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xhoneygirlxx · 8 months

Text

We’re Not Friends

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: Eddie is just trying to help when he offers to be your date to your sister's wedding, but with all the love in the air will you and Eddie be able to stay friends?

warnings: lots of angst. reader's family sucks. reader's mom makes a comment about her weight. anxiety attacks. reader has low self esteem. fluff. best friends to lovers. fake dating. modern au. (this is titled after an Ed Sheeran song and I also use another one of his songs in the fic, sue me). slight smut. allusions to sex. alcohol consumption. swearing. minors dni!!!!!!!!!! reader and Eddie are both in their 20's. no y/n used, reader is referred to as Birdie. skin color/ethnicity/body type is not mentioned. spelling errors/shitting writing, just pretend you don't notice lmao. also the venue is completely made up and so is the location if you couldn’t tell, im not that creative.

*if I miss anything plz lmk*

a/n: hi my loves!!!! this is one of the last fics on my birthday fic list!!! I want to thank all of you for being patient and being so so supportive of my work. I love you all so much!!! also I do go back to work on Monday so I'm going to try to get as many fics pumped out by the end of the weekend.

And that's why friends should sleep in other beds

And friends shouldn't kiss me like you do

And I know that there's a limit to everything

But my friends won't love me like you do

The turning color of the leaves create the prettiest backdrop, tall trees blooming with orange, red, and a pinch of brown. The ones that have already fallen to the ground get swept up under the wheels of Eddie's car, lifting up and swirling around in a pretty dance, and falling right back into place waiting for the next car.

Although the crisp fall morning is peaceful you can't help but feel like you're living a nightmare. As he soft hum of Eddie's playlist flows through the speakers, you're coming up with a plan to turn the whole car around.

So far you thought about faking an illness, one that would stop the whole journey in it's tracks, only to dismiss it because you couldn't put your best friend through that stress. The idea of pulling the steering wheel also came to mind but you quickly threw that out of the window, not wanting to cause injury to the innocent man next to you or anyone else. Your final idea was one you're sure you could pull off as long as you used all the power within your being. If you pushed your feet on the floorboard hard enough, you could poke them out like the Flintstones and stop the car that way.

Between science and logic, you knew that wasn't possible no matter how hard you wished it would. Instead you'll stare out the window, watching all the pretty trees dance in the wind while you push down the rising anxiety that's forming in the pit of your stomach.

"You good over there, Birdie?" The deep voice next to you shakes you from your thoughts.

Turning your head Eddie's already looking at you with a lopsided grin. His demeanor matches the landscape outside, relaxed and serene. As you look at him you wish you could trade places, be as pleasant as he is.

"Yeah I'm just tired." Trying to sell him your answer, you smile lazily at him even though your response holds more tension than a game of tug of war.

Turning his attention back on the road, you watch as the pavement moves on the darkened lenses of his sunglasses. Eddie looks pretty like this, even though you always thinks he looks pretty. Usually he would be a grump having to be up this early, but today he wears his smile like a badge of honor. The dark curls of his hair cascade down his back, while some falls over his shoulders.

He's wearing the same red and black checkered flannel he always does this time of year, the same one you said was your favorite three years ago and it still holds that title. Underneath is a plain black tee shirt, the only one he has that's free of any band name, and a dark blue pair of jeans that have no holes.

He's still the same Eddie, his rings still sit on his fingers and his pick still hangs from the chain around his neck, but it seems that he only gets prettier and prettier as time passes by - like the turning leaves that still hang on the branches of the trees that you drive by.

"I think you're worried about this whole wedding thing," His voice is unwavering, screaming "I'm right" like it always does. "I don't get what's so bad about an open bar and free food."

Although his point is valid, Eddie couldn't be more wrong than that. This wasn't just an event to get drunk for free and stuffed to the gills at no charge. This was your older sister's wedding, the same sister that was the apple of your parents' eyes. Veronica was your arch nemesis since birth, a rival that you had no option but to defeat in order to survive.

You were the outcast of the family, the black sheep if you will, and you had to endure eighteen years of nonstop torture because of it. Your parents, Christine and Tim, were nothing but successful. The doctor and his trophy wife, the star couple in your small community, that had two beautiful and healthy children.

However you were the hardheaded child, the daughter that didn't have a bright future, you didn't carry as much promise as Vee, and your parents made sure to remind you of that every day. So when you moved out three years ago, you made sure to distance yourself as much as you could. But when you received a pristine white envelope with a glamorous invite on the inside, you were roped right back into the hell hole you worked so hard to leave behind.

You could've just ignore it, faked that you were on a trip and couldn't make it but your mother pretty much threatened you into showing up. So that's how you ended up in the countryside right outside of Chicago, driving in Eddie's Toyota Corolla to the Jefferson Manner on a Friday at eight am.

"You're right, Eddie, I should be so thrilled by that. Thank you so much for pointing it out to me." It's snippy with a hint of malice, and your eye roll held enough venom to injure an army of men.

Whistling loudly, Eddie chuckles lightly. "Woah, killer. Relax, I was just tryna help." He's still soft despite your outburst, sweet like your pumpkin spice latte that sits in the cupholder.

Hanging your head, you inhale a deep breath and release it slowly. "I'm sorry, Eds. I just really fucking hate my family."

He switches his attention from you and the road, taking in your saddened features. Reaching his right hand over the console, he places his hand searches for yours and laces his fingers through yours, which you gladly except.

"Don't apologize for that, kay? That's a valid reason for you to not want to go, I was just trying to make you laugh." The sincerity in his voice wraps around you, easing the nerves that go haywire in your body.

His palm is warm like the coffee cups that sit in the cup holders, his voice is as calming as the trees in the wind, and his smile is just as pretty as it was the first day you met him. You're safe with him, the safest you've ever been in your life, and here in the front seat of his car he reminds you of that.

"They just make me crazy, s'why I don't like seeing them." You feel shy being vulnerable, refusing to meet his gaze by focusing on tracing the back of his hand with your free one.

Eddie doesn't mind, instead he reassures you with a quick squeeze of your hand. "If it makes you feel any better, Birdie, I like you a little crazy."

Dimples deep as the sea and smile still as delicate as a flower's pedal, Eddie looks like a painting that hangs in the Louvre. You want to capture this moment of him to have for the rest of your life, so no matter what you can always remember him just like this.

"You say that now." You tease and he eats it right up.

Looking back over to you, he shines his smile onto you, filling you up with the light of a million stars. "And I'll say it till the end of time." There's no tease to it, nothing but truth in the way he says it.

It turns you into jelly, the feelings that swim through your blood stream, and now you've become too sheepish to answer. You decided to trust your touch over your words, squeezing his hand the same way he did to yours, trying your best to communicate the feelings you hold secretly in your heart for your best friend.

The cobblestone driveway leading to the entrance of Jefferson Manner is, for a lack of a better word, beautiful. It is a straight drive to the property, but once you get closer, a large fountain sits in the middle where the arch of the circle driveway starts.

Different colored cars are already lined up, some you recognize and the rest you have no clue who they belong to. Either way it's pretty evident that Eddie 2018 Toyota sticks out like a sore thumb.

The same dread that you left 45 miles back, is now running through you again. Unintentionally, you squeeze his hand harder as your heart begins to pound in your ear and if it hurts him he doesn't mention it. Instead, Eddie gives you one, two, three squeezes and then lets you continue your attempt to stop the blood flow to his hand.

Pulling behind the Mercedes Benz S Class, he puts his car into park and then shuts the car off. Reading your expression the way he always does, he sits in the silence of the car with you until your features loosen up.

"You okay, Birdie?" Even though he knows you're not okay, you still appreciate him asking anyway.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself a few times, eyes clamped shut as you focus on your breathing pattern. Once your head is above water and your heart stops racing, you open your eyes back up to the real world.

Relaxing your shoulders, you let go of the grip you're holding Eddie's hand in. "I'm okay. I'll be okay." Despite answering him, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of what you're saying.

Another brief pause goes by and Eddie continues to monitor you, sunglasses now removed so not only can he see you but you can see him.

Your gaze is unwavering, the thousand yard stare has fallen over you and you have yet to dig out of it. "Are you prepared for what we're about to walk into?"

The tone of your voice scares Eddie, the emotion being sucked right out of the words that you speak despite the feelings that battle in your mind that he doesn't know about.

"Honey, I'm prepared for anything as long as I have you." For a split second he winces, wondering if that was too cringy but when your face breaks out into a sweet smile he feels better.

The two of you get out of the car, retrieving your suitcases and dress bags from the trunk. When the door shuts you begin to count the steps it takes to get to the big wooden doors of the mansion.

You don't have to ask Eddie for his hand, he's already giving it to you and you gladly except it, gripping on for dear life the closer you get. Despite the beautiful landscape and the soothing sound of the running fountain, you feel like this is the soundtrack that plays before your imminent death.

The tall, thick, wooden doors sit menacingly in front of you, the skeletons of your past standing just right behind it waiting for your arrival. The ghosts that have haunted your dreams, the graveyard of your history, and the phantoms of your family, mingle and laugh right behind this door.

Eddie waits for you, not moving a muscle until you say so, and you silently thank him with a smile. Like a switch, he watches your face change from flight to fight mode. In a flash your looking over your outfit, brushing down the long black sleeved shirt that sits on your torso, and then straightening out the jeans that stick to your legs.

Your hair is the next thing you frantically fix, pushing it behind your ears and out of your face, letting it fall over your shoulders while doing so. Like a buzzing bee, you zone in on Eddie, fixing the collar of his flannel and then smoothing the material of his shirt. With out speaking, you pick off a singular piece of fuzz from his pants and then let it blow away in the wind.

Moving your hands back up to his chest, you center the pick on his chain. Then move his hair, fixing the ringlets that got blown around in the breeze. Once your satisfied, you move back to your spot next to him and sweep his hand right back into your hold. Releasing on more deep breath, you settle your pinched eyebrows and your determined eyes, and let the worst fake smile settle onto your lips.

The smile doesn't reach your eyes the way it usually does, your teeth push against one another so forcibly Eddie wonders if you'll shatter teeth, and you simply look like your in pain. Either way, you push open the big oak door and let yourself inside with him following right behind.

The lobby of the manner is everything you expected, high ceilings, a crystal chandelier, and every single family member of yours gathered around sipping champagne and speaking to each other like a potential client.

Even though it's magnificent inside with the beautiful décor and lively plants, the sight of everyone in their gaudy outfits and cheap laughter makes it feel like an eternal hell.

Eddie must feel the way your shoulders tense because he's quickly leaning into you, his voice just a whisper in the shell of your ear.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. You have me and I won't let anything happen." He reminds you, his smile is more sympathetic than anything.

Nodding your head you remain smiling, it's awful and it hurts even doing it but if you want to survive the whirlpool of piranhas, then you just have to fake it until you make it.

"If it isn't our lovely Birdie!" The sound of your mother's voice is like silk, smooth and confident, just like she always was. Walking over to you, she holds a champagne flute in her hand and you wonder how much the bubbling spritz cost your father.

The last time you've seen her was last winter, her million dollar smile outshining the Swarovski crystal tree decorations that sit behind her. Your mother has always been beautiful but her insides are rotten, ugly and maggot infested, all hidden behind the mask that she put on for everyone to see.

You gave up a long time ago trying to figure out her brain, finally accepting defeat to the maze that was her mind. Now when you look at your mother all you see is a shell, a hallow covering that has nothing to offer you other than it's pretty design.

Pulling you into a hug, you're hit with her scent. She smells like Dior and cashmere, the Chanel outfit that sits on her body scratches your skin, and the pearl necklace she wears jabs you right in your collarbone.

"Hello mother, thank you for inviting me to such a wonder occasion." You instantly revert back to your old accent, the same one your mother instilled into you from the time you could even under stand the English language.

A faux laugh comes from her bright red lips, "No need for that, darling, you're always welcome." Her manicured hand waves at you in fake genuineness.

The smile on your face continues to show and you hate to think it matches hers. Even with the sweet tone you use and the gentleness of your actions, the blood that runs through your body continues to boil the longer she stands there.

Eddie on the other hand stands next to you completely and utterly amused by your fake performance. The snort he lets out when you continue to use your "eloquent" voice is quickly covered up by a sniffle.

Like a vulture, your mother's eyes are quick to zero in on the curly haired man next to you. "Excuse my daughter for her bad manner of not introducing us, I'm Christine."

The minute her hand reaches out for a handshake, you're heart stops. This is the one thing that could make or break this whole trip and it was the only thing you didn't prepare your best friend for. Many years of your life, you were trained that a handshake is all it takes for someone to learn about you.

Without skipping a beat, Eddie simply picks embraces her hand like a prince out of a Disney movie and places a kiss to the back of her unwrinkled hand.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Christine, I'm Eddie. And might I say how beautiful you are."

He's all dimples and doe eyes staring at your mother, a true prince charming in his red flannel and jeans. His voice is like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day, it's smooth going down your throat and it warms your belly better than any blanket can.

That warmth is now tingling your body, a frenzy of butterflies flapping around in the walls of your heart. It clearly works on your mother as well but unlike you she doesn't hide it very well.

"You're really the charmer, Eddie." It's flirtatious and alluring, the same voice she put on for every pool boy your father ever hired.

Annoyance and anger floods through you and you know that your eyes would be shining green to anyone with a trained eye.

While she clutches her pearls and eyes Eddie like he's a four course meal, you intervene into the conversation before it can continue.

"Where's daddy? I'd really like for my boyfriend to meet him." You bat your eyelashes like a pageant queen and your arm acts like a python wrapping around Eddie's, making a mark on what is yours.

"Oh you're father's around here somewhere, you know how he is." She dismisses, taking a drink from her glass and swallowing down the golden liquid quickly. "So how long have you and Birdie here been dating?"

"It's going to be two years next month. Isn't that right, honey?" Eddie turns to you and gives you a playful smile.

Looking back at him you hope he can see the misery that hides being your eyes, a white flag of surrender.

Your mother on the other hand doesn't care about your answer, that's why she didn't ask you. She's reading Eddie, trying to see how much she can push your so called boyfriend until she gets what she wants.

"Well that's just wonderful, young love is a beautiful experience. You have to be careful with Birdie here, she's known to leave the nest quickly." It's a jab, a spiteful and mean comment headed right for your gut.

Eddie doesn't miss the way you're lips falter for a second, the flash of hurt in your eyes. It kills him watching you stand there and take all the comments from your mother like stray bullets.

Turning his attention back to your mother, he gives her a smile, one that you would know as a wicked one but to a stranger would seem kind. "I don't think that will be a problem. Birdie knows where her home is."

It's a direct warning, a clear sign to your mother to not mess with you or what is yours. Just him sticking up for you like that makes your stomach twist in excitement, a feeling you've grown so used to over the course of friendship with Eddie.

"Well, I'm glad she finally found her place then." Your mother responds coldly, clearly hearing the bite in his tone. "Why don't you two go find your room and get settled in, rehearsal dinner is in a few."

Before retreating into the large crowd of family, your mother turns back to you in one more attack.

"Oh and Birdie, wear something that will hide that stomach. Don't want anyone to assume you've been knocked up."

Once you've found your room, you all but rush Eddie inside slamming the door behind you. In the quiet safety of your suite, you can relax your shoulders that have been sitting high since you've arrive.

"Jesus Bird, you weren't lying." Eddie says as he flops himself on the queen sized bed.

You don't respond, instead you squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm the heaviness of your breathing. Behind the darkness of your eyes, little twinkles of stars flash from how hard you have them closed, the swooshing of your heart continuing in your ears like angry waves of the sea.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself over and over again, trying to erase the cruel words of your mother and the images of disgusted family member's faces out of your mind. You're not sure how long you've been standing by the door until a hand grasps at your wrist lightly.

"Birdie," Eddie's coax goes unanswered, "Come on, Birdie."

Warm calloused hands travel to the plump of your cheeks, lifting your face up just enough that he can see you. Finally opening your eyes, you're relieved to be looking into the golden whiskey pools of his.

Smoothing his thumb over your cheek he doesn't say anything, just lets your breathing calm down. Here you are, in the nice room behind the shelter of the locked door, and he's here.

Breathe in. It's okay. Breathe out. You're safe. Breathe in. You are here. Breathe out. So is he.

It's enough to let your feet move on the plush white carpeting, while Eddie leads you to the bed with the tug of your arm. Sitting on the plush mattress on crisp linen sheets you're grounded, and with the heat of Eddie sitting next to you and his hand in yours, you're anchored.

The rehearsal dinner goes over well enough, the Irish mule helping with every single speech that's given and every horror story of your childhood that is told. Luckily for you, Vee didn't ask you to be in her bridal party so you didn't have to attend the actual wedding rehearsal, and even better you won't have to deal with her for the real thing tomorrow.

Eddie does great at dinner, he talks to your father who surprisingly likes him, both getting along over their love for vintage cars. Your soon to be brother in law and his groomsmen also get along with Eddie, they laugh and cut up most of the time while clinking beer bottles together. Not to mention every single woman there wanted to get into his pants, swooning at everything he said and giving him the 'fuck me' eyes while doing it.

You hated it, every single minute of it. Like always you were ignored, simply looked over until some story was being told where you were ultimately the joke of. Any time someone asked you what you were doing with your life, you were met with cringing smiles and snickering laughs.

Four separate times your mother commented on your dress, the way it fit, the price value of it, and how it really wasn't a good color on you. All of your sisters friends rolled their eyes and whispered back and forth while staring at you, aunts and uncles acted dumbfounded when you told them that you were a freelance writer for a small music magazine back in Indy, and your cousins made comments about how badly you look since the last time you saw them.

It didn't matter anyway, even if your sister asked how you managed to get a stand up guy like Eddie to agree to be with you, in front of all of the guests. You had to remind yourself that you were there for the free booze and food or whatever the hell Eddie said in the car on the way here.

This wasn't a popularity contest for you, it was simply you being forced to do something against your wishes because your mother said so. You asked yourself why you even listened to her in the first place while letting the brown liquor burn in your stomach.

Why was it so important that you even showed up here? Why did you have to come to the awarding ceremony of favorite kid when you knew you weren't going to win? Why would you even set yourself up for such failure just because your mom said so?

Well, you're answer came when a flushed faced Eddie was laughing with your grandparents at one of the round tables in the corner. His eyes crinkled at the sides and his head was leaned back so you had a clear view of the neck you loved so much.

Then you looked over at your sweet looking grandparents who laughed loudly at whatever was said. Your grandmother had her hands on her cheeks, shaking her head back and forth, and beaming brightly. Your grandfather smiled around his cigar, big round belly jumping with laugher, and his cheeks smooshing up against the frames of his big glasses.

You didn't come here to win a competition. You didn't come here because your mother threatened you within an inch of your life if you didn't. You didn't come here because you thought it would be fun.

You showed up because you wanted to prove to the people who doubted you for so long just how happy you were. You wanted to prove that happiness doesn't come from the amount of money in your account or how many rooms sit in your house. You came here because you wanted to prove that they were wrong, that the grass on the other side of the fence could be green too, and that someone who grew up differently that you could still do amazing things.

Eddie was someone that your father would've had you kicked out over bringing him home in high school. Eddie was the boy your mother would tell you to stay far away from. Eddie was the kind of guy that your sister wouldn't look twice at because of who he was.

But right now, during the beautiful dinner the night before your sister's wedding, your best friend/fake boyfriend has them all wrapped around his guitar calloused finger.

Not much has been said between you and him, especially when he was the man of the hour. You're not really complaining though, you're happy that he made a good impression with them. When the night began to settle into your bones and the alcohol started to make you tipsy, you slyly walked up to Eddie and tugged on his sleeve to let him know it was time to go.

On the walk back to the room, you sway slightly with every step you take, balancing on the walls with one hand while the other holds your strappy heels. When Eddie stops and turns to the door of your room, you all but smack into him with clumsy steps.

While he fumbles with key, you're in blissful content with your eyes closed. The kick of the lock and the turn of the handle doesn't even pull you out of your daze, instead you hold your arms out like a mummy and feel around until you find Eddie's clothed back.

You can tell Eddie is laughing by the large breath that passes through his nose and the tell tale sign of him kissing his teeth. Large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding you into the doorway that you can't see.

Your cheeks are warm, the smile on your face is permanent, and the buzzing in your heart makes you feel light on your feet.

"Alright mummy, lets get you into bed." Letting go of his hold on you, you feel him slightly brush past you to close the door. His voice sounds like the way stars look, sparkling and bright, twinkling all around.

You giggle, eyes still shut and your nose scrunched up. "M'not a mummy but I could be if ya want."

Putting your arms out, you lean back and forth on your feet to mimicking what you think is a mummy but looks more like a zombie.

"Baaaaahhhhh, I'm a mummy. Be very afraid." You deepen your voice, dragging the syllables of every word to make them come out slower.

Eddie must be entertained because the sound of a loud raspberry comes from where he stands, the clear sign of him losing the grip on the laugh he'd been holding in.

Cracking one of your eyes open, you hope to find him with rose cheeks and dimples flashing, the look you love so much. Instead you see him, beaming at you without the shine of his canines. It's an admiring smile, one where your eyes go all gooey and your smile is simple yet dipped with so much love.

Opening your eyes all the way, you let your arms down slowly to rest by your sides, a meek look painting your face.

"Did I do good?" You ask, even though you didn't really want his opinion.

"I think you're perfect." It comes out even, smooth like the hilltops in December covered in a layer of the purest snow.

The two of you sit there for a while, soaking up the glow of each other and letting it sink into your souls. For a moment you wonder if he feels it too, the spark that you feel whenever he's around. You wonder if he feels like crying simply because he loves you that much. You wonder if he wishes this whole dating thing wasn't just a lie and that it was true, the same way you wish it was.

Once the moment ends for him, he's clearing his throat to clear any lovesick daze that's left. "I guess we better head to bed, huh?"

Scratching at the back of his neck, you try with everything in your power to not look down where his turtle neck rode up, where the patch of mouth watering hair trails from his belly button to underneath the waist of his pants.

A part of you wishes you stuck it out longer, stayed in your seat at the dinner table just to see him in his outfit longer. He asked you to help him pick it out this morning and when you think back to it, you get flustered with thinking how domesticated it felt. Making him try on different shirts and jumping for joy when he walked out of the bathroom wearing a turtleneck he swore he'd never wear. The khakis you pulled out of his suitcase was the cause of so much laughter and the pink tinge that sat on the rounds of his cheeks.

God, he looked so good, especially with his hair pulled back and the dangled earring that sat in his ear, but now it would all be a memory for you to file away in the back of your brain.

Eddie had already started taking off his dress shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed bent over and messing with the knots that kept the laces together.

The smile that once held your lips high and proud, now weigh down in a sad frown. Even after the success of the dinner and proving everyone wrong, you are now brought back to the reality of what you and Eddie were. Just friends.

"Since I'm a gentleman and I can't see to get these shoes untied, I'll let you shower first." His voice comes out strained from how hard he pulls on the knotted strings.

You don't say anything, quietly nodding your head before shuffling over to your suitcase that sits by the closet. Grabbing a sleepshirt and some shorts, you go to move around the lanky man that can't get his shoes off no matter how hard he tries.

Without a sound, you kneel in front of him, placing your clothes somewhere off to the side. Taking his calf in your hand, you place his foot on your thigh. Delicately, you remove the first shoe and then the next.

"Y'didn't have to do that." It's quiet but not enough to be a whisper, still you shrug.

"I didn't but I wanted to." It seems so simple when you say it, even though deep down inside you wanted that last piece of your fantasy before it goes away for the rest of the night.

"Will you help me with my dress?" You ask him, standing on your feet and turning so that the golden zipper is facing him.

In the mirrored closet door you can see him and how he hesitates for a moment, shaky hands lingering in the air before they close in on the gold slider.

The sound of the metal teeth unlatching from one another fills the room, clouding the unrhythmic beat of your heart. You try to remember the feeling of him on the sacred part of your skin, the way his light touch tickles you and makes goosebumps rise. You want to memorize it like your favorite song, so that when you leave this place and the fake nature of this whole thing goes away, you still have something to think about on those bad days.

It ends too soon for your liking, his hands retracting right back to the sides of his body like a measuring tape. With the fuzz of your tipsy has now wore off but the sting of everything still remains.

Giving him a small smile and muttering a thank you, you hide in the bathroom where the sound of running water hides the muffled cries that leave your throat.

Waking up felt more painful than any hangover you've ever had. The pain of Eddie's bare back facing you was heartbreaking. You force yourself not connect the freckles that litter his skin or trace your fingers along his spine and shoulder blades.

It's a sight you've seen plenty of times and sharing a bed is something you've done more than enough that you're not uncomfortable. Yet your heart squeezes, wrapping itself up in the tightest loop so that it hurts to even breathe.

The sound of his soft snores only makes it worse, imagining what he dreams about and if it's you.

You use all of the willpower that's left in your body, marching over to the small kitchenette that sits in the corner of the giant room. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you try to focus on the swirl of dark liquid mixing with the coffee creamer and how they mix together so perfectly. Without much of a peep, you slide the glass doors that lead out to the balcony and sit down in one of the plush chairs.

You look out over the mountains of colors, tracing over the lines of trees that go on for miles. Although pretentious, you think Veronica did an excellent job and choosing this location.

Sipping on the hot beverage, you watch the clouds in the blue sky go by, wondering what it would've been like if your sister asked you to be a bridesmaid. You imagine that the two of you would've actually gotten along and maybe even laughed together. You envision what it would've been like to have your mother compliment you in your gown and how it would feel to take a picture with your family where all the smiles were real.

Tears begin to burn the back of your eyes, falling rapidly like a fall rainstorm. The skin of your cheeks burn slightly from the heated trails of water that fall. You're sad and incredibly so. Within the first twenty four hours of being here, you remember how much of an outsider you really are to these people.

Even with the company of Eddie, someone that truly loves you, you still can't help but feel so fucking lonely. To put on the mask you wore for many year back on and pretend that the man standing next to you is yours to claim is harder than any other time you had to do it.

This time you weren't really faking it, the love that you showed to him, the happiness you felt with him was real, just the titles weren't. With the cool fall chill, your coffee has gone cold but your tears keep coming.

"You made yourself a cup of coffee but not one for me, and this is how I find out? That's just mean." Eddie's curly hair pokes out from the small gap in the sliding back door that he's created.

His eyes are squinted from the harshness of the morning sun but his cheeky smile is forever unwavering. Sliding a space big enough for him to go through, he stalks out onto the small space in his plaid pajama pants and a hoodie he must've thrown on.

Trying your best to cover up that you've been crying, you wipe the back of your hand across your cheeks, but Eddie still catches your movements.

Instead of embarrassing you, he sits down in the chair across from you and looks out over the balcony.

"You okay?" It's a simple enough question, one that you can answer with one word and he wouldn't pry for more information to not overwhelm you.

Sniffling, you shake your head yes and then move your gaze to where his is. "No, yeah, m'good. The view really does something for me." You say, chuckling just a bit at your own joke.

Eddie also laughs, only this time it's not as genuine as it usually is, just a hard exhale through his nose.

"Yeah, sure does." He agrees, letting his eyes follow the red and orange of the tree tops.

A calm silence falls over you two, only the sounds of the birds that fly and the ruffle of the leaves can be heard from where you sit. It's peaceful.

"You know, I really thought this weekend would be different." It comes out of your mouth as easy as the breeze that blows. Still your eyes stay trained out in front of you and past the mountains of trees.

Eddie doesn't respond but the hole that he burns through the side of your head with his eyes tell you he's listening.

"When I was little, I used to imagine the day Vee got married. I would fantasize that maybe one day we could be close enough that I could enjoy this day with her and we could be sisters for once." You exhale an uneven breath, moving your sights to the cup that still sits in your hand.

"I just wanted all of us to be a family for once. I wanted my mom to actually act like she liked me, for my dad to say that for once he was proud of who I was, and for Veronica, I just wanted her to say she's happy that I'm her little sister."

Just like that, every single thing you've carried since you were little is now out in the open, whipping around in the wind like the dead leaves. Even with the amount of burden that's been lifted, the pain still remains the same. It all hurts, stabbing you over and over again in the scars that you worked so hard to patch up.

Eddie doesn't say anything and for a moment you don't think he'll say anything at all. You watch him pull out the pack of cigarettes he had nestled in his pocket and place one in between his pretty pink lips.

Another second goes by and he's flicking the wheel of his lighter, shielding the flame away from the wind so he can light it. When the end of the smoke burns red, he takes a big inhale and then lets the cloud of smoke out.

"I know what I say won't matter," He starts before taking another drag of his smoke, "But these people don't fucking mean anything."

"They're you're family and I get that but they don't fucking deserve you, they never have. A fake boyfriend, a new haircut, or a cool job shouldn't define their love for you. They're shitty people who were blessed with an amazing person and they didn't even realize it."

Eddie looks at you the same way he speaks, with nothing but truth. You let the words settle in your mind, letting them soak in, in case you forget.

The tears that once ceased start to flow again, except this time it's from relief. It feels good that someone else sees your worth, to know someone actually holds value to you.

"It kills me that they treat you the way they do, that they can say all those things without batting an eye. I know why you asked me to come here and I know I have a job to do, but man do I want to rip them all a new asshole."

Although he speaks with fire behind the words, you have to laugh from the thought of the actions. The moment you giggle, his own smile forms.

"I hope you know that I love you and when everything is done and over with, we'll give them the bird." To make his point, Eddie raises his middle finger high into the sky.

Repeating his actions, you hold your own finger to the sky and smile happily while doing it.

Letting his arm fall back down into place, he pats the tops of your thighs and stands from the chair.

"That's my girl, now let's get ready for an open bar and free booze." Holding his open palm to you, he helps you up.

The wedding reception was what you thought it would be, drawn out and boring. The only saving grace of the whole thing was Eddie's commentary, the scruff on his face tickling you every time he leaned close to your ear.

A lot of the things he was saying was probably just to make you feel better but you did have to agree, the dress Veronica picked out was a bad rip off of Princess Diana's and it shouldn't have seen broad daylight.

You did however get choked up when the vowels started, not because you were happy with your sister but because you wish that were you and Eddie up there instead.

All and all it was okay, even though one of your brother in law's aunt's wore a hat so big you couldn't see past it most of the time.

The wedding reception though was beautiful. The décor of the manner looked exquisite against the maroon coloring of all the bridesmaids dresses. The tables had beautiful bouquets sitting in the middle and you can't help but laugh imagining your father cutting a check for all of them.

To much of yours and Eddie's delight, there is an open bar that is stacked high with pricey alcohol. Again you laugh thinking about your father having to pay the tab, which you and Eddie will be happy to run up.

So far this is the most the two of you had fun, both laughing and enjoying the company that's around you. The table you've been stuck at is also occupied by other family rejects that enjoy the titles they've been given.

Eddie's hand hasn't left your thigh, which you're more than happy about, and every so often he flexes his fingers squeezing the meaty flesh.

You feel good, the boost from the drinks and the feeling of your best friend makes you bloom like a flower in the spring. You watch as he talks to the people at your table and how his hand moves with enthusiasm. You trace the muscles in his neck and watch his adam's apple bob up and down when he speaks. Your chin sits in the palm of your hand as you watch him be himself like he always is.

He's so beautiful, he always has been, and in this moment he gets to be yours. You don't have to think about what anyone else thinks, you don't have to question how the two of you look from another's perception, because you know that your heart bleeds for him and it always will.

Eddie's your home, he's your best friend, and he's your person. You think back to what he said to you this morning and how he called you a blessing but you think he's wrong. Eddie is the true blessing. He's sweet, he's smart, and he's so fucking caring it's disgusting. Behind all the jagged features and dark clothes, he's nothing but a giant teddy bear that wears his heart on his sleeve.

"Birdie." He smiles at you, all goo and mush it makes your heart skip.

You hum in response, still sitting in the same position, looking at him as if he were a painting.

"You wanna dance?" He blushes, embarrassed by the request and you feel like you're back in junior high.

"You, Eddie Munson hate dancing." You say, scrunching your nose cutely.

Laughing loudly, he nods, "Yeah, I know, but I'd dance with you."

That breaks you out of your daze, breath catching in your throat. "O-oh, yeah. I'll um dance."

Again he stands, holding a palm out to you so he can help you up. Leaning you to the dance floor, you can't help but feel jittery despite the wine that you've consumed.

Once out on the floor, he pulls you into his chest. Strong hands grip your waist through the silk fabric of your red dress and you desperately try to fight the need that rises in your guy.

You stand stiff, unsure of what to do with yourself and Eddie's quick to help you, placing your hands around his neck where they lay contently.

He looks good tonight, even better than last night, and you hate how it makes butterflies flap around in your stomach. The black button up shirt sits nicely on his torso, wrapping his arms so deliciously you want to take a bite out of them. The black slacks he wears fit nicely and you wonder if he had them tailored and you have to ignore the want to undo the sleek black belt with a bright golden buckle that holds them up. Again his hair sits in a low bun and that silver chain peeks out at you from underneath his collar.

"I can't believe you asked me to dance to Ed Sheeran." You say breathlessly, still nervous with being this close to him.

Eddie snorts, lopsided smile forming on his lips. "What, a guy can't like Ed Sheeran and metal? That's gatekeeping, sweetheart." He teases.

Rolling your eyes, you try to ignore that tingle that settles in your cheeks. "Whatever you say, Munson."

"I'm serious, Thinking Out Loud was in my top ten last year." The two of you hold eye contact until you can't take it anymore, both bursting into laughter at his admission.

"That's something you shouldn’t repeat." You sputter at him and he laughs even harder.

"Hey, I like this song, okay?" He defends, still swaying back and forth with you.

Raising your hands in defense, you pull back on your clowning for the sake of your friend. Placing your arms back around his neck, you lean your head on his chest and try to hear the beat of his heart.

The scent of him floods your nose, cologne and smoke, whiskey and linen, and you wish you could bottle it to keep forever.

"Why do you like this song anyway? It's kind of basic." You mutter at him.

His shoulders lift in a shrug, and he takes a moment to respond. "Honestly, I like it cause it reminds me of you."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you remove your head to look up at him.

"Wha'do you mean?" You mumble, eyes searching his for some sort of answer.

Looking bashful again, red tints his cheeks and ears in a blush. Sticking his tongue out to wet his lips, he hesitantly answers.

"I always felt like he said everything I couldn't, ya know? Everything I ever wanted to say to you, he put in a song."

It feels like the whole world stops, that time freezes and it's just the two of you. You're in shock and for some reason you can't wrap your head around anything he's saying.

"What?" You say harshly and again he shrugs, shying away from your burning focus on him.

"Reminds me of you and everything I ever felt about you. I always wanted to call you mine but if you hadn't noticed, I'm a chicken shit."

You don't say anything, instead you stare at him with your mouth wide open. Eddie starts to loose his cool, frantically flexing his fingers against the material of your dress, looking around at anything but you.

"Sorry, I - shit, I really fucked this up," He doesn't get to finish his sputtering apology because you quickly smash your lips into his.

His lips taste like brown liquor and chapstick, like love and forever, and you can't believe you waited this long to experience it. Two heart sync as one, two people fall together like the leaves outside, and anxieties are finally laid to rest.

You hate that you pull away first but the need for air is too much. Eddie bends enough so that his forehead leans on yours, both looking into each other eyes living in the moment of your blissed out hearts.

"Tell me if I'm being too forward but do you wanna get out of here?" He flirts and you respond simply by pecking his lips once more.

"Thought you'd never ask."

thank you all for reading!!! love you guys <3

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #honey's birthday bash #honey's holiday celebrations

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lilacsandpetals · 7 months

Text

Frozen Blossoms Pt. 5

Bi-Han x F! reader

Tags and notes: Arranged marriage AU, SFW, exploring emotions. Pre-MK1/MK1 AU

Last part here.

Next part here.

I hope I caught all the spelling and grammar errors.

You went back to bed after Bi-Han left. Or at least, you tried to get some sleep. You didn’t realize you’d be so worried for him in that moment. But he would be fine, wouldn’t he? He was Lin Keui after all. Still, irrational as it may be, you were concerned. Even so, the logical part of your brain told you that your husband would return sooner rather than later.

—————

Well, you were wrong. It had been days, almost a week had passed. Your anxiety was growing with each day that went by. You couldn’t comprehend how everyone else seemed at ease. You went about trying to adhere to your regular routine, but at times it was difficult to focus. Remembering simple protocols became difficult. Your execution during training lessons was lackluster. Your instructors had noticed the shift in your performance but you had a suspicion that your father-in-law prevented them from fully reprimanding you as of late.

You longed to reach out to Bi-Han and figure out how he was doing. Yet contact was minimal in order to maintain the confidential and secretive nature of the Lin Keui. The Grandmaster had stated that unless a serious incident had occurred, you were advised to not reach out to your husband.

You considered going out, perhaps visiting your family. Yet you were advised against doing so at the moment. And to be honest, you were troubled by the idea of Bi-Han returning when you weren’t at home.

Since when did such a thought bother you so much?

While waiting for the days to go by you realized that you hadn’t gotten to know many individuals around the clan’s grounds. You knew your in-laws. Technically you could be called acquaintances with your tutors and perhaps a few other staff and clan members. If Bi-Han was going to become the Grandmaster and you would stand by his side, you figured establishing a good rapport with as many clan members as possible would prove helpful. So you had begun to venture about the estate, greeting individuals you’ve yet to put a name to. Most would be respectful, but brief as they had responsibilities they needed to attend to, and you assumed your chatting would be a bit burdensome.

A good number of the other clan members were married, and you had run into their spouses here and there. You didn’t mean to, but the more you spoke with some of them, you ended up working into the conversation how you were worried the longer your husband was off on a mission. They always responded with assurance, that the feeling was normal, and that it would fade the more you got used to it. But here you are, sometime later with the same tension constricting your chest to the point that you’d wake up in a panic in the middle of the night.

If you had known that you’d have to endure such loneliness and worry regularly, would you have agreed to the marriage? Well, even if you had known, you doubt that the full gravity of the lifestyle would dawn on you back then. And frankly, denying the betrothal request would cause tension and misfortune in your family’s clan. So really, you wouldn’t have had a choice either way.

You decide not to dwell on that too much and glance at the books at your bedside. You were quickly getting through the stack. Especially since you had only recently begun spending time with your husband, and once you two had spent proper time with one another, he was called away. Reading had then become a solace of sorts from the loneliness. Maybe you could get some new books soon? Your eyes then drift to the flowers, they were starting to wither.

Would Bi-Han get you new flowers? Would he accompany you to the market? You wonder when he’ll be back. Maybe you two could spend some time together again.

Goodness, here you go again. Since that day you spent together, you had gotten into a habit of somehow circling nearly all your thoughts back to him. What was wrong with you? Had your husband really planted a place so firmly in your heart?

In truth, he has, and his absence makes your heart ache. You feel like a forlorn, lovesick teenager.

A sigh escapes you as you fall back onto your bed. Your hand makes its way to his pillow, snatching it from its untouched spot and into your arms. You hug it close to your chest.

Bi-Han truly wasn’t as bad as you thought he was. You did consider him a brute at first, but your interactions slowly started to break down that constructed image you had of him. Yes, he was stern, he could be blunt, and avoidant. But he had begun to show a side of himself you found endearing. He could appear so contemplative and protective. He was always so gentle when holding your hand. You even missed his prideful banter.

And you missed catching glimpses of his eyes. They had gone from a shade too ominous and void, to something entirely warmer. Dark and enchanting.

You took a deep breath, squeezing the pillow a little closer to you. He kissed your forehead before he left and you still linger on that action of his. You wonder if he’d kiss your cheek when he comes back.

You ghost your fingertips over your lips. You wonder what his lips taste like.

—————-

The mission had proved exhausting, every time they came upon a point of completion, they’d be met with more strife brewing elsewhere. To the point where Lui Kang required their consistent assistance and they had ended up all the way in Outworld, dealing with a small group whose practice in stirring up trouble had spilled into Earthrealm. Of course, Lui Kang had kept the peace during the ordeal and resolved any issues with the aid of Empress Sindel. But this wasn’t the first time that a situation like this had occurred, and he assumed it wouldn’t be the last. Pursuing consistent negotiations for the sake of peace sometimes began to feel futile to him.

On occasion, he wished they could take a more aggressive approach to assert their stance.

Then there was the issue of brewing tensions between surrounding clans, disagreements amongst them, and some disdain still lingered over his marriage to you. Of course, he hadn't brought that up to you, nor does he intend to. There would be no reason to stress you out over matters he could quickly stomp out on his own.

Despite all these occurrences, and his outward dedication to addressing them, these neverending missions had been dethroned at the forefront of his mind more often than he was willing to admit. You had been running through his mind all week. The thought of you had been distracting him and while he was on a mission no less.

Detestable of him really.

Had this happened weeks ago he would want to return home to wring your neck for causing him to lose focus. But it was different now.

He found it enjoyable to think of you.

It gave him something to look forward to. Someone to return home to.

He wondered if you had eaten properly, if you had rested enough, had you kept up with your training?

Did you miss him?… he missed you. He missed your playfulness, he missed your gentleness, he missed how increasingly lovely you had looked before he left. He felt as if he had grown closer to you before his departure. Would he be able to pick up where he left off with you?

He hopes so.

So as the group makes their way back under his lead, he can't help but find himself pondering. He wonders what would’ve happened that night if he didn’t have to leave. For the first time in a long time, he wishes he hadn’t left at all.

He wonders if you realized how enticing you looked. With eyes looking up at him so innocently at the veranda, and lips that looked oh so soft. Or when you had laid down in the bed. Did you not realize how effortlessly alluring you looked? Your hair tousled, your nightgown bunching up at the curve of your hips and exposing part of your thigh. He really can only imagine what else could have happened that night if he had been more forward. It’s laughable that the only time he is unable to advance forward is when it comes to you.

Consummating the marriage had still been a thought that seldom crossed his mind, but now it had started to creep up frequently. Oddly enough, had you two made use of the marriage bed that first night, he would’ve found it easier to complete that responsibility. He would be detached, acting upon crude necessity.

Again, it was different now.

Now there were emotions that entangled him. Concerns on whether his performance would live up to your unknown expectations. Worries about how you’d respond to his touch. Perturbation on how it would change him. It was all uncharted territory.

He didn’t have an extensive insight into matters of that kind. His experience in that area was somewhat lacking.

He honestly never gave it much thought, he was always too focused on his responsibilities and any tasks at hand to be caught up in lust to the extent of seeking it out at the risk of his honor. Had he struggled at all in the past, he’d take care of it himself. That is how he went about it as an adult.

His responsibilities within the Lin Keui came first, as they always have. Or at least he would attempt to adhere to that standard. He found himself faltering to maintain that status quo when he was young.

Although discouraged, it was known that sometimes members of the Lin Keui would sneak off to a nearby brothel and ‘fulfill their needs’. When he was younger, curiosity had gotten the best of him and his brothers, leading them to sneak off just to see what all the excitement was about. They had just barely infiltrated the establishment through a side entrance when they were promptly caught, kicked out, and sent home to a furious father who had punished them all severely.

Other than that, there was a point long ago where Kuai Liang had convinced him to sneak out and meet a few girls during the Qixi Festival. Kuai Liang had an easier time interacting with them, while he himself was more reserved. And then Tomas had tagged along. Tomas appeared much younger at the time compared to Kuai Liang and himself, so the girls found him ‘adorable’ as they had put it. He didn’t see the point in entertaining them at that time. One of the girls there did take a liking to him, she looked visually pleasing. She kept trying to hold his attention but he barely kept up conversation as chatter spewed out of her mouth in an attempt to keep him engaged. She even kissed him at the end of the night. It felt awkward and she had secured a strong hold on his neck, he hesitated to place his hands on her but kissed back as best as he knew how. However, he pulled away when he felt her tongue poke at his lips. He attempted to maintain his composure until they departed that evening. On his way home with his brothers, he frequently wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. All those love stories his mother and Kuai Liang would go on about made it seem like a first kiss was a life-changing experience. They were clearly wrong as that had not changed his life for the better. Kuai Liang teased him, saying that he was better with the girls, meanwhile, Tomas lamented that he hadn’t gotten any such tokens of affection.

Now that was all the experience he had recalled. It made him wonder what your past was like. He tries not to think of it, but the thought that you may have had romantic interactions in the past made him burn with envy.

If you had past lovers, he would make sure to surpass them in every manner.

—————-

Kuai Liang and Tomas know their brother. He is cold and harsh in nature, much like the power he was blessed with. But they are quick to catch Bi-Han smiling to himself when he thinks no one is watching.

—————-

They stop at a village on the trek home. Bi-Han is not such a cruel leader that he’d push his forces so far when the mission has already been completed. He allows them an opportunity to catch their breath. The stop is brief and he rests against the brick wall of a building. His eyes scan his surroundings when they come to a halt. Kuai Liang and Tomas seem preoccupied. He cannot tell what they are speaking about, so he makes his way to them.

“What about that one?” Tomas says.

“No, I’ve already bought this one. This suits her best.” Kuai Liang responds.

Bi-Han furrows his eyebrows, who were they speaking about? “What did you buy?”

Kuai Liang smiles and holds up a golden hairpin, “the red jewel at the center reminds me of Harumi, fierce and passionate, I’m sure she’ll like it.”

Tomas smiles “Always the romantic.”

Bi-Han eyes the gift briefly. Was he supposed to get you something as well? What color did you even like? He regrets not asking you before.

There’s a slight shame that emerges within him, he has failed to get to know you well within these past weeks. He will have to atone for his shortcomings.

So he slips away; just briefly to examine whatever the shop has to offer. His eyes travel over the array of pieces, trailing over them all until he sees a simple silver chain harboring a blue jewel in its center. Blue was his choice of color, but it simultaneously reminded you of him, calm and sincere.

Before he knows it, he’s made the purchase and he continues on his way.

—————-

The sun has begun its descent and the moon begins to rise in its place. And so another day has passed without your husband. Or so you had thought. You had returned to your room after a meal. Rummaging through your belongings to pull out a woven shawl. The seasons have begun to shift and so the once manageable cold of the locale has become quite unbearable. You finally locate one suitable to your needs and toss it onto your bed. Now if you could only find warmer nightwear.

“Wife.”

The sound startles you and you quickly stand to your feet. When had he returned? You weren’t expecting him at this moment. You finally get a good look at him as he stands in the doorway. He is handsome as always. His mask is off, and he appears stoic. Yet you catch a look in his eyes that comes off as a mix of weary and longing. You want to hug him, should you? Would he reciprocate it? You don’t know. So you fail to move forward and instead shoot him a small smile, “Bi-Han, I’m glad you’re home.”

“As am I.”

His body is crying out in exhaustion, all he wants to do is unwind, but the eagerness to show you his gift takes precedence over that. His hand searches through his pocket to pull out a silver chain adorned with a gem of sapphire. He motions for you to come to the front of the mirror and you oblige. “Try this on.” He carefully places the necklace in your hands and you attempt to get it on, but the hook is giving you trouble. Your husband waits but a few moments before taking the two ends of the necklace within his fingers. You slide your hair to the side, so he’s better able to hook the chain. His fingers are cold against your warm skin and he leans in slightly, making his breath tickle the back of your neck. Your shoulders slightly tense. When the necklace is secure his hands move to rest by the crook of your neck, looking at your reflection in the mirror. He’s never touched you there before.

The shade of blue suits you. You hold the jewel between your thumb and index finger briefly, smiling at your reflection. It rested just at the valley between your breasts. The way your chest rose and fell as you breathed only exuded a greater sense of allure to him. You were focused on the necklace, so much so that you were caught off guard when he bent down and quickly placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “You look good,” he mumbled just barely above a whisper. He quickly turns around and makes his way out the door. You would go after him but you felt frozen in place, your cheeks heating up, and your heart beating hard.

——————

He didn’t even mean to do that. But your skin felt so soft, your fragrance hinted at scents of lotuses and lilies. The dim lighting illuminated your exposed skin in such a way that it ignited something within him, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to fully act on it.

So he flees the scene and pushes away any thoughts of embarrassment. His body is used to brutal conditions, but even he longs for undisturbed relaxation on rare occasions. Despite his cryomancy, he is keen on a hot bath. The warm water is soothing to his aching muscles and welcoming to his pains. He lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes. He hopes you like the necklace, it’s not much but it is something. He hasn’t had the desire to shower anyone with gifts before, but you may be slowly changing his mind.

The sound of a hesitant knock pulls him out of his state of relaxation. He snaps his head towards the private bathhouse's entrance. You stand there tentatively in the doorway. “What are you doing here? Go back to your room, now,” he scolds.

The steam emanating from the hot water twirls around the room, keeping the image of one another rather obscured.

“You didn’t close the door all the way and I heard the water running,” you say sheepishly. “I was going to ask if you wanted help. I can tell you’re tired.” You just wanted to be around him, he left quickly, and he took longer than you anticipated to return. You yearned to satiate your loneliness.

He was tired, but he wouldn’t say it. “How would you even help me?”

“I can wash your hair,” you respond and lean up against the frame of the entrance. You hope he accepts your offer.

Bi-Han contemplates it for a moment, he supposes it would save him the hassle… and he did long for your presence. “Fine, you may enter, but watch your eyes.” You stifle a laugh as you walk forward. “What do you find so amusing?” he asks with an annoyed expression. “Nothing, nothing.” He had no reason to worry, you wouldn’t peak. You pull up a chair and sit behind him. “Lean back a bit, please.” He heeds your request and you begin massaging his scalp with the needed products.

Now this was relaxing. He did feel rather self-conscious earlier. He was taking a bath so he was entirely exposed, but that worry melted away as your hands worked what he might equate to magic. They were slow and methodical, releasing the tension that constricted his skull. And so he finds himself serene enough to close his eyes once more.

You’re close to him again, this is probably the longest that you’ve seen him with his hair down. “You look good with your hair down,” you say softly. “Oh, do I?” he responds just above a whisper. You exhale lightly, “you do.” You continue in silence, for how long, you wouldn't know.

But you do know that you appreciate every second of it. For once, you finally feel at ease. You’ve once again reached that brief moment of domestic bliss.

You run your fingers through his hair, it’s softer than you thought it’d be.

Your eyes trail down the sight of his neck and upper back. Scars riddle the skin that is visible to you, some more faint than others. You assume they were obtained in training and battle. In moments like these, the full weight of Lin Keui’s ways bear down on you. There is honor to it, but at a greater cost to oneself. And you know it’s his duty, it’s the way of the clan you married into, yet your heart clenches at the thought of it.

The scars that adorn his body are many and you can’t help but lean forward to press your fingertips along one. The scar is extensive, nearly a clear cut minus a few jagged edges. Your fingertips graze along the expanse of the mark and you swear you feel him shudder against your touch.

“Do any of these still hurt?”

“No, none of them.”

“They must have hurt when you got them.”

“Yes, but I am grateful for it.”

You don’t respond, being grateful to retain such pain bewilders you. Bi-Han notices your lack of response. “It taught me discipline and is proof that I’ve survived prior ordeals. That is all.”

You take that as a note not to continue with further questions, at least for now. Your eyes fall to his bicep, “Your wound from last time is healing.” He opens his eyes briefly to glance at his arm before closing them again. “I appreciate your aid that night.” You smile slightly to yourself.

“Lean forward.” Bi-Han obliges and you get a basin of water to wash his hair. His eyes remain closed as you gently pour it on him. His wet hair sticks to the front of his face, obscuring his eyes. The image of such an intimidating man in front of you like this, causes you to let out a laugh.

He moves his hair out from in front of his eyes. He’s about to snap at you and ask what you’re laughing about. Yet he retains a moment of pause. You’re laughing, and it’s the carefree laugh that he’s been yearning for since you two had married. The one you had so openly shared with others. You’ve finally graced him with the pleasure of hearing it on his own. So he doesn’t stop you, instead, he takes hold of your hand and brings your fingertips to his lips. He presses a chaste kiss to them before letting go.

“Thank you.” He leans forward, crossing his arms and resting against the edge of the tub.

You smile faintly and sit on the rim of the bathtub. You’re slightly anxious, but work up the courage to hastily move his hair to the side and press a kiss to his forehead in a rather bashful manner. “Thank you for spending time with me.”

You see his mouth twitch into a smile for a brief second, and you are content.

The room begins to become even more humid.

But something is holding you back from leaving, tension has building up in the pit of your stomach and it’s causing your heart to tremble within your chest. So you remain there, inches away from him.

Your perfume makes him feel dizzy with increasing desire. The world around him begins to fade into silence, and the only thing that he can hear is your shallow breathing.

Your breath mingles with his.

And neither one knows who leaned in first.

But his hand rests on the back of your neck and your lips have collided with his. They are rough, tasting like the tea you once shared with him.

And you’ve never kissed anyone like this before.

Desperation and longing seep into the way your mouths move against each other. His heart has begun to pound against his ribcage and he wonders if yours has too. Your lips are softer than he could have ever anticipated, and the moment they break away from his, he silently mourns.

Heat has risen to your cheeks and you look away briefly, smiling to yourself and slowly getting up. “Goodnight Bi-Han.”

He takes a shaky breath. How unlike him. What have you done to him?

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

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Thanks for reading 💙

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Taglist: @jjmoonjj @ailujsenutna @weepingwillowswilly @sadsackssss @isa-gami @leonkennedy27 @darkraven01 @violetisdabest @tazahan @ackersolace @glitterywastelandwasteland @cassiecasluciluce @ghastlyrider @mmeerraa @diormnce @anotherdyedhair @naria18 @oneandonlyizabelle @assasello @chicken-little-but-duck @fandom-garbage

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#mk1 #bi han mk #bi han sub zero #mortal kombat 1 #bi han x reader #mk1 imagine

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cenorii · 11 months

Photo

I love Chriskers very much, so I needed a logical explanation for how they could be together again... English is not my native language, so there may be error rates in the text.

AU - SHARDS OF OBSIDIAN

I like to see a character completely fall when he loses everything he had. When his whole existence loses any meaning, and he becomes an empty place. I like to imagine if the character can handle it, or will he prefers oblivion.

He may have come out of shit before, but the total fall that destroyed him as a person is a new experience. Miraculously escaping death once again - which path would you choose? Resurrect again and keep doing things what will not work the third and fifth time? Something you don't see the point of anymore. Or will you try not to step on a rake? New way?

The rose-colored glasses you've been wearing all your life were broken. Lowered from heaven to earth. Ego is stuffed deep in the ass. There is nothing left of your personality, you do not see any value in yourself. You are nobody. And what will you do?

----

March 7, 2009. Chris finished with his sworn enemy, but this information was not reliable, because he made such conclusions knowing only his own truth. He saw it with his own eyes, but did not check. And now he will think so most of his life.

But Wesker survived. Once in the past, he was proud of himself that he escaped death thanks to a prototype virus. But right now, he only wanted to die like a real loser. But he was stopped by Oswell E. Spencer 's words, spoken to him a couple of years ago.

-You're the last one from "project W"

He lost everything, even himself. Everything he believed in was drowned in lava. Nothing made sense, not even his own life. Although, he could not even take an ordinary step towards death, because he was lying exhausted on a piece of land in the middle of lava. Burnt, but unfortunately alive. He no longer felt superior. And anyway... has he ever won? Only Sergei Vladimir, right?

Uroboros that got into his body during the final battle with Chris and Sheva cannot withstand high temperatures. Therefore, it was burned out of his body, which regenerated with the remnants of his strength thanks to the prototype virus. But even this power had a limit, because after two extra injections made by Chris, the prototype weakened and practically fell asleep in his body, depriving Wesker of his abilities. His body was fighting for life, but his mind did not want to live at all. Helpless, he could not even call himself a shadow of his former self.

Having lost all his strength, he realized how far he was from the God he considered himself to be. It was painful to realize. Weakness, never seen before, so unfamiliar, destroyed the remnants of personality inside his head.

And the thought came up again.

-You're the last one from "project W"

The thought that he was the only one of his kind, the last one, pierced his head and tormented him.

Is there no one left?

He killed Spencer with his own hand, and the rest of the project members died from the prototype virus. But something inside him did not allow him to complete this story.

Why do you live in the world now?

His entire body was destroyed from a disorderly regeneration that was only an echo of the previous one. Over time, it also left him. The prototype, finally falling asleep, endowed Wesker with unprecedented side effects, which had previously been restrained by proper injections. Feeling them, he even remembered Lisa Trevor, over whom he no longer wanted to joke. He felt inferior to her. The most insignificant thing in the world.

And so, with an absolutely empty head and hatred for his insignificance, he rises to what is left of his legs. Perhaps his tenacity is the only good quality. He won't be as lucky as he is now. There was nothing more to lose, where would a new page of life take him now?

His right arm moved erratically as he limped towards the fallen plane, and the remains of his left arm only dangled painfully. Wesker himself did not realize where the parts of his body were and did not immediately discover that something was missing.

"Auto... topagnosia...and alien hand syndrome?"

His head was damaged, but did not stop analyzing. Obsessive analysis, without a single outside thought. However, the damage doesn't the result of the battle, it was caused by regeneration. The prototype has always destroyed weak organisms and now its carrier was the weakest.

What keeps him alive? The thought that if he dies, he won't leave anything behind? Or this disgustingly burning self-hatred? A sense of value because he's the last one? Or maybe... a huge interest, where does it all lead?

His body was so disfigured that by all parameters it should not have existed in the world of the living. How amazingly he seized on his existence.

"Trust no one" was his motto. In this form, Wesker could not call for help from someone who worked for him. If he wanted to survive now, he could not allow himself to be finished off like a dog knocked down on the road. Therefore, he had to keep his life a secret from everyone.

A clear line has been drawn between this Wesker and the past, because his personality has suffered incredibly.

If the prototype virus once influenced his psychology, distancing him from everything human, now, freed from the influence of this virus, Wesker resembled an amoeba, because everything in which he was limited is now available again and very much atrophied. Even the desire for revenge did not seethe in him, because allowing himself such an emotion and not experiencing agony was a luxury for him.

It could have been a redemption story, of which there are quite a few. But this person is not one of those who admit their mistakes. (Now he rather considers himself a mistake.) He not one of those who adequately understands morality, ethics. And what he did cannot be redeemed. This is a story about the complete destruction of man, about how he creates himself anew.

Did he have a sense of the value of his own life? Probably, he will not spend any more seconds, from the ones given to him by fate, on useless or impossible plans. Because he is the last one.

Now, when his body is working to the limit, he cannot get up on the same rake.

What is its purpose? Survival for the first time. He will return to one of his bunkers, which no one knows about, and lock himself up in solitude.

It always seemed strange and very limited to me that Alex, trying to create a new body for herself, turned to biology, and not to robotics. Perhaps she would have been more successful if she combined several directions. It is logical that the new Wesker would try something new to help himself, if he's not senile. Therefore, in this situation, he would combine biology and technology. But where does he get the details, even if we imagine that he understands it now? The answer is simple: a new life - a new personality. For starters, he needs equipment. Activity on his accounts would attract the attention of BSAA, so the account he uses must be corporate. It won't be suspicious. Rats are fleeing from the TRICELL ship and withdrawing money?

When his body regains its working capacity, its next goal will be... nothing unusual. Nothing grandiose. He will become the real embodiment of neutrality, lost in his basement away from everyone. Until he reassembles himself. The fact is that it is not so easy to come up with a new goal in life when your previous goal, which you dreamed about for years, was trampled down, turned into nothing. They showed how imperfect your goal is and how naive you are. Therefore, the best plan for him now is not to have clear goals.

The side effects that the dying prototype gave him inside may well be incurable. Because of Alien Hand Syndrome, he now and then performs actions that he has not control. And because of autotopagnosia, he has great difficulty perceiving the location of parts of his own body, at first he could not distinguish an arm from a leg, and an eye from a nose. If he were a sentimental person and if he considered himself guilty of something, he would consider it a punishment for everything he had done, but he did not think about it at all. Now he thought exclusively with tasks, logic, because the slightest emotionality caused a severe headache.

Sometimes he suffers from amnesia and loses any information from his mind before that battle in the volcano. He also often forgets this event.

He endlessly writes diaries when memory is restored, so as not to forget anything. In order not to forget that he represented something and perhaps even respected himself.

Once.

But not now.

If Chris had seen him in such a state, he would have laughed, looking at how pathetic he was. He fancied himself a God, but in the end, what did he turn into? In a freak, suffering from senile and an inferiority complex.

He decided to direct all his knowledge and available information to something that would not be useless than all his previous plans. After all, he no longer spends the allotted seconds on nonsense, right? He needs something reliable.

On behalf of his fictitious identity, he will contact the BSAA and other organizations, try to cooperate, leaking his data accumulated over many years to everyone. Somewhere he will be listed as an "anonymous informant". However, it was he who gave the information to Chris in 2017. Helping his killer and enemy to... what? As if his damaged brain is trying in every way to signal that they are not finished. He is drawn to a painful past in which he was almost destroyed physically, and completely destroyed as a person.

Sometimes the prototype virus woke up in his body and regenerated, which prompted Wesker to think that he could still restore his crippled body. To some extent. So he took the remnants of PG67A/W injections from his stash just to try.

It is unlikely that he will be able to visit the Underground Garden in such a state in order to come up with something better from the progenitor virus. And he has no desire to return to the past, he no longer wanted to be tied to a needle. He chose a more practical option – prostheses.

The PG67A/W caused his body to regenerate by regrowing the destroyed tissue. But this effect was very weak, so it gradually slowed down until it practically stopped. The flesh still, even after 12 years, continues to recover. It slowly grows on top of the prostheses, and the bones, in turn, merge with the prostheses, destroying them. The whole process leaves a lot of scars. Even the damaged head was restored, but the side effects remained with him.

After many years, he will have to give up prosthetics, because the body will restore itself. And he would have to come up with something else, but he would obviously have a lot of time for that. He has a long life ahead of him. Aging is unlikely to be stronger than the prototype virus.

I think, closer to 2021, Wesker and Chris will still meet. Not by chance. Chris at first does not recognize in him the one whom he thought he killed 12 years ago. And when he realizes who is standing in front of him, then... However, that's another story.

There is a new danger ahead and it is better to keep enemies closer to yourself, suddenly they will be useful?

- You're pitiful.

- You pity me, Chris?

- No, and I will make sure that you live as long as possible in this world, because life is the best punishment for you right now.

#resident evil #chrisker #Chris Redfield #Albert Wesker #AU #resident evil 5 #resident evil 8

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fairyofshampgyu · 2 years

Text

Corrupt File !

genre: smut, college au

pairing: programmer! beomgyu x gn reader (afab when it comes to smut)

warnings: nsfw, sub virgin nerd! beomgyu, dom! reader, corruption kink, mentions of p0rn, handjob, riding

word count: 1.8k

Choi Beomgyu. Goodie two shoes in your comp sci class who was the teacher’s pet and notorious for being an ‘excellent’ and ‘strong’ programmer who can program amazingly well in any language and has great debugging skills. Apparently he learnt how to program at the early age of 7 and made his own pac man after a week.

He’s also a little pretentious bitch. He thinks he’s better than everyone else in the class and doesn’t bother speaking to anyone, giving others judgemental stares. You’ve seen him a couple times on campus with four other dudes though but none of them were in any of your classes. He comes to every single class early with his cute little outfits, sweater vests and cardigans whilst everyone else is in their hoodies and deranged with little sleep, sits at the front and doesn’t talk to anyone but the teacher.

You? Well, you’re mediocre at programming. You’re not too bad but you prefer other aspects of computer science and your programming skills have always made you slightly insecure because you weren't the best of the best and you didn’t learn it at some ridiculously young age and program 24/7 all types of games and websites and other stuff. You had to work so hard to actually get to a good level of programming whilst it came so easy to people like Choi Beomgyu. He seems so perfect. It made you want to imperfect him.

You were late to class today, getting a bit delayed by some cats on the way there. They were really cute cats what can you say! And you loved cats. But being late to class today meant that all seats were occupied except for the front row and the spare seat, unsurprisingly was next to Choi Beomgyu. He doesn’t pay you any attention though, waiting for his computer screen to load and then the teacher begins.

“Alright, today I thought our class was in great need of some partner work and we’ll be doing programming today. With whoever is sitting next to you, I’d like you to develop a program with them. It can be on everything and anything and you have the weekend to create it, using Python.”

Wow. It was just your luck.

The boy besides you sighs, pushes his cute, round, kinda too big for his face, glasses up and turns his body to face you.

To be honest, you wouldn’t have minded working with him. Despite being slightly jealous, you did admire his skill but with how hostile he was being and how clearly he resented the idea of working with you, you didn’t think this was going to go too well.

“...We could make like a simple video game or something...” You speak up first.

“On python? And too basic.” He rolls his eyes and shuts your suggestion off.

You’re slightly agitated with him now and you show it with your tone. “Well what do you think we should do then, huh?”

“I think we should make a music suggestion tool. We could make an algorithm run that recommends music based on what we think the user will like.”

He doesn’t wait for you to agree, opening up python and already starting to write some code.

For the rest of the class, you don’t contribute much, just trying to give him some suggestions to add maybe a function over there or a loop over here, maybe trying to find a reason as to why a syntax or logic error came up. You’re already halfway done and sure it would need more refining but now you know it won’t take up your whole weekend which is good. You watch him carefully as he stays very focused, fluffy dark hair falling into his face and eyes and his circular glasses that had drooped back down to his nose. You look down to his hands. He was very fast at typing and his hands were oddly very pretty.

Upon inspecting his features, you come to the conclusion that he was in fact actually pretty attractive. How had you never noticed before?

“We can carry on working on it at my place right now if you want?” Beomgyu asks, packing up his pink laptop, pink pencil case and pink notebook back into his crossbody bag after the class had finished. You stare at your own laptop that just has a black hard case cover, your pencil case that looks like it’s been through three wars, and your notebook that was really just a bunch of lined paper. Wow, he even had a theme going on.

“Oh I've actually got another class after this that won’t be done until about two hours but I can come after that. Just send me your address.” So you exchange phone numbers and go off your separate ways.

Apparently you were the only one who wasn’t informed that your class was actually cancelled today, your professor going on strike or something like that. Sighing, you check your phone to see that beomgyu had sent you his address and it’s not that far from the campus. You could go there early then.

knock, knock, knock. He was taking weirdly long to open his door and you could hear some rustling and bustling until he finally did open his door.

“Oh. You’re here early.”

“Yeah turns out my class was actually cancelled.”

His room was exactly how you expected it to look; clean and cute and quite perfectly him. The room had a pastel coloured running theme but mostly just pink and white. Fairy lights, strung across the headboard of his bed, a pastel pink record player in the right corner with an assortment of vinyls underneath, ones you recognised and liked and some you didn't recognise, an acoustic guitar to the left on a stand near his shelf and there was a worn out teddy bear occupying his bed.

He sits on his bed and you follow...and then you both just sit there doing absolutely nothing for a few seconds in awkward silence.

“Uhhh aren’t you gonna get your laptop? We wrote it on your laptop?” You laugh, awkwardly.

“Uh yeah. Right.” So he gets his laptop, very slowly opening it and he’s just about to open the .py file when his mouse board falters over the safari accidentally and the hidden window was freed with a very suggestive video on it paused and an even more suggestive website. Your eyes go wide and so does his.

“I-it’s not- it’s not what it looks like! I-it’s just when you’re watching on a dodgy website and those pop ups come up! yeah...yeah!” He’s furiously clicking the red button on the top left hand corner to close the window immediately. But you can’t help the grin slowly appearing on your face.

You move slowly closer towards him and he moves back, stopping when his head touches the pretty fairy light headboard. “Oh really? Because it seems like you were jerking off before I was here.” Your face is only a few inches away from his now and he gulps, looking up at you. When he doesn’t even say anything to defend himself, you chuckle at him. “What happened to the little goodie two shoes? I didn’t know you were such a fucking whore.”

“I’m not-i’m not a whore!”

“Are you sure?” You move to his clothed dick which was painfully hard now, lightly palming it and his whole body jerks, moaning and eyelids fluttering.

“More, more...”

You scoff. “Have you ever had a handjob before?” He shakes his head. “Do you want one?” Slack-jawed, he nods his head profusely.

You free his dick and take it into your hands, starting to stroke him and his hands fly to shyly cover his face, attempting to conceal his moans but not to much success.

“Don’t cover your pretty face.” You tut at him, “I wanna see it.” You bring your own hands to remove them away from his face. Not gonna lie, it’s turning you on immensely seeing beomgyu like this. Little put together, pretentious, perfect beomgyu is like this right now, begging you to touch him, clueless and embarrassed. You want to absolutely ruin him.

“Aw I bet you didn’t get to cum before did you?”

“yeah...”

“Don't worry, baby I'll let you cum.”

You use your thumb to go back and forth on his sensitive tip while your other hand grabs the base of his dick and his mouth hangs wide open in endless moans and gasps. You pump his dick fast up and down, ruthlessly jerking him off and his breath hitches.

“Close!” He lets out the loudest moan so far and you abruptly stop. He utters a frustrated whine, hips bucking up and pouting at you, “I thought you said you’d let me cum.”

You can’t help but giggle at him. He’s so cute. “I will. In my pussy.” That seems to shut him up.

You get on top of him, straddling his waist and gently pinning both of his hands to the headboard. He looks at you slightly nervous.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“But I want to.”

“You sure?” He nods his head.

“Okay.” You inhale a breath before positioning his tip to your entrance and you look to his face again for confirmation and when there’s no sign of uncertainty , you slowly sink down.

“Oh, fuck! Feels so gooood” His face contorts in pleasure and he turns his head to the side, burying it into the pillow whilst his mouth stays parted. You lift up and drop back down hard, making him cry out a loud moan and you begin to ride him slow.

He was already so blissed out by you riding him slow you wonder how he’d be if you quicken your pace so you do, riding him mercilessly now, basically bouncing on his cock and he moans uncontrollably, incoherent words coming out of him with a fucked out face in a daze. Only his moans getting higher in pitch by the second and the noise of skin slapping filling the room.

“C-cumming, cumming!” And with a loud whine and his eyes slightly rolling back, his dick jerks and spills all inside of you with his body trembling.

His face right after being fucked is gorgeous. He’s breathless and panting by his first proper orgasm with his cheeks and chest flushed, face glistening because of the sweat and his fluffy hair completely wrecked now, glasses a bit crooked and head in the clouds.

Yeah, maybe you won’t end up getting the program done in time after all.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE REALLY APPRECIATED GUYS 😭<333

#beomgyu smut #sub! beomgyu #sub!beomgyu #sub!idol #sub! idol #dom!reader #sub! txt #sub!txt #txt smut #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt headcanons #txt reactions #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu x reader #kpop smut #txt hard hours

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wickjump · 12 days

Note

Hey how do you think the sans AUs would act like if they had hair.

Like who would dye it , what haircut , how often would they wash it and stuff.

i’m choosing to go for ‘human au’ on this one because skeletons with hair isn’t something i want to think about for long. mind you these are my hcs and everyone is allowed to have their own interpretation of characters! this is just how i view them. i still enjoy other human designs for them tho and arent really that picky with anything really.

error’s hair by all logic should be in awful condition because of the years without caring for his hair in the anti void but his body seems to be in a sort of stasis. oh well, to hell with all logic. i love both long dreads and braids on him and i’m always unable to pick so either or, no preference. i adore both interpretations equally. definitely blue hair, at least at the ends. maybe it’s dyed, maybe the antivoid gave him blue hair, who knows. he doesn’t remember.

ink. this is heavily inspired by a design i found on tiktok (by hlebna11) that i enjoy the concept of. long thin white hair, a good bit below waist length. he’s dyed his hair plenty times before but it all seems to fade out completely after a week or two no matter what dye he uses. his hair gets in the way of a lot/is dipped in paint/gets caught on things, but he refuses to cut it. thankfully once it hit his ‘below waist length’ it stopped growing out. (edit: by inspired by, i mean exclusively the hair part, not the skin tone! i was unaware he was canonically poc, and the design mentioned shows him as white. whitewashing is a bad thing and i did not mean to support a design featuring that!!)

dream and nightmare both have long hair. dream’s is thick and wavy golden (i don’t mean blonde, i mean actually unnaturally bright gold colored), while nightmare’s is thin and straight. nightmare’s hair would be more like dream if he wasn’t ‘corrupted’, and it was more of a curly darkish purple when he was younger than pure black like it is now. his hair is also much longer than dream’s, reaching down to near hip length while dream’s hair is like. middle of ribcage length. dream puts his hair up a lot, nightmare doesn’t. for some reason, nm’s hair never gets tangled. like at all. lucky mf

cross had short hair most of his life because it was the royal guard standard, but over time at nightmare’s without those rules, he grew it out a bit. not too much, less than shoulder length, but it's still visibly longer and more full. his hair is naturally white because xgaster had a theme going on, possibly with a black underside. he’s huge on ‘keeping it natural’, as in not dying it, but nobody believes his hair is naturally those colors.

(100% inspired by crixcrocz on tiktok you have my favorite human design for killer ever) killer’s hair is about shoulder length and the cut looks like it was done in complete darkness with a chainsaw. not much else to say here. it’s uneven and always ruffled. who let him cut his own hair. he also has that ramona style ‘two strands in the front that are longer than the rest of the hair’ thing going on. he’d dye it if dyeing it didn’t require bleaching it, which he doesn’t want to put in the effort of doing.

now for dust. i am physically incapable of imagining dust in any way other than junipers-insects’ design for him?? i’m in love with it. so that’s what i forever see him as in ‘human form’. im far from picky with designs for him tho, i've seen a lot of cool ones.

classic’s got short dreads i’m sorry i don’t make the rules. i really don’t. while i love the idea of him dyeing it he’d be way too lazy to. also this ain’t about him but classic papyrus would likely have short hair with shaved sides. you know the style. he probably also has ‘cool guy’ shaved into said sides. or flames. either that or he's got cornrows. sans does his hair

geno’s got classic’s same hair because they’re the same guy, except it’s gone pure white in the save screen because he has a theme to keep up. he jokes that he’s gone grey due to stress and i wouldn't doubt it. i also like to think his hair is longer but that "wouldn't make sense" because "his body doesn't function normally when in the save screen" or whatever so SIGH i guess he has short hair (lame)

fell is similar to classic but his dreads are longer, a little bit more than shoulder length i’d say? he puts his hair up in a ponytail a lot. there's this one human design i love for him but i cannot find it which is killing me.

swap on the other hand has short curled hair. on the hair scale i’d say it’s 3a? 3b? it’s above shoulder length but it goes below his chin. he showers like twice a day so 30% of the time you see him his hair is wet. his hair is thick too so it takes forever to dry which annoys him (me fr). i like both white and black and brown hair for him so i have no preference for color between those three. he probably dyed it blue for a while for sake of color scheme but didn't like it much. i've also seen good designs for him where he's got ginger hair too.

fresh’s hair i imagine the same as his actual human design so there’s not much in that regard for him. greaser’s hair is the same as well. i don't have many thoughts for them because their hair has already been ingrained into my mind for years

horror has thin hair due to malnutrition. like it’s really not healthy at all. it used to be much fuller and shorter years ago, but time and starvation both do numbers. his hair reaches halfway down his humerus and is often knotted or tangled, he just doesn’t care much for it compared to other things.

reaper has long straight dark gray hair that goes down to his waist. geno (or rt!tori, or whoever you ship him with/hc him to be close with in general) likes to mess with it and put it in different styles. reaper lets him because it’s fun to see him so concentrated on something.

i’m so torn on lust. honestly i’ve never seen a bad hairstyle on him, he can pull off literally anything so i don’t mind what hairstyle he has nor do i have a preference. in fact, he probably switches styles all the time, so there’s no definitive one he uses the most. his hair is def dyed purple/pink/teal at the ends. he probably also uses that hair glitter spray on it

btw i am in fact white so if i messed up with any of the poc hairstyle descriptions PLS PLS PLS let me know!!!

i also don't really imagine any of them with facial hair because i don’t like facial hair i’m too lesbian for that. stubble is fine. they got arm/leg/other such hair too when applicable but i personally just do not like big ol beards/mustaches. that's just my personal preference with that one no shame in having facial hair or enjoying it it’s just not my thing ^^;

ok yeah that’s all :33

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hederasgarden · 2 years

Text

Sins of the Father - Part 1

Summary: When the Greens win the Dance of the Dragons, your father must answer for his support of Rhaenyra.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lady!Reader(house unspecified)

W/C: 1.5K

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, forced/arranged marriage and reference to canon level violence. Future chapters will be explicit.

A/N: Thank you fieldandfountain, @truesblue and @whatblogisthis216 for all your help with the first part of this fic. The fantastically talented @writercole created the beautiful graphic!

Likes are lovely but comments and reblogs make my day!

You trail behind your father into the nearly empty Great Hall, flinching when the heavy doors close behind you. King Aegon the second is nowhere to be seen. In his place the Queen Mother sits on the throne, flanked by the Hand of the King and who you assume must be her youngest son, Prince Aemond. Even though he looks half bored he still makes for an intimidating figure, dressed all in black with an eye patch that only partially hides the angry scar that bisects his right eye. You swallow hard, recalling all the nasty rumors you’ve heard about him. Kinslayer was the kindest one you could recall.

A handful of Kingsgaurd members stand at the bottom of the throne and two more follow behind you and your father. You search the room for any familiar figures or other nobles but find none. There are no friendly faces here. When you spot the King's Justice half-hidden behind a pillar, you stumble. Fear lances through your chest, hot and tight, as you consider what his presence means.

“All will be well,” your father promises quietly, offering you his hand.

You grip it tightly and stare straight ahead. The stories your grandmother told you as a girl about her visits to Kings Landing pale in comparison to what you see before you. The iron throne looms large and imposing, the chaotic array of swords terrifying. You have to crane your neck to look at the high ceiling, eyes catching on the beautiful stained glass. Were this any other time you would have been thrilled at the chance to see the capital. Now you feel only dread.

There is no question why the two of you are here today. Your father and brother threw their support behind Rhaenyra in the war and now it was time to face that choice. To beg for mercy like the other lords summoned before your father. The heads of those unsuccessful in their plea were impaled on the spikes that lined the castle’s inner walls. You prayed to the seven that your father would not join them.

“Your Grace,” your father greets, bending deeply at the waist. You follow suit, dropping into a low curtsey and waiting until she bids you rise. “We were expecting to see the King today.”

“My son is busy,” Alicent tells you with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I am here to speak on his behalf.”

“We were summoned by the King,” your father says, a deep frown on his face. “And have traveled far to speak with him.”

“You also pledged your allegiance to the usurper,” the Hand reminds your father.

“The King is merciful though,” Alicent is quick to add, a bland sort of smile on her face. “He understands your family’s ties with House Targaryen go back to before the doom and that your mother was a childhood friend to Aemma. It is understandable you might have been easily led astray.”

Your father remains silent, waiting for Alicent to continue. He told you on the long journey here that he suspected the crown wanted money. There were rumors the war nearly bankrupted the royal coffers. It was a costly war, paid in both blood and gold. Your father is one of the wealthiest lords in Westeros, second only to the Lannisters. It was a logical conclusion and you hoped he was right.

“King Aegon would like to offer you the opportunity to show us you understand the error of your ways and to reaffirm your commitment to his rule.”

“What does his grace have in mind?” Your father asks.

“Marriage between your daughter and Prince Aemond.”

Your lips part in a silent show of surprise but your father’s reaction is more pronounced. His brows draw together and he cuts a quick look at Aemond who stands tall and disinterested beside his mother.

"You cannot possibly expect me to give up my only remaining heir," your father begins, voice incredulous.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the King's Hand jut his chin out and one of the Kingsguard steps forward, hand on the pommel of his greatsword. You glance up at Alicent. She blinks, her face pinched in a sour expression. You think about the heads on Traitor’s Gate and step forward before you’re even cognizant of your own actions.

"Please your grace, you must excuse my father," you begin, resting a hand on his arm. "He grieves still for my brother, his only son, and heir. He fears he will lose me today too, but I can see that is not the case. Prince Aemond is a virtuous man and would treat me well. We are honored you deem us worthy of such a betrothal."

Your father turns to you and stares, surprised. His eyes, the same color as your late brother's, are full of anger. You know he wants to fight this, but you have your mother and sisters back home to think about. Silently, you beg him to understand, to acquiesce. After a long moment, he seems to, clenching his jaw tightly. The fear you see in his expression is a mirror of what you feel in your heart.

"We would be happy to show our loyalty to the crown," your father says finally, clearly unhappy. A second later he lays his hand over yours.

"The King will be pleased to hear this," Alicent replies.

"Of course, there is the matter of a dowry," the Hand says, speaking up finally. "It would need to be fit for a Prince."

You look pleadingly to your father when his hand tightens over yours, a muscle in his cheek jumping. He came ready to part with his coin, not with you. You should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. The crown needs to ensure your father’s loyalty. He is a powerful man and his influence ran deep. With you in King’s Landing, they could be assured of his cooperation. Any children you bore Aemond would inherit your father’s lands and titles after he passed, guaranteeing your house remained bound to the realm.

“The Prince needs only to name his price,” you say when it is clear your father is too angry to speak. When you look at Aemond, you’re startled to find his eye focused solely on you. His expression is blank, making it impossible to determine what he might be thinking.

“How kind to offer me a say,” he says with a smirk.

You drop his intense gaze, inclining your head forward in a show of respect to hide your fear.

“We are but returning the kindness your family has shown us,” you assure him, not daring to raise your eyes from the ground.

“Then the matter is settled,” the Hand says.

“It is,” your father agrees, voice strained.

The situation you’ve found yourself in is a dangerous one and you know the fate of your father and your house rests on your shoulders now. It’s a heavy burden and he looks at you with such a pained expression you feel your throat close up around any words of comfort you might offer. Instead, you squeeze his arm and try to impart whatever reassurance you can. He nods in return, exhaling sharply. Under his fear and worry, you think you see a glimmer of pride.

“The wedding should take place soon,” Alicent says, drawing your attention away from your father as she descends the throne. There’s an unexpected smile on her face when she beckons Aemon to her side.

“As your grace wishes,” you accede.

“In two months' time, all the lords of the kingdom will come to reswear their allegiance to King Aegon. It can happen then. That will allow us to prepare a wedding fit for the King’s brother.”

“That will give me the time needed for the dowry,” your father adds. “We will return in one month's time to make preparations.”

“You misunderstand, my lord,” the Hand begins, “your daughter will remain in King’s Landing. To ensure your continued loyalty.”

“It will give her time to know her betrothed,” Alicent adds with a smile, drawing closer. She places a light hand on your shoulder and looks at your father. “She will be well cared for until you return.”

“A dragon protects what is his,” Aemond says, a flash of movement drawing your eye to the hand that rests on the dagger in his belt.

“Your skills with the blade are legendary, your grace. It warms my father’s heart to know I will be kept so safe.”

“I am sure it warms something.” Aemond stares at your father now, chin lifted in challenge.

Alicent flashes her son a look but Aemond only chuckles, turning on his heel before your father can respond.

♡

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