#if she did finally settle down it would be with him

[moonlightwritingf1]

Raw | LN4

𐙚 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N have sex without a condom for the first time. He cums inside her.

𐙚 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𐙚 word count ━━━━━━━ 2.3k

𐙚 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie

Based on this request.

Y/n stretched lazily on the couch, her toes curling into the soft fabric as she scrolled absently through her phone. The faint hum of London’s evening traffic drifted through the open window, but her mind was elsewhere—specifically, on Lando. They had been officially together for seven months now, and every moment with him felt like a whirlwind of emotions, teasing, and undeniable chemistry. But tonight… tonight was different.

She glanced at the clock. He would be here any minute. Her heart fluttered, and she bit her lip, trying to suppress the nervous excitement bubbling inside her. They had talked about this earlier in the day, a conversation that had started with casual banter and ended with something much more intimate.

No condom, she thought, her cheeks flushing. She had finally decided to bring it up after weeks of consideration. After all, she was on birth control now, and the idea of feeling him—really feeling him—without any barriers had been on her mind more often than she cared to admit. When she mentioned it, Lando’s reaction had been… well, typical Lando. A mix of playful teasing and genuine enthusiasm. “Bold move, love,” he had said, his voice low and edged with mischief. “But I’m not complaining.”

The sound of the doorbell startled her out of her thoughts. She smoothed her hands over her jeans, took a deep breath, and walked to the door. There he was, leaning casually against the frame, his signature smirk already in place. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and she couldn��t help but smile back.

“Took you long enough,” she teased, stepping aside to let him in.

“Traffic,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair. “And you know how impatient I get when I’m coming to see you.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the warmth that spread through her chest. God, he’s impossible. And yet, there was something about his unapologetic confidence that made her knees weak.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers. “So… about earlier…”

Her breath hitched. “What about it?”

His grin widened, and he moved even closer, until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened. “Are you?”

That earned her a laugh, deep and rich, and he cupped her face in his hands. “Always, love. Always.”

Their lips met in a kiss that started slow but quickly deepened, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a hunger that made her head spin. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, losing herself in the taste and feel of him. His hands slid down her back, settling on her hips, and he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss.

When her back hit the mattress, he pulled away just enough to look at her, his eyes filled with desire. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, trailing his fingers along her jawline.

She shivered under his touch, her body already responding to him in ways that left her breathless. “Flattery won’t get you everywhere, Norris.”

“Oh, I think it just did,” he quipped, sliding his hands under her shirt and lifting it over her head. His eyes raked over her bare skin, and he let out a low whistle. “Definitely everywhere.”

She laughed, but it quickly turned into a gasp as his lips found her neck, nipping and sucking lightly. His hands worked skillfully at the clasp of her bra, and within seconds, it joined her shirt on the floor. He groaned at the sight of her, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Lando…” she breathed, her hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He helped her, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. Her fingers traced the lines of his chest, marveling at the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

He was lean, yes, but there was a strength to him that always surprised her. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—confident, assured—or maybe it was the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. Whatever it was, it made her feel things she hadn’t felt in years. Things she hadn’t thought she could feel.

He leaned down, capturing her lips again, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Their bodies pressed together, skin against skin, and she could feel the hardness of him through his jeans. She rocked her hips against his, earning a growl from deep in his throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his hands sliding down to undo her jeans. He tugged them off, along with her panties, and paused for a moment to just look at her. His gaze was intense, almost reverent, and it made her heart race.

“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Just… you’re perfect.”

She blushed, averting her eyes, but he caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “Don’t look away. I want to see you. All of you.”

Her breath caught, and she nodded, unable to speak. Slowly, he trailed his fingers down her body, touching her everywhere but where she wanted him most. She squirmed beneath him, frustration building with every teasing stroke.

“Lando…” she whined, her hips lifting off the bed in silent pleading.

He chuckled, low and wicked. “Patience, love. Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” she retorted, grasping his wrist and guiding his hand between her legs.

He groaned when he felt how wet she was, his fingers slipping easily through her folds. “Holy shit, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with need. “You’re absolutely soaking wet.”

She gasped as he slipped a finger inside her, her back arching off the bed. His thumb circled her clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. He added another finger, stretching her, preparing her, and she whimpered, rocking her hips against his hand.

“Please,” she begged, her nails digging into his shoulders. “I need you.”

He didn’t make her beg twice. He stripped off his jeans and boxers, his cock springing free, hard and leaking. She reached for him, wrapping her hand around his length, and he hissed at the contact, his hips jerking forward.

“Careful,” he warned, though his tone was anything but serious. “Or I might not last long enough to make this worth your while.”

She smirked, giving him a little squeeze. “Promises, promises.”

He laughed, shaking his head, and then he was positioning himself between her legs, the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes locking with hers. “This is really what you want?”

She nodded, reaching up to cup his face. “Yes. I want to feel you. All of you.”

He kissed her gently, a stark contrast to the desperation they both felt, and then he pushed into her, slowly, inch by excruciating inch. Neither of them broke eye contact, and she could see the exact moment he felt her completely—the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched, the way his entire body seemed to shudder.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice rough. “You feel… Jesus, you feel amazing.”

She couldn’t agree more. The sensation of him inside her, without any barriers, was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Every vein, every ridge—she could feel it all, and it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one driving her closer to the edge. She clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. Their breaths mingled, their bodies moving together in perfect sync, and for the first time in her life, she felt truly, completely connected to someone.

“Lando,” she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he promised, his voice strained.

Lando’s lips brushed against her ear, his breath warm and ragged as he whispered, “You have no idea how good you feel right now.” His voice was low, husky, and dripping with desire, sending a shiver down her spine that made her arch into him. His hands roamed her body, tracing every curve, every dip, as if he were memorizing her all over again—and perhaps he was.

“I want to make you feel everything,” he continued, his teeth grazing her earlobe gently before he kissed the sensitive spot just below it. “Every inch of you… I want to worship it. I want to devour you.”

Her breath hitched at his words, her body responding instantly. She could feel him inside her, every movement, every thrust, intensifying the pleasure coursing through her. His cock felt like it was made for her, stretching her in ways she hadn’t known were possible, filling her completely.

Lando’s hands slid down to her hips, gripping them firmly as he pulled her closer, driving himself deeper. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, his voice strained with effort. “And wet—Jesus, Y/n, you’re absolutely soaking. I can feel you… all of you.”

“Lando…” she whimpered, her voice trembling as she felt herself unraveling under him. Her nails dug into his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as the sensations overwhelmed her. The way he moved inside her, slow yet deliberate, was driving her insane. She could feel the tension building, coiling tightly in her core, ready to snap.

His lips found hers again, capturing her moans as he kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that matched his thrusts. He broke the kiss only to whisper against her lips, “I love how responsive you are. How you move with me. How you take me.” His words were like gasoline to the fire already burning within her, igniting something primal, something raw.

Her hands moved to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She could feel how hard he was working to keep control, to keep his movements steady, but she could also sense the desperation in him. The way his breath quickened, the way his muscles tensed—it was as if he were holding back, waiting for her to fall first.

But she didn’t want to fall alone.

“Harder,” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with urgency. “Please, Lando… I need more.”

He didn’t hesitate. His thrusts became harder, faster, each one hitting that perfect spot deep inside her that had her seeing stars. She gasped, her head falling back as the pleasure intensified, threatening to consume her entirely. “Fuck, y/n,” he growled, his hands tightening on her hips. “You feel too good. I’m losing my mind here.”

She could feel it too—the way his control was slipping, the way his rhythm faltered slightly as pleasure overtook him. But instead of pulling back, he pushed forward, giving her everything he had. His cock pulsed inside her, as if begging for release, but he held on, determined to bring her with him.

His lips found her neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there as he murmured against it, “I want to cum inside you. Can I? Please, baby, I need to feel you come around me.”

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze briefly before she nodded, her voice breaking as she whispered, “Yes… please.”

That was all the permission he needed. His thrusts became erratic, his breathing ragged as he gave in to the overwhelming pleasure. She could feel him twitching inside her, feel the heat building as he approached the edge. And then, with a groan that sounded almost primal, he came, spilling himself deep inside her.

The moment his hot seed filled her, something inside her snapped. The tension that had been building in her core exploded, and she cried out, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—intense, all-consuming, and utterly perfect.

Her legs trembled, her grip on him loosening as she fell back against the bed, completely spent. Lando followed her down, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he buried his face in her neck, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

For a moment, they simply lay there, their bodies still connected, their hearts racing in sync. Then, slowly, Lando lifted his head to look at her, his eyes filled with emotion. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face as he whispered, “You’re incredible. Absolutely fucking incredible.”

She couldn’t help but smile, her body still tingling from the aftershocks of their shared climax. “So are you,” she replied softly, her hand resting on his cheek. She could feel the warmth of his skin beneath her palm, the stubble rough yet comforting.

He leaned into her touch, his eyes never leaving hers. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “I want to worship you. Every part of you. Body, mind, soul… you’re mine, Y/n. All of you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, the intensity in his gaze making her stomach flutter. She knew he meant it—every word, every promise. And for the first time, she allowed herself to believe it. To believe in him.

Before she could respond, he kissed her again, this time soft and lingering, as if sealing a promise she wasn’t even sure she was ready to make. As their lips parted, he whispered, “Sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And for once, she didn’t argue. She simply closed her eyes, her body sinking into the mattress as exhaustion claimed her. But just as sleep began to pull her under, she felt his arms wrap around her, holding her close, keeping her safe.

In that moment, she felt truly, completely his. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[comfxrtablykai]

hey kai!

can you please write a fanfic about dae ho comforting us after a game. (with a one bed trope 👉👈)

btw love ur writing smm!!🎀

EEEE I LOVE THIS REQUEST!!! dae ho is my shayla😭 (TW: Blood, gunshots, talk of death. let me know if there's more i should've added!) This is also for my favourite kang dae-ho stan @lanadelreyworshipperr

Kang Dae-Ho x reader ────୨ৎ──── The gunshots rang from the distance as you covered your ears, your palms pressed tightly against the shell, till all you could hear was a faint ringing. You whimpered quietly as you look at the blood pooled on the floor. How quickly had they cleaned up the bodies? The smell of blood made you gag as you choked out desperate sobs. "I wanna go home..." Your teammates Gi-Hun and Dae-Ho picked you up from the floor as you took in shallow breaths. You couldn't hear anything, not their words, not the other players talking and rushing out to go back to the bunks. No. The only thing you could still hear were bodies thudding the floor and the harsh sounds of the bullets leaving their guns to pierce through the heads of the innocent people. You couldn't breathe. Everything looked blurry for some reason, getting darker and faded. If you hadn't died from losing the game, you'd surely die from this panic attack. You saw Gi-Hun run to go to Jung-Bae and Young-Il, but Dae-Ho stayed with you. You sniffled and tried to recognise the world around you, trying to ground yourself in this terrifying situation but nothing worked. It wasn't until a certain former marine picked you up from the ground, hugging you close and carrying you bridal style back to the beds through the obnoxious amount of stairs. You curled against his chest and sniffled, hearing his heartbeat and coming back to reality just enough to croak out his name to tell him you were fine and awake, "Dae-Ho..." You moved you hand to your face, wiping the remaining tears. Dae-Ho looked at you with kindness shining in his eyes. A kindness people here seemed to have forgotten, "Ah, you're coming back to us. I know it's scary but I'll protect you, ok?" His voice was so soft as he put you down to your bunk. You hadn't even realised you both had reached the bedroom already. You hand was still grasping at the sleeve of his jumpsuit like your life depended on it, and quite frankly, you felt like it did depend on it. You felt yourself slip away when he started to go back. Nobody was really paying and attention at you both and thanks to Gi-Hun, your mattresses were in a perfectly hidden spot. "Dae-Ho, stay with me?" You asked, feeling tears prickle your eyes again, you weren't sleeping yet you could feel the nightmare that would haunt you for multiple nights on end. You also felt pathetic. Everyone here was so strong, even Jun-Hee who was pregnant and here you were. You couldn't go a single game without crying. Dae-Ho's eyes softened and you could swear you saw a fondness in his eyes. Though he quickly hid it. "Of course I will. I promise that no matter what happens in these games, I'll never leave you." He said it with such surety that you two would stick together, it couldn't help but make you optimistic as well. Dae-Ho settled on your mattress besides you and took this opportunity to curl up into him even more, "I feel so dumb." His hands found their way into your hair and gently massaged your scalp. "You're not dumb. Panicking in a scene like this is... normal. I'd be surprised if you weren't. I know I am as well." He joked and you couldn't help but smile as you buried your head in his chest. "It doesn't look like it. You're so brave." You muttered and looked up at Dae-Ho's face, it was rigid for a second before turning back to the soft, smiling face she liked. "Yeah, well, you're my sunshine and you're crying. That doesn't seem right either, does it?" Dae-Ho wiped another tear that had fallen from your eyes and gently pressed his lips against your forehead. You close your eyes, feeling the exhaustion from the day finally bring you down. You fought against your sleep and also blushed at the kiss he had just given you. "Dae-Ho..." "Go to sleep, sunshine." He said and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against the soft round skin of your face. You gulped in fear and held him closer. "Only if you stay..." You said and pressed your forehead against Dae-Ho's, breathing in and out, slowly, following the pattern of his breathing.

He smirked and leaned closer, the tip of his nose brushing against the tip of yours, "I'll always stay." He whispered to you like a promise and before you knew, you were drifting to sleep in his arms. ────୨ৎ────

[cutielando]

runaway bride | charles leclerc

synopsis: in which he saves you from making a mistake

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

The soft music echoed through the church hall, making you let out a deep breath.

There you stood, in front of the huge double oak doors, waiting for the moment to finally walk down the aisle and marry Aiden, your boyfriend of 2 years.

After you had broken up with Charles, you didn't think you would ever find the same kind of love again. The bond that you shared with the Monegasque was something so strong and beautiful, you thought it was for life.

Then, you met Aiden.

He was sweet, kind, understanding, loving. He was an incredible guy, a guy who took care of you, who respected you and who made sure you were safe and taken care of.

However, deep into your heart, you knew the truth that nobody could ever change: he wasn't Charles.

He didn't make you feel the same things that Charles could, he didn't make you feel alive, like every fiber of your being was on fire, he wasn't as passionate and intense as Charles was.

He was just...Aiden.

But you felt comfort that you hadn't felt in a long time, which was the primary reason why you had accepted his proposal. He offered you safety, offered you comfort and stability.

You would learn how to truly love him down the line.

Or so you tried to convince yourself whenever you would get cold feet about going through with the wedding.

"Are you ready?" your father's voice suddenly pulled you back to reality, the oak doors now open, the entire hall looking at the two of you.

You smiled tightly and nodded, looping your arm through his as you slowly started walking towards the aisle.

Watching all the guests around you, a sort of guilt settled deep inside of your gut.

All these people, all of your families having gathered here today to watch you and Aiden get married, watching you supposedly seal your fate and look to a 'happy' future with him.

Not knowing that, deep inside, you knew it was anything but that.

Upon reaching the altar, your father gave you away to Aiden, who took your hand and helped you up the steps.

"You look beautiful" he whispered, his eyes twinkling.

You smiled, trying to make it look as natural as possible.

He didn't deserve this, you knew that. He deserved to be getting married to someone who truly loved him, who wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

But that person wasn't you, and it was probably very selfish of you to go through with the wedding while knowing that your heart belonged to someone else.

What choice did you have, though?

All of these people, your entire families, waiting for this day for months. Aiden, finally happy to have found his one true love.

How could you possibly ruin that?

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to the wedding of Y/N Y/LN and Aiden Becker" the bishop started, prompting the entire wedding hall to sit down and listen with eager.

You didn't hear anything else after that, your feelings all over the place as you looked anywhere but Aiden's eyes.

The church was silent, all oblivious to the internal turmoil you were having before their eyes. Your mother couldn't keep her eyes off of you, and once you had made eye contact with her, you could have sworn that she nodded slightly, a look of understanding in her eyes.

She knew, probably better than anyone, about your conflicting feelings for both Aiden and Charles. She knew how hard it was for you when you and Charles broke up, and she knew that Aiden would never measure up to the way Charles made you feel. She was your mother, after all. She knew you better than anyone.

Out of the corner of your eye, suddenly, you saw movement at the far end of the room, right by the big oak doors you had walked through mere moments before.

Your heart started beating out of your chest as you saw who it was.

Him.

He was standing there in a clad black Ferrari suit, his hands in his pockets, not moving an inch.

Your eyes widened slightly, fixated on his figure standing a mere few feet away from you. He didn't make any move to walk closer, to actually enter the church hall.

He just stood there, his eyes widening in awe as he took you in, tears slowly welling up in his eyes.

Your stomach was in shambles as you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. He was just as beautiful as you had remembered, his eyes just as kind as they used to be.

All kinds of emotions were running through you, making your head spin and your nerves go into overdrive.

Why did he do this? Why did he show up on what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life? Why did he have to show up at your wedding?

Maybe because he knew you would leave Aiden behind and run to him, you thought to yourself.

"Y/N? Is everything okay?" the priest's voice suddenly made you whip your head around.

The entire hall was staring at you, Aiden looked concerned and was looking at you with a worried expression, and nobody had seemed to have seen Charles standing right outside the doors.

"I, um, I..." you croaked, not being able to find your words.

You looked around once again, Charles' figure giving you a sad smile before he slowly began to retreat, up until he was now out of sight.

Desperately searching for a sign on what to do, your eyes gravitated towards your mother, hoping you would be able to communicate with her through your eyes.

And there she was, smiling subtly at you, her eyes sparkling as she gave you a very tiny nod.

That was all the confirmation that you had needed.

You looked back at Aiden, who had an expression like he knew exactly what was about to happen and he knew it had been a long time coming.

"I'm so sorry, Aiden" you whispered, slowly letting go of his hands before you sprinted out of the church hall, leaving behind you dozens of shocked guests.

You quickly ran out of the church, bursting through the front doors and stepping out into the warm summer day.

And then, there he was.

Leaning against his car right in front of the church, his hands crossed against his chest.

And he was smiling.

For a little while, neither of you knew what to say. You had just left your future husband at the altar for him, and he had just shown up at his ex-girlfriend's wedding.

What could a person even say in this situation?

"What are you doing here?" that was the best you could muster up, your voice not louder than a soft whisper.

Charles could only imagine how you must be feeling.

Years after you guys broke up, on the happiest day of your new life, he decides to show up. He knew it was going to be a very long shot, and he was aware that it was extremely rude of him to be showing up at your wedding.

But he couldn't help himself.

He couldn't bear the thought of ever seeing you married to someone else, someone who wasn't him.

Just like he couldn't bear not being with you any longer.

"I couldn't let you go through with the wedding" he said, his expression now somber.

He knew he was already pushing his luck, but he had already ruined your wedding. What more harm could he do?

Dozens of emotions were cursing through your veins, some of which you couldn't even identify.

Hurt? Anger? Disbelief? Disappointment in yourself? Longing for what you once had with Charles? Guilt over a thrown-away future with a great man?

But even in the midst of all the confusing emotions, there was one that stood out between the sea of doubt, clear like a new day.

Your unwavering love for Charles.

A feeling that has not changed from the beginning.

"Why now?" you whispered, your shoulders sagging in defeat.

There was no point in trying to act like you weren't so glad to see him, like your heart wasn't beating out of your chest as you stood in front of him, like you weren't dying to be in his arms after such a long time.

Charles sighed and pushed himself off the car, taking a few steps closer to you until he was almost chest-to-chest with you.

Your breath hitched as you felt the warmth of his body against yours for the first time in years. You had missed it so much, so much more than you had ever admitted to yourself.

"I've spent the past couple of years kicking myself for making the mistake of pushing you away from me. I've never forgiven myself for the way our relationship ended, and I don't think I'll ever be able to put into words just how sorry I am. The moment I found out you were marrying someone else, I couldn't not do anything. I know I sound selfish, and I know it's not fair of me to barge in like this, but if there was even a tiny chance that you might still feel the same way about me, I had to take it" he said, and as you stared into his eyes, you couldn't see even a sign of dishonesty.

He was being real, he was being brutally honest, probably more honest than he had ever been with you before.

And he was completely right, which was probably the worst thing about the whole situation. He was right, you did still love him just as deeply as you had before. And deep down, you probably had hoped that he would show up and save you from making a mistake by marrying Aiden.

"You've always had a flair for the dramatic, you know" you said, hoping the joke would lighten up the atmosphere.

Charles chuckled, nodding his head. He looked up at you again, his eyes sparkling with a sliver of hope.

"Do you want to go somewhere quiet and talk about this?" he asked, a deeper, hidden meaning planted behind his words.

You drew in a breath, but didn't feel any pain or heaviness in your chest. All you felt was peace, peace and love for the man standing right before you.

"Yeah, I'd like that" you said, smiling before giving him your hand, which he gladly took.

And that's how you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of his Ferrari, his hand tightly holding onto yours, driving away from the church and ceremony that was supposed to change your life.

But why change it when you had everything you had ever wanted for, right in this car?

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

support my ko-fi

[heliosunny]

Part 4 of yandere Mydei plsss there's so little Yandere Mydei 🥲

Yandere!Mydei x Knight!Reader

[part 1]; [part 2]; [part 3]; [part 4]

You thought last night would be forgotten. A mistake, a haze, nothing more. But Mydei, he won’t let it go. And when he confronts you about it, he says three words you never expected.

"I’ll take responsibility."

You should have expected this. But you still weren’t ready when Mydei cornered you. It was just after the morning assembly, in a quiet corridor of the palace. You had hoped, or prayed—that he would let last night’s incident fade into nothing. But the second you turned the corner, he was already there. Leaning against the stone wall, golden eyes locked on you.

And worse—he was smirking. Like a hunter who had finally caught his prey.

"We need to talk, Y/n."

You tried to walk past him.

"No, we don’t."

But his arm shot out, blocking your path.

"You left a mark on me." His voice was smooth, almost amused. "I thought I should return the favor."

"It was an accident." You kept your tone flat. "I was drugged. Whatever happened wasn��t real."

"You seemed quite real when you begged me to stay."

"I don’t beg."

"You did last night."

Your fingers curled into a fist.

"Let it go, Mydei."

"Oh, but how can I?" He leaned in

"You made quite the spectacle of it. The court is already whispering."

He brushed his fingers over his throat, right where your teeth had sunk into his skin.

"You left a claim on me, dear knight." His golden eyes burned. "Should I not take responsibility for that?"

"Don’t be ridiculous" you snapped.

"Am I?" His voice was silk-wrapped steel. "You bit me in front of my gods, my ancestors, and every noble in this court."

"Did you want them to know I’m yours?"

Heat shot through you.

"You’re twisting this."

"Am I?" He stepped closer, crowding you against the wall.

"I’m saying I’ll take responsibility. I’m saying I’ll claim you back."

His fingers brushed against your chin- teasing.

"Unless… you regret it?"

"It wasn’t real" you hissed.

"Say that again."

You opened your mouth.

But your mind flashed back to last night. His warmth. His steady grip. The way he stiffened when your lips brushed his skin. The way his breathing faltered when you left that mark. Your body betrayed you. You hesitated.

Mydei chuckled softly.

"That’s what I thought."

His fingers slipped beneath your chin—tilting your gaze up.

"I don’t mind waiting, Y/n." His voice dropped to a murmur. "You’ll accept it soon enough."

He finally stepped back, letting you breathe.

"In the meantime" he mused, "I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine."

"Don’t you dare—"

"Oops." His smirk was downright wicked. "Too late. The rumors have already begun."

And before you could react, before you could curse him to the depths of the abyss, he was already walking away.

Leaving you furious, flustered, and utterly doomed.

You thought you could escape him. With Selene’s help, you vanished from Mydei’s sight. For the first time, he couldn’t find you.

And for a while, things settled.

Until the news arrived.

Prince Mydei—gravely injured on the battlefield.

"Where have you been?"

Selene was waiting for you the second you slipped into your shared hideout.

"Don’t start." you muttered, shrugging off your cloak.

"Oh, I will start." She stepped closer, voice dropping. "Do you have any idea what kind of madness he’s causing?"

"I haven’t seen him in weeks."

"Exactly!" Selene threw up her hands. "And he’s been tearing through the palace trying to find you."

You already knew that. You had spent weeks dodging him, avoiding his reach.

With Selene’s help, Mydei couldn’t track you down.

Selene sighed, her expression growing serious.

"You heard it too, didn’t you?"

"Prince Mydei" she murmured. "Gravely injured on the battlefield."

You shouldn’t have cared. You should have let him bleed out where he fell. But even now, you couldn’t stop the way your breath caught.

"He did this to himself" Selene warned. "Don’t let him pull you back."

But it was too late. You had already made your choice.

You arrived at his chambers past midnight.

The guards let you through without a word, they had been expecting you.

And when you finally pushed the door open… Mydei was waiting.

Not unconscious. Not dying.

Just sitting on his bed, golden eyes glinting.

Smirking.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come, assassin."

He wasn’t dying.

He wasn’t even seriously injured.

He looked fine.

Perhaps a little pale, a bandage over his arm, but otherwise..completely unharmed.

"You—" Your voice shook with rage. "You tricked me."

His smirk only widened.

"Did I?"

"The rumors," you whispered. "The entire kingdom thinks you were gravely wounded—"

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

"It worked, didn’t it?"

You stormed forward, grabbing his collar, yanking him closer.

"You played with war just to drag me back?"

"Would you have come otherwise?"

Your grip tightened.

"You’re insane."

"And you’re here." His voice dropped—low, triumphant. "That’s all that matters."

"Did you miss me?"

"No."

His lips brushed against your fingers, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss.

"Stay." His voice was a whisper, dangerous, pleading.

You took one step toward the door. And that was as far as you got.

Because before you could reach the handle, a hand clamped around your wrist.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

You turned, slowly just to see his fingers coiled tighter around your wrist.

"You just got here." His voice was too smooth, too calm. "Surely you don’t plan on leaving so soon?"

"Let go."

He didn’t. Instead, he stood, his height towering over you.

"Not yet" he murmured. "You owe me, don’t you?"

"I owe you nothing."

"Oh?" He tilted his head, mocking. "You disappeared for weeks. I could have died."

"You didn’t."

"But I could have." His voice was teasing. "And whose fault would that have been?"

He was toying with you like usual.

You yanked at your wrist. He didn’t budge.

"Mydei."

"Say it again."

Your jaw clenched.

"Let. Me. Go."

His grip loosened—just barely. But then, his other hand lifted to brush a loose strand of hair from your face.

"What if I don’t want to?"

His fingers trailed lower, ghosting over your cheek, your jaw.

"What are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago."

And then, he leaned in. You braced yourself. For a threat, a taunt, for him to force you back. But instead, his lips brushed against your temple.

"Stay."

You tried to pull away. But his hands were already on you, one still gripping your wrist, the other curling against your back, firm and unmoving.

"You’re mine, Y/n" he murmured against your skin.

Your heart pounded.

"You’re delusional"

He only chuckled.

"You say that, yet you’re here."

"Because you lied" you spat.

"And yet you still came."

He was too close. The warmth of his breath, the faintest scent of blood and steel clinging to his skin—all of it suffocating.

"Tell me." His fingers tightened against your back. "Would you have run to anyone else’s side the way you ran to mine?"

You opened your mouth, ready to retort but nothing came.

"I thought so."

"Let me go, Mydei."

"No."

"You can’t keep me here."

"Can’t I?" He tilted his head, mocking. "What will you do, assassin? Kill me?"

"You wouldn’t." His smirk only grew. "Because if you could, you would have done it a long time ago."

"I don’t need to kill you to leave."

"Then leave."

His fingers unraveled from your wrist, your back.

Your muscles coiled—preparing to bolt for the door.

But before you could take a single step, Mydei moved.

Faster than you expected, faster than you had ever seen him.

His arms caged around you, forcing you against the wall.

A startled gasp tore from your lips.

"Do you really think," he whispered, voice low, dangerous, "that I would let you go so easily?"

"You can’t do this."

"I can." His breath ghosted against your skin. "And I will."

You twisted in his grasp, nails digging into his wrist, shoving at his shoulders—but it was useless. His arms were like iron bars, pinning you to the wall.

"Are you done?" Mydei’s voice was silken, patient.

You glared.

"Not even close."

And then—you lunged. Your leg swung up, aiming for his side, but he caught it effortlessly, smirking.

"Predictable" he murmured.

"You think you can run from me, love?" His fingers traced down your arm—slow, possessive. "After everything? You're mine after all"

You bit the inside of your cheek.

"I don’t belong to you, Mydei."

"But you do."

His hand trailed lower, down your wrist, over your fingers. You snatched your hand away.

"I won’t play this game."

"Oh, but you already have." His smirk deepened. "From the moment you let me touch you. From the moment you came running back to me."

"I had no choice."

"You always have a choice." His fingers ghosted over your jaw. "You just keep choosing me."

A sharp knock suddenly broke the tension.

"Your Highness?"

Your blood ran cold.

Before you could even speak, the door opened.

A young servant stepped in, eyes wide with shock as she took in the scene.

Mydei towering over you.

Your wrists pinned in his grip.

The servant’s face blanched.

"I— I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—"

"Out!" Mydei ordered, voice cold, sharp.

The girl hesitated—then turned to you.

"D-Do you need help?"

A chance. This was your chance.

But the second you opened your mouth, Mydei moved. His grip shifted, wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"She’s fine" he said smoothly. "Aren’t you, love?"

His fingers dug in—warning you.

"I… I’m fine" you forced out.

The servant faltered. But Mydei’s gaze was a silent command. So she bowed quickly—then fled, shutting the door behind her.

The second she was gone, you shoved at his chest.

"That was low" you hissed.

"I told you" he murmured, smirking. "You’re not leaving."

His grip tightened.

"Not now. Not ever."

The rumors started the next morning.

Hushed whispers in the halls. Stolen glances in the corridors. Servants whispering about the Prince’s secret lover—his knight, a former assasin, held captive in his chambers.

About the way he pinned you against the wall.

The way his golden eyes gleamed with possession.

The way he held you—like you belonged to him.

"Did you hear? She didn’t even fight back."

"Maybe she likes it, being trapped in his bed."

You heard every word.

And so did Selene.

A soft knock echoed at your window.

Your heart leapt.

Selene.

Without hesitation, you unlatched the window, letting her slip inside.

"Took you long enough" you whispered.

She grinned, mischief gleaming in her very eyes.

"Had to take the long way in" she murmured. "Your dear Prince seems to think locking doors will keep me out."

She wasn’t wrong.

After last night, Mydei had tightened security around his chambers.

Extra guards. Double patrols.

You weren’t just trapped.

You were caged.

"I heard the rumors" Selene said, her smirk faltering. "I’m getting you out" she said, voice firm, final.

"Selene—"

"No arguments. I’m not letting you stay in a gilded cage just because he wants to keep you."

She reached out—gripping your hand.

"Do you trust me?"

"Always."

"Then let’s go."

But before you could move, the door swung open.

And there stood Mydei.

"Going somewhere, love?"

Selene moved first. A dagger flashed, aiming straight for Mydei’s throat. But he was faster. He caught her wrist, twisting it just enough to force her to drop the blade.

"You have a habit of sneaking into places you don’t belong" Mydei murmured.

"And you have a habit of keeping things that aren’t yours," she shot back.

"Oh? But Y/n is still here."

Selene’s grip tightened around your wrist.

"We’re leaving."

"No" Mydei said simply.

His hand reached out, curling around your waist.

"You bastard—"

"Your lovely friend could have left anytime." His golden gaze flickered to you. "But Y/n is still here. Ask yourself why."

Selene turned to you—eyes searching yours.

"Tell me you want to leave" she urged.

Deep down you knew.

If you ran, he would find you.

Your silence was all the answer Selene needed.

Her jaw clenched.

"You’re a fool" she muttered—before slipping out the window and vanishing into the night.

Leaving you alone.

With him.

"You made the right choice" he murmured, lips brushing against your temple.

You exhaled shakily.

But you didn’t move.

Because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, somehow, somewhere along the way, you had stopped running.

[nmhdreamscape]

how bf!dreamies would react to meeting your cat for the first time

pairing | bf!dreamies x reader

content | 100% fluff

note | i wrote each member’s section with a different one of my cats in mind (i have six 🥹). used a different i used to work with as the 7th. hope you enjoy!!

MARK

mark would be super nervous to meet your cat for the first time. not having much experience with cats would only worsen his nerves. he had heard all the horror stories and couldn’t seem to get them out of his head. he knows how much your cat means to you. and with how much you mean to him, he just wants everything to go well.

cue the cutest blob of grey fur mark thinks he has ever seen in his life. pictures just hadn’t done justice to how round and jiggly your cat was. and when she stared up at mark with her huge round eyes, how could he have not fallen for her?

he recalled what he had learned from the youtube tutorials he had watched before coming over and carefully offered out his hand for the cat to sniff. would watch the cat’s behaviour cautiously, practically sweating as his hand was being sniffed. you would watch on, smiling to yourself as you watch his face drop when she seemingly walked away.

“i don’t think she likes me very much.” mark would pout, slowly beginning to stand. as he stood, your cat would come back over, rubbing herself against his legs. he would look down in shock and adoration, signalling for you to be quiet when you went to tease him.

“i told you, she’s like the cat version of me. if i love you, she’s gonna love you too.” you smile as you picked your cat up and placed her in his arms. the pair of them would be inseparable for the rest of the night.

RENJUN

on the outside it may seem as though renjun hadn’t paid a second thought to the fact he was meeting your cat for the first time. on the inside though, he had mapped it all out. that plan soon went out the window the minute he walked through your apartment door.

a blur of orange fur zoomed past him as he let himself into your apartment. renjun thought you had an old cat? weren’t old cats always sleeping? as he continued into your apartment he was stopped in his tracks when the ginger cat ran past him again, almost tripping him over in the process.

“your cat just tried to kill me!” he would complain as he greeted you in the kitchen. as if summoning her, your cat would appear beside him, staring up at him curiously. as renjun moved to crouch down beside her, he noted none of her behaviours indicated that she was uncomfortable. hesitantly, he reached his hand out to pat him. and he immediately regretted it. the cat latched onto his hand, biting down before quickly running away.

“what the fuck! she just bit me!” he complained, holding up his hand for you to inspect. you giggled, pressing a quick kiss over the bite mark before moving past him to pat your cat.

“it’s just how she shows affection, you’ll get used to it.”renjun sent a glare the cat’s way as you picked her up and gave her a pet on the head. as much as he hated the idea of being bitten all the time, he loved the implication that you were planning on having him around long enough to get used to it.

JENO

when you had told jeno you had finally gotten the stray cat in your neighbourhood to settle down with you he didn’t believe you. what soon followed was a barrage of until countless photos showing the cat sprawled out in all sorts of positions. jeno had to see it for himself.

he was greeted by the stray the moment he entered the your apartment. the cat seemed to remember him from the times they had encountered one another on the street. he would begin to pet the cat before having a realisation. and then it would hit him, the sneezing.

“did you forget to take your allergy medication before you left?” you would ask, concerned that he hadn’t stopped sneezing. the stray had scurried away somewhere, startled by the loud noise.

“you’re lucky i’m prepared!” you scolded as you handed him some pills and a glass of water. your boyfriend was anything if not predicable. the sneezing would soon stop and noticing the lack of noise, the cat would return. jeno had taken note of how much better the cat looked, no longer underweight and dirty but well-fed with a pristine coat. all of the signs that you were caring for the cat just like how you cared for him.

“what would we do without you?” he would whisper lovingly, planting a kiss on your forehead. he now had another thing to add to the lists of reasons why he loved you.

HAECHAN

you were a bit nervous to introduce your cat to haechan. before this, every time he had come over you had put her away in a room with all her things to make sure she didn’t freak out. she’s extremely shy and easily scared. you didn’t want anything to go wrong.

standing in front of the two, you honestly couldn’t remember why you were worried. your boyfriend’s kind and caring nature really shone through as he took the time to befriend your cat. you had never seen the fluff-ball warm up to somebody so fast. the pair were cuddled up together on your couch, haechan trying to figure out where your cat preferred to be pet.

“i swear she’s never like this.” you laughed as you watched them from afar. you watched as haechan tentatively rubbed your cats shoulders, knowing that it was her favourite.

“oh my- is she drooling?” he would exclaim, wiping it off of his hand. you nodded at him, joining the two of them on the couch. your cat quickly hopped off of his lap to lie on you instead. he watched bewildered as you petted her gently, mumbling praises as you went.

“i don’t know who to be more jealous of, you or her.” he would sulk, pressing himself into you as you continue to pet the cat in your lap. you would simply roll your eyes, opting to pet his head with your other hand. you quickly picked up on how much he seemed to enjoy it. that would be something you would definitely be taking advantage of in the future.

JAEMIN

jaemin had been practically bashing your door down to meet your cat. he had heard some weird nosies on the other side of the phone on your latest call. you explained to him that they belonged to your cat.

“what do you mean you have a cat?” he gasped, slightly offended he hadn’t known sooner. you quickly cleared up that you hadn’t been hiding a cat from him every time he came over, you were simply watching the family cat while your parents were away on holiday. however, your boyfriend was still determined to meet him. which led to the situation you were currently witnessing.

“ahhh! you’re such a pretty boy yes you are!” jaemin cooed, making a weird combination of a scream and a gasp when your cat rolled over onto his belly with a meow. jaemin shot forward and began to pet the cat in a fashion you could only expect from a cat dad, absolutely enamoured by the cat who reminded him of his own.

“don’t you think that he and luna would look great together?” he looked up at you with pleading eyes. you knew this comment was coming. the second you realised both of you owned ragdolls, you knew he would suggest some kind of pairing.

“jaem, don’t you think it would be a little weird if our children were together?” you questioned, joining him on the floor with your cat. jaemin’s eyes widened comically in realisation, backpedaling on his comment. after much discussion, you ended up settling on your cats being step-siblings. with the plans jaemin had for your future, such an arrangement was only natural.

CHENLE

chenle had never really intended to meet your cat, it all sort of happened on accident. you were returning back from the vet when you got a phone call. phone calls like these weren’t uncommon, chenle had a tendency to leave problems alone until they became absolutely necessary to handle. however, a call had never come at such an inconvenient time before. still, you dragged yourself and your cat over to his place.

“please next time just call me as soon as something is wrong, don’t leave it until the last minute.” you scolded, although you knew it was bound to happen again. you both made your way back into the central area of chenle’s apartment, where you had set down your cat before your boyfriend had whisked you away jnto the other room.

“yeah yeah i know- wait… where’s your cat?” chenle stopped in his tracks, looking at an open carrier. he immediately began running around, worried he was the reason your cat had gotten out. you watched his panic in slight amusement before coming up behind him and stopping him.

“it’s okay! i let him out when i first got here. i couldn’t leave him in his carrier the entire time.” you reassured. chenle let out a sigh of relief. now the focus shifted to finding where your cat had gone in his apartment. you both searched for about 10 minutes before chenle realised exactly where your cat would have gone.

and just as he thought, there in front of him laid daegal and your cat, cuddled up together in one of her many beds. you and your boyfriend looked on adoration and how cute they were, you quietly whispering that your cat loves dogs. chenle silently cursed himself for doubting you and was quickly coming up with ways on how to ask you to make this a regular occurrence in his home.

JISUNG

standing in front of the door to your apartment, jisung would be absolutely terrified to meet your cat. mumbling silent prayers to himself on the way over, he knew his relationship was all but over if he didn’t get the pet’s approval.

it was almost as though there was no cat in the apartment when he entered. that was until he locked eyes with a shadowy figure who had perched himself on the table in your kitchen. you had picked up on the apprehension radiating off of your boyfriend.

“are you good?” you would ask cautiously, giving him a reassuring squeeze as you moved past him. jisung felt a little embarrassed at getting called out. i mean, who was scared of a cat?

“huh? yeah. he’s just a little… scary?” he muttered quietly, hoping that his choice of words wouldn’t offend you. you let out a loud chuckle at this, jisung’s face flushing slightly pink at your reaction. you walked up to him and pinched his cheek before placing a kiss on it. you continued past him over to where your cat was.

“god you’re cute! he’s literally harmless, watch this.” you picked up your cat and rotated him so that he was cradled in your arms. jisung watched on, amazed at how the cat seem to enjoy the way you poke and prodded at him in various way. when you handed your cat over to him, jisung opted simply to give the cat some pets on the head. to his surprise, the cat leaned further into his touch, purring away. he should have known that when it came to you, there was nothing to be scared about.

requests are open!

masterlist

[fanzou]

I know a lot of ppl write zoro vs sanji competing for the reader but what about zoro and nami both wanting the same girl. Just an idea, you don't have to do this request! Your writings great💕

The Girl is Mine

✗ Pairing(s): Sanji x Fem!Reader, Nami x Fem!Reader

✗ Summary: You try resolving a conflict between your two very good friends, only to find out you’re the sole reason they’re having issues in the first place.

✗ Total WC: 4.1K

✗ CW: SMUT. Tipsy, slightly drunk sex, threesome, p on p sex, p in v sex, voyeurism (Nami), Sanji is a perv (a secret to no one) [Let me know if I missed any]

✗ A/N: Hi anon. I hope you don’t mind but, I did Sanji instead :3, only cuz I feel like the tension would be so much better. Might have to do Zoro soon though! I enjoyed this so so much. Thank you !!!

“S’cuse me Sanji, can I please talk to you for a minute?” Nami walks towards him in a confident stride, she settles her hand on her hip.

He looks at her with a warm smile, “You can always talk to me, love. What’s on your mind?” He puts down whatever he has in his hand, as to not given Nami any divided attention.

She chuckles, almost with underlying malice, “You know, I can see that you’re getting an awful lot closer to…” she takes her harsh stare off of him, and softly looks over to you, focused on your own little activity and completely oblivious to the situation unravelling.

Sanji is starting to pick up on what this about. "Oh yeah, we've definitely gotten close." he crosses his arms.

“I just wanted to let you know that she’s mine.”

He lets a sharp exhale of his breath out as an attempt to laugh.

“No no, she’s mine.”

-

It goes without saying that Sanji and Nami have been acting very weirdly toward each other these days.

Sanji, ever the sweetheart who would quite literally drop everything for Nami is now giving her the coldest of shoulders. You’d ask him and he would just wave you off, “It’s nothing, beautiful. Everything’s just fine.” But his eyes betray him; he’s glaring at Nami across the room who reciprocates his same stare.

You ask Nami the same, she gives you a very loving look that you don’t question, “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.” As she tucks your hair behind your ear with her delicate and soft hand. The gesture makes you blush a bit, but you don't let it get you sidetracked from the initial rising issue at hand; What happened between the two?

Everyone’s just as confused as the other, to tell the truth. It’s not news for Nami to act a little harshly towards him or anyone for that matter, but Sanji's new coldness was a different story. Sanji treated you three girls on this ship like you all were walking Goddesses and if you asked him, he would probably say that that was exactly what you all were.

It was out of character, and almost unsettling to everyone, even to Zoro, who would do anything but concern himself in the shitty cooks stupid troubles. His words exactly, when you tried talking to him about it.

Still he’ll make meals normally, set the plate down like he always would in front of her. Really the only new thing was the lack of word exchange, and you almost feel bad watching it unravel. What happened that was that bad? The thought made your heart ache.

-

Your turn for night watch was up, and you could finally go back to sleep, you weren’t so sure that you could though, with the tension amongst the ship giving you a foreign anxiety you didn’t think possible. You try shoving it in the back of your mind for now, for your hard work for the day was over, and you could finally rest up.

Robin took over and you kindly thanked her before making your way to your shared room for three.

The night air was chilly and even walking through the corridor to find your room made your body shudder, you quickened your pace and immediately twisted the handle to the door and there she was; Orange hair and body lost in the sheets, sleeping so soundly.

You and Nami shared a bed, it wasn’t weird. Practically everyone shared everything on the Sunny. Hell, sometimes you'd even bathe together with her or even Robin to perserve some hot water. Sharing a bed helped you sleep better due to an excessive amount of nightmares you had, and you insisted that since Robin was older than the two of you she deserved to get her own bed out of the sheer respect you had for her. So it worked out for everyone. Especially for Nami, who always needed you nice and close anytime you’d join her in slumber.

And when you decided to remove most of your clothing and tried your best to move as slow as possible as to not get her up, she wakes inevitably, pulls you impossibly close as she puts her leg around yours. “Missed you.” She says.

“You saw me not too long ago.” You giggle in response. But you tighten your hold on her, and you two fall asleep not soon after.

When morning came, you swore the most delectable smell came from the kitchen, it smelled so good that you almost felt like you'd fly following the string of air attached to it. You try peeling Nami off of you to see what Sanji made that you had the privilege of tasting today, but like always, she awoke with you.

“Morning Nami.” You say with your back turned to her trying to get your clothes back on. “Hey.” She says, stretching her arms out to help wake her up a little bit. “You wanna come eat?” You ask finally getting up, but her demeanor drops at the mention of food. It seems that way anytime you try mentioning anything that had to do with him, and your disappointed expression makes a return once again.

You sigh, and decide to give an attempt to talk to her about it once again,

“Nami, I don’t know what he did to make you so upset but you know you can talk to me, right?” You walk over to the bed again and put your hand on her shoulder as a means to comfort her into the thought. Immediately picking up on your insinuation, “You worry too much. Nothings wrong, okay?” She takes the hand on her shoulder in her own and caresses it slowly.

You let out another sigh, but you guess you had to deal with it for another day.

Soon after you and Nami join the table together, you engage in conversation with the rest of the group while waiting for today’s starting meal that’s making all of your stomachs scream. But you feel unsettled, Nami and Sanji are yet again, still uncomfortable with each other. It’s making you zone out thinking about it. It’s making you think a lot more than you want to.

You feel her hand snake onto your lap, she sees the worry in your face. You turn to meet her eyes at the intimacy of her hand and you instantly feel so much better.

For a second, she’s a little too close to your inner region and you can’t deny the goose bumps that litter the skin of your lower body.

What caught you by complete surprise was the sudden movement of Sanji’s body between both of yours, setting out plates for the both of you.

“Alright ladies, you enjoy now.” He puts a hand onto your back and starts to move it in circles, completely neglecting the woman beside him in his presence. “Let me know if you want anymore, beautiful. I’ll always have enough for you.” He winks. And your face is dusted with an obvious red.

When you look at Nami, she's already picking off her plate a little too harshly.

You really do want to ask her if she was doing okay, you really do. You felt terribly about it. About being incapable of relieving her and Sanji from whatever stresses they had going on, but thankfully Franky’s conversation pulls you back into reality and you can forget about the awkward exchange for now.

You just hold her hand under the table for now.

-

The night wind is howling and the Sunny’s grass feels too comfortable to move away from, tonight you guys drink to your accomplishments as the crew goes another night without conflicts. You’re sprawled out on top of the grass, counting stars one by one with a bottle of wine in your left hand.

Zoro’s already plastered and he’s making it everyone’s problem, especially his blonde nemesis who he keeps taunting right now. Sanji just wants a way out so he can make his way towards you before a certain someone does. He’s relieved to see that she’s making an effort to chat it up with Robin in her already tipsy state. So he ignores Zoro harshly and without any guilt and makes his way towards you.

When he plagues your vision and you can no longer admire the beautiful stars, but instead his face, you feel equally satisfied.

“Feelin’ good down there, princess?” He’s looking at you with a cigarette in his mouth.

“‘Can’t even begin to explain it.”

Alas, all good things came to an end, you didn’t want to converse with your friend while you were about to doze off. So you sit up straight and cross your legs, urging him to sit next to you by patting the patch of grass. “How’s your night going?”

He tucks the cigarette between his fingers and lets out a huff, “Better, now that I’m here with you.” You giggle at that.

He really never fails to make you blush, especially now that you’re the slightest bit under the influence, wine bottle aside you as proof.

But inevitably, like you have been cockblocking him about this for the last few days, you ask him about Nami and, how you’re here for both of them and, how you don’t want anything to happen to either of them. It makes him draw a really strong pull from his cigarette, “Dear, there’s nothing wrong.” He looks away.

But you’re starting to get fed up with it at this point. Same answer from both of them, it’s tiresome. “Sanji, if you’re not gonna be honest with me you can walk away.” You say sharply, he can’t deny how the firmness in your voice didn’t turn him on a tad. Normally he would take you more seriously but because of his own excessive drinking, he really wants nothing more than for you to get more and more assertive with him.

He sighs, throwing the cigarette bud overboard. “You wanna talk about it in private?” He says, and you’re eager to pull him somewhere where he can spill his guts, finally. He guides you to the guy’s quarters, where he’s sure no one would be given that everyone was out on the deck either drunk out their mind or making fun of whoever was drunk out of their mind.

And when Nami no longer senses your presence, along with Sanji’s paired absence, she’s immediately on high alert. Out of their entire ongoing discourse, this was something she was immediately worried about. She excuses herself from conversation and tries to make it seem like she wasn’t about to explode from anxiety.

When she herself is out of sight from the crew, she immediately goes running through any room where it was a possibility she could try disrupting the two of you. When she finally reaches the men’s quarters, she finds you and Sanji in the middle of the room, yet to make yourselves comfortable enough to even start saying or doing anything.

“Nami? You okay?” You immediately leave Sanji’s side, removing his hand that he had on your hip. The sight alone made Nami’s breath pick up a little bit.

“Y-Yeah…” She fixes herself, and straightens up, “‘Just a little tired, m’not feeling too well. Can we go to sleep?”

You look back at Sanji with eyes that say sorry, and he shakes his head as a means to tell you that it was no issue for him at all. Only it was. It was his biggest issue. This entire thing with Nami. He didn’t want to be mad at her. He loved her. But he wanted you all for himself.

While you both walk away, she looks bad with a sadistic grin painted on her face. He balls his fist up and grinds his teeth together all before lighting up another cigarette.

Meanwhile, Nami has her hands on your hip as you make your walk back to your own quarters. And you don’t know it under the dark lighting of the room, but she’s ecstatic.

When you make it to your room, the dim lighting does well to emphasize your drunken state, you can't explain it. You feel woozy enough for some good sleep, and Nami and you undress in front of each other in preparation for what you've been waiting all day for, complete relaxation.

You break the silence, “Nami.” She replies with a simple hum to the call of her name, “You feel fine. You just wanted me to get away from Sanji, didn’t you? So he couldn't tell me anything?” Your shirt is off now, and you’re left in your bra and shorts, something she’ll never get tired of seeing. She not so subtly ogles your form, but she can thank the darkness of the room for not giving her away.

She sighs. Try as she might you were a sharp woman, “I’m sorry. I’m just mad at him right now. And I’m not ready for either him or me to talk about it.” She tries to dance around the true subject of why they were playing this game, you. You’re both sat up on your shared bed now, and she has a pitiful expression that you were to blame for, and you immediately feel the guilt in your stomach.

“Hey… I’m sorry Nam’, I didn’t mean to pressure you guys. I'm sorry for being so nosy.” You caress her thigh as an attempt at comfort, and her head slowly comes up to meet your gaze. Your beautiful, pure, gaze.

You could say the same for Nami, even in such a darkened environment her hair effortlessly shined and her face naturally glowed.

It might have been the alcohol in your system, or there must’ve have been an invisible magnet between you two, because the way you naturally gravitated towards her felt unreal, and she does nothing to fight it, neither do you—with a hand to your jaw and her eyes slowly closing, your lips meet. Her skin was so delicate, and it felt like second nature the way they moved against each other. The sound of your lips smacking against one another’s turned you on a bit, Reality settled in, you guys were making out—full blown making out. And it was hot.

It didn’t take much for it to escalate, and you to moan into her mouth, and her kisses go from your mouth to your neck, and then the fat of your breasts. And it all felt euphoric.

“N-Nami…” You moaned, “Robin c-could… mh, walk in.”

You both might've been a little tipsy, but it didn't take a genius to know that the predicament you both were in was far from innocent, and that whoever chose to mindlessly open the door would walk into something dirty.

“She won’t. She’s too preoccupied with Franky.”

Her hand does its own thing while she brings her mouth back to yours, a part of you has this small hunch, like this was intentional. Like she meant for it to happen, the way she came between you and Sanji, and the mention of Robin's absence being but a small conflict in your scandalous act--it sounded calculated, but it was a thought that came and went, you shove it aside to focus on the pure bliss you felt with her tongue now trying to fight yours for dominance.

Your mouths detach once again, this time with a string of saliva connecting between the two of you, and she moans at the sight. God, if you could hear that again. She's pushing you onto her pillow, and trying to remove your shorts. Nami always slept with a shirt on, no bra and panties, as did you. She takes a moment to scan the art-piece in front of her, your nipples were barely peaking through your lace bra, with your panties soaked solely from your make-out session. You were red from the alcohol, and the previous tongue fucking.

She takes her shirt off. And so, it's your turn to admire her beautiful body. You've undressed in front of each other so many times, but this was different. This made you so much more hot, so excited to finally get her body on yours.

Nami get's up out of her comfortable position and takes off her underwear, just as she then does for you and your bra. She takes no time in putting your leg over hers and you immediately feel the friction, the wetness colliding against each other. it's only when she starts to move on top of you is when you shake a little bit with excitement. You whimper and she moves a little faster. The sounds of your cunts making their move on the other is insanely lewd, coupled with your clit being grazed over and over again, your eyes roll back in your head.

It wasn't only your clit's being touched up against each other, but your chests as well. The feeling of your nipples lightly touching on the others was inexplicable. The feeling of pleasure exceeded the need to speak, because you both understood how the other felt. And you just wanted to bask in how good you both fucked each other.

You desperately chase Nami's mouth once again, and she's quick to lower herself for you. Again, your tongues do a dance for dominance.

It doesn't take long for you to both reach the raging desire to orgasm. Your pussies were grinding in the right spots and your conjoined moans were becoming eager, both reaching for the little knot to unravel.

It doesn't take long for that to happen, Nami cums first with you shortly after.

Her forehead is resting on yours while you both catch your breaths, she gives you a quick kiss on the lips, you finally speak, "How're you... so good at that?" She giggles at your obviously fucked-out state.

"'Dunno, you just bring something out of me." You breathlessly laugh at the comment, and you give her a kiss on the cheek before you gently remove her figure and onto your side of the bed.

She goes quiet for a minute, you're covering yourself with your blanket just to re-collect yourself again until you can stomach to get up.

"Sanji."

Nami calls out to the man who obivously wasn't in the room, "You can come inside if you want." She says, and you freeze up. Sanji?

With that, the door cracks open to reveal the man who had been spying on the both of you from the entrace to the girl's quarters this entire time. You're shocked, is the least you can say, and when you see the bulge in his pants that definitely wasn't there when you were with him not even an hour ago, you're even more shocked. You do the best you can to cover yourself in your shared blanket, but Nami just lays on her stomach completely bare to him rocking the most smug grin he's ever seen.

"She's officially mine now, so you can stop trying."

Sanji sighs and looks down to the floor in what looks like defeat, he wants to pull yet another cigarette out and just smoke it.

Inevitably, she was somewhat right. This was the deal they both made to compensate for the tense conflicts that rose between them.

You're a little sobered up, and you start piecing together what they were saying, mine? Stop trying? With the seemingly insane resentment they've harbored up for each other in the past week or two, you've finally cracked it. This was about you. It was only ever you. From the silent treatment they gave each other to the constant and excessive tenderness they both showed you, it explained everything you tried so desperately to talk out of them.

And honestly, you didn't know if you were angry or turned on. Maybe both.

"New deal," He says, and Nami gets up as a means to defy whatever dumb proposition he wanted to start again. "who can fuck her better."

With a shake of her head, "Uh-Uh! I got her first so she's mine!"

He laughs and his confidence is back up, "What? Scared you gonna lose her if she get's a taste of how good I feel?"

Its Nami's turn to put her head down, she looks at you, who can only stare at the cook's very apparent bulge in his pants and he's not blind to it "You want me to make you feel good, princess?" He takes off his coat.

Nami orders him to lock the doors.

He does what she asks of him, then immediately makes his way to you both afterwards.

He's quick on your lips, putting his gloved over your chin and he quickly makes it passionate in doing so. The mix of cigarettes and alcohol on his tongue isn't overpowering, if anything it turns you on even more.

Right beside you is Nami, who once held so much resentment for the blonde, is now slowly getting turned on by him making his move on her one and only.

The blanket that once covered you is now undressing you itself, coming down to reveal your breasts, much to his satisfaction.

Sanji wastes no time in pushing you down and inviting himself onto you bed. He looks at Nami, expecting her to be angry at the sight, but he's surprised to see her, massaging and pinching her breasts at the very sight in front of her. He looks back at you, "'Gonna make you feel good, okay? Yeah?" You nod.

He knows you're wet enough for him, but he fingers you anyway. He fingers your cunt enough to where your whimpering his name for more and to add another, but instead his mimics Nami in pinching your nipple and fondling your breast to add to your pleasure in a multitude of ways. Nami almost subconsciously moves her unoccupied hand to her pussy and starts playing with it at the sight of both of you.

Once he's done enough to ready you, in a swift motion he's taking off his belt, then he lowers his pants to his knees, then his underwear, and next thing you know he's lining himself up. You're grabbing on the pillow underneath you to brace for it. He put's it inside of you and with a satisfied moan, you look at Nami, who's looking at you, and you clench around him.

You look back to Sanji who's too happy about your warm pussy around him to notice the intimate moment you and Nami just shared, and he's already making his first thrust back in and out of you. His cock was long and thick, and you could feel every inch as it went inside.

The scene itself was so dirty. Both you and Nami naked with Sanji's pants pulled down inside of you while Nami shamelessly played with her cunt and tits to the sight. "Tell me how good it feels baby. Tell us." He says, with his thrusts becoming all the more brutal, balls colliding with your ass.

"It feels amazing Sanji. You both make me feel amazing." Followed by a whimper at the sound of skin slapping, you feel a second orgasm approaching you. He signals Nami to come over to his side, and to your surprise they start to kiss while his thrusts become a little more sensual, but he's hitting exact right angle now, and you feel like you're on cloud nine.

The sight before you, his mouth on hers while she chases her own pleasure in her fingers, gives him his own idea of snaking his hand on your clit and doing the same. By this point, holding off your orgasm was impossible. And you cum so hard you almost see stars in your vision. With the sound of your moans, Nami follows suit, and third, Sanji pulls out of you as his own finally approaches and rubs himself on your slit to get his liquids out and onto your body.

Everyones a mess, Nami and you lie down aside from each other again, only this time is Sanji laying on top of you. You bring your hands to his hair and play with the strands.

"I made her cum faster." she says.

"You kidding? Did you hear how loud she was when she was with me?" he says.

All you do is groan. Yeah, this was gonna be a long night.

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day four: a blind date

ᰔ pairing: agent whiskey x reader

ᰔ summary: your best friend told you to show up in your best dive bar attire on a friday night, only for her to bail. by luck— or something else— you find a handsome cowboy looking for some company.

ᰔ author's note: agent whiskey was my gateway into the ppcu when it came out. my first on the list of many of pedro boys. agent whiskey i know you fucked around and found out but the light is on and the door is open 🙂‍↕️

ᰔ content warning: dive bar setting. non-canon/au agent whiskey. alcohol consumption. flirting. vague suggestive ending. no description of reader/use of y/n. my hatred of the song free bird by lynyrd skynyrd.

For a dive bar, you expected shittier music. Well, maybe the music was shitty— your friends gave you enough grief when you were on the aux cord. It wasn't your fault you had a wide range in your liked songs.

As you looked around, the sound of Free Bird caught your attention. A grimace washed over your face and you weaved your way to the jukebox. It had seen better days in the last few decades, and the song selection had nothing from the last ten years. Just how you liked it, along with every other patron in the bar.

You glanced over your shoulder as you looked for your friend, only to be met with the same crowd you've been surrounded by. The only newcomer looked to be an older gentleman leaned against the bar. His broad shoulders shifted as he reached for a glass in front of him. As he glanced around, he caught your gaze. He gave a polite smile and tipped his hat before he took a long swig of his drink.

Before you moved towards the bar, you slipped a few coins in the jukebox and chose the song you had been eyeing. Once Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac began to play, you finally tore yourself away. You slipped between the man and an empty seat, arms barely brushed against one another.

"Got something against Lynyrd Skynyrd?" The man asked as he placed his glass back down on the bar. You chuckled, one elbow on the bar as you turned to face him.

"Only Free Bird. We get it, the bird's free. Been free longer than this bar's been standin'." Your cheeks flushed as he laughed. Part of you wished your friend would show up, just so she could get a look at the man.

"I suppose you've got a point," he smirked. "But it's Lynyrd Skynyrd. They're as good as it gets, darlin'." He looked you up and down without even trying to hide it.

"Look, Simple Man will always be one of my top five songs but you lose me with the bird." You ordered a Jack and Coke when the bartender passed by. As you handed her the bill, you heard the man beside you chuckle.

"Name's Jack Daniels, ma'am."

You raised an eyebrow. It was hard to discern if he was just jesting, or if that was the truth. You leaned in a bit closer, unable to deny yourself the draw he had. Even if it wasn't true, you weren't sure you cared.

"You bullshittin' me?" When he shook his head, you smiled again. You thanked the bartender for the drink and sipped on it. The drink warmed you, but it was nothing compared to whatever Jack's gaze did. Something warm settled in your chest, all the way down to the pit of your stomach.

"God's honest truth, ma'am," Jack reached for his wallet. He pulled out his license, and it confirmed that his name was, in fact, Jack Daniels. You ran a thumb over it before you handed it back to him.

"What brings you to this spot on a Friday night? All by yourself?" You felt yourself loosen up as you sipped on your drink. Partially, at least.

"Friend said he'd meet me here, but seems he's caught in traffic," Jack shrugged. He leaned on the bar, closing some of the space between the two of you. Between the music and the gaggles of loud patrons around, it made for easier conversation.

"Really? You know, I'm in the same boat. One of my girlfriends was supposed to meet me here tonight, but I haven't heard from her," you sighed. While a small part of you was disappointed, you didn't mind having your company kept by Jack. He was kind enough, and good to look at.

"Shame," Jack shook his head. "Guess we'll have to keep each other company instead." His smile felt like a blow to the chest, the air in your lungs all but disappeared. Your head felt woozy, but you couldn't blame it on the drink in your hand.

"If we must," you chuckled. "So, Jack Daniels, what's with the cowboy getup? Not that it's not doing you any favors." You pressed your arm against his as you finished off your drink. Even out of the corner of your eye, you saw the smirk on his lips.

Before Jack answered, he ordered another round for both of you. His fingers, the one near your arm, tapped against your elbow. Everything he did seemed so effortless, from the way he held himself to the way his hands moved as he spoke.

"I work at a distillery, of sorts. Got some other tricks of the trade, but that's the long and short." Jack watched your expression, watched the way your eyes followed his lips and studied his face. Not that he'd admit it out loud, but your gaze made his skin feel electric.

"A man named Jack Daniels who works at a distillery?" You smiled, your cheeks flush from both your drink and the look on his eyes.

"I'm full of surprises," Jack huffed a laugh.

"I'm starting to think you're too good to be true, Mr. Daniels." You nudged his elbow, winking at him before you took a seat in the empty bar stool. As you moved away, he followed. His arm still pressed against yours, a hand on the back of the chair as he boxed you in. Not that you minded.

"You flatter me, darlin'."

The two of you continued to fall into an easy conversation. Jack made you laugh, did anything to see that smile on yours. If his friend had been here, he was sure he would've teased him for the way he acted.

"You play darts?" You asked after you finished off your third drink. You glanced up from your glass to look at Jack. He'd taken off the hat, a few strands of his hair fell in front of his forehead. It took everything in you to not run a hand through his hair. Instead, you busied yourself with ordering another drink for yourself and Jack.

"I do. Think you got it in you to play a coupla rounds?" Jack thanked the bartender as she handed him another beer. He watched as you hopped off the chair, only to sway a bit. His hand settled on the small of your back as he guided you towards the dart board.

"I'm so good at darts," you assured him. While it was true, the drinks were starting to get to you and your vision. Still though, you were determined to impress the tall, handsome cowboy holding you.

"Wanna put your money where your mouth is?" Jack asked as the two of you stood before the board. He let go of you to grab the basket of darts, mismatched and as beat up at the jukebox. He held it to you as he let you pick your darts.

"I can think of a few things I'd put in my mouth." You winked before you finished off the last of your drink. He bit his bottom lip, looking you up and down as you turned to put the glass down.

"Twenty dollars that I'll beat you." You reached into your purse and pulled out a crisp twenty. Without a word, you reached over and placed it in the pocket of his jean jacket.

"I'll take that bet," Jack cleared his throat. As you queued up for your first toss, he felt his phone buzz. He fished it out of his pocket to read whatever the text was.

Teq: Sorry I couldn't make it. Hope you're enjoying your time at the bar ;)

Jack glanced up from his phone, the dots connected as you hit the twenty. Of course it was a setup. Tequila had been on him about entering the dating scene again— he went on and on about how 'lonely' he seemed. What would his luck be that you also got stood up by your friend on a Friday night in the same bar, around the same time?

What irked him was that he was having fun. Jack hadn't been out in months, at least for his own sake. Being out with you reminded him of something he had missed, though he wasn't sure what that was.

You cheered as you hit a bullseye. That pulled Jack back to the present, his phone shoved in his pocket and his words for Tequila saved for a different time. He'd save it for Monday. For now, he has a beauty standing right in front of him, all smiles and oblivious to the plan her friend had orchestrated.

"Well I'll be damned," Jack chuckled. He sipped on his beer and stepped towards the dart board. Low and behold, you had knocked a clean 75 off your score.

"Show me what you're workin' with. Hope you can put those hands to good use," you hummed. You shot him a wink as you stepped away from the faded piece of tape on the floor. With your arms crossed over your chest, you watched his expression shift from impressed to calculated.

Jack threw it, only for it to hit one of the numbers and clatter to the ground. He was decent at darts, but his mission to impress you was off to a rocky start. The only thing that eased his nerves was your sweet laughter, followed by you grabbing the dart for him.

"Looks like it'll be an easy twenty bucks." You handed him the dart.

An easy twenty bucks, it was. You left him in the dust and ended the game without breaking a sweat. It was all worth it to see the look on his face as you returned from the board with your darts in hand. He looked you up and down, both in awe and something simmering beneath the surface.

"I'll be damned. You a professional or somethin'?" Jack asked as he took the darts and put them in the basket. You shook your head, leaned against one of the tall tables nearby.

"One of my party tricks," you tilted your head. "Think I could make it in the big leagues?" Jack stood next to you, only a few inches separating the two of you. He smelled divine between his cologne and whatever he had used to wash up before he went out.

"If you throw like that with four drinks knocked back? Darlin', you'd be the reigning champion." Jack leaned in a bit closer, a smile on his lips. You tried to not make it obvious how handsome you found him, but when he had his undivided attention on you, it made your heart hammer in your chest. While you wanted to blame it on the alcohol, you knew well enough that even a buzz couldn't make you feel like this.

"You think?" You asked. You leaned in as well, your bodies near flush against each other. There were so many thoughts that rushed through your head, yet they all went silent as Jack's nose brushed against yours.

"I know it."

You weren't sure who made the first move, but his lips on yours made your eyes flutter closed. Everything fell to the wayside— the music, the rowdy patrons, whatever else surrounded you in the dive bar. Jack filled your senses, his presence demanded without a word exchanged. His hands settled at your sides, polite even as his fingers suck into your flesh. It elicited a soft gasp between kisses; electricity settled under your skin as a zip shot down your spine.

You pulled away, the air from your lungs all but gone as you looked at him. Jack looked you over. From what you could tell, he was just as breathless as you were. You only hoped he felt even a sliver of what you did

"I know this may be improper, but I was wondering if you had any other plans for the night." Jack hadn't taken his hands off of you as he searched your expression for an answer. He'd be an idiot to not take you home, to not kindle whatever had sparked between you.

"My only plans involve a man who's ass I can kick when it comes to darts," you teased. Jack smirked as he let a chuckle, rolling his eyes. He squeezed your side before he stood up straight. He grabbed for his hat and started to put it back on. Before he put it back on, you took it out of his hand and put it on top of your head.

"Come on, cowboy. Let's get out of here." You leaned into Jack's side as he led you out of the bar.

[halyasgirl]

Just something I need to get off my chest before I go back to basking in the moonfam’s storyline, but where was Callum’s internal conflict this season? I think the writers did a great job showing internal conflict for most characters, but then somehow dropped the ball with Callum, the main protagonist.

Ezran struggles with upholding his forgiving ideals when confronted with the man who killed his father. Rayla agonizes over betraying Ezran but decides her father's life means more than Ezran's well-being. Runaan begins to realize how badly he's failed his ideals and loved ones as the cracks in his ideology grow. But Callum spends most of the season falling over himself to say he’ll do ~anything~ for Rayla, including protecting the man who killed his dad, and betraying and abandoning his 12-year-old brother during a crisis.

And I don’t necessarily have a problem with that. Callum’s got a lot of abandonment issues with Rayla and I think it makes sense he’d protect Runaan and leave with her. What I can’t understand is why he doesn’t seem conflicted about this at all. Callum never reflects on Harrow or his killer, or what he’s put Ezran through by abandoning him. His life’s ambition is now to settle down in the Silvergrove and “get to know Ethari and Runaan better.”

Not to single out 7x05 "Sticky Fingers," but I sincerely want to ask about the scenes there. I enjoyed Callum's adventures in babysitting, they made me laugh. But I can’t understand why a whole episode of the main characters was devoted to what felt like filler when so many long-term character arcs were unresolved.

Just as an example, if the scenes of Silvergrove-Fun were replaced with:

A scene where Ethari and Rayla pair off to gather food for their Feast, leaving Callum with Runaan. Ethari apologizes to Rayla for Ghosting her and tells her that she will always have a home there. He says that she and Runaan have been gone too long, and when Rayla asks if Ethari's upset at Runaan for leaving, Ethari says he isn't, though Runaan's apologized enough for it, because Ethari knows he never meant to break his promise. 

Meanwhile, Callum takes the opportunity to privately confront Runaan about killing Harrow and trying to kill Ezran, foreshadowing Runaan's crisis of faith. 

Finally, Rayla and Callum get to talk in the evening and Rayla apologizes for breaking her promise to search for Viren with Callum (from Through the Moon). She thought she was protecting him by striking out alone, but she should have trusted him to make his own choice (Terry-Claudia breakup callback). Callum forgives her and then they get to have a cute date trying Moonberry Surprise or something. 

It would have resolved two long-running relationship arcs, foreshadowed the resolution of Runaan's character arc, and reminded the audience of Harrow and Callum’s love for his family even after he abandoned Ezran.

And I truly wish I could find a way to ask the showrunners about these writing decisions in a polite, non-confrontational way. The writers apparently had a note to “find the humor,”  but was comic relief and teasing future Rayllum babies for a currently nonexistent Arc 3 considered more important than addressing what should be major sources of tension between the main couple (how Rayllum deal with her father killing his, the Moonshadow values that led to Rayla originally leaving Callum)? I’d be sincerely curious to get the writers’ thoughts on this. If anyone would like to chime in I’d genuinely appreciate your time and effort.

Loose plot threads may be resolved in Arc 3, but the time to address these character arcs was now, but they went unexamined. And unlike the unresolved plot threads, I fear if they didn't resolve them now then I don’t have high hopes for hypothetical Arc 3.

[pascalislove]

THE CALL: Han Jeong-Won x Fem!Reader~6

Summary: Your arrival would change everything, even if Jeong-Won didn't know it yet.

The next night, determined to improve the atmosphere in the mansion, she thought of nothing better than a little distraction. He approached Jeong-Won, who was immersed in his computer, working again.

—How about we go out for a while? He asked, looking at the serious man with a smile. I've been thinking that maybe you could use a break. Jeong-Won looked up for a moment, appraising her.

—And what do you propose? —he responded suspiciously, as if anything he suggested could be a trap.

—A movie. Let's go out to the movies. I assure you that you won't need to do anything, just look at the screen. Jeong-Won frowned, but to Y/N's surprise, he agreed.

—Good. But don't make me watch one of those saccharine romantic comedies. —Don't worry, I promise there will be no sweet dramas. —Y/N smiled widely, knowing that she had found a way to surprise him—.

—This time, I chose a horror one. Jeong-Won looked at her, bewildered, but said nothing. In the end, they both headed to the cinema, the warm and welcoming atmosphere only accentuating the difference in their energies. While Y/N was excited about the movie, Jeong-Won seemed more worried about his wife's decision. They settled into their seats, with Y/N seemingly relaxed, while Jeong-Won sat rigid, watching the screen with concentration, as if waiting for something unexpected to happen. The movie started, and Y/N was enjoying every tense moment, knowing that the scares were going to make her laugh. But after a couple of chilling scenes, he noticed Jeong-Won starting to shift in his seat, uncomfortably.

—All good? Y/N asked quietly, watching as he leaned slightly to the side, almost as if he wanted to move away from the screen. Jeong-Won, sitting on his side looking at her, responded with a low and somewhat embarrassed tone.

—I... I don't like these types of movies. Y/N frowned, confused. —Really? Do horror movies scare you?.Jeong-Won nodded.

—Yeah. I don't feel comfortable. Y/N couldn't help but laugh, although she tried to control herself.Jeong-Won, however, blushed slightly, something Y/N did not expect. He leaned back further in his seat, partially covering his face with his hand as if he didn't want to see.

—Shut up— he muttered, clearly embarrassed. Y/N, amused, moved a little closer. —Oh, come on, it's okay,—she said in a soft but mocking voice. —We all have something that scares us. I never thought that you were one of those who get scared by ghosts.—

—Ghosts don't scare me. I'm scared of the damn things I can't control. Jeong-Won's comment made Y/N stare at him. It wasn't an irrational fear, but something deeper. Something I couldn't put into words. But instead of delving into it, Y/N chose to continue with the joke.

—So the coldest man of all can't handle a horror movie. Well, I told you. If you wanted it to be something relaxing, you should have said that. Jeong-Won, still uncomfortable, couldn't help but let out a light smile.

—I didn't expect it to be so much fun for you.— She continued watching the movie, but not without continuing to gently tease him. Every time the screen showed a scare, she turned quickly to him, enjoying watching him tense up. At the end of the movie, Jeong-Won did nothing but sigh and let out a light nervous laugh, as if he could finally relax.

—Did you have fun? Y/N asked, in a playful tone. —It's not my kind of fun, but... yeah, I think it was better than staying home. Y/N smiled, feeling like for the first time in a long time she had gotten Jeong-Won to let his guard down a bit. —I told you, sometimes it's good to get out of your comfort zone. Although... next time, I promise to choose a comedy or something less scary. Jeong-Won looked at her, as if finding it hard to believe that she had actually enjoyed that night.

—Don't worry. Just make sure there are no more ghosts. And despite his serious tone, Y/N could see a spark of amusement in his eyes. She had accomplished what she thought would be impossible: she made Jeong-Won laugh, even if it was just a little, and it made her feel that maybe, just maybe, this marriage could be more than just a facade.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list: @anamiad00msday @czarinera

THE CALL MASTERLIST

[thetravelingtyper]

On the same page...Pt 14 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Author! Reader Bookshop Au!)

At the sea, you both find a new sense of peace

WC: 2.4k

Part 13, Part 15, Masterlist

Welcome back :D

As you drift away you feel Simon tighten his hold on you. He feels you nodding off in his warmth and he curls around you, arms coming around your middle You wake a little with a hum and Simon shushes you.

“Easy love.” 

He tucks his forehead next to yours, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as his composure resettles. Something locked away in his chest dissipates and a fierce care flow pulses through him. You were now, cradled against this chest like a spark of light in the night. Some small part of him mourns now, allowing himself to feel this is a shimmer of freedom. He too had run, drowning himself in work and missions to cover the loss, the heartbreak. It was Price who finally had sat him down and smacked some sense into the man.

But, finding you? You had rounded his heart up from its wander. To protect himself perhaps, but be it fate or curiosity here he was. You moving in his arms sobers him up, and a silent resolution settles in him then, here he would remain.

You stretch then, a soft sound escaping your throat as your knees pop in the chill. You go to move but Simon is steel, and you call his name as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Si-”

His hum reverberates through you like a force of nature. The rumble of oak or thunder.

“I’m starting to get hungry.” 

He chuckles then, loosening his arms before pulling away from you to stand. He reaches down to collect his boots with socks tucked into them. You follow his movement, collecting yours before an arm collects your backpack, shouldering it before winding around your middle. 

“Let’s go see what is in town.” 

You nod before allowing him to lead you towards the car. You pause a moment, turning back to the wild sea. The ocean, you realize then, would always remain, a collection of stories and the falling of stars, and as you turn away you see the fox kit following after you.

-

The small cafe you find is quaint in the sea side town. Bay windows sit open, letting in the rising sun and the rustling of long sea grasses sound out in the breeze. You kick the sand off your shoes at the step up for the porch and Simon opens the door to let you in.  You step through the doorway to be met with the smell of pastries and fresh fruit. Straight ahead behind the counter an older woman works decorating a cake at a table. She looks up through her glasses as the door shuts quietly and smiles. 

“Take a seat anywhere loves, I'll be with you in a moment.”      

You nod and pull Simon to a booth overlooking the ocean. He slides in across from you, setting your bag aside. You sit down as well, and in a few minutes the same lady comes over to take your orders. When your food is delivered you begin to slowly eat in quiet, taking in the atmosphere around you. The sound of the waves gives good company to your racing thoughts. 

Simon’s confession seemed to be a weight off of his shoulders, he even eats the meal in front of him with energy. You watch his form then and his eyes look into yours with a light of interest. You pause eating, and he mirrors the action,

“Problem dove?”

His voice is like polished sea glass, renewed by the waves. 

You sigh, ideas pulling at your fingertips but they are unfocused now, the rush of elation of the ocean simmering low now into passion again. You played around with your thoughts.

“It’s just…” the thought is drawn out, “it’s been so much.”

Simon sets his fork down, focusing on you and you find his attention reassuring. He doesn’t reply with words, only humming lowly, allowing you a moment to continue if you’d like, something you are grateful for as you find yourself reminiscing.

“Simon I loved him, I trusted him. Just,” Your put your head in your hands, 

“Did I do-”

“Absolutely not.”

Simon cuts you off firmly, and you look to find him sitting up and leaning forward, a sense of duty in his face. 

“He made the decision to do what he did. While he was coerced into action he still chose not to fight it Dove.”

“I still love him in some ways, Simon.” 

It comes out in an ashamed whisper, head turning down.

Simon calls your name then, and you just stare down at your plate, some mixed feelings of shame and hurt stirring in your chest. James had done everything to protect you, or attempt to which is not lost on you. But he had broken your heart in the process.

He calls your name tenderly this time and you finally look up so see Simon look at you, his eyebrows drawn in concern.

“You cannot blame yourself, love. Not after he lied and how he acted towards the end of your relationship. He was possessive, and I won’t stand for you doubting yourself. He could’ve fought harder for you, love. Why did he wait to tell you for this long?”

He takes your following silence as room to continue, he leans forward on his elbows, a sharp look in his eyes.

“The bloke handled the entire situation poorly. He lied for months, laid his fucking hands on you, and still had the fucking audacity to show his face-” 

You reach a hand as you can sense Simon growing angry, your touch breaking his rant and acting as a balm to the tension in his shoulders. Your hand spread over his and he loosens. His mind seems to fumble at the look you give him, eyes pooling with emotion that stretches languidly around your heart, something warming at his defense of you.

His hand is rough, fingers flexing under yours as he just watches you, seemingly surprised with himself and he reacts a moment later, hand flipping before his fingers curl around yours. You look up to his and the small rising smile on his face warms yours as he regards you. 

He looks sheepish then,

“Sorry Love.”

You laugh at him, something deep and mellow, it dissolves into a fit of giggles. You lift his hand and he looks at yor curiously before you place a kiss to his palm, simon’s pale face dusts with pink as you release his hand and turn back to your food without another word but with a steady smile on your face.

-

In the corner of the cafe there is a cleared-out area, chairs set aside and a few tables boxing in an area next to a radio. As you eat soft notes play along the air, the few groups who had wandered in after you chat quietly, keeping a restful peace. You had pulled out your notebook to start writing but as SImon eats you find yourself sketching visions of a cliffside, a lone bystander there calling out with arms held open to the sea. It is then familiar notes played.

Your head perks up as Vance Joy’s voice filters through the calm cafe.

I was only walking through your neighborhood

Saw your light on honey in the cold I stood

Anywhere I go there you are

Anywhere I go there you are

Your heart stirs from its rest, emotion threatening to well up in tears. Here you were in the world. Bare to the elements, you hear the crashing of waves in your ears-but then there is warmth. Simon's hand comes to cover yours as you drop your notebook. 

I been getting used to waking up with you

I been getting used to waking up here

Anywhere I go there you are

Anywhere I go there you are

Simon is in your mind then as he looks into your eyes, seeing the cusp of new tears. He then surprises you by sliding out of the booth, setting your stuff aside and pulling you gently towards him. The area you chose was open so he makes use of the space to hold you close.

There you are

There you are, hmm

You are startled when he drops a hand to your waist in a practiced motion, his other going to your shoulder blade to guide you. Then with skill he steps into a slow dance. 

You're the fire and the flood

And I'll always feel you in my blood

Everything is fine

When your hands resting next to mine

Next to mine

You're the fire and the flood

He moves in quarters, slow sweeping lines, keeping you close, shielded from the looks of the other patrons of the cafe by his broad form. Your feet fumble at first but with a gentle squeeze of your waist, strong arms pull you back into step. 

Since we met I feel a lightness in my step

You're miles away but I still feel you

Anywhere I go there you are

Anywhere I go there you are

Late at night when you can't fall asleep

I'll be lying right beside you counting sheep

Anywhere I go there you are

Anywhere I go there you are

Memories of dancing long nights by the sea surface in your mind, you clench your teeth and shake them away before working to fall into step as Simon makes another sweeping turn. He looks out, always observing, always guarding. 

There you are

There you are

His fingers sprawl against your clothes, the warmth of him seeping into your soul. 

You're the fire and the flood

And I'll always feel you in my blood

Everything is fine

When your hand is resting next to mine

Next to mine

You're the fire and the flood

As he makes another turn, back to the booth he guides you out into a spin, which you twirl into on steady feet, his hands hovering. It is when you return when he meets your eyes with his. The depth of them makes you stumble, caught off guard by the emotion in his eyes.

Now listen here she said

Boy when you know you'll know

And I know

You're the fire and the flood

And I'll always feel you in my blood

Everything is fine

When your hand is resting next to mine

Next to mine

You're the fire and the flood

As the song ends his arms catch you effortlessly as you stumble back, overcomed with new emotions that burn your heart. Your hands fall to his chest as he breaks out of the dance, head cocking in question. But his eyes never leave yours and the breath is stolen from you by the warmth in them. You can't look away, even as a new song starts, as the other patrons clap, even as the fox kit dances in the air. 

At that moment there is nothing else in your mind but his arms wrapping around you, he pulls you closer and dips his head down before kissing you anew. Your hands shoot to his arms as he pulls you closer until there is no space between you two. His head turns, hand coming to your neck to kiss you deeper. A moment later he parts with blow pupils, mouth slightly agape in wonder as his eyes shine down into yours. 

You feel a sudden shyness then, you bury your head into his chest and he laughs. It's light, boyish even and despite all of the muscle and scars of him you feel his shoulders lighten and grief melt away as he pulls you to him in a sturdy embrace.

Something has shifted then, in this key moment. Two stings tangled together with the force of the sea. You see it as he lingers, releasing you to slid back into the booth. You see it as he smiles at the other patrons, an abashed grin with light eyes.

You sense it as you return to your sketching, a leg pressed against yours, making you smile to yourself. He sticks close to you you move, taking his and your dishes to the counter where the woman smiles at you, Simon lingering behind with your stuff. You move to pay but he is quicker, card in hand as the woman chuckles at his antics. She makes the payment before murmuring a “just a moment” before turning into the back room. In a minute she returns with a thick brown paper bag smelling of berry and vanilla.

“Here you are love, something for the road.”

You take the bag and offer a thanks with a smile, the woman nods and then turns back to her work as you both turn towards the door. Simon stays close enough to chase off the cold as you reach the steps, his hand taking yours before stepping down and heading to the car. He sets your stuff in the back before opening your door and helping you into the car. He then takes the driver's seat and pulls out onto the road. 

As he drives you watch the sea begin to awaken in the gusts of the morning as the sun takes its crown. The window is cold but the warmth of the sun settles into your lap as the fox kit snuggles in. As he finally turns away from the sea, Simon’s hand moves, lifting from its rest at the center console to seek you out. You move then, taking his hand in yours you lift it and press a tender kiss to his knuckles, finding them cold underneath your lips.

“Your cold Si.”

He seems caught off guard in that moment, glancing at you before clearing his throat and looking back to the road with a dusting of pink on his pale cheeks. 

“Right.” It's quiet and your heart melts when his hand grips yours, coming to rest in your lap. You reach and turn the heat on a little more before pulling Simon’s jacket over you to keep in the warmth. 

The next minutes pass in comfortable silence as Simon drives, his hand occasionally squeezing yours as you feel the warmth seep into his skin. When you are pleased you release his hand and he looks at you through the corner of his eyes. Despite his newfound freedom his hand lingers. Fingertips brush over your wrist before his hand settles on your knee. You chuckle when a pleasant smile curls onto his face and he looks back to the road in non-acknowledgement. 

Taglist:

@ghostlythots, @tapioca-milktea1978, @cmbghost, @nexthyperfix, @feedthefandoms995

@blubearxy

[mintyys-blog]

BEFORE THE WAR— preserum! bucky barnes

WARNINGS: war, draft, pregnancy, character death.

Brooklyn, 1942

The streets of Brooklyn were alive with the sound of swing music drifting from open shop doors, the chatter of neighbors leaning out of apartment windows, and the occasional honk of a passing car. The summer heat had settled thick in the air, but nothing could stop the steady buzz of the city or the way Bucky Barnes walked beside you, hand tucked casually in the pocket of his slacks.

“You got any plans for the weekend, doll?” he asked, nudging your shoulder playfully as you strolled down the sidewalk.

You smirked. “That depends. You askin’ me on a date, Sergeant Barnes?”

His grin was instant, boyish and smug as ever. “Wouldn’t call it a date. More like me takin’ my best girl out to show her off.”

“Oh, is that all?” You shot him a teasing look. “And here I thought you actually wanted to spend time with me.”

Bucky laughed, the sound warm and familiar. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “I always wanna spend time with you, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart still flipped the way it always did when he got like this—soft and sweet in a way only you ever got to see.

The two of you had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. Bucky was the boy who pulled your pigtails when you were kids, the one who taught you how to throw a proper punch when you got older, the one who made you feel like the only girl in the whole damn city.

And in return, you were his doll. His best girl. His soft place to land when the world got too rough.

“You wanna go dancing?” he asked suddenly.

You raised a brow. “Since when do you like dancing?”

“Since I realized it’s a real good excuse to keep my hands on you,” he said with a smirk, winking as he twirled you playfully in the middle of the sidewalk. You let out a laugh as you spun, the hem of your dress lifting before you landed against his chest.

Bucky held you there, his arms secure around your waist, his expression shifting from playful to something softer.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he murmured.

The question caught you off guard. “What’s gotten into you, Barnes?”

His grip tightened slightly, just for a second, before he forced another easy grin. “Nothin’. Just makin’ sure my girl knows she’s special.”

You narrowed your eyes, sensing there was more behind his words, but before you could press further, he kissed you—soft, lingering, like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

And for now, you let it go, letting yourself melt into him, savoring the warmth of his touch.

Because whatever was on his mind, whatever weight he was carrying, you knew Bucky would tell you when he was ready.

At least, you hoped he would.

Brooklyn, 1942

The summer heat had faded into a warm, breezy evening, and the lights from the dance hall cast a golden glow on the sidewalk as you and Bucky stepped outside. Music still pulsed from inside, couples twirling across the floor, lost in the rhythm.

Bucky had been quieter than usual tonight. Oh, he still flashed that signature grin, still twirled you around like you were the only girl in the world—but something about him felt… off.

You noticed it in the way he held you, just a little tighter than usual. The way he looked at you, like he was trying to burn the image of your face into his memory.

And now, as the two of you stood outside, you watched him as he exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off whatever thoughts were eating away at him.

“Alright, out with it,” you finally said, crossing your arms.

Bucky glanced at you, his easy smirk flickering across his lips. “Out with what, doll?”

“You’ve been actin’ funny all night. Thought maybe you were just distracted by how good I looked, but now I’m thinkin’ there’s somethin’ else.”

His lips parted, but he hesitated—just for a second. If you weren’t paying close attention, you might’ve missed it.

Then, just as quickly, he was Bucky again, flashing that boyish grin as he leaned in. “You do look real good tonight, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “Nice try.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. For the first time tonight, his mask slipped—just a little. “Let’s take a walk.”

That was never a good sign.

The two of you started down the quiet street, the sounds of Brooklyn still buzzing in the background. You walked in step with him, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, after a long pause, Bucky exhaled. “I got a letter.”

A chill crawled down your spine. “A letter?”

“From the draft board,” he said, voice quieter now. “They’re sendin’ me overseas.”

The world felt like it had been knocked off balance.

You stopped walking. “You— You’re goin’ to war?”

Bucky turned to face you, his jaw clenched like he’d been dreading this moment. “Yeah, doll.”

For a second, you couldn’t breathe. The noise of the city faded, replaced by the pounding of your heart.

“When?” you finally whispered.

“A couple weeks.”

A couple weeks.

You felt sick.

Bucky stepped closer, his hands gently settling on your arms. “I didn’t wanna tell you tonight. Wanted to give us one more night without it hangin’ over us.”

You searched his face, and suddenly all those little moments from earlier made sense—the way he looked at you, the way he held you so tight, the way he kissed you like he was afraid it’d be the last time.

Tears burned in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“What if—” Your voice wavered, and you swallowed hard. “What if you don’t come back?”

Bucky cupped your face, pressing his forehead against yours. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Your voice cracked. “People don’t come back from war, Bucky.”

“I will.” His voice was firm, steady. “I swear it, doll. I’ll come back to you.”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But the fear dug its claws into your chest.

Bucky pulled you into his arms, holding you against him like he could shield you from the world. You buried your face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of him, memorizing the way he felt.

Because no matter what promises he made, war changed people.

And you weren’t sure anything would ever be the same again.

Brooklyn, 1942

A couple of weeks.

That was all you had left with Bucky. The thought sat heavy in your chest, a constant ache that refused to ease. But you didn’t want to waste time crying—not when every second with him was slipping away.

So you made a choice.

If this was all you had, then you were going to make the most of it.

The next morning, you showed up at Bucky’s apartment bright and early, swinging open the door like you owned the place. His mother barely blinked—she was used to you by now.

“James Buchanan Barnes, get your lazy behind outta bed,” you called, hands on your hips.

A groggy groan came from the other room. “Doll, the sun’s barely up.”

“It’s almost nine,” you corrected, marching into his tiny bedroom. “And we got things to do.”

Bucky was still sprawled out in bed, shirtless, hair a mess, eyes barely open as he peered at you. A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Can’t we just stay here? I can think of plenty of things to do in bed.”

You threw a pillow at his face.

He laughed, rolling onto his back. “Alright, alright. What’s the plan, sweetheart?”

You hesitated for just a second, gripping the hem of your dress. “I don’t know yet,” you admitted softly. “I just wanna spend today with you.”

Something in Bucky’s expression shifted. He sat up properly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before reaching for your hand. “Then we’ll do whatever you want, doll.”

The two of you spent the day wandering through Brooklyn, revisiting all the places that held meaning.

You stopped by the candy shop on the corner where Bucky used to sneak you chocolate bars when you were kids. The owner still recognized him and slipped you both a piece, chuckling as Bucky winked and said, “Some things never change.”

You made your way to the boardwalk, where the two of you had spent countless summer evenings. The salty air, the distant laughter of children, the old wooden planks beneath your feet—it was all so familiar, so comforting.

“Remember that time you pushed Steve into the ocean?” you teased as you both leaned against the railing, watching the waves.

Bucky grinned. “He dared me to.”

“He almost drowned.”

“Nah, he was fine.” He shrugged. “Besides, I jumped in after him.”

You shook your head with a laugh.

Then Bucky’s voice softened. “We’ve had some good times, huh?”

Your chest tightened, but you smiled. “The best.”

He exhaled slowly, drumming his fingers against the railing. “I don’t want you to sit around waitin’ for me, doll.”

Your brows furrowed. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“I mean it.” He turned to face you fully. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. And I don’t want you puttin’ your life on hold for me.”

Your stomach twisted. “You promised you’d come back.”

“I will,” he said quickly. “But I don’t want you to be lonely.” He swallowed, his voice dropping. “If you meet someone—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, shaking your head.

Bucky looked at you with something between love and regret. “Sweetheart—”

“I don’t want someone else,” you whispered. “I want you.”

His throat bobbed, and for the first time, he looked truly lost. Like he didn’t know how to make this easier for you—for either of you.

Finally, he reached for you, pulling you into him. You melted against his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if holding on would somehow keep him here.

“You’re my doll,” he murmured against your hair. “Always.”

You closed your eyes, letting the moment sink in, letting yourself pretend—just for a little while longer—that time wasn’t running out.

Because soon, it would.

And neither of you knew what the future held.

Brooklyn, 1942

The night before Bucky was set to leave, Brooklyn felt different. Quieter. Like the city itself knew what was coming.

You sat on the fire escape outside his bedroom window, legs dangling over the edge as you stared at the twinkling lights below. Bucky was inside, lying on his bed, tossing a baseball into the air absentmindedly. Neither of you had spoken much since dinner.

Because what was there left to say?

You sighed, gripping the metal railing tighter. “I hate this.”

Behind you, the sound of the baseball landing in Bucky’s palm stopped. “I know, doll.”

You turned to look at him. He was watching you, blue eyes shadowed with something deep and unreadable. Slowly, he sat up and patted the space beside him.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

You hesitated before climbing back through the window, settling onto the bed beside him. As soon as you were close enough, he pulled you against his chest, his arms strong and steady around you.

For a long moment, you just lay there, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye to you,” you admitted quietly.

Bucky let out a slow breath, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm. “Then don’t,” he whispered.

You lifted your head to look at him, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… don’t say goodbye. Not like it’s forever,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll come back, sweetheart. No matter what it takes.”

Your throat tightened. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he insisted, voice firm. “Because I have to. Because I got somethin’ worth comin’ back to.”

You swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Promise me.”

Bucky cupped your face, eyes never leaving yours. “I swear it, doll.”

And for that moment, you let yourself believe him.

He kissed you then, slow and deep, like he was memorizing the feel of your lips. Like he was trying to leave a piece of himself with you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperately trying to hold onto him—to this moment—for as long as you could.

The night stretched on, and neither of you spoke about tomorrow.

Instead, you let yourselves pretend that the world wasn’t changing. That when the sun rose, everything would still be the same.

But deep down, you both knew better.

And as you fell asleep in his arms, you wondered if you’d ever feel this safe again.

The years had been kind to Brooklyn, but they had been cruel to you.

The war had taken Bucky, or so they said. When the soldiers returned, they came in droves, but Bucky wasn’t among them. No body to bury, no remains to mourn. Just the cold, harsh reality that he was gone. You never got closure. Never got to say goodbye.

You had held on to hope for months, years even. The letters you sent, the prayers you whispered every night, the way you clung to every scrap of news you could find. But eventually, you had to face it. Bucky was gone, and you were left to pick up the pieces.

And then you found out.

You were pregnant.

The news had hit you like a freight train, but even in the devastation, there was a flicker of hope. Bucky had left a part of him behind—your son, James.

Raising him without Bucky was the hardest thing you ever did. The little boy had his father’s blue eyes, his smirk, and his unshakable sense of loyalty. You saw Bucky in everything James did. In the way he stood tall, the way he cared for those around him.

But there were nights when you cried yourself to sleep, wishing more than anything that Bucky could be there. He should have been. He should’ve been there to see their first steps, to watch James grow into the man he was becoming. But instead, you raised him alone, pouring all the love and care you had into him.

When James was older, he married and had children of his own, carrying on the legacy you and Bucky had started. But your heart never truly healed.

Then, on a quiet afternoon, years after you had passed, James was sitting with his own children, when the doorbell rang. It was a sharp, unexpected sound, one that made him frown in confusion.

When he opened the door, there stood a man—older, with a rough edge to him, but his eyes… those were unmistakable.

“James Barnes?” the man asked, his voice low and filled with a depth of emotion that James didn’t understand.

James blinked, taking a step back. “Who are you?”

“I’m your… father,” the man said, and James felt the words hit him like a physical force.

His father?

The words barely registered. His mind raced. He was supposed to be gone. He was supposed to have died in that war all those years ago. Yet here he was. James had seen photos of him… he looks the same.

“You’re… you’re him?” James asked slowly, stepping back further. He couldn’t believe it. The man before him looked like Bucky, but younger. His features were weathered with time, but those eyes, the same shade of blue that James had inherited, were the same.

“I had to see for myself,” Bucky said quietly, as if just being in the presence of his son was enough to break down years of walls.

James’ heart beat wildly in his chest. It didn’t seem possible, yet here was the man who had never come back, the man who had vanished without a trace.

“Mom… Mom talked about you all the time,” James said, his voice thick. He shook his head in disbelief, his hands trembling as he spoke. “She never stopped talking about you. She never let me forget who you were.”

Bucky’s throat tightened, the weight of those words hitting him harder than anything else. He had no idea. He had no idea that you had held onto him all these years. That you had kept him alive in your memory for your son.

“You— you never told me,” James murmured, stepping back as if still trying to process.

Bucky swallowed hard. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember who I was for so long. But now I do. And I had to come back.”

He looked at his son, seeing the resemblance in the set of his jaw, the curve of his smile, and even in the way James stood—proud, unyielding. He was Bucky’s son in every sense.

“I never thought I’d see you,” Bucky continued, his voice barely a whisper. “But here you are. All grown up.”

James stared at him for a moment before stepping forward. “Come inside,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “I… I think Mom would have wanted you to meet your grandkids.”

Bucky nodded, his heart heavy with emotion. He followed James inside, unsure of what came next, but knowing that he couldn’t go back to the past.

What mattered now was the future—the family he had missed.

And as he stepped over the threshold, into a world he’d lost so long ago, Bucky Barnes found himself home at last.

As Bucky followed James inside, the sounds of children’s laughter filled the air. James’ home was warm, the kind of place that felt full of life—just like you would have wanted it to be. The walls were adorned with family photos, many of them capturing moments of joy you had never gotten to witness.

James led Bucky into the living room, where two young children were playing on the floor, their faces lighting up when they saw him.

“They’re mine,” James explained, his voice softer now. “My son, Ben, and my daughter, Emma.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight of them. Ben, a boy with messy dark hair and curious blue eyes, was standing at the toy chest, while Emma, a girl with your bright smile and Bucky’s cheekbones, was sitting beside him, her laughter filling the room.

It hit Bucky like a wave. These were his grandchildren. He hadn’t been here for any of it. For their births, for their first steps, for the bedtime stories.

James knelt down in front of them, his voice warm and affectionate as he called out to his kids. “Hey, you two. I want you to meet someone.”

Ben looked up first, squinting at Bucky with those familiar blue eyes. Emma followed his gaze, her eyes widening in curiosity.

“Kids,” James continued, his voice cracking slightly, “this is your grandfather. My father. His name is James—your papa.”

Bucky’s chest tightened at the word. Papa. He hadn’t thought he’d hear it, but hearing it now, spoken from his son’s lips, made his heart swell. He’d missed so much, but he was here now.

The kids blinked at Bucky, not entirely sure what to make of the stranger in their living room. But then Ben, ever the curious one, took a cautious step toward him.

“Papa?” the little boy asked hesitantly, his gaze flicking between his father and the man in front of him.

Bucky kneeled down, slowly, so as not to scare them, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m your papa.”

Ben’s eyes searched his face for a moment, before his lips parted in a hesitant smile. “You look like my daddy.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his heart swelling at the comparison. “I sure do, don’t I?”

Emma, ever the bold one, stood up and crossed the room, her little hands reaching for Bucky. “Can you play with us, papa?” she asked, her voice as sweet and innocent as any child’s could be.

Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He had missed so much of their lives, but seeing them—seeing his grandchildren—was the reminder he needed that he had something to live for.

With a soft laugh, he reached out, lifting Emma into his arms. “I’d love to, sweetie.”

As the afternoon passed, Bucky played with Ben and Emma, the sound of their giggles filling the house, and the weight of the years seemed to lift just a little. For the first time in so long, he felt at peace. He hadn’t come back to the life he’d lost—but in these little moments, with his children and grandchildren, he had found something that felt almost as important: a new chance.

James watched from the doorway, a small smile on his lips as he saw his father with his children. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotion—knowing that, despite everything, Bucky had come home.

“Mom would have loved this,” James murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Bucky glanced over at his son, the weight of the years and the distance between them settling in. He cleared his throat, trying to push the emotion down. “I know she would have. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for her.”

James walked over, his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

And as Bucky watched his grandchildren, his heart filled with a bittersweet joy. He was here, and he would be a part of their lives from this day forward. He would never make the same mistake again.

He had a family now. A family that was waiting for him to be the father and grandfather they needed him to be. And with a full heart, Bucky promised himself he would never let them go.

[saintsir4n]

BROKEN HOPE

where eden shelby learns that she cannot have everything

WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, ANGST

——

1924

TOMMY Shelby had done a lot with his life. He had won, he had lost, he had killed and he had saved lives. All with the knowledge that he would have his family to turn to. Over the last few months; he had finally married the love of his life, she had been shot, he had an aneurysm, his eldest daughter had been kidnapped, Michael had taken a life and more turmoil and pain had erupted through the family.

And now he had to make more decisions, more consequential choices that would rupture more than just the family, but him. What he had to do wasn’t easy, it never fucking was.

He thought of it and tried drowning the growing guilt with whiskey. Even his brothers attempted to steer him away from the bottle but they couldn’t.

It was breaking their brother.

And more importantly, it would break his wife.

Eden Shelby.

The very woman who rushed into the room, with a stack of papers in her grip and an excited smile on her face. Lizzie was behind her, as was Polly.

“Sorry love for bursting in,” She rushed out, “but Tommy look. It’s done. Thank fuck. Look love, two years and it’s done. I was just telling…” she rambled when she settled down the pages in front of him, shooting smiles to her in-laws who couldn’t look at her. She tilted her head to the side when she noticed her husband’s vacant stare and hand his hand gripping onto his glass, “what’s wrong?”

“Pol shut the door,” Tommy instructed.

The woman made no effort to do so.

Eden’s brow arched, “Thomas?”

“Shut the door, Aunt Pol.” John begrudgingly urged.

Eden huffed, “What’s the matter? I know two years is quite some time but I was busy. We all are all the fuckin’ time —“

“Two years, Tom,” John stated, heatedly staring at his brother.

Tommy shot him a glare, “Shut up John.”

“That’s great Edie. Really great.” Arthur weakly praised his sister in law.

Polly stood, arms folded as she looked between her nephews, all appeared to be concealing something. But what, she didn’t know. But boy was she determined to find out.

Eden’s excitement faltered, “Thank you Arthur, at least one of you appreciates it.” She paused, “Thomas?”

Tommy’s gaze snapped toward her, he swallowed more of his drink as he did. Eden had already been shot because of the Italians. In the arm which affected her being unable to type let alone pick up a pen. And she caught an infection briefly. Which caused her mind to play tricks on her, yet writing brought her back. It made everything make sense to her. Especially her role in the family, as mother two pretty girls. They’re pretty girls. His wife.

His fucking wife.

Tommy’s eyes darted over to his aunt, “I said shut the door, Pol. And Lizzie get out.”

The women were startled.

“Thomas,” Eden said warningly.

“It’s alright,” Lizzie let the door shut behind her.

Tommy cleared his throat, and stood from his seat, “I need to talk to my wife.”

“Then talk.” Eden stiffly motioned. “Why do you look like that? What’s wrong? Is it those coppers again? We sorted things with the Russians, why does everyone look like someone shot a horse?”

Tommy leaned over the table, his eyes didn’t leave hers, “Listen Edie, it was out my hands.”

His brothers shifted in their seats, earning a sceptical look from their aunt.

“What was?” Eden asked.

Tommy continued, “I couldn’t get out of it.”

“Couldn’t get out of what Thomas?” Eden’s tone was more impatient.

He repeated, “It was out of my hands.”

“What fucking was?!” She raised her voice.

Arthur fumbled his hands and muttered, “She might need a drink.”

“So what, she can smash it over his face?” John sounded almost excited about the prospect. "I know I fuckin' wood."

“Will someone just tell me what’s wrong?!” Eden snapped, glancing between the men.

Polly moved forward, “Yes, just spit it out.”

“I made a deal.” Tommy declared, his palms grew sweaty on the table.

So he pulled them back. He stood, not tall, only stiff under his wife’s uncertain gaze.

Eden shrugged, “So?”

“You and your fucking deals Thomas. More Russian’s?” Polly had to ask.

Tommy answered, “Nor the Russians. The Calvary.”

“Coppers? What deal did you make with the coppers.” Eden felt a wave of nausea wash over her. “What fucking deal?”

“I need to protect my family. I need to protect you but I had to make a choice and I chose.” Tommy said, rounding the table. “To protect you because I swore to always protect you. To protect Inara and little Ines. I had to do what I did or I’d lose you. And I can’t lose you.” Not like I almost did.

Eden’s desperate gaze darted over his nearly stoic face. He was breaking down. The truth was peeking through the cracks and it drove her a few steps backwards.

“What… what did you do? Just say it.” Her voice pleaded. “Please you’re scaring me.”

Tommy averted his eyes, they trailed away from her confusion and his aunt’s dread. They landed on the piles of paper stacking on the corner of his desk. The piles and piles of paper. All the stories and metaphors between the words, the sentences that told more than they should. They spoke too much and had to go.

It had to go… to protect the family.

“It was you or your book and I chose you.” He uttered, confusing her further.

Eden was unsure if she misheard, “What? My book. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Words have power Edie, you know that. You even taught me that.” Tommy murmured, not daring to look at her.

“Holy Jesus,” Polly whispered to herself when she realised what had to happen.

He continued, “They know your pseudonym, they know who you are. And they know they can’t have a black woman have the reach you have. They can’t let your light shine through this fuckin’ fog.”

Eden blinked rapidly, “What are you saying, Tommy?”

“I’m sorry.” Only then did he stare at her, eyes softening and face tightening.

She shook her head in disbelief, “You’re what?”

“That book needs to go,” Tommy said, more firmly.

She scoffed. “No, it doesn’t.”

Eden stumbled forward.

Guilt settled on Arthur and John’s faces, when they rose to their feet, blocking the path of the book and ceasing the arguments from Eden’s mouth. Polly stood to the side, with her hand covering her mouth, as she watched on.

Tears stung in Eden’s eyes.

Writing was her passion. It was her voice, her power. Outside of this family, she had something that was for her. A sense of agency regardless of the name she had to use to gain traction. It was hers.

It was her voice.

Tommy knew that.

But their enemies knew that too.

And so her voice got lodged in her throat when her husband picked up her book. Her mouth opened but screams couldn’t be heard when John and Arthur gently yet firmly tugged her back.

Tugged her so she could reach out, not when Tommy scrambled to pick up her pages and pages of work. Not even in when his feet stomped over to the mantle piece where the fire simmered. Not when she clawed at their arms when her husband allowed two years were of passion being burnt to a crisp.

Polly stood in shock, frozen she was. She couldn’t have predicted this. She knew from the beginning Tommy could potentially hurt Eden. But there would be ways back from his discrepancies. But this… he had truly fucked up.

Her eyes briefly shut at the wail ripping through Eden’s mouth.

And with her remaining strength, Eden tugged out of the men’s grip and fell to the floor, eyes filled with pain and tears as they watched each piece of paper curl and turn to ashes.

“Two years Tom.” John accused his brother who turned away and picked up another glass of whiskey. “Look what you’ve done!” He screamed as if to relieve himself of the guilt he felt.

Arthur conflicted on whether to help Eden up but Polly’s scolding gaze forced him to back away. His aunt attempted to aid Eden but she couldn’t move.

There was no helping her. Not like this.

“Look at her!” John’s yell drew Tommy’s attention. “Writing was all she knew, all she had and look what you’ve done!”

“I think that’s enough,” it was far from it, Polly knew, sending Tommy a withering glare when Eden’s throat grew hoarse and hallow. “I need to get her out of here. Away from the three of you and your foolish deals and callousness.”

“It was her or the book,” Tommy whispered.

Polly scoffed, “Sod off Thomas.”

“It was her or the book!” He screamed, watching as his aunt forced his wife off of the floor.

“C’mon love.” Polly ushered her toward the door.

“It was you or the book Edie, I know what I’m picking every time.” Tommy stumbled forward.

Eden didn’t turn to look at him, she could hardly process everything around her. She could just recall the stench of burnt paper.

Polly pulled open the door and called out.

“Francis, take her back to her room.”

“Yes Mrs Grey,” the maid quickly complied, keeping a from yet gentle grip on the fragile woman.

Tommy called out “Edie, love.”

Polly forced the office door shut and fiercely turned to her nephew.

Johnny humourless laughed, “You’ve really lost the plot.”

“Fuck off.” Tommy lunged at him.

“You fuckin’ what?!”

Arthur targeted to break them up. “Enough, enough.”

“She was comin’ in her to tell you more than just about that fuckin’ book.” Polly’s voice pierced through their angst. “You may have one way to salvage this. You’ve taken her livelihood but given her somethin’ else. Another Shelby.”

And just like the brother’s, lost it all of again.

a/n:

guys this took place before the big arrest, at least a few hours before.

yes, this led to the deterioration of eden’s mind.

[lovezbrownies]

Valentine's with your Queen.

General Masterlist - Queen Nia's Masterlist

Synopsis: You've been married to the Queen for a year, in a relationship 3 years. Yet, no Valentine's will ever be like this one. Because for this Valentine's, you actually started to love her.

PAIRING: Yandere!Queen Nia Bloodwen x GN!Reader.

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, possessiveness, obvious control of reader, reader is resentful, reader is lowkey mean, reader is seen as strong and tall. Also 6.3k words long.

“In honor of the Queen’s first year anniversary of her marriage to our Sovereign Consort, I propose a Valentine’s themed ball, a ball for all, but specifically to celebrate the queendom’s most perfect couple!”

That bastard. Gleaming and joyful, as if he hadn’t just dug your grave. This was supposed to be a political meeting to begin with! This meeting room is supposed to speak only of diplomacy and wars, so what the fuck is that idiot Marquis going on about, and who told him to speak of your ‘Relationship’ with the queen? God, if you could you would definitely grab at his neck.

The sharp chill of fingers, cold as winter frost, wrapped around your hand beneath the heavy oak table. You stiffened at the touch, barely suppressing a flinch, before dragging your gaze downward to where your wife’s hand now lay atop yours. Her hold was light yet firm, an anchor pulling you back from your brewing storm of rage. A silent warning. A reminder.

When Nia inhaled, it was slow, measured, a performance of thoughtful contemplation, “I think that is a wonderful idea,” The Marquis began grinning upon hearing his queen praise his idiotic idea but of course, “But I am fairly disappointed that I must repeat myself, this council room is for diplomatic meetings and affairs only, Marquis, so please settle down, try to respect the importance of this room and refrain from mentioning your queen’s private relationship.”

With the matter promptly silenced, the rest of the meeting proceeded smoothly. Yet even as discussions moved on to real matters of state, you could feel the lingering heat of Nia’s palm against yours. She did not let go. Not until the final council member had left the chamber, their backs turned, the last of their footsteps fading into the distance. Only then did she release you, though the absence of her touch did little to shake the weight of her presence.

You knew better than to trust her silence.

And your instincts were proven right the moment you both returned to your private chambers.

The doors shut. The guards stationed outside. And the moment you turned to gauge her expression, you saw it—that look. The same one she had given you the night she proposed. That quiet, knowing hunger. The kind that set your nerves alight with the knowledge that no matter how much you resisted, you would always lose.

“What do you think of this Valentine’s ball in honor of our fruitful marriage? I think it’s grand, in fact,” Nia grinned, her smile as sly as a fox’s,”I rather enjoy the idea, of a night where the entire court will shower us with admiration. Where they will look upon us and wish they were in your place.” She took a step forward, then another, closing in as her lips curled into something deceptively warm. “We are the perfect couple, after all.”

She moved with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator, circling you like a lioness sizing up her prey. And you, in turn, felt your spine stiffen, your muscles locked as she wove around you before pressing herself against your back, her arms curling around your midsection. Her warmth seeped through the layers of your clothing, the weight of her presence impossible to ignore as she leaned into you, resting her chin on your shoulders, looking deeply into your face.

You sigh, and look off to the side, the side where her almost perfect face wasn’t staring into your soul, “I think… It’s… It’s too much, while you may revel in the attention, I will be uncomfortable the entire time, I hate every noble of Xelera with a burning passion. Must I remind you.” And remind her you did, almost everyday. You were a knight before, and the irony doesn’t pass you at all because, how could one of the finest Knights of your generation hate the very people they swore to protect?

You brush off the thought, no need to remember the past anymore, ever since Nia had imprisoned you within Khas, as her ‘personal knight’ —more like a personal pet— You hadn’t been a knight or touched a real sword in so long. You crave the long nights spent training, the comforting feeling of your sword by your hip. It was all gone now, Nia swearing up and down that nothing would hurt you now, you have no need for your equipment or your training.

But that never mattered to you, you kept training, making makeshift swords with big logs from the big tree in the garden, carving out the shape with a butcher’s knife from the kitchen, long dull now, but you had your wooden sword and that’s all that mattered. You had it hidden, and only ever use it within the confines of your room while Nia was away. No one would bother you, seeing how Nia had possessively told off all the servants to not come near you unless she was there. A blessing really, half of them were ladies in waiting, noble women.

The same icy fingers that grabbed your hand in the council room now grab your cheek, softly turning you to Nia, “What’s going on in there? That little brain of yours thinks too much, you should focus on reality,” Her thumb ghosted over your cheekbone, her grip gentle yet unyielding. “On me.” Again, that possessive side of Nia comes out, her need to control you, down to every thought you have, “How about this, we go, have fun for say half an hour, maybe an hour. And leave, have our own special, private, Valentine’s celebrations.”

The Queen of Xelera sighed, her breath smelled of decaying butterflies as it flew past your cheek, you could barely hold yourself together and not grimace. And then finally she looked away from your eyes, before releasing you from her grip, she passed by you and sat down on one of the lush loung chairs of the room, suddenly looking like her whole spirit had been sucked out of her when she sighed.

Once again Nia encapsulated you with her red eyes, staring deep deep into you, “You… I… The church has been pressing on and on… About offspring, for the royal line…” Her attempt at tugging at your heart strings is good, very good in fact you almost fell for it, but you knew better than that. You knew her far too well to fall for the classic ‘Poor me, no parents, a monarch at 16, oh someone pity me!’ routine.

Seeing that your face was as stoic as it usually was, not a single hint of you giving in, finally letting her have you, she let it go. Scoffing, Nia pushed herself up, “This is going to be great. For both of us, trust me. I will win this, and you will love me.” Nia approached you, before stepping up to give you a soft kiss on the lips, one you didn’t reject. 

“Ah, I love you. So much. I can’t wait for the ball, to show you off one more time, like our wedding day.”

And then she left you alone, to go plan the ball no doubt.

Weeks pass by, no sign of pink and red decorations, not even talk of the anticipated Love Day Ball– having been renamed to be more elegant. Even Nia seemed like her usual self, not overly excited about the upcoming holiday or the ball she wanted to throw in its celebration. Maybe she let it go? Maybe, just maybe, she had taken account of your feelings and won’t do it?

Ah, but then again, this is the ever so spoiled Queen Nia, no one tells her what to do unless its her own brain and heart.

That much you realized as you stand, several servants bustling around you in a hurry to get you dressed up and done up for the Love Day Ball, Nia herself also being pampered in the other room. She wanted the two of you to get ready in two separate rooms and meet at the ball, in reminiscence of your wedding day, which Nia looks at with fondness and you look at with resentment.

Whatever, hopefully, it won’t take too long, as she promised. Half an hour, an hour tops. Gods this is going to be miserable, that much you knew. But it isn’t only the party itself you’re dreading, but what’s after. You’ve… You and Nia are already consummated, and it was okay. But it wasn’t like you looked forward for the nights where your wife gets clingy and needy, you do what you must and… though it is embarrassing you have needs of your own. Surprisingly the only aspect of your marriage you tolerate truly.

But all those other times, it was just a means to an end, just to get rid of the hot feeling in your gut. This one? It’s more. Nia already suggested procreating numerous times before, but you always rejected it, truly against the idea of bringing a child into the world only for it to suffer by having Nia as a mother.

But tonight felt different, pressure was building, not only from Nia but from the Church as well. The Church was a power not to be trifled with, the second ruling power of Xelera, and also filled with very old noble houses, the same noble houses that built Old Xelera brick by brick.

So in a small way, you were fucked. Literally.

It doesn’t matter, you’ve given up. You will give them the heir they were desperate for, and raise them to be the best heir there is. Not only how to rule, but also how to feel for your people, for everyone who works for you, and even for those against you. You will not allow a duplicate of Nia. Not ever.

"—Your Highness? We have finished. Queen Nia is waiting for you."

The voice snaps you from your thoughts, grounding you in the present just as your fingers twitch, brushing instinctively against your hip. Muscle memory, long-ingrained, moves your hand before your mind even catches up—only this time, it doesn’t meet empty space. Instead, your fingertips press against something solid. Cold. Unfamiliar.

A sword.

Your breath stalls as you glance down, dread pooling thick in your stomach at the sight of the weapon strapped to your hip. At first, the realization alone is enough to unsettle you, but then—then—your eyes properly take in the details, and the discomfort turns into something heavier, something more suffocating. The blade is wrong. Not in its craftsmanship, no—the craftsmanship is impeccable, almost too perfect, each detail meticulously designed. But that’s precisely the problem.

It gleams under the candlelight, its scabbard a garish display of deep crimson and gold, the colors so rich and indulgent that they seem to belong more to a piece of jewelry than a weapon. The hilt, wrapped in the same shade of red that Nia favors so dearly, is inlaid with gilded filigree, swirling delicate patterns forming the crest of Xelera, the royal insignia carved with absolute precision. The entire thing is ornate, lavish, the kind of sword meant to be paraded around at ceremonies, not wielded in a fight.

You feel exposed wearing it.

Your eyes snap back to the servant, suspicion seeping into your voice as you demand, "What is this? Why am I wearing a sword?"

They do not flinch. They do not hesitate. Their response is smooth, practiced, devoid of anything resembling genuine emotion. "Her Royal Highness, Queen Nia, ordered for you to be dressed like this." Their gaze remains eerily neutral, the barest flicker of a polite, distant smile forming on their lips as they continue, "This sword was hand-tailored for you, Your Majesty."

For you.

You nearly scoff.

This is not for you. This is for her. A statement piece meant to reinforce the image she’s crafted, a mockery of what you once were, draped in her colors, her desires, as though she could shape you into something of her own design.

 You already know that whatever Nia has planned for tonight, you are exactly where she wants you to be.

Your fingers twitch, itching to rip the thing off, to cast it away like the gilded shackle it is, but you resist. This is no simple gift. It is a declaration, a masterstroke of control wrapped in the illusion of generosity. A collar disguised as a blade, crafted with precision, tailored to fit you in ways that feel suffocating rather than honoring.

The weight of it is wrong—too extravagant, too gaudy, the sheath an ostentatious blend of Nia’s beloved crimson and gold, the filigree curling into intricate designs as if to ensnare you further. Even the hilt, polished and pristine, gleams under the candlelight like a trophy meant to be displayed rather than wielded. 

She wanted you to be seen. Wanted every noble in Xelera to look upon you and know exactly whose possession you were. And worse still, she knew you would never refuse a blade, no matter how heavily it reeked of her mark.

You exhale, dragging your hands down your vest as if to steady yourself, though the weight of the medals jingling against the fabric does the opposite. Each one a gleaming remnant of the life you had before. Some earned through grueling years of service, through blood and sweat and battlefields long left behind.

Others… gifts. Trifles from Nia, pinned to your chest not out of merit but out of her desire to claim you. To drape you in accolades she decided you should have. A warrior draped in ribbons, a knight decorated as a doll. The thought churns in your gut like spoiled wine, but you force it down, muttering your thanks to the servants still bustling about the dressing room before making your way to meet your wife.

Or at least, that was the plan—until Alan, the ever-nervous Royal Advisor, nearly stumbles into your path.

“Y-Your Everlasting R-Royal Highness!” he stammers, his thin frame nearly vibrating with anxiety. “Q-Queen Nia has instructed me to—to escort you to the other entrance of the ballroom. She wishes for you to—uh—unite with her in the center of the floor for the first dance, and th-then, um, socialize afterward.”

You sigh through your nose. Of course, she does.

Alan is a jittery mess as always, hands twisting at his sleeves, his voice nearly tripping over itself in his eagerness to fulfill Nia’s orders. But despite his nerves, his heart is a good one. And unlike the others in this castle, he has no reason to manipulate you, no ulterior motive beyond doing his duty. That, at least, is something.

You nod, wordless, unwilling to expend energy on speaking when your mind is already drowning in thoughts. There is too much happening, too many strings wrapped around you like a marionette being led onto a stage. Your steps are measured as Alan guides you through the halls, the rhythmic clinking of the medals on your chest the only sound accompanying the silence. For a brief moment, you savor it—this small sliver of peace before you are thrown into the ravenous jaws of nobility. But peace never lasts long in Xelera.

Before you realize it, you are standing before the grand doors, flanked by two guards ready to haul them open at a moment’s notice. Beyond the heavy wood, the noise is already bleeding through—the sharp chatter of nobles, the clack of jeweled heels against marble, the musical lilt of artificial laughter laced with venomous gossip. The clinking of glasses and the murmur of masked pleasantries, all of it weaving into a cacophony of suffocating indulgence.

And you, draped in red and gold, adorned with medals and bound in a blade not of your choosing, are expected to wade into it like a spectacle meant to be marveled at.

How utterly miserable.

Alan quickly shuffles to the side, slipping into the shadows just beyond the doorframe, his fingers twitching as he murmurs into the walkie-talkie pinned to his belt. A few heartbeats later, a triumphant blast of horns cuts through the air, signaling the arrival of the evening’s second most important figure—you. The towering doors groan as they swing open, revealing the ballroom in all its excessive splendor. A rush of pink light spills out, momentarily blinding you, but you hold steady, your expression cool and composed.

You step forward, crossing the threshold as the weight of hundreds of gazes settles onto your shoulders. The guards bow their heads as you pass, their armor gleaming beneath the glow of the enchanted chandeliers overhead. But your focus is already set elsewhere—across the vast, opulent ballroom, at the top of a grand staircase mirroring your own, she stands. Queen Nia Bloodwen.

Draped in deep red satin that clings to her form like liquid fire, she is the centerpiece of this overindulgent affair. The golden embroidery of her gown glistens, swirling around the fabric like molten metal, a pattern of hearts and delicate filigree that should look elegant—but on her, it looks like a deliberate mockery of sentimentality. You glance down at your own attire, the same gaudy hearts stitched onto the chest and cuffs of your uniform, their metallic sheen clashing against the more dignified reds and blacks of your ensemble. The sight of them almost makes you recoil. Tacky. Overdone. Absolutely Nia.

As per the Royal Rules, you bow first—low and practiced, every movement a reminder of your rank beneath hers. When you rise, Nia mirrors your bow, though hers is slow, indulgent, as if savoring the moment rather than obeying protocol. The grin on her lips is warm, dazzling even, but you recognize the underlying mischief in her eyes.

You return her smile—a carefully crafted thing, a perfect mask of charm meant for the onlookers. The gathered nobles erupt into hushed murmurs, some gushing about how breathtaking the two of you look together, others bemoaning their missed chances to claim your affections before the Queen had ensnared you. And, of course, there are the whispers of contempt, the bitter voices that will never accept your place by Nia’s side. You tune them all out. They are as insignificant as the glittering decorations strung across the room, background noise to the real performance about to begin.

Descending the staircase with long, measured strides, you move like the knight you once were—powerful, poised, and untouchable. The distance between you and Nia shrinks with each step until you come to a stop at the base of her stairs, raising your hand toward her, the unspoken command clear.

Come to me.

Nia’s eyes gleam, her expression unreadable for the briefest of moments. And then, ever the performer, she takes her first step down, reaching for you.

Nia descends upon seeing your arrival, slow and seductive, her long dress trailing after her, dramatic. Finally, her gloved fingers meet yours, and you gently clasp her hand, as her other hand moves to rest ontop of your shoulder. You move her hand toward your face, placing a soft kiss against her knuckles. Nia blushes and smiles. She’s enjoying this. I am not.

You are painfully aware of the nobles around you, their delighted murmurs and sighs blending with the melody of the orchestra. How easily they are fooled. The kingdom’s best musicians play their strings and ivory keys with perfection, the grand hall filled with soft, sweeping harmonies, yet the only sound you care for is the one inside your head—the quiet, gnawing scream of your own restraint.

With a steady hand, you pull Nia closer, fingers splayed against the curve of her waist. The motion earns a delighted chuckle from her, but worse—it thrills the watching crowd. Their coos of admiration, their whispered praises of how deeply in love the two of you must be, make your skin crawl.

And then, as if to drive the dagger deeper, Nia leans in, pressing her cheek to your chest, softly nuzzling herself closer, deeper into you. The scent of her—roses and something sharper, something distinctly her—wraps around you like an iron noose. The dance is slow, agonizingly so. Romantic.

Romantic. God, how funny. The word alone makes bile rise in your throat. You want to rip yourself free, to wipe the pleased smirk off every noble’s face, to carve through this room until no one dares utter another lie about the beautiful, tragic love between their queen and her beloved spouse. 

But of course, you have a reputation, and a collar tied to your neck. If you disobeyed Nia would only tighten the collar, taking away the mercy she’s bestowed upon you before, taking away your privileges, your freedom. As if that weren’t already stolen from you.

The velvet voice of the seductress pressed against your chest speaks up, her voice low, low enough for only you to hear.

“So, what do you think of my gift?”

Gift? Ah, the sword. Right. “Wonderful, my Queen, I… am forever indebted to you for this mercy. I cannot begin to tell you how much I’ve yearned for the feeling of a sword at my side.” A chuckle rumbles through her chest, the warmth of it seeping into your skin as if you are standing too close to a fire. Nia always laughs when she thinks you’re joking over how you need that sword. But you truly do.

Spin. Her dress spreads, beautifully tailored and silky, it gleams under the strong lights of the room. Entrancing all those who watch into a deeper state of appreciation, of want–need to have a relationship similar to that of the Queen and her Royal Consort, such a beautiful relationship, emotional, strong. Is how they’d describe it.

You only see it as a prison, the weak prisoner controlled by the tyrant of the realm. 

You can also feel that foxy smile spread through Nia’s face, “Well, just try not to swing it at anybody. Are you aware that you think with your sword, rather than with your brain?” You smile, chuckle, so damn ironic. Making fun of the decorated knight for the instincts that had been beaten into them, as if it isn’t her that made the entire regime up. She insisted on it, when she was 18, she wanted more power and control and made up a horribly abusive routine, that barely anyone could make it through. 

That’s how you find the best, only those who go through torture are worthy! You can still remember her squeaky young voice trying to justify her new decree, you were a little older, 20 years of age. Just a year before you enlisted. You hated her for it. But look at you now, married to the very monster you swore at.

Soon enough the dance concludes, and the royal couple has finished the first dance, now allowing the rest of the ball’s guests to dance to their heart's content, as if anyone could ever compare to the two of you. Your Queen leads the both of you to the section reserved for the monarchy, a loveseat, a table with all kinds of sweets and drinks. And two servants and multiple guards surrounding the area.

It was always there, for whenever a royal decides they’d like to enjoy a ball within their palace grounds they can sit there, invite whomever they want and gossip to their heart’s desire. However many Love Day themed decorations were now strewn about the area, and the tackiest sight of it all. It was enveloped with pink vibrant mesh curtains, and pink beams stood supporting the tacky curtains.

Your lips press into a firm line as your eyes scan the unnecessary embellishments, the saccharine theme clashing horribly with the natural elegance of the palace. How could anyone think this was tasteful? It is gaudy, it is excessive, and it is so thoroughly Nia.

The servants move quickly, pulling the curtains apart with a careful flourish, granting you both an unobstructed entrance. Nia, of course, steps in first, entirely unbothered by the display of pink and gold surrounding her. She sits gracefully, crossing one leg over the other as she makes herself comfortable, exuding the air of a queen who knows she belongs in luxury, even when draped in sheer tackiness.

You hesitate for just a moment—a brief flicker of distaste flashing through you—but you school your features before it can be caught. With measured steps, you follow, lowering yourself into the seat beside her, your movements fluid, controlled. The weight of the crown is not always in its gold, but in the performance you must uphold.

Nia hums in satisfaction as she leans back into the loveseat, her fingers idly trailing along the rim of a crystal glass placed before her. The candlelight flickers against the golden rings on her hands, reflecting a soft glow over her skin. You know she’s watching you, waiting—because she enjoys this. The dance may have ended, but the game has not.

She speaks up, her lips against her glass, her voice echoing against the fine wine glass, “Well? Pick to whichever you desire, my love, everything here is for you, and of course, me.” Her sly jab at your lower rank doesn’t fly past you, but you brush it off, and go ahead to grab a drink out of the assortment, thankfully both alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks were served.

And you’d rather keep your mind awake as you play this game of cat and mouse. So you grabbed the grape juice, slowly savoring it’s taste. Though you hated being married to Nia, you couldn’t deny enjoying the high quality of everything. From food to clothes to the very bed you lay on nightly. It was all a dream. Well, except for the nightmare that is Nia.

Nia grabs your other hand, playing with it softly. A soft, enjoyable silence falls over the both of you. Calming you down, making you feel light and airy. A very rare occurrence, you haven’t felt calm and at peace in ages, and with that realization you tensed up at the dark thought that crossed your mind.

This isn’t grape juice, I’ve been drug–

Nia’s soft voice cut through your panic, “Calm down, the grape juice is not drugging you, and yes it is grape juice, the letter G is on the front of the glass, dear.” She reached up, taking the glass from your hand and twirling it, so the letter G would welcome you into a soft embrace with it’s reassurance, as if to say, ‘I am Grape Juice.’ 

You sigh, leaning back against the seat, your appetite gone you put the juice back down, letting your arm rest on the back of the love chair, the other still in Nia’s strangely warm hands. “Goodness, you really won’t forget your training, hm? Anything makes you clench up like an octopus about to spray ink.” She laughs to herself, and you grimace, looking away slightly embarrassed.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," she muses, moving a hand away from yours to lift a glass to her lips. The red wine inside mirrors the shade of her dress, dark and rich, yet there’s an unmistakable playfulness in her tone. "Did the ball steal your breath away? Or is it the decor?"

You let out a slow, measured breath. "I fear I may go blind from all the pink, my Queen." Your eyes do hurt, it’s all a bit much to go from the nice and calm yellow lights of nature and the palace to blinding pink everywhere you look.

She laughs, a genuine, amused sound that ripples through the air like silk. "Ah, but isn't it lovely?" She gestures to the decorations, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Love Day should be celebrated properly. Besides, I thought you'd appreciate the effort—" she pauses, a smirk curling at the edge of her lips, "—considering how sentimental you are."

Sentimental. You nearly scoff. Nia enjoys her little jokes, her carefully placed barbs wrapped in silk, knowing you cannot return them without consequence. She expects you to bite back, to play along, to make the night more entertaining for her.

Instead, you reach for your glass of hopefully grape juice once more, rolling the stem between your fingers. "Your generosity astounds me, truly. A sword at my hip, medals upon my chest, and now, the honor of drowning in pink curtains." You take a slow sip, savoring the way her eyes narrow ever so slightly. "I don’t know how I will ever repay such kindness."

Nia tilts her head, studying you, her amusement never fully fading but shifting into something more thoughtful. She does this often—watching, waiting, as if peeling back layers you wish to keep untouched. And yet, she already knows what lies beneath.

"Perhaps," she murmurs, setting her glass down with deliberate grace, "you could start by enjoying yourself."

Her hand moves, barely a shift of fingers, and yet within seconds, a servant steps forward, offering a delicate plate of sweets. Nia picks up a small, heart-shaped confection, bringing it close—not to her lips, but to yours.

Pink sprinkles, Red frosting, and even the cookie itself had been dyed a light pink color. I have to hunt the pastry chef that made these and slit their hands off. You look up at her, eyes locking with her own half-lidded ones, hers filled with love– no, obsession, possession. While yours, you’re sure, only have suspicion drowning in them.

A test. A demand.

The ballroom still bustles with chatter, music filling the space, but in this moment, there is only Nia, her expectant gaze locked onto yours. The ball, the decorations, the guests—they are nothing but background noise to this quiet power play between you. You consider refusing. You consider reminding her that you are not a pet to be fed by her hand.

But the collar is still there. Invisible, but unyielding.

So, with the same careful grace you have mastered in her presence, you pull your hand away from her lap, gently grasp her wrist, lean forward—slowly, deliberately—and take a bite. Eyes still locked, a flurry of sweetness envelopes your mouth, a sharp contrast to the bitter grape juice you were ingesting just earlier.

Nia, caught off guard by your unexpected indulgence, flushes a deep shade of red. She pulls back slightly, the half-bitten cookie still held between her fingers, before hastily placing both hands in her lap, as if to steady herself. “I don’t know why you’re being so… indulgent of me tonight,” she murmurs, her usual confidence faltering, her voice softer, more uncertain than usual. Her golden eyes flicker with something unspoken—hope, perhaps, or something dangerously close to vulnerability. “But… I can’t say I’m not enjoying it.”

She hesitates, as if weighing the risk of her next words, then presses on, her tone delicate, but firm. “Even if you never return my feelings, even if you refuse to see what I see, I… will always adore you. You’re perfect for me.” The admission hangs between you, heavier than the perfumed air, thicker than the suffocating opulence surrounding you. She exhales sharply, like she’s said too much, then suddenly thrusts the cookie into her mouth, as if stuffing the words back down before they betray her any further. “Gosh… Just eat!”

A small breath of amusement escapes you before you can stop it. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected to enjoy this. But now, as you sit in this ridiculous pink-curtained alcove, the garish colors an assault on your senses, realization dawns upon you. It was all for you. The privacy, the carefully arranged setting, the extra effort to make you comfortable in an environment you despised—Nia had done this for you. And that realization alone makes something deep within you soften, if only a fraction.

You decide not to linger too long in your thoughts. Instead, you turn your attention back to the untouched sweets and the half-filled goblet of juice before you, indulging in the silent entertainment of people-watching. It’s always the same: hushed whispers exchanged behind lace fans, sharp smiles that don’t reach the eyes, lovers sneaking off into shadowed corridors while their spouses remain none the wiser. High society at its finest—ugly in all the ways you’ve come to expect.

Minutes pass, and the weight of the evening begins pressing against you. The noise, the spectacle, the careful balancing act of decorum—it’s all growing tiresome. Nia notices, of course. She always does. She must see it in the subtle tension creeping into your shoulders, in the way your fingers drum idly against the table, as if itching for escape.

She reaches for your hand without hesitation, fingers warm as they slip over yours, coaxing your attention back to her. “Come,” she murmurs, voice dipped in something softer than usual, something almost affectionate. “I’m growing tired. Let’s retire for the evening. I’d much rather enjoy some peace and quiet with you.” Nia whispered to your ear, and you nodded, looking back at her with relief.

And for the first time that night, perhaps even longer, your lips curve into a genuine smile. Small, fleeting, but unmistakably real.

Nia shivers. Not from the cold, not from exhaustion, but from the way that single expression sinks deep into her bones. She tucks it away like a secret, something to turn over in her mind later, to relive in the privacy of her own thoughts.

Nia wraps arm around your own, beckoning you to take the lead, and whisk her back to your shared room. And whisk her away you did, of course not without many whiny nobles begging the both of you to dance once more, to stay a while longer, oh poor us how could we ever possibly live without our rulers! Whoa is us!

Nevertheless, you lead your queen through the gilded halls, away from the grandeur of the ballroom, past lingering guests and tired servants who bow as you pass. The deeper you go into the palace, the quieter it becomes—the music fading into distant echoes, the scent of perfume and champagne left behind.

The moment you step into your chambers, the tension in your shoulders eases. The warmth of flickering candlelight greets you, and the heavy doors shut behind you with a soft thud, sealing the two of you away from the exhausting spectacle of court.

Nia exhales, releasing a breath that seems to carry the weight of the night—of her title, her responsibilities—until, in the quiet of the moment, she is left as only herself. She doesn’t move to undress right away, doesn’t immediately shed the fine jewelry or untangle herself from the corset that has likely been a torment for hours. Instead, her gaze lingers on you, those golden eyes piercing through the air between you, searching and weighing. There’s a calm but undeniable intensity there, as if she’s watching a piece of art being carefully, hesitantly, unraveled.

You’re fumbling with the buttons of your clothes, fingers slipping, growing increasingly frustrated. You just want them off—need to feel the cool air against your skin, to release the pressure of the evening’s obligations, but every movement seems to turn into a struggle. Nia’s smile deepens, a slow, amused curl of her lips as she watches your desperate attempts. You manage to pop a button loose after what feels like an eternity, letting out a breath of relief, only to hear her voice.

“You enjoyed yourself,” she murmurs, her words light but dripping with the weight of certainty. It’s not a question—it’s an observation.

You scoff, frustration still lingering in your voice as your eyes narrow, an annoyed expression crossing your face. “Did I?” Your fingers continue their battle with your attire, now moving on to the stiff medals and ribbons, each one resisting you as though it had a life of its own.

Nia steps forward, her movements as fluid as water, graceful and knowing. Her eyes half-lidded, a simmering need behind them, but she doesn’t rush. She stays there, watching you like a predator assessing its prey. "You did," she insists with quiet confidence, her smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I could see it. The way you laughed with me, how you smiled at me, how you let me hold your hands, even when you could’ve pulled away... You even defended me when that imbecile lord got too close."

You flick your gaze up to meet hers, the weight of her words hitting you as you struggle to keep your composure. The scowl that once creased your face melts into a more neutral expression, and your lips part slightly, caught in a moment of confusion and unexpected warmth. You hadn’t realized just how much you had let slip in the heat of the moment.

Nia’s gaze softens, but there’s still that underlying intensity, the edge that always lingers with her. She moves forward, her steps swift and predatory. “Let me,” she purrs, her voice a mix of gentleness and desire. For a fleeting moment, you want to push her away, to insist that there’s no point in removing your clothes, that the weight of them is a prison you’re stuck in—one you’ll have to sleep in, bathe in, live in.

But before you can voice that thought, a soft, silken finger pinches your cheek. The sharpness of the gesture makes you yelp, stepping back instinctively, but her grip tightens, holding you in place. Without even needing to look, she murmurs, “Stop thinking.” Her eyes, steady and commanding, meet yours. “Focus on the present. Focus… on me.”

Her arms slip around you, pulling you flush against her, the intensity of her touch almost overwhelming. She presses herself to you, her height allowing her to stand on tiptoe, her lips brushing just shy of your ear as she whispers, "Do you really want to spend the rest of the night overthinking everything? Because I can think of far more interesting ways to spend it."

And then, that grin. That knowing, cunning grin, one that promises something more, something irresistible, as if she knows, without question, that you’ll take the bait.

[everettswritings]

hey can you do a Smoke-cheese cookie and Golden-cheese cookie tickle fic? please Lee Smoked and Ler Golden? more cheese please

Of course! They’re so silly anyways, I don’t have the heart to say no. Especially since I want to tickle Smoked Cheese so bad. (Kink/NSFW accounts DNI!)

When the dust settled from the Radiant Queen’s epic battle against the beast known as Burning Spice Cookie, there was little time to waste! The moment that things were all calm once more, it was straight to work for both Golden Cheese Cookie and Smoked Cheese Cookie. Back in the vast desert, in the cavern where the golden sovereign ran the simulation for her kingdom after it was destroyed, the two where making themselves busy with the task of restoring the soulcheeses into the cookies they once belonged to. The process would be a little lengthy to get everything just right, but it would be worth it when the kingdom would be returned to it’s former glory!

Smoked Cheese Cookie was watching the little graph on one of the machines, his eyes squinting to analyze every little dip and spike. Golden Cheese Cookie was leaning against one of the cave walls and reading some of the charts that had printed out, her eyes were growing tired and she was starting to feel a little bored; they were already on course, so a break wouldn’t hurt, right? She looked at her general, he seemed so focus… so ripe for a surprise attack! She grinned to herself as she tiptoed up behind him, taking advantage of how absorbed he was in his task.

Eek!

Smoked Cheese Cookie squeaked with surprise and started laughing as he felt Her Majesty’s fingertips tracing over his ribs roughly. Now, of all times? Seriously?

“My Quehehehehen! Hahahaha!” He was trying so hard to fight it off, but it was a Sisyphus task, he would be laughing uncontrollably in mere seconds. “Y-You’re such a- hahahaha- chihihild! Hahaha!” The general finally got out, immediately succumbing to his own laughter as Golden Cheese Cookie grinned smugly “Not my fault you aren’t wearing a shirt!”. She always said that whenever she did this. As if him wearing a shirt would stop her!

She moved up to Smoked Cheese Cookie’s armpits, scribbling around without any real sense of rhythm or direction. He started laughing harder and instinctively shut his arms down, foolishly trapping wiggling fingers right against his dough. “Hahahahaha! Hahahaha! No, no, quit! HA- hahahaha!” Right as he said that, she doubled down and started tickling him even harder, causing him to stumble around and the both of them to come crashing down on the sandy floor beneath them. Golden Cheese Cookie immediately seized the opportunity, pinning her general beneath her and moving over to his tummy. She started pinching and tracing around his abs, causing him to let out a very out-of-character squeal and some more high pitched laughs “STAHP! HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!” He demanded, but really he was in no position to be making demands right now.

Finally, somehow finding some strength, Smoked Cheese Cookie pulled himself away and put his hands up in defense. “Enough! No more, or else!” He threatened weakly, while Golden Cheese Cookie was getting closer and backing him into one of the walls, “Or else? That’s tough talk for someone with such a…” She paused, then leaped and started tickling his neck, “ticklish neck!”. On reflex, Smoked Cheese Cookie started scrunching up his neck and tossing his head around in all kinds of directions, laughing even harder than before. The neck! Always the neck! The sounds of the general’s laughter were bouncing off the wall, making him seem even louder than he actually was. The Queen was reveling in the noise with delight, a goofy smile was plastered on her face as she tickled him relentlessly.

Ding!

Oh, what do you know? The process is complete! Golden Cheese Cookie finally let go, allowing for Smoked Cheese Cookie to catch his breath. The poor bird’s face was red all over and his chest was heaving like he was just suffocated! “Oho, that face always entertains!” Her Radiance teased “I’m sure Mozzarella Cookie will be pleased to hear that you’re still so ticklish. It’ll be just like old times, eh?” She patted his head and stood up to tend to the machinery and bring Mozzarella Cookie back officially, leaving Smoked Cheese Cookie resting up against the wall and embarrassed out of his mind.

Yeah, old times, that was for sure. But still, he felt a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

End of fic! AHH! I LOVED WRITING THIS! Please, DevSis, add some kind of update that lets me tickle the cookies! I’m BEGGING! PLEASE! Anywho, yeah. Have a good one 🫶

[akashxbedi]

Akash huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back slightly. “It tells me that you’re determined to collect credit where it’s due,” he said dryly, though there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. But she wasn’t wrong—he had a habit of circling around self-awareness without always following through. He could acknowledge the things that needed to change, but taking that next step? That was harder. “I hear you,” he admitted after a pause. “It’s just—falling doesn’t scare me. Staying down does.” It was something he’d been reckoning with for a while now. The burnout, the weight of his work, the way he kept himself in a cycle of late nights and early mornings like stopping would somehow make everything unravel. He wasn’t naive—he knew he was running on fumes, and still, the idea of slowing down felt more like losing control than finding balance.

Her suggestion about working at the clinic or the stables made his brow lift slightly, not in outright rejection but in consideration. It wasn’t the worst idea. It was different, at least. The last time he’d been around horses was in college, when a friend had dragged him out to an upstate retreat for the weekend. He remembered liking them well enough, their steady presence, their unspoken trust. Maybe that was the appeal. Something outside himself, outside of work, that didn’t demand justification. “I’ll think about it,” he said finally, though this time it wasn’t a dismissal. “No promises, but I’ll let you know.”

At her joke about being psychic, he smirked, shaking his head. “I’ll give you that one. But if you start predicting my closing arguments in court, I’m going to be concerned.” His gaze flicked to the food, then back to her. “And yeah, it’s good. So, guess you’re right again.” He exhaled, something lighter settling in his chest. “Not that I’ll ever hear the end of it.” The relationship he shared with Catriona was one he valued quite a bit because not only did she give it to him straight but it felt comfortable to be open and honest with her.

Setting aside her meal for a little break, she took a napkin to clean herself up before pausing and narrowing her gaze at Akash, “I’m sensing a pattern here.” she said at first with a grin. “It’s either I’m right or not wrong...What does that tell you, hm?” She wanted him to acknowledge his self-awareness, but at the same time she wouldn’t mind if she had gotten credit as well for making him realize things about himself. “Yeah, but it’s okay to fall sometimes…” Her voice trailed off as she initially felt the same way. The end of her career was a massive fall, to the point where she didn’t think she could bounce back from it. However, life had a way of turning things around when she had least expected it. It wasn’t easy, but it took a lot of resilience and self-preservation to get by. “What matters is either how you land or how you get up. It starts and ends with you, but I also believe you don’t have to go through it alone.” 

Confused at the refusal of an incentive, Catriona was just about to argue with Akash, but his ultimatum made her realize that she had to show consistency and dedication if she wanted this to work. “Fine.” she agreed. “Thanks...I’ll owe you somehow.” She looked forward to their session as it was not only a new found skill, but one that would be useful for her strength training. 

When Akash considered the idea of trying something new during his so called staycation, it was evident that it piqued his interest and so, the ex-equestrian pushed further by adding, “Right? There’s no commitment, just a new experience and learning opportunity whether it be about yourself or a skill or a new set of knowledge…For instance you can help out at my clinic or at the stables? At least that will give you purpose, but it’s more so you interacting with the animals and horses to get your mind off things. They do need enrichment through human interaction.” A sheepish smile appeared on her lips as she added, “I promise, I won't let you do any of my work for me.”

She then nodded in understanding when he opted to think about it. Again, this was still progress at the end of the day and so, his consideration definitely counted for something. Looking away, she sighed and murmured, “I know.” Pausing, she did appreciate the little reminders as it did ground her back into reality rather than thinking negatively. Following his hand gesture towards the food, Catriona laughed as she gestured a nonchalant wave to dismiss him. “I’m psychic.” she jokingly said with a cheeky smile. “As long as it's delicious and you've eaten then that's all that matters."

[simbico]

STACIE NO!

You’re right! I won’t believe it!