#branch angst my beloved

[sarilolla]

I am filled with evil so I want to ask, when you finish the main Hanahaki Branch fanfic, would you be up for writing an alternate universe where he took the potion and forgot his brothers? And then they come to see him and he only knows they exist because of old family photos and vaugely remembering that he got a sickness from loving them so much.

How heartbreaking would that be? He had to pick between forgetting them or death and he decided their memories were not worth his life.

If you don't want to write it that's fine, but I wanted to put the idea out there for everyone to enjoy :)

Well, it’s a good thing I’m also filled with evil, because that was planned since the beginning-

I’ve been debated writing three endings, one good and two bad. Cured of Hanahaki and loved, takes the potion and forgetting, or dying. It’s just… if I can add more angst to Branch’s life, I will take it >:)

Hanahaki Branch au (slight spoilers/alternative ending to not finished fic)

And the thing is, Branch would have to push himself to take the potion. His brothers were his hope, his glimmer of joy for YEARS before Poppy seriously stepped in, and Branch also opened himself for more friendships. He adores his blood family, but he has found one for himself now. Plus, it’s been two decades, if his brothers wanted to find him, they would have by now, right?

So he takes the potion. He still has Poppy, he has the Snack Pack, he has Kismet, and he has friends in the other tribes, so he’s not alone. He thinks before he takes it that he can just blame the memory loss on the fact they left when he was two years old, surely that’s an excuse. He doesn’t want to die and leave the other people he loves.

But seeing four strangers a while later, so similar to him and so sure they know him, he’s certain he should feel loss. But he doesn’t. There’s no memories, no feelings, just old Knick-knacks he is sure was important at one point in his life.

And the four strangers who looks like they lost the world when he said he didn’t know them

Anyway, I went on a ramble, that thing will be more filled out and cohesive when that time comes :)

[itsphoenix0724]

Promises (Rhysand x Reader)

Summary: You don't argue with your husband often, and never anything as serious as this. However, some things may be too hard to come back from.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of Rhys' trauma from under the mountain

Word Count: 1.7k

Part 2

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time writing for Rhys, but I apologize; this isn't the happiest thing! This takes place during ACOMAF, and I tried to keep it canon accurate. I may have diverged a little though! I really just needed to get some angst out from first week of school stress lol. If you ever want to interact with me my requests are open! As always constructive criticism is very welcome! I tried to makes this a realistic portrayl of real feelings and emotions. I hope you all enjoy even if it stamps on your heart a bit <3

You’re sitting at the dinner table in the Townhouse, nursing a glass of wine, when you feel your Husband’s power rumble into your bones. It normally feels comforting to you, but now all it does is further the knot of anxiety growing in your stomach.

It’s been a long week. 

It was the first time that Rhys had called in his bargain with Feyre. You’ll always be eternally grateful for what Feyre did for your family, for your court, and the entirety of Prythian. It still didn’t stop the ugly jealousy that clawed at your insides at Rhys spending the week away from you with her. Especially after you learned about the dancing. You knew why it had to happen, you really did. He had explained everything to you in the tearful reunion after he returned from under the mountain. 

You hope Amarantha burned in whatever hell she crawled out from. 

“How was your first week,” you take another gulp of wine, trying to drown the spiders crawling up your throat. 

“I think she’s making some progress. Tamlin isn’t even teaching her how to read! Can you believe that? Even after he saw it almost kill her and his supposedly beloved emissary.” He rubbed out the crease forming between his eyebrows, maneuvering around the kitchen as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. “She was paper thin and so so pale.” he shook his head as he knocked back the liquor. 

“You didn’t come home the whole time.” You tried your best to keep the venom tamped down in your voice, you weren’t even really angry just confused. Judging by the way the muscles in his back tensed your endeavor had not been successful. 

You knew he would have to call in this bargain eventually you just didn’t expect him to ignore you the entire time she was here. He could’ve taken you with him, you had even expressed interest in meeting Feyre. You had wanted to thank her personally for everything she did to you and extend an olive branch for her time in your court. Rhys had shut down the idea immediately because he thought she might have been overwhelmed. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he turned around and looked at you from his spot leaning against the counter. You didn’t look at him, staring straight at the grooves on the table. You sensed the defensive tone immediately. Rhys almost looks like a cat with all the hair raised on its back. Feline eyes sizing you up like he’s about to pounce on you.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t have come home to even sleep. When I tried to reach you mind to mind your shields were up.” Your nails dig into the wood, leaving crescent marks in the pine. Rhys doesn’t have an answer for that when you meet his eyes. It almost looks like he’s looking through you instead of at you. 

“I didn’t want to leave her alone in case she tried to jump out a window.” He says the answer matter-of-factly. It’s the same tone you heard him use during the conferences he held with the citizens. He wasn’t exactly brushing you off, but it didn’t feel like he was listening to you either. 

“Why couldn’t you have just told me that?” Your voice cracked. You have been married to Rhys for almost one hundred years. You could tell when he was being shifty, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something from you. Judging from that regretful look in his eye you were correct. 

“I thought you would react poorly. Clearly, I was correct.” The clipped tone is enough to send a white-hot bolt of anger through your body. 

“Do not blame your poor communication skills on me Rhysand.” The glare you fixed him with could have brought the monster that lurks in the bottom of the library to its knees, but Rhys just met your eyes with a steeled look of his own. 

“She needed help. She was begging somebody to come rescue her. She was withering away in the Spring Court! You know how many times I’ve been pulled from bed because she’s vomiting during the night-” Rhys sounded exasperated. But you were tired, so tired. 

“You’ve barely come to bed since you’ve been back.” Your voice was hardly more than a whisper, but the deafening silence that followed your words made it sound like an explosion. You knew it was a low blow. Rhys sometimes couldn’t stomach sleeping in your bed after what Amarantha did to him. After he was startled awake one night a bolt of his power shot your sleeping form out of the bed because, in his nightmare-filled haze, he had mistaken you for her. He had felt awful, and now mostly slept in one of the guest rooms in fear that he would cause serious damage to you. You had tried to convince him, but he knew how powerful he could be, so you relented. 

“You don’t get to throw that in my face right now.” The growl that came from your husband sounded like cold black death. “She needs to be trained. She needs help-” all the pent-up emotion started to boil over inside you. Your airway got smaller, white noise was sounding through your head, and your eyes couldn’t focus on a spot infront of you. 

“I DO NOT CARE WHAT FEYRE NEEDS!” the boom in your voice surprised even you. Rhys took a step back, you rarely even raised your voice, let alone yelled at him. His eyes widened, but his flood of emotions quickly matched yours. 

“SHE SAVED ME! I PROMISED TO KEEP HER SAFE!” The way Rhy’s voice ricocheted off the walls made you flinch. The pure night-kissed power had stolen the warmth from the room and all the air from your lungs. 

“You made promises to me too. Do you remember that?” your voice echoed out with calm fury as you slipped your ring off your finger and held it up to the light. “Do you remember the promises you made to me when you put this ring on my finger?” You didn’t even know where the rage was coming from, You weren’t angry, but it grabbed ahold like cold unforgiving ocean waves and kept pulling you farther into the eye of the hurricane. “You pledged to me your undying loyalty, your faithfulness, your honesty.” That last word coated your tongue in acid. 

It burned you and Rhys as it left your mouth. 

“Do you truly believe I have been unfaithful to you?” his voice grated out like shards of glass. However, in your current state, it seemed more condescending than questioning. 

“I believe you are not being honest with me. I have been married to you for practically 100 years, and have known you even longer. Do you think I don’t know when you’re not telling me something?”  You shot up from your seat and slammed your wedding ring on the table. His violet shield slipped for just a moment to see the hurt flash in his eyes. You haven’t taken that ring off since he gave it to you. 

“You are being irrational.” Rhys tried to step towards you, but you only backed away from him, shaking your head as tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Why are you being so secretive about Feyre? She is engaged Rhys-you took her from her wedding. If she truly needed help why not bring her to Velaris? Why not let her meet me? Why not let her be happy with Tamlin?” The questions kept pouring out but the protective growl Rhysand made at your last statement had you recoiling. He had given himself away. He obviously knew it too, as he tried to step towards you. The tears kept pouring out as you shook your head. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Right now.” Rhys finally hung his head in defeat as he slumped into one of the chairs. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he stared at your trembling figure from the other side of the table. 

“She is my mate.” Your eyes widened in horror. It felt like the dinner you made earlier tonight was going to make another appearance on your kitchen floor. “She is my mate and I don’t know what to do.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do?” Your voice was shaking with scarcely contained fury as you stormed up to the table. “I am your wife. I am your people’s queen. What more is there to think about? I thought you loved me.” A new wave of tears washed over you, and you swear you could hear your heart breaking. It was so loud. You wonder if Rhys could hear it too. 

“Of course I love you!” he looked at you with desperation and pleading in his eyes. “It’s just more complicated.” You shook your head at him as your sobs finally flowed out of your body. 

“It shouldn’t be complicated,” you heaved out through the tears “You promised to choose me every day. If you can’t do that I can’t be here.” You turn from the table and march up the stairs. You distantly hear Rhys get up and follow you to your room as you shove clothes inside a bag. 

“What are you doing? You’re not leaving, are you?” His eyes widened in horror as he tried to grab the items out of your hands. “Darling-”

“Do not call me that right now.” You manage to sniff out the words behind the tears. “I just can’t be here if you cannot choose me. There shouldn’t even be a question.” 

“Where will you go?” He at least had it in him to sound concerned about your well-being. 

“I don’t know, anywhere but here.” You shoved the last thing in your suitcase and winnowed away without another word. You left Rhysand in your house, with your ring sitting on the table. He found himself sitting at the kitchen table for the rest of the night, nursing a bottle of whisky and running over the cool sapphire with the pad of his thumb. He didn’t know if you were ever coming back. He didn’t know where you went. 

What the fuck had he done?

[dark-and-kawaii]

ʚ♡ɞ New Life & Beginnings ʚ♡ɞ

- Rolan x F!Tav/Reader

- Zevlor x F!Tav/Reader

- Raphael x F!Tav/Reader

✧˖°. Summary: Separate stories involving Rolan, Zevlor, and Raphael with their newborns.

✧˖°. Notes: I’m a sucker for these men being dads, and I just needed some softness… And a little angst for Zevlor

✦ Fluff | Prt 1. For Zevlor but not needed to read this | Hint of Angst For Zevlor & Rolan | Dadphael

Rolan

Rolan stood by the window, cradling a newborn in his arms. The child, swaddled in soft, faded blue linens, was a stark contrast to the crimson of Rolan's skin. His tail swayed gently back and forth in rhythm with the quiet hum he sang to soothe the infant.

It was a rare sight indeed. He never thought he’d hum to some infant, let alone his very own. But he figured this child, his child, deserved everything he never got to experience. His own childhood had been marked by absence, devoid of a loving mothers touch and a fathers protection…

Life had not always been kind to Rolan. As an orphaned tiefling with horns that curled back like the branches of a twisted tree and eyes the color of molten gold, he had wandered through his early years shrouded in solitude. No last name to claim, no family to return to after his day's adventures. That was until Cal and Lia found him.

Now, here he stands in a grand tower to call his own, his life transformed yet again. The room was filled with the quiet murmur of a new beginning. His gaze drifted towards the bundle of pillows on the floor where you, his beloved, rested deeply. The labor had been long and taxing, and Rolan despised the fact it happened here in the tower. Still though, a faint smile crossed his features as he whispered a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

The infant, perhaps sensing the warmth of his father's gratitude, joined in on the thanks and cooed softly, a delicate sound that seemed to stitch the very air with joy and its very own magic. Rolan chuckled, a sound rich with love, and lowered his face to plant a gentle kiss on the baby’s forehead.

But the tranquility of the moment was abruptly punctuated by a tiny sneeze from his little one. Reflexively, Rolan pulled back slightly, just in time to see a small flame burst forth from the baby’s nostrils... The flame caught the ends of Rolan’s hair, igniting them with a soft fizz.

Rolan's initial annoyance flickered across his face as quickly as the flame had caught his hair. He patted down the singed ends with a practiced hand, his expression melting into one of bewildered joy. The tiny sneeze had revealed something extraordinary about his child.

“By the stars,” Rolan murmured, his annoyance flickering away as quickly as it had ignited, replaced by a surge of excitement. “A sorcerer?… Or should I say, sorceress?” His voice was a mix of wonder and pride as he looked down at his daughter, whose big eyes blinked back at him, unaware of her fiery debut, “If you wish to master your skills you’ll need a good teacher. Thankfully you have everything you need- right here.”

Turning back towards the cozy corner where you slept, his tail continued swishing softly behind him. Carefully, almost tenderly, he nudged the sheet with the tip of his tail, pulling it up to tuck around you more securely. He then sat down beside you, his smile never wavering.

“I- I can't thank you enough,” Rolan reached for your hand, holding it gently between his, “Before you, my world was a tapestry with beautiful threads but no real picture.” he glanced down at yours and his daughter, “you've helped me start a family to call my own, besides Cal and Lia.”

His tail curled around, encircling both himself and his daughter as he continued to hold your hand.

Once an orphan, now a cherished father and partner. Rolan found himself at the center of his own growing family, with a sense of belonging he had never imagined possible.

Zevlor

His sleep was anything but peaceful… Zevlor tossed his head from side to side, his features twisting in torment. The sheets were crumpled beneath him, damp with sweat, as he muttered a sullen, “gods... no.” Each word was a whisper of despair, barely escaping his lips as the nightmare clenched its cold fingers around his mind.

In the throes of his dream, he found himself with blood stained hands as you lay lifeless in his arms. His hands tainted with your blood, his own sword impaled through your slightly distended abdomen… The nightmare depicted a grim scene where the influence of the Absolute had pushed him too far. By the time he realized his actions, it was tragically too late…

While holding your still form, Zevlor shut his eyes tightly, tear drops forming at their edges, desperately praying to any deity that might hear his cries, begging that this horror was not reality. Yet, upon reopening his eyes, the haunting image remained unchanged… There you were, still and devoid of life. His hand grazed your stomach, his head resting against yours, as he envisioned the life that might have been…

The tiefling bolted upright, shaken from the harrowing nightmare, his heartbeat pounding as the nightmarish visions clung to his mind. He extended his hand hesitantly, a wave of relief washing over him when he felt the comforting warmth of your sleeping figure beside him.

“It was only just a dream…” he whispered, though the words did little to calm his frayed nerves. Rolling onto his side, he pulled you close, his tail coiling around your leg to help keep you in place. He took a deep breath, inhaling your familiar scent as if to reassure himself of your presence. You stirred slightly but did not wake, for which he was grateful. He did not think he could speak of the horrors he'd seen. Far too afraid that you might have regrets keeping him at your side.

With a tilt of his head, Zevlor surveyed the room in search of the sole other treasure that held immense value in his existence. His infernal gaze landed on the crib where his beloved child peacefully slumbered. Silently he stood and peered into the crib, observing the delicate rhythm of his precious newborn’s tranquil breaths, finding solace in their steady respiration. Recollections of tender smiles and tiny grasping fingers alleviated the remnants of fear lingering in his thoughts.

How close he'd come to losing everything that day… When the absolute swayed him… Never again though. Never.

Quietly, Zevlor lifted the babe and returned to your side.

Holding his child close, the newborn's tiny heartbeat and warmth proof that the nightmare was not truly a reality.

“I vow to you, my child, and to your mother,” he whispered softly, his voice a tender rumble in the quiet of the night. “I will be your shield, your protector. No harm shall come to you as long as I draw breath.”

Zevlor's gaze shifted from the baby back to you. The sight of you both, safe and sound, was truly a balm to his troubled soul. Carefully, he adjusted his child in his arms, ensuring they were snug and secure. With a deep, steadying breath, he allowed himself a moment to simply be present, soaking in the quiet joy of fatherhood and being your lover. The fears of his nightmare seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet confidence borne of love and duty.

As the night deepened, Zevlor continued to watch over his little family. Every so often, he would gently touch the baby's cheek or brush a soft kiss against your forehead. These small acts reaffirming himself that this comforting reality was indeed true, not merely an illusion.

Raphael

In your room where shadows danced with the dim candlelight, all was silent except for your gentle breaths as you slept soundly. The bed, large and ornate, cradled not only your dreams but also a newborn, wrapped in delicate linens embroidered with gold stitches. You, with a serene expression, appeared as a portrait of peace as you held your infant close to your heart.

It was always around this time that the air shifted subtly, a warmth flooding the room, a sharp scent of sulfur and cherries mingling with your very own fragrance. From the darker corners of the room emerged a figure, tall and imposing, wrapped in fine silks to match the hells of which he was born from.

As Raphael approached the bed, his movements were silent, almost reverent. His fingers, warm and soft, traced a path up your exposed arm, stopping just short of your face. For a moment, he merely stood, his gaze shifting between you and the child nestled within your arms. A rare, tender expression softened the harsh lines of his face.

With the care of one who handles precious artifacts, Raphael gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch was surprisingly tender, a contrast to his usual character. “Such a sleepy little mouse,” he murmured with an affectionate tone, one that seemed unfamiliar on his lips, “how quaint.”

Carefully, he lifted the infant from your embrace. The baby, undisturbed, continued to sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm. Raphael seated himself on the edge of the bed, ensuring every movement was calculated and silent, not to disturb the peaceful slumber of the infant's mother, you.

Holding the child merely inches from him, he looked at her with a complex mixture of emotions; affection, pride, perhaps even a hint of fear. His eyes, usually so piercing and cold, warmed as they rested on the child's placid face.

Raphael's attention was momentarily drawn to the balcony where a pseudo dragon perched, its eyes fixed on him with an unblinking gaze. The creature, a guardian by nature, watched with a protective intensity, ready to act should it perceive any threat to the child.

Turning his gaze back to the infant, Raphael spoke softly, his voice a whisper that carried weight and promise, “When she is grown, she will rule the nine hells with me.” The declaration was not just a statement of future events; it was a father's vow, a ruler's plan, “the perfect heir.” His daughter, this innocent soul, was not just any infant; she was his daughter, destined to share his ruling over the realms of damnation.

The room remained silent, the only sound the occasional flutter of the pseudo dragon's wings and the steady breathing of you and his child. Raphael continued to hold his daughter, his mind undoubtedly racing with plans and dreams of what was to come. For now, however, this moment was tender, a father bonding with his daughter, their future sprawling before them like the starlit sky outside the balcony.

[strongheartneteyam]

Realize where you belong.

Pairing: neteyam sully x female!human!reader/female!dreamwalker!reader

Neteyam is aged up.

Chapter 2

Synopsis: Reader is unhappy with her human life. She works for the lab as a cook. She's a Dreamwalker and she spends every free day she gets walking through Pandora's forests. In one of those days, Neteyam sees her but she doesn't notice him. He falls in love, seeing how happy she is amidst nature. Neteyam finds out she's actually a human in an Avatar, so, he finds a way to go where her real body is. He hates to admit it but, seeing her in her human body, he realizes he still loves her. After watching her, he notices how she's always happier when she's in her Avatar, so, he develops a deeper connection to her. However, he becomes obsessive. Reader has only heard about him, the famous son of Jake Sully and future Olo'eyktan, praised for his great achievements as a young Omatikaya. After getting reader's attention, Neteyam asks her to choose to live forever in her Avatar, becoming his mate and making tsaheylu with him, gaining a new home as a fresh member of his tribe. Reader is scared and torn, since, even though she's intensely attracted to him and only truly enjoys life when she's Dreamwalking, she doesn't really know him and she's afraid of dying when trying to go past Eywa's eye. But Neteyam just won't give up on her that easily.

♡ This is Reader's Avatar

☆ This is the official playlist for this story, the songs I listen to while working on it.

CW: angst, reader hates her life, neteyam is like her "secret admirer" but he eventually becomes obsessed, so, it gives off some creepy vibes, possessive neteyam, forbidden love, neteyam is REALLY protective over her, neteyam isn't really fond of humans (hates them) and only makes an exception for reader, TRIGGER WARNING for a few depression symptoms (such as reader holding back tears and looking miserable really often), stalking, obsessive behavior & possessiveness

•

Finally, this fanfic is out!! lots of people seemed to love the tiny sneak peek I posted so... I hope you guys will love the fanfic itself too hehe I'm so relieved I could finally post it ooof My environment is the worst EVER rn & i haven't had any motivation or focus to write lately BUT i seem to be getting out of that damned writer's block I was in (ITS THE WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD UGH HATE IT TO DEATH)

Not proofread. My life is a hurricane, so, we don't work with proofread stories here. Hope you find it in your hearts to forgive me, my angels :')

na'vi words:

yawne - beloved

tsaheylu - the neurological bond the na'vi make with their mate, through their tendrils, at the end of their long braid.

Chapter 1

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

I love your touch, cold as ice

And I love every single tear you cry

I just love the way you're losing your life

Oh, my baby, how beautiful you are

Oh, my darling, completely torn apart

Gone With The Sin (HIM)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Neteyam would look at you every moment he could. He didn't have that much free time since he was the Olo'eyktan's son and had so many responsibilities weighting on his shoulders. But he would always make any sacrifice he needed to make to find time to see you. Even if it meant using the few hours he had to himself to contemplate you. His sad, gloomy-eyed, beautiful girl. You were not actually his yet, but, he was determined to make that change.

Neteyam saw you holding back tears way too damn often, so, he was always deeply worried about you, and, that was one of the reasons why he was always creeping around, high up in branches of trees located in Hell's Gate, watching over you, almost every day, ready to help you, defend you from any danger, to say "screw it" to how out of the blue it would be if he - a stranger, a male na'vi stranger - just came up to you and said "hey, I've been watching you for a while, and… I'm so, so in love with you. Please, leave this damn idiotic human life you live and let Eywa help you be transferred to your Avatar body for good, just like she helped my father. You're so insanely pretty like this - and I have never felt attracted to any female of your demon kind before, so, believe me when I talk about your beauty - but you look even prettier when you're in your Avatar form. Let me make you my mate, let me make you the future Olo'eyktan's mate. I can give you a far better life than the one you have now"

He knew he was just a weird alien boy (as the humans would probably say), stalking you, always up in the highest tree branches he could find and reach, watching a girl while she cooks - as it was your job - like a hunter watching their prey. But he meant no harm. On the contrary, he meant to take care of you, to save you from it all. Because he wasn't blind. Neteyam saw how unhappy you looked while peeling potatoes (he knew what they were because his dad who was once human told him and his siblings about how delicious that vegetable from Earth tasted, especially when it was made as French fries) to cook on the high-tech stove the humans used to prepare their meals in and prepare mashed potatoes to those damn lab guys who invaded his Planet and did nothing but harm.

Neteyam thought it to be unnecessary. His future mate could easily prepare the same potatoes in a bonfire he would light up for you in the Omatikaya forest. He knew they would taste even better roasted in the natural fire than just plainly cooked in that energy fueled cooking device the humans used. He could give you a life so incredibly better than the one you had right now, it pained him to see his yawne working so hard to feed every damn scientist in that cold, air-conditioned lab while not being as appreciated and thanked by them as you deserved to be. You could be preparing food to feed his children instead, the sons and daughters he would give you, if only you accepted becoming his forever mate.

He hated the humans. They didn't know how to lead a proper life. But you were different.

Neteyam knew how breathtaking you looked in a na'vi like body because the first time he saw you, you were in your Avatar body - as you were a Dreamwalker - and that's when he fell in love with you. But he learned to love your human body too. He could never hate you, even in your human form. You were the only human he did not despise.

The day Neteyam first saw you, he was out in the forest to hunt and gather food, collecting bladder polyps, lionberry seeds and trying to kill a hexapede, so, he could bring all of it home and him and his family could eat a nutritious dinner.

That's when he heard a squeaky, funny laugh. It was a female voice, he recognized. Neteyam followed that sound just like he was a sailor and the girl whose laugh he heard was a mermaid, bewitching his senses and drawing him closer.

When he saw you, it was like his heart was going to explode in a thousand pieces, so fast it was beating inside his rigid ribcage, so strongly the blood was being pumped through his arteries. He knew he had to make you his mate, to have you forever.

Neteyam had always been a practical and rational young man, he had to be. He was the eldest son and had to look after his 3 younger siblings and not show a single sign of weakness when his father would scold him in a harsh tone, whenever any of his siblings - specially his younger brother, Lo'ak -, got into trouble and somehow, Neteyam ended up having to take responsibility over their actions. "But that girl… that beautiful, ethereal girl… she makes me believe in things I've never even considered before. I know it sounds stupid to say that about a girl I just met, only some minutes ago but I don't care", he thought. Only he and Eywa herself knew the raw, powerful feeling he was experiencing at that moment. He just wanted to let go for a while. To not force himself to be all brains, zero heart for once, just once. And you were gifting him the opportunity to do just that. Your beauty was so enchanting, it could leave any creature in awe.

His father had once told him about Christianity, one of the most popular religions back on the glory days of the Planet Earth, and, of course he didn't follow those beliefs, his spirituality was completely based on Eywa, the Great Mother, the spirit and moving energy of Pandora, but, if the beings called "angels" his father talked about were real, Neteyam was utterly sure that they could only look like you.

You were perfect. Every curve of your body, every bioluminescent freckle, every pattern of your stripes, your long dark braided hair falling like water on your flawless back, as you kept smiling and touching every single flower you could see, playing in a foolish way, just like a child. He felt a primal urge coming from his guts to make tsaheylu with you right there, right at that moment.

So many thoughts roamed through Neteyam's mind: "I need her… right here, right now. She's… ugh… I've never felt anything like this before… What's going on with your stupid mind, Neteyam?! You can't just choose any girl to be your mate, you'll be the next Olo'eyktan, remember?! The best choice would be a girl who has a calling to be Tsahìk. Maybe your parents will try to arrange a marriage, to find the perfect match for you. Damn! Who am I trying to fool? She is the only perfect match for me…"

Neteyam started to watch you go about the forest every chance he got.

When he found out you were actually a Dreamwalker, a human in a body created in a laboratory, a hybrid of demon and na'vi, a freak... It was like his world was falling apart, piece by tiny piece crashing on the floor. How did he not notice your fifth finger before?! Was he that much under your spell, that blinded by how beautiful and charming you were?, he asked himself.

So, he told himself he was going to find a way to at least see what your true form looked like. He hissed at the thoughts and feelings you had caused him the whole way to Hell's Gate, where the laboratory was and where he knew all the humans that stayed in Pandora and had an Avatar stayed.

When Neteyam saw you in your human body, he got hit by something as strong as lightning. The moment he sniffed your sweet scent (the smell you had in your Avatar had notes of your original human scent, as your DNA was used to build that body), the moment he recognized that melodious voice… The expression in those eyes, that smile, that laughter… it was you. His yawne.

He didn't understand how that was possible, what he was feeling. Nevertheless, he realized he still loved you. His heart still beat fast for you. It didn't matter which physical form you took. Na'vi or human. You were you. And he loved you. Madly.

His people had a great contempt towards the ones who Dreamwalked. They were "demons in false bodies", like his grandma and his mother always said. And Neteyam himself felt the same. Worse, he had felt disgusted by the love and desire you made him feel, back when he watched you wandering around the Omatikaya lands, when you would jump like a little kid, so happy playing with the bioluminescent, neon plants of the forest.

But, still, that feeling lingered inside him. The attachment, the deep affection, the devotion… He could not comprehend it.

All Neteyam could grasp was that he hated all humans, but you were the only exception.

Even though you were originally human, you had a na'vi heart. He just knew that. As crazy and impossible as it sounded, he figured out it was true. And that blew his mind. That sorrowful girl he was seeing cooking in a small technological kitchen was not the same one he had seen at the forest. But it was, at the same time. It apparently made no sense, but it actually did. You were not where you belonged. You did not belong imprisoned among those four walls that the other humans kept you in. That you were keeping yourself in. You belonged free amidst the Pandoran trees. You did not belong in those big human clothes. You belonged in a comfortable loincloth and a big leaf necklace covering your beautiful breasts, letting the wind hit your skin.

You seemed out of place in that environment you were currently in. And that made Neteyam feel something so overpowering. He knew it was useless to try and fight it. He was not even sure if he even wanted to fight it anymore. That feeling was good. It felt just like what he felt when he thought you were a na'vi girl. He even felt attracted to you, even though he still thought you looked much prettier in your Avatar body.

He was fully aware you were one of the demons. But you were not like the rest of them. You were special. He could tell that. He could tell you'd be a hundred per cent happier if he could convince you to become na'vi. And that's exactly what he was planning to do. He still did not know how, but he would find a way.

༊⁀➷

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[aemxnd]

midnight rain | daemon targaryen x niece!reader

Can the sunshine win over the darkness?

Heavily inspired by a gender-swapped Taylor Swift’s Midnight Rain as requested by @prettycutebunny, I hope I did your idea justice (and apologies for changing one lyric to suit the plot!)

WORDS: 5.3k (I’m so sorry)

WARNINGS: canon typical incest, dubcon, angst everywhere you look, p in v, v fingering, physical violence, breeding, degradation, praise, pain kink, Daemon being a real asshat, reader is Viserys and Alicent’s third child, reader has silver hair for plot point, Stockholm Syndrome, terrible High Valyrian translations, crying, power imbalance due to age difference. 

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

My requests are open! 🖤

Such a pretty little songbird.

Little Starling, your mother had once named you as a child. A free spirit, bound only by the towering castle walls that clipped your wings as the youngest child of the King and his second Queen. Weeks, months, years passed daydreaming beneath your favourite tree, reading the same fantastical books and listening to the same wistful odes from your minstrel. 

All the while under the careful eye of your kepus. 

Life’s tragedies and horrors had never crossed your path, never entered your realm, therefore could never harm you. Your childhood as idyllic as you could imagine, save for a loving father. That void was dutifully replaced by your uncle Daemon, whose unrivalled care and indomitable attention ensured you never wanted for anything more, evermore understanding that your father’s duty to his throne far exceeded the loving relationship expected toward a daughter and that his brother could offer the closest companionship to his. Yours was an unbreakable bond that defied all secrets, surpassed all proprietary expectations and often branched into full conversation in High Valyrian to remain undetected by outside ears. 

Meanwhile, your elder brothers Aegon and Aemond sought to salve the absence of a protective male role model closer to your own age, ensuring they trained in the sword to their own degrees should their little sister ever need rescue. No matter how often you reassured them, they refused to share your belief that no danger could come to you, for danger did not seek you. With the guard of three silver-haired Princes, you thought yourself invincible.

As you matured together, however, your brothers discovered distractions. For Aegon, it was women, cups and the sordid activities beyond the castle walls. For Aemond, it was Vhagar, studies and bitterness. You could not begrudge them the right to grow, to extend their roots beyond your all-too-comfortable sibling unit, as you too had become distracted by literature, music and the pursuit of a quiet life with precious few responsibilities. Somehow your tranquil existence had eluded the conversation of marriage, recognising your unfettered spirit aspiring to greater things than a life secluded within the Red Keep.

But not in the eyes of your kepus. 

~~She was sunshine, I was midnight rain~~

“What troubles you, little starling?” Called a familiar voice from behind your favourite reading spot in the Godswood. You squinted against the midday sun to find your beloved uncle Daemon watching over you, an uneasy frown skewing his lips. “Why are you so often here alone?”

“Good day, dear kepus,” you closed the tome in your lap, clasping your hands together. “My brothers are at the Dragonpit, where I fear a princess may never tread.”

“And you are content with reading in solitude?” Daemon stepped closer, treading carefully over the gnarled roots of the tree upon which you sat. “Would you not prefer company?”

“I am sure others would not wish to read the tales I choose to indulge,” you clutched your book closer to your chest, hurriedly attempting to conceal its cover from him. Sighing thoughtfully, you smiled up at your uncle. “I am resigned to the life of a quiet Princess Regent, neither an heir nor a common-born. No responsibility, no authority, yet still no freedom.”

Daemon approached and perched on a root beside you, chuckling softly under his breath. “I suppose that notion is all too familiar to us both, Princess.”

“Then how did you assuage it, uncle?” You looked over to him, noticing a distinct pain behind the considerate smile on his countenance. “How did you counsel yourself to contentment with such an existence?”

“What in the Seven Heavens makes you believe that I have?” Daemon snorted, gaze dropping into his lap. “How do you counsel yourself to contentment with a life of loneliness, niece? You are but seven-and-ten, do you not wish to take a husband? Make an honest man out of some egotistical Lannister?”

You smiled warmly. “I do not wish to marry, uncle. No aspect of marriage or childbearing holds any attraction for me, for I could never find the love of which I read in literature.”

“That I find hard to believe, Princess. If you wish to marry for love, your parents would be only too happy to oblige.” His hand reached to clasp over your thigh reassuringly. “One day, you will find the Prince you deserve.”

A comfortable silence fell between you, enough to hear the rising volume of the wind in the Godswood. You glanced up in tandem to see the once-turquoise sky fading to an ominous grey.

“A storm is coming, Princess,” Daemon clicked his tongue, slapping his knees demonstrably and rising to his feet. With a kindly hand proffered in the space between you, he beamed down at you. “May I accompany my little ray of sunshine to shelter?”

As you reached to accept, Daemon finally caught a glimpse of your book’s cover and smiled to himself. “The Tales of Persephone and Hades, I see.” His voice lowered to a mutter so indistinct you could not hear him. “How apt, vēzos.” Sun. 

You paced slowly toward the library together, Daemon always one step behind, his hands clasped studiously behind his back as you meandered around hallway after indiscriminate hallway, wordlessly travelling as if no conversation could be found. You would never notice the manner in which Daemon consumed the image of you before him, a woman grown so distinctly from the small babe he had observed in your youth, born with gleaming silver hair which now tumbled to the length of your hips. Your regal green gown swayed as you moved and swept the hallway before his intrepid footsteps, Daemon swallowed harshly as he imagined the frame concealed by your bodice and boned skirt. 

~~She wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain~~

Upon your arrival at the dimly-lit library hall, you turned to nod a farewell to your escort. 

“Thank you, uncle,” you smiled before quickly turning on your heels in search of another book to lose yourself in. As you paced, you heard your footsteps echoing with another, realising that Daemon had followed you. After a few more steps, you ground to a sudden halt, giggling gently as he bumped into you and nearly lost his footing. You grasped his arms behind you and steadied him, the gentle clearing of his throat behind you making you chuckle harder. “Kepus, are you following me?”

His hands searched for your waist and skimmed the contour of your hips, pulling you flush to his chest so close his warm breaths fanned your hair. Your laughter silenced with the sudden realisation that this was no child’s play. 

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth, little starling,” he whispered into the shell of your ear, venturing a hand to brush your tumbling silver curls from your neck so he could blaze a trail of butterfly kisses unimpeded. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes fluttering closed as his gentle touch melted your resistance immediately. 

“Kepus… what do you mean?” You asked timidly, almost afraid of the response.

His next searing kiss into the base of your neck lingered a while, his lips wrapping you up in anticipation and longing for a touch you had never before desired, but now that you had it, you craved it more than the air you breathed. Your head threw back into the blissful sensation, earning a low groan from Daemon that vibrated softly against your skin. 

“You have always been the midday sun to my midnight rain, haven’t you, little one?” Daemon whispered. “You were born into this world when I returned from the Stepstones, a ray of light when my world was shrouded in darkness. Whenever my life has succumbed to the pitch black of night, you were always there to illuminate the way.”

Your hands rested on his as they traversed deep into the valley of your pelvis, hovering over the position of your most sensitive place concealed only by the structure of your dress. 

“Uncle, please…,” you muttered in a form of weak protest that came out as an encouragement, unable to scramble through your mind for a reason why you should reject his advances. He had lost Laena, you were unwed, there were no marital connections to stop you. Your beloved uncle, who more or less raised you in the absence of your father, had been the deepest love in your heart all your life. Whether or not that had been a romantic love or not, you could not deny the way your body responded to his touch as if you had yearned for this moment ever since you first read of love. Holding him this close felt as natural as breathing. 

“Hush now, little starling,” he cooed as his lips blazed a trail up to your earlobe and nibbled gently, all while pressing his palm into your skirt so his fingers could make contact with your mound beneath, making featherlight strokes into the fabric and causing your hips to buck into his hand. “Tepagon aōla naejot nyke.” Give yourself to me.

The darkness enveloped the daylight as you nodded in agreement, and in the blink of an eye Daemon gripped your hips, spun you to face him and captured your lips with his. At first tentative, he pulled back to scan your face for a response, only to growl hungrily as he watched your gaze journey to his lips eagerly awaiting their next contact, consuming your mouth with his before you could mutter a protest. Your hands instinctively reached to lace around his neck, drawing him closer and dipping into the kiss as if your hunger could not be sated, craving as much contact as physically possible. 

Without you knowing, Daemon had steered your clinch across the room toward the nearest desk, lifting you to rest on the wood and swiftly hitching your skirt up around your hips in the process. His lips refused to part from yours, nudging his nose into your cheek and humming contentedly against your mouth. With one hand cupping your cheek, the other ghosted a featherlight trail from your knee to your inner thigh, blazing toward your smallclothes between your legs, grazing the sodden fabric as it clung to your core.

“You already want the darkness, don’t you niece?” He pressed, groaning greedily and venturing both hands to rip the weak cotton apart at the seams. With his last obstacle laid to waste and clinging to your hips, his fingers grazed your pulsing folds and collected the waiting droplets of your anticipation. “I have waited so many years to feel your heat, ñuha vēzos.” My sun.

Your vision swirled like a hurricane, conflicting emotions and thoughts blurring the image of the silver-haired prince gazing down at you through lust-blown pupils as he watched his fingers daring to breach your folds before you gave him permission. 

“Kepus, not yet,” you pleaded against your own better judgement, a whimper escaping him as you planted both palms on his chest to keep him an arm’s distance away. “We are not yet married, I don’t think this is right.”

Daemon chuckled to himself before grasping both your wrists in one hand and raising them above your head, his free hand pressing your chest to lay you flat on the desk. Pinning your wrists above you and leaning down to hover over you, two fingers rediscovered your folds and slipped inside in one smooth motion. 

“Then don’t think, sweetling,” he whispered as he buried his fingers inside you to the knuckle, fingertips eagerly curling into your spongy walls and stroking slowly. Your hips tentatively reared into his touch, a palpable trepidation leaving you worrying about your maidenhead, the pain of coupling that literature failed to address yet had always remained on the lips of every birthing woman within the Keep. Daemon noticed your hesitation and thrust his fingers deeper, eliciting a strangled gasp from the depths of your lungs and revelling in your back arching into his motions. “It’s alright starling, the darkness has you now.”

You swallowed harshly, eyes roving to the ceiling as the full sensation in your cunt overwhelmed you. With a disapproving click of his tongue, Daemon tightened his grip on your wrists and slammed them against the hard wood, making you hiss gently. 

“Don’t take your eyes off me, niece,” he commanded until your gaze met his again, ramping up the pace of his pumps as you buckled beneath him. “You need not be ashamed of letting go. Let your kepus take control.”

Daemon’s thumb journeyed to settle on your clit, tracing lazy circles around your bundle of nerves while his fingers drove fervently in a race to reach the furthest points inside you, the wet slaps of his motions echoing through the library. Watching closely as your back arched against his restraint, your eyes fluttering to close as if your climax were nearing, the edge of your pleasure cliff was cruelly snatched from you as his fingers withdrew from your soaking folds with a lewd pop. In a determined hurry and a rustle of fabric, Daemon fumbled with his breeches and freed himself before quickly replacing his digits with a smooth thrust of his length into your cunt. Your determined lubrication enabled his swift entry to sheath himself inside you, but not without discomfort as you winced to handle the stretch of your walls around his girth. 

“Easy now, vēzos,” he soothed, pressing a palm into the valley of your hips to feel his tip grazing your innermost core and sending a shallow shiver throughout your body. “Soon the pain will become comfortable, I promise.”

You swallowed deeply, nodding in compliance and dutifully wrapping your legs around his waist to allow him easier access within you. Daemon grunted, making his next thrust deep and punishing to the point you yelped out, filling the library with the echoes of your cries. 

“That’s it, little one,” he hummed contentedly, working your cunt with his bucking hips like a man possessed, his free hand gripping your hip to impale you further. He leaned further over you to hover his lips over yours, his towering stature blocking out the dim candlelight of the room and enveloping you in pitch black night. “Give yourself to me, let the darkness take you.”

With every merciless thrust deep into your cunt, your helpless mewls grew louder which only encouraged Daemon’s animalistic plunges within you. Gathering what little strength you could muster, you weakly pulled your wrists against his restraint. 

“Please… need to… touch you,” you stuttered, fingers clamouring into mid-air for contact. Daemon’s sadistic grin faded as he acquiesced, your hands firing to curl around his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss so you could silence your screams into his mouth, his relentless force pummelling you into the hard wood of the desk beneath which was sure to leave flayed grazes on your spine the next day. 

“My little sunshine, you feel like heaven around me,” he cooed against your lips, curling his thrusts to bottom out inside you so hard your blurred vision of him would glitter with stars. “Does this not feel like heaven to you?”

You whimpered an unintelligible response, unable to compose any coherent thought as his cock filled you to the hilt. The searing heat swelling inside you brought the vision of your cliff edge back into sharp focus, begging you to drive your hips up to meet his in a desperate race for your release. Daemon recognised your eagerness and met it with a newfound brutal pace, pounding into you so fast the lewd skin slapping that echoed through the chamber became staccato and relentless. 

“When you are carrying my child, your father will wed you to me,” he leaned to whisper in your ear, anchoring himself by wrapping his hand around your throat, his fingers and thumb pressing eagerly into each side to stem your blood flow rushing to your head, leaving you breathless and helpless. “And I will return inside your pretty little cunt every single night for the rest of our lives.”

His thrusts became jagged, betraying his own approach to the precipice.

“You see, every night the darkness consumes the light.”

With one last devastating thrust, your high flooded through you like a tidal wave and crashed against Daemon’s incoming climax, flooding your walls with his release and blending with your own, his gaze travelling to watch the space between you as his glistening cock hammered into your depths and stuttered as he poured inside you. The once-deafening lewd sounds of your coupling now replaced with ragged breaths, gasps for air and Daemon’s contented grunts as he rode out his orgasm within you, you threw your head back against the wood in sheer realisation of your own weakness. 

Not yet married, but most likely to carry your kepus’ child before long. 

You threw your hands to your belly, clutching at the flatness between your pelvis. Pulling out from you and admiring the soaking mess between your folds, Daemon’s hands rested upon yours as you looked up to find him gazing lovingly at the same space which terrified you to the core.

“Byka vēzos,” he hummed. Little sun. “If you do not conceive this time, we have the rest of our lives together to ensure you will.”

~~She looked like a bride, I was making my own name~~

Some flowers bloom only when the sun sets. 

You blossomed for Daemon in a way he could never have anticipated. His bravery in the battlefield garnered him the courage to risk it all for a chance to make you his wife, but he found so very little resistance in your kind reception that his claim over you simply fell into his lap. The thrill of the chase evaded him, as you caved so effortlessly to his will. 

Each time he requested your presence in his chambers, you parted your thighs and accepted him willingly. Yet each time you requested his presence in turn, he refused, ensuring he kept you wanting more and more, the suspense crafting a new height of pleasure each time you were called to his chambers, bent over his bed and pounded within an inch of consciousness. 

Daemon Targaryen had laid his claim to your body and mind, yet all that remained was his possession of your soul. 

Unbeknownst to you, Daemon had long pleaded with your father to wed you to him. Informally at first, often disguised as a joke to strengthen the Targaryen bloodline by betrothing two dragons to each other to fight for all eternity. But since the night in the library, his requests increased in volume and tenacity, resulting in a physical confrontation in the throne room between dragon brothers. Dismissing Daemon’s demand as nothing more than a vicious clamour for the Iron Throne, your father sought to banish his brother from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, where he would live out his days out of earshot of the Red Keep, where he would never again hear the pathetic whimpers of a man desperate to bed his youngest daughter for power. 

To you, that night came as any other, as Daemon’s maid requested your presence in his chambers at the dead of night and you dutifully obliged, pacing the Keep corridors in eager anticipation of meeting him once more. As you crept through his door, a heavy fabric flew towards you and you grabbed it in mid-air. A dark cloak. 

“Kepus, what—?”

“We need to leave. Tonight.” Daemon’s voice was short, snappy, panicked as his face came into view in the darkness. His brows knitted together, his lips skewed with fear. 

“Wh… why? Did my father refuse our betrothal?”

“Of course he fucking did,” Daemon snapped through gritted teeth, grabbing the cloak still laying in your shaking hands and throwing it over your shoulders for you. “We need to leave for Dragonstone now, there’s a boat waiting for us in the harbour.”

“I don’t… why do we… what happened?” You were frozen to the spot, confusion washing over you in waves. Daemon’s hands balled into fists as he adjusted the hood over your head. 

“Will you stop asking so many fucking questions? Just get down to the harbour, I’ll meet you there soon.”

“Kepus… I’m scared,” you stuttered, hands held out in front of you as if still holding the heavy cloak. “Will I ever see my parents again?”

Daemon smoothed the fabric over your shoulders and tucked the hood over your eyes. Pressing a quick dismissive kiss to the fabric laying over your forehead, he clasped your face and pulled it upwards. 

“Whatever happens, little starling, we are each other’s family from this moment on.” 

Suddenly, the tense silence between you shattered to the sound of deafening bangs on the door to his chambers. Immediately hunching his back defensively, he ushered you across the chamber toward a dark passage where a rogue guard waited to take you onward. “Place your trust in Ser Baleon, I will meet you at the shore.”

The crashes against the wooden portal intensified as you fled, the distinct swoop of metal from the chamber behind you suggesting Daemon had armed himself against the ambush. Searing hot tears blazed volcanic streams down your cheeks as you fought to focus on your steps down the dark spiral staircase to safety, wondering if you would ever see Daemon alive again.

~~Chasing that fame, she stayed the same~~

“Your father is a cunt,” Daemon hissed, storming into your Dragonstone chambers and crossing the room in three great strides to tower over you. 

“Surely not, kepus,” you attempted to calm his temper with a reassuring palm pressed to his chest. “What has he said to irk you so?”

“He’s sent a raven to enquire after you,” he seethed, his jaw clenched tightly as if it might snap at any moment. “He claims that I kidnapped you in the dead of night and will not return you to your birthright in the Red Keep.”

“But I came to Dragonstone of my own free—,” you were cut off by Daemon’s hand firing to grasp your throat, your fingers racing to claw at his grip and prize yourself free. 

“Well why don’t you speak those precious words to your beloved father instead?” He half-growled, sneering down at you as if you were his prey. “He seems to be the one that needs persuading of your own free will, Princess.”

“If you… if you let me, I will,” you stuttered against his restrictive clutch, weakly attempting an escape to breathe properly. 

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” He snarled, using one hand to spin you by your waist while retaining his grip on your throat, pressing his chest flush to your back and steering you to the bed. “You could run back to the Red Keep and your books and your perfect little boring life.”

“Kepus, please,” you protested weakly, reaching a hand ahead of you to cushion your fall as he dropped you face-first into the sheets. “Please, don’t…”

“Please don’t what, starling?” He chuckled, bunching your skirt over your behind and battling with his own breeches. “Don’t fight for my family, or don’t take my wife whenever I so wish?”

You scrunched your eyes closed, willing to block out whatever was coming next. This was not the careful husband you knew, this was not the devoted uncle who raised you in place of your father, this was certainly not the man who you fell in love with under a stormcloud amongst ancient tomes. This midnight rain will pass, no matter how much love it unravels in the eye of the storm. 

Delivering a swift nudge to your thighs, your legs were parted and Daemon crawled between them, grasping your hips and drawing you up to impale yourself on his hardened cock. With no preparation, you yelped at the intrusion and hissed gently.

“The pain will soon become comfortable,” he declared as he ruthlessly bottomed out inside you. “I promise.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to burst their banks as the agony coursed through you in waves, slowly replaced by bolts of pleasure as his tip grazed your innermost walls.

“Please… take me easily, my Prince,” you wheezed out between merciless thrusts stealing your breath from your lungs. “I am… I am with…”

“You would do well not to give orders when I can ensure you lose consciousness in a moment, little one,” Daemon hissed, pounding into you with an inhuman pace, sending your eyes roving to the ceiling as his nails dug crescent dips into the flesh of your hips. “You want to stay awake while I fill you up, don’t you? Maybe this time you will bear me a child.”

“Daemon, please be gentle…,” you fought to finish your declaration while balling your fists into the sheets, your elbows caving beneath you. “I am with child.”

With your last syllable, Daemon’s thrusts ceased instantly, leaving you whimpering at the immediate loss of friction. He stilled completely, not so much as a laboured breath escaping him behind you, his length still nestled halfway inside you. 

“My Prince, I… I’m sorry,” you reassured, venturing a hand back towards him as if willing him to hold it. “I should have spoken sooner.”

You breathed into the deafening silence, wondering if he did not wish you to deliver the news in such a manner. Suddenly, a cool splash of water hit your scalding spine. A tear. Daemon’s tear. 

“I have failed you, starling,” he sighed, completely shattering his blind rage into a self-deprecating reflection. Allowing his length to slip out from your folds, he released your hips and collapsed onto the sheets beside you. “After all this time, I could have destroyed our child with my recklessness.”

“You have never failed me, kepus, our babe is safe inside me,” you purred, reaching to brush another tear from his cheek. “If he’s anything like his father, he can withstand any amount of force.”

Daemon’s saddened gaze turned to you, still on all fours beside him. He ventured a hand to brush your cheek. 

“I do not deserve you, vēzos jehikagon.” Sunshine. 

In the blink of an eye, you threw a leg over his own to capture him between your thighs. Hovering your waiting folds over his length, still hardened and bobbing between your bodies as you awaited a signal to proceed. 

“Let me please you, my King,” you pleaded, one hand venturing between your legs to stroke his cock and line his tip with your aching entrance.

Daemon’s gaze met yours, his wounded pride hooding his eyelids in contrast with your wide-eyed anticipation. You smiled at your silver-haired captor so warmly, he could not resist your brilliant sunshine blinding him to walk into the light. Gently bucking his hips to meet you in the middle, you lowered onto his length and shared a gratuitous moan as he filled you slowly and completely.

“You are truly carrying my babe?” His hands journeyed to your belly, swelling softly beneath his palms as you rocked gently into him. 

“As true as the sun shines above us, ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love. “The Maester says it is early, so I should rest as much as possible.”

Daemon stilled, concerned. “Then you should cease at once, allow me to…”

“And deprive me of this moment with my beloved? Never,” you asserted, sinking down carefully and bucking your hips to graze his tip against your walls, dropping so far you could swear you felt his cock deep in your stomach. “Besides, I may not be able to ride my dragon for much longer so I will take any chance I can get.”

“When you grow too weary to ride your dragon,” Daemon’s fingers splayed out across your belly as you bobbed above him, his eyes journeying to the ceiling momentarily as the sensation of your walls tightening around him stole his breath. “Rest assured that your dragon will take good care of you, little one.”

The mere implication of his words sent you careering to your precipice, clenching tightly around his cock as your walls rippled and pulsed with the approach of your orgasm. Noticing the sensitivity of your walls to his every motion inside you, jolting and surging around him to bring his rhythmic rutting up into you to a jagged pattern, signalling the arrival of his own climax.

“Let go for me,” he commanded through a whisper, keeping his palms pressed to your abdomen and revelling in the strangled gasps you could no longer hold back, grinding your hips to ride through your high as he deftly painted your walls in staccato thrusts.

Filling the chamber with your mixed groans and deep pants as you slowed your motions above him, you couldn’t bear to move from atop Daemon for fear of losing the moment you shared. Instead, he gripped your hips and turned you onto the sheets, keeping his length buried within you as you lay beside each other. 

“Gevie muña,” Daemon muttered under his breath as he reached to brush your silver hair from your face.

Beautiful mother. 

~~All of me changed like midnight~~

It had taken you the best part of half an hour to muster the strength enough to heave yourself from the birthing chair. Propping yourself up on the fruit table stacked high with pomegranates, you gazed out from your Dragonstone chamber to the harbour beyond. The day was bright, gleaming, the waters mirroring the same blissful turquoise sky beneath which you used to read your books, drift off into fantastical realms and dismiss your own captivity as the Princess Regent with no responsibility and no freedom.

The Maester said your third birth would be easier than the initial two, but so far he had been proven catastrophically wrong. When sickness could not claim you, tiredness and weakness took hold. Days blended into each other, weeks dragged for months, your belly swelled overnight as you lay helpless in the birthing chair simply waiting for an end to the monotony of childbirth. After delivering Daemon two sons, you assumed your duty as a birthing mother had been fulfilled, yet another child swelled no sooner than the second had left your womb.

A pair of hands snaked around your hips to cradle your blossoming belly, fingers spread out over the span of the bump to feel every sensation beneath your skin. A chin rested in the crook of your neck and peppered lazy, haphazard kisses over your ear. 

“Good morning, ñuha byka vēzos,” he cooed softly, his breaths warming your neck. My little sun. “You are not usually out of the chair so early, are you not well? Is our Prince keeping you from rest, little starling?”

You sighed as you dipped your head against his, placing your hands atop his as they surveyed your belly.

“I am quite well, husband,” you comforted him, tracing idle patterns over his hands, still as delicate as the day he first held you as a babe. “I’m always well when I am with you.”

Gazing out beyond the Dragonstone harbour, you could make out the faint outlines of the Red Keep from the safety of Daemon’s arms. Word from court suggested your father’s physical strength was at its last. Your mother sent a parchment requesting your presence but your husband intercepted it before it reached your hand, dismissing your concerns and reassuring that a raven would arrive at once if the King was indeed on his deathbed.

King’s Landing lay just beyond the dock, a symbol of the life you gave away for the sake of love. When you once believed you could never attain the love as told in literature, you failed to notice you had already fallen into such an affair. Persephone and Hades, the blinding sunshine tempted into the all-consuming darkness.

Such a pretty little songbird. 

In such a pretty little cage.

[written-in-flowers]

Be the Light: Pt. 2 (SeongjoongxFem!reader)

Pairing: Hongjoong x Seonghwa x Fem!reader

Word Count: 7k

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

AU: historical!au, arranged marriage!au, royalty!au

Summary: YN has spent her entire life in service of Han Sookmyung, Queen of Hanseong. She never dreamed above her station, or that she'd ever be in reach of Sookmyung's concubines, 'The Golden Ones'. But, when secrets are brought to life, her world is turned upside-down.

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, heavily referenced torture (briefly), heavily referenced abuse (briefly), heavily referenced sexual abuse (briefly), enslavement, slight gaslighting, lost sibling, political drama, historical drama, joseon!au, concubine!ateez, nsfw content, virgin!reader, polyamory, polygamous, throuple, threesome m/m/f, oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), cunnlingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, virgin sex, virginity discussed.

Taglist: @scarfac3 @tunaasan @lelaleleb @sevngmin148 @meljoongiee @puppyminnnie @sunasmoke22 @kyourixr

And thanks to my @daesukiii for beta reading this for me! It's so hard to find a good beta reader, and they've never disappointed me! ❤️

Part 1 < | > Part 3

***

Hongjoong learned long ago that the best release of anger was having sex with Sookmyung. Not in the heated passionate way he might’ve with a real lover, but in a hateful way. He pinned her down. He pulled her hair. He bit her neck, bruised her thighs, and slapped her ass until it turned red. He rammed his hips into her quickly and fiercely. All the while pretending that it is his desire for her making him act harshly. He held Sookmyung by her arms as he guided her onto Yunho, who laid beneath her naked and erect. Her loud, feral grunts told him she was close to her third climax today. He hated her. He hated her for making them do this. Her insatiable libido was limitless depravity. Nothing is ever too vile for her. Nothing is ever off limits.

He hated how she’d made San whip Wooyoung, all because she thought they’d coupled together without her permission. The two sat on a couch nearby, kissing softly as ordered to be Sookmyung. He saw the long red welts and purple marks along Wooyoung’s tanned back and torso. According to her, they’d been laying in bed together half naked. San told him they hadn’t touched or kissed. They’d only laid there talking as friends do at night. It enraged her. She’d scowled and screamed, throwing a tantrum in San's bed chamber. Hongjoong remembered hearing Wooyoung’s cries as she barked orders at San. San still had bite marks on his shoulders where she’d bit him. This made Hongjoong suck and bite into her neck to retaliate.

“Don’t stop,” she growled as he and Yunho pushed into her, “Don’t…Don’t..Oh god, keep going!”

She eventually came, and Hongjoong stayed inside until it subsided. Every muscle in his body ached, burning hotly and begging to rest. He and Yunho both withdrew and moved away from her.  He did not fully rest as Yunho did. Standing on wobbly knees, Hongjoong grabbed a robe from nearby and slid over his shoulders.

“Hongjoongie,” he heard Sookmyung whimpered behind him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m famished, beloved,” he muttered.

“I can have food brought to us,” she called, but he shook his head.

“No need,” he assured her. “The others will keep you company until I return.”

He kissed her before walking out of the circular room. Hongjoong walked down a hallway into another, smaller sitting room where a servant left  plates of food and a pot of tea. This sitting room is the farthest from the main lounge, where most of the guards and attendants would be, leaving him entirely alone. Taking a sip of tea, he took a quick peek through the wooden lattice windows.  The setting sun gave their garden a russet glow that broke between leaves and branches. It is a beautiful sight, he admitted. Lush green bushes and vibrant flowers basked in the spring time season, while fish swam in the ponds and lakes across the grounds. Cobbled walkways circled brass fountains, and trees outside sometimes bore fruit for them to eat. It reminded him of his own garden back at home, where he played with his siblings and companions while his mother looked on. He still remembers all the times she’d chase him around the garden or taught him about the different flowers. Sookmyung had taken that from him. Shed stormed in with her vast army, and slew his entire family. He thought of his mother’s lifeless eyes looking at him as a knife plunged into her chest, her last breath echoing in his ear.

‘I’ll take better care of you than she ever did,’ Sookmyung whispered to him as his mother lay dying on the ground. 

He hated her. He loathed her. He despised her with every fiber of his being. Queen Sookmyung had stormed into his home, killed his family, enslaved his people, and then took him. It sickened him. He did not eat a single portion left on the table; he could barely stomach the tea. She must be stopped. He’d said this to himself a million times over the past eight years. Hongjoong often laid in bed and thought of killing her. Simply putting a knife in her chest as she’d done to his mother. But, no. That will not do. Her council, no matter how much they despise her, will be forced to act. Also, there’d be an even major problem: there’d be nobody to claim the throne. King Siwon had old uncles, and they had children, but they’re so low in rank now that nobody remembers their names. Sookmyung put any possible challenges to the sword: children of the king’s concubines, close cousins, and people who might stake a claim however small. There’d be nobody to guide their kingdom; nobody to speak on behalf of its people and rebuild what Sookmyung destroyed.

Hongjoong might hate Sookmyung, but he did not hate the people. The subjects whom he’d hoped to serve one day called out for help and he is unable to answer their call. It made him feel helpless, useless, and powerless. That is, until he’d met Naeun.

He’d gone into the garden alone a few weeks ago when he heard a disturbance near the apricot trees towards the side walls. The scrape of metal against stone caught his ear in the dark corner of the garden, followed by a soft thump of feet touching ground. When Hongjoong went to discover it, someone put their hand over his mouth and pushed him into the bushes between the trees. There, he’d seen the intruder: short and slim as a tree branch, the young woman wore a half mask and dressed in all black. He’d originally been scared, seeing the dagger on her belt, but then she pulled down her mask.

‘Your Grace, I come on behalf of Seo Changbin. He says hope is not lost.’

It took him a moment to place a face to the name, but it hit him quickly. While never having met the man in person, he’d heard Sookmyung mention his name disdainfully before. A resistance leader, he’d once been a military soldier until his defection some years ago. According to Naeun, he has been gathering recruits to his cause while remaining underground. Hongjoong had no idea why he’d contact him; he’d lost his crown and his people. He held no power to help them. Changbin seemed to think differently.

‘The people of Wonju have not forgotten you, my prince. We must free you from this prison.’

'That is much easier said than done, I'm afraid. Sookmyung takes as much care to keep us imprisoned as she does keeping others out. The most I can do for him is to remain here.'

'You wish to be kept here?'

'Yes. Sookmyung foolishly boasts about her plans in front of us. I know things about her bases, her forces, and her battle plans than most. I can leave messages for you in the tree whenever I have something to pass along.'

'Your Grace, if she were to catch you…I believe you do not understand. You are our only hope.'

'I am more useful to the rebellion inside these walls than out. Trust me. I know what I'm doing. Come to me a week from now, and I shall have information for you.'

Naeun agreed to the plan. Sookmyung never suspected anything when she began idly chatting about her various strategies. Hongjoong made note of her words and passed them along to Naeun, who then told Changbin. It helped them in the short term, but they needed something stronger. Simply cutting off trade routes, attacking military camps, and liberating political prisoners is not enough. They needed to get rid of Sookmyung permanently. 

An assassin sounded easy, but Sookmyung is so closely guarded, getting a moment with her might be hard. The one time a person did manage to reach her chambers, she’d killed them. He told Naeun that Sookmyung is no delicate kitten. She has claws that are long and sharp, and she enjoys sinking them into her enemies slowly. 

They would need to be careful if they wished to proceed.

“Tired already, Joongie?”

He heard Seonghwa call from somewhere behind him, and he turned around to see him by the door. Wearing his own black robe, seeing him in the faint orange sunset, he understood why Sookmyung took him as a concubine. His dark eyes twinkled with a thousand stars, and his plush lips resembled rosé petals. After being captured by Sookmyung, Hongjoong realized he had companions in his misery: the other sons of people Sookmyung killed. One of them being Seonghwa, son of a chief advisor in another nation. Sookmyung must’ve hoped he and Seonghwa would fight over her; that they’d rip each other apart for a special spot beside her. That is the only disappointment she let them get away with. The pair of them both realized the only people they’d have in this world is one another; they’d never see home or their families again. The “flowers” learned long ago that they can only depend on one another.

“Far from it,” he replied. “I thought it’d be unfair to keep her from enjoying the rest of you.”

‘I wanted to get away from her.’ 

Even in this room far from ears and eyes, they practiced caution. Seonghwa sauntered over to him, “I think she’s plenty occupied with the others for the moment. A bit of rest will not upset her.”

‘She’s busy. Let’s talk.’

Their casual expressions became serious once Seonghwa reached him, their backs facing the doorway. Seonghwa poured himself tea, and the elder sipped quietly.

“Will you see your friend again tonight?”

“I might,” he said. “She told me to meet her by the trees a week from then. She said Changbin uncovered information that could be very instrumental in removing her, but he needed proof of it.”

“What could it be?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Maybe he discovered Sookmyung is some foul demon and has discovered how to banish her from this world.”

The pair of them giggled softly. Seonghwa drank from his tea cup, and said, “Have you heard anything about that maid?”

Hongjoong hesitated. His stomach twisted into knots when the picture came back to him. He pictured a young girl, about sixteen by his estimation, laying on the pavilion floor as she cried out in pain. It had been a mistake. An older servant told him that the young girl came to them looking for work, and was given a job in the kitchen. She’d been putting down wine cups when she accidentally knocked one over which spilled onto Sookmyung’s lap. Naturally, the queen went into an immediate rage.

“One of the attendants told me they’d thrown her into the cells for a week,” Hongjoong said flatly, putting his drink aside. “Over an accident. She beat that child for spilling wine, then imprisoned her.”

Sookmyung beat her with a bamboo switch until she drew blood.  Hongjoong remembered flinching every time the thin wooden stick met flesh; his heart sinking in every cry he heard, her pleas for the abuse to stop. A proper monarch would not have risen to anger so quickly. To be fair, he’d never seen anyone rush to rage like Sookmyung. The girl left the scene bruised and whimpering, being dragged away by two armed guards. They’d all wished to speak out. While the others wept for the young girl, he fumed with hate. It swelled in his chest until it tightened, causing him to take deep breaths. The child did nothing wrong. She’d only been a bit careless, possibly nervous at serving a queen for the first time.

“She needs to be stopped, Hwa,” Hongjoong said under his breath. “This madness must not be allowed to continue.”

“It will be stopped,” Seonghwa assured him. “A revolution is at hand.”

“Revolution? What revolution?” he spat. “The citizens of this city are too frightened of her and her men to raise up arms against her. The few who can be encouraged do not have the proper support. A revolution can only happen if enough people stand up and speak out.” He thought of that girl, and what she must be feeling now. She must still be frightened. “That woman has stomped out any glimmer of hope those people might have had long ago. She killed anyone who would have opposed her or helped them stop her. Do not forget, love, she has her people everywhere as well.”

“Perhaps the news your friend brings will be the very ray of hope we need,” said Seonghwa.  Hongjoong sensed a change in subject when his brother smiled softly, “YN looked lovely today, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” he nodded, thinking about you as he admired the flowers beneath the window. “She did.”

“Good idea in distracting Sookmyung,” Seonghwa said, doing the same. “Chaewon mentioned she hadn’t seen YN for the past two nights.”

“I thought she could use the time.”

You looked lovely at court today. Even though you wore the same hanbok, the same slippers, and the same hairstyle every day, he and Seonghwa still found you lovely. If Hongjoong pitied anyone outside of himself and his brothers, it’d be you. While they only saw a small percentage of Sookmyung’s cruelty, you saw all of it. You saw the things she did as a princess, you saw the horrors she committed during her conquest, and the deplorable things she did as a queen. He heard Sookmyung often makes you join her in the palace jails where she keeps her victims. You've seen Sookmyung’s true nature. He imagined she might’ve even forced you to participate. If she enjoyed making you watch her have sex with them, then she definitely delighted in forcing you to torture people with her.

“She is clever, you must give her that,” Seonghwa cut through his thoughts. “From what the handmaidens say, YN is the only other person who can navigate Sookmyung. Remember when that seamstress accidentally made her jacket too short, and Sookmyung almost hit her for it? YN managed to convince her that Queens are trendsetters, and how popular she’d be to have started a new trend in hanbok fashions.”

“She’s brilliant.”

Words he instantly wished he could take back. Those words may float through the air and over to the very front of the house where she’d hear him. Hongjoong could never look at you the way he wanted with Sookmyung so close by, but he liked catching glimpses of you. He knew you likely did not feel the same way. Sookmyung’s wrath kept you from looking too long or speaking to him directly. The things he learned about you had been through others. Late at night, when the weight of his plight robbed him of sleep, he envisioned what would happen if he’d still been a prince. He would’ve come to Hanseong as a diplomatic envoy or as a prince to discuss alliance terms. You’d likely still be Sookmyung’s handmaiden, but he’d be allowed to speak to you. He could talk to you without the threat of death looming behind you. He could enjoy your company leisurely in the open and be free to seek you out if he wished.

Perhaps, once he’d deposed Sookmyung and reclaimed his homeland, he could pursue you the way a man pursues a woman he admires.

“I sometimes wonder what it'd be like if I was still an advisor’s son,” Seonghwa mused, “We wouldn’t be the same rank but I still would’ve married her, if she accepted. I’d keep her safe. She wouldn’t need to live in fear anymore.”

“And if she married me, she’d be free to do as she wished,” added Hongjoong.

“What makes you think she’d marry you?” teased Seonghwa. “Because you’re a prince? You cannot marry someone so below your rank. You’re supposed to marry a princess.”

“Sookmyung murdered all the princesses, remember? ” said Hongjoong, “Besides, I wouldn’t be a prince anymore. I’d be a king, so she’d surely say ‘yes’ to me.”

“Being a queen is complicated and stressful. Being the wife of an Advisor is much more relaxed. She’d have a comfortable lifestyle and also freedom she wouldn’t get as a queen.”

“She’s strong enough to handle the responsibilities. She handles Sookmyung every day, so it wouldn’t be so hard.”

Hongjoong did not mind the idea of being with both you and Seonghwa. He’d grown to love Seonghwa, and after sharing a bed with him on many occasions, the intimacy nurtured the fondness. Hongjoong learned to put his trust in a handful of people, and Seonghwa became one of them. His brilliant mind and tender heart drew in anyone who spoke to him, Hongjoong included. 

“Or you could both be my concubines to make things easier for everyone,” he winked. “Kings have very big appetites, you know.”

Seonghwa punched his arm and laughed, “I’d never be a concubine to anyone ever again. I’ll settle for your Chief Advisor position, however.”

“In that case, I get to marry YN and you cannot protest.”

“Trade YN for a seat on your council? Hm, perhaps I should think more on it before giving an answer.”

“You’d be Chief Advisor, second to The King and second most powerful man in the country,” he explained. “Surely, that will be a reasonable trade.”

“May I at least kiss her before you take her from me, Your Grace?”

“If she accepts, then you may.”

“Hongjoong! Seonghwa! Where are you?”

The sound of her voice demolished any laughter between them. Hongjoong’s  hatred immediately boiled inside him. He glanced back to the garden, the sun nearly set and darkness waning over them. He knew you’d come to bring Sookmyung her supper, and then disappear again. Perhaps those few minutes you stayed in his presence may be enough to soothe his anger.

“Hongjoong!” she screamed in a firm tone.

A third call will result in chastising. Hongjoong finished his drink, then stood up with Seonghwa to walk back into the main room. Draped with red, black and gold, plush couches and cushions decorated the circular room. It had every comfort or luxury people outside the palace would faint over.  If she wanted, musicians would stand in a corner to entertain them while Yunho, Mingi or Wooyoung danced for her. Jongho or Yeosang would be ordered to sing songs as she lounged herself across Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s laps. The “garden”, as she called their quarters, was her private playground and nobody is permitted inside unless under extreme urgency.

Sookmyung laid on her back on one of the couches, still nude and sweaty from the strenuous love making. His brothers rested around her, their privates no doubt aching from the constant orgasms, and their muscles burning due to the exertion. He supposed she’d tired herself out, since all physical touching stopped in his absence. Though, knowing Sookmyung, that desire can turn its ugly head around very easily. He must not do anything to entice her, yet still placate her. Perhaps he can convince her to retire to bed early or return to her quarters for the night. Meeting Naeun will be easier if she’s away.

“There you are,” she said, rolling onto her side and looking at him through tired eyes, “I was beginning to think you’d fallen asleep without me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He thought of straddling her to wrap his hands around her throat, yet instead, he did so to kiss her softly. Her lips, warm and tasting faintly of their combined juices, disgusted him instead of exciting him. The thought of kissing you instead was what pushed him through it until they broke apart. 

“I had someone go fetch YN,” she told him, putting her legs across his lap. “I’m starving, and she hasn’t appeared yet.”

“I’m sure she’s preoccupied elsewhere, and it slipped her mind,” assured Hongjoong.

“How can I slip from her mind?” she snapped. “I’m her queen. My welfare is all she should be concerned with; it’s her role as my handmaiden and head of my household. She is my oldest companion, but she can be so simple-minded sometimes.”

He wanted to slap her, but resisted the urge by giving her thigh a slight squeeze disguised as desire.

“Maybe I should take her down to the cells again,” she said pensively. Rolling her hairpin between her fingers, he saw her turning the idea in time with it. “I can show her what can happen if she forgets about me.”

His eyes looked to Seonghwa, whose jaw clenched tightly. He saw similar expressions from the others around them. Hongjoong knew they cared about you just as much as he did.

“I don’t think such a harsh display is necessary, Mistress,” said Yunho, coming to her opposite side, gently moving his fingers through her hair. “There are many duties she has besides tending to your needs. She has to manage your household staff, plan out your meals for you, and make sure everything is prepared for your nightly routine. The kitchen might not have finished your supper, for all you know.”

“Hm, I suppose.”

“And I believe you’ve exerted yourself enough for one evening, no?” he proposed.

“I guess,” she said, sounding almost disappointed. “It’d still be funny,” she snorted. “She’s so squeamish sometimes. She'd looked away when I cut off a man's hand once, and cried like a baby." 

Hongjoong remembered that man. While thievery is frowned upon, the man’s reasoning was sound to Hongjoong: he was hungry. Rather than remove a finger for theft as is customary, Sookmyung chopped his hand. Piece by piece, he'd heard. Hongjoong did not see it, but you did. He wished he could remove the images from your mind, and replace them with ones of warmth and happiness. Yet, that is one thing a king cannot do.

“She’s delicate, Mistress,” Yeosang said next, coming up and kneeling beside Yunho. “Ladies like YN are sensitive to certain ghastly sights, and cannot handle them. She is not as strong as you; you cannot fault her for what is a part of her.”

“You all seem to be quite fond of her…” they all heard the accusation laced into her words, and Hongjoong knew what to say.

“She is not only your handmaiden, but your childhood companion,” he said, “She has become a large part of you. She’s almost an extension of yourself, and how can we not be fond of something that is a part of you?”

‘She is your slave. She is your property, therefore we care for her safety and spirit.’

"She is,” Sookmyung agreed, “I have known her my entire life. She has been there for me through the toughest times, and has never betrayed me. YN might be naive and simple, but she is the only person whom I can trust entirely.” Hongjoong saw her eyes glaze over as you crossed her mind, “If she serves me well, perhaps I’ll find a suitable husband for her myself. Someone worthy of my handmaiden and companion. Nobody of noble birth, of course, but maybe a nice stable boy or a cook-”

“-You summoned me, Your Majesty?”

Speak of an angel, and she shall appear. You parted the curtains leading into the harem room, still in your white uniform and hair braided down your back. The concubines did their best to not get an eyeful of you, but Hongjoong couldn’t help himself. While Sookmyung displayed pride and power, you showed more purity and grace. He liked that about you. 

“There you are,” said Sookmyung, standing up from the couch as if she hadn’t spent hours having sex with her concubines. Without an order, you picked up the bed robe hanging over one of the chairs to slide onto her arms. “I’m starving. Tell the cook to bring my supper here.”

“I already told them,” you said, pulling her hair out from inside the robe, “I know how exhausted you must be, so I thought you may find it more comfortable to eat here.”

“Ah, YN…” she smiled in satisfaction, “My father used to say the mark of a true servant is them knowing your commands before you’ve given them. You know me so well, YN.”

“It is my job to know you.”

Your eyes found him in the room as you quickly braided her hair from her face. Hongjoong knew complimenting you would raise suspicion with Sookmyung. 

“You’re an excellent handmaiden, YN,” said Yunho, “Knowing exactly what our Mistress needs at any given moment is a true talent.”

You bowed your head to him, but did not answer. You’re not allowed to unless Sookmyung permits it. You finished tying her hair, and stood aside while Sookmyung returned to one of the sofas nearby. Hongjoong forced himself to look away from you, knowing a lingering glance may have consequences for you. If she suspected anything between you both, you’d no longer be allowed in the house, and that would kill him. 

Sookmyung lounged across a sofa, resting against Wooyoung’s chest with her feet on San’s lap. "She truly is,” Sookmyung said. “YN, I was just telling my flowers that I should find you a proper husband.”

“That’s kind of you to consider, Your Majesty.”

“But, I have no idea what kind of men you like,” she frowned, and Hongjoong feared where this might be going.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “What kind of men do you like? Athletic? Intelligent? Creative? Mysterious?”

“Um, I’ve never really thought about it before. I don’t have much time for men.”

“Well, if you did think about it.”

You averted your eyes from the men staring right at you. No doubt you think she is trying to trick you into a punishment. “I prefer simple men, Your Majesty. Ordinary people like me.”

“Psh, that’s no fun,” she scoffed. She paused for a moment, then said, “A woman like you needs a protector type. You know, somebody strong who will take care of you and be a proper provider. Your father isn’t around anymore, and once he’s gone, you’ll be a vulnerable little mouse. Sannie,” she turned to him, “Stand up.”

“Mistress?”

“Stand up,” she repeated more firmly.

San did not question her again and stood from the couch. “Take off your robe,” she said. “Let YN see what a protector’s body looks like.”

San removed his robe, letting it slide down his shoulders. Hongjoong saw red flushing up to his neck, cheeks, and ears as the room took in his naked form. You certainly did your best to not look at him.

“YN, look at him.”

“I’d rather not, Your Majesty.”

“Why not?”

“Because he isn’t my type.”

“You won’t know until you look.”

When you looked up at San, you did your best to not glance at his exposed groin. “Do you like it?”

“Um…well…”

“I won’t know what you like unless you tell me.”

“I think he’s nice, Your Majesty.”

“Nice? You clearly aren’t looking in the right places,” she said. “Yunho, make her look.”

“Mistress?”

“You heard me. YN clearly needs a bit of guidance. Show her where she should look.”

“Mistress, is this truly necessary?” asked Seonghwa. “YN is not as versed in sexual practices as you. Women like her are-”

“-She will be after tonight,” she grinned maliciously at your nervousness.

Yunho had taken two careful steps up to you when the doors at the end of the hall burst open. The sounds of struggling and feet stomping on the wooden floors froze everyone in place. A terrible feeling stirred in Hongjoong’s stomach when he heard a woman grunting. Through the curtains came two of Sookmyung’s guards, each of them holding the arm of someone dressed entirely in black. Naeun. Hongjoong let his shock show on his face, but disguised it as shock at the intrusion.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sookmyung shot up, outraged by their interruption. “What is going on?”

“We found this one sneaking about in your flower garden, Your Majesty,” one of the guards said. “She was carrying this.”

He showed a long dagger Naeun kept on her person at all times. The red band around the pummel made every lewd thought in Sookmyung’s mind disappear. Dark eyes glared at Naeun, who glared right back at her.

“A resistance fighter, huh?” She walked towards Naeun slowly, like a lioness stalking prey. “You truly believed you could sneak in here under the cover of night, armed with a pathetic little blade,” she took the blade from the guard and weighed it in her hands, “And think you can kill me? Hm, is that what you hoped to accomplish?” Naeun had the smarts not to respond. “You resistance bastards are like roaches. Right when I think I’ve stomped you out, you crawl your way back in.” She stuck the knife right underneath Naeun’s chin to force her eyes on her, “As I told the last rebel scum who snuck into my palace, your cause is hopeless. I control the trades. I control the fleet, the army, and the elite. Everyone and everything on this earth belongs to me, and I can do with it as I see fit.”

"You bitch,” Naeun gritted. “You won’t get away with this. Soon, our true monarch will rise from the shadows and strike you down. Death is coming for you, Sookmyung.”

“Not before it comes for you!”

“No, Mistress,” you rushed to her side to stay her hand, “Do not kill her.”

“What?!”

“Your Majesty, if this woman truly is a resistance fighter, she may have information on the people who sent her,” you explained breathlessly. “If you question her enough, she may tell you where the rebels are hiding. Those rebels have been a thorn in your side for so long, you might have the key to their undoing right in front of you.” When Sookmyung seemed unconvinced, breathing quickly on the verge of a kill, “Wouldn’t putting her in the cells be more fruitful than merely killing her? Particularly in front of the present company. You wouldn’t want your flowers to see the ugly side of you.”

Sookmyung mulled this option over, then said, “Yes. Yes, it would be more fruitful.” She smirked at Naeun, sliding the flat of the blade across her jawline, “I think we can learn very much from our ambitious friend here. Take her to the cells. YN and I will be there soon.”

“Yes, my queen," one of them said, bowing and taking Naeun away. 

“Should you not dress yourself properly, Your-” you'd begun to say. 

“-And get blood on my dress? I think not." Sookmyung turned to the men behind her, “Sleep well, Flowers. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Beloved,” Hongjoong called out to her, standing to meet her by the door, “How about you let YN go for the night and I will accompany you to the cells? She is not very well suited to interrogate someone properly, and she’ll be no help to you.” He pulled her closer to him, then whispered, “The others might find it ugly, but I find your fierceness to be…inspiring.” He brushed his lips on the edge of her ear, aware of you watching him.

“You do?”

“Always. A good queen should know when to be strong. YN isn’t like you; she’s soft and simple. Dismiss her for the night, and let me go with you.”

“You just want me all to yourself, don’t you?” she giggled, pecking his lips. “Fine, I will allow it this one time. YN, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Hongjoong needed to get to Naeun. He's sure you stopped Sookmyung to keep Naeun alive or otherwise kill her quickly. But, he still had a greater need for her. He walked with Sookmyung out of the house, feeling your presence behind him. Naeun is a woman dedicated to the cause. Hongjoong sensed she will not give up the information easily, if at all. Knowing Sookmyung, she will drag out the pain for as long as possible before letting Naeun succumb to her wounds. Naeun will be alive enough to pass on the information she’d gotten from Changbin. Letting Sookmyung into the palanquin outside the house, he looked over to see you already walking away. You must feel relieved at being spared embarrassment and guilt for tonight. As he climbed into the seat, he knew he’d done at least one thing right tonight.

He braced himself for what he’d witness tonight. 

***

Sookmyung’s torture chambers ran deep underneath the palace jail. Sitting behind metal bars, “prisoners of interest” were locked up in small, low-ceiling rooms with nothing but a bed of straw to sleep on. Hongjoong’s nose wrinkled at the foul smells emanating from the different cells as they passed them. He did not dare glance inside any of them, a bit fearful of what he might find there. A sense of despair and dread came over him as he followed her down the aisle to the room at the end. He could imagine himself being a prisoner here, dragged out of a cell and inflicted with unimaginable agony. It sent shivers down his spine. 

“What do you think, love?” Sookmyung asked him, excitement dancing in her eyes. “Do you like it?”

“It’s innovative,” he said, having to come up with something. 

He dared peek into a cell, where he saw a long wooden box on the floor. He thought it might be a storage room before he saw the box begin to quake and faint screams came through the wood. It made his blood run cold. 

“You built this place yourself or was it always here?” he asked, moving along with her. 

“I built most of it, but it’d been in disuse for decades,” she said. “My father never approved of torture. He believed the punishment should fit the crime. I think differently. If the punishment is extreme, then the offender won’t think of doing it again.”

Hongjoong didn’t disagree. Not that he agreed either, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. Loud, painful screaming echoed from behind a wooden door, and this made Sookmyung stop to look through its small window. “Blossom, come look,” she smiled, glancing over to him and beckoning him forward, “They’ve lifted him to the ceiling.”

He made himself step over to her, and she let him see the naked man dangling from a pulley system. The jailors tied baskets of weights to his ankles so his legs stretched further. From what he could see, the baskets were nearly full. 

“You see, what they do is hang them from the ceiling,” she explained excitedly, “And then they keep adding weights to the baskets to bring their body downwards. It’s like a stretching rack, but vertical. I’ve found it quite marvelous to watch. If they hang there  long enough, their bones start dislodging from the sockets.”

“That’s…Beloved, we have an assassin to question. We shouldn’t keep the confessor waiting.”

“Oh alright,” she huffed, like a child being refused sweets, “But when we finish, I want to show you The Box. YN squirms whenever I open it, but you’re a strong man and she’s a little girl, so you can handle it better than her.” 

Hongjoong did not want to see ‘The Box’. He did not want to see any of this. If he asked, he’s sure whatever crime these people did to deserve these punishments is minor. ‘They stole a loaf of bread’, ‘They said treasonous things’, ‘They happened to be wearing the same color as me at a special occasion’. A queen, or any person, should not delight in the misery and pain of others. Capturing the revolting scenes before him only fueled his hate more, and solidified his cause. He’d get rid of Sookmyung. He’d kill her himself, if he must, and the consequences be damned. These people, whatever their crimes, do not deserve such torment. 

They finally reached a room at the end of the hall, which turned out to be a singular space with a fireplace, a tub of water, and a wooden chair. At a desk in the corner sat a record keeper, who prepared a new sheet of paper and an ink bottle to record whatever transpired here. Why this was needed, Hongjoong could only guess it was meant for Sookmyung to revisit later on her own. Strapped to a chair in the middle of the room was Naeun, blood dripping from a broken nose and a harsh mark on her cheek. He stayed in the shadows as Sookmyung approached her, eyes widening at the sight of her helpless victim. Naeun glanced over to him, and he wanted more than anything to save her, but that’d mean revealing his intentions for tonight. 

She’d started softly: questioning Naeun about the assassination attempt, who sent her, where were they and what else did they have planned. When Naeun did not answer, Sookmyung started slapping her. Then, she changed from a hand to a thick strip of leather. Then she used a long bamboo switch to strike Naeun’s hands until they bled. This did not disturb Hongjoong, since he’d witnessed such things during the war, but what Sookmyung escalated to shocked him. 

Teeth pulling. Nail ripping. Bone breaking. Stretching her until her bones popped. Naeun’s screams of pain bounced off the damp, stone walls and into his ears. Hongjoong knew he could not look away, even for a moment, because Sookmyung would notice. The queen herself cackled at Naeun’s pain, only asking questions as an afterthought. Hongjoong saw the delight in her eyes, and the gratification the torture gave her each time. He wondered if this is what you witnessed every time you came down here, and, if so, you are much stronger than he could ever be. 

“Fuck me,” Sookmyung growled at him, her eyes flaring and already lifting her robe. 

“What?” he asked, stunned by her appearance. Blood stained her fingers, and light sprays covered her face. She pressed him into a wall, and began untying his own robes. “Sookmyung! Mistress!”

“Doesn’t this arouse you like it arouses me?” she asked, feral and panting as she stroked him. “Do you not feel adrenaline coursing through your veins in every snap? Do her screams not make your loins burn like mine? Put it inside me, Hongjoong. Please. Your queen demands it!”

He pushed her away from him hard, and she gasped at his refusal. “I will not do this here,” he explained himself, fixing his robe closed, “I think you have gone far enough, Mistress. The woman will obviously not speak tonight. Let her wallow in her pain and reflect on her choices.” 

“I knew you were spineless,” she scowled at him. “A goddamn coward. That is how you ended up my whore, because you’re too cowardly to fight me. You’re a gormless, worthless, useless coward!” She grabbed a nearby pot of iron nails and threw it at him, though missed him by a few inches. “Let the bitch rot here for tonight, but come tomorrow, beloved,” she let the endearment hiss in her voice, “We’re going to return, and you’re going to question her for me.” 

“Mistress…”

“We’re done here,” she said to the room, her eyes burning on Hongjoong. 

He’d kill her then. He’d strap her to the chair and make it last as she would to him. Hongjoong watched her storm out of the room, and the jailors lifted Naeun from the floor. Her soft groan brought him out of his rage, and he looked over at her. From her half-opened eyes and shallow breaths, she still lived. Hongjoong followed the men out of the cell, then in the opposite direction of the entrance. The men did not question why he followed them, and nobody batted an eye when he watched them dump her body on straw. Hongjoong waited until they left to crouch down beside the bed. They must’ve assumed he wouldn’t try helping her, or that she'd die before he could. 

“Naeun,” he whispered as quietly as possible, worried his voice may carry, “Naeun, can you hear me?” 

Her head on the straw, he saw her remain motionless. 

“Naeun,” he said once more, the worse coming to mind. “Naeun, please…” She muttered something incoherently, and he moved in closer to listen. “Naeun?”

Naeun wriggled on the bed, shifting as little as she could before stopping all together. Hongjoong held his breath. For a few seconds, Naeun stayed silent and still. He considered the fact that she may have died before her head slowly turned upwards to him. One eye swollen shut, the other suffered enough damage that blood vessels popped and filled the white of her eye. He noticed her mouth stopped bleeding from the pulled teeth, and a bloody gash congealed on her chin. Despite all this torture and pain, he still spotted a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. He saw her rifling around underneath her collar, bloody fingers barely grasping the necklace around her throat. When he saw her struggling to remove it, Hongjoong took it by the charm and tugged the thin rope. Opening his palm, he saw a wooden dove in flight. 

“Crack…it,” she slurred, unable to move from her position. 

Hongjoong took the wooden charm and smashed it against the floor. After a few hits, it split open to reveal a thin scroll inside. Hongjoong picked it up and gave her a quizzical look. 

“Read it,” she croaked, “Alone.”

Tightly holding it in his fist, Hongjoong nodded and put the scroll in his pocket. Then, he looked at her. “You were brave, Naeun,” he said, “I wish I shared such resilience.”

“You d-do, Your Majesty,” she said, coughing and breathing deeply. “You do.” She took his hand in hers, and said, “Your people need you, sire. Please…help…help them.”

“I will,” he nodded. “I promise I will.” 

Hongjoong knelt there for several minutes, listening to Naeun’s shallow breaths becoming fainter and fainter with time. When the torchlight fell on her face, he realized how young she was. He wondered about her. She must have a family; a husband too, perhaps, and possibly a child. A child who will now grow up without her, never to feel her warm embrace or gentle kisses again. Sookmyung took that from them. She'd taken it from him too. He watched her eyes slowly closing through his tears. 

“I am going to make her pay, Naeun,” he said, sniffling. “You have my word. She will receive justice for what she has done.” 

He recalled every time he could’ve ended Sookmyung’s life. He thought of the times she laid soundlessly sleeping in his bed or the moments they spent in the privacy of their garden. All the times he could’ve fed her poison, or how he could’ve strangled her during sex. Yet, he had not. He’d let her live, afraid of the consequences each time he thought of them. Seeing Naeun fade from the world spilled tears down his cheeks, and filled him with self-loathing. He is a coward. He should be the one Sookmyung tortured, not Naeun. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered thickly, breathing back his tears. 

Naeun did not speak, and he did not expect her to either. Yet, with her last breath she said, “For Wonju…” 

And then she was gone. Hongjoong finally stood, and walked out of the cell. He informed the jailor, but did not stick around to elaborate. A sudden weight held him down. He trudged through the foul chambers, with the guilt holding him down. He did nothing. He’d watched the woman be senselessly tortured, and there’d been nothing he could do to help her. When he walked outside, he found Sookmyung waiting for him in the palanquin. He stared at her hard. The scroll in his pocket felt multitudes heavier than it should. 

“Don’t be so weepy. Real men don’t weep,” she said in a yawn. “I’m tired. Get in and let us be on our way.”

He climbed in without a word. Naeun did this for him. She’d risked her life to give him this information. Naeun knew this scroll was the key to saving their homeland; she’d died getting it to him. He would make sure her death was not in vain. 

Thankfully, Sookmyung’s exhaustion kept her from speaking too much. It gave him time to think without her incessant interruptions. By the time they reached the house again, he’d jumped out of the palanquin and stormed off. This sign of resentment made her call after him, but he did not hear her. He did not care. Her voice only irritated the rage brewing inside him. Let her beat him tomorrow, if she wishes. Tonight, he had more important concerns.  

As expected, the only light in the house was the moonlight coming in through the windows. He suspected his brothers already ate and retired to their rooms. Good. He did not wish to be disturbed. Rushing into his chambers, hot tears streaming down his cheeks, he didn’t realize someone was already there until he’d shut his doors. 

“Hongjoong?”

Seonghwa sat on his bed, reading a book by candlelight. He’d changed into a long tunic, and tied back his hair from his face. He stood up the moment he spotted Hongjoong’s puffy eyes and wet cheeks. In the safety of his embrace, Hongjoong sobbed hard. He clung onto his lover’s broad shoulders, fingers pressing into the muscles, and sobbed against his shoulder. Everything that transpired in the past few hours crashed onto him and only Seonghwa’s soft shushing and back rubbing soothed his cries. Quietly, he let Seonghwa remove his clothes, but not before Hongjoong withdrew the scroll. 

“What is this?” Seonghwa asked in a hushed whisper, seeing the scroll. 

“Naeun,” he explained, taking a breath, “This is what she wanted to give me.”

Seonghwa nodded in understanding, then stood by as he broke open the seal. In thin writing, Hongjoong saw a message scribbled:

‘Han Sookmyung is not King Siwon’s only living heir. The person who gave us this information will meet you in the palace temple at noon tomorrow. They will ask you what you pray for today. We pray for home. We pray for Wonju. For Wonju, we serve.’ 

Seonghwa and Hongjoong stood there in silence. The words marinated in their minds, and he still had difficulty believing them. Hongjoong reread the message again. ‘The person who gave us this information…’ A person? What ‘person’? Nobody in particular came to mind immediately. It also seemed borderline insane to write the starting line. Changbin seemed confident that nobody else but Hongjoong would read it, if he so brazenly wrote this down. 

He was confident because he’d sent it with Naeun.

“Another heir?” Seonghwa gaped. “Could it be?”

“There is only one way to find out.”

“You will meet this informant of theirs, then?”

“I will. I must." 

He slipped into bed, and surprisingly, Seonghwa joined him. “And I will go with you," Seonghwa said, pushing hair from his face. 

The two men curled beside one another, enjoying each other’s warmth and presence. His last thought, as he drifted, was of Naeun’s dying words. 

“For Wonju…”

***

A/N: thank you so much for the love and feedback I got from some people! I wasn't sure if people would like a historical au, but I love them so I wrote one lol I hope you guys liked this one, and please feel free to like and reblog <3 spread the love <3

[lamemaster]

Made of Sugar

Request: Hi! Hope this finds you well, mind if i req for a Thranduil x reader where they're like telling legolas how they met, maybe they met during the war of the last alliance? anyways love ur work especially the angst but now i need some not angst? cus im actually going to cry lmao

Pairing: Thranduil x Wife Reader

Genre: Fluff

AN: This has been due a long time! I'm sorry for the delay but this writer suffers from smooth brain 98% of the time.

“Legolas Thranduilion!” Your voice rings out loud, breaking his thoughts. For once, he wishes his father's presence was there. “Have I not made it clear that you are not to go to the wine cellars?” You pinch your nose blinking furiously as was your habit when agitated. 

Legolas hasn’t known love stronger than the one he has felt for you, his eme. Your stories, your songs, the little stars you paint on the roof of his room– Legolas absorbs them with the wide-eyed devotion of a sunflower turning its face to the first rays of the sun.  

But all that love does not diminish the distress of your anger. You, the one who laughed most easily, whose smile could chase away any shadow, were now a storm cloud gathered over his head.

The familiar scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke that clung to you did little to soothe the storm brewing in your eyes. Legolas flinched – he knew the terrifying, steely glint that hardened your gaze when truly angered. It was a sight rarer than a dust storm in Greenwood, but all the more impactful when it came. 

 At barely 80 years old, facing your wrath felt far more daunting than any monstrous spider lurking in the Greenwood.

"You are too young," you said, your voice tight. "Just you wait until I tell Thranduil." You paced around the room, pinching the bridge of your nose, a telltale sign of your agitation. "Maybe he will listen and move the wine cellars away from the main palace."

Staring at the untouched cakes, Legolas yearned for nothing more than for this tension to pass. He longed to see your easy smile return.  The sight of untouched cakes, usually a source of joy, only emphasized the heavy weight of your displeasure. He longed for the days when your laughter filled the room, chasing away any shadow.

“Beloved queen of mine,” Thranduil sauntered in, his footsteps barely a whisper on the polished floor. The scent of pine needles and leather, a familiar trail, announced his presence even before he entered. “The cellar unfortunately cannot be moved.” Thranduil is already in the process of taking off his heavy robes while detangling his hair from the crown's tiny branches.

Legolas watched with a flicker of worry as your eyes narrowed in annoyance before you gave up to help his ada. "He went in there today," your gaze felt heavy on him even as you busied yourself helping Thranduil detangle the crown. "What if he drank your wine? That thing is disgusting and Legolas is too young. You must move the wine somewhere else." You placed the crown on the table.

Thranduil threw him an amused grin as your back remained turned to them as you instructed the staff to bring fresh snacks and tea. "What if I didn't get there in time…good thing Feren was kind enough to inform me."

"I am disappointed Legolas," Thranduil looked at him without an ounce of anger, and your glare at the king of Greenwood told him that this did not go unnoticed by you. "But I am sorry, my love," He looked up at you with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, "The cellars must remain untouched. I would never in a million ages, change the place of our first meeting."

Legolas' breath hitched in his throat. You frowned. And Thranduil snickered in delight.

"You cannot be serious!" You replied indignantly.

"You met in the wine cellars?!" Legolas asked at the same time.

"We did, ion," Thranduil adds before you can cover his lips with your palm. Thranduil throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the room. A weird sight to see you this flustered, this agitated.

"We did not!"

"We absolutely did!"

"Well, I was 120," you say, a blush creeping up your cheeks. "You were not  princeling."

The servants gawk at the term of endearment that slips past your lips. Some almost drop the trays of food as they put them in front of you. But both you and Thranduil are too taken by the task of bickering like decade-old elflings. "Oh yeah, I too was of age," Thranduil counters with a twinkle in his eye. "Almost of age. Only 4 years shy of it."

Thranduil straightens up, taking a playful bite into a fruit cake. "Four years too young, my love," you smirk, the topic of Legolas' transgression long forgotten. The steel of your rage softened into its original inky warmth.

"I acquiesce, my respected elder," Thranduil bows dramatically, sending another wave of laughter through the room. Legolas watched in amusement, a flicker of relief washing over him as the conversation shifted. Your voices rose in a playful argument.

Legolas, eyeing the untouched cakes, finally understood. Your gentle nature thrived beside his father, much like the sweetness of a cake is best appreciated with a pinch of salt.

[peachdues]

angst and pining and longing and hurt, oh my!

but comfort?? well, y’all will just have to wait and see.

“I’m not leaving her —“ he began hotly.

“Your seal was broken, Sanemi.” Shinobu’s voice was as sharp and severe as her expression. “Unless and until you confirm otherwise, you remain a liability the pack.”

The doctor’s violet eyes drifted back down to the girl sleeping in the bed between them. “To her.”

His fists clenched but Sanemi knew she was right. There was no telling what the status was of the beast within him — whether it was docile or lying in wait, counting the minutes before it could spring forth and destroy everything he loved once more.

The Huntsman’s attention dropped to his mate, bandaged and broken, but thankfully sedated. Shinobu turned away, head dropping so she could pretend to inspect her nails, which were never anything but short and clean.

Sanemi appreciated the effort at privacy.

His heart clenched tight as he knelt by his beloved’s bedside, his hand coming to rest against the unbandaged side of her face. Sanemi leaned forward and nuzzled against her cheek and forehead, a lump lodging thickly in his throat.

“I’ll return as soon as I can,” he murmured against her temple. “I promise.”

His lips brushed kiss after kiss against her hairline, his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the tears threatening to spill forth. Leaving her as she was, unconscious and vulnerable, felt like a betrayal; a branch of a greater failure, a stinging reminder that it was his fault and his alone that he had to abandon her yet again.

“Come back to me soon, my Lamb,” he whispered brokenly against her hair. “For I am lost without you.”

—

Y/N muttered something indiscernble, head lolling heavily to her right shoulder, her eyebrows pinched.

Shinobu sighed and lowered her medical tome, preparing to rise and go restrain the girl yet again so that she would not risk popping her stitches.

She mumbled yet again, this time more urgent even in spite of the thickness with which the poppy milk coated her tongue.

And then Shinobu heard her, clear as day.

“‘N-Nemi,” the girl’s lower lip wobbled as she paused, waiting for a response that would not come. “‘Nemi.”

Shinobu’s heart clenched tight. “Sanemi will return soon, Y/N. Just hold on a little longer.”

Sanemi’s mate shook her head, her movements clumsy. “Sanemi. Please.”

[kkpaaw]

Fuckin, Pre Trolls 1 au where Branch and Creek have a one night stand, don't know HOW it happens, but it does and It ends with Branch being with egg and the au is just him struggling with the realization that he's going to have Creeks kid, struggle to care for the egg and tryna figure out how to handle his and Creeks still sour, but now kinda awkward relationship whiel also battling his own issues in the process. angst with some heartwarming moments and BREEK (my beloved)

[hearts-hunger]

evergreen — part three

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Cabin Fever Masterlist | Join my taglist here!

Series Summary: Jake takes you on your first vacation to the cabin the gang stays at every year. When memories of past relationships loom heavy, will this vacation send cracks through the foundation of safety and trust you have in each other?

Chapter Summary: You try to take your friends' advice and talk to Jake, but it doesn't go the way you hope.

Pairings: Jake x Reader, Josh x Baby, Sam x Danny | Genre: angst, hurt/comfort | Word Count: 2.4k | Warnings: the devil's lettuce, arguing, non-graphic smut (minors begone!), hate sex? sort of?, uncertain feelings around sex, mentions of infidelity

A/N: Yes I posted the last chapter this morning no I am not upset that I have another chapter for you tonight. I hope you like it! There's a lot to unpack in here! ♡

Jake was replacing a string on his acoustic when you went back to the basement, tapping his foot to the beat of the song the guys were working on. 

“Hey, Jake?”

He looked up. “Yes, my love.”

You gathered up your courage, remembering what Baby had said. “You want to take a walk? It’s nice out.”

“Sure. Let me finish this real quick.” He restrung the guitar and set it in its stand, happily taking your hand when you offered it. You told the guys you were leaving for a bit and started out on your walk, leaves crunching under your feet and birds flitting to and fro in the branches overhead.

“Where are we going?” he asked, swinging your joined hands between you. 

“Nowhere in particular, I guess,” you said. “I just wanted to spend time with you.” And talk about your ex, you thought, but you couldn't say it out loud. 

He smiled. “Okay. Suits me. I know somewhere we can go, if you want to do some tree climbing.”

“You know, I think I do,” you said dryly. “It’s always been my dream.”

He laughed. “We don't have to if you don't want to. But let me take you over there, and then we can decide.”

Conversation wandered aimlessly, comfortingly, as you walked together in the chilly woods. Jake spoke animatedly of a new song, thankfully not the love song he’d apparently given up on, and you watched his expression and loved the light of passion you saw in his beloved features. 

You came to a group of three trees growing practically on top of each other; nestled in the branches was a platform of old wooden boards like the floor of an unfinished tree house. Nailed into the trunk of the trees was a makeshift ladder, and Jake stopped at the foot of it.

“Oh, Jake, you shouldn't have,” you teased. 

He grinned. “I told you I knew a place. Come on.”

He helped you up to the platform, steadying you as you climbed a dozen feet off the ground. You were a little worried about the structural integrity of the platform, but Jake assured you it was sound, and you knew he wouldn't take you somewhere dangerous. 

When you were satisfied that Jake has gotten rid of any immediate threat from spiders and other woodland critters, you lay on your backs and looked up at the bare branches overhead, watching the last of the amber leaves hang on valiantly in the breeze. 

“Close your eyes for a minute,” he said.

You frowned, and he chuckled as he brushed his fingers over your cheek. “Trust me, sparrow. Close your eyes and listen.”

You did, breathing deeply of the cold, clean air, listening to the chatter of squirrels and birds as they wandered about the woods. A single, musical cricket played a lonesome serenade somewhere below you, chirping and trilling to find a companion.

“It’s music,” Jake said softly. “You hear it?”

A faint smile tipped the corners of your mouth. “I hear it.” You opened your eyes to see him propped up on his arm beside you, watching you with such affection you thought you could get lost in it forever and always be content.

“You like it out here?” he asked.

You nodded. “I love it.” You reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear, letting your touch linger. “Thanks for bringing me.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He turned his head to kiss your wrist. “I found it last year, and I’ve decided it’s a good little love nest.”

You let your hand fall. A sharp, painful something twisted in your chest, and all of a sudden, you didn't care how oblivious he was — that one hurt.

“A love nest?” you said weakly, your voice coming out less sharply than it felt inside.

He smiled, and it made the hurt worse. “Yeah. For you, little sparrow. And I guess I can be a jaybird. Jake-bird. You see the vision.”

You sat up, wishing you could hear the silly jokes you usually loved as something other than inane chatter. He brushed the leaves out of your hair.

“No Jake-bird, then?” he asked.

You curled your hands into tight fists. “I need to talk to you about something.”

He sat up next to you. “Okay,” he said, still lighthearted. “Talk to me. You want to switch rooms again? Do a night in every bedroom?”

“I’m being serious, Jake. And I don’t want to fight,” you added, trying to preempt any argument, feeling like it might already be a losing battle. “I just need you to listen to me.”

“I’m listening to you, sparrow.” Though you couldn't see his face, you could picture the mix of confusion and concern in his expression. “When do I not listen to you?”

Part of you knew it was unfair to accuse him of not listening to you on this trip, seeing as you'd never actually said anything about it, but you couldn't get past the desire for him to know without you having to tell him.

He leaned closer. “Sparrow. What could we possibly have to fight about?”

“No, I said I didn't want to fight.”

“Yeah, I know. I don't want to either, so I’m not sure why you’d even bring it up.”

You took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you about Izzy.”

You felt him stiffen beside you. He didn't say anything for a moment, absently picking up a few acorns and tossing them over the edge of the platform.

“What about her?” he finally asked, and his voice was flat.

You looked over at him.

“You brought her the last time you came to the cabin,” you said.

He nodded. “Yeah. Still not sure what there is to say about that, though. She was my girlfriend at the time. I took her on the trip where everybody brings their partners. So what?”

You swallowed. “So, you picked the same room for us that you stayed in with her.”

He frowned, like that hadn’t ever occurred to him. “I guess.” He met your eyes, and the understanding you needed to see there was nowhere to be found. “Is that why you were so all-fired to switch rooms?”

You couldn't believe this wasn't clicking for him. Maybe he was being intentionally dense, and that thought made you mad.

“Yes!” you said fervently. “Jake, are you serious? I don't want to stay in the room you slept in with her.”

His expression was guarded, defensive. “Well, we switched, so I'm not sure what the problem is.”

Before you could say anything else, he started to climb down from the platform, and you had the distinct, infuriating sense of being dismissed. You followed him down and caught up with him, walking with him back to the cabin.

“We stayed in there last night,” you said, unwilling to let him end your conversation when he decided he wanted it to be over. “And then you tried to get in my pants this morning, but you had no clue why I didn't want you to.”

He grimaced. “Don’t say it like that. ‘Get in your pants’. I hate that. Makes me sound like a creep.”

“Fine,” you said waspishly, feeling that this talk that was supposed to be so easy was quickly devolving into what you’d feared it would. “You wanted to make love to me, whatever you want to call it. Doesn't change the fact that it was in the same bed you've done that with someone else.”

“Okay, so, it wasn't the most intelligent move on my part,” he said, the admission made lackluster by his frustrated tone. “But you could have said something if you were uncomfortable. I'm not a mind reader, sparrow.”

That was a salient point, one he’d had to make frequently in your previous arguments, and it chafed you raw now just as much as it had every other time he’d made it. You chose to ignore it in favor of letting your jealousy and anger run wild.

“And then you went on and on about how great she is at things I'm bad at,” you said, “and — ”

“No I didn't,” he protested, angry now. “Don’t make shit up. I said she was good at Pac-Man. If that makes you jealous, that's on you.”

“And then,” you said, pointedly ignoring that too, “you took me to your love nest you found with her. How am I supposed to interpret that one, Jake?”

“I don't know!” He threw his hands up, exasperated. “I’m an idiot. But you're twisting this to make it seem like I’ve been hurting you on purpose, when you know damn well that’s not true.” His gaze was hard and angry when he looked over at you. “You could have said something, but instead, you chose to get more and more upset with me until you started this shit. You always do.”

The truth of it only made you angrier, with yourself for doing it and with him for pointing it out.

“I shouldn't have to say that I don't want to sleep with you in the bed you fucked your ex in,” you said venomously.

His expression changed to one of incredulity and disgust. “What the hell did you say it like that for?” he demanded. You were nearing the cabin, and part of you worried about your friends overhearing, but the stronger part of you just wanted to keep fighting.

“You never talk like that,” he said. “Why are you throwing that in my face and making it sound like — ”

“You did, didn't you?” you spat. Your self control was completely unraveled. “You fucked her in that bed, didn't you?”

“Yes!” he burst out. He stopped on the porch to look your straight in the face. “Yes, okay? I fucked her good and hard in that bed, and I intentionally picked that room so I could make you feel like shit. Is that what you want to hear?”

“If that’s the truth!” you shot back. You felt the sting of angry, hurt tears and hated it. 

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, fed up with you. “I hate talking to you when you're like this, sparrow. You drive me fucking crazy.”

“This is your fault, Jake,” you said. “I can't ever get through to you. Every time I try, you overreact.”

“Me?” he all but yelled. “You’re the one making a big fucking deal out of nothing, just because you can't be honest about how you feel! How is that my fault?”

He went inside before you had a chance to yell anything back at him. You came in right on his heels, so angry with him you could have screamed. Baby and the guys were playing a card game at the table, and their laughter and conversation died a quick death at your entrance.

You knew they must have heard you and Jake fighting on the porch, but you didn't have time to feel embarrassed as you followed Jake down to the your new room. He sat on the edge of the bed, drumming his hands against his knees, obviously agitated. His jaw worked as he looked up at you, and for some utterly incomprehensible reason, you found it maddeningly attractive.

“You sure you want to keep fighting?” he asked, all attitude now. “You know I used to fight with Izzy too. Wouldn’t want us doing anything I’ve already done with her.”

“God, you're so infuriating!” you said. “I just didn't want to get fucked in the same bed as her!”

He stood and closed the distance between you, slamming the door and bracketing you against it. 

“What about this bed, huh?” His breath fanned hot over your skin, his eyes blazing. “How about you get fucked in this bed and shut the hell up about all this shit with Izzy? Is that good enough for you?”

Heat raced through you, feeding on your anger and the need for an outlet. It had been a long time since Jake had gotten you this worked up, and you were reminded of something he’d said that weekend at the wedding last winter — I'm the only one who could ever get you riled up like this, and you've always liked it. You hadn't admitted it then, and you damn sure weren't going to admit it now, but that didn't make it any less true.

“Fine.” You kissed him, hard, and he responded to you with furious passion. You lost yourselves in the heat, the want, the hunger — it was sweat and bruises and testing the limits, both of you, angry and rough and needful. 

After, when you lay with your hair plastered to your face, trying to catch your breath, Jake opened the window above your bed and lit a joint. He handed it to you after a moment, blowing a thin stream of smoke in the vague direction of the window. 

You took a long drag and watched the smoke drift up towards the ceiling. It was raining outside, cold and grey and lonely. When you touched a hand to your cheek, you felt tears.

Jake kissed you and exhaled smoke into your mouth. “Don’t cry, sparrow. Breaks my heart when you cry.”

You sigh was shaky. “Tell me you love me.”

“Sparrow.” He kissed gently all over your face. “I love you, my girl. Tell me you know that.”

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat. “I know.” 

You lay in silence until the joint was spent, listening to the rain fall. You remembered something else from the wedding, some realization that you and Jake were so easily careless with each other, the promise you’d made not to treat each other that way any more. You felt dreamy and sad, wondering if you’d broken that promise, tears tracking down your face even after he’d told you not to cry.

“Jake.”

He brushed your hair back from your face. “I’m right here, sparrow.”

You pressed your face to his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. You moved closer until you were all tangled up together, warm and safe and surrounded by each other in every way two people could be.

“I don’t know if I liked that,” you said, very softly.

He sighed. “I don't know if I liked it either. But we don't have to talk about it right now. Try to sleep, sparrow.”

You nodded, your breathing choppy and tired. “Okay, Jake.”

He held you, and in your new bed with the rain drumming gently on the windowsill, you listened to the steady beat of his heart and tried to think of some way to tell him how sorry you were.

taglist: @viagvf @allieisacrybaby @itsafullmoon @spark-my-nature @anthemheatwave @xserenax-13 @musicspeaks @mountain-in-springtime @stardustsecret @alwaysonthemend @madneedshelp @josh-iamyour-mama @dannythedog

and some cabin fever besties who were excited for this one :)  @shutupdevvie @gold-mines-melting @earthlysorrows @brooke-gvf

join my taglist here!

[beautifulblooms]

Neteyam x Male reader headcanons

As the title states it’s as simple as that, some general headcanons with some angst at the end because even I can’t help myself. It felt really good to write this after watching the movie

CIS Women and Female Aligned people, please DNI, this story and all of my others are for non-binary, masculine aligned and male readers!

He’s such a gentle soul

Sure he can be brash and emotionally charged in his actions

But by the blessing of Eywa he’s so sweet and kind

Protective of course

I mean he damn near killed some of the Metkayina kids for nearly killing Lo’ak

Speaking of his siblings

They adore you

In a family of “freaks” and “aliens” a little homosexuality doesn’t seem like too much

Jake and Ney’tiri are lovely parents

They treat you like one of their own as if they haven’t had/adopted enough already

Neteyam loves just being with you

Running through the forests

Swinging on vines and between branches

And even when they went to the Metkayina tribe for refuge he still found a way to bring you with him

Sully’s stick together and well, you’re an honorary Sully

I feel like there was some initial jealousy and disdain from the Chief’s daughter, Tsireya

But she eventually realized that he was yours and just had to deal with it

Definitely still holds a mild grudge but would never say anything about it

After the news of his death hit the main village where you had been left during the fight, you were heartbroken

While normally the parents are the ones who release the body to be taken back

You were given that duty as you were his mate

Life without Neteyam was rough to start

You never found solace in the choice of another man

But the Sully’s stood by you at every opportunity

Whether that be Jake and Ney’tiri talking to you like a son and counseling you

Or Tuk and Kiri trying to cheer you up with something funny they found

No one thought of you any less than family before or after Neteyam’s passing

Hell even Tsireya had gotten closer to you and began to bond over his death

Even years later after you had moved on as much as possible, you still returned to the tree of souls of the Metkayina to talk to your beloved

[alluringjae]

open your legs, not your bible - jjh

open your legs, not your bible | sinfully vowed to you

SUMMARY. what happens when the demon’s favorite son is also an angelic piece of heaven the Lord speaks of? he’s so good no wonder your innocent bible is discarded, like your drenched panties.

PAIRING. jaehyun x fem!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

GENRE. smut and angst | bad boy!jaehyun, good girl!reader, forbidden romance!au

PLAYLIST. heaven (slowed down) by julia michaels

WARNINGS. public oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dom!jaehyun, minor corruption kink, praise kink, explicit language, petnames (jaehyun saying good girl is not good for my heart), mention of reader being a virgin, references to and slight bad-mouthing Christianity, both jaehyun and reader are from hella rich rival families, mentions and portrayal of manipulative parents, wait for a special surprise towards the end

⤑ vero’s words: this idea all started when me and my friends were talking abt our college sexcapades, and one of them mentioned the title mid-convo. not even kidding, that got me writing at 8 am the following day before work 😵 also im still not over dearm huhuhu cha minho my beloved 😭 this was supposed to be a smutty piece, but the more i ventured to the whole good girl concept, pursuing a forbidden romance just felt right. the biggest sin one can commit, right? this isn’t edited yet, but other than that, enjoy!!!

⤑ masterlist

⤑ leave me some feedback or hellos here!

---

WHEN YOU’RE BORN INTO THE LEES, ONE OF THE RICHEST FAMILIES OF THE CITY, YOU’RE UNDER EVERYONE’S EYES.

One mistake and you can dishonor your entire family line. That’s why they’re strict on you, the heiress of your father’s real estate firm. After your older brother Taeyong took over your mother’s hotel management business, monitoring all branches of such across the country and abroad, it’s a matter of time you take your place in the family.

After all, your future has already been pre-determined for you; from your career, lifestyle, and heck, even some of your friends. If they don’t pass mommy and daddy’s standards, might as well say bye-bye.

Standards ranging from having good grades, no nights out partying, no vices, dressing modestly, no cursing, and more, all of these things formed you into the good girl all throughout the city. You can never to disobey her family. So that’s how your life has spiral into for the past twenty-four years.

Not to mention attending Bible study every Saturday and Mass every Sunday, that’s the cherry on top on being an ideal woman in today’s society. That’s the thing when your family are diligent believers, praising for the Lord for His righteous acts for your family.

Or in other words, making your family richer and more successful each passing day.

As controlling it is, you never ought to complain. That’s the work of the devil, your mother says whenever she’d see your eyes fume from stress at times. Thus, you’re practically an angel to the eyes of the public. And no one would never second-guess your personality.

But boy, it’s always the good ones that shock the most.

“F-Fuck!” You gasp out, clutching on the edge of the table as a determined tongue swirls around your drenched womanhood. Such sensations are new to you, yet they’re so addicting. You can’t get enough, and never will any time soon.

How fast life runs when you’re merely skimming through your favorite Bible verses, reading them aloud with passion. Then in another frame, something else gets spread open with oozing content. How shy you became, yet didn’t refute and nodded to keep going. And poof, goes your beloved book in some random corner of the room.

“So sweet and innocent,” The man below you moans. “Your pussy is a dream come true.”

“Profani-Oh, God!” You try to call him out, but you’re dumbfounded when his slender fingers dart your hole back and forth. From the table, your fingers seek support from his brown locks.

“You were saying?” He peeks out from your floral dress, smirking. And god, it was the hottest thing your eyes laid on.

Lips puffy and dripping in your essence, he widens your legs more and continues diving in further. As soon as he finds that spot in you, nothing can hold your pleasure-building moans back. It’s something you’ve never felt before, or rather, something you should’ve saved for marriage. You’re doomed, or were you?

How can something so vulgar feel so heavenly?

“You may be religious to Him, and devoutly read the Bible, but you’re my religion.” He says in between lapping your clit and lower lips, slurping every bit of your wetness. “I lay my entire being for my one and only queen.”

Wetness he caused if not for his swoon-worthy charm and enchanting looks that makes you thank the Lord for bringing this man to you. Even if the two of you used to share judgmental looks out of generational hatred, love seeped its way through. And your heart cannot control who it wants to love, and same to him.

However, he’s poison to your life. If anyone in your family finds out that you’re sleeping around with the eldest son of your rival family, you’d meet your untimely doom.

But not only is he the eldest son, he’s also next in line of taking over his mother’s real estate company. Hence, spiking generations-old rivalry with your family. Aside of work, he’s your mother’s worst nightmare.

Massively notorious for his reckless behavior and the occasional scandals of his fights outside the bar with god knows who, he’s gotten away with it numerously because of his intelligence. You can only picture how dependent his parents are on him because his younger brother Sungchan is still in university, destined to inherit another family business. Other than him, there’s no more heir.

He acts like a God in this world, taking advantage of it.

Why? Because all he wants is freedom from everything. Even if he works hard and does his parts as an heir, he can’t commit to it entirely.

So he spits at anyone who gets in his way, always determined to get anything he wants. And easily, he does.

But that changed when you entered the picture, or rather reentered when he rejoined Bible study Saturdays 3 years ago. How pure you were then, leading everyone into prayer and such. How he loved riling you up to the point you blew up for the first time in a sea of curse words. How hard to get you were, even if you weren’t playing a game. How it took a single sweet kiss merely months after building a proper friendship, your first even. How such crazy lust and adventure rushed through your veins for more led to true, absolute love.

He corrupted you, but in the best way possible.

Jeong Jaehyun may be the owner of your undying affection, yet he remains your dirty little secret. And from all the years of your life, you’re choosing to rebel. It may be in private, but in time, it’ll break down its doors. Because you finally realized how you deserved so much better.

You are your own person, and you’re meant to make your choices. To be controlled like a puppet is not living, nor being tossed around as the good girl image. That’s the fault of your parents, pressuring you over and over again to uphold it or else the consequences will be grave. If not for Jaehyun, you’d never realize it. He too resonates with such thoughts, and the both of you ought to break the cycle of hatred when your time to rise in power comes.

After all, love makes you do risky things.

Just like this very moment in the Bible study room of the church, empty for the past hours.

After you and Jaehyun pretended to fight in front other rich, influential kids in the session, one of the nuns put you two on duty to clean up as punishment.

Little did they know, it was all an act so you spend more time with him. Yet it’s also a trip down memory lane of how your relationship began, when the hatred was real while working together only to be exchanged with developing love.

Lately, neither of your apartments are safe from the public eye, and motels are becoming risky to book. Vacation homes can’t be used either as both of your parents have CCTV access.

You’ll just have to make do. Anything for the love of your life.

He continues to be relentless in making you fall apart in his hands like glass, crashing blindly and powerfully. The gushing sounds of your pussy squelching and soaking his fingers, which he uses to lift up the hood of your clit.

Erect and puffy, his tongue aims to stimulate it the most.

Your throat runs dry and your thighs shake mercilessly from yet grind against Jaehyun’s satisfied face. Mascara-filled tears escape your lids, then your stomach can feel a knot ready to unwind.

“Jaehyun!” You almost scream as your mind only chant and think of him at this moment. Your hand fires up to your lips to avoid suspicion, and Jaehyun’s quick to notice muffled moans.

“Yah.” His pace slows down.

“Yes, Jae?”

“Let your hand go, or I won’t make you come.” He orders.

You’ve gone this far, and you won’t allow having your orgasm get denied. As much as you like to get your way always, sex would be the only thing with compromises. And Jaehyun has denied your orgasms numerously, so you’re at a loss.

“Sorry, baby.” You follow, lowering your hand.

He smiles from under your dress. “It’s okay, love. Now let me continue to feel good, hmm?”

Jaehyun’s the one who led you through the acts of sex. You can’t deny how intimidated you felt by that, but he’s never pressured you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Step by step, you already know what’s it like having his fingers toying with your core while your hands and lips around his cock.

He’s a sweet and passionate lover, unlocking the door of the joys of being eaten out.

Double the penetration, double the speed of your orgasm. Jaehyun’s tongue and fingers are partners to this sexual deed, and you can only just anticipate what happens next.

“I’m so close…“ You choke.

“Let go, baby. You deserve it.”

Hard and breathtaking. That’s how your orgasm felt.

Your lips emit an elongated moan as you came in Jaehyun’s mouth. Your entire body shivers, sweating behind your gorgeous designer dress. How tainted it makes you feel, yet also heavenly. You say hello to the angels up there, who may only look down at you for your so-called “forbidden” deeds.

How you’re the forbidden fruit, and Jaehyun is one of God’s beloved children who lusted for it.

He hums louder to match your noise, bringing your thighs closer to lick your core more. Helping you ride out your high, your lungs heave hastily as if they ran a marathon. With one final kiss to your clit, he gets up from his knees and doesn’t waste a second to collide his lips with yours.

The taste of you lingers in every exchange, your arms naturally wrap behind his nape. His hands grip your waist, making your legs tangle around his lower torso. The two of you cannot simply get enough of each other, tongues clashing for dominance and filthy moans echoing the room.

“You’re such a good girl for me.” He says.

“Always.” You reply. “Only for you.”

“Not even for your family?”

“Except for my brothers, fuck them.”

Your making out session gets so heated instantaneously. It’s never felt like this before, and you cannot get your hands off Jaehyun. Whether it’s how good he is to make you come like that or his presence making you feel so at ease, you wanted more. Heck, you desired whatever this man can give you.

Or rather, you deeply desired him to deflower you.

“Jaehyun, I--”

“Yes?”

“I want--" Before you can continue your sentence, your phone beside you vibrates.

Calling: Demon Mother

“Oh, shit.” Your lips parts from your lover, while he keeps going by pecking your neck. You’re strict with lovebites, but it’s nothing too harsh.

For now.

“Be quiet.” You glare from the side.

He smiles sinisterly. “When am I not?”

Rolling your eyes, you tap on the green button on your phone. “Hello?”

“Where are you, miss? We have a dinner with important people in your father’s company in 3 hours!” Her voice booms through even Jaehyun get startled. Yet you’re used to it, and it sucks.

“It’s not easy to clean a whole room even with a partner, mom.”

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep your hatred from the Jeongs as discreet as us. We are never to go low and battle with such a scandalous family like theirs.”

You sigh. Even if it’s a fake fight, news got around quickly in your elite world.

“Anyways, I’m packing up and heading my way.”

“You better, or you’re gonna hear it worse from your father too.” She hungs abruptly, and you sulk on your position.

“Is she mad?” Jaehyun stands more upright, yet you don’t give him eye contact out of shame. “Talk to me, baby. Please.”

“You heard her, Jaehyun.” You say. “She dare insults the family of my lover, the one I can never shout my affections out to the world.”

“Angel.” A nickname he uses it when sadness overtakes your mind and soul. His hands cradle your face that shifts it so you can look at him. Which you do. “This is the kind of love we signed up for.”

“But I didn’t ask for this kind of life.” Your heart wrenches. “I want to be able to live and love freely. No prejudice nor judgement. Don’t you think God was cruel for this fate?”

Jaehyun sighs in agreement. Religion this, religion that. All his life his parents taught him that if he doesn’t follow his family, he disobeys the Almighty. Only to later realize that he was manipulated; brainwashed that his parents are on the same level as Him.

How wrong and immoral.

He may have lost his faith, yet it was momentarily restored when you waltzed into his life like a dancer. A couple of failed turns, only to transform into a beautiful variation.

“If there’s only one good thing He gave me,” You sense his calloused fingers brush over your frizzled hair, tucking them behind your ear. “It was you. His favorite angel.”

Your heart swoons while a tear freely falls down your cheek. “I love you, Jaehyun.”

“I love you more, (Y/N).” His lips kiss yours a little longer. It’s unpredictable when you’ll see each other again, or spend hours being by his side. And so you both savor every meeting, peck, touch, laugh, moment you have with each other.

Because things can drastically change in a heartbeat. At least for you, it did.

That very dinner later in the evening wasn’t merely to celebrate your father’s company ranking high up across the country. Defintely topping the Jeongs, which has been a long-term goal these past years. He speaks of merging companies with his colleague, the Kims. Much to your naivety, you’re the main pawn in his game.

“Be a good girl and follow daddy in this venture.” He speaks in his professional voice in his office, where you and your mother sit and listen. Sipping on his whiskey, he awaits your response. Good girls only talk when being spoken to, but it’s merely a façade now. A façade you acted perfectly in.

“How can I be of help, daddy?” How you wished you didn’t ask such a question.

“You’ll be marrying into the Kim family in the next couple of months, specifically their oldest son who’s bound to take over their company right after your wedding ceremony.”

copyright © 2022 by alluringjae.

[guacamoleroll]

𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖌𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

content. gn!reader. major spoilers (bsd s5 ep 11), language of flowers, grief/mourning, dissociation, major character death, multiple extended metaphors, biblical references, established relationships, hurt no comfort, heavy angst, i apologize for this in advance. not proofread. 1.2k+ words.

author's note. partially based on an old post. i have cried multiple times throughout writing this oneshot (which has been oddly therapeutic). i hope my fellow fyodor lovers are taking care of themselves this week.

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖘 / waɪt ˈrəʊzɪz / ━━━ used to symbolize remembrance, love, and respect for the departed person, and a way of telling others that the departed has gone to heaven (Thursd).

A warmth burbled inside the hearth as swirled streams of flame billowed in gusts to then melt. Beams of amber shined against dusty glass frames splayed on a mantle, immortalized faces incandesced in the flickering shimmers of light. An older couple stood out against paled snow, hands resting against the shoulders of their budding son, whose eyes bore the most piercing of hues. Another sat beside it, captured from the same year. That same boy snuggled against the shoulder of another child as they both burrowed in the shade of a Linden tree, its branches unable to conceal the purity of their smiles as they relished in the company. Their frigid fingers intertwined as autumn turned to winter, heartened enough by each other's presence alone. Each photograph was a mere piece of a procumbent gallery; not an inch of the wooden surface remained uncovered as a story unfolded between each one.

However, a painting towered above them all.

Soft strokes blurred the resemblance of an anachronistic cathedral, walls sown with ancient tales of worship and devotion destined with promises of a life beyond living. But the centerpiece was them, a pair of blooming faces with those same intertwined fingers, eternally bound in the holiest of displays. Those piercing eyes, now delicate as the boy, who had grown into a man, looked upon his beloved with once-in-a-lifetime veneration.

The crackles of a record clicked into place as it spun endlessly on its track, humming a gentle melody into the comfortable ambiance, thawing the glacial remains of lonesome silence. (Name) nestled into their husband's office chair, fingers dancing across the worn surface of a letter. Fondness shone upon their face as they traced each smudged letter, allowing themself to be swallowed into leather. They flicked one of the papers with a resounding fwick, a glimmer in their eyes.

Nights ensnared in the confinements of a cell would only draw out yearning in the most desperate of men. But I will feel the touch of your enlightened hands in due time, моя милая. Like Joseph returned to Asenath, I will be home in time, as the Lord allows. Со всей моей любовью и душой, Федя

Yearning sighs escaped their lips, careful to place the letter back into an overstuffed box piled high with months of correspondence. They spread their hands against the arms of the chair, grasping onto the ledges as if holding onto another, head tilted back as tired eyes fluttered shut with a harmonical whistle in their throat, only to be interrupted by muffled knocks resonating from the front door.

The sequence was familiar — precise but shaken. Their eyes widened, breaking from the web of warmth as they rose from the chair. It was one of his subordinates; it had to be. Their feet pounded against rickety floorboards, the inanimate house bustling with life as they scrambled to mend their appearance. A heart pounded into the open air, swinging the door open, only to be met with the stars that forever drifted in the sky.

So gentle they were. So peaceful.

But it was not a person that they expected, instead immediately looking toward their feet with a knowing huff. And there it was, lying limp on the doormat — a bouquet of flowers.

These were unusual flowers, not unknown, but not the typical crimson salvias or milky corianders that usually arrived with each delivery. A frown deepened the insomnolent contour rooted in their eyelids as they bore their gaze into the menagerie of mismatched petals, enflamed anticipation glaciating into cool desolation. They lifted the bundle with utmost care, breeze twirling the ringlets of their hair as a forlorn omen. The door rocked back and forth as the wind went unnoticed, skin prickled as the heat of summer skies frosted over as they walked further into the house's silhouette.

Each flower was carefully plucked from its companions and spread in lonesome piles on the cold kitchen counter. Vibrant lilac shades of heliotropes blossomed, mementos of Tyrian eyes frozen in eternal devotion, softened only at their touch.

Paper scratched the soft skin of their palms, hands quick to toss out imperfections that sunk to the bottom of the wrap. One took a brilliant aquilegia, twirling it in their finger as violet speckles flaked into the air with each twist. The last they had seen these flowers was the eve of their engagement. Whispers of their resolute, intertwined paths were loosened from tight lips by a wine that had pried apart their own so intimately.

The blade of a knife sliced through solid air, a resonant haze efflorescent with each cut. They did not care to flinch as it slivered through their skin, silent as they beheld the vermillion that splattered the stem of a weeping hyacinth. These burdensome flowers danced in the eyes of Moscow passersby's sorrow, lining the trail toward an isolated mortuary rooted into the hill that overlooked their childhood home.

Each was placed carefully into a stiffened vase, crossed to shape a flawless display of rich purples and pinks. But even in the midst of such vibrancy, such life, one flower peeked underneath the rest, ghostly white petals acting as the centerpiece to this puzzle.

White roses.

Only once had they seen these flowers, often turned away with a constricted heart whenever their eyes merely glanced upon those petals. That same older couple, their faces immortalized not in bushels of homely flame but instead spectral through the flickers of a vigil. Those piercing eyes, the same that dared to carve into their very being, dulled in the gloom of despair, creased as sleep evaded the body and spirited abandoned the soul.

Perhaps it was for that reason he knew to prepare flowers; that no words could relieve the aching years bound to follow.

They loured upon the embodiment of their destination, life washed out by the emptiness that stood before them. Goosebumps scattered across the skin, an unforgiving frost rooted in place as their fingers twitched against wood. Then, the monotony snapped, the wound pulsing with pain as their body careened. Their eyes drifted from those retched flowers, falling upon a chair — his chair.

And they knew.

None would sit there. Not ever. The seat would remain forever occupied by the smoke of a spark snuffed out eternally, erased in only a few short moments of recollection. Cruel. The mind is but an uncaring machine, able to reach thoughts no human could bear.

And they trembled in the consequences of thought, far too conscious to move. Nails carved irate indentions into the table as knees buckled beneath them, body collapsing onto the cold wooden floor as deafened sobs excavated from their lungs. They clawed at their throat, unable to breathe as ignorance escaped them, paralyzed as if the reaper himself had mercifully struck his scythe down upon them.

A presence watched from beyond a now motionless door, snow-white tresses that shone against beams of moonlight, a man wincing at the guttural, broken screams of an empty heart that echoed from inside. The house was far too still now, far too large for only one soul to occupy. Unable to bear another moment of torment, he scraped the dirt from his uncovered palms, neglecting the tears that stained his cheeks as he fled from the home, now only a mausoleum of memories sitting within a field of grieving stars.

моя милая = my darling со всей моей любовью и душой = with all my love and soul федя = fedya

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @solandiss @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[mingisdoll]

Homesick

Includes: butler!San, afab!rich!chubby!reader, Robin Hood is still alive yes yes I will not take any arguments whatsoever since I hate what the writers did to him lol anyways, Regina is still a queen but with no magic, ATEEZ x OUAT, basically a shit ton of fluff with some angst lol

@newworldnet

Tucked away in the Enchanted Forest lied a castle. A very unique looking castle. In that castle sat a royal family. That family consists of King Robin, Queen Regina, and Princess Y/N. She was the beloved daughter of Robin and Regina and her faithful companion, and quite possibly her only friend, is her butler.

A hot man named Choi San.

He lived in a small cottage within the kingdom yet was unable to find a job anywhere. His parents died due to the mistake committed by a group of bandits so he was left to fend for himself and his little brother.

His name is Choi Jongho.

However, the man remained kind to those around him, even though some people weren't as kind. He was on his last leg of finding a suitable job for him. As he took a break from his job search, he decided to take a stroll in the woods with his baby brother. As he watched him play with various twigs and dirt, he heard a branch snap. His ears perked up and he saw a thief trying to run away from something. The thief was unaware of the little boy that was in his way and San, being the protective man that he is, jumped in between Jongho and the thief. The thief stopped at looked at them both. He was about to execute the bright idea of handing over the stolen goods to San to make it seem like he was the one that stole them

When he took an arrow to the knee.

Two people approached the thief and San. One was holding a bow while the other was busy prying the goods from the thief and placing him in cuffs. They both looked at San, who was busy comforting a crying Jongho.

"Oh dear. Is the little lad alright?" A kind voice asked gently. San looked up at the owner of the voice and nodded meekly.

"Yeah. He's just a little shaken up right now. Um... thank you for saving us." San said in that soft and airy voice that would make people swoon. The man smiled and extended his hand.

"Robin Hood. Or King Robin I should say. Pleased to meet your acquaintance!" Robin introduced himself. The second person then looked at San with bright eyes and extended her hand.

"I'm Princess Y/N! I'm the next Robin Hood. Pleased to meet you!" She giggled and San found the little girl endearing as she shook his hand. She soon let go and walked over to Jongho, who was hiding behind San shyly. As she talked his little head off, Robin clasped San's shoulder.

"You're really brave to protect the little one. Is he your son?" Robin asked and San shook his head, smiling as he looked down at the interaction between Jongho and Y/N.

"No, your highness. He's my little brother." San politely corrected him and Robin nodded.

"Is it just you two or do you have a family back home?" Robin asked. "It's just the two of us, sir. We... lost our parents to bandits. They died at their hands." San shakily explained and Robin's heart ached.

"I'm so sorry, lad." Robin sympathized with him and San weakly smiled. "It's ok, sir. Honestly, I'm just more worried about our wellbeing. I haven't been so lucky in finding a job that pays well and puts a roof over our heads. It's either I'm not old enough or they aren't allowing me to have Jongho by my side while I work. I don't see the problem though! Jongho's a well behaved boy! I... I just..."

Robin brought San into a hug as San wept on his shoulder. He hushed the young boy and tried to get him to calm down. San felt tiny hands clutch his leg and he looked down to see Y/N hugging his leg.

For someone trying to be the next Robin Hood, she was adorable.

"Don't cry, mister! You're too cute to cry!" Her little voice squeaked out and San felt his heart almost burst. Robin looked down at his daughter and grinned wholeheartedly. He then looked at San.

"How would you like to come with us back to our castle? You can be Y/N's butler. We will pay you adequately and we can put a roof over your heads. After all, kindness is something that must be paid forward." Robin suggested.

"Oh! I don't know, sir. Y/N doesn't seem like the type of person to need a butler. She may be a princess, but I can tell that she's very independent." San rambled nervously and Robin chuckled.

"I'm well aware of that. However, she sometimes forgets the little things. Which is where you come in. Plus, she's taken a liking to you and the little one over there. May I ask what his name is?" Robin explained.

"His name is Jongho, sir." San introduced Jongho to Robin. The little boy shyly high fived the king and San found the sight endearing. "Well then, San. Would you like to be the butler of the royal family so you can finally give Jongho a comfortable life?" Robin formally asked him. San nodded eagerly.

"The honor is all mine, your highness."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That was almost six years ago. San was 16 while Jongho was 11. San grew from a boy to a man. The changes were drastic due to him hitting puberty.

And the daily exercises he does with the royal family.

He used to be this skinny little boy that wore oversized polo shirts that were wrinkled, khaki shorts, and ratty boots. His hair was long and shaggy and it covered his eyes a lot due to shyness he felt whenever other royals looked at him with mainly judgmental looks.

Now he grew into his bobblehead.

His body got bigger, his shoulders were broader, and his waist was tiny. His clothes were a bit more fitted and they clung to his body deliciously. His polo shirts were replaced with crisp white button ups that were ironed to perfection, a black leather tie, a black vest, and black slacks that were slim to show off his equally muscular legs. His childhood boots were replaced with black dress shoes that were made of the sleekest leather and were always shined to a mirror like consistency.

His face changed too. His jawline sharpened, his eyes were more siren like and alert, and his black hair was cut short and styled back since he was more confident in his looks and he stopped caring what the other royals said.

It was all thanks to Y/N.

Ever since he and Jongho were taken in, she has been teaching them how to love themselves and be more confident in whatever they were blessed with. San could tell that she spoke from experience.

Y/N did gain a bit of weight and was slightly chubby around the face. But it wasn't her fault. After she was struck in the shoulder by a poisoned arrow and healed rather quickly, she decided to step back from archery yet continued to be a hero by studying up on how to become the next Good Queen. There was a bit of fat around her stomach and her thighs were a teeny bit big yet it didn't stop her from flaunting the beautiful gowns she wore.

San admired her while Jongho fell deeper in love with her.

The five of them were currently having dinner. Regina made sure that San was treated like a person rather than a butler and San was grateful for the respect that she had for him. As they were chowing down on steak with assorted veggies and seasoned potatoes, San felt a little more down than usual. The once bright smile that was present on his face was replaced with a blank expression. He was quieter than usual and before that, he was scolding himself on small mistakes he made, which he'd never done.

What got the royal family concerned about him was the way he was angry early. Why? It was simple.

Jongho got tripped by one of the visiting princes and San saw. He gently helped his brother up and started yelling and cussing out that very same prince. Normally, he'd be levelheaded and professional but the amount of stress he was feeling finally tipped over. He even punched a wall!

His strength was terrifying. And it probably explained why his knuckles were bandaged up.

The family of the visiting prince tried to persuade Robin and Regina to fire him, but it was a failure due to the fact that Regina saw the whole ordeal happen and called them out. Robin then declared that their trade deal was to be thrown away unless the prince apologized. However, the prince was stubborn and now he was probably being scolded by his parents since they lost the deal due to his acts of foolishness.

San was grateful for their help yet he remained quiet and even apologized for being violent. Which was ironic since he only yelled at the poor guy.

Y/N had enough of it. She missed seeing San's smile and she missed hanging out with him. So she scooted closer to him and started poking his face.

"Princess, please." San begged quietly since he wasn't in the mood and he was afraid he might lash out at her.

"Uh yeah no. San, what's going on? I'm not the type to pry into people's business, but you're like a brother to me. My heart aches every time you scold yourself over little mistakes and you even apologized for 'being violent' even though you haven't laid a finger on that douchebag! Talk to me..."

All eyes were on San when he started crying quietly. Regina sent the rest of the servants away so she and Robin can give San their undivided attention. Y/N immediately took him in her arms and he hugged her back immediately. Muttered apologies could be heard and she simply shushed him.

"I just... miss home. I miss being in a place where I once grew up. Don't get me wrong though. I love it here. I truly do. But I feel like a part of me has been left behind as soon as I took up this job. I fear that the longer I stay here, the higher the chance that my memory of my hometown will be long gone. It sounds silly but still. I couldn't fathom the last core memory of my family being gone."

Y/N kept comforting him and whispered reassuring words in his ear while Robin and Regina looked at each other before looking at Jongho.

"Do you feel the same way?" Regina asked Jongho. The young boy nodded his head shyly. Regina then thought for a moment before coming up with an idea.

"How would you like to take a year off to go visit and settle down in your hometown?"

San looked up at Regina and as much as he wanted to take that opportunity, his selflessness wouldn't allow it. "Oh! I don't know, Regina. I feel like I'm being too selfish to ask for such a thing like that."

"Don't be ridiculous. You've done so much for us. Let yourself have this, San." Regina reassured him and San immediately sprang up to hug both her and Robin before hugging Y/N once more.

Y/N sort of blushed a bit when his huge body practically swallowed her tiny frame.

"Thank you! Thank you much!"

Three days later, San bid his goodbyes to Robin and Regina before stopping at Y/N. Her eyes were filled with tears and San shushed her gently whilst wiping her tears away. His hand, with a single gold band on his index finger, caressed her cheek as he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"Don't worry, kiddo. Jongho and I will be back before you know it. I'll even bring gifts from my hometown as my thanks to you and your parents. Ok?" San smiled and Y/N simply nodded since she couldn't trust her voice at the moment.

"I'll see you in a year, little robin."

And with that, he and Jongho ventured off into the woods to go home. From there, Y/N counted the days until the Chois came back.

They will come back. Eventually.

[jayden-killer]

DREAMS ARE MY REALITY. (pt. 4)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

What would happen if your favourite fictional character appeared in your bed...?

A/N: oh boy. This is 1000% certificated angst. *cries hard* ALSO ITS BEEN ALMOST ONE YEAR OMG I'm back!!!

Taglist (write me down in the comments if you want to be added!): @strxngegirl @d1lf-loverrr @laysmt @musicalhistorical @souichi-sbitch

☆

Miguel and I didn't have much to do that day. My boss had let me take a few days off, and I was somewhat relieved. The possibility of not going to work in those days turned into an opportunity to strengthen the bond with Miguel. Now he lived in my house until his Gizmo adjusted and he was able to get through to Lyla. I didn't mind his presence, because I had always considered him as my friend, or maybe more than a friend, even before I knew he was real.. But that didn't matter. Miguel was going to leave sooner or later. And this would also lead to a void in my heart. I decided to chase those thoughts away and suggest that he take a walk in the city park near my house that morning. He agreed.

°☆°

The humidity was gone, and I remember him blowing a light cool breeze that ruffled our hair and clothes. On our way to the park, we didn't talk much. I had guessed that Miguel was a man of few words, but I still hoped that he had something to say. Anything.

"Here we are" I let my face adorn itself with a smile "A little fresh air won't hurt you. Lately you've always been locked up in my studio trying to find a solution to get back into your dimension".

"Indeed" he agreed, looking around "But it's not a situation to be underestimated. I'm afraid Lyla is broken"

"I'm sure you'll find the right solution, but it's not good for you to be stuck indoors 24/7. Even I go out once in a while!" I replied, joking. There seemed to be a small smile on his face. "Maybe yes..."

My gaze fell on a café, never seen before, which had probably recently opened. I figured a coffee or something might help miguel relax even more. I met his eyes, tired and thoughtful. "Would you like a coffee?" I proposed.

"Okay. No sugar, but milk...and medium"

"Wow, the big boy is thirsty this morning!"

“Whatever, get in line, since there's a lot of them.” He rolled his eyes annoyed. "Okay, you stay here, I think it won't take me long. The queue is flowing" With that, I left Miguel for a few minutes, hoping that nothing had happened, nothing strange or bad. But maybe I was wrong. And I could not have foreseen it.

Miguel remained silent, watching his friend leave. He took a deep breath and looked around for the third time, then sat down on a nearby bench. He admired the children's play area for a while (at least, it seemed to him a while) and tried not to think about it at all. But it was not easy for him not to think of his beloved Gabriella. Her beloved, perfect child. Every time her face came back to him, the memories resurfaced and he always ended up in a difficult situation, in which he either cried or was forced to repress that sadness. And the second option today was the one he would have chosen. Crying in public, at his age... "You're a grown-up adult, O'Hara, act like one! Gabriel wouldn't be happy about that, so don't try to cry-"

"Excuse me, sir, but can you get the ball out of those bushes? It's too high".

That voice managed to bring Miguel back to reality and he noticed a pretty, little girl in soccer gear and her face slightly covered in mud. Miguel's eyes widened, his heart rate accelerated considerably and he seemed to forget what was around him. He almost forgot even the little girl's ball. He was too busy watching the girl smile politely at him, patiently waiting for him to give her the ball back. Nodding weakly, he got up off the bench, plucking the ball from the branches with ease. The little girl jumped with happiness and took back the ball that Miguel handed her, to then give him an even bigger smile.

"Thank you very much, sir!"

"Gabriella..."

His words flew out of her mouth without a second thought. "Is that you, Gabriella?"

"Thank you". Smiles to the bartender, carrying in hand the two glasses full of coffee. On one of them there was written "Miguel :)". I specifically asked the bartender to draw a smiley face, because I thought it was cute. But as I was walking to the place where I had left Miguel a few minutes ago, I almost dropped my coffee by the hand. My mouth opened with surprise. I never expected to find Miguel chatting happily, inches away, with a little girl. His tail was high and he was wearing sportswear, while he was swinging his legs with a football on his legs. That little girl had a very familiar face. I thought I saw her somewhere. It was at that moment that I realized: it was the carbon copy of Gabriella, Miguel’s daughter. But what was she doing there? Why was she there?

My legs moved by themselves, getting closer and closer to eavesdropping on the scene. And so Miguel noticed me: he looked up from the child’s eyes and, unexpectedly, smiled at me. I never thought I’d see Miguel smiling. He radiated a warm, warm smile that made my heart cliff. Gabriella really had a strong influence on him.

"I... I brought you your coffee," I said without a second thought, and I stretched my arm, passing the glass. He nodded, and took it. She opened and closed her mouth when she finally spoke. "She is Gabriella"

"Great pleasure!" The girl gave me a bright smile and waved at me, so I waved back.

"My pleasure. W-Wha..?" My head moved towards Miguel's direction, visibly confused. "What is happening?"

"She, huh... I pulled a football out of a hedge. And now she’s telling me that she had auditioned for a major soccer team" Miguel explained. I had the distinct feeling that he was almost justifying himself as if it was wrong for him to talk to a shameless copy of his daughter. I never thought there was one on this Earth. Where did she come from? All that was missing were anomalies that appeared outside of multidimensional portals and began to disrupt the city. I shuddered at the thought. Maybe not.

"Oh" I sighed, and smiled embarrassed. "Anyway... cool!"

"Yeah," Miguel smiled even more when his eyes fell on Gabriella’s adorable face. "Can I see some dribble? I bet you’re really good"

"Sure, sir!" Gabriella got up from the bench with speed and, without wasting time, showed us some dribble she made with her foot. The ball held its balance on the tip of her foot, and Gabriella took on a real concentrated expression, frowning her eyebrows. At the end of that, she smiled all satisfied, and asked, "Was I good?"

I clapped my hands, clearly surprised by his performance and showed a big smile. Miguel joined too, clapping more than me. He leaned over her and messed up her tied hair. "You were great, mija".

Mija.

He had unknowingly called her mija.

In my heart, I hoped that Gabriella did not know Spanish. But she didn’t say anything, on the contrary, she smiled even more at his praise. That little girl was special to Miguel, I could read his face. " Now I have to go. Bye, sir!" She waved at him, and we did the same, watching her running away and returning to the park area. That's when I decided to finally sit beside Miguel, coffee still in my hand. I didn't want to look up at him. I could sense he had a look full of sorrow, and decided to keep looking at my coffee.

"She's great".

"Huh?".

"I mean, she's... Great." It was his time to sigh now, shooking his head and chuckling. "I didn't know there was one of her here".

"Neither did I".

Our brief conversation ended in an awkward silence. This was until Miguel decided to keep talking to me. "I'm not saying it's your fault. Of course, it's not, you couldn't know. I'm just saying...I miss her".

Oh. I didn't expect that confession. Miguel wasn't one to express to another person his feelings, and maybe this was the perfect occasion to him to show that he really missed Gabriella.

I couldn’t imagine how he felt devastated to see a variant of his daughter here when he didn’t see it coming. It was the last thing on his mind. All those memories that he tried to repress, all the emotions that he felt for his daughter, now surfaced. Maybe I was stupid to take him out that sunny afternoon. Maybe it was better if we both stayed home. But still, as he said, how could I know?

I glanced at Miguel, who was smiling faintly. Nom had still touched his coffee. " Don’t worry. I know you really miss her".

"My precious girl...".

His voice broke and I saw him shaking. He was...crying. Holding tightly his coffee, he shook and put a hand on his face. He didn't hold himself. Oh, god. No, I couldn't see him crying. This broke my heart. Miguel... was crying. He looked like a scared baby. A baby in a man's body.

I gently took his arm and brought him close to me, placing his head on my shoulder. He buried it more and uncontrollably sobbed. "It's okay, Miguel". With one hand I rubbed his back. "None of this it's your fault. It's okay. You're going to be okay". I softly said, almost like a mother comforting his child. But in reality, I didn't know he was going to be okay. I just hoped he would be, someday.

[light-yaers]

Little Dove (Poe Dameron x Reader One Shot)

Fic Masterpost | AO3 

Based on this request!

Being in the Resistance was hard enough, but it’s made harder by the fact that everyone hates you. They think you’ve got something to prove, think you’re trying to overtake their Golden Boy.

Even Poe believes it; but it’s all a lie.

Warnings: mentions of death and past trauma, swearing, masses of angst, OOC Poe.

Word Count: 5k

You could see the way they looked at you, hear the way they mumbled under their breath whenever your X-Wing hit the landing bays or you turned the corner into the mess hall. You knew they hated you, it was clear to see. Wondering eyes found you during every pre-mission meet, but you tried not to let it get to you. 

The Resistance could be a cruel place sometimes, but you knew it was all part of the job.

Dameron was no different—which was the worst part of all. 

Being part of Black Squadron was a one way ticket to being noticed, and having Dameron as your commander put you on everyone’s radar even more so. The golden boy of the Resistance. One hell of a pilot. Poe Dameron with the kind eyes and sunshine smile and everything that made you feel fuzzy.

Not that he knew.

Not that he’d even care, probably.

Half the cadets on base had the hots for Dameron, and he fucking knew it.

It was cliché, like some bad Nabooian romance holo; the quiet and reserved cadet; the beloved commander; just waiting for the moment that they got time alone after a mission to actually talk.

But that would never happen. Not with the rumours. Not when everyone thought they’d already figured you out— high and mighty, superior, better than the rest.

They thought that you believed you were better than them, that you had something to prove, that you wanted to kick Dameron off his high horse. Never even cared enough to find out the truth before coming to their own conclusions.

Since joining the Resistance base on D’Qar, no less than a month ago, you were immediately assigned to Black squadron— which never happened. You’d been piloting since you were young, recruited by off-branch rebels as a getaway driver, before joining the good fight.

It just happened that piloting was in your blood, that you were good enough for Black squadron; but cadets hated that. At the end of the day, despite the Resistance being a force to fight evil, cadets still wanted to be the best; still felt threatened; still acted mean like school children.

You were in their firing line as soon as you’d stepped on D’Qar.

You’d mostly got used to it by now, but sometimes the digs still hurt. You endured. You were here to fight a war, first and foremost. You just wished that they’d stop, or at least dialled it down.

During your pre-mission meeting, Dameron was in a worse mood than normal.

“Two, are the coolant compartments up to standard?” Dameron asked, doing the checks with the squad before take off.

Black-Two, another tall, dark and handsome cadet, frowned. “Uh— I actually haven’t checked yet, Dameron,” he said hesitantly. Poe shot him a frown. You hated it when he frowned.

“It was your responsibility, Two, why didn’t you—,”

“All compartments are checked and accounted for, Commander,” you cut in gently, looking at the ground before you got hit with all of their annoyed stares. “I happened to check them last night before hitting my bunk,” 

Poe regarded you then, sticking his steely gaze upon you. You forced yourself to look up, hitting his eyes. They were so deep, the most beautiful warm shade of brown that you’d ever seen. You relished every look he gave you, just so you could look into them, but...

Just once, you wished he’d look happy to see you.

“Alright,” he sighed, obviously annoyed. “Well done, Five,” he said bluntly, no sincerity behind it. “Next time, stick to your tasks. We all have a role here. There’s no need to go too far,” there it was, the request to step back; the annoyance he felt about you wanting to be the best. 

Even though you didn’t. Even though all you wanted was for this fucking war to end, to possibly have friends on base, even.

“Yes, Sir,” you said, somewhat sadly. You didn’t mean to sound so sullen, but it just came out that way. Poe’s face twitched.

“Dameron or Poe is fine, I’ve said this before,” he snapped, and you took a small step back. He’d been on edge since last week, since that failed supply mission where the First Order killed Green-Seven.

Poe felt every death, every loss, even though he knew it all like the back of his hand. 

That was why you liked him. That was one of the main things you adored about him. Despite the things he thought about you, felt about you, hated about you—

You wished he could see that that’s not what you were truly like. 

Maybe one day.

The mission itself today— intercept a First Order rendezvous. Stop them from sharing information. Scare them. All the usual things when it came to these kinds of missions. 

You and the rest of Black squadron clambered into your cockpits, ready to take off on Poe’s command. General Organa was stood at the back of the landing bay, waving you off as Black One took off first; the rest followed their commander. 

As Black-Five, you were part of the back centre of the formation—

Right behind Poe. 

A few times, you’d found yourself wondering if he did that on purpose; made you Black-Five so he could always keep an eye on you, keep you in check, make sure you don’t overtake him.

“Okay, squad, let’s do what we came here to do,” Poe spoke over the comms, and you could hear the smile on his face as he did so. When he was in the air, floating through the stars, that’s when he was happiest.

You latch onto the upbeat replies of “Copy, Dameron,” and “You got it, boss!” from around your squad, but you say nothing in response.

It would have been ignored anyway. 

The comms stayed silent for a few seconds, before Poe chimes in again. “Black-Five, do you copy me?” 

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach immediately. 

“Y-yes, Commander,” you replied. 

“Then check in when I ask you to,” he demanded. 

Maker, why are you so mad at me, Poe? What have I ever done to you?

“Yes, Commander,” 

“Dameron or Poe,” he snapped again, and you could practically feel your squadron’s eyes upon you as he spoke. It was embarrassing, it was humiliating, but you had no choice.

“Yes, Dameron,” you forced out, through clenched teeth. Poe didn’t acknowledge it.

“Let’s move out!” he yelled.

You remembered when it all started, the stares and rumours and whispers. You’d just been moved to D’Qar from a previous base, after an incident that still broke you to think about. 

Poe had been kind at first. He’d showed you around, as he did with a lot of other pilots. He’d introduced you to his squad, said that you had a shot to get on Black, as well. They had your records, you see; your piloting records. 

“You are really impressive,” he said kindly, smiling at you as he recalled reading your records before your arrival. “My squad could use someone like you,”

Maybe that was when the feelings started, deep down in your gut and steadily growing, despite the absolute shift in Dameron’s opinion of you. 

It was after your first mission, after you put yourself between Black-Eight and a dreadnought canon and won. That’s when the rumours began, no doubt started by Eight and her friends on base—

Black-Five just had to play hero. 

Black-Five disobeyed Dameron’s direct orders to save someone. 

Black-Five thinks she’s better than her whole squad. 

Black-Five wants Dameron’s status on base.

It was relentless, it was cruel, and most importantly— it was all bullshit. A steaming, massive pile of absolute bullshit. 

It took a week or so, but you remembered when Dameron shifted. Before, he’d always been down to listen to you— mission reports, check-ins, for a joke here and there, but after the rumours had penetrated every dorm and shower block and landing bay on D’Qar, he changed. 

“Hey, Comman—,” 

“Not now, Five. I have to run diagnostics with Three,” Poe said harshly, even though he was floating around the landing bays by himself. 

“Oh,” you let out, immediately falling into a box that you had been slowly climbing yourself out of since your arrival on D’Qar. “I just got off guard duty, so I can help—,”

“No, Five. Stick to your schedule,” Poe almost spat at you, finally turning to meet your eye. He was seething, full of a meanness and a rage that you’d never seen take over his pretty boy face before. “Just—,” he started, surveying the shocked and hurt expression on your face. “Follow your fucking schedule,” he repeated, harsher and sterner and more horrible. 

Poe left you in the middle of the bay, frozen in place and unable to process his reasoning for being so awful to you. 

Since then, it had been the same every fucking day. Every mission, every after-fly beer, every meeting and training session and whatever else—

Poe Dameron hated your guts. 

But you could never hate his.

“First Order on our six, Dameron!” Black-Nine yelled over comms, and you forced yourself to focus on the mission at hand. 

“Disband squadron formation,” Dameron replied. “Black-Five— stay with split formation B,” he said lowly, and you had no choice but to follow a separate formation. Whenever the group split in two, he always told you to join B, despite being part of his. 

“Copy,” you said bluntly, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself from fucking exploding. It wasn’t within your nature to fight back, not against your Commander or other cadets. 

So, you followed Black-Six into formation B.

Six X-Wings circled back round, with you at the back of the formation layout. You copied every manoeuvre and twist effortlessly, as you slalomed through stray planet debris and followed their set path towards the First Order Star Destroyer. 

Tie fighters were already being shot out from the ships’ landing bays, erupting with high-pitched screams as they traversed through the stars. 

“Formation B— break!” Black-Six yelled down the comms, and you all dispersed in time with their commands. You split off to the right, ducking underneath the group and shooting back up so you had the Tie’s in your sight—

Without any hesitation, you engaged your blasters; shooting all of the bastards out of the sky like a game of Space Invaders. 

You shot five in quick succession as you sped through the starry void, performing quick corkscrew rolls and feeling every steering change, every hydraulic pull, everything that your X-Wing performed on your behalf. 

If your teammates were at all impressed or happy with your work, they still didn’t say a fucking word. You continued on your path through the roaring Tie’s, noticing formation A in the distance. 

They were rounding the Destroyer, headed for the back of the ship to sneak up onto the bridge and miss the canons. Dameron was leading them, as always, as the other three X-Wings trailed him.

“B, take out as many Tie’s as you can so we have a chance to disengage their weapons and power!” Dameron yelled over the comms. 

“Copy, Poe!” Black-Six responded, pulling up next to you. Quickly, sharply, over the full team comms, Six let out a rude “Get to the back, Five, for fucks sake,” 

You shot your gaze through the right of your cockpit, catching onto Six’s face as he looked back at you. He looked at you as if you were a blight to the team, despite you taking down multiple Tie’s just seconds before. 

“I—,” you started, but stopped yourself abruptly. “Copy,” you let out, forcing yourself to comply as you fell into formation B once more. 

This was fucking bullshit, always had been, but for some reason it was getting harder to put up with it everyday. You wanted to believe that your teammates cared more about the job at hand than forcing you to follow their overly helicoptering rules and authority, but it really didn’t seem that way anymore. 

They truly wanted to see you fall. Wanted to see you fail or fuck up or in their dust. 

How could you be a fighter pilot if they didn’t fucking let you do anything?

You followed formation B tightly, not wanting to step on toes despite knowing they were keeping you on an unnecessary leash. The five X-Wings in front of you performed brilliantly, shooting down Tie after Tie and allowing formation A to get through several canons. 

“Regroup!” Poe yelled, after they managed to break through some defences. 

You started to fly over to the main group, ready to group up and fight together, but no one saw the fucking canon—

The big one, the hidden one that’s in formation A’s blind spot as they gather behind the bridge. You saw it first, saw it swivel to aim directly at Black-One—

You engage your comms relay.

“Dameron! Canon on your—,” 

“Stick to the fucking mission, Five,” he responded, without even hearing what you had to fucking say. 

“Sir— this isn’t—,”

“I mean it, Five! You’re so close to getting a disciplinary back on base, I swear to the Maker,” Poe spat through clenched teeth.

This was it, the final fucking straw. 

You exploded, just like a Tie.

“Maker, why won’t you fucking listen to me!” you scream into the comms, as loud and as explosive as you possibly can, but you’re already speeding up before anyone can stop you. 

You shut off your relay, so you can only listen to the shouts and screams of your squamates as they tell you to fucking stop it, but you’re already halfway to Poe’s position, canon on your six and almost fully charged. 

You don’t think as you pull up, nose to the fucking sky, before abruptly pulling down on your controls— your X-Wing falls into a smooth nose dive, so you can build up speed and momentum.

Poe’s yells are loud as you veer towards formation A, formation B well behind you, but the canon is fully charged and you can’t stop now. You switched back on your relay as the canon shot directly at Poe, but your ship intercepts the stream—

“Canon on your six!” you screamed, as you fell in line sideways, right in front of Poe’s cockpit. He can see your side profile, see your teeth and jaw and everything tense as you fire your blaster at the exact right time—

Your shots landed perfectly, disintegrating the canon’s blast until you can cut through and hit the actual ship itself. 

Your lungs burned as you kept firing; relentlessly; tirelessly; inching ever closer to the weapon itself as Dameron looked at you in awe. He saw when you opened your mouth to let out an immense yell, but your comms were off— he saw it all through your cockpit windshield.

“Formation B, the canon!” he demanded finally, and B fell into the same mission as you. Together, the fires of six X-Wings break apart the bridge canon, exploding it into a thousand pieces of debris. 

You think your ear drums burst alongside the canon, since all you could hear was a sharp and painful ringing after you succeeded.

Succeeded in saving Dameron’s life. 

The Star Destroyer promptly relays to their rendezvous partner to abort, and within seconds, they shot off into hyperspace. You hardly notice, as you focused on levelling your breathing and tried not to think about what would happen now—

Would Dameron kick you off of his squad?

“Commander, are you okay?” Black-Six said over the comms. Poe didn’t reply immediately. The only thing you could feel was his stare, still stuck on you from his own cockpit. 

“Group up. Head back to base,” he said plainly, still in shock. 

“Copy,” 

You were the last back on D’Qar, taking your time as you engaged your landing gear and caught your breath after hitting the ground. Dameron’s X-Wing was three ships away; he was still inside his cockpit, despite landing first. 

You switched off your controls and rose from your pilot chair, trembling as you descended the small set of steps, jumping from the last rung. When you hit the ground, you expected everything to feel better—

But it didn’t. 

It didn’t, because you could see Dameron as he emerged from his own ship. He threw his helmet to the floor immediately, making a B-line for your X-Wing as the rest of your squad started to get nosey.

They followed Dameron’s route to you with their eyes, shooting smug smiles or wide eyes or disgusted looks at you. 

You, though? 

You’re trying not to cry. Trying not to let it all get you down. Trying not to explode again when Poe inevitably erupted into screams in front of your face. 

“Black-Five,” Poe started, bombarding towards you with a red face and seething eyes. “You— you,” he couldn’t even get his words out properly, not until he stopped right in front of you, breathing heavily as he took in your expression. “You disobeyed my direct orders,” he finally said. 

“I know, Commander,” you replied, tired— physically and mentally. 

“We all know what you do, Five, what you think,” Poe continued. All of was lies. “We know you’re a stellar pilot, but that doesn’t rank you above my word,”

“I know, Commander,” you responded, sadly this time. You couldn’t help it. Your heart was fucking disintegrating underneath your ribcage. These people didn’t know you, didn’t care to know. They didn’t know your past, didn’t know your present, and wouldn’t know your future. 

“I am your Commander, Five. What I say goes. You disrespected your entire fucking squad today by going off on your own, by trying to be the fucking hero. Why do you do it, Five? Why did you put yourself in the fucking firing line for me? Because you believe yourself to be better?” 

Did he really believe that? 

You lost your battle with your eyes; they won as you stopped forcing back tears. They fell from your eyes slowly, gently, crawling down your face as you keep your eyes wide and focused on Dameron’s.

For a split second, his expression faltered. He was shocked. 

Poe Dameron had made you cry. 

“No, Commander,” you let out, but your voice was so shaken and weak and pathetic that you could hardly stand it. Everything floated away— your care, your ability to hold back— you exploded. “I did it because my death doesn’t fucking matter,” you said, stronger this time. 

Poe stopped breathing. He took an abrupt step back, flicking his eyes between yours. He’d never seen you cry before. 

“You’re Poe Dameron, Black Squadron leader, Commander in the Resistance— if you die, it fucking matters,” you spat. “If I die, someone else takes Black-Five. I’m expendable, Dameron. You’re not,” 

Poe let out a stuttering breath. “I—,” he choked “I didn’t—,”

“When I rush forward on missions it’s not because I think myself to be better, or faster, or above any of you,” you cried, your voice turning into wails. You needed them to understand, needed them to listen to you just this once. “I don’t— I don’t even know where all of that fucking came from,” 

Black-Eight turned to Black-Two. They look at each other, guilt slapped across their stunned faces. 

“Black-Five—,”

“No!” you screamed, cutting through Poe’s attempt to speak. “I need you to listen to me, Commander— all of you— just this one time, because I can’t fucking take this anymore,” you wailed. 

Poe nodded vigorously, latching onto your every word. 

“Of course,” he said quickly, sadly. 

“You put me on your squad, Dameron,” you let out, and Poe kept nodding. I know, he mouthed. “You said I was a good pilot, and I am, but that doesn’t mean I want glory. All I’ve ever wanted is to fight for this war, to be a part of salvation— I never fucking wanted fame,” 

You breathed heavily, heaving air into your lungs and ignoring the salty drops of tears that gathered on your chin. 

Poe swallowed uncomfortably, but he didn’t move; didn’t move from his spot; didn’t move his stare from yours.

“I know all you all hate me,” you let out, forcing yourself to look at the rest of your squad, just for a second, before you turned back to Poe. “I know you don’t let me do anything because you think I only care about being seen, but the reason I act against orders now is because you don’t let me do my fucking job!” you screamed, just so they could hear, just to make sure they fucking listen.

“We don’t hate you, Five,” Poe said smally, croaking, as your expression changed. You looked at him honestly, all of your hurt spiralling out of every pore. 

“Don’t lie to me, Poe,” Poe. You called him Poe, finally. “I can take the talking behind my back, the looks that you think I don’t see, but I can’t take you lying to me,” your voice finally cracked, breaking apart as you try to keep what’s left of your composure together. 

You stepped back abruptly, smacking into the body of your X-Wing. Poe flinched, immediately reaching out an arm to steady you, but you raised your hand to him. 

He stopped, pulling away again, as you finally wiped away your tears. 

“I’m sorry for disobeying orders today, Commander,” you said. “But I’m not sorry for saving your fucking life,” Poe looked at you like he’d never seen you before in his life; stunned; amazed. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, Poe,”

“Five…” his voice trailed off, but you didn’t stick around to hear if he continued speaking or not. You left your squadron in the landing bay, reeling from the realisation that they’d got it all fucking wrong; that they’d been horrible to you; that, without you, Poe wouldn’t be here to yell at you.

You headed to your dorm, knowing that your bunkmate wouldn’t be back yet. All you wanted was to sit in a dark room for a while, to feel everything, to move on like none of it had ever happened.

You’d finally said what you needed to, finally exploded and tried to get them to understand. If they still didn’t beyond this, then there was no hope for you at all.

In the mess hall, you wondered if they were talking about you. Were they sat, drinking beer and laughing about your outburst? Were they sharing it with other squadrons, giggling about how pathetic you’d been? 

Or, had they finally realised?

Realised their mistakes, their behaviour, their horribleness towards you.

A few hours pass. You busied yourself by memorising next weeks schedule, sorting your things and cleaning up your dorm. Subtle music cuts through from the mess hall, so you know post-mission celebrations are in full flow.

Poe’s probably there, drinking a beer, talking to cadets, smiling.

You flinched when three knocks hit your dorm room door. You straightened yourself out as you hit the control panel, and watched in shock as Dameron’s face hits yours after the door raised from the floor.

He looked sullen, sad, upset. His eyes weren’t their usual warmth of browns and yellows; they’d been tinted with grey.

“Dameron—,” 

“It’s my turn to talk, now,” he said sternly, letting himself in your dorm before you get a word in. “You were transferred to this base, correct?” he asked, back turned to you as his stare is stuck on the wall in front of him.

You swallowed away your nerves. “Yes,” 

“Why?” he chided, ever so slightly turning his head so you can see his side profile. 

It came in flashes; your previous squad on a mission, the blast of green canons, the explosive bursts of your teammates cockpits, erupting into flames.

“We were ambushed,” you started slowly, your throat drying up. “I… couldn’t save them,” 

“That’s why you put yourself in danger,” Poe worked out. He looked to the floor then, and you can tell his eyes are shut— he could feel your pain, radiating through the dorm in waves. 

“I do what’s necessary, when I know I can help,” you said bluntly. You balled your fists, overcome with a deep and dark hurt, coiling through your gut.

“You—,” Poe started, but stopped himself immediately. Finally, he turned to you, eyes piercing through yours. “All this time, we’ve been treating you like shit, Five,” his eyes quickly turned glassy, reflecting the sunset from outside your dorm door.

Your heart breaks all over again, just from that look on his face. That anguish, that realisation.

“Why?” he whispered, stepping closer to you. You didn’t move away this time. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

You squeezed your fists tighter together. “Would you have listened?” you let out, dropping your head to the floor. You didn’t want to cry again, but you couldn’t stop the tears from welling in your eyes. “Would you have listened before now?”

“Of course,” he said, but you know he’s uncertain within himself. 

“I tried, Poe,” you said, getting overwhelmed. “I’ve tried so many fucking times. You never listened, always cut me off, always—,” the breath hitched in the back of your throat. Poe stepped forward again, reaching out to curl his fingers around your forearm. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Five,” he swallowed, but it didn’t stop his tears from falling. “You’re right. I put you on my squad because you’re fucking brilliant— an amazing fighter and pilot and everything in between— but all I’ve done is stop you from being able to do your job,” 

You let out a soft splutter, causing Poe to grip onto your other arm. 

“I don’t know— why I fucking let the rumours get to me,” he spluttered. “It’s unforgivable, it’s awful— I’ve been awful,” you shot your gaze to him then, treading forward until you’re close enough to feel his heart thumping beneath his chest. 

“Poe—,”

“No, don’t,” he said sternly, cutting you off. “Don’t just accept my apology, Five. You can accept it when you see that I’ve changed,” he let out, as more tears crawled down his cheeks. 

“We’re human, Poe,” you croaked out, fighting away the urge to wipe away his tears. “We get jealous and we get scared, especially in this line of work,” 

He regarded you then, properly, deeply, looking at you from eye to eye and expanding around your face; your nose; your jaw; your lips. Poe had never looked at you for this long, never taken the time to know the lines and curves of your face until now— when he was crying, when he was sorry, when he was listening to you. 

“What you said before,” Poe spoke, softer, gentler, calmer. “About you being expendable,”

Maker, I forgot I said that out loud.

“You’re not,” he said sternly, squeezing your arms in an attempt to make you believe it. “You’re important— so fucking important. Don’t think for one second that you aren’t,” 

Your cheeks flushed violently then, eyes squinting through your tears. You let out an abrupt splutter, but all that Poe does is latch onto you further.

“You saved my fucking life today,” he huffed, overwhelmed even more so when he says it out loud. “And I got angry at you about it,” 

Poe taking accountability was more than you’d ever imagined getting. He was owning up to his wrongdoings, acknowledging your outburst, acknowledging you putting yourself on the line— just for him.

I’d do it again in a heartbeat, Poe.

“Thank you,” he let out, before he fully came undone. The breath hitched in his throat and his tears fell faster. He dropped his head to your shoulder, while you stood— frozen— feeling every sob bubble out from his chest and burst from his lips. 

Gently, you moved your arms to latch around him. You felt the strength of the muscles in his back, as he fully let himself go. 

Poe Dameron sobbed on your shoulder until he was fully done. He cried through the material of your shirt, wrapping his arms around you so tightly and resting his hand on the back of your neck warmly.

“I meant what I said,” you let out, as tears kept falling down your own face. “I’d do it again, a thousand times over,” 

A thousand times over. Again and again and again, as long as it meant Poe Dameron was safe. As long as it meant he would live to see the end of this fucking war.

You recovered together, even laughing about the fact you were both reduced to puddles. When Poe laughed, your heart slowly pieced itself back together again.

He held you close the entire time, always resting his fingers on part of you and you moved on from the deepness of his confession and apology.

He begged you to come for a beer, and you were incapable of refusing him. All the way to the mess hall, his arm is hooked through yours.

When you turned the corner, the room descended into utter silence. Black squadron immediately looked towards you both, as you focused on calming the anxiety that tore through your gut.

“Come on,” Poe coaxed you gently, moving his grip to your hand. His fingers intertwined with your own, unashamedly. 

He guided you to the centre of the hall, where Black squadron usually sat for lunch and after missions. You’d never sat with them before, never thought it had been an option. 

When Poe gets up onto the table, you recoil. You don’t know what to do with yourself, don’t know how to stand or sit or whatever— so you simply peer up at him, heart in your throat, fingers buzzing from the electricity that he’s given you.

“Everyone,” he boomed. “Listen,” he demanded. He was in commander mode, now. The sternness of his voice and on his jaw was impossible to ignore. “Today, Black-Five saved my life,” 

You sucked in a deep breath, as Poe peered down at you. He smiled at you, like the sun, like the stars, like the Poe you once knew, before all of the fucking rumours.

“She’s a fighter, like all of us, and deserves that recognition,” 

And just like that, it was over.

The hurt, the pain, the lies.

Poe Dameron was looking at you like his saviour, because you were.

Poe Dameron was looking at you like friend— 

Because you are.