#deter with a threatening presence

[nova-moon13]

[kedsandtubesocks]

Chrysalis Heart

Din Djarin x Naboo Queen!Reader

summary: as queen you can handle many things (like the assassination attempts threatening your life) but the alluring mandalorian hired to protect you might be your heart’s biggest threat

word count: 9.2k (i’m sorry)

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. post season 3, royal & bodyguard AU, use of gendered language, threats & moments of violence, reader wears makeup/gowns/headpieces but has no physical description, hidden identity, protective!Din, discussions of marriage, forced proximity, the starfighter can fit two people in the cockpit no matter the size (canon can fight me), competency kink, major yearning, spicy themes, good sweet fluff

a/n: this is my entry for the WIRED4YOU challenge [Din + Butterflies by Kacey Mushraves] huge thanks to @chaotic-mystery for hosting & letting me join! This is also a mini love letter to “the phantom menace” & “attack of the clones” because I believe we deserve our queen moment too lol, dividers thanks & credit to the ever talented @saradika-graphics

Assassination attempts on your life are, unfortunately, not new. In this final year of your reign, the threats have recently doubled though, which surprises you.

But finding out a mandalorian is now assigned to your personal guard surprises you even more.

While sitting in the throne room surveying him, you admire the striking warrior. Sleek in his ancestor armor, unwavering in his presence, you stay composed as possible but…

Curiosity blooms fast, already wondering about this new guard.

“Captain Teva highly recommended this bounty hunter.” Your head advisor, Hildegard, explains dutifully.

A bounty hunter? That’s even more interesting.

“We are glad to have you here, mandalorian.” Senator Trystan adds brightly. He starts rambling like the politician he is, and you tune him out, especially as your focus remains on the mandalorian.

“Your majesty,” the timbre of his voice is striking like a steady river. “I vow to keep you safe until the assassin is caught.”

Hiding your voice within the composed steady tone the Queen of Naboo is known for, you thank him.

With a final nod, the warrior departs.

You notice a brown satchel slung at his hip half hidden under his cloak. You swear the minute the mandalorian leaves the room, a small tiny green clawed hand crawls out from the bag.

—

“I bet he’s ugly”

“No, I’m sure he’s handsome.” You and your handmaidens have discussed the new mandalorian guard for weeks now.

He’s a rather elusive figure. Silently moving around the castle, he reminds you of a sleek phantom just out of reach. When the mandalorian does accompany you anywhere, he remains silent. You simply amount it to the warrior doing his job diligently, which you greatly appreciate.

His presence alone seems to deter any more attempts. The tension in the palace already has eased greatly. So much you now roam without any supervision along the grand lakeside today.

The glory of Naboo is one you take pride in, from the illustrious buildings, to the underwater depths of the Gungan city. You savor these moments when you can freely walk among the splendor of your planet.

There’s a secluded, normally untouched, lake villa near this area you enjoy visiting from time to time.

Until you discover it’s no longer abandoned.

The sight stops you frozen in your tracks. By the edge of the lake, under the soft shade of the looming trees, stands the mandalorian. But he is not alone.

A wonderfully tiny and precious green creature waddles around through the grass.

Both of them turn towards you. It feels like you’ve just stumbled upon an ancient secret.

“Handmaiden.” The mandalorian greets you steady, cautious.

For a split moment, you had forgotten you’re in these robes.

“Mandalorian.” You greet back, thankful you don’t have to hide your voice.

Being under the guise of a handmaid offers you this freedom.

“And may I ask, who is this little one?” You smile and kneel down to the height of the small creature staring up with starry curious eyes.

A moment passes.

“He…is my son.” His words hit you like a blaster shot.

“Your son?” The monarch mentality leaks out momentarily as your voice jumps. You never would’ve hired this hunter knowing he has a child who could be put in harm's way.

“Yes.” The mandalorian nods.

“I’ve never seen him around before.” His little hand must have been the one you saw that first day in the throne room.

The mandalorian’s son curiously shuffles to you. You don’t miss his father’s fists clenching tense, hesitant and cautious, worried about this interaction.

“I…was not sure the queen would allow him to accompany me. So I keep him hidden.”

The baby is adorable with shimmering eager eyes. He rests his tiny hands against your robes. You can hear all your advisors screaming at you to consider releasing this hunter from your duty.

But you can’t now. Not when you tickle his son’s chin and the little one giggles sweet like a bell.

“Don’t worry,” you tell the mandalorian confidently. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“And besides,” you add casually. “Between you and me…The Queen won’t mind. She has a soft spot for little ones.”

You smile as the baby, now deeming you worthy, starts climbing onto your knee.

“What’s his name?” You ask.

“…Grogu.” The mandalorian answers.

As if on cue, Grogu chirps hearing his name and you laugh.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Grogu.” You nod then gently poke his tiny nose.

Infectious giggles greet you.

You then officially introduce yourself to the youngling, and in turn his father, freely giving your name.

Again you can almost hear all your advisors' horrified screams. Of all the things sacred and needed to be hidden, your name is the most important.

Even though the crown keeps you protected under an alias, it doesn’t mean your true identity is forever safe.

But you believe you can trust this warrior.

Or you hope so.

The University’s belltower rings off in the distance. You didn’t realize how late it got. You’d need to head back soon.

Grogu chirps confused when you softly place him back on the grass. His bright moon eyes almost make you stay longer.

“It was wonderful meeting you Grogu. I hope I can see you again soon.” You truthfully tell the little one.

Then you glance at his father.

You knew enough about mandalorian culture to understand how precious children are to them and how protective they are of their own.

Grateful for this moment, you thank the mandalorian for allowing you to meet his son.

Without another word, the warrior silently nods.

This strong hunter with the most adorable son plagues your mind the rest of the day. So much that you rearrange your calendar so you’re available to walk along the lake again.

You continue sneaking back to the lake home as much as you can.

The moments here away from the palace, from the politics and headache, are a precious respite. Currently Grogu watches enraptured by the butterflies fluttering in the air.

You glance back at the lake house secluded in the lush countryside and how it perfectly fits a mandalorian.

“Is this where you’re staying?” You ask.

“Yes. Unless I’m needed at the palace.” The mandalorian answers.

“Thankfully it’s been rather quiet again since you’ve arrived. So I’m grateful for that.” You speak as both handmaid and queen.

“I…” the warrior begins then stops, as if realizing he shouldn’t be saying much.

“You can talk freely. Trust me, whatever you say the queen probably already knows.” You almost dryly laugh at your own joke.

The hunter nods.

“I believe the threat is still at large. Simply hiding and waiting for the right time.” He admits strained.

You agree. It’s what everyone close to you believes as well.

There have been whispers, rumors, of a darkness looming among the edges of space. Now it seems to be slithering into your home.

But for now, you simply hold onto these glimmers of peace - like watching Grogu chase after the butterflies among the field.

His little claws reach for the soft colored creatures, and you think of your own childhood days where you chased after them too. You remember the trick your old tutor taught you when you were little.

So holding out your finger, you wait. Patience pays off. A lone butterfly flutters to land on your finger believing it to be a branch.

Grogu instantly notices, makes a noise of surprise, and scurries over.

But his fast movement scares the butterfly, and it rapidly flies away. The sad confused noise Grogu gives breaks your heart.

“It’s alright, they just get frightened easily.” You explain.

So again you hold your finger out, a welcoming rest spot. This time you place it closer to the baby.

Another butterfly thankfully floats down on your finger.

“Bweh!” Grogu shrieks giddy.

Very steadily, you move your finger closer to Grogu trying not to scare the bug.

“Here… can I see your hand, little one?” You softly ask.

The mandalorian helps his son out, raising Grogu’s little claw besides yours.

The butterfly gently wanders from your finger to Grogu’s hand, and the sweet baby giggles in pure joy.

The bug of course doesn’t stay long and flutters away. But it brings enough excitement to Grougu. He’s completely taken over by twinkling giggles the rest of the time, eagerly chasing after more butterflies.

“Are you often away from the queen for this long?” The mandalorian’s sudden curious question takes you by surprise.

“As long as one handmaiden is with the queen, no protocol is broken.” You effortlessly recite the mandate.

“Besides, we all deserve a bit of fresh air and some time alone.” You add.

From the corner of your eye, the mandalorian nods.

Then, the belltower rings signaling your return.

Grogu, now in his fathers arms, waves at you goodbye then yawns.

Wishing the little one good night you, you then bid the same goodbye to his father.

“Take care, mandalorian.”

“…Din...”

The phrase stills you.

“My name is Din.” He reveals. “Seems only fair since you gave me yours.”

Din, it fits him beautifully.

“Until next time, Din.” A grateful glow swirls in you knowing his name.

You vow to keep it sealed safe in your heart. You wouldn’t be able to use his name while wearing the crown anyway. Faintly, it reminds you how in the same way the mandalorian, Din, would never know your true name as queen.

That realization digs a hollow hole into your heart.

—

Peace doesn’t last long.

The assassin fires shots from one of the high towers near the capitol. Chaos erupts wild and dizzying, sending everyone into a panic.

Except the mandalorian, Din.

Effortlessly he jumps in front of you blocking the second blaster shot with his armor, a literal shield before you.

Once you’re secured safely, your eyes widen witnessing Din in action, flying up to the tower.

Even with the distance, you catch glimpses of the mandalorian fighting before you’re escorted away.

And he’s marvelous.

There’s a swift deadly power to him, a legend of myth right before your eyes.

Then he’s by your side again.

“Are you alright?” He immediately asks returning to you breathless.

You want to ask if he’s the one alright, if Grogu is with him. Instead all you can do is nod, earnestly thanking him.

“He’s doing his job, m’lady.” Hildegard jokes.

But it’s true.

You’re getting tangled in a web of emotions over a man who will vanish from your life once the threats are eradicated.

Yet it still doesn’t stop you from visiting him again. It takes more convincing this time to sneak away, but you’re thankful you still can.

Worried you’ll miss seeing Din and his son, you rush to the lakeside. But you forget how hot the handmaiden robes can get, and exhaustion hits.

Your heart drops seeing the field vacant.

Guess you were too late.

Exhausted and annoyed at yourself, you rip back the robe’s hood allowing yourself a relief of air before you dejectedly walk back to the palace.

Someone says your name, your true name.

Din steps out from the villa, a sleek beautiful hunter emerging from the shadows.

Soon he stands frozen, his sleek helmet focused on you. A moment passes, an awkward stand off of you and him simply staring at each other.

Petrified, you suddenly realize you’re facing the mandalorian without any cover or protection of the robe’s hood.

“Sorry, you must be busy.” You blurt, ready to turn around and scurry away.

Din again says your name.

“It’s fine. I was just gathering my things.” He explains.

“Oh?” The confusion in your voice or on your face must be embarrassingly blatant for him to explain.

“I’ll be staying at the palace full time after today.”

Oh… so you’ll be seeing him more.

“You were amazing today.” Admiration flows from you.

He thanks you with a hesitant mumble, vaguely shy.

“Are you alright? Is Grogu okay?” You immediately ask, knowing those questions have been bothering you since this morning.

“We’re both fine. You should be worried about the Queen.” Din replies firm.

“The queen’s fine.” You snort, hoping he doesn’t notice your dryly amused tone.

“There was an amazing mandalorian that made sure everyone was safe after all.” You mean those words.

Din stays quiet keeping his helmet directed on you. A dread sets in, worried if you’ve overstepped or said something you shouldn’t have.

The sun has just set over the horizon casting an illuminating glow on the planet. It paints the mandalorian a shining warrior bathed in golden glory.

You wonder if you’re staring at him too much.

A familiar coo arrives, and soon after Grogu waddles out of the villa. Witnessing this armored warrior move to cradle his son, who snuggles into his father’s arms, unfolds a warm wave in you.

“I’ll let you two get back to your evening,” you smile gentle as Grogu yawns adorably in agreement.

“And I guess I’ll be seeing you around more.” You half joke with Din.

He dryly chuckles, and the sound is a gift.

“If you’re heading back to the palace I can return with you. So that you’re not walking alone.” He offers and your eyes go wide.

You immediately accept his offer.

With a nudge of his helmet you follow him inside the cabin. The layout is similar to all the other lake homes, except a cluster of weapons sit on the table. You’re in awe knowing he knows how to handle so many of these.

Grogu now wiggles fussy in Din’s hold.

“Here, I can take him.” You offer.

Hearing your words immediately Grogu lifts his little arms towards you ready to be carried.

“Kid,” Din dully sighs.

You reassure Din and happily scoop the baby up. Feeling him snuggle against your shoulder is a precious thing

Din goes silent and returns to gathering his belongings.

Now the night sky casts a blanket of midnight blue over the lake.

Out of the villa, a gleam of silver draws your attention. You inhale sharp but try staying quiet with Grogu sleeping peacefully in your arms.

“Is that a N-1 Starfighter?” Your voice, even whispering, jumps shocked. The familiar bright yellow coating has been stripped, but you could recognize that ship anywhere.

Din chuckles beside you.

“You know your ships.” He sounds impressed.

You didn’t. You just know that one.

You remember seeing the starfighters in your history lessons. They looked like beautiful sea creatures soaring among the clouds. You were heartbroken finding out they were retired.

You even tell all of this to Din.

A humorous thought emerges. You wonder if one dramatic last act as Queen could be you reinstating the starfighters.

“How does it fly?” You ask Din curiously.

“Like a dream.” His wistful voice lets your mind soar into a daydream wondering what it would be like to witness the N1.

“Maybe one day you’ll see it fly.” Din offers and you turn to him, grinning.

“Now that would be a dream.” You warmly mirror his phrase.

If you manage to make it through your final days as Queen, maybe you could beg the mandalorian to let you see the ship in action.

The walk to the palace is peaceful among the lake. You treasure Grogu snoring soundly in your arms, and you’re thankful Din allows you to hold his son.

But approaching the palace, you return the baby back to his father to hide him, just in case.

Your instincts are right. At the very edge of the palace steps, all your advisors, along with the senator and his aids, wait anxiously.

You stayed out too late.

Immediately they spot you with the mandalorian, and the reactions are mixed. You’re however more worried when Din reacts.

“Seems you were needed.” He comments.

“I stayed out later than planned, that’s all.” You half lie.

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” You joke again, and he nods.

Even though you made the joke, you do end up seeing Din much more.

Except as the Queen of Naboo.

He stays in your personal guard close to the head captain. Even when you return to your private study, you’re surprised Din stays, truly acting as a loyal personal guard.

While overlooking legislation orders, a rustling comes. Off to the side, the mandalorian fidgets with his satchel.

Grogu.

“Mandalorian,” you speak in your composed tone. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” He huffs, trying to sound calm himself.

But it’s too late. One of Grogu’s adorable ears pops out from the satchel. And despite his father’s best attempts to settle him, the baby pokes his entire head out.

Two of your handmaidens gasp excited.

“I apologize.” Din quickly stammers.

You don’t even hide the grin on your face seeing the baby.

“No need to apologize. I’m quite fond of little ones.” You assure Din, remembering what you told him previously.

“Mweh.” Grogu squeaks glancing around at the new room with sparkling curious eyes.

Your handmaidens are already smitten, trying not to rush over to him.

“Is it a pet?” One asks eager.

“No.” Din bluntly answers, and you even feel a bit insulted for him.

Ever the trouble maker, Grogu climbs out of the bag and starts waddling around exploring with ease.

“Kid.” Din sighs, a frustrated parent, and your handmaidens giggle amused.

“It’s fine, mandalorian.” You again reassure him.

Grogu turns to blink curiously up at you. Under the thick ceremonial makeup, wearing your ornate headpiece, you understand how strange you must look to a child.

Instantly he scurries towards you, little clawed hands grabbing the air signaling he wants to be picked up.

Panic seizes your breath.

There’s no way Grogu could recognize you. You rationalize that this is simply him finding your Queen persona interesting.

Din moves to snag Grogu, even saying his name sharp and reprimanding.

But you chuckle swooping down to the little creature first. Your gown today weighs heavier, yet you don’t mind knowing Grogu gets to settle in your arms.

His sweet eyes search your face. You smile politely and gentle. Then his tiny hands press against your cheeks, and a bright smile lights up his face.

And you can’t help it, you smile back.

The curious eyes of your handmaidens burn holes into your face. They whisper like a pack of loth cats plotting their next attack. So diverting their attention you place Grogu back down on the ground letting him roam.

Immediately your handmaids rush kneeling at the baby’s level, completely captivated by the new arrival.

“He seems to enjoy the attention.” You tell Din.

The mandalorian simply hums, an agreeing sound.

You wonder if he’s upset or possibly nervous about all of this.

“Please know he is safe here and free to roam.” You say encouraging, hoping to soothe the tension.

“Thank you…m’lady.” Din replies low, and your heart trips over itself.

It’s the first time he’s ever addressed you by the proper title, and his voice sparks a wildfire.

After this introduction, Grogu happily now enjoys being carried in the arms of your handmaidens or resting openly in Din’s satchel. A little wave of jealousy rises when the baby plays with one of your handmaids during a council meeting. You ache to trade places with her more than ever.

Seeing his son giggle freely unhidden relaxed Din more. He starts walking besides the captain of your guard and chatting with her, the two of them now easy comrades.

Now Din steps in pace right behind you, a beskar coated shadow you think of often.

During a particularly rainy day, you accidentally slip among the sleek stair tiles.

Immediately Din grabs you fast, steadying you from falling. His hand, unwavering and strong, holds you. Your heart thrashes furiously hearing his magnetic voice so close asking if you’re alright.

This unfortunate infatuation towards the mandalorian blooms a wicked weed digging its roots into your heart, and it’s become more unbearable.

Thankfully, your final months as Queen help keep your mind mostly occupied.

After meeting with the current Gungan Boss, you sigh exhausted.

Glancing at the wall, the portraits of monarchs past loom watching you, waiting to see what you do next.

“Many of the queens seem… younger than you.” Din suddenly comments observing the previous rulers.

“Are you calling me old, mandalorian?” You tease as much as your steeled composed tone allows.

“I…” he’s stunned, taken off guard for a minute. It’s adorable. For a split moment you smirk, keeping a laugh firmly locked away.

“I jest.” You recover quickly.

You explain how customarily many of the previous rulers were chosen at a young age, some even children. The belief was that those who possessed a child like wonder and wisdom should rule. Of course, that slowly faded away over time.

“And when the empire arrived?” Din asks.

When the Moff assigned to Naboo arrived, dark days followed. Terror seemed to choke your planet. You quietly tell Din of this.

“I…understand. I’ve seen the damage that can be done because of a Moff’s rule.” An ancient sorrow hangs within his voice.

Your eyes flicker to the shining warrior besides you. Din is striking, incredibly so. A selfish desire grows wishing to know him more, to know the face of the man taking residence in your heart.

Until another asassination attempt reminds you danger persistently lurks ready to steal your peace.

One of the food testers in the kitchen has a dangerous reaction to your meal. Thankfully she is tended to in time and will make it. But these threats grow deadlier.

“This might be … when we should start considering you going into hiding, m’lady.” One of your advisors suggests.

Those words hang over you an ominous storm.

After the recent attempt, you hide in handmaiden robes more.

You shouldn’t be wandering around this late in the night among the hallways, but you can’t sleep.

Turning the corner, you stumble upon Din standing by the hallway’s edge. He focuses on his transmitter, reading a holo message.

Ever a warrior, his keen senses notice someone else is here and he looks up. Not wanting to startle him, you pull back the robe’s hood to reveal yourself.

He exhales your name, and it flutters into your heart.

“It’s been a while.” You sleepily grin.

“Indeed.” He nods, and his voice sounds warmer.

“Been a bit busy around here.” You joke, but a somberness hangs.

“It has.” Even his reply mirrors the underlying tension.

“It’s also been difficult trying to figure out which handmaiden you are.” Din says, as if trying to break the thick tense clouds.

You laugh, and it’s freeing.

“That means it’s working.” You snicker. “No one should know who a handmaid is, much less what they look like.”

Each handmaiden was handpicked because of how similarly they fit your height and vaguely your appearance.

Handmaids are the silent heroes of the crown, quiet protectors ready to step in and surround you any given moment. Guilt festers in you knowing their lives are at risk too.

“And yet… you let me see you.” Din curiously notes, and your chest tightens.

“Well, I trust you.” You tell him simply. And you do, completely and irrevocably.

“Besides, if you decide to do anything suspicious the Queen would be the first to know.” You jest, enjoying the double meaning.

“Never.” He shakes his head earnest.

Under the lowlights of the hallway, Din steps closer. Your fingers itch to touch his beskar, to run the cool armor beneath your touch.

You wonder every night what color his eyes are.

The sound of glass shattering erupts, and suddenly the world blurs. You’re in Din’s arms falling to the floor.

His hand cradles your head from colliding on the hard marble floor. But you don’t have time to process that. Instantly you reach for the small blade hidden in your robes.

“Are you alright?” Din rapidly asks, and you nod stunned.

Someone shot at you through the window.

Someone knows who you are.

—

“You must go into hiding,” Hildegard, ever your most trusted and wise advisor, urges begging now.

Stubborn, feeling raw, exposed, you sit in angered silence. No makeup on, no crown, just a simple soul at the mercy of fate.

“Maybe we should keep the queen here?” Senator Trystan suggests.

“Because…to me, it seems like the Mandalorian isn’t quite living up to the legends told of his people.” He adds dangerously untrusting.

A blazing fury bursts in you.

“I’m alive because of him.” You snap glaring at the senator.

“And he is the only one I’ll trust accompanying me if I must go into hiding.” Your declaration rings absolute, the voice of a ruler.

Yet that night you can’t sleep. Neither can your handmaidens, especially with how curious they are.

“So…are you going to tell us what you were doing with Mando in the hallway?” One of them asks curiously.

Partially lying, you say how you couldn’t sleep and simply ran into him.

“Are you having secret rendezvous meetings with the mandalorian and haven’t been telling us?!” Another handmaiden shrieks giddy, and you rapidly deny.

But it’s hard when the fluttering feelings in your stomach now thrash wanting to fully take flight and escape, revealing your truth.

As playfully pestering as they are, this time with your handmaidens lightens your spirits immensely.

Because you know the looming decision.

The spring equinox here on Naboo will be your official final outing as ruler. That day, you’ll give your final address to the planet, sign your final law into action at the gala, then step down in the eyes of the New Republic.

It will be a momentous day.

For one month until then… you’ll be in hiding.

One moon cycle away from Naboo.

But as declared, you’ll be departing alone with the mandalorian.

A war rages in your heart as you clutch your small pack.

You wish to stay and fight, stand your ground. Yet you understand the danger that will come if you stay.

So walking into the darkness alone, you find a gleaming warrior among it.

A curt nod is how he greets you.

Din has been quiet since your identity was revealed. You wonder if he’s disappointed or angry knowing who you are.

But all the emotions get shoved aside when you see your mode of transportation.

The starfighter gleams glorious under the moonlight.

“Will we fit?” You wonder aloud a bit hesitant.

“Might be a tight squeeze, but we’ll make it. The trip is not too far.” Din answers and his voice again does strange things to your heart.

He wasn’t lying about the tight fit.

You’re practically slotted between his legs in the compact pilot’s seat. His arms reach around you effortlessly readying the systems. Your mind goes over boring litigations and mandates trying not to let it wander into dangerous territory.

Then, the ship bolts to life airborne.

Immediately your gaze flickers back to your home planet watching it drift further away in the night sky.

“Don’t worry,” Din suddenly mutters, comforting. “Everyone will be fine.”

You swallow hard and nod.

The atmosphere dissipates all around until you’re among a sea of stars.

“So…you’re Queen of Naboo.” Din speaks first. It feels like a peace offering.

Your lips twitch back a laugh.

“Apparently.” You joke.

His chuckle lightens the ache trying to consume you.

The trip, as promised, isn’t far.

Nevarro resides in the outer rim. Even though Naboo is considered mid-rim, its bordering location is close to the outer rim, so you know of Nevarro. The planet’s growth and evolution has been admirable to witness.

You find it’s easy to settle in and embrace the planet wholeheartedly.

Or… you embrace Din’s world wholeheartedly.

His home sits peaceful at the edge of the lava flats. You begged him to let you stay at an inn in town so you wouldn’t be a bother. He adamantly shut that option down.

“Being here means I can keep you safe.” He explained.

So now you take the spare room in Din’s abode. The spartan walls, bare minimum furniture, they all strangely perfectly reflect Din. But you enjoy spotting the various stuffed toys littering the floors.

Grogu enjoys being back at home, showing you the pond he loves chasing creatures around.

Suddenly he magically lifts a small frog into the air and you gasp. These abilities…

In secret, you briefly had studied the Jedi, the ways of the force, and knew of the strange abilities that came with it.

“He can use the force?!” You squak, turning to Din.

The mandalorian simply tells you it’s complicated. You don’t press the topic. Yet it makes sense now remembering how Grogu was able to notice you single you out even in your makeup.

He really is a special star. His giggles brighten the home, a joyous little light.

Currently he sleeps peacefully in your arms, belly full from the dinner you cooked.

“A queen who knows how to cook?” Din had joked earlier when went into the market to grab supplies.

“I haven’t always been queen.” You huffed back.

You had a life before your crown, but now you wonder how it will look after.

“What was it like before you were queen?” Sitting besides you outside on the porch, you’re surprised Din is this curious.

This spot here is quickly becoming a favorite of yours. The warm Nevarro air floats thicker than Naboo, yet there’s a gentle comfort to it.

You tell Din of your early university days, secretly holding a dream of abandoning everything to become a rebel spy.

“A spy?” His voice curls amused, and you wish you could see his face.

“I read too many adventure romance tales.” You shrug.

You used to dream of meeting a handsome rebel pilot while fighting for your home planet and then falling in love.

Now your dreams only contain a warrior clad in beskar.

“Were you always a bounty hunter?” You now question Din about his life as much as you can.

You treasure all he gives you, telling you about days hunting bounties across the galaxy until he stumbled upon a certain little green creature.

The mudhorn, the empire hunting Grogu, the days they spent apart from each other… It all led to Din gaining a son. And it’s all because of that single bounty.

“Your job led you to a wonderful gift.” You fondly praise while Grogu snores peacefully against your shoulder.

“Yes...” Din agrees, yet his voice seems to trail off.

“After you step down, what will happen to you?” He softly changes the subject, pressing another question.

One that strikes deep.

“There are two recommended options…” you mutter.

The first choice is to marry a noble and stay within the royal sphere.

The other option is becoming a senator.

For some reason, your heart doesn’t feel compelled thinking of either option.

You aren’t attracted to any of the nobles trying to court you. And the role of a senator is demanding. You already feel frustrated with the state of politics and after being around it for this long…you wish for quieter days.

“What if you don’t want either?” Din sounds somber, yet inquisitive.

You suppose you could simply walk away from everything, slip into the galaxy to become another soul simply passing through.

You’ve never given that option much thought.

“You could stay here.” Din says, and a burst of light crashes into your chest.

Here? With him?

“Nevarro has good housing options. You would always be welcomed here.”

Then his second comment, more formal in tone, becomes a splash of water immediately diminishing any hope wanting to ignite you. You weakly grin.

“You just want me nearby for the free babysitting services.” You joke hoping to quell the heartbreak trying to leak in.

He chuckles amused.

You still earnestly thank him for the offer. But now, the future looms more nebulous than ever.

—

Through secret comlinks and encrypted messages, you discover another assassin tried striking the palace.

“You think it’s a group at work?” You ask Din, sounding more like the concerned ruler you are.

“No, it feels too planned, like the culprit is trying to mislead us or lure you back.” And he sounds like the sharp skilled hunter he is.

“May I ask… why does someone want you dead?” He questions hesitant.

You sigh.

The last law you want to sign into action would undo a final decree the Moff put into order. You want all traces of that evil gone.

“It could be an old sympathizer wanting to stop you.” Din immediately concludes.

That doesn’t narrow down any choices. But you suspect the assassin is connected to someone within your circle since they knew when to attack you even as a handmaid.

Paranoia has you restless, on edge. It’s why you return to your blade.

The familiar self defense moves flow through you. Simple, effective, enough to strike before you can try making an escape.

“Your arms need to move faster.”

You swore Din had been working on the starfighter and with Grogu down for the night, you took the alone time to practice among the fading twilight.

Now he saunters to you eased.

“Your arms have the right motion. They just aren’t steady.” He instructs.

“Well it would be different if someone was attacking me.” You scoff.

“Alright then,” something excited sparks in Din’s voice. “Spar with me.”

You think you misheard him. Then Din pulls out a seasoned, rather deadly looking, vibroblade and stands at the ready.

You stammer out excuses. There’s no way you can fight a mandalorian.

Suddenly he strikes first. Din rushes fast, darting forward and swinging his blade to swipe at you.

It becomes a fast dance, evading and dodging as Din attacks unrelentlessly.

“You haven’t tried striking me.” He doesn’t even sound tired while you’re barely hanging on.

“Because I have a mandalorian after me!” You wheeze frantic, and he chuckles.

Din stops his offensive and places his blade away.

“The way I moved is how you should.”

“I’m not a trained warrior.” You huff catching your breath. Even without seeing his eyes, the way his helmet tilts you know he’s rolling his eyes.

Gently, his gloved hands slide to your arms, and you freeze. Your mind momentarily shutting down. He touches you gingerly, delicate. Then he begins maneuvering you into the same stance he was in.

In a steady patient voice, Din explains every move and guides you through them. The close position, feeling his sturdy build pressing against you, the way his voice oozes with a gentle dominance, it overwhelms you.

Din makes you go through the motions repeatedly, a patient teacher.

“Your stance is good. You were taught well.” He admires, and you shakily thank him.

“Had to be ready as both queen and handmaid just in case.” You say lighthearted trying to battle the raging emotions swirling like a dangerous riptide.

“At first I didn’t understand your guard system or the handmaidens.” Din explains.

“Now I see why you go to great lengths to hide your identity. It reminds me of mandalorian tradition and why we hide our faces.” Din’s voice floats out kind and gentle.

The realization unfurls in you quietly that you almost miss it. You and him have run parallel in different ways, wearing masks to protect yourself and your people.

You’re grateful the force brought you to this man, one you will always hold in your heart even when fate decides to take him away.

You and him practice late into the night. He even lets you spar with his blade. Surprisingly, you take to it well, and Din even notices.

“Keep it.”

You gawk, stunned at his words. Immediately panicking, you tell Din you could never take a weapon from a mandalorian.

“I have another. And trust me, it will be useful if…I’m not around.”

His somber words dig into you, another sharpened knife, one you wish he could take back.

—

Your final week on Nevarro approaches and sorrow tangles itself around you constricting. You’ve grown attached to this planet. You’ve made friends with the floral shop keeper. The merchant who sells your favorite dried fruits now jokes with Din wondering how a grumpy mandalorian snagged someone as lovely as you.

You laugh weakly at the jokes, yet Din stays silent.

The silence has multiplied between you and Din, creating a terrifying canyon separating you from him.

Grogu senses it. Whimpering, he stubbornly tries hanging onto both you and Din more.

You shove away tears at night.

This dream, this carved out home you’ve started settling into…you knew it was going to end eventually. You just became so foolish hoping it wouldn’t.

Slowly, you start packing, childishly dragging your feet as if it will prolong your stay.

A knock arrives at your door, and it slides open.

“Can I show you something?” Din’s voice, hesitant and cautious, snaps your spine straight.

You agree without hesitation.

With Grogu currently enjoying a play date with one of the children in town, it’s just you and Din together for the day.

But you regret your choice of not accompanying the baby when you realize you’ll be jumping back into the starfighter.

Having Din’s arms enclosed around you, his strong chest pressing against your back, all the close proximity heats your skin, a reminder of what you’ll be losing in just a few days.

“You said you wanted to one day see how she flies.” Din says soft.

You technically had seen her fly when Din brought you here. Unfortunately your mind was so foggy you honestly couldn’t savor the journey.

“You didn’t get to see much last time. So…Let’s stretch out her legs.” Din’s voice holds a proud smile.

Your eyes widen. He remembered. Before you can say anything else, you become one with the wind.

Din was right. The N1 soars like a dream. She glides gracefully among the craters and canyons, dipping low among the lava flats and zooming with ease past the town.

But you also realize, Din is an amazing pilot. He effortlessly maneuvers the ship with a fluid flow and striking awareness. As if you couldn’t be anymore attracted to him, knowing he’s not just an amazing warrior but an incredible pilot makes your blood hum.

“You’re amazing.” You tell him earnest and true.

You swear his arms curl around you tighter.

“Ready to see the best part.” He purrs, sounding eager.

“Wait, best part?” You can’t imagine what’s next.

He points to a switch and when he hits it, you fly out of your body reaching a speed you never expected.

And it’s dazzling.

You laugh bright and alive. The weightless sensation overflows into your bones.

The atmosphere melts away as Din pushes the ship to the very edges of the planet.

The stars float just out of your reach, twinkling with knowing eyes.

Suddenly, Din lets the ship drop. The N1 plummets into a free fall that has your stomach jumping into your mouth. You almost scream.

In the descent, Din quickly spins the starfighter swiftly, a dramatic turn that sends it flying fast in a new direction. The move is a trick, one he seems to be showing off proudly.

You laugh breathlessly relieved.

“You know I’m still queen. I can punish you for that!” You wheeze.

“I’d like to see you try, m’lady.” He challenges back amused. You grin wild and greedy hearing the title.

The flight, the exhilaration, it dissipates the tension of this week, almost purifying you. Because now you notice… you’ve fully melted against Din’s chest.

Your head even leans back to rest against his helmet.

Yet Din hasn’t moved you.

The silence thickens as he flies the ship back towards town.

“Thank you for showing me this.” You mutter, barely able to get those words out.

Din’s helmet nods moving against the side of your head. One of his hands leaves the control panel and gently rests against your thigh.

You and him remain this close the rest of the flight.

The next time you’re in the N1 -

You’re flying home to Naboo.

The entire flight is silent.

You sit as furthest away from him as physically possible within the cramped space. Din maneuvers the controls and trying to keep yourself steeled, composed, your eyes focus on his movements.

That’s when you catch it.

His gloves shift and a sliver of his skin is exposed.

Sun kissed and beautiful, you think you just imagined it. Until you notice it again when Din steers the ship out of the atmosphere.

Countless nights you thought about what he looked like under his helmet, wondering how his lips would feel against yours. Now you’re allowed this one small peek at the man beneath the armor, and a dangerous greed immediately slithers in.

Your lips ache to kiss that spot, that glimmer of Din unmasked.

Greed morphs into a deadly lust. You imagine yourself, if you were braver, grabbing his wrist and lifting it to your lips to kiss him, taste him, at least once.

How would he react if you did that? Embrace you? Reprimand you?

Punish you in a way that turns filthy…

You wonder how extra tight this cramped space would be trying to ride him in, to feel the heat between you and him build into a blazing cloud. Even now, if you concentrate hard enough in this terrifyingly quiet flight, you can hear his soft breathing, his gentle exhales modulated through the helmet.

Your mind melts thinking of him whispering deep against your ear as he thrusts up into you-

Instantly your mouth goes dry at the erotic thought and you close your eyes, trying to reset yourself.

When you open your eyes, Naboo approaches fast, a gorgeous gemstone among the stars. Your dreams and lustful wishes shatter like broken titles leaving you feeling empty to pick up the pieces.

—

Your final gown as Queen gleams stitched with a final goodbye. It’s glorious, dripping in grandeur and beauty. Wearing it, clusters of emotions clash with each other. You’ve allowed yourself a minute alone just to compose yourself. Giving one final glance at a mirror, you silently bid farewell to this piece of you.

A knock comes, and one of your handmaid's pops her head into the room.

“Senator Trystan wishes to speak with you.”

Of course you let him in.

The familiar face beams at you proud.

“You look splendid, m’lady.” The senator bows his head, and you thank him.

He updates you on the various monarchs and other planetary senators who have arrived. Your mind unfortunately only thinks of one beskar wearing guest.

Tonight is your last night with Din. Once the grand event finishes and if you remain safe, he would receive his hefty sum. Your paths will seperate.

He hasn’t spoken more than five words to you since you’ve returned. You’ve barely seen Grogu either.

You understand the rush of trying to prepare for everything has kept you busy. But you catch the looks your handmaidens give you of heartbroken understanding as though they can sense the turmoil in you.

Your mind, even now, feels like it could burst holding so many thoughts.

Then footsteps stamped forward.

The senator, blade in hand, lunges at you.

A surprised scream escapes you before you swiftly move, jumping into action.

Pulling out your vibroblade, Din’s blade, you swipe at the traitor.

The moves Din taught, his weapon, they become your saving grace.

You keep the attacker on his toes. But Senator Trystan acts fast stepping on your gown causing you to trip before you can run to the door.

You fall hard onto the floor. Hissing in pain, your eyes close.

Move, a voice in your head sounding intensely like Din, urges you to react.

Then a thundering collision crashes into your chambers, and your eyes snap open.

One moment the senator stands poised above you, blade in hand ready to attack. The next he’s gone.

Scrambling up, you discover Din wrestling Senator Trystan onto the floor.

“The Moff was right!” The traitor screams in anger trying hard to thrash against Din’s hold.

“You’re pathetic!” You snarl back.

“You are ruining our world!” Sentaro Trystan screeches staring you down. “Long live the empire-”

Din aggressively knocks the raging senator unconscious.

Immediately your handmaidens and a few healers rush to your side tending to you, trying to calm you down.

A thick haze swirls in your mind. Senator Trystan was the one behind the assassinations. Why hadn’t you noticed it?

Suddenly a warm gloved hand grabs yours and squeezes. Blinking out of the mental haze, Din now kneels before you. The stark black visor of his helmet stares unwavering.

He whispers your name.

Tiny little hands climb their way up your gown. Glancing down, you find Grogu staring up and whimpering worried. You stroke his soft head and it eases you and him both.

“Are you alright, m’lady?” Din asks cautious, concerned.

You nod still slightly overwhelmed.

“I owe you my life, mandalorian.” You tell him through a shaking voice.

Din doesn't reply, instead squeezes your hand tighter. The exhaustion slowly creeping into your body begs you to lean forward, to rest against Din’s shoulder. But you don’t know how he’ll react.

And even if you did try to lean on him, you noticed your grand headpiece would’ve gotten in the way of you moving closer to Din, a literal barrier reminding you of the truth.

New Republic officers along with the rest of your advisors and guards storm in.

You’re grateful the threat is over, eternally in debt to Din. But the truth settles in cold and bleak. Your time is up. The mandalorian will be leaving you.

“Your reward will be doubled.” Hildegard says grateful through tears patting Din on the shoulder.

“I was just…doing my job.” He nods curt.

A job, that’s all you are.

You eventually hand Grogu to one of your handmaidens. This night will be busy. Din however refuses to leave your side.

“She needs to rest.” Din orders sharp after realizing you’re still attending the gala.

“I can rest once this is all over.” Your monarch's voice, the voice of a queen, slips in.

Din remains silent.

Even though you feel caught in the waves of a turbulent sea, a queen must bottle all those things and store them away.

So wearing your crown proudly, you sign your final law into motion and hold your head high.

The previous queens still alive arrive at your side. You kneel, and their hands lift the weight of a planet from you.

Queen no more.

Among the roar of applause, among the illustrious crowd, your eyes only seek out one guest.

Din leans against a column, hands crossed over his chest sticking out a sore thumb. And he’s beautiful.

“I suppose you want this back.” You hold out his blade waiting for him to take it.

His helmet shakes an adamant no.

“I told you, it’s yours now. Knowing it kept you safe is even more reason for you to keep it.”

A thick sorrow and adoration, the strangest mixture, shred your heart wide open. But under the glimmering lights, along the magnificent marble ballroom, you have to seal everything away tight.

The Gala is a gorgeous celebration, the triumph of Naboo slowly returning to its beauty. The Gungan Boss teases how his nephew would make a fine match now that you’re available for marriage. He isn’t the only one making suggestions.

Many suitors from noble families blatantly make their courting intentions known. You smile with as much grace as you can.

One of the noblemen, a man you vaguely remember from your university days, even gets bold and places a kiss on your hand when he bids you farewell.

“It seems royal marriage is what everyone wants for you.” Din comments stiffly.

You stay quiet, numb.

“What do you want?” He asks.

Your eyes return to him, his glorious helmet, and you wish more than ever to know his eyes.

“What I want doesn’t matter.” You reply just as stiff.

“But it does. You deserve to make that decision.” He argues low, deadly, reminding you of the bounty hunter he is.

“Maybe who I want doesn’t want me back.” Your words strike sharp under your breath.

“Who…who do you want?”

Terror barrels in hearing Din’s question. You didn’t even realize you had said who.

Din’s stare, even without seeing his eyes, is unflinching.

An overwhelming panic overtakes you like a feral rancor.

So you flee, scurrying away fast.

Immediately you tell your advisors and handmaidens you need to be excused, saying how the rush of the night has finally caught up to you.

Understanding, everyone allows you to slip away from the gala’s ballroom towards the palace.

But ever the persistent shadow, Din stays close behind.

“I don’t need your services anymore, mandalorian.” You snap, refusing to turn around to him.

“I’m your guard until the night ends.” He growls back.

“I thought our agreement was fulfilled when the threat was discovered. Besides, my crown is gone. You can leave Din Djarin.” Your voice bounces off the empty hallways like an angered ghost.

Earlier, the new republic officers had scanned his chaincode and when you heard his full name, it felt like a final goodbye.

“Is that what you want? For me to leave?” Din’s tone cuts deadly, stopping you in the middle of the hallway.

You don’t want him to go. You never want to leave him.

Din says your name, pleading.

“It doesn’t matter what I want. Leave.” You robotically order, except your voice cracks, and you regret speaking.

You force yourself to move forward.

He doesn’t follow, and your footsteps echo alone in the hallway.

Arriving at your chambers, your hands shake as you wipe away tears.

Queen no more, now all alone.

A solid knock arrives at your door making you jump out of your skin.

Still worried from earlier, you cautiously open the door, holding Din’s blade at the ready.

Then you slide it open fully and let the weapon drop instantly.

Din stands in the doorway.

“Tell me what you want, who it is you want. And then you will never see me again.” A plea aches in the mandalorian’s voice.

“It’s you, Din…” you sob, unable to hold it in anymore. “I want you, you ridiculously stubborn man-”

His warmth is engulfing. His strong arms wrap around you tight with the promise of never letting go. Beskar presses hard and unyielding, but you welcome it.

Your arms wrap around him just as tight.

“When I thought you were just a handmaid, I searched for you every time and I felt guilty. I knew my loyalty needed to be with the queen, when all I wanted to do was protect you.” His voice whispers soft, tender, soaking into your bones.

“It was only until I realized… I’ve been protecting you this entire time.” He squeezes you tighter.

Gravity shifts. Your orbit now becomes tied to this warrior.

Gently, you lean out of his embrace to stare at him. Placing your hand against his helmet, imagining his cheek below your palm, you reverently stroke the sacred beskar.

“My future is with you, whatever it is. I want it to be with you, Din.” You tell him through watery croaks.

A gloved hand now holds your face. Din exhales your name, delicate and reverent. Then he moves forward.

His helmet leans against your forehead, a holy act that makes your eyes close. The cool beskar against your skin feels like a sealed vow, the promise of a kiss and the hope of many to come.

Now, no crown keeps you from him.

—

Sunlight gently wakes you.

Your mind groggily starts thinking over the things you have to do today. An exasperated sigh escapes you.

The bed is cozy. You don’t want to leave, but you need to. So wearily you wiggle to slip out from the covers.

Until a solid sturdy arm drags you back into the blankets, pulling you against a warm broad bare chest.

“You can’t keep me in bed all day.” You mutter half asleep, half amused.

“We’re on our honeymoon. We’re allowed to stay in bed all day.” Din’s voice, unmodulated and thick with sleep, drips with pure delicious decadence.

Soft kisses pepper your bare shoulder. The soft scrape of his facial hair, the tickle of his mustache, feel glorious.

“We did that yesterday. And the day before that.” You remind him amused.

“Then today should be our final time.” Din smirks, nipping at your shoulder while his hands map out your skin.

“There’s still things I need to do for the coronation.” You try sounding determined, but your voice instead is a dreamy sigh, blissed in pure newlywed reverie.

“A queen’s job is never finished.” He teases letting his lips kiss across your jaw lazyly.

“Not a queen anymore.” You cheekily remind him, and your hand reaches back to run into his soft curls.

You’re a wife now, a title you cherish just as much as Queen.

“Always will be a queen to me… m’lady.” He mutters into your skin.

Immediately his words make you twist in his arms. You take a quick glance at your husband - your incredible husband with the most gorgeous rich soil soulful eyes. Then you lean forward to kiss him fierce.

Din meets your frenzy passion with a steadiness that disarms you. He kisses you slowly, unworried, like he plans to savor every moment, and you become a cloud ready to float into his atmosphere.

Then a small crash comes from the living room. An amused little giggle reveals the culprit.

You and Din now sigh for another reason.

“We should have let your handmaids keep him another day.” Din mumbles.

You laugh swatting at his shoulder.

With a final playful kiss, you grab your robe and slip out of bed.

Grogu squeals excitedly seeing you. Scooping him up into your arms, you kiss his sweet adorable cheeks.

“You adorable little trouble maker.” You snicker ticking his tummy.

You don’t even mind that Grogu knocked over the lovely congratulations bouquet the gungan boss sent. Your son’s giggles are worth it.

The morning sun dances beautifully across the grand Naboo lake. Sitting among the lush grass, you now watch Grogu once again chase after the fluttering butterflies.

Heavy boots crunch approaching. Then Din presses against you. You snuggle closer to lean against his paladin covered shoulder. His arm slides to curl you even closer into his side.

“Always hoped we would get to come back here.” Din admits.

You did too. It’s why when the coronation for the next Queen of Naboo arrived, coincidentally taking place just a month after your wedding, you eagerly convinced Din to take a break from Nevarro to return to this special place.

“Thank you for bringing us back.” You tell him grateful, pressing a kiss to his beskar.

“No, thank you for suggesting this.” You knew Din was kind hearted before. But now, as your husband, he shows you a pure adoration that doesn’t feel real at times.

“They will need you at the palace soon.” Your mandalorian reminds you gently.

He’s right of course. So many events, things to plan, all wait for you.

But for a few more moments, you stay within the golden glow of your little family…simply letting the butterflies dance all around.

[floatyflowers]

Platonic yandere older brother Alexei Vronsky from Anna Karenina?

The grand chandelier illuminates the opulent ballroom as laughter and music fill the air, yet you feel Alexei’s oppressive presence even in the crowd.

He’s been by your side all evening, subtly deterring every potential dance partner with a sharp glance or a polite but firm comment.

As another young gentleman approaches to ask for a dance, Alexei smoothly intercepts, his charming yet menacing demeanor leaving no room for argument. His quiet words,

"My sister isn’t accepting offers tonight," carry an unmistakable finality.

When you finally snap and confront him, seething with frustration.

"You don't have to be like that, I haven't danced with anyone since my arrival nor have I danced with anyone at any ball."

Alexei leans down and whispers with a cold smirk,

"You don’t need them, little one. You have me."

"You can't control me forever, Alexei," you state, your voice low enough to not draw attention.

"If you try, I’ll tell everyone about your little… affair with Anna Karenina."

Alexei’s lips curved into a dangerous smirk.

"Do you think I care for their judgment? Say what you like, dear sister. It changes nothing."

As the waltz began to play, you tugged your wrist free, your temper boiling.

"Do you think your obsession with controlling me is noble? Or is it just as selfish as your secret meetings with her?" Alexei leaned closer, his smirk never faltering.

"You’re bold tonight, sister, but let me remind you, no one would believe you, they all see you as the innocent little flower, untainted and sweet. Do you think they’ll take your word over mine? Now, go back to your seat, or I’ll make sure you regret this."

Determined not to let him win, you continue threatening him.

"You underestimate me, Alexei."

You smile at him tauntingly.

"I know exactly how to make them listen, a few whispered words in the right ears, and your precious reputation will crumble. What will she think when her name is dragged through the mud because of you?"

For the first time, a flicker of something dark passed over Alexei's face, but it vanished just as quickly.

"Do you think I care about her reputation?" he asked, his smirk returning, though his eyes glinted coldly.

"I care about you, and I won’t let anyone touch what’s mine.

"Go ahead," he murmured, gesturing toward the crowd.

"Make your scene, but remember this whatever you do will reflect on our family. Every rumor, every scandal will tarnish your name as much as mine."

His hand moves towards the golden lock you are wearing, opening it to reveal his and your picture together when you both were children.

"So, by all means, let us enjoy the night and dance with each other and only each other."

With that Alexei leads you to the dance floor in the middle of the ballroom.

Anna Karenina and Kitty Shcherbatsky watch you and your brother dance, realising that they could never be close to the handsome man as you are to him.

Only if the relationship is purely platonic.

[billzbling]

@billzbling’s …

❝ 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 ❞ ™

❝ 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝟏𝟖 & 𝟐𝟑 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤. ❞

(𝟏𝟖.) ”𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞. ” (𝟐𝟑.) 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱

|| ⚠︎ || - 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

“Can I buy you a drink?” the unassuming girl offered, a hopeful glint in her eyes as she leaned against the bar next to me. “Oh no thanks I hav-“

She interrupts me, “ it’s just a drink babes,” she says placing a hand on my arm, “what’s your name?”

I hesitate, “Y/n,” I murmur, my eyes scanning the room for a way out.

“I’m Rachel, nice to meet you,” Rachel says with a smile, “what are you having?”

I shrug, “just a water please,” I reply, hoping that will deter her from sticking around.

“Come on, live a little.” She looks around, “bartender! A gin and tonic for the lady, please!”

The bartender nods and starts mixing the drink, “I can pay for it,” I protest.

Rachel laughs, “don’t worry about it. It’s on me. Consider it a welcome to the party gift!”

The drink is placed in front of me and Rachel slides it closer, “cheers to new friends!”

I sigh and take a small sip, hoping she’ll leave me alone now. But she doesn’t, instead she starts telling me about her job, her ex, and how she loves coming to these parties and whatever nonsense she deems fit to tell me. I nod along, my eyes occasionally straying around, looking for my girlfriend who dragged me to this party.

Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder, I turn to find Billie, my heart skips a beat as she glares at Rachel, “who’s this?” she asks, her tone sharp and cold.

Rachel takes a step back, obviously intimidated by the sudden presence of her, “Just someone who bought me a drink,” I say, happy that this Rachel bitch is finally quiet.

Billie’s eyes narrow, “Oh, I see,” she says in a way that suggests she does not see. Rachel takes the hint and retreats back into the crowd, leaving us alone.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice softer now.

“Nothing, just some girl trying to hit on me,” I reply, taking another sip of the gin and tonic, now feeling guilty for accepting it.

Billie’s grip tightens on my shoulder, “you’re mine, remember that,” she whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I nod, “I know, I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to do,” I admit.

“C’mon.” Billie says, leading me away from the bar and into a quieter part of the party.

“Where are we going?” I ask as she stops in front of a door that leads to a darkened room.

“You’re going to get what you deserve for letting her touch you,” Billie says, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

My stomach does a flip at her words, I knew what she was referring to and my body reacted instantly, my heart racing as she opened the door.

“Sit.” She commands, pointing to the bed.

I obey, my knees shaking slightly as she locks the door behind us. The room is dimly lit, with a few candles scattered around casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Billie walks over to me, a smirk playing on her lips, “talk.”

“What do you want me to say?” I ask nervously.

“Everything she said, everything she did, and how much you liked it,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I-i didn’t, I wouldn’t ever-“ I stumble over my words.

“Lie to me and I’ll make this much worse,” she says, her voice low and threatening. “I’m not, I was waiting for y-“

Billie cuts me off with a kiss, her hands gripping the sides of my face, her tongue pushing into my mouth, I melt into the kiss, forgetting about Rachel and the party outside.

When she pulls away, she’s smiling, “good girl,” she says, “now strip for me,” she says, her voice a whisper.

I stand, my hands shaking as I pull my shirt over my head, revealing my black lace bra.

“Slower,” she says, her eyes raking over my body, “I want to savor this,” she sits on the bed, watching me, “now the skirt.”

I push my skirt down my hips, letting them pool at my ankles, I step out of them, now standing in only my bra and panties.

“On the bed, pretty girl.”

I crawl onto the bed, my knees hitting the soft mattress as she moves to the side of it, “now, tell me how much you liked it when Rachel bought you that drink,” she says, her eyes dark.

“I didn’t like it,” I say truthfully.

“But you let her talk to you, touch you, who knows what else.”

“I didn’t want her to, I just didn’t know what to do!” I protest.

Billie’s eyes narrow, “I think you need to be reminded who you belong to,” she says, her hand reaching out to trace the line of my panties.

“I’m sorry, please, I didn’t mean to make you mad,” I whine, Her hand stops, thumb pressing down on my clit through the fabric. “do you think you deserve this right now? after that little stunt you just pulled?”

“No, I don’t,” I whisper, my face flushing.

“That’s right,” she says, her thumb moving in slow circles, teasing me. “So, tell me, what should I do to you?” “Anything, anything you want, just don’t be mad,” I moan. “Anything, pretty?” she asks, her voice filled with lust.

“do whatever you want to me, just fuck me, please” I beg.

Her smirk widens, “As you wish,” she says, leaning down to kiss me again, her hand slipping into my panties.

Her fingers are cool and quick, finding my clit easily, she starts to rub it in slow circles, her other hand playing with the clasp of my bra.

She leans down, whispering into my ear, “ I want you face down, ass up.”

I roll over, my heart racing as she unclasps my bra, letting my breasts spill out. She grabs them, squeezing them roughly before slapping my ass hard enough to make me yelp.

“Spread your legs, let me see how wet you are for me,” she says.

I do as she says, feeling the cool air hit my soaked pussy as she pulls my panties aside.

Her fingers slip inside me, pumping in and out, her thumb pressing down on my clit, the pleasure is intense, making me moan and whine into the pillow.

“You’re so wet, are you sure you didn’t enjoy flirting with her?” she asks, her voice taunting.

“I didn’t, I promise, it was all for you, baby,” I say, my voice muffled by the pillow.

“Good girl,” she says, her hand moving away.

I feel her shift behind me, the sound of a zipper fills the room, followed by the rustling of fabric.

I tense as she positions herself, the tip of her strap-on pressing against my entrance.

“Relax, I’m going to give you what you need,” she says, pushing in gently.

I let out a long moan as she slides into me, filling me up completely. She starts to fuck me slow at first, her grip on my hips tight.

“Fuck, bils, you feel so good,” I say, my voice breathy.

“You like that?” she asks, her voice husky.

“y-yea,” I moan.

Her hand comes down hard on my ass, leaving a red hand print, “who do you belong to?” she asks.

“You” I gasp, her strokes picking up speed.

She wraps my hair up into a makeshift ponytail with her fist and pulling my head back, “what was that, baby, couldn’t hear you?”

“I’m yours” I cry out.

The slap comes again, this time harder, the pain mixing with the pleasure, making it impossible to tell the difference, “scream it,” she says, her hand moving down to slap my ass again.

“I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours!” I scream into the pillow as she starts to fuck me harder.

My body starts to tremble, the orgasm building up inside of me, “cum for me, baby,” she says, her voice in my ear, her hand reaching around to rub my clit.

The orgasm crashes over me, my body arching off the bed, my pussy clenching around her.

Billie’s strokes don’t stop, instead, they get harder and faster, pushing me over the edge again and again until I’m nothing but a trembling mess.

When she’s finally done, she pulls out and flips me over, her eyes dark with lust, “you’re mine, aren’t you?” she asks.

I nod, unable to speak, my throat raw from screaming.

She plants a kiss on my cheek, “good.”

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[saltburnedme]

Catch Me If You Can

My requests are open! Message/comment to be added to the tag list!

Paring: Oliver Quick x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3533

Summary: Living at Saltburn you’d had repeated nightmares about getting lost in the labyrinth. What happens when your nightmare becomes true?

Warnings: SMUT (ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18+) unprotected sex, choking, stalking? Kind of?, being drunk/drugged, being chased/threatened with a weapon, dub con, generally fucked up smut overall, lots of mentions of blood, pray/predator vibes

You stumbled through the darkness down each twist and turn of the labyrinth, the blood rushing through your veins, that’s when you hear it. The crunch of gravel under a foot that wasn’t your own and in that moment, you knew you weren’t alone.

That’s how the nightmare always starts. You’d gotten lost in the labyrinth at Saltburn enough throughout your childhood to know never to go in there without telling someone where you were. You’d had the same repetitive nightmare for years; you’d go in and never come out. You didn’t know why this stuck with you as much as it did, but it did, nevertheless. Because of this you made it your mission to memorise every step, you knew exactly which way led to the middle, exit and every dead end, you’d walk the maze every day just to make sure that you’d never be caught out.

You’d walked it alone for years, that was until this summer. Felix had brought a friend back; you hadn’t thought much of him until he asked to walk the maze with you. It had taken a few adventures to warm up to him as he wasn’t exactly the most outgoing of men you’d ever experienced in your life, but he seemed well meaning and it was a nice change from constantly walking alone. You weren’t sure why, but for some reason he wanted to learn the labyrinth as much as you did.

You’d never accuse him of it, but it sometimes felt as if he was planning for something more. You had watched his confidence change over time as you spent your afternoons wandering with him. You told him about your nightmare in detail, he was kind and understanding, trying to reassure you that nothing like that could ever happen. Over the time in your presence, he’d gone from a quiet boy to a confident man, almost domineering you when alone but reverting into his old self as soon as you were around others. You had so many questions, you thought that he’d been holding back, and you wanted to see just how far he’d go if he really had you alone although you were certain you’d never say it or so you thought.

The summer sun beat down on the garden and the whole family had been drinking heavily consistently since noon. You’d been in and out of the lake all day, swimming for a while and then lying on the grass soaking up the sun. Members of the party came and went as they pleased until before you knew it, day turned to night. Throwing on a long white sun dress, you lay there until you were the last one left on the grass taking in the stars as you lay there giggling to yourself through a drunken haze. You’d been so taken by the events of the day that you hadn’t even realised until now that you’d missed your daily trip around the labyrinth. You knew it wasn’t a good idea, you hadn’t told anyone where you were going and although you weren’t the drunkest, you’d ever been in your life you certainly weren’t sober. This wasn’t enough to deter you though, you were determined.

Standing on shaky legs you made your way to the labyrinth with a little skip, although your nightmare was always at the forefront of your mind on any trip there right now you felt invincible. Your tipsy mind pushed any sense of danger to the background, right now all you felt was a fuzzy tingling throughout your body and an excitement for a late-night adventure. You made it to the entrance of the maze before you knew it, staring down the first path as you contemplated whether or not this was something you really should be doing. Within a split second you had decided, you were going in. You were certain, this was until something out of the corner of your vision caught your eye.

‘I wouldn’t go in there if I were you’ he says, leaning against the entrance of the maze. ‘Anything could happen in the dark’ he continues, his face lit only by the cigarette he had pressed to his lips, a wine bottle in his other hand.

‘Fuck, Oliver. What are you doing out here? I thought everyone had gone to bed?’ You asked, your heart racing in your chest. It was just Oliver; you knew you were safe with him you thought to yourself.

‘Couldn’t sleep, not knowing you were out here alone’ he says continuously smoking and seeming to be avoiding eye contact with you, staring at the ground in front of him. Something was different, you knew he was at least a little drunk too so maybe that was it, but something felt off.

‘So, you came looking for me?.. in the dark’ you reply, waiting for any kind of response but receiving none. You could feel the alcohol running through your veins, you knew that if you were sober this would have been enough to scare you and although you’d never admit it you were terrified and you thought you might even like it. ‘Well, if you don’t think I should go in there alone you could always come with me?’ You proposition, growing more giggly twirling your hair around your fingers. That drew his attention, still no eye contact but you could feel him watching you, watching the way your fingers moved together and how your dress fell against your curves as you shifted unable to stand still.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea sweetheart’ he says, taking the last few drags on his cigarette, flicking the butt off into the nearby grass. You feel a surge of confidence as you move closer to him, your body almost touching his as you lean in almost speaking in a whisper. Taking the bottle from his hand you take a large gulp, the red wine trickling down your chin staining the fabric of your white dress appearing almost like blood.

‘I think it’s a great idea’ you start, your face so close to his now that your eyelashes almost graze his cheek, pushing the bottle into his chest in a drunken attempt to give it back. You’d found him attractive for a while, he’d grown on you over the last few weeks, and you finally felt like it was happening, this was your chance. ‘I think you should come into the maze with me’ you giggle. ‘And who knows, maybe if you find me you can fuck me’ you say, that caught his attention. His blue eyes reflecting in the moonlight as his gaze meets yours, he almost looked angry.

This is not what he wanted, Oliver thought to himself, he didn’t want you, not like this anyway. He knew it was sick to think it, but he didn’t want you to give yourself to him, he wanted to take you for himself. As you flirted and giggled, he felt the heat rise in his chest, his heartbeat against his rib cage as his aggression soared. He thought of you as a pure little thing, he would have even said untouched if he hadn’t have heard stories from the others, but you seemed pure to him, nevertheless. He loved the thought of you helpless underneath him, for him to be both the villain and the saviour in your eyes. But hearing you speak like this ruined everything, you’d never spoken to him like this before, he didn’t want to hear you beg him to fuck you, he wanted you to beg him to stop. He’d come out here with a plan, he wanted to take you into the maze and rob you of any shred of virginity that you had left, but now with the way you were talking you were just a whore in his eyes. A slut that was unworthy of him. So, he stood there before you wordless, gazing down upon you in anger as his ocean blue eyes turned black, you stood looking up towards him as much as you could in your drunken state. You thought he seemed angry, but you were so drunk at this point that you wouldn’t have been able to tell either way, the alcohol from Oliver’s wine bottle hitting you way harder than you anticipated.

‘Maybe I can fuck you?’ He finally repeats back to you. ‘Maybe you’ll let me fuck you?’ He sneers as he stands straight, almost pushing you over as he moves closer, his chest pressed to yours. ‘Because that’s such a prize’ he continues, practically laughing in your face, if you thought he was flirting before you could now see, even as drunk as you were, that he was very much not happy. ‘Well then pretty thing, I think you should start running. Can’t catch you if you aren’t running now, can I?’ He says, so he does want you? You question to yourself. One moment he’s almost refusing you and the next he wants you? At this point you felt almost as much confusion as you felt fear. That was until he does it, he pushes you into the labyrinth making you stumble as he does, losing your balance ending up lying face down in the gravel as you turn back from your position on the floor to see him. With the moonlight shining from behind him he looked much taller and more menacing, the kind boy you knew was gone, replaced by only the silhouette of the body he once inhabited.

‘Go on then, run’ he almost growls out as your heart rate increases, you want to let out a scream, but nothing comes. Stumbling to your feet you immediately start running. Turning around to try and see if you could outrun him, you see him still standing at the entrance, then you hear it, the familiar sound of smashing glass. He’d broken the bottle against the statue that’s placed at each entrance of the maze, now only holding the broken neck of the bottle as he begins his pursuit towards you.

You run as fast as you can, rounding the corners of the maze in record speed. You knew the labyrinth well enough that you were certain you could get out before him, this is exactly why you’d been waking it all this time anyway. This was almost exactly like your nightmare you thought to yourself. When you first propositioned Oliver, this was not exactly what you’d imagined. You had pictured this going much differently, you’d giggle and run at an almost walking pace so not to make it too difficult to catch you. But this was wrong, he was wrong.

You didn’t know what exactly had changed within Oliver, but something was drastically off. The Oliver you knew would never have looked at you the way he did or spoken to you as he did. You were absolutely certain that your sweet predictable Oliver wouldn’t have smashed a bottle into a weapon and literally chased you down with it. While you may have practiced your escape from the maze many times, you now realise that you’d never practiced running it as you gasp for breath between each step of your quick moving feet.

Checking behind you Oliver is nowhere to be seen, your pace slowing as you think you may have lost him giving you some time to catch your breath. You stumble your way through the maze, you were sure you were about to get to the middle and make your way out but instead where the exit should be, a dead end. You were sure this couldn’t be right you weren’t lost, surely you couldn’t be. You begin to trace your steps back, finding the topiary equivalent of a crossroads. You see him but you're not sure he’s seen you, crossing in a slightly different direction heading towards the opposite side of the maze. Yet when you look another way, he appears to be walking towards you, and in another direction away from you. You swear you can almost feel him graze your shoulder as he passes you, his shoulder brushing past yours in different directions over and over again as you fall to the floor, crawling on your hands and knees as the hard gravel punctures the skin on your knees leaving behind a small trail of blood.

You knew there couldn’t be that many of him, tears streaming down your cheeks as you rub your eyes. Finally, re opening them you find yourself alone, was any of that real? Was he even in the maze at all? You question yourself, your sanity in its entirety. You can still taste the red wine on your lips, you thought it tasted off at the time but now you were sure, you were drugged or at the very least incredibly drunk.

Stumbling to your feet you use the hedge to the side of you to re gain your balance. Just like in your nightmare you hear the sound of gravel crunch behind you, turning your head you catch the glimmer of light reflecting from the broken wine bottle just as he swings for your neck, screaming and running immediately as you hear his pace quicken behind you. You’d completely lost the grip on where you were in the maze, you could be at the exit for all you knew, but in this moment you just ran straight. The hedges seemed to lengthen as you ran, this singular corridor appearing never ending as you sprint. Almost as if you were in a dream you seemed to run on one spot like you were practically on a treadmill, going nowhere fast. You could hear him behind you, you were sure of it, you tried to look but the tears falling from your eyes blurred your vision too much. Continuing to run forwards you feel as if you can see the light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel, you can see the statue in the centre of the labyrinth dead ahead of you, a feeling of relief flooding your senses as you head straight.

You’ve made it, you’re almost out you think to yourself. Just as you meet the edge of the hedge facing the centre he steps out, your form slamming into his unmoving body forcing you to stop running.

‘Found you’ he says with a smirk, smiling down menacingly at you as his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. You knew you were facing the statue but as he begins to back you into a corner you feel yourself walk backwards into something hard, your body slamming into solid stone. Pressed against the statue at the centre of the maze you look around confused. Where were you? Had you been in the middle this whole time? You were certain you were facing towards it but now the statue was pressed behind you. Regardless it was of little consequence, he had found you.

‘Do I get my prize now little dove?’ He asks you without really asking, not waiting for a reply he wraps his hand around your throat, the other hand still wrapped around the broken neck of the bottle as he uses it to slice the fabric straps of your dress free from your shoulders, your dress falling to the ground. His hand tightening on your throat he leans in to kiss you as you resist, biting him in response feeling blood trickle down both of your lips, the metallic taste swirling around your mouth.

‘You think fighting back will stop me?’ He questions, your resistance only seeming to fuel his desire for you as he grinds his length into your thigh. ‘You thought wrong, dove’ he continues.

Throwing the bottle neck to the floor you hear it smash against the gravel in the distance, that’s one obstacle out of the way you think as he spins you around, pressing your chest into the statue that now stood in front of you. With one hand still around your throat you hear the jingle of his belt unclasping. The swimwear you were wearing from earlier in the day still firmly held against your body for only a few more moments as you feel his strong hands rip the fabric in two, throwing it to the side as you feel his fingers glide through your folds.

‘Fuck little dove’ You were almost embarrassingly wet, you hadn’t realised it until now due to the fear, but maybe that’s exactly why you were as you were. His words coming out as almost a whisper only meant to be heard by himself. To Oliver it’s almost as if you weren’t real, your skin was so soft, your entrance was so wet and warm that he could have been convinced that this was another dream of his and he’d wake up with his hand fisting his cock for relief. But this was real, he could hear your breathing below him quicken as he pushes his fingers into you, curling them as your hands tighten on the marble in front of you.

You moan as he lets out obscenities behind you, sliding more fingers inside of your tight hole, his eyes transfixed on the way his digits glide in and out of you so easily. Eventually removing his fingers from you, his grip around your neck tightens as he pulls your back to become flush with his chest, his free hand coming to cup just below your chin.

‘Spit’ he demands, grabbing your face slightly as he waits for you to drool into his hand. You look towards his hand as you spit into his open palm, a mixture of clear liquid and blood coming out of your mouth as he quickly covers his length in it, coating himself and you in the mixture as he thrusts up into you without warning.

Although you were outside, the slapping, squelching sounds seem to echo off of the walls of the labyrinth. You can hear him groan in pleasure behind you, enjoying the feeling of choking you as he gazes down at the view of himself sinking into you over and over again. He loved seeing you like this, his hand around your throat and your pussy covered in a mixture of blood, cum and spit as he pulled you back once again. His mouth meeting yours in a hurried kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth. Both of your breaths quickened you taste his blood from his split lip once more. As soon as the taste hits your tongue you feel yourself tighten around him, his free hand coming down to rub circles into your clit.

‘Cum for me little dove’ He demands as you moan, your head dropped back onto his shoulder. ‘Show me what a good girl you are’ He prompts as his fingers press harder into you, desperate to draw out your orgasm. ‘Fuck, that’s it sweet girl’ groaning into your ear as you ride out your climax around his cock, tightening on him as his pace picks up.

His movements becoming more erratic as he works towards his own peak, your body limp in his grip as he fucks you, exhausted from your own climax and over stimulated as he thrusts into you. Your moans must have been loud enough to be heard outside of the labyrinth you were sure, and now as you feel him throb inside of you, you were certain people must have heard him too. Without warning he spills inside of you, his cum painting your walls white as he bites down on your shoulder hard enough to draw blood as he climaxes.

Both breathing heavily he pulls your head back by your hair for one last lust filled kiss. His touch almost tender as he removes himself from you. You hear him fastening his belt as you hold onto the statue in front of you for balance, all of your clothing ripped and discarded on the floor you feel him place his jacket onto your shoulders.

‘You scared me’ you say with a slightly fearful smile, the evidence of your enjoyment in your voice as you speak out for the first time since entering the maze, your tone coming out rasp. ‘Maybe we should do it again some time’ you giggle as you move your ass back against him, eliciting no response other than the sound of his continued breathing. ‘Don’t you think so Oliver?’ You ask, hoping with all of your heart that finally after all of this your soft kind man would return to you but receiving no reply.

‘Oliver?’ You question into the darkness as you turn, your eyes searching for him despite having felt his touch on you only moments ago. But he was nowhere to be seen, the only trace of him being his jacket on your shoulders, his blood on your lips and the trickle of his cum now working its way down your thigh. ‘Oliver?’ You speak out quieter. He was gone and you knew it. Gathering your things you made your way back towards the house, was any of it real?

Message to be added to the tag list! : @lillypink @ilovesaltburn @simplymakkari @hahahafucku @rorysgirll @jubileexoxo @grandpaintersuit @anniemay67 @idontevenknow1359 @frayafriggafrey @rpgdoll @veevsterz @samosas0900 @vivalafae

[haerenven]

Hi!! Can I get a scenario of shanks with reader and him just be a hard flirt and always sweeping her off her feet 🥰 or anything you prefer, thank you!!

                    ✩          ・         ✂️          ◦　        ♩

Pairings. Red haired shanks x fem!reader

Summary. Sweeping off her feet

— (a/n): bro I think my gorgeous girlies are done of reading about shanks and easy-to-flirt reader, Lol

                    ✩          ・         🍎          ◦　        ♩

The first time you met Shanks, it was a whirlwind.

Literally.

One moment, you were standing on the docks, minding your own business, the scent of salt and sun-warmed wood filling the air. The next, your feet had left the ground, swept up in the impossibly strong arms of a red-haired force of nature who spun you through the air like you weighed nothing at all.

Laughter—deep, rich, and utterly carefree—wrapped around you before the wind even had a chance. The world blurred as you twirled, the ocean, the sky, the ships all blending together in dizzying motion, and at the center of it all was him.

Shanks.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” his voice was smooth as aged rum, laced with amusement as he finally set you back down. The heat of his hands lingered at your waist, steady despite the way he swayed like a man who had spent his life dancing with the sea. His grin, lazy yet roguish, deepened as he winked. “Wouldn’t want you falling for me too hard.”

You barely registered the warmth of the sun against your skin because every bit of your awareness had narrowed down to him—the broadness of his chest beneath your palms, the scent of salt and something undeniably him, the way his presence seemed to command the very air around you.

And that smirk.

Infuriating. Carefree. Knowing.

You scowled, shoving at him—more out of sheer necessity than anything else. If you let yourself linger too long, you weren’t sure your legs would remember how to hold you up. But the bastard barely budged, his body as solid as an anchor, like he belonged to the sea but could never be moved by it.

And then came the worst part. He didn’t look away.

He watched you, eyes burning with amusement, with interest, with something entirely too dangerous wrapped in easy charm. It was as if, in that moment, he had decided something—something reckless, something inevitable.

And from that day on, Shanks made it his personal mission to keep you breathless.

He flirts like it’s his life’s calling.

With Shanks, a simple hello is never enough.

He strides into a room like he owns the air itself, eyes gleaming with mischief, that easy, knowing smirk already in place. And then, without fail—

“There’s my favorite sight in the world.”

It doesn’t matter if you’re drenched from the rain, covered in dirt, or glaring at him over a half-empty drink. He says it like it’s an undeniable truth, as if he’s convinced that nothing else—no treasure, no horizon—could ever compare.

And if that doesn’t get a rise out of you, he only turns up the heat.

“Did it hurt when you fell from the heavens, or were you always this breathtaking?”

A groan. An eye-roll. Maybe even a muttered “You’re impossible.” None of it deters him. If anything, it fuels him. Because Shanks isn’t just a flirt—he’s a relentless one. A man who thrives on the chase, who lives for the way your lips twitch like you’re fighting a smile, for the split second your composure cracks.

And when you meet his gaze, brows raised in exasperation, arms crossed like you won’t be swayed? That’s when he strikes.

“If you keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, I might start thinking you like me.”

The worst part? He says it so damn convincingly. Like it’s not a game. Like he means it. Like he’s perfectly content to wait for the moment you finally stop fighting it and admit what he already knows.

And it doesn’t matter how many times you scoff, shove at his chest, or even threaten to launch a bottle at his head. Shanks only grins, tilts his head, and leans in just close enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

Because to him, every reaction—every single one—is proof that he’s winning.

He’s shameless when it comes to physical affection.

Shanks has no concept of personal space—at least, not when it comes to you.

An arm draped over your shoulder, warm and heavy, like he’s done it a thousand times before and never once considered asking permission. Fingers brushing against your wrist in passing, lingering just long enough to send a spark up your spine. His chin resting atop your head, a casual weight, as if he belongs there, as if you belong there.

It’s effortless. Natural. Like touching you is second nature, like he’s always done it and always will. And the worst part? He never makes a show of it. Never asks, never hesitates. He just does. Because in his mind, there’s no need to question what already feels inevitable.

And when he really wants to fluster you?

He sweeps you off your feet. Literally.

One moment, you’re walking beside him, minding your own business. The next, the ground is gone, replaced by the solid warmth of his arms as he lifts you with ease. Like you weigh nothing. Like you’re his to carry.

“You looked tired,” he says, voice all lazy amusement, as if this is the most logical thing in the world. His grip is steady, secure, the heat of him impossible to ignore. “Figured I’d save you the trouble of walking.”

Your stomach flips. Your heart flips.

“Shanks—put me down—”

“Say please.”

The audacity.

You smack his shoulder, scowling, but it only makes him laugh—that deep, infuriatinglycharming laugh, like you’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him. His grip tightens slightly, not out of restraint, but as if he’s daring you to let go. Daring you to trust him, even when he’s reckless. Especially when he’s reckless.

And the truth is, despite your protests, despite your best efforts to fight it…

You do.

His teasing is relentless.

Shanks has a talent for getting under your skin in the most charmingly annoying way possible.

It’s in the way he watches you—always with that lazy grin, that spark of mischief in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And worse? He enjoys every second of it.

“Thinking about me?” he teases when he catches you staring, propping his chin in his hand as if settling in for a long-awaited confession.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I was actually wondering how someone so ridiculous became a Yonko.”

He claps a hand over his heart, staggering back like you’ve dealt him a fatal blow. “Ouch, sweetheart. If you wanted to see me flustered, all you had to do was compliment me.”

You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing ever deters him. Because Shanks plays the long game—poking, prodding, waiting for the moment you slip.

And when you do manage to fluster him? When your words catch him off guard, when he blinks a little too fast or his smirk falters for just a second—

He recovers far too quickly.

“Ahh, so you do find me handsome!” He gasps, clutching his chest with an expression of sheer delight, as if the weight of your nonexistent confession is simply too much to bear. “My heart can’t take it!”

You turn to leave. He follows.

“You should’ve warned me, sweetheart. If I had known you’d fall for me so hard, I would’ve given you a softer landing.”

And just like that, the game resets.

But when he’s serious, it’s enough to leave you breathless.

For all his playfulness, there are moments when Shanks drops the act—when the laughter fades just enough, when the teasing lingers on his tongue but never quite makes it past his lips.

Moments when he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth watching.

Like now.

The night stretches quiet around you, the ocean lapping gently against the hull of the ship. The air is thick with salt and moonlight, the sky endless above, but none of it matters—not when Shanks is leaning in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, close enough that his voice, low and teasing, slides over your skin like a touch.

“You know, for all the running you do, you always end up right back here.” His eyes burn, catching every flicker of hesitation, every unspoken thought. “With me.”

Your breath stutters. Heat rises to your cheeks, but you force a scoff, tilting your chin up just enough to keep your balance. “Maybe I just enjoy annoying you.”

His lips quirk, amusement still lingering, but there’s something else in his gaze now—something deeper, something unreadable. A shift in the tide, a pull in the current.

Then, so softly it steals the air from your lungs—

“Or maybe you just like being caught.”

The space between you vanishes. Whether he moved or you did, you aren’t sure. All you know is the way his words wrap around you, the way his presence feels inevitable, like a tide rising to shore.

And maybe—just maybe—you were never running at all.

[alexlwrites]

How about… Scary! Reader x Hoseok?

“Honestly, how can a guy like you like someone so scary?”

All dressed in black, piercings covering every inch of your earlobe, heels high and blade like, you floated through the hallways of Hybe like a wraith, an expression of disinterest and slight boredom on your face as you went about your day, cold semblant scaring any men your body might attract.

Except, of course, Hoseok.

It was unclear where in his mind Hoseok had the idea that you two would be a good match, but your incompatibility did little to deter his heart. From your very first interaction, he knew that you were meant to be.

And yes, your first interaction was also your last, considering that he is unable to formulate coherent sentences in your presence. And also, yes, the first you talked to him was to yell at him for spilling water in the room you just had prepared for rehearsal and he didn’t get a single word in before fleeing the room with his heart on his throat and the most confusing boner he ever had.

Hoseok shrugged, no words to be said and very little thought to be found in his head, mind thoroughly occupied with your taunting presence in the employee cafeteria, eating mango slices that you had cut with a switchblade seemingly produced out of nowhere, juice dripping down the side of your lips. Jimin watched in confused fascination as his most easily-scared friend stared at you unblinkingly, gulping heavily as you swirled the blade around your fingers with precision.

“I don’t know” Hoseok answered at last “She’s just… So pretty.”

And pretty you indeed were, but you were also equally terrifying. Jimin said as much to his friend, but Hoseok just shrugged once more “She’s misunderstood. She’s not that bad”.

Suddenly, you turned to them, meeting Hoseok’s stare head on. You seemed surprised for a moment and the older man froze in his seat, holding his breath and preparing himself for your reaction. Would you point your switchblade at him and threaten him with your glare? He kinda wouldn’t mind that.

But you just looked back down and smiled a bit to yourself, before stuffing your knife into your boot and leaving the cafeteria.

Oh, Jimin thought. Could it be that you actually liked his chicken friend?

[pedriache]

Nervous — Jude Bellingham.

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jude, who you couldn’t bear to be around, was suddenly making you very nervous.

Word count: 900+

Disclaimer/s: banter , dancing , alcohol, yeah idk

A/N: Hai ! Home from vacation and finally writing again bless up! Side note: if trump wins im going to have to take a hiatus while I figure out a plan to move to Barcelona.

The club was full of energy. People around you danced and sang along to whatever lyrics were playing, their drinks sloshing around in their cups, dangerously close to spilling. Yet you were huddled in a corner, out of your element completely.

You weren’t used to these types of things. Sure, you attended parties, but that was only when you had to. So standing under the flashing lights, a black dress clinging to your body uncomfortably… well, it just wasn’t very fun.

A presence beside you brought you out of the self pitying thoughts. Glancing up, you internally groan. Your eyes instantly rolling as you let out a huff of annoyance. “What do you want?”

Jude looks down at you, his lips pulling into that familiar smirk you hated so much. “You looked lonely.” He shrugs, his eyes flickering to your dress for a moment. “Nice dress.” He drawls.

It was a small compliment, but it had to not-so-subtly shifting on your feet as you used one hand to tug the hem of it further down your thigh. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

The taller man gasps, using both his hands to clasp over his heart to show his offense. “Hey! I was being serious! You look.. pretty.”

Your eyebrows pull together, causing a crease to form between them. You weren’t sure why, but that had sent a wave of heat to your cheeks. At that moment, you were quite grateful for the strobe lights as they concealed your predicament well.

“Oh, shut up.” You scoff, “why don’t you leave me alone and go dance with randoms or something?” Your snarky reply is only met with a laugh, which made you grow even more irritated.

“Aw, come on! I’ll go.. if you join me.” He nudges your shoulder with his, “please?”

Glancing up at him, your eyebrows shoot up in surprise when you’re met with a serious looking Jude. “Yeah, no. Hard pass. And not just because of you.”

Jude rolls his eyes at your stubbornness. “Down whatever you have in that cup, get some energy, and let’s dance!”

You weren’t exactly sure why you did what you did, but you tilted the cup to your lips and took two big gulps of the burning substance. Setting the glass down on the table you let out a long breath. “Whatever. No touching me.” You point at him with narrowed eyes.

Jude puts his hands up in feigned surrender. “No touching, got it.”

Leading the way, you make a path toward the black and white tiled floor. You had to push your way through, but with Jude close behind, you both made it to a tiny open space.

Turning to face him, you have to fight the roll of your eyes at his prideful smile. Ignoring him, you find a comfortable rhythm. Your eyes close as you sway to the music, only opening when the beat changes, your eyes connecting with Jude’s. He was watching you, the smile lines near his eyes prominent as he does so.

“Ew, don’t look at me like that.” You make a disgusted face, but that doesn’t deter the man.

He cocks his head to the side, a small laugh escaping his lips. “I’ve just never seen you dance before.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.” You scowl, “I don’t see you dancing.” You point out, but you’re only met with another teasing grin on his part.

“I don’t dance, not without a partner.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks once again. Your mouth opens and closes about four times before you give in. Taking the few strides toward him, he sucks his teeth, suppressing the smug look at threatened at his face.

“Don’t make me regret this.” You snap, turning around to face the DJ’s booth and away from Jude’s stupidly pretty face. You try not to stiffen when his hands rest on the curves of your hips, but by the soft chuckle you hear next to your ear, you know he noticed.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just me.” Jude teases but a hint of sincerity laced his voice, his face far too close to yours as he does so, sending shivers crawling up your spine.

You refuse to look at him as you speak, “I am not.”

“Sure you aren’t.” He laughs, spinning you around. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you come face to face with him.

You find yourself at a loss for words, every rebuttal seemed to be caught in your throat. All you could get out was a strangled cough. Jude finds great pleasure in your loss for words, because a smirk adorned his face when you didn’t speak.

“Exactly.” He continues smugly, which you don’t even roll your eyes at for once. You just let out a heavy breath and look away, too at a loss for words to even function properly.

Jude doesn’t comment on this, just sways along with you to the music, his fingers pressing into your hips all the while, like you’d leave him at any given moment. But you don’t, you stay there until your feet physically couldn’t take it anymore.

And when you finally had enough, the man was decent enough to help you back to your seclusion corner for a rest. But even though you’d stayed there silently, he stood beside you with a small content smile on his face.

Likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. Lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !

[definitelynotshouting]

your half of the ransom

inspired by this post and scar's tweets about secret life :] i speedran this just in time for the first eps of the new season to drop!! as always likes and reblogs and especially comments in the tags are appreciated❤️ enjoy!!

Scar wakes to a field of sunflowers.

The sun itself is a swollen yolk bleeding gold at its edges when he blinks, cascading down from the horizon to melt over the earth with indiscriminate fervor. It dips the petals of each field-flower in honey, honing their silhouettes to supple knife-points— even the soil beneath him, packed firm from countless nights of sleep, has burnished to a fine, patinated bronze. In the amber of its rays stray pebbles transmute to pyrite, the subtle scrabble of roots to filigree, and caught in the open mouth of such gaudy resplendence, Scar digs an elbow into the dirt and hauls himself, reluctant, back to his own unsteady feet.

Even at full height the sunflowers still tower, blocking all signs of hearth and home. But the sun (popped, bleeding, all gored-out gold in the upturned belly of the sky) remains his guide— Scar picks his legs up in a faltering stumble to follow it before catching rough fingers against the stalk of a nearby sunflower. He flinches; this early, it's too easy to perceive each stalk as part of a swarm, a yellowed panoptic presence bearing down on the world-weary muscles of his shoulders.

Their seeds will need harvesting soon. Scar hums, a match-strike against unyielding silence, and casts his gaze back to the sun above to orient himself in the direction of his base.

Until they're ready, he has nowhere else to be.

Trader Scar's is too-empty for so comely a morning, a hollowed-out shell long rebuilt and bristling with more wares than he has those to sell them to. But it's a familiar charade— Scar slips into the back with a single sunflower clenched tight in his palm, bruising the petals and scratching against the insides of his fingers. He changes in rapid, efficient motions; last night's poncho is discarded over a nearby chest in exchange for a brighter one, yellow wool lovingly dyed; his hair is released from its tie, combed through, then braided again; the soft leather shoes he'd worn underneath the stars are left to clump by the doorway in favour of far-keener diamond. Worn in but undamaged, the crystal chimes without dents or scratches— there's nothing left to fight here, anymore.

When Scar steps back out to the front, a ghost is waiting patiently for him at the counter.

Or— the ghost of a ghost, if he's being generous. The outline of a shadow, the flicker of a distant mirage. "Oh," Scar says, and the word scrapes like rust from the well of his throat. He'd recognize those wings anywhere. "Well, hello there, Grian."

Grian's filmy outline says nothing. They never do, when the shades appear for a rare visit. The barrier between living and dead remains a clear divide, a gorge through which Scar cannot pass— all that's left between them now are the soft, faded echoes of what was, and what it could have been.

Still, in the year he's spent here, that's never deterred him from a potential sale. Scar props a hip up against the counter, eyeing the flickering shadow and mustering up his best imitation of an enthusiastic smile. "So what brings you out here to my neck of the woods? Looking for something to buy? Some fine goods to trade, perhaps? Man, I don't think I've seen you around in a dog's age. How about some catching up?"

The back of his neck prickles, electric; Grian's shade is a stygian blot in his vision, a fuzz of static that extends its presence from floor to ceiling. His ghost keeps his silence.

Scar tugs his smile wider, flashing two rows of bright, gleaming teeth in Grian's direction until the strain threatens to choke him. "No? Not even a little bone for ol' Scar? Well, tell you what, don't you go standing on su— se— oh, ceremony! Come in, come in! You make yourself at home, you know how I just love a visitor— how about I make us a drink to share and you tell me where in the world you've been, mister."

He doesn't bother waiting for a non-existent reply; instead, Scar swoops down to snag his fingers against the cupboard he'd installed within the counter months ago, fumbling with the latch before throwing its doors wide open with a gust of musty air. Inside, an eclectic mix of quite high-quality wares and some of Scar's own humble belongings tangle, speckled with cobwebs and the first faint stirrings of freshly disturbed dust.

Scar purses his lips, eyeing each item in turn. A nautilus shell here, a few scraps of wood there, some glass bottles, the handle of a ladle he'd cracked over six months back.... Squinting, he thrusts his hand deep into the mess, sweeping the items aside and shuffling new ones into view until— there!

Toward the back lies a dented iron kettle, brittle with disuse. Scar snaps forward, straining out his arm until the tips of two fingers meet the edge of its dusty wooden handle. With a grunt, he flicks it closer, wincing at the shrill scrape of iron on wood as it inches toward him.

SCAR.

It is not a voice. No mere voice can resonate a single word like that in his chest, trembling in his bones and drumming out from the chambers of his very heart. Like a ripple on the still surface of a lake, it rattles through him, scattering each thought to the far corners of his mind and stripping him raw, flaying open his ribs to splay beneath the scorching sun. The yelp that bubbles up to his lips flies past them unbidden, rocketing out with such force that he jolts, and rams his skull straight into the overhanging lip of the counter.

White-on-red sparks, a cherry-hot bolt of fire centered on his crown. "OW! Oh, oh my gosh, I-I— Grian?"

None of the shades haunting him and this server have spoken. They've never spoken. They've never— so why now, when he's made his peace with that—

Scar wets his lips, tongue dry as desert bone, and drags the kettle out of the cupboard with one quick yank. Clutching it to his chest, he rises back up on shaky feet, holding it up as if to ward off an incoming attack. Some shield; its hollow interior reverberates with a screech when he raps his knuckles against it. "Now— now hang on, mister, you can't just— you— oh my gosh, I-I think you just made my heart stop there for a second." A bracing breath. Two. "Y-You can't just shock a man in his own home like that! You...."

Scar trails off. The misty impression hovering on the other side of the counter remains impassive, impersonal— this is not the Grian he knows.

The Grian he knew.

Deep within the static writhe of his shade, the after-image burn of greyed-out eyes begin to squirm to the surface. Scar flicks his gaze back to the kettle with instinctive, long-honed deference, staring hard into the distorted lines of his own reflection.

YOU WON. Once again the words rip something vital in him, boil up through his veins to tear themselves, wet and coppery, on the limp meat of his tongue. Scar risks a peek up, lump hanging heavy in his throat; each syllable comes out as a squeak, threatening to crack the smooth silver of his voice.

"I— yep, I sure did! I sure did, and— thank you very much, for noticing! I, uh, I still don't know how I did that, what with— oh, you know how it is, with, with the, uh, the— friends situation, how that all panned out. Y'know, actually, I wonder if that's wh—"

The eyes blink at him, asynchronous and blank. Hollow. In the heartbeat it takes for them to train back on his own, a soul-wrenching wave of gooseflesh ripples up over Scar's arms.

He whirls himself away so fast his vision spins. "So, uh— tea! You like tea, right Grian?" Without ceremony Scar scrambles to the other side of the room, forcing the counter still between them, every nerve in his body winding tighter, tighter, kinetic energy in a bottle. "How about, um, a—" he rifles through a new cabinet, clumsy with frenzy— "oh, shoot, now where did I put that— I've got some, uh, some dandelion root! Hand roasted by yours truly, of course. Not that anyone else could do it now, but— oh, oh, and look at the lavender, now that's just delicious, you've gotta try it, G, I know you'll just absolutely love it."

Silence. Scar's hand pauses, braced tight on the handle of the cabinet.

"Grian," he says, slow, quiet. Lets the words drift up, shining soap bubbles, to pop against the ceiling. "Why— what are you doing here?"

To his credit, Grian is direct. IT'S TIME.

Without permission, Scar's fingers tighten around the handle of the cabinet. "It's— what? Wait, wait—" He blinks. Does not turn around. "Time for what?"

Silence.

Scar licks his lips, worrying at the split still stinging at the right hand corner. "Time for what, Grian?"

The distinct pall of burning ozone scalds through the air. Tentatively, Scar shoots a glance back down into the kettle, peering at the distinct smudge still smearing the wall behind him. No eyes in its reflection; some of the tension riding in his shoulders loosens, slackens his tendons and begins to uncurl his fingers from the cabinet knob.

Without warning, a wash of ice wisps forward to numb the small of his back. COME HOME, Grian says simply. The words echo in the gap beneath his sternum, drag themselves up each vertebrae in his spine, and Scar freezes stiff, solid.

"This is home," Scar says, blank.

NO.

Some hot ember, banked countless months ago, sparks back to life in the pit of his stomach. "It is," he says, more firmly this time. "It's— that's it. You said it yourself: I won. And I did it fair and square, I'll say. I followed every rule, every task to the— to the nth degree, and... and now I, um." He falters. Grits his teeth until the molars ache. "I get to live with it."

But a sudden chill that has nothing to do with the shade behind him abruptly slips beneath his skin. Hesitantly, still clutching the kettle in one hand like a lifeline, Scar says belatedly: "... Right?"

Despite the sun nearing midday, the temperature around him plummets. NOT ANYMORE.

"Oh," Scar says. The metal surface of the kettles creaks as his second hand joins the first, digging nails into rust and grime. "I— again?"

YES.

"... And what if I don't want to do it again."

He does not phrase it as a question. They both know his answer.

Scar sucks in a sharp shock of air anyway, rattling the kettle against his chest and daubing a blotch of dust over the soft wool of his poncho. "Is—" he bites his lip— "will everyone... be there?"

YES.

Ah. Scar's eyes slip shut of their own accord; behind them, dozens of veins brim over, webs of blood welling up and spilling to slake a thirst so abyssal it could drink and drink for years without satiation.

"... Will you be there?"

For one long, nightmare-eternity, Grian does not reply. Then, a knife between his ribs: YES.

With slow, halting steps, Scar turns. "Okay," he breathes, and drags a hand over his eyes to cloak them both in darkness, and sags back until his skull knocks against the cabinet door with a dull, tender thunk. Each exhale emerges as a series of shaky puffs, damming up his lungs and swallowing all the air in his esophagus. Scar shudders, scrapes his bitten-down nails against iron, and breathes with the roiling of his gut. "... Okay."

When he opens his eyes again, Grian's ghost has vanished.

The spot it occupied is still frigid when he waves a trembling hand through it; Scar inhales, exhales, inhales again. Rinse and repeat, the perfect cycle, the mantra against extraneous thought. Then, solemn and deliberate, he holds the kettle out in front of him, trailing one wandering finger over its dents and bruises, tracing the paths between the known and the new.

"Guess I'll see you there," he tells it, and lifts its grubby handle up in absent toast.

High above, the bleeding sun strikes noon at last. Scar does not harvest the sunflowers.

[pure-smut]

bloody knuckles.

featuring: Jo Togame x f!reader

contains: fighting (obvs, it's wind breaker), mentions of blood, oral (male receiving), nsfw below the cut

note: all characters are over 18!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 500

masterlist

a/n: I based this off a fanart from @rabbitseason it was absolutely *mwah* chefs kiss

SFW

Thinking about Jo Togame who isn’t threatened when other guys look at you – he knows you’re attractive so obviously they will. Besides, he trusts you implicitly.

Thinking about Jo Togame who definitely does have a problem when these guys won’t leave you alone. You get a bit flustered, trying to tell them you have a boyfriend, but they’re not listening.

Thinking about Jo Togame who can move fast when he wants to, crossing the street in three steps, an easy grin on his face. He slings an arm around your shoulder and feels you relax immediately, his presence reassuring. But these guys aren’t deterred, insisting on your number and that a pretty little thing like you needs more of man.

Thinking about Jo Togame who tells you to meet him at home before pressing a kiss so gently to your forehead. When you look up at him, he’s smiling but his green eyes are hard as emeralds.

Thinking about Jo Togame who comes home with bloody knuckles. He hands you his jacket – “Take care of this so I don’t get blood on it, yeah?” – and sits down heavily on the couch.

Thinking about Jo Togame who gestures for you to come sit on his lap, so you do. You cup his face and tenderly pepper kisses over his face. You tell him you’ll clean up his hands, bandage his split knuckles but he only tells you “later” and holds you tight.

NSFW

Thinking about Jo Togame who’s so tense and sore after his fight, you can feel it in his shoulders and back. You whisper, “I’ll take care of you, baby” and he grins wide.

Thinking about Jo Togame who watches you through half-lidded eyes as you slide off his lap and between his legs, palming his bulge, feeling him hard already.

Thinking about Jo Togame who rests his arms on the back of the couch, letting you pull down his sweatpants just enough to free his cock. “You’re so good to me, sweetheart,” he tells you. “Such a good girl.”

Thinking about Jo Togame who wants to close his eyes and enjoy the feel of your sweet little mouth around his cock but he can’t stop watching you. Your cute pink tongue flicking out to lick along the thick ridges of his cock before swirling around his sensitive head.

Thinking about Jo Togame who wants to tangle his fingers in your hair but stops himself, not wanting to get blood on you. Instead, he fists the top of the couch cushions, groaning as he hits the back of your throat, his hips instinctively thrusting up.

Thinking about Jo Togame who watches you swallow his load and it almost gets him hard again. But you’ve been so, so good to him so he pulls you back up onto his lap. “Let’s go get me cleaned up, yeah?” he says, kissing along your jaw. “So I can take care of you next.”

masterlist

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[cobaltperun]

Eternal Flame (12) - Fight Inside

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Chapter summary: Regret and suffering, that was all both you and Jenna felt as you left to film your next movie. Perhaps the distance would help both of you.

Spotify playlist

Masterlist / First Part / Previous part / Next Part

Word Count: 5.4k

-The war within me pulls me under and without you the fight inside is breaking me again-

Jenna paced all over the living room, feeling like she was on the verge of a panic attack and the worst thing about it was that she, to calm herself down, just kept reminding herself of your presence. She kept thinking back to that hotel room where you first calmed her down from a panic attack. She began hugging herself as she continued pacing, trying desperately to at least somewhat simulate the way you were holding her that night and all the nights after that one.

“Jenna, sit down,” her mom pleaded. Her entire family was sitting in the living room, her father was still distraught and had his face buried in his hands. He was shaken up, sure, but he wasn't the only one affected by all of this. Her siblings, Aliyah and Markus seemed torn by what happened and her mother was looking at her, worried and probably seeing the early signs of a panic attack, something she had to deal with often as a nurse.

Jenna turned to her father. “How could you hit her like that?!” she demanded, for the first time in her life raising her voice at her father.

“Do not raise your voice at me, Jenna,” her father warned her sharply, his fists clenching as he did so, and she knew he barely restrained himself from hitting the table out of anger.

Yet Jenna didn’t give in. She wasn’t deterred by his warning. “No! Tell me what that was? This past week every time I tried to mention Y/N, whenever I tried to talk about what I found out the two of you,” she pointed at her parents. “Have been shutting me down, telling me that she's violent, that she'd hurt me, that she’s no good for me and what do you do when she shows up?” she stopped pacing and looked right at her father. “You point a gun at her, you threaten to kill her and then you punch her. Explain that to me,” she wasn't backing down, she felt like her whole world was breaking apart and she couldn't keep even half of it together, let alone all of it.

“She provoked me,” her dad argued, as if she didn't see everything from her room

“Dad, I saw everything from the window. I saw how quick you were to point the gun at her, so who are you lying to here?” she shouldn't have backed away when she was in front of you, no, even before that, she shouldn't have stayed in her room in the first place. She should have gone outside the moment she saw you stepping out of that car, she should have ran into your arms, she should have let you hold her because she wanted nothing more than to have you with her right now, holding her, calming her down, telling her everything would be fine.

While she needed to hear you out, to understand what the hell happened, she should have stuck by your side, she should have shown you she wasn't giving up on you. She thought she was confused, yet all of those thoughts that she had, all of that uncertainty and pain and doubt within her just vanished the moment she saw you. Jenna knew that you would never hurt her, you could never, ever hurt her.

She could no longer restrain her tears, and they just fell from her eyes, and she didn’t even try to stop them. “I hurt her so bad. Y/N was by my side when I needed her the most and I couldn't see past one wrong decision she made in her life,” she dug her hands into her hair, tempted to pull at her hair.

Her mom sighed. “Jenna please, you're being too dramatic. Yes, Edward took it too far when he hit her, but you can't tear our family apart over this,” her mom told her and she could hear her mom was frustrated with her behavior by now. “We've all been walking on eggshells around you since you came back from Denver, and we thought you would just get over it if we didn't let you talk about her. We just want what's the best for you, Jenna,” her mom took a deep breath, as if contemplating if she should continue, and Jenna did nothing to stop her, she just listened. “I'm praying every single night that you would just move on from her. You want to be with a woman? Fine, go right ahead, but not with her,” she was crying as well by now and Jenna just took a step back. “You are young, you are in love and you don't see how this is going to end.”

Jenna pointed outside. “Y/N is not the one who chose violence back there, it was-“

“Your father was provoked, Jenna!” her mother yelled at her, cutting her off.

“But isn't that the point? That anyone could be provoked? That being with someone who didn't go to underground fights won't automatically make me safe?” her father was a police officer, he was supposed to protect everyone, and yet even he went and hit someone who wasn't even a threat to him, just because that's someone said something that struck a nerve for him.

“A stranger telling me that I have no right to talk about keeping my own child safe just because I didn't stop you from being an actress is not the same thing as someone I love Jenna. I lashed out at a stranger that thought she had the right to lecture me about how to be a father!” her dad yelled, slamming his fist on the table.

“Can you please stop?” Markus asked, almost fearfully, and for the first time Jenna noticed just how much he and Aliyah were distraught by this, especially Aliyah, she even flinched when their dad hit the table.

“Jenna, this is tearing our family apart. You need to forget about her,” her mom said through tears and Jenna just ran into her bedroom, sobbing and desperately trying to find some warmth.

She felt cold, her body shook slightly despite the blanket she wrapped around herself, and she felt like she couldn't breathe properly, like every breath she took was too shallow, like she didn't have enough oxygen. She felt dizzy, like she was about to throw up, she felt exactly the way she felt on that night she had a panic attack and you came into her room, stopping it. Only this time no one would come to help her through it, not her siblings, not her parents, not with all of this tension and frustration permeating the house following your arrival. She had nothing to keep the panic from consuming her, no one to hold her, she might as well be back in her place in LA all alone for all it mattered.

Sobs wrecked through her body and somehow, she stumbled to her closet opening it and digging through her stuff. She saw them the familiar dark green shirt and the black and red jacket. She tucked them away, fearing that maybe someone would throw them away if they found them and she just put the jacket around her back and clung to the shirt.

If she concentrated enough, she could almost smell your perfume still lingering on your clothes, and she was stuck between the relief even the hint of your presence brought her and the pain of knowing that she just gave up on that.

She could almost hear your voice telling her to just breathe, to stay calm, that you were right there with her. And that's exactly what you would be telling her if you were here with her now. Even after everything that happens today and ten days ago, and how she acted like what you did was the worst thing anyone could have ever done… Even after she refused to hear your part of the story, even if she judged you based not even on what Barbara told her, but based on her own conclusions based only on the fact that you went and fought in an underground fight club… Even after all that there was no doubt in her mind that if you were with her now you would be doing everything in your power stop her panic attack. You would have held her gently, looking at her with that look of pure adoration in your eyes that was there even when she saw you today. You still wore her ring around your neck. She didn't see it, but she noticed the necklace it should be hanging from, so she knew it was safe to assume that you did still carry her mark on your body.

And she threw all of that away.

And she sobbed, crying her heart out for the first time in ten days, completely letting it all out, all alone in her and Aliyah’s shared room, with nothing but your shirt in her hands and jacket around her back keeping her together.

And when the tears all dried up and Jenna felt like she could finally breathe once again only one thought remained. She had to go and see you, the consequences be damned. She had to catch up with you before you could get on the plane and go back to Denver. And if you somehow missed one another on the airport, which she doubted would happen because the plane for Denver wouldn't take off for another four hours, then she would just take the plane and meet you there. She needed to see you. She just desperately needed to see you.

~X~

You managed to hide the bust lip with a scarf you bought after returning the car, and now you were at the airport facing a decision you frankly didn't think you would have to make today. On one hand you could go home and have to explain the bruise slowly forming on your face to Hugh and Barbara, creating even more problems and probably only making reconciliation with Jenna in the future even more impossible. If there was ever even a chance of speaking to her again. You couldn’t let Hugh and Barbara know Edward hit you, because even if you could get over being hit, you doubted Hugh would ever let it go. And while Barbara might be a bit more forgiving and wouldn't blame it on Jenna, there would still be some tension in the future, so you really couldn't go home. Which, now that you thought about it more clearly, meant you didn’t even have a decision to make, it was made for you the moment you took that punch to the face.

“Hi, can I get a ticket for Italy, please?” you asked the person working at the airport. You would have to go to Italy in a couple of days anyway, so you might as well take some time to do some sightseeing. Maybe visit the Colosseum, as cliche as it was, or maybe go to Florence or Venice. You could definitely spare a day or two for that, and it wasn't like you were going to be in Italy for long. The contract you signed said you would be filming for a week, that all of your scenes would be done as quickly as possible to lower the costs of hiring you, since you were from the US. And frankly you were fine with it, especially now.

When you signed the contract you figured, what the hell, it was work. You would get paid, get a new experience in a new country, but now after all the things that happened, you had to accept that your mental health really wasn't at the level necessary to push yourself through several weeks of filming.

You still wondered what you would do once that week was over. Would you go back home? Would you stay in Italy for some time? There really was no telling at this point.

“Yes, of course. You're in luck we have a few seats available on the flight taking off in an hour,” that was just perfect. “Do you have any luggage?”

“None,” you basically had just your handbag, you didn't even bring your apartment keys seeing as you left them with Barbera, since she stayed at your place when you left to go to Coachella. You would need to do some light shopping when you arrive at Italy, but that wouldn’t be much of an issue.

~X~

Jenna felt panic clutching at her heart as she looked at the crowd getting on the plane for Denver. She was still out of breath as she ran through the airport, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of you before you could leave.

“Jenna, I don’t think she’s here,” Aliyah called out behind her, barely keeping up. She went with Jenna because she just couldn’t let Jenna get in the car on her own, fearing that maybe in her state of panic and distraught her older sister would end up getting into an accident. Aliyah hoped that with her in the car, Jenna would drive more carefully instead of speeding from Coachella all the way to the airport you should be at.

“She has to be,” she would notice you in a crowd of thousands of people if she had to, but you just weren't here. She knew the airport was big, but a tiny voice in her head told her she didn’t somehow miss you; you really weren't here. There was no other way to explain it. You were nowhere to be seen, and she was here before anyone even started getting on the plane, so there was no way she missed you.

“Why don't you just call her best friend? Maybe she is at a hotel or something, maybe she didn't want to drive far, or maybe there is some other logical explanation for why she's not here?” Aliyah tried to talk some sense into her, but all Jenna could feel once again was pure panic.

“Yeah that's, that's what I'll do!” she had to focus. Aliyah was right, if anyone would know where you were, it would be Barbara. “Keep an eye out for her, OK?” she felt like she shouldn't even take her attention off the crowd and look at her phone, fearing that maybe that single instant it would take her to call Barbara would be the instant she misses you.

“I've got it, just call that girl,” Aliyah didn't suggest that Jenna should call you, and it didn't even cross her mind to do it, not after everything that happened. No, the first time she would speak to you again it would have to be face to face, there was no other way a text message, a call or even facetime would do. It would have to be the two of you, somewhere, anywhere as long as you were at the same place, somewhere she could reach out and touch you and just hope that you would let her hug you. And then this horrible feeling in her chest that felt like her heart was being torn into pieces from the inside and left to somehow keep beating would pass, as long as you let her hug you. As long as she could again feel your strong arms around her everything would be fine.

She called Barbara, her eyes once again scanning over the crowd, hoping to see you. Yet you weren’t there. Finally, after what felt like eternity, Barbara picked up.

“Jenna? What's this is all about?” she sounded confused, and she probably knew exactly what happened when you tried to come and talk to her, so Jenna really couldn’t blame her for being taken aback.

She had to be honest, to tell your best friend what she really felt. “I made a mistake! I regret everything, I'm at the airport and I can't find her. I need to apologize to Y/N, I need to,” he pushed back her tears. “I need to do anything, please just tell me she's at a hotel or something, that she's still in Coachella and I can still fix this,” because where else could you be? Where else could you possibly be when the flight to Denver was yet to take off, and you couldn't have made it for the previous one. It took two hours to get from her house to the airport, so you couldn't have gotten on the flight before this one.

Barbara sighed on the other side of the line. “Y/N did tell me you wouldn't hear her out,” Barbara's words, laced with a hint of anger, struck her harder than any punch could. It was just another reminder of how much she regretted not doing things differently merely hours ago. “I'll tell you where she is so you don't worry, but you can't go after her, Jenna. Let her finish this movie and if she wants to talk to you after that, then talk to her. Y/N took the first flight to Italy.”

Jenna had no idea how she stayed on her feet. It felt like the entire airport was spinning around her and the weight of everything just came crashing down on her. “I want to see her,” she whispered, trying to keep her emotions hidden, to stay in control and not break right here in the public.

“You saw her, you just let her go,” Barbara had no mercy, and Jenna truly believed she didn’t deserve any mercy anyway. “I don't know what happened there, I don't know why you changed your mind now all of a sudden, but you didn't have to pick up the pieces after you left. So, please let her recover before you hurt her again,” Barbara hung up and it didn't even cross Jenna’s mind to go to Italy after you.

~X~

Considering the way you approached this job you had no doubt in your mind that if anyone ever asked your co-stars from Italy how was it to work with you on the set that they would say you were professionally pleasant. Treating people with something close to kindness but not putting any effort into creating bonds with them. Instead, you just stayed silent, alone in the corner occasionally grasping something underneath your shirt that you wouldn't ever reveal to them. You just did your job, and you were a great partner, easily building chemistry with the actors and actresses you interacted with on the screen.

None of your co-stars could say a single bad word about the way you approached your job. You didn't get irritated over multiple takes, you didn't mind last minute changes to the script, even if the movie would basically be almost nothing like the book it was based on. You had a character to play and that's all that really mattered to you on this particular project.

How did you know that? You sort of overheard them speaking in Italian right next to you sometimes. And your parents didn’t insist on you learning just Spanish, they had you learning Italian and French as well. Meaning that while you were rusty you could still understand what your Italian co-stars were talking about you while they thought you didn't understand a single word coming out of their mouths. And you were perfectly fine with that, for all you cared they would never know that you understood them.

There was a bit of a curse in knowing Italian though, at least for you and at least in this particular situation. It made it even easier to find this place once the filming of your part was over. Your contract was done, you could go back home whenever you wanted to, yet here you were, late at night, in the dark alleys of Rome. You were watching as the crowd slowly trickled into a barely lit building an underground fight would be held in.

Davis once told you that you've gotten so used to this world that finding the fight clubs anywhere in the world would be easy for you. You laughed it off back then, but from the looks of it he was right. You easily found this place. Here you were, looking at the building where fights would be held tonight from across the street, your hands in your pockets and the hood of your jacket covering most of your face.

As you watched the building you thought back to the time after your parents died. There really wasn't anything specific to think about, you just remembered the emptiness, the guilt, the desire to feel anything, and to release the awful emotions pent-up within you. And somehow the only way you could do it was through fights.

You tried for months after their deaths to find another way, you drove a car, you went on walks, you did workouts that involved martial arts and the ones that didn't involve martial arts. You tried different extreme sports, you tried climbing, you tried anything you could think of and none of it worked, so you ended up just going back to the fights because they just worked. You pulled out your phone and called Hugh and he picked up rather quickly, it didn't even get to ring the second time.

“What the hell? I was just about to call you!” he said when he picked up and you managed to laugh a bit, genuinely happy to hear his voice.

“Eh, great minds think alike, you know,” the smile on your face fell for a moment. “I'm in front of a fight club,” you just told him and you could hear him getting up, you could imagine the look on his face. The helplessness at knowing that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop you if you decided to go inside.

“Y/N,” he spoke your name, about to ask you not to go inside, yet you interrupted him.

“I'm not going in. I quit fighting, and I'm sticking to that,” you assured him him and you weren't lying, you came here, but you had no intention of going in.

Hugh let out a sigh of relief. “Why did you go there then?” he sounded genuinely baffled by your decision to come here, and you couldn’t blame him.

“I wanted the proof. I wanted to come here, to be one step away from going back to the fights and to still be able to walk away,” you said as you turned away from the building and just began the walk back to your hotel.

“You don't feel like you can say you properly quit unless you have it within arm’s reach, do you?” he figured it out and you nodded out of a habit, only to remember he couldn’t see you.

“Pretty much. I can feel this broken and have the chance to fight right in front of me without wanting to go in. I'm done, I’ll never go to underground fights again, no matter what happens in my life,” you knew it was a bold statement, especially considering you were in this for four years, but you said it with definitive certainty.

Hugh remained silent for some time, probably feeling relief over what you just told him. And then came the question that's been probably on his mind for years. “Why did you even go back to fighting?”

There was no simple answer. You felt so many things, yet you felt nothing at the same time. You felt like you failed. “I-“ you began finally saying the words that just might be enough to explain that decision. “Wanted to be judged and punished for failing to save them. No one else would do it, so I did it myself, I was my own judge, jury and executioner,” that was probably the closest you could get to explaining what drove you to those fights again and again.

It just became a vicious cycle. The guilt and memories overwhelming you and reminding you of your failures, and the nightmares and that lonely apartment in Denver also played a part. Every single second you spent living alone was a constant reminder that your entire family was taken from you in an instant, and each time you were reminded of that, your resistance to fighting became weaker. And then you would just give in and go back to the fights, only to then feel guilty for causing pain to those that you still had in your life. Then that guilt would feed the guilt of failure and so the cycle would continue again and again until Jenna broke it.

She said she wanted all of you, you now guessed that was a lie.

But those words were still enough to give you that one push you needed. Just for a moment you lied to yourself and thought giving the fights up would be enough. It wasn’t enough, and you didn't blame Jenna for it, not even one bit. Hell, you didn't even blame her family, to be perfectly honest you would be cautious in their place as well.

The time you spent with Jenna, the love you felt, made you believe tomorrow could be better, and the ring around your neck kept reminding you of that.

Hugh didn't reply yet. At the end of the day there really wasn't anything he could say. Your logic was terribly flawed, driven by irrational feelings, and there was no way to rationalize it, or to argue against it with logic. And there wasn't a single feeling Hugh could draw upon to counter it. “What's your plan now that you finished filming in Italy?” he asked, and you really didn't know what to tell him, you didn't feel like going back to the States, but then again you also didn't feel like staying in Italy.

“I don't know. I'm not ready to go back to Denver,” as much time as Barbara would spend with you, you would still be on your own for the most part, and you just didn't want to be all alone.

“We have a month before we start filming The Daughter, how about we go do a little soul searching? You, me and my family, just go to some places, maybe do some good along the way,” Hugh suggested and honestly you didn't think that was a bad idea.

“Sure. Where would we go first?” you didn't even think much about it, at this point all he had to say was that you wouldn't be alone, and you would accept it.

“It's about time I show you where The Laughing Man coffee began. We're going to Ethiopia, your jaw dropped. This was not what you thought he had in mind but sure, you might as well do it.

“Let's go then,” you agreed immediately. “Do you want to meet up somewhere? What's the plan here?” you asked as you stepped out of the dark alleyways and onto the main streets of Rome.

“We’ll come to Italy. Deb wanted to go and see Dante's House Museum in Florence,” you could swear you could hear the smile on his face.

“Admit it, this is just an excuse to take a long vacation, isn't it?” you laughed, just appreciating that you would be included in it.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” but he was laughing as well and you reached up, wrapping your hand around the ring through your shirt. You would get better, you would heal, because if you didn't you felt like you had no right to wear this ring, let alone think of Jenna.

~X~

Barbara met up with Hugh the day before he and his family would leave to meet you in Italy. They were in your apartment, packing some of your things for the month long vacation.

“How does she sound?” Barbara asked him. Sure, the two of you talked a lot, but you've always been more honest with Hugh, always wanting to protect Barbara from how you felt deep down, so if anyone could tell if you were really fine it would be Hugh.

Hugh sighed while packing some of your sweaters. “Somber. There's this distance in her voice, something I can't explain. She’s missing Jenna, maybe even clinging to some hope they can fix things. I have no doubt in my mind that she stopped fighting for good, but I'm afraid that this despair won't end,” he said swallowing the lump in his throat and Barbara could tell he was fighting back his emotions, trying his hardest to be strong in this moment, to not show his own weakness, not even to her, let alone to you.

“So, what are you going to do?” she so desperately wanted to go with them and to see you, and to be with you through all of this. She couldn’t though. She wouldn't be able to keep that from her family. As far as her family knew she cut down on her contact with you two years ago. That was when they found out you continued fighting and they had the same reaction Jenna's family had. They feared that you would become violent toward her at some point, so in her family's eyes Barbara listened to them and for the most part cut you out of her life. She couldn't leave for a month, there would be no excuse for it.

Her family actually bought the story that every time she would go to your apartment, or sleep over at your place, that she was actually seeing a boyfriend. That was her go to excuse. They knew she still had some contact with you, but they had no idea that you were still very much her best friend.

And then Hugh said something she didn't expect. “I have no idea what to do. I was just hoping that surrounding her with people would show her the future can be better, that she can find something more to life other than a job, or a relationship, or this grief that she keeps carrying around. I don't know yet how to help her, and I know she's not my child on paper, but,” he stopped, overcome with emotions.

“I know,” Barbara tried to stop him, unsure how to act, because he was close to falling apart and crying and she wasn't sure how to process all of that.

“I have to say it at least to someone. I can't say it to Y/N, I can't assume she feels the same way. Even if I never adopted her, or said it to her, she really is- when I look at her and my own kids I see no difference. And I just know I need to help her somehow. It finally feels like this time she will let me help her get through this,” he took a deep, shuddering breath trying to stay in control of his emotions, but a single tear still fell down from his face to your sweater.

There was a part of Barbara that thought she should tell him you felt the same way, that you saw him as a father, but she understood you had a complicated relationship with that particular parent-child bond. It was probably difficult for you to acknowledge those feelings without also feeling like you were replacing your own parents in a way. So, she chose not to comment on that and instead hoped to take Hugh’s mind off all of those emotions by focusing on something more urgent and in need of solution. “What should I tell Jenna?” she asked.

Over the past ten days her and Jenna have been in touch, exchanging messages every now and then. It was mostly Jenna checking up to ask how you were doing and Barbara appreciated that, but it also opened up the question of what to do.

“Keep doing what you're already doing, I guess,” Hugh figured. “If she's genuinely concerned about Y/N, then I guess no harm can come from that. What happens after we all come back and maybe even after we finish filming The Daughter is not up to us. That's not our decision, but if her family and Jenna herself think that Y/N could ever physically hurt her, they are going to have  a problem with me,” Hugh said, and Barbara honestly couldn't agree more.

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[prythianpages]

I Can't Pretend | Eris x Reader

summary: After your sudden disappearance, Eris takes it upon himself to find you. When he does, he breaks down and can no longer hide his feelings for you.

warning: angst, suggestiveness, smut (p in v, loss of virginity); this one is kind of a rollercoaster of emotions and the longest imagine of this series (at 6K words)

a/n: you can find the masterlist to this series here or read this as a stand alone imagine (: all you have to know is that reader is engaged to Eris's brother and in the part right before this one, reader and Sawyer got threatened by Beron. this piece here is brought to you by Tom Odell's Can't Pretend.

“There will be a bedding ceremony at your wedding.”

“You just marked your death sentence.”

Your body grows cold, muscles tensing once again. The tears running down your face feel endless as you stare at the door closing behind the High Lord. When it finally shuts, the sound feels like a sentence in itself, locking you into those promises. Bedding ceremony. Death sentence. The words repeat themselves over and over inside your head like a haunting melody. 

You’re going to be watched as you're forced to be intimate with Sawyer. Then, you’re going to die. You want to run…but where to?

A whimper drags you from your thoughts, directing your attention back to the male lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Your fate is sealed and cannot be helped. But you can at least help him.

You hardly recognize him as you kneel beside him and help him sit up. Blood trickles from his face and every exposed inch of his pale skin is littered with open wounds that make bile rise in your throat. You can also sense all the broken bones in his body, something urging you inside to mend them.

“Let me help you,” you whisper, unable to hide the tremor in your voice and your hands. Slowly, you bring your hands to his face, grimacing at the lack of warmth.

A choked, rattled sound escapes from Sawyer. He instinctively leans in to your touch, welcoming the surprising wave of relief that comes with it. It’s as if something deep inside you is calling to him, telling him that you can fix him.

“Did you…did you mean it?” He croaks out.

You don’t have to ask to know what he means. “Yes.”

Sawyer’s pained expression softens for a brief moment. “Sometimes…” he begins and as you blink away your tears, you catch the way he averts his gaze, focusing on the splatters of his own blood that taint the marble floor. “Sometimes, I wish the Cauldron had made me different too...”

“The Cauldron makes no mistakes,” you assure him, your voice steadying with every breath. “It doesn't matter who you love. All that matters is that you love strongly and freely. I sense you have a good heart…which I’m coming to find is a rare thing in a place like this.”

“I thought I was an asshole.” There’s a subtle hint of regret in his tone.

“Yes,” you say with a small exhale. “I’m afraid that you still are… An asshole with a good heart.”

And for the first time since you met him, a faint ghost of a smile graces Sawyer's lips as he looks back at you. 

You continue to help heal Sawyer, the same way you’ve done for others in the past. The cuts on his face close as your fingers brush against them, the swelling of his face goes down and the broken bones begin to mend. It’s like a miracle. There’s no trace of any injury left behind other than the blood that has not yet dried.

It’s strange for it to be quiet between you both. You’ve grown accustomed to the insults thrown your way in his presence and even the look of disgust that usually mars his features when looking at you. But all you see is the bewilderment in his face.

As the weight of silence threatens to consume you, you find yourself humming to deter the thoughts lingering in your mind. It’s a familiar melody, one your mother would gently sing whenever your injuries and the sickness that would often befall you begged for relief. Just as it did in those tender moments, the melody you hum washes over you, bringing an immediate sense of comfort. 

The warmth returns to your veins and Sawyer, too, senses the soothing energy as it radiates from your touch. His sharp aches dulls into a distant memory. “I didn’t know you were a healer,” he says quietly and then realizes how little he knows about you. He has an inkling that his older brother knows more. “Are you from Dawn Court?”

“My mother was. I think I inherited it from her side,” you reply, helping him to his feet.

As the two of you stand, the door slams open, causing you to involuntary flinch. To your relief, it is Lady Raelynn and not her fearsome husband. Her breaths are quick and shallow and eyes full of concern.

“Oh thank the Cauldron,” she breathes, rushing toward her son. She assesses him for injuries, not caring over the blood that stains her hands as she softly touches his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The healer is already waiting in my quarters and I’ve had my maid prepare some tea to soothe your ails.”

The way she speaks leaves an unsettling feeling in your stomach, as it gives away that situations such as this occur with such frequency. Lady Raelynn then turns to you, gaze dipping down toward your hands. They’re stained with Sawyer’s blood.  “The both of you,” she adds as emphasis.

Her hand reaches for yours but you take a step back, suddenly feeling sick. She had already included you in the disconcerting routine. The urge to run comes over you again as Beron’s words resurface in your mind. Is this what your life will become? A routine of suffering and torture until death harshly claims you.

“I’m okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. It’s a lie and you all know it but they don’t push you further. They share a glance filled with understanding, deepening your revulsion. You think you’re going to throw up. “I–I think I need to rest.”

“Of course,” Lady Raelynn nods, a deep frown settling upon her face. “Please allow one of my maids to escort you back to your room.”

**

Eris has grown to know fear over the centuries. It held him in its grip, bringing forth tears and whispering sweet nightmares into his ears until there was no trace of hope left behind. But this feeling surging through his veins and creeping into his heart is much, much worse. Like a fear he’s never known before.

You’re not in your room. You’re not in the gardens. You’re not in the library. 

All air has left his lungs and he feels like he can’t breathe until he finds you. There’s one more place within the Forest house he’s yet to check. He’s racing toward it, his pace reflecting the erratic rhythm of his heart. He knows he should tread carefully but you’re flooding him with your emotions through the bond, pushing away all rational thoughts from his mind. 

The doors to Lady Raelynn’s quarters slam open. His eyes are drinking in the room like a man deprived of water, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Y/n,” your name is spilling from his lips in a choked breath. “Where is she?”

His gaze lands upon Sawyer, who sits on the couch and then to his mother, who sits right next to him. You’re not here either. His heightened senses take in the bloody cloth in his mother’s hands–not your blood–and then, the somber expression on Sawyer’s face. Across from them, three teacups rest on the small table, the faint scent of chamomile wafting over to him.

Suddenly, Eris is livid. His gaze darkens and he’s rushing toward his younger brother. Hands roughly grasp onto the front of Sawyer’s shirt, forcing the younger male to rise to his feet. Flames tickle around his throat, tightening with every second.

“What did you do?” Eris seethes. It’s more of a demand than a question.

“Eris!”

“Answer me,” Eris nearly growls, his eyes mirroring the flames tightening around Sawyer’s neck. “Or I swear to the Cauldron, I’ll–”

“Eris!” His mother calls out again. 

This time, she’s successful. She steps in between her sons, a hand at Eris’s chest and she can feel the frantic beating of his heart. The flames around Sawyer’s throat loosen their grip but only a little.

“Your brother has endured enough blows today.”

“He looks perfectly fine to me,” Eris retorts, amber eyes taking note of the lack of injuries on him. Despite his mother’s words, he’s inclined to give him one. One that will remain and act as a reminder to never cross him. He already knows that whatever happened, was Sawyer’s fault.

“Yes,” Lady Raelynn begins, voice heavy with caution. She knows Eris will find out what happened one way or another and though it fills her with dread to be the harbinger of bad news, she rather her son hear it from her. “Because y/n healed him.”

The sound of your name brings Eris back down and the flames around Sawyer’s throat extinguish. He looks at his mother, silently urging her to go on.

“Your father caught the ear of the rumors circulating in court and well…well, he called for a bedding ceremony.”

Sawyer swallows thickly at the reminder. He casts his head down, overwhelmed by Eris’s heated gaze that is directly solely on him now. A realization hits him then and slowly, he lifts his head. “You care for her, don’t you? All this time…,” his voice trails off.

Eris falters. He shakes his head, a mix of horror and panic tainting his delicate features. “I told you–”

“Then you should know,” Sawyer interrupts him, lips pressing into a tight line before speaking again. “Father plans to kill her after the wedding.”

Flames erupt from Eris’s fingertips, itching to wrap around Sawyer’s throat once more. He warned his brother not to be a fool. To be more careful because this was not just a matter of life or death for Sawyer but for you as well. Eris just needed more time to help you and he fears Sawyer just deprived him of it.

A firm push from Lady Raelynn stops him from raising his hands. “Eris, your brother is not the enemy,” she reminds him, tone pleading with him to hear her. “Y/n is in her room. Go to her. She needs you.”

Eris's fiery temper flickers, dissolving into the familiar grip of anxiety that had driven him to this chamber. He takes a step back and Lady Raelynn’s hand drops back to her side. “She’s not in her room.”

It’s now Lady Raelynn’s turn to panic. “What do you mean she isn’t? My maid personally escorted her there. She even helped draw her a bath.”

“She’s gone.”

Sawyer lets a curse under his breath, a shiver running down his spine. “One more mishap,” he murmurs, fear swirling in his eyes. He falls onto the couch, sinking into the cushion with dread. “One more mishap and father warned…,” his eyebrows furrow, not being able to finish the threat Beron had made to the both of you and Eris feels his heart at his throat.

“She couldn’t have gone far.” Lady Raelynn speaks but it does nothing to reassure Eris.

“When I bring her back,” Eris says, voice steady with determination because he will find you. He takes another step back, toward the doors. One hand grasps for the knob while the other points a finger at Sawyer.  “Then, I’ll deal with you.”

Sawyer says nothing but Lady Raelynn nods, urging him to go. “We’ll cover for you,” she assures him. “Please be careful.”

Eris leaves without another word, the doors closing shut behind him. 

“He loves her.” Sawyer's words are tinged with sympathy and bitter amusement. A humorless chuckle escapes from him and he looks toward his mother. Her gaze remains fixed on the doors of her room, where Eris had left just moments ago, as she gives a silent prayer to the Cauldron.

“Are we cursed? To love those we cannot have?”

“I’m afraid you all have inherited it from me,” Lady Raelynn confesses softly, her voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken longing, clouding her eyes with regret and sorrow.  

**

Leaves crunch beneath Eris's boots as he makes his way toward the stables, the crisp autumn air biting at his cheeks. His face dons his usual mask but his heart is still racing. He would much rather take his hounds in his quest to find you but the risk of raising suspicion held him back. It’s not uncommon for him to ride during these hours of the day and it’d give him a better vantage on covering as much ground as he can as opposed to winnowing. 

The sound of a high-pitched whinny echoes through the air as Eris approaches, drawing his attention. His gaze settles upon the stablemen, their focus fixed upon a solitary stall.

“Lord Eris,” one of them greets, bowing his head in respect. “Do you wish to ride? I can ready your horse. Just give me a moment.”

Eris offers no response as he strides purposefully toward the stablemen, his curiosity piqued by the source of the anxious sounds. The stableman follows his gaze, his expression troubled. It’s your horse, Maximus. The white stallion throws his head back, pawing at the ground with such force that the dirt rises in swirling clouds.

“He’s been restless all morning, my Lord.”

“I’ll take him,” Eris finally speaks, his gaze lingering on the horse. From where he stands,he can sense the tension rippling through Maximus’s powerful frame. It reminds him of the way his hounds act when they sense something is wrong. “Perhaps, a ride will soothe him.”

The stableman’s eyes widen in alarm. “I would advise against it, Lord Eris. This one has a temper that only Lady Y/n can soothe. He’s bitten us before.”

Eris lets out a quiet amused huff, undeterred. “I’ll saddle him myself,” he says and it’s as if your horse understands for it tilts his head to look directly at Eris, a silent exchange passing between them.

The stableman simply nods, reluctantly handing the necessary equipment to prepare your horse. As Eris steps into the stall, Maximus steps back with a deep and heavy exhale. “It’s okay. I’m y/n’s…y/n’s friend,” Eris reassures though the word ‘friend’ rolls off his tongue awkwardly.

As he utters your name, Maximus's body relaxes slightly, mirroring the calm that had settled over Eris earlier in his mother’s quarters. He admires the way Maximus’s eyes soften slightly, betraying his deep love for you. Animals are the true definition of unconditional love, he thinks. However, there’s a flicker of doubt in the horse's eyes at the mention of the word "friend," as if he could sense something more. It makes Eris wonder if your horse can see past the glamor he meticulously placed over himself and you.

Maximus doesn’t move when Eris takes another step forward. He pats his neck softly, running his fingers down the silky white strands of Maximus’s mane. The white stallion’s head lowers and ears relax under the gentle touch.

“Can you take me to her?”

Maximus taps one of his hooves in response and Eris smiles.

**

Eris can feel your bond growing stronger and stronger as Maximus gallops, taking both of them deeper into Autumn’s forest. Around them, trees adorned with golden leaves blur into a whirl of color. The sound of thundering hooves fills the air. He pulls on the reins and the white stallion immediately obeys, coming to a gradual stop. 

“Stay here.” Eris commands as he dismounts.

Maximus lets out a noise in protest but does not fight when Eris secures him to a nearby tree. He looks around the forest, allowing his senses to guide him through the labyrinth of trees. He feels a sharp tug against his ribcage, prompting his head to turn right. How did he not think of it sooner?

Eris quietly makes his way toward the clearing ahead, where the meadow he often frequents is. The canopy of the tall oak trees filter the golden sunlight into a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. A kaleidoscope of wildflowers blooms along the edges, their petals kissed by the wind. His senses sharpen with anticipation. It’s as if a taut string is pulling him inexorably closer to you. 

He’s flooded with relief when he finally spots you but it is short lived as he takes in your appearance. Relief is quickly replaced by a terrible sinking feeling that he feels in his very core.

The river is a distant murmur as you face it, your back to him. The shifting patterns of light and shadow play across your form, casting you in muted hues. You’re dressed in his clothes, the same ones he had given you when the two of you snuck out. The ruffled long sleeves do nothing to protect you from the biting Autumn winds and he frowns as you curl into yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You seem smaller somehow, more vulnerable. He’s already taking his coat off as he approaches you.

“Angel,” he calls out softly, placing his coat over your shoulders, but you don’t move. You don’t even react…are you even breathing?

Eris steps around you, his eyes pools of amber concern and as he comes to stand in front of you, his heart clenches. Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Tears stain your rosy cheeks, making his knees weak. Yet it's the emptiness in your gaze and the absence of radiance in your expression that shatters his heart. This court has broken you beyond repair. You, who always shined so bright, who lit up his world, were losing your spark. This is what he had been trying to prevent and he failed. 

His hands cup your face in a tender caress, internally wincing at the lack of warmth he feels. Drawing upon his powers, he channels heat into his hands. As the warmth envelops you, he watches as your distant gaze gradually returns to him.

A pained expression clouds his features, tears stinging at his own eyes. He knows the answer, recognizes it the more he looks at you. He knows because you wear the same expression he does after facing Beron’s temper. But he needs to hear it. His brows furrow, barely able to contain the anger that had been left simmering. Anger not directed at you but at his father. 

“Did he…did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay.” 

There’s a roughness to your voice he’s never heard before that kills him inside. You lean in to his touch, tilting your head slightly to the right. Consequently, the same cheek Beron had struck earlier. Eris frowns. There’s no mark on your pretty features, no trace of harm of any kind. Though, he knows better now. 

So he asks again. Differently and more carefully, this time. He’s trying very hard to tame the fire raging through his veins for your sake, worrying that he’d scare you if he allows you even the slightest glimpse of it.

“Did he touch you?”

You shift your head, attempting to escape his hold. But Eris doesn’t allow it and takes your silence as an answer. He swallows thickly. His father had laid his hands on you. Fiery tongues surge from the earth, swirling around you both and painting the air with bright hues of amber and scarlet. How dare he?  His father is going to pay for this, Eris will make sure of it. He’s going to return the pain Beron inflicted on you tenfold. He’s going to ki—

“I’m okay.” You try again and it’s as if you’re also trying to convince yourself.

Eris leans his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so sorry, angel,” he murmurs, voice thick with longing and regret. He had been so careful about leaving Autumn since your arrival and the one time he has to leave it, is when you find yourself in trouble.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You’re here now.”

He feels the softness of your hand against one of his, prompting his eyes to open. His amber orbs glisten with a haunting luminosity as quiet tears escape them. “I put you in this situation,” he confesses quietly.

Confusion flashes onto your face, your eyes searching for answers and he feels his heart at his throat. “I arranged your marriage, knowing the life I would be damning you to. This is all my fault.”

“You couldn’t have known. You didn’t know me then and my father…this marriage would’ve happened any–”

“Don’t.” He interrupts you, inhaling sharply, voice strained with emotion. He doesn’t think you’d be defending him if you knew what he did to your father just hours ago.  “Don’t defend me. I don’t deserve it.” 

And then he reluctantly drops his hands, stepping away from you, needing to put some distance between you both.

“I don’t deserve you.” 

“Eris–” You take a step closer but he holds out a hand, flames erupting from the ground right between the both of you.

“No. You don’t understand, Angel. I’ve tried to fight it but I can’t contend. You’ve pierced through every defense of mine and now… I’m exhausted.I can’t pretend anymore.” Eris bows his head, flames dancing around him with heightened intensity. He collapses to his knees, surrendering to the turmoil within.

“You awaken sensations within me that I’ve never known. Sensations that both exhilarate and terrify me. If you–if you only knew the depths of my capabilities, the lengths I would go for you, the sacrifices I’ve already made...”

He can already imagine the heartbroken look on your face when you find out the truth. That he, your mate, the very being that should bring you nothing but joy and shower you in love brought harm upon your family. You’re one and only remaining family member. It did not matter if your father was a monster because either way, you adored him. Or rather, the idea of him. 

Eris should tell you the truths he learned. How your father poisoned you for years, treating you not as his daughter but as a mere experiment instead. He only read snippets here and there from the journal, read just enough to be sickened with the horrors purposely inflicted upon you. 

And Eris will tell you. He knows he needs to. But you’re breaking and he can feel you on the verge of shattering apart this very moment. If he tells you now, he fears–

“Eris.”

Your voice pulls him out of his racing thoughts and he winces. As if it physically pains him to hear the sweet way you say his name. “Don’t say my name like that, angel,” he nearly pleads. You don’t know what you do to him.

The flames pulse around him with the rhythm of his heart. He decides at that moment that you can hate him all you want after. As long as you’re alive, as long as your radiance returns to you, that’s all that matters. He just desperately needs you to be you again.

“Just tell me, angel, and I’ll do it,” Eris says, closing his eyes as he tries to steady his breath. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better? I can’t bear the sight of seeing you like this so please tell me.”

**

His words strike a nerve in you, the devotion in them unfamiliar to you. How cruel, you think, tears pooling at your eyes for an entirely different reason. You’re marrying the wrong Vanserra. You take a step forward, the flames of Eris’s fire threatening to swallow you whole.

 “You care for me?”

“Devastatingly so.”

Another step forward. Your heart hammers in your chest. The flames lick at your feet and you should fear them. But you don’t. Because it’s Eris and though you shouldn’t, you want him. Not Sawyer or anyone else. You want Eris. All of him. 

“You’d really do anything for me?”

Eris lets out a sound–a mixture of an exhale and laugh. It’s humorless and singed with disbelief as if he can’t believe you’re really asking him that after he just confessed it all to you. But you need to hear it again.

“I would traverse all over Prythian, surmount every obstacle, and brave the fiercest storms just to see the light of your smile. All you have to do is ask.”

And then you’re taking that last step, braving yourself against the searing heat that dances in the air to reach him. Because if you’re going to die, you need him to know. You need him to know the truth that lingers in your heart. 

That he’s your golden hour, painting your world in shades of warmth and love, but also your midnight hour, where secret desires and dreams are whispered under a canopy of stars and now…

Now, he’s everything in between. You’re every waking thought and the last before you sleep. You need him to know that you burn for him. Ardently. Your breath catches and Eris’s eyes snap open, widening as his fire reaches out to embrace you. 

But it doesn’t burn you. 

The two of you look at each other in awe before you’re falling to your knees in front of him, the flames enfolding around you in a tender caress. Neither of you say a word. Your hands reach out to cup his face, coaxing his gaze to you. He doesn’t stop you this time. Not even as you lean in and press your lips against his. He should pull away but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips move against yours, kissing the warmth right back into you, giving a piece of light from him to you.

You pull away, just enough to speak but still close enough to feel the warmth of his mouth. “And if I ask you to take me in a way only a lover could, what then?”

He looks at you with such an intensity it sets you alight but then he’s averting his gaze and there’s an ache in your chest.  “Please,” you whisper, eyes glistening with tears. 

You always dreamed of what your wedding would be like, who you would marry. A part of you always knew that it would be arranged. Still, you foolishly hoped that in light of the arrangement, love would blossom. That your husband would hold affection toward you and learn to love you. That on your first night together, he’d be gentle and caring.

But your dream was morphing into something darker. Your husband would never love you in the way you desire. He hated the very thought of you and though you caught a mere glimpse of the caring male underneath the harsh exterior earlier, it did nothing to soothe you. It can’t be Sawyer. 

The night you dreamed of was becoming a nightmare. The last thread of hope was hanging precariously, threatened by the sharp blade of anxiety and fear. You can’t lose the last part you hold dear to Sawyer. You can’t let Beron win. They don’t deserve to forever hold this over you.

You look at Eris, your last thread of hope. “Your father called for a bedding ceremony and I don’t want that to be my first time. I don’t want Sawyer to…to…”

**

“I know, angel,” Eris murmurs, not letting you finish your sentence. He wipes at your tears and then places his hands over yours, which remain on his face. He gives a gentle kiss to your lips but his body is tense. The thought of you having to endure the horrors of a forced bedding ceremony. Your body on display for others to see, the emotional and physical pain it will bring upon you, the—

Eris has to force himself out of those dark thoughts, the bond in his chest roaring with a fierce and protective anger. He kisses you again. This time, on your forehead. “It’s not going to happen.”

“But your father–”

The fear in your eyes pains him. He pulls you closer, nose brushing against yours as he forces you to look into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

“Then trust me when I say that no one will touch you against your will again.”

“Even though your father, the High Lord, has condemned me to death?”

“No one,” he repeats, voice firm as he pulls you close to him. One arm wraps itself around your waist while the other cradles your head to his chest. He brushes his fingers through your hair, basking in the sweet scent of rose it brings forth.

Silence envelops you both and you allow it to embrace you, the same way Eris does. In his arms, you are safe, you are warm. It is just the two of you…against the world.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of,” Eris speaks softly.

“I’m thinking…” your voice trails off as you shift in his hold to face him. His hands fall to your waist and you make yourself comfortable in his lap, placing a knee on either side of him. “What if it's your touch I will?”

Heat and desire pour through the bond, filling his veins.

“Your eyes I dream of,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his red hair and tilting his head up to look into his eyes. When you lean in to delicately kiss the corners of his eyes, he shudders beneath you. 

“Your heart I want.”

Your hand trails down his neck in a tender caress, stopping at his chest. Right over the organ that beats for you. The golden threads stir under your touch and he swallows thickly, eyes locked onto you. He wonders if you can feel it–the way the bond is singing madly like it wants to be heard. With a sudden boldness, he tugs on it.

His eyes widen when your body seems to react, lurching forward slightly. Your movements still, hand lingering on his chest and he watches you with bated breath. You felt it…but your end of the bond remains quiet. Still waiting to unravel, only giving him a glimpse of the emotions stirring within you. 

Something that both uneases and relieves him. He wants to know exactly what you’re feeling–if your emotions resonate with the same fervor that consumes him. He wants you to understand the depth of his devotion to you. However, amidst his yearning, your oblivion toward the bond allows him to mask the subtle shift in your scent. A silent sacrifice that weighs heavy upon his heart but a burden he is glad to carry if it means he can safeguard your innocent heart from the cunning foxes at court.

Your hand continues its path downwards, tracing a tantalizing path toward his. His heart stirs with a flutter of anticipation. He can feel the unspoken yearning in your touch. With trembling fingers, he intertwines his hand with yours, each brush of your skin igniting a wildfire in him that grows brighter as you bring his hand to your lips. 

 “Your hand in marriage I long for.” You press a soft kiss upon the fourth finger of his left hand and his resolve is faltering. Teetering on the edge of surrender…

The flames surrounding you both catch on the ring on your fourth finger, the very one claimed by his brother. A forced and loveless claim. Yet still, regretfully, not him. A stark reminder that you are not his and perhaps, will never be. The simple golden band glistens precariously as if acknowledging his thoughts. He should stop you.

 “Y/n–”

“Your touch I crave,” you continue, your longing turning into a desperate need as you kiss him. Harder, with more urgency, sending a delightful sensation down his spine that makes his cock twitch. 

As your hips roll against his, Eris abruptly pulls away. The hands at your waist tighten, keeping you still and holding on to that last wall of defense. He wants you but he shouldn’t.

Your brows furrow and Eris hates the hurt that flashes in your eyes. The hope that deflates. “I’m sorry.Have I misinterpreted your—““

“I want you too,” he interrupts, needing to reassure you. He licks his lips, gaze flickering to your own, already missing their taste, before lifting back up.  “Gods, do I want you but not like this.”

He gestures to the autumn meadow around you both. The meadow that is painted in hues of crimson and gold and alive with the whisper of falling leaves and dancing flames. It’s beautiful. The epitome of Autumn. But it’s no proper place to have you. 

“You deserve better. You deserve for your first time to be special.”

“It does not matter where we are. As long as it’s with you, it is special. Please,” your bottom lip trembles and Eris leans in, gently kissing it steady. “I want you to be my first. I don’t want it to be Sawyer or anyone else. I want it to be you.”

“We don’t have to do this now. There will be another time,” Eris utters but his voice lacks strength. The promise in his words hangs in the air delicately like a wisp of smoke that is already dissipating into uncertainty. 

“Time,” you echo quietly, a wistful shadow casting over your features.  “What if we don’t have time? What if–what if this moment is all we have left?”

Eris wants to respond but the words catch in his throat. There’s nothing he can say to reassure you there. He knows you’re aware of the impending dangers that wait for you back at court. His father will be watching you closely now, security will be tighter. Eris will have to be more careful, tread lighter and with higher caution. 

There’s only a little less than two weeks away from your marriage to Sawyer. The three of you are running out of the time and there is still so much to do. The stolen moments with you will have to cease and he senses you’re aware of this truth as well. This may be the very last one between you both.

If you thought Autumn was a terrible place before, then you’re about to learn that it’s much, much worse. It’s a living hell. And Eris curses the Cauldron for its cruelty.  

Angels like you shouldn’t live in hell.

“So much has been taken from me and I fear there is very little choice I have remaining in this world. But this,” you pause, placing his hand over your racing heart, an urgent plea echoing in the rapid rise and fall beneath his touch. “This is mine to give and it wants you. I want to give it to you before it’s too late…”

Eris’s entire body tenses, muscles tightening with restraint.

“And if your heart feels the same, then I need you,” your voice trembles under the weight of your emotions and suddenly, Eris feels like he can’t breathe. “Like fire craves the kiss of air–”

No one has ever looked at him with such devotion, spoken to him with such passion. It’s overwhelming and threatening to drown him in its intensity. While his mind is screaming for him to run away, his heart wills for him to stay. 

“–like flowers thirst for the tender caress of rain, like–”

Eris’s lips crash onto yours. His kiss is searing yet gentle and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and he groans into your mouth. He carefully guides you back onto the soft bed of fallen leaves and golden grass, cradling the back of your head with one hand while the other remains over your heart. 

He kisses you until you’re both breathless and forced to pull apart. His body hovers over yours, amber eyes drinking you in. He tenderly kisses the remnants of your tears away, reveling in the way you softly sigh and lips begin to curve upwards into a smile.

“I love you, Eris.”

The three words hit Eris so hard there’s a crack in the last wall of defense. He’s terrified to move, not wanting to leave this moment but also in fear that if he does, that last wall will crumble entirely. 

“Me? Are you sure?” 

“I’ve never been more unequivocally sure.”

Eris studies you intently, captivated by every subtle shift in your expression. There’s nothing but unwavering love and desire reflecting back at him with such luminous intensity that it threatens to blind him. He can no longer think properly. Every reservation, every thought telling him to stop is slipping through his fingers.

All he can think about is you and how you love him. You love him! You love him! You love him!

And when he meets your eyes again, it’s too late. 

The damage has already been done. That last wall of defense is crumbling at a devastating speed. A soft flush creeps up his cheeks, betraying the vulnerability that seeps through his every pore in surrender.

“Is this what you really want?” 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as his nose brushes softly along your neck. “Even if it’s just for this moment, let me be entirely yours. Every beat of my heart. Every breath. Take it all.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Eris murmurs against your neck, inhaling sharply and when the honeyed scent of your arousal greets him, he whimpers.

**

Gentle is not a word Eris Vanserra would use to describe himself. That is, until he met you. His mate. The one who dismantled the walls he spent centuries constructing around his heart in months with little effort. In your presence, lies a burning desire to soften the edges of his demeanor. To be the gentle male worthy of your affection. 

You wield a power over him unlike any other, leaving him utterly captivated and surrendering to all rationality. He should tell you he feels the same but he is beyond words. How can mere words capture the magnitude of his devotion?

So when you’re asking–begging–to be his, he can’t bring himself to say no. Not when this may be the very last moment shared between you both. Not when you’re giving him the perfect opportunity to show you the depth of his feelings instead.

Everything fades into insignificance. Nothing matters but this moment. With a touch as light as the brush of butterfly wings, his hands explore your body. Tentatively, as if scared to burn you with his burgeoning desire. Always asking for permission–”is this okay?” “yes”–before venturing further, before discarding your clothes–his clothes. 

Flames continue to dance around you both, a protective circle and barrier against the cold winds. Each flicker of light casts intricate shadows upon your faces, your bodies. Eris pulls away just enough to admire you. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down and capturing your lips for what feels like the hundredth time. But it will never be enough. “So, so beautiful.”

You’re melting like wax beneath every touch and then his lips are tracing down the paths his hands have forged. Gentle and somehow still urgent. His mouth lingers on the swell of your breasts, sucking and eliciting the prettiest sounds from you. 

“If it’s too much, you tell me,” he utters, holding your gaze as he rests his chin on your stomach. He can sense your nerves. He’s nervous too. He wants this to be perfect for you. As perfect as it can be, given your circumstances.

“We can stop whenever you want.”

You nod but it’s not enough for Eris. “Words, angel,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to your stomach. “I need your words.”

“I’ll tell you,” you breathe, body arching into him. “I promise.”

Eris presses another kiss to your stomach before continuing his path downwards, to where he can feel you aching for him the most. He’s breathing so hard and kissing every inch of your skin, setting you ablaze. His nose brushes against the apex of your thighs and he’s flooded with your arousal. It’s overwhelming all his senses and he’s pulsing with need to have a taste. 

Still, he pauses to look up at you through his long eyelashes.

“Please,” is all you manage to say.

Eris moans in anticipation, drinking in your otherworldly beauty, the same way he wishes to devour you. One hand rests on your hip while the other reaches for yours. His fingers intertwine themselves with yours and when you squeeze them, he lowers his mouth and finally has a taste.

You throw your head back with a choked cry. “Eris!”

Eris groans, lapping and working his tongue against you. He’s never loved his name more. “You taste absolutely divine,” he breathes, losing himself in you. If this is how you taste, his cock throbs painfully as he imagines how you’d feel.

You reach your peak soon, crying out his name again. He lifts his head and brings your locked hands to his lips, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. “Beautiful,” he whispers again, heart swelling with warmth. Overcome with emotion, he dives for your lips and pours them out into his kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

The hand not intertwined with yours, caresses against your core, fingers prodding at your entrance. Your mouth parts in a gasp at the intrusion but he eases you through it until you're clenching around his fingers and begging for more.

“Are you sure you still want this?” He can’t help but ask, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Yes.”

“I’ll go slow,” Eris promises, his amber gaze filled with softness and tenderness. Blush rises to your cheeks and it’s instinctual, the way you look away. He lets out a low sound in disapproval. “Eyes on me, angel.”

When you meet his gaze, his pupils are blown but his gaze remains soft and warm. Your lips curve upwards and he does the same. Both of his hands are locked with yours, resting on either side of your head. He holds your gaze, slowly sinking into your warmth and stilling at the furrow of your brows. He kisses them, allowing you to adjust and wanting to ease any discomfort you may be feeling. 

“You’re doing so well for me, angel,” he encourages, voice strained. The bond in his chest is surging with pride at being your first and with a primal fervor to be the only one who gets to have you like this.

He feels like his heart is going to burst into flames and when he finally sheathes himself inside you, everything catches fire. His mind. His body. His soul. Every muscle, every nerve in his body is coming undone with every thrust. His kisses, though still soft, grow intense. So hot yet so sweet.

Fire consumes him, its vibrant flames igniting not destruction but building something new. Something beautiful. Something heavenly. where hopes and dreams, once thought lost, are resuscitated. The wounds of his heart being mended by you.

His body presses further into yours, mouth pressing feverish kisses down your neck, whispering sweet praises and worshipping you for the divine being you are. Your moans grow louder and you’re clenching around him tighter. “I love you,” your voice is a mere whisper but he hears it loud and clearly and you don’t seem to mind his lack of response. Not when he’s following after you, bodies shuddering as release courses through you both.

Eris pulls you close to his chest, arms tight around you. He can feel your heartbeat. Fast but steadying and in tune with the rhythm of his own. The gentle rise and fall of your chest let him know you’ve fallen asleep. Letting out a sigh in content, he closes his eyes, wanting to bask in this moment longer.

His fingers lightly trace along your back, tracing the four words he couldn’t bring himself to say back to you earlier.

I love you, too.

a/n: I've never written soft smut before so I hope it was okay. I also hope I was able to convey the desperation between Eris and reader well. I debated a lot on whether keeping the smut or scrapping it. Huge thank you to @stormhearty for helping me out with this part and giving me her input! ily! ❤️

series tag list: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @fxckmiup @stormhearty @skyesayshi @sfhsgrad-blog @crazylokonugget @evergreenlark @secretlyhers @mybestfriendmademe @ib525, @96jnie, @glitterypirateduck @thatsassyhufflepuff @acourtofbatboydreams, @mal-adaptive-dreams, @dandelionfairyyy, @queerqueenlynn, @circe143

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

[chewnotchoke]

your arms are my sanctuary - h.taesan

requested by anon!

warnings: light angst, fluff, annoyed taesan

word count: 1.1k

today has been a tough and busy day for taesan. he got scolded by his manager and words struck him with precision like an arrow. it only got worse for him when he was blown with disapproval by their producer on his newly written song that was supposed to be included in the soon-to-be-released album.

on his way home, he felt like a taut bowstring on the verge of being released, with every slightest interruption threatening to unleash a torrent of pent-up emotions. the shrieks of children playing outside, once a beautiful symphony, now sounded like nails on a chalkboard. the slightest delay, the smallest mishap, were no longer merely setbacks, but cataclysmic happenings that sent him into a frenzy of rage.

you were upstairs when taesan returned from work, pulling his laptop out immediately and using the dining table as his workspace. each creak of your footsteps on the wooden staircase attacked him like a cruel metronome, ticking away his patience. he breathed in and out deeply, attempting to calm his sanity since you were around.

“i’ll be working here so i’d appreciate it if you become a little quiet.”

he didn’t even greet you, or call you by endearment you often use and just spoke to you in monotone. seeing how his fingertips touched the keys on his laptop like he was chasing time, you figured he was just working on some lyrics.

“oh, alright!” you shrugged it off at first and decided to be playful with him once he was done.

taesan’s eyes darted across the screen. time by time, he would mumble some words and type them in a flash. you noticed how hard he was working today, and looking at him felt like a crime. your gaze landed on the loaf of bread sitting on the countertop. without him noticing, your arms reached out to the food and decided to make him a sandwich.

as you spread the jam over one side of the slice of bread, the spoon slipped out of your grip, and taesan was triggered again. the dropped spoon clattering on the floor reverberated in his mind like a thunderclap, sending a ripple of frustration through his already frazzled nerves.

you paused like a deer in the presence of a prowling predator, catching his face with his brows furrowed. “seriously, y/n? can’t you see i’m working here?” an inaudible sigh escaped his mouth. the world beyond his immediate surroundings had faded into obscurity, irrelevant and distant.

his presence radiated a distinct sense of urgency and importance, forming an invisible barrier that deterred even his girlfriend from interrupting him. it was obvious that any attempt to disrupt him would be met with a frigid glare that could halt time.

taesan went back to writing lyrics. tension clouded the room’s atmosphere. you could feel the annoyance radiating off him, palpable and sharp, like a knife’s edge.

anxiety clawed its way to your chest. you couldn’t understand why even the slightest motion annoys your boyfriend today. you felt suffocated by his annoyance like a volatile energy that threatened to erupt at any moment.

you sat in silence in the living room. taesan was just a few meters away but the silence settled between the two of you like a thick fog. it’s been 30 minutes since taesan got home and acted that way. you started replaying everything that happened this morning, trying to remember if you made a mistake or said something that would make him act like this.

at that moment when you were busy replaying everything in your head, a ring on your phone created a sudden intrusion in the room. your thumb trembled as it slid across the screen to stop it from ringing.

"why can't you just leave me alone?!" he snapped, the annoyance in his voice laced with something deeper, something that hinted at a well of emotions you couldn't even begin to fathom.

the words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of you. you felt your heart constrict, a tight, painful squeeze that sent a shiver down your spine. your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. a knot formed in the pit of your stomach, a primal instinct urging you to flee, to escape the brewing storm before it consumed you whole. you ran to the room upstairs before the atmosphere suffocated you with its oppressive weight.

the room around you turned blurry, and your fingertips attempted to stop the flood forming in your eyes. “why is he so salty today…” words wrapped with hurt escaped your mouth. you blink rapidly, trying to chase away the moisture, but before you know it, the tears carved silent paths on your cheeks.

“y/n?” to your surprise, you must have left the door open earlier as you didn’t hear the doorknob click when taesan entered.

your back was facing him as you sat on the edge of the bed, taesan quietly took the space beside you. you’re not going to let him see your red eyes as you didn’t want to be a burden for him. “y/n?” he called again but you didn’t turn. however, he could see the slight tilt of your head.

“i’m sorry…i was so tired and frustrated today and i didn’t mean to let it all out on you.”

his voice a tentative whisper that carried across the room. you sat in silence, not knowing how to respond. taesan’s arms slowly encircled your waist, not with the urgency of a front-facing embrace, but with a gentle insistence. he leans in, his chest pressing softly against your back. the embrace speaks volumes in its silence.

“look at me, baby.” he says.

finally, you turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. in their depths, you saw a reflection of his own yearning—a desire to mend, to bridge the small gap because of his sensitivity. you could see the softness lingering in his gaze.

he kept touching your hand as if he was asking for physical touch. “i’m sorry for snapping at you.” you understood how work must have been hard on him today to act in a way he never did. he told you about being scolded by his manager, and his song being rejected for the album. it was a shock for him because all he did was dedicate his heart only to be welcomed by the outcome he has least expected.

“when you’re tired, when you feel like you have lost everything, you can always come home. okay?”

“will you always be here when i come home?”

“of course.”

“me too.” he looked at you, the corners of his mouth lifted in a tired, but sincere smile. it was a look that spoke of comfort and contentment, as if at that moment, you were his sanctuary, his respite from the world's demands.

his shoulders relaxed slightly, the day's burdens melting. taesan crossed the remaining distance between you two with his arms. the proximity brought a sense of comfort, a reminder of the bond that lay beneath the surface of your daily lives.

had fun writing this! hope you enjoyed it<3 i'm also accepting request for other members but please dont send your requests to multiple accounts :) check my other works here! thank you <333

[witchthewriter]

𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑻𝑾𝑶: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐈𝐀𝐅 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞

a/n: I probably should have done this in a proper timeline so apologies for that. However, it's women with dragons and how they would rule. So I think it doesn't matter that much about certain details.

Anyway, I was fluffing on - thank you for reading this. I would love to have a discussion in the comments as well!

Also, think of each of this as an ulternate universe - please don't apply too much logic :) ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

middle pic by @zacckiel

⋆⭒˚.⋆✧˖°.𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏 ✧˖°.⋆⭒˚.⋆

The blatant advantages of this House are clear: Every Targaryen Queen would have bonded with a dragon. No matter what canon says. Those that inherit power, will be given a dragon by their parents. What being a dragonrider would bring for all Queens is the ability to take to the skies on their dragon and given them unparalleled respect, mobility, enabling them to quickly respond to crises, survey their realm, and gather intelligence that could inform their strategic decision-making.

𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐘𝐀 | 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑄𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝐷𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑

・Kept the Seven Kingdoms in line - everything flourished under her rule.

・Not cruel, but strict, everyone listened to her when she spoke - every word was heard. Memorised. No one wanted to disappoint her.

・Her 'nickname' isn't about her being a horrible person, but she coined the name because her enemies felt dread. Visenya would never influence this emotion on those that have sworn fealty.

・Created a great emphasis on military strength. Using Vhagar, to assert Targaryen dominance and deter rebellion. Her presence could instilled fear and loyalty across the realm.

・She listened to the issues of the smallfolk, never ignoring anyone who came to speak to her.

・No tolerance at all for disloyalty or betrayal.

・Upheld the Targaryen traditions. This clashed with the Faith of the Seven as they had opposing views on the Valyrian family. That did not matter as she threatened to burn every sept with dragonfire.

・Visenya’s strong-willed nature resulted in swift and ruthless responses to any threats to her throne.

・Her leadership inspired other women in Westeros, altering perceptions of female power and influence.

・Ultimately, Visenya's reign... brought about a powerful mix of strength, justice, but also political changes and threats. Forever shaping the kingdom's future.

𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐘𝐒 | 𝑀𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝐷𝑦𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑦

・Rhaenys would absolutely usher in and promote the arts. Music, artwork, stories would all be encouraged and upheld.

・For example, Rhaenys would invite different singers to the castle and have them perform for the court. Not only did this influence the courtiers, but help the artists to become more known.

・Her reign oversaw a flourishing of literature, music, and the visual arts, enhancing the cultural identity of Westeros.

・Rhaenys' leadership style was one of unity and innovation.

・She was also known to fly a lot. Meraxes was seen over King's Landing to Dragonstone nearly everyday. Her scales glinting in the sunlight.

・Sometimes the smallfolk could hear Rhaenys' whoops and cheers as she beckoned Meraxes to fly higher and faster.

・Her relationship with the Faith of the Seven

・Rhaenys would likely focus on the well-being of her subjects, addressing issues like famine and injustice. Her policies might include land reforms and support for the common folk, earning her loyalty and respect.

𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐀 | 𝑄𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑇𝑟𝑖𝑢𝑚𝑝ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑡

・Rhaena inherited her father's (Aenys' the First) compassion, promoting policies focused on the welfare of the people, particularly the common folk. She emphasized justice and fairness, aiming to reduce the class divide.

・Rhaena's nickname was given to her because she would be on the frontlines whenever there was a battle or a dispute. Every disgruntled House(s) were confronted by her.

・However, her foremost desire was to give women more protection, freedom, opportunities and choices.

・Rhaena was a champion for women, it rubbed the men in power the wrong way. But as Queen, she did not care and brought forward laws that elevated women in society.

・No patience for old men ...

・Rhaena possessed a strong sense of duty and resilience, challenging those who would see her want for change as a bad thing.

・In all honesty, the realm is constantly in some sort of disarray. By it be through small rivalries, gossip, disloyalty, crimes, drought, starvation.

・Rhaena would prioritize the wellbeing of mothers and children - especially the education of all.

・Rhaena's rulership was marked by a degree of authoritarianism, which the maesters would have emphasised greatly in their history books.

・Overall she foresaw the realm and how her choices now would affect it in the future when another would take the throne.

𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀 | 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑄𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠

・Haunted by the legacy of the Queens that came before her, Aerea, was like an underdog rising to show just how capable she was.

・It had surprised many by how well she ruled. Always being early for council meetings, keeping every White Cloak in line and telling them off whenever they needed it.

・She was very mature; a large shock as she was a passionate and wild woman.

・Many did not think she would thrive under such pressures but that was completely untrue.

・As the rider of Balerion - that should have proved just how well she was at leading. The large dragon had welcomed her gladly as its rider.

・Aerea, on her many royal processions, saw what it was like for the smallfolk. Aka., dwindling food, a lot of violence, hardships etc.

・She implemented particular programs to combat such issues, and ensured her subjects would not go hungry. Which only grew the love for both her and Balerion.

・Ironically enough, the dragon that was used to conquor the Seven Kingdoms, was now being used to create and nurture instead of destroy.

𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐒𝐀 | 𝑂𝑢𝑟 𝐽𝑜𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑄𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛

・A rebel, a tom-boy; wild and uncontained. Alyssa had shocked many people.

・Nearly everyone she met.

・She wasn't a 'normal' queen - no frivolity nor pagentry.

・Hated wearing formal wear. She was seen in pants 90% of the time

・As the Queen, Alyssa influenced a lot of the fashion in the Red Keep. A few brave women started wearing pants as well - and like a domino affect, it started to change the culture too.

・Alyssa implemented reforms in taxation and land ownership to alleviate burdens on the common folk, ensuring that the wealth of the realm is more equitably distributed.

・She loved showing off Meleys, and the Red Queen did not mind it either - as long as she got a good big feast afterward.

・LOVED sneaking out at night, using the hidden passageways of the castle. Not just being amongst the smallfolk but listening to how they felt about things and how life was down there

[plaguespacebird]

☁︎‎‎‧₊˚ ₍^. .^₎⟆ [Wednesday and her love]

"I hate what you do to me..."

Wednesday's words bring your attention away from your crafting. Her home had become a frequently visted place after you started dating, (or courting if you asked Wednesday) much to The Addams' delight.

"I wish I could kill you."

You hummed, looking at her ever pensive figure. She seemed distracted lately, if you didn't know any better you'd think she disliked your reoccurring presence. The transition from friendship to courtship had been far more visible than you'd ever thought it'd be. Honestly, you expected the occasional hand holding, spending more time together, not the turbulent thoughts that practically spilled out of Wednesday's looming figure. Also, she stared a lot more than what you expected.

"Are you sure?" You ask, voice as calm and casual you'd think you were talking about the weather. Though, with Wednesday fighting her own perception of love... natural disasters do come to mind. Your eyes land on the red roses in her hand and trail over to the sharp knife being clasped in the other. "Is that how you'll do it?"

Wednesday's eyes never leave you, you briefly wonder if she's blinked. You doubt it. Her eyes are so intense, she's looked at you like that before but it's no longer reserved for nightly activities.

"Which one's for me?"

Rising from your plushed seat, leaving your work unresumed on her desk, you walk towards her. The floor makes a light creeking sound that stops as you gaze directly into those troubled eyes. So desperately overwhelmed she must be, luckily for you both, you're here to help her through the storm.

You take your time looking at her features unabashedly, your hands slowly circling her neck until you can feel her short breaths on your face. You feel a steady warmth crawl up your spine threatening to make you shiver, you whisper your next words, "Maybe both?"

A smile rips past your lips as you kiss the corner of her mouth, Wednesday finally closes her eyes. Be it from relief or further sinking down the ocean... who knows?

Tell-tale hums escape you as the warmth countinues to seep inside your veins. Wednesday's practiced stoicism isn't enough to deter her from giving in to you once again. Maybe next time she'll heed from giving you any warning or maybe you'll sedate her before she can crush you with her hands. A thud sound clashes with the dark wooden floors and that's all you get before her lips are on yours in a fiery kiss. As though to extinguish any affection she could possibly feel for you, as if the key to free herself from this maddnes lies on your lips, she presses on. Her tounge digs inside your mouth, as she pushes you with practiced steps onto her bed.

You fall without much grace onto her bedsheets, Wednesday doesn't give you much time before trapping you in her arms, already on you before you could adjust yourself. Even with it's pooling quirks, you can't say you minded being threaten every other week. Her overwhelming thoughts, scenarios and overall handling of emotions often ended in passionate aftermaths. Was that wrong? To be so excited at your lover's emotional stability over your relationship? Honestly, you couldn't ponder on the thought to much. Not with her hands touching your skin so feverishly, so rushed and desperate.

Besides, Wednesday obviously required assistance, it'd be wrong to deny her overwhelming love the attention she deserves.

'That's one more down'. You fleetingly think. Her collection of weaponry had been dwilingly since you started courting. All carefully stored somewhere Wednesday wouldn't immediately think of looking. As much as you didn't mind the idea of being killed by your georgrous lover, you'd like a wedding first.

If only you knew of the one stored just above you, below Wednesday's designated pillow :)

[yingdu-lover]

Cheng Xiaoshi is kidnapped, if he cares even a little about himself (In Bengali we say "apni bachte baaper naam") the last thing he should do is to threaten his kidnapper back. He is so angry and protective for Lu Guang (whom he practically knows for a few days only at that time?) that seems very odd for some reason? I mean if the theory (I am। explaining it below) is correct then...

my theory is that : Cheng Xiaoshi's consciousness is periodically meddled with his other selves, even if in this timeline he has just met Lu Guang, he is deeply attached to him. Like the depth is not very rational and logical if we just look at the factual and objective current of events.

One of the most important reasons I praised yet to be released Yingdu (judging by the themes of 'The Eye') is that Yingdu will portray Cheng Xiaoshi having agency over Lu Guang's actions which is much needed. I refuse to believe that Yingdu is just a plain prequel (I believe the events that will be unfolding in the upcoming season 3 will have Yingdu reference) but again a complex transmutation of multiple existences, consciousness and emotions.

About Cheng Xiaoshi's agency shown in the first episode, one of them is him reclaiming his agency even at the time of death. Cheng Xiaoshi even though he dies his physical death, leaves his legacy to be carried on. He is a continuous presence even in his absence and continuously deters from the 'dead wife' trope. He ain't dead wife, he is the damn prince now who will win his damsel in distress princess back from the loop of time!