#it’s so ugly and uncomfortable and makes my stomach hurt even writing it

[a-concert-just-for-me]

I have a fic in the works that is 1000x more fucked up than Book Scraps. Like. It’s so bad. It’s a character study based on an inch of an idea a commenter gave me (hi mutual <3) that I’m running with as fast as I can to make a country mile

[bellysoupset]

I just reread your fic were Jonah had a vertigo episode and Vince told him he was dating Wendy.

I just love Jonah and his friendships with both Vince and Wendy so much.

So I'd like to request Jonah taking care of either Vince or Wendy.

!!! This ask made all my braincells dance, I never got a request for Jonah x Vince's brotp, so I just had to rush and write it. Someone else asked for concussed Vin so... The best of both worlds. This is a part 1

-------

Jonah drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, trying to quell the anxiety and annoyance inside of him. He still wasn't quite convinced this wasn't a prank.

Concern stirred in his chest and Jonah pressed the gas pedal a little harder. He'd be furious, but he'd rather this was a prank, actually.

It wasn't rare for Vince to text him. Their conversation was mostly unilateral, with Vin bombarding his instagram DMs with memes, messages that Jonah rarely reacted to aside from one snippy line here and there, but that he treasured a lot. When Vince went radio silent in their non reciprocal chat, Jonah worried.

It was, however, very unusual for Vince to call him. When they went on double or triple dates, it was Wendy doing the calling, never Vin.

So Jonah had been dumbfounded when his phone had rang in the middle of the day, Vince's name displayed across the screen.

He glanced at the map on his GPS, then scanned the deserted road, as if he'd see Vince- As soon as he turned the next exit, Jonah's stomach dropped to his feet.

Sadly it hadn't been a prank.

There was a tree fallen on one side of the deserted, middle of nowhere road, tire marks on the wet tarmac and then Vince, sitting on the curb, with his motorcycle fallen a couple feet away from him.

Jonah parked the car hastily, jumping out and power walking to his friend, "What the hell happened?"

Vince looked up from the ground, squinting at him, "uhm- Car, lost control-" he was slurring, gesturing to the site of the accident, "hit me straight on."

"Where is the bloody car right now?" Jonah seethed, crouching down to get a good look at Vince's face. He wasn't wearing the helmet anymore, it was on the ground near his boots. His face was milky white, a hard frown in the middle of his brows making Vince look quite intimidating.

"Drove off..." Vin rubbed his neck, then met his eyes and Jonah's anger all but doubled. Some jerk had hit his friend and simply driven off? "I'm sorry... I-"

"Shut up," Jonah rolled his eyes, leaning in to plant his fingers on Vince's vitals, "how hurt are you?"

"Not sure," Vin mumbled, shifting uncomfortably as Jonah explored his neck in search of bruises, personal space be damned, "my side hurts."

"Lean back, lift up your shirt," Jonah bossed and expected a cheeky Vince-esque remark in return. An at-least-buy-me-dinner-first line or even I'm-telling-Leo. Instead he got sullen silence and obedience, which only made him all the more worried.

Vince gingerly unzipped his jacket, then attempted to pull up his shirt, but he didn't get very far. His grip on the fabric was weak and his arm didn't seem to be cooperating. Jonah mentally made a note to check his shoulders, then slapped Vince's hand away and pushed the shirt up.

There was a nasty cut, covering all of Vince's left side, starting a couple inches under his armpit and going all the way near his belly button, surrounded by scrapes and scratches. It wasn't deep, otherwise he'd probably be bleeding out, but it was ugly nonetheless. The blood had already clotted over.

"Shit, Vince," Jonah frowned, leaning in to inspect the wound, "I think this need stitches..."

"Uhm, are you sure?" Vince blinked heavily, "can't you just- I don't know, band-aid it?"

Jonah stared at him, unimpressed, "You're a piece of work," he scoffed, then pushed the shirt back down, "what else hurts?"

"My foot," Vince gestured his left foot, "I think I broke it."

"And you didn't start by saying that?!" Jonah raised his eyebrows, sitting back on his heels to undo Vince's boot and carefully remove it. His foot was swollen alright and purple around the ankle, but once Jonah poked him on the sole, the toes all curled in reflex, "I don't think it's broken, but you definitely need an x-ray to check for hairline fractures or any torn ligaments- In fact, I think you need a whole body check up, Vin."

"I'm fine," Vince groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He had scratches all over his chin, dried blood where his eyebrow had split open, "I just wanna go home. Can you drive me home?"

Absolutely not, Jonah thought, but instead he nodded, "sure, I'll drive you home," he lied with an eyeroll, barely keeping the sarcasm from his voice, "you didn't happen to get the asshole's car plate, did you?"

"Nope," Vince seemed completely drained, "can you not tell Wendy? At least until later."

Wendy was in NYC, visiting her family, so Jonah shrugged. He wouldn't be talking with her until tomorrow, "okay... Put your arm around my neck, c'mon."

Between the wounded foot, the nasty gash on his side, the probably dislocated shoulder and the fact that Vince was fucking 6'4, it was a hassle to get him up and limping to the car.

Jonah was sweating and panting by the time he got Vince sitting down again. This would've been easier if Luke was here... Jon pushed the thought aside almost with a scowl. He hadn't called Lucas and he figured there was a reason why Vince had called him instead of his siamese twin.

"Jon," Vince leaned his head heavily against the inside of the car, near the door, "can we go?"

"Hold on a second, let me just get some pictures of your bike," Jonah squeezed his shoulder, "hang in there, don't fall off the car."

Vince's bike was in a surprisingly decent shape. The were some parts from the front scattered around the ground and the front tire had been slashed open- Jonah shuddered as he pictured just how the bike had gotten that way, Vince being catapulted out of it. He snapped a couple pictures, jolting down the license plate and then rushed back to the car.

"Be honest with me, were you speeding?" Jonah asked, as he put the seatbelt around Vince, wincing in sympathy as he felt his friend recoil when the wrap hit his wounded side.

"No," Vin leaned his head back, breathing through his mouth, "no... Raining..." he mumbled, as if that explained everything.

"Okay..." Jonah started the car, glancing nervously at the man lying right next to him, "hey, don't pass out," he poked Vince's thigh five minutes later, as he noticed him sliding down the seat, "I need you to stay awake, you could be concussed."

"Not concussed," Vince groaned, sitting up straight once again, "just in pain."

"Where?" It was a dumb question and Vince could say everywhere and it'd probably count as an accurate answer, but Jonah wanted him to keep talking. For once he missed the incessant chatting.

"Side," he answered quietly, "fuck, my bike..."

"I'm gonna call someone to tow it, it's okay," Jonah rolled his eyes, starting the windshield wiper as the rain started back up. He noticed Vince's teeth chattering, "are you cold?"

"Uhm..." Vin nodded, then leaned forward, resting his forehead on the dashboard, one hand resting on his stomach, "don't feel well, Jon..."

"Not concussed, uh?" Jon scoffed, already pulling the car to the side of the road. He reached over Vince when the man didn't move and unlocked the door, undoing his seatbelt, "c'mon, Vin, don't be an ass, puke out of the car."

Vince obeyed silently, making Jonah feel just a touch more concerned. He hated that his bantering wasn't getting an answer, it was widely out of character.

Vin hung his torso out of the car, bracing heavily against the door and let out a weak heave, followed by a pained gasp, "hurtssss..."

Frowning, Jonah planted a hand on his shoulder to keep Vince from falling off the car and then moved the other one down his spine. His leather jacket had been slashed clean through, something he hadn't noticed before. Vince heaved again, a delicate gagging that was so unlike him, followed by a whimper. Jonah drummed his fingers gently over his wounded side and then pulled his hand back as he met a weird poking under the skin.

"Goddamit, Vince, I think you have a broken rib," that would explain why he was struggling to even vomit without crying from pain.

There was a noise from his friend, followed by yet another retch and then Vince was choking on the liquid, vomit rushing out of his mouth and splashing on the road.

Jonah's stomach churned with sympathy and he squeezed his hand on Vince's shoulder, turning his face away and trying to tune the awful noise out.

Vince heaved again, whole body convulsing with the pain, and Jonah ducked his head, not bothering to muffle his own wet belch. He could taste his lunch all over again.

"Sssorry..." Vince groaned, from his right, before coughing once again and heaving loudly, the noise much louder now. Jonah heard, distinctively, as he emptied out the last of his stomach contents and was reduced to a mess of dry heaves and sobs from the pain.

He straightened up, sniffling and wiping the tears from his cheek, "sorry, Jon-"

Jonah ignored him, flinging his own door opened and bracing against it as he belched again, his lunch threatening to leap to his throat. He swallowed convulsively, gagged and then thumped his chest to dislodge one sick burp, spitting all the thick saliva on the road under. Stomach more or less settled, Jonah straightened up, daring to look at Vince.

He felt beyond humiliated. It was such a pathetic display, to be unable to help his loved ones when they got sick because his own stomach was too weak, "I'm sorry," he grumbled, voice rough and thick.

"I'm so-"

"You look awful," Jonah interrupted, choosing to do this instead of telling him to shut the fuck up and stop apologizing for daring to be sick with a probable concussion, "Vin, I'm taking you to the hospital."

Vince frowned, shaking his head, "I'm fine, really-"

"You have a broken rib, for sure. A sprained ankle at best. That wound is gonna need at least 50 stitches. I'm pretty sure you're concussed and fuck - who knows what else," Jonah glared at him, enumerating the injuries on his fingers, "I'm driving you to the hospital."

"It's gonna cost my right arm and for what? For broken ribs they only tell you to rest and take painkillers. I'm not concussed, I know how a concussion feels like. My foot they'll also just tell me to not walk around and let it heal. I don't need stitches, I'm not even bleeding anymore," Vince said, sounding annoyed and glaring at Jonah, "I thought you wouldn't make a fuss."

Jonah's glare took a steely turn, as he realized Vince had called him specifically because Lucas would've been frantic and probably called an ambulance. It was insulting, "Fuck you," Jonah scoffed, "Did you think I'd find you all mangled and just be like here, I'll drive you to the dorms so you can have internal hemorrhage in the middle of the night? Just because I'm not Lucas? Go fuck yourself Vince," Jonah spat out, slamming his own door shut and starting the car back again.

A heavy silence fell upon them. Jonah stubbornly ignored it, seething with anger. From the corner of his eye he could see Vince looking away from him, a pained frown on, the closest he could get to pouting in this much pain.

It went on for good fifteen minutes, until Vince broke it by mumbling a small, rough "I'm sorry. That was stupid of me."

"Uhm," was all Jonah answered, still just as furious.

He squeezed the steering wheel between his fingers, with much more force than necessary, and rolled his shoulders. The ugliest part of him wanted to yell at Vince a little bit more, bitterness coating the inside of his mouth.

"Jon," Vince interrupted his spiraling angry thoughts and Jonah pointedly ignored him.

"Jonah," Vince said a bit more strongly and Jon sighed, looking away from the road.

"What? If you'll try to get me to not dri-"

"Pull over," Vince groaned, a hand clasped tightly over his mouth, "now, Jon."

Jonah cursed under his breath, they were no longer in an empty road, but close to the hospital and it wasn't as easy to pull over so soon, "hold on, hold on-" he chanted, signaling the need to stop and scanning the crowded street for a spot.

Next to him, Vince let out a gag, hunching over further.

A car pulled out in front of a store and Jonah rushed to take it's spot. It was a tight fit, but-

Vince gagged again and then Jon heard a whine as liquid splashed on his hand and lap, "fuck-"

Jon pressed his eyes closed, the car coming to a swift stop, but clearly he was too late. He breathed in deeply, forcing himself to be on check as he turned to his friend, to assess the mess... "fuck, Vince."

Vince hadn't quite made a mess, because he hadn't puked actual vomit. Instead there was bright blood in his hand.

"I... This can't be good, right?" Vince's voice was shaking and Jonah shook his head no.

"No, it's not," he agreed, noticing Vince's eyes the size of platters, clearly mortified, "c'mon, let's get you checked up."

Jonah couldn't remember if he had ever seen Vince be scared before. Even when he had been severely dehydrated, almost a year ago he had been more annoyed and out of it than scared.

Now he was very awake and aware of everything, much to Jon's dismay. He couldn't help his own sympathetic wince as Vince got transferred from his car to the emergency bed, the paramedics grumbling about Jonah driving him there in the first place instead of calling an ambulance.

He busied himself with getting Vince's bike picked up and then sat on the waiting room, hating to be on the opposite side of the hospital experience for once.

His phone buzzed and Jonah glanced at it nervously, half expecting it to be Wendy miraculously knowing the hell had happened. Instead it was Leo.

Leo: I thought you said you had the day off today? Court ended early and you're not here 🥺

Jonah breathed out, ignoring the prickles of anxiety running up his arm and typed back "I'm at the hospital. Vin got in a car accident."

He saw Leo type and retype, the little bubble appearing and disappearing multiple times, before the screen suddenly changed into the call mode.

"Hey-"

"What happened? How is he!?" Leo's voice was up a whole note, "how did you-"

"He called me, I think two hours ago? He seemed a little in shock, but overall very aware. Sent me his location and everything," Jonah answered, sliding down the seat and staring at the ceiling, "I think the rain caused him or someone to lose control, but either way, they hit his bike head on and then ran."

"What the fuck-"

"He's in x-ray right now. For sure at least one rib is broken, maybe his left foot too. Something is up with his shoulder, I couldn't quite see... Oh yeah and there's this big fucking wound on his side. He's gonna get stitched up after the x-ray and MRI."

"MRI?" Leo said and Jonah could hear him moving around, "did he hit his head?"

"He says he didn't, but he flew off his bike, so," Jonah rolled his eyes, "the idiot didn't want to come to the hospital."

"Sounds like Vince alright," Leo let out a weak chuckle, "you're bringing him here, right?"

Jonah hesitated, thinking back on the fact he had told Vince to go fuck himself, "uh-"

"He can't stay alone in the dorms," Leo cut in, "Wendy's out of town and he called you. You're bringing him here, even if you have to drag him."

"Yes, sir," Jonah teased lightly, opening a smile, "...Don't tell Luke? Or Wendy?"

"I don't talk with Wendy," Leo pointed out with a huff, "...Do you need anything? A coat? Food?"

"What...?" Jonah frowned, "no, you don't have to come over. We're fine, he'll probably be out in an hour or two, unless they want him to spend the night in case of a concussion."

"Vince would rather die," Leo pointed out with a little snicker, "... Are you okay? You sound shaken up."

"I'm fine..." Jonah mumbled, "just worried."

"Aw, he cares," Leo teased lightly, "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Jon let out a smile, but Leo's teasing had only made him feel worse. He nodded, before remembering his boyfriend couldn't see him, "yeah, of course he will," he agreed, "I gotta go. I'll text you later. Love you."

"Love-" Jonah hung up before he heard the end of it, getting up from his seat and walking to the folding doors that lead to the closed part of the hospital, pacing around it anxiously.

It was another hour and a half before a girl he knew from class stepped out, "Vicent- Monacelli...?"

"Vicenzo," Jonah corrected, stepping forward, "hi Claire."

"Oh, hi Jonah," she smiled, "you're the one who brought him in?"

"Yeah... How is he?" he couldn't be bothered to hide the nervousness. He hadn't mentioned to Leo the coughing up blood, but that had been driving him insane with worry.

"He's fine," Claire tapped her clipboard with a pen, "giving the nurses a run for their money, he keeps trying to leave. Let's talk inside."

Vince hadn't been transferred to a private room, which Jonah counted as a sign he wouldn't need to stay the night. He was leaning back on a long armchair, with an IV connected to his arm, an angry frown on his face. His foot had been put in a boot cast, his shirt removed and his arm was now resting on a sling. A long bandage on his side, covered also by the bandages wrapping around his torso. A million butterfly bandages were scattered all over him.

"I thought you had left," Vince piped up, opening a lopsided smile, "can you tell the nice doctor I can go home?"

"No," Jonah rolled his eyes, looking at Claire, "doctor?"

"Alright, so let's start from the least worrying. You have a dislocated shoulder-"

"It happens all the time," Vince interjected, to which the doctor and Jonah ignored him.

"we've put it back in place and you're supposed to wear the sling and avoid moving your shoulder as much as possible for the next six weeks."

"That's crazy, six weeks?! Classes will start back up, it's my final season-"

"What else?" Jon pinched his nose bridge.

"Left foot is just twisted, but twisted badly. Three weeks of boot," she glared at Vince pointedly, "otherwise you will break it, then it'll be much longer. And you won't play your precious football game."

"It's a twisted ankle, please," Vince scoffed, "I've sported worse injuries during a game-"

"What about his ribs?" Jonah squeezed Vince's bicep to shut him up. Claire crisped her lips in annoyance and Jon almost laughed. Clearly Vince was not growing on the hospital staff.

"One broken rib, one cracked. Four weeks of bed rest and four more of little to no movement," she sighed, "I'm serious, Mr. Monacelli, if you don't rest, you'll end up breaking the one that is cracked and that one has a very bad angle to your lungs. Don't try your luck."

Vince grumbled something in italian, but nodded, wincing as he shifted on his seat, "she says I don't have a concussion, by the way."

Jonah scoffed, then looked at the blonde doctor before him, "really?"

"We ran all the scans, Jon, he's fine," Claire nodded and Jonah almost laughed as he could see she was holding back a mean comment, "Our best guess is the vomiting was due to the pain and shock."

"And the coughing up blood? His lungs are alright?"

"Yes. The blood was actually from a tear inside his mouth, he probably bit down when he hit the ground and the stomach acid irritated the wound," she opened a small smile, "as long as you rest and take the medication correctly, you should be fine, Mr. Monacelli."

"Alright," Vince nodded, then grabbed the IV pole to hoist himself up, "so I can go home?"

Claire mulled over the answer, looking conflicted. Jonah knew that technically, with those injuries, they couldn't hold him overnight, no matter how much it looked like Vince was just gonna ignore all doctor orders.

"He's coming with me," Jonah piped up, "I'll make sure he rests."

"The hell I am!" Vince whined, "I have my own dorm-"

"You're coming with me whether you want it or not," Jonah glared at him, "or you can stay the night here."

"They can't hold me here," Vince scoffed, then frowned and looked at the doctor, "you can't, right?"

Jonah grimaced and Claire clearly understood, because she shrugged, "if we think you're a danger to yourself, we can," she lied.

Vince's face fell and he sighed, sitting back down, "fine," he said, as if he had any choice on the matter. Jonah let out a relieved sigh.

Signing Vince out was easy enough, at least when compared to once again getting him to hop back to the car, since he vehemently refused using a wheelchair, much to everyone's displeasure.

"I don't think you realize you're a giant," Jonah panted as he pushed the passenger seat as far back as his sport car allowed and gave up on using the seatbelt.

"Uhm..." Vince let out a defeated sigh, leaning back against the leather seat, "I'm useless."

"You're hurt," Jonah reminded him with an eyeroll, "look... I- I'm sorry I yelled at you-"

"No," Vince sighed, "no, you were right... I was a jerk. Can we just go? Everything hurts."

"Your drugged, Vin," Jonah snorted, circling the car to get in the driver's side, "I doubt you can feel your face right now."

"I can and it hurts," Vince groaned, then closed his eyes as the movement started back up, "are you sure you don't mind me being at your place...? I can call-"

"If you say Lucas I'll leave you on the side of the road," Jonah slapped his friend's thigh, causing Vince to jerk and let out a whine.

"Fine, whatever," Vince smiled, eyes still closed, "...Told you I didn't have a concussion."

TBC

[faytelumos]

What settings or vibes do you find yourself coming back to and writing again and again? If you'd like, please provide receipts.

A setting that I repeat in almost every story I've posted so far is one of the character's home. Maybe it's partially because this provides a good excuse for only having two characters in a scene, which helps in the nameless writing I do. But the fact that I so often couple this with the resident being vulnerable while the guest is taking care of them, and that this kind of scene comes so easily and frequently to me, shows that I do have an affinity for this setup.

Over and over again I'm attracted to these hurt/comfort scenes where the characters are stripped of their power in their own homes. Though the vibe of the scene changes between soft-spoken and ugly breakdown and mama bear and things between, the configuration is so often derivative of that template:

Character A is vulnerable, and character B enters their home to help.

Examples and further details:

There was a trio of story bites I did with a specific focus on Vulnerability. I wanted to make scenarios where character A was completely and utterly at the whim of character B, and character B chose to be gentle and trustworthy.

In It's Cold Outside…, Villain nearly died and is still physically incapable of defending themselves (and barely able to talk) when Hero sits down to take care of them. For the entire piece, Villain is sitting on the floor wrapped up in a blanket, and Hero is moving around their house doing things to help. Villain is defensive and uncomfortable because they're completely at Hero's whim, in Hero's house, on Hero's terms. But as the piece goes on, Villain begins to shed their temper and their skepticism and is able to trust that Hero won't hurt them.

---

"Feeling better?" Hero uttered. Villain glared up at them, pulling the blanket tighter around their shoulders. They considered saying something nasty for a moment.

"My toes are killing me," they mumbled instead. Hero nodded.

"Would you [like me to] check on them?" Villain looked over Hero's face as if there could be a secret motive. But they nodded, leaning back, and Hero carefully helped them set aside the hot chocolate and open up the blanket.

---

The next piece I did, Open Wounds, was an attempt to max out this feeling of helplessness and vulnerability. Hero was injured by a more powerful character than either one present in the scene, and has summoned Villain into their home for the first time because they can't get out of the tub by themself.

---

"I can't get up," they whispered, their voice watery.

Villain stared. Hero had summoned them into their home, completely defenseless, even immobile and naked. They were perfectly and completely harmless. It couldn't possibly be any easier to end them.

There were tears brimming in Hero's eyes. Their arms were covered in goosebumps and they were shivering subtly. They were blushing across their whole face, across their ears, down their neck.

---

This piece really lingers in the feeling of quiet and vulnerability. Villain takes a long time to make sure Hero is dry, during which time the two are speaking in hushed tones. But Hero's been trusting Villain the whole time, injured and naked as they are, and it becomes clear that Villain doesn't intend on betraying that trust.

---

Villain kept quiet, gritting their teeth as they carefully cupped and patted down the length of Hero's arm. Once they were both dry, Villain started patting their chest. "I'm sorry," Hero breathed.

"Shut up," Villain said gently. Hero huffed a soft laugh as Villain quietly gave up on any illusions of modesty.

"I'm lucky you're a good person," Hero whispered. Villain glanced up at their face, but despite the tense amusement, Hero's eyes were still closed. Villain looked back down and patted Hero's stomach.

---

The third piece in this trio, Ol' Ben, is about Hero trusting Villain, not with their own life, but with the life of Hero's small, elderly dog. The dog's care has become complex in his old age, and leaving him behind, especially with a self-proclaimed troublemaker, is not easy for Hero. Once again, Villain, who has most of the power in this situation, chooses to be kind and gentle.

---

"Just… be gentle with him," Hero said. "He's just a little old man, and he's deaf and half-blind, and he gets confused." They picked him up carefully, holding him by the ribs and smoothly laying him with his back along their arm, a hand cradling his back end. They looked sad again. Soft.

"I'll be patient and kind," Villain promised. Hero rubbed Benny's tummy, looking at Villain with pleading eyes.

"He's almost sixteen," Hero whispered. "Just, please—"

"Hero," Villain uttered, softly reaching out to pet Benny's head. He moved his head around to sniff Villain's hand, then looked again to Hero. "I might be a troublemaker sometimes," Villain said, "but I'm never a monster. I'll keep Ben safe and happy. I swear it."

---

Besides plain vulnerability, I like to write about the struggles of handling complex emotions, and the difficulty with letting others in to help. Many of my hurt/comfort pieces feature at least one character being pushy in order to get around the other character's emotional defenses.

Open Late is probably the second best example of this. This story breaks the pattern in that it does not take place in either character's home, but in a 24 hour diner. Both Hero and Sidekick are still reeling from a bloody accident, and Hero is succumbing to the grief and loss while Sidekick attempts to hold him together. She tells him what to do and uses a lot of firm physical contact to comfort and direct him.

---

The diner door chimed in the almost empty night, footsteps shuffling loudly in through the door. The host's booth was empty, and Sidekick didn't wait for anyone to appear. She adjusted her hold on Hero to keep him tight to her side, keeping his head almost forcibly on her shoulder, and walked them to a nearby booth. She nudged him in first, and he numbly fumbled for the seat, stumbling in between the cushion and the table, and she tugged at his cape to keep it from choking him when he sat. She scooted in immediately after him and nudged him in deeper. He pressed himself into the wall, hands already coming up to his blood- and tear-streaked face, and she moved the sauces and shakers and sugars away so Hero had open table in front of him before sitting hard against him, firmly squeezing him between her and the wall.

---

I think this piece more than any other so far focuses on one character helping the other through negative emotions. Hero and Sidekick are both actively processing a traumatic scene in their own ways, and Sidekick comforts, distracts, and cares for Hero as he breaks down over the lives they lost.

Breaking up (Is Hard Enough) is another example where a character uses stubbornness to care for another. After a somewhat long-term relationship ends a week into February, Hero attempts to spend Valentine's Day alone. Sidekick's response to the situation is to come into Hero's apartment, like it or not, and have a movie night. While the actual confrontation with the negative emotions is minimal, Sidekick does at least acknowledge the Hero isn't doing well before attempting to distract them with a fun evening.

Of all of the pieces I've done so far, I think Rescue exemplifies the pushy caretaker the most. Hero is injured and barely has any food in their apartment, and when they repeatedly challenge Villain (who has broken into their apartment with groceries), Villain laughs at them, physically forces them to sit down, and scolds them. This caretaker isn't doing anything gently, and even when they wipe away Hero's tears, they're being threatening and fierce.

---

"I, you can't fool me," Hero tried weakly. "I'm, you can't just buy me with food." Villain laughed, throwing their head back slightly as they did.

---

Even after moving out, her new home does not provide a sense of emotional security. She leaves the first new place almost immediately and ends up staying with friends. But when she is attacked in the middle of the night in this third home, neither her nor her friends can quite settle down and relax.

---

Yamez had pulled himself up close to my right side, resting his head on my shoulder, his arm over me. Ohrik lay along my other side, holding my hand gently, Shohm wrapped around him with an arm over me. None of them seemed to be sleeping. Yamez was still trembling, and I hugged him tighter to my side. He clung to me, but said nothing.

Despite their presence, despite their arms around me, their closeness and affection, I couldn't feel safe.  Not when moments ago I had been dragged from the cot and beaten without disturbing any of them.

---

Thank you for reading my extremely long analysis.  I don't think this practice of using the home as an emotional stage is particularly revolutionary or original, but it's clearly something that haunts me.

[tjsplace]

jun 21

11.05 am

the feeling in the pit of my stomach is back to haunt me once again. i'm feeling really fucking anxious this morning. i wanna sleep but my bed is uncomfortable and everything hurts when i wake up. fuck it, imma get high. only bearable thing to do right now.

11.28 am

i should wanna write a song. i want to but i'm too scared. scared of the physical pain involved. wrist, throat. i've been smoking too much. scared of not liking anything, it demotivates me so much. there's also the cathartic factor. i don't know if i can handle those feelings right now. i'm too upset. but maybe that'll help me work through it. which is all i wanna do. but i really don't want to get up from my desk, pick up the guitar, the notebook and pen, and sit on the floor. or on my uncomfortable unmade bed. i clearly have a lot to say. i don't wanna put the cigarette down. even though it annoys me. benny just started playing and i actually groaned. it scratches some part of my brain. the thing that annoys me the most about writing a song is that i have to stretch my whole body before doing it. otherwise i risk getting an injury on my wrist again. just because two years ago i got super high with my then band and started jamming and i guess i got too excited and strummed really hard? and also i didn't take care of my wrist properly. i immobilized it for two weeks before going to a doctor. i think i wore nothing for two weeks and then i got an immobilizer two weeks after and i didn't really look after it in, like, a month. i put on the boy ep hoping to get inspired. the songwriting is so good. sometimes i don't agree with a lot of the choices, but i get them. i can't unfreeze myself. i can't defrost my mind. my thoughts go to fast and i can't catch up to them. maybe i'm high but i think i always feel like this. high or not. i'm anxious when i'm lucid, i'm anxious when i'm high. what the fuck is this? i know stretching would make me feel so good right now. but i really want another cigarette. even tho my throat feels sore. i'm drinking water to ease the burn.

12.03 pm

i just wrote lyrics.

12.12 pm

i need so much validation it's insane. i didn't think i was like that anymore. but wow. i had to ask my friend mar if the lyrics i wrote were worthy of putting music to them. why can't i just think they're good? it's not my usual writing style. it's much too honest in a fictional way. mar knows what i mean.

11.13pm

i just watched a youtube video about overthinking. mostly because my roommate pointed out the obvious out loud. i do overthink a lot. sometimes i don't get to catch myself doing it. sometimes i can't stop it. i usually ask myself the whys. why am i unable to quit my vices? why have i never been in a relationship? why am i so fucking insecure? or fat, or ugly, or stupid. untalented, lazy, impatient piece of shit. but also i gotta know when these ruminating thoughts are interfering with the life i'm living. and i know it's a great life, then why am i miserable? no more why. what is it that i can do to feel better? write. i'm doing it. what's next? i'm drinking beer and smoking cigarettes and getting high by myself after doing it with my roommate. the very one who pointed out i'm good at overthinking. only thing i'm good at is the first thought in my mind. do i have to believe it? i don't want to. i know i'm good at a lot of things. i'm not a loser. i'm grateful for the life i have. but sometimes i get so fucking down and it pisses me off.

[aperrywilliams]

January 16th - Epilogue: “Wonderful Tonight”

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Series Masterlist / Author Masterlist / Series Playlist

Previous chapter - Epilogue

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: The End. Spencer and Reader are ready for a happy future together.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Mention of past kidnapping and injuries. Conversation about physical and emotional scars. Pregnancy is mentioned too. Just one sexual reference (suggestive). Idiots in love and, at last, the happy ending.

A/N: Hello there. Here is the epilogue for this series. It took me forever to write it, maybe because I wasn't ready to let these two go. But here we are. The happy ending that Spencer and Reader deserved.

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You have been looking at your reflection for a solid ten minutes now. Smoothing the fabric that covered your body, your eyes got caught in the woman in the mirror. A smile crept on her face, but you could tell she was nervous. Makeup on her face, hair combed stylishly. You had a difficult time trying to recognize her.

She was you, but it seemed hard to believe.

At least now, looking at yourself doesn't hurt like when you were discharged from the hospital. When you almost died at the hands of Patrick Silver.

---------------------

That week a heatwave hit DC. You felt disgusting most of the time: the heat plus your pregnancy hormones did nothing but make you uncomfortable.

That's why those days you opted for sports bras and loose shorts. You took a lot of showers too. The cold water made you feel a bit better.

One afternoon you were drying your body with a towel when your eyes caught your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Then you saw it—the marks. Besides the stretches you had because of your developing pregnancy, you could spot the scars the psychopath left on you when he tortured you. The sight made you gasp, and the tears started to fall immediately. Your neck, collarbone, ribcage, arms, and stomach were covered with scars of different sizes and healing state. It’s not that you didn't have any from before, but those were a constant reminder of the hell you experienced in that barn months ago.

You were so immersed in your thoughts that you didn't notice Spencer staring at you at the bathroom entrance. You saw him in the mirror and turned to him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. You tried to stop the tears in an attempt not to alert Spencer, but you failed. You huffed in frustration.

“Don’t you see it?! I look so ugly. All these scars, my belly stretch marks... I look gross.” You yelled out, sobbing. Spencer was quick to close the distance and hold you in his arms.

“No, sweetheart, don’t say that. You’re not gross, let alone ugly; that's not true,” he mumbled in your hair, kissing the crown of your head.

“But I feel like that. I don't even know why you would want to touch me!” You whined.

Spencer parted from your embrace to see you.

“Hey, look at me.” Spencer insisted as you deflected his gaze. Your glassy eyes found his. “(Y/N), each mark, every scar, is a testimony of where you have been. Evidence of what you have been through. These...” he said, pointing to some of your marks. “Are the confirmation of how brave you are. You survived all these wounds. And your stretch marks prove that despite everything, you are giving life. To our baby. How could I not love that? Sweetheart, this only demonstrates that you’re the most beautiful woman I know. And I love you, and I love your body because this body is life. And you’re life to me,” he confirmed, kissing your lips tenderly.

---------------------

A knock on the door took you out of your thoughts.

“It’s me,” you heard Rossi say.

“Come in,” you conceded. When Rossi entered the room and saw you, a big grin was displayed on his face.

“Bella! You look gorgeous!” A blush tinted your cheeks at the compliment.

“Thanks, Rossi. Do you think Spencer will like it?” David grabbed your hand and made you swirl in the spot.

“Like it? He’ll go crazy, and he will love with you even more. If there is more love than he can feel for you.” You shook your head, somewhat shy but satisfied with his answer.

“I hope so,” you added, turning your gaze again to the mirror in front of you.

“What’s it, Bella? Something is bothering you.” Besides Spencer, Rossi and Emily were the people who know you better on the team. They knew when something was happening in your head.

You sat on the edge of the bed facing Rossi.

“Is this real? I mean, you can be this happy? I’m not used to this. And I know I'm being unfair because I experienced many moments of happiness before, but since I went to jail, I only recalled these sad memories in my mind for a long time. And now that I think I got over it, I’m afraid that this will end, and I’ll feel sad again.”

Rossi wrapped an arm around your neck and pulled you into a hug.

“Are you talking about the nightmares?” He whispered. You hummed in agreement.

---------------------

‘Stop! Stop it! Let me go! Please, stop! My baby!’ you yelled, immersed in the nightmare. Patrick was beating you in the stomach, you on the floor, covering with your hands. Before he could kick you again, you woke up at Spencer’s voice sound.

“(Y/N)! Sweetheart, wake up!”

You jolted and sat in the bed. You were sweating profusely, and having troubles to breath.

“He is going to kill me! He’s going to kill my baby!” You shouted, half awake. Spencer wrapped his arms around you, trying to ground you. Your eyes shut open and then the room changed. Your were no longer in the barn. You were in Spencer’s arms.

“You’re okay. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Spencer reassured, stroking your hair and kissing your temple.

The nightmares started as soon you were conscious in the hospital, but they worsened when you returned to your apartment. Spencer insisted you should have moved in with him, but you weren't sure yet. He understood, offering to stay at the times you needed it, and it was most of the time. He was supportive enough. He knew what trauma could do, and it was a matter of time before you would meet with the nightmares. Therapy helped, sure. But the traumatic events wouldn’t leave so quickly.

---------------------

“I really thought I could lose my mind, Rossi. I don't know how Spencer endured most of it,” you wandered.

“You know that answer. He would do anything for you. Also, he experienced big traumas too. He knows,” Rossi said.

“Yeah. That helped, I’m sure of that. However, that didn’t make it fair for him. Sometimes I feel like a burden to him. For everyone, if I’m honest,” you muttered.

“We were concerned, of course, but not because we thought you were a burden. Bella, you’ll never be a burden for us. Drop that thought for once at all. We love you, and we're happy to see you happy. I know you're scared, but you’re not alone. You have a man that is madly in love with you and a group of friends that always will cover your back. Don’t forget the most beautiful and extraordinary daughter you could ask for,” Rossi added. At the thought of your little girl, you couldn't help but smile.

---------------------

‘Fuck! It hurts so much!’ You yelled at the pain. Spencer kept driving to the hospital, offering his hand over the console for you to take it. You did, squeezing it in an attempt to soothe your distress.

‘I know you're in pain, (Y/N). But you’re doing so good. We’re almost there,’ he reassured you.

But you felt so weak that it terrified you. How did it suppose you would protect your daughter from all the worst in the world? You were bringing an innocent soul to a place full of despair.

Nurses and doctors rushed to your side once you made it to the hospital. Oh, you hated hospitals. You were in one for one month and two weeks after your kidnapping.

In the delivery room, your mind came back to the present. Spencer was by your side, holding your hand. A doctor was telling you it was time to push. And you felt you couldn't. You shook your head, crying. Spencer got your attention.

‘Love, please. Look at me. You can do this. I know you're scared, and I know you have doubts. But you are so strong, so brave, my love. And our little girl is a fighter, just like you. She will be so loved. I know this is a dangerous place, but we’ll be here for her. All steps of the way.’

You little girl. A fighter. That was for sure.

You pushed once, and again. And again, until a loud cry told you that she was here.

When you held her for the first time, your fears morphed to love—an infinite love. You looked at Spencer with tears in your eyes. He didn't look better than you. He was openly crying, kissing your temple, and mumbling several thank you's and I love you’s.

At that moment, you knew you would do anything for her.

---------------------

A knock on the door got your and Rossi’s attention. Emily poked her face.

“We’re ready if you are,” she announced. You looked at Rossi, nervousness coming back quickly.

“If it helps, Spencer is a nervous wreck right now,” Emily teased. You rolled your eyes.

“Not very helpful, but thank you. Where is Em?” You asked, frowning.

“Garcia has her. She’s very entertained counting the paper flowers in the aisle,” Prentiss mentioned.

You chuckled. That is all your daughter. Emily Diana Reid was born on a warm day in August. Named after the best mutual friend you and Spencer could ask for and the kindest grandmother she still has.

Spencer wanted to name her after your mother or Jill. But you decided against it. Not because you didn't think they weren't important people in your life, quite de opposite. But your little girl deserved a fresh start, and for you, Jill and your mom were a memory you treasure, but it was your story, not the one you have been sharing with Spencer.

It happens that Emily is her godmother and Rossi her godfather. You could guess how spoiled that girl is.

“Okay, Bella. It's time,” Rossi told you, standing and offering his hand to help you. Emily took that as her cue to announce the bride's arrival.

Descending the stairs, you could feel your hands sweating. David squeezed your arm reassuringly.

“Don’t let me fall, Rossi,” you begged.

“Never,” he assured.

You took the position at the yard entrance, waiting for the music so you could start your walk down the aisle.

As the first notes can be heard from the speakers, you tensed. It was time.

Rossi walked with you, never loosening your arm’s grip. You tried to regulate your breathing. You could spot all your friends there, flashing you genuine smiles. But when you looked ahead, the world stopped. There he was, hands clasped in his front. You could see how he was fidgeting with his fingers. Emily was right. He was a nervous wreck.

When you both locked eyes, the world disappeared. It was only you and him. Spencer gave you the widest grin he had, and you swore you would faint there and then.

When you got to the altar, Rossi shook Spencer's hand and squeezed it tightly. He didn't say anything, but his look was all protectiveness. You knew he was telling him, ‘don’t you ever dare to hurt her.’

Once by your side, without breaking eye contact, Spencer reached for your hand. God, you loved that man. He looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. And for him, you were.

The rough patches in the last years made you grow up as a couple. It wasn’t easy. The pain, the insecurities, and the ghosts became a continuous test for you both. But you found each other every time. And you were so grateful for that. Spencer and little Emily were your family. The most precious thing you had had.

---------------------

A loud wail echoed through the baby monitor settled in your nightstand. You barely opened your eyes to see the time: 2 AM. Em’s last meal was an hour ago. You had hopes she could sleep one more hour. But your kid was unpredictable yet. You were about to stand up when Spencer’s arm around your waist didn’t let you. He leaned over you and kissed your shoulder.

“I got her. Go back to sleep,” he rasped.

You wanted to argue, you really did, but your brain and muscles didn’t help you. So you let him do it.

Having a two-month-old wasn’t easy. Although you wouldn’t change anything, that didn’t mean you were fully rested and ready to keep going all the time. Spencer was the best partner on that. He didn't mind waking up at unholy hours to check on your little girl. Despite always being a germaphobe, Spencer dealt pretty well with Emily’s puke and poop.

You dozen off quickly. When you opened your eyes again, the clock read 3 AM, and Spencer wasn't by your side yet. The baby monitor was off. Only to be sure everything was okay, you padded to the nursery.

There you witnessed the sweetest image you didn't expect to find. Your boyfriend was in the rocking chair with Emily in his arms. He hummed a melody you recognized immediately. It was Etta James’s ‘My Dearest Darling.’ The same tune your mom used with you when you were a baby. Your eyes welled with tears. Spencer‘s gaze was glowing, looking in awe at the little girl in his arms. She was a miracle for both of you.

Not noticing you on the threshold, he began to sing in a whisper.

‘All I need

Is someone like you

My dearest darling

Please, love me too

Within my heart

I pray your answer's yes

I'll make your life

Full of happiness

Whenever you need me

I'll be there by your side.’

It was hard to believe that you could experience something as wonderful as your own little family. There was a time when you thought everything was futile. That you never would find happiness again. But Spencer Reid proved you wrong.

---------------------

You were so lost in each other's eyes that the officiant had to clear his throat to claim your attention.

“We are here to celebrate the love between two amazing souls...”

Spencer's grasp on your hand tightened as the officiant’s words continued. He couldn't believe you were there, with him, marrying him.

You tried to concentrate on the ceremony, but it was difficult not to notice Spencer's glassy eyes. You were equally emotional, and it was hard to keep your tears at bay.

“Now, you can exchange your vows. (Y/N)? Spencer?”

Spencer nodded, encouraging you to start. Clearing your throat, you opened a piece of paper JJ handed you. Even if you have already memorized the words, you felt secure having them written.

“Spencer, my love. When I first met you, I never thought I would be here today. For years we weren't close. To a certain extent, I thought you found me immature and hated me for constantly arguing with you about anything. But the truth is, I was intimidated by you. It was obvious to me that a genius like you would look at me as a poor idiot that he had to put up with on a daily basis.” You paused to see Spencer, who looked at you as if you were hanging the moon. Your free hand reached his. Spencer gladly held it.

You stopped reading the paper. You knew the words so well.

“Things changed, though.

A good friend of ours told me to give you a chance. She told me behind that intimidating brain of yours was a person with a good heart, loyal, and with who I had more in common than I thought. Well, she was right.”

You both chuckled, directing your gaze to the front row where Prentiss had Em perched on her lap. Emily shook her head, wiping some tears with her thump. You returned your gaze to your fiancee.

“When we got to know each other, it was impossible for me not to fall in love with you.

Things have not been easy between us. Our love has been tested so often that I've lost count. But despite the rough patches, we are here now. And I love you more every day. You are the love of my life, the father of my daughter. She is our miracle and reminds me that our fight has not been in vain.” Spencer's tears rolled down. How could it not? He knew so well how hard the past years had been for both of you.

“I want to keep walking with you in this life, but now as your wife. I want the world to know how strong we are, that we are made for each other.

Spencer Reid, I promise to love you for the rest of my life. I promise to be by your side and support you, just as you have done with me. I promise to do everything in my power to make you happy. I love you, and that will never change.”

Spencer held your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

“I don’t know how to top that,” he acknowledged. You heard laughs from the audience.

“You already did,” you whispered, glancing at your daughter. Spencer chuckled and cleared his throat.

“It’s difficult to summarize in words what you mean to me. People may don’t believe that because how it is possible a man known as a genius doesn't have words to say. But the truth is there are no words that can do justice to explain how amazing you are and the love I feel for you.”

Spencer paused to weep your tears rolling down your cheeks. That man was professing the deep love and adoration he felt for you.

“You were there for me in a particular tough moment in my life. When I thought I had lost everything and I could never love someone again. Yet you proved me wrong. You showed me real love. And I know it hasn't been easy. There were doubts, mistakes, and unspoken things. But with the ups and downs, ours is so strong, so deep. Ours is that kind of love that could create life.”

This time he turned to see your daughter in Emily's arms. The infant gave him the widest grin that melted his heart.

“There was a moment I thought I would lose you forever, and my life stopped. I couldn't believe I would never have the chance to say how much I love you. That day I promised myself that for the rest of my life, I would never miss the opportunity to say how important you are, how loved you are. You make my life complete.”

Spencer squeezed your hands with his.

“(Y/N), here, in front of our family and friends, I promise to love you until the end of the times. I promise to be your partner, your friend, and your lover. I promise to be a better man for you and our daughter. And I promise never to get tired of reminding you how great you are and how you deserve all the happiness in this world. I love you.”

God, you wanted to kiss that man so bad. You felt your heart like it would explode.

After the vows, the officiant made you repeat the words that committed your future life together. The lump in your throat was there, but nothing would stop you from saying how you were ready for this, exchanging the rings that sealed the promise of love between you both.

“By the power vested in me by the State of Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

In no time, Spencer cupped your cheeks and leaned to kiss you. Closing your eyes, you melted in his kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck.

At that moment, it was only you and him. No people, no doubts, no ghosts.

Just you and him.

When you parted, Spencer was looking at you with a grin plastered on his face, impossible not to replicate.

“I love you, my wife,” he whispered.

“I love you too, my husband.”

The people were cheering and clapping for the newly married couple. As you were about to walk through the aisle, hand y hand, Emily rushed to you.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Spencer picked her up in his arms.

“Hey, my little girl, what’s up?”

“I want a kiss too,” she demanded. You and Spencer chuckled. The audience let out several ‘awww.’

Spencer loudly kissed her cheek. The infant giggled.

“You want mommy to kiss you too?”

“Yessss.” You mimicked Spencer's action plastering a kiss on her other cheek.

With Emily perched on his hip, Spencer took your hand with his free one. The three of you walked through the aisle as the people kept clapping and cheering you.

There are a lot of things you need to thank David Rossi for. He became the father you never had, and he always made sure you were okay. This time wasn't the exception. He offered his house for the wedding, and he - with Penelope’s help - thought in every detail.

After the several congratulations you and Spencer received, Garcia ushered you to the newly married table. Dinner was served, and you swore not to eat something so delicious before.

With Emily on your lap, you fed the child the fruits you had in your dessert. The ice cream and chocolate were for you only, though.

Spencer looked at you both with a smile on his face.

“What?” You asked before popping another piece of chocolate in your mouth.

“You are so beautiful,” the genius blurted, lovestruck. You chuckled.

“Yeah, sure, I look beautiful and sexy with chocolate in my mouth,” you joked.

“You always look sexy, with chocolate in your mouth or spread over your body,” he whispered to you.

“Spencer!” You scolded him with cheeks tinted in dark crimson, remembering the times you got a bit wild.

“We can try it again on our honeymoon,” he winked at you suggestively. You shook your head, chuckling. But two seconds later, you looked at the infant in your arms and sighed deeply.

Spencer noticed how your demeanor changed.

“What is it?”

“She will be okay, right? I mean, it will be a week and a half, and we never- I never - you know,” you stuttered. Spencer nodded undoubtedly. He had the same apprehension.

“I do know she will be fine, but I do know too we're going to miss her. Since birth, we haven't been apart from her for more than a few days.”

You nodded, kissing your little girl’s head, who seemed occupied with an apple slice in her hand.

---------------------

“What's wrong?” Spencer asked you in the jet.

“She will be okay. Right?”

It was the first case out of DC you had after returning to the BAU. Emily turned one and a half some weeks ago, and you were ready to come back to work. Or at least you thought you were.

It wasn’t easy to get back your job either. For your reinstatement, you had to go to therapy and do several physical tests. To prove to the FBI that you could still do your job. It was something that you and Spencer discussed, though. He didn't pressure you to choose. You even thought of leaving the BAU. Spencer told you he would support you in any decision, whatever it could be. Finally, you opted for coming back.

Now you were questioning if you did right. Since Emily was born, you never spent more than twenty hours away from her. You knew you were being overprotective, but who could blame you? You almost lost her when you were pregnant. Your little peanut was everything to you. The three days you spent in Tampa for the case were full of guilt. Spencer reassured you in some capacity, calling the babysit and Penelope every night so you would know everything was fine.

---------------------

As soon as the dinner was over, you were called to the dance floor with your husband for the first dance. Little Emily was dozing off in your arms, so you let Diana hold her.

“Don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of my granddaughter. You go dancing with your husband,” she urged you.

Diana Reid has had some good and bad days, but since she was admitted to the new facility near DC, things have been a bit better. Of course, Spencer always worried about her, but you insisted that she couldn't be out of Emily's life, so you encouraged Spencer to go with him when Diana was on her good days. And even if the doctor approves, let her visit you at home. Emily loved her grandmother, and you couldn't be happier about that.

You took Spencer's hand and dragged him to the dance floor. As the music started, you didn't waste time and wrapped your arms around his neck. With his hands on your lower back, Spencer pressed you against his body and rested his head on your shoulder. Swaying at the rhythm of ‘Wonderful Tonight,’ you heard him sing softly:

‘I feel wonderful because I see the love light in your eyes... then the wonder of it all is that you just don't realize... how much I love you.’

It is known that Spencer Reid has never been in tune, but love must make people deaf because he sounded marvelous to you.

“I’m killing the song,” he quipped, kissing your neck before straightening up and looking into your eyes. You giggled.

"Not at all. Eric Clapton doesn't stand a chance against you," you joked. Spencer laughed. It was a genuine and beautiful laugh. You could live forever only to hear him like that. When his laughter subsided, he set his gaze on you again. You still had your arms around his neck and your hands playing with the hair on the nape.

“Don’t realize how much I love you,” he parroted the song again, but this time his purpose was to proclaim his love for you. You grinned.

“How much?” You asked jokingly.

“So much that my happiness is yours. My body and soul are yours. Every part of me is yours,” he confessed.

“Spencer, don’t make me cry when we are dancing,” you scolded him. He chuckled.

“You asked. But seriously. I’m the luckiest man on earth. I love you. And I know we don't need a wedding to say it, but I’m so happy to have you. That you chose me and that we can do this together. (Y/N), I didn't believe in destiny before. You know I’m a man of science, but if something like that exists, then I gladly accept you are my destiny and my forever.”

“God, Spencer Reid, why do you always know what to say or do to make me fall more in love with you?” You tiptoed and kissed his lips tenderly. He kissed you back immediately.

And like that, surrounded by the people who witnessed how your life and Spencer's crossed, intertwined and gave birth to a real love, you both continued dancing on your well-deserved wonderful night and for the rest of your life.

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Spencer Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine​ @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic​ @pastelbabygirl19 @princessmiaelicia @lovelyxtom @reidsbookclub @awesomeness1679 @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Beautiful* // James March

request: none

prompts: none

warnings: language, insecurities, mentions of acne scars, stretch marks, and feeling overweight, knife play, cunnilingus, smut, bdsm, bondage, spanking, thigh riding, basically extremely kinky sex

a/n: i’ve been really insecure lately so i thought i would write this to try and cheer me up! also the insecurities mentioned in this are based on my own, so i’m sorry if you don’t relate to this!

It wasn’t as bad at first. You could handle your feelings. Hide them away under a mask and pretend that everything was okay. And this worked for a while. You didn’t face them, and in return, they didn’t hurt you.

But slowly your mask began to break.

James never stopped having his dinners with The Countess, even though you’ve been together for almost a year now. And although you knew James loved you, you couldn’t help but feel that he loved her more.

Then you started noticing things about yourself. Little insecurities, which seemed huge in your eyes. The acne scars that littered your face. The stretch marks on your thighs and waist. The way your stomach would pudge out a little more than normal. It started to get so unbearable, that you couldn’t even look in the mirror without wanting to cry.

And finally, James was becoming more distant. In the back of your mind you knew that it was because he was busy. But you couldn’t help but blame yourself. You weren’t good enough for him. You weren’t pretty enough for him. He didn’t love you anymore.

After dealing with these feelings for a while, the mask you hid behind finally broke. The final straw was when you saw James and The Countess together in the lobby. He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. You shouldn’t have thought it anymore than James being polite, but you couldn’t stop the sinking feeling you felt seeing them together.

You ran back into the elevator and went to the seventh floor. Once the doors opened you went straight to yours and James shared room, locking the door behind you. You pressed your weight against the door, and slowly slid down, curling up into a ball.

The tears started coming. You couldn’t stop them. Every single thing that made you insecure ran through your head. You didn’t have a mask anymore. Everything you were feeling was out in the open. And it was painful. Part of you wanted to die, but doing that here would be of little help.

Even though crying in a ball was slightly comforting, you were beginning to get a little uncomfortable. The floor isn’t exactly the best place to have a breakdown. So you pulled yourself up and went to the bathroom. You put your hands on the sink and braced yourself. Slowly, you looked up into the mirror.

The sight only made you feel worse. Your acne scars were still visible, but now your eyes were red and puffy. And there were dark purple bags beneath them. The makeup you spent an hour on earlier that day had melted away through your grief, leaving a black splotchy mess.

You grabbed a makeup wipe and quickly ran it across your face. You couldn’t bare to look up in the mirror once more, so you walked back into the room. You slipped your shoes off along with your dress, before searching for one of James’ button ups.

Even though he was partially to blame for your despair, his scent was still comforting to you. You sighed as you walked over to your bed, collapsing onto of the sheets. You grabbed a pillow and hugged it, trying to find some sort of comfort. It didn’t work, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let it go.

Then the door opened. James walked in the room, and headed over to you.

“Darling, what are you doing in bed? It’s the middle of the day.”

You couldn’t answer, since your crying had exhausted you. So you didn’t do anything. You just stayed in your postion, cuddling the pillow.

“Darling?” he asked once more as he walked in front of you.

He crouched down to meet your eyes, and his face fell when he saw you. You didn’t realize it, but you were still crying. He gasped slightly as he gently brushed your tears away.

“Dearest, what’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

Slowly you sat up, letting go of the pillow. You drew your legs into your chest and stared at the ground. James sat next to you and pulled you into a hug.

“Dearest?” he said softly, hoping to get you to speak.

“Do you really love me?” you said softly, too tired to talk any louder.

“Of course I do dearest. How could you think any differently?”

“I- I’m ugly. I have scars everywhere, and I’m no where near as beautiful as Elizabeth. And you obviously still love her, becuase you still have your dinners with her. And you never spend time with me anymore, and I don’t blame you. I’m ugly, and boring, and I don’t deserve you.”

James sat in silence as he though over what you said.

“Is that really how you feel? Becuase I can assure you I don’t love Elizabeth anymore. We only have those to discuss running the hotel. If it really brings you distress I shall stop them. And I’m sorry I’ve been distant, I’ve just been very busy with John. I’ll make more time for you, I promise.”

You took in his words, slowly nodding. But you noticing how he didn’t mention you saying you were ugly. Did he agree with you? Did he think you weren’t beautiful?

As he if read your mind, James spoke once more.

“As for you not feeling beautiful, I don’t know how to respond to that. I don’t think I can accurately put into words just how beautiful you are. So I guess I’ll just have to show you.”

You were about to ask him what he meant, but you didn’t get the chance because his lips were on yours. This kiss wasn’t like the others shared between you. Normally they were hungry, and lustful. But this one felt like pure passion and love.

James gently pushed you back so you were laying down. He climbed on top of you, and slowly trailed kisses down your neck, leaving marks behind.

“Darling you look absolutely ravishing when you wear my clothes,” he said as he slowly began to unbutton the shirt you were wearing.

“But it looks even better on the floor.”

You laughed slightly at him, but fell silent when he pulled out his knife. Your pussy instantly got wet as he smirked above you, before gently running his blade over your skin.

“Don’t move dearest.”

He pushed down slightly and cut your bra and panties off, throwing the scarps of fabric aside. You shivered slightly as the cool air hit your damp pussy. James sat back and admired you. His gaze looked as though he was starving, and you were his favorite meal.

“I promise you that by the end of this, you’re going to realize just how beautiful you are.”

You nodded at his words. You watched as he moved himself in between your legs. He was so close that you could feel his breath against your heat. James started to kiss your thighs, leaving love bites all over your stretch marks.

“How could you not love these? They’re beautiful!”

You moaned softly as he bit down on the flesh of your leg. He pressed a gentle kiss over the bite marks and then turned his attention to your aching core.

He licked a stripe up your slit, causing you to moan. You reached down and lightly tugged as his hair. He groaned against you, and you shivered at the vibrations.

James continued to devour your pussy, causing you to shake under his touch. You couldn’t stop the moans that left your mouth. His tongue worked its way between your folds, causing immense pleasure to wash over you.

“Fuck James. That feels so good,” you said breathlessly.

Then he moved to suck on your clit, replacing his mouth with his fingers. He thrust two of them inside of you, pressing them lightly against the spot that drove you wild. A loud moan left your mouth at the contact.

“Oh fuck, Mr. March,” you moaned out.

James growled at the name, biting your clit. You squealed slightly in between your moans. You could feel him smirk against you. Your impending orgasm was beginning to build up. You could feel yourself getting closer with every thrust of his fingers.

“Mr. March, I- I’m gonna cum.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, James pulled away. You whined as you met his eyes, pouting slightly.

“Why’d you stop?” you asked innocently.

“You have doubted my love for you. And therefore you must be punished,” he said staring down at you.

The look he gave you was enough to make you cum on the spot. But you held it back for fear of being punished more. So instead you nodded, feeling excitement build up as your mind wondered what was in store for you.

You didn’t have long to wonder though, because soon you were being pulled onto his lap. The rough material of his clothes brushing against your bare skin made you moan softly. You knew was about to happen, and the excitement within you was building.

“You know what happens to naughty little girls, don’t you?” James asked as he gently rubbed his hand against your bare ass.

You nodded and then felt a sharp sting on your behind.

“Use your words darling,” he said in a warning tone.

“Yes Mr. March,” you answered.

“I think you deserve ten, does that seem fitting to you?”

Even though he was asking you, your answer didn’t matter. He would do whatever he seemed fit. He loved playing with you, and your opinion was not going to stop him.

“Yes, Mr. March.”

“I want you to count for me. If you mess up, we start over. Do you understand?”

“Yes Mr. March,” you responded once more.

Then you felt his hand come down on your ass, hard. You moaned slightly and forced your mind to focus.

“One.”

James continued slapping you, and you continued counting. By the end you were a tearful mess. His handprints littered your ass, and James smiled as you winced under his touch.

“You’ve been so good for me little girl. I think you deserve a reward. Would you like to cum?”

“Yes Mr. March,” you choked out through your tears.

James picked you up once more and straddled you over his legs. The coarse material against your bare pussy made you moan. You looked up at James and melted under the hunger in his gaze.

“Ride my leg,” he commanded.

You instantly complied, putting your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. You began to move your hips back and forth against his leg. You couldn’t stop the moans that left your mouth. The way he was making you feel, was better than anything you’ve felt in a long time, and he wasn’t even doing anything to you.

“You look so beautiful like that darling. I just don’t see how you could ever doubt your beauty.”

You fell apart at his words, getting closer and closer to your edge.

“That’s it darling, cum for me.”

“Ohhh fuck, Mr. March,” you mumbled out as your orgasm washed over you.

You cling to James tightly as you rode out your high, a sense of euphoria hanging in the air. You sighed and collapsed your weight onto him. James gently wrapped his arms around you, and helped you lay down next to him.

When you heard his belt unbuckle, your head perked up as you looked over at him. James only smiled as he brought the belt over towards you. You knew what he wanted so you put your wrists against the headboard above you.

“Good girl,” he praised as he bound you to the bed.

You watched as James shed the rest of his clothing. You pussy already dripping once more. James felt your eyes on him and looked up to find you staring. He only smirked as he climbed on top of you.

“You’ve been so good for me darling. It’s only fitting that I give you what you want.”

In your post orgasmic bliss you couldn’t do much more than nod at his words. James reached between your legs and swiped a finger through your heat.

“You’re already soaked again. You must really want me.”

James lined his cock up with your pussy and pushed in, bottoming out completely. You let out a moan at the feeling, and winced only slightly due to overstimulation.

But he didn’t give you anytime to adjust. He began rapidly thrusting into you, looking deeply into your eyes. Your eyes met his and you could feel the love pouring out of them. You went to pull him closer to you, but couldn’t due to your restraints.

“I wanna touch you,” you begged as you tried to reach towards him.

“Hmm, I don’t know if you deserve it,” he said, teasing you.

You moaned once more as he began to thrust against your g-spot. One of his hands trailed down your body and began to rub circles onto your clit.

“Please. Please Mr. March, let me touch you. Please,” you said before another moan came out of your mouth.

Giving in to you, James undid the belt, and your hands instantly went to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to get as close to him as you could.

Then you felt it once more. The knot building in your stomach. You were about to cum once more. Your moans increased as you neared your edge.

“James. I- I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me dearest. You deserve it.”

At his command, you let go, covering his cock in your juices. A few moments later, James grunted as he spilled his seed inside of you. He collapsed on top of you, before pulling out, and laying down next to you. You felt a mixture of yours and his cum drip down your legs, covering the inside of your thighs.

He went to get up to grab you a towel to clean up with, but you grabbed his wrist.

“Stay with me, please.”

“I’ll be back in just a moment darling. You’re going to be quite sticky if I don’t clean you up.”

You sleepily nodded and let go off him. James returned moments later, and wiped the cum off of your legs. He then tossed the towel aside and laid down next to you once more. You snuggled into him, breathing in his scent, and allowing yourself to relax.

“Darling, I truly am sorry for my absence as of late. I promise you I will make more time for you, no matter the cost. And I really hope you do realize just how beautiful you are.”

James was concerned when you didn’t answer, but immediately relaxed after he looked down. You were fast asleep in his arms. He pressed a gentle kiss to your head, and allowed himself to fall asleep next to you.

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel  like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind. 

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back. 

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them. 

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin. 

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you. 

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light. 

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it. 

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you  know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now. 

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event. 

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger. 

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”. 

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots. 

 Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating. 

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin. 

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

 Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards  always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials. 

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room. 

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to  them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next. 

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win. 

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become. 

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go? 

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

[nationalharryleague]

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU 

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away) 

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand 

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth​ @bfharry​ and @hardcandy-harry​ for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!! 

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of  Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of  bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.  

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”  

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care.  She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a  random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart. 

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.” 

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

���Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral.  Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it! 

[foli-vora]

reflections

masterlist

A/N: I’m back, baby! This is completely self indulgent because I’m feeling shitty about my bod, who better to help than certified soft boi Marcus? This is dedicated to all the goddesses who sometimes struggle with remembering that they have the body of a bad bitch, regardless of what it looks like or what society tells you it should be. I love you.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: insecurities, body image issues, SMUT 18+ ONLY - body worship, unprotected p in v, I may have cried writing this no I won’t apologise

+

It was one of those days.

Your clothes didn’t feel right on your body, clumping in certain spots and hanging wrong everywhere else. The reflection in the bathroom mirror showed someone desperately trying to piece together what was left – a bit of extra serum here, a heavier swipe of makeup there, as if it would all come together in the end and you’d be able to walk around with your head held high.

It didn’t work.

How you landed Marcus Pike, you’ll never know, and it’s that thought that festers, ugly and unyielding, in your mind throughout the entire day and well into dinner.

He watches you from across the table as he eats, head tilting when he quickly catches onto the fact that you’re unusually quiet, reserved, curling in on yourself and pushing the food around your plate instead of enthusiastically diving in like you normally do when he cooks.

“Is everything okay?” His voice is soft, his gentle probing so much more different from previous partners and their passive aggressive ‘What’s wrong with you?’.

Your eyes find him, flickering across his face creased with concern, your stomach twisting uncomfortably as you force a little smile. It doesn’t sit right on your face. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

He knows you’re lying, knows from the sudden shine in your eyes that something’s bothering you, something’s hurting, but he lets it rest for now, sensing your discomfort from miles away and instead choosing to reach a hand across the table to fold softly over yours as he fills the silence with the goings on of his day.

You don’t eat.

He doesn’t comment on it.

He hides when he hears you tidying in the kitchen, thinking he was already getting ready for bed. He watches you swipe away the food on your plate with a quiet sniff, the back of your hand quickly catching a lone tear that streaks down your face, and then he knows.

You pull at your shirt, shift uncomfortably in your tight pants – his favourite – and he knows.

Heart breaking for you, Marcus makes sure to make a noise as he enters, smiling softly when you jump and laugh quietly. You force a smile, turning your back to him to start washing dishes when warm hands cover yours in the soapy water, a body pressing up close behind you.

“Take a shower with me?” He asks into the hot skin of your throat, kissing softly below your ear as he sways with your body gently. A habit of his – always swaying to music that isn’t there. The music of your love, he liked to say. The cheesy idiot.

You want to say no, he can feel it in the way your body tenses.

“I had one earlier.”

He leaves it, nodding against your cheek in understanding before kissing it softly and fading away upstairs. He takes your composure with him, and you can’t help but cry as you finish up the dishes.

You really don’t deserve him. He was far too good for you.

The ugly thought that had long settled in your mind, suddenly sprouts into something bigger. It fills you, the unworthiness, and your chest tightens as you fight off the heavier sobs, struggling to swallow around the lump lodged in your throat from the effort of keeping it all at bay. You’d save them for later, when he’s oblivious and lost in dreams.

You must have taken longer than you thought because he’s already pottering around the room in his pyjamas by the time you make your way upstairs, dark hair dripping small droplets of water onto the collar of his comfy tee. He never dries his hair properly. Usually you’d do it for him – cover his head with a towel and rub it vigorously until he’s unsteady, chest heaving from the laughter muffled by the fabric.

Not tonight.

He watches sadly as you retrieve your pyjamas and head for the bathroom, head downcast.

“Hey,”

You stop instantly, a small smile twisting your lips uncomfortably as you turn to raise a brow at him.

“Come here.”

When you get to him, he quickly steers you to the full-length mirror by the walk-in closet and shushes your quiet refusal, standing close to you as you both appear in the reflection.

“Look.” He says.

You frown at him in the reflection, “What?”

“Look.”

And so you do.

You can’t help the sting of more tears in your raw eyes as they roll over your body, automatically drawn in to the bits you don’t like and picking them to pieces in your mind. He watches intently, heart breaking even more in his chest with every second he watches resentment fill your features.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your head shakes. It’s automatic. Can’t he see out of those gorgeous brown eyes?

His voice remains gentle, “Stop it – look.”

His fingers gently fiddle with the hem of your shirt before he’s pulling it up, careful as he pries it from your body and slides it over your head. Your arms automatically go to cross over your chest, to cover the suddenly exposed skin, but he doesn’t have it.

“No.”

His hands are warm on your shoulders, palms soft as they rub soothingly up and down your arms, and you don’t bother hiding the sadness anymore. Why bother? He already knows.

“What were those affirmations from your new year resolution?”

You snort before you can help it. “They were bullshit –”

He didn’t think so. You were all about them for the first few weeks – writing them in your journal, saying them in the mirror while he watched from behind the shower curtain. You even made him write some down and they’re still stuck to the side of his computer screen in his office.

“What were they? And look at yourself when you say them.”

You heave a sigh, eyes rolling from his to meet your own in the reflection. “I am strong.”

He mhm’s softly into your neck, chin resting softly on your shoulder. “And?”

“I am powerful.”

“Incredibly so. And?”

“I am beautiful.”

“Yeah, you are. Now again.”

“Marcus –”

“Again.”

You do as he asks, heart thundering in your chest as his hands smooth down along your torso and across the skin of your stomach, wrapping you up in his arms as he watches you. He turns you once you finish, hand tenderly smoothing along your cheek before cupping your jaw.

“I know this won’t fix it, I know what you’re feeling goes deeper than this, and I know nothing I do will take your pain away, but will you let me try, honey?”

His thumbs sweep under your eyes, brushing away the tears that had fallen from your lashes, and you smile, heart thundering in your chest as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

You really didn’t deserve Marcus Pike, but God were you lucky.

“I love you.”

He grins, eyes shining, “I love you.”

A part of you says no, no he doesn’t, but then his hands gently cradle your face and bring your lips to his, and you’re lost in the slow movements of his kiss, unaware he was backing you up to the bed until the backs of your knees hit the sides and you’re falling back onto it with a startled giggle.

You try to fight off the wave of hesitation when he goes for the button of your jeans and relax, but he can feel your reluctance, always so attuned to you and what you were feeling. He pauses, fingers stopping their movements as he looks at you.

“It’s okay.” You don’t know why you’re whispering. It’s just so quiet in the bedroom, so still, maybe you were afraid of shattering the silence.

He continues then, slipping the button through the loop and pulling your fly down before he grabbing the denim and dragging it softly down your legs. You lift your hips, shimmy a little to get them past your thighs and smile at his soft expression when he settles on his knees between your legs after throwing your jeans to the floor.

There was something magical about being the sole focus of Marcus Pike’s attention. Your skin hums under his gentle touch, goosebumps following the path of his fingers as they dance softly over your body. You don’t shy away from his open gaze; don’t cross your arms over your chest and try to hide your thighs like your mind is screaming at you to do. You just simply lay among the pillows, letting his eyes crawl over every inch of you.

And there’s no disgust hiding anywhere on his face. No flicker of repulsion. No curl of the nose or judgement in his gaze.

It’s pure admiration, pure awe.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You want to scoff, you know that’s not the truth – the planet is full of drop-dead stunning women – but the longer he stares at you, looking all over your body and straight into your wide eyes, you think maybe he’s not lying… maybe there is a tiny bit of truth to his statement and, well, what’s the harm in believing it? If only just for a little while.

So you smile, heart beating wildly when he grins in return, eyes soft as he reaches back and pulls his tee off in one smooth swipe, and then moves to hover carefully over you. You welcome the soothing heat of his skin as he presses into you, hands greedily grabbing at his back as trails his lips across the skin of your jaw, nipping softly at your throat before he moves to your lips.

It’s easy to lose yourself in his steady stream of affection, your mind all but blanking as he steals the breath from your lungs, his tongue taking the last of any coherent thoughts as it moves along your own. He swallows your whimper and presses further into you, grinding his hips slowly into yours and relishing in your quiet moan.

He softly pulls away, keeping his voice low as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his question, and he smiles before kissing his way down your jaw, following the path to the curve of your shoulder to where the flesh of your breast melts from the cup of your bra.

He pauses, eyes flicking up to yours, “Still okay?”

You lift your chest to answer his question, one of his hands quick to whip around your body and undo the clasp before pulling it away from your completely. He inhales quietly, watching your breasts fall to a more natural position once free of the bra, and heat creeps along your ears the longer he stares, wandering hands moving to cup the soft flesh delicately.

A light sigh leaves you when his thumbs brush over your nipples, circling over the stiff peaks before he rips a surprised gasp from your lips. His fingers tickle the harsh sting of his pinch away before he envelopes a nipple into the wet heat of his mouth, tongue soothing any remaining pain. He moves to the other side, repeating his actions before pulling way to blow softly over the wet skin, chuckling quietly at the way you squirm under him.

He continues his slow journey downwards, but stops when he reaches your stomach. A part of you doesn’t want to look at him – what if he doesn’t like it? But then you’re reminded that he’s seen you naked hundreds of times, in all sorts of places and positions. Why would now be any different?

So you look at him, eyes following to where he rests comfortably between your thighs, gaze already trained on you with an air of soft fondness. He smiles when you look at him, and only when you look at him do you realise what patterns his fingers are tracing over your skin – he’s tracing your stretchmarks.

The sudden wave of apprehension is washed away when his lips trace over the shallow valleys in your skin, kissing along every single one he could see while his fingers continued running up and down your sides softly.

“Marcus,” you giggle, when he moves too close to the ticklish spot above your hip.

“What?” He asks innocently, a loud raspberry quickly cutting through the peace of the bedroom as he nuzzles into your side. You laugh louder, squirming against his hold and batting him away as he continues his attack. He glows when he sees the lazy smile stretching your features, no shadows hanging in the back of your eyes.

“Idiot.” You mutter affectionately, smile widening.

“Your idiot.”

His fingers trace over the waistband of your panties, waiting for your go ahead before they slide under the fabric and move them softly down your legs. He discards them off the side of the bed and hums lowly when your legs part under his gentle coaxing, eyes zeroing in on your folds shining with the arousal that had built from his tender ministrations.

“This okay?” He whispers, eyes watching the way your brow creases when he runs his fingers up and down your slit, his cock jumping in his pyjama bottoms when he feels your arousal coat his fingertips.

“Mhmm.” You relax into the pillows, eyes closing in bliss at the rhythmic circles he was rubbing over your clit. “Marcus?”

“Yeah honey?”

You knew where this was going, and as much as you adored his tongue and the absolute magic he could make with it, you just wanted him close. Your hands greedily grab at him, “Come ‘ere.”

He frowns, pouting as his fingers dip into your heat. “But I –”

“Not tonight. I just want you… please?”

He softens, nodding with a smile as he melts back over you, lips eagerly meeting with yours as you feel the weight of his body carefully press into you. He shimmies out of his pyjama bottoms, quick to settle back in between your legs and you exhale shakily as the head of his cock slides between your folds, a fire kickstarting in your stomach as he lazily drags his hips back and pushes forward until he runs his tip over your clit again and again.

His hand darts in between your bodies, fumbling to line himself up with your entrance as your lips work messily against his, throwing his thoughts into a complete jumble, and it’s not long until he’s sinking into you, bottoming out in your wet heat with a low groan. Your walls flutter deliciously around him and his hips jolt, before he’s rolling forward and starting a steady, unhurried pace.

“I love you,” he whispers as you pant below him, the slow drag of his hips against your clit as he grinds into you steadily building the fire in your core.

You can’t help the tears that build in your eyes, the intense power of his adoring gaze too much for your damaged heart to handle, but he doesn’t let you turn away, he won’t let you hide. His forehead meets yours, hands moving to intertwine tightly with yours as you breathe in the other, the slow pressure of his hips staying steady as your chest tightens from the sparkle in his dark eyes.

You put that sparkle there. You can see it now.

It was love.

Your love, his love –

It all morphed together in a wild frenzy of colours and sounds and everything was just right. Here now, with him, everything was right. There was no pain, no doubt… just pure devotion. Your heart struggles with the pressure of it all, chest threatening to surrender under the weight, but you welcome it eagerly, desperate to feel and breathe all of him as he moves over you.

The tears break free. “Marcus –”

“I know. I’ve got you, honey.”

“I love you,” you murmur, sniffing quietly as you wiggle a hand free to tangle into the damp locks at the back of his head to keep his forehead pressed against yours. His nose runs softly along your own and your heart squeezes at the sweet tenderness of it. “So fucking much –”

His face crumbles, completely unashamed as a wave of tears build in his own eyes, his own insecurities biting at the back of his mind, and he nods, pushing the shadows away and instead, nuzzling into you and your warmth.

“I know – almost as much as I love you.”

You share a watery smile, your thumb brushing softly over his cheek to collect the stray tear that falls free and then he’s moving, your hands winding to grab at his back as he picks up the pace, keeping the pressure of his hips rolling against your clit and you cry out quietly as your stomach tightens with the threat of your oncoming crash of pleasure.

He senses it, moves just that little more desperately against you, and then you’re shattering under him, eyes closing as fire floods your veins and rips through your body. He falls with you, his own end coaxed on by the sudden tightening off your hot walls and the rush of slick that floods him. He shudders above you, face pinching as he fills you, and you moan when you feel his cock twitch inside you.

You pull him to rest in your arms, head tucked comfortably in the curve of your shoulder as he huffs into your throat. You try to steady your own breathing, your heart beating wildly against your chest as the post-climax tingles settle into your limbs, your body melting into the bed as exhaustion rolls through you.

He’s gentle as he pulls out of you, carefully falling next to you, and watching you shift onto your side to face him with a languid smile.

His voice is barely a whisper, his fingers moving to find yours as his racing heart calms. “You really are incredible, honey.”

Heat crawls along your chest and fills your cheeks, “You’re not so bad yourself, Agent Pike.”

“Seriously,” he says quietly, “I wish you could see it.”

You swallow the sudden lump building in your throat, and you smile widely at him, filled with such a sudden wave of confidence you wish it would last. “One day I will.” And you know in your heart that it could be possible, it would be. “One day.”

+

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[sailorhyunjinz]

can i request a bf!skz reaction to you cutting ur bangs yourself but falling terribly and end up crying bc u think ure ugly??🥺 i love ur blog btw!!💓

OH GOD I SHOULDNT LAUGH SHOULD I?? something gives me the feeling that you have been in this situation WHICH SAME and that why you dont cut your own bangs,,, learned that from my mistakes AHSAH BUT HEY IT TURNED OUT OK, IT GROWS SO NO WORRIES!

ALSO AH thank you!! thank you for sending in this idea that almost killed my stomach HAHSAHS <33

LEEEE go HEADCANON

also can i just say that i was crying with laughter when writing this because i just kept on imagining bad hairstyles HASHSAS my stomach hurts

(also; if you guys are wondering why im tagging “stray kids smut” even though this isnt smut, it’s because like 99% of my blog is nsfw and so i dont want to present my blog to people that are uncomfortable with that)

Warning; skz x gn!reader; fluff? oh mentions of scissors! maybe crying??

Bangchan

Find it funny at first but NAH HE HUGGING THE SHIT OUT OF YOU IF YOU’RE CRYING

says like overly comforting things HASHHS

“you did great,,, it’s not even that bad? You just need to like,, comb it!”

“combing it doesnt put hair back channie!~” you say, sighing and rubbing your head on his chest

“why didn’t you ask me?”

you look up at him with teary eyes, starting to laugh

“y-you? i think you would make it worse!”

he chuckles “no! next time i’ll do it and you’ll have to pay for dinner if it turns out better than this,,, whatever it is”

you roll your eyes “Fine! Deal! now let me cut your hair”

his eyes widen as he starts running away from you, you running after him

Minho

a momentary laugh before he gets all fussy about it

“thats why you should go to a hairstylist”

“let’s shave it off, you’ve already started”

NOO BUT IF YOU START CRYING HE WOULD FEEL REALLY SORRY FOR BEING A BIT MEAN

he’s not the most,,, comforting person BUT HE’D TRY BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU VERY MUCH

“hair grows,,, it will grow back before you know it”

“b-but i look ugly?” you say, almost crying and laughing at the same time

“tsk,, nothing is ugly on you”

Changbin

“Are you ok?!”

bruh he’s panicked when he sees you crying, covering your face in shame

“what’s wrong?! wh-OH”

he’d try to make some sort of trend out of it LMAO

“But it looks cool? dye it pink or something” 

“changbin are you making fun of me?” 

he’d hug you and hold his laughter for dear life

“it looks cool, i promise”

you know how he’s very conscious on what he wears? yeah,,, 

“WAIT YOU KNOW WHAT Y/N! pair it with some like,,, cool dangly earrings, wait i have this pair that would look great-”

why is he so cute like stop (please dont)

Hyunjin

sorry to put it like this but HYENA LAUGH 

like where’s the lie??

“WE SHOULD MATCH? GET THE SCISSORS!!”

he’d pull up different characters/people/animals

“WAIT WAIT LOOK! thats you” he snickers, flinching when you raise your arm, wanting to hit him playfully

“show me one more animal and you’ll wake up bald tomorrow”

he shivers, dramatically panicking

“I won’t, miss lemur”

“HYUNJIN GET OVER HERE IM GONNA TEAR THAT STUPID BLONDE HAIR TO SHREDS”

Jisung

you know what he finds funnier than your hair?

the fact that you’re crying over it

HE’S NOT A DICK he just,,, can’t hold his laughter,,,

“no no no y/n!! don’t cry, it’s not that bad!”

he hugs you, patting your back

he would remember the hairstyle and like present it in a meeting the boys have for like comebacks HSAHSHASH IM CRYING

“i mean why not y/n?! let’s all have bangs that are 1 cm on our foreheads”

Felix

*surprised pikachu face*

“what did you do?!?”

I SWEAR he would cry with you because he feels bad for you having to walk around with that hair

he’d try to like,,, comb it or style it in a way that makes it less noticable

does it more because he wants to play with your hair 

“ok,,, we are putting these damn hairstyling scissors away,,,in the basement”

he’d volunteer to cut your hair next time,,, so it looks better LMAO 

OR ACTUALLY GO TO THE HAIRSTYLIST WITH YOU

Seungmin 

another mf that would laugh his ass off

IF YOU’RE NOT CRYING he would take pictures and laugh even more

ONCE AGAIN; HE’S NOT A DICK just,,, having fun LMAO

“what beanie do you want? i got a blue one and a black one here-”

“minnie,,,, it’s summer?”

“do you really want to walk around,,, like that?” 

WHY AM I MAKING HIM SO MEAN?! HE’S NOT MEAN 

just doing to try to make you feel better

“what were you even trying to do?” he asks later in the day

you show him a refrence picture and he starts rolling on the ground from laughter

“this is legendary” he says, almost crying

Jeongin

you know that clip where hyunjin eats a baby shark lollipop AND JEONGINS FACE IS LEGIT LIKE *o* (i legit cry everytime he’s fucking adorable)

YEAH THAT LIKE AGSHASHAS JUST SILENCE AND THAT EXPRESSION

at a loss for words 

“does it look cute?” you say, testing his honesty

he gulps before answering, staring at the abomination thats your hair

“not too bad” says, pressing his lips together to muffle a smile

“YAH YOU’RE SUCH A LIAR!” 

his gaze is drifting all over the place as he nervously looks around

“hey! it’s on you and therefore it’s cute”

[urmomsmainbitch]

wonder woman

requested: yes / no

pairing: max mayfield x fem!reader

warnings: pining, angst, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of school, omg the writing is shit i’m so sorry

a/n: i love lucas so much (based off of i wish you liked girls by abbey glover)

i grew pretty attached to you, like a dog on a lead / thought you were everything i could have ever dreamed of, and more than i could ever need

The phone was cool against her ear, ringing for the third time as she twisted your fingers into the cord, tapping her foot impatiently. This was the second time that she had tried Max that evening; once before dinner, and now once after. She’s probably still eating, one part of her said. No, she’s probably off making out with Lucas, the other said. Nibbling on her lip, Y/N leaned into the doorframe, letting her entire body slump against the wall as she slid down, before landing on the cold hardwood floor. Max had only started taking this long to answer recently – once she and Lucas had become official, and more serious. Ever since high school started, you never saw Lucas without Max, and Max without Lucas.

“C’mon, Maxie,” Y/N murmured, tapping her finger and trying the girl again, looking at the watch on her wrist. She’d even waited half an hour after Max normally ate dinner, hoping to catch her so they could talk to each other. They hadn’t been doing that as often, the redhead never wanting to spend a waking moment away from her boyfriend. Y/N saw it, she supposed, Lucas wasn’t a bad looking guy, and he was nice. But he was nice. That was it. He wasn’t smart, or funny, or entertaining. He was just there. Just a phase, she kept telling herself, Lucas is just a phase. But what after Lucas? What happened when Max finally took notice of Matt Donahue in her math class, who’s always making googly eyes at her? Or, what if she just happened to meet Sam Davis’ eyes in English? What then? Lucas would be forgotten, sure, but he’d be replaced in nearly no time.

On her third attempt, she hung up the phone, slamming it into the receiver. That was the second time this week.

always thought you looked at me differently than any other you’d see / thought you were aching to see me at any, any possibility

“So, what should we do?” Max asked her, bright eyes looking between her and El, who was sitting on the other end of the bed, laying on her stomach as she flipped through a comic book. El didn’t used to come to their sleepovers. Come to think of it, Y/N couldn’t think of the most recent time that she had a sleepover with Max alone. They used to have them all of the time: giggling under the covers into the early hours of the morning, leaning on one another as they flipped through those comic books. Max’s loved copy of Wonder Woman, which used to rotate between her and Y/N’s houses, was now sitting on Lucas’ shelf. “We haven’t seen each other in forever. Especially not you, El!”

Y/N frowned. She saw El last week. She hadn’t spoken to her in two weeks. What happened to the whole, ‘I’m your best friend and you’re mine, Y/N/N!’ and the ‘I love you so much, and we’re best friends! I’d do anything for you, Y/N!’

“I’ve just been so busy, it’s crazy! I haven’t had any time with field hockey and band and everything like that.” Max laughed. Her face got all crinkled up, her freckles blending into one another as her blue eyes teared up with joy. It would have been gorgeous, had it not been a lie. Max used to frequently skip hockey practices to hang out, and since she hadn’t gotten team captain, her practices had decreased. Max used to see her whenever she could, but of course, now she’d spend her time with Lucas, or with El, or with anybody other than her. Max used to put her on a pedestal, but now, it looks like anybody who shows her any attention at all gets all of hers.

i could be your bitch and tell you a million reasons why being with me would be much better than with any other guy / i could tell you I’ll treat you right and never wrong / tell you in my arms is where you belong / but I know that you can’t change someone / so I’ll just leave you alone

The next Friday, Max was back in Y/N’s bed, flipping through a magazine while music played through the radio. Her beautiful red hair was falling into strands in front of her face, framing her gorgeous freckled pale skin, blue eyes piercing through the dimmed overhead lights. She looked like a goddess, her entire lanky body stretched out over the covers in a way that she could stare at for hours – watching the way that her face crinkled up when she read a funny entry, or seeing the way she nibbled on her bottom lip when she was interested.

“I don’t know what I should do for Lucas for our second anniversary.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. Of course she’d talk about Lucas. “Well, what does he like?”

“You know,” she smiled, folding her magazine and sitting up to look at the other girl. Y/N was walking out of the bathroom, tucking her hair behind her ear as she put Max’s next day outfit on the chair, folded neatly. “You know as much as I do about him. We both see him everyday.”

“Yeah, but you see him more than I do,” Y/N grimaced. “I don’t see him that much anymore, and I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I feel like a shitty girlfriend.” Max avoided her statement. I haven’t seen you in forever – she’d even said it outright and then got ignored! You never talk to me anymore, and it’s always ‘Lucas this and Lucas that! I’m here, too!’

“You’re never a shitty girlfriend.”

“I turned him down to hang out tonight. The weekend of our anniversary, Y/N. You can’t even lie and tell me that’s a good look,” Max said, looking unbelieving. Her brows furrowed together. “I turn him down all of the time when I hang out with you and El. It makes me feel so terrible, especially because I see you so much.”

Y/N knew that she should shut up. She knew that she shouldn’t have said what she did, and she knew that there was absolutely no reason to do what she did. The words came out faster than she ever thought that they ever could, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a pit and die once the words left her lips. But,a part of her wanted to scream it from the rooftops, a part of her wanting to shout it again and again. It’d been bottled up for months and months, and it was twenty three months, three weeks, and five days after it had happened in the first place that she realized that it needed to be said sooner or later. “That’s a fucking lie, and we both know it. Don’t bullshit me, Max.”

“I’m not bullshitting you?” It was phrased like a question, and Max looked like she had just been accused of something much worse. “I see you all the time–”

“Yeah, see, that’s what the lie is,” Y/N chuckled, sitting down, putting the pile on her lap. The feeling of rejection that had been sitting in the pit of ehr stomach for nearly two years now was bubbling up and up, and the words were spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them. “He’s just a stupid boy! He’s not funny, he’s not smart, he’s not entertaining, and he’s not worth it! You’ve been blowing me off for months, Max, and I’m so sick and tired of pretending like I don’t notice everything!”

Y/N kept going.

“You ignore me again and again, and we both know that anybody would be so much better than Lucas of all people!”

“Like who?! Lucas is so much better–”

“Like me!” Max finally fell silent, the color draining from her face as she dropped her magazine on the bedspread. Her hands trembled, and her eyes glassed in only a few moments. The ugly monster that had been hiding under the bed, in the closet, and behind her in her own shadow had finally come out; shrouding the entire room in a thick and uncomfortable silence. Every word broke a deeper part of Y/N, and cracked a part of Max. She almost stopped, but at this rate, who knew when she would finally be left alone with her long enough to dare say them again? “Me, Max! You act so insightful, wise one, and then you fucking shit all over anything I say and do, and it hurts me every fucking day that I fall morw and more in love with you when all you do is ignore my fucking existence for some guy who doesn’t even know who Jane Austen is!” Her voice trembled with every word, and as the house fell quieter and quieter, the sheer stupidity of the whole idea grew and grew.

The room remained silent as Max gathered her things. She didn’t bother to take her new change of clothes, now on the floor. They would go in a shoebox in the closet, along with the pictures and notebooks and comics. She ignored the new friendship journal that was sitting on the vanity, untouched and unused by them. It never would be – it would be sold at a yardsale. Y/N met her eyes as Max picked up the Wonder Woman copy that was sitting on the bed, pleading her not to take it. Don’t take this, she begged, please don’t take this. Leave me this, please. Max picked it up, and put it in her bag.

That would be the Mayfield-Sinclair children’s first comic book – the one that would sit in their library until their perfect little house on the cul-de-sac sold.

and i know you don’t swing that way, but that won’t take my feelings away / oh i wish you liked girls; oh i wish you liked girls / girls like me

[averytiredfanfictionwriter]

Sic Semper Tyrannis

A syndicate x Platonic! Reader/ Technoblade x Reader

Warnings: murder, kidnapping, blood, a somewhat graphic depiction of getting stitches

Word count: about 2800

Ao3 Link: wow.

I’m excited to share this. I did write a version with an angsty ending, which is up on my Ao3 account here if you want to read that one as well. Fair warning though, while writing it I found myself dying inside so I don’t know how you guys would feel. It was the original way I wanted to take the story but as I was writing I also created this one which is an alternate, fluffier ending. Reader is a raccoon hybrid in this one. Don’t forget to like and follow for more. Enjoy!

It almost seems to be a mistake, Techno thinks. The woman- no girl- standing in front of him never struck him as the anarchist type. She was always too soft, too nice for any of it. Yet here she stands next to Philza, shivering from the chill of the cave and rubbing her bare arms. 

“This is the new recruit I was telling you about.” The winged man smiles at Techno.

“She seems… soft.” He mutters, taking in her shivering form before handing her a cloak.

She only nods, accepting the cloak gratefully and clipping it around her neck with ease before burrowing into the thick material. 

“Trust me. You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew her how I do.” Phil mutters, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Fine. But do you swear to uphold the values of the syndicate? Do you promise that you’ll help in our mission to destroy the corrupted governments that threaten the freedoms of its citizens?” Techno stands over her, red eyes practically glowing.

She nods hastily under his seven foot tall frame and he seems satisfied as he backs away. “Okay then. Come take a seat. We have a lot to talk about today.” 

Techno makes his way up the stairs to the table behind him, taking a seat facing the entranceway. Y/n looks up at Philza and he only shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about him. He seems scary but he won’t hurt you. In fact, that’s the nicest he’s been to someone that’s tried to join yet.” Philza says before walking towards the table.

“Wait- what do you mean ‘tried to join’? Phil, what happened to them?” Y/n says in a panic.

“We don’t talk about them.” Ranboo chimes in. “Now, come on. Don’t want to be late to your first meeting.” 

Y/n scurries up to a chair at the table, taking the one across from Phil and next to Ranboo. She sits furthest from Niki and Techno who both seem to be scrutinizing her every move.

“Now, let’s get this meeting started. First things first, we have a new recruit. This is Y/n. You all know her, but she’s going to be joining us. You’ll need a codename.” Techno states, and Y/n thinks a moment as they stare at her.

“Dolos. I’ll go with Dolos.” Techno nods, eyes flashing with an unknown emotion before returning to their usual blankness.

“Okay. Now that that’s over with, is there anything in particular you guys wanted to discuss? Any new information or governments?” 

Phil nods, standing as he stands from the chair and speaks to the group. Y/n zones out a little for the rest of the meeting, nodding along but not really listening. Soon, it’s time to go and they’re all standing, the sound of chairs scraping on the floor loudly and Ranboo’s laughter at something Niki said echoes through the small space.

“Y/n, can I speak to you alone.” It’s not a question, and the woman swallows thickly as she follows the piglin hybrid into a small room that connects to the main one.

“So why Dolos? I mean, of everything you could’ve chosen, why’d you choose Dolos?” He asks, standing against the door to the room, blocking her in.

“Ah, well- you see, I’ve been told I’m good at deceiving people and that I’m so good at it, no one ever knows until I tell them, and even then they don’t believe me. I think that it’s a good codename, that’s all.” She stutters out, and Techno’s eyes narrow.

“I’m not easily fooled. If you’re lying, or you’re here as a spy, I’ll figure it out. And then not even Phil will be able to save you. Do you understand me?” He grunts out, standing over her with his sword held in his hand.

She nods and all but teleports out of the room to get away as quick as possible. He looks after her, seeing the disappointed look on Phil’s face outside and the confused glances from Niki and Ranboo. He steps out of the room as well and leaves the meeting hall without another word. 

It’s a week before anyone hears directly from Y/n again, and when they do it’s not for reason they would have ever expected. 

“I need your help.” Techno takes in the sight of the blood soaked clothing that covers the young woman.

“What happened?” He’s bewildered, the first time he’s been surprised in a long time.

“It’s not my blood. Most of it’s from the people we were fighting, but some of it’s his.” She points behind her where Phil stands, holding up a severely injured Tommy.

“Come on.” Techno grunts, ears twitching. The voices chime in, but he pushes them aside. 

“Set him on the couch.” Phil lays him down gently and gets to work brewing potions for the young boy. 

Y/n sits next to him, clutching his hand tightly with one of hers as she continues putting pressure on the gaping wound in his stomach. Her striped tail swishes nervously on the floor behind her and the large black ears lay back against her head.

“Get his shirt off. I need to sew it up.” Techno has his sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he comes over with a small first aid kit.

Y/n uses her sharp nails to cut away the stomach section of Tommy’s shirt, revealing the ugly looking gash. She pales at the sight of it, getting up and running to the bathroom to most likely vomit. Techno only sighs as he gets to work, wiping off the dried blood around the wound and starting to stitch it up. Tommy shifts uncomfortably on the couch, crying out at the needle threading in and out of his skin. 

Once done, Phil shoves the healing potion in Tommy’s face, which he drinks and then promptly passes out. Y/n comes back from the bathroom, hair tied back from her face.

“What happened?” Techno asks, standing in front of her.

“We were running through the woods, having fun- y’know, kid things- when we came across a small group of people. They started to attack us, and we started to fight back, thinking there weren’t anymore of them. Well, we were wrong. Very wrong. We wouldn’t have escaped if it wasn’t for Phil. Before we got away though, they said something like ‘down with the order’. I don’t know what they meant though. It was hard to understand them through their masks.” Y/n spews out and Techno only stares at her.

“‘Down with the order’? That sounds like they know something. What did they look like? Any distinct markings for kingdoms or anything?” Techno says softly.

She shakes her head. “Nothing that I could see, unless I missed it. I could probably lead you back to the place we fought at. I don’t know if more came to collect the bodies or not.” 

“Take me there. But first, go get cleaned up. We don’t need you walking around drenched in blood.” Techno says, nodding to the bathroom. 

One shower and change of clothes later, the pair are on their way to where Y/n and Tommy were attacked. Techno notices her fidgeting more than usual, constantly looking around them and watching as she jumps at the smallest of noises. He chalks it up to having been just attacked and they continue walking.

She stops in a clearing and he stands beside her. No sign of bloodied bodies is anywhere to be found. In fact, there’s no evidence a fight even occurred here. No blood spots on the ground, no scrapes in the ground, no disturbance of wildlife.

“Are you sure this is the place?” He turns to look at her, but she’s gone. Suddenly, something hits him from behind and the last thing he sees is Y/n, crying softly as someone holds onto her.

Techno slowly opens his eyes, registering the cold metal against his wrists and multitude of people surrounding him. The voices scream out in rage- rage at Y/n for getting them captured, rage at himself for allowing this to happen, anger for not trying to stop him and Y/n from being captured. They’re angry at a lot of things, and he grunts as he feels a headache coming on.

Y/n stirs in the chair across from him, whimpering softly and her tail waves behind her slowly. “Where-”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to tell us who the rest of the members of your little club is, or else you both die. Tell us, and you live. It’s that simple.” A voice speaks out, a young man with brown hair and light eyes.

He rests a sword on Y/n’s shoulder and looks Techno in the eyes. He says nothing, glaring at the man instead.

“Are you going to tell me? If not, then I guess I’ll need to encourage you to do so.” The young man sighs, and takes out a knife, grabs hold of Y/n’s tail and presses the knife against the base of it.

Y/n screams loudly, and Techno hates the sound of it more than any other sound he’s heard. The voices seem to hate it as well, yelling at him to just tell the man the names of the other members to end it.

“Fine.” Techno gives in. 

The young man smiles, dropping Y/n’s tail and wiping the knife off on her shirt. “Oh good! That’s very good.” 

“Don’t do it. It’s not worth it. My life’s not worth it.” Y/n mumbles, tears falling down her face as she clenches onto the armrests of the chair tightly.

“You might know one of them. His name is Zephyrus. Has black wings, wears lots of green. Another one is named Lethe. He’s half enderman. Good luck catching him though. The last one is Nemesis. You might never find her though. She spends most of her time underground.” Techno states and Y/n almost laughs at the use of the codenames.

“You’re lying.”

The young man holds the knife to Y/n’s throat and presses gently, causing a small trickle of blood to run down her neck. “You have one more chance to tell me their names before I kill her and then you. I’ll give you to the count of ten. Ten…” Techno growls at the man before him, the sight of his knife pressed against the woman's throat more than angering.

“I told you. Those are their names. It’s not my fault if you don’t believe me. Now let her go. I don’t even like her. Killing her wouldn’t get me to reveal anything.” Techno says calmly.

The man considers this, pausing his counting. “You’re still lying. I saw you help her and her friend, the blonde. I’m surprised the cut didn’t kill him, to be honest. I think I’ll have to go back to your cabin when I’m done here and finish the job.” 

Steam is basically pouring out of Techno’s ears and his eyes glow a bright red. “Don’t fucking touch him.” 

“Yes! I will, unless you tell me the real names of the other members of your little club.” He releases Y/n’s head from his grip, and pulls his knife away from her neck. 

“Phil, Niki, and Ranboo. Those are their names. Now let her go.” Techno growls and Y/n shakes her head.

“He’s lying. Those aren’t their names. There’s not even more than one other member of the group. The third member of the group is named Dream. He’s currently in prison for killing several people and blowing up a country not once, but twice as well as manipulating kids. He’s the only other member of the group.” Y/n says, hoping that they don’t know she’s lying and buy her bluff. 

The god currently sits in prison, waiting out his days monotonously. They would definitely all die the minute they try and kill him- if they even do get to him, considering Sam would kill them the minute they step foot in the prison.

“Finally, someone here is telling the truth. You’re going to give me the exact coordinates of where the prison is, and then you two are going to stay here while we go kill him.” Y/n gives him the coordinates and the man is almost bouncing in joy. “For your sake, we better not be walking into a trap. Let’s go boys.” They leave the room and Y/n sighs, her head hanging forward heavily, as if her neck can’t hold itself up anymore.

“What was that?” Techno asks and she shrugs.

“I told you. People don’t believe I’m capable of lying to them. They’re all going to die trying to get to Dream, or he’s going to kill them himself.” Y/n yawns.

“Yeah, and we need to get out of here in case some of them survive.” Techno says, struggling against the restraints holding him to the chair and eventually manages to break them.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Techno mumbles, picking the lock on Y/n’s restraints and lifting her up easily in his arms.

The maze of hallways is nearly impossible to escape, but they do it somehow and step outside to a snowy tundra. The wind blows frozen ice shards through the air and it bites at their skin. They were stripped of gear and their cloaks. The cold is no match for Techno, who produces enough body heat to stay warm enough, but Y/n shivers in his arms and presses her face against his chest in an effort to keep warm.

Techno’s communicator beeps as it regains signal, and he works it out of his pocket, seeing the messages from Phil and quickly shoots one back with their coordinates and a request for blankets.

Looking around, the only shelter Techno can find until Phil arrives is the building they came out of but that’s not an option in case the people come back. Techno settles for sitting on the ground and hugging the woman to his chest, doing his best to protect her from the wind and cold. 

“Oh my god…” Phil says as he lands in front of the pair, quickly grabbing Y/n and wrapping the cloak around her.

“Take her back to my cabin. She needs to get warmed up and is going to probably need stitches in her tail.” Phil nods, passing his sword to Techno.

“Will you be fine walking back? I can zip right back here to get you. Tommy’s healed and can look after Y/n while I do so.” 

Techno shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. After all, you need to check on Ranboo and Niki. Make sure they’re okay. We’re not extremely far from the cabin, I’ll make it back before the end of the night. Now go already.” Techno says and Phil nods, taking off quickly with Y/n.

He looks back at the building they were in, and heads back inside. If there’s anyone left here, they’ll pay for what happened.

It’s a few days before Techno comes back and Philza spends the time either worrying over it or about the worsening condition of Y/n, who seems to have developed a bad cold or flu or hypothermia or all of it, really, as well as making sure Tommy doesn’t rip his stitches trying to do stupid stuff. When Techno does come back, he’s covered in blood and doesn’t even stop to talk to the members of the syndicate sitting in the living room or even wash up, instead going straight for the room where Y/n is sleeping and peeking in.

“She’s not doing well at all. I stitched her tail up, but she’s developed a fever and is still freezing cold all the time and isn’t getting any better, even with a ton of healing potions. I don’t know if she’s going to make it.” Phil mutters beside Techno and he only nods.

He steps out of the doorway and leaves to take a shower, taking extra care to scrub the blood out of his hair and changes into comfortable clothes. Peeking into Y/n’s room again, he sees her shivering underneath the blankets. Well no wonder she’s sick, she’s still freezing cold, he thinks to himself before opening the door further and stepping into the room. He climbs under the covers and Y/n instantly curls up to him, soaking in his natural warmth.

“Thank you, for getting me out of there.” She mutters, before falling back asleep.

“Anything for you.” He whispers, holding her tighter against him in an almost protective manner. 

Phil watches from the doorway, smiling as he watches Techno fall asleep curled up with her.

Tagged: 

@thegeekisheere

[chil2de]

Hi!! if possible can i please request yuuta having a girlfriend that’s his childhood friend? (So like instead of rika it’s y/n and she doesn’t die) that loves to dote on him cause that boy needs some love. Thank you!! <3

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE THIS MADE ME SO SOFT!!!!! ohmygod!!!! growing up with yuuta would be THE best onshdhfsh thank you sososos much anon this was such a pleasure to write! i don’t know why but the “and she doesn’t die” had me screaming LMFAOOOO

enjoy! no warnings, just old fashioned cute fluff and heart wrenching moments! thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for the best boy mwaaah you deserve eternal happiness! hope no insects bite you during these warm months <3

“okkotsu!” you cried out, feminine and shrill voice ringing in the air. the cicadas chirped melodiously, calling out their delightful songs in the spring air.

the young boy staggered around, losing his balance from spinning too fast. his fragile hands reached out, pulling in small grabby motions towards your innocent and joyous face.

you were always so optimistic, even when you were younger. yuuta could only huff and wail as his caretaker hauled him away from the playground, gesturing it was time for him to come home. thick and messy tears spilled out the corners of his eyes which hadn’t yet endured countless sleep devoid nights.

he was so far away, but that was okay because you knew you’d see him the very next day.

“okkotsu! promise to play with me again tomorrow!” you cupped your hands, exclaiming as much as your little lungs could endure. yuuta could see the tears heavy in your gaze, but even then, you prevailed. you grinned, all for him.

ever since the very start. till ‘death do us apart.

-

“okkotsu! come oooon, don’t cry, okay? (y/n)’s got your back! see, see?! look! they don’t bite!” you braved a smirk on your features, beckoning the shy and introverted young man over. his face looked uncertain and his lips wobbled as though he could crack at any moment. he took a few cautious steps, maintaining his distance between you and the furry animal on the floor.

“r-really? it won’t bite?” he coughed, reaching his unstable fingertips out.

“eh?! that’s the first time you’ve spoken to me! your voice is so nice! it’s so cool! hey! can i hear it again? pleaaaase? i know you’re shy but i’d really like to hear it! hey, okkotsu, say my name? pretty please?”

“um- i, uh.. it’s okay.. you can call me yuuta.”

-

“yuuta! you’re going to be late for your first day of junior high! i totally told you to wake up on time too!” you stood with your hands rested firmly on your hips, face stern and tone impatient.

“sorry! sorry- it’s um, my hair. i don’t know how to style it.” he admitted, albeit sheepishly by trailing the last few words off into a murmur. you only gave him a sigh before kneeling down behind him, propping yourself up to take a look at his hair in the reflection of the mirror.

“how on earth are you so tall already? we eat the same food, you know. slouch over a little.” you pinched his cheeks before glossing over his hair.

when you ran your fingertips through his hair, you felt butterflies and anxiety rock your stomach.

that’s never been there before.

you’ve touched yuuta countless times, whether that was accidentally hitting him, holding his hand to cross the street…

so why was it different?

you could feel yuuta’s body tense up and run rigid underneath your touch.

that definitely wasn’t there before.

“relax. it’s me.” you cooed quietly, roughing up his hair into different styles.

“like this? looks like you just woke up, sorta, but i think it’s cute.”

yuuta’s heart rate skyrocketed through the roof and his breath hitched.

“cute?” he reiterated, chewing out the phrase like he’d never heard it before in his life.

“hm? yeah-“

you caught his gaze in the mirror, eyes half lidded and attention averted. the tips of his ears were tainted a deep red with small flicks of blush painting his cheeks.

“eh?! nononono- not like that i’m- i just think it suits you, you know? oh, crap, would you look at the time? okay we gotta go and leave!” you clambered out of his bedroom, thudding the door shut behind you.

yuuta only gawked at you with bewilderment, lips slightly parted and fingertips outstretched in his failed attempt to stop you.

he turned to himself in the mirror, studying his features before running one hand through his jet black locks.

“cute, huh?” he muttered, avoiding his own judgemental gaze.

-

the bittersweet part about growing up with a childhood friend is change.

for all the time that you’d spent with yuuta, you didn’t realise that your relationship with him was something to not take for granted.

especially with those around you who would kill for what you two have.

you’d always get mundane questions from high school girls who thought they could have a shot with him, “what’s his type?” “do you think he likes me?”

meanwhile you only played along with their charades, laughing inwardly when he was actually extremely introverted.

“so? what’s the deal with you and okkotsu-san? you guys dating?”

“no. we’re just friends.”

“seriously? you guys are always glued at the hip. you know he has a picture of you in his locker, right?”

“yeah? so do i. it doesn’t mean anything.”

“it’s kind of a shame, he’s such a nice young man.. gone to waste like that..”

“what’s gone to waste?” yuuta inquired with an indifferent tone, plopping down beside you with his bento box. the classmate sat opposite you only gave him a phony cheerful temperament, twirling her index finger around her hair.

“oh! okkotsu-senpai! we were just talking about you! how was your da-“

“please leave.”

you could only gape at him in your peripherals, sputtering on your sandwich as you watched the life drain from your classmate at his monotony. yuuta didn’t spare you or the girl a glance as he worked to unpack his lunch, hell the guy even murmured a small itadakimasu as if nothing happened.

“wh- okkotsu senpai?”

“listen.” he let out a deep sigh before proceeding.

“whatever shot you thought you had with me? it’s gone out the window. don’t disrespect (y/n) in front of me like that again.”

“you’re making us uncomfortable, so get up and go.” he motioned with his chopsticks, giving her a dead gaze towards another table.

the girl scoffed, mouth hung wide open as she picked up her bag and stormed out of sight.

whilst your face was as blank as a stone, internally, you were only screaming in the depths of piping hot hell visible from the sun itself.

baby girl? that was when you noticed how fucking fine of a man yuuta grew up to be.

“that was seriously nerve wracking.. my stomach hurts so bad right now” yuuta coughed through a bite of his sandwich, refusing to meet your gaze.

you slapped his back, because, holy shit??? awe painted your face like you just witnessed your own child talking or walking for the first time.

“what the shit? yuuta? are you kidding?”

“oh, huh? did i overdo it or something?“

“no?! are you kidding? that was fucking awesome! i swear! this is why i love you-“

oh.

uh oh.

oh no.

yuuta let out a shrill squeak unbeknownst to any human being able to produce such a volume. it was a cross between a floorboard creaking, a mouse sniffing and him choking on his food. the poor boy had to excuse himself to the bathroom, hacking and sniffling in an ugly fit of coughs from the food that got caught in his windpipe.

your blood rushed to your head, veins lit ablaze, bones rattling as you could hear the chatter pound and drill into your skull, scoring you deep and down into your bones.

“did she just say she loves him?”

“i totally knew they were going out!”

“i can’t believe it…”

“do you think he’ll reject her?”

it replayed over, and over, and over. what a fucking fool you felt. did he even feel the same?

that’s why i love you.

i love you.

i love you.

a blob of black clouded your vision and you could hear the glass breaking.

yuuta sat himself back down, excusing himself.

you could hear nothing but the tune of his heartbeat. or was it yours? it sounded too heavy to belong in either of your bodies.

his voice came as a wobble because of his anxiety, but this was the one thing in his life he’d be absolutely certain of.

“that’s okay. i love you too.”

-

“yuuta? you okay? you’ve been spacing out for at least five minutes. something on your mind?” you lightly shake your boyfriend, grip reassuring but firm. it takes a couple of seconds for his gaze to gloss over as he returns back to reality.

“sorry. was just thinking about our childhood, that’s all.” his voice comes out deep and masculine. it doesn’t have that tremor as it used to before, like he’d break down at any minute.

you can say with absolute certainty as you stare up your entire 5’10 boyfriend that he’s matured well.

his hand snakes around to your waist, pulling you into him for comfort.

some ways better than others, you suppose.

“can we stay home today?” he hums, resting his chin on top of your head,

“same as ever, yuuta, aren’t you? it’s fine, i’ll tell nobara my period’s making me act up. she’ll understand-“

“hm? you’re not due for another week though, right?”

you crease your eyebrows as you type out an apology to nobara for cancelling plans, glancing up at yuuta curiously.

“how the heck do you know that?”

“i’m not supposed to? i’d always count your cycle so i wouldn’t irritate you on the wrong day. besides, don’t you think it was too convenient for you to always find snacks in your locker when it rolled around?”

“those snacks were you?! oh my god! i was trying to figure that out for forever!”

“i know. i remember you ranting to me about it.”

“you just sat there?! yuuta! you’re so cheeky sometimes, i swear!”

“only for you.” he chimes, peppering a soft kiss onto your head. you smile against him, though unfortunately pry out of his familiar and welcoming touch.

“i’m gonna step out for a second tho, ‘kay? i think that’s itadori at the door with my chocolate and painkillers” you snort, giving yuuta a bold wink as you put on your best act, keeling over and clutching at your abdomen as though you’re on death’s door.

“you’re awful.” yuuta chuckles, slumping down onto the sofa to hear the events unfold right in front of him.

you clear your throat and slouch your shoulders as you pry the apartment door open.

“(y/n)-senpai! i came as fast as i could and i brought you some of your favourite sna- oh, okkotsu-senpai! hello!”

“hi there.” he leans his head back, giving itadori a small wave.

“i won’t interrupt you guys so get well soon! and fast! cause i wanna hang out with you! bye!”

you cradle the necessities itadori brought whilst gleaming at yuuta with a wicked grin plastered on your face from ear to ear.

“you want anything?” you cock an eyebrow, showing him the arrangement of snacks.

it’s not the answer you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t unwelcome. it made you feel warm inside, like eating warm and soothing soup on a cold winter’s day. this, for you, was okkotsu yuuta at his best, stripped clean and vulnerable.

you’re the only one who he can relax around, act like the world is carefree. like he’s young again, prancing around in that dingy colourful playground he met you at.

“i want you to kiss me.”

[xlysaaa]

Ahhhhhh

Ok, so this might become a bit of a long post. After reading the latest Kono oto Tomare! chapter, i just have to get these feelings off my chest. It'll be random & full ramblings.

i put some panels of chapter 105 but also from 99.5 in this post.

-> lot of spoilers, so read at your own risk <-

this wont be a review or something. I just want to ramble and scream.

First of all, Chikas father . . .

I have literally no fucking words for this sorry excuse of a father! seeing this flashback made me wanna puke my fucking guts out on the floor.

how much do you have to sink as a human being to make YOUR VERY OWN CHILD think this?

What kind of human scum do you have become to tell to YOUR VERY OWN SON " It's hell. Ever since you were born, Its always been hell." ?! What kind of heartless huge shit being do you have to be to treat your very own son like he's the worst, like he isnt worth of human affection or care?!

While Chika was scared & uncomfortable, because he punched someone for the first time to defend himself, instead of talking about it the father looked at him like he was dirt.

When Chika went to the Takaokas that day in Chapter 99.5, he brought back come of the selfmade cake from Tetsukis mum, because he wanted to share it with his father, he thought he could make him happy.

look at this adorable sweet baby bean? how dare you make him cry. ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽

Imagine a little smiling chika hoping his father would come back early from work to share this delicious cake with him. . . and THEN! imagine the father telling chika in his drunk state all those horrible things, while chika still cares for his father and put a blanket on him to keep him warm. Only for the faher to say ".. I cant bringt myself to love you."

We read in the latest chapter that his mother left with another man, chika cant even remember her face, because he was 2 years old. If its because of the dad, why wouldnt she take chika with her? i dont care whatever her business is, she is as much to blame as this human trash called father. There were so many moments were i had to pause for a bit cause these scenes were too heartbreaking.

Of course Chika would never treasure himself when never once did his father! How should he know how to hold himself dear, when his father never did?

I cant find even the words to describe, what i'm feeling. I feel so sick to my stomach.

I'm so glad that he had his grandpa who cherished him and gave Chika affection. He always encouraged Chika. "Hey, Chika. Dont give up on yourself" & showed him the Koto. He & Tetsuki literally pulled Chika out of the deep darkness & showed him light.

Look Chika, they're all waiting for you! T____T

- - - - - - -- - - - - - -

When Tetsuki transfered into Chikas class, a boy told him that he shouldnt get involved with chika because he's a loner & he's trouble. He said "Instead you can be friend with us" to which Tetsuki replied "Thanks. But no thanks." IN YO FACE YOU SHITTY BULLY CHILD.

Anyways, after school the boy & his friends planed to isolate Tetsuki & bully him . . welp, these boys forget chika "LAME. You guys are super lame." and off they go :'D thank to these shitty children ⬇️

a wonderful unbreakable friendship started! They became best friends who were inseparable. /chikas adorable blush q.q sweet baby bean!!!

When Chika had an argument with his father & left the house, he was bullied by middles schoolers & fought. . . it was then when they started to slowly fall apart.. Chika started to avoid Tetsuki & isolated himself again. Even when Tetsuki tried to ask what happened or tried to help him, Chika would only say "Its got nothing to do with you, do dont butt in." Tetsuki blamed himself "If only I had been there the first time Chika had fought. Maybe we could've run. Maybe we could've feigned defeat. Anything so he didnt have to deal with their attention. Any maybe he would still be . . ." He missed his best friend & was worried what would happen to Chika if he keeps going on like this..

Tetsuki was told by the teacher that his mother had an accident & needs surgery. He's waiting anxious in the hospital, hoping for the best, trying to keep the worst case thoughts away . . thats when Chika comes running into the hospital he was worried!

NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS SIMPLY PERFECTION, I CANT!!! ૮₍ ꒦꒳꒦ ₎ა❤

When Tetsukis dad said to Chika that he heard a lot about him from his wife & thanked him for supporting Tetsuki, he asked about his wounds & if they hurt. . thats when Tetsuki learns the reason, why chika kept his distance from him. He didnt want to involve him or put him in danger. "E-Everything's fine! I'm not hanging out with Tetsuki anymore, nobody's seen us together, nobody knows we're friends or anything. I would never drag him into my problems. Never."

Takaoka-papa is as wonderful as Takaoka-mama, jesus the Takaoka family is a bunch of lovely human beings, help me!!!

BONUS:

WHY ARE THEY SO DAMN WONDERFUL??/Tetsuki is so happy for chika *ugly sobbing deluxe*

I'm so glad that that he had Tetsuki right beside him, i dont wanna imagine what would have happened to Chika without his support & affection.

For me, they have one of the most wonderful & most strongest bond ever. I love their friendship so much, seriously i could probably write an essay about them & would never be able go stop. 🥺❤❤❤

Chika went through so much already, he fought his way through life, suffered, so NOW! Let him finally become happy!

Ufff, i didnt mean to make it THIS long.. but there's so much to say about this manga & the relationships chika made or the persons met.ヾ( இ⌓இ)ﾉﾞ

[ilove-cedricdiggory]

Moony

Remus x Reader

Part 2

Summary - After you left Remus after telling him about your pregnancy, you're now trying to juggle being pregnant by yourself in a foreign country, along with your three best friends searching for you.

Trigger Warning - Cursing, mentions of abortion, angst, it's longish? I think that's all. Let me know if there's more though.

Italics are letters, Bold is unknown to the readers.

America.

That's the only way you can really describe it. It is, well, America. Some places are incredibly beautiful, some terribly ugly. Some incredibly cold, some unbearably hot. Some busier than Diagon Alley on the day all the kids come to buy their things, some slower than a virgin's bedroom.

You hadn't seen much, especially seeing as how you had only been there for a week, but it was already more than you expected. You expected a stern talking to, you expected a bed rest, you expected a midwife in every thirty minutes, and you definitely expected to have someone at your side every second of the day. But, that wasn't what you got.

Especially seeing as how, your Great Grandpa kicked the rest of your family out of the house before you arrived, not wanting his favorite grandkid to be in an uncomfortable home, especially while she was growing his two great, great grandkids.

He was incredibly wealthy, a pure blood from England gone American. You had been the only one that actively spoke to him and visited him as often as you could while he lived in England. Now, your family was watching the sand fall in his hourglass to see who got the most money from his will. Honestly, though, you could see the man living another 200 years - just to spite them all.

He had taken you out, shown you incredible things, although you were stuck in a stupid state of unbearable heat - Texas. Although, the heat had taken you out of the sweaters that had you crying every time you got a whiff of his scent, and into some beautiful maternity sun dresses. You had already sent 20 pictures to Molly.

You had yet to write to Lily though, but her owls came twice a day, at least. You were starting to worry that she would get on James' broom and follow the owl herself to find you. Her letters really all stayed the same.

Y/n, just tell me where you are. I won't tell Remus, or Sirius. Heck, I won't even tell James. Harry and I will come visit and I'll tell you all about how I beat Remus' arse. Or how James did....Or how Sirius did. But, please, just write me back. I love you. I miss you incredibly.

Then you had

Y/n, come on, you really have me worried. The entire order has heard about what happened and I think they're all freaking out each second like we are. We miss you. You're the ray of Hufflepuff joy we all need, the always Ravenclaw intelligence the boys really need, the absolute Gryffindor bravery in the craziest of situations that the order needs, and the Slytherin strength I need. Please, just write back.

Then, she got help from the boys - or, the ones you would be open to hear from.

Y/n, while I have to be honest, Lily is standing over my shoulder watching me write this, I was going to do it either way. Remus was an absolute arse, I understand that, but we miss you. Lily, Harry and I want nothing more than for you to be home, with us even. You don't have to see him, you really don't. We just want to be here for you through this time, the good and the bad. Please write back.

When that didn't work, you had a howler from Sirius.

Y/n Y/l/n, I swear, if you don't write me back, I'm gonna jump into the paper and send myself! I'm going absolutely crazy watching Lily freak out every day! You're the only one that can calm her, not even James is doing it! You're taking away my precious James time! I fucking miss you - okay? Moony is an absolute dick. He deserved you walking out on him, he really did, but please don't walk out on all of us too. Y/n, we miss you, we really do. Moony isn't even here anymore, he left after we all went to Molly's - Sirius, don't tell her that! - Shit, fuck, how do I scratch that? Uhhh, I didn't say that. Erase! Erase! Lily, how do I erase on a howler? Fuck. Whatever. I'm sure it erased. But, come home. I'll make James make you that surprisingly good chicken he makes and I'm sure Lily would love to give you some old baby momma clothes or whatever the fuck they're called. I just - we just - no, I miss you, okay? Come home.

Your heart broke, not just because Remus was missing, but because your friends were hurt.

You sat down at the table in your guest house, sighing softly. A quill and some parchment sat before you, your hand shaking as you dipped it into the ink.

Lily, James, and Sirius.

While I know I could write a letter to each of you separately, I'm almost positive you're all together, or you're gonna call each other as soon as you get my letter.

I'm okay, I think. Not as okay as I wish I was, I cry a lot. While I wish I could blame it on the hormones, I know it's not. Everything reminds me of him, even here. No, I'm not in England, I'm in the states. I'm staying with some family and I think it's doing me well. At least, I've started to own my pregnancy.

After what Remus said to me, my body broke. I just about hated the fact that I was pregnant. Not my kids, just that I was pregnant. But, with each day, I realize that this pregnancy is the thing I needed most. While I wish I didn't have to say this - it showed me the man Remus is. Does that mean I cry any less? Of course not - you guys know me.

But, I really don't think I can come home, at least not yet. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm to do. I love Remus with every fiber of my being, but how do you love a man that told you to get rid of your own children, the minute he gets home from a mission he could have died from? How do you let him hold you as he feels the two children you both created grow in your belly knowing he hates them?

I'm going to come home eventually, of course I am. And I already promised Molly I'll be back for a visit soon, and you guys are more than welcome to come visit once I teach my family how to properly floo in America - did you know they don't do that here? It's super weird. But, I love you three incredibly. I'm so sorry this has happened. Be safe.

Your heart broke as you debated on writing more, about what your heart was still set on. Remus. Where was he? Where did he go? Had they heard from him? Was he looking for you? But you couldn't bring yourself to ask them.

The owl was sent with their letter, leaving you in the silence once more.

How could you feel so absolutely alone when you had people wanting nothing more than to be with you? Is it what you thought you deserved? They were his friends before they were yours. You felt horrible that they were taking your side. You felt your heart ripping slowly with each beat it made in it's spot in your being. It was like one half of your heart was tied to Remus' and with each beat away from him, it tore you apart - slowly, filling you with excruciating pain.

Five minutes after the letter was sent, you were standing, trying to find a way to busy your mind.

Ten minutes after the letter was sent, you were crouching in the corner, the weight of your predicament pressing down on you so hard, it's like it formed hands and was set on pushing you six feet under without any hole dug for your body.

Twenty minutes after the letter was sent, your body was shaking with it's sobs once more, the loss of not only your spouse, but also the friends you loved almost as much as him.

An hour later, you had fallen asleep on the floor, your mind groggy and your heart tearing with each beat, your conscious hoping to pull you away from the pain your felt in the body that was supposed to be yours - but belonged to the man who seemed to not want you anymore.

It was dark, so incredibly dark. The only thing that was seen was the moon, halfway full in it's wake. The only thing heard was the pads of feet stomping on the ground as they ran. Ran where? Ran why? You could feel the pain in your chest, but it was like it wasn't your own. As you came to a stop, you looked at a building that seemed a familiar kind of unfamiliar - although that didn't really make much sense to you.

Before you realized it, you were slumped over the toilet, letting out the contents of your stomach. One of your hands pulled your hair to one side of your shoulder, keeping it there. But all you could think was how badly you wish it was Remus holding your hair, rubbing your back as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

But all that mattered today was to get through it, like any other day.

One day following the motions.

Two days following the motions.

Three, four, five days.

Until your hands were pulled from your face, the skin around your fingers almost chewed to nothing, the warm face of Lily standing before you.

"If I see you bite your fingers one more time, I'm going to hex them to taste like Harry's dirty diapers." She spoke, pulling you up from your spot on the couch.

"Lily - I." You stopped, looking around her to see James, Sirius, and Harry. "How?" You asked, looking back into the eyes of your best friend.

"Your great grandpa is super cool. I think he was getting tired of all the letters we were sending him too and gave us the floo network here to knock you out of whatever it is you're in." Sirius spoke, Harry on his shoulders, pulling at his hair.

"You guys-" You were cut off with Lily pulling you into her hold, her larger belly pressed against yours as you both attempted to properly hug one another.

"I have missed you, so much" Her voice was soft, uncommon for Lily. Her hands held you tightly, almost like she was holding onto you to make sure you didn't disappear once more.

"Come on Lils, other people missed her too." Sirius spoke to cause her to pull away and glare at the man. "If you weren't holding onto my kid, I'd have hexed you so hard for that." She said, moving to grab Harry from his shoulders as James wrapped you up in a hug himself.

"If we hadn't seen you for another day, I think Lily was going to fly off on my broom." He said, causing you to laugh at your own prediction.

You finally got to Sirius, his arms holding you tighter than the two. "I'm sorry." He mumbled, his hold growing tighter. "What are you sorry for, Siri?" You asked him, pulling away to look into his face.

"What he said, what he did. That's not what you deserved." He mumbled, pushing your hair back a bit. "I swear, I about pounded his face in at Molly's. I think Arthur had to separate me magically." He trailed off, looking at the floor.

His words brought tears to your eyes once more, your heart feeling empty, yet full. "That's not your fault, Sirius. We all knew he didn't want kids, but we weren't careful. I don't know why his reaction surprised me." You were honest with them, having thought this entire thing was truly your fault.

The three of them surrounded you, their eyes narrow with intent. "Y/n, the last thing this is, is your fault. You're his fiancée, not a random person. Either way, those are his kids. He shouldn't have treated you like he did." James spoke with meaning, wanting you to understand each word he spoke.

Somehow, the four of you relaxed enough to find yourself growing to bed. You showed Sirius his room, a place where James and Lily can lay Harry, and then their own room, before finding your way to your own.

You laid in bed, wide awake. You knew what tonight was, the night before the full moon, and knew that Remus was probably out wherever he was, already in pain. Every turn was different, it truly was, but each night before the full moon, his body ached, his bones almost softened, knowing they would be breaking and turning in 24 hours, and his head psyched him out, especially when you weren't there. This was now the third full moon your financé was to handle without you.

You refused to cry, knowing Lily always had a third sense to that stuff, and willed yourself to sleep. But, you laid there.

And laid there.

And laid there some more, until you couldn't handle the quiet, and found yourself moving out of the room and towards Sirius'.

You had slept with Sirius before, each time when Remus was gone and your heart could hardly handle it. Now, the three hearts inside of you couldn't stand the guilt of not being with him.

The door didn't creak when you opened it, none of the floor boards made a sound, but that somehow made it worse. Your feet carried you to the dark haired man, seeing his sleeping frame move, sensing another person there.

His eyes jerked open, coming to look at you as he smiled sadly. "How did I know you'd come in here. Just can't resist the charm, can you?" His voice was deeper, rougher from sleep. It calmed you, but never like Remus' did. You waddled closer to the man, his arms opening for you as you crawled into him.

You both laid in silence, but awake now, as you took in the moment.

"I miss him, Siri. I know I shouldn't, I know I should hate him, but my entire being misses him." Your voice was softer than his was, much softer, but it wasn't because you were afraid of him, but because you were afraid of your own truth.

"I know you do. I know he misses you too. You guys are kinda like Lily and James, meant to be. He's just, an absolute git for this." His fingers worked in your hair, rubbing your scalp and causing your eyes to close in comfort.

"I thought we were meant to be too. But, he doesn't want me anymore. He doesn't want us." At that, Sirius rested a hand at your bump, this being the first touch they really had beside your own. "He does, he's just stupid and scared. Either way, you have us. Aunt Lily, Uncle James, and, the absolute best uncle in the world, Uncle Siri. We've got you." His sensere words lulled you to sleep, a sleep where you felt safe and happy falling into.

You were running again, but it didn't feel like you were in danger. It felt like you were running to run, really. Which, was something you did not do. You weren't in the woods, but you didn't know where you were. All you did know is that you were still scared. Absolutely, bone crushingly scared.

With each step you took, the fear grew. How could you possibly be this scared? You were looking for something, but you didn't know what. You were shaking, but from both the cold and the fear. You were shaking. Shaking. Shaking

Shaking. "Y/n, wake up!" Sirius was looking down at you, his eyes full of excitement. "Your great grandpa is showing us the American version of Diagon Alley today!" You smiled up at him, nodding.

"Okay, okay, let me get changed."

The four of you had left your Grandpa once he settled himself down to play some wizards chess, waving you off.

"You know where the house is when you're done, I've got a title to keep."

You wandered through stores, showing them the few things you had learned so far about the wizarding world here. The four of you had just walked into their version of Flourish and Blotts when you were stopped by an older couple. "Oh, you both look absolutely wonderful! I remember when I was that pregnant. How far are you both?" she was smiling at you and Lily, growing closer to you.

"I'm due in about a week and a half. We already have one, Harry, who's staying with her family." She had pointed to you, smiling at the older woman. "Oh, I'd expect you to be due any day now. Seconds always come early and you look family dropped. What about you dear?" She had looked to you, glancing at your own belly.

"Oh, I'm only a few months along. Twins." You laughed, your hand resting protectively on your belly. "Awe, that's lovely. You both look radiant. Two amazing father's, I hope?" She now looked at James and Sirius, smiling at them. "Oh, no, I'm not the father. Our best mate is." Sirius spoke, gesturing to you. "Well, I dunno, is he?" He asked, looking at the three of you. "It's complicated." Lily said, smiling.

The older woman nodded, smiling. "I completely understand. I wish you both the best of luck." She bid you all adu, leaving with her husband.

"I can't tell if that was awkward or sweet." James laughed, leading you all to the door to leave.

You all laughed as you walked through the Wizarding space until you and Lily began complaining about the swollen ankles and bloated stomach enough to convince James and Sirius to guide you both home.

As the day turned into night, you now showing your friends the muggle artifacts your grandpa has collected from his move to the states. That was, until Lily groaned in pain.

"Fuck, she was right." The young woman grumbled, clenching her bump. "What do you mean?" James asked, his hand on her back softly. "He's coming early, James. I'm in labor, fuck." She groaned again, tilting her head back at the pain she was feeling for the second time in her life.

"Shit, Sirius, go find some towels. I'll go tell grandpa to write the healer for labor." You spoke, pointing Sirius in the direction of the towels before moving to Lily. "It'll be okay, okay? Everything will be fine." She nodded, gripping your hand tightly as she looked in your eyes. She smiled before groaning once more, a contraction hitting her. "Okay, okay, healer. You guys lay her down." Sirius returned with multiple towels, James and him laying a few out before helping Lily lay down on them.

You turned to waddle out of your home, attempting to get to your grandpa's house as quickly as possible.

Three steps towards his house, you heard a twig snap.

Five steps towards his house, you heard a thud.

Nine steps towards his house, a figure stopped before you, it's frame furry and bent, a growl releasing from his lips.

A werewolf.

How the fuck is a werewolf standing in front of you, in the middle of fucking Texas, in a populated muggle area?

You took a few steps backwards, until it clicked.

The only Werewolf that would spend his full moon looking for you was the same werewolf that has plagued your mind for the past month.

Moony.

~

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[seijorhi]

If you have the time and feel like it, I'd love to read anything from you about Shigaraki/Reader. (Or maybe Shinsou??)The first thing that came to my mind was something involving chikan but anything that you can come up with is totally good with me as well!!!! Love your writing!!!

This is like months late I am so sorry, bby!! But I hope it’s okay? 🥺

Shigaraki Tomura x Female Reader

TW chikan, non-con, nsfw

Dirty

Staring isn’t a crime. 

It’s the mantra you kept repeating to yourself as more and more passengers slowly filed in. There is nothing wrong. You’re being paranoid.

Staring isn’t a crime, but you’d feel a whole hell of a lot more comfortable if the pair of red eyes boring into you from across the train carriage weren’t accompanied by a creepy, wide grin.

You tell yourself that you’re imagining things, that you’ve read one too many shoujo mangas, because the silvery haired stranger in his ratty oversized hoodie just happens to be facing your general direction, so of course it feels like he’s staring. It doesn’t stop you from trying to tug down the hem of your skirt.

Except when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and you decide to bite the bullet and scamper across to the other side of the carriage under the guise of getting off, the stranger follows. 

He’s only staring. You’ve heard about men who like to scare girls on public transport, how they… get off on it. But the stranger seems content just to watch. There’s a Nintendo switch sticking out of his hoodie pocket, but in the fifteen minutes you’ve been riding together, he hasn’t made a move to touch it - while everybody else on the carriage is either sleeping, reading or absorbed in their phones, the stranger’s attention is fixed entirely on you.

He’s enjoying it, you think - your discomfort. The way you shift and try to subtly curl in on yourself, hiding behind other passengers, how your eyes keep darting up to see if he’s still watching (he is) before shifting your attention back to the phone in your hands. Should you text somebody? Your best friend, maybe? And say what exactly, ‘help, there’s a creepy looking guy staring at me on the train, please come get me?’

There were at least twenty other people on the carriage with you, and not one of them has noticed the silver haired man staring at you - or if they have, they’ve promptly dismissed it as nothing to concern themselves with. You’re working yourself up over nothing - he’s only doing it trying to get a reaction out of you.  

You don’t want to cause a fuss over nothing.

Breathing deeply, you decide to simply not give him the satisfaction, turning your back on him to face out the window by the doors instead. You still have another twenty minutes left of the ride until you reach your stop, with any luck he’ll lose interest soon enough.

At the next station, the doors slide open and a swarm of commuters flood into the carriage. You’re bumped and brushed past, jostled about as more and more passengers try to fit onboard - it’s uncomfortable, but for once you find yourself grateful for the teeming crowds. With enough people squished between you and the pale, hoodie-clad stranger, you comfort yourself with the knowledge that he’s probably lost sight of you (or at least the parts of you he’s interested in leering at) and allow yourself to breathe and just relax-

Until a sudden jolt of the carriage sends you reeling into the chest of the commuter behind you. 

On instinct you turn your head to glance over your shoulder, apologies ready on the tip of your tongue,  only for them to turn to ash in your mouth as you meet bloodshot vermillion eyes and a wide, unsettling grin.

“Whoops,” he chuckles, the sound dry and rasping, like nails raking down a chalkboard. “Better be careful, now. Don’t wanna hurt yourself.”

Your breath catches and you still, but there’s no room for you to move as pale, spindly fingers creep across your waist, sliding down the pleated fabric of your skirt. A tiny whimper, lost almost immediately to the droning hum of the carriage as it jolts along the tracks, escapes as rough fingertips graze the top of your thigh, dragging your skirt upwards in search of another prize. You feel the chest pressed against your back rumble with another laugh, dry, chapped, lips dragging possessively against the curve of your neck, and a deep, shuddering inhale.

(Is he sniffing your hair?!)

“You might wanna hold onto something, princess,” the stranger jeers. Goosebumps prickle at your skin, a deep, unsettling pit growing in your stomach. This isn’t staring - this isn’t harmless anymore.

He’s got you caged between his body and the doors, one arm shot out over your shoulder to brace himself, the other creeping up towards your panties with agonising slowness. There’s nowhere to go, but for the life of you, you don’t know why you can’t seem to make a sound. Your legs are quaking, heart thumping unsteadily as long digits probe at your panty covered sex, dragging teasingly against the outline of your slit. All it would take is a shout, a yell, and somebody would intervene - packed train or not - but despite the icy fear seeping into your veins, the rising panic as your pretty lace panties are yanked to the side, your cries are caught in your throat.

Your cheeks burn with humiliation as long digits roughly slither between your plush pussy lips. You’re not wet - how could you be? - but that doesn’t seem to bother the man violating you, not as those same fingers greedily tease at your hole for a split second before they plunge inside of you, his thumb rubbing at your crude circles around your clit like it’s a joystick. You wonder if anyone has noticed the hitch in your breath, the soft, whimpering whine that you can’t quite hold back as he fucks you on his fingers, stretching you out. Facing out the window, there’s nobody to see the tears that spill down your cheeks, the way your features contorts in pain - and something else - as his fingertips press and drag along your warm, tight cunny walls.

There’s no rhythm or technique as he roughly mashes his palm against your sex, but suddenly it’s not so much an effort to speak out as it is to smother your own noises - the thought of somebody catching you like this, seeing him finger fuck you in on a crowded, public train in the middle of the day making you want to curl up and disappear entirely.

His fingers are stuffed deep inside of your pussy, fucking you in earnest, it doesn’t matter if you were willing or not, you let him get this far without so much as a peep. Who’s going to believe that you didn’t want this, weren’t silently begging for it - that with every flick of his wrist this stranger is raping you in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded train?

You bite down on your bottom lip, hands clenching into pathetic fists at your side as the man behind you moans and grunts in your ear. There’s something hard and warm pressed against your ass - it takes you a moment to realise that it’s his cock, and his hips are rutting eagerly against your backside. 

His panting breath tickles at your neck, “Gettin’ all nice ‘n wet, such a good little slut. You -hah- you enjoying this, princess?”

Revulsion rises like a wave, crashing through you, but you can’t deny the building slick you feel easing his passage - your cunt is all but drooling around his fingers. You can’t bear to look around to see if any of the other passengers have noticed, if they can hear the lewd sounds of him fingering you like a man possessed.

Your forehead falls against the cool, glass window, your eyes squeezing shut as more tears fall. It doesn’t make a difference, you can’t disappear into your mind and pretend that this isn’t happening, he’s making sure of it. His hips are grinding faster against the swell of your ass, his fingers picking up their pace in response. It’s like he wants you to cum with him, and when a third finger slips inside of you, crooks and slams against that sweet spot that has you gasping, you know that it’s not far off. 

“Tomura,” he pants desperately into your ear as he ruts up against you like a beast in heat, “Fuck! My n-name is Tomura.”

You don’t know why he’s telling you. Does he think you’ll cry it out as his thumb swipes messily at your clit and your tight cunny walls unwittingly squeeze down on his fingers? Or does he just want you to know the name of the stranger about to make you cum in a train full of strangers.

You don’t have time to ponder the question, not as his teeth sink into the tender skin of your neck to muffle his growls and his fingers speed up, that tight coil of heat in your core pulling taut and snapping as unwanted pleasure explodes like fireworks, overwhelming your system as you convulse and shudder around him. 

Your vision goes white, a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a moan leaves your lips.

Tomura snarls, riding out his own orgasm, warm cum spurting into his jeans as he all but collapses against you. For a moment, you two stay like that, his sweaty, larger frame draped over yours, his chest heaving, hand still caught up beneath your skirt.

In the wake of your climax, shame and humiliation rear their ugly heads. You came, you enjoyed it, your own violation. No amount of reassurance that it’s just your body's natural reaction to stimuli can stop the rising disgust that surges through you so violently it threatens to choke you. You feel dirty - filthy and used - especially with Tomura’s face nuzzled in your neck, his tongue laving at your flushed skin, the blood welling from his overzealous bite.

His hand slides out of your underwear, using your skirt to wipe off the syrupy wetness that clings to his digits. You stomach churns in response as the train pulls up alongside the station platform, passengers once again jostling as they prepare to disembark. Even now you can’t force yourself to move, can’t shove him away like you so desperately want to.

You’re pathetic. 

He sighs contentedly, chapped lips curling into a smirk as the voice over the p.a announces the incoming stop. If Tomura notices the tears that wet your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, he doesn't pass comment, choosing instead to press a sickeningly sweet kiss to your temple as the train slows down to a halt.

“That was real fun, Y/N,” he coos gleefully. “We should do it again some time.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of exiting passengers, and your trembling legs finally give out.