, he would stare blankly, walking like a shadow of the arrogant man she knew. But little by little, that changed. The nights when he would lock himself in his room with bottles of whiskey began to diminish, and, slowly, he began to appear again at social gatherings, resuming his place as the Prince Kook of always.

The first few days Rafe went out with his friends again, Arabella felt a kind of relief. She would watch him walk around the house with that same confidence that had always characterized him, his face unwavering as if nothing could disturb him. It was almost as if the tragedy had never happened. On the surface, Rafe was the same: the Camerons' golden son, the man who could have it all. He was seen with his old friends at clubs, sailing along the coast in his boat, and organizing parties that brought the hustle and bustle back to the quiet Outer Banks neighborhood.

But everyone knew that something in him had changed.

Sarah, who used to be the first to joke about her brother, now kept quiet when he was around. Sometimes, when Rafe walked past her and Arabella with his confident smile and sarcastic remarks, Sarah would just glance at him out of the corner of her eye, as if she expected the old Rafe, the one who laughed carefree at everything, to return at any moment. However, the silence that followed his words was almost unbearable, as if everyone knew that behind that mask of confidence there was something broken that had not yet healed.

One night, while Arabella and Sarah were in the living room of the Cameron house, Rafe walked in, fresh from one of his outings with the boys. His white shirt was open at the collar, and he smelled of alcohol and tobacco. However, his posture was as impeccable as ever.

"What, you're not going to say anything? Did you miss me?" Rafe threw the question into the air, with a lopsided smile that didn't reach his eyes. Sarah faked a laugh as Arabella watched him intently, noticing the details no one else saw: the slight tremor in his hands, the dull gleam in his eyes.

"You were quieter the last time I saw you," Arabella commented in a neutral tone, trying to test the waters. She knew that any comment that was too direct could be a bombshell for Rafe in this state.

He let out a short, hollow laugh, shrugging as he took a drink from the nearby cabinet. "Quiet? No, I was just... thinking about other things."

The weeks continued and Rafe was completely back to his usual routine. He began training and spending time with his friends. He seemed to have regained his place as the charismatic leader everyone admired and feared at the same time.

While to many everything seemed to be back to normal, in Ward's mind, the situation couldn't be further from that. The dream of seeing his son married, establishing a life of success and responsibility, was something he wasn't willing to give up, even after the tragedy. He knew that in order to maintain the Camerons' position at the top, Rafe needed to have a suitable wife at his side. The death of his young fiancée had only been a temporary obstacle in that plan.

Ward watched his son with a frown, aware that Rafe had returned to his old life, but without the purpose he believed necessary. Going out every night, surrounding himself with superficial friends, and getting drunk were not behaviors worthy of a Cameron with the responsibilities that corresponded to him. No, Rafe had to leave that life behind, and as soon as possible.

For several weeks, Ward had been looking around, evaluating options. The Camerons' social circle was extensive, but he couldn't just choose any woman. No, whoever married Rafe had to be someone suitable, someone who could not only handle his son's complex personality, but also bring respect and stability with her. But, as much as he searched among the young women of high society, he couldn't help but return to an idea that slowly began to grow in his mind.

Arabella.

He had known her forever, just like his family. She was someone he could trust. A strong, loyal young woman, and above all, someone who was already close to Rafe. Although their relationship had been strained over the years, Ward couldn't ignore that, of all the people in his environment, Arabella was the only one who had always been there, even in the darkest times. Perhaps, Ward thought, she could be the key to getting Rafe out of the abyss he was in, even if he didn't know it yet.

One night, as Ward was going through some paperwork in his office, that idea finally took shape. He closed the folder in front of him and leaned back in his chair, pondering what he had to do. He knew Rafe wouldn't take the suggestion well, not in his current state, but that had never stopped Ward before. It was his duty, as a father, to guide his son, even if Rafe didn't understand it.

Convinced that Arabella would be the ideal wife for Rafe, Ward decided to act. The next morning, he called Rose into his office and explained his plan. Rose, though initially surprised, didn't argue. She knew how her husband's mind worked and had learned not to question his decisions, especially when it came to Rafe.

"What about Arabella?" Rose asked, one eyebrow raised. "Don't you think she should have some say in the matter?"

Ward let out a dry laugh. "Arabella is a smart girl. She knows what's best for her family. And this is best for everyone."

Rose didn't answer, but a hint of doubt crossed her face. However, she left the subject up to her husband.

It was a few days before Ward decided to bring up the idea with Rafe. It wasn't an easy subject to broach, and his son was still dealing with the weight of loss, though he tried to disguise it behind his cocky smiles and carefree demeanor. He knew he would have to pick the right time.

The day came on a quiet afternoon. Rafe was in his father's office, going through some paperwork related to the family business, when Ward seized the opportunity. He looked at him from his desk, analyzing his expression, searching for a sign of an opening.

"Son," Ward began in his usual authoritative tone, "it's time for you to think about the future."

Rafe didn't look up from the papers. "What do you mean?" His voice was casual, but Ward noticed the tension in his shoulders.

"You know what I mean. We've talked about it before. You need stability. It's time for you to get married."

Rafe set the papers down on the table, his cold, disinterested eyes meeting his father's. "I thought that subject was closed. You know what happened."

Ward didn't flinch. "What happened was tragic, but it doesn't change the fact that you need a wife. Someone to help you build your life, settle down."

Rafe let out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair. “And who am I supposed to find now? Another girl who is willing to put up with me? I don’t think so.”

“I’ve already thought about that,” Ward said firmly, ignoring his son’s sarcastic tone. “And I think the answer has been in front of us all along.”

Rafe frowned, visibly irritated. “What are you talking about?”

“Arabella,” Ward said finally, dropping the bombshell.

Rafe fell silent, his face turning from confusion to disbelief. “Arabella? Are you kidding? Why her?”

Ward kept his gaze fixed on his son, his voice calm but full of authority. “Because she is a good young woman. She is trustworthy, we have known her forever, and she would be a good wife for you. It is not an absurd proposition, Rafe. It makes sense.”

Rafe stood up from his chair, his movements abrupt, visibly angry. "No, there's no point. I haven't even thought about getting married again, let alone to Arabella. I'm not going to."

"You will if it's what's best for the family," Ward replied coldly. "And this is what's best for you too, even if you don't see it now."

Rafe glared at him with fury in his eyes, but he knew arguing with his father was pointless. Ward always got what he wanted, one way or another. But this time, Rafe wasn't going to give in so easily.

Without another word, he walked out of the office, leaving Ward alone, pondering what had just happened. He knew his son wouldn't accept him right away, but he didn't need him to. As always, Ward had a plan. And sooner or later, Rafe would understand that Arabella was the right choice.

However, Arabella had no idea what was to come.

Arabella was in the living room with Sarah, laughing at one of the Kooks' absurd stories when Ward suddenly appeared in the doorway. His face was serious in a way that didn't go unnoticed by either of them, and Arabella felt the air grow heavy. Sarah, who knew that expression on her father all too well, fell silent.

"Arabella, can you come to my office? I need to talk to you in private," Ward said in his usual tone, one that left no room for questions.

Arabella exchanged a glance with Sarah, who gave her a small nod of support before she stood up from the chair. Although it seemed strange to her, there was no reason to hesitate, so she followed him. As she walked through the halls towards the office, a slight nervousness settled in her chest.

When she reached the office, the door was already ajar. Ward entered first and Arabella followed, but what she didn't expect was to see Rafe sitting in one of the chairs, arms crossed and a tense expression on his face. The atmosphere was thick, and she immediately knew that this was not just any conversation. Something was wrong.

Arabella frowned and, despite her discomfort, walked over to the free chair. She sat down stiffly, looking from Ward to Rafe, waiting for some explanation. The silence in the room was almost oppressive, until Ward decided to speak.

"I've been thinking a lot about your future, Arabella," Ward began, his tone trying to sound understanding. "And I think that, after everything that's happened, it's time for Rafe to move on. And since you both need stability, I think there's a solution that will be beneficial for everyone."

Arabella looked at him in confusion, her brain slowly processing his words. "What... what do you mean by that?" she asked, unsure of where he was going with this.

Ward paused, as if trying to find the right words, though his tone remained firm. "I think it would be best for both of you to get married."

Arabella froze. She looked at Rafe, expecting to see a reaction of surprise or disagreement, but he just watched her with a distant expression. She looked back at Ward, expecting there to be some misunderstanding. "I don't understand..." she stammered, trying to clarify what she had just heard. "Marry Rafe? That doesn't make sense."

Ward, ever calm, folded his hands on his desk. "It makes perfect sense. With his fiancée dead, and your family starting to look for a husband for you, Rafe is the best choice. You already know each other, your parents trust our family, and this would ensure the stability you both need."

"No, this can't be!" Arabella stood up from her seat, her heart pounding. "I don't want to marry Rafe. This doesn't make sense. We're not... we don't get along!" She looked at Rafe for some sign of support, but he just watched her silently, his dark eyes reflecting resignation.

Rafe finally spoke, his voice low but laden with a strange mix of resignation and mockery. “Don’t resist, Arabella. There’s no escape for any of us.”

Arabella stared at him in disbelief. “What are you talking about? This doesn’t have to happen. I don’t… I don’t want this, Rafe. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Ward slowly rose from his seat and walked around his desk, approaching Arabella with calculated steps. “I understand that you’re shocked, but believe me, it’s what’s best for you. Your family is already starting to look for a good match for you, and what I’m offering is the best option. You won’t have to marry a stranger, you won’t have to fear for your future. Rafe will be a good husband for you.”

Arabella took a step back, shaking her head, fear and frustration invading every fiber of her being. “No, Ward. I can’t do this. I don’t want to.”

Ward looked at her with a mix of patience and determination. "I know you think you can run away from this situation, but you can't. Your family is already considering alternatives, and if you don't accept, there will be other decisions you won't like. This is for the best, Arabella. For you, for Rafe, for our families."

Arabella's mind raced, trying to find a way out. But every word Ward said caged her further in. She knew she didn't have much choice. If her family was already involved in the arrangements, she wouldn't have much room to maneuver. And Ward... Ward wasn't a man to take 'no' for an answer.

She took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. Frustration, fear, and despair washed over her, but deep down she knew there was no way out. This was the reality she was in, and she couldn't change it.

After the conversation with Ward and Rafe, the tension between him and Arabella had grown almost unbearable. They could barely be in the same room without feeling an overwhelming pressure in the air. Before, even though they didn't get along, they could at least maintain a polite conversation, but now not even that. Arabella avoided any encounter with him, aware that she was trapped in a situation from which there was no escape. The very idea of ​​marrying Rafe, of sharing a life together, was overwhelming, almost claustrophobic.

Every time she thought about the wedding, she felt a mixture of frustration and resignation. Sarah, however, seemed to be delighted with the idea of ​​organizing the event. She was more than willing to take care of every detail, from the flowers to the dress. Sarah tried to cheer Arabella up, but even with her enthusiasm, it was clear that her friend knew that things were not right.

One afternoon, as the sun filtered through the windows of Arabella's room, Sarah entered without knocking, as she always did, and found her sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into a corner of the room. Arabella's expression was blank, as if she were trapped in her own thoughts, absent from the world around her.

"Hey, Bells," Sarah said softly, closing the door behind her. "How are you feeling?"

Arabella looked up and forced a smile, but Sarah knew her too well to believe that gesture. She sat down beside her on the bed, taking Arabella's hand lovingly.

"You know you don't have to pretend with me," Sarah continued. "I know this isn't what you want."

Arabella sighed deeply, letting out all the air she had been holding. She knew Sarah wouldn't judge her, that she could speak to her with complete honesty. "I don't want to marry him, Sarah," she admitted, her voice breaking. "I never wanted this. And now... I'm trapped. I have no choice."

Sarah squeezed her hand, as if with that gesture she could transfer some of her strength to her. "I know. This isn't fair."

Arabella lowered her head, her eyes beginning to fill with tears that she struggled to hold back. "It's just... even the thought of having kids with him terrifies me. I don't see myself building a family with Rafe. I don't see myself sharing my life like that. This whole thing... is a nightmare."

Sarah looked at her, feeling her friend's anguish as if it were her own. "Bells, I'm here with you. Always. No matter what happens, you're not going to face this alone."

Arabella smiled weakly, grateful for Sarah's words, though the fear was still present. "Thank you, Sar. You're the only reason I haven't gone crazy over all of this yet."

Sarah gave her a small push on the shoulder, trying to ease the tension of the moment. "Hey, you can't tell me that planning a wedding with me doesn't have its fun side, right?"

Arabella laughed through her tears. "Yeah, right, 'fun' is exactly the word I would use to describe this."

Sarah smiled back, though she knew there was little she could do to ease the weight her friend was carrying. "This is all bullshit, I'm not going to lie to you. But no matter what happens, I'll be with you every step of the way. And if you need to run away, I'll help you escape. I know a guy who has a boat."

Arabella laughed, louder this time, imagining the absurd scene Sarah was describing. "It's good to know you have an escape plan ready."

Sarah's humor always managed to calm her down a bit.

Sarah, despite her unconditional support, felt the frustration of not being able to do more. She wanted to free Arabella from this situation, but she also knew that her family, her father in particular, was an impossible obstacle to overcome. So, as the wedding progressed, the only thing she could offer was her company, her loyalty, and a firm hand in the darkest moments.

It wasn't long before the wedding planning was set in motion. The Cameron machinery, with its unlimited power and resources, made everything happen surprisingly quickly. Arabella watched with resignation as the planning took shape almost overnight. Dozens of people were involved, each responsible for a specific detail: the flowers, the music, the decorations. Everything was being managed with surgical precision, as if the fact that she and Rafe could barely stand each other was irrelevant.

Chaos reigned in the house. Employees were running around, phones were ringing off the hook, and vendors were constantly visiting. Arabella couldn't believe how everyone seemed to be so excited about a wedding that, for her, represented the end of any hope of controlling her own destiny.

However, in the midst of the chaos, a problem arose unexpectedly: the family of Rafe's ex-fiancée showed up, outraged by how quickly the Camerons had decided to go ahead. It couldn't be any other way, Arabella thought. The news that Rafe was getting married again had reached them, and it hadn't gone down well with them.

One morning, as Arabella sat in the kitchen drinking tea, she heard the commotion from the hall. The angry voices of the ex-fiancée's parents filled the house, and through the half-open door she could hear the dead girl's mother accusing Ward and the entire Cameron family of being insensitive and heartless. "It's disrespectful to our daughter's memory!" the woman screamed, her eyes filled with tears. "It's barely been a while since she died, and you're already planning another wedding as if it meant nothing to you!"

Arabella felt a knot in her stomach as she listened. She couldn't help but feel bad for them. Although she hadn't been close to Rafe's ex-fiancée, she knew that the young woman had been loved by her family. And now, here they were, protesting what they felt was a betrayal.

Ward, for his part, showed not a hint of remorse. With his usual coldness, he assured them that this was all for the best for both families, and that there was nothing they could do to change it. "We deeply regret your loss," he said in a calculated, distant tone, "but life goes on. Rafe needs a wife, and this wedding is the solution."

The ex-fiancée's parents were not intimidated. “This is disgusting! There hasn’t even been enough time to grieve properly! And you’re already pushing your son into another wedding!”

Arabella felt the awkwardness building, but Ward seemed to have it all under control. That’s when he made his masterstroke. He offered them a considerable sum of money, with the promise that they would never speak of it again. Silence fell over the room as the ex-fiancée’s parents stared at Ward, stunned. But money solved everything in their world, and little by little, the family’s resistance crumbled. After one last hate-filled look, they left, accepting the implicit deal Ward had offered them.

Arabella, from the kitchen, watched silently as Ward waved them off without blinking. The contrast between his sincere grief and Ward’s icy pragmatism left her even more empty. She knew that at that moment, any chance of her wedding being delayed or even cancelled was gone. Everything was already underway, and no one—not even the deceased's family—could stop it.

When it was all over, Ward returned to the living room with a calm that bordered on the eerie. As if nothing had happened, he met with some of the organizers to discuss last-minute details, completely ignoring the spectacle that had just taken place.

Arabella slowly got up from the table and left the kitchen, trying not to think too much about what she had just witnessed. She knew that in the Cameron world, feelings always took second place to appearances and power.

The wedding day arrived quicker than Arabella could have imagined. Every step in the organization had passed like a whirlwind, and despite her inner resistance, everything had come together with astonishing precision. The Cameron home was decorated in dazzling fashion, as if the event were a celebration fit for royalty. White flowers hung in every corner, chandeliers sparkled, and the golden light of dusk filtered through the windows, adding an almost ethereal glow to the scene.

Arabella was in her room, surrounded by bridesmaids and stylists, as she prepared for the most important day of her life—or at least, the most forced. Sarah was by her side, adjusting the last details of the dress and making sure her friend didn’t fall apart before the ceremony.

Arabella’s dress was something everyone would talk about. The dress was made of a sheer, almost second-skin-like fabric that hinted at more than it covered, though the lace details gave it an air of elegance, both delicate and sensual. Each thread of lace had been strategically placed to create the illusion that the fabric was gliding smoothly over her figure, covering just enough but still revealing the shape of her body in a subtle way. The plunging neckline at the back and the embroidered details on the long sleeves made the dress sophisticated, yet bold.

The skirt flared slightly as it went down, lending an air of grace to her every move. But the real center of attention was the veil. Long and airy, the veil almost floated behind her, like a cloud of lace that seemed to have no end. It fell from a simple silver tiara that held her hair in loose waves, giving her an angelic appearance, but in her mind, it didn't feel that way at all.

Arabella looked at herself in the mirror, and for a moment she didn't recognize herself. The woman staring back at her was everything the world expected of her: perfect, beautiful, untouchable. But beneath that facade, all she felt was a mix of anguish and resignation. The dress might be the most stunning one she had ever worn, but she couldn't enjoy it knowing what it represented.

"You look gorgeous, Bells," Sarah said, trying to cheer her up as she finished adjusting the veil. "I know it's not what you want most, but at least, today you'll be the most beautiful bride of all."

Arabella gave her a weak smile in gratitude. She knew Sarah was trying to do her best in such a difficult situation, but that didn't ease the weight she felt in her chest. "Thank you, Sar. I really don't know what I would do without you."

The bustle outside intensified as the guests arrived. The murmurs, the sound of musicians tuning their instruments, all blended together in a distant echo as Arabella tried to focus on the present. She knew Rafe was somewhere in the house, probably getting ready as well, though she had no idea how he felt.

As she was being helped into her veil, she heard the door open behind her. Her father entered, dressed impeccably for the occasion. He looked at her with tacit approval in his gaze, as if she were a masterpiece he had created and was now displaying to the world. "You look perfect, daughter. I couldn't have imagined a better match for Rafe."

She swallowed hard, unable to find the words to respond. She didn't want to be the "perfect match," but she knew protesting at that moment wouldn't change anything.

"It's time for us to go downstairs," her father said, offering his arm to walk her to the ceremony site. Arabella took a deep breath and took his arm, feeling like she was giving up a part of herself with every step she took toward the wedding.

The garden where the ceremony would take place was a spectacle in itself. White flowers adorned the entrance arches, and the guests were seated in perfectly aligned rows, all waiting to see the bride. The sun was beginning to set, lighting up the sky with golden and pink hues, adding an almost magical touch to the setting.

In the distance, Arabella saw Rafe waiting for her at the altar, with his usual serious and impenetrable expression. Dressed in an elegant black suit. There was no emotion on his face, as if he were fulfilling one more task, another obligation imposed by his father and by the world around them.

With each step she took towards him, Arabella felt the distance between them grow, not physically, but emotionally. They were both on the verge of joining their lives, but they had never been further from each other. When she finally reached the altar, Rafe offered her his hand without saying a word, and the silence between them was more eloquent than any promise they could exchange.

The ceremony was brief. Arabella could barely process what was happening as the priest spoke the words, whispering the promises she and Rafe were to exchange. Their voices were barely audible, a distant echo amidst the murmur of the crowd. It all felt unreal, as if she were watching her own wedding from outside her body. The cold ring Rafe slipped onto her finger was the only tangible thing amidst the fog clouding her thoughts.

Once the vows were concluded, the guests stood up, applauding with a mix of enthusiasm and protocol, celebrating the union. Fake smiles and gestures were what they had expected of her, and though her stomach was churning, she reciprocated with weak smiles.

The transition to dinner and the party was almost immediate. The organizers moved with precision, guiding the guests towards the large tent decorated with lights and flowers, where the tables were impeccably set. Arabella and Rafe were led to the main table, seated like a royal couple under the watchful gaze of all the attendees. Rafe was at her side, but there was no contact, not even a word. All between them was silence and distance.

The dinner passed in the blink of an eye. Waiters paraded around with carefully prepared dishes, and champagne glasses were raised again and again in endless toasts. Arabella tried to keep her composure, but with each toast, she felt the tension in her chest grow. She knew what was coming next. The dance.

When the time came, the music began to play softly and the lights dimmed. Arabella felt her body tense as Rafe took her by the waist, his cold hands on her body.

The music started, and the two of them moved gracefully, but without a hint of connection. Arabella followed the steps as if it were a memorized choreography, feeling the pressure of each guest's gaze. She knew that everyone present was paying attention to them. Rafe's touch on her skin did not provoke the typical nervousness of a bride at her wedding, but a mixture of resentment and despair.

When the dance finally ended, applause filled the room. Arabella let out a sigh of relief. At least that part was over. But what came next weighed even more on her mind: the wedding night. She couldn't stop thinking about what awaited her at the end of the night, and although she tried to convince herself that everything would pass quickly, fear and uncertainty consumed her.

The party continued, but Arabella barely participated. She smiled when she should have, exchanged a few words with the guests, and accepted compliments about her dress and the beauty of the ceremony, but every minute that passed brought her closer to the inevitable.

Finally, the night came to an end. The guests began to leave, and the Cameron house fell back into a sort of calm after the bustle. Arabella and Rafe were escorted to their new room, a luxuriously decorated suite within the Cameron family home. Everything was perfect in the eyes of others, but to her, the silence of that room felt like a prison.

Arabella sat on the edge of the bed, her dress still clinging to her body, feeling the weight of the moment. She was alone with Rafe, and although they had been cold to each other for weeks, the intimacy that being in that room entailed made her feel even more vulnerable.

Rafe stood near the window, looking out. The silence between them was awkward, but Arabella was too nervous to break it. Finally, it was he who spoke, his voice low and sharp.

“I’m not going to touch you, Arabella,” he said without looking at her.

The words hit her with an unexpected harshness. Arabella felt her body tense, her hands tightening on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t what she had expected to hear, but at the same time, it wasn’t a surprise either. Part of her should have been relieved by Rafe’s confession, by the idea of ​​not having to endure this forced intimacy. But instead of relief, what she felt was something far more painful: rejection.

“I don’t want to make this any harder than it already is. But don’t flatter yourself. This is what it is. A farce,” Rafe continued, his voice laced with contempt.

Arabella swallowed, trying not to show how bad those words made her feel. She was supposed to feel happy that she didn't have to endure a wedding night with a man she didn't want, but instead, Rafe's contempt cut right through her. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at her, that made her feel small, unwanted. For a moment, she wished he had ignored her instead of attacking her so coldly.

Without another word, Rafe left the room, slamming the door shut. Arabella was left alone, sitting on the bed, surrounded by the opulence of the room she now shared with him. The moon shone faintly through the curtains, and the silence grew heavier.

She was supposed to feel relieved, but the opposite was true. She felt an immense emptiness, a loneliness that enveloped her completely. Tears began to fill her eyes, but she refused to cry. This was not the time to show weakness, even though every part of her felt broken.

Arabella slowly stood up, carefully removing her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of lace and silk. She sat on the bed, hugging herself as the chill of the room took over her body. This was not the life she had imagined, and though she had never wanted to be married to Rafe, the feeling of being rejected in such a brutal way hurt her deeply.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Two ships (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Two people who do not understand each other, but keep coming back together. Familiar much? It’s the tale you share with your brother, Daemon.

Warnings: Crybaby! Reader. Medieval punishment for children. Canon character death (Alyssa and Baelor) Sexual thoughts. Prostitution. Mature language. Incest. Fluff.

A/N: In which we explore the complicated dynamics of the sister wife. Requested. We also suscribe to @just-some-random-blogger doctrine about Daemon being a scary unhinged man but soft for the reader.

THE FIRST TIME your brother makes you cry is when you are eight years old. It is, of course, not the first time you tear up because of him. But there is a difference between tearing up because he tugged too hard on your braid, or because he cut your favorite doll’s hair and what he did to you that day.

You shall never forget the reason for your mother’s death, not for the rest of your life. It’s one of those core memories, a truth of the universe. You cannot forget fire burns, you cannot forget water is wet, and you cannot forget your mother is dead because of you. Even if you do not know when you learned those facts, they are still there. Tucked into your mind.

As a child, you used to be quiet. You barely cried, or demanded things of anyone. As the youngest and only girl of the household, you often felt like there was an unbreachable gap between you and your family. And so, you filled your days with your lessons, and behaved well, eager for praise and attention.

Your relationship with your brothers was complicated. Your father was often far away, busy with his important position, so Viserys felt more like a parent than a sibling. The age difference didn’t help things along. While you were still learning how to walk, his betrothal was already negotiated.

Daemon, while much closer in age, is much more distant too. He is mercurial, playing the cruelest tricks on you, but also defending you from other children. Just last week, he had dyed your beloved white dog green, but he had also punched a steward’s son for mocking your braids.

He can never decide if he hates you or loves you. And today, it’s one of the days he hates you. You can’t do anything right, it seems. As you break your fast, with Viserys cutting up your food for you, he calls you a baby. When the Septa comes to get you for your lessons, you are a suck-up. His bad mood escalates during the day, and when your father arrives for lunch and dares ruffle your hair, Daemon doesn't hesitate to call you a cocksucker whore.

For his offense, his mouth is washed with soap. It is not a punishment you have ever endured, because everyone knows ladies don’t get physical punishments, but it looks unpleasant. Whatever cocksucker whore means mustn't be very nice.

By the time his punishment is over, your father is long gone again. He has disappeared into his chambers, and Viserys has been left with the bitter task of reconciling you.

“You will apologize to our sister.” He orders Daemon. “Now.”

“NO!” Daemon shrieks, face blotchy from the humiliation of his mouth being washed with soap. He has not shed a single tear, which you find admirable despite yourself. The taste alone would make you gag, and that is without including the humiliation of a servant holding you while Viserys does the deed.

You feel awkward at the thought. Something doesn’t sit right with the thought of such a thing being a punishment, but you do not dare voice it. You simply sit in the chair Viserys has pulled for you and kick your feet. It soothes you slightly.

“Take it back, Daemon or so help me the Seven…”

“I will not take it back!” Daemon screams, pushing at Viserys. “She is a little whore! She has you all wrapped around her little finger, and now you will send me away…”

“Daemon.” Viserys grabs his wrists, in warning. With several years and a growth spurt on his side, he manages to subdue him easily. You worry that will not be the case for much longer. Daemon looks very different from your peaceful Viserys, shoulders broader, hands a bit bigger. In a few years, he will become a fearsome warrior, and Viserys will still be your bookish older brother.

“Why do I have to go squire for some stupid lord, anyway? We are the blood of the dragon! We do not need those fools.” At this new information, you frown. You clutch your doll more tightly. No one had informed you Daemon had to go squire away from Viserys and you.

“Fostering is important. It helps us form bonds with other houses.” Viserys explains, with the patience of someone who has had this argument already. You tug on your doll, feeling sadder by the minute. Everyone knew but you?

“Why don’t we send her away?” Daemon points at you, and a sudden wave of fear hits you. Viserys can’t agree with him. You cannot leave. Your panic almost makes you miss his next words. “She is the reason mother is dead. I hate her.”

And the world stops for a second. The argument goes on, Viserys screaming at Daemon, but you are still stuck there. Your ears begin to ring, so you press your hands tightly to them and shake your head.

By the Seven, Daemon is right, you realize with growing horror. Your father and Septa always told you your mother had died the way you were born, from the difficult birth. Tears begin to fall down your face, but you barely notice them. It feels like you are choking.

In your childish mind, the death of your mother in childbirth, and your birth had never been connected. You never thought it had been your fault. But Daemon was right. She was dead because she had birthed you. It was your birth that killed her.

Her death was your fault. You killed her.

No. No. It can’t be right.

“That is not true.” You turn to Viserys, uncaring they have long since moved on with the argument. He has always protected you and reassured you. Even takes care to get rid of the monsters beneath your bed every night. He will fix it. “Brother, he is lying again!”

Viserys makes a strange face. A cross between a grimace and a frown. He doesn’t refute it, nor tries to comfort you.

“It’s the truth.” Daemon smiles, with the smugness of someone who has delivered a killing blow. He advances, his eleven-year-old body seeming larger than life to you, and pokes a finger in your sternum. “You killed her.”

It feels like a rug has been pulled from under your feet. You stumble back. It’s all your fault. Your mother is dead, and your father is never home, haunted by the memory of his wife, because of you. Daemon and Viserys lost their mother, because of you.

You killed her. You killed her. You killed her. The world looks the same around you, despite the revelation, and you wonder if it is so because everyone knew but you. Is it why Daemon doesn’t love you? Why father is never around?

A sob makes its way out of your throat, and then another. And another. Soon, you are bawling like a dying animal, and feel like it too. You cry so much, your little heart feels like it will jump out of your chest and you will die. You cannot breathe, choking in your own snot and tears, and panic makes you nauseous.

Never in your life had you ever cried so. A nervous fit, the Maester will call it later, after you puke your lunch and stop making heaving noises like you are lacking air. One caused by extreme distress. Daemon will be standing guard at the foot of your bed when you come to be again. They had ended up having to give you three drops of Milk of the Poppy to calm you down.

It doesn’t happen again, and you barely remember it when you grow up. But Daemon never forgets it.

CRYING IS A weakness that cannot be tolerated. The three of you had been born dragons, but sometimes Daemon doubted Viserys and you had as much fire in your veins as he did.

Said doubt intensifies when he finds you crying in the gardens. Daemon has never been fond of crying women. He is not an empathetic man, and has a tendency to think he is surrounded by fools. Such a character trait doesn’t lend itself to soothing crying maidens. At least, not sincerely.

If he wants to bed the chit, Daemon can pretend like the best mummer. It’s not hard at all to fool highborn maidens into thinking he shares something special with them, convincing them that the pain won’t last, that it will start to feel good soon. When it comes to you, though, the problems start.

You are not a common whore, like most women at court. As a daughter of House Targaryen, you are closer to a goddess than a woman. Fooling a goddess is no easy task, much less when the goddess knows you so well.

His usual tricks do not work. When Daemon tries to apply faux pity, and forced pleasantries, you see right through him. It’s not because you are particularly cunning, but rather the fact that you have a long memory.

Long enough to remember all the pranks and fun he had had at your expense when the two of you were children. With how much Daemon tortured you, it’s no wonder you prefer Viserys.

Daemon never meant to be as nasty to you as he had been. He coveted the attention Viserys paid you, as the youngest in the family. He disliked how everyone fawned over you, how his mother had died, and his father had left, and all they had gotten in exchange was you.

Another part of Daemon simply enjoyed mischief. Causing chaos for chaos’s sake. Like any young boy, he had fun playing tricks on others. The disdain he felt for you had made you into the ideal target.

When the years began to pass, Daemon had noticed you were flourishing into a beautiful maiden. Targaryen custom dictated you were meant to be his, since you were too young to be Viserys’. There was no point in fixing your relationship, or trying to win you over like he did with the other maidens. You were a given thing. No matter your shared past, you would have to marry him.

It’s only the fact that you are embarrassing the family name that prompts him to approach you in the gardens. He has no intention of comforting you. It’s not like he cares that you are crying. Really. How ridiculous.

“What happened to you?” Daemon asks, sitting next to you. “Princess shouldn’t cry.”

It is quite recent, of course. Viserys' ascension to the throne has not actually yet occurred, but the succession issue has been settled in their favor. Daemon had gathered a small force of loyal men that hadn’t been necessary in the end, but Viserys said his first act as King would be rewarding him from his loyalty.

He knows what he will ask for already. Marriage. His grandmother had tried to marry him to a Vale woman, but the idea had ended up being discarded because Viserys’ own match ensured the allegiance of that kingdom. Daemon wanted to have his Valyrian bride before anyone, especially the Hightower cunt, got any ideas.

“Nothing.” You wipe your tears away, angrily. You scoot your cute little rear towards the edge of the tree you are sitting under. As far as you can go without losing the spot of shade.

Daemon sighs. He is used to you being difficult, but it would soon change. You would be informed of your duty and behave in a manner befitting your position in life soon enough.

“Do I need to protect your honor?” The very thought unsettles him. Three years his younger, you are still barely a maiden in his eyes. A pure, unspoiled being. The idea of someone else corrupting your innocence, something that is meant to be his, is infuriating. Daemon hates when other people touch what is his.

If anyone will corrupt you, it’s him.

You laugh, bitterly.

“If only!”

“What do you mean?” Your statement has clarified nothing. He feels more confused than before. Perhaps, you have a secret lover who refuses to take your maidenhead? Or are you suffering from unrequited love? But when? With whom? You spend nearly all your time in the library, pouring over dusty books, or on dragonback. Not much time for entertaining suitors.

You stay quiet. There is a strange expression on your face, a mix of embarrassment and sadness.

“Hāedus.” Daemon prompts, gently tugging on your braid.

“Some ladies Aemma brought were talking about knights, and kissing…” You get a fit of hiccups and nearly choke, so Daemon is forced to wipe the snot from your nose so you don’t suffocate to death. Let it not be said he is a bad brother. “They laughed at me!”

“They laughed at you?” How dare them. Only Daemon was allowed the honor of your tears. You were too important.

“No one asked to dance with me at the feast! And no knight has ever kissed me.” You pout, about to go into hysterics again. “Ever.”

“Doña hāedus…” Daemon wipes your tears, fighting his smile. He has an inkling you wouldn’t think it funny. “You shouldn’t listen to them. You are a Princess, the blood of the dragon. They are just sheep.”

You pout more. Daemon hurries to comfort you. Oddly, he dislikes seeing tears on your face. It must be because you are in public. As a Princess and his future wife, your actions reflect on House Targaryen.

“Ugly sheep. In fact, the actual sheep in the Vale are prettier.”

“But knights have kissed them! And they get asked to dance, and to walk in the gardens, and…”

Daemon raises his hand.

“Knights would kiss you too if they could. But you are too superior to them. They wouldn’t dare.” Or they would meet Dark Sister. All your first should be his. “It’s excellent that you have not sullied yourself with just any knight who looks at you.”

“But I am getting old.”

You are about to cry again. Your female vanity must be hurt, thinking yourself unwanted. Daemon will never understand caring about what others think of him. Dragons shouldn’t concern themselves with the opinion of the sheep.

But there is something about you, the soft little Princess who crumbles up completely when someone is mean to her, that tugs at his heartstrings.

It is why he leans in and captures your mouth with his. You taste like innocence and salt, melting on his tongue. It’s not Daemon’s first kiss, but it feels like it. There is a tug deep inside of him, a strange yearning on his chest, that has not been present when he has kissed other women. Not even maidens.

Cloyingly sweet, dripping on his tongue like the most enticing potion. His. Never has he experienced this before. Daemon wants to drown on it, drown in you. But before he has a chance, you give him a shove and run as fast as you can.

And he stands there, as if struck by lighting, pinned down by the unmeasurable realization that this is love. Love, in its purest form, for his soon-to-be sister wife. It leaves him dazed, confused, rooted to the spot. Utterly out of control.

“DID YOU HEAR?” The serving girl whispers loudly, her voice carrying through the corridor. Night has fallen already, and you pour over a heavy tome on constellations while sitting in one of the windowsills of the Red Keep. It is the best time to put your new knowledge into practice, but the constant chattering of the maids interrupts you.

You close your book, hesitating between scolding them and sending them away, or waiting for them to leave on their own. Scolding them feels unkind. It’s late enough for them to no longer be on duty, and there is no harm in what they are doing. This corridor is a heavily transited one.

Perhaps you should move to your rooms. But you do not have a balcony, and the view from your windowsill it’s quite limited. As you ponder on it, something they say catches your attention.

“And they say the Prince asked for a blonde girl. A maiden.” The Prince. Daemon! You have not seen hide nor hair of your older brother since he stole your first kiss. In fact, you have been avoiding him.

As children, he had played plenty of nasty tricks on you. Once, in a fit of temper, he had beheaded all your dolls and hanged their little heads from a window. But adulthood had mellowed him out. Or so you thought.

The worst thing wasn’t that Daemon stole your first kiss. It was that you enjoyed it.

“No!” The other girl sounds scandalized.

“Yes. And that is not all. He took her roughly, and was kicked out before even…”

Took a whore roughly? You knew he whored around, but hurting whores was a new low. You weren’t too approving of his behavior, but whoring was normal for young lords. Everyone knew they did it, even the most pious ones. Hurting them, though? It was no better than being a rapist.

The other girl lets out a gasp, but she sounds more delighted by the gossip than anything else.

“Imagine how rough it had to be for them to kick him out.”

“I would say plenty. Poor girl.”

“He is out again, is he not?”

“Every night, like clockwork. Something has roused his appetite, it seems. He used to whore, but not…”

Their scandalized voices drift down the corridor, and you think the rumor must be wrong. Daemon wouldn’t hurt anyone. Sure, he whored around, and took plenty of maidenheads, but your brother wasn’t cruel.

Was he?

He had stolen your first kiss. Beyond the softness and the sweetness of the kiss, Daemon had ruined a moment that was meant to be special. Now, it was forever tainted with the memory of being made a mockery of. Not only by those girls, but him too.

There was a difference between stealing a kiss and hurting whores, though. Much more, when it came to hurting them seriously enough to be kicked out of the pleasure house.

Was it your fault? Had he discovered with you he enjoyed taking from women by force? Was he taking out his anger with you on them? The maid had said the girl was blonde. Perhaps Valyrian blonde.

You needed to know. You ran to your rooms and got your black cloak, set on finding him.

Finding Daemon was no easy task. You made it to the city on foot, but once there, you had trouble locating the pleasure houses. There was no sign outwardly pointing to them, but you managed to get to Flea Bottom without getting mugged. Or at least, this looked like what you thought Flea Bottom looked like.

The streets were dirtier, the crowd rougher and drunker. There were people sleeping on the floor, no Sept in sight. This was a place far away from the Gods. The few Goldcloaks patrolling seemed uninterested in actually preventing crime.

You made sure to walk with purpose, afraid of being stopped if you looked like you were out of place. The streets were badly lit, and you could barely tell apart one alley from another.

A sudden tune caught your attention. A woman was singing in a tongue you didn’t recognize. You decided to follow her voice, but before you could do so, someone blocked your path.

“… A dragon for half an hour.” It was a woman. Her hair was dark and hanging limp around her face. She swayed as she walked. “My prince, I will let you choke me.”

You made a face, realizing a strand of your silver hair was peeking on the edge of your hood. She thought you were Daemon, you realized. Both your brother and you kept your hair long, and in the darkness of the alley, with your hood up, you may have looked alike. Was she a whore?

“I’ll let you. A dragon, please, I need to feed my children.”

Children. She had babes. You imagined them, tucked in their beds, wondering where their mother had gone. What if something happened to her? If the children had a present father, he would provide for them, and she wouldn’t be here. It was how the world worked. She must be alone with the babes.

You reached inside your cloak, and pulled out a gold dragon. There was an odd sort of pity building inside you. You imagined yourself, offering up your body to strangers to feed your children, and your heart shattered into little pieces.

You had never questioned the role of whores. They were sullied women, but they served a purpose. Entertain the men so they didn’t hurt others. Tend to their baser needs. It didn’t feel so clear-cut as you avoided the woman, in fear she might attempt to service you.

The voice sounded louder, so you ducked into the next alleyway. It was then you saw them.

The woman singing was sitting at the entrance of a small house. She was scantily clad, as were the surrounding women. But there was only one of them who caught your attention.

She was tall and willowy, with long limbs. There was a haunting elegance to her that looked out of place in the Street of Silk. Her blonde hair was long, and in the right light, could be mistaken for silver. It cascaded down her shoulders. Her face was eerily similar to your own. She was tragically beautiful, stricken by some unseen grief.

Sitting down and clapping along to the song, she looked as if she was praying. There was a dark stain on her neck, cleverly hidden by her hair. The closer you looked, the more it seemed like a bite mark. Not just any bite. A vicious one.

You gasped, hands coming to your mouth to muffle the sound. Whores had never been of concern to you, but now you were seeing their reality, and it was heartbreaking. The thought of women in brothels, in cages, as pleasure slaves, made you want to weep.

Women like you. That she wore your face was even more jarring.

WHEN CARAXES HAD been born, he had not done so alone. Out of the ether, his sister had come, hands linked with his. Meraxes, goddess of the sky, an eternity doomed to hold to her sibling. Caraxes only reflected his twin’s colors, gazing up at her as the flowers did the sun.

It was said that they met only once a day, thanks to the mercy of Gaelithox, who allowed the twins to embrace every sunset. It was the reason Meraxes hated him. He held on to her too strong, and prevented her from embracing the one who she truly loved. He invaded even her reflection, seeking to make himself a part of her, even invading her sacred reflection in the waters of her twin.

The story was always one of your favorites. You begged Viserys every night to tell it to you, sickening Daemon with your romantic tales. He isn’t sure why he is reminded of it today, of all days.

Foreboding, he will think later, when the storm has passed. But now, he chooses to focus on the coronation taking place in front of him, and bask in their triumph.

“Kings reward loyalty.” Viserys says, after the crown is placed on his head by a proud Aemma. “And my first act will be rewarding those that stood by my side.”

Daemon and you are kneeling, the first among the crowd. The first to take a knee to their King. There is a strange feeling in his throat, and he fights the urge to cry. Daemon has always considered tears a weakness, but the moment is so perfect, so magical, he feels the urge to do so.

Men don’t cry. Instead, they take big breaths, and savor their victory. Viserys on the Iron Throne, and Daemon about to be given your hand. All they have ever wanted, now ripe for the taking.

“Brother, please rise.” Viserys' voice is clear and loud. Daemon does so, pleased by the honor of being the first to rise in front of the masses. They had talked about it, of putting up a show for their political enemies, but Daemon had never expected Viserys to grant him honors before any other of his advisors. “Your diplomatic and martial skills were essential to securing my claim. As a reward, I give to you our sister’s hand, and name you my heir. May the two of you have a fruitful union and make House Targaryen proud.”

And when he turns to you, with a smile on his face, he realizes why he remembered the story of Caraxes and Meraxes.

Your beautiful, purple eyes, are wet with tears. You remain on bent knee, frozen.

Daemon pulls you up with the utmost tenderness, one reserved for family alone. The hand on your elbow seems to shake you out of your stupor.

“Thank you, my King.” Your voice trembles, but you speak the words dutifully. You know as well as him that this is Viserys’ day. Everything has to go perfectly. There can’t be any hint of division between the three of you, not when the rallying cry for Viserys had been that he was bringing back the three heads of the dragon.

Three siblings. Three dragonriders. Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys.

“It is a great honor.” Daemon adds, tightening his grip on your arm. You look ready to bolt, and he is tasked with reminding you that you can’t.

A silent tear travels down your cheek. With your back to the crowd, no one but Viserys and Daemon can see it. Viserys gives him a long look, pleading him to do something. Neither of them had been expecting your reaction.

They had thought you would settle well into your duty. That marriage would give you a stable tether, a shield for your fragile soul. Viserys had chosen Daemon for the honor, had given you to him to care and protect.

But you seem even more scared that you were before. How wrong had they been.

“We are very excited.” Daemon hugs you to him, fighting to keep his composure. Your rejection stings, and he wants to rage, but he can’t. Because you are in public, and House Targaryen doesn’t air their dirty laundry in front of witnesses, but more importantly because your dam is breaking. You let out a little sob, and Daemon has to embrace you fully to prevent you from falling apart.

Fools that they are, the rest of the courtiers mistake it for a sound of joy. What else could you want? To marry the King’s heir, a Valyrian husband who can give you pure Valyrian babes.

“Good.” Viserys smiles, a bit strained. You take a shuddery breath, and straighten up under his arm. Daemon can practically feel the change, from scared girl, to experienced courtier. You know as well as he does the importance of presenting a united front.

You smile. It’s as fake as the silks whores wear, when pretending to be a Targaryen Princess. To the inexperienced masses, it tears all the same.

“How joyful days come ahead. Long live the King!”

You open your arms, the picture of the hopeful bride. The smile threatens to crack your face in two. The crowd cheers. A royal wedding is always something to admire, and there is no better way of celebrating a coronation than with one.

The hour is late when Daemon finally manages to catch Viserys alone. You have gone straight to your rooms after the feast, sulking. Aemma has been sat outside your door for hours by now, trying to coax you out like one would do to a skittish cat. Her talks of duty and royal wombs only got her a pillow to the face for her efforts.

Daemon and Viserys, much more used to your moods, hadn’t bothered. You were angry, but not hysterical. Both often manifested in tears in your case. Only one could prove lethal.

“I do not understand.” Viserys frowns. “What more can she want? The two of you will get Dragonstone, for a few years at least, and when I have an heir, you will not be kicked out. You are family.”

“I do not understand it either.” Underneath the simmering rage Daemon feels, there is only confusion. He is a knight, and has proven his skills sufficiently enough to be awarded Dark Sister. He is of an equal standing to you, a Prince to a Princess. He loves you so deeply it scares him.

The Seven know he has tried to get you out of his head through every means possible. He has deflowered more maidens that he can count this week alone, his cock is chafed raw, and yet, no matter how beautiful they are, your face still haunts him. It’s your name on his lips when he comes, and your body he pictures under him. The whores are never right. Their hair is the wrong shade, they are too thin or too fat, their tears taste of iron instead of your sweet salt.

You should not think it is a bad thing. Women love that sort of thing, leading men by their cocks, getting them so cuntstruck they cannot see straight. You should love it too because it is a weakness to him, but a power you can wield. And yet, you hate it. You had run.

“I cannot go back on my word now.” Viserys reaches for his cup of wine. He knows that his reign is still fragile, and if his lords see his sister defying him, they might get ideas. “She has to marry someone, and with her delicate constitution, I cannot in good conscience…”

“Handing her to a stranger is a bad idea.” Daemon agrees, not out of some selfish motivation, but because he knows it’s the truth. You have always been far more delicate than most ladies, with your books and silly ideas about the role women should play. Had you not been so closely tied to Viserys, you may have even supported Rhaenys.

If Viserys was Aegon, you were Rhaenys. The sensitive little sister, loved because of her innocence and kindness. You never tried to push your strange ideas, after all. You just looked like a kicked puppy when contradicted.

Any other man would crush you at the first hint of defiance. Daemon, used to you as he was, knew rage was futile. If you wouldn’t settle in your duties easily, he had to take action and ensure you did through other means.

Gentler means. Daemon still remembered the fits you used to have when little. Viserys did too. Neither wanted a repetition.

“I have thought about it, and you should forgo the bedding.”

“I agree. It might make her sick.” Sick is the euphemism they use for your fits when there are prying ears. Daemon gives a pointed glance at the guards. Viserys drops the topic after that.

Almost against his will, when the embers of the fire they sit in front of die, Daemon goes to your rooms. He isn’t really thinking, when he walks down the hallways that lead to your chambers instead of his. Nor is he thinking when he dismisses your guards, and opens your door.

You are laying on your side, a pillow held to your thighs. Your hands are made into fists over them, as if you had fallen asleep in your rage still. Despite it, your face is peaceful, with only dried tear tracks to disturb your childish expression.

Your body is curled into itself, tightly. You must be cold, Daemon thinks, and takes of his cloak to lay it over your form.

In dreams, you smile. And Daemon understands that he is no Gaelithox. There was a reason Caraxes and Meraxes were only allowed to embrace once a day, after all.

HORROR AND RAGE are not emotions that lend itself to permanence. At least, not in you. Not when it comes to him.

Not when he plays such strange game, and gets you strange prizes. Daemon has not asked for his cloak back. You have taken to sleeping wrapped up underneath it.

How can a man capable of such cruelty be capable of such tenderness? Confusion means ignorance, and ignorance breeds fear. You have known Daemon all your life, but you are still unable to understand him.

The only certainty you have is that when he is near, your rationality flies out of the window. It’s all instinctual. To fight, to fuck, to fucking fight.

The sleep of reason produces monsters. Monsters that take hold of your heart and squeeze it, until it is no more than liquid and pulp. Did he hurt that woman? Will he hurt you? Love you?

Daemon had stolen your first kiss. Daemon had gotten kicked out of a brothel. There was a girl in the Street of Silk with a bite mark on her neck. He had visited you the night of your betrothal and tucked you in.

It might mean nothing. It might mean everything. Whichever it is, you have no time to come to terms with it. Viserys wishes for the two of you to be married by the end of this moon. It makes you feel even more blindsided and betrayed.

None of them had thought to ask you before deciding. They had just done so.

The idea of marrying your brother wasn’t what came as a great shock. As a child, you had often daydreamed of honoring your ancestors and becoming your brother’s wife. It was the way things should be. But you had always thought you would marry Viserys.

When Viserys married Aemma, you thought you would marry someone outside your household. Daemon and you were clearly ill-suited, even before everything that had happened between the two of you.

Betrothing the two of you would be madness. You had never understood each other in the manner Viserys and him did. You were an outsider to their relationship, the other head of the dragon. Rhaenys to her conquerors.

But inexplicably, Viserys had done so. Being betrothed to him without even being asked about it stung. No one had thought to warn you, or ask for your opinion. They had simply announced it to court and hoped you would comply.

The feeling of betrayal had only mellowed out after asking Viserys his reasoning. He hadn’t been trying to blindside you, he had explained. He had thought you would be happy. Both Daemon and you yearned for Valyrian partners. It made sense to betroth the two of you, especially because Daemon had asked to marry soon.

Your brothers were just dumb. But their foolishness was a dangerous one, since they rode the two biggest dragons of your generation and sat on the Iron Throne. Common fools could undo the damage they caused.

But in your case, there was no way out but through. Viserys had begged you to give Daemon a chance, and so, you found yourself preparing for meeting him.

Viserys had chosen the place the two of you would meet. The Godswood was neutral territory, and far away from the castle that if you started shouting insults at each other, only the Kingsguard shadowing you would hear.

It only made you dread the encounter further. You had taken a liking to the Godswood, and were contemplating using it as a hideaway for when things at court got to be too much. If this went wrong, it would forever taint the place for you.

You decide to arrive early, to allow yourself some time to compose yourself. Daemon beats you to it, already waiting near a tree when you get there.

“Hāedus,” Daemon says, when he sees you. In a show of rebellion, you have decided to wear your more modest gown, with a neckline that nearly reaches your ears. Aemma had encouraged you to wear something more revealing, but you wanted to strangle the cow. “You look lovely.”

“Lēkia.” You press a kiss to his cheek, unsure if you should greet him like you always do, or the betrothal has changed the protocol. Kissing his cheek as you always do seems safer, but you regret it when his eyes flutter closed at your touch.

He is acting odder than usual. In an increasingly out-of-character charm offensive, he takes off his cloak and places it on the grass.

“So you may sit.” His tone is too formal. It makes you even more wary, but you sit. Daemon does the same, by your side. So close, you end up frowning more.

He leans in. His lips brush the shell of your ear.

“Despite my struggles, I have come to admire you.” Daemon noses along the hair right above your ear. “Rationality has left me, and no matter how hard I try, you haunt me at every corner, every hallway, every street of this damned city.”

“What am I supposed to say?” You complain, with a frown. You push him a little, to be able to meet his eyes.“I am well aware of your attempts at forgetting. Valyrian whores, Daemon? Really?”

“It was all in vain.” He pulls you back in, embracing you. His hands are warm around your stomach, his lips chafed against the skin of your neck. “Let me take down your hair.”

Your eyebrows raise. Out of all things he can ask for, this is the weirdest one. His petition is so simple and innocent, you almost think he is not Daemon.

“Let me take down your hair.” Daemon begs. The ardent tone in his voices surprises you. He sounds like a man possessed. As if he cannot survive if you deny him. “Hāedus...”

This devotion, this unexpected fit of love, surprises you. So much, you find yourself nodding.

You feel his chest contract with his sudden inhale. His hands are careful as they unmake your braid. His touch so tender, even the most delicate hairdresser would envy it. But when your hair falls down your back, in mussed tendrils, he shows himself to be Daemon.

His nose presses to your temple, breathing you in. His fingers run through your hair, and he presses feverish kisses to your scalp, your jaw, your ear. Licks the sweat behind it, samples your earlobe with his teeth.

Teeth. It makes you tense. You think of the girl in Flea Bottom, of the bite over her throat.

“I can’t stop thinking of you. You appear before me in the darkest corners, and in the brightest meadows.” Daemon inhales, hands grasping your waist tightly. “When I squired, away from home, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I didn’t know it was love then, but I have loved you since before I knew what the word meant. I fucked the tightest cunts of Westeros, sampled the prettiest maidens, and yet it is your face that I imagine when tugging at my cock.”

Something inside you snaps. Among the righteous indignation, a strange satisfaction takes place. You shove him off you.

“Don’t be crass!”

Daemon doesn’t attempt to embrace you again, but remains unbearably close. Your eyes drift to his lips. You would love him even if he were the one who mauled the whore. You would love him even if he did it to you. Because of it, perhaps.

“I want you to be mine. Put me out of my misery.” Daemon begs, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Marry me, and end my suffering.”

“You frighten me.” You whisper, without quite meaning to.

“Do you fear I will hurt you?” Daemon asks you, voice very gentle.

You avert your eyes. It’s not that what you fear. It’s how out of control you are when it comes to him.

“I would never.” He vows, leaning in. His lips brush against yours, before Daemon presses his forehead to yours. He looks into your eyes, and smiles. “Do you remember the last time we kissed?”

“Of course I do, you idiot.” You scowl at the memory. “You stole…”

“No. You were crying because no knight…” He gets up, and begins to tug you to your feet. You remain sitting. “Oh, get up, you stubborn thing.”

“Daemon!” You complain, but get up. He stands a few feet away from you. Curious about the point he intends to make, you cross your arms over your chest and glare.

He offers you his hand, as if to dance. You take it, eyes full of distrust.

“I have been a cunt. But you have to stop running.” Daemon circles you, pulling on your hand slightly. Is he…? Your confusion must show on your face because he gives you a mocking glance. “To dance from afar is not to dance.”

“What do you mean?”

“You might as well be in Essos.” Daemon keeps circling you. “Let us dance properly, for once.”

“Here? Dance?” There is no music. And your brother has never been one for bursting into spontaneous song and dance. At least, you don’t think so.

“Together. You wanted knights to ask you to.” Daemon pulls you close, into a hug, and the puzzle pieces finally fit. The day he had kissed you, you had been crying because no one had asked you to dance. That Daemon remembers the reason when you had nearly forgotten it yourself astonishes you. “Now a Prince asks you. Do not make me ask twice, please.”

“Let us try. To dance as if glued by fire. Let me prove I can be good to you. That I listen to you. ”

And it’s stupid. It’s silly, there is not even music. But you let him pull you in, this time, and realize Daemon has always been capable of tenderness. At least, when it comes to you.

[mirrology]

Can I ask a boothill with an adopted child/teen reader that's hps (hyper sensitive) and also has parental trauma

(You don't have to do this if you feel uncomfortable 🐧)

ノstar .ᐟ ʚɞ

୨୧ No matter that love's gone, We just see it shining. We've traveled very far, I'll keep a leftover light burning. So you can keep looking up, Isn't that worth holding on? — star, mitski.

boothill & gender neutral reader. platonic | wc: 1.6k

tags/warnings: decided to go with hc's for this one since I didn't know how to write it in fic format T_T. teen reader, reader is a galaxy ranger and really well versed in technology. they can fight pretty well, reader also hates the ipc. boothill is a bad influence. mentioned child abuse, child neglect, reader has a "mom" and acts a little like blade when near her, erm character death (not reader or boothill)

notes: aaaa sorry that this is so late! Hopefully, this is what you meant by "hypersensitive." If not, then just let me know, and I'll change it, ALSO HAPPY PRIDE MONTH

— The two of you met when you were beating up some IPC goons on a planet that they had recently wanted to take over. You had been there gathering materials to set sail to your next destination, you were on the hunt for a certain IPC employee. One who you once knew.

— You couldn't just stand back and watch those IPC scum send that planet into spiraling chaos. So, of course, you beat them up without breaking a sweat. That's where Boothill had found you, he was impressed that someone so young had such skill in combat.

↳ You huffed as the remaining IPC personnel ran away with their tails between their legs. A slow sound of applause came from behind you, causing you to turn around, a deadpan evident on your face. You were met with a man with dual colored hair and what seemed to be a metal body, “I'm not gonna lie, you've got skills, kid.” He had said, a smirk on his face.

— Once the both of you got to talking, he found out you were also a galaxy ranger and that you also absolutely hated the IPC, you both really had many things in common. You had asked him for help in getting to your destination and he agreed pretty easily, claiming that he had “some time to spare”

— Although you had spent little time together, you felt comfortable around him, he never pushed your boundaries or forced you to do things you didn't want to. Boothill’s vocabulary surprised you, instead of cursing normally his words were censored. You would have offered to try to fix his synesthesia beacon, but just the thought of touching someone made your skin crawl. The ghostly touches of people who you once considered family etched onto your skin.

— Once it came to part ways, you didn't want to do so. You shyly admitted to Boothill that the thought of not seeing him scared you a tad bit. He looked surprised but then gave you a bright smile and told you that you could join him on his adventures, and so a strong bond between the both of you was born.

— When Boothill infiltrated the IPC headquarters you're the one who hacked into their system. With your experience, it was relatively easy, although Boothill would not let you go inside with him. He couldn't risk putting you in danger, even though he knows you can put up a fight.

— When the both of you escaped the headquarters after causing absolute chaos, Boothill brought his hand up to your head as he tried to ruffle your hair. He was surprised and slightly hurt when you tensed up and quickly moved out of the way.

— Boothill thought he had made you scared of him somehow, even though you had no reason to be afraid. You noticed his downcast expression and you quickly told him that he did nothing wrong, it was just…

↳ Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands were sweating. You reached up and gripped a strand of your hair in your hand as a sheepish expression painted your face. “I'm not the best with physical touch,” You blurted out, albeit bluntly. “Whenever someone touches me — even if it's just a brush of their fingers, it feels like needles are being stuck into my skin” You huffed, clenching your fist and your eyes downcast. Boothill's expression softened, his once frown lifting into an understanding smile. “Thanks for telling me, bud.” He nodded, his fingers twitching at his side, as if wanting to reach out to you. Yet he respected your space and refrained from doing so.

— Now that Boothill knew about your hypersensitivity he made no attempts to touch you, preferring to give you gifts instead. Whenever you do something that makes him proud as a father would a child; he takes you out to get your favorite food as a treat. Of course verbal encouragement is also a thing he does, giving you a “I'm proud of ya’ kid!” and a pointy grin.

— It's canon Boothill is pretty wealthy from all of those bounties that he hunts and he doesn't exactly know what to do with it. So he definitely spoils you at every chance he gets. Want a nice Keychain you saw in a shop? He's handing it to you right now. How about a nice piece of clothing or a cultural food from the planet that you're visiting? He's got the clothing in a bag and is urging you to try the food.

— Even though you both have your moments of happiness, the both of you still have purposes you stick to. You had gotten a lead on where that person was and you were going to do everything to catch up to them and make them get what they deserved.

↳ “You.” You hissed walking towards the woman in an IPC uniform, kicking another unconscious employee away. You gripped your weapon tightly in your hand, the woman widened her eyes in terror at your sudden appearance, she fell on her bottom, scooting away from you as you approached her. As she backed away she didn't go far, her back hitting a wall not too long after. Your unhurried footsteps resonated through her ears, making her breath pick up as she clutched the dirt underneath her in an attempt to ground herself.

You stopped in front of her, eyes full of unbridled anger. “(N-name)?!” She squeaked, putting a hand out infront of her to reach out to you. “What are.. how are you-” She was cut off as the back of your weapon slapped her intruding hand away. “You don't get to say my name.” You glared at her, your tone icy cold and unforgiving. She tried to speak once more but was once again cut off, “You left me to die! If it wasn't for my quick thinking, I would have been dead by now!” You said in a firm tone and pointed your weapon straight at her, leaving her no room to move or else you would attack.

The woman tensed up and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her cheek, “Honey… I had no choice! You would only weigh me down, you have to understand!” She had the gall to call you “honey” this woman no longer had the honor of doing so. The words stung, even though you no longer felt any affection for her… they brought back memories that you would rather forget. You clenched your teeth and watched as she rambled on and on about how “it was for your own good” and that “you should try to understand her situation” before she would get another word out, you sound your weapon, officially slicing her throat.

The blood splattered onto your stoic face, you watch as she choked on her own blood, eyes wide and filled with panic as if her life was flashing before her eyes… you hope it hurts.

A set of footsteps came from behind you, judging by the jingling of metal and their heavy footsteps you could tell who it was. You reluctantly turned around to meet Boothill's concerned gaze, “Er.. ya’ okay kiddo?” He scratched the side of his face as he pointed out the tears that prickled at the corner of your eyes. You stared at the ground and slowly nodded “I don't entirely hate her, but she didn't deserve to know that… even in her last moment” You muttered as more salty tears filled your vision.

— You and Boothill headed back to your ship, all while you were still occasionally shedding tears. Boothill, seeing the state you were in, offered you a warm, fluffy blanket and a warm drink; hot chocolate.

↳ You sniffled and held the blanket that was over your shoulders to your chest. You were sat on a cushion on the floor of yours and Boothill’s ship, knees tucked towards your chest in an attempt to stop yourself from crying. “Heya kiddo, I got ya’ some hot chocolate…” Boohill plopped down next to you on a matching cushion and held out the mug that was in his robotic hand. His hand was placed below the mug so when you reached to get it, you both wouldn't accidentally brush fingers.

The both of you sat in a pregnant silence and you occasionally sipping on the warm drink provided to you. Boothill stared at you from the corner of his eye, your gaze was focused on the window, giving you the view of the vast space. “She was my mother, you know” You suddenly broke the silence with your blunt words, Boothill’s eyes widened a significant amount, yet you continued.

“Even though she claimed to love me, her actions hurt and her words even more.” You put your mug down beside you and snuggled further into the blanket. The cyborg's face softened into something different, almost sad, distraught. His teeth clenched in anger at the thought of you being hurt by that woman, something ugly bloomed in his mechanical chest.

“But now she's gone,” Boothill started, making you turn your head to look at him with a surprised expression. “She can't hurt you anymore nor anyone, not when I'm around” He grinned, his shark-like teeth out on display. Something in your chest felt warm, it was different but not unpleasant. You offered Boothill a small smile then took a deep breath and raised your pinky up, “Pinky promise?” your voice a bit shaky, but your eyes were filled with determination.

Boothill slowly brought his pinky up, gently intertwining it with yours. They were barely touching but it was progress, “Promise.” The cyborg nodded firmly.

Tears pricked at you eyes, not in sadness nor anger, but relief.

“Thank you.”

[reareaotaku]

Yandere Leon Kennedy Headcanons

Tw: Paranoia

[Been getting really into Resident Evil (Mainly 4, 7, 8) & Resident Lover]

⚔️ He first met you when you were trapped in a cult town that was injecting people with parasites. You begged him to help you. You didn't want to die- Not like everyone you loved did. He's pretty reluctant at first, but he also has a savior complex, so he does help you.

⚔️ You are a little scared, because you don't have anywhere to go. This is the only home you have ever known, but you can't stay. You're fear is dwelled when he promises that he the people he works for will help you.

⚔️ You prove yourself valuable though, when you showed him you know how to use a knife and a gun. You two made quite the team when you were able to take out the people when they tried attacking him from behind.

⚔️ You told him your father used to take you hunting because he had no son, so you learned how to use a weapon.

⚔️ He's not going to lie, he does become slightly attached to you. It might just be the trauma bond, but he likes being around you. He likes when you laugh at his jokes, likes when you share your life wit him, likes when it's you and him... God, he hates this feeling. The feeling of attachment.

⚔️ You become attached to him as well though, because you don't know anyone else besides him. Everyone you've ever loved is dead or a monster. You don't want to lose Leon too. You become extremely paranoid that he's going to become one of them, so you stay up all night, when he decides you need to rest. You hadn't been attacked during those times, but the paranoia still sits with you.

⚔️ He doesn't realize that you weren't sleeping, until you were in a lab and you ended up fainting on the floor. He becomes worried about you when you don't wake up. You're still breathing though, so he's not as scared, but he's confused.

⚔️ He barricades the room and lets you sleep. He's on a time limit, but it's not essential- And he has plenty of time anyway. Besides- the cult is still going to be there when you wake up.

⚔️ You awoke in a panic and Leon was quick to recognize this and covered your mouth before you could scream. He reassures you that it's fine and you just passed out. Nothing bad happened.

⚔️ You felt terrible for falling asleep knowing he had a mission and you profusely apologize. He assures you it's fine, but you still feel bad. Leon's not to good with emotions, but he does feel bad that you feel bad and he promises you that it's okay. This whole thing must be so stressful for you and you're not like him and trained to fight like this, so of course it isn't easy for you. He assures you it's okay if you're scared.

--

"Are you?

Leon looks at you confused, his back pinned against the wall. "Am I what?"

"Scared."

He looks away from you, looking towards the door he had barricaded. His eyebrows scrunch together, before he responds. "No."

You don't believe him.

--

⚔️ You're incredibly thankful when the cult is destroyed, thanks to Leon. Your home has been destroyed and you are only person left, as the all people affected died when the leader was killed. You had nothing. You were scared, because you felt so alone. The D.S.O. decided to let Leon take you in, as they wanted to keep an eye on you and thought that Leon could do the best job, because you already trusted and felt safe around.

⚔️ He's very kind to you, even though he's not used to having someone around. He's used to being alone, but... He kind of likes it. It helps that you're easy to get along with and you make his life easier. You do things that skip his mind or he doesn't have time for. Ex. Dishes, laundry, making the bed [Which he never does, as he rarely sleeps in it], making dinner [Frozen Dinner's are his go-to.], etc. Just taking care of the place, because he's stressed out and/or overworked.

⚔️ You were already doing those things for your family, as it was traditional town [Hence why it was so easy for a cult to form], so it didn't bother you- In fact, it made you feel at home. Also, you liked taking care of him, especially since he saved your life.

⚔️ You don't have to be a great cook, he appreciates any of it. He likes that you cook FOR him. Besides, anything's better than frozen dinner. He also thinks it's sweet when he does finally get to his bed to see it all done for him. He doesn't remember the last time someone cared for him in such a way.

⚔️ He becomes extremely attached- Like more so than before. He hates leaving you for long periods of times, but god it's so good to get back to you. He doesn't want you to leave- At all

⚔️ He also becomes incredibly protective over you. He saw the evil you had experienced and so much more and he wants to keep it all away from you. He wants you to be safe and sound.

⚔️ He's scared of losing you and the fear of you dying does haunt his mind and dreams.

⚔️ He teaches you how to use a phone and technology, so that when he's on a mission, he can still get into contact with you. He just wants to talk to you- Hear your voice. Make sure you're still alive. He gets very anxious and paranoid if you don't answer him when he calls you. He won't do anything until he gets back into contact with you.

⚔️ When you don't answer it's just because you're confused by the technology, because you always try to answer him, but you get pretty overwhelmed by it

⚔️ He's just glad to hear your voice, especially if he just had a nightmare that you died. It helps calm his nerves, also he likes talking about the mundane with you, because you bring him back down to earth.

⚔️ You can never leave him. He won't let you become attached or close to anyone in fer of you leaving him. You don't recognize his toxic behavior, just seeing it as him caring about you. What else could it possibly be?

[gojossocks]

New Romantics

Gojo x reader 𐙚 Genre: fluff, comedy, hurt/comfort 𐙚 Summary: You are the bane of Gojo's existence, at least that's what he tells himself. You're just full of surprises and he can't help but be fully enamored by you. 𐙚 wc: 8.5k 𐙚 content: kinda enemies to kinda lovers, a bunch of high schoolers, gojo is soo out of touch with his feelings, it's in his pov, gojo is sooo down bad, PINING, badass reader, reader is in a clan too! reader smokes ! kinda screams im not like other girls in a less toxic way, jealous! gojo, heavy make out, very self-indulgent HAHA can be read as a standalone. 𐙚 a/n: my first ever series ! it's kinda long but i swear it's fun! :D

series masterlist | prologue

Arrogant. Insufferable. Patronizing. Apathetic. 

The list goes on. 

Granted, Gojo is nowhere near close to you. You were barely friends.

If there is one person in Jujutsu High that he likes the least, it would be you. It’s not like he resents you, it’s just that you represent  everything he hated from being in a clan just like him.

From the way you strut your very expensive loafers to the way you shop to your heart’s content after every mission since your first year. Not to mention that you’re the all-perfect princess that your clan wants you to be. 

“Gojo, please pass me the p-“

“No can do, shorty.”  He chirps, giving you a shit-eating grin. 

You glared at him before motioning Shoko to hand you the pen instead. “Gojo, you know you kinda look like someone I like.”  You didn’t let him finish, crossing your arms before giving him a devilish smirk. “That cute little rat from Shrek.” 

Gojo’s eyes widened at your insult but Suguru and Shoko were already snickering at him. He despises the idea that everyone seems to adore you, except him of course.

In the eyes of the higher ups and your family, you were the sweetest girl ever. Somehow, you’re always growing horns around him. 

Everyone thinks that Gojo’s only messing with you whenever the two of you banter. Hell, there are some students gossiping that he has a crush on you (which he definitely doesn’t) But only Geto and Shoko know how much he actually dislikes you.

You seem so obedient with all your clans orders, following everything that’s asked of you, carrying the submissiveness and elegance a Y/L/N is supposed to have. And if there’s anything Gojo hated the most, it’s tradition. It’s why he’s in Jujutsu High in the first place, he wanted to change the system badly— and seeing you become the embodiment of the tradition he badly wants to change pisses him off. 

Each time the higher ups get mad at him for not being in his ‘best behavior’, your name is constantly echoed around the meeting room. ‘You should be more like Y/L/N’ ‘Bring honor to your clan like how Y/L/N does.’ 

The only act of rebellion that you do is that your hair is dyed in a way that would make the higher ups frown. Your hair is recently dyed bright orange. He finds himself scoffing at the idea that you only get scolded because of a damn hair color. Gojo’s also confused with how cunning and sassy you are when there aren’t any prying eyes. Maybe you’re just doing that to seem cool. 

Well, he just has to avoid you at all costs so you would stop annoying him and pestering his thoughts. 

Unfortunately for him, Yaga has different plans. 

“Satoru. Y/N.” Yaga announces when he was pairing up students for a mission but he doesn’t even get to finish because Gojo emits a loud dramatic groan from across the room. 

“Why?” He whined, tilting his head up to create a dramatic effect. “It’s always been Suguru and I.” 

“Satoru, you and Suguru need to be paired up with someone who's an expert in reversed curse technique. It’s your fault you haven’t learned it yet.”  

Gojo crossed his arms and pouted. “Y/N can kiss my ass, teacher.” 

“No thanks. I’m sure you don’t wash yours. I could smell you from afar, stinky.” Everyone else groaned as the two of you started another banter, forcing the meeting to be 5 minutes longer than usual— particularly because no one dares to cut off your argument (Yaga is too amused because of how much you put Gojo in his place.) 

-.-

The mission didn’t go well. It was the first time you and Gojo worked together, and judging by your huge egos, your banter caused the both of you to get injured– you more so than Gojo. He was too reckless today, attempting to get a reaction out of you, which is why he got caught off guard when a 1st grade curse attacked him.

You pushed him out of the way, causing the curse to land a hit on your shoulder and right arm. Gojo stood still in his place in shock and your right arm was already injured when he snapped out of  his trance. He obliterated the curse easily but the damage has been done. 

You’re just lucky it was a minor injury but the fact that you did that for him, considering how you two were at each other’s necks for the longest time confuses him. It disoriented him until the both of you arrived at Jujutsu High. 

When he got patched up, he stood up to apologize but you were nowhere to be found. He assumes you’ve already healed yourself due to your reverse curse technique ability but he can’t help the nagging feeling in his mind. 

You were quiet today— well, ever since this afternoon. And no he’s not keeping track, he’s just not used to not hearing your snarky remarks and sarcastic comebacks at his attempts to annoy the shit out of you.

You’re just ignoring him, giving short insults in response to his own for the most part of your mission until you shielded him from that curse. 

His guilt weighs on him heavily as he strolls around the school, waiting for Shoko and Geto. but really it’s just to see you. Gojo had noticed that you’re always gone the moment after your mission’s debriefing, sometimes even when you’re injured. 

At last, he saw you just a few blocks away from Jujutsu High, towards the new 7/11 store that opened a few months ago. Gojo tilts his head to the side and furrows his eyebrows before deciding to follow you as discreetly as he could.

He stood near a house behind the convenience store where he could be hidden by a large plant beside it. He watched you grab a few things off the shelves and talk with the cashier, who happily greets you at the counter. You must’ve been here frequently. 

1 can of coke. A box of cigarettes. Coffee. 

Gojo never took you as the type who would visit a convenience store, as shocking as that sounds. He knows you’re rich. Filthy rich. You’ve always been pampered just like him, everything down at your feet because you’re the most powerful sorcerer in your clan. 

Finally, you got out of the store. Gojo’s eyes widened like saucers when you went straight to his hiding spot. 

“You know,” You called out, putting a hand on your hip.  “It surprises me how much of an idiot you are despite being a notorious smartass. Your hair sticks out of the leaves because you’re so fucking tall, Gojo.” 

“Heh.” He rubs his nape sheepishly, offering you a shy grin. “Didn’t think you’d see me.”  

“Really?” You deadpan before walking away from him, back to Jujutsu High. He jogs up to your side. “Why are you hiding anyway? Spying on your rival or something?” 

“Maybe.” He says lightly. It’s the first time any of you are talking normally to each other without malice. “Where are you going?” 

“Somewhere.” 

“Can I come?” He insisted, voice filled with excitement, leaving no hint that he’s gonna stop following you.  A smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

He looks like a puppy, following you around. It’s an amusing sight, even to  you. 

“No.”  You still kept walking, paying no mind as Gojo continued to follow you.

He feels an unusual giddiness at the thought that you hadn’t outright pushed him away because if you really wanted to, you would have told him to leave. 

You lead him to the abandoned fence with the sign ‘DO NOT ENTER’ in the restricted building of the school that had remained under construction for years. It was the tallest building in Jujutsu High. You wordlessly went up to the concealed stairs at the obscured side of the building and onto the rooftop. 

You sat at the edge of the building, your feet dangling off the edge. Gojo cautiously followed your actions, opting to sit next to you. He observes you as you unravel bit by bit and it’s the first time he’s seen you this relaxed and vulnerable—something that you granted him the privilege to see.

Rummaging through your paper bag, you retrieved a can of his favorite drink, Coca-Cola. As you handed it to him, a subtle surprise flashed across his face before he muttered a sincere ‘thanks. 

You then opened your box of Marlboro red and lit up a cigarette, putting it in between your lips before taking a drag. Gojo observes you silently, his mouth agape.  It was a revelation, discovering facets of you that he never anticipated. The act of you casually smoking, the ember casting a faint glow on your features, added another layer to the enigma that you are. 

Gojo stays silent for a few  more minutes or so until you notice his confusion, mainly because his eyebrows are almost meeting and he’s staring intently into the abyss. 

“Are you broken or something? You usually never stop yapping.” You joked, bumping your shoulder to his. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Gojo says dumbfoundedly. 

You chuckled but his question was left unanswered. He forgets about it completely because his brain short circuits when you move closer to him, taking off his sunglasses and perching it atop his head. His radiant baby blue eyes are out staring at you intently.

You give him a soft smile and point at the view in front of you. “I love going here after missions, sunset’s beautiful here.” 

“you’re being nice to me. Why?” 

Again. No answer. You just hummed in amusement and no words were spoken afterwards. 

The sun begins to descend, casting a warm, golden glow over the view from below. The city sprawls out beneath the both of you and the skyline extends into the horizon, bleeding in hues of pink and orange. Both of you sit in silence and when Gojo turns to look at you, he feels his heart beat quickening every passing second.

You look so breathtaking as the remaining sunlight kisses your skin, creating a halo effect around you. He suddenly doesn’t know why his palms feel so sweaty and he can’t manage to land a punchline to make you roll your eyes playfully at him. 

“I’m sorry I got distracted. Thank you for saving me today. I didn’t know you’d be more…” He trails off and you cut him off with a laugh so pretty enough that his head whipped to turn to you. 

“Kind? Human? You think I’m just like my clan huh?” You giggled and it shocked him how light you’re taking the situation.

You must’ve gotten used to it.

Just like him.

You stayed silent for a while before speaking in a serious tone. “Just because I don’t defy my clan’s ideals freely as you do doesn’t mean I’m not against it. When you’re a woman, you have to play nice, you know? I don’t have much of a choice unlike you. I know you don’t like me but I shielded you because you’re my friend.”

It was a wonder for Gojo that he’s the only one you’re not on good terms with out of everyone in Jujutsu High. Hell, he even overheard Yaga asking you to call back those Kyoto Students. It’s a big deal because those pesky Kyoto Students are usually their rivals but for some reason they’re always looking for you.

Then comes the Tokyo students, whom he never sees not greeting you or asking to hang out with you. Come to think of it, their expressions are always brightening up whenever you’re around and he thought that maybe they’re not that welcoming to him because he’s loud. But it’s you. It’s all you. 

From the way you listen intently to your friends, and your saccharine voice asking them about their day or whatever that piques their interest. You care, a lot. You even saved him from that grade 1 curse, resulting in a painful wound on your shoulder. Granted, you had the ability to heal yourself but who was he even in your life? and yet you took the fall for him. 

Gojo always hated that everyone seemed to look at him as that ‘six-eyed kid from the Gojo clan’. He hated the rumors about him just because of your last name— something that he has done to you since the first time you stepped foot into the school. 

He swallows his guilt and sets his pride aside. He wanted nothing more than to make it up to you.  “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve read you wrong. I thought you were just like the rest of them.”  

“It’s alright.” You say nonchalantly as possible but the voice crack at the end gives you away. Gojo chooses to ignore that. This probably means a lot to you as much as it did to him. “I mean I get it, I actually admire your passion for changing the way our clans lead the Jujutsu World. I think you have the guts for standing up to them just like that.”

“You really think so?’ He scoots closer and gives you a small smile, his heartbeat quickening faster as he feels your warmth— your thighs almost touching. 

“Yeah.” You grinned back, leaning your wait to his side before taking a sip from your coffee. 

“So you think I’m pretty?” He looks at you and bats his eyelashes comedically.

You snorted in response and slapped his arm lightly.  “I’ll throw you off this building.” 

Gojo forgot the passage of time in those 4 hours at that rooftop. The sun had already set and the moon was gleaming, already dark out. He likes talking to you but he enjoys it more when you’re the one doing the talking. 

You talked about your school life, hobbies, even your life with your clan– anything that comes to mind. Talking to you is as easy as breathing. You’re just full of wisdom, kindness, and wit.

Gojo found out today that he actually likes making you laugh, something about it makes his stomach feel funny. He also found out your preferences in coffee, food, and even music. 

“Don’t you dare tell that spot to anyone, Gojo.” You took one of the sweets in his hands and popped it in your mouth before giving him a teasing grin.

You’re now walking side by side on the way to the dormitory. He insisted on walking you to your dorm even if his dorm is from the other side of the building. 

A chuckle escaped his lips as he matched your stride. “Yes, Ma’am.”  He replied with a teasing voice, earning a hum of approval from you. You finally stopped in front of your door. 

“Thank you Goj-” 

“Satoru.” He cut you off,  his voice suddenly softening. As you tilted your head inquisitively, he found himself breaking into another warm smile.  His cheeks ached from smiling too much this evening. “You can call me Satoru instead.” 

“I like saying Gojo, especially when I yell your name when I’m mad at you.” 

“Are you mad at me right now?” He wiggles his eyebrows, earning a playful roll of your eyes in response. 

“No.” 

His demeanor shifted then, almost like he’s surrendering his vulnerability to you. “Then call me Satoru.” You could almost hear the plea in his voice. 

You sigh in mock defeat, your lips curved into a smile as you relented to his request. “Okay, Satoru.”

-.-

“You’re barely hanging out with me anymore, Satoru. Have you found my replacement already?” Suguru says, smirking as he watches his best friend’s eyes widened— a blush adorning Satoru's cheeks.

Satoru fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, causing Suguru to smirk at him. This behavior definitely did not go unnoticed by his best friend. Rarely did Satoru ever get nervous and Suguru was all for it. 

“I was just busy, Suguru. You missed me that much? I didn’t know I am participating in a homosexual relationship with you—”  He retorted, attempting to deflect Suguru. 

But Suguru wasn’t one to let him off the hook easily. “Busy hogging Y/N?” 

Satoru scoffed, giving him a look of disbelief. “Pffft. Nah. Of course not. We’re friends!” He insisted, though the way his gaze momentarily flickered away betrayed a hint of something more.  

It has been nearly 6 months since that evening on the rooftop. Satoru and you have been attached to the hip ever since— or to phrase it better, Satoru has been attached to you ever since. Somehow, you’re a lot more similar than he thinks and because of that, you just know each other a lot deeper.

He also finds himself doing things out of pure interest like walking with you to the 7/11 store after mission just to talk to you til dusk on that rooftop, completely forgetting about his friend group’s game nights. Other times, he reaches for your wrist to encourage you to mingle with other people. He even accompanies you to your monthly shopping sprees in the city or in Shinjuku or Shibuya. He found out you love traveling and going to other places— it clears your mind, you had said. His closet is now full of clothes you helped him pick out, almost half of them you bought for him randomly. 

It’s normal for friends to do that, right? 

Seated side by side, Satoru and Suguru observed how you and Shoko practiced your reverse cursed technique. Satoru’s just munching on the sweets you bought for him while his best friend is clearly enjoying the view of how dumbstruck he is by you. 

“Satoru,” he began. “You’re always following her around, it’s like you’re glued to each other already and you even fell asleep together during movie nights more than 3 times already. The only time you’re not with her is when you’re on missions with me or lunch. Are you already secretly dating?” 

“Yeah, we’re not!” Satoru says swiftly and defensively, causing Suguru to raise an eyebrow at him. “Why are you keeping count anyway?” 

 “Sure, just friends.” Suguru insisted, attempting to downplay the whole situation but Satoru is already growing agitated with the way he’s being teased.  Suguru gave him a devilish smirk.  “What if she dates another guy?” 

Satoru shuts up for a minute before muttering a quiet  “… She won’t.” 

“You don’t sound sure. She eventually will.” Suguru gave him an all-knowing smile and that’s when he knew that Suguru was being serious. 

“Huh?”  Satoru furrowed his eyebrows, casting an accusing look at his best friend.  “How are you so sure?” 

“Shoko said she’s going on dates.” 

Oh. 

So that’s why he’s been seeing you less, and you seem so distracted whenever you guys would hang out. Satoru thought that you were just busy but he didn’t think you’d actually go on dates with anyone. I mean, you’re still young right? Besides, who would be deserving of you?

Satoru didn’t notice that he was staring daggers into Shoko as you hugged her tightly. His expression darkened, jealousy flashing in his eyes before softening as he heard you laugh. 

Pretty. 

You look so pretty. 

Since when did he find you incredibly pretty?

Sure, you were just friends but he doesn’t know why he has this urge to be with you all the time, he even wants to hug you like how you hug Shoko and Utahime. It’s just unfair that you only lean to him or give him a fist bump or when you fall asleep with your head on his shoulder.

He longs to hold you close, to see you every morning, and to be the person that makes you laugh all the time.  

And when you noticed him staring you beamed at him and waved. 

Oh, he definitely has a crush on his friend. 

He didn’t know how much time passed but soon enough his day wouldn’t be completed without seeing you. He actually looks forward now to the meeting with different plans, particularly because you were there with him. And he basically lives now in your dorm room, candy wrappers everywhere and an array of his glasses sit beside your bedside table.

You talk about anything, even the random thoughts that come to his mind. You managed to know him better than Suguru knows him, which is surprising by the way. 

But during the past week, he surprisingly didn’t see you— not even at the rooftop that you both had grown to hang out together. Suguru told him that he acts like he has a ‘stick up his ass’ but he was just worried about you. Have you grown tired of him? It all made him fidget like crazy. 

Satoru caught a glimpse of your bright blue hair after your mission with Suguru. It was the kind of blue that matches his eyes. But he didn’t pay attention to it that much because of your sullen look.

He tried looking for you at the convenience store or your dorm but you were already gone so his last bet is at the rooftop, and there you are.

Your back is facing him with your feet dangling off the edge, you seem to be in your own world judging by the loud music he’s hearing. There are two packs of cigarettes by your side and a can of your favorite coffee. The sun is almost setting again and you’re just staring ahead while you hum along to the song you're listening to. The view seems so… sad. He felt something tug at his heart strings. 

“You know you should quit smoking. if you keep it, you’ll never see me old handsome.”  He tried to joke off before climbing the edge to sit next to you. He took off his glasses before wincing at the view, it was too bright so he decided to put it on again. 

You giggled in response,  he can tell that you saw right through him when you had a soft look in your face.  The both of you hadn’t quite reached the stage where you’re entirely comfortable with opening up to one another.

So he tried to lighten up the mood once more, “It actually diminishes your ability as a sorcerer.” 

“Says who?” 

“Says yoda” He responded rhetorically before giving you a lopsided grin.  

You nodded before taking out your lighter to light up your cigarette.   “I only smoke when I’m stressed.” You confessed.

“Oh?” Satoru asks 

“Yeah” You smiled at him, taking a drag from your cigarette, sighing when the nicotine hit your system. 

“Then we’ll do something else, yeah?” He grinned at you mischievously before pointing his index. “Wait.” 

With a quick rummage through his pockets, he brought out a handful of brightly colored lollipops, their wrappers crinkling softly in his hand. 

“What do you have in mind?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him. 

Satoru extended his hand, offering you a lollipop with a playful wink. “Something sweeter?” 

He gives you a toothy grin—his eyes sparkling when you take it, shaking your head at his enthusiasm.

“This is ridiculous,” You laughed, amused by his antics as you unwrapped the sweet treat and popped it into your mouth. 

“It works, right?” Satoru asked eagerly. 

He’s been searching for alternative ways for nicotine but he couldn’t find any gum in the 7/11 store. Lollipops are his last choice. 

“I don’t know. Isn’t it gum that lessens the nic addiction?”  You countered, bumping your shoulder against his. 

“Lollipops are an alternative,” He says defensively, though a hint of concern crept up to his face.  “Are you okay?”  

“Yeah, uhm. It just gets tiring sometimes, you know?” You responded, bitterness lacing your voice. “ All the pressure. Sometimes I feel like I’m not treated humanely at one point.” 

“Hey. I’ll help you okay?” He placed a hand on your shoulder before offering you a soft smile. “When you’re with me, you don’t have to please those old geezers.” 

“I appreciate it, Satoru.” You smiled back at him and he found himself melting in your gaze. The sun be damned, he could live alone in your presence.

You decided to leave when it’s already half past eight. Once he helped you to his feet you looked at him shyly, and if it’s a bit lighter out he would see a blush creeping up to your face. The walk back to your dorm is silent again, your hands just occasionally brush and Satoru wondered if you think about holding his hand too. 

So when you let him in your dorm like you usually do. Satoru hesitated for a moment before he mustered up the courage and asked, “Is it okay if I hug you?” 

He noticed you freeze and he feared that he might have overstepped, but before he could retract his words, you’re already nodding and he instinctively wrapped his arms around you. Satoru hears you sigh in the hug and he feels like he’s floating when you tug him closer.

Satoru prayed silently that you couldn’t hear the loud thumping of his heart because he finally has you in his arms and this is all he wanted. The warmth of your body against his, the way you leaned into his touch, it all felt surreal to him. 

You’ve finally let your guard down around him and he noticed you gradually open up to him when you’re feeling sad or disappointed with something. Somehow he can’t bring himself to be like that to you yet, Satoru has this underlying feeling that you’d like him less if he starts showing vulnerability. 

But to his surprise, he feels like you like him more because of that. There was this instance where he’s so overstimulated after a mission because he had to take off his glasses to work on his six eyes. He started to become dizzy and everything around him was a blur.

As he sat on the couch, feeling utterly overwhelmed and disoriented after the mission. Despite his attempts to mask his discomfort with a feeble smile, you saw right through him, as you always seemed to do.

“Satoru, are you okay?” Your voice cut through the haze of his senses, casting him a worried glance.

He managed a strained smile before the brightness around him intensified, sending a sharp pang through his temples. "I'm...I'm fine," he mumbled.

“Satoru, you’re not a good liar.” You stood up to turn off the lights, only leaving the night lamp on, a soft glow illuminating the entire room, making it bearable for Satoru. He’s rubbing his temples, trying to ease the pain. 

He feels a weight dip in the couch, you gently remove his glasses and place them on the nearby table. Then, without warning, your arms enveloped him in a warm embrace, guiding his head to rest against the crook of your neck, fully covering his eyes.

Now that he’s calmed down, Satoru became acutely aware of the closeness between you. He’s lucky that you can’t see how his eyes widened at your action and how flushed he probably looks right now. Well, not that he can see anything right now. 

But he chooses to ignore the loud beating of his heart again, passing it off as adrenaline rush from the mission. He allows himself to relax in your hold, with your fingers threading softly through his hair, all his worries and fatigue melted away. 

Gojo Satoru had never known romantic love, let alone had a crush on anyone. So maybe it was just normal for friends to hold each other when one is tired or in need of comfort.

He loves to play with your hand when both of you are alone, while he babbles about something random and outright weird just so he could ignore how you make him feel. He tries to ignore the blush creeping up on his face when you listen to him intently, like every word that he utters matters, no matter how ridiculous it was. His feet always drag him to you because after a long day, all he needs is cuddles from you— oh, and your soothing voice too.  

So really, what is this weight on his chest when Shoko announced that you’re going on a date? 

Why is he pouting suddenly, assaulting his food as he stabs it continuously while you are gushing about what to wear or what to say when he knows you just look so beautiful even without trying?

Isn’t he enough?

Satoru buys you stuff, he takes care of you, he knows everything about you. He’s always hanging at your dorm after school, you’re practically like a couple at this poi–

Shit. 

Maybe he does have a crush on you. 

“I don’t know why you’d bother going on a date, Y/N. Guys are basically disgusting.” 

“Says a guy.” You rolled your eyes playfully while going through your closet. 

Satoru’s getting desperate now, why are you so adamant to get on that date? 

Satoru felt a knot of desperation tightening in his chest as he watched you model your top three dresses.  The first dress, adorned with vibrant florals, seemed to scream "first date" with its playful charm. However, you quickly dismissed it as unsuitable for the dinner date you had planned. Next, you slipped into a simple yet elegant black bodycon dress that hugged your curves in all the right places. It was hard to ignore the bitterness he’s feeling— you getting dolled up for a random guy. 

But it was the final dress that truly captured his heart. As you twirled around to show him, the white silk fabric cascading gracefully around you, Satoru found himself momentarily breathless at the sight. Your awkward smile only added to the enchantment of the moment. You look so ethereal. 

"What do you think?" you asked, swaying gently as you admired yourself in the mirror.

"I—" Satoru cleared his throat, his voice suddenly dry as he struggled to find the right words. "I think I like the other one better, the black one," he managed to say, though his heart whispered otherwise.

You somehow listened to his advice and wore the black bodycon dress that he suggested.

You looked nothing short of breathtaking, a literal goddess. 

It was the longest 3 hours of his life, each passing minute feeling like an eternity as he anxiously wait for your return. Despite his best effort to distract himself by distracting Suguru, his thoughts kept returninhg to you— wondering if you’re having the time of your life with your date. 

A small part of him wishes that the date didn’t go well and you’ll just spent the rest of the evening eating sweets with him all the while casting funny remarks on your date but he wasn’t prepared when you came home with mascara running down your face, your lips curved into a pout, and your eyes puffy and red from crying. 

Without a word, Satoru stood up to engulf you in his arms, furrowing his eyebrows as you collapsed into him.  “What happened, Y/N?” 

He held you close, a surge of protectiveness flooding his senses as if an attempt to shield you from the world.

“He’s a misogynist, Satoru!” You cried, your voice cracking. “So full of himself! I thought he was kind and sweet but then he just started babbling about his clan and how good of a potential husband he is. As if I want to marry him!” 

“Who was he anyway?”  He gently wiped away your tears. 

“Naoya Zenin” You sniffled, playing with the hem of his shirt. “I’m sorry I’m staining your shirt.” 

“No, no.” He whispered, brushing away the strands of your hair on your face. 

He took a mental note to research on the guy that made you cry later on. He realizes that the sight that he despises the most is the sight of you crying. He never wants to see you like this, ever. 

“You said you like the beach right?” Satoru spoke out of the blue, his hand tracing circles on your arm. “Why don’t we go to one?” 

-.-

And that’s how Satoru managed to spend all of his monthly allowance in a week. He booked a flight for the 6 of you (of course he wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea, he insisted it’s a vacation for the six of you— him, you, Suguru, Shoko, and even Utahime and Mei Mei because apparently you’re good friends with them too) 

So now here he is, about 200, 000 yen poorer. (help i don’t know if this is accurate) He wanted what’s best for you, so of course he’d spend a lot for you.  It was all worth it though, when he sees you in a baby blue bathing suit that he helped you pick out. No it was definitely not because it’s similar to the color of his eyes. Blue just suits you well. (Hence, he’s also suitable for you) 

“Satoru, you're going to catch flies if your mouth keeps hanging like that. Hey, are you also drooling?” Suguru pokes Satoru, who quickly straightens up when you look his way.

You gave him a sheepish smile, and he didn’t know what the fuck you’re doing to him because he feels a hard on coming his way.  Shoko notices Satoru’s flushed expression but she just continues to smoke, clearly enjoying the show. 

Eventually, everyone agrees to swim in the beach and try on the jet skis that Satoru had rented. What he didn’t know though, was the fact that you’re afraid of the ocean.

You were just hugging yourself while the waves crashed against your feet. The sight looks so cute but he wants you to enjoy it, so he uses his tactics to get you to join the group.

Unfortunately for him, you’re so stubborn to stay on the shore. 

“I don’t want to go, Satoru! It’s not funny! I might get eaten alive by megalodon sharks or something.” 

“C’mon! I’m really tall, I can protect you! Jesus, here—”  His hand intertwined with yours, causing you to blush profusely. “Just hold my hand, okay?  Hell, hold onto me if you like. I can carry you!”

“Your hands are uhm, really warm.” You commented, your voice tinged with embrassment. 

“Oh yeah?” He smirks at you, his gaze locking with yours. “You want me to warm you up?” 

“I’m gonna kill you.”  You deadpanned. 

Despite your protests, you ended up trusting him to pull you in the deeper part of the ocean. He even managed to get you to ride the jetski with him, the grip you had on his waist nearly suffocating him.

Satoru didn’t want to focus on the closeness between you two— your body pressed up against his back. If he does, he might lose control and drop the both of you into the ocean. 

Meanwhile, the rest of the group is observing the two of you while sipping on their Margaritas.

“God, these two.” Mei Mei muttered as she rolls her eyes. “Best slow burn romance I’ve ever seen for free.”

If anyone would glance at you and Satoru, they would immediately think you’re dating, but you’re not and it’s frustrating to anyone within your radius. 

Besides her, Shoko chimed in, her voice laced with amusement.   “It’s so painfully obvious that they like each other. They were comparing hand sizes earlier for god’s sake.” 

“Yeah, they should just fuck already.” 

-.-

“Okay, so you kiss the person the bottle’s pointing at.” Utahime explained excitedly, albeit a bit drunk.

Everyone’s gathering around the crackling bonfire bonfire, the warm glow casting dancing shadows across the sand.  It was now nearing midnight and you decided to play a game to end the night, which is spin the bottle. You spent all afternoon swimming and riding the jet skis Satoru rented. 

Satoru felt a bead of sweat form on his brow as the bottle nearly lands you and Suguru.

He wanted your first kiss to be with him, as selfish as that sounds. He internally cursed Shoko for suggesting this game. 

It landed on Shoko and Utahime, then Shoko and Suguru, then Mei Mei and Utahime. 

His nervousness escalated as the game continues. Satoru was busy praying that the bottle wouldn’t land on you and anyone that he failed to notice when the bottle finally came to a stop, pointing directly at you and him. 

“Ooooh” Utahime teased you, playfully poking your arm. “It’s you and Gojo!” 

You laughed nervously, shooting a helpless glance in Satoru’s direction. He wanted to protest but his curiosity outweighed his embarrassment. 

He wanted to know how it feels like to kiss you. 

Besides, it’s just a kiss, right? 

Satoru was stunned when you hurriedly pecked him on the lips before you retreated back to your seat. His mind raced as he tries to process the fleeting touch.

He just kissed you. 

He couldn’t believe it when you looked back at him with a subtle smile playing in your lips.  

The rest of the night was a blur for him, not because he was drunk. Satoru’s a lightweight and you know that fact, that’s why you were drinking for him.

While everyone else is playing games and talking about anything, his mind is still stuck on the fact that you kissed him

You’re his first kiss.

And he's yours too,

The gods had answered his prayers.  But that was barely a kiss in the first place, do you even want it or were you just pressured to do it?

The thought stings. So he took a couple of sips from Suguru’s beer bottle until he was tipsy enough to not think about your lips on his. Yet, with each glance in your direction, the memory of your lips on his persisted. 

-.- 

Satoru helped you go to your room, even if he’s a bit drunk himself.  Both of you were stumbling on the way to your room, but he thankfully he managed to settle you down on the bed as gently as he could. His attempt to withdraw was no use as you pulled him down with you, your grip firm yet gentle as you clutched his hand in your sleep. 

Satoru admired your sleeping state, your hair sprawled out messily on the bed and you’re gripping his hand.

Your mouth slightly open as you slept, emitting soft rhythmic breaths but then you started mumbling something—it first it was incoherent until you mumbled in a slur,  “I think you’re cute.” 

“Huh?” Satoru questioned, even though he heard you clearly. He just want to hear it again from you. 

“I said I think you look like a sack of shit. Fuck you.”  You clarified, your words still slightly intelligible and laced with frustration and humor. 

“Uh-huh.” He replied, feigning ignorance, his heart fluttering at your words. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Satoru brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering momentarily against your skin. 

“You know,” You started, your words slurring as you looked at him with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my first kiss. It was really good even if it just lasted a second. Thank you for today, toru.” 

He laughed at your intoxicated state. You just look so adorable when you’re relaxed like this, the way your features softened and your laughter bubble up freely without a care in the world.

His gaze drifted to your lips, they seemed to beckon him to give in.  He definitely wants to kiss you now. 

Satoru’s heart raced as he struggled to fight the urge to lean in, knowing that it was a dangerous game to play. You decided to take matters in your own hands, shifting closer to him, your face close enough that he could feel you breathe against him. 

“Please, ‘Toru.” You whispered, your lips barely touching. “Please kiss me again.” 

Who was he to deny you that? To deny you? 

When Satoru kissed you for the second time, he took his time to savor it. His hand reaches out to cup your cheek and brushes his lips against yours. 

Your lips are warm and soft, he wanted to kiss it for eternity. Literally. He feels like in cloud nine as he kisses you deeper, slipping his tongue inside as you parted your lips, earning a soft moan from you.

Satoru weight settled against you, your bodies pressed together, breathing heavily as he connected his lips against yours once more. 

You taste better than any candy he has ever tasted. He might just get addicted, drunk even. 

“We shouldn’t—” He sighs into your mouth. You whimpered when he pulled away, your sweet voice going straight through his dick. “I don’t want to do this like this.” 

“What” a kiss. “Do” followed by another, “You,” then another “Mean?” then another.

You were peppering kisses all over his face all the while carding your hand through his hair, tugging it a bit to earn a reaction from him. He almost lost it when you squeezed him through his boxers. 

Satoru managed to pull away which he clearly struggled on doing when you pout at him, lips swollen and covered with saliva and you’re looking at him with those damned doe eyes. 

He pecks your lips, both of your cheeks, and he places a final kiss on your forehead, afraid that if he does more, he won’t be able to contain himself.

Satoru wants his first time with you to be special, one that’s not hazy and easy to forget. He doesn’t want it to be a mistake, like what he knows the both of you would agree upon if you talked about it in the morning.

He wanted you to remember, have it engraved in your mind and body for weeks. Satoru wants you to want him as much as he wants you, and he can’t have that in a drunken mistake. 

As you both drifted together in your sleep, he held you close, his arms wrapping snugly around your waist. It was the best sleep he had in ages. 

-.-

Satoru’s fear came true when you pretended like nothing happened the next morning. When he awoke, it feels like last night never happened. Your side of the bed is fixed and the only proof that you were ver there was the ache he felt on his arm, where you were laying.  Sure, he was disappointed but he’s contented with anything you give him. As long as he has you by his side. 

The kiss never left his mind, though.

Not even when you reached third year and you drifted apart from him little by little. His feelings for you remains the same. 

When Satoru is paired up again with you for a mission in the second half of your third year, you seem different from the Y/N he remembers. Particularly because you act like the exact person that he met in your first year.

Only, you look dull.

There are heavy circles under your eyes, your lips are chapped, and you look like you’re barely holding it together. Not to mention the only words that you utter to him are only about the mission. 

He got too busy honing his skills with Suguru, but he would make time for you if only you asked. But it’s like you were gone, everytime he tried to look for you, you were nowhere to be found. It’s like he barely knows you anymore.

You started to ignore him at the beginning of the school year. He noticed that you dyed your hair back to its natural color and whenever he goes.

You became a ghost in a way, and he’s left with the pieces of you that you once had shared with him. Satoru desperately wants to reach you but how can he when you’re always away? He doesn’t see you in your meeting spot anymore, you’re not in your dorm, no one gets close to you. The only time he sees you is during meetings with the higher ups and your clan. 

There’s an ache in his heart that only you can heal. 

So before you can run away from him again, he followed your footsteps until you reached the 7/11 store across the street. So here you are scanning along the shelves of the store, even though he knows you already know what you’re going to buy.  You still haven’t noticed him, which is confusing on his part. You must’ve been so tired. 

Ah, an energy drink and a box of cigarettes. 

Well, maybe you’ve started avoiding him too because of that. You know he’s going to get worried. 

Satoru taps your shoulder, making you yelp. You were about to shout at him but your expression softened when you saw him. “Oh, it’s just you.” 

It’s the first time in months where he actually saw you up close. He misses you so much it actually makes him dizzy.  Satoru stares at you for a few minutes before you poked him. 

“Hello? Earth to Satoru?”

He hasn’t heard you say his name too in a while. It felt like a breath of fresh air 

“You dyed your hair back to its natural color.” He pointed out. 

You hummed in response before going to the drink section once more. He observes you skimming the shelves even though he knows what you’re going to buy.

You’re just passing the time because you’re too anxious to talk to him but you aren’t really good at small talks.   

So he does that for you.

As you mechanically scanned the shelves, your eyes not really registering the array of products before you, Satoru noticed the evident anxiety in your every move. Wanting to bridge the gap between you two, he seized the opportunity to make you smile. 

“ah yes, there’s some items on sale here.” He declared, rubbing his chin with his pointer and thumb comically. 

Your quizzical expression met his as you questioned, “I don’t see any.” 

Undeterred, Satoru held up a familiar item – your favorite coffee – and flashed a grin "Here," he insisted, pointing at the non-existent 'sale' label.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "It's on sale. Look. It says, 'buy one take me.'" He gestured to the imaginary tag with a theatrical flair, his infectious grin inviting you to roll your eyes at him. 

Finally, you gave him a smile and you threw your head back because you’re laughing so hard. “You’re ridiculous, Gojo Satoru.” 

Satoru's heart skipped a beat at the sight of your smile, a warmth spreading through him at the sight of your genuine laughter. He likes seeing you smile. He’d do anything to see you smile. Even if it’s making a fool out of himself.

You grabbed his favorite drink and 2 onigiris then you dropped your energy drink. You walked towards the counter with him following closely behind.

After you’ve paid for the food, you led him wordlessly to the back of the convenience store towards the small parking lot and you sat on the ground. 

“Besides, I can’t take you.”  You broke the silence, handing him his coca-cola with a tremulous smile. 

“What do you mean? You’ve already taken me for granted.”  Satoru attempts to joke, but his playful expression dropped when you gave him a sad smile. 

“I’m getting married next year after graduation.” 

Satoru suddenly felt as if the ground had dropped from beneath him. The news struck him like a blow to the chest, leaving him breathless. He chewed on his lip as he took in your confession.

So that’s why you’ve been busy.

That’s why the higher ups paid no mind to all of his minor mishaps. His heart and mind raced, why so soon? Are you really going to let them take away your right to decide who you’ll marry? 

“To who?”  He said quietly, fidgeting with the lid of his soda. 

“Naoya Zenin.” 

A wave of disbelief washed over Satoru’s face. He had only met the guy once but he knows that Zenin is an absolute prick, not to mention a misogynist and a weakling. He even made you cry on a date. But he tried to relax his jaw and stay composed for you. “Do you want to marry him?”

“No.” Your answer was swift, the word laden with a weight he could feel in his bones. 

“Then don’t.” Satoru says firmly. Both of you fell silent for a while, you being defeated with the destiny your clan have paved for you.  

Could he really let you go just like that? To a Zenin asshat nonetheless?

He had always imagined that the two of you would eventually end up together, you have all the time in the world after all. So why does it feel like you’re already slipping out of his arms?  He’s not even sure if you like him, despite what Suguru and Ieri keep telling him. 

His train of thoughts were interrupted when you leaned your head on his shoulder. His arm instinctively finds its way around you, as if shielding you from your clan, from the world.  “I wish it were that simple. Nearly everything I do for my family is never what I want. I simply can’t not do it, Satoru. I need it to keep my clan powerful and relevant. I’m the only daughter of my parents. I have to do my best to make them proud.” 

“Well…” He stammers a little bit when your hand finds a way to play with his hair.  “what about what you want?” 

“Satoru, you know my freedom is limited." You laughed bitterly. “I’m still Y/L/N’s golden child and my clan’s on the brink of exclusion at this point. We’re irrelevant now and I’m not getting any stronger or richer. My family wants to take their place in the Jujutsu World. This is something I can’t escape from anymore even if I’d rather die than to be married to someone like him.” 

“Why Naoya Zenin though?” He’s getting frustrated at this point. Why were you not fighting back? Satoru couldn’t accept that, you relinquishing your freedom for the sake of others. You have already done so much. 

“He’s from a well-off clan and he’s strong.” you replied, a note of bitterness tainting your words. “My dad’s also biased with the Zenin clan so… I’m all set.” 

Well, he’s a Gojo and he is the strongest.  He is the inheritor of the six eyes anyway. Who is Naoya Zenin compared to him?  

“Well then, can you marry someone else that’s also strong?”

You scoffed, your hand leaving his hair before you prompt to fully lean your entire weight on Satoru’s side. “Yeah, but I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Who else would I mar-” 

It’s now or never. 

“Me.”  Satoru blurted out. 

“What?” 

“Me. you should just marry me instead.” 

Wanna read more?

[dumbseee]

noticed pt2.

f1 au/fic: having her celebrity crush as her boyfriend was something y/n didn’t expect to happen, which she also didn’t expect is the hate she would’ve receive.

lando norris x reader.

fc: bruna marquezine.

part 1.

note: i wasn’t planning on doing a part 2 but you guys asked so you shall receive :) (i wrote that very quickly so it’s not that good i’m so sorry)

liked by landonorris, francisca.cgomes, pierregasly and 230 997 others.

y/n: lil photo dump because i’m living my best life with my loved ones <3 have a nice week guys!

_

landonorris: pretty girl <3

liked by y/n.

francisca.cgomes: had the best time with you baby

yourfriend: you’re shining girl

fan1: who tf is y/n? why is she even so popular?

fan2. @.fan1 bc she’s fucking lando and people have an obsession with wags

fan3: ew such a whore

fan4: why is she always half naked?

fan5: i’d be so embarrassed if i were lando bc wtf is she wearing?

fan6: lando RUN

fan7: y’all see a pretty woman dating y’all favourite driver and decide to hate her for no reason

fan8: y/n get behind me

you couldn’t stop crying, you didn’t know what you did to deserve that. you deactivated all your socials so you won’t receive any messages from people with bad intentions, and turned off your phone that kept buzzing with notifications from friends and family. you tried to call lando, to make sure he knew that this was bullshit and that never would you even think about cheating on him. you did go to neymar’s party but only as your friend’s plus one. you talked with the footballer but for literally five minutes. the girl in the picture wasn’t you and you prayed that lando knew that. but he wasn’t answering his phone and that actually made you panic even more. your whole body was shaking, you were having a panic attack and you didn’t know how to calm it since you never had one before.

this situation was horrible for you, you didn’t even know how to fix it, of course it was all a lie but would the internet believe you? deactivating all your socials could be seen as suspicious by fans. they hated you anyway so whatever excuse you’d come up with, they’d never believe you. would lando even believe you? that thought made you sob even more, you struggled to breath and fell on the ground, resting your head on your knees. you could hear your heart beats going way too fast and you prayed for someone to help you because you were going to die from that damn panic attack.

"y/n! hey y/n!" you heard a voice, but it was faint, as if someone was calling you from very far away. "y/n, please baby! breath!" lando. it was lando’s voice. you opened your eyes and saw your boyfriend, shaking you to make you come to your senses, his eyes were glossy and he looked worried, when he saw you open your eyes and look at him he sighed softly and smiled at you. "welcome back, baby." he kissed your forehead before putting your hand on his own heart while he did the same to yours. "breath for me. we’ll do it together, okay?" you nodded slowly and started to follow his breaths. "one. two. three. yeah, you’re doing amazing my love." he smiled again and rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "you scared the shit out of me." he whispered, still against your forehead. "i am so sorry, lando, i swear it’s not-" he shushed you and wrapped his arms around you, giving you a long and soothing embrace. you felt silent tears roll down your cheeks.

"don’t say a word, i already know." he says, he grabbed your face in his hands and kissed your tears away. "those pretty eyes can’t be drowning in tears, love." he added. "i trust you y/n. i love and trust you with my life, i know that you’d never do such a thing." he finished by kissing your lips. "then why did you ignore my calls?" you asked. "because i needed to get back home asap to confort you." he smiled and you swore that your heart exploded.

that was the moment where you realised how deeply in love you were with lando. he was so perfect with you, always taking care of you and putting you first. you sometimes wondered if you deserved that kind of love.

"we’re going to watch your favorite tv show, order some food and take a bath later. today is y/n self care day. and don’t think about that rumour, i’m going to take care of that." he kissed the top of your head and helped you get up from the ground.

liked by y/n, carlossainz55, danielricciardo and 1 790 007 others.

landonorris: i’m going to say this once and for all: y/n l/n is the sweetest most loving and respectful person i’ve ever met in my entire existence. she’s the light that keeps shining during my darkest days, she’s the presence i crave after a long day away from her. y/n has been the victim of disgusting rumours and death threats, i’ll be taking action against every single ones of you who even just commented one single bad emoji under her posts, i’ll come for you. you made her cry, i think it’s fair enough that i make you pay back for every single tear that she shed because of people like you.

_

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