Pottery-Head

Will beg you to spend every single second of your time with him and as a yandere, I can clearly see him as a worshipper who'll worship TF outta you pal

If you go out somewhere without telling him, expect a dozen messages on your phone and 45 FREAKING MISSED CALLS!!! Ngl..... he just wants you to be safe and once you come back, he'll smother you with his love and affection and pepper your face with kisses

His aunt May adores you and treats you like her very daughter. She likes baking you muffins and cookies when you come by

Hates it when you talk to other people and he's clearly making an exception for MJ and Ned though he prefers if you talk to them less. He's just scared of losing you

He'll kidnap you if he thinks you're in danger which lets say happens after a month you 2 start dating. Don't worry, he'll stock up everything you love and he'll have all your favorite movies and books available for you and he'll even be so generous as to have a Wattpad and a tumblr account so long as you do your stuff on HIS phone and he keeps track of what you're posting

He absolutely HATES and DESPISES punishing you when you misbehave and as much as he loves you, he'll convince himself that he needs to discipline you for your own good. Nothing too drastic though, he'll just restrict you from using your favorite things and no screen time. You'll be bored outta your skull for sure but hey, at least he's not locking you up in a room with chains dangling around you

When it comes to other people who he thinks are trying to steal his sweetheart from him (Aka. YOU), he will not hesitate to get messy and kill someone. He'll try framing that person like convincing people he was a corrupt person or an illegal drug seller or something like that and either spread rumors or directly kill them. No one messes with his darling and gets the hell away with it, not if he can help it and YES, he CAN help it

Will use EDITH to make sure you're safe

the two of you had been cuddled up on your couch all afternoon watching movies and were planning on heading over to emily and sam's that night for a bonfire.

she just let out a soft laugh and pressed a quick kiss to your shoulder, "i don't think we're exactly gonna be punished for being late," she mused teasingly, pulling you closer to her which had you laughing.

"what exactly are you suggesting?" you asked teasingly as you rolled over in her arms so you could be facing her, peeking up at your imprinter.

she offered your hand a soft squeeze, "i really don't think we need to be there tonight," she responded, both of you attempting to hide your smiles from one another but failed miserably as you both burst into a fit of laughter over her proposition.

"i'm serious!" she exclaimed, pulling you closer to her for a tight hug, "really don't feel like it," she added, loosening her grip on you a bit so you could get some much needed air.

you pretended to ponder her proposition for a moment, already knowing your answer long before you vocalized it, "i suppose that'd be alright," you mused, immediately giggling when she slid her free hand up to cup at your jaw and pull you in for a soft kiss.

"let's stay here then," she murmured when she parted her lips from yours to allow you to catch your breath, both of you unable to contain your smiles over the change of plans for the night.

you nodded, smiling when you noticed her attention drifting back down to your intertwined fingers, "why do you keep doing that?" you asked softly after a moment, offering her a smile when she looked back up at you.

"no reason," she mused teasingly, the comment having you giggling again, "can we figure out what we're getting for dinner tonight?" she asked, quickly changing the subject which had you laughing yet again.

ever since leah and you had talked about the possibility of marriage a few months back, she couldn't stop staring at your hands, always loving the thought of both of you wearing engagement and then wedding rings from eachother.

you rolled your eyes, nodding, "can we get chinese food?" you asked hopefully, smiling when she quickly nodded, a smile on her face as well that had you so happy to know you two were on the same page as usual.

"fried rice and egg rolls?" she asked teasingly as she grabbed her phone to place an order, both of you laughing when you hummed in agreement, "do you wanna get a new movie on while i call them?" she asked softly as she got up, heading into the kitchen to place the order when you nodded.

Your stomach sank. “What do you mean? Was she injured?”

“Your highness,” the knight said again, “I’m sorry, but...”

Your ears tuned everyone out. Missing? How could Brienne be missing? She always made it out of a fight. The thought of her misery, her torture, her death made bile rise in your throat.

“Thank you,” you managed to choke out. “You may go now.”

The man bowed, the others behind him following, and turned out of the room. From your peripheral vision you could see your parents turn their heads to look at you.

“Don’t,” you mutter, knowing they’re about to say something. And with no other words, you leave the throne room, court members looking on and whispering under their breaths.

Days had gone by and you hadn’t moved from bed. Meals had been brought in on trays and set down on your vanity. But there was no energy to move. So, the trays stayed there, untouched, food uneaten.

There was a light knock on your door. Without waiting for an answer, the handle turned and in walked your mother.

“Sweetheart?” Her voice was soft and the door clicked shut. She moved to the bed, sitting down on the plush mattress and reaching out to stroke your hair. “The kitchen said that you haven’t eaten a single bite since Monday.”

“Go away,” you grumble. 

Your mother sighs. “Darling, you need to eat. I know you’re worried but Brienne could show up at any moment.”

“How do you do it?” you ask, face still buried in your tear-stained pillow. “How do you remain so optimistic?”

“In a world like this,” she says, “you have to be. Seeing a better future gives you hope. You’ve always been pessimistic, though. I think you got it from your father.”

“I definitely didn’t get it from you.” 

A light chuckle escapes her lips and she sighs. Her hand moved down to touch your shoulder before she stood up. “I know your father’s never really approved of your…choices…but he is worried. He just wants you to be happy, and if–”

“If he wants me happy,” you cut in, “he can bring Brienne back…”

Two more nights passed and you worked up just barely enough energy to take a bite of porridge in the morning. The sun was almost below the horizon when a maid brought in a tray with that night’s dinner.  You thanked her before she left, sitting up in bed and dragging yourself out of the warm cocoon of blankets. 

At this point, you had lost every ounce of hope. Your head had cleaned itself of its brief delusions. Brienne was gone. Brienne was never coming back. Brienne was dead, and that was that. As you weeped, you took a single bite of a pastry on the tray surrounded by various vegetables and mashed potatoes covered in butter. Barely being able to stomach the small bite, you set it back down on its plate. 

After an hour, the sun was completely set, and your room was thrown into darkness. When another maid came in to clear the tray, she lit the fire in your bedroom hearth. 

“Thank you,” you muttered.

Curtsying, the girl left in a hurry and all was silent. The moon could be seen through your window and your eyes focused on nothing but the silver orb in the sky. More tears began to fall and your eyes grew heavier. Grief always makes one so terribly tired. 

A knock on the door drew you from a light doze. 

“Go away,” you called.

You could hear the door open and your breath deepened. Turning over to face the door, you didn’t register who was there before shouting. “I told you to g–!” 

You stopped yourself. There she stood, a sheepish smile on her face. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said. Her hair was a mess, locks of unwashed hair fell in her face. Bruises lined her cheek with patches of dirt, and she wore no armor–only a tunic and loosely fitting breeches. 

“Brienne!” Tears once again formed in your eyes, but these were not of sorrow. Every prayer, every hope and wish had been answered. You sprang from bed and ran into her arms, sobbing. “I thought you were dead.”

“I know, darling,” she whispered. “I know.” Brienne’s hand came to your head, fingers entwined with strands of hair as she held you closer. “I’m here now…And I won’t leave you.”

Sniffling, you pull away, looking her up and down, panicking. “Oh, gods! You’re bleeding! Let me take you down to the kitchens.” You took her hand and rushed out of the room. “They should have something–how bad is it?”

Brienne stopped you in the middle of the hallway. “Y/N! Y/N!” You turned around at your name. “I’m fine.” Her voice softened. “I stopped at a boarding house a couple days ago. They stitched me up. I promise you,” she said, “I’m fine.”

Your chest rose and fell as you relaxed. “Alright…but we’re still going down to the kitchen. You need to eat something.” You continued holding her hand as the pair of you strolled down the corridor. “And you’re a mess, too. You can use the bathhouse tomorrow, and I’ll have the maids try and find you some clean clothes.” 

“It’s alright, my love,” you replied tenderly, reaching up to caress her cheek and smiling warmly, your eyes crinkling at the outer corners and your faint laugh lines deepening. It took every ounce of strength that Brienne possessed not to cry in that moment, to quirk her lips upwards into something resembling a smile. She was almost certain you could see right through her facade - you knew her better than anyone - but you must’ve chalked it up to her being tired (like she’d told you), because your eyes filled with understanding and kindness and you stroked her jaw lovingly with your thumb.

Brienne’s heart cracked a little more as you began to set the table, and even more when you shooed her away as she tried to help - “please, Bri, you’re tired, sit. I can handle this.” You believed her, you always did. It was one of the pillars of your relationship - Brienne was always honest with you, and you were always honest with Brienne. If Brienne told you she was tired, then you knew it to be true. 

It was for your own good.

At dinner, you did most of the talking. Brienne simply listened, trying to commit the sound of your voice to memory, storing away every little chuckle, every time you would say her name or call her “love”. When you noticed she was barely eating, simply pushing the food around her plate, worry filled your eyes and you reached over the small table to squeeze her hand - the gentle brush of your skin on hers only working to deepen the pit in her stomach.

“Brienne, are you certain you’re alright?” Your voice was so soft and gentle that it made Brienne nauseous. She had to get this over with, before she broke down completely. It was for your own good. If she told herself this enough, she might believe it.

She took a deep breath, training her eyes on her plate. “Y/N, I have to tell you something.”

“Anything,” you replied earnestly, your tone still patient and kind, as if you didn’t suspect a single thing. Your thumb was tracing soothing circles over the back of her hand.

“I- we can no longer be… together.”

It was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. The silence was deafening, a high-pitched ringing beginning to invade Brienne’s eardrums. Her gaze flitted to your face, watching the color slowly drain from it - she couldn’t stand it, she had to look away again. She felt you retract your hand from hers and found herself immediately yearning for the warmth of your touch again.

“I… I don’t understand.” Your voice was shaky now, and when Brienne chanced another glance at your face, she could see your brows furrowed in confusion, your eyes glistening with tears yet to be shed. Her heart dropped and she felt bile rising in her throat. Her first instinct was to wrap her strong arms around you and kiss away the crease between your brow - to litter your face with tiny pecks of her lips until your tears had made their retreat and laughter was bubbling out of your chest. But she couldn’t very well do that now - she was the one breaking up with you, and if she wasn’t your girlfriend anymore then, well, it wouldn’t be her place to kiss you or comfort you any longer.

So she put on her mask, the one she used when she needed to be strong, when she was training and commanding her men - it was the only way she’d be able to keep her voice even enough to say what she needed to say, the only way she’d be able to stay steadfast in her decision. It was for your own good, she reminded herself, swallowing thickly.

“This isn’t working for me any longer. I have to focus on my duties as Lord Commander, I cannot afford any distractions.” You see, Brienne knew you would try to argue if she told you the real reasons she was breaking up with you. She didn’t think you would accept those so easily. But her duties as Lord Commander were something she was sure you wouldn’t be able to argue against.

The silence stretched on uncomfortably long, hurt flitting across your face as your tears finally spilled over, leaving pale tracks down your cheeks. Brienne’s fingers twitched as she fought the reflex to wipe them away.

“Is that what I am to you?” you whispered, your voice watery and thick - Brienne had never heard you so upset before, and her heart ached knowing she was the cause of your pain. “A distraction?”

Brienne felt her lip twitch as all her organs seemingly clenched together in pain. Of course not! she wanted to scream. You’re the love of my fucking life and the reason my world keeps turning! I just cannot hold you back any longer! 

“I should go,” she muttered instead, pushing her chair back as she stood and turning to leave.

“Brienne!” She heard your chair scrape across the floor, your voice rising in desperation. “We’re not done here! You can’t just leave.” 

“I’ll have Podrick pick up my things tomorrow.” Brienne kept her voice level as she walked towards the door. 

“Please, darling, I love you,” you sobbed, and Brienne paused for a moment with her hand on the doorknob. She could hear your footsteps coming closer, could see you out of the corner of her eye as you reached out for her - she opened the door and stepped through it, closing it firmly behind her. 

When Brienne showed up at Podrick’s door that night, he didn’t ask any questions. He knew her well enough to know there was only one thing that could be causing her face to contort in pure anguish. He even pretended not to hear her sobs as she cried herself to sleep, and he didn’t comment on the bags under her eyes the next morning - for that, Brienne was grateful.

She realized, with a heavy heart as sleep evaded her that night, that she hadn’t even had the chance to kiss you one last time - she was already forgetting how it felt to have your lips on hers. That was the thought that sent her over the edge, tears flowing freely down her face and staining her pillow.

It was for your own good. 

~~~

“I cannot afford any distractions.”

A distraction.

Brienne’s lip had twitched. That was the only tiny little sign you could cling to that Brienne may have been bluffing. That she may not have fully meant what she’d said. 

But she’d left. She hadn’t even looked back.

“I will love you until all the stars fall from the sky,” she’d told you once. “Your love makes me feel like the luckiest woman alive.” 

Was this before or after she’d decided you were simply a nuisance, getting in the way of her duties?

You cried yourself to sleep that night, of course you did - you didn’t even have the heart to clear off the dinner table. When a knock sounded on the door the following morning and you’d rushed out to answer it, your heart had clenched when you’d seen the two plates, the two goblets - proof that Brienne had been there just the evening before, that you’d shared a dinner after work as if nothing was wrong.

You clung onto every bit of hope that you could muster up that it would be Brienne at the door, taking everything back. Your stomach twisted when, instead of the tall, blonde knight, a decidedly shorter man with a dark mop of hair and a round face greeted you. 

So she’d sent Podrick, just like she’d said.

You let him into your home, silently, watching as he moved nervously about the space, gathering weapons and armor and clothing - only the necessary things, nothing of sentimental value - and purposely avoiding your gaze.

When he was finished some ten minutes later, he stopped by the front door and, finally, looked you in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, kindly and with a sad smile.

You simply slammed the door in his face. This made you feel even worse - you’d always liked Podrick, and it’s not like any of this was his fault. But you were in no mood for pleasantries or pity, particularly not when Brienne was apparently too cowardly to face you.

~~~

One week. One week spent wallowing in your home, barely leaving - barely leaving the bed, for that matter. One week until you decided you had to get out and do something. Brienne had not called on you, she hadn’t once showed up or asked someone to check on you. 

A distraction. Maybe that’s really all you’d been.

You’d been meaning to get a new dress fitted for some time. The seamstress in town had always been kind to you, always chatty and empathetic. Perhaps it was time you paid her a visit - perhaps she could even be a shoulder to lean on, someone to support you.

You appraised yourself in the little mirror in your bedroom. You’d certainly seen better days - your cheeks were puffy, your eyes rubbed raw from wiping away tears, your chest was splotchy and red. After taming your tangled hair into something resembling a hairstyle and changing into something other than your nightgown, you made your way into town, with the gown that needed altering folded carefully in your bag.

The little bell above the door to the shop jingled as you entered.

“Be right with ya!” called a muffled voice from one of the rooms in the back. Moments later, a petite woman scurried into view, her face nearly completely obscured by the armful of fabric she was carrying. She quickly dropped the fabric onto a nearby armchair and wiped her palms on her dress.

“Y/N, so good to see you,” Meera beamed, looking behind you as if searching for something, brow creasing. “Is the Lord Commander not with you today?”

“I’m afraid I’ll be coming alone from now on.” You offered her a wobbly smile, unable to stop your voice from trembling as you felt the familiar sting of oncoming tears.

“Oh.” Hazel eyes truly drank in your appearance for the first time, recognition dawning on Meera’s face. “Oh, come here, love.” She opened her arms to you and enveloped you in a tight hug. It felt decidedly different from the hug you really craved (Brienne’s) - Meera was much shorter, her hands smaller as they rested on your back, her grip lighter. But she was warm, and her voice was comforting as she cooed into your ear, and so you hugged her back and let out all the tears you couldn’t bear to hold in.

The alterations of your dress were quickly deemed second priority as Meera flitted about her shop to make you a cup of tea and ushered you to please, sit and make yourself at home. She sidled up next to you then, listening intently as you spilled your heart out about Brienne.

“The Lord Commander is a damned fool,” she muttered, scowling. “How anyone could let a pretty lady like you go is beyond me.”

Her serious tone drew a giggle out of your throat, your cheeks turning rosy. 

“Couldn’t have been me,” Meera said resolutely, shrugging and smiling kindly at you - you couldn’t help but smile back.

~~~

Brienne trudged wearily towards the training grounds, unable to stop her mind from wandering as she had nothing to occupy herself with. The expression on Podrick’s face when he’d come back with arms and bags full of her belongings had filled her with such a burning sense of shame - the sad frown, the raised eyebrow as he’d simply asked her what she’d done. She hadn’t answered him - if she’d so much as opened her mouth she might’ve vomited on the spot.

The days (or had it been weeks now?) were blurring together for Brienne - she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Every morning she awoke without your warmth curling into her, every evening she fell asleep without first stealing a soft kiss - your absence had left a gaping hole in Brienne’s chest that she was certain she would never be able to fill. And it was all her own fault.

As she strode across the training grounds, she walked past a group of her men, all huddled up. One of them immediately began snickering as she passed by, causing her to come to a halt and cock her head towards him.

“Can I help you?” she grit out, hand coming to rest on the pommel of her sword.

The man’s friends recoiled, averting their eyes, but he himself was a little naive and a little bold, so he squared his shoulders and replied, condescension lacing his tone. “It’s talk of the town that the Lord Commander’s little girlfriend found herself someone new.”

Brienne felt her blood begin to boil. “Pardon?” she hissed, her knuckles turning white as they tightened around the hilt of her sword.

“Must’ve gotten bored of being the Lord Commander’s little wh-”

Brienne let out a fierce grunt, baring her teeth as her sword flashed in the sun, coming to rest under the man’s chin. The blade pressed into his flesh, drawing the tiniest bit of blood, and his eyes widened in fear - though his shit-eating grin never slipped from his face.

“Another word and I’ll have you cast out of King’s Landing,” Brienne growled. “Am I understood?”

There was a beat of silence. The man’s eyes flitted from Brienne’s face, red with anger, to the perfectly polished blade of Valyrian steel. Finally, he nodded his assent.

“Of course, Lord Commander.”

Brienne’s nostrils flared at his smirk, her heart thundering wildly in her chest. Eventually, she withdrew her sword and took a step back. “Get out of my sight.”

The small group all but dragged their friend away, leaving Brienne to stand alone in the middle of the training grounds, white-hot rage radiating off of her in waves. Rage and… confusion? Had you really moved on so quickly? Was she the last to know you’d found someone new?

She shouldn’t be upset with you for that. That’s what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? For you to find happiness with someone who wouldn’t hold you back.

It was for your own good, after all.

~~~

Even as the days went by, Brienne found herself unable to get her mind off the rumors of you finding someone else. It was driving her absolutely mad with longing - anytime she allowed her mind to wander, it bombarded her with images of you in someone else’s arms. Always nameless, always faceless - but with wandering hands and lips pressed to your throat, bringing a blinding smile to your face that had once only been directed at Brienne.

So here she was, trying to keep herself busy, walking up to the seamstress’s little shop to get a tear in a pair of trousers stitched up. It was something you could’ve easily fixed for her - Brienne’s large fingers were a bit too clumsy, a bit too out of practice for the fine stitches that would’ve been necessary here. Brienne would have sat next to you, watching you patch up her trousers - it would’ve taken far longer than necessary, with Brienne distracting you every few minutes to steal a kiss. You would’ve swatted her away, playfully and with little force, laughing in that lighthearted way that was reserved only for her.

Brienne shook the thought from her head and swallowed the lump in her throat as she reached Meera’s shop - though what she saw through the window had her stopping dead in her tracks. Brienne’s heart twitched with yearning as she saw you, sitting on a stool in the corner of the shop - Meera standing behind you, draped over your shoulders and showing you something in a book. You looked tired, somehow unlike yourself, but all Brienne could focus on was the smile on your face - it was genuine. More than that, it was directed at Meera, who giggled and leaned in closer.

A wave of nausea washed over Brienne and her lungs began to constrict. She felt frozen in time, watching your sweet little interaction. This is what you wanted, she had to remind herself firmly. Meera was a kind woman, with a steady job - a job where the greatest danger was an accidental poke with a sewing needle. She had a good reputation in town, she was well-liked and respected. Still, Brienne couldn’t help the way her blood ran cold as the rumors she’d heard were confirmed.

It was too much. Brienne tore her eyes away from the two of you, turning swiftly on her heel and fleeing the scene, her heart pounding wildly in her chest and her eyes stinging with tears.

It was for your own good. She wasn’t sure when she’d start to really believe it.

~~~

That night Brienne found herself sitting in the dark corner of a tavern, nursing goblet after goblet of wine. She wasn’t one to get drunk on purpose, not usually, but all she wanted tonight was to forget. To forget all the images burned onto the backs of her eyelids - your tear-stained face as she’d left you, Podrick’s pity-filled gaze from across the breakfast table, the sneers of some townsfolk that only seemed to be getting worse, the smile on your face as Meera stood close to you.

But somehow, with every drop of alcohol, the onslaught of images became stronger, harder to ignore. More memories joined in, until Brienne’s head was a jumbled mess of thoughts that taunted her, snippets of her life with you - her life without you.

It was for your own good, it was-

To hell with it.

She had to see you. She would just stop by… just to see if you were really happy with Meera, if the seamstress was treating you well - and, if she was, well then Brienne would leave you alone for good. 

Brienne rose to her feet - too quickly, apparently, as she stumbled into the corner of the table. Maybe she was just a little more tipsy than she’d realized… She stepped out into the balmy night air and the world spun a little around her. Perhaps she should wait until morning, Brienne reasoned as she looked up at the inky black sky - it had to be at least midnight now, and she wasn’t sure how welcome she’d be, showing up drunk in the middle of the night. How welcome she’d be at all…

She was grateful that Podrick was already asleep when she snuck through the front door - she didn’t need his pity or his scrutiny. At least the alcohol was good for something - Brienne fell fast into a dreamless slumber, too exhausted to spend time ruminating.

Brienne held fast in her resolve the following morning - her feet carried her all the way to the home you’d formerly shared, her mind clouded with anger and despair in equal parts. When she knocked and didn’t receive a reply, she rounded the little house and stomped towards the garden, slowing her gait as she saw you sitting in the grass with your back to her.

With her heart pounding against her ribcage and her stomach fluttering anxiously, she took a few tentative steps towards you.

~~~

Gravel crunched behind you. You didn’t have to turn around - you would recognize those heavy footfalls anywhere - you’d spent years memorizing them, listening for them.

“You seem to have moved on quite quickly.” The question was so blunt that you couldn’t help but snort.

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re on about, Brienne. Or would you like for me to address you as Ser now? Perhaps Lord Commander?” You couldn’t keep the venom from dripping from your lips - you could feel all the hurt and longing and anger that had been simmering beneath the surface threatening to boil over, and you didn’t care to stop it.

“The seamstress.”

“Meera?” Your stomach flipped uncomfortably. You’d noticed that the woman had taken a liking to you, even going so far as to openly flirt with you. But truth be told, you didn’t see her that way - you simply needed someone to lean on when Brienne had abandoned you, and Meera was… well, there.

Brienne’s next question was so quiet you nearly missed it, lost in your thoughts as you were. “Does she make you happy?”

You laughed - it was a hollow laugh, laced with bitterness and tinged with disappointment. You twisted to look up at Brienne - she stood behind you, back ramrod straight, hands clasped in front of her. Her face was an impassive mask, or so she thought - you could see the weight of her emotions behind bright sapphire eyes, the twitch of her lips as she waited for your reply.

“Does it matter? You’re the one who broke up with me, why do you care who I talk to? But for your information, Ser, she has been a kind friend to me when I couldn’t bear to be alone.” You raised an eyebrow in challenge, and Brienne scoffed.

“A friend, yes. I can see that. Everyone can see that.”

“What are you insinuating?”

Your eyes flashed dangerously and Brienne remained silent, her gaze falling to the ground.

If this was all she came for, well, you were done here. You stood, smoothing your skirt and looked defiantly up at Brienne. “I hope now, with all distractions gone, you can focus better on your precious duties. Seems to be working out well for you. Good day, Ser.”

“Wait.” Long fingers circled your wrist in a strong grip, holding you in place and whirling you around. Stormy blue eyes met your own, Brienne’s face a whirlwind of emotions.

“You and Meera, you’re not…?” She cocked her head to the side in question. For the first time you could see the heartbreak written plain as day on her face, and, despite your anger, you felt your heart clench with longing.

“Do you really think I could forget you that easily?” you whispered, not trusting your voice not to betray you.

Brienne opened her mouth, then closed it again, her eyes flitting between your own. This was the first good look you’d gotten of her, and she looked exactly how you felt - hollow, exhausted, hurt.

“I didn’t mean it,” she whispered finally. 

“Didn’t mean what?” You felt your pulse pick up, your breathing shallow. You had to hear her say it.

“That you’re a distraction.” She spit the word out as if it were a dirty thing, and your stomach clenched. “You’re not. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Because I thought I was doing the right thing for us,” she snapped. She looked at you, her eyes pleading with you to understand. “Just because I chose this life for myself, doesn’t mean you have to.”

“What are you talking about, Brienne?” you snapped back, growing impatient.

“Don’t you want a family? Don’t you want to live your life without the fear that your partner could fall in battle any damned day?”

“And Meera can give me all of that?” You scoffed. “I have a right to choose what I want out of life, Brienne, you don’t get to make that choice for me. What’s really going on here?”

Brienne sighed. She seemed conflicted as her eyes darted between yours, her tongue coming out hesitantly to lick her lips. When she spoke, it was as if she was fighting to get every single word out. “I’m used to it, being sneered at and looked at as different - I don’t want to drag you into that. I don’t want my life to be too much for you.”

A heavy silence shrouded the pair of you like a veil. Of course it would all come back to Brienne’s insecurities. She was afraid of losing you, so she’d shut you out instead. 

“Brienne?” you said finally, tearing your wrist from her grip and taking a step towards her.

“Yes?” she breathed, leaning in as if drawn by some magnetic force. You could feel her breath, warm and ragged, on your face - her scent filled your nostrils now, a mixture of soap and sweat, somehow managing to calm you instantly.

“You are an idiot.”

Brienne’s brow creased and she frowned, but then you smiled and a lovely, scarlet blush began to creep up her cheeks. 

“I would rather spend the rest of my life waiting for you and worrying about you, than wondering what it would be like to have you at all. You’re my family Brienne. I don’t need more than that - I need you.”

*

Brienne surged forward, crashing her lips desperately into yours. A familiar warmth immediately flooded her chest as she allowed herself to get lost in you, tugging you closer by the waist. Your fingers threaded themselves into her short locks, like they always did, and Brienne breathed out a contented sigh as your tongue licked its way into her mouth. Oh, how she’d missed this.

“I love you,” she murmured between kisses, feeling you push yourself closer at those words. In that moment, nothing mattered except you and your lips - it was as if you were kissing for the very first time.

“Oh, and Bri?”

“Hmm?” “If you ever try something like that again, I swear I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.” Your smile was wide and Brienne’s laugh was loud and carefree, her heart swelling with joy. She knew it was not an empty threat - but she also knew she would spend the rest of her life guarding your heart with everything she had. Even from herself.

x

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♥︎ the moment he saw you he was absolutely smitten (I mean how could he not?? look at you you’re gorgeous!!)

maybe he saw you at school talking to Tatum or Sidney, or at the video stare talking with Randy. he came skipping up to the two of you with a huge grin on his face, unable to take his eyes off you. “who’s this cutie?” he’d ask. the way you blushed at him calling you a cutie, oh it was over for you.

♥︎ he’s always looking at you with big heart eyes

♥︎ even before you two become a couple, he’s always in your space. privacy? what’s that?? never heard of her. he’s so clingy once you two get closer. he’s always gotta have an arm wrapped around your shoulder or waist whenever you’re with him (which is basically always). any free time you have will be filled with spending time with him, whether you’re hanging out with the group or it’s just the two of you.

♥︎ Billy immediately catches on to how obsessed Stu is with you, but he doesn’t really care (as long as you don’t get in the way of their plans, who’s he to come between ‘love’ right?). the others think it’s cute how much he likes you, not catching on to the dangerous obsessive side he has.

♥︎ I believe that Stu’s love language is gift-giving and acts of service. you two are at the local strip mall and he sees you eyeing something a little too long?? boom. it’s on your doorstep or in your locker the next day.

♥︎ I don’t see Stu is a very jealous yandere. he sees someone flirting with you, he doesn’t need to worry. you’re his and they don’t stand a chance with you (especially if they’re six feet under).

♥︎ but what happens when you start to like someone else? what happens when he sees you sparing longing looks at someone in your shared history class? when he sees you and that person laughing together in the halls and spending more time together?

♥︎ seeing you look at another person like that… he feels his heart sink. but that sadness and disappointment is quickly pushed to the side by annoyance. he plasters on a fake smile and saunters up to the two of you by your locker, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “hey, cutie.” he greets, looking down at you and not even sparing a glance at the person you were talking to. the person would get uncomfortable and mumble out something like “I’ll see you later…” before walking away.

before you can chastise Stu for being rude, he’s begging you to come over after school. and how could you say no to his big blue pleading puppy dog eyes? he pumps his fist victoriously with a goofy grin before the two of you head to your separate classes.

the drive to his place is… tense. you can sense something’s off with him, despite the smile on his face he’s clearly trying to hide. the car is silent, save for the soft music from the radio, until he speaks up. “so that person you were talking to earlier…” he starts. “you like them?” he asks, his voice neutrally casual.

“I guess…” you respond, shrugging lightly. you notice his knuckles are white from gripping the wheel tightly. neither of you say anything. you feel your heart nervously thump in your chest.

the hang out at his place is normal. you watch a few movies, play a card game, and order a pizza until he decides to take you home.

♥︎ their body was found in the lake the following Sunday.

♥︎ Stu holds you in his arms as you cry after you heard the news (trying to avoid pressing his boner up against you, getting harder from every sob that escapes your mouth. trying to restrain himself from pushing you onto your back and leaving wet kisses all over your pretty face. biting back how badly he wants to tell you how pretty you look when you cry).

♥︎ weeks later, when you seem to have calmed down from the death of your crush, he invites you over again. the credits to Texas Chainsaw Massacre had rolled around, you were leaning on the arm of the couch with your legs laid across his lap. as you silently watch the words scroll by on the screen, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your neck. he pauses when he feels your body jolt beneath him in surprise.

“what are you doing?” you ask. he doesn’t respond, only smirking before pressing a few more kisses to your neck. he experimentally nips at your skin, smirking when he hears your breath hitch. he won’t force himself onto you if you ask him to stop, starting to push at his shoulders in an attempt to push him off.

but he would definitely be disappointed. after all he’s done for you? after all he’s had to sacrifice??

“come on, cutie…” he’d whisper against your neck. “don’t you wanna feel good?” he’d almost giggle at the thought of having you.

♥︎ without any further protest, he’d continue kissing your neck, sucking hickeys onto your flesh for everyone to see who you belong to. he’d rip your pants and underwear off, nearly tearing the fabric in the process (he’d give you a half-assed apology later if he had to). the clothing would barely be at your knees before he’s diving head-first into your crotch, licking and slurping up every drop he can, moaning around you whenever your breath hitches and you lightly tug on his hair.

“you like that?” he’d grin devilishly against your sensitive flesh, giggling when you’d jolt and whimper from the intense pleasure. he’d hold your thighs down once you start squirming from over stimulation, and there’s not a snowballs chance in hell you’re breaking loose unless he wants you to because that man is strong. he’d find it cute how you whine and kick you legs as you beg him to stop or slow down. but he doesn’t. because you want to make him happy, right??

♥︎ by the time he finally pulled away from you, he had ripped three orgasms from you, his chin and your thighs covered in your fluids and his spit.

♥︎ but don’t think he’s done!! not one bit. he gave you plenty of pleasure, so it’s only fair you do the same right??

♥︎ he’ll slide himself inside you, not deterred by the pained whines you let out from your oversensitivity. he has a high stamina, and can give you at least three more orgasms before he cums inside of you, moaning into your ear or against your lips.

then he’d cuddle back up next to you once he’s done and fall asleep with you wrapped in his arms<3

♥︎ if you thought he was clingy before you had sex, oh boy you’re in for a treat. autonomy?? never heard of her.

after classes? he’s right outside the door the second the bell rings (because of course he’s memorized your schedule). oh, you need to take a shower? he’s sitting on the toilet lid, waiting for you to finish up while he talks your ear off about anything and everything (on the off chance he doesn’t just join you in the shower, hogging all the water). basically, you’ll never get a moment of privacy.

♥︎ I don’t think he would be the type to kidnap you unless you tried to break up with him. he’s so unserious about it too. like you better be talking about a kitkat bar because he doesn’t know anything about any “breaks.” it’d be easy for him to kidnap you too. he knows everything about you, so he’d know the perfect time and place for it. and it’s not like his parents are ever home. and you’d be happy living with him, right? he’s provided for you and taken care of you so far, right??

Pain.

All he can feel is pain.

His vision hazy and his chest burns and his eyes sting and his body aches and—

There’s blood. 

It’s bright and it’s red and it’s blooming across the floor. There’s too much of it.

He can smell it, the acrid, pungent notes draped heavily across the air in the room.

He can taste it, the metallic tang makes his teeth ache.

And then suddenly it becomes hard to breathe, and he’s gasping for air.

And he’s falling.

Falling.

Falling.

The first thing that registers in Bucky’s mind when he wakes up is the stale taste of bile in his throat. That, and the fact that he can’t stop shivering. 

“Bucky?”

He hears a voice beside him, your voice, but his mind is still spinning and his heart is still racing. So it doesn’t quite register. Not yet.

Slowly, he opens his eyes. Bucky blinks a few times, taking in the room’s pale lavender walls, the way they’re illuminated with bars of light, the golden glow of the early morning sun peeking in through the blinds. The dust motes lazily floating in the air. Somewhere off in the distance, he hears the faint sound of a car horn. 

He can feel your fingers wrap around his right wrist. Carefully, tentatively.

His heartbeat begins to slow.

Bucky inhales, and he can smell your detergent clinging to the soft, gray sheets. The familiar crisp, fresh scent, paired with the floral notes of your shampoo brushed across the surface of the pillowcases. 

The tightness in his chest starts to loosen a fraction.

–

This isn’t the first night Bucky’s spent in your bed, and it’s not the first time his nightmares have chased him there between the warmth of your sheets and your tangled legs. He comes and goes from your life like the tides, forever adamant that he’s far too fucked up and broken to stay. Always certain that you deserve better.

And yet just when your heart begins to drift, when you stop leaving the porch light on in hopes that he’ll come knocking, when your finger hovers over the button to delete his name from your phone contacts—he’ll turn up again.

It’s always after bad missions—ones that leave him frayed at the edges, torn at the seams. Ones that find the two of you in bed for what feels like days until you can fuck every last bit of anxious adrenaline out of his system. 

By the time the calm sets in, though, he’s usually gone, leaving nothing behind but the distinct scent of motor oil that restlessly lingers in your apartment as his motorcycle rumbles away down the street. 

But for the first time, he didn’t touch you after he showed up last night, not like that. 

He’d hardly said a word when you opened the door for him just past midnight, your eyes still heavy from the deep sleep he’d roused you from. You knew he noticed you were wearing one of his shirts, one he’d left behind months ago. But neither of you acknowledged it, and you were too tired to be embarrassed.

He’d simply pulled you into his arms when the two of you climbed back into your bed, and you’d fallen asleep pretending—for his sake—that you couldn’t feel the shuddering of his chest and his shallow, gasping breaths as he held you close. You didn’t ask, because you knew he wouldn’t talk about it. 

He never does.

–

As you sit up and lean over Bucky, glancing down at him with concern brimming in your eyes, his throat constricts as he feels a tug from deep within. Something tattered and dusty shakes itself loose, sending him reeling as it unfurls. 

It hits him square in the chest—the realization. 

The fact that somewhere along the line, no matter how hard he’s tried to deny it, this has become home to him. Your small little Brooklyn apartment with its kitschy décor and the broken skylight in the bathroom. The chipped porcelain container with cow spots sitting beside your kitchen window and the collection of plants haphazardly claiming every open piece of real estate in your living room. The dog across the street that barks incessantly every morning. The one empty spot on the coat hook beside your front door that he’s fairly certain is for him. 

You’ve become home to him.

–

You brace yourself, waiting for Bucky to slide out from underneath you, when he’ll inevitably slip his jeans back on, fasten his belt, and disappear for another few days. Weeks. Months, even. 

Maybe you’ll finally learn to stop holding your breath this time.

But he doesn’t.

He just stares back up at you instead, and you try to ignore the silent whine of longing you feel at the sight of his tousled brown hair against your pillows. You’d made an offhand comment that perhaps he should grow his hair out months ago, and for whatever reason, he’d listened.

You’re not quite sure what’s going on in his head as his blue eyes rake over your face, but you don’t miss the way his breath suddenly hitches in his throat.

And then he’s kissing you.

His lips are tracing yours like he’s discovering the shape of them for the very first time. Like he wants to find the perfect angle to slot them together. 

He’s kissing you so fucking softly, you begin to tremble slightly at the reverence of his touch.

Bucky pulls you on top of him—you’ve never been on top. Normally, he can’t handle the loss of control. 

But not today.

Today, you’re straddling him, and he’s tugging aside the thin cotton fabric of your underwear, pumping two fingers in and out of you until your channel is slick and wet. 

And when his eyes fall shut as he tosses his head back against the pillow and moans when you finally sink down onto his cock, the weight of his vulnerability in the moment is heavy in your chest. 

—but it’s not a burden this time.

Not a warning sign of his pending departure. 

Not anymore