#the river was flooded and had spilled over

[alfareria]

Mushrooms and double rainbows trying to capture the little details of January

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want to Retire - Idia Shroud x reader

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it. Now, as the villainess you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

Series Masterlist

You’ve lived a life. A noble life, full of honor, glory, and caffeine-fueled late-night writing sessions.

You're an aspiring author.

An aspiring author who, unfortunately, just created the most stupid novel plot of all time.

At least, that’s how it feels. You sit back, staring at your screen, utterly defeated as your latest creation flickers mockingly before you.

You’ve named it: "The Battle for Genius Prince Idia’s Hand" (working title, don’t judge). And wow, it’s a mess.

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

You’ve got your heroine—a girl so sweet she’s practically made of sugar, like one of those cookies that look good but crumble the second you bite into them. Naturally, she’s fighting for the affection of your male lead, Prince Idia, who is a socially awkward, genius mechanic prince (because you thought it’d be fun to make him hot and bad with people).

Then there’s the villainess. Ah, the villainess. She’s smart, sharp-tongued, and has enough sass to level a small city. Her entire personality? Sabotage. And she’s also after Idia—because apparently, that’s the only thing women in this story care about. (You regret this immensely.)

But oh no! Plot twist! Idia gets kidnapped by some unnamed evil force (you’ll figure it out later). The heroine? Well, instead of rescuing him, she falls for some Bland Prince. You don’t even know why. You think his name might be Greg. Or Gerald. Honestly, he’s that unremarkable.

Meanwhile, the villainess doesn’t even care anymore about Idia. Instead, she’s full-on dedicated to ruining the heroine’s new, bland romance because… well, that’s her whole schtick.

It’s… awful.

You sit back, hands in your hair, groaning aloud. “What is this? Who would even read this?”

You glance at your notes. They’re a chaotic mess of random scribbles: “Idia = genius, but hates people,” “Villainess needs more fire,” and “Heroine? Too boring. Spice her up. Maybe dragons?”

Yeah. This isn’t working.

You slump in your chair, utterly defeated. The characters are good, great even! But the plot? Oh, the plot is a dumpster fire. No, worse. It’s a flaming dumpster floating down a river of bad decisions. You can’t believe you spent hours writing this.

That’s it. You’re scrapping the entire thing. You’ll keep the characters, sure. But the story? Gone. Deleted. No one needs to suffer through this mess.

Determined, you crack your knuckles and reach for the keyboard, ready to hit the big red “DELETE” button on your disasterpiece.

“Say goodbye to this trash heap,” you mutter, “and hello to some actual good writing.”

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

Just as your finger hovers over the delete key, the worst possible thing happens. Your elbow, as if possessed by the forces of chaos itself, nudges the precariously balanced coffee cup on your desk. The liquid inside, which you had so carefully placed right next to your laptop like a ticking time bomb, tips. In slow motion, you watch the dark, caffeinated doom spill over the edge and land directly onto your keyboard.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” you shout, lunging forward, but it’s too late.

The coffee floods your keys like a tidal wave of misfortune. Your laptop makes a sickening little noise, a soft bzzt, and the screen flickers ominously. You sit there, frozen in horror, watching your computer sizzle as if it’s been cursed by the gods of terrible life choices.

And then—just when you think it couldn’t get worse—it gets worse.

There’s a small, but very real, spark. You flinch back, because nothing good ever comes from sparks. The screen flickers violently, the keys start to buzz, and then—before you can even process what’s happening—you feel it.

ZAP!

Electricity courses through your body. Your vision flashes white, your muscles seize, and in one horrifyingly comedic moment, you realize you’re being electrocuted by your own laptop.

You’d scream if you could, but all you manage is a high-pitched whimper before everything goes black.

Dead. You’re dead. Killed by your own coffee and a poorly thought-out novel. Fantastic.

You blink your eyes open, your head pounding like you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks—or, more likely, an electrical charge. Slowly, your vision clears, and you find yourself… staring at an unfamiliar, ornately decorated ceiling.

Where the hell are you?

You sit up with a groan, and that’s when it hits you: the bed. It’s massive, plush, and absurdly luxurious—definitely not your usual ratty mattress. Panic sets in, and you scramble out of bed, only to catch your reflection in a nearby mirror.

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

Staring back at you is her. The villainess. The sharp-tongued, drama-fueled antagonist of your novel. The one with a penchant for ruining lives and stealing the spotlight. The one you made up.

You gasp, gripping the sides of the mirror. “No. NO.” You stare at the dark hair cascading over your shoulders, the perfectly arched brows, and the terrifyingly intense smirk that seems to have a life of its own. “Why am I her? Why this of all characters?”

You step back from the mirror and slap your cheeks, half hoping that’ll wake you up from this fever dream. It doesn’t. You’re still stuck in the body of the villainess, and with each passing second, reality—or whatever twisted version of it this is—sinks in deeper.

“Of course,” you mutter, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Of course this is my life now. I write the dumbest novel in existence, and this is what I get.” You pace in front of the mirror, ranting to no one in particular. “Who even thinks it’s a good idea to make me the villainess? Me?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

After a few minutes of thoroughly berating yourself—and by extension, the cosmic forces that brought you here—you finally stop, resting your hands on your hips.

“Okay. Fine. FINE. I’ll play your stupid game, universe.” You throw one last glare at your reflection. “But I’m not tormenting the heroine. Nope. She can have her stupid one-sided rivalry for all I care. I want nothing to do with this mess.”

The decision made, you shake your head and take a deep breath. “Alright, what’s next?” You glance around the villainess’s extravagant room, trying to figure out your next move. And then, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

Prince Idia.

In your novel, he’s socially awkward, reclusive, and definitely doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this disaster. He’s just collateral damage in your sorry excuse for a plot, and honestly? You feel kinda bad about it.

You snap your fingers. “That’s it. I’ll find Prince Idia. Save him or something. Maybe I can even get a reward for rescuing a royal!” You’re feeling pretty good about this plan—much better than sticking around and causing drama with the heroine, at least.

With a dramatic flourish (you are still the villainess, after all), you head for the door, ready to track down Idia and redeem yourself in whatever twisted way you can manage. Who knows, maybe this whole situation won’t be as bad as you thought.

Or… maybe it’ll be even worse. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

After what feels like hours of arguing with your stubborn, uptight butler—who is absolutely convinced that your decision to head straight for the abandoned palace at the edge of town is the worst idea you’ve ever had—you finally break free.

“If anyone was kidnapped, that’s where they’d be!” you shout over your shoulder as you march toward your carriage, ignoring his protests about "safety" and "reckless behavior."

Butler or not, you’re on a mission. And after a bumpy ride to the palace, here you are, standing at the entrance, waiting for the traps or menacing guards to pounce.

...Nothing.

It’s strangely anticlimactic, actually. You push open the door, expecting maybe a cackle or some ominous fog. But no, just dust and an eerie silence. You frown, stepping cautiously inside.

“What kind of royal abduction is this? Budget cuts?”

Just as you’re about to chalk this whole thing up to a monumental waste of time, you hear it—a low curse, followed by the distinct sound of tinkering. You freeze, listening closer.

Definitely someone messing with something.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your trusty gun (bless past-you for deciding guns belonged in this novel), and with practiced ease, you pull it out and slam open the nearest door.

"Hands up!" you yell, pointing the barrel directly at—

A very, very scared Prince Idia, crouching beside what looks like a half-assembled mechanical gadget. His wide, shocked eyes meet yours, and he lets out a startled yelp, nearly knocking over the tools scattered around him.

"Wh-What the hell?!" you blurt, lowering the gun slightly. This was not the daring rescue scene you imagined.

Idia flinches, awkwardly raising his hands. “I—uh, I don’t know who you are, but how did you even find me?!” he stammers, looking at you like you just kicked his favorite gaming console.

"How did I—? Are you kidding me?" You gesture dramatically with the gun, still in shock. "I’m one of the people you were supposed to choose from! Remember? The whole ‘Battle for the Hand of Prince Idia’ thing?”

He blinks at you, deadpan. “Oh… Oh, no,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Absolutely not. I’m not going back. I staged this whole thing for a reason.” He crosses his arms, stubborn. “I’ll just stay here with my gadgets. You can go back to… whatever you do.”

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you mean you staged this?” You glance around the dusty, decrepit palace. “This is your brilliant escape plan? Hiding out in the palace equivalent of a haunted IKEA?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s quiet, it’s out of the way, and no one bothers me here. I didn’t get kidnapped, okay? I just—didn’t want to deal with all the royal court nonsense.” He shrugs, as if staging a fake kidnapping is the most logical thing in the world.

“You do realize that Ortho is still at the palace, right? Your little brother? Alone? Without you?” You raise an eyebrow, watching the slow dawning horror creep across Idia’s face.

“Yeah, so?” He huffs. “He’s the Crown Prince now. I’m sure he’s fine—"

“Bro,” you interrupt, “have you seen high society? Ortho’s gonna get eaten alive. Not to mention the other princes aren’t just gonna let him waltz around with a crown on his head without making his life miserable.”

Idia’s eyes go wide, his brain clearly working overtime as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “Oh… Oh no. I didn’t think of that.”

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

He stares at the ground, looking like he’s physically shrinking under the weight of his own bad decisions. And then—something unthinkable happens.

“Help me,” he says, his voice desperate. He looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Please. I’ll—I’ll make you anything you want, build you gadgets, whatever you need! Just help me navigate high society while I… hide in the shadows or whatever.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you… Are you asking me to pose as your fake fiancée?”

Idia flushes crimson, his hands flailing. “N-No! Well, maybe? Yes. I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I want to—" He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just… ugh. Yes. Please.”

You cross your arms, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Fake engagement, huh? Alright, but only if you give me a beach house when this farce is over and Ortho officially takes the crown.”

Idia looks up at you, blinking in surprise. “A beach house? That’s your condition?”

You smirk. “Hey, I know what I want. So, do we have a deal?”

He hesitates for a moment, but then sighs, defeated. “Fine. You get the beach house. Just… make sure no one talks to me. Or atleast, you have to handle almost all the talking.”

With a satisfied nod, you extend your hand. “Deal.”

Idia, still red-faced and awkward, shakes your hand. You can’t help but wonder what sort of chaos you’ve just agreed to—but at least you’re getting a beach house out of it.

Sneaking Idia back to your manor wasn’t the most glamorous affair. He insisted on wearing a cloak, “for dramatic effect,” even though the streets were practically empty.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to be a genius, you're real bad at blending in," you deadpan as he stumbles over his own cloak.

"It’s supposed to make me inconspicuous," Idia mutters, pulling the hood down further. "People see a cloak, they assume you’re some weirdo and leave you alone. It’s basic stealth mechanics."

“Uh-huh. And tripping on it helps too?”

“Shut up.”

Once inside the manor, you sit him down to discuss the details of how you’re going to spin this whole ‘rescue’ thing. Idia, now a little more at ease, starts fiddling with some gadget he pulled from one of his cloak’s hidden pockets. You can't tell if he's actually paying attention, but you figure you’d better get started.

"Okay," you say, leaning in like you’re about to hatch the greatest scheme of your life. "We need a story. Something grand. Heroic. Full of intrigue, mystery—"

“Or we could just say I, uh, got lost?” Idia offers halfheartedly. “And you happened to find me by accident. That sounds more plausible.”

You shoot him a look. "Idia, this is high society. No one ‘just gets lost for 3 months.’ We need something more exciting. Like, I fought off a band of rogue kidnappers—"

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

Idia sighs. “Fine, whatever. Make it sound cool, but not too cool. If it’s too impressive, people will start thinking I owe you something.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already have an idea of what you owe me,” you say, smirking.

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

"Alright, so I 'bravely' tracked you down to the abandoned palace—"

"Because obviously that's where I'd be hiding," Idia interrupts sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"—and I singlehandedly defeated a gang of ruthless kidnappers, saving you from a life of captivity. You, overwhelmed by my gallantry, are forever in my debt—"

Idia snorts. "Forever in your debt? Yeah, right. You're more likely to find me dead than in your debt."

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

Eventually, you both settle on a suitably ridiculous tale where you, after days of tireless investigation, heroically rescued him from an evil plot to overthrow the royal family. It's unnecessarily elaborate, full of conveniently absent witnesses and a dramatic escape from a non-existent dungeon. The whole thing’s so ridiculous, you almost feel bad for making anyone listen to it.

“Right,” you say, standing up. “Now we just need to sell this at court.”

When you arrive at the palace, Idia hangs back while you step forward, playing your part as the "heroic rescuer." Ortho’s the first one to spot you, and when his eyes land on Idia, they widen with shock and excitement.

“Brother!” Ortho shouts, practically flying over to tackle Idia in a hug. “I knew you’d come back!”

Idia, not really one for public displays of affection, awkwardly pats Ortho’s head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbles, though you can see the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “I was, uh, working on some top-secret stuff. Y’know, important genius-level projects.”

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

You have to hold back a snicker. Yeah, real “top-secret.” Like avoiding social interaction at all costs.

Soon, you’re ushered into the royal court. The king—who clearly knows something is up—doesn't look remotely surprised by the "revelation" that Idia was never actually kidnapped. But, because royal politics are weird, he plays along.

“So, Prince Idia,” the king says, raising an eyebrow, “I suppose you’ll want the Crown Prince title back now that you’ve returned?”

Idia freezes, panic flashing in his eyes. "Uh, absolutely not. Hard pass. Nope. Ortho’s got it handled, right? He can keep the whole… crown… thing.”

Ortho nods eagerly from behind him. “I’ve got it covered!”

The king sighs but nods. “Very well. And what about you?” He turns to you. “Surely, a brave soul such as yourself deserves a reward.”

Here it comes. You’ve rehearsed this with Idia, but now that you’re on the spot, you can’t help the dramatic flair in your voice as you clasp your hands together and say, “All I ask… is for Prince Idia’s hand.”

The king looks thoroughly amused, while Idia, beside you, is turning a very interesting shade of red.

“What?” Idia hisses under his breath. “That was not the line.”

You grin, leaning closer. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s funnier this way.”

To his credit, Idia doesn’t collapse on the spot, though he does look like he’s reconsidering his life choices.

Meanwhile, from across the room, you catch the third prince—your so-called "male lead"—glaring daggers at you. He looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel, while the heroine next to him is scandalized beyond belief.

“B-but Idia’s hand was supposed to be won!” she protests, clearly flustered.

You tilt your head innocently. “Oh? Not satisfied with the third Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes at her.

Her face goes red, and the Bland Prince—whoever he is—looks equally scandalized.

Next to you, Idia quietly high-fives you behind his back.

“Nice one,” he whispers.

As you both walk away from the court, Idia glances over at you, his usual sarcasm softened by relief. “You know, I really thought I’d end up hating this whole scheme, but you’re not bad at playing the part.”

You chuckle, nudging him. “Told you it’d be fun. And now I get a beach house, so it’s a win-win.”

Idia sighs but can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me go to any more parties, okay?”

“Deal.”

You’re sitting across from Idia in the study, supposedly "spending time together" to prove to the world how deeply smitten you both are. In reality, though, you’re plotting out your beach house retirement plan, while Idia is hunched over his latest gadget, muttering like a mad scientist.

"Okay, so if I tweak this—boom, self-repairing AI drone. Easy. The idiots at court would never get it," he whispers to himself, eyes glued to the wires and gears he's fiddling with.

You’re busy doodling floor plans of your dream beach house, adding an extra pool for fun. “Yeah, totally, sweetheart,” you mumble, pretending to listen. This fake relationship thing is going swimmingly.

That’s when the door flies open, and in waltzes the male lead—of course he doesn't knock. The guy practically drips entitlement as he saunters in, admiring himself in the reflection of a spoon he’s for some reason carrying.

Without missing a beat, you and Idia scramble to look like actual lovers. You slide closer to him, casually tossing an arm over his shoulders, and he—already flustered—just stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap.

“I see you two are enjoying each other’s company,” the male lead says, not even looking up from his spoon reflection. “I came to invite you to the tea party. You know, with all the nobles. The whole ‘Idia’s too traumatized to socialize’ excuse isn’t gonna fly anymore. It’s been three months.”

Idia’s eyes widen, and you can practically hear his soul leave his body. You give him a reassuring nudge.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to sit there, sip tea, maybe nibble on a pastry, and nod at Ortho. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Idia doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Sure, sure, as long as I don’t have to, like, interact.”

The two of you arrive at the tea party, and the moment you step into the garden, you realize you're absolutely screwed. It’s not a tea party at all—it’s some weird medieval Olympics with archery targets set up, and a bunch of nobles are taking turns shooting arrows while their wives cheer them on.

“What… is this?” you whisper, horrified. “Why are there archery targets at a tea party? Is this... a misogyny power trip?”

Idia looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He’s already backing away slowly, trying to make his great escape, but you grab him by the back of his cloak before he can bolt.

He shoots you a look like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal. “This... is not a tea party. You said tea and pastries. Where are the pastries?!”

“I didn’t know!” you hiss back. “I thought we’d just sip tea and gossip about whose cousin married whose horse!”

Before either of you can make another move, the heroine spots you and immediately latches onto your arm, dragging you to the tea table. At the same time, the male lead grabs Idia and hauls him over to the archery side.

"Wait—no—uh—" Idia stammers, but he’s already been thrown into the testosterone-fueled chaos of nobles trying to outdo each other.

Thinking fast, you impulsively declare, “I’ll be the one doing the archery! For my fiancé, of course. You know, because those thugs that kidnapped him? They had bows too!”

Idia, catching on, immediately puts on his best terrified expression. “Y-Yeah! Bows! I’m… I’m still traumatized! Please don’t make me relive it.”

The crowd collectively gasps, and you inwardly pat yourself on the back. Nailed it.

Somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about archery, you end up winning the whole thing. Turns out, none of the nobles have actually seen a bow before. You didn’t even hit the bullseye—you just got the arrow near the target, which was apparently enough to impress them.

The prize? A complex-looking mechanical device, something straight out of Idia’s dream workshop. You look at it, completely clueless, before handing it over to him.

“Uh, here. I have no idea what to do with this.”

Idia stares at the device, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re… giving it to me?” He looks touched but also suspicious. “You’re not gonna ask for some crazy favor in return?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s all yours. Consider it a thank-you for not leaving me to deal with this disaster alone.”

He blinks, clearly not used to receiving gifts without strings attached. “Well… uh, thanks. And… good job on the archery. You, uh, really sold the ‘traumatized fiancé’ bit.”

Before you can respond, the rest of the nobles start talking about "true love," and you can practically feel the heroine’s eyes boring holes into you. She’s fuming, glaring at the male lead—who, by the way, didn’t win—and looks like she’s about five seconds away from tearing out her hair.

You shoot her a smug grin, thoroughly enjoying her frustration. Idia, who’s been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, lightly bumps you with his elbow.

“Thanks for… you know, saving me from whatever that was. And for giving me this… thing,” he says, holding up the device.

“No problem,” you reply, smirking. “I think we’re pulling off this whole ‘smitten lovers’ thing pretty well.”

Idia snorts, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, if you keep dragging me to ‘tea parties’ like this, we’re gonna need to come up with a better plan. Preferably one where I don’t have to socialize with archery-obsessed nobles.”

“Deal,” you laugh. "Next time, I'll find a real tea party."

"Please don't."

You’re lounging on a comfy chair, lazily chatting with Ortho, who’s happily explaining some new contraption he and Idia worked on. You’re half-listening, more focused on sipping tea and enjoying the rare moment of peace in this chaotic castle.

That is, until Idia suddenly appears in front of you, looking unusually determined. He stands there, awkwardly shifting his weight, before thrusting his hand out in front of you.

Without thinking, you blink up at him and, in your confusion, place your chin on his outstretched palm. You give him a questioning look, waiting for further instruction.

Idia’s face immediately flushes a deep red. “W-What are you doing?! That’s not—I didn’t—gah!”

Ortho’s trying not to laugh, but it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.

“What?” you ask innocently. “You held out your hand, so I thought…”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, before spluttering, “I—no, I was asking for your gun!”

“Oh. Right.” Without hesitation, you hand him the trusty weapon you always keep on hand, because at this point, you’ve learned to never question what Idia needs. It’s always better that way.

“Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing it like he’s on a mission and rushing off to whatever secret lair he retreats to.

You glance at Ortho, who’s giggling to himself. “Do you think I should be worried about that?”

“Nah,” Ortho says with a cheerful shrug. “He’s probably just making modifications. He’ll be fine!”

The next day, your luck runs out. Just when you were hoping for another peaceful afternoon, the heroine arrives for a surprise visit, dragging along her little posse of noble followers. You’re seated in a stiff parlor chair, forced to endure the barrage of small talk and fake smiles, feeling as if the universe is punishing you for all the nonsense you wrote in that novel.

One of the heroine’s cronies leans in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Oh my, Lady Heroine, I just love your new gown. You look positively radiant. Unlike some people who seem to… dress for comfort, I suppose.”

You shoot her a withering glare, but it’s hard to focus when the heroine herself joins in, adding with a falsely sympathetic tone, “It must be so difficult for you, pretending to fit into high society. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be, keeping up appearances.”

You’re just about to snap back when, suddenly, the door bursts open. In comes Idia, holding your gun, looking both determined and completely out of his element. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder what kind of chaos he’s about to unleash.

Before you can ask, he walks straight over to you and hands it to you, his expression serious. “Here. I finished the modifications.”

Your jaw drops as Idia starts rattling off a list of improvements. “So, I increased the firepower by 30%, added a cooling mechanism so it doesn’t overheat, and now it’s got an auto-targeting system that can scan multiple threats at once. Oh, and I swapped the trigger to be more responsive, so you won’t have any lag—”

You can’t help but notice how animated he looks. His usual deadpan expression is replaced by a lively spark in his eyes as he talks about all the intricate details. He’s completely in his element, and you find yourself enchanted by the way he speaks. It’s rare to see him so passionate, so alive.

The moment is shattered when he finally notices the others in the room. His face drains of color, and he gives a forced smile that screams I don't want to be here. Without another word, he turns on his heel and flees the room. But you notice something strange—he had been holding your hand the entire time. His grip, tight and warm, leaves a lingering sensation even after he’s gone.

You’re left holding your newly modified gun, your face heating up as you process what just happened. The heroine's entourage are all staring at you with wide eyes, as if they’ve just witnessed the most romantic moment of the century. Even the butler, who’s usually the epitome of professionalism, is grinning like he’s just uncovered the secret to eternal happiness. The maids nearby are giggling behind their hands, clearly entertained.

You glance down at the gun, then back to where Idia disappeared. Great, you think to yourself. How am I supposed to survive this?

As if reading your mind, the heroine gives you a smug smile. “It seems your fiancé is quite… attached. How charming.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of blood to your cheeks. “Yeah, he’s a real romantic,” you mutter sarcastically.

But even as you try to brush it off, your thoughts keep returning to that sparkle in Idia’s eyes, the way he had held your hand, and the way his enthusiasm had made your heart skip a beat. Maybe this royal con is going to be more complicated than you expected… but also, maybe not as bad as you feared.

Dragging Idia to get fitted for the imperial ball is like trying to drag a cat into a bathtub. He’s actively resisting, feet planted as you haul him toward the tailor with all the enthusiasm of a man being led to the gallows.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he groans, leaning back so far you think he might just throw himself on the floor in protest. “An angel loses its wings every time you make me do this. Do you want heaven to be wingless? Is that what you want? To singlehandedly destroy heaven?”

“I’m aiming to open a black market for wings, yes,” you say, deadpan, yanking him forward. “The profits will be incredible.”

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, shuffling along behind you, still resisting like a particularly stubborn mule. “Just put me in a broom closet with a bag of chips and leave me there. I don’t need to go to this ball. No one wants to see me.”

“I do,” you quip. “I’m dragging you into society, one unwilling step at a time.”

By the time you actually manage to get him dressed, you feel like you’ve aged five years. But when you take a step back to admire the result, it’s worth it. Idia looks stunning, even if he’s fidgeting like his clothes are secretly made of fire ants. He’s basically the human version of a rare collectible: usually hidden away, but absolutely jaw-dropping when you finally get to see him.

“Alright, Prince Drama,” you say, exhaling, “I’m going to get dressed. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

When you return, you immediately notice something’s up. Ortho’s whispering something to Idia, and whatever it is, it’s causing a nuclear-level blush to spread across his face. He’s stiff as a board, and when he turns around and sees you in your ball attire, he goes straight from “mildly panicked” to “catastrophic system error.”

Without warning, he chucks a flower at you. Just full-on throws it like it’s a projectile weapon.

“Here,” he croaks out, his voice cracking halfway through.

You blink, catching the flower mid-air with one hand. “Uh, thanks? Were you... trying to plant this on me?”

Idia’s face somehow manages to get even redder. “No—I mean yes—I mean—” He looks around for help, but Ortho just gives him an unhelpful thumbs up from the corner.

You grin, deciding to help the poor guy out. “Why don’t you pin it in my hair instead?”

His hands shake as he fumbles with the pin, and you’re pretty sure he’s using every ounce of self-control not to stab you in the scalp. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the whole situation is just too funny. Especially when Ortho gives you a conspiratorial wink from behind Idia’s back like he’s this close to winning a bet.

The ball itself is, as expected, a social hellscape. You and Idia survive by sticking together like conjoined twins, fending off the waves of nosy nobles and fake smiles. You can practically see the stress radiating off of Idia, his expression one of pure misery.

And then, the king makes his grand address, signaling the start of the first dance. You feel Idia stiffen beside you.

“Oh no,” he mutters, “Oh no. This is where it all goes downhill. I’ll trip, I’ll break my leg, and then they’ll throw me in the royal dungeon for embarrassing the family.”

“Relax,” you say, squeezing his hand. “It’s just one dance. I’ll lead, you follow. Easy.”

“I hate this,” he mumbles as you drag him onto the floor. “I hate everything about this. I should have just set myself on fire and gotten out of it that way.”

But despite his protests, you manage to lead him through the first few steps of the waltz. To your surprise, he’s not completely hopeless. He stumbles a little at first, but with you guiding him, he starts to get the hang of it.

“You’re doing great,” you say encouragingly.

“Stop lying,” he grumbles. “I’m one misstep away from taking us both out like a bowling ball hitting pins.”

The music continues, and with every turn and spin, you notice the room around you fading into the background. For a moment, it’s just you and Idia, navigating the intricate steps of the dance together. He’s still anxious, but he’s keeping up, and more importantly, you can tell he’s starting to trust you. He’s letting you take the lead, and for someone like Idia, that’s huge.

From Idia’s perspective, this entire ball is a waking nightmare. He’s completely out of his element, surrounded by people he’d normally go to great lengths to avoid. But then there’s you. You’re handling everything with this... ease, this grace that he can’t even begin to comprehend. You’re not just dancing with him, you’re actively navigating the minefield of court politics like it’s no big deal.

And you don’t need to do this. This isn’t your problem—it’s Ortho’s succession, not yours. But you’re here, by his side, going all out to make sure Ortho’s future is secure. Idia’s heart twists in his chest. He doesn’t get it. You’re way too cool for this. Too cool for him. You wink at him mid-spin, and he feels like his brain’s short-circuiting.

"Oh no. I like them. Like, really like them. And soon, they’ll be gone. This whole engagement is just for show. After Ortho’s investiture, we’ll go back to our separate lives, right?"

He swallows hard, trying not to freak out, but it’s too late. He’s in way too deep.

After the dance, you lead him off the floor and start mingling with the other nobles, making alliances and doing your whole “political mastermind” thing. Idia stands awkwardly to the side, trying to blend into the wallpaper, but his eyes keep following you. You don’t have to do all this for Ortho, but you are. And that’s... that’s really cool. He admires you, he can’t help it.

And then—oh no. The lower nobles. They spot him and beeline toward him like sharks smelling blood. Before he can make a break for it, they swarm around him, throwing party invitations at him like confetti.

“Prince Idia, you simply must attend our garden soirée next week,” one of them gushes, eyes sparkling.

“And our evening gala!” another pipes up. “You’ll be the guest of honor, of course!”

Idia’s face goes pale, and he shoots you a look that screams, HELP ME.

You swoop in like a knight in shining armor. “Ah, yes, well, unfortunately, Idia can’t attend. He’s... uh... allergic to sunlight.”

The nobles stare at you, blinking in confusion. Idia stares at you too, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Allergic to... sunlight?” one noble repeats, frowning.

You facepalm. Smooth. “I mean... it’s a joke! Ha! Obviously! What I meant to say is... uh...” You scramble for an excuse. “I need a nap.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I—uh—can’t sleep without him,” you blurt out. “It’s, uh, a couple thing.”

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

You grab Idia’s arm, muttering, “We’re leaving,” and make a quick exit, practically dragging him behind you.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, you let out a groan. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. ‘Allergic to sunlight’? Really?”

Idia is doubled over laughing, completely losing it. “You what?!” he howls. “You need a nap? And you can’t sleep without me?!”

“Shut up!” you say, cheeks burning. “I was trying to save you!”

“You saved me? More like doomed me!” He wheezes between laughs, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, you are terrible at this. You make me look good, and that’s saying something.”

You glare at him, but his laughter is so infectious that you can’t stay mad. And honestly? He looks free. Unbridled, even. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, so without reservation, that it almost makes you forget how embarrassing the situation was.

Almost.

It's finally time for Ortho's investiture, and to say you feel unprepared would be an understatement. Not for any political reason—you've long since mastered the art of navigating court intrigue. No, the issue is far more personal, far more heart-wrenching. After today, once Ortho is declared Crown Prince, Idia will no longer have any excuse to stay in the spotlight. He'll retreat, back into the shadows, probably even fake his own kidnapping to get out of any future public events. And you?

You'll finally get that peaceful beach house you’ve been dreaming about.

But the thought doesn’t feel like a reward. It feels bitter. You don’t want that beach house—not if it means losing Idia. The man who’s wormed his way into your heart with his sarcasm, awkwardness, and hidden kindness.

But you know he’s not someone you can tie down. Idia doesn’t do well with permanence. And as much as your heart begged to hold on to him, you also know he’d likely slip through your fingers if you tried.

So you do what any self-respecting person would in this situation: put on a brave face, slip into your formal attire, and prepare to smile your way through heartbreak.

When you walk out to greet Idia, he’s already dressed in his formal robes, looking every bit the reluctant royal. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, but he says nothing, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

You muster up the strength to smile and reach for his hand. “Ready?”

He nods, but neither of you can meet the other’s eyes.

From Idia’s perspective, today should feel like a victory. He’s been planning for Ortho’s investiture for months, and now that the day is finally here, he should be feeling nothing but relief. But no—he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. It’s not about Ortho. His little brother is brilliant, and Idia knows the kingdom is in good hands.

No, what he’s not ready for is letting you go.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would care about someone—want someone—so desperately, he would’ve locked them up in a mental facility. But here he is, standing on the precipice of his worst nightmare.

You, who shine in every public setting, who effortlessly charm everyone around you, are going to move on. He knows he can’t tie you down with his reclusive lifestyle, his constant desire to escape from the world. How could he? You’re everything he’s not—bright, resplendent, beloved. He can’t ask you to give up your life for him.

But when you come out and take his hand, his heart skips a beat. Neither of you are able to look each other in the eye, but the gesture says more than any words could.

The investiture itself goes off without a hitch. Ortho’s speech is flawless, full of the hope and wisdom of a ruler who will no doubt lead the kingdom into a golden age. You’re so proud of him—of the boy who’s become like a little brother to you.

But even as you smile and clap with the rest of the court, you feel a heaviness in your chest that has nothing to do with the political spectacle unfolding before you.

A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you don’t even know if they’re from the overwhelming pride you feel for Ortho or the quiet heartbreak you’ve been trying to suppress all day.

Before you can wipe them away, Idia silently hands you his handkerchief. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, and that just makes the ache in your heart a little worse.

You take it with a quiet, “Thanks,” dabbing at your eyes, and you both stand there in tense silence, watching as the formalities continue around you.

Once the investiture concludes and the guests filter out, you and Idia retreat to a balcony to catch your breath. The sky is darkening, and the cool evening breeze does little to soothe the heaviness you feel in the pit of your stomach.

Idia breaks the silence first. "I've, uh... already arranged the beach house. It’s in your name now."

You blink, looking over at him. His voice cracks slightly, and when you finally turn to face him fully, you realize that he looks like the very picture of heartbreak. He’s not meeting your eyes, staring out into the distance as if it’ll keep him from falling apart.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Idia... do you want me to leave?”

He freezes, still not looking at you. "I... I want you to be happy. I mean, that's the whole point, right? The beach house, everything—you’ve been wanting that for ages."

“I didn’t ask if you wanted me to be happy,” you say quietly. “I asked if you want me to stay or go.”

The silence between you stretches, heavy and suffocating. You hold your breath, waiting for him to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I... I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not here anymore.”

That’s all the confirmation you need. Before he can say anything else, you step forward, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. For a split second, he stiffens, shocked, but then he melts into it, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

It’s everything you needed and more—sweet, desperate, and filled with all the words neither of you have been able to say. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily.

“Come with me,” you whisper. “To the beach house. We can... we can figure everything out from there.”

Idia lets out a watery laugh, one that’s half-disbelief, half-relief. “You really want a shut-in like me hanging around your dream house? You’re gonna get sick of me in a week.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you. So... what do you say?”

He hesitates for a moment, then gives a small nod, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yeah... okay. I’ll come with you.”

And just like that, the weight that’s been pressing down on your chest all day lifts. It’s not the end—it’s a new beginning. One where you and Idia don’t have to part ways, where you can move forward together.

As you both stand there on the balcony, holding each other close, the world feels a little less daunting, and the future a little brighter.

The grand hall is slowly emptying out, nobles drifting away after offering their congratulations to Ortho. You and Idia maneuver through the lingering crowd, dodging overly-friendly dukes and avoiding eye contact with barons hoping to extend the festivities.

Idia clings to your arm like a cat being dragged to the vet, mumbling, “Please tell me we’re not about to be emotionally ambushed again.”

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say before things get sentimental and I have to deal with ‘feelings.’”

You spot Ortho standing near the dais, still wearing the ceremonial robes from his investiture. Despite the long night, he looks bright-eyed, waving cheerfully at some departing courtiers. When he catches sight of you two, his face breaks into the biggest grin, and he hurries over like an eager puppy.

“There you are!” Ortho beams, practically glowing with excitement. “I was worried you left without saying goodbye.”

“Us? Leave without saying goodbye?” you tease. “What kind of villains do you think we are?”

“Exactly the kind who would sneak away in the middle of a banquet,” Idia mutters under his breath. “And you know what? That plan still sounds great.”

Ortho rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible, brother.”

“Only when I’m awake.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, shooting Idia a playful glare before turning back to Ortho, “we wanted to talk to you before we go.”

Ortho’s smile falters, just a bit. “You’re leaving already?”

You nod, squeezing Idia’s arm. “Yeah. We’re heading to the beach house.”

Ortho tilts his head, curious but not upset. “You’re moving there?”

“For a while, yeah,” you explain gently. “Idia and I need a break from all the court politics. But don’t worry. We’ll visit you. Often.”

Idia shifts beside you, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh... It’s not like I’m leaving forever or anything. Just... you know, temporarily escaping society.”

Ortho laughs, but there’s a softness in his gaze now. “I get it. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all this behind for a bit.”

You take a step closer, voice lowering. “And hey... I know you’ve got a lot on your plate now. But we’re still family. If you need anything—anything—we’ll be here for you.”

Ortho’s grin returns, full force. “I know. I’m really glad you two have each other. Honestly, I was worried for a long time that Idia might never find someone willing to put up with him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Idia deadpans. “Glad my personal development arc has been so inspiring for you.”

“But seriously,” Ortho says, his expression softening again. “Thank you. You’ve done more for us than you had to. I know you could have just... gone back to your world or left things as they were. But you stayed. And you helped him.”

Oh no. Not this again. That suspicious prickle starts in your eyes, and you blink rapidly to fend off the tears. Not now. Not in public.

“You’re not... making me cry,” you insist, even as your voice wobbles. “This is just... allergy season.”

“Oh no, it’s happening,” Idia groans dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, Ortho’s gonna cry, and if Ortho cries, the nobles will definitely blame me.”

“Shut up, you big baby,” you sniffle, swatting his arm before pulling Ortho into a hug. “Come here, you. Group hug, now.”

Ortho barely has time to react before you’ve wrapped him up in your arms. He laughs, squeezing you back. You reach out blindly and grab Idia’s sleeve, yanking him into the fray.

“Wait—wait, what—!” Idia stumbles forward, sandwiched awkwardly between you and Ortho. “This is... I don’t...”

“Shhh,” you whisper, patting his back. “Feel the love.”

“This is emotional ambush!” Idia protests, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I want it on record that I was forced into this.”

“Noted,” Ortho says with a laugh, hugging both of you tighter. “But you’re not getting out of it.”

For a moment, the three of you just stand there, huddled together in a ridiculous knot of limbs, nobles glancing your way but tactfully avoiding comment.

Idia mutters into your ear, “This... this is basically treason against introverts.”

You grin. “Consider it penance for being emotionally stunted.”

“You’re both the worst,” he grumbles, but his arms stay wrapped around you.

Eventually, you pull back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “We’ll be back soon, Ortho. I promise.”

“I know.” Ortho smiles warmly, giving you one last squeeze. “And when you do, I’ll make sure you never have to attend another dull court event again.”

Idia perks up at that. “Oh. Now that’s what I call incentive.”

With one last shared laugh, the three of you break apart. Ortho steps back, standing tall and proud in his new role, though his smile still holds all the warmth of a little brother seeing his family off.

“Take care of him,” Ortho says quietly, glancing meaningfully at you.

“I plan to,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a small, reassuring smile.

“And you,” Ortho adds, looking at Idia. “Don’t screw this up.”

Idia gapes, indignant. “I—why does everyone assume I’m the one who’s going to screw it up?!”

You and Ortho exchange amused glances before both of you answer in perfect unison:

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

With that, you bid Ortho one final goodbye, tugging Idia along before anyone else can rope you into small talk. As you leave the grand hall and step out into the cool night air, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

Idia sighs in relief. “Well, that’s over. Time to hibernate for the next decade.”

You chuckle, lacing your fingers through his. “Hibernation in the beach house?”

“Hell yeah.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, leaving the court behind—for now.

Oh, what happened to the heroine and the male lead, you ask? Let’s rewind a few months before Ortho’s investiture—back when they were still blissfully unaware of the elaborate downfall that awaited them.

You knew that the heroine and the male lead would try to make a spectacle of themselves during Ortho’s rise to power. The way they pranced around, flaunting their superficial charm and good looks like they owned the place—it was insufferable. And, of course, they were always scheming in the background, hoping to secure power and glory for themselves. You couldn’t stand it.

So, you set up the perfect trap.

It began at a lavish gala, one of those unnecessarily extravagant events where nobles gathered to network, gossip, and throw subtle insults at each other. You arrived fashionably late, as any proper duchess would, with Idia reluctantly in tow, mumbling under his breath about how every social event felt like “one of those long quests with zero rewards.”

“The rewards are emotional, Idia,” you whisper, linking arms with him.

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

You suppress a smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Tonight is the night. You had planted the seeds weeks ago, a few well-placed rumors, some whispered insinuations, and a letter you’d accidentally left behind in a well-trafficked corridor. It was all coming together like a beautifully chaotic symphony, and now, the climax.

You spot the heroine first, her radiant smile masking the venom beneath. She’s making a grand entrance, arm-in-arm with the male lead, who, as always, looks like he’s stepped straight out of a romance novel. His hair is perfect, his jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. But you know better. They’re both so predictable.

“They’ve arrived,” you murmur to Idia.

He gives you a blank stare. “Yeah, cool, I’m just here to not die of social exhaustion. Whatever you’re planning... don’t tell me. I don’t wanna be involved.”

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

You watch them mingle, waiting for the right moment. And there it is—the heroine, attempting to cozy up to the king, laughing a little too loudly at one of his mediocre jokes. You slip through the crowd, making your way to where a certain nosy noblewoman is holding court. A noblewoman known for her love of gossip and her even greater love of ruining people’s lives with it.

Perfect.

You lean in, feigning concern. “Oh, My Lady... I probably shouldn’t say this, but I heard the strangest thing about the heroine. You won’t believe it.”

Her eyes gleam with curiosity. “Do tell, my dear.”

“Well,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “there’s talk that the heroine and the male lead are involved in some... unsavory business dealings. Something about embezzling funds from the royal coffers for their own gain? I don’t know how true it is, of course... but it would explain some things, wouldn’t it?”

You leave the rest unsaid, letting her imagination do the rest. The best part? It’s all technically true. You had orchestrated it so well, the heroine and the male lead had no idea that their “private” meetings and “innocent” financial maneuvers were anything but secret.

She gasps, her fan snapping shut. “I knew there was something off about them! Oh, the gall! I must inform the king immediately!”

And just like that, the gossip spreads like wildfire. Within minutes, the entire room is buzzing with scandalous whispers. The heroine and the male lead notice the shift, the way people start looking at them, and for the first time, they’re on the back foot. They try to smile, but their unease is palpable.

You sit back, watching the chaos unfold, sipping your wine as nobles begin to distance themselves from the pair, shooting them suspicious glances.

Idia sidles up next to you, looking around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What... what did you do?”

“Who, me?” You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gives you a side-eye. “You’re terrifying.”

“You knew that when you asked me to be your fake fiancée.”

The next day, official inquiries are launched into the heroine and the male lead’s finances, and though they try to clear their names, it’s no use. The damage is done. Their reputations are ruined beyond repair, and they’re forced to withdraw from court life entirely. A fitting end for their ambitions.

Which brings you to the present...

It’s a peaceful morning in your beach house, and you’re sitting on the veranda, enjoying your coffee while the sun rises over the horizon. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is your only company, and for once, there’s no looming political intrigue or royal drama to worry about.

That is, until Idia stumbles out of the bedroom, his hair a messy blue cloud, his eyes half-closed with sleep. He groans as he sees you, one hand on the wall to steady himself. “Why are you up so early? It’s like... the middle of the night.”

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

“Exactly,” he grumbles, shuffling over to you. Without another word, he flops down beside you, his head immediately finding its way to your neck. He nuzzles into you, muttering something unintelligible, and you chuckle softly, patting him on the cheek.

“You’re such a big baby in the morning,” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Despite being married for the past two years, Idia’s face turns tomato-red every time you do something affectionate. He blushes furiously now, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide it.

“Y-You’re unfair,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “Saying stuff like that... it’s embarrassing.”

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m a grown man. And you’re a villain for making me get up before noon.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Maybe, but I’m your villain. So deal with it.”

Idia groans dramatically but makes no effort to move away, too comfortable where he is. You continue sipping your coffee, enjoying the moment of peace, when he finally speaks again, a little softer this time.

“Y’know... you really did a number on the heroine and the male lead. They’re still laying low, huh?”

“Maybe the rumor I spread was truly a masterpiece,” you say with a smirk, remembering how perfectly everything had gone according to plan.

Idia snorts. “A masterpiece of destruction, maybe.”

You chuckle, pressing another kiss to his forehead. He sighs contentedly, the two of you basking in the quiet comfort of your shared life. It’s moments like this that remind you just how far you’ve come together, from court intrigue and scandal to peaceful mornings at your beach house.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

[flwrstqr]

₊˚⊹♡ UNDER THE RAIN

₊˚⊹ notes ~ bf!heeseung x fem!reader ⋆⭒ warnings: kisses, rain, mentions about ex-girlfriend, crying, cursing ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 word count: 400+꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆˚ genre: fluff, drabble, comfort | LIBRARY FOR MORE...

YOU FOUND YOURSELF IN AN ARGUEMENT WITH HEESEUNG— strong statement right? it all began when your best friend spotted him with his ex-girlfriend at a cafe, triggering an explosion of emotions without any prior explanation. everything that was piling on you just spilled right when he came back.

“just fucking leave me alone, heeseung.” you spat, your words laced with anger as you stormed out, leaving him speechless in the room. the reality was, he just went to go reject his ex's offer of getting back together, which you never let him explain. tears had welled up in your eyes, your knees trembling, your hair disheveled from the mental breakdown.

you walked aimlessly, trying to catch your breath, looking like a stupid idiot you were. thankfully, the darkness of the night provided no vision of how terrible you looked. despite your desire to turn back and apologize to heeseung, embarrassment held you back. then, true to your expectations, raindrops began to fall, adding to the complexity of the situation. standing in the rain, you sobbed silently, letting the regrets and pain wash away.

“YN?” a voice that ever yearned for. you turned around to find Heeseung, no umbrella, his hair completely soaked like yours. you immediately stood up, running into his arms. he embraced you tightly, your tears running down like streams of rivers. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was just so foolish and stupid. I'm sorry..” your words barely audible amidst the downpour, clinging to him desperately. heeseung's gentle reassurance washed over you, his touch soothing you.

“It’s fine, I knew you were stressed and everything. I understand everything,” heeseung reassured, caressing your cheeks while admiring your beauty in the rain. 

“are you sure, it’s fine?” you asked, a bit worried that you had hurt Heeseung. 

“It’s fine, my princess.”he replied, a soft smile playing on his lips, then leaned in for a kiss. the kiss was everything you could ever ask for, passionate and sweet. the way his lips were so perfect against yours, the taste of the coffee he drank earlier flooded your tastebuds. his fingers found your waist, pulling you closer, while your hand threaded through his wet hair. still standing in the rain, the two of you pulled away and pressed your forehead together. 

“I love you so much.” you whispered, with a grin. 

“I love you so much too.” he smiled back, his words echoing in the quiet intimacy of the night.

[strwbwrrybunny]

all mine. ellie w.

nsfw. your cute girlfriend doesn’t cut it, but your ex does. drabble!

regret courses through you like a raging river, each pulse in your sweaty palm amplifying the weight of the phone. the ring pierces through the silence, a relentless reminder of your impending doom. anxiously, you gnaw at your lip, the taste of iron mingling with your mounting fear. "i'm being ridiculous," you mutter, your thumb hovering over the end call button. but then, the line clicks open, and her voice, sharp and slightly irritated, cuts through the tension.

"hello?"

her tone is justified; after months of silence and the last encounter being a screaming match, she has every right to be annoyed. your mouth goes dry, and you scramble for words, your mind a chaotic mess. "you fuckin' prank calling me?" ellie snaps, her voice heavy with exhaustion. it's three in the morning, and she doesn't have time for games.

"no, no," you stammer, "i just wanted to talk to you." you facepalm, feeling utterly pathetic. you can hear her shifting in bed, her irritation palpable. "right, and you decided to do that on a random tuesday at three in the morning? bye, y/n." her voice is cold, dismissive.

"wait, no! el, please," you beg, your voice cracking. you don’t care how pathetic you sound. "you have two minutes," she sighs, the sound of rustling sheets indicating she’s sitting up. "i-uh, fuck. can you come over?" the words spill out, faster than you intend, a jumbled mess of desperation.

ellie’s not dumb. she knows exactly why you’re calling her. the unspoken truth hangs heavy in the air, thick with tension and unfulfilled desires. you want her, need her in a way that no one else can satisfy.

she always promised that no one could fuck you like she did, and she was right. latest example: the girl you’d been dating for a month, the shy girl from the bookstore where you worked. you felt dirty inviting ellie over right after you’d been with someone else. the girl was always awkward with the sex toys you’d provided, fumbling and unsure, her nervous laughter only adding to the discomfort. she tried her best, but it was clear she was out of her depth.

eventually, you had to fake an orgasm just to get it over with, feeling a pang of emptiness as you did. ellie was right once again, and you hated it. the regret and desire intertwine inside you, creating a potent mix that leaves you breathless, waiting for her response. the memory of ellie’s touch, her confidence, and the way she knew exactly what you needed floods back, making the wait even more unbearable.

the silence on the other end is deafening, each second stretching into an eternity. you can almost hear her thinking, weighing her options. finally, she exhales, a soft sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "you know this is a bad idea, right?" she says, her voice softer now, almost resigned.

"i know," you admit, your voice barely a whisper. "but i need to see you. please, ellie."

there's a long pause, and you can imagine her sitting there, running a hand through her hair, contemplating whether to give in to the pull that always seemed to draw you two back together. "fine," she finally says, her voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and something else—something that gives you a glimmer of hope. "i'll be there in twenty."

the call ends, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. the anticipation gnaws at you, a mix of dread and excitement bubbling in your chest. you glance around your apartment, suddenly acutely aware of the mess. you start tidying up, trying to make the place look somewhat presentable, but your mind keeps drifting to ellie.

you remember the first time you met her, how she walked into the room with that confident stride, her presence commanding attention. and then there was her bike—sleek, powerful, a perfect extension of her personality. you were drawn to her like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the allure of her confidence and the way she seemed to see right through you.

as you wait, the memories flood back—late-night rides, whispered confessions, the way her lips felt against yours. the good times, the bad times, and everything in between. you wonder if this time will be any different, if the cycle of attraction and regret will finally break, or if you're doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

“can’t believe i’m doing this,” you mutter, sinking into the plush sofa and tossing your phone aside absentmindedly. the cushions envelop you, offering a fleeting comfort that contrasts with the turmoil inside. “fuck.” you pull at the frayed strings of your old pajama pants, the fabric worn thin and soft from countless washes, and glance down at the t-shirt that’s been begging to see the trash for months. it’s a relic of better times, now faded and stretched, much like your patience.

pushing yourself off the couch, you make your way to your cozy bedroom, the familiar creak of the floorboards underfoot. the soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm, inviting light, creating a stark contrast to the chaos in your mind. sliding open the closet door, you sift through the hangers, fingers brushing against various fabrics. you’re looking for something to wear, something sexy but not too sexy. you didn’t want to seem like a try-hard.

after a moment, you pull out a sleek black nightgown, simple yet seductive, and hold it up to the light, wondering if it will strike the right balance. the soft, silky fabric feels cool against your skin. you run your fingers over the delicate lace trim, appreciating the craftsmanship and the way it catches the light. the nightgown drapes elegantly, and you know this is the one.

it was almost comical how fast ellie had your face squished into the headboard as she fucked you with the pink strap, her soft moans droned out by your fucked out babbling.

“new girl don’t make you nut? that’s a damn shame.”

you could barely understand the words through her panting and the sound of her hips slapping into yours, but you caught the message.

you couldn't get it out of your mind, though. how did she know you had a new girlfriend? and more importantly, how did she know she was shit in bed? you weren’t exactly sure, and you knew if you asked you would probably receive an answer you weren’t fond of. you tried to push the thoughts from your head, but it wasn’t easy to focus with her thrusts becoming even more erratic, her fingers digging deeper into your hips.

but she did have a point, didn't she? you'd never come that hard from any other partner.

you could feel yourself nearing your second climax as she relentlessly pounded your sweet spot. you were almost embarrassed with how much your body was shaking and spasming, but with ellie it was nothing to be ashamed of. she loved seeing you completely vulnerable for her. spread out, taking each deep thrust like the good girl you were.

"you like that baby? huh? tell me you love it," her words were more demanding than they were questioning, your eyes crossed in bliss.

"i-i lov-e it! oh god!" you choke out, she smiled at your reaction, her chest pressed against your back as she moved you down to lay flat, the new angle making her thrusts even more unforgiving as your knees shook in pleasure. you let out a pathetic squeal, a mixture of spit and tears on the hardwood.

"yeah you do baby, takin’ it like a good girl," she pulled you up so your back was against her chest, the hand that was on your hip was now rubbing fast circles around your clit. your body twitched as you moaned loudly, a familiar feeling burning in your stomach.

“tell me you’ve missed me.”

you have. fuck, you’ve missed her a lot.

"missed yo-y-mm-m g-gonna c-cum ellie-ellie!" you moaned, the feeling becoming too much for you.

"it's okay, cum for me," your hips jolted and your body went rigid, the knot inside you snapping as your vision went white, the only thing keeping you grounded was ellie's arms holding you steady. you gasped as the feeling overtook your body, ellie slowing her movements to help you ride it out.

you came for a second time that night, your eyes rolling back and tears of ecstasy staining your face. she slowed down as your body calmed down, her hand leaving your hip to gently stroke the back of your thigh. you couldn't believe this girl.

she had you crying for her.

she slowly pulled out, watching in amusement as your legs still twitched. you felt the weight shift on the bed as she got up, the pink strap hitting the floor with a thud. you stayed in the position she left you, unable to move after being so thoroughly fucked.

she returned moments later, wiping the mess from your thighs and between your legs. she helped you turn over and lie down, and you finally saw the look of complete and utter adoration on her face.

fuck. you’re in so deep.

im cummin, love my gf. as always, likes, comments and reposts are appreciated! bunny out ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

[seattlesellie]

hi angelll 🦋 I was wondering if you could write something about ellie having a dacryphilia kink, if not that’s okay I know it’s a little bit out there 🩵

not out there at all bb <3

ellie fucking loves in when you cry.

warnings: darcyphilia, public sex

fucking titanic. so cheesy, too.

little muffled soft sobs were escaping your mouth. sometimes watching a film in the theater made it feel… well, real. eyes locked on the screen, you couldnt help but feel pain. why did it have to happen to them? and that little old couple holding hands? and oh god - jack and rose were on that fucking door now too? youve watched that shit about a million times already, and it never failed to make you act like this. is the salty taste on your tongue from the buttery popcorn or from your flood of tears?

“mmph” you scrunched your nose, sniffling, trying to hold the snot inside.

and then there was ellie. munching on that popcorn, eyes focused on the screen, caressing your thigh, comforting you. did she just - hold in a giggle?

“s’not- not funny” you sniffled, josteled her, making her head bob.

“know its not, babe- just, so cute” she whispered, her lip curling into a sly smile. “so cute, youre so cute” she while smiling, and shoved another popcorn in her mouth.

“how are you not crying?!” you blurted out, utterly flabbergasted. how was she so calm about this? you could feel your own body trembling, tears clinging to your cheeks like pesky little irritants, and she didn't seem remotely fazed? It's rose and jack, for christs sake! theyre destined for a tragic end! not to mention the sinking ship, the countless lives at stake, and, oh my god, what if there were innocent animals aboard? what if there's a helpless puppy trapped in that chaos? that thought alone is just...

you let out a loud sob. what if?!

“shh… shh… gonna get us kicked out” she cooed, gently brushing away yet another warm tear from your cheek.

you turned your gaze back to the screen, desperately attempting to swallow the lump lodged in your throat. “els- cant not cry” you whimpered, followed by a sniffle and another plaintive whine.

ellie didnt turn her head back, however. ellie was staring at you, squinting her brows. ellie was supposed to watch the movie. but ellie had a different one playing in her head.

the way you uttered her name, a soft, pleading whine, oh… the way that sweet voice made her feel. your words spun her mind in dizzying circles.. “els… too tight” sniffle. she almost heard it echoing in her head. “hurting me, els” oh god. “s’too much ellie…” shit. she felt like she was writing a script. jack and rose didnt have shit on her.

she gulped. you didnt notice.

her left hand reached out to caress the dampness you had left upon her shoulder. she lightly pinched the fabric, witnessing a small droplet of moisture emerge, wetting her fingertip.

she was sick.

she shifted in her sit, slid off it slightly, and started shaking her leg.

focus on the movie, ellie. theres people around.

it was suddenly too hot, and her heart was beating too fast. why did she… like this? why did those tears, why did those whines… why were her boxers feeling tighter on her body?

she cleared her throat silently. eyes on the screen, ellie.

“hug me ellie” you whined.

can you stop fucking whining?

“of course” she whispered, and shifted to get closer. she wiped a tear from your eye. she wasnt laughing now. “put your head on my chest” she commanded. stay close right there, right there.

your tears continued to flow unabated. a wet patch had formed on her white tank top, marking the spot where your emotions had spilled over. one of your tears trickled down her chest, forging a path akin to a meandering river.

she felt like scratching herself. like slapping herself in the face. she listened to your soft breaths, and occasional sniffs.

she wondered if she could make you cry like that. wondered if youd sniff like that, if youd whine like that, when she was buried deep inside. could she circle your little clit with her thumb? and then could she wipe that tear off your cheek - with that same finger?

she gulped again. it was way too uncomfortable now, and why did you have to wear that top? why did you have to bring her here? why did your whines sound so cute, and why did she need to touch you right now and be the only reason for your tears?

fuck rose and jack. and fuck that ship.

her hand was still resting on your thigh. but it was moving now, ever so slightly, caressing it. she wanted to push it, push your buttons. she traced little circles on your thigh, and pretended to watch the flick playing on the screen.

her hand climbed futher up, and she was observing you intently from the corner of her eye.

your breath hitched up. “tickles” you murmured, in between sniffles.

“sorry” she whispered. she wasnt.

“you really are cute, though” she smirked.

every time she talked - its like you missed a scene. what if jack just died? what it he died and then your girlfriend called you cute and now you missed it?

“watch the movie, ellie” you warned.

like you could ever fucking warn her.

“m’watching it” she responded. “watching the movie.” if you were the movie you referred to, yeah, she was watching.

she planted a little kiss on your cheek. the old man sitting besides you sniffed. oh man, was he crying? the thought triggered yet another tear to cascade down your face. it felt as if someone had left a faucet running, the tears flowing without restraint.

her hand was caressing higher on your thigh now, and she squished the fat on the side. it almost hurt. ellie was wheezing now, she tried to hold her breath, but she couldnt.

she cupped your cunt, without warning.

shit.

her gaze adverted to the people sitting on the sits next to you. she was checking if theyd notice if she fucked you with her fingers right now.

the sudden contact made you jump. her hand was so warm, and it somehow managed to press right on your clit, and it tickled, but it felt so so good… but jack- but oh, ellie.

“what are you doing?” you whispered frantically. the lady sitting next to you cleared her throat. you didnt really whisper, apparently.

“i told you… youre cute” ellie whispered into your ear, her warm breath gently caressing your skin.

“and i like it when you cry”

oh.

you didnt respond. was the movie still rolling? your cheeks were still wet. your breathing got heavier.

she caressed your cunt through your jeans, and crossed her legs. she needed her own type of friction, too. her index finger went up and down the hem of the jeans located right on your clit. she was teasing it, pressing slightly. you spread your legs, involuntarily, almost. you looked at her with this look, it was filled with doubt, but god did you look needy, and pathetic, eyes glistening and cheeks burning. it drove her crazy.

“dont look at me, look at the screen” she commanded, brought her hand to your chin, pinched it and forced your face to shift towards the screen again. you tried to, tried to fixate on the moving characters, but fuck - it felt too good, and you needed more.

“gonna fuck you right here, gonna give you a real reason to cry, yeah?” she whispered, and you shivered. her pupils were blown out. for all she knew the movie was over and the credits rolled up. for all she knew a mall cop was standing right in front of you, she didnt really give a fuck.

“mm- yeah?” you whimpered, and slapped your hand on your mouth. fuck, you needed to stay quiet. this could definitely put you on a list.

ellie took the popcorn container and placed it on your crotch.

“shut up” she whispered in your ear, making you moan a string of curse words.

she shifted her eyes towards the screen, and pretended to watch.

her hand skillfully opened the button of your jeans, and fuck, you were shaking.

she played with the band of your panties with her veiny hand, gave it a twist and started pulling it up. it was grazing over your clit so good. you held back a moan, eyes rolling back.

your heart was beating so fast. what if people saw? what if-

ellie let go of your panties, and slid her hand right in. god, you were soaking, and you didnt even notice. she chuckled. shed give you shit for it later. “how are you always so wet for me?” its like you could read her thoughts.

her middle finger played with your sleek, brushing it up and down so slowly. she wanted to fucking taste it. pull your pants down, and start licking your pussy in front of everyone, giving them a real good fucking show. your mind went blank. ellie, ellie, ellie. that was the name of the movie playing now.

she bit her knuckle. she fucking loved teasing you, but fuck did she need to put a finger in, fuck- did she need to feel how tight you swallow it in, how your hole just clenches, how it owns her, holding her locked inside.

she wanted to - but she couldnt. make her cry.

her finger merely grazed your tight hole, teasing it. she wouldnt go inside, absolutely not. she caressed it up and down, and side to side, and then almost, almost let it slip inside, but pulled back. your mouth was watering, you wanted to chase that climax - you felt like you could come right then and there, just from knowing, just from feeling her hand on your cunt. the noise that came out was disgusting, her hand was covered in your sweet juices, creating obscene squelching sounds.

you whimpered in your sit, and tried pushing your hips forward. if she didnt put it inside, you needed to feel at least something on your clit. she was purposely avoiding it. its like you were cockwarming her hand. “m’god” you gulped.

“yeah?” she whispered into your ear and cupped your cunt again, and you turned your needy gaze to her for just a second. her eyes were closed and her eyebrows were squinting, you could hear her heavy unsteady breaths.

you whimpered, and bit your lips so hard they bled slightly. keep fucking quiet, she told you to shut up.

with her hand cupping your cunt, she began moving it up and down, grabbing your entire pussy with her hand. the popcorn container moved with it, bobbing up and down. fuck, thank god its dark.

she gave your clit a pinch, and it fucking hurt, but it felt so good, sending small jolts of pleasure to your body. she wouldnt let it go, just pinched it, and then released, and pinched it again. you needed to cum so bad, you almost cried. “m’ellie… ellie” you whispered while moaning her name, chanting it like a prayer. almost there, almost exploded all over her warm hand,

its like she read your mind. “dont cum” she whispered in your ear, making you let out a muffled moan.

you nodded your head frantically, trying to swallow the moans threatening to leave your mouth.

a tear formed in your eye. you needed it so bad.

she formed circles with her cupped hand again. you could feel everything. you took your sweater covered hand and bit it down.

she was panting in her sit.

“thats it” she whispered in your ear, and pinched your pussy lips together, so swollen, so pathetic.

the hot tear came down so fast, dropping on your cheek, and then sledding down on your neck, on your chest now.

“cry about it” she commanded, whispering in your ear, trying to hold back her own sounds of pleasure.

so you did.

[pygmi-cygni]

How It Should Be

there are a *thousand* versions of this fic on tumblr/ao3 but I love the trope so much that idc. fem reader, she/her pronouns and female anatomy

cw: long asf, smut, innuendo, emotional rollercoaster, discussion of sexuality/pos, mentions of abusive ex partners (minorly), riding, p in v, gentle Poe, gratuitous smut

Base had never experienced this kind of rainfall. It started early, a distant drumming of thunder and some light drops slicking the pavement. But in a few hours it was torrential, soaking through flight suits and falling in rivers down gutters and drains. The hangar almost flooded. The rain covers were useless, the wind blew them off as soon as the mechs strapped them on.

Drills were understandably canceled, and everybody enjoyed a night in.

Poe, true to form, did not listen to the recommended instructions and decided to mess around in the puddles. Him and the entire Black Squadron were drenched in seconds, hooting and hollering in the empty fields. You'd joined in for a bit, but had quickly retreated after your teeth started chattering.

Poe had come in an hour later, lips violet and jaw chattering so hard he couldn't speak. The mess crew begrudgingly allowed him to sit in front of the ovens, leaning into the warmth. HIs buddies followed and soon twenty sopping wet pilots were huddled around the coals like moths on a lamp. The smell of wet hair and sweat was enough to make your nose burn.

Once everybody recovered from hypothermia, Snap smuggled in some hot toddies. Rodian firewhiskey and expired hot chocolate was one helluva drug, apparently. It had become a raging party within minutes.

God, please let this hangover be quick, you prayed when Snap poured the first glass of...stuff.

Your head was now very warm and more than a little floaty. It was the first day off any of you had in a while. A little cold, and definitely wet, but still fun. The tension once thick had disappeared entirely. Sabacc boards had been produced, and somebody brought in a few racing speeders to hydroplane in the hangar. Sabacc had never interested you, and you'd had enough rain for the day. You watched the races from inside, smirking when somebody eventually crashed.

Rose sidled up to you, reeking of Snap's cocktail.

"Hiya," she said, looping an arm around you. Her flight suit was tied around her waist, and a distinct line of hickeys had been stamped across her neck.

Snorting, you turned back to the hangar. "Having some fun time with Snap, I see."

Rose grinned, pulling her collar down to reveal...a lot more than you expected from Snap. It was certainly a surprise.

"I assumed he'd start crying at the prospect of hand-holding," you mused, nodding reverently at the impressive display.

"Yeah, well, he just needed a little encouragement." She flipped her hair primly and leaned against the window. Another thrash of rain smacked the glass with a massive thwack and made the both of you jump.

"Hey, how's that guy you've been dragging along? Marcus, or Mason, or whatever?" She asked, turning to you. You snorted, taking another pull.

"Long gone," you said drily. "He was...subpar."

Rose gaped, eyes wide and fluttering. "What? Him? No! After everybody warned you? Craaazy," she giggled, leaning against you. Your cheeks flushed. Yeah, okay, it had been a bad idea. He wasn't a bad guy, just...well, a little boring. Did the job for a while but hey, you can only do one position for so long before it's just pathetic.

"Well, he knew what he was good at," you sighed into your cup. God, what a relief that was over.

"He never knew much, did he?" Rose barely kept a straight face, and you watched her laughing fit with an amused grin.

"Yeah, yeah, okay, Rose, laugh it up. We can't all be having sloppy makeouts with Snap in a supply closet, okay? Some of us have dreams, you know." It did nothing but make her laugh harder, nearly spilling her drink down your front.

Swearing, you propped her upright. "God dammit- Rose, Maker, how much did you drink?"

Clearly this was only concerning to you, because she sighed listlessly and finished her god-awful drink in one massive swig. Well, it looks like you'd be babysitting tonight.

Subtly you guided her towards the bunking quarters. Maybe you could convince her to turn in early.

"I mean," she drew out the vowels, stumbling as you held her elbows steady, "you kinda got a trend with that sorta thing, hon."

You narrowed your eyes and stopped. "What is that supposed to-"

"I'm just saying," she guffawed, and you clapped a hand over her mouth when a few people looked over, "you don't...you don't get laid very well," she whispered before dissolving into giggles.

"Rose, good god," you groaned, heaving her away from the crowd. "Come on, you're embarrassing yourself."

Poe raised his eyebrows over his cards when you dragged her by. You rolled your eyes and mouthed Firewhiskey. He and the rest of his group nodded understandably. Rose was not a lightweight, but unfortunately her capacity for alcohol and her appetite for alcohol did not correlate safely. Many a pilot had been saddled with Rose duty on a night out.

You almost made it to the room when a familiar voice called behind you.

"Hey, wait up!"

Poe jogged over, fistful of credits stuffed in his satchel. Guess he won the betting pool.

"Poe," Rose cheered listlessly, grinning sloppily. You sent him an apologetic glance, but he only grinned.

"Hiya, Rosie," he punched her shoulder affectionately, "heard you and Snap were gettin' hot and heavy. Ooh, look at those." Rose had again pulled down her shirt to triumphantly reveal the necklace of bruises Snap gave her. When she felt Poe had given them their due appreciation, she stumbled forwards and promptly passed out.

"Oh shit- some help, please?" You struggled to hold her dead weight. Poe took one shoulder and held your drink while you fiddled at the keypad.

It was a game of "left, right, left, right" as you wrangled her through the door, out of her flight suit and under the covers. Poe slipped a couple of bacta pills near her bedstand and a glass of water.

"You, uh," he started after a moment of standing, "you wanna grab a snack?"

"Hell yeah I do." You bumped his shoulder and fell into step beside him. The halls were empty now except for the occasional droid on late-night rounds. The drumming of rain could still be heard on the roof. It felt like a comforting backing track on your little adventure. Poe's quiet humming made your lips quirk in a smile.

"So," he grinned, sidling up a little too close to avoid suspicion, "you and Rose were spilling some news over there, huh?"

Your ears reddened. "Eavesdropping? That's not very Commander-y of you."

"Oh, c'mon. What was so funny? That game of Sabacc was trash, I needed something to pay attention to," he pleaded.

"Trash? You won the whole pot, Dameron. If you don't want it, I'll-"

"Yeah but Hix is so bad it doesn't even count," he complained. You rolled your eyes. Sometimes Poe forgot that his level of excellence was not as ho-hum as he believed. Fifty credits felt like a pretty good steal, regardless of the achievement. Ah, the standards of being the Favorite.

"Well anyway, it wasn't anything important. Just...girl stuff," you said ambiguously.

Poe didn't buy it, but he kept his mouth shut. You knew he was planning something; he'd never shut up unprovoked. Your hackles raised as you walked in silence. Better to be prepared for whatever it was he was plotting.

You blinked in surprise when he grabbed your elbow and pulled you down...his hallway?

"Poe! Hey, let go-"

"Nuh uh," he grinned triumphantly. "I'm gonna find this out one way or another."

"I want a snack first-"

"Hush."

You rolled your eyes when he dramatically opened his bunk door and pushed you inside. While he rummaged for something, you plopped onto his bunk. Frowning, you bounced a bit on his mattress.

"Does being a Commander give you nicer mattresses? Holy hell, this feels amazing," you gaped. Even the blankets were softer. No wonder he looked so damn pretty all the time, the amount of beauty sleep he was getting.

Poe had cultivated a diverse array of treats on the floor. Meiloorun candy, Naboo chocolate (not expired), rice cookies, and a bunch of pudding from mess hall.

"Ooh, where'd you get- hey!" You snatched your hand back, palm stinging from his slap. Poe's dark brows furrowed and he pulled the hoard closer to his chest.

"One secret for one treat," he sniffed, opening a cup of pudding. You watched him suck it down and move on to the next one.

"That's not- come on, just lemme have one-"

"Nope," he said around a mouthful of lemon mousse, "deal's a deal."

Scowling, you weighed your options. Rose's teasing earlier wasn't...that personal, but something about Poe knowing made you curl up with embarrassment. He had no trouble with picking somebody up. Hell, he was the best lay on base. And yeah, Rose was right, sex was something you'd never really hit gold with. So? It didn't bother you, not really, but it was a bit embarrassing.

What's wrong with telling him? What's he gonna do, slutshame you? He's had more hookups than heartbeats.

But something stopped you. A little seed of a concept struggling to crack in your mind. Something had shifted, you just weren't sure what.

Do it, come on. Just bite the Beskar and go for it.

"Fine, but it's worth at least two chocolates. And a pudding," you acquiesced. A glimmer appeared in Poe's eye and he grinned.

"Alright, shoot."

"Treat first."

He appraised you for a second but relented, tossing you a single bar of chocolate.

"I'll give you the rest after your secret," he said to your protest. Sighing, you snatched up the snack and dropped your head in your hands.

The bunk was quiet, punctuated only by chewing and the crinkle of a wrapper. That little seed had blossomed into doubt and you felt something sour in your chest. Deep breaths, don't be a pussy, come on.

"...IbrokeupiththisguyI'vebeendatigbecausehewasreallybadatsex."

Poe blinked. "What?"

A brilliant shade of red colored your cheeks and seared your neck. You lasered your gaze into the carpet, willing it to burn away and suck you into space.

"I broke up with this guy I've been dating," you mustered, "because he was really bad at sex."

A heavy pause.

"That is not worth two chocolates and a pudding, you fraud," Poe snorted, licking his spoon clean, "unless his dick is like four centimeters long and bright blue I don't know why that's such a big deal. What, did he not make you cum or something?" Another laugh and he tore into a packet of cookies.

Something ravenous and sharp ripped through your chest, flaying the skin open and leaving you dumbfounded. Hot and brutal anger bubbled up so fast it scared you, making your fingers twitch and your nose burn.

Poe caught sight of your face and immediately froze. "Hey, woah, I didn't-"

"Well, not everybody is as blessed as you," you snapped, "you have no issue finding someone to fuck or fall in love with or whatever, so the fact that I have that issue shouldn't be any of your-"

"HEY!"

His shout smacked you back against the wall, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.

You'd never seen him genuinely upset. Poe got frustrated, sure, but he always had a positive outlook and an easygoing grin. It looked wrong the way his brows were twisted and his lips stuck in a frown. A little bit of shame tickled your ribs.

"I'm sorry, where the hell did that come from? I was not insulting you, if anything I was insulting that guy. I just was saying that you don't need to be so upset over a random guy who can't fuck!"

"Sex is kind of a big thing and so if it doesn't work out maybe it feels a little embarrassing, okay?" The colume was stacking, bordering on mean. You felt hurt and angry, he felt defensive and confused. A horrible, vicious cocktail of bad was stirring and souring the air.

This wasn't how you talked. You didn't yell. This was wrong. You took a deep breath, willing the tears to cease.

Why were you crying? Poe was right, it wasn't a big deal. You sat in a heap, head in your hands. The sudden rush of anger left you a little bit rattled. Something jittery and uncertain coursed through you, leaving a mound of jumbled thoughts. It was hard to think. You needed some space. You turned away, pressing your cheek to the wall. Maybe that disgusting drink had screwed you up more than you thought.

Poe had pushed away the snacks and crept over, sitting in his desk chair. You felt his gaze on your back. He was making that face, the one when one of his crewmates was flipping the fuck out and he was trying to play nurse.

God, this went south.

"it wasn't that he was bad," your voice wobbled, "he just...he was in it for him. And I was just...there."

Every time you slept together, it was cold. Dead. You needed sunshine and Marcus just wanted a quick bang. The truth made you hunch in on yourself, cowering. Poe hummed in sympathy, sliding closer.

You scowled at him over your shoulder. Something in his eyes pried a little too close to your heart in a way you couldn't describe. It left a raw, tender feeling in your chest that prompted another swell of tears.

"Stop looking at me like that," you snapped. He cocked his head, genuinely curious.

"Why...why is sex such a big thing for you?"

Oh, that tone, damn him to hell with that tone. Soft, gentle, like you were some sort of tantruming baby. Your nose burned with shame and you had to bite your thumb to keep from screaming. None of his business, this was none of his business, just fuck off please. Why had you followed him to his bunk? This was dumb, and all for a chocolate bar.

"Can I just grab my food and go, please?"

A moment before a foil wrapped chocolate and a cup of lemon pudding rolled next to you. Furiously you scrubbed your cheeks dry and sighed.

"I didn't mean to make you mad," Poe said quietly. You turned slightly. His eyes were genuine and open. Dark pools that exuded nothing but support. Way to hit home how much of an ass you were.

"It's fine," you whispered, defeated. "The sex thing...I dunno, it just feels too...intimate."

"It doesn't have to be."

You scrunched up your face, confused. "What? You're literally inside somebody, how-"

Poe laughed, the tension lifting a little bit. "Well, yeah, okay, but like...it doesn't have to be emotional. It could just be physical. One and done." He gestured vaguely, then cringed at his facial expression.

A puzzle was turning in your mind. Not...what? You'd always looked for that little spark before you invited someone over. That little rush of heat, a shared glance. Sex was supposed to be romantic, at least a little bit. That's what you'd gleaned from the girls gushing in the bathrooms over how it felt and the moment.

Something cracked and dislodged in your chest. You took a shuddering breath, feeling your heartbeat stutter. There it was, that thing again. That little confusing piece that followed you around since day one of academy. Since you'd tagged along with Poe and watched him bloom alongside you and Rose, watched your friends and family grow into people with life and love and-

Something.

You felt twisted upside down. This was all wrong, this wasn't how it was supposed to...Poe had thrown a wrench in your ideas of everything, opened a door that you didn't like the idea of.

He was still looking at you carefully, analyzing the way your face twitched and you slowly put the pieces together.

"Have you ever actually been attracted to somebody?"

There it was. Hit the nail right on the head, right where you wanted him to miss. Of course. Of course you had, but he was sitting so close but so far away.

You scoffed. "What's it to you?"

He held up his hands and sat back. "No, hang on. It just sounds like you don't..."

"Don't what?" Something distinctly icy had entered your tone. A familiar defense when acknowledging that scared little emptiness in your cardiac region. One that ached and tore with every breath.

Poe realized he needed a different tactic. Pursing his lips, he tried again. "I mean, have you ever liked somebody as in, like, romantically? Or something past the physical stuff?"

"I'm not an asshole, what kind of-"

"it doesn't make you an asshole," Poe interrupted, "sometimes it's just how stuff is. I asked because it might explain why you feel that way about intimate sex."

The combination of your exposed secret and the bluntness of his vocabulary created a strange mix of comfort and indignance. You knew he meant well, he'd never shame you for sex. He couldn't, not with his roster. But Poe's curiosity was a bit strange. Pointed, specific, determined.

He hadn't cared. He wasn't supposed to care, he was Poe. Out of reach, off limits. With every word he dug up something you'd shoved down into the pits years ago.

"Why does it matter?" You swiveled to face him, chin propped on your palm. He shrugged.

"Dunno, just...troubleshooting."

"Troubleshooting? What am I, a protocol droid?" Your tone dripped with sarcasm, but the sentiment filled you with warmth.

Poe snorted. He reached for another bottle cap and flipped it between his fingers, rolling it along his knuckles like a Erko chip. "You said you had a problem, and I'm gonna help you fix it."

Oh, Maker. You recognized that expression. When Poe had an idea, nothing in the galaxies could derail his focus. You sighed. "Please don't, I don't care."

Poe looked up, mouth agape. "What do you mean you don't care? Sex is a great experience, and I want to find a way for you to enjoy it-"

"Why?"

"Because-"

"Why you? Why do you have to, what's it matter to you?" You tossed your hands up, exasperated. He paused his fiddling, swallowing thickly.

This conversation was muddling your already groggy mind. Twenty questions had not helped the predicament, and you really wanted to go to bed. Early training tomorrow, provided the rains let up. Poe watched you stand and grab your jacket, not making a move to stop you.

"I'm heading off," you mumbled. "Thanks for....yeah."

Maybe it was the light or maybe just wishful thinking, but his eyes softened with a smile.

"Night, sweetheart. Sweet dreams."

That curious feeling followed you all the way back to bed. Your dreams were not helpful either - twirling and changing and morphing into something wholly familiar but astounding.

Poe's voice, and that familiar smell, but accompanied with a flutter you don't remember feeling. It was gentler, softer. Something was there, something that hadn't been been before. You didn't understand why here his touches felt different, but they felt...better. Righter. Not sexual, not bad, but somehow there was an unspoken agreement that this was how it should be. Together.

You woke up in a cold sweat and pit in your stomach.

The rains were stronger that afternoon. Lightening flashed in the clouds, adding to the melancholy feeling in your chest. Last night's conversation had undeniably changed the air between you and Dameron. Even Rose noticed in her hungover haze.

"Jeez, you 'n Poe really screwed something up, huh?" she slurred, an ice pack resting over her eyes. She peered inquisitively at you from under her hood and you scoffed.

"No, Rose." It couldn't be farther from the truth. The idea caused such a viscerally upsetting image in your mind that you physically jolted in your seat.

"I need some air," you muttered, palm to your chest. A raw, nervous energy had consumed you from your first waking moment. Anticipation and dread rolled up into a nerve-wracking package.

Your feet, the bastards, walked a familiar route that you recognized all too late. Poe looked up as he was leaving his bunk and paused. HIs eyes held that same soft look from last night and your stomach lurched.

"Hey," he called, reaching out to snag your elbow. You flinched and a flicker of hurt crossed his features. He'd just woken up, curls sticking every which way atop his sleep-mussed face. Attractive in a way that floored you.

You muttered a hello and kept walking, darting into the first available room.

The dance kept up all day, swooping and waltzing around each other until everybody knew something was up. The rumor mill was brutal, fantasizing everything from a fight to a secret pregnancy. Any comments whispered behind your back paled in comparison to the mounting anxiety you felt.

That thing. That thing that Poe said that broke the wall around your heart. It was fucking everything up. He hadn't even said much. But it did a lethal damage, sending everything toppling down in a domino effect.

You couldn't focus. That something, begging to be let out, beat and hammered against your ribs, making you gag. Your pace faltered and you hurried to a bathroom.

"I'm gonna be sick-" you croaked, and somebody yelped. A pair of hands hauled you off the floor and up, but the world was already spinning. Your heart had jumped out of your mouth and was sputtering on the floor, dying in a wash of crimson glory. Something had also snagged your lungs, tearing oxygen just out of reach.

What a way to go.

Poe's smell filled your nose and you hoped it wasn't another dream. That dream had stripped your faculties and left you an emotional mess. A better dream, please, I want to be at peace.

A hacking, gagging, awful sound that you realized was coming from you. Someone was pounding your back as you heaved in air, choking on your own spit.

"Umph cut it out!" you rasped, smacking away whoever was braking your spine.

Your heart wheezed a last breath when you met Poe's eyes. It was his room that smelled that way. And yes, your heart was still in your chest and your lungs were in working order. the air was a bit hard to breath now that Poe had clouded it with his pure, unadulterated concern that looked a little too close to-

Something.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, hands flexing at his side. "I...I fucked up. Last night. I'm sorry."

It felt like a collective breath was released. You swallowed, steadying yourself against the wall.

"It's okay," you said, nodding. "Me too."

A tentative silence before he crossed to sit next to you. There was that look again, so genuine and pure that it made your breath halt. You'd walked into it. A little glimmer grew into a solid shine over your heart.

Something, something, something.

"You didn't answer my question," he whispered, almost too quiet. Your tongue stopped working. You knew what he meant. That was throwing a wrench in things, that unchecked box. The blank space. The answer was clear. He knew. You knew. Rose knew, she'd seen it a galaxy away.

"Have you ever-"

"I remember," you cut him off, heart hammering. "I remember the question."

He nodded imperceptibly. The situation became abundantly apparent as you forced yourself to press on.

He'd been waiting. His soft pink insides were already bared, ready for you to take a bite. Nothing was hidden anymore. All out, for everyone to see.

But for you especially.

Your turn.

Tentatively, you leaned forward. Poe's eyes burned, and you saw the muscles flexing with his restraint. His rope was twisting tighter as you hesitated.

It snapped.

He tasted like chocolate and summer. Your lips fell open in shock, allowing his tongue to slip inside. He cradled your jaw gently, sucking and pulling you out of your shell. Each gentle lap and kiss broke off another stone, chipping slate from your soft center. Your skin tingled, feeling every emotion you'd bottled up.

The vulnerability was too much. You couldn't breathe, enraptured with the way his hands felt and he held you tighter.

"Poe," you mumbled into his mouth, and he withdrew. The empty space between you was weaponized, scratching and biting your tender skin. You needed to be closer. Together. Bound as one, breathing in and out with the same lungs and beating the same heart.

That was the something.

Something built under you as he hauled you into his arms and sank into his mattress, devouring your lips with his. This was how it was supposed to feel. Alive with a burning feeling that ate you up on the inside. Like hot desert sun that warmed your bones and dissolved your mind into mush.

His finger traced under you shirt. Your nerves screamed, twisting your torso away. A wild, nervous colt had replaced your disposition. The hill you were climbing was slippery, and what waited at the top was beginning to scare you.

"Wait," you breathed, stuttering, "I didn't-"

Poe held his hands up, breathing hard. "It's okay. It's okay. I'm not gonna move. Just...tell me when, okay?"

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. You'd never...not like this. Not with your heart on full display and your guard down and certainly not face to face.

"Marcus," you blurted, "always did it behind. To be less...open."

The admission felt liberating somehow, like a weight had been lifted. Poe nodded slowly, gears turning.

"Do you...like it that way?"

Your face said what your tongue couldn't, and he nodded again. Before his hands brushed your arms, he tapped your wrist twice.

Okay?

You tapped him back. Okay.

He drew you closer, gently adjusting your thighs around his hips. "Like this, see?" His eyes were searching, patient. Uncertainty trembled inside, but you nodded.

His lips met yours again and you moaned quietly, leaning into his embrace. your hearts thudded next to each other, feeding from the other's heat. This time, his hands slipped your shirt over your head and you didn't protest. It was a shock, at first, to be so unprotected, but his hands soothed over any rough patches and coaxed you back to safety.

This was okay.

Your sleep shorts hiking over your thighs with ease. Poe slowed, letting you adjust to the cool air. He caught your apprehension and stopped moving.

"Hey," he whispered, hands settling around your waist. You didn't move from your position against his neck, curling tighter to hide your furious blushing.

"We don't have to do this tonight." He relaxed his grip and moved away. Terrified, you grabbed his hand and put it back on your hip. Poe rubbed your back slowly.

"It's fine," you muttered, words muffled by his neck.

"You look like you're about to be executed," he teased, pulling your face back to look him in the eye. Your gaze flitted around, trying to avoid the overwhelming emotion pouring out of his face, and to sneak a glimpse of his perfectly muscular chest.

"I'm okay," you whispered. "Just nervous."

Poe nodded, scooting back a little bit. "I understand. Do you want to just sit like this for a minute? It'll be better if you relax." You nodded, leaning back against him. The sunshine pouring from his skin glowed gently, He fiddled with your hands, inspecting the ridges and bumps on your fingers. You smiled apologetically when he peered at your torn cuticles.

"Nervous habit," you explained. He lifted his right hand and to your surprise, had the most chewed-up fingernails you'd ever seen.

"Me too."

His arms tightened around your middle and you felt the soft brush of his lips across your shoulder. The gentle affection made you tremble. Something distinctly new was blooming in the warm darkness of his room. Something that felt soft and nice but more than a little terrifying.

"Why does this position bother you?" he asked quietly, sucking on your neck. You wriggled at the heady warmth of his mouth.

"Mmm...I dunno, it's just...vulnerable, I guess," you breathed, pressing closer. That familiar heat had returned, glowing under your sternum and making your fingers tingle. Poe hummed in thought, slowly turning you over so you were pressed front to front.

"Not gonna do anything, just movin' you around," he soothed your hunched shoulders. You relaxed, licking under his ear and smiling at his tiny groan.

"Is vulnerability a bad thing?" He continued kissing along your shoulders, hands safely on your back.

"N-no," your heart was picking up, "just...just different, I don't know-" you sucked in a deep breath when he nipped at your earlobe.

"That's okay. Different can be good, too."

Your skin was burning, and an unmistakable knot had started twisting under your navel. The muscles in your thighs twitched and flexed around Poe's waist. You felt him against your inner thigh, harder than steel, but he still waited patiently, mapping your skin with his lips and hands. You faltered, unsure of how to tell.

His thumb tapped your elbow twice, tap-tap. You shifted, confused. He did it again, and you peered at his hand curiously. tap-tap?

oh.

You took a slow breath and tapped his elbow twice, tap. tap.

Okay.

He rubbed the back of your hand soothingly, but didn't move further. His lips didn't stop suckling your clavicle. You hesitantly brought your hand to his hair and stroked it. He groaned quietly, encouraging you. Swallowing, you tugged the ends of his curls and blushed when he pressed closer, grip tightening on your waist.

Okay, okay. This was okay.

Poe's fingers trailed delicately over the soft skin of your stomach, pausing to tickle your ribs. You shivering, giggling, tugging his hair affectionately.

"Poe, what are you doingghuhh," his fingers pushed the air out of your chest, pressing thickly up into your core. You choked out a moan and wriggled, the spark in your chest exploding. Poe's eyes flicked to your face, questioning, but he smiled when you started to rock slightly on his hands.

"I'm following your lead," he said, adjusting the angle of his fingers. You whimpered again, folds fluttering around him. You nodded rapidly, hips rocking faster. Poe grinned cheekily, curling his thumb just so to brush your clit. The responding whine made his cock throb against your leg.

It did not take you long to hurtle over that peak. With a heavy sigh, a wave of warmth and sticky pleasure drowned out your pounding heart, sending a rocking tremor through your body. Your pussy squeezed his fingers and gushed over his lap, to Poe's delight. He caught you when you collapsed against him, moaning with satisfaction.

The aftershocks were almost as intense as the orgasm. You breathed shakily, still bucking greedily on his magic fingers.

"Good," you whined when he raised his eyebrow, "really good..." you moaned louder when he pinched your clit teasingly.

An inhumanly high whimper tore out of your throat as he picked up the pace, massaging and pressing perfectly against your walls. Your leaking arousal trickled down your thigh. Poe swiped a finger of it and sucked, eyes fluttering closed. You stared slack-jawed, unable to look away as he drank up your slick greedily.

Poe groaned, finger-fucking you faster. You shuddered and let it steamroll you again, losing all composition against his chest. Your puffy folds gripped him like a vise. He pulled his hand free and licked a long stripe up his finger, swallowing obscenely. His heavy lidded eyes met yours, brown irises glittering with lust.

You whimpered, overwhelmed with his attention.

"That's two," he winked. Before you could respond he hiked you up against his chest and spread his thighs. Still hazy from your last climax, you kissed his neck messily. Poe paused, squeezing your ass.

"Deep breath, baby."

"Wh-"

A long, punishing stroke as he pushed into you, hot and hard. Your lower body seized, a rush of stimulation short-circuiting your brain. A loud moan filled the room, and you distantly realized it was yours.

Poe was big. Really big, and stretched you past the breaking point. You choked and whined to gain back the air he'd ripped from your lungs. He smiled, rocking slowly to let you adjust. Your arms were pressed tight to your chest, head still tucked away from his view.

"Don't hide, sit back," he guided, tugging you in front of him. The new angle pulled another moan as his tip bullied against your sensitive cunt. Your chest heaved, eyes listless from the constant pleasure.

"I want to see you," he whispered, looking you dead on. it send a shard right through your chest.

"I want to."

You swallowed and he began to rock gently. The sensation made you gasp, locking onto his biceps. His grin was easy, welcoming.

"You look lovely." His praise sent another flutter to your cunt. His eyebrow raised, catching the glaze over your eyes.

Oh, now he's got it. He'd figured out the pattern. That exact combination of touches and moves to make you fall into him. Poe paused for a moment, to your confusion, then rocked forward hard. You bucked up against him, crying out as he began a steady, firm pace.

"You're doing good," he panted, nipping your cheek, "doing really well, see? Feel good, baby?"

You moaned, magma pulsing and rising in your veins. His words sluiced over you like a balm, easing the overwhelming presence of him. Nothing in you was the way it should be; your bones were jelly, your skin felt like fire and your head full of cotton.

Was this what he meant by sex? This? This heady mix of hot and wet and fast and so all-consuming it overrode your brain? Nothing Snap could come up with held a candle to the high you were riding at the moment.

At some point, Poe had flipped you onto your back. Or maybe you'd done that? Your knees were up and pushed against your breasts, his cock driving madly into your fully exposed core. The power in his hips was unbelievable. You felt the muscles bunching beneath your palms as you held on for dear life.

Poe huffed in your ear, mumbling jibbered praise and half-coherent expletives. The bunk quaked with each punch of his hips, further disorienting your fucked-out perspective.

Your nails dug into his back and you gritted out a moan as another orgasm knocked you flat. The mattress was melded to your back at this point; might as well label yourself "Rebel bunk grade" and accept it.

"Poe," you whined, arching and writhing away from the unending stimulation. He grunted and heaved you back up against his chest, spreading his thighs for balance. Your eyes flickered up to meet his; frantic, lust-blown, just a bit unfocused.

That thing, that new, flourishing something burned hot like the sun. It filled Poe's eyes when he looked at you, slack-jawed with pleasure. It rested on the tip of your tongue as you asked for more, please. It was everywhere.

A broken cry accompanied your fourth climax, shepherding you gently into a distant, heavenly pleasure that licked up your spine and filled you with a joy you'd never experienced. Pure bliss leaked out of every pore, drowning you and pulling Poe under the tide. He bucked and groaned, crushing his lips against yours.

You shuddered a sigh when you felt him release inside, a syrupy warmth filling you. Your thighs gave out, crumpling onto the sheets. Poe's chest was covered in a sheen of sweat, but he wasn't quite done yet.

"Poe, wh-what," you whined as he flipped you onto your front. Your cheeks pressed against the mattress, and you braced yourself against the frame.

"Jus' hang on," he panted, "just gimme a sec," his breathing was choppy and labored. It took you a minute to realize he was still hard inside of you, length pulsing tightly against your sponginess.

A small whimper when you felt his chest press against your back. This was familiar...but different. It felt...better. Warmer, kinder, softer. Like the two of you were fitted perfectly, wrapped in a nest of-

of?

There was that something again, whatever it was-

Well, whatever it was didn't matter because Poe's cock hammered your brain flat. He wasn't fucking hard, but deep. Slow, steady, punishing. Every ridge and vein dragged along your velvety petals, lighting every nerve and blood cell and capillary and everything on fire. His strong, stable hands cradled your hips, pulling you back until no space existed between you.

you didn't know what you expected. When his lips touched yours, you didn't know he could wreck you like this. That he could pull you apart and put you back together in a way that made you want to cry. You expected something quick, fast, clinical. Not this. This...this was a new world of torture you hadn't had the pleasure of exploring.

Your moans were muffled by the sheets. The muscles in your shoulders ached from the way he was pressed close. Any move you made, he made with you. Any time he wanted to clutch you tighter, the limper you got.

"Come on," he gritted out, "almost there, you've been doing so good, come on-" a loud groan and he rammed faster, shucking you up the bed a few inches.

The end was in sight. You were so close, but it felt...too far. You couldn't do it, you were exhausted, wrung out. Too much too fast. It felt good, to be here like this, but there was no way-

Poe craned his neck down, sucking gently on your jaw. His fingers laced with yours and there it was. There was that something you'd been looking for.

As the rest of you dissolved into ecstasy, a single thought hardened into a glowing pearl. Your drained, exhausted body felt drawn to that pearl as you floated out of your mind. A wave of pleasant calmness carried you closer, closer.

Oh. Of course. Your lips slipped into a smile as you drifted back to earth, the last little stitch in place.

A guttural cry met you back in the real world. Poe's hands were everywhere, pulling you up, pressing against your cheeks, wiping tears - were you crying? - pulling you closer. Closer, somehow, than being literally fused together. Everywhere you looked, Poe Poe Poe. His smell, voice, skin, hair.

"Poe," you breathed. He kissed your forehead, still cooing.

"Poe," you said again, urgent. His dark gaze twisted with concern, holding your jaw to inspect you for tears.

"Did I go too hard? I'm sorry, fuck, I-"

"I want to answer your question," you rushed with startling clarity. Poe was clearly surprised by your attitude, having just witnessed your ascension to heaven.

"Wh-"

Frustrated, you pulled him into a hard kiss, accidentally nipping his lip. The iron tang was sweetened by the leftover arousal on his tongue. His confusion soon faded, and you felt his lips slack with understanding. When he moved to pull away, you pulled him back, not yet ready to look at him. Your noses brushed each other, lips a breath apart.

"I-"

"Me too, idiot," he muttered, biting your cheek and laughing when you smacked his chest. Post-fucking endorphins had thrown you for a loop and his cheeky winks were sending you through the roof.

"I was-"

"I know," he said simply, interrupting you with another kiss.

"St-"

"What was that?"

A beat, then you were pulled back into his little galaxy in a whirl of kisses and smiles, content to rest as one again.

There. That was how it was supposed to be.

augh i hate this so much i don't knowwwww

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love 

@unear7hly @chaithetics

thanks for reading!!

[literatecowboy]

The King With No Name

1. An Unconventional Princess

Part 2 here Summary: König - the king of Caldera - has been called upon by your father to choose a bride from his daughters in order to establish an alliance to keep peace over the lands they rule. When he arrives, he is enraptured by you, your father’s eldest child - an unconventional woman by all standards. He pursues your hand in marriage, doing his best to make you fall in love with him like he has fallen in love with you - much to your dismay Author's Notes: Inspired by the royalty fics I’ve been seeing around lately Warnings: Arranged marriage, eventual smut, pining, dogged pursuit of reader’s love and affection

-----

Kaustav Castle was well-positioned and well-fortified and as a result, had stood the test of time and war. Built at the intersection of three rivers on a large, grassy plain, it had served as the seed of a kingdom and a city had sprung up around it. 

Many kings had walked its halls and ruled from its throne. Blood had been spilled on its battlements and fires had ripped through the chambers but she stood strong through war, flood, and plague. 

The times were peaceful now and your father intended to ensure they remained that way, so he had invited a guest into your home. Gates creaked open and drawbridges crashed to the ground. Banners waved and fanfare played as the king of the neighboring empire, Caldera, rode his large black stallion into Kaustav Castle’s courtyard to be greeted by your father the King, and many of his lords. 

Your sisters gathered at the window above in the dining room, watching as he came into view. 

“Is that him? Why is he still wearing that hood?” Sadie asked, peering around Lydia to get a better view. She smoothed her hand through her hair and fanned herself slowly. 

“They say he never takes it off, not even in his castle. He must be quite the terrifying sight on the battlefield.” Lydia murmured, watching as König dismounted and shook your father’s hand firmly. 

“He’s so…big. The stories did not do him justice.” Sadie murmured. Her cheeks pinkened and she giggled. You rose from where you were seated by the fire, sharpening your hunting knife, and tucked the blade into its sheath at your side. 

“Let me have a look,” you grunted, pushing the curtain further aside and looking down on the scene with your arms folded. König knelt and kissed your mother’s hand through the hood - you knew she would be impressed by his chivalry. 

“You still want to marry him?” you turned to Sadie and leaned against the wall, concern etched across your face. 

“If he chooses me, I will go. He…intrigues me,” she said with a soft smile, blushing. 

“And what if he chooses you?” you asked Lydia. She frowned. 

“I know that you’ve been speaking to Lord Henry and father seems to favor him. What will you do if König wishes to marry you?” you asked. Lydia shook her head. 

“I will be making myself scarce, though I do not plan to avoid him outright like you do,” she admitted. 

“Father wishes for him to marry me and I wish for the same. I will charm him and distract him from you two.” Sadie said, a twinkle in her eye. You snorted. 

“Oh, Sadie, what would we do without you?” you said, smiling and embracing her gently. Outside, König and your parents walked into the castle. 

“I ought to leave before they get up here. I’ll be in the stable preparing for a hunt if either of you needs a break from the formality.” you offered. Your sisters bid you goodbye as you slipped into the hidden servant’s corridor and raced downstairs and towards the outside world. 

You had always been different from your sisters. Your father had hoped for sons, but when you were born and quickly followed by your sisters, he had elected to raise you like the son he did not have. While Sadie and Lydia had been raised as proper ladies and were doted upon by your father, he had raised you to ride and hunt and govern and had pushed you almost to the point of being controlling. 

Your mother was still unsure about her oldest daughter going about like a man, but as your father was in poor health and there were no male heirs to the throne, she was relying on you growing up strong enough to maintain power after your father’s death to protect her, Sadie, and Lydia.

When you reached the stables below you called out a greeting to the stablehand who waved back to you. Your family was beloved by your father’s people and you made sure to spend time socializing in the village to build good relationships with the people you would someday lead. 

“Going out for a hunt?” a voice called out to you from the back of the stable as you brought your little tan mare out of her stall and hitched her to a post. You raised your head and made eye contact with one of the lords visiting for König’s arrival. 

“Ah, good morning, Lord Marrick. And yes, I’m off to look for game before dinner. Will you be joining my father and König?” you asked. 

“Call me Ferdinand, please, my lady. And yes, I had planned to - will you not be attending?” he asked, leaning against the stable wall and offering your horse a snack. 

“I’m doing my best to stay out of sight of König,” you admitted with a laugh. “My father has offered him the hand of any of his daughters, after all, and even though I am not…conventional…I wish not to risk marriage being forced upon me.”

“Will you never marry?” Ferdinand asked, his voice softening. There was something in his eyes that you couldn’t read as he came a little closer to you. You hefted a blanket, then a saddle, onto your horse’s back. 

“No. When Father dies, I cannot risk having the control of my kingdom wrestled away from me by a man who means to harm the people,” you admitted. Ferdinand nodded slowly. 

“That is…a shame, I must admit,” he said softly. Your cheeks felt hot. You and Ferdinand had known each other since you were children and had always been close. He cleared his throat as you tightened the straps of the saddle and buckled your bedroll onto the back. 

“I have a gift for you,” he admitted. You turned and smiled at him. 

“Oh, Ferdinand, you didn’t have to get me anything,” you said. 

“Nonsense, your birthday just passed, did it not? This might help you on your hunt today,” he said, fumbling in his pocket. pulling out an item wrapped in cloth, and offering it to you. You took it and unwrapped it slowly, gasping when you saw the contents. 

A small charm on a chain laid against the leather, delicately carved from a deer’s antler and decorated with silver. It was the symbol of the goddess you held most dear to your heart - the goddess of the woods and plains. 

“It’s for good luck. I had it blessed by one of her priests in town before I came.” Ferdinand admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“Oh, Ferdinand, it’s lovely. I will surely have bountiful hunts with this attached to my quiver.” You embraced him warmly, smiling against his chest as he hugged you tightly. 

“Here, help me put it on!” you invited, slinging your quiver off your back and unlacing the leather at the top. You held tightly to it as Ferdinand gently laced the leather through the charm and tied it into place securely. 

“Get going now, before the sun sets!” he said with a laugh, smiling as you took your horse’s reins. 

“I’ll come see you later and tell you stories of my hunt should anything exciting happen,” you said, eyes gleaming as you led your horse out into the courtyard and prepared to mount up. 

—

König sat in the parlor with your family chatting idly with your mother and father as Sadie leaned forward attentively and Lydia busied herself in the corner of the room behind him. Movement outside of the window in the courtyard drew his eye and he watched as you led your horse outside. He was instantly enraptured by your beauty, your boldness as you waved goodbye to someone in the stable, and your strength as you controlled your horse.

“I believed you to have three daughters?” he asked suddenly, cutting off your father as he discussed local harvests. Your mother and father glanced at each other warily. 

“Yes, I do. The third is…a rather special case,” your father admitted, taking your mother’s hand. König watched as your horse nosed at your pocket and you laughed, pulling out the apple you had inside it and giving it to her. His chest tightened and he leaned forward slightly, gaze fixed on you intently. He watched the horse nibble at the apple in your small hand and imagined how it might fit in his.

“She is special?” he asked idly, his gaze fixed on you as you swung the reins around and mounted up. Your father followed his gaze. 

“I have had no sons. I suppose that as a result, I raised her as I would have a son.” The room lapsed into silence. 

König watched as you spurred your horse forward and took off at a gallop, laughing as you raced out of the castle gates and towards the open plains. His heart thumped faster in his chest and he was thankful for the hood that covered his flushing cheeks. 

“I should like to meet her.”

—

Your hunt was largely uneventful, and you spent more time enjoying the sensation of the wind flowing through your hair and shooting at random tree targets than you did hunting game. As hours passed and the sun set, you felt sure that it would be safe to return home now. Sadie had surely charmed König and he had declared his intention to marry her to your father. 

After reaching the stable and untacking your horse, you sorted everything away and fed her before bidding her goodnight. Ferdinand met you at the castle’s backdoor, concern in his eyes. 

“Your father is looking for you. König seems set on wanting to meet you - he kept asking after you at dinner tonight,” he warned, following you as you slipped inside. 

“Seriously? Do you know what he wants?” you asked, your eyes widening. 

“Just to talk, I guess. He didn’t seem interested in Sadie or Lydia at all,” he said, following you as you headed into the kitchen. 

“Fuck, Ferdinand, that’s the last thing I wanted,” you growled, snagging some leftovers one of the cooks had left for you and sitting down at the table in the corner. Ferdinand sat across from you. 

“Just lay low, okay? I’ll warn you if I hear anything else.” he offered before taking his leave. You ate quickly and quietly, lost in thought, before rising and hurrying out of the kitchen and going into the servant’s stairwell. You thought it best to avoid the main halls for now - who knew where König may have been lurking?

When you reached your room you breathed a sigh of relief, shutting the door behind you. You had failed to see the looming shadow in the hallway behind you, and as you stepped behind the partition in the corner of the room to undress, the door slowly creaked open. 

You froze - you were wearing only your underclothes - and slid your knife from its sheath on your belt which you had hung on its hook. 

“Sadie? Lydia?” You called out softly, stepping slowly around the partition. You squeaked and dove back to safety as you caught sight of the looming mass standing at your door. 

“Get out!” you whisper-shouted, doing your best not to wake your sisters sleeping across the hall. 

“I am sorry. I had to see you…to speak to you. You are a thing of beauty.” he said, his heavily accented voice almost breathless. 

“You have no right to come in while I am dressing!” you hissed, pulling your sleeping gown over your head so that you were covered and striding out into your room, your knife leveled at his chest. 

“Get out!” you snarled, jabbing at him and fixing your stance to hold your ground. 

“You are not capable of hurting me with that little thing, maus,” he murmured but did not come closer. Your hand trembled slightly as he drank you in. 

“You are even more beautiful up close.” he breathed, eyes wide. He clasped his hands together and fell to his knees. He had not felt so flustered since he was a young boy. 

“I would choose you from your sisters as my wife, maus, if you would have me. Please,” he begged softly, offering you his hands. 

“Get out. I won’t warn you again. Marry Sadie.” you hissed dangerously. His heart fluttered - he was falling for you hard. 

“If you will not agree now, you must come to know me and I will come to know you. Yes? I will come to see you tomorrow.” he breathed, the plea evident in his voice. You surged forward, pressing the tip of the knife where you guessed the base of his throat was. 

“Out.” you snarled. König got up slowly, and taking the knife by the blade gingerly, kissed your hand as it was wrapped around the handle. You jerked away, leaving him with the knife. 

“I will see you…gute nacht, maus,” he murmured, taking the knife with him as he left. Your heart thundered in his chest as you slammed and locked the door behind him. 

What the fuck?

[intermundia]

The legendary Cassini-Huygens mission took almost seven years to reach Saturn, and spent over a decade exploring the planet and its moons. And on December 25th 2004, nearly a quarter of a century after Voyager 1’s flyby, the Huygens probe detached from Cassini, in a bid to become the first probe ever to land on a body in the outer solar system.

The team had designed Huygens to float, but it landed in what appeared to be an empty riverbed. And the river channels it imaged during its descent were dry... It saw a landscape of rolling dune fields, vast plains and more dried up rivers. It seemed Titan was a desert world.

But in 2006, after many months of searching, Cassini’s radar instrument found what everyone had been waiting for. Lakes and seas of liquid methane at the north pole. Titan’s equatorial region may be a desert, but Cassini had proved that its poles were anything but.

In Titan’s deserts, autumn brings change to the air. Monsoons arrive from the south, unleashing torrents of methane rain. Because of Titan’s low gravity and dense atmosphere, the raindrops fall about six times slower than on Earth. These storms dump enough liquid methane onto the surface to create flash floods, which drain into dry river beds, carving into the landscape, before spilling out onto vast floodplains.

It is now believed Titan’s storm belt goes on an epic 29-and-a-half-year journey from one pole to the other and back again: slow motion seasons, unleashing massive slow motion storms, creating seasonal rivers of methane, in a desert on one of Saturn’s moons.

Solar System: Storm Worlds on NOVA

[almayver]

Holy fuck alma. I’m back and I thought about it hard (havent stopped since i saw your post about hanahaki but semantics)

LISTEN. I mentioned that Phum coughs again in the scene where they kiss thrice. I like to think that he holds off then. He coughs but he doesn’t let a single petal slip because Peem is right there, worried sick and trying to make Phum stop.

Oh the devastating gentleness of that scene. There wouldn’t be the iconic kisses, not with what’s happening to Phum. But he would still be half on top of Peem, trying to calm his breathing while Peem cradles his face with quivery fingers and whispers, “What’s happening to you?”

Phum would write it off as a cold, because even though he knows Beer told him he needs to have a talk, he can’t do it like this. He doesn’t even know how to initiate such a talk. How do you tell your crush “I’m coughing my love for you out, because I feel like you don’t feel the same?”

Talk about pressure.

SO. SO IMAGINE. Imagine the scene of the night when Phum confessed, in the show. The circumstances. Imagine how much worse it would be if instead of confessing, Phum has the biggest coughing fit in front of all their friends, flowers blood and all.

Because. That night Peem stood up to confess. Yet he didn’t. Because of insecurities, because of overthinking, because of something. And maybe Phum looked forward to it, maybe Phum wanted it so very badly. Even if there is undercurrent thought that Peem likes him back, hanahaki does require a spoken confession of love to recede.

So when Phum brings attention to himself after Peem fumbles his confession, still with the intention of doing it himself— of confessing to Peem that he likes him (because maybe then Peem will say it back, and his sickness will finally begin to fade) he doesn’t succeed.

Because as soon as he says, “Peem—“

The coughing starts, triggered by faint pang of dissapointment that Peem didn’t end up confessing first. It starts so hard that Phum ends up folding over the table between them, blood spilling like a river between the fingers pushing against this lips, petals flooding his mouth.

Peem’s backyard becomes a chaos of cries and shock and worry and Peem is absolutely horrified and Fang (who still didn’t know) is over Phum, hyperventilating because what the fuck is happening to his brother—

Only Beer is aware. And he’s the only one bolting to action. Taking hold of Phum’s shoulders and telling him to spit all the petals because if he doesn’t the coughing doesn’t stop.

And that’s the reveal. That night doesn’t end up with a confession (or maybe it does), but with a pale Phum on Peem’s bed, looking blankly at the ceiling while his brother and friends and Peem hover and fuss over him.

Imagine if the angst stretches because Fang comes up to Beer and demands to know what the fuck is happening, Peem on his tail because he’s also anxious and wants to know and Phum refuses to tell them anything yet. Merely shakes his head and burrows his face harder in Peem’s pillow.

And Beer stares at them defeatedly and tells them that he has hanahaki, an infliction that usually manifests when the one you like doesn’t like you back. He doesn’t say more because it’s not his place.

IMAGINE Fang and Peem are both dumbstruck and devastated, but for two different reasons— Fang, because he knows the whole deal. Knows the one next to him is causing it unwittingly. And Peem…

Peem because he thinks Phum likes someone, and it might not be him after all. Because this someone and his disinterest for Phum is actively harming Phum.

And it can’t be him, right? He’s accepted that he likes Phum since before camp. Had said it to his plushie, even. It can’t be him, right?

I like to imagine that Fang might want confront Peem about it, because his brother had such a painful episode and enough is enough. He takes half an hour to think about it— what Phum might say or how upset he’ll be if he interferes without his consent. But Fang just witnessed him nearly coughing his lungs out so???

But he doesn’t get the chance because Peem has already rushed up to his room to have his own confrontation with Phum.

Just. Peem sitting next to Phum’s dazed figure, feeling so unsteady inside, and softly asking, “Who’s the one hurting you like this?”

It took a lot to get it out, but the fears if it remains unanswered or unsaid is worse.

This conversation has to be crazy. So many outcomes. AaaGhhhhhh AGHHS ALMA ALMAAA

Does Phum admit that it’s Peem, when Peem is looking at him with such pain on his face, such unstable fear? Can he? CAN HE ADMIT IT?

And what if Peem has had this little thought that it might be himself after all? What if his biggest fear is that he made Phum think he didn’t like him at all, and caused all this? What if he’s proven right? Where do they go from there?

Phum would tell him that it’s not his fault. Because it’s not. Because love cannot be controlled by anyone, least of all Peem and Phum.

The Peem angst has to be crazy, because he’s just this guy who has made people around him feel so comfortable and loved all this life, and indirectly he caused Phum pain. It has to be so fucked up for him, for his gentle soul. He has to go through it hard.

I have many thoughts about all this. I rambled so much to you, alma. Alma I want this as a fic so badly. Alma what do I do. What do WE do.

I want slow burn and angst and happy ending. I want suffering but also comfort and I want whump. And a lot of stuff. AHHHSJEJDKSKS

I smiled like a mad man during this whole thing because YES. YEEEEEES. THIS IS EVERYTHING I WANTED

The ANGST. Baby the ANGST. It would go so fucking hard. Oh one of my favorite Hanahaki tropes is the person finding out and trying to help while being sure it's not them. The LAYERS. THE DRAMA.

But having Peem be there and not knowing what would be worse? If Phum loves someone else (and he loves them this hard) or if it's him and he is the one hurting him?

And the thing about phrasing it like that is, Phum would never say it's Peem. Because he might be dying but Peem has never hurt him. So I think he wouldn't admit it. He would just stay quiet. Still a little dazed, maybe slowly caressing Peem's cheeks, trying to understand why they are a little wet.

And so they move on. Except no one does but Phum. Everyone else keeps looking at him like he is about to keel over at any point and Fang is in between throttling him and wanting to bundle him up in his favorite blanket with his plushies and keep him safe. Beer is in a similar state.

And of course. You know how I am Cole. You know my agenda

Q going up to him, grabbing him and taking him to a secluded corner and just going "Tell him". Because Q is not blind, because he can't bear that Toey is going crazy from worry for his brother, because he hates seeing Peem so devastated, because he will not admit it under pain of death but he cares about Phum and hates to see him suffering every time he coughs.

And Phum. Phum can't. And let's add one of my favorite versions of Hanahaki here. And it's that what you need more than the confession, is to accept it. (Which!!! Would work so fucking nicely with them theme of the show about part of love is accepting that love. "Thanks for letting me be an important person in your life. Thanks for letting me love you. Etc etc ETC!")

So Phum, Phum knows Peem has feelings for him. He does. He is a mess of insecurities and pain and fear but objectively? He knows. He had an inkling before but seeing Peem lately it's getting kind of hard to deny.

The problem is that he doesn't think he deserves those feelings! He literally can't accept the idea of Peem loving him. Someone so messed up and repressed that he got fucking flowers growing in his lungs. So yeah Peem has feelings for him but he shouldn't. He has feelings for Phum but ... It will pass. Because Peem deserves better than him

And because we need a trigger let's bring the annoyance back. Let's have Kluen being unaware of the situation (because he bothered me but I don't think he is an asshole). And we get the scene in the café, except Phum is there. Because nowadays Phum kind of really lives there because Peem refuses to let him out of his sight and keeps making him tea to soothe his throat.

And so Kluen is there (again) and he is so calm and nice (he is better than Phum) , and that's what sends him into a really bad coughing fit. Like bad bad, with the thorns and stuff. And maybe he ran to Peem's bedroom before it got really bad. So he is just sitting there in the middle of the room, surrounded by blood and petals and thorns. And roses. Not the ones in his lungs but the ones Peem still keeps and...the ones in the painting.

And Peem comes rushing in and just, his heart is on the floor. And he cleans the mess up while Phum is still sitting there. Just staring at the painting. And then Peem sits in front of him and grabs his face and forces him to look at him. And Peem is crying. Crying because the boy he loves is in so much pain and crying because yeah. It's him isn't it. Unless Phum has the weirdest crush ever on Kluen.

And he just grabs his face and kisses him softly on his forehead, and his cheeks and his nose all while softly muttering "you dumbass. You buffalo. It's me isn't it?"

And Phum is devastated but also says in the most helplessly broken voice "Of course it's you. Who else could it be" and now Phum is also crying and trying to move away and shaking his head because "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You deserve better"

And Peem is crying harder while also smiling and he leans forward and lets their foreheads rest together and "Who could be better than you? Huh?"

And that's it folks I don't have more. COLE HELP THIS IS GOING TO HAUNT ME FOREVER. Cole I also need this as a fic. And maybe as a movie too.

The first person to write hanahaki for We are is legally obligated to tag me. I need that

[hexxedghost]

NikPrice Holiday Threadfic

I hit 200 followers and bluesky and did a NikPrice threadfic as a celebration, figured I'd post it here. I will expand on it and post it to ao3 at some point, but y'all get this for now. (Inspired this art of Nik in a Hawaiian shirt by @nekrosmos that lives with me always)

The holiday had been a great idea, honestly.

They'd all earned a bit of R&R after the shitshow of a year. Some sun, sand and relaxation, lazy drinks by the pool and good company. 

Except that hadn't worked out.

A hotel a few streets over had flooded. Not a big deal.

Until the convention it had been hosting had every attendee spill over to the hotel they'd picked. From relaxing holiday to surviving the madhouse within hours.

And they'd only just landed.

The lobby was packed with people, a wall of bodies they had to battle through to get to the front counter.

John was already looking forward to hiding in the hotel room and just drinking away the rest of the day, and from the white-knuckle grip Kate had on her luggage, he wouldn't be drinking alone.

When Kate had given their booking number, the receptionist had frowned at their screen in confusion.

They'd politely told them to wait as they made a call, and John could swear he felt Kate's blood pressure rise. There'd already been a cock-up with the flights, so Jen and Nikolai wouldn't be arriving until tomorrow. It wasn't doing wonders for her mood.

The receptionist turned back to them, a sheepish expression on their face, as they apologised for the mix-up. Apparently, in the chaos, their booking had been cancelled.

He can't see Kate's expression from where he's standing, but judging by the way the blood drains out of the receptionist face, he can guess she isn't happy.

To avoid potential bloodshed, he manages to coax Kate down the street to a bar, where she angrily stabs at her phone.

"For fuck's sake." she tosses it down on the table and picks up her drink angrily, most of the wine drained in a single swallow.

"Okay," she says, "I have back ups. We are going to relax if it kills me."

"Might if you don't calm down." he murmurs into his beer, unable to stop the smile at the daggers she glares at him.

"Shut up, John." she mutters.

It takes a few phone calls, and abandoning the beach idea, but at least they have somewhere to stay that isn't infested with tourists and loud screaming children.

It's a cabin, further up river. Jen and Nikolai had managed to change flights and were already there, while John and Kate endured a crowded train ride that left them sore and tired.

But at least they'd made it, finally, with no bloodshed.

The cabin is what some magazine would call 'quaint' or 'rustic'. It's set amongst a forest, with a jetty leading onto the lake. There's even a small dinghy docked at the end.

Against all odds, John feels his shoulder might be beginning to relax.

------

The sun is setting now.

Nikolai had cooked, signing along to the radio while Jen kept them plied with drinks. They've all since collapsed on the couch, the music softly playing in the background, gentle with the fading light.

"Another?" Nik is already handing him the glass, ice clunking amongst the amber liquid.

"Cheers." he raises the glass in toast before taking a sip, savouring the pleasant burn.  

Kate is cradling the cocktail with the kind of care most would reserve for their firstborn, and judging by the flush on her cheeks, she's well and truly drunk.

"Wish we'd managed to beach house." she says wistfully, staring into the distance.

"Beach house? You wanted beach house?" Nik teases, falling into the seat next to John, the long line of his thigh warm against John's.

"I'm a beach party girl." Kate deadpans, Jen giggling into her shoulder.

They eventually head to bed, Kate declaring the night was over after Jen and Nik had drunkenly screamed their way through another verse of Queen.

John falls facefirst into the pillow, limbs lax and limber with drink and tries not to think about the memory warmth of a hand on his knee lingering.  

When he opens his eyes, there's sunlight filtering through the blinds. His mouth is tacky and his head aches a bit, but a brew and some food should put him right.

Nik's in the kitchen, apparently none the worse for wear as he bustles around humming softly, moving aside so John can make a coffee.

"The other two?" he asks, stirring sugar into his cup.

"Sleeping still. I am thinking they want a quiet day." Nik says, pushing a plate of food towards him.  

"Ta." he says, not one to turn down a free meal.

"What's plan for today then?"

John thinks it over, gaze drifting outside.

"Might go fishing. Boat's there." John pauses, glancing over at Nik "You could come along, if you want. S'not for everyone."

Nik beams at him.  "I would like that."

-------

It takes a quick trip into town for some gear, but the boat's serviceable. There's a slight breeze, the lake waters rippling.

It's not quite the beach vibes they'd wanted for a holiday. Although that hasn't stopped Nikolai.

"What're you wearing?" John sighs, setting the rods down in the boat.

"I am holiday, I am dressing for occasion." Nik says, holding out his arms to show off the eye searingly bright Hawaiian shirt

Price rolls his eyes, but can't help but smile as Nikolai saunters down the pier like a model on a catwalk. Behind him, Kate has shuffled out of the cabin, clearly hungover with sunglasses crooked on her face.

He gives a wave and laughs as she just flips him off and collapses into a chair.  

"Don't drown." he hears her call out.

------

They'd brought beer with them, sitting back and cracking the cans open once they out on the water, lines dangling in the water.

Nik, sneaky bastard, had apparently decided more beach vibes were needed as he stuck a shitty cocktail umbrella into the can.

"You've not got a coconut in there too?" John asks, nudging him as he laughs. "Sadly they did not have any." he chuckles, before looking to John seriously, "I did check." "Course you did, you bleeder." John settles back, tucking his hat forward to block out the worst of the sun,

"Suppose it's not quite the summer holiday we'd wanted." he sighs. "It is sunny at least." Nik says squinting at the bright sunshine beating down of them. "We could have gone to France or Spain for that." John gripes.

"My French is not very good." "My Spanish is worse." John counters.

They enjoy the silence, occasionally reeling in a line. Nik is muttering angrily as he fails to get a worm on the hook for the fifth time. John takes pity on him. "You don't like fishing, do you?" he asks, as he threads the hook through tossing the line back out into the water.

"I have never fished before. I do not think I am very good at it." Nik sighs, taking a drink.

Price shakes his head, "S'alright. Not about being good at it. Just relaxing with company really." "I like the company." Nik says earnestly. Price clears his throat.

"Should hope so, you put up with me enough." he coughs, prepping his own line and casting. "I am enjoying myself just fine." Nik insists.

"Bit rubbish though. We could have done something you liked." John insists.

He feels a bit guilty about it, if he's honest.

Kate had endured one fishing trip with him before telling him that as much as she valued their friendship, if he ever put her on a boat again, she'd hold him underwater until the bubbles stopped. Nik wouldn't threaten him. He'd be more likely to just smile and endure it, which come to think of it, he might be.

"John." Nik says gently, breaking him out of his thoughts, "I am where I want to be." "Stuck with me on a lake?" he looks at Nik doubtfully. "And very happy about it." Nik counters readily, grinning. John nudges him with his shoulder, and they let the conversation drop, a comfortable silence enveloping them. They finish most of the beer, Price settling back and tipping his hat forward. "Might have a kip for a bit." John murmurs, eyelids already heavy. Nik hums. The sunshine and the liquor in his veins has made him pleasantly warm, and he drifts off the sounds of the water lapping against the edge of the boat.

--------

The sun is low in the sky, peeking through the trees when he wakes up. "Christ, how long was I asleep?" he glances down to see Nik snoring at the other end of the boat. He rolls his eyes fondly, nudging Nik with his foot. "Rise and shine, Nik"

Nikolai grumbles, curling in on himself in a way that doesn't melt John's heart in his chest. He shakes him by the shoulder. Nik snorts, looking around before blinking up at him sleepily "Oh, your skin" Nik frowns, gesturing to John's arms "Eh?" As he looks down, he sees what Nik is talking about.

Angry red sunburn covers his arms. John sigh, at least his hat had spared him the worst of it. In his defence, he thought he'd had enough sunblock on. "Can't get any worse at least." he says. The clouds above them choose that moment to open and unleash a torrential downpour. "Fuck." John mutters

Nik meets his very unimpressed look with a grin. "You should know better, Captain" he teases. "Shut it you, help me get the lines in." -------- They're a few meters from the dock when the boat tips over. John bursts through the water, yelling in frustration.

Between the sound of raindrops pelting his hat, he can hear Nik's bright laughter. "What's funny?" Price shouts over the rain. "All of it, no?" comes the reply over his shoulder. He turns and gets a splash of water to the face. "Fuck off." he says, splashing back. There's a moment they lock eyes the challenge mirrored in his gaze. Kate finds them giggling like idiots, shoving water at each other. "What the fuck are you two doing?"

"Fishing." Nik says proudly, sending John into another fit of hysterics, the sheer fucking ridiculousness of the situation finally breaking him.

"Just get inside." Kate says, rolling her eyes.

-------

Later on, John is now realising just how badly he got sunburned. He groans into the pillow, his skin feeling tender and too tight on his body. "You're very stupid sometimes" Kate says, putting a whisky beside him. "My hero." he groans. "Oh hush, you big baby. it's sunburn. You've complained less with bullet wounds." Kate chides, turning to him with her hand on the door handle. "You gonna live until morning?" "No." "That's the spirit." she says nonchalantly, moving down the hallway. John thinks he can hear murmurs but he doesn't care enough to listen. He's too busy feeling sorry for himself. The footsteps reapproach. "I'm not dying, Kate." he grumbles, rolling his eyes. "Glad to hear it." Nik says, closing the door gently behind him. John leans up to look at him and immediately hisses at the pressure on his arms.

"Figured you went to bed already." he says, trying to settle back in a position that doesn't leave him in pain.

"I am." Nik says moving towards the bed. John frowns confused. "What you doing here then?" he asks, tracking Nik as he moves around the room. "Sleeping?" "Not in your room?"

Nik sounds amused when he sighs. "It's a two bedroom cabin, John."

John blinks. He hadn't actually given it much thought the first night. He'd been drunk and tired and just fallen into bed. But-

"Where'd you sleep then?" he asks.

"Couch. But my back is old, this seems more comfortable, no?"

Nik seems to consider something for a moment, looking a little unsure of himself as he says, "If you are not comfortable, I can-"

"No, it's fine. Just-" John breaks off, suddenly unable to meet Nik's eyes "Hadn't thought about it." he finishes lamely.

They sit there awkwardly for a moment.

Nik passes over a tube. "For your arms. Jen said it would help."

It's some kind of moisturiser with 100% natural aloe vera, apparently. He clicks open the tube and gives it a sniff. It's not unpleasant, oddly reminding him of the smell of clean laundry and rain.

It's stickier than he anticipated, though, as he massages it into his forearms.

Price sucks air through his teeth as he twists to get the back of his biceps. The angle is awkward and pulls at the skin, which even with the cooling lotion feel too heated and tight.

"Let me." Nik offers, holding out a hand. Price shakes his head.

"I got it." he insists. Nik shrugs and leans back.

He doesn't 'got it'. After stubbornly trying to shift his shoulder forward only to feel further irritation, he growls and offers the tube out for Nik.

Nik, to his credit, doesn't laugh at him. Just nudges him forward to get a better angle.

John jumps at the first touch of cold cream, Nik murmuring an apology before focusing on the task at hand. Given the size and general way Nik carries himself, his hands are surprisingly gentle.

The thought makes John's stomach twist in a way that he doesn't particularly want to examine too closely

It maybe takes all of a minute, but it feels like an eternity before he hears the click of the cap being closed. He lets out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, jumping when Nik pats him on the shoulder.

“Helped?" he asks, raising his eyebrows while John shrugs back into his shirt.

"Yeah, ta." his throat feels tight. His skin feels flushed, wholly unrelated to the sunburn coating his arms. The bed shifts as Nik gets up and busies himself in the bathroom.

Wanting to prevent another awkward conversation, and desperate to ignore that melting feeling in his chest, John makes the very mature decision to avoid the entire thing and just go to sleep.

It nearly works.

The bed dips under Nik's weight as he settles in, snuggling under the blanket before idly asking if John was awake.

John feigns sleep and after a few minutes, he hears Nik's breathing deepen and even out, interrupted by the occasional snore.

Sleep is illusive though, and instead his eyes track the shafts of moonlight shift on the wall, as his mind refuses to settle.

There'd been an awkwardness between him and Nik as of late. Which he desperately wants to fix. They'd had an easy, close friendship for years. But now there were sudden stumbles in their conversations. John could never anticipate them, thrown off every time by the sudden surge of emotions that he couldn't seem to identify.

It left his stomach in knots, blood rushing under his skin and palms sweating. Like he was anxious, but there shouldn't be any reason as to why. He trusted Nik, hell he might trust Nik more than Kate and that was saying something.

It wasn't fear, or caution. But it made him feel skittish in a way that unsettled him. And part of him, didn't want to deal with it. Instead, shoving the emotions away, and desperately trying to steer them back towards normal. Though, he often ends up throwing them further off course, over correcting and stumbling over words.

A heavy sigh leaves him as he burrows into the pillow, hissing again at his arms brushing the cotton.

Maybe he'd talk to Kate about it.

She might at least knock enough sense into him to get him back on track. Stop him putting his foot in his mouth at every opportunity.

--------

Kate has that thousand yard stare she usually gets when he talks about Nik.

"You're very stupid sometimes, John." she says eventually, taking a long sip from her cocktail.

"Bit early innit?" he nods to the mimosa

"I'm. On. Holiday" she says, flicking drops from the glass at him with each word. Price flinches away, but smiles warmly at her. It's nice to see her more playful side, normally hidden under the sturdy persona of competence and intellect.

Though a lot of that is due to Jen, who's very presence seems to immediately thaw Kate's icy exterior. Jen is dancing away in the kitchen, singing off-key to the radio as she washes the dishes.

Kate glances over and smiles in a way that makes Price feel like he's intruding. Like a secret, kept hidden, soft and warm lighting her eyes from within.

He smiles into his coffee.

"Glad you're happy, Kate." he says softly. Kate looks over to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You could be too, you know?" she says coolly, but the shine in her eyes lingers as she glance towards the kitchen.

"I am happy." he argues, frowning. Kate gets that look again, eyes faraway before they focus back on him, intently.

"I used to think I was happy to. But it wasn't happiness. Not really."

"What was it?"

"Status quo." she says simply. "Nothing lost, nothing gained. Until Jen." she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "When I met her. I realised that what I'd called happy…it couldn't even compare. Like stepping into the sun after only having a candle to light your way."

She idly draws patterns with the on the table, condensation having slipped down the edge of the glass. "You deserve the sun, John."

"Reckon I had my fair share yesterday." he jokes, gesturing to his arms. She rolls her eyes and flicks another drop at him.

There's the sound of footsteps as Nik shuffles into the room behind them, jaw cracking from a yawn.

"Morning." he says sleepily, eyes still heavy lidded.

"Sleep alright?" John asks, turning back with an elbow over the back of the chair. Which he regrets immediately as the sunburn stings.

"Suffering still, Captain?" Nik teases, pausing on his trek to the kitchen.

He's in agony.

"I'm fine." he smiles, even if it feels a little forced. Nik doesn't call him out on it.

When John turns back, Kate is giving him a very searching look.

"What?" he asks.

She just sighs and pats his hand. "Try enjoy the weather, John." she murmurs, going back to her drink.

-------

There's a nice restaurant in the nearby town. It's got good ratings, the food is apparently a local speciality and the drinks are cheap. It sounds like a good night. That John definitely can't take part in.

Over the course of the day, the skin on his arms had gone from a shiny red to angry and peeling. He feels disgusting and grumpy, patience wearing thin at the constant tug and pull of flaking skin.

Now that night had fallen, he'd set himself on the deck out back with a supply of whisky,   deciding he'd earned it after the annoyance of the day.

He can hear the click of high heels in the kitchen, Jen most likely, as she peeks around the door.

"You sure you won't come along?" she calls out. He can hear Kate and Nik speaking from further in the house, words muffled by the walls.

"Nah, I'm good here. Not the best company right now. Reckon I'll turn in early." he smiles, toasting her with his drink.

Jen smiles softly, walking over and dropping a kiss onto his head before calling goodbye as she headed back inside.

Price settles back, gazing at the night sky above him. This far from the city, he can make out some constellations.

The breeze off the lake is cool in the night air as it brushes over him. The amber liquid in his glass delicately swishes against the ice as he eagerly welcomes the smoky heat over his tongue.

For a moment, he closes his eyes and just lets himself exist for a moment. His nerves are still raw, irritated from the pain and constant push and pull of his mind trying to untangle his thoughts.

Kate's words ring in his mind. Was he happy? If he was really honest with himself. He was proud of his accomplishments, grateful for those close to him, his squad, his friends.

He was lonely, though. They'd attended Gaz's wedding last year, and the space beside him had felt emptier than normal. It felt more pronounced when he caught Ghost and Soap being drawn to each other like magnets, like they were the only ones in the room. With Kate and Jen, he wished he had that kind of warm, gentle joy they shared.

Which brought the trail of his thoughts back to Nikolai. The sudden choking awkwardness, the moments he didn't know where to step in case he lost his footing on the precarious edge he found himself perched on.

Kate said it was like having a candle before seeing the sun. He didn't know how to fix that. There was no sun at night.

"John?"

"Christ!" he jumps, knocking the glass over as he spins to look where Nik is sheepishly peeking around the door.

"I did call out, you didn't respond." Nik moves over, settling in the chair next to him.

"Didn't hear." John says, hand over his heart where it's doing it's best to beat out of his chest.

"Didn't mean to scare you." Nik apologises, pouring a fresh whisky after righting the glass.

"You don't scare me," he says without thinking, mind still tangled in the weeds of his thoughts.  Nik looks over to him, tilting his head.

"I should hope not." he murmurs, still staring at him with that odd look in his eyes. "You sure you're okay?" he reaches forward, gently touching John's hand, mindful of the angry skin at his wrist.

"M'fine, Nik."

That clench deep in his guts is back again as he feels callused, warm skin against his own fingers.  He feels torn between pulling away or turning his hand over to trace the lines on Nik's palm.

"Thought you were going to dinner." he asks instead.

"I thought I should stay." Nik hesitates, and draws his hand back as though something has just occurred to him, "Although I am now realising perhaps you wanted to be alone?"

"No, it's...don't mind the company." he urges. He doesn't mind, truthfully, he just can't imagine he's good company right now. Still turning over Kate's question in his mind.

"Are you happy?" John finds himself asking suddenly. Nik's eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting it. Neither had John, truthfully, it had just spilled out of him. Nik seems to consider it for a while, his hand shifting so the skin brushes against John's.

"Yes, I would say so. I am on holiday, in a nice cabin with good company." he breathes deeply, staring up at the sky scattered with stars. "I am where I want to be."

The urge to turn his hand, to capture those broad fingers between his own, is strong, but there's still that little dissenting voice at the back of John's mind. That wonders if there's not something better, someone Nik would be better off spending time with than his sorry self.

"Not enjoying a good meal in town?" He can't help it, the need to check, to push, to try to remind Nik of the options he has.

"The food would be pleasant, yes. But I'd rather spend the time with you."

"You- Oh." he swallows, tongue suddenly feeling thick and useless in his mouth. "You came out here to spend time with me."

"That was in doubt?"

John doesn't know what to say, instead taking a long pull from his drink to try to loosen his tongue.

"That was in doubt." Nik repeats, but not a question this time. He leans forward, "Have I done something to upset you?"

"No, no!" John is quick to reassure him, that swooping feeling of being on the wrong foot is back with a vengeance. He scrambles to put it right, hating that he can hear the barest hint of hurt in Nik's voice. "Just...been thinking.  "I just - There are better things to spend your time on, right?"

"No." Nik response is sudden, John turning to look at him. There's a conviction in his eyes, a solid, unwavering truth glinting in the dark. John holds it, but still feels confusion drawing his eyebrows down.

"I mean, we're not young men anymore, Nik." he tries, trying to summon the words to get to the heart of what he means. That Nik deserves the world, deserves happiness, Nik deserves the sun.

"You're right. We don't have time for waiting." Nik says softly. John nods, and pulls his hands away.

"Kate was telling me to be happy. Thought maybe someone should tell you, that you deserve that too. More than what you've got now." he mumbles around the glass, staring out at the dark water.

"To have a happiness to share with someone?" Nik rumbles beside him.

"Yeah." he feels relieved, he's gotten that across at least. Even if the snare in his thoughts still won't unravel, it feels like he's at least made sure Nik can be happy. Even if it does feel like his stomach is going to drop out of him. "I wanna meet them first. Make sure they're worth your time."

"I do have someone in mind. " Nik murmurs. John turns to him, surprised. He recovers quickly, nudging him with an elbow before grunting at the sudden chafing on his skin., muttering angrily.   

"What are they like?" he asks, settling back and picking up his drink.

"Well, " Nik rubs at his chin. "They're very stubborn. Annoyingly so. But, it makes them dedicated to things they believe in."

"Suppose, still sounds like a pain in the bollocks."

Nik chuckles at that. "Yes, true. But i find it quite charming."

John shifts a bit. His gut clenching oddly. He clears his throat.  "S'at all about them then?"

"Sometimes they can miss the point." Nik sighs.

John laughs at that, "Reckon you need someone that can put 2 and 2 together."

Nik hums in agreement. "Hints don't work either."

John sets his glass down, the ice clinking with the motion. "They sound like a pillock." he says.  Nik barks out a laugh at that.

"Da. But I find it endearing, even if it is frustrating."

John rests his chin on his hand. It hurts, not just the sunburn, but hearing Nik talk about this person he hadn't known existed. That he's clearly interested in, wants more from. It feels like losing something, he realises. Something he isn't sure he realised how badly he wanted until it was already slipping away from him.

As much as the realisation leaves him reeling, there's a stronger truth beneath it, that he wouldn't let anything stand in the way of: Nik deserves to be happy.

"Why haven't you told 'em then?" he asks, looking at his feet where they're splayed out in front of them, slumping in his chair.

"I'm trying to." Nik says, also looking down at his feet.

Price nudges him, trying to lighten the mood. "Not gonna manage that wasting the night with me." he smiles.

Nik stares at him blankly, running his hand through his hair and sighing in irritation.

"You really are an idiot." he says simply. Before John can put together what he said to set him off, Nik tugs him forward by his collar and kisses him.

John had thought about kissing Nik before. In brief moments before his mind snapped shut and pushed the idea away as something he didn't deserve.

He'd thought it would be different from his past, that he'd have to learn. That it would feel strange with someone else taking the reins, that it would be aggressive and claiming.

But it's not. It's at odds with itself. The thumb stroking along his jaw is firm but gentle. The night air has further chilled around them, but Nik radiates heat. It makes John think of summer and the way light strikes off windows, golden and bright. It feels like the sun.

Nik's teeth scrape against his lip, he tastes like the whisky they'd been sharing, like smoke over water. He can feel the rumble deep in Nik's chest, the heavy weight of an arm around his waist and his head spinning from the lack of oxygen.

It leaves him reeling, unable to do much, unable to reciprocate as his mind runs over the conversation that led them to this point. The person Nik had been talking about. The sunlight shining bright in the middle of the night that Kate said felt like happiness.

Nik pulls away, resting his forehead against John's shoulder, while he's left struck dumb and blinking.

"Oh."

"You're very stupid sometimes." Nik says to his collarbone.

"Been told that a lot lately." John mumbles. His face is radiating heat, not just from the sunburn but the sudden flush that's overtaken him. His hands feel shaky as his heart thunders in his chest.

Nik just waits.

"I don't take hints." he says to the top of Nik's head.

"Nyet. But it is endearing."

John huffs, Nik's hair ruffling with the air. They sit there for a moment, Price trying to find a position that doesn't irritate his arms before Nik captures his hand and holds it instead, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"How long were you going to wait?" John asks, looking down at him. Nik rests his chin on his chest, slumped over him. It can't be comfortable but he doesn't think there's a force on Earth that could move Nik from where he is.

"As long as needed." he says, voice warm and eyes soft. John feels his cheeks heat again and looks off to the side, grumbling as he can feel Nik chuckle.  There feels like there's something Nik isn't saying. John thinks he knows though.

"Kate?" John guesses. Nik stills for a moment, nodding with a sigh.  

"Da. Threatened to castrate me if I didn't do something about it. She said you would not realise."

"That all she said?" John asks, unable to stop the smile.

"She may have also mentioned the cabin is cheaper than the therapy from seeing us dance around each other." he pauses, "And that if we didn't sort this out by the end of the week it was remote enough to hide the bodies."

"Lake is deep enough for that." John muses.

"Mhmm." Nik agrees, the vibrations settling into John's ribs. He glances down at where their hands are joined, and slides his thumb along the ridge of Nik's hand, before tugging it upward.

Nik looks up confused.

"C'mon. Can't be comfortable down there." John tugs on his hand again, and gets them to their feet, knees cracking. Nik pulls him, hand spanning over John's jaw as he kisses him again. This time, it feels like John has both feet on the ground. No missteps or stumbling, instead knowing the path to take.

"I like being able to do that now." Nik beams at him. John scoffs, but feels a boyish grin that refuses to shift from his face.

"Shut up, you."

-------

When they wake up the next morning, Kate is giving them a smug look above her coffee cup and Jen giggles somewhere in the kitchen.

Nik's hand is warm in his under the table and his eyes are bright whenever they catch each other's gaze.

He goes to help Jen in the kitchen with the dishes, Kate leans forward, tapping John on the hand.

"Are you happy, John?"

He steals a piece of bacon off her plate, winking at her as he chews.

"You were right." he gives her hand a squeeze, "It's like finding the sun."

~End~

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

His Groupie | Han Jisung

Summary: For two years you and Han have had a special "arrangement" whenever he was in New York. Now that he's in town he needs to see you.

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣Pairing: Han Jisung x reader

Genres: fwb with light smut?

Triggers: unprotected sex, quickie, public sex

an: Tumblr/fanfic noob still. Bare with me 🙈

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

It's been a few years since you met when he and his members had their world tour in New York. It became a regular thing for you two to meet up two or three times a day for however long their stay was. It didn't matter where to him just as long as he had you underneath or on top of him.

Tonight is no different. Although you knew he was in the middle of the concert, the text you got from him telling you to meet him came to no surprise to you. The urgency in his text could be felt and you could feel your arousal quickly flood between your thighs.

You found him drenched in sweat and still wearing the leather pants and flashy jacket covered in sequins to match. The second he saw you from where he leaned against a large heavy looking carrying case he sprung up and immediately removed the jacket. He strolled towards you as if he had all the time in the world instead of only a couple of minutes.

Your eyes followed a bead of sweat that dripped slowly from the base of his neck, between his pecs and down over his abs, soaking into the band of his briefs. Without warning and with speed you've only seen in him when he's high on caffeine, he grabs your waist. With your back against the wall in-between a guitar and stack of drum cases you can feel the vibrations of the crowd. Pressing his lips over yours and slipping a hand underneath the black and red pleated skirt you wore that completed the punk rock vibe your outfit had, Han was pleased to find the river that was waiting for him. He was pleased to find how ready you were for him and took no time in losing himself in you while the others did their solo performances on stage.

It was quick but intense as it often was during these secret hookups while he was working. If Chan knew what Han was up to every time he disappeared during a concert he'd be in a shit ton of trouble. He didn't care though because the thrill of performing gave him such a rush that he needed your body to relax him. Even with a limited amount of time he worked two orgasms from you before spilling himself inside of you. The aftershocks and the adrenaline had left your legs feeling like jelly but it was addicting. You wanted more but you knew that would have to wait. You watched him take off running for the dressing room while you chuckled and cleaned up the mess he left you.

Back in your seat and with Han back on stage as if nothing happened, you both wore matching smirks that only you two knew the story behind. By the end of the night he'd text you again, eager for another round and another. Alone in his hotel room where he could treasure and worship you as Jisung and not Han. Lazily and unrushed as he often was off stage. If he could he'd have you follow him wherever they went, all the time as his groupie.

[souiiore]

THE REMEDY

arthur morgan oneshot!

pairing: arthur morgan x oc (name not mentioned)

contents: fluff, mid honor arthur morgan (?)

wc: 776

summary: Arthur Morgan, the enforcer of the Van Der Linde Gang, was responsible for a lot of tasks surrounding the gang's well-being. That also meant, sometimes even months long, seperations from his lover.

an: i wanted to write fluff so bad, it was irresistable. enjoy this very short oneshot <3

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Her body shivered with the cold wind sweeping dust around her. Its long and soft waves crept under her skin, caressing her with piercing cold. Her hands were locked together, carefully folded in her lap. The ends of her fingers prickled, and her knuckles ached, but she didn't care. Her eyes gazed at the horizon where the sky and the surface of the lake met, the waves kissing fluffy clouds, and the sun hiding itself under the watery blanket, beaming and smiling at the quiet town at the edge of the lake.

Flowers bloomed, their petals colored in various bright shades of pink and white. The scent of roses and the fresh breeze from the lake wafted around her, and she breathed in deeply, closing her eyes to focus on the peace and quiet, to let her mind rest.

Her ears perked up as she listened. She listened to people talk, to horses snort, and to the wind seeping its way between leaves, rustling them and creating a wonderful melody as the grass and plants danced together in a gentle rhythm.

A light tap on her shoulder made her eyes slowly open. Her smile widened as she stood up abruptly, wrapping her arms around the person standing in front of her. Her chin came to rest on his shoulder, and his arm circled her waist, bringing her into a warm embrace. She sighed with relief, squeezing him close as warmth filled her heart to the brim, spilling over the edges and eventually flooding her chest.

"You're back," she breathed into his skin, and he hummed in response.

His thumbs rubbed gentle circles into her clothed back, and she let herself melt in his arms. Her hair was flowing in the wind, following the direction of her skirt and the sweater draped around her shoulders.

He pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against hers with his eyes closed. His palms left her waist and cupped her cheeks. Her hands engulfed his, her fingers wrapping around them in a loving manner.

"You ain't got no idea how much I been missin' ya," he whispered, his voice getting lost in the wind.

She leaned closer to him, pressing her lips against his. She sighed into the kiss, standing on her tiptoes to reach his face. Her body swarmed with goosebumps; whether it was from the cold wind, the intensity of the moment, or his touch, she didn't know. And it wasn't like it mattered at the moment.

Her mind swirled with happiness and comfort, her body relaxing against his. He was the remedy to her thoughts. The cure to her sickness. The thudding of his heart against her ribcage, her own heartbeat ringing in her ears, the feeling of his lips on hers, his scarred hands cupping her cheeks, his body leaning into hers—she missed it all so dearly.

Two months was way too long for her. Expecting him to walk through her door every day, having no clue whether he was alive or his body was stone cold, dumped in a river or left on a cliff. Her mind wandered through plenty of different scenarios, and it tortured her. But now that he was here, right in front of her, healthy and well, she felt a sense of relief wash over her.

His hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers slipping into her hair and caressing her skin with such care and caution. Almost as if he were afraid she'd shatter under his touch, treating her like fine china or a beautiful flower.

"I was worried," she said when their lips separated, gazing into his eyes.

"I know, darlin', and I'm sorry I couldn't come 'round sooner."

"Just... don't leave again, please."

His heart swelled with sorrow at that. They both knew it was impossible. He had a responsibility to fulfill, and it tore him apart just thinking about how painful it must be for her. He hated himself for doing that to her, but he was too selfish to let her go. She was his everything, and he became starved for the feeling whenever he was away—the feeling of peace and quiet. It was only her and him. Nothing else.

"I'm here," he said, and with that, he kissed her again.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

You've Seen The Butcher

Monster x F Reader (named)

18+ implied car accident, depictions of death, implied trauma, shock, hurt/comfort, tenderness, urgent sex, predator/prey, dirty talk, fingering (f!), penetrative sex, shape-shifting gender, (vampiric) feeding, tenderness

Fate conspires to put Merricat in the path of Blackwood's hunger. To feed their need and their desire, and the intertwining of both, she opens herself to them...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

-

"You okay, Merricat?"

"Hm? Sorry, I was listening. Your sister was at the river...?" She pulled her eyes from the road. Flicking the end of her cigarette with her thumb.

"Ah, I was almost done anyway." Marrow waved his hand affably. Smiling at her in a curious way.

"So... do you have any pertinent updates for me?" He led, voice lilting playfully.

She gave him a withering look. "Hardly. Beyond being booked for the foreseeable future."

"And yet, you squeezed me into your tight schedule." He turned his arm in a teasing wave. The new tattoo smothered in second skin. His voice picking up that southern drawl it always carried in mischief.

"Come on, hun. You're bad at keeping secrets, spill."

Merricat saw a flash of movement on the distant treeline. Her eyes locked in on it and could've sworn she saw antlers.

"And you're bad at keeping your mouth shut, so I'll abstain." She chided, Marrow smiling wide at her.

"I've got to get home. You should, too. I dont want to scrape you off the floor again."

He pursed his lips in a mock pout at her. "Aw, but you're so sweet about it. Dragging my drunk ass like an angel."

"Shush." She leaned to put out her cigarette.

"Ah, let me." Marrow smiled, opening his mouth. Cupping his tongue with spit in invitation. Pulling up on her wrist.

She put it out on his tongue. Watching the cherry fizzle out, smoke curling up into the roof of his mouth.

Slipping the snipe into his pocket, she snapped her hand lightly on his cheek, eliciting a little huff of breath.

"You're a freak. I hate hanging out with you." She sighed, pushing him away with a shove on his chest.

He laughed, staggered back slightly.

"Same time tomorrow?" He called, her giving a wave of fingers over her shoulder in affirmation.

The night was worn, moon held high in the dark. Their session had gone on long, too much shooting the shit. Glad that the shop had emptied a while ago, Marrow's loud moans when she would push down during shading pausing her too many times to yell at him to knock it off. Him staring all doe innocent at her, lower lip trembling in mock distress. Claiming that it hurt too much. After the fourth time, she pulled his hair back in an arch. Hissing in his ear that she would make it hurt if he kept it up.

She rolled her eyes, a small smile ticking up. The hush of her feet in the undergrowth, she leaned down under a great tree. Reaching into a honeysuckle bush to pinch off a flower.

The practiced pull on the flower muscle memory of past summers. Gently dismantling it with twists of her fingers as she walked. Raising the unraveled bud to her mouth to suck the nectar into her mouth.

The taste, honey sweet with a bite of floral bitter, as familiar as breath. Always bringing a rush of emotion, every summer coiled in her chest. Her one mouth, years separated, tasting this same sweet.

She wished she could reach through the flower to take that ten year old by the hand, leading her through. Saying 'Look. Look. It was all worth it.'

Tears flooded her eyes, taking a deep breath. Blinking them away with the small knot risen in her throat. Feet assured in their path home.

She reached the crest overlooking the winding road that led away from her street. An array of twisting tire smears along its sharp curves, changing in their serpentine pattern, but always present.

"Too fast." She sighed, a smattering of glass glinting along the bank. Taking up her trail along the ridge, not foolish enough to take the road home.

A dark shape darted between trees below her, vague in the moonlight. She smiled, raising her voice to sing in a haunting call. Her language fluid and bright, soaring from her mouth.

Blackwood froze, raising up to their full height. Seeming dazed, head slowly spinning in a dizzy circle. Arms limp at their side.

She smiled wide, the elk whistle song an unintended spell on them. Coming down the slope to their side.

When she stopped, they slumped forward, shaking their head with an animal huff.

"Sorry, I didn't know that would happen. That song just reminds me of you." She laughed, reaching forward to brace their shoulder.

Her hand slipped through. Fingers swimming in cold dark.

Their eyes met hers with burning intensity. Her breath took away. Feeling the dread that hung over them, a smothering thunder.

Something was wrong.

"You shouldn't be here." They huffed, eyes darting up to the road. Zeroing in to the point where the pavement ducked away from sight. "You should've been home by now."

"What's wrong?" She urged in a fast whisper. "What's going to happen?"

Though, she could feel with growing certainty in the deep nausea in her gut, that she already knew.

Blackwood leveled her with a soft glare. Confirming her dread.

"Oh god..." She whispered.

They turned her shoulders towards the forest. Leaning their great head down to press to her forehead. Antlers wrapped around her.

"I'm sorry. It's almost here." They whispered. The headlights arcing over bark in front of her a sickening omen.

She gripped their semi corporeal forearm, frozen in adrenaline. Eyes wide and shaking on the dark.

They kissed gently onto her lips, eyes locked on the street behind her.

"Don't look."

They rushed forward, lost in the dark behind her as a great scream of tires ripped through the air. The sound of crumpled steel and shattering glass a shrieking cacophony. A beast of metal dismantling in a terrible wail behind her. Failing to ferry its passenger home.

She trembled, the carnage at her back threatening to manifest real at her turn. Dooming it to a pillar of salt at her gaze.

The tick of a sputtering engine and cricket song the only remains of sound, she gripped at her skirt.

A gasp of gurgled breath finally whipped her head around. Someone was alive.

Twists of metal, glass, and blood scattered the ground. All illuminated soft under the lamplight. Blackwood sat in a kneel on the shoulder, only the legs of a twitching body visible beyond their wide back. Arms bent in front of them. Cradling.

No. Not just cradling.

Their head leaned back, jaw cracking open into a deep pit. A hazy fluid sucking up into their throat.

Merricat turned away. Gripping at her chest.

She heard Blackwood speak quietly to the corpse, then silence. A wide hand propelling her forward. Away. Towards home.

They walked together in heavy silence. Merricat trying to quiet the shake in her bones. Finally filling her lungs to speak.

Blackwood answered her question before she had to form it. "It calls me. When it's about to happen. I can't stop it. I've tried."

A new depth of sorrow took up in her chest.

"I try to take the ones that are too far gone. Some seem... grateful. That I'm there with them. But most are just afraid. So many are afraid."

"I thought you... went away when you disappeared." She whispered.

"I do sometimes, going somewhere in between. But the hunger always comes calling eventually. Then... I'm pulled. To the road."

"Did you ever..." She sighed out a shaken breath. "The others..."

They were quiet beside her.

She reached out for their hand, her eyes on the trodden moss. They twined her fingers into theirs.

"It was a terrible hunger, at first." Their voice low in regret.

Merricat nodded, squeezing their hand. Falling quiet again.

She descended the small hill to the gas station, Blackwood waiting on the treeline. Picking up the payphone that she knew, shockingly, still worked. Having to use it before when her phone died.

With a shaken voice, she reported the street and the accident. Hanging up when the dispatcher thanked her. Staring at her hand on the cradle, a small smear of blood on the arch of her thumb.

She rose back up to Blackwood, a small shopping bag accompanying.

"I got snacks. I..."

They smiled gently at her. Taking her hand again, pulling her to walk.

"Snacks are good. I wish I had someone to share snacks with the first time."

"Can you eat? Other things, I mean."

They tilted their head in thought.

"I dont think so. But you're sweet to offer."

The adrenaline dropped from her body in one fell swoop. Finally feeling safe, it pulled rug from under her. Slumping over in exhaustion.

"Here," Blackwood offered softly, pulling under her thighs to lift her to their chest. Her legs naturally curled around their waist, temple resting in the curve of their shoulder. Their large frame easily carried her as they walked.

She buried her face into the black fur, breathing deep. That full animal smell, almost sandalwood, twisting with lavender and ozone. Their body still tingled with slow arcing electricity, aiding her to feel more awake. Giving her something to focus on.

As they approached her home, she gripped into the fur on their back.

"I don't want to go in, not yet." She whispered.

Blackwood nodded, turning down a small trail. The soft sounds of a trickling creek below.

Merricat allowed herself to relax into them, body pressing closer. Twining her hands in their long hair.

"I missed you." She sighed.

Their hands tightened on her back.

They could both feel it. Though they had just experienced something terrible, their time was limited together.

"I tried to come back sooner. God, I tried." Their voice a low rumble.

"I know." She sighed, rubbing her hands in a slow wave up their wide back. Their pace picking up considerably.

She kissed into their throat, softly nipping at the dark column. Blackwood breathing hard against her chest.

"Please, hurry." She urged.

They leaned forward, holding her strong against their waist. It was a short distance before they collapsed into a soft patch of earth, Blackwood's mouth crashing into hers. Their kiss suffocating her.

She tangled up into them desperately. All the heat that had been simmering in her pelvis since they had dissipated from her overflowing into a boil.

They breathed hard through nose, pulling up on her waist. Wrestling her top over her shoulders. Catching the hem of her long skirt, lifting her hips to pool it around her waist. A flurry of movement, disrobing her with urgent fingers.

Their hand rubbed against her cunt over her panties, pulling a soft whine from her. Arching her hips up to meet them.

"God, I want you. Just like this, moaning under me whenever I want." They huffed, kissing along her neck. Fingers rubbing in earnest against her cunt.

She moaned, urging their head lower. Fingers tangling into the split in their antlers. Their head arched back and pulled up high on her chest to graze their skull over her collarbone. Pulling a full circle around her breast with their long, long tongue.

She trembled as the tongue circled in, tighter and tighter, to slick around her hard nipple. Clearly teasing her.

"We don't have time for that." She admonished, grinding her hips into their hand.

"We have as much time as I say we do." They growled, pulling her panties down to plunge fingers inside her.

She whined, the stretch of their wide hand pulling pleasure from her already. Rocking the hilt of their palm into her clit. Fingers curled towards her navel.

Their tongue finally curled around her hard nub, sucking down in fast pulses.

Her body twisted in pleasure, panting out moans. Their hand came down onto her waist. Holding her down in one easy push. She rose her hands over her head, locking her fingers over a wrist.

They looked up at her show of submission, chuckling low against her breast.

"You're a funny little thing."

They rose the hand holding her waist to her throat.

"You can feel how powerful I am, can't you?"

She nodded, delirious in lust. The coil building in her belly. A near ache of pleasure.

"It would be so easy to break you." They purred into her ear, grazing the curve of her ear with their teeth.

"You can't even imagine how hard I've had to hold back. You would spill so pretty for me."

Her cunt clenched hard, pulling a low laugh from them. Tightening on her windpipe.

"Oh, you like that? Hmm, maybe you can take more..."

She nodded fervently, voice still lost under their hand. It lifted off her throat to drag talons down her back, the pain sharp in her pleasure. Blood bubbled scratches blooming pink on her skin.

Hers legs tangled around their hips, rising her pelvis to grind into theirs. Looking down, seeing their dark meld into her writhing hips.

They huffed out, pushing her hips down with their own. Putting their weight onto their forearms, pinning her shoulders beneath. Hands cupping around the nape of her neck as they ground. Groaning in small huffs.

She became aware of the shape of them, or the changing of it. Leaning her head down to see, but their visage so crushed velvet dark all distinction was lost. It couldn't matter less to her. She wanted all of them.

"More. Please, Blackwood." She begged. Trying to writhe them to where she needed.

They leaned their great head down to her, long tongue dragging up the curve of her neck. Talons digging into her nape.

"I want to be inside you." They huffed, pinprick pupils glowing in deep dark.

"Yes!" She gasped, rising her legs up to their lower back.

They pushed a palm to the underside of her thigh, hooking their opposite leg over her hip. Bearing down into her with their pelvis. Rocking slowly at first.

"Hold on, rosehip."

Something pushed inside her, and immediately sent her legs up into a curl. It was wide and deep inside, squirming against her walls. A thick muscle that seemed to pulse back and forth as they slowly rocked, giving her a moments reprieve.

"What- ugh!" She moaned out, their hips lifting to thrust deep, pressing up into her navel with the slide. What couldn't have been, but certainly felt like, the tip of a tongue flicking into her g-spot. A shuddering rising her into a curl.

"Please let me go harder." Blackwood gritted, bracing down on their forearm above her head.

She moaned out an affirmation, all words lost, only smothering desire left in their wake.

Blackwood rolled their hips in deep, picking up speed with each thrust. A desperate whisper hissing under their breath. Rocking her back in the power of their drive. Gripping under her shoulders, pulling her down into them harder. The huff of their breath building to deep moans. Then started climbing higher.

Delirious with pleasure, she was transfixed. Their form shifted and slid over her. Thighs filling, hips widened into dipping curves. Still thick in her, voice calling out in a soft cry. Full and feminine above her.

Merricat gripped her hips, pulling her harder into her pelvis. The tongue licking to near madness when she would bottom out.

Blackwood pulled her hands from her hips, snaring them down by the wrist next to her head. Body shifting again, fur bristling. Their body seemed to crack, eyes widening. Bursting out of themself, limbs lengthening in twists of muscle. Elongating into a long maw, lip snarling back to gleam sharp teeth in the moonlight.

Merricat locked her legs behind their hips, grinding up into their stilled thrusts.

"Yes, yes." She urged. Hands still pinned she leaned her head up and bit into the side of their long throat.

They lowered to her, her teeth drawing their large body down. She growled in satisfaction around their fur as their thrusts took back up. Her head craning back as the strokes shoved her closer and closer to the edge. A beast writhing over her.

"Don't you dare pull out." She huffed, digging nails into their back. The giant shadow filling her vision tightening and wavering in focus. Eyes clenching and rolling up into their dark skull, bracing in the dirt next to her.

"Yes, yes, cum for me." She whispered. Hands released, she anchored to the base of their antlers.

Their moan shook, lips pulled back. Seeming beyond words, tugging their head back in two requesting ticks.

Merricat pulled, arching their head back in a curl. Blackwood panted hard, then choked whimpers. Leaning their maw down to hold her throat between teeth. Licking up her windpipe.

That was all they could take, buckling into themself. Their palms cupped strong around her ears as a bugle ripped out of them. High and haunting, rising through the night air, vibrating her throat. A wail of release, head thrown to scream it through the dark.

Merricat watched in awe, fighting to keep her eyes open as her own orgasm circled so tight. Her unwinding grazing its teeth.

Blackwood's eyes zeroed in on hers, wild with desperate hunger. Gripping into the back of her hair to pull her head up. Thrusting deep into her body. Fingers winding in to pull her head taut.

"Break."

The orgasm clenched tight in her belly unfurled in fits across her body. Shuddering and twitching, eyes lost in her skull. Gripping into Blackwood's bicep as a desperate anchor. Pleading whimpers lost in her raw throat. Tightening and releasing in bursts around them.

They watched reverently, cupping her small body in wide hands. Ecstasy ripping her to her crude materials. Unfolding and unfolding.

It finally released her. Thrown to the stones, scrambling with slick hands. Panting through the water. Bliss pulling her limbs wide. Heavy in the earth again.

Blackwood panted into her mouth, kissing her in the quiet. Letting their large body fold into hers. A gentle tremor in their back.

"Rosehip...?" She mused, smiling into their fur.

Their long arms wound around her back. Heart rabbit against her chest.

"In the winter..." They began, voice deep honey again. "There is so little. The world too cold to feed us. But rosehip berries stayed. Hidden, so red under the snow. They kept us alive."

"Do you miss it, your lives?"

They leaned their head up, staring down at her on a propped elbow.

"Pieces. Both lives are inside me, I cannot dismantle them from what I am. But... I think I was always supposed to be this. This body feels right."

She smiled up at them. Fingers brushing their jaw.

"It's wonderful. I can't imagine you being anything less."

Their large eyes slowly clenched. Gripping her forearm. Quiet for a long moment. Her fingers soothing in gentle arcs.

"I want to take you with me. I wish you could come with me." Their voice swollen with sorrow.

"I know, baby." She murmured, pulling their head down to her by their nape. Folding her legs around their waist. Kissing in sweet pulses along their shoulder.

"I want you inside of me. Cut into me, pull me open to curl inside my ribs. Live there. Warm in the slick." They urged.

She pulled their head up by the base of their antlers. Staring deep into them.

"Feed on me."

Their eyes dilated out, lifting her up to their mouth. Pausing to search her eyes. She opened her mouth wide. Throat open. Lidded eyes certain.

Blackwood's jaw cracked, the black pit of their maw over her.

A deep pulling from somewhere behind her navel lifted her back up into a curl. A hazy pleasure encouraging her limp. Breathing out soft water of life.

Their hands tightened on her as the essence pulled into their throat. Eyes rolling up into fluttering lids. Gasping shallow as they leaned their mouth down to hers.

A pleasant slack fell over her body, arms limp at her sides. Knuckles gently resting on soil. Head fallen back as she released to them fully. Tasting death and finding it melting on her tongue. The world wavering away.

As she began to drift, Blackwood twisted their head away with great effort. Rubbing a warm circle into her chest, gasping through clenched teeth.

The world came back into clarity, blinking away the haze of death. Vitality slowly returning to her. Refilling.

"I've never..." They gasped. "Drank from someone not on the edge. That was..."

They shuddered, holding her tightly.

"Let's get you home."

Merricat curled into their chest, opening her mouth in an 'ahhh' as they fed her snacks. Giving little happy hums as she chewed.

Blackwood smiled down at her, gently trailing their talons along the hair at her temple.

"I hope when I die, it's just like this." She sighed. "I want to be held."

They brushed their fingers over her cheek.

"My Charon..." She hushed, looking up into their glowing eyes. Falling deeper to sleep. "Stay with me."

"As long as the world will hold me." They murmured, a great hand coming to the center of her back. Pulling her into the warm fold of them.

"Sleep, rosehip. You've fed me with your love."

"I love you." She sighed, a weight wide and soft beneath her. The call of the earth.

"I've loved you for such a long time. I can feel it in me. You've always been here. Time just had to catch up."

Their whisper pulled her deep into the perfect dark. The sweet tide pulling her to sea.

~

[leighsartworks216]

A Decent Man

Wyll x AFAB!Tav/Reader (can be read as platonic)

Wyll deserves a longer fic but my brain is mush rn

No body descriptions so it can be read by anybody who suffers from periods, but I have pulled from my own experiences and made it Very Heavy. I also think this could be read as platonic. There's nothing really pointing toward romance, and the kiss on the cheek can totally be platonic (as well as cuddling) so yeah take it as you will

Warnings: blood, menstruation, anxiety, embarrassment

Word Count: 937

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The night had been so perfect. Wyll had accepted you into his tent when the weather turned sour. He opened up his bedroll to you when you were shivering. All night you slept wrapped in his arms, safe, protected and warm. The Absolute was far from your mind. Tadpoles did not seem to exist in the temporary bliss that encapsulated you both.

And then you woke up, and you just knew it was too damn good to be true.

The first thing you were aware of was the strong pair of arms holding you close. One draped over your side, the other cradling your head in the crook of his elbow. Next, the scent of campfire smoke and the oil he used on his braids. And then, the discomfort between your legs. Warm and slick and terrible.

Panic rushed your heart, adrenaline stealing the sleepy haze from your mind. When in the night had your period began? Early enough to have you bleeding through Wyll’s bedroll? Or late enough you would be lucky if it didn’t stain your pants? There was no way of telling, but the awful guilt flooded your chest all the same.

You risk a glance at Wyll’s face. It’s the most relaxed you think he’s ever been in all the time you’ve known him. Always he carried his burdens in the lines of his face, the furrow of his brow, behind sweet smiles and his dashing Blade persona. Your heart hurt at the thought of waking him and stealing that peace.

As slow and careful as you could, you slipped his arm from around your waist. He shifted slightly, and you waited. But after a moment he still did not wake. You continue your escape. Cold air hits your body like an arctic wind as you pull back the corner of the thin blanket. You lift yourself from his arm that acted as your pillow, sitting up. You cringe as a tightness clutches at your belly, and the wet feeling of blood spilling out. There is no doubt in your mind now: you’ve bled all the way through.

Tears of frustration prick at your eyes. Wyll was kind enough to provide you shelter and comfort, and your body decided now would be the most perfect time for a practical joke against you. If you had the wherewithal to remember to track your cycle with everything else horrid going on, perhaps you could have avoided this. Or maybe your body would have brought on your period sooner, just to catch you off guard.

The quiet sound of your name, drowsy and confused, seals the deal on this being one of the worst days of the entire quest so far, everything else be damned. You wanted to drown in your embarrassment, suffocate on your misfortune. Anything to ignore the shift of the blanket as Wyll sits up beside you, frowning as he tries to meet your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, as though one wrong misstep and you’d shatter. His own mind races with thoughts of nightmares, or even the mysterious Dream Guardian that often came to visit.

The last of your dignity shrivels and dies as you adamantly avoid looking at him, glaring instead at the floor by your shoes. It is harder to tell him what’s happened than it is to drown yourself in the Chionthar river, and far less pleasant. The words grit at you. They feel like jagged steel as they come up your throat to be voiced aloud.

“I… I started my cycle last night.” You sigh, fighting the flurry of hormone-driven emotions as you bury your face in your hands. “I think I’ve bled through your bedroll, Wyll, I’m so so sorry.”

If it was Shadowheart or Karlach, you’d be far less embarrassed and far less upset. Hells, even Lae’zel, and you weren’t even sure she had a blood cycle like this.

You start to assure him you’ll wash it out, that he can have yours if he feels uncomfortable sleeping on his own again - anything to make this right. But before you can even get the words out, he’s rubbing your back.

“Hey, it’s alright. Why don’t you go wash and get changed. I can deal with this.”

You pull your face from your hands to blink at him. He smiles when he finally meets your eyes, sweet and reassuring. “Are you sure?” you ask. “I’m sorry, but you just have a tendency to do things people ask even when it makes you uncomfortable.”

He laughs. “As much as I hate to admit how true that is, a little bit of blood won’t be pushing me out of my comfort zone.”

You’re almost certain you really will start crying as you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tight. He’s careful to avoid knocking you with his horns, but wraps his arm around your upper back to hold you close. You kiss his cheek and thank him.

“For doing what any decent man worth his salt should do?” he asks, though despite the teasing in his voice, he can hear the utter relief in yours. He truly never considered before that something so small would mean so much, something he truly considered the absolute bare minimum. It only encouraged him to do more, if only to ease the burden of years of suffering through this alone put on you.

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, Wyll Ravengard, but there is a great lack of decent men.”

“Then I pride myself on being one of the last of this dying breed.”

---

Tag List:

@anonymously-ominous

[waywardsou2]

Waking from a Nightmare with The Bad Batch

Tags: Nightmares, comfort, bed sharing, fake character death, tw: techs death

Scenario: You and your Batcher are sleeping together when you start having a nightmare, a nightmare that you lose them. You bolt upright as you scream their name and they wake up beside you.

Hunter

"Hunter!" You scream his name as you wake from your dream, the covers being yanked off of the both of you as you sit up.

Your heart is pounding, and tears are spilling from your eyes creating rivers down your face. Hunter sits up beside you, places a hand on your shoulder and coos at you softly

"Hey, hey. Shh. It's ok" He pulls at your shoulder slightly and you lean back into his chest, soft sobs escaping your lips as you remember your dream.

"Oh my sweet baby boy" Hunter pulls you closer and begins to stroke your hair. You continue to sob, you can't help it.

The scene replays in your head, over and over making you cry harder. He simply holds you letting you cry it out until you can take in enough air to speak.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Hunter asks tentatively you sniff and attempt to wipe away the trail of tears, but they continue to flow.

"It was a Separatist ship, we had been stationed there and Grevious showed up, he...you...I watched him...put his blade through you" You begin to cry more as you recount your dream to him.

He holds onto you tightly still lightly shushing in your ear and brushing his hands through your hair.

"I'm not going anywhere, it'll take a lot more than a laser sword to bring me down" he squeezes your shoulder and plants a kiss on your neck, he continues to hold you tight until you completely calm down again.

Crosshair

"Crosshair!" you reach out and clutch at his sleeping figure beside you.

You grip onto his arm with such strength your knuckles crack. He wakes up beside you and grabs your arm in return, in your hazy state you don't notice as he tries to pry your hand away.

"Hey" he shakes you lightly to bring you out of your frightened hazy state.

You look down at your hand that was clutched around Crosshair's wrist. You let go like his skin burned you and gasp.

"I'm- I'm sorry," you say through sobs, you can see the red marks you left on his wrist and guilt now floods your being alongside terror.

"I'm sorry" you struggle to say again but he stops you.

He takes your shaking hands in his placing his thumbs on your palms rubbing small circles into your skin.

"Breathe, follow me" and so slowly he breathes in and out and you follow with him. Bringing your heart rate down to its usual pulse.

"Better?" he says quietly, and you nod in response.

It's all you can manage right now. Tears still fall here and there dripping into the space between the two of you. He wipes away the stray tears from your face.

"Another nightmare?" he asks and you nod again "What was it this time? Friendly fire or a Sith?" he says it jokingly, but you scowl at him and shake your head

"Neither you fell from the ship. It was a fire fight and we had to swerve out of the way...and you fell" You gulp trying to stay calm, but the fear rises in you again.

The small grin that was on his face fell instantly. Yeah, not the time for jokes. He brings your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss to it.

"I'm never going to leave you, not willingly"

You almost believe him. Almost.

You lay forwards and place your head on his lap taking his hand and bringing it to your mouth to kiss the marks you left behind.

Wrecker

"Wrecker!" you must've been yelling in your sleep before you came to your senses because Wrecker already had both his hands on your shoulders and was shaking you relatively forcefully.

You gasp when you fully awaken and realise the situation you are in. Your face feels wet. You're crying?

"Oh, kriff, I didn't know how to wake you" Wreckers voice shook as he says this, worry laced in his voice.

"What's wrong?" he asks. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a shuddering breath

"Hey, you know what, forget that. Just c'mere" without waiting for you to move on your own he picks you up bridal style and holds you to his chest as if you weigh nothing. To him you probably do.

You hide you face in the crook of his neck, tears dampening his shirt collar

"Do you uh, wanna try and talk to me about it again?" without removing your face from his neck you mumble

"You died" your breath hitting his neck as you spoke.

"What?" he asks disbelievingly

"You died" you say again bluntly "The droids swarmed you and backed you off a cliff. I didn't get to you in time"

You start crying again, rough breaths leap from your throat and choked gasps follow with them. Wrecker puts a hand on the back of your head holding you close.

"That is never going to happen, okay? I can fight off swarms of Clankers all day, every day, you don't have to woryr about that one bit. You hear me? And I know you'll always have my back. I trust you"

"But I didn't save you-"

"Nah that's just a dream, you always have my back during missions. I got you and you got me!"

You look up at him and give him a kiss on the shoulder. He returns the affection with a kiss on your head.

Echo

"Echo!" your eyes fly open and you gasp, you toss from side to side looking for Echo but he wasn't in the bed next to you

"Oh, kriff. Echo!?" you shout louder this time, and you hear quick footsteps getting closer and suddenly the door slides open. Echo was by your side in an instant.

"I'm here, I'm here. I'm sorry" you look into his golden eyes, full of light and colour. You put your hand on his face and chest, feeling his warmth and his heartbeat. It's still strong still thrumming with the essence of life.

"Thanks the stars" you sigh.

He places one of his hands over your own, the one on his heart

"Are you alright?" you take in a shaky breath, closing your eyes.

"I'm fine now. But...I wasn't...you. You died, in my dream and then I couldn't find you"

Echo exhaled sharply and a look of sadness creased his brow "I'm so sorry, darling. but I'm here now. I won't leave" he pulls you towards him and wraps his arms around your back.

Tech

"Tech!" you roll over abruptly and reach for Tech, he wakes up abruptly and reaches for his goggles, pulling them on.

"Please remove your hand and calm down"

You take you hand away from his shirt where you tangled it the material "Kriff sorry"

"That is alright" he curls your fingers over and places his hand on top them.

He extends two fingers and presses them to your wrist, his fingers cold against your skin. He looks at your face, but you look away, you can feel tears welling in your eyes and you don't want him to see

"Were you having a nightmare?"

"How could you tell?" you say sarcastically

"Well judging by your pulse, your lack of eye contact and the rate in which you inhaling and exhaling, that is what lead me to my conclusion"

You look at him now, a dead panned expression on your face

"Oh you weren't being genuine" you sigh and look away again

"I'm sorry, I just- yeah it was a nightmare" you rub at your eyes trying to clear your vision and your tears, but they keep flowing.

You continue to rub at them, irritated you sigh heavily. He takes your other hand and holds that one in the same fashion as the first.

"Would you care to tell me what it was that you dreamed of? Perhaps I can help ease the emotional distress?"

You sigh once more and begin to tell him of your dream "We were on Eiradu, I think, I recognised the rail car. You were hanging from a broken one, I could see you but you fell, there was nothing for me to do, I couldn't reach you, and then you were gone"

Tech hums thoughtfully "Well that is highly improbable, I don't see a scenario where that would be the outcome"

"Improbable but not impossible?" you clarify

"Well...considering all that has happened and could happen in a universe as vast as ours nothing is impossible"

You smile, it amazes you how clearly logical Tech can be but its soothing in away, almost like he has all the answers, or close enough to give you comfort.

"I can see you are feeling better. Do you wish to try and sleep or perhaps a round of Dejarik?"

You chuff at him "I could go for around of Dejarik"

This was very spontaneous and for some reason gave me a huge headache but it's fine. I really like these :) Hope you enjoyed too!

!Feel free to request anything else you can think of in the mean time!

[ponder-the-orb]

Wash Me Clean

Pairing: Fem Tav/Gale, (named draconic sorcerer Tav)

Tags: 18+, river bathing, smut (self pleasure), Act 1, tiefling party, sexual tension

Summary:

There’s another breath against her skin, a longer one. “You might just be the death of me, Ciri.”

A titter bubbles in her throat. “Maybe. Maybe not. So tell me then Gale. If you could have anything right now, what would it be?”

He considers her question for a second before removing his fingers from her arm. Her disappointment quickly dissolves into a gasp as he places them on the back of her neck instead. He caresses the short hair there before moving slowly, deliberately, over her shoulder, down her spine and to the dip of her waist. It’s feather light, but she feels sensation everywhere until her desire finally settles, warm as a blush, between her legs.

He leans forward. “If I could? Everything.” He cups her hip, stroking his thumb back and forth until all her thoughts begin to melt into a pink fog.

Word count: 3.2K

Read on AO3 or below

It had taken Ciri a while to find somewhere quiet.

She can still hear the revelries of the party as a hum on the breeze, the tieflings and her companions alike still very much making merry around the campfire. The goblin leaders disbanded, of course she’d agreed to let them have one evening to forget the perils of the road ahead and let the ghosts of those they’d lost hang less heavily over their heads.

She cannot complain. Not really. For a time, it had been pleasant to watch everyone, their smiles lost in their cups as they danced under the fat happy moon. She’s had her fill though. She’d slipped out when no one was watching and walked with quiet deliberate steps along the riverbank until the water was wide and the only light were her sparks and a handful of stars scattered above. And when she was sure she was alone, she’d stripped, walked into the river and channelled her fire until the shallow water was a more bearable temperature. 

She isn’t sure how long she’s been kneeling here, not enough to be missed she assumes, and certainly not enough for her feelings to float away along with the goblin blood and grime.

She runs hot most days, but this feeling is different entirely. It’s gentle but frustratingly present, burning like embers that just won’t cool.

She submerges herself fully for a few seconds so the muffled noise of the party completely disappears. Peace. Finally. What she’d give to float here forever as naught but murk in the river. Leader and hero to none.

As she reemerges up to her shoulders, something stirs behind her. There’s a gasp, a shuffle and then the snap of a twig as something moves clumsily on the bank.

Ciri immediately whips around, firebolt poised in her hand.

“Don’t fire!” 

Gale stands about twenty paces away with wide eyes and both hands up.

She waves the fire away. “Bloody hells Gale! I could have incinerated you.”

“Ah sorry.” His eyes float from her face down to the water lapping just under her collarbones before he abruptly jerks his head towards the sky. “And– uh–  thank you for not doing that. I don’t have much else to change into should my clothes get destroyed.”

Ciri's cheeks flood with heat and she quickly ducks further into the water, crossing her arms over her breasts. She has no idea how much he’d seen, but is fairly certain the sweet pink spilling across his nose is not from indulging in too much wine.

“It’s fine,” she says slightly too hurriedly. “It’s almost a relief I suppose. I’d rather not fight anyone else until at least tomorrow morning. So what brings you out here anyway?” 

“I did not follow you, if that is what you are worried about. There may be strange creatures lurking in the bushes out here but I can assure you I am not one of them.”

Ciri turns back around and cups a handful of cool water to her neck. She’s almost surprised it doesn’t sizzle. “Just warn me next time. The last person who snuck up on me lost their eyebrows.”

His answering laugh is a soft rumble over the wind. “Duly noted.”

“Even if I didn’t turn around I think the crack of those knees would have given you away.”

“Get to my age and then see if you’re still laughing about it.”

She throws a softer look over her shoulder. “I’m ten years older than you.” 

She’s almost disappointed he’s still staring at the sky so intently. She wonders that if she’d turned a second sooner she might have interrupted a furtive glance, perhaps one that lingered on the damp column of her neck for just a moment too long. It’s as her own eyes wander over his face that she notices the red stain spreading from his neck and over his usually pristine shirt. 

“What happened to your clothes?”

“An experiment gone awry. Between Rolan and his two mage hands, it turns out the number of wine bottles he can juggle is three and I happened to be standing in the exact wrong place. Once the laughter died down I thought it was high time for a rinse.”

“You couldn’t just prestidigitate yourself clean?”

His eyes drift down to meet hers again. This time, they stay. “I could, but after being on the road for more than a tenday, the prospect of an actual bath is a luxury. And I’d go so far as to guess that you are of the same mind?”

She turns and makes a show of scrubbing her arms. “You’re the one that had plenty to say about my musk. If I am to be this party’s reluctant leader, then we cannot have anyone distracted by whatever got splattered on me this time.”

It’s a half truth. She can feel the dirt of this particular journey seeping into more than just her skin and she hadn’t planned on leaving these waters until she’s managed to scrub every fleck of blood and sinew clean. It’s her mind that needs a good clean as well. Fear, stress, confusion, want– they’re all tangled like vines knitted together over the door of some ancient temple. Every day she gets one answer and a hundred new questions about their situation.

Just one moment of true clarity. It’s all she wants. If not about what their future holds than at least what this party of broken misfits actually want from her.

Her eyes flick back to Gale, perhaps the most frustrating knot in that tangle. Now he’s here, with her. Alone. Naked. Like something out of one of the bluer novels she’d pilfered from local libraries in her younger years.

Ciri rubs the back of her neck. “Truth be told, I just… couldn’t get all the blood out from under my fingernails. We spent so long checking all the bodies for equipment and when we finally walked away we were covered in that mess.” It’s something she has not admitted to anyone, far too scared of bringing down the party’s mood when the tieflings were just trying their damndest to be happy. “Do not misunderstand, I’m so happy that everyone from the Grove is safe but there were so many bodies.”

There’s a long moment of silence between them.  “I suppose this is different to your usual adventures then?” he finally responds.

She shakes her head. “I’m usually hired to chase away monsters or fetch cursed artefacts. I stopped Sazza getting struck with a crossbow in the Grove but then was more than happy to mow down her companions barely a day later. Yes, they were a violent warband, but also people.” People she burned and then looted. People that she felt no guilt for as Lae’zel pushed them from ledges and Astarion slit their throats from behind. It’s not the smell of charred skin or the gore that’s twisting like a dagger in her gut right now, but that it was easy. That up until half an hour ago she’d been parading around the party in clothes she’d stripped off a dead drow’s body with not a comment from anyone.

“They would have killed you if you’d hesitated. Then me. Then everyone else who is enjoying tonight.” She hears the soft shuffle of Gale stepping closer to the water’s edge. “Just because I see the value in preventing a fight before one breaks out, does not mean I’m not ready to jump in when it’s required. And sometimes swords and sorcery are the only way.” 

Ciri had certainly seen that in action today. She’d watched him, awed, as he’d thrown spells with the grace of a trained archer, disintegrating his targets to dust. 

“Perhaps someone else needs to take up the mantle of leader for a while,” she says.

Gale laughs again. “I would have to disagree there. After all, we’re still here and very much alive thanks to you. Not that I’m diminishing my own considerable involvement but that silver tongue of yours has gotten us out of more than a few scraps already. There’s no one else I’d trust to get us from A to B still in one piece.”

A slow, hidden smile breaks over her face. “I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment for me or an insult to the rest of our companions”

“The highest praise, I can assure you.”

There’s a pause, a heartbeat, then something slightly sweeter plucks at that tangle inside her.

“Well, I suppose I should leave you be,” he continues when she stays quiet. “I doubt company was what you were searching for when you ventured out here. My shirt can wait.” There’s no sound of him backing away as he speaks. She can feel the question hanging between his words, present as the weight of his eyes on her bare shoulders. 

Do you want me to stay?

She turns and deliberately brushes a droplet as it falls down her neck. “You should try the water. It’s more pleasant than you might think.”

She shifts before she can see his reaction. There’s nothing to interpret here, no words lost or wrapped in metaphor. Just the two of them, the pale moonlight and a week’s worth of tension she’d all but ready to shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces. 

There’s another pause, a rustle of fabric then a series of soft ripples as the water breaks behind her. 

“Well, that’s certainly warmer than I expected.”

She raises her hand to show her glowing palm. “You can thank Iraxys for that.”

“Judging by the draconic etymology, I’m going to assume that’s who you have to thank for the scales? It’s quite the impressive feat to have found the specific dragon in your ancestry.”

“It’s what my family told me so I’ve always called her that, even if they probably just made something up to stop my constant questions." She touches the scarlet patch on her cheek bone, an old rough comfort. "There's no way they could know- that anyone could, but even if that’s not what she was called, it’s nice to put a name to the feeling.”

A louder splash rings out as he submerges himself fully.

“Would it be rather crass to question exactly how a fifty foot dragon joined an elven family?”

“You would not be the first to ask. And I do have my own theories– some being a lot more descriptive than others.”

“And those are?”

She twists her head a fraction. “Not yet for your ears.” 

He’s a blur in her peripheral vision, knelt deep in the water a respectable number of paces back. She lifts her chin a mite, just until she can make out the edges of detail. His hair has fallen a little more freely in front of his face, the wet strands clinging to his ears. So round she’d found herself thinking more than once, so… human. She follows the purple lines of the orb from the corner of his eye to where it lies under the water. Even mostly hidden, she can see the breadth of his chest, the dark hair dusting over the softness and trailing down. They’re the things she’d seen but hints of before, ones she’s been folding away during the day and leafing through so carefully at night. She’d been quick to push past her initial vexation at such thoughts, for even if they are impractical, perhaps even insufferable– they’re warm. Why should she not indulge when it’s one of the few comforts she has left on the road.

Ciri looks away as he rubs the edge of his beard, plunging her twitching hands back into the water. Gods above does she want to feel that roughness. 

“I did not expect you to leave the festivities so soon,” he says. “You’re the talk of the camp. Last I heard there are ballads being composed with your name and drinks still being poured for you. Though as an adventurer I expect you’re used to all that.”

She shrugs. “First time actually. When you’re getting paid, people don’t tend to throw you a party as well. It’s certainly a different experience. Lots of people. Lots of attention.”

The water ripples again as she feels Gale move closer. “It can be a lot to have all eyes on you. Especially when some may linger for longer than others."

“Maybe I want that,” she whispers, idly turning a current-worn pebble between her fingers before letting it sink back into the silt. “Or maybe just one pair in particular.”

She’d been ready to take that step tonight. She’d sought him out first, laid out the teases, the smiles, her intentions flashing brightly as any beacon. But he’d left her be, told her to enjoy the evening while he waited at the sidelines lest the orb destroy them all. She needs to hear the words now. The real words that were not so carefully chosen when surrounded by companions and strangers alike.

Ciri lifts herself from her knees and stands at her full height. The river laps around her waist, droplets running in cool trails over her scars, her breasts, the curve of her stomach. She rubs her scales again and fights the urge to duck back down into that protective shroud of water.

“I’ve been thinking about what I showed you when we channelled the weave together.” she says. “About… if I should have done that.”

That vision of their kiss had been dancing in the gentle colour in the corner of her trances for days now. It had been such a small thing to start. Something fanciful, a want driven by both the fear of death and a few days enjoying the shape of his mouth whenever he spoke in such an overly impassioned way about magic. That was before she saw the full hungry truth with her hands clasped to his glowing chest. He’d tasted a goddess, shared her bed, her wonder, her wrath. And despite that he’d still humoured her mortal wants, seemed elated at them even, enough for that fanciful desire to grow ever hotter inside her with each passing hour.

He hums softly behind her. “You should never regret being so bold. It was more than just a pleasant moment and those have been few and far between since we crash landed here.” There’s another moment of silence. Another ripple as he moves until the smell of wine and parchment brushes past her. “And I've been thinking on it too. Perhaps more than I’d like to admit.”

Ciri rubs the back of her hand. “Then why not take it?”

She wonders what would happen if she turned around right now and showed him her every naked curve and dip and colour, about whether he would avert his eyes or drink her in more eagerly than the evening’s wine, if he would back away or reach for her and feel exactly how much she burns for him under her damp skin. They’re questions she can’t quite answer– not when she knows she’s still standing against the memory of the divine. Magic may be her life, but Mystra she knows little of. When he showed that dark torrent of memory, Ciri had seen the echoes of her still glowing in the corners of his mind. Lyrical praises whispered, about how she was beautiful as the weave, soft as a dream, everything wonderful and terrible a mage could want.

Something larger flutters in her chest as she feels the heat of his skin barely a pace behind her now.

“Once, the promise of a truly kind touch would have been worth the cost of potentially levelling a city. To feel one’s demise in a moment of pure ecstasy– it’s almost poetic in a way.” His breath brushes her shoulder as he speaks, tender as a kiss. “But now? I cannot. For so many reasons– for the journey we must complete, for these companions, friends even. And for you, perhaps most of all.”

She breathes out shakily. “Are you really sure it would be so catastrophic?”

He lets out a short laugh. “Not even slightly. But what I do understand all too well is wanting to take comfort with someone in a moment of calm. When danger can pounce at any given time, such desires are all too mortal.” Her skin prickles with heat as he gently touches Astarion’s bite marks at the side of her neck, then the bruise on her arm from where Lae’zel had bumped her a little too enthusiastically. “Whoever that may be with.”

She reads his message loud and clear. ‘Take whomever you wish to your bed tonight. I won't hold it against you.’ 

“I know what I want. I don’t need an itch scratched or some fleeting desire satiated,” she answers firmly. 

There’s another breath against her skin, a longer one. “You might just be the death of me, Ciri.”

A titter bubbles in her throat. “Maybe. Maybe not. So tell me then, Gale. If you could have anything right now, what would it be?”

He considers her question for a second before removing his fingers from her arm. Her disappointment quickly dissolves into a gasp as he places them on the back of her neck instead. He caresses the short hair there before moving slowly, deliberately, over her shoulder, down her spine and to the dip of her waist. It’s feather light, but she feels sensation everywhere until her desire finally settles, warm as a blush, between her legs.

He leans forward. “If I could? Everything.” He cups her hip, stroking his thumb back and forth until all her thoughts begin to melt into a pink fog.

She wants him. Wants and wants and wants in a way she can barely comprehend right now. She wants to press herself back against him, feel the softness, the muscle, the heat. She wants to turn and wrap herself in his arms, letting them both taste and bite and devour until the mess of their joint passions dissolves into the water around them. She wants to have him, to let him have her until that vile orb shatters under her touch and there’s nothing left but the scar of their coupling burned into the earth. And yet, above all that, she wants to be gentle. To touch and be touched, enjoy something quivering and slow and sweet amongst the death and disarray that follows them everywhere.

And for that, she can wait.

“Alright. That’s all I needed to know. Goodnight Gale.” She steps away from him and marches towards the closest bank without turning around. She keeps going when her feet hit the ground, walking past her clothes and into the most secluded piece of forest she can find. And then, with one hand braced against a tree, she slips the other between her legs and touches her clit until her back is misted with sweat and gold explodes behind her eyes.

This is part of my longer fic, Broken Horizons. Read the full thing here