#will never know the man underneath it entirely! yet still that trust to uphold his secret identity! to not peek or rip it off! to not turn

[martyrbat]

the homoeroticism of sharing a cigarette while overlooking a city you both want to save and are willing to sacrifice everything to do so while desperately clinging to the hope you both can somehow still live to see another sunrise.

[favoniuscodex]

ataraxia - ch. 3 [ diluc x reader ]

ch. 3 - questionnaire pairing: diluc x gn!reader warnings: mention of injuries, mentions of murder, mentions of familial passing. not beta read. words: ~2.7k words fic masterlist [ prev ] - [ next ]

chapter summary: your newest companion, diluc, fulfills his end of the bargain. you’re not quite sure what you’ve gotten yourself into. a/n: not sure how long this fic is going to be in its entirety. guess we’ll just see what happens! it’s starting to have a very different writing style from most of my stuff ;;; but that’s ok!

diluc rests within the spare bedroom of your cottage, across the hall from you. with the threat of infection eliminated, his wounds sutured, and his broken bones properly set into casts, his recovery is but a waiting game at this point. sure, he likely has several months to go, but your main priority is getting him walking once more. you would have to head into the city within the next few days to retrieve a pair of crutches for him, but until then, diluc would have to rest.

he’s finally, thank the archons, wearing a shirt. the redhead is also far less grumpy now than your previous encounters, albeit a bit drowsy when he speaks due to the influence of the far stronger pain medication that the healer prescribed him. while diluc mostly insists on managing himself, he is still unable to walk long distances, if at all, and likely wouldn’t be able to move around for the next few days.

which, of course, left diluc dependent on you.

the urge to ask him to cough up mora in exchange for your undying attention (aka, y’know, not letting him die in the midst of your daily activities) is awfully tempting, but the presence of your parents still lingers heavily in your house. while they’re not around to influence your actions anymore, the nostalgic décor of the spare bedroom diluc rests in serves the world’s worst purpose: it forces you to have good morals. therefore, out of the goodness of your heart and definitely not because you’re worried that you’ll unsettle the spirits of the dead, you ultimately decide not to ask diluc for repayment.

what you do ask him for, however, is to uphold his end of the verbal contract you two had made. sure, you’re not in liyue and under the jurisdiction of morax, but you still expect diluc to follow through. you have far too many questions for the redhead, but elect to let him rest for a bit. he had had the courtesy to thank you when you placed another glass of water, a book, and an apple with some cheese by his bedside, but had gone quiet for the rest of the day.

you now stand in your kitchen, making yourself dinner for two in silence. you have no idea if diluc will even have an appetite or if he’ll even like what you’re making, but you crack the eggs onto the skillet nonetheless. the dish in question is rather simple: toast, ham, poached eggs, and mayonnaise. within minutes, you’re serving up the plates of food and you decide to leave your own in the kitchen.

despite the door being cracked, you knock slightly on the door to diluc’s temporary room. you cringe internally as it swings open from the gesture, but diluc, who is surprisingly awake and in the middle of reading the book you had left him, doesn’t seem to mind the sudden intrusion. his head perks up upon seeing the food in your hands and you feel guilt swirl in your stomach. had he been hungry this entire time? oops.

“hi, i... uh... made food,” you awkwardly greet, holding out the plate to him. diluc takes it with his uninjured left hand and sets the plate in his lap.

“thank you,” diluc says and the words are strangely genuine. much to your behest, in the short encounters you’ve had with him since the healer departed this morning, he has been nothing but polite. it’s irksome. you want a reason to hold a grudge against him due to his crankiness yesterday. however, it’s proving to be hard.

“adventurer’s breakfast sandwich,” you explain, gesturing to the dish. “hopefully you don’t have any dietary restrictions.”

“i do not,” diluc confirms as he cuts into the poached egg with the side of his fork. you watch as the yellow yolk oozes out. “are you an adventurer?”

you shake your head. “nope. just grew up with some in the family.”

“ah.” diluc says and silence falls between the two of you. you shift awkwardly as he begins to eat and diluc makes no effort to engage you in conversation. great, you think. we’re both awkward.

“are you an adventurer?” you finally ask, unable to think of a better conversation starter. you know your food is getting cold, but it can wait. if you do this little chit-chat with diluc right, you’ll be able to get the answers you need.

“not quite,” diluc says after swallowing the bite of food he’s chewing. you await an elaboration. he does not provide you with one.

you quickly realize that talking to him is going to be the equivalent of prying teeth. you’ve never wanted to be a dentist. this isn’t going to be fun for either of you and he’s certainly not going to make it easy, even if the two of you did have an agreement. so, you decide. i’m not going to make it fun for him either.

“so, diluc,” you sing-song, sitting down in rocking chair in the corner of the room. you hastily shove the quilt that rests upon it to the side. “how’d you get your ass kicked?”

diluc sets the fork down on his plate, having finished his meal after scarfing it down. he narrows his eyes at you, unamused, but decides to indulge you with an answer anyways.

“i got in a fight. i did not get my ‘ass kicked’,” he explains. it’s a rather awful explanation.

“you got in a fight with your enemies.” you clarify dully, unimpressed with his answer.

“correct,” diluc says. silence falls between the two of you. it’s only interrupted by the rumbling of your stomach, which diluc can thankfully not hear. you stand from your chair, take his plate from him, and pad into the kitchen before returning with your own plate. you sit back down in the rocking chair and begin to eat as diluc stares at you warily.

“i have questions for you,” you say before he can bury his nose in the book you provided him once more.

“such as?”

“your ‘enemies’. do they know you’re here?” your safety is your first priority. while you don’t want diluc to die, you’re not about to sacrifice your own life for the man who brought trouble to your doorstep.

“no.” he responds after a brief moment of thinking. his tone is rather sullen, yet it reeks of honesty. yuck.

“how do you know that?” you ask, poking at the runny egg yolk that bleeds onto the bread underneath it.

“we would both be dead if they did.”

you have half a mind to kick him out for that response, but choose to swallow another bite of your sandwich once more. what a relaxing, polite answer from the stranger lying in your bed. for all you know, he could be a murde- holy shit. is he an enemy of the state? am i housing a fugitive?

“diluc,” you begin and he tilts his head inquisitively, surprised by the sudden desperation in your tone. “just who are you running from?”

the panic in your voice is evident and it causes diluc to actually consider your question. after all, you could have the fontaine government knocking at your door tomorrow morning and arresting you because of this weirdo. you weren’t too worried about his ability to stick a knife in your neck either. thanks to him somehow fracturing one of the strongest bones in his body, he likely wouldn’t be able to do that yet. yet.

“oh. i am not a fugitive or anything, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” diluc says. it provides you little relief.

“answer the question.” you demand and diluc parts his lips to speak, before closing them once more. his brows furrow slightly as he thinks of a response.

“i did agree to answer your questions. although i can’t necessarily say i trust you yet, i am indebted to you for your hospitality.” diluc’s answer still manages to evade the question, so you ignore his platitudes and instead stare at him pointedly. he seems to get the hint as the corner of his lips threaten to twitch upwards into a smile, but he quickly returns to his typical stoic expression.

“my enemies are the fatui.”

your fork clatters against your plate and you bite back a groan. so, diluc is an enemy of the state. just not your state. while you certainly wouldn’t get in any legal trouble for housing him, especially since fontaine’s relations with snezhnaya were tempestuous at best, it would inevitably bring trouble knocking to your door. but you knew enough of the fatui to know diluc is telling the truth. if they knew of his location here and he was a great enough enemy to have sustained such injuries from them, then the fatui would have arrived to kill him already. for now, only two other people besides diluc knew of his arrival to the farm: you and the healer.

as much as the healer loved mora, she hated the fatui more. you weren’t too concerned with her involvement in the situation. you, on the other hand, were the biggest concern. if the fatui came knocking at your door asking for diluc, you would hand him over with little to no hesitation. after all, they rewarded compliance with hefty amounts of mora and you were no fool. such an amount would truly be life changing.

“that sucks.” you finally respond before stuffing your mouth with another bite of food. 

“for them.” diluc says. his tone lacks any haughtiness, leaving you perplexed. you swallow the food in your mouth before staring at him quizzically.

“they broke your femur.” you remind him and diluc seems nonplussed about the confession.

“i’ve maimed twenty of their agents. potentially killed, but i typically do not stick around to view the results.” diluc says. yup. there it is. the murder confession. of course. although, you had to hand it to him. despite how bad you wanted the fatui’s mora, if you were capable of kicking their asses, you would do the exact same thing. therefore, you bite back your judgment.

“why? i mean, apart from the fact that the fatui suck. everyone knows that,” you wave your fork lazily in the air. “but why specifically risk your own life to... aggravate them?”

diluc’s eyes break away from yours and it appears you’ve hit a sore subject. you brush it off. the man can confess he beats up fatui agents for fun but can’t easily say why? that wasn’t your fault. the redhead could sort out his problems on his own time. you were just curious, that’s all.

“they’re a nuisance where i’m from,” he explains, although his voice appears to be rather distant.

“mondstadt, right?” you ask and diluc looks up at you with wide eyes, startled by your accuracy. “i can recognize the accent. it’s not very discreet. gonna have to change that if you don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb.” his expression settles into a slightly sheepish one at your words.

“you’re new to this, aren’t you? the whole espionage thing?” you ask, moving your now empty plate off your lap and setting it on the floor next to you.

“how could you tell?” diluc asks cautiously. you can almost see the walls around his personality reinforcing themselves with each spoken word.

“you didn’t have a game plan for what you did if you got injured. if so, you wouldn’t have showed up on my doorstep. you also asked for a healer long before you knew anything about me besides my name. you didn’t hide your accent. and, no offense, but your appearance sticks out like a sore thumb. red hair and such a distinctive black jacket don’t exactly help with keeping a low profile,” you explain and diluc just stares at you blankly, folding his hands in his lap.

“you are very thorough.” he says and you flash him a smirk.

“i’ve had all day to think. but, trust me and i’ll trust your words, even though i probably shouldn’t. this is just a farm and i’m just trying to make ends meet. i don’t really care to get involved in politics or any of that, but, unfortunately, i can’t just let you die,” you lean back in the rocking chair. the tips of your toes graze the ground lightly, preventing you from swinging back and forth.

“thank you for that,” diluc says and the two of you fall into silence. his eyes glance at his book, but it appears as if he’s trying to be respectful. the redhead seemed to be fairly awful at small talk, but you were going to force it anyways.

“what are your next plans?” you ask. “you’ll be walking in a few days. are you going to go challenge the tsaritsa herself?”

much to your surprise, diluc laughs quietly at your question. “no. i... still need to figure out what i’m going to do. despite how much i want to, i cannot simply throw myself back into the thick of things.”

ah, so the fatui vanquisher did have some basic preservation skills. what a surprise.

“well, you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you need to,” you offer. you’re not quite sure why you do, but the words exit your lips before you can rescind them. 

“in exchange for payment, i presume?” diluc asks as a formality, but you shake your head no.

“you’ll have to pay for your food. i’m no bed and breakfast, after all, but... hm. let’s just say i have some family that would want me to support those who made enemies of the fatui.” your words are intentionally vague, much like his earlier ones. diluc’s eyes soften in understanding found within the words not spoken between the two of you. you can relate to him on his fatui hatred, even if you would sell diluc to them for the price of a single corn chip.

“but overall,” you continue, burying your grave even deeper. “you can stay here free of charge. however, i do expect you to help out around the farm once you’re able to.”

“that is... quite generous. thank you.” diluc praises you and you shake your head, waving his words away with a flick of the wrist.

“i’m not doing it for you.” you stand up and walk to the doorframe, your back now turned to him. “the fatui killed my parents. you kill the fatui. it only feels correct.”

you turn to look at him over your shoulder and flash him a faux smile. it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. diluc stares at you expressionlessly, yet you can see the sympathy in his eyes. the same pity in his eyes is the one you see in most of the townsfolk. it’s why you keep to yourself. it makes you feel small and insignificant. but you don’t snap at the redhead because of it. instead, you just sigh, before glancing at the bedside table to make sure he had enough water.

“i’ll be in my room. don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.” your voice is softer than before, but you don’t await an answer from him. instead, you shut the door behind you, before letting out a sigh and running a hand over your face.

jeez, you really know how to overshare, don’t you? you chastise yourself, but before you can beat yourself up too much, your dog trots up to you and nudges you gently. the gesture pulls you out of your negative thoughts and you walk over to the back door, opening it up for him to go outside.

your dog pauses for a second, glancing up at you and wagging his tail for a brief moment, before bolting out the door. this time, the night is filled with clear skies and little to no threats.

“be quick.” you call after him. you hear a soft bark in response and, staring out into the vast expanse of green grasses before you, you feel a churning in your stomach. you’re unsure whether it’s trepidation or excitement for what’s to come. 

you aren’t sure you want to know.

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[no-droids]

Chapter 5: Of Metal and Men

Part five of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.1K OUR LONGEST SIN YET FOUNDLINGS

Warnings: SMUT, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, mild mild degredation whoops

A/N:  Uhh this is so fluffy?  wtf how come??/?

“Mando?”

“Hm.”

“I have to pee.”

He grunts.  “So go pee.”

“I can’t see.”

“Turn on a light.”

“But…”  You don’t even want to say the words aloud.  You’ve so far convinced yourself that if you just never mention the fact that he’s got his helmet off right now, he’ll somehow forget to put it back on again.  

It’s not that you necessarily want him to deviate from the ways of the Mandalore, obviously; you have more respect for his culture than that.  No, it's just that.  This is so nice.  Hearing him speak without a modulator warping the natural frequency of his voice, being able to feel his skin directly under your lips with your face buried in the crook of his neck like this.  Practically everything on this fucking ship is metal—the floor beneath you, the mechanics, the hull, the cockpit, the blasters, the armor.  When he puts it on, he becomes nearly invincible; an unreadable, impenetrable fortress that abides by a strict code he rarely deviates from.

But without all that, he’s so… human.  Not a Mandalorian, just a man.  Everything that gives him prestige and recognition stripped away.  Every weapon he straps to his body removed.  The code he’s honored his entire life suspended in a paradisiacal loophole that you never want to end, even if it means having to walk around in the dark for the rest of your life.

He has to put the helmet back on at some point, you’re eventually forced to remind yourself.  What starts out as an impossible task slowly becomes easier as the pressure in your bladder increasingly makes itself known, a reminder that you too are only human and sometimes humans have to pee soon after they wake up.

Which, y’know, a lot of times is okay.  But sometimes, like right now, it really fucking isn’t okay.  Because right now, his hand is so big and warm resting against your upper-back, shoved up underneath the fabric of your shirt and spread out across your shoulder blade.  Right now you can feel his heartbeat through his chest, feel his lungs expand and contract slowly against you.  The last thing you want is to move, and the darkness makes a perfect scapegoat.

You’re quiet for too long, apparently, because he eventually turns his chin to brush his lips against your temple.  “Turn on a light.  Just don’t look.”

You honestly don’t blame him.  He hasn’t had as much time to contemplate the staggering predicament you’re in.  “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive, shiny.”

“Go.  I trust you.”

Your lashes brush against his neck when your eyes pop open, and the giant pang you feel in your chest shouldn’t be nearly as debilitating as it is.  You know he trusts you, it goes without saying.  But it’s one thing to travel around the galaxy with him, cultivate that inherent trust that comes naturally with odd partnerships that work surprisingly well.  He trusts you to look after the kid, trusts you to pilot and maintain his ship, trusts you to cauterize his wounds when he’s incapable of doing so.  He even trusts you enough to fall asleep next to you, leaving himself unarmored and vulnerable in ways you know you’ll never truly be able to understand.

But this—this is entirely different.  This is the Way.  And he’s half-asleep right now, putting a proverbial blaster in your hand and painting a target on his livelihood, telling you he trusts you enough to uphold one of the strictest, most foundational pillars of his belief system for him.

Okay.  Okay.  If this is what he wants.  You’re not sure you’d put nearly as much blind faith in your own abilities (pun totally intended), but okay.  You trust him and apparently he trusts you, so by some weirdly paradoxical extension inwards, you’re just going to have to trust yourself, too.  He’s always been a man of relatively few words, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise to you that somehow only three of them work to provide you with more motivation than you’ve experienced in your entire life.  If this is what he wants, then you’ll fight logic with gloves on and downright force yourself to see without seeing.  Somehow.

You slowly start to wiggle out of his arms, but then pause for a second to tilt your chin up and press a soft kiss to his lips, trying not to get distracted from your task when he mmphs low in his throat and his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, holding you there for just a bit longer than you originally planned.

“Go,” he eventually breathes into your mouth.

“You’re not making this any easier.”

“Go.”

“Fuck—fine.”  You carefully remove yourself and do your best to stand up on the blanket with unsteady legs, but then you stop for an entirely different reason, patting the skin on your bare hips in the pitch blackness to check.  “Wait, hang on, did—did you not put any pants back on me last night?”

“…Was I supposed to?”  Eventually comes from somewhere by your feet.

No.  No, he most certainly was not.  You’re honestly just surprised it took you this long to notice, especially since you’ve been subtly clenching your thighs and delaying the inevitable in the darkness for so long.  

You don’t end up answering him, determined instead to find your way to the fresher without the use of sight so you can come back to him quicker.  That’s easier said than done, though.  It’s slow going from the start, trying to step over him without actually knowing exactly where he is, carefully tapping your toes to the ground three times before putting any weight on them and hoping you don’t accidentally step on anything important.

He takes the possibility away when you hear him sigh and strong fingers wrap themselves around your ankles in the dark, pulling and guiding your legs up over his body while muttering inaudibly under his breath.  Something tells you he’s still getting used to having companions that are so blatantly helpless without him, but he does good in rising to the challenge regardless.

The second he releases you and you take a step forward off the blanket though, you immediately trip over something bulky and painfully hard on the floor, catching yourself just in time but managing to stub your toe in the process.

“Careful,” his voice says from behind you, over the loud clang echoing throughout the hull.  “Beskar’s there.”

“Thanks, I almost tripped.”  Once you get closer to the machinery standing upright against the far wall of the hull though, it’s a bit easier to see.  The red and green lights act as your navigation beacons, stationary air traffic control wands guiding your turbulent body through the darkness.

The fresher light is fucking blinding when you finally make contact with the switch, and with the illumination comes an incredibly stern reminder to yourself not to look behind you.  It… it’d be so easy, wouldn’t it?  Turning your head just a fraction right now would be the equivalent of pulling a blaster’s trigger a mere inch—devastating, life-altering, and permanent, yet somehow so fundamentally easy.

You don’t, of course.  It’s just the fleeting thought of it that jars you for a moment.  You quickly shut the door behind you, use the toilet (annoyingly slanted thing you need to have a talk with him about soon, more of a weird space urinal than anything else and not really designed to be used by people with vaginas at all), and then wash your hands.

Your slightly damp fingers press tight to bridge over your eyes before you carefully open the door again, knowing you’re now facing him and the fluorescent light over the sink behind you is probably shining directly on him.  

“Is it… safe?”  You ask after a second.

“I’m not a rancor.”  The sound of his voice makes you sigh in relief and your heart drop in disappointment simultaneously.

Modulated.  Filtered, and familiar.

Sure enough, you peek through your fingers to see him laying back with an arm casually folded behind his head, his helmet back on.  Even though the only skin you see is his bare hand resting on his stomach, he still looks fucking gorgeous like this—waiting silently for you in the make-shift bed you shared, blanket twisted around his lower half.

You pause there in the doorway so you can just admire him for a second.  Relaxing, looking so trim and flexible in his long sleeved under-armor without all that beskar weighing him down.  He looks back at you through the chrome visor, letting it tilt to the side and rest lazily in the cradle of his arm, and you suddenly remember with a jolt just how incredibly pantsless you are right now.

“Come here.”

Maker, he still makes you nervous.  Stars, he had his mouth buried between your legs for longer than you can even imagine last night, why are you still so nervous?  Is it the proximity?  Just the literal act of seeing him in front of you?  Not being able to feel like yourself around him unless he’s a disembodied voice in the darkness?  Not being able to remember he’s an actual fucking person under there if you’re not actively touching his body in some way?

You feel… kind of shy now.  Why?  It’s like a flip inside you he can switch at will, just ever so subtly change his posture or tone of voice and bam—he’s dangerous, remember?  He’s an underground bounty hunter, remember?  He’s a mystery, he’s unpredictable—he’s an invincible, unreadable, impenetrable fortress, and you know absolutely nothing about him.  Remember?

You trip over his armor again for an entirely different reason on your way back to him this time, despite how much better you can see now.  You catch yourself once more, looking down at the offending pile of beskar like it did that on purpose, but then stop to consider it for just a second.

It’s just metal.  And he’s just a man.  You know he’s probably killed more people than you can count and he’s intimidating as all fuck, but you also know he stutters when he gets really worked up and decided to fall asleep next to you without his helmet on.  Because he’s just a man, and men aren’t born with shields on their backs and visors covering their eyes and grenades in their hands.  Not even Mandalorians.

So you slowly bend down and grab his hefty gloves, taking a moment to study them before fitting your comparatively small hands into each of them one at a time, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling how much space the tips of them have to move before reaching leather.

He says your name shortly as you’re carefully stepping your right foot into his oversized boot.  You ignore him, balancing precariously on one leg while your left foot slides in the other one.  “Hey, guess who I am.”

“No.”

You reach down and lift the unexpectedly heavy ammo belt over your head, letting the thick leather drape between your breasts and come to rest just below the curve of your bare hip.  “I’ll give you a hint,” you say, gathering the mass of dark fabric at your feet and making sure your butt doesn’t get caught on the thick bandolier when you rise back up again.  You wrap the cape around your shoulders and lift your chin to tie it in a sloppy, makeshift little knot around your throat, fingers noticeably less nimble when confined in loose leather.  “Handy with a blaster, not real big on droids.  I also wear a helmet, probably because my face is too pretty to match my menacing vibe but those rumors are unconfirmed.”

“Come here,” he gruffs impatiently, but you just turn around and waddle back a few steps in the baggy getup, much too tiny feet clomping around awkwardly in his roomy boots and the floor-length cape dragging on the ground behind you.

And then you stop, before grabbing the hem of it and whipping around dramatically to face him, giving him your best bounty hunter pose.

“I can bring you in warm,” your voice is a deep as you can get it, your eyebrows narrowed as you fingergun and shift with flair.  “Or—”

“Hey—careful—” he quickly sits up and points at your hand, “—don’t touch your thumb to the—”

“—I can bring you in—”  And then an actual, real life, giant ass blaze of fucking fire suddenly shoots from your wrist and scares the living shit out of you so much that you stumble backwards and trip over your cape, choking and flailing as you come down hard on your bare ass.

You blink up at him from the ground with wide, terrified eyes.  He looks back at you, arm outstretched and frozen in midair.

And then he laughs.

Mando actually fucking laughs at you.

You stare at him in utter shock as he abruptly drops his hand to his lap and his helmet to his chest, his shoulders shaking with it.  As lovely and uplifting the sound is, you’re not really sure how to feel about the fact that the first time you managed to get an outright laugh out of him was at the risk of your own mortality.

“Excuse me,” you say after a second, trying your best to sound appalled.  You carefully remove the death gauntlets with your hands extended as far away from your face as possible, fingers spread and thumb held completely rigid in position.  “Are you actually laughing at the fact that I almost just died horrifically in front of you?”

“Stars, just—” he lifts his head back up to look at you, “fucking—come here.  You’re worse than the kid is, I swear.”

You slowly stand up, and the boots are so big around your ankles that you don’t even have to kick them off, you can just leave them there in position on the floor as you lift your feet and begin walking over to him.  “I’ll have you know I am a fierce bounty hunter—”

“Terrifying,” he mutters, and you’re about halfway done untying his cape when you get close enough for him to reach out and snatch the bottom of it, swiftly yanking you down on top of him and removing the fabric from your throat at the same time.  He ignores your dramatic choking noise, catching your flailing body with barely a grunt.  “Craziest in the guild.  Your first kill was yourself.”

“Yeah, I—” you oof and giggle as he immediately flips you around, downright giddy at the ease with which he maneuvers you on the floor and gets on top of you, “—I bring them in warm, or I bring them in hot.”

“Stop,” you can hear his smile through the helmet as he catches each of your wrists and pins them to the ground by your head.  “Maker.”

“Wait—” you try to wiggle out from under him.  It’s futile, of course, not just because he’s all muscle while he holds you down and straddles your hips, but because all your body weight is now laying on top of his ammo belt as it slings around your chest.  “Wait, h-hang on—the fresher light’s still on.”

“So?”

“So I can see you right now, which means—”  you can’t take that stupid thing off your head and kiss me.

That’s what you want to say.  You catch yourself just in time, biting your lip and blinking up at your warped reflection in the chrome visor.  He releases your wrists and lifts his torso up tall.  “…W-which means—”

Mando’s too smart for that, though.  You’re not getting one by him anytime soon.  Before you can come up with an alternative, he hooks his fingers under the thick band of leather trailing down through the valley between your breasts and calls you out.

“Do you want me to take my helmet off?”  He asks, tilting his head down at you and letting his hand slide back and forth under the ammo belt idly.  For a second you think he’s going to remove it, try and find some way to wiggle it off you in this position, but then he just lets the heavy bandolier drop back down to your sternum again and continues moving his hands down your tummy.  “Hm?  Or do you want to see?”

And then one of his thumbs catches the hem of his trousers and ever so slowly starts to pull the fabric downwards.  Your breath stutters as tan skin and dark, coarse hair are gradually revealed right in front of your eyes, the hemline making a mouthwatering triangle shape that runs alongside the lines of his Adonis belt.

When he stops just at the very base of his cock, it takes you a second to realize he’s waiting for an answer.

“Uh—”  Stars, what the fuck kind of harrowing, existentially crippling question is this?  Kiss him or look at him?  Is he serious?  “Uhhhh…”  You legitimately feel torn, blinking up at the visor and noticing the struggle blatantly written all over your reflection.  Why in Maker’s name would he put this on you?  On the one hand, his mouth.  On the other hand, his—

“I want you to see,” he admits quietly, and you flick your eyes down to look at him slowly running his thumb along the slope of flesh peeking out of the dark curls.  “Can I show you?”

Oh fuck, what is happening?  And why are you so wet already?

“Uh… ye-yeah—” and then he’s immediately using his other hand to reach inside and shift up just a bit, before he eases his gorgeous cock out of his pants by cupping his balls and letting the fabric hooked in his thumb rest under them.  He’s already half-hard for you, already deliciously thick as he carefully lowers himself back down again.  Against all reason, his skin practically glows under the artificial lighting, somehow looking sunkissed in places that never see the sun.

Maker, you want it in your mouth.

You have no idea why that’s your first thought.  Okay, well no, that’s not true—you know exactly why that’s your first thought, especially when you can physically see him getting harder and harder right in front of you, watch him trace his fingers down his shaft and lazily brush them over the head.  You love the way he touches himself, how his hands look cradling the base, the beautiful contrast between the dark hair and his warm skin tone.

He slowly starts to move down your body, slide his legs back on either side of you until he’s straddling your lower thighs, and it’s not until his cock goes in the exact opposite direction you want it to (away from your mouth) that you find your voice.

“Hey, wait—I want—” his touch immediately stills along your hips and he lifts his helmet, letting you scramble to prop yourself up with your elbows, “—let me go down on you.  Please.”

“I told you I’d fuck you when you woke up,” he says, dropping his gaze back down between your legs.  His voice somehow sounds deeper through the filter.  Maybe not the pitch exactly, but the… color?  Fuller, darker, more depth.  “You want to make me into a liar?”

“Never.  Fuck my mouth instead.”

His hands tighten and his breathing subtly picks up through the modulator.  “I want your pussy.  First.  We’re almost to Corellia and I’m not risking my life on another hunt until I’ve fucked it like I want to.”

“You decide that timeline,” you remind him breathlessly, pushing your upper-body up off the floor and catching the fabric of his tunic near his neck.

“I have to earn credits somehow, I can’t just—” he abruptly cuts himself off when you yank his collar to the side and lick a slow, hot, wet line up his throat.  “—I… I-I can’t just stay on this ship with you f-forever and… and…”

His breath catches when you bite down on the thick cord of muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder.  And then he murmurs your name when you wrap your hand around his hard cock.

“You can do whatever you want to my pussy,” you whisper against his skin, feeling him shudder under your lips as you slowly pull your hand up and down the thick length of him.  “Whenever you want.  I made that clear last night.  All I’m asking is that right now, you lay back and let me suck your cock for a little bit.  Is that okay?”

He doesn’t answer with words, but he throbs under your hand and his body is surprisingly malleable as you urge him to move back slightly, just enough for you to collect your legs out from under him and rise up on your knees to face him.  You keep stroking him the entire time, sucking marks down his neck while you hold the hemline to the side.  Nobody will ever be able to see them, but somehow that makes it even better.  A secret only you and him know.  Next time he scares off a crowd of locals, he’ll be wearing your signet under his armor.

When you’ve sufficiently bitten and kissed marks along his neck and the fabric won’t stretch anymore, you reach down and pull it up from the bottom, lifting it up up up—up until it rests right above his sternum and you can see almost the entire length of his torso underneath, tan and dusted in dark hair.

You strongarm him back to sit on the floor with one hand and hike your own shirt up over your breasts with the other, letting the fabric bunch under your armpits while his ammo belt bisects your chest diagonally.  He curses when you immediately climb on top of him and start dragging your skin against his, rolling your exposed tits and pussy against the hard planes of his body and letting him feel how soft you really are.

“Is that okay?”  You ask him once more, rubbing yourself into him.  “Will you let me suck your cock, Mando?”

“Fuck—” he growls, grabbing your hips, “—why are you—h-how do you always make it feel so… so good—?”

“It’s supposed to feel good,” you tell him, beginning to slide down his body.

“Not like this,” he pants, tipping his head back when you slowly lick down his chest.  “Not—not everything, n-not all the time.”

The warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his cock, now achingly swollen and a mouthwatering shade darker in color than the rest of him.  “Keep talking,” you whisper.  “It’s sexy.”

And then you slide his head into your mouth and let your tongue flutter gently along his frenulum.

Mando instantly goes rigid and grabs a fistful of your hair as you hum and taste his precum, slowly brushing your tongue over his tip to see if you can get any more out of him like this without going deeper.

“Fuck—” he grits while lifting his helmet to look, every muscle in his body tensing under you.  “Y-your mouth is—” he gasps when you gently swirl circles around the pulsing head, his open palm coming down hard on the blanket with a dull thud, “—fuck, your mouth is s-so—so fucking good—”

You open your jaw and take him down a few inches so he can feel your throat, satisfied when his helmet falls back and his grip tightens in your hair.  You slowly begin bobbing up and down, dragging the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft and getting him nice and wet.  His thighs almost feel like he’s wearing beskar over them, his entire body held so incredibly tight and stiff as you softly pleasure him.

You can only get around half of him in your mouth without straining for it, so you soon lift off him and start coating your palm and fingers in spit.  His head raises immediately, exposed chest heaving as he watches.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, reaching down and starting to jerk him with your slick hand.  He doesn’t relax into it, instead he straightens his back even more, his hips starting to thrust into your grip.  “Do you want me to stop?”

“I want to fuck you,” he growls, the exact opposite of relaxed.  “You—you can’t w-walk around half-naked in—in my clothes and expect me t—”

He cuts himself off with a groan when you take him back down again, deeper this time.  And then he relents and starts slowly fucking into your mouth, gradually rolling his hips further and further with every thrust.  One hand fists itself into the blanket while the other holds your hair back as you open your throat and work the rest of his length with slippery fingers.

When you take him down as far as you can and you drop your palm down to cradle his balls, Mando just about loses his mind.

“Fuck—let me fuck you,” he starts rasping at the ceiling, “please, l-let me—let me pound you into this dirty f-fucking ground like you wanted, like—like the filthy little girl you are—”

You hold there and swallow around his thick cock, letting your other hand slither down between your own legs and start rubbing your clit.  He probably can’t see you do it from this angle but it feels so much better this way regardless, having him as far down as your throat as possible and listening to him babble while you touch yourself.

The sound you make pulling off him to breathe isn’t necessarily the most attractive thing in the galaxy, but with the way he groans and tugs your hair sharply in response, you’d think it was the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.  You keep jerking his throbbing cock and rubbing circles around your clit, before moving down to take one of his balls into your mouth.

His grip tightens, along with the gorgeously soft skin under your tongue.  “W-Wait—stop—”

You look up at him.  He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat and everything about him is unbearably stiff, even with the way his body is sprawled out and his chest rocks up and down with exertion.

“Sorry, I just—I was—” he gasps, “—I d-didn’t want to—to c-cum—”

“I want you to cum,” you murmur, blinking up at him and dragging your tongue up the length of his swollen, throbbing cock.  “Please.  Want it down my throat.”

You don’t know how it’s possible for his body to go even more rigid, but it does.  “You—?”

He possibly could’ve stopped himself, you think.  Even with the way you start gently sucking on his tip and looking up at him innocently after telling him you want to swallow his load, maybe he could’ve stopped the way his balls suddenly pull up tight, the way his grip on your hair turns to steel and his helmet rolls to the side.

But then the subtle shift of his head means he can see your hand moving between your legs, you can tell.  You can tell, because he makes a choking sound through the modulator and his stomach flexes, and then he’s cumming down your throat exactly like you wanted him to.

There’s a second between the moment of detonation and the explosive result of it.  It’s just enough time for him to slowly tilt his chin up and let out the smallest, quietest moan you’ve ever heard from him before his cock starts throbbing on your tongue, his balls working to steadily pump cum up his shaft.

You pull up and start swirling circles around his head just as the first spurt hits your tongue, moaning at the taste of him and preening at his hoarse whisper of your name.  You swallow everything he gives you, drain him until he’s completely empty and spent, trembling in pieces on the floor.

Admittedly you do keep him there in your mouth just a little bit longer than you should, just taking a minute to savor how good he tastes and how fucking beautiful his cock is, how stunning his body is exposed and spread out for you on the ground like this.

“Keep—keep doing that and I’ll get hard again,” he eventually warns, though his voice comes out sounding like sandpaper in his throat.

You hum and finally pull off him.  “That’s got to be the least threatening thing you’ve ever said to someone, I think.”

“Not able t—” he jerks when you bite his hipbone, “—to scare you off, apparently.  Most people run from me.”

“Nope.  Told you I wouldn’t, remember?  Back on Cantonica.  I’m also the craziest bounty hunter in the guild, so.  Look.”  You lift up to show him.  “I even have an ammo belt, see?  It holds all of the bullets, for all of my guns that I have.”

His hand slowly comes up and you think he’s going to grab the band of leather across your chest to either take it off you or pull you forward with it, but then he just grabs one of your breasts and gently squeezes it instead.  “You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches.  You blink twice at him, your heart suddenly thundering under his hand.

“Wearing my armor.  Not wearing it.  Not wearing anything.  Wearing your clothes.  In complete darkness.  You’re beautiful.”

You think—for one ludicrous, insane second, you think that the enormous swelling in your chest literally transfers itself up to your brain and causes you to have an aneurysm right there on the floor in front of him.

But nope—it’s just the entire hull starting to violently shift and shake, swerving sideways and jerking upwards with rapid, unpredictable shifts in gravity.

You thrown on top of him in the chaos and try to find some sort of stable ground without accidentally kneeing him in the crotch.  Mando grunts and gets rolled on top of you when the ship immediately veers the other way, the weight of him suddenly crushing your lungs and making it impossible to breathe with the brutal changes in g-force.  Did he—did he leave the baby in the fucking cockpit?

He left the baby in the fucking cockpit.

[alicanta77]

Chapter 1: Royal Blooded

Pairing: princess!y/n x prince!Chenle

Themes: royalty au, fluff, angst

Warnings: arranged marriage, violence

Words: 7.1k

Inspiration: BTS - Blood, Sweat and Tears - orchestral cover 

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Finale

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Royalty doesn't equal happily ever after

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You held your head high as you walked towards the throne room. You had your main servant walking behind you and two guards escorting you on either side. Your shoes made small tapping noises on the stone floor with every step you took and your clothes and hair gently flowed in time to the movement. You approached the grand door, nodding at the two knights guarding the entrance, who bowed back before moving their spears and opening the grand door for you.

The throne room appeared before you in all its glory. The metal chandelier hung from the ceiling, dangling above the engraved stone floors that were currently stood on by the entire court. The court and knights of your kingdom were all in neat rows on the left of the building, framed by the sculpted columns that ran up the walls. On the right side was another court entirely, clearly very rich and clearly not close to your kingdom. Their cloaks and shield bared an emblem which you had never seen before.

You had under a second to take in the sight in front of you before you had to move forwards. As you moved forwards you kept your eyes on your father’s, never breaking contact so that you didn't show weakness. You knew what this meeting was about, and you weren't particularly pleased. You had always known that this day would come, you had just hoped that you would have at least a few more years of freedom.

You reached the front of the room and paused in front of your father and mother’s golden thrones. Your servant and guards moved to join the lines of your court whilst you bowed your head in respect and stood, patiently waiting for your father to speak first.

He stood, your mother following, and spoke, addressing you by name but speaking clearly so that everyone who was present could hear his words.

‘Y/n, our only child and sole heir to the throne, the day has finally come where you will take the first monumental step for your kingdom.’

‘Father, I give you my solemn word I will uphold the oath I took when I was crowned heir and do whatever I can for my kingdom and my people.’ You replied, keeping your voice steady and clear so that it could be heard by the whole court.

‘Today will mark the start of our journey into a new age. Today we will create an unbreakable alliance with a kingdom whose wealth and power rivals our own and, this alliance, will start a new time, a time of peace and prosperity for the both of us.’ Your father continued, straightening up in order to face the court. He gestured for a man and woman from the new court to stand with him. The crowns on their heads and extremely elaborate clothing gave away to you that they must be the king and queen.

‘We have with us, the royal family and court from the Zhong kingdom of Shanghai, China. Over the past few months we have been in negotiations, trying to find a common ground between us to use as the foundation for this new peaceful age. Eventually we settled on the most solid of alliances, one that will bind our nations for all generations to come.’

Your father turned around and raised his arms to the members of both courts in the throne room.

‘A marriage!’

The room erupted into cheers as you were led up the few stone stairs and stood in-between and slightly in front of your parents. You turned your head to your left and saw a young boy, around your age, standing in the same position as you.

This must be who you were marrying. He looked out at his people with a calm look on his face, you couldn't tell if it was just a facade or if he really didn't care that he would be marrying you. You honestly couldn't tell which one you wanted it to be.

You turned your head back towards the two courts, missing the way he turned to you in order to look at, and study, your features. 

King Zhong then stood forward to continue informing the court of how the marriage would play out.

‘Since the Zhong kingdom has four sons, of which Prince Chenle is the youngest, it has been agreed that he will stay here, protect and, when the time comes, govern this kingdom with the royal family already ruling. Due to the young ages of both our heirs, we have also decided that there is no rush for this wedding to take place. The agreement of it is enough for us to guarantee peace and, when it does happen, it will be a celebration that will echo through both kingdoms.’ 

He turned to face you before looking back towards his son.

‘Your wedding will create an age of peace that will allow both our kingdoms to live without fear for generations to come. It will all trace back to the two of you.’

He and your father moved together before your mother moved to your other side. You managed to sneak a very quick look to your left and noticed Chenle’s mother doing the same. You realised that you were standing in a line: your mother, you, your father, King Zhong, Prince Chenle, Queen Zhong. You felt your parents both grab your hand and hold them up in the air as the court burst into another round of applause.

It was a symbol of unity.

---

Soon you were back in your chambers, thankfully, alone. If you had to stay and make conversation with your future husband and his family, you were sure that your brain would explode. You knew you were going to have to converse with them at the celebratory feast that the castle was preparing for tonight, but, until then, you were going to savour your rare moments alone. You had even sent away your servant and asked them to ensure that you weren't distracted for the next few hours.

However, that hopeful plan was short lived when your mother drifted into your room, your servant sending you an apologetic look from where they were standing behind her, powerless to protect your privacy.

‘Mother, what a lovely surprise!’ You politely said, standing up from where you were previously lying on your bed.

‘Y/n! You cannot lock yourself away in your bedroom every time you wish to avoid talking to people. I shouldn't have to remind you that you are a royal and that this is not how we conduct ourselves. You should have stayed and made polite conversation with either the King or Queen, or the Prince, Chenle. You will marry him, you know?’ Your mother scolded you gently.

Your parents had always been incredibly gentle and loving with you, only strict when it came to representing the kingdom and upholding the royal conduct. This made you incredibly grateful for them as they always made an effort to understand how you were feeling as a teenager, not just as a royal.

You sighed and looked down at the stone floor.

‘I know Mother, and I apologise for hiding away, I’m just a bit taken aback at this situation. If I may speak honestly, I have always known that I would marry someone for the sake of the kingdom, and that they would likely be someone I didn't know well. So that is not the part that has unsettled me a bit, I just- I thought I would have more time, Mother. I feel as though I am still young, yet I have the responsibility of a marriage, and not just any marriage but such an important one. The fate of our kingdoms is relying on the success of this union and it is difficult to process the magnitude of that importance. It is not an easy burden to carry.’

Your mother approached you, a sympathetic look on her face. She placed a delicate hand on your shoulder and gently guided you so that you were both sat down on your bed.

‘I know that this kind of marriage, an arranged marriage, is scary. And it is not a sign of any type of cowardice to be nervous about it. I was so terrified the first time I met your father, my knees were shaking underneath my dress and I could barely stand up, let alone walk. We got married very young too. As did the Zhongs. All of us have had arranged marriages, to someone we didn't know, while we were still very young, just like you and Chenle. So we do understand what that is like, and that is why we all refused to have the wedding while you are still so young. We wanted our children to get the chance to know each other before getting married. The chance that we never had. I gather that the pressure of this marriage is heavier than anything I will understand, due to what is riding on it, but you must trust yourself to do what is right. You are a smart child, y/n, and I have every faith that you and Chenle will build a beautiful kingdom.’

You turned your head towards her and smiled, as she continued talking, a small twinkle appearing in her eyes.

‘I have spent the last few moments speaking to Chenle, and I think you'll find that he is more than what you are letting yourself believe. Don’t forget that he is in the same position as you, only he has to go through it all in a strange kingdom, surrounded by people he doesn’t know. His family leaves tomorrow morning, and he will be left here, alone. He is probably more nervous than you are.’

Her words silenced you. You hadn't really thought about the fact that Chenle was leaving everything behind to be here. He really was making a much bigger sacrifice than you had given him credit for. Your mother stood to leave, briefly saying one last thing over her shoulder.

‘The Zhongs have gone back to their chambers now. The King and Queen are in the Royal chambers in the West Wing, and Chenle is accompanying the guest chambers there too. The feast will begin tonight in the great hall, I will see you there.’

And with that, she left, the large wooden doors closing quietly behind her. You stood up from your bed and walked towards the closed door. You thought for a second before you opened it and walked out, fully intent on finding Chenle and starting to get to know him.

You could see your mother walking down the corridor in the direction of her room, and you turned away from her and began your own journey to the West Wing of the castle.

---

After a few quiet minutes of walking, you finally reached the West Wing. You intended to head straight up to Chenle’s room but as you reached the doors, you hesitated, your hand poised to knock.

What if he didn't want to see you?

What if you had offended him by not staying to speak to him and his family earlier?

What if he wanted to spend the day with his family before they left?

With these thoughts and others swirling around your head, you couldn't bring yourself to knock. You would be too embarrassed if you walked in on his final night with his family.

You lowered your hand and turned to leave, instead deciding to talk to him at the feast. You had only walked a few steps away from the door when you heard a piano being played.

You didn't know of anyone in the castle who could play the piano that beautifully or had the time to play at their own leisure, so you followed the sound.

You soon found yourself standing in front of the room you knew to be the hall of the west wing. This was often used as the spare great hall, it wasn't quite the size of the one you would be feasting in tonight, but wasn't, by any means, small.

You pushed open the door slightly, wincing to yourself as it creaked obnoxiously loudly. The playing stopped abruptly and, after a second of silence, a voice called out:

‘Hello?’

You didn't recognise the voice so you opened the door further and moved into the room. There you stood, face to face with Chenle, the boy you would marry.

Although you had hoped to find and speak to him, now that you were stood in front of him, your mouth couldn't seem to form any words. Eventually you forced yourself to just say something, rather than stand there awkwardly while he looked at you politely. 

‘I’m sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I didn't even know it was you, I had just wondered who had been playing so beautifully.’ You muttered out, embarrassed at the nervous mess you had become. With all your years of learning how to present yourself in the public eye, it shouldn't be this hard for you to hold a conversation.

Chenle smiled slightly at your compliment.

‘Oh... thank you, your highness. Do you know how to play?’ He asked, looking you directly in the eyes.

‘Ummm, no. I wish I did though.’ You answered, moving slightly closer to the piano he was sitting at.

‘How come you never learnt?’ He asked, turning around in his seat so that he could face you.

You smiled sadly and shrugged slightly. ‘My father thought that learning an instrument would be a waste of my time. He thought my efforts were better focused on other things.’

‘What other kinds of skills?’ Chenle asked, tilting his head slightly, his eyes wide open and fixed on you. The innocent look on his face made a small smile break out across your features.

‘Skills such as languages and public speaking. He wanted to make me the best royal I could be, and I enjoyed those lessons. I love speaking many languages, but I do wish I could play like you could.’ You replied honestly.

Chenle opened his mouth to speak again but the loud creaking of the door opening drew both your eyes to the growing gap in the doorway. Soon your servant’s head popped around, their entire body entering the room once they saw you there.

‘I apologise for interrupting, your highness, but the feast is fast approaching and it is time for you to get ready.’ Your servant said, their eyes flickering between you and Chenle, clearly nervous that they had interrupted something important.

You turned to Chenle and gave an apologetic smile.

‘It seems I must go prepare, but I will see you at the feast?’

Chenle stood up, a gentle smile on his face as he approached you. He took your right hand in his and brought it to his lips.

‘I look forward to it.’ He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your hand before you turned around and exited the room.

Maybe this marriage wouldn't be so bad.

---

You raised your silver goblet to your lips, a laugh escaping you as you conversed with a knight from Chenle’s kingdom. The feast was in full swing and the great hall was filled with laughing royals and knights alike. The festivities continued all throughout the lower town and outlying villages as well, with processions and food being sent there for their own feasts.

The knights and royals were sat in an open circle around the walls of the great hall. Both your family and the Zhong's were sat at the head of the table, your fathers in the middle, then your mothers then, finally, on the end were you and Chenle. He was close enough that you could exchange the odd smile, but not close enough for you to make any kind of conversation with him.

The servants bustled all around you, filling up glasses and offering pieces of food in between courses. The court jesters often appeared in the middle of the tables and dazzled the crowd with their magic tricks and acrobatics. The final acrobat had just finished their performance with a double flip, making you all gasp in amazement. The entire room burst into applause, laughter and exclamations of praise for the talent showcased.

Your father then stood up, raising his left hand up as a way of asking for silence. He held his goblet of wine in his right and began to speak.

‘As all of you are aware, we are here today to celebrate the arrival of our new friends, King and Queen Zhong and their son Prince Chenle, and the hopeful future that they bring with them. We hope that your stay, however short-’ He gestured to Chenle with his raised glass as he continued to say ‘or long, is as pleasant as it can be. To a new era!’

Everyone in the room, including you grabbed and raised their goblets.

‘To a new era!’ You all exclaimed in unison.

As your father sat down, King Zhong rose from his seat.

‘If I may say something as well?’ He asked your father, who simply nodded in response with a large smile on his face.

‘I would like to thank you for hosting us for our short stay and for offering a new home for our son. We understand that it is against the normal customs for the Prince to move to a new land, but your open mindedness about this situation has made this process a lot easier than we anticipated it would be. I have every faith that Chenle and Y/n will one day rule a beautiful kingdom, and I cannot wait to see that happen. To the future!’

‘To the future!’ You all chanted again, raising your glasses to the sky once more.

King Zhong’s words reminded you slightly of the conversation that you had had with your mother only a few hours ago and you found yourself growing to like the Zhong’s and their people with every passing minute. The knights that surrounded you were filled with interesting and hilarious stories and the other nobles that you had chatted with before sitting down were just as likeable.

You supposed that if Chenle was anything like his people, it would be relatively easy to get along with him. 

Time and courses passed and, before you knew it, the servants were clearing away for the final time. Your father placed a hand on your shoulder and sent you a reassuring smile, one which you returned, as the servants led you into another hall, one that had been specifically set up for dancing.

The orchestra began a gentle tune and soon men and women began to pair off and dance together. Ladies and Knights dancing together filled the room as you watched with your parents. You smiled as you watched the laughing couples spin around the floor.

‘A beautiful party tonight, I must congratulate you!’ Queen Zhong’s voice pulled your attention away from the dance floor. You looked over as she placed an affectionate kiss on your mother's cheek and your father shook hands with King Zhong.

Your mother thanked her as they all laughed together. You smiled at the sight, watching silently from the sides. It wasn't long before you were approached and asked to dance, however, it was not by who you had expected.

‘Y/n, would you care to join me for a dance?’ King Zhong offered out his hand to you, a friendly smile on his face.

‘I would be honoured.’ You replied, a similar smile stretching across yours.

King Zhong led you into the dance floor and guided you as the music continued to play. You danced through the steps that you had been learning since you could walk, making them almost second nature to you now. 

‘I know that this marriage may not be what you wanted.’ King Zhong suddenly said, surprising you with his bluntness. ‘I know my arranged marriage wasn't what I wanted.’ You looked up at him with raised eyebrows. He nodded, reiterating his point. ‘I was only a year older than you and Chenle are now, my wife only a year older than me. We were married within a week of meeting and it took us over a year after the wedding until we could even call ourselves friends. The pressure of an arranged marriage, especially one as important as yours, can place a huge amount of strain on any relationship. I wanted you to know that I understand that and I hoped that I would be able to give you a small piece of advice, y/n.’

‘What is that, your majesty?’ You asked, recognising the song coming to an end.

‘Don’t force this. Don’t rush it. You have all the time in the world to get to know each other, just enjoy meeting someone new and focus on being friends. Remember that this is about the two of you as well, not just our kingdoms, make sure that you are happy.’ He finished, looking down on you with a smile that reminded you so much of your father's.

‘Thank you.’ You replied honestly, feeling as though he had somehow sorted out many of the worries that were clouding your mind. 

You both stepped away from each other and walked back to where the other royals were waiting. You watched as he took his wife by the hand and dragged her out to dance, encouraging your father to do the same.

While watching the two couples, who had had the same marriage you would too, you couldn't help but wonder if yours would ever have the same kind of happy ending. 

You took a few steps backwards and accidentally bumped into someone causing you to quickly apologise and turn around, only to find yourself face to face with Chenle.

‘Your highness!’ You both said in sync, trying to apologise to the other at the same time.

You both stood there in silence for a few seconds, you were wracking your brain trying to think of something to say, when Chenle suddenly held out his hand.

‘Would you care to dance?’ His face held a hopeful smile that you already found impossible to say no to.

‘I would love to.’ You replied, slipping your hand into his.

You let Chenle take you into the middle of the dance floor before beginning to move together in sync. For a while you just let the music do the talking, filling the silence between the two of you with its instrumental words.

‘I could teach you if you want?’ Chenle suddenly said, making you look up at him in confusion.

‘Teach me what?’ You asked, furrowing your brows.

‘Piano, I meant piano. I- I could teach you how to play the piano if you wanted.’ A small blush dusted his cheeks, one which you couldn't help but think was rather cute.

‘I- I would love that. That would be so kind of you.’ You replied, smiling at his kind-hearted offer.

‘I wouldn't mind, I love playing so I’m happy to do it.’ He smiled back at you before continuing. ‘Although I do have one favour to ask of you, however.’

‘Oh?’ You said looking up at him.

‘Could you possibly show me around the castle? It’s kind of large and I don’t know my way around any of it yet. I nearly got lost on my way here...’ He mumbled the last bit to himself yet you still managed to catch it, making you laugh out loud slightly. 

Chenle noticed you laughing and smiled at the sight. ‘Don’t laugh! I seriously was terrified I was going to be late. Imagine how awful that would be, our parents in the middle of a toast for the two of us and I’m not even there! I would not be able to live in this kingdom after that.’ By this point you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. You leaned your head down slightly to try to stifle your giggles and accidentally placed your forehead on Chenle’s shoulder. You lifted it off quickly and saw Chenle’s face, him still holding the same nervous look as when he was talking previously. This caused you to break out into a second fit of giggles, only this time Chenle couldn't hold himself back from laughing with you.

There you stood, dancing together and laughing over the same joke for ten minutes. If either of you had turned your head to the side, you would have seen your parents watching the both of you with fond smiles on all of their faces.

---

The next morning you found yourself sitting at your desk, flitting through some documents your mother had asked you to look at. None of them were anything to do with you, she had only recommended them so that you would have an idea of the kinds of things you would need to look at once you were crowned.

The documents were actually rather interesting, but since you had no power over anything to do with them, they seemed to be getting more boring with every word. 

As soon as you heard the knock on the door, relief rushed through your system. Anything to take you away from this reading.

‘Oh thank god.’ You said to yourself before calling out ‘Come in.’ You lowered the page away from your face so that you could see who had entered your room.

‘Your highness! What can I do for you?’ You asked, moving the paper away from your face entirely and placing it down on your desk.

‘I’m not interrupting anything am I?’ Chenle asked, his eyes scanning over the documents on your desk.

‘No, no, not at all. Just some recommended reading from my mother.’ You explained. Chenle’s eyes widened slightly at that. 

‘Your parents do that too! Give you documents to read so that you know what you’ll be dealing with once you’re crowned? Even though there's nothing you can do with them so you're not really learning much.’ He said, stepping closer to you.

‘Exactly that. Oh god, it’s nice to talk to someone who understands what it’s like. I mean, I get why she gives them to me, but, at the moment they kind of do nothing for me.’ You laughed, watching as Chenle laughed too.

‘Don’t they just get more boring the more you read?’ 

‘Honestly, I’ve never been so happy to hear someone knock on my door. Anyway, what can I do for you?’ You asked, offering Chenle a seat in front of you which he gladly took.

‘I was hoping I may be able to get that tour? It took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to find your room and the thought of being late to anything scares the hell out of me.’ Chenle said, looking at you hopefully.

‘Of course, I’d be happy to show you around. Just so you know, once your man servant is assigned, they will be able to escort you everywhere until you get your bearings.’ You stood up, Chenle following you and you began to walk towards the door. ‘Also, anything to get me away from that reading.’

Chenle burst into laughter, a surprisingly infectious high pitched laugh that easily made you laugh too.

---

You showed Chenle most of the palace. You began with the library and headed from there into the great hall, the throne room, the court physician and showed him around countless bedrooms and servant quarters.

You had finished the entire inside of the castle and knights’ training area and were calmly walking through the grounds when Chenle asked you what your favourite spot in the castle was. You sent him a grin.

‘I’ll show you, follow me.’ You led him quickly into the stables.

‘The stables?’ He asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

‘No, not the stables.’ You laughed before continuing to explain why you had stopped here. ‘It’s just easier and faster to get to my favourite place on horseback.’

Chenle nodded in confirmation, before following you fully inside. You greeted the stablehand with a smile before asking about any available horses. You already had yours which you had ridden for the past few years, but were hoping to get Chenle one which he may keep as his.

You brought Chenle to your horse, allowing him to greet the pure black stallion, called Obsidian, which you rode. The stablehand brought him out and began to saddle him up while you showed Chenle a few available horses. He immediately began to walk towards the grey spotted stallion, standing in front of it for a few seconds before stroking it.

‘I’ve always wished for a horse like this.’ He said over his shoulder. ‘Ever since I was young I wanted one this colour which I would call Aspen.’ 

You stepped forwards with a smile. 

‘Then he’s yours.’ You said.

Chenle whirled around and stared at you in disbelief.

‘He’s what now?’ He asked, all formality that was usually present in your conversation disappearing due to his shock.

You laughed and gestured to the stable hand that this was the horse he wanted before speaking again.

‘Well, since you are now living here, I thought you may want your own horse. You can ride him whenever you like, will take him with you if you journey anywhere and, most knights take theirs into battle with them too.’

For the first time since you met him, Chenle seemed genuinely speechless. He just stared at you, eyes wide and mouth open before stuttering out a:

‘Th- thank you.’

You just smiled and nodded before heading out of the stables to where your horses were saddled up and waiting. 

You both quickly mounted before calling out to Chenle, to follow you. You dug your heels into Obsidian’s sides and began to move off. You started off at a gentle canter before speeding up into a full gallop.

Chenle kept close behind you, impressing you with his riding skills. You galloped out of the castle and into the woodland before continuing up a path that you knew well. The trees rushed in a blur of green and brown beside you and you looked to your left and saw Chenle riding exactly next to you. You both smiled at each other before you nodded your head to the right and shouted,

‘This way!’

The wind flew through your hair as you took Chenle uphill towards a cliff edge before, finally, beginning to slow down.

Your horses were panting heavily by the time you arrived, having been riding at a fast pace for a short while. You tied them to a tree next to a river nearby and left them to drink and recover whilst you brought Chenle to the cliff edge.

‘This is my favourite spot.’ You said, looking out on the marvellous view in front of you that never failed to take your breath away.

From this cliff edge you could see the entire citadel. The castle stood proud in all its glory and the town travelled all the way down to the walls by the lower gates. The view stretched past the lower town and outside of the city walls, where you could see a few farming fields and the closer outlying villages. 

You sat down on the comfortable grass, Chenle sitting beside you.

‘Enlighten me, your highness, why is it that your favourite spot in the castle isn't actually in the castle?’ He asked, tearing his eyes away from the scenery to look at you.

‘Because, there's more to a kingdom than just it’s castle’ You explained. ‘I like to look at it from here because I can see the people. My people. Who I love and will do any I can to protect, with or without an oath. Here I can see everything and, I feel fulfilled, like everything makes sense.’

Chenle watched you, nodding with more sincerity and seriousness than you had seen on him yet. Then the small mischievous grin you had come to recognise spread across his face.

‘So... you can speak multiple languages, dance beautifully, ride better than half of the knights I’ve ever seen... I don’t suppose there are any other talents of yours I should know about?’ He asked, looking at you out of the corner of one eye.

You smiled at the question, keeping your eyes trained on the view in front of you.

‘Stay tuned.’ You stated, enjoying the conversation between the two of you without formalities. It was much easier to talk to Chenle when you weren't so aware of keeping up the royal facade. After sitting there for a few more minutes, admiring the view and making idle conversation, you finally made a move to stand. ‘Let’s go. I’ll show you one of the outer villages then we can head back.’

As soon as he saw you moving to get up, Chenle shot to his feet quickly and offered out a hand for you to take. You smiled and accepted it, allowing him to pull you up from the ground. You headed back towards your horses and mounted once again. You set off at a quick pace, enjoying the wind in your hair and the shouts of conversation from Chenle behind you. You travelled all the way to the outer village laughing and joking, only to be greeted with a sight that was anything but happy.

The village was under attack.

---

You and Chenle rode into the small village, the utter chaos surrounding you distracting anyone from noticing who the two of you were. 

You quickly jumped down from your horse and looked over at Chenle who was staring at you with almost unnoticeable fear in his eyes.

‘Get the horses and yourself out of here. Keep them safe and I’ll find you in a bit.’ You instructed. You watched as Chenle’s expression clearly changed to worry.

‘What about you? What are you going to do?’ He asked.

‘I’m going to help my people.’ You stated. And with that you turned around and ran into the battle. You stopped briefly to grab a sword from a fallen bandit before moving to protect your citizens.

You swung the sword upwards to block an attack on a kneeling villager and deftly redirected the blow. You stepped in front of the injured man and faced the bandit head on. He stepped forward to swing at you and you brought your sword up to protect yourself, but he suddenly stopped, grunted slightly and fell to the ground.

Behind him stood Chenle, sword raised and eyes on the fallen bandit. 

‘Are you okay?’ He asked, his face filled with concern.

‘What are you doing?’ You replied. You knew you should probably thank him but at this moment you were so shocked that that was all you could get out.

‘Helping the people. If they're your people, that means they're now my people and I’m not planning on waiting on the sidelines while you fight for them.’ He said firmly, grabbing your hand and pulling the fallen villager up and helping him into a house for shelter.

You felt pure admiration filling your chest. The boy had been here for under 48 hours and was already risking his life for a kingdom and people he didn't know. You quickly grabbed hold of his hand, forcing him to look at you.

‘Thank you, your highness.’ You said, looking him straight in the eye. He nodded and you turned back towards the battle.

The next minutes were a blur of whirring swords, shouts of pain and worry and the sound of metal clashing on metal. It didn't take long for the news of your arrival to spread throughout the village, scaring half of the bandits away. The last thing they wanted to do was be known by name to the future rulers and current heirs of the kingdom.

As you watched the last few bandits disappear into the woods, you turned to the village leader and asked for their name.

‘If you are ever troubled by these bandits again, you are to send word to the castle immediately. Knights will be here within the hour.’ You announced to the villagers.

‘How can we ever thank you, your highness?’ The village elder asked, bowing his head in respect. You smiled at him.

‘Work hard and help your children grow up well. I don’t ask for anything more than knowing that my people are living well.’ You replied honestly. You never felt the need to take anything from the villagers, you would much rather know that they were happy and healthy.

You walked towards Chenle, who had reappeared with both of your horses. You had no idea where he had hidden them, but you were just glad that they hadn't been stolen. You mounted before reassuring the village with one final statement.

‘Prince Chenle and I will inform the king and queen of the bandits. I will personally ensure that food and medicine are taken down here to replenish what you have lost. If you know of any other villages with similar problems, please alert us and we will send knights down as reinforcements.’ 

You heard the villagers whisper Chenle’s name in awe. The outer villages hadn't seen him yet so it wasn't surprising that they had no idea who he was. You turned on your horse, Chenle doing the same and began to canter away, listening to the cheers and thanks echoing up from the relieved village behind you.

---

The ride back to the castle was a quiet one. You hadn't tried to speak yet, knowing that your main priority was to report the recent events to your father. But, just before you reached the walls, you slowed Obsidian to a stop, causing a confused Chenle to halt Aspen too. You dismounted and watched as Chenle did the same.

‘Is everything ok? Why aren't we going in?’ He asked, clearly having no clue what you were about to do.

You walked up to him and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck.

‘Thank you, for helping me and my people.’ You whispered, arms tightening slightly.

To begin with, Chenle didn't seem to know what to do, his arms raised slightly but frozen there. He quickly recovered from the initial shock, however, securing his arms around your waist and pulling you even closer to him. You were taken aback by how easy it was to hug him and how comforting he was. You both stayed in this position, neither of you wanting to be the first to let go.

‘We need to tell my father what happened.’ You eventually said. ‘He’s probably wondering where we are since we did kind of just disappear.’ 

You felt Chenle nod into your shoulder and you both slowly drew your arms out from around each other. You took a step back, too self conscious to be able to look him in the eyes and quickly remounted Obsidian. You kicked him gently, spurring him into a gentle canter and made your way back through the castle gates.

---

You and Chenle stood in the throne room, in front of your parents explaining the events of that day.

‘- supplies that they have lost over the past few attacks.’ You finished, laying out your hopes for helping the village repair.

You parents nodded, taking the situation very seriously and both agreeing with your plan to help rebuild and protect the targeted villages.

‘We will send a group of knights to them to deliver the supplies and get the names of the other villages that may be struggling as well. Thank you for bringing this to my attention Y/n. Chenle, thank you for stepping in. While I trust my y/n with a sword, I dread to think about what may have happened to the rest of the village, had you not decided to protect them as well. We are indebted to you.’

 Your father’s words made Chenle smile slightly, even though he tried to hide it. Chenle bowed his head once before speaking himself.

‘It was an honour, your majesty. As your highness, y/n, pointed out to me today, the kingdom is more than just a castle, its spirit is in its people. And if I am to rule these people one day, I would like to know that I have protected them at any moment I could.’

You parents both smiled at Chenle’s words, their obvious approval making you smile too. Your mother then raised her concerned voice to speak her final thoughts.

‘Thank you, both of you for your duty today. It may be wise to see the court physician to ensure that neither of you have any serious injuries.’

You both nodded before bowing and exiting the room, making your way towards the castle’s doctor.

---

After both being cleared of any serious injuries, you and Chenle both being prescribed an ointment for various bruises and one small cut on Chenle’s arm, you offered to walk Chenle back to his room.

‘I doubt you’ve managed to memorise the entire castle yet.’ You joked.

‘Not quite.’ He replied, a similar smile on his face. ‘I did get rather caught up in other business today though.’

You smiled down at the ground and you walked along the grey stone floors. Chenle cleared his throat.

‘So, you can fight well with a sword too. You continue to surprise me, your highness.’

Your face broke out into another smile.

‘I told you to stay tuned. Besides I can't have you getting bored this early can I?’ You joked, a laugh breaking out of Chenle at that.

‘I guess not...’ Chenle paused his sentence as you reached his door. 

‘Also...’ You began, drawing Chenle’s attention as he placed his hand on the door handle. ‘Please, call me Y/n. I’d like for us to drop some of the formalities if you're okay with that?’

Chenle smiled at your question.

‘I’d love that. And, please call me Chenle, all formalities forgotten.’ 

You breathed a small sigh of relief, feeling as though you were standing next to a new friend rather than a stranger you would soon marry.

‘Goodnight, Chenle.’ You said, unable to take the smile off your face.

‘Goodnight, Y/n.’ He replied, before stepping inside his room and closing his door behind him.

And there you both stood, on either side of the same door, both smiling at the simple thought of the other.

[pandoraborn]

Throw me to the Ground (and watch me fly)

Chapter Three (AO3 Link.) Word Count: 2709 words Characters: Schlatt, Dream Content: attempted manipulation, jealousy

-----

The office is unusually quiet this time of night. Normally, Niki or Quackity would be hovering nearby, but evidence shows they’d left early, probably due to the random announcement Schlatt had made, concerning Tommy. He’d been so sure of himself in the initial moment, and after Tommy left, Schlatt had promptly announced it to the entire white house staff. The majority of them had seemed pretty stoked, especially considering Tommy already had experience with leadership and power; it was natural he’d be the perfect fit.

However, now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Schlatt isn’t so sure of himself. Tommy hadn’t seemed as excited as everyone else, and he can’t figure out why. It hadn’t been until he’d agreed to take on the role of vice president that his wings lifted up off the ground, and he’d seemed happy. There had been something off about the teen this time, and Schlatt feels like he’d been played.

It has to be Wilbur’s fault.

No, he’s not going to start thinking like that. Wilbur had never lied to him, Wilbur had never once led him astray. The man was always honest with his words and intentions, and if he had wanted Tommy to be vice president the whole time, he’d have made that perfectly clear. Schlatt has to admit that this had been entirely his idea. It doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.

Who would be? He’d appointed a sixteen year old to be vice president of an entire country. It doesn’t matter if Tommy had helped create and build it, he’s still a teenager and should be treated as such. Schlatt wonders if it’s too late to take it all back, to find someone else who’s older. Then again, Tommy does have the most experience out of everyone who works under him. Tommy would know best how things are run, or supposed to be.

There’s also the question of whether or not Tommy can follow orders. The teen is known to be very stubborn, with an inability to listen very well. Would the new president have his hands full? He hopes not. Tommy is the younger brother of his closest friend, Schlatt has to put trust in the entire family as a whole. They would never betray him. Tommy would never betray him.

He hopes.

Coming back to reality has Schlatt realizing he’s still sitting in his office. He’s still behind his desk, staring at the dark oak, the computer that’s shut off, and the mess of papers scattered around the edge of his desk. Had his office been like this when the others were here, or had he messed it up somewhere in between then and now? He had been jovial when Wilbur and Tommy had been here, sitting on his desk and creating a mess. He barely remembers the meeting though, but that logic does make the most sense.

With a sigh, Schlatt leans forward, reaching out to grab at the mess in some hurried attempt to organize it. He wants to get home and relax. Being here in just making him think strange things, like feeling resentment toward a kid. There’s a mess of papers that still need to be sorted too, like documenting the new addition to leadership.

That alone is going to be another several signatures and faxes for official purposes. Tommy’s going to need a letterhead of his own. Fuck.

“Knock knock?”

The voice is not what he had expected to hear, and it comes with a slight reverb. Schlatt jumps out of his chair, glaring at his door frame. He’d expected Quackity or Wilbur to come back, so to see Dream standing there is different. Dream has no business being in the white house. Schlatt narrows his eyes, but beckons him into the office anyway. If Dream’s there, it’s bound to be something important.

“It’s after hours, Dream. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” The mask on Dream’s face is the only emotion being shown. The rest of him is nothing but a sea of green, with only the vaguest of silhouettes to show he has some shape to him. Schlatt finds himself wondering what Dream even is, if not human. Angel? The wings on Dream’s back would indicate as much. The faceless, endless green would also indicate as much.

“Schlatt, I came because I had a feeling you needed some help.”

“No thank you.” He offers a smile as he stacks papers. Maybe the paperwork can wait until tomorrow. He’s itching to go home at this point. “I’m a very busy man.”

“Oh, don’t worry! I didn’t come to take over your job. I wanted to bring up a few concerns I had.” Dream walks further into the office, pressing his hands to the desk. The more Schlatt looks at him now, the more he can see a humanoid figure. He can see a faint outline of a face underneath the mask, too. There’s an urge to ask what creature Dream is, but Schlatt bites his tongue. That would probably be a rude question to ask in the first place.

“What concerns?” He asks. “I wasn’t aware that I needed help from someone like you.”

“Everyone always needs me for something.” Dream pushes the mask up, showing his mouth. There’s a grin on his face that doesn’t exactly give off a friendly aura. “It’s why I’m here, Schlatt. I’m always needed, whether or not people realize it.”

Sitting back down, Schlatt gestures for the sofa. “Alright Dream, if you’re so smart, then enlighten me. What could I possibly need any help with?”

“Tommy, of course.” Dream takes the silent offer and perches himself in the middle of the couch. He spreads his wings out, overtaking the length on either side of him. Feather flutter to the floor, as if Dream had detached them himself. Shades of black, white and green feathers fall all over the place, almost like they’re taunting him for his lack of wings. Schlatt can’t help but stare at them. He continues to stare until Dream clears his throat, causing his gaze to snap back to the entity.

“Tommy,” Dream repeats. “You appointed him vice president earlier today, if I’m not mistaken. You’re having doubts about the position because of his age. There’s more to it than that though, isn’t there?”

The blood drains out of his face. How does Dream know about that? He’s sure Dream hadn’t been in the office when he told Tommy, unless Dream has the ability to turn invisible. That thought is unlikely.

“How...how do you know that? I barely even told the rest of the white house staff.” Schlatt’s gripping his desk now, refusing to look in Dream’s direction. His mind is racing, trying to come up with every likely scenario possible. More than that, it’s the thought that Dream had just hinted he knows there’s more to the situation. He knows Schlatt is doubting himself. How does he know that?

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Dream says softly. “Nothing has to make sense for it to exist. Life itself doesn’t make sense. Why else would a sixteen year old help build an entire nation?” He tilts his head to the side. When Schlatt looks at him this time, there’s no trace of humanity in him. He’s back to being a vivid, bright shade of green that’s almost blinding. The wings seem to be glowing as well. Dream is painful to look at. Yet, he’s radiating a sympathetic aura that Schlatt almost finds comfort in. Someone who understands him…

Wait. Dream is speaking about sense while not making any himself. He shouldn’t be listening to the words coming out of the entity’s mouth.

“What are you doing, Dream?” Schlatt asks. “You can’t come in here and start acting like you know what I’m thinking. I trust Wilbur, and I trust Tommy. Furthermore, you can’t possibly know things unless you were actually here.”

“But I was here, and I do know things.” Dream folds his wings around himself, once again drawing his gaze. “I see the way you’re staring at my wings, Mr. President. I’ve seen the way you stare at their wings too. Anyone with half a brain cell can tell you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” The reply is immediate, terse and overly defensive. He winces at his tone, trying to backpedal. “I’m not exactly fully human myself, you know.” A grin is forced onto his face as he turns his head to the side. “See these horns? I’m also a hybrid. I have nothing to be jealous of, especially not wings.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious.” Dream’s mask seems to smile wider. “Everyone can see you’re a goat hybrid, it’s not exactly a secret. I wouldn’t mind being a goat hybrid, the horns are pretty cool.”

“I guess.” Schlatt’s already done with this conversation. If kept up, they’d go around in circles with this pointless small talk.

“You want wings though, don’t you? It’s why you’ve always kept Wilbur close. You’re clearly hoping to gain something out of the friendship. So I’ve come to offer that to you.”

“That’s not true.” Schlatt abruptly gets to his feet. He’s done with this conversation, and he’s tired of Dream poking holes in his life. It’s decidedly not fun having some godlike entity poking at his vulnerability, pretending to know and understand him. He especially doesn’t like the insinuation that he’s using Wilbur.

Whatever spell Dream is attempting to weave is shattered the second he’s on his feet. “Wilbur’s been a great friend to me, his family’s wonderful. They’re great people, very law-abiding and upstanding. I’m not going to let anyone talk me out of my decisions.”

“If you say so.” Dream stretches out his wings again, mirroring Schlatt. He’s on his feet, and there’s that faint outline of a human face beneath the mask. Schlatt can see freckles. “It’s clear you don’t trust Tommy though.”

“I trust him just fine,” Schlatt snaps. “I think it’s time you leave.” He waves toward the door. “He’s already had a hand in running this country, I know he’ll continue to uphold it to my liking.”

“Yeah, but he said ‘maintain its dignity.’ It’s like he doesn’t trust you, Schlatt. You’re smart enough to see right through him.” Dream lets out a giggle as he moves toward the door, wings fluttering. Dream is still taunting him, and feathers are still floating around. Schlatt has a vision of himself burning every last feather left on his floor.

“I’m busy,” he says instead. “I have a lot of work to complete before I go home, and you’re just taking up time with random bullshit that’s not even true.”

“Oh, of course, of curse.” Dream nods. “Because you don’t wear your emotions on your sleeve, and you don’t get moody whenever someone calls you out on your own bullshit. You’re the president, Mr. Schlatt, you definitely know what’s best for this country.”

“I was elected, wasn’t I?” Again, he waves toward the door. “It was a fair election, and even Wilbur conceded. I’m the one in charge. Don’t come into my office and start trying to dictate things to me. You’re not even a citizen.”

“No, but considering this country is in the middle of my land, I think I have a right to express my concerns. I was under the impression you shared them. I’ll admit I was wrong though, once you admit that maybe, just maybe, I know you better than you think I do.”

Schlatt shakes his head. “You don’t know me at all if you think anything about what you said is true.”

“So why constantly stare at their wings? Or mine, for that matter? It’s like you’re hypnotized. I know that look, I’ve seen it before. It’s envy to an unhealthy degree.”

“Because they’re pretty, duh.” Schlatt rolls his eyes. “The only thing you might be right about is the fact that Tommy’s young.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that part.” The mask seems to grow even wider. If Schlatt squints, he thinks he can see teeth in that poorly drawn smile. It’s downright terrifying, and the implications that Dream has more power than anyone knows is even more so. “You said that, not me. I just said to you that he might be a problem.”

“He’s sixteen years old. Anyone with, what was it you said? Half a brain cell- would be concerned about his leadership skills.” Schlatt is no longer feeling so tired. Adrenaline is pumping through his body, making him feel on edge. Something about Dream’s presence is unsettling, and Schlatt wants to put as much distance between them as possible. “This is my country, and I get to make the final decisions.”

“But it’s not really your country though, is it?” Dream’s hovering in the door frame now, as if that too is framing his silhouette. Everything about him seems to be glowing, and Schlatt once again is staring. This time, with disgust rather than awe. “You appointed the person who found it as vice president. I mean, I didn’t come here to tell you what to do or how to run things. Yeah, it’s your country, but you just ensured that Tommy’s always going to have a say in how things are done. I’m not sure you’re not his puppet anymore.”

“Get out,” Schlatt snarls. “I’m busy, and you’re just throwing random shit out there and hoping to get under my skin. I’m not falling for it, alright? You’re not even supposed to be here. You’re not part of the cabinet, you’re trespassing and it’s after hours. Don’t make me page security.”

“What security?” Dream laughs. “Alright, I’m going. Just remember though, Tommy never lost power. You might be president, but he still has a lot of power and ability to sway people. Where he’s concerned, I’d watch your back.”

“Goodbye, Dream.” Schlatt marches around the desk and slams the door shut. He can hear Dream laughing as he leaves the floor, before the sound abruptly stops. It’s hard to tell if Dream had just left the building or vanished into thin air. He doesn’t even know if Dream can do that.

He goes back to his desk and stares at the mess of papers. He hadn’t made much headway in cleaning up his office, but now he’s especially not feeling it. He thinks back to Dream’s wings and how bright they were.

Why can’t he get them out of his head?

Why can’t he get Tommy’s wings out of his head?

The doubts he’d had earlier come back full swing. He’s not sure Tommy is a good fit for the position of vice president, and previous experience no longer matters. Still, the decision is made, it’d be shitty of him to go back on his word just because of some stupid green entity that likes to play around with words. Schlatt just has to trust in himself. Plus, the other employers will help keep Tommy in line, no doubt.

He’s the president, he’s not going to let anyone forget that. He’s the one in charge, and Schlatt is going to remain in charge. This is his country, the people wanted him in charge.

No idiot with wings, no matter who they are, is going to take that from him. He can instate Wilbur as part of the cabinet and it doesn’t prove anything other than Schlatt deciding who rules with him.

He mutters to himself angrily as he finally cleans up the paperwork. He’ll sort it all out later, when Tommy starts his first day. They’ll work on the letterhead, on the signatures and policies and everything Tommy might need to know, and it’ll be fine.

When finished, he shuts off the lights and heads out, turning back only once to glance at the dark building behind him. By this point the sun had long since set. Streetlamps are the only source of light as he wanders down the path. Hardly anyone is out at this time, most citizens either heading to their homes or enjoying a night on the town.

As for him? He goes home. He has a busy career ahead of him and he’s going to take any downtime he can.

[musical-chick-13]

you opened up the things I shut (cersei x melisandre)

Hello, @multifandomfix. It’s me! Your asoiaf rarepairs Secret Santa. (I’m sorry this is so much closer to the ending deadline/is a day after I said I’d get it to you; I might have gone a bit overboard in writing this because this thing is like 7000 words long, lmao.) Thank you so much for participating, I really enjoyed writing this! :D (I will also put this on ao3 for easier access, but I wanted to make absolutely sure I got this to you first.)

Lady Melisandre still mourns the loss of what she thought she had found at Dragonstone. Someone so committed to his goals, so willing to listen to her, that he would do anything. A man so concerned with justice and following what he believed to be the preordained will of the universe that he was willing to listen to her. Understand her.

Love her.

Feel something toward her that wasn’t disdain or abject fear. To give her a name other than that of “fanatic” or “lunatic.”

And as much as she loves the Lord, as much as she wants-needs-to do right by Him, she won’t delude herself into thinking that any of those other things were unpleasant or inconsequential.

Would he believe in her now? she wonders, If he were still here? She has lost her faith. Broken her own heart. She’s not sure she even believes in herself anymore, which is more terrifying than anything she has ever experienced. She has been the one earthly constant in her life, the only person she could trust, and the only thing aside from God she could every truly rely on.

But she will see this through to the end. It is her duty. She understands this. If she has no cause, she has no purpose. But even still, the thing she sees before she goes to sleep is the way Davos had looked at her after he found out what had happened to the little girl. And Jon. Everyone else at Dragonstone save Stannis.

“Terrible,” they called her. Mad. Poisonous. The manifestation of ruin itself. Poorly-hidden criticisms of every choice she had ever made followed her through every corner of Westeros, even now, especially now.

So when whispers turn to discussion of this Lannister lady, who they call “mad” and “loathsome” and “malevolent,” unable to make sensible choices if the world itself hung in the balance, it all sounds almost disturbingly familiar.

She can see the rage that underlies everything the Dragon Queen does. Perhaps she will shirk her family’s legacy. Perhaps she will not. All of that is in the hands of a far more powerful being than her. But Melisandre knows that she must be prepared should Daenerys succumb to the Targaryen curse.

Nothing the Lord wants is transparent anymore. And in light of the extreme strictures of conventional morality everyone else so desperately wants to hold her to, Cersei Lannister might be the most understanding ally she’ll be able to find.

The current queen of Westeros (well, half of Westeros, if she were to take to heart a somewhat-distant warning from her twin brother—which she was not) takes in her visitor. Hair as red as fire, a dress to match, a spidery necklace that Cersei suspects is much more than just a necklace.

She has heard of her, this fire priestess. Some foreign name that begins with an “M.” Previously aligned with Stannis. Cersei had never considered her worth any further investigation; she can only imagine what this woman wants with her now.

“Why are you here.” It’s somehow not a question. More a demand for transparency. She can’t afford to trust anyone anymore, and for all she knows this woman is here to try to assassinate her.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

Wonderful…One of those.

After everything that had transpired regarding the Sparrows, Cersei hopes she never has to hear any mention of religion ever again.

“Lady…” she frowns.

“Melisandre,” the visitor supplies with an enigmatic smile.

“ ‘Lady’ Melisandre. I do not have time for riddles. Tell me why you are here or I will have my guard escort you out.”

Melisandre spares an uninterested, cursory glance at the menacing specimen in the corner, face hidden, armor dulled from a mixture of dust and blood. Others have cowered in fear in the presence of “Ser Robert Strong,” but this Melisandre person seems bored. Unbothered.

Intriguing.

Still, she elects to give Cersei an answer anyway. “I cannot know what the Lord wants. I assume it’s to bring the Dragon Queen and Jon Snow together, but I need to start forging down multiple separate paths in case I am wrong.”

Incredibly, (very credibly), this still doesn’t answer the question of why she is here.

Cersei’s skepticism must show on her face, because Melisandre continues, “Perhaps they are not the true heirs of Westeros. Perhaps the Undead will have to be defeated by another. I am here to make sure you are prepared in case these tasks fall to you.”

“And why would you assume the Lord’s” she practically spits out the word, “Plan would fall to me. Haven’t you heard what they say about me?” Cersei allows a restrained, yet feral grin to grace her countenance, “They think me mad.”

Melisandre echoes Cersei’s smile, “I think you are committed to your beliefs. And will do anything to uphold them. Even if they don’t align with mine, I can respect that. Sometimes, we must do what needs to be done. Not everyone is up to that task.”

For the first time in years, if not decades, Cersei feels a small knot of something-something that isn’t panic or rage-tightening in her chest. If she were less cynical she might call it security or validation.

“Very well.” Cersei isn’t willing to give her more latitude than that. Not yet.

“I will return.” And as suddenly as a leaf blowing away in the wind, Lady Melisandre is gone.

These three words stay on Cersei’s mind she retires to bed a few hours later. When she slips into sleep, the last thought she remembers having is There could be worse things.

Melisandre had a very incomplete idea of what to expect when she actually met the queen regnant in person. And upon arriving in King’s Landing and meeting Cersei’s eyes, she knows that will probably always be the case. Wrath colors her green eyes in a way that makes it clear exactly why people are so terrified of this woman. She does not tolerate nonsense. Will not accept half-hearted explanations. Under no circumstances will she bow to any will but her own.

She imagines that people must look at Cersei the way they used to look at her. Perhaps with even more vitriol. But underneath her rage, Melisandre can just make out fear, born of extreme pain and frustration. Something she finds within herself every time she’s unfortunate enough to be alone with her thoughts.

But in spite of all this, Cersei is committed. Committed to ruling and keeping herself alive in a way Melisandre has never seen anyone commit to anything. Not even Stannis.

Not even herself.

Lady Melisandre will, in all likeliness, have to seek out the Lannister queen again. She is almost looking forward to it.

In the meantime, she decides to investigate Cersei further. What exactly has she done? Why, precisely, do they call her “mad?”

She gets her answers very quickly. Everyone is quick to jump at the chance to criticize this woman. Melisandre, for once, might have found a woman more publicly hated than herself.

And this awakens a touch of uncharacteristic sympathy. Because nothing this woman has done sounds like anything Melisandre wouldn’t also be willing to do, given the right circumstances.

Melisandre thinks of Cersei, and all she sees is a woman dedicated to a cause and willing to do absolutely whatever it takes to accomplish it. Melisandre sees a woman broken by a prejudiced, violent world that explicitly refused to appreciate her. She could never truly hate a woman like that. To do so would be to hate herself.

So the first time Daenerys burns alive a valuable ally—a seemingly reformed, previously Tywin-Lannister-obsessed “bird” of the bald eunuch’s previous circle, with intel that could easily help her claim the throne and procure resources to protect the world from the Undead—Melisandre, as promised, returns to Cersei. Perhaps this action of the Dragon Queen’s was a simple misstep. A brief, uncommon lapse in judgment. But the time of reckoning is quickly approaching, and Melisandre cannot afford to place that much trust in her.

“The Dragon Queen has burned an informant.”

Cersei’s eyes narrow, assuming this is revelation of information is a test. Or perhaps she doesn’t believe her at all.

“Why?”

“He loved your father.”

The queen regnant closes her eyes for the briefest second, allowing herself some sort of internal sadness Melisandre knows she’ll never be able to dissect or understand.

“Why are you telling me this.”

“She isn’t prepared to do whatever it will take to get what she needs. I think you are.”

Cersei looks…almost surprised at this, with her eyebrows slightly raised, jaw clenched to reign in any sort of responsive noise that might wish to escape from her throat. But after a few moments studying Melisandre’s face, she concludes that her not-entirely-welcome visitor isn’t saying this to make a joke or bait her into a response, and her visage retreats to a neutral expression. Something passes between them. A flicker of what feels like understanding.

And Melisandre shivers, ever-so-slightly.

One of the handmaidens has been looking at her strangely. Coming entirely too fast when Cersei calls for her. Greeting her a bit too loudly. There are ugly, shadowy pockets of discolored skin under her eyes that can only be from lack of sleep. She even caught her trying to make off with an old piece of correspondence between her father and the not-so-fashionably-late Olenna Tyrell. An act she repaid by having one of her guards cut off several of the girl’s fingers.

Many would call her paranoid. She would call herself reasonably distrustful.

When she finds out the girl has run off in the middle of the night, her suspicions are all but confirmed.

Cersei does not want to seek the red woman out, but she sees no other option.

Meeting anyone was a thoroughly detestable experience. People with their small talk and shallow observations and empty, deceptive promises; men staring at her the way her girlish self had once wished Robert would; women considering her a traitor for daring to do what men had gotten away with doing for centuries. But Melisandre seems to be the first person Cersei has had the displeasure of meeting who didn’t immediately decry her as “mad” or perverse.

She knew better than to assume anyone was trustworthy. But if she was going to locate this treacherous girl, she needed someone who would not dismiss her on sight.

It doesn’t take her long to find Melisandre, as Qyburn’s spy network is vast and eager to please.

Melisandre doesn’t seem terribly surprised to see her. This annoys Cersei quite a lot.

“What do you need from me?”

“Why assume I need anything.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

And, like before, it’s not a statement of judgment. Just a fact. A genuine observation. It’s a nice change from the way people usually talk to her, if Cersei were in the mood for candor.

“One of my handmaidens has run off. Presumably to help your little friend in the North. I need you to find her.”

“Why not find her yourself?”

“If you think that I would leave King’s Landing and risk someone using my absence to usurp me, you’re much more boring than I assumed. Even being here now is dangerous.”

The woman in red looks…not amused, but some nearby emotion. Cersei doesn’t care enough to puzzle through what that means. She doesn’t know this woman, nor does she have any worthwhile reason to.

“And why would I do this for you?” Melisandre replies, after entirely too long of a pause to be considered polite.

“I wouldn’t doubt Senna knows plenty of information. She wouldn’t have left if she didn’t think she could be useful.”

“I understand why you want me to find her. What I want to know is why I would want to.”

If Cersei still had any hair to tear out, she would. She plasters a sickeningly patronizing smile on her face instead. She hates this world and everything in it. But she particularly hates how clever everyone always thinks they are.

“You said yourself you don’t know if the Targaryen girl is fit to lead. Do you really wish for her to have information that could easily win her a war when you don’t even know if you want her to win?”

Melisandre tilts her chin up marginally. She has almost immediately shifted from close-to-amused to impressed.

“You said you wanted me available in case the girl and the bastard fail. I can’t be of any use to you or your ‘Lord’s’ cause if the North destroys us in a single battle due to extra intelligence. Surely you know that.”

Cersei makes a point to slip the smile off her face. She allows herself to settle into the feeling of power she loves to revel in, the one that almost fills the void in her heart that has existed ever since she was born. Cersei is serious and will not accept a refusal, and it is necessary that this woman in front of her knows that. “Doing this means I and any resources I have will remain to provide you with assistance should it come to that.”

And, for some reason Cersei doubts even the gods themselves know, Melisandre smiles. “Very well. I will find her.”

Two days later, Senna the handmaiden is found dead in one of the castle’s stables. Seemingly trampled by a horse.

Cersei doesn’t know how Melisandre managed to get the girl back inside the city. Cersei doesn’t care.

It’s not until after this that she realizes she never once threatened violence or death if her not-quite-an-ally didn’t comply with her wishes.

She staunchly refuses to think about what that means.

Ch. 2

 Melisandre does not like the feeling of doubting herself. It’s been there ever since Stannis’s death, and though the joining of Jon and the Dragon Queen had alleviated it to an extent, it is now back, stronger than ever.

Which is why she finds herself in King’s Landing again, seeking out a certain wrathful, green-eyed ruler.

“The Targaryen girl has destroyed several key food and weapons stores in the North in order to win a battle against a few underarmed loyalists.” There is no preamble this time. Like the woman in front of her, Melisandre has no time for meaningless greetings or stalling through cleverness.

Cersei’s eyes do not change, and Melisandre, for all of her gifts, all of her intelligence, all of her everything, cannot even begin to fathom what she is thinking. “I see.”

Her back is now turned, and she leisurely pours out a goblet of wine. Some part of Melisandre knows that she is simply executing a power play, as she herself has done so many times before, occasionally even toward the woman in question. That doesn’t make it any less aggravating. “If she had any concept of strategy, she wouldn’t have needed to sacrifice so much ‘collateral damage,’ as she calls it,” Melisandre continues.

Even though she’s facing front again, the queen doesn’t even so much as half-glance toward her. Melisandre appreciates her feigned stoicism. And her loathing of the queen’s desire to stroke her own ego is tempered by a rather vulgar admiration at just how good at this she truly is.

After another agonizing minute (Melisandre knows her expression is getting progressively more desperate, but she craves certainty and resolution too much to fix that), Cersei looks up. She asks, simply, “And?”

“The people will be left that much closer to starving and defenseless during the coming Winter. She has proven she does not care about fighting the Undead. Only about increasing her own power.”

“What do you expect me to do about it. Supply resources to my enemies?”

“I expect you to beat her.”

“Yes, that is my intention.”

Melisandre rolls her eyes. (If she doesn’t, she might laugh. But she doesn’t think Cersei is trying to be funny. Or maybe she is. That was quite a thought: Cersei Lannister, agent of comedy.)

Somehow, Cersei lets this gesture pass without comment before narrowing her eyes in suspicion. The expression makes her look tired. She probably is, given how many different groups of people are trying to kill her at present.

“Why have you come to me? You’re afraid this girl is a tyrant. People say the same about me.”

“Even knowing what I know, I doubt you would be that careless.”

“You know I burnt an entire religious cult by gathering them in a church where I was supposed to stand trial.”

Melisandre can’t help but turn one of the corners of her mouth up at that. “They were not real believers.”

Cersei’s eyes move fractionally toward their usual position. Melisandre would say she looks almost…enchanted, if she thought the queen were capable of such an expression.

“I have executed many others.”

“Who have personally wronged you or your children. You have been willing to ally with others when needed. You would not kill potential informants on sight.”

“Has she done that again?”

“Many times, now. One came with a large supply of Dragonglass, the only thing we know can kill a White Walker. She incinerated all of it.”

The queen regnant blinks a few times. She looks almost pained with the thought that her greatest foe is nothing more than a naive child, play-acting at an overindulged fantasy. It’s all Melisandre needs to know that she has made the right choice in coming here.

“I have destroyed entire houses protecting my family.”

“And I burned a child alive.”

Cersei pauses. Takes a long, genuine look at Melisandre, eyes sweeping thoughtfully from the ground under her feet to the top of her red hair. And there is another moment of understanding. No hatred or fear or even disgust. Merely… acknowledgement, as Cersei would do the same if pushed far enough.

Melisandre’s gaze doesn’t quite falter under the queen’s eye. But it almost does.

“Why should I trust you,” Cersei responds at last.

“I’m probably the only person who won’t demand a marriage agreement from you.”

Cersei almost laughs at that. Or, at the very least, Melisandre can tell she wants to; the corners of her mouth relax, and her fiery-green eyes brighten just enough to be noticeable. And Melisandre finds herself smiling fully at the unexpectedly warm response.

When the queen speaks again, quite a bit of her characteristic venom is gone. “Very well. Return in three days. We’ll discuss this further. I have a council meeting to attend to.”

For the first time since Stannis, Melisandre allows herself the luxury of hope.

These meetings have become almost distressingly frequent. It seems as if every slight change in the political landscape, no matter how meaningless, is used as an excuse for her and the Red Woman to meet for discussion.

And as adept as Cersei has always been at keeping herself in denial to cope with the worst of the world, she knows it’s not only Melisandre’s doing.

Fortunately, the latest atrocity actually does necessitate a meeting. It seems the Stark girl has released a prisoner against the Targaryen “queen’s” wishes (indeed, she was just like her mother, it seemed). Things were mostly under control at present, but a small riot had broken out.

“The people are getting tense. This is not good.”

“Not good for whom? The more tense they are under her alleged ‘reign,’ the better for me.”

“Not if the Undead claim you first. Every moment she spends embroiled in political affairs is an extra advantage they gain over us. Not even you can survive them, though I’m sure you’d put up an excellent fight.”

And much to her own surprise, Cersei smiles. It’s not a very pronounced one. But a brief examination of herself reveals that the ends of her lips are unmistakably pulled up.

That hasn’t happened in quite a long time…

“Do you possess the tools to defeat her?” Her visitor presses.

“Yes. But I cannot guarantee there will be enough resources left to kill all of the White Walkers when I’m done. Nor can I guarantee the safety of the resources you already have.”

Melisandre nods.

“I had an idea about that, though.”

“Oh?”

It’s not lost on Cersei that this is the first time she is willingly sharing information with the woman across from her. But considering that her family had used wildfire as a weapon twice in the public eye, now, she presumes that letting someone know there was still more to use wouldn’t be giving away too much.

And it isn’t as if she’d tell her where it is. Age may have dulled her optimism, but not her discretion.

Mostly.

“I assume you’ve heard of wildfire?”

Melisandre’s face shines with recognition, then with something that Cersei thinks looks far too much like pride.

“I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think it would work?”

“Well, you would know better than I would.”

“It would likely kill the wights. But the actual leaders? The original Undead? Probably not. Only Dragonglass or Valyrian Steel can do that.”

“Or dragon fire.”

“Or dragon fire. But I assume you have an answer for that, too?”

She does.

“I wouldn’t have started this conversation if I didn’t.”

The fire priestess looks up at Cersei expectantly. And Cersei hesitates. This is the first time she has asked someone for a favor in…decades, at least, possibly her whole life. Everything else has been an order, a demand, or, in the case of her father, a plea. Never can she remember simply asking someone for something. She loathes it and never wants to do it again.

“You possess…abilities, do you not?”

And Melisandre, unanticipatedly, simply looks at the ground with something akin to self-reproach. “Yes.”

“Then perhaps you could use them. Change the nature of the wildfire, somehow combine it with Dragonglass-you’d only need a few pieces for that. Or, if not, use the fire to focus some sort of death charm.”

“All of which might not work.”

“Then what’s your idea?”

Her eyes drift toward the ground once more. This time, she doesn’t say anything.

As Cersei had thought.

She does not have time for this. She has a country to rule, wildfire to collect, and battle plans to oversee. “Well?” This time, she is forceful. Asking for the aid of her magic might be a favor, but asking for an answer to the question of that aid is not. She already has given far more chances than she’d care to admit to this woman, for some completely indiscernible reason.

“I’ve never done something on that scale. I don’t even know if I could.”

“You brought a man back from the dead.”

She hates how impressed she sounds when she says this.

But, apparently, this display of emotion that isn’t hatred or rage or grief moves her red visitor. “I’ll do my best.” And the accompanying smirk catches Cersei so off-guard she almost drops her wine goblet.

Melisandre takes her leave, and Cersei is left to wonder why her heart is beating so quickly.

Today, it’s some minor Northron lord who made an indecorous comment, which Melisandre tries to use as proof that the North is dividing further, but they both know is just an excuse to see Cersei.

The conversation has evolved into Melisandre talking about how she once tricked a man into handing over his horse. It’s a story she’s never told to anyone; she’d never thought it important, and it reminds her of a time when she was considerably younger (and thus very foolish and inexperienced), besides.

In truth, the only reason this is happening is because they are both far more drunk than they should be, but Melisandre imagines this is what “normal” women do (women who can just live, free of constant doubt and crisis of faith, women who don’t have potentially the fate of the country resting on their shoulders), and that feels…nice.

“And then he says, ‘When I mentioned things were getting too monotonous, this isn’t what I meant. Oh, he was livid.’ ”

Cersei chuckles, though Melisandre suspects that this, like everything else she does, even while under the influence of particularly strong wine, is carefully measured.

“What did you say?”

“I told him now that he finally had something worthy of telling his wife, perhaps she’d pay attention to him for more than two minutes because she probably wouldn’t let him out of her sight again.”

And Cersei abandons all pretense of restraint and absolutely cackles, slamming her free hand down on the table with an ear-piercing THUD. It seems that even in laughter, the queen is hard and fierce, not to be trifled with.

A thin, pink sheen wisps across her (admittedly stunning) cheekbones, and Melisandre thinks Cersei ought to laugh more often.

Perhaps they both should.

But, to quote the most cliché of expressions, all good things must come to an end, as Cersei’s expression, if not her body, suddenly sobers up completely. She is staring at Melisandre, but there is no feeling of familiarity, no understanding. It’s almost as if Cersei is studying her, and Melisandre, in her wine-induced fog, can’t make sense of why.

She gets her answer, though in a much less jovial way than she might have wanted.

“Why are you here?”

“What?”

“You and I both know that you had no real reason to come today, so why are you here? What do you want?”

Melisandre should probably be a little afraid. Cautious, at the very least. She is not. It’s probably the wine.

“I wanted to.”

“No one ever wants to be here.” And Cersei looks sad. Broken. Melisandre knows that expression well: it’s the one that’s been on her face every time she’s looked in the mirror since Shireen.

“I…” But Melisandre doesn’t know what to say. For someone so good at giving speeches, inciting crowds into action, for a woman who could make one of the most powerful men alive follow her without a second thought, she cannot think of any words to reasonably continue this conversation.

After a few minutes pass, the best her hazy brain can supply is, “Your…brother…wanted…?”

“Don’t talk about him,” Cersei growls.

And Melisandre is, once again, silent.

(Although, not out of fear. This silence comes from knowing she’s touched upon a sore spot, and she has no reason or desire to keep prodding it further.)

“I know you’re only here to lay out some sort of trap for me. You should leave while I still allow you to.”

“What reason have I given you to distrust me?”

“Everyone has reasons to distrust them.”

She supposed that wasn’t entirely wrong.

“How do I know you aren’t trying to entrap me?”

Cersei scoffs. “What use would I have of that?”

Melisandre tries not to interpret this to mean that she is ultimately unimportant, but she is painfully unsuccessful.

“I know what my reputation is,” the queen continues. “And I know why I have it. I don’t regret any of the things I’ve done to earn it.”

“Neither do I,” Melisandre answers, softly, pained. She probably should regret a lot of things. But she can’t. She was only doing what she had thought was R’hllor’s will. The right thing.

Cersei closes her eyes, grips the table until her knuckles are white. It is now that Melisandre notices the dark circles under her eyes. Likely due to many sleepless nights. Broken faith and extreme responsibility will do that.

“If you distrust me so much, why didn’t you dismiss me? It can’t be because you have any sort of affection toward me. I was under the impression that you didn’t really like anyone.”

Cersei opens her eyes, and their normally brilliant shade of green is diluted with a scattering of unfallen tears.

“I liked my children.” A deep breath. “I loved my children. Every single thing I ever did was to protect my family.” And with that, the tears fall. Followed by many more.

Before Melisandre even has time to process what is currently happening, Cersei begins sobbing quietly.

This is not a situation she knows how to fix.

There was a difference between comforting someone like…Selyse, and someone like Cersei. Selyse would be placated by empty compliments, reassurances that everything was proceeding according to plan, a prayer. None of that would appease Cersei.

She considers leaving the queen to her onslaught of emotions, letting her stew in her bitterness. But some part of her whispers that that’s not fair.

And so she walks the few steps over to the table with the wine to gently pry the crying woman’s hands from her face, before letting her arms wrap hesitantly around her. Because that was a thing people sometimes did when other people were sad, and it seems like a good thing to do. And, well, she doesn’t have any other ideas.

And from the way Cersei immediately clings back and lets her tears fall unrestrained into Melisandre’s hair, punctuated by a breathy “Thank you,” heavy with so many indecipherable emotions, she realizes just how much this woman has needed a hug.

They stay like that for quite a long while. It is deep into the night when Melisandre finally leaves.

After that night, everything changes. There are no more pretenses for their meetings. No charade of discussing politics. Everything is more familiar, softened, easy. Many days they don’t talk of the war at all.

Cersei suspects this is what having a friend must feel like. She won’t pretend that it’s unpleasant, but she knows it’s only a matter of time before something happens. Or before Melisandre abandons her, like everyone else.

…But that doesn’t necessarily mean she can’t indulge right now, does it? It’s been so long since anyone outside of her family made her feel something that wasn’t excruciating disappointment.

The servants are starting to talk, crying out that “history is repeating” and “has she learned nothing from Stannis.”

If Cersei were capable of simple leisure anymore, she would be laughing almost constantly. Stannis, with his over-inflated sense of responsibility and one-sided justice. He never needed the Red Woman to cause his own ruin. He had only kept himself alive as long as he had because of Melisandre’s council, divorced from his obsessions with keeping the realm pristine and with drawing lines no one was allowed to cross

With everything Stannis pretended he was, he could never have truly appreciated her.

It is late, and she has met her visitor just inside the gate. They begin their walk back to the Red Keep, passing two stable boys who have just finished repairing one of the walls. The younger of the two looks at the woman cloaked in red, expression a mix between panic and barely-suppressed anger. They run away as fast as their small legs can carry them, and the older one whispers something about “the fall of House Baratheon” just before they vanish out of sight into one of the many dark alleys that adorn this part of the castle.

Cersei hears a sharp exhalation beside her, and Melisandre’s face, made at once both smooth and angular by the glow of the moon, looks how Cersei imagines her own had upon hearing of Tyrion’s escape.

“I think it best I should leave.” Her friend ally guest occasional conversation partner speaks tensely, almost as if she could shatter at the insult, were she too uncareful. She whirls around and starts moving back toward the gate.

“Melisandre,” Cersei says, and they both freeze. They both know this is the first time she has openly addressed her by name, without an accompanying title or epithet.

And the tension instantly slides off Melisandre’s face, as simple as a flame being extinguished by a puff of air.

Cersei looks at her inquiringly; Melisandre meets her eyes, nodding stiffly. They stroll back to their customary meeting spot, and Cersei feels a nervousness she can’t name creep up her neck and around her skull. She thinks she hears her escort of choice breathe observably louder than usual as they step over the threshold into the room. She isn’t sure what this means, other than it makes the dreadful feeling worse.

She tries to think of something to say, but her mind is blank. As if someone has burned away all the thoughts in it, or spilled an inkwell over any pages of conversation she might have pre-written, rendering them unreadable.

To give herself something to do, she decides to light a few candles. But she finds herself so distracted by whatever-in-the-Seven’s-name this is that she burns her finger, a small “Aarh” escaping her mouth, unbidden. Melisandre glances over in concern, and-upon realizing what has happened-gently walks forward to help. At this point, Cersei is scrambling to light a second candle. Quite ineffectively, as her finger hurts too much for her to use it for anything.

Red hair brushes over Cersei’s arm as Melisandre takes the candle and the stick used to light it. Their hands brush during this exchange, and for some curious reason, Melisandre keeps her head down, pretending to be fascinated by the tendrils of smoke peeling off from the candelabra as she transfers flame to the rest of the candles.

She pulls a handkerchief out of some fold of her dress (red, always red, like the color of Cersei’s house or the blood that runs through her veins), and, instead of merely handing over the scrap of fabric, gingerly winds it around Cersei’s injured finger with utmost care.

“There,” the Red Woman murmurs. Her hand is still on her makeshift bandage, curled around Cersei’s finger; her eyes are wide, her lips pressed tightly together, as if trying not to say something.

A minute passes and still neither of them lets go.

Shrouded in the half-light of the candles, Melisandre continues to keep her gazed fixed to the ground, and Cersei feels an increasing need for her to, instead, train her deep blue eyes on Cersei’s green. There is no practical reason for her to want this, other than an inkling that, should it happen, the strange and terrible feeling will lessen. Eventually, she is rewarded for her patience; Melisandre seems to resolve some inner conflict before looking into her eyes unwaveringly, taking her available hand and hesitantly tucking a lone, stray thread of hair behind Cersei’s ear.

Cersei’s breath catches, and she realizes just what that feeling is.

Melisandre nearly crashes her hand back down against her side in a rush to get it away from Cersei’s face. The skin around her eyes is taut, the rest of her face colored with trepidation. She looks…

…Afraid.

That was not an emotion she had ever thought she’s see on Melisandre’s face. She had somehow thought her incapable of feeling such a thing. A thrill rushes through her at the idea that, in a world containing the Undead, dragons, endless stretches of war and struggle and death, she alone was responsible for this expression gracing the Red Woman’s face.

She can tell Melisandre wants to leave, convinced she has crossed a boundary that cannot be uncrossed. And if it were anyone else, she would gladly tell them to get out.

But that isn’t what she wants.

It’s been quite a long time since she’s truly gotten what she wants.

So, before her conversation partner guest ally friend can so much as turn around, she frames her face between her hands and kisses her.

Melisandre responds enthusiastically, fisting one hand in Cersei’s short hair, the other wrapping around her waist in an effort to pull their bodies closer together.

Cersei thought kissing a woman would be…different…somehow. And it was. But not as drastically as she had assumed. It was an odd contradiction of having an intimate knowledge of what was effective (such as running her thumb over Melisandre’s cheek here), and being acutely aware that the body pressed against hers was of a different shape and construction than any of those she had previously allowed this close to her.

It’s intoxicating.

All she feels a heady sensation a thousand times more powerful than even the strongest wine, and everything, everything is Melisandre.

She is no longer foolish enough to believe in the existence of happiness. But perhaps this comes close.

 It’s not as pronounced of a change in their relationship as last time, but it is, undoubtedly, a more meaningful one.

The remnants of stilted distrust have given way to a new openness between them, one punctuated by languid kisses and running soft fingers through the other’s hair.

Now, when Cersei’s eyebrows knit together while revising a battle plan, Melisandre can place a gentle hand there to smooth them out. When Melisandre experiments with fire, Cersei is there to tell her (bluntly, with a hint of irritation) when she is breaking her focus and to ask her what more she needs.

They have formed a cohesive unit; their plans to stop the Dragon Queen and the Undead have reached their final stages. Melisandre is practicing what magic she can, and when they are not finding solace in each other for a few precious moments, they are reviewing and re-reviewing war tactics. The end is near. For some, if not all of them.

“We attack tomorrow,” Cersei pronounces. Resigned. Resolute.

Everything that had happened over the past year had been building up to this.

Cersei’s newborn son has been sent away with one of the only knights the two of them have agreed she can trust. If God is kind, the boy will be tucked away in the far southwest, on the coast of an unmapped island, cared for and defended.

Everything is in place. Except for one small item of discussion.

“Absolutely not.”

“I am not asking you to spare anyone else. Just the girl.”

“Why should I spare Sansa? How could I justify that?” Cersei turns from the window she had been staring out of. The wind ruffles the top of her head and she looks graceful, poised.

(Beautiful.)

“We are not allowed to pay favorites in war, Melisandre.”

“She has been nothing but an agent of peace. Every single thing the Dragon Queen has done, she has been against. If we need anyone left alive on our side when this is over, it must be her.”

Cersei remains unconvinced.

“Her sole motive has been to protect her family and vanquish the Undead. Surely you can understand that.”

The barely-perceptible droop in Cersei’s shoulders indicates that she does.

“The world is not done with her yet. She simply wants to be left alone. She won’t disturb you if the North is safe. If you want to protect your child, sparing Sansa Stark will help do that.”

“Very well. I will spare her. Only. Her.”

“Promise me. For the love of this country—”

“I don’t love this country. I love you.” Her eyes drift wistfully out the window once more, mind temporarily lost in a dream of some other, happier, theoretical life. “I love my child. More than anything. More than my own life.” Cersei’s eyes shift back to the here and now, her gaze piercing, but almost as if in a show of bravado. She is posturing, trying to undo this show of vulnerability. And as Melisandre takes in her rigid back; clenched hands, with sharp, leonine nails digging into them; eyes fighting desperately to stay open instead of closing to indulge in some other, less ferocious emotion, she realizes that Cersei is afraid she’ll leave. Even now.

Extreme, non-pious emotions have never been something she wore well. But she cannot let this woman stand here and doubt her loyalty. She cannot let her think her trust and love have gone unrequited.

“I assumed I would never know what it meant to love something that wasn’t God. I never thought myself capable. You proved both of those things to be false. Thank you for that.”

The smile on Cersei’s face is sweet, tender, almost beatific in its loveliness.

When she turns toward the window again, her demeanor has changed into something almost unrecognizable. She looks oddly calm for someone about to end a war years in the making.

Melisandre takes a few steps and joins her, surveys the starless sky, feels the icy, uncomfortable breeze on her face.

And as Cersei quietly threads her hand through hers, Melisandre feels that strange sense of calmness wash over her, too.

For, whatever happened, they would face it together.

[dragonologist-phd]

The Weight Of All Our Memories

This weeks fic fill for @pillarspromptsweekly “Roll For It”, featuring 3 themes- Thaos, Aloth, and betrayal. This week’s fic features my Watcher Desta, and a conversation with Aloth concerning certain revelations and confessions. Also on AO3.

Defiance Bay was burning.

The smoke was a dark stain in the sky, visible even miles away from the city. By now the buildings and walls blurred into nothing but a dot on the horizon, and yet the smoke billowed and curled, dark and sinister and showing no signs of fading. Aloth could only imagine what must be happening back there- looting, destruction, a mad scramble from the authorities to restore order to the chaos.

The Leaden Key had created that chaos, and the guilt of that fact pressed harder on Aloth every time he caught sight of the smoke cloud in the distance.

I tol’ ye not to trust ‘em, ye ninnywit.

Aloth winced and pushed Iselmyr’s voice away. She had been simmering just underneath the surface for days now, fueled by Aloth’s own frustration at himself. For once he couldn’t say she was wrong in her criticisms; unlike him, Iselmyr had never wanted anything to do with the Leaden Key. Aloth had always disregarded her protests, so sure that she was only trying to keep him from finding a way to reverse his Awakening. He’d refused to let her dissuade him from his path. At the time, he thought he knew what he was getting into.

Now here he was, watching Defiance Bay burn and wishing he had listened a little closer to the voice in his head.

“Look out!”

Aloth started at the voice and quickly ducked, narrowly avoiding the pinecone that flew past his ear. He blinked in surprise, trying to pull himself out of his thoughts enough to figure out what had just happened. “...Why did you just throw a pinecone at me?”

Desta grinned sheepishly as she approached. Despite her silver metallic armor, it was difficult in the evening light to make out her figure among the trees. Her dark green skin blended in with the scenery, and her golden godlike eyes caught the light in strange ways. Seeing her emerge from the forest was strangely otherworldly, even as she plopped herself noisily down next to Aloth and gave him shrug. “I wanted an excuse to shout something at you. You seem distracted, and not in your usual ‘leave-me-alone-so-I-can-read’ kind of way.”

Aloth let out a small breath and closed the grimoire in his lap. He’d hoped nobody would notice his momentary absence- as Desta pointed out, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to distance himself from the campfire that the others were gathered around. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m just trying to focus on this new spell.”

Without meaning to, he glanced again towards the smoke rising from Defiance Bay. Desta noticed. “No, you’re torturing yourself by obsessing over the riots. It’s what you’ve been doing ever since we left the city. That doesn’t do anybody any good, you know.”

“I-” Aloth started to protest, then stopped himself. “I know. I know it’s too late now to fix things. That doesn’t stop me from wondering what I could have done differently.”

Aloth could feel Desta watching him, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. It had only been a couple of dats since his guilt-ridden confession about his connection to the Leaden Key. Telling her about his past with the organization had been terrifying; that was why he had avoided it for so long. He’d seen her righteous anger firsthand, and had no desire to have that anger turned upon himself.

But when he told her the truth in the shadows of the burning city, there had been no anger. Desta had only given him that same soft, unreadable look she was giving him now, and he had been instantly forgiven.

It made no sense. At the time, he’d lacked the bravery to question it, but now he had to know. “Why aren’t you furious?”

Desta’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Aloth shook his head at the outrageousness of the situation. “I lied to you! I betrayed you! I was a member of the Leaden Key, I worked for Thaos! How am I still here?”

A good-natured smile played on Desta’s lips. “You didn’t betray me, Aloth. Yes, it would have been nice if you’d shared certain information sooner…” Her voice took on a disapproving tone,, but even now there was no true malice behind it. “But you can’t actually expect me to blame you for all of this.”

“But-”

“Aloth.” Desta firmly cut off his protest. “Did you know Thaos was planning an assassination?”

Aloth’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Well, no. But-”

“Did you know the Leaden Key was doing all that crazy shit with the machines and the animancers?”

“No.”

“Did you know that Thaos was messing with souls and killing people and trying to throw a city into anarchy?”

Aloth held up a pleading hand. “You’ve made your point. I didn’t know this would happen. But I still played a part. I thought what Thaos was doing was good, and I never questioned it. Not once. Even when I knew something was wrong, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. And you…” Aloth trailed off, trying desperately to arrange his thoughts correctly. “The entire time I’ve known you, all you’ve done is go out of your way to help people. The Leaden Key does the opposite of that. They’ve tried to kill you, many times. You should hate everything about it.”

The silence hung tensely in the air around the two companions. Aloth waited for a response, an explanation. Perhaps Desta had a reason for keeping him around she hadn’t yet divulged. Perhaps she was about to come to her senses at last, recognize the weight of what he had participated in, and send him away for good.

Finally, Desta heaved a deep sigh. She reached down and plucked the pinecone she’d thrown off the ground, turning it over in her hands as she spoke. “I don’t hate you, Aloth. I get it. I understand why you stayed loyal for so long. When you found the Leaden Key, you were aimless and alone. You didn’t have a family or home you could turn to, and then all of a sudden you had a purpose. You had something to believe in, to give your life some direction.”

Desta’s words came with the rushed tone of vulnerable honesty, and they hit at the memories within Aloth.  He stared at her, trying to discern if she was using her Watcher abilities, but she didn’t seem to notice him. Her gaze was fixed on the pinecone she held, and she spoke faster and faster as she turned it in her hands. “Maybe for the first time in your life you didn’t feel lost or rejected or isolated. And maybe you would do anything to hold on to this new life because that feeling of belonging can be the most intoxicating thing in the world and you really, really don’t want to let go of that.”

She stopped to take a breath, and seemed to notice Aloth’s stare for the first time. He politely dropped his gaze, and she laughed self-consciously.  “Come on, Aloth. I’m a walking tree. I know what a big deal it can be just to be accepted.” She motioned to the armor she wore, emblazoned with the sigil of the Kind Wayfarers. “You think I don’t know a little about dedicating yourself to an order?”

“But you’re a Kind Wayfarer,” Aloth pointed out. “Your order stands for peace and protection. You literally have Kind in the name. Can you really compare that to the Leaden Key?”

“Maybe not exactly,” Desta conceded. “But although I hate to admit it…when I joined I wasn’t some perfect hero looking to uphold peace and protection. I was young and lonely and starry-eyed. The Wayfarers are wonderful, and I’m glad I met them, but… if I had met a Leaden Key agent instead of a paladin that day… I don’t know. I might be in your place right now.”

Aloth mulled over her words. Despite what she said, it was nearly impossible to imagine Desta as a solemn Leaden Key agent, steeped in secrecy and pledging her services to a man with a hidden agenda. “I don’t know. I still think you might be a little wiser than me in that regard. You would have stood up to Thaos and his followers before it got this far.”

Desta chuckled, leaning over to nudge Aloth in a friendly way that caught him completely off guard. “Not wiser. Come on, have you met me? Wiser. Ha.” She smirked at him and shook her head. “No. Just luckier.”

Now it was Desta who was staring in the direction of Defiance Bay. Her eyes seemed to suddenly grow tired. “Luckier this time, at least. You have a lot of faith in me, but I’m not sure it’s deserved. That feeling I talked about… I know it. Not just from me, but my past life. And not about the Wayfarers. These strange memories keep coming back, and a lot of them don’t make sense, it’s all just bits and pieces. But believe me, I recognize that feeling. That sense of purpose. I think past me felt that around Thaos.”

Desta’s voice grew quiet, and she gnawed at her lip in distressed concentration. “I think past me did a lot of things for the sake of that purpose. For the sake of Thaos. I don’t know what I did, but it feels…bad.”

Aloth took a moment to let this new information sink in. He still found it hard to imagine Desta as she described herself, but there were no rules on how souls could change through their cycles. After all, something in Aloth had once been Iselmyr. “Perhaps we do have some things in common.”

A triumphant smile crossed Desta’s face. “See? I know what I’m talking about. So trust me when I say that reliving the past and wondering what could have gone differently will drive you mad. Whatever you did or whoever you followed...it happened, and it’s over. Nothing can change that, not even a Watcher. You can only decide what happens next.” She paused and studied Aloth for a moment. “I want you to stick around, but you shouldn’t do it just because of that. I don’t want you to follow me.”

“You… don’t?”

“No!” Desta leapt to her feet, her golden eyes shining with passion. “Don’t you get it? I want you with me, not behind me! You have to make a choice about what you’re doing next, and it has to be your choice. I’m not going after Thaos out of obligation or to carry out orders. He doesn’t have that kind of power over me anymore. I’m going to hunt Thaos down and do what I can to fix the harm he’s done because I think it’s the right thing to do. And I hope whatever you decide, that’s your reason, too.” She held out a hand to Aloth, waiting for his response.

It took him a moment to sort out the disorganized thoughts running around his head. To be honest, Aloth still wasn’t sure if he could trust himself; he’d once thought the Leaden Key was doing good work, after all. The memory of his old mistakes drew his gaze once more back to the silhouette of Defiance Bay, but as night approached it had rendered the distant smoke invisible.

In the end, Aloth finally decided, he really only had two choices. He could either continue to choke on his mistakes, or do what he could to move on and rise above them. He gripped Desta’s hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet.

[dearlazerbunny]

By Any Other Name; Ch. 13

Pairings: Kylo x Reader

Genre/Ratings: Highschool AU; M (eventually)

Words: 2700

Summary: Your new lab partner proves to be nothing short of an asshole- or is he? The more of Kylo that’s revealed, the more you can’t help but think you might be falling for him just a little…

Requested Tags: @foxface9000

Click HERE for Chapter 14.

The night of, you shoved your phone under your pillow and turned the ringer to the lowest possible volume, to guarantee you wouldn’t wake anyone in the house. It turns out you didn’t need it, however, because you were wired and wide awake the entire night. When midnight rolled around you were sitting on your bed, knees to your chest, grinning stupidly to yourself at the thought of holy shit, you were actually doing this. Strangely, you weren’t nervous. The thought of seeing Kylo uninterrupted for more than an hour was plenty motivation to get your ass out of the house.

Now, what does one wear to a clandestine meeting with a handsome guy in the middle of the woods at night?

You threw on some jeans, long sleeves, and a hoodie, but compensated by doing your makeup a bit and throwing on the sneakers he had doodled on what felt like a lifetime ago. You didn’t want him thinking you hadn’t tried, late as it may be- you had a reputation to uphold, after all.

Sneaking down the stairs was the easy part- you’d mastered the trek without a squeak long ago when you were younger for late-night ice cream runs. Funny how you escalated from sweets-stealing right to sneaking out. You would have giggled for fear of being caught. The garage was a little trickier. You ended up raising the door by hand to make less noise and actually pushing the car out to the street before starting it up. Paranoid? Maybe. But better safe than sorry.

The drive was smooth, with little cars out on the road, and you turned on the mixtape Kylo had made for you (somehow he had gotten your locker combination and left it in there as a surprise). Singing along, you opened the windows just a crack to let the wind play with your hair as you flew down the back roads, headlights illuminating an ever-thickening forest. There was a little gravel pull-off that marked the entrance to the bridge’s path, and your heart gave a little stutter when you realized there was a car already there. Cutting the engine let the nighttime swarm in, filling you with the sound of crickets and pale starlight, you once again let yourself revel in the fact that you were actually here. Away. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, you grabbed a post it note and sharpie from your backpack in the backseat and scribbled a bunch of hearts and silly doodles on it, tucking it underneath Kylo’s windshield wiper before heading down the path. With luck, he wouldn’t notice it ‘til tomorrow.

Your sneakers cracked a few sticks on the way there, despite using your phone’s flashlight to see by. Eventually, you put the phone away and just ran, not caring if the mud got on the hem of your jeans or the gravel made crunching noises. Who else was out here to hear you? You slowed when you saw a black-silhouetted figure sitting on the railing of the bridge, feet dangling towards the slow-moving water beneath him. You smiled, taking in the view, before wandering up to meet him. The old boards of the bridge rattled and creaked as you crossed, and Kylo turned, hitting you with that megawatt grin that was brighter than the moon above the moment he saw you.

“All black, really? What happened to the prep princess? You look like you’re about to rob a bank,” he teased, pulling up the hood of your black jacket and shoving it over your head.

“Oh, I look like a bank robber? Hey, quit it!” You shoved off the hood with a laugh and ran a hand through your hair to fix the probably now frizzy loose ends. “I’m not the one with studs on my jeans and wearing fingerless gloves.”

“Eh.” He shrugs with a little half smile on his face. ‘You know you love it.”

“That I do.” You swung yourself over the edge of the railing to sit with him, Kylo steadying you when you overshot just a hair. You looked at him. He looked at you. Both of you had grins on your face that belied just how stupidly infatuated you were with the person sitting across from you. “Hi,” you whispered, face just a few inches from his. Close enough that you could see the stars flickering in his eyes.

“Hi back.” He nuzzles your nose with his own before putting his mouth to yours. You raised a hand and put it behind his neck, feeling his curls tickle your fingers, and you tugged a little on the strands, making him rumble deep down in his throat. God, you loved that sound. It went straight through you. “That’s not fair. If I kiss you any harder we’ll end up in the water.”

“Guess you’ll just have to deal then, lover boy.”

“Hm.” His nose crinkled and you laughed at his seemingly off-put expression. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

“You know you love it.”

“Touche.” He grabs your hand and turns it over in between his palms a few times before lacing his fingers through your own. “Want to take a swim?”

“Kylo, at one in the morning? It’ll be freezing!”

“Aw, come on, what happened to little miss rebel over here? Sneaking out and defying her parents all to see her boyfriend from the other side of the tracks?” He peels off his socks ad shoes, tossing them behind him, before rolling up his jeans and hopping down from the ledge. You could hear the splash as he handed. “It’s not that cold, come on. I’ll catch you.”

You, however, were frozen in your seat. Boyfriend. He had called himself your boyfriend. I mean at this point, he basically was, but you’d never said it out loud before, even if you’d thought it a million times in your head- “do you mean that?”

He looks up from wiggling his toes in the water. “Mean what?”

“That- you’re my boyfriend.” The weird look on his face is enough to send you into spasms of giggles, and you grab the railing on either side to steady yourself. “Hey, I’m just asking! I don’t think we’ve ever-”

“-said that before?” He wades over to you -because of course the asshole is tall enough to reach the bridge from the water- and puts one hand on either side of your crossed legs, covering your hands with his own. “That’s a damn shame.” He smiles crookedly. “Because I’d hate to like you this much and not be able to call you my girlfriend.”

“Aw, Kylo-” you let your forehead thunk against his, just breathing him in. “Why are you so-”

“Sweet? Charming? Recklessly good looking?” He shrugs his shoulders, trying to look innocent. “Beats me, toots. I’m just working with what I was born with.”

You roll your eyes nut still have to grin, despite yourself. “Says the man who dyes his hair.” He sticks out his tongue at you, and you stick out yours back, reaching down to loosen the ties on your sneakers, then shucking them off. “Help me down, sir sweet and charming and recklessly handsome.”

You hold out your arms like a little kid waiting to be picked up by their mom and he obliges, lifting you down into the water cradle-style - but not before spinning you around a few times until you can hardly see straight. “You’re such an ass, Kylo!” You rub your eyes, trying to get your bearings. He sets you down and you can feel the water run over your ankles, algae between your toes. “I swear to god-” You take a step and immediately stumble.

“Whoa, hey there-” Hey slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in closer, much to your delight. “Don’t go breaking an ankle on me. Dr. Smith would never forgive me.”

“He’d kill you in your sleep,” you giggle, grabbing a fistful of Kylo’s similarly black sweatshirt to steady yourself with. “His wrath knows no bounds.”

“Don’t I know it.” His hand is tracing a slow circle on your back, and the shiver that runs through you has nothing to do with the cold water you’re standing in. “And- Ben.”

You pull away a little. “Say again?”

He ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed, but there’s a warm glow in his eyes. “You can call me Ben. Only- if you want to. Obviously.”

“Really? You’d let me?”

“Well, yeah. I trust you.”

Three simple little words, yet they had the power to make you a little weak in the knees. “Okay.” You pull him down to meet you, smiling against his lips as you kiss him. “Ben.”

The two of you stood there for what seemed like hours, just drinking each other in. Something about the dark made you a little bolder than you normally would be, and you kissed him like you never had before, all teeth and sharp edges and breathless want. He retaliated in kind, nipping your bottom lip and sliding his hands down your back until they were almost sinfully low. Eventually you had to pull away, out of breath and exhilarated. How far would you go, you wondered. He’s been your first, well, everything. How many firsts would you have with him?

“Hey, you okay?” Kylo- Ben- was looking at you concernedly, running a light hand over your cheek to brush away an invisible something or other. “Too much?”

“No.” You kissed him one more time, briefly, and encircled your arms around his waist. “Perfect. I’m just a little out of breath,” you admitted sheepishly, feeling your heart pump out of its chest like it did after a particularly satisfying solo run.

“Ah. I can fix that, you know.”

“Fix it? No offense, but you’re the one who caused it!”

“And why would I take offense at that?” He squeezes you into a too-tight hug before settling his hands on your hips. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do,” he whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that made you want to kiss him all over again.

“Really.”

“Really really. Since the moment I saw you, all I’ve ever wanted to do is this…” he leans in for another kiss and your eyes flutter close- only to get hit with a splash of cold water to the face. Your eyes pop open and your mouth drops- bad idea, now you can taste the water as well- and you get a lovely view of Kylo a few feet in front of you, laughing his head off at your now pissed off expression.

“Ben mutherfucking Solo!” His laughter echoes off the trees as you reach down for a palmful of water and hurl it back at him, hitting him square in the chest. “You are the absolute worst!”

He flicks you again, this time with his foot, soaking the right leg of your pants, and oh, it is so on right now. You step back and fling cupfuls of water at his face, aiming for that perfect hair of his, and he’s hitting right back- he can scoop up more water in those big hands of his- and all of a sudden it’s an all out water war, no holds barred and everything fair game. By the end of it the both of you were soaked, giggling your heads off, and a little loopy due to the late night.

“Okay, okay! Hey- stop! I surrender!” You squeal as one last drench of water comes down upon your head, and he swoops in for a kiss. It’s sloppy, with both of you laughing and off balance, but there in the middle of the stream, with rocks cutting into your feet, wet jeans chilling you to your core, and Kylo’s hands cupping your face, there was no where you’d rather be.

“God, now I’m freezing.” You pull your soaked jacket away from your body, trying to air it out. “And I bet my mascara is everywhere.”

“Here, c’mere.” He uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away water and ink under your eye. “It’s cute, in a raccoon sorta way.”

“Oh, shut the hell up.” You giggle as his thumbs come away brown. “You know, your hair is cute when it’s wet.”

“Okay, yeah, laugh it up.” He shakes his head like a dog, spraying water everywhere. “That’s how you know I love you- I’m willing to mess up my hair for you.”

“I’m flattered,’ you tease, running a hand through those black locks almost reverently. He lets you, smiling a little as you do. “And-” you rest your head on his chest- “I love you too.”

“Well that’s good, otherwise this whole shindig would be a bit embarrassing.” But he pulls you in close, his head resting on your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck and spreads a warm glow all the way down to your toes.

“Are those… fireflies?”

You turn to see flashes of light specking the trees behind you. ‘They’re huge, if they are. I wonder-”

And that was when the first beam of a flashlight hit you in the face.

“I’ve got them! They’re over here!” A gruff voice shouted and all at once the two of you were swarmed with people, on the bridge, at the sides of the creek, and a few even in the water trudging up from downstream.

“What the hell is-” Kylo pulled you closer, almost protectively, and you leaned into him, trying not to look scared. “What the hell is this?”

“I think they’re cops.”

“Cops?!” Your face went white. Oh, god, no no no, this could not be happening-

“Kylo Ren. Step away from the girl.” Kylo gently extracted himself from you, holding his hands up in the air like he was some criminal.

“No!” You grab his hand, pulling him back towards you. He squeezes it gratefully. “What the hell is going on? Somebody tell us!”

A single cop steps forward, and in the light of the flashlights reflecting off the water you can see shiny silver handcuffs dangling from his grasp. “Kylo Ren. You’re under arrest for kidnapping and endangerment of a minor. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law-”

“This is bullshit! Kylo didn’t kidnap me! He didn’t hurt me!” You turn to the cop who was still reciting rights. “You can’t arrest him! He hasn’t done anything!”

“Y/N Y/L/N? You’re going to need to come with us.” Someone starts pulling on the arm not attached to Kylo, and you wrench it away.

“Kylo. I don’t know what happened, I swear to god-”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He presses a kiss to the top of your forehead and then steps aside, releasing your hand. “Just go with them. It’ll be okay.”

Tears are streaming down your face as another cop leads you in the opposite direction, her hands firm as the manacles currently being wrapped around Kylo’s wrists. “Let go of me! I need to stay with him!” You struggle, but more cops surround you, and soon you’re marching through the woods, the stream all but a distant memory.

Police cars have taken over the small gravel parking lot in the beginning of the woods. Red and blue lights reflect off yours and Kylo’s car. You can see the little note you left him fluttering in the breeze- right before it’s picked up by a gloved cop and put into some clear plastic baggie.

“This is ridiculous. Kylo didn’t kidnap me. I snuck out! I went of my own free will. Please, somebody listen to me!” A towel is thrown around your shoulders, and you regretfully feel a little grateful. “This is a big mistake!”

“We’ve got them both. Heading back to the station now.” The female speaks into a walkie-talkie she pulled from her hip.

“Copy that.”

She bundles you into a police car, your pleas still falling on deaf ears, and shuts the door with a finality that scares you. Through the tinted window you can see Kylo being led out of the woods in handcuffs, making you want to scream and bang on the glass. Somehow you didn’t think that would earn you too many points. So you sat there, still crying, as he was put into a car and sped away.

A/N: Things are about to get interesting...

[queenieschronicles]

Something Special

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: After a family meeting, the boys tease Tommy about marriage. Aunt Polly predicts he’ll find Mrs. Thomas Shelby soon.

Word Count: 2678

Warnings: Smut and cursing.

A/N: I honestly hope you guys enjoy this random idea that kept me up until 4 A.M.

The Shelby family remained lounging in the wager room after a family meeting. You sat on the stairs below Ada, who was plaiting a braid into your hair. You considered yourself fortunate that the family thought so highly of you. You were neither related through blood nor marriage, but they’d kept you close nonetheless.

Polly had been worried about the recent deals Tommy had been making. She’d done some digging with the help of Ada and the Londoners could not be trusted. You’d only mildly helped by pretending to be a flapper girl interested in a couple of “businessmen”. You were entirely too good at conversation.

The family meeting turned into quips. John had begged the point no one else could have gone undercover except for you because all the other girls were married women; all except Ada, but John claimed she was still a grieving widow.

Arthur took a stab at Tommy’s love life. He claimed he’d never find a woman at the rate he was aging.

“It’s not his age,” Ada roused from the stairwell,” it’s his goddamned moodiness.”

Laughter bellowed from everyone but Tommy, who was eyeing you with a look that didn’t forebode well with you. However, you’d never had trouble staring danger in the face. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth and you turned your eyes away.

“Is it because you can’t get a girl off, Tommy?” John prodded him. “Or is it too small?” He grabbed at his junk. Ada and you groaned.

Polly slapped John,” Shut it, John. Your brother will find a wife in due time.” She glanced over at you, which caused you to look down at the floorboards. “Won’t you?”

Tommy didn’t even flinch. Arthur piped up before Tommy could reply,” She’s gotta have something no other woman has.”

“What, like three tits?” John leaned in. Esme seemed unamused from her seat next to John. You couldn’t help but laugh. Laughs were not in short supply around the family.

Tommy shook his head. “Enough,” he looked at his brothers,” it’s time to get back to work.” A short silence filled the air aside from a match sizzling. He took a puff before pointing the rollup at Arthur,” You go with him. The threat should be made by the real thing. Remember, no loose ends.”

Ada squeezed your shoulder,” All done.” You smiled, trailing your hand down the braid.

“Thanks, Ada.” She gave you a wink and excused herself. She had to pick up Karl.

Polly looked at Thomas,” What’re you gonna do?”

Tommy smiled,” I’m going to get ready for the races.”

Polly sighed in irritation. “Take (Y/N) with you Tommy. She might bring you some safety.”

You rose from your spot and straightened your skirts. You didn’t dare protest Polly’s wishes. Tommy didn’t scare you, but Polly was nigh close to God in her ways.

You skirted passed Tommy,” I’ll be ready in an hour. Don’t be late.”

Tommy was prompt. On the way, you listened to him describe the plan. There was no need for you to seduce any information out of anyone and he certainly didn’t want you to using any of Lizzie’s tactics. He wanted this to be a peaceful meeting, but you knew to always be ready for any violence. It followed Tommy like a loyal dog.

“I suppose you’ll just want me to play a broad on your arm.” You smiled sarcastically.

“There’s not a chance in hell I could get you to stay quiet.” He gave you a knowing look. Sometimes, it shook your core to know Tommy knew you so well and accepted it.

“You wouldn’t like me otherwise.” You turned away, your eyes focusing on the passing vendors.

“Hey,” He reached over, his index finger guiding your chin back toward him,” just don’t say anything that will get you in trouble.” His thumb brushed your lower lip.

You pushed his hand away, a devilish smirk on your lips,” Like the kind of trouble I got in with you?”

There was a dangerous flicker in his eye,” Yes, that very kind.”

You pulled up without further guidelines. You took him by the arm, your hand resting delicately on his bicep. The two of you gliding up stairs and down halls. You mapped every turn and exit in your head for a quick escape.

You made sure to smile generously at patrons and other ladies alike until you arrived at a guarded balcony. You were briefly stopped until the man sitting at a lounger saw Tommy. Tommy smiled smugly at the guard who tried to send him away.

Lighting a cigarette, Tommy took a seat on a wood-woven couch. The cushions were lavishly comfortable and you took a moment to delight in the luxury.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Shelby?”

You watched the man speaking with a careful eye. You never trusted the people Tommy dealt with; you figured they all wanted something more from him and that something more was often his life.

“Your friends – Allred and Hammond – can’t be trusted, Mr. Coleman.”

The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He dismissed the string of ladies around him. You could tell the man was unsure of your position, but he dismissed your presence and looked back at Tommy.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“He means anyone who crosses a Shelby is going to end up with lead in their head.” You held Coleman’s gaze with careful confidence.

You felt Tommy’s hand on your shoulder. You didn’t regret your words, but you knew how much peace with this man meant to Thomas. You didn’t back down.

The man grinned,” Where did you find this one?” He ate up your looks with his ravenous eyes.

Tommy smiled,” I found her in a whorehouse.”

You managed a friendly smile.

His face fell. He leaned forward, his elbows propping him up. “Allred and Hammond couldn’t be trusted with a simple alcohol smuggle. They’re too greedy. They’d double cross any man if there was a better deal offered to them.”

Thomas leaned back. He listened intently as Coleman spilled the intentions of the three gentleman. He claimed to be against double crossing Tommy and tipped him off to a Mr. Keller who had spoken to himself, Allred, and Hammond. The stranger wanted Tommy dead and the two goons – excluding Coleman – were willing to do it for a handsome sum.

You sat with a hot bile rising in your stomach. Rats the lot of them. Tommy was running a legal company nowadays, yet he still managed to get caught up in this mess.

Tommy nodded. “I can expect you to uphold the end of your deal.” Smoke drifted from Tommy’s nostrils. The man nodded obediently.

Tommy’s smile was confident, yet stoic. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Coleman. I’ll see you soon.”

All had ended well according to you. No guns. No fist fights. Not even a stain on your champagne gown.

“You could have caused a nasty fight.”

“You could have offended me.” You looked over at him with indifference.

“He was looking at you the wrong way.”

“I thought it only mattered if someone looked at Tommy Shelby the wrong way.”

His lopsided smile assured you that you amused him. You wondered where amusing him got you all these years.

“The only person who’s allowed to look at you that way is me.”

Your eyes raised in certain shock,” Says who?”

He pulled up to your house,” Me.”

You exited the car on your own. “I don’t obey the likes of you.”

“You don’t obey anyone.” He called after you.

“That’s the point.” You smiled over your shoulder. You finally opened the door after fumbling just a moment with your keys. In the dim lighting of your foyer you turned and waved goodnight to the man leaning against his car.

He had his hands in his coat pockets.

“Better see your way home, Mr. Shelby, before you catch a cold.” You hung in the doorway.

“Can’t see in this fog.” He cocked his head to the side, giving you an imploring eye.

“That’s why you had headlights.” You quipped.

He nodded. “Fair.” He began his walk toward you, first motioning toward the lights,” They’re broken though. I’d never make it.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could just ask to stay.”

“That would imply I want to stay here.”

“Do you take me for a fool, Tommy?” You looked up at him as he stopped in front of you.

He looked down at you. His eyes danced between yours. He brushed some hair behind your ear,” You? Lady (Y/L/N) of Birmingham?” He smiled,” Never.”

You let him in against your better judgement. Or perhaps, you let him in because you hadn’t the heart to tell him no.

“Lock up behind you.” You left him hanging there with a playful smile on his face.

You no sooner reached the stairs when he pursued you from behind. His hands met your waist. You closed your eyes and let him pull you in.

“I thought you’d last until we made it up the stairs at least.” You teased.

A low hum sounded in your ear as his lips pressed against your neck. You managed to get away from him, your hand pulling his along up the stairs.

It didn’t take long for him to get you on the bed. You had barely enough time to get your heels off. Your leg lifted to his side. His hand slid up your hosiery. His eyes warm and his breath steady. His brows twitched into confusion for just a moment.

“What’s this?” He looked at the dagger attached at your thigh. “Perhaps ladies fashion isn’t so frivolous. God knows what’s underneath.”

“Lingerie usually.” You winked.

“That’s just as dangerous.” He undid the sheath from the garter and tossed it away.

“ Mmm.” You purred in his ear.

His hands carried on up your thigh. He held you there, his lips leaving a trail blazing up your neck. He nipped at the hollow and you let out small intermittent moans.

He slipped his hand between your thighs. His thumb swiping across the cloth of your undergarments. You writhed underneath him, physically begging him to bring pleasure. He smirked against your neck as you bucked toward him. “I promise not to keep you waiting too much longer.”

He undid a lace at the side of your underwear. He discarded them with ease before returning to you attentively. He caressed your delicate skin before pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit. He massaged circles to elicit pleasure that spread from your pelvis to sound from your mouth.

Your breathing labored. Your hips swayed to get closer to him. He smiled down at you,” Patience. I want you to enjoy this.”

“You’re torture.” You managed through your breathing. You attempted to keep yourself grounded, but all you could think about was his hands.

Slick and ready, he slipped a finger into your core. You felt yourself shiver from delight. His thumb still rubbed and flicked at your clitoris. All these years, his animalistic grace made you wonder how well he was in bed. You weren’t disappointed.

The physicality with him made you painfully aware of just how connected you felt with him. It made you face that yearning and that core desire. You could see him smiling with his own pleasure. He’d made you feel a lot of ways, but none of them made him so excited as the pleasure and vulnerability you expressed now.

He thrust his fingers gently and tenderly. You clenched around him willing him to get you off. You hadn’t known you needed this until now. You were sure you’d be driven insane if he didn’t get you off soon.

His talented hands, confident and masterful, took what they wanted. Your hips circled brazenly on his fingers. You panted, feeling yourself rising with unbearable pressure.

“I want you to feel me. Understand, I’ll be the only one to move you to the edge like this. I’ll be the only one you think of, (Y/N).” His frank and calm voice hardened your nipples. You ached in your chest and your core.

The tension in your core built with great intensity. Your legs trembling. He massaged you tactfully and deliberately. His breathing shortening with his excitement.

“Come now, (Y/N). Give it up.” His voice strong and demanding.

Your knuckles whitened as you grappled at the sheets of your bed. Hot and searing you felt the pleasure ripple through you. With a hoarse cry, you climaxed over his fingers. Your core quaking violently. The blood in your ears was pounding and you felt disoriented. A strange haze clouding your mind.

You felt content to lay there forever. Your clit swollen and sensitive. Your slit trembled as you watched his unbutton his shirt and throw it to the side. His tweed pants easy coming off. You felt your throat constrict with a hot yearning which pooled in your lower stomach.

You thought it impossible to desire someone as ardently as you wanted him now.

He slipped his drawers down. He moved over you with a panther-like elegance. His hand gripping your waist fervently. In a swift and breathless motion, you felt yourself spin in the air until he was under you. You could feel the length of his growing hard against your back.

Even from such a position of authority, you still felt yourself under his steely gaze. His blue eyes pierced your soul in unfathomable ways.

You leaned down; his lips plump and soft. He allowed the tenderness, despite his cold and demanding ways. You leaned forward just enough to let him guide his cock to your slit. You quivered knowing the imminent feeling of him in you.

Tommy’s hands were rough against the silk of your skin. You leaned back onto him. You took his length with a hungry eagerness. Your neck bared as it tilted back and a silent moan parted your lips. You rode his length in such a breathless rhythm. A mist of perspiration dewed your skin.

His fingers tickled your skin as they trailed up and down your sides. His thumbs causing your nipples to prick at a single touch. He fondled you with delicacy.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

You placed a hand on his chest to steady yourself. Tender muscles contracted urgently against his cock. He bucked into you with primal power. You cried his name out. Succumbing to yet another orgasm, you leaned into him. Electricity crackled between your skin.

He kissed your shoulder gently. The two of you fell into a comfortable position. The both of you catching your breath.

“You should have worn a less lethal dress.” He huffed.

“You should have left while you still had your wits about you” You leaned over, your hand resting on his chest.

A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. He leaned up to kiss your forehead. You rested your head on his chest. You closed your eyes and synced your breathing to his. His fingers caressed your back affectionately.

“I know you don’t have three tits.” You opened one eye in confusion. “But you’re much more special than any woman I have ever met. You have no equal.”

“You’re my equal, Thomas.”

You could feel him smile. “Could I persuade you to be Mrs. Thomas Shelby?”

Your head perked. Your eyes searching his for some dark humor. He laced his fingers with yours. “I already told you no other man could pleasure you. I won’t stand for another man to touch you or have you. That means if you ever plan on orgasming at the touch of another, you’ll have to marry me.”

“You didn’t have to threaten my pleasure to get me to say yes.”

He grinned.

“I’ll be Mrs. Thomas Shelby, but don’t think I’ll be easier to handle.”

He pulled you in,” I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

He kissed you passionately. You nestled in to one another before sleep took you.