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romanteacism · 9 hours ago

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A Butterfly and A Dragon’s Flight Chapter 1

Chapter Summary: New friends, foes, and feelings Word Count: 8,413

Life is an odd thing, isn’t it? No matter how hard you try to pave the path you wish for, no matter the best-laid plans, there will always be something beyond your control. Neither your stubbornness nor your will can undo what is set as destiny, and you can either accept what is meant to be or deny it with all your might until the fateful day comes when all your resistance will turn moot.

Elinora’s life had been made for her. From the moment of her birth, she was simply waiting for instructions on how to proceed. Her actions were always premeditated; her will was basically non-existent. It sounds tragic, yes, but she never had complaints. How could she? It was all she knew. A puppet cannot complain about their puppeteer.

You really shouldn’t be that concerned about her. Those strings were the only thing that had kept her upright— if it weren't for them, she wouldn’t be her.

As the only daughter of House Tyrell, a multitude of things are expected of Elinora. She may not be royalty, but with her father being the lord of one of the great houses, she was close enough. Many eyes were upon her, the prayed-for daughter of her lord father— the miracle babe, for her mother was well in her years, and all doubted her ability to conceive once more. On the day of Elinora’s birth, a feast that could battle the royals was made in her honor. As they celebrated, she cried in her father’s arms as they paved her life and sealed her fate, bounding Elinora to a son of House Velaryon, a promise for which she will never understand the reason.

Elinora grew up well-loved by her family, however restricted she was. They locked her in the high walls of Highgarden, forbidding her to see a prolonged view of the outside world. Forever sheltered and secured in her father’s house. With such restrictions, it was expected that she would grow up naive and clueless about how life truly works; perhaps she was, but she had gone to great lengths to at least know something about how the world works, preparing the best she could for the day when she would eventually be let out of her cage.

That day came sooner than she expected. The day just after her sixteenth birthday, it was revealed to her that her family was expected at court. Elinora tried her best to reign in her excitement, to keep her decorum and not dance around her chambers in glee, for she would finally see a glimpse of the world beyond the stained glass windows of their home.

“Contain yourself, sister,” Elinora’s brother smiled as she practically bounced on her seat in the wheelhouse. They finally left the city gates of Highgarden; she had never gone beyond them before. “I’ve never been this far away from home,” Elinora said in great excitement as she peeked through the holes of the wheelhouse, finally seeing life beyond the walls that had kept her enclosed. Her brother, Edward, breathed out a laugh in amusement, a sliver of guilt in him at how sheltered they had kept her, but as they often said, it was all for the best.

“Why are we called to court?” She questioned as she placed a pillow on her lap. “I’m not entirely certain as well,” Her brother lied, protecting her from the actual matter of urgency. They had done well to censor all violence from Elinora, and the looming threat of an upcoming war was another matter they had shielded her from. “Is Ser Gwayne to come as well?” Elinora could not help but question about the knight. They had seen him only a fortnight ago, Ser Gwayne usually venturing to Highgarden for leisure to ride his noble steed, and at those occurrences, Elinora would be waiting by the window for him— running down the stairs of her home to greet the knight from Old Town. However shielded she was from the world, her family indulged her with a fair few trusted people around her, one of them being Ser Gwayne, one of the most chivalrous and noble knights in the Reach.

Edward smiled sadly, “I’m afraid not; I’ve spoken to Prince Daeron only two days before, and they had no plans to venture to the capitol.” Elinora nodded slowly; a tad saddened as she expected to see familiar faces as they came to King’s Landing, but the prospect of seeing something new overpowered whatever disappointment she felt.

After five days of travel through the King’s Road, House Tyrell arrived at the Red Keep, the Hand of the King and his daughter, the Queen, welcoming them. “Lord and Lady Tyrell, welcome to King’s Landing,” The Lord Hand greeted with a nod of his head. Elinora readily curtsied before the two, along with her brother, who bowed before their host.

Elinora could not help but stare at the queen, especially at her hair. Ser Gwayne had always told her that her hair reminded him of his sister’s, only that hers was a tad darker, and the curls were looser. “Lady Elinora, it would seem my brother was not at all lying when he sang praises of your beauty,” A blush was quick to creep up the girl’s cheek; unable to reply, she could only curtsy once more— entirely flattered by their words. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said quietly, turning to her brother, who only rolled his eyes in tease.

As they escorted Elinora to her chambers, she felt a sense of independence as her brother did not trail her to the East wing of the keep, nor were her chambers set near her parent’s, unlike in High Garden. She was completely out of their watch for the time. It was new, and it was thrilling. As she set her gaze on her assigned chambers, Elinora found it quite modest and simple… perhaps a bit bare, but she did not wish to dwell on such matters because, for the first time in her life, she was without immediate supervision. The lack of fine furniture was a small price to pay for independence.

Elinora stepped forward towards the balcony of her chambers, looking upon the view of the city, which was entirely different from Highgarden. Absent were the overwhelming green and empty lands; instead, what was before her was the faded reds of clay roofs and the differing heights of houses and buildings. Everything was different! And for now, she quite liked that.

“How are your chambers?” Her father asked as they had an intimate family dinner in their chambers. “It quite… quaint,” She answered, not wanting to be seen as ungrateful as she was presented with a practically bare chamber; it shouldn’t really matter; it was only meant for sleeping; she has the Red Keep to explore! Her brother, however, scoffed. “I had always thought the Red Keep would be this extravagant place, but why are the guest rooms dressed so drab? For gods’ sake, they cannot even provide fur! Do they expect wool to keep us warm at night?” Edward complained, but Elinora bit back her tongue as she was taught that a proper young lady should never utter such criticism, especially when it comes to their hosts.

“Well, it’s a good thing we came prepared. I’ll have your squires and maids make up your rooms more comfortably.” Their mother decided. Elinora pursed her lips as she waited for the end of her mother and father’s conversation to speak, and when there was a pause, she hesitated to utter her question. “Father… how long are we to stay here?” She questioned quietly. “No more than two moons, I would think,” He replied as he took a chalice into his hands. Elinora nodded, another question leaving her lips. “But why are we here?”

Looks between her brother and their parents were exchanged, still not wanting to reveal the true reason for their coming to the capitol. Because to reveal it would mean they would break the bubble of protection and innocence that had kept Elinora in. “Just… business, my darling, the matter of trade.” Elinora’s brow was slightly furrowed, confused as to why it was they who managed the mere business of trade when another trusted subject of theirs could see the matter. Instead of questioning it, she merely nodded. Ladies should never ask questions upon questions, she reminded herself.

When the next day came, Elinora walked along the garden arm in arm with her brother. They were the the newest additions to the court, capturing the curious gazes of the seasoned members.

“Who are they?” Elinora heard a lady dressed in a dark blue gown question her friends as Elinora and Edward passed them. “Son and daughter of Lord and Lady Tyrell,” she heard the faint whisper of another highborn. As the two Tyrells passed, the fluttering hair filled with flowers and the comely face of a girl caught the attention of a silver prince.

Even through his drunken state, Prince Aegon was sober enough to realize that a new pretty prey had come to the dragon’s den. “Who is that?” He questioned with great intrigue, his head turning in another direction just to catch another glimpse of the girl who practically floated about the gardens, butterflies trailing her as the flowers in her hair attracted the pretty insects. “I… I am not quite certain, my prince,” one of his lickspittles that he made knight replied, curious as well about who the girl was. Prince Aegon hummed as his eyes lost view of the girl who turned about a corner and was removed from the prying, curious gazes.

“Why must I go back to my chambers?” Elinora questioned as she paused in the halls, reluctant as her brother began to escort her to the east wing of the Red Keep. “Because I must attend a meeting with Mother and Father, and no one could watch over you,” Elinora felt a pout come to her lips, but she quickly prevented it, knowing it would lead to her being chastised. She wanted to protest, but she knew better than to do so; as always, she only complied and did what she was told.

“What time can I go out then?” She asked, looking at the sun that was barely at its peak, mourning the fine day that would be wasted as she made to stay in her chambers. “When we return from our meeting— come now, you’ll make me late.”

Elinora stood by the balcony of her chambers, looking upon the world she foolishly thought she would come to know. She sighed heavily and was ready to return inside and sleep the day away, for she could never do what she truly wanted to.

Just as she was about to enter her chambers, a great roar caught her attention. Frightened and curious, she peered down below to see what beast had the capacity to roar with such great volume. But the gust of strong wind that had managed to remove some of the flowers in her hair made her head snap upwards just to see the belly of a great beast flying above her.

Elinora was mystified. She had completely forgotten about the dragons that House Targaryen possessed, even though a dragon resided somewhere near Highgarden. As the beast eclipsed the sun, Elinora knew right away who the dragon was; it was Vhagar. “Gods…” She breathed out, unnerved at the sheer size of the dragon that flew above. Elinora squinted her eyes as the dragon managed to disappear within the clouds. She waited a few moments to catch another glimpse of it, but as the clouds began to dissolve and the sun began to shine upon her eyes, Elinora pouted freely and sighed in disappointment as she lost sight of the great beast.

The girl began to settle herself into her bed once more and sleep the day away, but the sound of frantic footsteps in the halls made her do otherwise. Elinora battled with herself for a moment. She was strictly told that she may not leave her chambers until her brother retrieved her, but curiosity and boredom were gnawing at her. Surely, they would not know if she stepped foot into the halls, yes? Elinora chewed on her lower lip, her fingers itching to take hold of the door’s handle. She took a deep breath, took a risk, slowly opened the door, and peeked out into the halls.

She caught the sight of green skirts pacing around. She raised her gaze and saw silver hair. She needed no introduction; by the color of the dress alone, she knew it was Princess Helaena. Elinora hesitated for a moment about whether she should open her door wider, but as she caught sight of the frantic face of the princess, she knew she could not leave her in the halls alone.

“Hello,” Elinora said quietly in order not to startle the princess, but however dulcet her tone was, Princess Helaena still flinched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Elinora said in fear, clutching the frame of her door, reluctant to step out. Princess Helaena only looked upon the girl, swallowing thickly and giving a hesitant nod. When Elinora heard no reply from the princess, she dared to speak once more. “Is anything the matter?”

Helaena hesitated at first; the girl before her was unfamiliar, and she did not do well with strangers— or anyone, really. “Oh, forgive me, Princess. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Elinora Tyrell. My family and I only arrived yesterday.” The girl curtsied lowly.

“I lost my spider.” Princess Helaena revealed, and Elinora slowly stood straight. “It slipped out of my chambers,” The princess added, her violet eyes glancing towards the door next to Elinora’s chambers. “What did it look like, princess? Perhaps I can help you to find it.” Elinora offered, disregarding her fear of disobedience as she finally stepped foot out of her chambers.

Princess Helaena looked before the girl in surprise, doubting her offer, but as Elinora began to pace around the halls, her eyes searching for a spider, Princess Helaena realized she was sincere. “It has a pattern… its body is yellow and black,” Princess Helaena responded. “Oh… is it a garden spider, princess?” Elinora questioned, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ears as she knelt on the ground and looked under a stone bench located near a wall.

“Y-yes… I— how do you know that?” Princess Helaena questioned, astonished as Elinora already knew what kind of spider she was referring to. “I often spend my time in the gardens of our home, and I would encounter all kinds of bugs and insects during my hours spent there,” Elinora explained with a small smile. “They’re fascinating creatures, spiders, but many misunderstand and are frightened of them just because of their appearance,” Elinora mumbled as she caught sight of greenery by the end of the hall.

Princess Helaena felt a twitch come to her lips as she heard Elinora’s words. “You’re quite right,” she said quietly, following in Elinora’s footsteps. Elinora’s brows furrowed in focus as she spotted the spider perched on the leaf of a potted plant, laying out her palm and gently blowing onto the leaf to urge the spider to move into her hand. “Do you have a box for it, princess?” She questioned. Princess Helaena was too amazed as she finally met someone who was not disturbed by her crawling critters. “Oh, yes, of course— right through here.”

As Elinora entered the princess’ chambers, she refrained to let her eyes curiously go about the room. Princess Helaena led her to a table under a shelf with multiple dividers displaying her collection of insects and bugs. “I had more before, but some died, and some I needed to set free because it frightened my children.” Princess Helaena said sadly as she closed the lid of her garden spider’s box. “Do you have children of your own, Lady Elinora?” The princess questioned. “I am not yet married, your highness.”

“Oh, I apologize for assuming,” Princess Helaena said with an embarrassed blush creeping up her cheeks. “No need to apologize, princess,” Elinora said sincerely. A silence befell the two girls, both timid and shy to speak first. A princess picked at the skin of her fingertips, and a girl fiddled with the ends of her hair. “I— would you like to join me for tea in the gardens?” The princess asked nervously, not accustomed to inviting others in her custom. But as a smile crept up to Elinora’s lips and she nodded her head almost a bit too eagerly, the nerves in Princess Helaena settled, and she walked side by side to the gardens with her new acquaintance.

“Brother, there you are!” Aegon greeted as he spotted his younger brother in the halls, newly arrived from his morning dragon ride. “What do you want, Aegon,” Aemond asked, already exasperated. “I always take you for someone who is well versed about the going ons in court, as well as the courtiers…” Aemond raised a brow at his brother, who circled around him, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, all I’m trying to say is, could you tell me who she is,” Aemond frowned as he turned to where his brother pointed, seeing his sister in the gardens seated across from a girl who he, too, did not know.

He observed as two girls quietly laughed between themselves. The unknown girl wore a pale turquoise dress with delicate flower embroidery. Her hair was the color of fallen leaves when the weather was starting to grow cold, and her loose curls reached her waist. Her face was soft, her lips were plump, her nose in a snub, and her eyes… her eyes were the color of jade; eyes that contained lightness and naivety.

“Do you know her?” Aegon asked, growing greatly impatient as the mystery surrounding the girl who had butterflies flying over her head was consuming him. “I— I do not know her.” Prince Aemond finally answered, disappointing his brother.

Elinora felt a stare burning through her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She tried her best to listen to what the princess was speaking of, but as she lifted her gaze, she locked eyes with a lilac one that stared at her from above the gardens. Elinora needed no introduction to know who was the man who held her gaze so intently and coldly. She was uncertain what to do, so she offered him a small, kind smile, just as she was told to do whenever she was to lock eyes with anyone. However, the smile on her lips quickly disappeared as Prince Aemond only blinked at her and looked away, his movements cold and dismissive.

“Do they always follow you around?” The princess questioned, which brought the girl out of her reprieve. Elinora blinked a few times, “Pardon, princess?” She asked, not certain what the princess was referring to. “The butterflies,” Princess Helaena smiled as she reached out her finger for one of the pretty insects to land upon it. That brought back the smile on Elinora’s lips. “Quite often, princess… they seem to be attracted to the flowers in my hair.” She smiled fondly. Butterflies had always followed her ever since she was young. At first, she was petrified of them, unaccustomed to the feeling of their tiny legs landing on her skin. But as time passed, she learned to appreciate her little companions.

“Sister?” The familiar voice of her brother drained the color on the girl’s face as she was caught disobeying clear orders from her family. “B-brother, I—“ She greeted with panic in her eyes. “Oh, Princess,” Edward suddenly realized that he and his sister were in the presence of royalty. “Princess Helaena, this is my older brother, Edward,” Elinora smiled through her nerves and introduced her brother.

“A pleasure, princess,” Edwar bowed, and Elinora twiddled with the ends of her hair as there was a stern tone in her brother’s voice that only she could detect. “But if you would excuse us, our parents are searching for my sister,” Edward smiled charmingly and assisted his sister in the direction of their parents' chambers. “Good day, princess,” Elinora smiled and curtsied, and before Princess Helaena could bid farewell, Elinora was already ushered inside the castle walls.

“Did we or did we not give clear orders that you must stay inside your chambers with the door bared until your brother came to retrieve you?” Her mother questioned as Elinora sat on a settee, chastised for her actions. “You have, mother,” She said lowly, eyes staring at the rug beneath her feet. “Why then did you disobey us?” She questioned harshly, and Elinora fiddled further with the ends of her hair.

“I— it was just that I heard shuffling outside my chambers, and I peeked out only to see Princess Helaena distressed because she had lost something of hers, so I offered her help to find it— and when we found what she lost, she invited me for tea; I couldn't decline because she might grow offended,” Elinora reasoned, eyes pleading at her mother and father for them to no longer grow cross at her.

Her family exchanged looks, quietly deciding how to proceed. “There are multitudes of dangers here, Elinora… we are not insisting you stay in your chambers just because we wish it; it is for your protection,” Her father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I thought it would be safer here…” She whispered but quickly regretted it as her mother raised a brow at her for speaking out of turn.

“This is the last time you do something such as this, understood?” She was asked sternly, and she mechanically nodded, knowing that no other response from her would be taken kindly. “Now, if Princess Helaena invites you to tea once more or any other outing, you must always tell us first. Agreed?” Her father questioned, his tone more mellow than her mother’s, and she nodded once more. “Good. Now, let your brother escort you to your chambers. Your maids shall come in a while to ready for the banquet.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Edward sighed heavily as his sister was rendered sullen. “We just wish to keep you safe,” He added and took hold of his sister’s hands. “But it is safe here… look at the other ladies of the court; they are not made to stay in their chambers— they go about freely; why can I not do the same?” She asked the same question she had been asking them for the past ten years but was never given a direct answer.

“Even so, you never know when danger will come. We cannot risk it— we cannot risk you.” Edward said softly, “You are my dearest sister— the prayed-for daughter of our father, the miracle child of our mother… you cannot blame us if we are too cautious when it comes to you.” Guilt was fast to grow in Elinora’s heart. This happened all the time. As she began to hold animosity toward the suffocating treatment bestowed upon her, just a small reminder of their love for her made her forget that she was caged.

“I’m sorry, brother. I was just… excited,” She said, and Edward nodded in understanding, quietly ushering his sister into her chambers without another word said about her transgression that morning.

Elinora felt her mother place her hand on her arm, her little signal to indicate that Elinora was slouching and she must straighten her posture. The girl mechanically did it, readjusting the small, fictitious smile on her lips as well. On her other side was where she sat, Lord Edward sitting across from Princess Helaena; however, the seat next to the princess was empty. Elinora stared blankly upon the feast, starved, but they were still waiting on the arrival of the king.

The girl had the urge to speak, to join in on a conversation that was exchanged by those who attended the small banquet, but since none spoke to her and she was trained to not speak unless spoken to, she said naught a word and her opinions and thoughts were often left unsaid and unheard by anyone; just as always.

When the grating sound of a chair being scraped across the stone floors echoed in the room, Elinora raised her gaze only for her eyes to be captured by lilac. Elinora blinked but did not have the strength to look away as the cold gaze of Prince Aemond pierced through her. She remembered how she offered him a smile in the gardens, and he simply dismissed it, a small blow to her pride. She wanted to look away and give him the same dismissal he had bestowed upon her, but her manners could not let her do so. Instead, she gave him another small, friendly smile, hoping he would acknowledge it. He did not. Instead, the prince simply broke their gazes and shifted his gaze to the others present at the long table.

Elinora fiddled with her hair once more, not accustomed to being so blatantly ignored. In other instances, her smile would always be returned with either a smile as well or a nod of acknowledgment; Prince Aemond offered her nothing.

“Lady Elinora, I hear you are acquainted with our youngest brother.” At the mention of her name, Elinora looked up and was faced with another set of violet eyes that held a look of something unbeknownst to her. “We are, my prince. We would often encounter Prince Daeron during banquets in the Reach— and he often joins your uncle, Ser Gwayne, for a ride on the hill next to Highgarden,” Elinora replied with a small smile.

“So you know him quite well?” Prince Aegon questioned further, leaning closer to the table to be somewhat nearer to the girl, who had been his main point of interest since the morning. Elinora did not know what to reply; her lips parted as she thought of an appropriate response. “Well, you know him better than we do, at least,” Prince Aegon added with a laugh, and Elinora could only smile and took hold of her chalice to drink the wine that they provided to clear the block in her throat.

Aemond turned to his brother, a furrow forming on his brows as Aegon shamelessly eyed the girl before them with lust and intrigue in his eyes. Ever since he had laid his eye on the girl in the gardens with butterflies flying over her head. Aemond was intrigued as to how quickly she was earning their sister Helaena’s trust. Helaena rarely, or if ever, had let anyone join her in her midday tea. So, who was this girl who was starting to nestle her way in? Aemond had doubts in him when regards to her— he found her smiles fictitious, forced… deceiving. He was already certain she was infiltrating them; that could not be.

***

Elinora always gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. She always tends to give others a second chance, so for her, first impressions never truly mattered. This is why, even after Prince Aemond’s boorish regard for her, she never took it to heart, only thinking he was having a difficult day, which caused his blatant disregard. Even the tightest and toughest of seeds could open and bloom into flowers, right? So when Prince Aemond passed the girl who sat with his sister, Elinora once again offered him a friendly smile that she gave to everyone she passed; it was ignored again.

“How long are you and your family to stay here, Lady Elinora?” Princess Helaena asked as she refilled the girl’s cup. Elinora removed her gaze from the departing figure of the prince, who never gave her a sparing glance. “Please, call me Elinora, princess,” She smiled and stirred the tea in her cup. Helaena smiled and gave a small nod, “Then I would insist you to call me just Helaena,” It was an odd occurrence. She had never met a lady or perhaps anyone who did not agitate her— that did not make her nervous or anxious. There was something in Elinora’s constitution that was unlike anything that she had encountered in anyone in court before.

“My father said we are to say two moons princess, though I am not certain if it is accustomed to any changes,” Elinora responded and took a sip of her tea, raising her hand to gently nudge away one of the butterflies that flocked around her once more. Princess Helaena nodded, her mind partially distracted by the fluttering creatures that found Elinora once more.

When noon came, Elinora was left alone once again. The princess had matters to tend to, leaving Elinora alone in the gardens with her only constant companions, the butterflies. She sat on a bench, flowers surrounding her as she read a book. When she was a child, she never liked reading. It was difficult for her to imagine the imagery they possessed. People always say how vivid it was for them when they read books, but for Elinora, it was simply words on a page, unmoving and static. But as she was often restricted to the walls of her home, there was not much to do but read. With that reasoning, she learned to enjoy the written word.

However, now, she was in a new territory. A new place to explore and discover. With that thought, a smile rose to Elinora’s lips. She placed an iris between the bounded paper to mark her page and quickly stood to venture around the Red Keep. She swore to her parents that she would not venture beyond the gardens, but luckily, the gardens of the Red Keep were quite vast. Even though she was still restricted, she felt an odd sense of freedom.

Elinora walked the cobblestoned path and observed the passersby, always presenting them with a kind smile when they met her gaze. Others were taken aback, but most of them returned her smile. Elinora went along the path and past a group of ladies who looked about her age. She gave them a smile, and she felt elated as all of them returned it. However, as she passed them and when they thought she was an earshot away, she heard their sinister and mocking laughs.

“What a freak! Who even is she?” She overheard one of the ladies as her friend. “Did you see how the bugs were swarming her?” Another scoffed. “Now I understand why she was with Princess Helaena— freaks do tend to flock together, don’t they?” That managed to completly wipe away the constant smile on Elinora’s lips.

She was not the only one to hear such snide remarks. Prince Aemond was passing along the gardens as well when he heard such words spewed. As he passed the group of ladies he had gotten used to ignoring, he stared them down with his cold gaze, which effectively cut off their malicious merriment. Aemond walked onwards, catching sight of the girl who left a scent trail of iris and bergamot as well as butterflies. Prince Aemond shook his head to be rid of his thoughts and urge to follow the girl who had warmed her way to his sister’s side; instead, he only turned in another direction and placed greater distance between him and what he saw as an interloper.

“I see Princess Helaena and Lady Elinora are growing acquainted; I am glad.” Ser Criston Cole suddenly said as he padded himself for his and Aemond’s training. Aemond frowned as he twisted his sword. “And why is that?” His tone was cold and harsh. Cole shrugged, “Your sister finally has a friend. Is that not something to be glad about? Even your mother is worried about Helaena’s lonesomeness.” The knight answered as he moved to his attack stance. Aemond rolled his eyes, “You clearly do not feel the same. Why?” Cole questioned. “She an intruder,” Aemond answered, and Cole breathed out a laugh.

“An intruder? She and her family were invited here,” He said, amused at the prince, who was clearly irritated. “Do you not find it odd how quickly she made her way to my sister’s side? She is using her!” He revealed his great concern and genuinely thought Cole would agree with his weak theory. The knight simply let out another laugh. “You do not even know who she is!”

“And you do?” Aemond gritted, and Cole shrugged, “Certainly more than you,” He smirked. “Lady Elinora is not conniving or cunning as you would think. She’s pure— perhaps even naive,” Aemond scoffed and rolled his eyes once more. “I tell the truth. Her family has quite literally encaged her in their home— censored everything cruel and violent from the girl. She had never even ventured outside the wall of the Reach until they went here. For gods’ sake, I hear she’s only restricted in the gardens here as well! She is no threat, Aemond.” The prince did not believe such folly; he instead vowed to himself to reveal to all the true and deceiving nature of the girl that had bothered his thoughts since she had arrived.

Prince Aemond was convinced that no one could be as pure as they say Lady Elinora was, not in this state of this world. All were corrupt and cruel, and he was certain Lady Elinora was as well, and her kind smiles were just a facade to hide the maliciousness in her.

“You’re glum,” Edward observed as he accompanied his sister back to her chambers. He had noticed at dinner that she was too quiet and barely touched her plate, a melancholy in her eyes that was rarely there. Elinora raised her gaze and quickly readjusted her expression to deny her brother’s true statement, but a look on her older brother’s face made her sigh as she knew she could not lie to him. “Am I a… freak?” She lowly and questioned in shame. The snide remarks of the ladies of the court loomed over her thoughts.

Edward frowned at his sister’s question and saw the tell-tale sign in her that if he did not thread carefully, Elinora would burst into tears. “What?” He asked delicately. “Earlier in the gardens, I heard a group of ladies call me a freak because of the butterflies that followed me… but I cannot control it! Am I a freak, brother?” She asked in fear. Edward blinked and pursed his lips. This is what they feared: Elinora being overexposed to the world's cruelties.

“You’re not a freak, sister… those ladies— they were just jesting!” Edward lied, but that didn’t lessen the offense Elinora felt. “It’s not a very nice jest…” She mumbled and twiddled with her hair. “I agree, but you must not take it to heart— that is just the way they are in court… none of their words are true.” Edward sighed, and Elinora chewed on the insides of her cheeks. “Very well…” She sighed and kissed her brother’s cheek before retiring to her chambers.

***

Prince Aemond sat in the library as usual in the afternoon. He quietly and peacefully read his book and added to his scholarly knowledge. He always liked the library; it was rare for anyone to visit there— it was his sanctuary in the walls of the Red Keep. However, the still silence he relished upon was disturbed by the faint sound of humming. Aemond frowned severely, looking at his surroundings to discover who dared disrupt his peace.

As the humming did not cease, the prince stood from his place and sought out the source. In any other case, the humming would not truly aggravate him, but he had a sense that the humming came from the lips of an intruder. Prince Aemond found her by the back, her fingers trailing the dusted spines of books as she leisurely walked between the towering shelves. Aemond frowned and trailed closer, waiting for her to realize that she was not alone, but he was already an arm’s length away from her, and she still did not realize it.

There was a dead end. Before the two of them, there was another shelf, and the only way out was to return from where one had come. Aemond believed that was where his presence would finally be known, but the girl simply stopped in her tracks and angled her head to observe the high shelf. The prince was not entirely certain what he was doing. He had a very strict schedule that he imposed on himself. He only had a few moments in the day to read at his leisure, and he wasted that time trailing Lady Elinora.

All of a sudden, the prince watched as the girl stood on the tip of her toes and reached her arm up as high as she could to reach the fifth shelf of the bookcase. Elinora breathed in deeply and reached her arm higher as the book she wanted was out of reach. She then had the idea to jump and reach for it, carelessly bouncing and clutching a lower shelf to give herself leverage.

“What are you doing?” A cold and velvet voice asked. Elinora let out a startled squeal and quickly turned, only to be faced with Prince Aemond. She breathed heavily, her cheeks scarlet in fright and embarrassment and her jade eyes wide in fear. “M—my prince, I—“ Elinora breathed out as she battled through her shock and curtsied. “What are you doing?” The prince questioned once more, uncaring that he had frightened the girl.

“I was trying to reach a book,” She explained, her hands cold, reflecting the prince’s attitude towards her. Prince Aemond hummed, “Use a ladder; this is a silent room— you are disturbing the others who are trying to read.” The prince commented, Elinora’s cheeks further turning red in embarrassment. “I… I did not know where the ladder was,” She reasoned; if it were any other case, she would just agree and apologize, but she could not help but defend herself from the prince. She chewed on her cheeks as she watched his lone lilac eye roll at her in ridicule, and a quiet scoff left his thin, pink lips.

They stood there for a moment, neither speaking nor moving until the prince finally decided to return to his spot, but as he moved, Elinora spoke once more. “Might you help me, my prince… you could perhaps reach the book?” She asked delicately at the prince whose back was turned to her. But as he turned, there was an irritated look in his eye, which made her quickly regret her request. “Never mind— I apologize for interrupting you,” She quickly said and curtsied once more, bowing her head.

The prince gritted his jaw, his feet carrying him closer to the girl and his arm reaching upward to the fifth shelf. He took hold of a book and begrudgingly handed it to the girl who peered up at him. “I… It’s actually the one by the right,” She said sheepishly, offering an apologetic smile.

Aemond felt his eye twitch and felt further irritation as he saw her smile once more. He sighed, returned the book, and took the one she was pertaining to. Elinora took it from the prince’s hold, their fingers brushing. One’s hand was cold and calloused, the other warm and gentle. “Thank you,” Elinora smiled gratefully, and the prince only stared upon her with his hard and piercing gaze. The girl did not expect him to give her a verbal response, but perhaps a grunt of acknowledgment, but the prince stayed silent. Only turned and left the library, disregarding the book he was reading before Elinora came.

What gull she has! Instructing the prince to retrieve her book as if he were some squire! Aemond stomped through the hall of his home, his skin ablaze with irritation. Aemond looked toward his fingers that touched hers, disgust in his eye. As he reached his chambers, he sought out his water basin to wash away any reminder of the girl on his skin. But before his hand could touch the water, the prince halted, realizing how ridiculous he was being.

The prince groaned and pushed away the basin in frustration, letting it fall and break on the floor, the fragments of porcelain scattering along his feet. How could this girl get under his skin so quickly? This was the first actual encounter they had besides her giving the prince her smile as he passed by. Why, then, did she unnerve him so? Aemond doubted all; he was never one to trust anyone. It was expected of him to be wary of all who come to court, but never once had he reacted such as this.

Was kindness truly so foreign to him? Had he never truly seen it for him to doubt and distrust those who have even just an ounce of it? The prince shook his head, running his hand through his face as he slumped on his chair, rethinking and trying to find an answer as to why the girl truly bothered him. He found none.

Elinora sat in the gardens with the book acquired by the prince. Her legs swayed as she sat on the bench, and the butterflies flew over her head. “All alone, Lady Elinora?” As she heard her name called, she looked up to see another prince in her presence. “Good day, Prince Aegon,” She greeted and stood, curtsying before the eldest prince of the realm. “Where are your companions? A lady such as yourself should not be here all alone,” The prince smirked as he stepped closer to the girl, but Elinora slyly moved away.

She gave an awkward smile, but the prince was none the wiser, only taking it as an encouragement to step closer to the girl. “I am still yet to make acquaintances in this court, my prince.” She said, glanced behind her, and stepped away further. “Well… I could be your friend,” The prince maliciously smiled, further advancing on the girl who was intent on moving away from him. “That is very kind of you, my prince,” Elinora felt the back of her knees hit the bench she once sat upon; there was no room for her to slyly step away from the prince.

Aegon smirked at that. He used it to his advantage and almost flushed his frame against the girl’s, but Elinora was taken aback and landed atop the bench. “My prince… I— uh,” the girl looked around her surroundings for anyone to intervene as Prince Aegon’s proximity to hers was certainly growing inappropriate.

“Aegon!” A loud voice then boomed and saved Elinora from further distress. The girl looked up, lips parted as she was shocked by the seething sound and thunderous voice. She locked eyes with someone who stood above the gardens. A lilac eye that seethed viciously. Elinora was shocked; she had heard Prince Aemond’s voice only earlier, and it was so… calm. It was cold and calculated, but it was serene and quiet.

Elinora blinked as the younger prince turned to his brother, speaking to him in a language she could not understand. She glanced toward Prince Aegon, irritation evident on his face as he begrudgingly stepped back from Elinora’s personal space. He did not give a reply to his younger brother.

Prince Aegon’s gaze flickered back to the girl, reaching for her hand. “Until then… friend,” he muttered and placed an uncomfortable, wet kiss upon her knuckles that made the girl inwardly cringe. Elinora could not even smile anymore. She held her breath and waited for Prince Aegon to leave so she could wipe away his kiss on her skin.

She returned her gaze upward to where she last saw Prince Aemond, and to her surprise, he was still there, making certain that his brother had truly left. When their eyes met again, the smile returned to Elinora’s lips to show her thanks to the prince who had saved her from such a compromising situation. Just as always, the prince gave no acknowledgment and simply walked off.

“That was kind of you,” Aemond stopped in his tracks as he heard the voice of their family’s most trusted knight behind him. He faced Ser Criston, who glanced towards the girl who was once again reading peacefully in the gardens, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I was not being kind— as you’ve said, Helaena finally found herself a friend. It would be cruel to let our brother make her his new conquest and bereft Helaena of her companion… I was not being kind.” Aemond gritted, overly defensive.

Ser Criston Cole hummed and nodded but did not believe the prince’s words. “Very well then, there is no kindness in you. Now, come, the hand had tasked me to take you to him.”

A few days passed, and Elinora had not encountered Prince Aegon once again, much to her relief. But she did have numerous encounters with Prince Aemond, often passing by the halls or catching him in the gardens. He did not say a single word; he was just there, but Elinora always acknowledged his presence.

The Prince had no reason to be in the places where Lady Elinora was, but what motivated him to trail around the girl was the sole purpose of scaring away his brother. Again, he did not do it out of kindness or any regard towards the girl but rather to save his sister from embarrassment or anguish, as Aegon had decided to make Helaena’s new friend his prey.

Aemond stood in the gardens, pretending to observe shrubbery before him even if he had no care. When a butterfly flew past him, that was how he knew that Lady Elinora was near. He would never admit it, but he grew rather curious about the girl. Two questions pestered him: why do butterflies always surround her, and why does she always smile at him?

Before, if anyone would smile at Aemond, it was either because of cruelty as they were playing a jest on him or through pity as they felt sorry for his lost eye. But with Lady Elinora, it was neither. She simply smiled at him because she wanted to— but why?! Aemond huffed as a butterfly flew closer to his face, raising his arm to effectively swat away the flying insect. It fell to the ground.

“Oh,” he then heard the voice of the girl he was just thinking about. The prince turned, and he expected her to curtsy before him as she always did, but she unexpectedly went to his side and crouched to take the fallen butterfly into her hands. Aemond met her jade eyes, disbelief in her orbs at what he had done.

“My prince… I know they might irritate you, but you did not need to harm them,” She muttered as she inspected closer that flailing butterfly in her hands. Aemond rolled his eye, irritation quickly growing in him. He wanted to scoff at her in ridicule, but he refrained. “It’s just a butterfly,” Aemond said but was taken aback by the small scowl that was on the girl’s face. He had never seen her scowl before; he had gotten used to only receiving her smiles. Elinora could find no appropriate reply to the prince’s words; all she could do was walk away.

Aemond raised a brow as the girl turned her back to him, his feet carrying him to follow her wherever she may go. He followed her to the table where she and Helaena had their tea earlier that day, a squire at the ready. “Could you please get me a jar for this butterfly? And… and could you poke holes at the lid?” She requested, and the squire was quick to nod and carry out her request.

Aemond watched as she placed a sugar cube on a teacup and poured a small amount of water to make a concentrate. The prince once again rolled his eye as he realized what she was to do. She dipped her finger in the sweet water and delicately brought it towards the butterfly, who weakly clung to her sugar-coated digit. “Just let it be; it would have died by the end of the week anyway.” The prince sighed and stepped closer to the girl, her frown never leaving her face.

Elinora took in a deep breath. “That is precisely the point, my prince. They’ve only have a week to live, and you further took that short time away from them,” She said quietly, partly in disbelief of herself as she uttered the words. She had gotten used to always staying silent and letting such comments go about— never defending herself or the things she loved. Aemond was surprised once more; he half expected her to be passive. To let his comment be and not give him a reply.

The squire returned with haste with the jar Elinora had requested. The girl thanked him as he handed her the jar. Prince Aemond sighed in aggravation again as Elinora moved to pick the heads of cornflowers to make a bed made out of their petals in the jar. “You need not follow me, my prince… especially if you are only here to pass judgment on my actions,” She whispered the second part. Elinora rarely felt irritation— and anger even more rare, but as of now, she could feel it simmering inside her.

“I only pass judgment because what you are doing is quite… ridiculous.” Elinora froze; her eye twitched as she felt the simmering anger in her come to a full boil that was to spill over. She bit back her tongue, gently placed the butterfly in the jar, and closed it. Her back was turned to the prince, and she took a deep, calming breath before facing him. When she did, there was a cruel, teasing smirk on his lips. The first time she actually saw him without his usual scowl. “Good day, Prince Aemond.” She gritted and quickly walked away, leaving the prince to smirk to himself as he found great amusement at the girl who initially thought was only capable of smiling, scowling at him, and stomping away.

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seitmai · 3 days ago

Text

Many thoughts

You want more than just his hands. You want a lot more than his hands. And when you’re at home, and should be sleeping, or at the very least on your knees in prayer, all you can think about is his mouth between your legs. His hands on your thighs, pulling your legs further apart to accommodate the width of his body. They way he’ll rise over you, and he’ll lay his cock over your mound. Begging you to look and see just how deep he’s going to be.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Slinging the covers off your legs, you down at your modest nightgown. This isn’t good enough for Ari. Not that it’s ever stopped him before, but you don’t want to be hidden with him. You don’t want to look different with him. You want him to stare at you with wide eyes because you do have skin showing. Others could see, but you are only concerned about where his eyes are. You wanted to feel pretty with Ari. Look in the way that he makes you feel.

This is such a valid feeling!

“Did you choose those filthy books on purpose?” Of course she did. Those books gave you so many ideas, confused your brain, and made you long for something you didn’t fully understand. And Ari curses himself for how feral that thought makes him. You had a filthy mind from words alone, and he gets to nurture that part of you. Nobody else.

Whoops 🤭

“She’s a sexually frustrated woman, living in a community that tells her sex is bad — yeah,” She smiles, nodding her head proudly. “That woman needed to read those books, and she needed to know that her sexuality is beautiful. Now, how has that helped you out?” “One of them has a reverse harem,” Her mouth turns into an o, and then she smiles sweetly, only a little bit sorry. “You can’t do that. She,” Ari didn’t want to betray any of your trust, even if he knew his sister wouldn’t judge you. “She knew nothing. Multiple men is going too far.”

Oh come on Ari, those are some good books 😉

“Okay, so I won’t send the one with a gun kink,” Ari knows that Hannah’s mouth is turning into a wide grin. He knows how she is, and how she enjoys making him squirm.

Hahah love her 😂

“You’ve told me far too much information. Certain things as your brother I should not know,” Hannah shrugs. Her sole reason for living is to annoy her brother, and making him uncomfortable.

Sibling core 😂

“I kinda employ her. But she arrives before the stupid heads that work outside do. It gives me a chance to,” he smiles seeing your figure coming up the driveway. “Gives me a chance to twirl her around and smile before I softly kiss her lips.”

That's so cute 🥹🥰

He’s never had to teach, and still learn. He’s never really looked at sex as anything but pleasure. Your pleasure is the most fascinating thing to see, and feel. Coupled with the sounds that you try to hide. His favorite is how reactionary your body is because you just want to feel. But your ultimate curiosity is his drug. He can’t get enough. He doubts he ever will. But he will forever try.

Urgh he is so dreamy

“I don’t feel Amish anymore though,” it’s not so much as changing for him as it is, realizing that for most it’s just a stupid little dress. For you it’s taking back your womanhood that nobody ever gave you. You may hate the dress on your body, but you’ve never been given the choice of that dress. so you don’t know if it’s any better or worse than anything else.

I love that she gets to make this choice and (re)claim their power

“Can I get waxed today?” His eyes blow wide as he stares at you. “We’re going to town, yes?” “We’re going out of town,” he didn’t want to risk you getting caught, and prematurely being shunned by everything you’ve ever know. “Then I want waxed.”

Bold choice 🫡 I would not choose getting waxed as like my first thing haha

“Ari?” He hums as he wraps the bra around your body, “I just thought I would let you know that I’m always wetter when I’m around you,” he stands up straight just to give you complete eye contact. “Do you want to feel?” he shakes his head no, but you see he desperately wants to say yes. “Can I feel you?”

I love that she just says these things out loud🤭

“I’m trying,” he presses the softest kiss to your heated skin, and your back bows, arching into him, and his free arm goes around you to hold you up. He pushes your body more into his. “Ari,” your voice is almost a sob, and he moves his hand, rolling his body into yours. His bulge adding the slightest friction and pressure to your needy cunt. The absence of sex, making this so much more appealing to him. It’s the discovery of the action.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“I’m not really taking my clothes off. Just,” you exhale slowly. You’re going to be stepping out with the English, without looking like you’re Amish. It slowly sinks in. You start with the bonnet, and Ari looks towards you, gawking. You choose to ignore him, while you adjust to feeling a bit more exposed. You’ve never removed the bonnet since being with him. It feels foreign, and yet, right, “The road is in front of you.” Ari stops the truck abruptly, putting it in park. He sits back a bit more comfortably, and turns to look at you. “Ari, drive,” you don’t mean it. You want him to look. “I’m just looking,” his eyes go up and down your body, and you peer at him through your lashes. “C’mere,” he curls his finger, beckoning you to him, but also, you into him. Upon seeing him, he looks like the most tender predator. Wanting to relax his prey before he devours you, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Don't kiss and drive ☝🏻🤭

There’s so much to see. So much to taste. So much to hear. You’re just overwhelmed with everything that is going on. Smiling at Ari freely as you walk through the mall. Letting him hold onto your hip, or hand. Whatever he wants. You like that he’s an overly touchy, and affectionate person, and how alert he is of everyone around you. You didn’t even care if he asserted his dominance and claim on you.

They are both so proud of being together out and about 🥰

“You don’t have to change anything, you know that, right?” “I want to get some razors,” you respond with finality. Nobody is asking or telling. It’s what you want to do. The freedom to make decisions for yourself. The freedom to make the choice on what you want to do. And you want to shave your legs. At least once. Maybe try makeup. Maybe try writing your own stories. Or watching a movie. “I just want to try everything.”

Yes 👏🏻

“Only for you,” if you could pout, you would. All you know is you need relief. And your answers are fuel to Ari’s restlessness to just take you. He would spend on night on his knees worshiping at your altar if that’s what you wanted. He would pray for you, bless you, you are his religion at this point.

🤭🤭🤭

Your body stiffens as it heats up, “You look so pretty when you’re about to lose control. The pressure and pleasure keeps building. Climbing,” your body is on autopilot as sounds and words wail out of your mouth that you have never heard. “Not stopping up,” something in your body snaps as a raging euphoria courses through your veins like blood, “Until you jump off that peak. What a good girl,” he praises you for reaching the finish line.

His descriptions is so 😮‍💨🥵🤤

How I'm Looking At You, Part 6

Summary: you go on a date

Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, teasing, anticipation, fingering, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6.8K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

You can’t stop smiling. Smiling doesn’t even cover it. You’re always beaming from ear to ear. You can barely close your eyes without seeing Ari’s face. Feeling him all over your body. Obviously the sexy parts of your relationship are invigorating. But even without that, you still see his face, and hear his voice. His kindness, and his never judging you. Eventually in your daydreams you feel his hands all over you.

You don’t have to look, you can feel the weight of his heavy girth, and just know how deep he’s going to be. But you’re a curious kitten, and you have to look, and you chirp. Whimpering, and pawing at him because you don’t think you can take it all. And so softly, but with that deep timbre, he assures you, “We’ll make it fit.”

Everything is about the both of you. You sigh in frustration, pulling your hands out of your panties as you stare up at the ceiling. Nothing quite feels like Ari. Your fingers aren’t quite the same as his. And part of the appeal of having him with you is his breath, and his voice. But also, the weight of him. You haven’t had too much of him on you. Even just him leaning over you on the counter felt heavenly.

You’re glad Ari stopped things yesterday. Once you got away from him, and could breathe on your walk home, it felt right for him not to have had sex with you. Sex. Fuck. Rail. Rut. So many colorful words for just him coming into you. You wanted it. Wanted all of it. Wanted to explore all the things that the books talked about. And you also want to just listen to Ari about ’out there’.

The real world, outside of the community. It’s what you want. But every time you go out in public, you get gawked at because of the dress, and the bonnet. If you want to have a normal date with him, you can’t look like you.

You wanted to feel pretty with Ari. Look in the way that he makes you feel. He makes you feel all swarmmy and warm in your belly. This bubbly feeling is always in your gut, and then a deep need in your core. A rapid flutter of your nether region whenever you see him. You want him. And you enjoy him when he’s not making your brain fuzzy. He’s also taken up for you which is more than you could say about the so called men in your community.

It’s easy, while you’re laying in bed to think you’re going to just ride off into the sunset with Ari. But then you hear the snore of your father, and know that you could never come back and truly be welcomed again. If they even knew what you were doing you’d be shunned, and labeled a harlot. You were no good for marriage.

To Amish man. You weren’t the most desired to Amish men, and if they knew what you and Ari are doing, you would be useless. But you’ve never been useless to Ari. So that settles that. Ari was going to have all of you. For as long as he would have you. You sigh. If Ari grew tired of you, and you couldn’t come back to the community, would you be okay? You’re more educated than most of the women here. Definitely more read — but you didn’t want to tell them that.

Before you fully decide you’re ready to leave with Ari, you need to know more. You want to feel more. You desire all of him. But his heart is what you really want.

Ari pulls away from the window, scowling as he talks to his sister, “When is she getting there? And is it dark outside? You should drive her there, instead of her walking. And how are those books working out for you?” She giggles on the line, while Ari growls in frustration. “What?”

“You’re very strange,” Ari starts, narrowing his eyes as he stares out the window. His sister is too small with too big of a personality. But Hannah meant well, even if she was too personal. “What I can say is she reads all this, and has all these thoughts running through her head, and she’s just swimming in a sexual awakening. You didn’t have to go so hard on her.”

“Like which book?” She wiggles her eyebrows again, but she knows her brother has too many lines drawn when it comes to his sex life. For her, it even wasn’t about his sex life as much as realizing her brother is falling in love. He’s been given the time to fall because you haven’t jumped into sex too quickly.

“One of them has a reverse harem,” Her mouth turns into an o, and then she smiles sweetly, only a little bit sorry. “You can’t do that. She,” Ari didn’t want to betray any of your trust, even if he knew his sister wouldn’t judge you. “She knew nothing. Multiple men is going too far.”

“Okay, so I won’t send the one with a gun kink,” Ari knows that Hannah’s mouth is turning into a wide grin. He knows how she is, and how she enjoys making him squirm.

“Have you read this?” He doesn’t know why he asked. He just blurted it out, and now that it’s out there, he can’t take it back.

“Yes, It’s quite nice.”

“You’ve told me far too much information. Certain things as your brother I should not know,” Hannah shrugs. Her sole reason for living is to annoy her brother, and making him uncomfortable.

“Is she there yet? You know her schedule?” Ari nods his head even though his sister can’t see him. He knew everything. Except what you thought about when you are alone.

Hannah sits quietly for a moment. Smiling at knowing just how happy her brother is. “Did you get my package?”

“It wasn’t addressed to me,” he responds flatly. He’s ready to let her go so he can give you the undivided attention you deserve.

“Your girlfriend really wouldn’t like me sending that to her house,” Ari’s eyes go wide, gasping, “It’s not lingerie. Most people would just consider it a dress,” Ari moans as he imagines you in a summer dress. He didn’t even care what color, or what it was supposed to be called, but the idea of seeing so much of your skin on display for him, and having people around that could see, but could not touch.

“You are a horn dog. But yeah, the package is plenty of clothes for her.”

“Hannah, you’re very weird sometimes, but I appreciate you. Now, I’ve got to go,” she mumbles something in the background about Ari being a simp, and maybe he is. Maybe, just maybe, he found someone worth all of it. Worth going against everything he thought was who he is.

And When you walk through the door, he knows he’s been lying to himself this entire time. But only because it was never you. There was never a woman whose eyes shined up at him the way yours do. Never was there someone that had a smile that literally radiated throughout your body. And he has never picked someone up and twirled them around, and he does with you every single day. Never has had a woman fold herself into him, and giggle against his skin. It’s the simple things. It’s you.

“Good morning to you, too,” your laughter sings up at him. “So what are we doing today?”

“You’re not going to be working in the kitchen all day,” you cock an eyebrow up to look at him, and he bashfully looks away. You’re not quite sure why it’s so cute, but also empowering knowing that you make Ari feel fuzzy. “Oh, my sister, she sent you a package. I might know what is in there, and I just want you to know you don’t have to feel pressured.”

“Did she get me a butt plug?” Ari looks away again, shaking his head with a smile, “I was wondering how close you English people can get with your siblings. Can I?” You’d noticed the giant box on his couch, but chose to ignore it. As soon as Ari nods his head, you spring into action, rushing over to the box. You’re sure whatever you’re doing is a sin, but pure excitement and joy just make sense. Someone has sent you a gift, and you’re just showing your appreciation.

The more time you spend with Ari the more you realize that the out of touch nature of your community is way overrated. You’ve never felt so much at ease as you do with him. Free to be who you want to be. He allows you to explore things you may like. Your father isn’t a tyrant like some of the men here, but he had his flaws. Sure Ari does, too. You’re sure you’ll see them eventually. But Ari seems to have your best interest.

Opening up the box, you squeal. Taking a look back at him before lifting it in your arms. “They’re going to be on the east field?” The furthest field away from the house. You’d wondered how you were going to get clothes, especially to surprise Ari, but his sister took care of that for you. He gives you a nod, and you start towards the stairs. “Can we do something today?”

“What did you have in mind, Darling?”

“A date?” He grins, and nods his head. Laughing when you squeal again. “I’ll put this under my dress. I can take it off when we get away from here?”

“I’ll make breakfast,” you squeal again. Your feet tapping in excitement before heading towards your room. He was going to be out with you in public. Laying the box on the bed, you rifle through each piece. Running your fingers over the different fabrics, and colors. Marveling at how well they look against your skin. Ari is going to get to see you without a bonnet. He’s going to see your legs, and arms, and cleavage.

He was going to see you as his equal. Nobody is going to gawk at you, point their finger, and make you feel like a science experiment. You’re going to be normal out there. You’ve always been different, and it’s honestly time to admit that you didn’t belong here. Even without Ari. You haven’t been happy for a long time. You’ve been starving for an escape, and release.

Your fingers stop on a green frock. It feels right. It will cover a bit, so you won’t have to feel too uncomfortable for your first time in English clothes. You’ve read enough books to know the thin straps will make for an easy pull down. Not that you’re expecting anything. And Ari wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with. But it could be an option.

You inhale sharply, and let it release slowly. Starting to undo your dress before you lose your cool. Glancing into the mirror, you shriek. “Ari!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean — I didn’t want to startle you. Breakfast is finished cooking,” you bite at your lip, and nod your head. Looking at your reflection before submissively looking towards the floor, “You don’t have to change who you are for me.”

“Can I help?” He peers at you through his lashes, no bit of that predatory bear can be seen on him. It’s almost childlike, his question. Nodding your head, you spin around to face away from him. His fingers slide down the expanse of your spine. Leaving a trail of goose pimples in their wake, and making breathing more difficult.

It’s too quiet in this tiny room, and you’re sure that neither of you are in taking oxygen. He unfastens the safety pin, and lays it on the dresser. Pulling apart your dress, he watches the heavy fabric fall to the ground, and he finally exhales on your bare skin. The warmth of his breath heating up more than your skin. Peeking behind you, he’s in such deep concentration. Struggling to keep his hands by his side as he stares at you in just panties.

“I have to,” you gulp, wrapping your arms around your bare chest. “I need to put on the other — the other - other panties. Will you choose a set?”

He clears his throat, nodding rapidly as he turns to walk to your drawers. Before you had water to separate you and Ari. Now you have nothing. A bed mere feet away, and you feel so vulnerable in this amount of undress. “What about white ones?” You whisper, ‘yes’, and give him a smile as he holds them out to you, but you shake your head no. “What is it?”

“Can you put them on me?” You’re a little minx that has his cock throbbing, and swelling in his jeans. Instead of responding he sinks to his knees, and you spin around to face him, and Ari reaches up. Hooking his fingers around the panties that you’ve made, he pulls them down. Stopping when you're uncovered.

Ari presses a chaste kiss to your mound before his tongue darts out of his mouth. He runs the muscle through your split, and you whimper. Gripping onto his hair, you attempt to hold him there, but he pulls back, “Breakfast is getting cold,” smirking, he pulls those panties fully down, tapping on each foot for you to lift it out of the undergarment before he tosses them aside. “Let me see.”

His eyes roam up your naked body, stopping on your face as you drop your arms. Standing completely nude before him, and he’s fully dressed. The complete vulnerability and embarrassment adding to how utterly sexy this is. His cock may be pressing up against his jeans and ready to bury himself in you, but he's still in control. His eyes follow down every curve of your body before he holds open the panties. And you step into them.

His fingertips feel like a paintbrush moving up your skin, and once he covers your pussy back up, he presses the softest kiss against your covered flesh. “Ari?”

“Yes, Darling,” he keeps his face pressed up against your core, breathing your scent in deeply.

“Do you think I should shave?”

“I truly do not care,” that didn’t help.

“Would you show me?”

“How to shave your pussy?” You nod your head, among other things. You wouldn’t mind if he just helped you shave everything. He grunts as he stands, “Is that what you want to do?”

“I’d like to try it. Maybe I should wax it?”

“As long as you know, I don’t care. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“Can I get waxed today?” His eyes blow wide as he stares at you. “We’re going to town, yes?”

“We’re going out of town,” he didn’t want to risk you getting caught, and prematurely being shunned by everything you’ve ever know.

“Then I want waxed.”

“Okay,” giggling, you wrap your arms around his neck. “Let's finish getting you dressed. And we’ll go eat.”

“Darling, you’re killing me here. But go ahead. Touch me, and see just how your teasing ass has got me all riled up this early in the morning,” your eyes roll up to meet him. You’re constantly reminded of just how giant he is compared to you. How much he towers over you, and that thought alone makes you want to melt into him and let him hold you all day. “Go on,” he pleads.

Your hand lifts, and barely grazes over his bulge, causing his eyes to flutter. A haggard breath pushes out his lips, and you let your hand consume him. Laying your hand over the tight to the angry cock of Ari. You gulp at his size. The warmth. The pulsing. He is so heavy. Whimpering, you try to grip him through his jeans. Smiling when his mouth drops open. “You look pretty like that,” Ari opens his eyes to smirk at you.

“I don’t know if you can fit inside of me.”

“It’ll be difficult,” he whispers before cupping your pussy quickly, and you struggle to breathe, “Shh,” he steps closer to you, using his nose to pet over your neck. You lean, giving him easier access, “Breathe.”

“I’ll make it fit if I have to,” his voice is broken, and you pout up at him. Even just his breath on you is such a taunt of something you desire, and don’t understand. “Darling, you should get dressed, so we can eat, and go out for a long long day.”

“Okay,” he steps away from you too soon causing you to sway back and he chuckles. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I don’t think I’m the one being cruel. You’re standing there with nothing but a bra and panties. I know you’re soaked, heated, and throbbing. And you just hand your hand rubbing on my cock. Who is cruel now?” He stands there smiling at you as you reach for the dress you intend on wearing.

“I want this to be a surprise,” he bows, and leaves you alone to get dressed again. Wondering exactly what you’re going to look like. What you’re going to feel like. He is desperate for you, and also getting turned on more by the waiting. It’s an exploration of who you are, and what your body can do. It’s everything. And so much more than sex. It’s primal. It’s — love.

“Should you be watching the road?” He looks quickly back to the road, but his eyes switch towards you again. He is struggling to keep looking at the road when you’re in the process of shedding your Amish dress. It’s unfair that he can’t watch, “Ari!”

“What?”

Ari stops the truck abruptly, putting it in park. He sits back a bit more comfortably, and turns to look at you. “Ari, drive,” you don’t mean it. You want him to look.

“You’re distracting me by looking so beautiful,” your cheeks flare with heat, and you bashfully look away. Being able to feel his heated gaze on your back. The tension and heat is palatable in this small cab. “Are you going to take the dress off?”

Inhale. Exhale.

Turning your back to Ari, you peek over your shoulder, “Can you help again?” He responds by reaching up to the safety pin. Undoing it slowly before he slides his hands under the dress at the neck. Grazing over your skin as he removes the potato sack from your shoulders. His throat is so loud, gulping and trying to show some restraint with how much of your skin is showing.

Lifting up, you pull the ugly thing off you. Twisting straight in your seat, you stare out the windshield, struggling to look at him. “Should we not be driving?”

“I’m just looking,” his eyes go up and down your body, and you peer at him through your lashes. “C’mere,” he curls his finger, beckoning you to him, but also, you into him. Upon seeing him, he looks like the most tender predator. Wanting to relax his prey before he devours you, “I’m going to kiss you.”

“Okay,” and his lips slot against yours with no warning. Taking the last breath out of your body. It’s so soft and sensual, and you want more. You maneuver yourself onto your knees, inching your body closer to him. Closer. And then his hand pulls you harder, wanting you to be on top of his faster. He guides you to straddle his lap, and his hands settle on your hips, coaxing you to gyrate on him, and you take more. Rapidly rolling your hips, and moaning at the feeling.

Ari’s tongue tickles on your lip, and you open up. Granting him access, while your lungs scream for air that you don’t want to give them. You don’t want to waste any time apart from him. If you pass out from the lack of oxygen, it will be worth it.

“Get out of the fucking road!” The car behind you blares on their horn, and you jump away from him. Not embarrassed as much as you’re giggling. Your body is on fire. Slicked up, and humming from him, “Move!”

“I told you that you shouldn’t stop in the road,” Ari rolls his eyes as he puts the truck into gear. Letting it roll slowly down the gravel. “Do you think they know?” The last thing you want is to barely get out of the community, and someone see you grinding on Ari while making out with him.

“Nobody is ever going to know. And nobody should even care.”

You watch every woman here. Seeing the way that they walk, and talk. How they react with their significant other, but there is one thing that bothered you all day, apart from the awkward and exhilarating waxing. It had been a wonderful day with Ari smiling and laughing with you. Even getting to try on some more dresses for him. And still one thing remained.

“Do you have a bathtub in your house?” Ari’s brows lift up. His smile crooks to the side, and he nods his head.

“I also have running water in my house, but we don’t have to tell anyone that. Why are you asking, Darling?”

“I’ve never shaved,” he nods. When silence surrounds Ari, it’s a lack of not knowing what to say, or how to approach you. “Do you have razors at your house?” he shakes his head no. “We should get some razors. And the creamy stuff.”

“You don’t have to change anything, you know that, right?”

“I want to get some razors,” you respond with finality. Nobody is asking or telling. It’s what you want to do. The freedom to make decisions for yourself. The freedom to make the choice on what you want to do. And you want to shave your legs. At least once. Maybe try makeup. Maybe try writing your own stories. Or watching a movie. “I just want to try everything.”

Ari is his usual self. Smiling and nodding his head.

This could cut you. It’s supposed to rid your skin of hair. A little bit of hair. Not too much because it’s only scratching the surface. But how does one hold their leg? How are you supposed to do anything when the water feels this nice? And you didn't have to boil it, you just got in and it’s fascinating.

“Ari?”

“Yes?” His voice is way too close. He’s just on the other side of the door, and you’re in here with bubbles and a razor. The door is now his enemy, but it’s separating him from you, “Darling?”

“Can I cut myself with this?” He’d never forgive himself if you cut your leg.

“Yeah. Do,” you hear a slight tap on the door, due to his head pushing on it. “I mean would you — um like, what I mean to say is…”

“Can you help me?” The door opens immediately, and you thank the bubbles for covering you up. Between his look of shock, and his roaming eyes, you feel beyond exposed. And you like it, “That was quick.”

“I was leaning my head against the door. I’ve been a bit concerned,” he doesn’t look concerned. He looks horny. His pants tenting again as you lift your leg. “I’ve been very very concerned with your well being, and not knowing what to do, or how to help.”

This is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Bubbles cover your curves, while leaving just the right amount of skin exposed. And your leg propped up on the edge of the tub has him ready to blow a load just looking at you. He’s been on edge all day. First it was just removing the shell of a life you are ready to leave behind, and now it’s you looking like a siren, and guiding him to his death.

But today, it was the way that dress swished around as you walked. Or when you would bend over, and it would hike up your body. He slyly stood behind you so you could browse the shelves. Nobody else was going to look at you, but he did look cheekily. Imagined himself rucking the dress up to the swell of your ass. Maybe even press his hard length into your warmth. You made today difficult, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And then, your little minx self had to have a hot dog. Had to. You insisted. Did you understand how suggestive that was, and it shouldn’t have been? He was ready to push you to your knees, and make you swallow every inch of his cock just so he could see tears in your eyes.

He’s currently exhausted because his thoughts range from purely just watching you discover your likes and dislikes, to the depraved thoughts of him sinking into your wet heat for the first time. The tears, the stretch, the inevitable blood, and the way that you’ll look up at him in confusion and love. Feeling beyond full with his girth, but hopefully you feel the — the something from him.

He can’t wait until he gets to kiss all over your body. Spreading so much passion over your skin. Making you soft and pliable. Spending so much time getting you worked up and relaxed that you open up easier. The taste of your skin is going to be heavenly.

“Ari, just breathe,” you giggle, biting on your lip like the cutest devil he’s ever seen. Dipping his hand into the water, he gives you a little splash. His own laughter erupts in the bathroom. “Isn’t that what you tell me?”

“Yes, but you don’t need to be using my words of wisdom against me,” you have truly rendered him speechless, and he wants to do this with you every single day for the rest of his life.

“Does it bother you that I’m in this bathtub naked?” He shakes his head. There is nothing about this moment that is bothering him. Making his resolve a bit harder, yes. Making his body uncomfortable with the wait, of course. And he’ll continue to wait.

He looks at you through his lashes before he holds up a hand, “Gimme your hand,” you do as you're told, and he presses your soaked bubbly hand on his crotch, “Do you think it bothers me?”

“I think you should get in the tub with me,” his eyes slowly close, and he takes three calculated breaths. “Nothing has to happen. But wouldn’t it be easier for you to sit behind me and show me how to shave,” Ari breathes a few beats before he’s lifting the bottom hem of his shirt. Stepping himself, while you hungrily watch.

Standing up he undoes his jeans, and rips them down. You don’t cower away. You stay staring at his body in awe. Your eyes follow the lines of his chest, all the way down to his cock that is at full mast. “You’re not going to touch me just yet. Scoot up.”

You lean forward, and let him settle behind you before you melt into his chest, “This is nice,” he’s so soft as his hands explore your curves. Ari ghosts his lips over your temple. His ministrations are so slow and calculated. His nose nuzzles into your neck as his kisses up the sensitive column, “I’ve never taken this much time on a woman.”

“How many were there?”

“None matter now,” you try to remain calm. Try to not let it bother you. Would knowing make it any better? Men like Ari didn’t come around often. And sure you have his attention now, but how long would it last?

Lifting up his left hand out of the water, you play with each of his fingers. Using your own to outline the digits, to see how much bigger his hand is than yours. “Ari, I don’t know if I want multiple partners.”

“I just want you.”

You aren’t sure if he understands. You want him, and still need to protect your heart. “No, I mean — I don’t want to sleep around. I don’t think that I would want to,” you sigh. Just let it out, “I want sex to mean something. I want it, but I’m glad you didn’t give it to me the other day. I want just one person.”

“I can live with that,” twisting your neck, you move your vision over his face, “I told you, I’m not in a rush. I’m enjoying this more innocent part of our relationship,” there is nothing innocent about this. It’s raw, and heated, and vulnerable. “And there’s so many ways to get off without sex. There’s so many things for us to talk about. And I believe I said I’d shave your legs. Put your leg on the ledge.”

His cock is throbbing on your back, and your heart and pussy are beating against each other. The low slow vibrations are a stark difference to the rapid pace of your heart. Confliction doesn’t even begin to explain the battle between your brain, heart, and aching core. The way he spreads the creamy shaving gel on you is like a drug.

You yearn for him in ways you have never yearned for anything. Your brain is so fuzzy, and your body wants, no, needs friction. It starts grinding on him of its own accord, and his growl on your ear does nothing to dispel the feeling. It desires even more. “Let me shave you first, and then I’ll relieve you.”

Whining, you struggle to hold still. Letting Ari pull the razor so carefully up your leg before he cleanses it in the water, and you’re back to wiggling, and moving. It’s becoming too much for you to focus, “Ari, I can’t,” you sound like a whining child, but you can’t help it. It hurts, you want some relief so bad. You are quivering with so much need. So much desire to have him, even if you also want to wait.

Ari doesn’t answer with words, he lets your leg fall into the water, rinsing it clean before he places each leg on either side of the clawfoot tub. the calloused tips of his fingers ribbon down your body before falling between your legs. Instead of going directly where you need him, he teases the apex of your thighs. Blowing heated air on you when you whimper out his name.

“You’re so fucking needy.”

You take a sharp breath in as both hands move to your quivering cunt, and your body lifts up at the lightning that radiates from his fingertips. The intimacy of having him so close to you, and the only barrier is the water. It’s like you and Ari are finally fusing. You can think about the brain and heart parts later. Right now it’s just Ari.

“How is that?” He asks, pulling you apart, exposing your swollen clit, and he slowly rubs over it. “You like it?”

“Uh huh,” you liked it too much. Even if he’s going a bit too slow and gentle, he’s giving you where you need attention. Fulfilling too many desires, and not enough.

“You’re in a tub of water, and I can still tell just how slick you are. You’re so frustrated you can’t think, hmm?” You nod your head, and his movement is so swift you don’t even realize his finger circles your entrance, “It’s not enough, is it?” Judging by your actions, it’s not nearly enough, you’re body is screaming for his cock, but your mind is begging to go slower. He won’t be fucking you today.

“No. It’s not enough. Mmm!” His finger plunges into your warmth, and your body lights up. Your brain is blacked out, and your body is high as a kite. His palm flattens on your sensitive nub, while he moves himself in and out of you. “More!”

Adding another finger, you sob his name. Your body starts to follow his lead, pulling him in deeper. Faster. Harder. It could be crazy, but you want the burn, and stretch of feeling full with him. That added finger makes you feel so full of Ari, “More. Ahh!”

Ari adds a third finger with difficulty, and holds himself still. Kissing over your shoulders, and up to your neck while you fuck his fingers. Bucking over him just like nature wanted you to, “There you go. There’s my good girl. Taking three of my fingers just like a sweet little whore. And look at how needy your greedy little cunt is. Stretched so much for me,” you grind down harder. Desperately trying to race to the finish line, and never wanting it to stop.

It’s exhilarating that you get to make yourself feel like this. That Ari is giving you the ability to act on your desires. Your breasts bounce over the water, bubbles slosh over the side of the tub, and you just move faster. Envisioning what it will feel like to fuck him. What he will look like when your pussy is wrapped around his cock. Sleeving him in your velvety walls.

You get so close. Too close, and it overwhelms you. Panting, you stop. It’s enough. “Oh no, you don’t,” his fingers stab into with so much speed that your toes curl. Eyes rolling in the back of your head as you launch your body upwards. “You were so close. That wasn’t an orgasm. You keep going. Pushing yourself. Not stopping until you’re blind with pleasure, and forget how to breathe.”

He still fucks himself into you, but the movements are slower. Softer. He coaxes your body down from its high. Waiting for your vision to clear back up. Ari peppers kisses all over your shoulders before you start to relax. “What does an orgasm feel like for you?”

“I’ve never had an orgasm inside of you, so I don’t think I’ve reached my pentacle yet. It’s explosive, just as yours. It’s otherworldly. It’s the best drug. But while you're still relaxed, put one of your legs back, and let's shaving,” how he could think of something so silly at a time like this is beyond your thinking. But you do it.

You lift up your leg, and he smears the cream back on your body. Sliding the razor up your skin, and dipping it into the water to clean it. You could take a nap in his arms. Nothing has ever felt quite so comforting like being in his arms post orgasm. The tenderness to your core, makes you smile. Ari had been three fingers into you. And you pray that you continue to feel him later. Giving you a reminder that it wasn’t a dream.

“Shh,” he’s so soft in your ear, and you try to open your eyes; they’re just extra heavy today, and your head jars backwards, “Get some sleep. I’ll finish up here, okay?” You respond with a nod of your head, “Will you let me dress you?”

You give him a nod, but smirk, “Will you look at my pussy?”

“Of course I will,” your mouth quirks up into a sleepy smile, “I gotta see just how stretched out I had you, okay?” As vulgar as it sounds, you didn’t care if Ari took it upon himself to look at your pussy as he dresses you. You hum in response, hoping he understands that you’re completely okay with him doing it. You want him to look.

Want him to see what’s his.

All his.

Only his.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @rogersbarber @buckybarnesisdaddy @theinheriteddutchess @patzammit

@theolivia-graham @steviebbboi @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @kandis-mom

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reidmarieprentiss · 12 hours ago

Text

Hometown Glory

Summary: Moving back to your hometown was never your plan, and neither was running into the class clown Chip Taylor. But everything happens for a reason, right?

Pairing: Chip Taylor x nurse fem!reader

Category: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: brief domestic violence (not reader), fights, blood/cuts/gore, alcohol consumption, drunk side character, happy ending, poor sweet baby Chip going through it

Word count: 10.8k

a/n: i love chip so bad, he doesn't deserve anything bad that happened to him :( i'm really trying to get back into my writing headspace thank you all for being so patient with me <3333

main masterlist

You were finally a registered nurse, having recently finished your residency and finally securing your spot as a full-time hospital employee. After a long, grueling shift, you decide to swing by a convenience store to fill up your gas tank and treat yourself to something sweet before heading home.

The fluorescent lights of the store are oddly comforting as you hum a tune under your breath, scanning the aisles for the perfect snack. Your moment of quiet is interrupted by the chime of the bell above the entrance door.

“Sir?” the cashier’s voice calls out, tinged with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” comes the reply, though it’s far from convincing. The man’s voice is low and strained. “Yeah, I’m fine. Do you, uh, have any band-aids?”

“Uh—um, yes, but... you should really see a doctor—”

“No,” the man interjects firmly, his tone impatient. “I just need band-aids. Where are they?”

The cashier hesitates before pointing him toward an aisle, still looking unsure. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you abandon your search for a snack, rounding the corner to catch a glimpse of the man in need of first aid.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Chip?” you blurt out, incredulous. You can’t believe your eyes.

The man turns to face you, and you gasp. His face is a mess—covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. His disheveled appearance sends alarm bells ringing in your head.

“Jesus, Chip!” you exclaim, your voice filled with both shock and concern. “What the hell happened to you?”

His brows knit together, his expression shifting from confusion to discomfort. “Who—uh, how do you know me?” he asks, his voice cautious.

“Huh?” You tilt your head, studying his battered face with worry. “Chip, it’s me—Y/N. Y/N Y/L? We went to high school together.”

Chip blinked a few times, his bloodshot eyes squinting as he tried to focus on your face. His body language, even through the fog of pain, softened just a little as he registered your name.

"Y/N? Holy shit," he repeated, his voice raspy, either from exhaustion or something worse. He took a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

You stepped closer, your nurse instincts kicking into overdrive as you scanned his injuries. Blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, smearing down the side of his face. His knuckles were raw, and a nasty gash across his forearm oozed blood onto his torn sleeve. You could see bruising already forming along his cheekbone, and his lip was split.

"Chip, you look like you got hit by a truck. What happened?" you demanded, your voice full of concern.

"It's nothing," he muttered, brushing off your worry with a weak wave of his hand. He turned his attention to the shelf of first aid supplies, scanning for the bandaids as though they could fix everything. "I just need some bandaids, that's all."

"Bandaids? Are you serious?" You crossed your arms, a mixture of exasperation and worry bubbling in your chest. "Chip, you look like you need a hospital. Not bandaids."

He winced, his eyes darting back to you. "I don't need a hospital, okay? I just... got into a little fight. It's not a big deal."

"A little fight? Chip, you look like you lost a battle with a bear," you shot back, stepping even closer now, invading his personal space in that way only someone truly worried could get away with.

Chip’s attempt at a smirk faltered as he winced again, his injuries clearly causing him more pain than he wanted to let on. "Well, the other guy looks worse," he mumbled, his attempt at bravado falling flat under your sharp gaze.

"Great, you're still sarcastic," you said, rolling your eyes. "Come on, let me look at you."

"What? No. I'm fine." He started to back away, but you reached out and grabbed his uninjured arm, your grip firm but not harsh.

"Chip, I’m a nurse. If you don’t let me help you, you’ll probably pass out right here in this aisle. So unless you want the cashier to call an ambulance—which, trust me, she’s seconds away from doing—just sit down and let me take care of this."

He hesitated, glancing around the nearly empty store, clearly torn. His pride wrestled with the reality of his situation, the bruises and cuts screaming louder than his ego. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. But can we go somewhere else? I don’t want to make a scene," he mumbled, his voice low and almost pleading.

"Too late for that," you said, raising an eyebrow at the cashier who was still nervously watching the two of you.

"Please?" Chip grumbled, his tone softening just enough to sound genuine.

You sighed, relenting. "Sure, Chip. Come on." You quickly paid for your items, tossing them into a plastic bag, and led the way out to the parking lot.

Chip followed you out of the store reluctantly, his steps slow and uneven. You kept a close eye on him, glancing over your shoulder as you reached your car. His face was pale, and you could see the effort it took him to stay upright.

You glanced at him as he shuffled behind you, clearly in no condition to walk far. "Did you drive?" you asked, though you suspected you already knew the answer.

As you unlocked the doors, you motioned towards the passenger seat. "Get in," you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He hesitated for a split second, his pride clearly still putting up a fight, but the exhaustion and pain finally won out. He slumped into the passenger seat, letting out a low groan as he tried to find a position that didn’t make him wince.

You slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, casting him a sideways glance. "You really should’ve gone straight to the hospital," you said, your voice softer now that the two of you were away from prying eyes.

Chip gave a half-hearted shrug, wincing at the movement. "Yeah, well, hospitals ask a lot of questions. I wasn’t really in the mood for that."

You frowned, the wheels in your mind turning. "What kind of questions are you trying to avoid, Chip? Did you get into some kind of trouble?"

His jaw tightened, and he avoided your gaze, staring out the window instead. "It’s complicated," he muttered.

"Complicated?" You scoffed, pulling out of the parking lot. "Chip, you’re sitting in my car, bleeding and bruised, looking like you went twelve rounds with a heavyweight champion. I think you owe me an explanation."

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn’t ask for your help, Y/N."

"Too bad," you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. "Because you’re getting it whether you like it or not. Now, are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"

Chip glanced at you, his expression softening just a fraction. He seemed to weigh his options before finally speaking. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, okay? Got into a fight with some guys who didn’t take kindly to me being there."

"Where’s 'there'?" you pressed, your grip tightening on the steering wheel.

He hesitated again, his lips pressing into a thin line. "It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I'm fine. Or at least I will be."

You let out a frustrated sigh but decided not to push further. "Fine. We’ll deal with the details later. Right now, I’m taking you to my place so I can clean you up properly."

Chip’s head snapped towards you, his eyebrows furrowing. "Your place? No, no way. That’s not happening."

"And why not?" you challenged, arching a brow at him.

"Because it’s... weird," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Weird?" You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. "Chip, you’re sitting here covered in blood, and you think going to my place to clean up is the weird part? You’re unbelievable."

He muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he slouched deeper into the seat, clearly too tired to keep up the fight.

The rest of the drive was quiet, the only sound coming from the low hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of pain from Chip as you hit a bump in the road.

When you finally pulled up to your apartment, you parked and turned to him. "Come on, let’s get you inside."

Chip grumbled something inaudible but followed you out of the car, his movements slow and deliberate. As you led him up the stairs, you couldn’t help but shake your head.

"How do you always manage to get yourself into situations like this?" you muttered.

"Talent," he replied with a weak grin.

"Yeah, well, your 'talent' is going to land you in serious trouble one day," you retorted, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

Chip leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning your apartment. "Nice place," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Save the commentary for when you’re not dripping blood on my floor," you shot back, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

He chuckled softly, wincing as he eased himself down. "You’ve gotten feisty, Y/N."

"And you’ve gotten dumber," you replied, grabbing your first aid kit.

As you knelt in front of him, unpacking the supplies, Chip watched you quietly. For a moment, he seemed to forget his pain, his gaze softening as he took you in.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. "Don’t thank me yet. You’re going to hate me when I start cleaning those wounds."

He smirked, the faintest glimmer of his old charm shining through. "I already do."

"Good," you replied, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. "That makes this easier."

You grabbed a clean towel and some antiseptic from the first aid kit, shooting Chip a pointed look as you settled on the coffee table in front of him. "Alright, this is going to sting like hell. No whining allowed."

Chip raised an eyebrow, his lopsided grin making a reappearance despite his injuries. "When did you get so bossy? You used to be so sweet."

"And you used to be less of a shit talker," you shot back, soaking the towel with antiseptic. "Guess we both changed."

His smirk faltered as you pressed the towel against the gash on his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch. "Damn, Y/N. Trying to kill me?"

"Not my fault you’re a baby," you teased, your voice light but your hands steady. "Maybe if you’d gone to the hospital like a normal person, someone else could’ve done this for you."

He chuckled, though it was strained. "Yeah, but they wouldn’t have looked this good doing it."

You paused for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his. His grin was still there, faint but mischievous, and you felt your cheeks heat despite yourself. "Flattery isn’t going to make this hurt any less," you muttered, turning your attention back to his arm.

"I’m just saying," he continued, his tone playful now, "if I’d known my high school classmate turned into some kind of Florence Nightingale, I’d have gotten into trouble a lot sooner."

You snorted, dabbing at the cut with perhaps a little more pressure than necessary. "Florence Nightingale would have let you bleed out for being this annoying."

Chip winced, but he didn’t stop talking. "Annoying? Come on, Y/N. I’m charming. You used to have a thing for charm."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I had a thing for Pete’s charm, Chip. And you’re about one bad pickup line away from me calling an ambulance to take you out of my apartment."

He laughed, the sound genuine despite his discomfort. "Okay, okay. I’ll behave. But seriously, thanks for this. I mean it."

"Don’t thank me yet," you said, leaning in to inspect the cut on his eyebrow. Your knee brushed against his, and you felt his gaze shift, watching you more intently now. "I still have to clean this mess on your face. That’s going to be even worse."

"Yeah?" His voice was quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "I trust you."

You stilled for a moment, your breath catching at the sincerity in his tone. Meeting his eyes, you found something there that wasn’t entirely playful—something softer, more vulnerable. The moment lingered, the air between you suddenly heavier.

Shaking off the feeling, you forced a smirk and reached for another antiseptic wipe. "That’s your first mistake," you said lightly, hoping to break the tension.

Chip grinned again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "If this is what a mistake feels like, I think I’ll take my chances."

“Was that a pick up line?” You narrowed your eyes at Chip before you focused on cleaning his eyebrow, trying not to think about how close you were to him. His breath was warm on your cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. This was Chip, for God’s sake. The same Chip who’d spent half of high school cracking jokes in the back of class and charming his way both in and out of trouble.

"Doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would," he said after a moment, breaking the silence.

"See? Told you I’m good at this," you replied, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

"Good? More like amazing," he said, his grin widening as he leaned back against the couch. His eyes studied you carefully, flickering with something more contemplative than before. "Can’t believe you came back here after college."

"Why’s that?" you asked, keeping your focus on cleaning the stubborn cut near his cheekbone. You avoided meeting his gaze, sensing the weight behind his words.

"I don’t know," Chip said with a small shrug, though his voice held a quiet sincerity. "You always seemed like you were going to do bigger and better things. You had that spark, you know? Like you were meant for something more."

"Yeah, well," you murmured, letting out a soft sigh as you dabbed at the wound. "I wasn’t going to come back. But… things change."

His brow furrowed slightly at your tone, the playful energy between you dimming. "What changed?" he asked, his voice softer now, curiosity tinged with genuine concern.

You held your breath, your hands momentarily stilling as you thought about how to answer. The memories came rushing back, sharp and vivid, but you pushed them down, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mom passed," you said finally, the words quiet but firm. "Dad needed help."

The room fell silent for a beat, the hum of your apartment’s air conditioning the only sound. Chip’s expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something far more serious. "Y/N, I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry."

You shrugged, forcing yourself to keep busy as you finished cleaning the last of his wounds. "It’s okay. It was a while ago now. You know how it is—life happens, and you just… deal with it."

Chip nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering as he watched you work. "Yeah. But still, I’m sorry you had to go through that."

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, offering him a small, tight smile. "Thanks, Chip." You stood up, tossing the used antiseptic wipes into the trash. "Alright, you’re all patched up. Try not to pick any more fights for at least a week, okay?"

He chuckled, though the sound was quieter than before. "I’ll do my best. But no promises."

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the return of his humor. "Seriously, Chip. You should try and take care of yourself. I won’t always be here to clean up your mess."

He grinned, the warmth in his expression taking some of the weight off the conversation. "Good to know you’ve still got that fire in you. Some things don’t change, huh?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Maybe. But some things do."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you felt the air shift again, a quiet intensity settling between you.

"Yeah," Chip said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. "Some things do."

—

You sent Chip on his way that night after you finished cleaning him up. Something about him lingered in your mind, pulling at threads of memory and curiosity. He wasn’t the same Chip you remembered from high school—not entirely, anyway. Back then, he was the class clown, always cracking jokes and pulling pranks, his antics loud enough to mask whatever deeper, darker truths he thought no one could see. You noticed, of course. You always did.

You’d thought he was cute back then, with his messy hair and crooked smile, but now? Now, he was handsome in a way that made you pause—a rugged, lived-in kind of attractiveness that spoke to years of experiences, good and bad.

In high school, you never gave much thought to what might’ve been. You’d always had a boyfriend back then—Pete Welsh. Pete, with his soft-spoken kindness and steadfast loyalty, had been the sweetest guy you’d ever known. But Pete never wanted to leave Amarillo. He was content with the small-town life, dreaming of raising a family on the same quiet streets where he grew up.

You, on the other hand, had dreams of moving far, far away. The big city called to you with its bright lights and endless possibilities. But then… Mom got sick.

Everything shifted. Plans for the future faded, replaced with long nights by her bedside and endless days balancing work and care. Amarillo, for all its limitations, became your entire world.

And now, here was Chip, standing on your front steps with that same crooked smile but a different air about him. It made you wonder what had changed for him in all these years—and what was still the same.

“What are you doing here, Chip?” you asked, exasperation clear in your tone as you stood in the doorway. Your arms crossed instinctively, but your gaze softened as it traveled over him.

He looked down, avoiding your eyes as his hands fidgeted, wringing together awkwardly. “I—uh, got kinda… cut,” he admitted with a sheepish laugh. The sound was weak, forced, and trailed off quickly as he winced, one hand clutching his side.

Your eyes immediately darted to the hand pressed against his ribs. “Cut?” you echoed, your exasperation melting into concern. “Chip, what did you—”

“Can you help me out?” he interrupted, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and hope. His lips pulled into a half-smile, trying to diffuse the tension, but the faint pallor of his face betrayed him.

You sighed, already stepping back to let him in, your mind racing with questions. “Fine. Get in here before you bleed all over the porch.”

He shuffled past you, careful not to brush too close, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his steps were slightly uneven, his posture hunched just enough to protect his injured side.

“Let me see,” you said, your voice firmer now as you pointed to the kitchen. “Sit down, and don’t try to charm your way out of explaining this.”

Chip shot you a lopsided grin despite the situation, but he obeyed, lowering himself carefully onto the nearest chair. “I’d never dream of it.”

But of course, he would dream of it. Chip expertly dodged every single question you threw at him, deflecting with vague answers and cheeky grins that only served to wear down your patience further.

“Chip,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “You can’t keep showing up here, okay? What if you’re in real danger and I’m not home?”

“You’re home right now,” he countered with a sheepish grin, his tone light and teasing, as if his very presence wasn’t bending every boundary you’d ever set.

“You got lucky,” you shot back, your voice sharper now, though the flicker of concern in your eyes softened the words.

His grin faltered for a moment, his gaze darting to the floor before returning to you. “Yeah, I guess I did.” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, like he wasn’t just talking about tonight.

You shook your head, trying not to let his sudden shift tug too hard at your heartstrings. “Seriously, Chip. You can’t keep doing this. What’s going on? Why do you keep coming to me?”

For a moment, you thought he might actually answer, his mouth opening as if to speak. But then he just shook his head and leaned back in the chair, the grin creeping back onto his face like armor. “Guess I just like the company.”

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and worried. “Chip—”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he interrupted, giving you a wink that did nothing to ease your concerns. “I’m tougher than I look.”

You sighed again, the weight of his stubbornness settling heavily on your chest. “One of these days, your luck’s going to run out, Chip,” you muttered, turning to grab the first aid supplies.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice quieter this time. “But not tonight.”

—

It kept up like this. Chip kept showing up, like clockwork, and you—against all odds—were always magically home.

It was uncanny, almost unsettling, as if he had some sixth sense for your presence. No matter the time, no matter the day, he’d appear at your door, sometimes with a scrape, sometimes a bruise, and sometimes just that lopsided grin that made you want to roll your eyes and smile at the same time.

And despite your best efforts to keep your walls up, you always let him in.

Even when you answered the door with your arms crossed and an exasperated sigh. Even when you scolded him for not going to the hospital or told him he was too reckless for his own good. Even when you warned him, time and time again, that this wasn’t sustainable—that he couldn’t keep running to you like this.

But you still opened the door, every single time.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, a mixture of hope and mischief that felt impossible to ignore. Or maybe it was the quiet moments in between—the ones where he let his guard down, even if just for a fleeting second, and you could see the boy he used to be, buried beneath the man life had clearly roughed up.

Whatever it was, you let him in, even when you told yourself you wouldn’t. And Chip? He kept coming back, as if he knew. As if he could sense that, no matter what you said, you’d never actually turn him away.

You sat across from Chip at the kitchen table, the two of you nursing mugs of coffee long after the sun had gone down. The evening had settled into an easy rhythm, the kind where conversation flowed naturally, unhurried by the clock.

“Man, high school feels like it was a hundred years ago,” you said with a laugh, swirling the last bit of coffee in your mug.

“Pete Welsh and you were practically glued at the hip back then,” Chip chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a teasing grin. “I thought for sure you two were going to get married and have that perfect little white-picket-fence life.”

You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his smirk. “Pete Welsh, huh? I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

Chip chuckled, tilting his head. “Mhm. Mr. Perfect Hair and Letterman Jacket? What happened to him, anyway?”

You shrugged, a wry smile crossing your face. “Last I heard, he’s still in Amarillo. Married some sweet girl he met at church, has a couple of kids now. He’s doing great.”

Chip nodded, a playful glint in his eye. “Sounds about right. Bet he’s still mowing his lawn in crisp khakis and a polo shirt, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, absolutely. That’s Pete to a T.”

Chip’s grin softened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “You ever think about how different your life would’ve been if you’d stayed with him? Settled down here, had that picket fence and all?”

You paused, swirling your coffee as the thought settled in. “Honestly? No. Pete’s a great guy, but he always wanted to stay, and I… I needed to see what else was out there. Staying in Amarillo would’ve been the easy choice, but it wouldn’t have been the right one for me.”

Chip hummed, nodding slowly. “Makes sense. You were always the type to chase something bigger.”

You smiled at that, tilting your head. “And what about you? You’ve done plenty of chasing yourself, haven’t you?”

He laughed, but it was softer now, almost wistful. “Yeah, I guess. Though I think I was always chasing the wrong things. Or, you know… the wrong people.”

There was a weight to his words, and the way his eyes met yours made your breath hitch. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chip hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… I spent all of high school with this dumb crush on you, watching you and Pete from the sidelines...”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Chip…”

He shrugged, his smile crooked and a little shy. “It’s not a big deal. You were way out of my league back then. Still are.”

Your chest tightened. “You never said anything.”

“Would it have mattered?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes vulnerable.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. A mix of emotions swirled in your chest—nostalgia, surprise, and something undeniably warm.

“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, meeting his gaze.

Chip smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “Guess we’ll never know, huh?”

You laughed lightly, the moment settling between you with a weight that neither of you was ready to unpack.

—

“Goddammit, Chip!” Liza screamed, her voice shaking with fury as she grabbed the nearest heavy object—a ceramic vase—and hurled it at him. It shattered against the wall, narrowly missing his head. “We need money for fucking rent!”

Chip flinched, shrinking into himself as he backed up against the kitchen counter. His hands raised instinctively in defense, his voice stumbling over itself. “I—I know, Liza, I’m sorry. Jo—John said he’d have more work for me soon. I’m trying, okay?”

“Trying?” Liza’s laugh was sharp and bitter, slicing through the tension like a knife. She took a step closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “Well, you’re not trying hard enough! Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking moron, you could get a real job! You ever think about that, genius?”

Chip looked away, his shoulders slumping further under the weight of her words. “I’m doing the best I can,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, the frustration and shame threatening to choke him.

“Well, your ‘best’ isn’t good enough,” she snapped, her hands gesturing wildly. “Do you think the landlord’s gonna take your excuses as payment? Do you think I’m gonna keep putting up with this shit? Get your act together, Chip, or we’re both screwed!”

Chip swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he struggled to find something to say that wouldn’t make things worse. But deep down, he knew—whatever he said wouldn’t matter. Liza’s anger had reached a boiling point, and he was the easiest target.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, though the words felt hollow even to him.

“You better,” Liza hissed, glaring at him one last time before storming out of the room, leaving behind the broken vase and a silence that felt heavier than anything she could have thrown.

Chip stood there for a moment, staring at the shards on the floor, his jaw tight as he tried to push down the familiar ache in his chest. Then, with a heavy sigh, he grabbed a broom and started sweeping, the weight of Liza’s words settling deep into his bones.

—

The two of you were sitting on the worn-out couch in your living room, the kind of night that didn’t need anything special to feel perfect. Chip had just told a ridiculous story about one of his old "get-rich-quick schemes," and you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“Oh my god, Chip,” you said between giggles, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “How do you even come up with this stuff? Did you seriously think selling glow-in-the-dark socks was going to make you a millionaire?”

“Hey,” he said, trying to look indignant but failing miserably as a grin tugged at his lips. “The market research was solid. I just didn’t account for, you know… shipping costs.”

You burst out laughing again, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable!” you teased, and in a playful burst of energy, you gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

The moment shifted instantly. Chip flinched, his body jerking back like he’d been hit much harder. His grin disappeared, replaced by a fleeting look of alarm that he tried to mask as quickly as it came.

Your laughter died in your throat, your hand frozen mid-air as your brain tried to process what just happened. “Chip?” you said softly, concern creeping into your voice.

He forced a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, reflex,” he said quickly, rubbing his shoulder even though your punch had been more of a tap. “Guess I’m just jumpy today.”

You didn’t buy it. Your brows furrowed as you tilted your head, studying him carefully. “Chip… did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” he said, waving you off, his voice too quick, too dismissive. “It’s nothing, really. Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you said, your tone firm but gentle. “You flinched like I was about to deck you. What’s going on?”

Chip sighed, his shoulders sagging as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t meet your gaze, instead staring down at his hands as he fidgeted nervously. “It’s… it’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said quietly.

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. Slowly, you reached out, placing a hand on his knee, offering a touch of comfort. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steady and calm. “It’s me. You can talk to me, you know?”

“I said it’s nothing, okay!” Chip snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved your hand off his knee.

The movement startled you, and you flinched, your eyes widening. For a moment, the room felt too small, the air thick with tension. You weren’t used to this—being yelled at by the sweet, goofy man who had spent the last hour making you laugh.

You pulled back slightly, your hand hovering uncertainly in your lap. “Chip…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His face fell almost instantly, the anger and frustration draining away as quickly as it had come. He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping under the weight of regret. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “I wasn’t trying to push you,” you said gently, though your voice trembled slightly. “I just—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice thick with guilt. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with remorse. “I didn’t mean to yell. I just… I don’t know how to talk about this stuff, okay? I’m sorry.”

You studied him for a moment, the tension in your chest softening as you saw the pain etched across his face. Slowly, you nodded, your voice tender as you said, “It’s okay, Chip. But you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

He sighed heavily, his hands rubbing over his face. “It’s not that easy,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“I know it’s not,” you replied, leaning forward slightly, your tone quiet but steady. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice barely audible.

You gave him a small, tentative smile, silently hoping he’d let you in someday. Until then, you’d wait, no matter how long it took.

“How about we take a walk? Clear our heads?” you suggest softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

Chip looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, then nods. Without another word, the two of you step outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You walk side by side down the quiet street, your footsteps the only sound breaking the stillness.

For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, like both of you are waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Chip breaks it.

“I must look like a real winner, huh?” he says, his tone self-effacing, his words laced with a bitter humor that makes your heart ache.

You glance at him, his profile barely visible in the dim glow of a streetlamp. “What do you mean?”

He huffs out a laugh, the sound quiet and almost bitter. Gently, he nudges his shoulder into yours, a small, tentative gesture. “First, I need you to clean me up. Over and over. And now I can’t even make it through one chat without ruining it.”

“Chip…” you say softly, shaking your head. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. “Didn’t I? I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” you admit, your honesty making him glance at you sharply. “But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Chip stops walking for a moment, looking down at you as if searching for something in your expression. “Yeah,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter. “You are.”

You offer him a small, tentative smile, your hands brushing together as you both start walking again. “We all have bad days, Chip. It doesn’t mean you’re a lost cause.”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Not always,” you admit, nudging him lightly. “But I figure as long as you keep showing up, I’ll keep trying.”

Chip looks at you then, something soft and unreadable in his eyes. For the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease just a little. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

You don’t respond right away, letting the moment hang in the cool night air. Instead, you glance up at the stars, hoping he feels even half as much comfort in your presence as you do in his.

—

Chip doesn’t come around for a few weeks after that night, and though you tried not to worry, the silence gnawed at you. When he finally shows up, it’s worse than you ever imagined.

The knock at your door is soft, almost hesitant. When you open it, the sight of him makes your stomach drop. He’s standing there with a deep gash running along his cheek, blood crusted at the edges, and his eyes red and puffy like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Chip!” you gasp, your heart pounding. “What happened? Get in here, now.”

He tries to offer a weak smile, but it falters under the weight of whatever he’s carrying. “It’s not that bad,” he mutters, wincing as he speaks.

“Not that bad?” you echo, incredulous. “You’ve got blood on your face, Chip. Sit down before you fall over.”

Without waiting for him to argue, you guide him to the bathroom, your hands firm but gentle as you steer him. He sinks down onto the edge of the tub, his shoulders slumping, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

You position yourself between his legs, tilting his chin up with careful fingers so you can get a better look at the wound. “Hold still,” you murmur, your tone softer now.

He exhales shakily, his breath warm against your wrist. “Sorry,” he says quietly, his voice thick with guilt.

“Don’t apologize,” you say, grabbing a clean washcloth and wetting it under the faucet. “Just tell me what happened.”

Chip hesitates, his eyes darting away from yours. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, his hands gripping the edge of the tub tightly.

“It’s not nothing,” you counter, your voice steady but firm as you press the damp cloth gently against his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t just show up with a gash like this for no reason.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his jaw clenching under your gentle touch. “Liza and I got into it again,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “She… she had a bottle. Things got out of hand.”

Your hands freeze mid-motion as the name registers. “Liza?” you repeat, stepping back slightly, the washcloth dangling in your hand. “Who’s Liza?”

Chip’s eyes widen briefly, like he hadn’t meant to let the name slip. He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “She’s, uh… my girlfriend,” he mutters, the words heavy with shame.

“Your girlfriend?” you echo, the word catching in your throat. “Chip, are you telling me your girlfriend did this to you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his hands gripping the edge of the tub so tightly his knuckles turn white. Finally, he nods, barely meeting your gaze. “Yeah,” he says softly. “She’s got a temper, and sometimes… I just—I make her mad, you know?”

You stare at him, disbelief and anger swirling in your chest. “Chip, no,” you say firmly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm. “This isn’t about you making her mad. This is about her. This isn’t okay.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It’s not like that all the time,” he says defensively. “She’s… she’s just going through a lot. I’m trying to help her.”

“Help her?” you say, stepping closer again, your voice rising slightly. “Chip, look at yourself. She’s hurting you. How is that okay?”

“I can handle it,” he insists, though his voice wavers. “It’s not a big deal.”

You crouch down in front of him, your hand resting gently on his knee. “It is a big deal,” you say softly but firmly. “You don’t deserve this, Chip. No one does.”

He looks at you then, his eyes glassy and full of conflict, as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe you. For a moment, the room is silent except for the hum of the overhead light, the weight of his pain filling the small bathroom.

“This isn’t okay, Chip,” you say, your voice firm but trembling with emotion. You grip the edge of the counter behind you, your knuckles white, steadying yourself as you speak.

“I can handle it,” he insists, his tone hollow and unconvincing. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed on the floor like he’s trying to will the words into being true.

But you won’t let him sink back into that silence, not this time. “Handling it isn’t enough,” you counter, your voice soft but unyielding. “You deserve better than this, Chip.”

He lets out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. I’ve tried… leaving, fixing things, I’ve tried everything. And every time, it just gets worse.”

Your heart aches at the rawness in his voice, the hopelessness that seeps through every word. Slowly, you kneel in front of him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Chip, listen to me,” you say gently, placing your hands on his knees. “You don’t have to fix this alone. You don’t have to keep going back. There are people who care about you—I care about you. Let me help.”

His lips press into a thin line, his jaw clenching as his emotions swirl just beneath the surface. “What if it doesn’t work?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “What if I can’t get away?”

“You can,” you say firmly, leaning closer. “And you will. But you have to let someone in, Chip. You have to let someone help you.”

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Why do you care so much?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You squeeze his knees gently, your eyes locked on his. “Because you deserve better,” you say simply. “And I’m not going to let you believe you don’t.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, slowly, he nods, the tiniest flicker of hope breaking through the despair in his eyes. “Okay,” he whispers, the word so faint you almost don’t hear it.

But you do, and it’s enough. It’s a start.

—

“Where have you been?” Liza slurred drunkenly, her voice thick and venomous as Chip quietly closed the trailer door behind him. She was sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of something strong dangling from her hand, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Uh, nowhere?” Chip replied timidly, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to avoid her gaze.

Liza snorted, her lips curling into a sneer. “What’s her name?” she shot back, leaning forward unsteadily. “Little Miss Nowhere?”

Chip froze, his throat tightening as he searched for something—anything—that might diffuse the situation. “It’s not like that, Liza,” he said carefully, his voice trembling just enough to betray his nerves.

“Oh, it’s not like that?” she mocked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You think I’m stupid, Chip? You come sneaking in here like some guilty teenager, and I’m supposed to believe you were just out… what? Taking a walk?”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he mumbled, stepping further into the room, though he kept his distance from her. “I just—needed some air. That’s all.”

“Air, huh?” Liza spat, taking a swig from the bottle and setting it down hard on the coffee table. “Funny how you always seem to need air somewhere else. Who is she, Chip? Huh? Some charity case who feels bad for you?”

“Stop, Liza,” he said softly, his voice pleading. “You’re drunk.”

“Oh, don’t you dare tell me what I am,” she snapped, standing up abruptly and swaying slightly. “You’re the one sneaking around, lying to me, and I’m the problem?”

Chip’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his chest tight with frustration and fear. “I’m not lying to you,” he said quietly, though the exhaustion in his voice was unmistakable.

“Sure you’re not,” she hissed, stepping closer, her eyes locked onto his. “But let me tell you something, Chip—you think you can just waltz in and out of here, running to whoever she is? You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

He flinched at her words, his head dipping as he avoided her gaze. “I’m tired, Liza,” he said softly. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

“Yeah?” she barked, her voice rising. “Well, tough shit, because I’m not done.”

But Chip didn’t respond. He turned and walked toward the bedroom, his shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. Behind him, Liza’s words kept coming, sharp and slurred, but he didn’t look back.

As he closed the door behind him, he leaned against it, his chest heaving with shaky breaths. The fight had drained him, but your voice—steady and kind from earlier—echoed faintly in his mind.

“You don’t deserve this, Chip.”

And for the first time, he wondered if you might be right.

—

It was like clockwork, hearing the knock on your door. You didn’t think twice before opening it, expecting the usual sheepish face and bruises.

“What is it today, Chip—” you began, but the words died in your throat as you froze.

It wasn’t Chip. It was Liza.

Before you could react, she pushed her way inside, her movements unsteady but fueled by a drunken determination. The sharp, acrid scent of alcohol clung to her, and her eyes narrowed as they darted around your space, taking in every detail.

“So you’re the little twinkie my Chip keeps running off to see?” she sneered, her words slurred but cutting.

“What? Um, no,” you stammered, panic rising as you took a step back. “We’re just—uh, we’re friends.”

Liza let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and humorless as she staggered toward you, her eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. “Friends?” she spat. “Don’t give me that. I wasn’t born yesterday. You think I don’t know what’s going on?”

Your chest tightened, your heart pounding as you tried to stay calm. “Why are you in my home?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your attempt at firmness.

Liza ignored the question, her gaze sweeping the room again before settling back on you. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” she hissed, taking another step closer. “Playing the good little Samaritan, patching him up, feeding him your pity. You think you can just take him from me?”

“No one’s trying to take anyone,” you said, your voice steadier now as you held your ground. “Chip’s my friend, that’s all. But if you’re here to cause trouble, you need to leave.”

Liza’s sneer deepened, her body swaying slightly as she crossed her arms. “Trouble?” she mocked. “Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of it.”

Your stomach churned as she stared you down, her presence filling the room with a volatile energy that made it hard to breathe. “Liza, I’m asking you nicely. Get out,” you said, your tone firmer now.

But she just laughed again, the sound colder than before. “Or what?” she challenged, leaning in closer. “You gonna run to Chip? Beg him to save you from big, bad Liza?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing for how to handle this without escalating things further. “No,” you said firmly, your voice low and measured. “I don’t need anyone to save me. But you need to leave. Now.”

Liza’s expression faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing over her face before she straightened up, wobbling slightly. “Fine,” she snapped, turning toward the door. “But you’d better stay away from him. Because if I find out you’re messing with what’s mine…”

She didn’t finish the threat, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air as she stumbled out of your home, slamming the door behind her.

You stood there for a moment, your heart racing as you tried to process what had just happened. Finally, you locked the door, leaning against it as you exhaled shakily.

And all you could think was, What the hell has Chip gotten himself into?

The rest of the day was a blur, the encounter with Liza leaving a sour knot in your stomach. That evening, for the first time in weeks, you weren’t home when Chip came knocking. Work had called, and with bills looming, you couldn’t afford to say no.

When Chip arrived at your door, his knock was softer than usual, almost hesitant. He waited, shuffling on the porch, but there was no answer. He tried again, his hand lingering on the doorframe as he glanced around. Still nothing.

Unsure of what else to do, Chip slumped down onto the steps of your porch, his legs stretched out as the weight of everything pressed down on him. The fight with Liza, the exhaustion from trying to keep it all together, the growing guilt over dragging you into his mess—it all swirled in his head, loud and unrelenting.

He hadn’t meant to stay long. Just a few minutes to collect himself before heading back to the chaos. But the cool night air and the relative safety of your porch lulled him into stillness, and before he knew it, his eyes grew heavy.

By the time you got home, the clock was nearing midnight. You were juggling your keys and a bag of groceries when you noticed the figure curled up on your porch. Your heart skipped a beat before recognition settled in.

“Chip?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He stirred at the sound of your voice, groggy and disoriented. “Hey,” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and concern. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I did,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep. “Your phone went straight to voicemail. Thought I’d wait for you.”

Your chest tightened as you took in the sight of him—his slumped posture, the faint bruise blooming on his jaw, the weariness etched into every line of his face. You crouched down beside him, setting your bag aside. “Chip, you can’t sleep on my porch.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he admitted, his voice low. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your frustration melted at the vulnerability in his tone, replaced by a wave of empathy. “Come on,” you said gently, standing and reaching for his hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

Chip hesitated, glancing up at you, his eyes glassy and unsure. But when you offered him a small, reassuring smile, he let out a soft sigh and took your hand.

The next morning, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the air. You hummed softly to yourself as you worked in the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder every so often to make sure Chip hadn’t snuck off. But there he was, sitting at the small table, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired, looking more like a lost puppy than the rugged man who had crashed on your porch.

When you placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, he blinked at it, then up at you. “You didn’t have to do this,” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t quite know how to hide.

“Just eat,” you said with a small smile, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But when he picked up a piece of bacon, his hands trembled slightly. You noticed the way his eyes glistened, though he quickly looked down, blinking hard as if the sight of breakfast had somehow betrayed him.

You leaned against the counter, watching him take a hesitant bite, and the words spilled out before you could second-guess them. “Move in with me.”

Chip froze mid-bite, his eyes widening as he choked on the bacon. He coughed, grabbing his coffee to wash it down, and stared at you like you’d just grown a second head. “What?” he croaked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t want you going back to her,” you said simply, your tone steady despite the racing of your heart. “You basically live here already, so why not make it permanent?”

“Y/N…” he stammered, setting his fork down as his brow furrowed. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” you replied, stepping closer. “I don’t want you in that situation anymore, Chip. You don’t deserve it.”

“I can’t pay much in rent,” he said, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I own the house, Chip. You’re not paying rent. Just… contribute when you can, okay? Groceries, light bills, whatever. This isn’t about money.”

He stared at you, the conflict in his eyes giving way to something softer, something that looked a lot like hope. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” you said with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone, Chip. You don’t have to go back to that trailer.”

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze dropping to the plate of food you’d made for him. Then he nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said finally, his voice shaky. “I’ll stay.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relief washing over you. “Good,” you said with a small smile. “Now finish your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Chip nodded again, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he picked up his fork. But this time, there was a faint glimmer of something in his expression—a flicker of trust, of gratitude, of believing.

—

That weekend, you decided Chip deserved a break—a real one. So, you took him out for a round of celebratory drinks at your favorite local spot, a small, cozy bar with dim lighting, a jukebox that played everything from old country to classic rock, and a bartender who knew how to pour a drink just right.

For the first time in a long while, there was no drama, no blood, no tension hanging over your heads. Just you and Chip, relaxed and laughing like nothing else in the world mattered.

��Okay, okay,” You said, your voice loud enough to be heard over the faint buzz of conversation and clinking glasses. “But you’re seriously telling me you thought you could just jump off the roof into a pool without calculating the distance first? That’s, like, Physics 101!”

Chip rolled his eyes, tipping his glass toward you. “Hey, I was fifteen, and I thought I was invincible. Plus, I didn’t think anyone was going to snitch to my parents about it.”

You laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, and Chip couldn’t help but smile. It was good to see you like this, guard down, shoulders loose, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck,” You teased, taking a sip of your drink. “You’ve got guts, though. I’ll give you that.”

“Damn right, I do,” He shot back with a grin, raising his glass. “Here’s to bad decisions and living to tell the tale.”

You clinked his bottle against your glass, his smile softening as he looked at you. “I’ll drink to that,” you said, your voice quieter now.

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the conversation flowing easily as you swapped stories, teased each other, and indulged in just a little casual flirting. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but something about the way Chip looked at you that night felt… different.

“Thanks for this,” he said suddenly, leaning back in his chair and giving you a small, genuine smile. “I don’t remember the last time I had a night like this. No stress. No bullshit. Just… good company.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you played it cool, swirling the last of your drink in your glass. “Well, you deserve it,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Besides, I like seeing you like this. Relaxed. Happy.”

His smile widened, and for a brief moment, the rest of the bar seemed to fade away. “I think that’s all you,” he said softly, his voice carrying just enough weight to make your heart skip.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the sudden flutter in your chest. “Flattery will get you another round,” you teased, sliding out of your seat.

Chip laughed, shaking his head as he watched you walk toward the bar. And as the night stretched on, filled with more drinks, more laughs, and the kind of easy connection that felt rare and precious, you both couldn’t help but think: Maybe this is how things are supposed to feel.

But, of course, nice things never last. One minute, you were smiling and turning your head to flag down the bartender for another drink while Chip slipped off to the bathroom. The atmosphere was light, carefree. For a fleeting moment, it felt like everything might actually be okay.

And then, chaos.

The first thing you registered was the searing pain. Your head snapped forward as something—or rather, someone—slammed your face into the edge of the bar. The world spun, and your hands flew up to your nose instinctively, warmth already spreading down your face.

Screams erupted around you, voices blending into a cacophony of panic and confusion. Blinking through the haze, you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her—Liza.

Her face was twisted with rage, her body shaking as she pointed a trembling finger at you. “You think you can just take him from me?” she spat, her voice slurred and venomous. “You think you’re better than me, huh? Well, guess what, sweetheart—he’s mine!”

Blood dripped between your fingers, your likely broken nose throbbing with every beat of your heart. You staggered back, trying to create space between you and her as bar patrons scrambled out of the way, some yelling for security, others too stunned to react.

“Liza,” you managed, your voice muffled and shaky as you tried to steady yourself. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re pathetic,” she hissed, taking a step toward you, her eyes wild. “You think you can fix him? Save him? He doesn’t need you!”

Before she could lunge again, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back. Chip. His face was pale, his eyes wide with horror as he restrained her, his voice shaking as he said, “Liza, stop! What the hell is wrong with you?”

She fought against his hold, screaming obscenities as her feet kicked against the floor. “You lied to me, Chip!” she shrieked. “You said you’d always be there! You said we’d work it out!”

“Let’s go,” Chip said firmly, dragging her toward the exit as she thrashed in his grip. “You’re done. Get out.”

As they disappeared through the door, the bartender rushed over to you, his face full of concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, handing you a wad of napkins to stem the bleeding.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, pressing the napkins against your nose as your vision blurred with tears of pain and shock.

Moments later, Chip returned, his chest heaving as he burst back into the bar. His eyes scanned the crowd frantically until they landed on you, sitting on a stool, blood dripping between your fingers. His face crumpled with guilt and horror.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to your side and crouching down in front of you. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” you mumbled through the pain, though your voice trembled, and the blood on your hands told a different story.

“It is,” Chip said, his voice low and filled with self-reproach as he grabbed more napkins from the bartender. “It all is. If I’d just—if I hadn’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he pressed the napkins into your hands. “Here. Hold these tight, okay?”

You didn’t argue, taking the napkins and wincing as you held them against your throbbing nose. The room felt too loud, too crowded, the stares from the other patrons pressing down on you like weights.

Minutes later, the flashing lights of an ambulance cut through the chaos outside. Chip helped you to your feet, his hand steady on your back as paramedics ushered you into the back of the vehicle. The world felt surreal, the adrenaline in your veins masking the full extent of the pain radiating through your face.

“Stay still,” one of the paramedics instructed as they examined you, their hands gentle but efficient. You caught glimpses of Chip through the open door, standing a few feet away, his posture tense as he spoke with the police.

He gestured animatedly, his words spilling out in hurried bursts. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you could see the guilt etched into every movement, the way he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping as he pointed back toward the bar.

When the officer nodded and took notes, Chip glanced back at you, his expression raw and heavy with regret.

Inside the ambulance, the paramedic gave you a small smile, her voice calm. “It looks like your nose is broken, but it’s a clean break. We’ll take you to the hospital to get it checked out.”

You nodded weakly, your eyes flickering back to Chip outside.

—

When you arrived home that night, the sound of hurried footsteps greeted you even before you stepped through the door. Chip was pacing the living room, his hands raking through his hair in nervous, jittery motions.

The moment the door clicked open, he froze and turned toward you, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and worry. “Y/N? Y/N, oh my god, you’re okay,” he blurted, rushing toward you like a man on a mission.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his intensity, though it turned into a groan as the pain in your nose flared. “I’m fine, Chip,” you assured him, though your voice came out a little nasally thanks to the bandages.

Chip stopped in front of you, his eyes scanning your face with a mixture of guilt and concern. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come to get you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “You had the car keys, and I—I didn’t know how to—”

“Chip,” you interrupted, smiling despite the ache in your face. “It’s fine. Really. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on your bruises and the fresh bandage across your nose. “I still feel like an idiot,” he muttered, his voice heavy with regret.

“Don’t,” you said firmly, placing a hand on his arm. “None of this is your fault.”

He let out a shaky sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “They arrested Liza,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I told them everything. All of it.”

“Everything?” you echoed, your brows lifting slightly despite the stiffness in your face.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “They’re gonna want you to testify, though. Against her. I—” He paused, looking up at you, his expression pleading. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”

“I’ll do it,” you said without hesitation, cutting him off.

Chip’s eyes widened. “You will?”

“Of course,” you said softly. “She hurt you, Chip. And tonight, she hurt me. I’m not going to let her keep doing this—not to you, not to anyone.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw working like he was struggling to find the right words. Finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You reached out, squeezing his arm gently. “We’ll get through this,” you said, your voice steady. “Together.”

Chip’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, the tension visibly melting away. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long, and for whatever reason his brain cooked up, he decided that right then was the perfect time to kiss you.

Before you could even react, his lips met yours—not hard, not rough, but just enough to remind you that, oh yeah, you had a freshly set nose.

“Ow!” you grunted, pulling back sharply, your hand flying up to cradle your face.

Chip’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh my god! I’m sorry! I didn’t think—”

But the ridiculousness of it all hit you before the pain fully registered, and a laugh bubbled out of you. “Chip, seriously?” you managed between giggles, wincing but unable to stop yourself from laughing.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing bright red. “Guess I got caught up in the moment or something. Stupid, right?”

You kept laughing, the sound slightly strangled as you tried to avoid moving your nose too much. “You think?” you teased, giving him a playful shove. “Maybe next time don’t kiss someone who just got their face rearranged, genius.”

Chip chuckled, his embarrassment giving way to a genuine laugh as he looked at you. “Noted,” he said, his grin growing. “Maybe I’ll, uh, ask for permission first next time.”

“Good idea,” you replied with a smirk, your hand still gently holding your nose. “But hey, points for effort, I guess.”

He laughed again, his shoulders shaking as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take what I can get.”

As the laughter faded, the two of you sat there in the quiet, the moment lighter than it had been all night. And despite the throbbing in your nose, you couldn’t help but feel a little warmth spread through your chest. Even if his timing was terrible, it was still Chip—and maybe, just maybe, there was something to that.

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#chip taylor x you #chip taylor x reader #chip taylor #i love mgg #mgg x reader #mgg #68 kill

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mercillery · 2 days ago

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REQUEST: Do you think you can do the request for the reader who was a villain in the entire superhero world who somehow gets transported into one piece world and meet yandere Shanks? I like to imagine the reader acting naturally mischievous, just like Jinx from Arcane, although she only did it for fun and to survive for some reason.

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: I really hope I did this right because I have NOT been on my A game lately 😭

Your arrival in the One Piece world is less of a graceful entrance and more of an explosion—literally.

One moment, you’re minding your own business, and the next, you’re plummeting from the sky like some demented shooting star, limbs flailing and curses flying. You crash into the middle of a bustling port town, sending crates, seagulls, and the occasional unlucky bystander scattering in all directions. The dust settles, and there you are, standing in a crater of your own making, grinning like you meant to do that all along.

Welcome to the Grand Line, where logic checks out and chaos clocks in.

The marines stare at you with the wide-eyed horror usually reserved for sea kings or Luffy’s buffet bill. Pirates gawk, unsure whether to laugh, run, or offer you a drink.

You give them your signature sharp, mischievous grin—one part charm, two parts “I’m going to ruin your day,” and an extra sprinkle of “just try me.” Confusion ripples through the crowd like a wave. You bask in it, your energy crackling and boundless, a living storm wrapped in human skin.

The local pirate crew, tough guys with a collective IQ rivaling a bag of rocks, size you up and make the classic mistake: they think you’re just some eccentric with a flair for drama.

That’s when you move. Before they can blink, you’ve turned their leader’s sword into a modern art installation, shoved two marines into a barrel labeled “Pickled Fish Heads,” and balanced a seagull on your shoulder for dramatic effect. Panic and hilarity ensue.

Word travels fast on the high seas, and it doesn’t take long for whispers of your chaos to reach ears in the highest (and lowest) places. The World Government adds your name to their ever-growing list of headaches, filed under “urgent” and “why do we even bother?” You’re not just a problem—you’re a full-scale diplomatic incident wrapped in a smirk and delivered with a bow. Basically, you’re a concern now.

But it’s not just the marines who take notice. Somewhere far off, a certain red-haired pirate lifts an eyebrow. “Looks like there’s a new wild card in the deck,” Shanks mutters, eyes glinting with that mix of amusement and intrigue. Congratulations, you’ve officially caught the attention of the world’s most unpredictable forces. This is where his obsession with you begins.

At first, Shanks is amused—entertained, even—by the novelty you bring to the seas. Honestly, who wouldn't be? The way you breeze through confrontations with the grace of a tornado and the subtlety of a sledgehammer piques his interest.

Watching you dismantle the strongest foes, evade the deadliest traps, and still manage to smile through it all is like watching a firework show that never ends—bright, unpredictable, and dangerously beautiful.

But Shanks isn’t some easily impressed fool. No, he’s smarter than that. He doesn’t just enjoy the show and move on. No, his amusement slowly morphs into something deeper. Something more…obsessive. You don’t just break rules—you make your own. And that, my friend, gets under his skin in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

It’s not just the chaos you bring to the table, but the fact that you seem to slip through danger with such ease. You take risks like you’re daring the world to stop you, and yet—you never get caught.

Shanks, being the perceptive captain he is, knows there’s something behind that. There’s a fire in you, sure, but there’s also something more—a certain… darkness? A guardedness that doesn’t show on the surface but flickers in your eyes every time someone gets too close.

Oh, he notices that. You laugh and joke with everyone around you, your antics a constant stream of unexpected, glorious chaos, but when it’s just you—when the spotlight’s not on you, when you're not performing for an audience—you’re different.

Your smile tightens, sharp as a blade, more of a dare than an invitation. It’s like a challenge in disguise, one that says, If you want something from me, you better be prepared for the cost. Shanks watches, fascinated, as you put on this show of being carefree and invincible, but underneath all the madness, you’re calculating. You’re always thinking, always a step ahead.

It’s obvious you don’t trust anyone, not completely, and Shanks? Well, Shanks doesn’t push too hard. Not yet, anyway.

He’s intrigued, yes. But he’s not stupid. He knows better than to charge in like some lovesick fool. You? You’re unpredictable, like a live wire just waiting to snap. He doesn’t want to get too close too fast, doesn’t want to make you feel cornered or raise an eyebrow at him.

And besides, that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Watching from a distance, observing your every move, figuring out what makes you tick. The dance between curiosity and caution. Where did you come from? Who are you, really? How do you work? What makes someone like you—so erratic, so full of life—tick? Is it just instinct? A desire to keep the chaos alive? Or is there more to you than meets the eye?

And so, he watches. He watches the way you challenge the strongest and most fearsome foes like it’s nothing more than a Tuesday morning. He watches the way you smile at danger, never afraid of it, never running from it—just wading through it like you were born for it.

And more than anything, he watches the way you handle yourself when the storm clears, when you’re alone in the aftermath of all your destruction. In short, his intrigue starts with hearing about you, then turns into obsession when he finally sees you in action. Shanks is no stranger to dangerous things. And you, my dear, are dangerous—albeit in the best way possible.

Eventually, after admiring you from the shadows for so long, he decides to approach you. He does it in the most Shanks-like way possible: a mix of casual charm and reckless abandon. He’s not one for grand entrances; no crashing through walls or dramatic monologues here. No, he’s more of a “show up when you least expect it, but somehow it feels like he’s been there all along” type.

Picture this: you’re lounging somewhere high up—because heights are fun and gravity is just a suggestion when you’re you. Maybe you’re perched on a crooked rooftop, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you tinker with a small gadget you found in some unsuspecting marine’s coat pocket. It’s a ticking contraption that probably shouldn’t be ticking, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it? The town below is bustling, oblivious to the chaos brewing in your hands. A seagull eyes you warily, as if it’s considering retirement if you stick around any longer.

That’s when he makes his move.

Shanks approaches you the way a cat would approach a bird—slow, steady, and with a smirk that suggests he already knows how this will end. He makes his presence known before he gets too close, humming some sea shanty that’s off-key enough to be endearing but not so bad that you’d throw your shoe at him.

He’s got his signature grin in place, the kind that says I’m here for a good time and maybe a headache or two. The townspeople below don’t even bat an eye; they’re too busy trying to remember if they left their windows locked the last time you strolled by.

Now, Shanks isn’t trying to startle you. He’s smarter than that—he’s seen what happens to those who catch you off guard. One minute, they’re standing proud, and the next, they’re tied up in some sort of human pretzel that makes them reconsider all their life choices.

No, he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of whatever improvised booby trap you have up your sleeve today. So, once he’s within sight, he makes sure to announce himself, arms spread wide as if to say, Look! No hidden swords, no sudden moves. Just me and my questionable sense of judgment.

“Am I interrupting, or is this a bad time to mention that thing’s probably set to explode?” He quips, eyes twinkling with amusement. Of course, he’s not really worried—it’s Shanks. The man’s faced off against warlords and monsters that would send most pirates running home to their mothers, so a mischievous villain with a penchant for mayhem? That’s practically a vacation.

You arch a brow, glancing from him to the gadget that’s still ticking away. It’s almost funny—the most wanted man on the seas is standing there, grinning at you like he’s just wandered into a tavern and found the last seat at the bar.

Shanks knows he’s playing a risky game, approaching you unarmed and unafraid. But then again, that’s exactly the kind of gamble he loves. He’s betting that the spark of curiosity in your eyes will outweigh whatever impulse tells you to turn this meeting into a test of reflexes. And let’s be honest: he’s not wrong.

You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth quirking up just enough to let him know you’re intrigued—but not enough to let him off the hook. What’s his angle? Why is one of the most infamous pirates in the world standing here, acting like he’s just interrupted a casual hobby and not a potentially catastrophic experiment?

It’s not lost on you that most would run in the opposite direction at the mere sight of you tinkering with something potentially explosive. But this man? This ridiculous, audacious, red-haired captain? He’s leaning in, all while wearing that grin that’s one part roguish and two parts I’m absolutely going to regret this later. And somehow, that’s exactly what makes him fascinating.

At first, it’s almost funny. Because after that he’ll just start popping up out of nowhere, leaning casually against a market stall or sipping a drink at some rowdy tavern you’re sure he has no business being in.

He always wears that same knowing smile, as if the universe itself just happens to love playing matchmaker with you two. “Crazy running into you here,” he’ll say, voice laced with that lazy, deep amusement that makes you want to both smirk and roll your eyes. Crazy? Please. The only thing crazier is how often he’s finding you in the middle of your next big scheme.

But soon, the pattern becomes unmistakable. It doesn’t matter where you go—a sleepy fishing village where you may or may not have set a few docks on fire for fun, or a dense jungle where you’re sure no one could possibly find you while you scout for mischief—there he is.

Always at the perfect time, always with that lopsided grin and a sparkle in his eye that says he’s loving every second of it. It’s uncanny, really. The man’s supposed to be one of the most powerful pirates alive, yet here he is, spending an absurd amount of time just “accidentally” running into you.

And oh, how it gets under your skin. Because whether you’re raiding a marine base disguised as a disheveled merchant or setting up a prank involving way too much gunpowder and a seagull with questionable morals, there he is—unfazed and curious, with that maddening, calm presence of his.

He’s not just watching; he’s studying you, savoring every moment like you’re the best show on the high seas. Sure, anyone else would be calling for backup or running for cover, but not him. No, he’s the fool standing in the eye of the storm, watching with the kind of exhilarated wonder usually reserved for treasure hunts or legendary battles.

You, on the other hand, start to notice his little game. The “oincidences” pile up until they’re as obvious as a sea king at a beach party. You’re torn between annoyance and amusement. It’s flattering, in a way.

After all, it’s not every day that someone like Shanks, with all his charm and laid-back swagger, goes out of his way to stalk—sorry, coincidentally encounter—someone as unpredictable as you.

But it’s also infuriating. Who does he think he is, trying to turn the tables on you? You’re the master of chaos, the orchestrator of mayhem, and here he is, making you feel like you’re the one caught in some elaborate game.

Still, you try to outwit him. You switch up your routines, veer off into the most uncharted, unpredictable places, places so remote even the mapmakers just gave up and doodled sea monsters instead. You lay low, stir up trouble in places you’re sure won’t make it back to any pirate worth their salt. But somehow, some way, there he is.

Maybe he’s helping himself to an ale at the dingiest bar you could find, or maybe he’s leaning against a tree in the middle of nowhere, one hand on his sword and a smirk that practically screams, You didn’t really think I’d let you get away that easily, did you?

And if you try to push him away, that just won’t work. If anything, he’s more enchanted. Because to Shanks, every glitter bomb, every prank, every trick you pull is just another piece of the puzzle, another reason to be fascinated by you.

And somewhere between dodging your traps and trying not to laugh himself to death, he realizes he’s not just amused anymore—he’s head-over-heels, completely gone, the kind of infatuation that doesn’t end with simple fascination but with something much deeper. The man who could laugh off an admiral’s challenge now finds himself more captivated by you than any battle or bounty could ever make him.

Shanks’ affection sneaks in slowly, like a storm building on the horizon—quiet at first, but impossible to ignore once it hits. It starts as something harmless: an extra drink sent your way when you’re raising hell in a tavern, a knowing smirk as he casually keeps one hand on his sword when a fight breaks out.

But then it grows.

He starts hovering—not in an obvious, clingy way, but enough that it feels like he’s always a step behind you. Whether you’re flipping off marines or turning another pirate’s ship into a makeshift fireworks display, he’s there. Watching. Always watching.

And for someone who’s supposed to be laid-back, Shanks sure has a knack for snapping to attention whenever you’re around. His laugh gets a little tighter when someone brings up your antics, like he’s torn between pride and worry.

His crewmates don’t miss a thing, of course, but they keep their mouths shut. They know better than to tease their captain about the gleam in his eye whenever you come up in conversation—or the way his fingers tap restlessly on the table when he hasn’t “accidentally” bumped into you in a while.

It’s funny, really. Shanks is a Yonko, one of the most feared men in the world, and yet here he is, acting like a lovesick teenager. And the best part? He thinks he’s hiding it. He’s still doing his whole carefree routine, leaning against doorframes and cracking jokes like he doesn’t have an entire fleet of informants feeding him your every move.

But the shift is there, subtle but undeniable. His usual nonchalant swagger stiffens just a bit when another pirate crew gets too close to you, his grin falters for half a second when someone else makes you laugh, and his voice drops into something darker, something more dangerous, when he tells you, “Stay where I can see you.”

Oh, and let’s not forget the moment you decide to respond in the most you way possible. Because if Shanks is going to try to rein in your chaos, you’re going to remind him exactly who he’s dealing with.

Maybe you flash him your sharpest grin, the kind that screams I dare you. Or maybe you immediately do the opposite of what he asked, vanishing into the crowd like a puff of smoke just to see how fast he’ll find you again. (Spoiler alert: it’s fast. Too fast, honestly. How does he keep doing that?)

Or maybe you just pull one of your classic stunts—a grenade-like gadget tossed high into the air with a wild laugh, sending nearby pirates scrambling for cover while you pirouette out of harm’s way. The chaos doesn’t faze you; it’s your natural state.

Shanks, on the other hand? He doesn’t even flinch. He just stands there, arms crossed, watching you with that maddening mix of amusement and exasperation, like a parent watching their kid lick a lightning rod during a storm. Sure, he’s smiling, but there’s a tightness to it, a barely-contained edge that says, You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?

But that’s the thing about Shanks—he’s not angry. No, he’s enchanted. You’re a hurricane in human form, and he doesn’t want to tame you. He just wants to keep you safe. And that’s the part that messes him up the most: you don’t need him to protect you. You’ve been surviving on your own for years. You don’t need Shanks. But oh, does he need you.

And the more he watches you dance on the edge of chaos, the deeper he falls. He sees the way you laugh in the face of danger, the way you challenge anyone and everyone with that gleam in your eye, like you’ve got nothing to lose. But he also sees the cracks, the moments when your guard slips and the weight of your past sneaks through.

And those moments? They hit him harder than any punch ever could. Because for all your chaos, all your wild unpredictability, he knows there’s a part of you that’s still searching—for what, he’s not sure. Safety? Belonging? Something else entirely? Whatever it is, Shanks wants to be the one to give it to you.

But he’s careful. Oh, he’s so careful. He can’t let you see just how deep this obsession goes—not yet. He keeps his grin wide, his tone light, his demeanor easygoing. But every time you pull one of your stunts, every time you put yourself in danger just for the thrill of it, his heart clenches.

And when someone else gets too close, when they so much as look at you the wrong way, that laid-back facade cracks, just for a second. Because Shanks may be calm, may be collected, but when it comes to you? He’s a man on the edge. And you? You’re still playing your own game, dancing circles around everyone who tries to keep up.

Let’s skip to maybe a few months or so: It’s one of those rare, quiet moments—well, as quiet as things get with you around. Maybe you’re perched precariously on a ledge, fiddling with some contraption made from salvaged parts that you swiped from a marine ship, casually ignoring the fact that the thing looks like it’s one wrong wire away from detonating in your hands. Shanks is nearby, sitting cross-legged on a crate, his hat tipped back and his arms resting on his knees, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. And honestly, you are.

That’s when you drop it. Completely unprompted, of course, because why would you bother easing him into it? One second you’re talking about how annoying it is that the marines keep sticking Wanted posters of you up in towns you haven’t even been to yet, and the next, you’re casually saying, “Oh yeah, by the way, I’m not even from this world. So that’s a thing.”

Shanks pauses mid-drink, the rim of his mug hovering just shy of his lips as he blinks at you. For once, the ever-unflappable Red-Haired Yonko looks... well, flapped. He sets his beverage down slowly, his eyes narrowing in that curious, thoughtful way of his, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re messing with him or if you’ve finally gone completely off the deep end. (Let’s face it, it’s a toss-up.)

You, of course, are completely unbothered by his reaction. In fact, you’re barely paying attention to him at all, too busy tinkering with your little doomsday device—or whatever the hell that thing is.

You start explaining, your words coming out in bursts of chaotic energy as you wave your hands around (which, considering you’re holding wires and probably a live battery, is extremely concerning).

You tell him about your world—how it’s full of superheroes and villains, and how you were one of the latter. Not because you were evil or anything, but because it was fun. Survival was tough in a world like yours, so you made your own fun, pulled a few heists, caused a bit of mayhem, blew up a few buildings here and there (details, details).

You glance up at Shanks, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and add, “And then one day, BAM! Out of nowhere, I get spawn and fall from the sky and into this place. Like the universe itself went, ‘You know what? You’re too much for this world. Let’s try you somewhere else.’” You laugh, loud and unrestrained, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it all.

Shanks, meanwhile, is still trying to process what you’ve just told him. It’s not that he doesn’t believe you—honestly, at this point, he’d believe just about anything when it comes to you—but it’s a lot to take in. Another world? With superheroes and villains? And you—you—were one of the villains? He can’t help but chuckle at that. Of course, you were. It explains so much.

Still, he has questions. So many questions. Like, how did you get here? Can you go back? Do you even want to go back? And, more importantly, what kind of idiot superheroes let you run wild long enough to wreak havoc in their world?

He doesn’t ask, though—not yet. Instead, he watches as you get bored of your gadget and toss it behind you with a shrug, causing a small explosion that sends a flock of seagulls squawking into the sky. You don’t even flinch, just lean back on your hands and grin like a kid who just got away with stealing cookies from the jar.

“That explains why no one’s ever heard of you,” Shanks finally says, his tone light but his eyes sharp, studying you. “Not that it matters. You’ve already made a name for yourself here.”

You smirk at him, that wild, mischievous grin that makes his chest tighten in a way he’s not ready to unpack. Of course, you’ve made a name for yourself here. You’re you. Doesn’t matter what world you’re in—you’re always going to be the storm that leaves chaos in its wake.

But what Shanks doesn’t say—what he won’t say, not yet—is that your revelation changes everything for him. Because now, it’s not just about keeping you safe from the marines or rival pirates. It’s not just about protecting you from the dangers of this world. It’s about keeping you here. In this world. With him. Because if you’re not from here, if you somehow came from somewhere else, then what’s to stop you from vanishing again?

The thought sends a spike of unease through him, but he buries it beneath his usual easy grin. He won’t let that happen. He can’t. You’ve turned his world upside down in the best possible way, and he’s not about to let you slip through his fingers.

If the universe went through the trouble of dropping you into his life, then damn it, he’s going to make sure you stay there. Even if it means playing along with your chaos and keeping his own obsession hidden behind that charming, carefree facade.

And so, life continues—a kaleidoscope of chaos, obsession, and unpredictable adventures that leave the Grand Line buzzing with your name. Shanks, ever the enigma, plays his role of charming pirate captain to perfection, but you know better by now.

The surface-level grin, the casual remarks, the way he always "just happens" to be in the same port town as you? Yeah, no one’s buying that anymore. The man is hooked, and not even the sea itself could untangle him from you.

But the question lingers—what next? You’ve already turned this world upside down, left a trail of havoc, and made a Yonko, one of the most powerful men alive, fall head-over-peg-legs obsessed with you.

And yet, your spirit is as untamed as ever. Shanks knows this, too. Oh, he’d love for you to stay, to have you as part of his crew or even just within reach, but you? You’re not the type to stick around for too long. You’re a storm, a burst of energy that refuses to be tied down by anything—not even the Red-Haired Pirate himself.

Still, Shanks can’t help but hope. He won’t say it outright, of course. Instead, he’ll do what he does best: adapt.

If you decide to wander, he’ll make sure to hear about your escapades—whether from his informants, his crew, or the occasional Wanted poster featuring your grinning face plastered in every marine office from here to the New World. And if he hears that you’re in trouble? Oh, he’ll be there. Not immediately, because that would be too obvious, but soon enough to lend a hand and maybe—just maybe—steal a bit more of your time.

And if you do decide to stay? If you decide that maybe, just maybe, the chaotic magnetism between the two of you is worth exploring? Well, Shanks isn’t going to complain. He’ll welcome you with open arms and maybe a locked door or two—just in case you try to bolt, ready to see where this wild ride takes the both of you.

But here’s the thing—this is your story. Whether you stick around, sail off on your own, or somehow find a way back to your world of superheroes, it’s all up to you.

Shanks knows this, even if he hates to admit it. He knows he can’t control you, and truthfully, he wouldn’t want to. That unbridled chaos is part of what drew him to you in the first place.

So maybe one day you’ll vanish, just as suddenly as you arrived, leaving behind a legend that grows wilder with every retelling. Or maybe you’ll stick around, redefining what it means to be a pirate in this world. Either way, one thing is certain: you’ve left a mark on this world—and on Shanks—that won’t be forgotten anytime soon.

And who knows? Maybe chaos itself has finally found a place it belongs. Or maybe it was never about belonging at all. Either way, the seas will never be the same. And neither will he.

#shanks x y/n #yandere shanks x reader #shanks x you #shanks x reader #yandere shanks #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #op x reader #op x you #op x y/n

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