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the-kr8tor · 28 days ago

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Other Side of Paradise

Pairing: Robin Hood! Hobie Brown x Princess! Reader

Word count: 7.3k

Summary: Being a princess is all fine and dandy until you're about to get married off like a brood mare. Will the handsome thief that stole your heart help get you out of a loveless marriage? Or perhaps you'll be the one stealing his heart?

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), robin hood au, royalty au, part 1 of part 2, talks of marriage, reader has unnamed siblings, a bit ooc Hobie at the start but it's for the plot, fluff.

A/N: This oneshot is so long I had to cut it in half lol enjoy! (Part 2 will be up in a few days)

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Octobie 🎸

Part one >>> Part two

Being a princess in one of the largest and most powerful countries in the world, you'd think that your family, the royal family would treat you like the finest jewel in their treasury. But no, they treat you like their doormat, a pretty little thing to put atop their mantle only to be forgotten until it's time to show you off.

You are a princess, draped in the finest silks and chiffon, jewels in your hair, golden rings around each of your fingers. But the one missing, the one that your family truly only cares about is a diamond on your ring finger that has remained empty ever since your debut out into society.

You're the thirteenth child of the thirteenth king and queen, an unlucky number perhaps, but you find it lucky since you're the youngest out of the thirteen, hence your empty ring finger. But after your last elder sister got married, all the attention went to you when you didn't want them in the first place. You went from just co-existing with your family, to you being the center of attention in the span of a few hours after they sent your dear sister off to her husband. From your brothers to your sisters, they've all been wed. Even if they had no say in who they were going to marry, they went with few little tears. Some married kings, princesses, and a few were shipped off to dukes and duchesses. Your parents were determined to fill every noble and royal household with their own blood. And unfortunately, you're not an exception.

With your corset poking you at your side, dress weighing heavy, and crown falling off your head every few minutes; you look like you're about to scream and shout in the middle of the throne room. You might as well when you roam your eyes at the marriage candidates staring at you like you're the last slice of pie at the tavern. Every eligible noble man around the world has come vying for your hand, or more like your dowry for that matter.

For once in your life, they didn't make you sit at the far back where you're free to whip out a book and read without interruption. But now, you sit front and center next to your royal parents, their heads held high, jewels shining in the sunlight that bathes the whole throne room in its kaleidoscope light coming from the colourful stained glass window that depicts your age-old family history. Some of its bits were conveniently taken out by your ancestors when they ‘took over’ the throne from their rightful heir and uncle. Maybe that's why they had to send off most of your siblings to faraway countries to prevent infighting amongst your family when the throne inevitably goes empty. You won't fight for it though, who would want to rule a country standing on the precipice of war and famine every year?

You claw at your wrist, the itchy lace turning your skin bumpy and agitated. Your mother clears her throat, head standing still while her eyes throw daggers at you.

“I think I'm allergic to this fabric, mother.” You whisper, but the vast throne room practically announces your uncomfortable self with an echo of your voice.

Swallowing thickly, you see the crowd of nobles standing to the sides turn their heads at you. Their golden suits and gowns just screams ‘I’m important!’ to everyone in the room. But when everyone thinks they're important, does that mean that everyone outside the room is insignificant? You don't think so, but everyone and their blue blooded self thinks the world revolves around them.

“Hush,” your mother speaks plainly, showing the nobles that you are obedient and raised well. Well, you were technically not raised by her or your father, they barely know you except for the one fact that you're their child. They practically tossed you to your wet nurse and governess the second you were launched out of the queen. “Sit still, we may find you a husband today.”

You inhale, fixing your posture. You miss your library. “But they look…” your eyes glance at the men waiting at the far end of the hall. Finding that none of them would suit you at all. Maybe your governess was right, reading romance novels would give you high and impossible expectations for a romantic partner. Some were too blond, wore too many ruby rings on their fingers, too much perfume that you could smell them from where you sat. Or that the feathers on their hats are too big, or they wear too much green, or their pants are too blue for your taste. Maybe it's not too late to run away and become a nun. “...too much.”

Your mother, the queen, pats the back of your hand. The most affection she has given you in your entire life. “They all come from respectable families,” in other words, rich. “And most importantly, noble.”

“Can I still take sister Thena’s offer and become a nun instead?” You ask wryly, still trying to whisper your words.

She smiles sweetly, or what you call, her restrained smile that she gives to her courtiers. “If you don't quiet down and find a husband instead, lord Melbourne is looking for a wife.”

You gasp, head turning to look at the said lord who looks like he could be your great grandfather. “No, you wouldn't.” He catches your eyes, winking at you through his wrinkles. You make a face, scrunching up your nose and looking away at the man.

“I would dare,” she raises an eyebrow. “It's either him, or you pick a handsome young man from the line up.”

Your father finally catches on, he leans back on his throne to look at you over your mother. “It's for your own good, darling. We don't want you to die a spinster.”

You've noticed that he has a habit of calling you ‘darling’ these days. Perhaps he finally forgot your name. That's probably it since he named three of your brothers Charles because he forgot he already used that name before. Or maybe the gout has gotten to his brain.

“Would it be so bad to die a spinster?” They both crane their heads at you, brows slightly furrowed and mouths faintly agape in surprise. “I mean, you don't have to send a letter to me every year since I'll be staying here with you.” Their expressions sours further. “or maybe I could find a ship and sail the seas under our banner—” they both shake their heads, even your father's advisor shakes his head at you. So you give up, for now at least. “Or maybe I could just go and be a jester for one of my siblings.” You manage to whisper this time. Your words carried through the wind with no one to hear it but you. Or so you thought.

With the sound of the trumpets, the courting begins. Grasping your chair, you huff in place when the first man struts his stuff on the red carpeted floor.

You notice that he bows perfectly. He wears a dark blue coat over a silver hue tunic, his shoes are shined to perfection, smile even brighter than his leather shoes. “Eugene, Viscount of Van Horn, my princess.”

“A pleasure,” you say, unamused.

“I bring gifts from my land,” his attendants bring out crates full of oysters and crabs still writhing within its metal confines. “There will be more once we are married.” Your parents seemed to like it when they smiled at the slimy crates. “And a portrait of myself to better help you choose a husband.” You raise a brow, and sure enough, his people bring out a large square shaped thing that is hidden behind a white cloth. Eugene clicks his fingers, prompting them to reveal the gaudiest painting of someone ever etched on parchment.

It's not a regular portrait per se, the size is questionable, yes, but the contents of it makes you and everyone in the throne room tilt their heads to the side to see it clearly. The frame is riddled with rubies, and the painting, well, Eugene hangs upside down from a sycamore tree branch, grinning like how he is right now, from ear to ear. He's wearing the same thing as in the portrait too, at least his features are accurate. You know your mother does not look remotely similar to her portrait that hangs in the great hall.

“Uh?” You blink and every time you do, you see more and more questionable details. Like how there's somehow a field of pink roses below him, and how the sun shines to the west even though the shadow doesn't line up accurately. Some paintings have secret meanings weaved into it. Maybe he's trying to say that he can defy the rules of the world?

“You see,” Eugene waves his hand around the portrait, explaining its contents when you still look confused. “This shows my physical prowess,” he points at himself hanging upside down by just his legs. “And the sycamore tree represents—”

“Thank you, Viscount.” Thankfully, your father stops him from further getting into the artistic meanings of his painting. “We shall take your offer into consideration.” He smiles, and with a wave of his hand, his men shoo the viscount away to the side. “Next suitor.”

No one steps forward, instead, you see the waiting men move about, looking like there's someone making their way out the front. You wait for him to come out. And who greets you has you pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Henry, duke of Plainsboro, my princess.” The seemingly six year old lord bows down to you.

“Him?” You gesture towards the child. “He's a baby.”

“Pardon me, princess. But I'm eight and a half.”

“Oh my apologies, my lord.” You clear your throat, head turning towards your parents. “He's a toddler!” Your mother hushes you down, giving you a pointed look of disapproval. “Mother, surely we're not considering him.”

“What is your offer, lord Henry?” The king asks, ignoring your protests.

The young lord grins toothily, you scoff when you see that he's still missing his front tooth. “I guess I'm the invisible princess now.” There's only been two suitors so far and you already feel like your soul is getting sucked right out of your miserable body.

“Two hundred livestock, including my prized stallion. And half a million coins for your royal coffers.” The toddler has money to burn. You gotta hand it to his governess or whoever taught him how to converse, he speaks better than your older brothers combined.

That seemed to get your parents attention. “Oh dear god no, not the baby, surely?”

“Hush,” your father waves you off. “We'll highly consider your generous offer, my lord.” He smiles at the child, and you don't even hide your displeasure anymore.

You fight the urge to groan loudly and throw a fit in front of all the nobles. Instead, you huff and silently cry in your plush golden seat.

The next man with a beard starts to walk towards the front, but another man pushes him away and gets to the front before the other noble could say something.

This one intrigues you, something from his walk, up to his confident smirk doesn't seem to scream ‘I'm important! And you must pay heed to me!’ kind of air around him. He seems genuine when he smiles at you, you find it contagious, bringing a smile to tug at your own lips. His hazel eyes appear to be piercing through you without the familiar uneasiness the rest of the courtiers give you. And there's something from his bow that almost makes you giggle in place. It's like he's mocking the way the previous nobles bowed to you and your parents.

“Hobart, lord of Doverhill.” His voice brings a heavy accent, it's smooth in your ears but weighs heavy on your chest. A comfortable heaviness that brings solace. He flicks his eyes at you, his pupils catch the light perfectly, making his multi-colored eyes glow from the stained glass windows. “My princess.” He acknowledges you, and for some reason, your heart leaps from your chest.

He wears a simple red and white suit with silver inlays stitched at the hem. He has a bird engraved on his cufflinks, and shoes that are scuffed but presentable. You look closely at him to read him better, and you spot that his suit doesn't seem to fit right on him, the length is too short, and his trousers look like it stops right above his ankles. Nonetheless, he looks good in it. *Incredibly good.

“What is your offer lord…” your father knits his brows, briefly looking at his adviser who is equally as confused, mumbling a ‘where in the world is Doverhill?’ “Hobart?”

“Nothin’. I offer you nothin.’” He says confidently, smirk staying on his lips. If you took your eyes off him for a second, you wouldn't have seen his quick wink thrown at you. You think the other suitors should just go home.

“Is this a jape?” Your mother scoffs, manicured nails pointing accusingly at him.

“No, but I do have somethin’ for her.” He glances at you, eyes staying on you. “My love, unconditional love that never wavers. I offer nothin’ but warmth to tide her over durin’ the winter, a full belly so she'll never starve nor hunger for food or affections. And I offer smiles and laughter that will echo around our manor.”

You just noticed that he's now standing in front of you with the light shining behind him, giving him a halo of sunlight. “And time, time to just live and be ourselves beyond our titles.” He reaches for your hand, thumb brushing along your wrist, eyes never leaving your own as he kisses the back of your hand gently. You're glad you hid your gloves from your handmaiden before leaving your apartments.

This is your romantic novel moment.

You're speechless. “I—”

“Ask me whatever you want and I shall grant it.” He whispers to you and only you.

“I choose him!” You say boisterously, heart thrumming in your chest. The crowd yells their various protests, murmurs from the court that you ignore. Without missing a beat, you look over to your bewildered parents. “Can I promenade with Lord Hobart?”

“B–but he offers nothing—”

You don't wait for their approval, instead, you grasp his hand tightly around yours and with a bow to your king and queen, you walk off hand in hand with the lord of Doverhill.

It's safe to say that everyone was left gawking at the door you left in. It was a full minute before anyone got wise and followed you towards the gardens.

—

By the time you make it towards the inner halls of the castle, every guard and noble are prowling for you and your new acquaintance. Gossip thrives at court, and your family's home is not an exception. You lead him side by side, you've let go of him after it quieted down in the throne room. Smiling, there's a pep in your step as you pass by your siblings’ former apartments.

“What are your hobbies, Lord Hobart?” Your hands are tucked behind you, hiding your twiddling thumbs from the handsome lord.

“Call me Hobie.” He glances at you, brilliant pools of hazels catching the sun's rays. “I play the lute.”

“How peculiar,” you grin wider. “It’s definitely interesting though.”

He raises a brow. “The name or the hobby?” Chuckling, he maneuvers around you, hands hidden in his pockets as he appears from behind you. He plays it off nonchalantly, grinning at you as he twirls back into his place next to you. You two now have switched places with him walking next to the rooms and with you right beside the tall windows that faces the glimmering sea outside.

“The latter. I like your nickname.”

“Thank you, love.” Your heart leaps in your chest, you hope he doesn't notice. “Better than hanging upside down on a bloody sycamore tree.”

Your laughter echoes further down the hall, “yes, that was incredibly odd. The portrait had me in stitches.”

“Ironic too,” he smirks, eyes glancing about the hallway. Perhaps he just likes the decor and the ancient oil paintings on the walls.

“How so?”

“Sycamore represents wisdom. I don't think that man had any, based on his taste in art.”

You giggle, and you see him smile softly at you. “I learned something new today.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, surprisingly, he does the same. “Do you read, my lord? I'm partial to it myself.”

“Whenever I can. But ‘m a bit busy these days.”

“Ah yes, a land to tend to and people to take care of.” You clasp your hands together as he leads you down the long hallway. Hobie nods with a gentle smile as if he's reminiscing about his home.

“How ‘bout you, d’you have people you take care of?”

A weird question to ask, but you answer it nonetheless. “I guess I did, my siblings, before they all left to marry. We took care of eachother. Made sure that everyone was heard, made sure to fight for eachother. But when it was time to marry, none of them could fight it even when we all dared to go against it.” You realize what you've said, back tracking. “I must apologize, that was… a lot.”

He shakes his head gently, the simple silver necklace around his neck shines brightly in the sun. “It's not a lot. It's good to have people that care for you, and for you to care for them. That's just family.”

You smile at his words, the pit in your stomach grows as you miss your siblings dearly.

A comfortable silence falls around the two of you, you're taking in his entire presence. He's a lot nicer and sweeter than you thought he would be when you thought he was just playing for your favour. He's so close to you that you can see every line, indent and mole on his chiseled face. And how he smells like freshly cut pine and like dandelions in the spring. You could only hope that he likes you back, he may save you from a lifetime of a loveless and cold marriage.

You two pass by the jewel apartments where your family’s most precious crown jewels are safely kept under lock and key. There's a couple of guards standing by the large metal doorway, but you don't seem to recognize them since you always kept to yourself most of the time and would always watch people during feasts and balls while everyone else were schmoozing. Somehow, their uniforms seem to not fit them well. One even had his shirt inside out.

You hear something jingling, but before you could follow the sound, Hobie tilts his head towards you with a lopsided smile while his hand ghosts over the small of your back. Guiding you away towards the sweet smelling gardens.

Hobie pushes the doors open, and the sun greets the two of you as birds chirp and fly overhead. The white puffy clouds provide shade, and the flowers are in full bloom, from the tulips down to the sunflowers that are as tall as him.

He whistles out, and you watch his awestruck face at the sheer beauty of the renowned garden. “You've got a fountain ‘ere?” he gestures with his head towards the bubbling marble fountain with two cherubs spitting water at the top of its spire.

You smile at his wonderment. “Yes, my great grandfather commissioned it for my great grandmother. It's a bit gaudy but the sentiment behind it is sweet.”

Hobie walks closer to it as leaves crunch underfoot and with the sun kissing his skin. He waves his hand over the falling water, letting the cool water drench his sleeve as it trickles down, not caring about it at all.

“Is this drinkable water?” He asks blatantly.

“I don't know, but it is clean.”

His eyes are downcast, looking like he's in deep thought while the water splashes his hand. “Did you know that down in the streets where your subjects live they survive everyday on dirty water?” His tone changes, brows creased. “And over ‘ere you're using it for a bloody fountain.”

You blink, inhaling deeply. “I–I didn't know. I'll make sure my father knows about this—”

“Don't worry, princess, he knows.” He spits out your title with malice.

“I'm sorry if I offended you,” you grasp tightly at your heavy skirt. “Forgive me.”

Hobie sighs, face softening, and eyes observing your expression as if he's trying to find a lie within your eyes. “You should tell him. He might actually do somethin' this time.”

“I will—”

You hear leaves crunch a few ways away, once you look over at where it came from, you see a bulbous skirt hiding behind a topiary of a rabbit.

“This place has eyes and ears.” He holds out his hand for you, waiting, not taking forcibly. “I know a place where we can hide.”

“You know? It's your first time here, is it not?”

“I heard there's a hedge maze ‘ere. One of the nobles couldn't stop talkin’ about it.”

Your apprehension fades, and you take his hand gingerly. Fingers sliding on his palm, feeling every calluses and scar on his skin. When he cups your hand gently, you swear you felt sparks fly in your vision.

Hobie's chest rises and falls slowly as he takes you in under the soft sunlight. “C’mon, love.”

With his hand upon yours, you let him guide you further and further into the emerald labyrinth. You watch him from behind, eyes trained on him and only him. Perhaps this is what your sisters and governess told you about when you know a person could be that person your heart yearns for. Or maybe this is your own romance novel riddled mind making up a delusion through rose coloured glass. Either way, you find him ethereal, like a sea captain, or perhaps a god walking amongst men.

He expertly dodges the nosey courtiers, twisting and turning around the hedges as if he had been there or have studied the labyrinth.

With you in tow, he stops when you both reach the middle of the maze where a statue of the minotaur lies defeated with Theseus standing above him with his sword embedded in the Minotaur's shoulder blade. The creature's face is contorted into pain and anguish as tears fall down on the grassy ground.

“This one is my favourite,” you say while he stares at the old statue. “It's been here for a long time, and it'll remain here even when I'm gone.” His hand still holds onto you as you turn towards him. “Why exactly did you join the courting?” He's taken aback. “Those men out there wanted my dowry, or my royal blood to be passed down to their children. But I don't see that want in you, Hobie. You're different from them. Like you've lived a thousand lifetimes.”

“‘m not a vampire or immortal if that's what you're askin'”

You grin, tamping down your laughter. “The way you walk, stand, and look at things. There's no sense of urgency nor you give insincere interest, it's all earnest. And you listened to me, no one ever listens to me.” You brush your hand across the scar on the back of his hand. “You seem to enjoy everything like it's your last day, you don't walk with haste like the rest of them. Time goes very quickly here but with you, it's at a snail’s pace. As if you have all the time in the world.” You breathe, eyes watching his unreadable expression. “I think I know who you are, Hobie.”

He laughs, grinning widely, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Our intel did say you're brilliant. The forgotten princess.”

Surprisingly, you grin back, standing toe to toe with him. “You’ve been the thorn on my father's side for years. The blue bloods hate you but the common people adore you. I never thought I'd look at the eyes of the man who wishes for my family's downfall.”

He brushes your cheek with his knuckles. “This the real you, princess?”

“I've been me the entire time, have you?” You lean forward, looking at him through your lashes. “Is this the real you, Hobie? Or shall I call you by your pseudonym?”

He chuckles deeply. Hands raising up in mock surrender. “You got me.”

The bells in the highest tower ring three times, signaling a thief within the walls of the castle. “And here I thought I was wrong.”

Hobie tilts his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “I have to take you with us now.”

“Oh woe is me.” You feign fear a bit too on the nose to be considered genuine. It's better to be taken in by a known generous thief than to marry a stranger who only wants you for your womb.

“Thought you'd be difficult.” He chuckles as he hears thunderous footsteps running towards the center of the maze. “May I?” He gestures for you, and you shrug, putting your hands behind your back. “Why are you cooperatin’?”

“Maybe I've got a proposition for you and your crew.”

He stands behind you, holding your wrists in one hand while he brandishes a dagger at your throat. He doesn't threaten you with it or poke and prod at your skin. He just points the dagger at one of the exits through the hedge maze where you surmise a dozen or so guards race through to get to you.

“What d’you want?” He whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Freedom.” You whisper back.

“What are you offerin’?”

You chortle, feeling his rough hands softly enclose around your wrists. Leaning back, you look at him upside down. “That depends on who shows up in front of us.”

With trepidation, Hobie points his dagger at the exit while he backs himself into the balcony that faces the sea. His back hits the warm stone of the bannister, and he tightens his hold on the dagger.

Footsteps rush in, and out comes the same guards you saw in front of the crown jewel room, together with a few more people dressed as staff and even a chef. They heave and pant, smiling once they see him. Hobie puts his dagger down to his side, mirroring their relieved smiles.

You notice the lack of crowns and jewels in their satchels. “No luck?” You ask nonchalantly.

“Holy shit, you actually got the princess to like you.” A girl who must've been no older than sixteen walks towards you, her blond hair is tied into a neat bun to mimic the look of the staff but her dagger strapped to her side says otherwise. “It's a pleasure, your highness.”

“Likewise—”

“What happened?” Hobie interrupts your friendly greeting.

“Two words, a lot of fucking guards.” The one with the dark hair and blue eyes says while he exhales like he tried to win a race against a horse.

“That's more than two words, moron.” A woman clad in black says, she winks when she meets with your eyes. “I guess we got something more precious.”

“Princess, meet the crew. Crew meet the princess.” Hobie says while he takes a rope from one of them. He tries your hands together, leaving enough wiggle room as to not hurt your wrists.

“No jewels but we got a princess. So plan C then?” A man wearing one of the guard uniforms says. He takes his hat off, revealing a priest’s halo under it.

“You've got a priest in your crew?” You ask, looking at Hobie. There's a lot more racing footsteps heading for the center of the maze, the guards are definitely the one marching towards you now. It's nice to be remembered sometimes.

“He lost a bet.” He just shrugs it off as if that answers your question. Looking at his crew, he addresses them, “there's nothin’ we can do now, we go to plan C.”

“Wait, what's plan C?” You ask, and your eyes widen when one by one, each member jumps off the balcony down to the cold depths. “W–wait, no, absolutely not!”

“This is plan C.” Hobie hobbles towards the edge of the balcony, arm holding you against him while you hear splashes from below.

“Alright, I change my mind! Put me down!” Now that you and Hobie are the only ones left on the balcony, he carries you as he lifts himself over the balcony edge. Standing up with you in his arms, you look down for a second and vertigo shifts your vision into a blurry mess. You don't even notice that you're clutching onto his chest and hiding your face into the fabric of his suit.

“Halt!” A guard yells above the rushing blood in your ears. You hear swords getting unsheathed, and angry words thrown at the man you're currently clutching onto.

With his hands holding you, Hobie laughs, “hold your breath, princess!” He jumps over the balcony backwards despite your screaming.

Your breath is stuck in your throat, soul leaving your body as you fall. Hobie's cackling echoes while the winds rush past your ears, heartbeat thudding, and face hidden on his chest, you fall into the cold depths, chill stinging your skin. And the last thing you see before the darkness envelopes you is his hand reaching for your own in the cold bitter blue of the sea.

—

You wake up with a groan and smell distinctively like fish and seaweed. Your vision sways, seeing the ground rock too, you surmise that you're on the move. It's either that or the carriage you're on smells weirdly like horse dung.

You're placed on a horse with your hands tied behind your back, stomach hurting from the saddle, sun bearing down on you, and dress weighing like a ton from it being drenched in the water. You're uncomfortable to say the least. They didn't have the foresight to bind your feet though, you may have a chance to run if you're lucky enough to have one.

“Is this how you treat a princess?” You groggily say, head turning to see your captor.

Hobie glances down at you with a smirk, he's no longer in his frilly court clothes. Now he's donning a simple green undershirt that he purposely let loose on the collar, showing off his skin as it glimmers in the blazing sun. There's a quiver of arrows at his back, and a bow strapped on the side of his saddle that pokes your leg. His sword is settled at his hip, pommel engraved with a spider, looking like it's crawling right on the scuffed metal.

“Only to the fit ones.” His gloved hands are placed atop your back casually, using you like his personal table while he reigns in his horse. “ain't that right, Roach?” He addresses his blue dappled horse. Roach huffs, nodding as if he actually understood his rider. “See?”

You scoff, “you trained him to say yes to everything you say.” But you can't deny the heat blossoming on your cheeks. There's trotting next to you and you look to your side to see who it is.

“You’re awfully calm about all of this, princess.” The raven haired asks with a lopsided smile.

You shrug the best you can while in your position. “Just a regular day for me I suppose.”

“Have you been kidnapped before?” Someone asks behind you, his voice familiar while dry leaves crunch under the hooves.

“A handful of times, usually I'm with one or two of my siblings so my parents always pay the ransom. I don't know if they'll pay if it's only me now.”

“That's really sad actually.” He says, now you remember him being the one with the priest's hair who supposedly lost a bet.

Hobie chuckles from above, and you look up at him with a glare. He raises a brow and moves your head with his palm atop your head, turning it towards the woman riding next to you. You could only huff at him.

“What's your name, priest?” You ask, voice strained from the position.

“Just call me Ned, princess.”

“It's nice to meet you, Ned. I'm sorry about your hair.”

“It's alright. It's quite breezy actually.” He rubs his hand above his bald spot.

“How about you? What's your name?” You ask the pretty woman.

She smiles, dark eyes shadowed by the canopy above. “It's Yuri for you, gorgeous.”

You smile back genuinely. “You have such a pretty name—”

“Oi, stop makin' friends with ‘em.” Hobie flicks the shell of your ear, earning a gasp from you.

“Ow!” You hear their guffaws echo around the forest. “It's called being nice.”

“It's a tactic to make us bring you back to the palace. And it ain't workin’, princess.” He tilts his head down, mocking you with his stare.

You try to bite him but he's too fast to catch as he moves away before you could. “So that was your brilliant plan then? To charm me and take me as your hostage?” You say while trying to wiggle out of your binds.

“Not originally no, I was just there to distract you and for you to bring me to the hallways leading to the garden so I could toss them the keys I nicked from your shitty guards.” He explains plainly with a teasing smirk.

You chortle, mocking him back. “But you didn't take into account that there would be guards inside, huh? For a mastermind that’s a bit stupid of you.”

“This daft mastermind got somethin' better than jewels.” Hobie bends down, now eye to eye with you, you see every green and grey speck in his hazel eyes that reminds you of a cloudy night sky or a field of wildflowers in the summer. He blinks at your unusual soft gaze, words trapped in his throat as he sees your eyes glance briefly down at his lips. He swallows down his sudden rush of feelings, “I've got you, princess.”

You inhale, and you smell fresh dandelions in the air combined with pine swirling in the wind. “Not to disappoint you but they won't pay that much for me.”

“We don't need that much anyway,” he says, and unbeknownst to him, there's a dozen pairs of eyes watching the two of you interact. “Just enough for us to get by, love. We don't hoard wealth like your greedy father.”

“I—” before you could retort, (one that you're sure would be so clever that it'll blow him away.) A sharp whistle sounds out around the thick mossy forest. It sounds like a bird singing for a second, then when you look at where the sound came from right in front of you, a thick curtain of vines unfurl, revealing a small bustling village hidden behind the undergrowth. “What?”

“Welcome to Doverhill, princess.” He says, tapping the top of your head with his finger.

The horses move towards the large space just passing the vines, and you now see the village in its fullest form. Straw and wooden huts are built around the clearing, its chimneys softly billow out smoke; you guess that they need to lessen the use of their chimneys to stay hidden lest they want to be found in the middle of the dense forest. You look up and you spot a pair of large trees on each side with a crow's nest built atop it where archers guard and watch over the only entrance and exit in the whole village. The place is protected by large looming trees that grow around the area, every tree has lush canopies that protect the village from the intense sun and hide them from above. But the leaves still leave enough sunlight to pass through its greenery, it bathes the whole area with dappled lights that dance in the breeze.

You take note of the complete amenities, there's a stable and a barn further up ahead. Rows and upon rows of farmland where fruits and vegetables grow bountifully. There's also a bigger building on the right where you guess it could be the town hall. There are also a handful of wells placed around so that enough people would get their water without walking too far to grab a bucket. A few of the notable buildings are a blacksmith with its relentless hammer pounding onto a smoldering sword. A bakery with pastries perfectly lined up at the front, and even a tailor and a cobbler sitting next to each other.

As you get closer, you see an even bigger tree sitting in the middle of the village. Its large trunk is thick, bigger than anything you've ever seen. The leaves are viridescent and healthy, it looks like it's centuries old. There, within its branches is a tree house covered in vines with violets growing among its walls. Despite the green and browns that surround it, the lone tree house is painted with a brighter shade of blue and accents of red. The door is even in the same shade, and the ladder leading up to it is painted in alternating colours of the rainbow. It's beautiful and enticing to the eyes.

You see movement in your peripheral, taking your attention away from the tree house, the sound of childish laughter echo and you spot children running around while adults tend to their homes and garden. Once they hear the trotting of horses, they stop by to wave at you, or to Hobie and his crew more like.

“What is this place?”

“I told you, it's Doverhill.” He smiles back at the people, face turning back into a smirk when he returns his attention towards you. “What did you expect us to live? A basement of a tavern? The bloody sewers?”

“No,” you scoff while taking a whiff of a freshly baked bread cooling on a nearby windowsill. “I just didn't expect it to be this lively.” You turn towards him despite the ache in your neck. “How many people live here?”

“Close to two hundred.” He smiles proudly, eyes trained up front. “All these years and none of you royals knew that we've been in ‘ere, instead you all looked under rocks and behind waterfalls for us.”

You blink at the sheer size of the canopy that provides a dome like roof above. “It's beautiful.” With awe and delight in your eyes, Hobie could only look at you with a ghost of a smile.

“Hobart Larry Brown!” A yell interrupts your awestruck gaze, craning your neck to the source, you see an old woman with a cane quickly making her way towards the group. “Who the hell is that?!”

“Auntie!” Hobie abruptly stops his horse, the second he does, his crew disperses subtly, leaving him behind to face the wrath of the old woman. “Oi!” He tries to call them back but they're already gone. Probably hiding behind the houses to save their own skins. “We were out on that heist we were plannin’ remember, aunt Janet?”

“Don't patronize me, boy!” She points at Hobie with the tip of her cane, poking his chest as he raises his hands up in surrender. “Is this how you treat a girl? Get her off of that bloody horse.”

“Alright, alright, calm down, yeah?” He gets off the horse swiftly, and then carries you carefully with his hands on your hips.

You swear you stopped breathing the entire time he had his hands on you. As much as you want to hate him, you can't deny how he makes your heart jump in place.

Once you're back on your feet, you stretch your back, hearing the crack of the corset. Or maybe that's your back making that god awful sound. He chuckles, hiding his amusement on his shoulder with the excuse of wiping his sweat on his tunic.

“So,” Janet steps in front of you, grey eyes soft and genuine. “Who are you? A lady? A duchess?”

“A princess actually.”

“Oh lord have mercy.” She says underneath her breath, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “You kidnapped *the princess? You fool!” With her cane, she strikes him down like a child being chastised. Hobie shields himself with his arms above his head while you laugh at his misfortune. More and more people come out to watch the spectacle, giggles and chortling echoing around the clearing. “I bet you didn't get any of the royal jewels and you settled for an actual royal jewel!”

“Aww how sweet of you—”

“Hush, you monarchist!” She takes a 180 and jabs you with her cane. You take a step back, aghast at what she called you.

“As for you!” She turns back to Hobie, finding him grinning at what happened. “Stop playing, child! I heard the commotion from over here! What if you and the rest of the little shits got hurt?”

“We have a name, Janet—” he tries to explain, only to be met with her cane on his hip. “Ow.”

Janet puts her cane back down, ending her tirade. “Bringing her here only spells out trouble, Hobie.”

“It wasn't exactly part of the bloody plan, auntie.”

She sighs, “what are we gonna do with her?” She points at you like you're not in the same place as her.

“I'm right here.” You shrug, “and if you asked me, you'll find that I'm useful and not just some dirty monarchist.”

“You are?” Both Hobie and aunt Janet ask simultaneously.

You clench your jaw, sucking in your teeth. “I will explain, but first can we take these ropes off? My wrists hurt.” They narrow their eyes at you. “I'm not gonna run away, promise.”

Hobie takes a step towards you, but he's stopped by aunt Janet putting her cane on his chest. He huffs in place, arms crossed in protest. She walks towards you with her eyes narrowed, rightfully suspicious of you. Taking her cane, she twists the top and out she unsheathes a shiny dagger from her cane. Grabbing your hands, she swiftly cuts off your binds before you could even jump back when she brandished her weapon.

Aunt Janet backs away next to Hobie while everyone in the village has their eyes on you. Glancing around, you spot an opportunity where no one is there. A break within the circle of the crowd. You pretend to roll around the joints in your wrist, opening your mouth like you're about to speak, you suddenly point at the sky.

“What the hell is that?!” They surprisingly look up, and you immediately make a break for it. You don't hear footsteps running after you so you keep running. Just as when you're about to make it towards the vines, you trip, falling face first into the dirt and skidding a few feet away. With a groan, you lift yourself up, nose aching and bleeding, mouth full of grass and soil. You feel like you've been dragged by a horse.

A head of red appears in your blurred vision. She pokes the top of your head, teasing you. “Sorry, I had too.”

“Good on you, Mayday!” Hobie makes his way towards the two of you as you slump down on the ground, hiding your face from sheer embarrassment. “Thwarted by a ten year old.”

“I'm eleven, Hobie!” She says, and you thump your forehead against the grass.

You feel a palm sliding down between your head and the grass, preventing you from bashing. “Careful now, princess, wouldn't want to hurt you now, hm?”

You groan, surrendering yourself and letting your head fall on his palm while he praises the child who tripped you.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @the-shroom-garden

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trinidaddy888 · 1 year ago

Text

Fridge Mission

Lucifer needs your help. Beelzebub has been eating everything from the fridge and Lucifer trusts that you can stop him. You try and give Beel something else he can eat. >;)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Characters: Beelzebub, Reader, MC

Ship: Reader x Beelzebub

Genre: Smut

Tags: Smut, gender-neutral reader (but reader wears a bra lol), race-neutral reader, oral sex, vaginal fingering.

A/n: This idea started as a joke months ago every time I get the Obey Me notification. This is the first smut I've ever written and published, so please be nice. This took months only because I kept getting embarrassed by this and didn't think it was being written well. I decided that I no longer cared if it would be good or not and wanted to have fun writing this and test the deep waters of smut. Check it out on AO3.

Masterlist

“I need your help,” says Lucifer.

You and he are in his den, one afternoon. Earlier, he texted you and asked you to meet him to discuss something important. He did not clarify and you hoped he would now that he’s right in front of you.

“Help with what?” you ask, curious as to what he could possibly need help with. He is one of the greatest, most powerful demons in Devildom. What could he not handle himself?

“Well,” he starts, “Beelzebub has been eating all the food in the fridge. Every day at 12 pm or 6 pm he is in front of the fridge, eating everything he can get his hands on. It’s taxing on our food budget and some days we are left without dinner.”

You remember the days when Lucifer opted to order take-out meals for you and the brothers rather than welcome a home-cooked meal from whoever was on cooking duty for the day.

“Are you sure, I can convince him to stop?” you ask, “Once he gets to eating, it’s hard to stop him.”

“Beelzebub has grown attached to you and I feel that you can be his voice of reason. He has certainly failed at listening to my requests to stop. I believe that a more trusted friend, one that he has a pact with, can finally stop him. Please prevent Beelzebub from eating everything.”

“Well,” you say with a shrug, “I’ll try my best. I doubt I’ll do anything useful to stop him, but I’ll try my best.

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

You stand by the fridge, checking your watch. It’s 5:57 pm. Beelzebub would be in the kitchen soon and you’ll have to stop him. You have no plan. You figure that the best way to stop him would be to find the cause of the problem. But is there a reason behind him devouring the whole fridge at the times Lucifer mentioned? Beel is the Avatar of Gluttony so there could just be no discernible reason for his cravings.

“Hey,” say Beel, interrupting your thoughts.

“Hey,” you say back to him, “How’s it going?”

He towers over you. Most of the brothers do but his height even outmatches Lucifer’s.

“Uh… Fine,” he says, seeming confused by the conversation, “Do you mind moving out of the way?”

“Why?” you ask, feigning innocence, “Do you need something?”

“I’m hungry,” he says. He wasn’t being pushy, he just stated it as if it was a fact. “I just want a snack.”

“A snack or the whole fridge? Lucifer told me what you have been doing.”

“A whole fridge’s worth of food is a snack,” he says with a shrug.

“Don’t you think you should leave some food for me and your brothers?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, “Satan has to cook dinner and needs the ingredients.”

He moves closer, placing his hand against the fridge, arm stretching over you.

“I can make you move,” he says, something dark in his voice.

You realize that he's trying to seem threatening, but you know him well enough and trust that he will not hurt you. Still, there was something sexy about the way he said it.

“Then make me,” you challenge.

He stares you down, quietly and you stare right back up at him, crossing your arms.

He sighs, backing off. You can swear you see him blush but you’re not sure.

“Fine,” he says, defeatedly, “you win.”

You smile.

“Hey, I have snacks in my room,” you offer, “Human world snacks and I’ve been meaning to repaint my nails. Why don’t you join me?”

His face remains neutral but you see something light up in his eyes.

“Okay,” he gives in.

In your room, you sit him down at your desk and bring over a side chair to sit next to him. You already have the tools, nail polish and nail polish remover for the manicure set on the table. You grab his hand and start to remove his nail polish with a cotton ball soaked in nail polish remover.

With his hands in yours, you notice how big his hands are. The first time you realized how big they were was on your waist when you and he cuddled once. That was the night you shared your room during a Devil Dish Bake-off binge with some snacks.

That night made you see him less like one of the youngest brothers with a hefty, destructive appetite and more like a soft, tender demon. After you both shared so much over the months since the Belphie incident, you also became closer as friends. Friends. Which is why you can not think of what it would feel like for those large hands to explore you.

“So,” you begin, waving away the intrusion of curious thoughts, “As the Avatar of Gluttony I know you can’t resist eating a lot, but Lucifer told me that your urge to eat everything out of the fridge was fairly recent. Do you know why?”

“I get extra hungry when I’m trying to distract myself from something,” he says, avoiding your gaze.

“What are you trying to distract yourself from?” you ask, switching to filing his nails, “And are you still hungry?”

He’s silent. He gazes at you and then looks down at the hand that you were manicuring.

“I can’t say,” he finally says, “It’s a secret. And, yeah, I’m still hungry.”

“Yeah, and it’s a secret that affects the whole House of Lamentation,” you say pointing the nail file at him, “Now spill it.”

“It’s a secret about someone… I want.”

“Oh, that’s juicy!” you exclaim with delight, “Who? Someone I know? Come on, tell me.”

He looks up at you, eyes smoldering

“It’s you… That I want.”

“Me?” You are perplexed. You stop filing and are now gawking at him. “What about me could possibly drive you to eat an entire fridge’s worth of food.”

“It’s something you would not like the answer to, trust me,” he says looking down at his hand again. And you noticed that his cheeks and ears were red.

You think for a moment. Lucifer’s plea to stop Beel from eating everything swims in your mind. Maybe you don’t want to know but you have a mission.

“Whatever it is,” you say, “I can handle it.”

“Fine. It’s… Well, you’re human and you smell good, so it makes me… Well, this is hard to say out loud…”

“I make you hungry?! I know you all threatened to eat me at first when I got here, but damn! If cleaning out a fridge is what it takes to stop...”

“No,” he cut you off, now looking right at you, “You make me horny.”

Silence fell between the two of you. You were in shock. You?! But you’re human. Surely there are many hot demons out there that he wants to fuck, instead.

“Are you sure? You feel that way?” you ask slowly, “When did this start?”

He moves closer to you, staring with intensity.

“I think it started when we shared your room that one time,” he says, “We cuddled and the smell of you drove me crazy. I thought I wanted to eat you but...” He trailed off. The rouge shade of his cheeks deepen

“You thought so, but what?” you ask, urging him to continue.

“I got a boner,” he croaks.

“Oh…okay,” you say, voice high pitched, “I guess this is context for why you avoided me for a week after we cuddled. I thought I made you uncomfortable.”

And it is context for what you felt when you both spooned. You thought it was a candy bar in his pocket.

“No!” he exclaims, “I just didn’t know what I would have said to you if we were left alone. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship with… my needs.”

He looks embarrassed. It’s kind of…cute.

“Nothing you say will ruin our friendship,” you reassure him.

“Really?”

“Yes, I promise. Besides, I can’t say I’ve never thought of you that way, either. I mean, look at you. You’re so ripped.”

“I do work out a lot.”

You laugh. “It shows.”

“I think it’s my turn to file your nails,” he says, grabbing your hand.

He starts filing your nails.

“I wonder about you guys here in the House of Lamentation. Besides Asmo, do you guys get laid? Because if so, I’m not aware of it.

“I can’t speak for everyone else, but for me, it’s been a while. Lucifer made a curfew for us ever since he caught Mammon gambling at casinos late at night.”

“That sucks,” you say, and you really did feel bad for him and his brothers.

“What about you?” he asks, voice lowering a couple of octaves.

“Honestly, not since I left the Human World. And everyone besides the angels and Solomon has been a threat to even consider getting with them. It’s sad because I thought demons would be good at things like that. Maybe I have those expectations because I’ve never had good head from a human before.”

“Want to change that?” he asks. He is staring at you, his gaze longing and lustful.

Your heart thumps. Did you hear that right? His expression is serious and deep with longing.

“W…What?” you sputter.

“I said, do you want me to change that?” he repeats, voice husky and moving even closer.

Shit. You have been dreaming about this since coming to Devildom and the offer comes so easily from one of the hottest demons in Devildom? You can’t possibly pass up the opportunity.

“Yes,” you say breathlessly.

He gazes at you, with deep passion and pulls your hand to his mouth and kisses it. He traces his tongue from your wrist, to your fingers, stopping to lick them. His tongue is gentle but firm. His mouth felt so good. You bite your lower lip and close your eyes, imagining if it would feel just as good if he did the same to your cunt.

He rolls his chair over to you and his mouth is covering yours, tongue brushing over your lips until your mouth falls open. He kisses you, mouth hungry to taste all of you. And you let him, running your fingers through his honey-orange hair. His lips are surprisingly soft for someone as strong as him.

“Can we take this to my bed?” you ask, pulling away.

Wordlessly, he does as he’s asked, promptly lifting you to his chest and carrying you to your bed. He puts you down, your back resting against your bed frame, and climbs over you.

He kisses you again, tongue exploring your mouth even further. His kiss is powerful but gentle. You’ve never been kissed like this by a human or anyone before this. You lean into him, your tongue, following his lead, allowing yourself to taste him. His tongue brushes over your bottom lip before he bites it. It stings a little but in exactly the way you liked. His kisses travel to your neck, tasting the salty-sweet flavour of your sweat, licking, sucking and biting to his heart’s content, enjoying the taste. You can feel your pussy revel at the feel of his touch, wanting and wishing for more.

He pulls away for a moment, to undo your button-down shirt which you shrug out of throw onto the floor. His large hands grace your back and unhook your bra band. Your bra slides off to your waist, revealing your bare chest, much to his delight. He takes in the sight, smiling devilishly. You wonder what he was thinking.

He takes one breast to his mouth and fondles the other with a free hand. He fondles them, gently.

“Rougher,” you demand. He grabs them, kneading them with his hand and squeezes your nipples between his index finger and thumb. You whimper at the sensation and push your chest harder into his hands. He squeezes harder, testing which pressure gathers a moan from you.

You moan and with the other breast, he traces his tongue over the edge of your areola before flicking over your nipple. He bites and tugs your nipple and then sucks. His mouth is warm and wet. You haven’t had your tits sucked since being in the Human World and experiencing it now after the long absence of touch was nearly enough to make you unravel. You feel your body shudder from pleasure and you realize that you’re panting.

Your clit aches to be touched, too. You move your hand to your pussy and start rubbing your clit with your fingers, trying to please the parts of your body that ached for attention.

He notices your attempt to please yourself, says, “Here, let me,” and he frees his hand from your breast.

He licks his fingers and slides his hand under your pants, finding your clit. There was no clumsy fumbling to find its exact position. He just knew. You wonder if it was that your previous partners were just that bad. Or did Beel’s thousands of years being alive give him an edge?

“Oh,” he smirks, “You’re wet, that fast?”

You cover your face, feeling embarrassed.

“Yes,” you say, “It’s been a while. And you’re doing… a good job.”

He grins up at you and moves his face down to your breast again to suck.

He uses his index and middle fingers to play with your clit. His hands are rough and your body invited the texture. It was a simple motion and it did the job, eliciting breathy gasps from you.

His lips move south, kissing your solar plexus, down to your navel. You ravel in his kisses, feeling like your body was born for his mouth.

He stops kissing your body to look up at you and says, “I want to taste more of you. Can I?”

You nod, wordlessly.

He smiles and moves to pull your pants down. You adjust to make it easier for him to do this and watch him throw your pants to the floor. He kisses your tummy and then stops to tug at the waistband of your panties with his teeth and pulls them off.

He kisses your thigh and moves one of his thumbs to your clit and rubs. You gasp and press your body into his touch. His kisses lead up to your upper inner thigh and he pauses to take in the sight of your cunt, captivated by what he sees.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, desire in his voice.

You blush and say, “Thank you.”

He leans in and puts his mouth on your throbbing clit and starts to flick his tongue on it. His tongue is firm and wet. He starts slow, circling the outside of the apex, teasing you. You breathe deeply.

With being wet, his index and middle fingers slide into you easily. You take them in for a few inches, noticing how large his fingers are.

He passes his tongue over your clit and curls his fingers inside you. You feel the pressure on the front of your vagina, on your g-spot.

He licks and pumps his fingers inside you slowly. You figure that he was testing the motion that you would like

“Faster,” you command.

He does as he asks and starts sucking, too. With that addition, you feel yourself unravel. You grip the sheets, moaning. Uncontrollably, you grind into his fingers and face, yearning for more.

You look down and realize that he’s looking right up at you, eyes lustful. It was as if he was enjoying looking at you respond to him. You’re so lost in his eyes that you don’t realize that you are approaching a climax.

You cum, feeling your body flooded with pleasure. You scream through the pleasure. You feel a dampness on your cunt and see your wetness on his face.

You see him start to remove his face from you.

You put your hand on his head, fingers entangled in honey-orange hair and pull him closer to you.

“No!” you exclaim, voice breathless, “Don’t stop!”

He does as he is told. He licks, sucks, licks, sucks and fingers you until you cum again. You scream, voice starting to feel hoarse. You lay back, panting. He comes up and sits next to you. He stares at you, eyes focused.

“Are you okay?” Beelzebub asks.

You catch your breath and finally are able to speak.

“Yes,” you say grinning, “I’m excellent. Thank you.”

He grins back at you.

He leans in and kisses you. You can taste yourself on his mouth.

“We should do this again,” he says when he pulls away.

“We should…” you start and then come to a realization. “Wait! I didn’t get you off! I think we can start on your turn.”

“Well,” he says with an amused grin, “We can take a shot at it, if you want.”

You grab him by the collar of his tshirt and pull him closer in for another kiss.

And then suddenly there is a knock at the door.

“Dinner is ready!” you hear Satan shout.

You look down. You realize that you are completely naked and your thighs are covered in your own slick and thank the heavens that Satan is one of the few brothers in the House of Lamentation that actually knocks.

Beelzebub frowns. “Damn.”

“Hold on, Beel,” you say, surprised at his dismay, “Are you actually disappointed that food is ready? Weren’t you very hungry half an hour ago? What about the fridge you wanted to eat all of?”

“Well,” he says smiling, “I found something else to eat.”

#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me fandom #obey me fanfiction #obey me reader #obey me!#obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel x reader #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me mc #Fridge Mission #obey me beel x mc #obey me beel smut #obey me beelzebub x mc #obey me beel x you #obey me beelzebub x you #obey me smut

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writermuses · 1 year ago

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'I think I wanna marry you' War + Little Dove

From this spontaneous marriage meme here!

Whenever Carina had considered getting married, she had always assumed it would be a big affair. One that would lead to trying her best to keep it secret from the press. She'd envisioned it with someone famous because of her father, brother, and her own career paths which had put her in the way of a lot of people with big names. None of those things were factors that she necessarily wanted, simply things she had assumed for her future. Her life had always seemed streamlined for a very particular path.

As she wrapped her arms around War just then, lifting her chin so that her blue eyes could find his devastatingly handsome face, she realized that she hadn't factored love into the equation. Most people in the entertainment industry ended up in broken marriages, but not her parents. Carina had always had the most impossible example of marriage to follow in her parents. She'd placed their marriage on a pedestal. They were strong together, even in their weakest moments. It was what she'd always wanted for herself. She just didn't assume she would find it in a man who seemingly rarely opened himself up to people. Carina had been different, and somehow that made this all the more special. He chose her, and not for what she did, or her status.

If there was one thing Carina could count on, it was the fact that War could care less about her celebrity status. He wasn't the type of person who would fake his affection either. She'd come to learn that he simply didn't bother. If he hadn't cared about her, she definitely wouldn't be standing here today.

He was everything her father didn't want for her, although she wagered that her father would likely want his perfect daughter to remain far, far away from all men. Still, Carina had learned quickly that you couldn't control what direction your heart went in, and hers was absolutely made for this one man. A small and shy smile played on her face, accompanied by a rosy tinge to her cheeks. How he managed to get her to blush after all this time, she would never know.

All it had taken to get her here were the words "I think I wanna marry you," and she had followed him without a second thought. No regrets. Blind faith in the fact that their future would be one of happiness. Two opposite personalities, and yet they fit so perfectly together, she couldn't believe they had even found each other. Their story felt like something from a movie, not real life. Yet, here they were. They'd made vows to one another, vows she took seriously, a promise she would keep until her last breath.

Now she held him, all things playing in slow motion as they moved to close the gap between them and kiss for the first time as husband and wife. In that moment, she didn't wonder what her parents would think, whether they would be disappointed or angry. She didn't think about anything else other than the fact that being his wife felt completely right, and she was so happy she didn't think there were words to express just how happy she was. It was a feeling she was certain would carry her through days, weeks, months, maybe years it felt so strong. She couldn't help but wonder, as their kiss ended, and her eyes searched for his, if he could feel her happiness.

Before she knew it she jumped into his arms, forcing War to catch her as she wrapped herself around him and held onto him tightly with the happiest, musical laugh that had ever escaped her. She pulled her head back so that she could look him in the eye, nearly nose to nose. "Do you have any regrets?" She asked softly, "Because I don't... but I might want a tattoo to commemorate this moment, and I'll only get it if you promise to be the one to do it. Please."

This wasn't her first tattoo, and wouldn't even be her first by him, but this would be the most important one by far.

#marimelwrites #ref: valerius x carina #ship: the power to make the whole world stand still #//sending this in was an excellent decision

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maxislvt · 1 year ago

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helloo, first off i love your work ! second, this may or may not be a request but- imagine dark!wanda x spidey!reader, post no way home where r is one of the avengers sent to stop wanda on her rampage. r gets captured by wanda though and turns out wanda remembers r’s identity. she had a crush on r since civil war and now that she has r all to herself…😳

“i’m going to ruin you”

warnings: womb tattoos, coercion, manipulation, spiderperson typical quips in really bad situations, no smut

got a little carried away, whoops!

The last few months of your life have been awful.

Life had been pretty stable for the most part. Trying to balance college, being a superhero duo with your adoptive brother, and the newfound freedom of adulthood was a lot to say the least. Then some big alien freak came along and ruined everything. You and Peter left Aunt May behind for five years.

For better or for worse, you and Peter didn't age. Peter still had his senior year ahead of him and you were only 24. So you both tried to make the most of that.

You were supposed to chaperone your little brother's senior trip through Europe. All you wanted to do was help Peter enjoy the last few months of youth he had before being shipped off to college. Of course, fate had other plans and the trip was interrupted by another cataclysmic event. One unpredictable turn after another. Then suddenly everyone knew your secret identity.

Quentin Beck was a hero and you were half of the duo that killed him.

One edited video and suddenly the whole world was against you and your brother. It was a target on your back you had no way of getting off your back. The magical escape you thought you'd found was nothing but a wolf in sheep's clothing. Universes nearly collided. Three versions of your brother. Two other versions of you. Villains the two of you tried and failed to rehabilitate. A moment of complete darkness for your brother A dead aunt. So much fighting. So much pain. All of it for nothing. At the end of it all, everyone was forced to forget about you and Peter. No more full rides to dream colleges and no more "Amazing Spider Kids". It was just the two of you in a shitty Downton apartment at a community college neither of you really wanted to attend, but that didn't stop you two from trying to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.

That need to protect everything and everyone seemed to get you in bigger trouble.

America Chavez. Barely 15 years old, alone in the multiverse, and no one to trust. Her powers and life experience were beyond you — you couldn't even take credit for defeating whatever monster that was chasing her — but you wanted her safe. You foolishly thought that it'd be as simple as finding a hero that could mentor her. Magic wasn't your strong suit. Yet, you still helped America try to escape the claws of the Scarlet Witch along with Doctor Strange.

In the midst of a heated chase, the witch's focus seemed to have shifted. Your mask was ripped by a piece of metal and you could feel the witch's eyes on you. Since you were more focused on protecting America, you decided to send The Scarlet Witch on a goose chase. You and a magical body double of the girl. Unfortunately, you could only run for so long. You didn't bother fighting when you were captured. All you could do was put on a brave face as you were somehow teleported back to your universe. You assumed the witch had gotten a decent portion of America's powers. That worried you, but unfortunately you had to prioritize your personal safety for a moment.

The witch must've known you were too weak to run away because she didn't even bother tying you down. She just stood over you and examined your face. You were nervous and confused to say the least. "So, uh, do you always stand over sacrificial young adults in such a compromising way or am I special?" You quipped. It was a real misfortune your mouth tended to run more when you were nervous. Your heart almost exploded when she reached out for your mask. "Hey, hey! Have some respect for a man's secret identity, will you?" You shouted, trying to push her hands away.

Automatic reflexes were nothing against magic and you were unmasked and it sent your spider senses spiraling.

"You remember me."

"Of course,I remember you. Do you not remember me?"

The airport. Tony had you and Peter flown out for a top secret field mission, that's what he told you at least. You weren't sure what you were fighting for, but you remember the battle clearly. Some guy had grown to a hundred feet tall. You fought some guy with a metal arm. Then someone suddenly started throwing cars. They had all missed you and went straight for Tony, but it was still scary. After the battle, you learned the name of all the people you fought. The weird one, as Tony described her, was named Wanda Maximoff. It's scary how your life had become so eventful that you'd forgotten that whole experience. Well, you couldn't blame yourself for not recognizing her considering the drastic change in her appearance.

"Yeah," You said bitterly, "you threw a car garage at my mentor."

"Your mentor made the bombs that destroyed my home country and had me jailed for powers I didn't ask for."

That was the first time a villain had left you truly speechless. Tony wasn't like that. Was he?It was a lot to process and that wasn't made any easier with the icy cold hand caressing your cheeks. "If you're going to drop an information bomb, can you at least give me a second to —" Your sentence was cut short by her thumb slipping into your mouth. Wanda had managed to slip past your spider senses. It was odd considering you were definitely not calm nor did you trust her.

"I figured he didn't bother telling you the whole truth," Wanda's voice had gotten low and seductive. Her thumb pressed down on your tongue as she continued to monologue. Your squirming didn't phase her at all. "I could hear your thoughts the moment you stepped foot in the airport. So loud and frantic, but nothing but innocence and desire for approval. It's a shame I wasn't able to see you again after that. I was lost in a hex of my own deepest desires and do you know what was there?" A smile spread across her lips as she felt you relax out of curiosity. "The two of us, happily married with two children, and living in New Jersey."

The statement made you jump and start fighting again. Married with kids was definitely not on your list of goals in the next few months, living in New Jersey just sounded dreadful. You managed to get her thumb out of your mouth just long enough to speak. "I'm sorry to hear about your crazy magic thing, I'm not ready to settle down yet. Maybe come back in six years once I've graduated, yeah?"

Wanda binded your wrists with magic. Her hand came down on your cheek with all the strength she had. Despite her frustration, she was happy to see you were still as witty and innocent as the day you two met. "I think I have a plan you'll like." She smirked as she summoned the darkhold. It opened on its own. The book turned towards you and translated itself so you could understand it. "Your innocence," she said before ripping you suit, "and your body in exchange for the girl's safety."

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. It certainly wasn't a fair deal, even more unfair once you looked over the spell presented to you. A womb tattoo magically etched into your skin that would give Wanda complete control over your libido, orgasms, and a bunch of other depraved things you hadn't even heard of before. Wanda definitely wasn't the woman you imagined would take your virginity, but it wasn't an offer you could refuse. Strange wasn't strong enough to defeat Wanda and letting America die wasn't an option in your mind.

You put on as brave a face as you could before speaking, "If you so much as lay a finger on that girl, the deal is off." Your voice faltered at the feeling of Wanda's lips pressed against your neck. A moan nearly escaped your lips when Wanda's hands began exploring your body. The skin of your lower stomach began to tingle. This was it. This was how you lost your virginity.

Wanda's lips curled into a smile. A real one that showed off her perfectly white bunny teeth. She was no longer concerned with America. You were all she needed now.

"I'm going to ruin you," She whispered, "and you're going to enjoy every moment of it."

You wanted her to be wrong. You wanted so badly to hate the way her hands felt against your bruised skin and the softness of her lips on your neck, but you couldn't. Months without affection left your body desperate for any form of human touch. It is shameful and almost disgusting.

"Shh, I'll treat you right. Just be good for me."

#panther speaks #anon #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda fanfic #dark!wanda maximoff #panthers drabbles

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heliads · 7 months ago

Note

I’d like to request a Pietro imagine. Pietro survived and became an Avenger. The female reader doesn’t have powers and isn’t an Avenger. She’s really smart and works with Tony and Bruce in the lab. She was hired after the whole Ultron fiasco. People underestimated her intelligence in high school and college because she’s a girly girl and loves the colour pink, but the Avengers aren’t like that. Pietro likes her and wants to date her.

'waiting around' - pietro maximoff

masterlist

When they tell Pietro he has to go to the labs, his first thought is to run.

He knows it’s silly. These are not the same doctors who made the Maximoff twins strong and fast and utterly alone in this world, these are the scientists with the Avengers. They’re the good guys. Apparently. But Pietro has learned fairly quickly that people calling themselves good aren’t always good in the end.

Pietro has a lot of learning to do since he and Wanda escaped Ultron a few months back. He’s doing his best to be patient and take things ‘one step at a time,’ as the Americans keep telling him. Mainly, he would like their steps to be faster. Pietro has things to do, and they don’t usually involve waiting in line for someone else to decide if he’s worthy of their loyalty or not. The Avengers are trying, he knows that. It’s just hard sometimes.

Especially when Pietro is still trying to shake off the feeling that he should have died back in Sokovia. He came away with his share of narrow escapes, but there was one moment towards the end, when the ships were firing at him, when Clint needed his help, that Pietro thought would be his last. Luckily, he was faster than a few bullets, but there’s still this nagging voice in the back of Pietro’s subconscious that whispers to him late at night: what if you hadn’t been fast enough?

So he’s been uneasy as of late. What about it? Stress is common in inhumans and Avengers, one glance around this coffee-dependent complex could tell him that. Still, it’s a good thing to get checked out. That’s part of the reason Pietro is being directed to the labs, along with a need for a good annual physical.

It sounds good, too, were it not for the fact that Pietro has had plenty of experience with laboratories in the past few years and none of it was good. The Hydra labs made him strong, in a sense, but they were torturous. He can still remember the pile of corpses ushered out every day, the experiments that failed. He remembers curling up in a corner of his cell, begging his body not to give out, not to make him another body in a bag. He lived, but he remembers.

This is not Hydra. Pietro knows that. He left them behind. Still, there will always be some part of him that shrinks away from every syringe, that distrusts every doctor who comes poking and prodding at the bizarre novelty that is an inhuman. That will never go away, no matter who’s side he’s on.

Still, the lab remains. He has to go in, the others will know if he doesn’t. At first, Pietro hesitates just outside the door, afraid to knock, afraid to listen. There was always a chill in the air throughout the Hydra complex, he remembers the gooseflesh forever on his skin. Signs that nothing good happened within the walls. Or maybe it was just because of the stone buildings in cold climates. Everything has an explanation.

He can’t back out now. Pietro grits his teeth and swings the door open in one broad movement. For a moment, he stands there, waiting to walk back into his old cell, his old life, and then he looks around and realizes with a grin that he’s going to be fine. This isn’t a Hydra ploy to get him back under their thumb. For one thing, Hydra never used this much pink. Just barren walls and gloomy, monstrous skull logos. In retrospect, that should have been a bad sign. Pietro has a problem with ignoring details, though, and it tends to get him in trouble.

These details, however, are quite difficult to be ignored. Everywhere Pietro looks, he sees pinpricks of pink– the handle of a pipette, labels on equipment, notebooks full of scrawled data points, hair ties in a carefully organized container. No, Hydra never had this much fun, and Pietro is starting to think that this is going to be very fun indeed.

Smirking to himself, Pietro weaves further through the lab. He sees a few assistants scurrying around in the back, but they pay him no mind so he does the same. Pietro almost reaches the end of the room when a sudden voice calls out to him: “Don’t take another step.”

Instantly, Pietro freezes. The owner of the voice walks towards him, a young woman about his age in a lab coat. She must be the owner of the lab, too, because he spots a pink tie in her hair matching the others near the door. The name stitched onto the left breast pocket of her lab coat reads Dr. Y/N L/N, so Pietro knows she’s the one he was supposed to find.

She points to Pietro’s feet, where he notices are just touching a line of caution tape on the ground. “If you went any further, you’d be at risk of getting your eyes blinded by the lasers,” she informs him cheerfully.

Pietro’s face drops. Only now does he notice the hazard signs. “Huh. Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

Y/N arches a brow. “Do you always wander around lab space without watching where you’re going? Seems like an awfully dangerous habit for me.”

Pietro grins. “Well, I usually rely on my reflexes to get me out of trouble. I’m pretty quick.”

To prove it, he uses his speed to instantly move right behind the woman. She spins around, donning an indignant look that Pietro decides is very cute. “Don’t do that,” she scolds him.

Pietro folds his arms across his chest, grin broadening. “Why not?”

“I’ll tell Steve you’d like to do some weight training with him in the gym, and you think you can outlift him,” she threatens.

Pietro feigns surrender. “Anything but that, please.”

At last, Y/N’s lips twitch up into a smile. “That’s what I thought you’d say. Now, let’s focus. Tony sent you in to get a checkup, right?”

Pietro nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Wrong,” she tells him. “Tony actually sent you in here to get on my nerves. He does that a lot. I’m busy and he likes distracting me. We’re going to get through this as quickly as possible, alright?”

Pietro has to fight not to laugh. “And here I thought everyone in the labs gets along.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Most of the time, yes. Except when he sticks me with babysitting duty.”

“This isn’t babysitting,” Pietro protests, “I’m getting to know you. I already feel like we’re the best of friends.”

Something that might be a smile flits across Y/N’s face, but she takes great pains to hide it to him. Pietro, who has always cared a little too much about getting people to laugh at his jokes, follows her like a dog as she walks through her lab. “You can laugh, you know. It won’t kill you.”

The smile is gone as quickly as it appeared, and Pietro instantly wishes he hadn’t said a word. “I’m working right now,” she tells him abruptly. “That means I’m focused. Don’t get in my way.”

Surprised and somewhat hurt by her shift in mood, Pietro goes quiet, but he can’t resist asking a second later, “I’m not trying to interfere with your work, I promise. Does that often happen?”

Y/N goes still. Pietro is half expecting her to just ignore him when she finally speaks at last, very quiet and very unlike the fiery personality he’d seen before. “Every time someone new comes in here. And with half the people I’ve already met, anyway. You’d be surprised what a few pink accessories can do to someone’s reputation, and their credibility in a lab.”

Pietro grimaces. “I’m sorry about that, honest. That’s not what I was going for, by the way. I joke with everyone.”

At last, Y/N meets his eyes. There’s a faint tint of humor swimming in her gaze. “I think I got that.”

She’s smiling, though, so he takes that as a good sign. Once that initial barrier was crossed, Y/N opens up a little more, and then Pietro finds himself stopping by her lab almost every day when he’s not off on a mission. He sees her thrilled with success after an experiment worked, and desolate when they don’t. He sees her consumed with stress. He sees her brow knit with careful concern as she patches him up after a mission. Through all of it, Pietro is increasingly risky with his heart, and then one day, he knows he loves her.

It’s a foolish thing to do. Y/N has confided in him many times that she’s afraid people only will see her as a girl first and a researcher second, someone who can be taken out for drinks but never a valid source of knowledge. If he makes his move now, she’ll never forgive him for being just like the others.

So he doesn’t say a thing, and descends further and further into hopelessness. Wanda says he’s ridiculously obvious, but Y/N still doesn’t seem to have noticed a thing, so maybe the only person more oblivious than Pietro is Y/N, and that’s saying something. Pietro doesn’t want to ruin their friendship, but as the days slip by and Pietro only falls more in love with her, he wonders if he hasn’t already ruined it by always wanting more than he can have.

He’s starting to wonder if he is simply going to carry this secret with him forever, until Y/N catches him at it one evening. The night is growing late, and Pietro has retreated to one of his favorite hiding places in the Avengers complex, Y/N’s lab, to watch her conduct her experiments and indulge in some idle chatter. They’ve grown quiet, and Pietro is leaning against a benchtop, doing nothing but watch her. Some of the motion-sensor lights in the corners of the lab have gone off from inactivity, giving the lights above them an extra glow. The light plays upon Y/N’s face and makes her eyes shine.

Pietro is just thinking that he’s never seen someone more beautiful in his entire life when Y/N looks up and catches him in the act. Instantly, Pietro pretends as if he’d simply been watching her pipette some samples into the well plates in front of her, but her brow is already furrowing and she’s asking him what’s wrong.

Pietro shrugs elaborately. “Nothing, nothing. Just thinking.”

“Really?” She asks, grinning slightly. “I didn’t think that was a normal thing to you.”

Pietro rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” Y/N hums. “What were you thinking about? You seemed very preoccupied.”

“Nothing,” Pietro repeats, but Y/N doesn’t seem convinced.

“Come on, I didn’t think we were the type to keep secrets from each other. What are you trying to hide?” Y/N asks.

Pietro scratches the back of his head, suddenly awkward. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Even better,” she says, laughing slightly. “What is it?”

Pietro should stay silent, but he can feel the secret rising up his lungs and forcing itself out before he gets the chance. “I’m in love with you,” he blurts out.

Y/N’s eyes widen. Whatever she was expecting him to say, it obviously wasn’t that. “Oh,” she says quietly.

“Yeah,” Pietro says, wanting to stab himself in the eye with a nearby multitool. “Oh.”

He eyes the door, and has just decided that a strategic retreat is the best move when Y/N interjects, “I love you too, you know.”

Pietro turns around so hastily that he almost upsets a nearby rack of micropipettes. “What? You do?”

She’s glancing at her work, but he can tell that she’s embarrassed. “Yeah. Thought you knew.”

“Obviously I didn’t, or I would have done something about it,” Pietro blurts out.

Y/N glances up again, smiling again. “Like what?”

“Like take you out on a date,” Pietro returns. “How about it? This Friday. Seven. I’ll pick you up.”

Y/N laughs. “That sounds good to me.”

It sounds good to Pietro, too. When he leaves Y/N’s lab at the end of the day, he’s practically giddy. All this time, he was afraid of telling her, and now he’s wishing he spilled his guts much earlier. Regardless, he has what he wants. They’ll have their date, and Pietro is going to feel like he’s on top of the world.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

marvel tag list: @mayfieldss, @blondsauduun, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @callsign-scully, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43, @deafsuperhero, @fadedver, @alex-1967s-blog, @crazyhearttragedy, @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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scarletttries · 7 months ago

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What One Piece Characters Are Like In A Relationship...(Part Two)

Request: "Greetings, could I ask for headcanons of what Buggy the Clown and Dracule Mihawk are like in a relationship?"

Pairings: Buggy x Reader, Mihawk x Reader, Shanks x Reader

Part One (The Straw Hats) here / One Piece Masterlist

Buggy the Clown:

- It's impossible to overestimate the sheer vulnerability it took for Captain Buggy to speak genuinely and honestly when he finally confessed his feelings for you. A man who's spent so much of his life hidden behind a painted facade and a wicked smile, he tried to fight his truth for so long, forcing himself to treat you like just another pirate on his ship when there's nothing you could do that wouldn't stand out to him. The sincerity with which you speak to him, the way you don't gawk at his appearance, the fact that you never engage in the mutinous whispers of those around you. It wasn't long until you became his most called upon ally on the ship, through genuine appreciation for your insights but also his intense need to have his eyes on you at all times.

- With his feelings out in the open, Buggy is still conflicted in the way he showers his affections upon you. Behind closed doors the man is your personal jester, cracking jokes and using his gifts to keep you smiling and entertained constantly. Honestly that man would do anything to keep you looking at him, the warmth of your gaze enough to undo decades of cruelty and ridicule.

- Around the crew though, your captain likes to keep his adoration discrete. There are a lot of people out there that would love to have something they could use against him, and he knows deep down he'd surrender everything he's ever worked for if it stopped a single hair on your head being harmed. So despite how Buggy feels like he is bursting at the seams with joy every time he sees you, he insists on keeping things a secret for as long as the two of you can, lasting on longing looks and subtle contact for the price of your safety.

- That does add a certain desperation to the clown's behaviour towards you though, not that you mind. The moment you close a door he'll be on with you in a flash, all hungry lips and pressing his chest flush with yours to bathe in your warmth while he still can. He needs you overwhelming all of his senses, to fill his heart back up before he has to face the day without you again. Sometimes when he knows you'll be apart for a while, he'll tell the crew he's lost a hand somewhere on the ship so he can leave one tucked securely in your pocket, subtly interlacing his fingers with yours whenever the day gets to be too much; the powers he once feared made him a devil, now giving him the chance to stay by an angel's side forevermore.

Dracule Mihawk:

- A life as the world's greatest swordsman can be a lonely one. Going wherever he's paid to go. Never putting down roots. Knowing that one day he might just find someone desperate enough for his title to kill for it. Mihawk had accepted this life with a certain pride, until he found something else he wanted to be the best at.

- Another night in another island bar had his path crossing with yours, the briefest of exchanges leaving an aching hole in his chest like he'd never experienced before. It was like your smile sent a spark his way that had his whole body going up in smoke, a fire lit inside him that he had only felt once before; for his pursuit of swordsmanship. He knew nothing would quell that desire except giving in fully to the devotion.

- Dracule is extremely attentive to your every whim. He's never really been tied down before he enjoys the grounding that comes from having someone else to influence each of his days. Nothing fulfils him like making one of your wishes come true, his dedication to your partnership unwavering no matter what the world throws at you both.

- He would take enormous pride in teaching you a few of his sword-fighting moves, framing the sessions as just a way to share in his two favourite things (swords and you), but in the back of his mind also very conscious that a time may come when you need to defend yourself from his enemies. Naturally he'll find a way throw your practice fights so the two of you end up on the floor together, his sword cast aside as he exclaims that you are the only person in all the seas that has ever disarmed him so. Don't be expecting to leave that floor for a while once he has you in his grips.

Shanks:

- When you work in a popular port town you see a lot of pirates come and go. So it's pretty noticeable when a certain captain seems to do all his supply runs in your specific shop. Shanks is not at all subtle that he's continually coming to town for you, your first conversation enough for him to reveal that you might be the only person he's ever met that could convince him to give up the pirate life and settle down.

- You don't ask him to do that, instead the two of you settle for frequently being apart, but relishing in every second you get to spend together when you can. Every moment that Shanks is in your life is filled with fun, whether he's just dancing with you in your lovely little home, or convincing you to come with him on this next adventure, heading to a beautiful island where for once he's confident there's no risk of danger to you.

- When you have to be apart, Shanks will call you late in the night, narrating the view from his perch on the figurehead of his ship. He'll describe every detail of the stars glistening on the waves until the peachy rays of the sun trickle across the horizon, all while knowing the far superior view is wherever you are. He'll never reveal the true danger of his journeys to you, instead giving you joyful reimaginations of the troubles he's faced that day. You can tell when he's had a hard week from the pain in his voice though, so you take the chance to regale him with the softness of your peaceful day, recounting your every step and listening to his breathing slow as a weight lifts off his chest. He tells you how one day he can't wait to dock his ship one final time and fall in step with the life you've built, never having to hear your voice from so far away again.

- He lets that hope carry him through the most tempestuous nights at sea, through all the near misses at the hands of his enemies, through every day spent hiding from a bounty hunter and aching to hear your voice again. He finds himself picturing the two of you raising a family, a tiny crew of your own that will always unite you, the ultimate adventure Shanks can imagine, and one he never thought he'd long for until he thought about living it hand in hand with you.

One piece requests still open!

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peterparkersnose · 2 years ago

Text

Sucks to Suck

pairing: Din Djarin x senator!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: near death experience, sexual references, sexual thots, not smut but sensual i guess?, alcohol consumption and drunk reader, respect of consent, SEXUAL TENSION and description of weaponds and snakes, tiny bit of body dysmorphia, swearing, takes place in between S2 of the Mandalorian and The Book of Boba Fett

The Mandalorian Airs Tomorrow!

a/n you guys see my padme reference there? huh? enjoy the tension the not angst but angst i loved writing this (it is 1am help i started writing this at 10pm) the sighing gif is literally din giving into his intrusive thoughts this whole story it was too perfect not to use (also i make up star wars planets lmao wut) my favorite mandalorian fic of mine besides secret

summary Din is Senator Y/N’s bodyguard and helps her after an attack

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 10 mins 1 seconds

The Mandalorian your father hired to protect you while you were visiting planet Elaeia was less than ideal.

The same one who also came back to accompany you to a senate meet where there was a threat made against your life.

And the same one that followed you around your whole beach vacation.

Somehow he turned in to an on call babysitter for you. Every time you saw him waiting outside your ship you began to loathe the trip. And soon, he began to show up around your house. Didn’t your father trust you? You were way past the age for need of a babysitter. You were a young adult, you could be the babysitter. And you were a damn senator. But as always, you sucked it up and tried to make the best of the situation.

“Don’t you ever get tired of the suit?” you asked, trudging up the stairs of your luxury apartment you rented for the week.

“Never.” Din lied. He couldn’t count the countless times he had wanted to rip it off and spent a night with you. Chills sent down his spine as he tried to think of something different to ease himself into the long week ahead.

But you were work. Your powerful father was paying him more than any bounty could. He needed the credits more than he needed you, right?

“What do you wear under there anyways?”

He hesitated to answer. “Clothes.”

“Really?” you asked sarcastically.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he muttered, almost barely enough for you to hear.

“Where are you going to crash tonight?” you asked him, placing your bag on the ottoman in front of your bed. “Not tired,” he lied again. The way he wanted to hold you in that comfortable bed was-

He had to stop his thoughts there.

“What time is it?” you asked him. “Around 7.”

“Shit! I’m going to be late.” you panicked. “I’m sorry, I thought we had some time to rest.” you apologized, knowing Din was exhausted from the trip.

The dress that was already hung in the closet for you was what you were going to wear to the banquet tonight. Without even caring, you opened your bag and pulled out the bra you were going to wear for the night. Without hesitation, Din stepped out of the room. Not today.

The dress was a deep blue and was form fitted. It jutted out at the bottom, complimenting your shape. It had long sleeves and a low neckline where your necklace was going to rest that night. You tied your hair up into a large bun with a braid around the base.

“Your train is here…” Din said, stepping in the room carefully. “Thank you. Wait- Mando?”

His heart skipped a beat when you said his nickname. You had known his name for a while, but he still enjoyed it when you called him Mando. Din was stunned at how you looked. I mean, you always looked good. But he could imagine standing next to you at the banquet in a suit, your arm draped over his and a ring on your finger.

The armor didn’t exist in that world.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Can you get this for me?” you asked, handing him the necklace you were going to wear that night. It was gold. Large and resembled tree roots. It was to sit along your chest and clip under your breasts along with behind your neck to stay put.

He handled the necklace carefully. His arms reached up and placed the necklace in front of you as his fingers trailed up the back to clasp the neck clasp.

“Dank farrik,” he sighed. His gloves were in the way of handling the tiny clasp. “Hold it for a second,” he told you. Din sighed as he made the decision. He slowly slipped off each glove and set them down on the bed.

You seemed to tense when his hands brushed your shoulders. You turned your head and saw his gloves sitting at the edge of your bed. The skin was cold and his hands were surprisingly soft.

Din hadn’t touched a woman with his bare hands well… ever. Sure he had brought in bounties who could identify as female. But nobody as elegant and beautiful as you. He would never forget the oddly intimate encounter.

“Thank you,” you said smoothly, adjusting the necklace around your ribcage. “You could call this more of a corset,” you huffed, smiling as you caught a glimpse of his skin as he slipped his gloves back on.

Standing in the mirror, you struggled getting the bottom clasp closed. You turned your body, trying to see if you had gained a bit of weight since you last wore this piece.

“Din,” you called sweetly, almost with a bit of song in your voice. He turned around on his heel as you saw from the mirror and it made you smile. “Yes?” he asked in the same tone you called him.

The way you called for him made him think about one of the rare memories he had of his parents. How one called out to the other. It was a brief moment but gave him deja vu when he heard you speak his name. Speak his name like a wife would call to her husband.

“It won’t-”

The sigh from his modulator was hard to miss.

“Can you help?” you asked, eyes looking up into his viser.

“I’ll hold them, don’t worry.” you smiled, your hands branching down lifting up your breasts.

Under the mask his eyes widened at the comment.

Din got down on his knees to try to get a better angle of the clasp. No other reason. He tried his best to focus on the clip but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the way you held yourself. Thank the gods for the viser, or he would have died of embarrassment.

“How’s it going?” you asked him. You could feel him struggling again with the gloves.

“What if I…”

You attempted to hold your breasts with one arm and had the other hand come down to help him, but the plan failed. Your boobs folded over on his hands without fail.

His hands quickly retreated from your ribcage. You noticed the stress in his demeanor, his breathing quickened.

You thought he was upset with you. Possibly disrespecting his creed, you felt horrible. Guilt knit tightly in your stomach as you knew you were going to think about this event the whole night. The embarrassment was enough for a lifetime.

Din couldn’t care less about his creed at the moment. He had never felt boobs before.

“Oh god! I am so sorry,” you said in horror.

“I can have someone at the banquet do it, let’s just forget-”

You were silenced by the sound of his gloves hitting the ground. Once again, his hands were at your service.

“Let’s get this done. We’re going to be late.” he said.

Grabbing the chain once again, he clasped it on the first try.

He escorted you to the train silently. He held one of your hands in his. The other hand held his pair of gloves.

Din hadn’t even notice you grabbed his hand. And to be honest, you didn’t really either. It was an instinct. Trains always freaked you out and he knew that. The gap between the ground and the train car, the speed they went at. Commercial trains were filled with unsuspecting people. Thankfully, the banquet event sent out personal trains for some of the local senators.

Finally you only noticed when he pulled away to put his gloves back on as you pulled closer to the event.

Had he really been holding your hand the whole time?

Meanwhile back at the apartment you had rented, you expected it to be empty. There was no need for a guard, you had only just arrived. Your location to be revealed to possible rebels wasn’t likely, you were stationed there for only a short time. A guard would follow you home along with Din.

You knew Din was capable of protecting you, he had every time. Something about a man in armor killing in your name just did something to you. But the uncertainty of almost everything about him made you push that idea to the back of your mind. And anyways, you were bound to marry for a political reason some day. It was coming eventually you assumed. Dates were never nearly as exciting as an adventure with Din.

The guard honestly was a joke at this point. It gave your advisors a piece of mind though, so you allowed it.

The seemingly empty apartment was carefully broken into. The sliding glass door from the balcony was opened, no fingerprints left and promptly shut as the rebel left.

Poisonous snakes were left slithering in your sheets.

It was something you would later recognize as a similar thing had happened to a senator many years ago. Poisonous bugs left to crawl in her bed.

Din walked you off the train platform and back to your apartment as quickly as he could. You, on the other hand, we’re being difficult.

“Don’t you ever take vacations?” you asked him, barely able to stand upright. He ignored your strange drunken question and kept holding on to you. “You didn’t answer meee!” you yelled, breaking free from his grasp and raising your hands to the air. The mist had accumulated from the oncoming storm.

“No. I don’t.” he sighed, grabbing your arm gently and guiding you back to the lobby with a hand placed on your lower back.

“Din,” you slurred, holding on to his armor in the elevator. Your fingers marched up his beskar chest plate as you asked him this.

“You ever had a girlfriend before?”

He blinked furiously under his helmet. What the fuck?

“Y/N, let’s get you to bed. Hm?”

“But Dinnn,”

“Come on,” he sighed, placing his hand on your back. The guard was stationed at the door. Din gave him a nod.

“I’m not sleepy!” you insisted, angered that you were being forced to end this wonderful night.

Din threw his gloves on the kitchen counter. He was getting sick of the things. After all these years in gloves, his hands never felt as uncomfortable and sweaty as they did that night.

“Here,” he sighed, steadying you by the shoulder and unclasping the clasp by your neck. The heavy necklace seemed to fall off yourself, only slightly catching at the waist.

“Thank you mister.” you said, letting it drop to the floor with a shake of your hips. Along with that you left your heels.

He saw you face dive into your bed and chuckled a bit as he was picking up after you. That necklace was probably worth more than the beskar he was wearing.

Din eyed up the couch, exhausted after watching you all night. He stood in the balcony of the event and watched you drink yourself almost to the point of embarrassment until he decided it was time for you to return home.

He had just began to settle in when he heard you scream.

It wasn’t like he had heard you scream before. He was used to all the rage screams when an article came out portraying you negatively. He was used to all the screams over the phone with your friends. He was used to the muffled screams he heard as he hid in his quarters when you would have dates over and prayed it would end.

But he would never forget this one.

He knocked over the vase on the coffee table, but didn’t really care.

The prolonged scream attracted the interest of the guard who busted in, spear ready.

Din had made it in the room first. He drew his blaster watched as you simultaneously chucked a snake in his direction. His blaster shot, killing the thing.

“Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing you immediately. You wrapped your arms around his neck and cried into his armor.

The guard ripped back the sheets and found three more slithering in the sheets. The sight of that made you shriek more.

Din’s hand ran across the back of your head. His fingers hadn’t felt hair like that in forever. His own locks didn’t match up to your softness.

The guard removed each snake and silently killed them.

“Cardillian Greybecks,” the guard sighed, now bagging the snake carcasses. “I’m going to bring these down to the base, are you two all right alone or should I call someone?”

“We’re fine.” Din said sternly, praying for the man to leave.

He calmed you enough to sit you back down on the edge of the bed. “Everything is okay. No more snakes, see?” he says, shaking out a blanket.

“Fuck,” you sighed, your hand running down the side of your leg. “You alright?” Din asked, shaking out the pillows just in case.

“I must have scratched my leg in the scuffle, it really fucking hurts.” you slurred, rubbing the side of your leg. Of course the alcohol was still there.

“Oh gods,” Din sighed, asking for your leg immediately. Laying back against the bed, you lifted your right leg in the air for him to inspect. If he wasn’t so worried he would have thought the pose was somewhat provocative.

“Shit,” he sighed. You were bitten.

“What?” you asked eagerly, pulling your leg back. He held on to it though, staring at the festering wound on your leg.

“It hurts. Please,” you begged, pulling your leg back. Din was scrambling on what to do.

“This…” he sighed, hating the only option available. There wasn’t enough time to get you to a proper medic.

“Hold still.”

He slowly lifted his helmet up to the bottom of his nose to reveal his mouth and chin.

“Din!” you yelled as his lips made contact with your skin. “What the-” you began, but immediately soothed as you felt the venom leaving your bite. A needy moan escaped from your lips.

Din spat out the first round of venom. It stung his lips. It wasn’t enough to kill him, it wasn’t in his bloodstream. It tasted bitter and artificial.

“Oh my god,” you whined as his lips continued to suck on the wound. “Din, holy fuck.” you moaned, squirming in his grasp.

Even though you just had been on the brink of death, this was one of the most sensual things you had ever experienced in your opinion. The thought of his lips teasing you drove you up the walls.

He spit out another round. “One more, I’m sorry.”

You gasped at his voice. No mask, no modulator. “Oh gods, don’t stop.” you begged. Your back arched as he took in the final round, finally tasting blood to indicate the venom was gone.

He spit it out on the ground and slipped his mask back on.

“What?” he asked out of breathe. He had convinced himself he didn’t just hear what he thought he did. His ears were muffled by the mask in its awkward position.

Sitting up in bed, you patted the mattress. He sat down.

“That was so hot,” you whispered near his ear.

He didn’t say anything to you. You had prayed he would rip off his mask and take you then and there. Din wanted the same thing too, he would feverishly re play this night over and over in his mind for years.

But you were wasted. And he had a creed.

Even though after each passing day without Grogu his allegiance to his creed drew weaker, he still had his limits.

Din knew you would regret those words in the morning. But the phrase Cara told him many moons ago rung in his brain.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“Talk to me when your sober.” he replied. He stood up and removed the base of the helmet once again. You embraced his body as he kissed you on the top of your head.

“Din,” you feverishly whispered. Without a second thought, you stood up. His body pushed against yours as you passionately kissed his lips. Your nose bumped the mask up more, but neither of you cared. His nose brushed against yours as you kept your eyes shut. The urge to look was strong, but you respected him too much to take a peek.

“One day,” he smiled, breaking the kiss. “Are you sure I can’t see more?” you asked. He shook his head as he pulled the mask down again. “One day,” he repeated, his voice now modulated again.

“Thank you for saving my life.” you said. “Any day,” he said sarcastically.

He placed the blankets securely over you.

The room was dim enough where he was sure if he was ever caught he would have an excuse. And you would lie for him, he was certain of it.

“Just one more thing-” you asked as his silhouette made its way through your door. He turned and looked at you.

“What color are your eyes?”

He had the widest smile on his face. The thought of you trying to form his face in your mind was almost comical for him.

“Brown. Good night, Cyare.”

“I knew they were brown, I knew it.” you whispered to yourself, convinced Din couldn’t hear.

He smiled as he retreated to the couch, unsure if sleep would visit him after his eventful night.

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25

@peeta-is-useless @kirsteng42 @salliebley @bubsonnobx @lexloon @untitledarea @nyotamalfoy

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spotlightlowlife · 9 months ago

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manipulating the audience hazbin a helluva easy feat

I will stop these titles one day

Anyone notice how Lucifer behaved a chauvinistic dude bro when faced with Adam, made worse that he was in the presence of his daughter.

So did Lucifer cheat on Lilith?

Or was this yet another sugar sugardaddy x sugarbaby power x pov exchange only with the inclusion of the most liberal woman ever?

Adam didn't initiate the gotcha girl and gotcha girl again mockery and gave no impression of caring about this, why was this the only thing Lucifer had to rub in his face? Adam would actually go on to open up about his envy of the sinners not appreciating him for being their ancestor.

Lucifer simply thinks sinners suck and agrees to the exterminations happening.

He is welcome to be smug.

This is just fine.

This franchise has a pattern of this, it gives the impression that this is intentional knowing full well that along as the audience backs the right horse, they can do no wrong, insert anything anywhere and loyalty or silence prevails.

We witness Angeldust, after persistently S harrassing Husk opening up about how he isn't as comfortable or confident about the world he's in. We see for ourselves that as sex positive as he tries to portray, he's nowhere near in control.

We then in a later episode witness Sir Pentious get SA as a gag, made worse that he was inebriated but still managed to do nothing but resist. This same episode Angeldust gets a serious scene standing up to his S predator.

Valentino is the prominent sexual predator of these stories, because Angledust is unhappy.

Elsewhere his royal, prehistoric 'good twin', Ozzie the prince of lust isn't to blame for the sexdolls he puts out of his lover Fizzoroli, the prince of greedy who shows no interest in sex outside of adding it to a checklist of things that sell is to blame, we are abruptly told this and guided to accept it because 'cute ship', even though that ship has moved into not so fun sugardaddy x sugarbaby territory, edging towards that of the awkward transactionship of powerful, bored prince Stolas and reluctant, disadvantaged little imp Blitzø, a predatory setup that's ok because both characters get the positive spotlight and Blitzø benefits and doesn't behave like a textbook victim.

Pentious didn't and did...

Stolas backstory is very significant, there is no sex positivity with his character, he was forced into a betrothal when he was a little child, forced into marriage as a teenager and made to have a child. His elders are to be honoured.

Who else found themselves in this exact same situation? Stella. They have an identical backstory.

Notice how, simply by switching some known characters around, Mammon and Fizz's interactions were a diluted spin on Blitzø and Moxxie? Fizz has a whole life away from Mammon, whose pageants chooses to compete in yearly, joint venture merchandise he promotes and phone calls he takes. He has a lover, a palace to roam around in and a day job. Blitzø works full time with Moxxie, breaks into his home, voyers on Moxxie and his wife, follows them on dates and has screwed their mutual ex for that reason.

Both Mammon and Blitzø push Fizz and Moxxie into work when they don't want to, however we have no evidence of Fizz always being reluctant, on the contrary we once saw him look forward to going to pageant rehearsal. Unlike Fizz however, Moxxie has shown open resistance to doing things in the form of crippling fear, reason and angry argument, it all makes no difference. Mammon commented on Fizz appearing to have gained weight however fat jokes aimed at Moxxie have been plentiful, something Blitzø has partook in.

The tone is that Mammon is the villain because Fizz is sad, Fizz who had not been shown to be another Moxxie previously but when it come time for him to be a victim, he was places into a Blitzø Moxxie relationship which this time around wasn't funny.

The tone alternatively is that Blitzø is eccentric, excusable and a fun lead to follow and Moxxie is the punching bag.

Notice how striker is a "supremisist" for wanting to bring down those at the top but it's perfectly ok for Blitzø to kill nobodies like himself.

elsewhere it's ok for Alastor to do the same to those like him with the reluctan support of Charlie who's goal it is to save these people.

Despite there existing an actual cannibal town, pimps and selling of souls being something she is acutely aware of, we are swayed to take Charlie's side as she sits in a position of power with her select besties at her hotel, that may have hard dr ugs on the premises, doing very little outreach even though we see community among extras, who does deals with literal lesser devils, in a world her dad created, her dad who allows exterminators to deal with who he sees as nuisances but she sees as 'family' and there's no conflict of interests, who do we see as the black and white baddies from day one? The angels.

Those who don't even sit at the top or know how things work to be specific.

Not Vaggie though.

Your favs are allowed to be dbags too, it doesn't make you reprehensible to see this and still like them!

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel lucifer #Hazbin hotel Adam #helluva boss stella #helluva boss stolas #helluva boss blitzo #helluva boss mammon #helluva boss criticism #hazbin hotel charlie #long post

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writermuses · 3 months ago

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@marimelwrites

#marimelwrites #ref: valerius x carina #ship: the power to make the whole world stand still #smut #ish

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wilcze-kudly · 3 months ago

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I've honestly always loved the scene between Zuko and Katara in the Crystal Caves during the Crossroads of Destiny, even though it's been kinda diluted by shipping discourse.

I love how this scene showcases how far Zuko's story has come, but that it still has a ways to go. It's also a great moment from Katara, showing off her compassion and kindness, despite her rightful anger at Zuko. And this moment of "reaching across the aisle" between two children who were forced into something much bigger and crueler than they could ever be apways makes me quite emotional.

But I'm kinda tired of seeing this scene in just that vacuum, when looking at it in relation to two other scenes makes it so much more interesting.

The first scene we can compare this interaction to is pretty obvious, since it's basically "the other half" of Katara and Zuko's moment. It's Iroh and Aang's conversation in the tunnel.

I adore this scene it's just such a vibe I too would like to walk through a tunnel with a nice old man who gives me good advice (even if said nice old man is a war criminal)

Of course the first obvious parallel between these two converastions is a member of the Gaang (two members who have been most affected by the fire nations actions btw) having a genuine, deep conversation with a banished member of the Fire Nation royal family.

I also think this conversation contrasts Katara and Zuko's conversation very well. It juxtaposes Iroh and Zuko, showing us how far Iroh has come and how far Zuko still has to go.

I think it's very symbolic that Katara and Zuko connect mainly on their pasts, while Iroh and Aang do about the present and future.

Two quotes in this conversation stand out to me particularly.

Iroh: Perfection and power are overrated. I think you were very wise to choose happiness and love.

It not only relates to Aang's current predicament, but it also foreshadows Zuko's dissatisfaction with his life after he returns to the Fire Nation at Azula's side. After Zuko helps "kill" Aang and take over Ba Sing Se, he has acheived what he believed would be his version of perfection, while also getting back the power he was born into. But he is miserable. He's dissatisfied, wracked with guilt and constantly second guessing himself and the world around him. He even says this: During the meeting, I was a perfect prince... the son my father wanted. But I wasn't me.

But Zuko was also unable to fully choose a simple life of peace and happiness in Ba Sing Se, choosing to fight Azula when she attacks him and Iroh. Because he still subconciously was searching for that feeling of power and wasn't ready to allow himself to prioritise things other than his honour. He wanted to fight Azula and prove himself, but he just eneded up allowing himself to be captured by the overwhelming force of the Dai Li.

While Iroh has learnt to see the merit in a simple life and actively rejects the power (for better or for worse) that comes with his status as a member of the royal family.

Iroh: I don't know the answer. Sometimes, life is like this dark tunnel. You can't always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but if you just keep moving, [Aang earthbends the rocks away one last time. Iroh's fire blows out. He smiles.] you will come to a better place.

Of course, this quote could relate to many things, including just the whole story of the show, but it also obviously relates to Zuko's redemption arc. Zuko's story is the epitome of continuing to slowlu crawl through a dark tunnel until you reach a better place. He stagnates and stumbles occasionally, but he keeps goingm and eventually gets there.

He reaches his better place.

It's interesting to see the contrast between Zuko and Katara's interaction and that of Iroh and Aang.

I think the scene in which Aang and Katara split off from Zuko and Iroh.

Aang and Iroh maintain eye contact, and Aang even gives a respectful bow. While Katara tries to make eye contact with Zuko, but he turns his gaze away, as if ashamed of his moment of weakness. Eye contact is very important is ATLA's visual storytelling, as I've spoken before in my post analysing the mutuality of Kataang's gaze.

I believe this scene foreshadows Zuko siding with Azula and Iroh siding with the Gaang at the end of the episode. Iroh and Aang have reached an understanding, and therefore, they are represented as facing each other and parting on good, respectful terms.

While in Katara and Zuko's case, Katara tries to make a similar connection with Zuko, however he rejects that connection. Ultimately this forces Katara to turn her back on him too, which may foreshadow her rightful anger at him in B3.

Ok, so the first interaction I want to metion gives us a bit of insight to Zuko, but what about Katara?

For that we have to go all the way back to B1, to an episode that I don't really see talked about in relation to Katara's story. Jeong Jeong is only the second friendly firebender Katara has encountered in probably her entire life, the first being Shayu, with whom she had very little interaction. Of course, I think this would at least give her pause.

Jeong Jeong and Katara's conversation is very short, but I think it had a great impact on Katara.

Jeong Jeong : You have healing abilities. The great benders of the Water Tribe sometimes have this ability. I've always wished I were blessed like you - free from this burning curse. Katara: But you're a great master. You have powers that I will never know. Jeong Jeong: Water brings healing and life. But fire brings only destruction and pain. It forces those of us burdened with its care to walk a razor's edge between humanity and savagery. Eventually, we are torn apart.

Jeong Jeong is the polar opposite of the firebender archetype Katara had in her head. He's thoughtful, disciplined and very careful with his firebending. Jeong Jeong's hatred of his own firebending also stands as a contrast to Katara considering her waterbending a vital and beautiful part of who she is as a person.

I always found it interesting that outside of Aang, Jeong Jeong was one of the first people in the series to respect Katara as a waterbender and see her potential, as he even connects her abilities to great waterbenders. It's especially a stark difference to how he treated Aang, the literal Avatar.

The way Jeong Jeong talks about firebending also reflects what Katara has seen herself of it.

Yet she pushes back at his self depreciation, showing that she still sees the value of his abilities. This foreshadows Katara's compassion for the people of the Fire Nation, especially when paired with Sokka's distrust of them.

I also think it's quite interesting that healing is often involved in Katara's attempts to connect with Fire Nation people. Her first connection is with Jeong Jeong, then she offers to heal Iroh, later Zuko's scar, she heals people in the village during the Painted Lady incident. Finally, the crowning jewel of this series of events is her healing Zuko after the Agni Kai.

This is especially poignant in the story of her and Zuko's relationship, with Katara offering her healing services to him twice, but being either rejected or interrupted. And finally she does heal him at the very end of the show, after he took lightning for her, symbolising a "bridging the gap", so to speak.

I think Katara and Zuko's conversation ties back to Katara's interaction with Jeong Jeong for a few reasons. Firstly, there's the obvious of Katara having a moment with a firebender with a facial scar. Also Katara's wording when she offers to heal Zuko's scar: instead of saying that she's a healer, she says "I have healing abilities ", which is exactly how Jeong Jeong described her power.

Ans once again, Jeong Jeong is the one to protect Katara and buy her time to escape, ehile Zuko betrays her. This once again just shows how far Zuko has yet to go before B3.

I've always thought that the way ceratain Avatar scenes intertwine with themes and similarities is very fascinating and fun to pick apart.

The scene between Zuko and Katara is profound, but I think it's often viewed in isolation, be it due to people wearing ship goggles or it just standing our more. But I think one of the reasons it's so wonderful is that it interweaves into so many other events of "reaching across the isle", of our protagonists connacting with firebenders. It's not just a good character moment for Zuko and Katara, it's a mark that connection and peace with the Fire Nation is possible, that it can be acheived, that it slowly is being acheived. Every one of these interactions is unique, but they all form a good foundation for B3, when we really get into humanising the Fire Nation civillians.

The scene between Zuko and Katara is beautiful not only because of what it is, but also because of what it symbolises: the hope of peace.

Ok this was "stating the obvious", once again brought to you by Quill in their pretentious humanistics student hat. I like to vomit words and some of you like to read them! So thank you if you have read them

#ok getting off my soapbox #underrated platonic relationship I want more of- Jeong Jeong and Katara. get pakku out of here jeong jeong is her grandather now #zuko #katara #iroh #aang #jeong jeong #atla #avatar #avatar: the last airbender #the last airbender #avatar the last airbender

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ofheroesandvillains · 2 years ago

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New Purpose

Halbrand x elf!reader

Words: 4k

Request: by anon – “I have a Halbrand x reader request/idea. Where the reader is an elf and she and Sauron fell in love in the really early days of middle earth. Because of this Morgoth killed her because she made Sauron soft. She then goes through the whole elf reincarnation thing and reincarnated to be alive during the rings of power. She’s now Galadriel’s friend and jumps off the ship to Valinor with her, meaning she ends up on the raft and numenor with Halbrand and Galadriel. She doesn’t remember her previous life but falls for Halbrand still. The rest is up to you 👀”

Thanks for the request, anon! ❤️

Warnings: Mentions of death. Injury and blood (nothing major). Lots of pining. Maybe a little ooc, but he’s in love, and she makes him soft.

I have almost finished the second (and final) part of this. This one was getting too long, and it felt right to split them. Been a while since I’ve done this much writing, so hopefully it’s not completely awful. Also, not my gif – credit to the creator!

You do not anticipate returning to Aman so soon. Námo had been clear when you awoke in his Halls – you have a greater role to play in the shaping of Middle Earth. For whatever reason, the fate of the one they call Sauron is inextricably tied to your own, and it is that fact that brings you and Galadriel together in the beginning and keeps you together long afterwards.

Galadriel herself is a guiding light in this unfamiliar world. Beleriand, you learn, now rests beneath the sea, and your home along with it. Your memories of the place have yet to return – after all this time, you doubt they ever will – but the thought brings with it a sense of longing for all you have lost. Even if you don’t remember what that is, you know it is much.

Having perished early in the First Age, you also know little of Middle Earth and its peoples, but the elves of Lindon are still quick to welcome you as a herald of the Valar. Though the lands are foreign, there are people there who knew you once, and it isn’t long before you find your footing in this curious new world.

The High King Gil-galad doesn’t object when you choose to accompany Galadriel to the Undying Lands – in his eyes, the evil has passed and your work on Middle Earth is done. While you know this to be false, it is an easy decision to make. It feels right, and your instincts very rarely lead you astray. For reasons you can’t explain, you know you must follow Galadriel on this final voyage.

She is quiet when the ship leaves the dock, offering only a curt nod to the elves of Lindon when they bid her farewell, but behind her eyes is a maelstrom. It worsens the further you sail into the open sea, until there is finally a palpable shift in the air, an otherworldly radiance that can only mean you have reached the threshold.

The clouds part, and down shines the inimitable light of Aman, its golden rays warm and welcoming. To your left stands Galadriel, her crystalline eyes wide with wonder as she stares at the spectacle. And yet, despite her awe, despite her longing, there is also a great sorrow etched into her brow. It reflects a truth she has known since you departed from Lindon – she will not return to Aman until her own work is done. Seeing its light has not swayed her mind, only strengthened her resolve to return when she finally deems herself worthy.

She turns slowly, catches your knowing gaze, and with one look communicates all her words cannot.

You send her a reassuring smile. “To whatever end, my friend.”

The ship nears its destination, the light shines brighter than ever, she takes your hand into her own, and you leap into the water – into the unknown – together.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The Sundering Seas are unforgiving. Your limbs slowly lose their grace from cold and fatigue, and you know as well as Galadriel does, that your chances of survival are dwindling. These seas are too vast, and your only hope of making landfall once more is if you are carried there by ship. Through nightfall and daybreak you have yet to see one on the horizon.

You don’t speak, opting to conserve energy, but Galadriel’s guilt and doubt are palpable and rising with the tide. They have plagued her mind for months now, and Elrond’s words surely echo in her ears when she casts searching glances at you from over her shoulder.

Will you lead more elves to die in far-off lands?

The thought isn’t as daunting to you as it is to her. You have, after all, died before, but you would not have such a thing rest on her conscious if you could help it.

The skies darken once more, but not with night. A fog descends on the water and grey clouds converge to hide the sun. Despite the unease that suddenly broils in your stomach, you swim towards the coming storm and pray Ulmo shows your mercy.

When salvation finally arrives, Galadriel is the first to see it, and you stop to float beside her as it draws near.

It’s a foreboding sight – a heap of broken beams that protrude like the prongs of a dark crown. But as it approaches, the sky seems to lighten, and you share another look. Anything is better than nothing, it says.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A strong hand grasps your forearm and hauls you up onto the raft. You rest there a moment, on your hands and knees, limbs shaking from exertion and breath ragged. When you look up at your saviour you can’t help but smile in a mix of relief and exhaustion.

“Thank you,” you say, voice thick with gratitude.

You must look a sight, because he stares, eyes wide and lips parted, for what seems like an eternity. Then his hands are on you again, wrapping gently around your elbows and helping you to your feet.

Distantly, you can hear Galadriel conversing with the others – you hope she remembers her tact – but you find yourself transfixed by this strange man who has yet to say a word, who has yet to even blink, whose breath is growing increasingly shorter the longer he stares at you. You wonder if perhaps the sun has made him ill, if dehydration has addled his mind, because he looks at you as if you are some illusion.

You flush under his unrelenting gaze.

“I–I’m alright to stand now,” you say gently to avoid startling him – or worse, offending him. You know little of these people, and there is no reason to believe they are your allies in this.

His brow twitches downward, but his fingers slowly, reluctantly, slip away. At last, he blinks, and it’s as if a veil has been lifted from his mind. Despite his damp hair, tattered clothing, scraped cheek, and possible insanity, he looks quite handsome when he smiles at you.

“Name’s Halbrand,” he says, and his eyes seem to soften when you give him your own.

You think to ask Halbrand just how he came to be stranded on this raft, adrift in the Sundering Seas, but you find out soon enough.

You are old; old enough to sense danger before it appears. It prickles at your senses. Was this the calm before the storm? The raft rocks beneath your feet as large ripples crash into it, and something moves through the fog, something you have never before seen.

When the sea serpent comes, you find yourself thrown into the waters once more.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When the sea serpent comes, it brings with it a storm.

There one moment, gone the next.

With his heart in his throat, he can only watch as you lose your footing. It is almost unheard of for an elf, but your limbs still tremble with exhaustion, and the raft rocks treacherously beneath your feet. You slip on its slick surface, your head strikes the boards with a resounding crack, and though he scrambles to catch you, you tumble into the frothing waves before he can.

A blur of white dives in after you.

His mind reels, it has been ever since you looked up at him with those unmistakably kind eyes – eyes he would recognise anywhere. For a moment he thought he’d strayed into another of his vivid dreams, and even now he is not entirely convinced he hasn’t.

But there is little time to waste on speculation. If it is real, if you are here, then there is a very high chance he might lose you again in the space of mere minutes. And that is not an option.

He has a choice to make when neither you nor your friend resurface after an agonisingly long moment. Does he abandon the raft and retrieve you himself, or does he trust that the elleth won’t get the both of you killed?

He doesn’t like relinquishing control, least of all when the fate of something so significant hangs in the balance, but what hope does he have of returning you to shore if he loses the raft to the storm?

Thankfully, It is a decision he does not have to make. A golden head breaks through the waves with a loud gasp, and the tension rushes out of him in a shuddering exhale when he sees she is not alone.

When he pulls you from the water a second time, your body is limp and there is a bleeding cut on your brow that will need tending.

“She isn’t breathing,” your friend pants, collapsing onto the raft beside you.

It’s not the way he imagines feeling your lips against his after so long apart, but she is right, and propriety is the least of his concerns as he puts his mouth to yours and breathes air into your lungs.

Your body quickly jerks beneath him, and he turns you onto your side as you hack up a mouthful of water.

“Easy,” he soothes, pressing a reassuring hand between your shoulder blades. You look so small and frail like this – two things he knows you are not – and his protective instinct surges.

He pulls gently at your shoulder to help guide you onto your back once more, and you catch his hand before it withdraws. Your skin is icy cold to the touch, and your bleary eyes blink up at him sluggishly.

“Halbrand…” you manage to mumble before your eyes flutter shut and your fingers slip away.

He smothers an irritated huff as he glances at your friend. Were you alone, he’d rid you of your soaked smock and let his heat warm you, but even now, as her eyes droop and glaze over in exhaustion, your friend watches him warily. He’s almost grateful for her protective nature – it is a relief to know you have found an ally willing to risk her life for you. But it also grates. He is not a threat, not to you, and he is far more capable of protecting you than she is. She will learn as much, in time.

Sleep slowly but inevitably overpowers her, and the moment it does, he lies down beside you and draws you into his arms.

It has been a long time since he’s held you this way – too long – and it reminds him of all he has taken for granted. It reminds of the times you would kiss the hollow of his neck and trace soft circles into the skin of his sternum; the way you would press your ear to his chest and let his heartbeat lull you to sleep. Sometimes the warmth of you, the comfort of your presence, would coax him into the dreamworld as well, and other times it would keep him awake long into the night, so he could marvel at his own good fortune.

He holds your trembling body tight to his chest, careless of the sea water that drips from your clothes and seeps into his own. He is fire, in the end, and nothing has made him burn quite so brightly as you have. So, he guides your face into the warm crook of his neck and wills warmth into your bones as day fades to dusk and dusk to dawn.

That is how the Númenóreans find him. And while they lift your friend from the raft and carry her below deck, they know not to touch you. It may be the look in his eye or the greedy way he clings to you still, but they make no attempt to part you from him and for that he is grateful.

In truth, he fears what he might do if they so much as try.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s barely had a day to come to terms with your appearance, or rather your reappearance, but he has plenty of time to think as he waits for you to wake.

Upon boarding the ship, the Númenóreans led him below deck and offered a spare hammock for your rest.

You lie there now, slightly swaying with each rock of the ship, and he just can’t take his eyes off you. Memories are never enough. They are ephemeral, and in the time it takes him to remember the curve of your jaw, he has forgotten the slant of your nose. You are never quite whole in his mind, not like you are now, and he is never quite whole without you.

Millennia have passed, and yet here you are. Why? And why now? Part of him doesn’t care for the answer, but the other part knows he must ask the question. The Valar never do anything without reason, and this is no small thing – not to him.

There is only one conclusion he draws that truly makes sense.

You are a sign; a peace offering. Stranded at sea with his ship besieged by a sea serpent, his path to repentance may have been hindered, but he had tried to do the right thing by returning to Aman, and perhaps that had been the sign they needed to show him mercy.

Your return is beyond mercy. It is a dream, a fantasy, a reward he doesn’t deserve but cherishes nonetheless.

But, he thinks.

There had been no hint of recognition in your eyes. No sign of the adoration you once gazed at him with. And though it hurts, he reminds himself that this human guise is not the fair form he donned in the First Age. It is not the form you had fallen in love with, and that brings new doubts to his mind.

Perhaps your return isn’t a reward at all, but a punishment. Perhaps you will never love him as you once did, and he will be destined to admire you only from afar, to pine and yearn and ache for you, and never be able to have you. Could he survive such a thing twice?

Even now, as he watches you sleep, face soft in rest, his fingers itch to hold you again, to stroke your hair, to trace your cheek. The last time he’d seen you, your body had been bathed in the fiery glow of a red dawn, broken and bloodied and empty of its soul. His Master’s mark carved into your flesh.

He forces the image from his mind with a clenched jaw. While he tells himself that the past no longer matters – that Melkor is all but dead, and you are very much alive – he has harboured this rage and agony and despair within him for millennia, and he will never truly be free of them.

He is pulled mercifully from his thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps. They come to a slow stop beside him, and he tears his eyes away from you for a moment to glance up at the Captain – Elendil, he recalls. There is clear nostalgia in Elendil’s eyes as he looks at you, a mingling of tenderness and grief that makes it clear this is a man who has loved and lost – and that is a pain Halbrand knows intimately.

“For your lady,” the Captain says softly, holding out a pouch and waterskin. This too feels like a peace offering, one Halbrand accepts with a grateful nod and murmured thanks.

The cut on your brow is still tender and open, but it no longer bleeds. You will heal well, as all elves do, but he flips the pouch open anyway. He wets a clean cloth and dabs gently at the crusted blood on your brow as Elendil’s footsteps slowly retreat.

You don’t react to his ministrations, and he’s almost grateful to have a reason to touch you again – there’s no telling if he will ever be welcome to do so again.

No, he thinks stubbornly, that will not be his fate. He has not spent an eternity praying for this chance only to squander it. The familiar spark of ambition was lit the moment he laid eyes on you, and it is exhilarating. An old challenge; a new purpose. For the first time in a long time, he is not content to simply roam without direction. He can see his destination. What he doesn’t know, is how to reach it.

And so, he spends the next several hours imagining how he will woo his wife once more.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It doesn’t go entirely to plan.

He is forced from your side when your friend wakes. Galadriel, as he learns her name is.

She watches him with thinly veiled suspicion and asks more questions than he knows to answer about the ship, the crew, its Captain, and their destination. What’s more, there is no subtlety in the way her eyes dart between your still form and his, perched on the stool beside you. He is too close for her liking and too far for his own. A stalemate, one he has a feeling will become all too common from this moment onward. This time, he will concede.

He hides his irritation with an innocuous smile.

“I need to stretch my legs, and the Captain doesn’t want her left alone overlong,” he lies. “Would you mind?”

His words have the desired effect. The tension leaves her shoulders, and she gives him a nod.

He wants to be there when you wake, wants to be the first thing you see, but the need to worm his way into Galadriel’s good graces outweighs his desire – it must if he hopes to worm his way into your good graces as well.

So, he stands and retreats into the cool night air.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You dream of a man – the same man as always, but this time the image of him is clearer in your mind. Not by much, but enough for you to realise he is tall, his arms are strong, and his hair resembles silken strands of white gold. His face, however, remains a mystery.

You try to discern his features; the smile you hear in his voice, and the eyes you feel lingering on your form. But they are just beyond your grasp and obscured by a light that rivals that of Aman. He must be so beautiful.

If not in face, then in soul, because you have never felt this way before. It is only in these dreams that you know love, and joy, and peace, and comfort. The waking world is for everything else, and much of the time you rue returning to it.

How you wish you could remember him. How you wish you could learn of his fate and perhaps find him once more.

Would he remember you? Would it please him to see you again? Or had too much time passed?

Gentle fingers grasp your chin. A gold band glitters on the index finger of his right hand. It is beautifully crafted, by what must have been the greatest of smiths. You know what it signifies, and so, you aren’t entirely surprised to find a matching band on your own finger – somehow, it even eclipses his in splendour.

“You are troubled, my love.”

You can’t help but huff a soft laugh, it’s watery and distressed, and enough to prompt him into action. He pulls you into his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, and the other tracing soothing lines along your spine.

“I fear I’ve lost you,” you mumble into his chest and feel it vibrate beneath your ear as he hums.

“Then I will just have to find you again, won’t I?” He says it so simply, so absolutely, as if there is no doubt in his mind he will do so.

“Would you?”

“Would I?” Now it is his turn to laugh. Your eyes slip shut at the press of soft lips to your crown, and you wish to hold onto this moment forever. “Always.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s reluctant to admit it, but the fresh air does him good. Thoughts of you still swirl in his mind – they have done from the moment he met you, so that’s hardly new – but he’s regained some of his composure. It wouldn’t do to be so obvious around the Captain, around Galadriel, as he has already been, so he pulls himself together in this brief moment of respite.

For now, he must pretend – pretend he doesn’t know you, pretend he doesn’t love you, pretend he is okay with pretending.

It’s something he’s come to be quite good at over the years.

He heaves a deep breath and braces his hands against the gunwale as he stares out across the seemingly endless horizon. The waves have calmed, lapping gently at the ship’s hull, and they reflect the pale light of the stars and moon.

He’s paid the night sky more attention in recent millennia than he ever has before. The stars seem to shine brighter than usual this night, and he suspects he knows why. He swallows thickly – his pride is a heavy thing – and his lips curve in a small and humble smile. Gratitude costs you nothing.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into the night.

The stars twinkle, and he clears his throat uncomfortably. The sudden sound of muffled voices comes as a relief.

“—costs you nothing. If you won’t thank him, I will.”

He peers over his shoulder in time to see you emerge from below deck. There is a disapproving frown on your weary face he is all too familiar with – and glad to not be on the receiving end of for once.

Galadriel walks at your side, her lips set in a thin and equally disapproving line. You communicate without words when you realise you’re not alone – a pointed look, a raised brow, an exasperated huff.

He tries to ignore the swell of envy he feels at your familiarity with each other but takes solace in the fact that he still knows you better than she does. You have not changed, as he has, in your time apart. Unfortunately, that only makes him crave you even more – makes him yearn for that same familiarity, that sense of belonging and completeness he’s gone so long without.

He feels more like himself when he’s with you.

But one thing he has always been – then and now – is patient.

Your face brightens when you meet his eye, and he greets you with a charming smile as you approach him. “Awake at long last.”

“Yes,” you laugh lightly. “Galadriel tells me I owe you great thanks for overseeing my recovery.”

“Does she?” He can’t help but glance over at Galadriel dubiously before meeting your eye. She hovers in the background, fists clenched and jaw tight, and he almost smirks at the sight. If she is this unsettled by mere gratitude, she’ll surely be furious when you come to him with love instead.

“Well,” you smile, and it's wide and knowing and achingly familiar. “Not in so many words. But I am grateful nonetheless. Thank you.”

You give his forearm a gentle squeeze. It’s nothing to look into, a subconscious move to emphasise your appreciation, but his fingers still tighten around the gunwale at your touch.

Patience, he reminds himself.

“Happy to be of service,” he quips light-heartedly, and you share a smile.

No, he thinks, admiring the light in your eyes and the warmth in your smile. Whether you were reborn for his benefit or merely your own, it did not matter.

This could never be a punishment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Almost done with the other requests too, so I’ll probably be posting them within the week! Anyway, I hope this was okay – let me know what you think!

#halbrand x reader #halbrand #Rings of Power #rings of power fanfiction #sauron x reader

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amuseoffyre · 10 months ago

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I was reading the interview with Jes Tom about the trans allegory of Ed dropping his leathers overboard and my brain latched onto it and started gnawing :D

It got me thinking that this definitely vibes with feelings I had back in 1x10 with Izzy keeping this emotionally vulnerable version of Blackbeard safely hidden from public view ("you will not speak of what you see on pain of death"), Lucius encouraging Ed to express himself and the whole "this… whatever it is that you have become" scene.

Ed says it there himself "I am still Blackbeard" and Izzy flat-out tells him he's not unless he presents himself a specific way, dresses and acts a specific way ('this is Blackbeard'.) Simply being "Edward" and expressing himself and his emotions means that Ed faces hostility, derision, implicit threat and "I should have let the English kill you".

Ed pulls on his leathers again again because he's been threatened by someone close to him, but this time it's different - the intent is different. No more "I am still Blackbeard" because apparently his version of Blackbeard isn't enough (and this is already on the back of Stede saying "you can't be Blackbeard without your black beard"). Now it's "the kraken" or "the fucking devil".

More importantly, when he puts the clothes back on, he does it based on one of the propaganda pictures distributed by the English. This isn't his choice of presentation anymore. I find it fascinating that his look at the beginning of S2 is some kind of hybrid of the Mad Devile Pyrate Blackbeard and the image that Izzy shoved in his face in 1x10. (Also love the detail that Izzy's image has elements that appear in Black Pete's fantasy of Blackbeard, to confirm that this image isn't accurate either)

It's a defensive pushback, escalating to the 'viking vampire clown' aesthetic, because if he's being threatened by someone he trusted and he's had past experience of people being nice to him then turning on him ('it's a fickle crowd'), he'll have to go to another extreme to make sure no one will get close enough to hurt him or threaten him again.

The clothing is only a surface element. It's part of an armour to protect himself with his presentation. Stede's line in 1x03 explains it in a nutshell - "It's a power move - make people feel underdressed and suddenly, you're the one in charge". People don't know him/aren't afraid of him when they see him without it (the party ship - "do you know who I am?") and this carries over into S2 as well (the people at the fish shack).

It only hit me now that every scene where he expresses his emotions when he's in his leathers includes some kind of hiding - his hair loose around his face, hiding under a robe in Stede's bath tub, standing at the back of the ship where no one can see his face, closing himself away to cry in an empty room, hiding under a blanket at Mary and Anne's. He's been forced to hide his vulnerabilities when he's in his armour for decades.

Even when he's talking to Stede (and others), he doesn't express his real intentions. It's all skirting around what he actual wants and feels. The "run me through", the "next adventure" - Ed doesn't feel he can express what he wants directly, because he always has to keep his guard up.

The beginning of 2x07 is Ed wanting to shed the need for that surface armour, that visible shield for Edward. He drops them overboard and immediately goes and talks to Stede about his emotions and his feelings for the first time.

The fact that Izzy saw the leather-drop and this time says "maybe you should listen to it" instead of tearing him down shows how far they've come. Ed feels safe with Stede and wants to just be himself, but when faced with the idea of staying in the world where that armour - that presentation and the expectations that come with it - is necessary again, he panics and runs.

Then their entire world is burning and as far as he knows, Stede is injured or dead.

Once again, the leathers come back, but this time, Ed is the one who chooses to put them on. He's taking this piece of himself that he has hated for years and turns it back into the armour that has protected him for this long to get back to Stede. Him having that choice, making that choice, is key.

I think the biggest thing is him realising he can be Blackbeard and Ed and whoever he wants to be without cutting off pieces of himself. So much of the Blackbeard presentation has been code-switching and hiding his real self. This time, he doesn't hide. He finds a letter and has a cry over it and the instant he's back at Stede's side, he drops his weapon and, for the first time, kisses Stede out in the open in front of people and tells him he loves him.

Ed is no longer afraid to be seen and expressing himself. He's letting himself - all aspects of himself - be seen. The clothes aren't him. They just happen to be there while he is himself.

My expectation is that S3 will see him finally being able to leave that armour behind for good and I can't wait for it.

#ofmd #ofmd meta #ofmd thinkie thoughts

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sailoryooons · 10 months ago

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King of Tides | KSJ | Drabble

☾ Pairing: Pirate!Seokjin x Sea Demon!Reader

☾ Summary: Seokjin meets a ghost of his past when he and his crew stop to celebrate for the evening.

☾ Word Count: 1,969

☾ Genre: Pirate AU, Angst, Lovers to Enemies

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: References to smut, explicit language, weapons and mentions of murder, betrayal, vague world building, Seokjin is an Asshole, brief references to childhood trauma, angst.

☾ Published: Friday, January 5, 2024

☾ A/N: Drabble 2 of the 100 Drabble Challenge is prompt #67, pirates! I had no idea what I was doing with this until I wrote it. It is obviously inspired by Pirate of the Caribbean with the whole Davy Jone’s chest thing, but I very much put my own spin on it. The ring is inspired by Solomon’s Ring, which is a Christian-centric mythology that Solomon had a ring that could summon the forces of Hell. So I did that but like… sea hell hahaha. I hope you enjoy this! I’ts very different for me!

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration

Seokjin is used to the occasional knife in the dark. As one of the most notorious captains and thieves on the seven seas, he’s even been the knife in the dark himself.

When he feels the pressure of a blade against his spine tonight, he’s not surprised. His crew is too drunk to see the threat standing behind their captain, and Seokjin has made the ridiculous mistake of letting a pretty woman lure him to a dark table in the corner, away from the noise and celebrating.

Seokjin immediately feels like a fool for letting his guard down, the worst mistake he could ever make.

The pretty girl in front of him grins and looks at Seokjin’s assailant before nodding her head and slipping from the chair. He grits his teeth, realizing she is in on it. He clenches his fist as he starts to turn, but the knife digs into his ribs. A hard push would send it right between the two of them and into a lung. It would be a slow, gross death.

The raucous noise of the tavern buzzes in his ear as a hand taps his shoulder, signaling for him to stand. He does so slowly, looking around the tavern to see if there’s anyone he can appeal to for his plight.

No one pays him any mind, hands going up dresses or down pants, wine flowing, and crowd singing. His crew is too busy celebrating. And why shouldn’t they? They’ve just stopped at their favorite port after a successful three years of hunting a timeless piece of treasure. A power that puts Seokjin on edge.

The ring sits heavy in Seokjin’s pocket. Only Yoongi his firstmate and Namjoon his chronicler know of the power in Seokjin’s pocket, too dangerous to be left on the ship with the remainder of the treasure. He doesn’t enjoy hiding the ring from his crew, but he hasn’t quiet yet decided what to do with it. How to explain what it is that it does without scaring the loyal members of his crew.

Slowly, a hand turns Seokjin around and walks him toward the stairs, still at knifepoint. He grins as he goes, leaning his head to the side to see the person who holds him captive. The knife digs harder into his back, a warning that makes him chuckle and turn forward, holding his hands up in defeat.

“If you wanted to lure me to your bed, you just had to ask,” he says, going up the steps. His boots are heavy on the creaking wood as he goes. “I am the most handsome of pirates, but I’m also quite liberal with my affections.”

His captor says nothing as they reach the second landing. Doors line either side of the hall. Seokjin can detect all manner of lovemaking and laughter beyond each closed door. He does not typically favor staying upstairs or renting rooms for whores, preferring the rocking of the ship in the harbor and the canvas of the night sky. It makes him unfamiliar with the second floor, but he counts his steps as they go.

They turn and go down another hall and stop at the last door of the right. It’s not a far run to get to the stairs and sound the alarm. Once he disarms his captor, he just needs to sprint and scream. He’s pretty quick on his feet and-

The knife prods him and he realizes the door to the room is open. He steps over the threshold into the room, glancing around. It’s simple enough. A single bed stands in the corner with a chest at the foot, a nightstand to the left, and a candle burning, smoke drifting toward the ceiling.

When the door shuts behind him, Seokjin’s muscles coil. He prepares to spring, hand sliding into the front of his jacket pocket, inching towards the small knife there-

“Don’t bother,” the voice says, knife ever-present. Seokjin’s hand freezes, recognizing the rasp of your voice anywhere. “That’s not the right knife, Captain.”

You’re right. The knife in his jacket pocket would do nothing against you, but the knife in his boot would. He’d grown lazy, no longer keeping the adamas dagger at his hip or within close reach. Three years haven’t made him feel safe, exactly, but he had started to think that you were still captive in that little home he’d left you in.

Evidently, it’s a mistake that will cost him.

Now he’s nervous. You push him further into the room with your palm but remove the knife from his back. He doesn’t reach down to the weapon in his boot, stuck between fear and the desire to see you - to talk to you again.

When he turns, his heart cracks open and starts to bleed.

The last time Seokjin saw you is fresh in his memory. You’d been chained to the bed you shared in a small island home off the coast of the Americas. He remembers the smell of your skin, like salt and driftwood. The cool touch of your lips against his burning skin. You always felt like the depths of the ocean, every part of you fluid as you’d fucked him last night, your breath sea breeze against his mouth, cries a haunting siren song.

And your eyes. Seokjin sees the inhuman blue-green glow of your eyes every night.

Now, those same eyes are staring at him, glowing in the dark. You stand so far in the shadows that it’s hard to make out any of your features or expressions, but Seokjin has your face burned into every part of his memory. The bow of your mouth, the slope of your nose, the roundness of your cheeks. It’s all there along with the knowledge that he’d betrayed you. Chained you. Loved you.

When you step into the light, Seokjin holds his breath. You’re so beautiful. It’s what lured him to you in the first place, a sailor to a siren, but he knows you’re so much more than a pretty face and glowing eyes. You’re also incredibly smart and wicked, a ruthlessness in you as brutal as the sea running in your veins, an unpredictably like a storm destroying the tropics.

A pirate by trade. Daughter of Leviathan by nature.

“You must be talented to get out of those cuffs. We should have used them more” Seokjin doesn’t know what else to say. You’re not advancing further into the room, and he’s worried reaching for his knife will startle you.

Behind him, the candle casts an orange glow on your face. It makes the sneer much more twisted, the furrowed brows as you glower harsher. Your features are sharper than he remembers, your eyes burning with the unnatural glow of a demon of the deep. You are murderous.

“I’m the favorite daughter of Leviathan, King of the Depths, Destroyer of Seas, and Maker of Tides. You think he would leave me to rot?”

“No, I suppose he doesn’t want that pretty face to wilt.” He tries to appear casual, spinning and tossing himself on the bed. You don’t move, eyes tracking him. “I suppose you’ve been following me all this time, then?”

“I have far more important things to do.”

“Perhaps, but you’d always loved revenge.”

“I loved you.”

There. You said it.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything for a moment, shocked to silence. Usually, you like to spar with your words, dancing around what you want to say with quick barbs and turns of phrase. Tonight, you cut right to it, leaving all playfulness out of your voice.

It makes his heart squeeze painfully. In the years that you sailed together, he cannot recall a time that you’ve ever been so direct. Even when you loved him most. Even when you were at your most vulnerable.

Perhaps you are here to kill him after all.

“So you’re here to win me back over?” he tries, desperate to get on familiar ground. Desperate to goad you. To make you snap back, to throw an insult. “You’ll need more than a knife to do that.”

“Give me the ring.”

“What do you want with it?”

“The likes of you shouldn’t have the power to summon the demons of the depths.”

“What if I’m in peril and need to call you?”

“You had me!” You roar, the force of your voice shaking the room, the candle almost guttering, the window panes shaking. He hears the scream downstairs, the entire building rattle with the rage of the ocean in your voice.

Seokjin drops the act, sitting up and squeezing his fists to fight the nausea of guilt twisting his stomach. He can feel your rage fill up the room like a solid thing, a cold pressure pressing on his skin as the candle on the nightstand flickers.

“Humans are not made to command Leviathan and his children” you growl, stepping further into the room. Standing closer to the light, Seokjin realizes your eyes are watery. He sucks in a sharp breath. He’s never seen you cry. “You are weak and petty, your lives but a speck of sand in fathomless oceans. You are selfish and greedy and cruel.”

“Are demons not the same? Do you not fight amongst yourselves for power? Do you not cause chaos among the seas? Do you not hunger for power, lust, and riches?”

“Those things belong to us.”

Seokjin stands abruptly. “Now they belong to me!”

“Seokjin.”

“Now I will command the seas. I will have the power to rein in the monster of the depths when he wants to destroy innocent ships. When he wants to send storms against islands. When he wants to swallow the souls on the sea. He will bow to me, now.”

“This is madness.”

“This is fair.” He feels his heart rate speed up. Feels rage pumping through his system. Feels like the little boy clinging to a piece of driftwood as the sea destroys the ship he and his family were sailing on, feels the burn of saltwater in his lungs as the ocean drags him down, feels-

“You’d risk the world for a sense of vengeance for your lost childhood?” your voice is barely audible, a sea breeze. “The infamous Captain Seokjin of the Blue Moon, Scourge of the Seas, so afraid of losing control of the tide that he’d dare assert his dominance over it.”

“Captain Seokjin, King of Tides has a better ring to it.”

You glance at his pocket where you know the ring sits heavy. He can feel the power ebbing from the cool metal as thought it senses you in the room. Like calling to like. A tool to control Leviathan and all of his demonic children of the sea sensing one of those very creatures in front of him.

“The sea will bow to no one.”

A blade glints in your hand. Seokjin finally realizes why you refuse to jest. Why there are tears in your eyes. You’re not here to negotiate or to let him loose. He truly has fallen out of your favor, and you’re here to take what he used you to steal.

He slowly bends down, watching you all the while. You let him remove the knife from his boot, kind enough to offer him a fair fight. “The sea loved you, you know?”

He knows you’re not just talking about the oceans he sails. His throat constricts as he nods. “I love her.”

You appraise him once more, uncanny eyes flickering. If his admission that there is still warmth flickering for you has an effect, it doesn’t show.

“Your love means nothing. You betrayed her and now you will meet your death, King of Tides.”

He grips his knife firmly. The ring is heavy in his pocket. “I welcome the attempt.”

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