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belphegorey · 19 days

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⌜constellations, belphegor⌟ ⎯ he was a tsundere, but he was your tsundere ⎯ gn!reader x belphegor ⎯ no warnings just fluff with a little smut

The constellations hidden behind the haze of sleep were some of the most beautiful stars you had seen. The skies he hid in the darkness of his eyes were magnetic, even as your brain drifted into the slow wonderland he created, all you could think of was how stunning they were. You rested your head along his chest, your nail — painted in the same blue — tracing up and down his tail, that was wrapped softly around you.

You were sure that he was at least partially awake. It wouldn’t be uncommon for you to find Belphegor fast asleep though his eyes were open, but you could feel the haze of sloth creep into your veins. A feat he could only, unconsciously, create while awake. His tail coiled tighter and mischevious my flicked your finger, only to demand more scratches a moment later.

Just as much as a tsundere as the demon you half laid on. It was a shame not many could see the peacefulness behind his pain. Not even you had at first. You snuggled into his chest as his tail gently wrapped around your forearm. His breathing was the sweetest rhythm, every thump of his heart beneath your ear sang the words of a beautiful lullaby. He had allowed you to search through him all that time ago, showed you the parts that was only for those he truly loved.

Belphegor showed you himself and you would forever be thankful.

“You’re being loud,” his sleep-drunk voice stirred your mind and you admired the constellations. The twin stars, what was Belphie’s and Beel’s that also belonged to you in spirit, sparkled in the endless night. You had never managed to find those stars in the human world, but that had no matter, because you always found them within Belphegor’s eyes.

Slowly, you turned your head to face him. Moving felt like swimming through an ocean of honey. Your body was heavy and the urge to sink into the warm embrace of sleep was constant. His heart’s singing rocked you toward the unconscious valley… you shook your head of the daze. He was being purposeful that time. “I haven’t said a word.”

His hand lifted into the air and his beautiful fingers caressed your forehead before sliding to hold your cheek. “Your mind. We can’t sleep if it’s constantly speaking.” His hand was cold, not to the point you felt frozen, but rather a nice chill that you nuzzled toward. Only you got to see this side of Belphegor, not even his twin could witness such a side, though he was a close second.

That was your Belphegor. Not the monster that people thought of him and feared — the one you had once pictured him to be. Your Belphie was a romantic with a fascination toward astronomy. Someone who loved his family so much even though he constantly attempted to prank the eldest brother. The demon who always thought of the little things to help his loved ones because he just thought it would make them smile.

His eyes opened just a bit wider and you smiled at the reflection of the twin stars. He was a moon, you decided. So often was the moon overlooked for the sun, but it never cared, the moon would always be there to protect the world and illuminate its nights. “You’re still doing it,” his thumb swiped at your cheekbone and his tail uncoiled from your arm, only to hold you tighter by the torso. Your Belphie did love hugs, especially ones that would open for or round off as encore for a nap. “How do you ever get a moment of peace when that thing is always screaming?”

You were unsure if he knew your thinking sue to his nature or because of his knowledge of you. Many had told you that when focused enough, Belphegor could see through the thoughts in a mind, especially when unconscious. Yet, Belphie never admitted it to you himself, instead he would always give you a coy smile and keep it secret. You liked to believe it was both.

“The only thing my mind is saying right now are things about you,” his chest rose and fell under his rhythmic breathing, like he were asleep. His body must still be in that state despite the moving of his plush lips. You admired him in your daze, the constellations continued to sparkle in his sky.

Even when his face turned to a slow, if cheeky, grin, the stars and moon in his eyes were brighter than the sun could ever be. “That’s never a good thing. Have I forgotten something again?”

“Far from it,” you leaned toward him and kissed him gently. He softly joined in with your gesture, his hand still splayed along your cheek and holding you as though you were glass. To him, perhaps you were. It didn’t worry you as much as it would for another. To him, you were precious and irreplaceable, something he had fought for and grown with, “I just couldn’t stop thinking about how much I adore you.”

The gentlest of blushes painted along his cheeks. You almost missed the display, but the faint vermilion along his pale skin had your heart flutter. He wasn’t the best at receiving praise, but the reactions were always something you loved. “Silly thoughts you have,” the soft haze of drowsiness continued to dissipate in his eyes, and his long lashes properly rose as his eyes widened to their usual size. You smiled at him as he continued to wake the rest of his body, holding his head in your hands. Tufts of his hair passed through your fingers, completely utterly soft. Asmodeus must have given him another treatment while he was asleep. “But I have them too. So, it’s nice that it’s reciprocated.”

You giggled at his behaviour. Only Belphegor (and perhaps Mammon, but he was far more obvious) would take the complicated route in admitting his emotions. It was no mind, you knew what his heart was saying through fumbled words. “Mutual attraction,” you kissed the tip of his nose and the rosy hue on his cheeks returned. A few faint freckles bolded behind the blush, their silent pattern was just like the constellations above. You could spot his star, that he had given to you, just beside the bridge of his nose, “maybe we should start dating then?”

He played along to your game. Despite the necklace around your neck, a gift for your six month anniversary, Belphegor sighed with false disappointment. His hands went to your hips and sat you up, though your body still slanted to be against his only slightly. “I already have a partner. Don’t be too jealous.”

You couldn’t control the proud smile that blossomed on your face. Even in the scenario you both played, there was something so mind-melting about hearing him outright say he had someone. He was not single. He was yours in more ways that one. “Lucky bitch.”

“No, I’m the lucky one,” he properly sat up for a mere moment but he quickly changed stances for you both. Soft lips pressed against the pulse point of your neck and he softly pushed you down until your back met the carpet on the floor. The Devildom moon sparkled above the conservatory roof and you moved your hands around his neck, locking your fingers behind them. Sharp fangs grazed your skin gently and your breathing stuttered for a moment beneath his strength. You often forgot that he was one of the strongest demons in the Devildom for a reason — not just the sleepy man you loved. “So many demons… and yet I was the one that was deemed worthy. All my life will be spent trying to truly earn that love I was unjustly given.”

He spoke like poetry. His touch acted like the feathered quill that penned the words. Your skin was his parchment. The fingers that once held your hips slowly moved down the material of your (his, if you were honest, though it did belong to Beel before him) shirt. Never had you felt so smart for not wearing pants, the shirt did act as a long enough outfit. His hand cupped your panties, pressed the material against you and spreading wet slick along it.

You shuddered against his touch and moved your hand to fist at the carpet beneath your back. Soft, it remained sturdy in your tight grip while Belphegor grinned against you. “You must not be seeing the same things as everyone else,” a finger dipped beneath the soaked underwear and against your cunt. You pulled in the carpet as he slowly pushed the finger inside of you, already having you clench around his touch. It was so easy to forget how good his fingers felt. They didn’t look big but whenever you felt them in your cunt it was as though they had doubled in size. Sweetly, he kissed your neck and trailed upward to your jaw. “If only you could see yourself from my eyes.”

“I could be the best thing in all the three words and I would still never be half the man you deserve.” His fangs grazed your jaw as he spoke, you pressed your chest up against him in result. Another finger joined in with thrusting softly inside you. The pace was slow and deliberate — much like Belphegor himself — but he reached deep within you. You could hear the wet squelch whenever his fingers reached the final knuckle and his palm was flat against you. “But, I will always love you more than anyone else could.”

Your eyelids fluttered as your eyes rolled backward. His pace sped up only the slightest bit, and yet it was as though he had began a sprint. Your hips pressed to him with a roll and you tugged in the carpet again for stability. It was so unlike him to speak so bluntly regarding his emotions. Even with the self hatred he began it with, your heart fluttered. You knew that his emotional words were only for your ears, no one else could get him to speak so honestly about his heart. “I love you too, Belphie.”

Through your deep inhale and the clenching of your cunt around him, he managed to pull his fingers out with a slick wet noise that made you cringe. Belphegor lifted his head and cleaned the fingers of your need, never looking away from your eyes the entire time. His eyes were slightly droopy, as usual, and the red blush still burned on his skin — the constellations on his nose seemed far brighter in comparison.

When he went to push down his sweatpants, you took the chance to kiss him. You leaned up, your thighs together rubbed stray desire against your skin, and locked your lips together before his brain could process it. The taste was slightly sour from his fingers but you moaned regardless, your hands joined together behind his neck while he pushed down his pants. You felt his erection against your stomach, prominent veins and pointed tip making your mind drool in need.

His tail went around your waist and pulled you closer, until you ultimately went into his lap. His cock ran along your slick cunt and he hissed into your kiss. You smiled and puked away, gently biting his bottom lip before nuzzling into his shoulder. “Please, Belphie,” your hand trailed down his chest to his cock. Lazily, you rubbed your hand along his shaft, feeling it twitch as drops of precum slipped away. You took the moment to line him up with your cunt, his tip just barely inside of you, “fill me up?”

You kissed his neck, against the vein that never seemed to hide since you had known him. He nod was slow and distracted, a soft sweat built on his forehead, but you submitted to his control as Belphegor helped you to slide down his cock. The stretch made you groan in desire, your teeth gently nibbled on him to distract from the roaring need inside you. It hadn’t even been that long since you’d last had sex, but you always had to take time to adjust to him. At first he had not shut up about it, you were sure if Asmo had to listen to him brag one more time that you would wake up to nudes for comparison. “So cute like this,” his tail grew tighter around you as you felt him continue to slide inside you. How was he so big? You bit his neck again, it would act as another memento for him to brag about come morning. “Anything for you.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #belphegor #obey me belphegor #obey me fluff #belphegor fluff #obey me smut #belphegor smut #omswd belphegor #om belphegor #om! belphegor #om! belphegor smut #⌜writing⌟

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soleilnomoon · 1 year

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･titled — “lady(bug) killer.”

9k words (shh i know i know), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; angst city, there’s fluff somewhere somehow i think, smut obviously; shanks is a bully and an ass but that’s why we love him, reader has no self-preservation (when has she ever lbr); feat. cute stuff like making out, alcohol, some smoking, oral (f receiving), biting, reader being shameless; shanks is mean when he’s jealous and reader is equally as ridiculous, also benn beckman, yasopp, and lucky roux make a tiny cameo. anyway this was 1000% self-indulgent, but idc.

this is for @strawhatsoraya, and even though it’s *calculates* 7? months late ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ lmaooo i finished bb, a labor of love for u because i’m absurd and u enable me. don’t blame me for nothin, i did what i could!!! (if u see typos/grammatical errors no u didn’t.)

DELUSION X IS X INEVITABLE

the seas are not, and never have been, kind — nor are they patient. weakness is rarely tolerated, so to combat that, to give yourself some semblance of strength, you tell yourself stories in the hopes of extracting a bit of courage. there’s one in particular that you like to tell yourself when things get to be a little too much.

it’s about the impossible love between the sun and the moon — the two seemingly trapped in an endless cycle of cat and mouse, chasing one another across the skies for eternity.

golden-hued, dazzling, brilliant; a deity above all others with a kingdom as expansive as its reach — grand and all encompassing. the sun is a powerful, overwhelming force of nature, able to disrupt the earth as he sees fit, his heat infiltrating any crevice it can find with each new day. the stars serve as reluctant guides, leaving behind crumbs for the sun to follow. they’re much too quick, twinkle out of sight, and the moon is nowhere to be seen. she’s a shadow, a mirage, an entity that’s completely out of the sun’s reach no matter what he does.

the moon, in contrast, is serene when in rest, shimmering proudly in the dark sky — illuminating the seas for wayward sailors, dreams, and the like. calm, the epitome of grace, yet unyielding; forever dictating the tides as she sees fit. there’s a sharpness to her beauty; it’s cold and unapproachable — a single rare flower that blooms nightly in the sky, her spores a sweet poison that serves to ensnare unsuspecting stargazers, adding yet another devoted follower to her massive collection. a hopeless romantic deep down, admiring the blazing trail that the sun leaves behind. fear forces the moon to hesitate, never to embrace the sun’s brilliance and warmth.

despite being the biggest star hanging in the sky, the sun remains out of the moon’s reach; and despite priding herself on her uncanny ability to pluck the truth from anyone, she conveniently evades revealing her own dark truths.

the ocean is a reluctant playground, her mirror of truth; if the moon looks hard enough, she can see the golden light from the sun touching the water. if she hangs back, then maybe she might be able to grab onto some of that warmth. she’s always so cold. it’s evident in how she approaches life. her rage is frigid, hidden, forbidden from ever coming out; a stated beauty from afar, breathtaking and life changing up close.

everyone is too afraid to approach her; no one wants to risk her wrath — except the sun.

where the sun chases away his own shadows, the moon welcomes them. there’s poetry in the dance they do; a ballet in several parts — steps light and well-rehearsed, as the stars play a sweet, melancholic melody. it’s indescribable; a work of art fit to inspire the masses.

ascending along the expansive sky, the sun begins his rhythmic march, reveling in the sparkling remnants of light that moon has left behind. it’s always been said that the sun lusts after the moon, but it’s not quite as simple as that. the moon leads the dance — measured, practiced, perfect; while the sun clumsily follows along, sure-footed, and honest. a never-ending cycle of what ifs and maybes; a love affair that is in a deadly, hypnotic loop.

yours is a story about love, about life, and about losing bits of yourself in someone else.

shanks has always been fond of the sun, of its power, its size, and its impact on life; he’s always reached his arms out every morning, soaking up as much of the warmth and heat as he can, forever rejuvenated by its light. you have always favored the moon — its eerie silence, the way life seems to hold its breath for it, how you can gaze at it without consequence.

both of you are fueled by the whims of their love — the former a frenetic storm, hounding islands and ships, dangerous when provoked; the latter a frozen lake, one step and the ice cracks on the shallow surface, pulling bright-eyed victims deep under, freezing them from head to toe.

in stories of antiquity, the two never truly meet, but somehow in this story, you and shanks experience what may be considered the most difficult sort of love to bear. potentially ill-fated and destined to fail, you delude yourself into thinking that you can have the entirety of his heart and not suffer any consequences. there’s no greater love than the one you desperately want to attain and can’t; it’s an addicting cycle that neither of you want to break.

PASSION X NOT X PAIN

from your father you learn obstinance; it’s carefully woven into your daily routines, each stitch tighter than the last, the thread unbelievably strong even as it’s pulled taut underneath your skin. by the time it reaches your bones, you’re already well into adulthood, fragility and naivety carelessly discarded, the remains intentionally desiccated, crumbling underneath your feet as you navigate through life. a never-ending labyrinth of torment and desire, a hunger for the unknown gnawing continuously in the pit of your stomach.

from your mother you learn humility; a tradition, she tells you, but adds as an afterthought: an eternal obligation. it sits on your shoulders, weighing you down, making you question every decision and thought. you never say what you truly mean, never ask for the things you want; resentment lines the crevices of your teeth, dictating your tone and choice of words. your tongue a maestro, pushing out each phrase with purpose; every word pinpricks your skin — a dull, cumbersome pain chipping away at your sanity.

you become obsessed with spontaneity, rejecting routines, and deviating from the norm. they can never keep you indoors long enough; you’re usually climbing something, running somewhere — enticed by the possibility of adventure. you leave your hometown to travel across the grand line, staying on various islands for months at a time — to learn about regional dishes and cultivate your skills.

your heart, unfortunately, has always been a flighty thing — falling in and out of love, leading you down a treacherous path, one that leaves a deep scar you can’t seem to heal no matter what you do. still, you fortify yourself any way you can; it’s not permanent, but it does the job somewhat effectively.

like clockwork, you find yourself in the middle of a busy street, perusing the market. you look over a round, shiny apple before buying a few to take home. unbeknownst to you, your day will quickly derail, bringing about impossibly rash decisions on your part.

as usual, it takes forever to dock the ship; he doesn’t even bother yelling t the new recruits, because he’s trying to ignore the hangover that’s kicking his ass right now. yasopp is cackling off to his right, tears flowing freely as he recants drunken tales from last night. he’d love to join his friend in all that revelry, but there’s a pounding in his head that won’t quite go away.

shanks downs another cool glass of water before loudly announcing that they need to find provisions before heading to their next destination.

the island isn’t hard to navigate, so they wander until they reach the lively town. it’s when you’re fussing with a vendor over the outrageous price for a small bottle of seasoning, that shanks notices you for the first time. as someone who takes pride in swallowing a great deal of pain without complaint, he’s finding it very difficult to not rub his chest — to somehow calm down that foolish heart of his.

it’s doing things it’s never done before; beating much too loudly, making his thoughts scatter around — it’s bothersome and he doubts he has time to deal with it. he almost voices that very sentiment out loud, but is distracted by your smile, which makes him take another step forward. then you’re laughing, another ordeal for him to suffer through — your voice melodic and hypnotizing.

shanks rubs his eyes repeatedly, blinking away any residual fatigue; surely it’s the fault of the bourbon they drank, because he must be dreaming. it wouldn’t be the first time he’s mistaken a dream for reality, although this strangely feels real to him. he’s not sure if it’s the shape of your jaw, or the roundness of your cheeks, but there’s something wholly familiar about you. he frowns at that, brings his hand to his chest to rub the ache away. it’s beckman who catches up with him first, dark eyes landing on shanks for a moment before following his line of sight.

throat dry, head a little fuzzy, shanks asks, “do you see her?”

the question is absurd, but he has to know; and even though it takes a moment, beckman finally answers him. “yes,” he says, voice low but certain, “she’s real, captain.”

he has no need to shop for vegetables, but winds up at the same stall as you. if he wasn’t so damn obvious, you probably wouldn’t have said anything — except, he’s crowding your space a little too much; but when you turn to tell him off, you hesitate. there’s no reason for him to be that tall, no reason for his ruggedness to add to his overall attractiveness — enough to incite irritation, that makes your face burn and siphons all your logic. his voice is doubly offensive — deep, husky, and gravelly, touching parts of you that you don’t want to think about.

what starts as a friendly conversation — of him asking about local cuisine, of you giving him recommendations on dishes to try — somehow morphs into shanks teasing you as if he’s known you for much longer than ten minutes. you’re not normally this social, preferring to keep to your own so that you won’t be bothered by people in general. the townspeople are more than friendly, and a little too overwhelming to be around; yet you don’t mind talking to him and find that it’s nearly impossible to pull yourself away.

fear — of vulnerability and intimacy — threads itself around your fingers, makes your hands shake as you hold onto your bags.

eventually, you give in and grace him with your name. he says it a few times, mostly to himself and you dislike the way you stand there, listening to him — caught in a thick net, completely unaware that the fortress you’ve built over the years has completely fallen apart. a terrifying feat, you think; one that makes you want to run until your legs give out. intrigued by your stubbornness and insatiable curiosity, shanks decides to stay on the island a little longer. his crew doesn’t mind, they like the break. yasopp tries to pry for more information, but shanks simply says he wants to relax for a bit.

it doesn’t take long for them to chisel away at your reluctance, a friendship that buds and transforms quickly. against your better judgment, you grow fond of them — with their rowdiness and frank manner of speech, with their crude jokes and ability to turn any gathering into a large party. adventurers and treasure fiends, a group with monstrous strength, not the sort of people your parents would’ve expected you to hang around.

and maybe that’s why you hardly resist their charm — or, his charm, you should say. because that’s what it really is, much to your disapproval.

you offer to cook for them one night, and after the first bite shanks asks you to join his crew. your initial refusal is met with a frown on his part; he insists that you join them — one can never have too many chefs on board, and lucky roux has already taken a liking to you. still, you refuse; and when shanks asks you the following morning, you refuse again.

there’s no real reason why you keep saying no. it’s mostly because you like seeing how frustrated he gets, where he huffs about it all damn day, claiming you’ve broken his heart for the fiftieth time that week. the best part is how his crew mates make fun of him for being rejected by you again.

he takes it all in stride, though — laughing along with everyone else, ordering another round of drinks. as wary as the townspeople were by shanks’ presence initially, they’ve come to appreciate his generous patronage. it’s not often that pirates settle in a specific area for longer than a few days, but shanks is determined not to leave without you. he’s not exactly sure why he feels compelled to take you along, and while a few of his crew mates have some sound theories as to why that is, he ignores them completely.

it's beckman who manages to convince you after eating a third lemon square; he’s impressed by your talent for creating delicate and delicious pastries, even more so by the fact that shanks to enjoy eating them more than he should.

“he doesn’t really care for sweets,” beckman says carefully, sipping his tea slowly, enjoying the warmth wafting from the hot drink.

you know better than to ask, but the question rolls off your tongue anyway. “who doesn’t?” you feign ignorance, fuss with a stray curl, tugging and playing with it while he eyes you critically.

the vice-captain reminds you that you can only travel so far along the grand line alone; and he’s right, you came to terms with that a while ago. it’s an opportunity for adventure, and a chance to hone your skills.

“fine,” you say, while crossing your arms, leaning forward on your chair. “how much?” not that you really care about the money, but they’re pirates — notorious ones, at that — you won’t risk your life sailing with them if the reward isn’t worth it.

a small smile works its way onto his lips as he motions for you to scoot closer. you oblige without hesitation but end up hopping out of your seat when he whispers the amount in your ear.

“that’s a lot of fucking money.” you almost don’t believe it, but beckman isn’t the childish sort, nor does he lie for the sake of lying. you swallow hard and don’t bother acting coy. “when do we leave?” it’s not exactly the sort of job you’d place on a resume, but you can’t say you aren’t excited to traverse across the ocean.

shanks offers more gold than necessary, but you’re not one to complain, nor do you care about bleeding a pirate dry of his stolen treasure. he decides to spend one final night on the island, so naturally his crew throws a large feast in celebration. you doubt you’ll ever get tired of their impromptu parties, or the raucous way they laugh and sing, voices carrying out into the sleepy streets. the energy is addictive and hard to escape; you soak it all up, allow it to loosen your bones. you laugh and drink with the others but keep your distance from a certain red-haired captain. you’re not sure how to be around him, especially now that you’ve accepted his invitation after fighting him for so long about it.

it’s completely by chance that you spot shanks near the bonfire; you think you’re being subtle when you watch him from afar, admiring the way his throat bobs when he tilts his head back to down a full glass of liquor. the fire emits a deep glow, one that extracts a memory from the back of your mind — oranges and yellows draping over him, an enigma that will always remain out of your reach no matter how hard you try.

the truth of it sits on your tongue — raw and distressing — so you down a shot of whiskey and maneuver through the crowd of people to find a place to sit and rest.

yassop and lucky roux tease shanks mercilessly throughout the day, so much that he ends up smoking more than he means to. a light haze clouds his rationality, and he mumbles under his breath, which only makes them laugh louder, pointing out his plight for all to hear. no matter how much he denies it, or how much he tells them that they’re full of shit, the story remains the same: boss has fallen in love. it’s annoying, to say the least. just because he feels calmer whenever you’re around, and just because his heart continues to beat louder — heavy, relentless, and unsettling — doesn’t mean that he’s fallen in love with you.

if anything, it means he needs to get off this damn island quickly. “it’s probably something in the water,” he tells himself. no need to stay long enough to carry it with him elsewhere.

a few hours later, nearly everyone is passed out, either from drinking or eating or both — and shanks, unfortunately, can’t seem to sleep. neither can you. he finds you walking alone on the beach, sandals in hand, humming something soft and familiar. before he can even make his presence known, you look over at him and a smile tugs on your lips. you’re not sure what compels you, but the sight of him standing there, watching you like you’re some sight to behold — and if anyone asked him at that exact moment, he would say that yes, you are — invites a small warmth to circle around your chest. an irresistible flame that grows hotter the closer he gets.

OBSESSED X & X IRRITABLE

what starts as subtle flirting rife with teasing jokes and lingering touches, turns into something frighteningly intense. shanks routinely teases you in front of everyone, and while you’re embarrassed by it sometimes, you actually like it. there’s a push and pull, where you also have him backed into a corner that he can’t escape from with his sanity intact.

shanks starts being more bold when he touches you, kissing you randomly in hallways when no one’s looking, his hand roaming down to your ass and squeezing it playfully. the rush makes everything worth it; he likes the way you push him away, and you like the way he chases you. if he knew that you’d fallen in love some time ago, he’d never let you live it down. his touches make your skin hot and your head fuzzy, leaving you light-headed and wanting for more. after a few months, though, he’s still given you no indication on whether this is a casual thing or something more.

you’re too afraid to ask at this point, always losing your nerve when he sweet talks you late at night. you swallow back your questions, but they pile up eventually, until you can’t take it anymore. after that stunt he pulled in that pub, he drunkenly tells yasopp to make up a shirt for you that says “angry when wet” on the front. your face burns, both in anger and in embarrassment when you receive the gift, and shanks laughs loudly when you throw the shirt at his face. he confesses that he forgot he even asked for yasopp to do that, which only makes him laugh harder.

in a fit of fury, you tell shanks that you refuse to have sex with him and that he has to keep his hands to himself. for a month, at least. he figures you’re all talk and only agrees to it because you’re so determined and cute when you’re angry like that. when the others find out about the ban, they ridicule their captain mercilessly. he tries to act unaffected, but something about the way you insist on seeing this ban through rubs him the wrong way.

it’s been twenty-two — no, twenty-three — days, and you’re barely keeping it together. shanks thinks it’s hilarious that you believe he’ll cave before you do; and you’re determined to make him suffer. now granted, you are to blame for the predicament you found yourself in just a month prior — even now, you still suffer from that embarrassment — when shanks fucked you in the back of that dingy pub.

they’ve all taken to calling you ladybug — bug, for short; something shanks thought up in the moment, spurned by yasopp’s laughter at the matter. and despite fighting against it initially, the nickname grows on you. shanks appears every bit as unaffected as he always does, still flirting with you whenever he can, but respecting your wishes all the same. regardless of that, he still finds ways to get under your skin. it’s your hope that holding out will make shanks realize that he wants you in a deeper way than just physical intimacy.

you should just let him go and move on, but you can’t. he always pulls you back, always finds a way to make you smile — the warmth from his presence is enough to burn you alive most days — and you find yourself wrapped up in him without realizing. incidentally, shanks also can’t let you go, and never intends to anyway. he’s a selfish creature by nature, not cognizant enough to recognize his own role in that.

on a sleepy morning, you take your time and carefully bake pastries for the crew. last night you promised them something tasty and sweet — your specialty, really — and they’ve given you room to work without interruption. as a chef for the red-hair pirates, you take pride in your work; in feeding the crew, in ensuring that they eat well-balanced meals that give them strength and energy. shanks has always been in awe of your talent — your hands are delicate and exact, skilled laborers that make brilliant works of art whenever you’re in the kitchen.

you’re humming a nameless tune to yourself, cutting up strawberries neatly, as another person silently invades your small sanctuary. while you wash your hands in the sink, shanks approaches you and a sudden awareness makes you freeze. his body barely touches yours, but he reaches over you to crab a cup out of the cabinet above your head. given the difference in your height, it always seems like he’s crowding you without trying. although in this instance, he’s intentionally doing so.

a groan rolls out of your mouth, frustration eating away at the remainder of your patience. you’ve been giving him short answers lately, barely looking at him — although, that isn’t exactly true; you’ve stolen more glances than you can count over the past month — so whenever he can, he finds ways to tease you mercilessly.

“oops,” his hand lowers so he can rinse out the cup, “didn’t mean to interrupt you, doll.”

teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you count to ten, breathe out of your nose and smile tightly. “uh huh,” his body is still much too close for your liking, “just make it fast.”

a sly grin, one that you can’t see, drifts onto his lips. “you know i can never turn down a quick fuck.”

you slap his hand, make him drop the cup into the sink, and spin around to face him. your face burns painfully, the flush a permanent fixture now that he’s moved on from light teasing, to full out being insufferable around you. “shanks, enough.” you shove his chest, much to his amusement, his eyes gleaming with mischief, but you can’t exactly look at him properly, can you? and when you manage to get over a bit of your embarrassment, manage to look up at him through your thick, dark lashes, you struck by his stupidly handsome face. despite his rugged exterior, you know there’s a gentleness that periodically comes out when the two of you are together.

an unexpected ache plagues your chest and you ignore it; but you miss touching his scars, miss kissing him and being kissed by him. he already smells like smoke and bourbon, a scent that you’ve come to covet over the past few weeks.

belatedly, shanks realizes that he miscalculated; your beauty still takes his breath away, especially when you’re this close to him. his eyes drift along your soft, round features, linger on your plump lips — where he’s suddenly overcome with the desire to trace your cupid’s bow with his fingers — and stare a little too hard at your neck that’s been blemish free for a while. a shame, really, as he likes when your neck shows proof of his affection for you. if he’s not careful, he’ll get sucked back into your orbit; as always, your brown eyes — intense, unyielding, a fusion of dulce de leche and tree bark — keep him rooted in place. your dark, curly hair continues to remind him of a storm that he desperately wants to navigate alone.

caught in a daze, he almost forgets that you’re mad at him, until you roll your eyes and push past him. he watches you languidly, completely smitten with you all over again, eyes transfixed on your retreating form — round ass and thick, curvy hips captivating him entirely.

you stomp away and leave the pastries to their own devices, reeling over the fact that shanks had the audacity to say that to you. but as you keep walking, the brisk morning air whipping around you, you realize you’re not upset because he said it. you’re upset because he didn’t actually try to fuck you in the kitchen.

a shame, you know, but you can’t help the thought.

it’s becoming more and more apparent now that you might be the only one suffering from this ban. you decide you need a better plan, one that is strong enough to withstand shanks’ careless attitude, one that might just push him to the edge.

a childish impulse strikes you, and you opt to give him the silent treatment, which only further amuses him. he watches you lazily, grinning each time you turn your nose up and stomp past him. you make it so easy he doesn’t even have to try riling you up. you ignoring him isn’t much of a big deal — so he tells himself — but when he sees just how friendly the crew is with you, something sinister builds inside the pit of his abdomen and works its way up to his chest. when you head back to finish working in the kitchen, he tells his crew that he’s implementing a new rule.

“no one,” he says, after gathering everyone else, surveying his crew mates critically, eyes particularly landing on yasopp and benn beckman, “touches ladybug. understood?”

they all agree, although beckman, lucky roux, and yasopp pull him aside to ask what this new rule is all about. shanks being shanks, playfully waves them off and starts drinking instead. beckman exchanges wary glances with the others, but they don’t push the issue. every time you try to get closer to someone — whether it’s a crew mate, or an overly friendly resident of a sea faring town — he finds a way to sabotage, laughing as you eye him angrily, hands balled into small fists, which only makes him laugh more.

THREE’S X A X CROWD

part of your duties is to accompany the crew as they go into town to scope out any local fruits and vegetables that you want to try. you like talking with the townspeople, like getting their insight on their regional dishes. you just live for the thrill of creating new, exciting meals and want your crew mates to feel the love that you pour into everything you make for them.

on a particular island, the ship is docked far enough away to not attract too much attention. there aren’t any major navy bases nearby, but one can’t be too careful in the new world, can they? there’s a festival in town, one that they keep advertising for. you catch wind and want to go, but shanks decrees that only a portion of the crew is allowed to disembark, while the others stand by on the ship. too many pirates traversing through the island will set off alarms; thankfully, the island is partial to the patronage of pirates, so they aren’t too upset that shanks’ crew has docked there.

somehow, you’re part of the group designated to stay on the ship, much to your annoyance. you try to plead with beckman, even go as far as pouting your lips, but he doesn’t budge. “captain’s orders,” which seems to be the norm these days. and when he sees the way your shoulders drop, he says, a little quietly, “sorry bug.” you know they’re just going to drink and act foolish on land, so you wait and take your time dressing up. you have an actual reason for wanting to go into town; you need ingredients and don’t trust the others to shop properly for you, so you take matters into your own hands.

no one dares to stop you as you make your way off the ship; you tell the others you’ll be right back, and of course they believe you — why would you lie to them?

and you’re not lying, per se, you do want to get ingredients — although that isn’t your primary focus at the moment.

the festival is loud and seemingly merry with alcohol and food everywhere. thankfully the music makes the shitty alcohol taste better. shanks sits at a large table with the others, drinking, smoking, laughing as various people fawn over him and feed him cut up pieces of fruit. flirtatious by nature, he doesn’t even blink when they allow their delicate fingers to linger on his lips, or when they whisper things in his ear, or when they take turns to perch themselves on his lap.

for some reason, despite knowing that he should, he isn’t exactly stopping their advances.

guilt eats away at his crew mates at the sight of shanks on his usual path of self-destruction; yasopp tries to get him to see reason, beckman too, but he waves them off, saying he can do as he pleases. which only tells him that he’s still annoyed about you not talking to him properly these days. and, despite him not openly saying it, he’s suffering too.

you have fun watching the fireworks for a while, mesmerized by the loud explosions of color decorating the sky; before long, you find yourself in the middle of all the festivities, humming to yourself as you scope out the stalls. you get swept up into a small crowd of people and get turned around when you slip away. as you try to catch your bearings, you hear a familiar laugh and, on instinct, follow the sound of his voice.

while standing off to the side, you watch shanks and the others, heart beating far too loud for comfort. your hands ball into fists all over again, and you sink your nails into your palms when another woman drapes herself over shanks, giddy and tipsy, blushing every time he smiles her way. you know he’s just doing this because he’s pissed off at you, and rather than get sad, you decide to head to the pub and drink.

three drinks later, you saunter back out into the night and join the festival. you enjoy the way the music thrums underneath your skin, the beat thumping in your veins; a cool breeze travels nearby, making you feel light-headed. you forgot how freeing it is to be on your own — without a group of people to worry about, and a selfish captain who tramples over your heart and feelings repeatedly with his blasé attitude. maybe it would be better to just leave? but, the more you think about it, the more your head hurts, so you decide you’d rather enjoy yourself for a bit before heading back to the ship.

the alcohol makes you bolder than usual, and you’re all smiles with flushed cheeks when the vice-captain runs into you on his way to get more food. an incredibly foolish, petty idea crawls into your mind — it barely sits long enough before you act impulsively again.

“what are you doing here, bug?”

you simply shrug, as if you’ve embarked on an innocent expedition and didn’t expect to see him. beckman doesn’t buy the act one bit and pulls you into a nearby alley to talk with you privately. sighing loudly, he fixes you with a steely glare. “you’re suppose to be on the ship,” he says carefully, “d’you know how much trouble you’ll be in if shanks sees you here?” there’s no reason for him to tell you that, but you can’t fault him for trying to be nice. still, the idea of shanks thinking he can just dictate how you live your life, pushes you closer to the edge with your sanity barely intact.

and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “i am not a child,” you say angrily; your annoyance has reached the point of no return, so you let the irritation flow freely and allow it to fuel your pettiness. beckman pauses for a moment before chuckling darkly, shaking his head at your antics. from the determination on your face, and the way you don’t seem to want to budge on the issue, he can understand why shanks is so smitten with you — in fact, everyone on their crew understands — so he relents.

“fine, i’ll accompany you, then.”

you hadn’t expected him to offer, and you feel the tension leave your body slowly. maybe you were overreacting a bit, and maybe you just need to relax and enjoy the night like everyone else. you visit several stalls and shop around for a bit; you like the vice-captain’s company as he doesn’t say much, nor does he complain when you make him try various sweets to see which ones you should recreate. and while you might not intend to, you can’t help but flirt with him a little — touching his arm, laughing at his dry humor, standing much closer than necessary. beckman knows what you’re doing, but he doesn’t stop you; maybe shanks will get his act together if he thinks he has competition. you doubt he will, but it’s always worth a try, right?

DIAMOND X IN THE X ROUGH

after a while, the merriment feels stale; shanks’ laughter is hollow, forced, and unbecoming. and while on the surface it looks like he’s soaking up all the attention that’s being given to him, he’s not happy about it at all. a small frown works its way onto his lips as he tries to work out the cause of his unhappiness, completely ignoring his role in all of this. he’s not sure what’s missing — or, rather, he’s sure, but he just doesn’t want to say it out loud. that would make it real, and while he doesn’t want to make a habit out of it, shanks has been lying to himself for some time now. he knows that if he’d let you come with them, he’d be having much more fun — that thought alone makes him reconsider how he’s handled everything between you two.

the universe, it seems, has a cruel sense of humor. as his thoughts continue to berate him, he spots you walking with beckman. he narrows his eyes at you both but offers a smile — one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes — once you approach the table.

jaw clenched, shanks manages to greet you without fail. “hey there, lovebug.” there’s tension in his shoulders, and that amiable demeanor of his is shed, which makes the women near him a little reluctant as they squirm awkwardly in their seats. “thought i told you to stay on the ship,” he says lightly, as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. beckman sighs, knowing that shanks will most likely read into the situation incorrectly; but before he can explain himself, he sits back down in his seat and pours himself a drink.

“you don’t own me,” you say with a slight huff, glancing over at shanks from the corners of your eyes, “i’m allowed to go where i please.”

shanks almost laughs at that, but keeps it inside; he wants to tell you that you’re wrong, but he knows that this isn’t the right time or place for that sort of discussion. lucky roux offers to make some room for you, but you smile sweetly and announce that there’s no need. they all look at you, confused and a little intrigued, and before lucky roux insists again, you say, “i have a seat already.”

without warning, you gently perch your round ass on top of beckman’s lap, effectively silencing the group around you. it suddenly feels as if time has slowed down for shanks, who shifts in his chair as he watches you and beckman.

the vice-captain sighs again and playfully pinches your side, a move that does not go unnoticed by shanks, of course. you let out a small shriek, cheeks burning, and swat his hand before scooting up higher on his lap. the move alone nearly sends shanks and beckman into an early grave, for different reasons, obviously. meanwhile you’re smiling like a cat — mischievous and proud, as if you’ve cornered your prey and you’re ready to pounce.

you look so damn smug and shanks wants to fuck your mouth for all of that insolence.

beckman holds onto your hip as you cross your legs, revealing the deep slit in your skirt. your legs are on display, catching the eyes of everyone at the table and the random party goers passing by. shanks clenches his jaw so tightly, it’s a miracle he hasn’t cracked his teeth. he knows that you’re provoking him into acting out, and while he doesn’t want to feed into it, his jealousy knows no bounds right now. especially since he knows you’re not wearing any panties — it’s why you chose that particular skirt.

you really only wanted to tease shanks a little, so you’re on cloud-nine when you notice how bothered he is over your little act.

it takes an inordinate amount of strength, on shanks’ part, to not split beckman’s face in two for his complicit behavior. he’s being unfair, he knows that — but he doesn’t really care. yasopp and lucky roux try to diffuse the situation with lighthearted banter and jokes — they also tell their guests to leave, because knowing shanks this might not end well.

beckman leans forward, lips ghosting along the shell of your ear, making your body warmer than necessary. “settle down, bug, we don’t want to cause a scene, do we?” you shake your head at that and swallow back whatever complaints you want to say when you see the hardened look on shanks’ face. you’ve only ever seen him that serious when his anger reaches a certain point — so you know you’ve fucked up pretty badly. you have the decency to act ashamed as you slide off beckman’s lap and grab your bags. you should probably say something to shanks, but you don’t bother looking back at him and instead head back to the ship.

you’re absolutely furious right now and so is shanks.

beckman rubs the back of his neck before leaning forward. “i told you, captain,” he keeps his tone friendly, yet firm, “if you’re not careful, one of us will take bug away.” at that, shanks casts a sharp glance at the other crew members seated at the table — the intensity behind his gaze forces them to turn away and look at other things. shanks motions for one of them to slide the bottle of vodka his way, and beckman groans audibly.

“not again, shanks, let—”

as shanks isn’t in a negotiating mood, he cuts his first mate off quickly — maliciously, even — with venom sifting along his tongue, the layer thick enough he almost chokes on it. his voice is much too hoarse, but he spits out, “drink.”

it’s not a game that the red-hair pirates ever like to play with shanks, and he knows it; which is why he keeps insisting, and why his best friend keeps refusing. shanks’ anger reaches a tipping point; it transforms into a fire that steadily burns along the back of his neck, hot enough to make impulsive thoughts gather around him. the idea of extinguishing it never crosses his mind, although he knows that eventually he’ll need to face it head-on. and as he grips the bottle of alcohol tightly, a sharp moment of clarity hits him.

it’s by chance that he swallows it back, not wanting to make this even messier than it already is.

beckman shifts in his seat, a disapproving frown settling comfortably on his face. “it won’t be fair, i’m practically drunk already.”

“spare me the bullshit,” shanks says with a smile that serves as a small warning; he places a glass in front of beckman. “drink.” beckman pinches the space bridge of his nose and exhales a bit of his irritation. but when he picks up the glass, he recoils from the strong scent.

“this is practically rubbing alcohol.”

shanks only hums while shrugging lazily, before knocking back the drink; the burn revitalizes him, the pain reminds him that he’s alive. in a game of endurance, shanks always comes out on top. so it’s no wonder that beckman taps out after two shots.

“i value my liver, unlike you.”

this time, shanks’ laughter is genuine; he hops out of his chair and claps a hand on beckman’s back. “you’re forgiven,” he says when he leans down. as an afterthought, he adds, “this time.”

you’ve done a good job derailing his night — not that he can really blame you, he was being absolutely shameless in the worse way — so he’s decided he’s had enough. somehow, he’s rationalized that you’re the only childish and ridiculous person in this situation because he intends on stamping that attitude out.

SUN X STARS X MOON

you peruse shanks’ room while sipping from the bottle of rum you found. although you count tonight as a small victory against shanks, you didn’t think he’d get that mad. was all the teasing worth it, in the end? you leave the rum on the nightstand before climbing onto his bed and enjoy the softness of the mattress. maybe you overreacted, or maybe it’s all his fault. the guilt sits with you, until shanks enters his room.

“the hell are you doing back so soon?”

it’s not a proper greeting in the least, but you’re not exactly ready to deal with him just yet. but, since he’s already here, you might as well have it out. shanks closes the door and leans against it, partially obscured in the shadows as the moon bathes you in its light through the window.

“in case you’ve forgotten, this is my room and that’s my bed that you’re lounging comfortably on.”

he’s got you there. you roll your eyes in response, which draws out a chuckle from him once he pushes away from the door and goes to sit near you on the bed.

your emotions swell inside of you and become too heavy for you to keep hidden. “fine, whatever, i’ll leave.” you hop off the bed but then turn around. “you’re an asshole, you know that? you string me along for months and then anytime anyone else wants to talk to me you suddenly intervene.” the words tumble out of your mouth fluidly, you’re surprised your tongue could keep up. blinking back tears — because you refuse let him see you this vulnerable. “you piss me off so much, i… can’t do this anymore.”

it’s the first time that you’ve properly articulated how you’ve felt about this whole stupid situation. you feel a bit lighter but then sense of dread overcomes you, gnaws at your stomach — twisting and creating knots that make you want to run away forever. shanks takes a moment and mulls over your words, but his long silence is all the confirmation you need. you’re halfway to the door when he calls out to you.

“wait, come here.”

against your better judgment, you turn around and head back to his side. he sits on the edge of the bed, pulls you in between his legs, and warms an arm around you. “i hear you, bug, i really do.”

this is the first time he’s ever willingly said anything to make him vulnerable like that, so you relent, soften in his hold, allow your shattered heart to repair itself piece by piece. you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him softly. he’s normally much hastier with you — being a pirate captain, he barely has time to himself, so whenever he does get a moment to touch you, he’s always in a rush.

but tonight — the moon full and pink, hanging heavy in the sky, stars shimmering brilliantly around it — he opts to slow down. shanks takes his time memorizing the shape of your lips, tongue gently caressing yours as you sigh against his lips. he kisses you like he has all the time in the world, like he’s afraid you’ll leave him if he doesn’t. you’re certainly in no hurry to finish anytime soon. by the time you’re done kissing, you’re a little breathless and can barely hold it together. shanks, unsurprisingly, is in a similar predicament, as his cock hasn’t given him a day of peace since your ban started.

but he decides to let go and mumbles, “thirty days is a long fucking time,” and you laugh, surprised at his words.

you climb onto the bed with him, laughing as he drops playful kisses along your neck, and straddle him once he lies down on his back. you rub your ass against his stiff length, forcing him to groan audibly. he’s always more vocal when he’s tipsy, and the rum has you feeling bolder as the minutes pass by. before you can do it again, shanks slaps your ass hard and you let out an involuntary shriek.

he laughs at you, laughs at the way you’re suddenly acting demure, as if you weren’t the one who started this. “i thought you didn’t want anyone to hear you?” he gives you a knowing look and a sly smile crawls onto his face. heat travels along your skin, making your cheeks burn in the worst way; you place a hand over his mouth on impulse.

“shut up, what is wrong with you?”

you hate the way you’re suddenly embarrassed about all of this. shanks, however, takes it all in stride, laughing behind your hand and mumbling something unintelligible against your palm. he knows he needs to act quickly before she makes him cum in his pants without trying. so when you pull your hand back, he says, “come on, put your pretty pussy on my mouth.” you stare at him wide-eyed, but he doesn’t relent. you mumble something about possibly being too heavy, which makes him laugh at your ridiculous excuse.

“how many times do i need to show you?” his strength, he means.

before he can do anything too rash, you pull your skirt up and position yourself over his face, pussy already slick with your arousal. shanks runs his tongue along your folds, slipping it inside to give you a firm lick; he takes his time to eat you out, his pace tortuous but electrifying. you can barely keep quiet and moan louder than you mean to as you shamelessly ride his face. holding onto the headboard, a whirlwind whips about inside of your lower abdomen as he slurps your pussy sloppily. he pulls you closer, and your arousal drips down his lips and onto his chin. your pussy is always so eager for him, so naturally he wants to treat her right.

you lose a bit of your sanity when his tongue slips inside your hole, thrusting in and out, your whimpers and moans circling around him — the best sort of lullaby he could ask for. he flicks his tongue against your clit and you buck your hips, feverishly grinding your pussy on his tongue. he likes it when you let go like this — when you’re uncaring and free. you place so many barriers in front of your own happiness, so he’s determined to knock them all down while he can. you know it’s reckless to give in to your inhibitions like this, to fly this closely to this personified version of the sun. although, you do feel a surge of power, seeing him underneath you like that, in between your thick thighs.

if shanks is apollo, then you are a nymph with ties to the moon and the sea.

it’s when shanks swirls his tongue around your clit, mercilessly stroking it, sending tiny jolts through your thighs, making you tremble above him. the orgasm is transformative — you have tears in your eyes as you whimper pathetically, your pussy puffy and sensitive; but he doesn’t care. he licks your arousal off his lips, thinking you look divine and goddess-like in the interim following your orgasm.

time slows for you both, and maybe you’re imaging it, but your heartbeat matches his once you climb off of him. of course, as usual, shanks is smug and proud of himself, but when you start taking off your clothes and tossing them onto the floor, he follows suit. pre-cum drips slowly from the tip of his cock, and when you rub your wet pussy up and down his length, you let out a breathy moan. shanks watches you with lowered eyes, inhaling sharply once you sink down onto his cock.

your pussy swallows his girth with a slow descent, and he’s losing whatever sliver of control he thinks he has over himself when it comes to you. when his cock hits a particular spot, you shudder and moan his name; he could cum from that alone, he realizes, and it shocks the hell out of him. in retaliation, shanks thrusts into you once, then twice, as you claw at his chest and cry out for more. your pace quickens as you bounce on his cock, thighs trembling as you try to keep strong; the orgasm weakened you, but rather than give in, you keep going, rolling your hips against him, hypnotizing him without completely meaning to. he won’t last much longer at this rate, which is completely your fault, he reasons.

you ride him as long as you can, before frowning and slowing down. shanks looks at you slyly, unable to stop teasing you. “need some help?”

it’s your pride that doesn’t want you to ask for help, but you know that if you don’t, shanks will edge you until you’re on your knees in tears. “please.” if he wasn’t already teetering on the edge, your desperation would make him tease you more. he rolls so that he’s on top of you and leans forward to place kisses along your jaw and neck, loving how smooth and soft your skin is. because he’s obnoxious, he sucks and bites, leaving behind bruising marks on your neck and chest. he’s burning you alive, but you want more.

you drape your leg over his shoulder, and he kisses the inside of your thigh before flicking his tongue against your skin, enjoying the way you squirm underneath him, your heart beating much too fast in your chest, making you think seemingly impossible things. shanks slips his cock back inside of you, burying it completely, letting out a shaky breath at the way your plush walls suffocate him. the angle makes you buck your hips off the bed; he laughs darkly at your enthusiasm, but doesn’t move. the frustration alone could kill you; you want him to fuck you hard enough to shake your doubts, to combat all the warmth that keeps sliding through the cracks around your heart.

he moves his hips at his own leisure, giving you broad, powerful strokes — hard enough, that his balls slap against you, pussy squelching as he powers into you repeatedly. you should be embarrassed from the sounds alone — your pussy is wet enough for him to drown, but thankfully he’s got enough stamina to handle it.

each time his cock sinks deeper into your pussy, he feels reborn; like the sea — tumultuous, dizzying, captivating, and greedy — you suck him back in each time he tries pulling out. eventually, you wrap your arms around your thighs and he feels like you’re squeezing the remnants of his soul out of him. shanks rocks his hips against yours, rough and determined, sweat gliding along his skin. when he moans your name, your heart expands faster than you thought it would. shanks keeps his hips closer to yours, giving you short, quick thrusts, fucking you to remind you that he has no intention of letting you go. his breath is warm against your skin and you kiss him again, giving him ardent, sloppy tongue kisses that do nothing to calm you down. he swallows your moans as another orgasm grips you by the throat and nearly claims your life.

your pussy clenches around him tightly, so he takes that as a challenge and fucks you harder, giving you brutal, punishing strokes — frenetic and dizzying, making your mind spin too fast for you to keep up.

“shanks, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

whatever else you say after that is lost on you, incoherent babbling that makes him laugh at you again. it’s out of adoration, you know it is, even if he won’t openly say it. shanks e works you through your orgasm, hips jerking against yours, before his own pushes him completely over the edge. after giving you a few lazy thrusts, he cums inside of you, messy but satisfying. shanks slows down and tries to catch his breath, as you push your curls away from your face. he doesn’t leave your side after he pulls out, instead he pulls you close to him, his hand rubbing up and down your back, his subsequent kisses intense and possessive.

you don’t exactly know what will happen tomorrow, but for now you’ll cherish this moment and commit it to memory. with everything that’s happened, he doesn’t want to see you in the arms of another, and you don’t want to keep pushing him away. you’re sure something’s shifted fundamentally between you two, especially when you lay on top of him and listen to the steady, powerful beats of his heart. you suppose you can give him a little leeway, but you won’t tell him that right away. there’s a warmth that cloaks itself all over you, keeping you moored to him for the rest of the night; he enjoys the silence that accompanies your presence, and decides that he’s going to keep you for as long as he can.

#it's finally done jfc #fic request #one piece imagine #one piece angst #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #shanks angst #shanks smut #shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #*washes hands*#‘i can change him’ 🥴#no tf i can’t!!! am i kidding?!#also… beckman… ur day will come don’t worry

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violet-evers · 4 months

Text

Come my love

and rule with me

Over night's endless eternity

Where the stars reside

Where the flame of love

illuminate the skies

And bring dreams to life

-VS

#spilled words #spilled poetry #spilled thoughts #poetry #love #poem #dear diary #diary #eternity #rulers #sky #my moon and stars #moon #night #stars

10 notes · View notes

laceyjane44 · 8 months

Text

GaaSaku 2023 FanFest Day10

Prompt: Desert

(Day 1: Prequel)

Before the sun had risen, Sakura slipped from her sleeping mat and, in the dim light cast by the remaining stars, she quietly tiptoed passed those sleeping in camp and made off for a nearby trail. No one stirred in the encampment, though the woman bed down next to her did turn away at the disturbance when Sakura pulled closed the zippers on her shoes. She’d forgone her blanket for her cloak, it was thicker and would provide better warmth when she left the windbreak of the large dune and stepped out into the open skies of the desert.

Nearly unnoticed, there had been only one that witnessed her departure from camp, and he soon followed a good distance behind her.

With quiet footsteps, her shoes found the hard-packed earth of the trail and she pulled the deep hood of the cloak over her head. Stepping off the winding path, she was now exposed to the winds whipping across the open landscape as she hiked up the side of the towering dune it encircled. She clutched the stiff fabric of the cloak tightly around her as she ascended. Her feet sunk into the sand as the slopped edges of the dunes adjusted to bear her weight, and she huffed quietly as she climbed the few hundred feet to the top. It was exhausting to travel with the ground constantly slipping away under her feet and, ever since they entered this land of endless dunes, she’d wondered how the ones to call this place home managed on a daily basis.

Their hosts had insisted that they have adequate gear for their journey out and, even so, they’d been given a few top rank guides to help them along the way. She had thought it overkill at first, the insisted upon gear alone was twice what she brought with for missions back home, but after their first afternoon of glaring sun, followed by a sudden windstorm kicking up a milewide cloud of dust and sand, and the jarring temperature drop when day shifted to dusk, she began to have a new appreciation for the weight that she carried.

Sakura sat with her cloak pulled around her knees at the crest of the dune, nose going a little pink from the chilly breeze of the early morning, and she looked out to the east. She wondered if the sun had already risen over Konoha, they had come so far in their journey to Suna for the chunin exams, everyone back home was likely already starting their day. She smiled to herself, hoping to return with a new title and a boastful tale or two to regale her parents with. As for now, though, she simply wished to see the sunrise.

At the base of the dune, standing in its shadow, Gaara watched as she huddled in the breeze. He’d been perplexed to see her leave camp and didn’t want her losing her way, but she hadn’t gone far and figured he could let her enjoy the sights that morning in the desert had to offer. He of all people understood the desire; he’d seen nearly every sunrise out here during his lifetime, they were one of the few quiet moments of beauty he’d been privileged to.

Far off in the distance, with no tree lines to obscure the horizon, the dark blue skies began to lift. Overhead was still a kaleidoscope of stars; twinkling, dazzling, illuminating the black backdrop until the light of the rising sun began to snuff them out one by one. Once cool tones of blues and purples, the horizon now began to shine in a pale yellow, chasing away the stars and casting immense dune shadows across the undulated landscape. Yellows turned to oranges turned to reds, a blended swath of masterful design set alight.

Brighter and brighter still, until suddenly the fiery orb of the sun broke past the horizon and the desert that stretched out before Sakura glowed warm and golden. Blazing, obscured by the atmosphere, she watched it ascend in a swift and smooth trajectory, passing behind the wispy faraway clouds and setting their edges aflame. Bewitched, Sakura removed her hood from about her face, wanting to feel the light of the morning grow warm against her skin, wanting the refreshing breeze to blow through her hair.

The frazzled strays from her bedhead caught the sun and, just as the clouds had, the pastel pink of her hair glowed in haloed welcome of the oncoming day. Gaara felt his sand stirring at his feet, a compulsion to weightlessness, and then all at once and without sound, he was standing behind her watching the same sunrise that had beckoned her away from camp.

She must’ve been used to his presence by now, she didn’t seem to notice him at first, and he was able to silently observe for a moment as she pulled some of her windblown locks behind her ear.

“Is it to your liking?” he asked, enjoying the way her eyes widened and swiveled around to look up at him; the fiery red reflection of the sun contrasting vividly with a bright emerald green.

She flinched back and gasped. “Gaara – I mean, Lord Kazekage,” she floundered, surprise and mild embarrassment evident on her face as she glanced down the dune behind him. She cleared her throat, not expecting to use her voice yet. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he said back, his own voice a little groggy after rousing from his meditation, and he took a moment to ponder her greeting before offering, “It’s just us, it will be all right if you call me by name.” She nodded, securing her cloak around her once again. “So?” he continued. “How is it?”

She laughed a little nervously to herself at being taken by such surprise, and looked back out to the ocean of sand glittering like gold under the growing light. “Amazing, I’ve never seen a sunrise quite like it,” she said quietly after a moment, gripped by the devastating and raw beauty of this landscape that had evaded her until now. “The sights are stunning out here.”

Gaara looked out to the desert she admired, his desert in a way, it always gave him a feeling of being at home and at peace, even as a little blip in the vastness of it all. “There is a certain charm to it,” he had to agree with her. “Those lacking in discernment struggle to see that, though.”

Sakura smiled at this. “I’m glad I’ve had no trouble, then.”

True, he’d been noticing the same ever since he rendezvoused with the oncoming contestants from the east so that he and his siblings could escort them safely to the hidden city. A bit perplexed but accepting of their extensive precautions, she had welcomed every challenge of the desert with a wide-eyed excitement and wonder for a world so unlike her own. In the sweltering heat and glaring afternoon sun; she had been awestruck, when he’d conjured stillness in the presence of the windstorm; she’d grinned with excitement at the monumental force of it overhead and all around, and here she sat in mesmerized appreciation of the artful gift gracing the desert skies each morning and each night.

Looking over her shoulder, she caught his gaze and asked, “Will we be leaving soon?”

Gaara shook his head, studying the way her skin glowed in the unobstructed light. “The camp hasn’t woken yet; enjoy the sunrise.” She looked back out to the landscape before her and shivered a little as a gust flew past them. “May I join you?”

She didn’t look back up at him after his question, but she gave him a nod. “Of course,” she said pulling in the side of her cloak, offering him a spot next to her. “It’s beautiful.”

He took a second longer to study the way the warm gradient of light painted a perfect backdrop for her silhouette, musing that he never thought something so light and delicate looking; like the flower of her namesake, could look so perfectly bathed in the morning glow of the arid landscape that he called home. Peculiar thoughts swam about in his head; skin in the sunlight, hair in the breeze, eyes quietly aflame.

“Yes,” he muttered quietly, the rising sun all but forgotten to him. “It is.”

Thanks for reading!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceyJane

FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2120361/WiccadBaltane0501

#gaasaku #sabaku no gaara #sakura haruno #ao3 #fan fest 2023 #gaasaku fan fest #gaara #gaaraxsakura #sakugaa

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curator-on-ao3 · 9 months

Note

For the first sentences asks (I know it's like, 3):

"I don't know what to say, but I'm going to want you till the stars evaporate - we're only here for just a moment in the light, one day it shines for us the next we're in the night. So say the word and I'll be running back to find you, a thousand armies won't stop me I'll break through. I'll soar the endless skies for only one sight of your starlight."

~ enterprise-come-in 🖖

The last note of the lyric seems to linger, then the viewscreen fades to black.

Chris recognizes the song. It’s an old one called “Starlight,” an apt choice for the person who lit his life for decades before he found out she could actually illuminate, a bright red glow of healing and hope that he had tried to forget on Starbase Eleven, those days and weeks and months when she wasn’t where she said she would be — impossible because Una never, ever, wasn’t where she said she would be — which meant something was terribly wrong.

But she purportedly sent him this message, singing, and the illusion of Vina by his side — not the real Vina, not the woman so disgusted by her own infirmities that she’s disgusted by his, too — tilts her head, blonde hair shining in the artificial light, voice echoing off the cave walls. “What do you think?”

Frustration balls the illusion of Chris’ fists. “I think it’s another trick. I think our keepers — Do you hear me? Do you hear how this isn’t going to work? — I think they want me to believe this is a real message from the real Una. But it’s not. Our keepers pulled the information from my mind that Una loves to sing, that I love to hear her sing, but that message wasn’t the real Una.”

The illusion of Vina smiles, a twisted imitation of a real smile’s curved lips and raised cheeks, repulsive in a way the real Vina isn’t, even if she believes herself to be, believes him to be also now that he’s injured. “You’re right.”

It’s as if the battery that keeps his heart beating turns to acid and he’s cold, so cold, bitter realization causing the illusion of his fists to ball up even tighter, so tight the illusion of his fingernails dig into the illusion of his palms. “What did you do to her?”

The illusion of Vina hums, some Gilbert and Sullivan song, and she twirls, one hand in the air as if conducting an orchestra, and the viewscreen is brought to life again, a video feed of Una within the planet’s cave network, a Talosian punishment not by fire — those must be for him, for his expectation of hell — but by a crowd of what look like humans and the humans are kicking her, punching her, shouting the cruel names she was called as a child. She defends herself, arms up to block the worst of the blows, probably saving her energy by not fighting back with her full abilities or by not forming the base emotions that, though exhausting, would dissolve the illusions.

Yet Chris’ anger that threatens to choke him — pure rage toward the abuse she’s enduring — confirms that this version of Una is absolutely real.

“What you’re seeing,” his base emotion causes the illusion of Vina to lose cohesion, a disembodied Talosian voice speaking instead to an immobilized Chris in his support chair, “is yet another attempt to break the female you call Number One. A uniquely willful creature. We’ve had her for almost half a year, yet she refuses to cooperate or even to speak to us except to insist that she must go to Starbase Eleven to see you. We don’t want to kill her, yet she has been most frustrating.”

The viewscreen goes dark.

And pieces of the mental puzzle snap into place. Why Una went radio silent. Why Spock came to the starbase instead of Una. Maybe even why Spock brought him here. Spock must have known the Talosians had captured Una and there was no other way to get to the planet — to get Chris to the planet — except to risk mutiny.

“We first showed you an illusion of her,” a Talosian steps in, mental communication, footsteps and the rustle of long robes the only sound, “to determine if your feelings for her remain the same.”

Chris forces his anger away enough to regain his own illusion, to stand tall, to speak: “Why?”

The Talosian’s smile is identical to the twisted one from the illusion of Vina.

And Chris knows.

“You never gave up, did you?” He’s learned the facility these last few weeks, identified Talosian weaknesses he can’t exploit by himself but could with Una’s help. “You wanted an Adam and Eve and were willing to kidnap both of us — manipulating Spock along the way — to get us.”

There’s a nod. “You will explain to her the futility of fighting us. You will tell her how your time here has been pleasant, how her time here could be pleasant as well. You both will assist us in identifying a suitable partner for Vina. These are our eminently reasonable demands.”

Chris can do that.

He can reassure Una that it’s not futile to fight the Talosians.

He can tell her how a veneer of pleasantness has allowed him to figure out a plan of escape that he’s sure they can accomplish together.

He can do what he should have done in the first place and take Vina with them, get Vina to a place where Vina can get help undoing the damage the Talosians have done to her mind, to her sense of self-worth.

“I agree.” Chris’ chest swells with truth, hope.

Veins on the Talosian’s head bulge and a cave wall slides open like a door.

And Una is there, a bloody gash across her forehead, her hair tangled and half-wild, what’s left of her Starfleet uniform caked with dried blood and cave dirt, and Chris lets hatred for the Talosians flood his mind, reassurance that what he’s seeing is absolutely real.

“Chris.” There’s a twitching by Una’s eyes, the effort of employing a base emotion to ensure reality.

And he has his support chair flash once for yes, even though she didn’t ask, even though she knows it’s him, but there’s no other way for him to communicate — yet, she said she was working on that algorithm the last time they spoke — and, if he could, he would dance, he would sing the way she does whether she’s an illusion or real, a triumphant song of yes, yes, yes, because she’s real and she’s safe and they’re going to get out of here, he’s sure of it.

[for the “send me a sentence and I’ll write the next five” ask game, for which the rules of the ask game are clearly being flouted by all concerned.]

✨this story now also on AO3✨

#five sentences ask game #i love asks #christopher pike #una chin riley #number one #star trek strange new worlds #star trek the original series #this is probably the easiest i have ever let spock off for the menagerie #can be read as romantic or platonic #pikeuna #pikeone #that got sort of heavy #blood #disability #perseverance #save vina #enterprise-come-in

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

Text

𓅨 As Dawn Breaks: Chapter Twenty-Three

As Dawn Breaks: Mother Night and Father Time, after having sired seven Endless to personify life in the known universe, create Earth and human life begins. One last Endless is created: Dawn, the personification of illumination and hope, the beginning of a new day and a chance for happiness and improvement. A love will span thousands of millennia, breaking with every sunrise and renewing hope come sunset. Yet, even the personification of hope can lose the very notion of her existence from the sting of a broken heart.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Dream/Morpheus x Endless!FemaleReader(Dawn), This Involves Themes That Are Not For Everyone.

Word Count: ~2.0k

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“I hope that you will give Madam Lucienne my greetings?” Ruta asked as you and her moved towards your gates. Your eyes glittered as you gave her a teasing look.

“You believe that I shall forget, my friend?” You questioned with a small giggle. Ruta raised her eyebrow at you and your smile widened. “I believe the library will be one of my first visits.” Ruta hummed in appeasement as you pulled the skirts of your dress around. “I will be gone for a few days at most, I trust that you will keep The Gardens running smoothly?”

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt?” Ruta challenged back, you chuckled and shook your head.

“Of course not, you, perhaps, run my realm even better than I.”

“Oh I doubt that, my lady,” Ruta denied, setting back as stardust and flower petals started swirling around you. “Pleasant travels, Dawn.” You have her one last smile and head dip before disappearing from your realm. Moments later, you found yourself standing in front of the great Ivory Gates. The massive dragon that guarded the walls of the palace and town, shifted and eyed you. It lazily blinked at you, its interest very quickly dissipating as you had never, and never would be, a threat to the realm. “Still aloof as ever,” You commented before slipping through the gates and walking towards the town.

Everything was exactly as you had remembered them to be, the winding path that tread through the town and bridged to the palace. The realm was flourishing with life and dreams, even more than previously. Humming as you walked, you looked to the skies as your dove swooped overhead, happy to once again be in The Dreaming. You chuckled once more and wondered who had become Morpheus’s raven after poor Jessamy. Surely your lover wasn’t punishing himself by remaining alone. You would find out soon enough.

Crossing a bridge into the village, you were met with faces that glowed with happiness and joy at your return, and you found it hard to continue forwards to your intended destination. It was utterly heartwarming to be surrounded by friends and their beaming smiles. The baker rushed up to you and gave you a long hug, the smell of flour once again reminding you of the delicious baked treats you used to indulge in. Then it was the fish monger, eagerly presenting you with some pearls they had grown within their hatchery. The strand glimmered and shown, echoing the stars and skies above. Just like a certain beings eyes. You gratefully accepted the strand of pearls, overjoyed to have received a gift that would remind you of Morpheus.

“I will have to run by your hatcheries soon,” You spoke as the fish monger preened. “I can only imagine what you have accomplished while I was away.” The little conversations continued, distracting you from your task of meeting with Morpheus within his palace. But you didn’t mind, or cared. These were your friends, and just short of being your own people. You had missed them terribly. By the time you reached the other end of the village, a woman was shooing off the remaining villagers, calling out the apparent.

“Go on! Go on!” The woman called, wiggling her fingers at the villagers and making vines grow up from the cobbled ground to prevent them from getting any closer. “Lady Dawn is certainly here for Lord Dream, let’s not keep her waiting!” You were ashamed to admit that it took you a half minute to recognize the fully grown dream in all her natural beauty and flowing locks. Flōs and bloomed into an incredible dream. When the villagers finally receded back to the marker, and Flōs turned back to you, you smiled faintly.

“It seems you’ve gotten well adapted to your powers, Flōs,” You mused, observing the dream and overjoyed to see how she was flourishing. Flōs’s eyes glowed with happiness and she returned your smile.

“I’ve had many years to practice, and excellent and patient teachers,” Flōs replied before fluttering over to you and taking your arm. “Come along, my lady, we both know who you really came to see.” You couldn’t help the little ripple of heat that surged up your neck as Flōs pulled you along the bridge to the palace.

“I am not talking about such things with you of all dreams, Flōs.” You murmured, your cheeks feeling warm. She eyed you and smirked.

“Oh please, you think I don’t know what goes on between couples? Hate to break it to you, mother, but I am well equipped on the knowledge of sex.”

“Flōs!” You scolded her. “You are a—“

“Not a child anymore!” She sang, her eyes sparkling deviously. “Besides, my boyfriend certainly knows his way around my—“ You covered her mouth with your hand, feeling her laughter.

“Flōs, my dear child, I do not need to hear about your sexual endeavors with whatever dream or nightmare you are currently courting.” You told her sternly. She pouted at me.

“But who am I supposed to have girl sex talk with?” Flōs complained before giving me pleading eyes. “Everyone else is too prim and proper or old and drab.” You arched an eyebrow at her.

“And you that I am the person for that job? Flōs, I am eons older than you and considered your mother.” You reminded her before glancing at the palace. “I really should be going, Flōs, Morpheus is surely waiting for me and is not above coming out to retrieve me.” Flōs giggled and wiggled her eyebrows. You softly groaned before sighing.

“Get your mind out of the compost, Flōs,” You snipped at her. She rolled her eyes and you saw the little snippets of thoughts running through her mind.

“Oh please, you are thinking exactly what I’m thinking about right now.” You hated that she was right, it was so hard picture Flōs as a woman now when all you had known was a little dream struggling to control her gift. You sighed.

“Fine, fine,” You stated, massaging your forehead. Flōs’s eyes brightened and flowers began to bloom from her dress. “We can talk, later. I have some promises to keep and you are currently hindering me, young one.” Flōs looked appeased at your words.

“Say hi to Lucienne for me!” Flōs crowed before spinning around and darting back towards the village. Flowers bloomed where her feet landed and petals fluttered from her dress as she ran. You let out a breath, a smile on your lips. It brought peace to you to see that Flōs was doing well. Continuing on your way to the palace, you passed through the gates, eying the trio of guardians lounging around. The wyvern, griffin, and hippogriff all bowed their heads to you in greeting. At least they were still welcoming to you after your extended absence.

Passing through the gates, you made your way into the palace and headed in the direction of library first. You would have gone straight for the throne room to see Morpheus, but you had a feeling that the moment you set eyes on each other… you wouldn’t be able to take your hands off him. It had only been days since you had-had the pleasure of being within your lovers arms once more, and oh how ravenous he had been. You had felt his love long after he had returned to his realm. In fact, you could still feel his touch on your body, his essence merging with yours. Your hand brushed over your neck were the echos of his kisses and nips still simmered beneath your skin.

Oh yes, you were going to have to say hello to Lucienne and Mervyn first or you would never get to say hello this trip. Hurrying your footsteps because surely Morpheus had sensed the moment you had arrived and would be expecting you, you found the great wooden doors to the library and pushed one open. The smell of old books and fresh ink flowed into your nose and you took a relaxing deep breath. It wouldn’t be too hard to hunt down your favorite librarian. Walking down an aisle, you felt the hum of Lucienne before you saw her. Emerging from the rows of books, you spotted Lucienne hunch over an open book on the lone table. She had her finger running along the words, clearly searching for something.

You took to observing her, taking comfort in her spectacles and tailcoat. She was always so prim and proper, the voice of reason within The Dreaming. You had to admit that it was probably she who was really in charge. Lucienne kept things running smoothly within the realm.

“You look awfully concentrated on that book, is Morpheus over working you again, my friend?” You softly asked, peering at the librarian who jumped in place the moment you had spoke. Lucienne whirled around to face you, her eyes wide and ears twitching. You smiled. “He’s not overworking you again?”

“Lady Dawn,” Lucienne spoke in a strained voice, almost not believing what her eyes were showing her. “You’re back.”

“A few eons too late but yes,” You confirmed, nodding your head. “I’m back, I hope you are well?” Lucienne cleared her face and dipped her head in a nod.

“Of course, my lady, we are all well,” She answered you. “I fear that we all were most worried about your disappearance.” Your chewed your lower lip and sighed.

“I think I was a bit childish in my anger.” Lucienne let out a dignified snort.

“Childish? If I am not mistaken, Lord Morpheus said some hurtful things to you.” She huffed at you, pushing her spectacles up her nose. “And if I heard correctly, you were in a delicate state.” An ache briefly fluttered in your chest.

“It was probably for the best and he’s groveled well enough to me.” You told her before Matthew came fluttering into the library, swopping down to land on the table. You looked at him and smiled. “Hello Matthew.”

“Hiya, Dawn, Morpheus seems kinda moping that you’re here and haven’t visited him yet. You gonna change that before my boss starts crying?” Both you and Lucienne raised eyebrows at the image of Morpheus crying because you were ignoring him. “What?” Matthew asked, looking between you. “Even I can see that he’s brooding because Dawn is giving attention to everyone but him.”

“You do realize that the moment I go to him that is the last you will see of me this trip… right young Matthew?” You questioned the raven as Lucienne’s ears twitched at your implication. Matthew cocked his head to the side in confusion. Then it came to him.

“OH!” He exclaimed, jumping in place and flapping his wings. If he had eyebrows he surely would have been wiggling them at you. “You totally have him whipped, don’t you.” You blinked at the cackling raven, not understanding what it mean to have Morpheus ‘whipped’. You would never attempt to cause such harm to his physical being!

“I would never whip him, Matthew!” You exclaimed, the raven fell over in a fit of laughter which only made your confusion deepen. Lucienne cleared her throat.

“I believe what Matthew is trying to get at, my lady, is that Lord Morpheus would do anything and everything for you, should you ask of him.” You blinked and your eyebrow rose.

“Well based on his groveling and adamant apologies… I think you are quite right, Matthew.” You replied, looking at the still cackling raven. Your eyes flickered to Lucienne’s. “I suppose I should put his lordship out of his misery?”

“Please do,” Lucienne sighed, adjusting her spectacles. “I need Lord Morpheus in working shape and he isn’t in such a condition when he is moping.” I.e., Morpheus was useless to his realm when he was thinking of you, which was an increasing occurrence as of late. You cleared your throat as your cheeks flamed with heat once more.

“I— Yes, I will see to that,” You murmured, wrapping your fingers together. “Apologies for getting him in such state… it is not my intuition to do so…”

“Oh we’re quite aware of that,” Matthew, who had finally gotten over his laughing fit, said as he wiped his little eyes with his midnight wing. “Have fun!”

“Matthew!” Lucienne scolded the raven as you fled from the library and from the raven’s teasing. Oh how nice it felt to have such friends around you again.

Date Published: 4/3/23

Last Edit: 4/3/23

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#morpheus x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #sandman x reader #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #the sandman #dream the endless x reader

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ibrithir-was-here · 1 year

Text

Wonderful Baby

(Little fluffy one shot of the first time Hob meets Daniel in the Endless Heirs AU)

Hob Gadling opened his eyes to find himself lying on his back in Fiddlers Green, looking up at the shimmer of a hundred thousand blazing stars. Each one shining brighter and bolder than he'd seen in the Waking World for almost two centuries now, since the skies had begun to fill with smog and street lights.

But here in the Dreaming they were still as bright and joyful as he'd known them in his long ago youth. Each pinprick of light the Platonic ideal of all that a star should be within the minds and hearts and dreams of humanity.

One star in particular caught his eye, twinkling above him with a brightly verdant glow, something Hob had never seen with stars in the Waking. It sparkled even brighter as he looked on, and Hob had the oddest sensation that he was watching the star giggle.

Though perhaps it wasn't too odd really, this was the Dreaming after all. Sometimes you just knew things here without knowing how you knew them. Like how he could know a star was giggling without hearing it.

But before Hob could think on this further, the star shone out brighter than ever before, and then suddenly plunged down across the sky, heading out over the wide plain of Fiddlers Green, leaving a trail of emerald sparks behind it.

Hob was up and after it in an instant, following that other peculiar instinct of the Dreaming, the kind that drove the dreamer further into its embrace with a feeling of " well why not ?"

His feet raced across the grass with more grace and speed than he knew he'd ever had in the Waking, even in his best days. It felt more like flying than running after a while, like he was being pulled along by the shooting star blazing away above him as it shot on towards its ultimate destination, wherever that might be.

And where it ended up being was the outstretched arms of a very familiar figure, who caught the star in those pale arms as it rocketed downwards, lithe body bending in a way as they took the star's weight that reminded Hob as nothing so much as when he used to toss a gleeful Robyn up in the air and catch him once more in the safety of his arms.

Hob's breath caught slightly in his throat at the thought, but he sucked it back in quickly so that he could joyfully call out:

"Dream!"

The figure turned, revealing the beloved face, that wonderful small smile lighting it as brightly as the fallen star had illuminated the night sky.

"Hob"

Dream's voice drifted out towards Hob with gentle warmth as Hob came closer. Normally when Hob found him in the Dreaming his beloved would reach out his hand in welcome, but those hands were currently occupied with--

"That's a baby "

Hob said dumbly, coming to a halt just in front of Dream as the sight he was seeing finally caught up with his slightly reeling mind.

Technically the child being cradled to Dream's chest, still shaking emerald stardust from their snowy white hair was more of a toddler, but still. It was Dream. With a baby.

"Yes. This is Daniel"

Dream said, shifting the boy to his hip so that Daniel could look out at Hob with large blue-green eyes, eyes that sparkled in their depths with hidden stars, just like Dream's.

"Is he--is he yours ?"

Hob couldn't help the faint gasp in his voice as he asked. It was just--just so strange, to think of his Stranger with a child. Hob knew Dream had been a father of course. He had met Orpheus after all, had…had helped him pass on. But Orpheus had been a man, and a man at the end of a long,l ong sad life. To see this child here, happy and bright and just at the very beginning of it all…and to not have known about him…

"After a manner, yes"

Dream's voice was as placid as ever, though Hob thought he could catch the slightest, barest hint of uncertainty. Uncertainty as to how Hob would react to this unexpected revelation of a sudden baby.

Hob suddenly had another thought that sent him reeling.

"Is--is this our baby?? Like--did we make a dream baby somehow when we--er…?"

He trailed off quickly, his face flushing deeply as Dream's lips quirked at Hob's flustering, dark eyes glittering with fond amusement.

"He was born in and of the Dreaming yes, but not due to any… activities undertaken by us. His parents of birth are two mortals named Hector and Lyta Hall. But being born of the Dreaming he has claim to my sireship as well. He is my heir, to both my realm and my station and…and beyond all that he is … he is, dear, to me"

The soft look that came into Dream's face as he pulled the child close, lips brushing over white curls as small pudgy hands reached up to pat Dream's cheeks, nearly melted Hob on the spot. He didn't think he'd ever seen Dream look so open, so at ease, so…so enraptured by the small being held close to his heart.

Something caught in Hob's throat at the thought of how this must be something close to how Dream must have been ages before, holding a young Orpheus just as close.

"Daniel, this is Hob Gadling"

Dream's rumbling voice broke into Hob's reverie, Dream looked up from the child to grace Hob with a small smile as he added,

"He is quite dear to me as well"

Hob thought his heart might really have melted at that, he felt warm all through.

"Hello sweetheart"

Hob said softly, coming up close to the child with a small smile of his own. Daniel smiled shyly back at him, leaning into Dream but looking at Hob with interest, no fear at all.

"Hob Gadling, that's me. You've got quite a fine Papa here, I hope you know that"

Hob was rewarded for his compliment by a wide smile from Daniel and the slightest blush gracing Dream's pale cheeks.

"You are a consument flatterer Hob Gadling"

Daniel's face screwed up suddenly, his gaze fixed on Hob and for a moment Hob was afraid he was about to cry, until the boy opened his mouth and began babbling:

"Ho-hopgbllk-- Hob Gbbl--"

Hob couldn't help but laugh aloud, both from the baby babble, and from the look of frustration on Daniel's face as he struggled with Hob's name, it reminded him so much of Dream.

"You can just call me Hob, can you say Hob?"

Daniel appeared to actually mull it over for a moment, tiny lips pursed in a way that very much reminded Hob of Dream, before tentatively offering:

"H-Hop --Hob!"

Hob beamed . That warm feeling in his chest blazed like the shooting star that had led him here. The star he now realized must have been Daniel himself entering the Dreaming for the night.

"Hob!! Yes! Good job sweetheart!"

Daniel began bouncing up and down in Dream's arms, clearly delighted with his success and Hob's praise.

" Hob Hob Hob !!"

And suddenly, Daniel was reaching out towards Hob, hands grabbing for him as his tiny body strained towards Hob.

Hob's breath caught in his throat, he looked up towards Dream, hesitating. Dream gave a slight nod of permission, another small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Tentatively, Hob reached out his arms, and Daniel promptly launched himself into them. Hob stumbled back slightly, but quickly righted himself, pulling the child close. Daniel quickly snuggled up to him, little arms wrapping around Hob's neck, soft and warm and comfortablely heavy against his chest.

Hob's heart was melting again.

"Oh he's perfect"

He whispered reverently, pressing a kiss of his own to the top of Daniel's head, stroking a hand softly through the pale curls, watching with bittersweet delight as they bounced back into place, the memory of another child's sandy curls playing in his mind's eye.

"He appears fond of you as well"

Dream's fond smile faltered slightly as Hob looked up at him, eyes wet and shining. Hob quickly gave a watery smile of his own to show he was fine, he was really, it was just…

"It's been so long…"

He whispered, pressing his cheek into Daniel's curls, trying to keep the slow trickle of tears escaping his eyes from falling on the child's face.

Dream came forward, and enveloped both Hob and Daniel within the circle of his arms, pulling them softly to his chest. Daniel looked up at Dream from his seat in Hob's arms and smiled with all the happy contentment that only children could have.

Dream smiled back, but Hob could see the wet shine in his own eyes noe as Dream's hands mimicked Hob's earlier movements, carding through Daniel's soft snowy hair.

"Yes, I know"

And Hob knew Dream did, and that he meant it for them both. For the sons they had both lost too soon, far, far too soon.

But now…now maybe they both had a chance for a new start. Nothing and no one could ever replace their sons, but Hob was never one to throw away the blessing of a second chance when it came his way.

He adjusted his hold on Daniel so that he could wipe at his eyes with his sleeve, before looking back down at the boy and saying softly, holding him close:

"Well, we're a lucky pair to get to have you underfoot, aren't we love?"

Dream's head came down to rest on top of Hob's, pulling him closer as well.

"Indeed we are"

He whispered with a smile.

"Indeed we are"

#my writing #endless heirs au #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #daniel hall #orpheus the sandman #robyn gadling #sandman #the sandman #sandman comics #sandman spoilers #sandman au #the sandman netflix

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kotikaleo · 1 year

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HIiiii i have a thing for you!

This is the continuation of this thing. Tagging my friend @amenalyme who is the creator of second (unconscious) iterator uwu

I really like how this turned out. It looks like a print on a page that was made by carving the negative image and then pressing it to a sheet of paper, I really like it! Also look at the lizard! No thoughts brain empty XD

#rain world #my art #night on five drops of warmth #Night on Five Warm Drops #I realized I do not know how Lym calls their oc qwq #we just have been calling them messenger #because that's what their role is #stars illuminating endless skies

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scalacaelumxx · 8 months

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If you're still taking writing requests, do you think you could write something romantic/slightly non-platonic between Hoder and Vidar? Also, do you have an ao3 account?

Full disclosure: This is my current favorite pairing. So, this ask also prompted a much longer fic that's currently clocking in at 3k words and still has another 1-2k words to go before its finished! But I wanted to post something in the meantime for this, so here you go!

And I do have an Ao3 account! It's right here (hopefully)

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The night was quiet and dark. The sun had been set for hours now; the only light illuminating the tall, weathered tower was the moon, almost full and picturesque in the sky. A vast expanse of seemingly endless stars dotted the skies around them. The abandoned island currently sat slightly less so, the two students who had snuck up the flights of stairs the first visitors in a long while. In the distance lights reflected and bounced off the water. A reminder that they were hardly far from home. But their backs faced that reminder, the pillar of a building in the center forgotten to them for the time being. For now, their eyes were on the dark horizon of the sea ahead of them.

Leaving the main island wasn’t impossible. In fact, it could be fairly easy. If not easy, at least far from difficult. This island, in particular, still had a running gondola line. The windmills littering the island generated its energy without regards to the current lack of population, and the automatic systems to this one had yet to be disabled. The creaking of those windmills and the lapping of the ocean waves far, far down below were the only sounds that reached where they had settled, leaning against the walled railing. The only voices that spoke were their own in hushed and gentle whispers. Everything was quiet. The night, this place, was peaceful. Tonight, it was theirs.

Out here, they were away from the expectations that had been thrust onto their shoulders. They could just be…them.

Vidar sighed as a cool, misty breeze swept over the platform, the stress of their day, teachings, and responsibilities easing off his shoulders as his tension left with the exhale. He could catch Hoder’s smile in the dim light as she stood beside him. On this abandoned island, he wasn’t Odin’s perfect student. And she wasn’t solely responsible for her little brother’s wellbeing. They were just two souls who had snuck out late at night and trusted each other enough to share moments like this. Moments where they didn’t have to be who other people needed them to be.

So when Hoder reached out her hand and took his, he didn’t hesitate to give it a firm and reassuring squeeze before gently tugging her closer. She accepted and rested her head against his shoulder, leaning into his warmth and relaxing as her eyes wandered back out to the ocean. The stars’ reflections bounced back off the steady waves, and she let her eyes close as she lost herself in comfortable silence and the sound of the night moving around her.

#khdr #kingdom hearts #vidar #hoder #fanfic #request #listen these two deserved to be happy SO BAD #my heart hurts for them #I have so many thoughts and feelings about them I'm just constantly rotating them in my head like a microwave

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simpforfandom231 · 29 days

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The Vampire and The Angel

Lindsay is the future queen of Ethora, the reall of angels while y/n is the future queen of Rodion, the reall of Vampires. When Wolfs attack both realms borders, the vampires and Angels are forced to make a truce between them and fight the wolfs but….what happens when both princesses fall in love? Will their dynasties accept it or will war be more agressive than ever…

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In the ethereal expanse of Ethora, where the skies were painted with hues of lavender and gold, Lindsay Lohan soared gracefully through the clouds. Her white-gold wings gleamed under the soft sunlight, a testament to her lineage as the future queen of the angelic realm. With every beat of her wings, she felt the weight of responsibility and duty pressing down upon her slender shoulders.

As Lindsay descended towards the glistening palace of Ethora, her forest green eyes surveyed the kingdom below. Ethora was a realm of eternal beauty and serenity, a sanctuary untouched by the shadows that lurked beyond its borders. Yet, despite its tranquil facade, Lindsay knew that darkness lingered just beyond the horizon.

For millennia, angels and vampires had waged an endless war for dominance over the mortal realm. At the heart of their conflict lay a mysterious artifact known as the Cup of Eternity—a vessel said to possess the power to grant immortality to whomever possessed it. It was a coveted prize that had fueled countless battles and claimed countless lives.

Lindsay's thoughts drifted to the legends of her ancestors, who had valiantly fought against the vampire hordes in defense of Ethora. She knew that her own destiny was inexorably intertwined with the fate of her kingdom, and she was prepared to do whatever it took to ensure its survival.

Yet, amidst the chaos and bloodshed, there existed a force that Lindsay had yet to encounter—a force that would challenge everything she thought she knew about the world.

Unbeknownst to Lindsay, deep within the shadowed recesses of Rodion, another figure moved with equal grace and purpose. Y/N, the future queen of the vampire kingdom, prowled through the darkness with feline agility, her raven hair cascading like a waterfall of midnight silk.

Unlike Lindsay, Y/N was not bound by the constraints of honor or morality. She was a creature of the night, driven by an insatiable thirst for power and dominance. Her piercing blue eyes held a cold intelligence, a calculating gaze that missed nothing.

As Y/N traversed the labyrinthine corridors of her palace, she felt a sense of anticipation building within her. The time was drawing near for her to claim her birthright—to seize control of the Cup of Eternity and bend its power to her will.

Yet, even as Y/N plotted her ascent to power, a nagging sense of doubt gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. She knew that the path to immortality was fraught with peril, and that her enemies would stop at nothing to thwart her ambitions.

Little did she know that her greatest adversary awaited her in the form of an angel with fire-red hair and emerald eyes—a celestial being whose very existence threatened to unravel the carefully laid plans of centuries.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Ethora and Rodion into shadow, the stage was set for a confrontation that would shake the foundations of both realms. In the darkness, Lindsay and Y/N stood on opposite sides of a divide that could never be bridged—a divide that separated angel from vampire, light from darkness, and hope from despair.

And so, as the night unfolded and the stars gazed down upon the world below, the fate of Ethora and Rodion hung in the balance, waiting to be decided by the clash of swords and the whisper of wings.

The first rays of dawn crept through the towering windows of Y/N's bedchamber, casting a soft glow upon the opulent surroundings. As she stirred from her slumber, the pale light danced across her features, illuminating the delicate lines of her face. With a languid stretch, Y/N pushed herself upright, her dark hair cascading in waves around her shoulders.

In the corner of the room, a crackling fire cast flickering shadows against the walls, warming the air with its gentle heat. Y/N's gaze drifted to the ornate canopy bed where she had spent the night, its silk sheets whispering of luxury and decadence. Yet, despite the comfort of her surroundings, a sense of restlessness lingered in the depths of her soul.

With a sigh, Y/N rose from the bed and made her way to the wardrobe, where rows of elaborate gowns awaited her selection. As she browsed through the array of fabrics and colors, her thoughts drifted to the events that lay ahead—a day filled with ceremony and expectation, culminating in her coronation as the queen of Rodion.

Determined to project an image of regal authority, Y/N selected a gown of deepest black, its rich velvet shimmering in the dim light. With practiced ease, she slipped into the dress, the fabric molding to her slender form like a second skin. Adorned with jewels and lace, she felt the weight of her heritage pressing down upon her shoulders—a legacy of power and privilege that she both craved and resented in equal measure.

As Y/N descended the grand staircase that led to the heart of the palace, the air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread and exotic spices. Servants bustled about, attending to their duties with quiet efficiency, their movements a blur of motion and purpose.

In the dining room, King Thibor and Queen Selene awaited their daughter's arrival, their expressions masked by a facade of stoic indifference. Yet, beneath their composed exteriors, Y/N sensed a simmering tension—a tension born of unspoken fears and unfulfilled expectations.

Taking her seat at the head of the table, Y/N was greeted by the sight of a lavish spread laid out before her—a feast fit for royalty, yet lacking in the warmth of genuine affection. As maids bustled about, serving the royal family with practiced precision, Thibor turned to his daughter with a stern gaze, his voice tinged with authority.

"Are you prepared for tomorrow, my dear?" he asked, his tone betraying none of the warmth that a father might feel towards his daughter on such an occasion.

Y/N nodded, her gaze flickering briefly towards the window where the first hints of dawn were beginning to paint the sky with streaks of pink and gold. Despite her outward composure, she felt a surge of uncertainty coursing through her veins—a nagging doubt that whispered of destinies unfulfilled and paths not taken.

For Y/N was not like other vampires. She harbored no hatred towards the angels who had long been the sworn enemies of her kind. Instead, she found herself drawn to their beauty and grace, their wings shimmering like gossamer in the sunlight. It was a sentiment that Thibor and Selene viewed with disdain, a weakness that threatened to undermine their carefully laid plans for her future.

The rhythmic beat of footsteps echoed through the halls of the palace, heralding the arrival of a new presence. Y/N's attention was drawn away from her thoughts as her younger sister, Carmilla, bounded into the dining room with the exuberance of youth. Unlike Y/N's dark beauty, Carmilla possessed a radiant charm, her golden locks cascading around her shoulders like strands of spun sunlight.

"Good morning, everyone!" Carmilla chirped, her voice a cheerful melody that cut through the somber atmosphere of the room. With a carefree smile, she made her way to the table and took her place beside her sister, the stark contrast between their appearances serving as a reminder of their shared bloodline.

Queen Selene turned her gaze towards her youngest daughter, her expression softened by maternal affection. "And what do you have planned for today, my dear?" she inquired, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Carmilla's eyes sparkled with excitement as she spoke, her words tumbling forth in a rush of enthusiasm. "I thought I might spend the day with Lilith, Dalhia, Eamonn, and Fenrir," she replied, each name punctuated with a burst of energy.

Y/N's lips curled into a disdainful sneer at the mention of Carmilla's friends, her distaste for their company evident in the curl of her lip. "Those brainless morons?" she muttered under her breath, unable to contain her contempt.

Carmilla's smile faltered, her brow furrowing in offense at her sister's remark. "They're not brainless, Y/N," she retorted, her voice tinged with defensiveness. "They're just... different."

Y/N rolled her eyes, flicking her sister's forehead with a playful gesture. "Different in the same way that you're brainless, perhaps?" she teased, her tone laced with mockery.

Carmilla's expression darkened, her features contorted into a snarl as she bared her fangs in a display of aggression. "Watch your tongue, sister," she growled, her voice a low rumble that reverberated through the room.

Undeterred by her sister's threat, Y/N leaned forward, her own fangs glinting in the dim light of the dining room. "Or what?" she taunted, her voice dripping with contempt. "You'll bite me?"

Before the situation could escalate further, King Thibor intervened, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Enough," he commanded, his tone firm and authoritative. "Both of you, cease this bickering at once."

Y/N and Carmilla fell silent at their father's words, their eyes flickering with defiance even as they obeyed his command. It was a familiar pattern—a cycle of conflict and resolution that had played out countless times before. Yet, beneath the surface, a fissure had begun to form—a fracture in the facade of familial unity that threatened to tear them apart.

As the breakfast table fell into a heavy silence, the shadows of discontent lingered in the air, casting a pall over the once jovial atmosphere.

King Thibor's gaze shifted from his daughters to settle on Y/N with an air of solemnity. "Y/N, you will be in charge of the military meeting with the Royals of Ethora," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

Y/N's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected announcement, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she schooled her expression into one of composed determination. Though she was accustomed to her duties as the future queen of Rodion, she had not anticipated being entrusted with such a significant responsibility at this particular juncture.

As the realization of her task sunk in, Y/N couldn't help but feel a twinge of anticipation mingled with apprehension. Military meetings and diplomatic rendezvous were typically tedious affairs, filled with dry discussions and endless protocol. But this meeting, she knew, would be different.

For among the Royals of Ethora awaited Princess Lindsay—the future angel queen whose name echoed through the corridors of both kingdoms. Lindsay was renowned not only for her beauty and grace but also for her prowess in battle—a formidable opponent whose reputation preceded her.

Carmilla, ever the instigator, couldn't resist adding her own commentary to the situation. "Princess Lindsay will be leading for the angels," she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Y/N scoffed at her sister's remark, though inwardly she couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that danced in her chest at the thought of meeting the renowned princess. "And?" she replied, feigning disinterest. "What of it?"

Carmilla grinned, her golden eyes alight with amusement. "I've heard that the princess is one of true beauty," she remarked, her tone laden with implication.

Y/N rolled her eyes, dismissing her sister's words with a wave of her hand. "Beauty is subjective," she countered, though a part of her couldn't help but wonder what Lindsay would be like in person.

Though she had never met the princess, Y/N had heard tales of Lindsay's exploits on the battlefield—of her courage in the face of danger, and her unwavering dedication to her people. It was a reputation that commanded respect, even from those who stood on the opposite side of the conflict.

As the conversation at the breakfast table turned to other matters, Y/N's thoughts remained fixed on the impending meeting with the Royals of Ethora. Though she knew the encounter would be fraught with tension and uncertainty, she couldn't shake the feeling that it would also be a turning point—a moment that would set the course for the future of both kingdoms.

The realization struck Y/N like a bolt of lightning, casting a shadow of confusion across her features. "Wait a minute," she interjected, her voice tinged with disbelief. "We've never had a meeting with the Royals of Ethora. Why are they coming now?"

King Thibor regarded his daughter with a solemn expression, his features etched with a weariness that belied his regal demeanor. "King Nevinn and Queen Elenora have requested a ceasefire," he explained, his voice grave with import. "They wish to pause the war between our kingdoms in light of recent events."

Y/N's brow furrowed in confusion at her father's words. "Recent events?" she echoed, her mind racing to comprehend the implications of such a sudden change in diplomatic strategy.

King Thibor sighed heavily, his gaze drifting towards the window where the first hints of dawn painted the sky with streaks of crimson and gold. "The Wolf Kingdom of Atarah has launched a series of attacks on our borders," he revealed, his voice heavy with grim resolve.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock at the revelation, her mind struggling to process the gravity of the situation. "Since when have the wolves of Atarah been attacking Rodion?" she demanded, her voice tinged with incredulity.

King Thibor's expression darkened as he spoke, his words laced with bitterness and regret. "The attacks began several moons ago," he admitted, his tone tinged with sorrow. "But they are not only targeting Rodion—they have also launched assaults on other realms, such as the Elf Kingdom of Eostredolon and the White Isles where the Earth People reside."

A sense of unease settled over Y/N as she absorbed her father's words, the weight of the revelation pressing down upon her like a leaden cloak. The wolves of Atarah were known for their ferocity and cunning, their loyalty to their king unwavering in the face of adversity. If they had set their sights on Rodion and Ethora, it could only mean one thing—war was imminent, and the consequences would be dire.

As she pondered the implications of the ceasefire negotiations with Ethora, Y/N couldn't help but wonder what role she would play in the unfolding conflict. As the future queen of Rodion, her duty was clear—to protect her kingdom at all costs, even if it meant forging uneasy alliances with those she had once considered enemies.

Queen Selene observed her daughter's troubled expression with a mixture of sympathy and concern. She reached out a hand, gently placing it on Y/N's arm in a gesture of comfort. "You will make the right decisions, my dear," she said softly, her voice imbued with maternal warmth. "You always have, and you always will. You know what is best for Rodion."

Y/N glanced at her mother, gratitude flickering in her eyes at the reassurance. Despite the weight of responsibility that rested upon her shoulders, she found solace in her mother's unwavering support.

"But what am I supposed to do?" Y/N murmured, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "I didn't even know the wolves were attacking Rodion, and a truce between vampires and angels is... well, it's not something the people of Rodion are likely to be excited about."

Carmilla, ever the provocateur, couldn't resist adding her own commentary to the conversation. "Maybe you can marry the angel princess," she quipped, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Y/N rolled her eyes at her sister's jest, though a part of her couldn't help but entertain the idea. "If she were pretty enough," she retorted with a smirk, her tone teasing.

King Thibor, however, was less amused by his daughters' banter. He sneered in disapproval, his features twisted with disdain. "You need a prince, not a princess," he declared firmly, his voice brooking no argument.

Y/N's lip curled in defiance at her father's words, her gaze flashing with defiance. "You know how I feel about arranged marriages, Father," she countered, her voice tinged with bitterness. "And especially with a prince."

Queen Selene intervened before the tension could escalate further, casting a reproachful glance at her husband. "You know as well as I do, Thibor, that if Y/N were to marry anyone, it would likely be a princess," she remarked pointedly, her voice carrying the weight of authority.

Thibor's expression softened slightly at his wife's words, though the disapproval remained etched upon his features. "Perhaps," he conceded grudgingly, though it was clear that he was not entirely convinced.

As the breakfast table fell into a heavy silence, the echoes of their conversation lingered in the air like the lingering scent of smoke after a fire. And in the midst of their familial discord, Y/N couldn't help but wonder what the future held in store for her—whether she would be able to navigate the treacherous waters of diplomacy and war with the grace and strength befitting a queen.

But for now, as the first light of dawn cast its golden rays across the horizon, she knew that she would face whatever challenges lay ahead with unwavering determination and the unwavering support of those she held dear.

#fandom #fanfic #lindsay lohan x fem!reader #lindsay lohan x reader #lindsay lohan #lilo #vampire #princesses #vampire princess #angels #kings #queens #dark fantasy #fantasy #realms

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