#i feel like they are bound to get angsted up in the future. but for now i do not dare touch them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ctrlhope · 7 months

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Bound By Blood (m)

synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

k.taehyung x f.reader

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 16.0k

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: genre: royalty au, soft yandere, fluff, smut, smidge of angst

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The Kim Empire.

Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway.

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums.

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is.

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass.

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath.

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god.

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety.

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of.

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper.

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed.

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor.

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene.

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath.

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on.

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced.

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain.

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time.

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe.

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that.

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should.

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind.

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face.

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again.

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want?

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you.

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action.

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone.

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful.

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again.

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before.

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height.

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive.

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way.

You think you dislike the feeling.

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart.

“I suppose so.”

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel.

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down.

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you.

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead.

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment.

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants.

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you.

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage.

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it.

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady.

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top.

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it.

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely.

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens.

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon.

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions.

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status.

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive.

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything.

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones.

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs.

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one.

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter.

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons.

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor.

You simply shake your own.

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again.

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is.

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation.

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace.

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks.

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.”

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?”

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design.

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world.

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.”

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before.

Ah. It all makes sense now.

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.”

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him.

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut.

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.”

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.”

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement.

“Good.”

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest.

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest.

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable.

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall.

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway.

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them.

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms.

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why.

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status.

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that.

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught.

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back.

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before.

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion.

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy.

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being.

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place.

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam.

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features.

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic.

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.”

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms.

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.”

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone.

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.”

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.”

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is.

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too.

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.”

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.”

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right.

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown.

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother.

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise.

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white.

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing.

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares.

If he does, he doesn’t show it.

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips.

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast.

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them.

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him.

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head.

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more.

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.”

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.”

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway.

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night.

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible.

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions.

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined.

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach.

Why did he know your name?

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in.

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages.

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby.

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort.

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else.

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath.

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne.

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that.

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths.

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position.

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door.

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster.

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears.

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen.

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess.

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away.

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading.

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!”

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before.

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls.

“And what am I meant to do?”

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!”

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart.

At least that is what you hope.

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents.

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month.

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible.

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid.

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake.

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend.

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered.

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–”

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own.

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own.

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people.

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain.

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance.

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible.

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire.

“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems.

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.”

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales.

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body.

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction.

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer.

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would.

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–”

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.”

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut.

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear.

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone.

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge.

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else.

That is the only logical solution, at least.

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well.

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week.

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect.

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can.

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name.

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior.

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has.

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away.

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor.

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form.

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being.

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose.

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them.

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for.

You reach to spray your second favourite perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand.

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible.

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can.

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you. It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed.

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn.

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it.

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it.

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open.

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you.

The future king would be a fearsome thing.

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore.

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…”

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…”

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of.

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse.

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape.

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it.

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you.

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof.

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal.

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore.

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?”

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room.

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt?

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country?

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft.

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft.

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever.

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.”

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment.

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh!

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?”

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable.

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before.

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine.

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you.

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.”

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day.

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own.

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself.

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.”

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?!

Oh heavens, oh gods.

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be!

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place.

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long.

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating.

“What…?”

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.”

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again.

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order.

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him.

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare.

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory.

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do.

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it.

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core.

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.”

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest.

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself.

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen.

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–”

“Taehyung.”

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth.

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well.

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly.

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more.

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours.

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own.

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it.

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body.

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse.

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince.

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste.

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own.

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him.

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him.

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well.

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever.

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.”

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him.

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.”

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god.

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left.

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort.

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core.

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal.

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being.

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else.

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting.

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige.

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him.

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you.

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth.

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal.

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything.

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life.

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible.

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting.

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit.

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt.

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact.

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering.

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue.

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him.

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high.

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle.

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form.

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled.

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them.

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt.

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place.

He will not have you running away.

Not now.

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters.

He is.

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows.

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels.

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality.

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good.

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through.

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want.

“Please.”

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you.

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for.

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it.

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity.

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes.

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more.

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk.

So sensitive. So ready for him.

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet.

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck.

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls.

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take.

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock.

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort.

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there.

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity.

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more.

He is falling apart before you, because of you.

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.”

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs.

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.”

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly.

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused.

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop.

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.”

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him.

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit.

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.”

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him.

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul.

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him.

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!”

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more.

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body.

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!”

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter.

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?”

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by.

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him.

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel.

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore.

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck.

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly.

“Who do you belong to?”

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment.

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.”

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe.

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide.

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise.

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing.

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body.

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright.

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already.

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire.

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you.

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases.

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games.

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it.

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night.

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you.

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time.

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him.

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth.

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

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seresinhangmanjake · 4 months

Text

Do You Love?

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x wife!reader

Summary: Feyd is soft for his wife and only wants to know if she loves him. His wife just wants him to come home.

Notes/Warnings: fluff and a little angst and very light smut (still 18+), softy-soft Feyd, probably could do with a wedding prequel if people were interested, im sure there are typos. I think that's it.

Words: 1400

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

He hates being away from you. Can't bear it. It takes less than two days for withdrawal from your lack of presence to settle in, and when it hits, it hits hard. The luminescence of your smile that threatens the darkness within him on his worst days; the delicate suppleness of your skin that introduced him to the softness and warmth of a human body; the specific quality and tone of your voice when you whisper and whimper and moan in his ear—he needs it. He needs you. He craves you until the second you’re in his arms again. He just wishes he could understand if you feel the same. He wishes he could know if you love him as much as he does you.

When you came into his life, you were a pawn for peace. A gift from one Great House to another. A reluctant bride who couldn’t choke back her tears on her wedding day. He’ll never forget the saltiness that lingered on his lips after the kiss that bound you to him forever. He can still feel the pang in his heart from seeing you finch when he guided the strap of your nightgown off your shoulder.

It took ages for you to shed your fear; to allow him to hold you and kiss you and be inside of you, but those many months of ‘two steps forward, one step back’ have left him in a paralyzing state of identity crisis and uncertainty. You’ve turned him into a man who begs for scraps of reassurance that you care for him rather than a man who shows no mercy for love; a man so preoccupied with thoughts of his wife’s affection that not even his enemies are granted his full attention as he watches the light drain from their eyes.

From the moment he leaves, he anticipates his return so you can quell his agitation, at least to some degree. The same words echo in his head each time he steps off a Harkonnen ship to search for you—hug me, hold me, kiss me, let my body inside of yours, tell me you love me—and in recent months you haven’t failed to do those things, with the exception of the last request. The day you tell him you love him will be the day he stops fearing you'll eventually grow bored with him. On that day, he’ll be happy, at peace. He’ll be unafraid of what his future with you will bring.

—

Reader POV

He often goes to Arrakis for a week or two, that’s not new. He must monitor things and fight Fremen when necessary. However, this time was different. There was something foreign in his eyes after he kissed your palm and boarded his ship to depart. Sadness? Pain? Worry? All three? You didn’t know, but it terrified you from how little he tried to disguise it. With each departure, it’s seemed his mood has worsened and you can't decipher its cause.

Now, ten days later, your fingernails are worn to nubs and dark circles have found home under your eyes from nightmares interrupting your sleep. They’re different every night but they always end with Feyd not coming home to you, and you don’t know how to cope. You tell yourself you’re crazy, that there’s no possibility of him being taken down with a Fremen knife or gobbled up by a sandworm or blown to bits from his ship getting shot out of the sky. He’s too smart, too quick, too trained for such things to claim his life. At the same time, however, the last person whose death you dreamt of was your mother’s, and while it’s rare your dreams are prophetic, that one came to fruition not five days later. Who is to say your dreams of your husband are not the same?

But you can’t lose Feyd, not when it feels like you just got him. When you married, your dread of navigating a new husband and life on Giedi Prime—both of which have a reputation for being cold and desolate and harsh—crippled your ability to see him for who he is. It’s only been the last few months that you’ve let yourself love and understand him, and you can’t imagine a reality in which you wake one morning knowing you will never have him again. You wouldn’t survive it.

But you won't have to, because he's fine, perfectly safe—that's what you tell yourself. He told you he wouldn’t be away long and he wouldn’t say that unless he believed it, right?

Then again, believing he would be home soon doesn’t mean fate agrees. What if he's already gone? Wait, no. No, he wouldn't do that to you. He'll be home because he always makes it home. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave you. You nod to yourself, swallowing hard. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave.

Your body curls into the first touch of warmth you’ve had in a week and a half as a heavy weight rests in the dip of your waist and tugs you against a solid form. Plush lips ghost your temple. A heartbeat thrums in your ear and you feel the rise and fall of a chest.

Oh, you like this dream. He’s so real in this dream. It’s the first dream where death is not at his heels.

“You don’t know how I miss you,” he mutters into your ear. Stands of your loose hair brush back from your face. “How unbearable it is.”

His voice is so clear, so beautiful and vivid that it’s almost like he’s really with you. Humming contently, you huddle further into him. “Then stop leaving me,” you mumble.

Breath catches in his chest, no longer moving at a steady rhythm. “You're awake?”

Your brows knit—that's not a very ‘dream-like’ question; it threatens your lovely illusion—and then your eyes snap open.

“Feyd?” His nose is an inch from yours. Your hand raises to cup his cheek, just to see if he is real, and you gasp at how warm his skin is under your palm. “You're here,” you cry, quickly pushing him onto his back and crawling on top of him.

You press your lips to his, hard. A whimper is pulled from your throat when he parts his mouth so you can get a taste of his tongue. Yes, he’s definitely real.

Hands trail down your back to your ass, squeezing two handfuls of flesh and pushing your pelvis down onto his. He’s already hard and thick and pressing into you, the matching thin material of your nightgown and his sleep pants doing a pathetic job of maintaining any sort of barrier.

Feyd slowly drags the ink-toned silk up the curves and dimples of your body until it pools at your waist. Fingers graze your skin as they move lower to slide through your slick bare folds, and at his touch, your brain goes absolutely fuzzy. You’re unashamedly desperate, refusing to take any longer to get what you need, but when you finally free him from his pants and he thrusts up into you, you both find yourselves stopping. The kiss breaks and you simply breathe in each other’s breaths as he stays nestled deep inside you.

Your forehead falls to his. A fresh tear that you hadn’t noticed in your eye lands on his cheek. “You're ok,” you gently whimper, reassuring yourself of his safety. His nose nudges yours.

“When am I not?” he whispers as he catches the next tear with his thumb before it drops from your lower lashes.

“In my nightmares.”

His brow pinches in curiosity, cock twitching within your walls. “You dream about me?”

You lightly nod. “I thought this was a dream.”

“Why?”

“Because I had a sickening feeling you weren’t going to make it back this time. I know it was a routine trip, but I just couldn’t shake it,” you say. “And that would’ve killed me, Feyd. I love you.”

Feyd sucks in a short stream of air as his hips slightly buck up against yours. “You love me?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you exhale, riding the little high of pleasure that came from the sharp involuntary shift of his hips. “I was so scared to be right.”

Feyd's arms tighten around you and he tilts his chin up to connect your lips. Kisses travel along the line of your jaw and down the length of your neck. His tongue dips into the hollow of your throat.

“I love you,” he tells you.

Your stuffy chuckle settles into a grin. “I know you do.”

---

tag: @avidreader73

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha #dune part 2 #austin butler #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune

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chaptersleftunwritten · 28 days

Text

Red Hot

Based on the song ‘Breaking the Girl’ by Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Also, requested by the sweetest nonnie!

Blurb: Eddie has never had a constant in his life. Everyone leaves or he does before he can get hurt. After working up enough courage to ask you on a date, he can’t help the itch to run from you when he sees you talking with another guy.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Light angst with a fluffy ending, miscommunication, reader referred to gal/girl, Eddie’s puppy eyes being teary. Jealousy. I think that’s all….

divider by @cafekitsune

It all started in August.

The longing stares, stolen touches, blushing cheeks, sweating palms. Eddie had fallen for you. Hard. And it was incomprehensible to him.

Sure, you guys had been partnered on a few class projects, muttering sweet ‘Hello’s’ to one another as you passed in the hallways. But nothing overly serious. Nothing that could lead to this flutter in his inked chest.

The feeling startled him— like falling asleep, only to dream that you’re falling from a building and then you jolt awake.

You frightened him. You with your shining smile that could light up the whole of New York City, or your bigger than life bubbly personality and your Einstein like brain. You frightened Eddie Munson— and he liked it. Loved it, even.

When he looked at you, he was sure. Surer than he has ever been about anything in his entire life. He wanted you— he needed you in his future. You made him feel… wanted. Normal? Less like than outcast and more like a friend.

And so he asked you out— but not without extreme difficulty. It took him three whole days to pluck up enough cowardly courage to slip a hand written note into your locker, signed from him with a cheesy love heart stamped next to your name on the back.

Eddie was consumed by immense panic after he had posted the note to you. He paced the halls and even contemplated breaking and entering into your locker just to steal the note back. It wasn’t regret, but more like guilt.

He wasn’t brave enough to ask you face to face. He knew he wouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence in front of you, nevermind ask you out to a diner for milkshakes.

He also couldn’t handle your rejection. It would sour him… it would break his heart.

And so when he seen you bounding over to him and the other guys at lunch like a cheerful bunny rabbit he nearly sunk and hid beneath the table. Terrified of what you might say— of what you might think of him…

Would you take him as he was?

His insides were twisting and turning, his feelings for you burning…

“Hey, Eddie…” you stop a few paces away from his perched frame, your cheeks flushed and your fingers fumbling with your pocket, “Could I please borrow you for a moment?” Your voice is sweet enough to make Eddie’s own cheeks pink and your eyes examine the table, almost as if you are asking for the men’s permission to pinch their friend.

They spare you some friendly and amused smiles, but that is all. They know better than to meddle with the things Eddie cares about.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He clears his throat in the form of a light cough, his palms slapping against the top of the table as he lunges from his seat and onto his feet to meet you. His movements are so fast that it takes you a moment to register that he is standing inches in front of you.

“Lead the way.” He purrs softly and that’s it for you. Your brain is none responsive. Eddie was great at the art of pretending. He was a pretender— which meant that he was the master at faking his confidence. As he watched your jaw fall slack at his toothy dimpled grin it only spurred him on further. He was adoring the effect he was having on you.

Leading Eddie into the quiet of the corridor you stop against a wall, smiling angelically up at the metal head, “I got your note.” Part of you was hesitant to even approach Eddie, in doubt that you had been brutally pranked by someone but the softness in his eyes and the relaxation of his tense shoulders put your mind at ease.

“What note?” Eddie perks a brow, a massive stretched smile on his lips and you swat at him playfully, pulling the loose piece of crumpled paper from your pocket and waving it in front of his nose, “Okay, okay.” He throws his hands up in surrender before tucking them beneath his armpits; trying to contain his nerves.

“If by chance, I did slip that into your locker… what might you reply to it? Y’know— if it were from me.”

There’s a moment of pause and you purse your lips in false thought, holding the note flat against your chest, “I think I would say yes— but only if it were you.” You sigh, frowning mockingly, “But I guess we shall never know, huh?”

You sway away from the wall, overly slumping your shoulders as you take agonisingly slow steps back toward the cafeteria.

Eddie can’t contain his thrill. You just agreed to go on a date with him. You! You agreed!

He punches the air whilst your back is turned to him before he is prancing behind you like a ballet dancer, “It was me! Did I mention that? Swear I did.” He grabs the note from you and you giggle as he examines his own handwriting, “Yep! See, right here. That’s my name.” His index finger taps on the inked page and you hum in recognition and amusement. Peeking up at him through the thickness of your eyelashes you offer him a sly smile and he is quick to return one to you.

“Okay, well… how about Friday then? You, me and some delicious milkshakes?” You chirp like a song bird, clasping your hands behind your back and rocking on your heels.

Eddie’s heart thunders in his chest and his cheeks ache from the unremovable smile on his face.

“Sounds like a date, Princess.”

Eddie couldn’t keep his Bambi eyes closed at night, all he could think about was you. You and the minutes counting down to your date together. He had to fight the urge every single second of every day to smother you with attention in the corridors at school. He wanted to allow you space but fuck— was it challenging.

He would leave rouge flowers and their stems poking out from the vents in your locker— never specifying if it were him or not. But you knew. You knew it was Eddie leaving you little trinkets. Like a trail of rose petals leading right to him.

In between classes he would stare at you from a distance, right through the crowd and you would feel his blazing gaze on the back of your head which, without fail, caused your flesh to flush brightly with colour.

He couldn’t help it. You were stunning and the literal gal of his wildest dreams. His pretty little flower. He just wanted you to be his so badly that he was terrified of suffocating you with his presence.

He hadn’t spoke to you from that day in the hallway; he thought it safer that way. Wait until the date, and then let you decide how you feel about him.

The thought made him antsy and unable to keep still. If he had one wish right now, it would be to read your mind. Just so he knew— so he really knew. So he could please you and make you happy. No matter the cost. No matter the effort. He would do it.

He already felt so strongly about you; and that’s why it bruised his heart so brutally to see you giggling and talking with another bloke. Eddie had never experienced jealousy on this level before, but it felt Hellish. It felt intentional and spiteful and he couldn’t control the envious tears pricking at his waterline as he longed for you from afar.

He wouldn’t let you hurt him. He wouldn’t let you get close enough… not anymore. No matter how badly he wanted a life with you. He decided not to take the risk.

And little by little, the trinkets stopped and you only received one final note that Friday morning.

A cancellation letter.

‘Can’t make it tonight, see you around.’ - Eddie

The excitement you had for the night ahead fizzled out and died— sending your stomach sinking like a plane shot from the sky.

What hurt you most was that there wasn’t even an apology. You could understand being too bashful to ask you out face to face— but to cancel on you through a lousy note? You couldn’t understand that.

You thought you meant more than that to Eddie, you thought that he thought more highly of you. Felt more for you. But you must’ve been mistaken since you had to walk through his blizzard of a mood change.

He wouldn’t look at you anymore. His once warm gaze turned icy and much less frequent than before. You couldn’t think of what you had done to deserve this from him. His cold shoulder and snippy responses.

It was hurting you more than you could have imagined. You liked Eddie— you really liked Eddie, and to have him be so brutish toward you was dizzying. Upsetting. Penetrative; like a knife to your heart. Twisting and turning relentlessly. Unwaveringly. Suffocatingly.

But you weren’t one to back down from confrontation; you were going to get the truth out of him if it were the last thing you do.

It’s Monday afternoon and after working yourself up all goddamn morning you decide enough is enough. You can’t take it anymore. You have to know why.

“Hey, Munson!” Eddie’s brain hasn’t time to compute what is happening before you are stomping over to him, your arms flexed by your sides as your fists are balled tightly by your waist.

“What do you want?” His deep voice is rumbly and clipped as it leaves his throat and you scoff at his nonchalant tone.

“I want you to explain this.” The crumpled piece of paper is held slotted between your middle and index finger as you wave it like a white flag in front of his face, “I never pegged you as a coward, Eddie— really, I just don’t understand.”

Eddie’s ‘give no fucks’ attitude falters at your distress and he has to shove his hands into his pockets to keep his composure. He knows he can’t sweep you up into his arms and coddle you the way he wants— so he settles for this. Being a total dickwad toward the one girl that actually makes him feel something.

“What’s not to understand? I saw you with another guy and I took the fucking hint. Plain and simple. You don’t owe me an explanation and I don’t see why I owe you one, Princess.” He shrugs his shoulders in discomfort but to you it seems like utter ignorance.

His nickname for you tastes like battery acid on your tongue. A pill that’s hard to swallow. You don’t like this facade he’s putting up— not one bit.

“What are talking about? What guy?” Genuine confusion wraps itself snuggly around your psyche and it’s now Eddie’s turn to scoff in annoyance.

“Oh, please! Don’t act dumb, Sweetheart. I saw you and Eric together with my own two eyes. Giggling all cutely— showing him extreme interest. It was clear as day that you were into him.”

“Into him?” You echo, “I was simply being polite, Eddie. That’s the type of person that I am! Maybe you should try it sometime instead acting like an asshole!” The words spit from your lips like bullets and Eddie begins spiralling.

Had he got it all wrong? He knew you were a polite and gentle girl. It’s one of the many reasons as to why he liked you. He couldn’t help his mind from going to a dark place after seeing you together with Eric. It came to him as though it were second nature.

He had to run before he got gunned down.

“Wait-“ Eddie calls after you, his voice strangled as he leaves his post to jog behind you, his belt chain jingling with his movements, “Please!” His hand clasps your shoulder softly and you spin around to face him. Your face is flushed with anger and Eddie is taken aback from the look in your eyes.

He had seen it so many time before from his peers.

Distaste. Annoyance. Fear. Fury.

All so familiar to him; but they look so foreign in your kind eyes.

“What?” Meeting him with the same blunt force he displayed earlier has his heart clenching; bracing for impact.

“I… I misunderstood.”

“You think?”

“I just… I’m not good at this.” He gestures between the pair of you. A shaky breath leaves Eddie’s lungs and you soften at the sight of him becoming dishevelled in front of you, “I don’t know how to love. And… and I guess when I saw you with Eric it was my own insecurity eating me alive. I wasn’t mad at you, I was mad at myself.”

The metal head leans against a near by wall for leverage and you move in closer to him, magnetised.

“I saw the life you could have. The life you deserve… and it wasn’t with me.” His bottom lip quivers and you can see the struggle roaring in his eyes as he tries to contain his tears, “I’m afraid. I’m afraid of getting hurt and being the one that hurts you.”

The answer was clear as day to you. You knew how to love unconditionally. You could be the one to teach him. To guide him. Eddie needed reassurance; that’s all he needed and you could offer him that. You could work at this with him.

“You don’t get to decide who gets hurt in this world,” With shaking hands you reach out to touch Eddie’s face, your thumb stroking his cheek to catch a stray tear, “I can show you how to love. And how to be loved.”

You’re smiling like an idiot, your heart pumping hopefulness throughout your entire being.

“Yeah?” Eddie sniffles gently and you nod your head vigorously.

“Yeah.”

Slender ringed fingers curl around your wrist and Eddie holds on tightly to the warmth of your skin against his.

“You feelin’ reckless, Sweet girl?” The teary eyed man is smirking now and you fear for the future of your heart; it might just combust into flames at the sight of him.

“Well, that depends what you mean…” you perk a brow, intrigued and Eddie laughs.

“Let’s ditch next period and grab those milkshakes I promised you.”

And without any further hesitation, you allow Eddie to take your hand into his and lead you out of school grounds and toward the rest of your lives together.

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ma1dita · 10 months

Text

about you

this was a request! read it here

words: 4.3k (longest one yet ohmy)

summary: james potter takes ‘easier’ for granted and finds out he now has a living reminder of that

warnings: none! sort of au, everyone lives and they win the war— angst angst angst, maybe open ended!!! groveling james and reader is a MOTHA (afab!)

a/n: guys i missed writing angst…i’m a deeply sad soul at heart so i enjoyed this a lot. I listened to ‘night shift’ by lucy dacus writing the first half, and ‘about you’ by the 1975 for the second half,,,,, both on repeat. i don’t mean to post at ungodly hours but i hope you enjoy!

posted: 11/11/23

—-

Insecurity is an ugly thing. It tugs at your frame, holding your shoulders hostage and your countenance shriveled in a scowl as you slink forward in your seat. But what should the rational reaction be when your boyfriend, the one you’ve planned out the rest of your life with— takes you out to dinner on a random Tuesday and then decidedly backtracks on everything you’ve built together? Your ears are ringing loudly, and you dumbly ask him to repeat himself when he says he wants to take a break.

“So that’s it then. You’ve made your decision and I just have to be okay with losing a year and a half of my life because you aren’t sure if you love me?” Your tone cuts through the fraying tether that holds you two together in the corner booth.

James for once, is at a loss for words. He wasn’t really sure of what to expect when he brought you here tonight, but any reaction to his admission was bound to hurt the both of you. You had to have known about his hesitations. Graduation was three weeks away, and everything was about to change, whether either of you liked it or not. Stupidly enough, James does love you, but that’s not the problem. The proximity he’s had as Head Boy working with Lily Evans makes him wonder if the life he lives is what’s meant for him. It keeps him up at night, gnawing at his resolve and comfort in being with you. He feels ungrateful to have it so easy. Loving you is easy. But the imposter syndrome sneaks into his room late at night in the form of ‘what if’.

“I…it’s just the timing of it all. We’re about to leave Hogwarts, and I don’t want to tie you down if I know I’m unsure of my—our future.”

He reaches out to grab your hand, and many a time ago, his sense of awareness was what you admired about him. You’d both get this familiar feeling of needing comfort, and within a minute, your fingers would intuitively find the other’s like it was second nature. Now, the thought of his touch might make you break his hand off to serve on a silver platter.

“Fuck your timing. If you think it’s as easy as making the decision to just quit while we’re ahead…. I love you. Don’t you…Is that not—”

You clear your throat, the fire in your indignation being stifled by the whimpering feeling of knowing this was going to happen. The understanding of his plight, the knowing that he wants more. You could see it in the way his eyes wander when you all hang out, and you could feel it when he needs time to himself before bed, letting you back to your common room in the late hours alone. Screw your heart for appealing to his indecisiveness, his fear, when the final blow is aimed at the relationship you both once wanted together. Head Boy and Head Girl share living quarters after all. What chance did you stand against the girl he fell asleep a room away from? Maybe he dreams of her too, what you couldn’t give and what more she has to offer.

“Tell me something James,” you choke as your body heaves with something akin to nausea. Being lovesick isn’t as romantic as it seems. The hopeless feeling in your tummy throbs as you clench your fists to keep it all down.

“Whatever you want.”

His reply makes you laugh, desolation gripping your esophagus. Who knew feeling empty would feel like drowning? There is no more air left in your lungs that it almost incapacitates you, your last breath spilling out your final ask of him.

“Do you love me? What did I do?”

The noise and chatter around you seems to fall silent as he zeroes in on your face, crestfallen from the words that leave your lips. It isn’t your fault, but how can he tell you that? At 18, he’s feeling stifled by the privilege of having his life all planned out for him. He knows people spend their lives searching for contentment but James can’t decipher if he’s right for all of this pressure falling upon his shoulders. The societal heir of his father’s business empire. The face of the upcoming war, bringing in a new generation of soldiers to fight.

Deep inside, he’s a wild spirit just wanting to live, to be free. And it scares him that you’d follow him to the ends of the Earth, that there isn’t much thinking involved, just doing. The lack of autonomy stifles his soul. How does one know if they’re meant for more? James doesn’t want you to have to suffer the consequences if he can’t figure it out himself.

“I love you honey. So much it hurts me. I just wonder if it’s enough.”

Your hands clatter onto the table, bumping your half-empty pint of butterbeer as you gather your things, shoving them into your knapsack as his final blow hits your senses. And all he does is watch you, face transfixed as if he sees nothing, like he isn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

There’s no going back after this, you think silently as you steady your trembling hands. There’s also no way in hell you’ll let him see you cry. Fuck that. Your eyes fall over the curls that drape over the frame of his glasses, his face cradled by candlelight and dear Merlin, do you love this boy. All of him, even the parts that don’t reciprocate the feeling. This is the final snapshot in your memory of him, because this fleeting moment will have to be enough.

“I hope you get everything you ever wanted James. For my sake, I hope I never hear a thing about it.”

Perhaps having the last word will absolve you of the feeling that desecrates your entire essence as you put one foot in front of the other, pushing past the door of the Three Broomsticks and out into the unknown. But it’s not enough.

—

The break in routine absolutely shatters you, if we’re being honest. A year and a half of loving him, and three more before that of liking the slow steady burn that is James Potter…. It’s like looking at the world with new eyes and this window of opportunity with graduation nearing is your chance of starting anew. There’s also the custodial aspect after the end of a relationship, and it’s hard to separate the rest of what’s yours and his in your mind. Your friends are his, and his are yours. It makes quite a predicament to not have things so easy as they consider who to eat lunch with, or who’s dorm to hang out in. Hopefully, things get easier with time but you’re not as confident as you once were.

A part of you feels like you don’t belong anywhere anymore. James is the sun, after all; a natural leader— everyone revolves around his ingenious ideas and the light he brings. He’s the one who always has a plan, and everyone follows in his stead. Where do you fit in all of that? Where do you go?

His parents are likely the loveliest people to ever grace the wizarding world. Euphemia catches you by the arm after the graduation ceremony as you’re about to take the 7th year boat back across the Black Lake. With no family in attendance and no boyfriend to dote on, niceties were expended quick enough to want to run out of there and never look back.

“Darling, are you leaving without a goodbye?” Mrs. Potter smiles, calling her husband over both with grins made of sunlight.

Somehow it resonates in your brain that it’s finally over, and your lip trembles when they pull you in for a hug that rivals your hunger to be loved. You think that even if your parents showed up today, it wouldn’t have felt this kind.

“Congratulations dearest! We’re so proud of you,” Fleamont rumbles, a big man with an even bigger heart as he brandishes flowers out of thin air to hand to you daintily. You’re going to miss them terribly. Is it wrong to want more of this? But you remember why it’s not as James’s cologne floods your senses and his silhouette creeps into your periphery. Your smile grows smaller as you two stare at each other and breathe the same air for the first time in almost a month. Whatever’s thrumming in your being, he holds the key to. Mr. and Mrs. Potter try to loop you into a photo together, the magical kind that moves to capture a memory so intimately but both of you stand perfectly still as his and your hesitant dismissals go unheard.

Loving hands fuss over both your caps and the way hair sticks out until you feel your shoulders jostle together for a moment and his hand lands on the small of your back. The flash goes off as you two look at each other in something that still resembles love. You can’t unlove him, not in a day, a month, or ever, you think. Not if you’ve bared your soul to him, even if he hurt you.

You look away first, urging your heart to come back to reality. He’s not yours anymore, and you still love him. Alice told you earlier that he asked Lily out on a date for next Tuesday. What you were supposed to do with that information you’re unsure, but the feeling in your belly helps you say goodbye to the Potters, and clarify that they can keep the picture since you’re not James’ girlfriend anymore. An awkward silence settles over all four of you.

Euphemia rubs your cheek, hushed promises of keeping in touch while Fleamont looks at his son in confusion. James’ hand flexes in the absence of your body against his. He simply watches you walk away again, alone, while he’s surrounded by his friends and his family. The beating of a tiny heart matching your own as you hop onto the boat proves otherwise.

—-

A baby.

You think back to when it must’ve happened, the weekend before that Tuesday, when everything still felt right. With your last exams of your academic career finally done, both you and James were tangled in his silk sheets until dawn, an amalgamation of passionate whispers and lingering touches you could still feel in the days that followed. As you stared at the flutter of his eyelashes and relished the way he pulled you closer in his dream state, you were quite sure that he is, too, tangled within your soul to let go. That your doubts were residual anxiety from preparing for the future. For the first time in a while, you were reaffirmed that the boy sleeping next to you was your forever. Not being careful was a consequence of feeling safe in his arms, and subconsciously, you both hoped that everything would work itself out. As you walked out of the Head Students’ Lounge past noon with James’ hickeys as a necklace and donning your boyfriend’s shirt, you noticed the blush on Lily Evans’ face. You were just so sure, but that felt like forever ago.

Your parents weren’t happy when they came back from their business trip two months after graduation to find you four months along with a prominent bump and filled with so much fear. All plans of getting a job, of moving out, and joining the Order were now replaced with the startling fact that you are 18 and don’t have a single clue on what to do next. Your childhood bedroom feels smaller tonight, with both your parents standing at the door, all of you unsure of what to say. You can’t remember the last time they tucked you in, but as your dad takes a seat on the edge of your bed, it seems possible that maybe you won’t be alone in all of this.

“Whatever decision you make will be the right one, sweetie. If you love that baby, then we do too,” he sniffles, and you don’t recall having ever seen him this emotional before. One thing you are sure of, is this baby is loved, and made from love. The next is that England is not a safe place to raise your baby.

Somewhere far away, in a hidden place guarded by some of the most experienced wizards, the Order of the Phoenix meets again to determine the future of the wizarding world. James’s eyes dart back and forth from the door to whichever adult is talking about the next mission. You didn’t show up again. All of the meetings so far where he was always the first one to arrive and the last to leave in hopes of getting a glimpse of you, and you never showed. There’s a deep worry that haunts him as the months pass by, and he knows that it would be easy to send you a letter, or to show up at your door, but he’s probably the last person you want to see.

“We’re going out for a pint, you ready to leave James?” Lily whispers into his ear, arms curling around to his chest. But he’s not ready at all, sat on the sofa with his eyes on the door, just in case. Trying to love someone who’s still in love is a losing battle, Lily thinks, as she watches her boyfriend look like a child missing their favorite blanket. But in a war like this one, no one would be foolish enough to decline company.

“I’ll meet you there,” he smiles, leaning back to kiss her cheek. It’s cruel to both of them, the way he’s acting knowing that Lily won’t ever be you. Every chance he gets to have a moment to himself, he thinks of the despondent look on your face as you walked away from him and his parents that day. No more anger at all, no biting words or the fighting spirit that he knows and loves. Both of you just accepted what was to come.

Sirius and Remus approach him later after everyone’s left that they got word that you moved to America. He thinks of what could’ve been, and the thought of your safety is the only thing that lets his mind rest as guilt pushes and pulls at his heartstrings like waves.

He’s spent these months fighting in the war, loving and losing that he thinks this isn’t anything like the white house and picket fence fantasy you both used to cook up. As he grabs his coat to leave, James wonders if by being away from all of this you’ll get to live the life you want.

—

“Okay honey, hold on tight to mama.”

Your little boy was almost bouncing off the pavement with a chocolate covered grin, and it makes you laugh harder than it should. Maybe Florean Fortescue’s was not the way to start off your son’s first trip to Diagon Alley, but your new job at the Ministry starts tomorrow and you’ve been missing your favorite stationery. The town was packed with people with the war having ended and trying to start anew. You haven’t seen any familiar faces and maybe years ago that was a bad thing, but hope spreads over Diagon Alley with strangers smiling at Christopher as he skips on the cobblestone, almost tripping over his own feet at the entrance of Flourish and Blotts.

He runs forward to explore the store as you smile at your creation, letting him wander along the aisles as you have done years before. Being back here is like walking through a memory, and though it used to be home, you know yours is walking around in tiny bright red shoes that light up like his smile. Your fingers flip through the different quills and parchment on display, and after finding everything you need, you hear your son’s laughter in the opposite corner of the shop. Motherly instincts always prevail as your feet guide you to the sound of his voice, since he’s never been one to shy away from a friendly conversation.

“Did you find everything you were looking for, honey?”

James’ head whips up from the tiny boy he was entertaining with color-changing quills to see you, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose to make sure he’s seeing properly. The both of you go quiet as time stands still, with Christopher chattering at your feet.

“Mama! Look at this one, it goes rainbow!” he says, tugging at your coat to see the quill in James’s hand. The pieces start to fit together in James’ mind, looking at your pursed lip, then to the sight of this boy smiling with the innocence he had a lifetime ago. This boy, his son, has your eyes. You shake your head rapidly as he intakes a breath of air.

“Honey?” he whispers, knowing that was his name for you.

“So what, he looks like a honey,” you say defensively, grabbing your son’s hand.

He looks like my son, his eyes say—both of you look down to the child who’s all grins and none the wiser piping up.

“My name’s Topher!”

“Yes it is, and now it’s time to say goodbye to the nice man, okay?” Topher pouts and looks up at his father without even knowing it, handing him the quill.

“Keep it. I’ll pay for it, and then you can write to me,” he says almost desperately, losing grip of everything that he’s been trying to convince himself for the past 7 years.

“Don’t be weird, Potter. Don’t…” you shake your head, eyes misting over. Seeing him again brought back everything. It was already overwhelming to have a kid that’s almost the splitting image of him, to learn of a love so pure after one that’s wrecked you to your core, but being here, within arms reach… You’re 18 again and scrambling away from the corner booth trying to get away from the man you love most not wanting you in return.

“Honey, why don’t you give us a minute to talk? Go find me some cool enchanted stickers for me to bring to work tomorrow, okay?” Your baby runs off without even questioning it, his sense of adventure also inherited from his father.

“I’m…so sorry.” James moves closer to you, and you take a step back sighing humorlessly.

“For what? He’s an amazing kid. Even though… he wasn’t planned, I don’t think I could ever see my life turning out any other way.” You shift your weight to your other foot. He looks, successful, if that’s something he would be proud of. He’s wearing an impressive suit, and his eyes are a bit hardened by the past few years, but his charisma, his smile…. He’s still the boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

“I feel foolish. I was so scared to live my life and then here you are raising our child…”

You blink softly at his words, and it reminds him of your youth, all doe-eyed and full of want. You used to want him like he still wants you. In front of him is a grown woman, a mother who’s strong and filled with memories and love that he should’ve been a part of.

“Things happen for a reason, James. We both did what we had to do.”

His hand brushes yours, and you realize you’ve been without his touch for 7 years. 7 years of being scrubbed clean of James Potter, and not a single regenerated cell in your body has been touched by him. But your son is of him, so you think that no matter how this ends, there will always be a part of you that loves James too.

You extend an olive branch to have him come to your apartment this weekend and get to talk. He knows he doesn’t deserve this kindness, but you know he deserves to meet his son.

—-

The doorbell rings and you take a deep breath as you open the front door, looking up at him holding a teddy bear for Topher.

“He’s still down for a nap. Let’s go sit in the den.” You say quietly. The hallway is filled with pictures of your boy, and of you in different stages these past few years. He stops at a portrait of your parents with Topher being swung between them.

“Your parents….”

“Were supportive; I wasn’t alone,” you muse, knowing he knows of your strained relationship with them back then.

“They actually just retired early last year. Overworked themselves and finally comfortable, so they help out when they can. What about yours?” Trying to make conversation with your ex is terribly hard, but it’s in good spirit and there’s not much to do until Topher wakes up.

“They passed, actually. Mum at the end of the war, and dad 6 months after. Never wanted to be apart, you know that.”

Your face falls at his revelation, “I’m sorry for your loss. They were amazing people. Taught me what it meant to be a parent, for sure.” Amicable silence fills the living room before you clear your throat.

“I have to be blunt, James. What do you want from this? You must be married and busy, so if Topher can’t fit into that….”

“I’m neither of those things, honey. I want to try and see where this goes,” he says scratching the back of his neck.

Your heart stops at his endearment, catching yourself looking at him seriously.

“You can hurt me, but I’m not letting you do that to him. Back then, you were all I ever wanted love to be. And then I had my beautiful baby, and I suddenly knew my love meant more.”

“I never wanted to hurt you. It was a mistake, because I was too proud to accept that I had it good. That what I had was meant for me.” James grabs your hands, begging for you to understand. The lost boy he was is a lifetime away from the man sitting in front of you now. Though it’s touching, you keep your heart guarded because the little boy sleeping down the hall is your biggest priority. You hope he can understand that too.

“He’s not a placeholder for your dreams of wanting a family. You have to build that, I did that myself. I’m not going to let you string him along and then once you have a family of your own, you just up and leave.”

“I know. I was hoping the both of you could be my family, if you give me the chance.” You bite your lip as your thumb runs against his. It’s easier to forgive than to forget. But for Topher’s sake, you can try.

“Tell me something James,” you whisper, having needed to know this for the past 7 years.

“Why did you throw it all away? Was the idea of loving me…so terrible?” He tilts your chin up, and you think that the earnest look on his face is the closure you needed to properly forgive him.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. Loving you is the best part of knowing you. Do you think I ever forgot about you?” He chuckles lowly, brushing back a strand of your hair, and you think this could be dangerous if you let yourself get too close.

“I’ve thought about you everyday for the past 7 years, I just didn’t think I deserved you after everything I’ve done. I was so stupid, I am still. But I’m trying to be better.”

“You think of me but dreamt of her. Was it guilt?” Your hand grabs his as you move it away from your cheek, settling onto your lap. The air around you is suffocating.

“It took time for me to figure out that it was intention. Lily was a distraction. You’ve consumed me since the day I met you. My dreams, my thoughts… All of it is you. I choose to think about you as much as I can, because if I didn’t I was scared I’d forget all the good things about us back then.”

You both hear a thump from your son’s room and realize you’re wiping tears away. James stands up when you do, and both pairs of your socked feet pad closer to your son’s room.

“We start this slow. We make decisions together, and if there’s any inkling I get that he doesn’t want this, it’s done. You understand?” Your hands are firm on the doorknob as he’s standing close behind you, hanging onto every word.

“Every word. There’s no turning back from this.” He wants to ask another question, but before he can, your hand unconsciously finds his and your grip is so comforting that he notices himself sniffle.

“If it all goes well, and if you want, we can try again. But that’s in the far distant future, James Potter.”

“Anything you want, honey. That’s the future I’ve been dreaming of.” With you. Your lips quirk into a smile as they brush against his cheek.

Slowly opening the door to both watch your son wake up from his nap, your hand pulls James into the room behind you. Quietly, he sits on the edge of Christopher’s bed, and when his son looks up at him, you both notice the little boy beaming like the sun.

—-

“Everything you love is very likely to be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way.” -Franz Kafka

taglist: @jsjcue

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing:

night shift by lucy dacus & about you by the 1975

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#marauders era #james potter x reader #marauders x reader #james potter x reader angst

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runariya · 23 days

Text

The Auction (JJK) • Chapter 1

summary: After being sold to a dangerous wolf hybrid at a secret auction, you find yourself bound to him in a game of control and obsession. pairing: wolf hybrid!Jungkook x cat hybrid!female reader genre: mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, dystopian!AU, S2L, dark romance, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: DDDNE, angst, violence, trauma, hybrid trafficking, JK is an Alpha, nud!ty, hormone suppressants, b!ting, blood, sniffing, the obsession is slightly showing, murd€r, gun, branding, fainting, lmk if I forgot smth - THX word count: ~ 1.8K

a/n: why would I give you a sneak peek when I could just gift you the first chapter? hihi 🤭 the chapters to this story will be as short as this one...soooo....and PLEASE MAKE SURE TO CHANGE YOUR SETTINGS, I CAN'T TAG SOME OF YOU 😭

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 2

You haven’t slept in days, haven’t felt right in yourself for even longer, but somehow the adrenaline still floods through you, keeping you wide awake, on edge, your senses sharper than they’ve ever been, catching every little movement around you like your life depends on it, which is truly does.

It’s hard to believe that just two months ago, you were innocently walking down the street, not paying any attention to the blacked-out car with its door wide open or the figure standing across the pavement pretending to be on the phone. You had no idea then that you’d soon wake up miles away in another country, surrounded by other cat hybrids, far from the only home you've ever known.

You’re not stupid—you know exactly why they took you, what they’ve got planned, what they want from you. Even so, you stubbornly refuse to accept the grim future they’ve laid out for you.

The factory hall you’re crammed into now, in some grubby back room with the other hybrids, is every bit as filthy as your once-pristine black fur. What was once sleek and soft is now matted with dirt, so vile it makes you want to gag.

You’ve overheard the men who dragged you here talking about some hidden annual auction, where dangerous men from all over the world come to bid on the likes of you. Ever since, the other hybrids have been breaking down, sobbing and begging, their wails so relentless you feel like your brain is going to explode. Yet you stay quiet, ears pricked, your senses locked on every faint sound coming from behind the door.

Soon enough, they come for you all, shoving you roughly through the corridor you were brought down earlier, though this time they steer you down a different path, lining you up on a shabby makeshift stage. The construction site-style floodlights beam down so harshly that you can’t keep your eyes open for long, the brightness overwhelming and painful.

Through your squinting eyes, you catch glimpses of the men gathered in front of the stage—some muttering quietly to each other, others smoking as they lazily size up each woman. You search for even a hint of kindness in their faces, but of course, there’s none to be found—only cold stares from the most powerful predator hybrids. You feel completely exposed, even with clothes on, so vulnerable that it’s a wonder you don’t simply keel over from the intensity of being watched.

The auction starts soon enough, but it drags on endlessly, until finally, you’re the last one to be put up for bidding. It’s a shock when your price rockets past the others by millions. What doesn’t surprise you in the least is when a dangerous wolf hybrid steps forward to claim you. You knew, from the moment they snatched you off that street, that your life was always headed straight to hell.

When you arrive at your supposed new ‘home’, the wolf hybrid, who had you driven in a separate car from his, two golden retriever hybrids—one male and one female—greet you silently, as the wolf hybrid barks out “Get her ready, run all the tests.”

They bow nervously to him with obvious fear, muttering, “Yes, Alpha,” before leading you stumbling over your own feet away.

They scrub you clean, working the conditioner into your fur, detangling the knots that have formed over time. It ought to feel soothing, and on some level it does, but the very fact you’re being ‘prepared’ for something you can’t even begin to imagine keeps you from feeling any real sense of comfort. They run a barrage of tests—urine, blood, checking for illnesses like STDs—and though there’s some relief in knowing you’re healthy despite your malnutrition, the fear never leaves you. Your tail, now soft and groomed, curls tightly between your legs, trying its best to shield your bare chest from their prying eyes.

Once they’ve finished prodding and poking you, they dress you in clothes that fit a little too well, and when your fur is finally dry, they lead you up several floors until you reach the penthouse.

The space is shrouded in darkness, save for the twinkling lights of Busan’s cityscape outside. Every surface, from walls to ceiling, is dark and gleaming, with deep brown furniture blending into its shadows, the only touches of light come from minimal brass-coloured décor scattered sparingly around the room. The golden retrievers push you silently to the centre, where the wolf hybrid lounges lazily on a leather sofa smoking a cigar, his eyes fixed on you, never wavering. The retrievers do nothing more than bow silently and exit, leaving you alone under his cold gaze.

His stare penetrates you, inspecting every inch of your trembling body from your twitching cat ears down to your feet, while the heat from the nearby fireplace stings your fragile skin. You try to lower your gaze to the floor, hoping to escape the intensity of his, but his dark eyes pull yours back like they have their own magnetic force.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

You want to answer, you really do, but it’s as if your voice has been lost since the day you were taken, and your only response is the bristling of your tail in an instinctive attempt to protect yourself.

When it becomes clear you won’t speak, he’s not having any of it, and his voice booms, “I said, what’s your name!”

You flinch at the loud slap of his tone, a frightened hiss escaping your lips before you can stop it. His expression darkens, one eyebrow raised in irritation as his finger taps impatiently against the backrest.

Summoning every ounce of willpower, you manage to whisper your name.

“Speak up,” he snaps. “I’m not a fucking feline.”

You gulp, clearing your throat as best and silently you can, and try again with a parched throat, this time just loud enough for him to catch. He nods, seemingly satisfied for now.

“Strip,” he orders after a long pause, his cold eyes locked onto yours, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The last thing you want to do is obey, but you can see the anger rising rapidly in him again, and you know better than to push your luck. Trembling, you begin to undress, feeling utterly exposed even before your clothes hit the floor. He watches you with the cold detachment of someone examining an object rather than a person, and though you’re fully naked, your tail desperately tries to cover your most private parts.

The wolf hybrid sighs heavily as he stands, exuding a casual dominance that reminds you exactly who he is. He moves around you slowly, inspecting every inch of you while you stare blankly ahead, your ears twitching nervously to follow his movements.

He stops behind you, towering over your smaller frame, and you feel his cold hands glide up your arms, squeezing your shoulders lightly before his nose brushes against your neck up to the back of your ear. He inhales deeply, and you feel your legs grow weak with a dizzying wave of fear.

“You smell divine,” he mutters to himself, though the words ring loudly in your sensitive ears. “But something’s off.”

His hands trail back down your arms, his nose following the curve of your spine, your fur standing on end as goosebumps spread across your skin. He stops at your lower back, just before your tail begins, sniffing intently before, without warning, sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. You yelp in shock and pain as he spits something metallic onto the floor beside you.

“Fucking bastards,” he growls, and you know he’s right. The implant he’s just bitten out was the one messing with your hormones, suppressing your natural cycle and heats, placed methodically where you can’t reach. Though the bite stings violently and blood trickles down your legs, you feel immediate relief now that the implant is finally out.

He runs his hand back up your spine, stopping when he reaches your neck, his fingers grazing over the small burn mark where your slave number is branded into your skin. The sensation makes you shudder violently, triggering nerves that are too raw to keep you standing still, but he seems entirely unbothered by your reaction.

“Alpha…” a voice interrupts. The door opens and a crocodile hybrid strides in without so much as a knock, freezing when his eyes land on you. Instinctively, you try to back away, only to bump into the wolf hybrid behind you, making you tense even further.

The crocodile hybrid doesn’t move, his gaze fixated on you with a predatory gleam in his eye. You hear a low growl rumbling from the wolf hybrid behind you, followed by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked close to your sensitive ear, and then a deafening shot. You flinch and scream violently, hands flying to your ears in a desperate attempt to cover them, but the damage is already done—your ears ring painfully as you crouch down, overwhelmed by the unbearable noise, tears collecting in your lash line.

It takes a moment for your senses to return, and when they do, you realise the wolf hybrid is crouched beside you, his legs brushing yours, his hands gently rubbing your upper arms soothingly as he murmurs, “I’m sorry, kitten,” kissing against the top of your head. All while the crocodile’s body lies crumpled on the floor in a growing pool of blood nearby.

You tremble uncontrollably, paralysed by fear, your mind struggling and utterly unable to process what happened around you. But the wolf hybrid doesn’t seem to care, helping you back up to your feet, brushing your soft hair over your shoulder to reveal the burn mark once again.

You barely dare to breathe as he steps away, but when you see him take an iron rod from near the fireplace and hold it in the flames, heating it until it glows angry red-hot, memories of the previous branding flashes through your mind like an alarm. You panic, your breath coming in desperate, frantic gasps. “No, no, no…” you chant quietly, but your body is frozen in place, still paralysed by the overwhelming terror.

The wolf hybrid, unfazed to the core, pulls the rod from the fire and walks towards you. Just before the hot metal touches your skin, branding you over the old mark, you hear his voice growl behind you, cold and final, “You’re mine now.”

You scream until your ears begin to bleed, your voice tearing through your throat as you collapse onto the cold, hard floor, the world around you fading into a welcoming, merciful blackness.

masterlist • 2

a/n 3: hope you enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for this fic 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024 taglist: @jksusawife, @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @justjkkkkk, @staytinyville, @jaiuneamesolitaiire, @ericawantstoescape, @mjuser, @sp1derk0ok, @fluttershyvanilla

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gay-dorito-dust · 14 days

Note

i didn't realise i could just ask here than from messages im so sorry 💀 but im hungry so can you please write some more damian scenarios 😕 (angst/fluff PLEASE 🙏) im sorry if I'm bothering you but i can't get enough of your writing 😔 hope you're taking care of yourself tho!! :)))

This’ll probably seem really short but it’s like almost 10pm and I’m running on fumes and bad mental health days lately 😂

‘What’re you doing my treasure.’ Damian said as he walked into his room, only to find you had let Ace and Titus on the bed and he had to blink twice to make sure his mind wasn’t making up them wearing pyjamas on top of that.

‘Nothing.’ You said nonchalantly as you brought Titus in your arms, cuddling him while he remained looking at his owner.

‘I thought I said none of our pets should be on the bed?’ Damian then said as he gestured to the two dogs that you had let on the bed without his permission as though the situation you both faced wasn’t obvious.

‘I was feeling lonely when you were out on patrol.’ You replied, pouting. ‘That and I was bored and out the dogs in pyjamas to feel included with me being in pyjamas.’ You added as you smiled widely at him. Damian sighed, he shouldn’t be surprised, this was bound to happen sooner or later since you still had a couple more weeks to heal your leg before being cleared for vigilante work again.

So naturally you are going to rope in Titus and Ace one way or another in your shenanigans much like you did with Jerry and Goliath when you had hurt your arm, Damian almost lost his mind trying to find you only to find you fast sleep stop of Goliath, with Jerry acting on guard in front of you both. It was certainly a humorous sight had he not been on high alert when he couldn’t find you in bed upon his return from a mission with Bruce.

‘You could’ve waited until I came back my beloved, I don’t want you hurting your self further just trying to entertain yourself.’ Damian lightly scolded you as he walked over to your side of the bed, kissing you on the forehead before greeting -and thanking- ace and Titus with head pats and ear scratches, as an almost missable smile graced his face upon seeing the two dogs poetically melt into his scratches.

This was the sight he loved most when coming home and he always wanted to come home to this as many times as he could in the nearby distant future.

‘I’ll be fine Dami,’ you said softly as you reached out to hold his cheek in your hand, ‘I’m not doing anything that’ll cause me any discomfort or more pain then I’m already in and that I’ve been in really good company.’ You gesture towards ace and Titus who would press themselves against either of your sides, acting as living crutches for you when you tried to move about the room and down the halls, they’d even look up at you as though to silently ask if you were okay and if you needed to sit down soon.

You knew Damian was behind this and couldn’t help but bring him into a tender to his forehead. ‘Thank you.’ You whispered.

‘For what my treasure?’ He asks softly as he manages to settle himself on the edge of your shared bed.

‘For having ace and Titus look out of me when you’re gone, sometimes I forget how well you know me to know that I’d get restless when healing.’ You said as you patted both dogs on their sides in appreciation as they both decided that they had gotten comfortable enough to start falling asleep. Neither you nor Damian had the heart to tell them to get off, and silently decided that one night every so often could Ace and Titus could share the bed with you and Damian.

‘Like you said I know you, better then most, and I’d like it more if you didn’t go and get yourself hurt from trying to do something beyond your current capability.’ Damian admitted softly as he began to get into more comfortable sleepwear to join you, Titus and ace in bed by climbing into your side of the bed and holding you again his chest upon seeing as how Titus and ace took up his side of the bed.

‘How sweet of you my dear.’ You said cheekily as you kissed his hand that rested on your side before yawning.

‘Sleep my love,’ Damian said softly as he watched you rest your weary and heavy head upon his chest, ‘sleep sweetly.’ He adds just as you succumb to long awaited sleep as he kissed your forehead, only to follow after you not long after being certain that you’d wouldn’t be bothered anymore before joining you in the dream realm either Titus and Ace.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff

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fandomxo00 · 7 days

Text

Finding out your pregnant - Bound To You - Logan Howlett

characters: husband!logan x pregnant!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, a little angst about the past and trying to get pregnant, miscarriage

note: i have never been pregnant before but i'm doing research to try to stay true to reality but sometimes i may deviate on purpose.

Your hands trembled as you stared down at the test in your hands. You set down the test that says 'pregnant' and you grab a different one with a blue plus on it. You were feeling so much all at once that you didn't what you felt as tears trickled down your face. Your heart was racing in your chest, and your hand settle over your stomach. Even though you saw the results it was like you didn't actually realize that you were pregnant until right now. The realization settling over you and making your shoulders shake. You've been trying for so long that you had finally gotten use to the coping that had to happen every time the test came back negative. For a long time you couldn't cope well, something that Logan struggled with, when you'd cry in his arms because you ever wanted was a family of your own. That you'd finally gotten him and now you couldn't even get pregnant. He hated seeing you in pain and for a long time somewhere deep down he blamed himself.

You were completely on the opposite side, for a long time you couldn't even get pregnant, but a year and half ago you did for the first time. Having a miscarriage is one of the hardest things you'd ever had to go through. It wasn't just the physical pain and emptiness, but you felt like it must've been something you've done. The way your mind had to wrap around the fact that you were pregnant to only be told there was no heartbeat. This sends you down a dark path, eventually getting pregnant again, getting a little further along just to lose the baby. You beat yourself up emotionally and mentally, thinking that if you could whip yourself into shape, it would work. But it only caused you to spiral even more, Logan hadn't known what to do to help, and then he said they needed to do something.

You started with going to therapy again really helped build your confidence again. You started focusing less on the pregnancy and more on yourself, though you still made sure you were always hydrated, took your pre-natal vitamins, you stayed active, checked your iron levels, and you even tracked your ovulation. You didn't have boring 'trying to have a baby' sex anymore, Logan always tried to spice it up for you. Reminding you that the sole purpose was loving each other, that having a baby will make you love each other more.

You could practically feel the shiver run down your spine as you felt his hand cupping over your heat as his nose rubbed against your ear before he whispered, "Just focus on me, baby."

You wished and prayed for this day since you were a little girl. You were always scared of finding someone and getting pregnant by yourself, or the relationship not working out. You grew up in a broken home and it was the last thing you wanted for your child. But you met Logan, you knew immediately that he was father material and when he wasn't completely open to the idea of kids, it hurt. Then as you went further into the relationship before it got too serious you brought you up what you wanted your future to look like. To this day you don't know why he chose you, but he never forgot to remind you how important you are to him. How he could imagine having a child with anyone but you. That he trusted you something fierce and everyone knew that Logan had finally gotten what he really wanted. To be loved.

There was this underlining feeling of hope and sadness throughout the whole trying process. Something you felt every day, whenever you thought about being a mother. You were afraid of so many things for so long, things that still scared you. The prospect that you ever treat your daughter the way your mother treated you would rip you apart. You learned that you didn't want to it despite your mom, because she loved you and you felt that for a long time. You just wanted to come at life in a different approach, you didn't want to hide behind your mistakes, you wanted to fix those behaviors so you can further yourself and live a long happy life. So that you give you're a child a long happy life.

It had been about 40 days into your cycle, you were late on your period, but that also happened when you were stressed out. So, the underlying issues is that you've been stressed for over the past two in a half year. You and Logan were going to therapy together, working on your issues and trying to reduce the stress you both felt about trying for a child. Your breasts were sore, but you were also near the end of your cycle so it could just be your period too.

You heard the heavy steps of your husband, you weren't surprised that he could hear your crying from downstairs. Logan pushed open the door and his eyebrows dipped as he looked at you. "Baby." He cooed, as he glanced down at the tests in your hand moving back forward towards you. He got on his knees in front of you, his hands coming to thighs, as he looked up at you. You saw the pity in his eyes and you shook your head, reaching towards him to hand him the test.

"Look." Your voice shook. His green eyes scanned your face, your felt your heart warm as you stared down at him. Logan glanced down at the test, as his eyebrows shot up.

"Fuck, we did it." Logan breathed, looking up at you as teary smile wobbled on your face.

"We're gonna have a baby." You squealed, the excitement taking over as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you up front the toilet seat, squeezing you to his body as his lips came to your face, peppering kisses on your cheeks, nose, forehead, before moving to kiss at your neck. You laughed softly as he started trying to tickle you with his beard, before he moved back to see that smile on your face. His lips landed on yours in a soft kiss and it just felt like the beginning of everything.

"W-what if it's like last time?" You murmured, changing the mood completely. Tears welling back up in your eyes as Logan set you down. A sigh coming from his chest, as his hand moved your hair away from your face as the other one cupped your cheek.

"If it's like last night..." Logan trailed, his eyes enveloped in yours, his heart aching as he knew he had to stay strong for you right now. It wasn't that he was hiding from you, but you needed hope. "We know we can get through it."

"Together." You whispered, your voice practically trembling, your eyes closing as a tear fell down your cheek, the feeling of his thumb rubbing against your cheek gave you a sense of comfort.

"Yeah baby, together." Logan hummed, leaning down to peck your lips. His hand went over your stomach, briefly, his eyes closing as he longed to get down on his knees and kiss your stomach.

He wanted to talk to the baby, put all of his hope into this bundle of joy. He tried to blink back the tears in his eyes, the bittersweet feeling of this all being spoiled by fate. As you cuddled into his arms, burying your face in your chest, as he cradled you close. You felt the warmness against your forehead as you looked up to see Logan. A single tear had dripped down his face. Your felt your chest ache as you brought your hand up to his face, wiping it away and looking up into his eyes. You didn't have to ask him to see the fear in his eyes as you gave him wobbly smile.

"I rather have hope right now than wait for the shoe to drop." You said, softly, though you weren't sure you completely believed the words. Hopefully if you kept saying it you would manifest it into real life.

"Yeah, brave girl?" Logan said, his voice raspy but soft, his forehead leaning against yours.

"Let's enjoy this, yeah? I-I know how you feel baby, but rather feel this joy over and over again then feel a sense of dread until you get the bad news. It's going to hurt either way, but one is less painful."

"Fucking love you, princess." Logan gruffed, as his arms that were wrapped around you pulling you in closer. That was the thing about you, was you got to know someone you didn't have to ask, you just knew.

"I love you so much, Logan." You grinned, as your hand lands on your lower abdomen, Logan's hand shakily being placed atop yours.

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1800-fight-me · 19 days

Text

The Wrong Guy

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Rating: M (As always- MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, non explicit sex

Word count: A little over 1k

Synopsis: Both you and Logan fight against the growing feelings for one another as your relationship deepens.

Author’s note: I am so in love with Wolverine my brain stopped working, please accept this humble offering! I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, the words rough and choked out as if he had to force himself to push the vile words past his teeth.

“Like what?” you breathed out.

“Like you see your future in my eyes,” he said.

Your heart dropped into your stomach and your eyes began to water.

“Because all I see when I look in yours is a past that broke me completely.”

You reached your hand across the table and gently laid it atop his own.

“Logan,” you whispered.

He shook his head and pulled his hand away. You swore you could hear the sound of your heart cracking.

“You don’t want this, sweetheart,” he practically growled as he gestured to himself and you couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince you or himself.

“I can decide for myself,” you protested.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. You deserve better than to be shackled to someone like me,” he said, and now his hazel eyes shone with unshed tears- the same as yours.

You glared at him, suddenly sick of all his self hatred bullshit.

“Then why haven’t you told me to fuck off? You certainly have no problem pushing people away.” you snapped.

“Because I can’t!” he said, voice raised.

His breaths came hard and heavy and a part of you wanted to only offer him comfort, but your defenses were up from his harsh words.

“Why?” you asked, voice flat.

“It hurts to be near you, a constant reminder of my biggest failure, of everything I lost,” he said as he hung his head.

This time the tears did begin to fall.

You opened your mouth to speak but he continued. In a broken voice so unlike the powerful wolverine the world knew, he said, “And it hurts worse to be away from you.”

If honesty was finally on the menu, you decided to say what had been on your mind as well.

“When I look at you, I see the future I should have had. I see the life that should have been filled with love and the feeling of home rather than constant wandering and heartbreak.”

He looked up at you and you ignored the impulse to smooth out the worried wrinkle between his brows with your thumb.

“And that hurts too,” you said.

He shook his head. “I’m not him, darlin’. I’m sorry you never met the Logan from your world, but I can’t be what you need from me.”

“And I can’t be her,” you said, referring to the version of you that was once his wife.

“I know,” he said, his voice heavy with pain and regret.

He was your soulmate, but he wasn’t. A different version of the soulmate you were supposed to meet but never did.

You were his soulmate, but you weren’t. A different version of the love of his life, his wife, the mother of his child, that was ripped from him violently and mercilessly.

You were bound but doomed from the start. Both unable to walk away but also unable to stay.

“Where does that leave us?” you asked in a voice so soft and tentative you didn’t even recognize it as your own.

He sighed heavily, downed the rest of his whiskey, before he said, “I don’t fuckin’ know.”

You sighed and stood up, ready to storm out of his apartment.

“Wait,” he murmured, his large hand catching yours.

You met his gaze and melted at the affection you saw there.

You let him tug you back down to the couch, this time your body closer to his, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. Close enough that the presence and scent of him was intoxicating.

“Let me kiss you,” he said, voice low in a way that made your toes curl.

You worried there were unspoken words he wasn’t willing to say, that he was really asking to kiss you one last time.

This man had just ripped your heart out, but you could never say no to him. You could never deny him anything.

“Logan,” you whimpered and he reached for your face, wiping your tears away before pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so tender you wondered if he was being honest before. You wondered if underneath the hurt that maybe he loved you.

Your soul belonged to him.

So you moved your lips in time with him, opening up at his prompting, and a soft whine came from the back of your throat as you tasted him, as your tongue slipped against his.

A sound- something akin to a growl rumbled through his chest as he pulled you closer, kissed you harder, desperation evident in the way he consumed you.

“Don’t wanna make you cry, baby,” he murmured against your skin as he trailed his lips across your jaw and throat.

You whimpered as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Let me make you feel good,” he said, and it was less of an order and more of a plea.

You let him pull you onto his lap and make good on his promise to give you pleasure, the kind only he could provide.

But the pain still sat heavy in your chest even as he kissed you gently, moved inside you, and helped you reach your peak as he stared into your eyes.

This wasn’t anything like the other lust driven entanglements you had with Logan. No, this was him making love to you and baring his soul within the process.

There were tears once again in both your eyes as he brought you over the edge with him. He held you against his sweat glistened chest and you listened to his slowing heartbeat as you traced patterns on his muscled torso.

“What if we tried?” you asked softly.

He hummed as his nose ran across your hair, breathing you in.

“You’re it for me,” he said in agreement.

You burrowed your face deeper into his chest and he held you tight.

And when the morning came, you both tried to put the past and the future aside and just be together, to love each other.

You both tried.

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlet smut #wolverine smut #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you

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mononijikayu · 4 months

Text

already gone – gojo satoru.

(manga spoilers for chapter 261)

His eyes flicked to yours, a flicker of pain and understanding passing between you. In that moment, you both knew that there would be no going back to the way things were. The choices made here would haunt you, but you also knew that you would face the future together, bound by the shared weight of your decisions and the unspoken promise of support.

GENRE: shinjiku showdown arc (spoilers for chapter 261)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: already gone by sleeping at last

NOTE: im mourning so hard, i haven't stopped crying. but i cried more because i can't imagine how my oc would feel considering genmei views satoru as her lifeline. im not even at that part of the story writing, but genmei would be hit hard. she wouldnt be able to move on. she wouldn't be able to stop crying either. but i needed to write this, to get the emotional brunt off my chest. i hope that this comforts you a little as it did with me. i love you all. hugs for everyone.

masterlist

u s and t h e m

THERE REALLY WAS NO GOING BACK FROM THIS. You and Satoru sat alone amidst the aftermath, the bodies of the higher-ups lying around you, a grim testament to the brutal reality you both faced.

The silence was heavy, a suffocating weight that pressed down on your chest as you stared at the carnage. The acrid scent of blood and death hung in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang that coated your tongue. Each breath felt like an effort, the gravity of what had transpired settling over you like a dark cloud.

Satoru, usually so carefree and unbothered, looked uncharacteristically solemn. His usually bright, mischievous eyes were shadowed with emotions embroiling into a chaotic harmony.

He sat close to you, his hand resting on the ground beside yours, fingers almost brushing but not quite. The unspoken connection between you had always been palpable. Even when both of you were a bit younger. It was if anything, even when you both lost Suguru, a thin thread of solace in the midst of the horror.

You glanced at Satoru, seeking some form of reassurance, but his gaze was fixed on the bodies, his jaw clenched tight. The weight of the recent events bore down on you both, the decisions made, the lives taken, all swirling in a chaotic maelstrom of regret and necessity.

There was no other choice. Not when there was such little time, when there was no way you would leave this for the kids to wrap up. It was a moment where the true cost of your responsibilities became painfully clear, the price paid in blood and sacrifice. This is all that will secure the future.

Satoru finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough. "We did what we had to." he said, more to himself than to you, as if trying to convince himself of the necessity of their actions. “Don’t think too much.”

You nodded, though your heart ached with the truth of his words. "I know." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "But after all this time, I thought it would be easier.”

You did think it was easier. You knew what it was like to kill human beings. The act of taking a life was not foreign to you; it had been part of your existence as a jujutsu sorcerer for as long as you could remember. The initial shock and horror of it had dulled over time, replaced by a grim acceptance of necessity. Each death was a means to an end, a way to protect the innocent, to rid the world of curses, to maintain balance. Yet, today felt different.

The bodies of the higher-ups lay sprawled around you, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. These were not faceless enemies or malevolent curses; these were people you had known, some for years. Their ambitions, their fears, their humanity—it all lay exposed in the finality of their deaths. You and Satoru had made a choice, one born out of desperation and the need for a new order, but the cost of that choice now weighed heavily on your soul.

You have always been able to justify your actions in the past. Each kill had been a step toward a greater good, a necessary evil in the grand scheme of things. But this? This felt like a betrayal of the very essence of what you stood for. These were your peers, your allies, albeit flawed and corrupt. The distinction between right and wrong blurred, leaving you adrift in a sea of moral ambiguity.

Satoru's hand tightened around yours, a silent anchor in the storm of your thoughts. His presence was a reminder that you were not alone in this, that he too bore the weight of what you had done. You glanced at him, searching for some semblance of solace in his expression. His face was a mask of determination, but his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—betrayed a depth of sorrow that mirrored your own.

“Hm, it doesn’t.”

Silence engulfs you both.

Your eyes flared downward.

A sigh passes through your lips.

"It's not in you to have liked to do this." you finally said, breaking the silence. Your voice trembled with the weight of unspoken emotions, the sorrow churning in layers unknown. “To decide the upper floors had to go.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon, a faraway look in his eyes. "We had no choice," he replied, his voice devoid of its usual lightheartedness. "We have no more time to indulge in the future."

There was so much you wanted to say, so many arguments and pleas that burned on the tip of your tongue. But the words refused to come, trapped in the maelstrom of your conflicted heart. Satoru seemed to sense your turmoil, turning to face you, his piercing blue eyes searching yours.

"Just say it," he urged gently. "Tell me how you hate me for what Yuuta and I agreed to do, should I lose to Sukuna."

You met his gaze, the pain and love in your eyes reflected in his own. "I do hate you," you whispered, the confession tearing at your soul. "Because I love you too much."

Satoru's expression softened, and he stood, walking over to you. He pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and comforting. "The loss of me will pass," he murmured against your hair, his breath warm on your skin. “Hm? You will always move forward. You have to.”

You clung to him, the thought of losing him more than you could bear. "You say it as it is. I had to. Not because I wanted to.”

He laughs a little, echoes of guilt layered among it.. “But you will this time too.”

This is what you think you hated the most about Satoru. How settled he was in his ways, how stubborn he was with his plan. It was a means to an end. As long as it brought down the system, he didn’t care about what happened. As long as his students lived, he didn’t care. And yet you wondered, what he would leave you with.

How much emptiness, how much grief he would let you settle for years and years — because he cared more about the world he wanted to build. In a way, you loved Satoru too much. You loved him so much you went against the world you had always known.

You had a dream of a normal life. Once when Kaiko and Namie were alive. Once with Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. When all you had left was Satoru, you were determined to live for him.

But you never gave up on that dream That you would have that white picket fence life. That you would raise a family. That you would grow old with him. But you should have known. You should have known that he was too far gone for you to reach.

Even with all the love that was between you, you should have known that love would not be enough to bring him back to life. Gojo Satoru had decided that love was a curse. And he lived by it. Geto Suguru had given it to him.

And he had accepted it. And since that day, you knew that he would have never let it go. Yet, what right do you have to judge him for it? You felt the same, when Kaiko died. And you never looked back.

“I loved you too much to let you just be a passerby in my life," you finally said, your voice breaking. "I've lost too much already, Satoru. But…. but to lose you would break me."

He held you tighter, his voice steady and resolute. "You have to be strong, for me and for everyone, y’know that." he said. "They'll need you when I'm gone."

His words cut deep, but you knew he was right. The world would keep turning. The sun would keep moving forward. The march of time, the echo of life would not change. It will go on and on. Even without him. People would need you to be there, to fight for them, to protect them. But the thought of a world without him was a dark, hollow void in your life, in your heart. In your soul. More tears flowed in your eyes.

Memories echoed in your head, as though they were just reels of your life in a picture show. You knew he could see it too, as though his six-eyes could see it as painfully as you could. As clearly as possible. Eleven years of life, motioned into small moments. Small moments that encompassed your whole world. Because he was your world. He was your whole world.

2011

You and Satoru spent a day at the beach, the sun high in the sky and the ocean waves crashing gently against the shore. He chased you along the sand, laughter bubbling up as you tried to escape his playful grasp. When he finally caught you, he lifted you up and spun you around, both of you dizzy with happiness.

You collapsed onto the sand together, breathless and smiling. "I wish we could stay here forever," you said, looking out at the endless horizon.

He squeezed your hand, his voice soft and sincere. "We can always come back. This place will always be here for us. We’ll bring Megumi and Tsumiki with us next time too.”

You smile back at him. “I’d like that, Satoru. More than you know.”

2013

One quiet night, you both lay on a blanket under a canopy of stars, the world around you silent and still. Satoru pointed out constellations, his voice a soothing murmur in the darkness.

"There's Orion," he said, tracing the outline with his finger. "And over there is Cassiopeia."

You nestled closer to him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. "Do you think we'll always have moments like this?" you asked softly.

He wrapped an arm around you, his voice filled with certainty. "Always. No matter what happens, we'll always find our way back to each other."

2014

Your New Year's together that year was magical. You stood on a rooftop, watching fireworks light up the night sky. The colors exploded in brilliant patterns, reflecting in Satoru's eyes as he pulled you close.

"Happy New Year," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

"Happy New Year," you replied, feeling a sense of hope and excitement for the future. "Let's make this year unforgettable."

He smiled, his arms wrapped securely around you. "Every year with you will be unforgettable."

“You guys make me sick.” Megumi whispered under his breath, taking a bite out of his cake.

“Megumi, don’t say that! They’re in love.” Tsumiki says, smiling at the sight of you and Satoru.

You both could only laugh.

2017

In the quiet of the night, you and Satoru sat together, your hearts heavy with grief for the loss of Suguru. The weight of his absence hung in the air like a tangible presence, a reminder of the sacrifices made in the name of duty and honor.

Satoru's normally bright eyes were dimmed with sorrow, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the burden he carried. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, offering what little comfort you could in the face of such profound loss.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I had to do it. I had no choice."

You squeezed his hand, offering silent understanding and support. "I know," you replied softly. "It wasn't easy, but you did what had to be done. Suguru understood that."

Tears welled in Satoru's eyes as he leaned into your embrace, seeking solace in the warmth of your presence. In that moment of shared sorrow, you held each other close, finding strength in your love and the knowledge that you would always be there for one another, no matter what trials lay ahead.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a sorrowful intensity. "Remember all the things we wanted?" he began softly. "Now all our memories, they're haunted."

Tears welled in your eyes as his words resonate deeply within you. "We were always meant to say goodbye." you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Even with our fists held high, it never would have worked out right," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "We were never meant for do or die, darling."

A sob escaped your lips, and you shook your head. "I didn't want us to burn out, Satoru" you said, your voice breaking. "I didn't come here to hurt you now. I don't want to hurt you. But now I.... I can't stop."

Satoru gently cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. "I want you to know that it doesn't matter where we take this road. Someone's gotta go."

His words cut through you like a knife, the finality of it all hitting you hard. "It doesn't have to be you."

He smiles shaking his head.

"And I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better," he said, his voice full of love and regret. "But I want you to move on, so I'm already gone."

“How do I do it?” You sobbed to him. “Without you?”

“You can.” He presses a kiss against your nose. “And you will.”

“You were meant to grow old with me.” You croaked to him.

"But now you’ll do it for me. For the both of us, hm? Live a long life." Satoru shakes his head, his voice gentle but firm. "Keep Gakuganji in check. You know that old geezer can’t be trusted to keep the straight line.”

“Satoru….”

“Keep the jujutsu world at peace on my behalf.”

You shake your head against his chest.

You hit your arms against his figure.

Infinity was always down when it was you.

“Live long so that you have stories to tell me."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. "I hate you!" you repeated, the words laced with anguish. “I really really hate you.”

He laughed sadly, a bittersweet sound that echoed in the empty space around you. "I know, darling." he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I know."

In that moment, you both understood the depth of your bond, the unspoken promises and the inevitable heartache that lay ahead. But for now, you held onto each other, finding solace in the shared pain and the love that had brought you together.

When you let him go that day, you knew.

You would have to wait until you were gray.

You looked at Shoko and you shook your head.

Your eyes were too red to even look one last time..

As far as you were concerned, he was already gone.

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belqva · 30 days

Text

₊˚⊹౨ LOML [C.S.] ৎ ₊˚⊹

warnings: none, except for a lot of angst but oh well. the tortured poets department gave me inspiration for this so are we surprised?

summary: In the shadows of triumph, Coriolanus Snow, victor of the 10th Hunger Games, faces exile. Bound by a promise and a tender moment Coriolanus leaves behind his best friend and a life of endless possibility.

pairing: academy!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

a/n: my first ever fanfic I’m posting <3 english is NOT my first language so if you encounter some spelling or grammar errors let me know! I’m happy to hear any criticism or recommendations and my inbox is open so feel free to share your thoughts and any requests 🤍 please reblog or support in any way you can if you enjoy it thank you!

You could hardly believe it was real. The moment seemed too surreal, too much like a dream, but the reality was undeniable. Lucy Gray, with her haunting song to the snakes, had captured not just the Capitol’s attention but their hearts as well. Even Dr. Gaul, who had initially refused to let her out, was forced to relent under the intense demands of the entire student body.

In that electrifying moment, Coryo and Lucy Gray became victors, and with them, you felt your world shift.

You were still trembling from the intensity of the past few minutes. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, and your hands quivered with a mixture of relief and disbelief. Everything would be alright now.

You felt a huge grin spreading across your face, the kind that hurt your cheeks. Everything had worked out in the end—Coryo would get his prize money, he would attend university with you, and the Snows would finally find themselves in a better financial position.

All of his hard work, his cunning, his sacrifices—it had all paid off. It was like a dream come true, perhaps even better.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the euphoria wash over you. Memories of your friendship with Coriolanus began to flood your mind.

You thought back to the early days, back when everything seemed so uncertain and bleak. The Snow family had lost so much, their wealth, their power—everything had crumbled after the war. But through it all, Coryo had never given up.

You admired that about him, his tenacity and resolve, even when the odds were stacked so heavily against him.

You remembered how the two of you would sit together in the Academy’s courtyard, discussing your plans for the future, as if speaking them out loud would make them more likely to happen.

He would always say, “We’ll get through this, you and I. We’ll find a way.”

And you had believed him, because despite everything, Coryo had a way of making you believe that anything was possible.

You had been there through the the tough times. When they had nothing to eat for days leaving him and Tigris alone in that cavernous, crumbling apartment, the remnants of a life that once promised so much. You’d seen him struggle to keep up appearances, to maintain a semblance of dignity despite the whispers and the pitying glances from others.

But through it all, he remained determined, and you stood by his side, offering what little comfort and support you could. He’d never once asked for your help, but you’d given it anyway, because that’s what friends did.

And then came the Games. You knew from the start that Coriolanus would be an exceptional mentor, but you also knew how high the stakes were for him. Winning wasn’t just about pride or glory; it was about survival. It was about securing a future, not just for himself, but for Tigris, for the memory of his family.

You had watched him throw himself into the role with everything he had, determined to make a success of it, even as others doubted him.

Now, standing there among the cheering students, you felt that familiar swell of pride. He had done it. Against all odds, Coriolanus Snow had not only survived but thrived. And in doing so, he had proven to everyone—most of all to himself—that he was capable of greatness.

But you had to see him, had to touch him, to truly believe it.

The Academy space where the mentors had gathered was a cacophony of noise and movement. Students were on their feet, celebrating, congratulating him. You were seated in the back rows, and it was a struggle to make your way through the throng of bodies. You pushed through the crowd, muttering apologies and excuses as you went, your eyes scanning for that distinctive head of blond, almost white curls.

Finally, you spotted him. Coriolanus was standing with Tigris, his face lit up with a smile so genuine and full of relief that it gave him an almost otherworldly glow. The look of pure triumph on his features made your heart swell with happiness, if such a thing was even possible at this point.

As you drew closer, you could see the exhaustion etched into his features, the toll the Games had taken on him, but also the undeniable joy of victory.

“Coryo,” you called out, not too loudly, but just enough for him to hear. He turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes brightening even more when he saw you. Without a second thought, you hurried toward him, and as soon as you were within reach, you wrapped him in a tight, almost bone-crushing hug.

He held you just as tightly, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. For a moment, it felt like the two of you were the only people in the room, the sea of students and the noise fading into the background.

Coryo clung to you as if he never wanted to let go, his breath warm against your ear, and you could feel his heart pounding against your chest.

“You did it,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, tears welling up in your eyes. “You actually did it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that had started to fall.

“I knew you could do it, Coryo,” you continued, your voice trembling but full of conviction. “I never once doubted you. I’m so proud of you.”

His gaze softened at your words, and for a brief moment, the stoic mask he usually wore cracked, revealing the vulnerable boy underneath. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and full of gratitude. “Thank you for everything. For being by my side, for never giving up on me.”

“Always,” you replied, your voice barely more than a breath. The two of you stood there, foreheads pressed together, savoring the moment.

It was a small pocket of peace amidst the chaos, a brief respite where nothing else mattered but the two of you.

You thought back to all those times he had confided in you, those late-night talks where he shared his fears, his doubts, and his hopes. You knew Coryo better than anyone, perhaps even better than Tigris. You knew how deeply he felt things, even though he tried to hide it behind a calm, composed exterior.

You knew how much this victory meant to him—not just for the tangible rewards it would bring, but for what it represented. This was proof that he could rise above his circumstances, that he could reclaim the Snow family’s honor, that he could be someone who mattered.

But as with all moments, this one couldn’t last forever. The crowd around you began to press in again, and Coriolanus was soon whisked away by more well-wishers.

He drank posca, shook hands, and accepted congratulations with a grace that seemed almost second nature to him. Yet you could tell that this victory had loosened something in him, something that had been tightly wound for far too long.

As you watched him navigate the crowd, you felt a swell of pride that was almost overwhelming. This was the Coriolanus Snow you knew—a natural leader, someone who could command a room with just his presence. And yet, beneath that polished exterior, there was still the boy you had grown up with, the boy who had faced more hardships than most would ever know.

You knew that this moment would change everything for him, for both of you. The prize money would secure his future, ensuring that he could attend university and continue on the path you had both dreamed about.

The Snow family name would be restored, and with it, a sense of dignity that had been sorely lacking for so long. For the first time in years, Coryo’s future looked bright, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction knowing that you had played a part in helping him reach this point.

Soon enough, a voice rang out over the noise, commanding that Coriolanus report to the High Lab immediately.

The summons didn’t seem unusual—after all, he was the victor’s mentor, and surely they would want to congratulate him in person, perhaps even offer him some insight into what would happen next. Maybe he would get to see Lucy Gray again, to explain what had happened in those final, crucial moments.

You watched as Coryo set off, his steps confident, his back straight. He was walking toward his new life, a life that would finally give him the recognition and security he had fought so hard for.

As he reached the doors and paused, he turned back for just a moment, his eyes seeking yours. He gave you a small, reassuring smile—the kind that said everything was going to be okay.

And in that moment, you believed it. You returned his smile, your heart full to bursting with love and pride. This was just the beginning of a bright and promising future, and nothing could dim the light of this victory.

Coryo gave a final nod and then turned, pushing the doors open and stepping through, leaving the noise and the crowd behind him. As the doors closed, you stood there, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment. Everything had worked out just as it should.

Everything was going to be alright.

You had gone home soon after Coryo left for the high lab, still aglow with excitement. The manor's grand halls felt almost empty, echoing your unspoken anticipation. You could hardly wait to share your joy with Coryo—just the two of you, away from the world's gaze.

You greeted your parents as you passed through the living room, where they sat absorbed in the Capitol news.

Your mother, wrapped in a luxurious shawl, watched Lucky Flickerman with a serene smile. Your father, seated with his customary stern expression, barely glanced up.

You quickly made your way to your quarters, jittery and impatient.

After hours of trying to kill time, trying not to worry about the worst you decided you had enough. Each second of silence, with no calls or messages from Coryo or Tigris, increased your anxiety. What could be delaying them? Were they intentionally avoiding you, or had something gone awry?

Your frustration mounted. You couldn't bear to stay in your room any longer. The adrenaline of your excitement had not yet worn off, and now you were driven by a mix of worry and determination. With no further ado, you decided to head to the Snows' penthouse.

You left your room and walked briskly down the hall, informing your parents of your intentions. “I’m going to see Coryo,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, but haven’t you talked to him already, dear?” Your mother asked, her voice laced with concern. “It’s quite late to be heading out.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed with disapproval. He was always stringent about your associations and activities. Relationships before marriage were forbidden in your household, and in the Capitol elite, it was considered unacceptable for a young woman to have a suitor without a promise of marriage.

“Tigris invited me over,” you explained smoothly. “We’re just going to celebrate. His grandmother will be there too. It’s just a nice gesture, really. An honor.”

The lie slipped effortlessly from your lips. Growing up with strict rules had honed your skill in deceit.

“Well, alright then,” your mother said with a hesitant smile. “But don’t stay out too late. And make sure to return before midnight.”

“Just be careful,” your father added gruffly, his gaze following you as you left.

With their reluctant approval, you stepped out of the manor and instructed your chauffeur to drive you to the Corso.

As you exited the car, the cool night air hit you like a refreshing wave, contrasting sharply with the heat of your nervousness. “Wait here,” you told the driver, hurrying towards the Snows' apartment. The street was quiet, the world seemingly paused in the wake of recent events.

At the Snows’ penthouse, you knocked a few times, your heart pounding with anticipation. The door creaked open slowly. It was Tigris, her usually bright demeanor replaced with a shadow of sorrow. Her face, streaked with tears, made your heart sink.

“Tigris, is everything alright?What happened? Where’s Coryo?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Tigris’s pitiful smile offered little comfort. She placed her hands gently on your shoulders, squeezing them in a gesture of uneasy sympathy. “I think you should talk to him. He’s in his room.”

The unease in her voice only deepened your worry. “Tigris, please, tell me what’s going on. I need to know.”

She sighed heavily, her voice a whisper. “It should be Coryo who tells you.”

Your patience snapped. You rushed to Coryo’s room, your mind racing. The Snows’ modest apartment, a reflection of their strained finances, was familiar to you, but tonight it seemed more forlorn than ever. You passed the grandmother, her stoic expression masking her own despair.

The door to Coryo’s room was ajar. You pushed it open gently and peered inside. “Coryo?” you called out softly.

He stood in the center of the room, his once confident presence now subdued. His back was turned to you. He was packing.

The ethereal glow that had surrounded him in the academy was gone, replaced by a deep, palpable sadness. He turned at the sound of your arrival. His usual calm demeanor was marred by a profound sorrow reflected in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice soft and weary, as if seeing you for the first and last time.

You rushed to him, your concern overflowing. “Is everything alright? What happened in the High Lab? Did Gaul hurt you?” Even the thought made your stomach twist.

He took a deep breath and guided you to sit on the edge of his bed. Then he began to explain: the rat compact, the rat poison, the incriminating handkerchief.

They had pieced it all together—the cheating, the deceit, and Highbottom’s decision to offer him a chance at redemption as a peacekeeper. The devastating conclusion was clear: banishment for twenty years.

As he spoke, the world seemed to collapse around you. The realization was like a punch to the gut—a cruel twist of fate. Coryo’s life, once filled with promise, was now reduced to ashes. There was no solution, no fixing this. This wasn't a schol assignment gone wrong, this was real life.

The dream you had cherished was burning down before your eyes.

“No, this… this can’t be happening,” you whispered, trying to grasp the enormity of it all.

“Yes, it can,” Coryo said bitterly. “It’s already decided.”

You struggled to hold back your tears. “So, when are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow at dawn,” he murmured, his voice hollow. He couldn’t meet your gaze. The weight of failure and impending separation was too much for him to bear.

Your heart ached for him—this young man who had faced so much adversity and yet still carried the burden of his family’s future on his shoulders. The thought of losing him, of never seeing him again, was almost unbearable.

Coryo’s gaze finally met yours, and he saw the silent tears streaming down your cheeks. His own heart clenched with a new kind of pain. “Y/N,” he said desperately, “please don’t cry. I hate it when you do that.”

You tried to steady your breathing, but the tears kept coming. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m not ready to let you go, Coryo. It shouldn’t have ended like this.”

Coryo pulled you into his arms, letting your tears soak into his uniform. He held you tightly, his own despair mingling with the comfort he tried to offer. He hated feeling like this. Out of control. He couldn't help you. Hell he couldn't help himself.

You clung to him as if he were the only anchor in a stormy sea.

Eventually, you lay down together on his bed, your bodies intertwined. You traced random shapes on his chest, while he stared blankly at the ceiling. After a few quiet moments, you spoke softly, “Maybe I’ll be able to visit you someday.”

Coryo smiled sadly. “I doubt it. Even if you could, I wouldn’t want you around those district savages.” He said the last part bitterly, not hiding his hatred for the districts.

You countered gently, “Not everyone from the districts is terrible. Look at Lucy Gray—she’s from the districts and she’s wonderful.”

Coryo stiffened at the mention of Lucy Gray. “Lucy Gray is special. She’s not like the others. And she’s not from the districts. She’s Covey.” He clarified.

“If you say so,” you sighed, not wanting to argue. “Well, if we both survive, we’ll see each other in twenty years.”

Coryo fell silent at your words. You could sense something was troubling him.

“What’s bothering you, Coryo?” you asked, your gaze fixed on him. “And don’t lie to me. I can tell when something’s wrong.”

He hesitated, then spoke with a voice heavy with regret. “It’s just the thought that you’ll move on, have a family, and live a life without me. I won’t be part of it.”

Your heart ached at his words. “Oh, Coryo, you’ll always be part of my life. I’ll think of you every single day until my last breath.” You assured him.

Coryo’s eyes met yours with a mix of sadness and longing. “I won’t be the man who gives you children, who makes you the First Lady of Panem. I won’t be part of your future.”

The though of not having something that was rightfully his infuriated him.

At his words you were shook to your core. A pregnant silence followed.

As he spoke, you realized that your feelings for him—feelings you had tried to ignore—might not have been unrequited after all. The lingering touches and secret glances were not merely figments of your imagination.

Coryo was looking at you with a tenderness that spoke of deep, unspoken emotions.

Guided by an unknown force, you leaned closer, your breaths mingling. Your faces were inches apart, and then his lips were gently brushing against yours.

What began as a soft touch quickly turned into a passionate, fervent kiss. It was a culmination of all the emotions, fears, and unspoken words of the day. Coryo’s hands cradled your face with a tenderness that spoke of how much you meant to him.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you kissed him with the intensity of knowing that this might be the last time you ever could.

After what felt like an eternity, you pulled back, both of you panting heavily. You embraced each other tightly, laying your head on his chest.

The silence between you was filled with everything that words could not express. Goodbye, I love you, I don’t want to lose you—each emotion was conveyed in that single, passionate kiss.

As you closed your eyes, trying to drift off to sleep despite the circumstances, you were acutely aware of every precious moment with Coryo.

You ignored the time and your parents’ warning, finding solace in his arms. His breathing eventually slowed to a steady rhythm, and you found comfort in his presence.

The pale moonlight streaming through the cracks in the wall was the only witness to this intimate moment between two young lovers facing an uncertain future.

Coryo’s arms remained around you, their embrace a fragile anchor amidst the turmoil.

As sleep threatened to overtake you, a profound sadness washed over you. You wished for a reality where everything had turned out differently—where Casca Highbottom’s cruelty hadn’t shattered your dreams. The future you had imagined with Coryo seemed to slip further away with each passing second.

In the dead of night, you whispered the truth that would haunt you forever, “You’re the loss of my life, Coriolanus Snow.”

SHARING THIS, ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS OR A TRANSLATION OF THEM WITHOUT CONSENT ON THIS OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN !!!

THE PLOT OF THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS DO NOT BELONG TO ME THIS IS JUST A WORK OF FANFICTION !!!

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prentissluvr · 3 months

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literary parallels — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : light angst, fluff ➖⟢ cw : small injuries, few seconds of physical fighting (self-defense), no use of y/n, you have a dad and i gave him a name (rick lol), mentions of death of loved ones, sort of case fic, kinda ignores canon timeline in terms of a few minor things but canon doesn't matter much in this fic lol, poorly edited most likely ➖⟢ wc : 3.6K summary : sam is someone from your past at stanford university, and the last place you expect to see him again is on a case. that's exactly where you find him. i plan on doing a part two for this one in the future! :))

today is one of those days where the reality of your life feels strange, unwelcome, and somewhat foreign. it’s not as if you’re new to the hunting life; it’s just the opposite, and yet, you often feel removed from it, especially after having lived normally at college for a few years. but you were ripped back into hunting without being able to finish your degree by your father after the death of your closest cousin.

so now you’re cooped up in a crappy motel room searching endlessly through detailed lore websites and the few books you have on you, trying to make sense of the odd patterns of killings in the small california town. that’s part of the pit in your stomach for today; the beach town, cayucos, is only three hours from stanford.

being so close to your former university after almost a whole year brings back a whole lot of mixed feelings. mostly longing for the normalcy that you loved and lost, but also a renewed urgency to find what killed your cousin. she had been studying at a different college just an hour inland from you. when she died, you had wanted to salt and burn her body and move on. but when your father showed up with proof of odd circumstances, he pursuaded you to rejoin him in the hunting life.

the deaths in cayucos are certainly odd, but they lack the defining features that would allow you to identify the creature at fault. so, you’re searching for anything with a grudge against hot men and a killing cycle of seven years since those are about the only patterns so far. your dad is at the coroner’s office, meeting with an old hunter friend to check out the body of the latest victim.

that’s been another reminder of your brief time at a normal school with normal friends and normal hobbies. when your dad first told you he called in a friend to help, he’d asked you, “d’you remember john winchester? you met him once when you were a kid, he’s an old buddy of mine.” you shook your head and he shrugged, saying something about how it makes sense; you were young and only met him once. but the name stuck in your mind as he left, and it had nothing to do with hunting or when you were a kid on the road, stuck in motels, school if you were there long enough, or the town library if you were lucky.

that name, or the last name anyway, comes from the stanford part of your life, the one you keep cherished in the most protected corners of your heart. sam winchester was one of your few friends during your time there, and after hearing his family name spoken aloud, he’s floating through your mind all day.

he disappeared after jess, his girlfriend and one of your other few friends, died, mere weeks before your own cousin died and you left standford as well. you’ve always wondered what happened to him, the best conclusion you could come to being that he couldn’t bear her death. they were absolutely in love with each other, but you know jess would have wanted him to finish at stanford, then head to that law school he was bound to get that full-ride to. sam always had an air of strength about him, so it surprised you when you never saw him again. he wasn’t even at her funeral, and to this day, that’s your singular bone to pick with him.

but, you can’t afford to think about him too much as you search for answers about the case. abandoning the lore websites for the meantime, you look over the police records of all the deaths that you can find, hoping to draw together any more patterns that you can use to narrow down your research. you’re jotting down a few notes, thinking you may have found something regarding accounts of a few of the men being last seen with a woman, when your train of thought is interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door.

on instinct, you draw your gun as you cross the room, looking through the peephole and silently cursing when you realize the light out front has gone out. all you can make out is the tall, broad silluete of a man thanks to the dimness of the twighlight sky.

you wait for a moment at the door, hoping he’ll just walk away after he doesn’t get an answer. but you’re unlucky, and he knocks again before calling out, “hello? rick sent me here to … help with the case, he said his kid was here. i’m john winchester’s son, sam.”

if you were in an old-timey cartoon, your jaw would’ve dropped to the floor. sam … sam winchester. it sounds just like him. trying to keep your head, you swap your gun for a nearby canteen of holy water and slip a silver knife into your pocket for accessibility. it’s too much of a coincidence for you to believe it.

you crack the door, just enough for him to hear you a bit better. “sam winchester? like stanford full-ride, lawyboy sam winchester?”

“i– how do you–” there’s a moment of silence, and you know that he’s piecing together the few clues he has; your voice and the last name you must share with your dad, the man he knows as rick. his voice is just as cautious as yours as he says your name like he can’t really believe it.

for a moment, you stop thinking when you hear his voice saying your name after so long, and you throw open the door and let him in. the light from the motel room finally illuminates his face, and it’s him, it’s really him. and the moment you think that is the moment you realize that could absolutely not be the case.

the second he turns to you from closing the door, you’re splashing holy water in his face so fast you barely catch the look he was about to give you; eyes so full of surprise and wonder and confusion and something akin to joy. you react quickly to his lack of reaction besides the normal surprise at getting splashed in the face, slashing at his arm with your silver knife to finish testing him. but he reacts just as fast as you, grabbing both of your wrists, spinning you around and pinning you to the flat surface of the door.

his hold is quite strong, but he doesn’t have the time to bear his full weight into holding you down before you react, so you’re able to manuever out of his hold with practiced ease. you lift one arm up as you yank the other down to make it so you’re able to slip down and to the side, out of his hold. then you’ve got a strong hand to his back, shoving him face-first against the door and your other arm bringing your knife to his throat.

the thought that his profile view with his pulled-taut eyebrows and the grimace on his mouth looks pretty has the audacity to float up to the forefront of your mind before you can squash it down. the whole struggle had taken mere seconds, and he resigns the minute you’ve got him pinned down.

“it’s me,” he pants, “i swear. ‘m not a shapeshifter or ghoul or anything, it was just instinct. sorry,” he explains quickly, “go ahead, test me.”

you debate saying “don’t mind if i do,” but decide that you don’t have to be teasing or snarky about it. instead, you tamp down your hesitance to hurt him, even a little bit because he still sort of feels like innocent, regular, lawboy sam to you, and you draw a thin line of blood at the spot where his neck slopes into his broad shoulder. there’s no burning, just a normal wince from his mouth, so you loosen your hold on him and step back, internally cringing at the small bit of blood beginning to slip down towards his collarbone.

“sorry,” you say, far more sincere than you would be if it’d been anybody else. this is the norm for hunters, but you haven’t quite wrapped your mind around the fact that sam is a hunter. you’d never once would have guessed, though you suppose that was the point. you had done everything you could to hide that part of your life during your time at stanford.

“it’s fine,” he gives you an awkward half-smile, just as sincere as you. “just, y’know, your turn.” you’d been so busy taking in the sight of him standing there, looking almost exactly the same, but not quite, as he had in college, that you forgot about the courtesy of testing yourself too.

“right,” you clear your throat, “of course.” without the hesitance any normal person would have, you take the knife to your forearm and splash a bit of holy water on your skin. “there we go. no demons or shapeshifters or the like. that’s good.” you feel incredibly awkward all of the sudden, still so bewildered and thrown off balance by the collision of your two words. it feels like too much of a coincidence for you to be this close to your old school, be thinking about sam winchester, a symbol of that old life, then for him to show up and flip your whole entire understanding of him. there’s just about a million things running through your mind at just about a million miles per hour and it’s starting to make your head hurt.

the movement of his hand, reaching up to hold the small cut you gave him is what brings you out of your short lived reverie.

“god, i’m sorry. let me get you something for that.” you don’t give him the time to politely tell you, “no, it’s okay,” like you know he would before you’ve turned your back and crossed the room to grab a first aid kit from your bag and some rubbing alcohol from the bathroom. “sit down,” you urge him when you turn back to him, motioning towards the table you’d been seated at when he arrived.

he complies and once again, you’re thinking about the strangeness of sharing this sort of space with him. you’re used to seeing him in libraries so big that they’re almost grand for quiet study sessions or in the dining hall with his nose buried in a book or in the lecture hall where you first met him in a gen-ed class. you’re used to seeing him on one of the grassy quads with jess by his side or him in the big, open, and fancy old university buildings. now he looks right at home in the dingy motel room, so small it feels like his tall, broad frame shouldn’t fit in here, so dim that his sometimes blue or green eyes look sort of muddy. they’re pretty, nonetheless.

you set the first aid kit on the table and pull out a large bandaid and a bit of gauze. you reasses the cut to be sure he doesn’t need any other sort of bandaging and almost sigh in relief when you see how shallow it is. sam doesn’t speak or protest that he’s fine to do it himself as you pull the collar of his t-shirt aside just a bit. you’re sure his mind’s busy with a whole load of questions for you, just like you for him. the brush of your knuckles against his skin suddenly makes his presence feel more real. whatever contact you’d had during the short-lived fight you’d had was completely surreal; you weren’t sure he was really even sam, and if he was, it would feel like a lie anyways, for his hands to be rough or so quick in a fight.

he doesn’t so much as wince when you press alcohol soaked gauze to the cut, and though the wound is small and shallow enough that you’re sure it barely stings, it still feels like a sign of his being a hunter, being used to pain. you don’t like that thought; sweet, sincere, and ever so smart sam being used to pain. as you take care of the cut, he lets his eyes wander around the room, probably taking in how familiar it is, and how weird that it’s your motel room and all of your belongings packed into a single bag and your computer screen displaying hacked into police reports and the very same lore websites he frequents to solve a tricky case.

when you’re done he thanks you with a small smile and you take the seat across from him. as your fingers had brushed over his bare skin and felt a whisper of his strong shoulders, you’d gotten the strong urge to hug him. you missed him even more than you thought. that urge doesn’t leave when you move away from him.

you make a confused face at sam when he reaches for the first aid kit and pulls out another set of bandaids and gauze. he just hands you a gauze now soaked with alcohol and nods at you.

“for your arm,” he explains, because you’ve already forgotten about that as you accept it with a questioning brow.

“right,” you chuckle softly, swiping over the cut with the gauze, then taking and applying the bandaid that sam opened for you. when you’re done you have to drag your eyes up to meet sam’s gaze. there’s tension in the room, and though it’s not bad per se, it’s begging to be addressed and you’re not sure how to even start. it seems like sam’s not sure either.

so, you choose to jump right into the fire.

“it’s so good to see you, sam,” you confess, pushing all your sincerity into your voice, “i mean, this is absolutely insane and i can’t quite wrap my mind around it, but i guess i don’t really care because it’s so good to see you. i worried about you so much after … after jess died, i mean, you just dissappeared and … and i can imagine that has something to do with the fact that you’re a hunter, which is sort of incomprehensible to me, but–,” suddenly you’re hit with a new realization. if sam’s disappearance had to do with the supernatural, you wonder if jess’s death did too. but you don’t want to ask, not right now. “oh, god, and i never got to tell you how sorry i am. i– i mean. i can’t imagine.” there’s where your voice trails off and you look to sam to be the one to say something now.

“thanks,” he answers simply, voice gentle but a little pained, rightfully so. “she was your friend, too. i mean, we were all friends. and i’m sorry i disappeared like that. i, um, well, you’re right. hunting dragged me away. it’s complicated and i’ll explain it to you later. you deserve to know what happened to jess, but– but it’s a lot.” a moment of silence allows that to sink in; so something did happen to her, something more than just faulty electrical wiring in her apartment. sam’s genuine as he goes on, “and it’s great to see you too, really. it’s so strange, i mean all of this, obviously, but it’s even stranger how close we are to stanford. i was already thinking about it, about you all on the way over, and the next thing i know, you’re the suspicious hunter throwing holy water in my face.”

you cringe a little at that, but sam smiles a little wider than he has all night. “that’s a good thing,” he half-laughs, “i don’t care how weird this coincidence is, i’m glad for it.” his hand twitches, almost as if he’d wanted to reach over and grab your hand, but thought better of it before it could happen. “i gotta ask, did you finish your degree?” the way he asks is so hopeful, and you immediately know how much he wants the answer to be yes. he’s thinking, if i couldn’t finish, please tell me at least one of us could. that one of us poor and foolish hunter kids who thought we could escape managed to long enough to finish a degree, prove that we could make something of ourselves in the normal world. it would be so nice to see that, if it couldn’t be me, it could be somebody, it could be you.

his face falls a little when he registers the sad smile on your face. your expression is more than enough of an answer, and the fact that he wanted so badly for you to have made it makes your heart break a little, for both him and you. we deserved better, you think.

“just about the same thing happened to me,” you begin to explain, “you remember my cousin, bex?” sam nods, recalling the way the two of you acted like siblings the few times he met her, how much you liked alike when you smiled, already sad for what he suspects he might hear. “she died a few weeks after jess. she and i both grew up hunting, and we both thought we got out of it, at least for a little while. we almost lasted all four years … i didn’t think there was anything weird with her death, but … my dad showed me proof of just that at her funeral, convinced me to come back to hunting with him. she was– she was hiding something, and, honestly i’m still not sure what happened. progress on her case has been slow. real slow, so we’ve been working on others in the meantime. keeping busy, you know.”

“oh, i know,” sam sighs, and you completely believe him. you wonder for a moment what bigger things he’s digging into before deciding it’s best if the two of you stick to what’s in front of you. if you go too deep, having each other, a new kind of steady presence from better times, might start feeling too unreal again.

you want to preserve this delicate balance, where sam is still stanford sam and you’re still stanford you, but now there’s just a deeper understanding of each other. a knowing of what it’s like to grow up with a hunter for a father, to want to get away from it all, to want a sense of normalcy, and to want to learn and become something more and say “screw you!” to all of the expections. and on top of that, knowing how it feels to get so close to the finish line, only to have it ripped out of your hands like you’re a child who’s parents think they’ve had too much candy. only it’s far worse than a half eaten lollipop in the trash because people that you love died, and it was all so much more than just chasing after a momentary sugar high.

“i’m sorry about bex,” sam says, this time actually reaching out and placing his hand on yours for a moment. his voice is as full of empathy and sincerity as ever. “she was amazing the few times i met her. i could see how close you two were.”

“thanks, sam.” you give him a small smile because those words feel so much better coming from him than just about anyone else. with that, the air seems to settle a little, and it’s far more bearable. you’ve still got a hundred and one questions to ask and a hundred and one more things to say to each other, but to find out you have this near-exact shared experience is like having so much of the weight of loneliness lifted from your chest. and it all feels even better because you know sam. you know him already.

sure, there’s a whole lot you missed before, but you don’t doubt for a second that the sam sitting in front of you is as kind, funny, smart, witty, sincere, adorably awkward, and good as the sam you met and came to know at stanford. in fact, knowing he grew up the way he did just reaffirms his goodness to you. it’s not easy to live like that and continue choosing to be kind and well-meaning and true to yourself. then there’s this feeling of admiration for sam, just blooming in your chest and you hold back a wide grin because the timing’s not quite right. you still can’t shake the urge to hug him.

“well,” you smile casually, if not a little rueful as you say your next words, “i think our dads will go all hunter-dad-crazy on us if we keep playing catch up. i’ll give you a run down of everything i’ve got, then we can do what dropouts from the west coast’s most prestigious school’s do best; research.”

sam’s smile matches your own, and it’s achingly familiar. “well, we can’t have those asses ruin our not-quite-stanford-alumni reuinion. let’s get to work. we can pretend it’s like the good old days, spring freshman year, all of us cramming for the way-er exam at the back of the library and getting shushed by the librarians. we can pretend john and rick are the librarians.”

for the first time in a long time, you let out a loud laugh, surprised and pulled right out of you without warning. he smiles wide at the sound and finally, without restraint, you grin back. god, you missed him.

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deakyjoe · 2 years

Text

Stormy Skies

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no pronouns used I think)

Category: friends to lovers

Summary: Din breaks you out of an Imperial prison (loosely based on chapter 15).

Warnings: angst, fluff, touched-starved Din, helmet is off, prison, nasty guards, restraints, bad men, talks of death, separation, loose implication of what bad men can do, pet names (cyar’ika), canon-divergence (I guess??), when I say loosely based I mean very loosely based

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: Sad, brown-eyed, pathetic love of my life. (He's not pathetic but I’ll make him pathetic.) Din is slightly out of character but only because he's head over heels in love and feeling all soft and squishy inside about it. He's also a little insecure. Poor guy. It's purposefully ambiguous about how long reader has been imprisoned, so guess however long you'd like.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

It took three weeks, four days, sixteen hours and twenty two minutes before you realised that the inside of this Imperial prison would be the only thing you saw for the foreseeable future. The three walls and one row of bars now being your home. After that you resigned yourself to the idea that you'd be there forever so you stopped counting the days, the weeks, the... months? You didn't know how long you'd been there and you didn't want to know how long either.

All you knew is that you wanted to leave. Not because you were scared of death or scared of never seeing the outside world again. But because you missed two very important people in your life. The big, scary Mandalorian who had hired you just under a year ago as his mechanic and his strange green son who had weird superpowers who you sometimes babysat. The both of them meant the world to you and the idea of never seeing them again hurt you. You feared for the child's life as he had also been taken at the same time as you but had been imprisoned elsewhere, probably to be experimented on. And you feared for the state of your Mandalorian who would be lost without his kid.

"Food."

The announcement made your stomach lurch as it knocked you out of your thoughts. A small plate, with a pile of something in the middle, was pushed into your cell - probably the most unappealing thing in the galaxy but your only source of nutrition. Your mind strayed to nicer things as you desperately tried to ignore the revolting taste.

You thought of days spent in the Razor Crest, your Mandalorian's ship, as the three of you travelled from planet to planet in order for bounties to be collected. The memories of attempting to teach the child to speak some words in Basic but only getting baby babbling in response, it didn't matter as his eyes always shone as if he knew what you were saying to him.

You ached for your clan of three to be reunited, but realistically you knew that was unlikely. If anything, you just wanted Grogu to be safe. Back with Din and safe. And there was no place safer for him than under the care of Din Djarin.

A guard walking into your cell had you scrambling back against the wall as he took your plate from you and laughed, slightly muffled by his helmet. He kicked at the chain bound around your feet and walked out again, locking the bars behind him.

He was your least favourite of everyone who served in your section of the prison. He didn't seem to like you very much, and wasn't afraid to show it. You feared that one day he'd use the power he had over you to do something awful. So, for now, you tried to play as nice as possible with him.

The sound of low chattering caught your attention, the unmistakable noise of Stormtrooper armour bashing against itself making its way down the corridor. Plastic against plastic made an unbearable racket. You looked up to peek through the bars of your cell and crawled towards the sound, hoping that they weren't coming for you. If you could guess from the sound of them alone, you'd say there were about three or four of them. Definitely more than two and probably less than five.

Your assumption was proven correct when three Troopers turned the corner at the end of the hallway. One was clearly in charge, leading the other two. You thought his name was... you didn't know actually. And you didn't care either. But he was their superior. But the other two... They were low ranking officers, obvious by their uniform and the way they looked around as if they'd never seen the inside of a prison before. Maybe it was their first day on the job? Boy, were they in for a surprise.

The bald one seemed vaguely familiar, although he looked like pretty much any other guy in the galaxy so you didn't dwell on it too much. The other one, however, held no resemblance to anyone you'd ever seen before. He had sad eyes. That was the first thing you noticed about him. Sad, brown eyes. Along with a strong nose that matched his face. Golden skin. And messy hair along with unkempt facial hair. Very un-Trooperish. You wondered how he managed to get away with it. He was rather beautiful to look at. You pushed the thought away with a reminder of what he was - Empire.

As they got closer, you began to overhear their conversation. They were talking about some battle that had been fought a while ago, lots of soldiers lost. Baldy appeared mildly upset as he disclosed that some of his friends had died. Brown eyes wasn't listening and clearly searching for something. And he seemed to find it when his eyes landed on you.

He paused for the smallest fraction of a second before he carried on walking with the other two. He stared at you but you didn't back down, staring right back through the cell bars. You wouldn't let a Trooper intimidate you, especially not a new one. A sense of achievement hit you when he finally looked away, swallowing thickly and averting his gaze as far away from you as possible. He nudged the bald guy next to him with his elbow and tilted his head in your direction.

What the fuck did these guys want with you? You shivered at the thought, a million horrifying ideas running through your brain. You relaxed slightly when they disappeared around the next corner.

The rest of the day passed slowly, as they all did, and soon enough the lights were going out and all prisoners were warned to stay silent for the next few hours. You shifted to get your body in the most comfortable position possible, pretty difficult when you had chains restraining your limbs, and laid down, resting your head in the crook of your elbow.

You drifted off easily, the low drone of the power running through the walls and the floor lulling you to sleep. With nothing to do all day, zero access to natural light and limited portions of food you were tired all of the time. And the little energy you had was reserved for keeping your defences up when guards entered your cell on rare occasions.

Your dreams were full of Din and Grogu, as usual, and you often wondered during your conscious moments whether your brain was reminding you of happy moments to keep you sane or telling you what you'd had and what you'd lost as a way of punishing you.

What you didn't expect was to be awoken a short time later by your cell door being unlocked, the clanging of the metal shocking you out of your dreams. You sat up instantly, freezing when two looming figures walked in, whispering to each other in hushed tones.

The two Troopers from earlier.

You felt sick.

They were both wearing their helmets now and their heads snapped towards you when your chain scraped across the floor painfully. The broader one, who seemed to be leading the team of two, stalked towards you slowly.

"No, no, no, no!" You kicked at him as he went for your ankles trying, and failing, to fight him off. The breath spilling from your lungs was panicked as you failed to notice the other guy groaning and sticking his arms out to tell you to be quiet.

Your name came through the Trooper helmet in a familiar, reassuring voice. It was Din. Your Mandalorian. You'd never felt such a sense of relief race through your body as you relaxed underneath his touch.

"Mando?" You avoided using his real name around other people, as you'd agreed when he first told you. It was a small price for such a wonderful gift. His name. "You're here. You came for me?"

"Yes." He fumbled with your restraints, managing to get the ones off your ankles and moving to the ones on your wrists.

You looked at the other guy who had slipped his helmet off at some point. The bald guy. "Hang on. I saw you earlier. You walked through here with that guy in charge and-" Your eyes snapped back to Din. "That was you."

He was looking at you through the helmet, you could tell. "Come on, we don't have much time."

"B-but... you... your face." Your voice was weak, mind scrambling back to the memory of him. Brown eyes. Sad eyes. Messy hair. Unkempt facial hair. Strong nose. Golden skin. Beautiful.

He faltered. "I know. I did what had to be done."

"You broke your creed." You were almost crying. "To save me."

Hesitation. "Yes, of course. Come on."

The shackles finally fell from your wrists and you launched yourself at him, embracing him even if you were in a life or death situation.

"Thank you."

He seemed uncertain at the gesture as his arms slowly wrapped around your waist. "You don't have to thank me."

You pulled away quickly, not wanting to push it and make him uncomfortable. "Yes, I do." Looking back at the bald guy as you stood up, you squinted at him. "You're familiar."

"Mayfeld." He had a smirk on his face as he watched the interaction between you and Din, sticking out his hand in greeting but you ignored it. "You're welcome for this, by the way. I'm the main reason we're here right now saving you."

His name reminded you of who he was, a scowl settling over your face. "I appreciate it. But we're not out yet. They have people guarding everywhere. And I mean everywhere."

"It won't be a problem." Din's voice was low as he straightened up.

"How do you know so much about this place, hm?" Mayfeld asked you, stepping slightly closer.

"I may have attempted an escape... once or twice." You shrugged and kicked your restraints away from your feet. "That's why I was chained to the wall."

The two men were silent as they stared at you, Mayfeld looking surprised and Din's gaze burning into you despite being obscured by the helmet.

"I know their rotation schedules, how long of a gap there is between shift changes and which Troopers like me best so will leave the handcuffs a little looser." You looked between the two of them. "What? I had time to plan."

"And what have we got now?" Din questioned, glancing back at the open bars. "Anything scheduled to happen?"

You thought it over for a moment, glancing at the clock just outside of your cell. "Shift change in about six minutes. There will be a thirty-three second gap where the doors are unmanned."

"We can work with that." The Mandalorian replied, producing a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

A sick feeling settled in your stomach at the sight of them. "Ah, so I'm fake prisoner. Right?"

"In case we come across anyone." Mayfeld explained, a smug grin on his face. "Need to make it believable that we're moving you to a new cell."

With a nod, you looked back up to Din. "Be gentle, okay?"

"Of course, cyar'ika."

You sighed, storing away the nickname to ask about it later. "Where's Grogu?"

His fists clenched by his sides, the leather of his gloves squeaking. "They still have him."

Bile rose in your throat. "What?"

Why was he here if the child was still missing?

"Maker, why are you here?" You asked him, pushing at his shoulder. "You need to save him!"

"I'm here to save you." He was already bored with you again, you could tell by the lack of emotion in his voice. Maybe he was regretting saving you.

"I could have waited! Grogu's a baby!" You cried, worry settling in your stomach at the thought of your poor, poor Grogu possibly being tortured and experimented on whilst you were swooning over Din rescuing you.

"They had information on the kid's location here as well." The Mandalorian offered.

That made more sense. "Ah, so it wasn't just to save me."

"I would've come for you even if they had nothing on him." He sounded annoyed now, frustrated at your questioning.

"Grogu's priority." You turned to Mayfeld. "Why did you let him come here when the child is still missing?"

His hands raised in surrender. "Hey! Don't turn this on me!"

"Be more grateful." Din stated as he walked towards you and turned you around, pulling your hands behind your back to secure them in place with the cuffs. "I could have left you here forever."

You didn't want to admit out loud that what he had just suggested was your worst fear and something you truly believed until he'd showed up. A part of you thought you'd be there for the rest of your life. But you couldn't tell him that. So you offered a weak joke.

"You know what they say... third time's the charm. I'm sure my next attempt at an escape would have worked." The cuffs clicked into place and you tried not to focus on the feeling of being restrained again. You'd spent too long like this, and here you were about to escape and you were back in the same position. It was almost funny.

Din could sense your unease and placed a gloved hand on the small of your back in reassurance.

"Let's go." Mayfeld chimed and marched out of the cell in front of the two of you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and followed behind, Din's hands locked around yours to make sure the restraints didn't pull too harshly. Weaving in and out of corridors was dangerous, especially with the guards constantly patrolling. Unfortunately, it didn't take long before you bumped into a couple of them.

"Halt!" They shouted, raising their weapons to the three of you. "What are you doing with prisoner five six one?"

There was probably too long of a pause between the question and the answer that was finally given, setting off the initial seed of suspicion.

Mayfeld stepped in with his sly smile. "We were instructed to move the prisoner to a new cell."

The two guards bowed their heads together, mumbling a quick debate. Your hands twitched with nerves behind your back and you felt the Mandalorian trace a thumb over them in comfort. It somewhat worked.

"We'll need you to come with us to confirm." One of them said, straightening up and re-aiming his blaster right at you.

"I'm sorry, cyar'ika." Din grumbled with a sigh behind you before there was a slight squeeze on the side of your neck and you were out.

When you awoke you were surrounded by the sounds of a humming engine and the whirring of the inside of a ship. You jolted up and almost hit your head on the top of the bunk you'd been placed in.

Wait. A bunk?

You looked around you rapidly to suddenly realise that you weren’t just in any bed. You were in Din’s bed. On the Razor Crest.

You jumped out of it and stumbled once you landed on your feet, leaning on the wall for support.

“Woah, woah! Slow down, take it easy.” A modulated voice appeared behind you as strong arms wrapped around your torso to keep you steady.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You slurred, still slightly groggy from being unconscious. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours.” Din replied, letting you turn to look at him. He was back in his Beskar armour, looking as shiny as ever. The sight of him made you smile.

“You knocked me out!” You cried but there wasn’t an ounce of real anguish in your voice. In fact, it was rather playful.

He didn’t seem to pick up on that. “It was necessary.”

You waved your hand at him, showing you weren’t really bothered by that. So you approached the subject you were really affected by. “You saved me.”

“Yes.” His voice was a gentle rasp as he spoke the singular word. He was never much of a talker. But you hung on to every word.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“You removed your helmet to save me.” You frowned at him, like you were annoyed at him for breaking his creed.

Another rasp. “Yes.”

“But-“

“But what?”

You laughed like it was obvious. "I don't understand why. I'm just me."

"And it's just a creed."

Your head reared back. "Just a creed?"

"Just you?" He answered back, imitating your tone and inflection.

"That's- Din, it's your life. Being a Mandalorian is everything to you.” You cried, hands waving in emphasis. “Why would you risk that? For me?"

His head tilted to the side in his usual expression of emotion. Or lack of. "This is the Way."

"No.” You snapped. “The Way is not showing your face under any circumstances. And you- you showed your face!"

"To save you."

"Yes!"

The helmet tilted even further. "What part do you not understand?"

"I'm not worth it." You said, hands wringing together in front of you. And you truly believed what you were saying.

"What?"

"Why would you do that for me?"

"I'd do anything for you."

Your mouth snapped shut, the protest you had prepared dying in your throat.

"You and the kid. I'd tear apart this galaxy for the both of you. You're... you're part of my clan."

A part of you wished he'd left you in that prison. If he'd done that then your head wouldn't be spinning and you wouldn't be overwhelmed with emotions at what he was throwing at you in that moment. His clan. You were a member of his clan.

"Din..."

His name was soft from your lips and he sighed slowly at the sound.

"The only way to explain is-" He cut himself off and inhaled, taking a step closer to you. Placing his hand under your chin, he tilted your head up to face him and lowered his helmet so your foreheads rested together. The cold of his armour sent shivers down your spine. Although it might have also been caused by the action of what he was doing, what he was saying.

Din had explained this to you before when you'd asked about affection between the people of Mandalore. It was a way for Mandalorians to kiss without having to show their faces. It was... intimate, to say the least.

Your eyes fluttered shut when the reality of what he was telling you dawned. "Din..."

Another soft whisper of his name had him sighing again.

Unfortunately, he took it the wrong way and pulled back. "You don't have to- The kid and you are important to me. That's... that's what you need to know. About why- why I did this."

You shook your head and smiled at him, hooking your hand around the back of his neck and tugging him down towards you again so your foreheads touched. "And I was willing to die in that prison to keep you and the child safe."

"They... they were planning to kill you?"

"I kept refusing to teach them how to get the kid to use his wizard baby powers. And I wouldn't tell them where you were either. Or how to contact you."

"What did they need me for?"

"See you as a threat. Or to use me as bait. I'm not sure which. Maybe both."

"It would've worked. You as bait. If I didn't already know where you were, of course."

"Of course." You grinned at him and hoped he was smiling back. You tended to guess what his facial expressions were, normally hoping that he was returning whatever you gave him but usually settling on the fact that he was probably bored and his face would show it. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, cyar'ika."

Your stomach flipped at the Mando'a. "What does that mean?"

"It's Mando'a."

"I guessed that. I'm asking for a translation." You rolled your eyes, finally pulling back from the Mandalorian kiss to look at him properly again. "I hope it's something nice."

You could tell he was smiling when he said his next words. They were hesitant, but tender. "It means darling or sweetheart. A term of endearment."

"Oh... that's- that is nice." Mentally berating yourself, you bit on your lower lip to hold back an excited giggle. Nice? There were so many words that were better than nice. "I don't have anything like that where I'm from. If I did I'd-"

He cut you off with a hand cupping your cheek. "I know, cyar'ika. I know."

There was a moment of silence as the two of you just looked at each other. It was broken when Din sighed suddenly and dropped his hand from your cheek.

"I never wanted you to see my face that way."

Oh.

"Din, I-" You cut yourself off to contemplate your words. "I'm sorry that you had to reveal your face. And that I saw. If I'd known... I wouldn't have stared at you."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." He exhaled loudly. "Do you remember? What I look like?"

The memory of his face flashed in your mind. Of course you remembered. Every single detail. And you'd probably secretly treasure it for the rest of your life.

"Yes..."

His head dropped for a second, helmet aimed at the floor, before it suddenly shot back up to meet your gaze. "And?"

"And what?" Having no idea what he was asking of you, your brows scrunched together.

He was so close now that you were sure you'd be able to hear his breathing even without the modulator. "Was I- was I a disappointment?"

"What?" Disbelief ran through you. How could this wonderful, gorgeous man ever be a disappointment? With or without the helmet obscuring his face he had always been and would always be perfect to you.

"Well, you must have had some... some image of what I'd look like in your head."

You immediately disagreed with him. "No, never."

"Don't lie. It's okay. You can tell me."

"I'm not lying. And I am telling you."

"Cyar'ika..."

Your heart did somersaults in your chest. "No, I never conjured up some fantasy of what you'd look like. Because this here-" You gestured at the whole of him, hand waving up and down his body. "-is my Din. This is you to me. Why would I ever warp who you truly are for some made up version?"

"You must've been curious."

You shrugged. "Maybe at the beginning. But who you are on the inside is all that has ever mattered to me."

"So what did you think when you saw my face?"

Your eyes snapped away from his on instinct, embarrassment crawling through you as you recalled your immediate thoughts of him. Thoughts you'd pushed away at the time because you thought he was a Trooper. Thoughts that had resurfaced when you found out that it was really him.

"Oh, no thoughts." Your voice was weak, barely coming out as more than a squeak. It was clear you were lying. "Just that you were a man..."

"Cyar'ika..."

A flush racked through you at the use of the term of endearment. He knew how to make you weak in the knees, how to make you break, you were sure of it.

"Calling me that isn't fair."

"Don't avoid the question." His head tilted to the side. "Tell me. What did you think?"

Unsure at how he'd turned from insecure, sweet Din to a version of Din that had you swooning, you shook your head at him. "I told you. No thoughts."

"And I can tell you're lying. Look at me." He placed his fingers under your chin to angle you to face him. "Tell me."

You started with a small truth. "Your eyes were sadder than I thought they'd be."

He seemed slightly taken aback by that but didn't hesitate too much in answering. "I was scared I'd lost you."

"But I thought you said you didn't know they were planning on killing me?"

"It was always a possibility." He shrugged. "We were getting towards the end of the cells when I saw you. I was... getting nervous. Thought maybe they'd transferred you somewhere else and I'd never find you. Couldn't live with that idea."

If it were possible, you softened even more under his touch. "But you did find me. And I'm here. Safe. Because of you."

"Hmm." He just hummed in agreement, shifting his hand so it moved to cup your jaw instead. "What else?"

You huffed, hoping you'd got out of the line of questioning about your opinions on his appearance. Whilst having openly admitted a whole spout of feelings for each other, you weren't quite ready to declare how absolutely breathtaking he was.

"Don't make me say it."

"Say what, cyar'ika? Hm? I'm just asking."

You leaned into his touch, the warmth from his palm along with the sound of the Mando'a pet name set off a spark within you. When his gloved thumb swooped over your cheek gently you were sure that your brain short circuited.

"You're beautiful, Din."

The statement was breathless but held certainty in it. The Mandalorian didn't reply, too shocked by your confession. He honestly hadn't been expecting you to be so open. And to say that of all things.

So you kept going. "It was never going to matter to me what you looked like underneath the Beskar. Because who you are as a person is the only important thing. But I have to admit that I thought you were gorgeous when you walked past my cell. And then I immediately felt guilty because I thought you were a Trooper." Your head dipped in shame for a moment. "You are beautiful, Din Djarin. Inside and out."

He still said nothing, hands just lifting to the bottom of his helmet.

When you heard the hiss of the seal, your hands slapped across your eyes. "Ah! What are you doing?"

"Taking off my helmet. What are you doing?" He sounded amused.

"Covering my eyes so I don't see obviously." You scoffed and scrunched your eyes beneath your palms.

"Cyar'ika, you've already seen my face."

"So? I might have remembered details wrong."

"Thought you said I was beautiful?"

You huffed, not liking how he was turning that against you. "I did but revealing your identity is a big no-no, Din! That's what the Way says, right?"

"Right." He was holding back laughter.

"Exactly! Doesn't matter if I've seen you before. Might not remember you completely correctly." You remembered him completely correctly. "So we cannot risk you revealing yourself a whole other time."

The way you were so respectful of his creed, no matter how ridiculous you were being at that moment with your hands pressed tightly over your eyes, had Din tingling inside.

"I don't think it's a risk if you've seen me before and you're a part of my clan, hm?"

You grumbled something underneath your breath. "I can't argue with you on Mandalorian culture because you're the expert. But I feel as if you're finding loopholes here."

"Perhaps. Just look."

The sound of his helmet hissing and the dull clang of it hitting the floor had you hesitating before slowly peeling your hands away from your face.

He was exactly how you remembered.

Every line, every scar, every eyelash, every inch of skin, the deep brown of his eyes, the angle of his nose, the unruly tufts of curls atop his head and the uneven patches of facial hair peppered across his jaw and down his neck. This was your Din Djarin. Stood in front of you, everything exposed and exactly how you remembered him. Exactly how you wanted him. Perfect. The whole of him was perfect.

With a stifled sigh of relief, you reached out your hands to cup his face, hesitating for a moment when you realised he might hate that. "Can I?"

He nodded, his eyes looking sad yet hopeful - an improvement from the last time you saw them.

Your palms settled on his cheeks, thumbs swiping over his cheeks and across his bristly stubble. A smile broke across your face when his eyelids closed and he leaned in your touch.

"Oh, Din..." Tears sprang to your eyes yet you couldn't exactly explain why, the flood of emotions was overwhelming.

"Cyar'ika..." He breathed against the skin of your wrist, turning slightly in your grasp to plant his lips against your palm.

You took a step closer to him, encouraging him to duck down and rest his forehead against yours. A Mandalorian kiss, stripped of the barrier between the two of you. He let out a shaky sigh as you made contact, his hair tickling your brow.

"When was the last time someone touched you? Skin on skin?" You needed to know, he was acting like he'd never felt the warmth of physical contact before.

He hummed lowly in his chest as he thought about it, eyes shut tight in contemplation. "My parents, I think."

Your heart ached for him. It had been decades. You wanted more, to give him more, but worried that it might be too much too fast. But you yearned to touch him, to show him how good it could be.

Broken out of your thoughts by a rustling noise between the two of you, you glanced down without breaking away from him to see that he was removing his leather gloves and throwing them to the floor beside you.

You stared at his hands, scars littering both the palms and the backs. You'd never wanted someone to touch you with their hands more.

Din appeared to have the same thought as he hovered them over your sides, fists clenching open and closed. "Can I?"

"Can you what, hm?" You wanted- no needed him to say it, to be as clear as possible between you.

"Touch you. Can I touch you please?" His eyes were still closed but you could see he was restless behind his lids, almost worried even.

"Of course you can."

You expected him to just place his hands on your hips or waist, which he did technically. What you didn't expect was for him to slide his hands underneath the hem of your shirt and place them directly onto your skin, squeezing slightly when he made contact.

You hummed contently in acknowledgement to tell him that it was okay and stepped closer to him, your chest pressing up against the Beskar now.

“Can I kiss you?” The question was sudden, hushed, almost unsure.

You didn’t hesitate in tilting your head upwards and reassuring him of how much you wanted exactly that. “I’m so glad you asked.”

Then his lips were on yours, a relieved sigh exiting him and a content one leaving you.

You moved together in time, like you knew how the other worked and what they wanted. And maybe you did. Maybe you knew each so well, or knew that the other wanted the same thing you did. Din’s thumbs stroked gently at the skin of your waist and yours swiped over his cheeks, brushing away a stray tear that had fallen from his eyes. His sad, brown eyes. You hoped they’d be less sad in the future.

He broke away for a moment to mumble against your lips. "I was so scared I'd lost you."

You shook your head and kissed him again. "I thought I'd never see you again."

“I wouldn’t have left you there.” He promised, hands gripping you impossibly tighter. “There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t have done to get you back.”

You just nodded at him, believing every word he was saying, and pulled him closer to kiss you again. The way his lips melded against yours and the way your tongues curled together had you convinced that this was meant to be. It was so utterly perfect that it felt as if the stars had written it centuries ago, always destined to happen.

“Cyar’ika…” He hummed to you when you both broke away again for some air.

As much as you wanted this moment to last forever, a thought suddenly re-entered your mind. “Grogu!”

“It’s okay. We know where he is and we’re on our way to get him back.” He smiled at your concern for the child, understanding it completely. He felt the same after all.

You nodded gently, relieved that the child would be back and safe soon enough. Then things really would be back to how they should be again. The three of you - you, your Mandalorian and your green child. Perfect.

A/N: this has been under works for agessss… hope you enjoyed!

3K notes · View notes

lila-lou · 6 months

Text

✨Beyond saving - Pt. 3✨

Summary: I hate summaries, so this is part 3 of "Beyond saving".

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only!, Smut, mention of rape (well, detailed), Language, Angst, Hurt, soft dean (literally), it´s just a loooot

Word Count: 7600

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

As another week has passed, Sam entered the kitchen, noticing you sitting alone on the ground, your eyes fixed on the table where Dean had inflicted so much pain upon you. He approached you cautiously, sensing the weight of your emotions hanging heavy in the air.

"Hey", Sam said softly. "How are you holding up?".

You glanced up at him, your eyes weary and filled with sadness. "I'm… I'm trying", you replied hoarsely, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sam sat down beside you, offering a comforting presence as he reached out to gently squeeze your hand. "I know it's not easy", he said sympathetically.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you leaned into Sam's embrace, the weight of your pain almost too much to bear.

"I know it's hard to believe right now, but Dean still loves you", he said gently. "He's hurting too, maybe even more than you realize. He hates himself for what he's done to you, for what the demonic version of himself did. It wasn't the real Dean, you know that, right?".

You nodded slowly, tears brimming in your eyes as you struggle to come to terms with Sam's words. "I want to believe that. But it's so hard, Sam. Every time I look at him, all I can see is… is what he did to me".

"I know", he mumbled. "But you have to remember that Dean would do anything to take back what happened, to make things right between you two. He's fighting his own demons right now, just like you are. And I know that deep down, he's still the man you fell in love with".

"I know it's going to take time", he said gently. "But I truly believe that you and Dean can find your way back to each other. You've been through so much together, and I know that love doesn't just disappear overnight".

"Thank you, Sam", you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I don't know what I would do without you".

Sam smiled warmly, giving your hand another reassuring squeeze. "You don't have to thank me. We're family, and family looks out for each other. We'll get through this together, I promise".

As the days passed, you found yourself greeted each morning by the aroma of freshly prepared meals and the sight of a bouquet of flowers adorning your doorstep. With each delivery, your heart ached with a mixture of longing and hesitation, unsure of how to respond to Dean's gestures of remorse and affection.

Yet, despite your reservations, you couldn't deny the sincerity of his efforts. Each handwritten note contained memories of the happiest moments you had shared together, reminding you of the love and joy that had once filled your relationship.

With each meal and each note, Dean sought to bridge the gap between you, to remind you of the bond that had once bound you together. And though you remained guarded, the warmth of his gestures began to thaw the icy walls around your heart, slowly but surely.

As you sat alone in your room, reading through Dean's heartfelt words and savoring the meals he had prepared, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring within you. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for forgiveness and reconciliation after all. And with that thought in mind, you found yourself daring to believe in the possibility of a brighter future, one where love and trust could prevail over pain and sorrow.

As the days passed, you found yourself slowly opening up to the idea of letting him back into your life, of giving him a chance to make amends for the pain he had caused.

With each meal he prepared and each note he left, Dean showed you that he was willing to do whatever it took to earn your forgiveness and rebuild the trust that had been shattered.

Two weeks later, as Sam ordered Pizza, Dean made his way towards sam and the delicious smell. As Dean reached for the pizza, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks. Startled, he turned to see you sitting next to Sam, your gaze fixed on your hands clasped tightly in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure of what to do or say.

But then, a flicker of hope ignited within him as he realized what this moment meant. After weeks of isolation and silence, you had finally taken a step forward.

With cautious optimism, Dean approached you, his movements slow and deliberate. He sat down beside you, careful not to startle you, his heart pounding with uncertainty.

"Hey", he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's, uh, it's good to see you".

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his briefly before flickering away. Dean's heart ached at the sight of your pain.

As the dinner progressed, a heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional clinking of utensils against plates. Dean tried to muster up the courage to speak, to break the tension that seemed to suffocate the room, but the words caught in his throat.

Your gaze fixed on your plate, unable to meet Dean's eyes or engage in conversation. Every fiber of your being screamed with discomfort, your stomach churning with anxiety from being in such close proximity to him.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his heart heavy with guilt and regret. He longed to reach out to you, to apologize for everything he had put you through, but he knew that words alone would never be enough to mend the damage he had caused.

Finally, unable to bear the suffocating silence any longer, Sam cleared his throat, breaking the tension with a forced smile. "So, uh, how's the pizza?", he asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from the elephant in the room.

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak, your throat tight with emotion. Dean swallowed hard, his own discomfort palpable as he forced himself to take a bite of his pizza, the taste turning to ash in his mouth.

Despite his best efforts to push aside his guilt and make things right, Dean couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over him like a dark cloud. As the dinner dragged on, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever be able to truly make amends for the pain he had caused you.

As the tension lingered, Sam attempted to lighten the mood with small talk, but his efforts fell flat against the weight of the unspoken turmoil between you and Dean. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the heaviness in the air suffocating.

Dean's heart ached with every glance he stole in your direction, the sight of your pain etched into every line of your face piercing him like a knife. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to you, to beg for your forgiveness.

For you, the meal was a torturous ordeal, you struggled to suppress the torrent of emotions threatening to consume you.

After dinner, Sam tentatively suggested watching a movie together, hoping to provide a distraction from the heavy atmosphere that lingered between you and Dean. He could see the strain etched on both of your faces and desperately wanted to find a way to bring a sense of normalcy back to your lives.

You hesitated, the thought of spending more time in Dean's presence filling you with dread. But with a small nod from Sam, you reluctantly agreed.

As Sam set up the movie, you and Dean found yourselves sitting on opposite ends of the couch, a palpable distance separating you. The air was thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension, but for the moment, you both focused on the screen in front of you, allowing the movie to serve as a temporary escape from the turmoil that surrounded you.

Despite the heaviness that still hung in the air, there was a glimmer of hope in Sam's eyes as he watched the two of you attempt to coexist in the same space. He knew that healing would take time and effort, but he was determined to do whatever it took to bring his family back together, one small step at a time. And as the movie played on, he silently prayed that tonight would mark the beginning of a new chapter for all of you.

As the movie played on, Dean found it nearly impossible to tear his gaze away from you, his heart aching with every fleeting glance he stole in your direction.

A torrent of guilt and remorse washed over him, threatening to drown him in its depths.

In that moment, Dean would have given anything to ease your suffering, to take away the pain that he had inflicted upon you. If cutting out his own heart and offering it to you would mean healing your wounded soul, he would do it in a heartbeat.

But as he sat there, watching you, he felt utterly powerless, his own torment mirrored in your tear-stained eyes.

Another week passed, and tentatively, you began to open up to Dean once more. Your heart clenched with uncertainty as you heard his voice, but you knew that avoiding him forever would only prolong the pain for both of you. So, you found yourselves sitting across from each other at the large map-table.

Dean's question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. "Are you able to sleep again?", he asked, his voice laced with concern and regret.

You hesitated for a moment, the memories of sleepless nights and haunted dreams flooding back to you. But then, with a small nod, you found the strength to answer. "Yeah, I am", you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

It was a small victory, but it felt like a significant step forward.

"I'm so sorry", he whispered, his words heavy with regret. "I can't even begin to express how sorry I am for what I did to you".

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you met his gaze. "You hurt me, Dean", you said, your voice quivering with emotion. "You hurt me in ways I never thought possible".

Dean's expression crumpled, his heart breaking as he listened to your words. "I know", he murmured, his voice choked with tears. "I know and I hate myself for it".

"You… you raped me, Dean", you continued, the words catching in your throat. "You violated me in the worst possible way".

Tears fell down Dean's face as he listened to your confession, the weight of his actions bearing down on him like a crushing weight. "I'm so sorry", he repeated. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you".

You took a shaky breath, your heart heavy with pain. "I want you to understand", you said, your voice wavering with emotion. "I want you to understand what you did to me".

"You shoved me against the table, Dean. You didn't care that I was begging you to stop. You didn't care that I was in pain".

Dean´s voice choked with tears. "I know, I know. I was a monster. I should have never—". But you cut him off. "You broke my wrists, Dean. Do you even realize how much that hurt? Every time I moved, every time I tried to do anything, I was in agony".

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I never should have touched you".

By now, your voice was trembling with emotion. "And my ribs, Dean. You broke them too. Every breath felt like knives stabbing into my chest. I couldn't even breathe without feeling like I was going to pass out". Tears started streaming down your face.

"And then you… you fucked me until I bled, Dean. Do you understand what you did to me? Do you understand how much pain you caused?". You paused. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you, Dean. But I want you to know… I want you to know what you did to me".

Dean sat there with teary eyes and wet cheeks, his heart breaking with each word that fell from your lips. He listened to the pain in your voice, the anguish in your eyes.

Every detail you recounted of the horrors he had inflicted upon you pierced his soul like a thousand knives. He couldn't bear to look away, couldn't bear to turn his gaze from your tear-streaked face.

In that moment, he felt the weight of his actions crush him with a force he had never known before. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to hold you close. But he knew that he didn't deserve it, knew that he had caused you too much pain to ever be worthy of your love again.

All he could do was sit there, his heart heavy with regret, and pray that somehow, someday, he could find a way to make amends for the irreparable damage he had done.

"I lay there for hours", you confessed, the memories still vivid in your mind. "I couldn't move, couldn't even catch my breath. Every inch of my body was screaming in pain, and all I could do was lie there and pray for it to end".

You continue, your voice laced with bitterness and sorrow. "After that, I stopped looking for you", you admit, the words heavy on your tongue. "I stopped trying to save you, stopped caring".

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of your words sinking in.

Dean's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he listened to your words, his knuckles white from the tight grip he held on his emotions. "I wanted to kill myself", he confessed in a voice barely above a whisper. "That's how much I hated myself for what I did to you".

Your words cut through the heavy silence like a knife, each syllable dripping with the bitterness of your pain. "I'm already dead because of what you did to me", you said, your voice laced with a coldness that sent a shiver down Dean's spine.

His eyes closed in anguish, the weight of your words bearing down on him like a crushing burden. You were his everything, the love of his life, and the thought of spending his days without you was unbearable.

"I wanted to marry you, to build a future together", Dean whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I wanted to have children with you, to grow old with you by my side. But I… I broke you".

The pain and heartache radiating from him was palpable, and despite your own suffering, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of empathy for the man who had once held your heart in his hands.

"I know", you finally replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know you're hurting, Dean. But… but what you did to me, it's something I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive".

Dean's shoulders sagged with the weight of your words, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to contain his emotions.

"I understand", he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I don't expect you to forgive me, not after what I've done".

During the following two weeks, Dean spared no effort to demonstrate that he was no longer the monster he had once been. He cooked for you, cleaned the bunker without being asked, and even went out of his way to avoid any situation that might make you uncomfortable. Every gesture was infused with a desperate longing for redemption, a silent plea for your forgiveness.

As you sat in the TV room, enveloped by the soft glow of the screen, a bowl of popcorn nestled in your lap, you felt a sense of tentative peace settle over you. It was the first evening Dean and you had been alone since Sam and Cas had left on their hunt, and for once, the weight of the past seemed to lift ever so slightly from your shoulders.

Lost in the movie playing before you, you barely noticed when Dean appeared in the doorway. His eyes lingered on you, filled with longing.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. But then, with a hesitant step forward, Dean cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the room.

"Mind if I join you?", he asked, his voice tentative as he gestured to the empty space beside you on the couch.

You hesitated, torn between the desire to push him away and the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time. After a moment's pause, you nodded silently, scooting over to make room for him on the couch.

As Dean settled in beside you, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes softening with gratitude and relief.

Dean watched you, his gaze lingering on your profile as you became engrossed in the movie playing on the screen. A flicker of recognition crossed his features as he realized it was the same movie from your first night together in the bunker—the night when everything had felt so new and full of promise.

"You remember this?", he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he glanced at you, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as memories of that night flooded back. "Yeah", you replied, your voice tinged with warmth. "It feels like a lifetime ago".

Dean's expression softened at your words, sadness clouding his features. "I miss those days", he admitted. "I miss us".

You turned to look at him. "I miss us too", you whispered.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, lost in memories of happier times.

Dean hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope or forgiveness. "Are you willing to give me another chance?", he asked quietly. "All I want is to make things right, to hold you in my arms and ease your pain. I want to heal what I destroyed, to show you that I'm not the same person I was back then".

You felt a tug at your heartstrings as you looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and regret reflected in their depths. Part of you wanted to believe him. But another part of you was still wary, still hesitant to open yourself up to the possibility of being hurt again.

"I don't know, Dean", you admitted. "I want to believe that you're capable of being the man I once loved. But… I'm scared. Scared of getting hurt again".

Dean's heart sank at your words. "I understand", he said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. "I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, to show you that I'm worthy of a second chance. Just… please don't give up on me".

As you sat there, grappling with the tumultuous emotions swirling inside you, memories of your past with Dean flooded your mind. You couldn't deny the depth of your love for him, even now, despite the pain and betrayal you had endured.

You remembered the way he used to make you laugh, the warmth of his embrace, and the way his touch could make your heart race with excitement. Despite everything that had happened, a part of you still longed for those moments of intimacy and connection that you had once shared with him.

But alongside the memories of love and happiness, there was also the lingering shadow of pain. You couldn't forget the agony of that fateful night, the way Dean had shattered your trust and left you broken and bruised.

Yet, as you looked into his eyes now, you saw the same love and longing reflected back at you.

Dean's voice trembled with emotion as he opened up to you, his words raw and filled with longing. "I've missed you so much", he mumbled. "I miss the way you used to sleep on my chest, your soft breathing. I miss the sound of your laughter, the way it could light up a room and make all the darkness disappear".

He reached out tentatively, as if afraid you might pull away, and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. "Without you, I'm lost".

You felt a tug at your heartstrings as you listened to his words, seeing the pain and vulnerability in his eyes. Despite everything that had happened between you, you couldn't deny the depth of his love for you, or the longing in his voice as he spoke of wanting to make things right.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you locked eyes with Dean, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. A whirlwind of emotions churned inside you—fear, longing, uncertainty—each vying for dominance as you grappled with the decision before you.

Part of you wanted to pull away, to retreat into the safety of your own walls and protect yourself from the possibility of being hurt again. But another part of you, a part that still held onto the memories of love and happiness you had shared with Dean, yearned for connection, for healing, for the chance to rebuild what had been broken between you.

And so, with trembling hands and a heart that threatened to burst from your chest, you leaned in slowly, ever so slowly, towards Dean. Each inch felt like an eternity, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders as you closed the distance between you.

As your lips met his in a tentative kiss, a surge of emotion washed over you, overwhelming in its intensity. It was a moment of vulnerability, of raw honesty, as you allowed yourself to let go of the pain and hurt that had consumed you for so long.

You cupped Dean's face in your hands, feeling the rough stubble beneath your fingertips as you leaned into the kiss, savoring the warmth of his lips against yours.

Dean hesitated for a moment, unsure where to place his hands, afraid of scaring you away with too much intimacy. His heart clenched at the touch of your lips, a familiar ache settling in his chest as he finally felt the softness of your kiss again after so long.

Despite the pain that lingered in your heart, there was a sense of comfort in Dean's embrace, a familiarity that whispered of happier times gone by. For a moment, the world fell away as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the moment, each kiss a silent promise of hope and redemption.

But beneath the surface, there was still a lingering sense of uncertainty, a fear of the unknown that threatened to overshadow the fragile connection you were trying to rebuild. And yet, as you pulled away from the kiss, a glimmer of hope flickered in your heart.

With a shaky, uncertain voice, you whispered the words that had been lingering on the tip of your tongue, the silent plea of your heart reaching out to him. "Hold me", you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling with the weight of your uncertainty.

Dean's heart skipped a beat at your request, his chest tightening with a mixture of hope and fear. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his chest as though afraid you might slip away if he let go.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin as tears welled in your eyes.

Dean's hands trembled as he gingerly brushed over your back, his touch tentative yet filled with a quiet tenderness. With each gentle stroke, he tried to convey the depth of his remorse, the ache in his heart mirrored in the way his fingers traced soothing patterns against your trembling form.

You clung to him tightly, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt as you let out the pain and anguish. Your body shook with the force of your sobs, the emotional turmoil threatening to consume you entirely.

With a tenderness born of regret and longing, Dean pulled you closer to him, his lips hovering over your forehead as he held you in his embrace. His touch was gentle, his fingers tracing soothing circles along your back as you continued to sob against his chest.

Tears welled in Dean's eyes as he looked down at you, his heart heavy with the weight of his past mistakes and the knowledge of the pain he had caused you.

"I love you", he whispered softly, his voice filled with emotion. "More than anything in this world. I'm so sorry for what I've done to you, for the pain I've caused. But please know that my love for you has never faltered, not for a single moment".

As you looked up at him, your tear-stained cheeks and trembling lips betraying the turmoil within you, Dean's thumb gently brushed away your tears with a tenderness that spoke volumes. His eyes searched yours, silently asking for permission, for reassurance that this fragile moment of connection wouldn't shatter beneath the weight of your shared past.

With a trembling breath, you leaned into his touch, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips met yours once more. The kiss was featherlight, tentative yet filled with an undeniable longing—a silent plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for a chance to start anew.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you faded into oblivion, leaving only the two of you entwined in a moment of raw emotion and longing. With a newfound sense of courage, you straddled Dean's legs, your hands finding their way to his cheeks as you deepened the kiss, your lips moving with a desperate urgency born of years of pent-up emotion and longing.

Dean's hands remained at his sides, a silent testament to his fear of causing you further pain or discomfort. He was surprised by your boldness, by the intensity of your kiss, but he dared not move, afraid that any sudden gesture might startle you and send you fleeing from his arms once more.

Instead, he surrendered to the moment, allowing himself to be consumed by the warmth of your lips, the softness of your touch.

As the kiss intensified, your tongue seeking entrance to his mouth, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins. Your hands roamed over Dean's broad shoulders, urging him to reciprocate, to touch you in return. Yet, he remained still, his hands trembling slightly at his sides as if unsure of what to do.

But then, as you pressed closer, seeking the warmth and comfort of his embrace, you felt it—a hardness pressing against you, eliciting a gasp of surprise from your lips. Dean's erection, unmistakable beneath the thin fabric of your pajamas, sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your body, freezing you in place.

For a moment, you were paralyzed, unsure of how to proceed. The realization of what was happening between you, of the undeniable attraction and desire that pulsed between your bodies, sent your mind reeling. Could this be happening? Could Dean still desire you, after everything that had transpired between you?

But before you could gather your thoughts, Dean's voice broke through.

"I… I'm sorry", Dean murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to find the right words. "I didn't mean to… I just…".

His voice trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor as if unable to meet your eyes. You could see the conflict etched on his face, the turmoil raging within him as he grappled with his own desires and fears.

"It's okay", you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you reached out to cup his cheek, gently guiding his gaze back to yours.

But even as you spoke the words, uncertainty gnawed at the edges of your mind. Could you truly forgive Dean for what he had done? Could you trust him again, after the pain and betrayal he had inflicted upon you?

As you took Dean's hands in yours, feeling the tremble of your own shaking fingers, you guided them slowly and cautiously to your hips. The simple act of touch sent a jolt of electricity through both of you, causing Dean's heart to race and his body to react with a twitch of arousal.

But despite the undeniable chemistry between you, Dean remained hesitant, his eyes searching yours for any sign of uncertainty or discomfort. He wanted to be sure, absolutely sure, that you were okay with this, that you were ready to take this step together.

For a moment, the air between you crackled with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the space between your bodies. But then, as you met his gaze with unwavering determination, Dean felt a surge of courage welling up inside him.

With a shaky breath, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss. It was soft, gentle, a silent promise of all the things left unsaid between you.

Dean's voice trembled as he spoke, his words laced with both desire and restraint. "Do you… Do you want to go to our bedroom?", he asked softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation or reluctance.

You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you at his words, a mixture of longing and apprehension swirling in your chest. The idea of being alone with Dean in the intimacy of your shared bedroom filled you with both excitement and trepidation, a reminder of the love and passion that had once defined your relationship.

But as you looked into Dean's eyes, seeing the vulnerability, you knew that this was a chance for healing, for closure, for the two of you to finally confront the demons of your past and forge a path forward together.

With a nod, you reached out to take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently as you rose to your feet. "Yes", you whispered.

Dean walked slowly, his footsteps deliberate and measured, as if he were afraid to rush or startle you. His hand, warm and comforting, brushed against yours in a gentle caress, a silent reassurance of his presence by your side.

As you followed behind him, the hallway stretched out before you like an endless expanse, each step echoing the rhythm of your racing heart. And as Dean finally reached the door to your bedroom, he turned to look at you, his eyes soft with emotion. Without a word, he reached out and gently pushed the door open, inviting you into the sanctuary of your shared space.

With a shaky breath, you stepped across the threshold, the weight of the past hanging heavy in the air around you. But as Dean closed the door behind you, shutting out the outside world, you felt a sense of peace settle over you.

Dean hesitated for a moment. "Is it okay if I… if I pick you up?", he asked softly.

You nodded slowly, your own voice barely above a whisper as you replied, "Yes, that's okay".

With a gentle smile, Dean reached out and scooped you up in his arms, his touch surprisingly tender as he cradled you against his chest. Despite the years that had passed, the memory of his strength and warmth flooded back to you, comforting and familiar.

As he carried you across the room, his movements slow and deliberate, you felt a sense of trust and safety wash over you, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that still existed between you.

And as he carefully lowered you onto the bed, his touch was feather-light against your skin.

As Dean hovered halfway over you, he hesitated, his voice trembling with nerves as he asked, "Would… would it be better if you were on top?".

You noticed the veins on his throat and arms standing out, evidence of the effort he was exerting to hold back for you. "It's alright", he mumbled. "If you want to be on top, it's fine".

His eyes searched yours for a moment, before you nodded slowly and before Dean lowered himself down beside you, his body trembling with anticipation and desire.

Dean´s fingers trembling slightly as he began to undo the buttons of your pajama shirt.

With a gentle touch, he lowered his mouth to your neck, trailing soft kisses along your skin as his hand slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Are you okay?", he asked softly, his voice laced with concern as he brushed the shirt off your shoulders, revealing your naked breasts to him.

You met his gaze with a mixture of emotions swirling in your eyes—vulnerability, longing, and a hint of fear. But despite the tumultuous storm raging within you, you nodded slowly, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "I'm okay", you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper as you reached out to cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

With a gentle touch, Dean leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss, his hands trailing down your body as he continued to undress you, his touch both reverent and filled with longing.

As you straddled his la, got rid of his shirt and pulled Dean closer, your body pressed against his, you feel the warmth of his skin against yours, sending shivers down your spine. Your nipples graze against his now naked chest, eliciting a soft moan from both of you. Dean's arousal, evident and undeniable, presses eagerly against you.

Dean's hand ventured beneath your pajama pants, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body. As his fingers brushed against your skin, he realized you weren't wearing underwear, and a soft gasp escaped his lips. His hand hovered tantalizingly close to your pussy, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Can I touch you there?", he asked quietly.

Dean's heart skipped a beat as he watched you nod slowly, your breath heavy and your heart racing in sync with his own. The anticipation hung thick in the air, a palpable tension that seemed to crackle with electricity. With a nervous bite of your lip, you gave him the permission he sought, sending a surge of desire coursing through his veins.

His hand trembled slightly as it moved lower, tracing the contours of your soft folds. You let out a soft moan of pleasure, your body arching instinctively towards his touch.

Dean's touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. With each gentle stroke, he teased and tantalized, his fingers dancing over your most intimate parts with a skill that left you breathless. Your head spun with desire as he explored every inch of you, driving you to the brink of ecstasy with each passing moment.

As the heat between you grew, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate embrace. In that moment, there was nothing else that mattered—no past, no future, only the raw, primal desire that burned between you.

As Dean felt the warmth and wetness between your thighs, he knew you were ready. With slow, deliberate movements, he began to ease down your pajama pants, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

"You okay?", he murmured softly, his voice laced with concern as he continued to undress you.

You nodded eagerly, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as you struggled to contain your desire. "Yes, Dean", you whispered. "I want this".

With a final tug, your pants were discarded, leaving you completely exposed before him. And as Dean rid himself of his own sweatpants and boxers, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight of him—powerful and virile, his desire evident in every line and curve of his body.

Your breath hitched as you caught sight of Dean's erection, fear and uncertainty flashing in your eyes as he hovered above you. Sensing your hesitation, Dean froze, his own desire momentarily forgotten as he looked down at you with concern.

"Are you okay?", he asked softly, his voice filled with tenderness as he searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort or unease.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find your voice. "I'm just… I'm scared", you admitted.

Dean's expression softened, a look of understanding and compassion flickering in his eyes. "I won't hurt you, I promise", he whispered. "I'll go as slow as you need me to".

Feeling reassured by his words, you let out a shaky breath, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thank you", you murmured, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

As Dean continued to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle against yours, you couldn't help but feel a sense of tension and apprehension creeping into your body. Despite his best efforts to reassure you, you remained nervous and tense, unable to fully let go of the fear that still lingered within you.

Sensing your unease, Dean pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours again. When he saw the hurt reflected in your gaze, his heart clenched.

"What can I do to help you relax?", he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I want to make this special for you, to show you how much I care. Just tell me what you need, and I'll do it".

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to express the turmoil raging within you. But then, with a shaky breath, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need… I need you to be patient with me", you admitted, your words tinged with vulnerability. "I need you to understand that I'm still scared. And I need you to hold me, to reassure me that everything will be okay".

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest in a tight embrace. And as you melted into his arms, you felt a sense of comfort and safety wash over you, the tension slowly beginning to ebb away in the warmth of his embrace.

"I'll be gentle, I promise", he murmured, his voice soothing and tender. "We'll go slow, at your pace. Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?".

You nodded, a sense of trust and gratitude washing over you as you buried your face in his chest. "Okay", you whispered.

With a gentle sigh, Dean leaned down and captured your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. His touch was soft and tentative, his lips moving against yours with a tender reverence that made your heart flutter.

As the kiss deepened, you felt his erection pressing against your wet folds, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. Despite your lingering apprehension, you couldn't deny the undeniable chemistry between you, the desire that burned hot and fierce between your bodies.

With a soft moan, you pressed yourself against him, your hips rocking instinctively against his, seeking the delicious friction that would ease the ache deep within you.

Dean’s breath was heavy with anticipation as he looked down at you, his eyes burning with desire and longing. “Can I…?”, he began, nodding towards his between the two of you. His hand moved to his shaft, as if to emphasize his need.

Your heart raced at the thought of finally feeling him inside you again, of surrendering yourself to the passion and intensity of your shared desire. But a flicker of uncertainty danced in your eyes, a lingering reminder of the pain and heartache that had once torn you apart.

“I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with”, he assured you. “I just want to make you feel good, to show you how much I love you”.

With a shaky nod, you reached out and took his hand in yours, guiding him towards you. As his lips met yours in a passionate kiss, you felt the heat and urgency of his desire washing over you, igniting a fire deep within your core.

As Dean pressed slowly inside you, his movements careful and measured as he sought to ease your discomfort. But as he felt you wince beneath him, he immediately stopped, concern flashing in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”, he asked softly, his voice filled with worry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you”.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you met Dean’s gaze. “It’s okay”, you assured him, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I just… I need a moment”.

Dean nodded understandingly, his heart aching at the sight of your discomfort. “I’ll stop”, he whispered, his voice filled with regret. “I should have been more patient with you, especially after… after everything”.

You reached out and placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You’ve always been patient with me”, you murmured, your voice filled with gratitude and love. “Even before that awful night”.

Dean’s eyes softened at your words. “I just want to make things right”, he whispered.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. "I want you to go on", you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to replace those memories of that terrible night with something beautiful, something loving".

Dean's eyes widened in surprise, his heart swelling. "Are you sure?".

You nodded, your gaze never wavering as you met his eyes with unwavering determination. "I'm sure", you whispered. "I want this, Dean. I want us".

As Dean slowly pushed himself inside you, the sensation of being filled with him once again sent shivers down your spine. You moaned softly and breathlessly, your body instinctively responding to his touch. But just as Dean buried himself completely within you, the memories of that terrible night crashed over him like a tidal wave.

His movements faltered, his breath catching in his throat as he felt the weight of his past mistakes bearing down on him. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to push the memories aside, to focus on the here and now, on the love and desire that flowed between you. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the haunting images that lingered in the depths of his mind.

Feeling himself going soft again inside you, Dean’s heart clenched with frustration and self-loathing. He wanted nothing more than to give you pleasure, to show you how much he loved you, but the ghosts of his past refused to release their grip on him.

With a heavy sigh, Dean pulled away from you. “I’m sorry”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I just… I can’t do this right now”. His gaze full of shame, as he got up from the bed and started to get dressed.

As you pulled up the blanket, your heart sank at the sight of Dean's retreating figure. Anxiety gnawed at your insides as you watched him hastily get dressed, his movements tense and hurried. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each one more tumultuous than the last.

Was it something you did? Something you said? Was your hesitation the reason he couldn't stay hard? The weight of your own self-doubt threatened to suffocate you as you struggled to make sense of the situation.

Dean couldn't even look at you right now, so consumed was he by his own guilt and remorse.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched him hastily getting dressed, his actions leaving you feeling confused and hurt. The weight of your own self-doubt pressed down on you like a heavy burden as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

“Did I do something wrong?”, you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you fought to keep the tears at bay. “Was it because of me?”.

Dean paused, his hand hovering over his belt as he turned to face you. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something, to reassure you that it wasn’t your fault. But before he could utter a word, the door swung open, and Sam burst into the room, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight before him.

Misinterpreting the situation, Sam’s eyes darted between you and Dean, confusion evident on his face. “What’s going on?”, he asked, his voice tinged with concern as he took in the scene before him.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 4

Taglist: @mayafatimakhan

#jensen ackles #deanwinchtser #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #sam and dean #supernatural #spn #hurt/comfort #hurtful #violent love #love

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