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unsolvedjarin · 9 months

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just you wait sunshine.

pairing: (sebastian vettel x driver! reader)

summary: sebastian’s retirement has led him to reminisce his past life and mistakes, including you. little does he know, the universe is about to give him a second chance via a small bookstore in switzerland.

note: this went on WAYYY longer than i wanted it to be and it didn’t really go the direction i wanted either, but we move

content warning: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, more sebastian centric than reader centric tbh (sorry i just love him so much)

word count: 3.7k

Retirement had been good to Sebastian.

He’d finally been able to spend time in his farm house, plant some trees, grow a garden, and along with all that, still have time to drive cars whenever an event needed him to. It was like his entire life schedule magically cleared up in front of him.

He missed racing of course, he won’t pretend that he didn’t. After all, he spent 15 years in the sport, it was his pride and joy for quite a long time. But that time of his life is over, he’s accepted that. He wanted to enjoy the other things in life instead, be able to see and experience things that the busy life of being a driver didn’t let him experience.

Sitting on a chair in his porch watching the sun set, he reflects on what he could have done differently. Who he could have treated differently. And when only one name enters his mind, the same one that’s haunted him for the past 5 years, he sighs reluctantly and heads back inside to prepare his dinner.

—

2012

“What do you wanna do when you grow up?”

The question takes you by surprise as you take another swig of your beer. The moon shone brightly on the porch of whatever airbnb your team had set you up at, and the stars were sparkling like they had never before.

“What kind of question is that, Sebby?” you giggle. “Isn’t this what we’re gonna do for eternity? Racing?”

Sebastian shrugs, looking up at the sky on his foldable chair that you had brought on the trip. “Yeah but after that, you know? I’ve always thought about what my life will be like after retirement.”

“Okay old man, because you’re sooo close to retiring,” you tease. He gives you a playful light shove for that, smiling as he does. The air feels freer and lighter than it ever has before.

“But seriously,” Sebastian chuckled. “Have you ever thought about it?”

You ponder for a second before replying, “No, not really. I mean my career’s just starting, I haven’t really thought about the end. But when I do retire, I think I’d like to be a writer.”

“Like those egotistical types to make a biographical book about themselves?” Sebastian asks, earning a laugh from you. The sound made him feel things that he’d only ever felt before with you.

“God no,” you laugh out. “I don’t wanna be like those old blokes who get obsessed with themselves after they retire. I just wanna write fictional books, maybe under a pen name. Just a simple life; me, my theoretical dog, and my theoretical book.”

Sebastian nods with an understanding look in his eye. He wants that life too. A simple one, away from the public. Even now at his young age, the paparazzis and press were getting annoying quickly.

“I want to live in a house far away from the city,” he says. “Maybe the suburbs— no that’s too near…a farm! I’ll live in a farmhouse.”

You smile at the thought of Sebastian Vettel, two time Formula 1 world champion, just lounging about in a farm tending to his animals and crops.

“Wouldn’t it get boring? Or lonely? Milking your cows alone?”

He answers you with no delay, “Well I’d want you to be with me of course.”

You thanked whatever higher power was listening at that time that he couldn’t see how your blush formed over the darkness of the night. Regaining your sense of self, you reply, “What makes you think I’d want to go with you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he asks genuinely. “You could write your books inside while I…I don’t know what type of farm I’ll make, exactly. But I’ll be tending to that and you can write your books with your theoretical dog.”

“It’ll be our theoretical dog, then.”

Sebastian replied with a soft smile, “Ours, then.”

—

He had settled on bees. Having a bee farmhouse. It wasn’t easy work, it was definitely more complicated than milking a cow like you had said, but it made him happy, and it made him content.

Well, as content as he could be.

You had your first kiss that night, Sebastian recalled. He remembers because even though you didn’t think it, he could see the red blush dusted lightly on your cheeks, a sign he made the right choice leaning in and making his move.

Preparing his dinner for one in his cozy yet lonely farm house, he realizes he could have had this all with you. If he had just been more kind and if you had forgiven him, you could have had all of this together. A life that both of you had always wanted.

—

2018

“Sebastian, I’m not asking you to retire or something, I’m just asking you to take a break, please,” you beg. He remembers your exasperated voice as clear as day.

“I can’t take a break, Y/N, you don't understand. If I don’t get at least podium in this race, that's it, my career is basically over.”

Scoffing, you replied, “Your career isn’t over just like that, you’ve still got another year with Ferrari for christ’s sake.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” he mumbled, opting to turn away from you and put on his racing gear instead.

He’d been distant the whole season, the tension between the two of you increasing and increasing that finally it just snapped this race weekend. He’d been icing you out, acting like you didn’t exist because he was ‘practicing for the races ahead.’

At first you understood, you were a driver too. You recognized the difficulty of always losing race after race, how after a while it took a toll on your mental wellbeing. So you gave him space.

Then, when that didn’t work, you tried reaching out, helping him. It was the worst mistake of your life. Every time you tried to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong so you could help, he kept pushing you further and further away, acting like you were getting in the way of his work, sometimes even getting angry.

That went on for the whole season, until finally today, on qualifying morning, you snapped and demanded he talk to you.

“What the hell do you mean ‘I wouldn’t get it’? I have the exact same job as you,” you accused. You’d been patient for months and his vagueness was starting to get on your nerves.

Whipping his head around angrily to face you he replied, “You don’t have to reach the same standard as I do. I have to constantly prove I’m the best, and you constantly prove to be a midfielder.”

Oh.

That was a low blow, even Sebastian knew that. Your relationship had been teetering on the edge for the past year, but this was a make or break moment, and he knew exactly which one of the two it was going to be.

“So it’s like that,” you decided with a tone of finality. Sebastian wanted to ask for your forgiveness right then and there, to apologize, to make up for the last few months of being an asshole, to beg you not to throw away your years together just like that.

But he knew he was in the wrong, and he was too stubborn and egotistical to apologize.

Sensing the silence from him, you nod with teary eyes you tried so desperately to stop from flowing freely. Sebastian wanted nothing more to wipe them away, to hold you in his arms, but he never could do it.

“This is how you want it to end?” You asked him. It was a genuine question. You were giving him one last choice, one last chance to make up for how he’d been treating you the past year.

He stayed silent.

“Enjoy your fucking career, Vettel.”

—

He won that race. It was his first win of the season, but he felt like he had lost the championship itself as he stood on that podium, eyes looking for you in the crowd like he usually did, finding you absolutely nowhere.

After your argument he tried to talk to you in the paddocks but you constantly avoided him, the act not being hard when he wasn’t allowed inside your team’s hospitality building nor paddock. That fight was the last sensible conversation with each other you ever had.

You retired the year after that. You moved out quietly from your shared home, and he heard you stayed with Jenson for quite a while. He couldn’t blame you, Jenson had always been kind to you— Sebastian had no place to be jealous.

Hearing the beeping of his oven, Sebastian snaps out of his trip down memory lane to grab his dinner. It was a tray of lasagna, one he was sure he would be eating again tomorrow lunch because of the size of it.

He thinks about how he wouldn’t have to place the excess in a container for tomorrow if he just had someone to share it with. If he could share it with you.

Going through his grocery list at 10 in the morning, Sebastian notices a new store out of the corner of his eye. He’s been to this street countless times to do his grocery down the road— they had a brand of milk that no other nearby grocery had— but he had never seen that store before.

It was a bookshop. A small one compared to the large shops that surrounded it, but it stood out enough to be noticed yet cozy enough to feel inviting. It was a cold morning in Switzerland, and the heater inside just invited him further in until he found himself standing at the doorway, taking in the smell of books and the absolutely gorgeous decor.

He will admit, he hasn’t seen a bookshop like this in quite a while. The second he stepped foot inside he felt the love radiate through it, as if he knew the owner personally and how they had a passion for their store.

All Sebastian could think about, however, was how much you would love this. How you would adore running your fingers through the spine of a second hand book, or how you would pick a fresh new one for him to read and he would do the same for you, just like you both did back then.

He won’t pretend that he never looked for your book when you retired. He knew you weren’t joking about publishing one, he just didn’t know what pen name you chose so he never could find it.

“Looking for something specific?” A voice makes him turn his head around to see the woman behind the register looking at him inquisitively. He realizes that he was just standing in an aisle not really reading or picking up a book.

Sebastian shakes his head, “Not really, just browsing. I was thinking about how a friend of mine would have liked to see this store, it’s right up their alley.”

“Why don’t you invite them then?” A different voice speaks.

…It can’t be.

That voice.

No, he was hallucinating, dreaming maybe. Yes, this was a dream. That would be the only explanation why from behind him he heard a voice he missed so dreadfully, one he tried imagining talk to him again some nights, one he watched old videos for, one he—

“Sebastian?”

It was you. He would recognize your voice anywhere. He turns around, and the world seems to slow down as if it suddenly focused on just the both of you. The background blurs and everything is hazy and distorted but you were there. Standing in front of him, actually real. Older than he remembers but not in a negative way, just more mature. More peaceful. More you.

Staring at you in the middle of a bookshop in Switzerland after 5 years, Sebastian couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say. What would be right? Would there be words he could tell you that would make you ever forgive him?

“I-” “You-”

You both start at the same time, making you laugh at each other. It was the first time he’s seen you smile since 2016. He used to say he would burn cities to see you smile, and he’s glad he knows now that that feeling hasn’t changed.

“You first,” he says. He wants to hear what you’ll say so he can choose his words better.

“I, uh,” you laugh awkwardly. It was still a beautiful sound to Sebastian. “I was actually slightly expecting to see you here.”

Oh. Well he didn’t expect that. You…you were expecting to see him? Like purposely thinking about him? The thought boggled Sebastian.

Noticing his visible silence, you speak up again. “I co-own this bookstore,” you smile. “I knew you lived around the area so I expected I’d bump into you eventually. It’s not the main thing that I do, but my Swiss friend you just talked to behind the counter wanted to make a bookstore but was low on funds so I decided to help a friend out, you know?”

Oh he knows. You were always so kind when it came to your friends. He remembers, he used to be one of them.

“That’s really nice of you,” Sebastian says. He slaps himself internally for the dumb reply he gives. “You uh, you look great.” Way to fucking go Sebastian. What a great conversation saver.

“Not in a weird way, of course. I mean I would never try to make you feel uncomfortable by saying that. Did you feel uncomfortable? Was it weird? It probably was. I mean I haven’t seen you in so long and that’s the first thing I say it’s so stupid and I could have said something of significance but—”

You stop Sebastian before he rambles on any longer. Holding his fidgeting hand, you chuckle at the sight of the nervous German in front of you. “Relax, Seb. I’m not mad. I’ve moved on.”

Oh.

“You have?” He asks, not thinking before he speaks because he knows he hasn’t. How could he move on from the best thing that ever happened to him and the biggest mistake he ever made?

The question takes you aback, pulling your hand away from his. For a second Sebastian thinks he’s messed up all over again, but you simply reply, “I meant from racing. But I know what you think I mean.”

“Can we catch up? I’ve missed you.” Sebastian hears himself say it before he even realizes the implications of his words.

“Oh.” you say with a pause. It makes Sebastian’s heart sink. Maybe you really have moved on, but in a way that you didn’t want him in your life anymore. He gets that. It looks like you’ve built a nice life for yourself outside of racing. Even if he never gets to be in it. He’s proud of you for being able to move on. “How about we sit down for some coffee first? I know a place near here.”

Oh thank god. Sebastian wasn’t ready to be deprived of you again so quickly.

Walking to the cafe, the air was thick with the tension between the two of you. While your accidental meeting in the library had gone well, the spark of the moment had faded and the reality of the situation had settled in. This was someone Sebastian had deeply wronged, someone he still deeply loved, and there were too many words unsaid there about both.

Sitting down at the window seats— he remembers how you loved sitting there so you could watch the people outside— you flag down a waiter to take both your orders.

“I’ll take a macchiato and— Seb do you still take your coffee black?”

Nodding, he looks out the window with a light blush on his cheeks. The fact that you remembered his— albeit simple— order made him happy and he had to catch himself otherwise he would be smiling like a teenage boy again. It was truly the little things.

“So,” he speaks up, straightening up and looking at you.

“So,” you mimic. “I go first or you go first?”

“My life has been pretty televised before I retired, there’s nothing really surprising in it. You go first.”

You spend the next 30 minutes filling him in on your life, how you avoided the media for the past few years, how you live in a cozy home with your dog, how you still exchange presents with some of the older grid during Christmas (Sebastian admits he got jealous here).

But the most important part was when he heard how you finally wrote that book you always talked about.

“Really? You finally published it?” Sebastian asks. He could see how the smile on your face was genuine, unlike the many times he saw you put on a fake one for the press or the media. It made him happy.

“Yeah, I finally found time after I retired to start it. Surprisingly it’s actually much harder and less peaceful than I thought it’d be.”

“At least it’s not a biographical book,” Seb jokes. The throwback makes you giggle, but it also makes you both acknowledge the elephant in the room. There were still so many things left unsaid, you both didn’t know where to start.

“Y/N back when I said those things, you know the ones, I didn’t mean them.”

Giving him a sad smile you reply, “I know, Seb. But it doesn’t take them back. Besides, that silly argument was just the straw that broke the camel's back, we were on the edge of our relationship for so long, you knew that too.”

“I know, but that was my fault it was on the edge too. I kept pushing you away because of Ferrari and how disappointed I was in my career. I didn’t realize at the time how much it was hurting you until I finally lost you. I know it makes no sense to say it this late when all is said and done, but I am sorry.”

Sebastian’s words stunned you to silence. You knew he never meant pushing you away, despite your last fight he was never intentionally that unkind, it was just racing that pushed him to be like that back then. But hearing the words coming from him hit differently, the way he said the two words you’ve been yearning for for years. I’m Sorry.

It couldn’t make you forget, but it could make you forgive.

“I know you are, Sebby,” you say. The old nickname brings a nostalgic smile on his face. “I’ve forgiven you years ago, just after I retired. I figured I should let go of my ghosts and that’s what I did. Though I won’t lie, your ghost did put up quite a fight giving me tears at night,” you joked. Sebastian could sense the hint of sadness in it.

He wishes he could make it all go away, to fix it just like he used to be able to. But he knows it’s not that easy. Not when the years have separated you both. It’ll be hard getting your trust back to let him into your heart even just as a friend, but goddamn if he wasn’t going to try and fix it.

“Will you ever show me the book?”

The question catches you slightly off guard. “I doubt it. It’s not up your alley anway, historical fiction.”

“Anything you write is up my alley. Maybe you can come over sometime and show it to me,” he says, not realizing the underlying meaning to it.

“Careful, Sebastian,” you say. “Forgiving is easy when you’re given time, but forgetting is harder. Let’s take baby steps.”

Baby steps. He could live with that. To Sebastian it doesn’t matter if it takes days or years to get you back in his life, he’ll let you take your time. You deserve it. And if you choose in the end to walk out of his life again, well, then he deserves it.

You hug each other goodbye when you leave, the hug lasting longer than it should have. He knows he promised baby steps, but when you buried your head into the crook of his neck and tightened your grip around him softly, he couldn’t resist pulling you closer to him and holding you there for a few seconds. He misses this, the closeness of it.

He sends you his address if ever you were in the area again, and you notice how the profile picture he has for you on your number was still the one of you when you were both rookies. It made you happy.

Sebastian didn’t expect anything more to happen, he spent that night contemplating what good deed he must’ve done to bring you back into his life again. Whatever it was, he was grateful he had done it.

The next afternoon as he was reheating the Lasagna— that he ultimately forgot yesterday— in the oven for lunch, he heard his doorbell ring. Opening his door he spots a package on the floor, one that was wrapped with a cute bee themed wrapping paper. It made him chuckle. He expected that whoever or whatever was at the door was you, but this was the next best thing.

Sitting down on his porch chair, he opens the package delicately as if it were fragile. He can feel the outline already, it was a book. Moreover, it was your book. Sebastian couldn’t believe it.

There was a note attached that read, ‘Forgot to tell you yesterday. I missed you too.’

The few words were almost enough to bring him to tears, but he continued and opened the book to scan its contents. The typing Published 2020 stands out, making him realize how long he’s missed out on this.

But what truly catches his attention is the dedication. Smack right in the middle, the words to be seen by everyone, read; For my Sunshine, the amount of words left unsaid will never match the amount of love I still have for you in my heart.

He may not be able to fix his mistake just like that, but Sebastian would wait however long it took for you to love him again, as a friend or as another. As long as his sunshine was in his life again.

#sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel imagine #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine #fanfic #writing #f1 fanfic #f1blr #f1 x reader #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending

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islesnucks · 3 months

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𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓵 - Mathew Barzal x Reader

Summary: what started as an accidentall voicemial to your ex boyfriend ended up becoming routine and maybe even more TW: none that i can think of

Word count: 3.9k A/N: completely made up game schedule btw

Masterlist Add yoruself to the taglist if you wanna be notified when i post the fic!

“Hey, it’s Mat.” His voice echoed through the phone, so familiar yet strangely distant now. You’d heard him speak in interviews, but this was different. He was addressing you, or at least the voicemail version of you. “I can’t answer right now, so you know what to do.”

You didn’t know what to do. Calling your ex-boyfriend, the one you had broken up with months ago, wasn’t something you had exactly planned. Yet, when the acceptance email for the program you had worked tirelessly for arrived, the one he had witnessed you pour your heart into, he was the person you wanted to share it with. So that’s what you were doing, trying no to overthink it before nerves got the best of you.

“Mat, hi. This is so random—H-how are you?” Thank God he didn’t answer, you were a stuttering mess leaving a voicemail imagine if it had been him on the other end instead. “I got in! Into the program I mean. I don’t know why, but I wanted to tell you. You helped me so much before—” you cut yourself again. It didn’t feel right to mention the break up like that, but what could you say? Before I broke up with you? Before I stumbled out of your apartment leaving you behind without an explanation?

“Fuck it. I can’t do this.” You pulled your phone away from your ear and touched the red dot.

That’s it. He didn’t need to know, he probably wouldn’t even care. Who would want their ex to call to tell them they were doing great? That maybe after all the breakup was worth it because they had gotten into the program they had neglected their relationship for? Too long, right?

A second later, realization struck like lightning – you had ended the call before deleting the voicemail. It had been sent.

“Oh no, no, no!” you exclaimed, eyes widening in horror. There was no turning back. Mat would undoubtedly hear you stumbling over your words. Why couldn’t you have just left well enough alone? The last thing he needed was you barging back into his life with a pathetic voicemail about something he likely moved on from. ‘He probably already despises me after how everything unfolded, and now this’ you thought.

You were wrong, because no longer than 5 minutes after everything had gone down your phone was buzzing in your hand, Mat’s contact bright in the center as he now waited for you to pick up for a change.

“Mat.” you picked up.

“Hey. You called me?” He sounded confused, for very obvious reasons. Nevertheless it was nice to hear his voice now directed at you.

“Yeah, right. I left you a voicemail.” You rolled your eyes. At least you sounded less nervous than earlier on the voicemail, but it was not less embarrassing.

Mat’s voice came through, cool and collected. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t check. I just saw the missed call and, you know.”

“Sure, sure.” you replied, trying to sound half as calm as he seemed to be with the whole situation.

“Do you want me to hear it or …” his offer hovered in the air.

“No! I mean, I can tell you.” You cringed at the thought of him hearing your rambling voicemail. “So, I called because I just got the mail. I got into the program!”

“Shut up! That’s great! Congratulations!” Mat’s excitement burst through the line. Your heart melted a little. After everything that had happened he sounded genuinely happy for you.

“Thank you, Maty.”

Mat’s tone softened. “You deserve it, after all the hard work you put into it. I knew you’d get it.”

You chuckled, the tension easing. “I know, I know. You told me like a million times. I was just insecure.”

For a second you let yourself imagine this was under other circumstances. You were still together and he was calling you right after practice or from another city in one of his roadies. He’d come back home eventually and hug you so tight you wouldn’t be able to breath, probably lift you up and spin you around a little. You wouldn’t be able to stop laughing and-

“I know …” Mat’s response brought you back to reality. The reality in which he wouldn’t knock on your door with his arms wide open.

His tone carried an easy understanding. He definitely knew about your insecurities. They played a huge role on why your relationship was the way it was right now: nonexistent.

“So that’s what the voicemail said?” He broke the silence.

“Yeah, basically. But you know, all giddy and stuff. Really embarrassing.”

Mat’s laughter grew louder, and you could practically see him shaking his head. “Oh, really? Well, now I have to hear it.”

“No, no, no.” you protested, your embarrassment deepening. “Seriously, don’t Barzal. I know where you live.”

But Mat insisted, his curiosity piqued. “Come on! Embrace the cringe. It can’t be that bad.”

He ended the call before you could object anymore, only to call you back a minute later. Mat’s laughter erupted again as soon as you picked up, and you couldn’t help but join in, the shared humor dissipating the lingering awkwardness. If you closed your eyes you could almost picture him with that scrunched up nose as he laughed.

“The ‘fuck it, i can’t do this’ was the best part by far.”

The familiar buzz of the MSG postgame show filled the cozy confines of your living room as Mat’s name flashed brightly on your phone, catching you off guard. Shannon and Hickey were in full praise mode, replaying Mat’s epic goal on loop, and there he was, the main attraction, waiting on the other end of the line for you to pick up.

You fumbled for your phone, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips as you swiped to answer. “Hey, I didn’t expect your call.” you remarked, the commentator’s voices still ringing in your ears.

“Bad timing?” Mat’s voice crackled through the phone, a hint of breathlessness underscoring his words – probably still riding the adrenaline high from the ice.

“No, no. It’s just that a second ago you were on my screen falling all over the ice.” you teased, imagining his less-than-graceful moments on the rink.

“I don’t fall that much!” he argued, sounding mildly offended.

“You do, but you also score, so it’s forgiven. Congrats on your almost hatty, by the way.” You chuckled, knowing how much he loathed falling a goal short. Always so hard on himself.

Mat scoffed, clearly annoyed at missing the mark. “So, you watched tonight?”

“Obviously, I watch every game I can catch.” you replied, the excitement of the game still coursing through your veins. The thrill of watching Mat succeed, even from a distance, even after all that happened, was undeniable.

“You should come, you know. I’m sure the girls would love to see you.” Mat suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of longing.

“I don’t know, Mat. It’s not my place anymore.” you hesitated, letting the uncertainty hang in the air. You had to change the subject before your mind started spiraling. “Anyway, why did you call?”

“Oh, right. I listened to your voicemail again!”

“So you called to tell me you haven’t actually deleted it like you promised?”

“I heard it right before the game and got 2 goals and 2 assists. I think it’ll become my new pregame ritual, honestly.” Mat admitted, his voice softer now, laced with a hint of nostalgia. Why had he chosen to hear it? That’s something he would save for himself for now. The shared memories of your past flitted between you, unspoken but palpable.

“Really? Want me to send embarrassing voicemails before every game?”

“I’d love it. Yes, please.” Mat replied with a laugh, the warmth of his laughter washing over you like a comforting embrace. The playful banter held a certain intimacy, a bridge between past flames and the uncharted territory of what lay ahead.

The banter flowed seamlessly, a blend of shared history and the current moment. The familiarity was comforting, but the unspoken complexities of your past lingered in the air, a delicate tension.

NYI vs. TBL - November 5th

“Hey, Barzy. I don’t know if you were joking or not but here’s your pregame embarrassing voicemail as solicited. You weren’t serious, right? Well fuck it, enjoy it or ignore me whatever.”

NYI vs. CGY - November 7th

“Just walked past that coffee shop where we had our third or fourth date I think. Remember how you choked over your latte when I lied and said I loved the Rangers?”

NYI vs. SEA - November 9th

“Hey, you won’t believe who I just saw. That guy that lives in the building across the street, the one that has your face tattooed on his left arm. He asked about you, told me to wish you good luck. So good luck from him … and from me. Good luck tonight.”

NYI vs. VAN - November 11th

“Hi! Your sister told me your family is going tonight, so send them a kiss from me, ok? … I-I keep in touch with her, I don’t know if you knew that or like maybe I should’ve told you? Are you ok with that? I’m sorry I just assumed you would be. Anyway, good luck! Say hi from me! Or don’t if you don’t want to-”

NYI vs. NYR - November 16th

“Dude. Rangers tonight. Don’t mess it up. May have bet on you guys with a guy from work, I don’t wanna have to pay for his lunch tomorrow. Please. Good luck, 13.”

NYI vs. PIT - November 18th

“Shit, shit, shit. Hope you can hear this before the game. I’m still getting used to the program’s schedule and all of that, I’m kind of a mess right now. Anyway, good luck!”

NYI vs. DET - November 20th

“Maty, hi! I know this is kind of dumb because I saw you like 10 minutes ago and I’m in the building but still thought I should leave the voicemail just in case. (Come on!) Ok I have to go, Sydney has a tone of gossip to catch me up on. Good luck!”

NYI vs. DAL - November 23th

“Hello Mr Barzal, I won’t be able to watch tonight, but still good luck! Even if you don’t win, I hope you score a goal, make an assist. That 8 game point streak you have going on is insane. I think I’ll start charging you for this if they are working so well.Good luck Barzy!”

NYI vs. STL - November 26th

“Hey! First of all, good luck! Second, I left my scarf at the Lee’s last night. It’s red, I was wearing it when you picked me up. Grace said Anders would give it to you tonight. Maybe we can meet for coffee tomorrow so you can give it back? Anyway, good luck!”

NYI vs. CHI - November 28th

“13, hello! I don’t have anything funny to tell you today so just good luck! Love you- shit, sorry. Habit I guess. Bye.”

NYI vs. NYR - November 30th

“You have zero new voicemails. To record a new personal greeting press one-”

You tried everything to get your mind off it, but it wasn’t working. The cup of tea was now cold in your hand and you couldn’t even pretend to care what was going on in the movie you had playing on your tv. The game had ended an hour ago but it was on replay in your mind.

It was silly to think it was your fault. You couldn’t influence the score of the match, the 5-1 loss against the Rangers wasn’t on you. However the outcome would’ve been different if their starplayer hadn’t been taking stupid penalties, losing the puck, causing turnovers. That could be on you partially.

The bell ringing caught you by surprise, almost dropping the cold tea. You got up to answer, even though you had a feeling you knew who was waiting by your building’s door.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.” The familiar voice needed no introduction.

“Mat? What are you doing here?”

“Buzz me in.” he requests, and you could practically hear the determination in his tone. With a resigned sigh, you pressed the buzzer, knowing full well he wouldn’t leave until he got what he came for.

A few moments later, a knock sounded at the door, and you found yourself face to face with him. Determination was bright in his eyes, your heart started racing.

“What’s going on?” He rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed by your attempt at pretending not to know why he’s there.

“You didn’t leave a voicemail.” Mat strided in without waiting for an invitation, and the unspoken tension was palpable.

“Right, that. I guess I forgot. Sorry.” you lied, trying to sound convincing but knowing there’s no use, he’d know. You closed the door behind him almost instinctively, as if shutting out the forthcoming emotional storm that’s about to break in your apartment.

“You’ve been sending me a voicemail before every single game for the past month.” he remarked, his gaze keenly picking up on your avoidance. Frustration started to take over. He already had been in this position before, begging you for explanations and all you did was look away. “Please, don’t shut me out. Not again.”

“I got confused, okay? Why are we doing this? I’m your ex-girlfriend, I broke up with you, Mat. And now I’m going to your games and sending you voicemails every game? What even is this?”

At some point you started walking all over the living room, the distress was clear. Mat was better at hiding it, he stood still by the door like he had been since he walked in, but you could see his hands fidgeting. Neither of you had a clear head to take on what was about to come, chaos was inevitable.

“I don’t know, but I thought you liked this. I thought it was like an inside joke, our own thing.”

“It was that. But you’re not supposed to have that with your ex.” you said, trying to emphasize the last word for him, as if a reminder of your status would help the situation in any way.

“We’re friends?” He furrowed his brows, and, had it not been for the situation you were in, you would’ve laughed at the way even he sounded so unsure of what he was saying.

“Mat, come on. It’s confusing, I know I was getting confused. It started with the voicemails, which was already something, but then we’re talking every day, I’m going to your games again and team’s gatherings, we’re hanging out again. I said ‘I love you’ on my last one!” You finally looked at him, baring it all. There was only one solution in your mind and it had to be taken no matter the pain it would undoubtedly cost you. “I think it’s better if we stop.”

There was a moment of silence, he looked at you as if trying to read through the wall you were hiding behind. Trying to decipher if it was you speaking or your insecurities had taken over again. Most importantly, trying to figure out if this time he had what it took to get to you before he lost you.

“I don’t want it to stop.” he said, determination clear in his voice. In a second he closed the gap between you. The proximity caught you off guard, you couldn’t remember the last time you were this close. “Tell me you don’t feel anything.” It sounded almost like a beg, but he didn’t care.

“We broke up.” you insisted, trying to sound all resolute.

“You broke up with me.” he corrected you, his gaze holding steady, slicing through your defenses.

“We weren’t working, Mat! We could barely see each other, and when we did, we were too tired or stressed. We fought a lot. We broke up.” It sounded almost childish the way you stubbornly persisted on it, like you needed to reassure yourself more than him how things had played out last time.

“Couples fight sometimes; it’s normal. I was stressed about the playoffs, and you were stressed about getting into the program. It was a bad moment, yes, but that’s over.”

“Other problems are gonna come up.”

“We can face them together, we fight and make up. That’s it, that’s how couples work.”

You paused for a second, it made no sense to keep on repeating yourself. It seemed like he had a solution for every obstacle you presented. He had come here for answers, it was time to give them to him even if you were answering older already forgotten questions.

“I was scared, Mat. I was scared and insecure, and it felt like I was ruining it all.” Tears start rolling down your face and there’s nothing he wants more than to hug you, keep you close to his chest, push the pain away; but he knows he shouldn’t. You’re finally letting down your guard, telling him what he’s been dying to hear for months; he has to give you space to be vulnerable. “I thought it was better to break things up before they got really nasty.” your voice wobbled.

“I get it, I really do. But you could’ve told me and I should’ve been more present, not left you alone to deal with our problems. We could’ve tried to make it work. ” He looked deep into your eyes, his own reflecting a mix of understanding and unwavering love. “I know I loved you more than enough to work through it.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about how I ended things, and I’m sorry about the voicemail and all the mess I’ve caused.” You tried to walk away from him, the proximity being too much, but he caught your arm making you face him once again.

Tears started streaming down his face as you tried to grapple with the weight of your own decisions. He looked you in the eyes, the determination from earlier is still there, even behind the tears those glossy eyes told you he wasn’t gonna leave in silence like last time. This time he had to leave it all out, even if he ended up hurt in the process.

“When you first called me I was too nervous to answer so I let it go to voicemail. I think even then I knew it wasn’t over for me, I knew hearing your voice would bring it all back.” You winced, acutely aware of the emotional turmoil you’ve caused. What you didn’t know was he wasn’t worried about pain coming back; what worried him was all the love he had for you and had pushed away after the break up coming back and once again not having where to put it.

“But then I wanted to hear you, the real you, not the voicemail, so I called you. I cannot tell you how happy it made me to hear you, like my heart was beating again after months of numbness. And you were telling me this great news, when you got that acceptance letter you wanted to tell me.” he continued, and you released a heavy breath, a half-smile forming on your face. He was right, the first person you wanted to share your triumph with was him, you hadn’t thought much about it back then but no it was so clear.

“I replayed your voicemail before the game that first time because I wanted to hear your voice. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I heard you over the phone earlier that day, and all I wanted was to hear you again talking to me.” he confessed, a mixture of vulnerability and longing in his words. “At first I thought maybe I was making it up, you know? Maybe it was just my unresolved feelings, maybe there was nothing going on. But you called me first and then you kept on sending the voicemails. Things were going back to the way they were before. It felt like I was me again, like we were us again.”

Mat smiled thinking how everyone could notice; his friends, his teammates, his family, everyone could see the old Mat was back. He told them off, too afraid to consider you were all he was missing because he knew he didn’t have you back, not yet.

His hand gently cupped your face, sending a shiver down your spine. Closing your eyes, you leaned into his touch. You missed it, there was no denying it anymore. You missed it all too much—his touch, his voice, his energy, his very presence. Him.

“You said ‘I love you’ on the last voicemail. I replayed it like 20 times at least, just to hear those three words. From you, to me.” The weight of those three words hung in the air between the two of you after so long, it was electrifying. Your heart raced; he was about to say it, and you yearned to hear it.

“I love you.” he declared, and there was no ambiguity this time. It wasn’t a recall of your words; this time, it was his confession to you.

“Maty…” was all you managed to say; his nickname laden with tenderness and echoes of old fears that still lingered.

“I want this. I want you even if I can only see you two times a week and even if half that time you are studying or working or stressing over both. I want to be there with you. I want to fight and make up. I want all of it, the messy and ugly included.”

“I love you.” you finally whispered.

It was over. He loved you, you loved him, and there was nothing left to say.

In that breath-holding moment, he leaned down, his lips finally touching yours. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a wild ride through forgiveness, longing, and the silent agreement to dive back into the messy and the beautiful, hand in hand. He was smiling into the kiss, so were you. The taste of salt from their tears lingered, mingling with the sweetness of the moment. The kiss spoke of second chances and the magic of beginnings, a promise to rewrite the story that had once unraveled.

You pulled away, breathless and teary-eyed, yet a radiant joy painted across your faces. You laughed, a melody of relief and newfound hope. One of his hands was on your back as the other traveled from your face to the back of your head, pulling you against his chest. Your arms hugged his torso tight.

“I love you.” he mumbled against your head before placing a kiss on top.

NYI vs. MTL - December 1st

“Hey! Good luck tonight babe-”

“I don’t think it counts if I’m literally next to you when you record it.”

“Shush. Who’s the voicemail expert here? Me. Anyway, as I was saying before you interrupted me: good luck tonight, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

soooooo it’s here! hope you like it! like and reblogs are always appreciated!

it felt so good to write again and to share it too, hope i have more time this year to write more stuff

taglist:

@glassdanse @2manytabsopen @barbienoturbby @sweetlittlegingy @mcsteamylove98 @ttylfedora @chieflawyerpastatoad @iwantahockeyhimbo @fallinallincurls @jordiee95 @heatherawoowoo @barzysreputation @farabeezers @4ambagelbites @matwith1t @audryaho @maximoff-xmen @astrydis @joelsfarabees @bitchforbarzy @deloughrey @brias1201 @besthockeyfics @ya-pucking-nerd @hoiyheadharpies @mckenna4 @rosesvioletshardy @hockeyunits @siriusly-parker @ilyasorokinn @lam-ila @boqvistsbabe @theycallmecassie @ephemeral371 @hal3ynicol3 @angelblooddevil @besthockeyfics @beauvertime @picked-off-by-barzal @1316 @cherrygirl1229 @lunabean @random-readers-world @poufsouffle21 @barzysbaby @matbarzal13 @alwaysclassyeagle @wanbach23 @evaggreendaily

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d0youc0py · 1 year

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heyy saw your post ab requests!!

can you do simon and konig seeing their s/o for first time without makeup, but she's rlly insecure and overthinking it, while he's totally clueless bc he doesn't think much of it until he realizes she's acting kinda weird. ending with comfort/fluff plss

“You’re mad at me?”

The question rang through your head causing a flood of confusion.

“What? No Konnie.” You assured.

“Why won’t you look at me? You’re barely talking to me. I did something to upset you.” Those sad blue puppy dog eyes nearly killed you. You rapidly shook your head.

“Konnie I would tell you if you did something. I just”- You cut yourself off. You knew Konig was the exact opposite of materialistic and vain, so you didn’t exactly know how to tell him how you were feeling without getting laughed at. “I’m not wearing makeup.” You said slowly. He squinted his eyes leaning forward. He didn’t stop til your noses were touching.

“I like it.” He stated. “You’re mad at me because I didn’t notice.” He also stated. You rolled your eyes.

“No Konnie!” You couldn’t really even hold back a smile. The fact that he was missing your point completely actually made you feel a bit better. Maybe you really didn’t look that different. “I just don’t feel pretty.” His eyes widened.

“How can you say that?” He mumbled. “I don’t like you saying things like that.” He grabbed the empty plate in front of you and began washing it. He muttered a few things under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

“What?” You pressed. He didn’t answer you and continued washing the dishes. Once he was done he sat back down with you. This was a common thing with Konig. Him needing time to plan out what he was going to say. At first it felt insincere- having to plan out exactly what you were going to say to a person. Then you realized it just made him all the more honest. He genuinely thought about things- instead of just giving the first answer that popped into his head.

“What do I call you?” He asked suddenly.

“Schön.”

“What does it mean?” He continued.

“Uh, Sweetheart?”

“No, that’s Schatz.” He said shaking his head. “It means beautiful.” That was enough to make your eyes light up. Schön was his preferred nickname for you when you were alone. It was usually mumbled against your skin, but other times it was spoken so proudly as if it were a fact. He held out his arms for you. You accepted his invitation and crawled into his lap.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered.

“Again.”

“Simon.” You groaned. “Can we do this later? My throat hurts.”

“Do you feel it?”

You paused.

“Again.” He insisted.

“I’m beautiful.” You muttered looking at yourself in the mirror. If anything this was worsening your self esteem. Having to stare at yourself next to your god of a boyfriend. Simon shot you a glare in the mirror.

He thought affirmations would help. After you had a small breakdown in the living room when he said you looked different. He didn’t mean it in a bad way at all, but that’s what you heard.

“When Johnny does this it works.” He muttered back, rubbing his jaw. Flashes of the Scot yelling affirmations to himself in the mirror before every mission flashed through his mind.

“That’s cause Johnny is hot.”

Cue another glare.

“You know what I mean. He just rolls out of bed- so do you. Do you know how much work I have to put in to not look ugly?”

“What did you just say?” His voice was so stern it caused you to jump. “You called yourself ugly?” He looked offended. His molten eyes were hard- but there was something else there. Hurt- maybe anger. Probably both.

“You know what I mean.” You sighed.

“No actually I don’t.” He spat. “Why do you talk to yourself like that? Makes me sick.” He growled.

“It doesn’t really have anything to do with you Si. It’s just how I feel without makeup.” You tried to explain. He wasn’t having it.

“It does have something to do with me. You think I have bad taste? That I’m attracted to ugly people? Well I’m not. I’m not saying I like you just because of your looks, you have a lot going for you, but you sure as hell aren’t here just cause you can make me laugh.” He shot back.

“Well you’ve only seen me with makeup.” You reminded. His brows furrowed.

“You’re still here yeah? I haven’t kick you out. You know why?” He took a step forward holding your face between his hands. “You are one of the most beautiful things that have ever happened to me. Don’t you ever insult my taste again, because I know beauty when I see it. Understand?”

A soft smile spread across his face when your glow came back. You smiled widely.

“Yes Sir.”

#d0youc0py #doyoucopy #cod #cod men #cod mw2 #cod mwf2 #cod x reader #fluff #sfw #simon ghost riley #Simon ghost Riley x reader #Konig #Konig cod #konig x reader #female reader #comfort

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eeldritchblast · 11 months

Text

Ethel's Vicious Mockery Analysis

(Major thanks to Aloija for the Dialog Parser and Roksik for doing the parsing, from the Down by the River Discord Server!)

I love when Ethel uses vicious mockery in the game, because I feel like it gives insight into the character’s insecurities, you know? So let’s further dissect that mockery.

WYLL

“Oh, look! It's daddy's regret.”

“Fraud of the Frontiers!”

“Do you think losing that eye made you a hero?”

Wyll wants to be seen as a hero so badly… and I’m starting to think that has a little something to do with daddy issues. This “daddy’s regret” line from Ethel, matched with one of Wyll’s desires when confronted by the secret laboratory mirror being his father’s forgiveness, certainly says there is something unresolved there…

GALE

“I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin.”

“Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.”

“Who would be jealous of you, apprentice?”

The first two aren’t anything new—we’re already aware of Gale’s condition after all. But why would Ethel call him an apprentice? Is he lying about how great a wizard he once was? Or maybe it’s just because he’s lost all his powers, and she’s teasing him about that.

SHADOWHEART

“You're so far up Shar's cake you can't see straight.”

“Why would Shar love you when no one else does?”

“You're no complex puzzle. Just a sad little girl.”

These to me, at least, speak of an undiscussed bubbling crisis of faith Shadowheart may be undergoing. And I am very interested in the second line above. Shadowheart is the type of person to keep everyone at arm’s length, and yet at the same time, it seems from this, desperately wants to be loved? That matches up with her “she took me in when no one else would” answer when asked why she became a worshipper of Shar in the first place. So it seems to me, like Shadowheart experiencing compassion from another person, possibly for the first time in her memory, is leading her to question her faith in Shar.

LAE’ZEL

“A toad with a tadpole! How fitting.”

“Your people will never take you back - illithid scum.”

“Do you miss kissing Vlaakith's feet, gith?”

Lae’zel’s biggest desire is to become kith’rak – we know this. But more to that, I think her biggest desire is to be accepted and revered by her people. Ethel saying that she will never achieve this is probably Lae’zel’s greatest fear.

ASTARION

“Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?”

“Deep down, you like being leashed, don't you?”

“You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone.”

Okay, okay, okay… the first two? Ethel just being a top tier bitch. But the last one… The last one suggests that Astarion actually does have some care for his travelling companions, if he’s concerned about hurting them. I think that brings a lot out of his character, because it confirms he’s not just a one-dimensional jerk. The glimpses of his nice side are just as genuine.

KARLACH

“Let's pull your strings, infernal puppet.”

“Happy to sell everyone's soul but your own, aren't you?”

“When I'm done, even the Hells won't want you.”

We don’t know a lot about Karlach, because she isn’t available as a companion in Early Access. But what little we do know, adds up with what Ethel says here. We know she was caught up in the Blood War as essentially a slave to Zariel. And judging from this mockery, it seems that’s left her with questioning self-worth.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyll #gale #shadowheart #lae'zel #astarion #karlach #meta

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firein-thesky · 1 month

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Why is it that dc such as r@pe, sa, and incest is totally okay to write about and romanticize but y’all draw the line at racism, fat phobia, and homophobia *talking about the writings creators make, not personal beliefs*? Whats the difference between these things? All of them are hurtful and affect people in real life, so why is everybody on here choosing and picking one and not the other? Do writers on here think that they are not comparable or that one is okay to romanticize and the other is going way too far?

Im just genuinely curious as I have seen this topic be brought up again and again, which has made me realize this and Id like to see it from someone else's pov.

hi! there is a lot to answer and unpack here and i have every intention of doing so underneath the cut. forgive me if this gets long, but you’ve asked me 4 very massive questions that i think warrant detail, nuance, and thought. there is a lot i’d like to say here.

that being said, mind the content warnings and protect yourself.

cw: mentions of rape, incest, racism, homophobia, fat phobia, discourse in general

firstly, i am going to choose to give you the benefit of the doubt in assuming you are actually curious in hearing another side and you are not simply looking to stir a pot or pick a fight with beliefs you have no intention of changing or having an open discussion on. your accusatory tone in the first half indicates otherwise and kindly, i am not an idiot. but i want to earnestly talk to you about this and again, will think better of you than you perhaps have indicated you think of me.

secondly, you do not have to censor words like rape in my inbox. that sort of censorship has become wildly popular because of tik tok and other money-hungry social media that also desperately want to silence people. do you know why you have to censor words like that on tik tok? or words like genocide? suicide? racism? 1. so that they can make money and market and push their squeaky clean algorithms but 2. and perhaps worse, so they can silence victims. if social media platforms and capitalism and the systems of powers had it their way, you would never utter these words again—whether to call someone out for justice or to have an open discussion like this one. i encourage you greatly to think critically about this and how you choose to use censorship and why.

now, to your questions.

to preface, i am interpreting this ask as being anti-dark content in fiction as you state that ALL these subjects harm people in real life. or at least, you are being critical of all dark content in fiction and the way writers engage with them, effectively ‘picking and choosing’ which are deemed acceptable and which aren’t, when they are all hurtful. i apologize if that wasn’t your intention/what you believe, but regardless, i’ll endeavor to answer you.

i personally have drawn no lines about dark content nor spoken about any of these topics specifically really, which indicates to me you have a different narrative and/or are coming from more inflammatory arguments that are always circling fandom lately. in the post i most recently reblogged, i spoke mostly of violence. which, of course, all of those things can be. but i didn’t name one of those topics in particular.

regardless, i don’t believe in the censorship of any dark content in art, but rather advocate strongly for critical analysis on a case-by-case basis. in general, i encourage thinking critically about every aspect of the world around you.

i do not believe that rape, incest, and sa are okay to write about or create art about but racism, homophobia, and fat phobia are not. i believe all of those topics are ones that can, should, and will be explored in the safety of art. all to varying degrees of success, earnestness, impact, and intent. you’re right that these are real things, that can hurt people, and the fictional work about them can have impact on our society that is tangible but the actual art or fiction created is not real. and again, this is all to varying degrees on a case-by-case basis.

art and fiction also historically and massively do discuss these dark content topics and have actively swayed the public’s opinion on matters, whether for better or for worse. throwing away all dark content in art and fiction because it is ‘harmful’ is deeply, deeply dangerous and reductive. a lot of art that engages with dark content actually makes very succinct points about it—i think of vladimir nabokov’s lolita or octavia butler’s bloodchild or speak by laurie halse anderson.

this is where we must exorcise critical thinking. some pieces of work will handle dark content poorly—white saviors making art on racism. men making art about a woman’s experiences that (as you are so interested in) romanticize her pain. etc. etc. and some art will handle it’s dark content incredibly and be transformative, perhaps even revolutionary in how we talk, perceive, or acknowledge systems of oppression, violence, and dark content in this world. some dark content in fiction will have damaging beliefs and effects on society, some will not—we must also look at scope for this, at the writer perhaps, the historical moment, their audience etc.

(for example, there is a significant difference in a main stream male writer, writing of a woman’s experience with rape in a published book in a way that makes it sound romanticized, sold to thousands and thousands of general public vs. a woman using fanfic to explore rape, take control of it, or whatever in a fanfic for a small online community where there are warnings on it. indicating she is aware of its potential damage in a way her male counterpart is not…)

but i still believe in dark contents’ existence in art. of course there is differences between all of these topics you brought up, but i don’t think their differences matter in this answer. i believe in their right to be explored in art. i am talking broadly of media/art here, which i think is the more relevant conversation, but i think you are actually more interested in a much smaller scale of people. ie. fandom. ie. mostly marginalized people in small communities online writing and creating dark content.

people will choose and pick which ones they’d like to create art over and which ones they don’t, which ones they read and which ones they don’t. there’s no ‘hard line’ drawn anywhere. and i can’t control it and neither can you. perhaps you think violence is okay to be explored in fanfic, but racism isn’t. someone else will have different preferences. i do not believe in its censorship.

now, let’s move onto your interest in romanticization and what i think you are more pointing to, which is fandom. you are specifically referring to people in fandom who write about rape, incest, etc. and ‘romanticize’ it—ie. they write about it in a way that is a fantasy. it is perhaps supposed to be horny or sexy. so let’s talk about it.

i must remind you that these topics you’ve brought up (rape, incest, sa) being written are fiction and it is (most often) done by someone marginalized who has either experienced this or is in threat of experiencing this under a patriarchy. i assure you, they are aware of its harm. hence the copious warnings in fandom spaces.

if i can be candid, sometimes i think that people forget how systems of oppression work when discussing fandom and whether dark content being created should be allowed or not.

for example, i sometimes think people who are anti-dark content in fandom believe that a woman or afab person writing a fictional fanfic about rape or sexual violence then influences people to go out and rape people or that women actually like it. when the reality, in fandom spaces, is that rape and sexual violence happen frequently under the patriarchy and then these women in fandom write fictional fanfic in response to cope, explore, take control of, etc. etc.

to insinuate that women or afab people (which fandom mostly is) exploring dark content safely in fiction then causes their own oppression and harm or trauma is rather victim-blame-y to me. fandom exploring dark content does not cause these things to happen in our society….these actions (rape, incest, sa) happen in our society or systems of power and fandom reacts to them in their art by exploring it in dark content. do you understand what i’m trying to say?

it’s not a matter of what is ‘okay’ to romanticize and what isn’t. i do not think the romanticization that fandom does with dark content (ie. my kidnapper actually loves me! or this sexual act that i did not consent to…maybe feels good) is not actually romanticizing but coping because of the systems of power that i described above. and this can be coping with anything—shame of sexuality, shame of fantasies, trauma, fear, etc. etc.

as i said in my tags in that post i reblogged and as plato said, dark content in art is a safe place to explore what would otherwise be harmful and dangerous in real life. it is cathartic. potentially even, a purging.

and even if it isn’t all that—maybe it just is trashy fantasy. it is still playing pretend. it is still fiction and in fandom spaces, it is still most likely being created by a marginalized person. and again, even if it isn’t, we don’t get to censor it. we can be critical of it or wary or whatever, but to censor it, is a slippery, slippery slope. do deem some topics as “acceptable” and others as “unacceptable” is dangerous.

just like kids play pretend where they ‘fight’ or ‘kill’ or ‘kidnap’ or ‘shoot’ each other in games of cops and robbers or heroes and villains, they are safely exploring adventure, dark content, fantasy, tragedy, and higher emotions. adults can do the same in fiction and with adult topics like sex.

and at the end of the day, we don’t get to demand the credentials to do so either. we don’t get to censor them or control them and nor should we be allowed to. i cannot stress enough that i encourage you to be critical of censorship or the absolute disgust in dark content and at those (again—often marginalized people) who engage with it in fandom. i believe it is deeply puritanical, conservative, and dangerous.

you don’t have to like dark content or consume it at all and fandom makes it easy not to with all the warnings and tags, but you cannot control others or police them. nor should you want to.

and at the end of the day, i have some questions for you. you don’t have to respond to this, perhaps they’re just things to think about. what is the end goal here? what is the point in harassing, shaming, attacking, criticizing, or interrogating people in fandom spaces who create or support dark content? do you believe that if it is purged from fandom, it will be purged from our society? if you want it purged from society—shouldn’t you start there rather than in the inbox of marginalized writers in fandom? people in fandom did not create rape, incest, and sa nor do they in their exploration of fiction…they are merely reacting to a world that did create it.

i hope at no point i came off as rude to you, as was not my intention. i intended to stand up for myself and respectfully state my opinions and thoughts on this matter. i’m sorry it got long, but also i don’t believe in being brief on such complex matters. i am a writer who engages critically with the world around me and sometimes, things cannot be made into short, snappy answers. sometimes, we must unpack.

genuinely wishing you well.

#i cannot guarantee that i’ll have the time patience or energy to answer every ask like the one above in such detail #going forward #but i do support open discussions and i wanted to be kind to this anon #these are just my 2 cents on all of this #cw: rape #cw: incest #cw: racism #cw: fat phobia #cw: homophobia #discourse

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

Text

Pretty When You Cry.

Joel realises his morals are fucked. You realise you like it.

Pairing - Joel Miller x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Lots of cursing, sexual content, mentions of prostitution

Word Count - 1750

Author's Note - oh boy. buckle in. i love when a character has a messed up moral compass and is a little rough and jagged around the edges. i also love lana del rey. hence, this joel fic was born. please enjoy.

Masterlist. Requests.

“Stupid fuckin’ girl,” Joel spits at you.

You flinch and step backwards, trying to escape what is inevitably going to be a brutal verbal assault. The older man watches your every move and chuckles darkly.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Nowhere, is the answer. You’re down a dark alleyway in the QZ, a barely lit back street. Even if you run, you’ll just end up circling back around. You’re walled in – both literally and figuratively.

Joel moves towards you, his large frame making you want to shrink away instinctively. He towers over you, broad shoulders blocking your view.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

You weren’t, is the issue.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Joel has been desperate for a car battery for weeks. A few days ago, you’d overheard a guy talking about smuggling spare parts. You’d set up a covert meeting, and asked if he could get you what you needed. He’d told you he could – for a price. It didn’t matter that the currency was you. You’d do what you needed to do. For Joel.

You’d made your way to meet him tonight. His name was Pete, you were pretty sure. He was a sleaze, a real piece of work - but he had connections. He had people working for him, could practically get you anything if you asked nicely and promised to pay.

You had nothing to your name. No one did, these days. You knew you couldn’t pay Pete with alcohol, or cigarettes, or drugs. No, you’d give him something else. You’d give him you. An offer which he eagerly accepted.

He wanted you to pay before he’d give you the battery. You’d argued, but it was no use. You didn’t want to make him angry – it’d only make it worse.

So there you were. He had backed you against the wall of this very alleyway, demanding you take off your shirt. Just as you were lifting the hem over your head, Pete hit the ground.

You looked up to see Joel, more furious than you’d ever seen him before. He’d punched Pete in the head and knocked him out cold.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” he hissed.

“Well I was doing you a favour. Not anymore, apparently,” you hissed back.

“A favour? You’re whoring yourself out as a favour?”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, turning on your heel to leave.

Joel grabbed your wrist and pulled you backwards with force, taking no care whatsoever. You were worried he was going to snap your arm, the way he was clutching it.

“Stupid fuckin’ girl.”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

“Are you even listenin’ to me? What the fuck were you thinking?”

He’s looking at you pointedly, clearly expecting some sort of explanation. You’re not really sure what to say. When you don’t answer, he takes another few steps forward, intimidating you until your back is pressed against the rough brick of the wall.

Joel grabs your chin between his fingers and forces you to look at him. His fury hasn’t subsided – you can still feel it rolling off of him in waves. He’s buzzing with adrenaline, the electricity of it infectious, seeping into your pores.

“You better have a damn good reason as to why I just watched you take your shirt off for Pete fuckin’ Davis.”

He spits the man’s name like it tastes disgusting in his mouth. It makes you smirk slightly.

“You think this is funny? Huh?” Joel asks, squeezing your face tighter. You shake your head, not once breaking eye contact with him. He stares you down for a minute before releasing his grip.

“He has a battery,” you explain quietly. “He’s been selling spare parts. Said he could get me what you need if we cut a deal. It’s a small price to pay, Joel.”

“That is not a small price.”

The genuineness of it makes you wince.

The thing is, Joel doesn’t usually care about this kind of stuff. He’s not exactly an upstanding citizen, having made his fair share of dumb deals and below the belt exchanges. He’s usually the one encouraging you to break the rules a little, if it means you both benefit.

Above all, you are convinced that Joel doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anyone, not really. You know that he and Tess have this ambiguous sort of partnership - friendship at a complete stretch. But that’s it. Joel doesn’t care.

So why is he so furious?

His rage has infected you now. You’re exasperated, sick of the mixed signals. You and Joel were partners in crime, acquaintances at most. It didn’t matter that when he looked at you, the whole world fell away. It didn’t matter than when you heard his voice, time stopped temporarily. It didn’t matter that he was the last thing you thought about at night and the first thing you thought about in the morning. None of it mattered.

“Why do you fucking care, Joel?” you spit, shoving at his chest. His scent is suffocating you, making it hard to think. You need to put some distance between you before you do something reckless.

“Why do I care? Why do I fuckin’ care?” he practically yells at your face. “Are you that stupid?”

“Stop calling me stupid!” you retaliate. “I’m smarter than every damn person in this place!”

“Smart enough to turn to prostitution?”

That word makes you scoff.

“It wasn’t like that. It would have been a one time thing. A quick payment.”

“That’s not a fuckin’ payment! That’s the one thing you shouldn’t fuck around with!”

You can tell he’s genuinely upset, but you’re not sure why. It’s none of his business what you choose to do with your body.

“I was doing this for you, asshole! He would have given me the battery, and you could have gone and found Tommy. I did this for you,” you yell, shoving him as hard as you can. He doesn’t move.

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” he hisses.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“God damn it! You never fuckin’ listen, do you? How stupid are you, huh?”

Joel takes a heavy step forward, one hand reaching out to wrap around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just keeps it there, holding you in place. Right where he wants you.

His eyes darken, still alight with fury. He smells like smoke and musk and sweat and spearmint toothpaste. You want to lick the exposed skin of his neck to see if he’d taste the same.

He leans in, almost bumping your nose with his.

“We don’t fuck around with that stuff, alright?” he murmurs. “I’ve seen pretty girls like you get hurt real bad for a lot less. You can’t let them treat you as any less than human.”

You’ve never heard him this sincere. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why do you care, Joel?” you whisper. “I’m just as disposable to you as I am to the rest of them.”

He pauses, and you can see the cogs turning in his head. He’s still holding you by the neck, his other hand coming around to tangle in the back of your hair. He’s looking at you so intently that you feel your bravado start to waiver. Your bottom lip quivers, and your eyes begin to well up. A drop runs down your cheek, and the dam breaks.

He’s never seen you get upset like this. You’re trying to stay stoic, but the tears are falling freely, dripping down your face.

This is the moment Joel realises that he’s a changed man. He’s known for years that his morals aren’t what they used to be. They can’t be, not in this world. He’s murdered, robbed, tortured, kidnapped. His moral compass was broken a long time ago. But the change has never dawned on him, until now. He’s holding you roughly, watching you try not to sob, and he doesn’t feel sad. He doesn’t feel sympathy, or regret, or remorse. No. He feels a sick sense of arousal. He’s turned on.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, looking at you carefully. Your lip quivers again, and his resolve breaks completely. He’s surprised he doesn’t hear it shatter.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cry.”

With that, he’s surging forward, dipping his head to lick at your tear stained cheeks. Your sadness is salty and sweet and real. He’s hooked.

Joel presses forward and kisses you harshly. His hand tightens in your hair, yanking you closer to him. He presses your bodies together, and the warmth of him makes your head spin.

You’re still crying as you moan into his mouth. He’s rough and careless and you want more. He groans, and presses you backwards into the wall, the brick scratching up your back. Everything is blurry for the both of you. He’s grabbing at you, groping anything he can find. He’s searching for skin, hands making their way up and under your shirt. You know how risky it is, making out with Joel in a back alley in the middle of the QZ. You don’t care. Neither of you do. You’re drunk on each other and it’s clouding your judgment.

“You like it when I’m mean to you, honey?” he murmurs, voice jagged and low. He’s kissing at your neck, nipping the skin and leaving purple bruises in his wake.

“Yeah, Joel, fuck. I love it,” you whine. “I love you.”

The both of you freeze at your confession. You’re honestly not sure if you mean it, or if it’s just the heat of the moment. It doesn’t matter now. You’ve said it, and you can’t take it back.

“You think you do,” he mutters against your throat. “But love doesn’t exist in this world. Not anymore.”

You both pause, heavy breaths filling the air. After a while, you break the silence.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”

You’re not sure whether you’re apologising for loving him, or admitting it, or for the events of the evening. You’re just sorry.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs gently against your mouth as he kisses you again. “Don’t be sorry.”

He takes you up against the red brick wall, legs wrapped around his waist and arms tangled around his neck. Your back is cut and bleeding, throat sore and pulsing where he’s bitten you. He makes you come twice before he finishes himself, teeth sinking into your shoulder, hands leaving prints on your hips.

Joel says that love doesn’t exist anymore. You think he’s wrong.

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httpjungkookcom · 2 years

Text

Please Don’t Go | JJK

Pairing | Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 12K

Genre | Spider-Man! Jungkook x Childhood Best Friend! Reader

Summary | Jungkook’s never kept anything from you, ever. Not even the time where he tripped and accidentally kicked your dog, or when he fucked the most popular girl in high school and couldn’t make himself cum (poor guy was embarrassed for weeks), or when he accidentally rubbed all of his acceptance letters in your face without realizing. To put it short, Jungkook is an open book to you. So when he suddenly disappears, there’s a lot to question. Even more to question when he finally gets back and won’t tell you anything, going as far to avoid you. You’re on a mission to figure it out, even if it kills you.

Index | Jungkook is so smart, but so stupid at the same time. Jungkook is not sly in the slightest. Kind of angst, fighting, arguing, bickering, etc. Criminal activity, it’s a Spider-Man fic. Injuries and mention of blood. College setting and age, reader and Kook share the same major. Some cute fluffy moments in between all of the action. Aunt Yoon is essentially Aunt May in the Marvel story line.

A/N | Something kind of different than what I normally write, but I’m excited about it nonetheless!! It’s sad, cute, exciting, nerve wracking, etc. I also just love the concept of Spider Kook more than I can even explain.

All throughout your childhood years, you constantly swore that you could never truly hate Jungkook. The both of you grew up together, lived in the same apartment building with guardians that knew each other. You were always over at his apartment for annual holiday parties, or play dates (which you’re pretty sure was just babysitting because your parents worked so much.) Even in school, you both gravitated towards each other due to matching intelligence and thought processes. You can't recall a single school project that you’ve done without being partners with Jungkook, or at least in the same group. Sure, you two would play fight, argue, bicker back and forth about stupid things, or wrestle, but never truly get to a point where you hated one another. However, as you sit in class on the first day of class after break, you’re fuming. You swore you could never hate him in your entire lifetime, but right now, it’s pretty damn close. You can't think of a time where you’ve been this angry at Jungkook, face red as you fight off the urge to interrogate him to hell and back.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jungkook’s voice calls softly from beside you, almost in a whisper as class begins. You don’t even answer him, simply glancing over before returning to stare down your syllabus as you struggle to control your thoughts. You genuinely can’t understand how he disappeared all summer without a single text, call, letter, email, anything before showing back up like nothing happened. Even when you went to his aunt's apartment to check up on him (he went back home for break), she simply told you Oh, he didn't tell you? He went on a summer trip, I don't remember all the details. Before sheepishly closing the door in your face. Jungkook never keeps anything from you, you’ve told each other almost everything, that’s just what best friends do. You honestly can’t help but feel hurt that he wouldn’t think to tell you about his 2 and a ½ month summer trip before leaving. “Are you mad at me…why are you mad at me?”

“You disappeared all summer!” You mumbled, promptly being stared down by the professor and the few people around you. Finally looking at him dead on, you can’t help but notice that he looks almost completely different. It seems like he’s grown over the summer, both in muscle and height. The stupid science pun shirt that he used to wear religiously is fighting for its life, stitches straining around his bicep. If he flexed his arm, they would most likely bust apart. His hair is also much longer, dark brown locks being tucked behind his ears as he breaks eye contact with you, red face going back to his syllabus. “Why does it look like you’ve been eating steroids for breakfast and working out 24/7 during the past month? Seriously Kook, what is going on? You can’t just leave and not say anything before suddenly showing back up in the fall semester?”

Now it’s his turn to take glances at you, mouth opening and closing a few times as he struggles to answer your questions. As you wait, his face only gets increasingly red as he stumbles for an answer. He's been dying to tell you everything, truly, but he’s just not allowed to. It’s not exactly a rule put in place, but he was warned extensively of the danger that comes with sharing his secret. If you were ever hurt or in danger because of him, he doesn’t think he could ever forgive himself. He definitely wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he wasn’t able to save you. “I just, I can't tell you. Definitely not here, not now.”

“Okay? So after school? Come over, I got lucky and my roommate isn’t gonna be home for a couple of months to study abroad.” You can feel your anger subsiding now as you talk to him normally, as if he didn’t disappear over the summer. Having him explain his disappearance while also hanging out for the afternoon almost feels like an instant relief to your summer long headache. “Also, we should see if the coffee shop still makes those sandwiches, like the little slider ones! We can stop by before we go to my-“

“Uhm…I can’t hang out after class today.” Jungkook states, almost so quietly you couldn’t hear him. He can already tell what you’re going to ask next, sinking down in his seat as if that will avoid your wrath. He feels horrible as you ask your next and final question for the day, stomach immediately dropping.

“Why?” You’re genuinely curious. You can't remember any clubs that he’s in that take place on this day, nor any other school events. Maybe an orientation of some sort that you didn’t see on the announcements? Maybe he has a doctor appointment?

“….I can’t tell you.” You're mad again.

You ignore him for the rest of the morning class, promptly shoving your notebook into your bag when the professor ends class. As you prepare to walk to your next class, you want to scream as you realize Jungkook has an almost identical schedule to you. Curse the both of you for having the same major. Jungkook follows your routine, quickly packing before exiting the lecture room, also going to the same exact math. “Listen, I want to tell you! Really, I do! It’s just I can’t.” He tries to explain without giving too many details that would compromise his identity, especially in the middle of the campus. “I've been dying to talk to you all summer, I've really missed you, you know?” He pleads his case.

“Kook, just leave me alone for now. Summer sucked because you just disappeared off the face of the Earth, and suddenly you’re just back like nothing happened. You didn’t even text me!” You mumble, sighing at nothing in particular as you finish your sulking. “I just need time to get over your sudden secret-ness from me.” A part of you wants to turn around and laugh with him, but you just can’t. It’s genuinely something that’s been bothering you and for some reason you just can’t get over it. Class goes by relatively uneventfully, the two of you barely talking. You soon come to realize that, without yours and Kook’s endless bantering, the day goes by extremely slowly.

The day ends and much to your surprise, Jungkook is almost sprinting out to the parking lot as soon as your final class wraps up. You have nothing in you to catch up and follow him, simply walking to the coffee shop by yourself. This truly does suck more than you thought it would.

While you and Jungkook were in the middle of a fight, you can’t help but become concerned as he slowly stops attending classes. He's barely ever in physical class anymore, maybe attending one day out of the entire week. Honestly, you’re unsure how he’s even still enrolled in the courses. Despite not attending often, you come to find out that he’s still enrolled, teachers constantly calling his name for attendance and getting silence instead. He's even dropped out of his clubs, which is even more concerning. Putting all of your pride aside, you decide to stop by his dorm after class today. You’re pretty sure he mentioned having a single room this year, no longer having a roommate for a bit.

Knocking on the door hard, you only hear silence in the room. There’s not the slightest shuffles that would indicate someone getting up and walking over to answer. You don’t even hear anything playing, nothing but silence and the faint conversation of other students down the hall. “Kook, if you’re in there, I’m not mad at you. Can we please just talk for a bit? I’m worried about you.” You explain, fidgeting with your fingers as you stand in front of his door. “If you don’t wanna talk, just text me? Please, Kook.” Another period of silence passes before you’re leaving with your head down.

Hi Aunt Yoon, did Kook happen to visit home? I haven't seen him a bit.

Uhm, yes actually! He’s here right now.

Great! I’ll stop by, be there in a bit.

Next stop is his childhood apartment to check up on him. Aunt Yoon is quick to open the door on the first knock, a bright smile plastered across her face as she welcomes you into the apartment. It's the exact same as always, pictures plastered across all of the walls with little to no walk space left due to furniture. It's cozy.

“Hi Aunt Yoon! I wanted to check up on Kook, I haven't seen him in a bit.” You smile, scratching the back of your neck as you stand in the middle of the walk way. She stares back at you for a few moments, not saying anything.

“Uhm, he’s not here. He just left actually, right after…you texted me. Do you want a sandwich while you wait for him?” She smiles, going to the fridge to pull out one of the pre-wrapped sandwiches you and Kook always used to share when you were young. You quickly take it and thank her before realizing what she said exactly.

You’re all types of confused now, never knowing Jungkook to be someone that seems to actively avoid seeing you. He's always come whenever you called, studied and hung around your apartment before heading home. You’re the same for him, the both of you being there whenever the other needed it. “He’s not…avoiding me? Is he?” You can feel your eyes begin to water. “He just hasn’t been coming to class recently after I got onto him. …I feel bad.”

“Oh no! No honey, it’s not like that. He just had something to do, that’s all.” Standing in the same exact spot, you observe Aunt Yoon, nervously rubbing and cracking her knuckles repeatedly. You raise an eyebrow at the behavior, pointing to her hands questioningly. “Oh, uhm. Kook told me about the little fight you guys are having, that’s all.”

“It's just, it’s not even a fight. I'm just confused and he can’t explain anything to me.” You sigh, frustrated. “Do you mind if I wait here for him? I can go to his room if you’d like your space out here.” You mumble, slowly shuffling down the hall towards his room. Since you’ve been friends for so long, it’s not awkward being in his room so you have no problem just waiting around for him. You jump back as Aunt Yoon quickly cuts you off, slamming both palms on either side of the hallway walls. The confusion just doesn’t stop growing. You raise your eyebrows, lamely clasping the sandwich in front of you as you step back towards the living room. “Okay, uhm. Or I guess I can just wait out here for him.” You feel incredibly stupid as you plop down on the sofa, getting comfortable as you wait for him.

Aunt Yoon is a nervous wreck, but she’s trying (and failing) to not show it to anyone. She almost died on the spot when Jungkook told her his secret, half voluntarily and the other half was a result of being caught with his mask in hand. She wanted to scream, cry, hold Jungkook in her arms, and scold him all at once. After a very lengthy talk at the dinner table, both of them sitting on opposite ends (awkward), she finally decided to let him continue his superhero side job. Despite her reluctance, she trusts Kook and made him promise he would try his best to be safe. Well, as safe as you can be when fighting criminals on the street. Aunt Yoon understands why you’re mad at Jungkook, but understands that it’s not her place to tell you. After making sure you sit down, she makes a beeline for his room, staring at the old spider suits that are currently laid out on the floor. Secretly, she pats herself on the back for her quick thinking, regardless of how messy the save was.

“Uhm, Aunt Yoon? Do you know when Kook is coming home?“ You ask from the couch, feeling as if you weren’t allowed to move away from it without being ushered back. Your sandwich is still wrapped on your lap, feeling too awkward to open it. Silence fills the room once again as Aunt Yoon fights for an appropriate answer that’s not too alarming.

“Uhm, usually around 11 these days. He’s been really busy recently.” She smiles, twirling her hair as a nervous habit as she soothes her anxiety. You quickly conclude that if you ask doing what, or why he gets home so late, you won’t get an answer. If anything, Aunt Yoon might have a nervous breakdown if you question her any further, so you decide to leave it. You nod at the answer, directing your attention to the sandwich that remains untouched. While Aunt Yoon is acting weird, she makes sure you’re comfortable in the living room before heading back to whatever she was doing before you showed up. Turning on the tv, getting you a drink, handing you a throw blanket for the couch. You settle in for the long wait, laying down and watching whatever plays on the tv.

SPIDER-MAN SHOWS UP ONCE AGAIN TO SAVE THE DAY!!

SPIDER MENACE IS ONCE AGAIN TERRORIZING CITIZENS OF SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA!!

SPIDER-MAN IS A NEWLY FOUND HERO!

ONCE AGAIN, UNKNOWN HERO REFUSES TO REVEAL IDENTITY.

You quickly click away from the news channels. Truthfully, you have no opinion on the new hero that seems to be taking the entire country by storm. You’ve never had any interaction with him so far, so you genuinely haven’t been able to gauge who he is without the influence of biased news outlets. All you know is that there’s even a club for him at your university, the students all competing to get the best Spidey photo. Surprisingly, you drift off to sleep without realizing.

You startle awake, heading a chorus of groans and crashing coming from down the hall. It doesn’t sound like Aunt Yoon, meaning Jungkook must’ve just gotten home. Weird, you didn’t hear the front door unlock and open. “Kook?” You call out, rubbing your eyes before making your way down the hall. Still half asleep, you knock on his childhood bedroom door. “Jungkook, is that you? Can we talk?” His door slowly opens, revealing a very disheveled and tired looking Jungkook. Seeing him for the first time in what feels like months is off putting, making you stumble over yourself for words that properly explain what you're trying to convey. “Uhm, hey. You uh, stopped showing up to classes and I got worried. And I went to your dorm and uhm, no one was there, heh. And dropped out of your clubs, and got home really late…” you're definitely rambling now. “I guess I wanted to check up on you to make sure you’re alright.”

Jungkook is at a loss for words. “No, yeah, I'm alright! I've just been really busy with stuff outside of school. Personal stuff. Uhm, how have you been!?” He’s trying to desperately change the subject, flashing his signature bunny smile as his last card. It almost works, almost, until you spot the cut he’s currently sporting across his brow.

“Kook…what is going on?” You mumble, reaching out to hold his head before he has a chance to back away from you. You catch it just in time, pushing his hair back that he was using to hide it. It’s a deep cut, blood soaking his hair and brow. It’s threatening to drip into his eye, making you quickly wipe it with your finger. Not showing up to class, coming home late, getting injured after coming home? You’re more confused than ever, stomach dropping to your feet as you can only think of the worst. “Are you street fighting?” You mumble, grabbing tissues as you wipe some of the blood away.

“No! No, of course not!” He pulls your wrists away, giving his brow one hard wipe before throwing away the tissues. Seeing you so worried about him makes his stomach lurch, threatening to spill every single secret that he’s kept from you so far. “Shouldn’t you be getting home? It’s almost midnight and everything.” He smiles, once again changing the subject.

“You're kicking me out now. Please Kook, I’m not mad at you anymore, I'm worried about you. And the more I try to find out what’s going on the more and more I'm worried!” You're fighting back tears now, trying increasingly hard to keep your resolve in front of him. “Even Aunt Yoon is acting weird! Acting like I'm some stranger that you guys have never met before. Blocked me off from going into your room like I was some stranger, did her nervous hair twirling and knuckle cracking, and didn't know what to say when I talked to her. Now you, disappearing from everything with barely any explanation! Never being at the university and coming home all beaten up! I didn’t even hear you come in through the front door which is weird, you always make so much noise.” You ramble, becoming more frustrated as Jungkook can only stare at you wide eyed. His heart is beating erratically in his ears, wanting nothing more than to wrap you in a hug and explain everything to you. He hasn’t seen you this upset in years, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks.

“Please, Y/n.” Jungkook mumbles, letting his head drop as he avoids making eye contact. “I wish I could tell you. Here, you can sleepover tonight and tomorrow we’ll both drive back up to the university-”

“Just tell me! Whatever it is there’s no way it can be that bad, we’ve known each other since we were toddlers. Kook….please. Don’t make me worry like this.” Tears are slowly streaming down your face, voice wavering with every word you speak. Your lips threaten to let out sobs in between each word, fighting them back to keep your resolve and tone. Regardless, your resolve isn’t enough to get Jungkook to tell you anything. He continues to avoid eye contact as he talks once again.

“Y/n, please. Let’s just go to sleep.”

Your stomach falls to your feet, heart feeling as if it were about to jump out of your throat. In a flurry, you can only say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I hate you Jungkook.”

The hurt is evident all across his face, shoulders slightly flinching from your cold statement. He's completely unprepared, staring back at you like a deer caught in a car's headlights. He's never heard you say those words with any true meaning, only jokingly a couple of times. Hearing them makes his heart beat increase, hands instinctively reaching out to pull you towards him. As he gently grabs your shoulders, you jerk out of his grasp and back up towards the door.

You can't take it anymore, spinning fast on your heels and almost running out of the apartment. A part of you wants to scream at Jungkook, the other cries into his arms as he comforts you. You decide that neither one is appropriate and going to your car to cry is likely your best option. Ignoring him as he follows you out, mumbling excuses to the best of his ability, you make it out of his apartment in record time. It feels like you’ve just lost Jungkook entirely, sobs wracking your entire body as you shuffle through the building stairwells. You could help him, you’re sure of it, if he would just let you. You’ve never not been there when he’s struggled in the past, and seeing him block you out feels like betrayal. You’re defeated entirely as the cool night air envelops you, continuing your pity party late into the night.

After maybe three hours, the rational part of your brain forces you out of the driver seat of your car and back up to Jungkook’s apartment. You’re about to knock when it’s ripped open, causing you to flinch away. “God, Kook!” You mumble, eyes wide as you stare at him. “You scared the shit out of me! Listen, I won’t ask about it anymore tonight. I’ll leave it alone.”

“C'mon, let’s go to sleep Y/n.” Jungkook calls softly, pulling you underneath his arm and into the apartment. He easily leads you to his room, handing you clothes to change into. You want to continue arguing with him, but you just can’t. You change in the apartment's small bathroom, tired body shuffling into his bed. “You need to cry?” Jungkook chuckles softly as he takes his place next to you, pulling your body close to his chest.

"...Yeah." Jungkook knows you extremely well, and now is not any different. He comforts you in one of the only ways he knows how, which is physical affection. It's always been a staple of Jungkook's personality, his love language being physical touch once he's comfortable being around you. Your face is shoved into the soft cotton of some stupid science shirt, tears soon to be stained into it. "Kook, why were you still awake?"

"Just thinking about things, couldn't fall asleep." That makes you cry, Jungkook letting out a small chuckle at you before wrapping you tighter in his arms. He makes sure you're comfortable, yanking the blankets over the both of you and making sure you have at least one pillow. You bury your face into his shirt, allowing yourself to get everything out (as much as possible without snot dripping everywhere.) Jungkook comfortingly rubs your back every now and then while playing with and stroking your hair. "It's alright, Y/n. I understand why you're upset."

"It’s okay Kook, we don't have to talk about it." You state, voice muffled by his chest. "I’m sorry for keeping you awake, and being a bitch to you in class." Over the course of the night, your positions swap as you take Jungkook in your arms. While he won't explicitly say it, you know he needs it just as bad as you do. Holding him, the both of you fall asleep like that.

You're not sure what time it is when you wake up, quickly realizing what tore you out of your sleep. In your arms, Jungkook is visibly strained, face scrunched together as he jostles slightly in your hold. You quickly realize that it's not going to go away as he continues to become more distressed. "Kook, Jungkook wake up." You begin to shake him lightly, hoping he'll just wake up without much trouble. It takes much more effort to actually pull him out of his sleep, his head jerking as you shake him awake by his shoulders.

He wakes up with a start, his eyes shooting open as he lurches into a seated position. He’s breathing extremely hard, almost panting as he scans around the room widely. "Hey, hey, Kook. It's okay, it was just a dream. you're okay, you're safe." His attention is quickly turned to you, eyes still wide as he takes in your presence.

"Are you okay? You're not hurt?" He mumbles, reaching out and grabbing ahold of your arm hard, not allowing you to jerk away. Carefully, as if his dream were real, he turns it over as if he were looking for an injury.

"Yes, I'm fine, Jungkook. It was just a dream, a nightmare." You mumble, opening your arms and beckoning for him to lay back down. Slowly, as if you were lying to him, he finally lays back down with you. Whatever he dreamed about has him shook up deep into his bones, his arms holding you as close as he possibly could.

Waking up is no easier, feeling just as shitty as you did last night but now even more tired. Your eyes are red and puffy, lips chapped from crying throughout the night. Despite driving back to the university together, Jungkook avoids you like the plague for the entire week. He sits as far away from you as he can without making it obvious. He makes sure to leave the lecture halls immediately after the bell rings so there’s no chance you two will be stuck awkwardly walking next to each other. You’re beyond frustrated and sad from them on, slowly becoming strangers with Jungkook. You two never thought this would happen.

Genuine misery wracks your entire body as you walk through the nightlife of Seoul, streets busy as people start their weekend early on Friday night. Your shoulders brush every now and then with strangers, which you’re quick to usher apologies to avoid any confrontation. A particularly harsh brush sends you down, falling flat on your ass as you groan in pain. Immediately, pain shoots up your hands and into your wrists, absorbing your fall. It feels as though your tailbone has been broken as you pathetically muster your strength to stand up straight. “You should really watch where you’re going!” You don’t make eye contact, simply rolling your eyes at the angry citizen.

“Yeah yeah, I know.” You mumble, immediately being caught by the wrist at the end of your statement. Panic begins to flow throughout your entire body, heart rate speeding up so much you can almost hear it. “Let go of me.” While you try to sound confident, your voice comes out frail as you stare at the man in front of you. Your legs feel as though they’ve gone numb, every sense in your body telling you to get out of there. “I said, let go!” You muster up a bit more courage as you try to pull your arm away to no avail. This proves to be counterproductive as the man easily catches your other arm in his grasp. Tears well in your eyes as you finally get a clear look at the man, nothing short of a stereotypical petty criminal. Your skin crawls as he eyes you up and down, stopping to think.

“Just for that comment, you owe me your wallet.” He grins, making your stomach flip in circles. Is your wallet really worth getting the shit beat out of you? No, no it’s not. But as your ears ring with the sound of your heart beat, not a single coherent thought is happening in your head right now. Involuntarily, you scream as he pulls you closer, making some sort of attempt to pat down your pockets for your wallet. You can’t help but continue to scream, trashing in his hold as he searches your body, copping cheat feels wherever he can. Tears stream down your face, mind going into overdrive as it uses the last bit of intelligence to kick your attacker in his dick.

Immediately, his hands are off of you and he hunches over. Taking the opportunity, you make a break for it, getting just around the street corner before he’s taking off after you. “Man…c’mon.” Is the only thing you hear before the footsteps stop, instead the silence is filled with the man’s complaints. I wasn't even doing anything, we were just messing around, get your webs off of me, you have no right to do this, I'm suing you for misconduct, I'll kill you as soon as I get free! “Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?” There’s a faint sound of webs being strung, causing you to slowly make your way over to the complaint train. “And just like that…another one for the cops.” The man is incredibly satisfied with his web building ability, taking one final measure as he shoots a glob over the attacker's mouth, finally silencing him.

“…Spider-Man?” For some reason, you’re incredibly surprised despite him being all over the news for months now. While you’ve heard everyone talking about him, you’ve never actually seen him in person, never caring to track him down. His suit is much darker than what it looks like in the pictures, making you wonder if it’s the lighting or if he's had a costume update. With the entire suit, you can’t tell any sort of distinguishable features besides the fact that he’s ripped in almost every aspect. The only other feature that you’re able to pick up on right away is his extremely young sounding voice. “Uhm, thank you. For uh, webbing him to the wall?” The disheveled looking man is definitely cocooned to the wall, completely defeated as he waits for the cops to show up.

“Oh, it’s no problem! It’s what I do, your-“ He’s ready to deliver his famous, personally selected, catchphrase. He’s even gone to the extent of placing his hands on his hips, getting ready to puff out his chest and stand tall as he speaks.

“Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, yeah, yeah, we know.” An outside voice chimes in, making you burst into laughter. His chest immediately falls and his posture falls a bit, hands going to point at the said heckler that ruined his moment.

“Hey, that wasn’t very nice!” The spider in front of you calls out, which just makes you laugh more. He's standing up straight now, but has no real intention of going after the grumpy eavesdropper. Without even trying, he’s funny.

“If you really want, you can do your little saying. I'll listen to it.” You giggle, seeing him place his hands back on his hips as he recovers from his workout that stringing the man up turned out to be. He looks incredibly boyish as he stands in thought for a brief moment, almost snapping back into reality as he remembers the situation. Doing a quick double take, he glances back at the man before looking at you once again, before taking another small glance over his shoulder to ensure your attacker is still on the wall.

“Uhm, do you mind if I use your phone? Gotta call the police, and uhm, my suit doesn’t have any pockets?” To add credibility to his claim, he’s running his hands along the suit to show you. After his display, he’s already walking towards you before you answer, taking your phone with a quick thanks before calling the police. He talks for maybe 1 minute max, the conversation being a chorus of “Hello, yes, Spider-Man, yes, 97th street, yes, ok, thanks.” After hanging up and handing your phone back, he seemingly kicks in his inspirational it’s gonna be ok, speech. “How are you feeling? I know that might’ve been a little scary for you, especially the whole, uhm, searching…your body.'' It's incredibly awkward as he tries to find a way to take back what he just said, gesturing to the air.

“You’re not very good at this, I think you should stick to webbing criminals.” You laugh softly, tone joking as you tease him. He seems embarrassed, more than likely flushed entirely pink underneath his mask. “Thanks for saving the citizens of Seoul once again, Spidey.” You giggle as you begin the walk home, quickly making the decision to take the well lit sidewalks. It’ll likely take 10 minutes longer, but you tell yourself that the 10 minutes will be worth it to avoid another almost mugging encounter.

“Uhm, if you want, can I give you a lift home?” Spider-Man offers, jogging to catch up to you. The visual of Spider-Man running on foot to meet up with you is humorous for no reason. “Just so you get home safe! And you don’t have to worry about guys like him!” He covers as you eye him questioningly. After a little more teasing, you accept his offer. “Okay, so just stand next to me, ok, ok. And I'm going to hold you like this, is this ok for you?” You genuinely laugh as he hesitantly places his arm around your waist, nodding your head yes. “Alright, and you can hold around my neck, yeah, like that. Okay, so when we take off, you can either leave your legs like that, or wrap them, uh…around my waist. On the side! Like a toddler sits on someone’s hip, you know?” He’s genuinely trying to not make the situation in any way sexual or uncomfortable, but the constant explanations and stumbling is doing the opposite of his intended effect.

“Yes, Spider-Man. I know what you mean. This won’t affect your webs or swinging, right?” If he’s holding you, that means he can only swing with one arm which is slightly concerning. “Like with only one arm, because if there's a chance I can fall, I'd rather walk all the way back home?”

“Yeah! I'm a pro at swinging, you have no idea. Ready? I’ll show you.” Without even waiting for a response, he effortlessly shoots a web that sends the both of you flying up. After shifting down several inches as the both of you swung downwards, you quickly concluded that you were going to death grip Spider-Man's waist as he swung the both of you. It’s almost like a rollercoaster, that’s extremely high, and has no seat belts or safety procedures. Your adrenaline is pumping throughout your entire body, stomach rising and falling with each swing. To him, it seems like he’s on a leisurely walk in the park, nowhere near as fast as he normally swings when he’s in an emergency.

“Can these things go any faster?” You laugh, pointing to the web shooters on his wrists. Glancing over at you, you’re sure he made a face behind the mask.

“Faster?” You can almost hear him scoff as he questions you. You can’t help but laugh, nodding your head. “If you insist, climb onto my back.” While he’s swinging? He wants you to maneuver around him while he’s swinging 200 feet in the air? “Like a piggy back ride, don’t think about it too much. You can do it.” He slowly lets go of your waist, moving his arm forward so that you can easily slide onto his back. Every single survival instinct is screaming at you not to move, to which you ignore.

“So now what?” You mumble. He has both of his arms in front of him, body (mostly) unrestricted to swing to maximum momentum. You quickly conclude that this is a horrible idea as he bends and extends his body to increase his speed.

“We go faster.” He laughs at you, using both arms to sling himself as fast as possible. While he may seem like an absolute idiot when talking, the way he’s calculating every single move to maximize his distance, is astonishing to you. No move that he does is for nothing (besides the safety checks for you). It's an extremely energy and time efficient way of moving. In record time, you’re at the front of your dorm complex. “And….we’re here.” He smiles as he stands on the ground, easily holding your legs that remain locked around him. While you know he’s standing on solid ground, your legs remain in place as your brain fights to convince yourself it’s safe to get down.

“Ok, let me just get down.” Your legs feel like jelly as they touch the ground, threatening to give out under your weight. “Thanks for the lift, I owe you some ramen next time, yeah?” You smile, shakily walking into your apartment building.

“Hopefully there isn’t a next time!!” He calls out, and with that, he shoots off to go help another poor soul.

Maybe it was the adrenaline from your attacker, or from Spider-Man, or the pure survival instincts kicking in during the ride, but as you lay down in bed, a realization washes over you. You never even told Spider-Man where you were going to…

Ever since that day, you almost unconsciously find yourself wandering around alone. To be honest, you weren’t looking for trouble and had no intention of getting into any that may become a safety risk. However, a part of your subconscious wants nothing more than to run into the red and blue masked superhero that roams the streets. So maybe…just maybe, if trouble comes your way it won’t be the end of the world. Your feet shuffle as you walk, every now and then kicking a rock along the sidewalk.

“If I didn’t know any better, I'd think you’re looking for trouble…” A voice calls out from above you, instantly causing a giant smile to spread across your face. Glancing up, it’s the same masked boy that you’ve been wandering the streets to catch even a glimpse of. Despite having his mask on, it looks like the fabric is smiling down at you.

“If I didn’t know any better, I'd think I have a little spider stalker following me.” Your smile is almost uncontrollable as he comes down, walking down the street with you. “Plus, I still owe you that ramen right?” You look incredibly ridiculous as the both of you walk into the restaurant, standing awkwardly as the staff whisper back and forth to each other. Spider-Man has got his signature, I’m a superhero, pose going on that it almost makes you laugh at him.

“What, what’s so funny, why are you giggling?” He’s leaning over slightly, trying to whisper to you as you continue to fight off your urge to laugh. “Are you laughing at me??”

“No, no.” You can't even look over at him, because you know the moment you do you’ll burst into laughter. Subtly, you begin to get into the same exact pose as him to see if anyone notices. This includes, placing your hands on your hips, widening your stance to about shoulder width, and standing perfectly straight with your chest puffed out. Even now, you’re still fighting back laughter as the staff continue to take glances at the two of you. “Do I look familiar?” You whisper, watching as he slowly turns around to look at you fully. As he analyzes, you can’t help but begin to laugh.

“Hm…no. Not really?”

“I'm you!”

“What!? That’s not how I stand!”

“This is exactly how you stand!”

“I do not look like that.”

“We could literally be twins right now, just give me your mask.” You laugh, finally dropping the pose as your ramen comes out. “You know, I really can’t tell if you’re smiling under your mask. So if you are straight faced this entire time, this is awkward.” You laugh, walking out of the restaurant with a bag of takeout. You both decide where to eat, sitting down with the bag in between you.

And by “you both decide where to eat,” Spider-Man immediately proposes that you go to a rooftop. He easily takes you to one of the tallest buildings, your stomach churning as your feet touch the roof and you immediately sit down where you two landed. “This is fun, but we should go by the ledge. We can see the entire city from up here.” He’s more than excited, easily walking over to the side and sitting down, feet hanging. You’re distraught as he webs the bag, yanking it over to him with no effort at all. Pathetically, you crawl over to the edge and make some sort of attempt to sit in the same manner he is. “Uh, if you want, I can web you…not like restraints. But like a seatbelt.”

“Actually…I would like that a lot. Please do.” You nod your head up and down, lifting your arms to allow him to secure your lap to the building. If the both of you can swing from skyscraper to skyscraper with these webs, you at least know they’ll hold you in place. He easily humors you once again without trying, pulling the mask to just above the tip of his nose to allow him to eat the noodles he’s picked up. “You know, if I knew who you were, I'd be able to tell from just this part of your face. So hiding your eyes isn’t exactly foolproof.” You laugh, quickly looking at his lips and half exposed cheeks. Your stomach flips as you quickly change to subject. “You know the city is a lot more safe with you around.”

“Yeah? I’m really glad to hear that.” He smiles, and you wonder if he’s actually that dumb. Or maybe he thinks you’re dumb and won’t put 2 and 2 together. “Everyone used to hate me, you know?” He laughs, shaking his head as he continues to eat. You don’t say anything, knowing that he’s going to continue once he’s done. “Newspapers tore me up every single day, I think I headlined at least 6 out of 7 days a week.” He laughs, “I guess you could say I'm pretty famous.”

“Yeah, you definitely are famous. You’re so famous you’re becoming a tourist attraction.” You giggle, thinking about how you’re seen various people come to Seoul to see Spider-Man at work. You’re sure the state gets insane tourism money from it, along with the city already being a well known area. “Seoul’s one and only, web slinging hero, Spider-Man!” You laugh, announcing your made up head line in an overly enunciated and perfectly clear tone. He laughs at the lame joke, shoving the rest of the noodles in his mouth. “We should probably get going, Arachne. It’s getting late and I'm sure you’ll be busy as it gets later.”

He nods to your final statement, reaching over to your lap. “I'm gonna take these off, alright?” You nod, allowing him to easily rip through them. Almost cat-like, he easily stands up on the edge with perfect balance, reaching down and offering you stability as you climb to your feet. “Freaking out?” He laughs at you, watching as you screw your eyes shut and refuse to look down.

“Yes, yes. Let’s just swing, get going.” Spidey asks you if you want his side or back, to which you heavily weigh the benefits of both. Taking a small peek at the sheer height, you decide that the back is definitely a better option since you’re able to cling onto him tighter. “Are you just going…to jump down? And like free fall!?” You regret every decision you made that has led up to this moment.

“Yes, until I get closer to the ground.” He can already tell you’re about to back out entirely, most likely take the elevator all the way down. While he would still accompany you, he’d much rather not wait forever to descend the 50+ floors. “Listen, you can do this, ok? All you have to do is jump onto my back and hang on as tight as you want. You don’t even have to look, alright? Just close your eyes and we’ll be done in no more than a minute.”

He talks you into it, but not without feeling like you’re going to pass out. At least if you pass out, it’s with Spider-Man who is more than capable of pulling you back in order to catch you. “Ok, ok. This will be fine.” You persuade yourself, taking the smallest hop humanely possible and quickly situating yourself on his back. It feels like you’re falling faster than scientifically possible, hurtling towards the ground at an alarming speed.

You’re about 90% sure you’ve busted Spider-Man's ear drums at this point, shoving your face in the crook of his neck while screaming. Your arms and legs are locked tight around him, so much so you’re surprised you haven’t choked him out yet. (Which would be bad, because if you pass out he’ll save you. If he passes out, you’re both goners.) As he easily thrusts a wrist in the air and begins swinging close to the ground, your arms fly up to his head as you try to find a better hold.

“THIS IS THE WORST, I'M CALLING THE BUGLE LATER TODAY!!!” You scream, slamming your eyes shut as he narrowly avoids buildings. “I'M TELLING THEM YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!!”

“WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SAYING!!” He screams back, trying to find his way through the lit up streets. “I CAN'T SEE, I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING!!”

You’re completely unaware that you are, in fact, clasping your hands over his eyeballs.

You’ve never hated anything more, from the moment he allowed his body to fall off the side (back first, so you were closer to the ground) all the way to when your feet touched the floor at your dorm. “That was horrible, if you ever convince me to free fall again I’m going to throw up all down the back of your suit.” You vaguely threaten, slowly climbing off.

He laughs at you, standing in the same spot as he waits for you to safely make it inside. For some reason, leaving is different now. You’re torn as you stare at him, stomach flipping in uncertainty. “Hey…be safe, alright, people care about you.” You mumble, quickly going back for a hug. Most likely catching him off guard, it takes him a couple of moments to actually hug you back. It's a comfortable, extremely familiar hug. “Don’t do anything too stupid, now.” You laugh, pulling away and actually going into your apartment. Spider-Man says something along the lines of I’d never think of it before swinging away.

Walking past Jungkook’s hall, your feet instinctively pause in front of the doorway. You finally understand. You understand Kook being so secretive, you understand why Aunt Yoon was so nervous that day, cracking her knuckles at every opportunity and refusing to let you past the living room. As you settle in for the night, everything begins to make more sense. The confusion you’ve had for over a month is suddenly gone, your head eventually connecting every missing piece.

You’re unsure of what to do about the newfound information, but for now you relax feeling slightly relieved now that you’ve figured it out. Jungkook has been acting so strange lately because he’s been a completely different person, swinging around the city every night as the one and only Spider-Man.

You can’t help but giggle slightly thinking to yourself. Pulling your phone out from your backpack, your finger hovers over Jungkook's contact name. Without thinking, you edit the information and add a little spider next to it. You decided to send Jungkook a quick text. It doesn’t even register to you that you both truly haven’t spoken face to face in days now. You’re hesitant for a couple of seconds, the endearing Jungkook 💜🕷 contact name urging you to make a decision. Regardless, you still message him.

I almost killed spider man

What? No wayyyyy

Would you still be friends with me if I murdered the most well known superhero in town?

Absolutely not

…Well, do you think that one loud news guy would’ve paid me?

Jameson? Knowing that guy? He’d give you his first born child

Smiling softly to yourself, you finally allow yourself to drift off to sleep.

You’re woken up out of your sleep by loud pounding coming from your window, a series of coughs and grunts accompany the noise. In a panic, your body shoots out of bed, catching the smallest glimpse at the figure in your window. Just as you’re about to sprint out of the room, you catch a small flash of red and blue. Hesitantly, you walk over to get a better look. Sure enough, the web slinging hero is standing outside of your window. Confused, you begin to pull open the window. “What are you doing here?!” You whisper, glancing back to your door to make sure no ears are around. “It's almost 5 am!”

“I just…need your help.” He groans, climbing past you and into the room. As he stands on both feet, his body haphazardly falls to the ground, a loud crashing accompanying it. On the ground, he begins to cough and groan as he holds his body wherever he can.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Panic sets in even more as you drop to your knees, pulling his head into your lap as you fight to get a response from him. Extremely slowly, he nods his head.

“I just…got caught a few too many times. I just…need to rest, my body heals pretty fast.” He’s talking extremely slowly, mind seemingly not thinking as he attempts to explain what happened to him. You can barely follow along with the story, something about not seeing the blade before the fight ended. At the end of his explanation, he quickly adds But I totally won, don’t get me wrong. Webbed him up and came straight over. At the explanation, you fight tears back, looking anywhere else in your room but him.

“Hey, was this too far? Did I overstep our friendship?” He laughs softly, placing both of his palms on the ground before making an attempt to get up. You assume he was going to leave your room, refusing to let him do so. You easily hold him in place, the injured boy not having the energy to fight you.

“You really must think I’m stupid, Kook.” You laugh, tears beginning to fall which you quickly wipe away. “Like, really really stupid.”

“Kook? Who’s that?”

This only makes you laugh harder, his voice easily giving away his blown cover. He's surprised, to which he quickly tries to play it off and act cool. “Please…don't make this harder than it already is.” You begin to reach for the edge of his mask, wrists quickly being caught by his hands and immediately stopping you. As he grabs your hands, you only now realize the wounds he was covering, blood smearing onto you from his hands.

“You…you didn’t tell me he actually got you! I thought you said you were just tired and couldn’t swing anymore!” Tears immediately begin to fall down your face, body jumping up. “Stay here! I swear, if you disappear I'll come find you!” You’re almost full on sobbing now, sprinting to the bathroom to dig for your first aid kit. It’s slightly small and only has the basics, but you hope it’ll be enough to help him at least. “Change into this, please?” It’s a pair of shorts and a random t-shirt that he’s left behind from your guys countless sleepovers.

“I really shouldn’t, I just need to rest.”

You refuse to let him go that easy, insisting that he change. Trying his best to keep whatever secret he thinks he’s still hiding, he makes every excuse to dodge taking off his mask. Listen, I’m hideous underneath this mask! I have to conceal my identity, if you went and told people I'd be in a lot of trouble. Also, if you knew my identity, it could paint you as a target for criminals. Only 1 other person knows who I am, it’s critical for it to be top secret. You can't take off my mask, it’s a part of the suit. No! It doesn’t come off at the neck. No! Get away!

“Jungkook, stop.” He is trying to crawl away from you without getting any blood on the carpet, using his feet to push himself around on his back. “First, it was disappearing and not showing up to class anymore. Then coming home beat up every night. Then when you took me home after saving me, you didn’t even ask where we were going. You just slung your webs and took me to my dorm complex. And when I bought us ramen earlier, I saw your face. You think I would miss the scar on your cheek and freckle underneath your lip? And even tonight, you happen to come to my exact window and climb in, without even knowing me?”

“Uhm, it was just a lucky guess, the window bit.” He mumbles, having no other explanation for your other points. He knows he can’t win, finally defeated and his secret laid out on the table for you to judge.

“Please just change so I can clean your cuts, please.” He’s about to make another excuse, you can see his mouth opening, mumbling out a small My identity is top secret- before you’re cutting him off. Your heart is racing, sobs and tears streaming from you at a pretty steady rate. Your hands shake as you hold onto him, gripping the front of his suit in your fists. “I told you to be safe, Jungkook! I told you not to do anything stupid! You said you’d be safe tonight! You NEVER listen, and now you’re bleeding out on my floor, KOOK PLEASE.” Your hands shake as you hold onto his suit, eventually moving to pull him closer to you. Holding his injured body, you shake and sob as he slowly wraps his arms around you. Every now and then, you can feel him heave as he fights back the urge to cry into you.

Slowly, you release your death grip on him, almost afraid he’d disappear the second you let go. Making another attempt at his mask, he lets you this time.

“I'm really sorry for this.” He mumbles, a few small coughs following his statement. Your eyebrow raises, hands just barely grazing the fabric of the mask. Before you can even react, a web is wrapped around your wrist before being easily shot towards your bed. Without even having time to think, your body is yanked backwards by the momentum of the web. “I gotta go…”

“Jungkook, this isn’t funny. Take this off.” You state, yanking hard against it as you try to reach where his body lies on your floor. You can feel your bed slide a few inches forward as you try to get to him. “Kook, I'm serious this isn’t a joke. Take it off!” Horror crosses your face as he plants his hands down, using the last of his strength reservoir to push himself up. Slowly, he hobbled back towards the window before carefully climbing out onto the fire escape. From afar, you can see the red spots bleeding through this spandex.

“I'm really sorry, those will last about an hour.” He apologizes, limping over to the railing. “If anyone comes in to check on you, you can just hide them underneath your blankets. I'll see you around.”

“JUNGKOOK! DON'T!” You're full on screaming at this point, tears engraving their path down your face. You’re frustrated and scared, almost afraid he’ll go to jump off the side of the building and not be able to recover. “PLEASE! STAY! I'LL DO ANYTHING. DON'T GO OUT, YOU'RE TOO WEAK RIGHT NOW.” You're screaming from the top of your lungs, pulling so hard on the web it feels as if you’ll dislocate your shoulder. Your wrist is aching from the tension, which you ignore it all. “PLEASE STAY, PLEASE STAY. I'LL COME FIND YOU IF YOU GO! I WILL, I SWEAR I'LL COME AFTER YOU!”

Your bed is now displaced a considerable amount, sitting almost directly in the center of the room. Your wrist is red and strained, shoulder pulled taught and about to snap at any moment if you continue to fight it. You don’t have a couple of hours to wait for this web to dissolve, you have to get to him now. “KOOK! Please, just come here. Please, I'm begging you. You're too hurt right now, you have to stay with me. Please Jungkook, I'm scared! Please don’t go, don’t leave me here!”

At your pleas, his feet stop their movements. You can see his internal debate. “Y/n, you can’t tell a soul. I mean it, I really do!”

“Okay, okay, done. I won't say a single thing. Please just get down.” At your promise, he clumsily hops down from the railing, making his way over to you. “Please, just come here.” You open one arm that’s free, wrapping it around Jungkook's torso as soon as he’s in reach. You’re quick to yank him down to your level, wrapping your single free arm as much as possible around his body. A small chuckle leaves him before he’s ripping through the web that still retains you. “I was scared Kook, that scared me.” You mumble into his shoulder, pulling him as close as possible.

He lets you hold onto him, body almost laying across your lap as you hold his torso and head. “I was scared that if you jumped down from the building, you’d be too tired to shoot a web to hold yourself, or too tired to stick to the wall.”

“It scares me to hear you cry like that.” He mumbles, pulling back just slightly to place a hand on your cheek. Ignoring the wetness that you feel, both on your cheek and body, you smile into his hand.

“Please, let me clean the blood off you. And bandage them. You’ll bleed out.” You ask, “And let me take the mask off.”

He finally nods his permission. your fingertips easily find the edge where the two seams meet, wedging your thumbs underneath the mask and easily pulling it up and over his head. He looks worn out, eyes threatening to close as blood drips onto his face. He's sporting a few bruises mixed with a busted brow and lip, where he got hit particularly hard. His cheek looks bad, a pretty long cut prominent. There’s a few tear steaks, (whether they’re from pain or your small breakdown is unknown.)

“Here I am.” He says lazily, eyes closed as you hold his head in your hands.

“Jungkook, you have to stay awake. For now, just open your eyes, please.” You mumble, searching for the extra clothes. You have to peel him out of his suit basically, blood making it almost like a wet suit onto his skin. Jungkook is more worried about the holes in the suit more than his skin, quickly reassuring him that you could sew them up. He nods, laying on the floor in nothing but a small pair of shorts. “This is going to hurt like a bitch, Jungkook.” You sigh, taking the sterile gauze and beginning to apply pressure to his still bleeding cuts.

His body stiffens under your hands, small grunts filling the room from the pain. You have to repeat this process multiple times, stomach doing flips as you fight back the urge to puke. Seeing him in so much pain makes your eyes water, you almost have to hold him down as he writhes from it. And by almost, you basically have him pinned down underneath you. You’re currently using one hand to apply pressure to the gashes, the other is holding his bicep down, and one of your feet is placed on his opposite thigh to stop him from jumping away. ”It'll be okay, just try and stay still. I got you, Kook.” After they slowly stop bleeding, you begin running sterile gauze with water over the dried blood. Slowly, it eventually looks less and less like a murder scene. “Please talk to me, Jungkook. Maybe it’ll take your mind off it.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you like that.” A tear falls down the side of his face, your hand instinctively reaching out to wipe it away. ”I know you’re worried about me, Y/n.” Jungkook mumbles, hand finding your side and doing his best to wrap it around you. “I understand, I really do. But I can't stop doing it, they need me.”

“I wasn't going to ask you to stop.” You answer, voice low and wavering slightly as you slowly stop crying over his injuries. As they get cleaned up a bit, you’re slowly able to calm down. “I just want, no need. I need you to be careful, Kook. Because if I lose you….I just. I won’t know- I won't know how to live after that.” You cry, head falling forward, causing your foreheads to push softly against each other. He understands your concern, rubbing your back comfortingly as you collect yourself. As you cry, his other hand finds your cheek to wipe the tears that slowly fall.

He hates seeing you this upset, hates it even more that it’s because of him. As he comforts you, his eyes water and threaten to spill over as he fights it away. After a bit, you’re able to pick your head up and resume, beginning smearing ointment over the cuts. To fill the silence in the room, he begins talking again. “You know, when I was fighting towards the end I started realizing how much he got me. I started feeling all of the cuts and pain running throughout my body. And after I hung him against the wall, I instinctively came over here. I wasn’t even thinking about showing up as Spider-Man, wasn’t thinking about how obvious it would be that I knew where your window was. The only thought that was running through my mind was that I needed to see you.” He explains. You’ve been sniffling the entire time, ever since Jungkook jumped down from the rails after agreeing to stay. As he talks more and more, it feels like you’re only fighting harder not to cry.

You’re not sure if this is supposed to make you feel better or worse, but your heart lurches. “I don't know if I wanted to see you for help, or see you to make me feel better. I just knew I had to get here, just in case something happened.”

“Don’t say that, you’re gonna be okay, Kook.” You abruptly cut him off, voice loud compared to his small one. You apologize softly, going back to his wounds. He nods, trying to reassure you.

“I'm already feeling better, Y/n.” He smiles, pushing himself up on his elbows to watch as you begin to bandage him up. You finish quickly, feeling nervous as he watches you.

“You know it’s weird, the last words I could’ve ever said to you were I hate you.” You laugh sadly, helping him pull his shirt on. He looks adorable as he stares at you, sporting a big patch on his cheek that covers the cut. “You should probably get some rest, you know? You’re gonna be sore in the morning for sure. I’ll get you painkillers and make breakfast when you wake up.” You smile, ruffling his hair.

“You’re right, can I borrow a pillow?” He asks, laughing lightly as he lays down on the floor.

“No, get in bed. You need to actually sleep well.” You laugh, dragging him up by one of his arms. He's quick to protest, No, it’s okay. I don't need to sleep on the bed to be comfortable. Because then you’re going to sleep on the floor and that’s not fair, no, I won't. He’s fighting you like a toddler that refuses to walk, completely dead weight as you try to drag him. With a loud sigh, you let him go and walk over to the red and blue suit on the ground. “Get in the bed, or the suit gets it!” You threaten, holding a pair of scissors to the material.

You genuinely laugh as his eyes widen, arms raising up. “Ok ok, take it easy now! Are those real scissors?!”

“Yes they’re real scissors!” A giant smile is spread across your face as he jokes with you.

“Oh no, real scissors are my weakness!!” He cries out, jokingly getting on his hands and knees. His hands stay in front of his face as he fake surrenders to your threats. Before you even realize what’s happening he’s shooting a web at you. It wraps around your wrist and will one hard tug, you’re tumbling towards him, suit and scissor falling out of your hands. “My suit is saved!”

“You missed the scissors a bit, Kook.” You laugh as you lay in his arms that caught you. He also has a giant smile spread across his face, a much better look than when you first peeled off his mask. Your heart swells, ears burning as he continues to peer down at you.

“I wasn’t aiming for the scissors.” He mumbles, making your face flush a bright red. Slowly, you almost miss it, you can feel him leaning into you. “Please, can I kiss you?” He asks softly, eyes flicking from your lips back to your eyes. It feels like you’re in a dream that you’ll wake up from, slowly nodding yes to his question. In a second, his lips are against yours, eyes falling shut. A small hum falls from you as you instinctively press closer to him, hands finding his hair. His hands find your sides, pulling you closer to him and into a sitting position. Easily, your lips spot together as if they were a perfect fit, breaths becoming heavy as you take one another’s air. You can taste the metallic on his mouth, confused for a moment before remembering his busted bottom lip.

“Kook, you need to rest.” You breathe, voice airy as you catch it. You place a small peck onto his lips, holding his head in your hands. His eyes remain closed, head tilted up slightly at you. You massage his scalp with your fingertips, a slight hum filling the room as his hands hold you close. “Please, get some sleep.” You say, pressing one last kiss onto his forehead before you begin to climb out of his lap.

“Fine, fine. But only for you.” He finally gives in, slowly climbing into bed. You giggle, pulling the covers up to his chin and beginning to tuck them in around his body. “This feels like a bit overboard now.” Jungkook states, causing you to laugh at him.

“Shut up and close your eyes.” Finally tucking him in completely, you kiss him one last time before going about your tasks for the early morning. And by tasks, you mean the mess that Jungkook brought you. There’s small blood spots on your carpet, along with the soaking wet suit. As he gets rest, you work hard to repair what you can. The carpet is first, blood stains being vigorously scrubbed and cleaned until there’s no evidence they were ever there. Picking the suit off the ground, you’re almost afraid to ruin it.

You decide that hand washing is probably the best bet, sneaking out of your room to retrieve laundry soap and head to the bathrooms. You pray to every god that no one is there, and that no one walks in on you. You try your best to be as silent as possible, red and blue suit not easily mistaken for possible onlooking eyes. Hand washing the suit is a challenge, the fabric feeling like it was 100 pounds once it soaked up water. The water is a murky and deep red, making you grimace. After the workout that rinsing and hanging the suit turned out to be, your next chore is figuring out how to sew up the holes. YouTube becomes your best friend, sorry Kook. You throw the suit haphazardly into a towel, lugging the still damp suit back.

“Y/nnnnn…” You can hear Jungkook whining from your room just as you finish up your chores, immediately rushing to see if he’s alright. He remains in bed, still completely tucked in to his chin. “Come lay with me, it’s lonely and cold here. I wanna be held.”

At his last statement, you can’t help but laugh at him. “You need to get some rest.” You answer, shoving more blanket underneath him.

“I did, I just woke up from my nap. Come on.” He protests, untucking and opening the blankets up to you. Sighing, you take the invitation as you quickly come to your senses and aren’t gonna win this time. “What have you been up to?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Cleaning up your mess.” You smile, leaning back to fully look at his face. You can only catch a glimpse before he’s complaining, pulling you into his chest closer to him. You can’t help but smile, easily slotting yourself in between his arms. Your legs tangle together as the both of you get comfortable, using his bicep as your pillow for the time being.

"Do you remember the last time we were like this?" Jungkook asks, a small chuckle following his question. Confused, you pull away slightly to give him a questioning look. "When I had a nightmare and freaked out on you? And kept asking you if you were ok?"

"Oh, yeah. Why are you thinking about that right now, Kook?"

"It was about you, you know?" He states, his voice wavering slightly as he recalls the nightmare. Your heart feels like it's about to break for the millionth time that morning. "I wasn't able to save you, I was too slow and you fell. It was so vivid, it felt so real. Y-you hit the ground and when I walked over to you, you weren't moving. It scared me, bad." You listen in silence, allowing him to finish whatever he had left. "And when you woke me up, that felt like a dream. Like the two somehow got switched and waking up next to you was the dream, and that's why I had to check your arm. It honestly scared me so bad, that I wanted to distance myself from you because I was just so afraid of it actually becoming reality."

"It's okay Kook, I promise it's not going to happen. The distancing thing though, that was kind of shitty of you." You joke, able to pull a small chuckle from him. "I'll always be here for you, Kook, whenever you need me to."

"I'll always be here too, y/n. "

"Wanna hear some good news?" You smile, pushing yourself back into his chest as you get comfortable again. “I can proudly say your suit is fixed, ready for use once again. But not now, not until you heal. That's where I'm drawing the line.” You quickly add, to which he only laughs at you. Laying with him, you only now realize how much you’ve actually missed him these past few months.

“You’re the best. What would I do without you.” He smiles, tilting his head down to place a kiss on top of your hair. He doesn’t say anything after that, allowing his chin to rest on top of your head as he drifts off to sleep once more. You spend the entire morning holding one another, somehow scared to lose each other yet soaking up the touch. It’s not until you feel moisture that you pull away from him, searching for it.

“I have to change your bandages.” You sigh, slipping from his arms as you collect more supplies. Jungkook remains half asleep as you change the bled-through gauze, small hums the only reaction he gives you. Finally finished, a soft smile overtakes your face as he sleeps peacefully. Your hand finds his hair as you sit next to him, softly stroking his soft hair.

“Hm?” Jungkook hums, peeling his eyes open slightly.

“Nothing Kook.” You smile. “You can go back to sleep.”

“...Where did my shirt go?” He asks, glancing down at his bandaged chest. “If you wanted to see me shirtless that bad, you could’ve just said so.” He teases, hand jokingly grabbing your thigh.

“Ugh, next time I'll let you bleed out.” You roll your eyes, slapping his hand away from you. Making breakfast (that Jungkook insisted on helping with) and getting him painkillers, the near-death scare is finally coming to an end.

Jungkook’s with you, and he’s safe. You’re both on good terms again, more than good, and happy. Eating breakfast, the two of you unconsciously seek each other's touch. With legs tangled with one another underneath the table, and hands brushing more often than accidental, the two of you are finally content.

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tkaulitzlvr · 9 months

Note

could i request a drunk tom? like what would happen if he drinks too much and the reader is with him 👀

INTOXICATED - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: when tom gets a little too drunk after a night out, it’s your job to get him home in one piece - which turns out to be a lot harder than it seems.

content: fluff

a/n: i really hope you like it thank you so much for the request!!

i had lost sight of tom, looking for the familiar black braids and bandana amongst the crowd of drunken bodies, knowing that my boyfriend would be there somewhere. he was already tipsy before he’d left me, the alcohol getting to him faster than it usually would. he’d told me that he was going to get another drink and that he’d “be right back”, so i had stayed put on the sofa we were sat at, slowly sipping my porn star martini and waiting for him to arrive. that was 10 minutes ago, and, despite knowing how crazy my boyfriend can get after a few too many drinks, i still began to grow worried, standing up and moving through the endless sea of sweaty bodies, but none of them were tom.

calling out his name would be pointless - the music was so loud that i couldn’t even hear the conversation going on right next to me, let alone would tom be able to hear me calling him. instead, i settled on searching the entire place for him, with little success. it was a saturday night, the bar completely packed as expected. after a chorus of “sorry” and “excuse me”s, i finally made me way out of the crowd, and to the bar, seeing tom drunk out of his mind, empty shot glasses around him. i storm over, him turning to see me as a large grin spreads across his face.

“babyyyyyy!” he slurs, reaching out and trying to pull me into a hug from the barstool he is sat on.

“don’t baby me tom! what happened to ‘coming right back’? i’ve been looking for you everywhere.” i scold, looking at his face and seeing that he is far too wasted to even realise how angry i am.

“sorry, i just wanted a drink.” he smiles lazily, gesturing to the empty glasses infront of him.

“a drink? how many have you had since you left? jesus christ how are you even still conscious?” i question, sitting at the bar stool next to him, not even attempting to count the shots he’d been shoving down his throat - the answer would have only frustrated me even more than i already was.

he was completely shitfaced. i don’t think he even realised that i was talking to him, or, talking at all. all that he could do was grin like an idiot, constantly trying to grab me or kiss me, placing his hands anywhere that they could reach, reminding me how turned on he gets when drunk - even more than his usual self. “i don’t know, maybe like 3? or 9? you should have some too!” he chuckles, failing to see the unimpressed look on my face, as i stare at him blankly.

“and who would take us home if i did? you were meant to drive us, remember? i can’t drink anything else ‘cause it looks like i’ll be the one doing it.” i sigh, resting my head in my hands, wondering how the fuck i’ll be able to get this man out of the bar and into a car without losing my sanity.

“whattt? no, schatz, i’ll drive. i’m perfectly fine, look.” he attempts to sit straight, this apparently sufficing as proof for his sobriety, but the second he removes his torso from where it was resting on the table, he wobbles slightly, trying to play it off as a stretch.

“see?” he says, genuinely proud of himself, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.

“jesus fucking christ.” i mutter, taking a deep breath. “you can’t even sit straight. i’m driving baby, end of.”

he nods, accepting my answer before finishing the last of his glass, holding his arm out and trying to wave the bartender over.

“tom what are you doing?” i ask, putting my hand over his and placing it back on the table.

“getting another drink.” he shrugs, saying those words so nonchalantly as if he isn’t one more sip away from passing out.

“are you insane? you’re absolutely wasted, let’s go.” i say, knowing that it won’t end here.

“noooo! im just getting started, let’s stay, please baby?” he begs, staring into my eyes and rubbing his thumb over my thigh, trying to win me over. his eyes were tired, half-lidded as he looked at me through them, completely out of it.

“no, come on baby. we’re leaving.” i insist, grabbing his hand and lifting him upwards, his arm wrapping itself around my shoulder as we begin to walk out. surprisingly, he could hold himself up pretty well - it was walking in something even remotely close to a straight line that proved impossible for him. when we reach the crowd of intoxicated bodies past the bar, he quickly pulls out of my grasp, taking my hand and leading me into it.

“let’s dance.” he slurs, attempting to grab my waist and pull it against his crotch, running his hands up and down my body.

“are you crazy? we are going home, come on.” i pull away from him, irritated by his advances but not at all surprised. normally, i wouldn’t complain when he acted this way, but when i wanted nothing more to be home and in bed, my body tired from having to look after him for this long, it only angered me more, dancing with him the last thing on my mind. my hand finds his once again, roughly trying to pull him through the flood of people, not without him opening his mouth once again.

“did i tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” he whispers in my ear, mumbling his words as he can barely utter a sentence, his hand falling to my ass and giving it a rough squeeze. i gasp, quickly turning my head to face him. his eyes are hooded, full of lust, a proud smirk plastered across his face.

“tom stop! not right now.” i hiss, shaking my head and turning back to the doors as i push through them, hearing him laugh behind me.

“you know you liked it.” he mumbles, taking my hand as i hold it out for him, scanning the empty streets and trying to make out tom’s car in the darkness, the dimly lit street lamps providing next to no light.

i ignore his response, eventually making out the familiar r8 and turning to tom. “keys?” i ask as he slowly searches his pockets, pulling them out and tossing them to me, this the first time he has actually done something without trying to make a quick remark, or completely ignore what i had asked.

“come on.” i sigh, pulling him towards the passenger side and struggling to put him in the car. he laughs at my fight with his stubbornness, clearly finding this whole situation amusing. i manage to sit him down, pointing to his seatbelt.

“put it on.” i say, running out of patience with him.

“hmmm i think you should do it.” he smiles, staying put and waiting for me.

“fuck me.” i mutter, grabbing the seatbelt and wrapping it around his body until it clicks in place.

“gladly baby.” he smiles, happy with himself as he reaches for his jacket, trying to pull it from his frame.

“you know i didn’t mean it like that.” i shake my head, pulling the jacket back on and closing the door rushing over to the drivers seat, scared of leaving him alone for even a few seconds. i open the door, sitting down as tom quickly reaches over, planting a sloppy kiss onto my cheek, his breath smelling so strongly of alcohol that it takes me aback.

“i love youuuu.” he says, looking at me and resting his hand on my thigh. i laugh slightly, my heart melting at his attempt to be romantic, even in this state.

“i love you too.” i sigh, turning the engine on as it hums quietly over the radio. tom starts to tap his hands against the dash to the beat at an obnoxiously loud volume, but i am far too tired to even try get him to stop, letting him carry on as i begin the short drive home.

“come on, up the stairs. then we can go to bed, okay?” he let’s out a small “mhm”, kicking off his shoes as he does so, letting them tumble down the stairs, knowing that i’ll be the one to clean his mess in the morning.

he stumbles his way upwards, reaching the top of the stairs and walking into our shared bedroom. his body flops onto the bed, sinking into the sheets with a loud sigh. i pull him upwards, studying the oversized jeans and shirt he is wearing, knowing that he isn’t fit to change clothes himself.

without saying a word, i reach for the hem of his t-shirt, lifting the material over his head.

“woah baby, slow down! if you wanted to fuck you should’ve just asked.” he smiles, taking both of his hands and putting them on my waist, using his tongue to play with his lip piercing.

“we aren’t fucking tom, not when you’re like this. you need to get changed, you can’t sleep in this.” i explain as he sighs in disappointment.

“such a tease.” he mumbles, undoing the button of his jeans and pulling them off, sliding under the covers whilst i get into my own pyjamas, joining him in bed as he quickly holds my waist, his chest against my back, head rested in my neck. he places a long kiss on the bare skin, holding my waist and gently caressing it.

“goodnight.” i say. silence. for the first time tonight, he says nothing. i sigh in relief, shutting my eyes and assuming that he has fallen asleep.

“you sure you don’t want to fuck?”

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #kaulitz twins #kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz #tokiohotel #tokio hotel

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yoonivy · 13 days

Text

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 2.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, eventual smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. no warnings yet!

wc. 9k+ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

“Well look who finally decided to show up!”

Forrest leans on the wooden gate of the training yard, a smirk on his face as he watches the two approaching adolescents. Braeden and Jorah join him as well, curious as to what took you so long. You pout at their obvious stares, amused as they glance between you and the boy by your side.

“I had to ask Maester Garland if Aemond is well enough to walk around outside,” you let them know, now on the other side of the gate.

Braeden hums, turning to Aemond with a friendly smile. “Mornin’ Little Prince.”

Aemond politely greets all your brothers a good morning as well.

“I like the new look, Ae,” Forrest compliments, pointing at his own eye when Aemond turns to him.

“Whoa, it’s just like Butcher Pate’s!” Jorah exclaims excitedly. He put his thumb up out, adding with a resolute nod, “It looks great!”

You and your two other brothers snicker at Jorah’s usual strangeness, while Aemond shyly accepts the compliments.

You hear your name being said, and you glance in slight shock at the one who said it, “-- made it for me,” Aemond says, then throws a small smile your way. Though your heart warms, you feel like you are still dreaming. You still can not believe how fast things have changed. Aemond went from completely ignoring you for weeks , to now smiling genuinely at you and actually knowing and saying your name.

“Yeah, well, you know, it’s nothing. I mean, I just did the embroidery like I told you earlier, Dorothea is the one who did most of the leatherwork – all of it, actually – but I was kind of guiding her the whole time…” you babble, clearly so flustered that it’s you that your brothers are laughing at now.

You glare, about to snap at them, but someone beats you to the punch.

“Shall I just cancel today’s training? Cause you lot are just wasting my precious time,” a man with salt and pepper cropped hair says gruffly, appearing behind your brothers and towers over them. Aemond takes a hard swallow at the sight of him, his rough appearance could scare anyone and anything – who doesn’t know him better.

Forrest bellows out a laugh. “Your precious time you can be spending flirting with Darcy at the tavern?”

Ser Gregory starts blushing so red that even his full beard cannot hide it. “What did I say about spreading gossip, boy?”

“I think it’s sweet,” Jorah muses. “That Ser Gregory found someone so lovely at his old age.”

Braeden smacks the back of his head, but Ser Gregory just chuckles knowing that the boy means no harm by it. “I– Thank you, Lord Jorah.”

“We’ll stop wasting your time,” Braeden says, opening the gate that Forrest had been leaning on earlier. “Come then, little cub, little prince.”

You and Aemond glance at each other, and he makes a small gesture, letting you walk in first. You bow slightly at him before you do.

As he walks in after you, Aemond feels the eyes of Ser Gregory staring him down. He glances up cautiously, meeting the older man’s astute gaze.

“So you are the Dragon Prince who fell from the sky, hmm?” Ser Gregory questions but does not give Aemond a chance to answer when he adds, “I heard many things about you.”

Forrest must have caught the petrified look on Aemond’s face because he laughs goodnaturedly and says, “Don’t worry, all good things.”

Ser Gregory grumbles. “Most good, some–”

Your face twists, silently begging him not to mention anything – that he had found you one night in a hidden corner of the keep, sobbing after another freeze out from the prince.

So he changes the subject, asking the prince instead, “Will you be joining us for training today?”

“The Maester said he shouldn’t,” you relay. “His ribs are not healed enough to do anything too physically demanding.”

Then Aemond lifts his arm, still in a sling. “And my arm… I cannot fight without both.”

“Ey? Is that right?” Ser Gregory’s usual deep tone says an octave higher, clearly tickled. He shrugs the cloak off his shoulders, revealing the long sleeve of his left arm folded and pinned up. Aemond’s mouth parts in a gasp then shuts it tight, trembling as he realizes he had just offended the armless man. “Shall I not fight anymore? Would the training I provide for you lot all be for naught?”

“Oh, Ser Greg, don’t be like that! You know he did not mean any harm by it,” Forrest says with a roll of his eyes, waving his hand after Aemond murmurs a very soft apology, the young boy unable to look the swordsman in the eye.

Ser Gregory grunts roughly, turning on his heels and begins to walk away, to where the others are training. It is his way of letting you all know to follow. Jorah stalks after him, then Forrest (who gives a shrug to Aemond), and then finally Braeden after he tells Aemond not to worry, that Ser Gregory is always unpleasant at the start but he’ll warm up to him soon.

Alone with Aemond once again, you turn to him. “Braeden’s right. Ser Gregory is just… very protective of us. But he is as sweet as he is tough! He is one the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, if not the best!”

Aemond almost blurts out that Ser Criston Cole holds that title, but he bites his tongue, not wanting to cause anymore trouble.

“You can watch from over there,” you tell him, pointing at the wooden benches at the far side of the training yard, closer to where the action is. The two of you start walking together, while you keep talking, “With Dorothea and her friend, Renee. She talks a lot but she’s fairly nice… She fancies Forrest but I don’t think Forrest likes her back like that. I don’t know why ‘cause she’s by far the prettiest girl on Bear Island… Well, after Dorothea of course...” Your mouth quirks down and you shrug, stopping when you are closer to where Ser Gregory and your brothers are. “I guess I’ll see you after training!”

“Okay,” Aemond hums. “See you soon…”

With that, the two of you part ways. You to your brothers, and Aemond goes to join Dorothea at the benches.

“Good morrow, Prince Aemond,” Dorothea chirps with a smile when she sees him approaching. She scoots over a bit, instructing her friend to do the same, giving Aemond room to sit beside her. “You look quite handsome with your new eye patch!”

Aemond blushes. “Thank you… For crafting it for me.”

She waves her hand. “It’s no trouble. You really have to thank my little sister. She pestered me until I could not say ‘no’ anymore.”

The pretty ginger girl beside Dorothea leans across her, pushing her way through the conversation, “So you must be the Targaryen Prince! It is so wonderful to meet you! I’m Renee, by the way, my father’s the tanner that made the leather of your eyepatch! It looks amazing on you! How is it like down south? Is it as beautiful as the tales I’ve heard? What of King’s Landing? Is it nice to grow up there? It must be, the North’s cold is so awfully dreadful —”

Dorothea chuckles to herself, giving Aemond an apologetic smile. Knowing he won’t get a word in until Renee wears herself out.

Eventually Aemond answers all her questions and while that happens, the training begins. The three of them watch you, your brothers, and Ser Gregory in rapt attention. Though Aemond finds himself keeping a closer eye on you than the others.

Although you are not as coordinated as your older brothers, you can still hold your own. He would even dare say you are as good as his younger brother Daeron and definitely better than his older brother Aegon. It makes him wish he was not injured, so he can pick up a sword and challenge you to a duel. Another time, perhaps.

Aemond’s daydreaming gets interrupted when the training also gets interrupted, by three soldiers approaching you and your brothers. “Lord Braeden!”

As they talk to your oldest brother, Aemond overhears a couple words being said.

Dragon. Back. Clearing.

Aemond stands up suddenly, just as Braeden looks over at him and shouts, “Little Prince! It seems your dragon has returned!”

---

The trek back to the clearing you had found Aemond and his dragon is a lot easier now than that first night. You, your brothers, and even Ser Gregory accompany the young prince to her, the dragon you had learned is named Vhagar.

Aemond had asked your family to keep an eye out for her. He was worried when she had been gone for so long, but now he guesses she was just flying around the North, perhaps hunting for food.

When you once again step foot in the clearing she had made herself, Vhagar huffs out. Though this time, she seems relieved, seeing her little dragon prince in one piece and standing tall.

You are in awe at the sight of her. That night you first saw truly did not do justice to how magnificent she really is.

“She is the largest and oldest dragon in all of Westeros,” Aemond says proudly, beaming at the look on your face.

“Whoa… Then you must be very special to be the one riding her, huh, Ae?” Forrest asks, in quiet disbelief that such a small boy has tamed such a mighty beast.

Ser Gregory grunts, but you can tell he is also awestruck.

There is a phantom pain that strikes Aemond’s right eye, a reminder at what it cost to get Vhagar. He flinches with a hiss, blinking back tears. Luckily everyone’s gaze was on the dragon, not noticing the tormented look on the young boy’s face. “Yes… I suppose so…”

Then he makes a move, walking towards his dragon.

Jorah is the first to try to follow, but Ser Gregory pulls him back from the collar of his shirt. “I will only allow the prince to see his dragon. The rest of you will stay here.”

You and your brothers all make noises of complaint, but ultimately, you listen to him. So with one final look back, Prince Aemond walks the rest of the way to his dragon, alone.

The familiar sight of Vhagar clenches at Aemond’s heart, realizing how much he misses his home. With a small coo, her head dips, allowing him to stroke her snout with his good hand.

“Have you been eating well?” He asks her. “I hope you have not been eating any of the bears on this island. That might anger the Mormonts, you know.”

Vhagar huffs, looking away in guilt, and that makes Aemond laugh. “It’s alright, I will not tell your secret. But no more!”

Vhagar’s head dips again, maybe in understanding, before she gestures it to the side, seemingly wanting for him to ride her. To fly back home.

Although he misses home, Aemond finds himself shaking his head.

He leans in and whispers to his dragon, “It’s okay, Vhagar. I…” He looks back, smiling to himself when he sees your family there, still waiting for him despite it being so cold, “I want to stay for a bit longer.”

As more days passed, the prince’s wish to stay a bit longer changed to a lot longer. And as the proposed date for him to travel home gets closer, the more he dreads it.

He loves his home, his family, don’t get him wrong. But these past month and half with the Mormonts has been one of the happiest times he has had in his life.

Aemond became fond of the rambunctious and joyous breakfast and dinners your family had every day. Likes that he can go to Braeden for anything, how Forrest can always make him laugh, that Jorah tells him all his silly fantasies, and that he is always one of the first people Dorothea goes to try out her new dessert recipes. He likes how your mother and father treat him like he is one of their own, how gentle Maester Garland is when treating him.

And like what you and your brother said, Ser Gregory eventually also warmed up to him. He learned a lot from the older swordsman, becoming much better at wielding just a sword without any shield. His footwork and dexterity also improved during the short time he had training with Ser Gregory.

But what he likes the most is, well… You .

He likes how you always seem to be the first person he sees in the morning, and last he sees at night. The way you would share all your favorite things with him, so excited all the time, that he starts to do the same. It makes him so happy how your eyes light up when he does so. You two become so attached to the hip that he wonders how he is going to go on without by his side when the time finally comes. How can he even smile ever again when your smiling face is not there for him to look upon?

All that – that has made him so happy, is also the reason he is so dejected on the morning he is to leave with your father and some of his men back home to King’s Landing. He has not even left yet, but he is already missing you and your family and the whole of Bear Island.

He does not realize it – too stuck in his own feelings – that he misses how silent the usually loud family breakfast is that morning. That he wasn’t the only one looking down at his plate, pushing the food around, appetite lost. You frown, trying to catch his eye, but he does not look up, also frowning down at his plate.

Aemond is so sulky, choosing to bolt to his chamber as soon as breakfast is finished that you do not even have the chance to talk to him at all today. He had even refused your visit to him in the early morning.

You take such a heavy sigh – one more appropriate for an elderly person who has had enough of the world instead of such a young girl like you – that Forrest can’t help but have a chuckle. You glare at him, but he soothes the frown on your face with the back of his knuckles. “Don’t worry, little cub. I’m sure Ae is just as sad as we are.”

But that sentiment makes you frown even deeper. You did not want him to be sad, you want him to always be happy.

Noon arrives and you find yourself standing with your family at the docks of Bear Island. Your father is already getting the ship ready, along with Ser Gregory and some other men – but the boy of the hour, Prince Aemond, is not even there yet.

Your brother, Forrest, volunteered to stay behind when the prince refused to come out of his room. He said to leave it up to him to get the prince out.

That was over an hour ago, and you are starting to get worried that Aemond will hole himself in that room and never come out. Though before you can really start, you hear your mother sigh with relief. “There they are.”

Turning, you follow her line of sight.

“Sorry for the wait!” Forrest calls out, the little prince running behind him, trying to keep up. There is a bag slung over your brother’s shoulder, and he addresses it a second later, “Just had to pack up all the little prince’s things.”

Aemond did not have many things when he fell on Bear Island – actually, he had nothing at all, even losing his eyepatch. All the clothes he wore during his time on Bear Island were Jorah’s and all of that were already returned yesterday. So that big bag he had packed… It must be all the gifts you had gifted him. Your heart swells at the thought. You even see the many paintings you had made for him in a roll, sticking out of the bag.

When they reach your family, that is when Aemond begins to bid farewell to everyone – one by one. It is sweet to watch just how close Aemond and each of your family members (and also those closest to your family) became. They laugh, they hug, they exchange words of promises to see each other someday soon — Septa Earla even cries, kissing both of Aemond’s cheeks.

Finally, it was your turn and when Aemond steps in front of you and faces you, you give him a wobbly smile and he gives you one just as unsure back. Stomach dropping, you can finally admit to yourself that you did want him to leave.

“You have to write to me,” you say, sniffing away the incoming tears. “I’m not asking. It’s a demand.”

Aemond chuckles, wetly. “Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” he says, then he licks his lips, also trying not to shed any tears. “I will write every day.”

This time, it’s your turn to laugh. “Every week will suffice. I don’t need to be spoiled.”

“But I want to,” he blurts out. Then shyly, he glances down and murmurs, “I will spoil you. I will send you as many gifts as you have given me.”

Your breath catches when he glances back up, looking determined now. “You have my word, Lady Mormont.”

“I hope you don’t think that giving gifts will make me go easy on you when we finally have our one-on-one duel,” you tease with a grin. “Because I know I can beat you with my eyes closed.”

It almost offends Aemond, almost. Then he realizes you were not being unkind or making fun of him like he is used to with his brothers and nephews. No, it was not like that at all. This is like a joke, shared between… friends.

That makes him laugh joyfully, smiling so big. “Alright, I do not wish for you to go easy on me. We will duel fairly when I visit again.”

“Soon?” You ask, hopeful.

He nods firmly. “Soon.”

And then you are hugging him. It takes him by surprise, staggering back slightly, but soon he is melting into it. The tightness in which you are hugging him hurts his still healing arm – already out of the sling – but he bites through the pain, wanting to hold you a bit longer.

Neither of you let go until you both hear Ser Gregory calling from the ship, letting everyone know that they are sailing soon.

It has Aemond squeezing you in his arms one last time, his heart heavy yet elated at the same time.

He truly is already missing you… His first real friend.

---

True to his word, you receive a raven from Aemond as soon as he is settled back home, a moon and a few weeks since his departure from Bear Island.

It is a short message – one can only fit so many words in the tiny raven scroll – but he writes that he already misses you and your family, that he made sure that his father sent a few of his best men to accompany your father back to the port that they had landed their ship at, and that you should be getting a proper, longer letter from him soon. It had confused you what he had meant, but a week after your father and Ser Gregory had returned, a man – who is definitely not dressed warmly enough for the weather of the North – arrives on Bear Island.

He comes bearing gifts and a long written letter from Aemond. Your father is in shock, it has been quite a long time since a courier had visited the island. The last time he can recall was when his mother, your grandmother, was still alive, and would have couriers coming to-and-fro from Highgarden, receiving letters from her friends and family back home. It is an expensive service, but the courier assured your family that the Queen had paid him handsomely for it, and that your House has no need to give anything else even though he will be waiting at the tavern inn to deliver back whatever you wanted to give the young Prince.

When Aemond said he’d spoiled you, he was not joking in the slightest. In the box that you had received from him were gifts of the finest qualities: oil paints in every shade of the rainbow, paint brushes of many shapes and sizes, and ink and varying quills for the letters you will write back to him, and a book that he writes is one of his favorites. There were gifts for your siblings as well, but you definitely got spoiled the most.

But your favorite thing that Aemond gave you is his letter. You find yourself going to the guest chamber he used to reside in, sitting on a stool beside the bed, pretending it is like the mornings when he was actually there, the conversations the two of you used to have before heading to break fast. As you read, you can hear his voice, as if he was there beside you.

Aemond writes about his first week back. Everyday, he was surprised with his favorite foods during meals. How his father actually spent some time with him in between his busy schedule. That even his older brother, Prince Aegon, was kind to him. He writes about how his sister loves the paintings you made – she even has one hanging in a golden frame in her bedchamber now. His mother wants to meet your family, and Ser Criston was impressed by what Aemond had learned from Ser Gregory. He wished you could have seen the friendly duel between the two warriors, how the cheers in the training yard during it could rival the cheers of an official tourney. In jest, Aemond says he will not reveal who the winner was. (Later, when you ask Ser Gregory, he tells you it was him, of course. You are not sure if you believe him.)

Aemond tells you other things, more mundane happenings in his day to day life, but you enjoy it all just the same. Then he ends the letter with how he is writing this under the heart tree within the Red Keep, pretending it is the one on Bear Island where he would accompany you when you wanted some peace and quiet away from your siblings.

It makes me happy being here , he writes, I often visit it now.

It makes me think of you.

I hope you are thinking of me too.

You go to the Godswood of your own home later, and sit by the Weirwood tree with the book Aemond gifted you. As you read, you smile to yourself, then look up at the sunlight that peeks through the limbs and branches of the tree. Beaming wider, you say to the sky, “I am.”

It goes like that for many moons.

Ravens and couriers going back and forth from King’s Landing to Bear Island. Letters after letters, gifts after gifts. You get embarrassed how homely the things you give Aemond are – all are just things you’ve made and not anything fancy at all like what he has given you – but he assures you that he loves it all. The letters, since there is an abundance, often came with no real substance or new story to tell but neither of you got bored, just content to receive anything from your friend.

But you have to admit, you are starting to get really lonely without your friend there with you. When you catch sight of your sister and Renee, Forrest and his training buddies, Braeden and his two best friends who he grew up with since he was a babe, and Jorah and the big group of friends he hangs out with… You feel so awfully alone.

You did not want to be greedy. Aemond is already doing so much. The letters, the gifts, the courier his family had hired… You were grateful for it all, but still, you could not help but write on the scroll you attached to the raven you send to him:

I wish you were here.

You don’t hear from him for weeks after that, which is odd. It has you scared you had creeped him out. Like you are a child throwing a tantrum for having your favorite toy taken away.

But then, just when you are about to lose hope, thinking you had lost your best friend… A dragon you instantly recognize, flies around overhead of the Mormont Keep before landing on the clearing that she now has claimed as her own.

Exhilarated, you and your brothers run to the clearing, meeting the prince just as Vhagar lands. You tackle him into the tightest hug, falling over in a heap on the ground when your brothers join in.

At his arrival, your mother has the housekeepers make up the guest chamber, though now it seems to be Aemond’s official bedchamber in your home. He brings with him a bag of clothes, and it has you asking if he is staying long which he nods and says yes. Your father and mother also question how long he is going to stay, and he tells them his mother says he can stay for a moon or two — without looking them in the eye. They found it odd, but who are they to go against the prince’s or the queen’s word?

It is all fun and games, you and Aemond are having the time of your lives — until the raven from the Queen comes just a week and half after he landed.

It seems Aemond had actually ran away – or more so, flew away — from home when his father and mother did not give him an answer fast enough for when he could go visit you. The queen writes that she wishes for him to come back home, and that when he returns, they will figure out a more proper visit.

Just like that, Prince Aemond being royalty is completely forgotten, and the mama bear in your mother comes out. She scolds him like how she scolds her own children, and you and Aemond are both crying at the end of it. He goes back home the next day, but before he does, your mother reassures him that she is still fond of him and he is always welcome back, but to never do that again, not without the permission of his parents. Understanding, he has his head dipped low as he hugs her goodbye, before turning to you to do the same.

Your parents and the Queen begin to correspond after that. They make a plan that the Queen will be the one to write the letter asking your parents if Aemond can visit for a couple days along with her official seal, and when your parents answer back with a confirmation, that is when she will allow Aemond to fly Vhagar to Bear Island.

Years pass like that. Letters coming in weekly, and Aemond visiting every three or so moons.

On the third year, you get word that Aemond will be visiting for a week to celebrate yours and his 16th name day together. It has been a yearly tradition since the two of you became friends, but this year… You think it might be a little bit different.

As you read the raven scroll he had written you – knowing that he is already on his way on his mighty dragon – a nervousness, like the wings of many butterflies, flutters in your stomach. You do not know how or even why it happened, but ever since his last visit two moons ago, you had begun to develop feelings for your best friend.

It is not like much has changed. He is still just Aemond. Perhaps a little bit taller, his voice breaking more often now and slightly deeper, and his hair longer – but that’s it.

Then again… Though he is still lean, he definitely looks a bit broader, the muscles in his arms more defined. You press your hand on your lower stomach when you remember the feel of his arms around you, a strange and unfamiliar heat there as you get dizzy at the thought.

That memory was not of a hug Aemond had given you. It was from his last visit, when you finally got the permission from your parents to be able to ride Vhagar with the prince. It was something you had been begging them to let you do for years, and they finally agreed, thinking you are old enough and that you had proven yourself responsible enough to do so. You remember Aemond’s hand clasped in yours, both running while laughing through the pathway of Vhagar’s clearing. Your two chaperons, Forrest and Ser Gregory, trailing far behind the two of you, there to make sure no one gets hurt. You recall the fond look on Aemond’s face when you stroke the scales on Vhagar’s face, the she-dragon purring at your touch.

“I think she likes you more than she likes me,” he had told you with his lopsided, winning smile. Then he lifted you up to help you climb up the netting onto the dragon’s mount, strong enough to do it on his own without your brother and Ser Gregory. He followed after you with practiced ease, sitting himself just behind you.

You were excitedly waving to Forrest and Ser Gregory when you felt Aemond lean in closer to you, his chest pressing against your back and his arms securely around you. That was when the nerves started to kick in and at the time, you thought it was because you were about to fly on a dragon for the first time. See the world from above for the first time. You had been sure that was the only reason why.

Aemond instructed you to hold onto the handles in front of you, while he grabbed onto the strap of the rope. Once you do and once Aemond made sure you are ready and good to go, both fastened to the saddle, he begun to command Vhagar to take off in High Valyrian.

And then the two of you are flying, high in the sky. It was so exhilarating. You had never felt anything like it before. You looked down on Bear Island, your home, and it looked like it was a part of the miniature, wooden villages that Maester Garland liked to craft in his spare time.

It made your heart soar. You felt so at peace, letting your eyes shut as the wind blew through your hair. You felt so safe in Aemond’s arms, not worrying at all that you were thousands of feet off the ground.

You remember looking back at Aemond, grinning, only to find him already looking at you. That same fond look he had given you earlier when you were petting Vhagar. It made you take an audible swallow. In that very moment, it seems like there was a shift between you and the dragon prince.

That was when he leaned in closer — so, so close, that you thought foolishly he was about to kiss you — but he turns his head and whispered in your ear instead, “I think I…” he stopped, licked his lips and tried again, “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

Ah… That’s it. That’s when it happened. You laugh to yourself now, thinking about sweet, naive, and younger by merely just a few moons you, thinking you are just going on an exciting dragon ride with your best friend, not knowing what will happen next. That those words that your best friend had said would replay in your mind over and over and over again; keeping you up at night, distracting everything you do, until you got butterflies in your stomach every time you thought of the small smile he gave you after he said those words.

And so here you are now, more nervous than excited for your best friend to arrive to celebrate your name days together, just because you had realized your stupid newfound feelings for him.

Before, you did not care for how you looked in front of anyone, let alone Aemond. But now, you’ve been pacing back and forth from the mirror standing beside your bed to your wooden closet, changing in and out of different dresses. Nothing looked right, nothing made you feel pretty enough. With a frustrated huff, you settled for a dark green dress — maybe in the back of your head, you wore it to pay tribute to Aemond’s mother side of the family, the Hightowers, and your own House.

Next, you decide to tackle your hair. Sitting down at the vanity, you take your hair brush in one hand and the other clenches in a determined fist. You always wore your hair down, unruly and wild. It is only when your mother or Septa Earla manages to catch you that you begrudgingly head back to your chambers to brush it and pin it back. Today, neither of them have to tell you anything, you want your hair to look nice and beautiful. But you are not at all practiced, and even the simplest braid you try to weave together looks wonky and weird. It is times like this that you wish you were more like Dorothea, all lady-like and proper and gorgeous, with a million suitors lining up to court her. Maybe then you wouldn’t even need to do all this for Aemond to return your feelings.

Sighing, you thread your fingers through your hair, letting the failure of a braid untangle and just letting your hair be loose yet neat. You look at yourself in the mirror, guessing that this would be the best you could do. You dare not ask Dorothea to help out because your sister is clever and she will certainly be asking questions about why you are trying so hard to look so… nice.

And you are not ready to have that talk with anyone yet. Or at all.

It must have been going on for at least a minute, but you are so in your head that you only hear the knocking on your door when it is accompanied by the voice that you had longed to hear — and now, the one that sets you up in a panic.

You shoot up from the chair — hitting your knee on the underside of the vanity in the process and thus knocking all the various little objects on your desk over as you curse out loud at the stabbing pain where you had hit yourself. A concerned call of your name can be heard from the other side of the closed door, and you answer back with ‘Just a second!’ as you scramble to straighten up all the things that fell over, before hurrying to the door.

When you open it, you are greeted with the handsome face of your best friend. The sight of him takes your breath away. Aemond has always been otherworldly looking – with his pale white hair and unique colored eye – but seeing him now, it really hits you how ethereal he really is. It has you staring dumbly at him, his own violet eye is set on you. He gives you a slow glance over; his pretty, pink lips quirking up in a smirk. Worriedly biting down on your own lip, you wonder how disheveled you look right now. Was all that fussing over your appearance and the million outfit changes all for nothing?

“So you did not welcome me when I arrived, and now I do not even get a ‘hello’?”

That has you snapping out of your thoughts, exhaling out a laugh as you jump forward to throw your arms around him. He catches you with ease, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifts you off the ground, spinning you around. It has the two of you laughing, you into his neck while you feel him smile against the crown of your head. It has your heartbeat racing dangerously fast, and so when your feet touch the ground, you quickly take a step back to create a bit of distance from the prince. Just in case you do something that you will probably regret, the feeling of his lips on you had you wishing you could feel it elsewhere – everywhere else.

“I did not even know you’ve arrived,” you tell him, confused. “I’m sure I would have heard Vhagar… Did you travel here in a different way?”

Aemond laughs, shaking his head. “No, I came how I’ve always did… Jorah told me they’ve been calling for you as soon as they saw Vhagar flying in, but you did not answer.”

“Oh…” You murmur, giving him a crooked and apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve been a little…”

Aemond’s eye brow quirks in a silent question, peeking into your room and then grinning at the mess he sees inside, at the heaps of different colored dresses thrown carelessly on the floor. “... Preoccupied?”

Playfully glaring at him, you put a hand on his chest, pushing him backwards while also closing your door behind you with the other.

“Let’s go,” you say haughtily, walking ahead of him in a huff that has him laughing behind you. “You must be famished from the travel.”

Though before you can take another stop, Aemond clasps his hand around your elbow, forcing you to stop abruptly to look back at him in question.

“You look beautiful, by the way…” Is what he tells you. You nearly die on the spot with how your heart seizes at the way he smiles at you, all soft and shy, reminding you of the boy he once was and not the confident young man he has grown to be. “I just thought you should know.”

Does he even know how disarming he is? How he has taken a hold of your foolish, girlish heart without so much as trying?

You are not sure if you can keep yourself from doing something stupid in the next week, and it terrifies you because… It will probably ruin your friendship with your Targaryen prince forever.

Thankfully, you manage to keep your head on straight throughout the next few days, even though you spent ninety percent of your days and nights with the one causing you to lose it. You were quite proud of yourself that no sudden outburst of your feelings for him has slipped through your mouth – and that is a hard feat, since you are one to always say what is on your mind.

Aemond is none the wiser. After your initial nervousness around him, you are quick to get back to how you two normally are – thanks to his help. It’s nice to know that despite your changing feelings for him, you can always be yourself around Aemond.

On the morning of his name day, you head to training with your prince and brothers, all laughing and joking around. Forrest is mostly the butt of joke, since he is groaning and whining after eating too many pancakes at Aemond’s birthday breakfast.

Like every year since the tradition started of celebrating your name days together, on Aemond’s day, breakfast is grand to celebrate the prince’s life. But the real party is always celebrated two days after – during supper – when it is your name day. You are not at all mad to share the spotlight with the prince. In fact, it makes you even happier.

But this time, you are anxious about the upcoming celebration. Not about the party itself, but about the present you are planning on gifting Aemond. You have been going back and forth on it, and now it is already too late to really give him anything else. Besides, you can’t give him another set of knitted gloves, one that he could only use when he visits Bear Island because it’s too warm for it down south. So perhaps, you can whip up another painting of the prince on Vhagar’s back in two days…

“What’s on your mind?” Aemond asks, bumping his elbow on your side to grab your attention. “You’ve gone all quiet and… strange, again.”

“Strange…?” You question, nervously laughing. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know… Just…” He sighs, shaking his head dolefully. “Nevermind.”

You really thought you had been acting normally, but maybe you had not been. You don’t know whether you should try to explain it to him or not. But before you can even make up your mind, you arrive at the training grounds, and Forrest is putting his arm around the prince’s shoulder, pulling him to where the new equipment and training dummies are set up.

Training begins and you still have not had the chance to talk to Aemond. You could hope you don’t look as miserable as you feel.

At least you weren’t alone in your misery.

Jorah is antsy beside you, mopey as well. Clearly not wanting to be there for various reasons. He had confided in you a few moons back that he just doesn’t enjoy sword fighting anymore, that he would rather spend his time at his apprenticeship with the tanner. He thought it was unfair that Dorothea had been given permission to opt out of training, but just because he is a boy, he had to keep it up.

Another reason for Jorah’s ire from training is that it’s the one place where he has to watch the girl of his dream clearly so smitten with someone who is not him. That someone being your older brother, Forrest.

Braeden joins you and Jorah – off to the side, away from everyone else – and laughs at the heated glare on Jorah’s face directed towards Forrest who is entertaining a group of pretty girls by the benches. You are frowning too, seeing Aemond by his side, also getting those kinds of looks from the girls.

“Chin up, little brother,” Braeden says, tapping his knuckles lightly under Jorah’s chin. Then he turns to you and does the same, “And, you too, little cub.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jorah huffs, eyes rolling off to the side, having had enough of all the flirting he had just witnessed. “Can I just go? I have more important things to do…”

It is Braeden’s turn to frown. “Look, I know you hate it but… You have to know how to fight. What if your future lady gets into trouble and you don’t know how? What if that ends up costing her life? And besides…” Braeden sighs, gesturing his head over to where the loud group of giggling girls are to prove his point, “Girls love a good warrior.”

Jorah rolls his eyes again, but can’t help but longingly look in that direction anyway – at the beautiful redheaded girl who is the reason he even started his apprenticeship at the tannery in the first place.

“You’re right,” Jorah says, patting Braeden’s chest before he starts walking towards the group with purpose.

You exchange a look with your oldest brother, muttering out, “Oh no…”

And then the two of you are after him, Braeden calling out, “Wait, that’s not what I meant–”

“Forrest!”

The noisy group immediately quieted down, all turning to see the man marching towards them with the most determined look on his face. Dorothea, who is sitting by herself just a few benches away from Forrest, Aemond, and her best friend, heaves a heavy sigh; face palming and whispers low to herself, “Oh boy… Here we go…”

Forrest grins, turning his body and giving his full attention to his youngest brother. “What is it, little br–”

“I challenge you–” Jorah points his wooden training sword towards Forrest, “– to a duel!”

There is a hushed murmuring throughout the training yard. Forrest looks a bit taken aback, but he is quick to recover, smiling wide with a cool shrug. “Sure, that sounds fun!”

Jorah scoffs at how easygoing his brother is, avoiding the questioning look from the girl who has his heart.

Ser Gregory breaks away from where he is training some of the younger kids, clapping his hand on his chest jovially at what he had heard. “Ey, finally! Something exciting!”

As your two brothers get ready for their match, you join the others that have gathered to watch, creating an impromptu circle around them.

“May I?” It is Aemond, asking if he could take the empty spot beside you.

“Of course,” you say like it is stupid for him to even ask.

He chuckles at your pout and way your brows drawn together, says under his breath as he stands beside you and looks ahead, “Bellus.”

You know it is Valyrian without even asking, but at this point in your friendship, you know better than to ask. Aemond usually only lets you privy to the translation of the words if he wants you to know, which is most of the time. But sometimes, there are words he likes to keep secret – you do not know why. You just hope it all means good things.

A loud cheering erupts as the match is set to begin. You and Aemond join in, though more subdued.

“Who do you think will win?” Aemond asks, slowly ceasing his clapping when your two brothers start clashing swords.

“I do not want to say it out loud,” you answer him. “But I think we both know.”

Aemond hums in agreement.

And just like that, as soon as the fight started, it was over in no time.

Forrest’s boisterous laughter fills the air and tells the young man glaring at the ground, “You’ll need to get better if you want to best me, my dear brother.”

He tries to give a hand to help up the defeated Jorah, but it gets swatted away.

“Well, that was…” Ser Gregory begins, eyeing Jorah as he hobbles away from the circle with Forrest catching up after him. “Interesting, yes… Anyone else? We are all here, anyway!”

The crowd murmurs, everyone looking around. That is when you feel movement beside you, and your eyes widen as you realize it was Aemond, stepping up to break out of the circle.

Ser Gregory bellows out a joyful laugh, “My prince, atta boy! And who will you be challenging?”

“I would like to challenge…” trailing off, Aemond smirks, clasping his hands behind his back, looking so regal and self-assured that you swear you could hear every girl in the crowd swooning. It has you making a face, trying so hard not to feel possessive jealousy but you could not help it.

“Lady Mormont.”

You do not know which was more unattractive; the grimace on your face or the way you gasped when Aemond turned to look back at you.

“Me?!” You gape at Aemond, looking at him like he had grown three heads.

He nods, the grin on his face saying ‘yes, you’.

“We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? How one day we shall face-off to see which one of us is the better fighter?”

Yes, when we were children, you wanted to tell him. When I did not care if you would ever see me as something more.

Aemond’s head tilts, “Why not today?”

At this point you could not possibly refuse and back down. Everyone around you is already cheering you on. If Ser Gregory did not have appearances to keep up, you were sure he would be jumping up and down as he begs you pretty, pretty please to accept the prince’s challenge.

So that is what you do.

Looking Aemond straight in his violet eye, you say evenly and with a curtsy, “Then I accept your challenge, my Prince.”

It has him catching his breath, closely watching you as you walk past him to retrieve a wooden sword for the duel. It is not often that you call him by his title, but when you do…

Aemond’s hand flexes at his side, chuckling to himself, before he follows after you.

Getting yourself ready for the fight, you take a deep inhale, holding it in for a couple long seconds, and then exhaling out. It is an attempt to calm your nerves, but it did not really do the job. Instead what does is when you find your sister’s gaze in the crowd, her calling out that she’s rooting for you, and then Braeden’s right after, telling you to kick Aemond’s ass — ‘Respectfully,’ he adds, towards the prince.

That has you exchanging a laugh with Aemond, and he wets his lips before asking, “Are you ready?”

You take your place in front of him, both of you standing in the middle of the circle. “As I’ll ever be.”

When Ser Gregory gives the command to put your blades up and engage, neither you or Aemond make a direct move to go at each other. Instead, you both found yourselves circling the other, as if in a dance. There is a smug smirk on his face as he kept his eye on you, you did not know if you wanted to hit it off or kiss it off. Probably, both.

You know he will not be the one to make the first move, so instead of putting off the inevitable, you take the first strike. He dodges it with such grace that you cannot help but to be in awe, allowing him to counter with his own attack. Luckily, you were quick to block it, wooden swords clashing together with a loud clank . But he has the upperhand now, forcing you to retreat backwards with every parry of his sword against yours.

Getting closer and closer to the crowd, you knew you had to move away before you bump into any of them. So the next time Aemond swipes his sword, you duck under it, fleeing to move yourself back closer to the middle of the circle. He turns his heel so he can face you again, but that gives you a chance to be on the offense again. You slash, and slash, and slash, but each one is deflected. You knew you had to change your strategy, think quickly on your feet…

So you lunge forward, aiming at Aemond’s left shoulder. Just like you thought, he blocks it without much effort. But that left him open, and you kick your foot out, causing him to trip when your boot collides with his ankle.

He falls on his back, and you press the tip of your wooden sword on his chest. His eye slowly opens, staring into yours.

The crowd’s cheers are deafening, but neither you or Aemond seem to hear, so focused on each other. As if you two were the only ones on that training field.

That is when it dawns on you what you had just done, the anxiety mixing in with the shortness of your breathing from the fight.

You so desperately wanted Aemond to see you as a lady. Someone pretty and delicate. Someone he can see a future with.

But here you are, knocking him off his feet, making him fall hard on his back with a groan – on his name day, as well!

What were you thinking?!

A million apologies fall out your lips as you crash on your knees beside him, mixed in with the bunch of times you asked if he was okay.

Though also exhausted and out of breath, Aemond laughs at your worrying. He takes your hand in his and softly says your name – that has you shutting up good.

“I assure you, I am fine,” he tells you as he holds your hand tighter, pressing it against his chest. You swear you can feel the rapid beating of his heart. “More than fine.”

“I…” you say, trailing off when Aemond reaches his free hand up, and tenderly tucks away a flyaway strand of hair that fell from your ponytail. “Okay.”

“And I was wrong,” he says.

Your head tilts in confusion.

Aemond grazes his thumb against your knuckles, smiling at you so prettily that it can rival all the stars in the night sky.

“A lady could fight.”

You cannot stop yourself from smiling too.

Though the dinner party inside was wonderful and grand, you find yourself stepping away outside towards the end of it, to have a moment to yourself. It is a beautiful night out here in the Godswood, the stars above so bright, as if welcoming you into this new era of your life.

You can not believe you are sixteen now. More a woman now than a girl, as your mother had said earlier the evening. You suppose she is right. Only a woman would suddenly have such confusing feelings over someone who she had thought of for so long as just her best friend.

You laugh at yourself out loud.

“May I get in on the joke?”

You turn around to see Aemond leaning on one of the other trees that surround the big Weirwood tree. He had been watching you, though you had no clue for how long.

“It’s nothing,” you tell him, still giggling to yourself but you try to shake yourself out of it. “I… I think I’ve had too much wine.”

He pushes himself off against the tree, striding his way to you. “You’ve only had a cup. I did not think you to be such a lightweight.”

“Shut up,” you pout, pushing him lightly when he gets close enough.

“It’s good though… Do not be a drunkard like my older brother.”

From all the stories you have heard about Prince Aegon from Aemond, you shiver at the thought. “Don’t worry. I will not.”

Aemond chuckles at how utterly disturbed you seem to be at the notion, then joins you in looking up at the stars. A comfortable silence falling between you.

“Did you like my present?” Aemond asks after a while.

“Of course I did! How could I not?” You say, perplexed that he is even asking. As if you could ever dislike anything he has given you. And this present was probably the most extravagant of them all. It is a gorgeous gown, one of a kind and made by the Queen’s and Princess Helaena’s personal dressmaker. The Queen herself assisted Aemond in picking out the colors and design – a creamy white chiffon over a floral patterned silk under to mute the already paled colors of the silk – the billowy sleeves of the dress off-the-shoulder. Scandalous in your part of Westeros, but perhaps not in the southern cities. You loved it as soon as you set your eyes on it.

“It’s beautiful. I thank you again. I wish I had some special, fancy occasion to wear it to though.”

“I’ll find one,” Aemond declares, sounding so sure of it. “But then again, there is no one to stop you from just wearing it. Who would dare question you when you bested a Targaryen Prince in a duel?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “I will not disrespect your mother – the Queen, by the way – by wearing the beautiful dress she helped make for me out at the training grounds.”

Aemond holds his hands up defensively, grinning at your feistiness. “Alright, alright, it was merely just a suggestion.”

Then you sigh, crossing your arms together. “I suppose it’s my turn to give you your gift then?”

“I…” Aemond wets his lips, “I hope you do not think that I brought up your present just to remind you of mine.”

Your head shakes at him, amused now. “I did not… But now that you mentioned it…” At your teasing, Aemond opens his mouth then shuts it, only to do it again, looking like a dumb fish. It has you laughing, “I’m joking, Aemond!”

Then you take a deep breath, grabbing the small pouch that you had tucked into the pocket of your dress. It is now or never.

You tell him to hold out his hand, and when he does, you drop the bag gently onto his palm. “Happy name day, Prince Aemond.”

He looks at you expectantly, and when you give him the go ahead, he unties the drawstrings, opening the pouch and letting the content of it drop into his hand.

He lets out a tiny exhale of air, staring in absolute wonder at the sparkling ball of blue. “Is this…” He glances up and into your eyes, his gaze warm and soft, “Sapphire?”

Humming, you nod. “It was given to me by my grandmother. Well, actually, I picked it out. During her final days, she allowed all the women in our family to pick out whichever jewelry they wanted. Her jewels were the only things she had brought here from Highgarden. So while my mother, my sister, my aunts, and cousins were picking out all the pretty earrings, rings, necklaces, and brooches… Guess what my stupid six year old self wanted…”

“This… ball of sapphire?” Aemond answers, picking it up between his fingers, laughing with you when you nod.

“You should have seen the look on all their faces… It was hilarious, looking back now. And then… My grandmother, she just… She laughed and she picked me up and held me close. The joy on her face, the bells of her laughter, it was…” You smile sadly, eyes watering. “She had been so weak and tired for so long before that moment, so seeing that… knowing I was the cause of that– that moment. One of the last happy moments in her life… This ball of sapphire, not only is it the most valuable thing I own, it is also my favorite…” You clasp your hand over his, making him close it around the sapphire ball, staring into his eye as you say, “So please, take care of it.”

Aemond sighs, covering his other hand over yours and pulls your joined hands towards him, causing you to press up against him, gasping. He bends his head down, his forehead touching yours as he murmurs to you, low and sure, “I will treasure it forever.”

If you had known that was the last time you would see Aemond for a long while, you would have… You would have just done it. Done the stupid thing you made yourself hold back throughout his visit. Told him how you felt about him. Kissed him until neither of you could breathe. Anything.

But you do not have any hindsight, and you did not know in the upcoming years, Aemond would be too busy to visit. As he grows older, his royal duties also become more important. No longer a boy, Aemond now has jobs to do, important people to network with, and his training with Ser Criston now more intense and longer.

Though you are sad about the changes, you are not at all angry. Aemond still found time to write to you every week, keeping up with your life as he kept you up with his.

Three years passed like this. Just letters and no visits. Vhagar’s pit has been empty for so long that wild flowers started to grow in it. Your nineteenth name day comes and goes, another sad and lonely year you do not spend with your best friend.

Days, weeks, and moons cycle around. But just when you think another year would go by without seeing Aemond, an invitation arrives:

The House of Mormont are cordially invited to Aegon Targaryen & Helaena Targaryen’s wedding.

---

author's note:

so next chapter... rating is going to go up to explicit if you know what i mean... heh heh. i hope you are all enjoying it thus far, let me know what you think :')

*also, bellus=cute. none of the high valyrian translators have cute in it so i just used the latin word for it :)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd

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cafedanslanuit · 1 year

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i think i got an ex but i forgot him + isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, sae, rin, reo & nagi

♡ — tags/warnings: gn reader + no pronouns, a bit of drama because the topic is exes after all but it's not angst, pettiness, jealousy, slightly unhealthy coping mechanisms but nothing too tw

♡ — a/n: aaaaa this is my first blue lock hcs, i think! i was going to post another one first but this came to me suddenly so here you go <3 hope u enjoy it!

♡ — masterlist

ISAGI ― i... im sorry but he’s the type to ask you to reconsider the break up, whether it ended badly or not, no matter who was in the wrong. you see, he has a plan on how you can really make it work this time around! it only works if you carefully follow these steps and new guidelines, of course. worse part is it actually makes sense, and you could foresee a better relationship you got along with his plan. he's pretty convincing so you might take him up on that idea. however, if you don’t, he will accept it and try his best to move on, which is focusing intensely on his training to try to keep his mind away from you.

BACHIRA ― tries to be friends. just because the relationship didn't work out, it doesn't mean you can't still spend time together as friends, right? friends go on dates sometimes, all friendly, of course! nothing wrong with a couple of friends staying in for a movie night, cuddling, or sharing dessert in a nice little cafe. if he takes your hand, it’s only out of security, so please don’t think he has any ulterior motives! …anyway, it takes him some time to adjust to the new reality of your relationship but still, he will try his best to support you as much as he did when he was your boyfriend. if it ended badly, he'll still try to be as friendly as possible, but a couple of snarky remarks may fall from his lips without him being able to do anything about it.

KUNIGAMI ― he’s very respectful about the whole ordeal. after everything is said and done, he texts you a couple of times days later, genuinely asking how you're doing and it’s very clear he cares about your answer. if you need anything from him, he will offer his help, no questions asked and no retribution needed. after all, he still cares about you, even if it didn’t work out between you too. if the relationship ended badly, he will still be very respectful towards you but try his best to avoid you. a nod and a greeting is all you will get because, soon enough, he will pretend someone is calling him and he’ll go his own way.

CHIGIRI ― for a good couple of months, he’s going to be very uncomfortable around you. what haunts him the most is how difficult it is to get used to the change of dynamics between the two of you; now he’s not sure on how to act or what he’s allowed or not allowed to say anymore. if it ended badly, it's very likely you'll be on the receiving end of some ill quips and snarky comments about you, hitting you just where it hurts. he'll deliver them with the most unamused face, his eyebrow slightly raising as he waits-- no, as he almost invites you to take him on the fight. and if you do, be ready to lose.

SAE ― the moment you decide to call it quits, he completely walks out of your life. from that moment on, you won't hear from him ever again. doesn't matter how fast you check your phone after you've said your goodbyes, you're blocked on all social media platforms, both public and private. to make things worse, your shared google photos album is gone and you're even banned on the official *team* account. hell, he’ll even report the photos of the two of you together so they’re taken down from your account too. doesn't matter if it ended on good and bad terms, only time you'll ever see him again is on a promotional ad for his soccer team on the street or something alike. if he’s asked about you on interviews, he’ll only say it’s not “relevant” and ask for the next question.

RIN ― like his brother, he doesn't take it well either. he's the type to go through your social media at least once a day to see if you posted anything new, and if there's any nrw information he can get from it. so far, he's learnt you've been going out clubbing more often and that you've had a pizza date with one of your friends. he recognized them because on the photo, he could see they were wearing a ring, same ring that shows up on a photo of you too circa 2015. if you have an anonymous questions social media, he miiiight ask you on anon why did you break up with him. only for fun, it's not like he truly cares about your life, evidently. all of this happens while he ignores your greetings in person, feigning he doesn't hear you. you'd never catch him yearning to have you back, and he's gonna make sure of that.

REO ― new year, new model, baby. the best way to get over someone is to get someone else-- at least for him. he might’ve begged you for another chance at first, but once you make him understand you’re truly done, he lets his petty side come out. a couple of days after your final talk, you will have a front-row seat to mysterious instagram stories featuring two drinks, another one with two movie tickets and, of course, a photo taken from the passenger seat of himself driving one of his fancier cars. the way his forearms flex underneath his expensive shirt really gives the photo the edge it needed. but, is he truly dating someone else? probably not. but he’s going to spend every resource he had to make you think he’s replaced you. even if this may all seem unnecesarily mean, he's also the quickest to agree if you ever want to try again. whisper sweet words close to his ear and he's back to his righteous place by your side in no time.

NAGI ― it’s heartbreaking how he acts like he couldn’t care less about your breakup. it seems like the heart-to-heart conversation that ended in you sobbing against his chest while he stroke your back in silence never happened, because when you see him a couple of days later, he raises a hand and greets you, just like he would any other day. to nagi, he’s taken the best decision and is acting the best in an already shitty situation, whether the breakup was amicable or not. he really doesn't want to waste his time in pettiness and resentment, especially after getting to love you for as long as he did. however, his actions may unadventerly hurt you and give you a false image on what’s going on in his heart.

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bebx · 2 months

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Beb if Creelson and Doomreed met eachother, would anyone get along or would it be like fighting cats?

I don’t think Victor would get along with anyone, honestly, unless the partnership benefited him in some way and he could later betray them. Reed is an exception, of course, but even then I think Victor’s still struggling trying to come to terms with the fact that his love for Reed may be genuine, in the sense that a part of him actually wants to have Reed just for himself and he doesn’t really want to betray or hurt Reed; the concept as a whole is confusing and terrifying to him, and Doom doesn’t like being confused or terrified — point is, he’s already struggling enough trying to accept the fact that he loves Reed Richards, I don’t think he can afford trying to genuinely get along with anybody else unless it benefits him.

(that being said, though, I could see him empathizing with Henry and relating to him in more than one way. I think there’d be some unsaid mutual respect between them, but I can’t really see that developing into a friendship.)

but Victor, obviously, cannot stand Eddie.

Henry, I think, would hate Victor at first. maybe Victor even reminded him of Brenner at first, before he got to know him, if he got to know him. and when — if — he knows Victor’s not like Brenner, I can kind of see him stopping trying to actively kill him? but I don’t see a genuine friendship between these two. mutual respect and secret admiration? yes. but not friendship.

on the other hand, I do think Reed and Eddie would get along. Eddie would happily listen to Reed talk about science all day and he’d ask him questions, and Reed would be more than happy to answer him. it’s been a while since someone’s this interested in Reed’s interests without calling him a nerd and bullying him for it, so Reed’s very happy to have Eddie around. and also, Eddie can relate to Reed since they were both bullied, another reason why I think they’d be best friends.

Eddie would tease him about Victor, and when Reed was all blushing, Eddie would just say, “nah it’s cool, my boyfriend’s a psychopath too. see? another thing we both have in common!”

Reed can’t really understand why Eddie’s even with someone like Henry, but he supposes he’s not in the position to make any comments about Eddie’s taste in men when he’s with Victor.

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la-pheacienne · 12 days

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After the avalanche of bad takes inspired by got and hotd I would just like to say that the point of asoiaf is not "feudal power corrupts" and it is not "no one can save Westeros because feudalism bad". I would like to remind you what the function of feudalism in the story actually is, as stated by GRRM:

The medieval setting has been the traditional background for epic Fantasy, even before Tolkien, and there are good reasons for that tradition. The sword has a romance to it that pistols and cannon lack, a powerful symbolic value that touches us on some primal level. Also, the contrasts so apparent in the Middle Ages are very striking -- the ideal of chivalry existed cheek by jowl with the awful brutality of war, great castles loomed over miserable hovels, serfs and princes rode the same roads, and the colorful pageantry of tournaments rose out of a brown and grey world of dung, dirt, and plague. The dramatic possibilities are so rich. ( Source)

Now his notorious statement about Aragorn's tax policy (as much as I vehemently dislike that statement concerning Tolkien, it is still very insightful for GRRM's work) :

Ruling is hard. This was maybe my answer to Tolkien, whom, as much as I admire him, I do quibble with. Lord of the Rings had a very medieval philosophy: that if the king was a good man, the land would prosper. We look at real history and it’s not that simple. Tolkien can say that Aragorn became king and reigned for a hundred years, and he was wise and good. But Tolkien doesn’t ask the question: What was Aragorn’s tax policy? Did he maintain a standing army? What did he do in times of flood and famine? And what about all these orcs? By the end of the war, Sauron is gone but all of the orcs aren’t gone – they’re in the mountains. Did Aragorn pursue a policy of systematic genocide and kill them? Even the little baby orcs, in their little orc cradles? (Source)

Moral relativism right? Nihilism, pessimism, every symbol is doomed to fail, every effort for a better future is doomed to fail because the feudalist structure is inherently rotten. Should we even try then? What is the point in showing a ruler genuinely try? If every leader is doomed to fall victim to external opposing forces and/or corruption or other moral flaw, what is the point in trying? Let's see another statement by GRRM where he explains what asoiaf is actually about:

"In a very basic level winter is coming for all of us. I think that’s one of the things that art is concerned with: the awareness of our own mortality. “Valar morghulis” – “All men must die”. That shadow lies over our world and will until medical science gives us all immortality… but I don’t think it makes it necessarily a pessimistic world (...) the important thing is that love, compassion and empathy with other human beings is still possible. Laughter is still possible! Even laughter in the face of death… The struggle to make the world a better place… We have things like war, murder and rape… horrible things that still exist, but we don’t have to accept them, we can fight the good fight. The fight to eliminate those things.There is darkness in the world, but I don’t think we necessarily need to give way to despair". (Source)

The combination of these statements speaks for itself to someone who has read GRRM's work: the sword has a romance that pistols lack, the dramatic possibilities of the medieval setting are rich, ruling is hard, we can fight the good fight, we should not give way to despair. From that to "No one can save Westeros" the distance is huge and the endpoint is extremely deceptive and also deeply reactionary. If no one can save Westeros, then there is no point in trying to save Westeros. Characters that try to save Westeros, or Essos, or the Wildlings, or anything bigger than their own ass, are not morally superior to others that just benefit from the current status quo or passively tolerate/enable it, since no one can actually do shit and every effort is doomed to fail. Yet this goes directly against the point of asoiaf that can be summed up in the phrase: "ruling is hard". It is hard alright, but the thing is, someone has to do it. Whether that someone has been chosen by the people, or by the gods, or by destiny, or by circumstances, and regardless of the political system that allowed them to yield that power, the point is that someone has power ad hoc at any given time, and power equals responsibility. What do you do with it? How do you govern? How do you choose between two equally grievous alternatives? Who do you listen to? Who do you trust? How can you learn? What if everything you've been told was a lie? How do you move on from there? What if the promises you made contradict each other? What if you fail? How do you live with the guilt, how do you go on? How do you instigate a structural change? What if you try to do that and people die? What if you try to do that and it kills you? Was it worth it? How do you use the power you have? How do you fight the good fight? What makes a fight good?

"Feudalism bad" and "no one can save Westeros" are not just incredibly uninspired catchphrases, they are something much worse: a very nice way of avoiding to answer the real, hard, uncomfortable questions that are the driving force of asoiaf, and a very neat way to justify those who tolerate, enable or reinforce the status quo. Coincidentally, these questions remain the same in every single political system. They are universal. That's why this is a good, relevant, applicable story, that's why we give a fuck even if the context is foreign to us. So spare us the moralizing bullshit please, and thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

#All of these questions are actually stated (and occasionally answered) almost verbatim in the text of certain POVs btw #and y'all would know about it if you gave a fuck about those POVs #but you don't #because your investment in asoiaf starts and ends in certain characters that have nothing to do with all of the above #but don't make it our problem!#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #aspa rambles #daenerys targaryen #jon snow

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lost-in-lamentation · 7 months

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💌💋 - love letter, first kiss.

satan × gen!reader. fluff.

warnings: very brief angry satan.

content: you've accidentally read satan's unfinished love letter to you.

back to the 500 follower event: here.

the sound of a bell rang distantly in your ears. you looked up from your notes with a frown, locking eyes with satan as he cast you a confused look. “MC, don’t you have devildom law in your last block?”

“ah, the study block is done already?” you flipped your d.d.d. over, taking a look at the time. “this class is going to kill me. the more he talks, the less i feel like i know,” you sighed. hastily, you gathered your papers from the table, sliding them into your folder. “pass me my textbook?”

satan leaned forward in his chair, gathering the textbook and the papers underneath it before placing them in your hands. “that teacher was always difficult,” the blond mused while he leaned back again. “if you need help with that class, just ask me. i’ll help you through it.”

your eyes lit up at the idea. “yes please.” satan didn’t expect you to say yes so easily; his eyes flickered with surprise and the tips of his ears turned pink at your eagerness. “you don’t have class this period, right? will you just stay here?”

“most likely. this library is always more peaceful than the study at home.”

“then, can i come back here and meet you after my class?” satan replied with a nod and a dismissive wave, shooing you away before you ended up late for law class.

you barely made it in time, sprinting up to the doorway just as the second bell echoed through the halls. exhaling in relief, you plopped down into your chair and settled your bag at your feet. however, your relief was short-lived. the teacher had begun handing out a surprise test, much to your dismay. but another part of you was glad you didn’t have to listen to another lecture today. by the time you finished your test, more than half of class time had passed. with nothing else to do other than watch the clock tick by, you pulled your notes out of your bag, deciding to double check that your answers for the test would suffice.

when you opened your textbook, an unfamiliar piece of paper fluttered down to the floor. you blinked at it, confused. quietly, you shifted your chair backwards just enough to reach under the desk, swiping it off the ground before straightening back up. with a curious gaze, you unfolded it, the mysterious content revealing itself to you.

My dearest MC. My dearest, MC.

I’ve spent a long time thinking about how I might tell you these things. I considered over a phone call first, thinking that my voice would get my intentions across. But then it occurred to me that if I wanted you to hear my voice, then I should tell you in person. And I realised further that I might not be brave enough to tell you these things face to face just yet. So, I thought maybe just texting you would be the way to go. It was my main plan for some time, until I saw a character in Levi’s anime reject a confession through text because it wasn’t “genuine”. I ended up stumped. At least, until I came across the idea of a love letter in a novel of mine. And so, I’m writing this love letter to you in the hopes that you’ll accept it; accept me. Ever since you’ve come to the Devildom, you’ve taught me more than any teacher, any novel or any tome ever could. Not only have you taught me practical skills, but you’ve also taught me so much emotionally, and that means more to me than anything. For anyone to brave me, the embodiment of wrath, it felt impossible. But you came in, albeit not as quietly as I would have expected a normal human to come in, and tore down the walls I hid myself in. MC, were it not for you, my relationship with my brothers would have taken much longer to improve. I am still learning how to deal with them, and how to deal with my anger, but you taught me that I am more than my anger, and that I am more than the creature that split from Lucifer. First and foremost, I need to say thank you. For being the human that you are. Though you can be chaotic, reckless, and a bit overwhelming at times, I cannot imagine a life without you in it. You’ve weaved yourself a place with me; with everyone. And now that I’ve had you for so long, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go. MC, there are a lot more things I’d like to say. But considering what kind of a letter this is, I have to at least say it once. I

the unsigned letter cut off abruptly. at some point, tears had pooled at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over onto the paper, where a name should have been left. it was no mystery as to who wrote the letter; he had most likely slid it into your textbook by accident while he was trying to help you collect your papers. suddenly, the bell rang loudly, signalling the end of class. you wiped your tears away with the back of your hand, throwing all your belongings into your bag and keeping only the letter in hand as you dashed down the hallways. halfway to the library, you saw satan peering into an empty classroom, expression rather frantic for someone who didn’t have any classes left for the day.

“satan!” you called out to him, sliding to a stop just in front of him.

“MC?” the demon shifted to face you. panic was etched into his gaze, and he had to take a quick breath to calm himself before speaking again. “i’m just looking for something right now, i can meet you in the library after i’ve-”

“is it this?” the letter swayed as you held it out to him, the words clearly visible in it’s unfolded state.

satan acted fast, tearing it from your grasp as his expression changed into something that looked like fear. “where did you get this?” his voice was low, question sounding more like a demand.

“it was in my textbook,” you said as you struggled to catch your breath. “i think you might have put it in there by accident when you were helping me pack up earlier-”

the avatar of wrath turned away from you. “go home,” he snapped, crumpling the letter into a ball.

you took a careful step towards him. “what?”

“i said, go home.” satan trembled ever so slightly, his knuckles white as he dug his nails into his palms. “forget what you read, and don’t ever bring it up to me.”

“wait a minute, let’s talk about this.” you pleaded gently, but satan was stubborn.

without warning, his horns manifested from his head, and his tail became known as it whipped against the floor with a loud crack. “i’ve already embarrassed myself enough by letting you read something that was never supposed to be read by you. i don’t need you to reject me along with it.” he glared at you from over his shoulder, eyes glinting with anger, fear, and for a split second, sorrow. “get out of my sight.”

“would you just-!” satan began stalking away, but you refused to let this, or him, go. you lunged forward, your hand catching his wrist just before he got too far. satan attempted to pull his arm free, jerking it towards himself, but you held strong. you stumbled towards him, causing you to use his body as a pillow instead of smashing directly into the wall. “just listen to me!” you shouted now, glad that hallways were vacated of students at this time of day.

“why should i?!” his voice continued to grow louder as he took a step backwards.

“because i’m not going to reject you!” finally, satan held his tongue. his eyes flashed with doubt, but for a fraction of a second, there was hope as well. “satan,” you breathed his name softly, loosening your grip on his wrist. slowly, you slid your hand down, wrapping your fingers around his. “i really, really liked what you wrote.” you watched as his stare fell to your joined hands. “i wanted to ask about the letter because it wasn’t finished. i…” heat rushed to your cheeks now that you were realising what kind of conversation this was becoming. at some point, your heart had jumped up into your throat, beating so loud that you wondered if satan could hear it. “i want to know how the letter ends.”

the storm that raged in his gaze steadily calmed, clearing into the sea of emerald that you knew so well. “you do?” for once, satan spoke meekly. wrath was gone, replaced instead with a demon who had yet to find his place in this world.

“i do.” little by little, your free hand inched up to his face, hovering just below his chin. when satan made no move to push you away, you took the leap, cupping his jaw and brushing your thumb over his cheek. “how does the letter end?”

satan made a choked sound. the way you treated him so gently was something he could never have imagined for himself. for someone like him, love was just a construct; it was an idea, meant to never fully appear in his lifetime. but here you were anyway, waiting to hear those three words that satan thought he would never get to say. “it ends with…” satan stopped to see your reaction, trying to make sure you weren’t doing this just to get him to calm down. but you remained steadfast, waiting until he was ready. “i love you.” the words tumbled out, the simple phrase stirring a barrage of emotions inside his already troubled soul.

“you know, if i wrote a letter to you, i’d end my letter with the same thing.”

“you would?”

“i would.”

satan stepped closer to you, his face close enough to yours that his breath fanned across your cheeks. he released a shaky breath, fingers tightening around you as he tried to process everything he was feeling.

“satan?” he didn’t say anything in return. instead, he cast you an expectant look; one made up of both fear and wonder. “i love you too.”

the tears fell silently, cascading down his cheeks and onto your hands. tenderly, you pulled his face even closer, smiling at him as you placed a kiss just below his eye. satan shuddered at the action, but he refused to move away. you did the same on the other side of his face, catching his teardrops before they fell to the floor. and when they stopped appearing, you leaned towards him again, lips slotting over his.

satan all but melted into you, affection as strong as his wrath beginning to sweep through him. your lips against his felt both like a tidal wave and an undisturbed lake. your love felt unconditional, unending. and although the situation was a bit chaotic, reckless, and just a bit overwhelming, satan wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

a/n: pls someone get the reference in the love letter pls pls

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me satan #obey me satan x you #obey me satan x reader #obey me satan x mc #satan x mc #satan x you #satan x reader #obey me fluff #aris writes 🐈‍⬛#aris hits 500 🐈‍⬛

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amyispxnk · 6 months

Text

And if you were my little girl

Summary - your dad sucks and you finally turn to Joel for help (summaries are my specialty can you tell)

A/N: SO my dad’s being a little bitchy and making me genuinely want to unalive a little bit, I remembered this song existed, Joel is the father we all wish we had, and here we are. Also I’ve (fortunately) never had to deal with an alcoholic so I’m sorry if it’s not written very well?

Pairing: platonic/father figure!Joel Miller x f!reader (can probably be read as gn tho?)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: paternal issues (i refuse to say daddy sorry), alcohol mention, language, angst, comfort, a lot of tears, father Joel, implications of using certain methods to get things you want, verbal/physical abuse, blood

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Part 2 here

You reckoned you had stopped really taking the words in that he tried to threaten you with a long time ago, letting the curses and attempts to break you apart in through one ear and straight out the other. That way you wouldn’t be able to linger on them for too long; it was better that way.

“Where’s the fuckin’ drinks?” Your dad yelled, stumbling around the kitchen and throwing open the shelves in his search, met with nothing but dust. You skated around him as best you could but after he had almost torn apart the wood trying to find the alcohol, he turned to you.

Red in the face, sweating furiously with a look that could definitely kill you. Hands balled at his sides as he took a step towards you.

“D’you hide it again?” He said menacingly, trying to instil as much fear as he could into you, desperate for the liquid relief.

This time, you hadn’t hidden it. You knew better than to try and help him anymore, he couldn’t be fixed and you had to just accept it. When you were younger, when you were more stupid, more hopeful, you had tried hiding it or disposing of it in secret to try and discourage his alcoholism - only to be met with a split lip and hundreds of salty tears spilling from your eyes, only to be ignored and discarded and yelled at and told you were useless before being sent out to go get more. Sometimes without money, him saying that you’d just have to find another way to get it.

You were so disgusted with the prospect of what he was surely insinuating, but thinking about what he might do if you came back empty-handed was somehow scarier to you at the time.

“Fucking answer me!” He snarled, pulling you up by your collar and glaring at you.

“I didn’t hide it- there’s none left, and there’s no way to get any right now. If you just calm-” You began, trying to keep your voice steady and your face void of too much emotion. You weren’t going to let him do anything. He didn’t scare you anymore.

“Well you best fuckin’ find some, you bitch!” He shoved you towards the door, knocking you onto the hard wooden floor in the process and watching you cry out in pain without so much as batting an eye, too fucking stubborn to even feel any remorse since he was always fucking right about everything like he was now.

“Don’t think about coming back here unless you find me it.” And with that, he slammed the door in your face, leaving you outside the apartment door in the hallway.

You let out a shaky exhale, hands raising and covering your face as you furiously wiped away any tears that threatened to spill. Your hands balled up in your face as you hit your head over and over. You had to think of something. No matter how much of a poker face you put on in front of him, you were still terrified deep down, that feeling would never go away no matter how long you’d been putting up with it for.

You ran through all of your usual options, but you genuinely couldn’t think of one that would work today. It was nearly impossible to get your hands on alcohol in the apocalypse with ration cards, without them you had to resort to other means and you couldn’t bring yourself to do that right now.

Just when you thought that all hope was lost, the familiar and far-too-comforting Southern drawl of Joel Miller sounded from across the hallway.

“Y’alright sweetheart?” He asked cautiously. He had heard some banging coming from your apartment and had opened the door to find you standing there, tugging at your hair in frustration and looking like you were about to explode.

You turned to face him, opening your mouth to speak but not really knowing what to say.

How many times had this happened? How many times had your own father terrorised you for any minor inconvenience and blamed you for everything, made you feel stupid and worthless of any attention or love? And how many times had Joel still given you that attention, that love, or whatever it was. Maybe it was love, maybe he was just being nice to you, but you told yourself that’s what love was since you knew no better. Growing up in this world was cruel enough, but without anyone who truly loved you and liked to make sure you knew that every day, nobody to protect you from the monsters - infected and human - that inhibited it, that felt like the worst fate you could suffer.

So were you alright? No. No, of course you weren’t. But you’d say you were just like you had every time, because you didn’t want to bother people with your ‘issues’. As well as numbing yourself from feeling any intense fear or sadness as a result of your father’s endless torment, you also found it incredibly difficult to take pity on yourself. You always felt like your issues were never that real, that your father had a hard life and maybe you should just let him take it out on you.

“I’m..” you began, mustering up a pathetic excuse for a smile as you glanced from his face to the ground in front of your feet, “I’m fine, thank you.”

You knew the exact expression which would be on his face without even needing to look up, having seen it too many times. That one where he looks worried, his brows furrowed as he tries to pick you apart and figure out what the hell was actually going on, slightly angry too as this kept on happening and you still refused to tell him anything. Did you not trust him? Did he do something wrong? He knew he was threatening to people, that’s what he was known for in the QZ. But he had never done anything to you, he’d always tried helping you but you never talked or anything at all with him.

“Do you um- do you have any beer? Any alcohol would be fine really, I just need it right now. I can pay you but I don’t have any ration cards so it would have to be later on unless you could think of anything…” You trailed off at the end, not wanting to say it and give him the option in case he hadn’t thought of it yet, praying he wouldn’t want that.

“Yeah, I got some.” He murmured, before blinking a few times and opening the door to his apartment again, cogs turning in his brain as he still tried to figure out what happened.

“Come in, don’t need ya standin’ there like a lemon.” He said when you stayed fixed to the ground beneath you instead of following him inside like he had very clearly offered when he left the door open after walking in himself.

“Right.” You nodded as you entered his apartment, closing the door gently behind you and watching him as he went over to his cabinets and reached for some whiskey.

You took in his living space. It was clean, organised. The small entryway led straight into the living room which was linked to the kitchen space, a dusty couch in the centre of the room and a coffee table in front of it. A few books were on the table, along with some slightly cracked glasses. You never took Joel to be much of a reader, clearly you were wrong.

There were 2 more doors which were closed and you could only assume that they were the bathroom and his bedroom.

“Hope this ‘s okay.” He said as he appeared in front of you, bottle of whiskey in hand.

“You’re not drinkin’ this all by yourself, are ya?” A smirk appeared on his face as he attempted the light teasing with you, maybe that would cheer you up a bit.

Your expression bore a smile which faltered and faded quickly. If only he knew.

“No, no. It’s for my dad. He ran out so.. Yeah. How do you want me to pay?” You said quietly. Whatever it took, you supposed.

He noticed the dejected look on your face as you looked up at him. So tired. That’s what came to mind whenever he looked at you. Barely an adult and already looking like you were at death’s door whenever he saw you. Exhaustion clouded all of your features and your mind when you trudged up the stairs, down the corridor and up to your apartment door, entering as your shoulders somehow slumped even more.

“Y’ don’t needa pay, sweetheart.” He told you, and you blinked a few times in confusion.

“Really?” There was no way. Alcohol was so hard to come by, and here he was giving you a bottle for free?

“Yeah.” He nodded, making sure you had a good hold on the bottle before letting go of it and pursing his lips as he thought deeply yet again.

“‘F you ever need to talk or anythin’, I’m always here for ya, okay?” He said before you could leave, making you stop with your back towards him as you stood at the door.

“Thank you, Joel.” You whispered before leaving and returning to your own apartment.

After that, you found yourself on Joel’s doorstep a few more times - you didn’t go every time you needed something, not wanting him to think you were taking advantage of his kindness, so sometimes you were just genuinely hanging out with him.

He had some little books and crosswords, stories to tell you, and one time he’d even come across a VHS tape with a movie from the dawn of time on it which the two of you had watched one evening.

You stayed too late and definitely paid the price for it, but it was worth it, you told yourself as you cleaned the blood from your arms and hissed at the sting of a newly-formed bruise.

Then, one evening, it finally fell apart. He threw you out of the house, quite literally, and you were already knocking on Joel’s door before you could realise what you were doing.

He opened the door and you slammed yourself into him, causing him to let out a little cough as he stumbled back, arms tentatively wrapping around you.

“Woah, woah, y’alright sweetheart?” He asked, taken aback by your sudden action.

“Joel, I- I'm sorry.” You choked out, tightening your hold on him and fisting his shirt.

He ushered you gently into his apartment, closing the door behind you and sitting you down on the couch.

“What's goin’ on? What happened?” He said, watching as you trembled, lip quivering as you tried to formulate a sentence without bursting into tears.

You ultimately failed at that. Only managing the words my dad before a pained sob wracked through your entire body and you were crying into your palms.

Joel rushed to your side, pulling you into him and rubbing his hands up and down your back soothingly.

“‘s okay. You can talk to me, tell me what's goin’ on honey.” He told you, pulling back slowly from you to try and make you look at him, frown deepening on his face when he saw how upset you were.

“He- he- kicked me out, ‘cause I didn't- I lost the cards and- he got too angry at me so then- I was mad at him back and he hurt me so I said I didn't want to stay and he-” You stuttered, trying to actually remember what had happened in the first place then explain it as best you could.

His jaw clenched with anger. How could someone do that to their own child? Your father had clearly put you through so much emotionally and physically, and you had done nothing wrong. You were a good kid, and you deserved better than that. He could be better for you.

Your shaky breathing filled the room as he came back to his senses, willing his fury to stop clouding his head so he could focus on what was more important right now - you. He'd deal with him later.

His thumb reached up and wiped a stray tear from your face before he pulled you close again, hugging you tight.

“You stay here, okay? ‘m so sorry sweetheart. I won't let anythin’ bad happen to ya. Y’just gotta let me help you.” He said as you nodded into his shirt, a weak mm-hm muffled by the fabric before he slowly rose from the couch and walked into his kitchen.

He came back with a glass of water, offering it to you. “Drink this.” Your cautious fingers closed around it and brought it to your lips.

“‘s gonna be okay. You can stay here, if you want?” You had come to him, obviously hoping he'd ask you that, but hearing him actually say it gave you relief like nothing else could.

“Y-yes, please.” You said, putting the glass back down on the coffee table as he nodded, helping you up and taking you to his room.

“I'll stay out there on the couch for a bit, okay? ‘til we can sort somethin’ a little more proper out for ya.” He told you, going to find you some clothes that weren't almost completely torn up.

When he returned, he saw you blankly staring at the floor, hands fingering the same strand of hair mindlessly and not even realising him walking up to you.

He sighed, handing you the clothes and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“It'll be okay sweetheart. Nothin’ bads gonna happen anymore, he can't hurt you here.” He assured you, hugging you one more time before he left, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and requests are open 💞

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