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silantryoo · 4 months

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BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — the last great american dynasty, pt 1.

jang wonyoung, throughout the years.

WARNINGS ; misogyny, toxic household, infidelity, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, absent parents, mentions of affair families, hints of eating disorders, overworking, health issues, fatphobia, implied depression, implied teenage pregnancy (5.5k)

jang wonyoung was born on august 31, 2004.

the newborn was nine pounds and twenty-one inches. with a head of dark, thick hair, the baby's cries rang throughout the hospital room as a tired jang jiyoung could feel the tears welting in her eyes. her baby was alive, and healthy by the sound of it. it was music to her ears.

her baby. her beautiful baby.

she could already imagine it. her beautiful baby boy, inheriting the jang name, passing it on. he'd run for office, just like his father, upholding its integrity, its strength. jiyoung would introduce him to one of her costar's friends, and they'd get married. he'd take care of her, as jiyoung would help his pregnant wife get settled into the family.

she loved her baby boy. her perfect little wonyoung.

"what would you like to name her?"

jiyoung's heart dropped.

her?

"i'm sorry?"

she must've heard wrong. it was just the post-labor haze that had been talking. not only would wonseok reprimand her for not producing an heir to the jang name, but she wouldn't have anyone to take care of her once she grew old.

at least, not someone capable.

the baby's cries continued, almost as if the baby was begging for a glimpse of its mom. with tiny little hands outstretched in the direction of jiyoung, tears poured down its chubby cheeks.

her baby. her baby girl.

"wonyoung." she said half-heartedly. "i'll name her jang wonyoung."

jang wonyoung was imperfect from the start.

her cheeks were too chubby.

any normal four-year-old would have been praised. chubby cheeks were a sign of health, a sign that your baby was eating well.

wonyoung knew it from the way her mom would stare at her, sometimes even pinching her cheeks harshly, almost as if she was trying to pull off the fat on them.

she tried to ignore it, always opting to color peacefully and blink the tears away.

she always drew four people.

her mom, hair flowing to her shoulders, her eyes the same doe-eyed ones as wonyoung. wonyoung always drew her with an angry expression. it was only on tv that wonyoung saw her smile. the youngest jang always stayed up to see her mom smile.

one day, she wanted to see it in person.

her dad was there too, who she rarely saw, but always held a frown whenever he came home. she noticed that he always smelt different, sometimes like the dark, but other times, like flowers. her dad was always serious, even when he was with her mom.

there was also her nanny, a middle-aged woman named hannah, drawn with a smile that made wonyoung feel warm and safe. from what she told wonyoung, she had been working for jiyoung back when she was lee.

wonyoung wondered if her mom smiled back then.

lastly, in the middle, the four-year-old stood. she'd draw herself out in blue crayon, holding her parents' hands with a happy smile. she wished they had a photo like that, instead of the rigid ones that they kept above the fireplace.

hopefully, she'd get a younger sibling soon, so she could love more people.

"enough drawing, wonyoung." her mom snatched her masterpiece away, eyebrows furrowed like the pictures. "your dad is coming home soon."

"he is?" she hoped that he smelt like flowers again.

"he is." jiyoung's face hardened. "you have to go to your room now."

"but i want to see him." she hadn't seen her dad in two months. her mom always said he was at the office, helping the next candidate for the upcoming election (whatever that meant). wonyoung didn't care though. all she wanted was to see her dad again.

jiyoung let out a long sigh, and wonyoung could feel the guilt starting to build up in her chest.

did she make her mom mad again?

"he's in a bad mood, wonyoung." her lips were in a tight line, and wonyoung could see her jaw clenching.

she just wanted her mom to smile at her for once. she wanted to stop making her angry, and her dad happy.

the young girl's eyes brightened, her cheeks turning a light red.

"i can cheer him up!" her dad always laughed at her jokes. if she could get him to smile, wonyoung was sure she could make him feel better. "my friend, sarang, taught me a magic trick. if i can just show dadd-"

"i said," her mom's voice was strict and firm, not the smooth melody she heard on tv. "go to your room, wonyoung."

"but-" wonyoung could cheer him up! she knew she could.

jiyoung sighed. of course, wonyoung would disobey her. she shouldn't have expected anything else from the younger girl.

"do you want him to be mad at you?" the older woman scolded her, jiyoung's finger pointing at the four-year-old in front of her. "do you want him to know that you're a stupid little girl who doesn't listen to her mom?"

stupid.

wonyoung hadn't heard that word before, not until now. her mom had always called her other things; annoying, loud, irritating, but she had never heard stupid before.

she didn't know why it made her feel bad.

"what?" wonyoung could feel herself shrinking into her seat, gripping onto the blue crayon in her hand. "what's stupid?"

"you." jiyoung's eyes were numb, void of all emotions. wonyoung hated it when her mom looked at her like that. "you're being an annoying, stupid little girl right now."

stupid? was she stupid?

wonyoung could feel herself crying.

she didn't want to be stupid. she just wanted to make her dad happy. she just wanted to spend time with him, even when he smelt weird, like the cabinet her mom would open frequently.

"i just wanna see daddy..." wonyoung hiccuped. her lip quivered as her mom glared at her, huffing.

her mom was mad. it was wonyoung's fault, again.

maybe wonyoung was a stupid little girl.

she didn't want to be stupid.

"he doesn't wanna see you." jiyoung whispered, her voice piercing the young jang.

wonyoung hung her head low.

she knew it deep down. she knew that her dad's laughs were to shoo her away. wonyoung could see it by the way he looked at her, and no matter how hard she tried, no matter how funny her jokes were, wonseok wouldn't look her way. even when she showed him her drawings, all he would do was nod.

wonyoung was a stupid girl.

"go to your room, wonyoung."

wonyoung nodded, her bottom lip quivering as she packed up her crayons. she cradled the box against her body, rushing upstairs as jiyoung poured herself a glass of wine.

the four-year-old swung the door open, jumping into her already-made bed. the box of crayons squished against the pale blue covers, various pinks, and reds staining them. it was warm in her room, blindingly bright for a night at 9pm. if wonyoung wasn't crying so much, she'd ask hannah to turn down the lamp and turn on her rabbit night light.

she loved rabbits. they looked like her mom.

"wonyoung." hannah laughed at the little girl, sitting beside her faced-down head. "your crayons."

wonyoung stayed quiet, letting her bed soak up the tears pouring down her face. she tried her best to be quiet, to not disturb anyone, just like her mom taught her.

hannah could still hear her sniffling, though.

the older woman rubbed the back of wonyoung's shirt, feeling the young heiress gasping for air. "what's wrong?"

wonyoung lifted her head up, squinting as she tried to adjust to the room's brightness. she could see the han river from where she was, the water glistening into the jang household.

the four-year-old looked at her caretaker, the kind woman smiling at her.

"mama told me to go up here." her voice was as tiny as she was. "she said daddy was coming, and that he was upset."

wonyoung was upset too, but she was okay with being upset if it meant wonseok would look her way.

"why are you crying then?"

she was crying because she was stupid. she was crying because she never got to spend time with her dad, and her mom only looked her way when wonyoung listened to her.

she was crying because she was jang wonyoung, and her parents didn't want jang wonyoung.

"mama said i can't see him." she hummed as the nanny stroked her hair, comfort washing throughout her body. "he'd get mad at a stupid girl like me."

hannah frowned.

she was worried that jiyoung would turn out like this, bitter and cruel to the younger girl. jiyoung had always resembled her mother, even back when the eldest lee was a baby. hannah had always hoped that she wouldn't hold the same parenting style as her.

"wonyoung." hannah bit back the quiver of her voice. no girl, especially someone as sweet as the young heiress, should ever think of themselves in such a way. "don't call yourself stupid. you're a very smart girl."

wonyoung shook her head. every word her parents had said was a sense of truth to the young child. every glare, every sigh made her feel sad. it made her hurt.

it made her feel worthless.

(but the four year-old didn't know that word yet, and it wouldn't be a couple years until she did. but it didn't matter, because she knew it felt the same when she was four as it did when she was twenty.)

"mama said i was." her voice was as little as she was.

jiyoung was her mother in every sense, just like she always wanted to be. hannah hoped wonyoung wouldn't meet the same fate.

"she's just stressed out right now." she felt guilty lying to the young girl, even though it was partial. "don't listen to her."

wonyoung wanted to believe hannah, so she nodded, sitting up and allowing herself to accept the excuse.

hannah smiled, her grin sending a warmth through wonyoung's body that made her feel loved. she wished that her mom would smile at her that way, but she didn't mind that it was hannah.

the woman looked at wonyoung's bed sheets, stained with the young girl's tears and her crayons.

"do you wanna help me clean this up?" hannah asked, watching as the four year-old's eyes lit up.

wonyoung always wanted to help her.

it made her miss her daughter.

"can i show you a magic trick first?" the young jang smiled, her chubby cheeks protruding from her face.

"a magic trick?" hannah asked gleefully. she pinched wonyoung's cheek lightly, trying her best to control her giddiness. she didn't understand how anyone could hate her this child. "our baby knows a magic trick?"

"can i?" wonyoung grabbed a crayon from the box, waiting for hannah's answer.

"of course, wonyoung."

wonyoung felt perfect.

wonyoung was stupid.

she didn't understand how she could get a 78% in english. perhaps she had been too enamored by their english teacher, the young woman from overseas who had cat-like eyes and a soft, comforting voice that felt like a blanket.

still, she should be doing better. she had gone to an english speaking preschool. most of her friends spoke english as well. she even had cousins across the planet that lived in english speaking countries.

the young heiress felt herself tense as she heard her father sigh beside her. her teacher, pretty and proper, sat in front of them, alongside the principal. only a dark mahogany desk separated the two parties, but wonyoung wished it was more.

"a tutor?" jang wonseok voice was sharp, yet deep and demanding. "why would she need a tutor?"

she needed a tutor because she was stupid. wonyoung was a stupid girl.

she held her tongue back, the knot in her throat increasing as she felt her father radiate anger.

"wonyoung is struggling in english." the eight year-old could hear the worry in her teacher's voice, but she didn't know if it was directed at her or at her father. "it's normal for kids her age too, but she has a hard time with the structure."

the young heiress wanted to go home. she wanted to sit in her dark room, in her closet behind the mahogany doors, the one that had twelve knots, an imperfection that was smooth to the touch.

it was the only imperfection she could bear because jang's can't come with imperfections.

wonyoung wished she wasn't a jang, or at the very least, she wasn't wonyoung.

"if it's normal then why does my daughter need it?" the young jang didn't need to turn to know that her father was scowling at the pretty girl in front of them. she could already hear it in his voice.

"well, since you did sign her up for the advanced placement in our school, it'll be hard for her to keep up with the class." her teacher was calm. wonyoung liked calm. "a tutor would help her and-"

"my daughter doesn't need a tutor."

she did. wonyoung knew she did.

but her father rarely acknowledged her, much less as his daughter. part of her had wondered if he did it purposefully, but it didn't matter. not right now, at least.

"right, wonyoung?"

wonyoung couldn't continue to be a disappointment.

"no."

"get up." her father smirked. he stood up, dusting his tailored dress pants. "we're leaving."

"yes, dad."

obedience was perfection, just like status was worth.

wonyoung just wished that it didn't have to break a part of her every time she did it.

jang wonseok stormed out, and wonyoung could feel the embarrassment fluttering across her chest. her eyes met her principal's, his face scowled in disdain.

jang's had pride, but wonyoung knew better than to leave as such.

the eight-year-old bowed. she bowed as an apology for her and her father and as a sign of respect for the two school staff who took time out of their way out of concern for her.

"jang wonyoung!"

her eyes widened, and wonyoung found herself bolting out of the room, her school bag clutched against her chest.

jang wonseok was scary.

the two made their way into wonseok's mercedes, wonyoung hopping inside, as her father started the car.

the two drove in silence, wonyoung knowing better than to speak once spoken to. she didn't want to anger her father any further, otherwise it would fall onto her mother, which would fall onto her.

she didn't have time for that. she needed to study.

her stomach grumbled lowly, the sudden sound making her head jolt up.

oh, she needed to eat too. she had forgotten about that along the way, too anxious about the parent-teacher meeting that happened to eat lunch earlier that day.

she needed to eat and then study. if she studied as soon as she got home, she would have time to draw or watch cartoons without sacrificing her grades.

was she even allowed to watch cartoons now? her mother had always called them nonsense but wonyoung liked to turn off her brain once in a while. maybe that's why she was stupid. maybe that's why she was like this.

or maybe she was just like this because she was wonyoung.

"your teacher pisses me off." wonseok turned the corner. "is she always like that?"

did she always care about wonyoung? yes, more than her father did.

but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"no."

"hm." wonseok hummed, the car coming to a halt as the traffic light turned red. he glanced at his daughter, gaze cold and stern. "you shouldn't be struggling, wonyoung. that's not how i raised you."

the young heiress wasn't raised by her father or her mother. at eight, she already knew that, and it angered her to think that they kept trying to take credit for her actions, whether it be good or bad.

hannah raised her. not jang wonseok.

but she still held his last name, like how his blood flowed through her veins, and how his title affected her daily life.

"you're a jang." the car started to move again. "jang's don't need help. you think my father helped me? you think he made me how i am?"

part of her wondered if her grandfather had treated her father like this, or if her father was just mean to be mean.

"do you understand what i'm saying?"

wonyoung nodded, obedient as ever. "yes."

"when you get home, i expect you to be studying." wonyoung frowned. her father would most likely be in his study, one that had a clear view of the kitchen. "hannah will keep an eye on you."

"hannah's sick." she was in no shape to take care of the young jang. in fact, wonyoung had been taking care of her. "she should stay in her room. i can just ask my friends-"

"how much do you know, wonyoung?" wonseok asked, practically waving her shortcomings in front of her face. the young girl stayed silent. "exactly. and your friends know as much as you do. hannah will be making sure you stay on track."

wonyoung knew better than to argue, so she listened like she always did.

"yes, dad."

wonyoung wished she could stop listening, just this once.

there were twelve knots on the inside of her mahogany-boarded closet. four were broken in half, caught in between doors while the rest scattered.

there were fifty slits on said doors, one hundred in total. she liked the way the light peaked in, and how warm she felt when it hit her face.

there were three pillows that scattered the ground in said closet. one was bunny-shaped, pastel blue with beady eyes that wonyoung had gotten for her ninth birthday. the other two were throw pillows, white in color, ones that her mother had given her this year, on her tenth.

the hard, cold ground was covered with a blanket, navy blue and fluffy, one that hadn't been washed in over two months. wonyoung's initials were stitched onto the side, but it was only a reminder that she and this closet, her escape, were owned by her father.

it was her father who owned this house, who owned her existence, just like he owned a second child.

her father was a cheater. wonyoung had heard it in between slits of the one hundred panels that made up the majority of her closet's entrance.

"cheater!" she heard.

"liar!" she heard.

crying, she heard.

she wished she could stop hearing it in her head, how her mother's sharp cries echoed in her skull, and how jiyoung blamed everything on the ten-year-old jang wonyoung.

it's my fault.

it always was.

a shadow passed through the holes of her closet, blocking the sunlight as it reached her eyes. wonyoung wondered how long she had been inside, the fighting reaching its climax at around four that morning.

she only wanted to study.

the shadow stayed still as if it was contemplating leaving. the young jang hoped that it was her mother, coming to apologize for the careless words that she had yelled an hour ago.

but jang jiyoung never apologized, just like she never cried.

the shadow spoke.

"wonyoung..."

the young jang stood up, opening the opposite door in a hurry.

the ten-year-old grabbed her arm, bracing it gently as the older woman smiled. she could see hannah holding a cup of water, waves rippling with each shake of her hand.

"you should be resting." she furrowed her eyebrows.

hannah merely stared, not budging as the young heiress felt herself getting more desperate.

wonyoung begged. "hannah, please."

"i'm not leaving until we talk." the older woman shook her head, standing her ground.

hannah was like her, stubborn in every sense. she cared too much to let wonyoung wallow in her sorrows. the young jang knew she would be lost without her guidance.

"can you at least sit?" wonyoung tried to reason, ushering hannah to her bed.

she nodded, allowing wonyoung to lead her. she sat down, handing wonyoung the glass, who took it carefully as if hannah was the one that was fragile.

the two sat in silence, and all hannah could remember was wonyoung at four years old, crying about her mother.

it was no different this time.

"it's not your fault." the older woman started. "your mom is just angry."

jiyoung was an angry person, like wonseok.

but wonseok wanted calm, and jiyoung hadn't been the person to provide that.

"do you think she would be happier if i was never born?" wonyoung asked, her thoughts echoing the shouting of her mother.

hannah couldn't fathom anyone saying such words about their child.

"if i could, i would." the ten-year-old wonyoung meant it truthfully. "i don't like seeing mom upset. i keep trying to fix it but i'm just too..."

wonyoung knew the word. she had felt it at four years old. she had felt it at eight. wonyoung was sure she wasn't going to stop feeling it until she died.

she knew the word because it's what she was.

"worthless."

the word that summed her up in all parts hung in the air as hannah stared at her in shock.

"wonyoung-"

"i am though!" wonyoung never raised her voice, but wonyoung wasn't perfect. she never was and never would be. "if i wasn't like this, mom would love me. dad would pay attention to me. he wouldn't have cheated if i was better."

wonyoung wondered how someone could be so imperfect. she wondered if she was doomed to be alone, to be unwanted, and to ruin every good thing on this planet.

"it's my fault."

"it's not, wonyoung." wonyoung wanted to believe hannah, but she couldn't this time. "your mom and your dad have a very complicated relationship."

wonyoung shook her head. she was the reason it was complicated.

"i wish dad would stop yelling at mom." wonyoung placed the still full glass on her counter. "i wish mom would stop yelling at me."

wonyoung didn't remember a time when her mother didn't yell at her. whether it was a bad grade or to wash the dishes, it was always a yell.

"i'm at the top of my class. i'm friends with all the people dad told me to be friends with. i even skipped a grade. everyone keeps telling them that they want a daughter like me, but mom and dad don't even want me." wonyoung just wanted someone to want her. "i don't know what to do anymore."

if she could, wonyoung would disappear.

"you're ten, wonyoung." this wasn't right, not for anyone and especially not for a ten-year-old. "you don't have to do anything."

wonyoung really wanted to believe her.

"i just want them to love me."

the young heiress had wished the unconditional love that everyone had talked about applied to her when it came to her parents. she had heard that it was supposed to happen as soon as she was born.

perhaps she missed out this time, in this life, because in this life, she was worthless.

but not to hannah. never to hannah.

"i love you."

wonyoung had never felt love from her mother, but she had always felt love from hannah.

"you do?"

"i do." hannah smiled sadly. it hurt to know that wonyoung had felt this way (and how there was a chance that her baby felt the same, wherever she was). "i know how complicated families can be..."

wonyoung had never heard hannah speak about her family, but she knew that the older woman would be a good, if not amazing one.

part of her was jealous that someone out there had a mom like hannah, when she had a mom like jiyoung.

"do you have family, hannah?"

the woman, hands shakey, grasped them together tightly. her lips were pursed, and a mournful expression seemed to overtake the comforting one from before.

"i have a daughter back home." her baby was nine pounds and twenty-one inches with a head full of hair. when hannah closed her eyes, she could hear her baby crying for her mother. "i had her really young."

her baby. her beautiful baby girl.

"do you miss her?" wonyoung asked.

"i miss her a lot." missing her was an understatement. "i haven't heard from her in years."

"why?"

she could think of a million reasons why, all of which she held to herself, in grief and in sorrow.

hannah was a bad mother for abandoning her child, and a bad daughter for being so reckless.

"i grew up really poor." hannah couldn't even begin to compare the jang's house to the one she had back home. "i couldn't find a job, so i moved overseas. i left my baby with my mom."

but her child lived, and her child was loved, even from afar.

"do you love her?"

"i do." hannah couldn't think about not loving her. "i love her so much."

"but you left her."

"i left because i loved her." wonyoung's eyes glistened at the word. she couldn't imagine leaving someone out of love. perhaps disappearing, but leaving was unfathomable. "i'd rather have her grow up hating me than die starving. i just wish i can go back. i just wanna my baby one more time."

this was the unconditional love that everyone had praised. it was the homemade bento boxes, and the tight hugs that wonyoung would see from her friends and their moms. it was the tearful goodbyes from her best friend's grandparents, and the thoughtful notes that her seatmate would find in her bag.

to love someone is to do what's best for them, to do the right thing.

was wonyoung the best for her parents? were her parents the best for wonyoung?

did they even love her?

"you're a good mom, hannah." wonyoung hugged her tightly. "i wish you were my mom."

wonyoung couldn't imagine it, having someone risk everything just for her to be happy. she couldn't imagine loving someone so much, but one day, whether it be a child or someone else, she would love to.

wonyoung wanted to love someone right.

she looked at the tearful hannah, the older woman smiling down at her.

"i promise that when i'm older, i'll make sure you can go back and see your family again."

it was a promise that wonyoung intended to keep.

"thank you, wonyoung."

hannah didn't doubt her. not for one second.

the jang's were never good at keeping promises.

jang wonseok was a politician. keeping promises and breaking them was part of the territory. every campaign he held at least a couple empty pledges, just like he did back home. the twelve-year-old jang wonyoung knew that.

plus, there was no way she'd actually believe what her father said. not after he betrayed her mother.

jang jiyoung was no better. being a news anchor, she had always run a tight schedule. for days, wonyoung wouldn't see her despite each promise that the woman would make, and although she didn't mind, sometimes the young jang did want someone to eat dinner with, even if it was just a cup of instant noodles they could share.

wonyoung thought she was different. that she was hannah's daughter and not a jang.

but it ran in her blood.

"hannah knew me before i knew her."

the microphone echoed, the twelve-year-old's shakey hands grasping tightly onto the paper in front of her, her fingerprints making light marks against the blank white.

"she went with my mom to get an ultrasound when she was pregnant with me." her parents were nowhere to be seen, her father at a meeting and her mother at work. "they said i was a big baby, but hannah said i was a special baby."

to love someone is to do the right thing. letting go was the right thing.

"i don't think i'm special. i think i'm just wonyoung." the crowd laughed. hannah would've laughed too. "hannah was the special one. she knew how to make me feel better. she knew when i was sick before i got sick. she even knew the weather before it happened."

wonyoung didn't want to let go, but she would, for hannah.

"hannah told me that she hadn't seen her baby in a while." she hoped hannah's baby knew how loved she was, and she hoped that her words could reach her, even if it was far away. "i promised her that when i was older, i would make sure she saw them."

the jang's were known to break promises.

"i thought she was gonna live forever. i wanted her to live forever, or just long enough so i can keep my promise. for once, i just wanted to make her feel better. hannah always made me feel better." wonyoung didn't know when the page got so blurry, or why water was pouring out of her eyes. "i thought if i loved her enough, i could fix it. i could do it."

she didn't know how she managed to fail the one person who believed in her.

"i want to apologize to her today. i should've tried harder." she had everything. why couldn't she try harder to give hannah this one? she might've been a twelve-year-old, but still. "i'm sorry, hannah. i'm really really sorry."

to love someone is to do the right thing, but wonyoung realized it was also to mourn, and to be angry at herself for not being better. her failures stared her in the face, the casket mocking her as if she was nothing.

she didn't want to think about it anymore. she had failed, and wonyoung wanted nothing more than for this pain to be gone.

sighing, she stepped down from the lectern.

hannah was her own. her mother.

and like a shadow, she was gone.

death seemed to round the corners of the jang household.

she could see boxes upon boxes piling up in front of their penthouse, her mother glaring into the distance half-heartedly, conflicted with her pain.

jang jiyoung was a lee once. she was the younger sister of lee jihuyn, and the aunt of the ten-year-old lee hyunseo.

lee jihyun always smelt like flowers whenever she was around. it was no wonder why jang wonseok was so fond of her.

"this is hyunseo." her father said, patting the heiress on her shoulder. it pained wonyoung to see him so happy to have his affair child around, especially after- no. wonyoung didn't deserve to think about her again. "she'll be staying with us."

wonyoung nodded bowing as the younger girl stared at her in wonder.

"hello, hyunseo."

wonseok smiled at the young girl in a way wonyoung never got when she was hyunseo's age. "wonyoung will show you your room."

wonyoung's face twitched in disdain before switching into a soft smile.

she led hyunseo up to hann a room, unoccupied yet cleared of any existence that came before it.

hyunseo didn't deserve this room.

wonyoung turned to the younger girl. "this is your ro-"

"can i call you unnie?" the lee couldn't help but gleam at her, her eyes bright as the han river glared back into her new room. "i never had an unnie before. it was just me, mom and dad all the time."

wonyoung bit back a scowl.

her dad. hyunseo was lucky she had a dad.

"i'll ask the butlers to bring your stuff up." wonyoung couldn't help but be cold. "i have a school tour to go to."

"oh..." she watched as the younger girl deflated, and wonyoung couldn't help but feel guilty. hyunseo bounced back, though, her expression brighter than before.

"okay!"

wonyoung didn't understand how she could be so happy.

wonyoung had never been to a public school.

her father and mother had always opted to have her in a private one, yet the presence of a public school with such a reputation around their area had the jang's interested.

wonyoung had to agree that the high school was fairly nice. it had its own swimming pool, and it was clearly popular among international students, wonyoung seeing a few as she passed by.

everything else was pretty much the same as every other school, though. nothing stood out, at least nothing of interest.

the heiress found herself walking back to the entrance, scrolling through her phone to get her butler to pick her up. as she dialed, screams and cheers could be heard from the gym.

she should've known better than to enter, but wonyoung's facade was wearing her down. the newly impulsive jang crept inside, more and more yelling filling her skull. it wasn't angry yelling, but a cheerful one.

she didn't understand what could be so interesting.

the heiress felt herself getting swept away, a sudden crowd forming around one of the players as the final whistle blew.

her eyes trained onto the figure, two adults, seemingly the girl's parents, hugging her tightly as the girl cried.

the girl was perfect in every sense, from her face to the way she smiled. she didn't doubt that the older girl probably had perfect grades, and a perfect family, with a set of perfect friends.

the crowd around her roared, and wonyoung realized that the girl in front of her was so loved, so respected, all because she was perfect.

to love someone is to do the right thing.

one day, she'd be perfect enough to have her parents love her. one day, she'll feel like she wasn't a mistake, that she wasn't worthless.

and one day, someday, wonyoung would be perfect enough to mention her name once more.

she'll do the right thing this time.

wonyoung was going to be perfect.

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@serenitygrace24 @moontealemonpie @writingficsblog @kittyeij @cutieseo @limbforalimb @ahnneyong @yumtooki @lcv3lies @sserajeans @jiwoneiric @babycubchae @trsrina @xyxlyn @misumiausworld @slowlyturninggay291 @awkwardtoafault @captivq @ddeonutz @noiacha @sserabey @d7dream @slowlyturninggay291 @lvwr @perfectsunlight @juhyunsthirdwife @uzumakioden @txtbrainrot @rosiehrs @yunjinhart @skisk1 @bzeus28 @deeznutzryu @jisooftme @danistolemyheart @li0ilthecxnt @eggomi @ddoxhan @zhivaxo @sweet-dhrafts @livelaughloveyujin @luveuly @marimo-anura @yunnybunnyy @ivy-aurora @wonyoluvr

#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

178 notes · View notes

suuuupernovaaa · 1 month

Text

Accident

Timothee accidentally posts a picture of you, blowing your cover.

The panic sets in like ice flowing through your veins. A tingling at your fingertips shoots straight into your heart. Your eyes are wide, your palms are sweaty. It takes you a few seconds to open up FaceTime and dial his number.

He answers right away.

“Timothee, what did you do?” you ask, your voice low in case he isn’t alone. Your boyfriend is never alone.

The smile he had upon answering fades into something dark. “What?” he asks.

“Instagram,” you reply. “Look at your instagram story.”

When he disappears, you do too, going back to the story. It’s a picture of you perched on a stone wall, looking down the side of a mountain Timothee and you had just hiked. You hadn’t even known he’d just taken it. Your hair was stuck to your neck with sweat, and only part of your face is visible over your shoulder, as you turn to look at him.

His hand is on your shoulder, gripping tightly, possessively, and a hint of a smile plays at the half of your face that’s visible.

You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, an old, plain black one, and the sunset ahead of you makes the picture look like art.

Maybe no one will assume, or wonder. Timothee isn’t even really in it. Just hand.

“Shit, Y/N,” he says, and you swipe back to FaceTime. “Should I delete it?”

“Um… no. Well, maybe. I think people will talk more if you delete it. Maybe just leave it?”

It’s not like he tagged you. You’re not in his following list, because no one is. You’re a total unknown.

“Okay,” he says, the panic in his voice subsiding. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “You don’t have to be sorry. It was an accident. And you can’t hide me forever.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re hiding you. I’m protecting you.”

A soft smile crosses your lips. “I know.”

He winks. “I gotta go, but I’ll have management keep an eye on things online. Call me after work?”

You nod and he blows you a kiss before hanging up.

—

Boy, were you wrong. You’ve been wrong about some things in your life, but never something this big.

They’ve found your instagram, Facebook, and LinkedIn within two hours. You’re getting dozens of requests by the minute, and you’ve never been more grateful to have your socials private before.

The workday passes in a blur of buzzing on your phone. Most of it is follow requests on instagram, but the rest is your friends and family sending you articles about Timothee Chalamet’s ‘mystery girl revealed’.

Timothee Chalamet & the Lawyer from NYC

Timothee Chalamet’s Secret Lover

Timmy’s girlfriend: we talked to her childhood best friend!

It’s endless and you start requesting they stop sending all the nonsense your way. Your mom calls to ask if you’re okay, and your actual best friend reminds you that you knew this day would come, and she’s here for you.

The comments on his latest instagram post are hard to look away from.

user he’s dating that sweaty beast?

user she looks happy!

user who the hell is she???

user FAT GIRLFRIEDN??

reply to user fuck off with your misspelled fatphobia

Eventually, you put your phone on DND to finish your day. The subway ride home is uneventful, and as soon as you set foot in your modest apartment, you call Timothee.

“Well,” he says as an answer, “now I might have to say sorry.”

Despite the stress of the day, you have to laugh. “Maybe. But, this was going to happen anyway. Though one article called me a ‘social climbing hussy’ and I didn’t love that.”

You throw your bag onto the kitchen table and put your boyfriend on speaker phone so you can find something to order for dinner. This day calls for Thai, or maybe Indian.

“Don’t read that shit, Y/N,” he huffs. “None of it matters. I’m like, really sorry people are going to bother you now. But I’m not sorry that everyone is going to find out how in love and happy I am.”

Your cheeks heat, even though he can’t see you. It hasn’t even been a year, but Timothee is already the most special and wonderful thing in your life, and it’s no wonder when he says things like that.

“I wish you were here,” you sigh.

“Me too. Only a few more days.”

—

You stashed your phone in your room to charge, and to avoid, and turned on the TV. Sitting cross-legged in front of your coffee table in your most comfortable pajamas, you’re about to dig in to the most delicious spread of Indian cuisine when the door buzzes.

Could they have found your address?

You get up and press the speaker. “Let me in! You’re not answering your phone!”

Your heart skips a beat and you’re unable to even respond as you hit the button that unlocks the front door. You stand frozen in shock until three loud knocks sound at the door.

Once it’s open, there he stands, and he’s not empty handed. He’s got what looks to be two dozen beautifully arranged roses along with a giant bag full of what you assume is chocolate and candy.

You grab him by the collar and pull him to you, wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him, and the scent of him erases every bad thing that’s happened in the past 12 hours.

It’s worth it, your mind whispers.

He sets the flowers and gifts down on the kitchen counter. “I did something, and I don’t know if you’re going to like it, but let me explain,” he says, a wincing smile on his lips.

You bring his face to yours for a quick kiss. “I don’t care. I’m so glad you’re here.”

He takes out his phone and hands it to you. It’s unlocked already, and instagram is open.

He’s made a new post, and your heart flutters.

It’s a picture from a few months ago, taken at a friend’s house. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, and Timothee stands between your legs, both of you laughing, his hands in your hair and yours on his hips. You hadn’t even known your friend had taken it at the time, but it’s been his phone background ever since, he loves it so much.

The caption is simple. “Happy.”

Your reaction surprises you as tears gather in your eyes. “They’re going to really come after me now.”

“I know. And I am sorry. But, Y/N, I know privacy is important to us both… but sometimes, I just want to talk about how happy I am. I think we can find a balance.”

He wipes a tear from your eye.

“I’m proud to be yours, Timothee,” you reply, and his smile stretches ear to ear. “Really, really proud. I love you. I just want to be careful, okay?”

He kisses your nose, then each cheek, and pulls you into a tight embrace. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this, Y/N,” he whispers, and you squeeze him tight.

You’ll navigate this together.

#timothee chalamet fic #timothee x reader #timothee Chalamet #Timothee imagine

138 notes · View notes

undead-supernova · 2 months

Text

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

The Room Burned Down

Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

Masterlist

This chapter is based off of Dancing With Our Hands Tied and I'm curious to see what people think about me twisting around the perspective of who is actually relating more to the songs

plot: maybe going to award shows together isn't as fun as you think it's gonna be...so, baby, can we dance through an avalanche?...I'd hold you as the water rushes in...

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: public shaming, some fluff, a hint of spice, arguments, smoking, mentions of addiction, mentions of abuse, mentions of fatphobia

easter egg count: 29

wc: 5.8k

“Do I have to talk to the press?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” your manager, Clara, said, typing away on her phone.

“They’re going to rake me across the coals.”

It had been nearly a month since your first date with him. Despite his hope that the noise would die down, it was only exasperated by the fact that you two hadn’t been seen out in public, sparking breakup rumors. But it was only that he had his promo and you had yours, traveling round and round with no time to rest. You even had outfit fittings for this very event that kept you in two different cities. It hadn’t put any strain on your relationship. If anything, it did the opposite. You lived your own lives, calling when possible. Texting nonstop once you caught a break at the same time. It was all so new for you.

Clara looked at you through the reflection of the mirror, her professional face on. “If they do, just smile and walk away. Thank them for their time. Just try to stay neutral like you always do. You’ll be perfect, I promise.”

Knock.

You peered over at the wall, a smile forming on your lips.

You knew exactly who would pull that move.

Knock, knock, you sent back.

Knock, knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

“Stop it, oh my god.”

A giggle left your lips. “Sorry.”

It was merely a coincidence that Corroded Coffin was getting ready for the American Music Awards on the same floor as you…directly next to you, that is. All by happenstance and absolutely nothing else. There was no coordination whatsoever and if anyone accused you of such a thing, you’d deny it.

But here you were, causing mischief within the first hour of being situated. To be fair, you hadn’t seen Eddie yet, rushed off before Corroded Coffin even showed up. It was whiplash, Clara already spouting off the plans for the night. The time you’d get into the car. When you’d get out. The red carpet. Reminding you how to pose, how to smile. All the while, people floated around you with makeup brushes and endless cups of coffee. Hushed whispers and sighs.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

When you didn’t respond, you watched your door open in the reflection with Eddie stepping in, dodging the assistants and the assistant’s assistant running around. You smiled as you took in his appearance. Loose t-shirt and sweatpants, all cozy and soft. Hair damp, bangs pulled back. You noticed he’d been sat down for makeup, only one of his eyelids dusted in navy eye shadow.

God, you’d missed him.

“What’re you doing in here?” you asked, nearly jumping up to give him the biggest kiss he’d ever received. But when your knees jerked, Clara placed a hand on your shoulder to keep you down. The pout on your lips wouldn’t even sway her.

“You didn’t answer my knock,” Eddie said, trying to sound innocent, placing a hand over his chest. “I thought you were dead.”

You giggled, but Clara only sighed, shaking her head as she fought a smile. “I can’t believe you both. Like toddlers, I swear.” She turned to Eddie. “Get out of here. We leave in two hours, and I know that hair takes at least one. Don’t make me call Paige.”

Eddie sent you a wink from the shadowed eye. “See you later, babe.”

You chuckled. “Bye, Eddie.”

Today was big for the two of you. Big big. You were sitting at a reserved table with Corroded Coffin. Just you, Eddie, Grant, Gareth, Jeff, and Ronnie. All together. In public. On TV.

Your boyfriend would be with you unlike the last few wanting nothing to do with the exposure, usually hiding across the room. But Eddie insisted, only wanting to be near you all night. There for you, rooting for you as you were there for him, rooting for him. Getting to spend time with his close friends and his girlfriend.

Everything was starting to fall into place. The noise was becoming more bearable the more they stayed out of earshot. The world was unable to penetrate the magnificent walls you’d built around your hearts. And if you could just get through tonight without a fuck up or a bout of controversy, everything would be okay.

When you emerged from your hotel room, nearly ten minutes late, you found Eddie waiting for you, dark eyes widened as he looked over your outfit. You were in a Sixties Go-go dancer fantasy with a sparkly pink romper, the straps wrapped around your neck. Tall block-heeled boots reaching your knees. A thick pink boa to drape over your elbows. Dripping in jewels.

An absolute daydream.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Eddie exclaimed, picking you up and spinning you around, the boa floating to the floor. You took in his scent, that beautiful mixture of nicotine and bergamot from whatever cologne he’d started wearing lately. His breath was fresh against your neck, your ear, your jaw. His warmth bleeding through his double-breasted navy suit, textured from the polyester and cherry blossom pattern.

When a nearly silent gasp left your lips, Eddie wasted no time with hiding himself with his hair and nipping at your neck. Your grasp on his shoulders tightened as his fingers dug into your sides. Feeling his tongue lightly flick over the mark made you feel, well, insane. Had it really been an entire month without his breath? Had you really spent an entire mouth with his voice over the phone, guiding you through your orgasms as you whined and begged for him? Had you really gone this long without him?

Despite wanting to pull him back into the room and rip off his ridiculously expensive clothes, you grabbed your boa and his hand before jogging towards the elevator.

Jeff, Grant, Gareth, and Ronnie were already down at the car, probably drinking complimentary champagne and getting ready to sit in the audience for four hours, waiting for their names to be called. You couldn’t blame them. It did get rather boring after a while of the cameras and commercial breaks and announcers and performances. You’d almost been asked to perform, but before you could say yes, they asked Olivia to do it instead. It wasn’t something you minded, but there was a little part of you had felt sad at the loss.

But you were here to have fun, not worrying about who was who or what people had to say about you. Just have fun with the people who knew what real fun was. Be able to survive the night.

Survive. Endure. Have fun.

As you made your way through to the lobby, hand in hand, you glanced over at Eddie again. You couldn’t believe how beautiful he was, always seeming to take your breath away. It was an accurate cliché, but one that couldn’t fully encompass how you felt. Hell, the English language wasn’t even enough.

“You’re a vision in navy,” you complimented, taking him in once again.

“Apparently, it’s a deep Prussian,” he corrected before rolling his eyes.

“Oh, my bad,” you replied sarcastically.

“Hey!”

Paige was storming towards you, scowling.

When you looked at Eddie, he just smiled at her and waved. “Paige, how lovely to see you tonight.”

But Paige merely groaned. “Get your asses to the car.”

“Look how beautiful my girlfriend is.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, Eddie—”

“Cut it, Romeo,” Paige interrupted, shoving you through the door and into the limo with the rest of the band. Everyone cheered, handing you both champagne before clinking your glasses together.

You couldn’t help but look over at Eddie, his grin just as wide as yours.

I’m so in love with you, you thought, so close to letting it fall out. I’m so, so in love with you.

“Come on,” Paige shouted, making you flinch as you watched her signal to the driver. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

As soon as you were let out of the car, Clara led you away from the group, ushering you towards the photo ops and interviews. Men behind cameras called your name, begged for your attention. This was still something you found strange, like being held in a cage. You were to be spectated, gawked at by the public as nothing more than a show. A source of entertainment that extended far beyond your comprehension.

But Clara had trained you for this since the first time you ever stepped out on one of these carpets. You knew how to give them what they wanted. So, you put your hand on your hip. Pivoted every few seconds for different angles. Let the light hit your highlighter at just the right moment. A smirk. A laugh. Shiny smile. Shiny eyes.

It killed you the moment you heard your boyfriend’s name being called from behind you, harmonious with the sound of the rest of their names being shouted out. The photographers were going nuts as they found their way onto the carpet. You wanted to look back at him, wanted to admire how he shone.

Because he did. He always did.

Eddie Munson knew how to shine without even breathing. Without talking. Without smiling. He could part a crowd like it was nothing, could bring everyone to their knees if he merely snapped his fingers. It was undeniable.

Everyone wanted him.

And, dangerously, he was all yours.

“You’ve been busy!”

You chuckled, trying to keep your eyes from flickering over at the camera being shoved in your face. This was the first interview of the night, the first of five. Five. It was something you’d agreed to months ago, but you didn’t realize just how taxing it would feel until the blonde woman in front of you stuck her microphone up to your lips.

“Oh, yeah!” you responded. “With writing the new album and thinking about the next tour and stuff, I’ve just been running around and trying to keep everything in check. Plus, Acacia My Dear means so much to me, I don’t want another album to overshadow that hard work.”

“And I’m sure you get a lot of support from your new boyfriend, Eddie Munson.”

You’d anticipated the mention, mulled it over and let yourself spiral late at night. But nothing prepared you for your dry mouth, for the lump in your throat as you began to scramble for an answer.

“Well, I’ve been really focused on my music,” you responded.

But she wasn’t letting up. “Will there be any songs about him on the new album?”

“I think art is always up for interpretation.” You smiled bigger despite your frustration, looking over her shoulder and pretending to notice someone. “I have to go, thank you.”

But you weren’t out of the woods yet.

“Have you collaborated with your boyfriend on anything?”

“I really like to write by myself. The songwriting and the music are so important to me. Obviously, it’s important to the people who are so talented in different ways. I’m just grateful that people seem to care about it as much as I do.”

“You and Eddie are so different. How does that translate at shows like this?”

“I think everyone is here because they’re successful and talented at what they do. I can only hope that I measure up tonight.”

“Do you think Corroded Coffin has a chance tonight?”

“Everyone here is so talented. I hope that everyone gets a chance to shine as much as they do. I know that winning isn’t everything, but I hope I have a good shot.”

“Is your new album influenced by Eddie’s sound at all?”

“I’m talented and successful because of the sound I’ve cultivated and what I do. I think that I will continue to evolve as an artist and as a songwriter and, for me, I believe that I have been doing just that.”

Four more interviews and each one talked about Eddie and not your music. Not your success. You hissed to your publicist that no one was allowed to even mutter Eddie’s name in an interview again and she furiously nodded and apologized. Clara nearly told you to cool it, but you stormed off into the venue. You didn’t want to hear from her. You’d done your fucking job.

When you spotted Eddie inside talking to Grant, you immediately found yourself in his arms. Away from the cameras. Away from the vultures.

“Eddie.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, rubbing your back.

“I think I’m gonna cry,” you gasped, anxiety flooding your system. Your hands were shaking, mind frenzied by the noise and the people and the fucking embarrassment.

“No, hey. It’s alright. Tell me what happened.”

You pulled back, but Eddie kept his hands on your waistline. Kept you close.

“They just kept bringing you up. I tried to steer it all away back to my music, but they just kept going.”

“Hey, they asked me that shit, too.”

“What did you say?”

“I said that my relationship is private, but I’m proud of all your hard work right now. ‘Cause I am.”

Immediately, you felt like a shitty girlfriend. “I should’ve said that. I’m sor—"

“Look at me, baby,” he interrupted, searching your eyes. “Tell me your favorite Beatles song right now. Hm?”

Searching your mind, you were caught on the only lyrics that came to mind.

“Life is very short and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend.”

“‘We Can Work It Out’.”

“And we can,” he replied with a small smile, tapping your chin. You nodded. “Let’s just go sit down with everyone and try to bring the energy back, alright? I’m right here with you, baby. Always.”

But there were other lyrics to that song, ones that echoed even louder.

“Try to see it my way

Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong

While you see it your way

There’s a chance that we may fall apart before too long.”

Everything was turned around, the smiles and the laughter returning you to your senses. Corroded Coffin won the only award they were up for tonight. Naturally. After that, Jeff had pulled out a hidden deck of cards. You, him, Eddie, and Gareth were in a mean game of Go Fish, giggling your way through Gareth trying to cheat.

You were hardly listening when someone said your name onstage. Looking up from your cards, you heard the tail end of it.

“…is about to switch genres, sitting over there with her new boyfriend.” The crowd around you laughed. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

You saw Eddie’s hand in your peripheral vision, saw the middle finger starting to lift, and pushed his hand down. No need to make a scene.

“Quick, Eddie. Don’t get too close!”

Without hesitation, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, and Ronnie all stood up and flipped him off. Ronnie even pointed hers directly at the camera filming your reaction.

The audience gasped while other celebs at tables cheered them on.

What the fuck was happening?

Eddie glanced at you before getting up and stepping onto his chair. Slowly, he raised his middle finger.

The crowds roared, the presenter starting to look embarrassed as the whole room turned into chaos. Dozens of pictures captured their defiance, their retaliation.

And you?

Well, you sat there with a neutral expression, already trained in the art of disguising your emotions. Your lips didn’t hold a smile or a frown, something set in the middle. You controlled your eyes to stay in position, refusing to widen or fall half-lidded. Refusing to look up at your boyfriend.

But inside, you were something else entirely.

Full of rage at the jokes, full of fear at the way Eddie’s whole band went to bat for you. Furious at yourself for being unable to find the will to stand up with them. Terrified at what the world was about to say about it. Humiliated that they felt the need to pull a stunt to a stupid joke you’d heard a million times.

“Woah, woah, guys! Calm down!” the presenter said with a shaky laugh. He was clearly not anticipating what was happening. “It’s all jokes, promise. All jokes. Nice organization, though, truly. Anyways, moving on to the next category. Here presenting the award—”

As everyone sat back down, Jeff and Gareth went back to their game like it was nothing.

You turned to your boyfriend. “Eddie—”

“No,” he said simply, his eyes meeting yours. “I can’t just let them do that. People have to know that it’s not okay.”

“Eddie, they’re gonna talk about us,” you said, noticing your southern accent bleeding through. Fuck. “Y’all can’t just do that. Think of tomorrow, think of—”

“And the nominees are for Best Pop Album are…”

You had to look away, remember where you were. Because that was your name they were saying up there, yourface they were zoning in on.

And it was you that everyone was looking at as you were declared the winner.

You began standing, Eddie helping to pull out your chair. Turning to him, you thought about kissing him, thought about hugging him. Thought about giving him any sliver of physical affection while the world was watching.

His hand reached out for yours, but you gave him a small smile before dipping your head and walking toward that stage. Alone. Without anyone by your side to help you up the steps. The applause was nearly deafening, the support seemingly louder than before.

But you had to focus, clearing your throat as you took the shiny award, resembling a shard of glass ready to pierce your skin at a moment’s notice. You reminded yourself of where you were, what you were doing. What you had to do. Face the world yet again.

Leaning into the microphone, you began.

“I’d really like to thank my record label for giving me the opportunity to explore new sounds and trusting me with the writing and producing process. Acacia My Dear is obviously a play on the Beatles song and I was so inspired to create an album centered around a fictional version of myself that I created. To tell that story was so euphoric and beautiful.” A few cheers sounded. “My art is what keeps me going and I’ll never stop loving it. Never. Um,” you stumbled, looking back out at the crowd before back at your award.

There were words on your togue.

I’d like to thank Eddie for being so supportive these last five months.

But you only shook your head.

“So, yeah, this is for the fans and the many, many young queer women out there who want to make music. Y’all—” you paused, careful to switch your accent back. “You all can do it and you can be successful.” You lifted the award high into the air. “If I can, you can, too. Thank you.”

You’d made it to the vacant bathroom, made it to the sink in time to feel yourself start to lose it.

This wasn’t the time to lose it.

You couldn’t.

But you were.

Being an outcast in high school was something you had in common with Eddie. While your circumstances differed and you didn’t know much about his past, you knew that you were both given the same nickname. Freak. You weren’t too sure exactly how you were supposed to be much of a freak, but you’d been labeled as such since grade school. It was always something new, from your interests to your appearance to whatever you said or did in class. The punchline to bets made by boys in the name of sheer boredom.

But girls and boys are both cruel. And whoever said boys shouldn’t hit girls never went to your schools. You were pushed into walls. Punched. Called names. Cyberbullied once emailing became a thing. Humiliated on social media once that came around. You were ugly, fat. Freak. A wannabe musician who had no talent. Freak. A loner who sat by herself and wrote during recess because nobody liked you enough to let you to play with them. Freak. Booed when you sang at your talent shows, left uninvited to sleepovers and birthday parties.

Freak.

The only thing you held sacred was your music that you recorded on GarageBand and uploaded to YouTube and Soundcloud, back when all of that was way more popular. It gained traction somehow, your song “High Walls” getting thousands upon thousands of views and praise. A record label saw the spike and took a chance on you, thinking you were talented enough at eighteen to make it big.

And you did.

But you still had nightmares about those days. Spent time in therapy talking about how ridiculous you felt that you were still haunted by teenage girls and boys, all surrounding you with hollering laughter and pointed fingers. How you still heard their words echo in your mind whenever you looked online and saw the vile things being said about you. Still felt the sting of salt in your wounds whenever friends you’d made would stab you in the back.

The sound of heels brought you back to your reality, brought you back to the faint hum of the performance on the other side of the theater. For a moment, you thought that maybe Ronnie or Clara decided to see if you were okay.

But you were disappointed to find some actress you forgot the name of. You recognized her face and nothing more. Her dark hair curled down to her shoulders, showered in golden eyeshadow and body glitter. She recognized you immediately, eyebrows shooting up at the mere sight of you.

But she kept moving to the other side, holding her words back. You knew they were coming, anticipated them as she got settled. Her lips wrapped around a vape, her back and one red pump pressed against the wall.

Crossing her arms, she began her prodding. “Some show, huh?”

You only shrugged.

“Want a hit?”

You looked at her, seeing that the offer was coming from a place of understanding rather than passing judgment or niceties. Because her mouth was scrunched up to the side, like she felt bad for you. Like she was genuinely just trying to figure out how to help.

And though you never really smoked cigarettes all that often, you took it from her and pulled a long drag. Well, maybe too long. The rush of nicotine hit you hard, dizzying before you felt the release. Like you were flying, like you were escaping from whatever hell you were being trapped in. And it was fleeting, the moment ending as soon as the cloud of smoke left your lips.

You handed it back to her. “Thanks,” you said with a breathy laugh. The familiar taste of MAC lipstick lingered on your tongue.

“Yeah, no problem.”

Thinking the interaction was over with, you went back to looking at yourself. Your mind was close to clearing, was so close to being brought back from the brink of madness. If you could just get through the night without another hiccup or mistake, maybe everything would be okay. Maybe if you stayed perfectly calm—

“Eddie Munson, huh?”

You refrained from letting out a scoff, your impulse control not strong enough to keep you from throwing up your hand before it slapped against the counter.

“Yeah. Eddie Munson.”

She noticed your irritation but didn’t get upset. She only watched you, tilting her head as she took another drag.

“What’s he like?”

The question rang in your head, echoing around you like there were a million voices asking at once. Because he was the one that everyone wanted, the one everyone gravitated towards. He was yours but he was also everyone else’s. Even if you could separate the two, could extract him from their narratives and stories, they would still be there. All rallied behind him like an army following blindly in his honor.

But it wasn’t like they would do the same for you, was it? No, you were an outsider to the genre, to the subculture that he was in. You were just some popstar who didn’t get it, didn’t get him. Chasing a momentary high like that drag you took. Here one second, gone the next. Lulling him into the haze before fading into the gray. And you realized that even if you were given the chance to be with him forever, a chance that now seemed extremely slim, you would never truly be the sole person who got to keep him.

Loving him forever comes with a cost.

Looking back at your reflection, you sighed.

“A dream.”

Before you gave her any time to respond, you left.

Your ride back to the hotel was quiet, Eddie’s breathing becoming ragged with every red light they endured. He was worrying you, not even looking you in the eye when you got back to your seat. For the rest of the night. When you got a car together. When you stepped into the lobby. The elevator.

But then Eddie was taking off his blazer, trudging down the hallway, the boom of his combat boots bouncing off the walls.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” you asked, trying to keep up.

“You barely even touched me the whole night.”

“Y’all stood up and made a scene!”

“Because he was being a goddamn prick.”

“I know, but that’s why you just don’t give them a reaction! It just causes more attention and then people think you do it because you want attention and then it just gets spun into something it’s not because people love drama—"

“No,” Eddie said harshly, turning around to face you. “I don’t care about that. I don’t care about the fucking internet. I wanted to congratulate you on your win and yet you just walked away. It hurt.”

“What you guys did hurt me. It was unprofessional.”

Eddie stopped then, pausing to really look at you for what felt like the first time since the band stood up.

But he had no time to respond.

“Hey, what the fuck are you yelling at him for?!” Ronnie shouted down the hall, her boots just as loud as his.

She really did look a lot like Eddie, with the same curly hair and hardened stare. The same protective nature, the same wild heart. But her eyes were void of any compassion, any sympathy. She was fucking pissed, and it was only directed at you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Did y’all ever think about how I’d feel about it? It was tough enough to publicly sit—”

“I’m so sorry that sitting at a table with your boyfriend and his friends is such a chore for you.”

Behind her, Gareth, Grant, and Jeff approached, their laughter cut short at the intensity of her words. Eyes trained on the scene in front of them. All three men silent, all three men watching the showdown that you didn’t ask to be a part of.

“Ronnie,” Eddie said. It sounded more like a warning, but she was still looking at you, still ready to pounce.

And so, she did.

“You’re a coward,” Ronnie seethed. “You’re lucky to have someone like him and I know you’ll gladly throw it away just because it isn’t the fucking fairytale you imagined. This is real life, sweetie. I know you sit there in your fantasy world with your sugarcoated lyrics and your fake smile. Too afraid to let anyone know how you really feel. Too afraid to hold your boyfriend’s fucking hand. A goody two-shoes who does nothing but cry about how unfair her life is even though you have everything you could ever need.

“You think you’re risking everything for him? For us? No. You’re not risking a goddamn thing if you just sit there and take it. Avoid it. Act like it’s not happening. We stood up for you because we fucking care about Eddie and Eddie cares about you. We didn’t have to do that. We could’ve just let him make fun of you for three more hours and let you get humiliated. But we did that, and I don’t care if you didn’t like it. You needed help. And you’re an idiot for acting like this has anything to do with professionalism.

“You’re nothing but a coward. I can only hope you’ll change your fucking attitude for Eddie’s sake. But if you’re going to keep acting like this, you need to leave him and us the hell alone. Don’t drag someone into your fucking mess if you can’t clean it up.”

You tried not to cry in front of her, tried not to give in to bending and breaking of your soul. Her speech was loud, deafening, ringing in your ears like waves crashing into each other. Instead of replying, you turned and ran into your hotel room and slammed the door behind you. Sobs escaped your lips as you did everything you could to take all that shit off. Threw the boa on the floor. Threw your shoes at the headboard. Let your jewelry land wherever the fuck it wanted.

But your romper was harder, sticking to your skin with the sweat and nerves and—

The door opened, Eddie rushing into the room like it was burning down. And in some ways, it really felt like it. The heat and the sweat and the nerves and the way Ronnie shot those flaming arrows, the way it set your brain afire. The way it was starting to spread.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry about Ronnie. She gets really protective of me; it’s been a thing since we were kids—"

“Maybe this is too much,” you interrupted, “Maybe she’s right. Maybe you’d be better off with someone less messy. Less cowardly.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you suggesting we break up?”

“I just,” you started, watching his eyes start to widen. “I don’t know. I feel like your whole life is being thrown into chaos because of me and I don’t want you having to change your whole life or fuckin’ feel the need to defend me on national television. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to Grant and Gareth and Jeff and Ronnie.”

“Baby, I want you, okay? I’m willing to push through the bullshit if it means that I’ll get to fucking see you at the end of the day or week or even month. You’ve changed my life.”

You shook your head. He was lying, he had to be. Or he was living in delusion, riding on that fucking fairytale that Ronnie claimed you’d created. That wasn’t his reality, wasn’t yours.

“You just don’t understand, Eddie!”

Eddie’s jaw clenched. “I know this is hard on you. I know. But you’re not the only one hurting, okay? I don’t like this any more than you do, and I don’t think it’s fair that you’re acting like I don’t get it. People call me a man whore or a player or whatever. And even though I recovered, people still think I’m a fucking cokehead. That shit is brutal. I’m not this crazy person who does what all the bands did in the Sixties or Seventies. Hell, even the Eighties and Nineties.”

Your eyebrows pulled in tight at his admittance.

“It sickens me,” he continued, his stare intensifying. “I’m just a loser who got lucky and got out of a shitty small town.” He gestured away from himself. “I’m still that loser. That freak. And I was never given a chance by girls after we blew up—hell, most guys laughed at me. I had to just figure this out for myself, and I,” he gestured back to himself, “have chosen to remove myself from it. Remove myself from that picture they’ve painted for me. And then I found someone who fucking understands.”

As you listened, Eddie’s hand came back down, brushing against yours before weaving your fingers together.

“Someone who sees the world like I do and chooses me despite it being so…so loud. And you have spent your life thinking you have to do this alone. I get it. So did I. But one thing I’ve learned that you haven’t is that you don’t have to do this alone. We got you. I got you.”

“This is going to look so bad for you,” you whispered, tears running down your cheeks.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t care.”

Your head shook for you, rapidly denying his words.

“And the rest of the band.”

His fingers met the back of your head, trying to soothe you as he rubbed circles into the muscles.

“I don’t care.”

Your eyes searched his as you tried to make sense of it all, make sense of the fact that he was still here. He hadn’t left. He’s saying things that no one, no one, had said to you before and meant so fervently.

“And me,” you finished, barely above a whisper.

He paused for a split second, long enough for you to catch it before he finally looked away, tucking his lip into his mouth.

His forehead bumped against yours, taking a deep breath. You did the same, breathing him in as you tried to find the will to stay.

To fight.

To keep whatever the hell it was that you had.

“Baby, I want to be with you.” His eyes shot back up to yours, tears collecting in his eyes.

“And I want our privacy. Trust me, I understand how you feel. But I still want to go outside and be as normal as we can. I wanna go get dinner and coffee and do whatever the fuck we want. I want to post a picture of you and dedicate my songs to you and be open and whatever the fuck else I want.”

“I feel the same way.”

“I know you do, baby. That’s why I want you to understand me. I want the same things you do, and I want us to figure out a solution together. I know we can do it. I just know. So don’t…don’t go.”

You closed your eyes, choking on a sob as you tried to make sense of it all. How he could still be here, fighting for you to keep going.

“Eddie…”

His hands clutched onto yours as he sniffled. You felt his tears landing on your skin.

“Stay.”

This was messy. You were messy. A big, huge, ginormous mess that was getting in the way of everyone else’s happiness. Being everyone else’s disappointment. It was only a matter of time before you fucked up and ruined this. Ruined him.

But he’s still there, asking you not to leave.

“Is it really that simple?” you asked.

“Look at me.”

And you did, watching his tears cascade down his cheeks. Watching as his face grew desperate, watching as his lip quivered.

“Please, don’t go. Stay.”

#Eddie munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #Eddie Munson x female reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie x you #rockstar!Eddie x popstar!reader #I nearly cried thinking this was the worst thing I'd ever written so I hope I did okay #surprise drop of this chapter lol

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lovelykhaleesiii · 11 months

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hmmm... Whatabout modern!chubby!aegon learning that the reader has issues with eating? I feel like that could be an interesting little story. Like nothing all that serious, just that the reader often skips meals to get to work earlier, or they cook Aegon dinner but don't leave much for themselves, because they want to make sure our precious babyboi is well-fed but don't care too much about themselves.

Aegon would notice this after a while, and lemme tell you he is NOT having it. Aegon grew up very spoiled, he's never been pressed for time when it comes to eating, nor has he ever dealt with food insecurity in terms of wealth (i.e. he's always had enough money to have 3 meals a day).

So Aegon decides he's gonna learn how to cook, so that he can wake up earlier than you and make you breakfast n things like that :)) you notice, and 1. It's the sweetest goddamn thing ever and you just wanna squish his chubby cheeks and give him kisses for it (cuteness aggression is a real thing, people), and 2. Seeing him in the kitchen with his stupid little apron, puttering around like a housewife kind of drives you CRAZY.

Maybe the reader literally pins him onto the kitchen counter and takes him like that, apron and all, while he's covered with sugar IDK

Aegon also becomes a bit of a hobby-chef because of this, which I think suits him so well. Little babyboi making a bunch of different dishes, asking the reader to try them out with a worried look on his face (he really values your opinion! 🥺). You always tell him his food is amazing though. You might hate seafood beyond belief, but when this boy makes you salmon the reader will eat the whole damn thing and tell him its michelin-star quality.

I can imagine he also puts on a bit more weight because of this. He's always been fluffy, but he maybe starts becoming a little insecure of himself? Like he doesn't quite know if you mind him being a little chubbier. That worry doesn't last long, cuz within 5 seconds, you're back home and squishing his cheeks and belly and laying your head on his soft thighs, and he realizes he really doesn't have to worry about it (with maybe some sweet reassurance from the reader?? Idk I love that shit istg 👀👀)

sorry this was so long! I just love hobby-chef chubby!aegon so I figured I'd spread the idea like a virus lmao 💚

GRRRRR bestie this is everything, some fluff for our fluffy boy <3 the detail in this was everything, I hope I give you justice!!!!

Seconds, Please?

PAIRING: Modern!chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 3,357.

WARNINGS: mentions of eating disorder, mentions of self-inflicted fatphobia, swearing, dry humping, smut, size difference kink, hint of food play.

A/N - I need this domestic chubby man in my life so bad, please. apologies if I changed or added a few things, it all just came to me in the moment AHAHA <3

Domestic bliss was true, and much to your cause, you were reaping the perks that naturally came with it. Aegon was a loyal, committed partner, a considerate soul, that although many underestimated his capability in a relationship, had proven otherwise...

"Babe, you barely ate your dinner last night, and now you're off to work without having eaten a proper breakfast-" He'd worriedly confessed, remaining seated at the small, circular dining table, his mouth partially full of syrup soaked waffles, as he obediently devoured the last gulp of his breakfast.

"Aeg, baby, I only just managed to whip up something for you. Couldn't leave my big boy to starve now, could I?" You tease, as you hastily gather your belongings in your tote, cutting his soft "but" as you bid him farewell, planting a fast, hard peck on the top of his short, platinum hair.

Aegon, much to his guilt, had only just recently begun to notice how little you ate, in comparison to him. The more it played with his mind, the more sinister the thoughts would become.

Had you developed an eating disorder, that he was so blissfully ignorant to all the signs? Allowing for you to endure such a thing...

Or was it, that you had grown ashamed of his overgrown size, that you felt the need to starve yourself?

Mayhaps, the stress of work and having to care for Aegon on top, your appetite had grown weary and lesser? All because he was selfishly indulgent with the affection and attention you spoiled him with...

He stopped midway to lifting the fork into his mouth to devour the final piece, closely gazing at the slice of the delectable waffle on his fork, that you'd so thoughtfully cooked for him, before throwing it back down on the plate shamefully. The intense guilt he felt brewing in the pit of his stomach, made it feel sinful to finish it. How could he, whilst you went about your day hungry? Connecting the dots, like a pieces to a puzzle, he'd noticed how recently fatigued you were, always desperate for a nap or an early night, often having finished work late from the law firm. These past few weeks, you'd been worked to the bone. The more he dwelled on your frail appearance, he'd come to realise just how weary and thinner you'd grown [not losing an abundant amount, although enough to see how loose your clothes had grown], along with the difference in size between yourself and him, was quite noticeable.

What would others think? That he was the culprit for his girlfriend's malnourishment? Him a 'greedy hog', binging and consuming everything and anything edible on sight, of course, there'd be none left for you to eat. Many of your excuses ranged from not feeling hungry at all [your mind too preoccupied with endless amounts of deadlines], or that you were too tiresome. And in the moments that you'd spared to eat, your appetite was shortcoming, and often you'd plea for Aegon to finish off your leftovers. Now he felt even more woeful, unlike before, the guilt would devour him inside out.

In conclusion... You were too good for him, he did not deserve you. Something needed to change, he did.

"No more fucking around, Aegon, fuck-" He brutally thought to himself, as he arduously heaved himself up: belly sated and full, a pudgy, sticky hand instinctively patted over his belly, as the other grabbed the dishes, placing it in the sink. He was intent on changing his outdated habits.

He could not do much to change his appearance overnight let alone in a few hours, nor was he keen to, if he was being frank. He knew you were quite fond of his new-found softness, having not complained thus far, he was not overly big. Your affections towards him would prove just how desirous you felt, on your behalf: the way his plush body would smother and pin against you when either of you felt a little frisky. And during the cold, winter nights, the way his extra padding and natural body heat would radiate, acting like insulation, as he held you tightly in his thick arms. You felt so incredibly secure. It was a feeling unlike any other, and he refused to take that away from you.

It was time he took charge...

****

"Aeg, I'm home!" You tiresomely call out, breathless as you walk in with your brimful bag and more paper work clutched desperately in your hands, more than what you had initially left home with.

Yet, no response in return.

You slowly linger through the hallway, as you remove your heels, adjusting the papers in your hand, before walking down.

"Aegon-" You worringly repeat once more.

Aegon was often at home most days of the week, for his family owned a wealthy, accounting business. Growing up rich and dependent, it seemed that Aegon grew accustomed to this comfortable lifestyle, and you truly couldn't blame him, he had no part. Although, his parents financially supported him even till now, and provided maids to attend to his needs during his youth, his parents remained absent: often he'd express his discontent with them, and rightfully so. However, he'd just messed up a huge investment opportunity, and was temporarily suspended, thus, he was at home for most of the time. Sitting around, finding solace in snacking to get by the long, lonesome hours, as he eagerly awaited for your return from work. Nonetheless, you had a soft spot for him, and tried to go above and beyond for him, to prove he did not need them anymore...

"In the kitchen-" He loudly yelled, followed by thunderous clangs of metal pots/plates. Your nerves began to set in, was the meals you often prepared for lunch and left in the fridge, not enough? Perhaps, this time they were not tasteful enough for him?

"Hey, baby-" He warmly coos, as he walks over towards you, planting a soft kiss on your flustered cheek.

"Sorry, I've made a bit of a mess, not used to where everything is. I promise, I'll clean it up once I'm done-" He pleas, as he walks back towards the oven where, what appears to be a freshly made pizza is brewing.

In silence, you gradually examine the surrounding and Aegon, himself. Although the kitchen was a rightful mess, used plates, sauce, chopped vegetables, pepperoni slices, and shredded mozzarella strands spread all over the counter, like some deconstructed art piece. And Aegon, donned in a white apron that was now completely soiled, with a smidge of what seemed to be flour across his cheek, your heart was full. Placing your bag just before the entrance to the kitchen, and the papers on a clear, clean spot of the dining table, you walk towards Aegon slowly, still focused on the sight before you.

"Aeg, W-What's the meaning of all this? Did you get hungry again? Was the lunch I made not enough?"

"No, no, Y/N. You've done plenty... In fact, more than enough, it's just-" Having wiped his hands clean with a dishcloth, his hands had reached over securely gripping you by the sides. Guiding you over towards a seat by the dining table, you sit down, as he plops himself on the seat beside you, as he pulls your chair closer towards him with ease.

"Y/N, I've noticed how little you've been eating these past few days. And if I'm being honest, it's worrying me, my love-" His soft, fleshy hands reach over to grip yours, firmly holding your small hands in his, as his thumb strokes your skin.

"I-Is there something I should be concerned about, because you know you can tell me anything, right? I-I just want to help you." His low voice breaks, stuttering with concern, as his troubled eyes remain fixated on you.

You can't help although smile, as you now return the gesture, giving a reassuring squeeze of Aegon's soft hand.

"Aeg, please, I am fine, truly. You have nothing to stress about. It-It's just work, I feel like I have no time to waste doing anything really. And I guess, I've been more focused on making sure you've been fed and tended to, than myself before work takes a hold of me... I just didn't want you to think I'd neglected you. Forgive me."

"Fuck, Y/N, what are you to be sorry for? I should be the one apologising... I've been such a hog, so blind to everything you've done-"

"Aeg, please-"

"Seriously, baby... You are just-[sighs], you're just a little too good to me, but I'm willing to change. That's why I did this, trynna' learn to cook for us, princess, so I can be the one taking care of you for a change..."

Nonetheless, Aegon remained true to his word. The home-made pizza he'd so lovingly yet chaotically made that night was a complete success.You teased whether he'd cunningly ordered out and acted as though he'd actually made it.

"Aeg, this- this is seriously so good. It's fucking delicious-" You excitedly exclaim in between each mouthful, as he anxiously awaits for your response by your side. At first, he was in denial, exclaiming that it was just out of niceties, or his beginner's luck in the kitchen. Although, pleading your case, like the competent solicitor that you are, your compliments earn an immediate, genuine smile from Aegon. Beaming across his plump face, his cheeks blushing a subtle tinge of pink, as this was a first for him, and rightfully so, it was an ultimate success.

****

In the months coming, Aegon had grown a hearty passion for cooking, especially because it meant he could provide for you. In his spare time, he'd been searching for various popular recipes/dishes he'd heard of. Other times, he'd ask for your preferences, finding out your favourite childhood meals, eager to reminisce your youth over dinner.

Eventually, he grew more confident with his skills and even began taking risks. Daring to cook meals with ingredients, he knew you were not typically a fan favourite of, and would avoid at all costs. He often always joked about how your eating habits resembled to that of a toddler.

As he was grown spoilt and with a cultured taste, he was acquired to most things, having dined in various, fancy restaurants and fed a range of diverse cuisines. Whereas, yourself, you were not so indulgent with different delicacies and palates. He was eager to change your mind, for he was not a picky eater at all.

You'd awake to your alarm that you'd set for your daily morning walks, blaring at your ear-side from the wooden bedside table, only to stretch and be met with a cold, empty bedside and Aegon missing. Although, the faint ruckus that followed, opening the bedroom door, to a distant bright, yellow light beaming from down the hallway from the kitchen, you'd follow, only to find Aegon hard at work in the kitchen.

"Sorry, princess, did I wake you up? I just was about to cook you something for breakfast and lunch on the go. I was just thinking to make you some salmon tonight for dinner, baby. I know, I know! It's not your favourite but I found this recipe, I'm really eager to try, and I thought you'd might like to... You know, helped to expand your horizons a little."

Although it took you much convincing, Aegon noticed the disdain look on your face, unpleased by his plans, you still caved in. Those puppy eyes with those cheeks, were irresistible, you could never deny him. And yet, Aegon's cooking never ceased to disappoint you thus far, so why turn away now? As much as you had been dreading the dinner, feeling your appetite growing weaker throughout the gruelling day at work, Aegon's salmon dish was shockingly delectable. The richness and zest of the salmon infused with the spices, combined so tastefully and the texture was just right, you could've sworn you'd moan, a visceral reaction from how good it was.

"Aeg, baby, what sorcery is this? How am I enjoying this, you know how much I hate seafood...And yet, this could so be worthy of a Michelin Star!" The bewilderment set in stone in your voice, as you politely cover your mouth with your hand. Aegon always made a habit of waiting for you to eat first, before tucking in himself. He was always anxious for your approval, only to be met with countless compliments, you felt like a broken record.

"Really, baby? You mean that?" He persists, as he picks up his own cutlery, keen to unveil the taste.

"Trust me, Aeg... If I didn't like it, you'd know for sure!"

****

Eventually, Aegon took the reins of cooking, which much to your relief, meant one less thing to worry about, even if it took you a while to get accustomed to. Aegon insisted that you should continue to focus on work than having to feed him regularly.

"I'm not a little child anymore, Y/N, let me show you how well I can take care of the both of us now."

Although granted on your days off, after you'd have a decent, well-earned sleep in, you enjoyed helping him around the kitchen... It was a hard habit to break of Aegon's when it came to the cleaning aspect, he was a tad lazy and slow, so often, if given the chance, you'd help around washing, drying and packing away dishes and ingredients. Cleaning up his mess along the way, as you closely watched him from the sidelines, a true professional in their mastery.

It was only in these intimate moments, that you'd notice Aegon had grown a little rounder, more softer around his edges. The subtle double chin beneath his jaw was more prominent, and his jaw line now fading with mounted with flesh, his cheeks looked slightly more plump [the urge to kiss and nibble at them became exponential], and the apron he'd worn so often, how tightly snugged, barely able to tie from behind, as his stomach had protruded even more beneath. His figure could not be hidden, and yet, it made you fall for him even harder.

Aegon immediately noticed you openly eyeing him out, too deeply distracted by his figure, as your eyes fluttered over every inch of him.

"Y/N, what's wrong? What is it?"

Hastily snapping back out of your lustful thoughts, you felt flustered, being put on the spot like so. You hadn't even realised that Aegon had caught you, perhaps as you fell into silence, observing him strongly kneading the dough, preparing to trial out his attempt of focaccia.

"N-Nothing, Aeg, I-I just noticed, maybe you need a new apron... That one looks a little worn-out, and slightly uncomfortable."

Your meek attempt at subtleness was poor and Aegon knew exactly what you'd meant. He knew he had grown, putting on a few extra pounds since exercising his new found hobby, although he was foolish to think you would not notice. You should be disgusted by him, even in his efforts to tend to you, he was selfishly gorging himself. Had he no self-control?

"I get what you're saying, Y/N. I feel ashamed too, for the way I've become, I-I'll try to get out s'more and maybe I can go on those morning walks with you?" He bashfully looks back down at the dough he'd stopped kneading, trying to talk firmly with you.

"Aeg, please! That's not what I meant at all!" You urge, as you hastily leap off the chair, bounding towards Aegon as you instinctively wrap your arms around his thick waist, your small arms just barely interlinking.

"Don't you ever, ever think I could be ashamed of you, Aeg! Do you think that low of me? I love you, and if I'm being quite honest, I think I've actually fallen for you harder..."

You playfully look up at him, your head resting just below his broad shoulder, as you perk your eyebrows up and down teasingly, gesturing for something more.

"And what exactly, do you mean by that?" He questioned, as he finally covered the kneaded dough in bowel, waiting for it to rise, before turning to face you.

"Well, I mean your as soft as that dough, your cheeks, I could just squeeze, and those lips- Gods, your lips, Aeg-"

You tug him by the apron, gesturing him to lean down, as you plant a soft, long kiss, your tongues entwined as your share a passionate moment. Just as you'd expected, his lips felt so soft and moist, you had the sudden urge to gently bite down at his lower lip, and helplessly you did, tugging at it. Earning a cocky smile streaming across his face, you let go, aimlessly gazing up at one another with desire.

"Hmm, tell me more, princess."

"And this belly-" You grab a firm hold of his flesh, slightly jiggling against your rapid motions, as you eye his physique below and back up towards him, his attention following you.

"It's just calling for me to straddle you, I can't help but imagine how good it would feel to ride the fuck out of you, and these thighs- You've been so busy in the kitchen, stuffing your roasts and gorging yourself, you've forgotten about little, old me. You don't miss filling me up, big boy?"

Immediately, in such a swift motion, Aegon turns to steadily pin you against the counter instead. His full undivided attention, solely on you, licking his lips as though you were some type of dessert he'd just feasted his lilac eyes upon, as he presses his solid mass against you, feeling yourself helplessly squirm beneath his tender pressure. Adjusting himself in the right position, it didn't take a genius to realise, someone had grown a little excited by the realness of your words, and in sync, you felt a throbbing, familiar ache coursing from deep within your inner thighs.

"Look at what you're doing to me. Do you think that low of me, that I would forget my little princess, hmm? Your needs come first, always."

He plunges his soft face deep within the crook of your neck as he sucks on your floral fragranced skin, with each kiss he felt eager to devour you, you were certain by his harshness that he'd left a trail of fresh marks. His hands snaked down your waist, below to your ass, sensually massaging at your cheeks, as he pushed your body deeper into his, specifically your lower abdomen region, where you felt his bulge poking through his seems, desperate to be inside of you.

You felt your body slowly pacing up and down against Aegon's stocky frame, one of his thighs, found their way in between your legs, parting your entrance. You began to mimic the movements as you would if straddling him from atop, as he kept you supported, rocking yourself backwards and forwards against his clothed, chunky thigh. The friction beneath and Aegon's groans so close against your ear, was unnerving. You could sense the trickles of wetness beginning to ooze out of your eager cunt, soaking your sheer panties beneath.

"Aeg-Bedroom-" Moans in between your breathless words, you felt too feeble to form coherent words, as you felt his swollen gut, pressing deep against your breasts, flashing them upwards. One of your hands remained firmly tugging and pulling at his short, platinum locks, whilst the other dug nails deep into his meaty flesh, leaving a trail of marks behind.

"Bedroom-now."

Without hesitation or thought, Aegon picked you up with such ease, carrying you over his thick shoulder, you felt puny against his strength. Earning a small, light giggle from you, he felt invincible. Oblivious for what was to come, it seemed Aegon was keen to show you...

Just before he'd rush to make a beeline for the bedroom, he stopped by the fridge, opening the freezer door, and instantly grabbing the frozen tub of his favourite chocolate ice-cream.

"Better not waste this, we can definitely put it to some good use."

GENERAL TAGLIST - @evenstaris @chompchompluke

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helaelaemond · 5 months

Text

The Light Beneath Your Skin - Billy Washington x plus size!reader

Pairing: Billy Washington x plus size girlfriend reader - thank you @arcielee for letting me borrow your Billy x reader origin story, you slay

Word count: 2k

Summary: you're a plus size woman who's insecure about it. Billy finds a way to reassure you, at least for now.

She/her pronouns, established relationship, no sex

Content warning(s): in-depth talk of body issues/insecurities, fatphobia, mentions of past sexual harassment

Rating: Gen/Teen

You never thought that anyone you were attracted to would want you back. No one ever had, not really. Your father used to tell you that you were pretty, that you looked so much like your mother. Across the table, your mother would agree and smile. By the time dinner was over, she would lament how monstrous she looked.

Billy isn't much of a cook. He can't afford to take you out much. But he's trying more often now. He made you a pasta and mushroom dish not long ago, and he smiled when you ate it together.

You were never teased to your face. But once, the boy you liked grinned at you across the classroom in Double Science, and you blushed. His friend then joked that he liked you, and he'd been almost violent in his response. 'Eugh, that's disgusting! Don't fucking say that!' He shoved his friend so hard that he fell off his stool, and they both cackled. That kind of thing happened a few times, actually. The mere hint that you had interest in a boy put a target on his back. A laughingstock by association.

Billy holds your hand, his long fingers resting easily between yours. "You're quiet tonight."

You smile faintly. "Just thinking."

"Hm. Wanna share?"

Shrugging, you wrap your arms around yourself and try to hide your double chin in the neckline of your jumper. He watches you for a moment, before leaning forward and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

The first time someone kissed you, you hadn't wanted it. Nineteen, you'd been, on a date with a man who seemed nice online. In the booth of the restaurant he had taken you to, he slipped his hand up your skirt so high that it had frozen you in place. "You like this?" he asked. The memory of his face is a haze now, all grey shapes and soft shadows. A void, a memory that you no longer sink into. You shook your head slightly and managed to whisper the words, "please stop." And he did. For a moment. He smirked, and after, you thought it would be alright. An hour later, though, he dragged you outside and into the alley, where he pushed you against the wall and ground against you. He kissed you and it felt strange and alien and made your throat close up in fear, disgust.

At some point, the man without a face told you "you should be grateful for this. Who else is gonna want someone like you?" and you believed him. You tried to enjoy it.

He was right. No one else even looked your way for years. You got a few matches on dating apps, but as soon as you were honest about your size, the matches were gone. You didn't even get a first date.

"Hey," a voice calls to you. "What's wrong?"

You smile and shake your head, laughing softly. "Nothing. Nothing!"

Billy sits up and tries to touch your cheek, but you pull away. The sudden movement spills the tears gathered in your eyes. The smile stretches into a wince. He watches you in silence, and when your face cracks into something sadder, he squeezes your hand. "Tell me."

Your voice is strained as you try to find the right way to say it in a voice that is steady. On both counts, you fail. "I don't have the right words."

"Use the wrong ones."

"Who else is gonna want someone like you?"

You remember an advert you saw for a food product once. Odd, you thought at the time, that to advertise food, someone like you was ridiculed. A man in a workplace break room was sat at a table with a larger lady who was making eyes at him. The whole premise was that with a better lunch, he could sit with the pretty and thin ladies, and the fat lady cried from the rejection. It was supposed to be funny.

The man in the advert had been slender and tall, like Billy. Billy has never given you reason to think he might not find you worthy of love. But the whole world tells you that one day, he will.

"Why are you with me?"

"Oh." His voice is soft. You've asked him this before. The first time you asked him, he was understanding. By the third time, he was irritated and angry at needing to repeating himself. After that, things got worse for a bit.

That was a while ago now.

"What's brought this on?" he asks, and his large hand strokes your leg.

You shrug. It's impossible to look at him.

"Hey?"

You bite your lip before speaking. "Tried to find a nice dress for next week. Nothing in my size."

Billy sighs and shifts on the sofa. "Try another shop."

"In a shopping centre of fifty thousand bits of clothing, not a single one was for me." Your chest hurts.

"You'd look beautiful in a bin bag."

"But..." your lip trembles again. You wonder if your chubby cheeks shake like some gruesome creature gobbling a foul feast. "I just want a pretty dress."

Dissolving into tears makes your cheeks burn with shame. Billy wraps you up in his arms anyway. He's so tall.

He pulls you against him on the sofa, and eventually, with a pillow for your head, you lie in his lap, and he strokes your hair soothingly. He doesn't say anything. Billy is a man of few words. Tender fingers glide through hair, gentle on any tangles they find. Occasionally, his nails make contact with your scalp and a quiet noise sounds in your throat.

When you try to get away from him, he holds you down. Quietly, he shushes you, and you melt. He murmurs your name. Your cries are softer now. The headache begins to fade.

"I'm sorry," you whisper thickly.

"Don't apologise."

"Billy, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Shh."

"No, I-"

"Are you gonna listen to me?"

You look up at him blearily. He shaved earlier, and his cheeks are soft. He uses the aftershave you got him for his birthday. He'd turned the box over in his hands quietly, and sniffed the bottle in curiosity. The pleased face he had pulled was so endearing. You remember everything with him. He smells like that birthday.

"Tell me what you thought of me when you first saw me."

Your brow furrows slightly. "Eh?"

"Eh?" he echoes with the hint of a grin. "Tell me."

"You know."

"I wanna hear it."

Licking your lips, you take the hand in your hair and pull it down to your chest to play with his fingers. He lets out a shallow breath. "You came through the door out of the rain with your hood up. But it was wet. Just cotton. Bit dirty." You remember everything. "You ordered a black coffee, and you were so quiet that I couldn't really hear you."

"First thing I ever bought with you was a raincoat." He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.

It soothes you. "Yeah."

"But what did you think of me?"

"That you looked like a sad, wet cat." You laugh when he gently presses your sides, tickling you slightly. How you used to hate him touching you. Always afraid he'd recoil in disgust. Still afraid. "I wasn't sure about you. You looked a bit..."

"Hmm?"

"Stern."

"Hmm."

"Why're you asking?"

Billy's gentle smile - the secret one, the contented one - fades slightly. He leans his head back against the sofa cushion. "I dunno... I dunno how I can ever convince you that between the two of us... it's you."

Knots twist in your stomach. Around his fingers, your hand tightens. "What's me?"

"You're... you're the one."

"What?"

"I... I ain't got the words."

You smile faintly. Closing your eyes, you let your head sink deeper into the pillow on his lap. "Any'll do."

"I'm just some bloke. But you?... God, you've got this, this, this light in you."

Not the words you expected. "Billy."

"Nah, I mean it. I knew it the first time I saw you. This bright old smile, this loud and happy voice, you just... shot into my life. It was stupid to spend money on coffee every other day, but I couldn't... I couldn't stay away."

Loud. Happy. Pictures of jolly clowns dance across your eyes. No one wants to fuck the clown.

"Yeah, I'm a laugh a minute." It's impossible to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

"Listen to me," he chides. "Don't make me feel stupid for saying the wrong thing."

"Sorry."

"I know."

You sigh. There's always somethng you need to apologise for these days. He deserves someone whole and kind and beautiful and sexy and-

"You got this light in you," he murmurs again after a long pause. "It comes through your skin like the sun."

Billy doesn't talk like this. It's not like him. You hold back snide comments, the knee-jerk instinct to say something funny. Instead, you listen.

"After Cranstead, I didn't think I'd ever see something beautiful again. And then I found you. Shining."

Pain gnaws away at you. It's sweet, it really is. But he could say that about a friend. No one wants to fuck the clown. No one wants to fuck the sun. "That's a pretty thing to say."

"Yeah?" He looks down at you and lets go of your hand. Instead, he strokes the hair back from your forehead and kisses it. "Pretty words for a pretty girl."

"Promise?" you ask. The word almost chokes you.

"Yeah, of course." He sees your face threaten to crumple again. "I love you. You know that, don'ya?"

You nod. It's hard to keep it together. "Yeah. But... but do you... you know..."

"What?"

"I'm worried that... that I'm not..."

He is more patient now than he used to be. Your asks for reassurance were met with anger once. But you learned him - and he learned you. By heart. He will be your broken record. "You're beautiful."

"I need you to promise. That you... that you want me still. Despite how I look. How... how much of me there is."

Billy lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your palm. For the briefest moment, he takes your fingertip between his teeth, before you stroke his smooth jaw. So pretty.

He whispers your name. "I want you every moment of every day. Sometimes, I can't even think straight because all I can picture is you. Your eyes, your mouth, your hands. God, these hands. They make me feel so good."

Blood heats your cheeks. He kisses them.

"And your perfect face. I wish you'd watch us fuck in front of a mirror. You don't know how good your face looks when you're taking me inside you."

Fuck. He's getting so good with his words. He saves so many of them for you. "You think about it?"

"Yeah. I think about coming home and finding you naked. I wanna come home and find every inch of you bare for me. All for me."

"Promise? Promise I turn you on?"

Billy laughs breathlessly and nods. Craning his neck down, he presses a deep kiss to your lips. His tongue meets yours and you taste coffee and sugar. Sweet Billy, dark and hot, steals the breath from your lungs. "You do so much for me," he murmurs between kisses. "You make me laugh. Make me feel safe. You make my dick hard. And," he pulls away enough to look into your eyes, "that light beneath your skin. It saved me. It's like... it's like it was midnight forever, and you brought the dawn."

"You're turning into a poet," you whisper. There is no jest here, though.

He kisses you again, and cradles your head in his lap. "It's what you do to me. Make things beautiful. Even me."

#billy washington x reader #billy washington x you #billy washington x y/n #billy washington x oc #ewan mitchell #mine #ewanverse

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