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edenalieth · 11 months

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Tricked

Pairing: pixy! Hyunjin x afab reader — read part.2

Genre: faery!au, based on « the cruel prince » universe, smut, slight of fluff and angst

Warnings: he’s short tempered, knife, unprotected sex (be careful!), oral sex female receiving

Words count: 4.2K

Summary: Your eyes couldn’t stop looking at him, your heartbeat was getting quicker, your palms were getting moist. It was the way his jet black hair were tied and contrasting with his porcelain skin, the way his pearl earring was lazily hanging on his pointy ear, the way his shirt was letting you peak at his collarbones and the hem of his chest. Hyunjin was your secret sin, and you were his. Both uncontrollably attracted to each other, almost as much as you despised his nature and him yours.

A.N: hi! I'm back with a new little story :) geez, I really post once every blue moon... as usual, sorry for the possible mistakes and comments/share are always very appreciated. hope you enjoy ♡ – cami, 230619

He was furious. He could feel his blood boiling under his skin, his knuckles getting white around the silver knife he was holding. How could this even happen ? Servants were supposed to be irreproachable but, despite this obvious fact, his cape was ruined. The green texture of pease pudding was splattered all over the dark velvet. It was his favorite one, a deep blue fabric which looked like a night sky, with little crystals embroidered on the shoulders and bottom.

Anger still filling his veins, he threw the cutlery on the table. His family and guests were looking at him, some were amused, some were not. His reputation preceded him, he was so full of himself and hated being wronged or humiliated in any kind of way. He wasn’t always like this but Elfhame was a cruel world where cruel people could live peacefully. And he had to keep that mask on.

Getting up quickly, he grabbed the poor servant shirt by the hem. Plunging his eyes in his, his iris not showing an ounce of compassion.

« You know that I could slit your throat for that, right ? » Hyunjin said with such a cold voice that the servant started to shiver. He let his left hand slide along his side to find what he was looking for: his dagger.

« Enough ! ». The low voice resonated against the stone walls of the dinning room. Hyunjin stopped his move, pushed back the blade into its sheath as a grimace of disgust and anger was distorting his face. He scoffed while releasing the man. The young pixy couldn’t go against his father’s authority, especially in front of guests. He would be a dishonor for his own family. Annoyed, he gestured to an other servant to come. The girl quickly executed the order and asked « Yes, my lord ? ». The dark haired boy removed his cape and throw it in her hands. « Clean the mess this incompetent just caused ». His mother was looking at him, visibly worried. It would be a lie if Hyunjin said he didn’t think of beating the man up and go against his father’s will. Some guests would enjoy the show, he could tell just by looking at the elf waving her fan with a mischievous smile on her lips, or that gobelin whispering something to the man next to him. No. He would get his revenge sooner or later and now wasn’t the time. He needed some fresh air more than anything.

« Dear guests, my apologies but I think I will finish this in my room », Hyunjin grabbed one fae fruit, briefly bowed and went toward the wooden ornate door. The crowd was already whispering and laughing at his behavior and the scene they had just witnessed. He would hear about that later today, his father would probably give him a lesson but he didn’t care anymore. His temper had caused a lot of problems already and he wasn’t going to stop now. The guards opened the door and he headed towards his apartment.

His steps echoed on the floor which was a real piece of art. Lapis lazuli and black marble, representing the colors of his family, were skillfully mixed creating a contrast with the pale stone walls and the blue shaded stained-glass windows. Definitely a fairy tale like place. However, no matter how beautiful, comfortable or rare the furnitures could be it didn’t satisfied him the way the outside did. Reaching his room, he directly walked to his bookcase and grasped one specific book, opening the secret door behind it. That was his way to escape the manor discreetly and Nature knows how many times he would use it. Not bothering to wear an other cape, he got rid of his leather boots and left with the fruit still in his hand.

Soon the rough ground of the hidden passage was replaced by the soft sensation of grass under his feet. He hummed peacefully as his papery wings softly vibrated in contentment. Maybe the day wouldn’t be so bad after all. He wandered around the wood as his soul unconsciously led him to his favorite place. It was a small clearing near the lake, to get access to it you had to go through a skimpy path, surrounded by bushes and brambles. Hyunjin had to be careful of his wings, he didn’t want them to get scratched or worse… When he finally got out of here, he was met by a stranger.

Blankets were scattered on the grass, fruits and wine near by, a diaphanous dress covering your bare skin. You were laying on your stomach, a book in one hand, grappes on the other as you quickly looked at the intruder. He seemed just as surprised as you were. There was no mistaking on who the stranger was. Those long dark hair tied with a silky ribbon, the pearl dangling on his ear, the jewelry on his delicate fingers and his iridescent dark blue wings. It was none other than Hwang Hyunjin.

Anger started to fill his system for the second time this day. How did you even know about this place ? It was his haven and you were unwelcome in it. His wings started to vibrate, unable to control his feelings. He knew who you were, the new girl. Difficult to miss such an event. Y/N, the girl of the west lands, part of the untamed nation until your family made an agreement with King Cardan and Queen Jude. The queen and you had a pretty similar story, you were a clay girl as well, living with fairies thanks to your dad. Yet, no magic was running in your blood, you were a bastard and not a rightful being of this land. And gosh, Hyunjin despised humans. So weak, stupid and useless. They were like mere insects he could crush under his boots. At least, he could have done that before Jude Duarte became Elfhame’s queen. Nowadays, the few humans living here were respected or, at least, no harm was made to them. Still, who could blame him if he was a bit playing with you… As a mischievous plan was blooming in his mind, you put yourself back up, still sitting on the blankets.

« What a surprise to see you here, girl of clay ! » Hyunjin first spoke, his voice being soft despite his agitated wings. « It’s a shared feeling Hyunjin. » you replied, not letting your guard down. You knew about him and his anger issues just as you knew about fae and their cruelty. « Can I join you ? » He suddenly asked, a little smile on his face. You nodded, gesturing him to take the spot next to you. He sat with no hesitation. As the silence was becoming louder and louder as seconds passed by, you took back your book. The boy was good at faking his nonchalance but not as good as he thought he was. Side eyeing him discreetly, you could see his fingers fidgeting on the fabric of the blankets. You weren’t sure if you would be able to deal with this awkward situation any longer but you didn’t want to give up this place and let him think that he had won. You were tired of all those arrogant people looking down on you when you were crossing their path. Of course, nobody would harm you in broad daylight but, who knows, accidents can happen anytime at Elfhame… And Hyunjin was probably plotting something.

As if you had called for it, the dark haired boy suddenly broke the silence. « This is my favorite place. », his voice was calm, imprinted with some peace you had never noticed before as he was looking at the silver shine of the lake. « Yes, it’s pretty pleasant around here. » you replied, putting your book aside for the second time today. « I thought I was the only one knowing about here. Apparently, I was wrong… And, you know what’s unpleasant ? Your presence here. » he added, his dark eyes staring at you, his body creeping towards you, like a feline getting ready to hunt his prey. You frowned at his words, silently challenging each other. Gosh, his siren eyes were intimidating and you could understand why people were kind of scared of him. Despite the danger emanating from him, you wanted to smack his beautiful face but his family had more power than yours. It would be to risky to do so.

You were brave for a mortal and Hyunjin could feel the adrenaline running through his veins. He had never been this close to you and the proximity of your face, your lips, your curves, the tension… It was appealing to him. Oh, the pixy looked at you more often than he would admit it. Yes, you were the new girl, but it wasn’t so uncommon to see humans around here nowadays and people didn’t pay the extra attention Hyunjin had towards you. He wanted to deny his attraction, he couldn’t fall this low and belittle himself, even after all those weeks of getting mixed feelings every time you were sharing the same space. But, right now, right here, hidden from the real world… He thought it would be nice to play with you. Using the tone on you, that special voice fairies were using to bewitch people of clay, would be easy, even a three years old kid could do this. He came closer and closer, until his fingers were brushing against yours, a mischievous smile floating on his plump lips.

The moving reflects of water dancing on his face, the frail sound of wave lapping on the shore as his gaze was becoming flirty and playful. Your eyes couldn’t stop looking at him, your heartbeat was getting quicker, your palms were getting moist. It was the way his jet black hair were tied and contrasting with his porcelain skin, the way his dark blue wings were similar to the most precious sapphires, the way his pearl earring was lazily hanging on his pointy ear or the way his shirt was letting you peak at his collarbones and the hem of his chest. Hyunjin was your secret sin, and you were his. Both uncontrollably attracted to each other, almost as much as you despised his nature and him yours. You could feel his breath on your bare shoulders, suddenly full conscious of how see through your dress was, seen the lustful look the boy was giving to you.

You were a beautiful creature, almost as if you weren’t totally human. Not thinking too much about these weird thoughts and getting impatient, he decided that it was time to hunt. « Why don’t we turn your presence into something worthy, shall we ? » he whispered before casting a spell on you, « I’m starving, I couldn’t properly eat today… Feed me. » he ordered, going back to rest on his forearms, his wings framing his body like a halo. Your eyes went momentally blank, proving that the spell was working, as you took some of the grappes. Grabbing one, you delicately put in on his opened mouth as he kept looking at every single gesture you made. « More. » You diligently executed his wish until he had enough. He made you massage his shoulders, dance on the grass, your clothe twirling around you as if it was made of mist, making you almost fall as he was laughing to the point his stomach hurt. He was enjoying this a lot. Despite the entertainment, he knew what he wanted the most. « Ok, let’s stop a little » he said still giggling. « You must be sweating, right ? Why don’t you refresh yourself and go on the lake ? ». You paused and he thought for a second that the magic wasn’t working until you grasped your skirt and walked in the water. He followed you, not wanting to miss a single second of the show. Watching you from the shore, he admired the diaphanous fabric dancing around your body. You looked like a nymph, leaving him speechless. « Do you enjoy this ? » his voice was less confident and his blood was rushing down there. « Yes, Hyunjin. I love it » you replied, a beautiful candid smile illuminating your face. His breath was becoming heavy as you were lazing around the water and his desire was taking the lead on his reason. « Enough. Come join me on the blankets ». Obedient, you got out. Your dress was totally useless at this point. It seemed heavier, as water was dripping all over your curves, and the fabric was sticking onto your skin. He could see everything, to the small moles adorning your thighs, to your nipples perking up. He wanted to touch you badly, to let his wildest fantasies come to live after restraining them for weeks. He took your hand in his, leading you as he was once again laying down. You were on top of him, his shirt getting wet in the process but he didn’t care. His expression was more serious, his wings weren’t the buzzing mess they were earlier. You looked at him, waiting for him to speak and tell you your next mission. He caressed your face with the back of his hand, brushing his thumb against your kissable lips. Soft and warm. « Y/N. Kiss me. » Did he just told you that ? He had to get a grip on himself, what was wrong with him ? As you were coming closer, he realized how wrong it was. He had to stop all of this and go back to the manor. Now. However… Just one kiss wouldn’t be bad, right ? He would make you forget all this buffoonery with another spell and would never talk to you ever again. He promised himself. Closing his eyes to enjoy the first and last time he would kiss you, he didn’t notice the mocking smile on your face.

How naive the pixy had been. Fae people were dangerous and cruel but, apparently, the mix of an elf and a human was worse… At first, you thought he just wanted to make a fool out of you. You would let him play a little before giving him a lesson he would remember. Yet, when you noticed the desire in his eyes, looking at your wet clothed body, which built up a fire inside you. And he had fallen for your little role-play. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him. People always thought you were a simple girl and not a half-blooded one and it came with some advantages. It was true, you couldn’t use magic but you were immune to it, you didn’t age like humans and you could lie, something a lot of people were extremely jealous of. Yes. The tone was inefficient on you and the black haired boy was about to know that real soon.

His eyes still closed, he wondered what was taking you so long. He finally looked at you. You were straddling him, the water from your body soaking his clothes, holding back your laughter because of his confused expression. « Wha-what are you doing ? I asked you something, do it! ». Anger was creeping back, his fist clenched as he was trying to get up. You wondered if his angry face wasn’t even prettier than his usual arrogant one. « Say please ? » you teasingly said. « Excuse m- »

You made him shut his mouth with your hand and leaned closer. He was furious right now, his wings started to buzz as if a swarm of bees was attacking you. « Behave. I told you to say « please », is it that difficult for someone like you ? You’re used to have everything on a silver plate, I guess. » you scoffed, staring at his dark pupils. He seemed a bit relaxed, when you felt his hand sliding along his waist, looking for his dagger, only to be met by the emptiness of his sheath.

« Is it what you’re looking for ? » you asked, falsely innocent. You waved the beautiful silvermithery before his wide opened eyes. When did you ?… As soon as you removed your hand, he tried to push you and get his weapon back. Unfortunately, too slowly. You put the blade under his chin, the sharp knife almost wounding his immaculate throat. « You tricked me ! » he screamed, helpless. « You were the one trying to lure me into your trap ! » you defended yourself. He smashed the ground with his fist. You were right and he hated it. « Let me go. » But you didn’t move. « Let me go or I will go to the royal court and complain about your threatening behavior! You will spend the rest of your life in some deserted lands! ». You laughed. He continued his tirade. « And why did the spell failed ? What are you ? ». Your smile quickly faded. « I’m a half-blooded. My mother is also half-blooded. She’s half human, half elf. And so am I. That’s why it’s not noticeable at first sight, you have to know me for that. ». He was visibly surprised and was scanning every parts of your body. He could see it now. The slightly pointy ears, the purple shade circling your pupil and your skin looked perfect while basic human’s one was more… dull ? Damn it. He had been stupid. He sighed. « What do you want half-blood ? ».

« I want the same thing as you do. » Not giving him the time to reply, you closed the gap between his lips and yours, kissing him passionately. He tried to resist but gave up easily. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulled you against his body. He was loosing his damn mind. Intoxicated by your smell, the way your tongue was playfully licking his lips or how your free hands was running down his torso. One thing was still bothering him. The dagger. « Y/N, could you please put this away ? ». He put one of his finger on the blade, pleading. You were hesitant, judging the plus and minus. « I promise I will not hurt you or run away. Please. » He was almost begging, needing to kiss you more, to be free to touch you. Fae couldn’t lie, it was the rule. You obediently granted his wish, not breaking your eye contact. As soon as you did, he sat up not bothering about the fact that you were still on his lap. You felt his hands sliding under your dress to help you remove it. You didn’t protest and let him do so.

The full view was even prettier. Your naked body was like a painting to him. Masterpieces weren’t meant to be touched, but you were the exception and he let his hands run down your curves, making you shiver. He couldn’t wait any longer as he attached his lips to your nipple, sucking on it desperately, his tongue twirling around it, his hands resting on your ass. You moaned while pulling onto his ribbon to untie it and grab his long silky hair. The sensation was amazing and you started to hump on his still clothed bottom, his boner growing under your core. He pulled away from your sensitive breast to cup your face and kiss you more. His hips started to move in harmony with yours but he wanted to have your skin against his. Quickly unbuttoning his shirt to get rid of it while your fingers were working on his pants, he soon ended up in his birth suit. Crouching back on his lap, you wrapped your fingers around his member and started to move up and down. He whimpered as you were variating the pace of your strokes, your thumb caressing the tip of his dick, already glittering with precum. He had never been touched like that. It wasn’t his first time and faeries loved to devote themselves to drinking session and fuckery but it was only that, no feelings involved, just some bestial instincts. It felt different with you. By the way you were looking at him and his body, your delicate gesture, this intimate place only the two of you knew about. Who would have thought you would be this soft when you threatened him just few minutes ago. Wanting to relieve his blooming feelings, he grabbed your waist and made you roll on your back, taking the lead this time. Spreading your legs to expose your bare core, he slid his fingers along your slit. You were dripping wet and wanted to get more. « Touch me » you begged. He smirked. « You didn’t need to ask ». You felt his middle finger rubbing your clit before entering your vagina. He kept playing with both of it while your walls were getting tighter, your fingers digging into the skin of his back to feel his chest against yours but still being careful of his papery wings. « I want to make one with you » he whispered to your ear, sending electricity through your veins. « Please Hyunjin ». Hearing you saying his name in such a sinful way felt like the sparkle which lit up the fire. His wings were vibrating softly and it turned him on even more when you caressed the part where they were meeting his shoulders. He positioned himself, grinding against you to lubricate his penis with your fluids. He looked at you, waiting for your consent. You nodded, cupping his beautiful face with your hands as he gave you his signature siren gaze. Penetrating you gently, you let out a soft moan quickly muffled by his plump lips kissing you. His hips were working faster, your tongues dancing together into a slippery kiss while your legs were hanging around his waist. The pace was changing, giving you more sensations, feeling his full length hitting your G spot. He broke your kiss just to give you some more on your jawline, neck and collarbones, eager to hear you whine under his touch. And you didn’t disappoint. He could feel your walls ready to clench around his member but he didn’t want to end it yet. At your surprise, he removed himself. « What are you doing ? » you complained, breathless. « Trust me » was his only answer. He intertwined his fingers with yours and made a trail of kisses along your body, going further down until his mouth was on your venus. He gave a first lick to it, tasting you fully. His tongue was dangerously working on your clit, sometimes giving some kitten lick, sometimes using it all. It was totally new to you and you weren’t sure you would be able to take it any longer. « Hyunjin… » you said in a breath. Your legs were starting to shake lightly and you looked at him in despair. You were met by his almond eyes, enjoying the view you were offering him. It was such a sinful yet dreamy scene. That’s when you felt it, the wave of pleasure rushing inside of you, making your legs quiver uncontrollably and moan a mantra of his name. He detached his lips from your sex, giving you some time to take your breath. His chin was glimmering with your juices and you wondered how you tasted like… « My turn ? » he said with a smirk. « You didn’t need to ask. » He giggled as you answered in the exact same way he did before.

You softly pushed him on his back, to be able to ride him comfortably. As you positioned yourself and started to move on his dick, he placed his hands on the small of your back to help you keep your balance. A moaning mess, this is what you were reduced to. Hyunjin felt dizzy under your touch and the way his cock was perfectly fitting inside of you, as if you were meant to be, drove him to the edge. It was also your gaze, strangely full of something pretty close to love, your delicate hands running through his hair or touching his chest. Despite your still sensitive bud, you could feel a second wave of orgasm coming for you and he could feel it too. Your walls were getting tighter, making it difficult for him to slide easily inside of you, clenching his length in the most delicious way. Sitting for you to get him fully, he gave few more hip thrust before reaching his climax, shaking between your arms as his face was resting on your breast. Soon you were met by yours and stayed like this, connected for a bit, both panting while his semen was dripping down your thighs. He looked up towards you, a soft smile on his face, his eyes looking like little crescent moons. You gave him a peck on his forehead before he spoke. « Y/N… I’m dying of heat… Should we go take a swim ? » You giggled but happily agreed. Holding your hand he led you into the water, not letting you go. « Did I make my presence worthy of your time, Lord Hwang Hyunjin ? » you teased him, cupping his face with your hands. « More than worthy, half-blood. Let’s meet again… Hmm… Tomorrow ? » He pressed his lips against yours, water refreshing your overheated bodies. « It would be my pleasure. »

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bunnyboybosom · 20 days

Text

Emery Starsent - Literature Aesthetics

[ID: A viera is seated on a cushioned bench, within a cafe full of bookshelves. She has dark brown skin, brown textured hair, and wide ears that are tilted back out of delight. They are wearing a padded cloth tunic, fur-lined gloves, leather leg guards, and large round glasses. She is holding a tea cup towards her face. Her eyes are closed and he appears content. end ID.]

Bold* is what applies to your character!

Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

cobblestone streets / lamps shining out of the fog* / the warmth of a fireplace / unopened bottle of wine / the tension between what things seem to be and what they truly are* / the heady thrill of freedom / the panic of losing control* / blood on the pavement / guilty vices / top hats and walking sticks / self-destruction* / old documents tucked away in safes

Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus

rain hitting a windowpane / candles burning low* / mountain ranges of white, snowy tops / frenzied obsession / a cemetery at dusk* / slaughterhouses / all-consuming thirst for revenge / compassion turned to bitterness and hatred / a sense of duty weighing on your shoulders* / inescapable guilt / the frozen wastes of the arctic circle / the feeling of someone breathing down your neck* / lighting sparking through the sky

The Picture of Dorian Gray

erotic longing* / paint on a palette / golden curls and rosy cheeks / the desperation to cling to youth / bees lazily drifting through the grass / hedonism / the blackness of a soul / a dusty attic* / hiding secrets / blood pooling on the floorboards / gut-wrenching jealousy* / a dimly-lit stage* / temptation into corruption

The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner

cliffs rising up into the clouds / someone ambiguously supernatural always lurking* / Edinburgh's winding streets / religious zealotry / careful manipulation / family rivalry / a bible written in an indistinguishable language / a face that's always changing and shifting / Scottish lairds / something demonic masquerading as something pure.

Dracula

letters and diaries / suitors courting a lady / castles nestled deep within forests and mountains / terror of the unknown* / the howling of wolves* / aristocrats from olden times / a consuming hunger / the dead rising* / horses' hooves thundering along a path / blood staining the snow* / crucifixes warding off evil

Wuthering Heights

fog over the moors / embracing one who is already dead / a cycle of abuse / vicious, snarling dogs / a house left to ruin / a thorn among the roses* / toxic love / ghosts* / the howling wind* / flowers that have died and begun to rot / wasting away* / a voice you can't identify*

--- Tagged by: @cindernet-explorer Tagging: @arinaxiv, @cindernet-explorer (if you wanted to do another character), @dreadwyrmz, and anyone else who sees this and wants to participate!

(template under the cut) I retyped it to be more accessible, and included asterisks because screen readers often don't read formatting.

Bold* is what applies to your character!

Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

cobblestone streets / lamps shining out of the fog / the warmth of a fireplace / unopened bottle of wine / the tension between what things seem to be and what they truly are / the heady thrill of freedom / the panic of losing control / blood on the pavement / guilty vices / top hats and walking sticks / self-destruction / old documents tucked away in safes

Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus

rain hitting a windowpane / candles burning low / mountain ranges of white, snowy tops / frenzied obsession / a cemetery at dusk / slaughterhouses / all-consuming thirst for revenge / compassion turned to bitterness and hatred / a sense of duty weighing on your shoulders / inescapable guilt / the frozen wastes of the arctic circle / the feeling of someone breathing down your neck / lighting sparking through the sky

The Picture of Dorian Gray

erotic longing / paint on a palette / golden curls and rosy cheeks / the desperation to cling to youth / bees lazily drifting through the grass / hedonism / the blackness of a soul / a dusty attic / hiding secrets / blood pooling on the floorboards / gut-wrenching jealousy / a dimly-lit stage / temptation into corruption

The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner

cliffs rising up into the clouds / someone ambiguously supernatural always lurking / Edinburgh's winding streets / religious zealotry / careful manipulation / family rivalry / a bible written in an indistinguishable language / a face that's always changing and shifting / Scottish lairds / something demonic masquerading as something pure.

Dracula

letters and diaries / suitors courting a lady / castles nestled deep within forests and mountains / terror of the unknown / the howling of wolves / aristocrats from olden times / a consuming hunger / the dead rising / horses' hooves thundering along a path / blood staining the snow / crucifixes warding off evil

Wuthering Heights

fog over the moors / embracing one who is already dead / a cycle of abuse / vicious, snarling dogs / a house left to ruin / a thorn among the roses / toxic love / ghosts / the howling wind / flowers that have died and begun to rot / wasting away / a voice you can't identify

#Emery Starsent #ffxiv #ffxiv oc #this is such an old screenshot but I can't log in now 😭#tagged for me #q

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tiilting-at-wiindmills · 2 years

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muse in white sheets with blue eyes and bloodstained cheeks

the weather is temperate at the noontide. it’s neither freezing out, nor does the sun beat down and engulf the world in a sweltering heat. i sit on an old oaken chair in a quiet bedroom. the thin curtains are partly drawn and a little sunlight peeks in through the space between them.

on the nightstand sits a half finished china cup of lukewarm peppermint tea, along with a glass of water, a couple of books, some wilting oxeye daisies, and a small vial of potent lavender oil.

from my chair i sit and sketch in my book. it is so quiet, all that can be heard is the scratching of my pencil as it glides across the page. when i draw i seem to fall into a trance. my eyes grow heavy and i hardly look up from my paper, apart from the occasional glance through thick wire framed glasses to get a quick look at my subject.

now he sits pretty against a mound of pillows with his head tilted slightly back, blue eyes glazed over and pale lips parted delicately. there’s something quite ethereal about the way that the sun’s rays seem to make his honey colored hair glow as they fall upon it, almost creating a halo around his head. he had dimples on each side of his mouth that were always prominent, but even more-so when he smiled, as they would hollow out as his mouth turned up and his eyes creased in the corners. and even in such a state of illness, with sweat slick across his brow and his cheeks stained red with the flush of fever, he was still, so perfect to me.

he is beautiful in a way analogous to a painting, and loving him felt like an art in and of itself. many a suitor had once cradled my soft heart, but none i have loved so deep and so tender as i love him. my heart seems to boil over with this overwhelming compassion for him and him alone. no other has brought me this sort of inspiration. with him, the words flow from the tip of my pen, and the songs seem to write themselves into existence. when i paint his portrait, the brush strokes feel a little smoother than usual. it’s almost as if the universe has blessed me with the ideal muse, given me a reason to make art, if for no other reason than to make it, for it is the only way my poor heart knows how to love.

why, i don’t think i could ever make enough art for him! i could write a thousand symphonies, i could fill libraries full of books with the things i love about him. i could talk for hours, and cry my feelings into the night sky snd even then, so much would be left unsaid. i am nothing short of infatuated with this man. he is simply too wonderful to be without; for every second i spent without his presence, it seems a year goes by.

“love” he begins, before his sentence is cut short by a string of coughs that tumble form his lips and shake his dainty form. i flinch, the sudden noise having broken the silence of the bedroom, and pulled me from my trancelike state.

once he recovers enough, he leans back against his pillows with a sniffle and a yawn.

“are you okay, my darling?” my eyebrows are high with concern.

“i just wanted to ask if you could get me my blanket.” answered my muse through chattering teeth. the poor dear!

i reached down to the floor near the foot of the bed; there was the thick, soft blanket, lying in a crumbled heap. he’d kicked it off not much earlier, when he’d felt as if the world was burning around him; like he’d been thrown into the firey pits of hell below. though now, as he lay there freezing beneath the covers, he almost wished for the heat to return.

i place the blanket on his lap and tousle his sweat-damp hair before i sit back down. he yawns.

“darling, don’t let me keep you awake with my sketching, get your rest.”

“i will be fine.” retorts the lover. i nod my head and resume my work.

i watch him lean back down and pull the blanket up to his chest. as soon as his head touches the pillows, his eyes begin to flutter like those of a blinking doll. he seems to be fighting the urge to fall back asleep, doing his very best to try to focus on my sketching. i can only imagine it a difficult task; when i’d arrived earlier, he’d been trying to read a book. he’d given up only a few pages in, for his fever made the words seem to swim before him on the page, and trying to focus on the tiny letters that seemed to rearrange themselves over and over strained his eyes, making his head pound even worse than it already was.

i catch a glance for reference before i being the pencil back to my page, smiling a closed lipped smile as my eyes took in his face, such a face that i could look at all day.

once the sketch is finished, i switch to my colors, dipping the fine hairs of my brush into a glass of water to wet the paint. when i look up again, he seems to have finally succumbed to his body’s desperate cries for sleep. his eyelids were shut and the tips of thick brown lashes barely brushed against the rouged tops of his cheeks. goodness, he looked peaceful.

i paint the highlights and the hollows of the pallid face, and the golden hues of his hair. add in the shadows and folds of the sheet that covers his sleeping form, watching the painting come alive. i add the color to his warm cheeks with a dash of deep red, blending it into the peachy hues of the area, to the lips.

by the time i felt the painting was finished, i took a final glance at it, admiring my work; though he was the true artwork in my eyes. only the greatest craftsmen could create such a splendid work of art. like the birds that sing from the trees and fauns that stand on shaking legs on the forest floor, he must’ve fallen from the stars or been sculpted by the delicate hand of the universe herself. now i’m not a believer, if there ever was a god, this was the man he’d made in his image; sitting right before me, sleeping peacefully, undisturbed.

i rise from my seat and place my painting on the foot of the bed. gently i bend down and plant a kiss atop a burning temple, tuck a lock of wheat-grain hair behind an ear, and left the room, making sure to make not a sound but the muffled click of the door as i shut it behind me.

#words #dark academia #love language #lover #romanticism #romantic academia #spilled words #artsy #romance #writing #short story #based on a true story #writing practice #classic literature #except written in the 2020s

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jangofctts · 3 years

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Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

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arlertwifey · 3 years

Text

snk cast x gn!reader + cute summertime romance

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, PLEASE!

☼ — ft. Eren, Armin, Mikasa, Jean, Levi, Hanji, & Erwin (all characters are 18+)

☼ — genre: pure fluff + gn!reader x character, warnings: mentions of vandalism/petty crime, alcohol mentions

☼ — a/n: please enjoy my first snk x reader content :)

E R E N

Fills his time with a weird mix of volunteering around the city and committing blatant acts of vandalism

He spends his days helping out at the youth shelter and nights scribbling graffiti anywhere he can find a spot. Takes you to spray-paint every underpass you come across

Unnaturally good at arcade games and wins you lots of little random plushies from the claw machines. Your favorite is an angry-looking brown bear that you can’t help but think resembles him

Loves to stay up late and discover new parts of the city with you. Has a bad habit of falling asleep on your shoulder wherever you are though, when he finally runs out of energy

Even though he tries to play it off like he’s too cool for them, insists that you two take cute photobooth pictures together and keeps his favorite of them in his wallet

A R M I N

Practically lives at the beach during the summer. The two of you plan out your days there in advance so your able to visit the different tide pools and see various sea creatures.

Has a strong sweet tooth. He’s a huge fan of any type of frozen treat, but is extremely partial to slushies. In at least half the pictures you get of your summertime adventures, his mouth is stained teal from the blue-raspberry flavor he always buys.

Gets surprisingly tan during the summer, due to the fact that he’s outside whenever possible. Even when studying, he prefers to do so at parks around where he lives rather than indoors. His hair bleaches out a little further as well.

Willing to go to parties with you when the two of you are invited by mutual friends, but tends to slip outside to the porch after the first hour. More often than not, the two of you wind up ditching all together and heading off to find someplace to get late night food.

He brings you to visit his grandfather during the summertime and the two of you help him out with repairs around the house. Being around the two people he loves the most brings out Armin’s talkative side and the three of you spend your vacation days swapping stories over glasses of iced tea.

M I K A S A

Busy during the summer, so you can’t meet as much as would like

Part of her gym’s regional kickboxing team and helps teach part time. You go to all her matches and cheer till your voice gives out. She tells you that you don’t have to come, but secretly is so, so grateful that you do

On days when you’re both free, you try out all the best brunch places in the city. Mikasa prefers small family-owned businesses. The two of you quickly become regulars at your favorite spots

Sends you voice messages when you are apart ever since you said that you liked to hear her voice. She’s adorably awkward in them, usually just telling you about whatever she’s doing at the time and how much she misses you

Gets misty-eyed when you show up at the airport with flowers for her when she gets back home. Squeezes you till your out of breath and lifts off the ground a little bit when you hug again after your time apart.

J E A N

The actual best at planning a fun day full of activities

Busts his ass working at a couple part time jobs most days, but makes up for how busy is by making sure you two have the best possible time and do the most when you’re together

The type to have a bucket list for all the different activities he thinks you guys should do together. He puts a lot of effort into creating it with you. The two of you decorate two matching posters so that each of you has a copy.

A little bit of a sucker for cliches: ice cream dates and visiting waterparks. He’s a romantic at heart and with you he feels like he can finally participate in all the classic lovey-dovey activities couples do.

One of those people who acts like an influencer despite the fact that he’s only followed by family and friends. Takes super high quality pics of you so he can brag about how great his s/o is. Took a few photography classes in college and it shows. Every photo he takes of you looks amazing because you can tell just how enamored he is with you.

King of matching couple fits. Loves when the two of you wear coordinating colors or even just similar accessories.

L E V I

Not a fan of hot weather, so prefers to hang out in the evenings or early mornings when it’s cooler (which works well with the fact that he has to work most days).

Has no clue what to do during the summer, besides what you two always do, but does his best

You two go for early morning runs at his suggestion and then get breakfast afterwards. There’s a smoothie place down the block from the park that you frequent, with different local fruit specials each week.

He brings you to his favorite tea shop and you two slowly drink your way through their summer refresher menu throughout the season. You learn

Is willing to go to the beach, but be prepared to cover the man with sunscreen, because he burns. Since he knows that he won’t encounter anyone from work, he sometimes wears a large sunhat for extra UV protection.

When your vacation time finally lines up, the two of you get out of the city and head to the charming town where his mother lives. You get to help Kuchel in her garden and listen to her stories about adorable young Levi.

While he’s not extremely enthusiastic about summer as a season, he does find it far more enjoyable when he gets to spend it with you

H A N J I

Lives for traveling during the summer months, half for fun and half for their work as part of an anthropological research team. Whenever they can’t bring you along, expect lots of silly, cheesy postcards and many late night phone calls.

Thinks that camping is an absolute must. You two go on hikes together to find the best places to camp. Teaches you all sorts of cool facts about the different areas you are in. Likes when the two of you get “lost” and have to navigate back with a compass (and a park map as backup).

Makes their own homemade juice blends (some better than others) and freezes them into popsicles. Brings you them and other snacks when you’re working.

Stays up late with you and points out different constellations while you drink hot cocoa on the rooftop of their apartment building. While you don’t understand everything they are explaining to you, you love to watch their excited expression and enthusiasm as they tell you all about the world.

E R W I N

Glamorous cultural events are Erwin’s favorite part of the summertime  Expect to to be brought to opening ceremonies, christenings of cruise ships, and wine tastings

Despite the fancy events, Erwin makes sure you don’t feel too out of place by spending the evenings shit talking the other guests with you, and trying to guess who is sleeping with who and who is going to get drunk and ruin the evening

Insists that you get out of the city as often as possible, so expect a lot of weekend getaways

As much as he likes to do things with you, he can also appreciate an afternoon spent drinking sangria and reading by the poolside (a private pool, of course. He can’t resist asking you to put sunblock on his back (half because he actually needs the help, half just to see you blush at the request).

Owns a sleek vintage convertible that he’s only able to drive in the warmer months. Likes to pick you up from work in it while still dressed in his impeccably sharp suit from the office, just to see the looks on your coworkers faces

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

The road home

Summary: Lily watches Harry and Ginny finding their way back to each other following the end of the war.

Note: For @madhulika18, who asked for more Hinny moments as seen by James and Lily. I could never decide if this is really part of Eyes Glistening (because Harry and Ginny have drama really, and I don't like them having drama), but it works either way, so I hope you enjoy these moments (also, I have a soft spot for Lily and Harry talking, so...)

_______

It’s all about the words that aren’t being said.

Once, a long time ago, Lily lived that with James. But it was different and, though, of course, it didn’t seem like that at the time, it was easier too. Her problems were unknowing her feelings, not understanding why she enjoyed his company and why she craved his smile, his light. She had fancied him for a long time before she understood what it was what she really felt for him — and until then it was only her heart beating faster when they would touch each other without meaning too (a brush of hands, sitting together closer than necessary), enjoying the perfume he’d left on his trace, finding excuses to be with him.

But after she had understood what she felt for him, somehow it had been easy. Awkward, sure, that first date when she was feeling stupid near him — until she remembered this was James, and being with him was good and blissful and then kissing him had felt as natural as breathing —, but there was never a question about how they felt about each other, never doubts that they would be together.

They had fought over many things, until they perfected the art of compromising, of understanding each other’s view, but there was never a breakup, never something that really kept them apart.

They are lucky on this, she knows.

Especially when she sees the look on Harry’s face, the way his eyes can’t help but follow Ginny as she walks around between the tables of the Great Hall, stopping to share words with her friends.

They haven’t talked yet. Lily knows this because Harry was gone with Ron and Hermione after the battle and then he slept for a full day. When he woke up, he called his parents and they talked then — the most difficult conversation Lily had ever had in her life and the one she knew she needed most. She and James. They needed to understand what had happened, why it had cost Harry’s life and what it had meant, but nothing had really prepared her to know her son had died.

Only the thought of it sends shivers through her body.

Harry is fine now, having come down to the Great Hall to lunch; there are fewer people at Hogwarts two days after the Battle, so they manage to find a place for them to sit quietly. It’s almost peaceful.

Except Harry is clearly not at peace.

‘Go talk to her,’ she whispers to him, and Harry turns to her with those eyes that are full of ghosts lately — he has seen and lived and died too much.

‘She doesn’t want me,’ he answers, breathing heavily as if the words are physically hurting him.

‘How do you know?’ James asks, exchanging a confused look with Lily.

‘Because she hasn’t come to talk to me.’

Lily thinks Harry didn’t go to her either, so maybe this is just a case of miscommunication. But she doesn’t say anything, because she believes things have to happen at the right time. And she has been watching Ginny too; every time Harry looks the other way, she glances in his direction, an expression on her face that Lily cannot understand exactly.

It seems to be ablaze.

_______

Later, Lily will define it as a dance where the dancers aren’t supposed to touch each other but still they synchronize their steps perfectly.

It’s unnerving, really, and she doesn’t know how they are really managing it, but if there is a quality she could attribute to both Harry and Ginny is stubbornness.

They can’t ignore each other, not really, not with how much they encounter each other — funerals and homages and dinners over the Burrow and rebuilding Hogwarts —, so instead they adopt a sort of relationship that’s just a shadow of how much they got along together.

Lily saw them before they even dated or had acknowledged their feelings for each other, and Harry and Ginny had shined together with chemistry as if they were two ingredients in a potion that demanded to be together. It was only friendship but there was sparkle and understanding and compassion and brightness. Lily remembers thinking that even if they didn’t develop romantic feelings for each other, they were truly soulmates.

And this is just one of the reasons why their current formal courtesy with each other bothers her so much. If they wanted to be only friends, there wasn’t much she could do. But they are not even friends lately, just two people who had gone through so much and hadn’t been able to share anything with each other despite wanting very much.

That’s the other thing that annoys her. They want more. Both of them.

She knows Harry, of course — he shares the same expressions and he wears his feelings on the same sleeve Lily does, so it’s easy —, and Lily likes to think she knows Ginny too, for the times they met, for all they’ve talked and for the fact that Ginny is usually blatant on her feelings when they are at the edge.

Usually. This time, it seems their stubbornness is getting the better of both of them.

They are alone most of the days of May. Hermione has gone to Australia to find her parents and Ron went with her, and Lily thinks this would be perfect for them to get together again – to have time to talk and to truly live their relationship without the threat of a storm above their heads.

But they don’t go to each other. They stay apart, even though Lily sees the cracks in their stubbornness when Harry breaks a glass after hearing Ginny talking about exchanging letters with an ex-boyfriend, and when Ginny suddenly leaves the room after Harry mentions Kingsley’s proposal to start the Aurors course.

James sees it too. He is always frowning when they are in the same room, and Lily knows no one rooted more for that relationship than James. So she is not surprised that he approaches her one morning when they are cleaning the mess the Death Eaters made in her office.

‘Do you remember when you forbade me from intervening in Harry’s love life?’ he asks in a nonchalant voice, cleaning a stain that looks a lot like blood on the carpet.

Lily nods with her head.

‘Maybe it’s time to change that rule?’ James asks then, now sounding hopeful.

Lily throws him the briefest of the looks, without turning away her attention from the cauldrons she is supposed to check if anything is worth saving.

‘Harry would hate it if we did anything.’

‘Harry would hate it if he knew we were doing anything.’

‘And James Potter can be discreet? How many detentions did you get just because you couldn’t help but flaunt your work?’

He raises his eyebrows challengingly.

‘That Slug Club dinner on my birthday. I was so discreet no one ever found out what we were doing.’

Lily blushes. He was absurdly quiet that night, indeed, despite her attempts otherwise.

‘Fine, you’ve got a point. Go on, but I’m warning you, if Ginny realizes what you are trying to do, she will hex you and I won’t stop.’

‘As long as she hexes me on their wedding day, I won’t complain,’ James says unabashedly, and Lily has to grin.

She is not feeling much confident — James’ love plans took him three years to her agree to date him, after all, and even then she had fallen in love with him when he had given up on any plan at all —, but she can’t deny James is creative and it’s better trying anything than watching Harry sigh all over the place, heartbroken and unhappy.

During the year they were out, their house has been searched over and over; their furniture is broken and there are spots of red ink — or blood — in every room, with curses or slurs written on every wall. They could just easily destroy the house and build a new one, but it feels good to clean the place; it feels like a new beginning.

Maybe this is what James is hoping to give Harry and Ginny because he asks for her help in rebuilding their house. Ginny accepts surprisingly quickly, probably guessing that Harry will still be occupied with the work at Hogwarts.

‘Thanks for the help,’ Lily says after she and Ginny manage to clean the debris away from the stairs, so now the first floor is available for them to start cleaning up the rooms.

‘No problem, it’s good to be out of the house,’ Ginny notes, drying the sweat on her face. ‘Sometimes it feels… too claustrophobic there.’

Lily raises her eyebrows, indicating around the hall, where the number of things still to be organized makes the corridor seem a lot smaller than it is. Ginny gives a small chuckle.

‘It’s just — Mom is trying to compensate, I think. Ron is not here and I am the youngest and she needs to take care of something, after — after everything that happened. So, yeah, I need some time to myself.’

‘Are you sure there is nothing else you would like to do?’ Lily asks, concerned now. Ginny just shrugs.

‘Since I can’t fly, this seems like the best available option,’ she says. ‘And it feels good to be doing something — and there is so much to do here. The Death Eaters made a mess.’

‘That could be said for everywhere.’

‘And everyone,’ Ginny adds softly, and she returns to the cabinet she is trying to fix without saying anything further, but Lily doesn’t think she needs to. She saw Neville’s bruises, she saw Luna’s scars and she has a pretty good idea of how it was at Hogwarts under Voldemort’s regime.

But Ginny keeps her marks quietly, and Lily knows there is only one person she will be able to talk to.

The next day, James comes home earlier from Hogwarts with Harry. There is an awkward moment when Harry and Ginny meet in the kitchen and James mentions that now the main work over Hogwarts is done, Harry volunteered to help get his home back again.

‘Any problem?’ James asks genially, making both Harry and Ginny jump.

‘No,’ they say at the same time, and it doesn’t convince anyone.

Lily never noticed how big their house was until she realizes Harry and Ginny still manage to avoid each other except during mealtimes, so she decides they can get past subtlety. She and James start to ask them for help for the same rooms until they eventually are paired in the same tasks.

She doesn’t hear them talking, but it seems to work, albeit at the slowest pace ever.

‘You won’t believe who asked Sirius for an interview,’ James says one night after they settled for the day and they are having dinner before Ginny returns to her house. ‘Rita Skeeter.’

‘What scoop does she want now?’ Harry asks, rolling his eyes. ‘I am still awaiting her biography about me.’

‘What will be called?’, Ginny asks, and Harry turns to her with his eyes already shining with the joke.

‘Easy. Harry Potter, chosen or undesirable one?’

She laughs – it’s a short tentative laugh, but it’s there, and Harry smiles too. James exchanges a look with Lily, but she shakes her head warningly to him.

‘What Skeeter wanted with Sirius?’ she asks, putting the conversation back into place. It was just a shared joke. There is still a long road ahead.

‘Oh, gossip on you and me, actually, which unfortunately is something Sirius thinks it’s too funny to pass – and also he has a soft spot for Skeeter.’

Harry chokes on his drink.

‘Soft spot?’

‘Oh, please, don’t tell me –‘ Ginny raises her eyebrows, exchanging a bewildered look with Harry. ‘Sirius and Rita Skeeter?’

James chuckles.

‘No, he just likes her because of the animagus stuff. He says he can’t fault her for being one.’

‘Oh, much better,’ Ginny sighs. Then she bits her lip before looking back at Harry. ‘Can you imagine them together? Rita Skeeter as your godmother?’

‘I would have to quit Sirius from his job as godfather,’ Harry says, pretending to gag. ‘He would clearly be underqualified.’

There is another small giggle and that’s it for the night.

They are talking again at least, even if it is still not like it used to be. There are no whispered words during their time together during the day and they don’t seem to be secretly snogging. But they talk sometimes, and once or twice Lily hears a laugh when she passes the room they are in.

But it’s only two weeks later that something seems to happen.

Lily is in her room, finishing to set up the bed so she and James will finally be able to sleep there, when the voices catch her up on her window.

‘You are bleeding.’

‘It’s just a cut, Harry, no big deal.’

‘It was a splinter, there can still be something there.’

‘I told you, I took everything off. I will just press it, it will stop bleeding in a minute.’

‘I can help you, I – I know a lot of healing spells.’

There is a pause.

‘Me too, but I also know that the bleeding will stop. It’s not deep.’

‘How do you –‘

‘Same way you know, Harry.’ There is a note of tension in Ginny’s voice. ‘I had to learn.’

‘Ginny –‘

‘What? Do you think you were the only one who had a hard time?’

And she storms inside, giving him no time to answer.

Harry is subdued that night, even more reserved than natural, and when she passes his room late at night, she sees the light is on. For a second Lily wonders if she should call James, but then she sighs and knocks on his door.

‘Harry?’

In answer, the door opens quietly. Lily enters his room to see Harry fully clothed on his bed; he is holding something and, with a start, she realizes it’s the Marauder’s Map. That’s a weird thing for Harry to be consulting in the middle of the night.

‘Can’t sleep?’ she asks, sitting on the edge of his bed and running her hand through his hair comfortingly. He shrugs. ‘Anything to do with that fight with Ginny?’

He raises his eyebrows.

‘Hearing behind doors, Mum?’

‘No need, you were talking under my window.’

‘Next fight I will make sure we are far,’ he says with a grimace.

‘There will be a next fight?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits, and this prospect doesn’t seem to make him better. ‘If I asked you something, would you be honest with me?’

‘Wasn’t I always, Harry?’

He smiles for a second before his expression is grave and uncertain.

‘Do you think I am self-centred?’

Lily blinks.

‘No one would accuse you of being selfish, Harry, I mean –’

She doesn’t know where to begin, considering all the sacrifices she had seen Harry make over the years — he gave his life —, but Harry shakes his head.

‘Not selfish, I mean – the summer after my fourth year, when Voldemort was back, I said plenty of things –’

‘You were under a lot of stress, no one –’

‘I know, but I was complaining about how everything happened to me and now I am thinking that maybe, somehow, I never stopped to think that things happen to other people too.’

Lily squeezes his hand.

‘It is not a suffering competition, Harry.’

‘I don’t know if I see it that way. I mean, when I saw Neville for the first time, with all his bruises and looking so hurt, I still wished it could be me, staying at Hogwarts and fighting because it seemed easier and it never occurred to me that she could – they could – have had a difficult time too. It still seemed… just school.’

He pauses to pick up the Marauder’s Map, opening it even if there is no map showing there.

‘I used to take the Map last year to watch over her,’ he whispers, his face flushing. ‘And I saw her dot and I never thought that she could be in trouble. I knew they were rebelling, but… it didn’t feel like it was something real.’

‘Well, that’s why you should talk to each other. None of you will understand if you keep avoiding each other.’

‘She is mad at me.’

‘Of course she is. You are avoiding her.’

He doesn’t answer.

‘You need to talk, Harry. Go there. Try it.’

He blinks, a hint of a smile on his lips.

‘Are you suggesting that I go visit my ex-girlfriend in the middle of the night?’

‘I’m pretty sure you will just talk if she doesn’t hex you first,’ Lily says brightly. Then she smiles softly. ‘You could wait until tomorrow, Harry, but I have the feeling you both have been waiting too long. And this isn’t any of your styles. You are both people of action.’

Harry grins now, standing up.

‘I will go then. Thanks for the tip, Mum.’

Lily accepts the soft kiss he gives her on the cheek.

‘Just be safe, Harry.’

_______

Harry seems to be in a better mood the next morning, despite the fact that he slept a few hours that night — Lily knows he returned by five, just as the sun was rising.

But she doesn’t say anything, just smiling to herself when Harry’s face lights up when the fireplace erupts into emerald flames and Ginny appears, dusting her clothes. They exchange a look that it’s still not there yet, but it’s soft and promising. James looks in her direction, surprised, and she promises to explain later.

It’s not Summer yet, but the days of May and then June get warmer and then Harry and Ginny are spending more time outside, though there isn’t much to fix there.

At least, not material things.

James keeps an eye on them — he wouldn’t resist not doing so —, telling her that most of the time they just seem to be taking long strolls and talking.

One day they return from their walk holding hands, and Lily has to lock James inside the room so he doesn’t say anything. Harry and Ginny are still not there.

The road home takes time.

On the second weekend of June they have the hottest day yet and they take some time off; James transfigures a pool in the backyard that neither Harry nor Ginny seems to enjoy other than to sit at the edge of the pool and take off their shoes to wet their feet. Instead of helping to ease any tension, the pool seems to create some weight over them, making them more silent than usual, so James suggests they go flying instead.

‘My Firebolt is gone,’ Harry remembers, wincing, and Lily knows it’s not the broomstick he is really missing right now. Harry lost a friend that day.

‘Mine was burnt by the Carrows last year,’ Ginny adds, her voice casual as if it’s nothing important.

They don’t end up doing anything after that.

In the afternoon, James gets a call from Sirius and Lily decides to just stay home, finishing the Wolfsbane Potions she will need to deliver to Remus by the end of the week. She is quietly lost in her favourite potion world when she hears the voices, and it’s just because they are whispering, rather than talking normally, that it draws her attention.

‘Are you sure?’ Ginny is asking, her voice unusually hesitant.

‘Only if you are,’ he whispers, sounding just as unstable.

Lily approaches the window and withdraws the curtains as little as she needs. Harry and Ginny are still by the pool, standing facing each other, and without looking away from Harry, she takes off her shirt, to reveal her bikini under it.

Harry gasps, but Lily knows that what is taking his breath away are the marks on Ginny’s torso — faint scars of cuts and small yellowed bruises that remained from the battle, over a month ago.

Ginny bits her lip, her arms trembling as if she wants to cover herself. Harry finally takes a step in her direction, looking her in the eyes now.

'Thank you for showing me,’ he whispers and then he sighs. 'My turn'.

His hands are shaking as he goes to unbutton his shirt, until Ginny raises her hands.

'May I?'

Harry nods slowly.

Ginny keeps her head high, not looking away from Harry's eyes, until she finishes opening all the buttons from his shirt and taking it off.

Then her eyes fall to his chest and Ginny freezes.

Lily knows what she is seeing, even though Lily can't see it from her angle: Harry's new lightning scar, across his chest, over his heart, where the Killing Curse hit him for the second time in his life.

'Harry,’ Ginny sighs, pain evident in her voice. She raises her hand, looking at him, questioning him silently. Harry nods once more.

Then Ginny takes a step closer to him, touching his chest, and Lily knows that she must be feeling his heart over it.

She lets the curtain fall and returns to her potion.

She is not surprised when they return home holding hands and she only tells James later (so he doesn't say anything during dinner because she knows her husband) that Ginny kissed Harry softly on the lips when she thought no one was seeing them.

#Hinny #Jily Lives AU #Hinny Fanfiction #Eyes glistening #T: Fanfiction

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kaepopsicle · 3 years

Note

hello, sweetheart!! would it be okay for me to request a nct dream reaction to you asking to sit on their lap when you're tired, because it makes u fall asleep easier? it's something I had picked up from my last relationship, and she always said it was rather cute,so I was curious what you thought the boys would think of it!! u dont have to do it tho, ofc!!<3

omg hi!! this is literally so precious !! and it is really cute !! I love it !! I can def see the dreamies be super considerate and comfortable to lay on. they’re all just so sweet and I’m not crying you are TT ! I hope this is what you wanted !! �� :D

nct dream reaction. their s/o falling asleep on their lap.

— mark

you knock lightly at the door, your boyfriend with his messy hair, hoodie, shorts, and harry potter glasses appears, “oh dude, hey babe, I wasn’t expecting you here.” his voice was raspy as if he just woke up; which is probably what happened. He rubs his eyes before motioning you to come in. He shuts the door and looks at you concerned a bit from your non response. “hey are you okay-“ he gently pulls your wrist and you turn to him with mascara stained down your cheeks, a symbol of hours worth of crying. His voice softens and he immediately pulls you into a hug. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want, we can just lay here.” he motions for the couch and you sniffle before agreeing. He takes a seat as you follow, laying your head in his lap while he gently brushes your hair. You felt comfortable in his presence and begin drifting off in a euphoric trance.

— renjun

night shifts were hard. especially at a hospital. you sighed as you walked into your dark apartment and turned on the lights, tossing your bag to the side and quickly locking the door. you smile before seeing your boyfriend asleep on the couch, his mouth hanging open just the slightest as a random cooking show was playing on the tv. ‘he must have been up waiting for me.’ you thought to yourself, you smiled before going to change in the bedroom; quietly so you didn’t wake him up. a few minutes have passed and you came out with a towel drying your now wet hair, you could barely keep your eyes open. the sight of your bf wasn’t helping. you sigh before tossing the towel to the side and heading to the couch, you put one leg on each side of him, sit on his lap and snuggle up into his chest. he moves a little before a soft smile appears on his face. along with a groany sound; his arms come around and hold you even closer as you lay your head in the crook of his neck. “how was work?”

— jeno

it was late at night and jeno walks in the dorm kitchen you were sitting there leaning against the counter. “babe? what are you doing up?” he glances at the time; 3:07. you sigh “I can’t sleep” “aw” he gives you a little pout before penguin running over to you. you giggle before he picks you up, you swing your legs around his waist and he rubs your thighs as you hug into him. “can you stay with me?” you whisper into his neck. a smile appears on his face. “of course.” he takes you back to his bedroom and he sits on the bed with you still hanging on to him like a koala. “ahh” he sighs as he lays down, you still laying on his chest. he pulls a blanket over you guys as he brushes the hair out of your face. “you’re so cute.” he whispers, but you were already asleep.

— haechan

“baebbbbeee stopp,, I’m tired” you complain as your bf was being a turd. as usual. “awww is my flower tired” he mocks at you while running away, “I just want a hug” you cry as you drop your arms to the side in defeat. he stops before looking at you “fineeeee come here you sleepy puppy” you pout before sliding on the hard floor to him. he pulls you into a warm hug, his hand resting on the back of your head. you keep snuggling closer and closer. “BAbe!” He moves while complaining; looking up at the ceiling. You groan “I just want to get closerrrr” “you’re already as close as you can! what more do you want from me?” he complains. you groan before rubbing your head into his chest. “do you want to sit on my lap or??” he rolls his eyes, jokingly until you don’t answer. “wait seriously?” he says, you move your head in a nodding motion, as he gets the hint his hands reach down to under your butt to pull you up holding you. he walks over to the couch and takes a big fall, while you’re still holding on. he laughs as you snuggle up into him and lay your head into his neck. “my big baby.” he laughs.

— jaemin

you walk into your boyfriends dorm as you see his handsome self standing in the kitchen making some espresso in the espresso machine you got him for his birthday, you were absolutely exhausted. you didn’t know why you agreed to go work out with your friend. but you did and you were sore, and not to mention tired. “Baby!” your boyfriends smile appears on his face brighter than the sun itself. You limp over to him in pain, as your muscles felt like they were about to explode. “hi..” you say wincing. “Baby!!? What’s wrong what happened???” He runs over to you full of compassion and concern; pulls you into a big hug and pulls you towards his room. “Come come you need to rest.” He says, a smile appears on your face as your boyfriend was being a sweetheart, like he always is. you go to sit on his bed before he runs over and pulls you on top of his lap. he rubs your back as you hug into him, slowly drifting away. he just smiles at you as he plays with your hair. “just stay here for as long as you need my princess.” his coffee long forgotten about.

— chenle

your legs were killing you, were you going to tell your boyfriend that? of course not. he was so excited to be able to have a break and play basketball at the court down the street from the dorm, you couldn’t bare to tell him. “omg babe here! This is the perfect spot.” he runs over to an empty bench, rips off his jacket and throws it down. while dribbling the basketball and making a basket, you sigh before sitting down on the bench he laid his jacket on. leaning back before breathing heavily. “Babe watch this !!” He runs and dunks the ball “OOOOOHHHH you saw that! LEGEND!” he runs around yelling while making random noises and movements, before stopping when he saw your state. “babe? are you okay?” he runs over before squatting down and gently rubbing your knee. you look at him and rub his soft cheeks. “sorry bubs I’m just really tired” he smiles before sitting on the bench and picking you up setting you on his lap. “Hey don’t worry about it; I just want you to be happy” he rubs your back, gently brushing your hair. “you can fall asleep on me if you want” he smiles. you take that offer and melt into his embrace. and fall asleep. he ends up falling asleep too.

— jisung

finals were finally over. you couldn’t wait to get home and spend your winter break with your boyfriend. You walk in his dorm and throw your bag and jacket on the counter before making a hunt for jisung. “baby...” You call. “In here!” A deep voice shouts from a room down the hall. You quickly skip to him and hug him from behind. He was playing a game on his phone while sitting on his bed. (Like usual) “how was class?” he asks as you cling on to his back like an animal. “It was good I’m just exhausted.” he turns to you and smiles. you kiss his cheek and run to go change into comfier clothes, you come back and he was still in the exact same position. so you decided to take that as an opportunity to sit on his lap, you crawl underneath his arms holding his phone and snuggle up into him, he doesn’t stop you, he just continues to play his game. not paying too much attention. you know he doesn’t mind, you do this all the time. he knows it helps you sleep cuddling up to him. eventually he pauses his game to admire your cute presence; but that doesn’t last long, he just resumes the game and goes back to playing for hours. doesn’t move, just so you can sleep peacefully.

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midnightmoonkiss · 3 years

Note

now you got me THINKING:

reader picking the lock to her holding cell for the hell of it, wandering the deck at night and catching deku muttering to himself, compass in one hand, tugging at his lips with the other, to which she helps him using scraps of knowledge she picked up from her snob of a father, learning her father was the the reason for a few of his scars in past battles, tracing them gently and explaining how she hates her life and blah blah bLha my brain rot is REALL

YESS OMFG???? HOLD ON I GOTTA.. GOTTA WRITE THIS..

Kidnapped By A Pirate (Cont.)

Pirate Deku X Fem! Reader

This basically is a continuation of this short fic, only going further into the early-on relationship between Captain Midoriya and you, (Y/N).

Category: fluff I guess?

Word Count: 2.3k

Just To Clarify:

This is a continuation

“You know,” His mellifluous voice startled you, “It’s awfully rude to stare.”

The sentence sliced through the silence of the night like the sharp sword resting upon his jutting hip.

The sea was calm and the moon was full, not a cloud in the sky. Stars shimmered brightly above, milky way weaving through each dot of light.

And here you stood, on a pirate ship.

Gathering your bearings, you inhale sharply through your nose, the salty scent of the sea nearly making you gag,

“It’s awfully rude to kidnap someone and throw them into a dirty old cell with no food or water as well.”

His hearty chuckle made you gulp, the tickling of butterflies has no place in your stomach. Not now. Preferably not ever with him, but most pirates did have this.. salacious charm to them.

“Very true…” He sighed, “Forgive me.”

The fact that you were having this conversation with his back infuriated you.

He didn’t care enough about your escape from your cell in the dead of night, when all his crewmen were asleep, to even pay you full attention.

It was as if he viewed you as the least frightening and threatless thing on this vessel, a harmless, stowaway mouse.

Swallowing the lump of logical fear lodged in your parched throat, you strung together all the courage you had on you with a flimsy string and strode over to him, hands fisting the fabric of your dress.

The pirate was leaning against the railing of his ship, staring down at a dirty compass resting in the palm of his large hand, lip pulled between his thumb and index finger and he studied the spinning of the needle trapped behind cracked glass.

His features from behind became clearer with every cautious step you took, messy green curls pulled into a ponytail, few strings of loose hair framing his chiseled face. He was practically glowing in the light of the moon that shone in front of him. Beautifully dangerous, like a barracuda.

“It’s broken.” You pointed out to him, the captain who wasn’t wearing a hat, an air of finality in your tone.

If he was plotting a course by a broken compass..

You were royally fucked.

You’d be lost at sea.

Would you ever see land again?

The nauseating rocking of the ship had you almost on your knees, praying. As the days went by, your sea legs grew, but you still weren’t used to it. You didn’t want to be used to it.

“It's only broken to those who don’t understand it,” He teased, sparing you a glance before returning his gaze down to the old piece of junk.

He didn’t seem to want to bother with taking you back down to your own personal hell, yet.

That was good enough for you.

You came up here for air, after all.

It was suffocating below deck.. The stench of mildew having made you sick.

Who knew you took fresh air for granted? Even if it was salty.

At least you could see the open sea and how the moon reflected on the murky water. It was enchanting, something out of a romance novel, but you wished you saw it under better circumstances.

Something about being on a piece of wood out where land was nowhere in sight and the bottom of the ocean was so far out of reach you couldn't even imagine it unnerved you.

You never understood seamen, or pirates, even.

They did this stuff for fun.

At least seamen did it as a way to make income.

The click of his tongue brought your attention back to the freckled man, murmurs under his breath only just now reaching your ears.

Directions and landmarks, sea terminology, things you didn't understand slipped past his chapped lips.. Until something you did know was uttered.

“You’re sailing for the port of Baringham? The low-profile port? That only deals with textiles?”

“Many questions for an answer you already know,” he quipped, “I’m taking you there.”

“How are you going to take me to a place where you cannot even plot a course to?”

Huffing, he finally turned his head to you, amusement written on his face along with a charming smile that would’ve made anyone swoon,

“Alright, you’ve got me.”

Pushing himself up with his cloth covered forearms, he moved to lean with his back against the rail, crossing his arms as he gave you a sliver of respect with direct eye contact.

You briefly considered pushing him over.

“I’m a bit lost.”

“Ah, so you admit it.”

Humming, you mimicked his action, crossing your arms under your chest.

“Fortunately for you, I happen to know where it is.”

“That so?” He mused, leaning toward you ever so slightly, panicked interest cracking through his calm, forest green eyes that you couldn't help but notice twinkle, “Care to tell me?”

“Mmm. I would… but what’s in it for me?”

“What is it that you want? Isn't your guaranteed freedom at said port enough?”

“No.”

“..” The captain was shocked into silence, clear amusement still written all over his face.

Combing his dirty fingers through his messy green locks, he gave you an inquisitive stare,

“Then what else?”

You thought for a moment. What else did you want?

You wanted many things, things of which he could not grant. No one could.

You’d have to settle for something else.

Something you would prefer.. suddenly, the sickness you felt when you were in that gross cell came to mind.

“Don’t put me back in that damned cell!” The shout bubbled up from nowhere, shocking even you, “And.. and water. I want water.” You mumbled out.

Silence settled into the night once more after your loud declaration.

Your face burned with pure embarrassment as he became the one to stare at you..

Until he started laughing.

The kind of boisterous and infectious laughter that forced you to look away from his regrettably handsome self.

“You have yourself a deal, princess!”

The title further made your cheeks burn, drawing your attention back to him just to meet his enchanting gaze.

It draws you in like a sailor to a mermaid.

“Now, mind telling me?”

Licking your lips, you pointed to the heavens, his eyes following, “Travel so the brightest star in the sky is behind you, and follow the little dipper. The port is due north from there.”

It was a route you didn’t mean to memorize years ago.

The loud snap of the compass being closed made you jump, composure temporarily lost yet again.

“Ahh..” His gaze flickered over the sky, no doubt seeing a plethora of routes with each familiar constellation as he mapped the one you spoke of.

“I see it now, silly me.”

Looking down at the deck, he rubbed the back of his sweaty neck, messing with the curly hair that fell loose. Would you be so bold as to think that he may be embarrassed?

He clapped a hand on your shoulder after pushing himself fully off the rail, the whisper of thanks fanning hotly across your ear as he climbed the creaking stairs to the helm, brown boots clicking on each step as he did so.

Spinning the wheel round, the ship croaked as it turned so that the north star fell behind.

“How did you know this course?”

His curiosity was natural. After all, how did you, daughter of a well-off navy general who had never stepped aboard a boat before, know the way to a port not many knew of?

The answer was simple, though it was an answer you didn't exactly wish to know. Cursed with knowledge as you would say, blessed would say the others.

“My father.” Bitterness stung your words, and Izuku whistled.

“Slimy piece of shit he is.” It was grumbled under your breath, and yet he still somehow heard you, offering a grunt of agreement, eyes focused ahead.

“I hate the bastard myself,” he seethed through his teeth, “I’d offer up all the rum and shillings I have to see his blood spill and stain my deck by my own hands.”

The fury that clung to each word he spoke sent shivers down your spine, his aura threatening as he fell to his thoughts.

“I have an obvious reason to hate him,”

“You do?”

Your childlike curiosity warmed his heart, bringing his attention back to you,

“You don’t get scars from nowhere, love.”

Your nose crinkled at the term of endearment, climbing the stairs yourself as you rolled your eyes.

“Your scars are hidden,”

“His scars mark my back.”

Blood drained from your face, bile creeping up your throat at the meaning.

You felt sick and disgusted with the blood that ran through your veins.

You hated being the daughter of a monster.

“Oh..” The whisper caught on the wind pulling at the sails.

Silence fell once more, the unbearable kind that made even his skin crawl with uncomfortableness.

Had the crew been awake, he probably would have laughed, grabbed a bottle of rum, and stumbled into his captains quarters to drink the memories away.. But his crew was asleep.

Oh, how he missed his first mate. He was the whole reason you were on his ship in the first place.

“Just your back?”

“Do you wish he gave me more?” Izuku chuckled, teasing you once again.

“No.” You huffed, furious he would even suggest such a thing.

“I have a few.. Mainly on my hand but I-”

His words died on his tongue, heart beating in his ears when he felt your much smaller and daintier hands grip his own, the only one covered in white scars.

He gulped as you traced the smooth cicatrix on his rough skin, a small blush on his cheeks, your touch soothing the pain behind each one.

Tears not his own fell onto his skin, rolling off and spattering onto the deck below, but he remained silent, allowing you to trace the scars over his forearm, not specifying which were and which were not created by your father.

He liked your touch.

“I hate him too.” Your words were raw with hatred, touch fading as you pulled away and yet he still felt the tingle of it under his skin.

He wanted more. He hadnt felt such gentleness in so long..

That doesn’t matter, though.

“Why?” He found himself asking.

Lips pressing into a frown, he watched the sea as you mindlessly walked around behind him, stories spilling past your fervent lips, stories that made silent anger bubble in his gut, stories that you had never told anyone before - that you were forced to keep inside yourself for so long that they spilled out without care.

His desire to burn that man's ship down, to watch as the bright flames engulf him and it, destined to forever be lost at the bottom of the sea, grew tenfold.

Deku, the infamous pirate, prided himself on not giving a shit half the time, but he couldn’t ignore the empathy he felt in the moment.

You both had a common enemy.

Two strangers.. Where’s the irony in that?

“I don't like you,” You started after finishing up your uncontrollable word vomit, stopping in your tracks, “But the fact that I find this kidnapping to be the most enjoyable days of my life because I’m away from him and all the power he possesses is concerning.”

Why you told this to an untrustworthy, murdering thief.. You had no idea.

Perhaps it was because you had a feeling he would understand after hearing you out.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was currently the only person you could say it to.

After kidnapping you, all he had said to you was ‘welcome aboard!’ before locking the cell you just escaped from days later.

You should hate him, you should wish him to hang like every other disgusting pirate out there, especially for snatching you from your home in the dead of night, transferring you from one cell to the next, but you don't.

You wouldn’t show that, though.

Many words weighed heavy in Izukus mind, words he was unsure if he could say, or if it’d be the right thing to say.

He wasn’t heartless like some assumed, he wasn’t this traitorous asshole stories floating around about him told, he was just a pirate with a kind heart and skilled hands.

He almost felt bad that he planned to give you back to your father.

He felt bad that for that first day you were aboard his ship, he had wicked ideas of marking and ruining you in so many ways your father would only ever look at you and see him.

It was a cruel way to get revenge, revenge through someone else.

Actually, maybe he was an asshole.

Right then and there, he decided that that would no longer be his course of action, not if he could help it.

Hell, he wanted to keep you as far away from your father as he could. Would he abandon his first mate? No. He’d devise some other plan. Maybe get you somewhere safe, ask for your dress, and then cover a scarecrow in said dress and use that as a tool to get him back.

It could work!

Or maybe not.

Nonetheless, plan A through D were just thrown overboard,

“Well,” He smacked the wooden wheel to get your attention,

“You’re a pretty little thing, so I like you.”

You scoffed, he continued,

“Consider yourself prisoner to your fathers enemy for a long time to come, because darlin’,”

He drawled, sauntering over to you as you instinctively backed up, only to be trapped against the railing.

His muscular arms caged you in, taller frame towering over you as electrifying green eyes intoxicated your soul and sent heat flashes up your body,

“I’m not gonna let you go so easily.”

#pirate deku x reader #pirate deku #deku x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x your #bnha #mha #mha x you #mha x reader #bnha x you #deku bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #pirate au

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amintyworld · 3 years

Text

We Lost - Sorrowful Song AU

A/N: Hey guys, I back with a few prologues/intro chapters to some of @dreamsmp-au-ideas’s AUs. This one is the one I never thought I’d have time to write, but here we are - the Sorrowful Song AU. The premise is simple: What if during the Final Disc Confrontation, no one came to help Tubbo and Tommy? The answer: The fluffiest fluff, and the angstiest angst. Please check it out on their blog! I hope you guys enjoy! - Minty

TW: Major Character Death(s?), Blood/gore, afterlife, suicidal thoughts, memory loss, arguing, cursing, drug/alcohol mention, smoking. (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

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

As Tubbo and Tommy embraced in the cold air of Dream’s lair, Tommy squeezed Tubbo tightly, as if that could keep him here, alive, for just a little bit longer. That he would have his best friend for just a little bit longer. “So, are you… are you accepting this?” His eyes pricked with tears. “Are you o-?” His hands lingered near Tubbo’s arms as they pulled away, not knowing what to do or what to even say. Tubbo’s face filled with gentle warmth as he looked up to his best friend and mustered a smile,

“Hey, it’s okay.” He slowly reached to take Tommy’s hand in his and give it a comforting squeeze. “We had fun, it’s okay. We said our goodbyes at the start.”

“But we… we are optimistic you know we were optimistic-” Tommy’s body shook slightly, backing up a bit, as his eyes wet with tears. “The whole way here- my mic broke and we were… we were optimistic-!”

Tubbo crossed his arms around himself, almost like a hug. His eyes never left the floor. “Yeah, I know, but you get backed into a corner, like how he describes me as a pawn?” He looked up to meet Tommy’s gaze, his own eyes glistening with tears. “This is checkmate. This is it. This is the end.” Tubbo’s shoulders sagged. “I suggest you resign.”

A knot formed itself in Tommy’s throat at his friend’s words, and he thickly swallowed. “Tubbo… even though for this entire server I regarded you as my sidekick, and the character and all- But really Tubbo, I was your sidekick.” A moment of shock passed Tubbo’s face as he slowly began to shake his head.

“No..” A sad smile traced Tubbo’s lips.

A tear rolled down Tommy’s cheek. “Please don’t go.” Tubbo slowly began to move toward Dream once again. “Please don’t go…”

“No, no it’s fine.” Tubbo gathered up his courage as he closed his eyes in front of Dream, who held his ax at the ready. “It’s about time anyway, it’s about time.”

“Say your goodbyes.” Dream’s voice echoed through the empty lair.

“Goodbye, Tommy.”

Tommy’s vision blurred with tears as Tubbo’s body fell to the floor, crimson blood staining his chest. Tommy called out his name, running toward him trying to help him, hold him, anything- But, within seconds, his body disintegrated into nothingness, the only sign of his existence being a puddle of blood on the door and a pile of items. The teenager’s body shook with sobs as he fell to the floor, his heart aching as his mind scrambled with the simple fact that Tubbo was dead.

Tubbo was dead, and he wasn’t coming back.

“Hm…” Dream hummed to himself as he went through the pile of things apathetically. Curiosity piqued his interest as he pulled out a compass with the tag ‘Your Tommy’, looking it over to see if he should add it to his collection. “Interesting.”

“Don’t you fucking dare you bitch!” Tommy angrily shouted through tears as he rushed over, punching Dream in the face, er… mask. It cracked and a small bit of the signature painted eyes fell to the ground with a shatter as a single green eye stared down at him. Tommy’s heart dropped in his chest at how dull it looked. He remembered how dull his own eyes used to look, in exile.

Quickly, Dream kicked Tommy square in the chest and sent him flying as he landed on his back, practically all the air was knocked out of his lungs. As he sputtered for breath, Dream walked up to him, pointing his sword at Tommy’s chest. “Come on, Tommy. Let’s go.”

“Fuck you.”

The sound of glass breaking filled his ears as all the energy was quickly sapped out of Tommy’s body as he struggled to move, paralyzed, and he looked up at Dream in confused shock. “Do you really think you have a choice?”

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

“Fucking great, another one!”

“Shut up, Schlatt.”

“This is my void too, you know!”

Tubbo’s entire body ached as his dead felt dizzy. His mind struggled to remember what had happened. Why was it so fuzzy? He slowly opened his eyes to find… Wilbur? Wilbur gave him a smirk.

“You know when I felt like space was opening up the last person I expected here was you.”

Tubbo sat up, the shift in his position made his head throb in pain as he let out a groan. “Where… where is here, exactly?”

Though Wilbur looked just as he did when he was alive, except for a hole through his chest, of course, he was gentle and looked to Tubbo with a warmth that Tubbo honestly missed seeing. His hand found Tubbo’s as he helped him stand up. “Careful, I know it’s a bit jarring at first.” All around the two were nothing but darkness. They were floating in a sea of nothingness. Tubbo looked at his hands and noticed how translucent they were. Was he…? He was a ghost? Wilbur gestured around them. “Welcome to the Void!”

“Void…?”

“I mean, it’s under the world, at least we think… so… yeah. Welcome to the afterlife.” Wilbur shrugged as his face quickly lit up in excitement. “Oh, let me show you around!” Wilbur smiled as he dragged Tubbo, who looked down to notice he was floating, toward more ghostly figures coming into view. There were cows, pigs, flowers, trees, even translucent endermen. “Anything that ever was alive and died is down here, including all those pets- Fungi and Friend should be around here somewhere… oh, over there’s Schlatt’s little corner…”

“Wait, Schlatt…?” Tubbo asked, turning around to see the former President of L’manburg’s small hut, across from him a tent and in the middle a campfire.

“Yeah, still the same old Schlatt - you have no idea how pissed he was when he figured out there’s no drugs or booze down here.” Wilbur sighed with a chuckle. He looked over to notice a certain blue sheep sniffing around Wilbur’s pockets. Wilbur smiled as he leaned down to pet the small creature. “Hey there Friend. You want some grass, don’t cha?”

As he fed the sheep, Tubbo’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why do you need to eat when you’re dead?”

“It’s not so much that we have to, it’s more like we choose to. Friend enjoys his grass, yeah?” Wilbur shrugged. Wilbur led Tubbo under a tree as the two sat on the dead grass and flowers. “I was wondering… where’s Tommy? I would’ve thought you two would come down as a package deal.”

“I… Dream cornered us…” Flashes of memories began to play in Tubbo’s mind. “He threatened me, he made Tommy give up everything. He has everything that everyone’s attached to - their pets, their stuff… he said that Tommy brought attachment to the server, so he needed him alive. He was going to put him in this inescapable prison, and… and he killed me.”

Wilbur’s bright attitude fell. “Oh.”

“It was time anyway,” Tubbo brushed off, forcing a smile. “My time to go, I guess.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed. “Was it?” Tubbo sighed, laying back on the grass as he stared up at the darkness around them. Tubbo’s hands played with the glowing and slightly translucent grass as he stared at the ground lost in thought, trying to wrap his head around it all and not finding any words. “Hey, hey - it’s all good, sorry I didn’t mean to just-” Wilbur sighed, moving to stand and holding out his hand for Tubbo to take. “Hey, uh, you… you like Uno?”

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

Tommy hadn’t said a word through the entire trip, though it’s not exactly like he could if he wanted to - Dream didn’t care for his protests or his few pathetic attempts to escape. He pushed away from the tears in his eyes as his heart hardened once more, feeling oddly heavy, weirdly… empty. He kept his head down, his arms tied up in front of him as he marched toward Pandora’s Vault. Every step he took he felt like he was walking toward his own demise.

Memories flashed through Tommy’s mind of how he slowly walked towards the edge of the bridge, staring down at the lava, his head full of nothing but thoughts. What had Dream said again? “It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy.”

It really never was his time to die.

Always pulled and pushed along by people or things, fighting wars and facing down all the odds, prepared for the inevitable, welcoming and facing it head-on, only to wake up the next day and forced to move onto the next thing. Tommy used to feel happy and light, drifting wherever the wind would take him. Now, he felt like he dragged the world with him, with every move he made - it was so heavy, it hurt so much that the teenager almost felt as if at any moment he’d shatter.

But he hadn’t. And Dream wanted to know how much more he could take.

“Ah, Punz. Just the person I wanted to see.” Dream grinned as he slightly shoved Tommy forward. “The prisoner is here.”

Punz thickly swallowed in hesitation as he looked over toward the teen, who looked up at him, expressionless in a way that seemed so incredibly odd for Tommy that Punz stepped backward slightly in shock. “I… uh… I wasn’t aware that… that you’d be here this early.”

“I do pride myself on efficiency when it comes to these types of things.” Dream’s smiley mask bore into Punz, before turning towards Tommy with a cheerful smile. “Let’s get you settled in then, huh?”

As Tommy threw all his items into the chest, with no protest, he was turned as Punz checked his pockets for any lingering tools before handing him a tacky orange shirt and pair of pants to change into. Throughout it all, Punz tried to remind himself that he was doing the right thing, he was keeping his promise to Dream, he trusted him with his loyalty after all. Still, pangs of guilt rang through his stomach, tying it in knots at how utterly and completely broken the teenager looked. His eyes looked so dull he looked like an obedient zombie. He didn’t fight. He didn’t try to get away. Why wasn’t he trying to run?!

As they waited for the bridge to appear while the lava drained, Dream tightly kept the boy’s hands behind his back. Tommy’s voice was small and broken, almost pleading. “You’ll visit me in prison, won’t you Dream?”

“I’m afraid you won’t be getting visitors for a while, Tommy.” Dream pushed his hair back, almost… fondly? “I need to learn to trust you again, remember? I need to be able to trust you won’t try to run away.” As Tommy stepped onto the bridge with Dream behind him, only one thing he knew was for absolute certain - He wouldn’t run away.

He had nowhere else to go. He had no one to run to. He had nothing - L’manburg was gone, Wilbur was dead, Tubbo was dead.

Dream won.

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

Tubbo couldn’t help but smirk as he slammed down a plus-four on the pile, much to the ram’s dismay as the table erupted with shouts and hollers at the play. It had been awhile - Tubbo knew they lost count somewhere along the line, the last day was… the 20th day? Yeah, there had been at the very least twenty days since he landed down in the Void. he hung around with Wilbur for the majority of it, and though it was pretty clear he’d changed since pushing that button so long ago, there was definitely a side to him Tubbo remembered well, that he hadn’t realized how much he missed.

Schlatt was… well, he was Schlatt. The ram hybrid barely left his own little corner where he napped, and when he did he was usually poking around for his next cigarette from the small stash he and Wilbur shared, or the few times they needed a player three. “You cheater!” Schlatt exclaimed, throwing his cards down on the table in anger, making Tubbo giggle and Wilbur laugh.

“I think it’s safe to call it, yeah?” Wilbur smiled, getting up to grab the score paper and pen.

“No, it’s not over yet!” Schlatt said, searching through his pile for anything useful.

“Schlatt, you have over half the deck in your hand.”

“How did you get so many plus fours?!”

Wilbur sat back down with the paper, smiling. “So, that completes game four hundred and thirteen - so far, Tubbo and I are tied for a hundred and seventy-five wins, with sixty wins for Schlatt, and three for Mexican Dream.”

“Remind me again why I keep playing with you two?” Schlatt groaned, and Tubbo patted his back sympathetically.

“Well, Wil and I always need a third, and Mexican Dream is… well you know how he is.” Tubbo laughed. “You’re a very good competitor.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Uh, guys?” Wilbur looked own at his hands for a moment, calling the other’s attention as slowly, his hands began to fade away from view. “Guys…?”

“What… what’s going on- Schlatt?” Tubbo looked over to Schlatt nervously as the ghost looked around in a panic.

“I… I dunno what’s happening, this hasn’t happened before-!” As Wilbur’s ghost form began to fade more and more, gods it felt absolutely painful - that shredded feeling of being disassembled, only this time he had no idea where he was going. A sense of fear struck him as he tried to keep his voice even, trying to forcibly ground himself here, let him stay here, please-! Wilbur slowly crumbled into the dark ground in pain, and as Schlatt rushed over to help him, he heard Tubbo and look over to see him in the same condition. “Fuck, fuck fuck what do I do?!”

Tubbo tried to gather his strength to stand when that same headache pain from when he arrived exploded in his head once more. He looked over toward Wilbur and crawled over to him. “Wilbur, what’s happening?”

Wilbur tried his best to appear calmer than he felt. He hissed and winced at the pluses of pain throughout his body. “I… I don’t know, but it’ll be okay, alright? It’ll be okay.” Tubbo hugged Wilbur tightly as Wilbur ran his hand up and down his back to soothe him.

“It hurts, Wilbur.”

“I know. But we’ve been through worse, right?” Wilbur tried to reassure him. “We’ll get through it, we always do.” One moment, Tubbo felt arms around him, trying to comfort him through pain, and then… they were gone. His voice began to fade. “It’ll be okay…”

Then… silence.

Tubbo felt his heart being ripped open of losing Wilbur again. Tubbo looked up at Schlatt, who pulled him into a hug as Tubbo began to sob - in pure pain. “I know kid. I know.” Schlatt whispered comfortingly.

“Schlatt, I’m scared.”

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

Cold.

Cold, and wet.

A voice. He remembered a voice, calling out for him. It… it was Tommy.

Where was Tommy?

A numbing feeling took over Tubbo’s body and suddenly he shot up, on top of a snow-covered mountain. It took a minute for him to calm his breathing, as he looked around at his surroundings, memories flooding back into his head - a battle. They were fighting Dream… the discs…They won - they must’ve. Tommy wouldn’t have left him here, right? As he moved to stand, he noticed how he began to float a foot or so off the ground, not now noticing his greyed-out skin. He felt weird… sluggish. He didn’t feel like… himself.

What happened?

Pinching himself, he quickly realized he can’t feel pain. Piling the evidence in his head as he stumbled down the mountain, he tripped, falling forward and bracing for impact, and-! He fell, but again, no pain. The only constant being the growing emptiness he felt at the edges of his being.

Was he…? Surely not.

Looking down he noticed a large slash across his chest. Curious, he reached over to touch it, finally finding nerve endings as memories flashback and pain coursed through his body. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes, as he slowly walked over toward a small pool of water, getting on his knees and peering over.

Surely not.

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

Tommy sat on the edge of his bed in the cell, shaking as he felt like crying, but realizing he had no tears left and feeling extremely thirsty. His eyes were red and puffy as he pulled his knees up toward his chest for the slightest bit of comfort. Usually, he’d feel stupid looking like this, but at this point, he didn’t care. In the five hours he’s been locked in the cell, Tommy figured out he didn’t care about a lot of things. Whether he ate, whether he got out of this hell hole somehow… whether or not he lived to ever see the sun again.

He didn’t have a choice anyway, no one had a choice, so what did it matter?

Within five hours, he screamed, cursed profanities as loud as he possibly could, and even tried throwing himself against the wall of the obsidian. It did nothing at all but made him tired, and left a very large bruise against his right shoulder. Part of him commended Dream on his plan. It was a brilliant one, that was for sure. This whole prison was a testement to how much he really knew him, how long he’d been planning this - because if it weren't for those iron blocks, Tommy would have thrown himself into the lava an hour ago.

He was about to turn and try to see if he could sleep forever, when a loud splash erupted his thoughts. “Fuck, why is there water here?!” He mumbled, pulling himself up against the wall.

Tommy’s eyes widened, his voice rubbed raw from the day’s events. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur, startled, nearly fell back into the small pool of water at the end of his cell again, clinging to the wall, dizzy from being manifested back into the world again. “Tommy…?”

“You’re… you’re here… you’re… whatthefuck-?!”

As Wilbur slowly got his bearings, he looked over toward Tommy warmly, smiling. “Hey, Tommy.”

Tommy couldn’t help but smile back seeing his old friend. “Hey, Wil.”

“I heard you and Tubbo went up against Dream, yeah?” Wilbur looked around the cell. “What’re you doing in here?”

“Dream… he, uh, he said I brought attachment to the server, and since I’m too important to kill, he put me in here.” Tommy said, gesturing around him.

“Yeah? Huh. So get out of here, then.”

“Wilbur-” Tommy sighed. “I can’t, there is literally nothing I can do to escape. I can’t break through the walls, there’s mining fatigue. I can’t pearl out, they took all of my stuff. What would even be the point, anyway?”

Wilbur leaned against the wall, arms crossed and looking over at him thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound like the Tommy I know.”

“Yeah, well, things changed. People changed, places changed. Everything changed after you left. And… and I have enough self-respect to know when I’ve been beaten.”

“So you’re really going to just… give up now?” Wilbur asked.

“There’s nothing left to do but give up, Wilbur. Dream won.”

“How do you expect to get out of here if you’ve given up before you even begin?”

“Wilbur, there’s obsidian, mining fatigue, lava-”

“So you’re just letting him win?”

“Dream blew up L’manburg, Wilbur.” Tommy could see Wilbur tense out of the corner of his eye. “Dream turned everyone against me during exile by framing me for the Community House, Dream murdered Tubbo.” Tommy’s fists tightened. “Tell me, what else do I have to lose Wilbur? What’s the point of me nearly dying trying to escape with Dream tracking me night and day, what do I have to fight for, anymore?!”

Wilbur’s gaze turned soft as his hand reached out toward Tommy’s. “Tommy, I-”

“We LOST, Wilbur.” Tommy snapped. “Dream won, and we… we lost.” Wilbur was silent as he looked toward Tommy with an expression the teen couldn’t recongnize. Pity? “We lost.” Tommy managed before his body shook again, closing his eyes and letting a few new tears slip. “Look, Will, I-”

And, when he opened his eyes, Wilbur was gone.

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

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𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 taehyung x reader ft yoongi || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 8.5k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 riddled with insomnia, you’d just about do anything to get a good night’s rest. enter sandman.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 masturbation (m), voyeurism, exhibitionism, public sex, mile high club, oral (m receiving), choking, deepthroating, cockwarming but in her throat, throat bulge, way more male oral than i’ve ever written oop, dom!taehyung, sub!reader, dirty talk, unprotected sex, riding, tentacles, yes you did read that correctly user honeymoonjin is expanding her wares, buckets of cum, like really a ridiculous amount of it, is it somnophilia if they’re fucking in her dreams?, cum eating, rough nipple play, hair pulling, belly bulge, creampie

many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner, she really outsold xx many thanks as well to @honey-boyyoongi for beta reading and helping a lot on plot. i wouldn’t have finished this fic without her xx this fic is a part of the monster smash project at ksmutclub : )

It’s a shit fair.

You make sure to tell Yoongi this several times throughout the afternoon, more emphatically as the hours drag on, but he’s too focussed on giving heart-eyes to the young man tending the water pistol stall. The man, who has held an unbelievably cheery grin all night, at some point got caught in the stream of a kid with poor aim, and though it’s warm his shirt still hasn’t dried, leaving a rather promiscuous set of dark spots on his chest behind the translucent cotton. You think Yoongi might be drooling.

You’ve just about given up wandering around aimlessly waiting for your friend to get the courage to actually approach the guy, when a stall catches your attention. Unsurprising, considering how gaudy and kitschy it is. Heavy embroidered tapestries form a makeshift curtain across the entrance to the booth, and above rests a sign with neon striplighting that reads Enter Sandman. You bite your lip, ignoring Yoongi’s impatient tug on your arm. You don’t remember seeing it on any of your other turns around the small fairground, though you can’t imagine how you could’ve possibly missed it.

Without breaking your gaze, you address Yoongi. “I’m gonna check out some stalls.”

“Come on, you’re gonna ditch me in my time of need?” Yoongi’s voice is playfully lilting, the kind that lets you know it’s okay to leave while simultaneously promising that he’ll complain about your abandoning him later, probably at four in the morning when neither of you can get to sleep.

“Yup,” you mumble blankly, and shake off his grip, making your way across the slightly uneven dirt and trampled grass to reach the stall. You feel drawn, strangely, to the narrow dark triangle of shadow between the folds of the curtain. It’s only once you get nearer that you make out the patterns of the delicate stitching: swirls of gold thread weave around figures, horizontal or curled up, all in dull shades of brown and beige. Entranced, you reach out your fingers to follow the swirls of gold. The tapestry, instead of ending in edges over the entrance, is folded so that the pictures trail around the edge. Without thinking to politely announce your presence, you simply slip inside, feeling the late summer humidity lead to a shady coolness.

It’s dark inside, and silent. Nothing illuminates the small room except for a single candle on a table, a black tall taper, drops of wax running cleanly down the sides to stain the golden tablecloth. It’s luckily enough to just make out the reflective glint of the gold thread, and you follow the tapestry slowly as it runs all the way along the walls inside. Part of you feels this is futile, and you shouldn’t be poking around in an empty stall when the owner was out, but still you walk deeper into the booth, the texture of embroidery teasing the tips of your fingers.

At one point, closer to the back of the room, your shadow begins to block the candlelight, and you squint, barely making out the trail of golden swirls. An odd protrusion in the wall causes you to step back, losing the trail for a moment but picking it up, a bright gold patch, perfectly circular and shining like-

“What are you doing in my tent?”

You gasp and jump back, bumping your lower back on a wooden chair tucked into the table. A hand shoots out, latches tightly onto your wrist. You freeze, following the arm up a sleeve, and to a chest, black silk with a pendant dangling just below his collarbones, a single gold coin. Your eyes jump up, apology on your tongue, but you can’t force your mouth to move when you’re greeted with two gleaming eyes, trained solely on you.

No, not gleaming. Glowing.

You swallow hard as he blinks slowly, eyebrows narrowed and partially blocking what looks like swirling irises of molten gold, a depth that draws you in. “I- sorry,” you croak finally, feeling his grip around your wrist loosen, the delicate bones aching. “It did say ‘enter’.”

You can’t be sure in the dim lighting, but a slight flash of white makes you think he’s smirking at you. “My sign says ‘Enter Sandman’. Are you a sandman?”

You blink slowly. “No.”

“Hm, I didn’t think so. I am the sandman. And you are the trespasser.”

Your mind feels hazy, two beats too slow. “Do you want me to… leave, then?”

His hand lets go of yours completely. It leaves you feeling oddly unmoored. “You could leave,” he offers lightly, “but then you’d never get my help.”

You want to turn around, some illogical urge to make sure the exit is still free, that the fair is still in full swing outside. It feels so quiet in here. But you don’t want to turn your back on him. The hairs on the back of your neck are at full attention and your instincts are going haywire like a faulty compass, unsure what to feel. You swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Your help?”

The gilded glow of his eyes - some modern fashion contacts, no doubt - gently illuminate the dark eyelashes that frame them. They narrow at the corners, like he’s grinning at you. “My help,” he echoes. “You look tired, little girl. Can’t get to sleep?”

The blood in your veins runs cold. In the cool shade of the tent, goosebumps break out along your arms. “How did you know that? Are you meant to be a psychic or something?”

His tongue clicks in irritation. “I’m a sandman. I believe I told you that. I can promise you restful sleep every night. For a price.”

You scoff, the reality of the situation dawning on you. Cool shtick, you allow. The dude certainly had a good way of setting up atmosphere. “Let me guess, $29.99 plus tax? Or buy a whole week for a hundred? Thanks, but no thanks.”

You turn before he manages to reply. In fact, he remains still in the time it takes you to stumble around the table in the dark, making your way to the bright sliver of light streaming in through the folds of the tapestry. Your hand is on the rough fabric before you hear his honeyed voice again.

“My price isn’t currency,” he states simply.

Your hand remains frozen in the air. Damn you and your constant curiosity. “What is it, then?” you ask, twisting around. Now that your silhouette isn’t blocking the candlelight, you can make out a vague outline. He’s tall, but you already knew that from the height of his eyes. “Your price, I mean.”

He steps forward, just one foot dusting the exposed ground, but it’s enough to bring him closer to the light, enough for the dancing flame to shine upon his face.

With the lighting from below, heavy shadows are cast below his brows and his hairline, but you can see the warm bronze tone to his skin, and the fine bone structure below it. He’s still smirking, just the slightest quirk to his lips, and his chin is jutted forward smugly. He’s gorgeous.

You can’t help but swallow again as his piercing eyes stay fixed upon you, the slight pink of his tongue poking at the corner of his mouth as his grin widens. “Dream of me.”

You feel like you’re floating. You’re in a bathroom, looking in on a shower. Although the glass should be fully fogged up, with the rest of the room humid with steam, you can see through perfectly, to the naked form inside.

In real life, you would leave immediately, at the very least turn away, but in the hazy logic of your dream, you simply observe.

His head is against the wall, forehead pressed to the tile as water pelts down his tanned back. One hand props him up; the other is between his legs, fisting at an angry red erection. It drips precum with every jerk of his wrist, disappearing amongst the slightly soapy water that circles the drain. You can’t see his face with how the sodden bronzed locks of his hair cling to it.

Although the showerhead seems to be spraying full power, his pleasure-filled groans are what fill your ears. The way they trail off shakily every time he twists his wrist just below the tip, the gruff curses under his breath. You listen and watch as he falls apart from his own ministrations, the muscles in his buttocks clenching as he begins to thrust into his hand, panting slightly.

Like hearing from underwater, you slowly becoming aware of a murmur that the man chants, louder and faster each time, as his hand speeds up. Your mind runs slower than treacle, but you do your best to focus.

“Y/n! Y/n, fuck, yes! God, right there, I’m not gonna last, fuck!”

You mentally recoil, though your body simply continues to watch, honed in on the way his whole body undulates, chasing the pleasure with every fibre of his being. He moans your name, panting onto the slippery tile. He’s close; you can tell by the way his hips shudder.

With a shout, he spills himself onto the floor of the shower, spurts of it catching and running down the wall, pooling at the bottom before washing away. He jerks himself languidly until the last drop runs down over his knuckles, and then lets out a satisfied exhale, using his toes to wipe away the last of it, before straightening up again, rinsing his face in the stream.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he says one last time with a relieved sigh, “mm, thank you.”

Finally, he stretches out an arm blindly to reach for the metal nozzle, cutting the flow of water short. He tips his head back, pressing at his scalp to wring out some of the water, and you catch your first real glimpse of his face. A face you recognise very well. As you stare at the man you had met in the tent, the details of the bathroom blur away, fading into wisps of steam. His eyes, glowing gold, are the last two pinpricks of detail before the dream dissolves into nothingness.

You wake up with a jolt, the sheets underneath you sticky with sweat. It was real. You dismiss the thought with a shake of your head the moment it occurs to you. If anything, it was probably just your mind playing on what had happened as a way of processing it. But then again, you had slept the night through for the first time in almost a year. Speaking of...

Sitting up and stretching languidly, you curse upon viewing your alarm clock. You’d slept through your first class. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” you mutter in resignation, frowning when you become aware of a prickling sensation in your eye.

You rub at it, only to hiss when a sharp stinging sensation attacks the sensitive nerves. Blinking away the tears that spring up, you kick off your blankets, jogging barefoot to the bathroom to inspect it in the mirror.

Leaning in close enough that your breath creates little foggy patches on the glass, you make out some substance clogging up the inner corner of your right eye. There’s some on the left too, though not as much, and you use a wet wipe to carefully brush it out.

In confusion, you pull away the wipe and inspect the grit that’s come away. Like something you might find at a luxurious beach (though you haven’t been to one since you were a kid) a clump of golden sand sits on the moistened fabric, finer and more delicate than caster sugar. The colour reminds you of the hair of the man in your dream, of the man you met the day before. What the fuck? With a deep breath, you force yourself to clear out the rest of the sand from your eyes and clear the worry from your head.

“What sand tent?”

You stare at Yoongi in something mildly related to disgust as he shovels an ungodly amount of beef wrapped in a lettuce leaf into his mouth, dark dipping sauce gathering at the corners of his mouth. “A sandman tent. You know, the big neon sign? It was right beside the little homemade fudge stall.”

He chews noisily, brows furrowed in thought. “The one old Jeanie set up? That was right at the end of the row, Y/n, there wasn’t anything past that.” You go to protest, but Yoongi makes a sound of disagreement. “Seriously, Y/n, there wasn’t. I remember because she was complaining to me about the organisers trying to hide her stall since she’s taking all their business. I went there for some of her earl grey fudge but that certainly wasn’t the tea I ended up getting.”

You roll your eyes at his joke, but your heart isn’t in it. “I went in the tent, though. There was a dude there and everything. He said he’d give me a good night’s sleep if I dreamed of him, and I said sure, and for the first time in fucking ages I actually managed to sleep properly.”

Yoongi’s chopsticks hover over the beef sizzling on the barbecue. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Dream of him,” Yoongi clarifies.

You think back to the sight of him in the shower, streams of clear water washing away the cream he spilled on the floor, of the way his eyes pierced into you right as you woke up. Your cheeks heat at the lewd imagery. Normally your memory of dreams faded over the day - at least, when you were a kid they did. But every detail seems branded in your mind in full definition. Ducking your head, you reach out for a strip of cooked meat and avoid your friend’s gaze.

“Oh my god, you did! Was he hot?”

“Yoongi!”

“What? If he was, I wanna go track him down and get a dream. Why does all the cool shit happen to you?”

You sigh, though a reluctant smile tugs at your lips. You can never stay mad at him and he knows it. “Shut up and eat your damn lettuce wraps,” you mutter petulantly.

Over the lunch spent with Yoongi, you find the thought of the mysterious man slip from your mind, instead feeling reenergised from your good rest and cheered up from the good food and company.

You dream of him again the next night. Not a bathroom this time; an airplane. At the start, it feels like reality, only slightly more...fluid. The strange quality of a dream where everything is simultaneously crystal clear and blurred.

He’s beside you, the middle seat as you take the window. Outside, clouds melt into blue sky and in the cabin there are faceless individuals filling the seats.

“You dirty girl,” the sandman whispers, a hand on the inside of your knee. “You’re soaked for me.”

You widen your eyes and look down. The moment you see the dark patch forming in the crotch of your pants, a wave of arousal hits you as if it’s on a delay. “Yeah,” you breathe in awe. “Want you.”

His eyes sparkle behind thick lashes. “Oh, do you really?”

You bite your lip. “Please.” For a moment he looks remarkably casual, commonplace. He tilts his head at you and leans back, drawing your attention to his dress shirt and tie, and perfectly ironed pants, but when you drop his gaze to look over them, you gasp.

His shirt is unbuttoned all the way, gaping open to reveal his unclothed chest. The tie dangles down his bare skin, guiding your eyes to his crotch, where his pants are lewdly spread open, zipper parted to reveal the waistband of his underwear. A delicate trail of golden hairs dip from below his belly button to underneath the fabric, and without thinking, your hand stretches out towards it, fingering the edge of the waistband.

Rather than speak, you give him a questioning glance, but what greets you makes you suck in a breath. Just like the first time you met, he’s radiant; godlike. His hair is a silken warm blonde, gentle waves that frame his delicately arched brows. And his eyes. When you meet his gaze, his irises glint and shift, a brilliant gold that swirls around dilated pupils. This is the first time you’ve seen him properly in the light.

He narrows them slightly in amusement, drinking in your reaction. With a barely-there background of the airplane cabin, general shapes and blurs, the man sitting beside you is in startling clarity. Everything seems to revolve around him, a fixation you can’t shake. “Please,” you mumble again unconsciously, hand slipping below the elastic of his underwear.

He’s hard as a rock, though his face shows no desperation, only mild amusement with the way you lick your lips. As you massage him indulgently, you can’t help but recall the sight of him in the shower. Would his cock be the same in this dream?

“Watch out,” he warns, before breaking your gaze to face the aisle. Belatedly, you hear a squeaky wheel, a trundle cart being pushed down towards you. As the figure of an air hostess slips into view, you attempt to quickly retract your hand, though it seems your brain and body aren’t on the same track anymore. Even as you mentally strain with the want to take your hand out of his pants, it refuses to cooperate, wrapping your fingers fully around his length, running your thumb over his head.

He chuckles lowly, head tipped back luxuriously on the head rest, devoid of any shame. The air hostess is talking to the two of you, but your cheeks burn and you can’t bear to look at her. The sandman calmly orders a hot tea, only pausing to groan in relief when your rogue hand slips him out of his pants and into the cool air of the cabin. He’s making conversation with her, discussing landing times and stopovers, and your eyes fill with embarrassed tears as you feel yourself bending down, dipping your head to take him in your mouth.

Unlike any men you’d been with before, he tastes slightly sweet, a flavour that satisfies your tastebuds. The moment your tongue dips out to swipe up the bead of precum that’s gathered, it’s like your humiliation melts away, and even though you feel yourself regaining control of your hand, you continue to pump the base of his cock, lapping up as much of the moreish taste of him as you can.

“Now that’s a good girl,” his honeyed voice soothes, a reassuring palm brushing your hair out of your face gently, “just give in to me.”

You moan around the head of his cock and suck him down deeper. As you lower your head more, it seems your perverted dream-logic has taken away your gag reflex, and soon you’re removing your hand, nose pressing against his hip bone. He lets out a low, purring groan, and you grip the flesh of his thigh through his pants in response. You can feel him in your throat as you begin to bob your head, but instead of feeling like you’re being suffocated, you just feel deliciously full. A wave of wet heat rushes between your legs as you picture how it would feel to be that full somewhere else.

“Yes,” he sighs, “god, it’s been so fucking long, don’t you dare stop.” You pull off him with a pop quickly to look up, expecting the air hostess to have moved on by now, your dream sequence having gone down a different path, but she stands there, perfectly put-together and professional as she stares down at you. Behind her, you notice with a jolt that everyone in their seats have turned to look at you; countless generic faces that blend into nothing the moment you look away.

“They’re all watching,” you comment with a raw throat, though arousal at the thought of it slides through you like a hot knife, feeling your pants cling to you, impossibly soaked.

His smile is radiant and the gold in his eyes darkens to burnished bronze. With a hand on the back of your neck, he guides you back down. “Then give them a show.” He moans low in his throat when you take him in your mouth again, tongueing at the veins that run along the underside. His fingers slip around the other side of your neck, pushing down on your voicebox. You can feel the way his constriction traps his cock in your throat. You can’t breathe, but it is no longer necessary, your heart thrumming gently in your chest even without oxygen to pump it.

He presses down more firmly, an iron grip around your throat that closes your throat around his length. “I wonder…” he muses. With a dark laugh that sounds almost inhuman, the man pulls slowly, lifting you off him until only the tip sits on the back of your palate, barely inside your throat. Though you don’t understand what’s going on, or how your mind has gotten so depraved to picture this, your clit throbs in your panties and you remain obediently in his grasp, waiting for his next move. “Mm, so you are going to be a good girl for me.” You feel pressure around your throat again, though this time he’s pushing you back down. With your throat cinched inside his grip, his cock pushes at the cartilage, completely blocking your airway. Your eyes water, but somehow you remain still, the only part of you moving being your head as he uses your throat as a cocksleeve, pushing you down until your lips touch the skin around the base of his cock.

He isn’t overly vocal, but his indulgent grunts and moans seem amplified in your ears. He moves faster once you continue to take it, fucking up into you every time he plunges you down. He reaches his end quickly this way, and when he flattens his other palm over your scalp and holds you there, a warm release sliding down your throat, sweet like condensed milk, so much that it bubbles up and pools in your cheeks, spilling down your chin.

When he finally releases you, you come up, sucking in a shuddering breath. The spectators are still there, though it looks like the scene around you is melting, falling in on itself. The lines between things become blurred, colours on their faces merging into dull greens and browns, like mixed paint. With a horrified gaze, you watch the morphing shapes begin to clap slowly, applauding your performance.

“I guess they liked it,” he plainly remarks. You turn to face him again, but his forehead is creased, eyes clenched shut in focus. “Fuck, that was so… I can’t hold it, shit-!”

The moment he swears, all detail begins to fall away faster than before, the vibrant gold of his hair and tanned skin blending away into a black nothingness with the rest of the plane, and you gasp, cracking your eyes open with the sound of applause still ringing in your ears, slowly sounding out into the buzzing phone on your bedside table. You fling your arm out from the warm covers, batting it around until you can turn off the alarm, and let out a groan.

Your eyes feel dry and crusty, like you’ve been sleeping for days, and when you rub at them the same gritty sensation from the night before stings the inner corners. You pull your fingers away and squint at what’s resting on the pads of your fingertips, unsurprised when you’re greeted with those fine grains of perfectly golden sand. Tearing up at the irritation, you gingerly remove as much as you can, swallowing the dryness in your throat. A small price to pay for decent rest, you promise yourself, though a slight curl of doubt rests stubbornly in the back of your mind.

That night, as you drift off blissfully early in the evening, you’re ready. Upon admitting to Yoongi that they were sex dreams - your friend was beyond jealous - he had managed to convince you that you were cursed by the mysterious stranger, that he was a witch or an incubus. His plan, which you are determined to execute tonight, involves confronting the man himself - “Don’t forget to ask him if he’ll give sex dreams upon request!” - and demanding that he releases you from the curse.

Though you were still a little sceptical that it was anything more than an overactive subconscious, you feel assured going to sleep that at least you know what to do should he return.

And return he does.

Not a bathroom this time, nor a plane. In fact, it’s an environment completely foreign to you, all the more hinting at the fact that this maybe isn’t just your mind conjuring strange scenarios. Like the other two times, you feel hazy and sluggish, and it takes you a while to distinguish the scene around you.

You become slowly aware of lush carpet fibres beneath your feet, the gentle hum of an air conditioning unit, almost totally drowned out by unintelligible murmuring, a television left on.

He is in the room with you, on a couch. Head tilted to the side, locks of thick gold rumpled and messy. Bare feet up on the coffee table and black sweatpants riding low, exposing a narrow strip of tanned flesh below his t-shirt, he looks unbelievably… domestic.

You swallow hard, steeling your nerve. “Hey.”

He remains unresponsive, eyes locked on the television. No, not completely unresponsive; the corner of his lip quirks just slightly. You tamp down a rising streak of irritation.

“Hey,” you repeat emphatically.

With a sigh, the young man reaches out for the remote that rests on the arm of the couch, muting the television. He flattens you with an unimpressed look. “Yes?”

“What are you doing in my dreams?” The question seems unbelievably childish once you say it, so you cross your arms petulantly. This does not help.

He quirks an eyebrow, grin widening to reveal his teeth. “Enjoying myself,” he answers simply.

You huff. “Your stupid tent thing at the fair, was it even real?”

“Did it feel real to you? Did I feel real?” When you simply press your lips closer together in annoyance, he drops the cockiness, leveling an impatient stare at you. “You gave me permission to be here, I hope you remember. Words have power, Y/n.”

You frown at him, unsettled. “I never told you my name.”

He barks out a condescending laugh. “And I never told you mine, but you know it, don’t you?”

You run your tongue over the edges of your teeth as you ponder this. His name comes to you like a fact once-forgotten. The moment you think it, you know wholeheartedly it’s right. “Taehyung. But- How do I know that?”

His eyebrow twitches down, like he’s tiring of your lack of understanding. “Because I’m in here, Y/n,” he hisses, pointing a finger to his temple. “I’m deep inside you, inside your subconscious. I can access every thought in that pretty little head of yours and you can’t do a single thing about it because you were the one that let me in.”

You balk at the fiery steel that has entered his expression, the molten gold in his iris darkening as a sneer stretches across his face. You swallow away your nerves, though your chest continues to flutter uncertainly. As if Taehyung is the focal point of this plane, which you suppose he is, colours and textures shift around him, blurring into shapeless swirls at the edges of your vision. Even as he sits in front of you in startling clarity, just as malevolent in sweatpants and a tee as he was standing over you in the dark of the tent, you find your eyes unable to move off of him. You clear your throat, tears pricking. “I didn’t know what I was agreeing to,” you defend weakly.

He laughs, one short bark that contains no real humor. “Yes, you did. I said ‘dream of me’ and you agreed. You just thought I was some fake scam artist, didn’t you?” With one swift movement, he stands up, and you falter back when you realise just how tall he is. He steps forward once, twice, three steps and his chest almost touches yours. While the swirling sands in his eyes normally jumped and flickered teasingly, now they churn in tight circles, belying his intent. You’re reminded of a shark circling in bloody water. “Well, Y/n,” Taehyung taunts, “do you believe me now?”

Though you tremble, you force yourself to push your chest forward and your chin up. “I believe you,” you allow, voice wavering only a little bit. “So, what are you?”

His lips tighten, eyes lifting to the ceiling in exasperation. You jump when you feel his hand brush your elbow, clasping your upper arm loosely. “Y/n, little Y/n,” he chastises, “stop asking questions that you already know the answer too. How terribly boring.”

You want to shake your arm out of his grip, but his touch is hot, like the heavy warmth of a fire, and you can’t help but want more of it. Judging by the way his fingertips tease at the sensitive skin of your shoulder, he knows it too. “Fine, you’re a sandman. What the fuck does that even mean?”

He sighs shortly, head tipping back down to catch your gaze. His arm drops, and you tremble at the cold air, feeling oddly put-out. “Sit down,” he commands simply. Without waiting for a response, he turns his back to you and flops his body onto the couch, kicking his feet back up onto the coffee table, eyes lazily following the characters on the muted television.

You bite your tongue, doing as he says. It’s strange; you’re barely aware of your own body in the dream, can barely feel the texture of the couch underneath you, yet every nerve in your body is hyper-fixated on the tingling remaining warmth from his hand on your shoulder. You feel yourself wanting to lean in to him in the hopes that he’ll put his hands on you again. You can’t help but wonder if it feels that electric if he touched you somewhere else.

Fuck. Snap out of it. “I’ve sat down now. Can you actually be serious and answer my questions?”

Like a switch is flipped, his grin drops and his eyebrows flatten. “Fine,” he allows in a chastising tone, “let’s be serious.” You watch in amazement as the scenery around you drops away. Like melting wax, the television, walls, coffee table, everything but the couch the two of you are on morph and fade away. “This is my terrain now,” he states calmly, “I choose what you see, what you experience, what you feel. So if I were you I wouldn’t be so rude to me.”

Your jaw moves for a few moments before you can voice anything. “Why are you doing this?”

His eyes flicker, though the mischievous glint is gone. “I’m a sandman,” he explains simply. “I only exist in this dream realm. I can only interact with things in the dream realm. Out there, in your world, I have no sensation, no feeling. But if I can get a naive little human like you to give me access into your mind, then your dreams are my playground. And I fully intend to play.”

With a dry mouth, you clear your throat. “Fine,” you say, “you can do whatever the fuck you want in my dreams but leave me out of it.”

The smirk returns to his face, lips pulling back to reveal teeth. He runs his tongue over them as he sits forward, placing a hand on your knee, fingers wrapping around. You try not to jerk at the sudden touch, the burst of heat. “No can do, sweet thing. You see, if I did something without you around it wouldn’t exactly be your dream, would it? And besides,” he breaks off, grip tightening around your leg as he leans in to press his cheek against yours, teasingly nipping at the skin of your earlobe before he murmurs, “where’s the fun in that?”

Your bed mocks you. This morning, wanting a clean slate, you had washed all the sheets and now it lies before you perfectly neat and pristine, just begging for you to hop in.

But you refuse. You won’t be falling asleep tonight. If Taehyung thinks he’s in control during your dreams, then fine. You just won’t dream.

“I thought you’d be making the most of your newfound ability to sleep,” Yoongi comments curiously, feet kicking at the edge of the mattress. You knew you wouldn’t be able to resist the exhaustion that pulled at your eyelids without reinforcements, so you had called in your favorite insomniac to keep you company.

Swaying aimlessly back and forth on your desk chair, you shrug. “I haven’t hung out with you in ages, I felt like a good, old-fashioned sleepover.”

He narrows his eyes at you, though it’s not particularly intimidating. “I’ve never once slept over at your house, idiot. What’s the real reason?”

You avoid his gaze, studiously focusing on picking a movie on Netflix. “Fine, then. I wanted the goss on that fair boy. You got his number, right? But you never told me how it went.”

Mission successful. Yoongi lights up, suspicion forgotten. “Hoseok! His name is Hoseok, and he’s amazing. We actually… went out for coffee the other day.”

Your eyebrows lift, shutting down your laptop lid to fully give your attention to the boy across from you. “Like a date?” Yoongi grins and nods enthusiastically. “You casanova, you! What’s he like?”

Yoongi’s eyes flicker strangely in the dim evening glow that peeks through your curtains. “He’s great,” he gushes, “friendly, and bubbly, and has the most beautiful smile. But… actually, I guess you could say there’s something I need to tell you.”

You frown. “What? What’s up?”

He pouts, kicking his heels more insistently against the edge of the mattress. “The date was really nice, and Hoseok is really nice, but I couldn’t stop thinking that… that maybe I just liked him because he was like you.”

Your face freezes in an expression of pure confusion. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Yoongi ducks his head. “I’ve been trying to deny it for years. I figured you saw me as a friend and nothing else, and I thought if maybe I focused more on guys instead of girls I could separate myself enough from the image of you, but clearly that isn’t going so well for me.” He laughs, bitterly, and you’re overcome with the urge to rush forward and hug him. Nevertheless, you stay rooted in your spot.

“Yoongi, what are you saying?”

He shrugs, body hunching over like it always does when he’s shy. “Hoseok is nice, but he’s not you. And I think it’s time that stop lying to myself.” He looks up, then, eyes soft. “I think I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

Your lips are parted, jaw slightly slack in shock. “...okay,” you state eventually. Well, this is one way to stay awake. “So, uh, I don’t- What do we do now?”

Scratching behind his ear nervously, Yoongi bites his lip. “Maybe I… Can I kiss you?” When you don’t respond, he shuffles forward a little on the bed so that his feet rest on the ground. “Just once, to see if you feel anything. And if you don’t, we never have to bring it up again.”

You sigh out a rushing breath. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” Fighting the erratic pounding of your heart, you stand up on shaky legs and sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder and nose to nose.

Now that you’re right in front of him, something foreign rises up in your chest. It feels like he’s the only person in the world, like you can’t look away from the tender look in his eyes. You can practically feel the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt. He leans forward, and you reflexively suck in a shallow breath, eyelids fluttering shut.

His lips are featherlight when they first brush against yours. You feel a palm come up to cup your cheek, and his fingers tentatively fiddle with your hair. Like you’re magnetised, you lean in, and that small sign of reciprocation is enough for him.

Yoongi deepens the kiss, mouth slanting to get a better angle as he urgently moves his lips against you, tongue dipping out to swipe at the seam of your lips, encouraging you to open up to him. You gasp when his teeth nip gently, tugging the sensitive skin before letting it go with a kitten lick to soothe the bite marks. You’ve never felt this alive before, and it’s a wonder to you that until now you had never looked at Yoongi this way. Now it almost feels like he’s pure, euphoric oxygen and you’ll die if you break away for a second.

His hand has dipped into your hair, gently pressing the back of your head to hold you against him, and his other arm insistently grips your hip, encouraging you to get even closer. A searing bolt of need rips through you, and you swing a leg up, straddling him. He’s hard beneath you, and the feeling of him makes you groan, gingerly grinding your hips.

His tongue is in your mouth now, flicking against yours and sucking it back into his mouth like he wants to envelop you in his embrace. His fingers tighten in your hair, gripping a handful. You whimper, hips still working against him.

“Yoongi,” you make out in a hushed tone, “that hurts.” You sigh in relief when the sharp tugging on your scalp relaxes, his palm soothing the sting. Relaxing against him, you moan into his mouth when you feel him slip his hand under your shirt and palm at your breast, seeking out an already-stiff nipple, no bra to obstruct him. He rubs it, rolling the peak between two fingers, and you feel wet heat gathering between your legs.

Out of nowhere, he roughly pinches and twists your nipple and your legs jerk in response to the pain, your instincts wanting you to back away from the harsh sensation, but before you can sit up off him he’s yanking on your hair again, twisting your neck back enough that you can feel the muscles twinge and your scalp burn. Your eyes fly open in shock, only for you to freeze.

Taehyung sits beneath you, dressed in the same shirt and basketball shorts that Yoongi was in, though his much broader chest makes the baggy fabric look fitted. He stares up at you with spit-slicked lips and blown pupils, almost completely enveloping the gold of his irises. With a shit-eating grin, he releases your nipple and pats it, chuckling under his breath when you twitch.

“Wha- What did you do with Yoongi?” you demand, as forcefully as you can while your legs are still around him.

He drops his gaze, sliding his hand over to your other breast, the fabric moving over his hand your only warning before he begins to flick your other nipple, every few seconds as you jump and try and twist away. Though he only has one hand in your hair, you feel completely anchored in place, like your arms and legs are too heavy to move even if you tried. “Yoongi is at home, my little human. Haven’t you worked it out yet?”

“You pretended to be him,” you guess, “he probably never came over, then.” He quirks his eyebrows once in affirmation, still teasing roughly at your chest, dragging a fingernail over and over the abused nerves of your nipple, the other one still aching. “But you said you couldn’t feel anything in my world. So what, you’re just doing this to fuck with me?”

A bewildered grin lights up his face. “My god, you’re dense,” he remarks in wonder. “Let me spell it out for you. Yoongi never came over because you never texted him earlier tonight. And you never texted him because you’ve been asleep since you got up onto your bed to put on the washed pillowcases. This is a dream, sweet thing. You’re in my world.”

“But-” You splutter for a few moments, glancing around at your room. Everything seems in perfect order. “This isn’t like the other ones, I… The dreams you create are always messy at the edges like an unfinished painting, but I can see everything fine now. This exactly what my room is like.”

“Convenient, then,” Taehyung teases, “that I can make dreams as realistic or rudimentary as I want.” The levity vanishes from his face, leaving behind a dark grin. “You’re out of your depth, Y/n. Stop assuming things just because you don’t know any better.”

His grip on your hair loosens as you do, realising shaking out of his hold is futile in a plane he completely controls. “Then how am I supposed to tell if something’s a dream or not?”

He leaves your nipple alone, hand dipping to fiddle with a pant hem of your pyjama shorts, calloused fingertips running lightly along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His smile is brilliant, wider than you’d ever seen on him before. “That’s the beauty of it, little human. You can’t.”

You shiver as his hand disappears below the fabric of your shorts, rising up to brush against the front of your panties, thumbing at your clit through the cotton. You feel the tension leave your body, and though a part of you is terrified by this knowledge, a different side takes over. The side that’s indulging in the warm pleasure unfurling in your stomach as his uncharacteristically gentle touch stimulates you. The side that says, you already know you’re dreaming now. Fuck it.

Taehyung watches in bemusement as you relax above him giving in. Only once you sigh out in pleasure, hand resting on his shoulder for stability, does he remove his thumb from you just enough to grip onto the elastic waistband. He tugs, and you feel the strangest sensation of the fabric dissolving, being pulled off you from the side even though you never hear or feel a tear. By the time his hand emerges from your pant leg, the fabric is whole again, and he bunches it up in his hand, chucking it away from you. With your panties gone, the sewn hem in the crotch of your pyjama shorts drags against your clit, and you heave a shuddering breath, rocking your hips to chase the friction.

“Do you want a hint?”

You blink, staring down at Taehyung in confusion. The golden silk of his hair hangs low over his forehead, but you can’t mistake the glitter of his piercing gaze on you. “What?”

His hand leaves your hair, sliding down your back until it rests on your ass, gripping the flesh and pushing you down onto his crotch. “A hint,” he repeats, “for knowing if this is a dream.”

You stare down at him, eyes lidded. “What?” As you speak, you feel something begin to move beneath you. You frown, looking down, and suck in a horrified breath when you lean back and see his crotch. The tented erection from before is...shifting beneath the fabric of his shorts, creating a rippling effect. You watch it entranced, as one bump slides upwards towards the waistband, prodding at it, before it manages to slip underneath, peeking out to show something that glitters in the dim lighting…

“The real world doesn’t have this,” he reveals, leaning back slightly as a rounded, blunt end of a golden appendage draws out of his shorts, rising in the air between the two of you. It’s smooth, fleshy yet entirely inhuman. He grips your ass tighter and pulls you forward, the tentacle feeling surprisingly cool as it lays down, curling around your thigh. It clashes with the heat from his hands on you, and you feel yourself sighing out, basking in the contrasting sensations.

“Is that...your real form?” you ask tentatively, curiously reaching down to touch it. It’s firm yet moving, much like muscle, and when you run a finger down the tapering length of it, it flicks in the air, seeking more of your touch.

“I suppose,” Taehyung allows, “though when I can become anything I like, a real form doesn’t matter much.” He stares intensely at the tip of the appendage as it winds around, sliding underneath the fabric of your shorts just as his hand did earlier, though this time with your panties gone there’s nothing between him and your core, and you let out a surprised moan when you feel it begin to massage your clit, pressing its way lower to try and get between you and his crotch, seeking your entrance. Your mouth falls open, too shocked to react to anything except the pleasure, and the sandman hums in response. “You see? These things don’t exist in your world. Your world is dull, basic, human. In here, anything is possible. This doesn’t have to be a fight, Y/n. Give in to me.”

You sigh out, your stomach thick with pleasure, and you nod slowly, lifting your hips to leave some room for the golden tentacle, which doesn’t hesitate before pressing deep inside you, more and more of the tentacle slipping out of his trousers and up into your cunt until you feel a pressure deep inside, the tip poking at your cervix.

Your legs are jelly and your fingers are iron tight on his shoulders as you moan, the sound broken up by choked gasps. “So...deep,” you pant out, mind unable to string together anything more than that, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind, as his brows are knitted together in pleasure too, huffing out groaned breaths in a beautiful baritone.

“God, it’s been so fucking long, you have no idea,” he curses deep in his throat. He closes his eyes in concentration, and you feel the thick muscle shift inside you, recending from your wet heat like waves in low tide, before slamming back up into you, striking your g-spot with a change in angle. You keen, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder, wishing you were out of the restricting fabric of your shirt and shorts already, wishing you could run your hands over his bare chest and shoulders, hot like a furnace even as his golden member cools you from the inside.

It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced. The cock inside you moves and writhes like it has a mind of its own, but it’s addictive; almost like the deft flicks of a tongue, the tentacle navigates you from the inside out, stimulating parts of you you didn’t even know could feel pleasure. You find yourself mindlessly grinding into it. Since it gets thicker the closer to the base it gets - though you still haven’t seen where that might be with how long it is - you rock yourself against it, your clit receiving delicious stimulation that has you almost drooling.

Taehyung’s tanned skin is glistening with perspiration and the glow of his irises is so dark it’s almost amber below his lids. With his hands gripping your ass and hips tightly, he lifts you up onto your knees again so that he can begin to rut his hips up into you, the tentacle splitting you open with every thrust. You tremble and buckle but you’re somehow kept aloft, top half leaning heavily on his chest as the stretch and the deep warmth of pleasure bring you closer to the edge.

On this angle, your clit no longer grinds against the gleaming gold of his slick-covered cock, but Taehyung’s thumb blissfully finds it and you cry out in relief as he quickly rubs it, speeding up your high. “‘m close,” you moan out deliriously, feeling desperation at your impending orgasm shorten your breath.

“Thank god,” the sandman breathes, his face increasing as he grunts with exertion, “I need to fill this perfect pussy of yours up already.”

Your mouth drops open as the constant stimulation paired with his words pitch you over the edge. Your orgasm takes you by storm, seizing up and shuddering violently on top of him. When you clench around him, Taehyung swears throatily and lowers you down again, both hands firmly planted on your ass as he grinds deeply into your core, reaching his own end.

You’re slowly on the come-down of your powerful orgasm as he begins to spill into you, and you hiss at the sudden warmth filling you up. Streaks and streaks are milked from him, and when you finally get the energy to sit up a little and look down, your eyes widen.

Your stomach is a little rounder than normal, a bulge just below your belly button that you can see as your shirt’s ridden up. And below that, your pyjama shorts, absolutely soaked with cum. Your hands grip his shoulders as you feel him continuing to move inside you as the fabric turns dark with moisture, until you see it flood past, wetting your thighs with deep bronzed gold, rich and gleaming. When he finally twitches and goes still, the thick substance has begun to slide down your knees and stain the bed, an exorbitant amount of it that spills more and more every time you shift.

In wonder, you lower a hand and tentatively swipe your fingers through it, marveling at the way it reflects the light and glosses thickly, dripping down to your wrist. Unable to resist the curiosity, you wrap your lips around the tip of your pointer finger and suck, letting the taste of him fill your mouth. Immediately, you hum as the rich taste of dark chocolate fills your mouth, at odds wth the metallic colour. You raise your gaze to Taehyung, who’s propped back on his elbows, staring up at you with his cock still buried deeply inside. His eyes are dark, pupils blown even wider than before as you systematically lick off each finger, being sure to flick your tongue between them before catching the drip that runs halfway down your forearm, indulging in the deep flavor.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Taehyung swears, groaning when you lean forward to press your mouth to his, sharing his taste between your lips.

You let your tongues lazily dance around each other for a few languid moments before he curses and breaks off.

“I can’t hold it,” he admits, and you look around to see the walls and furniture in your room crystallising and morphing together, losing detail until the colour begins to melt away, the black void slowly creeping inwards. “I don’t want this to end already, fuck.”

You place one last kiss upon his swollen lips. “Don’t worry,” you remark with a playful grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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Trouble in Canada • TWO

A/N: Thanks for your patience & thanks for all your support 🥰 Only 3 months late with this 🥴 Can’t believe I’m posting TiC2 AGAIN wow I’ll forever love this series bc of you all 🤧🤧

THANKS A MILLION A MILLION FOR ALL YOUR KIND WORDS!! I love you all with all my heart 🥺🤧

TROUBLE IN CANADA PT. 1 | MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Arguing, angst, few swear words here and there

WC: 10.1K // Angst

“We need to talk.”

The cup of tea you held slipped through your hands and shattered.

Normally when a glass shattered in your apartment, Shawn would always rush forward. He would always push you back, no walking around without shoes, he would say out of care as he kneeled down to pick up the minuscule shards of glass, don’t want you getting glass stuck in your foot.

But the two of you just stood there, looking at each other with different emotions swimming in your eyes, as the ceramic mug lay destroyed at your feet.

You had never seen your husband lack emotion in his eyes. His eyes were always your favorite aspect of him, they were one of the first things about him that you fell in love with. His eyes that normally held love, care, and compassion were now dark, empty, and held a hint of anger.

While his eyes held negativity, you felt the back of your eyes prick with tears, throat tight with sadness. But you were looking at him with eyes wide of desperation––full of questioning and heartbreak–––because why on earth wasn’t he wearing his wedding ring.

You knelt to the ground, getting to work on picking up the broken mug, because you didn’t want him getting glass stuck in his foot. It felt as if you were getting a glimpse into how this conversation with your husband was going to go; you trying to pick up the remnants of your heart that you could already feel breaking.

Once you got the small pieces together, you walked over to the trash can with Shawn’s eyes following you with every move. You brushed the pieces in the bin and took the broom from the closet to dispose of the larger breaks. You held eye contact with him as you walked back out into the entry area of your apartment.

His eyes trailed your every movement with skepticism, like he didn’t trust you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions at bay, as the broken pieces of the mug made a clanking noise when you swept them together. You looked up at Shawn through your eyelashes and saw his eyebrows pulled together as if he was thinking of what to say.

Frankly, you didn’t think you were able to say anything. He was the one who said that the two of you needed to talk, you had no idea what you wanted to talk about. You figured that you would be listening to more of his side of the conversation than talking.

When did he take off his wedding ring?

“That was the mug I got for you on our second Valentine’s Day together,” his words were only slightly louder than the broken pieces falling into the bin, his voice cracked, “And you––you’re throwing it away?”

You stopped dumping the glass pieces into the trash, and looked up at him with sad, questioning eyes, “It’s…broken?”

Placing the dustpan on the counter, you walked out from the kitchen and stood in front of Shawn, and for the first time since before you started dating all those years ago, you didn’t know what to say.

“Are you not even going to try and fix it?!”

The pain behind his voice sounded like he was talking about so much more than a broken mug.

Cautiously, you took a step forward, eyes glancing down at his bare hand, then stared into his fuming eyes, “Why…” You gulped, eyes returning down to where his wedding ring should be.

Why was he not wearing his wedding ring?

In theory, the question shouldn’t be a hard one to ask him. He was your husband, there were no secrets between the two of you in the decade you’ve known each other. There were no secrets between the two of you as you slept next to each other at night, his arm thrown around you to keep you safe; there were never any secrets.

But now? Now you didn’t know. You didn’t know the words to string together in order to ask him why he took off the ring you slid on his finger the day you promised to love each other for eternity.

The nausea built up in your stomach slowly, bile churning with each thought that passed through your mind.

What made him not want to wake up with you every morning?

Nothing was settling right in your stomach. Nothing about this was a case of, oh, sorry I forgot to return your calls I was too busy. He had dodged your calls, purposefully avoided you––his wife––and now he was standing in the middle of your home not wearing his ring.

Your house didn’t feel like much of a home anymore.

For a moment you pushed your doubts aside. You tried not to focus on the pain in your heart as you shifted your focus on something else you needed to discuss with Shawn; your cooking instructor.

The thought of Ethan had been weighing down on your mind ever since your last lesson. You lightly touched your wrist, remembering the way his hand tightly circled around your wrist that day. The glower of possessiveness he held in his eyes when he looked at you caused you to shudder at the memory. The feeling of embarrassment flooded your entire body as the phantom pain of hot oils dripping down your back as the whole class stood and watched.

You wished you had confided in Shawn about the uncomfortable actions Ethan demonstrated during each lesson.

Pushing your crumbling heart to the back of your mind you took a deep breath, anxiety crawling up your throat, “I need to––um––I want to tell you something.”

Feeling nervous in front of your husband wasn’t uncommon. Everyday you had spent with him felt like the day of your first date; on your toes, giddy about what the rest of the day would bring––excited to spend the day with him. It’s what made you fall in love with him at a rapid pace. But while you were accustomed to the affect of your heart skipping a beat whenever you were around him, this was a different kind of nervousness.

This nervousness felt more like knowingly walking into a trap instead of a blissful evening with your husband.

With another deep breath, you looked down at your sock clad feet, not wanting to see his reaction, “There was um––Something happened when you were on tour–––”

“Can’t even look me in the fucking eyes when you say it?”

You whipped your head up, eyes wide, and for the first time you were frightened of your husband. His tone was lethal, words sharp, as his jaw was set, “I would’ve thought you could at least do that when you tell me––”

You took a step backward, “Tell you what?”

For a second the animosity he held in his eyes fell and was replaced with desperation, “Don’t,” his voice cracked for the second time as he sniffled, “Don’t make me say it.”

While you felt your heartbreak at the hopelessness in his tone, he sounded exactly how you felt on the inside.

“Shawn,” you said his name carefully, afraid that if you said one wrong word he would explode like a time bomb, “I––I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He let out a scoff, “Okay, then,” he crossed his arms over his chest and sent you a glare so strong it felt like you were slammed into the wall behind you, “Go on.”

You knew this was something important you had to share with him. He’s your husband, you thought to yourself, he’s here to protect you––to keep you safe––you should tell him. But everything about him seemed off. His stance was guarded, arms stiffly crossed over his chest, as he coldly stared at you.

“Um, well,” you nervously twisted your sweaty hands together in front of you, “When you were on tour there was this…guy,” you shuddered at the thought of Ethan, ‘And he––There was a situation––”

“Just fucking say it,” He sounded tired, but his words were still powerful, “Fucking say it and then we can be done.”

His words felt like a dagger piercing your chest. All of the oxygen left your lungs as you were left breathless, hand pressed against your chest to shield you in any way from his dismissive tone, “What?” You gasped out, “Be done with what?”

“You know.”

“I don’t––”

“You,” his hand reached into his over the shoulder travel bag and pulled out a magazine, “Know.” His voice was laced with venom as he threw the magazine at the floor in front of you, “You fucking know.”

Gently, you bent down and picked up the edgeworn magazine, and it automatically opened up to an article. The pages looked crinkled as if someone had read these pages until they had the words memorized. The top right edge of the glossy paper looked like it had been folded over repeatedly. And you didn’t miss the tear stains that smudged some of the inked words.

You read the bold headline––Trouble In Canada–-over a few times before your eyes darted around the two page spread that contained an article and blurry pictures of you with Ethan; specifically on the last day of class where you were pressed up against him. The angle of the picture made you look guilty of an act that you never thought of committing against your husband. Your breath, along with your heart, stopped beating as you glanced up at Shawn before skimming the article.

He misses Y/n––Below, pictures of Y/n and a mystery man have appeared––Everyone around him knows how much he loves his wife––Noticable changed––It’s not going to end well.

It’s not going to end well.

You clenched the magazine in your hand, “Who’s the source?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?!” Shawn let out a laugh, “Not that I had to find out through my mother texting me a link to an article about how my wife was having an affair?!”

Your eyes widened as the magazine dropped to the ground.

An affair. He thought you had an affair.

Your eyes darted back to Shawn’s hands. He nervously rubbed his thumb along the underside of the finger where his wedding band used to take up space. He thought you were having an affair with a person who made your skin crawl.

“Who––”

“Does it matter?!” He threw his hands up as he yelled before his voice quieted down, repeating the question under his breath, “Does it matter?”

You shook your head rapidly as you walked forward, wanting to reassure him that the article had it all wrong, “Shawn, that’s not––It’s a shitty tabloid, Ethan isn’t––”

“Don’t,” You stopped walking forward and started walking backward as Shawn angrily pointed a finger at you, words laced with malice, “Say his name.”

You felt your eyes begin to water, chest heaving up and down as your worst nightmare was slowly starting to become a reality, “He’s not––That isn’t––Those pictures are not what it looks like.”

“They seem pretty self-explanatory,” His voice fell in sadness, “I would wait hours to call you––”

“Shawn, listen––”

“Hours,” he cut you off, bottom lip quivering, “to hear about your day. I would wait hours to hear your voice calm me down because touring is stressful and you were the only person who was capable of calming me down––”

“Were?”

“––Only to find out that you’ve been running around with someone else!”

“You stopped picking up my calls!” Your voice was pleading with him, “I stayed up for hours at night wondering what I did––”

“You were having an affair!” He matched the volume of your yells, “Why would I want to talk to you?!”

He wasn’t listening to you. It seemed as if he was so caught up in the narrative he created in his head that he didn’t want to listen to you. He thought it was better to believe the heartbreak of you running into another person’s arms while he was the one who was left in the dust.

“Were you that lonely,” Shawn narrowed his eyes, voice gravelly low, “That you went to someone else? Christ––We have the money that you could’ve used to come out and see me! Or have you had enough of me?”

“Do you even hear yourself––”

“Was being married to me too much?” He let out a sarcastic laugh, “After years together, you can’t even handle a single year of marriage. What ever happened to for better or for worse––”

“I didn’t have an affair!”

You stomped your foot on the ground as if you were a little girl throwing a tantrum. Your voice was high, throat scratchy from trying to hold back your tears as Shawn threw countless accusations your way. But when Shawn accused you of making a mockery of your wedding vows to him, that’s when he crossed the line.

The room was silent, your words ringing through the apartment just as loud as the ringing in your ears. Shawn looked shocked, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide at your outburst. Never once had you screamed about something so desperately. But this was your marriage. This was your marriage to the person you thought would love and trust you until the end of your life. And you thought he would love and trust you until the end of his life.

“I didn’t,” your bottom lip trembled as you sucked in a breath, a few tears leaking from your eyes, “I would never,” you hastily wiped away the falling tears on your cheek with the heel of your palm, “Do you honestly think that little of me?”

Shawn opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His cruel words still floated around in the air. After all the love songs he wrote about you not once did you think he was capable of saying words as degrading as the ones he yelled at your face.

“That guy,” you closed your eyes and brought your hands up to your forehead, trying to subdue the raging pain in your forehead from all the yelling, “Was the cooking instructor Jessie and I had for our cooking lessons.”

“I don’t want to know––”

“He,” you cut Shawn off before he could find another way to belittle your feelings, “Wasn’t very…helpful as a teacher.” You bit the inside of your cheek, mirroring Shawn’s position and crossing your arms across your chest as you bounced your leg, “Sometimes he would––”

“God,” the pain in Shawn’s voice struck a chord with you, “Do you really think I want to know what you two did together?!”

You stood there frozen, not being able to wrap your head around the situation you found yourself in with Shawn, as the two of you looked into each other’s eyes with opposite emotions.

Your eyes were wide as they overflowed with desperation, terrified that your marriage was about to come to an end; they poured over with hurt from the devastating allegations Shawn proposed.

Shawn’s eyes were narrowed at you as they seethed with aggression, on the edge of becoming unhinged at the thought of someone stealing the love of his life right under his nose; they overflowed with untrust.

But both of your eyes were both filled to the brim with love, not understanding how the person they vowed to love and to treasure for the rest of their lives, could hurt the other so viciously and carelessly.

“He––I’m your wife, Shawn,” you choked on a sob, “I’m your wife and you’re not listening to me!”

“You haven’t said anything!” His eyes were red as he cried right back at you.

“How am I supposed to tell my husband that another man made me feel uncomfortable when he’s accusing me of sleeping with them?!”

Shawn looked like he had more hatred to spew planned out in his head, but once the truth to your story came out, he was at a loss for words. His shoulders dropped as fast as his face and an audible noise escaped his throat.

A new wave of tears threatened to spill over as he looked at you, “That’s––What did––What?”

You bit your bottom lip, nodding your head as your eyes refocused on the lack of his wedding band on his finger. You toyed with the diamond of your engagement ring, “But apparently I had an affair.”

Since the first time he had come back, Shawn was silent. He was as silent as the moment he walked through the door and said words that shattered your world; we need to talk.

He was as silent as the day of your wedding, speechless as you walked down the aisle more than ready to spend the rest of your life with him; I love you, he had said through tears, I’ll love you with all my heart until my last breath.

And as you stood in front of him, at a loss of words for yourself, you still wanted him to love you even after accusing you of the most heinous act in a marriage.

Another pregnant pause; your teeth clattered together as you failed to hold back your cries while Shawn’s fists shook at his sides.

Wordlessly, you brushed past him and picked your phone off the counter rushing to the door. You threw on your converse, only having time to tuck the laces under the tongue, not wanting to spend anymore time in Shawn’s presence. It felt as if the walls of your marriage was collapsing -––Your lungs were collapsing as you felt sobs blocking your airway––And with each step you took further away from Shawn, you felt your world crumble a little bit more.

You plucked a random jacket from the coat rack and before you even registered Shawn trying to call out your name, you slammed the door shut. You dug your hands deep in the pockets as the brisk Toronto air hit your face.

Your rings were burning a hole into your skin.

A twenty minute walk on the streets of Toronto would normally relax you, but normally your hand would be hooked around Shawn’s arm as the two of you laughed on your way to a restaurant. The streets were tainted with memories of him as you rounded the corner of a familiar street.

“Y/n?”

You sniffled as you spoke into the callbox, “Hey–Jessie? Can––Could you buzz me–me–In?”

The sound of the door unlocking brought more comfort to you than your husband had in the past month.

Not being able to stand still in an elevator by yourself, you opted to walk up six flights of stairs. You had spent countless days at Jessie’s apartment whenever Shawn was away on tour; from when you first started seeing each other, toward the end of his Illuminate Tour, you had spent countless nights sleeping over at her cozy Toronto apartment. The two of you would stay up late with ice-cream as you scoured every update account to get a glimpse of the boy who would text you after every show saying how he wished you were with him.

You knocked once on the door before it swung open to show a confused Jessie in a bathrobe and facemask, she tilted her head, “Lover’s quarrel?”

You brought a hand up to cover your mouth, but no amount of muffling could cover up the sound of your uncontrollable cries of grief. Jessie’s eyes widened as she ushered you into her apartment and quickly shut the door as you fell into her arms before she turned the lock of the deadbolt with a soft click.

You stood in the entryway of her apartment, staining your best friend’s shirt with tears, as you gripped onto the back of her shirt for dear life. Because the lifeline you normally had in your husband was thrown overboard.

Forming a coherent sentence was impossible with the sobs that tore through your chest. You tried your hardest to say that; no, this wasn’t just a lover’s quarrel, it was something bigger. It was something bigger than Jessie realized until she was able to decode a sentence that you kept repeating out loud until it became as familiar to you as a prayer.

He doesn’t want to be married to me anymore.

///

A few days had passed since you hastily made an exit from your apartment. You thought the sinking feeling would leave once you were away from your husband’s presence, but instead, your heart only ached more.

Shawn didn’t have much time left in Canada before he had to head back on the road, and it caused your chest to tighten up every time you thought of him leaving you again.

But why did it matter; you thought to yourself as you were wrapped up in a blanket, knees tucked up to your chest as you leaned on the far side on Jessie’s couch. Your hands cradled the lukewarm tea, it being the only thing that gave you warmth, he doesn’t want to be married to me anymore.

You’ve only moved from your position on the couch to go walk to the bathroom, your socks gliding on the hardwood floor because you didn’t have the energy to pick up your feet.

It was lunch time, and just like all other three meals throughout the day, Jessie brought over the meal she prepared you and softly placed it on the coffee table with a meek smile and somber eyes, “Tomato soup.”

You nodded your head and glanced at the soup in the yellow bowl. You took another sip of your tea.

“Y/n,” Jessie breathed out your name, trying to get your attention, as she knelt down in front of you. But you continued to stare past her shoulder, eyes focusing on the window as the pitter patter of rain softly hit the glass

She repeated your name once more, a comforting hand on your knee, but you slowly shook your head with a wobble of your chin. The only time you had spoken to Jessie was when you first arrived at her place and fell into her arms as you sobbed about your ruined marriage.

You were silent, just like Shawn’s communication with you since you fled your home.

He came home without wearing his wedding ring.

Your hands tighten around your mug, tea now cold, as you bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted something metallic. You had no verbal answer for her, just a shake of your head as you held your breath, trying to rid yourself of the lump in your throat.

The all too familiar sting behind your eyes crept back like an old friend. You shut your eyes tight as you gasped out for a breath.

“He’s going to divorce me, Jess.”

Her hand on your knee fell limp as you brought a hand up to cover the choked sob that escaped past your lips, “I love him so much and he’s gonna divorce––”

“He would never do that to you,” Jessie’s voice was confident, something you hadn’t felt about yourself, or your marriage, in months, “He wouldn’t even dream of that.”

You removed your hand from your mouth, a gut wrenching sob shattering through your chest as you tried to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, “You didn’t see him––The––The things he said to me,” Jessie took the mug form your hands as you wrapped your arms around your bent legs, tucking your head into your knees, “I’m so scared.”

It was a whisper, but the despair in your voice was not lost on your best friend.

“I––” Jessie didn’t know how she felt. She knew she felt her own heart breaking for her best friend––for Shawn as well––because she had been there with them since the start of their relationship. She was the one who introduced you two. But she also felt anger, a betrayal, deep within her bones that made her blood boil, “––I need to pick up groceries.”

Jessie didn’t want to leave her best friend, but she wanted to pay a visit to the man who broke his promise––to cherish you forever––to her best friend.

She reluctantly stood up, staring down at you with tears in her own eyes, as you kept your head buried between your knees and the blanket. She knelt down to press a featherlight kiss to the top of your head, whispering, “get some rest.”

She didn’t know if you would listen to her, but she noticed the exhaustion behind the heartbreak in your eyes. And with a slight nod, you agreed that you needed sleep, readjusted your position on the couch and tried to keep your eyes shut tight so as to not let any more tears stain the blanket.

Once Jessie was positive you were asleep, she slipped on her sneakers and left her place without a jacket. She needed the cold Canadian air to cool down the heat she felt in her body for being so angry.

The twenty minutes it would normally take her to walk to your apartment took her only thirteen minutes. Jessie breezed through the lobby, impatiently tapped her foot as she rode the elevator up, and harshly knocked on the door until it was opened by a wide eye Shawn.

“Y/n?” Shawn asked desperately before he even registered who was at the door.

Jessie rolled her eyes and pushed past him, “Do you think she would knock on her own door?” She scoffed as she looked around the apartment; pillows thrown astray, dishes piled up in the sink, and ruffled blankets on the couch telling her that he hasn’t been sleeping in their bed, “What the hell is your problem?!”

Shawn didn’t register her question as he continued to stare out the door, looking up and down the hallway. Jessie knew exactly who he was waiting for, and with a sigh, she softened her voice, “She’s not with me.”

His head whipped back to Jessie as if he forgot she was there, “She––Are you––Has she been staying with you?”

All the anger came flooding back into her system as she narrowed her eyes at his question, “You would know if you tried calling her.”

He slowly closed the door and leaned up against it with a defeated sigh, “I knew she didn’t want to hear from me––”

“Are you kidding?” Jessie clenched her fists at her sides in anger, “You were the only person she wanted to hear from.”

Shawn closed his eyes and rubbed the corners of them, not knowing what to say in response. Jessie knew she didn’t have to tell him how terrible he acted toward his wife, she could see it with every defeated slump of his shoulders, the way their usually neat apartment was a mess, and his bloodshot eyes.

“How is she?”

Jessie rolled her eyes again, ignoring his question because she knew that he already knew the answer to it, “You have some nerve coming home to her without your ring.”

Shawn’s melancholy composure dropped and she saw his eyes narrow in irritation, “How else was I supposed to react?” He let out a bitter laugh, “A whole magazine spread came out showing my wife with another man––”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Jessie walked up to him and poked his chest hard, “What happened to you always telling her not to believe everything she read in the papers about you? Every time you were seen with a different girl, every rumor of ‘sparks flying’ after you sang a duet with a different girl––What about everything she had to put up with with you?””

“That’s different because she knew those weren’t true––”

“So what about this?!” Jessie blew up and threw her hands in the air, “This is no different. This is the first time she’s been caught up in something like this.”

“She was jumpy the last time I spoke to her on the phone!” Shawn defended himself, “She sounded like she didn’t want me to come home and after I saw those pictures,” Shawn swallowed as he looked down at the floor. He felt his stomach drop as if he remembered the moment his mother texted him a link to the article.

“Everything just made sense,” Shawn whispered as he shook his head.

There was silence between the two of them for a moment before Jessie spat out, “That’s a weak excuse,” and Shawn raised his head up, eyebrows pulled together, “Did you forget what’s written on the inside of your ring?”

Shawn looked down in shame and shook his head. He knew exactly what was written on the inside of his ring––with your handwriting––and the same thing was written on the inside of your ring; with his handwriting.

With all my heart.

Out of habit, Shawn brought his fingers to touch his ring finger. But unlike all the other times the tips of his fingers would softly brush against the ring finger on his left hand in remembrance to you, he didn’t feel the cool metal of his ring. Just his bare finger.

“How could you?” Jessie’s voice was barely above a whisper. Shawn wasn’t her husband, so she couldn’t even comprehend the amount of betrayal you felt, but with being his friend since he was thirteen, she was at a loss of words, “For as long as I’ve known you…I’ve never been more disappointed in you in my life.”

Shawn ran a hand through his hair, “Jess––“

Jessie shook her head, “She always let you explain yourself––Most times she didn’t even think twice if you were out with someone else––Because she trusted you.” Shawn nodded solemnly, “But you didn’t give her the same respect.”

“I know.”

Without sparing his feelings, because Jessie didn’t think he deserved any sympathy, she said words that knew would cut Shawn to his core, “She thinks you’re going to divorce her.”

His mouth dropped, all expressions of guilt left his face, as he stared at his friend. He didn’t even know what he was feeling. All he knew was that he swore his heart stopped beating and that the ringing in his ears was becoming relentless.

“She––Why would––That never––“ his hands started shaking, as he felt his eyes well up with tears, because he never wanted to picture his life without you. His voice cracked, “Divorce?”

With a sharp nod, Jessie crossed her arms over her chest, “Well, when your husband comes home without his wedding ring on, what other conclusion is she going to come to?”

Shawn shook his head, “That wasn’t my––“

“You took your ring off,” Jessie’s eyes looked at his ring finger, noticing a sliver of his finger a share lighter than the rest of his skin tone, “I’m not married, but I know you’re not supposed to do that if you love your spouse.”

“I do love her,” Shawn spoke angrily.

Jessie tapped her foot, “I’m not leaving until you put your ring back on.” She watched as he dug his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and pulled out a golden band. She smiled as Shawn slipped it back into place, “You two need to talk,” she said as if it was the easiest thing in the world, “You need to listen to her because there’s more to those pictures.”

Shawn nodded his head, like he was a kid listening to his mom telling him to clean his room. He knew they needed to talk, he knew that he messed up, but he was also terrified of what you were going to say to him. He had never thought of divorcing you, but if the thought was swirling around in your mind…Would you want to divorce him?

“I have to run some errands,” Jessie smiled at the ring that was back in its place on his finger, “I’ll be gone for about an hour–––“

Before Jessie could finish her sentence, Shawn turned around on his heel, running to the front door to fling it open. She heard his footsteps race down the hall and smiled to herself even more.

Shawn was lucky that she knew where their spare key was hidden so she could lock up behind her.

///

You knew Jessie waited until she thought you were asleep to leave to pick up groceries. So you tried your hardest to fake your rest, and when you heard the door softly close behind her, you opened your eyes and continued to stare out the window. You didn’t have a lot of motivation, sometimes just thinking was too much energy, so you only tried to focus on the sounds of rain hitting the window and the low rumble of thunder you heard.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that for, but you started to get thirsty, and without Jessie here to refill your tea, you had no choice but to make yourself a cup. Begrudgingly, you sat up, keeping the blanket wrapped around you like a cape, and made your way into the kitchen. Filling the tea kettle up with water, you placed it on the stove. Picking at the hangnails on your fingers, you lifted your head up when heard the door abruptly open.

Even if it had been Jessie returning with groceries, you still would have stayed mute upon her re-entry, and when your eyes landed on the person you least expected to see, you still stayed quiet.

He was out of breath, cheeks flushed red as his chest heaved, but you didn’t say a word to him. You only listened to the low rumble of water boiling in the tea kettle.

He didn’t say anything either. He was trying to communicate with his eyes; wide and hopeful that you would forgive him for being an idiot. But you stared at him with a blank expression.

“Did you run here?”

Shawn nodded as he exhaled, “I––Jessie said you were here.”

You quirked an eyebrow, and pulled the blanket tighter around your body. Not saying anything in response, you diverted your eyes down to the white kettle.

As you stood in the kitchen with your husband, you had never felt more uncomfortable in your life. You never thought there would be a time you didn’t feel comfortable in his presence, just seeing him through FaceTime would be enough to make you smile; but as you stood in front of him for the first time since you saw him without his ring, you didn’t want to see him.

Your eyes were focused hard on the kettle, channeling all of your anger to the boiling water, “Thought the next time I would hear from you was going to be with Brian serving me divorce papers.”

It was a low blow, and you heard the sharp intake of breath from him, but you didn’t care. He made you feel like hell for the past month of him ignoring you and then blowing up in your face, not giving yourself a chance to explain your situation to him.

“I would never––You know I would never do that.”

“Do I?” You bit your bottom lip, “I never thought you’d take off your ring.”

That cut Shawn off from saying whatever he planned because you had a point. He never thought he would take off his ring, but he did. He took it off, and at the time, he didn’t understand the consequences that would come with it when he returned to you. He thought he knew everything by just looking at those pictures. He thought the marriage was over before he stepped foot back into your home.

Hastily, Shawn lifted his left hand, the gold ring was dull under the kitchen lights, “I put–––“ he stopped talking when he saw you lightly touch the kettle with your left hand. You only brought your hand out of the blanket for half a second, but that half a second was more than enough time for him to realize what the worst sight in the world was, “Your––You took off your rings.”

You retracted your hand back into the blanket and glared at him, “I wasn’t the first.”

“That’s not fair,” Shawn’s words were cold, “There was proof that you could’ve been––”

“Could’ve been what?” You reached up into the cabinet to grab a tea bag, “Cheating on you? Unfaithful? In a relationship with another man––”

“Stop!” He yelled as he pressed his palms against his head, eyes shut tight. He’d been tortured with the thought of you being with someone else while he was away, he didn’t want to imagine it even more, “Jessie told me that it wasn’t fair to not let you––”

“Oh, so you listened to her and not me?” You shot back at him, forgetting about your tea. “Should I be worried about that? Hm? You and Jessie––”

“Now you’re just being over dramatic,” Shawn rolled his eyes.

You felt the anger bubble up in the pit of your stomach like the tea that started to lowly whistle, “No,” you raised your voice to match his, “being over dramatic was taking off your fucking ring––”

“I put it back on!” Shawn yelled as he held up his hand again, pointing to the ring on his finger, “I put it back on for you––”

“That’s rich,” you laughed out, “Because if you hadn’t dodged my calls you wouldn’t have taken it off in the first place.”

He clenched his jaw, “Well, if you didn’t sound like you didn’t want me to come home we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“If I…” Your voice cracked as you thought back to all the times Ethan made advances on you, where he made you feel uncomfortable, and it was as if you were transported to your last lesson.

With a deep breath, all anger you felt towards your husband disappeared. You were now more sad than anything else. Sad that he wasn’t taking time to listen about how those pictures came about.

You repeated yourself with a sniffle, “If I…” you had to pause again, feeling your throat close up because if he wasn’t taking the time to listen for the second time around, would he ever listen to anything?

“I didn’t know how to tell you about him––How––How uncomfortable he made me feel––”

The rigidness behind his voice cut you off, “I’m your husband, you can come to me with anything, and if he made you uncomfortable, why didn’t you just change instructors?”

“Why didn’t I––What?” The shakiness of your voice was covered up by the tea kettle that was now whistling out of control, “Change instructors––He––Do you even care what he did?”

“That’s not the––”

You brought your left hand up to cover your mouth, you had cried too many times in front of him and you were tired of him not listening to you, “Leave.”

Shawn shook his head, “Y/n, I’m not leaving––”

You felt your chin wobble as you shook your head, vision starting to cloud from the build up of tears in your eyes, “Go––I––I want you to leave.”

He took a step forward, reaching a hand out to comfort you, but the last thing you wanted was for him to comfort you.

Noticing you recoiling from his touch, he reached over to turn the stove off and poured the hot water into the mug, “I don’t––I’m not home for much longer,” his voice was desperate as he set the kettle back down on the stove top, “I’m home for three more days––Don’t––Please come home.”

You shook your head, “I don’t––You––Leave.”

He stood firmly in place, “Not without you––”

“Go!” You shouted through your tears as you pointed at the door, “I can’t be around you-–you.” Shawn continued to shake his head, his eyes filling up with tears as you pleaded with him to leave you alone.

Your next words were cruel, you were taking advantage of how scared he was to lose you, but that didn’t matter to you. All you wanted was to be alone.

“If you don’t leave now,” your voice had softened but the edge was still there as tears continued to run down your face, “I don’t know what that’ll mean for our marriage.”

He didn’t move an inch, challenging your words, but you kept eye contact with him. You wanted him to know that you were serious––serious about how him not leaving would be detrimental to your marriage––But in all honesty, you were bluffing. You didn’t want your marriage to end as much as he didn’t. But right now…You couldn’t be in the same room as the man you married.

His eyes were wide, not believing the ultimatum you gave him, but he didn’t want to lose you forever. He took a step toward you, but when you shut your eyes at his movement, his heart broke and he knew the best thing to do was give you what you wanted. And that was space.

Your eyes stayed shut as you heard his footsteps grow further away. You finally opened your eyes when you heard the door close. Even with how you continuously cried for days, your eyes were not out of tears.

You felt a new wave of sobs take over your body as you sat on the kitchen floor crying your eyes out with your tea abandoned on the counter.

///

You didn’t go back home and Shawn left for tour again.

He would be gone for two months until he got the chance to return home to Canada. It might’ve been selfish of you to ignore his plea for you to return home to him, it would no doubt cause him more stress than usual on tour, but for your sanity you knew returning home would only cause another argument.

You stayed with Jessie for a week longer before coming to the conclusion that you needed to return home. While your home wouldn’t be complete until Shawn returned, you needed to be back in that space.

Walking into the home for the first time in a few weeks was strange. It was eerily quiet, but everything looked in place, if not more clean than what you were used to. Jessie told you that she had seen dishes stacked up in the sink among other things thrown around, so you were glad Shawn had the decency to clean up before he left.

Standing in the doorway, you looked at the bay window you sat in when Shawn returned home that afternoon. And like a movie, it was as if you could see the whole fight play out; Shawn throwing the tabloid at your feet and then screaming at one another. The vile words he said to you still hurt to think about, so you looked away from the window that made you fall in love with the apartment.

You slowly walked further into the apartment and everything you saw held a memory. In the kitchen you saw Shawn trying to distract you from cooking as he did a terrible dance. In the living room, you saw the couch and thought about the countless times you’d fallen asleep on each other in the middle of a movie. And in the corner, where there was a little bookshelf and chairs to relax in, you saw yourself reading a book as Shawn sat in the chair opposite of you, trying to perfect a song’s chorus.

Everything coming back in waves was too much, but only a few tears leaked from your eyes. Most of the memories that came back to you were happy. They were full of laughter and smiles––Just like how your marriage had been. They always say how the first fight is the worst, but you didn’t think it could get any worse than this.

Finding yourself in your bedroom, you flicked the lights on, and immediately changed into sweatpants and one of Shawn's shirts. Part of you wished you returned home before he left, but you knew you weren’t emotionally ready for that. So you opted for one of his t-shirts to bring you his comfort as he was halfway across the world from you.

You peeled back the covers on his side of the bed, slowly getting under, and bringing the sheets up to your chin. You buried your head into his pillow and that’s when you lost it. What if by being selfish and not coming home you had wrecked your marriage? You were both angry, but Shawn took a lot of things to heart, and there was no doubt you knew he felt absolutely crushed that you didn’t return home.

As if he knew you were thinking of him, your phone rang, and you saw the ridiculous selfie he took on your phone when he was nineteen. You wanted to swipe and answer the call. You wanted to hear his voice. But you were scared that he would actually confirm your worst fears and say that your marriage was over.

You screened the call, and right when you were about to put your phone down and cry into his pillow more, his contact picture lit up your screen again.

With a shaky breath, you tried your best to push all your fears down as you answered the call, “Sh––Shawn?”

“Y/n,” he breathed out your name with a sigh of relief, “I––I’m so glad you picked up.”

You nodded your head against the pillow and whimpered, “I––Yeah––I––Sh––Shawn––I––”

“Please don’t leave me,” he shakily breathed out the sentence in one breath, “I don’t know––I––” You could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m such an asshole and this––You––I love you and I can’t––” You heard an ugly sob from the other end of the phone as he whispered out the best he could, “Please––please don’t leave me.”

You felt all of your fears disappear as you let out a little cry of relief, “I love you too.”

“We––We can talk––You can talk,” he corrected himself and it caused you to laugh a little, “When I get home?”

You nodded your head and for the first time, in a long time, you smiled, “I’ll be waiting.”

///

Nearly two months later, you were making yourself a cup of tea as you awaited Shawn’s arrival. Even though the two of you talked almost every night, conversation was still strained with how you last saw each other; you shouting at him to leave threatening that your marriage could be over if he didn’t. It was a heavy note to leave off on, but the two of you brushed it under the rug as you would recount what you did during your day and he told you about the show he had performed.

You were nervous––more nervous than you were on your first date with him––but you tried to push those feelings away. He was your husband. You both loved each other endlessly. And it did ease your anxiety a bit knowing that your marriage wasn’t going to end after this conversation.

The sound of a key unlocking your door caused your heart rate to spike as you threw away your tea bag. He was home and it was time to really talk.

Much like the ill fated day he came home without his ring, he rolled in a small carry-on suitcase and had a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. The first thing your eyes went to was his left hand, and even though you had seen it in every picture of him performing on stage, it still brought a smile to your face seeing it on his hand. While his left sock was raised higher than the right sock, and his t-shirt was still wrinkled, you noticed his hair was a little shorter.

“Did you get a haircut?”

Shawn dropped his duffle bag with a smile as he rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen, “Do you like it?”

You nodded your head with a smile as you passed him a freshly made cup of tea as your hands circled your own cup, “Your curls look more tame.”

Shawn laughed into his tea before he took a sip and placed the mug down. He exhaled a deep breath, tapping his fingers on the sides of the mug like he was playing piano, and gave you a worrisome look, “Can I––Can I hug you?”

Your shoulders dropped at how uncertain he sounded. But then again, it had been months since you last touched him. The last time you touched him was before he left for tour the first time; before he took off his ring.

“Yeah,” you croaked out with a nod.

Within a matter of seconds, Shawn’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, hugging you like it was one of his last moments on Earth. You circled your arms around his waist and your body was immediately flooded with the warmth of his chest. It had been so long since you had any form of physical contact with him that you almost forgot what a simple hug felt like.

And it was something you never wanted to go months without again.

Shawn pressed a kiss to the top of your head, which made you feel giddy on the inside, before he slightly pulled away, “I––I won’t say a thing,” he whispered as he rubbed his hands up and down your back, “But I think we need to talk.”

The giddiness you felt dissipated and your insides now felt queasy. You wanted to forget that the past few months had happened. You tried your best to block it from your memory, but Shawn was right, you needed to talk in order to move forward in your marriage.

So you talked and Shawn didn’t utter a single word. You explained how Jessie thought cooking lessons would be a good idea to distract you from missing Shawn, how the advances Ethan first made were a joke here and there, but then he started paying more attention to you. He became hyperfixtated on the way you cut vegetables and how––If you change this and follow me, he would say before lightly touching you and directing your hand movements, you’ll have what you need––trying to add a double meaning to his words.

You could see Shawn’s jaw clench a few times as his knuckles would turn white from how tight he was holding the mug. While you knew he didn’t like what he was hearing, you were appreciative that he was listening instead of arguing with you like the last time.

“And um––Yeah––So That’s––Yeah.” You rambled off as you went to touch your wrist that Ethan harshly grabbed a few months ago. And even though the grease burns on your back were healed, you still felt the itch of them as if they happened yesterday.

After a brief moment of silence, Shawn closed his eyes and let an aggravated breath out through his nostrils, “He…He touched you.”

You nodded your head as you took a sip of your tea, wanting to delay any sort of response for as long as you could, “Yeah,” But with his eyes staring into yours, you knew he wasn’t going to let you skip over any detail, “Those, um––That picture in the magazine…That’s when the grease spilled on my back.”

Shawn rubbed his hands over his eyes, he was no doubt exhausted from traveling, and it probably didn’t do him any good hearing this story, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

What was different than before the times you tried to talk to him about this, his voice wasn’t accusatory; It was careful. Careful in the sense that he didn’t want you to think he was upset with you. Because the situation wasn’t your fault and he knew that.

“You’re already so stressed with your job,” you looked down into your empty mug, “I didn’t want to add any stress.”

Shawn reached his hand across the counter and unwrapped one of your hands from your mug. He laced your fingers together and held your hand tightly, “I’m your husband,” he weakly smiled at you, “The music, touring, writing––None of that is a real job––My my job to worry about you.”

While he sounded a bit defeated, you knew that he meant well. You knew that he was only upset with himself because you were scared to go to him with something that made you uncomfortable. He always wanted to be your person to go to whenever you felt yourself in a weird situation, and in this instance, he thought that he failed at that part of being your husband.

So you squeezed his hand back in reassurance, “I know you’re not going to forget about this,” he raised an eyebrow at you because you knew he was never going to forget this disastrous fight or forget about what Ethan did to you, “But for now, can we forget about it and take a nap?”

With a shake of his head, he let out a chuckle, “You’re right that I’m not going to forget about this,” he said as he lifted your connected hands over your mug as he pulled you out of the kitchen and down to your bedroom, “But a nap sounds fantastic.”

And for the first time in months, you walked to your bedroom with a lovesick smile on your face, trailing behind the man you fell in love with more every day you shared together.

///

FOUR MONTHS LATER

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” You laughed as you tightened your hold around Shawn’s arm, “This isn’t fair!”

“It’s a surprise,” he smirked as he continued to lead the way down the streets of Toronto.

It was a peaceful day in the capital city of Ontario. The sun was shining, birds chirping, and you were arm-in-arm with your husband. He had just finished the last leg of his world tour and you couldn’t be more proud of everything he accomplished. Luckily enough, you were able to join him on tour for the last two months, and spent your first wedding anniversary in Napa, California the day before his show in Sacramento.

It was definitely an ideal way to spend your first year married to Shawn––drinking wine––And everyone congratulated you on getting through what was dubbed to be the “hardest” year of marriage. That was the understatement of the century. And both you and Shawn would always brush off everyone joking about it because they didn’t know how hard of a year it really was.

The whole debacle with the tabloid magazine was mostly swept under the rug, and you just told your families and the people on Shawn’s team he was closest to, that it was just a misunderstanding; A tabloid that took things way out of proportion. The only people who really knew how devastating the year had been was you, Shawn, and Jessie.

Sometimes there would be a thought in the back of your head about how detrimental another fight like that could be to your marriage. But you always tried to shut those thoughts down as soon as possible and just focus on the good things in your life. And right now, that was Shawn leading you to a surprise location, because he thought the two of you needed another anniversary celebration.

“I––I’ll…” Your voice trailed off as you walked down the familiar strip of shops, “After you’ve fallen asleep, I’ll take your socks off.”

Shawn threw his head back in laughter at your poor attempt to get him to spill the surprise, “Impossible because you always fall asleep before me.”

“Fair,” you let out a sigh, “I still think it’s weird you sleep with socks on.”

“I thought we agreed to disagree on that.”

“It’s just,” you squeezed his bicep, at a loss of words, “infuriating.”

Shawn smiled brightly down at you before quickly pressing a kiss to your cheek, “But you still married me.”

With a roll of your eyes you softly hit him in the stomach, “Yeah, yeah…” But when you turned a corner, you knew why these shops were so familiar, and you almost stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, “What are we––Shawn?”

He looked back at you with a sheepish smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

“Shawn,” you hesitantly said his name again, “What're you planning?”

Again, he shrugged his shoulders, “You know how terrible I am in the kitchen,” he glanced back at the place where you took your cooking lessons when he was away on tour. And for a moment, the playfulness dropped from his face as he seriously looked into your eyes, “If you’re not comfortable going back in there, we can always get coffee across the street.”

You mentally made a pros and cons list in your mind. You hadn’t been in the place you received your cooking lessons since you stormed out of there. And as far as you knew, Ethan still worked there, which made your skin crawl. But you were with Shawn. Shawn would be by your side the whole time. And you were curious to see what he had up his sleeve.

“I mean…I’m fine with it,” your voice wavered. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking you if you were actually fine to go back in there, because he didn’t want to push you with something you weren’t 100-percent on. So you cleared your throat and repeated yourself, “I’m fine going in, but…I think he’s supposed to be teaching today?”

A wicked smile spread across Shawn’s face, “Three o’clock couple’s cooking class with Ethan Anguis.”

Your mouth dropped and you couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh, “You did not.”

Shawn smirked, “I do believe we have to check-in in ten minutes before we lose my deposit.”

You shook your head because you could not believe how ridiculous your husband was, “Lead the way.”

With a gleam of mischief in his eyes, he smiled as he bent over with his arm stretched out as he opened the door for you. You let out another laugh as he followed you into the familiar classroom. You were standing behind a few other couple’s but once you heard his voice, your hand instinctively gripped onto Shawn’s tighter.

He looked down at you, again, silently asking you if you were comfortable with this. You nodded, and before you knew it, you were face-to-face with the man who had caused your marriage to be hell for a few months.

Ethan was looking down at the check-in book, not realizing you were in front of him, before Shawn cleared his throat, “Mr. and Mrs. Mendes.”

His head shot up as he ignored Shawn’s presence entirely and only had eyes for you. You shifted closer into Shawn’s side as Ethan sent a smile your way, “Y/n, it’s nice to see you––”

“Do you always refer to your student’s by their first name?” Shawn didn’t hide the malice in his voice, he wanted Ethan to know that you were just a student.

Ethan’s eyes darted to Shawn for a brief second, before his eyes flickered down to your hands clasped together, and you swore you saw him glaring at your hands before he tried to compose himself before answering Shawn’s question, “She––I’ve had her in class before.”

“Then you should be used to calling her Mrs. Mendes.”

Ethan’s eyes hardened at the protectiveness of Shawn’s words as he nodded his head once, “We’ll be at table six––”

Shawn stepped forward until his lower stomach was basically toppling over the weak wooden podium, “If you do anything to make her feel uncomfortable again,” his low and threatening voice sent a shiver down your spine as he insinuated what he had done in the past, “I swear you’ll never work in a restaurant in Toronto again.”

You noticed how Ethan’s jaw clenched as his face began to turn red. You didn’t know if it was red out of embarrassment or anger, but you didn’t want to stick around to find out.

“We’ll be at table six,” you said as you dragged Shawn by the hand.

You made it to your table and you couldn’t help but smile up at Shawn who had a proud smirk on his face, “What are you doing?”

The two of you sat down on the barstools as you waited for everyone else to get checked in. Shawn moved his stool closer to yours so that you could sit side-by-side, thighs touching, as he threw an arm over your shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, “Just tryna cause a little trouble.”

You rolled your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder, “I love you.”

Shawn smiled brightly down, “And I love you,” his attention was briefly pulled away when Ethan called out that the lesson would be beginning shortly. When he returned his gaze back down to you, he smiled softly, noticing that your eyes had never left him, “With all my heart.”

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Ash

Requested by @devilishminx328

...

“Go my child, and be a good wife to your husband.” That was your order. Child to an old tradesman who wanted nothing but a son was given you, and so the widowed King came. You couldn’t even remember his name now your husband though you bore his rings and gifted necklace and watched him from this warped prison orb and heard the hungry pleading cries of your people that haunted your every waking moment. Then the flames came and another violent tremor came. He would do this often, lift the orb and toss it about until you cries out for him to stop or he lost amusement in your elder years when those cries never came.

One room castle and a lake of glass in a solid fake tundra was all you knew these days, that and the enchanted bag he gave you with all you would ever require inside. Still this was different while the castle jerked and into a wall you slammed hard to collapse gasping for air into the floor the orb turned and across to the other wall you slid eventually to be slammed hard into a beam on the roof. One more turn and you could hear glass shatter and all at once smoke billowed across your body that lay flat across a carpet in a library you’d long since forgotten.

Blinking through the smoke coughs helped to fill your lungs again with air. Hushed whimpers left you at the glass slicing into your palm from the orb broken to bits underneath your chest, arm and hand that drew blood from your collarbone down in scattered clusters now staining the top of your deep necked tunic with ties slightly frayed on the top cross of the tether that secured your cleavage from sight above the top of your vest. The pain from that however lasted barely a blink as a shriek left you in the turn of your head to find your dead husband strewn across the floor headless. In a panicked scramble away to the wall around your ankle the strap of your enchanted bag tangled.

Loud shouts outside the room drew an instant shrink of your pupils at the sight of a monstrous wave coming for the island kingdom. “Please no,” you whimpered and backed into a shelf of books your bloody hand rose to fumble against the wood to try and rise as if you could outrun the wave now blocking out the sun. “Help, some, someone, please.” Shouts and shrieks split the air and into an all you tucked hiding your face in your knees, warm tears spilling down your cheeks to another futile plea, “Someone, save me...”

All you knew was something hit your head, off the shelf a certain book had fallen and open landed on top of your head and engulfed you right as the first starving waves had touched the toe of your right boot.

Deep under the surface of the sunlit water thrashing you about your body unfurled and fought uselessly against the current that jerked you this way and that. Burning hot your lunges felt close to exploding while your every inch froze and burned at once to the stinging cluster of pain searing throughout everything from your muscles to your very veins that ached to pump blood at its usual speed again now slowing to lack of air. A firm hand twice the size of your arm circled your upper arm as a second drew you into the firm chest of a heavily bearded man now being tugged backwards to his tug on the rope around his waist. Swift and smooth you were brought to the surface to sputter and cough the agony away and face the chocolate haired Dwarf whose white haired brother helped you to your knees on the shore. The both silent until you stilled simply to let you regain your breath to the wind of the now untied rope and stares to the stunning jeweled necklace around your neck, matching ear covers, wedding rings and jeweled beads and ribbons woven all throughout your starlit raven curls hung about you like a wet blanket to the ground to pool in a small puddle all it’s own.

An upward tilt of your head to the first steady breath you could draw brought the gawking pair to your focus in their admiration of your brilliant purple silver flecked eyes unlike any they’d seen before. “Thank you,” you managed to say and the duo reached out their broad hands to help you to your feet, a move that had you realize they were a good half a foot shorter than you.

In a joint fumble of their hands at their sides the darker haired of the two spoke, “Not the season to be swimming.”

The dialect was rough yet came out like liquid honey, slow and constant that your ear covers enchanted to translate the languages of the music records you had to entertain yourself while trapped let you hear their meaning. “I wasn’t swimming, my home was washed away in a flood.”

The admission dropped the jaws of both men who looked to one another then guided you towards the city they called Dale once you untangled your bag from your ankle underneath your soaking wet heavily embroidered skirt with layers galore fighting to both drip and cling between steps to your legs, and slung the bag over your shoulder for their means to help. Right to a blacksmith’s shop you were led and to their joint conversation but he corner with a shirtless friend of theirs with an absurdly large mallet in hand glared between glances at yourself until you were tasked to shift various objects around and fetch a few things for him for the next few hours until he tired of you. His agreement came with a once over your appearance that had you reach into your bag for a hair tie you used to wind your hair back into a haphazard bun.

A simple tug on the ribbon around your waist had his lips part as to why you were taking off your skirt until he saw the front half fold back to fold over the belt around your waist with buckle to hold the skirt in place on top of your soaked black pants and knee high boots, a simple bow in the back and you were ready to get to work. He gestured to the first thing to move as you tied a cloth around your cut palm and added your rings to your necklace to keep them safe. Back and forth his eyes darted from you and his task until you stood beside him in his move to close up shop after the confused tall Man came to fetch the cross bow he had been repairing. From the handful of coins the lesser of the group was offered to you. “Know it won’t amount to much with the loss of your home, but it will fill your belly tonight.”

“Thank you,” you said with a flinch of a smile to the fold of your fingers around the coin laid atop the cloth with a hint of blood showing through the material that you would have to change soon.

Outward his hand stretched and he said, “Head to Broakbem’s shop, been belly aching all month about a new delivery person. Tell him I sent you and he’ll pay you per drop off.”

“Thank you, truly.”

He nodded his head to your next flinch of a grin that was barely able to appear at all while your heart was drowning you from the inside out at the loss of everything you had known and drop to complete obscurity after finally having found your freedom in whatever lands these were. “Your name, Lass?”

You almost said Princess, yet the word died on the back of your tongue and you simply stated, “Jaqiearae Pluto Pear.”

“Grunnd, welcome at my shop anytime Lass. It’s the one with the idiotic wooden frog outside.” You nodded again and turned to pass through the mingled crowd of those both shorter and absurdly taller than you all the way to your next employer. Each tall creature spent longer to keep their gaze on you in wonder at the smoke coated Elleth in their midst none could name with glimmering adornments to the gracefully pointed ears still glimmering faintly in the random streams of sunlight as the only patches of clean visible skin. Doubt was in his eyes but by the smoke and signs of dirty palms you were led to the bath to scrub up and redress your wound some ointment was given for along with those still giving off their dying drops of blood to the scabs now stretched across them. The wife helped to get the blood off your shirt at least in fevered scrubs of a lemon and some rough cloth and with basket in hand you were off to add some more weight to your coin purse.

Stop by stop you crossed from one end of the city to the other and back again by aid of an enchanted compass from your bag that helped to aim you to any destination you were given. Each location more curious than the next the more your bun dropped until on your next trip back to the shop your hands rose to split sections of your insubordinate curls that were wound into a long braid your hair tie looped on your thumb was used to secure the end of to bounce to and fro behind your hips for the remainder of the day. Across your face however the section of curls that sideways lay sideways in a swoop cut to your chin freed themselves from the braid to shift and float then drop with each huff you gave in their taunting slide to cover your face fully.

Golden, fiery or lovely shades of brown locks were scattered amongst the other tall beings with ears like yours with only raven locks on the bearded shorter peoples that flowed around you trading head bobs in for each that managed to catch your eye. And for all your efforts once back inside the shop a similar coin to the one Grunnd had given you laid in your palm expecting to accept the final basket on the counter to trade for the empty one you had returned with the Husband said, “Wagons for Greenwood will be leaving shortly. Can’t risk you to miss your ride home, Lass. But you come back on the morning wagons Tuesday and you can earn double that with a full days work.”

“Thank you, I’ll be here.” Was your answer and withholding the irritation you felt for not earning very much at all for all that effort outside again you found yourself to once again dig out your compass and mutter, “Greenwood?”

The arrow turned and with it your feet moved to follow the cobbled lane in the downward reach to untie the same ribbon on your skirt to tie it forward again to the sight of more of your fellow pointy eared numbers all entering the same lane apparently off towards the same mysterious wagons. Seven open wagons surrounded by a group with what seemed to be scale coated outer shirts in deep green on horseback who in pairs split off to guide each wagon once full. The final wagon half full with items was all that was left once you had arrived and behind the redhead in front of you up you climbed to sit on the end of the bench inside to catch the curious gaze of the armed scale armor clad Elf who would follow the wagon. To her had bob you mirrored the motion then faced forward in a try to ignore the constant stare of her and the glances back of the rider in front of the wagon wondering where this straggler had come from who was clearly injured.

Trees, miles of trees and a distant looming wall finally came into view that held a hidden entrance that you rode to and found yourself in the sights of more and more Elves at the stop of the wagon clearly near what would be stables for the horses they had ridden and used to pull the wagons. Last on and first off you stood underneath an endless tree head tilted back in awe until a voice drew your gaze lower to a different nodding redhead, “The public supper is served and the guard patrols should be done with the public baths once you are fed.”

“Oh, thank you,” you said in a turn to follow her guiding head nod behind the others to grant the other guards a chance to disclose to the Captain of the Guard just where this newcomer had joined their people. The most they could have learned was from a seamstress who overheard the Smith you had worked for that you were fished from the river and spoke of a flood that took your home. A fate that instantly, while still wary of you, extended their kindness to keep an eye out for any pains or sorrow you might bear from the terrible loss whether you chose to stay here or possibly request travel to another Elven Kingdom closet to where you were washed away from.

Timid and with eyes forward behind the Elf you had trotted to catch up to in line you waited to accept a large bowl of what seemed to be a hearty stew over rice under a butter brushed roll that had your mouth water to the point you nearly missed your turn to step to the table of glasses where you chose what smelled to be a fruit juice mixture with at least peach and cranberry in it. A half empty table called your name and on the stool there you sat careful to not knock it over and make a scene by accidentally hurling your food across table behind you in a fall backwards. Just the bowl and glass was where your focus was until your eyes rose to the ripple of Elves who stood up in the entrance of a trio of what you would have considered impossibly tall Elves with the same Captain if the Guard who had tipped you off to the free meal.

With the females around you in a curtsey you dipped in a lower of your eyes from the apparent King with a crown of silver branches topped with daisies and forget me nots that held back his long white locks, dressed in a long robe of silver between a second platinum haired Elf with scaled armor who wasn’t on the guard for the wagons, both with stoic expressions contrary to their golden haired companion. His long waist length curls held back in a ribbon ponytail dressed in a deep green robe to the knee accented with silver seams, quiver in his back and bow in hand. The three in your dip now with eyes on the lone raven haired Elleth in their midst. Hushedly in a mental inquiry the King asked in a dart of his eyes off the stranger now in their rise, “We have a guest?”

Tauriel replied, “Yes one of our Seamstresses overhead she was pulled from the river near Dale. A flood destroyed her home.”

Far more serious his face flinched in his glare to the wall ahead on news of another possible Elf Kingdom that had lost its foothold by accident or malicious intent. Five more steps he took in silence in the relax of his face to its prior stoic rest spot and he replied, “I shall send out inquiries of where those lands may be. Should our kin be scattered we should ready for more survivors of the flood or possibly belongings washed ashore.”

Behind their backs amongst the others you lowered to sit again, smoothing your skirts against your legs and the spoon in your bowl was lifted again for another filling bite. Not until a warm tear had rolled down your cheek the sink of your mood had been brought to your attention. Hastily you wiped away the tear and straightened up in a try to not break down in front of everyone. Two coins was all you had towards the future and the words of that shop keep popped in your head, Tuesday, he would see you Tuesday, four days away only made you wonder how you could fund your way here in this kingdom if you didn’t get free food daily at least once.

Empty bowl in hand the path to the trays to collect the dishes you walked and out curiously inspecting the halls that your compass guided you to towards the public bath. Only a few of the Elves were headed that way and past a door of steam from the open archway a length of hot springs and a waterfall far in the distance, past the open baths you walked towards the screen separated area where you assumed privacy would be guaranteed. Once inside the area you inhaled sharply at the sound of others in each closed off area. Sure to seal the opening to the tub you went and gave the sliding hatch a tug that let water from the spring inside until you sealed it again. Near to scalding the water shot out, you were glad to have done this first and turned to begin removing your layers. Near to tears the necklace holding your wedding rings was tucked into a pocket on the side of your enchanted bag you debated internally if you should wear them again now that your supposed husband was clearly dead. Down to nothing you stripped and with comb in hand each curl was seen to both before your wash and rinse.

Harsh and bad enough to make you bite your lip the palm of your hand stung once in the water along with your other cuts and scrapes you were unaware that the water was trying to heal. Soap from your bag was lifted and used to wash the rest of you. A soak didn’t seem to be possible at the sounds around you only heightening your nerves at being so bare to near public that killed your try to relax and soak a while. Right away you wrapped yourself in the towel there and released the drain hatch. Back to the bag you went and the underwear beside it were lifted and wiggled on up under the towel you then removed to better dry the rest of you to keep the mint green dress you had chosen to put on with long sleeves in case it got chilly later on. Simple shakes cleaned your clothes with mental charms before you eased them back into your bag. The set aside socks beside it that reached your knee were next to keep your boots from rubbing the skin more than necessary you added afterwards.

It didn’t matter truly, that was what you told yourself, who gave you the ring with a large rectangular emerald with two square diamonds on either side surrounded by more diamonds to wrap around the band paired with an all diamond wedding band. Onto your ring finger they were added again with your necklace to follow. Out again you went and alone you walked through the halls with your compass in hand unable to find a direction to a hotel or sort of room to rent for the night. Simply to keep from crying you strolled around with curls loose down your back, every lamp and torch along the way reflecting off the star like speckles trapped in each shadowy curl that drew attention from each guard and worker to the new stranger among them. Kitchens, a wine cellar and several empty halls were between you and the library where you ended up. Nice and quiet even a try to read ended up useless, though a window bench in the apparently forgotten corner of the kingdom was where you slept.

Dawn was there to wake you and a guest bath was slipped in and out of to rinse away the tear stains from tears that had escaped you in the night. Back again you wandered the halls until a face from the crowds from the day prior on your wagon ride who shared that you could walk with them to the public breakfast. In a means to be kind he showed you to his table and on the end you simply listened to the conversation between the others until a huff in a shared task they were appointed with had your eyes lift and for that you volunteered. It was just the once but the option to hand over a tedious task became an avalanche all its own and for each task you completed more coins were handed over in return. While you were new and did draw attention everyone did have to appreciate how you had secured a firm place to stand in the numerous jobs to begin again.

Half the morning on your latest assignment was spent in rearranging a storage room that others usually mopped around the mounds of junk, trunks and crates that now after your furious cleaning frenzy aided by years of solitude and angry scrubbing was a tea room of sorts. Furniture was arranged and paintings leaned against the walls on tables at the lack of nails with shelves now housing the decorative objects you had found. Halfway burning and throbbing your palm, now freshly cleaned and rewrapped was pressed to your middle on the path back to the meet up with the Elf who had skipped on the task who gladly handed over two coins for the task. He then introduced you to the next one who had a couple jobs for you so he could spend some more time with his sweetheart he was wooing into a courtship. Change some towels and hand off some books and paperwork that would be required by others across the kingdom for a meeting.

Beyond in a bad mood King Thranduil was storming his way back to his apartment for some well needed time alone. Aloofly taking notice of each head bobbing to him along the way mingled with a few curtsies in between. At least until his eyes rose to the staircase that lay between him and his floor and the new face to his halls was trotting down the steps with a haphazard pile of towels, books and scrolls pinned to their chest while their other hand clutched the hem of their mint dress.

Zero acknowledgement came from the odd new arrival who breezed right up to his side where she said trotting onwards, “On the stairs in a dress I’ll bow at the bottom or I’ll fall!” With each word mid step the King shifted to watch her path to the bottom where she promptly turned released her hem to dip into a hurried curtsy then grab her skirt again saying, “Your Majesty, very late, you look lovely today, periwinkle, very dashing on you, bye bye.” As soon as she had popped up again her body turned with a whip of those shadowy star speckled curls his eyes trailed over shamelessly and off she trotted again leaving just the puzzled King to turn to continue the shift of his weight on his higher foot to continue climbing the steps. Though now with the corner of his mouth unknowingly ticked upwards ever so slightly.

She was the reason he was upset, however indirectly, that loss of her home stirred up all the pain and fears trapped deep within him. It couldn’t be helped any threat to any of his kin, however distant always triggered something. Although she seemed at least a hint content here in these new lands that gave him a hope that she might stay here and not wish to be transferred to another kingdom. Brief glimpses others had given notice that some means of work had been gathered already along with what he hoped to be a hint of friendship that could brew amongst his people and her.

Letters, a full bundle of them, had been sent off to every kingdom within flight range for his messenger birds with requests to send out word even farther to see where this storm had swept that woman into those waters. There were only two locations that that area of the river had stemmed from, the Forest River and the less likely far Southern Celdwin River. Only Angmar was close to the Forest River which ran through his lands that contained no hidden kingdom he was not aware of, he knew of a few treetop communities who chose not to live inside the mountain keep he ruled over but none of them had her face or those dark starry curls.

There wasn’t a kingdom he could think of that could have had the materials or designs to the embroidered scenes across the skirts of both from yesterday and today’s. Not to mention those gems, just those clear stones alone void of any glow were strange, not of this continent he had ever seen and he was older than the sun itself. Just a necklace and ring, the latter his focus to his bedroom had centered on in wonder for lack of view on what finger it sat on. Though by the time he plopped into his chair a hand rose up for fingers to trail over the edges of his own ear with mind honed in on the decoration to that Elleth’s ears, an adornment that made her all the rarer as to where he could have gotten them.

“Lovely,” you muttered to yourself inside your head, “Called the King lovely, first meeting, you’re lovely…” Mid handoff of the scrolls all you could think of was the yet to be seen Queen that would toss you out of the front gates to leave you to the wilds alone if he did share your nerve wracked slip of the tongue.

Books were handed over next when you heard the name of the King in passing and that of the Prince in a hushed mention on the late Queen’s sitting room for guests having been fixed up. Towels however was what you shook your mind to focus on distributing them to where they were needed. And far off of the widowed King and the Elves stunned about the now fixed up room you couldn’t understand what the importance to everyone that it had been fixed up unless it was another public space you would one day run across.

Orange in hand you sat down on a bench outside overlooking a distant grazing herd of Elk and a closer group of horses milled around lazily on their warm afternoon. Another bite of the slice in your fingertips and a tan stallion with a dark mane turned its head and began to walk over. The curly haired blonde from the day prior had the stallion huffing and stomping off at his call to go for a ride spoiling his snack.

Loud whinnies however broke your focus and from the bench you rose and strolled across the tall grass glad you had changed into a pair of trousers and a loose tunic vest pair. The past few days had been tiring and tomorrow you had decided to rest up before the infamous Tuesday return to Dale where you would be racing across that city once again. Nearly to eight feet tall and furious a dappled mare bucked and jumped inside a stall alone in the stables another Elf had simply walked out of with a dejected sigh at the furious creature. Who upon his exit flared its nostrils at you, “Hey do you want an orange slice?” A try to offer the slice had it turn and kick the door that bowed and straightened again. From the door to the horse your eyes shifted and you said, “Can’t be comfortable in here all by your lonesome. Why won’t anyone take you out in the sun?”

Loudly a whinny and snort was your reply and you said, “Ooh, you want to bite me, don’t you? Well, see you’ll have to be let out to do that won’t you grumpy?” The slide of the pin you removed from the lock had its eyes dart from the door to you and back again as you turned to stroll to the door. “I’m gonna go for a run if you feel like getting some sun.”

Just past the large open doorway you heard the door to the stall open triggering your pleased smirk. The orange finished off in a couple more bites. Off towards the pathway through the trees while winding up your long braid into a bun to keep it from your face or catching on anything. Hoof steps behind you sounded the exit of the mare who looked around for the one who had set her loose.

Just on the cusp of the tree line however you finished off the orange and pressed more weight into the hall of one foot at the sound of the horse picking up its pace to catch up to you. Slow at first you began a trot gaining speed at the echoing hooves that sped up to catch you. Sight of the horse in chase not missed by the head of the herd of Elk had him rapidly in chase as well to aid in a stop to any try for an attack. Giggled comments to the horse to egg her on in the now apparent race calmed the Elk who now remained in chase but hung back to ensure no harm would come to the little Elleth.

That particular mare was known to be temperamental however Former Queen and mother to King Thranduil had been the one to take her and gain trust enough to ride her and since her choose to sail to Valinor the young mare had not taken the loss of its partner very well at all. This was an odd way to gain a horse’s trust. Yet to simply see her in more than a reluctant stroll and plop under a tree when the stables grew too warm in the summer warmed the hearts of the Elk and now the two young stallion you raced last that gleefully trotted after your group soon to gain more shadows.

Normally you would be bested easily at the speed you were at, yet thanks to this winding path you had a good lead from the horse and Elk who watched you pick up speed in the sights of the paused Lord Glorfindel who had come in curiosity of the sound of thundering hooves in this part of the woods. Atop his tan colored steed he sat with mouth open at the full speed charge you gave to the fallen log blocking off the return path to the long grass pastures that had been yet to be cleared after their last storm had blown it over there. More that six feet into the air you leapt with a tuck to your legs nearly to your chest to clear the log. A move that had the Lord holding his breath until the confirming sound of your feet back into the dirt that shifted in two dips below your feet. Three more steps came before a startled squeak and a thunk with pained giggles to follow.

Sat there in awe he watched the Elk in his dart around the mare to leap a good foot above the log. Who landed and was seen from the cheek up over it in a slowed trot to circle and stop in a stare at the ground in the leap of the other five young horses. Who each gave excited an whinny for their safe landing, the last turned to find their little brother walking around the end of the fallen log in their short stature that kept them from possibly making it that was welcomed back by brother and friends for having kept up to that point. Their celebration moved to their parents still grazing in the stroll of the mare to the log the speckled mare looked over to see you still on the ground tapping your fingers to your bloody temple. A raised knot in a log was all it took for you to tumble and bump your head into another root that couldn’t move fast enough to prevent harm.

Off to the side you waited in front of the Elk that loomed over your head with each pass of the horses in the still of the world that had just been spinning for a few moments. And up onto your elbows you propped yourself now feeling the pinch in your ankle you had twisted to lock eyes with the mare asking, “Are you trying to say you can’t get over that log? I have seen your legs you know.” She replied with a glare and an irritated whinny and you said, “I’ve got two legs and I made it and you’re way taller than me.” Again she snorted and turned sharp to stomp her way back to where Glorfindel sat in a fight to not smirk and watch the turn and lightning race back to the log. She soared high above it with a smooth landing and loud whinnies to gloat about the better form and elevation in her prance away to the sight of the confused Elleth who had brought her next meal who saw her in the pasture after being told she wouldn’t let anyone let her out again today.

This was gonna be difficult, but all the same you pressed your hands into the dirt and hoisted yourself up into your good foot. Much easier though with the snout that scooped under your back to get you up from the Elk. In a pivot you turned and gave him a kind pat, “Thank you. I’m all good I’ll hobble my way in now.” His head rose so he could watch your pained try to put weight on your left foot to get simply a hurried limp of a step. Right over the top of the log he caught eyes with the Lord’s back and huffed. Three steps and his head lowered again, this time to scoop you up mid hopping step onto his antler to with ease begin the trot to the Palace.

Straight inside he went and in a frozen state of shock you sat in full view of the scattered Elves that parted to allow the Elk past in each hall and corridor from one end of the kingdom to the other. Even past the Elf King who turned on his way to a meeting to see the dirt coated bloody guest his Elk was delivering to the Healing Wing that narrowed his eyes in confusion for what could have happened to urge his steed Tuo to take it upon himself to deliver you to be healed right away. A huff was given and he turned to head for his meeting with assurance to himself that he would find you later to inquire upon what had occurred.

Right to the double doors left open you were carried with echoes of hooves that turned the Healers’ heads to gawk at the injured guest they hurried over to help down. And with your weight braced to hop to one of the empty beds while the Elk you thanked turned to trot back to his herd content the little Elleth was being seen to. Damp cloths helped to find the wounds both from today and days prior that were rinsed and came with a trip to the private bath there. Stripped in the midst of a trio of Elleths over your head and limbs water pitchers were poured for a bath before the soak to heal your injuries would come. Gently they lowered your cut hand into the water while under the surface another rubbed and stretched your twisted ankle that the swelling was dropping steadily. From your bag a change of clothes was found and at their refusal to take payment you walked out of the Healing Wing to find a place to hide after the embarrassing ride through so many people that no doubt would put you as the biggest joke of the year.

The library was helpful for that again and late to supper there were few still there by the time you took your seat to eat and then return to your hiding spot. The absence was not missed and many an Elf took it upon themselves to search for the injured newcomer in a means to check on you and to share you were not the first citizen that the steeds had drug off to the Healing Wing in case of any embarrassment with ample ready to share their tales. Both of the trip and the personal meetings with the King afterwards in an assurance for him that they weren’t too terribly injured and were seen to with the utmost care.

Always Thranduil had assumed he was in charge of things around his kingdom, now he was not so certain. One newcomer and everything had changed. Each and every guest chamber had been searched after the first night when his trip to the usual Elleths that ran the refuge dwellings that you should have been assigned to had turned up empty. This was how it went. Newcomers arrive, are fed then bathe and then led to one of the refuge dwellings until they had confirmed that this was where they felt a wish to remain then amongst the guest quarters an apartment would be assigned, normally near to a friend they had made.

Nowhere, you had been assigned nowhere, the illustrious Mistress Pear. According to echoes from the Dale trip and the few you had spoken to who hadn’t quite caught what your first name leaving him to an odd surname that left him to assume you might hail from some sliver of mortals to have a surname at all, as it was not formatted to be the name of an ancestor or parent by their culture rules on stating such lineages.

By the minute after his hearing that you had left both the Healing Wing and Public Supper Hall his rage bubbled out from his hours of irritation as to what impression as a King he had given this kind, hard working and now injured refugee that was dwelling who knows where each night at this apparent massive skimp in regulations to ensure his people were safe. He would find you tomorrow, somehow if he had to ride to Dale himself and apologize fervently until you forgave him and his people. But for tonight he knew what he would do, turn from his usual maps and consult the older records to find some sort of hint as to where that flood could have stemmed from to wash you up here alone with still no sight of anyone or anything else in the rivers nearby.

And that was exactly where he found his answer, not to the maps, but to you. Faced away from him with starlit curls hung to the ground off the end of the window bench you were draped across on your side with bag as your pillow he found you. For who knows how long he stood there with hand blocking the lantern light with his free hand he had used to light his way as he stood watching your sleeping sniffle. Clearly deep in sleep a regulatory sniffle had come once then again to the streams of tears that in the reflection on the window were tears that rolled out across the edge of your nose while you slept. Each one stabbed deeper into his chest in an endless internal scream of pleas to know why you wept and how he may just smooth off the edges of that pain away with an apartment or anything else you may desire.

The Prince with word of his latest patrol broke his stare and claimed one of his own a moment to have his father show him to the hall where he said, “You are in one piece. I take it your patrol went well?”

“Ada,” the Prince was barely able to voice, sharply he drew in a breath and asked, “That is where the new guest has been sleeping?”

“For at least tonight it would seem. I shall meet with her in the morning to discuss her living quarters myself as there has been an egregious error that has left her to this window bench for a bed.” In a sweep of his eyes over his son’s face at his glance to the doorway again he asked, “The patrols?”

Pt 2

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim, @jotink78, @pastelhexmaniac

X Thranduil - @evyiione, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf, @pastelhexmaniac, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

x Ash - @fandomsstolemylife00, @lilith15000

#Fallen to Middle Earth #Haunted Stranger #Lost Kingdom #Starting Over #New Jobs #Making friends #Building Trust #Culture Clash #Culture Shock #Confused Thranduil #Request

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