#I wish I could have gotten the chance to tell him how much he meant to me

[amapolamystery]

8.5.2022

[maximoff-pan]

the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.” 

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens. 

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too. 

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it. 

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.  

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to. 

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist. 

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband. 

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children. 

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington. 

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.  

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?” 

“How will you get it to her?” He questions. 

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it. 

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered. 

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her. 

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation. 

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way. 

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in. 

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you. 

“I never do.” Is your instant reply. 

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested. 

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion. 

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through. 

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.” 

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you. 

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.” 

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that. 

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.” 

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge. 

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak. 

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won. 

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot. 

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.” 

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong. 

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you. 

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.  

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column. 

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say. 

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym. 

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to. 

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n). 

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross. 

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you. 

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.  

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has. 

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so. 

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you. 

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now. 

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions. 

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well. 

We need to talk. 

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that. 

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her. 

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you. 

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.  

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too. 

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.” 

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm. 

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor. 

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing. 

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all. 

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

[lovely--lover]

"I am here, My Sweet"

I haven't written fanfiction in almost 3 years! So I hope this is good 😊 Enjoy!

Summary: Aegon needs an heir but his cock was left worthless after Rooks Rest. Aemond will have to do...only for duty. Aegon allows it and stays to support his sweet wife.

warnings: smut, talk of scars, the word cripple, sad Aegon

Aegon rested his head back attempting to keep the lids of his eyes open. The weight of them heavy, as was his gaze, which peered down at his sweet wife. The warm cherub cheek rested on his thigh as she lay in a pleasured haze. Soft moans falling from plush petal lips, a testament to her pleasure as they parted more and more, with each thrust.

That pretty wide open mouth, glistening with spit, was so welcoming and so close to his cock. That was left lying limp against his scarred flesh despite all the desire and yearning. There was nothing more Aegon wanted than to take his wife. Feel the warm, wet, love of her cunt squeezing around him. There would be no position, no place, he would not have her. But Aegon could only imagine that it was him fucking into her providing her pleasure.

Aegon kept his violet eyes on hers wanting to take in every moment of her rapture. If they were to drift up any further they would land on Aemond. Who was currently on his knees fucking into her from behind. One hand grasping a plush hip until the flesh seeped between fingers, the other hand pressing down on her spine, keeping her low and arched. The plump of her ass on display to Aemond as he slid deeper and deeper. The sound of flesh echoing off the walls, in Aegons skull, every time Aemond thrust forward. 

Aegon's eyes betrayed him as they stole a glance at Aemond they widened before finding their way back to her. Insecurity clawed its way through his chest, his heart, it ached deeper than any wound. There was not much to Aegon before the war. Before he was made King, an accomplishment that was placed upon him, not earned.  If he was the second son he would have been cast aside, worthless. Maybe even hidden away by his mother and grandsire never to be seen again, their disgrace.

But he was not. Most days he wishes he was hidden away never to be seen again. By the prying, pitying eyes that watched him struggle and heave himself throughout the halls. All eyes lingering on the scars that danced across half his body. Their crippled King. 

Aemond was scarred but not in the same way. The scars covered his body in the same way stars scattered the sky, shining, telling a story.  A fighter who commands men in battles, wins wars, and always comes out stronger. A true warrior. 

Aegon wanted him gone.

It was on the tip of his tongue “Fuck off Aemond! By order of your King” he would smirk. But he did not. Would not. They needed an heir that he could not provide.

The foul whispers of the keep had made their way to her precious ears. Aegon had wanted their tongues when he was met with his tear-stained wife, her dress, cheeks, and lashes all held the evidence of her sadness. Her voice had spoken to him so tenderly “ Aegon…it is my duty everyone says so...I know so” a weak smile presented on your lips “I want to give you a child, please, and not just for duty.” How could Aegon say no?

The day of their wedding had the same day as his coronation. Aegon could not become King without a Queen. So he was wed to her before they placed the crown atop his head. The following days meant to be spent together as newlyweds was stripped away. The war was pending and the following weeks were hectic, preparing for war, protecting the realm, fighting for a crown Aegon did not want. There was no oppurtunity  to put a sweet babe in his wife. And before given the chance Aegon had flown to battle as a drunkard. Gotten burned by Dragon-fire, destroying his cock, stealing away his ultimate pleasure. Left now as a voyeur to his own wife and brother.

When he returned near death it was her who stayed by his side day and night. Proving her unconditional love and devotion to him. Sweet wife, how he grew to adore you. The milk of the poppy daze could not keep him from finding her. Always a bright silhouette on the settee next to the bed, embroidering another intricate work for him to adorn. A gentle and warm smile always welcomed her face as their eyes met. “My love! You are awake..I am so happy.” 

“Aegon?” his thoughts were broken by the call of a breathless and sweet voice. He blinked away the memory and imminent tears. As his sight came back into focus, he was met with furrowed brows and doe eyes peering at him, examining him,  “Are you here my love?” The squeeze of your fingers on his good thigh caused a jolt of heat to go to his cock which remained soft.

His hand found the soft warmth of her cheek,  “I am here my sweet.” Both faces adorned with sweet smiles as she nuzzled into his palm. Eyes never leaving his as she allowed her lips to meet the skin. A tender moment between lovers. 

“As am I”  Aemond spoke for the first time that night. Ruining the precious moment while throwing a smirk towards Aegon “I hope you did not forget My Queen” Fingers delved deeper into your hip bordering on painful “The duty we must accomplish for Our King. ” 

The furrow of her brows asked a silent permission from Aegon, to respond. A slight nod was all she needed. He hoped the side of his thumb was comforting as her shaking voice spoke out “I have not forgotten my duty, good brother, I promise.”

Long white strands of hair fell over her face as Aemond caged in her body with his. The weight was crushing, breath hot against her ear “Good my Queen, I am close and I will breed you well…I promise” His thrust grew rabid the sound of flesh against flesh echoing off the walls. Aemond leered up at Aegon as he held her hips against his and let out a grunt. The duty was done.

A warmth filled her deep within, settling in her belly as tears started to form, it was over. There is nothing she wants more than for Aegon to be the one placing his seed in her womb. Wanting to fulfill her duty as his wife and Queen she took a breath and wiped away the stray tears. Pressing her face further into his thigh wanting to feel him against her and hide the shame.

“You are dismissed, brother.” A heavy breath left Aegon as he forced out the words “Thank you for your service to the Crown.”

Aemond’s lone eye remained focused on your nude body licking the smirk of his lips. “Of course, My King, It was a pleasure.” 

Aegon refused to look anywhere besides Aemond until he left the room. There was a tension hanging over the room and it was only broken when the door slammed shut. The sign that they were officially alone and Aemond was gone. 

“Wife…come to me.” Aegon strained to open his arms wide making room for her. A groan of pain escaped as she climbed into his arms putting pressure on his healing wounds. He would manage if it allowed her to be close. “I hope it takes…I do not wish to bed your brother again”

“You did not enjoy bedding Aemond the Fierce?....The sounds you made say otherwise dear wife.” He forced himself to smirk, a way of communicating, I am not upset although he was a little hurt. Her brows furrowed and nose scrunced the look eliciting a genuine laugh from him as he pulled her closer. 

 “I wish it was you ” spoken so gently and quietly “I only want you”

 “As do I but unfortunately my cock no longer works,” there was an empty humor to the words, he did not want to upset her. 

“It would still be better than Aemonds, I’d bet on it” 

Aegon could barely get out a laugh before it was replaced with a gasp. The soft feel of her fingers were on his cock stroking along the rough flesh. The pleasure was dull blocked by the thick layer of scar tissue. A ghost of a touch was all he felt. What he would give to feel it fully. “How does it feel?”

There was a brief pause as Aegon thought over all the different things he could say “Like nothing..”

The soft-touch was gone in an instant. Her hand tucked against her bare chest as if just burned. “I’m sorry I -”

“Do not be” Aegon’s hands came to rest on either side of her face using the pad of his thumb to stroke gently against her warm cheeks. There was a moment of silence as they gazed into each other's eyes waiting for the other to make a move. 

“My sweet wife, you love me, I know this. That is something…something I have never had but have always wanted. I love you” his hands dropped from her cheeks to rest on her belly “and I will love our child. As long as you continue to love me, do not feel sorry, this is all I need.” Aegons lips were soft and salty as his tears fell between their shared lips.

Please let me know your thoughts and comments ❤️ It is much appreciated!!

[suiana]

yandere hero x gn reader x yandere villain

"I love you."

"More than this country?"

"...I'm sorry."

You had expected this. Really. I mean, it would only be right for one person to die if it meant the lives of everyone else! Thus it would only make sense for a hero to sacrifice that one person, even if it was his lover. He couldn't be selfish, no. He had to place priority on everyone else. After all, that was the way of the hero.

Besides, there was a saying that a hero would sacrifice you for the rest of the world. You should've known better.

Yet you couldn't help but wish he would forget about his title of a hero just for a second.

You know how much being a hero was to him, you really do! Why else would you patiently wait for him to come home everyday to patch up his wounds? Why would you encourage him whenever he felt like a shitty hero? Why would you do what you did if you didn't understand? You loved him wholeheartedly, even if he didn't reciprocate it much.

However, it felt like you had made a mistake by choosing him as your lover. You should've left him when you had the chance. Caring more about the lives of civilians, he had stood you up on multiple occasions just for the sake of justice. You get it, you do! He's a hero, he's meant to help others. You can't be selfish and get mad at him when he's doing his job and not wasting time on a date with you! You tried to be accomodating. Tried to be understanding.

But he was still your lover.

He should've at least tried to make an effort. Not everything was meant to be about saving others when your relationship was on the verge of breaking. Yet you had never once gotten mad at him for his lack of attention and love, for you loved him with all your heart.

You tried to be delusional, that he would at least treasure you enough to not give you away to anyone else. If he didn't spend much time with you, so what? At least he wouldn't give you away! I mean, he did say that he would never allow anyone else to have you. He would at least honour that promise, right?

Wrong. He gave you up only after a minute of pondering. Oh... Your poor heart. Your poor, poor heart... You couldn't fathom what he had did, not in the slightest. Maybe it was a mistake? A slip of his tongue? You looked at him for comfort only to realise that he had meant what he had said. His guilty and crestfallen look was more than enough to tell you he had truly meant it. That he meant to gave you away.

You were absolutely heartbroken, devastated at the revelation. Clawing at his chest, screaming at him to take back his words, yet to no avail as he avoided your gaze. You felt more than betrayed by him.

You tried to understand his thoughts, his point of view. It was a rational decision. The world known villain had just threatened to blow up the country if he didn't hand his lover over. It was the right decision. But you just wished he had done anything to fight against the villain's demand. He was a hero after all and you were a civilian! He was supposed to protect you!

So why did he give you up so easily?

That, you could not understand. So all you could do was beg for him to reconsider. To hear him tell you that it was just a joke and that he would beat up the villain. Just like what he used to do. But nothing came from him. Only the quiet silence of someone who had already made up their mind.

"Well I guess I'll be taking you now darling~"

The villain suddenly chimed in as he tried to pull you away from the hero. His cold fingers gently tracing your bare shoulders sent shivers up your spine. You shook your head, still clinging onto your beloved hero's shirt as you wept and screamed at him to do something.

But nothing came.

"Please-?! Don't give me away! Don't you love me?!"

"I do... I really do love you."

"Then why are you giving me away so easily?! Is... Is this country more important than me?!"

No response.

You wept harder as you hit his chest, screaming at him to try and protect you against the villain who was amused at the sight before him. He retracted his cold hands from your shoulders, instead putting them in his pants pockets as he hummed softly.

"I'm sorry."

Your breath hitched as your lover softly pried your hands off his shirt. His shaky hands gently holding yours as his lower lip trembled. You could only stare in shock and hurt as he slowly handed you over, looking up at the villain in shame.

You wanted to laugh, you really did. But all you could muster was soft weeping as the villain gently cradled you in his embrace. You wanted to push him away, to curse at him and run back to the arms of your lover. But was it all worth it? The hero had already showed no intention of resisting the villain's demand.

You stared up at the villain with teary eyes, flinching at his touch as he stroked your face tenderly. Yet you couldn't help but lean into his oddly comforting touch that soothed you.

"What a shitty lover he is. Hah! Don't worry baby, I'll never do something like that to you~"

He cooed, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world. This... You had never seen such a look from the hero. Even when he claimed to love you, that you were the only person in his heart.

Your heart skipped a beat, face turning slightly red as the villain them scooped you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style.

This was nice... It made you feel wanted, feel loved. Something that the hero you loved could never give you. Maybe you should just give in already. At least you knew he would never give you up.

For there was a saying that a villain would sacrifice the world for you.

part 2

[gay-dorito-dust]

hey feel free to ignore this if its too dark but could u do ford x reader where he comes back from the portal and finds out reader died while he was gone

The moment Ford uttered you name he should’ve known something was wrong, especially the way Stan eyes didn’t meet his, his face was set in a look that told him that whatever happened to you he still wasn’t in complete acceptance of it.

‘Stanley,’ Ford said as he stepped closer to his twin brother, who has evening uncharacteristically silent the entire time, ‘where’s y/n?’

Stan fiddled with his fez hat as he debated whether or not he should tell Ford a lie, or tell him the truth that to this day he himself was still very much in denial over, but he decided that his brother should know regardless even if it did hurt him to admit it. ‘Y/n’s dead Stanford.’ Stan finally said and could hear Ford gasp in the silence that followed afterwards.

‘What? When?’ Ford asked, looking over at his desk and at a framed picture of you and him in your youth with a hairline fracture on the glass cutting across your face. He wished this was some joke but Ford knew his brother well enough to know that he’d never joke about you or death in the same breathe, you were their friend since childhood, and his childhood sweetheart; So to find out thirty years later that you were no longer living hurt Ford in ways he couldn’t fathom, it was like his heart had been violently ripped out of his chest and smashed into a million pieces, the air left his lungs as quickly as the news came and he had to find something to sit down on.

‘They died last this day last month…they held out hope that you’d come back one day, said they had something they’ve always wanted to tell you but before I could ask what…they passed away…I’m so sorry.’ Stan told him as he went to sit next to his brother who had tears silently streaming down his cheeks. You and Stanford meant a lot to Stanley- and a hell of a a lot at that- you were the only person in New Jersey who didn’t give a shit about Ford’s six fingers, or being labelled as weird because of your association with them, you just didn’t care enough about those things and instead encouraged them to keep being who they were without shame.

Stanley also knew that Ford had a thing for you and still has from how he kept things you left at their parent’s house when you were younger, it was fun to tease him about it until he started actively encouraging Ford to say something to you, anything! Lucky you did go out for a bit but it wasn’t until everything blew up between and only then did your relationship fracture and fall off. With Ford dedicated all of his time and effort to his work rather than your crumbling relationship, it had gotten to the point where you just left without a trace, assuming that he’d be off in the woods on his latest monster chase.

Stan tried to keep telling you to hold on, just until Ford came home, but your health had rapidly declined so severely that there was nothing anyone could’ve done to prevent it. It hurt Stan to loose his best friend and his unofficial but in his heart of hearts official in law, he couldn’t help but think of how Ford would react upon hearing that the person he still longed for had died with a heart heavy with regret. You wanted to marry Ford, it was your biggest hopes for the future but unfortunately that future didn’t come nearly as soon as either you or Stan would’ve liked.

‘And we ended on less than satisfactory terms too.’ Ford said sombrely, feeling deep within his chest that something was missing, he felt hollow and empty knowing that he had missed out on setting things right with you. He had missed the chance to marry you happily like he saw his alternate self did in a dimension that he visited briefly, and looking back at it now only caused Ford more heartbreak. ‘There’s so much I have yet to tell them,’ he trails off as he looked to Stanley who had now started to tear up at this point, ‘I still love them Stanley.’ He admits and Stanley clenched the fabric of his pants within his firsts. ‘I know and they loved- no-still love you too, right until their very last breath all they could think about was you.’ Was all he said.

‘I wanted to marry them Stanley.’ Ford said weakly as all the future prospects he had for you and him slowly slipping from his grasp, one by one.

‘I know.’ Stan replied.

‘I wanted to spend the rest of my life with them.’

‘I know, they did too.’

‘I wanted them.’ Ford cried

‘And they wanted you just as much.’ Stan said as he brought his brother into his side as he wept while clutching at his chest as though his heart was burning him from the inside out. it hurt Stanley to see his brother in pain, such pain that it brought him to his knees, begging and pleading for a god that doesn’t exist to bring you back to him. Stan hated knowing that you and Ford could’ve had a happy ending, only to end up with a tragic one instead; So he remained by Ford’s side in solidarity as he cried and shouted until his throat was raw and he feel asleep due to exhaustion.

‘You deserved better,’ Stan said to no one in particular, ‘you both did.’

[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 1

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

<< previous ♡ next >>

“Jungwon, stop,” you cry out. This wasn’t the first time that things had gotten rough with your boyfriend, especially as of late, but something about his gaze this time in particular, eyes narrowed and looking at you with intensity causes a pit to form in the bottom of your stomach. 

His silence is eerie. Your boyfriend, when you had started dating him, was an exemplary gentleman. He was warm, charming, and polite, and you could go on for hours listing all of the traits that attracted you to him. He seemed like the picture-perfect boyfriend–he was chivalrous, he bought you flowers, and he seemed strong-willed and determined. He was also the leader of a powerful mafia clan. 

Of course, you didn’t know this when you had started dating him. When he first told you, you were incredibly surprised, as well as a little bit scared. He assured you that you had nothing to be afraid of, that nothing would change, and that you would be incredibly safe with him. He had such a way with words that immediately persuaded you he was telling you the truth. This was your boyfriend, after all. Yang Jungwon, that you have come to know and love. 

Should you have run that very first opportunity he had given you? You think back to the night he sat you down at his desk. For a second, you remember giggling and telling him that you felt more like you were at a doctor’s appointment than in your boyfriend’s office, and he had just given you a sweet smile before he proceeded. “Have you ever heard of ENHA?” he had asked you. Of course you had. At that point, everybody in the city had known about ENHA and SKZ, the two notorious and rival mafia groups that had control over the city. Though you didn’t know much about them, you had certainly heard of them. “I know this might come as a shock to you, but I’m the leader of ENHA. I want to lay all my cards out on the table for you, here and now. This is your chance–your out. If you want to leave, you can walk out that door right now and I will never contact you again.”

Two months. That’s how much time you had dedicated to your relationship with Jungwon before you found out the truth about him. You know your sister would have laughed in your face. She had told you from the very beginning that it wasn’t meant to be, that you were making a mistake with this one, but you had brushed her off. She had never liked your romantic pursuits, so what made this one any different? You didn’t listen to her. You didn’t walk out the door, and you made the decision to stay in your relationship with Jungwon. You wish you had; all of those traits that you had once admired in Jungwon had since become the downfall of your relationship. His overprotectiveness and desire for you to rely on him had caused you to become overdependent on him–and out of a job that you were actually incredibly passionate about. By the time you noticed that he was becoming more abusive, you relied on him for housing and income, and you had no way of contacting your sister even if you had wanted to. He had forced you to cut ties. 

That’s how you got here, really. You were too far in. While once you imagined spending your entire life with him, now you dreamed of a life free of him. Your boyfriend, Yang Jungwon, was a walking contradiction. He had a warm exterior to most, a bright smile that charmed his way through any conversation; on the inside, he’s an indifferent, cold and murderous machine. 

This is especially apparent to you now. His stoic expression contrasts scarily with the harsh words he spews at you. The intent in his eyes that bore into your skull tell you all you need to know. You’re on his shit list. 

“Stop,” you repeat again, louder and with more force behind your words. You’re slotted right between his legs, no method of escape, pushed up against the brick wall outside of one of the many clubs owned by ENHA. Though the wall is scraping against your skin, it’s also bitter cold, a welcome contrast from the heat escaping your body. 

You look rough. You know that you do without having to look in a mirror. Somewhere in the whole ordeal you had lost your shoes, and your mascara is currently running down your face in long wet clumps. Your hair is matted from where he had grabbed it, dragging you out of the club and caring less about your appearance. Your dress has more than one rip in it from when you had fallen onto the concrete, and your fingernails are steeped in blood from when you had tried to claw away. Thankfully, the ringing in your ears provides enough adrenaline to dull some of the pain you’re experiencing. They don’t ring enough to block out his words, though. 

“You’re going to come into my club and act like some whore who doesn’t know who she belongs to? What the fuck were you thinking, getting into a bar fight at my club? People are going to think I don’t know how to control what belongs to me. Fuck, you’re unbelievable, Y/N. You make me sick to my stomach, I can’t even stand to look at you,” he says as he pushes you harder into the wall. Your skin scratches harder against the brick, leaving red bloody marks behind from the contact. Your breath hitches–Jungwon has never been this violent or demeaning to you before. His expression is blank, as if he has no remorse for what he’s doing, and that scares you even more. This wasn’t like anything you had seen in your boyfriend–this is a snap. Like a shelf that holds much more than it can carry, piling more and more on it until it starts to concave and the wood splinters in the middle, Jungwon has decided that he is not going to carry your burden anymore. 

The first time he hit you, he had pushed you and shoved you around like a cold and calculating machine, no thought or purpose behind his actions. Minutes later, it was as if life had come back into his eyes. He got onto his knees and sobbed, repented for his actions and begged for your forgiveness. He reminded you of the fact that you were the only one who could ever love someone like him; nobody would be kind enough to let a mafia boss into their hearts and love them with all they had like you did. You’re all he has, he would remind you, you have to forgive him. He would get you the best medical treatment available, you would forgive him and it would be like it never happened. Until the next time, and the next. 

Now, given the circumstances, you’re not sure you can defend him. Not with the way he’s speaking to you like you’re less than scum, worthless and indecent to be around. You feel belittled and small. To be the direct target of his rage, though there’s a reason for it this time, makes bile rise up in your throat, threatening to spill out. You’re beginning to see why your boyfriend isn’t to be messed with and why he’s considered one of the most dangerous men in the country. To add to it, he had been drinking and the stress of the other mafia group closing in on them was adding unwanted pressure. You were also a little bit intoxicated, which is probably what gave you the bravery to do what you had. 

You were intentionally trying to rile him up. It was an innocent mistake, but you had the goal of making him a little bit jealous tonight. You were hoping things would take a different turn, after all. Your friend had told you about the time she flirted with another man in front of her boyfriend to get a rise out of him and it had worked, and he had taken her to the car and fucked the life out of her on the spot. She insisted it was the best sex she ever had. 

You really should have known better; your relationship isn’t normal and you will never experience things the same way your friends do. But, you had tried it out. You started flirting with a stranger at the bar, just some light conversation and casual touches to the shoulder. At one point you had caught Jungwon’s eyes and mistook his dark gaze for jealousy, not rage, which fueled your desire to continue. 

You had dragged the stranger out to the dance floor, and he was more than eager to go with you. He was much too touchy, sliding his hands up and down your hips and grinding his body into yours. That’s when his girlfriend was added to the mix–absolutely trashed, angry, and ready to start a fight she wasn’t going to win. You caused a scene, shouting expletives right back at her. You won, easily. But not before a hand was embedded in your hair and you were face to face with your very angry boyfriend. It seems like all it took was for one incident to completely change everything. 

You’re scared. Empty words rise from your throat to defend yourself, to plead with him and try to change his mind, but a hand snakes around and cuts you off. 

“Don’t bother coming back, bitch,” he spits. “You’re lucky if I keep you alive.” His hand tightens around your neck, leaving your vision to darken. Your hands come up around his, trying to yank his hand away to relieve some of the pressure to no avail. Your legs start to flail and kick in a last ditch effort of disparity. 

“Please, Wonnie,” you choke out. He repeats your words back to you, mocking. Your hands are hitting at his and you’re gasping for breath, hot tears streaming down your face. 

“Don’t call me that,” he seethes. “You should’ve fucking known better! You brought unwanted attention to yourself. You deserve to be taught a lesson for acting like such a fucking slut in my club. I bet you would’ve let him fuck you too, right?” You try to shake your head, wanting to deny and explain yourself when he suddenly lets go of you. You fall to the ground, your bodyweight now completely unsupported by him. 

You look up at him for a second, large doe eyes blinking away tears. He stares right back at you. One second passes by before you plant your feet into the ground, breaking into a rub. Your bare feet scrape against the concrete and you turn the corner, ready to shout but no sound comes out of your throat. Just as you make it two long strides, his lightning fast reflexes have already caught up to you. Jungwon grabs your wrist and squeezes it tight, and you feel a sharp pain along with the popping sound it creates. 

With the momentum he has, he slings you to the ground. Your face meets concrete and you feel warm, wet liquid on your skin. You blink and blink to realize that your vision has gone completely dark. You’re hit, again and again, but at some point you don’t hear his words anymore. You feel like you could throw up. You wonder if you do when you feel your stomach contract around nothing. Hit after hit and wound after wound, eventually you stop registering it. 

Deep down, you try to comfort yourself. He doesn’t mean it. He’ll take you back, and once he sobers up he will realize that he fucked up majorly. He’ll cry and grovel and really apologize, promising to change his ways. Sunoo will patch you up and stitch over the wounds that need it the most, just as he has before. You’ll laugh about the situation in retrospect, cry about it some, but ultimately end up in Jungwon’s bed. Where else would you even go? You have no money, no job, no way of contacting anybody, so surely, surely, he’ll accept you back. You crack a smile at the thought and wonder if you’ll have to beg him to take you back or if he’ll take you into his arms himself. 

You’re not sure how long you’re on the concrete for. When you lift your head you hear a loud, pulsing sound, accompanied by a sharp pain that encourages you to put your head back down. You do, comforted knowing that Jungwon will come back, he will come back, he will come back. 

Two sets of footsteps find your way to your field of view. They’re blurry, and for a second you think, those don’t look like Jungwon’s shoes, and you begin to hear muffled voices. The ringing in your ears is so loud, but their voices are louder too. Why are they speaking so loud? Are they really yelling or is it just this splitting headache? God, you don’t know, but as you open your mouth to speak and the voices get louder, it stops. Everything stops. 

You have finally lost consciousness. 

You recognize the sensation of being in a car, and you even smell cologne. It’s unfamiliar. You don’t fight to keep your eyes open, instead succumbing to the murmur of voices and warmth of the car that contrasts from the shockingly cold concrete, and let yourself drift off into sleep.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

When you wake up, you’re propped haphazardly against a wall. Your eyes crack open, and notice a well-furnished office, complete with leather chairs and a desk that was probably hand-crafted and expensive. You’re alone in the room, and your eyes flicker to the windows, the door, and then to your beaten and bruised frame. If you looked rough before, you certainly look awful now, and you feel even worse than you look. You are definitely sobered-up now, though, enough to realize that you are not at home, and definitely not at the ENHA base. 

Three figures enter the room, and you wonder if you should react or if you’re even in any imminent danger. You close your eyes again, wondering if you can get away with pretending to be asleep so you can feel out the situation. 

“Hyunjin, check her pulse,” you hear. Warm breath is on yours in an instance, and you fight your heart to stop beating as fast as it is. Two fingertips press against your neck, cold yet firm. 

“Good morning,” the voice whispers against your frame, loud enough for only you to hear. You don’t react outwardly, but your heart beats just a little bit faster. Is this man going to tell him that you’re awake?

“She’s fine,” the man says. “Her pulse is stronger than before. She’s lost a lot of blood but she’ll be okay.” The man’s presence leaves yours, and you rely on just your hearing to tell that he is back on the other side of the room quicker than your heartbeat. “So, what’s your angle here? I know you’re not keen on helping beaten and bloody women in alleyways too often, so I’m sure there’s some sort of play here.” 

“Yang Jungwon’s girlfriend. Or, I suppose you can say ex-girlfriend, if she’s smart” a man says.. 

“Are you insane? You’re just trying to get on his nerves!” says the man that checked your pulse, Hyunjin.

“I suppose you could say that. Binnie and I found her about a mile from the ENHA base, beaten practically within an inch of her life. If we’re smart, I think we use her as leverage against him. We keep her, use her to piss him off. If we had the upper hand before, we definitely have it now,” he explains. 

You try not to furrow your eyebrows in confusion. 

“You should have called me, for fucks sake! This was a major decision for you to make on our behalf and not consult me on. It’s my job.” Hyunjin is furious, evident from his rapid speech and loud tone, but he sounds professional nonetheless. “You don’t even know if he wants her back. She could be worth less than trash in his eyes, and that’s the best case scenario. He did beat her, after all. Worst case scenario? She could be bugged, or a spy! Did you think about that? Chan, this is unbelievable.” Your eyes shoot open instinctively, and you lurch forward, holding onto your stomach and fight yourself from hurling on the spot.

“Chan…” you rasp out. Your throat burns… You wonder if it was from Jungwon’s tight grasp or if you had been screaming without realizing it. Now you’ve realized the exact scenario that you’ve ended up in. Bang Christopher Chan is the leader of SKZ… the rival mafia gang. You had only heard rumors about the man since being involved with Jungwon, but they’re enough that you’re shaking involuntarily. You know he’s dangerous, and you find yourself wishing you paid more attention to mafia politics to really get a sense of what you’re getting yourself into. Chan is the one that brought you here, and now you’re defenseless, vulnerable, and in his territory. 

“Easy there,” a voice calls. A stranger approaches you and puts a hefty hand on your shoulder; when you meet his gaze, you immediately flinch. The man is very well-built with broad shoulders and large biceps that counteract his shorter frame. A black compression shirt hugs his skin, showing off his muscles. You don’t know anything about the man but everything about him screams bodyguard. 

Your eyes meet the man sitting in the leather chair at the desk, Bang Chan. You can tell just by the way he carries himself that he is an important man and he knows it. His gaze is intense but he smirks at you as if he’s amused. He is also fairly muscular, wearing all black but dressed nicer than the stocky bodyguard. His hair is dark brown and falls neatly around his face, parted down the middle with strands falling loosely around his ears. He is attractive like a magnet, you realize, when you know you should be experiencing repulsion. 

You realize everybody is watching your every move, and you feel pressured to say something, to perform, even. 

“Hey,” you say, and it comes out weaker and raspier than you would have hoped. Chan’s mouth lifts into a smile. “Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure.” 

You rack your mind for the right words to say. “Are you… going to kill me?” 

He lets out a hefty laugh, one that makes you feel stupid. You feel like it was a valid question, but let out a nervous chuckle at his response. 

“If you give me a reason to. But we don’t want that, right sweetheart?” You nod in agreement, face turning red at the demeaning lilt to his words. The man finally rises from his chair and is in front of you in just two long steps. He crouches down but still towers above you, leaving you feeling even more defenseless and intimidated. His hand reaches to stroke a strand of hair behind your ear, and his thumb reaches to lift up your chin and meet his gaze. You want to look anywhere but, but you’re even more scared of the consequences. Your eyes meet, and his gaze is so intense that it makes your skin crawl. His expression is now devoid of any emotion, and he is dead serious. 

“You almost died,” he says. He tells you this as casually as one would talk about the weather. “Jungwon almost killed you. You would have died on that sidewalk if we didn’t find you and administer emergency medicinal treatment.” His fingers tighten around your jaw, keeping your gaze locked onto his, as if to say, ‘I am the most important person and you will listen to me when I am talking to you.’ 

“He wouldn’t… It was an accident. He was really drunk, and I–” You’re cut off when his fingers trail lower, reaching your throat. Your breath hitches, unsure of what he’s going to do and you feel terror overwhelm you from what you know the man has the capacity to do to you. Two fingers prod at your throat, poking at what is most definitely a very nasty bruise. You cry out, hands reaching to soothe the spot that he had just touched. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you? If so, you’re more stupid than I thought.” He stands, leaving your mouth agape. “You should look at yourself. You’re in really bad shape. We were able to stop some of your bleeding from that nasty head injury you got yourself, but damn. Do you even know how long you were out for? It’s been at least half a day.”

Half a day? You gawk at the man and say nothing. The other two men have decided to stay silent for the conversation, doing not much more than observing your sorry state. You decide you don’t want to speak much more on the subject, and change the topic instead. “What do you want with me?” you swallow. 

“You’re going to stay here, at the SKZ base while you recover. I’m sure you heard, but you’re going to help us get the ENHA situation under control. You’re leverage.”

“You’re keeping me? So I can’t leave? Please,” you start to plead. “You’re not serious.” 

“Dead serious,” Chan replies. “It’s not like you really want to go back, right? If you get beaten like this again, there’s probably not going to be anybody to save you. You might die,” he blinks. 

“It’s not going to happen again,” you all but spit out. You decide it’s time to test your body and stand up, and though your bones and muscles ache, you manage to get onto your two feet. “It was one time, a mistake. I’m sorry, but you’re out of line, and I would really like to get back home.” 

“Out of line?” Chan challenges.

“I’m sorry to say this, Y/N, but I don’t think Chan is out of line,” Hyunjin speaks. You finally get a chance to look at the man. His dark hair frames his face, resting just past his chin. At first glance he appears more delicate than the other two men, but his muscles are apparent the longer you stare at the fitted t-shirt he sports. He’s very pretty, a statement usually not used to describe someone in his profession. He has very full lips and a perfectly chiseled and angular jawline, sharp nose and long, feminine eyelashes. As he steps forward, he continues on his tangent. “Not only that, but this isn’t the first time Jungwon has hurt you, is it?” 

Your breath hitches as you find the words to defend yourself. You’re cut off by the man who is very adamant about what he is about to say.

“Your record shows that you have been in the hospital two times in the last year. Are you trying to tell us that a concussion and broken wrist are just coincidences?” You stay silent as the man’s eyes scan up and down your frame. You wonder how he knows so much, as someone that was arguing minutes ago about how your presence was a mistake. He’s done his research on you for sure, and you realize it’s probably his job to know everything about everyone. That’s probably why he was arguing with Chan about not consulting him. You try not to think about what else he knows.

“If you stay here, we can guarantee your safety. We don’t even know if Jungwon has plans to try to take you back, but if he does, we are sure that this will be the safest place for you. We know you don’t have a job or a place to stay out there, but here you’ll have a room and necessities. And you will be benefiting us as we get the chance to get a rise out of their group, and the opportunity to use this advantage to put them in their place.” Chan seems sure in his decision, and you find something reassuring about the firmness in his tone and his ability to make quick decisions, knowing that his leadership abilities are one of the reasons why SKZ is the top mafia group in the country, ENHA’s rival. You step forward and wobble, and strong arms steady your frame. 

“Okay,” you whisper. The decision feels wrong, like a betrayal, but you still feel dizzy and unsure, so you decide to put your safety first. 

“You still need some rest. We can escort you to your new room and give you some time to patch yourself up, shower, and get a change of clothes. We definitely suggest tending to your wounds,” Chan says.

“My room? Are you sure this is okay?” The bodyguard wraps an arm around your shoulder, allowing you to lean on his dependable and sturdy build, and you let yourself do so. 

“More than sure. Make yourself at home. You’ll be here a while.” Chan says. He finally returns to his desk and sits in his chair, hands intertwining with one another as if he’s deep in thought. “Changbin will show you the way. Don’t do anything stupid, and you and I will have a talk later tonight. Look forward to it, sweetheart. Hyunjin, call the others for a meeting. You’re dismissed.” 

And with that, you and Changbin, the aforementioned bodyguard, are left to find the way to your room. You stumble but he is strong, and with his arms around you the walk to your room is not a struggle. He does stay eerily silent, which you welcome so that you can think. You arrive at your room and thank him, stepping into the space and shutting the door behind you. 

The room is not huge but it’s comfortable. It’s definitely larger than any room you’ve ever lived in before, and it’s nice to finally have your own space seeing as you previously shared a room with Jungwon. The room is obviously set up to be a guest bedroom, with cream colored walls and a large bed in its center adorned with a white quilt and decorative pillows. It’s simple but you’ll certainly make-do. You look around and notice a large rattan wardrobe stocked with a variety of clothes in different styles and sizes. Some of the fabric looks like it’s large enough to swallow you while others would just barely fit. You hum, content, and pick out a clean outfit that suits your comfort levels, even if it's not the prettiest. On your way to the bathroom you're surprised to notice a small vanity, stocked with makeup. You realize this guest room is probably for guests of SKZ, maybe their family members if any of them had any that would come to visit, hence the women’s clothing. Either way, the makeup will come in handy later to cover your bruises when you need to. 

And on that note, you finally allow yourself to look in the mirror, and you gasp. 

You have never seen your hair so matted and disheveled, and your head is stained in your blood. A bandage covers the top left of your head, and you uncover it to observe a nasty scar that had been treated with some kind of ointment. In addition, your bottom lip is busted, and you are adorned with all sorts of scrapes and scars and bruises all over your body. Your throat is covered in nasty dark hues of purple and blue that are sure to only get worse. Your wrist had received the same treatment, sporting some nasty bruises, and you recall when it had made a noise that resembled a pop yesterday. You roll the joint, testing the waters, and groan out in pain. At best, it’s sprained. You try not to think about it, and finally get into the shower, noting the first aid kit on the counter. 

The water feels nice on your skin, though it stings most of your scrapes and wounds. You welcome it nonetheless. You allow yourself a moment to cry, letting your tears mix in with the shower stream, wondering if this is the only chance you’ll be able to show how vulnerable you are. You don’t know much about SKZ and their men, and you’re sure you should tidy yourself up and do your best to pretend you’re strong, showing no weakness. When you comb through your hair you decide that’s just what you’ll do. You already look more presentable than before when you step out of the shower, as you have rid yourself of the blood, sweat, dirt and grime that littered your skin. And as you step into the new clothes you had found for yourself, you really do feel much better. You take the time to sanitize some of your worse wounds, paying special attention to your head that met the concrete last night. You cover yourself with bandages and decide to spend some of your time putting on makeup. It’s the only way to cover the bruises, you decide, and you won’t let any new members that haven’t seen your sorry-state know that you’re here because you were beaten and weak. If any one of them notices your vulnerability, there’s no telling that they won’t prey on it. So after about an hour, your skin looks close to its normal self again thanks to your expertise in color correction under your layers of foundation and concealer. You smile at your handiwork – if you weren’t looking for the bruises and scrapes, you certainly wouldn’t be able to find it. Even your makeup-covered throat and wrist, which had gotten the worst of it all, really look fine. 

You leave your room at last, and it has been some hours since your previous meeting with Bang Chan and the others. You roll your shoulders back and make your way around the house. The intention here isn’t snooping, you tell yourself, but you desperately need to find food. You don’t have to look too hard, as you stumble into the kitchen. 

You make direct eye contact with two men that you haven’t seen before. Their eyes flicker to you and their conversation stills, and you know you’ve interrupted them. 

You’re going to be here a while, right? You suppose it’s time to introduce yourself. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

a/n: it's hereee (for real this time)! so excited to share this with you and what is to come! (if you saw me post this the other day by accident no you didn't) <3

taglist: @shuporanporang @purp13st4r @eurydiceofterabithia @heartsbyandra @thicccurls @rylea08 @the-sweetest-rose @oddracha @kapelover @goldenmellow

[teencopandthesourwolf]

He freezes. Doesn't know what the hell else to do. 

He can't picture it: Derek can't remember the last time somebody put their arms around him. 

Was it Laura?

Of course it was Laura. How could he forget that? Derek has gotten pretty good at blocking things out—a little too good, it seems.

She didn't tell him anything before leaving New York. Didn't say a fucking word, just up and vanished. Derek had woken up one morning and she was gone, because she'd known without a shadow of a doubt that Derek would've only followed her if she'd have said a single word to him.

Nobody ever granted Derek’s wishes, no matter who he prayed to. Those desperate pleas where he asked to go back and get a chance to fix things, they all went unheard.

Laura left to go back to the place they both wished still existed just as it had; a place they were wanted alive, not dead. It wasn't fair that it was the very same place they would be hunted down if they did return, like the rabid animals the Argent's presumed they were.

Leaving the way they did meant they hadn't gotten the chance to see if anything was left at the house. They couldn't even mark graves, and grieve properly. 

That same place also happened to be the place they'd been born, the place they'd grown up and called home.

Derek had never wanted Laura to face all of that alone.

The burnt down house. The nothing where there was once everything.

The thought still haunts him. One of so many. 

Beacon Hills is home—but it's the home Derek had helped raze to the ground with his selfishness and stupidity. Everything he and Laura had ever known, everyone they'd ever loved, it was all gone, now. Derek had taken those things away from his sister and hadn't even had the guts to tell her. Tell Laura they were all gone because of him, tell her that everything that had happened to their family, to them, was all his fault.

In the aftermath of the fire Laura hugged Derek, and had kept hugging him, over and over in those weeks and months and years that followed. She would pull him into her arms hold him tight, whenever she could sense it was all getting to be too much for him again.

Alpha.

Big sister.

But Laura only knew about some of the reasons why it sometimes felt like too much effort for Derek to keep on breathing.

He never told her about Kate.

And Derek, the fucking coward, he'd allowed Laura to hold him, feeling the flames of shame on his cheeks every time, hot as those that took the lives of his parents. His family. His pack. 

Now, he remembers that last time. 

“I'm going out.” 

Laura stood up, walked around the two mismatched armchairs and stopped him by throwing both her arms around his neck, pulling him into her and hugging him, scenting him. 

It always took him a moment to respond these days, but Derek hugged her back. 

“What's this for?”

“You. Because I know whomever's bed you end up in tonight, you won't be asking for one of these.”

Oh, fuck no. Derek couldn't handle that. Did she think he was out sleeping with people? Never again, not after…

He pushed his sister off him, gently; a stark contrast to the harsh words that followed. 

“Don't fucking coddle me. And fuck you, Laura—I don't sleep in anybody's bed but my own.” A single mattress on the floor of the lounge of their shitty one bedroom apartment. Derek had so many shameful memories, and crawling into his sister's bed every night for the first year after the fire was one of them. “Just—leave me alone.”

Laura was the one—the only—person Derek had left in the entire world, yet his guilt was constantly pushing her away. 

“Where do you go to, little brother? You might not be clinging to me anymore, night after night, nightmare after nightmare, but you're rarely in your own bed most mornings.”

She hadn't meant it as a dig. Derek knew that. She was his sister, and she loved him.

Maybe she thought he was making progress? Seeing people. Moving on.

Derek spent his nights waiting outside of dive bars, and hanging around in back alleys and dark places, desperate to find scumbags to taunt who were big enough and hard enough to at least attempt to kick the living shit out of him.

Derek hated being a werewolf, now. He wanted to get hurt and stay hurt.

“Just—out.”

Then Derek turned his back on Laura, leaving her to stand there and watch him walk away as he left her to go out looking for a fight, without looking back. 

That was the last time somebody put their arms around Derek—and the last time he saw his sister alive.

It was two years ago. Derek doesn’t think he has taken a full breath, since. 

Now here he is—standing in his stupid big loft that he bought for his betas, yet another pack he managed to destroy—having given away more than he should, with skinny yet strong arms wrapping as far around his shoulders as they'll reach. 

Stiles.

“You don't have to hug back. But you can, if you want to. I won't tell,” the kid jokes. It's his way to connect, his connection to the world. A coping mechanism, Derek thinks.

He knows all about those.

“I…” he doesn't have the first fucking clue of how to handle this. Or how to admit he needs it—to himself, let alone somebody else. He doesn't know how to admit that he wants it. 

But this is Stiles. The one person in Derek's life who seems, for some unfathomable reason, to give a fuck about Derek. To care about him.

Slowly, very slowly, Derek lifts an arm and awkwardly rests a hand on Stiles's upper back, feels the muscles jump slightly under the kid's baggy clothes as he tentatively spreads his fingers and finds the back of Stiles's neck. 

Stiles's voice hitches just a touch as he says, “These can be on tap, you know. If you want them. Stilinski hugs are the best hugs, dude. Believe.”

And Derek finds he does believe. For the first time in forever, Derek believes there could be something good in his life again.

More confidently, now, he brings his other arm up to wrap around Stiles's waist and hugs Stiles tighter, properly, and allows himself to be hugged back.

Derek wonders how he has gone so long without this kind of closeness. Lived without this kindness.

He decides to let the 'dude' pass. Because maybe—maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, to be somebody's dude? 

Stiles's dude.

It's a fucking ridiculous moniker and yet Derek suddenly couldn't care less. 

“I think I'd like that,” he whispers into the forbidden place where Stiles's jaw meets long, pale neck. "Dude."

Derek can feel Stiles's smile as the kid squeezes him harder. And, ironically, Derek feels as if he can breathe again. 

.

for @greyhavenisback bc i want to hug you in person and can't <3 (unedited, forgive me!)

[pluvialpoet]

bergamot

Summary: moments of quiet reflection reaffirm what you both already know to be true- he’s always going to come back, and you’re always going to be waiting with open arms

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

Requested: no

Warning: idiots in love, friends to lovers, mutual pining, scarecrow's fear toxin, mentions of death and grief, slight angst, fluffy ending, loosely based off of batman: hush (2019)- but no major spoilers

Word Count: 3,930

masterlist

a/n: I know that dick has a tolerance against/is immune to scarecrow's fear toxin, but let's pretend he isn't...for the plot

Sleep is cruel in the way it continues to evade you when you crave it most. Mocking and teasing, exhaustion morphs into desperation. Even with your eyes shut dreams fail you, and nightmares taunt.

A siren wails, bellowing out into the night and echoing caution even after the initial cry has faded. Could be a police car, or an ambulance. Maybe even a fire truck. You try not to consider all of the possibilities, knowing it’ll only starve your slumber, further. With a huff, you adjust the heavy comforter, pulling it up until it bunches just under your chin.

In a few weeks, branches will be stripped of their leaves. Snow will fall, and the city will suffocate under a blanket of white. July was only yesterday, sticky and never-ending- infinite until finite. Now, January lurks around the corner- weeks away, but daunting, nevertheless.

The pillow tucked behind your back is a poor imitation of the brawn you wish feathers and fill could replicate, just as the one pressed to your chest acts as an imposter mimicking the body meant to be sleeping peacefully beside you. It’s impossible to tell feelings of loneliness apart from being alone, and deep down you know that reminiscence is merciless. Memory is wicked. But you can’t help remembering. It’s the only way you won’t forget- and even then, so much time has passed that you’ve begun to fade, and he’s begun to blur. Spiraling further and further away from reality and control, you drift towards hope, feeding each dangerous possibility until you have nothing left to give, but delusion takes and takes and takes…

Answers elude like comfort- and sleep. When, how, and why is lost upon you. He’s been gone for so long. Even so, your life has continued, evolving to accommodate the gaps he used to fill. Though, it’s about as effective as papier-mâchéing an open wound shut. Everywhere you look, everything you do, every time you shut your eyes, he finds a way to bleed into you, one way or another, and you welcome it every single time. All you really have are memories and a space in your bed which has always been his to come home to.

Outside, the wind howls. Angry and violent, the sound rattles the windowpane and you burrow deeper into the covers trying to block it out. Shadows dance across the ceiling, but none of them belong to the ghost you’ve been waiting for. Another frustrated huff fails to quell burning exhaustion, and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before checking the clock next to you. Neon green flashes, all too pleased to report that it’s well past midnight and you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Already tomorrow, and you’re still mourning today.

Pushing the covers off, you shiver. There’s a chill in the air and little comfort to be found in the fact that the entire apartment feels cold and empty without him in it. At least it’s not just the bed. It’s the entire room, the hallway, and the kitchen, too. You reach for the light above the stove and begin to search the cupboards for a mug. If nothing else, at least a cup of tea will warm you up. Thanks to muscle memory, you act on autopilot, filling the ceramic with water and placing it in the microwave before picking a teabag and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Three monotone beeps call your attention back before it has another chance to wander away from you, and you retrieve the cup and place the teabag inside. Steeping time be damned.

You can’t wait any longer.

One leg curls under the other as you take a seat and bring the mug to your mouth. It burns the tip of your tongue, a small price to pay for your greed, and you swallow the too-hot liquid regardless of the consequences. The pain barely registers, anyway. With both palms pressed to the vessel, warmth finally finds you, and a barely contented huff passes your lips to blow the steam from the cup. It’s not always like this. It’s not supposed to be, but for so long, it has been. Never months, always weeks. You don’t know how to do this or how much longer you can put yourself through this torture when every sunrise twists the knots in your stomach tighter and tighter. How much longer until you snap?

You’re so tangled up in your suffering that you miss it the first time, until the hair on the back of your neck bristles. Did you imagine it? Silently, you wait, setting the steaming mug down to listen, and this time, you hear it. Faintly, but there. Real.

Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.

I’m here. I’m safe. Can I come in?

Your feet move before the rest of your body does, and the chair scrapes loudly across the hardwood as you jump from it in shock. A cocktail of excitement, worry, disbelief, and fear bubbles and swirls through you when you spot a familiar glimpse of black and blue through the window near the fire escape.

“Dick?”

Crossing the room without any memory of doing so, you fiddle with the latch that keeps you from him, and him from you, until finally it clicks. With only one foot through the window, you reach for him, desperate to savor the illusion until mass, warmth and a heartbeat prove it to be real. Upon realizing, your breath hitches. He’s real. He’s real, and he’s here. No longer a dream. No longer a nightmare. No longer a vision only sleep can grant or mold, he stands before you. He takes a moment to properly slide the window shut behind him, returning the lock to its rightful position- keeping the rest of the world and the winter, out- before turning to face you once more. He can’t even get a word out before you’re pressed against him, wrapping your arms around him and holding yourself back from crushing him with the intensity of your longing. Overly cautious of injuries you can’t physically see- mindful of bruises, tears of flesh, and wounds that remain eclipsed by kevlar and moonlight- you embrace him with a hesitancy that severely undermines your fervor. Holding him gently- delicately, tenderly- the way you’ve dreamt about entwining with him on nights when sleep has been generous instead of cruel, you finally look up at him.

A sigh of relief dispels the hoarded tension in your neck, shoulders, and chest when you rest your head against his chest and inhale. Sweat and copper muddle his natural scent, but even when he’s covered in his victories, even when he’s drenched in his defeats, he still smells like home- warm, safe, familiar, and comforting.

He hesitates to envelop you with the same thinly veiled desperation, holding himself back.

Every muscle in his body carries the strain of battles fought and won. His head throbs with the force of his thoughts, and the inescapable dizziness that always accompanies crashing down from a high. Then again, he’s never been one to ease into things gracefully. Tiny cuts and scrapes, angry blacks and blues, and even gaping gashes that are still seeping and tender to the touch hardly register as anything other than a stinging, burning sensation. Everything is dull. Ferocity and intensity both subdued. Through the haze of everything that competes for his attention, you’re the one thing that’s clear. As always, the hold you have on him, both physical and metaphorical, brings him back to his senses, but doubt keeps him withdrawn.

Warily wrapping his arms around you, Dick returns the gesture as best as he can. Cages built of muscle, meant to keep you close, refuse to lock you in place, and he finds it increasingly difficult to resist surrendering to you entirely. Just as his nerves begin to settle they spike once more when the gravity of the past few months finally begins to sink in. As you continue to tremble in his arms, he swallows a lump in his throat and fights the urge to hold you impossibly closer. If he weren’t so afraid, he’d never let go again. But he’s not the same man he was the last time you saw him. Having seen too much, he knows that he can’t let this become something more. Fear is rotten. He’s seen the future, and if he keeps leaning on you then he’s only going to drag you down with him. Regardless of what he really wants, he won’t let this become something more, but then he looks down at you in his shirt and realizes it’s always been something more- and it terrifies him more than anything.

When pink swirls around the drain- a muted severity of soapy lather and remnants of crusted, oozing red- he rests his forehead against the cold tiles and lets out a deep sigh. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a proper shower. Under the trickling scorch, he allows his shoulders to slump forward, letting the too-hot water soothe his muscles like a balm, and it stings in a way he welcomes- a reminder that he’s done it again, he’s survived the worst and now he just has to survive the recovery.

He’s never been good with the after, always losing himself in possibilities of what comes next without taking a minute to catch his breath, but he’s trying to be better. He owes it to you. Not only you but himself, too- but mostly you. So, he tries to forget. He pushes memories too fresh to be forgotten somewhere else, banishing them to the far corners of his mind and locking them away until he’s ready to face his demons at his own pace, on his own terms, but his wicked creations fight back. Even when they’re crafted from delusions, mirroring real-life counterparts with a precision too exact to be a figmented replication, he finds himself engaged in an internal match that never crowns a victor. It’s a conflict that never ceases, even after his own surrender. Still, he’s found that the intrusions are less when copper is overpowered by citrus, and when red, inevitably swirls into pink.

Steam amplifies the smell of sweat and body odor, so pungent that the only word to describe it is bad, and he holds his breath while he reaches for your soap once more. He can’t believe you let him anywhere near you. It’s even more unfathomable that you sought an embrace, despite the remnants of battle that’ve woven themselves into his being- lingering, even long after. He’s repulsed by that which exposes him, a stench so strong that it serves as a testament to the fact that he reclaimed you as soon as he could, coming right back to this haven of sorts without any prior stops, and his stomach churns uncomfortably, the once soothing mist tainting each attempt at air, and a weight teases the aching muscles of his chest which breath does not alleviate.

Through the haze, he sees the truth- when reality remains undistorted by the tricks of his own want and longing, he recognizes fact without his own warped perceptions of fantasy- and he realizes just how careless he’s been. By allowing desire to suade better judgment, he’s put you at risk. Guilt punishes with an onslaught of emotions ranging from frustration to anger, sadness to grief, and even regret to sorrow. His own reluctance to accept how dangerous it was, and always has been, to lean on your affections as a crutch has finally caught up to him. After all that he’s seen, after everything he’s been forced to bear witness to over the past few months, coupled with a lifetime of loss, he’s no longer able to ignore the thought that’s broken free from the shackles of elsewhere. What was once dull, always there but never really forgotten, has become intense and persistent.

Every time he finds his way back to you, he invites peril into your life. He’s hazardous. Even if he’s not, being attached to him- in any way- puts you at an even greater risk of endangerment. Trying to justify something even as tame as a friendship is absurd. You’re so much more than that. Whether he meant for it to happen or not, you’ve found a place within his heart. Every beat echoes your name and carries secrets of his devotion. All that remains of the walls meant to protect both of you is rubble, and Dick stands alone in the epicenter of the aftermath, unsure and torn between chaos and order. Selfishly, he wants. Greedily, he craves. Morally, he knows that he should just walk away- but he can’t.

The scene shifts, ceramic tile falling away to reveal an eerie, yet familiar boneyard, and he shakes his head. It’s not real. It was never real- but it was so vivid. Cold fog obscures his vision, and he closes his eyes. This is a trick. This isn’t truth. He knows what comes next. Forced to indulge in his worst nightmares, the shrill, piercing sound of your terror renders him numb. He can’t move. Paralyzed, he fights limbs of lead, but he can’t act. It surrounds him, your agony, and he can’t do anything to save you. He can’t protect you. With each cry of his name, you plead, but there’s nothing he can do. When silence follows his ragged breaths, he refuses to look down. He hates this part the most, but he doesn’t have a choice. Crimson stains the black and blue weave, and he can taste metallic. He doesn’t have any control over this hallucination, born and bred from his greatest fear, and all he can do is witness the fallout of your shared torture- your blood on his hands, his body slumped against your tombstone, and the triumphant laughter of a clown, a scarecrow, a ventriloquist, and a hundred more that delight in your demise.

He can’t catch his breath. Drifting further and further away from reality, he struggles to claw his way back towards the light. When his vision begins to fade, he reaches for more soap. In for three counts, out for four. In for three counts, and out for four, again, Dick feels lightheaded. There’s no limit to how far he’d go to keep you safe, not a single rule or code he wouldn’t break to protect you from anything and everything- and that’s an entirely different threat, in and of itself. His loyalty has the potential to become his ruin, and he’d let it- for your sake- but would that be enough? Could his devotion be enough to keep you safe from the otherwise brutal fate that awaits you with, and without, his intervention?

The bite of a washrag leaves his skin raw. Lost to his thoughts, he’s been mindlessly scrubbing away at his flesh, dousing himself with bubbled distraction. Another breath fails to alleviate his unease. All he can think about is that which is out of his control, and he can’t help but wonder, is there even a chance for the two of you?

Every thought is a contradiction.

He could wax poetic to Bruce about love- how precious and fragile and conscious it is- but he can’t even bring himself to act upon his own advice. Even worse than following in a denialist’s footsteps is being a hypocrite, but there are just too many variables for him to take into account- too many what-ifs and maybe’s that enable him to cower behind words left unspoken.

In spite of this, he dares to dream of a future where you’re his and he’s yours, and nothing else matters. Lost to his delusions, a smile threatens to work muscles that’ve remained dormant for months of disuse. It hurts. Stretching, pulling, and manipulating his face to actually convey what he’s feeling instead of trying to veil it, hurts. However, the worst pain follows. As he reaches for the illusion, it slips through his fingers- so close he can almost hold it, yet just out of reach, simultaneously- and just like that, reality distorts the mirage. Pried from him, ripped away and sporting his claw marks, what could’ve been remains what could’ve been- and it’s all his fault.

Fear suppresses his love.

He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose this, too. He won’t. However glutinous, he craves more- even when he knows he can’t have it, he wants with a desire that’s almost too strong to ignore. Almost. Locking his feelings away, he throws away the key, but his ribs begin to expand with the intensity of his longing, and his chest feels tight. This isn’t like before. It seems as if his secrets have outgrown their cages, and he finds himself at a crossroads. His mind begins to drift and he wonders if this agony is why Bruce kept Selina at arm’s length…

A sigh, and a revelation- he’s not Bruce, and you’re not Selina.

Dick’s been going about this all wrong. Despite everything he’s been taught about love and loss, he’s allowed a life outside of a domino mask and kevlar. He deserves to cherish someone, to protect and devote himself to something other than his work- someone to fight for, someone to come home to- and he deserves to be beloved, too. Even if only for tonight. Even if tomorrow isn’t promised and all you have is right now, you’re here. On the other side of the frosted glass screen and plaster, you’re waiting for him. Another smile, less forced and genuine, feels like a relief instead of a burden. His skin pebbles under the frigid stream left in the wake of molten steam. With a shiver, he seeks your warmth, reaching for the faucet and stepping out of the enclosure.

A worn shirt rests atop the counter, the fabric faded from years of wear and wash, folded neatly beneath a pair of fresh boxers and socks likely left behind from the last time, or the time before that, or even the time before…truth be told, he thought he’d lost it, misplaced it, or given it away. Of course, you’ve had it in your care, all along. The corner of his mouth threatens to twitch into a smile. Slipping the towel from around his waist, he begins to dress, wondering when you managed to sneak in without him hearing you. The door used to creak, and he realizes that you must have fixed it while he was gone. It’s hard not to think about what else might’ve changed since the last time he saw you. Would you have stayed with him, if he asked you to? You always have. Six years and counting, he muses if you always will…

His hair is getting long, again. Droplets fall from the overgrown strands at the base of his neck down his back, making him shiver and reach for his towel once more. He pats his hair down, ruffling it with the towel a few times before wiping away at the mirror. Making eye contact with his reflection he’s the first to look away. He’s looked worse and supposes that's a small win in and of itself, though he can’t stand the sight of himself any longer than he has to. A deep exhale and a shake of his head diverts his attention to the countertop where a spare toothbrush has been left out for him to use. Of course, he already knows where the toothpaste is. He helps himself with a growing smile and places it in the holder right next to yours when he’s done. His chest expands with something he can’t quite name when he finds himself surrounded by gentle reminders of your care. A small cup of water and painkillers act as physical embodiments of your thoughtfulness and he revels in the knowledge that you’re letting him know you’re there for him while giving him space to come down from whatever adrenaline rush the past few months have spiked. It’s in those silent gestures of love that he hears it the loudest, echoing and amplifying all around him.

It must be killing you to act so selflessly, and he tries not to be selfish with your affections, but it’s difficult not to feel like a burden when you’ve rearranged more than just a spot on the counter, or a place for him to keep his toothbrush next to yours, for him- giving him a home without expecting anything else in return.

Down the hall, the mattress protests against his arrival, angry springs squeaking from months of disuse before welcoming his weight and warmth on the side opposite of yours- his side, from the very moment, years ago, when he found his way back to you after a night that left him bloody and beaten but not broken. Never broken- not when he’s always had you. Though most memory of the first evening spent beside you remains a blur, the ability to recall details and specifics stolen from him as his wounds wept crimson tears that stained your hands and upholstery, fondness prevails. Despite robbed recollections, tender warmth, and affection remain. Even then, he knew. Without really knowing, without certainty, he was certain- he loved you, and you loved him, and every gentle, devoted gesture has always reaffirmed the one thing he could never doubt. Every silent offering, every selfless sacrifice, and piece of yourself that you’ve surrendered to him further insists that your heart acts in favor of three words never spoken.

His arm finds your waist easily, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to tiptoe around his reluctance to accept what this is, anymore. Not when you’re here. Not when you’re waiting so patiently for him, and snuggle back into his hold the moment he reaches out for you. Some limbs tangle, but not yours- the two of you fit perfectly together, like you were truly meant to be, and the moment that you’re allowed to converge, you press your palm flat against his arm, holding him close to you.

Reacquainting yourself with him after is always your favorite part. Though, your heart cleaves when your fingertips ghost over a new scar- the skin still raised and angry, even if the wound has closed. With something akin to sympathy, an apology for the pain he’s suffered that you can’t take away, you gently trace the new mark in acknowledgment.

Tomorrow, or later today, when the sunlight illuminates the sky, you’ll ask him about it. Or, maybe you won’t. When the first glimpses of warm light threaten to spill over the horizon, you might get answers to the questions you’ve spent the last few months pondering. Or, perhaps everything unasked will remain unresolved. Either way, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that tonight, you’ll sleep- safe and protected, at ease and engulfed by all things him- and even if it only lasts for the night, you’ll cherish whatever small moments of intimacy the moon grants before the sun, inevitably, rips them away- a fate you’ve grown to expect, time and time again.

Still, you let your eyes flutter shut, basking in the silence for only a moment before it’s interrupted.

“I love you,” Dick confesses softly, words warm and whispered against your shoulder encouraged by a fleeting moment of courage- and the tender caress of your touch- that prompt the secret to spill from his chest, an accident he fears he may have to render excuses for to salvage whatever broken pieces are left of this unspoken relationship.

“I know,” With your back towards him he misses the stretch of a smile ghosting your lips, and finds himself tensing behind you. Could you have really known? All this time? Is that why he always comes back? Is that why you let him? “I love you, too,”

“No, I mean, I really lo-“

“Tell me in the morning, yeah?” You suggest before he can get too far ahead of himself. Torn between wanting to clarify his confession and realizing that maybe he doesn’t have to, Dick relents. He can’t really argue, anyway- having kept this to himself for so many years, another few hours won’t hurt. With a breath- of acceptance, not defeat or surrender- he closes his eyes and finally relaxes into your embrace.

It’s over.

For now, Dick can rest easy knowing that when the smell of bergamot fades, this tacit love will always remain, and he finds enough comfort in the realization to let it lull him into a peaceful sleep.

a/n: I love him so much!!! this has been rotting in my brain for nearly a year and I just found it in my drafts last night lol! anyway, this started as a challenge to myself where I wanted to see if I could write something with only five lines of dialogue, and I'm curious to hear how you all think it turned out! as always, requests are open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! 

everyone who requested to be tagged: @idyllcy @wicked-laugh @ul4lume

Send me some feedback, or request to be added to my taglist! (please specify which taglist you’d like to be added to- character or general) !Requests: OPEN!

buy me a ko-fi!

[blackbirdie1234]

Brothers Best Friend Pt.1

Sam Uley! x Fem!Reader!

A/N: Part one of a two-part series where Sam is your brother's friend. Slightly based on the plot of New Moon. Emily is Sam's cousin in this. I'll get part two out as soon as I can!

Warnings//: Profanity.

Summary: Sam is your brother's best friend. What happens when suddenly you start hearing rumors that they have joined a gang and gone off the rails.

B/N=Brothers name (make one up if you wish.)

You had heard the rumors, “Sam started a cult”, “They must be in a gang”, and "Did you know that Sam and his goons run around the woods shirtless and perform rituals" It was all over the town. In a town with less than three thousand people, rumors are bound to spread like wildfire. You didn’t want to believe it, more so because your brother was a part of it, and you could never think of him being involved in that. No matter how much you didn’t want to accept it you couldn’t help how your mind raced with anxious thoughts.

Could your brother really be in a cult? Could Sam really be the one to lead and start it? The evidence was a harsh reality, every single person in the group including your brother had cut their long hair short and gotten a matching tattoo, and that had to be something. You decided enough was enough, enough of hearing rumors, enough of your brother ignoring your existence, enough of your parents worrying, and enough of letting your feelings for Sam blind you from the truth.

You have known Sam since childhood. Sam and your brother were close friends, which meant him being around a lot and you two having general knowledge of each other. As the years went on you had developed a small crush on the boy, but you would NEVER tell him or your brother that. You always thought he saw you as his friend's annoying little sister, and he did at least until one day that started changing. It happened slowly, the lingering glances, the protectiveness turning from one of brotherly love to jealousy, the very structure of your dynamic began to change. You decided that you push those feelings down, no matter how strong they were. You couldn't handle the thought of your brother finding out about your feelings for his best friend or even Sam for that matter, you knew he wouldn't approve, and besides the chances of Sam seeing you as anything more than the girl who used to hang out with his cousin and annoy him is very slim.

You were on your way to Sam’s house, you didn’t have a plan and you didn’t even know what you were going to say but you had determination and that was enough for you. You pulled up to Sam’s house and immediately saw multiple guys without their shirts on staring at you, you got out of the car ignoring their gazes. Heading straight for the front door you barged in without knocking.

“B/N?!” you shouted, walking through the house.

You soon realized no one was inside. You ran out of the house, looking around until you saw them. You stormed down the hill towards the woods, where Sam and your brother stood facing the trees talking. When you saw them you couldn’t help the anger that rose in your chest as you got closer and closer.

"HEY!" You yelled to the two boys, who turned their heads to look at you immediately.

You saw the confusion on both of their faces as you continued to stomp towards them. You are soon face to face with your brother, who is looking at you like you've grown two heads. Thats when you started ripping in to him.

"You need to explain everything to me right here, right now. I am tired of hearing that my big brother is now a part of some gang and that Sam Uley is the leader of it. You've ignored me for weeks, cut your hair off, gotten a tattoo. Mom and Dad are worried sick and you couldn't even pick up the damn phone like a man and explain what you've been doing. So I'm here now. Explain, and it better be good because I swear to you B/N I wont sit here and wait for you to pull your head out of your ass and realize all of the damage you've done." You say frustration bleeding from the words. You take a deep breath after the tangent.

Your brother's face shifts from confusion to understanding. He lets out a deep sigh. He was about to start talking but something stopped him. He slowly turned his head towards Sam, who is staring at you now with more intensity than you've ever seen on anyone before. Your brother started switching back and forth between you and Sam, becoming angrier and angrier each time. You were about to tell them to stop staring at you like idiots and tell you what was going on, when suddenly your brother started punching Sam repeatedly.

You stood there in shock. Before your brain could even process what was happening, they were now on the ground throwing punches wherever they could land.

"WHAT THE FUCK?......B/N, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" you exclaim through a scream.

All you can do is stand there and watch as your brother and Sam continue to throw each other around. Until, suddenly they weren't human anymore. They were gigantic wolves. You scream and fall back in shock at the sight of the two wolves, fighting their way into the woods. You sit there staring in shock as they tumble deep into the trees. You sit there for what feels like hours but is more likely a few seconds, now only hearing the sound of snarls and yelps from the distance. You begin to hear running behind you, 4 other wolves the same size jump over your head continuing into the woods. They disappear and you are left sitting, completely alone, and feeling like you are going crazy.

That didn't just happen, right? That was all in my head? What in the ever-living fuck did I just see? Why the hell did my brother start attacking Sam? How could this even be possible?, that's it I am now officially insane. These thoughts run into your head before you hear soft footsteps coming from behind you. A big contrast to the ones you heard just moments before.

"Are you okay, ?" A sweet voice calls out. You turn around to see Emily, Sam's cousin, with a calm but concerned look on her face.

"Did... did you see that?" you say in a wavering tone, barely above a whisper.

She walked over to you and grabbed your hand, helping you up off the ground and softly dusting the dirt off of your back. She always knew how to comfort someone, her presence alone was warm and inviting. You two were closer when you were little, you are still friends but haven't spoken since you started distancing yourself from Sam. You were scared of your feelings for him and the hurt it might cause, so you pushed him away and by default Emily as well.

"Everything is going to be okay, Y/N," she said in a soothing tone, careful to not spook you even more. "Why don't you come with me inside, I'll get you some tea and a blanket and we can talk about it."

She led me up the hill, rubbing a comforting circle into my back. She made me tea and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. All I could do was stare blankly into the mug, mind running faster than my body could handle, as we sat down she began speaking.

“Your brother is a werewolf, and so is Sam and the rest of the boys,” she said giving a small smile and holding my hand. “I know it doesn’t make sense, and when they get back they can explain it better, but you have to understand he couldn’t tell you. It’s a sacred rule, and Sam enforced it. Alphas orders get obeyed whether they want it or not.” She says scanning my face for my reaction as she continues.

" I do not want to cause you more distress than you've already had today, so I'm going to leave the rest to Sam and B/N," she said smiling softly at me. She took my hand in hers and rubbed it smoothly "Unless you have any questions to ask me"

I looked up at her and shook my head no. I loved Emily but this was all too much, all I had was one question for her.

"I only have one, why did my brother attack Sam like that? It was out of nowhere, I couldn't even react it all happened so fast." I ask with confusion trying to wrap my head around all of this.

She looked at me a bit stunned as if she didn't know that piece of information, and I had just said something totally bizarre.

"He what?" she said stuttering a bit. "Wait B/N attacked Sam? Is that why they shifted? I thought the boys caught a whiff of........ nevermind" she trails off at the end, not meaning to slip up.

"Caught a whiff of what?" I ask staring at her intensely. She looks up at me like a child getting caught doing something wrong by their parents, she avoids my eyes and stands up starting to clean up what I'm assuming was lunch, until the boys were interrupted.

"Of what, Emily" I ask a bit more sternly.

[baby-yongbok]

hiii since you were asking for suggestions, may i request bf!chan being pissed by bumping into their s/o chatting with their ex? i’ve been thinking about this scenario for a while since i don’t know if he would play cool and then be mad for a whole week or would alfa the situation

Thank you for the ask, bestie! When I think of Chan seeing you talking to your ex my first thought is Jealous!Chan. I feel like he's a bit of a possessive person even if he doesn't really mean to be but he does it from a place of pure love and a bit of fear. I feel like he wouldn't know what to do with his emotions until some time has passed... You'll see what I mean lol anyway, Hear me out...

Jealousy, Jealousy

Word Count: 1099

Genre: Fluff with a sprinkle of angst? like just a tiny sprinkle

✨Masterlist✨

Chan wanted to surprise you. You had been having a rough time balancing work and classes lately so he wanted to do something special. He had it all planned out, he was going to get food from your favorite place and your favorite flowers to make you smile. He knew that if he went to a particular strip mall that he could pick everything up in one go and get home before you got back from studying. He crossed the busy street stepping onto the curb when he saw it. Honestly, he wished that he was hallucinating, he wished that maybe it was just a girl that looked a lot like you - too much like you. 

Unfortunately, his wish wouldn't come true today. You stood there with your backpack hanging on your shoulder as you casually chatted with your most recent ex. The two of you didn't end on bad terms but that didn't matter to Chan, he didn't like the way your ex looked at you and ghosted a touch to your shoulder every time you would say something the slightest bit amusing. Everyone knew that Chan was a bit possessive but what he felt in this moment was a bit more than that, there was a small pool of anger bubbling inside of him that he couldn’t seem to control. 

Before he knew it he was stalking towards you, shoulders back and chest slightly puffed out to assert his dominance. He reached the two of you before you even saw him coming, his hand possessively finding a home on your shoulder and pulling you back into him. He took you by surprise and from the look on your ex’s face he was quite taken aback too.

“Baby, I thought you were coming home after studying.” Chan says not completely looking at you. His gaze was semi fixed on your ex and the way his eyes scanned Chan’s frame, he hated every second that the two of you stood in front of him but what he hated even more is that you welcomed it.

“Oh, yeah I - uh just ran into an old friend. Chan this is -” You’re cut off by Chan’s voice, his tone assertive and uninterested.

“I know who this is.” He looked down at you with burning eyes and you knew exactly what that look meant, he was angry. “We should really get going, come on y/n” 

Without another word or glance from Chan he tightened his grip on your shoulder and guided you away from your ex not even giving you the chance to say goodbye. It’s not like you would anyway, you knew better than to get on Chan’s bad side and since you already seemed to be there you didn’t want to push it. 

“Chan what was -” He glared at you and you stopped mid sentence deciding not to try to talk to him just yet. This was a conversation to have at home and nothing in the world could explain how much you dreaded what was to come. 

“So we just talk to our exes now?” Chan asked as he closed the door behind you both. You hadn’t even gotten to take both of your shoes off yet and the dreaded conversation was already beginning. 

“Baby, we just ran into each other as I was leaving the cafe. He was literally telling me all about his new girlfriend and I was telling him about you, my lovely and very jealous boyfriend.” Chan’s face twisted at your statement. His arms crossed and his gaze was fixed on the hardwood floor for a second before he spoke up. 

“I am not jealous, y/n” He stalked past you and took a seat on the couch avoiding eye contact with you. “I’m angry, I’m not jealous.” 

You followed him, taking a seat in the free space next to him. “What exactly are you angry about?” You ask with furrowed brows. You lay a hand on his shoulder and smooth reassuring circles into it.

“I’m angry that you were speaking to him! I’m angry that he looked at you, that he smiled at you. I’m angry that you were standing there with him instead of being home with me… I’m.. I’m just..” Chan’s voice got smaller and smaller as he processed the words that were coming out of his mouth. A small sympathetic smile ghosted your lips as you allowed him time to process his emotions.

“Fuck.” He whispered sharply before laying his head back against the couch. “ I am jealous… aren’t I?”

“Yeah, baby, I think that you are.” You lay your head on his shoulder and his hand finds its way to your thigh giving it a tight squeeze that you know is meant to be apologetic. You appreciate it as the two of you sit in silence for a minute or two. 

“I’m sorry…I’m not usually the jealous type I just… when I saw you talking to him it felt like all of my defenses went up and I just couldn’t stand the thought of him trying to get you back. My imagination went wild and I just didn’t want to lose you.” You shifted a bit, placing yourself in his lap and snaking your arms around his neck as he lifted his head to look at you. His lids were low and you could sense a bit of shame in his voice. 

“I understand, Channie. I probably would’ve gotten a bit jealous if you were talking to your ex too, but that’s okay cause you know what that means?” He looked up at you with furrowed brows and shook his head. “That means that you love me and I love you too, more than you will ever know. People get jealous sometimes, it’s natural, we just have to make sure that it doesn’t consume us and we have to trust that our other half won’t hurt us.” 

Chan shakes his head, taking in your words and processing them slowly. “ You’re right, y/n… I’m sorry for all of that. I trust you with all of my heart and I promise I’ll get better with that.”

“I forgive you, Channie, everything is fine.” You lean down, resting your head in the crook of his neck as the two of you hug and share some deep breaths. 

“But like, next time I’d rather you walk right past him. Kinda like he’s invisible ya know?”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Chan. We were getting somewhere.” You smile against his neck and he lets out a faint chuckle. 

“Okay okay, I’m just kidding… kinda.”

[missmarveledsblog]

Flumpy ( jake seresin x reader) part 9

summary : he can't let it end like this , truly and utterly he can't let this be the end , flumpy tells jake maybe he needs to think if a relationship is what he wants and give her space , cassie tries it again in the hard deck only this time jake stops it and shares his thoughts , rooster gives his two sense

warning : angst but fluffy ending because i'm sorry for the last part and am hoping this one gets me forgiven lol ,

A moment , just one moment she thought it was a horrible dream . That was til the sting of her now sore and dry eyes  and how cold and empty the bed was that really set the reality of things in . the thoughts of the woman all over jake , the accusations and venom from his lips hit her like a speeding train . how she felt coming home alone and crying herself to sleep . what was an amazing weekend turned to complete and utter shit show , one she wish never existed . she didn’t know what hurt more the way he let that woman think she could have him , the humiliation or the fact he thought she would do such a thing . 

She needed to get up , getting something into her sick riddled stomach and maybe just come back to bed for rest of the day . she dragged herself from the bed to her bathroom  the splash of cold water on her puffy face was soothing but the feeling in her stomach continued . maybe this was sign they weren’t meant to be or a cruel joke the universe was playing on  her . she pulled her door open startled slight at the incoming body or the thud to the ground . she wanted to feel bad as she looked down at the confused blonde,  the fact he fell asleep outside her door and how uncomfortable it must of been and yet when she looked at him all she saw was the tramp at the bar and the face of anger on jakes toward the one he was suppose to love . she was now pissed standing over him and storming to the kitchen even if her head , heart and eyes were hurting .

Jake never had gotten up so quick almost tripping over his feet as he ran to the kitchen . if he had to .. not had to he was prepare to fall to his knee and beg her to forgive him , beg her to let him make it right. 

“ baby i am so sorry shit sorry ain’t ever near enough to how much i fucked up , i trust you , i trust you with my life  he began . 

“ was that before or after that woman had her hands all over you , jake if you wanted to break up and catch up with an old fling you could of done so long before last night” she scoffed keeping her  back to him and her voice firm. 

“ no i wouldn’t  do that , i would never do that to you” . 

“ but you thought i would , you thought i would cheat on you,  you let that woman think she had a chance , you didn’t tell her no or to stop i was your girlfriend nah you thought better to turn the tables and humiliate me in front of our friends and everyone we work with , you made me look like a joke because i hug a man , a gay man i know from college , i would never do that on you , i would never made you feel the way you made me feel last night” she turned her eyes filling with tears ready to spill any second. “ maybe we need to think if this , us “ she stood turning away ready to head back to her room . 

“ i don’t want to break up , look i should of told cassie fuck off i shouldn’t of gotten so jealous  but seeing some guy so close and you putting your number in his phone and my head being a wreck already”  his own tears forming , his own voice cracking . 

“ you did that because a guy hugged me jake you don’t do that to someone you love” she cried he wanted to wrap her in his arms , hold her close to his chest but anytime he move closer she moved back. 

“ darling please i will do anything to make this right  , anything you want” he pleaded . 

“ give me space jake let me think about this” she sniffled . 

“I’m being deployed my head is messed up because i am being deployed, this is first time i have someone waiting for me come home  , a love that going to be waiting for me to get home , it’s killed me the thought of being away from you for three months and not being by your side but it’s killing me more that i’m coming home to nothing at all” he blurted out. 

“ my dad is maverick , my bestfriend and almost brother is rooster  i grew up around the navy  men i call my uncles i can handle deployment jake it would hurt but i can handle it and  do you not trust me to do that either , i need space ok just give me space” she walked off only for him to grab her hand. 

“ i trust you ,  i do really this is just new and i wasn’t thinking  but i do know it killing me more to know i may of lost my girl  , my life with you” . 

“ i need to think jake” was all she said pulling away from him  leaving him standing in the kitchen as tear streamed down his face and as she cried behind the door of her bedroom .

…..

It was hardest week of her life , she hated it not being able to be close to him , not having lunch in the back of his trunk or heading to the good duck park . she left the room every time he came into it , at work she was only giving him short answers even thought her heart panged with pain to just talk to him .  she couldn’t sleep either the bed felt so big and empty without him there , she felt sick all time her appetite was up and down  knowing they usually ate together it was just the worst time she could of been going through . 

“ hard deck tonight no excuses” nat told her walking out of the hanger before she could even answer . 

He felt rough , a week not knowing if he was ever going to make it right , she could barely look at him , barely speak to him it was a living hell .  his life felt empty and  even his performance was bad , it worst flying he’s ever done .  he done so many pushups this week he knew each part of gravel on the ground on a personal level .  he need to talk to her , he need to make it right some how .  just as he went to move towards the door she walked in with nat  . 

“ i didn’t know he was coming tonight” nat said but honestly not convincing anymore .

“ its fine come on” she moved past sitting in the corner those eyes that held so much love for him now filled with sadness and hurt.

“ jakey , there you are “ god why was this happening to him .

“ cassie fuck off really i’m here with my friends and my girlfriend “ he move back . 

“ last time didn’t seem like that “ she cooed reaching out to touch him only for jake to push her arm away. 

“ i love her ok , last time i should of told you that , shouldn’t have let you think less but that girl , that crazy will absolutely kick your ass , beautiful woman right there is the one i love more than anything” he said pushing past cassie altogether heading to y/n as  her eyes widened . 

“ baby you think i’m not ready for this and i wouldn’t blame you but you're wrong because i know nothing feels right without you being my girl ,  i hate waking up without you but mostly i hate going another second not having you being by my side , i’m serious  shit if i could i would marry you tomorrow “ the raw truth of his work falling like a dam was broken without him . 

“ marry me?” she gasped . “ you wanna marry me?” .

“ from the moment you put me in my place that day on the beach when we first met …face to  face” he nodded. 

“ hey asshole” a voice called only for jake to turn and a fist to connec to his face sending him to back . “ ok now you can continue i’ve said my peace” bradley shrugged moving to his friends . 

“ i deserved that” jake groaned rubbing his jaw. 

“ you did “ she agreed , “ lets talk outside” she stood handing him the napkin filled with ice.  “ oh and lady your lucky i’m not doing that to you” she stood looking at cassie. 

“ could of had a better time with me jakey” she cooed. 

“ fuck it” y/n muttered before well  doing what roo did sending the woman on her ass . “ now go talk” 

“ ugh my best friend is so hot” nat gushed. 

“ dude your boyfriend” 

“ i know my place” kyle laughed kissing his girls head. 

The night was calm well a lot more calm compare to start of the night as they walked down the beach it  was minutes but it felt like an eternity . til she stopped  sitting on the now cool down sand as the night time breeze flowed through her hair. 

“ you really meant it” she said breaking the silence . 

“ every single word and if you give me the chance i swear along as i’m breathing i will make it up to you” nodded .

“ you can’t flip when you see me interact with other men you need to trust me and talk to me when your feeling any type of way” she said softly . “ when you  propose  nothing too flashy  and big” she smirked only for him to push her on her back , attacking her face with kisses . 

“ or you say you’ll marry me now and i’ll get you a ring another time” he said leaning over her . “ i was dead serious  your it for me til we’re old as hell  still going to that good duck park” he kissed her lips softly. 

“ you’re crazy , this is crazy but i’m more crazy about you even if your an idiot but this week been hell without you  but before i say yes next year we’re doing couple costumes to the convention of my choosing” she arched her brow. 

“ i did say anything” he chuckled 

“ then yes jake  i will marry you , just not tomorrow we have work “ she smiled pulling him into a kiss . 

“ the day after works too” he winked .

part ten

taglist : @harrysgothicbitch @djs8891 @emma8895eb @darksparklesficrecs

[kairiscorner]

sorry, i need your help feeding my delulu if you so accept! miggy, but we are pregnant and he is going to be a dad again so he is soft but also so scared and aaaah!

HI ANON, DON'T BE SORRYYYY tbh you guys also feed my delulu when y'all give me reqs, this is a two-way street babes (✿◡‿◡) i hope you like this, i really wanna make it emotional bc this man and babies...... the multiverse hates them together 🥲

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

a second chance (miguel x pregnant!reader)

summary: you were going to deliver to miguel the happiest news you had ever received in your life--that you were pregnant with his baby. though... the wound of his past have yet to heal, and despite his love for you, his trust in himself is still practically non-existent. do you believe he deserves this chance, to be a father again? word count: 1,444

"you had something you wanted to talk about?" miguel asked you with a slightly puzzled look on his face as he sat down on the couch next to you, a little anxious internally. because for all the time you two have been together, you've always addressed your concerns and issues with miguel straightforwardly. you've never put off directly stating what was on your mind when you were with him, never once, and he loved you a whole lot for it. so why are you suddenly being a little... cryptic about whatever this was?

you looked at miguel with a slight hint of a smile on your face as you scooched over a little closer to him. you wrapped your hand around his, and soon, began to explain what you wanted to tell him. "mig, um... i really, really want to tell you that you are the most loving man i have ever met in my entire life." you said as you chuckled slightly to yourself out of sentiment, which miguel raised his eyebrows at. "and, well, you've made me feel the happiest i've ever felt in a long, long time." you went on as you interlocked your fingers in his.

miguel felt a little flustered in the face when he felt your touch, despite being with you for a long while now, he's never gotten fully used to the delicate feeling of your dainty, smaller fingers around his own coarser, bigger ones. he could hold you forever, if you'd let him; and when he means forever... he means forever.

you rubbed your thumb over his finger, evoking him to show a small smile as you continued. "and, miggy, i want you to know that, no matter what happens at the end of every mission... i'm always waiting for you, i'm always here for you." you reassured him, which just made his smile grow wider and his eyes become softer. "querida, what... what is this about?" he asked with a gleeful expression on his face, though he was still unsure of where this conversation was going.

your lips curved into an even happier smile as you leaned against miguel, though your face showed slight undertones of anxiety that was shrouded with the brightness of your joy at the news you were going to tell him. "i love you, so, so much miguel. and i hope... i hope you won't stop loving me for what i'm about to tell you." you told him as your voice softened, as you prepared to whisper in his ear exactly what you meant to tell him.

you leaned closer into his ear as he muttered under his breath, "i'd love you all the same no matter what you'd tell me," and soon... you came out with it.

"i'm pregnant, miguel."

those three words stupefied miguel for a moment. as you pulled away, he looked at you right in the eyes, and you could see in his own just how wide they got. the gleeful expression on his face was replaced with astonishment–and just like you, with slight hints of worry and anxiety.

"you... you are?" he asked as his voice shook. you nodded slowly, biting the inside of your cheek as you felt like this was where you two would end, this is when you'd see a version of miguel that you wished you'd never see–but it happens, sometimes; miguel is only human, and he's lost a daughter he considered his... of course you wouldn't blame him if he didn't want this.

but instead, miguel's surprised eyes were filling up with tears. real, live, genuine tears were welling up in the poor man's eyes. his brown eyes watered up as he asked you, over and over again–a smile growing on his face every time you said 'yes'. "i'm gonna be a dad? and you're... you're gonna be a mom?" he asked you, to which you–in your equally teared up and emotional state–answered him a soft, "yes, miguel. we're gonna be parents."

miguel let out a small chuckle as he held your hands in his, thanking heaven above for gracing him with you and for letting you bear this child you two made. he wept tears of euphoria–happiness wouldn't be enough to describe the feelings he felt when he realized the love you two shared had been given life, would be given a name, would cry out and be welcomed into the world and... and...

"...they'll live a life..." he muttered silently as he looked down at the cushioning of the sofa, staring into nothing in particular as he felt himself freeze up. miguel still couldn't stomach those two facts that hit him when you announced your pregnancy: he'd be a father, and he'd have a child–again. honestly, he has wanted this chance for the longest time. but when that opportunity presented itself... miguel ruined a whole universe in his wake. he felt like he killed a child–his child, but was never his child. he doesn't feel like he deserves this chance again; maybe it is a punishment for him, to remind him of his fatal mistake that day when he gave in to the temptation and stole a daughter that was never even his.

he felt filthy, and still feels that way.

"mig?" you called out to him as miguel muttered to himself, letting go of your hand slowly and placing his head in his hands. he muttered to himself, asking himself if he's even worthy of this second chance. you placed your hands on his shoulders, and wordlessly... you wrapped him in your embrace. you knew he'd do this, this was why you felt so anxious to tell him the news–but the miguel o'hara you loved and would become the father of your child, you felt, deserved this chance.

"i am so... so sorry..." miguel muttered as he looked up at you, his eyes teary now due to saddened sobs, his mouth curving down into an evident frown–his eyebrows curving upward to show remorse, guilt, and shame. "i don't know what i did... to be absolved of my sin, to... to be given another chance... as a father, a real father this time... i'm sorry..." he muttered through feeble sobs as you held him closer.

"miguel... i won't pretend i know what you're going through, or that i think i know what challenges your facing, but... this is your child–our child. if i'm given this chance to be the mother of your child, so be it, i'll take that chance. but i want you to realize... this isn't just your chance, it's ours. it's our child. never feel guilty for wanting to be a father again, and... please, don't think that you don't deserve this. we both do. and i'll take it, i'll take it with you because... i love you. and i love our child, i'll love you both so, so, so much..." you uttered to miguel as you watched the tears stream down his face as you spoke to him, your voice yielding to the torrent of emotions both you and miguel felt at that moment. you knew your words alone may not be enough to heal the wounds from his past, nor will your child with him ever erase gabriella from his memories and life; but you wanted miguel to know this second chance was something he deserved, that he deserved to be the father of your child and the man you'd love endlessly for that.

miguel wrapped his arms around you gently as he sobbed into your shoulder, muttering his thanks and promises to be a better man, to be a more loving partner for you and a strong, capable father for your future child together. "i swear... no matter what kind of hell comes our way, i'll be there to save you, both of you. i'm not losing another family again, never... i love you, and our child, so... so much..." he murmured as he kissed your shoulder and rubbed your back, with you reciprocating his embrace as you smiled through the tears. "i love you, too, miguel... and our baby would love you, too..."

and for the first time in a long while... miguel felt like he had something, someones, of his own; someone he would be free to love and care for, and would forever keep by his side. the wounds left in his heart from gabriella's existence would always remain as scars. your child would never replace her, she would always be special to miguel, of course; but your child would be his, his child--your child with him, who he'd love for a lifetime over, and be happiest calling his own.

a/n: I WANNA WRITE MORE OF DOMESTIC MIGGY NOW............ FUCK I NEED THE MULTIVERSE TO GIVE HIM THIS CHANCE

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Just Surviving | StepDad!Price & Reader

Summary: Price’s relationship with you, his wife’s daughter from another partner, isn’t the greatest, but he’s willing to try, and after a rough day at school, it seems he’s got a chance.

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: mentions of cheating, infidelity, bad best friend, school sucks, anxiety, panic attack, mentions of fist fighting bears?? THIS IS FULLY PLATONIC

A/N: I wish I had a price to be my father figure😔

Requests are open!

Captain John Price had settled down during his mid-40s, finding a pretty missus his age, courting her for a few years, and marrying her.

It was soon into their relationship, that he realized he couldn’t keep a woman and the military in his life at the same time. He had to make a choice, so he finally retired, a stern word from Simon about “appreciating good things that come to him” putting the final nail in the coffin of the entire ordeal.

But after the marriage, came a teenager. A teenage girl, to be exact.

The child of an old boyfriend of hers, his stepdaughter now, he knew. He hadn’t known what to think at first.

He wasn’t a jealous man, he didn’t see you as a symbol of your mother’s past relationships or an accident or mistake, no, he just wasn’t sure how to handle teenagers. They were loud, brash, and not to mention emotional. Always thought they knew the best for themselves, when in reality, they were hardly even bordering on self-aware most of the time.

Being in the military at a relatively high rank in a specialized position meant he didn’t have to deal with many teenagers, all of whom were just recruits who’d just arrived and probably realized how much of a mistake they’d made by enrolling. But it didn’t mean he liked them.

There were the rare few who were respectful, but in general, all the emotions, and for girls, the hormones and drama, he didn’t really know how to handle it. Gaz was better with all the gossip than he was by far.

He’d tried to reach out, to make an effort to include you in his daily activities and habits. He knew your father was a total douche who didn’t care much about you, and he wanted to make up for it, even if it wasn’t his fault, or really his problem, either. He made breakfasts for you, invited you to watch shows with him, and tried to show you how to fix up a flat tire or how to work with wood in the garage, but you always seemed mildly disinterested, just trying to pay attention to not be rude.

You were in almost the same boat as him. You’d never seen a man who looked like the stereotypical dad, a little beer belly, muscles hidden by fat, and a scruffy beard with crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Your real dad was nothing like him, looks wise or personality-wise.

He was the provider type, you could tell. And you weren’t too sure how to handle it, considering you didn’t want to come off as needy.

You called him ‘John’, and tried to pay attention to him, if not just giving little awkward smiles, but at the end of the day, he was just that-guy-your-mom-married. She loved him, she was happy, and if she was happy then you would be happy for her.

It all changed one evening when he was sitting on the couch, sipping on a cuppa tea, with a dash of cream just how he liked it, watching a show about surviving in the wilderness for weeks on end with no outside help when you arrived home from school.

You’d gotten home a few minutes later than usual. He’d noticed.

Your eyes were red around the rims, and a bit puffy as well. You sniffled, hands shaking a little bit around the strap where you held your backpack. A smudge of what he assumed to be mascara was under your eyes, as if you’d wiped away a lot of it. You were visibly upset and unsteady, breaths a bit shaky as you let your backpack drop to the floor with a thud, going to walk to your room, right past him.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

He asked, sitting up, and putting his cup down as his brows pulled together in a worried, confused expression. Sure, you two weren’t the closest, but he wasn’t going to let you go to your room and comfort yourself. You needed a father figure at the very least, and he wouldn’t let you go without one.

You stopped, glancing at him, swallowing almost audibly as you opened your mouth, then closed it, a sniffle coming out as you just began crying.

“Come here,”

He spoke, standing up with an abruptness you didn’t even know he’d had in his sore joints and bones. You sniffled again, little gasps coming from your throat between silent sobs. He walked over, gently letting his arms just hover beside your body for a moment, until letting them close around you in a warm embrace once he was sure you were fine with it.

You stiffened up at first, pausing a moment to just breathe before the sobs began again and you melted into him.

“I—my, my boyfriend, he—“

You hiccuped, and he made a gentle hushing sound like one would do to subdue a baby, letting his hand rub soothing circles against your back. He slowly moved you over to the couch, sitting down first, and patting the spot next to him in invitation.

You hesitated, before sighing and plopping down. He hardly had to do anything until you were leaning against him, arms curling around your own torso.

“What happened?”

He finally asked, voice smoothed over with a practiced calm as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you close until you moved to lean your head against his chest on your own accord.

“My boyfriend cheated on me.”

You almost whispered, sounding scared to say it, as if scared to confirm it as true. And as you said it, a few fresh tears began flowing, which he quickly wiped away with the calloused pad of his thumb.

“‘M sorry, hon. Some people in life just aren’t good, can’t blame yourself for it.”

He’d hardly ever heard of your boyfriend, only the sparing little things your mom would pull out of you. He’d seen him pick you up before in an old beat-up van, and seen him knock on the door before and ask where you were. You had been texting him constantly, calling him too. But Price hadn’t heard much of the lad other than what he managed to overhear and see.

“A-and, my best friend knew, and she didn’t tell me, ‘cause she said she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

That made him angry more than anything.

Cheating was a betrayal of trust in your partner that you’d shared almost everything with, but your best friend was objectively worse. You’d shared everything with a best friend, the good, the bad, the ugly, and they weren’t as easy to cut off as a partner. He could see how devastated you were and held you closer.

“That’s awful.”

He murmured, trying to soothe you as he saw your breathing pick up again, bordering on panicking. He’d been there before, and seen his men get to that point.

It wasn’t pleasant.

“I’m gonna have to see them every day, and she’s my partner for my science project—and I’m already behind on my science—and I have an entire essay that I haven’t even started on and I still need to research for it—and, and—“

Your sentences trailed off into incoherent mumbles as you couldn’t help but almost cry from the pure anxiety you were experiencing. John remembered how much he’d hated school when he’d been a kid, which was why he’d joined the military as soon as he was eligible. The school system was fucked, and it wasn’t helping that you had a shitload of responsibility placed on you so young.

“Hey, listen here. I’m gonna email your counselor, or whoever I have to, and you’re taking the day off tomorrow. We can work on your essay and projects together and finish ‘em, but for now, let’s just relax and leave all that for later, alright?”

He kept his sentences simple and short, taking proper care to enunciate each word clearly in his British accent, watching as you slowly began breathing deeper, nodding as if to convince yourself that what he was saying was true.

He pulled you just a bit closer into his chest, letting your entire body weight lean on him, one hand sneaking up to lightly run his fingers through your hair, which greatly resembled your mother’s. He grabbed the remote, and hit the play button for his survival show, watching, but more focusing on you.

He saw how you zoned out quickly, that glimmer of worry remaining, so he gave you a little nudge, jerking his chin to the TV.

“You think I could survive all that?”

You refocused, taking a good long look at the man surviving alone in the Alaskan Wilderness, squinting your eyes to see (he made a mental note to ask your mom about getting your eyes checked later), before replying.

“Yeah, probably.”

You said, letting the words hang in the air for a moment, before adding onto it.

“I could last longer, though.”

He raised his brows, a grin forming on his face.

“Yeah? How you planning on doin’ that?”

He didn’t bother mentioning that he was a former SAS Captain and would absolutely last longer than you in the wilderness. He’d rather you at least talk to him and get into a better mood, even if by making fun of him.

“I’d steal all your stuff, then make you fist fight a bear.”

He let out a low chuckle at that. It was an answer incredibly reminiscent of something Soap would say, or Nik, on second thought.

“I think I’d win.”

You raised a brow at him, a look of clear doubt on your face, before you both burst into little fits of giggles. When you finally managed to refocus on the show, he grabbed a blanket from the side of the couch, pulling it over both of you before taking a sip from his cup.

You both slowly got comfortable, eyelids growing heavy as you yawned quietly. Before falling asleep, you managed to murmur one last thing.

“Thanks, John.”

And maybe it wasn’t the ‘Dad’ he’d been hoping for, but that would come with time, or maybe not at all, and he found that he didn’t care as much as he initially thought he would. He’d finally realized that not all men who were fathers were called ‘Dad’, and that was just fine with him, as long as you were safe and comfortable.

[megsironthrone]

Panicking

Based on this request: : if requests are still open could i please request a sandor/reader where they escape kings landing together but she falls ill as they travel and he’s worried about losing her but is afraid to show it? she’s okay at the end and they confess ☺️💓

Here you are, lovely! I apologize for the wait! *Familiar characters are NEVER mine!*

Warnings: mentions of illness, cute fluff, it's a little short

Pairings/Characters: Sandor Clegane x fem!reader

Sandor Clegane was panicking. Sure, he hid it well, but you’d spent enough time with him in recent months to know. He had absolutely no clue what to do here. That didn’t faze you much. You knew how to care for yourself. The only question was why? Why was he panicking? You’d certainly gotten closer since you left King’s Landing together, but surely he didn’t care enough about you that a little illness would make him so antsy. Did he?

Sandor’s POV

What the Seven Hells was he supposed to do now?! This was not part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to fall ill. Illness out in the wilderness almost certainly led to death. You couldn’t die. You couldn’t. Not when Sandor-

“Sandor?” your weak voice broke through Sandor’s racing thoughts. He turned his sharp gaze to you and you attempted a smile. “We should probably make camp somewhere. I need to sleep.” Sandor didn’t reply, but nodded as his mind went back to imagining every scenario and outcome of this. All of them: bad. 

After finding somewhere to set up camp, you insisted on helping which Sandor tried to fight against. You argued back and forth until a fit of coughing led you to agree with Sandor and lie down for the night. Sandor stayed awake, keeping watch and listening to your labored breathing. He wondered if you would survive the night. Once you were asleep, Sandor sighed heavily and whispered, “Don’t die on me. The world’s taken so much from me and given me nothing…except you.” He spent the rest of the night hoping you’d get better.

*time skip*

You were finally feeling well again. It had been nearly a week since you’d fallen ill and both you and Sandor were beginning to feel like it would never pass. Sandor didn’t know who or what to thank. If the gods did exist, they had spared you. If they didn’t, then you were clearly tougher than anyone thought. An occasional cough still escaped you every now and again, but other than that, you were better. 

However, for a few days after that, you didn’t speak much. You seemed to be lost in thought so Sandor didn’t push. You would talk when you were ready and, until then, Sandor would enjoy the quiet for once. He would end up wishing the quiet would last longer when you finally did speak one night. 

“Sandor?” you asked and he hummed in response so you continued, “I heard you. The night you asked me not to die.” Sandor froze. You were not meant to hear that moment of weakness on his part. Not at all. Embarrassment worked its way through Sandor and almost instantly turned into anger. Something you picked up on almost immediately. 

“Please don’t be embarrassed!” you pleaded, “I-I’m glad I heard. If I hadn’t, I don’t think you ever would have told me that you…care for me.” Sandor let out a frustrated sigh through his nose. You went on quickly, “And then I wouldn’t have the chance to tell you that I care for you too. Very much. I don’t know if I could imagine life without you in it anymore.” 

Sandor pulled his horse to an abrupt stop, causing the animal to whinny. He stroked the beast's mane while staring at you. No one had ever admitted to caring for him before. “I don’t know if what I feel is love. At least not yet, but I am sure it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to it,” you confessed, your voice growing softer.

Nothing more was said, but Sandor felt himself blushing. The two of you carried on your journey after that. He would occasionally glance over at you and, when your eyes inevitably met, you would both look away quickly. You kept biting your lip, but Sandor could see the hint of a smile trying to fight its way onto your face. His face grew even hotter, if that was possible, but inside, Sandor felt a warmth he’d never felt before. A warmth that grew every time he looked at you. It was pleasant and foreign and Sandor liked it. It was a feeling the giant of a man would hold onto for the remainder of his life. Hopefully with you by his side.

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @supernatural4life2022 @line-viper @etherealpotter @gruffle1 @frozenhuntress67 @cd1242 @smalltownbigheart @asgards-princess-of-mischief

Sandor "The Hound" Clegane Tags: @songoficecreamandfireworks @nkjktk @silversprings98

[skibasyndrome]

💜 wilmon; (another version, please. And maybe I'll forgive you)

"I wish you were here."

sushsjjsuaiaja okay yeah I had a lot of people raising their fists at me for going with the sad version on this prompt yesterday, so I'm glad you came back to force me to do the right thing and redeem myself 💀 it's a little horny, nothing too nsfw, though

"I wish you were here," Simon sighs, shifting to get little more comfortable on top of the hotel sheets. A family holiday sounded like a great idea, until he realized that that meant having to go two whole weeks without Wille. Which for the most part isn't a problem at all, but in the evenings he does notice. Whether he'd like to admit it or not, but he's gotten so used to Wille's presence that falling asleep without him is hard. Especially without Wille's kisses and Wille's touches and without Wille spooning him. Wille's affirmative hum sounds a little tinny through the headphones, but it's so much better than not hearing him at all. He sounds tired, and understandably so, the six hours of time difference mean that it must be something like four a.m. back home in Stockholm right now. "Wish you were here, too," Wille sighs, sounding tired and soft and content, and Simon thinks it's an absolute crime that he doesn't get to cuddle up to him right now. Doesn't get to nuzzle his neck and kiss his shoulder. The thought of his boyfriend all alone in their spacious bed right now is doing all kinds of things to him, it's like his own memory is taunting him with images of Wille in his adorably oversized pajama shirt, Wille with his towel-damp hair, Wille's warm body, that Simon just wants to press himself against and slowly run his hands all over and- Oh, this is really not helping. Neither is Wille, who lets out another breathy sound on the other end of the line. Simon bites his lip, feeling a little sheepish about the spark that ignites in his tummy at the sound. He knows he probably shouldn't, Wille is tired and has had a long day, and still he agreed to talk to Simon, set his alarm so he could be there when Simon got back to the hotel. He shouldn't, but now that he's finally got Wille with him again, after going the first four days here without being able to talk to him, he can't shake the thoughts. Can't stave off the heat coursing down and settling behind his belly button. He shifts, feeling himself straining against his pajamas pants. "Wille?" he asks, noticing the waver in his voice. The silence in the room suddenly feels a lot louder than before, and Simon involuntarily holds his breath until he hears Wille's "mmh" through his headphones. It's a little silly how heavily Simon's heart is beating inside of his chest. This is Wille, after all. The worst he can do is tell him no, and then they'll just keep talking about other things until Wille gets too tired and Simon can jerk off alone later. But the quiet, no sound aside from their breaths discernible... something about the secrecy of whispering to Wille through the phone in the dark of night - the thrill of it all makes him feel on edge in a way he hasn't in a long time. He takes too long to answer, lets the moment stretch on. It's now Wille who's speaking into the quiet. "What is it, Simon?" he asks, voice a bit rough from sleepiness, but now a little more alert with concern, and somehow he feels so close right now, even when they couldn't be farther apart. Simon sucks in a deep breath, fighting back the images in his head of large hands moving over his body, of a wet mouth trailing kisses and nibbles down his chest, of a warm solid body pinning him against the bed. "What would you do to me if I was there with you right now?"

Thank you thank you thank you for giving me the chance to do my second idea as well! 🙏💜💜💜

Send me "Wilmon" + a sentence and I'll write you 5 (+) more

[lavendertales]

dark times || Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: the night you find Joel in a questionable state, to say the least, is the night a confession leaves your lips. A confession that both uplifts and shocks Joel.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: use of alcohol & pills (as depicted in the show); mentions of depression, loss, suicide; established relationship and a lot of fluff for all intents and purposes.

A/N: comments & reblogs are always appreciated! ❤️

It’s not unusual for Joel’s house to be this somber: lights almost turned off completely and utter silence. On nights when he’s perkier he might play around with his guitar, but tonight it seems it’s not the case.

You haven’t seen him almost all day.

The fugitive glimpses you’ve caught of him throughout the day have not been enough. Since you haven’t gotten the chance to talk to him, you simply assumed he was having an off day. On those days, you came to understand that, more often than not, he needed space.

But it’s well past midnight and you have an annoying pit in your stomach, an ugly feeling that won’t cease pestering you. It can’t hurt checking up on him, right?

You let yourself into the house, gently closing the door behind you. The wooden floor screeches beneath you ever so slightly, indirectly announcing your presence there.

“Joel?” you say, barely loud enough to be heard. “It’s me, I let myself in. Are you still awake?”

You see the light coming from the bedroom as you reach the end of the stairs, so you figure he’s either sleeping or just wallowing in self-pity. Again, not unusual. You peep through the door, noticing Joel curled up on the bed, still in his day clothes. As you approach, you notice how disheveled he looks in his green flannel and jeans and big, dirty boots.

“Joel, hey,” you say, gently nudging his arm. “It’s me, hi.”

You keep nudging him, but no response from his side. Perhaps he had one too many glasses of whiskey and he’s finally sleeping properly.

“Joel?”

You start to lose some of your patience and nudge him harder, but still no response. You call out his name, a rush of panic spreading throughout your body. Something tells you to check his pulse; he barely has one.

“Joel, come on, don’t do this,” you quip. “Joel, I swear to God—get up. Now.”

Soon, all words flee from your mind and the only one you can say, on a desperate loop as you try to bring some life into the body by shaking it, is Joel.

Joel. The only man you’ve ever loved.

You fail to realize when tears began to stream down your cheeks, hot and filled with an impossible ache, but you couldn’t care less, not now. You cup his face with your palms, examining every freckle, every eyelash, every portion of skin you can register.

“Joel, don’t you fucking dare do this,” you whisper. “Don’t—don’t you fucking do this to us, I swear I’m—Joel!”

Then suddenly, a mumble makes your eyes shoot wide open, staring down at the face beneath. Joel opens his eyes, trying to get a hold of the surroundings. Then he stammers your name, and you sigh in relief.

“I thought—what the hell happened?”

“Uh—“

He’s clearly not fully awake yet, so you finally scan the bedroom and notice the empty whiskey bottle on the nightstand, as well as a small plate. Then it dawns on you.

“What did you take?”

“Some—pills. And whiskey.”

“I gathered as much. I meant, what pills did you take?”

Joel rubs his temples. “Dunno. Didn’t ask.”

That’s when you finally lose whatever shred of patience you had. The anger you feel is searing hot and white, and you are unable to control it, seeing as how you swiftly stand up, eager to get as far away from Joel as possible.

“So what was the plan?” you whisper through gritted teeth. “Mix alcohol and pills and just… never wake up?”

Joel barely blinks, avoiding your eyes, and the answer becomes crystal clear. It awakens a rage inside of you that you weren’t even aware you could feel.

“You know what? Fuck you, Miller. Fuck you and your selfish, self-destructive wishes. I don’t need this.”

Joel calls out your name, coarse and yet soft, but you pay no attention.

“I don’t need to be adding your death to my list of concerns!” you snap. “I really don’t! I’ve got enough shit to deal with as it is, and worrying whether you’re still breathing or not is not there, it should not—it shouldn’t be there! So fuck you! Fuck you for making me fall in love with you and then making me worry about you! You and Ellie… how the fuck can you think to do this?!”

“You—you what?”

“How can you think to do such a thing when you’ve got people around you who care about you?! Ellie, Tommy, Maria… me! Fucking—me, loving you day after day, night after night, and never getting easier because—“

Your chest is heaving, filled with heavy breaths. Your eyes are teary and your heart—oh, how it aches at the thought of losing this troubled man. It aches for him, incessantly so, and tonight is nothing if not a testimony to your accidentally spilled feelings.

It is now, in the aftermath of your anger, that you come to acknowledge you haven’t said the L word before, and that this is a huge deal for someone like Joel.

But he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you; you simply stare at each other, hearts breaking and aching for each other simultaneously. You’re the one who decides to break the silence.

“Do what you want, Joel.” There’s defeat in your voice, as well as in your eyes. It breaks Joel too in unexpected ways, but he finds his body too heavy to react properly. He can only look at you regretfully. “I can’t tell you what to do. But I thought…”

You pause simply to catch your breath, only now realizing how hard you’ve been breathing and how much this scenario has been weighing on you.

“I just thought the life we get to start over here in Jackson would provide some sort of comfort,” you finish saying, wiping your cheeks. “I really thought you might be okay, or if you weren’t, that you’d talk to me or Tommy.”

Joel coos your name, struggling to stand from the bed, but you put your hands up in some sort of defense.

“Do what you want, Joel.”

You do feel some form of regret as you exit the house, still crying. Guilt slowly overwhelms you for not asking what was wrong instead of lashing out like that, but the truth of the matter is, you panicked. The thought of losing Joel like that was too much to bear, and seeing him in that awful state, probably drowning in his own thoughts and pain, it was shocking and debilitating.

For both of you, yet in different ways.

You hear your name being called out in the distance, yet you do not turn around. Although you want to see him, to look at him and admire the liveliness in his face, you also don’t want to see the pain residing behind his eyes, the hollowness of them.

“It’s her birthday today.”

You stop, the information sinking in.

“Was,” Joel corrects himself as he approaches you, clearing his throat. “Today was her birthday. Every year, it fucking sucks. I always try to forget, to leave it behind. It never works. I always wake up somehow… and I always remember.”

Your face softens, turning to meet with this face. When you do, you see the devastation smeared all over it, the troubling ache and the desperate need to fix the situation, and you sigh involuntarily. You know Joel used to be a contractor in his former life, and so he’s used to building and fixing with his own hands.

The inability to fix the worst pain of his life must be the most troublesome feeling.

“I’m sorry,” it’s all you can muster. “It must be unbearable.”

“It wasn’t intentional. I just thought I’d… numb myself, and then I’d wake up. Guess I did.”

You fear you sense regret in his voice, but you don’t express your concern. Joel, however, inches even closer and shyly reaches for your hand, lightly stroking the back of your hand.

“I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m ungrateful for the life I have now,” he mumbles apologetically. “You and Tommy and Ellie, and even Maria… you’ve given me a new purpose.”

“I’m sorry I was so harsh. I—I panicked.”

Tears threaten to flood your eyes again and you take a big breath in while Joel holds both your hands now.

“I saw you there unconscious and… I just…”

He pulls you in for a hug, and you finally exhale, buried in his chest.

“I just want you around for as long as possible,” you whisper. “It’s selfish, I know, but—“

“Love is selfish, I guess. That makes me selfish too.”

Eyes widened, you remove yourself from his chest to stare incredulously at him. But Joel’s face no longer seems wrecked—not to that extreme degree, at least. He seems confident in his words, whereas you probably look like you’re doubting everything you’ve ever heard.

“Did you just say—?”

Joel’s lips stretch in the slightest, revealing the beginning of a shy, small smile, and your heart flutters.

“Maybe I should’ve said something sooner,” he coos. “Thought it was obvious.”

You scoff, still unable to believe. “I do,” Joel continues. “I really do. It’s not… easy for me to say, not always. Never thought I’d say the words, ever again, but… here you are.”

“I don’t want you saying anything just because I accidentally said them.”

“Accidentally?”

“Well… I didn’t plan on saying that I love you under these circumstances or that I’d blurt them out like that, but… here you are.”

Joel chuckles, the sound so easygoing and saccharine it weakens your knees.

“That’s okay,” he replies, his mouth curling softly into a smile. “I have a better memory now for this day.”