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hotchs-babygirl · 29 days ago

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probably needed a hug instead — Aaron Hotchner

FemOC!reader x Aaron Hotchner

SUMMARY —After a long, emotionally draining case, you find yourself unraveling—your feelings for Hotch too heavy to carry, too risky to speak aloud. You go out with the girls to escape it, but it only makes the ache worse. When JJ calls him despite your protests, Hotch shows up. You try to push him away, admitting that being near him makes it harder to keep yourself together. But Hotch doesn't back down. He steps in gently, grounding you with steady words and arms that don’t let go. When you finally whisper his name, he answers with rare softness—"Baby doll, I know." It’s the kind of moment that changes everything—not loud, but soul-deep. Quiet, intimate, and real. I say reader is probably in her early twenty’s in this maybe mid twenty’s and Hotch is like close to thirty ish in this

Warnings : Angst , hurt , comfort, reader is very fragile after a case but she is deeply in love with Hotch , he consumes her , he’s so sweet with her .. she’s gets little tipsy , JJ gets her water , to drink after em takes her drink away . Reader has anxiety, JJ is the one who calls Hotch saying reader needs him . I should advice that the reader there is small age gap between her and Hotch which means this why the reader is the way she is . You are . .. — WC : 3.5K

Author notes : I think I put too much emotion in to this because of how much I wanna hug this man .. he’s the best I just need his arms around me .. one hug please .. if you liked this please consider liking reblog-ing or comment

I loved writing this with everything in me sorry it got so long .

Think I wanna do a mini series of this

@ssamorganhotchner @honeypiehotchner @hotchsonlygirl

You hadn’t meant to call him. You didn’t even remember pulling out your phone, didn’t remember your fingers hovering over his contact like muscle memory, like instinct.

The line rang once—maybe twice—before he answered.

“Where are you?”

His voice cut through the noise like it always did—calm, quiet, unmistakably him. Your heart twisted.

You blinked, suddenly aware of the bar’s soft glow, the way the music pulsed under your skin, the clink of glasses and laughter that didn’t quite reach your chest. “I’m with the girls.”

He paused. You could picture it—his brow furrowed, hand likely resting on his desk or maybe tucked into the pocket of his slacks, jaw clenched just slightly.

“With the girls?” he repeated, low and careful.

“Hotch, please,” you murmured, your voice barely audible even to yourself. “I’m fine.”

“No, you sound—” He didn’t finish. His voice dipped. “You sound tipsy. What bar?”

“No,” you whispered again, more to yourself than to him.

Emily leaned in, brow raised, lips pursed. “Is that Hotch?”

You gave her a small nod.

“No,” she said quickly, snatching your phone before you could stop her. “This is a no Hotch zone.”

The call ended with a soft beep, but your chest was still too full—of what, you weren’t ready to name.

Because it was just a hug you’d wanted earlier. That’s what you told yourself. A simple hug.

But the idea of his arms around you—solid, warm, safe—meant more than you were ready to admit. It wasn’t a casual thing. Not with him. Not for you.

And God, you didn’t want him to see it. Didn’t want him to know. Because affection, especially from you, meant something. And he wasn’t just anyone.

He was Hotch.

And you were dangerously close to falling apart in the echo of his voice alone.

“What’s gotten into you?” Emily asked, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you from across the booth. Not judgmental. Just… concerned. And sharp. Like she already knew the answer but needed to hear you say it.

Garcia tilted her head, lips pursed like she wanted to echo the question but was trying to respect your space. Barely.

JJ glanced over too. None of them said it, but you felt it—the shift, the weight, the unspoken something hanging in the air.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered, reaching for your drink like it could cover the crack in your voice.

Emily didn’t even blink. “It’s something. That’s your fourth drink since we got here.”

You exhaled through your nose, brushing her off. “Look, I’m just—”

Emily reached across the table and took the glass from your hand. “Nope. You’re done. I’m cutting you off.”

“Em—”

JJ stood. “I’ll get her some water.”

“I’m fine,” you said, but it didn’t land the way you wanted it to. It sounded tired. Hollow. Like you’d run out of ways to keep it together.

Emily leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “Earlier. What was going on between you and Hotch?”

Your stomach twisted.

“It was nothing,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

JJ came back and set the glass in front of you. “Drink,” she said, gently, like she didn’t want to push but she would if she had to.

You stared at the water. Your fingers wrapped around the glass, cold against your skin.

But you didn’t lift it.

Because it wasn’t the alcohol that made your chest tight.

It was him.

And even now, you couldn’t admit that out loud.

“He consumes me,” you finally broke, the words trembling out of your mouth before you could catch them.

Emily’s brows pulled together, her head tilting slightly, gentle but firm.

“I’m in love with him,” you breathed, voice cracking, “and I just—after the case tonight, I wanted a hug from him.”

You laughed softly, but it wasn’t joy—it was disbelief, shame. “But instead I came out with you guys, and… I know it’s stupid.”

The tears slipped down before you could stop them. Silent at first, then steady. You wiped at your cheek with the back of your hand, but they just kept coming.

“I mean, he’s our boss. The unit chief. And I’m just… me. Nothing.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Emily cut in, voice low and fierce, her tone slicing through your spiral. She reached over the table, her hand closing around yours. “You are amazing. You are strong. And you know he cares about you.”

Before you could say anything else, JJ stepped away from the table. You barely noticed until you heard her voice—quiet but urgent.

She was on the phone.

With him.

“Where are you?” Hotch’s voice filtered faintly from her phone, but you caught the edge in it. The shift in tone.

“She needs you,” JJ said, her voice cracking as she turned slightly away from the table. “I mean—really needs you.”

There was a pause, and then JJ told him where you all were.

You stared down at the water in your glass, gripping it so tightly your knuckles were white. You took a shaky sip, your throat dry and raw.

“I don’t know what to do,” you said quietly, more to yourself than anyone. “I don’t want to lose myself… but I feel like I’m already failing at that. Because of how much he consumes me.”

The table was quiet now, not out of discomfort—but out of love. They saw you. They didn’t say anything, not yet. They didn’t need to.

JJ returned to the table with a soft smile, brushing a hand over your shoulder like nothing had just happened. “Sorry—I was just checking in on the kids and Will.”

You looked up at her, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper. “Don’t lie.”

She froze for a second.

“I know it was Hotch you called…”

There was a pause. Emily glanced at JJ, then back at you. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t even try to.

“Forget what I said,” you muttered, pulling your hand away from your glass, your shoulders curling in just a little. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Just—forget it.”

“Hey,” Emily cut in gently, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut down now.”

You shook your head, wiping at your face, embarrassed by the tear tracks that hadn’t quite dried. You didn’t want to be this version of yourself in front of them—cracked open, exposed. But it was too late for pretending.

“Maybe this is what you need,” Emily said, quiet but firm, the kind of voice she used in interrogations—measured, but full of weight.

“I agree,” Garcia added softly, her voice so unlike its usual brightness, like she was handling something fragile.

You swallowed hard. Your fingers trembled slightly as they clutched the edge of the table, trying to ground yourself.

You’d gone quiet after talking about him.

After the tears. After the truth you hadn’t meant to spill.

Now, everything just sat heavy in your chest. You hadn’t said a word since JJ made the call. The others didn’t push. They just… stayed with you. Let the silence be what it was.

You stared into your glass like it held all the answers.

Then he walked in.

You didn’t look up, but you felt it. That shift in the air. The presence you always noticed, even when you didn’t want to.

He scanned the bar the way he always did—sharp, unreadable, controlled.

JJ sat up straighter, gave a small wave.

Then he was behind you.

“Ladies,” he said quietly.

You leaned back in the booth, arms crossing tightly over your chest. The wall you’d built back up in the last few minutes, shaky as it was, was suddenly working overtime.

“Great,” you muttered.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice low, unreadable like always—but something about the way he said it made you flinch inside.

“Talk?” you scoffed, still not looking at him. “Really, Hotch?”

You shook your head, eyes fixed on the table. “No. I’m fine.”

He didn’t argue. Just reached out and tugged gently at your arm. Not hard—just enough to remind you he was real, and there.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go outside.”

Still, you didn’t move.

Not until Emily’s voice cut through.

“You need this.”

You looked at her, then JJ. Garcia didn’t say anything, but her eyes were soft. She gave you the smallest nod.

You swallowed, jaw tight, chest tighter.

You stood up.

And followed him out.

You stepped into the cool night air, the breeze brushing against your bare arms like ice. You hadn’t realized how cold it was until you were out there.

You should’ve brought a jacket.

Hotch noticed.

Of course he did.

You tried not to shiver, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself, but he was already moving—quietly, like always. He pulled off his suit jacket, the familiar black one you’d seen a hundred times in briefings and crime scenes, and held it out.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I can’t.”

“It’s just my jacket,” he replied calmly, no judgment, no push—just fact. “It’ll keep you warm.”

“Please… no,” you said again, softer this time.

He didn’t listen.

He stepped forward and gently wrapped it around your shoulders anyway, his hands brushing your arms before falling away.

That was it.

The tears you’d been holding back, the ones that dried halfway in the bar, started all over again. You turned away from him, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes like it would stop them from falling.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, voice cracking.

Behind you, he didn’t move.

“What is it?” he asked finally, low and even, but not cold.

You took a breath that shook too much. Your voice didn’t come right away. When it did, it was small.

“I can’t do this.”

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to.

Because you could already feel him watching you, the way he always did—seeing more than you wanted him to.

“You consume me,” you said, voice barely steady as you paced in front of him.

Hotch stood still, hands at his sides, eyes never leaving you. Listening.

“I don’t know how it happened,” you went on, fingers brushing through your hair, breath catching. “I’m just—I'm not sure how to handle this, Hotch.”

The way you said his name made something flicker across his face. Almost imperceptible. But it was there. A quiet crack in the armor.

“I’m losing myself,” you admitted. “And it’s not good for me.”

You stopped pacing for a second, hands clenched at your sides.

“I don’t know if I should even be part of the team anymore.”

He took a small step forward. Not enough to close the space—just enough to be present.

“You’re the unit chief,” you said, looking at him now, eyes burning. “And I’m just… me.”

You shook your head. “Nothing can happen.”

“Hey,” he said softly. “Take a breath.”

“No,” you said quickly, backing away a step. “I’ve gotta say this.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just stood there, solid as ever. Letting you speak.

“I wanted to hug you tonight,” you confessed, voice breaking, the words rushing out now like they couldn’t be held anymore. “After the case. I wanted to—God, I wanted to so bad.”

You looked away, ashamed.

“But I didn’t. I went out with the girls instead because I knew I couldn’t be near you alone. Because I can’t control myself around you.”

And there it was—out in the open. The silence after felt louder than anything else.

He was still watching you.

But he hadn’t moved.

And maybe that hurt more than anything.

Hotch stepped forward.

His hand came out, not rough, just steady—enough to stop your pacing.

“Look at me,” he said.

“No. Please, Hotch,” you whispered, shaking your head, voice trembling.

“I’m not asking,” he said gently, but there was that firm tone behind it—the one that always left no room to argue.

You looked up.

His eyes didn’t waver.

“Take a deep breath for me,” he said. “Please.”

So you did.

Even though your chest was tight. Even though the air burned on the way down. You did.

“I wish I would’ve known sooner,” he said.

You gave a short, bitter chuckle, brushing your tears away with the sleeve of the jacket he gave you.

“You knew,” you said, your voice sharp around the edge of pain. “You’re the unit chief. The best profiler in the damn country. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it.”

He didn’t respond right away. Didn’t argue. He just stood there, looking at you like he was seeing you all at once for the first time.

“If this was eating at you the way it is now,” he finally said, “you could’ve come to me.”

“No,” you said, eyes burning again. “Because I’m not supposed to feel this way about you.”

You took a shaky breath, voice starting to crack again.

“You consume me so much, Hotch,” you whispered, head shaking. “It’s like I can’t breathe when I’m around you and I can’t breathe when I’m not.”

You stepped back, wrapping your arms around yourself like it might hold everything in.

“No,” you repeated, softer this time. “I’m losing it.”

And there was nothing left to hide.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?” he said, a quiet chuckle breaking through the tension.

You sighed, exhausted. “You think this is funny?”

“Oh no,” Hotch said, the humor gone as quickly as it came. “It’s not funny. Trust me, your feelings are definitely not funny.”

He stepped a little closer.

“You won’t lose yourself,” he said, quiet but solid, “Not if I have anything to do about it.”

Just then, the door opened behind you.

Emily was first. JJ and Garcia right behind her.

Each of them came in without hesitation—one by one.

Emily pulled you into a hug first. “I paid your tab,” she murmured against your ear. “You’re good to go whenever you’re ready. We’ll catch you back at my place if you want… or see you in the morning, okay?”

You nodded. “Thanks, Em.”

Garcia wrapped her arms around you next. “I wanna know everything,” she whispered, half-playful, half-serious. “Don’t hold back.”

JJ was last. Her hug lingered the longest.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “But you needed this. You needed to talk to him… to get it out. He needed to know.”

“It’s okay,” you said. You gave her a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes, but it was enough.

They all looked back once before heading toward the SUV.

You watched them go, arms folded, heart still thudding too loud in your chest.

“They care about you,” Hotch said beside you, his voice low.

“I know they do,” you said quietly.

“So do I.”

You turned to look at him.

“We would miss you,” he continued. “If you left.”

He didn’t rush his words. He never did.

“I need you to stay,” he said, and then even softer, “Please.”

You swallowed hard. Looked away. Your hands shook a little.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I love you, Hotch.”

You blinked, but the tears were already there.

“I’m in love with you.”

The air felt still, like the world had paused for you to finally say it.

“I know I can’t say that—not right away—not like this. But…” Your voice cracked again. “How do I stop loving you?”

Silence.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t say anything reckless.

But he stayed. And that meant something too.

“She was right,” Hotch finally said.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“Who?” you asked quietly.

“JJ,” he replied.

You let out a breath. “Needed… don’t you think that’s a strong word?”

“No,” he said, firm now. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Hotch,” you shook your head. “You don’t get it.”

“No,” he said again—more certain this time. “I do.”

He stepped closer, and something in his tone changed.

“You’re in love with me. And you said we couldn’t happen.”

You looked down. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Maybe you’re right,” he continued, voice quieter now. “But you can’t make that decision all on your own.”

Before you could respond, he reached for you—gentle but insistent—and pulled you into him.

You pushed at his chest weakly. “No—please, Hotch. I can’t do this,” your voice cracked. “Even if I want it… I can’t.”

“I know,” he said, his arms steady around you. “I know you need a hug.”

That broke you.

Not the words—but the way he said it. Soft. Certain. Like he’d been carrying the weight too.

And finally—finally—you let yourself fall into him.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low against your hair.

You were stiff at first, arms still caught somewhere between pushing him away and clinging to him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”

His hands were warm, one resting between your shoulder blades, the other steady at your lower back.

“I’m not gonna let you lose it,” he murmured. “Not on my watch.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away this time.

“Let me be here for you. Let me in.”

You felt your walls breaking down—slow, silent, painful.

“Take a deep breath,” he said again, softer this time. “It’s okay. I got you.”

And somehow… just hearing that again, like that…

You did.

You took that breath.

And let yourself fall completely into him.

“Aaron…” you whisper, barely audible against his chest.

His hold tightens just a little, just enough to remind you he’s still there.

“I know,” he says, voice low, rougher now.

“Baby doll, I know.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat. The name hits deeper than you thought it would.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, closer now, mouth near your temple. “I’m not letting you go.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The tears return, heavier now, but you’re not shaking this time. Not fighting it.

You just hold on.

And for once… so does he.

Should I take you home… or to Em’s?” he asked quietly, like he didn’t want to break the moment, like he knew your answer might not be steady yet.

You swallowed. Your fingers curled tighter into the sleeves of his suit jacket.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you murmured, barely above a breath.

“So to Em’s,” he echoed softly, trying to meet you where you were.

You didn’t say anything right away. Just stared out toward the street, the lights blurring a little in your vision.

“Or…” his voice came again, gentle, uncertain, “maybe we can drive around a bit. I don’t mind.”

You nodded slowly, no words, just the quiet kind of agreement that came from not wanting to face silence in a room. Not yet.

You both walked to his SUV. He kept his arm around you—not like a claim, not like control. Just enough to keep you steady. Just enough to say he was still there.

“You okay?” he asked once more, voice low like a whisper meant just for you.

“I’m not sure yet,” you admitted, the truth sticking in your throat. “But… I’m glad you’re here.”

You climbed into the SUV, pulling the jacket tighter around you. It still smelled like him—faint cologne, something clean and warm and steady.

And for the first time all night, you let yourself exhale.

“Baby doll…” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

He didn’t say anything right away, but you saw it—just the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he kept his eyes on the road, like he’d heard it, felt it, and chose to carry it gently.

You reached for his hand, hesitant at first. There was a beat of silence where you almost pulled away—but he didn’t move. Didn’t shift. Didn’t flinch.

He let you hold his hand.

That was enough to make your chest ache in a different kind of way.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your thumb brushing lightly across his knuckles. “For coming tonight… for not just leaving after JJ called. For driving around with me.”

He still didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His grip tightened just a little, enough to let you know he heard you. That he was here.

“I just… I didn’t want this to end yet,” you murmured, your voice thinner now, breaking in the middle. “I needed more time with you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of everything you’d both been trying not to say. The weight of it hung in the air between your joined hands.

Aaron finally glanced over at you, his eyes soft in the passing glow of the streetlights. He didn’t speak—he just ran his thumb over the back of your hand, slow and steady, like a promise he wasn’t ready to put into words yet.

But you felt it. You knew he felt it too , and for the first you could breathe this could be the moment , for you to .

You didn’t know when exactly it happened—somewhere between the city lights and the soft lull of the road beneath you—but you’d drifted off, still holding his hand.

Hotch noticed. Of course he did.

But he didn’t wake you.

He just kept driving, one hand on the wheel, the other still wrapped gently around yours. Every so often, he glanced over—just to make sure you were still sleeping, still breathing steady. That you were okay, at least for now.

And he drove. All night. Through quiet streets and empty highways, not caring about the time or the distance. Just needing to keep moving. Just needing to be there.

By the time the first light started to bleed across the horizon, the sky cracked open with morning. You stirred only when he pulled into a gas station, the soft rumble of the engine cutting off. Your hand was still in his.

“Good morning,” he said softly, handing you a warm cup of coffee he’d already picked up, like he’d timed everything just for you.

You blinked a few times, your voice raspy with sleep. “What time is it?”

“A little after six,” he said. “We’ve been driving a while.”

Your fingers wrapped around the cup. It was warm. Steadying. Just like him.

“Where are we headed now?” you asked, trying to piece together your surroundings, your hair a little messy, your mind still groggy.

He didn’t hesitate. “You’re coming home with me.”

You blinked again. “Hotch—”

“No arguments,” he said, but not sharply. Just matter-of-fact. “You need a shower, some real food. Rest. We’ll head into the office afterward.”

“I can shower at my place,” you tried, though your voice lacked conviction.

“I know you can,” he said, eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. “But I’m not dropping you off alone right now.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just held onto the coffee, and the weight of what he meant. What he wasn’t saying.

It wasn’t just about a shower. It was about keeping you close. Making sure you didn’t fall apart the second the silence caught up to you.

So, you nodded.

“Okay.”

He gave the smallest nod back, like it settled something in him, and pulled back out onto the road.

You didn’t let go of his hand. Not once.

#criminal minds fic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner angst #criminal minds imagine #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x oc

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osarina · 29 days ago

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ᡣ𐭩 TWO SLOW DANCERS, LAST ONES OUT

FEATURING: osamu dazai

SUMMARY: your one day of pretend with dazai is over, but something isn't right. there's more going on than what he's led you to believe, and you're desperately trying to figure out what it is before it's too late.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: WAHHHHHHHHHHH PMREADER BEAST AU IS OFFICIALLY DONE. CAN U GUYS BELIEVE IT. what was supposed to be a 15k one-shot turned into a 40k monster </3 one day i will learn to be casual about things, but i fear it is not today </3 and especially not with beast au. wahhhhhh guys this was such a pleasure to write & share with you all, thank you all for bearing with me throughout it and showing me so much love. i put my full heart into this one :') and a special thank u to miss river & one of my irls who beta'd this whole monster for me and cleaned it up for you all to read. if you guys had seen the number of commas that river had to fix for me naifhsaiudfhsdu HUMBLING TRULY. anyway i love the both of you so so very deeply this couldn't have been done without you. as always, reblogs appreciated! MWAH love you guys <33

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, beast!dazai, tragedy, angst, canon compliant.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: mcd (suicide, canon), hints toward suicidal thoughts at the end.

SEE: TWO SLOW DANCERS SERIES MASTERLIST

The next morning, the two of you dress in silence.

You don’t know what to say—you don’t even know if you have anything to say. Or you suppose that’s not true, you have a lot to say, but most of it you’re sure will just be answered with more ‘I can’t’s and you just don’t want to deal with the disappointment. Plus, Dazai seems to be done with whatever day of ‘weakness’ he had yesterday. His expression has been cold and withdrawn since he woke up an hour ago—he’s hardly even spared you a glance.

He slept well, though. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first time he’d slept through the night in months—years, even. The moment he rested his head back on the pillow, one arm curled around your waist, Dazai was out for the night. He ended up shimmying closer to you so that he could rest his head on your chest, breath even, expression peaceful for the first time in… too long.

You were not quite as lucky.

Your eyes are heavy as you button up your dress shirt. You spent the whole night awake, restless as you watched him sleep; hours were spent carding your fingers through his hair, relishing in intimacy and trust he hadn’t given you in years, and hours were spent with your fingers curled around a paper-knife he left on the nightstand, considering the drawbacks of putting it through his throat while he slept in your arms.

You could’ve done it—you almost did do it. You had the tip of the small knife pressed to his pulse point for twenty minutes, fingers trembling, each breath he took making the sharp edge press deeper into his bandages. Dazai is usually a light sleeper, so you suppose it’s a testament to how tired he was and how much he trusts you that he didn’t even stir with a knife against his throat.

You weighed out the pros and cons. You would get away with it; who would even try to punish you for it? The Flags? Itou or Klaus? Chuuya? Over half of the upper echelon wants him dead, and the other half has no love left for him after he murdered Mori—Dazai is alone; he has no friends left, and he has no allies. The only reason people put up with him as boss is because of how the Mafia has prospered under his reign, and that will only be enough for so long. There are already whispers of incompetence and madness because of his recent decisions with the Armed Detective Agency. So, not only would you get away with it, but you’d be rewarded for it, you’d be given the seat and the scarf and full control over the Port Mafia. The worst you’d deal with is Chuuya’s irritation because he wanted to be the one to put Dazai down.

And Dazai deserved it, didn’t he? After the four years of hell he put you through, after murdering Mori—Dazai deserves to die, and you deserve to be the one to do it, Chuuya would understand that. Dazai treated him like shit too, but it was nothing like what he put you through. He’s only as insistent as he is now about being the one to do it because he doesn’t think you can handle it. You gave him better than he deserved—a whole day of being able to pretend nothing changed between the two of you, being able to pretend his actions didn’t ruin what you had with him… it was more than he deserved by all accounts.

You almost don’t know why you didn’t go through with it.

“What are you thinking?” he finally asks, voice still rough with sleep, all of the warmth from yesterday gone.

You look at him from the corner of your eye as you pull your suit jacket on. He’s not looking at you—he’s adjusting his scarf, making sure the ends are even in the mirror. His lips are curled down, bandages back over the left side of his face, and when you don’t respond immediately, his gaze flickers up to look at your reflection. You immediately look away.

“That I regret not putting a knife in your throat last night,” you tell him flatly.

Dazai lets out a noise, you’re unsure if it’s a laugh or a scoff. You stiffen when you hear him padding across the bedroom in your direction. You can feel his presence looming behind you, fingers brushing over your hips before he lifts a hand to your chin, tilting your head back enough to force you to look at him over your shoulder. His touch is light, but it’s so different from the gentle caresses from last night that it sends shivers down your spine. It’s almost… you aren’t even sure how to describe it—oppressive, possessive, taunting? It’s light, but somehow the weight of it is unbearable—like he knows he’s going to say something to upset you and he’s waiting for you to react just as he wants.

You’re back to the mind games and power plays.

“You’re so quick to say such cruel things,” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. His eye glints with something unreadable—amusement, maybe, like he knows something you don’t—but all you care about is the confirmation that yesterday is really over. You know that for sure now with him looking at you like this. “But you always come crawling back to me, don’t you?”

You slap his hand away hard, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Fuck you,” you say coldly. “Do you want to know why I didn’t?”

Dazai tilts his head to the side, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. His gaze is half-lidded as he looks over you, but he finally raises his eyebrows, beckoning for you to speak.

“Because last night, I finally realized how fucking miserable of an existence your life is,” you tell him, but you don’t find any pleasure in the way he draws back ever so slightly. “Death would be too easy for you.”

For a moment, the air between you stills, thick with something neither of you wants to name. Dazai’s expression is unreadable, but you don’t miss the flicker of pain that crosses his face. Just as quickly as you catch it, it’s gone, replaced with that infuriating smirk.

“Oh?” he hums, rocking back on his heels. “And here I thought it was your inability to let go of the past kicking in again. You’re too fond of me to ever hurt me.”

“Fond of you?” you scoff, taking a step closer, ignoring the way your heart races when he doesn’t move away. “What is there to be fond of, Dazai? Chuuya is right, you’re a walking corpse. I haven’t been fond of you in years, I’ve been mourning you.”

You don’t mean the words; you’re just looking to hurt him, but his expression shifts again, something raw in his gaze as he looks down at you that he can’t quite push away fast enough. Your stomach twists, but before you can say anything, his sharp grin returns. “Ah, and yet, you stayed. How many times did I give you the opportunity to leave?”

You shake your head and move to walk past him. You can’t stay in this place any longer—it’s suffocating, too much of a reminder of what could’ve been. Before you can get far, his hand darts out to grab your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn your head to the side to look at him from the corner of your eye.

“Just out of curiosity,” he finally asks, a cruel edge to his voice that has you stiff, “how much of yesterday did you actually believe?”

His words and the implication of them don’t cause the pain that he clearly wants to make you feel. They can’t, not with the way you can feel his fingers trembling around your wrist. You look down at them pointedly and then drag your gaze back up to his face. Dazai snatches his hand back and shoves it into his pocket, but the damage has already been done.

“Not even you’re that good of a liar, Dazai,” you say quietly. Before you can change your mind, you turn to face him, lifting your hand to cup his cheek. His lashes instinctively flutter shut as he leans into your touch; the immediate reaction only serves to prove you more. “I don’t regret yesterday, but I hope you do.”

Dazai’s throat bobs beneath his bandages as he looks down at you. He looks young suddenly, even with the black cloak acting as a shield and Mori’s scarf hanging around his neck. He looks like a kid who knows he’s done something wrong but doesn’t know how to fix it. His lips part slightly, then press together again, as if he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. The usual playful glint in his eyes has dulled, replaced with uncertainty, fear even.

“I should,” he replies, voice hoarse. “I really should, but I’ve always been too selfish when it comes to you. I’m sorry.”

You exhale, thumb running over his cheekbone gently. “I wish I could hate you.”

Dazai’s lips curl up into a small, wry smile. “Me too.”

Your hand drops from his face as you look away, gaze lowering to the ground. “We should go.”

Dazai lets out a quiet hum of agreement, following you out of the bedroom and to the front door. As you step outside, the early morning air is crisp, biting against your skin. The world feels too quiet as if it knows the weight of what happened between you and Dazai. He walks a step behind you, subdued.

You pause when you see that there are two cars waiting outside, your throat tight. If you’re not going back to headquarters together, then… You can’t help the wave of panic that starts to claw at your chest when you realize what that means. You look back at him and ask too quietly, “Are you… sending me away again?”

His expression shifts into a softer one when he sees the genuine fear that crosses your face. His lips curl up into a small smile, and he reaches out to brush the back of his fingers against your cheek.

“Just for a meeting,” he says to ease your panic, voice low and soothing, fingers lingering against your face as if he’s reluctant to pull away. “The Family reached out, wanted us to send someone to Rome to meet with them. Didn’t want to disclose why over the phone.”

Your brows furrow. “Goldoni reached out to you?” you ask suspiciously, wondering why he wouldn’t have just reached out to you instead.

Dazai raises his eyebrows. “I am the boss,” he replies dryly, amused. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

You frown but decide not to press any further, letting it go with a shake of your head. You look back over to the cars—Albatross and Iceman are in one, two of Dazai’s personal guards are in the other.

“Itou and Klaus are already at the airport getting things ready,” Dazai answers your unspoken question. “Albatross and Iceman will escort you there.”

“Chuuya has a mission in Tokyo today, Lippmann is filming in Nagoya,” you say quietly, watching Dazai’s face carefully for any flicker of a reaction. “Who is going to be back at headquarters with you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, much to your displeasure. When he sees the flinty expression cross your face, he smiles. “Atsushi-kun and Kyouka-chan will be there. So will Kouyou-kun and Piano Man. I’ll be fine.”

You’re still unsettled; something about it isn’t sitting right with you as you turn your attention back to the two cars. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease creeping up your spine. Dazai is many things—careless isn’t usually one of them. He’s the smartest man you know, every action he takes is perfectly calculated. If he says he’ll be fine, then logically, you know he will be.

But logic doesn’t soothe the pit in your stomach.

“Fine,” you say at last, though it’s clear you don’t mean it. You step toward the car where Albatross and Iceman are waiting, but before you get down the front steps of the porch, Dazai speaks again.

He says your name. His voice is light, almost teasing, but there’s an underlying weight to it that makes you pause. When you glance back, his expression is unreadable, dark eye giving away nothing as he stares at your face, almost like he’s trying to memorize the picture of you beneath the early morning sun.

“What?” you press after a moment when he doesn’t say anything else.

“Will you… kiss me one last time?” he asks, his voice raspy and his gaze flickering with uncertainty as he looks down at you, fingers twitching at his side.

Your breath catches at the request, and for a second, all you can hear is the faint rustling of the trees, the distant chirp of a bird somewhere overhead, the engines of the two cars waiting for the two of you running. The morning light is soft, golden, and his eye looks like a pool of honey beneath it, gentle and inviting, warm.

You swallow, heart stuttering in your chest. One last time. He watches you carefully, waiting, fingers curling slightly at his sides as if he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. You’re acutely aware of the four pairs of eyes trained on you from inside the waiting cars.

You could say no. You should say no.

Yesterday is over, you’ve already given him more than he deserves.

But you step forward, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. His breath hitches, the soft expression on his face shifting to something closer to yearning. You barely breathe as you reach up, fingers brushing lightly against his jaw as you tilt your face toward his.

Neither of you close the distance for a moment. You stand there, lips just almost brushing, dizzy with the feeling of sharing each other’s air. You finally lean in that last bit, lips grazing his. The kiss is soft, hesitant at first, and then he exhales shakily, pressing his lips firmly against yours. He shudders as your hands slide up to thread your fingers through his hair, kissing you with a type of aching desperation that makes your chest tighten. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid to let go. Like the moment is slipping through his fingers even as it happens.

When you finally break apart, his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven. His fingers linger on your waist, reluctant to let go.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just close your eyes, willing away the sudden tears that spring to them. You don’t even know why you want to cry—maybe because it feels too much like a formal goodbye, that this is Dazai telling you that things will never be the way they were again, and he needs you to let go.

“I love you,” you tell him quietly, voice cracking.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath, eye sliding shut as he finally pulls away. His hands drop to his side limply, and you pull yours to your body, wrapping your arms around your waist as you look up at him.

“I know,” he whispers. “You shouldn’t. I’m sorry. I love you, too. Always.”

You make your way over to the car, but before you can open the door, Dazai speaks again.

“I—” he starts to say, and when you look back at him, there’s a conflicted expression on his face that makes you concerned. “I’ll miss you.”

You hesitate. “I’ll miss you too. See you in a few days.”

A smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes tugs at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t say anything more. You slide into the car, shutting the door behind you. Neither Albatross nor Iceman says anything as you get settled in the back, your chest feeling impossibly heavy as you stare down at your lap.

“I didn’t understand,” Iceman says after a moment, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“You still don’t understand,” you reply tightly, swallowing the lump in your throat as your gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror. Dazai hasn’t budged from his spot on the steps, lips curled up into a small smile as he watches you pull away. “You can’t understand.”

“I know,” Iceman agrees quietly as Albatross drives down the long driveway of the beach house, “but I understand enough to know that I was wrong.”

You don’t reply, resting your head against the window as you stare into the side mirror until Dazai finally disappears from your line of sight. You don’t see the way his smile fades as soon as the car turns out of view, but that unsettling feeling returns, curling deep in your stomach like a warning that you can’t quite decipher.

You exhale slowly, trying to shake it off, and prepare to meet Itou and Klaus at the airport. It’s more important for you to figure out what this meeting with the Family is going to be about before you get there, but the further you get from Dazai, the bigger that pit in your stomach gets.

———

Klaus has been insufferable since the plane took off. He’s excited to be going back to Europe—it’s his first time back since you brought him back to Yokohama with you three years ago. Every five minutes, he’s asking if you guys can go to Munich after business is handled with the Family, and you don’t know how to tell him no without feeling like a bitch, so you keep giving Itou pleading looks to make him be the bad guy, but the man has the audacity to blatantly ignore you, whistling as he looks out the window.

He’s calmed down for the most part now, though. He’s lounging back across the seats behind you and Itou, playing on his phone while you guys try to theorize why the Family wants to meet so suddenly. You’ve been dancing around the subject of what happened yesterday, and you know he wants to ask because he keeps side-eyeing you but just can’t figure out how to go about it.

“Just ask, god,” you finally say irritably when Itou gives you another long side eye before dramatically sighing. “Stop pretending to be coy.”

Itou lights up like a kid in a candy shop, straightening in his seat before leaning forward, green eyes gleaming. “Tell me what happened yesterday. You were with him, weren’t you?”

You roll your eyes, distantly noticing that Klaus stopped tapping away at his game and is probably eavesdropping. You shift in your seat, trying to decide what exactly you want to say—neither of them are particularly fond of Dazai. Klaus especially dislikes him and doesn’t even really try to hide it when the two of them are face to face. So, you have to put in an effort to ensure that Klaus never has to go up to his office, that way you don’t have to deal with the repercussions of him disrespecting the boss to his face. Itou isn’t quite as upfront with his feelings about Dazai, but you know and that’s why you also know that in spite of his gossip mongering attitude, he wants you to tell him that his suspicions are wrong because he doesn’t like you spending time with him.

“Why do you even care?” you finally ask flatly. “You already know the answer.”

As you expect, disappointment flashes across Itou’s face, and Klaus lets out a scoff of disgust, hanging above your seat to intrude on the conversation. You shake your head and look back down at your phone, frowning when you realize you still don’t have a response from Goldoni. It’s still the middle of the night back in Italy, but you’re becoming increasingly more concerned about all of this—the disconcerted feeling you’ve had since the beach house has only become more intense with each moment away from Dazai.

“I want to hear it from you,” Itou says flippantly, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “What happened?”

“Yeah, what happened?” Klaus parrots, tossing a leg over the other seat so he can climb over to sit next to you. He leans in obnoxiously before he’s even fully climbed over and says, “Tell us.”

“Yeah,” Itou agrees with a smug smile. “Tell us.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh?” you question with a smile that neither of them trusts from the way they exchange looks with one another. “You want to hear about how good he fucked me?”

Klaus recoils immediately, freezing mid-climb, knee awkwardly bent over the seat, and Itou stares at you aghast, like you’ve personally betrayed him.

“Gross,” Klaus gags, not even bothering to sit down next to you, going right back over the seat into his own area of the plane. He spits something else out in German that you can’t quite make out before sneering at you and saying, “You’re so disgusting. God. Don’t look at me, I can’t even stand the sight of you.”

“What is wrong with you?” Itou demands, looking thoroughly perturbed as he turns his attention back to the window. “That was so unnecessary.”

You laugh, delighted by their reactions. “But you asked,” you say sweetly, resting your chin on your hand. “You wanted details.”

“Not those details,” Klaus snaps at you from the far end of the plane, clearly trying to put as much space between the two of you as possible. “Obviously.”

“I was thinking more like, where did he bring you? Why did he bring you somewhere other than his office? Not—” He gestures vaguely, looking genuinely disturbed. “Not whatever nightmare you were about to unleash on us.”

Your smile softens as Itou rubs harshly at his eyes, still thrown off by your comment. You sigh as you look down at your lap. “I don’t know. It was… weird. He was acting weird.”

Itou looks up at you again, frowning. “How so?”

“I… I don’t know, I can’t describe it,” you say quietly, shaking your head.

You won’t explain it. How are you supposed to explain the stuff he was saying without him sounding insane? You trust Itou and Klaus with your life, but that’s exactly the problem. Their loyalty has never been to the Port Mafia, it’s been to you. They’re already of the opinion that Dazai is bad for you, you don’t need to fan the flames with information that could confirm all of the rumors circulating about Dazai’s deteriorating mental state.

Dazai doesn’t need more people working against him right now, so until you can figure out exactly what he meant at the beach house, you’re going to keep the information to yourself.

Klaus has drawn closer again, standing in the aisle next to your seat. He frowns, uncharacteristically serious, “Why not? What did he do?”

You hesitate, fingers tightening in your lap. “Just… off,” you say, knowing it’s not enough but not sure how else to put it. “Like he wanted to tell me something, but he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.”

“That bastard never has an issue running his mouth,” Klaus mutters, ignoring the flinty look you give him. “What? It’s true.”

“Watch your mouth,” you tell him flatly, picking at your nails.

He isn’t entirely right—Dazai never has a problem running his mouth when it serves his interests, but he’s notoriously prone to withholding information from people when it doesn’t. You’ve known since the day you met him that there was something… odd going on with him, that he doesn’t tell you everything, but the things he was saying back at the beach house… they just didn’t make sense. You couldn’t understand the jumbled explanations he gave you, so there was no way anyone else would.

Itou leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice is soft, but there’s a dangerous edge beneath it—one that reminds you just how serious he can be when it comes to you. Sometimes, you forget just how ruthless he is, how easily he’ll turn to violence if he thinks you’re in danger. Klaus might be the louder of the two and quicker to act, but Itou is the one who follows through without hesitation. Of all of the members of the Port Mafia, he’s the one with the most blood on his hands—more than Iceman, more than even Chuuya.

“No,” you say immediately. “No, he didn’t. He—he just… He said things. Things I don’t really understand yet.”

Itou and Klaus exchange another look, the kind that makes your stomach twist. They don’t trust Dazai, and you can’t even blame them for it.

“And you’re not going to tell us what those things were,” Itou sighs with a frown, but he doesn’t push more than that.

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

Klaus rolls his eyes but changes the subject as he nods down to your phone. “Goldoni responded.”

You sit up straight in your seat, turning your attention down to your phone. Itou shifts in the seat across from you, leaning forward as he waits for you to read the message. You almost fumble as you open your phone; the unnerved feeling that’s been clinging to you since you left the beach house returns so suddenly that it almost makes you sick.

Goldoni: We don’t have a meeting. Did I miss something?

“Well?” Itou asks, but his voice is distant, muffled, like it’s coming from underwater. Your ears ring as your eyes track over the words over and over again, trying to figure out if you’re reading them correctly. “What did it say?”

No meeting? But then why—

You feel sick to your stomach as you force yourself up to your feet. A cold wave of nausea crashes over you, head swimming, and Klaus has to steady you. His lips move—he’s saying something—but his words are lost in the deafening thrum of your pulse pounding in your ears. You blink down at your phone, fingers tightening around it as if the message might change if you stared hard enough.

Dazai lied.

But why?

“We need to get back to Yokohama,” you breathe out, voice hoarse and uneven. “Right now. We need to go now.”

“What?” Klaus demands, disgruntled, but concerned more than anything else. “What’s going on?”

“Just breathe for a second,” Itou tries to soothe you, but your heart is racing out of your chest, the dark claws of dread ripping you open. “Breathe, what’s going on?”

But you can’t breathe. Not when your stomach is twisted in knots, not when your mind is racing through the implications at a dizzying speed. Your thoughts are unraveling, and panic is clawing its way up your throat, heart hammering against your ribs erratically.

Dazai is moving pieces.

He sent you, Klaus, and Itou to Europe.

He made sure Chuuya was out of the city.

Lippmann is up in Nagoya.

Iceman and Albatross are occupied all day with missions.

Are Kouyou and Piano Man even at base? Atsushi and Kyouka? Or was that a lie, too?

It’s not a coincidence, not chance—nothing ever is with Dazai Osamu.

He planned this. He’s clearing the building out of all of the Mafia’s most capable members, all of the people who protect him.

But why? What is he trying to do?

Only one answer comes to you—your hand flies to your mouth to hold back the nausea that suddenly pushes at your throat.

“There’s no meeting with Goldoni,” you gasp, stumbling in the direction of the cockpit. Your body is moving solely on instinct, driven by fear. “He lied. We need to get back to Yokohama right now.”

Itou pushes past you to get to the pilot, not wasting any more time, and Klaus leads you back to a chair to sit down before you collapse. Your mind races, trying to piece together answers, dragging you through every interaction you’ve had with him the past two days, a whirlwind of fragmented moments flying around you. The lingering looks, the flashes of everything he refuses to speak in his eyes, the way he cried after he called you up to his office. The unusual tenderness, the beach house, all of the apologies, all of the regret, all of the refusals when you begged him to explain.

You’ll never forgive me.

You still don’t understand, I hope you never do.

You were never supposed to be the price of this.

I’m scared. I’m so scared for what comes next.

I knew how things were going to end from the beginning.

I tried to rid myself of you to make things easier on both of us.

How did it take you so long to realize?

Your hand flies to your mouth as you gag, vision blurring—you should’ve realized, you know Dazai. You knew something was up, it never should’ve taken you so long to figure this out. If you hadn’t been blindsided by everything at the beach house, caught up in the fleeting illusion of everything that could’ve been, maybe you would’ve understood sooner.

“That’s why he brought me there,” you gasp, trying to rock back and forth to calm yourself down as horror sinks into your chest. “That’s what yesterday was about. It wasn’t—he wasn’t—it was a distraction. It was to distract me. We’ll never get there in time.”

You can text Iceman and Albatross to go back, but Chuuya won’t look at his phone until his mission is complete. Dazai knows this—he planned this, he counted on it—and you’re sure he also accounted for you putting together that there isn’t actually a meeting in Rome with Goldoni, which means—

Which means whatever Dazai is doing, it’s already started, and you’re rapidly running out of time to stop it.

———

Headquarters is a mess by the time you, Klaus, and Itou arrive. The air is thick with gunpowder and the acrid scent of burning rubber. Muffled shouts echo from inside the building, and the crack of gunfire ricochets through the parking lot. Albatross and Iceman are in the parking lot shooting at an enemy you can’t see, crouched behind a line of abandoned cars, Chuuya hasn’t even read your text yet, you don’t know where Kouyou and Piano Man are, you don’t know where Atsushi and Kyouka are, you don’t know where Dazai is. He hasn’t read any of your texts either, and every passing second has your heart crawling up your throat.

“What’s going on?” you demand, yelping as Albatross reaches out to drag you undercover with him and Iceman. You hit the ground hard, barely catching yourself on one hand as bullets pepper the pavement inches from where you were just standing. Klaus and Itou follow quickly. “Al—”

“It’s the Armed Detective Agency,” Albatross snarls with a bitter expression, reloading his gun with quick, practiced movements. “I don’t know how the fuck they got inside headquarters. We can’t get in—every time we manage to take one down, that fucking doctor of theirs heals them right back up. They’re holding us at the entrance while their other members do… whatever the fuck they’re doing in our base. We don't—”

You go still. Albatross doesn’t notice your reaction, but Iceman does. His sharp gaze flickers to you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yosano is… here?” you ask, suddenly feeling too cold. You don’t really know what you were expecting—you knew Yosano was with the Armed Detective Agency, and you figured that with the rising tensions, you’d be forced to see her soon, but you didn’t expect it to be this soon. “Now?”

Iceman looks at you from the corner of his eye. “You know the Agency’s doctor?”

“It’s a long story,” you say distantly, swallowing thickly as you try to push away all of the old insecurities that claw their way to your throat. You can’t think about any of this now, you need to get to Dazai. You still don’t know what he's planning, but you know it’s nothing good, and if your suspicions are right… “I need to get over to her. I can convince her to let me through.”

A lie. Or at least a gamble. Yosano has always been sentimental, and you’re betting your life on her feeling guilty over having left you behind on Tokoyami Island when she blew it up, but you can’t let your uncertainty show; otherwise, Itou and Klaus will never let you try.

“You’re not going over there alone,” Itou immediately says, as you expect.

“They won't let all of us through, Itou,” you say quietly. “We don’t know how many there are. We can’t waste time fighting. I need to get to Dazai now. I’ll have an easier time convincing her to let me through alone than all of us. She knows I’m noncombatant.”

“No,” Itou snaps, his voice low but firm. “We’re not splitting up. The moment you stand up, they’ll be shooting at you—”

“I’m not asking permission,” you interrupt coldly. “Don’t forget who’s the executive here.”

His jaw tightens. Klaus shifts beside him, uncertain, glancing between the two of you. Albatross swears under his breath. The tension is thick enough to choke on, and you’re becoming increasingly more desperate—time is passing too quickly, and you’re already out of it.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re an executive. I’m not letting you die for whatever fucked up scheme that bastard planned,” Itou spits at you. “You said yourself that he set this all in motion for whatever reason. You—”

“Let her go.” It’s Iceman who speaks up, expression grim as his gaze settles on you. “She knows the boss better than any of us. If she thinks she needs to get up there, then she’s probably right. I’ll cover you if they don’t stop shooting.”

Itou gives Iceman a betrayed look, but Iceman keeps his gaze trained on you. You think maybe this is supposed to be an apology for the argument that happened the other night. You nod at him in thanks.

You don’t give them time to change their minds. Before anyone can stop you, you brace yourself, inhale sharply, and then run right into enemy fire. You brace yourself for the pain—the bullets don’t immediately stop, one grazes your ear, another your bicep. It’s a miracle that you’re not struck in the chest or head. It’s an agonizing three seconds before the gunfire comes to a halt, and when it does, you almost wish that you had been shot because you turn your gaze to the doors of headquarters, and Yosano Akiko is standing there staring at you like you’re a ghost.

She doesn’t move. She just waits there, eyes wide, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. The last time she saw you, she was being dragged off the Schwalbe Ritter after planting explosions that would have killed you, her, and everyone else still on the ship.

Behind you, you hear someone shift, but no one dares open fire. Your gaze drags behind her—you only see two gunmen, a boy with orange hair and a blonde man, but that doesn't make sense, does it? It seemed like there were far more than just two gunmen.

“You…” she breathes out, a haunted expression on her face. “I—”

“I need to get through,” you say, not wasting a second. You have to force your voice to stay steady. “Now.”

Yosano doesn’t answer right away, grip tightening on the weapon in her hand, but she doesn’t raise it. Her expression twists—guilt, disbelief, and hesitation all war in her eyes before something else creeps in. Something colder. Your stomach drops.

“I can’t let you through,” she says quietly. “We have people in there and—”

“I don’t give a damn about your people,” you interrupt. “I need to get to Dazai. Please, Yosano.”

The words taste like acid—you hate begging, but you especially hate begging her. You think you’d rather swallow glass; it feels like reopening an old wound with your own hands. Yosano is the last person you ever wanted to need anything from, and yet here you are, standing before her, forcing yourself to beg her to let you into your own headquarters. The bitterness in your chest is suffocating, but you force it down and lock it away. You can’t afford to let it cloud your judgment, can’t let it stop you from what matters most right now—Dazai. Getting to him before he does something stupid.

“Please, Yosano,” you force yourself to say it again, a hint of desperation clinging to the words this time. “I can’t lose him too.”

Yosano’s face cracks at your words. You see the guilt in her eyes and the way her shoulders slump, and you know you’ve won, but the sweetness of victory is tainted by her bitterness over the situation.

Her gaze lowers as she steps to the side. “Go.”

You rush past her, pausing just long enough to murmur, “In the future, you shouldn’t be so sentimental with enemies. This kind of hesitation will get you killed one day.”

Yosano scoffs, folding her arms. “You really are just like him now. Can’t even manage a simple ‘thank you’ without slipping into a lecture about emotions. Go. Before I change my mind.”

You let out a huff of laughter. “It’s nice to see you haven’t changed, Akiko-chan.”

“You have,” she replies quietly. “I’m sorry that things went down the way they did back then. If I had done things differently… maybe we both could’ve gotten out of there.”

Your throat spasms as you swallow. “I guess we’ll never know,” you reply, and before she can say anything else to unsettle you, you make your way into headquarters.

The detectives of the Agency haven’t actually killed anyone, you realize as you see the unconscious bodies strewn across the lobby. You think that’s more impressive than if they’d slaughtered everyone in here—the fact that they out-classed so many of the lower-ranking members of the Port Mafia to the point that they’d been able to fight with non-lethal force against lethal force is… unnerving to say the least.

It’s not something you can waste any time thinking about right now, though. You need to figure out where Dazai is. Because the emergency lights are on, you know that the building’s power must’ve gone out, and with it, the building’s elevators. You figure that it must’ve been Dazai’s doing because you doubt the conflict would’ve reached down to the electrical room. And if Dazai went out of his way to make sure the power was out, to make sure nobody could use any of the elevators, that leads you to believe he can only be in one place:

The roof.

You take off without hesitation, sprinting toward the nearest stairwell and throwing the door open with a slam. The air inside is stifling, heavy with the scent of concrete and dust. Your legs burn almost immediately, but you force yourself to push through, taking the steps two, sometimes three at a time.

There are forty stories in the main building of headquarters. It’s an impossible distance, you know that—you’re already panting as you drag yourself up each flight of stairs, but you can’t give yourself time to stop, to think even. You can hear the rapid thud of your footsteps, the harsh drag of your breath, and the distant gunfire from outside resuming. Your muscles scream for relief, and your heartbeat hammers in your ears, but you force yourself to push it away—each step you climb, you become more and more certain that Dazai is at the top, about to do something terrible.

By the time you get to the roof, your body wants to give out—tears sting your eyes, your legs tremble violently, and you can barely breathe. Sheer adrenaline gives you the strength to push open the heavy metal door that leads to the roof; you don’t even notice Atsushi and a detective lying slumped on the ground, gaze focused on the familiar figure behind both of them standing on the edge of the roof.

Dazai is breathtaking under the light of the setting sun—it’s almost enough to make you forget where the two of you are, that he’s on the edge of the building, that you’ll never be able to reach him in time if he steps off the side. The warm golden hues cast soft shadows over his features, his black hair taking on an auburn sheen in the fading light—his eye widens as soon as he realizes you’re standing there, the usual dark void closer to a shimmering amber in the sunset.

“You… got here faster than I expected,” he says breathlessly.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice shaky. “Dazai, come away from there.”

His smile is soft as he looks over you, gaze lingering on every detail like he’s trying to memorize the sight of you. His fingers twitch at his side like he wants to reach out for you but knows he can’t, so he resigns to committing the image of you to memory. There’s something almost reverent in the way he studies you—like he knows that this is going to be his last chance.

Dazai tilts his head slightly, gaze focusing on yours. “You always did have a way of making things difficult,” he says fondly. “I thought it would be easier if you weren’t here.”

Your heartbeat thuds painfully loud in your ears. You try to take a step forward, but he tilts his head to the side, warning you silently that if you come any closer, he’ll step right over the edge. You feel sick, hands trembling because you don’t know what to do—you’ll never get to him in time, and once Dazai has his mind set on something…

“Easier for who?” you demand, stomach lurching as you fumble desperately for something to say to convince him to come away from the edge. “For you? For me? Did you think I wouldn’t care if I wasn’t here?”

His small smile doesn’t waver, but something in his expression cracks just for a second. You notice his own fingers are trembling at his side and you remember his words from last night: I’m so scared for what comes next.

How hadn’t you realized?

“I know you would,” he murmurs. “Don’t you understand now? That’s been the problem this whole time.”

You don’t dare take another step forward, but you find yourself leaning forward a little even though you know you can’t reach him from this distance. The wind whips around him, tugging at his long black coat and scarf. Each gust has your heart in your throat.

“Then come down,” you beg. Your cheeks are wet, vision so blurry that you can barely make out Dazai’s figure on the edge of the roof. “Please, Osamu. We can figure something out. I know we can. If you need to disappear, we can make you disappear—Tolstoy, his cousin’s ability, he can wipe everyone’s memories of you, and we can run. We can go back to the beach house or go to the countryside. We can get away from all of this. Nobody has to know, it’ll just be us.”

His smile softens, lashes lowering as he looks down at the ground. His voice cracks as he says softly, “That’s… a really nice dream.”

“Please just come away from there,” you rasp. “We can find a different way. Just—just explain everything to me, Osamu. Tell me what’s going on, what all of this is really about, and I’ll find a different way, you know I can. Give me that chance. Give us that chance. We deserve that, at least. I deserve that.”

Dazai exhales sharply, tilting his head back as the wind rushes around him, tousling his hair. The setting sun casts his silhouette in gold, and for a moment, he looks ethereal—untouchable, like something not meant to exist in this world.

“I know it’s selfish,” he says, voice raw with emotion as he looks up at the sky. “I didn’t want you to be here for this, but I’m glad I got to see you one last time.”

Your heart sinks in your chest as his words slowly register. You shake your head, desperation clawing at your throat, and your lips part to speak, but the words die on your tongue when Dazai tosses you a bright smile, a genuine one that hurts more than anything else. It’s the kind of smile you’ve longed to see on him for years, the kind that has haunted your dreams since he took over as boss—warm, bright, alive, happy. But now, you only feel dread at the sight of it.

Terror grips your chest. “Osamu—”

“Thank you,” he whispers, and though you know you should be racing toward him now, your entire body locks up, feet planted to the ground. “For everything. I love you.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, time seems to slow. You scream his name as his body tilts over the edge, but instead of rushing to the edge, you turn back the way you came.

Five.

You know you’ll never make it—you studied physics with Chuuya when he was learning how to refine his ability. The force of gravity is 9.8 meters per second squared, the Port Mafia headquarters is forty stories, around 130 meters—you know the equation like the back of your hand; it was one of the first things you learned.

You don’t have more than five seconds before he hits the ground.

But you can’t accept what’s happening—your brain isn’t letting go of the futile hope that maybe Klaus or Itou will see what’s happening and they’ll do something, that maybe Chuuya got back and he can do something. You know they can’t. Logically, you know that they can’t use their abilities on Dazai, but you think maybe there’s a chance, that maybe you’ll get down there and Dazai will be—he’ll be okay.

Four.

Your heart races, the seconds stretching impossibly long as your feet carry you down the stairs with reckless speed. You leap down them three, four, five at a time, pain shooting up your shins to your knees with every jump, but you don’t let yourself lose momentum—you can’t because the moment you stop, you’ll fall apart.

Three.

The whole world narrows, your heartbeat thrumming painfully loud in your ears. The seconds count down, mocking your attempts to hope against the inevitable, but still, your legs push forward, faster, harder. You know it’s futile, you do, but that tiny thread of hope, the denial your heart clings to, refuses to let go.

Every time your eyes slide shut, you see him—you see his smile, you see the soft expression on his face, and you see him falling. You can still feel him, his hands on your waist, cradling your face, his lips brushing yours. He was in bed with you this morning, his body warm, curled up next to you, his breath against your skin in even puffs, and he was at peace. How did things go wrong so quickly?

You’ve barely eaten anything today, but you feel your stomach churning like you’re about to throw up. Each deep breath has you choking, your head feels dizzy because the air just isn’t getting to your lungs, but you can’t stop moving.

Two.

You could’ve done something different. You know it. If you hadn’t been so blind, you would’ve realized something was seriously wrong at the beach house. You knew it was some sort of goodbye, but this? You thought it was his way of indulging in one last day of pretending before he cut you off altogether, but you should’ve realized it was something deeper. The way he looked at you should’ve clued you in—he told you he was scared for what’s next, he tried to stay away because he knew he planned on dying. How didn’t you fucking realize?

If you had more time, you could’ve convinced him. You know you could’ve; you saw the look on his face when you tried to convince him to leave with you, you saw the yearning. He wanted it, and if you had more time to persuade him, you would’ve been able to. If you’d realized back at the beach house what was going on, you would’ve convinced him to choose another option. This was your fault.

One.

Your foot slips on the next step, and when you crash against the middle landing, pain shoots through your wrist and spreads—you don’t hear or see the impact of Dazai’s body hitting the ground, but you feel it. The pain in your wrist is sharp, a violent jolt, but it’s nothing compared to the agony that floods through you like a tidal wave. It’s like every bone in your body shattered the moment his body hit the ground, like his ribs, his spine, his skull fracturing on the pavement, is happening inside of you, too.

You can’t hear anything above the terrible buzzing in your ears, you think you must be screaming because it feels like knives are dragging through the inside of your throat, and you can taste blood in the back of your mouth. You feel it all—the way his body must have crumpled, the way his breath must have left him in one final, shuddering exhale, you feel it all.

A crushing weight slams into your chest, pressing down until you can’t move, can’t even breathe. The pain is unbearable—not just in your wrist, not just in your body, but everywhere. In your heart, in your soul.

Dazai is gone, you know it.

You don’t know how long you lay there—it could’ve been seconds, minutes, you don’t know. You don’t think it could’ve been that long because it’s when you start to regain your hearing and the numbness in your body from the pain starts to fade, you realize that the whole building is shaking. The rumble vibrates your bones; first, a low, resonant hum, but it becomes violent quickly.

Chuuya.

Chuuya felt Dazai’s death in the same way you did. Of course, he did. The three of you have always been bound together since the beginning. It was never just the two of them, and it was never just you and Dazai—whether it was a curse, a bond, or just fate, it didn’t matter. One way or another, the three of you have always been tied to each other.

The thread that bound you together was woven of something that transcended logic and reason, something that all of you had become too dependent on, something that none of you could live without, and the loss of Dazai causes it to unravel, causes you to unravel, causes Chuuya to unravel.

It was always supposed to be the three of you together—there’s no world where one of you can just die, and the other two go on with their lives. Maybe Dazai knew that, and that’s what his incoherent ramblings were about back at the beach house, but if that’s the case, and he tried to push you and Chuuya away so the two of you could live on after his death, then he did a shit fucking job at it.

The metal of the building shrieks, and the very foundation trembles with the force of Chuuya’s grief and anger. You don’t know where he is, but he must be close, and he’s losing control. You need to get to him before that shitty corruption god wakes up inside of him to take advantage of his loss of control.

You push yourself up weakly, wrist screaming in protest, but you don’t care. You drag your body forward, forcing yourself to move, forcing yourself down the stairs, because you can’t lose them both—not in the same breath, not ever, you won’t survive it.

Your legs threaten to give out beneath you as you stagger down the stairs, breath ragged and body screaming for rest—you can hardly see in front of you, vision blurry with tears. It takes too long for you to get back down to the lobby. Your whole body is trembling, and you’re so unsteady on your feet that when you push open the door out of the stairwell, you almost topple right into the room.

You’re not thinking as you make your way forward. Distantly, you notice that you don’t see the Agency anymore, and you realize that the Flags, Itou, and Klaus are in the lobby dealing with the now waking subordinates who had been neutralized by the detectives, which means the Agency either left or was driven further into the building. You don’t care about any of that—your brain has you on a one-track mission to get to Chuuya before you lose him too, and you don’t consider what you might see stepping outside until you catch a glimpse of red from the corner of your eye through the window as you approach the door.

Is that—?

You don’t even have a chance to focus your gaze on what you’re looking at.

Immediately, Itou is launching himself at you, only just now realizing in the chaos that you’ve finally arrived. He grabs your bicep hard and yanks you toward him, one hand flying up to cover your eyes as his other wraps around your waist, holding you close. The noise that escapes your lips is inhuman—animalistic, almost—something caught between a scream and a wail that rips from your throat before you can stop it. Every cell in your body screeches in protest, instinct demands that you tear yourself from Itou’s grip and look, but he holds you tight, fingers digging into your skin and hand firm over your eyes.

“Don’t,” he whispers, voice raw, desperate for you to listen. “You don’t want to see that.”

“Let me go, Itou,” you scream, thrashing against him, blind with grief, fury, denial. You know it happened. You felt it the moment it happened—the moment he hit the ground—but knowing and feeling is different than seeing. “Let me go to him, let me go!”

“He fell forty stories,” Itou rasps, voice cracking. “You don’t want that to be your last memory of him.”

You fight, claw, kick—anything to get to him—but Itou doesn’t loosen his hold. He shifts, adjusting his grip so you can’t break free, keeping one hand over your eyes and the other locked around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides.

“Please,” you choke out. “Please, I need to—”

“No,” he says again quietly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

A sob wracks through you, violent and gut-wrenching. You sag against him, body unable to take anymore as the weight of everything crashes into you at once, pressing down on your chest until you can’t breathe. When you stop fighting, Itou’s hand slides from your eyes to hold you more gently, but you don’t reopen them—you can see him, you can see Dazai bathed in the sunset, you can see the golden glow, his soft eyes, his smile.

You try to breathe in but end up gagging over the air. Itou is quick to make sure your hair is out of your face before you vomit what little you have left in your stomach onto the ground. You hear Albatross and Iceman shouting for all of the lingering subordinates to clear out of the room. Klaus is somewhere in front of you, expression fraught as he watches you fall apart. Your chest heaves as you choke down another sob; your mind feels disconnected from your body, floating somewhere between numbness and agony, trapped between the image of Dazai in that golden light before he fell back over the edge and the knowledge of what’s left of him beyond this wall.

“I should have—” The words crumble before you can finish them, dissolving into something incoherent. You should have known, you should have stopped him, you should have been faster—you’re always too slow.

“You did everything you could.”

A lie. You know it’s a lie.

Your hands tremble as you clutch at his sleeve, desperately trying to ground yourself, but all you can feel is the cold creeping in, the emptiness hollowing out your chest where his heart used to beat.

“I need to get to Chuuya,” you finally gasp. Your whole body is shaking, you can’t even bring yourself to sit up straight. “I need to—”

“Chuuya is gone.”

Your gaze lifts to focus on Piano Man, who looks grim as he steps into the headquarters with Kouyou, who can hardly even stand to look at you. Klaus dragged a table over to where you’d caught that glimpse of red, blocking your view of it.

“What do you mean?” Itou demands, arms still tight around you, hands running up and down your biceps to calm you down. “Yo, would you fucking—”

Piano Man doesn’t reply to him. Instead, his gaze focuses on you; there’s no trace of the whimsiness you’re used to as he takes a few steps forward to kneel in front of where you’re wide-eyed and shivering in Itou’s arms on the ground. His throat bobs as he swallows, and you can tell that he’s warring with himself before he finally speaks.

“You need to pull yourself together,” he finally says quietly. Itou tenses behind you, but you only stare at Piano Man, hardly registering what he’s saying. “The government sent a special ops squad to handle Chuuya. They sedated him and took him and are bringing him to a government facility to keep him imprisoned.”

“How the hell did the government react so quickly?” Klaus demands, voice shrill with nerves. “How does that make any sense?”

“We don’t know,” Piano Man answers flatly, keeping his gaze trained on you. He reaches out to hold your hands tightly as he focuses on you again. “You are boss now, and I am so fucking sorry it has to happen like this, but the Port Mafia is not in a good spot right now. Once word spreads about Dazai’s death and Chuuya’s imprisonment, we’ll have half of the criminal underworld on our doorstep. We need to get Chuuya back before that happens. Do you understand me?”

Your mouth is dry as you stare at him. You don’t think you could respond if you wanted to. You see the frustration fly across his face, and Itou tenses again, ready to intervene if Piano Man acts out of line, but his shoulders only slump as he takes in a shaky breath.

“You know what happened to him when he was a kid,” Piano Man says tightly. “He is the strongest ability user in the world. Every second we waste, we give them the chance to do that to him again—and they will do it again because if they could find a way to replicate his ability or understand more about Arahabaki, they could make themselves the most dominant military power in the world. They will keep him locked up in whatever facility they bring him to, and they will experiment on him night and day, and he will not survive this happening to him again. It will break him. Do you understand me?”

You nod, throat spasming as you swallow thickly.

“Okay,” Piano Man agrees after a moment. “Then pull yourself together. We need to get working.”

“Fucking hell, Piano Man,” Itou spits out. “She hasn’t even had the chance to process what just happened, let her fucking mourn, she just lost—”

“There is no time to mourn during transitions of power,” Piano Man says coldly. “She knows this better than anyone.”

The words cut through you deeper than a blade ever could have, and the silence that follows them is suffocating.

Your whole body begs for rest, for just one moment to grieve, to let the pain consume you—Dazai is dead, Chuuya is gone, and the weight of the Port Mafia is crashing down onto your shoulders before you’ve even had the chance to breathe. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the crime lords of the Eastern Hemisphere catch wind of what happened here, and when they do, all bets are off.

You swallow hard and force yourself to sit up. Itou moves with you, steadying you, hesitant to let go, but you shake him off. You need to do this on your own. Piano Man watches you, unreadable, waiting to see what you say.

“We need to consolidate power first,” you say. Your voice is weak, too shaky. “I need to talk to Mishima and Tolstoy. Goldoni too. We need two executives to replace—”

You can’t even finish the sentence. You can’t speak their names. Your throat tightens again as you try to swallow down the lump of grief threatening to choke you.

“We need two more executives,” you say instead. Itou shifts closer to you, trying to remind you that he’s here, that you’re not alone, but it still feels like you are. You feel hollow, empty, alone in a world where both Dazai and Chuuya are gone—it was always supposed to be the three of you. It was never supposed to be just one. “I’ll reach out to Mishima and Tolstoy. We—we have to move quickly.”

Your gaze tracks back over to where you’d gotten a glimpse of red before Itou pulled you away. Your voice is far away as you whisper, “We can’t leave him there.”

“I’ll handle it,” Itou promises quietly.

You nod, taking in another deep breath, and at once, everyone gets to work. Everything around you is a blur, and you can’t tell if it’s a testament to how quickly everyone is moving into action or if it’s because of the tears that threaten to roll over your cheeks. You don’t let them—not now—you just need to keep it together a little while longer for Chuuya, and then, maybe, you can finally let yourself rest alongside Dazai.

———

Dazai Osamu is dead.

There’s no arguing with Chuuya about it because he’s gone, too. There’s no clashing with the Flags because they saw it happen. There’s no disagreeing with Itou and Klaus, because they were the ones who cleaned up his body. There’s no warring with yourself because you felt it the moment it happened.

Dazai is dead.

You haven’t been in his office since it happened two weeks ago—you haven’t had the time. You haven’t stopped moving, haven’t stopped making decisions, and haven’t let yourself feel anything beyond the fear of knowing that one mistake could lead to everyone else’s deaths, too. You’ve been in Tokyo talking to Mishima, you went to Vladivostok so you could talk to Tolstoy face-to-face and tell him what happened yourself, you’re leaving for Rome tomorrow to talk to Goldoni, and you’ve been trying to solve things peacefully with the government to get Chuuya back.

Everything is a mess—Mishima and Tolstoy are in conflict with Cao Xueqin, trying to buy you time to get Chuuya back before the Red Chamber is at your doorstep, and Goldoni is distracting the Guild, who evidently are preparing to come to Yokohama for Atsushi, but the government is refusing to hand Chuuya over. Atsushi and Kyouka are missing. The Agency has gone silent after causing all of this, and you don’t have time to deal with them either.

You haven’t had any time to grieve him, but standing in the space he left behind, it hits you all at once.

Dazai is dead.

“You’re such an asshole,” you breathe out to the empty room like he can hear you, staring at the desk he sat behind. “How could you just leave me with all of this?”

Everything is exactly as he left it. Papers stacked haphazardly, a pen resting at an odd angle, a half-empty cup of stagnant tea. It’s like he could walk through the door at any moment, like none of this ever happened—this is just another one of his games, sitting back with that infuriating smile, waiting to see how you’ll react so he can hold it over your head, mocking you for taking everything too seriously, teasing you for mourning him.

You don’t even remember why you came up here—you had a reason for it, otherwise, you would’ve avoided it for as long as possible. Your fingers ghost over the edge of his desk, hovering above the polished wood hesitantly before you finally let your hand fall down against it, fingers dragging across the wood as you walk to the other side of the desk.

You shouldn’t be here. You’ve avoided this room for a reason.

But instead of leaving, your legs decide to give out on you. You take in a breath that’s too ragged as you sit back in his chair, burying your face in your hands. The weight of his scarf around your neck is suffocating, a weight that you’re not strong enough to bear—it was the only thing Itou could salvage from his body, and as much as it makes you sick with grief, you can’t bring yourself to part from it. You swear you can almost still catch the faint scent of him on it, and if you close your eyes, you can pretend that it’s the weight of his arms draped around your shoulders as he hangs behind you, back pressed to your chest and chin on top of your head as he uses you as a shield to antagonize Chuuya without consequence.

You need to get yourself together. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes up here looking for you, and you don’t want to be spiraling when they get here. Now isn’t the time to mourn—Chuuya is still out there, trapped, waiting for you, tortured with god knows what horrific experiments the government is performing on him. You have to get him back. You have to keep the Port Mafia from falling apart. You have to keep yourself from falling apart. Now isn’t the time for this.

You exhale shakily and rest your hands down on the arms of the chair to push yourself up so you can leave the office, but you pause when you see one of his desk drawers not fully closed. You press your lips together, hesitating, before reaching out to open it the rest of the way.

Inside, neatly stacked and untouched, are documents, mission reports piled up, but your eyes aren’t drawn to that. They’re drawn to the single envelope sitting at the very top and the very familiar, small metal trinket sitting next to it.

It has your name scrawled across the front in Dazai’s handwriting.

Your pulse roars in your ears, breath catching.

Slowly, almost afraid that it will disappear if you touch it, you pick it up. The paper is thin beneath your fingers, fragile, like it's been sitting there for years instead of days. The weight of it in your hands is unbearable.

You don’t know if you should open it.

You shouldn’t open it.

You know you shouldn’t.

But your hands are already shaking as you slide a finger beneath the fold, breaking the seal with excruciating slowness. You hardly breathe as you pull it out of the envelope, swallowing at the address written on the back of the paper before you unfold it.

The handwriting is unmistakable. All across the page, you see characters crossed out and rewritten where water had blotted the ink. Dazai had been crying as he wrote it.

My sweet hime,

If you’re reading this, then everything has probably settled by now. I can already imagine the look on your face. Don’t frown too much—it’ll leave wrinkles.

Kidding. I wasn’t going to write anything. I thought a clean break would be easier for you. But after the day we spent yesterday, I realized I’d already ruined things enough. I figured a goodbye wouldn’t do more damage than anything else I’ve already done.

There was nothing you could’ve done differently to change what happened—I know that’s what you’re probably thinking. You’re going back through every moment, trying to find all of the places where you could have said something, done something to change my mind, but it wouldn’t have mattered. This was always how this was going to end. This plan had been set in motion long before you and I ever even met.

I wish I could’ve spared you from this. I really did try. I told myself for months leading up to our meeting that I wouldn’t let myself get close to you. There were so many plans that I made, so many ways I convinced myself that I could keep my distance. I wasn’t even supposed to go with Chuuya on the mission to pick you up, but when Mori dangled it in front of my face, I couldn’t stop myself.

Loving you was my biggest and only mistake. Not because you weren’t worth it but because I was never meant to have you. Not in this life. But you always made me weak. Reckless. I never think straight when you’re around, even when you’re not around, you’re always in the back of my mind. But I thought that knowing how things were going to end would be enough to keep me from slipping up. I thought I would be satisfied with admiring you from afar and knowing you would be okay when I was gone. I should’ve known better—I never should’ve let myself get close to you when we were younger, I should’ve been cruel from the beginning, I should’ve made you hate me.

But I was selfish. I let myself love you, and I let myself be loved by you, and now you’re alone dealing with the consequences of it.

I’m sorry.

Once I realized I let things go too far, I thought I would be able to make you hate me after I took over as boss. I thought if I could be cruel enough and cold enough that you would finally turn your back on me, but you are just too goddamn stubborn. You kept coming back again and again, and I was too much of a coward—too selfish—to push you away the way I should have.

You were right back at the beach house—I was frustrated and angry that I couldn’t stop myself from seeking you out, and I was even more frustrated and angry that you kept coming, and I put you through four years of hell because of it. I’m sorry for that, too. I’m sorry for a lot of things that I know you’ll never forgive me for.

I wish I could explain more, I wanted to tell you everything. Do you know how many times I almost did? How many nights I almost turned to you and let it all spill out? I know you would have believed me, I know you would’ve shared the burden with me, but this was never supposed to be your price to pay. I wish I had done things differently because it became yours anyway, didn’t it?

I hope you hate me. I hope you find a way to curse my name and let me rot in the hell I’ve made for myself. I don’t deserve for you to mourn. I don’t deserve to be remembered by you at all. But I know you, and I know you’ll mourn, and I know you’ll blame yourself even after reading this, so I hope you just remember that this was something bigger than you and I and the ending was never going to change no matter what you did differently.

I love you. I’ve always loved you, I’ve always been yours. In this life and every other one. I’m sorry we couldn’t be happy in this one, but I promise I’ll make it up to you when we find each other again in the next. I’ll love you better in that one, the way you deserve, I’ll give you all of me, every piece I held back in this lifetime. And in the next, I promise I won’t make you say goodbye. We’ll live a quiet life—we’ll go to the countryside, and we’ll grow old, and we’ll be happy. Maybe we’ll even drag the slug along, force him to be our farmhand, give him a new flock of sheep to herd.

Now to business.

Dark times are coming to Yokohama. I know you’re probably sick of me saying sorry, but I’m sorry that I’ve left you to deal with everything like this. There are foreign threats coming—the Guild, the Order of the Clocktower, and Fyodor Dostoevsky. All of the files below this envelope are full of information I’ve put together for you. Abilities, strategies they’ve used, how everything has gone down in different timelines—I’ve put it all together so you can figure out how you want to handle this. I left some suggestions, but it’s all very dependent on how things played out after everything settled.

The Armed Detective Agency will be a valuable ally going forward. Don’t blame them for what I did—they were only pawns I used to get everything set up. Everything that happens today is what I’ve planned, my actions and theirs. They’ll help protect Yokohama from the coming storm, and you’ll stand a better chance working with them.

I don’t think there’s anything else that needs to be said that’s not in the folders. Don’t underestimate Fyodor Dostoevsky. And I know you’re going to say ‘I spent many months with him when you sent me abroad blah blah blah’ but there’s so much more to him than you can ever imagine. You’ll understand when you read through everything.

There’s no perfect way to end this letter. I could apologize a million times and it wouldn’t be enough. Just know I meant what I said before—I’ll find you again in the next life, and we’ll be happy. I’ll love you better. I won’t leave you behind.

Live well. I’ll always be with you.

Yours always,

Osamu

———

beast au fun facts:

i think i made it pretty clear, but for those of you who read wykyk, essentially ages 16-18 were what wykyk would’ve been if dazai wasn’t emotionally incompetent. he was obviously still a little bit hot and cold with her, but he was quite clear with how he felt about her from day one, which is why it was so hard for her to reconcile how rapidly everything changed.

she finds mori at the address dazai left for her. the first thing she asks when she gets over the shock is if dazai is here too. she thinks maybe he too might’ve faked his death and is here with mori.

reader dies several weeks later. during the operation to break chuuya out of the government facility, they need all hands on deck. she stays behind in headquarters because it’s safest for her there. she ends up leaving headquarters to go visit dazai’s grave and is assassinated while she’s sitting at his grave. like with dazai, chuuya feels it when it happens but refuses to believe it until they find her body.

this was unfortunately intentional on reader’s part. this is actually something she does or has tried to do in multiple universe: she uses her life(/death) as a weapon for the port mafia. we will see it (or attempts of it) in canonverse and civzai. her death triggers multiple powerful organizations coming to the assistance of the pm, and she knows this, so when the pm is backed into a corner and threatened on multiple fronts, she’ll manufacture a situation where she’ll be assassinated because she knows the only way the pm will come out of it intact is if they get help, and the quickest and most surefire way of getting that help is if she’s killed.

make no mistake: it IS a last-resort option when there’s really nothing else they can do. although, i'll also say that i don't think the pm WAS backed into the corner here, but our girl was ... very tired after losing dazai and everything that happened afterward. she only wanted to push through things long enough to rescue chuuya.

it does indeed work btw. after she dies, tolstoy & the three deaths wipe out cao xueqin before coming to yokohama to help with the guild and dostoevsky. the family engages the clocktower in open conflict to keep them out of yokohama.

the conflict takes about a year to come to an end, chuuya only lets himself die once everything is settled. pmtrio indeed became the price of a world where oda can live.

this is the only universe where itou & klaus outlive her. this is also the only universe where they meet. idk if anyone guessed it, but the reason dazai sent her away after he took over was so she could meet klaus.

dazai genuinely didn’t think that his death would ruin her and chuuya the way it did since he ensured that the flags, itou and klaus were all here for them. he was wrong

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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mrs-weasley-reid · 8 months ago

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AUGUST REC FICS

Hello, my sweets!! Here I am, once again, for yet another month of reading and living vicariously through our one and only Reader. I haven't read much this past month, and most of these sweet authors are people I follow (and shockingly, some are my mutuals, too !!! I'm too much of a fangirl to believe it's true). Give these gorgeous, spectacular writers a ton of love. They all deserve it so much, considering they're blessing us with such amazing work for free. Like. Comment. Reblog. The equivalent of a five-star review

Like always, I will be going based on what I've read recently and not by the date the fic was posted. Reminder to please respect these writers. Some contents are 18+. MINORS should not be interacting in any way.

— ✿ — ✿ ✿ — ✿ ✿ ✿

Spencer Reid

✿ a muted shade of green by @dalamjisung ↳ the flow of this fic was so smooth my jaw dropped down on the floor as i read through (writer's first reid fic, and it was chef's kiss)

✿ hearts aligned by @raekensluver ↳ OMG this one had me melting. roommate spencer is such a dream

✿ sick love by @misserabella ↳ guilty pleasure unlocked. a wonderful reading session filled with interesting discoveries

✿ behind closed doors by @incognit0slut ↳ i loved binging this so much !!! was a giggling, kicking mess while reading this one; and it has four parts ! we're so spoiled

✿ kiss it better by @nereidprinc3ss ↳ tmi but was having an episode of mild anxiety attack, and this saved me in the middle of the night, giggling myself to sleep, so thank you for such amazing work x

✿ dead of night & nightvisions by @cxrrodedcoffin ↳ lol i read this at work and had to fight battles not to make any facial signs that i was consuming kinky content. the second part was another level, i was cackling like a witch

✿ much ado about nothing: act iii, scene v & act iv, scene i by @incognit0slut ↳ act iii, scene v left me speechless, reader didn't fold and i took that as a win. act iv, scene i played with my emotions lol

✿ just a number by @reidsdaisies ↳ i became a stand-up actress while reading this because it's overwhelmingly spicy and filled with tension i had to provide comedic relief for myself

✿ untittled req response by @mandarinmoons ↳ no because i saw my reblog post of this and i immediately snorted and then laughed some more after rereading it. pipe cleaner will never not be funny to me

✿ poison me, i'm fine by @gghostwriter ↳ no because this one needs more attention ?????????????? i loved reading this so much i was so tempted to pull my heart out and ship it to pau, show how crumpled it was after reading

✿ my best colors for your portrait & my face in every place by @none-of-your-bullshit ↳ i wasn't lying when i said august is for angst and i immediately gobbled this up after seeing it. the way my chest was so tight but also smiling because the writing style is amazing got me looking like a lunatic

✿ cute, outraged genius by @lavenderspence ↳ tina got me laughing like a gremlin. it's so adorable she made me fall in love with spencer all over again

✿ another untitled req response by @mandarinmoons ↳ sorry, sweethearts, ket just couldn't be bothered with titles lmao. secret lover reader is my favorite lover, sooooo you all will enjoy this cutie patootie creation

✿ one single thread of gold by @gghostwriter ↳ you'll overdose of sweetness. it's so adorable and a great way to feel giggly about spencer reid.

✿ for the fear of falling apart | part one by @pathologicalreid ↳ i haven't read the rest of the parts but mhmmm this was DELISH. well-written creation that made me show emotions while reading at work. my coworkers asked me my my eyes were so wide and i think that says a lot at how great this is

✿ second to none by @raekensluver ↳ ooooo this one got my blood boiling in a good way

✿ untitled work by @sincerelybubbles ↳ adorable stuff make me melt especially when it's a spencer one

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Aaron Hotchner

✦ darling, in any life series by @hotchfiles ↳ at this point are we even surprise im including yet another series form lari here ? anywayyy, i love me some old flame trope

✦ picket fence dream by @hotchfiles ↳ this is a new part from the choiceless hope series and i gobbled it up. i was screaming when i read this

✦ tells by @ssahotchnerr ↳ first thing i read in the morning, and i sobbed from the overwhelming sweetness

✦ silver by @solardrop ↳ okay but this was so adorable ??? plus im def one of those gals who tried to throw herself on him, maybe even catapult myself

✦ sympathy for the devil by @hotchfiles ↳ nosebleed. spice level is not as high as i make it seem but the writing really got me sweating. just read it, you'll understand what i mean

✦ spending time with you by @lavenderspence ↳ no because TINA CALLED ME OUT WITHOUT CALLING ME OUT. i was slightly offended. the gasp i gasped was so loud asdkfnkg. but it is adorable, go read it pls pls

✦ doctor, love by @none-of-your-bullshit ↳ i love when reader slaps the character with some reality like a seasoned raw steak.

sorry, not sorry if this post is filled with lari. I reread her works religiously, so here are my favorites from hers truly:

✦ help me hold onto you ↳ oh, this is like crack for me, and i always come crawling back no matter how hard i try to stay sober

✦ half asleep takin' chances ↳ still waiting for future aaron somewhere out there

✦ choices ↳ gonna be honest with everyone this one makes me wanna deck aaron hotchner and then deck reader for folding so easily and also deck myself because im no better than reader

✦ quis ut deus? & daniel 12:1 ↳ my fave series from lari and i will never not reread them over and over and over and over again because i love it so much idk what's the appeal on me but i love it and i want this framed and buried with me even if it's unfinished

I haven't had a lot of time to visit the good ole "for you" feed in a while, so I apologize for missing all the amazing work every writer has put out this month. I will make it up to you, I promise! And if you'd like, you can send me works or mention me so I can read certain creations that you deem noteworthy for the next rec fic month!

love lots, ker x

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ichorai · 1 year ago

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button ; coriolanus snow. (m)

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

words ; 3.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.

It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.

He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.

It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner.

To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.

Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”

Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his.

“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them.

Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.

“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss.

“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room.

Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.

Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.

Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.

By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.

Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye.

He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.

He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes.

The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there.

You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”

There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.

He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his.

When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?

“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”

“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”

A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”

“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.

The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.

Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.

It was only a matter of time until you asked.

His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.

“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”

You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?

Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”

His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.

Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.

A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging.

“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”

And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.

Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.

“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”

The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him.

You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.

And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face.

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”

She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.

“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!”

There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…

Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.

“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—

Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.

“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”

Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”

“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”

A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus.

“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”

The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes.

“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”

Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.

His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.

“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”

“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”

He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”

When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.

“You know, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours.

“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”

He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs.

“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”

He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones.

What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt.

Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.

“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.

“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”

His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.

“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you.

You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another.

You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.

He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs.

Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”

“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst

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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

Text

All I Need

Spencer realizes how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. What better time is there to propose if not in the middle of making love? Based on:

Warnings: 18+ mature content but nothing too explicit, this is just sweet love making

words: 2077

A/n: I’m supposed to finish my last kinktober and update my series, but both are very heavy and I needed something sweet to defrost my writer's block. I hope you don’t mind me squeezing something else until I finish my other WIPs🥲

“…every time I look into your eyes I see it, you’re all I need…”

SPENCER KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. There wasn't a single thing he wasn't familiar with—from every mole, every scar, to every stretch mark. Any imperfection you considered of yourself he found to be perfect.

He was well aware of the small scar on your hip bone. Or the mole resting at the back of your thigh. Or the way you disliked caffeine, because every time you drank it, it increased your heart rate drastically. Which was why you always judged him every time he had a cup of coffee in his hand, especially with the amount of sugar he never seemed to stop adding.

"That is definitely not healthy," you would always say, to which he simply responded with a small peck on your lips. It was his way to shut you up without saying anything.

He also knew how soft you actually were underneath that hard exterior you always carried. You were an enigma the first time you joined the team, but Spencer always had a soft spot for mystery, and solving you became his mission even when he wasn't the best at maintaining conversations. He remembered making a fool of himself when he talked to you, stuttering about one of the random facts engraved in his brain.

But you still listened to him, and for once in his life, he finally found someone who didn't mind hearing him talk. It was nice to have somebody who found his knowledge interesting, and with that thought in mind, it didn't take long for him to take an interest in you.

Not that he wasn't interested at first, because honestly, you were a splendid sight when you first walked through the door. It was more so an interest that was considered surpassing a simple friendship. An interest that had him push his confidence into asking you out.

Spencer never pegged himself as someone who would be content having a significant other in his daily routine—his past relationships never seemed to work out, after all—but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he was actually in pure bliss. It seemed as if you had cast a spell, drawing him deeper into your presence, a magnetic force of affection that went beyond the superficial. Every smile, every touch, seemed to emanate a radiant heat, and he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnitude of your warmth.

Especially at this moment, staring into your eyes as they slowly fluttered open from a long night of slumber, he found himself leaning forward. You were so warm, so inviting. The soft light coming from the curtains cast a shadow over your curves and he couldn't help himself from trailing down your body.

You were fully awake now as he pressed his lips on every part of your skin. The slight movement of your arms wrapping around his neck had him grunting, and somehow he was suddenly positioned between your legs, pressing his hot length onto your wet folds, wanting nothing else but to push himself deep into your warmth.

As he watched you beneath him, eyes half closed, mouth open in anticipation, he couldn't help but mutter his next words because you looked breathtakingly beautiful. Heavenly gorgeous covered in a sheen of sweat, so damn pretty with eyes full of desire. You looked like a siren, an angel, and a lustful woman all rolled into one.

Everything about you was so divine, and the desire to consume every part of your existence became an insatiable hunger. It was a need, a yearning that made the idea of spending a lifetime without you seem unfathomable as if oxygen slowly drained from his world, leaving him breathless.

The words bubbled up from the depths of his heart, and before he could second-guess himself, he blurted out, "Marry me."

Your eyes snapped open as he finally sank his hips into you, and before you could even respond, before you could even register his words, his rough thrust stole the breath from your lungs. Rational thoughts shattered as he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was slightly painful yet completely pleasurable.

He slowly pulled out, then pushed back in, your back arching, legs wrapping around his waist. "Spence," you moaned as he started a steady pace, trying to gain your focus but failing miserably. You couldn't think of anything else except the sensation between your legs. "Oh, God."

Languid and smooth, his hips continued to roll into you. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

The feel of his cock sinking in and out of you had your head falling back against the mattress. Your fingernails tightened upon his back, and he drove you gently into the bed with low grunts. His voice was rough, broken by focused breaths. "We could do this every morning."

A whine broke out of you.

"I'd wake up first," he told you. "I'd make you breakfast in bed..." He slipped out again before thrusting into you slowly, dragging his cock along your inner walls that had you mewling. "...right after I wake you with my tongue between your thighs."

You let out another moan. He drank in the sound with a smile before lowering his mouth to the base of your neck. Heated kisses trailed along your skin as his fingers trailed down the outline of your body before they stopped at the warmth between your legs.

Your mouth was wide open against his shoulder, eyes watering with the force of pleasure from having his cock smacking through your wetness, his body forcefully shoving your knees apart. You felt his fingers trailing your clit in slow circles and you arched your back, each tender brush tightened that coil of heat simmering in the pit of your stomach. The simulation drove you further into a haze of pleasure that a soft yes finally escaped your lips without you realizing it.

The barely whispered word didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Yes to this," he wondered as prompted his weight on his other hand. "Or to my proposal?"

You glanced up at him, your face a mixture of pleasure and alarm as you gave him a look. "You're crazy."

He watched you closely, mesmerized by the way your hips were bucking every time his cock hit that soft spot inside you while his fingers continued their tease. "Maybe." He leaned down and softly bit your shoulder. "But I am crazy in love with you."

When you didn't respond, he slowly pulled away and fixed his gaze on you. Your reaction, or lack thereof, spoke volumes, and as his eyes met yours, he found himself captivated by the reflective pools of emotion within. There was a hint of fear and concern, shadows that danced with the flicker of uncertainty. Yet, beneath those layers, he could see the distinct longing in your eyes. It was hard not to distinguish it as it matched the same look in his. Your stare was warm and domineering.

They were so full of love.

And that moment, Spencer realized, that was what you were to him—love. You were the greatest passion he had ever known.

You felt completely in the moment with him as you let your gaze scan over his features. His eyes appeared darker in this light of the room, but you could still see the soft lightness of them. Then, you leaned up, noses brushing gently against each other before you pressed your lips onto his. His body moved again in response, hips bucking into you and you felt him pulsing inside your core as his mouth worked harmoniously along yours.

"Marry." Thrust. "Me." Thrust.

You whimpered. Everything was too much. The intensity of the pleasure was almost intoxicating, a heady concoction that wrapped around you, rendering you momentarily breathless.

"Having you for the rest of my life is a privilege." He continued, grunting as you clenched around him. He lost himself with one final, jagged plea. "Marry me and make me the happiest man alive."

His words, touch, and the stroke of him inside you—it all blurred together. It pushed you so wildly that the coil in your stomach twisted sharply through along your body. He lunged down to kiss you again, tongue pushing deep as he stole your moan before it could break into the air. He tugged you into him at the same time that you submitted to his pull.

There were times when you would appreciate this. The contact, the intimacy, the warmth of your boyfriend connected with you. Right now though, you needed release. So you buried your hand in his curls, all messy and askew.

"Spencer," you breathed out against his lips. Each of his thrusts fed the growing flame in your body as your body turned pliant for him. “Oh god, yes,” you cried, head thrashing side to side as your eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by pleasure.

He peppered kisses over your neck, your jaw, your temple, desperate to be even closer to you, to melt into you. "Yes to what?"

Your senses were heightened, every touch and every breath seemed magnified in the intensity of the moment. Your body shuddered with every vicious thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes." A desperate, needy little whine slipped past your lips and you opened your eyes wide to give him a pleading look. "Spencer, please, please."

You were panting, your breath hot and your skin even hotter, and you could barely hear him when he spoke, "Yes to what, Angel?"

Angel. The syllables carried a warmth that resonated deep within your heart. Sometimes you were his Angel. Sometimes you were his Sweetheart. While you cherished the way he expressed his affection, a yearning for more had taken root.

Marry me.

You could be more than his angel. You could be his wife. But it wasn't just about the affectionate words anymore; it was about a promise, a shared future, and you realized as he hovered above you, all sweaty and desperate, that you wanted to feel this bliss every day. How could you not when he fits so perfectly inside you that you could swear he was made for you?

And then you felt it, his hand trailing down your arm before it stopped right along your fingers, intertwining them with his. Your hand clutched onto his as his thrust sped up a fraction—but it was still deep and lazy, enough to make you squirm. His cock was achingly hard inside you and when you clenched down on him, you adored the twitch and resounding moan it drew out of him.

You wanted this for your life. You wanted him every day. You wanted to wake up each morning in his arms, him whispering sweet nothings as he buried himself inside you.

You wanted him so much you would be a fool not to accept his proposal.

"Yes," you breathed out. "I'll marry you."

He grunted against your lips. "Say that again."

His thrusts were now fast and ruthless, his groans filling the room while the sound of skin slapping together echoed with it. Every time you could feel him deep inside you, it brought you closer to that familiar coil in your stomach. It was a heady sensation, an intoxicating blend of desire that quickened your pulse and set your senses ablaze.

"I—shit," you cried out, legs shaking at the pleasure traveling along your body you were starting to wail desperately for your release. "Fuck, baby, I'll marry you."

A sound of satisfaction erupted from him as he kissed you with every ounce of power he had. He kissed you as he had never kissed anyone before. He kissed you deeply, possessively even, and it was messy and rough and probably looked horrific from different angles, but it felt perfect.

You felt perfect. Your lips. Your curves. Your scent. It was as if you were made especially for him. He was fully consumed with you, consumed by you, and yet he couldn't get enough. Though you were beneath him, he was at your mercy, and the fact that you could still have such control over him made his stomach twist even more.

He was so in love with you. He was so sure of it, so sure of this abundance of passion, for Spencer Reid could sometimes be dense when it came to sudden bursts of emotions, but he was not stupid. He wasn't oblivious, nor was he lacking in perception. It wasn't about intelligence or lack thereof, it was simply about the purity of his emotion.

And he was deeply, unequivocally in love.

Oneshot taglist: @simpingforharryandcevans @strawbeerossi @lightvixxen @dim-i-try @annabellexox @baby-banana @natarataca @wolfbeanpotion @nagemasstuff @alexander-arcturus-black @rosieee491 @s00dastereo @no-honey-no @donttrustlove @tylevx @kailey-rae @sailorholly @ducksong @infinitegalaxiesworld @dreamsarebig @brilliantreid @boimlers-gonna-boim

PLEASE READ: The crossed out ones are blogs I can’t tag. And if any of you asked me to be added and you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I can see it. But make sure your blog can be searched by anyone or I can't tag you. Thank you :)

Don’t forget to interact with the story!

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shiny-jr · 1 year ago

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Hi! I noticed that your requests were open and I love the way you write Malleus so I was hoping you would do yandere malleus x reader. where the reader knows twisted wonderland is a game (but not imposter au pls) and after they got isekia'd are trying to stop the overblots from happening and malleus is just terrified for them. Idk just an idea I've had for awhile but never found a fanfic like lol. Obviously it's totally fine if you don't want to do it or if I accidentally broke a rule. Anyway remember to drink some water and take a break if needed! Have a amazing rest of your day/night!!

Warning: Yandere (not really, not at all). Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Malleus Draconia.

Summary: MC sees affection meters and it's not good.

Note: These are mainly thoughts and random words my mind spewed out.

How did one claim victory at a game? Well, it entirely depended on the game, the mechanics and the options. It should've been impossible to lose a mobile game that was primarily composed of the gacha mechanism and visual novels.

When you suddenly found yourself in the series of twisted villains in a prestigious school of magic, you found that it was much more complex than it appeared on screen. Especially when only you could see these small bars occasionally floating above people's heads. Bars which you recognized as affection meters, nearly all of them stagnant at a dull gray 0% when you first arrived. This was the hurdle blocking your way to an easy victory. Because how else were you to escape the game, other than complete it?

Situations became messier, when you didn't have a dialogue options between two mere choices. Add making good impressions and keeping a character's favor, to the list of quests alongside avoiding death by inky overblotted characters. By some miracle, you had increased the affection of the characters you met and interacted with to a healthy 5% or 10%, sometimes more. At any cost you wished to avoid getting in the negatives, because you did not want to find out what would happen then.

Sometimes, the numbers would drop dangerously close to zero, mainly when an overblot was occuring. Never had you realized how the visual novel failed spectacularly at portraying the utter horror of the overblotted in all their wicked glory. The black inky darkness leaking from them like tears or blood with those crazed unhinged looks in their eyes–– was the stuff of pure nightmares.

And yet the one whose overblot you had been dreading the most, the dorm leader of Diasomnia, was surprisingly docile as you dealt with others. However, you knew even when conversing with him, that you would one day witness him overblot and look like some ethereal but deadly fallen angel. So mentally you prepared yourself, while taking on the task of keeping up appearances.

Malleus' affection meter, was a good 20% and a friendly pink shade, quite the accomplishment you were proud of, considering the majority of the cast wasn't even at 15%. The Draconia heir was certainly someone you never wanted to see reach below zero, so you did your absolute best to appeal to him, even if he was quite intimidating at first with the way he stoically watched you complain about the least of your worries, homework and classes.

By the time you spoke to him about your troubles with the Ramshackle dorm and Azul, during what you knew was the Octavinelle arc, the prince's affection had sprouted to a 22%. When you went into more detail of the potential loss you could face, it went to 23%.

The next time you saw him, you were weary and antsy since witnessing Azul's break-down. If the blot of his tears had the magic to gather, it would've been enough to drown, you were sure of it. Even by that maniac look in his eyes, you're sure he would've purposely drowned you if he got close enough.

Throughout that charlatan's chapter, his affection meter had slowly been rising, dropping during the overblot like the tides only to rise once again by the end to a good 45%. This was good!

But no matter how much you may have pondered, strategized, or try to predict each next action, you could've never guessed that the next time you saw Malleus after Azul's overblot, his expression taut with concern, his affection meter had made a jump to 55% and turned red. This entire time you had been avoiding the negatives, but you never once worried of the dangers and implications a red affection meter above 50% would mean for you. Or heaven forbid, anything close to 100%.

#twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #malleus draconia #twst malleus #yandere malleus draconia

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 1 month ago

Text

Serendipity

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

➯a/n: happy seonghwa day ! drumroll please 🥁🥁🥁 this is the beginning of hwa and his baby's story !! holy shit am i excited to share this, this is the plot that i had in my head the whole time writing the first fics of this au and i knew i wanted to write it but i was just never satisfied until now. this has been in my head for two years, enjoy the ride !

Baby Series (this is the first part chronologically)

✃... "I didn't feel anything. Not a thing. Because he had it coming. He hurt My Baby." ... ✃

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere (lowkey a romance turned horror)

✫彡wordcount: 12k

♫"You're my baby, say it to me." Mitski, I Bet on Losing Dogs

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: hwa is CRAZY FFR, slow burn that kicks into overdrive, reader is an age regressor, ignoring red flags, they smooch, enjoy before it goes downhill 😭 panic attacks, insinuated sh(not reader), past abusive relationship, drugging, detailed recount of murder. only briefly proof read

✩index: little space- a regressed state of mind where someone feels like a child. little / age regressor - a person with a little space. caregiver - someone who cares for a little, usually their significant other. hyung - a close male friend older than you, used by other males.

♫"Since the creation of the universe, everything was destined. Just let me love you." Jimin, Serendipity

➯disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind.

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

It was most likely a mistake on Seonghwa's part to be here. If there was a single photo with his face in it, it would most probably mean the end of his career. But he couldn't help himself. It was something he was always interested in.

His members say he a natural caring aura about him, and they aren't wrong. Something in his brain tells him to care for everyone and everything, especially things he finds adorable.

It's still considered taboo in Korea, but even taboo things have their place in the world.

With a mask over his face, thick rimmed glasses, and a cap; he bit the bullet and entered the convention. He saw a post about it online, urging littles and their caregivers to come and support small businesses that made things within the community.

Although he had no use for these things, no little of his own, he figured it would be a good place to get a feel for the community.

It was surprisingly busy for how much stigma was around the entire idea. People were polite to one another, treating everyone like a good friend. It was different from the rest of Korea; where people kept to themselves for the most part.

He was simply admiring the different variations of bottles made to fit in a bigger hand when he saw it —

When he saw... you.

At the booth next to him, biting your nail as you looked down at the array of pacifiers with a look on your face that would make anyone think you were making the most important decision of your life.

You were... you are breathtaking.

Against his best judgment, his promise to himself to stay under the radar, he speaks up, "big decision?"

You jump up a little bit, placing a hand against your colorfully striped t-shirt. You look him up and down.

"Sorry," he gives you a bow as he steps closer, looking down at the display with you.

"Ah, it's okay," you smile, shifting on your feet, "yeah, I'm having some trouble. I promised myself I would only get one but they're all calling my name."

The little laugh in your voice has his heart thudding wildly, and he passes off his deep calming breath like he's thinking over it as well; bending to get a better look.

"Do you," he clears his throat, "maybe you could ask your caregiver?" Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have one. Pl-

"Oh, I don't have one," you give him a half-smile, looking him up and down once more. He looks well put together and something about him draws you in. He smells like the Earth after it rains. You want to talk to him more. "Your little must be missing you." Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have-

"I don't have a little." He pauses before shaking his hands, "not that I'm here to try and find one! That would probably be weird, I'm just curious! No- not curious, I know I want to be a caregiver but-"

Your precious laugh cuts his rambling off, "hey, it's okay, no judgment here," you gesture around, "clearly."

"Ah," he nods; thankful that his mask is hiding his embarrassed blush, "it's my first time at one of these things... could you tell?"

"Oh, yeah, immediately," you look down with a smile on your lips.

"That obvious, huh?"

"You stick out like a sore thumb, man."

He laughs along with you, resting his elbows on the glass display case. "You fit in pretty well, though. Can I ask, how long have you been... been little?"

"Hmm," you have a thoughtful pout as you look away from the case and at the lanyards on the sides of the pop up walls. "Four- eh, five years soon. How long have you known you want to be a caregiver?"

He's happy that the conversation flows naturally, maybe it's your bubbly aura or your sweet personality. "Long time," he thinks to the first time he ever accidentally cooed at one of his sleeping members, "seven years maybe? I've always been drawn to taking care of people."

"That's what makes a good caregiver. Always putting others first," you giggle, tapping your baby blue nails on the glass, "eh, if I can't decide by now I probably shouldn't buy one."

"Do you have one already?" The question slips before he can think over his words, making his heart drop at the thought that that's probably too intense of a question. But thankfully you don't think anything of it.

"Yeah, but it's about time to replace it. They get worn down even if you take good care of them," you explain for him, resting your cheek in your palm as you meet his gaze. "How much do you know about this stuff?"

"Oh, well," he whispers, looking away from your intense eye contact, "not much, admittedly..." He'd only read a few articles and followed a few pages, and he didn't think he'd be in a relationship with a little anytime soon so he hadn't invested time to deep diving.

"Do you want to walk with me? I can tell you about it, if you like."

"Really?" His head pops up quickly, and he sees you holding back a laugh at his eagerness.

"Yeah!" You nod, giving a last peek towards a light pink pacifier before turning away, "can't have you wondering around here lost, right?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"So you don't?" Seonghwa tilts his head as he looks at the large onsies on display, the cute patterns making him smile under his mask.

"No, my little age is a liiiiittle too big for onsies," you laugh, "see what I did there? Ah, I'm hilarious." You look around, spotting a sign for one of the small businesses you know. You jump, quickly running over.

Seonghwa blinks in confusion for a moment before running after you, his long legs catching up with you easily.

"Miss Lee?" You peek around the stand, flinching back into Seonghwa's chest as the older woman pops into view, picking up a receipt she had dropped. "Ah!"

He quickly wraps his arms around your shoulders, similarly startled. When he notices, he quickly steps back and pats your shoulder instead.

"Oh, (Y/n)! Good to see you!"

"Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack," you joke, thankfully not noticing or caring enough about Seonghwas semi-hug to say anything. You slide into the make shift store, giving her a warm hug. "I didn't know you would be here."

"Last minute decision," she pats your back as she lets go of you, looking towards the man, "who's this?"

"Oh," you smile as you remember his presence, "this is Hwa. He's new to the whole thing, I was showing him around, answering some questions."

"Hello," he bows to the older woman, and she leans forward with a questioning expression.

"Why you wearing that? You a serial killer or something?"

You freeze at the old timers suspicion. It hadn't even crossed your mind.

"No, no, no," he shakes his head quickly at your weary face, "God, no!" He laughs nervously, looking around. Thankfully, Miss Lee's booth is in a further off corner because of her last minute attendance. And he doesn't know why, but he doesn't want his time with you to end.

So, he pulls down his mask. "Not a serial killer, I promise. I'm just... shy about this."

You smile lightly as you take in his features for the first time. Miss Lee tuts her tongue and waves her hand, "no reason to be shy, you're a pretty boy."

He pulls it back up quickly after giving you a smile which makes your heart melt.

"(Y/n), I have something for you! I was going to drop it off at your apartment if I didn't run into you," she's oblivious to your small flirting moment as she quickly changes the subject, opening up a box.

"Ah, I didn't order anything," you shake your head, helping the woman lift the heavy container onto the chair.

"I know, but the person who did cancelled on me, and I immediately thought of you. Their measurements are a bit bigger than you, but I know you like things baggy anyway, angel."

Seonghwa rests his arms on the pink dresser she has at the front, looking on with curiosity and smiling at the woman's kind words to you.

"Are you sure you couldn't sell it-"

"I want you to have it- ah, here it is!" She sets a folded up sweater into your arms. It's a pastel purple fabric that even looks soft to the touch, and he can tell it is by the way you rub your finger tips over it with a happy sigh. As you unfold it, you see her delicate embroidery on the front in a thin cursive. 'Baby', it says, the y at the end curling into a heart.

You pull it over your head without another moment of hesitation and hug the woman again.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

You lead Seonghwa with a new hop in your step, the large sweater bouncing with each of your excited moves. He can see why you like it, it makes you look adorable. He can tell it makes you feel that way, as well.

Your naturally happy personality is doubled by something as simple as a big, soft, sweater. It's fascinating. The psychologically behind all of this is intriguing to him.

"What about those?" He points to some plates with little separated areas, different cartoons and patterns on them.

"Hm?" You halt and come back to his side, "ah, lots of littles have sensory issues — just like kids do. When the food touches a different food it gets all icky." Your nose scrunches up at the thought, so he asks.

"Do you use them?"

"Oh, yeah. If my foods touch it's like they're contaminated. I know it's silly, b-"

"I don't think it's silly."

You look up at him, a soft smile gracing your face. "No?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

He sits facing the wall, thankful to let his face get some fresh air without the fear of anyone seeing him. Especially now that he's with you.

There's a cafe across the street that you suggested after showing him almost everything to see; neither of you ready to part ways just yet.

"Tada~" You slide into the seat across from him, offering him his drink that you kindly paid for even though he insisted he could do so.

"Thanks," he smiles, happy that you can finally see his expressions when you smile back wider than before.

"No problem!" You watch as he takes a sip and chews on the boba with a pout on his lips. "Good?"

"Mhm! You were right," he quickly goes for another, making you chuckle as you sip on your own drink.

"So," he leans forward, "besides all of... that," he gestures to the busy gathering across the road, "what do you do?"

"I work for a law firm." His eyes widen, making you laugh loudly; he clearly wasn't expecting that. "In the filing room," you clarify, pushing up the long sleeves of the sweater and groaning when they fall back down.

"Ah, okay, sorry! I didn't meant to seem so shocked," he sets his drink down, motioning for you to bring your arm forward, "may I?"

"Thanks," you lift your arm out across the table, watching his fingers closely as he rolls up the fabric neatly, "uhm, what about you?" He pauses, and bites his lip as he reaches for your other arm. "Wait, you aren't actually a killer, are you?"

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he makes the sleeves even, "I'm uh... I'm in the entertainment industry."

"Oh, why are you so-"

"I'm an idol." He finally blurts out.

You stare at each other for a long moment, your arms dropping to the table with a thunk. "Huh?"

"I'm an idol. My name is Seonghwa, not just Hwa. I'm in a group called ATEEZ and I don't know why I'm telling you all this but I can't get my mouth to stop!" He slaps a hand over his mouth with a groan, thanking his lucky stars that nobody else is in the cafe and the worker has their headphones on.

You tilt your head, eyebrows pushing together. "No, you aren't," you shake your head, "no way! I see ads for that group everywhere, I would recognized y...ooooh." Your jaw drops as he holds up his phone, a picture of their latest promotional poster on the screen. Sure enough, there he is. And here he is, too, in front of you. "Shiiiit, damn!" You thud your head onto the table. "I thought I actually had a chance with you." It's your turn to blurt something out.

"... What?"

"What?" You parrot him, suddenly realizing what you said and sitting up stalk straight. "Wow, that was really inappropriate of me-"

"Can I take you on a date?"

You blink in surprise, daring to look him in the eyes. He looks as sincere as anyone ever has, his eyes glimmering with hope. You take a long sip of your drink before throwing your head back dramatically, "ugh! How could I say no to that?!"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

A couple of days later, your phone pings at work. With nothing to do, you bring it out from your pocket.

HWA SENT TWO MESSAGES.

You smile down at the device as you open them up.

7:47AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. Okay, have a good day at work!

9:16AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. Do you have plans tonight? My schedule opened up, I was wondering if I could give you that date?

You tap your nails against the back of your phone as you think.

9:18AM. YOU SENT A MESSAGE. i'm free after work ! what time were you thinking ?

As soon as you sat it down, it buzzed again. "This guy," you laugh to yourself.

9:20AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. I was thinking we could eat dinner together. What time do you usually eat?

9:21AM. YOU SENT A MESSAGE. usually around 7, how does that sound ?

9:23AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. That sounds good. Is it okay if I come to your place? I can bring whatever you like.

You hesitate for a moment, biting your thumb. You don't know him that well. Inviting a stranger, a strange man, into your home was usually always asking for trouble.

9:25AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. Sorry, that probably was weird of me to ask. We can find somewhere!

Your anxiety is replaced by a smile as you type back quickly.

9:25AM. YOU SENT A MESSAGE. no, that sounds good ! it would probably be hard to find a quiet place on a friday. i'll send my address to you in a bit !

You slam the phone down and ignore the buzz as he texts you back after a few moments; staring ahead with wide eyes as you realize you just invented a man over to your home. You doubted he would try to take things further than a cheek kiss; even that was a big maybe. But it was still nerve wracking.

But then... you think of the gentle way he rolled your sleeves, and the way he blurted out the truth to you against his better judgement. His smile, his pretty eyes.

"Ugh!" You slam your head onto the desk. "I almost wish he was a serial killer."

"What?!" Your coworker yells from the corner.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"A date!" Your best friend, Yejin, repeats for the third time in thirty minutes as you both rush around to pick up any mess in your apartment.

"Yes," you roll your eyes as you toss the broom at her.

"A daaaate?" She laughs at your exhausted face, tired of her teasing.

"Yup," you turn back around quickly, fixing up the pillows on your little sofa. "I'm already nervous, okay?"

"Why didn't you go to a restaurant? I really didn't expect to go from not knowing this guy existed to cleaning your house so he can come over!"

"Don't worry about it," you tut your tongue, rushing to pick up your coloring books and shove them into the box in the corner.

"Does he know-"

"Yes, he knows I'm an age regressor."

She nods, suddenly having a more serious look about her.

"What?"

"I was going to ask does he know about Namsun..."

You throw the last book with a sigh, sitting on the floor. She knows it's a sensitive subject, but she doesn't know how much this guy actually knows about you. She really didn't know you were even talking to someone until a few hours ago. But apparently he was trustworthy enough to invite over. "No..."

"Are you sure it's a good idea to have him over so soon, Babe?" She crouches next to you, looking at you intently, "what do you even know about this guy?"

"A lot..." I watched some of his videos, you want to say.

She sighs, patting your shoulder as she glances at her watch. "It's almost seven, you should get ready." She knows there's no stopping you.

There's no stopping destiny.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

Seonghwa sets out the multiple styrofoam boxes on your short coffee table, sitting cross legged on a pillow you offered him. "Sorry, again," you say as you come back from the kitchen, handing him his choice of drinks after you'd called them out to him. "My dining table got broke like a year ago and I haven't had the time to replace it."

"It's okay," he smiles, any time spent with you will be perfect, he wants to say. Way too soon for that, he knows. Instead, "thanks for agreeing to eat here. We can just relax, not worry about others."

"Yeah, I get it! It must be hard to just do normal things when you're a celebrity." You hum as you hand him a plate, setting one infront of you as well.

"Celebrity," he snorts a laugh, covering his mouth quickly, "sorry..."

You laugh, shaking your head, "what? That was cute." You suck your lips in as you realize what you said, similarly looking down shyly. "Anyway! Let's eat, where's this from?"

He takes a sip of his drink to calm himself before looking up and responding as he watches you open the boxes. "It's from a place called Lin's Express, I go there a lot with- hey, won't that bother you?" He pauses as he sees the flat plate infront of you, remembering the way your face scrunched up at the thought of food touching each other.

You look down, blinking at the dish for a second before clarity hits you. "Oh, I forgot you know about that! I usually just deal with it when I eat with others."

The thought makes him a bit sad. You shouldn't have to be uncomfortable just for the satisfaction or ease of others who don't understand. "No," he shakes his head, picking it up and placing it in your confused hands, "I want you to be comfortable. You should use one of your plates."

You tilt your head as you look up from the plate, meeting his eyes. "Really? I mean- that won't make you feel like you're eating with a kid?"

He shakes his head, quick to reassure you, "I know you're really an adult. I'm in your apartment, why would I think you're a kid if you eat from a divided plate?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right," you smile, quickly going to the kitchen and exchanging your dish. He takes the moment to look around, taking in your style and the various pictures on your walls. From his spot on the floor, he can't make out a lot of them; but they seem to be different sceneries and some family photos.

One of them catches his eye more than the others, it's of you and another woman your age on your left. The person on your right has been torn away and replaced by another photo; one of a beautiful sunrise taken high up. You were clearly trying to remove the person from the photo. But their hand is on your hip.

"Better," you sit with a little sigh, not noticing his gaze on the photo as you finish opening up the few boxes.

He looks away quickly when he feels you look at him, smiling over at you. "Good," he hums, picking up the chopsticks you provided him, "I want you to be comfortable with me!"

"Thanks, Hwa," you mirror him, gathering some noodles onto a section of your plate, "Lin's Express, you said? Smells good!"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"You did?"

You both lay on your backs on your living room floor, stomachs full and hearts content as you tilt your heads to look at each other.

"I did! It was terrifying," you chuckle as you recount the day that you and Yejin swam with sharks, "I can't believe I let her convince me to do that! I mean... they were basking sharks, totally harmless, but still!"

He laughs with you, "I would have freaked out the second I saw them. It's in our nature to be scared of things that can kill us!"

"That's," you slap his shoulder playfully, "exactly! Exactly what I said! But she said it would be good for me to do something thrilling to feel empowered."

"She sounds like a good friend," he thinks back to the picture, his eyes flitting to it, "is that her?"

"Uh?" You follow his eyes, "yeah that's her! We've been friends for like... nine years now? Going on a decade."

"Can I ask," he hesitates, "what happened to the rest of the picture?"

"Oh," you roll over onto your stomach, folding your arms and resting your chin on them. "I guess that is kind of a weird thing to see hanging in someone's house..."

He sees your mood faltering, so he places a hand on your arm gently, "you don't have to tell me. It can be a story for another day."

"Thanks, it's definitely a 'another day' type of story," you lean and kiss his knuckle before sitting up. You don't notice the blush on his cheeks or the way he holds his kissed hand to his chest. You stretch your arms over your head and look at the ticking clock. "Woah, we've been talking for four hours!"

"What?!" He sits up quickly and surely enough — the clock reads fifteen past ten. "Oh, shit," he scrambles for his phone, left face down on the table, "sorry, I promised my members I'd check in every so often."

"Oh, crap! I told Yejin the same!" You dive for the couch, and aren't surprised to see a barrage of messages and missed calls from your friend. The most recent of which reading:

9:45PM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. OKAY THATS IT IM CHECKING YOUR BLINK TO MAKE AURE HE DIDNT DRAG YOUR BODY OUT

9:51PM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. dude, if you're getting laid right now and not DEAD IN A DITCH I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF

10PM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. please don't be dead in a ditch

You quickly reply to tell her that you're in fact alive, chuckling as you see her go back and forth with herself trying to figure out if you're dead or just 'getting the pipe' as she put it.

Seonghwas voice pulls you from your phone, "Dude! Would you stop face-timing me while I'm trying to type?" He frowns at his phone before looking up and giving you an apologetic look.

"Dude!" The man over the device mocks him, "would you answer the fucking phone so we know you're not being help captive?! You asshole, what were you doing for four hours?"

"We were just-"

"Holy shit..." The tone of his voice makes Seonghwa try to stop him before he can say something embarrassing.

"No! No, no, Wooyoung-" Try, that is.

"Yah, guys! He was just getting laid!"

Seonghwa drops the phone, hiding in his hands.

You burst into laughter, your head tilted back with the force of it. He looks up, watching with a fond glint in his eyes as you cover your mouth with your arm, sound still managing to escape.

"Oh," the man on the phone whispers like he isn't being projected through a speaker, "oh, fuck, Hyung... can she hear me?"

"Bye, Wooyoung!"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

The next date is a week later, and he says he's more than happy to host you as it would be nearly impossible to find a quiet place where you wouldn't be noticed on a Saturday.

He opens the door with a big smile, relief flooding him as he sees you.

"Hey, Hwa," you smile up at him, shifting your weight on your feet.

"You look adorable." He says it before he even realizes it, but he doesn't regret it one bit.

To the untrained eye, you're just in a girly outfit with your hair moved out of your face to fight off the heat.

But Seonghwa has been reading up on everything to do with age regression, even more than before now that he's talking with you. Much more. Anything remotely little space related, he would bookmark.

One thing he remembers most clearly is about how littles can try to comfort themselves in public. With things that could be passed off as something else if they were questioned about it. Things like coloring or drawing and saying it's meditative. Or fidget toys, you could easily say help with anxiety. Or like right now, you're wearing more 'childish' clothes that could be passed off as your style or vibe.

"Oh, really?" You look down at your outfit shyly. You wanted a little bit of extra comfort in a new place, so you made yourself feel small with your choices. "Thank you."

"Yeah," he sounds almost breathless as he looks you up and down for the umpteenth time.

"Who's at the door?" Someone yells from within, breaking his trance.

"Sorry, come in, come in." He quickly ushers you inside, "you can just put your shoes over with ours, here." He takes them for you, placing them on the racks with multiple other pairs.

"Thanks, Hwa," you look around the apartment, unaware of how the nickname makes his heart flutter. You never stopped calling him that even after he told you his full name. "What did you have plan-"

"Ah!" Someone yells as they exit the hallway, their eyes immediately on your unfamiliar face, "who is this?!"

Seonghwa's body reacts before his mind again, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and holding you to himself as you both get startled; just like the first day you met. "Jesus, Wooyoung!" He scolds the other man, letting out a sigh. "What are you doing? You scared the crap out of me," he rubs your shoulders briefly before he lets go of you, "you don't even live here."

"Me scared you? You're the one who brought a girl over unannounced! What if I was naked?!"

You cover your mouth as your giggles threaten to come up, looking between them as they go back and forth.

"I told the people who actually live with me, that-"

"Well, I didn't hear about this!"

"Because you don't live in this apartment, Young-ie! And why would you be naked?!"

"I'm-"

"Will you-"

"Hey, you must be (Y/n)," another man greets much more politely as he comes out behind Wooyoung, giving you a bow which you quickly return.

"(Y/n)? Like first date was five hours long (Y/n)?" Wooyoung gets slapped with realization, "oooooh! Sorry, sorry," he nods quickly, smiling your way.

"Yeah, Hyung told me and Mingi she would be coming over." Seonghwa gives Wooyoung a look that screams 'told you.'

"Nice to meet you," you bow again, standing by his side like you're afraid to move away.

He's internally freaking the fuck out at the fact you're really here, even more so that you're being so nice to his members even though one of them just jump scared you and only a week ago insinuated that you slept with him.

"Sorry about-" Wooyoung clears his throat, "yeah, sorry."

"Are you thirsty," Seonghwa ignores the two of them and looks down at you, "I saw that you walked here, it's a pretty long way."

You have butterflies in your stomach at the thought of him watching your location, making sure you found your way to him safely. "Uhm, a little bit."

"Come on," he grabs your hand gently and leads you, "sorry about them. I diiid warn you."

Wooyoung and San watch you disappear into the kitchen, the younger tilting his head. "I didn't know Hyung was into girly girls. Ow! What was that for?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"Do you see this piece?"

His floor is covered in an array of Lego pieces, he sits cross legged on one side of the pile and you're laid on your stomach on the other.

You turn your instruction packet to face him, still searching.

You're making a bouquet of flowers, and he's making a vase for them to go in; talking about random things that come up as you go.

It been about two hours and you're both on your final pieces. But you can't find one of the long green sticks that the bodies of your flowers go on.

"Uhm," he looks around the few remaining pieces, pouting, "no, I don't."

"Dang," you close the book with a small huff, then a shrug, "we're missing one of the stems! One, two, three..." You count the ones in your hand again.

"Hmmm," he looks over the flowers you made and picks one up carefully. A black dahlia. "Maybe, I can keep this one? And you can put the rest on the stems?"

You slide up to sit on your knees and think for a second. "Smart! I was just going to use a straw or something, that probably wouldn't have gone too well," you laugh, gently putting the remaining flowers onto the sticks while he carefully sets the dahlia on his desk.

"Creative, I like it," he smiles as he watches over you for a moment. You move the plastic flowers into different places in your hand, trying to figure out how to arrange them.

You're doing something so simple, mundane.

But Seonghwa thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the world in that moment.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"Food!" Comes a muffled yell from somewhere in the apartment.

You and Seonghwa were laid side by side on his bed, his fingers tracing yours as he listens intently to your stories and shares his own.

"Uh?" He picks up his phone and looks at the time, his eyes widening, "oh, the time got away from us again," he chuckles as he shows you. It's already 8 in the evening, when you had arrived sometime around 3 in the afternoon.

It feels like time doesn't exist when he's with you. Nothing does.

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry," you sit up quickly, and he comes with you.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he reassures as he sets a hand on your back softly, "uhm, since you're here, if you want to, why don't you eat with us?"

"That's sweet, but I'd feel like I'm intruding." You pick up your bag where he hung it off the back of his chair, straightening out your clothes. "I had a really good time-"

"Come on, Baby. You have to eat, don't feel like you're intruding."

You stop in your tracks, bag half on your shoulder. "...what?"

He swings his legs off the edge of the bed quickly, looking at you closely. Did he say something wrong? Did he push your boundaries? Fuck fuck fuck fuck, fix this!

"Sorry, I just meant that we'd be more than glad to have you eat here! It isn't a problem at all, I-"

"Baby?"

He slaps a hand over his mouth as he recalls his words, quickly standing and bowing to you over and over as you stand there star-struck. "I'm sorry, (Y/n), I didn't mean to call you that, it just slipped out! Please, forgive me."

He pauses when he feels your hand on his shoulder. He's scared to look up, but he does anyway.

And he's immediately relieved.

You're smiling down at him, "it's okay, Hwa. I can be your Baby." You lean and give him a modest kiss to his cheek before pulling away all too quickly and putting your bag back on the chair. "Let's eat, yeah?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

The table has a comfortable atmosphere around it as you all eat and talk together.

You hear all kinds of stories about the man you're now officially dating, ranging from hilarious to heartwarming.

He sits beside you, chin in his hand as he watches you talking with his members; a smile stuck on his face.

San and Mingi, his roommates, tell you jokingly to be careful about messes because their Hyung is a neat-freak. Wooyoung apologizes for his behavior and then immediately gets his hand smacked with San's chopsticks as he tries to sneak a piece of meat from his plate. Yeosang, who only came over to get a charger, ended up staying when you and him clicked.

"You seriously don't know any of our songs? You didn't look us up? I find that hard to believe," Yeosang eyes you kiddingly, "in this day and age? I bet Seonghwa Hyung looked you up. Am I right?"

Seonghwa tears his eyes from you and looks up at the ceiling, "uhhhm, no! Nope." His voice is high and clearly he's lying, so you shove his shoulder lightly.

"Yah, no way! Psh, jokes on you. There's much more information about you online than there is about me."

"So, you did Google him?" Wooyoung smirks from across the table, leaning over it.

"Well-" Your mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish out of water before they start laughing. "Can you blame me?! I mean, c'mon! Look at him, I had to know if I stood a chance!" You groan, covering your face with your hand.

Seonghwa places a hand on your head as he leans towards you in his laughter, his eyes shut as he presses his forehead to your shoulder. Mingi is about to fall off his chair at the look on your face as you got caught red handed. Yeosang punches your other shoulder gently, "I knew it!"

"Okay, okay! I did look him up but I didn't full on stalk him! Just like... the basics. Like what he probably saw about me when he was doing the same thing!" You laugh with them, leaning back in your chair.

"Ah," he sighs, wiping his eyes as he leans back into his own space, "so we're on an even playing field, you think?"

"I know how to tell!" Wooyoung jumps up, slamming his hands on the table.

A few minutes later, you and Seonghwa sit side by side on the couch, a piece of paper and a pen for each of you curtesy of Mingi.

It's starting to rumble with thunder outside, so you figured you'd stay and wait out the storm. April showers. That's all it is, it should pass within the hour. Plus; you're having a good time.

"So, we're writing down the answer for each other, right?" You question, twirling the pen in your fingers, "so if you say, like, 'favorite movie' I would write what I think his favorite movie is?"

"Yup! Ready? Birthday?!" He starts slamming you both with questions, San and Mingi chuckling as Yeosang watches with his cheek in his palm; curled up in an armchair.

Birthday, zodiac sign, favorite movie (because of course he stole your question), favorite weather, parents names, the list went on until you both ran out of space on the papers.

He switches your papers, and tells you to grade each other.

Seonghwa smiles as he sees that you know the answer to almost every question besides the more obscure or personal ones.

Your eyes widen as you put check mark after check mark to his answers. Do you really talk that much? Did you really tell him your mother's name? You have been talking almost nonstop for a month, whenever you both were free almost all of your free time went to texting or calling. But did you already mention your love language or was he just that observant? When had you talked about your fear of the dark?

"Hwa..." You whisper, calling their attention, you feel a bit of a shiver down your spine but you attribute it to the air conditioning. "Are you sure you aren't a serial killer? How do you know I'm afraid of the dark?" You force a little huff of a laugh, peeking at him. The others look at him curiously.

"Hm?" He looks at the paper and blushes a bit. "Oh, I uh... I admittedly had a look at your Instagram, I saw that a lot of your pictures were taken in a light night, so I guessed..."

It's quiet for a second.

"Wow, you're a creep, Hyung!" Wooyoungs outburst breaks the thickness in the air, making it comfortable once again.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"It doesn't seem like it's going to clear up," Seonghwa sighs as he clicks off the weather channel, looking over to where you stand at the windows, watching the storm crash down on the city.

It was just you and him in the living room, Yeosang and Wooyoung returned to their own apartments and San and Mingi retired to bed.

"Ah, I should call Yejin and have her pick me up so you can get some rest." Before you can go to retrieve your phone from the table, he stands up.

"You don't have to do that, Baby," he hums, rubbing your arm gently as he sees the worried look on your adorable face, "nobody should be driving in this, it's too dangerous. You can sleep here, take the bed; I'll sleep on the couch-"

"No, no," you shake your head, looking down, "I can't possibly do that. I've already-"

"I promise it's okay." He stops you, looking down at you sincerely, "we could call it a sleep over." He cracks as smile as you giggle, gesturing with his head down the hall, "come on, you can wear something of mine to sleep in."

You thank him again and again as he gathers you something that will fit, even give him another kiss on the cheek before you close the door to the bathroom to change.

He changes while you're in the bathroom and then sits down on the edge of his bed with wide eyes. He can't believe he got you to stay. He can't believe you're going to sleep in his bed. He can't believe you've kissed his cheek... twice. He can't believe you believed his bullshit lie about Instagram.

Truth be told, the first time you hung out; he snooped. He 'accidentally' opened the door to your bedroom instead of the bathroom. He learned as much as he could in as little time as possible.

When you come back to his room, his heart feels like it simultaneously stops and beats a million miles per hour.

The sleep pants he lent you fit a little awkwardly but you look comfortable. The sweater you had brought with you just in case hides your hands as you fidget with them nervously.

His back straightens as he looks you up and down. "Wow..."

Just like before. It's something mundane. Domestic. And —

"You look so beautiful."

He only realizes that he said it out loud because your eyes widen. Then his do. It's a staring contest of sorts.

"Sorry." He blurts out. "Actually," he takes it back, "I'm not sorry. I mean it. You're beautiful."

Your ears feel red hot, "s-shut up," you laugh lightly as you set your folded up clothes with your bag.

When you turn around, he's right behind you. "Oh my!" He snuck up on you in what seems like a millisecond, quiet as a mouse. But he's looking down at you like a hawk. "Hwa, is-"

"Can I kiss you?"

The question comes seemingly out of nowhere. But it's been on his mind since the second you entered his room for the first time.

You feel sunburnt everywhere as your blood rushes, licking your lips when your eyes copy his and look at his plump lips as he looks at yours. "Ye-"

His lips crash into yours, his hands hesitating before he brings them up. His finger tips graze your cheeks softly before his palms slowly cradle them, holding you tenderly as your lips move together without hurry.

He leads you to the bed, falling on his back and letting you crash onto him as your lips refuse to part from each other.

Your hands find purchase on either side of his head, and his find their way to your hips.

Your entire body is on fire. His entire being is set ablaze.

Your bodies start to move against each other in tandem with your lips as your mouths part, allowing one another to get your first taste of each other.

He's already addicted.

So he's thankful when you pull back, panting, and whisper, "stay with me."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

April is gone and in comes May. You've been dating Park Seonghwa for just over four weeks when he shows up at your door on a random Tuesday.

A random Tuesday that you just so happen to be home sick on.

"Hwa," you whine as you open the door, "I told you not to come over. I don't want to get you sick."

He simply smiles and lifts up a plastic bag on his fingers, "Lin's Express?"

You immediately turn around and head back inside, "come in, then."

"I thought so," he laughs airily, closing the door behind him, "have you taken any medicine, Baby?"

"Uhhhh," you groan on as you fall back into the couch were you've set yourself up, "couple of hours ago, but I ran out-"

"Wham!" He grins widely as he places a bottle of cold medicine on the coffee table, from the bag that had been in his other hand.

"H- wha-" You stutter, "how in the world do you know me so well?"

He shrugs playfully, taking off the seal before handing it to you, "here you go."

"Thanks, Hwa," you down some quickly before falling back across the couch, watching as he sets out the food. "Why aren't you at work?"

"I know you haven't felt good for a few days so I asked to record my lines first, so I could come take care of you as early as I could."

The words, you don't know why, they make you tear up. When you sniffle, he looks up quickly.

"Baby?"

"You're so sweet," you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, "I think I'm still in denial."

"Denial?" He asks quietly as he shuffles to the couch on his knees, rubbing your side softly. "Denial of what?"

"That you chose me to be with. You could have anyone you want, and you're here. You- you're here. Taking care of me when I'm sick."

He pouts, leaning his head down on the armrest to mirror yours. "I don't want anyone else."

Your brows push together. He sounds so serious.

"I don't want to be anywhere else. With anyone else. I only want to be with you. You make me feel... peace. Peace that I haven't felt in- in... ever." He won't tell you this, but after the first night you spent at his apartment; he took a walk to the river the next day and threw his razor blades in the rushing water. You gave him the relief that they used to provide. And you did it so softly. "I don't want anyone else. I want you. I chose you."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

You don't know how it happened, but after that, you found yourself falling into your little space.

Maybe it was a mix of his loving words and soft touches as he helped you sit up and eat. A mix of exhaustion and emotions pushing you to go to your safe space.

You never went there with him before. But no matter how hard you fought it, you still found yourself feeling tiny.

You've both talked about it a lot, about what you did and how you felt and what you wanted. But you were still scared to let someone in after what happened last time.

He notices you biting your lip, deep in thought as he rinses the dishes. "Everything okay, Baby?"

Damn his favorite nickname for you, making you shrink even more. "I think, uhm," you look around, picking at your gingham pajama shorts. They're too rough for your increasingly fragile state. "Oh, I'm having a panic attack." You realize, stating it nonchalantly.

"What?" He quickly turns off the faucet, drying his hands on the way to you, worry clear on his face. He stops a few steps away, wanting nothing more than to embrace you as he watches your breathing get shallow and sharp, but he knows better than to crowd someone having a panic attack from his experiences with his members and himself. He crouches and tries to meet your gaze, but your eyes are going too fast from place to place. "Baby, look at me, please?"

Your eyes stop their incessant scanning of the rooms, landing on him with tears pressing against your waterline.

"What can I do to help you, right now?" Clear and soft questions. He doesn't want to make you go deeper into your panic.

"I n-" You heave, fingers still picking at the rough fabric of your shorts, "I need to change." You settle on, abruptly standing up — only to get dizzy and fall back down, Seonghwa's hands outreached; having been ready to catch you.

"Okay, okay, can I pick you up? Is that okay? You're not in a place to walk," he approaches gradually, keeping his hands visible.

You nod without a second thought. The panic attack you forced yourself into in the midst of fighting yourself officially put your mind into little space.

You hold onto him tightly as he gently and slowly wraps his arms around you and lifts you up. Your arms lock around his neck and your legs around his waist.

He makes the trip to your room quickly, even though he wants to revel in the feeling of you clinging to him; he knows it's not the time.

You hesitate to let go of him when he sets you on your bed, a small whine leaving you that makes his heart tug as he lets go of you.

"Which drawer, Baby?"

You point. The one on the bottom.

When he opens it, he starts putting the dots together on what made you freak out. This drawer seems to be dedicated to childish looking clothes of all kinds. He was making you fall into your regression.

He bites back a smile as he moves to the side and lets you point again. He knew it was only a matter of time, especially with the way you froze when he first called you Baby. Especially with the way he was purposefully being extra caring while you were sick; having read that age regressors often went to their safe place when sick or stressed.

He successfully gathers what you wordlessly ask for, and sets the clothes on the bed next to you, "do you need help, Baby?" Another whine leaves you, and you struggle with yourself for a moment before nodding.

Finally, he thinks as he helps you into the Tinkerbell themed pajamas.

Finally.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

When you manage to calm yourself down with the help of Seonghwa's soft humming, he finally asks (though he already knows the answer), "do you want to tell me what happened?"

You're feeling so nice and fuzzy-headed when you finally stop fighting yourself, you almost don't know what he's talking about. "Oh... I was scared." You decided on a simple answer until you're prompted more.

And prompt he does, "what were you scared of, angel?"

You melt into the way he's holding you as he lets slip another sweet nickname. You don't want to think about that, but the logic in the back of your brain says that he deserves to know.

He waits for your brain to catch up and find your words, rubbing your back slowly and looking at you intently.

"I was scared that you would be like... like a bad daddy," you sigh, playing with the fur on one of your stuffed animals. "But you aren't. He was a butthole."

The way he chuckles makes you move from your place on his chest, and you giggle at the feeling. "A butthole?"

"Yeah!" You sit up, groaning as your sick body protests. You look down at him, and he can see the change in your mindset. Your eyes are a window to your soul; and right now your soul is small and putting all of your trust in him not to squish you. "But you aren't. You're... the best."

"Are you feeling small, Baby?"

You bite your lip. He notices you do that a lot in little space, even in the short amount of time it's been. "Yeah..."

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Please say yes. Please say yes. Please let me stay. Please say-

"Yes. If you want to?" Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes. Please don't leave me-

"Of course I want to."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

It's beautiful outside about a week later. The park has people few and far between because it's a weekday, you used a vacation day to spend it with Seonghwa.

His job made things harder to work around, but you were more than willing to hop around weird schedules and hidden dates.

The sun is beginning to set on the horizon. It paints the sky pink and orange. Birds are flocking together. The leaves and flowers blow with the gentle breeze. You're sitting on some cement steps next to a large tree.

"Are you one of those people who bruise easily?" He asks out of nowhere.

"What?" You look over at him with wide eyes. Lately, if something he says even has a hint of anything strange in it out of context; your body goes into fight or flight. You blame it on your trust issues, getting used to being in a relationship again.

"Do you bruise easily?" He repeats himself as he gestures to the mark on your arm.

"Oh," you sigh a laugh, rubbing over the bruise, "I guess I am. I hit it on a filing cabinet yesterday."

"Awe," he leans and kisses it softly, "My Baby needs to be careful."

"I'll be careful," you smile as you rest your forehead on his.

These past two months have been beautiful. You're starting to think you've met 'the one'. Besides the little overbearing things here and there, or the strange look in his eye when you get too casual with Yeosang, Seonghwa is the man of your dreams.

He even suggested that you called him 'Mommy' while in little space so that you never connect him with the 'Daddy' who mistreated you. He says he likes it better that way, anyway. He always been more traditionally 'motherly' when caring for others.

You can't argue with that. He really is. Soft, and nurturing, and beyond attentive. And his eyes light up when you say it.

"Give me a kiss," you implore him, fingers dragging through his grown out hair gingerly. You'll be sad when he has to cut it. He lets you put it in pigtails and braids. He lets you play with it until you both fall asleep whenever you spend the night together. It's only been a few times, but it's the best sleep he's ever gotten. He finds it hard to sleep without you most nights, now.

"Can't say no to that," he rejoices as he cups one of your cheeks, bringing you in close and kissing you just the way that makes you putty in hands.

You sigh into the kiss; leaning to follow him as he pulls away, making him chuckle, "we're in public, Baby."

"Mh, let's go to my place."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

You get a message from him during the work day the day after that. He should be busy. You are busy.

You get another. Your phone is lying face down on your desk as you make copies.

It goes off quite a few times.

When you finally sit down, your eyes widen.

HWA<3 SENT SIX MESSAGES.

TWO MISSED CALLS FROM HWA<3.

You open them up quickly.

1:32PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. Baby, don't freak out

1:32PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. Just promise you'll stay calm, okay?

1:33PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. I swear to God, I'll take care of this

1:35PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. You're busy at work? I hope so

1:35PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. Don't look online. Don't read any of it, okay?

1:37PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. I'll meet you at your place

"What..." You look at the time. 1:52. There was still hours until the work day ended.

Against his text, you open up Google. You pause for a moment. He didn't even say what happened.

You type in his name, and go to the news section. Your eyes fill with tears immediately.

All of the latest news articles are about his girlfriend. About you. Thankfully your name isn't on any of them. Thankfully your face is blocked by his in the picture of you sharing a kiss.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

You almost forgotten that this was a possibility. You were so wrapped up in his love that you forgot that his entire life is public.

Against your better judgment, you click on the comments under one of the articles. Some say how cute you look together. Some speculate if you work in the industry. Some are mean.

You shut off your phone and walk right out of your office building.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"She doesn't want to talk to you yet."

Seonghwa jumps up from his spot sitting leaning against your apartment door. He'd been there for hours. He knocked for a long time. But he didn't get any answer. Your phone went straight to voicemail for a while.

He comes face to face with the woman who was in the torn picture with you. A few years older, sure, but that's her. "Yejin, right?! Oh my god, is she okay? Did you talk to her? Please-"

"She's not. She called me to come over and help her with figuring things out."

"Figure-" He stutters, "what? I'm her boyfriend, I'm the one she should be 'figuring things out' with!"

"Look, you seem like a good guy. But she isn't used to being in the spotlight. If I had known you were an idol, I'd have smacked her silly for even thinking about dating you."

He's frozen in his spot, eyes sad and posture slumped.

"But... she's been really happy with you. I think she just needs some time to, uhm, process. After everything she's been through with Namsun, at least give her that." She seems to notice the confused look in his eyes. "Oh, shit, she hasn't told you..."

Her phone pings.

"Is that her?" He jumps, "please, tell her to answer me-"

"Give me your number."

"What?" He's more confused than before, but he types it into her phone as she swipes the spare key from the top of the door frame.

"I'll text you when we're done talking. She really likes you, so you deserve a chance. I'll tell you what she says. But for the love of God," she unlocks the door and steps in, "give her some space."

He only catches a glimpse of you in the living room as she retrieves her phone —

Before the door is slammed in his face.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

Time passes. Agonizingly slow.

Seonghwa got a text from Yejin that said you were still trying to sort your thoughts. And that was all he got.

Ever since you met, you hadn't gone a day without speaking.

Now it was bordering on 48 hours.

He was sitting on the couch with Mingi and Hongjoong, his best friend trying to console him as all he did was stare at whatever was on the television. He hadn't eaten, and he certainly hadn't slept. He'd barely moved.

Just stared at his phone and waited.

When his phone pings with a soft and bright tone that he set specifically to you, he throws himself off of the couch. The sudden movement makes the others flinch. He hadn't even lifted a finger in the past two hours.

He falls to his knees as he grabs his phone, reading the message immediately.

No...

The words can't be real, they can't be.

You tell him that you enjoyed every second with him, that you think he's the best person you've ever been with. But you can't be with him. Not right now. You aren't meant for the spotlight. He is, though. And he should enjoy it. But you can't be with him and have a clear conscience when you know that your very presence in his life causes issues in his career. And you certainly can't deal with the pressure of always being under a microscope. He's strong for being able to handle it, you say. You tell him that maybe in the future you can be together again, or in a different timeline. And at the very end —

love, your baby

He loses his fucking mind.

His phone, which has been being squeezed progressively tighter; finally shatters in his hand. "Hyung!" Hongjoong yelps, stepping forward to make sure he's okay, "what-"

A scream of pure heartache rips through the apartment. The building. The entire street.

Mingi slams his hands over his ears and grimaces, looking at Seonghwa with a mixture of sadness and fear.

He's had episodes like this before. Fits of emotion that couldn't be contained. They usually ended in destruction, but they didn't usually start with it. They didn't start this fast. It was always a slow build of moments when he would become snappy, irritable. They'd grow closer and closer together until one day he just lost it; he couldn't hold himself back anymore. And then destruction would begin.

But he skipped all of that. A few minutes ago, he was staring blankly at nothing in particular — now he's smashing his fist against his broken phone, yelling.

Not a lot of words manage to form on his tongue, just shouts and yells of "no" that tell Hongjoong and Mingi to back up because things are about to get uglier.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

You manage to drag yourself to and from work the following two days after you officially broke things off with Seonghwa. Thankfully, since your face wasn't visible in any of the photos, life continued as it did before you met him.

You kept looking at your phone, expecting to see a message from him. You don't know what you expect it to say - what you expect him to say.

But you guess he's just as heart broken as you are.

It's a classic case of right person, wrong time. That's what you tell yourself over and over. Wrong time. Wrong time. Wrong time.

On your way out of work on the third day, you get a text from Yejin canceling your movie night plans last minute. She's been your rock through it all, so you can't fault her for missing one night of plans.

Instead, you take a long walk. A long walk. The sky becomes dark and the streetlights flick on overhead as you walk back the way you came hours before.

You're listening to his groups music on your headphones. You weren't lying when you told them you never heard them. And it was probably a mistake to start now — because his voice does just as much to soothe the ache in your heart as it does to break it. It leaves you somewhere in the middle. But it solidifies the fact that he's born to be an idol. And idols don't date without drama. And you don't want any part of it.

Most of the lights in your apartment building are off. The sensor light flicks on as you enter your floor, a sigh leaving your lips as you let your fingers relax around your keys.

The lock doesn't turn when you unlock it. It's already undone. You've been a bit frazzled lately.

"Damn it, (Y/n)," you mumble to yourself as you hang your keys, flicking the light on as you kick your shoes off. When you turn around, you scream.

Seonghwa is there. Sitting on your couch with something sad in his eyes, mixed with something... darker.

"Sweet Mary!" You yell, dropping your phone and bag to the floor. "Hwa?"

"Hey."

"H-hey?! What do you mean 'hey'?What are you doing in my apartment?!"

He gestures to the food on your table infront of him, "Lin's Express."

"Hwa, please... Don't make me say it again."

"Please," he stands up quickly, tears in his eyes, "please! Can we just talk? Face to face? I need... I need to know..."

You suck your lips in, scratching your head as you take in his appearance. He looks... well, wrecked. Like he hasn't slept a wink and he's been crying.

You already know that you won't change your mind. But you suppose that your text message wasn't the best way to end things. You suppose it's fitting to end things where they started.

"Fine, we can talk."

He falls to his knees and bows to you, his forehead on the floor. "Oh, thank you, Baby, thank you, thank you."

It's silent for a while as you eat, and you can tell he wants to say something; wants to say a lot of things.

He waits until you're both done eating to do so.

"I met with Yejin earlier." He says quickly. "I told her I needed closure. To know why you broke up with me."

"What?" That must be why she canceled your plans.

"I met her at her office. She told me about Namsun. Told me how he fucked you up so bad that you didn't even trust her for a while. Said that you were probably just relapsing with your trust issues." He speaks slowly, you can barely hear him over the thudding of your heart.

His figure is starting to get blurry. From your tears and from... something else. Something making your limbs heavy as well. "I don't blame you for not telling me, Baby. I wish you had, but I can see why you didn't. My poor Baby had to deal with such an evil caregiver-"

"Hwa-"

"Yejin told me a lot, actually. She opened up like a book. I don't think she's told a lot of people, cause she went on and on. She told me how you met him in school and fell in love and let him into your safe space... your little space. And he corrupted it. Took away your comfort items when you did the smallest thing wrong. Didn't encourage you to be childish. Did nasty things to you..."

"Hey-"

"She told me how many times she had to patch up your wounds and help you cover bruises. She told me everything, Baby. She told me about the night you finally ended it with him. How he threw you through the kitchen table and left you for dead. She was so angry, she really cares about you. She was so angry that she cursed his full name and prayed that God burn down his place of work."

"Why are-"

"I went there. I went to the restaurant he works at. I got a table. And I waited. I waited until he finally clocked in. Then I sat there and watched him. When they closed, I followed him out. I followed him for a long time. I didn't know what I was going to do, I just knew it was something. He stopped at the edge of the river to smoke a cigarette. And I came up to him. He was an asshole, immediately. I asked him if he knew (Y/n). He said 'I fucked that bitch up good.' And then... I stabbed him in the throat. Again and again and again. When he finally fell over, I got ontop of him and did it more. How dare he speak about you like that, that's all I could think. I wanted to destroy him. And I... I did! I stabbed that bastards neck so many times that his head came off. There was blood everywhere. It was horrible. But the funny thing is, I didn't feel anything. Not a thing. Because he had it coming. He hurt My Baby. So I cut his fucking head off and shoved his useless ass in the river. I'm telling you the truth. I killed that worthless fuck. And I don't regret anything."

He looks you in the eyes the entire time he speaks, holding your head still by cupping your cheeks as you try to look away. He doesn't look away as you begin sobbing and hyperventilating. He doesn't look away. "Don't you get it? You told me that you believe in destiny! This is destiny. Let me love you."

You gasp for air, turning your head back and forth to shake the murders hands away from you. "Oh, god!"

"Shhhh," he kisses your forehead, squishes your cheeks gently. His hands are clean, but you know that they'll always be stained with blood.

"Do-don't touch me!" You stand up hastily, and the world spins around you.

"Careful, Baby. Those pills I slipped into your food can make you dizzy-"

You fall to the floor with a thud before he can reach you. You yell and push at him increasingly weakly as your body gets heavier by the second.

This has to be some sort of fucked up nightmare. This can't be real. This can't be happening. He can't be doing this-

But it is. He is.

He drags your limp figure to the couch and lays you down, wiping your tears with his thumb. "Don't worry, Baby. It's just enough to knock you out."

"Wh-at the fuck, Hwa?" You whimper as fear finally hits you full force. Primal, bone chilling fear as your body stops listening to your commands. Your vision is spiraling and steadily becoming blurrier and darker.

"Don't worry, Baby," he repeats himself, leaning over you. His face is the last thing you see before sleep takes you, his voice ringing in your ears —

"I'll take care of you. Just like I promised."

❝Serendipity❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

#ateez #yandere ateez #park seonghwa #yandere fic #yandere seonghwa x reader #yandere park seonghwa #yandere seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez x reader

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jtargaryen18 · 17 days ago

Text

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Words: 10.4k (I'm SO sorry)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Angst, shaming someone with religion, oppressive historical views on women, pregnancy, arranged marriage to a stranger, references to depression, more angst, references to graphic violence, reference to arson and slaughter.

The stage has been set for your wedding to a farmer you've just met and you're on the edge of despair. Will Rory show up to save you? Will anyone?

You hadn’t slept in days. Even now, standing in the cold little room at the back of the church, you weren’t entirely sure you were awake. Everything felt insulated, blurry around the edges. Like you were watching it all happen to someone else. Just a few short weeks ago you were back at home, working for your mother and just trying not to get on the bad side of your stepfather’s temper.

Your wedding dress clung heavy against your skin. It was adeep burgundy satin, carefully fitted and it did nothing to hide your swelling belly. It had been deliberately chosen. It was burgundy, not red. No, that would be too bold. It was deep and dark, a shade chosen deliberately, like a stain you weren’t allowed to wash away. Your mother had made you a flower crown of wild flowers with a small bouquet to match, tied in white ribbons. It was small but you were grateful for that small sign of dignity she’d given you.

Your uncle said it was appropriate and it suited a girl with “experience.” Mature. He said white would’ve been mockery.

You’d wanted to be sick.

But you weren’t arguing. You were too tired and ill to fight much anymore.

But as your shaking hand slid around that slight bump of your tummy, you took a deep breath. You would fight for him or her. If you did nothing else with the rest of your life, you wanted to see to it that your son or daughter came into this world to do more than have a miserable existence. Especially if it were a girl. You were being married off to a farmer and expected to bear him sons and help work the land. How would he treat the child of a gypsy? The child of a gangster?

As sad as it made you, you would almost consider trying to get a word to Polly if the day ever arrived that your new jailer said a harsh word or raised a hand to your child. You’d give your child to the Shelbys and be parted from them if you knew they would be safe and loved. And they would be. You had thought more than once that Polly would likely kill someone she caught harming a child. And Tommy…

No, you couldn’t think about him right now.

Your hands trembled as you adjusted the hem of your dress in the mirror, your reflection gaunt and unfamiliar in the small, cracked mirror. Was this really happening?

Feeling dizzy again, you took a seat on the edge of the chair, your stomach churning. You hadn’t been able to eat. You hadn’t even kept water down that morning. The nausea hadn’t let up in weeks, but this was something else. Panic, or maybe despair. Looking back, night of the wager didn’t seem so bad compared to this. You’d do that all again if you could be spared this wedding you didn’t want. And…

No, I can’t think about Tommy… Now you knew for certain he was done with you.

There had been no word from Rory. No note or knock on the door. Nothing. You’d thought he’d come. You’d honestly believed, with everything in you, that your brother would find a way to save you.

But as the morning slipped away and the minutes blurred together, those thoughts came back to prey on your mind… Did Rory tell Tommy? And if he had, did Tommy forbid him from coming? You wouldn’t have been surprised. Not with how things had been left between you. He’d said it was your choice, but maybe he’d meant it like a punishment. Maybe this was the cost of walking away from him. It was all your own fault.

You swallowed the tightness in your throat and smoothed your hands down the front of the dress.The deep red caught in the light, casting shadows across the room like old blood. You would walk yourself down the aisle because your uncle refused. He said he wouldn’t escort a fallen woman. He said it would “send the wrong message.”

As if any of this sent the right one.

You were blinking back tears when the door creaked open softly, and your mother slipped inside. She didn’t say anything at first, just closed the door behind her and looked at you, eyes full of quiet worry. Looking up into her eyes you saw that same heartache you were drowing in. You stood when you saw her, hands still trembling slightly at your sides. She crossed the room and took them gently into her own, her thumbs brushing over your knuckles like she had when you were little and scared of storms.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said softly, for what felt like the hundredth time.

You closed your eyes. “Uncle’s not going to stop it, nor let me out of it.”

She didn’t argue because she knew you were right.

“I tried,” she whispered. “I begged him. Told him this wasn’t the answer, that this wasn’t you. But he wouldn’t hear it. He said what’s done is done, and this is how we make it right.”

“Make him feel better, you mean,” you muttered.

Her mouth pressed into a sad line. “Yes.”

You stepped away from her just enough to breathe. Your dress felt too tight suddenly, the room too small. It was hard to breathe.

“I don’t know if I can walk down that aisle,” you said, your voice breaking. “Not like this, and alone.”

She stepped closer again, brushed a hand over your cheek. “Maybe you won’t have to,” she said gently. “Maybe Rory will come yet.”

You looked at her. “Do you think Tommy told him not to?”

Her eyes softened with something like pity. “I don’t know. But I know Rory and so do you. And if there’s a way to be here, love, he’ll find it.”

You looked away, trying to hide the sting behind your eyes. “Feels like the world’s already made up its mind about me.”

“No,” she said, cupping your face, her voice trembling now too. “Just the wrong people. That’s not the same.”

You tried to hold onto her words. You were losing hope that someone, anyone, might still stop this. But the minutes kept ticking by and you were still wearing burgundy. You may have well just pinned a a scarlet letter to your dress to complete the look.

"Did you see him?" your mother asked.

And you knew who she meant. The farmer. You nodded.

You’d seen him, just briefly. A huge, burly man with rough, callused hands and a weathered face that made him look closer to fifty than the thirty-two your uncle claimed. He’d smelled like earth and pipe smoke, nodded politely without meeting your eyes. And all you could think was those hands were meant for labor, not tenderness. Not for you. Not for anything you still had left to give.

She hesitated. “He’s… polite enough, I suppose. Looked like he was trying very hard not to look at you.”

You glanced at her, and she gave a faint, apologetic smile. “He’s nervous. Said very little. Just nodded when your uncle introduced you. Didn’t even try to make conversation.”

You felt your chest tighten. “That’s the man I’m supposed to marry.”

She didn’t try to correct you nor did she tell you it wasn’t too late. She didn’t offer hope she didn’t have. She just reached for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I don't get the impress he’s a cruel man,” she said softly, “but he’s not for you.”

That single sentence hit harder than all the rest. You already knew it and you weren’t walking toward a new life.You were walking toward containment.

And suddenly, that burgundy dress felt like a prison.

Your mother Mary had only meant to slip off to the water closet before everything began. One last moment of calm before the storm she couldn’t stop claimed her daughter. But when she turned the corner, nearly bumping into someone tall, she gasped softly and froze.

“Rory?”

Her son looked like a ghost and a stranger all at once. Not the boy she’d kissed on the forehead a few nights ago, but a man in a fine dark suit, shoulders squared, eyes sharp. His overcoat was rich wool, something expensive, protective. And his cap--

Her breath caught. It was a Peaky cap. And yes, there it was. That glint because of the razors sewn into the seams.

Rory saw her staring, and gently grabbed her hand, guiding her into a quiet alcove behind the coatroom, out of sight.

“Mum,” he whispered, eyes scanning the hallway. “Listen to me. I don’t have much time.”

She blinked, her hand still caught in his. “What on earth--”

“She can’t know I’m here. Not yet. Not until it’s time.”

That stopped her. Mary was trying to keep hope from blooming in her chest. Today, she didn't really think she could handle more disappointment.

“Rory--”

“I’ve already been through uncle's house,” he said. “Packed what was hers. Yours too. It’s in the car. All of it.”

Mary just stared at him.

“We’re going home,” he said. “To Birmingham. Tonight.”

"Is he here?" she had to ask.

Rory knew exactly who she meant, answering that with a single nod.

Mary's knees almost gave out. She had to grab the doorframe to stay upright. Her free hand pressed over her mouth, and her eyes burned before she could stop them.

Rory faltered. “Wait, are you crying?”

She laughed. It was one of those helpless, trembling laughs that sounded half broken and half like music. “Rory,” she choked, “thank God.”

He blinked. “I thought...” He looked at her, truly looked. “I thought you’d have a hard time with it. Me being a Blinder. With your daughter going back to the Shelbys.”

... your daughter going back to the Shelbys.

The way he worded it got her attention. It was very much in the style of the Peaky Blinders, claiming what they wanted, however they had to get it. It was how all of this begin. Just now, she didn't have a problem with it at all. On top of everything, the man had come here to stop the wedding and take her daughter back. And for once in her life, she was just fine with it. Her daughter was far better off with a man who actually loved her, even if she didn't feel the same. But honestly, Mary was pretty certain she did have feelings for him. She'd come around to it.

She stepped forward, cupped Rory's face like she had when he was a child.

“Son,” she said, her voice thick, “after the hell we’ve lived in? After what your sister’s been through? Thank God you’re one of them.”

And just for a moment, Rory’s mask cracked. Not because she was disappointed. But because she was proud.

You moved like your body belonged to someone else. Your arm wasn’t looped through anyone’s. Your uncle refused to walk you down the aisle. Even the groom didn't offer you an arm which was just a hint about your life to come. So you followed the groom alone, head bowed, hands clenched so tight around the small bouquet in your fingers that your fingernails dug half-moons into your palms. The deep burgundy dress whispered against the polished stone floor with every step, trailing shame and expectation behind you like a veil of smoke.

The music rose with organ pipes thundering gently overhead. The small church was lit with mid-day light, but you felt none of it. Just the weight of the stares. The murmur of judgment all around you. You didn’t look left or right. You weren't about to acknowledge any of their faces. Not the women who’d whispered behind their hymnals, probably about the fact that you'd just begun to show. Not the men who wouldn’t meet your eyes, but would surely talk about you over ale by sundown. The pews were lined with people who didn’t know you and they didn't care to know. They’d heard enough to believe what they wanted.

The priest began the Introductory Rites, his voice solemn, echoing through the still church. There was no joy in the occasion and no warmth at all. Just formality, structure, and most importantly, containment. The groom, silent and massive beside you, didn’t even glance your way as you stood before the priest.

You heard words about faith, and union, and forgiveness but none of them applied here. You thought about Rory, your mother... Tommy. And for one aching moment, you wished he’d lied. That he’d broken his word and that he’d come looking for you. Your throat was tight, and you were struggling to breathe. Your knees shook as you stood before the altar. And just as the priest’s voice moved into the Rite of Marriage, just as he asked the groom to step forward the church doors slammed open. The sound cracked like thunder, cutting clean through the liturgy.

Heads turned throughout the church as gasps echoed around you. The groom stiffened. And you turned slowly, heart hammering so loud in your ears it nearly drowned everything else out.

There he stood, framed in light.

Thomas Shelby.

His coat was flaring behind him like the wings of something unholy. His shoulders squared, boots echoing across the marble. You saw Arthur and John marching behind him, faces carved from stone, eyes scanning the pews with the kind of stillness that made people forget how to breathe. They were flanked by other men, each one built like they hadn’t come for prayer. Caps low. Posture deadly. A wall of calm, silent threat moving through a house of God like they owned it.

And behind them, Rory. Dressed like them. A fine dark coat hung from his shoulders, the Shelby cut unmistakable. His cap bore the same stitch of razor-threaded menace, and his steps fell in time with the rest. He didn’t look like the boy you’d grown up with, not in that moment. He looked like someone else now. Someone dangerous and respected.

But when his eyes found yours, everything softened. That familiar warmth cracked through the armor, just for you. His lips curled up in the smallest of smirks, and he gave you a wink, sharp and sure and quiet as a promise. Your mother was right, he hadn’t let you down after all. He never would.

You didn’t feel so alone. Not anymore.

The priest faltered and the room froze. The only movement you saw was Polly, she was here too, walking up to where your mother sat and stopping by her side.

But you? All you could was stare. Because Tommy’s eyes weren’t on anyone else. Only you. You couldn’t breathe. For a second, you forgot how to breathe and the world tipped sideways. The pews, the altar, the candles... it all faded into nothing.

Because it was him. Not a dream or a memory. Not in some fevered hope you’d barely allowed yourself to hold on to. And he stood in the doorway like the storm you always knew he was. All you could feel were his eyes on you, all heat and truth and reckoning. Your knees nearly buckled, but somehow you managed to stay upright.

And all at once, the words from weeks ago came rushing back to you. If you walk away, I won’t stop you... But if you stay, you’re mine.

You had walked away. But he came anyway. And now you stood shaking, waiting like everyone else to see what he was here to do.

Tommy Shelby didn’t knock. He walked into that church like he owned it. Because today, he did. The moment the doors flung open, silence rippled through the nave like a shot across no man’s land. Heads snapped toward him. Mothers gasped. The priest stuttered and froze mid-blessing.

He walked straight down the aisle, slow and measured, boots echoing across the stone, every step a promise. A warning. His brothers were behind him, so was her brother and more Blinders, walking like men who were ready to raise hell in a house of God. Liam stayed by the doors, to make sure no one was leaving. Not until he said so.

Tommy’s gaze never left her.

She stood like a statue at the altar. His girl, wrapped in burgundy, shaking like a leaf in a storm. Her eyes were wide, rimmed red from sleepless nights. Even from here, he could see the dark hollows beneath her eyes. And the dress--Christ. That fucking color. Like shame sewn into silk.

Tommy felt something claw up the back of his throat. Not nerves or hesitation. Rage, cold and poisonous. This was very fucking personal. What the fuck had they done to her? Her shoulders were drawn tight like she was bracing for a blow. Her lips were parted slightly, too stunned to speak. She looked like someone had drained the life right out of her and dressed her up for a burial instead of a wedding.

Her hands clutched the bouquet like a lifeline, and as he watched, one hand dropped, slow and unthinking. It came to rest just below her ribs. A soft, protective curl of fingers over the slight swell of her belly. His child. It was instinct. She didn’t even realize she was doing it. But to him, it was louder than any vow or confession. It was truth and undeniably beautiful. And it split something wide open inside him. A fierce, unshakable need to get her out of this fucking church and make sure nothing and no one ever touched what was his again. Later, he’d reckon with the rest of it -- what it meant, what they’d lost, what they still had to fight for. But right now? She was standing there, carrying everything he never thought he’d have, and she hadn’t run yet.

Tommy was here to deal with them. Her uncle, the bloody farmer. Anyone who looked at her sideways. He was here for her, and nothing else up to heaven and down to hell mattered in this moment.

They tried to stop him. The farmer stepped forward, puffing up like a man about to claim something he thought was his. The uncle rose from the front pew, already barking, indignant bluster spilling louder with every breath. And just behind him, the priest looked appalled, his lips pressed into a thin line of silent disapproval, as if the very presence of Tommy Shelby and his men had defiled the sanctity of his church.

Tommy just kept walking, shoulders squared, heart pounding like war drums beneath his ribs. He reached the front of the church and turned, slowly, to face them all. “This wedding’s not going to happen.”

The farmer muttered something and Tommy cut him off with a glance sharp enough to slice bone. "You paid,” Tommy said coolly, “to marry a woman who doesn’t even know you. A woman carrying my child.”

The gaps and murmurs were almost comical and he caught Polly's smirk when his gaze found hers, standing next to his girl's mother. The priest turned white as his chausible.

The uncle blustered, “This is my church! This is my--”

“That’s your niece, not your property,” Tommy said coldly. “And yet you still put a price on her. Took money from a man she’s never met and sold her like a broodmare to clean up your own shame.”

“Is this true?” the priest asked, breaking the silence. His voice, once a calm guide through sacred vows, now trembled with righteous fury.

Tommy looked to the side--not at the priest, but at the uncle. “Tell him,” he said.

The uncle's lips parted, but no words came. His his eyes went wide, fists clenched, the veins in his neck straining under pressure he hadn’t expected.

“You accepted money for a sacrament?” the priest said, stepping forward now, eyes narrowing. “You lied to me and you lied before the Almighty.”

The groom took a step back, as if distance might save him from the weight of the scandal crashing down. People in the congregation were rising from their seats.

“Father, I--” the uncle finally stammered. “It’s not. It was a gesture of goodwill. A dowry of sorts.”

“A dowry requires consent,” the priest snapped. “From the bride. Did she consent?”

All eyes turned to her. Tommy didn’t. He already knew the answer. Her silence was the loudest sound in the room.

Tommy turned back to the uncle now, one hand in his coat pocket like he was debating something. “I’ve seen men do despicable things to protect their reputation,” he said calmly. “But selling your own blood? That’s a new kind of cowardice.”

The uncle opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Tommy stepped forward, just once, and the man stepped back without even realizing it.

Tommy let the silence stretch, the words settle like dust. Then he gave a slight nod to his men. "Take him.”

Two of his men moved instantly, Arthur and Rory, razor-laced caps winking in the light. The congregation flinched as they passed, but no one dared interfere.

The uncle sputtered, backing toward the altar. “I... I am a man of God...”

“No,” Arthur said flatly, gripping his arm. “You’re just a man. And you're leaving this house of God.”

They grabbed him by both arms, dragging him down the aisle past the rows of stunned wedding guests. His feet scraped along the stone, his protests loud at first, but weakening with every step. When he started pleading with his nephew, Rory didn't even acknowledge him. The priest stepped aside then without a word.

And as the heavy wooden doors swung open to blinding daylight, the sound of them slamming shut behind him was final. Like a judgment.

Tommy shifted his attention to the groom, keeping his gaze sharp and emotionless. “And you. Paying to marry a pregnant woman,” he said, voice low, almost polite. The kind of polite that made men sweat.

The farmer stood frozen just beyond the altar, thick hands clenched awkwardly at his sides. His face was flushed, not from shame, but from fear. Tommy took a step closer, voice low and cold. “You didn't care that she didn't consent.” Another step. “And you still showed up to claim her like a prize pig.”

The farmer opened his mouth, but thought better of it.

Tommy didn’t blink.

"I suggest you return to your farm. Immediately." Tommy just wished he could be there to see the man's reaction at seeing his home and barn in ashes, his livestock slaughtered. “If I ever lay eyes on you again,” Tommy leaned in slightly, “I will make sure you lose more than you already have.”

There was a spark of fear in the man's eyes because he caught the hidden meaning in Tommy's words. Tommy looked past him, toward John, who stood at the ready with a straightened spine and knowing nod.

“Escort him out.”

John grinned. “With pleasure.”

The farmer didn't resist when John moved forward. Not when two other Blinders flanked him.They didn’t drag him like the uncle. He walked out on his own.

When the door opened and closed a second time, a hush fell so deep you could hear the creak of the old wooden pews as the people sitting shifted in place, unsure if they were supposed to stay or run. The rest were on their feet.

Tommy's hand remained in his coat pocket. He didn't have a gun there, but they didn’t know that. A few men flinched and a couple of the women looked near tears. Tommy smiled.

“You can all sit,” he said, voice like velvet over steel, “or you can stand and pray that God Himself can pull me off whoever gets in my way.”

Nobody moved. So Tommy turned back to her.

“You walked away from me,” he said quietly, the fight drained from his voice, leaving only something raw and real. “And I meant what I said. I didn't stop you. I didn't come after you.” He paused, his gaze didn’t leave yours. “But then your brother came to me. Told me what was happening. What they were planning.” Another beat. “And I couldn’t ignore that."

He stepped forward, slower now, voice low enough that only you could hear. “So tell me… do I leave this church with you, or without you? You know my terms.”

Tommy offered her his hand. That was it. No more threats or speeches.Just one choice and it was hers. He wasn't going to break his word now no matter how much he wanted to. He stood there, hand outstretched. Waiting along the rest of the church and it was silent. For the first time in a very long time, he didn’t know what would happen next. She hadn’t moved or spoken. Her hand was still pressed to her stomach, but her eyes were locked on his with a thousand emotions crashing behind them.

Tommy Shelby, the man who always knew the next move… waited. Waited for her to run. Waited for her to turn away again, to choose safety or shame or silence over him. He wouldn’t stop her this time either. If she didn’t take his hand, he’d walk out of this church, let the door slam behind him, and bury this like everything else that had ever carved him hollow.

Jesus Christ… he didn’t want to bury it. He wanted her. Even now, in that awful dress, looking as shattered as she did. He wanted her in his house, in his bed, under his protection and sharing his name. He wanted his ring on her hand. He wanted to be there when she woke up sick in the morning, to see the curve of her belly grow, to know--really know--he hadn’t lost everything he wanted so badly.

He’d never begged. Not once in his life. But right now, he was praying like a soldier under fire.

Her fingers moved, trembling and uncertain. She reached for him and when her hand touched his, just as timidly as she'd taken his hands the night he claimed her for the wager, the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding left him in a quiet, broken rush.

She looked up at him, eyes glassy, knees buckling, and just as his other arm moved to catch her she fainted. Right into his chest. He caught her before she hit the floor, one arm around her back, the other under her legs, pulling her up against him as gasps rippled through the room. She's so much lighter and she's pregnant.

The priest started forward. Her mother did too. But Tommy just held her, gently cradling her. She’d chosen him.

He didn’t need permission, or to offer an explanation. Tommy didn’t look back. He just turned and marched straight out of the church with her in his arms.

Tommy slid into the back seat beside her, careful not to jostle her as Arthur closed the driver’s door and started the engine.There wasn't a spot of blood on him which meant Rory had the honor of removing his uncle's tongue and hands. He'd speak to him about it later. John was in the passenger seat up front, already lighting a cigarette, both of them quiet now that the tension had finally broken.

She still hadn’t stirred, even when he'd pulled her into his lap. Tommy’s eyes never left her as he adjusted his coat around her, brushing his knuckles lightly across her hand. She looked so frail... but she was safe now, and now she could get better.

His rear door opened again, and Tommy was suprised when her mother appeared, standing by the car. The woman's face was calm, though her eyes shimmered with quiet emotion.

Tommy looked up at her. He straightened instinctively, unsure if she was about to slap him or sob. Instead, she met his gaze and said, “Thank you, Mr. Shelby.”

He held off saying anything until he knew where this was going.

She glanced briefly at her daughter, then back to him.“For dealing with my brother. And for the other one, too.” She blew out an exhale. “My second husband was a cruel man. I don’t mourn him. Not after what he did.”

Tommy watched her carefully.

She’d looked like hell at the safehouse, frail, bruises hidden under layers of pain and forced dignity. But now? She looked much stronger. Clear-eyed and grounded. The resemblance between mother and daughter was unmistakable.

Mary noticed him looking her over.

"She took care of me. Nursed me back to health." She reached in to trace her daughter's cheek. "But now she needs the same chance."

"She'll have it," Tommy finally said. "Anything she needs."

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby."

Tommy shook his head. “Tommy.”

She smiled. “Mary.”

Mary continued, voice quiet but steady. “I'm going back home with my son.” Her mouth lifted, just a little. “It’s time, I can start working again.”

Tommy nodded once. “It’s under my protection now. You’ll never have to worry about safety again.”

Mary gave a quiet laugh, the sound low and knowing.“I guess not. Not now that my son’s a Blinder.”

There was no judgment in her voice, just acceptance. Tommy gave a small smile in return. “He’s a good one.”

Mary’s eyes softened. “Takes after his father.” She studied him for a long beat, really looking at him. Not like a gangster or a reviled gypsy. Not like the man who flipped her family’s life upside down. Just a man holding her daughter.

“I trust you’ll keep her safe now… properly safe.” There was no threat in her words, just the quiet, loaded plea of a mother who had already lost too much.

Tommy didn’t flinch. “With my life,” he said.

Mary's gaze moved to her daughter, resting so quietly now in his arms. "Let her know I’ll be by tomorrow.”

He gave a nod.

She didn’t linger. Just closed the door with a soft click, turned, and walked toward the second car where Rory and Polly were waiting. If Mary thought anything of the spray of blood on her son's crisp white shirt, she didn't react. They disappeared down the road seconds later, Arthur already pulling their own car into gear.

Tommy leaned back, eyes moving over the woman he held. And somewhere, buried beneath the weight of everything they'd experienced today... He actually felt hope. It was a fragile, flickering thing. But it was there.

The fire burned low in the hearth once they made it home to the mansion, throwing off the chill of the day and sending flickers of gold across the walls of the sitting room. The scent of smoke clung to everything--coats, skin, the air itself--like the aftermath of a battlefield.

Tommy sat back in the leather armchair with his shirt sleeves rolled up and the top button of his shirt undone. A glass of whiskey rested untouched in his hand, but for once, he didn't really feel like drinking.

Rory sat stiffly at the edge of the sofa, dried blood still dark on his shirt sleeve, his collar. It wasn't his own, Tommy knew, but it didn’t matter. His hands were clenched between his knees, elbows resting tight against his thighs like if he let go, something inside him might snap. He hadn’t said much since they got back. Just kept glancing toward the stairs, eyes flicking up every few seconds, like he was listening for a footstep, a voice, anything to tell him his sister was all right.

And Tommy understood. God help him, he understood. He wasn’t sure where the line between his worry and Rory’s began anymore. He only knew that the two of them were stuck in the same storm, both waiting on the same answer.

Arthur paced near the fireplace, still riding the high of adrenaline.“That priest nearly shat himself when we walked in,” he muttered, shaking his head. “And that poor sod of a groom. I’ve never seen a man go pale that fast without being shot first.” He huffed a dry laugh, but it lacked bite.

John was leaned against the sideboard, arms crossed, nodding slowly. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” he said, looking at Rory. “Giving the bastard uncle what was coming.”

Rory didn’t smile or smirk. Just looked back at John with steady, unreadable eyes. "He earned it.” His voice was flat, calm.

It was the kind of answer that didn’t ask for agreement or approval. It simply was.

Tommy watched him closely, a flicker of something shifting in his chest. Something final. There was no doubt now. The boy was gone. The man who sat in front of him -- bloody shirt, steady hands, sharp edges -- was a Blinder. Not by name but by nature. And Tommy knew exactly what that meant. Rory could do anything he asked of him now. Whatever it took. But he’d also have to live with it.

Tommy exhaled slowly, tipping his glass in Rory’s direction. "You did right by her.”

And maybe, for the first time in days, Rory allowed the faintest smile in return.

Footsteps on the stairs drew their attention. Polly appeared, her expression unreadable but sharp as ever. Ada was still up there.

"The midwife's having a look at her," Polly said.

Tommy straightened instantly. “Who?”

“Nadya,” Ada replied, gently. “I called her when we got home.”

That was all Tommy needed to hear.

“We figured you wouldn’t want a doctor,” Polly added.

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

He gave a sharp nod, no questions asked. If Polly had called Nadya, the situation had been taken seriously. The Lee midwife had a reputation stretching far beyond gypsy circles. She was trusted, capable, and silent as a grave. Exactly the kind of woman you wanted in moments like this. The kind Tommy trusted more than any bloody doctor in Birmingham.

Polly’s eyes landed on Rory, still perched at the edge of the sofa like he didn’t know how to sit still or breathe properly. His gaze stuck to the floor now, as if looking up might shatter him. She crossed the room slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder, light, but steady.

“She’s strong, love.” Her voice was quiet. “Takes after your mother that way. And she’s not alone, not anymore.”

Rory didn’t look up right away, but when he did, the fight in his eyes had softened. It wasn't gone, but it was banked.

Polly gave him a small nod, her hand squeezing once before letting go. “She’ll be alright.”

Then, as if nothing more needed to be said, she moved to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a brandy, business as usual. That was Polly’s way. Reassurance wrapped in calm certainty.

And in that moment, Rory sat just a little straighter.

Nadya came down the stairs a few moments later, the soft click of her boots nearly lost beneath the low rumble of conversation. Ada trailed behind her, arms folded, eyes locked on the midwife with an unspoken urgency.

The Romani woman’s face gave little away. It was lined with experience, calm in a way that only came from witnessing more pain and joy than most ever would. Her scarf was still tied tight around her dark hair, her hands scrubbed clean, but Tommy could smell herbs and smoke clinging to the folds of her coat.

She spotted Polly immediately. In Romani, quiet and clipped, she said: “I need to speak with you.”

The two women were heading for the side parlor. Tommy was already on his feet. Nadya’s voice was low, too low to catch through the door when he reached it. Polly’s murmurs rose once, then faded again. Whatever was being said wasn’t for him. That much was clear.

And Tommy wouldn't allow that.

Polly had barely shut the side parlor door behind them when Tommy crossed the hall and opened it without knocking. The hinges creaked like they wanted to stop him. They didn’t. Both women turned. Polly’s expression hardened in that way it always did when she was about to scold him. Nadya’s face didn’t change at all.

“This is private,” Polly warned.

Tommy closed the door behind him quietly. “There’s nothing about her that’s private from me anymore.”

That stopped Polly short, but not Nadya. The Romani midwife simply regarded him for a long, measured beat. Then she gave a small nod, as if she’d already known he’d come. She adjusted the scarf around her neck and folded her hands calmly in front of her.

Tommy didn’t sit. He stood there like a soldier at the ready, concerned about what he was about to hear.

“Then listen well,” she said in English this time, her accent thick but clear. “She’s underweight and exhausted.” She held his gaze without flinching.“In the shape she's in... there can be consequences. It can cause problems during the birth, if she makes it that far, for the mother and the baby. The child could be born early, be sickly.”

The words hit with the precision of a bullet. Tommy didn't hear much past if she makes it that far. He knew she wanted the baby. And if she lost it now, it would tear through her like a fatal wound. He'd do all he could to protect them both. But if something happened, they could have more children. He couldn't replace her.

So no, he didn’t flinch or panic. But every muscle in his body coiled tight as steel. “Tell me what she needs,” he said. “Whatever it is, she’ll have it.”

Nadya studied him for a long moment, testing the weight of his words, searching his face for even a flicker of doubt. She found none.

Her voice was quiet, but firm when she answered. “She needs nourishment, water, and deep sleep. No stress, no demands."

Tommy caught her meaning.

"I can visit each day," she offered. "Until she is better."

Tommy nodded. He'd pay her handsomely.

With that, Nadya gave a small nod and stepped past him without another word. Her boots made no sound as she disappeared down the hall, the door clicking gently shut behind her.

Polly lingered. She watched Tommy a moment longer, arms crossed, her eyes sharp but tired. “You heard her,” she said quietly. “Now do it. No lectures. No hovering. Just let her breathe, Tommy.”

His jaw ticked once, but he gave a nod.

Polly stepped closer, her voice softening just enough to cut past the steel. “You love her, I know that. But she’s not yours to fix. She’s hers to heal. Make room for that.”

He didn’t respond. But the silence said enough. Polly nodded once, then turned and left, her skirts whispering down the hallway behind her.

Tommy stood still for a moment longer, letting her words settle where they needed to. When he stepped out of the parlor, he caught a punch to his arm, small and sharp. Ada stood glaring up at him.

"Fucking idiot," she said before marching down the hallway to head home.

She wasn't wrong.

Tommy turned toward the stairs. Each step up felt heavier than it should have, boots pressing into polished wood like the weight of the world was still draped across his shoulders. He hadn’t even reached the landing when he heard it, soft footfalls behind him. He didn’t have to look back to know who it was.

Rory.

Tommy didn’t stop him. If the lad wanted to see his sister, needed to, Tommy wasn’t going to stand in his way. And so they climbed the stairs together in silence, both men carrying different burdens for the same woman. When they reached the top, Tommy paused at the door to his room. The soft glow of candlelight leaked from beneath it. He turned the handle slowly and stepped inside, letting Rory follow behind him without a word.

She was awake when they stepped into the room. The candlelight cast a warm, flickering glow over the space, softening the sharp edges of everything. She looked so small in his bed. Fragile, even, curled slightly on her side beneath the quilt. But her eyes met theirs the moment the door opened. And despite everything, the weight of the day, she smiled. Just a little.

Tommy’s chest tightened at the sight of it. Like the air had turned to glass inside him. He crossed the room slowly, not saying a word, just… He sat at the edge of the bed next to her. Making sure she was really there.

Rory followed, quieter still, lingering just inside the door like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

"Rory," her voice was a raspy, tired. "Come here."

Her brother stepped forward without hesitation, moving to the side of the bed. He came to a stop just next to Tommy, shoulders squared but eyes betraying the ache he carried with him.

Tommy didn’t say a word. Just sat there as her gaze moved over Rory, taking him in, like she hadn’t truly seen him until now. The fine suit. The blood on his sleeve, his shirt. The Peaky cap in his hand. She blinked, eyes glassy, but full of something deeper than fatigue. Recognition. Tommy could feel the moment she saw it, not just what her brother had become, but what he’d done to protect her. What he'd risked. Her fingers twitched slightly above the quilt, like she wanted to reach for him. But she didn’t yet.

And Tommy sat still between them, letting her take it all in, that fragile peace between them settling like dust in golden light.

“You look… grown up,” she murmured, smiling. “And handsome. But don’t let it go to your head.”

Rory shook his head. “Don’t worry. Tommy’s already made sure I don’t forget who’s boss.”

Her gaze shifted to Tommy and back. She reached out, her fingers brushing her brother’s wrist where he stood beside the bed. “Where’s Mum?”

Rory’s voice softened. “Back home. Getting ready to take in some sewing."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "We missed you," she whispered.

Rory nodded, his throat bobbing with the weight of everything they weren’t saying. Then, with a glance to Tommy: “Now, you'll never get rid of me.”

She looked between them, Rory’s hand still close, Tommy’s presence steady just beyond. “Will one of you do something for me?” Her voice was soft, but firm.

Tommy gave the smallest nod.

She exhaled slowly. “Burn that fucking dress.”

Rory huffed a laugh.Tommy’s jaw ticked just slightly, and he smiled. Not because it was funny, but because it was right. That dress had become a symbol of everything he hated about how she’d been treated. What he had done. Seeing her wear it in that church felt like watching her carry someone else’s shame.

But hearing her say it, demand it be destroyed, meant she wasn’t carrying it anymore. It wasn’t a surrender, but a choice. And Tommy, for once, didn’t want to control the outcome.

Gazing up at her brother again, her eyes were gentle. "Thank you for coming for me. For seeing me. For... everything."

Rory cleared his throat, rough around the edges.“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

Her hand squeezed his. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Rory hesitated before bending down and kissing her forehead. With a nod to Tommy, he quietly slipped out of the room, the door closing with a soft click.

The quiet pressed in, gentle but heavy, like the whole room had been holding its breath.

You didn’t look at him at first. You weren’t ready. Your fingers curled against the edge of the quilt you remembered, still looking and feeling like it was barely used. The lamplight cast flickering shadows across the walls, dancing in time with the pulse pounding faintly in your ears.

You could feel him. He sat next to you on the bed, still and steady.

Finally, you took a deep breath and turned your head. Met his gaze.

Tommy looked exhausted, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and hands clasped loosely between his knees. Not just from the day, but from everything. The months and the lies, and the cost of it all. And still, still--he looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense.

“I should’ve known,” you said, pleading in your tone. Tears were already stinging the backs of your eyes.

Tommy’s brow creased. “Known what?”

You let out a shaky breath. “That it was a lie. The maid and that message. Everything.” You blinked hard. “I walked right into it. Like a bloody fool.”

His whole expression shifted. Not in pity or disbelief. But something colder and dangerous. “The maid?” His voice was like gravel under ice.

You nodded slowly. “The new one. Fair hair, always nervous around you. I... I don’t even think she wanted to do it. She looked terrified when she told me. But she said… she said Mum was badly injured. She didn’t say how, just... gave me an address.” You swallowed, shame threading through every word. “I should’ve known better. After everything. I should’ve known not to trust someone.”

The muscles in his jaw flexed. “You’re not a fool,” he said, voice low. “But someone in my house is about to wish you were.”

The quiet in the room dropped another octave. His mind was already turning, you could see it behind his eyes. The machinery of his fury winding itself up like a slow-turning vice.

No, you were apologizing, not trying to get someone killed. You reached for his hand, taking it in yours. He stilled, it was like you'd temporarily disarmed him.

“She was scared,” you whispered. “My stepfather was responsible. Maybe he threatened her. I don’t know. But she didn’t look like someone trying to hurt me. Just someone trying to survive.”

His eyes stayed locked to yours, and for a moment, neither of you breathed. “That doesn’t mean she’s staying.”

You let that point drop. You knew the look in his eyes that now meant that girl’s fate was already sealed. No amount of mercy from you could unmake the choices she'd made.

But what you had to say next sat like a stone on your chest. Your gaze drifted past him for a moment, to the window. The memory of what happened on the front step, the blood that stained the stone.

“I’m sorry,” you went on, the words barely above a whisper.

Tommy’s brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For the man who died.” Your voice cracked, and you forced the rest out. “He tried to stop them. He died because of me.”

Tommy didn’t flinch, didn’t deny it happened. He moved closer to you. “His name was Ellis,” he said quietly. “He was loyal. Brave. And he died doing what I trained him to do.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill from your eyes now. “That doesn’t make it better.”

His gaze met yours, steady and calm in a way that almost made it worse. “It wasn’t supposed to make it better,” he said. “It’s the truth. Every man who wears the cap, including your brother, knows what it means. They make a choice. Same as I did.”

His words were solid and final.They should’ve helped, but they didn’t. He lived with that weight by turning it into steel and control and fury.

You? You just lived with it. And now Ellis's blood would never be anything but your burden to carry.

Tommy saw it in your face, how it still sat in your chest like it belonged there, and he didn’t argue with you. There was just warmth and the quiet promise that at least you weren’t carrying it alone.

Tommy squeezed your hand once, firm but careful, before letting go. “You need rest,” he said gently. “We’ll talk more when you’ve had some.”

You nodded, even though you felt more tired than you'd ever been in your entire life. Your mind hadn’t stopped spinning since the moment he burst through the church doors. But he wasn’t just placating you. There was a quiet worry lining the edges of his expression, tension in the way he watched your every movement, like he didn’t want to crowd you, but couldn’t help checking for signs you might shatter again.

He saw you were struggling physically, more than you were letting on. You saw it in his eyes.

Before he could say it aloud, before he could give voice to the thing that had haunted your sleep and made you curl protectively around your belly in the dark, you said, “I know I'm not... well, right now.”

His eyes softened, but his posture didn’t shift.

You reached for his hand, took it back. Then your voice cracked again, the tears came on. “I’m so sorry I left.”

That made his brow twitch slightly, the only betrayal of how much those words mattered.

You took a breath. “I didn’t know about the baby. Not until weeks later.” You looked down, ashamed.“I left to take care of Mum. That was all it was. My uncle was… he was so insistent. And I thought I was doing the right thing, that it’d only be for a little while. That I could-- But I could have said something and I didn't...”

You stopped. Your throat clenched too tightly to finish.

Tommy reached up then, brushing his knuckles gently against your cheek. “You don’t have to explain everything right now,” he said, voice low. “But I needed to hear that.”

Your eyes flicked to his. “That I wasn’t trying to leave you?”

He gave the smallest nod. “That you didn’t choose someone else. Something else. Over me.”

You swallowed hard. “My mother was in horrible shape. I was scared when I started piecing things together. But... I never stopped thinking about you.”

His thumb rested against your jaw now, steady as ever. “Love, this is all on me,” Tommy said softly, firmly. “Not you.”

You started to protest, to say something -- anything -- to shoulder your share of the wreckage, but he silenced you with the faintest shake of his head.

“You blame yourself for what happened… but I built the house.” A pause. His voice was quiet, full of regret. “I opened the door. And I never should’ve let you walk into it blind.”

More tears as you watched him. Tommy let his thumb brush along your jaw again, like he could ease the ache building behind your eyes.

Your gaze searched his face. “Tommy…”

He looked at you instantly, alert -- but not impatient.

“The baby.” You hesitated. “Do you…”

His head tilted slightly, like he already knew where your mind had gone, but he let you finish anyway.

"Do you even want it?” Your voice was so soft it barely reached him. But the question stopped him cold.

Tommy stilled, eyes locked on yours. Not in confusion or hesitation.

“It’s mine.” His voice was low, certain. “I knew it before Rory said the words. I knew it before I saw you today.” His gaze drifted briefly to your stomach, then back to your face. “This child is mine. And so are you.” The words weren’t possessive, not in the way men like Sean O’Grady twisted love into something cruel. Tommy’s voice held something different. A vow, a truth spoken plainly, without theatrics. “Family is sacred. What you give your life for. What you build everything around. It’s not something you toss away because things didn’t go to plan.”

His hand clutched your just a little tighter.

“You gave me something I never thought I’d have. And now that I do, I’ll protect it, with everything I am.” Leaning forward, he kissed your forehead. “I want all of it. You. The child. The future we're owed, even if I burned the path getting us here.”

Your fingers curled slightly under his, not pulling away, but still unsure if it was real. Because people didn’t talk like that. Not to you or about you. No one had ever made you feel like you were anything special. Like your life -- your love, your child -- was something sacred. The ache in your chest swelled, sharp and unfamiliar. It burned, felt like hope.

You didn’t speak, couldn’t, not with your throat tight and your heart knocking against your ribs like it wanted to break free of your body. But your hand moved. You turned it under his and laced your fingers with his. It wasn’t a declaration, but it was something.

A beginning. A promise that just maybe, you were strong enough to try again with him. With all of it.

The silence between you then was thick, but not cold. Just… full. Like there were too many words and not enough room to let them out.

Finally, he spoke. “I’ve been thinkin’.” His voice was rough. “About how we got here.”

You didn’t interrupt, but your heart started flying.

“All of it started as strategy. One more play on the board. I told myself I was in control.” He gave a bitter, quiet laugh. “And I was. Until you.” He turned slightly to look at you now, the lamplight casting long shadows on his face.

“I never gave you a choice,” Tommy said quietly, eyes fixed on the space between you. “Didn’t expect to care as much as I did… but once you were here in my house, it stopped bein’ about power or vengeance.” He looked at you then, really looked. “Stopped bein’ about makin’ a point to Small Heath... It became just about you.”

He looked down at his hands for a beat, then back up.

“The war made emotions hard for me,” he admitted, like the confession itself was something fragile in his throat. “Expressing them harder. I made choices that left no room for softness. No time for honesty. Only angles and leverage. And I hate that it touched you, too.” He swallowed thickly. “But I’m not going to get this wrong again. Not with you.”

It wasn't just at the words, but the way he said them. Like they cost him something, scraped against old wounds just to reach you. Tommy wasn’t just apologizing. He was exposing parts of himself he never let anyone see. And for the first time, you realized… He wasn’t the only one who had been afraid. You’d both been surviving. But now, maybe, just maybe, you could start living.Together.

“I handled all of it wrong. I didn’t say the right things. Didn't give you truth when I should have.” A pause. “But I never lied about this -- how I feel about you. I didn’t know how to say it… so I tried to show it. Protecting you. Taking care of your mum. Bringing Rory in close.”

Your mother's words came back to you. The Thomas Shelby fell in love with my daughter.

He had done those things. Even now, as his voice wavered and steadied, you could see the pieces of it. Nothing had been done out of obligation or strategy. It was something much deeper. Love, your mother had said. You weren’t sure you could call it that yet. But maybe… maybe you were getting closer.

“You were never just a message, love. You were the moment the game stopped mattering... And I’d do anything to keep you from ever feeling like a pawn again.” The air hung heavy between you. “You’re not here because I won. You’re here because you chose to be." Some emotion flashed in his eyes. "And if you choose to stay… I’ll spend every day earning it.”

You held his hand tighter, just letting him get it out. He had to be able to hear the sound of your heart, racing, hoping.

Tommy drew in a breath, slow and uneven.“I’ve spent my whole life building walls. Men like me… we don’t get to be soft. We don’t get to want things, not really.” His eyes met yours -- steady now, but tired. “But I wanted you. I did the first time I laid eyes on you... And it scared the hell out of me, how much.”

A silence passed between you, heavy with things neither of you had ever been taught how to say.

“I thought if I kept it all tight, you wouldn’t see the cracks. Wouldn’t see what the war left behind...” His thumb gently brushed away a tear that slid from the corner of your eye. "No more lies. No more silence.” A breath. “I love you.”

It wasn't an admission or a calculated risk. A vow.

Tommy went on before you could respond, your heart melting as he poured his feelings out. And you listened because you knew you weren't likely to see him vulnerable very often, if at all after tonight. But now you understood him.

“You need to know,” he said, voice lower now, firmer.“I’m not easy. I won’t pretend to be.” He looked down for a moment, jaw working. When his eyes lifted again, they were clearer and his gaze locked with yours.“You’re as good as married to the devil himself. I’ve done things you’ll never want to hear about. I’ll make decisions that don’t always make sense to you. And I won’t be gentle all the time... But I will love you. And I will protect what’s mine.”

The hand at your cheek moved instinctively to your tummy, so carefully. Reverent. “You and this child… you’ll have everything I can give. Not just money or security, but respect. Legacy. A name no one will ever touch. But for that to happen…” he said slowly, “I need you to get well. Strong again. For the baby. For you. For what’s next.”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “What’s next?”

He didn’t hesitate. “A wedding.”

You froze at that word, especially given the day you had.

“Tommy...” The word came with instinct, with nerves, and the hundred doubts spinning inside your head.“What about… what will people say?” You glanced down at yourself, the tiny curve barely noticeable now under his hand, but soon it would be obvious. “I’ll be showing. Everyone will know.”

He leaned in closer, his voice low and resolute. “Good.”

Your eyes shot back to his.

“Let them see. Let them talk.” His gaze never wavered. “They should know exactly who you are... my bride. My family. And they should know what happens to anyone who even thinks about layin’ a hand on what’s mine. You'll show in your dress, love. And I’ll stand beside you like I’ve never been prouder of anything in my goddamn life.”

Tommy smiled. With a dry edge to his voice, he added. “And no fucking red dress. I’ll burn it myself, if Rory doesn’t beat me to it.”

You had to smile at that. Your brother would beat him to it.

A breath passed, and he softened slightly. “I know it’s the last thing you want to think about today.” His thumb brushed gently across your knuckles.“But it’s important. Not just for appearances. Not just for power or status or whatever they all think it means... It’s for us. For the life we’re going to build.”

His hand smoothed over your belly while your heart was crashing in your chest.“You won’t be hidden ever again. You won’t be whispered about. You’ll walk into that church like the woman you are, strong, beautiful, and mine.” He leaned closer, forehead nearly touching yours.“It won’t always be soft. But it will always be real. You have my word.”

You nodded, kissed him carefully on the lips. "Okay," you whispered. "And Tommy, I --"

His kiss cut you off, stopped you from telling him you loved him because he knew it was coming. "Not right now," he said meaningfully. "Tell me when you mean it. And I'll know it's true then."

For all that Tommy was, how did he know you weren't there now?

“Nadya’s coming back tomorrow. Every day, until you’re well.” His voice was quiet, but there was no room for negotiation in it. “And you’re to do whatever she tells you. No arguing. No trying to be strong when you’re not.”

You nodded without hesitation.“I liked her,” you whispered, meaning it. “She reminded me of Polly, a little.”

That earned the faintest ghost of a smile from him.“A bit more terrifying, if you ask me.”

“I’ll listen to her,” you promised.

Tommy leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a beat. “Good.” He paused before adding,“Your mother’s coming tomorrow, too."

You hesitated, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before reopening. “My mother’s house…” you began softly. “Will it be safe? Will she be okay there?” You looked up at him, worry flickering in your expression. “Will Rory he be allowed to keep an eye on things? After all this is… settled?”

Tommy didn’t hesitate. “The house and your mother are under my protection,” he said firmly. “So is the shop. No one will lay a hand on either without answering to me.” He let his thumb sweep gently across your hand before continuing. “Rory’s a Blinder now. He’ll keep watch over her. Over both of you. I’ll see to it.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding slipped from your lungs. Relief, warm and quiet, spread through your chest.

He saw it, felt it. "You’ve done enough worrying,” he murmured then.“Get some rest, love.”

And this time, you thought maybe you actually could.

You were already asleep as he quietly stripped off his clothes, had one last drink of whiskey. Tommy slid into bed and curled up behind you. You were sound asleep, hands tucked under your pillow as your breath came in shallow whispers. You'd chosen him and you were back where you belonged. He slid one arm under your pillow, his other hand draped over what the two of you made, holding you both.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence @goldensunflowe-r @andydrysdalerogers @hellfirehopeless

@wantedby-larry

#The Arrangement #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders Fanfic #Thomas Shelby #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x You #Arthur Shelby #John Shelby #Ada Shelby #Polly Gray #Angst #Redemption?

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rise-my-angel · 3 months ago

Text

SFW Alphabets

Jon Snow and Robb Stark

Pairings: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 17.7k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, character deaths, mild mentions of blood and gore, jealousy and possessive behaviors, mentions of past sexual assault and trauma, talk of pregnancy, disturbing imagery, mention of infant death

Notes: Much like my nsfw alphabet, this is primarily based off of my series Heart of the Great Wolf. Once more Jons is split between pre and post resurrection as I consider the character development between those years apart to be drastic enough to warrant further elaboration. NSFW Alphabet Here, Series Masterlist Here

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Robb:

There is no wondering if the King in the North adores his wife. From when Robb was young and first met you, he was eager to be your friend. Having a friend that was a girl was different then what he was used too, surrounded by boys and his brother. You were softer and more quiet, timid almost. He learned quickly that he needed a softer touch when handling you and that included physical as well. His mother had joked that it well prepared him to have a little sister by the time Sansa was born. Growing up, he would be tied between treating you playfully and treating you with a gentle touch, both things which would occur at the same instances sometimes. He would knock you down in the training yard, but gently help you up with a guiding hand right after.

Now however, that you are his wife? That affection has skyrocketed. Robbs eyes are bright and full of joy when you walk in the room and he refuses to be the kind of man who hides that. Why should he pretend his world does not light up whenever you step back into his view? His father never hid away his love for his wife, so Robb did not grow up with the idea that thats how men should treat the women they love, in hiding and private. He has you sit or stand right beside him during his war councils, refuses to be satisfied falling asleep unless you are tucked away in his arms in front of him. Always a hand is on you. It rests on your thigh during discussions, on your back or hips when walking as he keeps you beside him on his path to not stray too far.

Too Robb never shies away from having his lips on you. Not over stepping what is appropriate in a public setting, but he loves pressing his lips to you in any way. In passing he would kiss the back or side of your head, press a gentle kiss to your sweet lips when he cannot overcome his adoration of you right in front of him, kiss your hand or cheek when he is feeling more playful in front of his men. He never hides away from pressing his lips to yours in some way. There is no mistakening that Robb Stark showers you in affection, and he will never care about hiding that fact in front of anyone.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Affection is something that comes naturally to Jon, but in different ways. He truly has two levels of affection. One his siblings receive, which arguably is the more bountiful one, and the second is reserved only for you. He loves his siblings, he adores them. No matter how strained or distant or difficult they can get when he is balancing five of them in his life, he will always show them affection. Robb was known for it too, but none moreso then Jon was used to showing his siblings he cares by placing a tender kiss to their forehead. None of them have gone unscathed with that. Sometimes in it’s place, he’ll ruffle their hair instead to see their reaction. Arya and Rickon respond the best with that, and it only made him do it more and more.

But with you, it’s different. His affection isn’t as open. Jon adores you, he would never come close to saying it outloud and would hesitate to even think it to himself in private, but he loves you. His eyes are drawn to you, and he always wants to give you what you deserve, especially as the years passed and you grew harsher and more closed off in so many ways. He can’t show you such affection in public, it would cross a line that Jon knew he’d struggle to reign in before getting there. He’s playful and soft with you of course, but nothing that would stand out against the ways Robb was affectionate. Instead, the rest of it was saved for in private. Soft touches, gentle kisses and holding you closely to keep you warm and reassured. It was never going to be as much as he wished he could show you, but it was the best he could do for being with a girl he was never supposed to have.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Affection comes different to Jon now. There is a passion in his heart for you, but it is expressed in a way that to outsiders, looks cold and distant. In a way, he almost fulfills more the image which Northerners are known to have, a reputation of people who are only stern and unfeeling. But, what they don’t see is how deep Jons emotions run. They are almost caged inside him to not explode every chance they get, only ever doing so when it is with you. Once, Jon used to be scared of showing you that side of himself. Thinking it would scare you away.

It was a bit of a slow burn, as you both rekindled that love for one another where you returned that hesitancy to be affectionate as much as Jon, that almost helped him. He could step back and realize that he couldn’t stand being distant with you, but breaking his heart that you had resigned yourself to never having love again. It fueled that drive and passion to show you his deep love for you now, and once a crack was made in that regard there was no going back. All of that affection is now saved for you almost exclusively. His siblings, his friends, Ghost, of course they all experience it in smaller degrees, but his true passion? Jon saves that for you and you alone.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Robb:

If he were to attach the most strict labels to things, no he in all technicality, was not your best friend. That was his brother. But, that did not mean you two weren’t incredibly close. He had been eager to show you around at first, young and fell of energy and excited at having someone new in his life in a more significant capacity. So, once you started coming out of your shell, it was easy for Robb to step in and fill that spot which once held nervousness and replace it with a sense of adventure. You two got into trouble all the time, and it was always Robb’s fault but you two never changed behaviours nor even attempt to stop. You could shove him and insult him and he could ruffle at your hair and mock you and it never was unwanted or unforgivable.

The older you both got, that still stayed, but it became more mature in nature. Then much of that rambunctious and mischievous behaviour now focused in the training yard where a lot of that energy could come out. He and Jon both had a hand in teaching you things, and both had their strategies. Jon was more unforgiving, whereas Robb would feel comfortable making you step back and listen to his advice instead of teaching it to you with force. In your off times, you would still spend much time together. Now more laughing and drinking and sometimes even hunting, Robbs skill was never failing to be able to make you smile. Something which felt rare at times.

Now that you’re married? It is a completely different scenario. Especially after hearing of Theons betrayal, you became all the other had. You could only rely on each other, you both only truly trusted each other and would ensure as much time was spent together then anything else. Glued to your side as you were to his, everyone could tell once Theon had invaded with the Ironborn and taken Winterfell, that you and Robb never left each others side. You weren’t just best friends, you were the others only true remaining friends. It strengthened that love and bond that marriage had brought you. Maybe as children Jon was certainly your best friend, but by the end, Robb knew that he was your best friend as you were his and neither of you had any complaint about it.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

The truth was, Jon was your best friend. He was the one who finally got your shy, timid exterior to crack. He got you to open up, he made it easier for you to talk and laugh and finally let loose in Winterfell and he always felt pride in it. He had watched over your sick self for three days and three nights obsessing over not wanting to lose you despite barley knowing you, and he never wasted a single second since then. He grew up watching over you, and always being the one you circled back around to. He taught you how to use a sword first, he was the one who would wake you up to sneak out of the castle walls trying to find time for just you both together and no one else. Being the one you were closest too by a long shot, and he never took that duty lightly.

As you both grew older and closer, by the time Jon kissed you that night in the rain, he knew being your best friend would make this a little bit easier. He knew you well, your wants and fears and when you were holding back for his sake. Jon would be a little more assertive and make advances on you, simply because as your best friend he knew you better then anyone. No random Lord you may one day marry would know how to handle you, so he always did his best. You never stopped being his best friend just because you were together now. It only made your feelings for each other even stronger.

Jon Post Resurrection:

He knew it was ironic. Once you were best friends, and yet now, Jon was aware that things had changed. If right off the bat someone asked him who his closest friend was, he knew Sam would come out easy of his mouth, or possibly Tormund. You were the most important thing in his life, and being best friends was still something you were to one another but it wasn’t quite the same. That time period of being away from one another had changed aspects of you that developed separately and reconciling that when so much is different now came easier then he thought.

Jon knew now that you needed someone to be there for you now in a way that he couldn’t. For you, he knew Theon was your best friend now. And he understood that without any malice. Despite Theons painful betrayal, the both of you experienced trauma together at the hands of the Boltons had bonded you together in a manner that no one, including Jon would have any way to truly comprehend. He helped you escape to run to Jon for safety, and he could accept that it put Theon in a spot that Jon used to be as your best friend. He accepted that. Jon was so much more to you now, and you to him then merely best friends who love each other.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Robb:

This man cannot even sleep properly if you are not in his arms. The first night you married, you fell asleep perfectly in his arms and he drifted to sleep just as easily. You were warm and soft and comforting to his soul as he was yours. You were leaving for Kings Landing the very next day, and he had to treasure that time, and treasure it he did. For months afterwards as you were away in Kings Landing, Robb found himself resenting his bedchambers. He barley wanted to sleep in there and would put it off as much as he could. He’d walk in, and see the spot which should’ve been yours and yearn for you to suprise him by riding through the gates any moment. So when you returned to him? Not even the desperation of the situation could’ve settled the relief he felt in getting you back into his arms.

Now out in war, there quite literally had never been a night of sleep where you weren’t there. Some times yes, he was guilty of feeling so overworked that he never joined you in bed, but he was still there, in sight and watching you. Most nights he did sleep, and he’d always end up in the exact same position. Turning you on your side, and pulling your back close to press against his chest, arms wrapped safe around you and waiting for you to fall asleep first, before nuzzling into your hair and joining soon afterwards. It was the only times of true peace and contentment Robb had found in years and would find for years. In those nights, you both falling asleep usually bare and cuddled in the others arms were Robbs favourites and he would not hesitate to admit it to you.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

When he was younger, Jon could get away with it. You were both young and innocent and no one would bat an eye at two children close in that manner. Jon had a vivid memory of an early night in your first stay in Winterfell. You were in a more empty stretch or corridors, and a great storm felt as if it had blown over and being in such a new place made you feel frightened. You had come to Jons room, quietly asking if you could sleep in there that night. Jon never hesitated to let you. You curled up right away as Jon tentatively inched closer before feeling confident to let a hand sit on your side so you felt him there as you drifted off.

But things got more complicated after you begun spending intimate time together. Jon would take whatever chances he could. Sneaking around with you meant that he was always on alert as to whom might walk in on you both at any moment, and he never could keep you in a position too long that you wouldn’t be able to jump away from to appear innocent. Only when alone in the wolfswood did he have that freedom, but that wasn’t a place to cuddle. He would sometimes lay down with you, careful in a position that while would get him into trouble if caught, could not be explained with a lie. He hated it, he wanted to have you close the way a man should with his girl, but Jon never had that chance. He never got to be soft with you the way he knew you deserved.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Again that cold Northern demeanour kicks in. His siblings, friends, and even the Lords and Ladies he is closer too all know differently but to many, Jon knew that he likely looked very distant from you. Hardly touching you in a public setting, and certainly never being so brazen as to kiss you in public. His reasoning being twofold, he was never a large fan of such public displays from couples but too it was to ensure his men respected you. Saw you as a capable Queen as much as they saw a capable King in him, and not babying you with physical touch in public was his way to subtly enforce that image.

In private though? He had nothing holding him back, nor at this point would he want too. Many times he could find himself coming up behind you, wrapping his hands around your front to pull you back into him or keeping his hands steady on your hips to keep you in place. Not shying away from pressing his lips to yours, and almost unsettled in bed if he did not have your frame curled into his front where he could hide you away and protect you from the world. The few nights he had to sleep without you cuddled into him were incredibly lonely, and typically, resulted in barley any sleep. He adored being so physical with you, but as much as something within him wanted to stake his claim on you for everyone to see in multiple ways, this soft tenderness when you both cuddled together was something that he was selfish enough to keep for himself.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Robb:

It is a little different for Robb. He has many skills of course, but he was the firstborn son. The heir to Winterfell. The eventual King in the North. There are certain domestic traits which he as a highborn and a King do not engage in. He knows how to cook, and he is not a child who has no understanding of keeping things clean or organized, but it is less of a priority. He will always have people to take care of those things for him. He does what he can, you both prefer to help each other dress and undress in the mornings and nights as opposed to having any maids or squires do so. You trim his curls when they get too long and sit perched ever so carefully on his lap to help trim his facial hair. He takes care of you in the bath, treating you like a fragile little doll to clean. But, he simply does not need to worry about such things as much as say, a smallfolk couple.

Settling down too is unique for Robb. He was raised with the unwavering expectation that he is to marry and have children. All highborns are raised to know this, and few would ever look down on it. Robb wanted it. He saw his father and mother and their happy family and always wanted one of his own. He was simply thrilled with the fact that he gets to have that with you. He doesn’t need to think much about settling down when it comes to you, its a duty, an expectation, and you both were prepared to do what needed to be done, and better yet, both of you enjoy it.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

A unique position Jon was in. He was born to a high Lord, and lived in his home with his trueborn siblings. He was raised with amenities that most could never dream of, and servants were always around. He didn’t have to do the hard work to lean certain skills, but, Jon knew he did anyways. As a bastard, Jon knew it was a possibility that he’d be completely on his own one day and would need to only rely on his own skills to survive. He could do everything that people, including himself, had servants for, he just had yet to need the skills to survive.

Settling down though? It was out of the question. The only one he’d ever settle down with is you, and that was not an option. A royal Baratheon girl was far too good for the likes of a bastard. Jon spent years in secret romancing you, always knowing in the back of his head that one day he would have to give you up, and he knew he would never settle for anyone once you were gone.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Jon now was not unlike Robb in some respects. Of course there were tasks delegated to maids and servants, things that he had partially grown up accustomed too, but also now as King in the North his time was needed to be dedicated to much more pressing matters. If left a certain amount of things that he couldn’t do for you, simply because of time. But, there were still many things you and Jon saved only for each other.

The ends of the night, Jon would undress you, and you him. It was a quiet time, tender where he could watch your focused work and admire you, and then in turn get to run his hands all over you and unburden you from the days woes, even if only for now in the heavy clothes on your person. He also at that point had the maids all know, that once the tub is filled, leave the rest. Jon would always take care of you there, enjoying the hot water and having you bare and pressed against him without the requirement to make it sexual simply because you were both naked. His domestic tendencies came in the little things, small matters which to many highborns were so insignificant that it would even occur to them to not make their servants attend to it, but Jon always did. He made sure he did those small things for you, and you did them for him right back.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Robb:

There is no breaking up. It was extremely rare that annulment was granted to a highborn couple, even Kings and Queens were denied annulments. Especially under the Seven, it was seen as close to a sin as it could get to break a union apart, and were children involved? Then never would it be granted. Tearing a family apart was not what he was raised to think was acceptable. Even when he was at an age he did not know what kind of woman he’d be to marry, it did not matter if it did not serve happiness to either of them. If he wanted a marriage that could break apart, he would go find a place in Essos that did not care about that sort of thing.

Besides, Robb knows he loves you more then anything, and you him. He has no intent on ever even considering what would happen if you both were to not be together anymore. From this day until our last days, that was how it was for both of you. And to Robb, your last days together would only be one which ended in death. Only death would tear your marriage apart at this point, and Robb would not have it any other way.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

He had no choice. He wasn’t breaking up with you, nor were you breaking up with him, but this was all happening regardless. It was the Kings orders, or as you specified, your fathers orders disguised as the Kings orders. He knew he was going to have to give you up, but to his own brother? Robb? Who already got everything Jon ever wanted and now including his girl? It made him angry as much as it broke his heart, but he couldn’t show that. Showing how hurt he was, would only serve to hurt you more. He needed to be calm for you, to ensure you went into this inevitable marriage as strong and clearheaded as possible.

Jon felt a deep pain for a long time. You out of his life was one thing, you out of his life and making a new one with Robb was another. He never forgot about you at the Wall, or beyond it, or until the night he was stabbed by his own men. Nothing that happened made Jon forget you. He gave you up because he had too, but he took your gentle heart with him and kept it safe from that parting day until his last day. If Jon had a different chance in life, he knew without a doubt he would’ve never given you up.

Jon Post Resurrection:

There was no contest anymore. Jon had to give you up to his brother once, and it led to both of your horrific deaths. When he finally got you back, it was because you returned and brought him back. It was all a mess, but Jon knew he would never let you go again. And he would prove it time and time again, doing anything and killing anyone to keep you safe and alive and with him. It wasn’t forcing you with him against your will, it was very clear that you never wanted anyone but Jon the way he wanted no one but you, but Jon took that protectiveness within him and directed towards you with a burning fire blazing behind it. You two wouldn’t end until death pulled you apart, and even then, Jon might not be willing to let that stop him again either.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Robb:

Growing up watching the marriage between his mother and father gave Robb a more eager view of marriage then some other highborns. Many political marriages were cordial and civil, but few as he seemed to grow up realizing were as loving as the one in his own home. His mother and father truly spoiled Robb in the sense of what he grew up looking forward too. He wanted a bride he would love and treasure the way his father did his mother, to have children and a stable life with little issue. He was never scared of marriage, never saw it as a burden. It was a duty he looked forward too and even though all of that depended on his future bride, he still was optimistic.

When it was announced to him that he would be marrying you in only a little less then a month by the time the raven from Kings Landing arrived, yes it was a shock. He never thought it would be you he married, but he got used to the idea quick once the shock wore off. You were beautiful, sweet, intelligent, and he already had an idea of what living with you would be life, you’d served as his fathers ward on and off for half your life. He knew you’d be nervous, and apprehensive about putting Robb through this, but it just made him more eager to prove how much he wanted to do this. He wasn’t afraid of a life of marriage, and certainly not afraid of it being with you.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Even if Jon took you out of his life’s equation, he’d never get married. Jon never wanted to marry or have children. Its what he had told himself for years. Being a bastard is lonely, no matter how much his father and siblings tried to make him always involved, there was that looming narrative over his head of who he was and always will be and how that made everyone else treat him. He never wanted that life for a child, and he never would have a child that didn’t have that name. No highborn lord would marry his daughter to a bastard, and he also simply wouldn’t wish to condemn any woman to taking a bastard name and giving their children bastard names. Or having another bastard on his own. It wasn’t an option. Jon would never do it.

In a world of fantasy, he would be able to marry you. That night under the Weirwood, you both talked of a life where you both lived in the Reach, meeting in a tavern near Highgarden and having nothing standing in your way of marrying. It was the only comforting thought Jon had at the Wall, the only thing he could turn to imagining that life. Multiple times he near found himself jealous of Sam for being from the Reach, as if that fact alone put Jon so much closer to that fantasy with you. It never would come, but he could think about it. He never wanted to marry anyone that wasn’t you as a boy, he never would marry anyone not wanting to condemn his child’s life to misery, and now at the Wall, he never would marry anyways. All he had was a memory of Highgarden and the Reach that would never truly exist.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Marriage was still a tricky subject for Jon, but not in the way he once thought. Now the dynamic was not giving you up, it was putting you back together after you had been ripped apart. The one thing through his jealousy over the years that Jon truly never wanted to do, was make you feel as if he was attempting to replace Robb. Nor did he ever want Robb to be watching him and think that either. He didn’t push for it. He thought of it all the time. He wanted to drag you out to the Weirwood the moment he had reclaimed Winterfell, but restrained himself for your sake, to not bombard you with his want of commitment when he knew how fresh the wounds were from losing Robb.

Then he said it. The first time making love to you on Dragonstone since that night in the cells of Castle Black, Jon said it in the heat of the moment. That he wanted to marry you, that such a thing was all he’s ever wanted. He couldn’t take it back. It was out in the open and you both finally talked about it. Coming together slowly to understand that little by little were you healing, and perhaps marrying Jon would help heal a part of you that felt so desperately alone. It was once of his favourite memories now, that beautiful evening marrying you under the Weirwood in his home the way he dreamed of since he was a boy. Jon was not afraid of commitment now, he was only ever afraid of pushing you too fast. But now that you are his wife? Now that he has you? Well, it is almost cute that you would ever find reason to doubt Jons love and affection for you. And he would spend his entire new life with you proving that no matter how often your frustrating little brain tried to lie to you otherwise.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Robb:

He is a man of duality. He can be both seamlessly and switch whenever he is needed to. One on hand, he was a Stark. Starks are as harsh as the winters they endure and he led an army of Northmen as their King. There was a degree of demand and respect he would get from his men and if not, establish his authority and make them respect that. He was not afraid to raise his voice, to be violent, to make the hard choices others would attempt to persuade him away from. But with you? It was different.

Rare was it Robb took anything out on you. Only once truly. Learning of Theons betrayal, his instinct was to ride North at once. Impulsive and rash but there was an anger burning inside of him for all he had just learned, and you were quick on your feet. Scurrying in front of him and pushing him back gently with your hands to implore him that you were all still at war. He had raised his voice at you, not to be mean, but a frustration and a helplessness manifested in an aggressive manner. You never held it against him through. You continued to show him support and counsel that he would understand until he felt his heart slow down from a racing speed.

Other then that, Robb was always gentle with you. Careful with your emotions, sensitive they were despite how hard you tried to show otherwise. Always sweet with you in the view of his men. He loved treating you like his Queen, treasure and spoil you like a Queen. He couldn’t do that here, not in an army camp in the middle of war, but he did so instead with how he treated you. His love for you was gentle, and while out at war, if that was the only thing he could treasure you with, he would do so with all the love he could summon.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Jon was almost scared of being rough with you in any way. Ironically you always joked that it must be the opposite considering how he was the one unafraid of roughing you up in the training yard, but that had purpose. That taught you to be stronger and quicker. But the moment you stepped out of that yard, it was different. Sure, he would playfully manhandle you but that was no different to the ways Robb or Theon would do the same. You were simply smaller then them and were easy to toss around. Arya got the same treatment, so she understood your plight.

But when with you alone, Jon was nothing but gentle. The moment you came into his life, he just fell in love. He was soft and kind to you, a watchful protector at first making sure nothing ill or hurting would befall you again. Easing you into the way things were here and comforting you when lonely. That all made you trust him more and more but it almost made him softer for you. Rasping low words he would speak to you, his touch even when innocent was always gentle. He never wanted you to feel as if he would ever go too far in any way, no matter how much you never thought it would happen. There were areas of Jons life where he was rough and unkind, but being with you was never one of them.

Jon Post Resurrection:

It is a contrasting feeling with Jon, the way he is now. He is gentle and rough both, and sometimes you never know which to expect. He was a man whom still held a temper with the sharpness of a wolves claws and you never truly know when he would let it all out. On his men, on those who disobey him, and even sometimes when he is frustrated with you, that roughness will slip. His voice raises every so slightly with a strain that tells you he is still holding back, his hand usually running down his mouth or along his face in an exasperation. Rarely does he too show gentle physical affection. He keeps his hands, comments, and for your own awareness, his eyes to himself. There is seldom an indication in the face of the public which tells them that you are at the side of a warm, and gentle husband.

Alone though? Jon can indeed be very different. He routinely can switch between that rough and gentleness. While the rough usually seems to come out as a result of what you both are doing in his bedchambers during the hour of the wolf, bat, or whatever other hour Jons needs grow strong, the rest of the time? He is gentle. His voice soft and tender, his touch slow and purposeful and almost always meaning to soothe more then anything else. The way he runs his hands through your hair as he does it all up, or untangles it from the day. Taking your clothes off gentle or running a cloth over you when he has you both in the bath. His tone always quiet and murmuring as that deep rasp is but an entrancing husk in your ear and you feel as large and intimidating as Jon can be, it is in those moments which he is truly gentle. Alone with you and no one else to be on guard around. You, Jon can be gentle around because you are the only one who does and will ever trust being vulnerable around.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Robb:

He won’t per say, pull you into a hug the way two greeting friends may. In sensitive times or comforting you after the heat of passion in his bed he would, but otherwise, Robb showed that affection in different ways. It was always tied into his affectionate manner, his hands always on you, seeking any excuse to press his lips to any part of you. Robb didn’t hug you often out in war, but he did the best he could pushing his touch right up to that line.

When he did hug? He was loving. Pulling you close, an arm wrapped around your waist and the other smoothing down your hair, or as best he could when it was done up simply in the encampment. Help you bury your face in his neck as he kept you there until whatever calm you sought him out for was found and eased your worries. He’s used to being the eldest brother, he knows how to comfort in a hug when his younger siblings came running. And even though it was a little more intimate with you, that instinct to make you feel safe and protected was still there, if not more inflamed then usual.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Stemming right from his affectionate behaviour, Jon is happy to give hugs to anyone he cares for. So many outsiders have this idea that the Northerners are such cold and uncaring people, when in reality, they simply save that for whom is most important. His siblings, especially the younger ones, got hugs all of the time while they were growing up. He and Arya even had their own special tradition, skinny and short as she was, she would jump up into his arms as he’d catch her and hold her close. One day he joked when she got older she’d be too big to do it anymore, but she insisted that the day she grew to be tall like Sansa would never happen.

With you though? That was the same, yet not. As children it could be, Jon could hug you and not think twice. It was not until he had become older, nearing his fourteenth name day that he realized that his physical closeness could be seen as with other intentions. So he changed things, usually keeping that for only when it was the two of you. Still you never questioned it, and it wasn’t until you both kissed did you realize why he had eased off of it and followed suit. He’d love to hug you more, but Jon just knows he can’t. He can’t hug you in public for risk of someone putting it together when he’d struggle to let go or keep it polite, and he couldn’t afford this being discovered. Not yet.

Jon Post Resurrection:

It once more was split between two sides of him. For his siblings? That affection had never gone away and it was going nowhere. The moment he and Arya were alone, she ran towards him, jumping into his arms as he caught her like it was any other time, or truly, like it had been the last time. She was a little bigger, and he a little more tired, but it was all the same. The same with seeing Bran again, the two brothers didn’t hesitate to bring the other into their arms tight, followed by a kiss to the forehead as Jon always had done with his younger siblings. One sibling did not have the same reaction, but she was another story, another problem which Jon did not wish to contemplate at that very moment. So he ignored their lack of affection.

It was not unlike before, but for very similar reasons oh his past life. Now, he could be seen with you, be open with you. But he chose not to, not in front of others typically. Jon reserved that softness for few people’s eyes. Perhaps it came from the fact that he knew even though the North called him King, he was still just a bastard. He felt he had to always prove he was worth this title that they and Robb bestowed upon him, trusted him with. He couldn’t look soft or distracted when it mattered, so he could continue to lead them all undoubted as much as he could manage.

In private though? Jon was always the one pulling you into his arms, keeping you close, and running his hands innocently over you. Having you in his arms felt safe, and as if he too were keeping you safe. It was comfortable, it eased the tension, the panic, the paranoia and vigilance which came forth with the traumas both of you had endured. He would ensure you slept with you in his arms, your front usually hidden in his chest as he keeps you hidden from the rest of the world, and many times, Ghost coming to sleep at your back to keep you just as protected.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Robb:

To an outsider? Yes it could be seen as fast. Married and together for only one night, then spent many months thousands of miles apart. By the time he said it, you had only once more been together for a few short weeks. Were that the only amount of time he knew you, that would be fast and it would be odd. He’d barley know you let alone enough to use such a passionate word.

But, that was not the case. He had known you since he was a boy of ten, and now at twenty and five, you were as part of his life as his siblings were, only more. It was after learning that his father had been murdered. He had taken you and twenty thousand some Northerners to march south and free him, and instead, Joffery had beheaded him for a treason he did not commit. It was beyond devastating. Robb was the eldest, the one leading this army. He should’ve been more composed, but he wasn’t. He disappeared from anyone sight. That pain needing to go somewhere he had slashed and hacked away at the bark of a strong tree as he let himself go more with each hit. You had come across him. Red in your eyes with tears he was sure you didn’t even know were pouring down your cheeks.

You had called to him, but there was little you both could say. You both knew. Instead, Robb dropped his sword as you both fell into each others arms. You both had promised to kill them all, and you both had told one another how much you loved them. He said it, you said it, and he never went back. It was natural to say it, because Robb did not care about the speed of which things were progressing emotionally. He needed you as you needed him now more then ever, and you both did not hide away that love was the most important aspect of all of it.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

He feels it. Don’t ever get Jon wrong. Deep down in his heart, he loves you. He’s in love with you. Every definition of the word love for him belongs to you. It always has. Since the moment he saw you across the yard on your first day that spark was there, and it was only cemented that first night he watched over your ill, unconscious, dying self that he understood this would not go away. He knew then you were his and he was yours, even if he didn’t know then what the word was.

But, he’d never say it. He never did say it. Telling you that would make it real to the point there would be no denying that your future together was always in question. What love could you both truly share in earnest when it would be taken away by your duty one day? Jon felt it and he always did, but he never said it. He was sure you felt it as well, but again, he never said it. It was putting you at a risk he wasn’t willing to have. Saying it was love to each other would make separating so much more painful, so as much as he desired to tell you the extent to which he’d always been deeply in love with you, Jon never did.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Jon had almost said it many times, had said it passively a few times after that, and then one much more obvious time to ensure it got through your thick skull. You were scared, and distant, and traumatized at first. He refused to push you more then he worried he already had, and ensured that he wasn’t continuing to push you too much. Robb was a major factor. Jon loved you, he always had and now something dark, and clawing, and burning was deep within his chest that radiated something even more possessive then love, but he knew the part of him which as ostensibly still a man, knew better. Robb was your husband, the man you died with, the father of the child murdered within your womb beside him. He refused to have you wrongly think he wanted to replace Robb. He didn’t. Part of Jon wished and always had wished he could walk in Robbs shoes and even more when he married you, but not enough to push you before you were ready to handle it.

Now though? He wonders if he doesn’t say it enough. Jon is not an overly talkative man, neither you a talkative woman but you had the intelligence and eloquence of a life of royalty to know how to articulate yourself better then he could. Jon usually preferred to act a physical being, show you rather then tell you and he wonders now sometimes if he was neglecting to make sure you knew with no doubt that he loved you. You both felt it, but he knew sometimes he was so quiet and closed off, you may just so happen to doubt how much and that was a worry Jon did not wish to ever give you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Robb:

If there was only one truth in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, it was that Robb Stark was indeed a jealous man. It didn’t always come off so easily. He wasn’t aggressive or rude, nor did he border into possessiveness about it. Robb knew he had you, you were his wife, about to soon be the mother of his child, and the Queen at his side. No one else stood a chance, let alone against the sheer love you felt for another. But, you were more then those things. You were still highborn, before this you were still essentially a royal princess just without the title, you were beautiful and intelligent and well spoken and your hand always sought after but never able to get close. Robb knew you were popular in the realm even if you didn’t see it that way.

Which meant in a camp full of soldiers, you were something for them to think about. He had eyes, so he could see how men looked at you. And through more..unnatural manners...did he also hear what they said about you in their private laughs. You were an object of desire for them, but it only bothered Robb when it was so brazen. When someone put you in that position directly, let alone in front of Robb. He never had to be aggressive about it. Robb knew exactly how to stand his ground and assert his authority without raising his voice or using force. He would make them back down without much effort.

He wanted to show you off, but he also wanted to keep parts of you all to himself and the best way to ensure no one overstepped, Robb would simply have to keep you with him at all times to ensure no one made you uncomfortable with comments or advances. Not that he was opposed to the idea, and he was fairly sure you weren’t either despite your protests.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Jon was jealous twofold. But that came as a slow burn of jealousy. At first, he was jealous of Robb. He was their fathers firstborn son, he was the heir to Winterfell, he was the trueborn and he got everything Jon wanted. On a good day, Jon could admit that Robb was better at him then near everything. On his bad days, he would wish to argue how much better at Robb he was then things, but, those came less and less the more he moved away from his teenage years. He was jealous of Robb his whole life, and there was no getting around that. But that jealousy didn’t come with hatred. Just envy.

Only, it was a bit different now. Still, there was no resentment or hatred, but that envy and anger was strong. Because now Jon had a reason to be jealous. Robb was marrying you. It was neither of your choices, but that did not take away from the fact that it was going to happen. You’d marry him, have his children and a happy life that Jon could never give you. It stung, it stung a lot watching the brother he always saw get everything Jon wanted, now too, having his girl. And in truth, even at the Wall, Jon never stopped being jealous. It always just sat there, brewing behind the scene ready to flare up at any moment.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Jealous was the wrong word. Jealous implied that there was anything another man could want with you, from you, or offer you that he couldn’t give or have with you himself. Sometimes, what he got was insecure. What Jon felt was the weight of a bastard who married a girl raised as a princess, and what he couldn’t offer you. You deserved the kind of luxury you were raised with in the Crownlands, but he was a bastard, he hadn’t been able to give you that before and he barley could now. It made him insecure around very few, only those which could offer you such a life now. Jon had never said it outloud, nor would he, but there was a very short list of men who Jon feared may offer you the life of a Queen you deserve and he would only have the love in his heart to offer you to stay.

The only other thing he got was possessive. But that had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with the fact that Jon knew what men were, and did not appreciate the thoughts of men being directed towards you. You were Jons, there was no going back on that now and he would glare so harsh across the way at men looking at you, that they’d stop simply because the men could feel the target of danger being painted on their backs. Jon would keep his distance, but take you harder and longer those nights. Leave a claim on you so deep that any man who came anywhere near you could sense his person on you thick like incense being blown in their faces, and they would know a possessive wolf had you for himself already.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Robb:

Robb will kiss you anywhere, any time. Literally. He needs no reason to kiss you. The second he shared your first kiss together in his bedchambers only hours before the wedding ceremony, he knew he’d find himself always wanting more. Especially now out here, at war. He would make sure he valued every single second he had with you in case of the worst. He’d barley ever let you walk away from him to attend to your duties without pulling you in for a kiss. He’d pass you by in any way and press his lips to your hair, or in front of his men to be formal yet cheeky, press a kiss to the back of your hand or a gentle peck on the cheek. All knew he wanted to kiss you more, but they were amused at their Kings attempt at self restraint.

Robb loves kissing down your neck. Not even to mark it up roughly, but how sensitive you were there the tender skin, how when you’d try to speak when he did so you’d stutter, and that high pitched gasp so sweet. Making your breath hitch each press of his lips? He loved it, it made you so pliable as you’d melt in his arms and he adored it. As for where you’d kiss him, Robb loved you’d press your lips down his chest. Usually making your way to another destination, but he loved the look of you small against his broad frame and your pretty lips pecking at what you could find as if unhappy to leave any skin untouched.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

It sounded so innocent to say, but Jon loved when you kissed his cheek. For years as a shy little girl, it was the way you showed you were grateful. A simple kiss to his cheek usually paired with that bright, sweet smile you saved only for him. He wasn’t brazen enough to do it back, too afraid it would show off his feelings, but sometimes when he was feeling cheeky, he’d dramatically kiss the back of your hand with a bow before leaving the room, always making you and sometimes his father laugh at his antics.

When he kissed you for the first real time though? Thats what he adored. Your lips were soft and perfect and followed along with his so well, it was as if you both were made to kiss the other. He couldn’t get enough of it, really. Not wanting to sound full of himself, but he kissed you so much and enjoyed it so much he considered it likely one of his secret great skills. He took pride in that, and any chance he had you properly alone for a decent period of time, he would spend hours kissing you if he could.

Jon Post Resurrection:

That had not changed in him. That Jons favourite thing to do was to kiss you. Only now, he did not need to hide it. And he was not so private that he would never kiss you where anyone could see your embrace. His usual now was a kiss to your sweet lips, before he’d cup your cheeks to tilt your head down, pressing a kiss to your forehead and many times the hair at the top of your head. Sometimes moving you back up at the right angle to kiss you once again.

He could never explain it, but there was something about kissing you that he adored. He was good at it, he could do it now whenever he liked, and he could control how long he kissed you and many times, often did. Stealing your breathe in a perfect way, your air taken away and being reliant on Jon to let you go to even be free? It was everything he wanted, and he exploited that. If Jon had one way to show his love, it was kissing you, and it was the one skill he could say he had over many men and he would hold to that one boost of real confidence.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Robb:

He grew up the eldest sibling. He had 5 brothers and sisters, he was very used to it. He was eleven, near twelve by the time Sansa was born. So he got very used to what little children were like, especially when Arya and Bran followed not terribly long afterwards. Rickon was still but a baby when he left Winterfell for war. He was confused by everyone leaving, and the chaos surrounding Brans fall and his mothers absence. He’d follow Robb around all day everyday, clutching at his leg and crying. Robb did what he could, and while what he could was alright, he suspected Rickon appreciated Robb trying more then if he succeeded.

It made wanting children with you easy. Seven hells he’d been trying, but war was taking an incredibly stressful toll on your body and he suspected it was making it harder for you to conceive a child. He didn’t blame you, it would happen when the gods knew your body was ready for it to happen and he wouldn’t try to force it any sooner. But he wanted children, at least six, as many as his father had. And the moment you had come to him telling him you were with child? Well, Robb knew it was only a matter of time before that picture became a reality, and he couldn’t wait.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Was Jon good around kids? Yes. Did he like kids? Yes. Did he want kids? No, never. He half raised four of his siblings, he was always good with kids and he enjoyed them. He adored that Rickon was born so late, so that while his other siblings were getting old enough to not wanting to be so attached to their siblings sides, Rickon was young enough that he still did so. Rickon was found at Jons side if not Robbs a lot, and they both were happy for it.

But Jon wanting kids? That was a life for a Jon that did not hold the surname Snow. He refused to father a bastard, and he refused to give himself any chance that would result in it. He didn’t go through with losing your virginity’s together that afternoon because of that dark voice in his head pecking at him like a raven asking what if he got you pregnant. He couldn’t do that to a child, being a bastard was not a good life for a child and he wouldn’t be the one to do continue the cycle.

Jon Post Resurrection:

If he were attempting to keep his words in polite company, Jon would simply say that he was more then eager to become a father. He half raised all of his younger siblings, he was always good with kids and he still was. He spent time with less younger ones these days, but he spent much time with Gilly’s son, Sam. Acting almost something like an uncle to the small boy, Jon felt internally that it was quite good practice for when you and him had a child and they came of that age. Not that Jon wanted to necessarily push you for that so soon, losing your first in your womb left scars both literally and figuratively that he was sensitive not to overstep.

It didn’t stop Jon from wanting them though. He wanted to see you swell with his child, with many of his children as he also wanted to see you with many little ones running about around you. He wanted to have children with you for himself as much as he wanted to make you a mother. Show you that this thing you always wanted, and one horror after another tricked you into thinking you either did not deserve it or could not have? He wanted to prove that this was still something you both could have, but now together. And marrying you? Well, the child according to you should still be named Snow, but they wouldn’t be bastards, and they wouldn’t be raised and known as such, and that was just enough for Jon to want to start giving you children now, and it was only a matter of time.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Robb:

Mornings are routine and not of much variety out at war. You’d both wake up, dress quickly in case something pressing should come up requiring his or both your attentions. You both would eat, and then truly, that tent is empty until nightfall. Mornings are not interesting in the sense of, your days are filled with duties and war councils. There isn’t time to spend on routines. Not out here.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

They were mostly uneventful from his early days to now. He slept alone, he got mostly ready alone and the maids would come in only once he was mostly ready for the day, wanting to have some peace to himself when he first woke up. He still does that now, only at Castle Black which means Jon had even less of a reason to dilly dally in bed. He had duties to attend to, and his father didn’t raise him to laze around.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Mornings aren’t as plentiful as he’d like now that he is King. He awakes before you most days, dresses, gets some smaller work done and by the time you arise? Jon will help you dress gently, stand you in front of the small vanity to sit as he does your hair for you in the styles you both preferred on you and he was an expert in. Stopping by the dining hall to eat briefly before his day started, and Jon was King, so he had duties to attend to. And that routine scarcely ever changed.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Robb:

They would go one of two ways. Some nights, Robb felt the burden of this war bearing down on his shoulders. He’d be hunched over his desk in his tent writing and reading and planning and plotting. You’d be laying in bed trying to entice him to come sleep, but those nights it was impossible. He had too much to do and too much on his mind. Night would come and go and by the time he would consider sleeping it was so early to morning that it would be a waste. Those nights were not fun, they were the roughest on him and Robb tried to lessen how often he’d stay up so preoccupied with this war. He also simply put, didn’t like how much it kept him from enjoying you.

The rest of the nights? There also was a routine, but slower. It would start with undressing the other down to each of your softer night clothes. Having a meal together, and on a good night? A bath would be drawn which you both would take turns washing the other. Some nights you’d both stay there for a while, enjoying the others company. Other times you’d both get out and Robb would enjoy you in other ways. If you did not fall right asleep, thats when you both would find ways to preoccupy the other until you both got tired enough to sleep. Those nights were far more often then the previous kinds, and Robb was trying to work on them happening more often then not.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Nights were the same as his mornings. Routine, routine, routine. Only as a boy, Jon would drift asleep trying to come to terms with how in love with his best friend he was. That transitioned to being with you and resenting he couldn’t fall asleep beside you, to being at the Wall, and clinging to any memory of your sounds, looks, or touch to create a phantom of you in his mind to fall asleep to.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Nights were sort of the same as his mornings, but slower. Jon could take every task left and slow it right down, take his time to enjoy the quiet, the peace, and you. Undress you as he did the morning, you both taking your time with one another in a bath. He would sit at his desk and get work done while now you were there either helping for doing your own tasks which calmed him, giving him peace of mind that he always knew where you were. And many if not all nights would end with him in some way, taking you to bed. But that was another discussion entirely.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Robb:

Robb is lucky for how long he’s known you. At this point, there was very little for him to find out about you or you about him. Fifteen years of friendship before marrying you left little up to the imagination. That being said, marriage did mean there were some new things to learn about each other. More gentle and intimate details and Robb was perfectly content letting that all sit out in the open. What he liked, what he was like, what he wanted, none of which he’d leave your many times confused little head to figure out on your own.

Robb knew you had things he still didn’t know about, but you were always more reserved. More quiet about yourself, much like the way Jon could be which clearly was why you both were such good friends. But because Jon was like that, it meant Robb could handle that with you. You didn’t keep things to yourself to be malicious, sometimes he knew you would simply not know how to bring it up. Robb would put it together some times, and others not so much. But he was fine that you were slower to open up completely, because you accepted how open he was. Together it was as if you both completed the other.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Taking his time with you was important. He could always tell you were shy and timid, and needed to get used to even having friends the way Jon was offering. If he bombarded you with details about himself, there was no telling if that may simply scare you off. You were slow to open up, and Jon felt it fair to match that energy. Of course, he was keeping one big, fat secret that he was in love with you. Never telling you that he was so in love that as a boy, he would daydream about the ways he could convince his father to find a way to let him marry you. He never revealed those and never would, even now. Those were simply a little too embarrassing to admit.

It got easier when you both were older, and used to being together. Those quiet nights up far too late for your own good, talking and joking about anything you both could think of. You and Jon learned little details then which he treasured forever, and he knew you took to heart. Those moments, Jon opened up more then he had with anyone else. In truth, if he casted aside any of the physicality of him romancing you, it was those small little moments before his fire in his bedchambers that he treasured the most. Two quiet, reserved people opening up because it was just so natural with the other.

Jon Post Resurrection:

There was very little Jon had to hide from you now. There was a bond there, something deeper then love or friendship that tied him to you and you to him. Jon didn’t even need to be able to read you so well to understand what was going on inside your mind, and even more literally, your dreams. There was something tethering you both to one another and it made keeping secrets something near impossible now.

Even if he had secrets to keep that mattered, Jon did not feel compelled to keep them to himself. He wanted to tell you, he knew how you would react and why your reaction mattered. That was really all there was. That was it. Jon was open with you as could be, and implored you to feel safe and understanding that you could do the same, because that connection, that bond, that love between you both was now so strong that not being open was barley an option anymore.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Robb:

It was not that he was an impatient man, it was that the manner which Robb displayed his discontent with things might come off as impatient to the untrained eye. His men saw most of this side. His tone and demeanour darkening, and even though he would normally use slow and clear words it was laced with a bitter poison that would burn your skin were they to be directed to you. It was how he learned to establish his authority amongst so many lords which were older and more experienced then him. They perceived it as a lack of patience rather then them being put in their place. He never had to be angry when doing it, when Robb yelled in anger, that was when the men knew they had screwed up monumentally.

But with you? Robb couldn’t be more patient if he tried. He didn’t care about rushing you. Sometimes of course he’d persuade you into things, his patience almost being used as a seduction tool against you, but that was only in the bedroom. In your lives together, Robb would always allow you to take your time. He never had any reason to rush you. After all, you’d never get short with him, so why would be get angry with you.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

That door could swing open in either direction. Usually, Jon was very patient. He wasn’t losing his temper and would keep his cool. Or at least, thats what he was like now. It took a lot of time to develop that skill. Jon knew he had a short temper, and it took years to reign that in. He never let it out on someone who didn’t deserve it, sometimes he was just angry and impatient when talking to someone but it was not personal to them. But with someone he cares about? Jon would get angry and impatient, but usually on their behalf. Once you were someone Jon cared about, it was a lot harder then anyone thought to make him mad at you.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Jon was a strange combination. He could both be a very patient man, but also a very quick tempered one. He could jump to anger and yet use all of the time in the world to stew on that anger. Death and returning to life had not changed that about himself. He seldom found patience for pomp or elongated formal routines. He wanted to get to the point to get to what mattered.

It was you he was patient with, caring for your much more soft and sensitive mind then the one he left you with. Only once had he taken his anger out on you, and Jon had and would continue to go to the ends of the world and back to prove he’d never do it again. It was an awful truth he learned, and took it out on the only person near, the one who told him that truth, you. He would never do it again, and you fully trusted in that.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Robb:

Raised as the heir to Winterfell, it is safe to say that if Robb was not born with a good memory, he was raised to gain one. Afterall he had places and lords and knights and servants and people and towns to oversee. Names of the families families and beyond. He had a lot of information rolling around in his head, but he was at this point well organized about keeping them in order. He could compartmentalize things and keep himself from losing his mind.

With you though? He’s known you since he was ten years old. It would have to be a failure of grand proportions for Robb to not know every little detail about you. Some he didn’t even realize he remembered years later until it came up in passing. But he’d known you for so long that you were hardly a stranger. What he learned since being married? Well, those were new details to remember which made them even less likely to be forgotten. Learning things about you after thinking he’d known all there was, was exciting. Seeing you in a new light and he eagerly treasured everything he’d learn about you.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Truly, what even is there to say? He knew everything about you, because he watched you all the time. You haunted him, he saw you in everything and everyone and it was only because he knew so much about you, that he could connect the smallest of dots and lead it back to you. Jon wanted to know everything there was to know about you, and he had the memory to ensure it would never go away. He feared using the word obsessed, but, if he were to be brutally honest with himself, yes, he knew everything about you, because his love for you always bordered an obsession, which included knowing everything there was to know about the pretty Baratheon girl in his home.

Jon Post Resurrection:

There is little to even elaborate on. Jon remembered everything and anything about you when you were just a pretty Baratheon princess he was in love with. Now you were his wife, and you both were linked by blood in a very dark and unchanging magic sort of manner. If he knew everything there was to know about you before, Jon knew even more now and he doubted that even somehow losing all of his memory in some horrid accident would truly rid him of the knowledge he learned and held about you. Because everything he knew about you was in his heart, not his mind.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Robb:

There was only one answer. Everything had fallen apart. Theon had long since betrayed them, his mother betrayed him by freeing the Kingslayer, his plan to capture and kill the Mountain had somehow been ruined and his plans to second handedly assist Stannis Baratheon sailing on Kings Landing by keeping the Lannister forces distracted had thusly fallen out too. News came that his grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully had finally passed after being ill for many years at the same time news that Winterfell had been burned down and Bran and Rickon were likely dead added on top.

Robb had gone the entire day trying to keep himself together. Finally in the room he was to use as his bedchambers for the next few nights, he sat on the edge of it and allowed the emotions to flow. He hadn’t cried the way he did when learning of his father, this was more of a defeated cry. Tears fell from his eyes without much fuss as he hid his head in his hands. Then you had walked in.

Nervous and wide eyed, you went to him to soothe his pain right away. Robb was receptive to it, as he declared that you only had each other anymore. But you had other ideas. Opening up his palm you dragged it under your clothes to rest upon your stomach and gently stated, “You have us.” Us, him, you, and a baby in your belly. It was an instant change the moment he put it together. Robb had many happy memories of you both, but nothing beat learning in the darkest of moments, that you both were to have a child together. It would always be a memory Robb would treasure until the end of his days.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

That would be the night he kissed you. A game of hunt, you, Robb, and Jon would play it for fun out in the wolfswood at children, but now older with Theon it was more of a challenge. You and Theon were quick and good at hiding, and Robb and Jon knew the wolfswood like the back of their hand. They’d hunt you both, and were one or both of you to not get caught by the middle of the night, you’d win.

It had begun pouring rain as the sky turned dark, Theon had been found. You hadn’t. Robb tried to get you to give up, but you likely thought it was a trick. Jon stayed behind to find you, perhaps, with intentions he wasn’t entirely sure he had yet. By the time he caught you, he could tell the air had shifted. He could tell you felt a charge and that something was going on. You tried to run, but he panicked. If you left now, Jon may never find the courage ever again and he couldn’t waste this single opportunity. So he made you stop, turned you to press your back against a tree and with only a few short and painfully tense seconds passing, Jon made his choice and kissed you.

Many things that happened in the years since that moment, but that one? Jon knew that memory would stay with him forever. The kiss he was terrified to give you, but opened the gates to a mutual love that he’d keep close to his heart until the day he died, and even then, not even death could pry that memory away from him.

Jon Post Resurrection:

There were a few which stood out. Guilty, Jon knew many of which were filthy. That night on Bear Island when he finally managed to get you to open up to him, feel comfortable around him the way he knew you were craving but felt guilty about. That first night when you brought him back, how chaotic his mind was while trapped with Ghosts, both their consciousnesses blending together in such a strange way both he and his direwolf feared would be forever. Then returning and knowing somehow it was by your hands? Seeing you was one thing, wide eyed and fearful not knowing it was not danger you were walking in on, but something you both thought at one point you’d lost. He dared not retread the manner which he took you multiple times, lest his mind dive far too deep in a perverse thought he could not escape.

But there was one innocent one, one he never thought he’d have because one day he saw you on the opposite end of such a sight years earlier. He watched you marry Robb under the Winterfell Weirwood in the summer air surrounded by strangers. But, then it was Jons turn. He was the one who married you under the Winterfell Weirwood in the perfect snowy winter surrounded only by people whom cared about you both, and you both to them. How quiet it was, and this time how that quiet was not filled with his mind in agony, but peace. Feeling your gloved hand under his as you both knelt before the heart tree to prey, and how he lost a little of his reserved sensibilities and kissed you. Perhaps a little too passionately. Twice. But it was a romantic daydream he thought of many times as a young lad and long since given up having with you, and yet here you both were. Choosing it of your own volition. Not even the night you shared together in his bed could top the ceremony itself, not a single thing.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Robb:

As King in the North, there is no lacking of protection at his own back. Everywhere he went, men and guards followed especially here in the south at war. He was not particularly thoughtful of his protection, because he had what he could have and made it work as best he could for a man who’d ride into battle at his mens sides.

As for you? He was very protective. Losing you would be devastating. With no room for question, Greywind would follow you no matter what. The direwolf was fine with it, feeling both antsy at war and not in battle, and Robbs love for you extended to his wolf. Guards followed you as well when necessary, but really? Keeping you right at his side was Robbs protection. He knew where you were and what you were doing and how safe you were that way. If he could see you, feel you, hear you? His mind was at ease. He could rest well knowing you were safe at his side. Perhaps he should award you with more freedom sometimes, but as long as you didn’t truly complain, Robb would continue to let his protectiveness be overbearing.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

He’s always been protective. When he was young, Jon would stand over you almost like a guard dog. Or a guard wolf really. You were small and innocent and adorable and he felt a deep and burning need in his blood to keep you safe. He always could be found watching over you if time permitted, and he knew spending time with you was the best way to protect you.

That didn’t change the older he got, and in truth, it didn’t change at all. Jon did the same things, only now you knew why he was so protective, and you still didn’t protest. A bit of pride could fill Jons chest, that you even now, were still appreciative that he would always watch over you.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Jon? Protective? What ever could you mean? If anything were to happen to you, Jon would station every single guard in as many locations as he could and make sure Theon ensured you had two guards following you at all times at the least. He never has spoken it to you, but he and Theon have indeed had discussions about protocol in regards to your safety as both are aware that you sometimes let your own self preservation fall lax in favour of doing things for other people. He is just waiting for the day someone tries to go too far with you in any way to let it all out, and everyone including you will see how protective their new King in the North will become about his wife.

But personally? Jon watches you like a hawk. His dark eyes always seeing, his keen ears always hearing, and his senses merely knowing where you are in relation to him in the room. He has Ghost follow you often, and many times, not that he would tell you, has gone into Ghosts mind to watch over you himself during the middle of the day if he can spare the time. He is possessive and obsessive about keeping you safe, and most would and will see it as overprotective and overbearing, but Jon can genuinely do no less when it comes to you. Without you, he would he a shadow of his former shadow.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Robb:

He’s at war, he does what he can. Meals are not extravagant. There’s no where he can take you. There isn’t much of anything for special days or name days that you could give each other. At any time, you would have to pack up and leave or lose something charging into battle. What you offered each other out here was emotions, was support and love. Not tangible gifts. Were Robb able to take you back to Winterfell where you both belonged? Of course he would spoil you endlessly, but he had to keep focused. Not spend too much time in the fantasy that was nowhere close just yet.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

He couldn’t do much. He had to be careful. Anything too elaborate could get him caught, and you caught, and it would all be over. There were times Jon would plan out days to spend with you out in the wolfswood, but that wasn’t anything special. That was necessary, planning out how to spend as much close time with you in private as possible, where, and when would be too long that it would be suspicious. You both tried, gifting each other small things that would mean a lot to the other, but Jon was unable to give you what you deserved. He couldn’t afford too, not if he didn’t want to get caught.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Jon does not have much in the way of opportunity to do things for you in a traditional sense. What anniversary would you two celebrate? Thats far too complicated and too much pressure for both of you, his duties and yours leave the day to day very busy and no time for anything such as dates or courtship. Neither of you have been very good at giving each other proper gifts for celebrations or name days nor does Jon want to put pressure on you by doing more, because he knows it would wrongly pressure you into thinking he expects you to do more when he doesn’t want that.

What Jon does do, is make up for it in a slightly insecure way. You many times now lost all of your possessions. Most of what you owned had been in Kings Landing, which were lost to you the moment Ser Barristan Selmy smuggled you through the tunnels underneath the Red Keep and out of the city. Then anything you and Robb acquired when at war were lost when the Boltons and the Freys betrayed and butchered you both. Anything you owned when a prisoner of the Boltons were not yours and you would rather burn everything they made you own or wear then keep it for keeps sake. You had arrived at Castle Black in clothes they gave you, and when Jon had what little of clothes in the Nights Watch he could have made tailored to you, you wore those and left the rest behind until Maege and Alysane Mormont gifted you more proper clothes on Bear Island. Everything you owned after that? Was because of Jon.

Was it insecure? That he was trying to make up for being a bastard, by giving you everything he could? Possibly, but he did it anyways under the guise of simply giving you your belongings back. He had dresses made for you all the time, had books found or sent to Winterfell to fill the little bookshelf he had made for you in the bedchambers because he knows you miss all of the unique collections you had in Kings Landing. Jon spoiled you in those sorts of gifts, but truly, he didn’t quite know how to stop.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Robb:

His jealousy was his worst habit. You didn’t seem to mind it, but Robb knew it could be a problem in his own relationship to other men. He didn’t often let you see the effects of his jealousy, but his men did and sometimes that could only add on top of his jealousy because now you were further the centre of attention. Which only encouraged his jealousy further.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Truth be told, Jons worst habit was you. Keeping you a secret, not giving you the romance and care you so publicly deserved. Not courting you the way a lord would or should, but in the shadows were he ruined things about your purity because he couldn’t stop himself. He never went too far, but it didn’t mean Jon was not aware that he was not treating you with the proper respect. He was not treating you the way a royal girl deserved. He knew he was reckless by being with you, but he couldn’t stop. It was Jons worst habit, but he couldn’t stop.

Jon Post Resurrection:

He is possessive, obsessive, and near addicted to you. Jon knows it is a problem, you are so much of his life. Maester Wolkan put it perfectly once. Since he was brought back from death, Jon has genuinely never known a life you were not in. You brought him back and have been at his side every single day since. You did not. You came back to life alone and traumatized and tormented and tortured. So he knows he is more obsessive about you then you are him to a degree that makes him feel a bit mad. He should be more reasonable about you then he often is, but he cannot help it now and it is terrible and scares him. He was once scared it would all frighten you off, but now hes more aware of how it looks to others. The North has more or less gotten used to it, but how will he appear to any outsiders? It was hard to say and Jon was certainly not looking forward to finding out.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Robb:

Not in an extreme sense was he overly concerned with his looks. Obviously, Robb had eyes. He knew he was handsome, and he knew women thought he was handsome. Bright and bold blue eyes, brown and reddish rich curls, and years of training had sculpted him with muscle. He took a certain pride in his appearance but he was not vain about it. His life and person was not defined by how he looked, it simply encouraged a bit of confidence more then before.

The only time he truly realized how much he cared about how he looked, was when you were to arrive in Winterfell with the Kings company. You knew what he looked like, it wouldn’t come as a shock but it really felt as if there was a pressure to reassure you that you should be happy with all aspects of marrying him. He wanted you to be attracted to him, but really, it did not take much to put together that you were. How quickly your mind was getting used to the idea of being with him and by your wedding night together? Robb knew you and he were as attracted to each other as you truly should be.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Jon was not terribly concerned with how he looked. It was the perception of who he was as a bastard that mattered to him. Not what they thought of his looks. He looked how he looked and whatever care he put into it was nothing compared to how be obsessed with the way people perceived him. He knew you found him attractive, and that was the only validation he needed. He put in the effort of himself for you, and the rest of it was whatever it was. You were the only thing worth charming, and if you didn’t complain about how he looked, Jon would not spend his time fussing over it for your non existent sake.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Truly, you are attracted to him. Thats all that matters. He thinks little of how he looks, his shape, his scars, his hair, any of it. You like how he looks and there isn’t a single thing that would matter to Jon more then that. People can say what they want, as long as you’re happy looking at him, thats all the validation he needs that he’s doing enough to impress you as he believes a husband should.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Robb:

You were always important to Robb, but now? Now you were his whole life. He dragged you from battlefield to battlefield, fighting one side of a war to another and watching the toll it took on both of you. But, you were all each other had in the end. Your love for each other and now the child growing inside of you? What Robb would do without you? He couldn’t imagine a life beyond you.

Returning home? One day being forced to remarry and have a child that wasn’t the one he created with you? Robb didn’t want to feel whole without you, there was a comfort in being so in need of each other. Being out at war, who did he have? His brother sworn to a new life, two of his brothers first hostages and now dead, one sister missing and likely dead, and another still a hostage he won’t know if he’d ever see again. His father dead, his mother betrayed his trust, his friend betrayed his family? Robb only had you, and with how split your family was, you only had him. Robbs entire life was you, and in truth, at that point, he was okay with that.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

He could, but by necessity. Jon was going to give you up one day. He was being selfish by keeping you the way he did. He felt complete when he was with you, but how complete was he truly when he knew it would not last. He had to be his own person outside of that. He had to be complete without you, because one day you wouldn’t be there. He cheated a little, taking your heart with him to the Wall meant he never really let you go. You stayed in his memory for that entire time and perhaps yes, once could say Jon didn’t feel complete without a part of you. But he had no choice but to handle it, and when you were dead, well, that completeness was clearly important to him. Because he felt more dead inside without you in the world then ever before. He only had no idea how much that would change one fateful night.

Jon Post Resurrection:

No. All Jon knows in his soul, is that he is made for you and you him. Something stronger then love is there in his veins burning for you like he’s been strapped to a pyre only you are there with him, feeling the same. Something between you both has put you on each others path to such a powerful degree that it used to scare him. He thinks it still scares you, but that is alright. He is happy to be brave enough for both of you as long as you need him to be, because he is never going anywhere. He had to give you up once, and it lead to both of your deaths. In this new life, where you are the one to bring him back of all people? Jon will never let you go again, and he couldn’t.

Death is the only way that could tear you from Jon at this point, and even then, Jon knows he would do whatever it took to be the one to bring you back to him that time. Nothing would tear you both apart anymore, he would not be himself without you. He would walk, and talk, and fight for his people but everything that brought Jon back a man, a human, it would all be for nothing without you. Without you, he would walk this world a husk of a man that used to have a heart and soul.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Robb:

He’s never told you about when he was fourteen. He doesn’t quite recall when or why it begun, but he remembered looking at you differently. At twelve you were still short and young and innocent, but there was part of you that was mature. Your nature, your mind and truthfully, were you not so short then, you looked his age at the minimum. It was easy to fall for you in a heavy crush.

You were his first real crush that meant anything, and he had once made the mistake of telling his mother and backtracking saying not to ever bring it up. It went away on it’s own, he never would’ve gone to you about it especially when you were so innocent. But it existed, and when he was told he was to marry you, in truth? It made adjusting to it so much easier. Robb knew he was never going to have a difficulty falling for you.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

When Jon was finally considering if making love to you was something you would both be interested in, Jon had a dirty little secret. He never followed through on it, but it came into his mind. He wanted to make sure it was good for you, that it was memorable. Jon was as much a virgin as yourself, but he wanted to take care of you. You’d be a scared thing in his bed, and he needed to be confident. But, he didn’t know how. So he considered it. Only finding his way to the Winter Town brothel to ask the whores there for advice. But, the bastard son of Ned Stark being seen going into the brothel? He’d never hear the end of it, and he never would want you to think he was being unfaithful. So, he never did it, but he wanted too. Just to ask them what to do, how to make you feel good. Instead, he went into that afternoon having to trust his instincts, and perhaps, for his confidence’s sake, it was a good thing that in the end, both of you changed your minds.

Jon Post Resurrection:

It is a very small thing, but he would feel embarrassed if you knew. Jon knew you loved to read, and that you must have had such a wonderful collection in Kings Landing. When on Dragonstone, one morning Jon walked the castle alone. He came across a grand library full of books and scrolls, half of which were in a language he did not know, only assuming it must have been High Valyrian. He could imagine you in here for hours and hours looking and reading through everything you could. He had gone to Selyse, asking if there were any books he should take back with him to suprise you with. Where you were he didn’t even know, but she pulled out so many. Half all in High Valyrian but she assured Jon that these were ones you read time and time again always deeply invested, and many more in common that he could understand your appeal in them.

Even now, he still asked her for more suggestions. He’d ask any in Winterfell now who knew you as a girl what to have brought in for you to read. You never said it, but you knew it was suspicious that the little bookshelf he brought into the chambers for you was full of titles and books he never would’ve heard of or known to bring in for you. But you read them happily all the same, and that made it worth it. Afterall, Jon still had trunk loads of books which he hadn’t let you know he brought over for you yet, and slowly would build your new little personal library in Winterfell a bit at a time just because he knew seeing a new title on the shelf made you happy.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Robb:

In a partner, Robb has a few things which are important to him. Many of which tied in together. You had to be someone who respected who he was as a Northmen, respect the North itself, his family, his beliefs and causes. You should have your own opinions and feel free to say them of course, but as a partner, as a wife at his side? You needed to be on his side. Robb’s beliefs and values were of great important to him as they were for many Starks, and he needed someone who wouldn’t stand there and fight him on the basis of what he believed.

He needed to be able to make the hard choices, and not have his wife stand opposite to him and tell him he’s wrong. There are things he needs to do as a Lord and now a King, and he needs a wife who won’t disrespect the heavy burden which comes with that. He will always take care of you, but in your own way, he needs you to take care of him right back. He needs a wife who will give and take, your strengths match his weaknesses, and his strengths carry for yours. Anyone who can’t give him that, would be a wife Robb would have great difficulty in adjusting to.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

Forward, aggressive women. Truth be told, Jon never considered what kind of woman he didn’t like, until he met Ygritte. That was the harsh lesson he learned. She was everything you were not, and whatever similarities you shared were superficial. She took all of those to the extreme enough that it didn’t matter anymore. She was angry where you were sweet, she could be dense where you were incredibly smart and perceptive, she was aggressive where you were considerate, she was loud and mean where you were quiet and gentle.

He foolishly thought he could pretend to not love you anymore, just to be able to pretend to love her, but it was stupid. It got him shot full of arrows, and a deep understanding that it was pointless to ever think he would replace your love. But, it he had to pretend ever again, Jon knew it could never be a repeat of what Ygritte put him through. You never forced Jon to do anything against his will.

Jon Post Resurrection:

In truth, it had not come to pass yet. But he was waiting for the day it would and he hated that he still did not have a plan of how to handle it without issue. If Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne, he would never at this point agree to his aunt, the Daenerys Targaryen to be his Queen nor did he think from what little he hear do the woman, would she want that either. But, Aegon would need someone strong at his side, stronger then most Queens in recent passed. And Jon knew who that strong Queen was.

You were married to Jon, and when you had children it would be even more difficult to make happen, but Jon had a terrible feeling that the men around Aegon were smart enough to recognize the power of combining the feuding Targaryen and Baratheon on the Iron Throne once and for all after all of the fighting and rebellion, and Aegon likely would begin to see the benefit in that union as well. He did not know what would happen when the day came that such an idea came to fruition and turned into something akin to a plan, but Jon was desperately working away in his mind at how to stop it. He was only a bastard after all, and in the eyes of many in the south, him being a bastard was an insult at your side, and someone like the true heir to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen would be a fitting suitor for you.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Robb:

Robb’s sleeping habit is that he will always sense you moving. If you try to slip from bed, he will yank you back into his chest. Even without being awake, Robb can sense where you’re going and if he can help it, will make you stay with him for as long as he can keep you. If not, Greywind has been known to wake up in his place and follow you. Robb wouldn’t call himself a needy man, but when he has you, his pretty little wife in bed, especially out in a war? He’s keeping you with him as long as possible before he needs to get up and face the day. His men and this war can wait twenty more minutes for him to get his fill of feeling your soft self pressed up against his front.

Jon Pre Resurrection:

He struggled with sleep. He always had. He’d have strange, dark, melancholic dreams that would almost plague him with a sense of doom. He slept alone his entire life, despite knowing what it felt like to have you in his arms. Sleep always came to him with difficulty, both in falling asleep and with how often he’d wake up in the middle of the night only to struggle once more to fall back asleep. He’d get up and do things to occupy his mind, he’d wander, some nights even finding himself in the training yard alone hoping to let out that energy he couldn’t do anything with otherwise. Sometimes he thought maybe he’d sleep better were you next to him, but Jon would then glance in the general direction of the corridor your own chambers were in, and told himself with anger to give that dream up. Once the dreams started at Castle Black, that sleep got no better, and it only got worse and worse until that night came where his own brothers were prepared to put him to sleep for good.

Jon Post Resurrection:

Jon hates sleeping without you in his arms. There have been very few times you have not slept in his arms since you and he reunited, but those few times drove Jon mad. He despised them, he barley slept. He would take Ghost and sit in the Godswood the way his father used to after a kill to stew in his thoughts in the eyes of the Old Gods. Only it was simply a very grumpy man who missed his wife.

When you both did sleep in the same bed, he stayed awake longer then you. Watching over you as you slept to make sure he could protect you from even your own nightmares. He never told you about how often he had nightmares of his own. Nor that he would wake up many times and rip the sheets and furs off of you to push up the thin fabric of your shift to look at the scars on your womb, and up more to see your chest breathing in your sleep. He’d feel the scars littered about his chest, then feel his beating heart over the final one and pull everything back into place, then drawing you back closer into his arms before trying to settle long enough to sleep once more.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

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sunflowerwinds · 10 months ago

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stick ‘n poke | e.w

summary: it’s the first day of the campers arriving and you have a discussion with ellie about tattoos. during the supervised session of the campers doing arts & crafts, she mentions that she knows how to stick ‘n poke and you take her up on the offer. late night tattooing and exposing questions ensue.

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

contains: even more flirty!ellie, oblivious!reader, needles and slight bleeding so tw for that, steve being a himbo ally.

word count: 3.6K

a/n: maybe i love this series. comments & reblogs are much much appreciated lovelies <33

under the summer stars masterlist

The first day of the children arriving was more than hectic. More of the staff came the day after everyone else had arrived like the chefs and security for the grounds. Now, the seven camp counselors, including you, stood in a row outside of the main office on the opposite side waiting for the children to come out one by one to sign in with their parents. You recognized a few familiar parents and children but there were always new faces which you loved to see.

Ellie stood on your left while Steve was on your right. The group wore white baseball short-sleeve shirts in blue, green, and red blocking with block letters reading ‘STAFF’ on the back those coordinating colors. You thought they were insanely cute compared to the years before; it was strictly neon but Dina and you begged for something less bright and more flattering.

Thankfully, Tommy, Joel’s brother, and owner of the campgrounds, heard the complaints and had the dress code changed. You forgot every year how exhausting it was trying to reassure sketchy or overprotective parents that their children are safe and are never going to be alone. Etc. You could never blame them considering what people hear a lot about summer camps: specifically slasher-type movies based around the isolation of camps.

There were a lot of kids you recognized from the summers prior, making sure to let them know it, especially the ones that recognized you first.

Once the early crowd came by and huddled into your cafeteria for a complimentary lunch before the parents headed off home, you finally were able to take a breath, turning to the auburn-haired girl with a smile.

“Jesus, I always forget how overstimulating that is. How many parents asked if I was thoroughly CPR trained?” You exasperated to which Ellie threw her arm over your clothed shoulders, tugging you in for a moment.

“Trust me, I get it. Almost every parent asks if I’m even allowed to work here because of my tattoos.” Ellie rolled her eyes and held her arm up to you, turning her wrist from side to side to show you the tattoo. “Like do they think I’m gonna just grab their kid and shove a needle into them?”

You simply chuckle, resting your head on hers. Her thumb rubbed at your shoulder through the fabric causing you to slowly close your eyes with a hum. Every touch from her felt like a stress relief.

“Definitely. They saw tattoos and thought ‘she can definitely do a stick and poke on my child.’” You hum.

“You don’t have any tattoos right?” Ellie questions as her hand moves from your shoulder to your upper back.

You shake your head with a disapproving sigh, trying not to think about how her thumb was now massaging into your tense upper muscles. What the hell was she doing? Trying to send you into a coma?

“I do want some though. They’re just expensive as hell,” you lowered your voice which Ellie hummed in agreement.

“Well, I’m sure when you do you’ll look even better than you already do,” Elise raised her eyebrows at you with a cheeky smirk.

You shrugged her arm off your shoulder and shook your head.

“Shut up,” was the only argument you could come up with as you felt flustered at her comment.

Ellie merely chuckled and held her hands out in defense. “What? You want me to lie and say you’ll look like shit?”

“I didn’t say that, Els,” you look around as she openly cusses without thinking, hoping none of the helicopter parents heard her.

Before Ellie could retort something back, the two of you heard Joel calling the whole group of counselors over. You give her a pointed look before she playfully pushes you along as you walk, making you giggle like an idiot. When you get to where Joel is standing, Ellie’s hand lingers on the middle of your back as he speaks to the entire group.

You couldn’t believe how touchy she was being. Not that you were complaining but you swore years prior she had never been as lingering with her touches with you.

“After everyone is done in the cafeteria, gather your groups so that y’all can go to the cabins and help them unpack. After that, take them to the arts cabin to make their name tags for their bunks and tie-dye their shirts for next Wednesday for the field trip to the Botanical Garden,” Joel reads off his see-through red clipboard.

The group nods as they agree to the set schedule for the day. Once every single parent had said tearful ‘goodbyes’ and ‘love you’s’, your friends began to round up their troopers for their cabin. This was arguably one of your favorite parts of camp; getting to know these adorable children.

One by one, each of the counselors called the names of all 12 of the campers for their assigned cabins. You introduced yourself to the children, smiling at them kindly in hopes they would become comfortable with you. Some of them were more shy than others but that’s usually the case.

“Okay guys, you’re just going to follow me to the cabin where everyone will put your bags down before we head on over to the art cabin. If you have any questions, any at all, do not be afraid to ask me, okay?” You look at the wide-eyed and curious faces before they all agree to your statement.

You reluctantly had to walk away from Ellie and made your way to the cabin, checking to make sure every child was accounted for once you arrived. After about half an hour passed where you explained the basic rules for camp to all the kids, you gathered them to make their way over to the art cabin.

You felt more at ease when you entered the much larger cabin to see the rest of your friend group already having the kids make the name tags. Your campers dispersed once you gave them the ‘okay’ to go and color.

Ellie gradually made her way over to where you were standing, watching over the kids to make sure they weren’t drawing anything inappropriate on their name tags. Her shoulder bumped your own, a brazen grin on her face. Your brows set in a furrow at her fidgety manner.

“What’s up, Els?” You question, turning to her.

“I may or may not have gotten stuff to do stick and pokes,” she lowered her voice, making eye contact with you.

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at her words. The children were thankfully distracted by the rest of your friends to even listen to what you two were talking about.

“Where the hell did you get the materials for a stick and poke?” You asked in disbelief.

“Gave Tommy 50 bucks to go and get everything from the grocery store down the street.” Ellie shrugged nonchalantly.

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“I could give you one, you know. Free of charge, of course, since it’s your first one.” Ellie added on which really spiked your attention.

The offer was tempting if you were being completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t as if Ellie was a terrible artist; she actually had a bit of talent in that department. She was pretty much the only person here you would trust to do such a thing. On the more selfish side, you could be alone with Ellie.

“Miss Ellie! I need help!” A young boy shouted from across the room.

“Alright, buddy. I’ll be right there,” she called back before turning to you to point a finger in your direction. “Think about it, okay?”

You nod slowly. “I will.”

Content with your response, Ellie jogged over to the boy who had gotten the glue on his face. You internally freak out as your eyes dart around the room. All of your campers were doodling away, chatting amongst each other while you were having a crisis.

You had zoned out so bad, that you didn’t even realize that Steve was now standing next to you.

“Oh, Steve, hi.” You greeted him with a small smile.

“Hey, um,” he cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back, “I don’t want to seem nosy but is there something going on between you and Ellie?”

You snap your neck before shaking your head furiously, a weird chuckle leaving your lips.

“No! No, absolutely not.” You persisted.

“Okay,” Steve trailed off, “you… like her, though, right?”

You looked at Ellie who was leaning over all of the kids' drawings, commenting on how all of them were ‘sick’ or ‘cool’. It was undeniable.

“Yeah, why?” You raised your brows at him.

“Damn. I owe Robs 20 bucks.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. You mouth ‘what?’ to yourself before Steve continued with: “She thought you just liked her and hadn’t told her yet and I thought you two were screwing in secret.”

“And you placed a 20-dollar bet on that?” You narrowed your eyes.

“Yeah,” Steve said ashamedly. “Robin went on and on about how ‘not everyone is hooking up just because I do’ and how ‘it’s different because it’s two girls’. I understand that but it doesn't mean, you know, two consenting adult women can’t be hooking up too.”

You blink at the flawless-haired man, listening to him ramble. Robin and he had very valid points.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyways because I’m never going to tell her,” you added, shrugging your shoulders as you scanned over the area to see if any of your campers needed help.

This time Steve whipped his head to stare at you.

“Why not?”

“Uh, because I could humiliate myself and lose her as a friend. I know our relationship wouldn’t be the same if I did,” you explained with a long sigh. “She’s not making it any easier either. She asked me if I wanted her to give me a stick and poke tonight.”

Steve whistled playfully before you bumped his shoulder. He scoffed at your annoyed expression before putting his hand up in defense.

“I’m just saying if I know flirting,” he leaned down to mutter to you, “and I think I do, she wants you just as badly as you want her. My personal opinion is to go for it.”

You shake your head at his words but don’t necessarily push the thought away. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Robin and Abby whispering amongst each other. Robin glanced over to where you and Steve were standing before nudging the taller woman.

“You know what’s going on over there?” You lean into Steve with furrowed brows.

“No clue but I think I gotta go. One of my kids just shoved a googly eye up his nose.” Steve patted a hand on your shoulder before speed-walking over to this table full of campers.

To your surprise, none of your children had spoken up once. You jinxed yourself almost immediately as a little girl with dark coily hair pulled into two ponytails raised her hand and waved it around to get your attention.

You make your way over to her, leaning over to lean over her small shoulder.

“Hi, Vanessa. What did you need help on, sweetheart?” You tilt your head and look at her name tag.

“Oh. No, I didn’t need any help. I have a question though,” Vanessa turned in her chair, looking up at you.

“What is it?”

“Are you and Mr. Steve boyfriend-girlfriend?” She pointed her little finger in the direction of Steve tilting the child’s head back to see if he could get the googly eye out.

You awkwardly laughed at her question, scratching underneath your jaw. Kids, from what you’ve learned working at this summer camp, are extremely nosy and have zero filter with their questions. You remember just last summer when a little boy asked you what were the dots on your face: you were breaking out the first week. He was talking about your acne.

“Uh, no. Mr.Steve and I are good friends.” You said slowly. “Boys and girls can be just friends, you know?”

“Oh, well, he’s super cute,” she giggled as she covered her mouth like it was a secret.

The girl had taste but you just didn’t swing that way. You didn’t know what else to say but thankfully, Abby shouted over the conversations to turn in your name tags to their designated counselors so that they could get started on the tie-dye shirts.

You retrieve the hard stock paper from all twelve of your campers before tucking them underneath your clipboard.

“When your group is called, carefully walk up to the front table to grab a white shirt. If you need help picking out a size, ask for help from any of the counselors.” Abby grinned before making her way over to you.

You turn to her with a small smile, nodding your head over to her group of children.

“You doing okay with your kids?” You question, tilting your head up at her.

“Yeah, they’re not too bad but I give it a few days before they start pulling pranks on us.” Abby sighs with a shrug.

You nod sadly, knowing how truly creative these children can get when it comes to pranking. You still can’t stand the smell of a bubble bath.

“Well, you promised to help me prank Ellie so you’re really one to talk,” you raised your brows at her with a soft chuckle.

Abby couldn’t even say anything to you as you were right.

“I meant that, too. I got a few ideas for her.”

A part of you tried to ignore the quite obvious disliking Abby held for Ellie. Her tone triggered you from the first day and their little tense bicker.

“I will, Abs.”

Abby simply smiled before patting your shoulder with her own clipboard. You rolled your eyes playfully as she walked away from you. You catch Robin’s eye and she avoids your gaze almost immediately.

Weird.

“You sure this is safe?” You question for probably the tenth time that night as Ellie dipped the needle into the little plastic cup of ink.

Ellie let out a soft chuckle at your antsiness, reaching over to place a hand on your fidgeting one. You, after a lot of second-guessing, made your way to the cabin next door, making sure to only knock on the counselors’ side to not wake up the children. Every single voice in your head was telling you that you were betraying your one goal you had for this summer but your heart was telling you to spend as much time alone with her as possible.

Your mental and emotional state often collided with one another.

Now here you were in your oversized gray tee and a pair of green pajama shorts that had white shamrocks on them, sitting on her springy mattress as she dipped the disinfected needle into the tattoo ink. Ellie had on her signature black wife pleaser and a pair of boxer-briefs, one singular black glove on her right hand. The dim yellow of the lamp on the small desk was the only source of light in the small room.

“It’ll be okay. Now, it will sting a little bit because, well, it’s ink going into your skin but let me know if you need a break.” Ellie gave you a heads up, scooting in closer to you on her swivel barstool. “You said you just wanted a sun with a swirl in the middle?”

You nod as you watch her place a hand on your knee to steady your shakiness. You were nervous but excited for doing something like this. Outside of the camp, you weren’t someone who left their house often unless it was to eat, for school or when one of your three friends invited you out which you declined most of the time.

“Can we talk about something so that I don’t move a lot and fuck it up?” You nervously chuckle.

Ellie sucked in a deep breath as she began to poke the needle into your skin, causing you to scrunch up your nose at the pain.

“How about you tell me about life back at home? Just tell me everything, you know.” Ellie looked up for a second to give you a reassuring smile.

You mutter a soft ‘okay’ as you close your eyes, gripping onto the thin sheets on the bed.

“I don’t really do much. It’s not that I don’t get opportunities to. I just never have the courage to do a lot in my life so that gives me a lot of free time to read romances even though they make me feel extremely lonely. It’s annoying but I guess I kind of did that to myself,” you sucked in a deep breath when the pressure grew stronger on your upper thigh.

“You’re doing good,” Ellie whispered as she dipped the needle back into the ink cup. Her thumb was gently rubbing underneath the skin where she was placing the tattoo.

Great. Now you’re getting aroused and you’re in pain. A dangerous combination.

“Um, oh, I tried dragon fruit and kiwi for the first time last week. It was in a really big fruit bowl with melon, strawberry, mango, green grapes and pineapple.” You blurt out as you remember how delicious the refreshing bowl was.

“Very summer-y,” Ellie hummed with a cheeky smile as she was finishing up the spiral in the middle.

“I thought so,” you hum, sucking in a deep breath as she wiped a disinfectant wipe over the finished swirl portion to clean up some of the dots of ink and blood resting on your skin.

Ellie sat upright to stretch out her hunched over position, looking at you with a gentle smile. You weakly smiled back as you looked at the swirl, tempted to ask her to just finish there but that would mean going back to your cabin which you really didn’t want to do.

“How’s it looking?” Ellie cleared her throat, twiddling the makeshift ink pen around her fingers.

“It’s so clean. How did you do that?” You ask in genuine shock.

Ellie sheepishly shrugged her shoulders as she scratched at the space behind her ear. You let yourself take a few breaths as you brace yourself for the last bit of the tattoo.

“Okay, I’m good now,” you grin as your hand finds itself gripping onto the sheets once again.

Ellie nodded at your ‘okay’ but her eyes locked on your tight-knuckled hand. She clears her throat before motioning to her knee that was pressing into the metal bed frame.

“You can… put your hand on my knee. Just so you don’t screw up my sheets,” she teases as her eyes flicker to her exposed knee.

You hesitantly release the nylon sheets before carefully placing your hand down on her protruding bone. You held back every urge to rub your thumb on her pale skin just as she had been doing to you this entire time. You did, however, feel the little pricks of hairs that Ellie missed on her knee. You weren’t going to judge her, of course. It was comforting knowing how human she was.

“Is there anyone special back home?” Ellie hummed as she dotted the sunbeams.

Your eyes bulged out of your head. How fucking ironic the girl you had been head over heels for is asking you this question.

“Uh, no, not back home,” you shake your head at her question.

You weren’t technically lying. There was nothing waiting for you at home other than your dads.

“So you don’t have feelings for… anyone at all?” Ellie sounded almost nervous asking you the question.

Suddenly your palm grew hot and sweaty at the on-the-nose question. You could lie and say ‘no’ but your lack of immediate response captured Ellie’s attention. Ellie’s eyes flickered up to you with a shit-eating grin on her pink lips.

“I-I don’t.” You accidentally stutter, making you want to wring your neck right then and there.

“You’re a shit liar,” Ellie scoffed as she wiped off the excess blood and ink. “Who is it?”

“No one. Seriously don’t start,” you let out a strained chuckle.

“Why did you get so tense all of a sudden then?” Ellie quipped.

Well part of it has to do with the fact that I would give anything to have your tongue down my throat, you thought to yourself.

“Nothing. It’s no one and nothing, Els.” You shake your head before motioning to your tattoo. “Aren’t you supposed to be tattooing not being nosy?”

Ellie shook her head with a raise of her eyebrows. “So it is someone?”

You mutter an ‘oh my god’ to yourself before she continues to speak. “If it was really no one, you wouldn’t have called me nosy. I’m just saying.”

God, her sarcastic tone both irritated and comforted you.

“I don’t know. Abby is pretty… cool and sweet.” You blubber out, your word vomit causing your head to ache.

Ellie’s features dropped for a moment at the name. You even felt a nerve in her knee twitch. Why did you say Abby of all people? She pursed her lips before going back to the task at hand.

“Abby?” Ellie hummed. “Really?”

No.

“Yeah. What’s wrong with Abby?” You question the freckled girl, eyes flickering to her furrowed brows.

Ellie sucked in a deep breath, shaking her head. You wanted to scoff at her reaction but you simply kept your hand on her knee, allowing her to finish what she started.

“What about…you?” You carefully ask.

“What about me?” Ellie raised her brows.

You sigh. “Do you have anyone special?”

Ellie’s soft green eyes followed up your body to your lips before shaking her head, dismissive of your question.

“No one you know of.”

This needle is digging into your skin and your blood is seeping to the surface but Ellie’s words hurt the most tonight.

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#cherry’s fics!#wlw #sapphic #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x female reader

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deliciousangelfestival · 7 months ago

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The Imperfect Couple - 12

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It’s just a bluff, one you’ve perfected over the years. You’ve pulled this trick countless times, especially when someone refuses to give you the information you need. Most crack under the pressure, some get nervous and spill their secrets, just as you want.

But a few? A few see right through you.

And Bucky? He was one of those.

He scoffed, leaning back with that infuriating smirk. "I like this mind game."

You sighed inwardly, knowing you’d lost this round. He wasn't going to give anything up.

The tension hung thick in the air until the bathroom door creaked open, and Nate emerged, oblivious to the storm brewing between you and his uncle. Spotting his small luggage by the counter, he beamed, zipping it open to grab a change of clothes and, of course, his stash of snacks.

With his arms full, Nate wandered over to the both of you and handed each a snack—his favorite, the snack he wasn’t allowed to have at home. His parents and Hazel were strict about it, but he knew he could get away with it here, as long as he shared. This was his little bribe.

"This is my favorite," he said, grinning up at you both.

You couldn’t resist. You pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing him gently. “Why are you so damn cute?”

Bucky, knowing exactly how strict Hazel and his parents were about junk food, raised an eyebrow. "Where did you get this? Did you ask the nanny?"

Nate shook his head, completely unfazed. "No. Uncle Steve gave it to me."

That name. The second Nate said it, it felt like an ice-cold bucket had been dumped over your head. You looked at Bucky, and his face tightened. His reaction told you everything—you weren't the only one feeling uneasy.

Something was going on, and Steve’s name was right in the middle of it.

You cleared your throat, determined to break the lingering awkwardness. “Let’s have lunch first. After that, what do you want to do next?”

Nate's eyes widened, his face lighting up with excitement as he turned to look at the spacious living room and the big TV. “Can we watch movies after lunch? Then take a nap together on that big couch?”

He’d seen that in a movie. With his grandparents, he could never relax like that, but he knew his uncles were much more laid-back. He wants to fall asleep while watching his favorite cartoon, being close to his uncle and aunt.

“Sure.” You patted his head gently, feeling a warmth spread through you. Besides, it had been ages since you’d enjoyed a good nap. It felt like a luxury for adults these days.

Lunch turned into a delightful moment of relaxation as the three of you settled around the table. Nate's innocent chatter filled the air, weaving a lightness into the atmosphere that slowly pushed away the tension between you and Bucky. Nate asked questions about everything under the sun—his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he talked about his favorite cartoons and the superheroes he admired.

After lunch, the three of you cozied up on the couch to watch a cartoon movie together. Nate nestled himself right in the middle, sprawled across both of you, laughter echoing through the room.

Within forty minutes, however, the excitement wore him out. He fell asleep, his head resting against your right arm. You smiled, reaching over to gently cup his cheek with your hand. “How did he get such a bubbly personality, considering the Barnes don’t seem to have it?” you mused aloud.

Bucky glanced at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “He’s different, isn’t he?” He reached over to place a soft pillow under Nate’s head, ensuring he was comfortable.

“Maybe my parents realized how strict they were raising me, Shawn, and Hazel. When Nate was born, I was surprised by how much gentler they are with him,” Bucky added, his voice softer, as if reflecting on the changes in his family.

“Do you think Steve has a bright character too? I wonder,” you said, still watching the peaceful expression on Nate's face.

Bucky’s smile faded, replaced by a more serious demeanor. “Why do you have to ruin this moment, my love?” he teased lightly before standing up and walking toward the balcony door. He opened it and stepped outside, lighting a cigarette.

You were surprised to see Bucky smoking; he hadn’t done that since you arrived. You knew he wasn’t a regular smoker, but sometimes the stress got to him.

You followed him outside, the cool breeze washing over you as you stepped onto the balcony. Bucky turned to face you, resting his back against the railing. His head tilted back, looking up at the sky as he released a plume of smoke from his lips.

“There’s a difference between me and Steve,” Bucky said, his voice steady yet reflective. “I got into this because of connections.” He paused, knowing that his privileged background played a significant role in his current position. “While Steve? He started from the military. He had no backup. He had real ambitions.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "You see me as a manipulative person," he said, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "But you have no idea how manipulative Steve is."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Steve. The insinuation sent a chill down your spine, and you straightened your posture, folding your arms tightly across your chest. You weren't sure if Bucky was trying to manipulate you again or if he was genuinely warning you about something darker. Either way, the unease crept in.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you. “If you knew… compared to him, you’d think of me as an angel.”

You raised an eyebrow, your skepticism clear. “That’s hard to believe.”

A humorless smile tugged at Bucky’s lips. “He's a man of plans. If you and I think two steps ahead, Steve’s already thought 100 steps ahead.”

You let out a slow, steady breath, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. “That doesn't excuse what you've done,” you replied, your voice low but firm. “You’re still responsible for dragging me into this.”

Bucky's smirk returned, but this time it held something deeper—almost regretful. “You might think I brought you here just for my own selfishness, but it's also for your protection.”

You blinked, the words hitting you like a slap. “You? Protect me? That’s a joke.” You couldn’t help the bitterness that slipped into your tone. The idea that he’d done anything selfless seemed ridiculous.

Bucky's smirk deepened, almost daring you to challenge him. “Like I said before—you can hate me, stab me, poison me. I’ll take it. But you need to know, I won’t let you get hurt.”

The conviction in his voice sent a tremor through you, but you masked it with a sharp exhale. “Who wants to hurt me?”

Bucky's expression shifted, something darker brewing in his eyes. “You can figure out the truth about Nate. I’m sure you can connect the dots.”

You felt your stomach drop as your thoughts raced. Could he be implying…? No, it couldn’t be. But then again, there were too many unanswered questions. “Is this about the election? And Steve?”

Bucky took a long drag from his cigarette before answering, the smoke swirling in the cool air. “You were walking through a minefield, and I got you out before you stepped on something that could blow your life apart.”

His words struck hard, and you bit your lip, turning over the recent jobs you’d taken. None of them seemed directly linked to the election, but you were a journalist with many connections, many stories—maybe one of them had crossed the wrong lines without you realizing it.

“This… this just makes me wonder even more why you chose to support Steve,” you said, a bitter edge creeping into your voice.

Bucky stubbed out his cigarette against the balcony railing. “His leadership fits this country. You can disagree with that all you want. But Steve… Steve loves this country.”

You frowned, your mind spinning. Could that really be it? Could Bucky, despite all the manipulations and half-truths, genuinely believe Steve was the right person to lead? Or was this yet another layer of the twisted game they were all playing?

Bucky’s gaze softened slightly as he glanced at Nate through the glass door, the boy still soundly asleep on the couch.

“About Nate…” Bucky hesitated for a moment, and you could sense the weight of the words he was about to speak.

Your pulse quickened, your eyes narrowing as you waited for him to continue.

“I won’t add more to what you already know,” he finally said, his voice heavy with the promise. “Because I made a vow—I’ll take the truth about Nate and Hazel to my grave.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly, and a cold realization settled over you. Whatever secret Bucky was keeping, it was bigger than you’d thought. And it wasn’t just about the election… it was about Nate and Hazel.

“So, I should be grateful that you dragged me out of a minefield?” You raised an eyebrow, the skepticism clear in your voice. “I’m not even sure it exists.”

Bucky met your gaze, unflinching. “Why do you think I’ve supported the independent company where you work?” His tone was steady, calm. “I could’ve ruined it. Could’ve made it go bankrupt, easily.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, heat rising in your chest. His words stung, even though he wasn’t saying them with any malice. Still, you couldn’t help the tension building inside you.

But then his voice softened, the intensity in his blue eyes never wavering. “You probably didn’t realize it,” Bucky continued, “but you’ve already passed through a minefield that could’ve ruined Steve.”

Your breath caught for a moment. Wait. Does that mean he sees me as a threat? The thought swirled in your mind, unsettling you. Was that why Bucky had been hovering around, keeping a close watch?

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths. You searched Bucky’s face, trying to read between the lines. But there was no malice, no manipulation there—just something deeper, something protective.

“What are you trying to say?” you asked, your voice quieter now, a mix of confusion and frustration.

Bucky’s eyes softened. “I’m not here to control you. I just… don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire of something bigger than either of us.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, the tension still lingering, but his words had shifted something inside you.

"Crossfire?" you scoffed, shaking your head. "It’s ironic, isn’t it? We can talk about other people, stay calm. But when it’s about us? All we ever do is argue."

Bucky’s jaw tightened at your words. She’s right, he thought, his heart aching with guilt. It’s always a fight when it comes to us.

He wanted to say something to ease the tension, but every word seemed wrong. He watched you—how your arms crossed defensively, how tired your eyes looked. Not angry, just… tired of it all.

“I know,” Bucky finally admitted, his voice rough with regret. “I’m the one who keeps messing this up. I keep dragging us into this same damn fight.”

You didn’t blink, didn’t soften. You were too worn down by it all. "Then why keep doing it?" you asked, voice tinged with exhaustion. "Why keep playing these games, Bucky? I’m tired. I’m so tired of being caught in your manipulation. It’s like… you don’t even care what it does to me."

Bucky winced at the rawness in your words, the reality of it hitting him hard. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his mistakes like never before. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping. “I know it looks like that, but… I never meant for it to be this way. I did it because I was scared.”

Your heart clenched at the confession, but the exhaustion was still there, weighing you down. “Scared of what? Of just talking to me? Of being honest?”

Bucky shook his head, stepping closer, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for you but unsure if he could. “I was scared of losing you again,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “I did everything I could to keep you here, to keep you close. But I know I went about it all wrong. I twisted things, manipulated situations, because I thought it was the only way.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as his words sunk in. He wasn’t trying to push you away—he was clinging to you, so tightly that it hurt.

“You have no idea what that feels like, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “To be pulled into your games, not knowing why, thinking I don’t matter to you. It’s exhausting.”

Bucky’s face fell, the guilt in his eyes unmistakable. “I know. And I hate that I did that to you,” he said softly. “I hate myself for it. But it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It’s because I care too much, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You could see the truth in his eyes now, the desperation behind his actions. It didn’t erase the pain, but it explained it.

“I was afraid that if I didn’t do everything I could, you’d leave me again,” Bucky continued, his voice shaky. “And I couldn’t take that. Not again. I know I’ve been manipulative, and I know I’ve hurt you because of it. But I was doing it to keep you close… not to push you away. I’m sorry.”

Your throat tightened, the weight of his confession settling in. You hated what he had done, but you could finally see where it came from—fear, desperation, and a love so deep he didn’t know how to control it.

Bucky stepped closer again, this time more confident. “I’ll stop,” he said, voice steady but full of regret. “I’ll stop with the manipulation, with the games. You deserve so much better than that. You deserve better than me, but I’m not giving up. I’ll make things right if you let me.”

You didn’t answer right away, the ache of everything still too fresh. But before you could respond, Bucky took a step back, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Bucky whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I’ll understand if I already have.”

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wandagcre · 1 year ago

Text

push it for the pleasure | wanda maximoff 🔞

(College!Perv!Bestfriend Wanda Maximoff x Innocent!Fem Reader)

Wanda’s perverted thirst gets the best of her. You were irresistible and simply for her taking. And what does she do? She doesn’t resist. Instead, Wanda feeds the gnawing, filthy, and hungry monster inside of her by having her way with you even while you’re unconscious.

WARNING: heavy dubcon/noncon themes, fingering, perverted actions such as implied stealing undies, staring, touching and taking nonconsensual nudes, daddy kink (W), corruption kink, somnophilia | 18+ men & minors dni. Words: 3.6k Note: part of the perv!wanda series. you can consider it as a backstory that happened before this oneshot ;)

[perv!wanda series] | [masterlist]

Wanda had an affinity for your tedious nature. Whether it comes down to your personal interests or university workload; not solely rooted by your clear determination written in your adorable face that she admires, but rather, how it leaves you exhausted to your very bones. Tired meant the manifestations of neglect — one that left you comfortable on your bed as the aftermath.

You were so lucky to have her, not only Wanda has slid a bottle of water or a snack on your side, but on a good day with a less constricting schedule of hers, she's got the privilege of pressing firm around the strained muscles of your shoulder — feeling you succumb into the comfort and her ears being rewarded of your soft moans.

A purr escaped your mouth. "That feels so good Wands..." Your body slumped in a relaxed state.

Wanda bit her lip at the innocent play of your words. "Anything for you, dorogaya. Do you want me to press harder?"

"Ah... yes, if- if it's alright with you," came a meek response out of your lips.

Wanda knew the effect of her native language on you. She couldn't help but lightly pinch your burning cheeks.

As Wanda kneaded the kinks out of your tired muscles, she couldn't help but thirst for more. The tendency of her insatiable want when it comes to you only grows impossibly bigger every day. Whether it was her dying need to touch you or your attention fixated on her - Wanda needs it all.

"It would be better if you took off your shirt. It’s more direct and effective," She murmured at the shell of your ear. Excitement coursed through Wanda's body as you squirmed in your seat.

You turn your head to the side in question. "Wouldn't that be too much of your time?"

"Nonsense. I love doing this for you."

Wanda wolfishly grinned as she saw you eventually nod in agreement.

Oh, you were so pliant and ready for her.

Your bestfriend had to stop her scandalous thoughts of wanting to bite and mark your back as you undressed your top in front of her. She admires the view of your back and its dimples, her mouth-watering and well-awareness of how soft they were. Wanda didn't waste any time on touching you — the breathy innocent moans and soft tilts of your head as you succumbed to her touch whenever Wanda hit a satisfying spot made her mind go haywire. Her thumb applying pressure over the bottom of your trapezius; just where your nape rests upon particularly was a sweet spot.

You looked lost; wrapped in complete bliss.

"Can I touch you whenever?"

"Like this?"

"Yes," Wanda doesn't miss a beat. It was risky and ambiguous, and so she adds, "I love your skin and how soft it is under my touch. It’s so… comforting.”

She decides to take more than she should've and ran her hand across the expanse of your back to caress — how you shivered was hard to go amiss for the woman.

You know nothing can go wrong especially when it's Wanda. She's the best at attending to your needs, a thought that mildly scared you of how attuned she was, but you knew it was always rooted in benevolence and affection.

Therefore, you couldn't help but recall how come this woman stuck out negatively to other people — having alleged issues of her temperament combined with her altruistic nature. They felt nothing more than a made-up childish rumor in the playground to you as to how Wanda easily conversed with you on that first week when you'd approached her brazenly.

Wanda had figured it out not so long ago; how the double-edged sword trait of yours was how you always believed to see the goodness in the people first. It was a debatable display of strength and flaw.

Besides, you liked having her attention for some reason. Wanda's perfect smile was often so reassuring for you, effortlessly putting you at ease.

"Okay, Wands." was your good-humored reply. Your bestfriend couldn't help but press her lips against the top of your head. You smelled wonderful. Wanda really couldn’t get enough of you.

Your unwavering blind faith-filled Wanda with so much pride.

The cherry on top of it all was how Wanda has taken care of your pretty princess parts; one between your legs and the occasional massages on your breasts.

It was so easy.

Wanda thrived on seeing your beautiful irises filled with innocence and gleam as you met her mischievous emerald ones. You've given her the opportunity of a lifetime and she intends to relish every given chance that she can get. It took her baby steps to get here – once she figured out where your affection levels lay, she initiated simple touches – whether it was a hug, tugging you close to her proximity, or now her intentions that stood morally corrupt; Wanda will find a way to accidentally brush against your private parts.

While you lay on one of her arms, Wanda gently ran her fingers through your soft cheeks as you faced her. She soaked in the sweet smell of your shampoo and the distinguishable scent of yours that Wanda could not get enough of. You looked angelic and waiting to be cherished. Soon enough, Wanda seeks for another type of comfort; her hands descending underneath your shirt, tiptoeing almost, with an unstoppable grin on her face — two fingers pushing under the band of your bra.

"Daddy's here. She'll always be here for you. I'm going to take care of you, dorogaya." Wanda whispered voice lilted with pure desire before her naughty hand came to cup one of your breasts. The recessed night glow that came from your dorm’s window was the only source of light, her actions being done in the darkness amplified the thrill in Wanda’s actions.

A suppressed moan came out of her lips. God, you were so fucking full — supple and fitted perfectly to her palm. One squeeze was followed by a dozen more that inevitably led to pinching and enclosed her fingers from your areola to your now perked tip.

"All for Daddy..."

Her thumb came to play for more, in circular motions around your nipple. Your breathing pattern was nuanced although still haven't shown clear evidence of you waking up anytime soon. Wanda rolled the sleeves of her sweatshirt, knowing she had a whole night ahead of her.

Eventually, it wasn't enough. She needed more.

And so Wanda will make sure to get more.

Careful not to wake you, she pulls out her arm that served as your pillow from earlier. You now lay on your back, still unphased, Wanda raised the hem of your shirt to reveal your indoor bra. Her eyes darkened at how pure and dainty you were presented in front of her, your blemishes and moles make up a beautiful constellation in Wanda's eyes.

Because of this, she's somewhat still in disbelief at your admission that no one has taken you yet.

But fret not, Wanda thought, because she's here and she's certain that you won't need anyone else other than her anytime soon.

"Daddy's going to play with you dorogaya, trust that it will be so much fun."

Wanda carefully rolls and pushes up your bra and now reveals your delectable breasts, cushiony and hanging free. This simply calls for another photoshoot.

She quickly retrieved the Polaroid camera that was atop your nightstand, just beside her rings. She's always brought it for a good reason.

Wanda had three subjects; one was nature and the other was you and no one else. What can she say? you've got her wrapped on your finger as much as she does over you. Her last subject was more risqué and controversial, it was still you — although it was a special one — meant for Wanda's eyes alone.

Wanda had placed her lips on your buttery soft breasts and wet them as she suctioned, her tongue coming into play to swirl them around. Her open-mouthed sucks and kisses filled your skin with red and purple marks. Wanda almost had a heart attack at the hoarse, high-pitched timber, a little trait of yours that you randomly let out before you sleepily stretched your limbs.

You were so cute.

"Dorogaya? Dorogaya..." Wanda hummed in a sing-song, checking if you were still unconscious.

Once sure that you're in deep sleep again, Wanda doesn't waste a moment to point her camera at your goodies — another one of the latest artworks she had done over you.

Soon as Wanda wrapped up and brought your bra and shirt in its unrattled state, here she was — pensive and debating whether she should ruin your pussy next.

Her greed over you took over with ease. Quickly, Wanda gathers her cascading hair in her hand and ties it up. She masterfully tugged down your shorts and as it reached your ankle, threw it away somewhere in your room. You even wore the red socks she gave you years ago! Wanda swooned at the cute sight. She caressed gently the expanse of your smooth legs where childhood scars and a few more moles came into better view.

You weren't wet just yet, of course. Wanda immediately wanted to change that and feel the heat you've been hiding away from her — to feel you around her fingers.

"You're so ready for Daddy, dorogaya. You don't know how much I want to eat you right now... to get a taste directly from its source, my tongue against your pretty and puffy pussy," Wanda knew you couldn't hear her, but it doesn't stop the wanton monologues of her feverish desires over you. "You're just for Daddy, aren't you?" She ran her fingers sultrily across your lower tummy, down to your pelvis.

It simply made her journey worthwhile. She somewhat wanted to communicate how fuckable your virgin self was for her. It was no longer the case as crossed this bridge a few months ago, but her filthy soul relished in corrupting you — with Wanda in complete control and taking you.

Luckily for Wanda, you've raised one of your legs — caught in a folded position, enough for her to pry you open.

Setting your ribbon-designed undies aside, Wanda’s mouth watered at your inner walls coming into view that she could not help herself and immediately inserted two fingers inside of your velvety walls.

"Fuck, you're so warm for Daddy!" Wanda rasps out, her body burning. As though in a cue in response, you huskily moaned in your sleep as well. "You love this, don't you? This won't take long, don't worry, dorogaya..."

Your bed rocked and creaked slowly, as Wanda fucked you asleep. The wetness came pouring and coated her until she was knuckle-deep in you. She stretched your now sopping hole, and the breathy moans tumbled out of your pretty lips now and then.

How you did not wake up yet was a miraculous thing for her.

Before Wanda gets carried away in roughly fingering you enough to rouse you out of your consciousness, she pumps and curls her fingers inside of you once more before reaching for her camera. She spreads your inner thighs apart — the viscous wetness that she loved to see was there. The repeated clicks reverberated and the white flashes of her camera came in the knowing four walls of your dorm.

She even inspects your wetness, rubbing and playing with them with her pinched forefinger and thumb.

A wicked smile breaks out of her in glee and satisfaction as Wanda admires for a moment the mess she has made; successful once again as she looks at the polaroid photos she recently took of you.

She pressed a soft kiss on your temple. "You did so well for Daddy."

Almost half an hour later, you wake up confused. You were wet — your cheeks burned. This was becoming a frequent occurrence and you were too old to pee in the bed. You're more than sure that your bladder was well-adjusted. But was there anything else that was wrong with you down there? You tightly crossed your legs.

Wanda appeared from your bathroom. Right, she stayed the night. She was beautiful even if the constant turning in bed had ruffled her appearance. Although, there were much more pressing matters — this is nothing but humiliating for you, surely this spot did not go amiss for your best friend...

"What’s the matter?" Wanda approaches your side.

You were hesitant, quick to try pushing her away. "Don't come close! I'm wet... I don't know how it happened. Goodness, I know for a fact I didn’t pee myself. Or did I?"

"You did not, dorogaya. Dummy, it was my fault." Wanda gave out a hearty chuckle at your immovable confusion.

"How was it your fault?"

"I spilled my drink on the bed," Wanda played with your hair and you immediately folded. You were so easy to please. "I was just about to wake you so you can change your shorts and underwear."

You let out another relieved sigh. You were happy to know that it wasn’t your bladder acting up.

"Oh, that kinda explains it. But I think it wasn't your drink that caused this the other nights…”

“Other nights?” Wanda echoed in feigned confusion.

“I-I often find myself wet down there," You confided to Wanda who nodded attentively.

Like a lightbulb moment, Wanda seemed to understand. "It's normal. Our vagina does it by nature, as a way of cleaning itself. It's called a discharge, dorogaya."

As you digest Wanda’s words, confidently assuring you, you take one of her hands and lace it with yours — giving it a comforting squeeze.

"I don't know what I would do without you, Wands. All this time I thought something was wrong with me." You nervously chuckled, beyond glad that the case was sorted out.

"That's why I'll always be here for you." Wanda shoots you a pearly smile. She tilted her head, "Now, why don't you change your clothes?" She brought her other hand that carried your clean panties and shorts.

Though you were grateful, embarrassment filled you again as you took it from Wanda with your head down and moved away from to bed to start changing.

Wanda sat quietly at your bed and peered curiously over your timid movements. Unbeknownst to you, she was waiting for whether you'd instruct her to look away as you strip down your ruined shorts and undies. She orchestrated the whole thing after her secret session with you, after all.

"C-Can you look away for a bit, Wands?" You requested, but your timid voice cracked in the process.

Wanda raised an eyebrow. "We have the same parts, dorogaya. Besides, I also change in front of you – why does it matter?" She counters and you can't rebut anything else because it is the truth. "I won't judge you. I'm just... impatient to cuddle with you again."

There isn't harm in it, you suppose. Wanda has always been there for you and has proven herself worthy of your trust. So, you affectionately smile at Wanda's needy self.

Your whole back view almost faced your bestfriend, much to her delight — only that her jaw slacked as she got a brief glimpse of your bare ass. Wanda was certain that it was buttery soft just as your hypnotizing breasts were.

You saw the clear, gooey, and viscous substance that left a mark in the center of your underwear. Your face curled up in a slight grimace. Even if you knew better about it now — all thanks to Wanda — it was somehow still icky for you to look at.

Wanda hands the clean replacements and before you can tug up your new shorts, she pulls you in her direction unexpectedly and brash to your liking.

"Wands– what?" Wanda didn't speak, touched you gently as though you were going to break. Her hand remained on your hips.

"Hush now, dorogaya. I need to check something." Her tone sounded serious so you let her. Although it felt too intimate, blood immediately came rushing to your ears and cheeks. "I think you need to replace some of them..."

You try to protest out of timidness, "But—"

"Let me inspect you first. Promise I'll be gentle. It won't be weird," Wanda gave you a condescending smile and you easily caved in.

You feel Wanda everywhere in your body. Her touch was electric on your lower back, the other was too close to your private parts — all wandering. Wanda's fingers came to trace underneath the garter of your underwear. From your pelvis to your innermost thighs, you almost closed your legs shut in reflex.

The air felt ambiguously thick.

Her hands continue to roam around the material — excruciatingly, it was underneath your buttcheek and the pubis area especially, where Wanda’s hands gravitate and wander back onto — doing motions as though smoothening it out.

You let out a sharp inhale and your stomach twitches each time in sync.

"This shouldn't be too hard and tight for you. Not only does it leave marks, but it's uncomfortable, isn't it? The material also is too thin. It's bound to tear off soon." Wanda lists out and all you can think is holy shit, she's right. You weren't confident with your picks when you shopped for them, in all honesty.

"Yeah. I wasn't sure what to pick..." You admit with your eyes looking at your sock-covered feet and your hands clasped in shame.

Besides, you somehow keep on misplacing them. You were baffled by now because you were getting understocked with the amount of undies you had. Where have they all gone?

"Tell you what," Wanda calmly calls your attention and tilts your head up with her hand, "I'd take you to shop some and help you throughout the process so I can teach you too. Don't worry, it's all my treat dorogaya."

Your eyes beamed. You need as much help as you can. "You'll do that for me? But... isn't it too much? I can’t ask that of you.”

"I don't mind, it's not like we do it often. I’m personally offering." Wanda shrugged. She had a point. You'll stop her the next time she insists... maybe in return, you'll do something nice for her.

Sneakily, one of her hands that rested on your lower back descended to your ass cheeks and came in contact to slap them. You sharply gasped and flinched upon the sudden contact, giving Wanda an unamused look. You hoped that she wouldn't detect the fluster in your appearance underneath it.

You didn't understand how it was somewhat satisfying for you. It was a mere play, an act that was nothing more but to tease you — but it felt good against your ass.

You whisper-yelled, calling out her outrageous act.

"Wanda!"

She sports a mischievous smile, her perfect teeth biting down her lower lip. Wanda shook her head and finally raised her hands in defeat.

"Come on! I thrive on riling you up. It's essentially my duty. Now come back and get comfy here in bed. You deserve more sleep. I'll take care of these," She points to the clothes you stripped out of. "And no complaints. I don't mind, I've seen all of you now dorogaya."

"You will be the death of me."

"I love you too," She teasingly replied before disappearing into your view and the words of your best friend made your heart jump.

You groaned in the soft pillow in surrender although it was too much for you — you knew that Wanda's intentions were coming from a good place. She's nothing but thoughtful to you. Soon, the harmony of cold and warmth of your sheets and duvet became too comfortable. You have proven Wanda right and easily succumbed to sleep once again.

Meanwhile, Wanda gathers the polaroid photos she took just a few minutes ago. She closes the door and threw your shorts to the hamper. But your pretty and soaked underwear? It's coming with her.

With the still-damp material of your undies, Wanda strips out her bottoms and sat to the closed toilet seat. She places the fabric over her now exposed pussy; not wasting any time rubbing it against her wet cunt, starting slow, and even thrusting it inside to stimulate and tease her filthy fantasies of you even more.

God, here she was, touching herself at the thought of you and the photos she had taken of your pretty princess parts.

Wanda took a good look at it; albeit with much effort as her eyes were threatening to shut at the sensation. It was easy to recall her indecent touches — the feeling of your folds ridiculously soft and unearthly, stretching your labia so she can insert her fingers inside of your opening and how it sucked her in slowly — fuck, you were so tight!

These thoughts spurred Wanda to rub herself with harder pressure and dared to tug and play with her clit — all while covered with your soaked undies. It was somewhat rough against the vulnerable lines and ridges of her labia and provided the undeniably irresistible friction that she craved, doing it repeatedly until Wanda stretched herself out.

It was your cum coating her own pulsating and clenching pussy. She can't help but moan at the thought as she touches herself inside these four, cold walls. How Wanda can only wish instead of her fingers, it was your dainty ones. Even better, you're on your knees for her... eyes wide, expectant, and obedient to her orders. You always looked at her in a certain way that made her stomach flip in adoration and glee. In her filthiest imaginations, Wanda is calling the shots, ordering you to go flatten up your tongue like a good girl and to lap her faster—!

Wanda finally cums hard, a guttural low moan tumbling out of her lips.

Fuck, she got so wet that it seeped out, the woman was sitting in her mess. Gripping and glancing at the jerking-off materials, she couldn't be more proud of herself today.

Another for her beloved and favorite collection — all thanks to you.

#gg.writes #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x fem reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagines #wlw #lesbian #perv!wanda #requested

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