#could someday extend to me? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alexiroflife · 6 months ago

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how jjk men would react if they found out you sh…

Warning(s): cw//self harm, graphic depictions, mentions of depression, anxiety, sensitive content, angst/comfort

-> if you or anyone you know is struggling with self-harm, suicidal thoughts, depression, etc., know that you aren’t alone. as someone who used to struggle with these things myself, i understand how difficult it can be, but know that you are strong and you are loved. and thank you for the ask, this is a very important topic and i appreciate the vulnerability of the request. sending all the possible love in the world to all of you.

gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna

satoru gojo: satoru has an incredible sense of sight, thanks to his gift of the six eyes, as well as very keen observation skills. he picks up on little habits you harbor very quickly during the beginning of your relationship. you always choose to wear long-sleeved clothing, even when it’s warm, and you tug at your sleeves as though you are desperately trying to conceal a certain part of yourself from the outside world, from him. he doesn’t understand why at first. the thought crosses his mind that you just aren’t comfortable in sleeveless clothing, but you’ve shown him pictures of yourself from a decade ago when you’d wear variations of different tank tops, short sleeves, and more. he doesn’t understand what changed somewhere along the line. perhaps your sense of style has shifted? maybe you don't like your arms? (he can't understand how because he finds them to be the most gorgeous arms he's ever seen).

but no, something is nagging at him in the back of his head, churning the contents of his gut as though there is something he needs to know, to see that you were hiding, and when the moment unveiled itself, he instantly saw.

you’re in your kitchen while satoru watches you from the other side of the island, leaning over and gazing at your movements with a soft smile. his blue eyes scattered across your body, admiring you while simultaneously searching for any clue, any answer to his hovering questions.

“where’d i put the containers,” you murmur to yourself in the midst of making lunch for the week, moving about your space rather slowly.

satoru offers his own help, pointing a slender finger over to the space above your head. “did you check that cabinet?” he asks.

you turn over your shoulder and quirk your brow. “oh, do you live here now? suddenly know where everything is?” you ask playfully, a small smile rising to your lips as satoru chuckles.

“not yet,” he winks. “but i sure am working on it, though. you know i have to make myself familiar with the space in case we share it someday.”

“is that so?”

“or, of that doesn't work out you could always live with me. i’d love to have you.”

“we’ve been together for three weeks, satoru.”

“yeah, but what does that matter when it comes to loveeee,” he pouts and you giggle, shaking your head as you turn back to reach for the cabinet. you stand on your tiptoes and reach out, sleeve of your sweet draping down to your elbow.

satoru is quick to his feet to help you, though you’re more than capable, when he catches the sight of what looks like a scar streaking over the inside of your wrist. his face falls and his brows angle, marching over to you quickly with a look of urgency on his face.

you don’t register how fast he is moving until you feel him behind you. you turn and look up, caught off guard by the way his eyes had hardened and his pupils shrank. your hand stalls on the cabinet handle, the scars on your arm completely slipping your mind momentarily.

“satoru? you okay?”

he doesn’t answer, grasping your wrist in his hand gently and pulling it down from above you. your eyes flicker up to the movement, and when you realize what is happening, your heart sinks. your eyes go wide and you try to tug your arm away, but satoru’s grip tightens slightly, extending your arm by your wrist to display the inside of your forearm before him.

he thinks his vision is blurring over, his heart ringing in his ears, his breaths quickening as his eyes detail over the row of rigid scars lining from your inner elbow up to your wrist. his world collapses around him, lips stretching into a disbelieving grimace as his wild eyes survey the damage. some of those scars look newer than others, scabbing over with specs of purple, while the others are far older.

you panic, trying to tug away again, but satoru’s grip on you is too secure. a lump forms in your throat as you search for things to say, anything to say that could take your boyfriend’s attention away, that could excuse the sight before him as something else. “s-satoru, wait-” you stammer, your voice weaker than you had intended it to be.

satoru looks like he can’t hear you, nose flaring as he stares, and stares, and stares, and suddenly, your vulnerability is bare naked before him, on display for him to judge, to belittle, to curl his brows at and determine as pathetic and weak. you can feel yourself about to cry already, shaken by this sudden attention.

“satoru,” you whisper, arm trembling within his grasp.

“what is this?” he breathes out so quietly, his voice betraying himself and hardly reaching over a brush through the wind. when you do not answer, those pained eyes are on you, tormented by the sight he has just witnessed. “(y/n), what is this?”

you feel small, avoiding his eyes and looking all over the floor. “i- it’s nothing,” you murmur.

“nothing?” he repeats, as though he has been burned by your response. the white haired man quickly seeks out your other wrist, reaching down to your other side as you try to turn away, but he, of course, manages to seize it and extend it like your other arm and roll up that sleeve. the same row of scars litter your beautiful skin.

satoru’s a mess, frightened, confused, devastated. this is what you had been hiding from him all this time? “this isn’t fucking nothing, (y/n), they’re all over you! what did you do?”

you still can’t respond, you can’t muster up an excuse, you can’t do anything. satoru’s concern is far too overbearing, his gaze too intense, and his hold on you too secure. it feels like he has you laid out on a slab before him, stripped of your clothes as he examines your body with contempt.

he’s disgusted. he’s ashamed, you think.

amid his grief, he catches the terrified look in your eye, your lips tugged downward as if to prevent yourself from crying. you look so scared.

how could he have not seen this sooner, that you’re hurting? that you’re hurting yourself?

“baby, what did you do?” he repeats, softer this time as he leans down to look at you, your body trembling in his hold. his thumbs graze your inflamed skin, hesitant to touch you for fear that you may break.

“please don’t,” you breathe out in a huff, voice wobbling as you scrunch your eyes closed. “please, don’t look. just forget you saw it, please.”

“forget i-?” satoru has to stop himself from lashing out poorly, from allowing his emotions to overcome him in what he understands is clearly your moment of need. “how could you ask me to do something like that? (y/n), your arms, baby!”

“satoru, please-” you shake your head. you want to shrink away, to hide, to vanish into thin air. “i don’t wanna talk about it. please.”

“(y/n),” he exhales, closing his eyes to gather himself. “(y/n),” he repeats softly, hands releasing your wrists slowly and sliding up your arms to delicately hold your shoulders. “we can’t not talk about this. you have to tell me what’s been going on. you have to, baby, you have to understand how scared I am right now. help me understand. let me help you, let me take on whatever burden you’re carrying, please, I’ll do anything as long as it means you’re not hurting yourself.”

his hands move to your neck, cupping over the skin as he ducks his head down to look at you more clearly.

“i can’t stand the thought that you’ve been- and i haven’t-” satoru was stumbling now, throat straining as the urge to cry rose. “why didn’t you come to me? i’m right here for you, (y/n), i always have been. why didn’t you tell me?”

“...it’s embarrassing,” you manage to say, your voice fragile, on the verge of breaking. you can feel your boyfriend’s eyes peering into you even with your own eyes closed. “didn’t want you to see… I didn’t wanna be a burden.”

satoru’s heart is breaking for you, hurt that you could even think of yourself as a burden to him. “have i- have i done or said anything to you to make you feel that way?” he asks genuinely, and you cringe, turning your head to the side to open your eyes.

“no, of course not.”

“then why would you think that, baby?”

you shrug helplessly, tears welling into your eyes. satoru sees you, all of you, his heart thrumming to capture the pain you feel and to lift it from your chest, to help you breathe even just a little bit. he releases a weighted sigh, one of sadness, of love, of heartache for you, and he’s pulling you into him as your arms dangle limply at your sides.

you scrunch your eyes and immediately break down into him, sobbing into his shirt as his warm hands wash over your frame and cradle your head to him, the muscles in his face tight with anguish. he holds onto you like he’s horrified that you will fade away within his arms.

“i’m just so tired, toru,” you cry into his chest, dampening the fabric of his shirt. “i’m sorry.”

satoru doesn’t respond, afraid that if he speaks, he’ll end up crying too. you’re his girl, his beautiful, loving girl, and the fact that you have done such harm to yourself is incomprehensible to him. if you love him so, how can you hate yourself enough to have done this?

“how long?” is all he can ask you, breath heaving into your hair and ear. you hesitate, for he already seems so wounded by his discovery. “tell me.”

“...two years…”

he’s crushed. how did he not see sooner? how could he have been so blind after having bragged about being able to see everything so clearly? how could he have left you like this?

he holds you tighter, digging his head into the crook of your neck and hunching over, your eyes now seeing over the curve of his broad shoulder.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes to you in turn, fingers curling into your hair as he holds your scalp. “i'm sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”

you’re confused as to why he’s apologizing to you since the entire thing is your fault. satoru has a tendency to take on your emotions, piling them onto his own weight of carrying the title of the strongest. you never understood why he did so naturally and willingly, and why even now as you stood limply in his arms, he’s crying for the things you did to yourself.

he pulls away with shiny red eyes, gazing down into your shiny red eyes and tear stained cheeks. you’re so beautiful, he thinks. he hates that such beauty has been suffering in so much silence.

“(y/n), I love you more than anything in this goddamn world. please don’t- don’t keep doing this to yourself. if you’re hurting, come to me. hurt me if you have to lash out, but don’t hurt yourself beautiful.”

“i would never even think of hurting you, satoru.”

“then don’t think of doing it to yourself,” he says firmly, and you press your lips together.

“…i-i don’t know how to… to stop,” you mumble, and he’s taking your hands in his and kissing them gently.

“i’ll help you. we can get you help, baby, I promise. just promise me, please,” he begs you, holding your hands close to his heart. “you come to me when you feel like doing that, okay? you come to me. and I’ll do whatever I can. let me help you. let me be there for you. i won’t let you push me out, (y/n).”

you're crying again, tears streaking over your face as satoru’s love captures you within his words, within his warmth as he forces you to understand that you are not alone, and never will be.

satoru kisses your hands again. his lips reach your cheek, and his hand comes to tuck your head into his shoulder again, holding you and telling you that you have him to go to when your world grows dark.

geto suguru: if suguru could sum you up into one word, he would say that you're his universe.

everything in his life he does for the sake of you and his girls, for the sake of keeping you safe and making you happy. your happiness and your comfortability are the only things that suguru prioritizes above all else, making them his very goal to serve each and every day.

suguru's not the most stable, you know that and he knows that himself. he has his off days, where he falls quiet and the world around him numbs itself and the noise becomes a muffle in his ears until you step into view, giving him a smile and wrapping his big frame up in your small arms, your voice whispering to him and breaking through the fog. you're his sanctuary. you're his safe place, and he loves you so much. he owes his entire life to you, therefore ensuring that you feel just as loved as you make him feel is very important to him.

so when he catches sight of the scars on your stomach one day by accident, when you lift up mimiko to sit on your shoulder as nanako jumps up for you to pick her up to, and her shoe kicks up your shirt from your waist momentarily, suguru freezes.

are you hurt? did someone do this to you? did you do this to yourself?

countless thoughts are racing through suguru's mind as he stares at you in a daze, watching you laugh so joyfully along with the girls as though no trouble plagues you.

but there is. you've just been hiding it. hiding it far too well.

his mind is elsewhere for the rest of the day, unsure of if he had been imagining things or not. he knows you so well, or at least he thinks he does. how have you been hiding those marks littering your lower abdomen? how had he missed them?

he thinks back to the moments you two were intimate and recalls that you never wanted to remove the tanktop you wore or let him kiss further than your ribs. he recalls the days you all went to the beach and you kept a white shirt over your swimsuit or elected to wear a onepiece. he recalls how quickly you change when he's with you, your back turned to him as you rush to throw something on over your upper body.

the signs... they're all there. you've been hiding yourself from him, but why? what have you been doing? have you truly been harming yourself, or is that thought a trick of suguru's worst fears?

he tries to keep himself calm around you and the girls for the remainder of the day until they are put to sleep and the two of you are alone again.

you sit on the edge of your shared bed, rubbing lotion over your arms with your back facing suguru again. he watches you carefully, back resting against the headboards and hazel eyes trained on your figure as though you aren't real.

he waits for the proper moment, waiting for you to crawl up and curl under his side, his arm subconsciously wrapping over your waist as your head lays on his chest. he stares at the ceiling for a moment, thinking as weighty silence overcomes you, then he's cautiously speaking.

"(y/n)?"

the soft call of your name brings your head up to peer at him curiously, blinking innocently. he turns down to look at your face and his heart clenches. while he knows that he knows what he saw, he doesn't want to believe it. he doesn't want to think that you, such a selfless and caring person for him, would hurt yourself.

you hum up at him, wondering what he has called you for. you see the pensive look in his face, the subtle knit in his brow as he stares at you, gears in his head turning. "yeah sugu?" you say gently.

he doesn't want to ask, but he has to. he doesn't want the confirmation, but he needs to know.

"i want to ask you a question..." he says, and you grow slightly befuddled.

"...okay?" you start. "is it serious?"

"yeah, it is," he admits, and you suddenly grow nervous, immediately catching an idea of what this could be about. you don't like the look on his face, the way he appears so serious.

"...alright," you mumble, suddenly meek.

the black haired man stares for a few more moments, just looking at you, taking in your the features he feel so deeply in love with, the features that bring him comfort and peace. "i saw something earlier, when you were holding mimiko," he begins softly, thumb caressing your back to ease you into the conversation.

you feel your heart jolt anxiously, trying to keep a straight face so as to not give your nerves away, but knowing suguru, he could likely already tell that you're getting antsy.

you lift your head to look at him, hand resting over his chest, and his eyes follow you smoothly. his eyes are focused, lips in a firm line.

"your shirt lifted, and i saw your stomach. i saw some marks. a lot of them, actually," he says, and you still completely, like a deer caught in headlights. his hand presses gently into your back, trying to keep you present with him as his concerns grow worse when he sees you stiffen against him. he frowns, denial still taking hold of him. "(y/n), please tell me those aren't what i think they are," he sighs heavily.

you feel caught.

you knew that suguru would find out at some point or another, but that didn't make this moment any less horrifying for you. it's so quiet in your room, so isolating, no background noise of the girls giggling or the distant buzz of the tv to help weaken the intensity of this point in time. you feel like a spotlight is shining overhead, an audience awaiting eagerly for you to reveal your secrets to the crowd.

suguru sits up slightly, his calmness gradually shifting into terrified incredulity. your eyes are on his face but your gaze is elsewhere, far off. you look uncomfortable, stuck, and no explanation hits suguru's ears.

"(y/n)," he says your name again, looking desperately down at you. "tell me i'm wrong."

you wish you could, you really do, but you can't lie to suguru. he knows you too well, he loves you too much, and to lie to him would be like denying his understanding of who you are.

you feel your skin flush with shame and anxiety, heartbeat likely loud enough for your boyfriend to hear.

you worry. you worry about your boyfriend's judgment, for his reaction. is he going to be angry with you?

"hey," he snaps you out of your daze with the drag of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes as he stares at you helplessly. you look at him and frown, ashamed that you are the reason he looks so pained. "what's going on?"

the question comes out so delicately, it makes your heart break. a whisp of understanding blends into his tone with empathy, yet a crushing sense of sadness and guilt that overpowers the aforementioned emotions. you struggle to look him in his kind eyes, dreading his consolation that you feel you don't deserve.

"talk to me, (y/n)."

you chew angrily on the inside of your lip, looking down at your finger as you pick at his shirt. he watches your brows furl, an array of different feelings capturing your features. "i was gonna tell you about it..." you murmur, and suguru is floored.

"what?" he breathes out as though he has no more air. you wince, lowering your head. "you-" he pauses, mind jumping from one place to another. "you did that to yourself?"

"i'm sorry, i-" you can feel your throat growing tight. "i've been trying to-"

"to stop?" he tries to finish for you, grasping for any kind of explanation. he's devastated, not only because you've been harming yourself, but because you've been so busy looking after him and the girls that he hasn't noticed. you're the one who always comforts him, but while you've been doing that, you've been aching on the inside and trying to hide it.

you nod meekly when he concludes for you. "i just- i thought the feelings would go away, so i didn't say anything, but they're just getting worse and i don't know what to do anymore and i only feel better after i..."

"(y/n)," he stops you gently, his heart shattering upon listening to you ramble, spilling out the things you have been holding onto for what he assumes to have been so long. "you've been dealing with this all this time?"

"...it's on and off," you confess. "some days are better than others, but..."

suguru finds your words familiar, for he often finds himself in the exact same mindset; feeling functional and confident some days, and others, not so much, but you're the reason why he's able to handle his bad days, yet he hasn't been the same for you for as long as the two of you have been together.

he feels almost sick. he loves you to death. you're his everything, but you've been in pain, and he hasn't seen it.

the way he's looking at you now makes you feel guilty, remorseful, embarrassed. you know you should have told him, but you could never find the strength to. you had always been too scared. and the longer you self-harm, the less you are willing to admit to yourself and to your boyfriend that you have a problem.

you're shocked, though, when suguru's hands tighten over you and his face grows bitter, not with you but with himself. "how could i have been so stupid?" he grumbles, distraught. "and so selfish? all this time, you-"

"no, suguru, please, it's not your fault," you try to tell him.

"i should have seen, baby, i should have noticed something sooner. and all this time, instead you've been looking after me when i should have been looking after you."

"don't say that, suguru," you shift, looking sadly into his eyes. "it's my fault. i'm the one who did this, i'm the one who's to blame. i'm the stupid and selfish one, not you."

suguru's frown deepens, sad eyes looking over your face. you blame and belittle yourself just as easily as suguru does, and he can't stand it. he can't stand to see you like this, to be so aware of hurt before him. he wants, no, he needs to take all that pain away from you. he needs to exorcize it, rid your body of it, cast it away so that you can be happy from now until the rest of time. he needs you to be okay.

"i swear on my life, (y/n)," he begins firmly, eyes boring straight into yours, holding your cheek. "i will do everything in my power to get you through this. whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes, i will be here for you. you're not alone, you understand? you don't need to pretend for me. the girls love you- god i love you so fucking much, and i can't stomach to think of the times you've suffered in silence for my sake. i'm no good if you're no good, baby. i need to know these things, i need to be able to help you."

your nose twitches and your jaw clenches as you look into him, breathing growing unstable. suguru has always been so generous and so loving. he has a way with his words and how safe they make you feel even during your worst moments.

"but what if i can't do it, sugu?" you whisper, his thumb catching the tear that leaks from the corner of your eye. "what if i'm not strong enough to get better?"

"you are strong enough," he affirms confidently. "more than strong enough. and when you feel weak, lean on me. but you have to promise me something."

you nod slowly, mutely, keeping his gaze as he stares at you lovingly, wistfully.

"promise me you won't do it," his words come out as a quick, hasty breath. his brows curl further upward, his desperation plain on his pretty face. "promise me you'll let me know as soon as you want to, but don't hurt yourself again, (y/n). don't do it. i'm begging you. you don't deserve that pain."

though you are unsure if you can even make that promise to yourself, you force yourself to try. for suguru's sake. "okay," you mumble, and he sighs, kissing you softly and pulling you to his chest to whisper sweet nothings as his hands soothe over your stomach and your back.

nanami kento: you twist your fingers around each other as you sit in the living room while kento cooks in the kitchen. you're nervous, more nervous than you have been about anything in your entire life, but you know that you need to rip off this bandaid to approach your boyfriend about such a serious matter.

recently, you find yourself returning to the old habit that you believed to have been relinquished. you thought that you had gotten better, that the urge to self harm had completely gone away after having spent so much time in therapy trying to heal, but recently, you've been feeling down again, useless, angry with yourself. you didn't want to tell nanami at first because you didn't think that your current mood would go beyond feeling depressed, but now that you've started scratching away at your thighs and your arms again, you know that you need to let him know what's going on. you know that you can't go on like this anymore.

but you have no idea what to say.

nanami has been nothing but doting toward you, bringing you flowers every morning, making your meals, ensuring that you remember to schedule doctor's appointments or to keep yourself warm when it's cold out- the man's life revolves around your comfortability, and while you know he would be far more offended if you keep this to yourself, you're horrified to see his reaction when you tell him that you relapsed.

nanami is well aware of your past difficulties with your mental health, and he always tells you that if you are ever in a dark space again, he needs to know. even so, he hasn't been with you when you're like this. the two of you got together after the multiple therapy visits that helped you to shift mindsets, so now that you feel this way again, and while in a relationship with nanami no less, you feel petrified.

you don't even notice when he rounds the kitchen counter to make his way over to the dining table, setting down two plates of food. he looks over and catches the way you stare ahead blankly, lost in thought. you've been doing a lot of that lately and he wonders if something is wrong.

nevertheless, he knows that if something is bothering you, you'll tell him. "sweetheart, dinner's ready," he calls out, and you snap your head over to him, his voice bringing you out of your daze.

you stand wordlessly, movements somewhat robotic, as you slowly make your way over to the table. "thanks, ken," you say softly, lacking your usual energy, and at this point, your partner knows for certain that something is off.

he watches you carefully as you sit down, pushing in your seat for you and pecking your forehead before sitting down next to you. "tell me how your day was," he starts, brushing off his hands and reaching one out to rest one on your knee as he always did at the table. he's prying, you can tell, trying to learn if something that happened throughout the day affected your mood.

your heart is hammering loudly, your eyes stuck to the plate and unable to look up at him. "it was okay," you respond.

"just okay?" he questions and you nod slowly. "did something happen?"

you flicker your eyes up to his brown ones suddenly, caught off guard by the question. he sees the questioning in your eyes and replies accordingly.

"you seem to be a little off, this evening, that's all."

you hum, unsure of how to respond to his observation. you look away again, contemplating. just say it, you think. just tell him, just get it over with.

as you struggle against yourself, nanami only grows more concerned. you don't confirm or deny his comment, and the way you turn away has him wondering if he's done something to hurt you.

"did i do something wrong, darling?" he asks.

you furrow your brows and quickly shut down the idea. "no, no. not at all, ken. it's nothing you did."

"then... there is something troubling you?"

you stall a bit more now that you're on the spot, cursing the fact that kento is always so quick to pick up on the smallest changes in your demeanor.

"(y/n)?" he calls you when you don't answer.

"i have to tell you something," you say abruptly. you see nanami's brows raise ever so slightly, soft brown eyes looking over your face in an attempt to read the situation before you tell him anything. "it's... a lot. so i need you to just... bear with me. and please don't be mad."

nanami's brow twitches slightly as he looks at you, head tilting. he grabs the bottom of his chair and shuffles it closer to you, leaning over slightly and running his hand over where it resides on your knee.

"i could never be mad at you," he tells you earnestly, as though it's the most honest thing he's said in the world. "what's the matter, my love?"

god, he's so sweet to you it makes you physically ill that you have to break this news to him.

"...do you remember when we talked about... um..." your voice fades off, nanami's concentrated gaze only making you more nervous for what his reaction will be.

"take your time," he encourages you, and you only feel worse.

you return to chewing on the inside of your lip anxiously, picking at your shirt under the table. the blonde man beside you is ever so patient, allowing you to gather your thoughts before you verbalize them.

"...um...it's.... about what we talked about a while ago..."

"...and that would be regarding?"

"my... past."

nanami furrows his brows, still not quite understanding. "i apologize, honey, what about your past?"

just rip the bandaid. just rip the bandaid.

"my past with self-harming," you rush out, and the weighty silence that follows is enough to make you want to sink into the floor and let it swallow you whole.

you can feel his eyes burning into you, processing what you just told him, and all you can hear is the pound of your heart in your ears as his hand stills upon your knee.

nanami, on the other hand, is completely shocked by your revelation. while he understands that your relapsing has always been a very realistic possibility, he never wanted to entertain the idea that it could very much so happen- at least, not while he's around.

a sense of fear grips him. are you going to tell him that you relapsed? have you already hurt yourself? has he failed to be there when it happened??

"did you-" he doesn't know what he wants to ask, or how. he hates that he is already jumping to conclusions, but the way you are structuring this conversation with him only leads him to believe the worst. "what happened?"

your head hangs low and your fingers taut on your shirt, lips tightening as they press together. you can hear the disbelief in his voice already, and it breaks you.

"i relapsed."

the brown-eyed man clenches his jaw, falling completely silent once more to not react in a way that may worsen your state. you feel his hand tighten into a fist over top of your leg as he lowers his head, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and inhaling sharply. you feel like a child who is awaiting punishment as you look at his hunched state, a million questions of what he will do next running through your mind.

you hate to do this to him. nanami already has so much on his plate, you know this is the last thing he needs to be stressing over. you wish you could be okay for him. it's not his fault that your mind takes you to these places, and you don't want him to bear responsibility as though it is his doing. even so, you already know that he will because that's the type of man kento is. that's the type of boyfriend kento is.

you wait a few more moments in unbearable muteness. after what feels like forever, kento lifts his head again and rests his chin on his fist, elbow propped on his knee. he's looking to the side, deep in anguished thought. he no longer looks surprised, but rather guilty and frustrated. "when?" is the first thing he asks.

"yesterday," you answer dejectedly, and he almost jerks, his body twitching in reaction. "...are you mad?"

nanami looks at you and his hardened expression immediately softens into something melancholy. "no- no, of course not, (y/n), no," he shakes his head as if the notion is unfathomable, releasing his fist to cup your knee again more securely. "i will never be angry with you for what you're going through. never. no, i'm not mad."

you nod quickly, a meek sense of relief and sorrow taking over you, a weight heaving from your chest upon letting it out. "okay," you whimper.

"come here, my darling," he coaxes you softly, opening and grabbing your hand from under the table delicately to lead you to stand over him. his hand guides over the small of you're back once you're up, leading you to sit on his lap with your back pressed against the table and your legs dangling over one side of his chair.

he holds your forearms gently, looking up at you with sad, understanding eyes. "are you comfortable showing me?" he murmurs so intimately, easing you into his warm consolation.

you don't nod or answer him verbally. instead, you wordlessly roll up the sleeve of your sweater to reveal angry red scratch lines running up your inner forearm. nanami's lips curl in pain as though he can feel the sting of your scars, holding your arm gently for him to look over it.

the sight kills him, though he tries to keep his cool. this isn't about him, it's about you, but goodness, the image of the scars on your beautiful skin makes him hurt like no other pain he's experienced.

"is this all of it?" he asks you, and you shake your head.

"there's some on my thighs," you mutter, looking down.

he nods. "alright," he sighs. "alright."

"...i know you have so much on your plate already... i just-"

"don't. don't even," he stops you, eyes still roaming over your irritated skin. nanami usually commends himself for remaining collected in times of crisis, but he's desperately fighting a part of him that wants to yell out and cry for the sake of you.

he imagines you struggling with this on your own, long before he came into your life, and the thought makes him cringe to picture just how far this must have gotten. these scratches he is surveying now already look bad enough. were the other ones worse?

"(y/n), you know this isn't okay," he looks up at your face and sees how you are avoiding his eyes. you look so small compared to how you usually carry yourself, and it kills him. "to harm yourself like this... you can't treat yourself this way, darling, you know you can't."

"i know," you mumble. "i just had a moment, and now i'm scared that- that i'll go back to how things were."

"as long as i'm with you, you won't. i promise you that," nanami swears. "it was just this one time since you last?"

you nod. "yeah..."

"okay," he nods once more, convincing himself that this is something he can help stop before it gets any more out of hand. "why'd you do it this time, my love? what were you thinking that led you here? is there something i can do differently? is it work? is it a combination of things?"

"i wish it were that easy to explain, kento," you frown, glancing up at him helplessly. "but it's just... it's just a feeling i can't put into words. i can't pinpoint the source. i just... one minute i felt like i couldn't breathe, and the next i was..."

"okay," he repeats, letting you know that you no longer need to say anything more. you don't have to revisit it. he understands. he will take care of it. he'll help you. "okay, darling. how about this. i call off of work tomorrow and we can sit and talk about seeing a new therapist. then we can go out and do whatever you want. just for fun. does that sound okay with you?"

your nose flares and your lips tug to the side as you nod, truly not comprehending how you managed to find a man so patient with you. "yeah, that's good," you say softly, and nanami is at least relieved that you are willing to take further steps into a better direction.

"good," he whispers, rolling the sleeve of your sweater back down so that you no longer feel exposed or feel like you have to think any more about the things you did to yourself when you felt alone. "it's alright, my love. we'll get through it. you'll get past this just like you did last time," he encourages you, moving to caress your shoulder lovingly as you hold his gaze. "it's okay," he tells you again, and you nod weakly, leaning over to plop your head against his shoulder.

nanami holds you to him and exhales, food completely forgotten. his only priority now is to be there for you in the ways he could not before the two of you met.

"thank you for telling me."

choso kamo: choso worships the ground you walk on because he can not fathom a world without, nor the fact that you happened to stumble into his life on a whim. to imagine you hurt is the very worst thing that the man can think of, and the notion that you would hurt yourself is beyond his comprehension.

you aren't actively trying to hide any of your scars when he finds them. the scars are old, faded reminders of the pain that you used to endure and how you attempted to cope with it. while you are now six months free of self harming, the scars remain very present.

choso happens to catch sight of your scars when you are getting changed. he's sitting at the edge of your bed, face flushed, as he watches you blissfully change out of your pajamas and into clothes that you feel are best suited for a walk to the ice cream shop that choso has proposed. it's a bright sunday afternoon, and the brunette is eager to take advantage of the weather with the woman he holds close to his heart as well as his baby brother, who the two of you intend to meet at the store.

you're now dressed in nothing but a large white shirt and underwear, your legs bare as you strut around the space freely. choso's jade eyes follow you as you walk, completely obsessed with the way you move. he could watch you do the most mundane things for hours, which he truthfully tends to do anyway.

your back is to him before you round the bed, disappearing into the bathroom momentarily before coming back into the living room. choso's eyes still don't leave you, tracing over your face down your figure and finally to the front of your bare legs.

he falters, and his brows draw together when he catches dark marks littering over your inner thighs, only revealing themselves with the movement of your limbs as you walk.

the pale-skinned man grows confused and slightly concerned. he's never seen those marks on you before, and simultaneously, never on anyone else he knows either. he finds them to be a strange form of battle scars, especially due to the placement, the small size, and the sheer number of them. some of them take different shapes too, blurring together or over each other, while some stand out alone. they almost look like burns, but it's hard for choso to really tell.

you proceed about your business, searching through your drawer to pull out a skirt, when choso speaks up.

"love? what are those?" he asks curiously, perplexed.

you turn over your shoulder, shutting your drawer closed with your foot. "hm? what's what, cho?" you ask him, unsure of what he's referring.

choso, still slightly flustered by the vision of your half exposed body, nods his head into the direction of your lower legs. "those," he says again, and you look down, still lost.

you lift your foot momentarily, checking to see if something is stuck under or on top of it. you then survey the rest of your body, searching for something out of the ordinary. "uhhh," you trail off. "i'm not sure what you mean, baby. you're talking about my legs?"

you are far too desensitized to and familiar with the image of your scars to process that choso has never seen them before. the brunette, however, is unsatisfied, wanting an answer that you have yet to provide.

he leans forward, lifting his hand and pointing his finger directly to a patch of dark spots peeking out from your inner thighs. you follow his gaze, eyes landing on the culprits, and your shoulders drop in realization. "oh," you say shortly, choso retracting his hand.

he looks at you innocently, awaiting a response while you try to figure out how to explain this sight to him.

you don't want to worry him, but knowing choso, if you lead with the fact that these scars are there because you inflicted them onto yourself, he would have a heart attack, failing to find reason to your words.

even so, you know choso only wants to understand you as much as you desire to understand him. he wants to see the ugly parts as well as the beautiful parts of you that he is so drawn to, and if you hide it from him, that would only create a rift in your budding relationship that you aren't entirely too keen on creating.

you want him to know you, all of you, and these scars are as much of a part of you as the bones in your body and the blood pumping through your skin.

they're a sign of what you've been through, what you've overcome, and who you are now. they're important, and choso should know why they are there.

"that's a good question," you sigh, putting your skirt on the bed as you move to sit next to him at the edge of it. choso immediately turns to you, glancing over the marks shamelessly now that he has a better view of them.

"did someone do that to you?" is the first thought that crosses his mind, red drifting into his vision at the mere idea that someone has hurt you in such an intimate way.

"...no," you shake your head, lifting one leg up onto the bed, brushing his own, as the other dangles. "i put them there. a while ago," you explain honestly.

choso scrunches his brows tighter, eyes flickering up to your face then back down to try to identify what exactly the marks are. "what are they?" he repeats.

you exhale, puckering your lips as you prepare yourself for this difficult conversation. "they're burns, cho. from a match," you tell him.

now, the half-curse is incredibly confused. burn marks? on your lovely skin? in a place where only you could reach? put there by yourself?

you burned yourself?

"i don't understand," he frowns, shifting to face you better. "why would you..."

"i used to be in a really bad place, baby," you purse your lips, watching as his face contorts with consternation as he comes to understand that you purposefully harmed yourself.

"what do you mean? bad enough to do this to yourself?" he sounds mortified, his voice growing ragged the moment his tone picks up volume.

his pupils, moments ago blown pools of affection, are now shrunken dots of shock.

"don't look at me like that," you beg him, placing your hand over his own. his eyes snap to the sudden contact, then back to you with concern. "sometimes, when certain people are suffering from depression, or anxiety, or just overall bad thoughts and they feel like they have to... break out, or maybe punish themselves in a sense... they resort to hurting themselves."

choso gulps, lump forming in his throat as he listens to you with shaking eyes. "and that's what you did? you felt like you needed to punish yourself?"

"it's hard to explain to someone on the outside. i know it sounds... crazy, but it was the only way i knew how to cope with everything that i was dealing with."

"why didn't you come to me instead?" he immediately asks and you give him a sad, knowing look.

"because, we didn't know each other then, cho?"

"i don't care," he shakes his head, eyes keeping yours. "you should have found me."

the idea brings a hint of a smile to your lips, choso's sweetness warming your heart. "i didn't know who you were, baby, that would have been like begging a stranger for help."

"so?" he scoffs. "i loved you the moment i met you. it wouldn't have made any difference to me.

you sigh again, bringing your other hand to rest over top of your boyfriend's as you smile softly at him in an attempt to get him to calm down.

the panic is still written all over his face as he takes in your smile, the vision somehow only making him sadder. you're so gorgeous, inside and out, and that smile is only scratching the surface of your unending beauty.

to know now that your radiance was once outweighed by the torment in your mind encouraging you to harm yourself... well, it makes choso want to ball his eyes out. it makes him want to confront the physical manifestation of your past traumas and pummel it into the ground, bashing its head in for all the hurt that it has caused you.

"i ended up just fine, cho," you reassure him.

"why didn't you say anything before? were you trying to keep it from me?"

"no, baby, i just didn't think to tell you. i kinda forgot about them," you say, and that comment alone makes choso soften his features slightly.

"you forgot..." he recites your words. "does that mean you're better now?"

you hum in affirmation, smiling warmly. "it's been a while since i've hurt myself or done anything like that. i got through it. i'm okay now, these scars are just a permanent reminder of the past."

his frame sags slightly with relief, brows lifting as he looks over you with a blank expression. "i think i understand," he mumbles, looking back down at the marks. "i'm sorry you ever had to go through any of that."

"it's not your fault. you weren't there."

"i wish i had been. so i could have helped more. i know you said you're better, but maybe if i had been there i could've stopped you from hurting yourself at all."

"i wouldn't put that responsibility onto yourself, cho. it was my responsibility."

"still," his brows arch slightly. "i would have stuck with you every second of every day to make sure that you never had a second alone to do any of it. i wouldn't have let you, and i won't let you now." a thought seems to pop into his head when he finishes his last sentence. "you wouldn't go back to trying to hurt yourself, (y/n), would you?

you exhale. "i mean, i'd like to think i wouldn't, but sometimes these things aren't linear," you admit. "i just know that for now, i'm okay."

"the second you're not, though, you'd tell me?"

"yes. i would."

"you promise?"

"i promise, baby."

"okay," he sighs. "because i don't think i'd be able to function knowing you're upset."

the brown haired man leans over, carefully holding your thigh as he looks over your marks again, no longer flustered by your bare skin but entirely focused on the severity of your burns. you look down at him, hands slipping from his own as he surveys you closely like he's a doctor.

"they don't hurt anymore, do they?"

"nope. just scarred."

choso looks at you for a bit longer in silence before looking back up at you from his hunched state. "can i kiss them?"

you laugh softly, hand falling into his hair at you gaze at him with your heart aglow. "you want to kiss them?"

he nods. "so they can feel loved."

you coo, thumb smoothing over his temple as his eyes swell with adoration right before you. "of course you can."

toji fushiguro: toji is absolutely no stranger to scars. he's a human man with no cursed energy, having had his fair share of close calls on risky jobs that have left him with slashes over his calves, small pierces in his flesh, and cracked callouses. then, of course, there's the scar on his mouth bestowed upon him by his oh-so-loving family, which will be stuck with for the rest of his life.

scars follow toji like moths follow a flame, and he's numb to it. he believes that they are a part of life, both physically and mentally, especially with the kind of life that he leads. whether the wound is a large one or a small one he can barely see, he accepts scars as a part of who he is-

who he is.

while toji likes to parade around with a hardened exterior decorated with faded, scabbing wounds, that is something he deems fit for him and him only. he doesn't care what other people do with their lives as long as they leave him the hell out of it, but for the love of all the money that he has acquired over the years slaughtering sorcerers, he will be damned if he finds a single, tiny little scratch on your body.

scars are for toji, not for you, his darling little girlfriend and the day he finds out someone has hurt you enough to leave behind a mark is the day he's putting several bullets into the culprit's head.

toji's worst fear, though he hardly discusses it, is losing you and watching you get hurt. god, he practically lives to protect you, and to feel as though he has failed to do so would wound him detrimentally. he's a tough guy, but you make him so soft, and admittedly he wouldn't want to be soft for anyone but you. you're his rock, his little hot head, and he loves you more than life itself.

if you're hurt, he will lose it.

therefore, when he finds out that you're self-harming? oh, he's on the verge of losing his fucking mind.

he does a double-take when you step out of his room and into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your body, his eyes widening and his brows arching immediately.

now, toji knows your body inside and out. he's explored every inch, he knows every crook, every crevice, every mark, every texture, and he has never once in the six months you have been together seen the red lines over your inner wrist.

he watches you with twisted lips as you grab an orange from the counter before walking back into his direction. you're almost back into the room when toji calls you.

"uh uh," he stops you, and you pause, turning over your shoulder and purposefully moving your left wrist to press into your towel.

"what?"

"come here," he orders and you give him a strange look.

"why?"

"i wanna see somethin'. come here."

you're quick to snap back easily with your own sarcastic retort, clearly in a foul mood over something. "if you want to fuck, can you wait until i'm fully dried off and after i finish this?' you hold up the orange in your other hand, a perturbed look on your face.

"i don't want to fuck, (y/n), i want you to come here."

toji's voice comes out sternly, and on the verge of anger. you survey his posture, his arms leaning over his legs as he cranes to look at you with a suspicious, firm expression. you can tell that he's serious, and a sudden sense of fear overtakes you that you mask with annoyance.

you don't say a word when you slowly walk up to him, crossing your arms over your chest to conceal your wrist, the hand holding the orange tucked under your elbow.

"what is it?"

toji holds out his palm. "give it."

"...my orange?"

"put it in my hand."

you huff, carefully maneuvering your arm around to keep your inner wrist pointed toward your body as you bring forward the orange and plop it aggressively into his hand. toji watches your other arm the entire time, taking clear note of how you refuse to let your wrist show, and you know you're fucked.

the green-eyed man tosses the orange to the side of the couch and holds out his large palm again, eying you intensely. you look down at him with a frustrated frown, shrugging. "i don't have anymore oranges."

"don't be cute, doll."

"what? do you want my hand?"

"you know i want your hand."

you roll your eyes, raising the hand you had held your orange with when he stops you. "not that one. the other one."

your heart pangs, shaking your entire body as he looks to you expectantly. how the fuck had he managed to notice the scar on your wrist so quickly?

the moment you hesitate, he knows that what he saw earlier is something to be concerned about. you normally never hide yourself from toji, and the way you go about hiding your arm now is defensive enough to raise several brows. he knows you're not dumb, too. he knows that you know exactly what he wants to see.

"(y/n)." he cocks a brow, the severity of his demeanor only making you more uneasy.

he can't see. he can't see what you've just done. he'll hate you. he'll look at you like you're crazy.

"what if i don't want to give you my hand?"

"then i'll just grab it for you, and i don't think either of us wants to go there."

you release a trembling, aggravated breath. you can't get away with anything when toji's around, and while you ponder having chosen to get an orange later, you know deep down somewhere you wanted toji to see. you wanted him to help you, which is why you walked out of that bathroom half an hour after having put those scars on your arm.

"hand, now."

you turn your eyes away with a grunt, slapping your wrist into his hand facing downward. toji is quick to whip it upside once he has a grip on you, and his eyes seem to freeze over the sight of three fresh slices on your upper forearm up close.

his jaw clenches, then unclenches, then clenches and unclenches again as his lips twitch and his eyes adjust to the vision. you're hurt. not only are you hurt, but it looks as though you've recently been hurt. you've hurt yourself.

toji has a hard time figuring out what to do. he's not good with things like this, but he knows that seeing you with scars on your arm is quite literally about to set him off. he always imagined having to defend you from others who seek to hurt you, but never having to defend you from yourself.

he can't fathom it. he's struggling, the muscles in his eyes are twitching, and he can't handle it. he can feel his heart begin to race, unsure if he is angry or scared or mortified or devastated.

there are three lines in your arm. bright red. staring right back up at him.

and you put them there?

no way, you put them there.

but you did. clearly you did, or else you wouldn't be looking so guilty right now.

but when did you? how did you? why did you?

he doesn't know what to think. he doesn't know what to say. he swore he'd always protect you, but how does he even begin to try to protect you from yourself?

"are you out of your mind?"

the question leaves him rather calmly, a low inquiry that you are unsure is meant to be directed as an insult or a genuine ask.

you can't look at him. you don't even know what to think yourself. it had all happened so fast while you were in the bathroom, before you got into the shower.

one minute, you were staring angrily in the mirror, cursing your reflection as your wicked thoughts sprouted grubby arms and guided you toward the pair of brow scissors that you kept in your makeup cabinet on the left side of toji's bathroom.

you wanted to feel in control of the disdain you felt lurking within your soul. you wanted to feel something for fear that you would never be able to feel again, and before you knew it, you were dragging the exposed blade over your skin.

"d'you wanna explain why i'm looking at these cuts on your arm, (y/n)?"

and you know, you know that it's a bad sign when toji uses your name instead of the plethora of pet names he normally elects to call you: doll, princess, mama, girl, pretty baby- anything but your actual government name, and when you hear it roll from his tongue under these circumstances, you can only imagine what's going through his head.

you shift on your bare feet, looking down at your toes. "dunno," is all you say, and toji scoffs in disbelief.

"you don't know?" he emphasizes. "that's all you have to say?"

"if you wanna embarrass me, go ahead, toji. seriously, i'm tired."

"what the fuck makes you think i wanna embarrass you? i wanna know why the fuck my girlfriend walked out of the bathroom with cuts on her arm!"

you rip your arm away immediately when he yells, storming back off into his room and slamming the door behind you.

toji jumps up, suddenly frazzled. he doesn't want you alone in there. he doesn't want you out of his sight.

the navy haired man moves quickly to his door and grabs the handle, only to find it locked. he jiggles it harshly and bangs on the door. beginning to panic. "open the door, (y/n)," he shouts, meeting no reply.

little does he know, your back is pressed against the other side as tears crash over your cheeks. you don't know how you expected toji to react, but the look on his face just now and his tone of voice was enough to send you running off.

you feel ashamed, weak. you shouldn't have gone out there at all. you should have waited until you were dressed, discarding the whole idea of letting toji see what you did so that you could suffer in silence without his help, because what help could he truly provide anyway?

toji's a tough man, but he's soft for you. he would stand in front of a moving train for you. he would sacrifice his life for you, so when you don't answer, he imagines the worst.

"open the door," he says again, weaker, tugging desperately at the handle though he knows it won't budge. he knows he could break the door down, and he's prepared to until he hears you sniff amdist his pounding. he immediately stops, face dropping.

fuck.

this is bad.

he knew it was before, but for some reason, it's only now registering how bad this is.

you're in pain. you hurt yourself because you're in pain and you need him, but he doesn't know how to help you. he's never dealt with anything like this before.

his hand slides from the door and to his side, forehead knocking against the door though his other hand remains tight on the handle. he just needs to see you.

"princess," he mutters defeatedly. "don't make me kick this door in."

silence.

"please," he softens even more. "please, (y/n), let me in."

the house falls quiet once more and you give in. you feel so lost, and the only person who can at least comfort you, in his own way, is toji.

you slowly turn to unlock the door and step back as toji opens it swiftly, staring down at you with wide eyes and at least relieved to see that you haven’t done any further harm to your body.

he does, however, see your tears.

his face tightens as he bends down to scoop you up in an instant, your legs and arms tightening around him as you snivel into his shoulder, his large palms sliding over your body. he feels your small body tremble against him as he walks the two of you over to the edge of his bed, sitting down as you cling to him like a koala.

"i dunno what happened," you whimper into him. "i dunno why i did it. i dunno. i dunno."

you say it over and over, your voice as broken as toji feels listening to you.

he wishes he knew what to do. he wishes he was better equipped to handle this, but never in his worst nightmares did he dream that he would find you here, his fiery girl, the love of his life.

he's been so busy trying to protect you from the outside world that he hasn't even thought about the things that could harm you from within.

he stays silent as you babble to him through tears, holding you just like he knew how. he doesn't want to picture those scars on you. he doesn't want to picture what led you to put them there. he just wants to hold you, to at least let you know that he's here and he's not going anywhere. he may not know how to help, but he knows how to love you and he hopes that's enough.

"i'm not letting you out of my sight, y'hear?" he says gruffly into your ear and you nod meekly. "i'm not letting this happen ever again. not as long as i'm alive."

he mentally swears to rid your house and his of any and every sharp object he can find and to throw it all in a safe as you sink into him.

toji knows how to protect and toji knows how to fight. though he's more acclimated with fighting others, if he has to fight to protect yourself from your innermost demons, then hell, he will find a way to do just that.

sukuna ryomen: lord help you and lord help anyone within a fifty-mile radius when the king of curses discovers that you've been harming yourself.

sukuna is not at all very good with his words or his expressions of affirmations. he is a being of action, and he believes that he has proven his love for you enough by simply allowing you to be in his presence longer than anyone else ever has or ever will.

at first, when he sees a scar or two on your leg, he thinks its just an accident or a result of you being clumsy. then, three more pop up, then five, then far more than he's even willing to count, and he decides that this scar pattern is somehow intentional.

he knows no one else has marked them onto you because he is prepared to kill anyone who comes too close, especially if they have ill intentions. if you were in danger at someone else's hand, he would be the first to know and the person meaning you harm would be dead before they could even think about touching you.

therefore, when he sees that the only person normally within your company is him, uraume, and yourself, the process of elimination leads him to you.

he goes about confronting you rather harshly, as well, for he knows no other way to be.

you're out in the garden of his large residence one day, soaking up the sun, when you hear familiar, loud stomps heading your way from behind.

you turn around and squint to peer up at sukuna, who is standing over you with a menacing glare in his crimson eyes. you don't necessarily find this out of the ordinary, so you greet him as usual.

"hi, kuna," you say sweetly. "you good?"

he is not good. not at all, so he gets straight to the point. "come inside, woman."

you quirk a brow. "why? i just got out here?"

"do not question me."

"can it wait, like, fifteen minutes?"

"do you wish to live in the next fifteen minutes?"

you sigh, entirely too used to sukuna's facade of cruelty around you. you know by now that the king of curses would never dare to hurt you.

"i do intend, to live, yes," you smirk.

"then you will come inside as i have demanded."

"no, sukuna. i want to stay out here for a bit. i've been inside all day."

the pink haired man fumes, teeth grinding together in agitation. he doesn't want to delay this conversation any further than it has already been delayed, but of course, you choose to be difficult.

"very well, we will do this out here," he growls and you smile.

"good."

you don't prepare yourself for when sukuna grabs the back of your chair and whips out around to face him with the unpleasant screech of the legs against the cobblestone. you wince, then retract your face when sukuna lowers his to stare at you from mere centimeters away, one of his arms grasping to push up the lose leg of your shorts up to reveal the set of scars littering your skin.

your eyes go wide, his movements too quick for you to process all at once.

"are these your doing?" he hisses and you gulp.

"s-sukuna-"

"i did not ask for you to say my name. i asked if these scars are your doing."

his eyes are piercing, striking directly into yours. "what are you talking about?" you whisper shakily.

"are we going to pretend like you're an idiot now?" he snarls. he's so mean, but he feels it's for good reason. your body has been tainted, and for some reason, you have been doing the tainting. he needs to know why.

you shake your head weakly. "no..."

"then answer me properly. i will not repeat myself a third time."

you bite down on your lower lip, heart ringing in your ears. you didn't even know sukuna paid attention to you enough to catch wind of something like this.

"yes... i did this," you finally tell him, and sukuna is livid.

"and why would you be doing something so foolish? scars are not something you are meant to give yourself, human."

"please don't be a dick, sukuna, not right now."

"i am asking a perfectly reasonable question and i expect you to answer it," he glowers. "now."

"you wouldn't understand if i told you," you frown and he clicks his tongue.

"stop assuming things of me before i lock you inside of my room where you can not escape or even fathom doing something like this to yourself again under my supervision."

you curl your brows, frowning up at your boyfriend. "if i tell you, you'll call me foolish."

"because this is foolish," he grunts. "but i will not if my doing so will get you to fucking explain yourself."

you shake your head, looking down and contemplating before deciding to just get it over with so that he can stop putting you on the spot. "sometimes i just feel shitty," is all you elect to say.

but sukuna is hardly satisfied with this response. "so you choose to inflict pain upon yourself instead of calling upon me?"

"i told you, you wouldn't understand," you say. "it's not something i can easily explain to you either."

sukuna narrows his eyes. "fine."

he lowers himself to grab you legs and throw you over his shoulder. you squeal, grabbing onto his back as he begins to walk you back into his home and toward his room. "sukuna!" you kick your legs around. "put me down!"

"no. you're coming with me, and you're going to sit and talk me through every single thought that has crossed your little mind to make you think that injuring yourself in such a way is tolerable within the walls of my residence. then after that, you'll come with me everywhere i go from this point on."

"what?!" you exclaim from where you hang upside down. "I don't wanna go everywhere you go," you wine.

"too bad. you should have thought of that before you decided to harm yourself."

sukuna is horrible with words, and far more horrible with expressing his concerns, but despite your temporary discomfort with how he goes about approaching the situation, you can still see in the pinch of his brow and the stiffness of his posture, combined with his refusal to let you go without a proper explanation, that he cares very deeply for your wellbeing.

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hotchner-edu · 5 months ago

Note

I was thinking about a cute scenario where Hotch misplaces his Rolex and is kinda bummed about it but reassures his girlfriend that he’ll just get another one someday. She has been saving up to get a new car but instead uses her money to surprise Aaron with a new rolax and he’s all like 🥹🥹🥹

The thought of spoiling that man consumes me.

The Watch | Aaron Hotchner

The case of the missing Rolex came to your attention before it did to Aaron's, and you were probably more devastated about it than your boyfriend was.

"Sweetheart, it's fine. I'll just get another one soon." He tries to placate you as you practically tear through his closet. Knowing Aaron, soon meant close to never due to how hectic his work life could get.

"It's not fine!" You call out from your spot on his closet floor. "A Rolex submariner going missing should qualify as an emergency situation."

You hear Aaron chuckle fondly and come up behind you, crouching down to give you a kiss on your temple, his hands moving down to stop yours before you could claw through another stack of his folded pants. "Honey, you won't find anything there. Besides, I mean it. I'll just get a new one."

Frowning, you lean back into him and sigh as he wraps his arms around your middle and drops kisses around your face. "You stress me out." You say lightheartedly, sagging in his hold.

He lets out an affectionate laugh, his chest rumbling under your back. "I love you, too."

To the misfortune of your bank account, your love for Aaron spurred you to endlessly research the variety of Rolex series available on their website. You have to fight back a grimace at every comma in the price tags.

After logging out of your bank account app (to protect your peace), you settle on purchasing the oystersteel model which resembled the one he lost.

You ended up digging into your car savings fund to purchase the watch, but you had no regret in doing so. Although it created a bit of a dent in your efforts to replace your current car, Aaron deserved to be spoiled. Plus, you’d be receiving your next paycheck soon enough.

The watch takes a little less than a week to deliver. Taking no risks, you had the delivery fully insured and tracked the package’s movements like a hawk for days.

The hard part of the entire ordeal came with having to actually give the gift to Aaron. Of course, he wasn’t above accepting gifts, but receiving gifts that cost thousands of dollars, especially on non-holiday occasions, was something else entirely for him.

One night as he’s laying beside you, watching tiktoks with you on your phone, you decide to bite the bullet.

“Honey, did you ever find your Rolex?”

He chuckles a bit sheepishly, seemingly still a bit embarrassed to have misplaced something so valuable. “No. I think I might’ve taken it off during a case somewhere and left it in the hotel.”

Nodding, you suppress an excited smile as you suddenly sit up, causing his hands to grip your waist in surprise. “Where are we off to, sweetheart?”

“I need to pee really quick.” You say smoothly, giving him a sweet kiss. "And no, you can't come this time." He gives your ass a quick slap as you crawl out of bed, causing you to shake your head playfully as he chuckles.

Locking yourself in the bathroom, you gently open one of the sink drawers containing your skincare items. Digging to the bottom, you pull out the green leather box containing the Rolex, taking a deep breath before opening the door again.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" Aaron's voice sounds from across the room immediately, noting how fast you left the bathroom.

"I forgot something." You say and hurry toward the bed, unable to hide the giddy grin on your face.

Aaron props himself up on his arm and raises an eyebrow as you practically launch yourself back on the bed.

"For the best boyfriend in the world." You coo sweetly and extend the box toward him.

Aaron stares at you like you have three heads for a moment before frowning and carefully taking the box. "Sweetheart, you didn't have to..."

Your mood dampens a little at that and your shoulders sag. Aaron picks up on it immediately and sits up fully, eyes widened as he places the box aside and cups your face. "Thank you, really. But it must have cost a fortune, baby."

"You deserve to be spoiled, Aaron. Besides, I'm still being conscious with my money, so don't worry about it." You say, smiling when he tucks you into his chest and kisses your forehead.

"It's my job to spoil you, y'know." He grumbles playfully, squeezing your hip.

Accepting his affection, you reach for the box again and wiggle it in front of him. "Yeah, yeah, don't you want to see what I picked out for you?"

Before he opens the box, he showers you with more kisses, unable to ignore the fuzzy warmth that filled him.

"The watch, Aaron!" You protest in a fit of laughter.

He grins against your skin as he kisses your cheek. "Thanking my woman comes first."

When he finally does see the watch, he wants to just freeze time and take a picture of your expectant grin, thinking you look absolutely beautiful as you wait to see his reaction.

So while you fuss over putting the watch on for him, all he can do is stare at you lovingly and debate on whether to buy you a new car or an engagement ring first.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds aaron #aaron hotch x reader

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say-al0e · 3 months ago

Text

All Too Well

Rating: SMUT, Minors DNI! No one under 18!

Summary: As a girl, you hoped you would someday marry Gwayne Hightower. That hope disappeared with Gwayne the day he was sent back to Oldtown. Now, as Rhaenyra finds a parade of suitors filling the Keep in search of her hand, one arrives just for you. | Ft. Anon request for: "Do you never tire of your own voice?”, “Now you’re just tempting me to do something we’ll both regret.”, “Guess I’ll have to come inside you, then.” Warnings: Potentially slightly off timeline, brief mention of Rhaenyra's wedding incident, Gwayne already thinks Criston's a little unhinged, unprotected PinV. Think that's it. Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x fem!Targaryen Reader (Rhaenyra's twin) [Rhaenyra, Gwayne, Reader are all about 18/19 - Alicent is 20/21] Word Count: 7.3k HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

“Laugh all you’d like, you’ll be next.”

The sight of Rhaenyra dressed in red and gold - gilded, gleaming as a Targaryen princess should - stomping through the gardens, annoyance simmering in her violet eyes, drew your amusement, though you were quick to smother your smile as she drew closer.

Scowling - exhausted and annoyed after a seemingly endless barrage of boastful and presumptuous proposals, all from men who wanted little more than a royal mother for their heirs - she settled onto the plush blanket at your side. Without prompting, you closed the book you’d spent the afternoon reading and placed it on the grass, allowing her space to rest her head as your hand fell to her hair.

“I’m not laughing at you,” you assured her - though the glare she leveled at you adequately conveyed her disbelief.

It was true, you’d spent the morning giggling, not bothering to hide your smile as she was scrubbed and dressed and received a third - or thirtieth, you’d lost count - lecture from your father about duty. But, you weren’t laughing at her.

If anything, you were laughing at the absurdity of it all.

The King, the leader of the realm, was allowing a parade of potential suitors to offer themselves to Rhaenyra - his eldest, if only by a few moments - on a silver platter. The endless stream of lords was one she steadfastly refused to even consider, her heart already in the hands of the Rogue Prince, and you could not help but find amusement in the entire ordeal.

Viserys was going to the greatest efforts to secure a match for her, one that might leave her content - at best - while your own betrothal was not even a consideration.

Such was life.

“I do not believe you,” Rhaenyra insisted, violet eyes narrowing as she huffed. Still, she leaned into the feeling of your fingers carding through the silk strands of her silver hair. “You’re finding great joy in my misery.”

Despite herself, there was no heat to her accusation, no real belief that you found her pain amusing, but you still dutifully attempted to hide your smile.

“Believe what you’d like, sister. However, I do doubt I’ll be next,” you admitted, shrugging as you spared her a glance - somewhat grateful, somewhat incensed by the lack of consideration. “Father’s extended his best efforts to secure a match for you and you’ve succeeded in scarring half the lords in the realm,” you teased - laughing as Rhaenyra lightly pinched your forearm in mock scolding. “My own marriage is of little concern to him or anyone else. Perhaps, instead of a repeat of this spectacle, I’ll be sent away to become a septa,” you mused, only half-joking.

“What a shame that would be.”

Whatever reply lingered on Rhaenyra’s lips was swallowed as you both turned your attention to the young knight, remaining just a few steps from where you sat. Though you had not seen him in years, dressed in the rich emerald green of his house with flaming red hair, there was no question who stood before you.

Gwayne Hightower, once the very object of your girlhood affection, was a rare visitor to the Red Keep these days.

As children, you spent a great deal of your time together, nearly every waking moment you could spare. You, Rhaenyra, Alicent, and Gwayne were never very far from one another, though you, Gwayne, and Alicent spent far more time in the library than Rhaenyra, who enjoyed nothing more than soaring through the sky atop Syrax.

The four of you were certain that you would grow into adulthood together - Rhaenyra and Gwayne riding off to battle and glory; you and Alicent, settling into gentler, happier lives as you awaited their return.

That vision of the future brought you joy, excitement. But the vision that truly sustained you was the one in which you spent the rest of your life with Gwayne, happily married and blissfully lost inside a love you had little hope truly existed.

Unfortunately, that vision of the future disappeared in a plume of smoke.

Though his father had spent more time as the Hand of the King than Viserys had spent on the throne, after the death of their mother, only Alicent remained at court while Gwayne returned to Oldtown to live as a ward of Lord Ormund. He was nearly of age, and determined to become a knight, two prospects that meant he was well on his way to joining the City Watch - an order Otto despised, as deeply as he despised the man who occasionally commanded it.

Rather than allow Gwayne to fall into the hands of Daemon Targaryen, Otto sent his youngest son back to Oldtown.

The very moment Gwayne disappeared from your sight, auburn hair blazing in the sunlight as he began the journey to the Reach and blue eyes glittering as they met yours just before the gates shut, any hope of a shared future dissolved.

And the moment Aemma passed, any hope of peace between the Hightowers and Targaryens disappeared with her.

In the years that followed - the years that brought a union between Alicent and Viserys, babies Aegon and Helaena, and a handful of tourneys he should’ve competed in - you’d only seen Gwayne twice. And you found yourself nearly at a loss for words as you blinked at him.

“Ser Gwayne,” you greeted, offering a smile that, though tight - not the welcoming embrace of a one-time childhood companion - was more than you sister seemed capable of as she scoffed. “What brings you to King’s Landing?”

The tension in your shoulders, the tightness of your smile, the sudden weight that seemed to be pressing on your chest; each one answered the question you had no real need to ask. However, despite the discomfort you felt, you smiled politely as you awaited the obvious reply.

As the son of the Hand, a Hightower, he was a suitable match for a Targaryen princess. He would never be the first choice - the second son of a second son whose only acclaim was his lengthy turn as Hand - but everyone knew Viserys had long given up his desire for perfection and only wanted some measure of decency. He trusted Otto with his life and, if Otto put forth his youngest son, Viserys was apt to accept the offer without thought.

The parade of suitors arrived days earlier, each with a more ostentatious entrance than the last, and you knew he should’ve been among them. As ill as it made you feel, as much as you despaired the idea of Rhaenyra marrying the man you’d long dreamt of, if he’d only arrived with the others, there was little doubt Viserys and Otto would’ve been altogether too invested in making a match. And, despite his tardiness, if the King and Hand were so inclined, there was little anyone could do to prevent the pair from marrying.

No matter the damage that might do to your heart.

Seemingly unaware of your inner turmoil, Rhaenyra sat upright and frowned at Gwayne as he took a tentative step closer to where you sat. Bright eyes met yours, alight with an amusement you could not understand, as he hummed.

“My father sent for me,” he confirmed, seemingly unbothered by Rhaenyra’s narrowed violet eyes and sneer as he stated the obvious. “I’m sure it was to join the parade of suitors but I suppose I’ve arrived too late to be considered for Princess Rhaenyra’s hand,” he mused, sparing you a smile that seemed a touch too bright as he did. “How unfortunate.”

Despite his lament, Gwayne did not sound the least bit concerned, a fact both you and Rhaenyra noticed immediately. And while it struck you as both heartening and curious - you would not have to watch your sister wed a man you once dreamt of marrying, but what man in the realm did not wish to marry Rhaenyra? - it drew her annoyance, as did most things to do with House Hightower, of late.

“I can tell you’re positively beside yourself with grief, ser,” she declared, not bothering to conceal the roll of her eyes as she stood, unwilling to be in his presence any longer. “Perhaps your sister, the queen, may offer you some comfort.”

Rhaenyra, not bothering to spare either of you another glance, pushed past Gwayne - a step too close to be an accident - and retreated to the Keep in a flurry of shimmering gold and red.

Silence lingered for a long moment, something uncomfortable and heavy - something you never would’ve expected to experience with Gwayne - as you watched her disappear. Only then did Gwayne return his attention to you with a thoughtful hum. “Still a sore spot, then?”

The last time you saw Gwayne was at the wedding - both of you silently worrying - and he’d been an unfortunate witness to Rhaenyra’s misplaced anger at Alicent.

Unlike Rhaenyra, you did not blame your friend - you blamed her father, you blamed your father - but there was little you could do to mend the rift that had only seemed to grow ever wider with each day that passed. And, with a frown, you confessed as much to Gwayne.

“Alicent has tried, but Rhaenyra…” With a sigh, heavy and clearly communicating the weight on your shoulders, you moved to stand - nodding gratefully at the hand Gwayne offered. “I understand both, I think,” you confessed, retracting your hand and turning your head so he could not see the flush that lit your cheeks as you swallowed all thoughts about the warmth of his hand in your own and, instead, focused on the seriousness of the chasm you spent your days sidestepping. “I wish we could find peace, somehow,” you continued, hoping he did not hear the hitch in your voice as he took another step closer. “I mislike the tension and miss my friend.”

For just a moment, the statement lingered in the still of the garden. It was honest, as honest as you’d allowed yourself to be with anyone in a long time, and you felt a sudden pang of regret as you quickly pasted on your most polite smile.

“Enough melancholy,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand. “How was your journey?”

Blue eyes met yours, searching in a way most never seemed to be - questioning, analyzing, rather than accepting the answer at face value - and you felt an almost overwhelming sense of vulnerability beneath Gwayne’s knowing gaze. Just as he had when you were children, still growing into yourselves, he seemed able to understand you when few else did.

And, rather than push you to carry on a conversation you were obviously not looking to entertain, he allowed you to shift the line of conversation. “Long,” he lamented, though he answered with a smile. “It was uneventful, and for that, I am grateful.”

“I’m very glad you arrived safely,” you assured him, though your cheeks heated with the admission. When he dipped his head, hiding his smile for your benefit, you carried on quickly. “Though, I’m sorry you arrived after the suitors were dismissed.”

In a way he seemed amused, a thread of humor glinting in his eyes as he continued to assess you in that all-knowing way of his. “Are you?”

Gwayne’s doubt was evident, a playful skepticism that made your skin heat with something not quite strong enough to be considered embarrassment though it came close enough. Regardless of your words, of the well-plotted act you followed without deviation, he seemed to hear the truth.

Though you would never admit it, you were glad Gwayne seemed to hold no interest in marrying Rhaenyra.

“Of course,” you said, anyway - continuing to follow the script and play your part faithfully. “You’d make a fine match for my sister.”

‘An even finer match for me,’ remained unsaid, though you assumed Gwayne heard it just the same.

For a moment, Gwayne allowed the comment - and its unspoken counterpart - to linger. Instead of rushing to reply, to thank you for the compliment or brush it away with the confident, casual air only he seemed capable of wielding without causing offense, he simply stood with you in the quiet of the garden.

It was only when the clink of armor and the click of heels against stone sounded that he made an effort to reply.

“Your confidence is appreciated, princess, but I believe there are many and more, far finer matches for Princess Rhaenyra. I will lose no sleep because of it and hope that neither will you.”

As Gwayne spoke his last word, the sentiment lingering and charging the air with something so tenuous you feared the slightest breeze might destroy any shred of its existence, he met your eyes. It felt as if everything around you ceased to exist, as if nothing else mattered, as hope began to rear its ugly head.

The warmth of a long buried dream, a long dormant affection, began to simmer in your blood - only to be cooled almost immediately by the bright voice of Alicent calling out to her brother.

“Gwayne!”

With hurried footsteps and a smile brighter, and truer, than anything you’d seen from her in longer than you cared to admit, Alicent approached the pair of you. If anything about your moment with Gwayne seemed untoward - a Targaryen princess alone with a knight, unchaperoned and standing too close for the sake of propriety - she gave no indication that she noticed and, instead, simply smiled at you both.

“Father just told me you’d arrived,” she continued, “I apologize for not being there to greet you. I was with the children.”

Alicent’s arrival seemed to shatter the glimmering bubble that enveloped you for just a brief moment - something you pretended, hoped, Gwayne felt, too, as his smile grew regretful before he turned his attention his sister. And, as you returned to yourself, you felt the need to place as much space between yourself and the youngest Hightower as possible.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you began, cutting in before they could begin their conversation or dismiss you themselves, “I’ll go see about Rhaenyra and leave you both to catch up. Welcome back to King’s Landing, Ser Gwayne.”

With a parting smile and a squeeze of Alicent’s hand - a gesture you’d taken to providing when you could - you turned and set off in search of Rhaenyra without sparing Gwayne another glance. And as you wandered through the labyrinthine halls of the Red Keep, you could only allow yourself to wonder how long Otto might permit Gwayne to remain in King’s Landing and how long you might keep yourself from dreaming of a future that could never be.

Much to your surprise, keeping away from Gwayne proved easier than you imagined.

While his mornings were spent in the tiltyard with guards and a few members of the City Watch, yours were spent with Rhaenyra as she struggled to keep Viserys from shipping her off to Casterly Rock. While your father had no desire to see Rhaenyra trapped in a situation that would leave her entirely miserable, his patience had worn thin following the parade of suitors and what he deemed her indiscretions.

And following her dalliance with Daemon - and Criston, the truth of which only you knew completely - his patience dissolved completely.

The wedding was to be a grand affair with a feast and more merriment than Viserys’ own wedding - a much larger, brighter, more exciting affair than the solemn ordeal you’d been forced to witness. And, for a brief moment, it very nearly was.

Rhaenyra and Laenor had no romantic love for one another but as they danced, you felt hope they might at least find happiness and understanding in one another.

Even as Daemon stepped in to dance with Rhaenyra, his intention clear to all, things were fine.

Merriment descended into chaos so quickly that your mind was left reeling. Dancing gave way to shoving, lords and ladies scrambling away from the savagery of Rhaenyra’s sworn sword and the futile attempts of other guards to pull him away. Shouts of joy quickly became shouts of terror, then a stunned silence, followed by a cry of anguish as a man lay dead in the midst of the revelry.

As blood stained Criston’s white cape, Harwin Strong rushed Rhaenyra to safety - easily flinging her over his shoulder and carrying her off as Laenor watched his companion fall - and you were ushered out of the hall by another guard whose face remained hidden in the shadows and flurry of movement.

Confusion reigned for a few long moments and the entirety of the Keep seemed to settle into a stunned silence as you wandered, in something of a daze, into the gardens.

As time passed - just a few moments or, perhaps, even hours - you settled onto a stone bench and attempted to make sense of the scene you’d just witnessed. Though you knew someone would come looking for you sooner rather than later, you savored the silence as you wondered if there was anything you could’ve done to help prevent the misfortune that befell Rhaenyra’s wedding festivities.

And, though you would never admit it, you found yourself wondering if your own wedding - should you have one, after the disaster you witnessed - would be as memorable.

Before you could think too long and hard about the future - about what changes might be made in the event of your own marriage, about who you might be forced to marry to ease now doubtlessly fractured relationships, about how miserable you may someday be - a voice cut through the still of the night.

“Princess.”

Gwayne, auburn hair tamed and eyes shimmering in the light of the moon, approached slowly. There was a concern on his face, joined by a barely concealed hint of amusement, that struck an already frayed nerve as he joined the seemingly endless list of those who found the spectacle of your life to be the highest form of entertainment. However, despite the simmering annoyance you felt, the sight of him was something of a balm for your racing heart.

“I was hoping I might find you,” he continued, stepping closer - now fully illuminated. “Though, through all the ruckus in the hall, I feared another guard had snatched you away. Ser Strong lives up to his family name, it seems.” When you made no attempt at a reply, only exhaled heavily at his attempt at levity, Gwayne continued unbothered. “Cole, Rhaenyra’s sworn sword, is… intriguing. He is skilled but has an unquestionable temper that is easily triggered. But, perhaps -“

“Do you never tire of your own voice?”

The question, spat with a venom you hadn’t known yourself capable of, interrupted Gwayne’s soliloquy. If he took offense from, or was surprised by, the outburst, he hid it well. Instead, he simply ducked his head to hide his laughter before returning his attention to you.

“Mm, I’ve been told my voice is rather charming,” he confessed, lips curving into the ghost of a smirk as he stepped even closer. “Unfortunate that you do not seem to agree, princess.”

With a sigh, you shook your head. “My apologies,” you hummed, tone softer now. “It is not you I am frustrated by.”

Though it was a partial truth - your true frustration was caused by your father, by your sister, by your lot in life - Gwayne did play at least some small part in the unease that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

While it was not his fault that you wanted nothing more than to marry him, to disappear to Oldtown and leave behind the madness of the Red Keep and all its political misery, his presence only reminded you of what you could not have.

Still, Gwayne seemed unruffled. “I take no offense. It has been a rather… exciting evening.”

Scoffing, you nodded. “An understatement,” you huffed, before adding, “I wish for nothing more than a little peace.”

The smile Gwayne now offered was one of understanding, something gentler, as he offered you a hand. “Shall I escort you to your chambers, then? The feast has ended, I’m afraid,” he announced, smile growing just a touch brighter as you accepted his offer.

As you stood, smoothing your gown and inhaling the last breath of cool night air, Gwayne released your hand and waited. It was only when you began to move that he did, too.

Silence had never been one of Gwayne’s strengths - as much as you regretted snapping at him, he did seem to enjoy the sound of his own voice - but he remained quiet at your side for much of the walk through the Keep. It was only as you began the ascent to your chambers that he spared you a sidelong glance.

“Oldtown is most peaceful,” he declared, unprompted, body a respectable distance from your own - though still a step too close for true propriety - as you walked in-step. “Though it is a large city, there is a serenity King’s Landing has not yet achieved.”

“I would love to visit someday.” Much of your life had been spent within the confines of King’s Landing, with only the occasional visit to Drftmark or Dragonstone, and you wished to see more of the realm. “I’ve heard of the beauty.”

“The Red Keep, for all its grandeur, does not offer one a true image of life beyond these walls. There is much to see.” Gwayne’s words, while gentle, held a sadness - a seriousness - you’d never before associated with him. He’d long been bright smiles and sharp jabs, playful taunts and swinging swords. There’d always been a boyishness to him but you were reminded that he was now a man grown as he turned to glance at you. “Do you ever imagine a life lived elsewhere?”

Had the question come from anyone else, you might’ve found offense. Had anyone else asked, you might’ve denied the dreams that often consumed you.

But because it was Gwayne, you felt yourself falter.

“Sometimes,” you began, words trickling out slowly as you attempted to make sense of your own thoughts - of his line of questioning. “I love my sister, my father, Alicent. The Keep is beautiful and King’s Landing has always been my home. But I do wonder what it’s like, what it will be like. I won’t live here forever,” you confessed, casting your gaze to your shoes as you approached your door. “Whoever I marry, surely I’ll go to live with him.”

“Have you given any thought to that?” When you frowned, Gwayne elaborated. “To who you might marry.”

Gwayne’s gaze was intense, searching - overwhelming - as he waited patiently for your answer. There was a glimmer in his eyes, the same one you saw often when you were young, and you swallowed the dreaded hope that dared bloom once more.

“Rhaenyra’s betrothal was more of a concern,” you confessed, tipping your head in an attempt to hide the confession that remained unspoken - the one that told him you often felt an afterthought to your sister.

“My father sent for me,” Gwayne began, pausing only a moment to catch your eye. “It was to be part of the parade of suitors vying for Rhaenyra’s hand but I had no interest in taking part. I have never wanted to marry Rhaenyra,” he confessed, taking a step closer - toeing the line of propriety as he did so. “Surely you know my attention has been drawn elsewhere and has been for a very long time.”

Despite the sincerity, the earnestness with which he spoke, you felt certain that the moment was a dream - or nightmare, depending on whether the person who captured his attention was someone other than you. Though you desperately wanted him to have spent years imagining you would someday be his wife, it felt impossible to believe.

“Rhaenyra is beautiful,” you reminded him, voice small and almost frightened as you waited for him to confess that it was all in jest or reconsider his options.

“No more so than you.” Gwayne stated it as a fact and you blinked.

“She is bolder,” you continued, searching desperately for any reason he might have to want you over your sister - none of which made any sense to you.

“I think you plenty bold.” He took another step closer, now foregoing any pretense of respecting propriety, and offered you a patient smile.

“She will someday be queen.” It was the last reason you could imagine, the one that seemed to draw nearly as many suitors as her beauty, but Gwayne seemed entirely unimpressed as he shrugged.

“I have no desire to be king consort. I’m content with the life I lead, save for my want of a woman who does not seem to recognize her own value,” he mused, tipping his head to meet your bewildered gaze with a questioning look of his own. “What must I do to prove to you that you are the woman I wish to marry, the one I’ve wanted since we were children?”

Without thought, you demanded, “Kiss me.”

Before you could find it within yourself to be embarrassed, Gwayne laughed. “Plenty bold,” he teased, smile soft but real. “However, you are tempting me to do something we’ll both regret.”

“Why is that?”

Gwayne’s lips curved into a smirk, blue eyes glinting with an amusement that you’d always found charming, as he hummed. “I fear if I kiss you now, I may never stop.”

There was little doubt as to what Gwayne meant, little doubt as to why he kept himself a step from you, but you cared little. Despite your upbringing, the teaching of your septa, you cared little about anything other than finally having Gwayne.

“Then don’t.”

Blue eyes flashed with something dark, something hungry, and you could see the restraint it took for him to offer you a placating smile. “I’ve spent my time here waiting for the moment to ask for your hand. When I did, it seemed the Keep erupted in chaos,” he confessed, laughing when you blinked - stunned that he’d already asked. “Neither of our fathers had a chance to answer. If I take you and they choose to deny us, the king will have another scandal on his hands. Two wayward princesses - your jest about becoming a septa may become a reality,” he reasoned, though his hand lifted to your cheek.

“And if the answer is yes?” Unable to help yourself, you leaned into his touch and allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the warmth of his palm pressed to your skin.

“Then they’ll have no choice but to allow us to marry sooner rather than later.”

Gwayne knew the risk was, nearly, entirely your own to take. With his father serving as the Hand, he would not be sent to the Wall for stealing your virtue - you both hoped, anyway - but there was still a lingering fear of the shame that might befall you both if anyone were to see. If both your father and his denied the match, you would be hard-pressed to find a husband and feared you would be left in the same position as your sister.

Despite that understanding, the choice was one you made easily. For as long as you could remember, Gwayne was all you’d wanted, the only man you’d ever considered, and there was little hesitation as you pushed open the doors to your chambers.

“Both are consequences I am willing to accept.”

There was a moment of doubt, a wonder as to whether Gwayne would follow you or if he would allow propriety to dictate his choice, but the moment you stepped into the warmth of your own room, he followed close behind.

The heavy wooden door shut with a finality that seemed to seal your fate, a confirmation that the choice you made in the moment at hand would dictate your future, and you found that there was no fear in what was to come. You would either marry Gwayne, be sent away, or be married for political gain.

At the very least, you would experience his touch before your fate was decided.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, both almost uncertain - you, with inexperience; Gwayne, with a hesitation to potentially destroy your future - before he stepped forward and silenced the endless cacophony of doubt swirling in your mind.

Gwayne’s lips pressed to yours in a kiss softer than you’d anticipated, something almost gentle, as his hands returned to your cheeks.

Warmth bled into you, the heat of his body pressed to your own as he crowded closer - a dizzying sensation that had you clinging to his biceps in an effort to steady yourself. Everything about him overwhelmed your senses, made it difficult to remember anything other than the longing you felt for him, and you were glad of it as one hand fell from your cheek to rest at your hip.

There was no rush, no hurry, and it eased some of the nerves that still rattled you.

So many years had passed, very few of them with contact shared between you and Gwayne, but as he stepped with you, deeper into the interior of your chambers, it felt as if no time at all had passed. He’d always been there, in the back of your mind, and you’d long held hope that he would be there in the future - though, of late, you’d hoped that he would be in front of you.

To finally have him as you’d so long dreamt was nearly as instinctual as breathing and you settled into his embrace easily.

Both of you were content to to linger for a moment, one of his hands on your cheek while the other gripped your hip as your hands held tight to his biceps, and savor the kiss. His lips, warm and chapped slightly, moved easily against your own, chasing them each time you attempted to part to catch your breath. His tongue traced the seam of your mouth, a hum of approval escaping as you parted your lips and allowed him to taste you - wine, honey, lemon.

“If I’m to live the rest of my life apart from you, knowing the feel of your lips - knowing how you taste - I may go mad,” Gwayne declared, breaking the kiss and doing nothing to hide his awe as your chest heaved with the effort of catching your breath.

“Then let us pray we will never be parted.”

It was you who surged forward then, reclaiming his lips in a desperate bid to keep him as close as he would allow, and Gwayne responded in kind.

Hands, calloused from years spent wielding a sword, fell to your hips as he continued to blindly inch you closer to the canopied bed. Though you could only feel the warmth of him, just barely, you shuddered at the thought of feeling his bare skin pressed to your own.

Mercifully, as you stepped beyond the privacy screen with only minimal impact with objects unlucky enough to reside in your path, Gwayne’s hands moved to the laces of your gown.

“As eager as I am to take whatever you will give me, we can stop,” he assured you, voice soft, lips only an inch from your own - warm breath fanning across your face as he met your eyes. There was a look of understanding in his own, a compassion few had ever shown for you, and your heart ached. “We can wait, hope that we will be given leave to marry, and save your reputation if we are not.”

“I don’t care about my reputation,” you promised, lifting your hands to rake through the soft strands of his hair. “If we are denied, I’ll at least have this memory to soothe my broken heart.”

With your blessing, Gwayne reached for the final tie - hands holding the fabric in place for only a moment before allowing it to begin falling. As the red fabric began to slip down your shoulders, those warm hands were there to explore the newly exposed skin.

Gwayne’s attention fell to your body, lips no longer chasing your own as he watched your skin be exposed inch by torturous inch with eyes blown black with a hunger you’d never before seen.

One hand lifted to your throat, fingers brushing along your collar bone and across your shoulder - down your arm, pausing only to lift your hand to his mouth where he pressed a soft kiss to the back, those eyes never leaving your own - as the other moved to continue peeling fabric from your body.

Every inch of skin Gwayne touched, every inch he merely gazed upon, felt warm - kissed by the flames of a desperate need you’d never before felt. Though the room had been comfortable only moments before, it suddenly felt stifling, air thick with a growing want that you nearly feared, as he finally leaned in to press his mouth to your skin.

Soft kisses peppered your skin - delicate, careful things that made you feel revered, worshipped - as he walked you back, helping you step over the pile of fabric pooled around your feet.

The moment the back of your knees pressed to the mattress, Gwayne nipped at the soft skin just beneath your ear. “Lie back for me, my love,” he urged, not bothering to hide his smile as you sighed - just a little lovesick - at the term of endearment.

As you climbed onto the bed, situating yourself amidst the pillows and fabric, Gwayne made quick work of the clothes he wore.

Unable to help yourself, you watched with unblinking eyes as he stripped beautiful green garments and tossed them into a heap beside the red fabric of your gown. He’d always been beautiful, bright hair and eyes a stunning contrast to the dark green he always wore, but he was even more beautiful than you remembered as he stood before you. The pale expanse of his skin emerged, littered with silvery scars from tourneys and training, and you longed to reach out and touch him.

Before you could, however, he settled onto his knees at the side of the bed and reached for your thighs.

“It is my hope that I can spend the rest of my life between your thighs,” he declared, eyes bright as they lifted to meet your own. “Your sister will someday be queen of the realm, but you shall always be queen of my heart.”

The teasing comment was accompanied by a wink, exaggerated and playful, and laughter escaped you immediately. Even as Gwayne worked to pull the fabric of your small clothes from your body, you shook your head. “I fear I may have changed my mind, ser,” you teased, shifting to accommodate his body as his hands stroked your warm skin. “Is it too late to find a more serious suitor?”

“Entirely, I’m afraid,” he hummed, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the inside of your knee. “Though the ladies of the realm owe you a debt of gratitude for saving them from my awful jests.”

“Well, if someone must,” you teased, voice faltering as he continued pressing his mouth to the warmth of your skin.

Gwayne seemed pleased with the beginnings of your reaction, nearly proud at the way your breath hitched and your lips parted the higher his lips ventured, and you found yourself entirely unbothered by the thought of him drawing closer and closer to your most intimate area.

Curiosity and a breathless anticipation lingered in the pit of your stomach, entirely overwhelmed by the warmth now entirely consuming you, as Gwayne inched ever closer. His fingers dug into the plush of your thighs, keeping you still and pliant, as he glanced up at you once more. “And, if someone must taste you,” he hummed, “well, I suppose I cannot refuse my princess.”

There was no time to wonder what Gwayne meant - or where he learned any of what he now used to please you - as he leaned in and began lapping at the slick gathered between your thighs.

The warmth surrounding you was now a full on blaze, a fire consuming you entirely, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care that it could easily burn you alive as Gwayne lifted a hand to your aching cunt. Every sensation was new, overwhelming, and you could feel a tingling at the base of your spine that spread throughout your entire body as he licked at the arousal he’d caused.

Though much of the Keep was likely still making sense of the chaos, returning to rooms and inns and dealing with consequences, you kept enough of your wits about yourself to lift a hand to cover your mouth as Gwayne’s fingers joined his mouth in exploring the most intimate part of your body.

Every touch was better than the last, each one pulling sharp cries of pleasure from your throat, and you could feel Gwayne smile as he pressed a finger to your entrance.

“The next time we lie together, I want to hear you,” he declared, breath warm and sending a shiver down your spine as your skin muffled the words.

Gwayne’s bold insinuation that there would be a next time, that you would be allowed to see one another again - perhaps even have the future you’d long dreamt of - had your hand lifting to his hair. A little sharper than you intended, you tugged at the auburn locks and swallowed a moan of his name as he groaned against your skin.

It was all too much, too overwhelming, and you felt the desperate need to have him impossibly closer settle in the pit of your stomach.

With a tug at his hair, you urged Gwayne up, leaning over you - drawing him into a kiss that knocked him off balance. Laughter bubbled once more at the clumsy gesture, as he tumbled onto the plush mattress atop you, but it was quickly swallowed as you both realized the position you were in.

The warmth of his bare skin against to yours, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the bulge of his cock pressed to your thigh - each realization struck you and rendered you nearly speechless as your fingers tangled in his hair. However, the pause only lasted a moment before Gwayne encouraged you to shift back onto the mattress and make room for him in your bed.

“Last chance to be rid of me, princess,” he whispered, knees pressed into the mattress and caging your hips.

“I want you closer,” you assured him, free hand reaching for his shoulder in an effort to urge him closer. “I don’t want to spend more time without you.”

Assured that your decision was resolute, that you had no doubts, Gwayne leaned in once more. With his small clothes gone and your slick coating your thighs, he pressed his mouth to yours as his hand fell to his cock.

“It’ll only sting for a moment,” he assured you, words whispered against your lips as he notched the head of his cock at your entrance. “But once it’s done, you’ll feel incredible. I’ll make sure of it,” he promised, pressing his forehead to yours as he began to inch forward.

Just as he warned, there was a stretch - a slight pain that stole your breath and made tears sting at the backs of your eyes - but he stilled above you and began pressing kisses to the heated skin of your cheeks, lips, and chin.

“Now that I’ve tasted you, felt you,” he breathed, “I’m ruined for any others. I am yours and yours alone.”

“Being sent away to become a septa would be a kinder fate than being forced to marry another,” you agreed, breathless and nearly lightheaded as you attempted to calm the beating of your heart.

Gwayne did not allow you much of a reprieve, however, as the moment the words left your lips, his hips began to shift.

Though you both felt somewhat clumsy, inexperienced and desperate for the pleasure of the beloved you feared you may never feel again, the tingling at the base of your spine spread across your body. It needled at your nerves in the most pleasant of ways, curling your toes and sending your heart hammering against your ribcage as you focused on the feel of Gwayne pressed to you.

Every drag of his cock, every press of his hips to yours, had you seeing stars and you reveled in the pleasure.

“Gods, I don’t want to imagine a life deprived of this, of you.” Every whispered word of compliment, every grunt and groan of pleasure, chipped away at the negative emotions you’d felt for years and while it felt an awfully vulnerable thing to say - something far more serious than you intended for the moment at hand - Gwayne seemed all too pleased to hear the thought spoken aloud.

“Neither do I,” he promised, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “I suppose I’ll just have to spill inside you, then,” he decided, grin growing bright at the prospect - of what life might be like if there was no one to hand you a cup of moon tea and demand you drink it. “I don’t imagine our fathers will deny me your hand if there is a chance you’ll soon be with child.”

The earlier thoughts you’d had about the kind of match Gwayne would make - that he was not perfect for Rhaenyra - mattered little where you were concerned. Though a princess, you were the second and marriage was all that was required of you. A Hightower, the son of the Hand, would do fine for you.

“I don’t imagine they would deny us regardless,” you whispered, though it sounded far less assured than you hoped it would.

A fact he noticed. “Wouldn’t you rather be certain, princess?”

Gwayne’s hips snapped harder, pressing him even deeper, and you felt the breath disappear from your lungs with every thrust. It was more than you could handle, the heat growing impossible to withstand as it blazed across your skin, and you nodded desperately.

“If certainty means a lifetime of this, then by all means,” you urged, voice an eager rasp as you held tight to Gwayne.

Pleasure enveloped you both, then, a tidal wave dragging you under and refusing to relent for what felt like a lifetime. The edges of your vision blurred and your ears rang as you found your release with Gwayne following suit. The warmth of him settled atop you, buried inside you - spilling inside you - was more than you could bear and you bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out as loudly as you wished.

As he promised, Gwayne filled you - his seed spilling onto the sheets with the evidence of your tainted virtue - before pulling away to lay beside you.

Strong arms wrapped around your body, pulling you tight to his chest, and Gwayne laughed quietly. “I will not accept no as an answer,” he promised, voice quiet but certain as he tipped his head to glance at you. “We will marry and you will find peace in Oldtown, with me. I think you’ll be happy there.”

“If I am with you,” you whispered, offering him a smile, “then I know I will be.”

And, true to his word, the morning after Rhaenyra married Laenor in the quiet of the hall, you found yourself joining hands with Gwayne in a similar affair. While her wedding had been a solemn occasion, the bride and groom both beside themselves with the grief of a life lost, your own seemed a touch happier.

There was the promise of a future with Gwayne, one that brought you an excitement you’d not felt in a very long time, and as you began preparing for your new life in Oldtown, you felt a sense of peace that you knew would suit your new life all too well.

________________________________________________

Author's Note: Clearly, I did not intend for this to get as long as it did. But such is life. Anyway, I have power and internet and water again (hurricanes suck) and am spending my newfound free time writing. Hoping to have a few more pieces up soon. Also first time writing for Gwayne so be gentle. He's younger in this so not quite as sassy and jaded yet. Also I usually try not to write such a specific physical reader and I may not again but this was fun. I don't look like a Targaryen but it's fun to imagine sometimes.

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo, @targaryen-madness, @hangmanscoming, @barnes70stark, @mysticaltwoface, @biqueen20, @lolathebunny221, @nourangul, @darylandbethforever9, @liandav, @r-3dlips

#gwayne x reader #gwayne x you #hotd smut #gwayne hightower smut #gwayne hightower imagine #gwayne hightower x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fic #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower x you

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disneyprincemuke · 11 months ago

Text

ღ this barbie’s teammate is a schumacher

notes: hello gays it is i, finally writing for barbie

she closes the car door and sighs with a small smile, looking at the building ahead of her. this will be her life until she decides otherwise. she shoves her car keys into her purse and watches curiously as another supercar pulls into the empty lot next to her.

is that who she thinks it is?

she takes a step towards her car, watching the car be parked into the slot flawlessly. she tilts her head when it comes to a stop, the driver's side opening to reveal its driver.

"oh!" she shrieks, running around the front of her car to approach the young man. "mick schumacher, right? i am such a big fan! i'm so excited to finally be working with you!"

the german takes a step back, overwhelmed by the sudden presence of the girl in pink approaching him. she has a pair of sunglasses resting on the top of her head, a fur coat on and a purse hanging off her elbow.

"oh, hi," mick smiles politely. he's not a mean person; he's just a little more introverted than the next guy. "i'm glad to be with honda this year. i'm looking forward to spending the year with you."

he was in deep thought before she came up to him. he wondered, as the way he's been doing for years, if the rumours that he'd been scouted for the second seat at the request of his boss's daughter. but who is he to complain; he's racing in f1 again. does it matter how he got back into it?

surely not.

but this girl that stands in front of him – could she be an intern? she looks fairly young, very enthusiastic, and a glimmer of hope in her eyes that he doesn't see from individuals his age often. perhaps a marketing intern.

"alright, well, i'll see you inside! i love the sweater, by the way!" she shrieks, waving at him with a wide smile. she waves at him as she walks away, cautiously crossing the parking lot as the rest of the cars for the day start to roll in. "and the car! you have to give me a tour someday!"

he waves back at her in confusion, only able to mutter a 'goodbye' to himself as she disappears into the big front doors of the building. he locks his car and follows her in the direction she left, ready to start his new year with a new team.

he spends the next 10 minutes navigating the new factory he'll be frequenting from now on. introducing himself to people, familiarising himself with the engineers he'll be working closely with, and other members of the team. it's a surprisingly bigger team than he had initially thought, so it takes him longer than he expected.

about 20 minutes introducing himself and trying to pin names with the new faces. then he ends up in a quiet office, shaking his leg in anticipation as he awaits his first face-to-face meeting with his new teammate and his boss.

he hears clicks of heels right by the door, prompting him to sit up a little straighter as he glances behind him quickly. he straightens his sweater, pulls his sleeves down and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. he can't screw himself over.

"i'm telling you, daddy, he's got the coolest car! i saw him in the parking lot earlier!" the door opens, revealing two figures with two familiar faces. which, shouldn't be the case, because this is the first time he's meeting his teammate.

"do you want one, honey?"

"no, that's so silly! i love my car!" she giggles, before abruptly stopping at the sight of his wide blue eyes staring at her in disbelief. "my car is perfectly fine! right, mick?"

mick blinks, swallowing the forming lump of guilt in his throat. he had no idea that the girl in the parking lot was going to be his teammate eventually.

oh god, and for him to assume that she's a marketing or pr intern? how humiliating. how would he feel if someone were to think that of his sister was a mere backend worker when she is something more?

"yes," he answers by default, not really remembering what she was asking him. he immediately pushes himself up to his feet and extends a hand to her first. "i'm sorry. i don't believe i got your name in the parking lot – i didn't know you were going to be my teammate. i'm so sorry."

"oh, don't worry about it. it happens a lot." she introduces herself before quickly walking away, running over to the empty seat next to him.

mick huffs, grinning at her father before he takes a seat. but the entire time, all he can think of is how embarrassed he is for misjudging her. "you don't care that i didn't take you for a driver at first?"

she looks off blankly, pressing her lips together before shaking her head. she turns to him again. "it's not like i told you," she grins. "anyway, do you like japanese curry? that's my favourite – i'll make you some when we meet again for pre-season."

taglist: @cashtons-wife @darleneslane @namgification @happy-nico @nikfigueiredo @localwhoore @angsthology @renarots @elliegrey2803 @cha-hot @cosmoscoffeee @fanficweasley @sugarhoneylemons @aquangxl @omgsuperstarg @strawberryubin @lovecarsgoingvroom @mangotaitai @cherry-piee @ladyladybuggg @lethalvenus @gentlyweeps-world @spilled-coffee-cup @charizznorizz @wcnorris @storminacloud @minkyungseokie @viennakarma @leilanixx @daniellef89x @fezlvr @lavisenri @xcharlottemikaelsonx @ultraviolencesam @selsbackyard @ilove-tswizzle @riddle-me-im-sirius @kindestofkings

#mick schumacher x reader #fem!driver #f1 fem!driver #female driver #formula 1 fanfic #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke sd

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kingkatsuki · 7 months ago

Text

— miscommunication

Based on this silly little post I made here. With inspiration from @/oooohno💕 basically Sakura can’t fathom anyone could ever like him like that.

Pairing: Sakura Haruka x f!reader.

Warnings: none, a little angsty, Sakura is bad at feelings.

Word Count: 2.9k.

You always feared getting your heart broken someday, you just hadn’t imagined it would happen like this. Sakura had always been kind to you, ever since you’d been introduced to him through Tsubakino. It was one of the many reasons why you found yourself falling for him. It had been impossible not to, and you’d spent the majority of the time working up the courage to finally ask him out. Convinced by the fact that Tsubaki had guaranteed he would say yes.

“He’d be a fool not to like you,” He said, glancing at you through his reflection in the small compact he carried with him. Giving you a reassuring wink as he applied a fresh layer of engine red lipstick, “You won’t know unless you try.”

But maybe you were the biggest fool of all because you definitely hadn’t expected Sakura Haruka to leave you standing alone in the middle of the park wearing a pretty sundress. An excruciating pain ruminated beneath your ribcage as you tried to fight back the ache of rejection.

The first step had been the most difficult— working up the courage to ask for his number. It seemed awkward to ask for it straight up, but you also didn’t want to just get it off Tsubaki in case it crossed any unspoken boundaries. So you decided it might be easier to give him yours, writing it down onto a napkin from Kotoha’s restaurant one morning while you waited for her to pour your coffee. Before slowly sliding it across the bar to Sakura, who was shovelling omelette rice into his mouth. His pink cheeks bulged with food as he skimmed the note, looking up at you with a frown.

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay.” You smiled softly as you thanked Kotoha for the coffee, walking out through the door into the warm morning sun.

If he didn’t want to what? Sakura thought to himself as he scanned your number on the white napkin. Why did you give him your cell phone number? Sakura pondered the reasons as he continued to shovel the warm egg omelette rice into his mouth. You could want to hang out as friends, but you’d never showed any indication of wanting to do so prior. Or perhaps you were looking for protection, although that didn’t make sense when you were so close to Tsubaki who was a force to be reckoned with alone.

You didn’t need protection— so what if you’d given him your number so you could fight? It made the most sense to Sakura. It had to be why you stared at him each morning when you came in for your coffee, almost as if you were sizing him up with expectation, and today was the day you’d decided to extend the invitation. He waited until he’d finished his plate before fishing his cell phone out of his pocket to send you a text message.

Even after Kiryu had added Sakura to a Furin group chat all those years ago, Sakura was never the best at texting. He tests the words against the screen as he debates how to properly respond. Backspacing until he finally settles on a simple, yet concise answer and he hits send.

Sakura[9.49AM]: I want to.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was agreeing to, but it had to be some sort of fight. He’d never trained with you before, so it couldn’t be that. And if you were friends with Tsubaki-chan, perhaps you enjoyed fighting too.

You[9.53AM]: hi! I’m glad you texted, I wasn’t sure if you actually wanted to go or not but I’m glad you do!!! Honestly, it’s made my day :)

Sakura reread the text twice, just to make sure he understood what you meant. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to go— so you were looking for a fight.

Sakura[9.55AM]: When?

He texts back, glancing at the screen as he notices the three little dots appear at the bottom to signal you are typing back.

You[9.57AM]: Meet me in the park by the swings at 7pm :)

Sakura read the text three times with a frown— 7pm. So you really did want to fight him? That would surely be the only reason you wanted to meet so late.

It felt like a shame to fight you, especially when your face is so pretty. Sakura feels his cheeks flush at the thought as he pictures that same sweet smile you give him each day when he sees you enter the restaurant to order your usual coffee to go, while he tries to hide his face in his omelette rice.

But you’re best friends with Tsubaki-chan so you must be strong, and maybe that’s the reason why you’ve chosen to fight him. And he’s never one to back down, and you’ve set the stage now so he has no choice but to agree. Sending back a single word as his fingers glide across his phone screen.

Sakura[10.00AM]: Yes.

Sakura isn’t sure how he’s supposed to prepare for this, or if he even needs to. He’s never seen you fight before, although he’s certainly seen you mad. Your soft hands balled into tight fists as you warned off a guy for getting a little too close, so close in fact that even Sakura was decidedly about to jump in— until you managed to get him to back off and leave.

Okay, maybe you were strong—

He doesn’t know anything about your fighting technique, or the way you hold yourself. Wondering whether you have a similar style to Tsubaki, and that’s why you’re so close? But he’s friends with Suo and Nirei and they don’t fight like him, so maybe that doesn’t make sense, he frowns. He’s known you for a while, and this is the first time you’ve shown any indication you want to fight, so now he’s started to overthink everything. Contemplating how he’ll be able to get the upper hand— or what spoils will be offered to the victor?

He makes sure he’s early, arriving at the park ten minutes before your scheduled fight with his hands bundled into fists inside his jacket pockets. But he’s surprised to see you already there and waiting, his roaring heartbeat catches in his throat at the sight of you as he almost forgets to breathe—

You’re sitting there waiting wearing the prettiest dress Sakura thinks he’s ever seen. A flowy sundress that hugs your curves in all the right places, embarrassed when his eyes are instantly drawn to the cleavage that spills out of the top. Your bare skin has a dull throb pounding at the back of his head as though he’d just been sucker punched as he wonders whether he’s still standing or how you’re this strong.

The moment he first saw you, he remembers a word that Suo had taught him to describe things like this— and he reckons that’s exactly what you are. Ethereal.

His cheeks burn a fiery red as he risks a glance further down, the soft material of the dress stops just above your knee as he follows the path of your legs to see your feet encased in pretty wedge sandals that strap around your ankles. There was no way you’d come to fight like this— in fact, he couldn’t fight you like this, could he?

“Hey.” You notice him staring as you stand up to walk towards him, and Sakura is certain that he won’t be able to land a single hit when the scent of your perfume surrounds him.

“W-what are you wearing?!” He shouts, despite the fact you’ve come to stand in front of him and it takes you aback.

The same insecurities begin to shroud you as they did when you were preparing to meet him. Standing in front of your full-length mirror as you tried on various outfits until you came to settle on this one, almost deciding against it at the last minute before you checked the time and noticed if you didn’t leave you might be late.

“Oh— you don’t like it, do you?” You fiddled with the strings at the front of the dress that were tied into a pretty, thin bow. Sakura’s eyes couldn’t look away as they followed the movement, noticing your pretty painted nails before he found himself staring at the hint of skin that peeked out of the top of the dress, “I knew I should’ve worn the other dress, it’s not quite as light as this one. God, I feel stupid.”

One of the thin straps was dangerously close to falling down your shoulder, and now Sakura wasn’t even sure he’d be able to land a single punch. This had to be some kind of distraction technique.

“You can’t fight in that!” Sakura raises his arm in an accusatory point, trying to stop himself from shaking and showing any signs of fear as he tries desperately to tame the fierce blush that streaked across the apples of his cheeks.

“I can’t fight in this?” Sakura despised how adorable you looked when you cocked your head to the side with your words, his heart banging like a marching band as he thought about his initial statement— maybe he was foolish for thinking you couldn’t fight in this.

When he’d watched Tsubaki fight, he’d always notice men that would get distracted from his short skirts and heeled boots— was this what you were trying to do to him now? Was this your plan all along?

“It’s—” He tries to get the words out, but it’s difficult when you look so cute, “It’s not— it isn’t—”

“It isn’t what?” You take a small step closer and the sudden movement had his fight or flight instinct kicking in as Sakura turned to run. Escaping in a hasty sprint as he left you standing alone in the park, the sun slowly falling over the horizon.

You try to ignore the ache in your chest when Sakura turns to run, wondering why he’d even bother to show up at all when he was going to reject you anyway. But then you suppose that’s one of the reasons why you even like him in the first place— he’s way too thoughtful and considerate of others. That’s probably why he didn’t want to reject you over text, and he’d come to tell you face to face.

Trying to stop the tears from falling as pearlescent droplets collect in your thick lashes to blur your vision, blinking them back you pull out your phone to rest Tsubaki. The first text sitting at the top of your phone is still your message chain with Sakura as you reread the “Yes” he’d sent you hours earlier. You were so stupid.

It’s the first fight Sakura has ever run from in his twenty-two years, and he hates himself for it. Hates that you managed to win on pure tactics alone as he makes his way back to the restaurant to find his friends.

His chest is heaving when he finally makes it through the door, knocking the wood so hard it almost flies off its hinges as wild eyes search for his friends. Thankful they seem to be the only people inside as he makes a beeline for them, his two-toned hair now windswept and pushed back from his forehead as it sticks up in all directions.

“You’re back quick?” Kiryu notes, his thumb pauses on his screen to take note of Sakura’s dishevelled appearance.

“Did she stand you up?” Nirei asks, concerned.

“No.” Sakura deadpans, still standing by the table despite there being a free seat in front of him as he leans his weight on the balls of his feet.

“You stood her up?” Kiryu locks his phone and places it down on the table as he raises a questioning brow, “That’s really not how to treat a girl, Sakura. I thought you—”

“I went there!” Sakura shouts, louder than necessary inside the small cafe as his hands ball into fists on either side of him.

“What happened?” Suo asks calmly, trying to diffuse the situation, but there’s a curious lilt to his tone.

“S-she was there.” Sakura tries to work out how to explain what happened, as his nose scrunches pensively.

“Okay? So that’s good, right?” Nirei smiles.

“She was wearing a dress!” Sakura is loud, immediately regretting his volume as the heat rising inside his body starts to become uncomfortable. Slouching down to sit beside Suo as he mumbles, “You can’t fight in a dress—”

“Girls can fight in anything,” Kiryu smiles, as Sakura looks across the table at him. So you did want to fight? “But I don’t think that’s what she had in mind.”

Oh. So if you didn’t want to fight him, then what else did you want?

“Well, where is she now?” Suo questioned, and Sakura answered for him with a sheepish look paired with a deep pink blush all the way down to his shoulders, “You left her in the park?”

“Wait— on her own?” Nirei continued, “Why would you do that?”

And somehow it sounded worse when his best friend put it like that. Sakura hadn’t left you alone, or at least he hadn’t meant to. You were there alone before he’d even got there, almost like he’d just stopped in passing. You were fine—

“She was wearing a dress!” Sakura repeated with an angry rasp to his tone.

“Sakura, you messed up.” Kiryu starts laughing playfully, shaking his head, “You’re gonna have her and Tsubaki-chan mad at you now. I can’t believe you did that to her— the poor girl.“

“What?!” Sakura baulks, “But she’s the one that text me!”

Sakura never wanted to fight you, why would he? You were far too pretty— too delicate to be subjected to that. He didn’t want to think about you fighting anyone, the thought alone had that same strange feeling bubbling in his tummy as he pictured you coming out of the fight hurt. That same seated desire inside him burning red hot at the thought— Sakura is certain he’d fight to the death to protect every single inch of you, to stop any harm from coming to you.

“What do you think it means when a girl gives you her number?” Sakura sat back beside Suo as he pondered the question.

The only phone number he had stored in his phone outside Bofurin friends and Togame from Shishitoren was Kotoha, and that was because she’d grabbed his phone the same day he’d given it to Kiryu. But Sakura didn’t mind so much because she always brought him food. But he didn’t think that’s why you’d given your number to him, was it?

“Iunno.” He mumbled gruffly, his lips curling into a pout, “That she wants to fight.”

Tsubaki-chan had texted him to spar all the time, it wouldn’t be weird to think you’d do the same.

Kiryu shot Suo a look as he gave his friend a soft smile, before trying a different approach. It was clear after knowing him for so many years, that Sakura was inexperienced in things outside the reemits of fighting.

“Have you never found a girl pretty before, Sakura-kun?” Suo asks,

“Shaddup!” Sakura snaps swiftly, already feeling a dangerous heat rise inside him— but it’s at that same moment where he really ponders the question.

Kotoha is pretty, he supposes. Thinking back to the first time he met her when she offered him a warm plate of food with a kind smile, remembering the heat that plumed inside him that followed her kindness as Sakura found himself coming back to her.

Sakura is certain he thinks Tsubaki is pretty too, although none of them seem to compare to how he feels about you. The incessant pounding of his heart against his rib cage at the mere thought of you, your saccharine perfume makes him feel dizzy and yet he hates when you’re not around so he has to remember the way it smells. The sound of your laughter causes more than just a subtle warmth inside him like Kotoha, it's more like a blazing inferno that courses through his veins like molten lava that’s impossible to extinguish. And the way you manage to fluster him without even being there— he’s constantly thinking about your face before he falls into a dreamless sleep, and waking up to wonder what you’re doing right now.

Tsubaki would probably think he’s foolish for thinking you couldn’t fight in a pretty sundress with sandals when he fights in a skirt and heels all the time. Maybe it would give you some kind of advantage, a way to get the upper hand. The sandals wedge gave you a slight height advantage sure, but would that be enough to beat him?

“Are you listening, Sakura?”

“Yeah.” He pushes his chair out with a harsh screech against the hardwood floor as he moves to leave, frantic in his search for you as he hopes you’re still standing where he left you.

#sakura haruka x reader #haruka sakura x reader #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker x you

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shirefantasies · 2 months ago

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You Underestimate Me- Fili x F!Human!Reader

EVERYBODY LIVES AU!!! Warnings: canon typical violence and peril, descriptions of pain/blood/wounds, one suggestive comment

“Fili, stop it!”

The dwarf in question was chasing you through the stream, forcing you to run as fast as you could through the splashing water, which wasn’t much at all considering the resistance.

“Make me.”

One look at his smug face was all the convincing you needed to come to an abrupt stop, extending one leg out and bracing yourself to endure the inevitable strike, the brief pain of Fili barreling into you well worth the splash he made. Spinning on your heels, you joined Kili and Dwalin’s roar of laughter proudly, smiling and giving a little wave to Fili as he rose, dripping.

“Your clothes needed a wash, too,” you remark as he first glared, then shook his head and burst into laughter of his own, “I distinctly remember you saying so.”

Fee’d come back with some sort of revenge, you knew. Even if you didn’t know him so well as you thought and hoped, the look of rivalry-toned respect, the challenge gleaming in his eyes, told it all to you as you strode back to the muddy bank.

“Mark my words,” Fili spoke your name as though it were a vicious utterance, but either a smile upon his face, “if I wasn’t a gentleman, I would pick you up and toss you into the river myself!”

“I’m too big,” you shot back, “You couldn’t even lift me.”

“You underestimate me,” Fili replied to that, striding with great long leather-booted steps right up to your side, "I'm stronger than I look, you know."

"I will believe that when I see it."

"Someday you will," he said simply, joining you at the bank with water rushing from his long golden hair as he shook it out, "Mark my words, I will raise you above my head in triumph!"

At that, you just kicked one more little splash of bank at him and scurried off toward camp, ducking and hiding between Dwalin and Balin lest Fili seek his retaliation then and there.

At dinnertime, the slightest hint of mischief glinted in Fili's eyes, but it was only made manifest in the way his knee darted out, nudging yours and sending you laughing and holding up your bowl.

"Oi! Watch the stew!"

"What was that?" Fili smiled innocently and cupped a hand around his ear, nudging you one more time. "I think I've still got water in my ears. Can’t imagine how that happened."

Shattering, cracking bones and crashing steel almost drowned out the blood pounding in your ears as you darted between blades. Cried out names in search of any fragments of familiarity amidst it all. Not a sight of your friends brightened the bleak, black-and-red-painted horizon for what felt like minutes on end. An orc's falling body nearly toppled you over, but your voice was too exhausted to scream.

Panting, you beat the battlefield harshly, pounding it again and again with the soles of your boots. The weight of your black blood-spattered daggers slowed the swing of your arms as you ran, stitches in your sides stinging harshly, but stasis was afforded by no one in such violent bedlam. A blade was flung mere feet from you, and only upon turning to follow its trajectory did you see your attacker.

Scimitar raised and swung, the orc looked down upon you with a sadistic sneer as he slashed you across the side. Gasping, you tumbled back from the sheer force, let alone the burning arc of steel penetrating flesh and the warm trickle of blood spattering and spreading across your body with the impact of your fall. Lightning pain arced up and down your torso and you cried out, barely able to roll away from the next strike. Before the killing blow could fall, though, an arrow struck your assailant through the eye, knocking him right down to your side.

Spots danced in your vision as you heaved there, panic overtaking you. Dirt barely gave way beneath your scrabbling fingers as you forced yourself to attempt crawling forward. Just as the spots began winning, however, a pair of hands darted into your vision and your wound burned when they made brief contact with it. Your last sight before the dark enclosed you was that of Fili pulling you up, hoisting you on his shoulders. Briefly his face, his tear-streaked face, glistening blue eyes, and sad smile passed before you and then you faded away…

“I’m not losing you. I’m not.”

It felt like mere seconds later that you jolted awake again, gasping for breath at the shock of pain the motion brought you. Before your hung head was a blanket. Your legs beneath it. You’d been bandaged and lain in a cot. Breath barely came to you and stars danced once more in your vision. Hastily tapping footsteps ran your way and a hand gripped yours.

“Lie down.” Fili.

You spoke his name. He gently but firmly pushed you back onto the bed. Carefully manipulated you by your hands so as not to touch your bleeding side.

“Lie back down,” he repeated, “You’re hurt.”

“We survived,” you panted, giving a weak smile, “You saved me.”

“I told you,” he replied, whispering your name, “I would raise you above my head one day. I kept my promise. You saw.”

“I don’t know,” you teased, “My vision was a little spotty. How can I be sure it was you who picked me up?”

“You underestimate me.” He shook his head and tutted in mock disappointment. “If you wish, I’ll do it again once we’re not so battered.”

“And risk dropping me?”

“Only if we’re standing over a lake.”

Your smile grew. “I’ll never live that down, will I?”

“Not as long as we’re growing old. I’ll always remind you.”

Even in its frail state, your heart leapt at his words, beating harder and deepening your haze. Lips parting, you gaped at Fili, who only smiled harder, squeezing your hand.

“If, that is, you’ll have me. I don’t mean to force the responsibility on you, I’m just… so relieved you made it. Didn’t know what I would do if I lost you before I could tell you how much I love you. You can blame the blood loss on how it came out.”

Shaking your head, you let out a small, breathy laugh. “Responsibility? What responsibility? Babysitting my best friend every day? A small price to pay for a courting bead from the dwarf I love.”

“Any price I could pay for you is small,” Fili added, the hand that wasn’t holding yours reaching up to trace the back of it along the curve of your face.

“Even getting tripped and knocked on your face?”

“Well remember, anytime you do that I get to get you back.”

“And what punishment do you have in mind for me,” you grinned even as your eyelids fluttered weakly, “Hm?”

“Don’t worry,” Fili reassured you with a fond look, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll hoist you triumphantly and throw you in plenty of lakes once you rest up.”

“You have a deal,” you replied, allowing Fili’s hand to rotate, pulling you in and caressing the apple of your cheek with his thumb as he brought his lips to yours.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @filiswingman @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 @misabelle717 @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @evattude @kpopgirlbtssvt @rivendell-poet | Reply/Message/Ask to join 🖤

#the hobbit #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit x reader #fili #fili x reader #fili x female reader #female reader #friends to lovers

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puck-luck · 8 months ago

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wedding crashers | jack hughes

warnings: semi public sex, pining on jack's side, older!reader (jack is 22, she is 26), unprotected p in v (always... do as i do not as i say, wrap it when you tap it), fingering, dirty talk, insinuation of oral (m & f receiving) pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader request: "jack hughes and a slightly older reader (like idk 3 years older maybe), i feel like he’s so sassy and cocky that he would go nuts if he was able to get an older girl hahaha, maybe it could be like a challenge type situation where they were bantering over whether he’d be any good in bed bc he’s “just a baby” or something so he has something to prove.. 🫣" wc: 4167

You’d first met Jack Hughes in 2015. You were at one of the USA Developmental games with Matthew, your best friend at the time, watching his brother play for the last time that year. Since it was Christmas just recently, this was the only time you’d get to see Matthew until who knew when. Even though it involved hockey, which always stole Matthew’s attention from you, you decided to join him anyway. It was Matthew that introduced you to the Hughes family, after you had commented on Quinn’s performance.

Jack was a goof from the get-go. He was fourteen when you met, so all of his attempts to flirt with you went nowhere. Well, they made it to the front seat of Matthew’s car, where you laughed about the younger boy’s boldness. He was a sweet boy, and cute in a way that made you want to pinch his cheeks, and you were able to watch him grow up and come into himself.

Your friendship with Matthew had dwindled since he was drafted in 2016, but you were still close enough with his family to be invited to Brady’s wedding. It was there that Jack cornered you, hitting on you for the umpteenth time. Now, he was 22 years old, overconfident and cocky due to years of praise from not only his coaches and peers, but from every pretty girl that fell into his company. You were 26, mature and happy with the life you had made for yourself.

Jack had never stopped chasing you, though it wasn’t an overbearing and constant chase. He was sure that he would conquer you someday, having never forgotten the way he rubbed himself raw after he had first met you and you had smiled in his direction. What can he say– he was fourteen and a pretty girl, an older girl had smiled at him.

And, pleasantly tipsy, Jack had decided that today was that day.

He tore himself away from Luke, having delivered a new drink to his underage brother, and made his way to you. You were sitting with one of Brady and Matthew’s relatives, making small talk over a glass of white wine. Your legs were crossed in a way that Jack could only describe as dainty, your nails painted a pretty blush color that matched your dress. Jack licked his bottom lip when an image of your hand around his cock, with those painted nails contrasting the color of his member, flashed through his mind.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack said, not really feeling sorry at all. He turned to you. “I was wondering if you’d join me for a dance.”

You smiled and shook your head slightly, a small laugh falling from your lips. “Sure, Jack.” To the Tkachuk relative, you excused yourself, standing to take Jack’s extended hand. You took a sip from your wine glass, polishing off the drink.

Jack truly couldn’t have chosen a better moment to ask you to dance, as a new song began and decided for you, due to its pace, that the two of you would engage in a waltz of sorts. Jack wasn’t much of a dancer, but he was able to box step in time with the music and lead you through the dance.

You had given Jack a knowing look when his hand found its way to the small of your back, threatening to dip dangerously onto the curve of your ass. Your hand rested on his shoulder, the other in his hand, held close to your bodies.

Jack pulled you close to him, mere inches between your bodies. You laughed again, your head dipping to fall on his shoulder for a split second.

“What?” Jack asked as you flicked your hair from your eyes with a slight tilt of your head. “You’re supposed to be close when you dance.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever you say, Jack.” Your voice was light, almost sing-songy. “Your intentions are nothing if not innocent, isn’t that right?”

“I just want to dance,” Jack deflected, but the smile on his face told you everything you needed to know. His eyes were shining, both from the drinks he had consumed and the charged energy between your bodies.

You raised your eyebrows and pursed your lips, trying to suppress a smile as you and Jack continued to stare at each other. You broke first, looking away and shaking your head.

“What?” Jack said. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, I’m hurt by that.” Jack pouted, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that caught your attention. It was plush and pink and just a little cracked from sun exposure. You knew Jack had spent the beginning of the summer out on the lake, and his skin reflected that– both tan and sunkissed at once.

Though you hated to admit it, Jack had grown up to be very attractive. He glowed, especially in the summer, especially when he had a few drinks in his system and he had grown a little more brash and a little more bold.

“Poor Jacky,” You teased. You tilted your head down and blinked up at him through your lashes, saying in a baby-voice: “I hurt the little baby’s feelings?”

“You did,” Jack agreed, his pout just becoming more exaggerated. “How are you going to make it up to me?”

Your whole body moved with your laugh this time. “I suppose you’re about to ask me to kiss it better.”

“Well, I was hoping for more than just a kiss,” Jack said, chuckling at your laughter. He licked his bottom lip before biting it in a cheeky smile, the apples of his cheeks prominent and pink. His teeth were a sharp white contrast to the red dusting across his cheeks, but you found yourself growing fond of that shameless smile the more you saw it.

“Jack, you’re a baby,” You laughed. “In the real world, you’d have just graduated college. I know things are different because you’re a big, famous hockey player and you’ve been doing this job for years, but the fact of the matter is that you’re just too young for me.”

Jack was unscathed by your rejection, just like he always was. He didn’t even mind that your tone was borderline condescending, like you were talking to a five year old instead of a grown adult.

“Plus, Jacky–” You smiled, itching to hammer the final nail in this coffin. “You can’t handle a grown woman.”

His eyes grew dark at that. “I can handle a grown woman,” He stated, voice definite.

You threw your head back, not quite laughing, but not quite rolling your eyes in exasperation either.

Jack’s hand left yours and found your jaw in a flash, bringing your face back to his. “I can handle a grown woman,” He repeated. His gaze flickered down to your lips. “Let me prove it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes flickering down to his lips to match his motions. “In your dreams,” You denied, bringing your hand to his chest to put some distance between you.

Jack didn’t allow it. If anything, he pulled you closer. He pressed his hips into yours, took your hand off his chest and resumed its original dancing position. He tugged you tight to him, tight enough that you were looking over his shoulder and his mouth hovered right next to your ear.

“I’d be so good to you,” Jack whispered. Your eyes flickered around the room, but no one seemed perturbed by yours and Jack’s positioning. “I’ve had a long time to think about this, Y/N. Let me tell you what I’d do, what I have done in my dreams.”

You didn’t say anything, but the fingertips of the hand on his shoulder found the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck and stayed there.

“I always start by kissing you. Always. I’d start slow– just feeling how these pretty pink lips feel against mine. I’d wait for you to loosen up, to open your mouth and invite me in for more. I’m going to keep going slow, but I’m going to slide my tongue into your mouth and kiss you until I’ve figured out just what you taste like. Today, you’ll taste like your white wine at first, but I’m going to kiss you until I’ve deciphered your taste, Y/N.”

Jack moved his hand to your waist and squeezed gently.

“I’d start with my hands here, but I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I’ll start moving, feeling every inch of you. There’s not a part of your body where my fingerprints won’t be found. You won’t know what to focus on– when one of my hands is tangled up in your hair, the other one is going to squeeze your ass and really feel it out because I’ve been thinking about it for so long. And all the while, darling, I’ll be kissing you and stealing the breath from your lungs.”

You gasped at that, shifting closer to Jack. He smiled, knowing that he was closing in on the moment that he’d been wanting for the past eight years. His hand moved to the curve of your ass and you’re nearly helpless with it, or just unwilling to chide him for venturing that far. Jack made eye contact with Quinn over your shoulder and smirked, showing his teeth in a cheshire way.

He spoke again. “But then I’d bring my fingers down, won’t I? I’ve made you breathless, I’ve made you moan, I’ve got you begging for more– something you thought you’d never do. Yet here we are, and you’re always dripping for me.”

By the end of his sentence, Jack’s voice was barely audible. You were straining to hear him, and his mouth was right next to your ear. You felt a bit breathless already, strung together by terrible stitching. Your resolve snapped when you felt his lips close around your earlobe, his teeth tugging at your skin gently.

You jumped away from him like you’d been electrocuted by his touch. You’re breathing heavily, chest heaving.

Jack fared no better, standing in the same spot. You watch his chest rise and fall, the little bit of his skin you can see between his unbuttoned white shirt glistening. His mouth was slightly open, ready to whisper something else dirty in your ear.

You looked him up and down like you couldn’t decide where to focus, like you were fulfilling a prophecy where Jack made you fumble where you once stood so sure.

In a second, you made your decision. You needed to see how this would end, needed to feel it for yourself.

You grabbed Jack’s hand and dragged him out of the reception hall, down the winding hallways until you’ve deemed that you’re far enough away from the party that no one would be able to find you if they came looking.

You shoved Jack into a closet– a closet, you thought to yourself, wanting to laugh at the absurdity. When you closed the door behind you and turned to find Jack’s eyes, he was waiting with a stoney face, not letting any of his emotions show. You’d have killed to know what he was thinking.

All you could do was nod, mouth opening and closing a few times, but never finding words.

Jack tilted his head, his eyes flashing in the darkness.

“Please,” is the single word that ended up breaking the silence between you.

Jack’s lips were on yours in the blink of an eye. His hands cradled your face and his kiss was insistent, bruising. He was slow, sure, but he was emphatic, unyielding. The kiss reflected the eight years of waiting that had passed before he got this chance.

His hand pulled one of your legs up onto his hip before it circled around you to knead the skin of your ass. Your dress, already short because Brady and Emma had planned for a wedding in the dead of summer, rode up until your behind was barely covered.

All the more for Jack to hold onto as his tongue made its way into your mouth.

You continued to kiss, breaking apart only to take a breath and recover, unbuttoning the rest of Jack’s shirt and pushing it down his arms. Your hands roamed his torso, feeling every muscle that Jack had worked so hard to build.

Jack’s mouth traveled south, sucking along the skin of your neck. He bent down, both of his hands finding your thighs and lifting you. You wrapped your legs around him and ground down against him, finally getting some relieving friction from the sizable bulge that was pressing against his zipper. Jack moaned out loud, gasping at your movements.

“What next?” You asked, grinding down again.

“What?” Jack replied, lost in the moment. His eyes met yours and they seemed cloudy, swirling with lust.

“After you, shit, after you touch me–” Your head tipped back as he pressed a kiss to your collarbone. “What do you do next, in your dreams?”

It took a minute to register for Jack, too caught up in the feeling of your pussy against his cock, even if there were multiple layers separating you.

“I touch you,” Jack said, the obvious next action. “I don’t do anything, I just touch you. I use two fingers and I find every spot that makes you react. Once I’ve got you figured out, I–”

You cut him off. “Do it,” You told him. Your head felt light, almost dizzy, and you nodded like a bobblehead. “Do it.”

Jack let out a pathetic, wanton whimper at your command and walked forward until you were pressed against the wall. He shifted you over to that you were held up by his thigh and he brought one hand down to your panties.

He felt over the skimpy fabric, which was barely doing anything anymore. It was soaked, darkened with your slick, and briefly, Jack thought to take it off of you and pocket it to bring home as a souvenir. How dirty you would feel going back out to the reception… the thought of it nearly made Jack’s knees buckle. It would be a constant reminder that he’d won, that he’d managed to fuck you and satisfy you after thinking about it for so long.

He allowed his fingers to wander up and down the expanse of your pussy, cataloging how you whined when he rubbed over your swollen clit and how you clenched down when he pushed at your entrance through the fabric covering it. He noticed how your stomach tensed as he teased his way across your lips, running his finger over each curve and ridge.

As if inspired by something divine, Jack pulled your panties taut, making them ride up into your cunt and provide some gratifying friction when you next ground down on his hand. Jack watched, eyes wide, as you chased your own pleasure. His hand was the catalyst and you were moving mindlessly, like he had already plucked every thought from your head and replaced it with desire for him.

“Fuck,” Jack choked out, feeling a spark zip up his spine. “Y/N.”

He said your name with such reverence, and flexed his hand against you like an offering.

“Fuck me,” You said. Your hands found Jack’s hair and you pressed your lips to his. “Jack. I need you to fuck me. I need you inside me, I can’t– oh, need you to make me come. Baby, I’m so close already, I need you.”

Jack’s cock was throbbing like he might burst from the slightest breeze. There it was again– “Baby.” It didn’t mean the same thing now, Jack knew it was more of a term of endearment than an insult, but it lit a fire under him nonetheless. He was going to prove to you that he wasn’t a baby, that he was a man and in this moment, you were his. He was going to fuck you hard, like you’d never imagined he was able to do. He was going to make your legs shake, make it so you couldn’t walk or do anything but sit prettily at your table and sip on another glass of wine to cool you off.

He was going to make it so that the next time he saw you, you’d be begging him to make you come again.

Jack let your feet find the floor again, stepping back just far enough to get his hands on his belt. “Strip,” Jack commanded. “I want to see you.” At the same time, he unbuckled his belt and worked to remove his dress pants. He kicked them away, in a crumpled little pile near his dress shirt. His underwear joined shortly after.

You hurried to remove your dress, eyes locked in on Jack’s cock. It was a burning red at the tip, wet and straining. It stood away from his body, solid and you swore you might’ve just felt some drool pool at the corner of your mouth.

His hand fisted his cock, eyes lasered in on your protruding nipples when you dropped your dress to reveal your body.

Jack sighed, stroking himself slowly to keep himself at bay. “You’re better than I dreamed,” He said, causing you to blush.

“Jack,” You whined, aching for him to come closer, to slide inside you.

“Let me.” Jack stepped forward and got to his knees, gently bringing your panties down and helping you out of them. He dropped a kiss on your clit before standing again.

You brought an arm around his neck, your other hand placed solidly on his chest. You could feel his pulse racing wildly beneath your palm and you suddenly remembered that he’d been waiting to do this for years.

“Come on, Jacky,” You voiced. “Prove yourself.”

It was a weak command, a weak insistence, barely any indicator of sureness in your voice now. Jack had turned you inside-out, made you question everything because you never imagined you’d need him the way you do now.

He practically growled and you could feel it rumble in his chest. He captured your lips with his, nibbling on your bottom lip before filling your mouth with his tongue. It was slippery and wet and it felt like magic.

Jack pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, feeling the head slide in. He stopped there for a minute, breathing deeply into your mouth to ground himself. He couldn’t disappoint you, wouldn’t dare shoot off early and cut short the night that he’d been fantasizing about since he was a teenager.

“So good,” You breathed out, feeding the words to Jack. He dipped his head and inched further into you, moving slowly until your pelvis connected with his.

“Fuck,” Jack whimpered out.

His thrusts started shallow. Jack felt like you were constricting him, squeezing him like a snake in a cartoon. His voice was caught in his throat like an ugly lump and the only noises that could force their way past it were groans and “uh”s that borderline on squeaky. He didn’t care about the noises, he didn’t care that he could be embarrassing himself in front of the girl he’s wanted for so long.

It didn’t matter to you, either– you were too caught up in the feeling of Jack’s cock sheathed inside of you. He was pressing against your most intimate spots and you could feel him throbbing inside of you, dragging delectably along your walls.

His thrusts grew deeper, became longer, harder. Jack’s hair fell into his eyes and you brushed it away. His eyes met yours and the air between you felt thick and charged. You brought your hand to Jack’s jaw and leaned forward, connecting your lips.

This kiss was different. It was soft, intimate. Your tongues slid against each other, licking into each others’ mouths and swallowing each others’ groans and whimpers. You forgot for a few minutes that you were in a closet at the wedding of a man you’d known since you were children, fucking a man that you swore you’d never touch because he’s too young.

That man was quickly proving that he’s one of the best fucks in your whole life.

Here he was, mouthing against your neck after moving away from your lips. He was making these desperate noises, thrusting into you like he’s taking a chance at something he’ll never have again. At the beginning of this night, you might have agreed that he’d never get another chance. Now, you can’t help but look forward to the next time you see him, when you’ll get your mouth on his thick, skillful cock.

You told him such, and Jack fucked you harder as a result. His hands clutched at your waist, fingertips destined to leave bruises.

His cock entering and leaving you caused the closet to fill with wet noises and the sound of the slapping of skin. That, paired with Jack’s pants and whines, pushed you further to the edge. Your climax wound up inside you, tense and heavy in your gut.

“Jack,” You said, voice pleading. “I’m close.”

A moan was ripped from Jack’s chest, sweat beading at his hairline. The look in his eyes was almost animalistic, capturing you in his gaze like you’re the only being that exists in the world.

“Please,” Jack panted out. “Come on my cock.”

The winding coil of your climax unravels as Jack continues to thrust his length into you, drawing himself almost completely out of you and then forcing his cock back into your cunt. Your release leaked down his shaft, coating him completely.

The vice grip of your pussy on his cock made Jack hesitate, made him stutter. He still didn’t want to shoot off, he didn’t want to fill you up with his come, because that meant that this would be over. His dream, journey, his conquest would be complete, and he’d have to find something else to lust after.

He knew in his heart that he was still just Jack, just a younger hockey guy who you’d known when he was pimply and stick-like, one who could never fit into your life the way he wished he could.

He’d almost rather torture himself, deny himself from his release, than have this end.

But end it must, and it ended with a breathy whisper of his name.

“Jack,” You mewled, twitching in oversensitivity.

“Oh,” He groaned as his cock jumped inside you, your walls milking him for everything he has. His eyelashes fluttered as you seemed suddenly re-energized, fucking yourself on his cock as he came inside you. It was like his come brought you to life, something too powerful and symbolic for him, and Jack closed his eyes at the thought.

You came down together, eyes finding each other intermittently in the darkness, only when the other wasn’t looking. Your breaths synched, unknowingly, as you dressed yourselves. You were close enough that your elbows could bump as you pulled your clothes on, but both of you were too conscious of the tension to let it happen.

You finished dressing yourself first and you looked over to Jack, feeling something close to awe as he buttoned his shirt and left some skin exposed. You were drawn to it, wanting to reach out and reveal the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his collarbone, the ridge of his waist again and get your mouth on him, but you couldn’t move.

The tension felt like molasses, thick and heavy. Jack’s eyes met yours and you knew that the emotion in his eyes reflected your own: that you knew everything had changed and you didn’t know if it was for the better or for the worse.

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but you shook your head. You made your way into his space, tilting your head up to meet his lips in a sweet, short kiss. You pressed something soft into his hands, then turned and left the closet, leaving Jack alone in the dark.

He didn’t know how you knew, but you had handed him your ruined panties. He slipped them into the pocket of his pants, mentally noting to find his suit jacket and move the panties to the inside pocket of that garment.

When he saw you again at the reception, almost a half an hour later, you were sipping a new glass of wine. Jack made eye contact with you over the glass and patted his pocket, the small lump of your panties still visible to those who looked closely, and he grinned to himself when he saw you blush.

He’d text you later that night, having bummed your number off of Brady years ago but never used it until now. It was a simple message, teasing and confident, bold like you had come to expect from Jack:

“lmk when u want to see what i can do w my tongue ;)”

note: this might just be my magnum opus. this is my favorite thing that i've written in ages. i had toooo much fun with this. ...will write a part 2 when jack DOES show her what he can do with his tongue... maybe paired with another recent request i got about jack's current injury and what he is or is not able to do with his shoulder.

P.S. I'm not married to the title of this. It was kind of just something I threw out there. They do not crash a wedding. Although their behavior is certainly dramatic & would disrupt the wedding.

#puck-luck's fics #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jh86 #nhl smut #nhl x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #andy writes anything🍄

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cheapshrimpysheep · 1 year ago

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Teaching You How to Swim

SUMMARY: You end up revealing that you can't swim/not swim very well, and the OctaTrio offer to teach you how to swim. You choose Azul to teach you. On the day of the lesson he found a secluded small cave to teach you.

CHARACTERS: Azul Ashengrotto x Reader 🐙🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Flirting; Kissing

WORD COUNT: 2.910 words

COMMENTS: This is for the @briarvalleyarchives “Summer Shoreline” event.

To be honest, the initial idea was to write about how each of the three (Azul, Jade and Floyd) would teach you to swim. But I ended up being so inspired and carried away just by Azul's part that I ended up deciding to stick just with him.

BTW: I was born and raised on the coast, so the beach, the ocean, and even rivers, are very close to me. I love swimming and especially diving. I'm just saying this to let you know that I wrote most of this from personal experience.

I hope you enjoy 😉

One day, you were in the Mostro Lounge talking to the trio and the Tweels comment that they would love to swim with you one day. And you end up revealing that you can't swim/not swim very well. Of course, they saw a deal opportunity.

They offered to teach you how to swim. After all, who better than a merfolk to teach you such a thing? They let you choose which one you would like to be your teacher and then you'll make a deal with him.

THE DEAL

“You want me to teach you?” Azul says “Of course! It will be a pleasure, an honor even.”

Despite all Azul’s confidence, you already know him, and something in his voice, a quick little tremor, made you realize that there was some kind of insecurity behind that answer.

The deal you two ended up making came as no surprise from Azul. You would work at Mostro Lounge for a month. And why a whole month?

“I pledge to teach you everything a landfolk would ever need to learn. After all, I will teach you things that could save your life. Don't you think a month is reasonable for such a thing?”

He had a point. But you wanted one more little thing from him. And you said you'd have a deal if he taught you to swim in his merman form. The Tweels started laughing derisively.

“Two months.” Azul trades back, slightly embarrassed.

“One month and one week.” you trade back

“A month and a half.”

“Deal.” You extend your hand for him to shake. He had that charismatic smile on his face. But when he's about to shake your hand, you take it away. “And what guarantees do I have that what you are going to teach me is really enough?”

The Tweels laugh derisively again. Azul himself cannot hide a small smile from the corner of his mouth. He puts his elbows on the table and laces his fingers in front of his lips. The way he's looking at you. Damn, he really knows what he's doing.

“Maybe we shouldn't spend so much time together. You are starting to learn too much from us.” Azul has an amused smile on his face. “We'll do it like this: If someday, something happens that proves that what I taught you wasn't enough, I'll provide you with underwater breath potions whenever you need them, for free.”

“With no limite? You really are confident in your teaching skills.” you comment.

“Of course I am. Are you, perhaps, the one not confident in my teaching skills? You hurt me.”

His little theatrics make you giggle, but you end up making the deal.

THE DAY OF THE LESSON

Azul found a perfect spot in the north of Sage's Island. Right underneath and behind Night Raven Collage. That beach to the west of the island was too close to the Royal Sword Academy. And a public place where you would risk being seen. Or rather, where he would risk being seen.

He chose a day when the sea was calm, obviously. And the place he found was a small cave.

You had brought your swimsuit under your uniform. You took off your uniform and when you looked back at Azul, he looked... indifferent. The truth is, he came from a place where everyone is practically naked and mermaids only wear a kind of bra. So, nothing much different from having only seen people in a swimsuit all his life.

“I must say that you choose a swimsuit that flatters you.” Azul comments.

“Thank you. How about you?”

“Me?”

“Our deal. You're going to teach me to swim in your merman form, as I recall.”

You see him getting embarrassed. He sighs. “Fine... Go into the water and turn around while I take off my clothes. If you please.”

You start to enter the water, which, surprisingly, is not very cold. The time it took for you to get into the water and get used to the temperature was enough for Azul to take off his clothes and get in the water. You are in an area where you can walk and you only hear someone entering the water. In a deep part to the point where you can't see him. You can see Azul’s clothes neatly folded on a rock.

You start looking around looking for him. You lean against the edge so he doesn't surprise you. You see a huge, dark spot in the water approaching you. And he slowly lifts his head out of the water to look at you.

“Satisfied?” He looks a little sulky.

“Quite.” You smile at him, which makes his embarrassment increase.

“Good... Now... the first thing to learn to swim is to trust the water.”

“What do you mean?”

“From what I've heard, the problem with most landfolks who can't swim is because they're afraid of drowning. They don't trust the water to make them float for example. You need to know how water works in your body to know how to use it.”

“And how do you train your confidence with water?”

“Floating.” He smiles, that smile to make you comfortable. He rises higher in the water, getting the water up to his stomach. “You will lie on the surface, like when you lie on your bed, and I will put my arms behind your back to support you. Merfolk kids love to do this when they go to play on the water surface. And we usually do it to rest.”

You seem not very trustful about it. “This is like how children on earth learn to ride a bicycle then?”

“Bicycles? That two-wheel vehicle? Really, I've always wondered how a person balances on that thing.”

“It also starts with a trust exercise.” you explain “There are bicycles for children to learn to ride that have two small wheels attached to the back wheel, so that the child can get used to the bicycle itself. When the parents think they are ready to remove these two little wheels, the parents hold the seat so that the child isn't afraid of falling. The trick then is to let go when the child is not looking. So when the child sees that they can ride without the help of their parents, they lose their fear and starts to ride alone.”

Azul laughs in amusement. “Interesting. And besides, I'm glad you have the notion that I'm going to let go of you at any moment.” he laughs “But don’t fret. I will only do it when I see that you already feel comfortable in the water. Shall we start?”

You first dive in to get completely wet and get used to the water temperature better. Then Azul places his hands on your back to support you as you lie down. The scary part is getting your feet off the ground. But you feel Azul's hands holding you. You see him above you, partially illuminated by the light from outside the cave.

After a while, you feel more comfortable with your feet on the surface. But you feel like you're still leaning too much on his hands.

“When you float, your ears always end up under the water.” he explains to you. “You must let your head relax. It may seem worrisome when water runs past your ears, but you need to trust that it won't get to your face. Oh, and another thing, try closing your eyes and relaxing. The more rested you are the more easily you will float.”

“It's a bit like quicksand then.”

“I've heard about those. But here you can always get on your feet. So don't be afraid. Water is not your enemy.” He's speaking so gently. So caring.

It's not that friendly tone he uses when talking to customers. Is different. Like he genuinely wants you to learn to swim. That you liked the water. That you liked his world. As if he wants you to, one day, be a part of his world.

You relax your neck, the water rushes past your ears and you no longer hear the outside, just muffled underwater sounds. It's worrying at first, but he was right, the water doesn't reach your face.

You closed your eyes mainly because, although the water doesn't cover your nose or mouth, it reaches a little bit from the tip of your eyes. So it's more comfortable to have them closed.

The sound of underwater is more calming than anyone could imagine. Which helps you to relax. You feel Azul’s hands stop pressing up your back slowly. But the reflex of you raising your head in fear of sinking in the water is inevitable.

“Trust that the water will not let you sink.” he reassures you “If you don't fight it, it won't fight back.”

Take some time until you feel completely confident in the water. But eventually it happens. And when that happens, you don't realize that Azul has let go of you for some time. You only realize when you feel him floating beside you.

You feel his hand holding yours. “Looks like the ocean is starting to fancy you too much.” You hear his voice underwater. You realize that the sea was pulling you a little bit and he’s just holding you for safety.

Or at least that was the case in the beginning. You begin to feel his hand caress yours with his thumb. And when you caress his back, he intertwines his fingers with yours.

You get tired of floating after a while and get back on your feet. The water only reaches your stomach and the same happens with Azul. But when you look down something is strange. You can't see his tentacles. And then you remember a little fun-fact about octopuses.

“Are you camouflaging yourself?”

He gets embarrassed again. “Uh? What? How do you-?... You haven't been researching octopuses, have you?”

Your face says it all. You may or may not have been looking for trivia and facts about octopuses because of him. And additionally about eels because of the twins.

“Wait a second! Does that mean you CAN do that instant camouflage thing?” Your eyes shine with curiosity and wonder, what makes him blush. “That's so cool!”

Despite the blush, he seems slightly upset about it. “Listen, it's just something we're born with. It's nothing special. You shouldn't praise someone for something like that.”

You apologize to him. Were you rude? Did you say something you shouldn't? And he realizes that you felt bad about it.

“I'm sorry. You didn't say anything offensive. It's understandable for a person who has never coexist with merfolks before. Well, to be honest, when I met Jade and Floyd they were a lot more callous about it. And they had no excuse, they are mermen too. But, I understand it can be something cool for those who have never seen it.” he smiles at you so you don't have to worry about it anymore.

“But... why are you doing it now? Are you uncomfortable?”

“*sighs* You know I don't like to show off my merman form. I'm only doing this because it's part of the deal.”

“Sorry.”

“Hmm? For what?”

“For making you do something you're uncomfortable with. It wasn’t my intention. You don't have to do it if you don't want to.”

“And have you working in Mostro Lounge for only one month?” he smiles amused

“Azul, you-”

“If I really was that uncomfortable, do you think I wouldn't have tried harder to modify the deal?” He speaks calmly and smiling. Then he takes a moment, sigh, close his eyes, relax his shoulders and you see something big and dark slowly appear under the water.

“I'm not uncomfortable around you. Don't think that. I just know that most landfolks don't think this is very...” you see a big black and purple tentacle come out of the water next to you. He looks a little sad at that part of him. “...pretty.” but then he looks at you puzzled. “But you already knew. So why ask me this? Why did you want to see me... like this?”

“This is your true form, isn't it? I love to know you. The real you. And to be honest I think you're quite handsome in any form, especially this one.” You make him blush again.

He looks to the side and seems to have seen something underwater. “Would you like to dive in a bit? Don't worry, I know you can't hold your breath for long. I will bring you to the surface as soon as you need to. I just think you'll enjoy to see something.”

He extends his hand to you, you take it. He pulls you in slightly and places his other arm around your waist. he pulls you into a part so deep you can't touch the ground anymore. But Azul is holding you.

“It's down here. Right below us. Don't worry, it's not too deep.” He speaks to you in a soft, affectionate voice. “Take a deep breath and relax, I got you.”

You take a deep breath and the two of you dive in. He holds your hand tightly and guides you just a little deeper. It's dark. Extremely dark. So much so that you would have started to get scared if he hadn't used his magic pen to completely light up that place. And a bunch of beautiful coloured corals appeared. With the surprise you ended up releasing a little more air and you were starting to need to get back to the surface. So you shake Azul's hand and point up. He immediately but gently pulls you to the surface.

“It's beautiful!” you say after catching your breath, hugged him since you were still in the deep water part of the cave. “I just wish I could hold out longer down there.”

“You wish~?” He grabs you around the waist and leads you back to the shallow end of the water. He is smiling charmingly at you. “Well, you know what the rumors say.” He gestures with the magic pen and a potion floats out of one of his coat pockets onto one of his tentacles. “I can grant any wish.”

You recognize the potion, it's the same vial he gave you to breathe underwater when you went to the Atlantica Memorial Museum. You reach up to take the potion, but he takes it out of your reach.

“Too bad this wasn't part of the deal.” he says with a theatrical sadness in his voice.

“Well, technically it was part of the deal.”

“You would not try to drown yourself on purpose. First because I know you're smarter than that, and second if it's done on purpose it's not valid.”

“I know.” you chuckle “Don't worry, I will never do that on purpose. Thought, you planned this didn't you?”

“You say that as if I were some kind of evil mastermind. *sniff* You hurt me.”

“Hu-hum. And you're going to tell me that you haven't already thought about a deal for that potion there?”

“Oh, don't be so mean. I promise it will be a fair deal.”

“If you want me to work one more week at Mostro Lounge, I'll turn down your offer right away.”

“*chuckle* I must admit that in a way it's more fun when your client sees right through you. Fortunately, I also thought you were going to say something along those lines.” He gets closer you, smiling... kinda... seductively. “You know, it may or may not have reached my ears that you have a crush on someone~ Would that be true?”

You don't even know what to answer. Does he know it's him?

“If it is... It may be mutual, you know...” then he gets slightly more serious “The truth. I think that's a more than a fair price for the potion.”

The truth. In fact, he's quite convincing. So you admit that you have a crush and that that crush is him. He gets closer and puts his arms around your waist, breaking the gap between you two. His nose almost touching yours and his eyes looking passionately into yours.

“So maybe you can fulfill a wish of mine. A wish of ours perhaps?”

He lets you kiss his lips and you feel the hug tightening. You feel his kiss needy, as if he can't get enough of you. But he knows when to part from the kiss.

“Maybe I need to start working on an exclusivity deal after this.” he comments, and brings the tentacle that holds the potion closer to you so you can take it.

He breaks the hug for you to drink the potion. And when you're ready, the two of you go back to diving, hand in hand. Now, you even have time to take a good look at Azul's merman form. You don't want to think he's... big. But compared to the two legs of his human form, those eight tentacles took up a lot of space.

You feel your lower body start to rise, and waving your legs to keep yourself upright is starting to wear you out. Azul is grabbing a rock with his tentacles. You pull yourself close to him and thank him to keep you upright.

Seeing you like this, hugging him, in the midst of those beautiful corals and the calming silence of the water, he can't resist kissing you again.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst wonderland #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Azul Ashengrotto #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Azul x Reader #briarvalleyarchives #Summer Shoreline

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violettduchess · 1 year ago

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A/N: This year, as I deal with a far more limited amount of free time, I want to focus on writing things that really spark something for me. These headcanons, which I started almost 6 months ago, recently came roaring back into my imagination and I decided to go for it.

This is imagining how these suitors would react to their small child entering their bedroom in the middle of the night.

Leon, Sariel, Jin, Keith and Gilbert

WC: 2.2 k

The child's white bedroom door, painted with a silvery moon and twinkling stars, opens slowly, a whisper in the still of the night. A small head pokes out, knuckling sleepily at eyes still heavy with the remnants of dreaming. A look left, then right.

The hall is empty.

Tiny bare feet tiptoe across plush carpeting.

One hand clutches a stuffed animal, the other reaches for the curved handle of your bedroom door and which, on a quiet exhale, opens.

Leon

He is awake the moment the door opens. A light sleeper, he never fails to hear when his daughter enters your bedroom, no matter how quietly she tries to. Even now, he pushes himself up, running a hand through his cacophony of dark hair, watching his offspring step as quietly as possible as she makes her way towards the bed. She’s so concentrated on not making noise that she doesn’t notice he’s already up and watching her until she arrives at the foot of the bed.

“Papa!” Her gasp is half surprise, half disappointment when she realizes he has, as always, heard her. Leon laughs softly, the sound still rough with sleep as he motions for her to come over to his side of the bed.

“I was trying to be extra, extra quiet.” He offers her his hand and she takes it, climbing into the bed and then into the circle of his arms where he cuddles her close. “You were, peanut. You were very quiet but your father has very, very good ears. Especially at night.”

Perhaps someday she’ll learn why. How good hearing and light sleeping could mean the difference between life and death in the slave pens. But not tonight. Tonight she snuggles into his embrace, clutching her brown bear with his black and red cape to her chest.

“Shall I bring you back to your bed?” He brushes several dark locks of hair that have escaped her braid away from her plump cheek, his golden eyes warm with affection. His daughter stifles a yawn. “Can I stay here tonight, with you and Mama?”

How can he say no? “Of course.” He shifts her, tucking her in close against his side where she curls up like a kitten, warm and content. Leon sighs, his heart fuller than he ever imagined it could be, before closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep.

Sariel

He looks up from the paperwork on his lap when the bedroom door slowly opens. One glance at the clock on his nightstand and he knows exactly who dares enter his room, unannounced, in the middle of the night.

His son, hair dark as onyx, eyes as bright as violets, peeks around the door to see his father sitting up in bed, reading by the soft light of an oil lamp.

“I see you, little one.” The child gives up stealth and hurries into his parents’ room, climbing up the foot of the bed and crawling his way across the velvety covers up to Sariel, careful not to jostle you while you are sleeping. He settles in next to his father, peering at the sheaf of papers still in his hands. “Why are you still up, Papa? It’s so late.”

Sariel glances down at his son, his lips curved in a soft shadow of a smile. “You know what? You are correct. It is very late.” He carefully removes his glasses, placing them in a safe spot on his nightstand and then sets the missives and letters and parchments beside them. He extends his arms and his son happily accepts the silent invitation, burrowing into his father’s embrace, clutching his soft, stuffed snake with the onyx eyes close to his little chest. “We’ll go to sleep together, ok Papa?”

Sariel reaches out, extinguishing the warm light and then shifts, dipping his head to press a kiss to his son’s midnight hair. “A sound plan, son.” He closes his eyes, contentment flowing through him like the soft waves of the ocean. “A very sound plan.”

Jin

He freezes, lifting his head from your neck, his large hand going still on the sensitive skin of your hip. As involved as he may be with you, he has excellent hearing and the opening of the door is as loud in its whisper as a gust of howling wind. He feels the soft huff of air against his cheek as you reign in your galloping heart. Things were just getting good.... With a groan, a mixture of disappointment and the dying embers of desire, he sits up as you adjust your nightgown and tilts his head at the small outline in the doorway.

“Yes, Princess? What is it?”

“I heard a noise. In my wardrobe. I think there’s a monster in there.” Her voice is small, almost tentative as it floats through the darkened bedroom. Jin pushes back his covers, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. He reaches back, squeezing your hand, a gesture that says I’ve got this, before getting up and walking toward his daughter. "Alright little lady, let's go investigate." She slips her small hand in his, clutching her stuffed baby eagle close as they make their way back to her bedroom.

Stepping inside, she pulls her hand away from his and points to the white and lavender closet. “In there, Papa.” Her garnet-colored eyes are wide as Jin clears his throat, fixing a scowl on his face as he faces the wooden doors.

“Listen up. This is Prince Jin speaking and any and all monsters hiding in this wardrobe better leave RIGHT now or else you’ll have to answer to me!”

“Yeah!”, she adds helpfully, eyes narrowing as she glares at the wardrobe, a mirror image of her father.

Jin reaches forward and flings open one door, then the other. Inside are all her dresses and coats. Her shoes all lined up neatly along the bottom. A few stockings peek out of small drawers and her wooden training sword and shield with Jin's crest lean against the side, askew. Jin searches through the clothing, stands on his toes to check the top shelves. He makes a show of it, incredibly thorough and yet serious. Then he turns around to face his daughter. “Looks like any monsters are long gone. And they won’t be coming back.”

A smile like the dawn breaks over her face and she rushes towards him. He leans down and catches her in his arms, holding her tightly against his broad chest. “Thank you, Papa. No monster would ever be stupid enough to come back now!”

Jin carries her back to her white four-poster bed, grinning as he lays her down amongst her fluffy pillows and pulls the soft covers up to her chest. “Nope, not when they know they have to deal with me.” He glances over his shoulder at the wardrobe. “But how about tomorrow, we go to the knights training grounds and you bring your sword and shield. We can work on your swordsmanship so any monster knows to be just as afraid of you too.”

She grins, nodding eagerly. “Good idea!”

Her enthusiasm has him returning her grin and he leans down, running a large hand over the soft chestnut of her hair. “Alright then. Get some sleep so you’re ready for tomorrow.” She snuggles down into the warmth of her blankets, stifling a yawn even as she rolls over. “I love you, Papa.” He swallows for a moment at the lump of emotion that suddenly swells his throat. “I love you too. Princess. So much.”

Keith

Little feet whisper across dark green carpeting, continuing their journey to his side of the bed. “Papa,” she whispers, tugging on his covers, her stuffed deer dangling from her grip on its antlers. Keith inhales, his handsome face frowning in his sleep as her voice cuts through the fog of dreaming. But he doesn’t wake up yet. However, his daughter is nothing but insistent. She pats his upper arm, clearing her throat and speaking again, this time louder. “Papa. Wake up.”

His golden eyes open slowly and he blinks as he returns to the here and now. The sight of her, with her ashen blond hair and your intelligent eyes, has him sitting up in bed, the last misty tendrils of dreaming vanishing like fog in the sunlight.

“Yes, darling? What’s wrong? Is everything ok?”

She glances to your empty side of the bed. “I miss Mama.” Those words send his heart spinning, leaving a trail of ache inside his chest as he nods slowly. “I do too. But you remember how she had to go back to Rhodolite. I promise, she’ll be home again soon. Just a few more days.” He reaches for her hand, his thumb running soothingly over her knuckles, marveling at the tininess of her fingers, the softness of her skin. She speaks again, her voice compressed by sadness. “I still miss her.”

He sighs as she hangs her small head, curls covering her face. Then he has an idea. Slowly he gets out of bed and leads her by the hand across the room to the heavy glass doors of the balcony off of the bedroom, his favorite place in the palace to stargaze. Keeping a secure hold of her hand, he slides open one heavy glass door and then walks with her to the large brass telescope. “Take a look in there,” he murmurs, kneeling as he adjusts the eyepiece for her. He wraps one arm around her middle, holding her close. “Can you see it?”

She leans forward slightly. “It’s blurry.” Carefully he adjusts the focuser until he hears her breath catch. “Oh it’s so pretty!” She stares through the telescope in wonder at the bright star, brilliant in its silvery-blue light.

“That,” he says softly, almost dreamlike, “is your mother’s favorite star.” Gently he pulls her away from the telescope and points upwards. “You can see it without the telescope just there, see the three stars just in a row?” She nods emphatically. “It’s the one all the way to the right.” He pauses, resting his chin tenderly on her small shoulder. “When you miss Mama at night, like you do now, you can look up at the sky and find her favorite star. It may make you feel better.”

She turns around and wraps her arms around Keith’s neck, hugging him with all her might. “Thank you, Papa.” He hugs her close, this walking embodiment of his heart, and smiles.

Gilbert

He is already sitting up when his daughter approaches the bed, her stuffed tiger tucked under her arm. He heard the opening of the door and knew who it was immediately. No one else would ever dare to enter his bedroom in the middle of the night without fearing for their life.

“It’s past midnight, Mäuschen. Why are you wandering through the shadows?” His voice is a gentle that only you and those very close to Gilbert have ever heard. A genuine softness like the blanket of dusk as it falls over the land, the protective moon whispering as it cradles a favorite star. His daughter sighs, pushing away a stray lock of dark hair. “I’m hungry.”

He laughs quietly, his chin tilting down as he regards her. He speaks quietly, not wanting to wake you. You need rest after all, so close to the birth of your second child. He gets up, slipping on his black silk robe and then holds out his hand. She takes hold of it, wrapping her cool little fingers tightly around him and then pauses. “Wait a moment, Papa.” Turning back to the bed, she carefully places her stuffed tiger next to you where you sleep. “Watch out for Mama,” she orders sternly and doesn’t notice the bright gleam in Gilbert’s eyes as he smiles at her protective gesture. She turns, grabbing his hand and nods. “Ok Papa, fertig.” Ready.

He leads her out of the bedroom and a short walk down the hall to his office. Once inside, he walks over to his massive wooden desk, made of the finest dark walnut, and leans forward, turning on the desk lamp. He settles into his chair, into the crimson velvet cushioned seat and motions for her to join him. The Obsidian princess climbs into his lap, eyes bright as she looks at him expectantly. “Shh…this is our secret,” he murmurs, tapping his finger on the end of her nose. She grins slowly and nods. “Versprochen, Papa.” I promise. One arm holds her close as he leans down and opens a bottom drawer. Inside is a small round tin which he takes out and sets on his desk, next to the missives and parchments waiting for him come morning light.

“Go ahead,” he says encouragingly and she leans forward, carefully working the lid off with chubby fingers and then he feels her straighten up in excitement when its contents are revealed. She reaches in and pulls out a hearty oatmeal and raisin biscuit. The cookie is nearly at her lips when she pauses, thoughtfully. Shifting in his lap, she turns to face him and then holds it up. “Do you want a bite, Papa?” Her generosity has him smiling, a warmth like no other brightening his heart as he pretends to consider. “You don’t mind sharing?” She shakes her head, several loose, dark curls framing a face that is the youthful echo of yours. He leans forward and bites off a tiny corner, then leans back with a satisfied sigh. “Mama makes the best biscuits.”

She bites into the same cookie with much less restraint and then smiles, chewing happily. “Mm hm.” She leans back against his chest and he wraps his arms around her as she continues munching. “Just this one and then it's back to bed with you, little mouse.” She nods, mouth too full to answer and focus far too lost in the pleasure of her treat to respond verbally. Gilbert sighs, turning to rest his cheek against the top of her head. He is utterly and completely at peace.

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