#But at the same time the other person made it seem unforgivable

[lizard12323]

I hate the fact that the only reason I care about my life and self is cause of about two people..

Just, feels sad

[gloomskulls]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚LIMERENCE PT 2 [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 1

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ after finding the courage and the balls to ask you out, Peter couldn't help but test the waters.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNINGS ୨୧ dub/non consensual (reader is drunk and drunk people cannot give consent), terribly written smut (i'm a virgin i'm sorry, I have no idea what goes on actually in the bed), oral (fem receiving), drinking, drunk reader, overstimulation, everyone is 18+ here lemme know if I missed any. MINORS DO NOT READ

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: I'm sorry this took a whole ass while, it's probs 90% story and 10% smut. Like it's probs shit, the smut's the reason why I couldn't finish this sooner because I had no idea where it was going. Also tried to write 2012 slang, idk if it even sounds right. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else I'm going to turn you into Victoria Heyes from terrifier ❤️🫶/srs

Peter shuffled in his sleep. Tossing and turning. Sleep never found him, how could it? He did something so unforgivable. Having an obsession with someone who barely acknowledges your existence is one thing, but sneaking into her house, completely crossing every single line, and then jerking off to the scent of your panties while imagining you on top of him, riding him as you creamed his cock with your cum.

The air felt heavy and there was an almost stifling silence in his small bedroom, while his mind worked in the manner of a broken machine, looping thoughts.

Every single thing about you — your laugh, the spark in your eyes when you spoke of something you loved, the way you uttered his name — his mind kept replaying like a broken record. Each one felt as fresh as if it had just taken place a moment ago, and each one pulled at something deep within his chest.

He had spent years arguing with himself about what he was doing. He told himself that viewing you from a distance was merely innocent fascination, a little crush. But that had been a lie. What he had done the night before, sneaking into your room was not a mistake; it was a deliberate decision.

Peter was filled with doubts, a regular person would call him lovesick, a creep even. Is she really worth it? Peter admits something he'd been avoiding for a while.

He wanted you.

Not as a classmate. Not as a partner for a stupid project. He wanted you in a way that was raw and desperate and consuming. Oh, he wanted you to look at him the way you look at the rest of the world with trust, with affection, with the same ease that made you laugh at his dumb jokes.

The realization hit him hard. The weight of it sank into his chest like a boulder, but there was a rush of something else too-something darker, more intoxicating.

Peter sat up abruptly, there's only one way or another, heart hammering as he snatched up his phone. Tapping out a quick message, he did so with trembling hands.

"Hey, u free 2nite? Was thinkin maybe we could finish the proj & grab dinner after. My treat. :)"

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovered over the send button. The fear crept back in, whispering in the back of his mind. What if she thought he was crazy? What if she rejected me outright? What if everything he'd built up in his head came crashing down?

Many thoughts crowded his mind, neither of them was good

As he stared at the text, his finger quivered. His stomach tightening in knots. The reply was already forming in his mind—would you say yes? Or perhaps he was weird for asking, for suggesting anything other than school?

But what if he didn't ask? What if he kept on pretending that this crush wasn't eating him up from the inside?

I've got to do this; he tried to steady his breath. This would never come again.

Deep breath and then Peter clicked "send."

Time seemed to stretch into eternity. His mind was racing, spinning out into the worst-case scenarios. You could just say no or even laugh it off and tell him it wasn't a good idea. It's a biology project, after all. That's what it was supposed to be—right?

That crumbled page of biology scraps lay on his desk as evidence of the project you both were working on. It was supposed to be a simple collaboration, probably will last for a few weeks if he was lucky, and then he'd just go back to being invisible to you.

But he didn't want to go back to being invisible.

He sat there at the edge of the bed, hunched over in an awkward position, his elbows rested on the stretched knees, and he stared his phone, convinced that at any moment it would leave his grip. He had typed the message, the own words glowing brighter as he waited.

He had redone it like at least a dozen times, but all versions felt way too casual to too formal. His current message was just right; friendly, innocent enough but still an invite.

What if you think it is strange? What if you don't even reply at all?

He shook his head to stabilize his breathing. It's alright, he told himself. His not asking for something crazy. It's only a dinner.

But it wasn't just a dinner. It was the convergence of years of quiet yearning, stolen glances, and missed opportunities. This was the first real step toward something more, if only he could find the courage to take it.

He shunned his phone flat on the bed thinking that might ease the tension in his chest, but it didn't. His heart raced as seconds ticked by on the clock, each second feeling like an eternally long wait.

What if you didn't reply?

What if you did?

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly as his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it with trembling hands.

"Sure! I'm totally in. Where r we meeting? 7?"

He read the message over and over again: You're saying yes. Relief was an actual weight that was just lifted as disbelief flooded him as he blinked at the screen, rereading the message to make sure it hadn't been imagined.

For a moment, he allowed himself to smile, but it quickly disappeared. Now that he got the answer, a different kind of panic struck.

What happens next?

"Yea 7’s cool, I’ll pick u up @ ur place"

He looked up at the clock-6:30. In thirty minutes, he needed to get ready. Thirty minutes within which he needed to figure out how not to screw this one up completely.

Peter fell out of his chair and quickly rifled through his closet for something fresh and unique that didn't look like it had just been thrown on five minutes ago. His room was strung out in a mess of hoodies and T-shirts that didn't do any good as he tried on piece after piece-each feeling wrong.

"Relax," he murmured at himself while gazing at his reflection in the mirror. Hi hair looked like he just crawled out from under the bed, his face was red, and no matter how many adjustments he attempted on the clothes, he still looked like the awkward kid he'd always been.

Peter raced around his pod-sized room in search of a shirt that didn't scream "high school loser." The bed was a battlefield littered with crumpled hoodies, a checkered flannel, even his Midtown Science Academy T-shirt.

"Peter?" Aunt May's curious sounding voice called out from the hallway.

"Yeah?" he shouted back while looking through his closet and listening.

"Why does it sound like a tornado hit your room? Are you okay in there?"

Peter groaned and threw another hoodie onto the pile he was amassing on the bed. "I'm fine!"

The creaky door slammed open a moment later, and Aunt May peeked her head in. Her sharp eyes traveled the disaster area that was his room, from the piles of clothes, and even down to the one sneaker he was wearing.

"Uh-huh. Fine." She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What's all this about? A wardrobe crisis?"

He sighed at her and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing serious, okay? I just… I'm going out."

May raised an eyebrow as her lips twitched as if trying hard not to smile. "Going out? As in… on a date?"

"What? No!" Peter's voice shot up as he spun around, waving his hands. "It's not a date! It's just dinner. For a project. With a friend."

By now, she wasn't even trying to hide her grin. "A 'friend,' huh? Is this the same 'friend' you've been talking about nonstop since this biology project started?"

"I don't talk about her nonstop!" protested Peter, turning into a shade of tomato. "Oh, you definitely do," Uncle Ben countered from outside the hallway and into the room, sporting the knowing smirk of someone who has heard too much. "Half the time, it's, 'Oh, she's so smart,' and the other half is, 'She's so good at this lab thing.'" He said with a dreamy tone

"Okay, okay, so I get it!" he groaned while burying his face in his hands. "Can we not do this now?"

Ben laughed and slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Relax, kid. We are just teasing, and you've got this.”

May walked into the room and picked up one of the forgotten shirts from the bed. Holding it up, she said, "What is wrong with this? Nice but casual, not slobby."

Peter squinted at it. "It's too—I don't know; plain?"

"Plain is better than looking as if you are trying too hard," she said, tossing it to him.

Uncle Ben nodded sagely. "It's right." "You don't want to go full tuxedo on a first—uh, not a date," he added quickly, holding up his hands when Peter glared at him.

Peter huffed but pulled the shirt over his head anyway. "You two are the worst," he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

May smiled and reached out, smoothing the collar of his shirt. "We are not the worst. We are just proud of you. It's good to see you putting yourself out there."

"I'm not—," Peter began, but Ben cut him off.

"You are," Ben said firmly. "That's a good thing. Just be yourself, Pete. If she's as great as you say she is, she'll see what we see, a smart, kind, slightly awkward but very lovable kid."

Peter's face burned. "Yea, you really know how to give a pep talk."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Ben fired back with a grin.

May handed Peter his second sneaker. "Here. Don't forget this, unless you're planning to really impress her with your one-shoe look."

Peter rolled his eyes but could not quite hide the grin that crept onto his lips. "Thanks, Aunt May."

So Ben called after him as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "And remember, kid—Italian places usually give you breadsticks first. Don't fill up before the main course!"

Peter groaned loudly. "I'm going now! Bye!"

He was there, at your door, heart pounding heavily, as if wanting to burst out from the body. He lingered for a while, staring at the doorbell.

What if this is a mistake?

But before you could think otherwise, the button pressed his finger.

And then echoed the sound of the bell from inside, and Peter felt that the earth would open up and swallow him whole in an instance. He heard footsteps, and then the door opened.

There you were.

"Hey, Peter!" you said, smiling that effortless way that made his breath catch in his throat, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in. "You're right on time, I just need a minute to grab my bag."

Peter managed a small smile and stepped in, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. "Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need."

You disappeared into another room, leaving Peter hanging awkwardly at your door, his eyes darting about. It was a very warm and inviting house, in harmony with the kind of person you were. The faint hum of a television in another room was muffled, someone talking, and he could hear that easily.

Your presence returned with your bag slung around your shoulder and you ignited the nerves again in Peter.

“So,” you said, smiling at him, “where to?”

Peter hesitated just a beat too long, his mind scrambling to come up with an answer. "Uh, I was thinking Italian? That okay with you?"

"Italian sounds great," you said easily as your smile widened.

Peter's heart raced as you stepped out the door, walking beside him toward the small restaurant a few blocks away. The night air was crisp, and for the first few minutes, he was too caught up in his own head to say much. But then you started talking, asking him about his day, about the project, and the sound of your voice eased some of his tension.

You made him feel like he belonged, even without having a word to say.

When the restaurant came in sight, Peter turned to you. Nerves still there but mixed with something else: a quiet and hopeful excitement.

Maybe just maybe, tonight will be the beginning of something real.

The walk to the restaurant was such a nerve-racking experience. Each step Peter Parker took beside you felt like a step closer to something he wasn't ready (or was actually hoping for). His hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, fingers curling and uncurling, while trying to keep steady pacing alongside you.

But you appeared to be at full ease. You talked about the cool evening, how the trees' leaves were beginning to rustle with the cold wind blowing, and even the faint smell of roasting chestnuts from a street vendor a few blocks away. Peter heard everything, nodded, and punctuated things now and then with the occasional "Yeah" or "Totally," but as for his thoughts, they were running wild within him.

This is well. This is the standard. This is alright, He didn't over hypothesize for the hundredth time.

As much as there was relief in now having something solid to focus on, Peter was panicked that it all became real at that moment.

He opened the door for you, his hand trembling slightly as he held it.

"Thanks," you said, giving him a swift smile before stepping inside.

"Uh, yeah. Of course," Peter mumbled as he hung his head and followed you in.

The hostess took you to a corner besides the glass window, a cozy little spot with a flickering candle in the middle of the table. Peter's hands trembled as he took the chair and gestured you to sit on it.

The menu in front of him could be in another language as he stared dumbly at it, words bringing into a blur while the thoughts buzzing in his head were getting harder to put to rest.

Don't be weird. Just be normal. What does "normal" even mean? Stop overthinking! You've got this!

"This place is nice," you commented as you scanned the menu. "How did you discover it?"

"Oh, um, my aunt used to like it here," Peter said, grateful he could answer such a question. "She says the lasagna is the best."

You grinned. "Aunt May has good taste. I will try that."

He nodded, yes, but could not stop the rush of nervous thoughts flooding his mind. He glanced at the menu as if studying it although he already knew what he would order. But his mind was instead filled with every possible thing he could screw up tonight.

Don't talk too much; don't laugh strangely; don't look like an idiot.

Here came the waiter, and you ordered effortlessly, laced with a polite smile as you handed him the menu. Peter stammered out his order and felt his palms sweat as he gave it. When the waiter walked away, Peter could feel your eyes on him, and it took everything he had to meet your gaze.

"So," you said, leaning in with elbows planted on the table, chin cradled in palm, "what's your thing, Peter?"

"My thing?" he said, taken aback. "Like, my thing?"

"Yeah, like… what do you do for fun? What are you really into doing when absolutely no one else is watching and judging?"

Peter blinked, trying to think of something that wouldn't sound lame. "Uh, well, I like photography," he said. "And science, I guess. Experiments, stuff like that."

You perked up. "Photography? That is cool. What kind of pictures do you take?"

"Mostly city stuff," he said, his voice gaining a bit of confidence. "You know, like weird angles, shadows, reflections. It's probably not that interesting to most people."

"I think it sounds interesting," you said. "I would love to see your pictures sometime."

Peter's heart was pounding so hard. "Really? Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, if you want."

That made the conversation flow more easily. You told him about your love-hate relationship with math, how sometimes you spent too long procrastinating by watching cooking shows instead of doing your homework, and how one time you tried to make crème brûlée and almost burned your stove.

“I had to open every window in the house,” you said, laughing. “My mom came home and thought I’d burned dinner. I didn’t tell her it was supposed to be dessert.”

Peter grinned, feeling just a little bit more at ease. “Maybe stick to cookies next time, huh?”

“Noted,” you said with a mock-serious nod.

Then it was time to eat. You both started digging into it while still keeping up your conversation. Peter quickly found himself becoming much more relaxed, finding it absolutely easy to talk to you when he didn't over-analyze every word. You burst into laughter each time his jokes finished, and whenever his eye fell into yours, everything around faded.

There was little doubt that he was doing this because he was desperate enough to strike a topic that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot; this was the reason why he asked, "You, uh, good with the whole project?"

You leaned back, fiddled with the napkin on the table, and said, "Yeah, it's actually been fun. Well, I mean, we work well together, and you're much smarter than I had thought."

Peter blinked. "Wait, you thought I wasn't smart?"

"No, I just-" You smirk, it's clear you're enjoying his reaction. "You always seem kinda… busy with stuff, you know? You're not exactly the loudest guy in the room."

"Well, I, uh…" Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm, uh, more of a behind-the-scenes guy. You know, less talk, more… action?"

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Peter felt himself get a little more relaxed. Maybe you weren't judging him.

'This place have wine?' you ask all of a sudden, not looking up from the menu.

Peter blinked. "Uh… I think so?"

You smirked and put your feet up on the table after throwing the menu on it. "Perfect. I could use a glass."

Peter was at a loss on how he should respond. It just didn't seem like the kind of person who would order wine to go with dinner-at least, not in his limited and admittedly romanticized view of you. But when the waiter came by, you ordered an entire bottle without hesitating, barely glancing at Peter for confirmation.

"Um, yeah, sounds good," Peter said weakly, even though the thought of drinking anything stronger than soda made him nervous.

The waiter nodded and disappeared, leaving the two of you alone in an awkward silence.

But the waiter was back again, this time with a bottle and two glasses, which he laid down with a polite smile. And before you knew it, the deep red liquid was already swirling around in your glass because you had poured it in haste from the bottle.

Want some? You asked, already halfway through your first sip.

“Uh, maybe later,” Peter said.

You shrugged and took another long drink before putting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Suit yourself.”

The most casual kind of conversation developed between you: you asked Peter about what he was interested in, and he managed to stumble along throwing together great lengthy descriptions about why he loved photography and science, and the words came out too fast for him to think them. It almost seemed like you were listening to him, however, because he went on to nod before even asking follow-up questions, which made him for the first time in a long time feel that he wasn't entirely invisible.

By that time, he was becoming aware, as the hours slipped away, that you were filling up your glass more and more often. The bottle was now half empty when the food came, and you were already sporting rosy cheeks when the alcohol was pouring into your system.

“This is good,” you said, hardly bothering with your plate in order to gesture with your fork at it. "I mean, really good. Good call, Parker.”

The smile that appeared on Peter's face was that of nervousness. "Thanks. I'm glad you like it."

Now you leaned back in your seat, holding your glass up to the light. "You know, I don't really do stuff like this. I've kind of never had dinner with classmates. It's just a little… weird, you know?"

Peter sank a little. "Weird, how?"

"Not bad weird," you said immediately by waving your hand. "Just… different. Like, generally, I would just be at home watching some lousy reality show and trying to forget how much homework I have to do."

Peter chuckled, even though he had no idea what to say next.

After a sip of wine, the boy looked up at Peter who immediately landed his gaze upon the bottle. You seem well into your first glass with a heightening sense of ease that you appeared to be at his home. Maybe it was because of the wine or perhaps how you were looking at him right now-not with judging spectatorship but with a strange kind of understanding that made him feel as if he were not really out of place.

It was only a count of seconds before the food arrived while you already had a second glass in hand. Peter's stomach flipped at that moment. This wasn't the way he was used to seeing you, all loosened up and speaking without that slight guard he usually saw when you were around. You appeared different tonight, and Peter couldn't quite figure it out if it was a good thing or not.

However, the conversation was still going on, only that as soon as you took a few more drinks, conversations shifted to more profound, much more personal things. Laughter spilled from your lips more freely, although Peter saw that smiles were now somewhat uncontrollable. Maybe it was the wine; maybe it was just the ambience. In any case, he could feel something shifting, like you were letting him see this version of yourself you weren't sure he was supposed to see.

"Peter", you said, looking at him with wide eyes after a long sip. "What's your big dream? Like 20 years from now, what do you see yourself doing?"

He shifted around uneasily on his chair. And that question was sudden, a little more intense than he would have reckoned it to be. He was not used to being asked about his future like this.

"Honestly?" said Peter, leaning back a little and looking down at the half-finished plate in front of him. "I don't really know. I think- I think I want to do something with science, or photography. Maybe combine. Don't know really. Just like, I want to fix things, you know? Help make the world a little less broken.''

You were quiet for a moment, and Peter wasn't sure whether it was because he'd said something wrong or whether you were just thinking. But when you finally spoke, your voice was softer, almost quieter than before.

"I think that's really admirable, Peter."

That was it. That one simple sentence hit him harder than he expected. He wasn't used to compliments like that- not from you, not from anyone. The words were a strange dream, and for a second he just looked dumbfoundedly at you trying to really understand what you mean.

Peter had never imagined the night to go this way. Not even in a million years. But here he was, walking alongside you, swaying slightly on the sidewalk with less steadiness in your step than before. Surprisingly, the wine had hit you faster than he figured, and he wasn't so sure if he should be concerned or just chalk it up to the kind of night it had turned into.

"Hey, I'm-" You hiccupped, laughing lightly at your own clumsiness. "I'm fine, Peter. Really."

But Peter wasn't so sure. His instincts were whipping him into overdrive-the same ones that always made him want to leap into action when something was amiss. "Yeah, I don't think you are," he said, trying to keep it light. "Let me just walk you home, okay? Just to make sure you're good."

But you rolled your eyes, with an almost sheepish smile you gave in, "Fine, fine. I get it. You're worried about me."

"Yeah, I am," Peter said, his voice a little quieter than he intended. "But you're my responsibility right now, okay?"

You exhale a small laugh, and Peter can't help but take note of how completely giddy it sounded, a little like you weren't quite sure where you were or what you were doing. You leaned against him, and then Peter was surprised at how easily you let him help you with that.

The way home was otherwise silent except for the occasional trip and the muttered apologies from you. But Peter didn't mind it, sensing closeness, although strange. Everything was just weird tonight. The brushing of your hand against his as you reached for your keys. That laugh of yours that wouldn't leave his ears. The vulnerability you seemed to wear in your eyes at that moment.

So, then you reached your door, and you suddenly stopped and stood there, fumbling with the keys in your hand. Peter moved closer but silently offered to help. You shook your head.

"I've got this," you said, though your words were slurring just enough for Peter to catch the uncertainty behind them.

After much effort on your part, the door finally opened. You leaned in again, and Peter nearly lost his heart as he had to rush forward to steady you.

"Whoa, take it easy," Peter said catching you as you stumbled. "Let me help you."

You smiled up at him, glassy and unfocused. "I'm fine, Peter," you slurred. "Just a little…tipsy."

Peter chuckled and guided you up the walkway to your front door. "Tipsy, huh? Well, let's get you inside and safe, then."

As you both reached the front door, you fumbled with your keys and Peter had to gently take them from your hand and unlock the door himself. You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

After some time and a couple of tries, she got the door opened.

"Okay, inside," he said, his tone a little more powerful now. You did not resist him as he helped you through the door, but there was a strange sadness in your eyes that twisted Peter's stomach.

You moved slowly to the couch and finally sank down on it; the wine was exhausting. Peter stood near the door for a moment, wondering his next move. He wanted to shoot his shot, his thoughts wandered to somethings more inappropriate. Wasn't this all about getting you safe? Ensuring you did not end up passed out somewhere in a big, messy pile of sheets and regrets.

"Can you just… stay for a bit?" you asked quietly, with barely a whisper.

Peter hesitated. He didn't want to go too far, and he couldn't just leave you here, not looking so…fragile.

"Yes," he spoke softly, entering then into the living room. "I'll stay for a bit"

You nodded at him, gazing at him with tired eyes. "Thank you."

Peter perched on the edge of the couch; his hands awkwardly balanced on his knees. What a strange space there was between you two now, strange in that it was so very close, yet so far away. He wanted to be of some use and ensure you were okay, and yet the way the glance kept coming from you in that direction somehow felt… off. It was like walking on a fine line.

Peter looked at you longingly, you were so beautiful.

Too close and too perfect, he found himself sitting next to you, and Peter felt the pressure of so many things left uncommunicated fill his chest. He needed to do it. He needed to say it.

"Peter?" Your voice was a soft whisper, a little uncertain. Wine had aided this whole relaxing process, yet made almost everything feel slightly out of focus.

Peter swallowed, heart pounding in the chest. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the alcohol that has found narrate in your system, or if it was the raw honesty of the moment, but he knew very well it was now or never, the one chance to say all he had kept bottled up for months.

"Yeah?" he whispered, getting closer so that he was almost against you now.

"It's just that, I… I'm sorry if I've been too much tonight," you said, your words slightly slurring as you allowed your gaze to drift over his face. "I didn't mean to get that drunk."

Peter felt his breath hitch in his throat. "It's fine," he said, his voice softer now. He could feel his palms sweating, his heart racing faster than ever. "I just… I just want to make sure you're okay."

You smiled up at him, but it was a little foggy, and Peter could tell that the wine had dulled your clarity. Still, you were so beautiful, standing there, looking at him with those eyes—eyes that made him feel like he mattered.

Peter took a sharp breath and let a sudden breath of air come out. It was as if a magnet was pulling them together, and he was drawn to it. "So, uh– I was thinking…" He hesitated for a moment, then recovered his composure, trying to calm the trembling in his hands. "I've been thinking about you for a long time. Like, longer than I should have."

His brows knitted further in confusion as Peter quickly realized that the rest of the sentence was failing miserably in getting through your mind, as if the actual words were swimming around in it, suspended in fog. He stepped closer, unable to stop himself.

"If I—" He let out a shaky breath. "You know, I've been loving you for so long now. And tonight, I couldn't hold it anymore and just… broke the dam."

Your expression shifted slightly. Confusion clouded your gaze. You blinked, trying to piece together his words. "Wait, what?"

Peter took a step closer, completely incapable of holding himself back. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt the heat between you intensify. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your arm. "I love you," he whispered again, barely able to breathe. "I love you so much, and I've been too scared to say it. I've watched you for so long, and I—" Peter stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, eyes looking like a lost puppy.

"You're so beautiful, so so beautiful" He leaned in, your face was so close to him, his lips brushed against yours. He held your face as he licked your lips.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin with just the proximity of Peter's face to yours, and the goosebumps it sent down your spine. Those eyes were filled deeply with a longing expression and captured yours as if drowning you in its depths. There was air that quite vibrated between the two of you, and the heat that seemed to take form could even be felt emanating from his body.

"I wanted to do that for so long," Peter whispered. His voice shuddered with desire. Gentle words falling like a caress to send shivers through you: "Wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss."

His lips brushed against yours when he spoke, making your body spark with electricity. You were pretty much melting into him, as if his very desire were consuming your human body. His lips, soft and gentle, just as firm and insistent. You tasted like wine.

"You're so beautiful" he said as his hands went underneath your dress, his hands inching close to your under garments. He touched your clothed core; he used his index finger to rub your clothed cover clit

You squirmed in his touch, "P-peter" You mewled in his mouth

This just seemed to fuel Peter even more, as he set aside your panties as his smooth fingers rubbed your now exposed core. Peter looked at you, he slowly kneeled as he spread your legs.

He looked at your wet core, as if it was a painting that he couldn't understand. Without warning he then sucked your glistening pearl; his tongue probed the inside of your gummy walls as his fingers rubbed your pearl. You cried out, your body arching up to meet him, and Peter felt a surge of excitement. He was in control now, and you were at his mercy.

He knew it was wrong, you were drunk after all, but he couldn't help it, this was his only chance.

He licked and sucked at your clit, his fingers plunging in and out of your dripping wet pussy, you cried out in ecstasy, your hands tugging at Peter's hair. But he didn't care, all he cared about was your dripping we cunt.

Anticipation dwells in the coiling mouth against your body, sending shivers along your spine. Every inch of you is lulled into stimulation by his gentle probing, drawing near to a soon-to-be-hidden insistent demand. You can feel that hot air glazing across your skin, soft scraping with teeth, and relentless pressure from his lips, all of which accompanies his tongue.

Your hands are clenched while he works, fingers digging into the sheets or perhaps his hair, holding him there. Your hips jerk primitively, as though to push him deeper and encourage more pressure, while your breathing makes raspy sounds mixed with soft mewls of pleasure.

One hand is busy at your hips, molding you solidly into place, while the other slips only up over the curve of your waist before settling over your breast.

You feel yourself immersing in the sensation as your focus is honed into one. The only critical thing is the feeling of his mouth on you. The whole room begins to fade away, and you're left with only the slushing wet sounds he makes and your breathless gasps, groans, and cries.

Peter on the other hand felt like he was in cloud nine, his mouth was now fully covered in your arousal, but he didn't care. He continued lapping at your cunt, accompanied with his middle finger thrusting in and out of you.

As the intensity rises, so do your frantic movements: the hips jerk and thrust as though reaching toward some ill-defined height. His mouth is a scythe-like blur of tongue lashing and probing until the pressure builds and you're all quivering trembling muscles, precariously balanced on a knife edge of release.

Your mouth is wide open, frozen in a silent scream on your lips, and your entire body starts quivering at the moment of release.

Then silence engulfs the outside world; its only inhabitants are trapped in a silent world of raw lust. His mouth is a furnace, raging, and threatening to engulf you completely, but you lean into the flames, thirsty for the intense heat that only he can provide. Your skin is slick with sweat, your heart thundering like a runaway train as your body builds toward the inevitable climax.

Your cries intensify as tension rises, a mournful cry into this frantic air, a scream savage, echoing off the walls as your body strains towards that release. Your muscles quivering.

Before you knew it, it almost hit you like rough wave of pleasure.

His cock twitched, his balls tightening with anticipation, as he felt the warmth of her your release in his mouth. That alone could make him cum his pants. He had never been this close to a woman before, and the thought of exploring your body was almost too much to bear. And here he was doing exactly just that.

You were beautiful to Peter, but you looked ungodly when you were in a state of release. The way your chest would heave up and down, how your mascara was running down your eyes, and your lipstick smudged on the side of your face.

"You're so beautiful" he said, barely even above a whisper.

"P-peter— OH MY GOD!"

He suddenly took a long slow stripe of your pussy, as if savoring everything, but then stopped when his tongue reached your clit. He sucked on your little pearl as if it was lollipop.

You moaned loudly as your back arched and your toes curled, "P-peter" You whimpered

The way he was sucking on your clit, along with his fingers that was thrusting deep inside you. It made it nearly unbearable. The last few moments or so almost sent you spiraling into one of those severe orgasms that made you see stars on your ceiling.

Loud moans slipped from your mouth, you wondered if your parents were at home, what if they see their sweet girl falling apart underneath the so-called weird kid of your school.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to ease the bittersweet pleasure he was giving you. "P-peter, oh god, stop, I c-can't take it anymore" you begged in a voice very nearly a whisper. Body trembling, your hands reached instinctively for his hair, holding him.

He continued his performance on your clit. A familiar knot kept building inside you. Suddenly, the moans turned into loud gasps, and your body began to shake uncontrollably. P-peter, I…I think I'm going to come again" you finally whisper. To that, he only sucked harder, licked harder, his fingers falling on a rhythm with his tongue swirling relentlessly on your sensitive spot, bringing you to sweet agony. Your back arched up, you gasp while screaming, "P-PETER!"

Heaving and shaking with each pulsing moan, you lay there with your body's hypersensitivity after such intense pleasure receding. Finally, Peter raised his head. That satisfied smile on his face was testimony to your ability to elicit such feelings from him. And with his eyes, he stared at you, every flicker of lust speaking volumes about what was crossing his mind. Then he kissed near the center of time in your inner thigh, his lips dragging softly, and then moving to lie with you at the side of the couch

Peter's smile slowly faded as he noticed your catch of breath, replaced with a show of real concern. He stroked your hair as he gazed into your eyes. "That was intense," Peter said. "You're shaking." His voice was tender, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Time to get you to bed, all right?"

He managed a slowly rise from the couch while extending his hand forward towards you. You grasped onto it and found your balance shaky; nonetheless, Peter assisted you toward leaving the living room, down the hallway, and into your bedroom.

Peter opened your door slowly, revealing the bedroom from that night. Snap out of your thoughts Parker!

The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room. Peter placed you carefully at the edge of the bed. He knelt down to remove your shoes and started undressing you slowly and carefully. He threw the covers over you as you laid back in bed, tucking you in like a young child.

"Rest," he whispered as he brushed his lips against your forehead. "Sleep, I'll be here when you wake." He sat beside you, stroking your hair with his hand. Your eyelids began to feel heavier, and weariness, along with all the forms of pleasure, finally overtook you. Peter was the last person you remember as you slipped into slumber, where upon you felt the warmth beside you that offered the source of a much-needed sense of safety.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me

[madhatterbri]

I Had Some Help | D.P.

Summary: Y/N wakes up next to Damian Priest and he reminds her he isn't the only one that helped get them in bed.

Author's Note: I love song fic requests because there are so many ways a person can interpret the song. ❤️

Requested by: @new-zealand-chic

Taglist: @theworldofotps @mrsarcherofinfamy @smallestsnarkestgirl @brideofinfamy @magicalbuttertarts

"Oh, no, no, no, princesa. I had some help," Damian told the woman in his bed. She had a sheet covering her body as if he hadn't seen all of it the night before. Y/N opened her mouth yet closed it. She didn't remember what exactly happened last night. Embarrassed, she asked him to remind her. A smile popped in his mind as he reminisced.

They were the last two at the hotel bar. He was celebrating another victory against his former best friend, Finn Balor. Damian could see the girl from across the bar. She giggled and waved at him. He smiled politely and waved back. The Archer of Infamy didn't think anything else of the matter until she sat next to him.

He struck up friendly conversations with her. Mostly because he was in a good mood and the adult beverages were kicking in. Also, she was pretty cute. They started to flirt with each other. One thing led to another, and they kissed.

They continued with physical intimacy. Hands and lips rarely left the other. She was fun to be around. The liquor really loosened Y/N up, and she ended up having the same sense of humor as her. They lost track of time, and the bartender informed them the bar was closed.

"I think I should help you to you room," Damian chuckled when they walked into the elevator. They both reached to pick the same number.

"Looks like you can," she giggled. Their lips locked again. Damian couldn't quite remember the parts from the elevator to the room. He only remembered when they made it to his room.

"I was thinking we could both stay here to help with our hangovers," he whispered and wrapped his arms around her waist. Y/N remained in place, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He kissed the side of her neck. She sighed and moved her head to the side.

His fingers laced hers as he led Y/N to his bed. She sat on his bed. He kissed her lips. "So perfect,"

She blushed.

"You are cute when you blush,” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His lips were taunting as they moved down to graze the column of her throat. She felt the sharpness of his teeth slide over her skin, and the breath she didn’t know she was holding exhaled in a long, needy moan.

Her eyes rolled when his calloused palms slid beneath her dress, straight to her inner thighs, spreading her legs apart for him. Y/N grabbed his shirt and pulled him in, crashing her lips with his to give him the answer.

He hastily pulled her dress up to bunch around her waist. He seemed to lack patience, and she didn’t attest. Y/N worked on his belt, hands fumbling to get it undone, and he looked down at the struggle with an amused smirk before he stepped back to do it himself.

“Eager?” He smirks. She pulled him back and worked on the buttons of his shirt, but her fingers halted, and her mind spiraled into a blurred haze when she felt him push into her, bottoming out in one swift motion. Grabbing onto his shoulders, she looked up and found that infamous smirk dripping in arrogance.

“Now who’s eager?” Y/N quirked a brow. All she received was a twitch of the corner of Damian's mouth before he wrapped his hands beneath her thighs and hiked them up, holding them firmly at his sides. His hips snapped, the force unforgiving.

With every thrust, the bed hit the wall, the bangs echoing throughout the bedroom. Y/N's head fell back as he rocked into you, two buttons of his shirt letting a sliver of tanned skin and pieces of his tattoos peeking through. He drew his lip beneath his teeth as he picked up the pace. Sweat beads formed at his temple, sliding down to his jaw as he stared directly into Y/N's eyes, unable to look away when she was taking him so well.

“Taking me so well,” he breathily rasped as he kissed her. Her mouth opened, but no words flew past them. Her mind scrambled, and her body set ablaze. It’s a wonder she could even keep her eyes on him.

“You feel so good," she breathlessly moaned, cupping his jaw and swiping her thumb over his bottom lip before she leaned forward and pressed hers to him. He picked up the pace, his thrusts gaining momentum, so much so that Y/N couldn’t hold the kiss. He smirked against her lips and leaned back up, grabbing her leg and hiking her ankle up to his shoulder. He placed a kiss on her inner calf before he leaned forward again, his lips latching to your neck.

Y/N's knee brushed her cheek as he rocked into her. The new angle made her feel him so much deeper that she couldn’t contain the incomprehensible sounds spewing from her lips. She arched her hips to match his thrusts. She clenched around him every time he pulled back, just to draw him right back in.

“Do that again.” He grunted against her neck. She kept arching her hips, lifting them off the bed every time he thrust back into her.

“Shit, just like that - right there.” His deep voice slightly trembled. He was losing his composure, and she knew it. She clenched him as tight as she could just to hear the curses he let out against her shoulder.

“I’m so close,” she managed to break out, her hips ferociously raising to chase after that high that was so close she could taste it. He wordlessly brought a hand down between their slick bodies and started working his thumb on her sensitive bundle of nerves.

Y/N's eyes rolled back, his name flew past her lips, and hers rolled off his tongue twice. Her body jolted with the last three thrusts before she felt herself succumb completely. She held onto him for dear life as he rocked her through the high, slowing the thrusts significantly to make sure she rode it out as long as she could. He pulled back up and locked his lips with hers just as his high took hold.

His hips stuttered, then stilled, and she took every last bit he had to offer. Two more breathy kisses, and he pulled back, a lazy smirk and droopy eyes to match on his face. He looked at her with adoration.

“I guess you did have a little help," she whispered sheepishly. Y/N slid out of the bed to gather her clothes.

"You don't have to just leave. I'd like to get to know you. Want to do brunch?"

[xoxotria]

inferno | y. jh

pairing: targaryen!jeonghan x targaryen!reader

themes: house of dragon!au, incest, arranged marriage, typical house of dragon themes

warnings: incest, unprotected sex, edging, oral sex, switch reader, mentions of reader having breasts and a vagina

summary: unable to make his two troublesome children settle down the king takes matters into his own hands and decides to wed them.

“you and i are made of fire. we have always been meant to burn together.”

i.

another daughter of the lord baratheon storms out of the prince’s chambers a scowl on her face as she passes by the targaryen princess. curious she walks towards her brother’s room to see what all that was about.

“chased off another one dear brother?” she teases as she peaks into her older brother’s chambers.

jeonghan sits at the edge of his bed a cup of wine in hand as he rolls his eyes at her.

“it’s not my fault she’s too tame for my taste.” he smirks.

jeonghan targaryen, the second heir to the throne after their other brother seungcheol, was a menace always getting into trouble with his dragon. he was an untamable soul—one that even the king, his father, cannot control.

“emā se ānogar hen zaldrīzes flowing rȳ ao. they’re sepār zūgagon naejot zālagon.” you have the blood of the dragon flowing through you. they’re just scared to burn. she smiles taking a seat on the set of chairs in the middle of his chambers.

“hae gaomagon ao jorrāelagon mandia, skore dīnagon īlva isse keskydoso situation.” as do you dearest sister, which puts us in the same situation.

he was right, she wasn’t very different from him. despite the god-like appearances they carry, she was a targaryen. according to her grandfather king jaehaerys ii, every time a targaryen is born the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land. as much as targaryens are prone to greatness, they are also prone to madness.

the targaryen princess was vastly known to be like her ancestor queen visenya targaryen. a passionate, stern and unforgiving woman who feared nothing and no one but she was also loving to her two brothers. she trusted no one other than them—she was their little flame. she was immensely stubborn and headstrong, challenging her bethroned to keep up with her which always ends up with them break off their engagement unable to diminish her inferno.

she knew what she wanted and she wasn’t going to let anyone get in the way of what she wanted—what she deserved.

“father will have our heads for breaking off another engagement he worked so hard to arrange for us.” she watches as jeonghan stands up to refill his cup downing it as he shrugs.

“his anger has always been temporary, ñuha perzys. it will only be a matter of time before he finds us another engagement to break.” he winks. my flame, the term of endearment he gave her as soon as she was born into this world.

“let us hope that is the case, there are only a few noble houses to choose from left—for me anyways, baratheon, tully, stark and hightower to name the few. are we as the rumors say we are?” she whispers softly as she peers up at him.

he puts his cup down as he encircles his arms around her, engulfing her into a tight hug. he knew of her worries—he’s heard the whispers in the king’s landing regarding both of their tendencies to be unreasonable and extremely picky when it comes to their betrothed or the rumors about them being together alone in each others chambers in the middle of the night.

“we know fully well who we are, who cares what they say? you and i ride the biggest dragons to ever live, we do not need the approval or the validation ñuha perzys.”

“i suppose your right.”

“please, ñuha perzys. i am always right.” he boasts as she shoves him off of her with a smile on her face.

to many of the people in the palace, the bond they shared seemed to dance the lines between siblings and something more. with personalities that matched each other’s, the similarities in their ways of thinking, and the way they presented themselves to the court and to the people of the kingdom. they mirrored each other so well.

jeonghan would hear the rumors as he loitered the streets of the city on days sleep would not find him, he thought about it. targaryen’s often marry siblings, it was a normal occurence in their family. their ancestor king aegon i even took both of his sisters to marry. it plagued his thoughts whenever he found himself staring across the hall at the sight of his little flame listening to her betrothed talk endlessly about something that did not intrigue her one bit as she toyed with the necklace he gifted her on her nineteenth name day.

unknowingly to the male, the female targaryen also harbored similar thoughts about her brother as she watched him and his betrothed acquaint themselves with each other in the gardens she often read. she would feel a pinch of jealousy as his betrothed made advances on him causing her to storm off to the dragonpit to go ride on vermithor.

“except when it comes to the women you choose.” she laughs as his face morphs to a shocked one.

“you did not! i don’t even pick them!”

“yes, i did! you always had a choice on the matter brother.”

lunging at her, jeonghan pushes her unto his bed as he tickled her sides causing her to erupt in laughter.

“take it back, ñuha perzys.” he smirked as he pinned both her arms above her head as he continued to tickle her sides.

“never.” she whispered realising how close their faces were to each other.

“i’ll give you one last chance. take it back.”

lilac colored eyes stared into light blue eyes, faces centimeters apart as the tension between them rises. his eyes glancing down to her lips briefly as he watched her bite her bottom lip.

kiss me. her eyes begged, breath hitching as he leaned down closer their noses touching.

“say it.” he whispered. say you want me to kiss you ñuha perzys and i will.

they stared at each other, hearts pounding against their chests, their bodies flushed against one another. they knew they had no right to touch each other, crave them like air—but they did. somehow they knew that the fire that burned in them was only meant to burn together.

“i—”

“jeonghan! father is summoning you.” seungcheol’s voice booms behind the wooden doors as he slams his fists against it.

snapping out of their thoughts jeonghan pulled away and offered his hand to help her up from the bed as she muttered a small ‘thank you’. she had made her way back to the seat she was in just in time before the doors slammed open with her other brother walking in.

“i never said you could enter, brother.” jeonghan muttered as seungcheol sat down on the other seat across from the princess.

“ñuha perzys, i didn’t know you were in here.” seungcheol greeted as she smiled at him.

“i had the honor of seeing another lady storm out of his chambers.” she replied as seungcheol laughs looking over at his younger brother.

“again? for fucks sake, jeonghan! what’s wrong with her now?”

she isn’t her. he thought bitterly as his eyes met hers quickly before looking back at seungcheol and shrugging at their brother.

“too ‘tame’ is what he told me.” she pipes up as seungcheol’s brow raises at him.

“at this point, i do not even know who father would set you up with anymore.” he snatched the cup of wine from the table before turning to the princess. “you as well.”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“please, ñuha perzys. i know everything that goes on in the keep. i heard about the lord crying and storming off after you took him out on a ride with vermithor.”

she once took the young lord on a afternoon ride with vermithor not knowing how the boy was terrified of both heights and the strong personality she had. the lord was a pussy anyways hurling at the stories the princess told about various poisons and tricks to kill someone without the evidence pointing back at you. it didn’t shock her he’d already fled back home with his tail between his legs.

“not my fault the boy hasn’t grown a dick yet.” she shrugged earning a chuckle from jeonghan.

“well father is not going to be please with both of you either way so i suggest running along and heading to meet with him and at the small council meeting room immediately.” seungcheol stands as he makes his way out jeonghan’s chambers.

the two shared a look before heading out as well, a look they shared a lot recently, a look that meant they were fucked.

ii.

“i am at my wits end with the both of you! you scared off the last lord in close vicinity interested in you and you—” the king points slams his hand on the table as the princess and prince look on bored as ever. “—you have yet to marry a lady i set up for you! time is running out for both of you troublesome children of mine.”

“father i will not be tied down to a boy who can not handle a woman such as myself. i know what i want and what i deserve. jeonghan feels the same way. do not expect me to marry a boy who only wants me for my cunt and dragon.” she reasons her voice stern as jeonghan nods in agreement beside her.

the king was livid. he could not understand why his children was being this difficult with finding spouses! he did not know what to do with them anymore. he hadn’t cause his father this type of problems when it came to his marriage.

“i may be your father but i am also your king! my word is absolutely final. what am i to do with you?” he glares at his children, a headache starting.

does he try one more time with the lords of houses valaryeon or stark? or the ladies of house lannister or strong? the king was stuck on what to do until an idea popped up inside his head.

“seeing as your engagements to other houses have yet to be successful you have left me no choice but to wed you both to each other seeing as only the both of you tolerate and understand one another. i should have done this from the start and saved myself time.”

the two royals glanced at each other as they silently cheered in their heads. this was it. their chance to finally be themselves unapologetically without thinking about how their betrothed would act or what the people would say but doubts of how she would react still plagued jeonghan’s thoughts.

would she like that? he thought as he glanced over at the princess beside him.

“father…” he glanced over at the king as the princess stayed silent beside him. “i will only do so if she accepts to as well.”

she stared at the marble table in front of her as she takes jeonghan’s words in. he was giving her a choice in their marriage. was he not interested in the idea at all? was he hesitating to marry her because he loved someone else? she had to play her cards right, if she declined she would probably shipped off to dragonstone and wait to be married to some lord she’d have no choice but to marry for political reasons or does she take the chance with the one person who she truly feels something for? she briefly glances at her brother who sat quietly staring at her before glancing over to her father.

“i’ll do it. i’ll marry jeonghan father.”

“then it is settled! you will marry in two moons time.” the king announces clapping his hands as he stands to congratulate his children. “i can die happy knowing my children are settled well into this world. it is the only thing a father wants for his children.”

“thank you father.” she replied a small smile on her lips as jeonghan intertwines their hands together.

“i will fulfill my duty towards you and the crown, father. you have my word.” he declares as he plants a kiss on the back of her hand.

duty. she was only his duty. she thought bitterly as she exchanged a tight-lipped smile with him, her father cheering and talking with the hand gleefully in the background.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

the princess grew distant with jeonghan, something everyone in the palace took notice of. preparations for the royal wedding were well underway as they only had a limited amount of time and everything needed to be perfect.

“you look absolutely stunning ñuha perzys.” seungcheol complimented as she stood on a pedestal being fitted into her wedding gown.

“do you not think it is too much?” she asked gesturing to the silks that clung to her body.

“nonsense, ñuha perzys. it’s perfect.” he cooed at his baby sister. “is something wrong?” he asked he noticed the change in her posture.

“nothing is wrong.”

“something is bothering you. everyone leave us.” he commanded as the seamstress and the ladies exited the room.

“tell me what is wrong and i will do something about it.” he demanded softly as he took her hands in his.

“you and i both know i can do far worse than you brother.” she chuckled.

“do not change the subject ñuha perzys. i’ve noticed the distance of you and jeonghan as of late and i’m not the only one. what’s on your mind?”

seungcheol had noticed the subtle changes between the two. he did not want to pry into the changes in the ‘relationship’ his siblings had but as their older brother it felt like he needed to especially when the pair had been ignoring each other for the past few days after the announcement of their engagement. he noticed how jeonghan was distracted during lessons and small council meetings, spacing out more than usual. he planned on cornering him but it was harder to see him alone with all the planning he had been doing for the wedding so when he found out about his sister’s dress fitting he took the chance to talk to her and get to the bottom of things.

“i know marriage is more often than not only for political reasons and that targaryen marriages are often something the crown does to strengthen claims to the throne and blood purity. that’s all it us right? a duty—to the people, to the king, to the crown. i get that marriage is mostly a duty! a stupid fucking duty.” she chuckled darkly. “i don’t want to be someone’s duty, seungcheol. i deserve more than that. i’m a targaryen princess. i ride vermithor, one of the biggest dragons from old valaria. i am more than just a fucking duty! so why am i just a duty to the crown for him when he’s so much more to me? am i not worthy to be wed just because he loves me?”

jeonghan’s words had affected her more than she let herself too. she hated knowing she was just a duty to him—a fucking duty. she was going to be his wife for the rest of his life and he viewed her as a duty? she was livid. after the meeting with their father she had made her way to the dragon pit and took vermithor out on a ride returning in early hours of the day before the sun came out completely avoiding the blonde prince who waited for her to return but eventually fell asleep doing so.

she had avoided being in the same room as jeonghan since that day which confused him. had he done something to upset her? did she not want to get married to him? he had been hurt when he knocked on her chambers to spend time together like they always did before bed but she shooed him away as soon as he had knocked on her door. he tried several times to corner her alone after that waiting by the library to see the end of her lessons with the septa or at the dragon pit waiting for her to come down from her flight with vermithor but with their wedding fast approaching it was impossible to do so. he gave up after the fifth day deciding to sulk about it instead or make it everyone’s problem that he wasn’t in the best mood because she had been avoiding it.

“he said that? for fucks sake! don’t you see that he is absolutely obssessed with you?” he asks taking her by surprise.

“he does not, seungcheol. you should’ve heard it come out from his own stupid mouth that i was just a duty to the crown for him!”

“ñuha perzys you are stupid to think he does not love you.”

“prove it then.” she interjected stubbornly.

“gods are you blind? have you really not noticed anything?” he asked as she shook her head ‘no’.

“do you ever wonder why father never reprimands you for things you do out of line? well, it’s because jeonghan always takes the blame for you even if father knows it was you who did it. all those fucking lords that would dare talk ill about you or sexualize you with him in the same room—the one’s who’d disappear all of a sudden? they’ve all been murdered by jeonghan. gods i would know—i was there as he tortured them before feeding them to vhagar once. he fears no consequences that will come to him if it meant you would be safe and taken cared for. that man has done things that would traumatise any other normal human being but he did it for you. if that doesn’t show his love and dedication to you i do not know who will ñuha perzys.”

“then why did he just not ask father from the start to marry me if he felt that way?”

“do you honestly think he will risk his relationship with you not knowing how you felt for him in return? he endured seeing you with lords not even worthy of you.”

she felt confused. had he really viewed her the way she did secretly? had she really missed all of that?

“fuck.” she cursed as realization of his actions, his words— him had set in her mind. “what do i do seungcheol? he most probably thinks i hate him for having to marry him.”

a smirk makes it way across seungcheol as he looked at her.

“leave that part to me, ñuha perzys.”

iii.

after days of trying to get him alone, the prince jeonghan was finally away from the chaos of preparing for their wedding. he had been practicing on a wooden dummy in the training yard, swiftly jabbing his sword as it delivered calculated and fluid movements that would make any enemy falter and die in a span of minutes. he was always skilled with a sword as he never wanted to not be prepared in case the threat of battle was present. he did not like his life being in the hands of his guards. she had approached him silently as he delivered one last swing at the dummy chopping it’s head off clean.

“ñuha dārilaros skoros ēza se dummy gaomagon naejot jiōragon such wrath hen ao?” my prince what has the dummy done to receive such wrath from you?

his head snapped at the sound of her voice as he sheathes his sword by his hip. he was mildly surprised to see and hear her infront of him after he had been unsuccessful at being granted a private audience with his betrothed for days.

“ñuha perzys, skoros grants nyke se rigle hen emare ñuha betrothed isse ñuha presence tolī tubissa hen issare denied hen such?” my flame, what grants me the honor of having my betrothed in my presence after days of being denied of such? his eyebrow raised teasing her but there was a hint of bitterness in his tone that wasn’t looked past by the princess.

“may i invite you to take a walk with me, my prince?” she asked politely as he nodded falling into step beside her as they walked through the gardens.

a tense silence blanketed the two royals as they walked in step with each other, hands so close to brushing each other with how close they were. months ago, they would watch each other walk the same paths in the garden with each other’s betrothed with spite as they watched their betrothed try to swoon them over with flattery that would take them nowhere—nothing would swoon them over. no amount of riches, fame and flattery could. they just weren’t who plagued their thoughts.

“will you ever tell me why you’ve been actively avoiding me or shall i tickle it out of you?” jeonghan piped up as he stared down at her.

“i have not been avoiding you. i’m just busy with wedding preparations—”

“bullshit! i have been busy with my own share of wedding preparations but will always have time to spend with you. what have i done ñuha perzys?” he demanded standing infront of her as she peered up at him.

“for someone as smart as you are, you are quite dense.”

“ivestragon nyke kostilus, nyke daor gūrogon se lyka treatment hen ao mirre longer ñuha perzys.” tell me please, i cannot take the silent treatment from you any longer my flame. he begged as he grasps her hand in his own.

“a duty.” she whispered watching his face morph into a confused expression.

“you called me and our betrothal a fucking duty to the crown.” she glared at him as realization passes him.

“ñuha perzys, you are a duty i would gladly fulfill until my last breath but you are not only that to me. however, i would rather tell you that in a more private setting rather than the gardens where someone could easily eavesdrop into our conversation.” he explained as he kissed the back of her hand.

“sepār ȳdragon isse Valyrīha, mērī īlon drējī shifang se udrir isse īlva lentor se se people kesīr.” just speak in valyrian, only we truly understand the language in our family and the people here. she uttered pulling her hand away creating some distance from him.

he sighed pressing his lips together but nodded. he gathered his thoughts as she stared at him, jaw clenching as she absentmindedly bit on her lip.

“fuck—don’t do that.” he whispered.

“speak or i’ll leave.”

“i will—just. fuck.”

jeonghan was never this bothered by any woman. he was used to women fawning and lusting over him usually throwing the bodies against his hoping to receive a reaction from him (they don’t) before he pushes them away in disgust. so how was it that by simply biting with her lips, he could feel his self restraint thinning fast.

“i’m serious. i will leave.”

“don’t.” he pleaded.

she narrowed her eyes at her betrothed as she stared at his tense form. she could faintly make out the built of his body from the way his sweat made his clothes stick to his body. she gulped trying to rid of the unholy thoughts running through her head.

“nyke gōntan daor mazōregon emare naejot dīnagon ao sepār kesrio syt nyke viewed ao hae such. iksan daor mēre qilōni kessa dīnagon syt political reasons iā mirros tolie than se fact se ābra nyke dīnagon iksis se ābra nyke jorrāelagon. nyke gōntan daor chase qrīdrughagon mirre lī ābrar, ossēnagon mirre lī lords, gūrogon multiple blames syt anyone. ao gīmigon se type hen issaros iksan ñuha perzys.” i did not accept having to marry you just because i viewed you as such. i am not one who will marry for political reasons or anything other than the fact the woman i marry is the woman i love. i did not chase away all those women, murder all those lords, take multiple blames for anyone. you know the type of person i am my flame.

he thought about the lords he’d torture and feed vhagar after hearing such disgusting and crude marks about her—people who viewed and lusted her as just some royal whore made his blood boil. he swore that as long as he lived, he would kill such disgusting animals without any mercy.

“eman dedicated ñuha ābrar naejot ao. nyke promised nykēla bona hae bōsa hae ao sagon biare kesan gaomagon everything isse ñuha power bona ziry stays bona ñuhoso. bona daor ōdrikagon kessa mirre māzigon naejot ao. kostan daor sagon se sȳrje rȳ expressing ñuha emotions rȳ udra yn nyke hope bona hēnkirī kesan sagon able naejot. jaelan īlva naejot sagon isse iā biare dīnilūks ñuha perzys. mērī ao se eman keskydoso inferno bona burns deep iemnȳ īlva. īlon we’re va moriot meant naejot zālagon brighter hēnkirī. lo nyke could urnēptre ao skorkydoso olvie nyke jorrāelatan ao nyke would” i have dedicated my life to you. i promised myself that as long as you're happy i will do everything in my power that it stays that way. that no harm will ever come to you. i may not be the best at expressing my emotions through words but i hope that together i will be able to. i want us to be in a happy marriage my flame. only you and i have the same inferno that burns deep within us. we we’re always meant to burn brighter together. if i could show you how much i loved you i would.

he watched her for any reactions from him basically professing his love and dedication to her. he was practically calling her his already.

“pār urnēptre me—prove naejot nyke bona ao aren’t verdagon bisa bē sepār naejot mazverdagon nyke rȳbagon skoros jaelan naejot rȳbagon.” then show me—prove to me that you aren’t making this up just to make me hear what i want to hear.

her eyes burned into his own, a look of need behind them. she needed him to prove whatever he said to be true. it was a harsh environment they lived in, they needed each other to get through it alive besides, two dragons are better than one right? his head was foggy as he made his decision but he knew this was the way he could prove his feelings towards her.

he kissed her. he heard her breath hitch as his lips crashed against hers.

“i’d do anything for you, ñuha perzys.” his hands gripping her waist as he whispered between kisses. “you just have to say it.”

his touch sent tingles through her entire body. he had touched her before but never this way, it felt addicting to touch her that way—in ways only he could.

“tell me what you want. i promise you i’ll give it to you, anything you want.”

“you.” she whispered as their lips brushed against each other.

“i want you jeonghan. i’ve waited long enough to have you this way ñuha jorrāelagon. i will not wait any longer.”

never had jeonghan imagined the day he would hear her speak such words towards him—all those years of pining and protecting her had taken him to this position. she was a magnificent sight to him. he had always seen her in such way despite knowing of the many personalities that she displays to certain people. she held herself in power and bravery without doubt with a fire behind her actions. she was always his flame.

“eman waited tolī bōsa naejot rȳbagon lī udra issare uttered hen aōha lips ñuha jorrāelagon.��� i have waited too long to hear those words being uttered from your lips my love.

“i’m sorry for making you wait,” she had pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his neck as he gripped her closer to him.

“i would wait a thousand years to be with you, ñuha jorrāelagon.”

“you do not need to wait any longer. i am here now.” she smiled as she pressed her lips against his.

they kissed each other as if they were starved, jeonghan’s tongue sliding into her mouth as she moaned at the feeling of his hands grabbing unto her ass. she moved forward slightly pressing herself harder against him as he groaned at the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest.

he pulled away foreheads touching as they caught their breaths. he smiled kissing her softly before cupping her face in his hands.

“let me take you somewhere more private.” he whispered as she nodded.

letting herself laugh as he took her hand into his and dragged her into his chambers. what they would be doing was immoral but neither had cared at that point. they were getting married soon anyways what difference would it make?

jeonghan takes the sight of her in his chambers in. she had been in there before but it was different now. her visits once used to be of innocent banter and chatter but it succeeded that now.

a smile ghosts across his lips as he slowly brushes a stray lock of her hair away from her face as she leaned in towards his touch. he kissed along her neck smiling as he heard her breath hitch tangling her fingers in his long locks.

he hummed as he nipped at her neck leaving bruises in his wake. his hands were running along the curve of her breasts to the curve of her back leaving her breathless.

“you have no idea how long i have been imagining seeing you in this light dearest sister. do you touch yourself at the thought of me?” he asked, pulling the fabric of her dress down to swirl his tongue on her nipple.

“always.” she breathed biting back a moan. “gods just touch me already.” the way his tongue swirled around her nipple and his featherlight touches had her arousal pooling between her legs.

“mmm…patience, little one.” he whispered against her skin, goosebumps rising.

her chest rose and fell, eyebrows furrowing at the pleasure she was getting from just his tongue. he’d tease her another time—he wanted her now.

jeonghan pulled his tunic off in a swift move, his trousers coming off just as quick. her eyes followed his movements, widening at the sight of him. was he going to fit in her? the thought sending shivers down her spine as he kissed her.

she had wrapped her legs on his hips, their cores brushing against each other earning moans from both of them. he was intoxicated with the way she coated his dick with her slick. he wanted more. he needed more.

he had kissed her with a ferocity he had held back all those years. he walked them towards the edge of his bed. gently he lowered her to his bed his lips peppering kisses on her chest down to her waist until he reacher her inner thighs.

“jeonghan.” she moaned out as his nose brushed her clit.

“relax, ñuha perzys.”

he licked her cunt, eyes watching as she wriggled in pleasure as he drank every drop of arousal he could get out of you. pleasure pooled in your lower regions as he stuck his tongue into you whilst his fingers played with your clit.

“seven fucking hells! yes just like that.” she cursed as she pushed his head deeper into her.

he chuckled as he continued his pace of pushing two fingers into her inserting another one to stretch her out futher, he could feel her getting close as her walls clenched around his fingers. the knot in her stomach painfully tight as her legs squished his head his tongue sending her over the edge.

he licked her arousal as she rode out her high. eyes fluttering shut as jeonghan pulled away to kiss her on the lips wanting to taste herself on his tongue.

he kissed her deeper as he aligned himself to her cunt, brushing his tip against her sensitive clit causing her to moan out once more.

“i need you inside me, please…” she pulled away from their kiss.

“it’s going to hurt for a bit ñuha perzys.” his eyes met hers as she nodded.

he rubbed circles into her hip as he coated his entire length with her arousal before sliding into her all the way to the hilt. she moaned feeling so full of him, falling back against the pillow. he kissed her as he allowed her to adjust to his size.

she could feel the pain subside before the immense pressure she felt. he moaned as he felt her clench around him.

“gods that feels so good.” she moaned out as she tapped his shoulder to make him start moving.

jeonghan peppered kisses along her neck and chest as he pulled out until the tip of his dick before bottoming out.

“seven fucking hells you fit me perfectly.” he growled into her ear as he rammed into her at a fast pace.

he reached around her to roll her nipple between his finger with her crying out in pleasure.

“you are my flame, princess. i crave your fire as i crave you.”

she had felt a sense of cockiness go through her as she heard those words fall from his lips. she had ripped herself away from him and pushed him to lay on the bed with a growl. she ran her fingers over the skin on his abdomen, lightly dragging her nails across his skin, making goosebumps appear. she had straddled his hips, aligning his dick against her core. with eyes locked on his, she slowly sank herself all the way down to his balls, mouth falling open as he stretched her.

“you’re fucking gorgeous, ñuha perzys,” jeonghan breathed as he gripped her hips, “fuck me. be my good girl and ride my dick.”

she did as he requested using his chest as leverage rolling her hips as she bounced on top of him. each time she came down his dick hit deep inside her hitting that one spot that made her see stars and clench around him.

she was losing herself with every new sensation she felt, every minute of her riding him pushing her closer to the edge of madness. jeonghan’s hands was busy pinching and tugging her nipple as the other reached between them to stroke the bundle of nerves.

“you’re doing so well,” he cooed. “just like that love…”

gods, he would be the cause of her undoing.

“jeonghan…i’m close…” she cried out as her head fell back.

and in one smooth motion, the prince had rolled them over, pinning her hands over her head. pounding into her at a brutal pace, jeonghan had latched his mouth to her breast, catching her nipple between his teeth and pushing her over the edge.

“jeonghan!” she screamed his name as her orgasm exploded through her, tearing through her and leaving her a panting mess beneath him.

“fuck…” he cursed out, pumping in and out of her chasing his own high before he finally came spilling himself inside her.

she had looked up at him, finding affection gracing his features. she had cupped his face bringing his face to her own to kiss him.

“does that prove how much i longed for you?” he asked as he pulled away from her breathless.

“it has, ñuha jorrāelagon.” she had smiled as he settled down beside her drapping the furs on their naked bodies.

“remember this,” he had run his fingers through her locks as she settled on the crook of his neck. “i would give the world to you if you asked me to. i will let the world burn if it meant you’d be mine for eternity. that is how much i love you.”

“i am yours as the sea belongs to the moon, the way dragons belong to the skies, and the way the embers in my heart only burn for you. you are the fire that i would conquer kingdoms for. my soul will forever be entangled into yours, as long as i shall live.”

jeonghan knew then that no matter what he would be the cause of the world’s demise if ever the god’s that reigned over them decide to play their ruthless games on her because she was what kept him away from the madness that always seemed to grab a hold of them.

they were from the same fire—always destined to burn together.

[xxspringmelodyxx]

“𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒟𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝐿𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑀𝑒!”

┗━━━━━━⊱ 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒊𝒆 ⊰━━━━━━┛

⊱ 𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔: 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆 (𝑨𝒋𝒂𝒙) 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⊰

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Warnings: Angst⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

✿⋆·˚���˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿

Thank you to @i0fty for this depressing and heart wrenching request! I hope you enjoy! <333

The sun was setting over Teyvat, casting long shadows across the battlefield. The sounds of clashing weapons and the shouts of warriors filled the air, creating a scene of chaos and violence.

In the middle of it all, Childe fought with unyielding determination, his dual blades moving quickly and precisely. His focus was entirely on the battle, each strike and defense perfectly timed. Every enemy that fell under his blades was proof of his skill and relentless drive.

Somewhere nearby, you, his best friend and trusted companion, were fighting your own battles. The two of you had been through countless fights together, your bond strengthened by the trials you’d faced. Today seemed no different to him.

He knew you could handle yourself; he trusted in your abilities. The battlefield was vast, and it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to be separated in the heat of battle. Yet, even in the chaos, a part of him always sensed your presence, a connection that kept him steady even when everything around him was in turmoil.

—

The enemy was strong, but Childe was stronger. He moved through their ranks with the skill and grace of someone who had fought many battles before. Each opponent that fell only made him more determined.

He believed you were doing the same, fighting with the same courage and strength that had always impressed him. He hadn’t seen you for a few minutes, but that didn’t worry him—it was just how things went during a fight like this. He knew you were strong and trusted you to take care of yourself, just as you always had. At least, that’s what he thought.

As the last enemy fell, Childe stood panting, his body drenched in sweat and blood that wasn’t his own. He took a moment to catch his breath, but his mind quickly shifted to you.

His heart began to pound—not from exhaustion, but from a growing sense of worry. He hadn’t seen you for what felt like too long. His eyes started to scan the battlefield, jumping from one fallen body to the next, silently pleading that none of them were yours.

As his gaze swept across the battlefield, a cold dread settled in his chest. Then, he saw you. You were lying on the ground, motionless. The sight of you, surrounded by the aftermath of the battle, hit him like a punch to the gut.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to stop. The world narrowed down to just you and the terrifying possibility that you might not be okay.

Without thinking, Childe broke into a sprint, his feet pounding the blood-soaked earth. Panic clawed at his insides, making each step feel like an eternity. The distance between you, though not far, felt impossibly long, as if the ground itself was trying to keep him away from you. He pushed himself harder, the thought of losing you driving him forward with a desperation he had never felt before.

Childe dropped to his knees beside you, his heart pounding with a mixture of terror and disbelief. Blood was everywhere, pooling around you and staining the ground a deep, unforgiving crimson.

You were clutching your abdomen, where the wound was deep and merciless. Your face was ashen, your breaths coming in shallow, labored gasps. Seeing you like this—so vulnerable, so unlike the strong, unbreakable person he knew, he loved—shattered something deep inside him.

He cried out your name, his voice cracking with raw emotion. He gently lifted you, cradling you in his arms as if holding you any other way might break you further. “Hey, stay with me. It’s going to be okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.” His voice was filled with a desperate hope, as if saying it out loud might make it true.

Your eyes fluttered open, and despite the pain, you managed a faint smile. “Ajax…” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. You looked down to see the position you were in. “It looks like I won’t be able to walk this one off.” You say with a slight chuckle, but the effort only made you wince.

“No, no, don’t say that,” Childe pleaded, his voice trembling. He pressed his hand against your wound, trying to stop the bleeding, even though the crimson tide was relentless. “You’re going to be fine. Just hold on, okay? Help is coming.” But even as he spoke, the reality of your situation became painfully clear.

You shook your head slowly, every movement draining what little strength you had left. “Ajax… it’s too late. I can feel it. I’m… I’m sorry.” Your eyes were filled with a deep sadness, a resignation that broke his heart even more than your wounds did.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision as he clutched you tighter, as if he could somehow hold you here with him. “No, don’t apologize…” His voice cracked, his words thick with desperation.

“I can’t lose you. Not now. Not like this. We have too much left to do… too many battles left to fight.”

Your trembling hand reached up, gently touching his face. “I don’t want to go… but I don’t have a choice.” Your eyes were full of both sadness and a deep, enduring affection. “Thank you for everything. For being my friend, my partner. For giving me a reason to fight.”

Desperation filled Childe’s voice as he begged, “Please, keep your eyes open. You have to keep fighting.” His grip tightened around you, as if holding you close could somehow stop the inevitable. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of how fragile this moment was. He could feel the warmth of your blood soaking into his clothes, but all he could focus on was the look in your eyes—the fear, the sadness, the acceptance.

He could feel your life slipping away, and the thought of losing you tore at his very soul. “I… I love you!” The words came out in a rush, almost a cry of desperation. His voice cracked as he continued, the raw emotion tearing through him.

“I’ve loved you for so long. Longer than I’ve ever had the courage to admit. Every time we fought side by side, every time you smiled at me, hugged me, laughed with me, I wanted to tell you. But I was too afraid of what it might mean, too scared of losing what we had. But I can’t keep it inside anymore. Not now.”

He started, pouring all of his love into his words. “So please keep pushing. You can’t give up now…Not when I finally have the courage to tell you the truth.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his confession, a tear slipping down your cheek as you listened to the words you had always longed to hear. For a moment, the pain seemed to fade, replaced by the warmth of his love, the love he had hidden away for so long.

“Ajax… I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “I always have. From the very beginning.”

The words seemed to give you a momentary strength, a brief spark of life that flared and then began to fade. You reached up, your trembling fingers brushing against his tear-streaked face. “I’m just sorry it took this for us to finally say it,” you continued, your voice growing softer with each passing second.

The love between you was palpable, hanging in the air like a bittersweet melody. It was a love that had been unspoken for too long, a love that was now out in the open, even if it was too late to fully embrace it. The realization that you shared these feelings, that you had both been holding back for so long, only made the moment more heartbreaking.

As your strength waned, the light in your eyes began to dim, but you kept your gaze locked on his, holding on to that connection for as long as you could. “Thank you… for telling me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “I just wish we had more time. More time to live in this love, to explore it…”

“We still can! You just have to stay awake for me, okay? You can do that, right?” He asked, his voice breaking.

Your hand trembled as you caressed his cheek, your touch feather-light. “I wish I could stay, but my time is running out…” You begin, looking lovingly into his eyes.

Summoning the last of your strength, you leaned forward and kissed him, your lips softly brushing against his in a tender, bittersweet farewell. It was the first and last kiss you would ever share—a fleeting moment that held a lifetime of unspoken love.

Childe’s eyes widened in shock, the warmth of your lips burning into his memory, a sensation he knew he would never forget. His heart ached with the sudden, painful realization of how much he had taken for granted, how much time had slipped away without him ever telling you how deeply he cared. “Please, don’t go…” he pleaded, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “I need you. I love you so much. I can’t imagine a world without you.”

You tried to hold onto the warmth of the moment, despite the cold that was creeping into your limbs. “You don’t have to imagine it,” you whispered, struggling to keep your voice steady. “You’ll live on, Ajax. You’ll keep fighting. You’re stronger than you know. You’ve always been the strong one. Just remember, I’ll always be with you. In your heart, in your memories. Watching over you.”

Childe shook his head, his tears falling onto your face, mingling with your own. “It’s not enough,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “I don’t want to be strong without you. I don’t want just memories. I want you. I want to hear your laugh, to see your smile. I want to fight by your side and share our victories. I want to share my life with you.”

“I’ll always be a part of you, Ajax. Every step you take, every battle you fight, I’ll be there. I want you to continue living. Live for me. Live for us. Promise me you’ll keep going.”

His sobs wracked his body, the enormity of your loss crashing down on him like a wave of unbearable grief. “I don’t know how I’ll do it. How do I keep going without you?”

You reached up, your hand trembling as you gently touched his cheek. “One day at a time,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “And know that I’ll be proud of you, no matter what. You’ve given me so much, more than I could have ever hoped for. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Childe pressed his forehead against yours, his tears falling freely onto your face, mingling with your own. “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking with the weight of his emotions. “More than words can ever say. Please, don’t forget that.”

With your last ounce of strength, you whispered back, “I love you too. Always and forever.”

“And know this, Ajax. In whatever comes next, in whatever life there is after this, I’ll be waiting for you with all the love I have…”

Childe could only nod, his heart breaking as he watched the life slowly slip away from you. “I’ll find you,” he whispered back, his voice choked with tears. “No matter where you are, I’ll find you. And when I do, I’ll never let you go. I promise.”

A small, peaceful smile touched your lips as you heard his words, your hand slipping from his cheek as the last of your strength left you. “I’ll be waiting,” you murmured, your eyes closing for the final time, leaving Childe to hold onto your memory with all the love he had finally confessed.

Childe’s heart shattered, the reality of your death hitting him with the force of a tidal wave. “No, no, no!” he cried, shaking with grief. He held you close, his tears falling freely. The world around him seemed to blur, his mind unable to process the reality of your death.

As the battle ended and the silence settled over the battlefield, Childe remained where he was, cradling your lifeless body. The victory felt meaningless, the weight of your loss unbearable.

——

In the days that followed, Childe was a shell of his former self. The joy and determination that once fueled him were replaced by an overwhelming sorrow. He carried you to a quiet place, a spot where the two of you had often sat and talked, and there he laid you to rest. The grave was simple, marked by a stone that bore your name. It was a place of peace, a stark contrast to the chaos of the battlefield where you had fallen.

Every day, he visited your grave, speaking to you as if you were still there, sharing his thoughts and feelings. The pain of your loss never faded, but he found a strange comfort in keeping your memory alive. You had been his best friend, his confidant, his anchor in the storm of his life, and now, his love.

And as he continued to fight, to live, he did so with you in his heart, carrying the strength and love you had given him, until the end of his days. The battles he fought were no longer just for glory or victory; they were for you, to honor the promise he had made to always remember you.

_____________________

[isak-dot-gov]

I do, forever.

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Reader

Word count: 1102

My masterlist :)

........................

The day had arrived—the day you had dreamed of, planned for, and imagined a million times. Your wedding day. You were supposed to be walking down the aisle soon, but instead, you found yourself pacing nervously in the bridal suite, your heart pounding in your chest. 

The elegant white dress you’d chosen months ago now felt constricting, the once delicate lace clinging to your skin in a suffocating embrace. Your hands shook slightly as you held onto the fabric, staring at your reflection in the large mirror before you. This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but all you could feel was anxiety gnawing away at your resolve.

Rhea—the love of your life, your best friend, and your confidante—was waiting for you at the altar. She was the one person who had always made you feel safe, loved, and cherished. But in this moment of panic, none of that seemed enough to quiet the storm raging inside your mind. 

Doubts flooded your thoughts, pushing aside the excitement you had felt only hours ago. What if she doesn't really want this? The thought echoed in your mind, relentless and unforgiving. What if she feels trapped?Rhea was larger than life, a WWE superstar with an intense, vibrant career. And you…you were just you.

You sat down on the plush chair near the window, your hands twisting the fabric of your dress as you tried to breathe through the rising tide of fear. What if this was all too much? What if she realised today that she didn’t want this commitment? What if…what if this was a mistake?

Your maid of honour, who had been quietly adjusting her dress across the room, noticed your distress. She crossed the room quickly, kneeling down beside you and gently placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice filled with concern. “What’s going on? You’re freaking out.”

You tried to hold it together, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “What if…what if Rhea doesn’t really want to do this? What if she feels like she’s making a mistake?” Your voice trembled as the fears you had been trying to suppress found their way to the surface.

Your maid of honour blinked at you for a moment, then shook her head with a soft laugh. “Are you kidding me? You two are perfect for each other. She’s crazy about you. But hold on—let me call her, okay? You need to hear it from her.”

Before you could protest, she was already dialling Rhea’s number. She put the phone on speaker so you could hear the other side of the conversation.

The phone rang twice, and each second felt like an eternity. Finally, Rhea’s voice came through the speaker—deep, comforting, and familiar. “Hey, babe, what’s up? Everything okay?”

Your maid of honour smiled at you reassuringly before speaking. “Rhea, we’ve got a bit of a nervous bride here. She’s freaking out that you don’t really want to do this. Can you calm her down?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and you held your breath, terrified of what Rhea might say. But then, you heard her chuckle softly, and the tension in your chest loosened just a little.

“Babe,” Rhea said, her voice warm and full of love, “do you really think I’d be standing here in this dress, sweating bullets, waiting for you if I didn’t want this?”

You bit your lip, tears pricking at your eyes as her words sank in. You could picture her perfectly—standing somewhere, probably in front of a mirror herself, looking every bit as confident and breathtaking as ever. And yet, in her voice, you could hear the same vulnerability that had always been a part of your relationship. Beneath her larger-than-life persona, Rhea was just as human as you were.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she continued, her tone growing more serious. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re the one, and nothing—not even a little stage fright—is going to change that.”

You could hear the smile in her voice, and it made your heart swell. “We’re in this together, okay? Now, take a deep breath and come down that aisle so I can marry the love of my life.”

Your maid of honour squeezed your hand as you wiped away a tear, feeling the weight lift off your chest. Rhea's words were exactly what you needed to hear.

“Okay,” you whispered, a small smile finally breaking through your nerves. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Can’t wait,” Rhea replied softly before hanging up.

Your maid of honour grinned at you, her eyes sparkling with relief. “See? She’s ready to spend forever with you. Now let’s get you ready to walk down that aisle.”

You nodded, a newfound sense of calm washing over you. This was it. You were ready. Because Rhea was right—this was what you both wanted. And nothing, not even a little fear, could stand in the way of that.

As you stood and took one last look at yourself in the mirror, you realised something important. This day wasn’t just about the flowers, the dress, or the ceremony. It wasn’t even about the wedding itself. It was about the commitment you were making to each other—a commitment that had been growing between you since the day you’d met. You and Rhea had already built something beautiful together, and this was just one more step in that journey.

Your heart steadied as you allowed yourself to fully embrace the joy of the moment. When the time came, you took your maid of honour’s arm, and together, you made your way to the doors that led to the aisle. The music swelled, and as the doors opened, you stepped into the soft light of the room.

And there she was. Rhea stood at the end of the aisle, tall and strong, her eyes locked on yours. The room faded away as you walked toward her, your heart beating in time with each step. The nervousness that had gripped you earlier seemed like a distant memory now. All that mattered was the woman waiting for you.

As you reached her, she took your hand in hers, her grip firm and steady, grounding you as always. Her thumb brushed gently over your skin, a silent promise of the life you were about to start together.

“I do,” she whispered, even before the vows were exchanged. And you smiled, because you knew you would too.

Forever.

.......................................................

Isak speaks: Idk how I feel about this one but eh. I've also been seeing the requests I've been getting. thank you guys sm for them and I promise I'll get to as many of them as short ass self can :)

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (19)

Word count: 4.5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: A huge shoutout to all my wonderful readers! Your support and love keeps me going! <3

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

“You can’t kick 'em in the nuts and make a run for it?” The girl in the next cell asked.

“Not if you want to avoid getting beaten into a pulp,” you told her through a mouthful of bread and tomato. “There’s always a guard outside the door.”

“Kick 'em in the nuts, too.”

You snorted so hard, bits of tomato landed on the floor.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “There are fancy rooms upstairs with wardrobes full of fancy clothes that you have to wear and then they take you to other fancy places for men–”

“Sometimes it’s just the fancy rooms overhead. Men come here, too.”

“But they take you out, don’t they?” She argued. “Just go to a reception and tell the hostess, a waitress, anyone. I know you managed to run away once… so why not try again? If they let you out, it can’t be that hard!”

You swallowed the bite in your mouth and sighed. What did it matter if you told her the truth? Neither of you would make it out anyway. 

“They’ve kidnapped my half-brother and half-sister. Little kids, barely six… have them at gunpoint somewhere. I make one wrong move and they are dead.”

“Shit.”

You could picture her dumbstruck expression. After spending a week next to her, seeing her face while going in and out, you were starting to get a hang of her. You still didn’t know why you did it, take her turn every night. Eventually, they would drag her out, but for a week, the boss wasn’t in the building and no one seemed to push the inevitable and drag that girl’s stubborn ass out. 

And boy was she stubborn. She bit and clawed like a wild cat at the guards who tried to drag her. She got plenty beat up in the process, but everyone seemed to wait for the boss to get her in line when he came. 

“Don’t you worry,” she said. “My fiance is going to get us out.”

“Fiance?”

“Yeah. I bet he’s worried out of his mind right now. But there’s police. They’ll find us.”

“The police are in on this,” you said. “They get serviced for their quiet.”

She spat, then screamed in frustration.

Footsteps echoed off the walls, and blood froze in your veins. You recognised the hard tap and unforgiving rhythm of his steps. The boss.

“Go to your bed and pretend to sleep,” you hissed, discarding the sandwich in your hand and doing the same. 

“W-what?”

“Just do it.”

Covering yourself entirely with the blanket, you rolled into a ball, as if that would make you invisible, teleport you out of the horror story you were about witness. Since staring at the glass wall in his cabin for the first time, you had prayed for yourself. The pastor in the church your aunt dragged you to every Sunday preached that one should only pray for the world and not for oneself… because praying for oneself was selfish. If you prayed only for the world, that made you a good person, and God helped good people without having to ask for it.

You had never been particularly religious, but that one thing had stuck around. Subconsciously, all your life, you had never asked for yourself, not from God, the universe or even as a favour from people. If you wanted something, you had worked hard to earn it, and achieve it by sheer will and not divine intervention.

But that first night with the boss had made you pray for yourself over and over.

And you prayed now, in whispers that only remained in your breath, never making a sound. 

God, let him forget that I exist… Not tonight. Please please please.

The footsteps came to a halt, and the door next to yours opened.

You closed your eyes tighter. Oh, that poor girl. He had come for her at last.

“I hear you’ve been difficult.”

A spit.

“Michael,” he said in his cold, raspy voice. “Hand me my cane, now.”

“Yes, Boss,” said Michael, gleefully.

A slash in the air and a piercing scream sliced the air.

You shut your ears tightly as the scuffling began… but then it ended as suddenly as it had started when a loud, sickening crunch which sounded so close to the shared wall that you were certain it had happened against it.

A minute passed.

“Oh, what a terrible waste,” the boss sighed at last, almost delicately. “Remove it.”

The taps receded and then soon they carried her body by your cell, blood trailing behind her.

You sat up bolt in your bed, unable to keep the bile down as you emptied your stomach on the carpet next to the bed. Sam’s side of the carpet.

You plopped back on the bed, breathing heavily. 

“Just a dream,” you told yourself. “Just a dream.” Then, the reality came crashing down on you and you wanted to throw up all over again.

Abby’s quiet knock from the main door wrenched you out of bed and through the seating area. She didn’t have to see the vomit. Her face was pinched when you opened the door for her. She entered trepidly and placed the breakfast tray on the table. 

“Who’s in the house?” You asked

“Just us,” she said. “Mr Dean Winchester left last night itself.”

“And S-Sam? He’s out for his run?”

“Mr Winchester left for work.”

“It’s only 7.”

She gave you an apprehensive look, as if she wanted to say something but was scared of how you would perceive it.

“What is it, Abby?”

“Miss, he’s in a right state, that man. Before you came, he used to be so dry and detached… but this past month, since you first locked yourself in your room, he’s gone from pillar to post for you. Sleep, food, everything be damned. The only thing he has done is worry.” Her hand fluttered nervously to her side. “He stumbled down the steps this morning from exhaustion and still went for his run anyway. I think he needs to see a doctor.”

Abby didn’t know what had conspired last night.

“I don’t know the deal with his brother being back now,” she said, wrangling the corner of her apron. “But everyone knows they don’t get along. It can’t be good for him.”

Sam had looked exhausted last evening. The dark circles under his eyes, the once-fitted shirt that hung loose on his shoulders, and the ever-present frown on his forehead had become more and more etched now. 

“Abby, tell me when Sam is back, will you?”

You sent her away and cleaned up your mess in the bedroom. A hot shower further cleared your head. Taking stock of your time in the Winchester Mansion made you recount the number of times you had run out on Sam, locked yourself in the room, the number of secrets you had kept. So, he’d had his own secrets. You knew that. 

Then there was the fact that Sam had never explicitly said he hated his brother. In fact, he’d never spoken of him without pain mingled with love. His exact words- “We had a fight and I couldn’t see his face after that.” Couldn’t…. Not ‘Didn’t want.’ Nowhere had his words implied that Sam’s consent was considered.

The day appeared stormy, with an overcast sky. Maybe the light of the lantern would carry, perhaps it wouldn’t. You set it on the sill anyway.

Dean found you at the pier an hour later, when you had nearly given up hope. He stood at his usual spot but did not sit beside you and you noticed he was dressed differently; no jacket today, just a black T-shirt and jeans.

Slowly, you tilted your face upwards to meet his sharp green eyes. How often had you wondered what Dean Winchester would be like? Bitter? Angry? But Han wasn’t any of those things.

“Get up!” He ordered, without an ounce of remorse. You got to your feet.

“This way,” he pointed and began to walk towards the jungle without a preamble.

A frisson of annoyance ran through you. Where was his abashedness?

“Sam didn’t know,” he said briskly. “That you knew me. That we knew each other. That poor bastard had no damn clue.”

“You want me to believe you’ve been hiding out in these woods without Sam knowing?”

“Yes.” He came to an abrupt stop and you realised Dean was dead serious. “That kid’s as straight-jacketed as they come. Keeping up the charade nearly did a number on his head, and then you came into the picture. Sam’s nearly lost his goddamned mind over you.”

“He told you that?”

Dean sighed in exasperation. “Haven’t you been listening to a single word? I haven’t seen Sam in months, not since the fight. But he’s my only family left. I had to keep an eye on the kid.”

The trees were too damn thick for any sunlight to trickle down. Dean started walking again and you followed.

“What was the fight about, then?” You pressed, refusing to believe.

“You,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Two years before I came into the picture? Yeah, right.”

Dean tilted his head, weighing his words. “About the idea of you, I guess.”

“Wow, that clears it all up, doesn’t it?” You laughed sarcastically.

He stayed quiet for so long that you actually paid attention to your surroundings, finding the trail vaguely familiar in the thick trees.

“We were to be married in eight weeks,” he said, voice deep and achingly sad. “She’d come to drop off pie for me. Sam says he insisted on dropping her back, but I knew my Jo. She was stubborn that one. If she wanted to drive herself, nothing Sam said would’ve changed her mind. Nothing. Ellen called three hours later asking for her. We searched all night long, all through the woods, all the way two towns over. Nothing. Sniffer dogs couldn’t catch a trail. The police found her car two days later in New Mexico… and her body two weeks later face down in the lake.”

You wanted to reach out, say something… anything, but words failed.

“She hadn’t drowned, Y/N. She’d already been dead when they threw her in there. Post-mortem said haemorrhage… blunt force trauma to the back of her head, ligature marks, bruises…” He closed his eyes unable to continue. 

You knew bits and parts of what followed– Dean’s self-destructive tendency and Sam’s unwavering support. The latter won.

“Sam still thinks he’s to blame. That he should have somehow foreseen it. I know Ellen doesn’t disagree with him or shy away from throwing it in his face.” A mirthless scoff.

“I think the bigger part of her anger is because of what Sam did to you… and me.” You said. “Or rather, what she thinks he did to you and me.”

Dean sighed. “I owe Sam a lot more than my life, a sorry and a thank you. This whole plan hinges on his resilience.”

“What plan?”

He ran a hand through his hair, but his pace slowed down. “The detective working this case, Jody Mills… she’s suspected a human trafficking ring here for years. Every few years someone goes missing or a body mysteriously appears. But this thing has its claws in so deep that we can’t trust the entire PD.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

He glanced at you briefly, and you saw the ever-present kindness there. “You’re smart. I’m sure you’ve figured out a bunch of this yourself.”

Nodding to yourself, you thought out loud. “Sam wasn’t keeping me around for sex, didn’t want to hang me as bait for kidnapping, so obviously he wants information about where I was but…” You vividly remembered the night when he’d held your bloody hand and then all but shushed your barrage when you had tried to spill it all in a haze. “He stopped me from telling him… He didn’t want to hear any of it.”

Dean chuckled. A sudden light sound in the pressing quiet. “And I just called you smart.”

“What?”

“For all your God-forsaken angst over loving Sam… Have you not considered him liking you back?” Dean narrowed his eyes as if he was judging your intelligence. “Obviously it’s hard for him to listen to what you’ve been through. Hell, I’ve choked back on what little you’ve told me. Why are you being so thick?”

Tears sprang in your eyes. 

He placed a gentle hand against your cheek. 

“Give yourself some credit, Y/N. As stupid as you’re being right now, how can you question your own judgement of Sam so easily? You took your time forming your opinion, didn’t you? So consider all proof objectively. He was on board with the plan from day one knowing it would wreck his reputation if I disappeared after transferring my inheritance to him, knowing he’d have to make himself a villain… all for Jo. The kid didn’t bat an eye before agreeing. What led to the fight was the very last step of the plan. After infiltrating the system, he’d have to be one of them and well…”

“Buy a girl,” you finished.

“Yes,” said Dean. The word hung heavy in the air. “Sam refused to do it at first, but it was the only way. It’s killed him since day one, Y/N. And yesterday when you said he’s no better than any of those men who hurt you…”

The tears now freely flowed down your cheek and right into Dean’s palm. He slowly directed your face into his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around you.

“Oh, what have I done?” You whispered into his jacket. 

Sam had banged hard on your door last night and you never gave him a chance to explain. Not a single word. If you truly loved him, how come the trust was broken this easily? And when you refused to speak, he’d respected your consent then, too.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” you said. “I should’ve trusted him, trusted you. After all, you never coaxed anything from me. I–”

A thousand memories ran through your mind: Sam’s fingers holding up your corset, touching his hand for the first time in the entrance hall before, his laugh after the false escape from dinner. Sam handing you a portfolio, Sam showing you around the old guesthouse, his fingers slipping on your wet shirt in the barn, laughing with him on the floor of your bedroom, his voice as he read out poetry… and his lips when they met yours.

“Sam took to playing chess in high school,” said Dean as you moved back. “I don’t think he ever got too good at it, but he used to come back rambling about all these moves, the King's Gambit, the Scandanavian, the Sicilian. He didn’t have anyone to play against, so I learned the basics to humour him and we played every night before bed.”

He’d started walking again and you kept pace this time.

“So there we are one night, recreating some classic game from half a century ago and I played a different piece and well, what do you know, my king ended up in a position from where he couldn’t move. Thought I’d lost because that was the only square my King was safe in. But then Sam said that’s not what it was. I couldn’t be forced to move my King to a checked square, but it wasn’t currently checked. A stalemate is what it was. That’s where we are at, Y/N.”

“A stalemate?”

“Yes. We know pieces of information, but not the ones that actually matter. It’s our move next, but every square is checked, Y/N. We need to know.”

The dim lights of the dungeon came back to you and oddly the crack of the skull. “The operation is not local, definitely crosses state lines. The building where they kept me is somewhere along New Mexico's border. It’s a huge glass building, seven stories high. I don’t know exactly where but from the se…” you gulped. “From the seventh floor, I could see a tall red tower with blinking lights. They blinked all the time… like passing seconds… but slower than s- seconds. The boss sits on the seventh floor.”

“The boss?”

“I-I don’t know his name. No one does. They only call him ‘the boss.”

“This is good, Y/N,” Dean said eagerly. “What does he look like? How does he find these girls? How does he keep them?”

“He… He looks like any other white man, in his 50’s, maybe early 60’s but his eyes, he has the coldest gray eyes and his laugh...” You stopped, collecting your thoughts. “You already know how he gets the girls. Men as scouts, pretending to be friends or lovers, finding vulnerable girls with little in the way of family. Me… Rosalie. About keeping them, there are two ways. One is standard, get them hooked to heroin. Once you have that, they’ll do anything to get the next fix. But those girls don’t make much money, yeah? They aren’t polished. I was the second kind, for the richer clientele that don’t like the smell of drugs and want the girls alive and kicking. For them, guess, it’s easier to blackmail by holding a loved one hostage. Rosalie only had a mother and I only had Jamie and Danny.”

You told him about how your siblings were held hostage somewhere, and how you stayed in line just to protect them.

“There’s very little we wouldn’t do to protect them, wouldn’t we?”

Dean nodded, then came to a halt and you noticed with some surprise that you were standing in front of the wishing well. 

His fingers grazed the parapet's tally marks, and you voiced a long-lost curiosity. “Why do you have one extra?”

“That dumbass brought you here, didn’t he?” Dean snorted. “So much for our secret place.” But he didn’t seem to hold any grudge over it. “Dad brought me here right before Sam was born. Told me this was a magic well, so I needed to make a wish about what I wanted… a sister or a brother.”

“What did you ask for?”

“You see the extra mark there, don’t you?” He winked. “After the fire, I used to run out a lot, trying to find the well again. Wish my dead parents back, you know? Finally found it when I was twelve and Sam was eight. ”

“Seems like you’ve kept pace since with the tallys.”

Dean winked as if there was a secret to it, but didn’t share it with you.

“Come on, make a wish then,” he said.

“One is already due. I don’t want to burden the well.” You sighed. “Look, Dean. I’ll help you with whatever you want. I can draw plans of the building, and the street layout I could see from the seventh floor. Tell you the number of guards, the shifts, even the names of some of the clients, but I need you to promise me that nothing will happen to my brother and sister.”

“I promise.” 

The walk back should have seemed like an interrogation, except Dean held your hand as you described more of the place, the people, the process… the boss.

“I told you already, I don’t know his name,” you burst out when he questioned a third time. 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Did he… Did he hurt you? This boss?”

You laughed. One short, shaky laugh. “He had a wall full of these instruments… silver, gleaming and so cold.” Then there was the glass wall.

“Oh, that son of a bitch.”

“I wonder why you think Jo was involved in this,” you said, more to change the subject that anything else. “I mean she didn’t exactly fit the pattern.” Full family, doting boyfriend, well-to-do. Blitz kidnapping didn’t seem likely. The boss had to have had something on her.

“No, she didn’t fit the pattern and for a long time, we didn’t suspect her to have been in this.”

“How come?”

Dean’s voice reduced to barely above a whisper. “No obvious signs of… sexual assault in the postmortem report.” And despite the tragedy of it, Dean almost sounded relieved. He pulled out an old wallet from his back pocket and gazed at a picture inside lovingly. “I don’t know, Y/N, it makes me feel like an asshole but knowing that maybe she might have escaped the worst of it… God, I think it kept me from throwing myself off a damn cliff.”

“Oh, Dean!” You closed the distance in-between to hug him. “I bet she–” you gasped. The wallet hung loosely in his grasp and you glimpsed the picture behind the plastic. 

You grabbed the wallet and held it up. “That… That’s Jo? Your Jo?”

He took you by your shoulders. “You knew her?”

“Oh my God!” All the hurt and anger and fear came crashing down on you as you collapsed to the green earth of the side lawn. Over the years she had gone from being the girl in the next cell, to the girl with brown eyes, to the girl in your nightmares and eventually… the only thing you were proud of.

“She’s… she used to be the girl in the next cell. I knew her.”

“Who did this to her?” Dean asked, voice so sharp, it didn’t even sound his.

“The Boss did,” you whispered. “I think it might have been an accident. I only heard the scuffle and then the crack of her skull. It was quick. She didn’t suffer much.”

There was a sharp intake of breath over you and you didn’t dare look up.

“Dean, you should know, the girls there… eventually choose to stay there. I know I did. Once you stop with the kicking and screaming, it gets a little easier. The bad days are lesser and most clients don’t treat you like complete trash. There’s food on your plate at night and poor orphan girls have a bed to sleep in when they comply… they…. we stop fighting. Because there is no relief to fight for, no home to go to and no one who could protect us. But your Jo, she never stopped. I bet she took a few teeth out of that one guard, too.”

“Did they… did anyone ever…?” He could not spit the entire sentence out and you saw the courage it took to finally confront that question.

You looked straight in his tear-stained tortured eyes. “No one hurt her that way. I… I took her turns for the week she was there. I still don’t know why I did it. I’m not a charitable person, and it was hell that week, but something about her faith in her fiance reminded me of, well, me… before I found out how I got there. I wanted to protect her faith just a little longer. So, no Dean, no one touched her that way. And you should also know, she died like she lived, fighting and believing in your love for her.”

Dean hugged you and broke down. “Thank you… Thank you for doing that for my Jo,” he blubbered. “You’re… You’re like an angel. Sam said that you know… yesterday he said that he thought you were some kind of an angel when he first saw you dressed in white. Wasn’t wrong.”

And you broke down with Dean. The night had descended upon you, as you both held each other in the darkness and just cried. 

Much later, locked in the dining room, you drew the floor plans of the building from your memory, a map of the road and the way to the bus stop that you could remember, the names of the guards, physical descriptions, names of the girls, anything and everything you could think of. The maids all gave you curious looks. Getting along with a brother-in-law would be normal for most families, but an estranged brother-in-law who you had never supposedly met? Knowing the history they knew, that had to look shady.

As it turned out, Dean had been alternating between living in the Guest house in Sam’s room and a cabin further north that not many people knew of in the estate. He knew ways to sneak in and out better than almost anyone. Hired security was never too big a problem for him. He was to set out first thing tomorrow morning to see how he could use your intel.

“You know my roommate Carmen,” you said at the door when he was about to leave. “She might have been the only one to care for me back then. I fought with her the night before. If you can do one thing for me, find her and tell her she was right and I am so very sorry.”

“Of course.” Dean stepped up and kissed your forehead. “And Y/N, I’m going to get that bastard. Not just for what he did to Jo, but also for what he did to you. You said you didn’t fight after a while because you didn’t have a home, a family. Now you do. Remember that.”

You watched Dean head out. He would be gone before you woke up tomorrow, but you felt lighter than you had in years, like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. Upstairs, you found Abby in her room.

She stood up the moment she saw you. “Miss, is everything alright?”

“Yes, Abby. I was wondering if you knew when Sam would be back?”

“He was home earlier this evening but didn’t stay long. I believe he left for Colorado.”

Hurt. “Did he say anything about when he would return?”

“No, Miss.”

“Did he ask about me?”

“No, Miss.”

“Did he say anything at all?”

The pitying shake of her head was enough for you to turn around and return to your room. What if you had hurt Sam beyond fixing this time? Abby had been correct, he looked fragile, not just physically, but something about the fragmented look in his eyes, as if one blow could shatter him. What if your hurtful words and vitriolic accusation finally pushed him to the edge? How much bullshit could one man take after all?

You had stepped into this house thinking you would be used, and it was the most horrid feeling in the world. What if Sam thought the same now? That you had used him… used his home, his wealth, and his empathy. Hell, you had used his body, too! 

No, you didn’t pray for yourself much. But in that moment you did- God, please give me one chance to apologise. Please.

*****************************

A/N 2: So turns out I was tagging all wrong :/ Ana is feeling sad about that. Hopefully, it will work this time.

Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

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[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight: Part 9 - The Woods

📜Hi..... It's been a hot minute. My mental health was not in a good space back in April when I last posted. I signed off because of it. And now I'm considering coming back because after countless therapy sessions and working on what I could, now seemed like the perfect time. Also, my therapist told me writing is my saving grace, so she and a few countless friends are the reason I'm back... for now... maybe on a trial basis to see how things go.

That's it :)

Now, Let's see how those two are doing, shall we?

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Angst, Description of injuries, banter, snark, getting lost in the woods.

#5.2k

Part 8 | Masterlist | Part 10

The first thing you can register is pain.

Not the dirt or the leaves or the twigs under your hands. Not the light mist of spitting rain leaving dewdrops on your face. It's the deep ache of your muscles and the crunch of your spine. You can't move, your body remaining locked up and in limbo. You couldn't dare move a single inch, even if you thought about it, attempting to shift yourself amongst the dirt.

But you can feel - that must count for something, right?

You focus on trying to open your eyes, using every bit of mental power you currently possess. The dark lull is too strong, enticing you to stay—stay and fall back asleep once more, stay and give into slumber, stay so its unforgiving grip on you can threaten to pull you under once more.

Something else, or someone else, pulls you out of its grip instead. A pair of hands suddenly gripping your shoulders. They gently but insistently pushed and pulled, attempting to shake you awake.

"Midge," a voice cuts through, sounding near and infinitely far enough away in the same breath. "Come on, Midge. Wake up."

Ah. I'm hearing voices. I must be in hell. 

Those same hands shift, one sliding down to your waist and the other to the side of your neck. While you couldn't feel the ground beneath you before, you could feel those hands, their touch, chasing the darkness away and bringing feeling back into your body. Unfortunately, each jostle or movement sends ripples of pain throughout your limbs, muscles, and bones. 

Stop! It hurts! Stop! Stop! Stop!

A thumb glides across your cheek, fingers curling into the back of your neck. "Midge, you need to open those pretty eyes for me," the voice urges again. "Let me see them, please!"

You were trying. Really, you were trying to listen to the voice. You wanted to open your eyes. Everything was simply too much effort. Your head hurt, your back, your injured wrist pulsing and throbbing. Even your lungs hurt, and awareness of each breath suddenly made every one that followed an effort. 

The voice grew impatient, and you clearly weren’t trying hard enough as they shook you a little more forcibly. 

"You're not dying out here, Midge! Not before I can... Come on! Yell at me. Insult me, tell me how much you hate me, just let me know you are okay!"

The person curved their hand into a supportive grip, the other now gripping at the back of your legs as they lifted you from the ground. You moaned at the ache it caused, pain shooting down the length of your spine.

"Midge?"

You're not sure where the strength comes from or how you managed to open your eyes. It's a quick flutter; all you can see is a blurry, white, cloudy sky. There’s also a shape of something leaning over you. You blink and then blink again, forcing yourself to twist in a pair of arms like you had awoken early in the morning.

The third time you blink, things are much clearer now, and you realize, half laying here in this forest bed of dirt, it's Jake leaning over you, holding you. There’s mud smeared across his cheeks, his beard covered in bits and pieces of leaves. His golden blonde hair seemed to have gotten the worst of it; clumps of dirt, leaves, maybe even a stick or two caught up in the strands, you couldn’t tell. 

You also couldn’t help but notice how panicked he looked —his eyes were usually so confident and teasingly wide with concern. Or how the lines of his face were furrowed, crow's feet creasing hard. 

This is so at odds with how the two of you normally act with each other, how he normally looks at you, that it disorients you further. As you're trying to figure out why you are on the ground and why he is holding you, you catch the words tumbling out of his mouth from above.

"Hey, Midge, can you hear me?" he asks, his voice cracking slightly. A hand pushes away your hair, almost covering your eyes. “Come on, talk to me. Please."

Midge. Annoying Nat. Nat. Natasha. The fight. The Bear, Jake... Falling...

Everything comes rushing forward, surging forth in a tidal wave of memories that has you gasping for breath. It's an adrenaline rush of panic and hurt that has you twisting out of his arms and landing on your stomach, face first in the ground. You shout out harshly, "Get your hands off me, you asshole! Trying to cop up a feel while I'm knocked flat out?" 

Jake only leaned forward, his hands hovering over you uncertainly, unsure whether to retreat or try to help you further. "Are you okay?" 

You laugh mockingly into the dirt. "We just fell down a fucking cliff. Are you seriously asking me that right now?"

Failing miserably to push yourself up, you accidentally attempt to place weight on your injured wrist, practically forgetting it was injured in the first place. A sharp stab shoots up your arm, causing you to cry out and fall on your shoulder. Everything is blending together at this point: your head, back, and entire body, and you know there's not much you can do about it. 

Jake's hands immediately grab onto you, finding a place on your back and elbow, gently guiding you to sit in front of him. You're in too much pain to protest, and that fact alone makes you want to give in to the overwhelming urge to hurl whatever is in your stomach out into the dirt.

Or on Jake. Yes, I should have thought that first. 

Once he gets you sitting on your butt, you shake your shoulders, trying to get him to let go. Jake listens to you for once, lifting his hands off you like your touch has suddenly burned him. 

You wish he had been. You also wish he didn't let go. His touch, even if it was his touch, had brought you some comfort as you battled the tears streaming down your face. You’d never admit it, though. 

His eyes search your body, seeking out possible injuries and bruises, until they snag on how you are clutching your wrist tightly to your chest. 

"Let me see," he says, shuffling forward quickly on his knees amongst the dirt and leaves. He reaches out gently, fingers just skimming the fabric of your jacket when you tilt away with a frown. 

"No, I'm fine," you lie. 

Jake pulls back, his hand still floating mid-air. "You honestly can't tell me you're fine after that? Miss, 'we just fell down a fucking cliff. Why are you asking me that?'"

No .

 "Yes! I'm fine!"

Jake’s eyes call you out on your bullshit lie. 

"And I'm the Queen of England. Midge, just let me see it."

You don’t fight him this time as Jake reaches for your wrist. You aren’t in that much of a position to fight him on this either. His grasp is firm but gentle, and he carefully extends your arm out for him to see. The clasps had popped themselves free with the fall, the bandage covered in dirt, small flecks of leaves, pieces of wood, and God knows what else. The end was hanging loosely off the base of your wrist, and Jake frowned when he touched it. 

"Did Mickey even look at your wrist?" he snapped as he started to unwrap it from your wrist. 

You eyed him carefully. "Yes. Why? It's more than I can say for you."

Yeah, Maeve, he probably just saved your life, and you're still spewing hateful shit.

Jake ignored you, unwinding the fabric from your limb. "Damn, asshole didn't wrap it tight enough.” 

“Why would you care?” you snap.

“Cause I asked him to.” 

You stiffened at his words, drawing in a sharp breath. Bunching the length of fabric on his lap once he got it off, Jake never took his eyes off your wrist as he prodded the largest bruise. "I'm the reason you hurt it in the first place. Why wouldn’t I care?"

Lies . Oh, you wanted to scream that he was lying. There was no way, no fucking way he had asked Mickey to look. There’s no reason he’d care. None that you can think of

Skeptical of his actions, you croaked out softly, "You're not exactly a medical professional, Jake." 

"Neither is Mickey. Clearly." He scoffed back, turning your hand so it was face up. 

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to snap back at him. But when he pressed on a tender spot, you hissed out, "Mickey asked Cora. She wrapped it."

Jake shook his head. “So he couldn’t even do it himself.” 

“He asked the professional.” 

“I should have done it myself.” 

“Do you think I would have let you?” 

"If you weren't so reckless all the time, then maybe you would have!" he snapped, his grip tightening on the bandage for a moment before he forced himself to relax. "Running off into the woods like that? What the hell were you thinking!" 

You bit your lip, slamming your eyes shut before everything snapped and broke free. 

"Reckless?! I was trying to get away from you!" you shrieked. "You were the one who followed me into that bush!" 

"Because I was trying to fucking apologize, Midge! And thank god I did! Who knows what would have happened to you! You’re always so fucking stubborn!"

“Do you think I wanted you to follow me? After everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours? You ruined Nat’s proposal, you fucking pranked me with those two idiots, and.. And…” 

You couldn’t speak, too caught up in every overwhelming thought and emotion. Jake took advantage of your moment of weakness to continue. 

“You think I can just leave you alone?! You don’t think I’ve tried?! I’m trying to apologize, damn it! For everything! For all of it! I have no idea what I did for you to be this mean to me, but can’t you see even that?” 

“I don’t want your apology!” you shouted, pain and anger mixing in your voice. “I just wanted you to leave me alone! I just wanted you to stop hurting me!” 

Jake took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he remained uncommonly silent. 

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "You can't just fix everything with an apology, Jake. Some things... some things can't be undone."

The forest was eerily silent, the only sound the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. The air was thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Jake's jaw was clenched as he carefully examined your wrist, his fingers gently probing the bruised skin. His eyes remained fixed on his task. You stared off into the trees, your breathing shallow and uneven, trying to mask the pain and the anger simmering just below the surface.

“Leave the bandage off,” he finally says after a moment, his voice quiet. “It’s making your bruise worse.” 

Jake avoided your eyes as he stood, your bandage in hand. He was quick as he worked, wrapping the fabric back into a roll. Still on the ground, you watched his fingers, realizing he was doing it correctly. A tiny voice somewhere deep within your hardened heart wondered where he had learned to do that in the first place. 

He held it out to you, head turned away. You only stared up at him, his hand holding the bandage, half stuck to the ground. When you didn���t take it right away, Jake faced you with an expectant gaze. 

You did eventually, weakly reaching for your backpack as it lay forgotten in a pile of leaves. 

Last you could recall, it had been on your back as the two of you had fallen. Jake must have taken it off you while trying to wake you. 

The state of your belongings within or your fragile paint brushes and paints were the furthest things from your mind as you worked the zipper of the front pocket first before blindly holding out your hand to Jake. He placed the bandage silently into your palm. You threw it in, not bothering to see if there had been space for it. Threading the straps through your arms, you settled your bag against your back, hoping you could walk like this. 

You struggled to your feet, wincing as you braced yourself with your uninjured hand against the ground. Your other wrist throbbed, though, along with practically everything else in your body, reminding you exactly how you and Jake ended up in this situation. Or how either one of you would manage to get back to the rest of the group. 

That was until you turned to look up. 

“Oh no.” 

“Oh yes.” 

“No… No... No!” 

“I don’t think shouting no will change the fact, Midge.” 

“As if all this couldn’t get fucking worse.” 

“We just had a run-in with a bear. You see this as worse?” 

You clenched your fists, the reality sinking in with each passing breath. “I would have rather seen my life end as a pile of bear shit.” 

“Really, Midge?” he remarked with disbelief and frustration. “Is that how you see it?”

You glared at him, the anger still simmering. “Yes, Jake. Because being stuck here with you is worse than anything I could have imagined.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You’re angry. But do you honestly think dwelling on it isn’t going to help us right now?”

You let out a humourless laugh. “Oh, so now you’re the voice of reason? The guy who wanted us to climb up a cliff carrying all our stuff to save what? Fifteen Minutes? You want to climb up that ?”

And what did Jake do but grit his teeth? He offered you nothing else but a reddened face and steely eyes, clearly lit up in frustration. 

Silence fell, and tension was thick between you. The sounds of the forest seemed amplified in the absence of your bickering. You couldn't deny the fear creeping in, the realization that you were truly isolated.

Isolated. With him.

“I may not have all the answers, but sitting here fighting isn’t going to solve anything. We need each other to get out of this,” Jake tried again. 

You scoffed, shaking your head. “The last thing I need is more of your stupid plans.”

“Well, it’s either that or we both end up dead out here. Do you really want to risk that?”

You paused. It was a serious ask. Your anger didn’t completely fade, but the urgency of the situation was undeniable. “No, I don’t want to die out here.”

Jake nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Then we need to work together, whether we like it or not. At least until we find someone or something or a way to get out of here.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling a mixture of frustration and very reluctant acceptance. 

“Fine.”

“Fine,” Jake echoed, his voice resolute.

He gestured towards an opening in the bush, you adjusting the straps of your bag, taking a shaky step forward. Jake followed closely behind, and as the two of you trekked off into basically the unknown, you couldn’t help but think… The second I see poison Ivy, I’m shoving it down his shirt. 

—

"I hate you."

"No, you don't, sweetheart."

"I fucking hate you, Seresin. I'm not your sweetheart."

"Don't lie to me, Midge. I know you love me. I did save your life and all that." 

"Kiss my fucking ass, jackass."

"Are you offering?"

You let go of the tree branch you'd been holding out of the way, letting it swing back and thwack Jake in the face. "Oops," you called out sarcastically, not bothering to look back.

Jake stumbled back, swatting at the branch like a pesky insect. "Ow, what the -"

"Watch out for the low-hanging branches," you mocked, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards. Jake rubbed his face with his eyes closed, grinning despite the slight sting. "That branch hit harder than your insults."

"Practice makes perfect, right?"

You're not sure how long the two of you had been walking, though given how low the sun was, it was safe to assume it had been hours. The two of you followed the bottom of the cliff until you could no longer do so, hoping there might have been a slope or at least something along that cliffside either of you could climb up.

But the terrain became treacherous with each step, and the underbrush became impossible to navigate. More rocks littered your path, forcing you and Jake to veer off into a less dense part of the forest.

The further you went in, the less you knew where you were or how to return to that cliff. The forest swallowed any trace, everything the same yet different.

It was hard when you only had the compass and not your map. With a map, you could potentially figure out where you both were and where you should be heading. The compass only told you the direction you were facing, not where you should go. 

You aren’t sure if you’re even happy the tension back at that cliff had dissipated within an hour, the two of you returning to your normal back-and-forth banter. Jake hadn’t once brought up that question he had asked before the two of you ran into your little friend, and there were no signs he was about to either. 

It was simply the same old, same old, Seresin and Midge. 

Stepping over a fallen tree trunk, you looked up from the ground only to freeze. There, stretching vertically across your path, was a chain-linked fence. It merged and disappeared into the thicket, maybe even a few trees growing through the interlocking pieces of metal. Tackled to one section was a weather-beaten sign, the words and icon on it fading, though you could still make out the message. 

Keep out - Authorized Personnel Only.

You’re not sure if these types of fences were supposed to be out here, dead centre in the middle of nowhere, but the sight of it is less than comforting. 

Jake hadn’t realized you’d stopped, slamming himself right into your back. You tripped forward in a daze but caught yourself before hitting the fence. You spun on your heel, ready to give him a piece of your mind. 

“Look where the hell you’re going, Seresin!” 

“Hey, what’s the big - “Jake cut himself off when he saw what was behind you for the first time. “Oh… a fence.” 

You rolled your eyes, turning back to investigate its sudden presence. You pointed to the keep-out sign. “Look.” 

Jake squinted, then offered a shrug. “It’s probably just the park boundary line.” 

You frowned, peering through the mesh at the expanse of untouched forest that lay beyond. “Or something else. Maybe it’s a dumping ground. You know, where they keep the bodies.” 

Jake rolled his eyes. “Because every remote part of a national park is a crime scene or conspiracy,” he said, his tone dripping in sarcasm. 

You whipped around, pushing on his shoulder. Jake didn’t even move an inch. You felt stupid for even trying. 

"Well, excuse me for being suspicious of a big ominous-looking fence in the middle of a woods that has a keep out sign!" you snapped, your mind now racing with the possibilities, none reassuring.

Jake bit his lip. "You know, this feels a bit like Jurassic Park..."

You closed your eyes. "Jake... No...Don't say it..."

"When they find the raptor pen," he grinned. "And it all goes to hell a few hours later."

"Can you not?" You shudder. "I'm going to be fucking terrified now, thinking something is following us."

Jake rolled his eyes, returning the way you both came. "It's just us, Midge. Come on, scared a serial killer is hiding out in these woods?" he teased.

You murmured something under your breath, following him before turning off at the next apparent break in the forest, Jake having stopped to wait for you to catch up.

You called out into the trees in a sing-song manner, "Psycho Killer, que'est ce que c'est?"

Jake cocked an eyebrow at the back of your head as he followed you. "Ah, the artist listens to music."

"So does the douche," you shot over your shoulder.

"It's Talking Heads. Who hasn't heard them."

You laughed softly to yourself. "Not the Taylor Swift loving groupie's back at the camp."

You internally cringed as soon as the words came out of your mouth. The ill-fated Halloween party flashes in your mind, that girl and him in the bathroom—that damning orange dress. You're glad he can't see your face right now. 

Somewhere behind you, Jake let out a fake gasp. "Now, what do you have against T.Swift?"

You roll your eyes again, pushing away a branch and holding it back until Jake is close enough. "Nothing, personally. I just don't like her music. Or her fandom."

You let the branch go, the leaves rustling as it swung backwards. Jake dodged it just in time when it whipped towards his face. "Midge..." 

"I told you to keep an eye out." 

A smirk tugged at his lips. "You're enjoying this way too much." 

You shrugged nonchalantly, stepping over a fallen log. "Maybe. It's not every day I get to torture someone with my taste in music."

“But it’s Taylor Swift, Midge.” 

You made a disgruntled noise. "Why does every fan of hers like to shit on someone who doesn't like her music? It's not the only thing out there. So, I don't like her music. I'm not a fucking martyr."

You're not sure if you are surprised whether or not the remark didn't incite a reaction from him. From what you've seen online, her fans loved to attack those who didn't share their opinion. Sure, there were good ones. The ones you thought, like with everything, who existed in a minority. The ones who appreciated what she did or even does for music, not the ones who latched on to who she, and in their words, was destroying next. 

Jake seemed like the last person to be a Taylor Swift fan, but you weren't one to judge someone who liked works of art. Jake also loved to rile you up for no apparent reason. He would do this just to piss you off further. 

Realizing the rustling of leaves and branches behind you had ceased, you stopped, twisting to look over your shoulder. Jake stood motionless between two trees, staring at you with metaphorical gears grinding over his head. The sight was unnerving. It left you wondering what he was thinking or perhaps what he was waiting for you to do. 

Or what remark he was currently concocting. 

But no banter was coming from his lips: no eagerness or cocky smirk, horrible statement or condensing glare. The urge to fill this extended silence was building the longer it lasted. It seemed like not saying anything would make it that much worse. You're still trying to figure out why you even wanted to. 

"It's not that I don't want to. I did. Once upon a time," you offer hesitantly. "Things just change, I guess." 

"Didn't like it when she switched to pop?" he asked, offering no hint of emotion, nor did he try to move or lift his eyes. The moment that settled over the two of you was calm, no thick heat or fire in search of something of either of yours to burn. 

It’s perhaps why the following words flew out of your mouth so easily. "More like every mean girl started listening to her music, and suddenly she was the villain icon for everyone to excuse their fucking behaviour.” 

You visibly winced when you realized what you had said. Not because that haunting memory was always at the forefront of your mind when it came to Jake, but because you revealed more of yourself than you wanted him to know.  

You turned to face the path, taking a few steps forward, hoping Jake would take the hint and drop it. But when you didn't hear him try to follow you, you twisted back again to see him still standing in the same spot, his eyes now on you and lighting up with a thousand revelations all at once. 

Then came the shift. The subtle softening of his face gave way to one of regret. 

You hated it.

"You were bullied growing up?" the words come out of his mouth softly. 

You averted your eyes, staring at the ground. 

"Who hasn't?" you laughed ashamedly, shrugging your shoulders. "I mean, you probably haven't... Where do you think I got all this snark?" 

Lies, Maeve. He's the reason you got all this snark. You simply ran away back then. 

"So you don't listen to her music because you were bullied?"

You met his eye. 

Nobody had really asked you about this before. You hadn't offered to tell anyone about it either. Nat loved her, practically worshipped the ground she walked on, and it was apparent now more than ever that Nat would have never understood where you were coming from if you had. 

You're not sure why Jake is that person now, why it's suddenly spewing all out of you. He was the person you spent most of your life hating during and after school. Yet, because of that fact, you knew deep down you had nothing to lose by telling him. 

You didn't lift your eyes when you shook your head. "I didn't. At least, I don't really. Sometimes, now she's making new albums... creating songs that don't bear the same weight in memories. But it's hard to shake the association."

Suddenly, shame wracks your whole body, and you turn away, taking a few steps forward. You want to run. Run like you always have from him. 

This time, you know you can't. 

If you ran, it would doom you both. As much as you wanted to live, the one thing you refused to be responsible for was Jake's death. After all, if either of you got out of this place alive, you'd have no actual reason to be around him anymore. 

Waiting for Jake to follow, you watched a worm twisting its way through the mud. You focused in on its shape, letting your eyes glaze over a blur. Even as Jake finally moved and stopped at your side, waiting for you to step forward, you hadn't taken your eyes off the tiny, helpless creature. No eyes, no mouth that would produce a single sound and from appearance alone, it relied on touch to navigate the world.

A single, lone worm was wriggling in the earth, and you felt you had more in common with it than any single person back at that waterfall. 

You can feel Jake's eyes on you, waiting for you to continue explaining. You know you have to. 

"Sometimes I meet people who think she's giving them permission, sanctioning them, to be mean to people. When really, they're just passing off owning their own mistakes. Or want to get out of circumstances of their own creation."

You sniff, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear. "Cause if she says it's okay, then why wouldn't it be?"

Jake's voice was low as he offered, "She can't help how people use her lyrics."

You closed your eyes, a tear streaming down your cheek. "Hasn't anyone ruined anything for you, Seresin? That's not the point."

Jake didn't say anything, merely staring at the side of your face. 

"Whether she knows it or intents it to be or not, she is an iconic Mean Girls Artist." You took a deep breath, opening your eyes and letting them glaze over. "And every time I try to make it better, I'm always brought back to the remarks whispered in the corners of high school hallways. Never being able to defend myself because first impressions are hard to beat. And word of mouth from a person who has their hooks in every person in your grade because you're the weird silent art kid with niche interests and they are the beloved popular girl matters more than any remark I could ever muster the courage to voice and prove them wrong."

Giving into the urge to hug yourself tight, you dropped your chin to your chest, a part of you wondering what Jake would do with this information. A part of you wanted to stop, but the fact that he was letting you speak, you weren't going to. With everything that had happened, you just wanted someone to listen. You just wanted to be heard.

Nat didn’t afford you that chance. But Jake was. He was here. He was listening. Perhaps for the first time since you don't remember when.

How fucking far have I fallen that Jake is suddenly now that person?

You sniffed again, wiping your nose. "I mean, it's not the fake ownership over them saying they might be the problem because of that one fucking song, but me, being the problem for saying anything, for being myself, walking the halls... existing." 

Holding yourself tight, you failed to notice the sad recognition in Jake's eyes. Or how his shoulders dropped or how he took his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“I only shouted ‘bear’ because I was trying to get Jessica and Veronica to leave me alone. Jessica’s… obvious... With her … attempts,” he admitted. “Well, unobvious to Rueben. I hate it.” 

You sniffed, wiping your eyes with the back of your arm. “You weren’t trying to scare me?” 

“No, Maeve, I wasn’t,” he replied earnestly. “It was stupid, and I should have just told them off, but I panicked. And a part of me wanted them to shit their pants… because of how they’ve been treating you. They seemed like the type who would…” 

You sighed, shaking your head, croaking out, “You really are an idiot, Jake.” 

He let out a small, humourless laugh. “Yeah, well... That’s nothing new.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh softly back. 

 "Thank you for telling me,” he finally said after a few moments of silence. 

 You reeled back, staring at him in shock. Out of all the things you expected him to say, that was not it. But Jake's familiar pattern of mocking you, hurling some insult, or trying to hit you where it hurts never came. Instead, he was looking at you like he was genuinely sorry. 

Another few seconds passed before you shook your head and swallowed. "I'm not entirely sure why I did. You're probably going to find some shitty way to use it against me or put it on that list you mentioned."

There was nothing mean in his voice when he shook his head, gently replying, "Not too bad to have on hand." 

You could hear the smile in his voice as he took a step forward, mud squishing under his boot as he took over leading the way. "If I ever do stand a chance of topping your wise-ass remarks."

Despite yourself, despite knowing you'd never see him again after you got out of this park, you let out a small smile as you followed after him.

"Keep dreaming, asshole."

Not so mean, are we now, Midge?

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Taglist -> I've been off on here, so if you've messaged or commented and I haven't seen it, please let me know, and I will add you as long as I'm still on this trail basis thing.

-Lucky ☘️

[stitcherofchaos]

Kidnap Fam vs Earendil and Elwing controversy: Regarding the twins

Maybe I’m too practical-minded, but I see a lot of people either supporting or exaggerating kidnap fam, hating it with all their being, or ignoring the whole ‘love grew between them’ to translate into ‘emotional manipulation, hatred, resentment… etc (being anti-canon)’. I’ll respect opinions, frankly, I really could care less about them, but it does get irritating when people throw canon away for the drama (I certainly get annoyed when extreme pro-kidnap fams fans make it all sunshine and rainbows as if it wasn’t a difficult time or situation).

By the way, I can and will say that the twins can feel emotions, they are allowed to do that. Resentment and love can exist at the same time (for only a period of time) but one or the other must fade in order for the other the linger. One has to be consumed in order for the other to burn.

But just a thought, Elrond and Elros could love all of their parents equally, no more, no less than the others. One became a healer and the other, a king, I think they came to understand their foster father(s) and their bio-parents’ decisions.

(Ay maybe I just suck at emotions and all this feelings stuff and have no idea what I’m tolkien about)

And I’m not trying to call out or bash anyone!

I saw (and wanted to share) the quote,

“if your anger burns the furnace in your soul your whole life, you will be forever cold in the grave.”(I’m paraphrasing, I can’t remember the exact quote)

I cannot imagine Elrond or Elros being resentful to the point were they are vicious or unforgiving, whether it was towards Elwing, Eärendil, Maglor, or Maedhros (I really don’t think he was involved too much but if you swing that way).

I don’t want Elros to be cold in his grave, and I certainly don’t want Elrond's fëa to be burning for the rest of his immortal life.

Then I also had the thought, 'if the Fëanorians had never committed the third, worst, kinslaying, then Elwing would have never flown the Silmaril to her husband and they would have never gotten the help of the Valar.'

I personally headcanon that it was Eru’s work at hand to have Maglor raise Elrond and Elros. Think about it, what if they were spoiled in an alternate universe? What if something worse had happened to the twins? What if? What if?

What if they didn't become who they were meant to be if it wasn't for who they were raised by?

By the way, I read LOTR, I know Elrond refers to Eärendil publicly as his father and he makes no mention of Maglor. I analyzed this in three ways. 1.) Elrond must keep (the memory of) Maglor closed off, locked in his heart rather than talking about him more. 2.) It would've caused drama in his realm and in the counsel. 3.) Elrond really doesn't care, his father is his father, that's it. Zip. Maglor raised him, but Maglor is gone now. In a way, Eärendil is more present than Maglor in Elrond's life by the third age. Elrond can physically see the star, but he can't see Maglor.

I see it in the third way mostly. Eärendil is Elrond father, biologically, so why would he do this "My 'real' father" BS? It just seems like a waste of time. Tolkien probably didn't want to confuse anyone since the Silmarillion couldn't be published with LOTR.

Remind me of that quote from Yondu, "He may have been your father, boy, but he wasn't your daddy." But I really didn't want to refer to that quote considering Peter and Yondu's relationship is not the best example to compare this cluster of daddy issues to. Nevertheless, there is a point to be made in that statement. There is a difference between relation in regard to Nature vs Nurture, and the effects of it.

I guess the whole point of this post is, the fandom tends to take canon lore to the extreme or over analyze things to the point where they're just projecting. Trust me, I've been there, done that. I've learned my lesson (I think) and I wanted to share what I've learned.

Also (this is purely opinion) I don’t think Maglor was manipulative about anything, in the book, he just didn’t come off that way, for as little as he appeared, he actually seemed to be pretty optimistic (*regarding Eärendil) and honest (*the debate with Maedhros). He didn’t try to excuse himself or get the twins to pity him. Maglor raising the twins was out of pity/mercy, yes, but love grew (like what Tolkien said). He probably educated them on the facts and encouraged them to form their own opinions, whether that costed him their love or not. Maglor did have the more accurate moral compass compared to his brothers (in the end of the book!- Put down your pitchforks Maedhros stans!), especially if he knew that the Silmaril was better beyond their reach than where the enemy can also reach it. It was an accurate moral compass, although not a big one.

Argue, agree or disagree, or discuss with me! I want to hear different perspectives or opinions on this matter.

[prettyboykatsuki]

✭— gn!reader + sfw + arranged marriage.

He doesn't remember much of his ex-lovers. Only that they hated Sae enough to throw lukewarm coffee at him and ruin his white sweater.

And only that they told him a variety of crude, terrible things. Most of them jabs at his career, softened at the ends with words of sadness and melancholy. His first relationship started the same way it finished, empty and obligatory.

Only one thing really sticks out to him. That at the end, the person he'd been with with for nearly a year told him they'd never met someone so incapable of loving before.

Sae wonders about that.

It didn't hurt at the time. It was an inevitable end to a relationship he didn't pay any real attention to. He doesn't even remember their birthday. The world was narrow when he was 22. He has enough self-awareness to know he's always been self-centered when it comes to his career, so it's no surprise a once meaningful relationship fell through the cracks.

Sae doesn't really understand how other people move through life and feel. He has feelings but they're reactive and sometimes misplaced. He gets angry, irritated, or pleased and contented. But the way even his little brother feels so intensely, with such visceral anger or such deep melancholy is foreign.

Sae is a serious character. And he isn't unfeeling or unsympathetic. He has morals and principles. He's human.

But that kind of bone-deep, all-consuming emotion that seems to haunt so many people is foreign. If something is unpleasant, try to fix it. If something can't be fixed, let it go. Worry about the things you can change. Be a good son. Try to be the kind of brother that can make your little brother grow. Be cocky only if it's well deserved. Be even colder because the world is unforgiving, and steel yourself for when it inevitably hammers in your ineptness.

Sae is stoic. In the traditional sense. He's never thought about love. He thought he'd meet someone like him with time. Someone who wants a life of luxury and looks good in the papers - and that he'd spend the rest of his life with someone he tolerates because the thought of loving another person is odd at best. They'd have a hotshot career and Sae would meet them at a fancy dinner party. They'd chat a bit, get to know each other.

And Sae would like them, enough to put it on paper. It'd be mediocre and uninteresting. Born from a sense of duty.

A life full of something like love - is unimaginable. It's an intangible idea, to love someone like they write in songs.

When his mother called him from Japan, said that there was someone she'd like him to meet - he already knew what it was. He was at that age now. 29 and single. It could only mean an arranged marriage.

Sae goes, because he has nothing to lose. He's been single for 7 years. And he's a devoted son who always does what he's told.

Sae meets you with no expectations. Not one to hold you to. You'd be a nice person he's sure - maybe someone who wants to be a homemaker. Polite. Tolerable. Lukewarm like that turns to wedding rings.

The first time Itoshi Sae met you - you arrived late to the coffee date. You came to him panting and out of breath, clumsily rambling about your experience trying to chase down the subway to make it in the nick of time. You rambled on and on, and ordered coffee by waving your hand at someone and talking to them too.

And when you realized he hadn't gotten a word in, you stopped and flushed and apologized so profusely that he found himself smiling. Laughing a little, really - under his breath. He made a comment to tease you about it.

Koi No Yokan, a Japanese saying with no real translatable equivalent. The premonition of love. It means to meet someone and know you will love them inevitably. Not fate, exactly.

But to meet someone that is impossible not to be adored by you. To connect with someone and think you will love them. The realization is off-putting and abstract but even now when Sae is asked.

When did you know they were the one?

His reply is always the same - a small smile and look of familiar mirth.

Since the beginning. It just felt right.

Sae asks you to a second date. And a third, and a fourth before finally asking to be official. Sae learns quickly that there are in fact people in the world who exist like they're made to be loved. Or at least, there is someone in this world he was going to come to love all along.

It turns out - love is less complicated than he'd originally thought. That there are people who see you for who you are and love anyways. Sae doesn't know what you see in him exactly. You're a regular civilian, a regular job. A simple, simple life. None of his accolades mean much to you - though you do always express how cool it is.

They're not words that carry weight because of what they are. Rather, they mean something because of him. It matters to you, because Sae matters to you. And somehow, somehow he just knows that. There is doubt, but only sometimes.

There is hope but always. Always.

You can't identify the difference between designer brands and all your shoes are from the bargain bin except your formal ones. You like to toss coins in fish ponds and close your eyes extra tight when you wish. You always look at the moon - every night when he drives.

Tell him in all sorts of voices about how beautiful the moon is. How you miss the country side, and that there's too much light pollution in Tokyo. He thinks the term down-to-earth suits you well.

But in the kind of way that makes Sae feels a little more grounded. He envies it sometimes. That you manage to shine so brightly and be so good without having to try at all. He envies that you seem to have been born so loveable, so warm.

You love Sae. But Sae knows, deep down - he loves you impossibly more. All the things he once thought to be trivial and pointless get their own color in his busy calendar. He travels and thinks of you - writes locations down with your name. Smiles to himself when he thinks of how brightly your eyes would shine taking in the worlds wonders.

Sae bets that you'd be the same everywhere. Whether in Tokyo or London or Madrid or Chicago or Shanghai - that you'd tug at him and tell him to look up to the beautiful views above. He'd bet you buy sunflower seeds to feed ducks just like you do now, thousands of miles from home.

He bets you'd cry and weep about things he gives you, fluster yourself trying to be grateful. He'd have to wipe the tears of your face, put you to rest in his arms. Let you tuck yourself into his neck and sleep long and sniffly.

Sae loves you more because he'd let you. He hopes the mascara you bough from 7/11 ruins his stupid Dior sweater. He'd die before even thinking about dry-cleaning it. He's sure he'd just keep it in his closet and touch the sleeve every time he's too far from home.

He says it sometimes. Says love you and miss you in those breaths that feel sturdy enough to carry something so heavy. But you, just like him, just seem to know that he loves you. There is doubt, but the days come where you find yourself sleeping in his arms and there's hope again.

He wonders if he'd been incapable of loving. Maybe being around someone so easy to love solved it. It feels like a pin-prick wound. Like one day, he cut himself on the edge of your smile and has been pouring all the things spilling out into you.

He thinks his mostly the same. Intolerable, and arrogant, and unfeeling for better or for worse. He doesn't feel so all consumed. He doesn't feel blinded by the feeling of love. Nothing about it is overwhelming.

He think that maybe the absence of joy goes unnoticed when nothing truly moves you. All Sae can say for certain about anything is this - that if you were to disappear from his life, he'd surely never be able to look at the moon the same. And that he'd always keep sunflower seeds just incase.

Itoshi Sae. 29 years old. Professional Midfielder for Real Madrid CF. Married.

Sae wakes up bright and early, to see you next to him. You crinkle your face as the warmth hits your eyes. Stirring awake to look at him, you yawn then smile.

"Morning," You saying, clinging closely and peering out at the sun "The sun is so bright today.

He looks straight at you and smiles - barely there.

"Very bright."

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

BETCHA!

noa had expected that giving advice to kaiser on his love life would be no easy feat, but when kaiser realizes that you have next-to-no interest in him, the german prodigy works up a storm in his master’s office. noa can only pray that he has the patience to whip kaiser into the true romantic gentleman you deserve. (+insp.)

gender neutral reader

content warning(s): kaiser x reader except it’s mostly noa teaching kaiser how to not be a shitty lover

Noa knew that becoming the mentor and master of any team would be far from an easy job. 

He had braced himself for the worst when he agreed to teach Bastard Munchen everything in his own arsenal, to lead the new youth team to become soccer’s future for when he would one day inevitably retire. He was more than aware of the nasty personalities the sport seemed to bring out from everyone (himself included, he had to admit), and he had readied himself to see sparks fly in all the worst ways possible as the teenage boys butted heads with each other.

Growing pains, he chalked it up to. Even he was once like that. Hungry, desperate, ready to prove himself to the world as the true diamond-in-the-rough amongst the common pebbles all around him.

He had braced himself for physical fights, with the youths squabbling with each other over who should have scored. And he got plenty of that. He also got plenty of haranguing them into getting up early in the mornings for practice and fighting to keep them motivated into the unforgiving hours of the night. He had braced himself for dealing with all of their managerial issues, from the boys transferring teams to needing travel visas and whatnot. 

All of the little things he had grown used to and faced during his own career, Noa was more than equipped to deal with. And he believed he solved each and every one of these problems with the same level head and grace that secured him his spot as the world’s number one striker.

What Noa wasn’t prepared for, however, were the issues involved with the budding relationships the Bastard Munchen players would face. His advice for their romantic lives were usually the same: make smart choices, stay out of paparazzi’s sight, and be respectful. That typically did the job for most of his mentees, and Noa could put his busy mind at rest.

Except for one specific boy who seemed to make it his life’s reason to break every rule that Noa had set in place for them.

Noa was sick and tired of cleaning up after every mess Kaiser made. He was used to Kaiser dragging in all sorts of celebrities and famous people he had hit it off with in a club or some other place, bragging about how he had finally found the one, to which Noa was always patient (and quick to remind the young boy that he had still yet to turn 20 and most definitely had not found “the one” quite yet). Like clockwork, a week would pass, and Kaiser would be on the quest to find the next person to entertain his fickle heart.

So frankly, when you rolled around, Noa had thought Kaiser’s obsession with you would only last about the same as his previous flings. Noa quietly waited out a week. Then another. And another. Then a few more. And to his surprise, you stuck to Kaiser’s mind. Kaiser still pursued you as relentlessly as he did the first day he brought you up to Noa, and Noa realized how difficult it would be to actually wrangle in a full-blown delusional, lovestruck Kaiser.

“NOAAAAAAAAAA!”

Noa rubbed at his temples, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath through his nose. He held it for a few seconds, like how his therapist had recommended, before breathing out through his mouth for a few more seconds. Noa was fully aware that he threw a life of peace away the moment he chose to become a professional athlete, but asking for more than fifteen minutes of uninterrupted silence seemed less plausible than winning the World Cup fifteen times in a row.

The door to his office flew open with such force that the Frenchman was surprised it hadn’t flown clean off of its hinges. “Shitty master! There you are! I need your advice!”

“No need to be so violent or loud, Kaiser.” Noa turned on the swivel chair the Blue Lock facility had given him, tearing his eyes away from the statistics and team strategies he had been working on. “They’ll be able to hear even from across the compound.”

Kaiser stood in his doorway, looking disheveled and near tears. He had sprinted here, evident from the thin layer of sweat on the German boy’s forehead and how heavily he was breathing. Noa doubted that Kaiser was coming to him needing advice on training or improvising his skills. 

No, Noa knew what Kaiser was here for already.

“Alright, how did you mess up this time, Kaiser?” The Frenchman asked exhaustedly. He had gotten used to this song-and-dance with his pupil a long time ago, ever since you had wormed your way into Kaiser’s heart. “Did you call (Y/n) a rude name? Or say something mean?”

Kaiser scrunched his pretty face up, stomping closer to Noa and sticking his bottom lip out. “No! I didn’t do anything like that. Noa, it’s so much more severe! I’d rather that they hate me and wish me dead than this! You don’t understand—they don’t care about me at all!!”

Noa bit back a snort. “Oh. And I thought you had done so much worse.”

Kaiser began frantically pacing around Noa’s office, agitatedly wringing his hands. “I knew you wouldn’t understand, you shitty master! Ugh, this is what I get, going to someone as stoic as you for advice with my love life! I don’t get it. Why doesn’t (Y/n) want me? I’m the whole package! I have people crawling, and I mean, fucking crawling all over me. That super hot actress everyone’s been talking about? She was begging me for a date last week! I’m popular and handsome and rich, and (Y/n) acts like I’m just some guy from across the street! I’m not some guy from across the street!”

“No, you aren’t-”

Kaiser shook his hands in the air. “I’m the Michael Kaiser! 300 million yen annual salary, master of Kaiser Impact, golden ace of Bastard Munchen, and God’s chosen emperor! How dare they not want me as much as I want them? Can’t they see how madly in love I am? That I’ve practically made a fool of myself at this point? Trying this hard to make them fall for me?”

Kaiser breathed heavily after having dumped all of that onto Noa, and the older man stared at Kaiser with singlehandedly the most unimpressed look on his face. The German athlete let out a strangled groan, the reality of his dejection sinking in properly, and Noa watched as Kaiser buried his face into his hands.

“First and foremost, Kaiser, you have to understand that people have different tastes. What might be appealing to actresses and celebrities and whoever else you attract might not be (Y/n)’s type,” Noa sighed, leaning back in his chair and massaging his head. “Some people avoid famous and popular people on purpose, because it’s an awful lot of work to be with someone under that much public scrutiny. It’s a big thing to ask of someone, regardless of their interest in you.”

“But I have the money! The body! The looks! Anyone would be flattered to have my interest! C’mon, Noa- Fame aside, I’m sexy as fuck!” Kaiser motioned vaguely at his body. “I’m sexy, right? Tell me I’m sexy, Noa!”

“Kaiser, I am not doing that.”

“You get what I’m trying to say!”

“Secondly,” Noa continued sternly. He didn’t particularly have the energy to flatter Kaiser that much more. “Have you actually tried wooing them in a… more appropriate way?”

Kaiser frowned deeply, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean in a more appropriate way? Shouldn’t they fall to my feet in utter worship of how wonderful I am? Shouldn’t they be sobbing over how grateful they are to me that I would give them even a crumb of my attention?”

Oh god. Noa wondered where he had gone wrong with Kaiser. The headache that had been ebbing in and out ever since the youth had barged into his office was only amplifying. “No, Kaiser. I mean the kind of courtship that most other people would try. Like compliments, gifts, maybe grabbing a coffee together. You have to earn someone’s love. It isn’t something that’s guaranteed nor is it something that’s owed.”

The German boy’s frown faded slightly, morphing into a small look of confusion. He repeated, “Earn? You mean… I have to try to get (Y/n)’s favor? They aren’t smitten with me already?”

“Probably not. If they haven’t already started a relationship with you yet, that usually means you haven’t won their heart.” The older athlete explained calmly. “Try the things I told you. Tell them that you like seeing them around. Maybe get them a small thing of flowers. Being kind to someone never hurts. Especially if they aren’t exactly… used to dealing with your bold personality. You have to start with baby steps before you can get to all the big passionate things you’re thinking of.”

Noa wondered for a split second if Kaiser would fume and brush his advice off as he usually did, but for once, the boy nodded along and silently mulled over his mentor’s words. Noa continued to watch him quietly, hoping inwardly that he had gotten through to the boy and that maybe he’d quit harassing you with what he could only imagine to be the most audacious courtship in the universe. You were truly a trooper to somehow keep up with all of Kaiser’s ridiculous antics. 

“For once you’re of help, shitty master,” Kaiser hummed, and the German nodded to himself.. “I know a place I could order a few blue roses from… And there’s a really nice café not too far from the facility once we get down the mountain… Yeah, I can see it all coming together! Okay, I have a plan!”

“Ah, by the way,” Noa interrupted. Kaiser looked at the Frenchman, as if to silently ask him if there was anything else he needed to be lectured about. Noa cleared his throat, looking firmly at the young man. “Remember what I told you, no matter what (Y/n) does in response to your efforts. Love is earned, not owed. Even if you try to be kind to them and flirt with them differently, you aren’t entitled to their love. If they make it very clear that you aren’t interested, the right thing to do is back off and give them space. Do you understand?”

“Of course I do,” Kaiser scoffed. “If they decide that they don’t want me… Then that’s their loss! I’ll use my indescribable charm to find someone better… Even though I don’t really think there’s anyone better than them.”

“Well, no matter what you do, I’m sure I’ll hear of it.” Noa chuckled softly as the young blond’s cheeks turned red as he started thinking about you, and Kaiser hid his pink face behind his hands. Kaiser turned on his heel, straightening his back and puffing his chest out, clearly determined to enact Noa’s heartfelt advice and to undoubtedly unleash upon you another wave of unrestrained romance.

Noa knew that Kaiser’s wails and screeches in his desperate attempts for your favor would be far from over, but if he could bit-by-bit place the boy on the correct path at wooing you over, then maybe all of Kaiser’s temper tantrums and 3 AM rants about how he is 100% confident that he’s going marry you someday would be worth it. If there was one thing that Kaiser was, it was incredibly stubborn about not letting things that he deemed as “his” slip away.

“Ah, one more thing, Kaiser-”

Kaiser stopped dead in his tracks, already halfway out of the room. “Yeah? What is it, shitty master?”

“Don’t fantasize about marriage just yet. I think it’s still way too early for you to be planning out a wedding with (Y/n) already…”

x

[wttcsms]

"i (Nanami Kento) bet on losing dogs" x the losing dog (reader)

no other sadness in the world would do, kento nanami ;

pairing kento nanami x f!reader word count 1.5k synopsis a quiet and intimate examination of modern day suffering content contains implied abusive spouse (for reader), implied unrequited love (nanami has feelings for reader)

There is nothing in this world that Kento Nanami despises more than baseless loyalty. 

What a pathetic trait, he would think to himself. How could someone just blindly follow someone, constantly chasing after their shadow, only to be mistreated time and time again? It’s disgusting. Shameless. Weak.

He feels disgusting, shameless, weak. 

Powerless, too. That’s a new one. That’s how things usually go when it’s just the two of you; you start evoking all sorts of new emotions, like he’s a video game character and you’re helping him unlock upgrades to his character. It’s a bit disarming, really. Kento much prefers to remain as impassive as possible while in the office because unnecessarily giving up any pieces of himself to this skyscraper shithole feels like he’s letting his stupidly rich clients win. 

Kento likes routine, which is why he settles into one quickly and refuses to make adjustments unless absolutely necessary.

Login, watch the markets, log off. Nothing more, nothing less. 

And then you became his new desk partner, and his perfect, meticulous cycle is thrown off course.

Being observant does more harm than good. He notices the shiny ring on your finger and draws an invisible, never-to-be-passed boundary. He already has made up his mind on not engaging with any of his coworkers, female or male, married or otherwise, but with you, he makes the mental effort to visualize the line, the flashing red warning signs, the whole nine-yards. This is the first sign that you are going to fuck up his life. Already, you’re embedded in his insides, owning real estate in his subconscious long before he can even realize it.

At first, you don’t talk to him much; you don’t talk to most of the men working here, and Kento can’t fault you for that. Most of them are assholes, and all of them don’t have any morals. If this wasn’t the case, they wouldn’t be working here, after all.

Eventually, you start to withdraw, and Kento becomes the person you’re most comfortable with talking to. What you see is what you get with him. Kento refuses to be one of those people who are a waste of perfectly good oxygen, and he doesn’t speak unless it’s absolutely necessary. You’re in an industry where men purposely like to talk over women, just because they can get away with it. With Kento, you are given free rein of the conversation. It’s kismet, you and him.

He gets used to your constant conversation, never seeming to be put off by the fact that he doesn’t offer up his opinion unless explicitly asked. Kento normally doesn’t like it when people talk to him when he’s trying to get work done, but your voice is pleasant, your topics always interesting (“do you think there are different levels in Hell, or is a one-victim murderer being prodded by pitchforks right next to Hitler?”), and he finds that listening to you speak relaxes him somewhat. He doesn’t go home with a tightness in his shoulders and a persistent, throbbing ache in his head that aspirin can’t seem to fix. 

The first time Kento initiates conversation is when he sees you wearing a blazer during the sweltering heat of one of Japan’s most unforgiving summers. 

“A bit warm for all that,” he says, trying to adjust his tone and make it sound like a joke. Even if it did sound like a joke, he knows that your reaction would remain the same.

“Oh,” you give a nervous, insincere laugh, reflexively tugging on the sleeves even though your arms are still very much covered. “I get cold easily.”

That’s a lie. Kento knows because he knows you well enough to tell that you are the most genuine person he has ever interacted with. He doesn’t know how you ended up with this job when you’re much better suited for a career that actually helps people. He thinks back to when the office’s air conditioning went haywire and blasted the office with near-freezing temperatures. You had remained in your short-sleeved blouse, saying that you love the cold.

He doesn’t call you out on it, though. He just makes a noise from the back of his throat and turns back to his monitor. 

He can only pretend to ignore your erratic behavior for so long. You keep yourself covered to the point where you make a nun seem indecent. You withdraw from him, not initiating conversation unless Kento brings something up (he’s never been good at making small talk, and so more often than not, the conversation fizzles out quickly and awkwardly). And then you come to work with a black eye, and Kento refuses to let you suffer in silence any longer.

You break down and cry, feeling pathetic, feeling lost. You beg him not to say anything to anybody, that this is just a rough patch, that this’ll pass, and everything will be okay. Amidst your sobs, Kento finds himself wondering who you’re trying to convince right now. 

He holds you on the comedown. 

Now, there’s a new cycle. Things don’t get better for you; it doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure that one out. If a man lays his hands on you once, he’ll do it again. And again. And again. 

To take a life is a serious thing, but sometimes, there are worse ways to kill someone without ever murdering them. Your husband is killing you right now, a slow, soul-sucking type of death, and Kento would like to kill him. Some people are more curse than human. 

What did your husband do, Kento wonders, to make you fall in love with him? What can your husband do to make you finally wake up and realize that he is entirely undeserving of your love? 

Kento Nanami does not belong to any religion, does not attend church, does not even bother questioning the possibilities of a potential afterlife because his current life is already a bust as is. But after every late night he spends comforting and consoling you, holding you while you wet his button-down with your tears, he goes home and prays that you get the strength to fucking leave him. Pack your bags and get the hell out of Tokyo. Even if it means he’ll never see you again, the only person who makes this insufferable existence somewhat bearable. 

But the cycle doesn’t seem to ever break. He’s watching you fade away, and he decides that all the faith systems are fucked up for ignoring his pleas. 

“You should leave him.” He tells you, handing you a tissue. It’s technically a waste of breath; he tells you this shit all the time, and you never take his advice, but he says it anyway. Foolishly hoping that this time will be the time where you decide to listen to him. 

(And besides, he finds that anything he says to you could never be a waste.)

“But I love him.” You give him that same sad, watery smile, and Kento wants to pity you, but you wouldn’t accept it. Outwardly, he treats you the same as he used to, before he knew all that stuff that happens to you behind closed doors, because he knows what it’s like to be treated like you’re incapable of processing anything but kindness. The sweet, sugary kind of kindness, too — none of that blunt, pragmatic stuff. Kismet, he snorts. How fortunate that the kindness you need — re: blunt, pragmatic — is the only type he’s capable of giving to you.

Being treated like you’re surrounded by broken glass and everyone around you is trying desperately to avoid it makes people feel even worse. When Yu died, everyone acted like not being overly nice to Kento would somehow make him snap and go off the deep-end. The fact of the matter is, none of these people have ever been so overly cautious around him, and it actually made the pain of losing Yu somehow more unbearable. 

There are lots of replies that rest on the tip of his tongue. 

But does he love you? 

Why? 

Have some self respect, holy shit.

Your love is killing you from the inside out.

I could love you.

He tosses away your snotty tissues into the trash can, somehow not disgusted by you even though you think he should be. His grocery list now includes painkillers, band-aids, and bruise ointment. He thinks prayers are a waste of time, and before bed, he takes a shot in the dark and hopes some benevolent god is rooting for you like he is. There is nothing in the world that Kento Nanami despises more than baseless loyalty.

“I know.” And he leaves it at that.

[cynthia39100]

Merlin rewatch -- S2E8: The Sins of the Father

I like how much it was shown in this episode the way Merlin cared about Arthur as a person. He wanted to keep him safe and happy. Whether he chose the right method is another question. It also showed how much Arthur trusted Merlin with his true face and his vulnerability.

After accepting Morgause's challenge, Arthur was very insistent and confident in front of his father, but here in his own room, with Merlin cleaning his armour, he allowed himself to show uncertainty, if not in words but in his demeanour.

I love these little glances of how they spent everyday life together. Merlin stayed at night, doing his chores and chatting with Arthur about the day's event.

I liked that Merlin mentioned maybe Arthur would hesitate facing a woman, not teasing but out of worry. He also wanted to spare Arthur of his guilt so he didn’t object to persuading Morgause to withdraw. He didn't forget to reassure Arthur either when the combat was inevitable.

This scene was so cute. Merlin was all serious before the fight, but once Arthur was safe and had the energy to complain, it was fine again for Merlin to tease him. Arthur could only whine like a child and make excuses in front of Merlin because Merlin would tease him. He wouldn't take Arthur's excuses, but he also wouldn't look down on him because of the childish behaviour. In front of Morgause, he congratulated her for the victory; in front of Uther, he accepted his defeat even when Uther blamed it on Morgause's magic. With Merlin, he said that it was because Morgause was a woman, or later Morgause used magic, and let Merlin disagree with him.

Why was Arthur picking the wall with his dagger like a naughty boy was shot so beautifully in the sunlight?? So melancholy. Gorgeous.

It's always "we" <3 I like that while Merlin and Uther had the same opinion about Morgause's motivation, what Uther did was to lock Arthur in, and Merlin was to get Arthur out. It's not like Merlin was convinced. In fact, he argued about it all the way until Arthur brought out his mother. But he would always follow Arthur's lead.

I love that after all the ranting on the road, Merlin didn’t say anything, anything at all, when Arthur finally admitted the real reason he was so insistent on the trip -- to learn about his mother. Beautiful understanding.

Then came the lovely campfire scene. It might be the first time Merlin willingly shared a piece of himself. In too many similar scenes it was Arthur sharing his thoughts or emotions while Merlin reassure him, making this scene extra special. I think Arthur looked a bit surprised too. I also love how quick Merlin replied “No.” when Arthur asked if was wrong to seek a glimpse of his mother at all costs. This beautiful understanding made the fact that Merlin chose to deny the truthfulness of Ygraine's spirit in the end all the more tragic.

I wonder what Merlin thought about the fact that Arthur was born of magic. About Uther’s hypocrisy. There was one instance where he seemed to be angry about that. But mostly he was just sad for Arthur.

The fact that Arthur allowed Merlin to witness this was another proof of his immense trust in Merlin. He was so exposed and vulnerable, a little kid begging for his mother's forgiveness. And he trusted that Merlin wouldn't use it against him.

After all those beautiful mutual understanding and heart-to-heart, it ended with a lie and a broken smile. Merlin really sounded so cheerful if you didn't look at his face. The contrast was heartbreaking. Merlin wanted to protect Arthur's heart so much that he made an unforgivable lie. Arthur trusted Merlin so much that he accepted it. Their dynamic was so tragic and beautiful I will never get over it.

[S2E8] [other episodes]

[shadowsofthegun-if]

The Wild West. Daunting. Unforgiving. Untamed.

You know better than anyone the tragedies that have plagued these lands, the injustices that have been committed, and the lives that have been lost. You've seen it all. Seen good people fall victim to the ruthlessness and corruption, seen entire towns burn to the ground, and watched families be torn apart by violence and greed.

For as long as you can remember, you've been a renegade, living on the edge of society. You've never known stability or security, always moving from town to town never settling down. You've been forced to leave nothing but a trail of pain and destruction in your wake. Never been able to stop long enough to think about the consequences.

But is that all you are? Given the chance to change, would you take it? To give instead of take. To help instead of hurt. To build instead of destroy. Or do you want to continue down the same path? To forever be the child without a home, without purpose, without hope.

Will you make sure the West remains untamed or will you too look for a new beginning?

DEMO | Playlist | Pinterest

Customize who you are in the Wild West: appearance, sex, gender, and sexuality

Be an angry little gremlin who's trying to find the place they want in the world

Make life harder for your make shift family or just for yourself

Risk making friends and falling in love. Will you be able to let them go when it's time to run again?

Be an absolute disaster of an outlaw

Rated 18+ due to Child Abuse/Neglect, Death/Child Death, Gore/Violence, Drugs, Alcohol, Potential Sexual Content

'Blessing' Cain / The Renegade

That's you. The young outlaw causing havoc across the West alongside the infamous duo Jesse Alden and Harrison Boyd. I would say that this wasn't always your life but, that would be a lie. Your parents looked at the West and, like every other person, saw a new beginning. They, however, felt that the land out West wasn't for everyone, only for those chosen by the Lord himself. Out they went claiming their land and dealing with anyone who tried to stop them. They hurt people, a lot of people, but the one they hurt the most was you. When they felt it was time to return to the Lord they planned to take their entire family with them. You fought and managed to survive. Now it's up to you to decide if that fight was worth it.

Jesse Alden / The Older Brother

The reason you're here and alive. Jesse is about as close as you can get to an older brother without actually being blood-related. Since the moment he met you, he has always made taking care of you his top priority. Sure, he's annoying at times and doesn't listen to you, but that's what older brothers are supposed to do right? No matter how much you bicker, you know that he'll always have your back. At least you believe he will, he would never hurt his little Blessing right?

Harrison Boyd / The Old Bastard

You and Harrison don't exactly get along real well. If Jesse could be considered your brother, Harrison would be your very distant and always unhappy father. He doesn't hate you, you would know if he did, but he doesn't exactly like you either. Harrison may be a grumpy old bastard, but you can trust him to protect you and Jesse till his dying breath. Try not to annoy him too much, or he might ignore you the rest of the week.

Aster Vega / The Star-Eyed Outlaw / Gender Selectable (RO)

Aster Vega is your first and oldest friend. You first met when you were twelve and they attempted to steal your satchel. After you chased them down and, very aggressively I may add, took it back, they looked at you like you had hung the stars. They still have that look every time you end up running into them again along the road. You have no idea what you did to be looked at like that, but you think it might have something to do with Asters none stop prattling about fate and how "One day we'll ride together. It's written in the stars I know it". Maybe your fates truly are interlinked like they seem to believe.

Romance Route: Love at First sight, Forbidden Lovers, Impossible Love

Roman/a Escuella / The Savior / Gender Selectable (RO)

You met Ro at one of your darkest times ,yet in just a matter of weeks they bring back the light to your life that you had been searching for. They're kind, caring, gentle, and everything that you're not. They love and care for you without hesitation, bringing you into their life and sharing everything they have with you. Allowing you to experience everything you had dreamed of. The real question is, how badly are you going to burn them for their naivety?

Romance Route: First/Young love, Soulmates, Friends to Lovers to Enemies😏

Andrew & Elizabeth Cain / The Devout

You're parents who dragged you and your siblings along on their quest. They're actually insane, and dead. They may be gone, but their actions are hard to forget.

Adrian Blake / The Leader(RO)

He leads the gang that Aster is a part of. From what Aster has said he has a bit of a temper, but as long as you stay on his good side you'll be fine. He's after someone though, but Aster hasn't been told who. Just make sure to avoid him for now, it's for the best.

[thetormentita]

the woman in winter (se ābra isse sōnar) - chapter 3

the unspoken rule says that no man should interfere in what the gods have set.

Pairing: Original Female! Targaryen x Cregan Stark

A/n: finally! This feels like a fill-up chapter but idc! 🤪

Warnings: bit of fluff? not much, tbh, maybe jace being kinda jealous and cregan not letting elia alone much time 🤔

Rating: Teen (+13)

Tagging list: @novaursa @maegelletargaryen

The farewell had been bittersweet, filled with promises and good words, with tight hugs and little gifts, but also with the unspoken understanding that things would never be quite the same.

A soft rumble takes her out of her thoughts as her eyes go to the sky and the looming shadow of Mayhem flies over them, like wanting to shield them from any possible danger that could approach the galley. Next to him go Vermax and Arrax, the latter somewhat smaller than the others, marking his youth and eagerness. The sight of the three dragons, with their broad wings casting large, fleeting shadows on the ground below, brings a sense of awe and a reminder of the power of house Targaryen.

“But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,

and its kiss was a terrible thing.”

Elia smiles at Davos Blackwood, who apparently without any malice has just started to sing. He has always had a good voice, and his spark has helped him to make friends in even the most unlikely places. The song, ‘The Dornishman’s wife’, has been chosen personally for the only element of the kingsguard to be sent to the North with them, and she finds it hard to not join him in an attempt of easying the latent sorrow.

Her gaze roams far from the ship, free, wondering, matched with a small smile curving her lips. Before her the land is changing, the rocky cliffs from the Vale’s coast letting way to the vast, rolling expanses of the North, the biting cold crawling up and wrapping around her like a familiar cloak. The shift from the relatively milder climate of the Vale to the harsh, unforgiving cold of the North marks a transition not just in scenery, but in the very essence of the journey. It is as if each gust of the chilling wind carries whispers of ancient tales of heroes and giants, of enormous beasts and trees old as time itself carved with faces of people long forgotten.

“Are you sure you don’t want to see ser Criston trying to shut Davos up?”

Her eyes go to her right and meet with the gaze of her former betrothed, the future king of the Seven Kingdoms and probably her best friend. A sort of warm feeling clings to her chest, her little treasure for what the future may bring, when she realizes how funny he finds the teasing to the Kingsguard.

“No, I think I will pass on that,” she says with a light chuckle, the warm feeling in her chest blossoming into a soft smile.

Jacaerys’s eyes roam over the changing landscape and hers follow as well, not before noticing the spark upon his face, the way the halfclouded sunbeams sculpt his profile against the vast canvas of the sky.

“I must say I am not completely pleased with the idea, but I like to think how the whole North will bend the knee to you” he mutters, biting his lower lip as if the thought brings a mix of worry and pride. “You, with the North at your back, would be an unparalleled force, feared and respected across the whole Westeros.”

“You make it look bigger than it is…” She replies, her voice trailing off as she gazes into the distance, contemplating the weight of his words. The very idea of such power is both intoxicating and daunting.

“You heard Viserys. If time comes, I will need you by my side, El, and with Cregan Stark come the fiercest warriors of the whole realm.”

Religion. Politics. Prophecies. Around her everybody seems to see a different side of her oncoming marriage she just cannot make sense of.

“What if nothing happens?” he tilts his head to look at her, his purple irises full of questions. “What if you get to sit on the throne and need nothing from the North?”

Silence lingers between them, and she sees the flicker of doubt in his eyes, mirroring her own uncertainties. She inhales deeply, aware of the heavy burden her words might carry, deciding to tread carefully yet honestly.

Before them the coastline of the biggest port of the North stretches out, almost waiting for them, the white buildings of the city gleaming like pearls against the backdrop of the dark sea. The sight is both intimidating and awe-inspiring, a constant reminder of the power and responsibility that rests upon her shoulders.

Before Jacaerys has any chance to answer, the sailors that have guided them to their destination start to prepare them all for their landing at the door of winter itself.

…

He has had his time to assume the future during their travel, but he cannot help but feel a tight knot at the mouth of his stomach the very moment his horse sets foot on Manderly territory. Despite knowing that he has to wed again in order to keep the name of his house and his lineage alive, Cregan is fully aware that another death like Arra’s would be too much to handle.

The moment he meets with Desmond Manderly, Cregan can sense the weight of expectation resting upon his shoulders. Desmond, with a keen eye and a firmer voice than Cregan remembers from their youth, speaks of alliances and the future. The Manderlys have always been a strong ally to his house since they were let to live in the North and use the Wolf’s Den a thousand years before the arrival of Aegon the Conqueror to the frozen lands of their forbears, and the relationship between both houses had always been firm, built on mutual respect and shared interests.

“If only I would have had a daughter…”

Cregan throws a sideways glance at the big-bellied lord of White Harbor as they lead the party to welcome the princess and her retinue, arriving there before the ship can even be seen, the guards alerted by the presence of three dragons upon the sky, their roars freezing the blood of the Northmen, definitely not used to hear such sound echoing through their lands. The lords of the North, in their thick furs and heavy cloaks, stand stiffly, partly in awe, partly in fear, and Cregan’s grey eyes land upon the biggest beast, dark as the night sky, its scales glimmering with a hint of silver under the weak northern sun; it is a sight so foreign, yet so majestic, that even the most seasoned warriors among them cannot help but marvel at it. The beast circles above, its massive wings casting shadows over the city, as its companions follow in its wake, their colours brighter, shades

of green and gold shimmering in the sunlight.

Three dragons changed the history of the North generations ago, and three dragons will change it again.

He can hear the steel of the men’s arms jangling with a mix of anticipation and fear, as they prepare for what is to come, and Cregan just needs a raising hand for his men to abandon the idea roaming their minds.

“If anybody dares to raise a blade to their future lady, I will be cutting heads before sun sets.”

His voice, laced with a stern warning, cuts through the tense air like a blade through silk. The men, seasoned warriors of the North, exchange glances in silence, understanding the gravity of their lord's words. The atmosphere is heavy with the weight of loyalty and the unspoken promise of protection.

They respect him, and they should do the same with their lady.

…

Her eagerness betrays her when her eyes scan the people gathered by the wharf, maybe hoping to see a big retinue with direwolves emblazoned on their clothes, or banners with the sigil of her future house.

“D’ya think they have spare furs?” Aeron’s voice next to hers pushes her to hold his hand with too much strength, her nervousness palpable. “It’s colder here than I thought.”

She smiles weakly, trying to focus on his words and not on the fluttering in her stomach or the way her heart seems to beat louder with each passing moment. “Sure they do,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper, striving to inject a confidence she doesn’t feel into her words.

They get closer, and her gaze meets the one of the man with the longsword at his back. Elia needs nobody to tell her who he is.

When the gangway is set for them to leave the galley, she takes a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that dance under her skin like fireflies in the dark. All eyes upon her as, step by step, she descends, her posture straight, projecting an air of assurance that belies the turmoil within. She can feel the weight of the man’s gaze, intense and unfaltering, as if trying to decipher an ancient script written upon her face. Elia can sense the whispers that begin to swirl around them, carried by the salty breeze, a mixture of curiosity and speculation. When the man with the longsword at his back approaches her, she hesitates for a moment, not ready for a moment like that one.

“Your Highness” he takes her hand, bowing slightly, a gesture of respect that feels oddly comforting in the midst of her inner chaos. His voice is a soft baritone, carrying a warmth that belies the coolness of the sea air. “Welcome to the North. Hope you had a safe travel.”

Nothing exists around them, not really. She allows herself a moment to get lost in those grey eyes of his, deep and captivating, and the warmth of his touch despite the layers of cloth between them is undeniably comfortable. It sparks something within her, a flicker of something like hope, or maybe the beginning of trust in this new, mysterious place.

“I certainly did, lord Stark” she finds herself saying, her voice steadier than she feels. The corners of his lips tilt up ever so slightly in what might be the ghost of a smile, an expression so rare and fleeting that it imbues the moment with a sense of exclusivity, as though she’s been allowed a glimpse into a private world seldom shared with others. “You did not have to do any of this for me.”

“Anything for the future lady of Winterfell.”

His words hang between them, heavy with implications of duty and perhaps something more, a depth of feeling that neither of them is ready to acknowledge just yet. It feels like a promise, a vow unspoken yet as binding as any oath made under the watchful eyes of the old gods and the new. Her heart swells with a mix of emotions—gratitude, apprehension, and an emerging seed of affection that she dares not name. The weight of his gaze is both comforting and unsettling, stirring a myriad of thoughts within her.

The strangely comfortable silence between them both is interrupted by a man who introduces himself as Desmond Manderly, and Elia, only by the glance Cregan throws at him, already knows that despite being important allies to her future house, lord Desmond is not a man who leaves his own priorities aside when he has the chance to advance them. His introduction is smooth, his words carefully chosen, painting the picture of a man who is both a friend and a formidable player in the courtly games that seem to just not have let her be when she left King’s Landing.

“Feel free to rest under our roof as much time as needed, princess” for a moment he looks like a greedy uncle talking to his nephews rather to his liege and his future wife, and despite showing herself polite and easy-going, Elia is already building her own impression of the big-bellied man hiding behind a moustache almost as prominent as his ego. “Such a trip must be tiresome.”

“In fact,” Elia can feel Jace’s presence looming behind her, almost like wanting to protect her, “I am more than eager to see my new home, lord Manderly. I am thankful for your proposition, anyway.”

Both sides get introduced, and a sort of procession guides them from the harbour to the New Castle up the hill through the Castle Stair, rows merman statues cradling bowls of burning whale oil lining the path, casting eerie shadows that danced like wraiths in the night. The air is filled with the briny scent of the sea, mingling with the smoky aroma of the burning oil, creating an atmosphere that is both mystic and foreboding, as if the very essence of the ancient town of White Harbor was welcoming them with open arms and whispered secrets.

Elia Targaryen has the first chance to enjoy a moment of a sort of solitude once she reaches her chambers, when a tub of steaming hot water is brought in for her. The servants, silent as shadows, pour the water with practiced ease, adding scented oils that fill the room with a calming aroma, chasing away the chill of the northern air and the weariness from her bones. The scent of lavender and chamomile blends with the steam, enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth and tranquility, driving her far from the prying eyes of the head of house Manderly, the looming presence of ser Criston or even the silent clash between Cregan and Jace, like wanting to establish a pact between them both that none of them has the guts to accept first.

…

“Lord Stark.”

Cregan turns, and the face of the heir to the Iron Throne is right behind him, his dark eyes observing every move of him.

“My prince.” Cregan bows slightly, maintaining the respect due to royalty, yet his stance remains firm, a testament to the unwavering nature of the Northmen. Despite his loyalty to King’s Landing and the house of the dragons, he is fully aware of the history of house Targaryen and their forgotten promises related to the North. “What may I do for you?”

Cregan’s eyes cannot deny the evident. Jacaerys Velaryon and Elia Targaryen may not look like a typical Valyrian, but the atmosphere that surrounds them suggests an inherent nobility, an unspoken power that seems to flow through their veins as effortlessly as the blood of their ancestors.

“She seems to like you.”

She. Not ‘Elia’, nor ‘my cousin’, not even ‘the princess’.

“The feeling is mutual” he keeps to himself a soft smile when memories from the dinner come to his mind, Elia sat by his side, constantly asking questions about his homeland, his kin and their traditions. “My lady is a curious soul, the fire in her is undeniable ,” he reflects, the warmth of the memory painting a fond expression on his face.

The conversation around the dinner table had been electrifying, with Elia Targaryen, the promise of Aegon the Conqueror and Jaehaerys the Conciliator made flesh, shining by herself, no need of flourished garments nor her own retinue supporting her. The spark in her gaze captivated everyone, her eyes casting ancient hues when the lights of the torches and the candles reflected in them, speaking of a lineage steeped in dragonfire and destiny. Each word she spoke carried the weight of history, yet her laughter, light and unburdened by the burdens of her bloodline, filled the room with an infectious joy. It was as if the shadows of his own life had stepped aside to let her try to win her place within his soul.

The grim upon the prince’s face says a lot of things, but not the one he wants to express.

“She has a sweet tooth, her favourites are the lemon cakes. She is not fond of sewing, but her works are delicate and full of detail” as he speaks, Jacaerys’s eyes almost shine with a glow different than the one of the candles around them. “She adores flying, but sometimes she takes profit on her dragon’s independent tendencies and lets him fly on his own.”

He loves her. He still does.

…

A day. Enough for her to study more and more her future lands, and for her small retinue to pretend enjoying the strange city of White Harbor as much as they are supposed to.

A short promenade leads her to the sept, and there, amidst the quiet atmosphere and the soft flickering of candlelight, she finds a strange peace she will not certainly miss —or at least she thinks so. Sat by one of the benches, her indigo eyes observe the statues looming over her, the Manderlys showing themselves too much, even with the images of the Seven, huge looming statues of stone white as the purest snow, garnished with sea green details making them even more than what they really are.

The words sent a while ago to her grandsire still linger in her mind, a short message to reassure him of their arrival and the Northmen’s kindness towards them. She had already planned to send another raven to King’s Landing once she had settled in her new home in Winterfell, the heart of the North. The transition from the sun-kissed towers of King’s Landing to the grey stone and colder airs of the North is stark, but not unwelcome. The North holds a rugged beauty that she finds herself growing fond of, even if the chill seeps into her bones.

The stillness of the place helps unveiling the opening of the door, the creaking of wood and iron echoing against the stone walls. Despite not being precisely fond of the sudden end of her time for contemplation, she tries to guess who is coming before the person reveals themselves, only for the noise of the steps. The heavy footsteps grow closer, deliberate and unhurried, typical of the men of the North, who take pride in their steadfast demeanor. As the figure steps into the dim light, the shadows dance across his rugged features, a specific face among the many she has come to know in such a little time.

A soft smile tugs from the corners of her lips at the sight of the man.

“I can get you a sept built in Winterfell just for you, if that pleases you, my lady.”

Despite the sept being empty, she slightly moves to a side, like wanting to let him find an empty seat beside her.

“There will be no need. I am just bidding farewell.”

As her eyes return to the statues, Cregan Stark takes a sit next to her, his presence both comforting and imposing, and the feel of his gaze upon her awakes something deep within her soul, a flicker of warmth in the cold expanse of the North.

“I want the whole of it. If I am to be the lady of Winterfell, I will submit myself entirely to the North, including their gods” she mumbles, her voice barely a whisper, yet carrying a determined edge that slices through the chill air.

“The least I want is for you to not feel comfortable.”

“At least you think about what I want” she gets comfortable next to him, her hand laying with care upon his, getting used to the warmth and roughness of his touch, finding some pleasure in it. “I appreciate that. The Seven have been a part of my life since I remember, always pushed to the Great Sept to pray and remember those gone.”

By the corner of her eye she can see the Warden of the North tilting his head, his brow furrowed as he observes the statues looming over them, and she decides he is too young to handle the burden of his title alone, the responsibility weighing on his shoulders like the heavy cloaks they wear against the northern chill.

“How is it?”

“How is what?”

“To pray for them. It is something more private here in the North.”

“The godswoods?”

“Aye.”

She starts talking about the ceremonies, the septons and septas and the aim for luxury at any sept from south of the Neck, all of them trying to display lavish paraphernalia in an attempt to please the Seven, and as she speaks, the feeling of those grey eyes upon her stirs a strange feeling she finds it likable, to have a listener so intent, so fully absorbed in her words. It makes her feel appreciated.

“I see why you have decided to leave the Seven aside… Cannot imagine how it is, really. Such display for nothing.”

“Papa used to say that without clothing we are all the same.” she lowers her gaze, her lips drawing a sort of smile, like wanting to leave the matter aside, to finally say farewell to the Gods her ancestors had to start praying to in order to be accepted by the Westerosi kings of old. “Can’t wait to see Winterfell.”

She lifts her eyes then, bright with a mix of curiosity and determination, her hand approaching his almost by itself, seeking the reassurance found in the warmth of his touch.

“‘Tis not much compared to King’s Landing, but Winterfell has its own charm. If you get to find anything unpleasant once we have reached home, be sure it will be dealt with. The least I want is for you to not feel it as your home as well, my lady.”

“Please, do call me Elia.”

[keruimi]

His Definition of Love

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x reader

Warning: Angst, Trauma, Comfort

Note: Oh how I badly want to hear from someone, the words he uttered. I'm not really a big fan of him but damn, this oneshot made me start liking him. Hope you all enjoy it!

_____________________________

When I was young, the person I loved the most was my father.

A person I would choose over others. A man who was the reason I grew up in a comfortable and loving family in my childhood days.

A father and a husband that anyone would love to have. I vowed to myself that time that I would love the same man that resembles my dad.

Until across the bridge where he used to take me, I found him embracing another woman than my mom.

It was one of the memories that always reminded me that everyone has their own bad sides.

No matter how kind, nice, and loveable my father was, he still broke my mom's heart leading to the downfall of our family who was once envied by many.

I was so young back then that I disregard my mother's heartbreak and keep siding with my father no matter how she keeps begging me to choose her.

I hate how I used to think back then.

Just because I don't want to lose my father.

"Little one" my father called me as the sobs of my mother is the only thing I heard in the house as I tightly clutch on my father's body.

I keep crying especially when he successfully removes me from his legs before he crouches in front of me.

"Little one, please stay with your mom. I don't want to influence your pure heart, dear"

The tears on my father's eyes made it clear to me that day that he was not pure as I saw him.

That he really did something I thought he would never do.

My father suffered because of the complicated emotions he has. He loved my mother but he also liked other women.

So does that make me want to hate him?

Yes, so badly. But I also knew that he is aware of his mistakes, aware of how those complicated feelings that ruined the family he once built.

I caught up with it.

But for the best, he made me stay with my mom in fear that I would take after his footsteps if I did live with him.

He is the man who wanted the best for me.

I saw my father in such a way that I blamed my mother for leaving him just because of one mistake, forgetting all the good things that my father did for us.

But that was the first time that my father made me open my eyes to the reality of the world.

He was guilty, not innocent. He is the cause of our heartbreak, not the victim.

He explained to me that even a nice man like him can become a man I wouldn't want to love me.

He is unfaithful, one of the unforgivable sins that destroys one's marriage.

He was not always perfect, he also fell into temptations.

In other words, he doesn't want me to turn into someone like him.

So I decided to stay with my mom to become someone she can lean on. But I knew how my presence broke my mother, because I greatly reminded her of my father.

I finally understand our family's situation and my father's character the moment I step into junior high.

I can't stay liking one man.

When I like someone, I would start to like someone who I deemed better than him.

And it was scary. That I would be the reason for someone's heartbreak.

I finally understand how complicated feelings are. And my father never found a solution to that problem.

He really loves my mom. But if he did love her, then why would he like another woman?

Yet I can't bear to hate my own dad. Because I went through the same obstacles.

If ever I ask my mom for advice, I know that she will remember my dad again so I didn't bother anymore.

Seeing my mother's situation, I told myself that I would just stay alone for my entire life.

Before history repeats itself.

I rejected many men because I was hell-bent on being single.

I am fine with admiring different men every time I deemed them as someone great.

And that would be no different on Akaashi Keiji.

A calm and composed setter who always seems to control their Ace's movement.

He knows the country's Top 5 Ace like the back of his hand.

He is a gentleman, a one of a kind man.

And a person who reminded me of my father's good side.

I groaned in frustration as I slid down on the wall I lean on after watching Fukurodani's match. The frustration I felt when I couldn't get my eyes off of him.

Deep down, I want a family where I would run to. But if I selfishly did that, it would turn into ruins as I started showing signs of my non existing loyalty.

Like a curse that the memory engraved to my mind.

That's why my secret admiration for him surprisingly lasted for a year.

Even if we just passed by each other, the giddy feeling on my chest never left as I always find my eyes looking for him.

He is really perfect.

That even if I started liking one man, whether I catch a glimpse of him, that admiration would disappear and my heart would be set to him again.

Like a damn cycle.

But with my feelings this way, I don't want to take a risk.

Until we met on the school's rooftop.

The time he first came up to me just to lend his handkerchief when he noticed how my tears seemed to escape from my eyes.

A man who showed his concern to a complete stranger.

How can I be loyal?

That is always the question that keeps repeating on my head like a broken record.

I want to be happy, to be in a relationship, to give the love I keep to myself.

I wanted to express my emotions, but I am afraid that it will be poisonous.

That's the reason why he found me on the rooftop, crying. Because I can't take it anymore.

Those fear of betrayal that I might let others experience, keep holding me back from freely loving someone.

That love that I want to give to the man standing in front of me.

"I'm here"

He uttered the same words that my father used to tell me whether I keep crying.

"I'm scared" An emotion that showed the worst part of me.

"That I can't keep loving the same man forever"

It was the greatest fear that my father felt. And when he tried to go against it, that nightmare happened and he lost everything.

Including my trust in him.

Now I'm having a hard time with the same challenge.

Whether I need to go against it or just keep avoiding it.

"What do you mean by that?" There was not a hint of judging from his voice. He simply asked me to open up for him.

And I desperately clutch to that chance of letting out everything.

He unknowingly became someone I can open up with, without the fear of judgement and simply understanding one's problem.

"I can't stay liking one man"

"And?" He stated that made me finally look at him as we waited for my next words.

"And it scares me..." I trailed off, hesitating on my words until a small smile lifted from his lips.

"That's normal" I felt like my world stopped when he let out those words.

"Infatuation, puppy love, or having a crush is normal in our age. It's not a permanent attachment that you need to get scared of." He continued as he decided to sit in front of me so it was easier to continue the conversation.

"Like and love are two different concepts but has an oddly similar meaning" he continues as he moves two of his fingers.

"Liking is when you feel happy with them, watching them, admiring them but it was simply a temporary emotion that is a shallow version of the word Love. Liking someone because he has something you love is its definition"

"But if we're talking about love, it's a more powerful emotion like hate. Love is when you stay with the person you like no matter how much the world wants you to separate. Loving someone is when you accept their flaws and shortcomings. When you understand how they act. When you are there on their lowest like you were with them at their highest moments" his smile never left his lips and I felt like my chest lightened up a little.

"Love is not always about happiness, it will always be tested by challenges." He leaned down for our eyes to meet and I felt him softly gaze on my own ones.

"I don't know what you went through to think that way. But life is always about developing one's self. You might look down on yourself right now and get scared, but one day, you will need to face it. Challenges would never stop coming, but you will know who truly loves you when they join you with it" he removed the strands of my hair that was on my face as he tucked it behind my ear.

"You can't be happy without healing yourself"

Those words gave me the strength to finally face my father.

The man who I once look up to. But the one who is also the root of all my fears.

"This is the first time you finally faced me after all these years" he spoke up first before he faced the sunset in front of us.

"Dad" I called out as I saw how he fisted his hands but he kept his eyes in front.

"I don't deserve to be your father" he muttered as I felt my eyes turn glossy.

"What is love for you?" I whispered, ignoring his previous worrds. Because he was still the father who love me and my mother.

"I never found the real definition of that word. I only know that when I really felt the unexplainable happiness with that one person" he replied with a shaky breath.

I know how it was difficult to face me.

One of the people who really love him, and can hate him.

"Did dad love mom?"

We were silent before he finally spoke the words I badly need to hear.

"I love your mom so much. But I didn't manage to protect the relationship we both have" he finally chose to face me as I saw a small smile adorned his lips yet his eyes portrayed a different feeling.

"My insecurities clouded my mind that I didn't manage to think of the consequences. The fear that I keep following me finally catch up to me" he manage to let out.

"My daughter might be asking herself that if I indeed love your mother, why would I seek comfort on another woman, right?" A tear finally slid on his cheeks.

"The fear that your mother would get tired on the way I think, made me seek comfort on another woman. But it was a wrong move of mine, Y/n. I badly regret underestimating your Mom's love for me" he sighed out as he blink his tears away so he won't broke down on me.

"I cheated, and it was a choice, not a mistake"

"I don't want to cause you trauma, but it seems like I already did, didn't I?"

I felt the tears that gather on my eyes finally slid down from cheeks as he wipe his own ones.

"I'm sorry Y/n, I really am" I wiped my own tears as I took a deep breath.

"I hate myself for hurting both of you" he sobbed out.

And without any other words, I wrapped my arms around him, the things that he always done to me.

I badly wanted to heal...

And I knew I need to start with my family.

And if we finally manage, maybe...

I would start to look at myself differently.

Like what he told me.

"Keiji!" I cheered from the bleachers as his team managed to win in the semi-finals.

The happiness I felt was indescribable as the man looked up and gave me a smile before taking a bow as a thank you for cheering for them.

I will start healing, and I knew I wanted him to be with me throughout all the way.

And he didn't mind.

The first person I became friends with before that gratefulness turned into an admiration.

A man, even with a different personality and interest, he chose to become someone in my life.

He started as my friend before he became a man I started to love.

The person who never made me feel fear, a man who first lent a shoulder for me to lean on. The first person who made me look at myself differently than what I used to.

The person who understands my problems better and manages to comfort me with the words I wouldn't question myself for.

A guy who made me feel like I was not the person who I think I was.

The person I knew I would want to spend my life with. The man I would grow with, learn from, and love until my last breath.

Right now, I'm clearly aware of how different my thoughts were when I like someone, rather than the way I think when I start to love someone.

I really did start loving Akaashi Keiji.

And this time I am sure that it was really...

The emotion called Love