#my dear boy INVITE HIM IN FOREVER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crushribbons · 4 months ago

Text

𝓋𝑜𝓌

summary: Ominis Gaunt never makes promises he can't keep.

cw: 4k words, angst, SMUT (18+ ONLY), arranged marriage, technically cheating ig but not really, penetrative sex, fingering, vv small breeding kink, horrible family dynamics, fem reader. request

a/n: for jas 🤍 xx laney

Her eyes kept drifting over to him across the crowded room. Dozens of people flitted through the restaurant, stopping in front of her table to congratulate her and make her stomach churn with nerves, but there was only one man that she truly wanted to talk to.

He hadn’t come over to the happy couple yet, too absorbed in stirring his untouched drink with the tip of his finger. His lips were pursed like he’d just smelled something unpleasant. Blonde hair swept away from his face carefully, he looked every bit like the sophisticate he was known to be.

But she knew so much more of Ominis Gaunt.

“You’re my everything. The air in my lungs. I need you.”

“Ominis, please, we can’t!”

“You don’t want me to?”

“On the contrary. I want you far too much.”

Someone was talking to her, but her thoughts were a loud rush in her ears and she just smiled up at the buxom, middle-aged woman that was telling her and her betrothed how wonderful the look of young love was. The betrothed in question cleared his throat and gave a thin smile that was more grimace. His back was stiffly upright.

As the woman drifted away, he turned to the girl to his left. “How much longer do I have to put up with this awfulness?” he asked, grit in his jaw.

“Why ask me? Your father is the one who insisted on throwing a party and inviting the entire town, Louis,” she muttered back over the top of her water glass. Louis’ mouth did not soften.

Power, status, and money, disgusting globs of money awaited her after her marriage to this man, and she was trapped, forced to take all of it and wanting none of it. It felt like a slap in the face to those less-privileged for her to be turning her nose up at the comfort and luxury she would enjoy as a Nott, and the guilt wracked her day and night.

When her father had first told her that he would be offering her hand to the oldest Nott boy, she had wept.

“You’ll be taken care of forever, my dear,” her father had cooed, attempting parental concern for her for the first time since her birth by patting her on the back. His hand hardly making contact with her, he coughed awkwardly and continued, “You’ll never want for anything.”

“I don’t want anything, father, except for the chance to pick the person I spend the rest of my life with myself!” she had cried.

She remembered the rest all too vividly: attending a dinner party whose purpose, she had been told, was mere “introductions”, and by the end of the night she had been engaged to the man across the table from her who was gripping his knife and fork and glaring at her as if she’d sabotaged the rest of his life on purpose. Since then, they’d spoken no more than eight words to each other (A squeak of “Lovely dinner” from her on the night of their engagement, and a brusque “You ought to have worn white” from him when she arrived at his manor in a somber black dress to have their marital portrait painted) and when she’d been instructed to arrive at the London restaurant they were currently seated at for a party celebrating their betrothal, she’d cried once more.

When she was a young girl, she used to picture the man she would one day marry. He was always fuzzy, nebulous. Kind, of course, and willing to give her the world. Perhaps an artist or some otherwise creatively-inclined profession. Tall and handsome, but his features never swam into focus when she imagined walking down the aisle of a church to him.

Then, when she was fifteen, she’d met Ominis Gaunt, and the face at the front of the church became perfectly distinct. The demure Slytherin had taken some time to open up to her, but before their sixth year at Hogwarts was over, they were so enamored with one another that she sometimes had to look back at the unclear idea she’d had of love and laugh. It was always Ominis, forever.

Until it wasn’t.

At seventeen, she’d come home to her parents’ estate for the Christmas holiday with stars in her eyes and declared, “I’m in love, and we’re going to get married one day.”

“Really, dear? To whom?” Her mother had absently inquired. The glass of sherry in her hand lolled dangerously from side to side, but she didn’t seem to notice. When she’d told them about Ominis, her father, who until this point had remained silent and uninterested, had guffawed without looking up from the newspaper on his lap and said, “The Gaunts’ sightless little rat? I should like to see you try. That family has gone to the dogs.” Rage boiled up inside her and she opened her mouth to shout, but father had merely held up a hand. “You’re to be married to a strong family when you come of age, and I won’t hear another word about this silly idea of romance you’ve cooked up in your head.”

Since then, there had been a complete moratorium on the topic of Ominis or, indeed, the entire Gaunt family in her household. It killed her very gradually, in ways she didn’t notice until it was too late. She smiled less and less often. The things she used to look forward to, like quiet walks and pumpkin juice and pressing flowers, now seemed as gray as everything else in her life.

After she left Hogwarts for good, they saw each other as often as they could believably make trips to Hogsmeade to meet up. Nervous glances over her shoulder had become a regular part of being with Ominis, but her passion for him outweighed any fear.

Sirona Ryan had become very adept at noticing dust on the bar when certain members of two of the most prominent families in the British wizarding world would dart, breathless, into her inn and throw several more Galleons than necessary down, pleading silently with her for discretion as they took the room key she handed them.

Ominis’ panting ran endlessly around his lover’s mind as she watched people celebrate the end of their relationship.

“Come on, darling, come for me.” “C-can’t–S’too good, Om.”

“No, let me hear it, please. Don’t hold back. It’s all I get to bring home with me.”

The crooked and bent elder Mr. Nott was rising to his feet and knocking the side of his champagne glass with a butter knife. “Excuse me,” he thundered out, his gruff voice making the chattering guests and party-goers at their own tables turn their heads to look at him. “I’d like to say a few words in honor of my son, on this, the night before his wedding.”

Ice clawed up the inside of her body, frozen talons digging into her organs and causing fear to flood her throat. Her breath began coming in short, labored gasps. “What does he mean, the night before?” she hissed to Louis, who ignored her.

Louis wasn’t physically cruel to her, but he made sure to keep her apprised of how unhappy he was with their union. As if she felt any differently.

“To see two great families come together like this,” the elder Nott blustered, “is truly a gift. Not only to us, but to the rest of the wizarding community…”

She didn’t hear a word of the rest of his slimy posturing. The only word ringing around her ears was wedding, wedding, wedding. She’d been told that there would be a long engagement period to Louis, long enough to plaster their union in the Daily Prophet and throw several redundant parties so that everyone in the country was aware of just how much money her family and the Notts really had.

But here she was, two weeks after meeting her frigid fiancé, learning that the glass of water in her hand would be her last as a free woman, and everything inside her was screaming for her to get out. How could they deceive her like this? Not only to be forced into a marriage, but blindsided by the actual wedding before she even had a chance to…

To what? she wondered frantically. To tell Ominis she loved him? He already knew a hundred times over, but as she looked across the room to him, she saw the same hard lines carved into his face that were always present when they had to discuss her betrothal.

“Do you hate me for it?” “Hate you? How could I?” A pause, and a bitter expression settled on his lips. “I hate him.”

“I hate him, too, but I can’t do anything to stop this.”

“We could run.”

“Be serious, Ominis.”

“I am.” She felt his hands close over hers and looked down at them. His were covered in scars and burns, faded and gray with age but still a part of him forever.

“They’d kill you.”

“I’ll be dying either way, my heart.”

Her body ached for Ominis as she watched his jaw tighten further and further with every word Thelonius Nott said. She couldn’t believe he had come to this event. He’d been invited, of course, as had his entire family, but she had hoped for his sake that he would stay away and not have to endure this with her.

When the patriarch lifted his champagne (“To my son,” he said fondly, not sparing a glance at his future daughter-in-law) and commanded the rest of the room to do so, a hundred glasses flew into the air.

Ninety-nine, at least.

She hoped no one would notice the younger Gaunt boy abstaining from the toast, but at the same time, she preened inwardly. Ominis may have been soft-spoken and calculating in what he chose to say, but his actions always broadcasted his feelings.

“Excuse me,” she muttered suddenly, surprising Louis and herself by pushing her chair back and standing up. The rest of the party had gone back to their dessert, so hardly any notice was paid to her as she wove through the tables, save for a few well-wishes tossed at her that she returned with a weak smile. As she passed the Gaunt table, where Ominis’ parents and brothers were talking in low tones, she threw a glance back at the head table that she’d been at, making sure no one could see what she did next.

She tripped, just a quick, stuttered movement orchestrated by stepping on the train of her dress, and grabbed onto Ominis’ chair for support

“Are you alright?” squawked a man behind her that she’d bumped slightly. Before the Gaunts could look up from their plates and notice her standing there, she ran a finger subtly up the back of Ominis’ neck and twirled the small curl of hair on his nape around, just once. It took less than a second, but Ominis stiffened immediately, his breath cutting out and his fork falling to his plate with a clatter.

“Please,” she whimpered under her breath, quiet enough so that no one but him heard her.

She felt him before she saw him.

“Om–” He cut her off and pressed her to the brick wall of the alley behind the restaurant, where she’d fled after stopping at his table. She hoped he’d had the good sense to wait a few beats before following her, but she also knew the effect that her touch had on him. She’d been rubbing his neck like that since they were sixteen, a silent way to let him know that she was next to him, with him, there for him.

It didn’t hurt that it also drove him wild.

She knew it was a horrible idea. Sneaking out of her engagement party to fuck another man when her fiancé’s family had people killed for much less, but her mind was such a whirlwind of fear and anxiety and the only thing she wanted was the feel of Ominis’ mouth against hers. Her constant, her grounding.

“Don’t do this,” he was moaning into her lips, grinding his hips against hers as she clutched at his suit like she would float away if she didn’t. “I’ll never stop needing you, so please–” “I don’t want to!” she gasped. Tears were pooling in her eyes, and she was grateful for a moment that Ominis could not see them. “More than anything, I want to be with you, you know that.”

“Then let me take you away from here.” Ominis felt around the back of her dress to determine how best to remove it. She swatted his hands away and took his face in her hands. Words wouldn’t come to her. All she wanted was to look at him like this, desperate and frazzled, his perfect silver hair already tousled. His pale eyes saw her in a way no sighted person ever had.

She pulled him into a kiss, softer and sweeter than before, and he groaned and pulled his fingers through her hair, inadvertently combing it, and she hiccuped a small giggle.

“You can’t help but take care of me, can you, Mr. Gaunt?”

“I can’t, Mrs. Gaunt.”

Hearing the title fall from his lips made her heart soar and plummet in the same breath.

“Don’t say that,” she pleaded as he began kissing his way down her neck to the top of her cleavage. They’d talked about marriage, of course they had, but that had been lifetimes ago, when they were happy young things who didn’t know what cruelty life had in store for them. She’d even once filled a piece of parchment with the words “Madame Gaunt” in elegant flourishes, and when Ominis had found it in her school bag, he hadn’t stopped smiling for a week. After he’d finished teasing her, naturally.

“I won’t call you anything else,” he promised stubbornly.

A shriek of laughter came from inside the restaurant, followed by a tinkle of broken glass. The noise shattered their isolated little bubble and they both stared at the back door they’d used to enter the alley. “They’ll notice me gone,” she whispered, feeling suddenly small underneath Ominis’ tall, lean body. “Or someone will walk out here and find us and–”

Ominis never gave her orders, preferring instead to worship the ground she walked on, but as he knelt down to grasp the hem of her dress, he said, “Stop it. Be quiet. If this is my last night with you, I won’t let anyone take it away from me.” He pulled the dress up so it bunched around her waist and slithered one hand inside her undergarments, and any protestations that she might have made fell off her lips, dead.

His long fingers slid on top of her clit and rubbed them like he had all the leisure time in the world. Her core flooded, soaked after mere seconds with him, and the feeling made Ominis’ head drop to rest against her forehead.

“Let me ask you once more,” he breathed.

“No.”

“Please.”

“Ominis, they–” Her words were cut off as he pushed two fingers inside her and pumped slowly.

“Let me ask,” he said again, and this time, it was not a request.

Pleasure was wringing her out and weakening the little resolve she had. “Ask me,” she consented with a whimper.

“Run away with me. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, show you anything you want to see, and we’ll be together.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked her. It wasn’t the second; in fact, she’d lost count of how many times he had begged and pleaded with her to flee their lives and go somewhere where they could live as they wanted. It had become his way of saying “I love you.”

It was everything she wanted, and she would never do it. She still remembered when her father had found her holding a letter from Ominis and ripped it out of her grasp.

“If I see you anywhere near that boy or having anything to do with him, I’ll kill him,” he had growled as he ripped Ominis’ words to shreds and threw them into the fireplace. “And Thelonius Nott will do a lot worse, you can count on that.”

“Ominis, I can’t, I just can’t,” she sobbed, half in anguish and half in pleasure as he continued fucking her with his fingers and mouthing along her flushed neck. “I swear, I want nothing more, but I won’t put you in danger.” His hand slowed, but he said nothing. The white heat twisting itself in a coil in her stomach threatened to unravel and she whimpered.

“I don’t care about any of that,” Ominis said. He pulled out of her and stuck the two fingers covered in her wetness into her mouth. Her own taste against her tongue made her moan shamelessly, and Ominis drank the sound down like the finest wine. He pulled her into another kiss, and she felt his erection grind against her core. A sudden thought floated into her lust-hazy head and she pushed hard against his shoulders to stop his kiss.

“You know, I don’t know much about Louis Nott, but I know how he likes his women,” she said, gritting her jaw in annoyance at her intended.

She could tell that her lover bristled at the mention of Nott, but he raised his eyebrows. “And how does he like them?”

“Thirty galleons for the night.” He sucked in a breath that might have been a laugh in any other situation. “Darling, I may have to read vows that someone else wrote tomorrow,” she continued, nerves making her shake slightly, “But let me make my own now, please.” Ominis furrowed his brow.

She took a deep breath. Ominis’ face was still there, in that church in her mind, but that church was now a brick-paved alleyway behind a restaurant in Diagon Alley. The only guests were a few curious rodents that kept their distance and the only decor were some potholes filled with water from the rain that afternoon and a streetlamp whose flame spluttered feebly every few seconds.

And it was perfect.

Taking his hands in hers, she took a deep breath and released it. “Ominis Gaunt, I will love you with everything inside me until the day I leave this earth to meet you again in heaven.” Ominis was silent, or maybe speechless. “And…”

She took his right hand by the wrist and pressed it against her heart, which was hammering wildly. “No other man will ever have my body. It’s yours.”

“It’s yours,” Ominis replied, and the simple statement made her choke. It wasn’t true, never had been. Since birth, she’d been used as cannon fodder in her family’s war for power. For anyone to give her autonomy felt like being a timid, scared little bird released from its cage for the first time. She leaned in to kiss him, but he sensed her nearness and held a hand in front of his lips that hers landed against, and she gave a small grunt of frustration.

“My turn now,” he whispered. He bit his lip, pulling it through his teeth for a long second as he considered something. Then, in one fluid motion, he pressed her back against the wall, pulled her underwear down her waist, pulled his aching and dripping cock from his trousers, and grabbed at her thighs. With a little yelp, she realized what he was doing and accommodated him, wrapping her legs around his waist. His hard cock pressed at her entrance and the two panted with desperation for a moment. Ominis seemed to be fighting the urge to fuck her before he got his words out.

“You are my heart. Every day, when I wake up, I thank the gods for giving me you, and then I curse them for taking you away.” She couldn’t make a sound, wound too tightly by the desire to feel him inside her. “There is nothing in this world that could keep me away from you, except at your word.” His cadence was that of a prayer, and as she was considering what he said, he pushed his cock into her, holding her ass to guide himself inside, and the two moaned in mutual pleasure. He was so thick, so full inside her, and when he began moving, bouncing her back against the wall with one hand braced up beside her glistening face, her mouth fell open.

“Fuck, darling,” she cried. “I–fuck, I love you so much.”

The extraordinarily touch-sensitive Ominis couldn’t continue his vows for a long while, clearly too caught up in the feeling of her cunt wrapped around him. His mouth was agape as well, and his cloudy eyes were wild and frantic. He fucked her slow, then fast, then slow again, dragging himself in and out in agonizing torture and muttering in drunken reverence about how tight she was.

“Even if I never see you again, not an ounce of my love will be found missing,” he swore through his teeth once he was able to speak again. “And if you ever crave the freedom they all deny you, I will give it to you in an instant. We’ll run, anywhere, and we’ll do it hand-in-hand, my heart.” His thrusts were losing rhythm, the extra flood of slick from her core making him slip out of her a few times, but he righted himself and tried to give her everything he was promising. The feeling of slamming down on his cock was enough to drive her senseless. The muted sounds of their fucking filled the alleyway and echoed off the damp brick wall.

He reached down between their intertwined, sweating bodies and pressed one torturing finger against her clit as he muttered, “My fucking perfect wife.” An orgasm tore through her like a wildfire and she screamed, so hard that Ominis shoved his extra hand into her mouth so she could bite it and silence herself. He supported her with just his hips as he rubbed her clit gently through the blaze. Her teeth were still sunk in his hand when he came with a groan and a sigh, thrusting his load languidly inside her.

If she’d been able to notice anything, she might have noticed that it seemed Ominis was more than usually determined to fuck every drop into her and make sure it stayed there. After several minutes of panting and murmured kisses and affection while Ominis leaned against her, he pulled off and out of her, and she slumped to the ground before he caught her, his own legs looking slightly wobbly, as well. He felt her dress and hair, smoothing any wrinkles and knots his fingers found.

“You really won’t sleep with him?” he asked her in a small voice she’d never heard before, and her eyes flew to his to see a vulnerable and heartbroken Ominis she wasn’t familiar with.

It was a very easy promise to make. “As long as I have any say in it,” she whispered back, pressing their foreheads together once more and drawing a tiny, hopeful smirk to his lips. “I don’t think it will be much of a problem, though.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“I charge thirty-five galleons for the night.” She held out an open palm and tapped him in the chest with it so he knew that she was waiting for payment. Ominis actually laughed, and the sound bolstered her. The prospect of walking down the aisle to meet Louis tomorrow seemed significantly less terrifying now.

“We ought to get you back inside,” he said, but before she could agree and wonder at how long the two had been gone, Ominis had scooped her into his arms, ignoring her cry and giggle, and drew an invisible line on the ground with his toe.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“The doorstep,” he replied simply, and carried her over it.

masterlist

#PHEW FIRST OMI FIC THAT WAS SCARY!!!!#big ol ty to miss Haveawhile for helping me sm with this labor of love!!! xx #ominis gaunt fic #ominis gaunt x reader #hogwarts legacy fic #ominis gaunt x oc #laneywrites

201 notes · View notes

bookshelf-in-progress · 6 months ago

Text

Reflection: A Retelling of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves”

The mirror is a gift from the dwarves. Its frame of hammered gold is wrought with delicately-crafted birds and beasts, fruit and flowers. Its silver-backed surface, unlike those created by human craftsman, shows a true reflection.

The queen loves to gaze at herself in the mirror. It tells her that she is beautiful—skin like milk, hair like midnight, eyes as blue as a crystalline lake. She is young, healthy, graceful, charming—perfection in human form. Truly a queen worthy of this kingdom.

Then, one day, the mirror’s message changes. It shows that the queen has lines around her eyes, sunspots on her nose, wicked glints of silver in her night-black hair. The queen does all she can to hide the damage, spends hours before the mirror with cosmetics and concealers. To the rest of the world, the queen is as perfect as ever.

Yet every morning, the mirror tells the truth.

Worst of all, her husband has a little daughter—barely fourteen years old—who grows lovelier by the day. Every morning, the mirror says that before long, those who worshiped the queen’s beauty will transfer their devotion to the princess—and will be right to do so.

The queen's beauty would not seem so tarnished if the princess were not there for comparison. The queen tries to send the princess to an isolated estate—tells her husband it is better for the girl to grow up away from the corrupting influences of the court. But the girl is too dear to her father. She wastes away with homesickness, until her father the king orders her to come home for the sake of her health.

The queen tries neglecting the girl in ways the king won't notice—refusing to let her wash with good soap, denying her a maid, forbidding her fashionable clothes and hairstyles. Through it all, the mirror tells her that the girl’s beauty shines out brighter than ever.

Before long, the queen spends hours by the mirror each day, locked in a futile endeavor to restore what is lost forever. One moonlit night, she finds a dagger, and considers plunging it into her heart just to end this ceaseless torment, but the morning shows her a better path.

She will never be perfect, nor make the princess less so—but she can destroy perfection.

It would be easy to take this dagger to where the princess sleeps and shove it through her perfect heart, but the queen doesn't dare to mar her own beauty with blood-stained hands.

She gives the dagger to a loyal huntsman. He takes the girl into the forest—and returns holding a small, bloody heart.

That night before the mirror, the queen's smile makes her glow with a new kind of beauty.

People often tell the princess she is beautiful. She believes them, for she has never seen an ugly face. Old Sal’s missing tooth is an open door into her smile. The chambermaid’s freckles make a daytime constellation. The little stable boy’s one good eye glitters green as an emerald. Her stepmother owns a beautiful mirror, but the princess barely gazes at it. Why would she waste time examining her own familiar face in a world with so many other lovely faces to gaze upon?

One day in early spring, she asks to go berrying in the forest beyond the castle, as she once did with her mother. To her surprise, the queen permits it—the queen rarely allows the princess anything that might be a luxury. She even sends one of her huntsmen as protection.

In the eaves of the forest, the princess finds strawberries not far from the path, and she hastens to gather as many as she can. She invites the huntsman to join her, but he stands statue-like at the edge of the clearing, always on guard. Not wanting him to go without, the princess brings the berries to him, and offers him the largest, sweetest one.

As she does, she gazes at his face. Scars make mountain ranges along his cheeks and brow. His hair is edged with silver. The lines of his face are solid as stone. His deep gray eyes hold storm clouds.

“Oh, my,” the princess says in awe. “You are beautiful.”

The huntsman’s face disappears as he hides it in one of his hands. “I can’t,” he says, his voice rough with unshed tears. “I must betray my queen."

His other hands darts to the side, quick as a serpent, and the silver flash of a blade disappears into the undergrowth.

The huntsmen places both of his hands on the princess’ shoulders and crouches to look into her face. “You must run. The queen wants you dead. If you stay at the palace, she will find a way to kill you. You must flee into the forest and never return.”

“The forest?” the princess asks in terror. She has often wandered in the eaves, but she has never dared the strange terrors that are said to lurk in its interior.

“There is nothing there that can harm such innocence,” the huntsman says. “You will find shelter.” He turns her around and pushes her toward the depths of the forest. “Now run! As fast and as far as you can!”

The shadows of the forest embrace her, and the flowers make a path at her feet. She crosses shallow rivers, climbs rocky slopes, winds through twisted groves of trees. She couldn’t return home even if she wanted to.

She had not been blind. She had seen something like ugliness in the queen’s face whenever they were alone. But hatred? Murder?

She nearly collapses with grief, but through the trees, she sees a wisp of smoke. A chimney. A roof over a tumbledown cottage. The princess runs through the open door, collapses on the floor, and is glad to find a safe place to weep.

Her father will think her dead, and she will not be there to comfort him. She will never again see any of the beautiful faces that fill the palace. The hundreds of hidden details that made the castle home are forever out of her reach. The huntsman saved her, but to what end? A lifetime of loneliness and misery? Is this truly a better fate than the quick death of a dagger through the heart?

She opens her eyes. She has looked too long at the sorrows in her heart. She must find solace from without.

She gazes upon the cottage.

And sees seven beautiful faces.

The dwarves love their princess. She is beautiful, not only because of her face, but because of the way her soul shines out through it. She is endlessly beautiful because she sees the beauty in everyone and everything.

There never was a girl so selfless. Her every waking moment is spent filling their days with a million small comforts. The cottage has never been so clean. The food has never been so lovingly prepared. There is nothing she would not do for them, and in return, they devote their lives to her service.

She needs their protection. One so naturally kind and innocent can’t recognize when strangers might have ill intent. One day, after being out in the woods, the seven dwarves return to the cottage to find the princess nearly strangled by a set of stays. When they revive her, she tells them of a ragged old woman (with such beautiful hands!) who asked for food and water and then repaid her generosity by giving a nearly-fatal gift. The eldest of the dwarves caught a glimpse of the stranger’s retreat, and saw enough of her form to suspect the queen.

The dwarves keep a closer guard on the princess, but six months later, a few minutes go by when all seven of them are away from home. They return to find the princess nearly killed by a poisoned comb in her hair. The story she tells is similar to the last one—an old woman in need of help repaid their kind princess with a gift meant to kill.

After that, the princess is never alone. The dwarf on guard duty always has the envied task, so lovely is it to be in her presence. A year, then two, go by with no signs of danger.

Then one winter morning, after a night of birthday feasting, all seven of the dwarves sleep late. The princess rises at her usual time, hoping to fix them a holiday breakfast. By the time the dwarves stumble out of bed, they find the princess sprawled across the kitchen floor—cold, pale and lifeless, with a poisoned apple in her hand.

They despise themselves for having failed her, but their love for the princess drives them to serve her the only way they can—by laying her body to rest. The cold, hard earth won’t take her, and they can’t bear to hide her away in the realm of death. Knowing that decay will not touch one so innocent, they place her in a coffin of glass and lay her in their garden, where her beauty can brighten the world in death as it did in life.

They keep a constant vigil, lost in loving grief. They ought to have known she would end this way. This is the fate of all innocence in this dark and sinful world—to be destroyed by wickedness. Even as they see this truth, they know that it is wrong. The world should not be this way, but what can they do? They wish and pray for better, but they can’t hope. How can innocence ever overcome such evil?

In the spring, when the last snow melts and the first snowbells bloom, the dwarves see movement in the woods beyond their cottage. A prince approaches on a snow-white horse. He is ruler of this forest and its mysterious ways—a king of kings, even more beautiful than their princess. His face shines with a wisdom that does nothing to defile the innocence of his heart.

He leaps from his horse, approaches the coffin, raises the lid, and takes the cold hand of the princess between his.

“Beloved,” he says, “arise.”

In his words and actions, the dwarves find the answer to the riddle they have pondered in their long vigil of grief. In a world of wickedness, the salvation of Innocence is Love.

The princess opens her eyes. Takes a breath. Sits up and gazes upon the world she loves, upon the one who loved her back to life. Something of the prince’s wisdom is reflected in her, so that her beauty is almost painful to behold.

The dwarves rejoice, and the princess rejoices with them. She kisses each one atop the head, but does not release the hand of her prince.

Eager to serve one who served them so well, the dwarves cook her breakfast, and she eats with even more enthusiasm than she showed in her former life. Yet when the meal ends, she stands with her prince at the threshold of the cottage.

“I must return to my father,” the princess says.

The dwarves protest. What of the queen? What of the danger?

The princess looks at her prince with eyes full of love. “I have nothing to fear.”

The king rejoices at his daughter’s return—he has thought her dead for so many years. Grief has aged and weakened him, but there is beauty in his face that grows brighter with every minute he spends in the presence of the princess.

The princess tells him of her troubles since she went away, and the king is horrified by her words. “I knew my wife had lost her reason,” he says, “but not her heart! She must pay for her crimes!”

He moves toward the door as though he will administer justice this moment.

The prince stops him with a gentle hand upon his chest. “There is no need.”

The queen gazes at herself in the mirror. She never looks anywhere else. If there is a world beyond the edges of its frame, she has forgotten it. She sees only her own face, searches for the remaining scraps of beauty, tries desperately to erase the blemishes that grow ever more hateful with the passing of years.

Another face appears in the reflection—a face the queen thought she had destroyed long ago. It is lovelier than ever. The queen hides her face in her hands so she can not see the painful beauty of the princess.

“Come away from there,” the princess says. “Gaze with me upon the other beauties of the world.”

“And lose myself?” the queen shrieks. “That is what you have always wanted—to destroy my very self! To take all the honor and beauty that should be mine!”

“I wish to save you,” the princess says. “Come away.”

“Never!” the queen screams, clutching the mirror in two white-knuckled hands. “I have everything I need right here! You can’t take it from me!”

The princess touches the queen’s shoulder. The queen screams and shrinks away, hiding her face once more in her hands.

A man’s voice—painful in its beauty—says, “Beloved, she has made her choice.”

At long last, they leave. The queen looks in the mirror and sees no face but her own. No greater beauty remains nearby to shame her.

In the confines of her world’s silver surface, she is fairest of all.

The queen is locked away in the prison of her choosing.

The king stays to do what good he can for his kingdom, and the princess promises to return for him after he has fulfilled his purpose.

The prince places the princess on his snow-white horse, and they travel once more past the cottage of the dwarves, who are glad to see her so beautiful and beloved.

At last, the prince brings the princess to his kingdom at the heart of the forest.

The beauty she finds there is beyond words.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #snow white and the seven dwarves #a completely rewritten version (as best i could)#sorry if it doesn't live up to the hype #i was going to write my snow white retelling with tolkien-esque elves and dwarves #but instead decided to work with my idea that the magic mirror is actually just the queen's own reflection #making her go mad with too much self-examination #and then it turned into an allegory #but look if you're a christian fairy tale author you're allowed the occasional clunky allegory it's like the law

205 notes · View notes

writingforstraykids · 7 months ago

Note

hiya! i'm still pretty new to your blog but i really like your writing! english isn't my first language but i hope my request is still understandable ^^

m!reader (with they/them pronouns if possible 👉🏻👈🏻) is best friends with chan. chan praises the reader in some way and figures out that they have a praise kink so he just keeps praising them to make them flustered all the time (bonus points if he throws in the classic 'good boy')

oh and i wanted to ask if i could maybe be 🦖 anon?

thank you!

It's always been you

Pairing: Chan x m!reader with they/them pronouns (mention of Minsung)

Word Count: 4301

Summary: Chan and you have been best friends for what feels like forever. You long for more, not knowing that Chan feels the same. Minho and Jisung decide to lend you a hand the way Chan and you did for them.

Warnings/Tags: friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, smut, teasing, praise kink, dry humping

A/N: I know we've talked a while ago about this request but I hope I did your wishes for it justice, my dear🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

You hum gently to yourself as you make your way back home, scrolling through your phone as you try to find a good song. A smile covers your lips as your best friend's voice rings through your ears and you can't help the warm feeling spreading through you. Chan invited you over for a movie night with the boys, and you couldn't wait to spend time with them…or him. Being around Chan made you feel things you never felt for anyone else ever before. Those soft brown eyes, beautiful smile, and warm hugs made you feel so loved. You know there's no chance he would ever love you back, but that didn't stop you from gazing after him.

You reach their dorm, and Minho lets you in, pulling you into a short hug. “Hey, Min.”

“Hey,” he smiles and closes the door behind you. “Channie hyung will be there in a bit. He went out to grab some snacks with Ji,” he explains and pats your back, leading you inside.

“Oh, okay,” you nod and glance around the living room, where they've already set everything up. “Can I still help with anything?”

“Nah, you're fine,” he tells you and gently shoves you toward the sofa. “Relax, okay? We got it.”

“Fuck, Ji, it's getting worse every time they're there,” Chan sighs and grabs some of your favorite cookies.

“Worse?” Jisung frowns, and Chan nods weakly.

“Yeah, they're so funny and adorable and so pretty,” he says and glances at his friend nervously. “I really want to be more than just friends.”

Jisung squints his eyes at him suspiciously. “Just sex or more?” he asks quietly.

“Not just sex,” Chan shakes his head and awkwardly scratches his neck. “I wanna be there for them, make sure they're safe and loved.”

“Why don't you tell them?” he asks curiously.

“I'm scared of ruining our friendship,” he admits.

“You will, one way or the other, won't you?” he asks gently. “You'll regret it if you don't tell them, believe me. I could've saved myself a lot of pain if I told Minho hyung a lot earlier.”

“Yeah, but…I told you Minho loves you. You had some clarity after that,” he sighs softly.

“I can ask Y/nnie,” he shrugs, and Chan's eyes widen fearfully. “Then I'll tell you, and you can decide what to do with that information.”

“Yeah, okay,” he gives in after a moment.

You look up as they return from the store and smile softly, spotting Chan and giving him a small wave. Chan smiles back, walks past you, and gently pats your head. “Hey, bestie.”

“Hey,” you smile gently, swallowing at the word that once brought you so much comfort but now is a simple reminder of what you didn't have.

You see Minho greeting Jisung, pulling him into a hug, and gently rubbing his back. He asks him something you can't quite hear, but his eyes are so soft, his voice gentle, it makes your heartache. Minho giggles at Jisung’s answer and cups his face, kissing his forehead. You quickly look away, biting your lower lip. You still remember how happy you were when they got together, but over time it got hard to watch, wishing for something like this with Chan. “Y/nnie, can I talk to you for a second?” Jisung asks as he pulls back. “I need help with something.”

“You're okay?” Minho asks worriedly.

“I'm okay,” he assures him softly and squeezes his hand. “Come on,” he waves you over. You get up, not noticing Chan's anxious glance as you leave the room.

Minho glances at him suspiciously. “Oh…that?”

“Mhm,” Chan nods nervously and Minho flashes him an encouraging smile.

“How could they not love you, huh?” he chuckles compassionately. “Relax, hyungie.”

Only a little later, you're back in the living room, trying not to look all too confused. There isn't much space left on the sofa, and Chan pulls you into his lap naturally. You sink back into him and bite your lower lip nervously. Why the hell did Jisung ask if you're in love? With Chan? Was it that obvious?

You can barely focus on the movie playing and want nothing more but to leave and think this all through. It's over sooner than you thought, and you're all sitting in a circle on the carpet now.

“Truth or dare anyone?” Seungmin asks, and you curse yourself quietly. Of course.

“Not for me, I should get -” you start and see Chan's smile fading.

“You're leaving already?” he asks worriedly, and you nod quickly.

“Oh, come on, Y/nnie,” Jeongin pouts at you.

“You can't leave already,” Changing protests and places the cards into your circle.

“Fine,” you give in weakly and sit down next to Chan, who lifts you into his lap rather quickly again. His arms wrap around your waist, and his chin rests on your shoulder. “Clingy,” you comment fondly.

“Fuck off,” Chan gives back just as fondly.

The game goes on, and luckily, you're getting easy tasks and questions that don't make you uncomfortable. Jisung is sleeping in Minho's lap by now as the latter plays with his hair, and Felix's head is resting on his shoulder. Seungmin and Innie keep on teasing each other, hoping for the most stupid questions for each other. Changbin is still reading the questions, and Hyunjin giggles every time he shows him beforehand. You're still comfortable in Chan's lap and giggle as Seungmin spins the bottle, and it points at the two of you.

“That's pretty in the middle,” Changbin states and frowns softly.

“I can go; I'll take truth,” Chan volunteers. Changbin glances down at the question before grinning.

“Do you have a crush? If so, who?” he reads out loud, and Chan stiffens beneath you.

“I do,” he nods, and your throat dries.

“Who?” Hyunjin asks, pointing out the second part of the question.

“Someone I know really well,” Chan says, and your heart drops. That could be everyone in this room, and looking at the others, you know it can't be you. There's no chance. You push yourself from his lap before you fully comprehend your thoughts, excusing yourself for the bathroom. Chan glances after you worriedly as you bump into the table on the way out and exchanges a worried look with Minho.

“I got it,” Minho nods and gently plants a sleeping Jisung into Felix's lap. “You go on,” he tells the rest before making his way upstairs to the bathroom. Minho gently knocks at the door and fondly rolls his eyes as you don't answer. “Y/nnie, let me in,” he says and waits for another moment. “I'll go get Chan if you don't.” You quickly open the door and pull him inside, locking the door again. “Cozy,” he comments teasingly.

“Why are you even here?” you sigh softly and sit down heavily at the edge of the bathtub.

“Shouldn't I ask you that? This can't be more comfortable than Chan hyung’s lap,” he says and sits down next to you, shaking his head. “Definitely not.”

“Mhm, you should know, right?” you ask sarcastically, and Minho grins.

“Oh, I do…I've seen…or felt…everything you dream about,” he chuckles and gently pats your thigh. “I'm with Ji. What's stopping you now, huh?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” you shake your head and sigh heavily. “There's no way on earth Chan would love me and - oh fuck, I sound just like you,” you groan.

“You do,” he giggles. “And I remember you telling me to get myself together and finally realize how handsome I am.”

“Well, you are, you dumbass,” you roll your eyes at him. “That doesn't exactly apply to me.”

“I think…I know Chan thinks very differently about that,” he says and is quiet for a moment. “So do I, dumbass,” he says and gently smacks the back of your head.

Minho's words hit you like a wave, washing away the stubborn layers of doubt that had clung to you all evening. Despite the sting of his playful smack, there's an undeniable warmth in his words, an affirmation that maybe, just maybe, Chan might feel the same way about you.

"But, Min," you start, your voice trembling slightly from the mix of hope and uncertainty, "What if you're wrong? What if he doesn't... What if it's not me he's talking about?"

Minho raises an eyebrow and gives you a look that screams exasperation mixed with fondness. "Y/nnie, when have I ever steered you wrong? Listen, Chan's not as good at hiding his feelings as he thinks. The way he looks at you? I've seen it. It's more than just friendship. This isn’t my talk to have, though, you know?"

You're about to respond, but there's a knock on the bathroom door that makes you both flinch. "It's me," a voice says, one that sends butterflies rampaging through your stomach. Chan.

Minho winks at you and stands up. He walks past Chan with a knowing look as he exits the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. You're frozen in place, your heart pounding so loudly you're sure Chan can hear it.

Chan steps inside, closes the door behind him, and leans against it. His eyes search yours, filled with a nervous energy that matches your own. "Y/nnie, are you okay? I noticed you left suddenly..."

Taking a deep breath, you nod slowly, trying to muster the courage that Minho seemed to think you had in abundance. "I'm okay, Chan. Just... a lot on my mind, I guess."

Chan moves closer, his concern evident. "Anything you want to talk about? You know you can tell me anything, right?"

The sincerity in his voice nearly breaks you. With a shaky exhale, you decide it's now or never. "Chan, I... I need to ask you something. Earlier, when you said you have a crush... was that-"

Chan's face changes then, but before you can interpret it, he lets out a breath he seems to have been holding. "Yes, it's you. It's always been you, Y/nnie. I was just too scared to say anything because I didn't want to ruin what we had."

The words you had feared and hoped to hear tumble into the small space between you, and for a moment, the world stops. Tears prick your eyes, not from sadness but from an overwhelming relief that floods through you.

"Chan, I... I feel the same," you confess, the weight of your unspoken feelings lifting off your shoulders. "I was so afraid you'd never see me that way."

Chan steps forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His hands cup your face gently, and he smiles - a real, soft smile that you've dreamed of being meant for you. "How could I not? You're amazing, Y/nnie. I've just been an idiot about it."

And then he kisses you, a soft, sweet kiss that promises more. As you melt into him, the fears and doubts of the past fade away, replaced by the excitement of what comes next.

Outside the bathroom, the sounds of the ongoing game and the laughter of your friends continue, a reminder of the world waiting for you both. But for now, in this small, shared space, nothing matters more than the two of you finally bridging the gap between friendship and something much deeper.

When you finally pull away, Chan's grin is as bright as the stars you imagine are shining outside. "Come on," he says, taking your hand. "Let's go back.”

The two of you sit down again, and you lean back against him comfortably. Your eyes meet Minho’s, and you can’t help but beam at him. Minho smiles gently and winks at you, focusing back on the game. Chan gently intertwines your hands in front of your stomach and rests his head on your shoulder. “Tired?” you ask him quietly enough for only him to hear.

“Starting to be, yeah,” he hums quietly. “You wanna stay tonight?” he asks so sweetly there was no chance you’d deny him.

“I would love to,” you nod.

The evening goes on, but the atmosphere around you is subtly different now. The other guys seem to pick up on the shift; quick, knowing glances are exchanged, and an occasional smirk is poorly disguised as a cough. As the evening slowly comes to a stop, the games gradually transform into yawns and stretching limbs. One by one, the room starts to empty as everyone heads to their room. Changbin claps Chan on the back as he passes by, whispering something that makes Chan chuckle and squeeze your hand tighter.

Once the room is empty, Chan shifts slightly, turning to face you. "So, what do you want to do?" he asks, his voice low and warm. "We could start another movie, just the two of us, or maybe just talk?"

"The talking sounds nice," you reply, smiling at him

Chan nods in agreement and stands, leading you to his room. You’ve been here so often before, but you never fail to feel at home here. He shuts the door behind you and sits on the edge of the bed, patting the space next to him.

You join him, feeling a blend of excitement and nervousness. "I'm really glad you're here," Chan begins, turning to you with a beautiful smile that makes your heart flutter. "I've wanted to talk like this for so long but didn't know how to start."

"Me too," you admit. "I always wondered what this would be like, talking to you like this, knowing we both feel the same way."

Chan reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I've been so scared of messing things up," he confesses. "I didn't want to lose you by taking a step that might have been too much, too soon."

You nod, understanding his fears because they mirror your own. "But we didn't mess it up, did we? We're here now, and it feels right."

"It does," he agrees, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of relief and happiness. "It feels perfect."

"What do you think will happen with us?" you ask a small part of you needing reassurance that tonight's magic will extend beyond dawn.

Chan squeezes your hand, his gaze steady. "I think we're going to be great," he says. "We already know each other so well, and we care about each other. We just have to keep doing what we're doing."

"I love that," you whisper, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"I love you," Chan says softly, the words spoken so naturally, echoing through the quiet room.

"I love you too, Channie," you respond, turning to face him. Your eyes meet his in a look that feels like a promise. He smiles sweetly, dimples showing, and gives you another quick kiss.

Chan stands up and offers you a shirt to sleep in, his shy smile making you laugh. You change and slide under the covers beside him, his arm coming around to hold you close.

The comfort of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart soon draw you into slumber, the challenges of the day fading into the peace of the night.

Two weeks later

You’re at the kitchen table with Minho, whispering the details of Chan’s and your first kiss and talk to him. You haven’t really had time to before with Minho gone for a few days. Minho listens curiously, nodding along, and you can tell he’s happy for you. The rest slowly join you for breakfast, and then Chan comes back from his shower after his gym session. His curls are still damp, a bright smile covering his face as he sees you. He passes you, gently squeezing your shoulder. “Morning, pretty,” he says softly, and you can’t help but feel flustered. A quick kiss to your temple follows, and he’s gone again already, getting himself something to drink.

Minho notices the blush settling on your cheeks and giggles. “That easily?” he asks, amused.

You gently shove his shoulder. “Shut up,” you mutter. “I’m not used to it.”

“Mhm,” he hums, still giggling softly.

It gets worse as Chan slips into the chair next to you, flashing you a bright smile and casually resting his hand on your thigh. “You slept well, beautiful?” he asks, not noticing the blush on your cheeks deepening.

What the hell? Why were his simple words causing such warmth to spread through your body? Why are you blushing so hard after a few kind words? His eyes meet yours, and your stomach tightens at the love in them. Fuck.

“Yeah, did you?” you ask shyly.

“Of course, you’ve always been amazing at cuddling,” he compliments you, and you subconsciously shift in your chair.

You manage a small smile in response to Chan’s gaze, the affection evident in his eyes almost too much to process so early in the morning. He chuckles softly, his hand squeezing your thigh reassuringly, a simple gesture that somehow speeds up your fluttering heart.

“Sorry,” he whispers, leaning in so that only you can hear, “I didn’t mean to make you blush this much.” His voice is a blend of amusement and tenderness, sending a shiver down your spine. You can't help but feel a little overwhelmed by how natural it all seems to him, this newfound closeness between you.

“It’s okay,” you assure him.

“Are you sure, pretty boy?” he asks and your lips part softly, eyes widening a little.

“Channie,” you whisper softly, shaking your head. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he asks, a knowing smirk lacing his features. “I’m just saying what I see.”

Your teeth bury into your lower lip as you feel the earlier shyness shift into something much stronger. Chan was getting you all worked up over nothing, and you’re not even done with breakfast yet.

“Give them a break,” Minho leans over suddenly, rolling his eyes playfully at Chan. “You’re getting them all worked up at the breakfast table; behave,” he says quietly enough only for the pair of you to hear.

Chan’s eyes widen, lips parting in a silent ‘oh’ as he picks up on the effect his words have on you. He leans closer to you, his breath tickling your neck. “Didn’t know you had a thing for praise.”

“Me neither, now shut up,” you plead softly, shifting in your seat and pulling at your shirt to cover your lap. Chan’s low chuckle sends shivers down your spine, and you flinch as his hand moves up your thigh. You gaze at him nervously, but Chan doesn’t even glance in your direction, talking to Seungmin opposite him. By now, you can’t get up to escape the possibility of getting caught because you’re slowly growing hard.

Your breath hitches as you try to focus on anything but the warmth of Chan's hand, your body reacting despite the semi-public setting. It's a thrilling yet terrifying mix of emotions, the fear of being noticed wrestling with the pleasure of Chan's subtle touches.

"Hey, you okay?" Seungmin's voice cuts through your haze, and you snap your attention back to him, nodding quickly, too quickly.

"Yeah, just... thought I saw something outside," you stammer, hoping your voice doesn't betray the flush of heat crawling up your neck. Chan smirks slightly, his fingers pausing as if he's aware of your struggle to stay composed.

The rest of the breakfast passes with a sort of hushed intensity, your mind whirling with Chan's teasing and the palpable connection that seems to have everyone subtly glancing your way every so often. You're grateful when the meal finally ends, and there’s an opportunity to escape the intensity of the kitchen.

Chan stands and stretches, his shirt lifting slightly to reveal a sliver of his abdomen. You have to force your gaze away, feeling the heat in your cheeks intensify. "Wanna go upstairs?" he asks, his voice low, meant only for your ears. You pull at the hem of your shirt, nodding shyly and biting your lower lip in anticipation. Chan giggles and pulls you into a tight hug, whispering to you as some of the boys are still here. “Didn’t know you’d be able to hide it so well,” he tells you, hand running down your back. “Think you deserved yourself a reward, pretty boy?”

“Please,” you whisper, burying your flushed face in his shoulder.

“If you’re good and keep quiet, I’ll help you out,” he whispers, and you tense in his arms, biting your lower lip hard.

Your body reacts with a shiver at the promise in his words, the idea alone enough to draw a deep, yearning ache from within you. You nod against his shoulder, unable to speak, your heart pounding fiercely in your chest.

Chan leads you quietly upstairs, his hand gripping yours with a reassuring firmness. You pass a couple of the guys lounging in the living area, completely oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you two. Once inside his room, Chan locks the door with a soft click, the sound echoing slightly in the stillness.

"Sit down," he directs gently, pointing to the edge of his bed. You obey, watching him with wide eyes as he kneels down in front of you. His hands rest on your knees, his touch light but sending waves of anticipation through your body.

"How quiet do you think you can be?" Chan asks, his voice low and teasing, his breath warm against your skin as he leans closer.

"I'll be quiet," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the effort of keeping your composure.

Chan smiles, that knowing, mischievous grin that always sets your heart racing. He slowly moves his hands up your thighs, his fingers brushing the fabric of your sweatpants tantalizingly slow. The touch is light, almost teasing, but it’s enough to make you gasp softly.

"Shh," he hushes, his lips brushing against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. "Remember, you need to be quiet."

You nod, biting your lip hard to stifle any further sounds. Chan’s hands continue their exploration, now slipping under your shirt to trace the lines of your stomach up towards your chest. His touch is feather-light, yet every nerve in your body screams for more contact, more pressure.

Without warning, he presses down more firmly, his palm flat against your chest as he pushes you gently back onto the bed. You go willingly, your body already on fire from his touch, your breathing heavy but controlled as you try to keep your promise.

Chan climbs onto the bed, straddling one of your thighs as he leans over you, his face just inches from yours. “Still doing okay?” he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

“More than okay,” you breathe out, the proximity of his body making it hard to think about anything but the feel of him against you.

Grinning, Chan shifts his weight, and you feel the firm pressure of his thigh between yours, exactly where you need him. He watches your face closely as he begins to rock gently, the friction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your hands find his hips, gripping him, guiding him into a rhythm that has you biting down on your lip to keep silent.

The room is filled with the soft sound of fabric moving against fabric and Chan's steady, controlled breathing. You keep your eyes locked on him, getting lost in the intensity of his gaze as he moves against you. Each motion is deliberate, calculated to drive you closer to the edge without tipping you over too soon.

Chan’s hands are on your hips now, his fingers pressing into your skin, his grip firm and possessive. He leans down to kiss you, slow and deep, his lips moving against yours in a dance that mirrors the movement of your bodies. You respond eagerly, the kiss muffled enough to keep your moans contained.

As the pressure builds, Chan’s movements become more urgent, his body pressing harder against yours. You feel a warmth spreading through you, a tingling sensation that starts deep within and radiates outwards. Your grip on him tightens, and Chan breaks the kiss to look at you, his eyes intense.

“Shit, Channie,” you whisper, almost feeling dizzy at the intensity of finally being this close to Chan.

“Shh, be a good boy, yeah?” he asks softly, biting back a moan himself as he rocks his hips.

“Close,” you manage to whisper, and he nods, his movements becoming even more focused. You arch into him, your mouth opening in a silent cry of release as waves of pleasure wash over you. Chan holds you through it, his body a steady presence as you tremble beneath him. Chan buries his face in your chest with a soft, punched-out sound as his body shivers, stumbling over the edge.

When you finally relax back onto the bed, Chan’s face is flushed with his own exertion, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He kisses you softly, tenderly, a stark contrast to the urgency of moments before.

“Was that quiet enough for you?” you ask, a playful note in your voice despite your exhaustion.

“Perfect,” Chan confirms with a chuckle, his forehead resting against yours. “Absolutely perfect.” You both lie there for a moment, catching your breath, the only sound in the room now the quiet hum of the house around you. Then, with a gentle nudge, Chan encourages you to sit up. “Come on,” he says, his voice gentle. “Let’s clean up a bit, then we can go back down. They’ll wonder where we’ve vanished to.”

“Yeah, okay,” you giggle softly, smiling into the loving kiss he gives you before slipping out of bed. Yeah, you could get used to this and so much more.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143

284 notes · View notes

towriteloveontheirarms · 4 months ago

Note

Dark felix Caton who sees beautiful girl (reader)at uni. He became obsessed with her right away. But then he finds out reader already has a bf. Then he plot an evil plan. He befriends readers bf and ask him to join him during summer vacations to saltburn. Felix also says he can bring reader along with him too.

Reader is hesitant but eventually accept the offer. Soo that's where felix would begin to corner reader whenever she's alone. Reader try to tell her bf about it but he turns her down too occupied by the lavish lifestyle. Finally felix get reader alone with him and r4pe her.

I´m sorry you had to wait this long dear anon. I really hope you enjoy this though. Your other requests will still be coming soon as possible though. I promise I have not forgotten and am not ignoring <3

To get you alone (dark!Felix Catton x reader)

synopsis: He always had his eyes on you, however you had thought naively that he wouldn´t go past that.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non consensual sex, smut, semi public sex, p in v, unwanted attention generally, mentions of reader being in a relationship with Oliver, afab reader

word count: 1.6k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: I tried to not be too graphic with this one, I still advise anyone reading to proceed with causion. SA is a real and serious topic and if you don´t feel in the right spot for reading this that is completely fine. Remember to be kind to yourself and you are loved!

Dividers by @saradika

Felix Catton. If you were to be asked what you thought of Felix your answer would most often look something like “Yes, he's pretty handsome…” but beyond that there was very little you knew of the rich boy and that in and of itself made you wary of him. Especially because he seemed to go wherever you went. Mischievously sparkling eyes trained on your every move from the second you entered the grand hall for the welcome celebrations. Now, normally you probably wouldn't mind it that much, hadn't it been for someone else's sudden infatuation with whom your friends had jokingly begun to call your stalker.

You had met Oliver years prior, when your parents somehow for some reason befriended his parents. Well, not for some reason, they were lovely people, but nonetheless. Soon after that he had asked you out and with how nervous he looked you couldn't help but accept. It was really cute. Oliver was attentive and perfect and even if his friend Michael was a bit weird by most standards, it seemed like he was looking out for your boyfriend as well, as much as he could. But he was the first part of your life that Felix got his fangs into. Until you found yourself at the Catton’s estate over the summer instead of going home for the first time in forever. It was nice of him to extend the invite, his family was mostly nice in that dysfunctional, rich people way. Still, despite everything you felt like an intruder. No matter how often any of them insisted how great it was to have you there. Something felt off. Like a spell had been cast on Oliver so he couldn't see how weird his new so-called friend was. Ignorant to every slip off the hand underneath the table at meals or outside, every lingering glance at the pool, every oh so innocent seeming, hidden unwanted comment.

But especially to the frequency with which you found yourself trapped alone with the brunet rich kid. His hands resting on your hips as he leaned down to you, eyes sparkling with spoken and unspoken comments. Things he had dreamt doing to you, you did to him, things he wanted to try. It all fell upon deaf ears, no matter who you told. Venetia was the only one who even made the impression to believe you, but even her response was kept to a minimum. Keeping silent about it to the world, not doing anything to actively help when you told her how uncomfortable you felt alone with her brother.

No one ever expected the great Felix Catton to do something bad, he was just making jokes, you were told, but you knew better than them.

Walking through Saltburn, you are distracted by mentally chiding yourself for still getting lost after having spent so much time there already. The constant, silent barrage of curses blinds you to the person walking towards you.

“Whoa there.” The voice and steadying hands on your upper arms quickly give away that it isn't Farleigh or your boyfriend you ran into, like you had hoped so dearly. Or even James or Duncan or literally anyone else but the person standing in front of you. In an attempt to bring distance between the two of you as fast as possible, you stumble backwards however and almost fall into the little coffee table behind you, prompting Felix´ hands to go right back to your arms.

“Are you okay?” He asks over a huffed chuckle, eyes glowing lightly with mischief as always.

“Y-yeah, thanks.” You rasp a short answer, dusting yourself off to get away from solitude with him as quickly as possible.

“Not so fast.” He stops you by holding out his arm to block the way to freedom. “Did I do something to offend you?”

The question nearly shocks the air out of your chest, fists balling instinctively as there is only one question that crosses your mind in return. “Are you serious right now?”

“Uh, yes? Why wouldn´t I be?” The baffling response is accompanied by furrowed brows and a still slightly amused quirk of the corner of the lip.

“Felix, it´s nice that you invited us here, but I´m not blind. I see the way you eyed the girls back at uni. I see the way you look at Olli and I see the way you look at me, have been looking at me for months and by God I´ve felt your hands when you thought no one is watching.”

Listening to you intently, Felix’ facial expression shifts to one less light. A knowing smirk replaces the half smirk and his brows relax, the brown of his eyes darkening to almost black.

"Oh, did you now? You notice everything, don't you?" The brunet straightens his back to tower over you. One of his large hands coming up to grab you by the chin. His thumb languidly swipes over your lower lip. “Aren't you just the cleverest girl?”

“Felix…” you whisper hesitatingly, too tightly in his hold to make another attempt at fleeing. All that you can do to keep him at a small distance is to cross your arms over your chest. An obviously futile, but desperate move that, perhaps rightfully so, gets chuckled at, before they get pinned above your head.

"Tell me, do you ever think of me instead of Olli?" Felix huffs above you.

“What?” Outrage burns it´s way through your veins, but as quickly as it ignites it is shut down again.

“Do you ever think of me when you are with Ollie.” Felix repeats slower this time, stepping even closer, even though it had seemed impossible prior.

For a moment you don´t know how, or if, to respond, biting your lip and averting your eyes to put off answering as much as possible. However, failing when his fingers dig deeper into your chin to turn you back to him. You nod, ashamed.

"Say it." He demands. "I want to hear it from your beautiful lips."

"I think about you every time I am with him. I think about you when I touch myself at night, imagining it's your fingers making me come until I can only moan your name." The confession isn't entirely true.

If you were entirely honest, your mind has shifted once, but you knew he wouldn't be happy with that. His breath shudders and you know he bought the lie.

"Fuck you're such a naughty girl. Thinking about me when you have him. And to admit it so freely." He chuckles

"Oliver could never touch me like you do. He could never make me feel as good." You continue lying, hoping to any deity that would listen, it would make this whole torture be over faster.

Far from it was the case obviously. Felix lets out a low growl, swiftly leaning down to capture your lower lip between his teeth. Soothing the bite by pulling them into an unreciprocated kiss immediately after. It´s as if it happened solely to make one thing unmistakeably clear. He wanted you. To be desperate and beg him for more. He wanted you to need him just how much he needed you. And more.

His tongue presses against yours as he roughly moved the two of you away from the table, pinning you against the nearest wall. Even less time is wasted to push aside and open any clothes that potentially could be in the way of the one thing Felix had wanted to do to you ever since he had first laid his eyes on you. Letting go of your chin, his hand hooks underneath your thigh to ease himself into you painfully slow. His presence alone rendering you incapable of any clear thought of fight or flight. A realization at which he lets go of your wrists to grope at your breasts. Felix' own chest heaves with heavy breaths and quiet moans, held back as to not alert any of the staff nearby. Meanwhile you barely feel like you are in your own body anymore. It's like watching him from above as he did whatever he wanted to your limp body. The nausea, the tears pricking in your eyes as his lips latch onto your neck to suck his marks into it, they all feel so distant yet so overwhelming. You can see his lips moving, but the sounds are drowned out by a high-pitched ringing sound. Numb to the way his fingers dig into your skin or how every thrust of his hips pushes you back into the wall, head rolling from side to side as you try to drown all of it out even more. Again, futilely.

Still your inaction brings Felix enough enjoyment to keep on going for what feels like forever. His touch is so meticulous, so blushless, he is so focused on just violating every boundary you had tried to set up with him ever, he doesn't even see you anymore. How much he is hurting you. And if he does, he doesn't show much care for it.

You are lucky in a sense though as well or maybe it's just another cruel joke by the gods. As soon as Felix spills himself inside of you, he pulls out and away. Without so much as another word, but a look that very much promised more of what had just happened, he leaves you in the little corner of the hallway.

However, you don't come back to yourself yet. Taking care in mechanical motions to fix up your clothes and get to a bathroom to clean up and possibly empty your stomach's contents until you felt any better about yourself and the prospect of having to spend the rest of summer in these halls. Any better, no matter how little it would be at all. One thing you were sure of in your dissociated state. There was no escaping Felix Catton.

#felix catton #felix x reader #felix x you #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn fic #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn x reader #saltburn x you

94 notes · View notes

marymary-diva17 · 4 months ago

Text

Our yawne

Life can be hard for ones self when they are deemed an outcast by their own clan, only loved by a few in the clan they had been left an orphan. The dreams of having a wonderful life once they had gotten, older seems like a dream. As the ones who love them will not be here forever and they will left alone once again, soon a miracle had happened one day that changed everything forever.

y/n " ......" you had dismount off your banshee after arriving at this beautiful meeting spot, with your clan tshaik she had asked you to come with her and you agreed.

Sawa " thank you for coming with me again y/n"

y/n " it a honor tshaik sawa"

sawa " well you are one of my best student and I have taken care of you since, you were young and I thought this will be a perfect opportunity for you" you had smiled and nodded your head as you look around, at all the beauty around you.

????? " sawa old friend welcome"

sawa " mo'at hello"

mo'at " it good to see you again after all this time apart, and who is this young lady with you"

sawa " this is y/n she is one my student"

mo'at " y/n wait this the girl your have been telling me about"

sawa " yes" the two tshaik had exchange glances that you didn't notice right away.

y/n " hello tshaik mo'at it a honor to meet you"

mo'at " well spoken young lady as well you have done well in raising her"

sawa " it was not all my work it was others as well and it her personality as well, I had brought her with me knowing it will be good for her"

mo'at " great my daughter and ronal are waiting and there was some other, young adults around here they can keep y/n company for a bit as we talk util they are invited"

sawa " yes y/n do you like that'

y/n " yes I do" the two elder tshaik had nodded their heads and smiled, you had followed them and soon came across neytiri and ronal.

mo'at " daughter and ronal sawa has come along with one of her students y/n"

y/n " hello it great to meet you neytiri and tshaik ronal"

neytiri " hello young lady"

ronal " hello young lady sawa you have made a great choice on bring her"

sawa " yes I have"

mo'at " the oloe'ythan will join us later on for now lets talk'

sawa " dear will you be good on your own"

????? " mother" the group had soon been interrupted when two young males had came towards them.

neytiri " son you are here"

neteyam " yes I and aonung had been sent ahead the others will be by shorty maybe"

aonung " we came to do our best to be helpful or expanded the alliance"

ronal " that wonderful boys we will love you all to meet, sawa and her student y/n"

neteyam " hello tshaik sawa I see you"

aonung " hello tshaik sawa I see you"

sawa " hello young man I have heard great things about you both" the two males soon looked at you and when they meet eyes with, you and you meet their eyes everything felt like it stopped.

y/n " hello I see you neteyam and aonung"

neteyam " hello I see you y/n"

aonung " hello y/n I see you"

sawa " you three can stay here and talk maybe you three can learn about each other"

mo'at " yes I think it will be good for you three"

y/n " sure if neteyam and aonung are fine with that"

aonung " I will love that neteyam what do you think"

neteyam " I will enjoy that" the four women had soon left the trio together as they kept each other company at the moment.

y/n " thank you for staying here with me even due you two, might have other responsibilities to attend to"

aonung " oh no it worth it to spend time with someone new, and we had been told to stay here we hadn't been told how" you giggle at aonung words making him smile and laugh.

neteyam " nice move bro we will love to spend time with someone new. and like my grandmother said it can be good for us all"

y/n " then lets find something to talk about and see where it leads us" the duo had nodded their heads at your words maybe this will be something good in the ended.

aonung " your grandmother seems like a nice women and good, for taking you on as healer after hearing that you know so much" '

y/n " thank you but sawa had become a grandmother to me, as I don't have any family in the clan she raised me along with the help of others"

neteyam " oh we are sorry we didn't know ..."

y/n " it okay but she is my grandmother no matter what anyone say, she has said I'm family to her"

aonung " then you are family to her even by blood or anything else"

y/n " thank you so how does it feel to become the future leaders of your clan"

aonung " overwhelming"

neteyam " never whacking"

y/n " oh"

neteyam " there is so much weight on our shoulders to be like our fathers"

y/n " well then don't not ever olo'eythan or olo'eytke will be like the ones that came before them and that what makes it greats so you both can become the leaders you wish"

neteyam " thank you those sound like the wise words of tshaik, will you become tshaik"

y/n " I don't think so sawa son Engo who are olo'eythan right now, will have his mate Maar will become tsahik if sawa steps down"

aonung " oh yes her mate Wayken was olo'eythan last year before she stepped down"

y/n " yes he was not feeling well and let his son take over, but they are good family and have ruled the clan well"

neteyam " well I think you will make a good tshaik y/n" you had smiled towards the pair as they had returned smiles back to you.

???? " hey bros" the tiro had soon looked up to see five more young adults and teen coming towards them.

neteyam " hey you all finally got here"

spider " yes and all our dads are here as well ... hey who is your friend"

aonung " everyone this is y/n she came here with sawa she one of her best students, and she been keeping us company"

tsireya " hello it so nice to meet you"

y/n " thank you will you all like to join us"

tuk " sure" the group soon joined with you and the their brothers, and right away they had become attached to you right away. They had even noticed how close you and their brothers are right now, everyone seem to be enjoying it.

Jake " you kids seem to be having a good time over here"

neteyam " father"

Jake " my son your mother and grandmother had told me, that you were spending time here with aonung and sawa student y/n"

y/n " hello toruk makto"

tonowari " yes I came as well to see how you all were doing"

y/n " hello olo'eythan tonowari"

aonung " y/n here has been keeping us company while we were out here, it has been very good"

y/n " yes it has your sons are very nice and honorable"

Jake " yes they are young lady"

neteyam " it has been wonderful to spend some time off and talking with y/n but if we are needed at the meeting ..."

Jake " no you all enjoy this time off we will be fine"

tonowari " yes I agree with Jake enjoy this time off if needed we will call for you all" the two older man had soon left but had looked at their sons, seeing how they were treating you and seem to be very interesting in you as well.

sawa " this meeting has been very interesting"

mo'at " yes it has and I hope you will think more about what we had discussed"

sawa " yes I will but we have to wait and see as well my old friend"

neteyam " I hope we can see you again"

y/n " yes I hope to see you all again as well"

aonung " maybe you can come see us or we will come see you"

y/n " I love that offer and we might see each other soon, as it seems like sawa might bring we around for more meetings" you smiled at two young man as they smiled back, there is a strong connection between the trio. Soon you and sawa had left the inland and heading home.

sawa “ today was a special day wasn’t it”

y/n “ yes it it was good to meet the two other clans, I hope the olo’eythan will agree to this alliance”

sawa “ I was talking about something else I witness today, the interaction between you and those two young man”

y/n “ I don’t know what you mean”

sawa “ I may be old but I know love when I see it, and you should take it there is something special between you and them my child take it”

y/n “ yes tshaik but what if it not right”

sawa “ it right my dear snd it seems like the great mother has to agree as well”

???? “ mother” the duo soon looked to see sawa mate and son standing there, along with her son mate as well.

sawa “ hello everyone we have returned and the day has been good”

Wayken “ I see you had taken y/n with you ma sawa”

Sawa “ yes I did is there a issues with it”

Wayken “ no but thought you will take Maar with you or someone else”

sawa “ I chose her and she did well”

engo “ no problems came up young lady”

y/n “ no oloeythan everything was well”

Maar “ good we are happy to see you and sawa have returned home well”

engo “ mother please tell us more about this meeting, as we have dinner as I and clan will needs to know”

sawa “ yes come along y/n you can speak as well”

wayken “ no she can’t sawa we all know that the clan will not be happy with it”

Sawa “ wayken you will started treating this young lady with ….”

y/n “ it okay tshaik I will be taking my leave now good evening everyone”you had bowed your head and soon walked away, looking back at the family. As they walked away together to go join the other members of their families, there were times you wish to have a family of your own here not being alone all the time. That night you did take sawa words to heart and soon explored more, about your relationship with neteyam and aonung.

months later

y/n “ ……..” you had been spending many months with friends with meet that day, and everything has been going wonderful for you. Soon started many relationships as well one with, neteyam and aonung that become special.

neteyam “ yawntu”

y/n “ huh”

Ao’nung “ he called you yawntu as you are our yawntu if you don’t mind”

y/n “ well this was not the type of love confusion I thought I will get”

Ao’nung “ well we have bene talking and we noticed we both love you, and we asked moat she told us it could happen … if you wish to have us”

y/n “ well I love you both as well as my yanwe if you will have me as well”

neteyam “ we will give you ma y/n”you had laughed as neteyeam and aonung, brought you into a warm embrace. It will take some time until you all share the news of the relationship, with the ones who were closer to you all. Everyone will be happy for the new couple, since day one knowing there has always something special.

#avatar #atwow #avatar 2 #avatar x reader #avatar x y/n #avatar the way of water #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #neteyam x reader #aonung x you #aonung x female reader #aonung x y/n #aonung x reader

69 notes · View notes

snickerdoodlles · 8 months ago

Text

headcanons behind fic: brother texting habits referenced in long & short

Chay holds up his phone sheepishly. “Also, your brother texted me. We’re invited to dinner.” Kim’s smile drops. He doesn’t need to ask which brother. “Did he type that out, or just send an emoji with a question mark?”

ngl, had i realized how much i'd expand this series, this is actually a scene i'd cut or at least heavily rework. it's the weakest scene of the story and its execution has only felt more clunky as time passes. hindsight! that said, i don't regret the scene either because the headcanons behind the premise of that scene are very near and dear to my heart, namely the texting rituals of Khun, Kinn, and Kim :D

the boys have a system to their texting. it's not anything as concrete as a code, that'd be far too dangerous and anxiety inducing. their system, naturally, revolves primarily around giving hints to Korn's mood without outright saying anything:

firstly, all brother invites to things go through Khun, because Khun's invites will only ever be invites and Kim's 'no's will only ever be 'no's.

anytime Korn demands Khun or Kinn (usually Kinn) drag Kim to a family thing for him go through Kinn, and 'Kinn's requests are always phrased as a question Kim can refuse. Kim once tells Kinn he'll show up if Kinn orders him to (because he doesn't actually want to get Kinn into trouble if Korn's being esp insistent), and Kinn smiles and tells him "thank you" and never ever once orders Kim join them, because Kim asked not to be involved in the family business and Kinn will take on any burden to keep Kim free of it.

Kinn passes along how insistent Korn's being through the overall tone and vibe of his messages, usually indicated by how much of it he types out. requests Kim join official functions sound like a formal invitation printed on a card, requests Kim indulge Korn playing family are much closer to Kinn's standard texting style;

because, and this is a silly headcanon i will have forever, Kinn fucking loves emojis. you know his whole "this could've been an email" vibe when he shoots that guy in the head ep1? same vibes except much cuter. Kinn thinks emojis are adorable and efficiency perfected. why send "thank you" when the 👍 emoji is right there? a picture's worth a thousand words and 🫂 is a thousand warm ones. he could send "wanna check out that new coffee shop by the studio next tuesday for brunch? their menu is 60% sprinkles so i'm sure you'll love it" but ☕🧋🎙️❔👑2️⃣🗓️🕦🍬👉💕💕‼️ is so much quicker. the only reason why Kinn's texts aren't 87% cute stickers is because he hasn't yet realized they come preprogrammed in his phone.

("do you think he speaks in hieroglyphics because he's secretly ancient?" Kim asks one day.

"how old does it make you to understand him then?" Khun snarks back.)

((Kim leaves Khun on read for a week.))

some bonus thoughts: Khun's a spam texter of the highest order. every one text is sent across 3.5 texts minimum. Kinn only ever sends one (1) text. if Kinn's replying to multiple messages in one go, he separates his responses in indv bullet points (if he's feeling petty towards Khun, he responds to every one of Khun's messages individually).

(Kinn's multiple messages to Chay in long & short are absolutely because he's watching Kim's live. for all Kim's snooping, he has somehow missed that Kinn has every alert and then some set for Wik news and while he can't make every live, he plans his breaks around them and even moved a meeting once.)

also, while Kinn pretends he's threatening/blackmailing with these baby Kim pics, this is 100% him taking advantage of the situation to gush about cute baby brother with a fellow Kim AppreciatorTM. Kinn has the cutest little brother, and he's gotta keep up with news of baby brother's current shenanigans somehow 😤👏 Khun is guilty of similar crimes ofc.

(Kim suffers older brothers so much.)

#kinnporsche #fic headcanons #fic: gone fishing #i love brothers <3333

98 notes · View notes

theroyalsims · 5 months ago

Text

BREAKING: GUS AND ANYA'S ENGAGEMENT INTERVIEW MAKES TELEVISION HISTORY

It's finally here, and everyone was definitely watching!

The 20-minute special was aired on the three biggest TV networks in the country, and royal fans were not disappointed! Gus and Anya answered some of the biggest questions in our minds, including their shared childhood in Rennaux, how Gus proposed with TWO rings, the proposal, and their upcoming wedding, of course!

Anya and Gus' much-awaited engagement interview aired last night, and over 32.5 million people - in Brindleton alone - tuned in, making it officially the most watched TV broadcast in Brindleton history.

The interview was conducted by veteran journalist and Brindleton Broadcasting Network senior correspondent Mr. Hank Hanson-Bradbury (HHB).

Snippets of the interview is reproduced below:

HHB: Before everything else, congratulations. Anya: Thank you. Gus: Thank you.

HHB: Has everything sort of settled down since the news broke? Gus: We're getting there. *laughs* Anya: Yes, but it's just a big relief that we're able to share it everyone, finally.

HHB: Everyone’s just very curious about how we got here. So, how did this start? When did you first meet? Anya: A long, long time ago. *laughs* Gus: *laughs* Yeah. We’ve known each other since we were children. Anya: We were co-workers? Weren’t we? *laughs* Gus: Yeah, we were. Anya: During summers, my siblings, and cousins, and I would 'work' at the Rennaux palace gift shop. We got paid in cakes and tarts and sweets. He had the same deal with his mum, apparently. Gus: Yeah, my mum managed the gift shop and she thought since I was hanging around so much, why not put me to work?

HHB: Did you know she was royalty? Gus: Yeah, but, you know... we were kids. I didn’t exactly understand what that meant, that sunk in much later when we were a little older. But when we first became friends, it was kind of like meeting other kids your age, except they lived in a castle.

HHB: So you were childhood sweethearts? Anya: Yes. He was my first boyfriend. Gus: She was my first girlfriend. We were friends for what seemed like forever, and then one day, I think we both kinda realised we had something special between us.

HHB: And then... life happened, you both grew up, went to school, worked… how did you to find each other after all these years? Anya: Well, I had some work done at a property I bought and he turned out to be the contractor. HHB: And you had no idea? Anya: Nothing. Not at all. His company was highly recommended by a dear friend, and all I knew was the owner’s name was “Gustavo.” We were in Tartosa, it’s a pretty popular name there, so I thought nothing of it. And then he showed up. To say I was shocked is an understatement. Gus: On my end, I was just told that we'd be doing an ocular of a prospect client's property. We were told it was for a VIP client, and since we do restorations, we get VIPs a lot. I was just as surprised to see her.

HHB: What was it like? Was it the first time you saw each other after so long? Gus: Yeah. Well, I’ve seen her in the papers, pictures but not in person. It felt like I was a little kid again. The boy working at the gift shop with the massive crush on his co-worker. Anya: It was a really big shock for the both of us. But I remembered his eyes. The beard was a new addition though. But I like it. It suits him very well. *laughs* Gus: Thank you. *laughs*

HHB: So from there, the "rekindling" started? Gus: Things slowly fell into place. Anya: It did.

HHB: Now, tell us about the proposal... Gus: I invited her to go on a hiking weekend with me in Rennaux. There’s a really nice trail, a little rougher but a lot less crowded that led to the famous cliffs. We’d gone hiking before so I thought I’d be able to surprise her. Anya: Yeah. We were hiking all afternoon. I thought it was just, you know, a typical hike in the woods. We love those. We often go with our dogs. But when we finally reached the cliffs, the sun was beginning to set. I was looking out at the coast, and telling him how my mum and dad got engaged there. Then when I turned around, he was down on one knee. I just remember crying. And saying yes, of course.

HHB: So it was a surprise? Anya: Absolutely. I had no idea. I mean, I was hoping. You know, when you’re with someone you really love, you really click with, it’s… you dream that one day, you’d have your happily ever after with that person. Gus: I’ve known for a while that it was her. It’s always been her. I had that ring in my pocket, my tool bag, my rucksack for at least a month. I’d been tempted to ask sooner many, many times, but I wanted it to be very special, very memorable for her.

HHB: Speaking of the Ring… it IS gorgeous. Quite stunning. Anya: It is. It really is. I love it. It’s very beautiful. I can’t stop staring at it. I’ve been wearing it everywhere. I even wore it out once, because I forgot to take it off… you know, since it hasn’t been officially announced yet. No one seemed to notice though.

HHB: Really? When was this? At the garden party. It was already too late because I’d already stepped out when I realised I still had it on, and the anthem was playing. I had to keep my hands clasped for quite some time before I could excuse myself. I hated having to take it off this past month. *laughs*

HHB: So Gus, tell us about the ring? Gus: Yeah, well, uh, I’ve always had this vision… what ring I hope she’d like. I brought my mum to the jewellers with me to help with the design. And when I saw the sketch, I could see her wearing it. HHB: So you designed the ring? Gus: Well, um, I picked the diamond, and I asked them to add more diamonds on the band and it’s got a little engraving inside. I also had them add a hidden sapphire underneath… to reflect her beautiful eyes. So, well, uhh, I helped design the ring? Maybe? *laughs* Anya: He actually gave me two rings! HHB: Two? Gus: Oh, yeah. Well, we were at her house a few days after I proposed and I saw her gardening in the yard wearing the ring. I think at that moment I realised that she needed perhaps a more... subdued ring for when she’s riding or gardening or playing with our dogs. Anya: It’s this really pretty gold band with a traditional Ekhkarean motif. I love it just as much.

HHB: But of course this is not the first piece of jewellery he’s given you? Let’s talk about the necklace. Anya: Ah. Yes. My locket. It’s a double-sided locket. He gave me that ages ago. Gus: It was a gift. For her seventeenth birthday. Anya: I remember that day. Gus: That… I saw it at a shop, and they let you personalise it. I wanted to get her something nice that she could wear. So I worked three jobs that Summer. I really wanted to get it for her. HHB: So he is “G”? Anya: Yes, he’s most definitely “G.” *laughs*

HHB: But I see that you also have something to remind you of Anya permanently inked on you? Gus: Yeah. I have two. But this one’s the much older one. I got it when we were eighteen? It’s the Tartosan “A” on my ring finger. It’s actually my first tattoo. I remember my mum throwing quite a fit. *laughs* Anya: I was so scared for him when he showed it to me. I mean, it was very sweet. It was very thoughtful, but I was so scared for him that he’d get in trouble for it. *laughs*

(Above: File photo: Gus has many tattoos, but one of the most prominent ones is a small letter "A" on his left ring finger.)

HHB: Speaking of mums and parents… did you ask The Queen and Prince Jacques before you popped the question? Gus: Yes. I know how much they love and value Annie, and of course, I respect The Queen and The Prince very much.

HHB: How did it go? I mean... talking to The Queen and asking for her daughter's hand... that's gotta be quite the experience? Gus: Oh, yeah. Wow. I mean, I was very, very nervous, I’m not going to lie. Al was there, too. It was after dinner when I finally had the courage to tell them, ask them. She’d stepped out with Ingrid - who’d been helping me. Thankfully, they were very supportive and they were all very welcoming.

HHB: And now the engagement… It’s rather short, for a royal wedding. It’s happening later this year? Anya: Yes. Later, this Autumn. It is a relatively short engagement, but thankfully, we have wonderful people helping us out, and we had a little over a month as a head start, which helped immensely.

HHB: So the dress has been picked? The venue? Anya: Yes. There is a dress. Or well, there’s going to be a dress.. hopefully. *laughs* And we’re just sorting some things out with the venue. Other details will be made public very soon.

HHB: Gus, you’re known to be very private and low key, but with this massive move, are you ready to become a public figure the groom to a future Queen? Gus: I know there will be changes, very big changes, but I’m very willing to learn. And I’m glad that I have Annie to help me, and of course, her Family, too. I’d love to be able to offer my help, my support to a much wider audience. I understand that the Royal Family has dedicated their life to service, and I think that’s a very wonderful and honourable way to live.

HHB: And your family? How have they taken the news? Gus: My mum’s very happy. My sisters are, too. They were in on it, the proposal, from the very start. And of course, they know Annie from way back, and they’ve gotten to reconnect. They all love her. Anya: They’re all been very kind to me. And I actually look forward to Gus coming home from Tartosa because his mum sends me the best homemade limoncello and pasta. The best I’ve ever had, hands down. *laughs* Gus: I just wish my dad was still around. I'm sure he'd love her, too. Anya: I would've loved to have met him, too.

HHB: So what's next for Anya and Gus? Children, perhaps? Anya: Hopefully. But we're taking it one step at a time. Gus: We've both grown up in very close families. We'd very much love to have our own family some day. But I agree, we're taking things at our own pace. Anya: For now, we're just very excited for the wedding. Gus: And spending the rest of our lives together.

HHB: Well, that sounds wonderful, and I think that's about it. Thank you very much, Your Royal Highness, Gus, for taking the time to chat with me. Anya: Thank you. Gus: Thank you very much.

The interview was done outdoors at the Palace's balcony overlooking the famous Brindleton Palace Gardens. The blooming bride-to-be wore a brand new and yet to be identified blue and white printed floral dress. Gus, meanwhile, looked handsome in his matching blue pinstripe suit.

Congratulations again to the happy and beautiful couple!

Meanwhile, we'll be keeping our eyes peeled for more royal wedding updates!

#ts4 #theroyalsims #ts4 simblr #simblr #ts4 royal simblr #ts4 royal story #ts4 royals #ts4 royalty #ts4 royal family #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 royal wedding #mystory #anya #gus #royal wedding

67 notes · View notes

things-arent-what-they-seem66 · 4 months ago

Note

(Sleeping Beauty AU)

*long ago in a far away land there was a Queen who ruled over the land, not long after her poor husband died, she found herself pregnant, nine months later she gave birth to a beautiful son she named Adam after her dead husband, the kingdom celebrated the birth of the baby including a neighboring kingdom with a five year old prince named Lucifer who was betrothed to the new baby, at the celebration the good fairies Sera, Emily, and Lute were going to bless the baby*

Sera: Dear Adam, I bless you with beauty and fertility, all shall love you for your grace and beauty and you shall bear the children of your Prince.

*Lucifer looked at of baby he was to one day marry and wondered how this baby was going to give him babies*

Emily: Dear Adam, I bless you with intelligence and creativity, you shall rule the kingdom fairly and your voice shall inspire many with its beauty.

*before Lute could give her blessing, to Adam, Lilith the dark fairy appeared, she was as cold as she was beautiful with her long blonde hair, flowing robes, and horns*

Lilith: Imagine my shock to find out that I wasn’t invited to this celebration.

Lute: You weren’t wanted.

Lilith: Not wanted? But I too want to give a gift to the little baby.

*little Adam cried when Lilith approached and Lucifer felt an urge to protect the baby because isn’t that what you are supposed to do when you are betrothed to someone*

Lilith: Precious Adam I too have a gift for you, you shall indeed grow in grace and beauty, you shall be loved by all who know you. But before the sun sets on your twentieth birthday you shall prick your finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die.

*hearing this made Rosie cry as she picked up her baby boy, Lilith cackled and disappeared in a burst of green flames*

Lute: I can do something.

Rosie: Can you end this terrible curse.

Lute: No, but I can change it so he doesn’t die.

*Lute walked over to the baby and she instantly liked him and knew that they would be good friends*

Lute: Dear Adam, you shall not die, but will fall into a deep sleep until you are awoken by a kiss of true love.

*Lute reached over and the little baby clutched her hand and smiled at her*

All of the spinning wheels in the land were burned and banned in the Kingdom of Eden. Rosie couldn't risk anything happening to her only son.

But as long as he was here that threat would forever last.

Rosie: Please, take him away from here until his 20th birthday. It pains me, but it would pain me more if anything happened to him.

Lucifer watched as the good fairies were given the baby prince. Would he see him again?

As if reading his mind, Sera the fairy holding Adam came over to him and showed him the young prince.

Sera: This isn't goodbye you will see him again one day dear.

Lucifer took Adams tiny hand and kissed it. Everyone awwed at the sight.

Sera, Emily and Lute took Adam to live in a cabin in the woods surrounded by a beautiful garden.

Lute: This should be easy with magic.

Sera: Nope. No magic.

Emily and Lute: What!?

Sera changed them all into looking like three regular women. The story they would tell him was they found him as a baby and they took him in.

- 19 Years Later -

Adam stretched and yawned as he got out of bed. His 20th birthday was this week and he couldn't be more excited.

He went downstairs.

Adam: Good morning moms.

#adamsapple #Sleeping Beauty Au #ask #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x adam #guitarduck #adam x lucifer

42 notes · View notes

javier-pena · 11 months ago

Text

closure

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 11.1k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Marcus, Din and you used to be best friends. Now you're on opposite sides of the law with a decade worth of grudges between you. But hate can quickly become something else ...

Notes: "A friends -> enemies -> throuple vibe with cowboy!Din Djarin, cowboy!Marcus Pike, and a third person" was what @quinnnfabrgay-writes wished for for @pedrostories' Secret Santa event and i took it and ran with it for 11k words ... dear, Kaitlin, I hope I got it right and you'll have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. As always, this story wouldn't be what it is without Dani @alexturner who calmed me down when I was still far far away from completing this fic two weeks before the deadline!

***

1866/67

You were all together and it was perfect. Until you weren’t anymore, and you lost your anchor in life, your true north. Oaths given and promises made didn’t mean anything when you were not yet grown but already too old to believe in miracles.

The day Marcus told you and Din he was moving away was the day you made the acquaintance of grief. The childish part of you had thought the three of you would stay together forever, just like you had promised each other last summer lying in the grass by the river. Wherever life would take one of you, the others would follow. But you were barely 13 and couldn’t decide your own fate yet. So when winter came around and the grass died and the river froze over, the promises of the summer had to be broken too.

Marcus just dropped the news while the three of you were out hunting – or pretending to – in the forest behind town. He couldn’t even look at you when he said it. And he didn’t go after Din when Din stormed off, leaving you to listen to Marcus’ excuses. The only thing you thought would be the one constant in your life ran like dirt through your fingers that afternoon. A few weeks later, you saw Marcus for the last time, astride a horse next to his father, leaving town without looking back. With him left a part of your childish innocence.

The grown-up part of you understood. Marcus was a boy, he had to go where his father commanded his family to go. And his father had just been promoted to sheriff – in a town two states away. Of course, Marcus had to go with him, but you still resented him for it. Why couldn’t he stand up to his father and stay? Maybe find work on the same ranch as Din? Din, after all, was your age too, and an orphan, and was doing well by himself. If Din could be self-reliant, why not Marcus?

At least you still had Din and he had you. You tried to keep your friendship alive, visited him on the ranch, invited him to town, sent him gifts when you yourself had less than nothing, just to see him smile. It wasn’t enough. You weren’t enough. And when the snow disappeared under the warm spring sun, Din disappeared too, without a word, without a trace. One day he was there and the next he wasn’t. That taught you there was a grief worse than your best friend telling you he was moving away. It was your best friend deeming you not important enough for a goodbye.

When the next summer came around, it was only you who was lying in the grass by the river. Your big, childish eyes that had hungrily taken in the wonders around you were narrowed, your heart that had been wide open to the people around you was firmly locked. Neither Din nor Marcus had contacted you in the months since they had left and now you knew – relying on someone else only meant pain and heartbreak. Trusting someone else with a piece of yourself would only leave you lying in the dirt, bloodied and bruised.

That afternoon, you made a promise to yourself: you would never need another person again. You would never give away a piece of yourself again. You would protect yourself at all costs, even if it meant cutting yourself off from the rest of the world. Whatever happened, you would never experience grief like this ever again.

1879

Your arms are stiff and painful when you wake up. The bonds tying your wrists together haven’t loosened at all during the night. You groan and your bottom lip tears open – you’re parched, you’re tired, you’re in pain.

“Mornin’,” Marcus says, stoking the fire with a stick.

Without a word, you roll over onto your other side, so you’re facing away from him. You hear his sure steps, spurs jingling every time his boots land on the cold, hard dirt, and then he rolls you back toward him with a gentle touch to your shoulder. Before you can protest, he pressed the nozzle of a waterskin to your lips and makes you drink. You collect some of the water in your mouth, then spit it right back in his face. He wipes himself dry with a neutral expression, then retreats to the fire, picking up where he left off.

“I’m just tryin’ to be kind,” he mumbles, as if he’s trying to reassure himself he’s doing the right thing. You pretend you haven’t heard him.

His horse whinnies softly when the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts across your camp. Your stomach growls as you’re trying to figure out when you had your last meal. Yesterday morning, you conclude, before Marcus Pike forced himself back into your life, polished boots on his feet and a gleaming star on his chest, heavy shackles in his hand and a loaded gun strapped to his side. That wanted poster stuffed into his back pocket was all the authorization he needed to arrest you, and you let him, because his reappearance after twelve years of absence made you freeze like prey. The only people who could have saved you, Burke and Bridger and the other members of your gang, were too far away to do anything about your arrest.

“You hungry?” he asks from his crouching position next to the fire. “There’s still some beans left over from last night.” The beans you refused to eat. “I could warm them up for you.”

You pretend you haven’t heard him, focusing on an ant scurrying across dried grass and tiny pebbles. He doesn’t get to talk to you, much less cook.

“You’re gonna have to talk to me eventually,” he adds, his voice melodic and clear in the cold morning air.

You don’t, because you don’t owe him anything, and after two more attempts he gives up. Even though your stomach is empty, growling hungrily, it’s also filled with the warmth of pride as you ride next to him later, hands bound to the horn of the saddle. All you have to do is to stay strong until you reach your destination, some jail or other in a dirty town. He’ll never find out that you know who he is if you play your cards right. Let the doubt and prospect eat away at his heart.

“You’ve changed,” he observes some time around midday, as you ride next to each other on a well-worn path over the plains. “When we were kids, you could never shut up.”

You pretend to be interested in the flight of a northern harrier high up in the sky, acting as if you didn’t hear him.

“I always expected you to make a good match or open up a tailor shop,” Marcus goes on, seizing you up from below the brim of his white hat that is too bright in the midday sun. “I never expected this of you.”

His comment gets to you, worming its way under your skin like a splinter ready to infect you with a fever. You bite the inside of your cheek so you don’t shoot him a snide remark. He doesn’t get to hurt you, not again.

“What’s done is done,” he says next, and his horse shakes its head with a snort as if its’ agreeing. “Maybe a few years in prison will clear your head and set you straight.”

The splinter is infected now; it happened much faster than you had expected. The infection spreads to your stomach, making it bubble with acid, it spreads to your cheeks, sets them on fire with anger and shame. You dig your nails into the leather of the saddle and fill your lungs with air, ready to scream all the ugly things at him that you’ve contained for more than a decade. But before you can form a single syllable, the distant roll of thunder interrupts you, the distant pounding of hooves on dirt.

Marcus hears it too, and his hand instinctively flies to the colt strapped to his side. He glances around, eyes narrowed against the sun, but you spot it before he does – a tall rider on a gray horse, so darkly colored it looks black, rushing toward you as if hellhounds are after him, their fangs bared. You don’t know what to make of that sight, but you’re acutely aware of your defenselessness. If he means you harm, you’ll be completely at his mercy. Marcus seems to be thinking the same thing as he glances over at you, but you make a point of facing the approaching rider, your face blank. You don’t want his concern, especially not since it’s his fault you’re in this situation.

The gray horse comes to an abrupt stop a few yards away from you. Its rider is wearing a hat that matches the color of its coat, and his face is hidden by a dark bandanna tied across his mouth and nose and cheeks, so only his brown eyes are visible. Where one hand holds onto the reins of his horse, the other holds a shotgun, propped against his hip so the barrel points up to the sky.

“She’s mine, Pike,” he growls, even before the dust has settled.

“Now, hold your horses,” Marcus says, sizing up the newcomer. “I am an agent of the law, deliverin’ this here prisoner –”

“– into my hands,” the stranger finishes, now aiming the barrel of the shotgun straight at Marcus’ chest.

Your gaze wanders between the two, trying to figure out who is the lesser evil.

“Careful.” Marcus’ voice is steady, but his hand that he lifts instinctively in front of his chest is shaking. His other hand, however, cocks the hammer of his colt in one smooth, practiced motion.

“Don’t be a hero.” The stranger flicks his gun to Marcus’ side, then back onto his chest. “You’ll lose.”

You don’t know what it is, if it’s the way he tilts his head or if it’s the way he pronounces his Ls, with a slight lilt to his voice, but suddenly that stranger isn’t a stranger at all.

“Din?” you gasp, and Marcus’ head snaps to you so fast you hear his neck crack.

Din’s eyes don’t even flicker to you. “Move back, Pike,” he orders.

Your head is spinning. If this is really Din, and you’ve never been surer of anything in your life, then you’re saved. You have no idea what you’ve done to deserve this much luck, but you’re not about to look the gift horse in the mouth. And even though both he and Marcus broke your heart twelve years ago, you can already feel it stitch itself back together inside your chest at the sight before you.

“Move back,” Din repeats. “That bounty is mine.”

The carefully placed stitches tear open again and you bleed. He doesn’t know who you are, or he doesn’t care; all he wants is the money. With every stitch that comes undone and every drop of blood you bleed, your heart turns back into a stone that sits heavy inside your chest.

“I’m not movin’ for you.” Marcus spits down into the dirt and for a moment you’re distracted from your pain by that crude action. “Bounty hunter scum.”

A shot rings out as Din fires at Marcus, shooting the hat off his opponent’s head. Marcus’ horse spooks, rears with a loud shriek, and Marcus, who is caught unawares, tumbles down and hits the ground with a heavy thud and a grunt. He’s back on his feet in no time, his body unhurt, his damaged pride only visible by the flush that creeps into his cheeks. You want to shout when he rushes toward Din’s horse, but it all happens so fast, and then Din hits the ground too, pulled out of the saddle, his shotgun discarded somewhere in the dirt.

Marcus hits Din, and you hear a sickening crack when his fist connects with Din’s jaw. He does it again, one hand holding onto the collar of Din’s shirt. But then Din frees himself with a shove, and Marcus stumbles before he hits the ground again when Din returns his punches. Din climbs on top of him, pinning down Marcus’ arms with his knees, and hits him again, cracking open Marcus’ cheek. Marcus grunts in pain and kicks his legs, trying to free himself, but Din appears to be much stronger. He punches and punches with such precision that watching him becomes almost hypnotic until you can’t take it anymore.

“Din!” you shout, and when he doesn’t stop, you kick your horse and steer it next to the two men. “Din!” you repeat, and he looks up at you, not even a glint of recognition in his eyes. His bandanna hangs askew, but is still covering most of his face. You wonder what he looks like now. “Leave him!” you order, your voice laced with all the hurt you’ve buried for twelve years.

Marcus, his suit dusty and his face bruised, is laughing, and when Din offers him a hand to pull him up, he pulls Din into a tight hug that Din returns with just as much enthusiasm. You can do nothing but stare, feeling dumb.

Once they break apart, Marcus remarks, “You’re strong,” and rubs his chin.

“You too,” Din returns the compliment, patting Marcus’ shoulder.

They have forgotten you’re there. You shrink back in on yourself, hating yourself for wishing they’d just give you one small sign of recognition.

“About her …,” Din starts as if you’re not even there.

“Let’s share the bounty,” Marcus offers without hesitation. “It’s so much money.”

“But you caught her.”

Marcus laughs, and you’re transported back to those long summer days by the river. “And you fought for her. I think that makes us even.”

Din holds out his hand. “Let’s shake on it then.”

Marcus does without hesitation.

And you haven’t felt dirtier in all your life, like you’re nothing but a piece of meat to be bargained with.

*******

When the sun has vanished halfway behind the horizon, you reach a small settlement that is nothing more than a dusty main street and rickety wooden buildings huddled together as if trying to seek comfort. You spent all day riding behind Din and Marcus who talked amicably about their jobs and their lives and their horses while ignoring you. You’re well aware that the tears you fought hard to hold back have left tracks in the dirt on your cheeks, and you wish you could wipe them clean so the men don’t see the evidence of the hurt they’ve caused.

Why don’t they remember you?

Marcus leads your little group to the jail, the only adobe building in the entire town, and is greeted by a dirty man who looks like a weasel.

“Jail’s full,” he says even before Marcus has had time to open his mouth.

“She’s wanted for bank robbery in three states,” Marcus tries.

The man shrugs, unimpressed. “I have a man in there who’s wanted for murder in five.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do with her?” Marcus asks.

The man shrugs again. “Ain’t my problem.”

Marcus looks to Din for help, but Din shrugs too.

Marcus leads you to the saloon next, the only building in town that seems to be busy, and ties his horse up out front. He vanishes inside for a short while, and when he comes back out, he says, “They have one room left.”

“Let’s go,” Din grunts, and pulls you off your horse.

Your legs feel stiff from riding all day, every bone in your body aches from tiredness. You want nothing more than to crumble to the ground and find some rest, but you won’t show any signs of weakness. So you hold your head high and shake off Din’s hands with a snarl, walking into the saloon next to him like an equal, not his prisoner. Marcus leads the way up a creaking wooden staircase and into a dirty corridor that has yellowed pictures on the walls and heavy curtains hanging in front of the windows. From downstairs, you hear the shouts of drunk men and the laughter of women who are paid for their company. You know exactly what kind of establishment you’re in.

Marcus pushes open the door to a room and suddenly the noise from downstairs stops. It’s like you’ve entered another world, maybe one of those fancy hotels back east you sometimes read about in magazines. The curtains in here are a pretty shade of pink, the floors are clean, a fire is crackling in the fireplace, and on a small table in front of the chaise lounge, there are three bowls of steaming hot stew just waiting for you. Off to your left you spot another doorway and through that a big bed covered in white linen. Your body aches with longing.

“Sit,” Din growls, and pushes you onto the chaise lounge. He pulls out more shackles from the saddlebag slung over his shoulder, ones that come with a long chain, and ties you to the chaise lounge. It’s only then you realize the piece of furniture is fixed in place with iron bolts screwed into the floorboards.

Only then does Marcus take off your handcuffs.

You reach for one of the bowls of stew and eagerly begin slurping it down, too hungry to act aloof around the men. You ignore Marcus who throws Din a snide look. Din doesn’t return it; instead, he takes off the bandanna and reaches for a bowl of his own. And you freeze, a piece of half-chewed potato on your tongue. He looks just like the boy you remember, his proud chin and big nose still the defining features in his face. But a stubbly, black beard is covering his jaw now, and a faint scar runs just below his left eye, and his lips are somehow fuller than you remember. You know you’re staring but you can’t help it – you feel like you’ve been struck by lightning.

“Eat your supper,” Marcus snaps at you.

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion or if it’s Din coming back into your life so unexpectedly, but you’ve had it with Marcus Pike. “Don’t talk to me like that,” you snap back.

A smirk lights up Marcus’ face and you wish you could punch him but he’s sitting too far away. “Oh, so you do know how to talk.”

“Marcus …,” Din says, and it sounds like a warning.

“I know how to talk,” you confirm. “I just have nothing to say to you.”

“You had to know you’d get caught sooner or later,” Marcus points out. “No need to be upset. You played a dangerous game and you lost.”

His words hurt more than a slap would have. “That’s not … don’t you remember?”

“He remembers,” Din says quickly before Marcus can reply. “But that was a long time ago. He doesn’t owe you anything.”

“I want to hear it from him.” Your jaw is so tight you have difficulty speaking.

“You broke the law. I caught you. End of story,” is Marcus’ short reply.

You can’t let it go. “So our past doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“Din’s right,” Marcus answers with a shrug. “We were just kids. There’s nothing –”

“You promised we’d always be friends,” you interrupt him, your voice so loud it rings in your ears. “You promised, and then you left.” You turn to Din whose gaze is fixed on his half-empty bowl. “Tell him, Din.”

Before Din can say anything, Marcus puts down his bowl with a loud clang. “Now listen here.” Where your voice was full of emotion, his is calculating. “We were kids. We were playing around. You couldn’t honestly have expected me to keep a promise when I couldn’t decide anything for myself. My father –”

“Fuck your father!” you shout. “Din could look after himself too.”

Marcus laughs and it makes you want to press your hands to your ears to black out the sound. “You’re delusional, missy. Why should I have abandoned my family for a ranch hand and some dirt-poor street kid?”

“You promised!” you scream, flinging your bowl across the room so it bursts against the wall, its contents landing on the floor with a wet plop.

Marcus laughs even louder. “By God, those wanted posters are right. You’re insane.”

“That’s enough.” Din’s deep voice makes both you and Marcus pause and look at him. “Ain’t no reason to be cruel to her.”

“Just listen to her.” Marcus runs his fingers through his hair, a gesture you remember all too well.

“I am,” Din answers with a grunt. “Maybe you should, too.”

Marcus takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. A smile tugs on Din’s lips, one that makes your stomach drop. They share some kind of understanding you’re excluded from.

“Alright,” Marcus says with a nod and turns to you. “Say your piece.”

You don’t want him to call you insane again so you will your voice to be steady when you speak. “You and Din, you were my only friends, the only real family I had. We promised each other to … to be there.” The way Marcus looks at you, his cold gaze full of attention, makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. Now that he listens to you, you can’t seem to keep that anger alive. “And I know you had to leave. If my family had left, I don’t think I would’ve stayed behind either. But you … there was no word from you for twelve years. And then you just turn up as if nothing has happened.”

Marcus nods again and turns his attention to Din. “You feel the same way?” he asks.

“No,” is Din’s simple answer.

That stokes the angry fire again. “But you left too.” Your voice isn’t steady anymore. “You left because the memory of him was too painful.”

Now it’s Din’s turn to laugh in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You have no idea why I left.”

“Then tell me,” you demand.

“No.” You’re starting to hate that word. “It had nothing to do with you.”

Before you can press him for an explanation, Marcus clears his throat. “You know where I went. I left you my new address. You also didn’t send word for twelve years.”

“Because you just left,” you say quickly, not prepared to admit that what he’s saying makes sense.

Marcus ignores you. “And what did you expect? You’re practically an outlaw, I’m a sheriff … did you think I’d show up on your doorstep to reminisce about the good old days? I moved on a long time ago and it would be best if you did too.”

“Didn’t it ever occur to you that this might be your fault? If you hadn’t left –”

“Don’t you dare put this on me!” Marcus shouts. “No one forced you to rob banks, that was your decision.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” you snap.

Without warning, Marcus lunges at you, hands outstretched, ready to grab any part of your body he can reach. You flinch back, chains scraping against the wooden floorboards, but before he can touch you, Din is there, shielding you with his body.

“That’s enough,” he says, voice strained from holding back Marcus. “Don’t let her get to you.”

Marcus groans, but takes a step back. “She’s …”

“I know,” Din says, throwing you a disdainful loom over his shoulder. “But ain’t we all lookin’ for someone to blame for our misfortunes?”

A tiny little gear starts turning at the back of your mind at hearing him say that. Is that what you’re doing? Putting the blame for your miserable life on someone who wasn’t even present for most of it, just so you don’t have to hold yourself accountable?

“Din …,” you start carefully, no idea what to say to him but hoping you can catch his attention.

Din only has eyes for Marcus though, “It’s late.” He yawns deeply. “We still have a long ride ahead of us. Let’s go hit the hay.”

“We can’t leave –,” Marcus starts.

“We can leave her here. Trust me,” Din adds when Marcus doesn’t move.

Trust me. Those words echo around your mind later when you’re trying to fall asleep, head resting on a prickly pillow, body uncomfortably twisted on the chaise lounge. Sometimes, that echo is replaced with a different one. Ain’t we all looking for someone to blame for our misfortunes? If Marcus hadn’t left, your life could have gone differently. But you made the decision to push everyone away when he was gone. And you made the decision not to reach out to him. And you made the decision to look for guidance in a band of outlaws instead of in your town’s seamstress or in a nice husband or in faith.

A tear rolls down your cheek and lands on the pillow with a soft plop as embarrassment makes you run cold with dread. Ever since Marcus put you in chains, you’ve behaved like a spoiled brat. You didn’t show him you recognized him either, waiting for him to … you don’t know what it is you want from him. He cooked for you, made sure you were somewhat comfortable, considering the circumstances, and you just spit in his face. It’s not surprising he doesn’t want anything to do with you. If your places were reversed …

But before you can finish that thought, you hear a strange noise, a deep, low moan that you can’t quite place, followed by the creaking of an old bedframe. Then you remember the men and women from downstairs, the way the women were sitting in the men’s laps, laughing at their jokes. You hold your breath and prick up your ears, listening for a higher moan, but none comes. Even the bedframe doesn’t creak a second time. It’s only when you really listen that you can hear strangled pants, as if someone is trying to keep quiet.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it.”

Your whole body turns stiff as a board at the sound of Din’s voice, louder than any sounds you heard so far, too loud on your eagerly listening ears. Your face heats up instantly and you squirm, your heart jumping into your throat. No, you’re imagining things … there is no way this sound could have come from Din. He’s in the bedroom with Marcus, not …

Again, your thoughts are interrupted, this time by a low grunt, followed by a sharp intake of breath that is released into the most sinful moan you’ve ever heard. And this time, there is no doubt about who is making those sounds and where they’re coming from. Because while that moan is still sticking to your eardrums like honey, you hear Din’s voice again, sharper this time.

“Will you look at that? So eager, and I haven’t even started yet.”

You press your palms to your ears, hands clammy with shame. Are you more embarrassed for them because you can hear them so clearly or for yourself because your childhood best friends, both men …? You’re not stupid, you’ve heard stories about how men sometimes prefer the company of other men, but a part of you thought those were tall tales, told because it sounded so forbidden. But Din and Marcus …

Carefully, you lift one hand of your ear and listen. At first, you don’t hear anything, but the more you try, the clearer you hear it: sheets rustling, low, breathless pants, even the sound of skin moving against skin. You listen with bated breath, very aware that you shouldn’t, but even though your stomach is still in knots, something else is happening to your body too. A hungry pressure between your legs demands your attention, but you ignore it by digging your nails into the fabric of your dirty pants.

“Din …,” comes Marcus’ strangled voice after a while, and you inhale sharply at hearing the desperation in his voice.

“Oh no.” Din’s voice is eerily calm, still deeper than usual, but steady. “You ain’t done payin’ for what you did to my face.”

“Din, please …,” Marcus begs.

“No, darlin’. I like it too much when you’re like this.”

The bedframe creaks again, just once at first, then the sound of wood being moved against wood turns into a steady rhythm. Marcus mumbles something you can’t hear, but you hear Din reply, “I know … you’re doin’ so well.” Realizing you’ve been holding your breath all this time, you inhale sharply, the dry air in the room irritating your throat. You swallow hard at the same time as Marcus breathes out a trembling, “Fuck.”

The chain around your ankle jingles, and it’s only then you realize you’ve been rubbing your thighs together, chasing friction. You stop immediately, but Din and Marcus haven’t heard you. Marcus’ moans sound strangled now, as if Din is covering his mouth with his hand. Or maybe Marcus is trying to keep quiet, remembering where they are and who is in the other room, just a thin wooden door between you.

“Please,” Marcus tries again, the word muffled and barely intelligible.

“That word sounds so pretty comin’ from your lips,” Din groans, and it’s the first time his voice breaks.

“Din!” A sharp warning.

“Oh, come on now, don’t be shy,” Din coaxes.

Suddenly, all the noise stops, and you hear your blood rushing in your ears. Then you hear Marcus again, his voice straining as if he’s choking on the words. “Fuck!” he groans. “Fuck, Din! Fuck, yeah. Fu- don’t, don’t fuckin’ stop.”

Din grunts, or maybe he laughs. You can’t tell. You’re burning up as if you have a fever. One of your hands is resting at the top of your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles. Your other hand is in your mouth as you bite down, stopping yourself from making a single sound that could betray you. Between your legs, everything is clenching and burning, but you don’t dare give yourself the release you so desperately crave. And when your thumb brushes too close to your center, you remove your hand with a jerk, grabbing the chaise lounge instead.

Din groans, a sound you feel deep in your thorax, and you hear Marcus breathe one final, “Fuck,” before a silence so thick you could slice it with a knife settles over your two rooms. You try to take deep breaths, but your whole body screams for attention, screams to be touched and caressed. It’s painful when you release your grip on the chaise lounge, and your hand shakes when you bring it up to rest against your stomach. Your eyes flicker to the door on your right, but Din and Marcus are quiet. Their groans and sighs and words are still fresh on your mind as you allow yourself to replay them.

Your hand wanders lower and lower, and when you press two fingers against yourself through your pants, you almost sob with relief. You massage yourself eagerly while undoing the chord that holds your pants in place with the other hand. But before you can touch yourself, the door to your right creaks open, and you freeze, remembering just in time to close your eyes.

“Yeah, she’s asleep,” Din grunts, before the door clicks shut again.

That’s enough to break the spell. Swallowing a lump of shame, you turn onto your side, back facing the door.

*******

The next day is hot, the sun stands high in a cloudless sky. You keep your eyes on the neck of your horse, trying to shield it from the bright light. Marcus rides ahead of you on the narrow trail, Din follows behind you. If you hadn’t heard them last night, you wouldn’t be able to tell that something happened between them. Or would you? Were Din’s cheeks flusher this morning before he hid them behind the bandanna? Is Marcus turning around so much to check on you or is he looking at Din?

You’ve barely had time to sort through your own confusing feelings: shame at realizing you might have been treating Marcus unfairly, embarrassment at almost touching yourself last night, anger at the way both Din and Marcus are treating you and … longing. A strange kind of longing. You don’t know what for, but you wish there was something you could say to make them see you as more than an outlaw. But when Din says, “You’re quiet today,” you deliberately give him the cold shoulder. And when Marcus offers you some water, you shake your head, even though you’re parched.

That evening, you’re far away from any human settlement. When the stars come out, even before the blush of the setting sun has completely vanished in the west, Marcus stops by an abandoned adobe building with a roof that is half collapsed and a thorny bush growing next to the doorway, almost blocking it. “That’s as far as we go today,” he says, dismounting.

You don’t have a choice but to follow Din into the building while Marcus unsaddles the horses. The floorboards are covered with sand, but the fireplace and chimney are intact. Din sweeps some of the dirt away with his boot, then shoves you so you have to sit down. “Hey!” you protest, but he just ignores you.

Marcus carries your saddles into the shack, one after the other, then looks around. “I’m findin’ us some kindlin’,” he decides. “Keep an eye on her.” Din grunts in confirmation.

You shift around on the floor, trying to find a more comfortable position, when Din places your saddle at your back so you can lean against it. Then he unlocks your shackles. You groan in relief, rubbing your sore wrists. “Don’t let him see you be nice to me.”

Din throws you a curious glance. “Why do you hate him so much?”

You sigh, stretching your legs out in front of you. “I thought we were friends. Then he left.”

“Oh, come on.” Din rolls his eyes. “Drop the act.”

His direct manner makes you want to be honest with him. “You’re right. It was such a long time ago. Sometimes I don’t even remember why I’m so angry with him, but I can’t stop.” That gets you Din’s undivided attention. His bandanna is still tied over his face, but his eyes light up. “It’s true, you were both so important to me. And then he was gone, and you left too, and I thought it was because of him, so I blamed –”

“It was because of him,” Din corrects you.

“But yesterday you said –”

“I said I didn’t leave because I couldn’t bear the memory of him. That’s not …” The sparkle in his eyes flickers, then dies.

But something within you lights up as you begin to understand. “I heard you last night,” you say, voice breathless.

Din chuckles. “It’s not as if … we run into each other from time to time, that’s all.”

“That’s what he wants it to be, isn’t it?” It all makes sense now. It makes sense that nothing could cheer Din up after Marcus left. It makes sense that Din left too. It’s just that it hasn’t occurred to you yet because it’s so … unusual.

Din shakes his head. “It’s not. It’s … twelve years ago, I left because I wanted to find him. Because when we were still together and you two were practicing kissing while I was trying to catch dinner, he would never stop looking at me. Before he left, he gave me this bracelet he had made out of some leather he had stolen from the tanner and made me promise to come find him. I know he hurt you, but he …”

“He hurt you more?” you guess.

“No, not on purpose. We’re both …”

“You’re men,” you say, hoping you’ve guessed right this time.

“We meet by chance every couple of years in a one-horse town and then we see where the night takes us.”

Your heart aches for Din, for the dull look in his eyes, for his flat voice when he finally tells you the truth. And it aches for yourself, for the way you’re even more on the sidelines than you had thought. But you can’t be angry at him for that.

“So it’s just been Marcus for you ever since we were kids?” you ask carefully.

Din laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t try to make this into a romantic tale. Of course not.” Your confusion must be written all over your face because he elaborates, “I’m not sleeping alone almost every night because a childhood friend gave me a bracelet more than a decade ago. It’s just … we’re fond of each other, that’s all.”

You look at him warily.

“Who knows, if I hadn’t left, maybe I’d have grown fond of you, too.”

“Don’t tease,” you snap.

“I mean it,” Din says calmly. “You’re pretty under that prickly wall you keep hiding behind.”

You choose to change the topic. “Does he hate me?”

“Who? Marcus?” Din laughs again. “I don’t think he’s capable of hatin’ anyone. He’s annoyed with you, sure, he thinks you’re childish and immature, but I also think he’s not as nonchalant as all that.”

You smile at Din, and your cheeks twitch with the unfamiliar motion. “I missed you too, by the way. Not just him.”

“You didn’t miss me as much as him though,” Din points out, and finally pulls the bandanna off his face.

“I’m also not as angry at you as I am at him,” you point out.

Something in Din’s face shifts. “Do you want to get back at him? Because I might have an idea how we could do that.”

“What?” you ask, well aware that Marcus’ footfalls are moving closer and closer to your shack.

“Just follow my lead,” Din says with a quiet smile.

Marcus doesn’t remark on your unshackled wrists or the way you keep digging into your food once he gets a fire going and warms a can of pork and beans for you. He mostly talks to Din about the remainder of your trek, about the formalities involved in picking up the money they’re owed for you, about his plans to travel back to his hometown, the one he moved two twelve years ago, where he was elected sheriff two years ago. Tonight, the way they barely glance at you doesn’t sting. It doesn’t bother you that they talk about you like you’re not there. You only hide your smile, feeling lighter than you have in years.

Once supper is done, Din pulls a flask from his saddlebag and hands it to Marcus before moving his saddle next to yours so he sits closer to you, then offers you the same flask.

“Din,” Marcus warns, and it sounds so much like how he said Din’s name yesterday that it makes you feel that familiar prick of embarrassment.

“Don’t worry,” Din says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You take a sip from the bottle, grateful for the burning sensation.

The bottle is handed around until it is almost empty, and your head is heavy with a pleasant buzz. You laugh when Din teases Marcus about his uneven mustache, and you laugh even louder when Marcus retorts, “At least I can grow one.” With Din next to you, and Marcus sitting cross-legged opposite you, you feel yourself grow comfortable with the familiarity of it, like your childhood home remains familiar to you even if you haven’t visited in years.

When Din leans in to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, the atmosphere in the room shifts, the walls move in closer, and the air grows thicker. Marcus furrows his brow, and your face heats up, so you clear your throat and sit up straighter, moving your body away from Din’s. But then you remember how he told you to follow his lead, and you smile at him, trying to ignore how your heart picks up speed.

“You know what I’ve been wondering ever since we were kids?” Din asks, deep brown eyes locked onto yours. Before you can answer, he adds, “Marcus?”

“What?” Marcus asks, voice neutral.

“Why was it that only you got to practice kissing with her, and never me?” Din’s eyes flicker down to your lips before he looks over to where Marcus is sitting, fingers balled into nervous fists in his lap. “Isn’t that odd?”

“You never asked?” Marcus replies with a shrug.

“Oh, I did,” Din corrects him.

Marcus runs his finger over his mustache. “I don’t know, Din. Maybe she didn’t want to practice with you.”

You try to remember those long summer days twelve years ago, and you try to remember if you really never kissed Din. What you do remember is Marcus’ soft lips on yours, the way he hardly used any pressure as if he was afraid he’d break you. And the longer you think about it, the surer you are that there was a day Din asked, “When’s it my turn?” and Marcus dismissed him with a wave of his hand. But you don’t remember not wanting to kiss Din.

Din slings his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side. “I think you didn’t want to share.” It sounds like a tease, but Din can’t quite hide the bite in his voice.

Marcus’ gaze flickers to you and then back to Din. He sighs. “That was such a long time ago. I really don’t remember.”

Interesting, you think.

Din tips back his hat and smiles down at you. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind me practicing now.” It sounds almost like a question, and you give him a small nod as answer.

Din catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and guides you up toward his lips. Your heart skips a beat at that first touch and then it starts hammering painfully at the forcefulness and greed with which Din kisses you, so different from how it used to be with Marcus. You return his kiss hungrily, flicking your tongue across his bottom lip, reaching for his arm to steady yourself, following him eagerly when he leans back. It doesn’t feel like he’s just pretending to get back at Marcus.

Din moves on from your mouth, leaving a hot trail on your jaw and down your neck, before he sinks his teeth into a bit of exposed shoulder where your shirt has shifted. You bite your tongue, holding back a whimper, but he grips your neck lightly and strokes his thumb across the bitemark. “Oh no, darlin’, let it all out.”

“Alright,” Marcus says, slapping his thigh with some finality. You flinch, only now remembering he’s there and why you’re kissing Din in the first place. “Hope you’re happy now.”

Din ignores him and kisses down your chest, flicking open the buttons of your shirt with practiced fingers on his way. You freeze up, gazing across the small space at Marcus, but then Din cups one of your breasts and grazes his teeth across the nipple. “Din,” you groan, both a warning and a plea.

“Din,” Marcus says, and it’s all warning. Hearing him say that single word feels like a punch to the base of your spine.

Din looks up at you, lips glistening. His thumb replaces his mouth as he rolls your hard nipple under the tip of his finger. “Bet you never practiced that with him, did you?”

“Does that still count as a kiss?” you tease, your voice quivering as he keeps stroking your nipple.

“What do you think, Marcus?” Din asks, glancing at the other man.

Marcus has paled, but you have to give him credit for keeping his voice steady when he answers, “I think you should stop this.”

Din ignores him and captures your mouth in another kiss instead. He pushes his tongue past your lips and teeth, exploring how to draw sighs and whimpers from you. You squirm, very aware of a steadily pulsating need between your legs, not only fed by what Din is doing to you, but also by the thick atmosphere in the room. A piece of wood in the fireplace snaps, making you jump, and Din runs his hand down your naked side, rough callouses catching on your soft skin. He stops at the hem of your trousers.

“Do you want me to stop?” Din whispers against your lips, so quietly Marcus can’t hear.

You shake your head.

“Remember that night in Galveston?” Din asks, his voice loud enough to fill the entire cabin. “When we agreed to share that woman and you didn’t let me touch her?”

You swallow hard when Marcus replies with a low, “Think very carefully about what you’re gonna do next, Din.”

“It was easy, really, because I didn’t care about her,” Din goes on as if he hasn’t heard Marcus, untying the chord of your trousers with a flick of his wrist. “But I have a feeling that this is gonna be very hard for you.”

He shoves his hand between your legs and you groan deeply, a sound so foreign that at first you don’t realize it’s coming from you. Your head falls back and lands against your saddle, while you raise your hips at the same time, eager for Din’s touch. If he’s surprised by how wet you are, he doesn’t let on, instead circles your clit with his thumb just like he toyed with your nipple. Soon, his hand moves lower, careful at first, but then he crooks a finger and pushes it into you with such force you can’t help but clamp down around it.

“How does it feel?” Din asks, his voice deeper now, almost as deep as it was the night before. The memory makes you shiver with arousal. “Knowing I have a finger buried inside of her? Oh no, wait.” Din pulls out almost all the way, then pushes back in, a second finger joining the first. “Two fingers.”

Marcus doesn’t reply, but when you dare look at him, you see his face is covered in red blotches, ones you mistake for angry marks until you notice his eyes, blown wide with arousal. And it’s hard to tell in the flickering light from the fireplace, but you think you can make out a bulge between his legs.

“Don’t be shy,” Din coaxes. “Tell me.” He brushes his thumb over your clit to draw another whimper from you and it works on Marcus.

“We both know you’re all talk.” A quick smirk flashes across Marcus’ face. “Ain’t no way you can make her come.”

You clench around Din’s fingers again and he chuckles. “I think she likes it when you talk like that.”

Chest heaving, you look up at Din only to find his eyes locked on Marcus. It makes the breath catch in your throat, the heat with which he stares at the other man.

“How does it make you feel, Marcus?” Din repeats, punctuating each word with a thrust.

You flick your gaze over to Marcus, eager for his reply, but he just shakes his head. You roll your hips tentatively in an attempt to draw a response from him, but even though he briefly lowers his eyes to look at you, he doesn’t respond.

“Kick off your boots,” Din orders, and when you don’t move, he presses his thumb to your clit. “Come on.”

It’s only then that you realize he means you and not Marcus, so you do as you’re told, your leather boots landing against the old wooden floors with soft thumps. Din pulls out of you, but only to use both hands to pull down your pants quickly so your lower body is completely naked, exposed for both him and Marcus. Your first instinct is to cover up, so you move your knees together, but Din pushes them apart again with a shove.

“Oh no, darlin’, let him see,” he mumbles, a tendon in his neck twitching.

You swallow and nod, letting your legs fall open. If you’re not mistaken, it makes Marcus’ breath hitch. That’s enough for you. Din pushes two fingers into you again and you sigh with relief, a sound that makes Marcus twitch as if he’s about to lunge for you, but he remains in his spot instead, hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles are turning white.

“So how does it feel?” Din asks a third time. “Now that you can see everything?”

You roll your hips to meet Din’s thrusts, which earns you a soft stroke down your side.

Finally, Marcus replies, “You know the answer.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Marcus looks at you then, and you feel your face heat up under his attention. His gaze wanders from your parted lips down your heaving chest to where Din’s fingers are slowly pumping in and out of you, coated in your arousal. Your initial embarrassment is gone. In its place is an insatiable desire to be watched by Marcus, to have him see you at your most vulnerable. You roll your hips faster, and throw back your head, moaning loudly, just to get a reaction from him, and it works.

“I think if it was my fingers inside of her, she would’ve already come twice.”

Din chuckles, but something catches at the back of his throat. “You don’t even know if she wants to.”

And then, for the first time, Marcus addresses you, voice tight like a rope around a bull’s neck. “Do you want him to make you come?”

You look at Din as if asking him for permission, but he only kisses your temple and mumbles into your ear, “I can’t help you with that decision, sweetheart.” So you look back at Marcus but he only stares at you, taut concentration written all over his face.

You nod.

Something flashes across Marcus’ face, something you can’t quite place, but he nods once and leans back, eyes back on Din. “Let’s see what you got then.”

Din’s thumb brushes over your clit just once, twice, his fingers toy with your nipple almost gently, his fingertips brush against the most sensitive spots inside of you, and it doesn’t take much more than that for you to roll your hips desperately, your entire body on fire, taut like the hammer of a colt. Din finds your trigger, rolls your clit just so, and you come with a shout, and animalistic sort of noise, eyes on Marcus as he watches you open-mouthed, his eyes impossibly dark.

“There you are,” Din says in a mocking tone and kisses your temple again.

Marcus gains back control by shaking his head lightly, then swallows. “She didn’t even scream your name.”

Next to you, Din tenses and you think you hear a deep grumble somewhere in his chest. He pushes himself up onto his knees and undoes his belt with practiced motions. You’ve barely caught your breath before you’re being pulled up, shoved onto your hands and knees, and Din is behind you, his thick cock brushing against your thighs. You try to look at Marcus again, but Din’s hand is in your hair and he pushes down your head and part of your chest at the same time as he pushes himself into you, stretching you wide. You claw at the wood beneath your palms, groaning in both pleasure and pain.

“Oh, you’re so easily riled up,” Marcus provokes, the slight edge in his voice telling you he is too, although he can hide it better.

Din ignores him. “I don’t need her to scream my name,” he grunts. “Knowin’ you’d give anything to be in my place right now is enough.”

“And you want to be in mine,” Marcus shoots back.

You know he’s right because Din pushes into you with a vicious thrust. “Din,” you groan, and you can feel the attention in the room shift.

Din pulls out all the way so only his tip is still inside of you, then slams back into you, pushing your entire body forward. You groan again, struggle against the hold he has on your neck, but he only tightens his grip.

“Please,” you whimper, feeling overstimulated yet hungry at the same time.

“I don’t hear her begging for your cock,” Din spits at Marcus. You hear Marcus move, but Din orders, “Stay where you are,” and Marcus stops.

You shift, pushing your knees further apart, and suddenly Din reaches deeper, drawing something akin to a howl from you. Din’s hand moves from the back of your head to close around your jaw, and he lifts your chin so you can see Marcus, his face covered in an angry flush, a spot on his bottom lip chewed raw.

“Do you think he wants to fuck my release into you once I’m done?” Din growls in your ear.

You can’t hold on a second longer. Your body gives in, erupting with pleasure so intense everything else loses its meaning. You’re faintly aware of Din groaning, “So good, you feel so good,” of something wet and hot running down your thighs, of Din pulling out of you gently before you collapse on the floor. Then you’re aware of movement in front of you, and your body tightens in anticipation, but when you look up, you find Marcus standing there, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.

“Marcus?” you ask, the name foreign on your tongue.

Without looking back, he walks out of the shack, cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth, leaving Din to clean up after himself.

*******

You don’t know what you expected to happen, but it certainly wasn’t this: you, back in handcuffs, and Marcus, leading the way without acknowledging your presence. Only Din seems to be in a good mood, pointing out small birds resting on branches or flowers growing by the side of the trail. No one talks about the previous night, and in the bright light of day, you’re not so sure any of it actually happened.

You hold your head up high, refusing to feel humiliated. Din was gentle this morning, almost apologetic, when he put you back in handcuffs, tipping his hat and calling you “ma’am”. You’re not angry with him for last night, far from it. You’re also not angry with Marcus for how he reacted; you’re disappointed, sure, and maybe a little bit heartbroken. But far from angry.

It’s another hot day, but this time you’re riding through open woodland, and the shade brings you some reprieve. The trail is broader, Din can ride next to you, and you talk to him from time to time; it almost feels as if you’re on your way to a Sunday picnic. But despite everything that has happened, and despite the way Din laughs at your jokes, you know there’s no use in asking them to let you go. Whatever happened last night doesn’t influence their sense of duty and righteousness.

In the afternoon, the trail grows rockier as you begin to ascend through a small mountain range. The trees become sturdier and grow closer together, the flowers become less frequent, the birds now screech with a predator’s voice. You’re just beginning to feel drowsy from the heat and the exhaustion of the past few days when a sudden shout tears you out of your daydreams and pulls you back into the forest.

The trail before you is blocked by a tree trunk that makes it impossible to pass without some difficulty. On top of it stands a man you know all too well, one you thought you’d never see again: Burke, the leader of your gang, the man you decided to follow when everyone else in your life had left you. Relief makes your body tremble – you hadn’t expected him to show up to rescue you, hadn’t thought you’d be that important to him. Maybe you were wrong, maybe you don’t have to accept the fate Marcus and Din have decided upon for you after all.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Burke says in his nasal voice you’ve come to know so well. “You’ve reached the end of your journey. Please dismount and let us shackle you, so we can take back what’s rightfully ours.”

Next to you, Din flinches, reaching for his gun holstered at his side. Burke is faster as he draws his own gun and fires, the barrel glinting in the afternoon sun. Din loses balance and falls of his horse, clutching his right shoulder. You’re frozen with shock, your brain too slow to catch up with what is happening, relief turning sour in your mouth. You know you should be grateful you’re not going to jail after all, but all you feel is dread when Din’s body hits the ground with a loud thump and he groans in pain.

Burke aims the barrel of his gun at Marcus next and orders, “Disarm him.”

Three men climb out of the underbrush, Bridger, Burke’s second in command, Ingram, his muscle, and scrawny Jimmy who isn’t much use in a fight but who excels at stabbing people in the back. Marcus raises his hands above his head as if he means to surrender, but once the men reach him and Ingram grabs him to pull him off his horse, Marcus punches him in the face so hard his head snaps back. Ingram recovers too fast, grabs Marcus’ jacket, pulls him off his horse with a jerk, and kicks him as soon as he hits the ground.

“Stop!” you yell and Burke looks straight at you.

He raises his hand and Ingram stills. Marcus groans at his feet, arms slung around his stomach, a bloody scrape along his cheek. “Stop?” Burke asks.

“There is no need to harm them,” you stammer, thinking fast. “Or do you want law enforcement chasing us down for killing a sheriff?”

Somewhere to your right, Din inhales sharply, but you don’t dare to look at him. Instead, your eyes are locked to Burke’s as you watch his face closely to figure out your next move. You’re free; you don’t have to go back to jail. But if it means Marcus and Din die, then you don’t want your freedom.

“I was expecting more gratitude,” Burke finally says, his voice laced with disgust.

“I just don’t want anyone to die because of me,” you try weakly.

“Do I have to remind you who those men are?” Burke snaps. “They wanted to sell your freedom to the highest bidder. They don’t deserve your compassion!”

“They also don’t deserve to die for doing their job,” you point out.

An ugly grin creeps onto Burke’s face. “Who said anything about dying? Ingram, tie him up, and let’s have some fun.”

Ingram grabs the collar of Marcus’ jacket and pulls him to his feet. Marcus struggles against the grip, face contorted with pain, but there is nothing he can do to free himself. You watch as they drag him to a tree by the side of the road and tie him to the trunk with thick ropes. You know what comes next – you’ve seen it often enough. And if there’s anything you can do to keep Marcus from that fate, you’ll do it, even if it means your own death.

Your legs are trembling when you climb off your horse and sneak over to where Din is lying, hand still pressed to his shoulder, his brown leather glove shiny with blood. He can’t help you much; it’s up to you to make sure Marcus gets out of this in one piece.

“Where are the keys, Din?” you whisper, ignoring Marcus’ pained grunt when someone, most likely Ingram, punches him in the gut.

Din reaches for his jacket pocket and pulls out the keys, face paling from the strain of it. He barely manages to unshackle you, but once you’re free, he grunts, “Take my gun.”

You grab the cold metal, your hands trembling so hard you slip at first. But your mind is eerily calm. You know exactly what you need to do and what it could cost you. Slowly, you stand, and take a few steps closer to the tree. Marcus is tied up, the four men are standing around him. Jimmy is playing with his knife, Ingram is stroking his jaw where Marcus hit him, and Burke and Bridger are debating what to do next. You don’t give them a chance to make up their minds.

“Let him go!” you shout, your voice high with fear.

When the four men spin around to face you, you raise the gun, aiming straight at Burke. Burke … the man who was like a father to you, who took you in and taught you how to care for yourself. You almost laugh – how quickly things can change, how quickly loyalties can shift. But if you’re honest with yourself, you have to admit you were never that loyal to Burke and the gang, and definitely not now that you feel you’ve got your real family back, even if they are going to turn you over to the law.

“Well, well, well,” Burke says slowly. “Will you look at that? I can’t say I’m surprised, but I never pegged you as a pig fucker.”

You ignore his words, cocking back the hammer. “I mean it. Let him go.”

Burke gestures to Bridger who takes the knife from Jimmy and presses it against Marcus’ throat. You flinch.

“Does that upset you?” Burke asks with a sneer. “If you lower the gun now, we won’t kill him. I can’t make any promises for you though.”

Before you can ponder actions and consequences, you aim the gun at Bridger and pull the trigger. Both you and Marcus flinch, but while your brow is only covered in sweat, his gets sprayed with blood when you hit Bridger at the side of his head and he crumbles to the ground. For a brief moment, a flash of memory shoots through you, an image of Bridger getting you a big wool coat two winters ago so you wouldn’t freeze to death. Back then, you never would have thought you’d be the one to end his life. But you also hadn’t expected to see Marcus again.

Before you can make sense of what just happened, Ingram is upon you and wrestles the gun from your hands. He hits you in the face with his open palm and you scream, more in surprise and shock than pain.

“You’ll pay for that,” he spits and hits you again, this time with the back of his hand.

Before you can defend yourself, a loud bang makes you turn around. Ingram flinches and follows your gaze, one hand locked around your arm, the other raised to strike a third time. Din is standing next to his horse, the barrel of his shotgun smoking, aiming toward the tree. Jimmy is lying next to Bridger, a gaping hole in his chest. Ingram’s grip on you tightens at the same time as you realize there are more of you know then there are of them. You hear the telltale clicking sounds of Din reloading his shotgun and you shove Ingram as hard as you can away from you. The next second he tumbles to his side, leg torn open.

“Help Marcus!” Din shouts, his face contorted with pain.

You don’t think, you’ve stopped thinking minutes ago, as you turn and sprint toward the tree where Marcus is still tied up, defenseless, while Burke stalks toward him, Jimmy’s knife in his hand. You shove your former leader aside and fling yourself between him and Marcus, but before you can come up with a plan, Burke shoves you and pushes you to the ground. You go down with a surprised shout, the last sound you make before Burke’s hands close around your throat and he squeezes. You kick your legs and claw at his face and neck, but he’s relentless. A lightheadedness comes over you, and you’re only dimly aware of Marcus shouting your name and Din’s, but Burke doesn’t stop. The only thing you can see are his glazed-over eyes, dull with the intent to kill.

Using your last strength you grope around, hoping to find anything that can help you. Your fingers close around something cold and metallic, but you have no time to check if it really is Jimmy’s knife. You raise the thing and plunge it into Burke’s side, groaning with relief when he loosens his grip in response. You pull out the knife, then shove it into Burke’s side again; the man tumbles off you with a scream of pain. You push yourself up, aiming for his neck, the knife gliding into the flesh with hardly any resistance. From then on, it’s just a blur until Burke stops twitching, until your arm burns so much you can barely lift it anymore, until your ears are ringing with your hoarse screams.

Din is there, and he takes the knife from you. You let him, tears streaming down your face. It feels like you’re all alone in this big forest until someone sinks to their knees next to you and cups your face in cold, shaky hands.

“You stupid girl,” Marcus mumbles, wiping at your cheeks, brushing loose strands behind your ears. “You stupid, stupid girl.”

His lips are soft when he kisses you; he tastes of metal. You kiss him back, your whole body trembling. Between kisses he keeps mumbling, “Stupid girl,” until a teary laugh erupts from you.

“Kiss me again,” you demand, knowing it’s the only thing that keeps you from losing consciousness. He does, and there’s an edge of desperation to it now, like he’s only beginning to realize he’s still alive and you’re too. You cling to his jacket and feel his chest vibrate, you lick his lips and are rewarded with a hungry bite. It’s only when you start crying again that he pulls back.

Din is at your other side and pulls you into a tight hug with his good arm. “Don’t listen to him,” he mumbles, his fingers stroking the back of your head. “You’re not stupid; maybe a bit reckless, but incredibly brave.”

Marcus pulls you to your feet and holds you tightly when your knees buckle. Din follows you, and kisses the top of your head. Shielded between both of them, you realize they are the only family you’ll ever need.

***

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #marcus pike x din djarin x reader #marcus pike x din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mentalist fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #closure

101 notes · View notes