#the bodyguard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

looulouv · 3 months ago

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the bodyguard. — epic!telemachus x reader

pairing: telemachus x gn!reader synopsis: after a year away from ithaca, telemachus returns to find his home in turmoil, with bloodshed staining the halls of the palace. gods, he just wanted to reunite with his family, his mother and certain guard that had captured his heart without even knowing. but the fates had another idea of a family reunion. genre: idk man, fluff ? angst ? warnings: fighting, blood, etc etc, tele being a sweetheart, mm that's it ig word count: 2.5k author's note: first time posting here, got tired of my ideas rotting in my notes app.......... had sm fun writing this, omg my fingers hurt after spending like three hours on my laptop ! would love to write more ab this, lemme know if i should !!!

first meeting: here! pt 2: here!

Telemachus had been alone in the palace for a long time. Dreaming of the day where his father would return to claim his throne, where he would tell him countless stories from the war, from the world, the sea. Telemachus' heart hurt, feeling a missing part, a void that he knew his father would fill.

But he didn't feel alone. He had them.

(Y/N), a new guard that had been assigned as guard when he was around fifteen. They had arrived as a gift from Nestor of Pylos, whose loyalty to Odysseus stretched back to Troy. Though sent to shield Penelope and her son, their arrival did little to quiet the suitors, who saw them as little more than a foreign soldier meddling in Ithacan affairs. But to Telemachus, their sharp tongue and unwavering spear became a comfort in the chaos, and eventually, their kind heart made his own race. They had become quite a companion for him when they weren't guarding his mother's chambers.

He always found himself admiring them. He couldn't help it, not when they were so pretty. How could anyone carry that guard uniform and still look so gorgeous? Telemachus didn't know. He had grown up alongside (Y/N), who was just a year younger than him, and had watched them transform into a more skilled soldier than they were before, agile and poised, unwavering and firey. Telemachus couldn't stop himself from looking, from sighing at the sight of them, a dazed smile on his lips as he observed at the way their hair flowed as they trained, how their expression softened when they interacted with his mother. How they seemed to bow their head to even Argos when they passed by, greeting ever so softly. Telemachus envied and felt enthralled by the kindness in their heart.

They even tried constantly to stop Antinous from kicking his ass, but well, it didn't do much the last time, it only made the older man give him a warning about how his mother had to choose new husband and with a scoff, he walked away, ripping a goblet of wine from another suitor. Telemachus didn't care. He had landed a few punches as well with Athena's help. He was proud of himself.

Since then, Telemachus not only had his mother and (Y/N), but also Athena. His new mentor encouraged him to be more brave and fierce, to practice with his spear and to take action using strategy and wisdom. And that's why he chose to travel and find information about his father, guided by his mentor to take part in something more than read thousands of scrolls as he spent the day locked in his chambers with Argos.

When he decided to embark on a journey to Pylos and Sparta, both Penelope and (Y/N) were against it, skeptical and worried, but stubborn as ever, Telemachus yelled and that he needed to prove himself, that he needed to know. That he needed to do something to feel worthy of his lineage. And so he left, for a whole year.

As the ship divised Ithaca and Telemachus practically buzzed with enthusiasm of seeing his mother again, of seeing them again, his heart rate picked up.

He didn't know that when he returned, his father would already be there, slaying the 108 souls that made his and his mother's lives tremendously difficult, sending them straight to Tartarus. Yet when Athena advised him to dock his ship somewhere else, away from prying eyes, Telemachus felt something was wrong.

So when he arrived to the palace and managed to hear the screams, he bolted. He ran towards the source of the sounds and while running, he saw piles of bodies, puddles and puddles of blood, his sandals slipping on the slick marble floor stained with fresh crimson. He just hoped his mother was okay, he hoped that (Y/N) could keep her safe. He hoped (Y/N) was safe. The palace was dark as night approached, torches blown out and some of them on the floor, a few feet away from the bodies. Telemachus could still see, squinting his eyes as he now walked carefully, wary of whatever dangers could be found within the walls of his home.

And that's when he saw it, Amphinomus and Melanthius, their voices echoing sharply against the cold stone walls of the armory. The room was dimly lit, the golden and silver glint of scattered weapons catching the faint glow of a single torch hanging near the entrance. They were discussing something about… The king? His father? Had he returned? Was that why the suitors were falling like rotten apples from a tree? He had to do something. That was his chance to finally do something about those monsters that had been tormenting him since he was a child.

He gripped his double sided spear until his knuckles turned white, and before he could be heard, he struck Amphinomus, his sharp eyes watching him fall with a loud thud. He then tried to persuade the rest of the suitors to give up, to throw down their weapons, but as he suspected, it was useless. They charged at him, wanting to capture him to have a leverage over his father.

And they almost did it, because while Telemachus fought tooth and nail to get them off, his spear was knocked out of his hands in a second, and Melanthius forced him to his knees, where Telemachus felt like he had disappointed his mentor and his entire bloodline.

But as soon as his expression fell, his eyes widened as he felt a gush of warm, red liquid on his face. Melanthius had been stabbed from the back, by non other than a man with a cloak, eyes red as blood and expression deathly as a sharp sword. Melanthius tried to beg for mercy, but wasn't grated with it, with harsh words and various wounds to the chest by this individual. His father.

And soon, as Odysseus busied himself with those who were still alive, more screams could be heard down the hallway from the great hall. A running figure emerged from the chaos, sharp eyes gleaming in the lone, flickering torchlight that illuminated the hallway. Their white chiton, trimmed with blue and gold, glowed faintly against the dark, blood-spattered hall. Each calculated strike of their spear echoed in the cavernous space, the clatter of falling weapons and dying gasps and yelps of suitors filling the air. Behind them, the shadows seemed to ripple as if the palace itself recoiled from the carnage. The dark blue chlamys draped over their shoulder, fastened with a round golden brooch, flowed as they moved both ferociously and gracefully. They had an armor, gold bracers with intricate patterns on both forearms, gold and blue greaves on the lower legs, equipped with a round shield, alongside their gold helmet crested with a plume. Strappy leather sandals that climbed their calves made a faint noise as they ran down the hall, eyes calculating every move, mind and soul fast as they struck every suitor they encountered.

Telemachus had never seen such a dangerous yet beautiful sight. (Y/N) looked so flawless as they fought, and when their eyes met? Telemachus swore his heart stopped. He hadn't seen them since the year prior, and they looked even more stunning. Not that they weren't stunning before, but because he had missed that elegance and grace when he was away, -thinking about it for a whole year, of them with a stoic face, chuckling at him as his spear fell out of his hands when he practiced, shielding him from Antinous constant pestering, admiring them while they were on duty and he was supposed to be eating his dinner-, and seeing it once more after a long time made him appreciate it even more. When they approached, asking if he was hurt while trying to wipe the blood off his face, asking if some of it was his, Telemachus couldn't stop himself from stuttering, cheeks flushed like he hadn't been stabbing men left and right, the flush on his cheeks competing against the blood on his clothes and face. The air was thick, heavy with the aftermath of battle, yet all he could focus on was the way (Y/N)’s gaze burned into his.

"I-I'm fine, (Y/N), I promise, it's not mine" he answered, lowering himself to retrieve his spear and grip it in his hands, sending a lopsided smile their way, almost forgetting that his father, the one who was stranded away for twenty years, was right there, as he admired their presence. How their hair had grown out, how it seemed more shiny.

Once he snapped out of that trance, his eyes fell on his father. Odysseus, the great king of Ithaca. Telemachus' mouth hanged open for a while, staring as Odysseus recovered for the carnage. His chest heaved, his long hair was messy, face stained with red.

"Father…" was all Telemachus could muster, heart on his throat. (Y/N) took notice of this, and their eyes snapped to the man whom they didn't recognize, eyes wide with shock.

"My king, it's an honor." they bowed deeply, lowering their spear as well as their head.

Odysseus, who seemed to now comprehend how much time he had been away, ignored the greeting from the guard and just looked at Telemachus like he was still an infant in his arms, muttering a soft "Son…" as his eyes softened, no longer carrying that angry red that he possessed during the battle. Both father and son embraced for a while, emotions flooding the room as (Y/N) gave them space, guarding the door like they were on duty.

Once they had talked and shared a few tears, Telemachus fetched the guard from their spot, his hand brushing slightly against theirs as he pulled them in the direction of his father.

"This is (Y/N), father. The guard I talked to you about, a friend I made over the years. They practically kept this whole place running. If it weren't for them, mother and I would probably be in ruins," he chuckled, eyes trailing over every faction, every detail in (Y/N)'s face.

“A fine soldier and a loyal companion. You’ve served my family well, (Y/N).” Odysseus' voice was heavy with authority, but there was a warmth underneath it, a gratitude that even a seasoned warrior like (Y/N) would recognize, as his eyes, maybe dimmed and tired, still held some softness in them.

"It was nothing, my king. I was just doing what was right, it's my duty." they replied, tone steady, but Telemachus noticed the faintest waver in their voice. Nerves? Respect? Whatever it was, was endearing to him. And when (Y/N) straightened up and bowed once more, turning their attention back to the doors as Odysseus told Telemachus to inform his mother of his return and to have his guard accompany him, he let them go first before patting his son on the back with a strong but gentle hand.

"A good choice, my boy."

Telemachus froze, eyes wide as his cheeks turn blazing red.

"Wha-? No, father, it's not-" he stammered, trying to think of something to save himself, but it was futile.

"Oh, it's not what? I saw the way you looked at them the moment they joined the fight. Don't lie to me, son. I may have been away for twenty years, but I recognize that look everywhere. I looked at your mother the same way,"

His words alone were enough for Telemachus to turn scarlet, even more than he already was, knuckles white as he gripped his spear with the strength of an army, heart pounding against his ribcage. Gods, what was he going to do?

#telemachus #epic the musical #epic the ithaca saga #epic telemachus #telemachus x reader #epic telemachus x reader #epic x reader #epic the musical x reader #god what am i gonna do same tele #the bodyguard

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mgparker · 1 year ago

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the bodyguard- din djarin

din djarin x f!royal!reader

summary: the princess makes it her mission to know what’s really behind that rigid suit of beskar.

warnings: fluff, mando/princess bonding, nothing crazy happens tbh, hopefully not too ooc, unedited as fuck

<<last chapter! | masterlist!

ੈ✩‧₊˚. iii. a suspect *.ੈ✩‧₊˚.

You step out of your meeting with a relieved sigh, resting your forehead against your palm, leaning back against the double doors of the great hall.

Inside, you could hear the Council quietly disputing their next topic of concern, some trade with a far-off planet.

Between your fingers, you see the Mandalorian standing a small distance away. Straight with a hand on his belt, dutifully aware.

“You didn’t tell Phex about the other night, thank you,” you tell him gratefully.

The Mandalorian nods as always.

You take the lead, breezing past him and heading through the passageway. It held large open windows, from which you could see the village and your people.

A child suddenly stops with a bucket of water, staring right at you with wide eyes and you give him a graceful smile.

Then you make a show of waving in a very childish manner.

It was unladylike of you, but it made the child wave back with triple the enthusiasm. A wide toothy smile on his young face.

He tugs on the dress of who you assume belongs to his guardian. The woman looks down before following his little pointer finger to you. Her eyes widen just as the little boy’s did and she instantly drops into a curtsy.

You nod your head softly, still smiling.

A hand on the base of your spine makes you jump and tear your eyes away from the village. You almost glance behind you but a voice speaks close to your ear.

You freeze.

“Your Highness, we should keep going.”

A flash of irritation makes you purse your lips. But you do as the Mandalorian says, the spot where his hand was touching you beginning to burn.

Your cheeks feel warm, not used to physical touch from anyone in this way.

Maker, you feel delusional.

“Why must you usher me away from my people?” You ask hotly, as soon as he shuts the door to your quarters.

“I—”

In a very uncharacteristic manner, the Mandalorian suddenly stumbles over his words. Seemingly looking for an excuse.

Eyebrows knitting together, you attempt to put two and two together.

“Do you… do you have a suspect? Is that why you don’t want me lingering around others?”

He’s silent.

“You believe it’s one of my people? But why—?”

“I have many names to cross before I can determine who wishes to inflict harm upon you. For now, we must take every precaution necessary,” his raspy voice modulator replies. His stance shifts, hip jutting out a bit. You follow the movement despite yourself.

To your surprise, your sharp tongue fails you.

Retreating into your private quarters, you half expect him to follow you but he stays put in the antechamber. In your position by the vanity, you can still see him clearly.

“You know, I don’t really know much about you,” you pick up a journal and pen. “We spend nearly every waking moment together and I don’t even know if you’re human.”

The Mandalorian makes a sound you can only perceive as a huff. “I can assure you we’re both made of the same flesh and bone.”

You can’t spot a single spot of revealed skin on his person. Every inch is covered by beskar or fabric.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’ve heard of few warriors on Mandalore that choose to conceal their faces to any other living being. Do you belong to this group?”

“You mean the Children of the Watch,” he rasps through his modulator. You make your way further into the antechamber, sitting upon the settee. The Mandalorian stands by the foyer.

“Mhm,” you confirm.

“I simply choose to wear my helmet because it makes my work a lot easier. It keeps my identity concealed.”

“Doesn’t it make you stand out more?”

“Does it?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you think this is a trick question to boost his ego.

“I’d say so. I can’t go anywhere without whispers following behind.”

“Maybe they’re about you.”

You shake your head. “Oh, I doubt it. I am to be their queen but I’ve only ever lived in the shadows since-since—”

There’s a heaviness in your gut as you think about your parents. You try your best not to, dismissing any reminder of them so that you can try to maintain a level head.

It upset you too much.

“You said it yourself,” injects the Mandalorian, sensing your struggle. “You’re to be queen soon. You were born to be their ruler. And you’re kind.” He says it as though it’s the most shocking thing above all. “Perhaps too kind.”

“Are you suggesting that a ruler should be cruel to their people?”

“No,” the Mandalorian rasps. “But it can make you more vulnerable. You see the good in people. It can blind you to the bad.”

You eye him for a few moments, wishing you could read any part of him. But it’s like trying to identify feelings in a brick wall.

You think over your response and begin slowly. “I’m aware many rulers across the Galaxy are tyrants. Leaders of their worlds, but terrorists to their people. Like ants under the shadow of a boot. But I refuse to be like that. And if it means there will be more attempts over my head, then I’m glad you’re here.” You sigh. “I won’t change. Not for anyone.”

The Mandalorian is silent for a minute.

“Then maybe you’re what this Republic needs.”

You stare at him, trying to see past that pitch black helmet. You wonder if he truly means what he said, wishing you were better at handling more serious topics like these.

“Don’t say that around Phex,” you joke as you fight off the warmth blossoming in your cheeks at his comment. “He’ll try to rope me into the Senate more than royal duties require.”

There’s a puff of air that catches onto the modulator of his helmet. Like a chuckle.

It makes you smile a bit.

“You’re still upset with the Senator.”

Your smile drops. You briefly wonder how he knew about your ire, before realizing he had heard your confession in the abandoned tower nights ago.

“No. No, I know why he did what he did.” A certain blacksmith had something to do with that. “But you must know I’m not trying to be difficult. I just—all this fuss, it’s rather complicated seeing as I haven’t been harmed... it is those around me that have met the fate Phex believes is intended for me. My last guard still lies in the infirmary and my handmaiden barely survived an attack outside these quarters mere months ago…”

He squares his shoulders. “I’m quite good at my job, Princess.”

“Yes, but don’t you see? I’m not worried about myself,” you urge desperately. The twinges of discomfort are impossible to hide, you want to outright say it but you find yourself too humiliated.

He reads between the lines. “Princess… it’s not your job to worry about me. I’m skilled in every form of hand-to-hand combat, I wield the strongest armor in all the galaxies. There’s few that have gained the upper hand against me. It hasn’t happened in years.”

Something builds in the room. It gets more serious than you would like. You swallow the lump in your throat.

“Is that a hint of smugness I sense in you, Mandalorian?” You ask as cheekily as you can manage, trying to ease the tension before it gets more uncomfortable.

He stays silent, as if he hadn’t just said more words to you in the last few minutes than he had in the two weeks since he’d been assigned your protector.

You sigh, a small part of you wants to get him to talk again. “In years?” You try.

The Mandalorian bows his head. “Well, as children, you have to fall before you can learn to stand. In combat, the same applies.”

You fight a scoff. “You haven’t lost since you were a child?”

“In training,” he nods.

You knew of the rumors. The Mandalorian was a formidable force, undefeated in his fights. He had deep scarlet red in his ledger, gushing and flowing from his past. Something you’d only managed to learn about through hushed gossip in the village. Nights, before the threats began, when you would dress in a disguise, hidden beneath layers of cloaks, slowly gliding through the marketplace with sharp eyes and even sharper ears.

Even now, as a work-for-hire bodyguard, the Mandalorian managed to rack up quite a reputation. Hefty in price but matchless in his service.

There’s no one better in the field.

Apparently.

You suppose he’s already proven his skill in tracking, staying hidden in the shadows, keeping a watchful eye on you. But you’ve never seen him fight…

Hopefully, you’d never have to.

The soft glow of the sun catches your attention through your windows. They’re sealed shut again, the rope tied beneath your bed reluctantly discarded but you didn’t want the Mandalorian to watch you more than he did already.

You suddenly remember the journal and pen in your grasp and open the book gently.

Flipping to the next empty page, you scribble a few things you’d discussed with Senator Dameron this morning. It’s important for your future plans once you are crowned…

You don’t realize how long you’ve been writing until your hand begins to ache and your eyes have to squint from the lack of light to your parchment. As if he’d been watching your every single minuscule movement, the Mandalorian suddenly crosses the room and lights a wall torch with a device you hadn’t noticed he had strapped to his arm.

The heat of the flames lick at your skin even from the distance between you… the dusk pulls a yawn from deep within your chest. The long meeting with the Council exhausted you.

You longingly eye your bed and then turn to face the Mandalorian again. He stands there like a statue.

“I think…” you’re hesitant to end this comfortable silence you’ve both fallen into so soon. “I think I’ll retire for the night. I’m exhausted.”

The Mandalorian simply nods.

You stand from the settee and glance around the antechamber. Everything was in place, just as you’ve always left it. Nothing out of the ordinary other than the disarray of pillows from where you’d been sitting for the better part of an hour.

Curiosity got the better of you. “Erm— where do you sleep?”

He’s silent.

You absolutely hate it and you knew you couldn’t go back to the stoic figure of beskar you’d been living with before.

You push again. “Do you sleep?”

“It’s my duty to ensure no harm comes to you, your Highness.”

The heavy weight of guilt settles deep within your gut. You frown at him, feeling quite bad about the fact that he was sacrificing his own well being just because you couldn’t be trusted.

Because of your rebellious nature.

In this entire day, you’ve learned a few things about the Mandalorian. Mostly, that he’s attentive. He thinks, despite the lack of sleep you’ve caused him, that you’re kind. He knows about your ire with the Senator despite the mask you’ve carefully constructed around others… and he was able to decipher the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

Despite the fact that technically he was forced to be with you, he still cares enough to get to know little bits of you.

And you feel a deep desire to know him.

“I won’t be sneaking out in the middle of the night, I can assure you. I won’t be making that silly mistake again,” you try to assuage any doubts he had. You want him to rest.

His stance shifts apprehensively.

You take a few steps closer to him, ignoring the childish temptation to hold out your pinky finger.

“I promise,” you tell him genuinely. “Which is a big deal. I don’t tend to make those.”

And slowly, he seems to relax just a bit, his shoulders falling slightly from where they’d been standing tall. His hand leaving its usual spot on his belt. A small puff of air escaping the modulator of his helmet.

“Feel free to make this room your own,” you motion toward the settee which could expand into a decent sized bed.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You back up a few steps before spinning around and heading toward your bedroom, only stopping before the archway.

“I wish you a good night. Please do get some rest,” you say genuinely, loosening the ties that held your curtains apart. It separated your private chambers from the rest of your quarters.

“You too, Princess.” There’s a new warmth in his tone even the modulator couldn’t filter out.

Satisfaction blossoms in your chest.

A mischievous thought comes to mind, a perfect way to end your night.

“I don’t suppose you’d want to become a bit more acquainted now? Maybe take off your helmet?” You smirk, half joking.

You keep a cheeky smile on your face so he doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

Surprisingly… he gives you a warm chuckle, full bodied and his chest moves up and down.

You shake your head with a small laugh, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks and ears. The small nerves that came with a new friendship rising in your tummy.

As you shut the curtains and climb into your bed giddily, you don’t fight the elated smile that’s been threatening to spread across your lips all evening.

And it’s only then that you realize how suggestive your comment might’ve sounded to the Mandalorian and you stare at the wall with wide embarrassed eyes. You try to dismiss the thought, hoping he didn’t think anything of it…

Just as you begin to doze off, the small click of beskar echoes from the antechamber, followed by a hiss and then an unfiltered sigh.

Your heart stops, clinging to the sound of your protector’s voice. Or rather the air leaving his lungs.

The raw sound of it sends a chill up your spine.

It replays in your head until you fall asleep.

don’t worry, pals. the next chapter is where the real drama starts. ;)

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#mgparker #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #star wars #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal x reader #the bodyguard #the bodyguard din djarin #star wars royal au #star wars au #din djarin x princess!reader #the mandalorian x princess!reader #the mandalorian au #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian series #the mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian x reader

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