#We’re not hurting you we’re just trying to exist
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damn-stark · 6 hours ago
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Chapter 31 In that big ol’ room
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Chapter 31 of Moonlight
A/N- we’re close to the end :(
Warning- talks of postpartum depression, ANGST, swearing, violence, fire, blood, and DEATH. SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.
Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader
Episode/Pages- 535-539
(If you want to be tagged let me know)
————
The memory of her death, even though it was recent and still a raw one in your mind, can’t stop playing in your head over and over again.
Like a veil it obscures your vision, not letting you take a good look at the newborn babies you just gave birth to, and here's the thing, as bad as it sounds you don’t care to look at them. Even if you cradle them both in your arms you can’t find that joy or relief to look at their red little faces and wait for their eyes to open to tell you who their father might be.
You keep the veil over your face like a badge of honor to remind yourself why you wear it. You don’t want to forget even if it's impossible to do so. Does it make you a terrible mother?
All you wanted to be as a mother was to be the mother yours was to you. You want to nuzzle with all three of your babies now that you’re together. You want to love them and let go of your pain, but…then Daenys begins to cry a shrieking cry and it takes you back to that moment where your mother shrieked before she burnt, and you’re bombarded with frustration.
“Take them,” you demand and turn to the edge of the bed to let a handmaiden take them from your arms so they can shush the shrieking babe.
However, she only cries louder and your frustration starts to torture you by bringing rage along.
You try to shake it off, but as you close your eyes the memory of your mother burning plays vividly so you quickly snap your eyes open and simply sit there ruminating in your anger and frustration, hoping it’ll fade into something you can manage, but alas, that veil only gets thicker to the point you can’t see what’s in front of you. All that exists is your anger and…a desire—no, an obligation to kill Aegon for what he did. It doesn’t matter if they end up killing you in the process.
You don’t care as long as he’s dead too.
He has to die…
Thus in a blinded rage, you swipe the scissors that the handmaidens used to cut the twin’s umbilical cord and then drag yourself off the bed, catching the immediate attention of all the handmaidens.
“Princess what are you doing?! You should not be moving!” Vanessa warns you and rushes to your side to attempt and move you back to bed, but you put your hand up to stop her.
“Leave me,” you snap without meeting her gaze. “I am going to try and call to my dragon,” you lie and push yourself off the bed, causing your bloody and soaked gown to fall over your body, and feeling sharp pains shooting throughout your body, threatening to keep you down, but you just clutch onto your belly and swallow back your pained groan before you start to drag your feet without bothering to put anything on your feet.
You just start walking, making the poor handmaidens' hearts hurt with pity and concern.
“Don’t dare and follow me,” you warn them as you keep the scissors hidden in your sleeve so they won’t stop you.
“But—”
“No,” you cut them off and leave out the door where guards are there to greet you. “If you follow me I won’t need my dragon to kill you. I’ll do it myself,” you warn them bitterly.
However, unlike the handmaidens, they move to trail after you, making you bring yourself to a stop and peer over your shoulder with a glare. “I said. Stay,” you grimace. “Guard the twins. They are more important. What threat can I be anyway?” You try to deceive them, and after a moment of debate, they step back to their previous position, letting you continue to trudge forward.
However, every step you take is a cruel reminder of what you just went through. And with every step you want to stop and take a break, but you keep moving your bare feet and exhausted body forward because what is your pain compared to the pain your mother went through every single second before she was ripped apart?
Nothing…that’s what. Nothing compares to the suffering she went through. It's why you keep moving forward. It’s why you clench your jaw as you grow angrier, and it’s why you clutch onto the scissors you keep hidden. Even though you have no idea where Aegon is, you keep moving—then again is it really hard to find him as he’s bound to that wooden chair?
Not likely. He can only be in so many places. Is it the throne room? The master quarters? Or the meeting room?
You’ll go search in all of them if you have to. Even if you’re writhing in agony you will find him. After all, what does he know of Dragonstone? He’s never called it home like you have. This is your home! Yours! Your mothers, your brothers, your cousins, and your children’s home! Not his! So you will find Aegon.
Aegon.
Aegon.
Aegon.
Aegon…
After a while of stalking through those corridors like a vengeful ghost terrorizing the castle, you finally catch the sound of his voice coming from the meeting room. He’s not alone either, you can hear Ser Alfred and Lord Larys with him too, but it’s okay you can wait and if they don't leave his side then you’ll still ram your scissors through Aegon’s throat.
You wait first though. Just for a while.
“…killing Lord Corlys Velaryon would not be a wise action. Even if Ser Alfred has a point about having Rhaenyra's allies suffer consequences, he still has the greatest fleet and a bastard boy who will never ally with us.”
Aegon hums before he interjects. “Then…we make him bend the knee and ask for forgiveness. He did turn against Rhaenyra when she imprisoned him, besides…his counsel would be welcome.”
The corner of your lips curl to a scowl and your grip around the scissors only tightens more.
“If he doesn’t comply we have his granddaughters in our grasp. We will just threaten one of their lives until he bends the knee,” he shares without an ounce of hesitation. His words just roll off of his tongue.
“That will surely work, but I’m certain we won’t have to take those measures,” Lord Larys says before Ser Alfred cuts in.
“That is if he doesn’t call to his other granddaughter, Lady Rhaena, and her wild dragon. With Astraea still alive, they could use Lord Stark’s new host and Lady Arryn’s host to turn against us. And we don’t have the numbers to compete.”
Aegon scoffs with displeasure and Ser Alfred continues with a bit of hesitation.
“That is why I suggest we kill Rhaenyra’s son Aegon…”
Your pinched eyebrows falter as the rage contorting your face turns to disbelief for a second.
“…That way they don’t have an heir to use against us. With Prince Aemond’s son you don’t need Aegon as heir, nor will your niece be a threat with her now betrothed to Lord Stark. Killing Aegon will discourage the forces, it will show them that we still have power and that we are not to be trifled with.”
No. No. No…
Aegon can’t die too. Your mother would have fought to the death to keep him alive; her last living son.
Plus, he is your brother. Even if you weren’t raised together and he’s more like a stranger to you, he’s still the last living brother you have so he can’t die. You can’t let him die, and…you…won’t. Even if it means swallowing your anger and your pride you will keep him alive.
Thus after a deep shuddering breath, you drop the scissors meant to kill Aegon, making a loud clattering sound the moment the metal hits the floor. After that, you draw out another trembling breath before you slowly step out of hiding and come across guards on their way to investigate the noise.
“I have come to see the King,” you mutter in defeat and ignore the way they look at you with disgust as you’re still wearing your birthing gown and have not cleaned any of your sweat, tears, or blood.
“This…way,” one guard points to the hall as he steps aside, letting you push your chin up and continue to trudge forward.
Once you’re in the sights of all three men you bring yourself to a halt and force yourself to drag your eyes toward Aegon, even if it brings you more pain than when you were walking where you are.
“Princess,” Ser Alfred gasps.
“Bring—”
“No,” you cut Lord Larys off and hold your belly. “I come to say one thing.”
You draw in a deep breath as you hesitate to form your next words.
You will say what you came here to say, there’s no doubt about it. But even if it hurts to admit it, having to sacrifice your own dreams to save your brother wounds you deeply because it’s Aegon; the man who killed your mother, the man who you always hated, and the man who has always been so perverted and gross. Furthermore, after having immunity by being betrothed to Cregan, Aegon is taking that away too.
“I,” you breathe out and break your silence, but don’t continue right away. First, you fall to your knees with a pained groan and then, continue with your head hanging. “…Will marry you.”
You miss the looks that are shared and fail to look strong and nonchalant. Your voice and your face both expose your weakness as those words pierce your soul.
“Just please,” you beg in a quivering voice. “Don't kill my brother. He-he can go to the wall the moment he turns of age. Just please, please don’t kill him,” you plead in the same desperation you used to plead for your mother's life.
“He’s all I have left of my family,” you whisper. “Please, Aegon. He doesn’t even have to be raised in the Red Keep, you can send him to be someone’s ward. Just please…don’t kill him.”
You can hear shifting and wood creaking before Aegon’s voice makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and a twinge of anger sparks back where it had been burning before.
“Look at me,” he says smugly because he has control over you like never before. And even if you don’t want to meet his gaze. Even if the thought disgusts and angers you, you slowly pull your head up and meet his gaze with a hardened look.
“I accept your proposal. It’s a relief you came to your senses, my sweet niece. Just tell me you renounce your betrothed Lord Stark and you are mine.”
You swallow back thickly and feel your lips twitch down before you open your mouth and respond with dread. “I do. I renounce my betrothed Lord Cregan Stark.”
——
*SOMETIME LATER*
“Were my letters sent?”
“Yes,” Vanessa gives your question a response before leaving you in your solitude once again.
“<I love you.>”.
Tears slipped past her eyes…small beads of salt and sorrow littered water rolled down her face the same way they involuntarily run down your cheeks right now. You remember.
Having memories is a blessing. The way one's mind can recall things that happened in the past is truly fascinating, but right now, like every other second since your mother died, your mind and your memories are cruel. They bring such a visceral physical aching pain that can’t be tamed, it's so deafening and it makes you grow overwhelmed fast. It doesn't even let you find solace in the sun's touch because you refuse to welcome its cold embrace.
Usually admiring the sea is a quick calming effect too, but even though you’re surrounded by it as you remain in Dragonstone, you refuse to look at it; almost as if it is guilty of causing your pain.
Lastly, being with Aerion is a great way to bring a smile to your face and relax your current aching heart, but you can’t be your children’s mother right now. You tried, you really have tried, but that connection feels like it’s blocked by the entity that is your rage, grief, and sorrow. It feels like you can’t love them until you take care of that which brought you pain and took everything away from you. Is it cruel?
Maybe, but you did make it your task to at least study your twins to know how they look, and you can say that Daenys has the same blond-silver hair and blue eyes Aemond had. It’s too soon to tell but you have a feeling she’s going to look like him too. As for Daenerys, she’s smaller just like she was in the womb; she’s a lot slimmer than her sister too, and her eyes are…grey, but Vanessa says that she’s far too young to really know if that’s the eye color she’ll have forever. They might change colors as she grows older, so the jury is still out on who her father might be, more so because her hair color is white-silver just like yours, which, that in itself is good. It’s something you don’t have to worry about anymore.
So now all that you’re pestered with is that you can’t be the mother that your children so desperately need. With Aerion grown so attached to your mother, he’s missing her terribly. He won’t stop calling out for her, and it hurts because you’re here but you can’t make yourself comfort him, and it’s not because you don’t want to, you do, but…there’s just so much pain that you can't scrape up an ounce of any other emotion besides anger. Loud, throbbing, and agonizing anger that makes you scream out to the ground as you fold over the edge of the bed.
Does that ease everything that torments you? No, but it lets you stand up and walk out of your chambers—at least Aegon lets you have free reign of the castle since you are his betrothed and because he knows you won’t risk your brother's life since he holds it in the palm of his hand.
Alas, when you step out and try to walk to the library or anywhere you can spend your time where Aegon won’t be, you’re reminded of your mother. The memory of her haunts every hall and every corridor, so you can either return to your quarters or go…visit Baela. You haven’t gone to see her or attempted to free her from her imprisonment because once again it’s your emotions that keep you away, they’ve kept you captive and isolated in your lonesome to let you simmer in your rage-born hatred.
However, you have nothing to do now and Baela has no clue what happened—and how can you let her continue with her days thinking of a life that no longer exists? And if you can’t muster an ounce of warmth then she at least deserves to know the truth. Thus after some hesitation, you make your way to the cells at the lowest part of the castle, but linger in the shadows for a moment and debate returning to the isolation of your chambers as you imagine how the interaction could play out.
She could hate you and she could also blame you for your mother's death, but if she doesn’t know she wouldn’t have the ability to do any of those things.
Yet she needs to know, so after a deep breath you slowly walk out of the shadows and make your way to the only occupied cell. Right away Baela spots the shadow that casts on the cell floor and lets her curiosity get answered by looking over and seeing you standing at the other side of those bars.
“Baela,” you greet her with a whisper and she takes a few more hard blinks before she shoves herself to her feet and rushes to the bars, letting you notice that she looks slimmer than the last time you saw her, and she has burn scars on one part of her face. She also has short hair now too so she sports a cute afro.
“The twins,” she says after she uttered your name with a surprised gasp. “They’re born?”
You offer her the ghost of a smile and nod. “Yes, girls, Daenys and Daenerys.”
Baela sighs with relief and offers you a sweet and happy smile that you can’t mirror. She’s quick to notice it; along with your drooped eyes and falling lips. Yet before she can interject you beat her to speaking.
“Aegon told me about what happened. I’m sorry about Moondancer,” you offer her your condolences and linger where you are for a second before you step forward and gently wrap your hands around hers.
“She went out fighting,” her voice quivers, and her eyes water. “And she might have not killed Sunfyre but…”
“He can't fly because of Moondancer, he’s rotting away in the courtyard,” you cut her off to offer her some hope before the dread is revealed.
“Sunfyre is dying?” Baela queries with a twitch of her lips.
“He is.” You nod. “No doubt about it. He should die any day now.”
Baela musters a faint smirk before lifting her chin and slowly looking at you in confusion. “What are you doing here without chains? Is Astraea okay?”
You nod lightly. “She suffered some injuries at the Second Battle at Tumbleton, but she will be fine. She’s just off the Island for now.”
Baela scoffs and passes you an amused look. “Why? Are you two upset with each other?”
You swallow back thickly and let the silence build up as you admire the way she manages to smile in such gloomy times and in such a dark space.
“No,” you mumble after a moment of admiration and drop your head to let out a heavy sigh whilst your grip unknowingly tightens around her hands. “Baela listen to me…I’m here because I was hurt in the battle at Tumbleton. Astraea brought me here and Aegon and his party were able to hold me captive,” you pause and she tries to slip her grasp from under your hold, but you refuse to let go.
“Okay,” Baela whispers.
“In my captivity, I attempted to escape to find my mother, and I did find her, but,” you swallow back the lump that was quick to form in your throat. “She was already here. I couldn’t even sail past the island,” you mutter and find it hard to look up at Baela even though you’re curious about her current reaction.
“I tried to save her. I swam and ran to her to try and save her, but…I-I was too late,” your voice quivers and you feel Baela stiffen under your grasp—“they overwhelmed us and Ser Jason betrayed us, so they were able to take us. That’s…when…Aegon,” you gasp shakily. “He…killed her,” you let out with a growl as your anger overturns the sorrow that was clinging in your throat.
“No,” Baela whispers. “No. No…” she trails off and manages to yank her hands from under your grasp.
You continue to look at the ground beneath your feet, but you hear her back away in the growing silence.
And it’s in the silence that violent memories of that night come forth and you stop feeling sorry for yourself. You push back your grief and sorrow, and let your agony, your loud and throbbing rage come forth to take control of every part of you.
“But it’s okay,” you interject in a voice that finally holds emotion, but not warmth to comfort her, a coldness that only accompanies the bad. “It’s okay, Baela,” you continue and look at her with a gaze bathing in raging flames of malice, giving Baela chills when she finds your eyes.
“<Because I will avenge her. I will avenge our Queen,” you say in Valyrian so the guards nearby won’t understand. “I’m set to marry Aegon, and it’s when I become his Queen and garner some of his trust that I will kill him. We will.>”
Baela watches you with concern as your eyes grow dark and a wicked smirk paints on your lips. Yet she also feels relieved that your mother will be avenged. It’s that fire that will keep the war alive and bring justice.
However, you then continue adding on to your plans.
“<But not before I burn down the part of King’s Landing that killed Joffrey and forced my mother to flee,>” you reveal without remorse or a hint of deceit, only coldness and madness, and that’s when Baela’s concern outgrows her own thirst for revenge because hasn’t she lost enough?
“<But you can’t,>” she protests your plans in Valyrian and makes your face contort with confusion.
“<But I can,” you counter. “I have the means to. I have my dragon. And they deserve it. How can they go unpunished when they rose up against the crown? Besides,” you scoff. “Say what you want about Aegon, but he is still a Targaryen and those were our dragons, he’ll let me take revenge and put those people in their place.>”
Baela makes her way back to the bars and you see her eyes are still gleaming, but now as she speaks you know she doesn’t cry for your mother, she’s tearing up out of a gnawing worry. “<But what will raining fire down on those people cost but your life? Your own humanity?>”
“<Humanity?>” You quip and feel your face twist back with anger. “<Did they have humanity when they killed my son's dragon? Or every other dragon that lived in that pit, at that? Did they have humanity when they rose up against a woman trying to help them?!>” You raise your voice and grip onto those bars with a deadly grip.
“Perhaps not,” Baela counters in the common tongue. “<But that’s when you become the bigger person and show them we can still be a fraction they can trust and believe in. We can have them help us in our fight against the traitors that still remain!>”
You look at her as if she offended you and shake your head. “But don’t you get it? It was because they turned against my mother that she had to flee. It was because of them that she’s dead! There's no point in saving such traitorous and disgusting people. Don’t you see?”
“And don’t you see that raining fire will result in more smallfolk asking for your head?!” She exclaims. “Don't you see that it will turn you into someone unrecognizable that you won’t even comprehend? You will lose yourself!”
You clench your jaw and lower your jaw as your glare turns fierce.
“Let it go,” Baela warns. “Let all that anger and thirst for revenge go because it will kill you and I have already lost enough. We both have. Just do it the right away. It may be a longer path but it won’t get you killed.”
You blink as you take in her words. Not because you’re considering them, but because you don’t know what to answer with. Not at that moment.
“No,” is all you muster, and fall quiet again, letting her draw out a deep breath and linger in the growing silence for a moment before you finally blurt words that just bombard your mind. “What if it had been Jace?”
“Don’t,” Baela warns but you continue and lean your face towards the bar.
“I will,” you rebuttal and keep going. “If it had been Jace who had died in that riot you would not think twice about doing what I want to do even if it cost your life!”
“I said don’t!” Baela exclaims and slams her hands on the bars hoping it will scare you off, but you just stare deep into her eyes and try to press her.
Yet there’s no buttons to push. Anger perhaps reigned over her once, but you don’t see it now through the windows that let you take a peek at her tired soul.
“Do what you want,” she says and follows up with your name as she continues. “Just don’t expect me to have your back because your mother is the last person I will grieve in this war,” she remarks and backs away toward the shadows of her cell. “I won’t hold a candle for you anymore,” she adds with an attempt at sounding angry but she sounds more sad than anything else.
“Okay,” you mutter and blink repeatedly, feeling your eyes sting with tears that build up in your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. You draw in a deep breath and nod stiffly in comprehension before you turn and storm away with your agitation almost rising off your head in the form of steam.
How could she of all people expect you to let your anger go? Why can’t she muster the energy to keep pushing a little longer? Isn’t her grief, rage, and agony loud and chaotic too?
Nevertheless, when you reach the door and try to leave the dungeon, the door opens and guards barge in.
There’s no one else in this dungeon for them to take so even if you're pissed off at Baela, you stop in your tracks and turn on your heels to watch them open her cell.
“What are you doing?” You probe with curiosity and worry that form quickly.
When neither of the men answers, you march over to the man yanking Baela out of her cell, and demand an answer. “Where are you taking Lady Baela? Answer me!”
The guard looks at you from the corner of his eyes and deadpans. “The King wants to see her in the courtyard.”
What? What for?
These men won’t answer you, they hardly wanted to answer your previous question, so you turn swiftly and storm past them to reach the courtyard first. That’s when you come to a stop though and get riddled with disgust when the stench of rotting flesh hits your nose before you’re shocked to see that Sunfyre is no longer struggling to stay alive. He’s dead, and Aegon…when you let yourself take him in you notice that his eyes are red and puffy, but they're also mixed with anger.
“What do you want from Baela?” You demand him and struggle to hold his gaze.
“So you do come out of your chambers?” Aegon remarks and doesn’t hold amusement or any kind of teasing glint, his gaze remains narrowed and locked on you. “You’ll see.”
You huff and stomp toward him to keep pressing him, but his sad attempt at a Kingsguard puts themselves in between him and you, leaving only glares to be passed and challenged until Baela is brought forth.
“Sunfyre is dead,” Aegon blurts but there’s a hint of…sadness in his voice and why wouldn’t there be? No matter what you feel about Aegon, he was still a dragonrider and his bond with his dragon was like yours with Astraea, so it’s easy to tell why he expresses such sadness.
“And it’s because of you and your damned dragon,” Aegon hisses and has the guards move aside to let him pass and drag his wooden chair toward Baela. “So it’s good your dragon paid the price, but now you must pay it too.”
“No,” you interrupt him and take a big step forward to try and get close, but a guard once again steps in between and blocks you away from Aegon with his arm.
“I renounced my betrothed to be yours. I am going to be your willing wife once we return to King’s Landing,” you remind him with distress building in your voice. “Which means that our sins have been pardoned, you cannot kill her. Spare her life.”
Aegon tilts his head and shakes it. “No. I already spared your brother's life. He’s a threat to my claim, but I spared him because you and I will marry. That was the only condition you could be granted. No more. She will die for what she did,” he spats in return and then snaps his gaze to the guards holding Baela so they can drag her to the block.
“Aegon!” You exclaim and look at him with desperation. The same desperation you used when your mother was in a similar position. “Please!”
“<I love you.>”.
You gasp and try to move toward Baela now that you have free range, but the guard that had kept you from Aegon wraps his arms around your waist to hold you back, making those words that just echoed in your head get louder, and making the image of her, your mother start forming in your mind and threaten to paralyze you.
“<I love you.>”.
No. No, no, go away. Go away…
“Aegon, please,” you whisper and look over at him with tears that are quick to form in your eyes. “She’s still your cousin. She…she…” you trail off as the image of your mother appears before you in the same way before she died, so you’re forcefully ripped away from the current moment and return to that night.
You see her as clear as day all over again. You see her in front of Sunfyre.
You want to save her, but you can’t. Once again you’re useless in the situation and you watch as the fire bathes her all over again, ripping her away from you.
“NOO!” You bellow and reach out for her, but the moment you blink you’re brought back to reality and Baela is now taking your mother's place.
“The princess is right about sparing Lady Baela’s life,” the new maester interjects and glances at you with concern. “She is still a Velaryon, daughter to Lady Laena, and granddaughter to Lord Corlys. If you kill her he might turn his fleet against you and trap you here. There has been no word about him declaring war so it’s safe to assume you can negotiate a deal but only if his remaining kin are left alive.”
You keep your eyes on Aegon to wait and watch him ponder the decision laid before him while Baela’s head remains on the chopping block.
“Aegon,” you mumble but don’t gain his attention. He keeps his eyes averted and remains silent until he comes up with his answer.
“Alright then. Send a letter to the Sea Snake’s bastard…the living one,” he snickers and steals a glance at you so you know he’s taunting you. “Tell him if he doesn’t present himself in a fortnight to pay homage to his rightful liege, his niece Lady Baela will die.”
The maester bows and scurries off, whilst the guards pull Baela to her feet and without needing to be told, they start dragging her back where they had brought her from, letting you draw out a deep relieved breath, and part away from the guard still holding you back to get close to Baela.
Albeit it’s when you’re near her that she drags her eyes toward you and mutters. “I did not need your help nor did this change my mind about you.”
You blink in disbelief and draw in a shaky breath of shock before you push your nose up in the air and nod stiffly because this hasn’t changed your mind about what you need to do. “If that’s what you want I won’t beg for your attention.”
You let out a deep breath and watch her get taken away with your jaw clenched, and your eyes cloudy with tears unaware of the fact that that would be the last time you would see her. Not forever, but while you waited for a response you were restricted from going down to the dungeons—so much for free range. So you were left waiting in your quarters for days and days for any response whether it was a direct attack or a letter.
Then again, you did not mind being still and waiting because it let you plan what you wanted to do to get rid of Aegon once and for all. Besides, you weren't desperate to look for some way to talk to Baela either. Perhaps you should’ve snuck your way down to the dungeons and made peace with her—it’s what your mother and Jacaerys would have told you to do, but you heard what she said, and you were being honest in what you said too, so you kept your word while you were waiting in your solitude and just planned and let yourself get lost in your thoughts again and again.
That is until finally word came from Kings Landing that your grandfather Lord Corlys had declared his loyalty to Aegon, and that he was pardoned and accepted back in the Small Council after declaring his allegiance to the Broken King. In turn, Baela was spared from her fate and finally brought out from the dark dungeon, but not spared from chains. She would be kept in chains until you reached Kings Landing, which won’t be long now because at long last, “we’re going home”, left Aegon’s lips.
Thus finally after weeks, you were allowed to leave the grey walls and haunting halls of Dragonstone. Yet what was leaving Dragonstone really worth when every waking hour, with every step you take, and every breath you breathe you’re reminded of her, your mother, and her death.
The memory of her death is like a never-ending loop that the sight of the sea can’t wash away while you’re on your way back to King's Landing. Which is such a shame because you really love the sea...
“You know,” you say to Aegon after you debated long and hard if you wanted to speak to him or not—“it was the Smallfolk who killed all the dragons. They’re the ones to blame for not letting you have access to a new dragon.”
Aegon watches the waves splitting against the ship while you watch the clouds with a hint of a smirk.
“I know,” Aegon mutters.
“We have to respond to their treason and rebellion with fire,” you share as you catch a large, winged shadow form in the clouds. “We have to remind them that there are consequences to their actions and that we are still the crown and that they are sheep. Even if they did defy the opposing side.”
Aegon doesn’t respond right away, he stays quiet and continues to watch the way the waves part.
“What would you have me do?” Aegon almost snaps at you, but he manages to keep his composure and just sounds annoyed.
“Let me rain fire on them,” you share the plan you’ve been brewing for a while. “Not the entire city, just a section of it so they remember we hold the power. That they have to look up at us. We are not their equal.”
Aegon slowly diverts his eyes away from the waves and starts to turn his head to look at you, but before he can take a glance the sound of clicking coming from above steals his attention before a roar that rattles the wooden boards and shakes the water's surface blasts from the clouds.
“Why should I trust you not turning against me when you’re on your dragon?” He asks the right question as claws and a purple-scaled belly break the clouds as Astraea reveals only a part of herself first before she dives down in front of the running ship and quickly yet shakily swoops up to the air with a large fish caught in her claws.
“Because,” you say with a faint smile as you watch your dragon go back to hiding in the clouds. “You have my brother's life in your hands and I will do anything to keep my last remaining brother alive.”
You finally drop your eyes to look down at Aegon and await his response, knowing that he knows that if he doesn’t act, people will view him as weak and he doesn’t want people to keep thinking that about him. Not anymore because after all that’s happened he’s still alive and the King.
“Fine. Do it,” Aegon gives in, causing a wicked smirk to break on your lips.
——
“Who is it that you wanted to be?”
A peaceful tranquility can almost be felt radiating from Shae’s Manse as the brisk wind running over King’s Landing almost seems to carry it in between its gusts that hit you while you sit upon your dragon; causing your long sleeves designed like dragon wings, and the end of your crimson dipped skirt to blow behind you while your shining silver chain head peace that falls over your face like a veil, sings as the wind makes the silver chains hit each other lightly.
“Besides wanting to be a sailor, or an explorer, or a singer, I wanted to be Queen; a kind one like my great, great grandmother Queen Alyssane, and my ancestor Queen Rhaenys.”
You’ve had time to think about what you wanted to do and yes there were moments in time when you hesitated and wanted to back off from your plan for the sake of the innocent lives that had to do with running your mother out of town. However, just as your plans fire is going to die out, the sparks of anger, revenge, and agony keep it alive because that same mother returns to haunt your thoughts, and then you can’t stand the thought of the people’s betrayal going unpunished.
Besides, they had their chance and they wasted it. They chose fear, so you will give them something to fear.
“<Forward.>” You command Astraea in Valyrian and nudge the handles down regardless of your verbal command. All without changing a single expression on your face. Even if you're full of rage, your exhaustion, grief, and agony keep their claim on your face, exposing someone who looks empty and tired of everything life has thrown at them, even something as small as expressing emotion.
Then again you are tired. You’re tired of it all. You just want silence and a moment of stillness and where else can you find it but here? In this current moment as Astraea flies past the wall and brings the Smallfolk a moment of darkness as her shadow casts over the streets, homes, and busybodies.
However, the darkness doesn’t scare them right away because when they look up they see The Adventurous Astraea, a dragon known as tolerant to people, protective and kind to those you love, and obedient to her rider. So they look away from the purple beast. Some welcome the dragon as they start to feel immediately safer due to all the criminal activity that has ravished the city. However, they should have known. They should have expected consequences for their crimes.
No bad deed goes unpunished and you are here now for justice. You are your mother and Joffrey’s revenge.
You are their terror.
“Dracarys,” you sneer and lift your chin slightly to look down at the people with a change in your gaze, going from an exhausted and empty look to a pierced glare reflecting the roaring fire as it falls from Astraea’s mouth and rains down on the people.
There’s no hesitation, no pause, or a small taste of justice. The cries and screams don’t reach your heart because now it’s impenetrable. Like a nasty and quick plague, the fire keeps unfolding over the streets of Shae’s Manse, causing that beautiful tranquility that once traveled past the city walls to erupt into an uproar of chaos.
Some people that were lucky to escape the flames that ate away at everything and everyone in its way, found salvation in Flea Bottom. However, the same can’t be said for the people who try to escape toward Rhaeny’s Hill because you and Astraea turn your terror toward it.
If only the Dragonpit had been intact because people could be safe and untouched by the fire in there, but alas, it was the Smallfolk who caused the Dragonpit to fall when they killed those dragons. It was their own stupidity that destroyed their biggest means of salvation because Astraea doesn’t put it up in flames, you make sure to leave it untouched by any flames.
When you fly past what was once the city’s greatest wonder, you continue to spread your terror with more vigor. With more rage and pure visceral hate because if it wasn’t for them your mother would have never fled King’s Landing! She wouldn’t have fallen in Aegon’s clutches! And she would still be alive!
But no, they ran her out of her home. They killed your brother Joffrey and took the person you loved the most. Them! They did it! Every single filthy person below was the cause of your mother's death. They robbed you of your hope, joy, and light and left you in the dark void where all you have is your pain that throbs in the same way your heart beats. And with every single ba-dum, there's a reminder of what you lost and the pain it brings. And with every other beat the pain and the hate that was already so overwhelming spreads.
How much more of it can you handle? You don’t want to hurt, but you can’t forget. The pain is constant and the memory is haunting and loud! You just want it to stop!
“Please, please, please,” you beg in your mind and close your eyes, but Sunfyre ripping your mother apart flashes in your mind. You see her dying over and over again and it all grows louder.
The cries and pleas coming from below grow tenfold, adding the volume in your head. The fire's constant roar heightens too and it all starts to swirl in your head until you let out a blood-curdling scream that finally brings silence.
The fire that you rain doesn’t come to a stop, you continue to spread it as you fly down the Street of Seeds, but everything is quiet. There’s a peace in the chaos that you alone relish in until finally you hit Cobble Square and have Astraea finally stop, letting you tune into the noise once again.
However, rather than turning your dragon around and flying toward the Red Keep, you descend your dragon and land on Cobble Square to watch the beauty of the flames as they rise toward the sky, and the thick smoke pollutes the air. Furthermore in that moment as you stand there taking it all in, a swarm of people who were unscathed, and people who were caught on fire run toward you, but not to seek your attention nor is it because they’re full of wonder by your appearance. The people ran past you in terror. They don’t try to touch you or ask for a simple greeting, they shove past you because they’re terrified.
And that's all you wanted, but not all you see. You also see your mother standing in the middle of the chaos that runs at you; she glows in the chaos and outshines the bright flames, but doesn’t carry any notable emotion. She just watches you and you watch her as if telling her that this is all for her.
After a lingering minute of the world just being about her illusion and you, you decide to turn away and mount your dragon to fly to the Red Keep. This time when you land, people don’t run, nor do they look at you with fear. You find horror in the eyes of the survivors like Alicent, Lord Borros, Lord Larys, and your grandfather Lord Corlys as they stand in the courtyard after having greeted their King.
Your grandfather tries to find the answer in your eyes, but when he finds your gaze past your veil of chains he sees a glossy yet narrowed and burning gaze. That girl he was looking for is gone; he sees that when you stop by him, but that's not all because he’s the only one who looks deeper than the surface. Everyone else sees a mad woman who couldn’t be stopped because it was the King himself who allowed the terror to happen.
“Welcome home, Princess. It’s good to see you again.” Your grandfather breaks his stunned silence, making you slowly find his gaze and neither smile nor frown. Your gaze remains glossy and hardened and keeps holding that fiery behind them that tells him without a need for words that there’s nothing good about being back.
“Did they find the guilty party for the uprising?” You ask bluntly without returning his warmth despite the fire you hold. “I want to see them”
Your grandfather sighs and hesitates before he nods. “Yes, but,” he pauses. “The King wants to wait until after the wedding to pass judgment on the guilty. He is eager…” he trails off and you avert your gaze and nod stiffly before you walk without bothering to greet anyone else even though Lord Borros had restored peace to the city, and Alicent couldn’t keep her eyes off you, almost like she wanted to talk to you but also couldn’t bring herself to do it, so instead she just stands there watching you until you completely disappear inside and aren't seen again. Not like before.
Before you were spotted in the halls of the Red Keep frequently. When you were young it always varied whether you were alone or accompanied, but you truly lived up to the name they had given you, “The Golden Girl.” It was always such a delight for so many to see you. And when you got older, when you returned from the North, people often sought out a mere glimpse of your appearance as you had grown more glorious, and it’s not like you didn’t give them a reason not to seek you out, because oh, you did. You intrigued them more with the warmth that flowed from you and embraced their presence like the sun embraced everyone it saw.
Now no one sought you out, you were not a glorious presence riddled with warmth. You would be like a dark cloud bringing in a storm that everyone wants gone and wants to avoid; if you would get out of your quarters that is, but you didn’t. You stayed inside your quarters as if locked inside, making everyone believe you felt safer and more comfortable within your four walls, but that was far from the truth. You’re miserable. You can hardly sleep or stand being awake. You hardly eat and don’t do anything you used to like. You hardly see your children. You’re just there wallowing in everything that torments you.
When the day of the wedding rolls around (which was only two days after you returned) you did manage to get in a few winks of sleep and when you woke up there he was, your husband, your Aemond. He’s still asleep with his long blond-silver hair in a braid, and his calm breaths making his chest and nostrils rise and fall ever so gently.
He honestly looks like a beautiful piece of artwork that you can admire for hours, but alas, you want to be that much closer to him so you raise your hand right from under you and reach out for his cheek to stroke it.
Yet, when your hand is about to make contact with his flesh you're abruptly reminded that no one is lying beside you, and Aemond is in fact dead. You wake up alone in a cold room looking at an empty space, remembering, like a slap to the face, that today is your wedding to the man you hate.
You could jump out of your balcony and avoid the entire thing, but they’re all now depending on you, aren’t they? Everyone that died? They depend on you to try and get your mother's own blood on her rightful throne. You can feel the pressure of their haunting hands holding you up, pushing you to keep fighting another day and walk down that aisle to play your part in this war still kept alive by sparks and people fanning the flames.
Thus you let the army of women get you ready. You drape on your heavy ivory wedding gown dipped in crimson red, and hide your grieving and hardened face behind a crystal-littered veil before you finally drag your feet out of your quarters.
This time around your wedding isn’t private nor is it done under Valyrian traditions like when Aemond and you married on that hill with no one but your dragons, Helaena, his mother, and Aegon. The sun isn’t out, and the sea isn’t accompanying you either, snow graces Kings Landing as it gently falls from the sky, and hundreds pairs of eyes are forced to be your witness to show the people that at long last the Targaryen family had mended their differences and rejoined their forces as one.
War will surely end now, and peace will finally return to the realm!
That’s all they want, that’s all they care about. They don’t care about Aegon marrying you, they stopped caring about you the moment you turned your dragon against them, so they don’t care if you look miserable. Not even the highborn Lords that stand nearby care that you never lift your head off the ground throughout the ceremony done under the eyes of the Seven. They just care about finally reeling you in and locking you away to bring an end to the war (they started).
The only people who care are Cregan who is too far to do anything to stop the wedding, and you, but they can’t hear you screaming and crying because you suffer quietly and act like the cooperating princess. That’s what you let Aegon see when he drapes his cloak on your back to signify that you’re at last his, cooperation and emptiness, and that’s what you continue to show him when he lifts the veil off your face. However, he ignores that as he's eager to finally know the taste of your lips.
“You truly are radiant today,” he says with a faint smirk, making you offer him a soft scoff as a response before you stand to your given height after having to crouch to his level, causing the veil to slip over on your face as you turn away from him to let the ceremony continue to the second portion; your coronation.
However, as much as you dreamt and as excited as you once were to hear those glorious words directed at you. Now you simply tune them out and don’t even think about smiling or mustering any ounce of pride when the time comes for the crown to be placed upon your veiled-covered head.
Albeit you also don’t look like there’s no soul inside your body. When you turn to face the crowd of people, your eyebrows are slightly furrowed, the corner of your lips droop with your faint scowl, and the crystal fragments on your veil cascade down so perfectly that it looks like there’s tears rolling down your cheeks, leading the audience to see you as some ethereal beauty; like those tapestries and statues of beautiful weeping gods. However, it’s all a trick of the bright white light reflecting through the windows of the Great Sept, because the mist in your eyes reflects the flames of ferocity still very much alive inside.
——
*LATER THAT NIGHT*
It’s a good thing Aegon can’t get his cock up anymore or else the night would be unpleasant and traumatizing. And it was almost traumatizing, but when it came to the bedding ceremony he couldn’t make it work, no matter the hunger in his eyes, so he began to drink and sent you off after he told you to swear that you wouldn’t tell a soul what happened.
But who could you tell? Baela? She doesn’t talk to you even though she’s not living in a cell anymore.
Vanessa? Sure, but the conversation will get a couple of laughs before it’s over and done with.
Rhaena? She’s still in the Eyrie and by the time she responds your amusement would have died down, so no there’s no one you could have actually told, he’s made sure of that…
Nevertheless, it’s a good thing the bedding ceremony didn’t last—or start to begin with because now you can put all your focus on the significant matter at hand.
“Ser Cane!” You greet excitedly as you watch him taking his hood off as he’s climbing up the steps of the Red Keep.
“Your Grace,” he responds with a hint of warmth in his otherwise nonchalant voice. “Look at you,” he muses and when he finally reaches you on top of the staircase he bows before he puts his arms out. “I hope it was a safe delivery.”
You avert your gaze and respond quietly. “It was a rather stressful one but the three of us are alive so it was safe.”
Your sworn protector sighs and drops one arm back to his side while he lets the other one hover over your shoulder for a second before he lets it fall gently. “My deepest condolences about your loss, my Queen.”
You blink repeatedly and feel your eyes sting at the weight of his words because you can hear that he actually means what he says, but you refuse to cry so you just take a deep breath and look up at him with a thankful smile. “Thank you Ser…was your trip here pleasant?”
Ser Cane drops his hand and shrugs. “As good as it gets.”
You scoff softly in response before you point your head inside. “Let’s get inside. It’s cold out here.”
Without any protest or attempt to add anything right there on the staircase where you have prying eyes, Ser Cane follows you inside to a secluded corner barely touched by nearby candlelight.
“How was the wedding?” Ser Cane asks with a hint of amusement.
“Pft,” you blow out and turn around on your heels with a smirk. “I got to wear beautiful gowns, and I now own beautiful crowns so I’ll say it was pleasant.”
Ser Cane scoffs and when you’re facing each other under the faint candlelight you begin to fiddle with your rings and probe. “Is Cregan okay? Safe?”
“He was worried,” Ser Cane admits as he watches your downcasted gaze. “He almost went mad with worry, but when we heard word of your wellbeing he calmed down. I’m sure he would be here in a heartbeat given the chance, but he’s keeping his head up and doing his job. He’s waiting on his army, they should reach him soon.”
Your lips fall as you nod gently in comprehension and take it all in without letting the news ache your heart too much. You feel it get tugged at as you imagine what Cregan might be feeling and thinking after you had finally gotten your chance to start your long-awaited story together, but he can’t take up all your thoughts nor can you let him torment you too harshly because there’s still a sliver of hope. If he gives you one more chance then there will be no more obstacles after this.
“How did he take the news about me being engaged to Aegon?” You have to ask as that specific thought has been killing you since he couldn’t respond back with a letter of his thoughts on the matter.
“I don’t know,” Ser Cane admits with a sigh. “I’m sorry, your Grace. He read the letter in his private quarters and when he came out, well…you know how he is. Cool as ice.”
The corner of your lips twitch up and you nod in agreement before you ask one more thing. “You didn’t tell him why you left, did you?”
Ser Cane scoffs. “Of course not. Who do you take me for?”
You smile and tilt your head to the side. “I am not doubting you Ser, I just know that if he had asked, you wouldn’t have denied him an answer. You’re respectful that way.”
Ser Cane pulls something out of his satchel that’s hidden behind his cloak and then shakes his head. “Not with your personal matters, My Queen,” he says with a small proud smile that stays on his face as he hands you a small flask wrapped with parchment paper.
Before you pull the paper off the flask though, you offer him a flustered smile and then proceed to take the paper off to read the words it holds.
“You are going down the right path.
I will see you soon enough. Until then.
-Alys”
You smile softly and with admiration, before you hand the letter to Ser Cane so he can put it away while you lift your hand to look at the slow-acting poison you asked Alys to concoct for you.
“Great. Now I hope you’re able to stand on your feet for a while longer, Ser because we have work to do,” you let him know with a smug hint in your tone of voice as you hand him the flask so he can keep it hidden for you in his satchel for now.
“Of course, I can,” he assures you, making you flash him a smirk before you depart from your dimly lit corner and return to your quarters, but not to stay there. You take the hidden passage hidden within the walls of your quarters and guide Ser Cane down corridors festered with rats and only lit by the torch that you both hold in your hands.
There are many times when your sworn protector wants to question where you’re leading him, but he trusts you so follows you blindly until finally, you hit a stone wall that holds a doorknob.
“Here,” you point your chin to the doorknob on the wall.
“Are you sure?” Ser Cane asks for your safety.
You hum in agreement and take his torch before you step aside to let him open the door.
Once the light from inside the room casts outside you hang the torches on the wall, and let Ser Cane take the lead to the mysterious room.
“Who goes there?” A voice from inside carries out, but doesn’t get answered as Ser Cane stomps in, nor when you strut behind him and get surrounded by the brighter room. You let the sight of your presence answer the question your grandfather, Baela, and Lord Larys ask themselves.
“Granddaughter,” your grandfather gasps as he watches you quietly stride toward the chair at the end of the table.
“Queen,” Ser Cane corrects him as he closes the secret door. “She’s your Queen.”
“Your Grace,” your grandfather corrects himself whilst Lord Larys immediately greets you with the right title and Baela stays quiet.
Albeit you ignore the greetings so it doesn’t matter. You just take a seat on the chair that steals all of the attention of the room, and sit up straight with your nose in the air and a smirk dancing on your lips.
“Sit my Lords and Lady, we have a coup to plan.”
.
.
.
.
.
A/N- Ser Cane the father that stepped up
Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa
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drdemonprince · 10 hours ago
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So I met a guy on a dating app. He’s also Autistic and we have a lot in common. Really hit it off and after some conversation he’s like To be honest I’m not looking for a relationship and I have someone else I really like but she’s not wanting a full on relationship either so we’re looking at ENM or maybe Poly but if that’s not your thing I understand. So I’m a bit disappointed but he’s sweet so I’m like ok let’s be friends.
Then it almost immediately gets sexual and we talk a lot about kink and fetish stuff that we seem pretty aligned with. Which is rare. We sexted a bit and it was great.
But today he told me he’s going on a date with someone. It’s actually a chick I also met off the the same app (I’m bi) but that didn’t bother me. What did bother me was that I got this instant reaction like upset that he was going on a date. It triggered something in me.
Not mad at all with him as he’s been super honest. But didn’t anticipate my own reactions.
So now I have to decide if I stop talking to him and let this go or if I try to move past it and enjoy the positive sides of our friendship.
We had tentative plans to meet in a few weeks time (we don’t live super close to each other). As a date but not a date.
Now I’m super confused about what to do. Especially as I really don’t meet many people that I vibe with and share similar “interests” with etc.
Just not entirely sure I’m built for the whole sharing thing…
Respectfully, it sounds like this dude fucking sucks ass at polyamory and doesn't know what the hell he's doing, and you're gonna get hurt.
First of all, he told you that he was poly because he is down bad for someone who doesn't want to be in a relationship with him? And so what, he's using his other dating partners as some kind of emotional or sexual stopgap?
That's objectifying and downgrading his potential future partners, including you, from the very start -- and it's setting you up to always be in the position of offering him temporary succor from the unrequited desires he has for this other person, only to be sidelined when she IS giving him a lot of attention. Sure, it's great he's being honest or whatever -- but the situation he's inviting you into is honestly disrespectful. You were disappointed to learn about this situation from the start. That feeling is an important signal! He's made it clear that he's not actually emotionally available and will NOT be consistent with you, and believes he has no reason to be.
It's also quite telling that after he established the nature of his relationship with this other person, he pivoted to getting very overtly sexual with you. This makes me wonder a lot about the woman he is pining away for, and what the terms of their relationship is according to her. (because if they're agreeing to get ENM or poly together, that's a relationship! Even if she says it's not a relationship).
Did she tell him that she cares about him but that she doesn't want to fuck him? Is she just less available than he'd like her to be, in terms of time and number of dates? What the hell is this arrangement between the two of them, how much of it was her proposal versus his idea, and where the hell do you fit in in all that?
If two people aren't fully sexually compatible and both parties want to explore sex and kink outside of their relationship to one another, that's fine; I'm living in that situation and it works great. But you have to approach prospective sexual partners with equal respect as you would your pre-existing partner (or whatever the hell she is to him, since they say they're not in a relationship?), and be clear about what you are and are not available for. It seems to me he asked you to be some kind of non-monogoamous, not-exactly-romantic-but-intimate "friends" with one another, and then tried to transition you into being a kinky sex partner once you expressed you could work with that.
I don't mean to remove your agency from this or act as if this is all something he is doing "to" you, because you expressed some interest in him and said the sexual connection is there. But... how much of this arrangement or how any of this is going has had anything to do with you or your stated preferences? Are you just going along with the flow because he seems nice and you want to see some possibilities there and for each new curveball he's throwing you, you're having to find some new way to justify it and make sense of it? What about what you want? What about your feelings? Why do you not get to determine what the relationship even is or where it is going, and he does? Because he's not getting what he wants elsewhere? That's not a good reason. That has nothing to do with you.
It makes sense to me, in light of what a mess his handling of this has been, that when you found out he was also pursuing other casual sexual partners that you felt jealous. Perhaps seeing him seeking out other non-committal, kind of formless sexual encounters with other people made you worry that you were being seen and treated by him in the same way, or that you were basically just a cog he was trying to slot into place for the time being. Or maybe you already felt on some level that you weren't given primacy in your relationship -- because this is a relationship of a kind! -- and now you have to worry about a whole other person who he has his own feelings for and agendas about altering how he relates to you.
You're not in the driver's seat in this relationship, hell you're not even really being consulted -- he's just making decisions about the various women in his life that he's trying to have meet needs for him and plugging them in and out of those roles as it suits him. The actual arrangement you all have entered into could be completely fine if all parties actively wanted it and had clarity and control over their own positions -- I'm a non-monogamous but *not* polyamorous person who dates people casually, and so i explicitly seek out others who are looking only for casual sex, that kind of stuff is fine -- but instead, this guy seems to be just making his choices up on the fly based on when he's horny, or lonely, or who is around and easy to get to.
I think you're giving a lot more latitude to him than he deserves, here. I'm not saying you need to dump him if you don't want to, if the sex seems like it could be fun you should go for it -- but on your terms. What do YOU want out of this connection? How do you see it? How much quality time, consistency, and commitment do you need? How comfortable are you with being non-monogamous and what kind of non-monogamy do you actively *want*? Do you see this guy as a friend? A casual partner (but a partner nonetheless)? A fuckbuddy?
There's a significant distance between you two, you two have been talking a lot, you call him a friend, and you call your plans to get together a "date." This is a relationship, whether he likes to admit it or not, and that comes with responsibilities to treat one another well and be honest, and to respect the other person's needs. And he doesn't seem to be showing any sense of responsibility toward the people he is in relationships with, and maybe doesn't even see them as relationships at all? He might seem nice, but the way he is navigating all of this is very selfish and instrumentalizes other people -- and so I think you should listen to that feeling you have of insecurity, because it's signalling that he's put you in a very insecure place.
Tagging in my homie @pastimperfection who always enjoys yelling about people doing poly badly
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itsanerdlife · 1 day ago
Text
Love & War
Pairing: Mafia!Peter Parker x Reade
Random one shot that I found on my server. So here you go.
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Stepping out of the shop you sip the drink you’d ordered. You chew the straw in your cup slightly. Mauling over your issues in your head. Break up struggles, fresh. The need to move on, strong. Yet you knew the burn deep down was the sting, the hurt. You just kept shoving it down, it was just too messy to cry over.
What was it really going to fix?
Besides your makeup was far to expensive for crying.
Lost in the world of your own, wondering what’s next.
What next happens when you’re not paying attention.
A hand closes around your upper arm. Not harsh, but stern like. Your head snaps over.
Peter.
Your lips curl, anger pulsed through you.
Your ex.
Tall, built, perfect brown eyes, wild brown hair, and the vein of your existence currently.
Oh did you mention, he’s the son of the God Father himself? You know, just the cherry on top, right?
“Don’t.” You warn him, pulling away.
Peter would never really hurt you, at least not physically. You try to walk away, but a fit body blocks you off. Sam Wilson stands in your way. A smirk on his face.
“Get in.” Peter nods towards the SUV.
“No.” You scoff. Sam pulls the door open, waiting.
“Get in!” Peter grinds out.
“No!” You snap at him.
“Now!”
Both of you seething.
“Make m-” his hand slips over your mouth, cutting you off. He leans in close to your ear.
“Trust me, babe. That’s not a sentence you want to finish.” He warns you.
You bite down on his finger. He growls, yanking his hand away.
“Drop dead Stark.” You bite at him.
Peter and Sam exchange a look. Your cup disappears from your hand. Peter scoops you up. He’s sliding across the backseat with you in his lap.
“Peter!” You yell.
“I gave you the chance.” He rolls his eyes, taking your cup from Sam who shoves the door shut a second later. You attempt to scramble out of his lap, but his arm locks down around you.
“Don’t even.” He warns you.
You growl.
“Doors are child locked. You can’t get out.” An annoyed chuckle follows.
“You know this is fucking kidnapping!” You huff, glaring from Peter to Sam.
“We’re aware.” Sam nods.
“It wasn’t my first option.” Peter shrugs. You pinch his arm, he finally removes it, with another growl. You slip into the seat, out of his lap, away from him. You turn your head, looking out the window. You couldn’t escape, but you could give him the silent treatment.
A moment passes, before your cup is held out to you. You glance at it. Peter shakes it softly, waiting for you take it. He shakes it once more, rattling the ice in the cup. You snatch it away from him, turning your body away from him. Chewing on your straw once more.
“Don’t pout, it’s not a good look.” He sighs.
Your head snaps over, glaring at him. Hating how good he looks, dressed in dress pants, and a pale blue button down. The sleeves rolled; top button undone. If you had to guess this was a spur of the moment kidnapping.
“Yeah cause kidnapping is such a good look.” You retort, looking away again. You catch the grin on Sam’s lips as he drives. You return to chewing on the straw.
His fingers grip your chin, turning your head to look at him once again. He’s leaned in on the opening between the two of you.
“Stop that, it’s bad for your teeth.” He reminds you.
“Stop that, you don’t really care about me.” You remind him.
His jaw clenches, you were pretty sure you could hear his teeth grind together.
“Stop saying that.” He orders.
“No, if you cared, you’d have respected what I wanted, and stayed the fuck away from me.” You tug your chin away. Ignoring his burning glare at you.
“You knew that wasn’t going to happen.” He mutters, pissed off.
Good that makes two of you.
Several silent minutes later, the vehicle comes to a stop.
“We’re here.” Peter grumbles. Sam opens the door for him. He steps out, with a deep breathe he turns waiting for you. His hand out for you.
Sliding to the edge, you put your cup in his hand, stepping out on your own with a dirty look at him. Sam just grins, watching the two of you.
Peter drops the cup to the ground, once again taking hold of your arm. He stalks into the building with you along. Sam strolls along behind the two of you, clearly enjoying this.
Stalking through the once abandoned warehouse, turned into a trade house. Illegal activity and products. Peter pulls you into the meeting room.
“Sit.” Peter nudges you towards a chair.
“No.” You glare.
“We’re not doing this again. Sit your fine ass in that chair, now. Or I will put your fine ass in it.” He stares you down. You yank away from him, dropping into the chair.
Frank, and Sam exchange a look as Peter checks his phone. His eyes snapping over to you every few seconds as if you were going to move.
You shift, brown eyes zero in on you. You slowly cross your legs, smirking at him. Knowing you were pushing his buttons, all your subtle moves, made him think you were going to run for it.
“Peter.” Frank clears his throat.
“What?” He looks up from his phone.
“I thought I’d made it clear we have a no abduction policy?” Frank smirks.
“She wasn’t cooperating. What did you expect me to do?” Peter huffs, rolling his eyes.
“Sure, demanding I get in the car with you. Was really much of an option before you resort to abducting me.” You sass.
“Is it really abducting when you’re married?” You look over at Tony strolls in. Looking smugger than all fuck.
“We wouldn’t be if he would just sign the fucking papers.” You fold your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes.
“Come on now.” Sam laughs.
“What?” You glare.
“You know that’s not how it works.” Frank chuckles.
“I got kidnapped twice! Because of him!” You throw your hand out at Peter.
“I apologized!” Peter groans.
“Sorry, doesn’t make it better!” You throw your hands up.
“How about telling him your very big secret?” Tony wonders, leaning against the table.
Your mouth puckers. Peter’s eyes slice to you, but he doesn’t say anything.
“It’s illegal to look into my records.” You hiss.
“Sweetie, everything I do is illegal. That’s how I got this position.” Tony winks at you, grinning.
“Secret?” Peter’s brow jerks up.
“I want a divorce.” You look away.
“She’s pregnant.” Tony throws you under the bus.
Your mouth pushes together, avoiding the men in the room.
“Well this got interesting quick.” Sam nods.
“Fuck off.” You mutter.
“Should you start this argument, or should I?” Peter asks.
“There is no argument, you got me kidnapped, twice.” You scoff.
“You can’t use that anymore.” He sighs.
“I can use it for the rest of my life. You didn’t get kidnapped, I did.” You remind him.
“Fine I got you kidnapped; you’re hiding your pregnancy. We’re fucking even. Moving on.” He waves his hand when you look over.
“Bullshit.”
“Divorce is off the table. Enough of that bullshit.” He gives you a pointed look.
You shift to look him straight on, a smug smirk forms on your lips as you lean forward.
“You know that’s not how it works.”
A grin slowly creeps over his lips.
---------- Everything Peaches 9/21/24 @mo320 @ml7010 @kmc1989 @babizza @coley0823 @destiel-artemis @royal-sunflower @camelliasblossom @shinycupcakebaker @purpleeclipseeggsland @daughterofthenight117 @hisredheadedgoddess28
Peter ‘Fuck Me I’m Weak’ Parker: @its-crystalli
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lemonynuggets · 4 days ago
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makes me so insane when I see people bullying others for existing like. Does this person’s existence hurt you this much. Do you really have the primordial need of shaming anyone that’s slightly different from you. Do you feel that much rage seeing someone else be happy.
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chirpsythismorning · 1 year ago
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Saying gay Mike would be hated by the ga bc that would mean that he used El all those years, is homophobic, just like saying bi-Mike would be hated by the ga bc that would mean he could have just stayed with El if he is also attracted to girls, is biphobic.
Bylers using either of these as the basis for why their interpretation is most likely to play out in canon, just makes me cringe bc why are we even wasting time giving validation to homophobia/biphobia as having the last word for how the show has to play out?? Is that what it all comes down to then? Appeasing bigots??
Gays aren’t evil or trying to intentionally hurt others, least of all gay kids that are figuring out their sexuality. Let’s not act like being gay wasn’t seen as being broken or needing to to be fixed, meaning that going along with what society views as normal, was and still is seen as the only option for queer people in general. And I say queer people in general bc you don’t necessarily have to even be gay to experience questioning your sexuality and feeling like you have to do things because everyone else is. Arguably we all go through that! But especially gays in the 80’s bc for a lot of people back then, it was a matter of blending in to survive (for many it still is).
Bisexuals aren’t evil or trying to intentionally hurt others for falling out of love, losing feelings, or just merely not being attracted to/compatible with someone of the opposite sex. Straight people are capable of recognizing that they aren’t attracted to or compatible with every person they meet of the opposite sex. Does any of that make them less straight? No. So why is it so hard to understand it’s the same way for bisexuals and even queer people in general? Nobody, bisexual or otherwise should have to stay in relationships with someone they no longer have romantic feelings for, just bc they’re attracted to them or even were just confused and thought they were but it ended up not being enough?? Attraction is important, yes, but feelings are arguably even more so (especially when you have something else to compare it to, causing the dilemma in the first place). I mean look at Stancy/Jancy? Is Nancy viewed as problematic for being attracted to Steve and having deep feelings/being attracted to Jonathan, and having conflicting feelings about that? No! And so why should it be problematic for Mike?
The reality is, homophobes are going to hate Mike if he comes out as queer, regardless of whether he is revealed to be gay, bi or unlabeled.
This is why basing Mike’s sexuality on the backlash of bigoted audiences’ is a moot point to me.
I mean, as it is, most of the general audience already hates Mike as a result of his behavior in s3-4, and this is straight Mike we’re talking about! I’m obviously not referring to milkvans or Redditors, bc they only make up a minority of hardcore fans who hate byler and will defend Mike to the point of demonizing El. I’m talking about viewers that have seen the show once through each time a new season releases and then move on afterwards without being in online spaces. That is the majority. The majority of the general audience, homophobic or otherwise, does not like Mike anyways at this point. So, who the hell cares what they think about queer Mike in the end??? They’re already anticipating going into s5 and continuing to dislike him, so the argument that the show can’t do this or that bc those same people won’t like him?… That ship has already sailed.
If anything I could see the non-homophobic majority accepting queer Mike, regardless of what label he ends up identifying with, bc then at least it will finally give them some clarity about where that resentment they had for him was coming from, ie misunderstanding him completely and now finally getting some answers.
At the end of the day, bigots will do what they do best. They’ll make up any reason they can think of for why queer Mike is wrong. And so why should we base our interpretation of things on what will be more palatable to those that the show was never intended for in the first place?
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void-tiger · 8 months ago
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Actually…? No. Tell me the odds. I need the likelihood of success and got nothing else to lose might as well try even if extremely unlikely. Because I need help sustaining the hope that everything’s gonna be okay and motivation to get there that I just can’t do for myself without burning out almost completely.
#tiger’s musings#mental health bullshit#…I am just. overwhelmed#by not knowing how to make this work#and being unable to beat the ED keeping me from taking the two steps that I DO know exist#because…I need a moral support body double. and one who won’t get disgusted as my lid flips the whole time I try to do this#and…I just can’t see someone WANTING to MAKE time for me. a small pocket. for us to both relax and catch our breath and enjoy eachother#I’m tired of ‘oh we’re totally friends Tiger!’ but. are we tho?#you set time aside for friends to either just. talk. share memes. or hang out no matter how infrequently#guess my love language really IS quality time#in addition to being very touch starved for Platonic Human Intimacy#and a side of acts of service. because…my chronic illness(es) force me to rely on others#beyond ‘I’d scratch your back if asked. can you please return the favor sometime so I don’t feel used.’#…I’m just. I’m tired. I’m tired of giving out love platonically and feeling Liked but Disregarded#while things also falling apart when I’ve either decided to leave or have to leave due to neutral circumstances or because I’m hurting#I…feel like I’m being Expected to be the one to reach out…again…over Just a misunderstanding#but if I do. it has to be with ‘look I KNOW we miscommunicated but THIS is what hurt me and I NEEDED That acknowledged or clarified’#but…the circumstances that led to the method being blamed for this miscommunication still. y’know. exist#so…what’s the point
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cowboykeery · 11 months ago
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so sick and tired of “stop posing like a millennial/stop the millennial pause” like why do we continue to make fun of people for the dumbest fucking reasons
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fingertipsmp3 · 1 year ago
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Lads, I have once again fucked up
#so you know how i found a half brother i didn’t know i had through heritage dna testing#and he contacted me and i sat on the message for a bit thinking ‘how the hell do i respond’ and even ‘SHOULD i respond’#well. i think i sat on it too long because he messaged me again today#this one was a longer message though. the first one just said ‘do you know how we’re related’#but in this one he kind of explained his side of things. he said he’s trying to find his biological father and he thinks i must be related#to his father. he said he didn’t want to cause me or my family any distress#and i was like. oh no. he thinks HE’S causing ME distress. whole time I’VE been worried about causing HIM distress#i haven’t wanted to contact him because i didn’t know how much he knows about anything whatsoever#like sir i’ll admit it did kind of fuck me up to realise that my dad had another kid and that he cheated on his second wife with a teenager#but then i was like. men are fallible. my dad was clearly a fucking idiot at 22. i can move on from that mentally#only i’ve had a stressful couple of days with maybe one good night’s sleep shared across three nights#my body is hurting me and i’m worried about physical therapy because i haven’t been keeping up with my exercises very well#so physical therapy is going to absolutely suck even more than usual#like don’t get me wrong; physical therapy is fantastic and i’m so grateful to be having it and it’s helping me#but it HUUUUUUURTS#so in conclusion i didn’t message my brother and now he thinks he’s caused a big problem#oh god i fucked up. i’m going to tell him everything tomorrow and apologise that i didn’t do it a week ago#in my defence; i found out he existed a week ago. i found out. he existed. a week ago.#i haven’t even told my grandparents yet like…… it’s not enough time to come to terms with the existence of a whole human being#y’know times like this i really wish i had a support network that consists of more than six people#one of which is my mom who is my biggest supporter but also fundamentally doesn’t understand how my brain works and never will#my stepdad who like barely counts realistically. my grandparents who would probably lie to the police for me but do NOT give good advice#my best friend who never answers her goddamn phone and is currently in scotland#and my other best friend who also never answers her phone and is currently in tacoma washington#i’m on my own kid. i always have been#to conclude; if you ever think i’m oversharing; tough. ya girl has no friends. unfollow if you’re sick of it#personal
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solxamber · 2 months ago
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Hello, I love your writing! The isekai fics are so fun, Vil's was my favorite! Can I request the twst boys (+ staff if you have inspiration for it) comforting a reader who just breaks down in tears after the seventh overblot is resolved because they haven't had much support and time to process being in a new world away from everything they've ever known, were basically told to play therapist by Crowley, and have had their life and their friends lives at risk. Lots of angst but mostly comfort in the end! Thank you if you write this!
7th Overblot Aftermath
Characters: All NRC + Staff
hi! and thank you so much 🫶 vil was the first one I wrote I'm glad you liked it. I love this request and I hope you like it <3
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The aftermath of Malleus’s overblot felt surreal. The sky had cleared, but the air was still heavy with the weight of what had just happened. It was over. Finally over. You had seen seven overblots now, each one pushing you and your friends to the edge, forcing you to confront darkness that shouldn’t have existed in people you had come to care for.
But this one had felt different. Maybe it was because of the sheer power Malleus wielded, or maybe it was because of how fragile the world around you had seemed as you fought to bring him back. You had nearly lost him—nearly lost everyone. And you were so, so tired.
Your knees gave out, hitting the ground with a soft thud. You stared at the grass beneath you, eyes blurring with unshed tears. Everyone was celebrating the victory, but all you could think about was the sheer exhaustion gnawing at your bones, the burden of playing mediator, therapist, and survivor all at once. You hadn’t signed up for this. You had been thrown into this world without warning, away from everything you had ever known, and you hadn’t had a moment to breathe since.
“I’m so tired…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
And then it all came crashing down. The walls you had so carefully built around yourself crumbled, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. Quiet at first, but then the sobs came harder, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break.
You barely registered footsteps approaching until a pair of hands rested gently on your shoulders.
Ace Trappola
"Hey, hey," Ace’s voice broke the silence, softer than you’d ever heard it before. “What’s wrong? You’re... crying.”
You hiccuped, trying to suppress the sobs that wouldn’t stop coming. Ace was never one for emotional moments—at least, not the serious kind. He usually joked his way out of anything too heavy, but right now, he seemed out of his depth.
“C’mon, don’t cry,” he mumbled, his voice awkward but concerned. “We’ve been through worse, right? I mean, we beat Malleus of all people. If we can get through that, we can get through anything.”
He crouched beside you, his hand patting your shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, though he was clearly fumbling. “Just… talk to us, okay? We’re here. You don’t have to keep everything inside.”
You shook your head, not trusting your voice, but the tears kept coming. Ace sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of what else to say, but he stayed close, his presence enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.
Deuce Spade
Deuce knelt down beside you, his expression full of concern. His hand hovered over your back, unsure whether to touch you, as if he was afraid of making things worse. He eventually settled on patting your back gently, his voice unsteady but earnest.
“It’s okay,” Deuce whispered, his usual tough demeanor nowhere to be found. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re all here for you. I—I didn’t realize how much you’ve been going through.”
His face was a mix of worry and guilt, as if he felt bad for not noticing sooner. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. You’ve been looking out for us this whole time, and I… I didn’t see how much that’s been hurting you.”
You couldn’t respond, your throat tight with emotion. Deuce, seeing your tears still falling, gently shifted closer, offering the only comfort he knew how: his presence. “We’re friends, right? And friends help each other. So… let us help you, okay?”
Riddle Rosehearts
Riddle appeared beside you, his normally rigid posture softer now. He knelt down, placing a hand on your arm, his touch surprisingly tentative. He looked at you for a moment, eyes filled with unspoken regret before he spoke.
“I should have seen how much you’ve been carrying,” Riddle began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’ve been through so much—more than any of us realized. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”
His words were measured, careful, as if he was trying not to overwhelm you. “I’ve been so focused on maintaining order, on fixing things after my own mistakes, that I failed to recognize how much weight you’ve been holding on your own.”
He sighed softly, guilt clear in his voice. “You’ve been our support through everything, but you’ve had no one to lean on yourself. That’s not fair to you, and it’s not something you should have had to do alone.”
Riddle stayed close, his hand still resting on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how—through quiet sincerity.
Trey Clover
Trey crouched down beside you, his presence calm and steady, like always. He didn’t say anything at first, just rested a hand gently on your shoulder, waiting for your sobs to slow. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or overly emotional words, but he didn’t need them. His quiet support spoke volumes.
“You’ve been doing a lot for everyone,” Trey said softly, his voice low and warm. “More than anyone should have to. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”
He offered you a tissue, waiting patiently as you wiped your face, though the tears kept coming. Trey’s hand stayed on your shoulder, a grounding weight.
“You don’t have to keep everything bottled up,” he continued, his tone gentle. “We’re all in this together, you know? If you need a break, if you need someone to listen… we’re here. I’m here.”
There was no judgment in his voice, no impatience, just the quiet assurance that he’d be there for you whenever you needed.
Cater Diamond
Cater slid down beside you, his usual carefree smile nowhere in sight. Instead, his eyes were soft with concern as he pulled out a tissue and handed it to you.
“Y’know, it’s okay to break down sometimes,” Cater said quietly, watching as you wiped your face. His voice was unusually subdued, and for once, there was no joking, no lightheartedness to deflect from the situation.
“We’ve all been through a lot,” he continued, “but I think you’ve been carrying more than the rest of us. Crowley’s been dumping all this stuff on you, expecting you to handle everything, but you shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”
Cater leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been the glue holding us together. But who’s been holding you together, huh?”
You let out a shaky breath, trying to answer, but the tears just kept coming. Cater didn’t push. He just sat beside you, his presence steady, offering you the space to cry without judgment.
“It’s okay to let it out,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ve got you now.”
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Leona Kingscholar
Leona crouched down next to you, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your trembling form. He let out an exasperated sigh, as if annoyed by the situation—not by you, but by everything you’d been forced to endure.
“Ugh, this is exactly why I hate people like Crowley,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Always dumping stuff on others and never dealin’ with the mess themselves.”
He placed a heavy, warm hand on your back, his grip firm but comforting. “Listen, you ain’t weak for feelin’ like this. You’ve done more than enough, and I don’t blame you for breakin’ down. Hell, anyone else would’ve lost it way before you did.”
Leona’s tone softened slightly, his voice low and steady. “You’re tougher than most of the idiots I know. So, stop thinkin’ you gotta do everything yourself. Just rest already.” He grumbled something under his breath about humans overworking themselves, but stayed close by, a quiet, protective presence.
Ruggie Bucchi
Ruggie hunkered down next to you, his usual cheeky grin replaced by something much softer. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly. “Sheesh, you really let all that pile up on ya, huh?”
He gave you a light nudge with his elbow, playful but careful. “Look, you don’t gotta carry everything by yourself, ya know? I get it—you’re tough. But even tough people gotta take a break now and then, yeah?”
Ruggie’s eyes gleamed with empathy, his voice taking on a gentle, comforting tone you didn’t hear often from him. “Life’s been a little unfair to ya, huh? I mean, Crowley dumpin’ all that responsibility on you… it’s not right. But you’re here, and you’re still standin’, even after all that.”
He flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “But you don’t gotta stand alone. You’ve got us now. Lemme know if you need a break—I’ll hustle for the both of us.” Ruggie winked, his familiar mischievousness flickering back into his expression, but the concern in his eyes remained genuine.
Jack Howl
Jack’s ears twitched as he knelt down beside you, his tail swaying slowly with a sense of unease. He wasn’t great with words, but the sight of you breaking down hit him harder than he expected. “Hey,” he began softly, his voice gruff but sincere. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”
His hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling firmly on your shoulder. Jack wasn’t sure how to help, but he wanted to—more than anything. “I know you’ve been strong… probably stronger than anyone should have to be. But it’s okay to let it out.”
He shifted slightly, trying to find the right words. “I… I know how it feels to be away from everything familiar. To feel like you don’t have anyone to lean on. But that’s not true. You’ve got me. You’ve got all of us.”
His grip on your shoulder tightened briefly, like he was silently reassuring you of his support. “You don’t have to face all of this alone. We’re here for you. And I’m not gonna let anything happen to you—or anyone else.”
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Azul Ashengrotto
Azul approached you cautiously, his usual calm and collected demeanor faltering as he saw you crumbling under the weight of everything. His steps were slow, calculated, but there was an unusual tightness in his chest. He knelt down beside you, his expression torn between concern and his usual polished facade.
“You’ve… been carrying quite the burden, haven’t you?” he asked softly, though there was a certain edge to his voice, almost as if he was angry—at the world, at Crowley, at everything that had led to this moment.
His hand hovered over your shoulder for a moment before he rested it gently, almost hesitantly. “I won’t lie to you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always admired how capable you are. But no one should be expected to handle what you have. Crowley’s negligence… it’s unacceptable.”
Azul glanced away briefly, his sharp gaze softening. “But you’re not alone anymore. You have us. You have me. And I promise, I won’t let anyone take advantage of you again—not without consequence.”
There was a sincerity in his words that Azul rarely revealed, a vulnerability hidden beneath his usual polished exterior. “You don’t have to keep being strong on your own. Allow yourself to lean on someone else for once.”
Jade Leech
Jade knelt gracefully beside you, his usual serene smile gone, replaced with a look of quiet concern. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was gauging how best to approach the situation. “My, you’ve been holding this all in for quite some time, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice as smooth as ever, but with an underlying warmth that was rare for him.
He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his fingers light but reassuring. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask of you. It’s no surprise that you feel overwhelmed.”
Jade’s gaze flickered over your trembling form, his mismatched eyes studying you carefully. “It’s a great deal of responsibility to bear, especially in a world so far from your own. But… you’re not alone.”
There was a softness in his tone that you didn’t expect, his usual composed demeanor shifting. “You’ve been strong for everyone else. Now, allow yourself to rest. Let us take care of things for a while. You’ve certainly earned it.”
He smiled gently, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reliable. “And do not worry. Should anyone try to take advantage of your kindness again, they will have me to deal with.”
Floyd Leech
Floyd approached you in his typical loose, carefree stride, but when he saw the state you were in, his usual playful grin vanished. His steps quickened, and before you knew it, he was crouched down right in front of you, his mismatched eyes widening in genuine concern. “Whoa, hey, hey! What’s this?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined your tear-streaked face.
Without hesitation, he pulled you into a tight hug—so sudden and fierce that it left you breathless for a second. “You can’t cry like this, Shrimpy. It doesn’t suit you,” he said, his voice unusually soft, though still carrying that familiar teasing edge.
Floyd squeezed you tighter, his long arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. “If things are bad, you should’ve just told me. I’d go squeeze the life outta Crowley for you—he deserves it.” He chuckled, but his grip didn’t loosen, like he was afraid you might fall apart if he let go.
He leaned back slightly, still holding you close. “You don’t gotta be strong all the time, you know? You’re my friend, and I don’t let my friends break down alone. So, whenever you feel like this, just come find me. I’ll squeeze the sadness right outta ya.” His words, though playful, carried a weight of sincerity that made your heart ache a little less.
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Vil Schoenheit
Vil stood before you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a rare softness. “You’ve let yourself reach this point of exhaustion,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not your fault, but you shouldn’t have been forced to carry this burden alone.”
He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm as he took your hand. “You’ve been strong for so long, but even the strongest need time to recuperate. Don’t mistake vulnerability for weakness. It takes great strength to admit you need help.”
Vil brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’ve given so much of yourself, but now, it’s time to prioritize your own well-being. I won’t let you neglect yourself any longer. Remember, even a diamond can crack if too much pressure is applied.”
Rook Hunt
Rook’s eyes sparkled with emotion as he knelt gracefully beside you, his usual exuberance tempered by an uncharacteristic stillness. “Ah, mon ami, you have been carrying such a heavy heart all this time,” he whispered, his voice a melodic lilt.
He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch light, almost reverent. “To be in a world so foreign, surrounded by danger, yet still you’ve stood tall… such beauty in your strength. But even the most resilient soul must rest.”
Rook smiled warmly, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “Let us lift this burden from your shoulders, together. You are not alone. I, too, am by your side, always watching, always ready to catch you should you stumble.”
Epel Felmier
Epel crouched down next to you, his face tight with concern. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not used to comforting others but determined nonetheless. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he muttered, his country drawl creeping into his voice. “Crowley’s a real piece of work, throwin’ all that on ya.”
He reached out, offering a hand in his own shy way. “You’ve been tougher than most, and I admire that. But that don’t mean you gotta keep it all bottled up. It’s okay to feel this way. We’re all here for ya, and I’m not lettin’ anyone mess with you anymore.”
Epel’s expression softened, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got us, so don’t think you’re alone in this. We’ll face it all together.”
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Kalim Al-Asim
Kalim immediately rushed to your side, concern written all over his face. “Oh no! You’ve been carrying all this by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me?” he exclaimed, kneeling down and grabbing your hands with both of his, his usual exuberance tempered by a rare sincerity.
He gave you a bright, reassuring smile. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else, but it’s okay to take a break. You don’t have to do everything alone—you’ve got us! And I promise, from now on, we’re all going to make sure you’re okay too.”
Kalim’s warm eyes sparkled with optimism. “Let’s go celebrate once you feel better! Something fun and happy—just to take your mind off everything. I’ll plan the best party ever, and you can just relax, okay?”
Jamil Viper
Jamil crouched down beside you, his dark eyes watching you carefully, as if assessing your every emotion. He sighed softly, his voice low and calm. “You’ve been under more pressure than anyone should have to deal with, and none of it was your fault.”
He rested a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding. “You shouldn’t have had to bear all this alone, but you don’t have to anymore. I understand what it’s like to carry more than you should.”
Jamil’s eyes softened, though his expression remained calm and composed. “From now on, you can rely on us. I won’t let things spiral out of control again, and I won’t let Crowley push you to your limits anymore. You deserve to take a step back and breathe.”
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Idia Shroud
Idia stood awkwardly at a distance at first, his usual nervous fidgeting even more pronounced as he saw you breaking down. He hesitated before kneeling beside you, keeping his hands to himself. “I, uh… I get it,” he muttered, voice quieter than usual. “Feeling like the world’s too much to handle? Yeah, I’ve been there.”
He shifted uncomfortably but spoke with genuine understanding. “You’ve been through way more than anyone should. And, uh, it’s okay to not be okay. You don’t have to act like everything’s fine all the time.”
Idia’s blue flames flickered a bit brighter as he added, “If you need to… y’know, not deal with everything, I’ve got games and stuff to help you chill out. No judgment. Just… take it easy, okay?”
Ortho Shroud
Ortho hovered closer, his usual upbeat tone shifting to something far more gentle. “You’ve done so much, and I know it’s been really hard on you,” he said softly, his mechanical voice somehow conveying warmth.
He floated down beside you, his small hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone anymore! You’ve got big brother and me, and we’ll help you through everything. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself.”
Ortho gave you a bright smile, his eyes glowing softly. “Let me help you feel better! We can work together, and you can lean on us whenever you need to.”
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Malleus Draconia
Malleus approached you slowly, his imposing presence softened by the genuine concern in his eyes. He knelt gracefully beside you, his voice low and soothing. “You have been through much, more than anyone should bear. It is no wonder you feel as though the weight is too much.”
He extended a hand, his fingers brushing gently against your arm. “You are not alone in this world. I understand what it is to feel isolated, but you have friends, and you have me.”
Malleus’s gaze softened further, his voice almost a whisper. “I am here for you, as are the others. Rest now, and let us share in your burden. No harm shall come to you as long as I stand by your side.”
Lilia Vanrouge
Lilia floated down beside you with a lightness that contrasted the gravity of the situation. His usual playful demeanor faded, replaced by quiet empathy. “Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection. “You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
He rested a hand gently on your head, giving it a comforting pat. “You’ve done well, more than anyone could have asked of you. But now, it’s time to let go of some of that burden. There’s no shame in needing help.”
Lilia smiled gently, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “You’re not alone, not anymore. We’ll protect you. You can lean on us when you need to.”
Silver
Silver knelt beside you, his calm eyes filled with quiet understanding. “You’ve been strong for a long time,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”
He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to let yourself feel overwhelmed. It doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’ve been through too much.”
Silver’s eyes softened as he spoke. “You have friends here, people who care about you. You can rely on us. I’ll be here, watching over you, so you can rest.”
Sebek Zigvolt
Sebek approached you with his usual fervor but hesitated when he saw your tears. His sharp voice softened, though it still carried his typical intensity. “Human! You have been through much, but you must remember—you are not alone in this!”
He stood tall beside you, his green eyes blazing with determination. “You have shown strength, but it is not weak to ask for help! Lord Malleus would never allow you to suffer alone, and neither will I!”
Sebek crossed his arms, standing like a guardian at your side. “You are under the protection of Lord Malleus, and by extension, my protection! No harm will come to you now.”
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Crowley
Crowley fluttered over, his usual flamboyant demeanor subdued as he saw your distress. “Ah, my dear prefect,” he began, wringing his hands nervously. “It seems that perhaps I’ve… placed more on your shoulders than I should have.”
He knelt beside you, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “You’ve done so much for this school, more than anyone could have asked of you. And for that, I owe you a great debt.”
Crowley’s voice softened, uncharacteristically sincere. “But now, it’s time for me to take some responsibility. You’ve more than earned your rest. From now on, I’ll make sure you have the support you need.”
Divus Crewel
Crewel knelt beside you, his sharp eyes softened with concern. “You’ve been through hell, pup,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And it’s no surprise that you’re feeling the strain.”
He reached out and adjusted your collar with practiced precision, as if he could fix your emotional state as easily as he could fix your appearance. “You’ve shown remarkable strength, but even the strongest need a break."
Crewel’s voice took on a more gentle tone as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not expected to bear the weight of the world on your own, pup. You’ve more than proven yourself, but now it’s time for you to let others shoulder some of that burden. I won’t allow anyone to exploit your loyalty or determination again.”
He straightened up, his steely demeanor still present but tempered with warmth. “You’ve got me in your corner now. If anyone dares push you to the brink again, they’ll have to deal with me. Understood?”
Mozus Trein
Trein approached slowly, his usual stern expression softened with concern as he adjusted his glasses. “You’ve been under undue stress, haven’t you?” he observed in his deep, calming voice. “No one should be forced to handle such pressure alone.”
He knelt beside you, his demeanor fatherly as he rested a hand on your arm. “This world has not been kind to you, I see that now. But you’ve handled it all with remarkable resilience. However, even the strongest minds and hearts need time to recover.”
Trein sighed deeply, his tone softening further. “I will ensure that you are given that time, without further demands placed on you. You’ve done more than enough.”
Ashton Vargas
Vargas came over with his usual boisterous energy, but seeing you in distress made him pause. His expression softened, and he knelt down beside you. “Hey, hey! What’s all this about, huh?” he said, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You’ve been holding up the team for too long, I see. That’s a heavy weight, and it’s no wonder you’re feeling tired.”
He placed a strong, reassuring hand on your back. “You’re tougher than you think, but even the toughest need a break sometimes. You’ve done amazing—really! But now, it’s time to rest up and let others carry the load for a bit.”
Vargas smiled warmly, his usual energy tempered with sincerity. “You’ve earned it, champ. We’re not leaving you behind. We’ll get through this together.”
Sam
Sam quietly appeared beside you, his usual playful smile replaced by something softer, more caring. “Well now, looks like you’ve been carryin’ quite the burden, huh?” he said in his deep, smooth voice.
He crouched down next to you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. “You’ve been strong for everyone else, but you can let that go for a bit. No shame in feelin’ overwhelmed.”
Sam’s eyes twinkled kindly, and he gave you a warm smile. “Remember, you’ve got friends, and we’re all here for you. Anytime you need a little pick-me-up, you know where to find me. No more carryin’ this all by yourself, alright?”
Grim
Grim strutted over, his ears twitching as he noticed the tears on your face. “Oi, what’s this?” he huffed, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly concerned. “You’re not supposed to be cryin’. You’re supposed to be tough, like me!”
He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle the situation, before awkwardly patting your arm with his paw. “Uh... stop bein’ all sad, okay? You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here, right? And that’s ‘cause you’ve got me, the Great Grim! I mean, you’re my henchhuman, so obviously you’re tough enough to handle anything!”
He puffed out his chest, trying to inject some of his usual bravado into the situation. “I’ll take care of things next time! No need to worry. Just... stop cryin’, alright? It’s weird. I’m supposed to be the one gettin’ pampered, not the other way around!”
Despite his tough words, Grim stayed by your side, his tail flicking nervously. “But, y’know, I guess... if you need to cry, that’s fine too. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”
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celestie0 · 3 months ago
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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]
title. let me be free of you
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He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.
ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls
ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending
ᰔ word count. 4.8k
a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33
➸ masterlist
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“I’m engaged.”
The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it. 
He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.
He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.
“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.
“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.
“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket. 
Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.
“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.” 
Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.
His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.
So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.
Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible. 
It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.
It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–
“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.
He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you. 
“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”
“To be married?”
“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”
“You’re not allowed to get married.”
He snorts. “Says who?”
“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks. 
There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.
“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”
“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age. 
“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”
“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.
“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”
His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”
“How come?”
“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”
“Her father?”
“Yes.”
“And why is that?”
“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”
The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.
“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?
He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.” 
“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him. 
“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you. 
But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?
“So…are you marrying her because of–”
“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.
“Satoru…”
He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation. 
“Listen…” he starts.
He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.
“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”
You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.
“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.
His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.
“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”
His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time. 
He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.
Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes. 
But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.
“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”
You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.
“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–” 
“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”
“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.
“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.
You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.
“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.” 
“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–” 
“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you. 
He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.
Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.
Ah.
But.
But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden. 
Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.
He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.
When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.
His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.
“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut. 
“Heading back?” he hears you ask.
He stands. “I’ve got to.”
“Okay.” 
You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating. 
“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.
“Yes?” you ask.
He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw. 
“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”
You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes. 
“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”
You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie. 
“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape. 
You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”
“Friends.”
You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”
His eyes widened slightly.
Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”
“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you. 
“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”
His heart stills at those words.
You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”
His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.
“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”
He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.
You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”
You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”
He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist. 
He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you. 
“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”
He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now. 
It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives. 
It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.
You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.
His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains. 
“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.
His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”
.
.
.
[the end] 
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a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)
➸ masterlist
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auroralwriting · 4 months ago
Text
the gun
spencer reid x genius!bau!reader
oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, they both reached for the gun, the gun, the gun…
"you just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius."
word count: 2.3k
warnings: cm violence, blood, enemies to lovers, kinda rushed im sorryyyy, fem reader slightly mentioned
a continuation of this story can be found here
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Spencer and you always competed. He had an eidetic memory, you had a photographic.
The difference between you two was anything you ever saw, read, you held in long-term memory. Spencer’s, though, resided in short term. However, Spencer was also an autodidact, meaning he could teach himself anything. You also had a vast emotional intelligence. You had such strong empathy, you could detect any micro-detail anyone displayed, making you the perfect lie-detector one that even Hotch couldn’t evade.
Spencer was Jason Gideon’s special boy. Gideon helped Spencer make his way in the BAU. You were David Rossi’s special girl, him noticing your skills from a young age when he met you during a case. He guided you to make all the best choices, leading you to the BAU as well. It took a few years, timing and all, but you got there.
When Dave transferred to Quantico’s BAU, he requested your transfer as well. He thought you would mesh well with the team. More specifically, he assumed you and Spencer would become a genius duo; totally unstoppable.
Oh, how wrong he was. It was from the moment you’d corrected Spencer on some statistic he spewed, you both became enemies forced to co-exist on the same team. There was never a civil moment, always some fight. It was sad, too. You remembered the first time you saw him, you were struck by how cute he was. Too bad he decided to hate you before you got a chance.
Vividly, you remembered the most intense fight you both had.
“So someone with a medical degree,” Hotch muttered. “That’s got to be impossible.”
“It’s more likely that have a nursing degree.” Spencer replied. “We’d be looking at around one hundred eighty thousand people a year. If our unsub is a new graduate, that’s the numbers we’d be looking through.”
You shook your head, “It’s actually one hundred fifty seven thousand. Also, narrow it down to nursing degrees in New York, and you get around eight thousand. Eleven percent were men, so around six hundred. Lower it even more to those who don’t have any family members, most likely from group homes, you can get maybe seventy?”
oh, yes
Garcia clacked away at her keyboard, “My baby’s got it! Seventy two people. If we’re looking at NYU specifically, thirteen.”
Pride filled your system. It was fulfilling when you were able to get things right. Spencer, on the other hand, wasn’t too happy about that.
“You know, nobody asked your opinion.” He scoffed.
“It isn’t opinion, Reid. It’s purely fact, ones you should probably get right.” Your reply had Spencer clenching his fists.
How dare you insult his intelligence? His IQ was much larger than yours, you weren’t one to speak on that. “Maybe you should focus on the case instead of trying to be a people pleaser,” Spencer sneered your way.
His reply made you roll your eyes, “At least I can tell what people want. You’re oblivious, Reid.”
oh, yes
Slowly, the two of you began to go back and forth, your voices raising. Before the situation blew up, Hotch stepped in, trying to mediate. However, Spencer mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t just let go. It hurt, stung like a bee, and you weren’t going to let him walk away feeling victorious.
“At least my mentor didn’t up and leave me.” you snapped. “He’s still with me, he didn’t just vanish with a stupid little note as a dingy goodbye.”
Spencer had paused, face dropping. You read him like a book, you’d gone too far. He showed minuscule signs of distress, grief, sadness. The room was silent, no one quite knew what to say.
oh, yes
“Reid, I-”
“Save it.”
Spencer had walked away, leaving you to feel shameful of your words. Rossi just squeezed your shoulder. The man knew you didn’t mean it.
they both
Since then, it was like the two of you were on each other’s cases, constantly bickering and arguing. Now, you were almost subconsciously battling each other for the genius role of the team. Was there any need to? No, not at all, but your fights had become not a battle, but a war.
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You stood outside the bank with your team. “They have hostages,” You identified, attempting to peer inside. “There’s no way we can go in. It’s a suicide-murder mission.”
oh, yes
“There’s gotta be a way,” JJ shook her head. “Maybe there’s another way in.”
“It doesn’t look like it,” Derek sighed.
After a few hours, Will made the decision to go inside. You had to help hold back JJ as he walked in. Hearing the bullets made you sick. You physically had to double over, holding back the tears. It suddenly hit you how dire the situation was. You went back to the van with the team. No one really knew what to say.
"Did you see where he was shot?" JJ asked. "Is he alive or dead, Garcia?"
Penelope's breath was shaky, "I don't know."
"He was wearing a vest." Emily reasoned. "He might be okay."
JJ gave a smile, but it was one of disbelief. "Might be," She muttered, shaking her head in reply.
It was then that the team decided to go in. You shoved your gun in your holster, "I'll take first point," You offered. "Check and see if Will's okay. I'll try and manipulate them into letting me go to him." Hotch nodded. With your knowledge of psychology and your emotional intelligence, Hotch knew you could do it.
they both
"L/n, it's too dangerous." You heard Spencer say over the phone. "Just wait for me to tell you where to go in."
You rolled your eyes, "Reid, I'm not stupid. I've handled multiple hostage situations."
Spencer didn't reply. You liked that. This was the first time you'd be able to prove yourself without Spencer's help. This was honestly just a way for you to prove you were the better of the two. Your actions were motivated by the desire to be the best; a classic narcissistic move. You weren't a narcissist, though. You just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius.
Oddly enough, hostages flooded out of the bank as you made your way back outside. Maybe Will was alive and managed to get them all out. Once none more came out, you and two other cops began to make your way inside stealthily.
Right as you got in the middle of the bank, you heard Rossi's panicked voice over your comms, "Abort, abort!"
oh, yes
There was no time to reply. It all happened so suddenly. You heard the explosion before you felt it. It was hard to breathe. You couldn't see, hear. It slowly registered that there was a bomb, and it went off.
they both reached for
You had no clue where you had been thrown to. Everything felt cold, really cold. A loud ringing filled your ears as you slowly sat up. You touched your head, pulling back to feel stickiness on your fingers. Your vision was blurry, but you knew it was blood. You had to get out of the building. You needed help, medics, your team. Was anyone else in your team inside yet?
they both reached for the gun
A grunt left your lips as you stood up. You felt your legs give out under you, and you went down again. The desire to live was stronger than your physical weakness, and you stood up again. It was so dusty and hazy that you couldn't see. You leaned on the nearest wall for support, slowly using it to try and find your way out of the building. All that you heard in your head was get out, survive, get out, survive.
After what felt like ages, you felt a breeze against your skin. You followed it, hoping it would lead out, and it did. The light was harsh on your eyes as you tried to scan the area. It was then you saw Spencer and Hotch-- what was Spencer doing here? He was still at the BAU last you'd checked. Maybe the blast knocked you out cold.
Trudging your way over, you weakly called out. "Aaron, Spencer,"
the gun
Spencer knew he heard his name. He looked up from the blueprints of the building to see you, blood covering different parts of your body, your skin covered in debris and dust. You had limp, and your eyes were blown out. "Oh my god," he muttered, running over to you.
the gun
The genius took your in his arms as you fell into him, "How'd you get here?" you asked. "What's for dinner?"
Spencer took notice of your confusion as he allowed you to lean on him. He took your face in his hands, "Y/n, look at me. Focus on me,"
the gun
You couldn't directly look at him. Your eyes darted all over the place. "Where's Rossi? Did he go in?"
"No, Rossi's okay." Spencer leaned over his shoulder, "We need a medic!" He yelled, quickly turning his attention back to you. "It's okay, you're okay."
oh, yes
"I can't feel anything," you breathed out, "That can't be normal. Is that normal? Spencer, am I dying?"
oh, yes
Spencer shook his head, "You're okay, it's okay."
"I can't die," You softly whimpered. "I'm sorry, Spencer. 'M so mean to you, I don't mean to be."
Deep down, Spencer knew you meant what you were saying. The fear of dying without getting your true feelings out always lead to admissions of the truth. "I know, I know," Spencer smoothed your hair. "I don't hate you, I don't. You're going to be okay." Spencer slowly became anxious as he noticed the amount of blood seeping from your head. "Look at me, please, keep talking to me."
"'M sorry," You muttered, feeling your eyes grow heavy. Spencer's face began to fade as you collapsed in his arms.
Spencer felt his breathing grow heavy as he held you tightly. "Medic! She's-- oh, god, Help!"
they both reached for the gun.
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A steady beeping was the first thing you heard as you woke up. The light was a blinding white, and you let out a groan at it. Your body hurt like hell, and your head was pounding.
"Shh, shh. It's okay, here, let me just--"
The white lights went out and all that was left was the stream of daylight coming through the windows, along with a lamp that was a warmer light. It was much more comfortable that way. You quickly guessed you were in a hospital. The beeping, white lights, smell of rubbing alcohol that you just identified.
"How do you feel?"
Spencer. You turned your head to look at him. His face held deep concern. He was holding your hand. "I--" You paused, considering his question. "I feel like shit."
He let out a soft chuckle, "Yeah. You kind of got exploded." That's right, the bomb.
"Oh, Will, the team, are they okay?" You softly asked.
Spencer nodded, "Everyone's okay, we got the unsubs. It's all okay now."
You remembered Spencer's words. You should have waited to go in. If you had waited, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation right now. "I should've listened to you." You stated weakly. "You were right. I was being stupid."
"Hey, no," Spencer quickly interrupted. "You were doing your job."
"I wasn't," you shook your head. "I wanted to prove myself. I-I wanted.. to show that I didn't just do victimology and simple hostage relief situations. I wanted to prove myself like you have." You stopped, sucking in a pained breath. You felt your eyes become glassy. "I wanted to prove to everyone I was just as good as you."
Spencer felt his heart break at your words. You both knew overall, he was smarter. It never occurred to him that your constant bickering was to prove yourself, and not to prove him wrong. "You're better." Spencer decided to say. "I mean, I can't relate to our victims, hell, our unsubs the way you can."
"Spencer,"
"I'm serious." He continued. "You're so important to this team. You-you push us to be better." Spencer cleared his throat, "You push me to be better."
You stared at Spencer blankly for a moment, "I never told you that I like this haircut."
Spencer gave you a slightly surprised look. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," You hummed. "It makes you look, I don't know, less like Einstein and more like, uh, a really smart James Dean."
"James Dean," Spencer repeated, "I've never gotten that one before. Are those meds talking right now?"
You shook your head slowly, "Probably the clearest I've thought in a while." You replied, causing Spencer to smile. "Why did you stay with me?"
Spencer paused for a moment, "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know we bicker a lot. Well, more than a lot. Probably several times a day, but I still care about you. I-I was.. really scared for you. I don't think I could forgive myself if I let you walk in there and you'd died."
"It wouldn't have been your fault," You tried. Spencer just shook his head.
"It would have been. I should've rationalized it with you. When I saw you, I just thought, 'What have I been doing this whole time? Have I really been wasting my breath arguing with you when we could've made the best team'? I remember when Rossi first introduced you, I was like, 'No way someone this pretty is doing this', when you should've been some model or something." Spencer rambled. He did that, paired with hand fidgeting, when he was nervous. He rambled as he played with your fingers.
You took a breath in, hoping for the best. "Hey, maybe we could, uh, go to one of those team based trivia nights at O'Keefe's?"
"Are-are you asking me out?" Spencer asked.
"Only if you're saying yes." You responded. "I, uh, maybe thought we could start over."
Spencer gave a chuckle, "Yeah, trivia night sounds good. I'd like a retry at this. Maybe we're, uh, meant to be more than just a team."
You smiled at him, knowing that a simple friendship wouldn't be highest point of your new relationship with the genius.
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ellecdc · 5 months ago
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Hi!! I’ve been reading your poly!marauders x femreader and was wondering if you could possibly write about the reader having a vision while being with only the marauders, and how they would react and help reader without Barty or Reggie being there to help her? Maybe the vision can be another cute moment with the boys and reader not wanting to tell them what she saw and trying to walk away but they stop her and eventually get it out of her? Also,I love how you write the characters and portray their relationships :) Thank you so much!!!
This ended up a bit angstier than you had requested? But I think our girlie-pop needs to work through some of her shit before we’re really leaning into the cutesy stuff so I hope this works for now! It’s not like I’ve already got the next part planned or anything…….. 👀😅
poly!marauders x seer!reader where they witness her first Sight alone
CW: fem!reader, angst? w/ a happy ending, hurt/comfort, reader still stubborn as all hell, boys still relentless as ever - but we’re getting somewhere folks!!
There was no sense in feeling agitated with the Marauders; you noticed a simmering resentment bubbling up within you whenever your mind began to stray towards them, but it could hardly be considered their fault.
Just one of the many consequences of the ability of Sight; gradual feelings forming over ideas and thoughts and imagines that aren’t real, haven’t happened, and may never happen. There was an undeniable soft appreciation - dammit, maybe even love - for the three boys growing in your heart, but it hurt.
It hurt because it was an outcome of experiences that they haven’t had, that they haven’t shared with you; it was simply feelings for versions of these boys that don’t even exist yet.
But it was becoming difficult to separate your Sights of them from them; it was becoming harder and harder to remind yourself that the love you were feeling wasn’t real, at least not yet.
Yet.
That was the worst part - yet - seeing as none of these supposedly sweet moments taking place between you and the boys have ever really taken place, save that one of your impromptu Hogsmead date.
And whatever agitation you felt only tripled when you heard their voices in the library and your face broke out in an involuntary smile.
Stupid lovesick girl.
“There’s our princess!” Sirius cheered loudly as he spotted you, earning him more than a few severe glares from surrounding tables as he sloppily (and loudly) plopped himself onto the bench at the table across from you.
“Do try not to get us kicked out when we’ve only just found her, yeah?” Remus muttered quietly, though he seemed no less pleased with his boyfriend despite his scolding.
Sirius made a dismissive scoffing sound as Remus took a seat beside him and James across from him (and, decidedly less importantly, beside you). “I’d like to see them try; my family paid for this sodding library.”
“Charming, Black.” You muttered as you kept your face pointed towards the notes in front of you.
From your periphery you could see Sirius flash you a salacious grin; all sharp canines and cocky attitude. “Thanks dolly; I think so too.”
“You’re exhausting.” You let out with a sigh.
“I have been told I’m ex-”
“-Exhilarating, we know.” James finished for Sirius, seemingly already knowing exactly what the boy was going to quip.
“See? Everyone agrees.”
“Feel free to ignore him.” Remus interjected then, looking at you softly.
So softly. In ways you’ve Seen him do many times but have never yet experienced.
It made you ache with want; wanting so badly for it to be real and then hating yourself for wanting it at all.
“You okay, dove?” He asked then; apparently seeing the conflict on your face.
And wasn’t that just the icing on the pastie.
“No, actually, I’m not.” You huffed as you began to pack up your things.
Sirius said your name then; all teasing and flippantness gone from his tone as he sat up straight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“No.” You grumble; standing now but closing your eyes and pointing your face to the ceiling in frustration.
‘It’s not you, it’s me’ sits on the very tip of your tongue, threatening to spill out but you just can’t bring yourself to release the words.
You hate this feeling; the lack of control in the direction that your life was seemingly going, moving through the motions unwillingly as fate pulled on the strings of your soul like some poorly mistreated puppet.
“Don’t go.” James all but whispered then; his hand seemingly aching to reach for yours but clearly resisting the urge.
That only made you feel worse.
You let out a breath and started to lower yourself back to your seat on the bench when you recognized the familiar feeling of your consciousness being pulled elsewhere; the dreaded sensation of being submerged under cold water followed by the neurons firing in your brain as they were gently plucked from their existing pathways and ushered towards a new reality.
No, you begged hopelessly, not here, not now.
Your vision blurred through the tears that threatened to spill from them; placing your elbows on the table in front of you so roughly that it left your fingertips buzzing, you covered your face behind your hands and fought to steady your breathing.
“You’re okay, dove.” Remus whispered from across the table; his leg under the table creeping over to apply pressure to the inside of your calf. You were thankful for the grounding it provided.
“Can you look at me, sweetness?” Sirius asked quietly as James tried pulling gently at your arm.
You shook your head quickly and tried to say no, but all that came out of your mouth was a choked sob.
“Okay, that’s okay.” Sirius relented evenly as James moved his hand from your forearm to rest gently between your shoulder blades where it began making soothing swipes against your jumper. “You’re alright, yeah?”
All he got was another sob in response.
You felt James shift in his seat; legs straddled over the wooden bench so he was now facing you.
“C’mere angel.” He cooed at you, gently yet firmly encouraging you into his chest by a hand on your shoulder.
You melted into him.
“You’re alright; you’re just fine.” He said again.
You flinched slightly when you felt a gentle hand grip your ankle.
“Sorry, dovey.” Remus murmured softly, rubbing his thumb over your Achilles tendon apologetically before pressing it to a soft spot on the outside of your ankle.
“Come back to us, pretty girl.”
Your knees buckled beneath you as you nearly fell into your seat; two strong arms quickly caught you by your elbows before James carefully lowered you to the bench.
“Easy, doll.” Sirius coached calmly albeit worriedly from across the table as you heaved in a much needed breath. “Easy.”
You felt your sinuses swell as you took a few more breaths, realising belatedly that you had three boys that you were rather quite taken with staring at you in one of your most vulnerable states.
They already had so much of you - much more than they may ever know - you didn’t want to give them this, too.
Your vision blurred through the tears that threatened to spill from them; placing your elbows on the table in front of you so roughly that it left your fingertips buzzing, you covered your face behind your hands and fought to steady your breathing.
“You’re okay, dove.” Remus whispered from across from you; his leg under the table creeping over to apply pressure to the inside of your calf. You were thankful for the grounding effect it provided.
“Can you look at me, sweetness?” Sirius asked quietly as James tried pulling gently at your arm.
You shook your head quickly and tried to say no, but all that came out of your mouth was a choked sob.
“Okay, that’s okay.” Sirius relented evenly as James moved his hand from your forearm to rest gently between your shoulder blades where it began making soothing swipes against your jumper. “You’re alright, yeah?”
All he got was another sob in response.
You felt James shift in his seat; legs straddled over the wooden bench so he was now facing you.
“C’mere angel.” He cooed at you, gently yet firmly encouraging you into his chest by a hand on your shoulder.
You melted into him.
“You’re alright; you’re just fine.” He said again.
You flinched slightly when you felt a gentle hand grip your ankle.
“Sorry, dovey.” Remus murmured softly, rubbing his thumb over your Achilles tendon apologetically before pressing it to a soft spot on the outside of your ankle.
“Come back to us, pretty girl.” Sirius whispered.
“I’m sorry.” You admitted; voice pinched emotionally as you continued hiding behind your hands.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, lovely girl.” Remus assured you as James pressed a kiss to your hair. “Nothing at all.”
“I hate-” You paused around a pathetic hiccup as you finally deigned to pull your hands away from your now likely puffy and tear stained face. “I- I just-”
“You don’t have to explain.” Sirius offered at your next hiccup. “Just keep breathing.”
You realised only as Remus resumed moving his thumb back-and-forth against your ankle bone that he had paused to track your pulse much like he’d seen Regulus do that first day in the Great Hall.
A bitter taste filled your mouth when you thought of that Sight too; how much of your supposed ‘relationship’ with these boys would be of you breaking down in front of them?
“I hate seeing things that aren’t real; that haven’t happened, with versions of people who don’t even exist yet.”
James let out a sympathetic breath at your words as Remus’ brows furrowed forlornly.
“Do those versions not exist yet or have you just not given them a chance to?” Sirius asked you slowly.
You made a pained sound as you straightened from resting against James’ chest; you pretended not to notice the look of loss that crossed his face and ignored the same feeling aching within your chest.
“People can surprise you, y’know?” James offered then; hope colouring the vowels of his words as he spoke.
“I’m sure that, whoever they are,” Sirius started pointedly. “Would love the chance to be whoever you needed them to be.”
“That’s the problem.” You groaned, though you were sure they could tell that the fight was quickly oozing from your body with every swipe of Remus’ thumb or stroke of James’ hand against your shoulder blades. “I don’t need you to be anything.”
“So it was about us.” Sirius asserted; all caution vanished from his face and was quickly replaced with mirth.
You snorted incredulously at him and wiped roughly at your eyes as a reluctant smile spread across your face. “You are such a prat.”
“We could be your prats.” He quipped.
“Is that what you need, angel? Do you need some prats? Sirius and I are well versed; might need to coach Rem a bit but he’s a quick learner.”
“For Godric’s sake.” Remus sighed with a tired smile. “We’d been doing so well boys.”
“I hardly see how, seeing as you all made me cry.” You jeered as you pointed your nose in the air, causing all three boys to exclaim various objections.
“We’d only said hello.” James cried as Remus watched you stand and hike your bag over your shoulder thoughtfully.
“What was it that you Saw, then?” He asked; still smiling though his brows dipped challengingly.
You stared down at him for a few moments, though there was no need to search his eyes for clues; you suspected that he knew.
“This.” You admitted quietly.
A smile spread across Remus’ face; it was slow and pointed but you didn’t know quite what it meant. Yet.
“I’m glad I got to see it too.” He murmured with a smirk.
You tried to hide your blush as you left the library, fighting the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl the entire way back to your dorm.
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mostly-imagines · 6 months ago
Text
The Arkham Knight
jason todd x fem!reader
aka the arkham knight goes after the crevice in the red hoods armor
warnings: typical canon violence, threats to the reader including death & implied sa, nonconsensual touching for reader (not nsfw), reader gets cut with a knife, character death (not reader or jason), angst w comfort
**for the sake of this, we're going to pretend that the arkham knight isn't jason -- or that he's from an alternate universe or something if you prefer. in any case, red hood & the arkham knight co-exist in this fic
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You wake up to a sensation that takes you a moment to place. Your eyes are still closed and the word conscious is barely even applicable to you, but still, you feel it.    
There’s a hand wrapped around your neck.
Given that it's about one in the morning at this point and it’s not uncommon for your boyfriend to get very touchy after coming home from patrol, you didn’t dwell much on it.
His thumb strokes across your skin delicately, applying no real force with his grip.
You don’t feel his arm, though. Usually, you’d expect to feel the weight of at least his arm on you, as he laid next to you, hand resting on your neck. But you just feel his hand. No other weight on the bed at all, actually. Like he’s standing next to it.
That is something to dwell on, you think. You open your eyes and almost scream, before the hand on your neck swiftly clamps down over your mouth.
“Shhh.” he hushes. 
You probably wouldn’t be too much less scared if it were some random burglar, but it’s not. You look at the helmet hovering above you and you recognize it instantly. That’s the Arkham Knight. Jason hadn’t said much about him but you know he’s been having altercations with him recently from the news.
Standard enough.
What’s not so standard is one of Red Hood’s enemies in your apartment, in your bedroom. That means he knows who Jason is. Not good. Not good at all.
The Knight uses his free hand to yank you up by your arm into a sitting position. Your thoughts are still going a mile a minute trying to process what the hell is happening when he hauls you over his shoulder.
You start to fight back, thrashing in his hold and hitting his back with as much force as you can muster, but you’re not surprised it doesn’t do much. This guy’s as big as Jason and it doesn’t take a vigilante to figure out that this is a fight you can’t win.
He jostles you on his shoulder a little bit, murmuring, “Easy, sweetheart. We’re just going on a little trip.”
You continue struggling against him and when you reach the apartment building hallway you start shouting, though you’re quickly shut up by him.
He plops you down on your feet, hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “Don’t make me hurt you.” He warns with venom. 
If you’re going to get away it could only be now. But you saw the gun holstered to his thigh and based on the little that you know about him, he will shoot anyone that tries to help you without hesitation. 
So you let him shove you outside and into the backseat of a black car without a fight, only starting to feel the consequences with the way he holds you incredibly close with a tight grip throughout the ride.
You end up at a warehouse at the edge of the city, filled with crates and storage containers that you’re assuming are stocked with weapons. Soldiers line the perimeters and block the exits, though you didn’t have much of a mind to try and run from the Arkham Knight anyways. The metallic glint off his gun from the lights warn you every time he moves.
He has you sat on a chair as he leans against a crate in front of you, not bothering to have tied your hands. He doesn’t seem to be in any rush to do anything with you, if anything, the way he idly lazes implies that he’s waiting for something. Waiting for Jason, you’d guess. A long fifteen or so minutes goes by—you know so because you counted the seconds in your head as an attempt to keep your mind away from the killer in front of you.
You’re dressed only in a loose t-shirt and sleep shorts, the Gotham night air bitter on your skin. It only gives you all the more reason to curl up into yourself, doing your best to cover your body. 
He tilts your face to the side with the barrel of his gun. “You are a pretty thing, aren’t you? I can see why he keeps you.”
You snap your head away, eyes down and looking to the concrete floor. The sleeve of your shirt slips from your shoulder and you quickly yank it back up, much to the amusement of the Knight.
His shoulders shake lightly as he relaxes the gun to his side, “So, what? S’he your boyfriend or r’you just fucking each other?”
You try to keep your face neutral, keeping your eyes glued on the ground. “I just help patch him up sometimes. I don’t even know who he is.”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you just lied to me, but only because I already know the answer.” He pulls you in close and kisses the side of your head with his helmet before whispering in your ear, “Don’t lie to me again.”
You try not to let your shoulders shake as bad as they want to, though you’re sure he knows exactly how frightened you are anyways.
You huff quietly, attempting to show more courage than you have. “So what, all this for ransom? Just to piss him off?”
He tilts his head at you wryly, “No, I’m going to put a bullet in his head.”
Your mouth snaps shut.
“Ah. Yeah, if you were just fucking you wouldn’t have that look on your face right now.” He tuts, patting your cheek.
A series of gunshots outside the warehouse has you jumping in your seat.
The Knight claps his hands together, “Oh, here we go!”
He stands abruptly and pulls you up with him roughly, wrapping his arms around you to pin you against his chest, resting the chin of his helmet on your shoulder. The few men scattered around the room drop one by one, quickly, though the Arkham Knight pays them no regard.
“Back away from her.” The modulated voice of his helmet calls out sharply. You can’t quite tell where he is, but he sounds up high—maybe in the rafters or set up at one of the windows.
“Easy, Hood. Pays to be mindful of the stakes.” He pushes your chin up with the barrel of the gun.
You can’t see him but you have a feeling he’s got his gun trained on you, waiting for the Knight to give him a decent shot.
You can tell how incensed he is, even from the distance as he shouts, “Put the gun down. Now.”
The Knight tsks, “Don’t make me do something I’ll kind of regret. She’s got too pretty of a face to die so soon.” He squeezes your cheeks as you try to pull your head away from his hands, with no avail. “And so messy.”
His free hand travels down your neck and squeezes. You try not to look scared, both to spite the Knight and for the sake of Jason’s concentration.
He backs you up into a mess of crates, gun persistently pointed to your head, and he yanks you down with him to duck behind them. You’re both mostly obscured from view, though you think the tops of your heads might still be visible from the angle Jason’s at.
“I’m not asking twice.”
The Knight ignores his threat, continuing on, “No, no, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of her for you, Hood. She won’t miss a thing.” His glove drifts down your side, squeezing your waist.
Jason fires again, hitting startlingly close to the Knight’s head.
You take the momentary distraction to knee him in the groin which only makes him tighten his grip on you. “Oh, you…” he grunts. “You are a fighter, aren’t you?”
You sneer at him, “Fuck—” he yanks your hair roughly, pulling you into a better angle for him to hold onto you. “You.”
He squeezes your arm very hard, calling out, “On second thought, Jace, I’m thinking about cutting her open and letting her bleed out right here.”
He puts his gun in the holster before one of his hands pulls the bottom of your shirt up, the other flipping out a blade that he presses flat against your stomach. The knife is cold against your skin and the sensation is what allows you to finally admit to yourself that you’re scared.
This is somehow a hell of a lot more terrifying than the gun and you can’t swallow the fact that you’re one unlucky move away from being gutted in an abandoned warehouse at the edge of Gotham. Jason’s quiet and you can’t be sure that he’s not injured or stuck dealing with more soldiers. You visibly shake at the thought of really being on your own now.
The Knight clicks his tongue, tilting his head down at you as he watches you tremble. “Aw, I’m sorry. Am I scaring you?” He knicks your skin, purring, “It’s not personal, sweetheart.” He lets the blade drag a bit, widening the size of the cut. “Well, not for you.”
You grimace at the feeling of being sliced open, trying your hardest not to give him any reaction. Your body involuntarily slides down to the ground until you’re on your back with him crouched above you. 
He pulls the knife back and you both take in the sight of your blood lining the side of it. Your eyes well with tears as he points the end of the knife down at your stomach, readying to pierce your skin in a far less superficial way.
A gunshot fires far closer than you were prepared for, making your entire body jump. The fear becomes visceral then, because your automatic reaction to the noise was to assume that you had just been shot by the Arkham Knight. But in actuality, the Knight himself gets knocked to the floor, the shot having hit the side of his helmet. A flash of red out of the corner of your eye has you flinching, though it darts right past you and onto the Knight.
Hood slams him fully onto the ground by the shoulders, trying to remove his helmet so he can fire a shot that's actually effective. The Knight fights against him, pushing him off of him and reaching to draw his own gun.
You’re dragging yourself backwards, crawling away to safety. You keep going until you can’t see them anymore; you’re too scared to see it play out, too scared to help, too scared to think.
The clamor of grunts and punches landing drowns your senses as you try to fold in on yourself into the smallest ball possible on pure instinct.
A shot fires, though the sounds of struggling persist. Another shot, followed by a curse that you can’t make out who it came from. You can see debris littering the air around one of the crates where one of the shots must have hit. A few seconds go by before a third shot echoes out and the scuffle slows to a halt.
It’s quiet for the longest few moments of your life and in the panic, you begin to lose all sense of what you’re waiting for. You forget to look up when you hear someone approaching you rapidly, only finding cessation to your concern when a pair of hands grabs your face, pulling your head up so he can see you.
You’re only barely able to process that it’s your boyfriend knelt in front of you, blood splattered on his armor. You know this is good, you’re grateful to see him, but you can’t feel anything but panic.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, taking in your emotional state. “Are you hurt?” His helmet scans over you frantically, hands trying their best to remain gentle on your face.
You try, but you can’t push the words out of your mouth.
Honestly, you just want to see him, see his face so you can start to feel safe again. But the sight of another inanimate helmet is doing nothing to calm you, in spite of you wholeheartedly trusting the person under it with your life.
His gaze finds the small pool of blood seeping through your shirt. He rushes to lift your shirt up, fussing over the laceration. It’s about two inches wide, but it’s shallow enough that it won’t need stitches. Once he determines that you don’t need immediate medical attention, he drops your shirt back down, leveling his face to yours.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers desperately, “Baby. Talk to me,” he brushes hair out of your face gently and the contact makes you jump on instinct, your adrenaline nowhere near lowering. If you were in any real state of mind right now you’d feel awful for flinching like that when he touched you, you know exactly how sensitive that is for him. But right now, you didn’t even completely register that it was him that touched you.
Your eyes stay fixed on the concrete and the only response you can manage is a strangled hum and a shake of your head, no I can’t talk right now not right now not now
“Okay. Okay,” he lifts you up off the ground from your knees and holds you close, like he’s trying to prevent you from disappearing again. You’re staring blankly at his glove holding up your thigh, trying to center your focus on that instead of all the bodies in your peripheral or the memory of the blade pressed against your abdomen.
You don’t notice it, but he’s looking down at you constantly, scanning your face for anything, any signs of change.
The entire ride back to your apartment you’ve got a death grip around his torso and he’s thankful for it because he can’t have his hands on you while he’s driving the bike.
He gently helps you inside, handling you like your bones are made of float glass. His helmet finally comes off once you’re back home, but you’re a bit too out of it to even notice.
The wave of lucid emotions don’t kick in until he sets you gently on the bed and you realize you’re back in the place where you woke up to his hand around your throat. You can feel the bottom of your shirt sticking to your skin, the blood slowly starting to dry.
The tears fall before you could even realize that your eyes started watering and Jason could swear on his life that he physically felt his heart break. 
You feel like a little kid the way you cry, chin low and shoulders shaking. You don’t even know what you want, what could possibly help right now.
“Can I touch you?” He asks in a strangled whisper, desperate to try anything he can to make this better for you. He absolutely hates that you have to be in such distress because of something that he brought into your life, something that he should’ve been able to prevent. He’d rather relive all his worst days again and again than see you so pained ever again.
You give no response so he takes the chance and does it anyway because he can’t stand to see you hurting so badly and while he just sits here watching. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap and into his chest. Thankfully, you respond in kind and squeeze your arms around him tightly, sobbing harder.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He presses his mouth against your head, trying to keep it together as you shake in his hold.
He won’t tell you this, especially not right now, but he was absolutely terrified. He couldn’t have gotten home more than ten minutes after you’d left, being met with little things ever so slightly out of place. The bedroom door ajar, when you usually keep it closed. The lamp in the living room that you always leave on for him was off. The bolt on the door was broken, the turn locks unlocked.
He’s panicked plenty of times before in false alarms, thinking you were gone or dead when in reality you’d just been tired and skipped a few steps in your nightly routine. So he kept his thoughts at bay as he crept into the bedroom, opening the door to find the bed empty, sheets oddly messy. He booked it down the hall and checked the bathroom, checked the spare room. Nothing. He’d whipped his phone out immediately and could literally feel his stomach drop when he heard your phone ringing in the bedroom.
It didn’t take him long to piece together what had happened, who had taken you. He’d been having increasing altercations with the Arkham Knight lately and they were beginning to get very annoyed with each other. Occasional accidental run-ins had given way to full on ambushes and planned assaults, leading both of the men to lose their patience quickly.
A couple nights earlier, mid-shootout, The Knight had shouted out something that should’ve raised flags for Jason. “I’d hate to let this get personal,” he’d said.
But he was in the heat of the fight and barely even allowed himself to register the words, let alone sift through their implication. That’s no excuse though, is it? He’s supposed to keep you safe, that’s his job—that’s his only job. He should’ve seen the tail that was following him, he should’ve installed better security measures at your apartment, he should’ve checked on you, should’ve stayed with you, should’ve left you alone all together. But he was selfish and careless and now you’re bleeding and traumatized from being pulled from your bed in the middle of the night, having a gun pushed in your face, and being cut by a psychopath.
You sit on his lap, completely zeroed in on the feeling of his touch and how drastically different it resonates than the Knight’s burning hold on you. Jason’s hands on you don’t have that scorching fire sensation, but warm and comforting like an emergency blanket. You can feel his Red Hood armor pressing into you uncomfortably, but you want more of it. You need more. You can’t possibly get enough of it right now. 
“Please hold me tighter,” you pipe up for the first time in several minutes, your words are hushed and exerted. It makes you sound like you’re hiding, trying not to be caught.
He nearly squeezes the breath out of your lungs and it’s still not tight enough. The tears run out soon after and you sit lax against him. You focus on the feeling of his breath against you, his exhale wavering your hair a little. His breath is steadier than yours and you try to match up with him, but you’ve found that even in normal times, his breathing is always a little slower than yours.   
There’s a nearly imperceptible creak of a floorboard in your living room that has you jolting in Jason’s lap. His head snaps up, one of his hands immediately flying to your hair. His hold prevents you from turning your head, though you're not sure you even want to. You prepare yourself for the sound of gunshots, modulated voices, punches landing.  
You’re confused when Jason remains stationary on the bed and he relaxes slightly. A few long seconds go by before he calls out lowly, “Go.” 
His posture loosens again a moment later and though you don’t hear the intruder retreat, you’ll later realize that was your biggest clue as to who it was. But for right now, you bury your face as deep into his neck as you can, letting him run his finger through your hair in an attempt to cancel out the brief adrenaline jump you just got.
His next words come at a volume so low you nearly miss them all together. “Did he touch you?” He sounds like he’s biting back nausea at the thought.
“No. Not like that.” you mumble back, just as quiet. Your voice is more detached than his, and while the words themselves are a relief, your tone makes him hurt inside.
His head drops against your shoulder for a second before he glances up at the door again, letting out a tense exhale. “I…fuck. Can I…I need to go in the living room for a second. Just a second.”  
The thought of being separated from him right now makes you literally want to throw up, but tonight has been nothing if not another reassurance that you trust him more than anything.
He pulls back from you and looks you in the eye, hand stroking along the side of your head as he checks for certainty. You do your best to let him find it and when he does he kisses your forehead softly. You slowly climb off of him and he makes sure to wrap you up nicely in the comforter before he goes.
He stands intentionally in the doorway, closing the door enough so that there’s only just enough room for him to stand.
“What happened?” you hear the gruff voice of the Batman, followed by Jason shushing him. You can’t quite make out what he mutters back, though you can tell the sentence is short. 
You think you can hear Batman ask if you’re hurt and you see Jason hesitate and then shake his head. You let yourself fall into a reclined position on the bed, consumed by your cocoon of blankets. Jason was really onto something with this.  
Batman sighs, “Alright. We’ll discuss this more tomorrow.”
“Not tomorrow.” Jason says shortly. His meaning is clear, he’s not leaving you again any time soon. Especially not to fill Batman in on something that’s done and over with. Something that he’s hoping to never have to talk about again. A few beats pass before Jason closes the door with a soft click and returns to you quickly.
He takes your hands in his as he sits, rubbing reassuring circles with his thumbs. 
“I need to get you bandaged up.” He whispers reluctantly, knowing that’s not what you want to hear right now. You drop your head on his shoulder wordlessly and he takes in the sight of your blood on your hands. Now it’s his turn to feel sick. “We can—” he pauses, “Do you want to shower first?”
Oh. That would be good, yeah. You nod slowly and languidly unwrap yourself from your blankets.
He wants to ask but he refrains, so you just take his hand and guide him into the bathroom with you. He’s very thankful you do.
He gets the shower started for you, letting it get warm how he knows you like. You watch the steam begin to fog up the mirror as he pulls his shirt off next to you.
He gets down to his boxers when he turns to you and sees that you’ve made no progress in removing any of your clothes. You just stand still, watching the water run.
“Sweetheart?” He calls out gently. “You need help?” He tries to hide the concern in his voice, though not to much avail.
You blink vacantly, “No, I just…” you waver for a moment before climbing into the shower, clothes on.
He stutters between stopping you and letting you go, ultimately deciding on the latter. He follows in after you, sitting side by side with you under the stream of hot water. He has to fold in on himself to fit like this but he doesn’t think twice about being here with you, however you need him. 
Your clothes darken quickly and adheres to your skin, and you find it difficult to tear your eyes away from that patch of your shirt that remains ever so slightly darker than the rest of the wetted fabric.
Jason picks your hand up from its resting place on your stomach and envelopes it in his. You close your eyes and let the water run over your face, sprinkling off your eyelashes.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers, sounding nearly in pain.
Your head falls to the side, coming to a rest on his shoulder. The water pounds against your ear, stray drops ricocheting against your cheek. You squeeze his hand and he returns the action, understanding the temporary sentiment. He kisses your head and keeps his lips there, eyes closed too. 
You’ll stay like that in the shower until the heat runs out. He’ll help you out of your soaked clothes and leave them in the tub for now before lifting you up and wrapping you in a towel. He’ll set you down on the bed and apply a bandage to your cut as delicately as he possibly can. Neither of you bother to get dressed again, simply enveloping yourselves in the covers and lying together like that until you’re ready to move.
He didn’t go out on patrol again for nearly two months.
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💙 REBLOGGING = SUPPORTING 💙
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hello-sweetheart · 26 days ago
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You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.
Clumsy in Love Part 2
It’s hard to listen to Eddie talk about this guy the same way Steve wished he did about him. Eddie, already so full of life and words, doesn’t seem to need to take a breather between his praises.
“Can’t believe this guy is actually into me, did you see him? Oh my god!” He groans and smacks his palms against the steering wheel, literally bouncing in his seat.
The van swerves a bit to the left.
“He’s just my type, too. Those eyes, prettiest eyes that have ever graced human existence, and they were looking at me. Me! Wow! The darkest green— I don’t think there’s any precious stone that can compare actually.”
He beams at him and Steve’s traitorous heart still flutters like a wounded bird helplessly flapping its broken wing. Eddie is smiling so hard his cheeks must hurt, eyes crinkled at the corners and teeth on full display.
Steve will close his eyes at night and replay these words, pretending that this excitement and instant adoration is about him. That Eddie’s love-struck smile is for him.
“And, to top it off, he’s a geek. A fucking nerd. He actually knows DnD! What are the chances, Stevie? I’m no religious man, but an angel must have heard mine desperate pleas.”
His name is Adiel, Eddie’s perfect guy.
Steve spends that night feeling the need to cry, the hurt is right there at the base of his throat refusing to spill.
Steve kind of wishes he did, maybe letting everything out would leave him feeling empty instead impossibly full of heartache.
Adiel is blond, a dirty blonde that means he must’ve had light locks as a kid. Face slim and cheek bones prominent, but his features are soften by button nose. Maybe Eddie is right, he looks like the angels depicted in stained church windows, but whereas angels are depicted in white, Adiel wore exclusively black.
He wasn’t decorated in rings and chains like Ed, only a few silver piercings in his ears and a couple on his lips. But it was evident they had much in common, even just by looks. More than Steve could ever say about him and Eddie.
Over the next couple of weeks they share their music, intrinsically understanding what it means to one another.
Getting it.
Getting it the way that Steve never could, even with hours of Eddie breaking it down for him. Maybe Steve never understood, but he loved those moments shared between them. Wonders if Adiel cherishes those moments too. If he takes it for granted.
They share everything with each other and Steve hears every little detail gushed between sickly sweet sighs. He’s trying to be a good friend, to listen and share Eddie’s happiness, but something inside him grows bitter. Angry. He hates feeling this way.
“I met his friends already, they’re a really cool bunch. I really think you guys would get along. They know all the best spots for people like us. There’s a whole world out there, Stevie—“
Stevie. His breath stutters.
“Of people like us with places for us. We could take Robin and Vicky and be surrounded by people that won’t, that won’t think we’re… wrong. And who knows,” he nudges Steve’s side with a suggestive smile, “maybe you’ll meet the one there, huh Stevie?”
“Stop. Just, just stop!”
Steve doesn’t mean to yell. He just can’t take it anymore. Everything that has been building up inside him has reached a point where he just can’t. He pushes Eddie away from him who looks startled. Offended and bothered and confused.
“I don’t want to meet his friends, or least of all him. I don’t get it, okay! I thought—“
What did he think? That one day he would confess to Eddie or vice versa? That they’d kiss and go on double dates with Robin and Vicky? That he would fall asleep each night in love and loved? It seemed plausible at some point. That’s what hurts the most.
“Hey, Stevie—“
“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that anymore.”
“What? Your name? You don’t want me to call you by your name?”
A bitter laugh, “yeah. My name from your mouth.”
“I, You’re not making any sense!”
Steve knows. He knows. But Stevie, Big boy, Ozzy… even his own name, can’t bear to hear them. Not from him. Can’t bare the way his heart squeezes.
Eddie’s looking at Steve with furrowed brows and down turned lips, standing still. Has Eddie ever been still before in his life?
Once. When he was still and pale and red. His chest gone quiet for the most terrifying seconds of Steve’s life.
Steve looks at him, his eyes burn. Steve’s breath from his own chest brought Eddie back to them. Eddie’s lungs still carry his desperation. His ribs healed but the cracks must still be there from the palm of his hands. He’s tasted Eddie’s blood before from his mouth—
He’s kissing him. Steve, dumb stupid in-love Steve, has his lips on Eddie’s once more, but this time they’re warm and full of life and his ringed hands are on him and,
They’re pushing him. Away.
“Eddie,” his sight is blurry, eyes hot, and breath stuttered. “I, it hurts. You with him. I can��t—I just can’t.
And Eddie looks, terrified, dark eyes searching Steve’s face. For what, he does not know. Sincerity, maybe. Truth. Maybe looking to see if he’s really shattered inside.
“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t…I don’t…”
And Steve?
Steve smiles. It’s watery and his lips quiver.
“I know.” And that’s the problem, isn’t it. It’s always the problem. “I know, Eddie. I’m sorry. It’s, it’s okay.”
Eddie leaves Steve there in the living room.
There’s still two cans of Coke half full on the coffee table but only one person left in the room.
Part one < 💛 > Part 3
Tagged: @bananahoneycomb @margaglitterdeath
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softle0 · 4 months ago
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A little message for mostly YouTube builders but y’all in general, I hope I’m not being too rough but..
I know it’s been just a couple of days but guys what you mean when you say you were expecting more “Mexican” style furniture in the new ep? 😭😭 y’all don’t expect us to have art deco or modern stuff? Like seriously, what do you guys want 😂 We all Mexican simmers think this new pack is very accurate, you can even ask the simmers that worked in the official builds 🤷🏻‍♀️
Y’all really falling over the Americanized cliché of Mexico fr, this pack is inspired in Mexico City. We are a city, the population is like 24million, we’re a really big city 💀 please leave your “villas” and “haciendas” to oasis springs or sol del valey.
Please I beg you to not come and say “oh this is not giving Mexico” cause clearly you don’t know what are you talking about, be educated fr. I said it before and I’m gonna keep talking about it; But the architectural limitations in Mexico are pretty much non-existent. We probably have every single architectural style you can think about. Modern, post-modern, brutalist, art deco, mid century, colonial, Romanesque, gothic among others, probably even Tudor 😭 so you coming and expecting us to only have the villas or colorful haciendas fiesta salsa talcos it really hurts me as Mexican 😂
I’m not hating against them, I love them and as I said we have all types of places so keep doing them if you want but that’s not really common in Mexico City. So why y’all keep going with the same villas or just straight boxes builds 😭 please do more research over than using only Pinterest please, is really not that hard 🙏🏻 there’s a lot of fellow Mexican simmers, there’s google, google maps, you can even do a research of Mexico City in airbnb 😭😭 likeeee there’s a ton of ways to get information really…. You can really step up your building game if you only do a proper research. As I’ve seen a lot of you do for other worlds, why not taking the time for Mexico? Why y’all don’t respect us as much as other cultures?:(
And I know and I understand y’all probably won’t be 100% accurate if you’re not Mexicans but that doesn’t mean you can build a Los Angeles Spanish style of home and get away with it by saying “sorry if is not that accurate” 😭 cause you’re not even trying :( Mind you I been working on a uk inspired save when I never been outside my country other than some places in Canada and Florida and I’m still doing very realistic builds just by doing some research. And I’m 100% sure almost every other realistic builder is in the same situation.
Y’all are amazing and you’re so creative, I love that about the community and I know y’all can do wonderful things if doing a really small but proper research!
And next time you wanna talk about if something is giving or not Mexican at least be educated before talking about something you don’t know, it’s honestly very disrespectful. Y’all are better than that and please don’t take this as an offense, this is more like constructive criticism. I know y’all not doing this on purpose, this is just based on ignorance which is nothing bad, you can always learn something new!🥺 please do better!!
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mercillery · 20 days ago
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ASL BROTHERS WITH A SHY S/O
WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD
CHARACTERS: Luffy + Ace + Sabo
NOTES: Do Luffy haters exist? It’s a dumb question, yes—but I’m genuinely curious. He’s so cute and dumb, I find it hard to not love him.
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LUFFY
Luffy wouldn’t really “get” shyness in the conventional sense. But here’s the thing about Luffy: he’s all about accepting people as they are, no questions asked. He treats you with the same bright-eyed, wide-grinned enthusiasm he shows everyone. The idea of you needing to be more outgoing wouldn’t even cross his mind because, to him, you’re already perfect as you are. Shyness? Never heard of it. Just pass the meat, please.
Now, Luffy’s approach to social interactions is, well, 100% Luffy. He doesn’t really adapt his wild and carefree style to match anyone else’s comfort levels. If you're quiet and reserved, that’s cool—Luffy just goes on living life at full volume like it’s another Tuesday on the Sunny.
At first, you might be left wondering how in the seven seas you’re going to survive the endless hurricane of chaos that follows this rubbery captain around. But soon, and without realizing it, you start to find that his reckless antics and headfirst approach to life are... kind of charming. Sure, it’s like living next door to a tornado, but it’s a tornado that makes you laugh until your sides hurt and never lets you get too deep into your own thoughts.
What’s funny is that while he doesn’t actively try to make you feel more comfortable, he ends up doing it anyway. It’s his Luffy magic. You find yourself smiling more often, your shyness loosening its grip bit by bit as he does dumb stuff and throws himself into trouble that only Luffy would consider fun.
He’ll walk up to you, grin stretching from ear to ear, holding out some bizarre, questionably edible snack and say, “You gotta try this!” And just like that, the nerves you felt melt away—not because he’s making an effort to make you feel at ease, but simply because he’s himself.
And sure, sometimes his energy is a lot. We’re talking sprinting-across-decks, yelling-about-meat kind of “a lot.” But in the middle of all that noise, you come to realize that you feel safer and more at ease when you’re around him. Why? Because Luffy has this way of making everything fun and natural, and soon enough, that includes you too.
Before long, your shyness isn’t something you worry about around him; it’s just another thing Luffy accepts without blinking, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And in his eyes? It is.
It’s cute because you two really are like the sun and the moon, with Luffy as the blazing, never-stopping sun, and you being the more reserved, quiet moon. It’s like a cosmic duo—he’s all light and energy, and you’re the calm, cool reflection of it all. You balance each other out in the weirdest, most wonderful way.
And when people catch wind of the fact that Luffy is dating someone—let alone someone as shy as you—it’s like watching a cartoon character’s eyes bug out of their head. Yeah, they’re not wrong to be surprised, but Luffy doesn’t care. He’s already busy thinking about what’s next on the agenda, probably involving meat or some kind of treasure hunt.
Luffy is anything but shy. He could probably talk to a rock and think it’s the best conversation he’s had all day. So when it comes to affection, he’s not exactly one to shy away from it. He might not be the clingiest partner out there—he’s not going to be hanging off you like a koala (okay, maybe sometimes)—but you can bet he’s there, always.
Whether it’s randomly giving you a hug in or tossing his arm around your shoulder like it’s no big deal, he’s just Luffy—and that means showing affection wherever and whenever he feels like it, no matter who’s watching. Basically, he’s like a “here’s my arm, it’s yours now” kind of guy.
While Luffy doesn’t exactly get what makes you shy, he’s surprisingly good at picking up on your feelings. If you’re feeling anxious, or if you’re shrinking back into your shell a little bit, Luffy has this unbelievable ability to sense when you need a change of pace. Without even thinking about it, he’ll grab your hand and drag you off on some wild adventure, just to get your mind off things.
He doesn’t even need a reason—he just knows that you could use a distraction, and he’s the perfect person to provide it. Besides, that just gives him more time to spend with you! And, of course, he might offer you one of his beloved snacks or a full meal if you’re feeling off. Seriously, do you know how big that is? Luffy parting with his food is like a miracle in itself, so if he’s offering it to you, you better believe you’re special.
And let’s talk about the food thing for a sec. Do you even realize how big of a deal it is that Luffy shares his food with you? Like, do you know how many times he’s turned down offering a bite of his meat to anyone? Probably never. So when he hands you a piece of his prized food, you know it’s a huge honor. We’re talking sacred territory here.
If you ever doubted your place in Luffy’s heart, just remember: he shares his food with you. That’s a level of trust and affection that not even the grandest feast can outdo. Trust me, you’ve got a special place in his world, and it’s right next to the meat and maybe a little bit of the chaos.
Luffy’s naturally the type of guy who’d include you in absolutely everything—because why wouldn’t he? To him, you’re part of the crew, part of his world, and that means he’s going to drag you into every single bit of it.
You’d be minding your own business, maybe sitting quietly with your book or trying to sneak in a nap, when suddenly—BAM! Luffy's in front of you, grinning like a madman, already talking about the next big adventure or game that everyone’s playing. “C’mon, join us!” he’d say, and before you could protest, he’s already tossing you into the mix.
It’s not that he’s forcing you to join, though—Luffy just has this way of making you feel like you should be there, without ever putting you on the spot. His carefree, inclusive attitude makes it feel like the natural thing to do. You never feel pressure; you just feel... valued. Like you belong, whether you’re quietly cheering from the sidelines or joining in with your own brand of awkward enthusiasm.
It’s like Luffy’s energy is so contagious that you can’t help but want to be part of whatever insane thing he’s cooking up that day, even if it’s just watching him eat his weight in food and making random, nonsensical decisions.
If anyone ever crossed the line with you—teased you, made you uncomfortable, or said something that got under your skin—Luffy would flip the script faster than you can blink. That goofy, carefree grin would disappear in an instant, replaced by a rare, uncharacteristically serious expression.
Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you like a human shield, ready to take down anyone who dared upset you. He’s usually a chaotic force of nature, but mess with his loved ones, and that’s when you see a side of him that is all about protecting you.
He wouldn’t hesitate to confront the person, his voice firm and unwavering. “Hey! That’s not cool! You don’t mess with my crew!” He’s not one for subtlety or second-guessing, so you’d know right away that Luffy’s on your side. If someone’s being rude or making you feel small, he’ll make sure they know they’ve messed with the wrongggggg person.
The crew’s used to this by now—because Luffy, despite his childish nature, would go to the ends of the earth to defend the people he cares about. You’d feel like the most important person in the world in that moment because, in his eyes, you are.
Luffy’s loyalty is on another level entirely. Once he’s decided he cares about someone, they’re in—no questions, no conditions, just pure, unfiltered loyalty. If you’re lucky enough to be someone Luffy loves, you’d know it in every grin, in every spontaneous gesture, and in every single, joyfully shouted “Let’s go!” You’d never have to second-guess where you stand with him, because Luffy’s affections are as clear as day, as honest and unwavering as the sea he dreams of conquering.
So whether you’re officially part of his crew or not, in his mind, you’re always one of them, and he’d tell anyone who’ll listen, “Yeah, they’re with me!” with a pride that’d make your heart swell.
The best part? Luffy would constantly invite you to tag along on whatever wild journey or ridiculous stunt he’s about to pull. There’d be no hesitation; it’d be, “Hey! Let’s go on an adventure!” as if going on an impromptu quest was as simple as taking a stroll to the market. It’s almost like Luffy has this unspoken rule: every exciting, crazy, fun thing has to be experienced with you.
From treasure hunts that end up in unexpected fights with sea kings to races through bustling ports (where he definitely has no idea where he’s running but is laughing the whole time), Luffy wants you there, right in the middle of it all. You’d probably sigh at the thought of jumping headfirst into another unpredictable situation, but Luffy’s enthusiasm is like a gravitational pull—it’s impossible to resist.
And thank goodness for that, because your timid self wouldn’t stand a chance at taking the lead in any of these wild endeavors. Luckily, Luffy’s the type to charge forward, dragging you along by the hand with zero doubts and zero plans. He makes all the decisions for both of you, which, sure, sometimes means ending up lost on an island full of very angry, very large monkeys because, “They looked friendly!”
You’d feel a mix of exasperation and endearment at his antics. He doesn’t realize it, but his willingness to be the fearless leader—even if his plans are sometimes made with the strategic prowess of a rubber chicken—takes the pressure off you. You don’t have to stress over decisions or worry about whether you’re doing the right thing, because Luffy’s already ten steps ahead (probably literally sprinting) and dragging you along with a confidence that borders on reckless.
And honestly? That’s part of the charm. His “plans” might be half-baked and a little foolish, but he makes up for it by being completely and unapologetically himself.
You’d find yourself smiling more than you ever expected, getting swept up in the whirlwind that is Luffy, and realizing that being with him means never feeling alone, even if you’re quiet or shy.
His laughter, his outbursts, and his impulsive decisions would all become things you cherish, because with him leading the way, life feels a little less scary and a lot more exciting.
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ACE
Ace is all warmth and energy, like a bonfire on a chilly night, and he’d go out of his way to make sure you feel comfortable in his presence. Despite his natural tendency for excitement and spontaneity, he’d be mindful of your shyness, making a conscious effort to dial down the volume when needed.
You’d catch him lowering his voice a bit, softening his laughter, or even sitting a little closer with a reassuring grin. His laid-back nature would do wonders for your anxiety, melting it away bit by bit like ice under the sun. He’d take a more casual, playful approach when he’s with you, balancing his liveliness with a kind of gentle attentiveness that makes your heart feel at ease.
Ace has a knack for starting conversations, even if the topic is completely random. He’d sense your hesitance and jump in without skipping a beat. “Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to cook for the crew and accidentally set a whole forest on fire?” he’d start, eyes twinkling as he watches your reaction.
His stories are always ridiculous—stories of clumsy mishaps, epic pranks gone wrong, or that one time he fell asleep mid-battle. You’d find yourself laughing in spite of yourself, the tension in your shoulders easing as you realize he’s making himself the butt of the joke, just to make you feel more at ease. He’d keep talking until he sees that spark of amusement in your eyes, and then keep going, his smile growing wider every time you giggle.
And Ace’s teasing? Oh, he’d be a master of that fine line between making you laugh and making you blush. He’d lean in, smirking just enough to be charming, and say, “What’s this? A smile? I knew it was in there somewhere.” His playful comments would come with a wink and a laugh, just enough to make your face warm, but never enough to make you feel like you’re being put on the spot.
If he ever saw you growing quiet or noticed that hint of panic in your eyes, he’d immediately back off, switching to a softer tone and throwing in a quick “I’m just messing with ya” followed by that disarming grin of his.
Ace would be incredibly in tune with your reactions, watching for the tiniest signs that you’re feeling overwhelmed. The moment he picks up on it, he’d change gears—maybe suggesting a quiet spot on deck where you could sit together and watch the stars, or offering to take a walk to get some fresh air. He’d brush off the seriousness with a light, “Hey, it’s just us. No pressure, alright?” The way he says it makes you feel safe, like it’s just you and him against the world, no expectations or worries allowed.
Ace is the definition of a warm hug in human form, so being a tactile person comes naturally to him. But when it comes to you, he’d show an impressive amount of restraint—not an easy feat for someone who’d usually throw an arm around a friend without thinking twice. Well, you’re not just his friend but his lover, obviously—but what I’m getting at us that he’s a pretty affectionate guy.
He’d start small, easing you into it with light touches: a friendly pat on the shoulder when you share a joke, a playful ruffle of your hair that would leave you smiling and maybe a little flustered. You’d catch the subtle glances he’d shoot you afterward, as if he’s silently checking, Was that okay? Did that make you uncomfortable? It’s endearing how he’s so in tune with your comfort level, his natural affection turned into a gentle dance of patience and care.
As time went on and your confidence around him grew, Ace would start to introduce more meaningful touches. He’d sneak in side hugs when you’re sitting together, leaning into you with that easygoing smile of his that made your heart race. And when the day finally came that you leaned into him on your own, whether it was out of exhaustion or just because you felt safe, the soft, proud look on his face would be priceless.
Ace would make a big deal out of it in the quietest way possible, his hand finding yours in a reassuring squeeze as if to say, Hey, look at you, being brave. Eventually, he’d graduate to full-on snuggling when you were comfortable, and the first time he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you close, you’d know just how deeply he cared.
And when social situations become too much—because let’s face it, Ace has a lot of friends and a magnetic personality that draws people in—he’d be the first to notice if you’re starting to feel overwhelmed.
In those moments, he’d spring into action without making it obvious. He’d tell a ridiculously over-the-top story, one that would steal the spotlight from everyone else and have the whole room’s attention fixed on him, leaving you a moment to breathe.
Ace would always throw himself into being the distraction, whether it meant cracking jokes or reenacting a failed stunt that ended with him pretending to trip over his own feet. He’d shoot you a quick wink in the middle of it, as if to say, See? I’ve got you.
It’s not that he wanted to be the center of attention—okay, maybe a little, but only when it’s for you.
He’d take on the role of court jester, chaos-maker, or even reluctant hero if it meant taking the pressure off you for a while. If anyone questioned it, he’d brush it off with a laugh and a shrug, all while keeping an eye on you to make sure you were okay.
And if things really got too much, Ace wouldn’t hesitate to steer you away from the noise altogether, leaning in close and saying, “Let’s get outta here for a bit, yeah?” He’d lead you somewhere quieter, a hand on your arm or fingers interlaced with yours, the simple touch grounding you as you walked.
You’d both end up somewhere peaceful, maybe under the stars or by a flickering campfire, where he’d wrap an arm around your shoulder and say, “You don’t have to explain. Just take your time.” And you would, with the steady thump of his heartbeat right next to yours, knowing he’d take on the world just to make sure you felt comfortable and safe.
Ace would be your number one cheerleader, hyped beyond belief over every little victory you achieved. You managed to say something in a group conversation? He’d beam at you like you just solved world peace. “Look at you go! You’re amazing!” he’d shout, probably a bit louder than necessary, with that signature grin that lights up his entire face.
If you reached out to touch his arm or, heaven forbid, initiated a hug, there’d be a solid five minutes of him staring at you in delighted disbelief before breaking out into an excited, “Did you just—? You did! You did!”
What you might not notice is that whenever you step even half a toe out of your comfort zone, Ace is in the background punching the air with all the subtlety of an over-caffeinated kid at a birthday party.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a tiny thing, like making eye contact with someone new, or a big step like saying a few words in front of the crew—Ace is celebrating it like you just discovered the One Piece itself.
He might look a bit unhinged to anyone passing by, but he’s never cared about that. You’re his person, and your wins are his wins. He’s just out here being the proudest guy alive, punching invisible foes and mouthing, That’s my partner!
And the way he looks at you? It’s like you’re the most priceless treasure in the world, and not just in the fleeting, pirate-wants-your-gold way. No, Ace’s gaze is full of warmth and genuine awe, the kind that makes you feel like you’re wrapped in a blanket of sunshine.
When you speak, whether it’s a confident statement or a hesitant mumble, Ace is all ears. His eyes would fix on you with this almost comically serious expression, nodding along like you’re revealing some ancient, life-altering secret.
You could point to the sky and say, “That’s the sky,” and he’d respond with a deep, earnest nod and a wide grin, “Exactly! I love that you noticed!” The rest of the crew might shake their heads and mutter things like, “Here they go again,” but Ace doesn’t care. If it matters to you, it matters to him—simple as that.
It doesn’t matter how mundane your observation is or how shyly you say it; to Ace, every word is golden. He’d hang on every syllable as if you were weaving a tale worthy of a bard’s song. You’d catch him repeating things you said back to you later, just to show he’d remembered, saying things like, “Oh yeah, like you said the other day, the sky really was a perfect blue.”
It’s almost ridiculous, but that’s Ace—he’d make you feel like every tiny thing you did was extraordinary, because in his eyes, it truly is.
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SABO
Sabo is the calm breeze compared to the whirlwinds that are Luffy and Ace, which makes him the perfect blend of approachable and comforting.
With his natural ease and warm, diplomatic demeanor, you’d find yourself feeling more at peace around him sooner than you’d expect. Sabo’s the kind of person who could have a conversation with anyone, but when he’s with you, you’d feel like you’re the only one in the world that matters.
He’s just got this knack for making everything feel safe, like he’s a sturdy anchor in a storm. If you ever started to feel overwhelmed, Sabo would be the first to notice, with a quiet attentiveness that doesn’t scream I’m watching you but more like I’m here if you need me.
He’d be a master of subtlety, paying close attention to what made you nervous and what helped you open up, all without making it seem like he was analyzing you. You’d catch him making mental notes when you shifted uncomfortably or lit up at something specific. He’s probably like, “Write that down, write that down!” in his head.
And he’d use those observations to make your interactions more comfortable. If he noticed that certain topics or big crowds made you anxious, he’d steer conversations towards lighter things or find a reason to take a quiet walk somewhere less crowded.
Sabo would never rush you into sharing more than you were ready for. He understands that trust is built slowly, like adding logs to a fire, not dumping gasoline on it and hoping for the best.
Sabo would show his affection in the most considerate ways, taking into account what you’d find comforting rather than overwhelming. That being said, grand and dramatic gestures aren’t his style when it comes to you; he’d save those for his other acts of rebellion.
With you, he’d stick to smaller, more intimate actions. He’d brush his fingers across yours before holding your hand, always making sure it was welcome. He’d lean in a little closer when you’re talking, eyes fixed on you with that soft, attentive gaze of his that makes you feel like you have all the time in the world.
There’d be moments when he’d reach out with a light touch on your arm, or just the simple press of his shoulder against yours when you sat side by side, enough to let you know he was there but never too much to make you uncomfortable.
It’s like he has a sixth sense for what was just the right amount of closeness. And if you ever looked unsure or nervous, Sabo’s eyes would catch yours, full of warmth and encouragement, like he was silently saying, Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.
The patience he’d show would be unmatched; you could almost hear him mentally cheering you on even if you were just picking your words slowly or taking a deep breath before saying something important.
And the way he’d support you? Subtle but powerful. If you ever found yourself second-guessing or fumbling, he’d quietly step in to help redirect the conversation or offer a reassuring comment. “I think that’s a great point,” he’d say with genuine enthusiasm, giving you that extra boost of confidence.
And when you’d catch him watching you speak, the look in his eyes would always be one of admiration—never judgment, never pressure, just pure, patient support. And whether it’s a simple chat or a quiet walk together, Sabo’s presence would be your reminder that you’re valued, seen, and cherished, just as you are.
When it came to conversations, Sabo would be your guy for deep, meaningful talks, but with a healthy dose of humor to keep things light. He’d pick the coziest, quietest corner on the ship or at a café, leaning in with a thoughtful smile and saying, “Alright, you ready to hear some top-secret stories about Ace and Luffy’s greatest flops?” And he’d be off, recounting tales of Luffy trying to eat something he really, really shouldn’t have or Ace’s legendary nap times that ended in near-disaster.
His stories are designed not just to make you laugh, but to remind you that even these larger-than-life brothers were and still are total dorks sometimes. And before you know it, you’re easing into sharing a few of your own stories, prompted by his gentle encouragement and the safety his presence provided.
If there was ever a moment where you hinted at wanting to join in on an activity or step outside your comfort zone, Sabo would light up like someone just told him there was free cake on deck. But instead of jumping up and down and looking crazy, Sabo’s celebration would be the dignified, internal kind.
Picture a boardroom in his mind filled with 10 tiny Sabos all jumping out of their chairs, high-fiving each other, and throwing confetti in the air. On the outside, he’d just offer you that calm, reassuring grin and a simple, “You’ve got this. And if not, we’ll laugh about it later, yeah?”
He’d be your biggest silent cheerleader, always ready with a patient hand to guide you or a subtle nudge if you needed it. If you wanted to join in on a game or join a conversation but hesitated, Sabo would seamlessly include you, making it feel natural and not like he was pointing out your shyness.
He’d say things like, “Hey, I think Y/N would be perfect for this—what do you think?” and then shoot you a wink that says, See? Not so bad, right? And when you took that first step, whether it was a comment or a hesitant laugh at a joke, Sabo’s inner cheering squad would be losing their collective minds.
So while Ace might be punching the air and Luffy would probably shout, “You did it!” at full volume, Sabo would play it cool—at least on the outside. But don’t be fooled. The minute he see’s you trying something new or making a move outside your comfort zone, those 10 tiny Sabos in his head would be throwing a full-on carnival, complete with fireworks and dancing.
And he’d just keep giving you that look that said, You’re amazing, and I’m so proud of you. Because to him, you’re always worth celebrating, no matter what.
If there’s one thing Sabo doesn’t tolerate, it’s someone messing with the people he cares about. So if he spotted you feeling uncomfortable or noticed someone trying to be intimidating, he’d swoop in with the subtlety of a master diplomat. Sabo wouldn’t make a scene, but instead, he’d redirect the situation like an absolute pro.
Maybe he’d throw out a well-timed joke, ask a question that shifts the focus, or suddenly develop an urgent need for your opinion on something random, like, “Hey, didn’t you say you know a lot about… apples?” The offender would be left blinking, and you’d find yourself in a new conversation before you even realized what happened. Crisis averted, all thanks to Sabo’s suave social maneuvering.
And then there’s Sabo’s sweeter side—his covert operation of affection. He knows that grand, dramatic proclamations can sometimes make you want to dive head-first into the nearest bush, so he’s perfected the art of subtle, heartfelt gestures.
He’d leave little handwritten notes tucked in places he knows you’ll find, maybe in your favorite book or slipped under your plate at breakfast. Each note would be filled with the kind of genuine, thoughtful words that would make your heart do an embarrassing little flip. They’d say things like, I know you’re stronger than you think, and I can’t wait for the world to see it, too, or The stars were beautiful last night, but not as much as seeing you smile today.
And don’t even get started on the letters. Oh, the letters. Sabo would write you these intricate, beautifully crafted notes that read like they came straight from the heart of a poet who’s just returned from a victorious battle.
He could have just finished a day of intense Revolutionary Army missions, covered in dust and exhaustion, but you’d still get a note that starts with, Hey, you. I’m thinking about you, and ends with some metaphor about how your presence makes the world brighter, even when he’s knee-deep in chaos.
You’d find trinkets, too—maybe a small charm he found that reminded him of you or a pressed flower from somewhere he thought was pretty. It’s the little things that would make your day and remind you that, no matter what chaos he’s wrapped up in with the Revolutionary Army, you’re always on his mind. And when you’d look up at him, cheeks flushed from finding yet another one of his notes or small gifts, Sabo would just grin that charming, lopsided grin and say, “Did you find it? Good. I meant every word.”
He’s protective, thoughtful, and romantic in a way that feels like it’s tailored just for you. And even if he’s balancing the weight of revolutions and strategic plans, Sabo makes sure you know that you’re not just part of his life—you’re the best part.
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