#“Ive always wanted a son. and now I got two.” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

voyter · 2 months ago

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DEVOTION — jeon jungkook.

genre. a song of ice and fire au. 103 AC. smut. knight!jungkook. queen!reader.

your knight is completely devoted to you, and while it’s his duty, you can’t help but wonder if there’s something more behind his unwavering loyalty.

word count. 17.1k words (FUCK i am so sorry) warnings. this fic might be a bit confusing if you havent watched game of thrones or house of the dragon !!! misogyny. gender dynamics. seokjin and namjoon cameo hehe. forced / arranged marriage. over protective jungkook <3. cute convo between oc and her husband. violence. mentions of blood and murder. SO MUCH FUCKING TENSION. smut. two sex scenes !! dry humping. oral (male!receiving). unprotected sex (this universe takes place thousands of years ago and condoms didnt exist yet give me a break). bath sex. they almost get caught OOP. cheating (but both parties are consenting and they both openly do it to each other but they dont love each other romantically so its okay i guess) ???? jungkook literally worships her oh im sick i need him.

ana's notes. this fic ended up being much longer than i anticipated but oh my gosh i literally could NOT STOP WRITING !!! this is the longest fic ive ever written hello. this is inspired by alicent and coles relationship in season 2. sorry i hate them but this trope ??? OUUU TOO GOOD. so you know i got inspired. anyways, i love this one so much, so please let me know your thoughts <3. as always, keep your comments positive or say nothing at all xx

listening to. blue jeans by lana del rey / middle of the night by elley duhé / flawless by the neighbourhood

part of the based off film series. this one shot is based off house of the dragon.

You had always hated the idea of marrying someone you didn’t love, but you knew that marriage was not a choice — it was an obligation woven into the fabric of your destiny. Though reluctance filled you at first, you gradually came to terms with your duty, accepting the role thrust upon you with a measure of peace.

House Emberwyn ruled the Seven Kingdoms, making them the most powerful house of all. Your father had forged a deep bond with King Aelyx, the two men connected by the shared grief of losing their wives. Beyond their friendship, your father was adamant that uniting your houses through marriage was crucial. He envisioned a future where the intertwining of two powerful, wealthy legacies would forge an unbreakable realm.

Atticus, the son of King Aelyx, was only a year older than you — making him a suitable match. Like you, he was reluctant to marry, but he, too, understood the importance of duty. He wanted nothing more than to make his father proud, even if it meant sacrificing personal desire.

As the sole heirs of your respective houses, the pressure to produce children was immediate. The act of intimacy with Atticus was never one of passion or love; it was merely another duty. The first time was uncomfortable, almost unbearable, but over time, you learned to tolerate it. This was your life now, dictated by duty rather than desire.

Since your marriage, you have been blessed with three children. Ares, your eldest and only son, was conceived during your bedding ceremony. Now a boy of one and ten, he is wise beyond his years, his sharp mind driven by a deep love for books and knowledge. Celeste, your first daughter, is nine years old — a whirlwind of wild, unrestrained energy that seems impossible to contain. Already, she’s been eagerly awaiting the day she can take to the skies on dragonback, her spirit far older than her years. Then there is Luna, your youngest and newest addition to the family, a radiant little soul who brings warmth and light into every corner of your life. She is the calm of the storm, a small but powerful source of joy that never fails to lift your spirits, no matter how heavy the burdens of the day.

Atticus is a good father, never neglecting his children. He is present in their lives, providing for them with steadfast love and care. As a husband, he is kind and dutiful. Yet, despite all his virtues, he is not the love of your life.

The two of you had come to an agreement early in your marriage: you were free to seek pleasure where you wished, as long as heirs were made with each other. It was a compromise, one that allowed you both to navigate the confines of your duty while maintaining some semblance of personal freedom.

Tragedy struck shortly after Celeste’s birth when King Aelyx succumbed to an unknown illness. The crown passed to Atticus, and with it came the immense burden of ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

With Atticus as king, you became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, unlike your husband, you did not feel the same pressure. Your days were mostly spent within the confines of your chambers, where the laughter and antics of your children filled your life with light and purpose. Despite never having known your own mother — she had died giving birth to you — you felt as though motherhood had always been your calling.

While you wouldn’t trade your life for anything in the world, motherhood came with its challenges. Ares and Celeste were at the age where they bickered endlessly over the smallest of things — whether it was toys, attention, or simply to see who could get on your nerves first. Their constant squabbles were a source of frustration, and yet you knew it was a phase they would eventually outgrow. Luna, on the other hand, still so small and newly born, could not seem to stop crying. Her wails often filled the castle, and while the maids were always close by, ready to assist, you never allowed them to. You wanted your daughter to find comfort in your arms, not anyone else’s.

There were days when calming her down felt like a losing battle, the hours stretching into what felt like an eternity. But when you finally succeeded, when her cries quieted and her tiny form melted into sleep, it filled you with a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory in a life full of larger, weightier battles.

Fortunately, today was one of the easier days. Luna wasn’t feeling particularly fussy, and after a few gentle rocks and soft pats on her back, she fell asleep in your arms without much protest. Relief washed over you as you gazed down at her peaceful face, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The soft warmth of her against you, the quiet of the room, made you feel like, for a moment, everything was right.

“Your Grace?”

A voice interrupted your quiet reverie, but you didn’t turn. Your eyes remained fixed on Luna, unwilling to break the fragile serenity of the moment. You hummed in response, acknowledging the speaker but unable to tear your gaze from your sleeping daughter.

“Your presence is wanted, though not required, Your Grace.”

The words draw you from your thoughts, and with a soft sigh, you finally turn to face the speaker. It’s the Lord Commander, standing tall and imposing, his armor catching the dim light filtering through the windows.

“What for?” you ask, your voice calm but laced with curiosity.

“The Kingsguard posting,” he replies, his tone formal, as always. “It’s been suggested that you select who will guard the Red Keep.”

You consider his words, your gaze drifting back to Luna, still fast asleep in your arms. The thought of placing your trust in someone else, of relying on others to protect what matters most, brings a weight to your chest. As a mother, your first instinct is always to shield your children. You would want nothing more than for them to roam the castle freely, knowing they were surrounded by those you trusted — those you handpicked.

“I suppose,” you murmur.

After carefully setting Luna in her crib, you linger for a moment, brushing a tender hand over her soft cheek. Ensuring the maids were nearby to watch over her, you quietly slip from the nursery and follow the Lord Commander through the castle's stone corridors. Your thoughts remain on Luna for a heartbeat longer before shifting to the matter at hand — choosing the knights who would guard your family, your children.

You arrive at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where a line of knights stands at attention, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. The air is crisp, the tension palpable as each knight awaits his turn to be presented.

The Lord Commander steps forward, his voice ringing with authority. "Step forward, Ser Kim Namjoon."

The knight moves with a quiet confidence, offering you a small, almost shy smile. Dimples crease his cheeks, and despite the serious nature of the proceedings, you find yourself smiling back, charmed by the warmth in his expression.

"Ser Namjoon has proved strong and steady in both the tourney lists and in service beyond," the Lord Commander begins. "While traveling through the Kingswood on the way to King’s Landing, Ser Namjoon recently brought a would-be poacher to justice."

You listen carefully, considering the man before you. His loyalty and steadiness are clear, and his recent actions speak of a knight who serves with honor. Still, your mind drifts to a darker, more urgent thought — combat. The Red Keep, and more importantly, your children, needed knights who were not only honorable but battle hardened. In these uncertain times, loyalty alone would not be enough.

"Ser Namjoon," you say, your voice polite yet measured. "We thank you for your loyal service to the Crown."

He bows deeply before stepping back into line, and you offer him a nod in return, though your thoughts continue to circle around the same question — how many of these knights had seen true combat?

The next knight steps forward, and your gaze narrows as you take him in.

"Ser Kim Seokjin," the Lord Commander announces.

This knight is taller, leaner than Namjoon. He holds himself with a quiet grace, his expression serious, but there's a spark of something beneath the surface — determination perhaps, or ambition.

"Winner of the melee at Cider Hall," the Lord Commander continues. "He was the last mounted of three and twenty knights. Ser Seokjin was knighted at eight and ten."

You raise an eyebrow, impressed by his accomplishments. Yet, your thoughts linger on something more pressing, more crucial to the protection of your family.

"Do any of these knights have combat experience?" you ask, your tone sharper now. "Beyond capturing poachers and winning tourneys?"

The Lord Commander nods solemnly, signaling the next candidate.

“Ser Jeon Jungkook.”

As the name is called, a young knight steps forward, noticeably younger than the others who had come before him. Yet, despite his youth, he carries himself with an air of quiet confidence, his steps measured and purposeful. Strands of raven hair fall loosely across his forehead, framing a face that, while youthful, is sharp with focus. His dark eyes meet yours with a steady gaze, neither too bold nor deferent — he stands unshaken by the weight of the moment.

He looks about your age, perhaps even younger, and though he lacks the grizzled scars of a seasoned warrior, something about him immediately draws your attention. There's a natural grace in the way he moves, his armor fitting him perfectly as if he was born to wear it. He’s quite handsome, a fact you can’t help but notice as he stands before you, the light of the setting sun casting a faint glow over his features.

"Tell me, Ser Jungkook," you say, breaking the silence, "have you seen real combat?"

He doesn’t falter, his voice steady as he speaks. "I have, Your Grace. I fought for a year as a foot soldier against the Dornish incursions. I was knighted after we razed two of the watchtowers along the Boneway.”

There is no hesitation in his tone, no embellishment. The quiet intensity of his words, the weight of lived experience behind them, strikes you deeply. His demeanor isn't that of a man seeking glory but of one who has already faced the fire and come out stronger for it. In that moment, your decision feels clear.

“It’s settled.” Your lips curve into a smile, one of certainty and satisfaction. “I choose Ser Jungkook.”

The Lord Commander stiffens slightly, his jaw tensing as though weighing whether to speak. Before you can take a step back toward your chambers, his voice interrupts, filled with respectful hesitation. "Perhaps we shouldn’t be too hasty, Your Grace. There is no doubt Ser Jungkook is a fine warrior, but Ser Namjoon and Ser Seokjin are from houses that are important allies of the Crown."

You turn slowly, your expression cool but firm. The politicking of the court — alliances, the endless exchange of favors and titles — was something you understood all too well. Yet, this was not a matter of alliances. This was the safety of your family, the future of your children. And no amount of courtly maneuvering could change that.

“Those men are tourney knights,” you say, your voice laced with a sharp edge. “My children should be defended by a man who’s known real combat. Should they not?”

The Lord Commander pauses, his gaze flickering between the knights and your unwavering stance. He gives a short bow, conceding. “Of course, Your Grace.”

You nod once, satisfied. “Very well, then,” you say, a smile returning to your face, though this time with a sense of finality. “I expect you to plan Ser Jungkook’s investiture.”

There’s a flicker of something in the Lord Commander’s eyes — perhaps begrudging respect or recognition of your authority in this matter. He bows once more before stepping aside. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will see to it.”

As the days passed, it became clear that your decision to appoint Ser Jungkook was more than justified.

Jungkook proved himself an unwavering presence in the lives of your children. He guarded Ares and Celeste like a loyal hound, always at their side, his dark eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. Wherever they went — whether it was the training yard where Ares spent hours practicing swordplay or the garden where Celeste attempted to name every flower — Jungkook followed, his sight never leaving them.

In the corridors of the Red Keep, you would often catch glimpses of him, stationed at the door to whatever chamber Ares and Celeste had wandered into, standing with that same quiet intensity that first caught your attention. He never intruded upon their activities, never interfered with their games, but his presence was felt all the same. He was a silent sentinel, ensuring that no one entered or exited a room without his knowledge.

Even the servants and court members began to take note, offering respectful nods as they passed him. There was a certain respect that began to build around Jungkook, not just as a knight, but as a protector of the royal family — of your family.

Before Ser Jungkook’s arrival, the Red Keep had always felt secure. Its towering walls and seasoned guards provided a fortress of safety, a place where danger rarely crossed your mind. Yet, somehow, with Jungkook’s arrival, there was a new, tangible sense of protection. His presence, quiet yet vigilant, added an extra layer of assurance, as if the very air had shifted, growing thicker with safety, steadier with his watchful eye. He didn’t need to speak or make grand gestures; just knowing he was there, standing mere feet away from you, made the castle feel more fortified than it ever had before.

In many ways, he made you feel like that too — protected, even in the smallest, unspoken ways.

The Small Council was always the most grueling part of your day. Despite your title as Queen, you found yourself constantly sidelined, your voice often drowned out by the men who dominated the discussions. You had grown accustomed to their subtle condescension — the way they’d nod and pretend to listen, only to carry on as if your words had never been spoken. You’d learned to expect it, but the sting of dismissal never faded entirely.

And today was no different.

As you took your seat, Jungkook stood nearby, ever the silent sentinel. He’d grown adept at reading you, his dark eyes keenly observing the smallest shift in your demeanor. He noticed how, at first, you entered the room with a composed grace, ready to engage in the matters at hand. But as the meeting dragged on, frustration began to creep in, visible in the slight tightening of your jaw each time a man at the table spoke over you or dismissed your suggestions with a polite but infuriating nod.

Jungkook’s eyes followed the subtle changes — the way your posture stiffened, the soft sigh you tried to suppress, and then, finally, the way boredom started to settle in as you reached for the small stone ball on the table, rolling it between your fingers absentmindedly. He knew you were doing your best to remain patient, but the disrespect weighed heavily in the room.

His hand instinctively twitched at his side, a protective instinct rising within him as he stood there watching. He was ready to intervene if the moment called for it, though he knew better than to step in unless absolutely necessary. Still, his silent support was palpable, a reassuring presence amidst the clamor of men who failed to see the strength in the woman before them.

“Perhaps we should discuss Driftmark, Your Grace,” the Maester began, his voice too casual for the gravity of the subject. He directed his attention toward your husband, but the mention of Driftmark instantly drew you in, pulling you from your growing boredom. You straightened in your seat, the defensiveness in your posture clear.

“What of it?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, the raw emotion behind it hard to suppress. Driftmark wasn’t just a topic for idle conversation — it was family. Personal. The loss of the Lord of the Tides, your cousin’s husband, had been a blow that still lingered, and the aftermath of it weighed heavily on your heart.

He had been more than just family; he had adored your children as if they were his own, even naming your daughter, Celeste, as his heir. It was an honor, though one with its own set of complications. With Ares set to inherit the Iron Throne, Celeste was to inherit Driftmark. Your cousin, devastated by the loss of her husband and without heirs of her own, was to hold the seat in her stead until Celeste came of age.

The Maester’s eyes flickered between you and your husband, clearly aware of the tension in the room but too entrenched in his own position to approach the subject delicately. He cleared his throat, then spoke with a tone that bordered on patronizing. “It’s... a delicate matter, Your Grace. There are those who believe the succession should be reconsidered, given your daughter’s age. Furthermore, some question the wisdom of naming a girl as heir to such a powerful seat.”

Your stomach tightened, fury simmering beneath the surface. A girl. As if Celeste’s age or gender diminished her worth, her potential. You could feel the disdain, not just for your daughter, but for the very idea of a woman wielding such power.

You held the Maester’s gaze, your voice sharp with barely concealed fury. “And do you agree with them?”

The chamber seemed to freeze in that moment, the weight of your words pressing down on everyone in the room. All eyes flickered nervously between you and the Maester, the tension palpable as if even the air had thickened, making it harder to breathe. Everyone braced themselves for the confrontation that was surely coming.

The Maester, sensing the chance to finally reveal his true thoughts, straightened in his seat, his chest puffing out as arrogance replaced caution. He no longer glanced toward your husband for approval; instead, his focus was solely on you, his eyes glinting with condescension.

“A woman on the Driftwood Throne, Your Grace?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “Forgive my candor, but Driftmark is not some soft and delicate estate. It is a seat of warriors, sailors, men of the sea and battle. Its history is steeped in strength and tradition. To put a mere girl — no matter her bloodline — on that chair is folly, plain and simple. A woman’s place is in the home, tending to hearth and children, not commanding fleets or sitting in council chambers. The late Lord has a brother who would make a fine new Lord, more befitting the legacy.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your hands tightening into fists. “His brother has no desire for rule!” you shot back, your temper dangerously close to boiling over. “Celeste is his rightful heir. It was his wish, and it will not be questioned!”

The Maester, unfazed, continues. “Your Grace… with all due respect, your daughter is but a child. A girl of her age should be concerned with dolls and dresses, not the governance of a seat as vital as Driftmark. There are many in the realm who would argue that Driftmark deserves a stronger hand. A male heir, one capable of steering the course of the future, as tradition demands. Perhaps it is time to reconsider your decision, before it’s too late. Before the realm begins to question not only Driftmark’s future, but the Queen’s judgment as well.”

The insult hung in the air like a storm cloud, casting a heavy, suffocating tension over the room. The audacity — the sheer gall of the Maester to question not only your daughter’s right but your authority as Queen. Fury simmered beneath your composed exterior, your hand twitching as though you might lash out.

But before you could muster a response, Jungkook was already moving.

“You will watch your tongue when speaking to the Queen, Maester,” Jungkook’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble, carrying the unmistakable weight of a threat. His usually calm demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more menacing. “Or it shall be taken from you.”

The room seemed to shrink around the Maester, all eyes now on him as the color drained from his face. His earlier arrogance dissolved in an instant, replaced with wide-eyed panic. The man who had dared to question your daughter’s birthright now looked as though he might faint from fear.

“I- I meant no offense, Ser Jungkook,” the Maester stammered, his words tumbling over themselves in a desperate attempt to backpedal. His gaze flickered nervously from you to Jungkook, searching for some kind of escape.

“You did,” Jungkook cut him off sharply, his tone like the edge of a blade. His gaze bore into the Maester, unyielding, unwavering. “And I will remind you once more: mind your tongue.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the threat hanging in the air like a blade, and no one doubted that Jungkook would make good on his promise if pushed further.

You turned your gaze to Jungkook, barely concealing your silent shock. The man who stood just feet away, usually so quiet and composed, always speaking only when spoken to, had stepped in to defend you — boldly, without hesitation. The gesture was unexpected, and for a moment, you were struck by the kindness and protectiveness it held.

It was not just the words he had spoken, but the intensity behind them, the clear signal that he would tolerate no disrespect toward you. In a room full of lords and courtiers who often dismissed your voice, Jungkook’s sudden defense felt like a rare and precious show of loyalty. Uncommon as it was, it left a warmth spreading in your chest, a silent but deeply felt appreciation.

Jungkook still hadn’t met your eyes, his intense gaze fixed on the Maester, the disapproval and disgust etched in his expression radiating an aura so fierce, it was almost frightening. He stood there like a wall of steel, silently daring anyone to challenge him again.

You turned your attention back to the Maester, who now squirmed under the weight of the moment. His once confident, condescending exterior had crumbled, now sitting timidly in his seat.

“Celeste is the rightful heir,” you stated, your voice even and composed, though laced with quiet authority. “She will rule Driftmark, and she will do so just as well as any man ever could. Anyone who questions that,” you paused, allowing the weight of your words to settle over the room, “will regret it.”

The Maester lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze, his earlier arrogance completely shattered. “Of course, Your Grace. Please, forgive my words.”

Jungkook didn’t move an inch, his focus still locked onto the Maester like a hawk waiting for the slightest wrong move. The room felt smaller, the tension almost suffocating as the Maester’s earlier confidence reduced to a pitiful murmur.

“See that you don’t forget that again,” you said, your tone final and cold, leaving no room for further argument.

With that, you stood up from your seat, the weight of the moment still hanging heavy in the air. Without another word, you turned on your heel and made your way out of the courtroom, every step deliberate, your posture unyielding. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as you moved, a quiet power radiating from you that demanded respect.

Jungkook, as ever, was by your side in an instant, but he kept a respectful distance, just enough to remain a silent protector, his presence still like a shield around you. His footsteps were measured, the sound of his boots echoing softly in the corridors, and yet there was an undeniable sense of security in the space between you two. No words were exchanged as you made your way to your chamber — there was no need for them. His silent solidarity was all you required.

Jungkook’s presence was reassuring, like the calm after a storm, and it made the weight of leadership — of being Queen — just a little easier to bear.

After the heat of earlier’s events, the last thing you wanted was to step foot back into the chaos of the court. The weight of the Maester’s words still lingered in the air, and you felt the need to retreat, to recharge in the only place that felt truly like yours. So, you didn’t leave your chambers for the rest of the day. You took the rare opportunity to unwind, the need for solitude outweighing any further obligations for the day.

Without a second thought, you changed into your nightgown well before the moon rose, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the tense weight of your court attire. You moved with practiced ease, the familiar ritual of shedding the day’s responsibilities easing the knots in your shoulders.

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a warm glow that danced across the room. You sank into the couch, the cushions molding to your body as you settled in front of the flames. With a book in hand, you opened the pages, the words inviting you into another world — a world where you could forget, if only for a moment, the burdens of being Queen.

You lost yourself in the story, the flicker of the fire keeping time with the rhythm of your reading. Outside your window, the castle was quiet, the usual noise of the corridors muted by the sanctuary of your chamber. For the first time that day, you felt a sense of peace. The world outside could wait. Here, in the comfort of your own space, you could simply be.

But just as the fire’s soft, flickering glow began to lull you deeper into peace, a knock at the door broke the fragile silence, its sound sharp and intrusive. A flicker of annoyance stirred within you — someone daring to interrupt the quiet sanctuary of your evening. But then, a familiar voice, calm and steady, followed.

“Your Grace?”

It’s him.

You took a slow breath, the irritation melting away at the sound of his voice, and called softly, “Come in, Ser Jungkook.”

The door creaked open, but Jungkook didn’t immediately step inside. He stood just beyond the threshold, his tall frame framed by the dim light spilling from the hall, casting long shadows across the stone floor. There was something endearing in the way he paused there, as though uncertain, hesitating to cross the boundary of your private space without your explicit permission. His respect for the sanctity of your chambers was something rare, a simple act that made him stand out even more.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, like the evening air itself. “I’ve just come to alert you that the children are abed.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

What you didn’t know was that the children had been in bed for some time. Jungkook had only alerted you now because he was standing just outside your door, hesitating. He wasn’t sure if he should disturb your peace with the news. Still new to this role, he was uncertain of how to balance his duties with the delicate art of discretion.

“Thank you, Ser Jungkook,” you said, your tone warm with gratitude. “I would appreciate it if you informed me every night from now on.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Sleep well.” Jungkook gave a respectful nod, his voice as steady and sincere as ever, and he turned to leave.

“Ser Jungkook,” you called again, before he could close the door behind him.

He paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe, his dark eyes meeting yours in the soft, flickering firelight. For a brief moment, the noise of the castle seemed to fall away, the crackling fire the only sound that filled the space between you. It was rare, these moments of true stillness, where it was just the two of you, no interruptions, no duties weighing on either of your shoulders. The warmth from the fire cast a soft glow over him, accentuating the quiet strength in his features.

For the first time, you found yourself truly looking at him — not just the protector of your children, not just the present knight, but Jungkook.

“I’ve yet to thank you for earlier — in the Small Council chamber,” you said softly, your voice quiet but earnest. “I appreciate your defense. Thank you.”

The words hung between you for a moment, carrying a weight that felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t just the defense itself, though that was significant; it was the quiet way he had stood up for you. Jungkook had always been the silent one, always just there, standing in the background. But today, he had been more. He had spoken when no one else had. His simple act of defending you meant more than you could say.

Jungkook’s posture softened at your words, though his expression remained composed, his usual stoic demeanor intact. Yet, as he held your gaze, his dark eyes seemed to linger a moment longer than usual, a subtle warmth settling in his look that wasn’t often there. It was as though the space between you both had shifted, the heavy tension of the day dissolving into something quieter, almost comforting.

“It was nothing, Your Grace. You need not thank me,” he replied, his voice low and measured, though there was something beneath it — something genuine, almost vulnerable, that made the words feel different from his usual calm, detached responses. His eyes remained steady on yours, and for a moment, the usual distance between you seemed to shrink, as though he was offering something unspoken, something more than just a knight’s duty. “You shouldn’t have to endure that kind of disrespect. It’s my duty to protect you, in all ways.”

You gave a soft nod, absorbing the weight of his words. Jungkook was a constant in your life — a silent guardian who stood watch over both your children and yourself. But hearing him speak of protecting you in such a way, so plainly and honestly, stirred something within you. It wasn’t just your children that mattered to him; it was you, as well.

“You do more than protect,” you said, your voice softer now, the weariness of the day gradually easing. “Your actions today… they meant more than you know.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched at the corners, acknowledging your words, but he didn’t respond right away. There was a brief silence between you both, the fire’s crackling embers filling the stillness as he shifted his weight, his stance still as rigid as ever, but now, a slight tension in his shoulders had eased.

“If there’s ever anything you need, Your Grace,” he said finally, his tone softer than it had been moments before, but with an underlying firmness that conveyed his commitment, “I am here.”

The sincerity in his voice wrapped around you like a quiet promise, steady and unwavering. The light of the fire caught on his features, casting soft shadows over his face, making his usually guarded expression seem less distant, more human. You felt a sense of peace settling into the space between you both, a momentary connection that felt more genuine than anything that had passed between you in the public eye.

“Thank you,” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, finding comfort in the rare, honest exchange.

Jungkook inclined his head once more, his expression softening in a way that was unusual for him — a small, but genuine smile curling his lips, the warmth of it making him seem more approachable, more... real.

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” he said quietly, voice full of respect, but also something else — something deeper.

“Goodnight, Ser Jungkook,” you murmured in return.

With that, he turned and moved to close the door behind him, the soft click of the latch signaling his departure. But as the door clicked shut, you realized that this time, you didn’t feel the usual solitude. There was something different. Something comforting. Something exciting that made the pit of your stomach feel funny, in knowing he was standing just outside your door.

Just the barrier of wood between you two.

The next day unfolded much more peacefully than the last.

You sat on the floor of your chamber, the luxurious fabric of your gown pooling around you like a soft sea of silk. The quiet of the room was comforting as you focused on the delicate task in front of you — embroidering a blanket for Luna. Each stitch was a calming motion, your mind momentarily free of the weight of royal duties.

You hadn’t seen Jungkook yet, but his presence lingered in your thoughts, like an unspoken promise. The anticipation of his arrival stirred a quiet excitement within you, though you had no idea when he might appear.

The silence was broken by your husband's voice, cutting through the peaceful air as he entered without knocking, his tone casual. “How are you feeling today?”

You glanced up briefly, meeting his eyes before returning to your work. “Better,” you answered, the edges of your lips curving into a faint smile.

“Good,” Atticus replied, smirking as he made his way over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Do you think you’ll be attending the Small Council today?”

You hesitated, the thought of sitting through another long, tedious session filling you with a quiet reluctance. “No… if that’s alright?” you replied, your tone tentative, not wanting to seem too dismissive of his suggestion.

“Of course,” Atticus said, lifting the goblet to his lips. His eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he added, “But I’ll have you know, I’ve hired a new Maester.”

The words hit you like a spark, and without thinking, you put your needle down. The sudden shift in the conversation caught your attention fully. Your eyes locked onto him, eyebrows raised in surprise. The idea of a new Maester was unexpected — and it immediately piqued your curiosity.

"Are you upset about that?" you asked, your voice soft and laced with a hint of apology, eyes searching his face for any sign of how he truly felt.

Atticus paused, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, and he set the goblet down gently on the table. "I could never be upset with you for only standing up for yourself," he said, his voice steady, though there was an underlying heat to his words. "And someone as disrespectful as that will not continue to walk around in this castle."

His declaration was resolute, filled with a quiet determination. The confidence in his voice was not just from his position, but from a place of deep respect for you. It was as if he had taken the full weight of your frustration upon himself, and the fire behind his words showed that he would do whatever it took to ensure you never had to endure such treatment again.

You smile warmly at his words. "Thank you, Atticus."

He pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips, his fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. "You know, as much as I’m not in love with you," he says slowly, his tone more thoughtful than usual, "I still love you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, the raw honesty in his voice bringing a quiet comfort. It wasn't the passionate declaration of romance you might have hoped for, but it was the kind of love that ran deep — steady, consistent, unshakable.

You meet his gaze, and your heart softens with understanding. "As do I," you reply, your voice gentle but genuine.

It wasn’t the kind of love that others might expect, filled with grand gestures and whispered sweet nothings. But in its own way, it was a love that had stood the test of time. It isn’t passionate, but there’s a respect and understanding between the two of you that runs deep.

“Now,” Atticus says, his voice low, teasing. “Can we talk about your knight in shining armor?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smirk that tugs at your lips. “Oh Gods,” you say, the edge of amusement clear in your voice as you go back to your needlework.

“Oh, come on,” he whines, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “I let you pick, now you have to tell me all about him!”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “It was you who suggested I pick?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you’d feel more content choosing someone yourself.”

“I do,” you reply with a small smile, returning to your embroidery. “It was a wise suggestion.”

“Oh, don’t change the subject now!” He motions with a dramatic hand. “What was that about yesterday?”

“He was just defending me,” you say, hoping to dismiss the conversation, though you’re well aware it won’t be that easy.

Atticus lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes in dramatic fashion. “No knight is that devoted to duty, my dear wife.”

His words make you pause, but you try not to let it show. Still, a smile begins to creep onto your lips, unbidden. You hadn’t really allowed yourself to think about it that way. Jungkook had always been quiet, loyal, reliable — but devoted in the way Atticus is hinting? It’s a thought that stirs something unexpected in you.

“Well, believe it or not,” you say, unable to stop the small grin now, “we’ve spoken to each other only a few times.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly, clearly entertained. “Is that so? And yet, with little words between you, he’s ready to challenge a room full of lords for your honor. Fascinating.”

You roll your eyes, returning to your needlework in an attempt to focus, but your mind can’t help but drift back to Jungkook. The memory of his voice, steady and unyielding as he defended you, lingers. Maybe Atticus has a point, but admitting that would only fuel his relentless teasing.

“He’s just dutiful,” you insist, though even you can hear the uncertainty creeping into your voice.

Atticus catches it too, and his smirk widens as he takes a slow, deliberate sip from his goblet. “Dutiful because he loves his duty? Or because of you?”

Your cheeks flush instantly, the warmth creeping up your neck as you try to brush off the insinuation. “You’re reading into this too much,” you mumble, focusing on the embroidery in your lap, though your needlework suddenly seems less interesting.

“Am I?” Atticus drawls, stepping closer, his tone playful but probing. “Did you solely choose him because of his skills?”

You glance up at him briefly, trying to suppress a smile. “Are you implying something?”

He shrugs, the smirk on his lips widening. “Well, did you?”

“I did!” you exclaim, the words tumbling out a little too quickly, as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him. You glance up at Atticus, catching the amused gleam in his eyes. “He’s excellent with the children, and he strikes the perfect balance around here — intimidating enough to make it clear no one should challenge him, but not so much that the children are frightened. I trust him completely, and I’ve only known him a short while.”

Atticus hums, swirling the wine in his goblet with deliberate slowness before taking a sip, his skepticism apparent in the slight arch of his brow.

You shake your head, sighing lightly. “He’s proven his worth,” you say, trying to sound firm, though the soft smile that sneaks onto your lips betrays you. “It’s his abilities that matter.”

Atticus grins, thoroughly enjoying this exchange. “Of course, his abilities. And it’s just a coincidence that the knight you trust with our children’s safety also happens to be rather… easy on the eyes?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrays your amusement. “His appearance has nothing to do with why I chose him,” you insist, though your tone has lost its edge, becoming playful and light. “He’s capable, loyal, and vigilant. His looks are irrelevant.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a knowing grin. “Irrelevant, but not unnoticed?”

You shoot him a mock glare, though the smile tugging at your lips makes it hard to maintain any seriousness. “You’re impossible,” you say with a shake of your head. “I care about his skills and nothing more.”

Atticus chuckles softly, clearly entertained. “We shall see,” he teases, his voice lingering in the air as he begins to make his exit. His steps are slow, unhurried, as though he’s savoring the moment.

He walks out with a lightness in his stride, and the faint echo of his laughter trails behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts — and the quiet, unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, his words weren’t entirely off the mark.

Returning to the Small Council felt different this time. The atmosphere had shifted. The men were more considerate, actually taking your opinions into account — a stark contrast to their usual dismissiveness. It seemed Atticus’ harsh punishment of the last Maester had sent a clear message: disrespect would no longer be tolerated. They were treading carefully now, not wanting to find themselves in a similar predicament.

You exhaled a long breath as you walked into your chamber, ready to unwind after the tense day. Removing your jewelry, you placed each piece delicately on the table, the soft clink of metal filling the otherwise quiet room. You went to bend down to slip off your shoes, eager for the relief of the cool floor beneath your feet.

But before you could, a sharp point suddenly pressed against your neck.

You froze.

Panic surged through you as the cold blade pressed harder against your skin, the world around you narrowing to the sound of your racing heartbeat.

“Don’t scream,” a low voice hissed in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “or you will die.”

Your breath hitched, the threat sinking in, terror flooding your veins. Tears welled in your eyes as helplessness gripped you. You had never felt so vulnerable, so utterly at the mercy of another.

The man spun you around with a jerk, and your gaze landed on another figure lurking in the shadows — both were dressed in the rough, dirt stained garb of rat catchers, but their eyes gleamed with intent far darker than pest control.

“We were paid to kill the little girl,” the man growled, his eyes boring into yours with malicious purpose. “The one who is set to inherit Driftmark. Where is she?”

Your heart stopped. They wanted Celeste. Your daughter.

Desperation clawed at your insides, but you forced yourself to remain calm, though your voice trembled as you spoke. “I have many things in here of great value,” you said, your mind racing to stall, to buy any time you could. “You can take whatever you want. Jewelry, gold…”

The man sneered, pressing the blade just a fraction closer, enough to make your skin prickle with fear. “We’re not here for trinkets,” he spat. “We’re here for the girl.”

The suffocating pressure eased as the man shoved you away, though he kept his dagger trained on you, its sharp point a constant threat.

“Lead us to her,” he snarled, “and you will live.”

Your pulse quickened, panic rising. But amid the terror, you clung to one thought: Jungkook was just outside, standing guard by the children’s room. He would protect Celeste.

Heart pounding, you forced your legs to move, stepping cautiously toward the door of your chamber. The rat catchers followed closely, one of them pressing the dagger against your back, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just inches away.

By the time you reached the door, your eyes caught a glimpse of movement. Jungkook — his back against the wood, waiting, ready. His gaze met yours, and in that brief moment, you felt a surge of relief, but it was fleeting.

Before you could react, Jungkook sprang into action. In a heartbeat, he grabbed your arm and yanked you behind him, shielding you with his body. You stumbled backward, watching in awe as he unsheathed his sword with deadly precision.

Jungkook wasted no time. His blade sank deep into the stomach of the first rat catcher, a sickening thud echoing in the hallway. The man gasped, blood spurting from the wound, and crumpled to the floor.

The second assailant, wild with desperation, swung his dagger wildly at Jungkook. But Jungkook moved with lethal grace, dodging each strike effortlessly. His movements were swift, controlled, each step calculated. In one fluid motion, he caught the man's wrist mid swing, twisting it with a force that made the man cry out in pain. Jungkook’s grip tightened, and with a brutal efficiency, he forced the attacker to plunge the dagger into his own abdomen.

The man’s eyes widened in shock, the weapon lodged deep within him, his strength faltering. Jungkook released him, and the second rat catcher staggered before collapsing to the ground beside his companion, both of them now lying in pools of their own blood.

In shock, you stood frozen, tears welling in your eyes as the reality of the moment crashed over you. Only a minute ago, you had feared for your life, for your family’s lives. And now, Jungkook had effortlessly put an end to the rat catchers, his blade on the ground still stained with their blood. It all felt too surreal, too close.

Before you could fully process what had happened, Jungkook rushed to you, his expression softening with concern. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his touch grounding you. “Your Grace? Are you hurt?” His voice was low but urgent, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury.

You shook your head, still unable to find your voice, too overwhelmed by everything. Your heart pounded, your throat tight as you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re alright now,” Jungkook whispered, his thumbs brushing tenderly across your cheeks. “Everything’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. The fear, the relief, the gratitude — they all hit you at once, overwhelming your senses. And before you knew it, your emotions spilled over. You erupted into sobs, throwing your arms around Jungkook’s neck, seeking the warmth and safety of his presence. You buried your face into his skin, your tears dripping onto his armor as you cried.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate for a second. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close to him, his strength and warmth offering the comfort you so desperately needed. One of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your back while the other cradled your head, pressing you gently against his chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, was the only thing keeping you grounded amidst the chaos of your emotions.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured into your hair, his voice soft and calming. “You’re safe now.”

And in that moment, in his arms, you believed him.

After Atticus learned about the rat catchers’ attack, his fury was swift and intense, shaking the very walls of the Red Keep. His voice thundered from the Small Council chamber, echoing through the halls as he took command of the situation. His anger wasn’t just justified — it was terrifying. No one dared stand in his way as he set out to make sure something like this could never happen again.

You sat in your children’s room, seeking comfort in their innocent presence. Even as you tried to calm your racing heart, the distant roar of Atticus��s orders only heightened the gravity of what had nearly occurred. He wasted no time doubling the guard, placing knights at every vulnerable corner of the Keep. The added protection was meant to reassure, but for you, it only underscored the severity of the danger that had almost taken your daughter.

Atticus was relentless in his pursuit of justice. He immediately dispatched his men to find out who had hired the rat catchers. It wasn’t long before the truth came out — your former Maester hadn’t been acting alone. There were more, many more, who shared his poisonous view that Celeste, your little girl, had no right to inherit Driftmark. These men, clinging to their outdated belief that only a man should rule, had conspired to end her life before she could ever sit upon the Driftwood Throne.

Those who were caught speaking against Celeste’s claim were dealt with harshly. Atticus showed no mercy. He threw them in the dungeons without a second thought, ensuring that any who dared oppose your daughter’s future would be silenced. In this, he was steadfast, and you were grateful for his fierce protection of your family.

But even with the threat supposedly contained, the fear hadn’t left you. That night still clung to you like a dark shadow, creeping into your thoughts when you least expected it. The memory of those men — of their knives and their cruel threats — replayed in your mind every night, a loop you couldn’t break free from.

Sleep was becoming harder to find. You would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the attack pressing down on your chest. Even with Jungkook stationed just outside your door, standing as your silent guardian, the sense of unease never fully faded. You trusted him more than anyone now, knowing he had saved you without hesitation, but your mind couldn’t silence the what ifs. What if something happened to him? What if the guards missed something? What if they came back?

Tonight was no different. The room was quiet, your children safe in their beds, but your thoughts raced. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind outside felt like a reminder of how close you had come to losing everything. You sat up in bed, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to calm the storm within.

Jungkook was right outside the door — so close, and yet, the fear lingered. You knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but that night had changed everything. The vulnerability, the terror, had been too real, and you couldn’t just forget it. Even though the Red Keep was locked down, even though Atticus had done everything in his power to keep you safe, you were haunted by the thought that danger still lurked just out of sight.

You couldn’t sleep. The quiet room, the stillness, your own thoughts circling endlessly — it was too much. You knew that tonight, like so many others, you’d be awake until the sun rose. So, with a sigh, you slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and quietly opened the door.

And there he was.

Jungkook stood just outside, his back to you, ever vigilant. When the door creaked softly, he turned, eyes meeting yours. In the faint light of the moon, his features were softened, yet his gaze was alert, concerned. The gleam in his eyes caught the moonlight, and for just a moment, the comfort of his presence made the world feel a little less daunting.

“Your Grace?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I thought you’d be abed by now.”

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice quiet but laden with the weight of sleepless nights and endless worry.

“You’re safe now,” he said gently, his tone firm yet soothing, as if trying to will your mind to find peace. “Allow yourself to rest.”

You managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You said you’d be here if I ever needed anything.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he nodded, understanding your unspoken request. “I did.”

You hesitated only briefly before speaking again, your voice softer now. “Can you come in?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and he straightened. “Your Grace, I hardly think that is appropriate,” he replied, though his tone was more uncertain than firm. His sense of duty and propriety clashed visibly with his desire to help you.

“It will comfort me,” you said, the vulnerability in your voice enough to make him falter.

He hesitated, clearly torn. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if it could ground him in the face of your request. His loyalty to you was absolute, but the boundaries of it were something he grappled with now.

Seeing his hesitation, you added, teasing softly, “Your Queen demands you.”

That earned you a small smile, one that softened the tension in the air. Jungkook shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he conceded. “Well, who am I to deny my Queen?” he said, stepping past the threshold.

As Jungkook entered the room, his mere presence brought with it a sense of security you hadn’t even realized you’d been yearning for. His eyes never left yours, filled with a mix of concern and quiet understanding, as you led him over to the couch by the fireplace.

You settled yourself on one side, pulling a blanket over your legs as you crossed them beneath its warmth. When you glanced up, you noticed he hadn’t joined you yet. Instead, he stood a little distance away, unsure, his posture stiff as if still on duty.

“Sit,” you gestured to the empty space beside you.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to the door as if he still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do. But your gentle command was enough to sway him. With a slight nod, he moved closer, his heavy footsteps softening as he reached the couch. Just as he was about to sit, you spoke again, your voice quiet but firm.

“Take off your armor.”

He froze, eyes wide as if caught off guard by your request. “Your Grace,” he said slowly, his tone almost a warning, a reminder of the boundary he believed needed to remain in place.

But you shook your head, your expression soft but insistent. “I don’t want you here as Ser Jungkook,” you explained, your voice carrying a vulnerability you hadn’t meant to reveal. “I want you here just as Jungkook.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, clearly torn between his sense of duty and the comfort you were asking for. But then, with a slow exhale, he began to unfasten the clasps of his armor, the metallic clinks filling the otherwise quiet room. Piece by piece, the weight of it fell away, and he set it aside, each movement careful and deliberate.

Jungkook looked at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he gestured to his cloak. "If you would," he said softly, his eyes warm but with a hint of playful mischief.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a bit lighter as you stood from the couch, the blanket slipping from your lap and pooling onto the floor. Your fingers brushed against his as you reached for the clasp of his cloak, feeling the cool metal as you carefully undid it. The fabric was thick and heavy, and as you pulled it off his shoulders, it seemed to take with it some of the invisible barrier he kept between you both.

The air between you felt different now, more intimate, as you set his cloak aside with the rest of his armor. When you turned back to face him, he was watching you closely, his expression softer than before, as if seeing you in a new light.

For a second, you just stood there, gazing at each other in the soft glow of the fire.

Now, without the weight of his armor, Jungkook looked more relaxed, his shoulders less tense, though there was still a quiet alertness in his posture. When you invited him to sit, he did so without hesitation this time, his expression softening as he settled next to you on the couch.

As the fire crackled gently beside you, casting a warm glow over the room, you found yourself seeing him differently. Here, sitting in your chambers, with the walls of duty momentarily lowered, Jungkook wasn’t just your knight anymore. He was a man — kind, steady, and unexpectedly gentle in his presence.

“I’ve not been able to sleep as of late,” you admitted, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than you intended. “But with you here... I feel safe.”

Jungkook’s smile was soft, a flicker of warmth that reached his eyes. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, though his voice was still laced with the respectful formality he always carried. “Your Grace.”

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke your name, more firmly this time. “Use my name. The formalities can stay with your armor… Jungkook.”

The moment hung between you, quiet but significant. When he repeated your name, his voice was different, softer, almost intimate. It felt personal, as if you were the only thing that mattered in this room, in this moment.

Your heart fluttered hearing your name on his lips. The way he said it felt more intimate than you’d expected, and as the quiet settled around you both, you realized the walls between you were coming down even more.

“My mother died when I was four and ten,” Jungkook begins, his voice steady but carrying the weight of years of grief. “She was murdered right in front of me. I was weak, untrained... I couldn’t help her. I just stood there, frozen, and I couldn’t save her.” He pauses, his gaze distant, lost in the painful memory. “When I left the children’s chamber to go guard yours and I saw those rat catchers in there… I knew I couldn’t let you down like I did my mother. I couldn’t let that happen again.”

Your heart clenches and your brows knit in sorrow, completely torn by his story. His words hang heavy in the air, the realization of his past weighing on your chest. You feel both gratitude and guilt — glad that Jungkook trusts you enough to open up, yet heartbroken by the trauma he’s lived through.

It suddenly makes sense — why he’s always so guarded, so precise, so fiercely loyal. You understand now why he was trained in combat at such a young age, why he’s so vigilant, and why he holds himself to such a high standard. His devotion to you, his protection of your family, it all stems from a promise he made to himself long ago, a promise born from tragedy.

You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm resting on the back of the couch, your touch warm and comforting. Jungkook’s gaze flickers to where your hand rests on his arm, and then back to your face, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“You’ve done well to uphold that promise,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. As your eyes meet his, you offer him a genuine smile, hoping it conveys the compassion you feel. “Your mother would love the man you’ve grown to be, Jungkook.”

For a brief moment, Jungkook’s eyes soften, his usual stoic expression breaking. He looks almost vulnerable, as if the weight he carries is shared, if only for a second.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice low and sincere. “I find myself very… protective over you.”

You tilt your head slightly, a teasing smile curling at the corners of your lips. The soft glow of the fire casts a warm light over your face, and your eyes seem to shimmer with curiosity. “Why is that?” you ask, a playful lilt to your tone as you watch him.

Jungkook hesitates for a beat, his dark eyes holding yours. He slowly pulls his arm away, the loss of contact leaving your skin colder than you expected. But before you can fully miss the warmth, you feel the feather light touch of his fingertips brushing down your arm. His touch is slow, deliberate, sending a tingling sensation across your skin, awakening something inside you.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail lower, the gentle path they take igniting a flutter in your chest. When his hand finally finds yours, his touch is warm and firm, his fingers lacing with yours like it was meant to be all along.

Jungkook looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over the back of your hand as if testing the waters. “It’s more than duty now,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with something deeper. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability there, something raw and unguarded. “I can’t explain it fully, but… it’s like you’ve become more than just someone I’m sworn to protect.”

His gaze lingers on your face, searching for a reaction, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you — curiosity, anticipation, and something that feels dangerously close to longing.

Your lips part slightly, your heart hammering in your chest as the room feels smaller, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “More than duty?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s fingers tighten just a little around yours, grounding you in the moment. His eyes soften, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes… much more than duty,” he says, his voice tender yet filled with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls, but all you can focus on is him — on the warmth of his hand, the depth in his gaze, and the way the space between you seems to shrink with each passing second.

With his fingers still interlaced with yours, Jungkook gently pulls you closer. The sudden shift brings you nearer to him, and you let out a soft giggle, feeling your cheeks heat up as you blush under his gaze. The warmth of his body, the way his eyes are fixed on you — it sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.

As the distance between you vanishes, your breath catches when you realize his gaze is locked on your lips. It’s intense, and it makes your heart race. You watch, spellbound, as he lifts his other hand slowly. His thumb brushes tenderly across your bottom lip, the pad of his finger soft against your skin. The simple, teasing touch sends a wave of warmth washing over you.

He lingers there for a moment, rubbing your lip, and then his thumb presses just a little more insistently, grazing the slit of your mouth as though silently asking for permission. The unspoken question in his eyes makes your pulse quicken, and you instinctively part your lips in response. His thumb slips inside, and you close your mouth gently around it, letting him in.

Your eyes remain on him as his thumb rests against your tongue, the sensation both intimate and electrifying. The fire crackles in the background, but the world feels muted, like it’s just you and him in this moment. Your heart pounds, and the connection between you grows stronger as you suck lightly on his digit.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes slightly uneven as he watches you, his eyes darkening with something deeper, more primal. He gently withdraws his thumb, his fingers now tracing the curve of your jaw, his touch both firm and tender. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

The air between you is thick with anticipation, the moment heavy with the promise of what’s to come. His forehead rests against yours, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stop.

“We should stop before things go further,” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and husky, the warmth of his breath tickling your lips as he gives you the chance to pull away.

You pause, your heart racing in your chest. “We should,” you whisper back, the words lingering in the air between you both.

But neither of you move.

Instead, your gaze remains locked on his, and you can feel the heat radiating between you, the unspoken desire that lingers in the small space that still separates you.

And just like that, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, his lips soft yet insistent as they press against yours. It’s slow at first, a tentative exploration, but the moment your mouths meet, everything else fades into the background.

As your lips remain locked with his, you straddle his lap, the movement seamless and natural, as if you’ve both been leading up to this moment for far too long. Your hands slide behind his head, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair, tugging lightly as the kiss grows more heated, more desperate.

Jungkook’s hands find your waist, gripping you firmly, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. You feel his muscles tense beneath your fingertips as you press yourself against him, your hips moving instinctively. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you feel the hardness beneath you, his cock straining against the fabric of his breeches, the friction making you yearn for more.

Your hips begin to buck slowly, grinding against him as you search for more contact, more release. The heat between you two is palpable now, your breath mingling with his as the kiss deepens, tongues tangling in a rhythm that matches the slow, steady roll of your hips. Every shift of your body sends a wave of pleasure through you, and you can feel his grip tighten on your waist, his breathing growing heavier.

Jungkook lets out a low groan against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, igniting something primal. You can feel the restraint he’s holding onto, the tension in his body as he struggles to keep control, but the way his hands grip your waist tells you he’s just as lost in the moment as you are.

The friction between you both builds, the heat intensifying, but the layers of fabric between you only heighten the desire, making you ache for more.

“Perhaps I should thank you,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and teasing as your hips roll against him, causing a deep groan to escape from Jungkook’s throat. You can feel him hardening beneath you, his body responding despite his attempts to maintain composure. “For your service…”

His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your sides just enough to make you feel how much he’s holding back. “It is only my mere duty,” he says, voice strained, each word laced with barely controlled desire.

You smile at his restraint, your lips moving to brush against the sharp line of his jaw. “You’ve done so much,” you murmur, your lips trailing lower, leaving a warm path down his neck, just beneath his jaw. His skin is soft and warm, and his pulse races beneath your touch. You hear his breath catch as you kiss along his collarbone, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate press of your lips. “For me…” You move lower, your kisses more intentional, feeling his chest rise and fall more rapidly under your touch. “For my children…”

His hands twitch on your hips, torn between pulling you closer and letting you continue your slow, torturous descent. When you glance up at him, you see the way his dark eyes watch your every movement, clouded with need, a silent plea for more even as he struggles to keep himself grounded.

"I think you deserve a reward," you whisper, your voice sultry, teasing as your lips hover just above the edge of his tunic. Your fingers slowly, deliberately trace the hem, brushing against his heated skin as you make him wait, drawing out the anticipation.

Jungkook's head falls back, his lips parted as he releases a shaky breath, his control slipping with every passing second. His voice is a low growl, thick with longing. “You owe me nothing,”

You shake your head softly, your lips grazing the exposed skin of his chest. “I owe you everything,” you whisper back, your voice filled with sincerity and seduction, the intensity of the moment building as your hand moves lower, testing the boundaries of his restraint.

His body tenses beneath your touch, but his hands stay firm on your hips, holding you against him as if he’s afraid to let go. His eyes meet yours again, dark and full of raw emotion, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “I am yours,” he breathes, and in that moment, you know that he means every word.

With a soft smile playing on your lips, you slowly lift yourself off his lap, feeling the tension in the air as you lower yourself to the ground, kneeling between his legs. Jungkook watches you closely, his breathing uneven, eyes darkened with a mix of anticipation and restraint.

You place your hands gently on his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric of his breeches, his muscles tense beneath your touch. You start slow, allowing the moment to settle between you, your fingers tracing soft, deliberate circles along his thighs, teasing without rushing. Jungkook’s breath hitches slightly, his gaze locked on your every movement, as if entranced by the sight of you at his feet.

With a deliberate slowness, you begin to untie the laces of his breeches, savoring the quiet rustling of fabric as you pull them off completely, your fingertips brushing against his skin, making him shiver. You take your time, your eyes never leaving his, a playful gleam in your gaze as you watch his resolve crumble little by little.

His cock springs free, finally released from its tight confines. Jungkook lets out a low groan, the sudden release of tension sending a wave of relief through him. The sight of him, hard and ready, makes your breath catch, but you don’t rush. Instead, you rest your hands on his thighs again, grounding yourself in the warmth of his skin, feeling the subtle flex of his muscles beneath your palms.

You glance up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sends a thrill down your spine. His lips are parted, his breath heavy, and you can see the restraint in the way he grips the couch, knuckles white, fighting the urge to take control.

You spit into your hand before wrapping it around his cock, feeling its warmth and weight resting in your palm. You start slow, allowing him to adjust to the sensation, your fingers curling around him with a firm but careful grip. As your hand begins to move, sliding up and down in deliberate, teasing strokes, Jungkook's head falls back against the couch. A low, breathy moan escapes his parted lips, his chest rising and falling more heavily with each breath, betraying his struggle to hold onto his composure under your touch. His muscles tense, eyes fluttering shut, as the pleasure builds with each movement.

His reaction fuels you, and you keep your pace slow and sensual, your hand gliding smoothly along his length. Each movement draws another sound from him — whether it’s a quiet sigh, a deep groan, or the way his breathing catches for a split second. The power you hold in this moment, the way his body responds to your touch, makes the air between you feel electric, alive with tension.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into the cushions beside him, as if holding on for control, but you can see the way his restraint is unraveling, bit by bit. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parted in silent bliss, eyes closed as he surrenders to the sensation.

With a mischievous smile, you tighten your grip just a little, adding the slightest bit more pressure as you continue to stroke him, and his moan deepens, sending a shiver through you.

You lean in, teasingly slow, letting the anticipation build. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he watches you, his chest rising and falling faster, his hands tightening into fists. The moment your tongue makes contact with the tip of his cock, his body tenses. You start with soft, delicate kitten licks, testing his sensitivity, letting him feel every light flick of your tongue as you work.

A bead of precum gathers at the tip, and you lap it up, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. Jungkook’s groan is deep, almost guttural, his head tipping back against the couch once more as you tease him with your soft licks, never giving him more than just a taste of what’s to come.

The way he reacts, the way his body trembles under your touch, only spurs you on. You take your time, savoring the control you have over him, feeling the way his thighs tense beneath your hands.

You glance up at him through your lashes, enjoying the sight of Jungkook completely lost in the moment, his lips parted, breath heavy. His reaction fuels your desire to tease him more. Your tongue moves slowly, deliberately, swirling around his sensitive tip, while your hand continues its steady rhythm, pumping him with just enough pressure to keep him on edge.

He moans again, low and deep, his hips instinctively bucking up, searching for more of that friction you’re so teasingly withholding. You hum softly, the vibrations making his cock twitch against your tongue. You take him a little deeper, wrapping your lips around the head, sucking gently as you let your hand pump the base, building the tension.

Jungkook’s hands grip the couch tightly, fighting to stay still, his body betraying him with every small thrust of his hips. You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, your tongue working against the underside of his shaft as you slide him further into your mouth. His response is immediate — his body jerks, a strangled groan escapes him, and you feel his hands twitch as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and grab you.

You reach up and intertwine your fingers with his, and in that simple gesture, a new layer of intimacy blooms between you. His grip is firm, almost desperate, as if holding your hand is the one thing grounding him in the intensity of the moment. It's no longer just about desire; it's something deeper, more vulnerable, a connection that transcends the physical. His thumb gently brushes over your knuckles, a soft, tender contrast to the raw passion swirling around you. That small touch, full of unspoken emotion, speaks louder than words ever could, reminding you both that this is more than just a fleeting moment — it’s a quiet, shared promise.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes even more ragged as you continue to take him deeper, your lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to push him closer to the edge. You can feel his restraint, the way he’s holding back, trying to stay in control despite the pleasure coursing through him.

He groans, your name slipping from his lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. You hum softly in response, the vibrations causing another moan to escape his lips. The combination of his hand in yours, his soft gasps, and the warmth of his skin beneath your touch creates an almost overwhelming sense of connection.

You pull off him with a soft, wet pop, leaving his cock glistening in the firelight. Your lips curve into a teasing smile as you drag your tongue slowly along the length of his shaft, watching his reaction. Jungkook’s breath catches, his body tensing with anticipation. When you reach his base, you let your tongue dip lower, tracing a path to his balls. You take your time, licking and teasing the sensitive skin before gently sucking them into your mouth.

The reaction is immediate — his hips jerk up involuntarily, a deep moan escaping him as his head falls back against the couch. His knuckles are white as he grips the cushions, and his fingers tighten around yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. You keep your eyes on him, enjoying the way his face contorts with pleasure, his lips parting with a shuddering breath.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice rough and strained, the sound vibrating through the air, sending a thrill through you. His chest rises and falls heavily as you continue to pump his cock in your hand, your strokes slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of your mouth as you suck gently on his balls.

You can feel the tension building in him, his body trembling slightly under your touch. His muscles are taut, straining as he tries to hold himself back, but you know he’s close. The soft, breathless curses he murmurs between groans let you know just how much you're driving him to the edge.

Jungkook’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more intoxicating than the last. The feel of your mouth wrapped around his cock is overwhelming, your lips warm and slick as they glide over him, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. But what makes his pulse race even more is the sight of you — the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — on your knees before him, your eyes dark with desire, lips wet and swollen as you take him deeper.

He can barely process it. A part of him feels like he’s lost in a dream, but the grip of your hand on his thigh, the soft, wet sounds filling the air, and the heat of your mouth around him all ground him in reality. His fingers tighten around yours, the intimacy of your entwined hands a stark contrast to the lust coursing through him.

He can’t stop thinking about how utterly beautiful you look, your regal composure gone, replaced by raw want. It’s sinful, how he can feel his cock throbbing in your mouth while your crown sits not too far away, a reminder of who you are — his Queen. And yet, here you are, on your knees, giving yourself to him so completely.

And then there’s the thought of what comes next. His cock twitches at the idea of getting you beneath him, of spreading your legs wide and burying himself in your warmth. He’s desperate to feel you around him, to watch your face twist with pleasure as he takes you, over and over again.

But even with all those thoughts swirling in his mind, one thing keeps echoing louder than the rest: the sheer power of this moment. The Queen, on her knees, sucking his cock like she’s wanted this as much as he has.

The thought sends another wave of heat through his body. He’s barely holding on, every moan, every stroke of your tongue pushing him closer to the edge. His breaths come faster, more ragged, his hips beginning to move on their own, thrusting gently into your mouth.

Before Jungkook can take control, you pull back, rising from the ground and denying him the release he craves with a teasing smile. His frustrated groan fuels your confidence as you straddle him again, your knees resting on either side of his hips. Your fingers intertwine with his, and you guide both of his hands behind his head, locking your arms around his neck. His arms cross behind him, muscles flexing as he fights to keep himself in check.

The intensity in his eyes is undeniable — burning with desire, frustration, and the raw need to touch you, yet restrained by the control you've taken. Every part of him is taut, his body tense beneath you, waiting, aching for your next move. His gaze never wavers, fixed on you with an almost desperate longing, as if the anticipation alone could undo him.

You lean in slowly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, then another on his cheek, your breath brushing his skin. His chest rises and falls against yours, the heat between you both building to a near unbearable height. Then, lips grazing his ear, you whisper in a low, sultry voice, “I want you to fuck me the way a Queen should be fucked.”

Your words send a shudder through him, his body reacting instantly to your challenge. The restraint he’s been holding onto falters, his breathing turning ragged, his grip tightening slightly on your hands. The dominance of your demand ignites something primal in him, the heat in his gaze searing into you.

"Your Grace..." Jungkook murmurs, his voice deep and breathless, the title slipping out before he can stop it, laced with a mix of reverence and raw, uncontained desire. The slip into formality catches him off guard, as if he’s forgotten to leave the titles behind along with his armor. His jaw clenches, the tension in his body palpable as his control begins to fray at the edges. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, as if your very presence has set him ablaze, and now, all he can do is watch helplessly as the flames consume him.

You feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, and you smirk, rolling your hips against him, letting the friction drive him further into madness. “Are you going to make me wait, or must I command you again?”

That’s all it takes. His resolve snaps. With a low, feral growl, Jungkook releases your hands and grabs you by the thighs, lifting you effortlessly in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised giggle, heart racing at how easily he’s carrying you across the room. His strength, his commanding presence — it’s intoxicating, making your body heat with anticipation.

With a mischievous grin, he throws you down onto the bed, your body bouncing softly against the mattress. Jungkook is on you in an instant, crawling over you with a predatory grace, his body looming above yours, eyes dark and filled with intent. His hands press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you beneath him. The weight of him, the way his muscles ripple as he moves, has your breath catching in your throat.

His lips hover just inches from yours, teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “I’ll show you exactly how my Queen should be fucked.”

There’s a rough edge to his voice now, one that sends shivers down your spine. His hands trail down your sides, fingers curling around the fabric of your dress, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you beneath him, his gaze smoldering as he drinks in every inch of your bare skin.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Jungkook’s lips descend to your neck, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, and lower still, as his hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place. His touch is everywhere — greedy, relentless — stoking the fire that’s been building between you all night.

As his mouth moves lower, a soft moan escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him, craving more. And just when you think you can’t take any more teasing, he pulls back, hovering above you once more, eyes dark with lust and promise.

Jungkook pulls off his tunic, standing before you, fully bare. His gaze is unwavering, filled with awe and raw desire as he drinks in the sight of you, every inch of your body drawing him in with quiet reverence. The heat of his stare is palpable, his lips parting slightly as his eyes travel from your breasts down to your stomach, pausing at the faint stretch marks left behind by your children.

There’s no shame in his gaze, only admiration — those marks are a testament to your strength, the life you’ve brought into the world. His hand reaches out, hesitating for just a second before brushing over your skin, tracing the delicate lines with his fingertips, as if memorizing every detail. His touch is tender, contrasting the heat in his eyes, and the reverence in his expression makes your heart swell.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice hushed but filled with sincerity, almost as though he's speaking to himself. The way he looks at you makes your heart swell. There’s no hesitation in his gaze, no second thoughts — just pure admiration.

You can’t help but smile. Despite being nearly bare beneath him, you don’t feel vulnerable. You feel cherished, worshipped even, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you like this. There’s a sense of ease between you, as if his presence was always meant to be like this — intimate and without fear.

Jungkook leans in closer, his lips trailing down to your hip bone, placing a soft, lingering kiss there. The sensation is both grounding and electrifying, sending a shiver through your body. You glance down, meeting his gaze — intense and burning with desire, the kind of look that makes your heart race and your breath falter. In that moment, you can feel the fire behind his eyes, as if the world has fallen away and you're the only thing that matters.

Without breaking the connection, he lowers himself further, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The kiss is soft, reverent, but full of promise, inching closer to the place where you crave his touch the most. Your breath catches in your throat, anticipation thick in the air, when he finally leans forward and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your pussy through your soaking wet underwear.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the sudden contact, and instinctively, you lift your leg, gently pressing your foot against his shoulder to stop him from going further. His eyes flash with surprise, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in them as he looks up at you, waiting for your command.

“Maybe another time,” you murmur, your voice breathless but firm. “I want your cock.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy with anticipation, and Jungkook’s expression shifts, darkening with pure lust. He gives a low growl of approval, his hands gripping your thighs a little tighter as he quickly moves back up your body.

Jungkook wastes no time, his hands quick but careful as he pulls off your last piece of clothing and positions himself between your legs. His cock, already hard and slick with anticipation, brushes against your entrance, the warmth of him sending a ripple of electricity through your body. You can feel the tension in his muscles, every inch of him taut with restraint as he fights the urge to simply take you. He wants this moment to be more than just a rush of desire.

With a slow, deliberate nudge of his hips, he presses the tip of his cock against your core, the sensation both tantalizing and overwhelming. Your body reacts immediately, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he teases your entrance, the heat between you intensifying. His eyes are locked on yours, as if he’s savoring every second before fully sinking into you.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer, urging him to give you exactly what you’ve been yearning for. His lips crash onto yours in a heated kiss, the moment charged with raw, unspoken passion as he finally pushes into you.

“Oh Gods,” you moan, your back arching off the bed as the sudden stretch overwhelms you. Jungkook fills you completely, every inch of him pressing into you, making your breath hitch as your body adjusts to the delicious pressure. His movements slow for a moment, letting you feel every bit of him, the weight of his body grounding you as the heat between your legs spreads throughout your entire body.

Jungkook’s forehead drops to yours, his breathing ragged as he holds himself still, giving you a moment to adjust. "You feel so perfect," he groans, his voice thick with restraint. His hands roam your body, gripping your hips as though he needs to hold onto something to keep himself from losing control completely.

Your fingers slide up his back, nails grazing his skin as you tug him closer, desperate for more. "Move," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I need you."

That’s all it takes.

With a low growl, Jungkook begins to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, the sensation sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Each movement is deliberate, deep, and measured. Your moans mix with his breathless grunts, filling the room with the sounds of your shared desire.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His pace quickens, and soon, he’s moving faster, harder, the rhythm building as the pleasure between you grows. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder, more desperate as you cling to him, completely lost in the moment.

Jungkook’s lips find your neck, peppering kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. “You feel so good… so fucking good,” he pants, his hips snapping against yours with growing urgency.

Your hands tangle in his hair, your body responding to his with a need that’s been simmering for so long, now finally unleashed. "Don’t stop," you moan, your voice shaky as the heat within you builds to a breaking point.

Jungkook’s thrusts become erratic, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t think I can stop," he chuckles, his words sending a shiver through you just as the first waves of release begin to crash over you.

You kiss him eagerly, teeth grazing his bottom lip before tugging at it playfully. Jungkook groans into your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment at the sensation. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more heated as your hands pull him closer, your nails digging into his back.

He responds in kind, his lips crashing back onto yours, the intensity of his kiss matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He bites gently on your bottom lip in return, making you gasp into his mouth, your bodies completely in sync as the pleasure mounts between you.

Your kiss is a frenzy of passion, tongues dancing, breaths mingling, as every movement pulls you closer to the edge. You tug harder at his lip, and he growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins.

Jungkook’s pace becomes relentless, his control slipping as he loses himself in you. “The day of the Kingsguard posting,” he starts breathlessly, his voice low and rough as he thrusts into you. “When you walked onto the balcony… I saw you. Thought you were so pretty. So, so pretty.”

His words, spoken between ragged breaths, send a shiver down your spine, making you arch closer into him. You gasp, your hands clutching onto his shoulders as his confession wraps around you like a heated secret. The intensity in his eyes as he speaks, as he moves inside you, is overwhelming — his vulnerability laid bare, a part of himself he’s never shared with anyone else.

“I shouldn’t have thought it,” he continues, his voice thick with desire and restraint as his pace quickens, “but I couldn’t help it. I wanted you from that moment.”

You feel your heart pound in your chest, not just from the pleasure but from his raw honesty. Your lips part, but no words come out, only breathless moans as he pushes you closer to the edge. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips brushing your ear.

“I never thought I’d have you like this,” he whispers, his voice rough with awe and hunger, each word laced with the weight of unspoken desire. “But now that I do… I’m never letting go.”

His confession wraps around you, sending a shiver through your body as his movements become more intense. The passion in his eyes, the way his body presses into yours, has you spiraling, lost in the heat between you.

You raise a trembling hand, gently brushing his hair back, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping from your lips like a vow.

The way his eyes darken, the way his grip tightens on you, tells you he’s heard it loud and clear. And in this moment, you know he’ll hold onto that promise as tightly as he holds onto you.

He laughs out a moan at this. His pace quickens, his thrusts deeper, harder, each one sending you spiraling further. Your moans mix with his, filling the room, the sound of skin against skin only adding to the fire between you. His hands roam your body, memorizing every curve, every inch of you like it’s the last time.

“I’m so close,” he whispers, his voice strained, his body trembling as he fights for control. His forehead presses against yours again, his eyes searching yours, desperate, as if he’s asking for permission to lose himself in you.

You nod, your own release building, teetering on the edge. “Cum with me,” you breathe, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please.”

With a few more deep, powerful thrusts, you feel Jungkook’s body tense as he releases into you, a low groan escaping his lips. The sensation triggers your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing through you as your body tightens around him. You gasp, arching against him, your hands clutching at his back as you ride out the overwhelming sensations together.

His name tumbles from your lips in a soft moan, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, the world outside fades — it's just the two of you, tangled together, hearts pounding in sync, as you both come down from your highs.

He doesn’t move right away, his weight still pressed against you, his hands tracing slow, soothing circles on your hips as he catches his breath. You can feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, a silent reminder of the intensity you just shared.

Finally, Jungkook picks his head up from your chest, his dark eyes soft as they meet yours. He leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, just because he finally can. It feels different now, with no hesitation between you, just pure connection. After pulling away, he shifts to lay beside you, pulling you against his chest, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

You lie there in comfortable silence for a while, both of you catching your breaths, the calm after the storm. Jungkook’s fingers absentmindedly trace shapes on your back, lulling you into a peaceful haze. But then, he breaks the quiet with a teasing tone.

“Did I exceed your expectations, my Queen?” His voice is low and playful, a soft chuckle escaping him.

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “Arrogant, are we?”

But you don’t let him respond. Instead, you sit up, straddling his waist once again, your grin mischievous as you lean down to kiss him, deeper this time, your lips lingering against his.

“Might need to go again to give you a wholehearted answer,” you say with a smirk, looking down at the man who looks far too comfortable in your bed — a man who, by all means, shouldn’t be here.

His eyes widen for a moment before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, matching your energy. He chuckles, his hands gripping your waist firmly, his desire evident.

Jungkook knew that once the children were tucked safely into bed, these sneaky nights with you would be his favorite part of the day — full of far more excitement than he’d ever imagined.

The days stretched on like endless hourglasses, the sand moving far too slowly. Every moment of the daylight hours was consumed by anticipation, the constant pull of wanting the sun to sink and the moon to rise. It was during the night, when Jungkook would slip quietly into your chamber, that the world finally felt right.

Whether it was tangled sheets, quiet conversations, soft laughter, or simply lying in each other’s arms, those moments with him were the highlight of your days — only second to the joy of your children’s smiles, of course. But with Jungkook, time seemed to bend, each night feeling like a stolen treasure that you cherished more with every passing hour.

As much as you despised the act of walking past Jungkook during the day, pretending he wasn't your lover at night, the thrilling game of trying not to get caught was undeniably fun.

The secret, the tension of it, had its own special allure. Yet, there were moments when the near misses took a more terrifying turn.

Like that one time.

You'd been soaking in a bath, the water warm and fragrant with bubbles, the steam swirling around you like a blanket of comfort. But Jungkook, always unpredictable, had snuck in without a sound. Before you could even protest, he was stripping himself bare, sliding into the tub with you, the sudden shift in water making a small splash as he settled in.

Laughter filled the room as water overflowed, but that quickly faded into a mix of heavy breaths, wet skin, and the sound of sloppy kisses. Jungkook's hands gripped your waist as he leaned back, his head resting against the tub's edge, eyes locked on you. Your hips moved in sync, the sound of water splashing and your soft moans combining with his groans, creating a rhythm that made your heart race.

Then, just as the heat between you both reached its peak, a knock at the door shattered the moment. It was so sudden and unexpected that Jungkook's hand shot up, covering your mouth before you could release a gasp, freezing you in place. Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest.

"Your Grace, I have your warm towels," came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. The maid sounded so oblivious, so unaware of what was actually happening just beyond the wooden barrier.

Jungkook didn't move a muscle, still as stone, his hand resting over your lips as his eyes met yours with a mischievous glint. Slowly, he lifted his hand, urging you to speak.

"J- just leave them at the door," you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heartbeat betrayed your calm facade. "I’ll grab them once I'm finished."

Jungkook stifled a chuckle, clearly finding the entire situation amusing as though it was nothing more than a joke to him. But you knew better. This was dangerous, reckless, and could cost both of you far more than just embarrassment.

"Very well, Your Grace," came the maid's voice, before the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance.

The moment she was gone, you slapped Jungkook's chest, eyes narrowed in mock fury. "We could've been caught," you said, your voice laced with both exasperation and something else — something darker, more thrilling. But the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed your feigned seriousness.

Jungkook grinned, his chest rising and falling with a quiet chuckle, as he pulled you back toward him, the playful tension still lingering in the air.

Because nights with Jungkook were always too short, he made sure to steal as many kisses and playful winks during the day as possible. The fleeting moments shared between you were like stolen treasures, hidden in plain sight.

Whenever the children finished their lessons, Jungkook was quick to position himself in front of the door to the next room they’d move into, knowing you'd soon follow, eager to check on them and hear about what they’d learned. Each time, like clockwork, you’d approach, ready to step past him, only for him to block your way with a teasing grin.

“Let me in,” you’d whine softly, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

He’d simply point to his cheek, signaling for a kiss as if he were making a royal decree. You’d roll your eyes but play along, leaning in. Just as your lips brushed his cheek, he’d turn his head swiftly, catching your kiss on his lips instead.

Your heart would race as you quickly pecked his lips once more, a mixture of thrill and worry filling you at the thought of someone walking down the corridor and catching you both. With a final flustered glance at him, you’d hurry into the chamber to join your children, trying to maintain your composure as you asked them about their day.

Meanwhile, Jungkook would stand tall outside the door, his expression serious, as though he was merely guarding the room. But the sparkle in his eyes and the lingering hint of a smile betrayed him, the playful mischief still present even as he forced himself to appear composed.

The only person who knew about your secret relationship with Jungkook was Atticus. You’d confided in him, and he had been overjoyed to learn he’d been right all along. He had always suspected something, but hearing it from you only fueled his excitement and pride at being in on the secret.

Jungkook’s devotion to you went far beyond his duty as a knight. On the surface, he played his role flawlessly, always by your side, always vigilant. To everyone else, he was simply your loyal protector, the ever watchful guard who would give his life without question. But beneath that armor, beneath the stern facade he wore in public, his loyalty ran much deeper.

He wasn’t just devoted to you as his Queen; he was devoted to you as the woman he loved, with a fierce, unshakable passion that transcended titles or obligations. Every time he stood by your side, it wasn’t just as your sworn knight but as the man who would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant loving you in secret for the rest of his life.

In the quiet moments, when the world wasn’t watching, his love shone through. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his fingers lingered just a moment longer when they brushed against yours, or the way his lips would curl into a faint smile when he caught you stealing glances at him. It was in the way he held you at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke of a love so deep, words could never do it justice.

Jungkook didn’t need grand gestures or declarations of love. His devotion was in the small things, the quiet sacrifices, the way he protected you not just with his sword but with his heart. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word in the darkness was a testament to his unwavering loyalty — not to the crown, not to his duty, but to you.

And though the world might never see the depth of his devotion, you felt it every day. In the way he watched over you, in the way he shielded you from not only physical threats but from the weight of loneliness that sometimes crept in. He was your protector, not just in body but in spirit.

As the years passed, your secret love remained hidden, but his devotion never wavered. No matter the risks, no matter how many times you had to pretend in public that he was nothing more than a knight, Jungkook’s heart was yours, fully and completely.

In the end, it didn’t matter that the world would never know the truth. You knew. You saw the way he loved you, not just as a knight sworn to protect you but as a man devoted to your heart, forever bound to you in a way that went beyond duty or title.

And in that devotion, you found your peace. Because you knew, no matter what happened, Jungkook would always be by your side — not just as your protector but as your lover, your confidant, and the one person who truly understood the depths of your soul.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook imagine

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gyuswhore · 25 days ago

Text

unbreaking

life has dealt Wonwoo with a very uncanny set of cards, enough to make every waking hour an uncertainty. there is one thing however, he can always count on to remain unbreaking. well, maybe two.

wc: ~1.5k | contains: Spiderman!jeon wonwoo x reader, fluff, a crime is committed but its not in detail, perpetrator has a gun but doesn't use it

[a/n]: noW I KNOW I already posted my secret Santa fic HOWEVER this one is extra extra special bc its for my one and only camothy 🫶 she's been working vv hard when ive had to take a step back from @camandemstudios duties bc of life and I have concluded that she deserves a litol treat!!! @highvern I remember you talking about spidey wonu at some point so here it is, I hope u enjoy MUAH

also, bigbigbgigbig ty to @the-boy-meets-evil for beta-ing this for meeee <333

masterlist

The nerves were eating him inside out. He should be used to this, high pressure situations with more than just his life on the line, but Wonwoo can’t stop the waves of nausea that won’t seem to leave.

His I’m outside message stays in the text box, his thumb hovering over the send button. Swallowing, he lets his thumb rest on the screen and tries not to throw it into your neighbors bushes.

Dinner with your parents meant that Wonwoo had to reign himself in, keep to his best behaviour, do everything to be anything but himself. As your text bubbles bounce on his screen, he feels his heart come up to his throat.

[You]: clearance to ring the doorbell!!!

Deep, sharp breath, before he lets out slowly. He hopes his jeans aren’t too informal, his jacket too formal. He realises in that moment that he’s probably gonna have to hang it up, his t-shirt displaying the inevitable cuts and bruises on his arms. He curses under his breath, but it’s too late to change now, the only other pair of clothes in his trunk being his suit. Not an option.

So he rings the doorbell of your family’s home, and makes a futile attempt to clear his head. He imagines taking armfuls of the junk in his mind, dumping it into the recycling bin. He turns around, but the pile’s only doubled.

A click and the door’s opened, your face poking through the opening, a small smile on your face. Wonwoo feels himself relax at the sight, face morphing into a smile of his own.

“Hey,” he grins.

“Hi,” you whisper, unmistakable glint in your eye. “Come in.”

So he does, eyes up to catch anyone in the hall. He’s seen it before, but his stomach lurches when he sees your little sister in the hallway wearing a red t-shirt with a spider on it. Merchandise he’s never gotten a cut for because that would be compromising his identity, but he’d gotten used to it. His nerves are making him jumpy today, which isn’t always a good thing with what he is.

The last thing he wants is for your mother’s chandelier to end up covered in cobwebs not from actual spiders.

“Hey!” Wonwoo waves at your sister, who’s done nothing but stare at him since he walked in.

“Your jacket—” you start.

“Will stay on,” he interrupts, meeting your expecting eyes in a plea. “Please.”

You don’t ask questions. You never seem to.

He’s sure to say his hellos to your mother and father as politely as he can muster, but also trying to not sound blank as a sheet.

He eats what’s on his plate, compliments your dad on the potatoes, your mom on the salad. He remembers to be open for seconds, remembering how you told him your parents are happiest when they can feed their guests.

Your mother rounds up on your sister, “Do you wanna talk to Wonwoo while I get dessert ready?”

She’s been half fed by your mother who seems to be in the middle of teaching her how to feed herself.

The way she stares is unnerving, like she can see right through him. “Do you like Spiderman?”

Your father groans in a whisper, “Gear up, son.”

“Yeah! I like him, he’s cool.”

“I like him too,” she says, face blank. “I probably like him better than you though.”

“Probably.”

She looks down at her shirt, “My sister got this for me for my birthday.”

Wonwoo looks at you, eyebrows raised. “How come I don’t get one?”

“Because I like him better. Duh!”

Wonwoo makes a face like he understands, setting his cutlery down to raise his hands, “Of course! I forgot.”

“You’re bad at remembering. You were three minutes late to dinner. Probably because you forgot that too!”

He hears both you and your father exclaim at her in a chide, but Wonwoo only laughs. He should remember to sign something for you to give to your sister.

You look up to him across the table, a little exasperated but beautiful. His eyes soften, very slowly lifting his sock clad foot to rub against your ankle in reassurance. That's all he can do here.

After dessert, once Wonwoo is done complimenting you sister on the wonderful and janky icing job, your mother proposes coffee in the living room. It’s there that your sister tunes into the news channel.

“Have you ever seen a kid beg to put on the news? It’s the only place she can catch Spiderman.” He remembers you telling him that, remembers feeling endeared.

It was slow background noise for most of the coffee and conversation, and Wonwoo’s nearly done when the unmistakable BREAKING NEWS flashes across the screen like a signal. His guard is down, so he’s too quick to whip his head around to divert his attention.

It’s a hostage situation, a one man job by the looks of it. Easy work for Wonwoo, but the gun in the crazed man’s shaking hands looks too unsteady to be left the way it is.

The look you give him is enough.

Wonwoo’s proud to say he’s gotten his suiting up time down to a matter of seconds, abandoning his car in front of your building as he struggles in the backseat to pull his suit on, before letting the familiar force of his webs take him off into the night.

His first order of business was getting the wretched gun out of the perpetrator’s hands, watching him wave it about where Wonwoo — Spiderman — was perched on a streetlight.

He’s done and dusted in the next few minutes, gun caught in his web and hostage right into Spiderman’s loving arms. It was all quite routine at that point, but he notes the cameras more vividly than usual, wonders if your family is still in the living room, watching him, not knowing it was their daughter’s boyfriend they’d just served coffee and delights underneath the rouge mask.

Wonwoo catches you a few streets over, despite his never ending attempts to chide you whenever you do. It was dangerous enough to be associated with him, but following him to the very circumference of the scene never failed to heighten his nerves.

He decides to play with you a little, walking with you from the top of the building, matching your pace as you don your favourite coat and walking shoes. No hat, because you know he best recognises people from an aerial view. Not you though, he’d recognise you from anywhere.

So there he goes, swinging to a street light, before roping himself well enough to secure his descent. You always expect him to drop in on you from above, but hanging upside down in your face was a first.

You see the mask first, the large teardrop eyes before the red that surrounds them. Jumping back, you yelp loud enough to constitute your hand slapping against your mouth.

“God, be normal for once!” you chortle.

Wonwoo is amused. “I’m hanging upside down in a bodysuit, hardly anything normal about me.”

You can only sigh, shoulders sagging as you look at him in the streetlight. “Can you quit handling people with long range weapons? You know how quickly that can get ugly.”

“Can you stop following me to said places?”

You make a sour face, “You know my answer.”

“I do. Stubborn till the end.”

“Does the blood not rush to your head like that?” you ask, looking around absentmindedly, like you were trying to find passersby this late at night.

“No one’s here,” he whispers to you.

Moving in closer, you continue speaking. “My sister’s smitten with you.”

“Spiderman will be sure to bump into her sometime.” He grins under the mask, glad he’s able to gain that all important approval.

“Can Jeon Wonwoo bump into me sometime? I miss you, you know.”

“I miss you more, baby.” The but hangs in the air, but he doesn’t take it in his mouth.

Instead, he feels a pressure against his mask, right where his lips are. You kiss him through the material, and Wonwoo has to consciously grip onto his webs.

The unmistakable warmth of your fingers finds the end of his mask, pulling at it slowly, revealing the skin of his neck, the beginning of his chin, up to the pink of his lips.

You kiss him again, there where he hangs from a streetlight, there where he knows he’ll always be able to find you. The feeling of his suit, the feeling of your lips on his; they meld in ways he won’t ever understand.

Spiderman confuses Wonwoo, an enigma that feels both a boon and a curse. But Wonwoo loves you, in all that he is, and that remains the one thing he can always count on, like his webs in all ways, to be firm and unbreaking.

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gamblersdoll · 7 months ago

Text

an: this one may not be suitable for all readers

sometimes you were a nasty bitch. like, really, really a nasty bitch.

so nasty to where you tended to like being called a slut, some cockdrunk whore from down the street who loves big men.

so nasty to where you loved being spat on, a man so mean to you and pulling at your hair like handlebars. even when your black tears of mascara dripped down your face.

so nasty to where you had fantasies about your boss bending you over his desk and fucking into you for such a raise, it became a one time thing.

so nasty that youre fucking your best friends father. and not only that, your friends father knew you for so, so long.

you had came back from college, coming home for summer break and seeing all of your old friends from highschool. of course, you had to see your best friend, megumi.

megumi and you were tight, staying together as best friends since you were practically kids was the longest relationship youve ever even had. of course, there was ups and downs, but its reality.

you had came home only last week, settling in at megumis house because yours was full of people your sibling had over. you, knowing that megumi’s house was your second home, went there second.

and to your disappointment, megumi was staying at yuuji’s house for a bit. no biggie, you knew his father well enough. toji was more the quiet and speak when spoken to type. ever so rarely would he speak first, but when he did it was sometimes either sarcastic or serious.

“you can stay in megumi’s room, you know where its at.” he pointed, not facing you and only finding his shoes to go off to his gym for that couple of hours.

that was a mere day ago when that was said.

sometimes toji did want to just ramble, so every now and again, hed just start a conversation with you when both are in the kitchen.

“yeah, megumi’s mother and i had divorced a couple of years ago. it was stressful, to say. but sometimes that just happens.” he vented, not seeming too fazed by it. he was somewhat right, marriages did come with divorce too, but its all about the persons.

“im sorry to hear.” you mumble, fingers tapping on the mason jar. “on a brighter note! how have you been this week?” you try to change subject, usually being great at this.

“ive been good.” he blankly says back, washing whatever dishes could be in the sink and occasionally looking at you. god, youve grown up so much— and fast too. he remembers when you were just barely moving here and you befriending megumi.

was it wrong that he was looking at his sons friend like this? maybe. and was it wrong you were somewhat looking at his print too? definitely.

that was almost four days ago when that was said.

you both were more open to conversations, both bored and of course megumi was coming over any time soon. so what harm was in having a conversation with his father?

“im glad you passed, youve always been great with color guard.” he praises, a small smile until he involuntarily licks at his scar.

things like that could make a girl hot and bothered. no, thats wrong. thats nasty.

but you could feel his lingering eyes on your grown up body, seeing the curves you developed and the pretty ass thighs you got from the slight athleticism. youre shaped so good, could make a grown man hot and bothered.

“you know..” he trails off, finally peeling his eyes from you and then staring at his phone again.

the relationship between you two spirals, soft touches that can be seen as innocent, but only you two know what either of your actions mean. and because of toji having to be a single dad at some point, his cooking could speak volumes. volumes that you could fuck him good with.

that was a week ago.

you were really some nasty bitch that was hidden with your face and mouth.

telling by the way you sat back, legs spread wide and toji having his face in your cunt.

“how the fuck do you taste even sweeter when i go back for it..?” he growls the question, hands supporting under your thighs to keep them apart. “so fucking wet.”

your moans vibrated in your throat, fingers in his hair and tugging so tight when he gets that good spot on your clit. the spot that makes you snap your legs closed and had you cross eyed.

he chuckles meanly, tongue flicking at your clit and he spitting the arousal mixed fluids back onto you.

until he hears a door open, him stopping and putting a hand over your mouth. he glares at you for a second, “hush.” he says.

“dad!?” megumi yells through the house, your heart stopping and nervous.

“yeah? what you doin home so early?” he yells back, his thumb giving small circles on your clit. he listens to megumi, then smiling evilly and chuckling. “well, just came home from gym so im showerin’!”

words exchanged, he goes back to laughing a bit. you couldnt find this funny, what if he catches you both and tells everyone?

“what are you freaking out about?” he looks and asks, dumbfounded face apparent.

“what about megumi, your ex wife finding out?” you whisper shout, nerves bad and jittery.

“well, they was gonna have to find out, somehow.” he shrugs, eyes lowering to you and. hell no, you couldnt risk that.

you start to gather your clothes, or at least attempt to. “mm–no you dont, come here.” he softly says, hands on your hips and face going back to your clit. “oh, im going to have so much fucking fun with you.”

you bite your lip, eyes squeezed shut when he goes back to slurping your clit and tugging at his hair. “toji, what if i get too loud?” you try to say, almost cut off by a moan.

“i dont fuckin’ care.” he says quick, pulling himself away from your clit. he looks to your panties, grabbing the pair and shoving them in your mouth. “you are the one who has to be quiet.”

you moan soft, toes feeling like to cramp because of the hard curls. “you have a choice to make.” he says in between sucks and slurps. “either you can stay here.. cunt open, legs spread wide–“ he says, but pulls you back in when you squirm, “aht aht, dont you go anywhere.” he says, kissing your clit and sucking while his tongue goes in and out of your walls.

“either you can stay here, cunt open.. legs spread wide.” he repeats, he kissing your clit and labia. “and cum on my fucking tongue..” he starts again, “or you can make me stop.” he goes for your nipple, fingers pinching at the bud, “ill pull my tongue out of your cunt..”

“and you can put your clothes back on and pretend like nothing happened.” he says mouthful of pussy, hand’s massaging your thighs.

he pulls away, looking up at you. “whaddaya’ want?” he asks, chin and nose glossy from spit and cum.

you try to pull his head back down, him being awfully stronger than you and he laughing. “thats my good girl.” he laughs again, leaning up to kiss you. a growl forms, “fuck!” he says in anticipation.

“dad? you good?” megumi shouts out, concern but uninterested as well.

“yeah, slammed my toe.” toji shouts back, mental focus back to your cunny and his eyes rolling back from the sensory overload. megumi doesnt show back, both of you hearing him leave the house and car cranking up.

“get on your belly.” he says, yanking the panties from your mouth and flipping you over. you chirp, ass getting goosebumps from the exposed air hitting it.

“gunna fill your belly with my hot fucking cum.”

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spideysbruh · 1 month ago

Text

happier than ever

a/n- love shawn, but he was a lil bitch for a while LMAOOO

y/n just posted a story!

caption- my love 😍😍

@y/n just tweeted- dave franco is a different type of fine in now you see me 😩

@ynsmuse replied- IT RHYMES WITH GRAPE.. it rhymes with grape 😔😔

@ynssweet replied- no literally he's so cute

@y/n replied to @ynssweet- LIKEEEE he can perform any illusion he wants on me idccc

@y/n just tweeted- sexiest movie of the year might be Dune tbh... literally just bc oscar isaac is naked and in distress... and then his Hot Son has to take over. can't wait for part two!!!

@dunetimmy replied- YESSS YOU GET IT

@laurieslaurence replied- what did you think of timmys performance

@y/n replied to @laurieslaurence- oh he's amazing. everything he's been in ive enjoyed so so much !!

@shawnmendes just tweeted- "There is a distinct, awful pain that comes with loving someone more than they love you" — Steve Maraboli

@yndefensesquad replied- boy bye- he always does this bs

@shawnyn replied- you're doing wayyy too much bro😭😭

@ynsjacket replied- she's always talked a lot on here to us... don't act surprised ? 😭

@ynssabs replied- is he a child 💀

@ynsshoes replied- she's gotta be tired of shawn's insecurity atp 😭😭 god forbid she has a celeb crush 🙄

@ynshawn replied to @ynsshoes- or god forbid someone wants their girlfriend to be loyal

@ynsheadphones replied to @ynshawn- loyal ?!?!!! girl she's not out there sucking their dicks, be so fucking fr 💀💀 just cause they're celebs doesn't mean they still can't think someone is attractive

liked by tchalamet, rachelzegler and 3,177,388 others

y/n 🌦🌦

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shawnmendes do u need a jacket

y/n where's yours at?

busyyn no way he said that 💀

finesseyn hello????

ynscurtains y/n girl STAND UPPPPPP LEAVE HIM

ynslipgloss this picture has changed the trajectory of my life btw

amyxlaurie she has timothée chalamet liking her posts and she's still w mr canadian 😭😭😭 get yourself a french man !!!

loveryn HE CAN LITERALLY TREAT YOU BETTERRRRRRRR 🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

tchalamet liked

rachelzegler HOT SEXY BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS

ynbilliestan @shawnmendes is it so hard to do this ???

@y/n just tweeted- I'm actually a big believer in being mean to men. Especially if they give you sooooo many reasons for it.

@billieyn replied- every day he does or says some shit that pisses me off even more. props to you girl.

@exesyn replied- DUMP HIM PLEASE

@lunchyn replied- we got your back girl fuck him 😭

@souryn replied- you deserve better...

liked by y/n and 982,277 others

shawnmendes !!! new song out tonight

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lostinshawn yall are too cute

ynscat how has she been w him for three years, she can do sm better!!!!

shawnswoods his promo is always so bad 😭😭💀

y/n heyyy it's me

ynsdefender lowkey feel like he uses her for likes... hate to say it but 💀

ynsbeatbox i agree!! he never posts her otherwise 😭😭

liked by tchalamet, billieeilish and 3,165,726 others

y/n what really matters

view all 54,277 comments

nonsenseyn did you and shawn FINALLY break up pls say yes omg

shawnmendes love you

ynsmuse he didn't even like the post what da hell

ynsdove she didn't like his comment either 💀

featheryn GAG HIMMMMMMMMM DROP HIMMMMM DATE LITERALLY ANYONE ELSEEEE

rachelzegler i love you ❤️

y/n i love you more 🥺🫶🫶

rachelzegler should we kiss?

@ynupdates just tweeted- RECENTLY ‼️‼️ While Shawn Mendes was meeting fans, he let it slip that he is now single. Him and y/n have seemingly broken up after a 3 year relationship.

@monayn replied- FINALLY GIRL DAMN

@huffleyn replied-good for her he's a loser

@snlyn replied- three years.... I hope she's okay :(

@ynsdress replied- "let slip" girl yk he said that shit on purpose so ppl start talking ab him and that shitty ass song he released a couple months ago don't pmo

@ynsblanket replied- the way no one gaf ab shawn 💀😭😭

@shawnmendes just tweeted- I didn't want to make it a whole big thing. But yes, me and Y/n broke up a few months ago. I have seen so many horrible accusations about me, basically saying I was a shitty boyfriend. Me and y/n loved each other, it was simply time for our relationship to end. That's it. That's the full story, to say it was because of anything else is just ignorant.

@ynsback replied- y/n is too classy to respond, so we'll never rly know the full story 😭 but we all saw how you acted w her...

@shawnfan replied- we love you!!!

@ynsheadphones replied- omg he sucks.

liked by tchalamet, yourfriend and 3,277,388 others

y/n give me a day or two to think of something clever...

comments on this post have been limited

tchalamet love that song

liked by y/n

liked by y/n, kidcudi and 3,277,388 others

tchalamet 😝😝

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chalshal bro posted this for y/n for SUREEE 💀💀

afteryn bros trying to be mysterious and nonchalant sooo bad 💀

dunesarrakis he's so cuteeee

~~~

liked by tchalamet, sabrinacarpenter and 2,029,327

y/n in new york, you can try things

view all 99,929 comments

tchalamet who took this picture you look so cute

y/n some really weird dude idfk

chappellyn DID YALL SEE THOSE PAPARAZZI PICS

fasttimesyn WE'RE OUT OF THE TRENCHES FINALLYYY

dontsmileyn how a boyfriend SHOULD act.... @ sh*wn

lookingatyn new york.... timothée... HMMMMM

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- 🏞

@chalametupdates just tweeted- Timothée and Y/n L/n seen recently walking around New York City by fans.

@slimyn replied- BOOM SHAKALAKA YES LORDDDDD

@timmysgreeneyes replied- stop they're so cute

@laurieslaurence replied- MY PARENTSSSS

@ynslaurie replied- SUCHHHHHH an upgrade from shawn ugh thank god

liked by y/n and 3,276,837 others

tchalamet like a rolling stone

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y/n wowzers

liked by tchalamet

tchalamet y'know what, hell yeah

y/n my favorite actor, singer, basketball player, ARTISTTT

liked by tchalamet

bilabyn i love seeing y/n in love

timmysgreeneyes so excited for this movieee

y/n just posted a story!

caption- 💤

liked by y/n, zendaya and 2,777,388 others

tchalamet 👩🏾‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻

view all 98,277 comments

junoyn the emoji 💀💀💀💀

ynsbeatbox soooo refreshing to see her w someone who isn't afraid or ashamed to post about her

ynscat the way shawn would've neverrrrrr posted that second pic 💀 he seemed so conservative it was weird

liked by tchalamet, rachelzegler and 3,377,838 others

y/n pretty, four time golden globe nominated boy

view all 101,377 comments

tchalamet i love you

tchalamet how did i get so lucky

ynshoodie iktrrrr

timmyxyn mbn to show off your man who's actually talented and gives the same energy as you

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- early mornings 🌄 😍😍

liked by 781,287 people

shawnmendes changed man. out now.

view all 3,277

lonesomeyn BYEEE

sabxyn bro thinks going out to the forest will make him a better person 💀💀

lauriejo the likes 💀💀💀 the comments 💀💀💀💀💀💀

pauldune can somebody PLEASE lmk if the song is good 😭

ynbillie be fr 💀

yndefender the lyrics are so... she doesn't want you bro 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- 😍😍😍😍😍🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🥰🥰🥰🤭🤭🤭🤭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️👩🏽‍🤝‍👨🏻

@y/n just tweeted- L O L. I'm the happiest ive ever been. let's just leave it at that. happier than ever !!!!!!

@spideyyn replied- it's disgusting to see how he's using yalls relationship for clicks and streams almost two years later, he knows ppl will start talking again

@dreamyn replied- im sorry that he's milking ts. he's so fucking weird

@hummingbirdyn replied- AND I DONT TALK SHIT ABOUT YOU ON THE INTERNET NEVER TOLD ANYONE ANYTHING BADDDDDDD 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

y/n just posted a story!

caption- i think i got an ex but i forgot himmm

liked by tchalamet, yourfriend and 4,277,837 others

y/n i think you're gonna change my plans

view all 201,277 comments

tchalamet hold on im trying spell gorjos

y/n liked

staryn WITH THOSE EMERALDDDD EYES

finneas im honored

tchalamet we take the best pictures of each other

butteryn i love seeing her in a healthy relationship, where the feelings are reciprocated 🥺😭😭

tchalamet so do i

tearyn HELLO ?!!

liked by y/n, zendaya and 4,727,288 others

tchalamet yeah, no big deal, just the hottest girl in the world loves me.

comments on this post have been limited

y/n who is she 👿

liked by tchalamet

y/n i know an office quote when I see it

liked by tchalamet

tchalamet yeah cause we just finished watching that ep

y/n i love you more than anything

liked by tchalamet

y/n did you only give me permission to comment 💀💀😭😭😭

tchalamet ....yeah. 😁😁😁

#timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee imagine #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet au #timothee chalamet x you #timothee fanfic #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fluff #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée x reader #timothée imagine #timothee chalamet smau #timothée chalamet smau #timothée chalamet social media au #timothee chalamet social media au

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mini-ism · 2 months ago

Note

haven’t even played zzz and there’s already an account dedicated to lighter? hear me out because lighter wouldn’t know how to properly ask someone he likes out and watch as his crew (the sons) become his best wingwomen

hello hii!! ive had this account for a solid two years haha. my account is always dedicated to the current husband of choice. its a mini-ism thing (TRADEMARK THAT!!)

im listening, im hearing you out now… as for wingwomen, piper would tell him not to go overboard with the “i have to look cool and impress them!!” she wouldn’t meddle too much, just warning him not to overdo it and chase you away.

caesar recommends the classic dinner date and flowers, insisting he has to dress in a handsome three piece suit and pick you up in a nice car. she seems enamored with the idea, almost like she wants that for herself too.

lucy would tell him to splurge. spend all your money! nice dinners and cute clothes, whatever you want or need. provide a life of comfy luxury, people still like that, right?

burnice takes the opportunity to gossip, poking and prodding for every juicy detail she can get. one thing stuck, though: “people who like cute animals are sooo worth keeping around!” should he take you to an animal shelter? either way, she got what she wanted out of him after going drink for drink. she won.

but big daddy? he had the most authentic advice. “just be yourself, lighter.” be himself? it works, he supposed, what purpose does it serve trying to attract you if he isn’t genuine with you? if he’s not lighter? it was hard to admit that he’d needed advice, especially for dating, but big daddy was always the least judgmental out of the rest of the crew. you should like lighter for himself, raw and unfiltered.

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I don't know if you already have an idea for the birthday post, if you do feel free to ignore this...my favourite trope is dad!harry too...what if H has to go for an emergency meeting somewhere else out the country even before his birthday and he has to spend his birthday there too and he is bummed about it...the fmc can fly out with their daughter/son and when he is back from his meeting his room is all decorated and stuff and she tells him she asked jeff to cancel everything...and they do a bunch of fun stuff but at night, after dinner she and the baby surprise him with another baby or something and he is like best birthday ever, 30 is already amazing

Happy 30th Birthday, Baby.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - thank you so much to @missbearforfun for sending in this request, ive had had a fun time writing this, ive changed a few things up, so i hope that ive done it justice.

i can’t believe that my boy is 30….like i swear he was just auditioning for the x-factor yesterday. 🥹

word count - 4.4k

in which, harry gets called to do a meeting in italy, two days before his birthday, which means that he’ll be spending his 30th out there with just his manager jeff, what he doesn’t realise is that you, his darling wife, fly out to surprise him and hopefully give him the best birthday he’s ever had.

You’ve been in Harry’s life for just over ten years.

You’ve spent five of those years as boyfriend and girlfriend, two of those years as his fiancé, and now, this year will be leading up to the third year being each other's husband and wife.

The first birthday of his that you spent with him, was his 20th all the way back in 2014. He had organised an intimate get together at a restaurant full of all of his closest family and friends, and it was the first time that you would be turning up together, as an official couple seeing as the only people who knew about the two of you were his band mates and his mother,sister, father and step father.

It was also the night that he confessed to you that he loved you, and that you were the one person that he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with.

From that moment on, every birthday became a cherished chapter in your shared history.

Waking up in each other's arms has become a comforting tradition, marking the beginning of a day dedicated solely to celebrating Harry's existence. The warmth of those morning embraces symbolises the depth of your connection, a connection that has withstood the tests of time.

As the years unfolded, you've witnessed the evolution of Harry, both in age and character, yet the love between you two has remained unwavering.

From his 21st to his 30th birthday, you've made it a point to spend the day in a way that brings him joy. Whether it's exploring new places, indulging in his favourite activities, or simply relaxing together, the focus has always been on creating memories that reflect the essence of Harry.

Each birthday has become a canvas on which you paint moments of happiness and shared experiences.

You had spent every birthday with him, but for this one, it appeared to already be turning out in a way neither of you had expected.

A mere few days before Harry's anticipated birthday, an unexpected call from his manager, Jeff, sent ripples of disappointment through his plans. The urgency of an issue related to his beauty brand, Pleasing, required Harry's immediate attention in the Italy.

The brand we’re thinking of opening a pop-up shop over there, seeing as the country held so much adoration in both of your hearts, it was the place where you got married, the place where he proposed and where he now wanted his fans over there to have access to him and what he had to offer.

With flights already booked, he faced the heart-wrenching reality of having to leave just over two days before his special day. Devastation etched across his face as he contemplated the unforeseen disruption to the birthday celebration he had eagerly anticipated.

In a desperate attempt to reason with Jeff, Harry explained his deep desire to spend his birthday with you, sharing the disappointment that overshadowed the joy of the impending celebration.

However, the urgency of the matter prevailed, leaving Harry torn between personal desires and professional obligations. As his best mate and manager, Jeff empathised with Harry but emphasised the gravity of the situation, reinforcing the necessity of this unexpected journey.

Amidst the disappointment, you stepped in to comfort Harry, assuring him that celebrations could be postponed but his presence and well-being mattered most. You offered solace, reminding him that distance could not diminish the love and connection you shared.

The promise of a belated but equally meaningful celebration upon his return brought a glimmer of hope to the gloom that hung over his imminent departure.

You had promised him, that you would FaceTime him on his actual birthday and that you would both order the same takeaway that night and have a little over the phone date, just to celebrate this big milestone.

On the morning Harry was set to depart for Italy, the anticipation of his journey hung in the air. Dressed for travel, he stood before you with a small suitcase by the door.

Shoes on, cap snug, and sunglasses concealing his eyes, he exuded a mix of excitement and reluctance. Despite the January chill in London, the promise of Italy's warmth upon landing prompted him to prepare for a contrasting climate.

Your eyes held a silent plea as you stood before him, sorrow evident in your gaze.

"I wish I didn't have t’go," Harry admitted, his voice tinged with regret.

You nodded, understanding the weight of the situation, your silence echoing the unspoken emotions in the room.

Milo, your ten-month-old Rottweiler puppy, sensed the sombre atmosphere, wagging his tail as if trying to infuse joy into the moment.

Unable to contain your emotions, you wrapped your arms around Harry in a tight hug.

"I'll miss you so much," you whispered, your voice betraying the ache within. Harry's embrace tightened, and he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I'll miss y’more, m’love," he murmured, the sincerity in his words resonating with the depth of his emotions.

Crouching down to pet Milo, Harry spoke to the pup with a soft smile, "Take care of mummy for me, little buddy."

Milo responded with excited barks, seemingly understanding the impending absence.

Standing up, Harry looked into your eyes, his own reflecting a mixture of love and longing.

Your gaze locked with his, finding solace in the promise of a future reunion.

"We'll have the most amazing belated birthday celebration," you said, trying to inject positivity into the moment.

Harry smiled, his eyes reflecting gratitude.

"I can't wait f’that. Until then, stay strong f’me," he said, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

As the door closed behind him, the echo of his departure resonated through the silent space. Left with the imprint of his touch, the memory of his presence, and the anticipation of his return, you and Milo faced a home that suddenly felt emptier without him.

"I'll make sure t’send y’pictures from Italy," Harry called out from the hallway.

"And don't forget to spoil Milo a bit extra for me!" he added with a playful grin, the reassurance in his voice providing a small comfort amid the impending distance.

The day of his actual birthday, you woke up at seven am, which meant it was eight am for Harry.

It was a nice early face time call, in which you had called someone from the town near your shared beach house and got them to deliver flowers so they we’re scheduled to arrive whilst the two of you were calling, so you could see his face when he received them.

Little did he know, as the virtual celebration concluded, that you were already en route to Italy to surprise the love of your life.

His manager, Jeff, had orchestrated the clandestine journey, booking a flight that not only allowed your presence but accommodated Milo, your loyal puppy companion.

On the fairly empty flight, with just a few scattered passengers, you found solace in the quiet journey across the skies. Milo, nestled on the seat next to you, peacefully dozed off, completely unaware of the grand surprise awaiting his owner.

The hum of the plane engines provided a soothing backdrop as you envisioned the joy that would light up Harry's face when you appeared unexpectedly in celebration of his special day.

Upon landing in Italy, you and Milo were swiftly escorted off the plane by a discreet security team. The importance of maintaining the surprise for Harry became evident as the team efficiently navigated through the airport. The mission was clear: to whisk you away from the public eye, avoiding any chance of word spreading that Harry's wife had arrived.

Passing through passport control with just a carry-on bag in tow, the security team ensured a seamless transition. The anticipation heightened as you and Milo moved through the airport, surrounded by the subtle hum of secrecy. Every step taken was a careful manoeuvre to preserve the surprise and shield the unfolding celebration from prying eyes.

Exiting the airport, you were guided to a waiting jeep. The security team orchestrated a smooth transition, knowing that time was of the essence.

Jeff:

H just left for a meeting, so you’ve got at least an hour to get everything ready !!

As the jeep sped toward the villa, Jeff's text notification illuminated your phone screen. His message revealed that Harry was currently engrossed in a meeting, providing a valuable window of time to set up a birthday surprise.

The prospect of transforming the house into a beautiful haven of celebration filled you with excitement. Knowing you had at least an hour before Harry's return heightened the anticipation, and thoughts of his surprised expression fueled your determination.

The journey continued through the picturesque landscapes of Italy, the half-hour drive feeling like both an eternity and a heartbeat away from reuniting with Harry. Milo, sensing the energy, shifted restlessly in anticipation, adding an extra layer of warmth to the already charged atmosphere within the jeep.

The realization that the culmination of meticulous planning was drawing near only fueled your eagerness.

The mere thought of seeing Harry after two days of separation fueled your determination to make this surprise an unforgettable celebration of love and connection. The countdown to the reunion had begun.

"Here we are," the driver announced as the jeep came to a stop in front of the villa. You thanked him and handed over a ten-euro tip, expressing gratitude for the swift and discreet journey.

Grabbing Milo's leash and your bag, you stepped out into the Italian air, the scent of anticipation mingling with the promise of celebration.

As you approached the door, the distinct aroma of Harry's aftershave enveloped you, confirming his recent presence. A pair of his white vans neatly placed by the entrance hinted at the intimate details of his daily routine.

With a smile, you inserted the key into the lock, unlocking the door to a space filled with the essence of the man you dearly missed.

"Milo, we're home," you murmured to your furry companion, who eagerly bounded into the living room.

The atmosphere inside resonated with familiarity, and Milo, seemingly aware of the joyous occasion, leaped onto the sofa, his tail wagging in sync with the pulsating excitement in the air.

Upon stepping into the villa, you wasted no time. The suitcase that accompanied you served as a treasure trove of celebratory delights. With swift precision, you unzipped it, revealing an inflatable 3 and 0, along with vibrant banners that spelled out "Happy Birthday."

The living room became a canvas for your creativity, and the decorations unfolded in a dance of colors and joy.

Inflating the giant numbers, you strategically placed them to catch Harry's eye the moment he entered. The banners crisscrossed the room, creating a vibrant tapestry of celebration. The atmosphere transformed with each decoration, turning the space into a haven of love and festivity.

The decorating didn’t take long, maybe around half an hour, so that left you waiting, and each minute felt like hell.

You so badly just wanted him in your arms.

Seated in the midst of the festive setup, you pulled out your phone, eager to share the news of your safe arrival with your family. Fingers danced across the screen as you texted messages of reassurance and excitement, capturing the essence of this special moment.

The living room, now a symphony of color and joy, served as the backdrop to your messages, each tap echoing the anticipation of the grand birthday surprise awaiting Harry.

As you sat in the living room, engrossed in your phone, the jingling of keys outside signaled Harry's arrival. Swiftly, you rose from your seat, Milo by your side, his tail wagging in silent excitement.

Attempting to be as quiet as possible, you made your way to the entry hall, your heart pounding with anticipation. The festive atmosphere of the decorated living room served as a backdrop to the impending surprise.

Harry entered, shutting the door behind him with a sense of routine. His tote bag dropped to the floor, and in his initial distraction, he failed to notice the pair of women's shoes by the entrance.

His gaze scanned the surroundings briefly before turning away, only to snap back with wide eyes when he caught sight of you standing there.

His mouth parted in shock, a mixture of disbelief and joy washing over his face.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Harry processed the unexpected presence before him. The shock gave way to a radiant smile, his eyes lighting up with genuine happiness. Milo's tail wagged furiously, mirroring the palpable joy in the room.

Harry's initial shock dissolved into pure joy as he stared at you standing in the entry hall. Without a moment's hesitation, he rushed over, gathering you into a tight embrace. The warmth of his arms enveloped you, an unspoken reassurance of the love that bridged the distance between you two. Your eyes welled up with tears, mirroring the emotion evident in his gaze.

"Happy birthday," you whispered, the words carrying the weight of your love and the joy of this surprise.

As Harry lifted his head, his lips sought yours in a cascade of affectionate kisses. Each press was a testament to the depth of the connection shared, a celebration of love that transcended the days of separation.

The room, filled with decorations and the silent witness of Milo, became a sanctuary for this spontaneous reunion.

In the midst of the kisses, Harry's laughter bubbled up, the sheer delight of the unexpected surprise washing over him.

"M’can't believe you're here," he admitted, his eyes sparkling with gratitude. Milo, sensing the joy, wagged his tail energetically, completing the tableau of love and celebration.

“I couldn't not see you on your birthday," you admitted with a warm smile, still wrapped in Harry's embrace.

"Milo missed his daddy so much that we had to come and surprise you." You winked playfully, a cheeky smile tugging at your lips. "And, well, maybe I missed you a bit too."

Harry's eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and delight.

"Y’really came all the way here just for me?" he asked, his voice filled with gratitude. Milo, sensing the joy in the room, barked in agreement, tail wagging enthusiastically.

Cupping his face in your hands, you responded, "Absolutely. Birthdays are meant to be celebrated with the ones you love, and we couldn't let a few miles keep us apart, now could we?"

“But I’ve got meetings the entire day,��he pouted, head getting thrown back slightly. “But I wanna spend the entire day with you.”

You played with the peach fuzz at the back of his neck. “Well it’s a good job I’ve cleared your schedule then, huh?”

“Wait,”he snapped his head over to yours from where he was staring lovingly at Milo. “So I’ve got the whole day with you?”

“We’ve got the whole day together, baby.” You confirmed, watching as his dimples appeared on his face.

In need of a refreshment, you and Harry migrated to the kitchen. As he poured himself an ice-cold glass of water, you settled at the kitchen island, nibbling on a cracker slathered with butter.

Looking at Harry, you asked, "Any cravings for today?"

He grinned and replied, "Actually, I've been craving a nice stroll around the town with Milo. Maybe we can stop for some ice cream and, perhaps, a cheeky bottle of rouge."

Harry's eyes sparkled with the prospect of a leisurely day. He reached for your hand, fingers intertwining, and continued, "What do you think, love?"

You offered a small smile, well aware that your current circumstances limited certain indulgences. "Sounds lovely," you responded, playing with the cross necklace around his neck. "I'm up for a walk and some ice cream.”

The wine….not so much.

/ /

As the day wore on, bathed in the warm glow of the Italian sun, you changed into a pair of comfortable denim shorts and one of Harry's shirts, embracing the casual charm of the town. The borrowed shirt hung loosely on your frame, carrying the familiar scent that provided a comforting connection to Harry.

Together, hand in hand, you and Harry strolled along the old streets, a timeless backdrop for the unfolding birthday celebration.

Milo, ever the enthusiastic companion, trotted alongside, his leash held firmly in Harry's hand. The cobbled streets echoed with the gentle sounds of your footsteps, creating a serene melody as you explored the charming corners of the town.

The quaint architecture and rustic charm of the surroundings added a picturesque touch to the shared moments of the day.

The narrow alleyways led you to hidden gems and inviting cafés, where the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sweet treats filled the air.

Each step carried with it the promise of discovery and the joy of simply being together. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm hue over the town, and the leisurely pace of the day allowed you to savor the simple pleasures of the moment.

As you continued your leisurely walk through the charming streets of Italy, Milo suddenly stopped in his tracks, his nose diligently sniffing around the ground. With an amused grin, you watched as he searched for just the right spot to do his business.

After a moment of consideration, Milo found the perfect place, and you turned to Harry with a playful expression.

"Happy birthday to you," you teased, handing Harry the poo bag with a grin. He laughed and fake gagged, taking the bag with a theatrical expression of horror.

Milo, seemingly oblivious to the lighthearted banter, continued with his canine duties, contributing his unique birthday gift to the day's events.

Continuing your walk through the enchanting town, you and Harry engaged in easy conversation, the cadence of laughter punctuating the air. The narrow streets echoed with the shared joy of the day, every step deepening the connection between you two. Silly anecdotes and playful banter flowed freely, turning the casual stroll into a delightful journey of shared moments.

As you meandered through the old streets, each corner unveiled new surprises, and every twist and turn became an opportunity for discovery. The simple act of being together, immersed in the charm of the surroundings, fueled the laughter and strengthened the bond between you and Harry.

As you continued your stroll through the charming town, the sight of a small bistro with a quaint outdoor seating area caught Harry's eye.

"How about we grab a bite there? it looks like a nice spot," he suggested, nodding toward the bistro. You agreed with a smile, appreciating the thought of a cozy meal in such a picturesque setting.

Heading towards the entrance, you were met by a friendly waiter.

"How can I help you?" he inquired. Harry responded,

"Just a table outside, please." The waiter, with a welcoming smile, gestured for you to follow, leading you to a charming table nestled in the outdoor seating area. The sun cast a warm glow, creating an inviting ambiance for a leisurely meal.

Seated at the quaint table, Milo by your side, the waiter handed you the menus. "Browse through these, a waiter will be over shortly, and let me know if there's anything else you need," he offered before leaving you to peruse the options. The aroma of delectable dishes wafted through the air, enhancing the anticipation of a delightful meal in the heart of the town.

Harry, glancing at the menu, looked up at you with a playful grin.

"What are you in the mood for, m’love?" he asked.

You.

Wait what?

As you and Harry enjoyed the cozy atmosphere of the bistro, another waiter, a friendly woman with a welcoming smile, approached your table.

"Good evening! Do you know what you'd like to order?" she inquired, pen poised above her notepad.

Harry, ever decisive, was the first to respond.

"I'll have a glass of y’house red wine, please," he said, glancing at the wine list.

Turning to you, the waiter asked, "And for you, ma'am?"

You flashed a smile and softly shook your head.

"I'll just go for a fresh lemonade, please." Attempting to steer away any suspicion, you added, "Feeling like something light today."

Harry, catching the cue, chimed in, "Just a light and easygoing evening, you know?"

He winked at you, his eyes filled with playful complicity.

The waiter jotted down your drink orders and nodded. "Certainly, a glass of red wine and a fresh lemonade. Now, what can I get for your main courses?"

You perused the menu, deciding on a chicken salad, and Harry opted for the salmon antipasto. You exchanged glances, sharing a silent agreement on the choices. As the waiter collected your menu choices, she remarked,

"Excellent choices! Your orders will be out shortly. Enjoy your evening!"

With the waiter's departure, Harry leaned in with a teasing grin.

"A fresh lemonade, m’love? Feeling like a saint today, are we?" he quipped, his playful banter laced with affection.

You chuckled, playing along. "Well, saints need a refreshing drink too, don't they? Besides, I'm saving room for that delicious chicken salad."

Harry laughed, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. "Alright, alright, I won't question y’saintly decisions. S’just enjoy this lovely evening and the meal to come."

The waiter returned with your drinks about five minutes later, placing a glass of red wine in front of Harry and a refreshing lemonade for you. As she walked away, leaving you two to enjoy your beverages, you lifted your glass and initiated a spontaneous toast.

"Cheers to your birthday, my love," you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with affection. "I just wanted to take a moment to say how much I love you. I can't wait to spend eternity together, celebrating moments like these."

Harry's gaze softened, and he blinked his glass against yours.

"To eternity and beyond," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. "M’the luckiest person to have you by m’side. Here's to many more birthdays and unforgettable moments together."

The bistro's ambiance embraced the intimate exchange, and you continued to express your love and appreciation for Harry.

"You make every day special, but today, on your birthday, I want it to be extra magical for you," you confessed, your sincerity echoing in the quiet moments between sips of the refreshing lemonade.

Harry's smile widened, and he reached across the table to gently squeeze your hand. "Having y’here is the best gift I could ever ask for. Every moment with you is magical, and m’grateful for it all."

/ /

As the early evening settled around the villa, you found yourselves back in the comforting haven of your shared space. In the bathroom, bathed in a soft glow, you stood before the mirror, carefully removing mascara and eyeliner.

The simple act of cleansing away the day's makeup was a routine that marked the transition from daytime adventures to the quiet moments of the evening.

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Harry lay on the bed, Milo nestled at his feet. He absentmindedly scratched at the short growth of hair on his head, a subtle reminder of a recent decision to shave it off.

The room radiated with a sense of tranquility as you each indulged in the rituals that marked the end of the day.

Wearing one of Harry's shirts that enveloped you in the familiar scent of him, you busied yourself in the bathroom, preparing a late evening birthday surprise.

The soft rustling sounds of your movements echoed against the backdrop of Harry's contemplative scratching, creating a harmony of shared space and intimate connection.

With a soft smile gracing your lips, you glanced at yourself in the bathroom mirror before deciding it was time to return to the bedroom.

Your hands were discreetly behind your back, holding a late evening birthday surprise for Harry. As you stepped into the bedroom, Harry, already seated on the bed, noticed your presence and sat up, beckoning you with open arms.

"I want a cuddle," he declared, his eyes twinkling with a playful warmth. Unable to resist his endearing request, you let out a soft giggle at his baby-like antics.

Playfully, you approached the bed as he beckoned you forward.

Crawling onto the bed next to him, you let yourself be enveloped in his arms. You laid your head on his chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart echoing comfort and love.

The anticipation of the surprise gift still hidden behind your back added an extra layer of excitement to the intimate moment.

"I missed you," Harry murmured, his voice a gentle caress. You pressed a kiss over his heart, savoring the warmth of the connection. His arms tightened around you, embracing the familiar comfort of being close.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at Harry with a warm smile, saying, "I've got one last present for you. Close your eyes."

Harry hesitated for a moment, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, before obediently shutting his eyes. With gentle steps, you moved towards him, the late evening's golden glow casting a soft ambiance around you.

In your hands, you held a delicate gift, and with a mix of hesitation and tenderness, you softly placed it in Harry's hands.

"Okay, open your eyes," you instructed, your heart fluttering with a secret that had the power to change your lives forever.

Harry blinked his eyes open, and as he glanced down at his hands, a flicker of confusion passed over his face. Then, his gaze landed on the small object nestled in his palms.

It took a moment for the realisation to sink in, and when he saw what it was, his eyes widened, and he gasped.

"What... is this?" Harry stammered, his voice shaky with emotion.

His trembling fingers picked up the small pregnancy test.

The room fell silent as the weight of the revelation settled in. Harry's eyes locked onto the test, and tears immediately welled up.

"S’this for real?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't some sick joke, right?"

You shook your head, a mixture of joy and vulnerability in your gaze. Leaning forward, you pressed your forehead against his, tears streaming down both your cheeks.

"It's true, H. I'm eleven weeks pregnant," you whispered, the magnitude of the moment engulfing you both in a wave of overwhelming emotions.

Harry's breath caught, and he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes.

"I... we're going to be parents?" he uttered, a mix of disbelief and elation in his voice.

A tender smile graced your lips, and you nodded. "Yes, Harry. We're going to be parents."

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

"I can't believe it. M’going to be a dad," he mumbled against your hair, his voice filled with a joy that echoed through the room.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Harry leaned forward, his hand gently pressing against your stomach as if trying to connect with the new life growing within.

The tender touch conveyed a depth of love that words could only strive to express. His lips found yours in a sweet, lingering kiss, and as he pulled back, he whispered, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

“This is the best birthday ever,”he spoke, chocking out a soft sob. “Thank you m’love, thank you, thank you for making us parents.”

You softly placed your hands on his cheeks to get him to look at you, and when his green eyes met yours, you smiled at him tenderly.

“Happy 30th Birthday, Baby.”

598 notes · View notes

martiansodas-blog · 6 months ago

Note

hi I’ve been obsessed of your work, so can I request a fanfic where reader is heavily pregnant (8-9 months) and needy and art helps her.

if that’s too uncomfortable or out of your confort zone I apologise

you’re so kind ! this sat in my drafts for so long it grew roots, i’m sorry :( i do appreciate every ask i get, i just work nearly everyday.

🎾 🤍💐✨🎀

art is a family man.

he always wanted the americana, white picket fence, nuclear family.

to make it even more cliche, he wanted two kids; a boy and a girl.

and you were about to make his dreams come true.

when art saw you interact with lily he knew he had to make you a mommy as soon as possible.

the need to give his daughter a sibling clawed his way into his chest and never left..

“he’s very active today.” you said happily

arts head is rested in your lap as you lounged on the couch. your hand in his soft blonde locks, his resting over your rounded stomach.

“wants to get out of there, i bet.”

you scoffed, “he’s not the only one.”

he loved quiet moments like this, times when it was just the two of you—or three now.

your son kicked against his hand.

“can’t wait to meet him.” you murmured

his fingers traced hearts all over your belly. ever the loverboy.

“me neither. just a couple more weeks.”

it was unbelievable how much his life had changed.

“you’re gonna be such a good daddy. again.”

a small huff left his nose. he leaned a little closer, leaving a soft kiss.

“you hear that, little man? ive got big expectations to live up to here.”

you chuckled “you nervous?”

he let out a low sigh, moving so he could see you clearly. a lazy smile painted his face as he nodded.

“very.”

“me too, but there’s no one else i’d rather have a baby with.”

he intertwined your fingers and kissed them.

“feeling is mutual.”

art loved you pregnant. it awakened something primal in him. knowing he did that. knowing it’s his kid you’re carrying.

you had a glow to you. not just on your face, but your whole body. beyond that- your essence.

he watched you do your evening skincare from the king sized bed. you looked beautiful—he had always thought you were beautiful, of course… but there was something about the way you looked in this moment. how your curves seemed more pronounced. how there was more of you to love. how you were barefaced and smelling good straight out of the shower.

“you coming to bed soon?”

“why, can’t sleep without me?” you teased

“of course not.”

you padded over to him as he pulls back the covers for you.

you lay on your side, facing art. he grazed his hand over your arm, admiring you.

even this slightest touch from his calloused fingertips gave you goosebumps, made your nipples perk up. like an automatic response.

“how’s your back?”

“eh,” you rolled your eyes, “closer i get to the due date the more it hurts.”

the look on arts face told you that’s unacceptable.

“turn around, i’ll massage you.”

“not gonna say no to that.”

arts warm, big hands acted as a soothing balm.

“you have so much tension, baby. should’ve let me know, i’d have done this a lot sooner.”

his words were barely comprehensible to you, your body finally being relaxed allowed your mind to do the same. for once.

“mmm,”

art bit back a laugh, not wanting to seem like he was making fun. you were just too cute is all!

this was an easy way for him to express his love language.

after merely a few minutes you had to press your legs together. just a little pressure. that’s better.

you figured since you were under the blankets he wouldn’t be about to tell. but this is your husband we’re talking about. nothing goes unnoticed by him.

he brings his mouth right behind your ear. warm breath tickling you.

“is there tension somewhere else i need to get out?”

you let out a pitiful whimper. you can’t help it. you just leaned you head back on his chest.

“aww,” he chuckles, “it’s ok , sweetheart. your hormones are all out of wack, aren’t they? needing me to keep you stuffed all the time. you poor thing.”

“yes,” you whine, trying to press your body back into his as much as you could. it was pretty hard, considering the extra weight you’re hosting.

he smirks and moves you on your back, hovering over you. you don’t have to lift a finger. art will do it all for you. that’s precisely how he liked it.

“well what kind of husband would i be if i couldn’t keep you satisfied?”

art wastes no time. having only wore his little underwear to bed, he quickly removes those. he lifts up your oversized shirt to reveal you didn’t bother with putting any on anything underneath.

he’s not going to waste time. he knows don’t need foreplay. you haven’t in weeks. wanting to fuck just as much as when you were trying to get pregnant.

he doesn’t mind, of course.

the best part about being pregnant? no need to worry about protection.

you couldn’t get enough of arts rigid cock sliding inside you. your walls practically molded to him.

“ohh, that’s it.”

he sank into you, slowly, lovingly. resting his head in the crook of your neck. that’s it’s home. all his moans amplified there. he had to maneuver a bit to not put too much pressure on your belly. always so careful. but hes 6 foot, it’s hardly an issue.

“god, i want to get you pregnant again and again.”

he moaned as he forced cock in all the way. the whole room echoed with the sound of his balls slapping against your ass.

you whimpered as your nails took residence on his back.

“god, your so beautiful carrying my baby. so sexy. all filled up.”

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he brought his fingers to your puffy clit.

sex during pregnancy was always slow and soft. he’s terrified of hurting you.

sometimes you’ll simply cockwarm him. you’ve both grown to love it. being that close. feeling love from the inside out.

art stuck two fingers in his mouth then brought that down to your clit. keeping eye contact with you the entire time.

“hnnnh! art!” you gasped

“what, close already darlin?” he cooed

you nodded. you felt like you could cry. which wouldn’t be saying much, you cried a lot these days. to be expected. but this time it’s welcomed.

“please, art, fill me up again.” you begged

it was the again that got him.

everyone already knew you’ve been filled with his cum. strangers in the grocery store, your wholesome religious mother, the other fucking guys in the neighborhood who’s eyes always lingered too long.

art has always had a somewhat high sex drive. so when your third trimester hit and you couldn’t go more than a day without being pumped full? it was like heaven to him.

“yeah? want me to remind you how we made our baby?”

you nodded your head furiously as filthy noises escaped you.

“comon baby, i know you’re almost there. i want you to cum with me and then i want you to taste it.”

you came and came and came around art. time seemed to stop and drag on at the same time. you had to tap him so you could catch your breath. otherwise he would’ve kept fucking you until well after his dick chaffed.

he stilled, remaining inside of you.

“atta girl.”

he gifts your feather light kisses on your forehead.

“did so well for me. always do.”

on your cheek.

“my perfect wife, how lucky am i, huh?”

on the tip of your nose.

you can hear the smile in his voice.

when you come back to earth, he’s there waiting. you opened your eyes you saw those roses cheeks you fell for so long ago.

“hey”

he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“hey”

“thank you.” you whisper

“dont need to thank me, love. it’s an honor to experience your body, and to see you.”

the tenderness you got to experience with art is something you’d never grow tired of. truthfully you thought men only said stuff like this in movies. his actions only doubled when you showed him that pregnancy test.

“i can’t wait to give you a baby.”

#is somebody gonna match my freak (having his kids)#mike fiast #art donaldson #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson x you #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader

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ryiju-muunie · 7 months ago

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Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye

18+ viewer discretion is advised

Fem!reader/inmate!Toji Fushiguro Warnings: established relationship, slight angst, mentions of abuse, conjugal visit, breeding, breeding kink, missionary, cream pie, DILF Toji, Toji has a BD ;) Word Count: 3343 DESC: Your last visit until your boyfriend gets out of jail takes a spicy turns AKA idk how conjugal visits work so bear with me

Hi sorry IVE BEEN GONE! I see your requests and I'm getting there I promise!

It had been a year since your boyfriend decided to defend you in public. And a year since his sentence. That whole day was a mess from start to finish, and you wished you could take it all back. It started innocently enough, a family trip with him and his son, Megumi, at the local mall. Megumi clung to your hand more than Toji’s, causing your comments to start. To you, they were all jokes and to Megumi, they were hilarious. Little things like, “Aw, I guess Daddy’s not the favorite anymore!” Or, “Guess you need to put a ring on it sooner, babe.” It was supposed to be sweet fun, but it was getting to him. Maybe it was his rough childhood speaking or his insecurity as a parent, but your snide remarks weren’t helping his soured mood. Now that you looked back on it, it was your fault that he snapped.

That man did nothing wrong other than come up to you and begin to gently compliment your outfit while you watched Megumi play in the child's play area. He did nothing that warranted your boyfriend coming up and grabbing him by the shirt collar, and socking him dead in the jaw. He did nothing wrong as he fell to his knees, and as your boyfriend kicked him in the gut. The man did nothing as he was viciously assaulted for merely hitting on a woman he didn’t know was taken. You were horrified as you watched your boyfriend send punch after punch his way, deforming his face with his fists. Megumi was terrified to see his dad do such a thing.

But Toji heard nothing, saw nothing other than the fact a man was threatening his position as your loving boyfriend. And he was loving. Yet, something made him snap. It was a long time coming with his aggressive behavior in general. Especially with men who even looked in your direction. Call it possessiveness, call it love; You felt sick. Your hand covered Megumi’s eyes and slowly you began to walk backward, staring at the man you said you loved. Once he finished his punches, his hands covered in blood, he looked back at you two. He was hollow, a shell of who he was. He always was after his explosive anger attacks. They came and took hold of that man and made him instantly regret ever being alive. He watched the two of you back away in fear, as the security guards detained him.

You did love him, you couldn’t help it. Even if he punched that man for no reason in your eyes, to him he was about to lose you. Toji was a sad man who came from a traumatic home, but you didn’t know that. He never let you in on why he was the way he was, or why he had that damn scar on the side of his mouth. The man never let you in and told you about how he got it, or why he was so protective of you. In his eyes, any man could take you away and leave him alone with nothing but a bottle in his hand.

It took you a month before you decided to visit him in jail. You didn’t want to take Megumi because you knew it would take him a while to warm up to the idea of seeing his father after what he witnessed. You were patted down and inspected, told to take off your shoes and all that fun stuff. It felt like a lunch room, rather than what you had seen on TV. You sat at a round table, with a few decks of cards sprawled in the middle. Toji wasn’t there yet, but he was aware you were visiting. And you knew he’d be pissed you hadn’t come sooner. You figured he’d be all cocky and give you the silent treatment like the bitch he was. So you didn’t expect to see him look so … defeated. He walked into the room with two guards beside him, just for security. They motioned to your table and he looked at you. Your boyfriend looked … dead. Bags under his eyes and a hollow expression. The same expression you saw on that day. Regret and remorse for his actions in a way you hadn’t seen before. There was something different in his eyes when he saw you, a glimmer of hope. Maybe all wasn’t lost. Maybe he still had you.

You stood up and swallowed, watching him come toward you in his tan jumpsuit. Your arms opened involuntarily and he pulled you into a very quick hug, probably protocol. He smelled different, he felt different. There was a stiff movement about his motions as he sat down across from you, his hands on top of the table. Was he … shaking? Like an abused pitbull, he stared at you and waited for you to speak.

“Toji…” You began, hesitating before resting your hands atop the table as well, “Megumi isn’t ready to see you yet,” he nodded and looked away.

“You came to see me. I thought you’d never come back after that day,” his eyes met yours again and you felt a wave of sadness. This wasn’t the cocky man you fell in love with. This was a shell of that man. “I’m sorry baby,” he rasped, voice strained against his throat.

“Why did you do it?” Was all you could ask. If you got some clarity, and some answers, then you’d be able to figure out what to do after that. You’d be able to figure out how to address your relationship. You still loved him, we know this, but was it worth it? Was waiting for him while he rotted worth it? The man was silent for a few moments, staring at the table between your hands. Your hands were atop each other, near his but far enough you two wouldn’t get in trouble. You wanted to touch him as badly as he wanted to touch you, to break the distance and tell him everything would be okay. He needed it, you could tell.

“When I was a kid, my brothers threw me into a pit of snakes,” he didn’t look up, “And my parents … laughed,” a defeated laugh came out of his lips, “No one treated me like how you do,” then Toji looked up at you, a dry edge taking to his voice. His eyes were like glass, staring at you with his soul naked to yours, “I can’t lose you or ‘Gumi- I can’t lose you,” then he took your hands, just for a second to squeeze them before he let go. The touch was fleeting, and it burned. Your skin ached where he touched it, and you longed to hold him. To tell him it was okay. Never in your relationship had he ever let you see this side of him, the side of him that was about to cry. The side of him that was truly vulnerable. Even with just a few short words you knew there was more to his childhood than he led on, more horrific stories than that one. His skin was all you wanted to feel, as you saw the tears pool up in his eyes. This wasn’t him, this wasn’t the Toji you knew. This was him at his lowest level, begging for help. Begging for … you.

You weren’t going to let go of him that easily.

Every weekend, you visited him. Sunday, at noon, you’d come and greet him with a smile. You didn’t understand how much it affected his mental state just to see you. It gave your boyfriend something to wake up for in the morning, it gave him motivation to work out and help out around the jail. He wanted to be with you, touch you, smell your hair, anything. Even if he couldn’t, and even if he could only see you for a few hours, that was all he needed. You saw his improvement slowly but surely, every time you’d come over. His skin brightened and his smirk was wide. Toji was getting his personality back slowly, but surely. Megumi visited him shortly after you began your weekly visits. You let the two of them talk alone, watching from afar. It was heartbreaking to see how your step-son perspective of the world had shifted all from one incident. It was heartbreaking to see him become cautious around the man who had been there since his birth. But Fushiguro knew this all too well, and he understood things would be different until the trust was built.

There were two months until Toji would be released with parole. You weren’t able to hide how excited you were, just to be able to see him and hold him. That’s all you wanted. Just to taste his mouth and run your hands through his hair, which had gotten shaggier now. Your boyfriend’s physical appearance had definitely changed, in one way or another. Whether that was his muscles or the fact he had a new tattoo he didn’t want to tell you about. You didn’t really notice the changes, since you hadn’t seen him without that bulky jumper off in … a year. You didn’t want to admit how sexually frustrated you had been since that day. Nothing could replace his fingers, or his big cock thrusting into you. Not even a dildo, not even your fingers. No vibrator was as good as his tongue and no pillow was as plush as his thighs. You had to face it, you were desperate for him to leave. Two months were going by too slowly, and it was killing you.

Until one of your friends had mentioned something offhandedly. A conjugal visit. You weren’t sure what it was until you did a bit of research, then you knew you were on board. A personal, one-on-one visit with just you and your boyfriend. You knew you didn’t have to ask him, of course, he’d agree. Toji was just as pent-up as you, more so in fact. It was hard, to see you in those perfect outfits and to see your perfect fact, and not being able to do anything. He couldn’t hug you, he couldn’t hold you, and he surely couldn’t fuck you. So when one of the guards came to him on a Monday and told him you had scheduled a conjugal visit for that day, he was intrigued, to say the least. Your boyfriend had heard about it from some of his cell friends, but he didn’t think you were that desperate. He thought if anything he would be the one going crazy while you took this like a champ, he had no idea you were lusting as much as he was.

You were issued a trailer with a bed, a small bathroom, and a nightstand full of condoms and lubricant. It was spacious and quite clean for being used for sex regularly. You found yourself seated on the bed as you waited for Toji to come with an escort. Once that door closed it would just be the two of you, ready to do whatever the hell you wanted for hours upon hours. The door jiggled a few times before you saw him.

Never had you seen him that excited to see you, as he slammed the door behind him. He peaked around a bit before he saw you on the bed, waiting for him. A genuine smile appeared on his lips, pulling at that scar and making the skin around his eyes crinkle. “I miss you,” he muttered, strolling into the mini bedroom. You looked up and felt the bed dip down under his weight as he flopped down onto his stomach, “And I missed laying on a damn bed.” You laughed and looked down at him, putting your hand in his hair. It was soft and longer than he usually kept it. Your fingers ran through his locks and lightly played with the strands in a way that made him melt. This touch was bliss, utter bliss. And you hadn’t even gotten started yet. He looked over at you and put his hand on your hip, using his thumb to rub a small circle in your skin. It was intimate without even trying.

“C’mere,” you motioned, leaning back onto the headboard. Your legs were slightly spread as you invited him to lay between them. He didn’t have to be told twice, practically tripping on himself to seat himself on his front and in between your legs. Toji was warm, as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your lower abdomen.

Your hands tangled into his hair as you let out a small breath, “Two months and you’ll be out… I’m so excited,” you smiled, “And I was thinking, you know, Megumi wants a sister.” That caught his attention from dozing off, from your supple touch. Toji’s head perked up and his eyes trained on your face. He was listening.

“I think a good present for me, and Megumi, could be giving him a sister,” you continued, looking away with a shy expression. It felt so right, being this close to him. You needed him in so many ways it was starting to burn again. The way his hands lingered on your hips, and as they slowly started to play with the hem of your pants. And how one hand trailed up the small of your back, making you shiver intently.

“Right now, princess?” A low purr escaped his lips, as he slowly got up from his lying position to sit in front of you. There was an unmistakable lust building in his eyes, in a way you missed. Oh how you missed it, to hear him mutter filthy fucking things in your ear. And how you missed how he’d manhandle you like it was nothing, using you like the whore you were. You bit onto your bottom lip and nodded, letting your boyfriend do the rest of the work. You didn’t have to speak or tell him twice, as his lips found yours. A tightening feeling arose in your chest, along with a warm, arousing fire that was building in your pussy. His lips molded against yours and kissed you like this was the first time in a year, which it was. Sure, you gave him a quick peck every time you’d see him. But it was never enough. Nothing was enough. Not even kissing him would be enough to satiate the yearning that had been building in your body for months. Your hands made a home on his back, digging into his jumpsuit and then moving to ruffle his hair.

He tasted like smoke, and like home. This was your Toji. The Toji that took hold and took charge, roughing you around and pushing you to your limits. His tongue slid into your mouth and you couldn’t suppress the noise that came along with it. It was pleasurable, how it rolled and explored your own mouth. It ran along your bottom lip and then touched your own tongue, which tried to battle against it. But nothing could win against his dominance. His hands went to work, unzipping the front of your jeans and slowly sliding them off, with help from you lifting your perfect hips. Of course, you were wet. You were easy to please with him. And it didn’t help you had been waiting for this for practically ever. Every moment you touched yourself in your shared bedroom you envisioned this. The first time having sex after Toji had been gone. You pictured how he’d finger fuck you, then how he’d tongue fuck you, before finally forcefully stretching you with his dick. His perfect dick, the dick you could never fully take in your mouth. The best dick you had ever fucked. You could practically feel it then, as he broke away from the kiss to pull down your underwear.

Your hands moved to cup his face, “No…” A pout formed on your lips, “Fuck me.. Please.. I want it .. so bad…” It was all you had to say before he was unzipping his jumper. He was built, more than before. Muscles flexing in his neck from seeing your dripping pussy on display. Toji stood to fully take it off, watching as you began to touch yourself. You couldn’t help it, you were needy for him. Your fingers played with your clit as you watched him, seeing his jaw clench from the small noises you made.

“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?” He grunted, kicking off his jumpsuit and pulling down his underwear. There it was, the thing you had been waiting for. He was hard and throbbing for you, begging to nestle into your wetness and fuck you until you sobbed. Fushiguro crawled back onto the bed and grabbed your jaw with one of his hands, “Open your mouth.” He whispered, a seductive tone filling his voice. Your whine filled the air as you complied and he spat into your mouth. You missed being used like a little slut and being forced to do whatever he wanted, just for his own pleasure.

He didn’t put you on your stomach as you thought he would, instead opting for a very close missionary. It was nice, to see his face as he slid into your warmth. Toji could’ve come then and there from it. How you were tight and how you were dripping for him. All after some kissing? You were so desperate it hurt. Your skin was on fire as he pressed his body against you and rested his face into the crook of your neck. Your boyfriend’s mouth wandered, biting the skin and sucking to leave you with a mark you could show off for days. Toji thrust into you, letting out a noise you hadn’t heard before. It was … a whimper. He was so horny for you that he was at the point of whimpering, how pathetic.

“M… mm.. I’m gonna.. F-ffuck.. Make you a mommy, a pretty.. mm fuck.. A pretty little mo-mommy,” he groaned, beginning to thrust into your pussy at a good pace. You bit your lip and tried not to make too much noise, but it was hard when he was hitting that perfect spot. It was hot, how he fucked into you like he was in heat. You felt so good it was hard not to just fuck you until he came … and that’s what he was doing. You wanted Toji to make you a mommy and fill you up with his seed until you were bulging in your tummy. You wanted him to make you a pretty little mommy, a whore just for him. And you were. You would do anything for him if he asked.

“Pl-please,” you whined, hands wrapped around his shoulders as he humped into your cunt, “H…harder .. mm.. Sh-shitt..” It was hard not to cum when he was abusing your pretty little spot. You were almost there, and hearing him whimper from each squelch was making it harder not to unravel. You had never heard Toji make such desperate sounds until he was balls deep into your warmth and taking it all in. Then you did cum, gasping and grunting at the sensation. Your walls clenched as you felt the pleasure wash over your cunt a few times before filling the rest of your body in orgasmic waves of bliss. That was enough for him, crying out before letting his cum paint your pretty walls white. Ropes of cum covered your insides and filled you up, making it almost hard to breathe.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was all you wanted. You loved that man and you wanted his kids. Even if he had some baggage, everyone did. You made a vow to love him and you were going to keep it. And so was he. Toji wasn’t going to lose you no matter what.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji fushiguro x you #toji smut #toji x reader #toji x you #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #jjk fushiguro #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #ryiju-muunie writing

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pumpkinbxtch · 9 months ago

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𓇼 the sun & the sea 𓇼 〰✷〰

— apollo / lester x daughter of poseidon!reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

☆ radiostar is playin': forever always by the driver era…!

warnings: none taglist: @emidpsandia

He, apparently, was dead missing.

"He went alone on the mission with Python. He hasn't returned for three days now." A month later, Meg contacted you through an Iris message and explained everything that had happened. A month later and the days passed, nobody knew about him.

"We only know that he retrieved all the Oracles and the gifts of prophecy returned," Chiron told you, and Dionysus, for the first time, looked nervous and worried about his brother.

But if Apollo had succeeded in his mission, where was he? You hadn't dreamed of him either. Days went by and your anxiety grew.

"I didn't agree, but my brother insisted on pushing him to the limit," Poseidon said seriously, and Percy replied, "I think he took it too literally, don't you?" You suppressed a groan while your father scolded your brother with his gaze. Python was gone forever, but they knew nothing of Apollo.

"It's okay, it's only been five days," you thought, but you realized that every day you did it with a new number and without any news until almost two weeks had passed... Honestly, you didn't know how many times you had cried in all that time, you didn't even bother to hide it, and even your roommate requested a room change.

Lately, the time was bad in every sense. Thunder rumbled, and you hugged the pillow tighter, tears already rolling down your cheeks. The room was colder than usual; after all, you were alone in it. You accompanied yourself with the dim light of your desk lamp, and the flash of lightning illuminated the darkest corners. You realized you were crying over too many things, everything was very recent, you hadn't even finished processing Jason's death, and those lightning bolts... all they did was remind you of it.

"Wasn't it enough with him?" You wondered as you let out your sobs. Jason was his son just like Apollo, and if he led them both to death just to reaffirm his authority to everyone, you had no doubts that Zeus was a cruel father. The thunder shook the window, and you closed your eyes in anger, not retracting anything, even if Zeus annihilated you with one of his lightning bolts, you would never do so. Probably beyond, on Olympus, your own father struggled with annoyance with his brother, but even if Poseidon wasn't half the father that Paul was to you and Percy, he would never allow you to be harmed.

Your tennis sounded against the wet sand of the path leading to your favorite café. You walked in a ghost town with a hollow chest and the cold penetrating your bones, but it didn't matter because you already felt like those skeletons that Nico brought to the surface when he was in a bad mood; anyway, you moved forward to have a hot chocolate, it was Sunday, you had to have enough strength for classes the next day.

— Here it is — the lady said when you had just formed in line at the bar. You frowned and shook your head.

— Surely it's for someone else, I just got in line.

The girl smiled and looked at the label.

— Hot chocolate? —she asked in the waiting line, and no one recognized it, she returned to you and handed it to you again. — It was ordered in advance.

A joke from Frank? Frank didn't make jokes. But if it were, how did he know what you wanted?

You took it and looked at the label, it had a sun drawn on it that made you purse your lips. "Of course, it had to be," you thought bitterly and walked back taking the long way, the one that passed by the small Tiber.

The sunlight barely reflected on the water after all it was covered by the clouds, and you sighed as you looked at the huge body of water, your chest hurt. How did this happen? You would be better off if you hadn't entered that Grove, but you had to do your will, but you wouldn't have had those days with Apollo, which provoked mixed emotions in you again.

"this rhymes for him were different, but he hopes for put that ring and find what he's been missing."

— If you wanted to marry me so much, come back and do it — you murmured with your nose buried in your scarf and tears stinging your eyes. You cut your step and faced the river that continued to shine coldly, the small cup you held slipped from your hands with each sob, and when you let out the first whimper, you let it go. However, it didn't fall. You gasped, and when you looked beside you, your breath left you.

Of those brown curls, only a few remained mixed with the blond ones, of the freckles you counted that last time you had him too close, there were only about three hundred instead of a thousand. He was taller, and his body more athletic, but he wore the same Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans from the knees. His smile was big and triumphant, the same blue eyes you had been waiting to see were just trying to memorize your fractions in the same way you were doing with him.

— And are you serious or are you just fooling me?— His voice. You threw yourself into his arms without considering if he could be hurt, but judging by how he looked... then you took him by the shoulders, he foolishly thought you would kiss him, but you just leaned back and kicked him in the chest with the skill that only you could have.

He groaned on the ground in a fetal position, and seconds later, he rose on his elbows with a confused look.

— Idiot — you shouted as you walked towards him and knelt to be at his height. Apollo couldn't help but smile like an idiot, and you couldn't help but hug him again. — Where the hell were you?

Your whimpering caused guilt in his chest, and he took care of your head as both lay back on the grass. He stroked your hair as you clung to his chest, wishing his scent would imprint on you to never forget it.

— Hey…— He called you, and you looked up, noticing tears in his eyes too. You cupped his cheek and, before he could say anything else, you kissed him. The first kiss. He closed his eyes, completely surrendered to you, feeling like he could finally breathe freely after months. When your soft lips left his, he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You couldn't see it, but Apolo had a flushed face and a knot in his stomach.

But you didn't need to see it, because as he hid in you, the sun broke through the clouds, shining brightly, almost lighting up the whole world with brighter colors than before. It was with that detail that you confirmed he had become a god again, and his feelings were showing to you in too many ways.

�� I…— You spoke after several minutes of silence, causing him to sit properly on the grass with you, holding your hand. — I do want to be with you. I'm not just messing around, just so we're clear.

— Do you have an alternative? — He joked, and you gently pushed him while nervously looking at your hands.

— Fool.

— For you, of course — he cooed as he took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, but you noticed that his skill to seduce without seeming like an inexperienced teenager had returned, and that's where your first jealousy arose because you wished only you could have that side of him.

— And only for me, I'm sure — you grumbled under your breath at having that thought, and he laughed.

— I was born to love only you, believe me.— Apollo said, getting up and offering his hand to help you. — And just like art, I'll be faithful to you.

— Wow, what a great poet — you took his hand, and he took you by the waist, bending down to touch his nose to yours. You never believed in the expression "like a Greek god" until he looked at you in that way.

— Are you going to marry me? — He stroked your nose with his while gently squeezing your waist. You nodded silently like a fool, and he gave you a peck on the lips with a smirk. — I just wanted to make sure, but actually, I don't need any of that to be devoted to you. You're everything to me.

He took your hand and led you along the edge of the small Tiber, which now shone fervently.

•

— Apollo! — You shouted from the reception of the mansion on Olympus, closing the big door forcefully and looking at your husband playfully peeking behind his throne.

— Yes, dear? — You pursed your lips and approached him.

— Where are my things?

— Which ones? — He played dumb, and you sighed.

— From my bedroom at the university, where are they?

—In your room...— you raised an eyebrow — here.

You growled and pulled him to come out from behind the throne.

— I told you it would be until I graduated.

Apollo pouted and slumped his shoulders.

—But I miss you.

You smiled and hugged him.

— I miss you too, but— you stepped back and showed the ring on your ring finger —I have this, darling, and that's enough to scare off my classmates. I don't need to come down from Olympus every day when I can be in the dorms.

Apollo nodded regretfully.

— Alright, alright...— he snapped his fingers and smiled at you — everything is already in your silly university dorm.

You smiled and gave him a kiss. As you started making your way to the exit, he sighed.

— I'll see you tonight — he shouted, and you turned around smiling.

The Sun illuminates the beauty of the sea but never tries to contain it, and the sea shows the sun that even in the stormiest moments or the darkest nights, its light never fades.

#trials of apollo #apollo pjo #apollo pjo x reader #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #pjo #lester papadopoulos #lester papadopoulos x reader #apollo x reader #apollo x you #apollo x y/n #lester papadopoulos x you

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amostnobleyandere · 2 years ago

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Yandere! Noble! Scaramouche x GN! Reader (Arranged Marriage)

A/N: hey look first post!!!! this blog is basically just a place to dump my thoughts on yanderes and situations w them// if you’re not comfortable w that, please leave!!! this is not the place for you

GN reader but!!! the word “bride” is used once so do w that what you will .

remember, this is a mature blog !!! don’t like don’t read!!!!!!!!

warning(s): male! yandere, toxic relationships, slightly narcissistic yandere, verbal abuse, child neglect, arranged marriage, toxic behavior, bad parenting skills, loneliness, obsession, yandere scaramouche, scaramouche is his own warningetc. etc.

Synopsis: there’s this specific scenario ive been thinking of lately : an enemies to lovers, but with a yandere that is particularly bitter and hasn’t really experienced an unconditional love before but then his initial hatred of you turns into an obsession. I thought scara was perfect for it :)

—————————

neither of you had wanted to get married; you, the child of the last bloodline of a falling noble family, and scaramouche, heir to one of the wealthiest and most prestigious names in the empire, would have never been pushed to marry under normal circumstances. it could only be assumed that fate had revealed its hand and placed its destiny upon you.

you had never even met the young man that society had branded as ruthlessly curt with a lash-like tongue. you had never expected to, considering how far apart you were, in different circles and in different worlds

he was the duchess’ nephew and only heir, and was untouchable in both stature and power. in contrast, your family name was declining rapidly. you knew why your mother and father had accepted the marriage proposal the day it came, and you knew why they decided not to tell you until the letter in reply had already been sent. you had no say in the matter

how your parents arranged a marriage between the two of you? well, you could certainly guess; noble ladies gossiped and gasped about the young man who was rich with a handsome face, but with an incredibly arrogant personality and a razor tongue that both reflected his wit and endless scorn. you thought that the rumors must have been over exaggerated, as they always were, but for the duchess to have to reach out to your family to find a spouse for her son? had all the other contestants been rejected, and now they were picking through the scraps that were left? or perhaps, had they rejected him?

now, you weren’t so sure

even then, some part of you had never thought they would agree to something like this; they had concluded that this was what was best for you, had even told you that you will live a much happier life if you were in a household that wasn’t always on the edge of crumbling and giving way to time; you could see that they did have the best of intentions. and still, you felt betrayed

unbeknownst to you, at the time, your fiancé had felt the same way toward his mother; the expression of his feelings on the matter, however, included a lot more yelling and rage in his questions as to why he was being dragged into this. he was used to being disappointed, but being so blatantly used?

unfortunately, scaramouche’s defiance was only met with a cold silence and a blank stare, and after he had vehemently denied to go along with the marriage, his mother had only said that nothing could be done. he had no choice in the matter.

and the gentle glint in her eyes, that had still remained their after all these years, that stayed as she firmly reprimanded him, only served to make him more furious.

and so, his resentment for you, the other victim in this situation, came naturally.

when he met you for the first time, his regularly crass and sarcastic attitude only got worse. you could see the embarrassment dawn on both your parents’ and his mother’s faces, cringing every time his voice got a little too loud or when he said something particularly blunt. he made snide comments on your upbringing, your title, even your clothing wasn’t spared the ruthless bite of his words. between his curt and cold attitude and your futile attempts at making conversation, you two didn’t exactly hit it off when you first met

and then, when you finally got sick of it and told him what exactly you thought of his words and his money and where he could shove them, his resentment turned into something much more personal: spite.

he reasoned that he had every right to hate you. to be overly rude and childish whenever you so much as got the idea to be five feet near him. he never asked for the marriage. he doesn’t care about how much it would benefit the two of you, and he’s long past trying to finally please his mother into loving him, so why should he have to act like the perfect husband for someone who is below him?

your parents seemed to love you plenty though. if their guilty eyes and shifty glances were anything to go by. even if they were shamelessly grabbing at the wealth and prestige of another family, he could tell that this marriage was meant for you and your future. even if you didn’t want it. even if you seemed to dread it. every time they brought you over for a scheduled date in the lonely garden at the back of the duchess’s estate, there seemed to be a subtle pain in their eyes.

perhaps, a paternal regret at having to make their child miserable so that they could eventually have the things they weren’t able to give them.

…well, it gave him more reason to torment you.

————————

there seemed to be no way out of the awkward meetings. your parents were hell bent on having scaramouche as your husband, and his mother was just as determined. so, when you did have to suffer through seeing each other, you kept trading thinly veiled insults, practically sulking every time you heard the others name, and bickering with the each other at every opportunity. it became a familiar routine for the two of you, to not get along and verbalize your frustrations through jabs and taunts

strangely enough, scaramouche grew fond of the bickering. you were practically the only person who would speak to him so casually. with so little respect and without fear of him blowing up. he thought it was refreshing. no one hardly ever talked to him anymore, and even a child that had everything and more could not curb his own loneliness by himself…he would never tell you that, though.

he thought that at least it was entertaining to tease you. actually, if you weren’t so annoying, he might have actually gone as far to say it’s pleasant having you in his company. It certainly beats the large, lonely house he had to wander every day.

plus, when was the last time he had talked this much? when someone had looked at him and acknowledged his existence without him having to work for it?

—————————

as the engagement progressed, you two ended up spending hours together every week, whether you wanted to or not, and while you were mentally and emotionally exhausted from the stress your parents were putting you through, he’s looking forward to your meetings like they��re the highlight of his week…it’s ridiculous, he thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks, and oh god now he can’t get you out of his head.

then suddenly, you’re calling it off. the whole engagement. miraculously, you guilted your parents into going back on what they had agreed to.

his mother is appalled and frustrated, a bit exasperated now that she has to find another suitable bride for her son.

scaramouche is beyond furious.

he goes quiet with rage. he’s more snappish now, towards the maids, towards everyone. his attitude is no longer his usual arrogance and crudeness. his usual bitterness rose into an explosive temper and ruthless training just to keep himself confined to a state of sanity. there is, once again, for the first time in many, many years, an unmistakable fear of abandonment that is raging in his head. he feels so wronged.

and it’s your fault.

and then, he goes silent. if they thought it was bad when he talked, see what they think when he’s quiet.

for his mother, it’s unnerving. to the servants, it’s downright terrifying.

no one realizes that he’s calculating. no one really expects it. everyone assumed this was one big temper tantrum after suffering a huge blow to his pride.

scaramouche was really only clutching his shattered heart after giving it to someone who threw it away.

—————————

what he wants at first is revenge.

that’s what he wants to think he wants. he wants to make things even between the two of you; make you suffer like you made him. force his way into your mind in the worst way possible, and keep himself there to get the message across.

for the first few agonizing days after the annulment, he thinks; maybe that he should tamper with your parents businesses and make you a pauper, someone who is reduced to having to take care of their parents after you fall from the graces of society. and then, after that, he’s hoping you’d come crawling back to him, and ask for his help and his hand. and he’d oh-so graciously accept you back into his life; not before making you beg for it, though.

then again, perhaps toying with whatever lover you have would be a good way to get back at you. he just assumes that you have one, because you must, for you to just abandon him like that.

you should have just stayed.

either way, he’s going to make you regret it.

—————————

it doesn’t take much for scaramouche to convince his mother to have a much needed talk with your parents.

and despite everything she’s done, ei does want to make her son happy. she wasn’t blind after all; he’s always seemed to be on edge, ever since the accident, but he had changed in the short amount of time he had know you. the boy she had failed to raise and care for, someone who was now so far out of her reach, seemed to be more calm and content when you were by his side. it had been a long time since she had seen her nephew look forward to something this much.

whether you want the engagement or not matters less to her.

—————————

and so, your resistance all comes apart so easily. Ei is one of the most powerful people in the empire, so it doesn’t take much effort before she’s luring your parents into throwing you back to them and into scaramouche’s waiting arms. It would be the least she could do as his mother

it’s only a matter of time before you’re resting in the palm of his hand once again; the engagement is back on, running smoothly towards your fast approaching wedding, like your little rebellious mishap never even happened

scaramouche is reveling in it. he feels as though he’s won. and in truth, he has. he imagines the look on your face, how you’ll have to greet him eventually, look him in the eyes after tossing him to the side and then losing, and thinks about how he’s going to make your reunion as painful as possible when you do meet again

his wishes are fulfilled when not even a month later are you pushed into the expansive garden by servants and abandoned by them even quicker, watching them scurry away with pale but oddly relieved faces. once again, you were meant to suffer through another lunch date after you thought you had finally escaped and left the gloomy estate behind forever.

the familiar stone pathway and expansive flora only served to bring back bad memories of your failed attempt to gain your freedom and reminded you of what you would have to look forward to for the rest of your life. it’s only the scuffle of boots against the ground that brought you back to reality.

you knew exactly who was standing behind you.

—————————

when scaramouche saw you standing there, muscles taught and shoulders tensed as you refused to look at him, he took his time observing you, savoring the moment and committing it to memory.

his slow and deliberate footsteps did little to calm your fraying nerves. You were both surrounded by tall hedges and the gentle sound of water coming from nearby fountains. no one else was around. You were completely isolated, with only your fiancé- no, your crazed future husband- keeping you company.

and as always, his presence was suffocating.

“you know, trying to run away from me was cute, but it got annoying after the joke was over. did you really think you could go against a duchy? don’t make me laugh.” his voice had a high and condescending lit to it that seemed to grate against your ears. your stony facade crumbled soon after, instantly revealing the confusion and panic that welled in your chest.

“…why did you do it?” your voice came out hoarse and low. you whirled around, finally looking into those violet eyes. scaramouche felt a shiver of excitement run up his spine as your watery gaze met his.

“you hated this engagement just as much as I did. why did you drag me back here? we both could’ve been free.” a bitter laugh escaped your throat that pathetically choked off into a sob.

he laughed lowly as his head titled down, shielding his eyes from you. the sight made you shudder involuntarily.

“‘drag you back?’ deary, you belong to me. you did the moment I decided I wanted you. what you want doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t know what’s good for yourself, clearly.”

when he lifted his head back up to meet your eyes, he was smiling. the soft turn of his lips wasn’t full of cruelty or malice, scorn or hatred, and somehow that made the uncharacteristically gentle look so, so much worse.

scaramouche picked up your limp hand, gently turning it over, and slipped a ring onto it. it was like putting a heavy shackle on a caged bird; it was needless and unnecessary, you were already trapped. the world did not need anything else but the duchess’s final word to let everyone know who you belonged to.

but, as you stood there staring blankly ahead, you noticed scaramouche seemed genuinely happy to see the band resting on your finger.

the smile he wore turned more playful, more mocking, as those piercing eyes looked at you as if you were pitiful and small, beneath him, something that needed guidance

and his purple eyes locked with yours as he slowly pulled you to him and brought you into a soft kiss.

—————————

“Give me your love. Give me your validation. Hand yourself over to me, body, mind, and soul.”

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“Darling, do you think you have a choice?”

#scaramouche #yandere x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere genshin #yandere #yandere genshin impact #romantic yandere #male yandere #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #yandere wanderer x reader #yander wanderer #genshin impact #genshin

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ashyjingles · 24 days ago

Text

jason grace headcanons

as requested by @sacrifical-lamb-core

ive been known to enjoy some more feral leaning jason grace but this is more of an authoritative take on his personality if you will. feel free to add to or dispute anything i have here!! this is all kind of a jumbled mess of first-come-first-serve deal in my head and i have yet to go through and weed any out

he has problems with authority. not outwardly; in fact, to everyone else, he’s the picture perfect kid who follows all of the rules. but that’s because he’s terrified of what would happen if he stepped out of line. he grew up with lupa, who was incredibly harsh to ensure survival in her pups. and then when he got to the legion, all of the officers were required to uphold the law. jason saw what happened to people who stepped the line, and the results were never pretty. (in son of neptune they mentione tying someone in a bag with weasels and throwing them in the little tiber for fuck’s sake) he grew scared to even TOE the line.

because of the previous hc, he’s scared of kids. he knows how rambunctious they get, and he knows that if it came down to it, he would have to punish them and follow through on it by necessity. its what all his predecessors did after all. but he doesn't want to harm them. hes always had that soft spot for the new and/or younger kids. so he’s not scared of kids themselves, he’s scared of being the one to give them consequences to their potential actions. he leaves that to someone else with more guts

the previous two leave him with a lot of cognitive dissonance that he never really gets over. he’s an incredibly empathetic person and no matter how much he tries he can never really stop that feeling of regret when he has to punish someone who clearly regrets their actions. but give them an inch and they'll take a mile. he has major problems with dissociation where he removes his sense of self from the scenario and lets his logical processing take over without any emotion. reyna has had to pull him back from it a few too many times.

between the dissociation, magical amnesia, adhd, and constant brain damage, that boy has one of the worst memories youve ever seen

he really likes steak. specifically rare steak. (wolf!jason truther…)

he can see electrical currents! and can. see? wind currents. its more of a knowing the wind currents are there without thinking about them rather than a visual thing though. its how despite his poor eyesight he was an excellent fighter before he got the glasses

jason has really sharp canines! so does thalia! they get it from their mom, who filed her own canines down for a softer appearance and would have done the same to her kids once they were old enough for that type of dental work.

jason is left handed, but because of military-style training early on it was forcibly trained out of him either because nobody realized he was left-handed or because they looked down on left-handedness for the sake of unanimity in the formations on the field. he just thinks hes naturally ambidextrous

gay. mlm. boy kisser for certain that man does NOT like girls. he treated reyna and piper the exact same despite one of them being his girlfriend (and treated reyna in a way where she thought he might have liked her back) because he treats them both in accordance to his emotions toward them: ie, he likes both platonically, which is why theres no difference. he just cant tell.

he fucking LOVES mint. says brushing his teeth and chugging a cold glass of water makes his mouth feel like being up in the air and 15 thousand feet with the wind in face.

he’s half asian! beryl grace is asian (i usually go with either thai or vietnamese) and usually i just went with wasian but then the show came out and now i go with blasian. or maybe beryl grace is wasian? whatever the case, i always pictured him and thalia as having some sort of asian descent.

hes really good at archery. dont tell anyone its just him controlling the winds though

hes such a dog person oh my god

his eyes light up like circuits/lightning when he uses his powers. specifically his lightning powers.

jason doesnt have dyslexia but he does have dyscalculia. like, really bad dyscalculia. but he still greatly prefers reading in latin!

jason hated reading for the longest time because they didnt have any books purely for enjoyment on base. in new rome itself they had bookstores with plenty of books. (they were mostly classics because they didnt have too much contact with the rest of the world, but they were more than just military reports or old historic scrolls you needed express permission to even breath on) but when he discovers newer books he finds himself really liking them! though his favourite genre is definitely classics, and when someone breaks the news to him that he couldve had these books the entire time hes devastated

when he was younger he was better at latin than english because most kids who arrive at camp jupiter know english already and theyre well equipped at teaching people latin, but not english. they had to send him to a school off base/in new rome for younger kids to learn some more rudimentary skills

it was under juno’s orders that he lived on base. she wanted him to be as prepared as possible for his future, which meant starting his training bright and early. otherwise he probably would have spent some time in camp jupiter as a normal kid until he could at least, oh i dunno, read and write. tie his shoes. eat with cutlery. take a bath by himself.

if jason had been there long enough without the swap ever happening, when he stepped down from praetor (not for another longggg few years) he would have done law in new rome.

if post swap jason grace had the opportunity to do law in new rome, he would have pushed for rules regarding kids safety. of course, if another jason case were to happen nobody would have been able to deny a god(dess) but jason was never a normal case, was he?

can you tell i like lawyer!jason

less of a headcanon more of commentary on his character but as strong of a character as he was, camp half blood taught him how to have a back bone. in rome he was incredibly disciplined and had no trouble ordering other people around, but it was always in accordance with new rome’s laws. camp half blood taught him how to abide by his own moral principles rather than ones that someone else gave to him. (after all, new rome was about unity while chb was about individuality.)

he honestly really likes his work as pontifex maximus. it fulfills his inner desire to be doing the ‘right’ thing by rome’s standards (especially because the title is highly revered) while giving him the room to express his creative desires, which is something that he had never been able to do. its also not at the cost of someone else, which usually ended up happening when he was upholding the law as praetor

this one works in contrast or in tandem with my previous bullet on his sexuality (specifically the comment on how he treated piper and reyna): he knew that reyna had a crush on him. he didnt know why he couldnt feel the same. queer culture wasnt really a thing in the modern world for the time it took place, and i dont imagine new rome was any more progressive. he didnt understand lots of things about his sexuality at the time. he didnt know that not liking girls might have been an option, and that he didnt have to like reyna back. so he tried his best to convince himself into having feelings for her, which led to reyna thinking they were reciprocated. once he met piper, that confusion happened all over again and even without his memories he found himself repeating the process

his favourite is blue like the sky, and ironically his and thalia’s eyes

thalias eyes are slightly darker than jason’s. more grey as well. jason’s are the brightest fucking blue youve ever seen. think the clearest, sunniest day youve ever seen, and it still doesnt hold a candle to his eyes. thalias are more like the sky before a storm.

jason can feel (along with see as given by previous bullet) electrical currents. he could feel someone switching a light switch from half a mile away if he thought about it

hes constantly brimming with static electricity and WILL shock everything he touches. a handshake? you get shocked. he tries to open a car door? literal sparks. as a kid he had to wear electricity resistant gloves because he didnt have a hold on it and it became dangerous because when his emotions are heightened, so are his powers. if he gets angry or excited or sad the air around him smells like ozone, and sometimes you can even see the sparks

cows really like him. straight up adore him. theyre his favourite animal!

he smells like ink, ozone, and something metallic. some people say blood, but hazel says its something like copper or nickel

#jason grace #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo hoo toa #percy jackon and the olympians

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eveninggstar · 5 months ago

Text

taste ⊹ ࣪ ˖

lando norris x celeb!ex!reader

28.08.24

୨ৎLando’s girlfriend finds herself constantly measuring herself against you, unable to escape the shadow of your presence in every interaction she has with him since their reconciliation. Every moment they share together is tainted by her preoccupation with you, as she struggles with the lingering comparisons and the haunting feeling that you’re always a part of their relationship.

i might make another one of these (not a lando one tho) more based on the music video but i love this so much <3

(also there isnt much lando x reader its more so julie-the girlfriend- losing her mind this is 3k words btw longs thing ive posted im pretty sure)

୨ৎ back one page ୨ৎ back two pages

Julie’s voice echoed from Lando’s bedroom as she rummaged through his closet. "Hey, Lando, where did your brown hoodie go?"

Lando, halfway through rifling the fridge for his meal prep, paused, raising an eyebrow. "Which one? I’ve got a ton of brown hoodies," he called back, finally grabbing a yogurt and tearing off the lid.

Julie appeared in the doorway, holding a hoodie up to inspect it. "Its just plain brown. I think you wore it for the chicken shop date thing?"

Lando froze, spoon mid-air, his eyes widening in recognition. The hoodie. The one you had practically claimed as your own during your time together. He could vividly remember the countless times you’d thrown it on, the sleeves always a little too long on you, but it became your favourite because it smelled like him. He cursed under his breath. "Son of a—"

Julie’s brow furrowed. "What?"

"Nothing, just... yogurt," Lando muttered, quickly shovelling a spoonful into his mouth to avoid further questions. But his mind was miles away, back to the days when you two were inseparable.

The buzz around the Grand Prix was electric, but as usual, social media had its own storm brewing. While Lando and Julie were busy with pre-race activities at the track, a new post began circulating online, quickly capturing everyone’s attention.

A fan had snapped a picture of you at the airport, casually dressed in leggings, sneakers, and a brown hoodie that was instantly recognizable to anyone who followed Lando Norris. It wasn’t just any brown hoodie—it was his brown hoodie from the video that everyone was complementing his boyfriend skills, the one that had become almost iconic. The photo showed you standing by the gate, luggage in hand, seemingly unaware of the stir you were causing.

Within minutes, the photo was everywhere. "is lando and y/n back together?" one tweet read, followed by countless others speculating about whether you and Lando were back together. "They must be seeing each other again. Why else would she have his hoodie?" someone commented, adding fuel to the fire.

Back at the GP, Julie was enjoying the day, blissfully unaware of the online frenzy. She and Lando had been photographed together several times, looking every bit the happy couple. But as she scrolled through her phone in between sessions, her smile faded. Her notifications were blowing up—fans tagging her, sending messages, and most of all, sharing that airport photo of you.

Her heart dropped as she recognized the hoodie immediately. There was no mistaking it. Lando had worn it countless times, and now, there you were, casually wearing it in public like it was yours. It was supposed to be her hoodie. She wanted to wear it, yet here you were strutting with it slinged on.

Julie’s mind raced with jealousy and frustration. She knew that you and Lando had a history, but this felt like a public reminder of something she couldn’t quite shake—a connection that still lingered between the two of you. People were already speculating that you and Lando were rekindling your romance, and the thought of it made her stomach churn.

Without thinking, Julie opened her camera roll and found a picture from earlier that morning. Both of them smiling with his arm draped around her shoulders. She quickly uploaded it to Instagram.

julie's inatagram

tagged: landonorris

liked by others

julie.love My forever ❤️

The post was live within seconds, and as the likes and comments started rolling in, Julie felt a brief sense of control. "You two are so perfect together!" someone commented. "Lando and Julie forever!" another wrote. But no matter how many compliments she received, the uneasy feeling in her gut remained.

Lando, on the other hand, was caught off guard when his teammate showed him the airport photo of you. "Hey, mate, isn’t this your hoodie?" they asked with a grin. Lando stared at the screen, a mix of surprise and nostalgia washing over him.

Neither of you had given any clothes back. It wasn't an agreement that you would go back to each other. Nothing like that. The pair of you were just too busy to drop the clothes off, mutually agreeing just keep them or get rid of them. However it reminded him of how intertwined your lives had been, and how some things, like that hoodie, had slipped through the cracks.

When Lando later saw Julie’s post, he felt a pang of guilt. He knew it was more than just a cute couple picture—it was a reaction, a way to claim him in the face of rumors and speculations. But even as he stood next to Julie, smiling for the cameras, he couldn’t help but feel the pull of the past, and the complications it brought into his present.

Julie’s post might have been an attempt to silence the rumours, but the truth was that the sight of you in his hoodie had stirred up more than just gossip. It was a reminder that some connections aren’t easily broken, and no matter how much time passes, there are pieces of the past that linger—no matter how hard you try to move on.

The night had settled quietly over the city, the noise of the race weekend fading into the background. Lando and Julie were lying in bed, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound in the room. Lando had drifted off quickly, his breathing steady and calm, completely relaxed after a long day at the track.

But Julie couldn’t sleep. She lay on her side, facing Lando, her thoughts racing. She stared at his peaceful face, the dim light from the street outside casting soft shadows across his features. He looked content, his usual easy smile tugging at the corners of his lips even in sleep. It was a sight that usually brought her comfort, but tonight, it only made the knot in her stomach tighten.

Julie’s mind was consumed with thoughts of you—your face, the hoodie, the way you seemed to still have a hold on parts of Lando that she couldn’t reach. She kept replaying the image of you at the airport, casually wearing his hoodie as if it were nothing, as if it didn’t mean something.

She wondered if Lando had thought about you at all when he saw the photo earlier, or if he had truly dismissed it as easily as he’d said he did. He had brushed off the rumors, laughing them away, saying it was just a hoodie, nothing more. But Julie couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something lingering beneath the surface.

As she lay there, watching Lando sleep, her heart ached with insecurity. She wondered if, even in his dreams, he was thinking of you. Did his mind wander back to the memories you shared, to the jokes and the late-night conversations that were once his world? Was there a part of him that still longed for what you had, even if he would never admit it?

Julie wanted to reach out, to touch his face, to reassure herself that he was hers, but her hand hesitated. The thought of you, still a presence in his life, made her doubt the closeness they shared. It felt like a shadow, something she couldn’t compete with, no matter how hard she tried.

She sighed softly, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered like a stubborn cloud, refusing to clear. Julie knew Lando loved her—he showed it in so many ways—but the fear of what he might still feel for you gnawed at her, making her question everything.

As Lando shifted slightly in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible, Julie’s breath caught. Was he dreaming of you? Or was it just her own fears playing tricks on her? She closed her eyes, willing herself to believe that he was dreaming of nothing at all, that his mind was as peaceful as his expression.

But as she lay there, restless and wide awake, Julie couldn’t shake the haunting thought that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the only one thinking about you tonight.

It was a lazy afternoon at the hotel, with Lando and Julie lounging on the balcony, enjoying the view of the bustling city below. Julie leaned back in her chair, sipping on a cool drink, and looked over at Lando with a playful smile. "If you could do one crazy thing right now, what would it be?" she asked, curious to hear his answer.

Lando paused for a moment, thinking it over. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he replied, "I want to jump off a cliff into the ocean. I’ve never done that before."

Julie blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter. "What? Where did that come from?"

Lando laughed along with her. "It just sounds like a rush, doesn’t it? Plus, it’s one of those things you’ve got to try at least once."

Julie shook her head, still chuckling. "You're so weird sometimes."

Lando shrugged with a grin, enjoying the lighthearted moment. "Hey, there’s a first time for everything."

They spent the rest of the afternoon together, enjoying each other’s company, but as the day wore on, Julie found herself thinking about Lando’s unexpected response. It wasn’t that the idea of cliff diving was so out of character—Lando was always up for an adventure—but it was the way he said it, with a humor and boldness that seemed a little different from his usual demeanor.

Later that evening, back at the hotel, Julie was scrolling through TikTok while Lando was in the shower. As she mindlessly flipped through videos, one caught her attention. It was a compilation of funny moments from various celebrities, and the first clip was of you. The video showed you laughing, full of energy, as you spoke into the camera.

"If I could do anything right now, I’d totally jump off a cliff into the ocean," you said with a playful grin. "I’ve never done it before, and I’m kind of scared, but also, it’s on my bucket list. Who’s with me?"

Julie’s laughter died in her throat as she watched. Her stomach twisted as she realized that Lando’s earlier comment wasn’t just a random thought—it was something he had picked up from you. The way you said it, with that same mix of humor and excitement, was almost identical to how Lando had phrased it.

She put her phone down, her mind racing. The connection was too clear to ignore. You were still influencing him, whether Lando realized it or not. It wasn’t just in the big things, but in the small, subtle ways that you had left a mark on him.

Julie glanced toward the bathroom, where the sound of the shower running echoed through the room. She felt a pang of insecurity, wondering if she would always be competing with the ghost of you—your humor, your quirks, the pieces of you that had woven themselves into Lando’s life and stayed there, even after you were gone.

As Lando emerged from the bathroom, toweling off his hair with that familiar, carefree smile, Julie tried to push the thoughts away. She didn’t want to spoil the moment or let her doubts show. But as she forced a smile, she couldn’t help but feel that your presence was still very much there, lingering between them, even now.

The night was alive with celebration. The pulsating beat of the music, the vibrant lights flashing across the packed dance floor, and the electric energy of the crowd all mixed together in a whirlwind of excitement. All of the drivers were having a night out in Monaco. Julie clung to Lando's side, basking in his happiness, proud and exhilarated. The night felt perfect, almost surreal.

As the night wore on, Julie excused herself to the bathroom, weaving through the crowd and slipping past the velvet ropes into the dimly lit hallway. The bathroom was a sanctuary from the chaos outside, quieter but still buzzing with the distant thump of the music.

Julie washed her hands, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She smiled to herself, thinking about Lando, how far he’d come, and how good they looked together tonight. She was about to turn the tap off when she felt a presence behind her, someone stepping close enough to brush against her.

Julie froze, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly, she looked up into the mirror and saw you standing directly behind her, your reflection clear as day. Your eyes locked onto hers through the glass, and a sly, knowing smile played on your lips.

Before Julie could react, you leaned in closer, your breath warm against her ear as you whispered, "Every time you close your eyes and feel his lips, you're feelin' mine. And every time you breathe his air, just know I was already there."

Julie’s heart pounded in her chest, her pulse echoing in her ears. She wanted to move, to say something, but she was rooted to the spot, mesmerized and terrified by your presence.

You continued, your voice soft but laced with a sharp edge, "You can have him if you like. I've been there, done that once or twice. And talkin' 'bout it don't mean I care. Yeah, I know I've been known to share."

As soon as the last word left your lips, Julie snapped out of her daze. She spun around, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. But the bathroom was empty. You were gone—vanished as if you had never been there at all.

Julie’s eyes darted around the small space, her hands trembling as she clutched the edge of the sink. Was it real? Had you actually been there, or was it some twisted trick of her mind? The encounter had felt so vivid, so real, but now she was alone, the silence of the bathroom pressing in around her.

She quickly turned back to the mirror, half-expecting to see you again, but there was nothing—just her own wide-eyed reflection staring back at her. The words you had whispered echoed in her mind, taunting her, making her question everything.

Julie took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself, but the unease wouldn’t leave her. She felt as though your presence had left a mark, something intangible yet undeniable, a reminder that no matter how much she tried to hold onto Lando, your shadow was always there, lurking in the corners of her mind.

Fighting back a wave of panic, Julie hurried out of the bathroom, back into the noisy, crowded club. She pushed through the throngs of people until she found Lando again, his carefree smile and bright eyes a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling inside her.

He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist, and she tried to lose herself in the music, in the celebration. But no matter how hard she tried to shake it off, the memory of your words stayed with her, haunting her, and making her wonder if she would ever truly have him to herself.

The paddock was alive with the vibrant energy of race day at Zandvoort. The excitement was palpable as Lando prepared for his race, surrounded by cameras, fans, and a sea of media. Julie stood close to Lando, trying to stay calm amidst the chaos. She had been eagerly supporting him all weekend, but today, her nerves were frayed.

As Lando was about to enter the garage, he turned to Julie, pulling her into an embrace. “Hey, kiss of well done?” he asked with a soft smile, his voice barely audible over the ambient noise.

Julie managed a smile, trying to focus on the positive. “Well done,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him. It was supposed to be a sweet moment after the race, a brief respite from the frenzy surrounding them.

But as their lips met, Julie’s perception shifted abruptly. The kiss, the closeness, the sensation—it felt strangely familiar, as if she were kissing someone else entirely. A cold shiver of panic raced through her, and in her mind, it wasn’t Lando she was kissing, but you.

Her eyes flew open, and the illusion was enough to send her into a spiral of distress. She pulled away from Lando, her fear manifesting in her voice. “Get away from me!” she screamed, her voice trembling with a mix of terror and anger. “Leave me alone, Y/N! Just leave me alone!”

The scene erupted into stunned silence as Julie’s outburst pierced through the crowd. The media, the fans, and even Lando looked on in shock. Julie’s face was flushed, her eyes wide with fear as she backed away from Lando, who looked utterly bewildered.

As Julie’s panic peaked, she turned and fled, running frantically through the paddock. Her eyes were clouded with tears, her breath coming in ragged gasps. In her haste, she collided hard with someone coming from the opposite direction.

It was you.

The shock of seeing you, the very person she thought she had just escaped, standing right in front of her, sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through her. "No! Get away from me!" Julie screamed again, her voice cracking as she staggered back, her eyes wide with fear. The panic in her voice echoed through the paddock, drawing even more attention as people turned to see what was happening.

You stood there, frozen in shock, your eyes locking with hers. You hadn’t done anything—you were just walking past as a guest of Mercedes, on your way to their hospitality area. But the intensity of Julie’s reaction left you momentarily speechless.

"Julie!" Lando’s voice cut through the chaos as he rushed over, his concern etched on his face. He reached out for her, but Julie was already spinning around, desperate to escape. She shoved past him and the onlookers, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she ran, trying to get away from the ghost she believed was haunting her.

As Julie disappeared into the crowd, the paddock buzzed with murmurs and confused glances. The cameras that had been trained on Lando’s celebratory moment now captured a scene of utter chaos and confusion.

Lando looked up, his eyes meeting yours across the paddock. His face was a mix of confusion, concern, and something else—something that told you this was far from over.

You quickly averted your gaze, turning away before you could get caught up in the drama that was unfolding. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of what had just happened, and the realization that some things, no matter how much time passes, are never truly left behind.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

taglist: (comment if you wanna be added)

i love this so much hope you do too <3

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #mclaren f1 #mclaren #fem!reader #f1

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novaursa · 3 months ago

Text

Of Gods and Men (god killer)

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

- Summary: House Targaryen survives their ancient exile after being overthrown by House Corrino and the Bene Gesserit. Fleeing to the unknown planet Albiron, the Targaryens build a hidden civilization powered by drakaon crystals, reviving their dragons and creating advanced technology. Millennia later, whispers of their survival begin to surface as the Bene Gesserit confront a mysterious Red Woman on Arrakis, who warns of a coming Prince That Was Promised destined to challenge their control. The Targaryens secretly prepare to return, ready to reclaim their legacy.

- Pairing: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

- Note: For more details about House Targaryen and their technology, please check out the masterlist.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: coventat

- Next part: the path

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sky over Arrakeen was a deep orange, dust from the desert swirling in the air as the winds picked up. The entourage from House Corrino descended from their ships with all the pomp and arrogance expected from the Imperial family. Behind them, the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam and several other members of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood followed closely, their expressions masked but sharp. Key members of The Guild walked with a purposeful step, their faces unreadable beneath the shadows of their hoods.

Standing at the forefront, Leto, you, Aenys, Hawat, Gurney, Paul, and Jessica stood with a mixed delegation from House Atreides and Targaryen, their posture tense as they awaited the visitors. The air was thick with animosity, and it took only moments for the strained atmosphere to become palpable.

The Emperor Shaddam IV approached first, his eyes sweeping over the gathered assembly with a practiced air of indifference. But the weight of his arrival wasn’t lost on anyone. This was no casual visit; this was an attempt to salvage his slipping grip on the universe.

With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Shaddam spoke, his voice ringing out over the wind. "Duke Leto, your continued presence on Arrakis has not gone unnoticed. I believe it's time to ensure the future of the Empire... with an alliance." His gaze flickered to Paul, then back to Leto. "I offer you the hand of my daughter, Irulan, in marriage to your son, Paul. Together, we can secure stability, and your position here on Arrakis will be... acknowledged."

Leto’s expression didn’t change, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his irritation. Before he could respond, Paul spoke up, his voice clear and resolute. "I refuse."

A ripple of surprise passed through the assembled crowd, though the Reverend Mother’s expression remained unreadable. Shaddam’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. "Refuse? You would reject an Imperial marriage? This is an opportunity to—"

"I said no," Paul cut in, his voice unwavering. "I have no interest in your daughter or your offers."

Leto nodded, stepping forward to back his son. "My son’s decision is final. We will not be part of your schemes, Shaddam. Not now, not ever."

The air grew colder as the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen took a step forward, her piercing gaze landing on Jessica. "You’ve allowed this, Jessica? You’ve let your son and the Duke to ally with... dragonspawn from across the universe, and now you sit idly while another great House is removed from our plans?"

Her words were a thinly veiled insult, but the true jab came when her eyes flickered briefly toward you, who stood quietly beside Leto, visibly pregnant. The weight of the Reverend Mother's disdain was clear, and her implication stung even more sharply.

Leto’s irritation flared into anger. He moved, standing protectively in front of you, his expression dark and filled with warning. "You will not speak to my wife or her family like that ever again. Do you understand?"

The Guild representative, sensing the mounting tension, stepped forward next, his voice calm but filled with an undercurrent of menace. "Duke Leto, your involvement with the Targaryens threatens the flow of spice across the universe. Without it, the Guild cannot operate. The Empire will collapse."

Leto narrowed his eyes at the man. "On the contrary," he said evenly, "the spice has never flowed in such capacity as it does now. Thanks to our combined efforts, production is higher than ever. The Targaryens have helped ensure that. So if your concerns lie with the spice... they are unfounded."

The representative stiffened, but before the conversation could continue, Aenys stepped forward. His presence was commanding, even without the dragons looming in the distance. His cold, calculating gaze landed on Shaddam, and for the first time, the Emperor seemed unsettled.

"You will leave Arrakis," Aenys said, his voice as sharp as the blade of a sword. "You and your lapdogs," he glanced at the Reverend Mother and the Guild representative, "will vacate this planet. And if I see an Imperial frigate inside my space again, it will be shot down on sight."

The silence that followed was deafening. Shaddam’s face flushed with barely concealed fury, but he said nothing. He knew better than to challenge the Dragonlord outright, not when so much power hung in the balance.

The Emperor straightened, turning on his heel without another word, and his entourage followed suit. The air was still thick with unspoken threats as they left, but for now, the battle had been won.

As they walked away, Leto exhaled, turning to look at you, his hand finding yours. The silent solidarity between you both was enough.

The caverns echoed with the rhythmic clink of armor and boots as Feyde-Rautha Harkonnen led his men deeper into the labyrinth beneath the sands of Arrakis. These dark, twisting tunnels had become familiar to him over the past weeks, each incursion pushing further into Targaryen territory. His troops moved with caution, their eyes constantly scanning the shadows, ever wary of a sudden dragon's breath or a Targaryen ambush.

But Feyde had learned something important during their operations: the Targaryens, despite their might and dragons, weren’t invincible. Every push into these caverns yielded more valuable intel. Every hidden nook and cranny they uncovered revealed a little more about the enemy. His men had grown bolder, emboldened by the small victories that came with each excursion.

In the dim glow of their torches, one of his lieutenants approached, his helmet tucked under his arm, eyes sharp with anticipation. "We’ve gathered enough information to draw her out," he said, his voice low but steady. "Daenys. If we push the right buttons, we might just get her on dragonback."

Feyde barely glanced at the man, his eyes focused on the walls of the cavern as though considering every possibility, every outcome. "And the brothers?" he asked, his tone almost disinterested. He was fixated on one target alone—you.

"They’ve been busy consolidating their forces, especially after the failed attack on the Atreides stronghold. But they’re spread thin, focused on the desert infrastructure and maintaining alliances. If we strike at the right moment, we can cut off their support before they realize what’s happening."

Feyde finally turned his head, a smile playing on his lips. "Good. We need to be patient, though." He moved further into the cave, the dark rock reflecting his calm confidence. "Daenys... she’s been reported to be giving birth, hasn't she?"

The lieutenant nodded. "Yes, as we speak. It’s unlikely she’ll engage us anytime soon."

Feyde’s smile grew, dark and calculating. "Then we wait. We’ve been patient this long. What are a few more months?"

His words sent a wave of quiet murmurs through the ranks of his men. The Harkonnens were not known for their patience, but Feyde had always been different. He enjoyed the chase, the slow unraveling of his enemies' weaknesses. And now, with you vulnerable, he felt the thrill of victory closer than ever before.

"Her brothers will be busy handling the Targaryen forces, and she’ll be occupied with the birth." Feyde’s voice dripped with cold certainty. "Which leaves her dragon. Without their full strength behind them, we’ll have our opportunity. But we must strike carefully. If we push too soon, we risk tipping our hand."

The lieutenant nodded, understanding the subtlety of the plan. "So we’ll keep observing. Wait for the perfect moment."

Feyde’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming in the low light of the cavern. "Exactly. Let them think they’re safe. Let them enjoy their moments of triumph. Because when we strike, it’ll be from the shadows, and they’ll never see it coming."

The cavern grew quiet again, save for the faint sounds of Feyde’s men continuing their quiet work. Each step they took, each hidden chamber they mapped, brought them closer to their goal: to draw you out, to capture or kill you, and to send a message to your House that even dragons could be hunted.

Feyde turned back to the darkness ahead, his mind already calculating the next move. "Let her rest," he muttered to himself, more amused than concerned. "We’ll take care of her when the time is right."

For now, patience was their greatest weapon. And Feyde intended to wield it with the precision of a dagger.

The walls of the Arrakeen stronghold hummed with a strange sense of anticipation. Inside, the combined forces of House Atreides and House Targaryen moved with an unspoken purpose, the air thick with the knowledge that something monumental was happening. It wasn’t just another political maneuver or military strategy; this was personal. Deep within the stronghold, you were giving birth.

The room where you lay was a blend of tradition and innovation—Targaryen banners fluttered alongside the Atreides colors, while advanced medical technology hummed alongside ancient Targaryen remedies. Leto stood by your side, his face pale but his grip on your hand steady, as if holding you could anchor him through the storm of emotion that surged within him. The birth of his children—your children—was imminent.

Through the haze of pain, you felt the world narrowing, every breath drawing you closer to the moment that would change everything. It felt both surreal and inevitable, a moment foretold in both your visions and Paul's dreams. Even now, through the intensity of it all, you could sense the connection that bound your House to this moment, to this new life.

The midwives moved around you, their voices calm and steady, guiding you through every wave of pain. Leto whispered words of encouragement, though his voice cracked with the strain of watching you in pain, helpless except for his presence. His fingers brushed your hair from your face, his gaze never leaving yours.

Hours passed, but time lost meaning in the blur of effort and anticipation. And then, at last, the cry. A piercing wail that broke through the tension in the room.

“A boy,” one of the midwives announced, her voice filled with awe.

And then, moments later, another cry—softer, yet no less powerful.

“A girl.”

You leaned back, your body spent but your heart full, as the midwives moved to place the newborns in your arms. Leto, standing by your side, gazed down at them with a look that was equal parts disbelief and pure joy.

“They’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a deep, unspoken love. “What should we name them?”

You watched him, seeing the pride and awe in his expression, and you knew that these names would carry more than just family legacy—they would be the beginning of a new era.

“The boy,” Leto said softly, looking at his son, “Aenor, after both our families.”

He then turned his gaze to your daughter, her tiny fists clenched as she wriggled in your arms. “And for the girl... Rhaelys.”

The names settled over the room like a benediction, their weight both ancient and new. The children squirmed in your arms, already carrying the legacy of two Houses—one born of fire and blood, the other born of dignity and honor.

Suddenly, the doors to the chamber burst open with an energy that could only belong to one person. Aenys, your father, strode in, his usually composed face uncharacteristically lit with excitement. He took in the scene, his gaze immediately finding you and the twins in your arms. His eyes softened in a way that few had ever seen.

“Grandchildren,” he breathed, his voice carrying the awe of a man who had seen much but never this. “My first.”

You watched as the great Dragonlord, the warrior who had led your House through exile and war, approached with a reverence you had never seen from him before. He knelt beside the bed, his fingers brushing the soft heads of Aenor and Rhaelys with a gentleness that was almost startling.

“You’ve given me the future of our House,” Aenys said, his voice low, meant for your ears and Leto’s. ��And they will carry both the blood of the dragon and the strength of House Atreides.”

Leto smiled at your father, though he still looked slightly stunned by everything happening so quickly. “They will be raised to honor both our legacies.”

Aenys met Leto’s gaze, and for a brief moment, the two men—once strangers from different worlds—shared an unspoken understanding. They were bound now, not just by an alliance, but by blood, by family.

For a moment, all the political intrigue, all the looming threats from Harkonnen and the Empire, faded into the background. In this room, in this moment, there was only joy.

As the door to the chamber opened again softly, Paul stepped inside, his movements hesitant at first, as if unsure he was ready to confront the reality of his dreams. He had seen them—your children—in countless dreams and visions, both as siblings and as something entirely different in other paths that might have been. This moment, though, felt like a convergence of everything he had seen and everything he hadn’t yet understood.

He approached slowly, his eyes drawn immediately to the newborns resting in your arms, their small forms swaddled in the deep silks of both House Targaryen and House Atreides. Leto, still at your side, noticed Paul and gave him a quiet nod of acknowledgment. Aenys, standing tall but calm beside you, watched Paul with a knowing look, recognizing the deeper forces at play.

“They are perfect,” Paul said, his voice barely a whisper, though it carried the weight of his vision. He stepped closer to you, his eyes scanning the tiny faces of his brother and sister. The boy, Aenor, had a shock of silver hair, pale like the moon over Arrakis, and his lilac eyes already opened, gazing with a strange awareness that mirrored your own. The girl, Rhaelys, had a softer expression, her own eyes closed but her features delicate, bearing a gentleness beneath the strength of her bloodline.

Paul couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu. He had dreamed of them long before now, but in some dreams, they weren’t just his siblings. They were... something more. A different path. A different destiny. In those visions, they had worn the marks of power, rulers in their own right, shaping the course of history in ways he could barely comprehend. But here and now, they were simply his family. And yet, the weight of what they might become lingered in the air, as if the future was still waiting to unfold in ways none of them could fully grasp.

Paul crouched slightly, meeting Aenor’s steady gaze. The boy blinked, as if studying him in return, and Paul felt a chill run through him. “I saw you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “In a future that never came.”

You tilted your head, watching Paul carefully. “What did you see?”

Paul swallowed, unsure how to explain the tangled web of visions that had haunted him for so long. “I saw them as something else. Rulers... or maybe warriors. They were powerful in ways I didn’t understand. And in those dreams, I wasn’t their brother. I was something else. An ally, maybe. Or a rival. It was unclear.”

You nodded, a soft understanding passing between you both. You, too, had seen pieces of those possible futures in your own dragon dreams, fleeting images that seemed to tug at the edges of your consciousness. But here, in this moment, the reality felt far more grounded.

“They are our future now,” you said quietly, shifting slightly to adjust the swaddle around Rhaelys, whose tiny fist had poked out, waving gently in the air. “Whatever paths were before, this is the one we’ve chosen.”

Paul glanced at you, his expression softening. “I hope you’re right.”

Aenys, standing behind you, cleared his throat, his booming voice breaking the quiet moment. “You were meant to be here, Paul,” he said, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “To witness this. To know that your dreams may show many paths, but the choice is always yours.”

Paul straightened, his eyes lingering on the twins a moment longer before he looked to his father, Leto, and then back at you. “I hope they find strength in the legacy we’re building,” he said finally, stepping back slightly to give you space.

Leto’s hand brushed yours again, the gesture gentle, as if grounding you both in the present. Whatever the future held, whatever dreams or visions haunted them all, this was a moment of peace. A new generation had been born, and for now, that was enough.

In the stronghold’s bustling halls, preparations were well underway for a modest celebration in honor of the birth of Leto and your twins. It had been decided that the gathering would be small but significant—just enough to mark the occasion without overwhelming the household. Gurney Halleck had taken it upon himself to lighten the Duke's load, and alongside Vaegor and Duncan Idaho, he moved through the stronghold like a man on a mission. There was laughter, hurried work, and Gurney’s gruff voice could be heard giving orders, his own way of making sure everything was perfect for Leto and you.

“C’mon, Duncan, a bit more care with those banners. We’re not Harkonnens throwing some slapdash party,” Gurney said, shaking his head as Duncan adjusted a hanging cloth bearing the colors of House Atreides.

Duncan chuckled, always enjoying Gurney’s particular brand of leadership. “And here I thought we were aiming for subtle, not grand.”

“Subtle, yes,” Vaegor muttered as he checked the seating arrangements, his sharp eyes scanning every corner of the hall. “But we are still Targaryens, and nothing is done without purpose.”

As they continued preparing, Thufir Hawat stood a short distance away, overseeing the security measures with his usual hawk-like intensity. His focus shifted, however, when he spotted Jessica standing in the corner of the room, her face tight, watching the preparations with an unreadable expression. He hesitated only a moment before making his way over to her.

"Lady Jessica," Hawat greeted, his tone respectful but firm. "This birth... it changes things, doesn’t it?"

Jessica’s gaze didn’t shift from the preparations. “Changes? It solidifies things, Hawat. The twins are a sign that the path Leto has chosen is... complete.” Her voice carried a heavy weight of resignation.

Hawat’s eyes narrowed. "A path forever severed from the Sisterhood’s grip. The blood of the dragon now runs through House Atreides, and there will be no turning back. No more Bene Gesserit manipulations, no more whispered futures for next Atredies Dukes to follow.”

Jessica turned toward him, her face calm, but her eyes betrayed the storm within. “You think I don’t know that? The Sisterhood will make me suffer for my failure, Hawat. They will see it as a betrayal of the highest order. I was supposed to be their instrument, their key to controlling this House and securing their plans for the future. And I failed.”

Hawat’s face softened, though only slightly. “The Duke made his choice, Jessica. And you know, deep down, it was his to make. The Sisterhood tried to guide him, but they didn’t account for the will of the Targaryens. Or for your son.”

Jessica’s lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. “It’s not just me who will suffer. The Duke... Leto, he will pay a price too. One that may come from forces even he doesn’t see coming. The Emperor is watching. The Guild is waiting. And the Sisterhood... they will not forget.”

Hawat glanced back toward the preparations for the celebration, the laughter and lightness of the moment starkly contrasting the conversation. "Leto is prepared for the consequences of his actions. He knows the stakes. And if the Targaryens have taught us anything, it’s that survival sometimes means cutting ties with old masters."

Jessica gave a small, bitter laugh. “You speak as if survival is something guaranteed. But the Sisterhood... they have long memories. And they’ll find a way to make sure the Atreides pay for defying them.”

Hawat turned his sharp gaze on her. "That’s where you’re wrong. The Atreides are no longer under their control. Leto has forged a new alliance, one with blood as strong as the Bene Gesserit’s... perhaps even stronger. Whatever retribution the Sisterhood plans, it’ll be met with the strength of two Houses. The Atreides will survive."

Jessica didn’t respond, but her silence was telling. Hawat could see the resignation in her posture, the realization that her place in this House, in Leto’s life, was slipping further away. As the preparations continued around them, it was clear that the twins’ birth wasn’t just a celebration of new life—it was a sign of a new era. One where the influence of the Sisterhood had no place.

And as Hawat turned back to the gathering, a quiet determination settled in him. The Duke had made his choice, and it was one that would shape the future of House Atreides. Whether the Bene Gesserit liked it or not.

The nursery within Arrakeen’s stronghold was quiet, a rare moment of peace after the whirlwind of the past few weeks. The soft coos of the newborn twins filled the room as you sat by their cribs, watching over them with a serene expression. The sunlight filtered in through the windows, casting a gentle glow over the scene.

The twins, Aenor and Rhaelys, lay bundled in silks, their small bodies nestled comfortably. You had been there for hours, unwilling to leave their side. There was something calming about their presence, a reminder that even amidst the chaos of politics and war, life went on.

The door creaked open softly, and Leto stepped into the room, his presence both comforting and curious. He paused for a moment, taking in the scene before him. There you were, sitting with your children, the embodiment of the union that had changed the course of his life—and his House—forever.

But it wasn’t just the sight of you and the twins that caught his attention. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed something unusual in the cribs.

Two large, smooth dragon eggs rested beside the children, their surfaces shimmering with a faint inner glow. These were not like the egg you had gifted him on Arctis—no, these were different. They pulsed with a quiet energy, a warmth that radiated from within. They were alive.

Leto moved closer, his gaze locked on the eggs. "These... they’re not stones," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "They’re viable."

You looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips as you nodded. "Yes, they are."

Leto crouched beside the cribs, reaching out hesitantly to touch one of the eggs. It was warm to the touch, a steady pulse of life beneath the surface. The realization hit him slowly, the weight of the moment sinking in. These were no mere ornaments—these were the future. Dragons, like the ones of old Valyria.

"Your father left these, didn’t he?" Leto asked, though he already knew the answer.

You nodded again, your gaze soft as you watched the twins sleep beside their eggs. "It’s the custom of our House. A gift to the next generation. My father... he wanted them to have something of our legacy."

Leto exhaled, the magnitude of it all washing over him. "Your father... never does anything without purpose."

A chuckle escaped your lips. "No, he doesn’t. But this—this is tradition. It’s how we ensure our bloodline remains tied to the dragons. And now, Aenor and Rhaelys will have a connection to them, too."

Leto rose to his feet, his eyes not leaving the eggs. The implications were staggering. He had known that by marrying into your House, his children would carry the blood of the dragon. But this—this was something more tangible. More real. The prospect of dragons flying once more, born from his own offspring, filled him with a strange mix of pride and awe.

"It’s incredible," he said softly, turning to look at you. "I never thought... that I’d see dragons reborn, let alone through my own children."

You smiled, a warmth in your eyes that mirrored the life within the eggs. "They are part of both of us now, Leto. Both Atreides and Targaryen. And they will shape the future of our Houses."

He reached out, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. "I wonder if they’ll ever know the weight of the legacy they carry."

"They will," you said quietly. "But for now, they are just children. Let them be that for a little while longer."

Leto nodded, though the gravity of the future still lingered in his mind. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his hand never leaving yours. "You’re right. Let them be children."

As the two of you stood together, watching over your sleeping twins and the dragon eggs beside them, there was a sense of peace in the room. A quiet understanding that, whatever came next, your children would inherit something far greater than titles or power. They would inherit the fire and blood of two great Houses.

And with that, the future—though uncertain—felt a little more secure.

Four months had passed since the birth of your twins, and though you had spent much of that time in relative peace with them and Leto, the call of duty had never fully left your mind. Now, as you stood overlooking the expanse of the deep desert, your thoughts shifted to more pressing matters. The Harkonnen forces had been a constant thorn in your side, their antagonistic movements near the borders of the Targaryen base growing bolder by the day.

Your brother, Maelor, stood beside you, his face drawn in concentration as he debriefed you on the current situation. “They’ve been probing our defenses for weeks now,” he said, his tone sharp with frustration. “It’s clear they’re trying to find a weakness, and with the Atreides dealing with their own skirmishes, it’s become harder to hold them off.”

You frowned, your eyes narrowing as you looked out at the horizon, where the enemy forces gathered just beyond sight. It was time to act. “We’ll engage them head-on,” you said, your voice steady with resolve. “I’ll take Vexiae and lead a strike from the air on one front. You and the Atreides can take them from the other.”

Maelor nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “You’re sure you’re ready? It’s only been a few months since…”

“I’m ready,” you interrupted, your gaze hardening. “Our enemies won’t wait for us to be prepared, and neither will I. It’s time to remind them who they’re dealing with.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel, making your way toward the hangar where Vexiae was being prepared. Your dragon had been restless in the past months, sensing your absence from battle, and now it was time to unleash her once more. The attendants were already busy armoring the great beast, her deep red scales gleaming under the desert sun, and the black battle plating fitted perfectly over her wings and chest.

You donned your own battle attire, each piece of armor clicking into place with a precision that felt like second nature. The weight of your sword at your hip was a familiar comfort, and the feeling of purpose settled into your bones as the wind whipped through the base.

As you approached Vexiae, the dragon let out a low, rumbling growl, her fiery eyes locking onto yours. There was a shared understanding between you and the creature—this was what you were meant for. Battle. Leadership. Victory.

Mounting Vexiae, you took a moment to adjust the reins, feeling the powerful muscles beneath you coil in anticipation. Your dragon was ready, and so were you.

“Maelor,” you called down to your brother, who was giving final orders to his troops. “Once we start the assault, I expect you to crush them from the ground. We’ll meet in the center.”

He looked up, giving you a firm nod. “Don’t get too far ahead of us.”

With a final glance back at the base, you clicked your heels against Vexiae’s sides, and with a mighty roar, the dragon leaped into the sky, her wings spreading wide as you soared into the air. The wind whipped against your face, but you felt nothing but focus. The Harkonnens wouldn’t know what hit them.

As you flew over the expanse of the desert, the enemy forces came into view, their encampments scattered across the sand like dark blots against the endless dunes. Vexiae let out a roar that echoed across the landscape, her breath steaming in the cold desert air. The Harkonnen soldiers below turned their heads skyward, panic already beginning to spread as they saw the dragon descending upon them.

Good. Let them fear.

You pulled on the reins, guiding Vexiae into a sharp dive, her armored form cutting through the air like a blade. The moment before impact, you pulled up, sending a torrent of dragonfire down onto the soldiers below. The screams of the Harkonnens filled the air as their front lines were consumed in flames, and the chaos of battle began in earnest.

With Vexiae circling above, you directed her strikes with precision, setting fire to their weapons caches and burning through their defenses. On the horizon, you saw Maelor’s forces advancing, the Atreides banners flying high as they charged the enemy from the opposite side.

This was only the beginning. Today, you would remind the Harkonnens and the entire universe that House Targaryen was not to be trifled with.

And they would burn.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood at the edge of the battle, watching with cruel satisfaction as his forces engaged in a desperate clash against the Targaryen and Atreides troops. His eyes, however, were fixed on the sky, where your dragon, Vexiae, soared through the air with deadly grace, scorching the ground beneath with fire.

Ever since Arctis, since that cold, humiliating day when you had bested him, Feyd had been waiting for this moment. The moment he could bring you and your dragon down, erase the memory of that defeat, and claim the ultimate prize. And today, he had the means to do it.

The Harkonnen weapon—heavy artillery tanks outfitted with specialized targeting systems—were ready. These machines were designed for one purpose: to take down a dragon, even one cloaked from typical radar systems. The technology had cost more than a few lives in experimentation, but now, in this moment, it was all worth it.

“Prepare the artillery,” Feyd ordered, his voice laced with anticipation. He could barely contain the excitement that thrummed through him. “And fire when ready. Let’s clip that beast’s wings.”

His men rushed to follow his command, the whirr of machinery filling the air as the massive artillery guns locked onto Vexiae. It was a weapon designed to track through the Targaryen radar cloaking—a rare find, one they had kept hidden for this very moment. A cruel smile spread across Feyd’s face as he watched the targeting system lock onto you and your dragon.

“Fire!” he commanded, and the ground beneath him shook with the force of the artillery shell being launched.

You were in the midst of a turn, guiding Vexiae for another strike when the first shell hit. It slammed into the dragon’s side with terrifying force, sending you both spinning through the sky. The impact jarred you violently, and you struggled to regain control, but the second shell followed just seconds later, this time hitting one of Vexiae’s wings.

The dragon let out a piercing roar of pain as her wings folded beneath her, and together, you plummeted toward the ground. The wind whipped past your face, and the world spun in a dizzying blur of sand and sky.

Feyd’s laughter echoed across the battlefield as he watched you and Vexiae crash into the sand below. The impact sent a cloud of dust and debris rising into the air, and for a moment, everything was silent.

Slowly, the cloud of sand began to settle, revealing the scene below. Vexiae lay crumpled on the ground, one wing broken and twisted, her body barely moving as she struggled for breath. You were beside her, motionless at first, before a pained groan escaped your lips. You were alive, but barely.

Feyd moved forward, his steps deliberate and slow, savoring every moment as he approached. He had waited for this. Every night since Arctis, he had dreamed of this.

He stood over you now, his shadow falling across your broken form, and for a moment, he simply looked down at you, his expression a mix of glee and triumph.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “The great Targaryen dragonrider, brought down at last. How poetic.”

You groaned again, trying to move, to reach for something—anything—but your body was weak, your strength nearly spent. Vexiae stirred beside you, her fiery eyes still glowing with the embers of life, but she, too, was gravely wounded.

Feyd crouched down, close enough that you could see the twisted smile on his face. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time,” he said softly, his voice filled with malice. “Ever since you humiliated me on Arctis. But now, you’ll pay for that.”

His hand reached for the blade at his belt, and as he drew it, the sunlight gleamed off the cold steel. He held it up, admiring it for a moment before turning his gaze back to you.

“I think I’ll take my time,” he whispered, his voice low and venomous. “Make sure you feel every bit of what’s coming.”

His men gathered behind him, watching with eager anticipation as their leader prepared to finish what he had started. The Harkonnen forces had triumphed here today, and now, they would claim their victory by ending you and your dragon.

But even in your weakened state, something inside you stirred—a flicker of defiance, a refusal to give in. This wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. Not yet.

Feyd’s blade hovered above you, and he smiled once more, savoring the moment.

“Goodbye, Targaryen.”

Hawat stood silently before Duke Leto in the war room, his face unusually grim. The atmosphere was heavy, and Leto could sense that whatever news Hawat had brought was nothing short of catastrophic. Without waiting for the formalities, the old Mentat spoke.

“Your Grace,” he said, his voice low, “we’ve just received word from our scouts. The Lady Daenys… she and Vexiae were struck down. The Harkonnens... they had a weapon. A heavy artillery tank designed to target her dragon.”

The words hit Leto like a blow to the chest. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. His vision blurred with a mix of rage and fear, his heart pounding in his ears. Daenys. His wife. The mother of his children. The one he had sworn to protect. Gone? No. Not gone. She couldn’t be.

“How bad is it?” Leto forced out, gripping the edge of the table to steady himself.

“Maelor’s forces are already en route,” Hawat replied. “The last we heard, Lady Daenys and the dragon were alive, but barely. The Harkonnens captured them. If we move now, we may still reach them before... before anything worse happens.”

Leto didn’t need to hear anything else. He straightened, all trace of the emotional blow vanishing from his face as the cold, calculating commander in him took over. He turned to his men, already gathering in response to the shift in his demeanor.

“Prepare the Ornithopters,” he ordered, his voice sharp. “We leave immediately.”

Gurney and Duncan exchanged quick glances before nodding and moving to carry out the Duke’s orders. Leto turned back to Hawat, who was already plotting their course. Every second felt like a dagger twisting in his gut. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not to the Harkonnens.

“Gather all available troops,” Leto continued. “I want a full strike force. We will retrieve her. And if the Harkonnens have done anything... anything...”

His voice trailed off, but the meaning was clear. The air in the room was charged with tension as everyone moved with purpose. Leto’s mind raced, filled with images of Daenys—her laughter, her strength, the way she had looked at him the last time they spoke. He couldn’t let that be their final moment together.

Soon enough, the Ornithopters were ready, engines humming and wings twitching as they prepared to take flight. Leto climbed into the pilot’s seat of his own craft, the familiar feel of the controls in his hands grounding him, giving him a focus amidst the storm of emotions threatening to engulf him.

“Ornithopters ready,” Hawat said from his seat beside Leto. “Maelor and his forces have already engaged Harkonnen forces on the ground. We’ll arrive in time to support them.”

Leto nodded, his jaw tight. He refused to acknowledge the worst possibilities that lurked at the edges of his mind. All that mattered now was reaching you. Saving you. Bringing you back.

The Ornithopters lifted into the sky, slicing through the night air. The wind whipped around them, but Leto’s focus was unshakable. His eyes were locked on the horizon, where you were. Where the battle raged.

And where he would bring you back, no matter the cost.

Leto’s Ornithopter descended swiftly, the dust and sand swirling around the landing zone. His heart raced, each beat a dull thud in his chest. As the craft touched down, Leto was out of his seat before it fully settled, his boots hitting the ground hard. The scene before him was chaotic, and the signs of battle were all too clear—charred earth, shattered machinery, and the remnants of fierce combat. But there was one thing missing.

You.

Maelor approached him quickly, his face grim but composed. His Targaryen troops were scattered, securing the perimeter, while others sifted through the debris. Leto could see it in his eyes before the words even came.

“She’s not here,” Maelor said, his voice tense. “We’ve searched the area. There are signs of the fall, signs of her dragon, but they’re gone.”

Leto felt his chest tighten, as if the very air had been pulled from his lungs. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

Maelor glanced around the battlefield, his frustration barely masked. “There was a fight. Vexiae landed hard—there are scorch marks from her breath, the Harkonnens were retreating... but they took her, Leto. They took my sister.”

The Duke’s heart sank deeper. His gaze swept over the battlefield, hoping, praying for something—anything—to tell him you were still near. But all he saw were the remnants of the battle. The scorch marks, the disturbed sand, even the faint impressions where Vexiae had struggled to stand. But no you. No dragon.

“Where’s Aelor?” Leto asked, his voice strained, trying to keep his focus.

“Busy on another front,” Maelor replied, his own frustration palpable. “He’s dealing with a Harkonnen push near the southern ridge. I was sent here... but I never expected this.”

Leto clenched his fists, trying to fight off the rising tide of anger and panic. “So they took her. Alive.”

Maelor nodded, his jaw tight. “They must have. There’s no sign of her body, and they wouldn’t leave something like that behind. They want her alive, for now.”

The weight of those words settled over Leto like a crushing force. He stepped forward, his eyes scanning the area once more, looking for any sign, any clue that could lead them to you.

“The Harkonnens... they’ll pay for this,” Leto said, his voice low and deadly. “But first, we need to find her. We need to get her back.”

Maelor’s expression softened slightly, a rare moment of shared determination. “We will,” he said quietly. “I’ll not rest until she’s safe.”

The Duke’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with a thousand questions, none of which could be answered here. He had to think clearly, to strategize. You were out there somewhere, and he couldn’t let his fear paralyze him.

“We’ll split our forces,” Leto ordered, his voice steadying. “You continue the search on the ground. I’ll cover the skies. We’ll find her, Maelor. We have to.”

Maelor nodded, already moving to rally his troops. Leto turned back toward his Ornithopter, his jaw set with determination. His mind was filled with the image of you—your fierce spirit, your warmth, the way you’d looked at him just days ago.

He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t.

As he climbed back into the pilot’s seat, Leto cast one last glance at the battlefield, at the place where you’d fallen. There were no answers here. But he would find them. He would find you.

...

Feyd's blade hung in the air, poised for the final strike, but then he hesitated, his twisted smile morphing into something more calculating. He took a step back, lowering the blade as an idea flickered in his mind, sharper and more sinister than any weapon.

“No,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with malice. "Killing you would be far too easy."

You were barely conscious, the world spinning in and out of focus as pain throbbed through your body. Vexiae groaned beside you, her labored breaths heavy in the silence. But even through the haze, you could feel the shift in Feyd’s demeanor, the sudden decision that had stayed his hand.

He turned to his men, who had gathered nearby, watching their leader with eager anticipation. "Secure them both," he ordered, gesturing at you and the dragon with a flick of his wrist. "We’ll transport them back to base. I want them alive."

A murmur of confusion rippled through the Harkonnen troops. They had expected blood, a swift and brutal execution. But none dared to question Feyd. His command was law, and they moved quickly to obey.

Hands grabbed at you, rough and unrelenting, as they lifted your limp form from the ground. Every muscle in your body screamed in protest, but you had no strength left to resist. Vexiae, too wounded to fight back, let out a weak growl as chains were wrapped around her massive body, binding her wings and legs.

Feyd watched with a sickening grin as his men worked. "I’ve waited too long for this moment," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. "You’ll be more useful to me alive, I think. I have... plans."

You were dragged toward a waiting transport, your vision fading in and out, but you caught snippets of conversation as the Harkonnen soldiers moved quickly to secure both you and your dragon.

"Careful with her," one of them muttered. "She's worth more than all of you combined."

Feyd stepped closer to where you were being loaded into the transport, crouching down to look into your face. His eyes glittered with a cruel satisfaction. "You’ll be coming with me," he said, his voice low and venomous. "And when we get back to base, I’ll make sure you see just how thoroughly you’ve lost."

You could barely make sense of his words, the pain clouding your thoughts, but one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to kill you. Not yet.

As they chained you down inside the transport, your mind drifted in and out of consciousness. You thought of Leto, of Aelor, of your children. Of what would happen to them if you didn’t escape. But escape seemed impossible now. Everything hurt. Everything felt so far away.

Feyd stood at the entrance of the transport, watching you with that same calculating gaze. "We’ll see just how much the dragonspawn is willing to suffer," he said quietly, almost to himself. "And what secrets you might hold."

The door to the transport slammed shut, sealing you inside as the engines roared to life. The last thing you heard before the world went dark was the distant growl of Vexiae, still fighting for you, even in her weakened state.

But for now, you were at Feyd's mercy—and whatever twisted plans he had in store.

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smallvictorianchildwhofoundwifi · 3 months ago

Text

Long ass story, the post finally arrives! @the-copycat-hero

On the same road that a young boy takes on their way to his friend's house is a hospital. A hospital that is always busy with someone to help, so busy that the people occupying their rooms tend to blur together.

And even in the absence of the boy and the house that gave a roof to the wonderful family of the boy's friend, the hospital still stood on that road. The hospital with so many rooms, one couldn't count them without getting mixed up and turned around.

But in the mix of madness, hidden in the blur of the patients, was room 4307. The room that held a great tragedy and a great miracle of one person experienced and seen by no one before.

When passing by room 4307, the voices of several teenaged students could be heard.

A knock on the room door grabbed the attention of the three students, and the door opened to reveal a familiar scruffy man, with the most droopy red eye, constant annoyed expression, and long black hair to frame his face, perfectly signaling his "do not talk to me" vibe. Except now this man was a caring teacher, checking up on his after-mortem student.

"He should be free to leave in another week, if the doctors decide he's recovering well and it's safe for him to walk, train, study, the whole shebang." Aizawa-sensei answered the question the students hadn't known he'd heard.

"Now," he continued, not waiting for any of them to reply, "I understand you two are worried reps, but Monoma's got a few other visitors today."

Taking the hint, Shoda and Kendo said their goodbyes and exited the hospital room.

Monoma rested his chin on his hand and groaned to the teacher, "You sure know how to clear a room Teach, but they really couldn't have stuck around for a few doctors visits?" Monoma never needed to say just how much he loves his classmates and wants to be with them, but he always pushes sneaks it into a conversation anyways.

"Oh it's not just doctors."

Monoma was confused. The last he checked, none of his classmates were allowed to visit him because of his condition- Kendo and Shoda having special permission that Vlad-sensei fought for under the guise that they're his class reps.

A figure emerged into the doorway that Monoma hadn't realized was still open. A figure of long blonde hair and pale skin, who's dark green eyes were too faraway to be in the body of a caring mother, visiting her living son.

"Neito." She said loud enough so that he could hear with his very limited hearing. It wasn't unnatural to her to speak like that, she had to do the same thing growing up with her mother with the same hearing loss as her son.

But now she had to do it so her son would know she was there, not just what she was saying.

"Oh." is all he could find within him to say. Aizawa looked between the two before leaving with a quick note that he would check on Monoma later.

The woman stood in the doorway for a few moments, looking around the hospital room; the iv, the monitors, and every piece of furniture had more eye contact with her than Monoma did.

"I wasn't expecting you to visit."

The simple sentence struck her out of her stupor, looking at him almost offendedly.

"You've been in the hospital almost a week, after being dead for days. You just fought in a war and are expected to skip back over to school, and you didn't think I would visit?" Her voice raised a little as she continued talking and walked a little closer to his bed.

Monoma thought of 100 things to say to her, none of them nice, but instead he looked back at the doorway with all his might to see the blurry sliding door closed. No one else was expected to enter.

"I see dad isn't with you." Monoma tried to meet his mother's eyes, his words carrying another message: if he can't be bothered to visit, why should I expect you either?

His mother took a sharp inhale and squeezed her eyes shut. "Your father- he..." they both knew she had nothing good to say.

"He has nothing to do with me. I'm so happy you're okay." She said with such tenderness you could believe that it came from a caring mother.

Monoma wanted nothing more that to believe her- she had no reason to lie- but he couldn't stop his stupid mouth from talking. "Yeah I bet you no longer have to worry about fighting over who has to deal with the funeral services."

Monoma couldn't see it, but her face cringed for a moment, just a moment, where she looked guilty.

Despite his blindness, her silence spoke volumes and Monoma knew exactly what that meant.

"You didn't...”

"Neito I-"

YOU SERIOUSLY FOUGHT OVER THAT?! DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW CRAZY THAT IS??"

"I know, but I do care about you Neito- that was just-"

"Oh yes, the love and care I feel." Monoma usually had a better handle on his emotions, but at the moment he really didn't care how he was acting, he just wanted his mother gone.

"I DO-" the woman who was practically foreign to her son stopped as she realized she was shouting, and finally walked up to his bed to cup his face and spoke in a quieter voice.

"I do care about you. I love you so much, and I'm sorry that I haven't been able to make you believe that. And I promise, I will do what I can to make sure you're safe." The emphasis on safe made Monoma nervous.

"What do you mean safe?"

She let go of Monoma and backed up just a little bit, still making eye contact. "I'm taking you out of UA."

Monoma felt his blood run cold and his heart drop. "... what?"

"Neito, look around. Look at you!" She waved her hands around frantically before gesturing at her bedridden son. "Is this really the life you want for yourself? To be getting injured all the time? To die on a battlefield?" Her voice rose the more she spoke and this time she didn't try to lower it.

Monoma didn't know what to think, what to say. All words died in his mouth. When he was a kid, all he wanted was for his parents to pay attention to him, to care about him- and now he was getting that in the worst way possible.

"I am not leaving 1-B." Monoma said slowly

His mother looked aghast. "Those people got you killed and you want to go back?"

"What the hell did you expect when you convinced dad to let me be a hero? Did you think I was just going to sit on my ass-"

"Language, I am your mothe-"

"AND DO nothing!? My life is always going to be on the line. And YOU agreed to that when you let me be a hero."

His mother stared at him for several moments before speaking up again, much quieter than before to where Monoma could barely hear her, "Well I'm taking that back. I'm sorry Neito."

They stood in silence until they heard the door slide open again, a doctor and Aizawa on the other side.

"Pardon us," the doctor said, "Are we interrupting?"

Monoma's mother quickly broke eye contact with her son to address the doctor, "No, I was just about to head out. Pardon me if I stole important time from you doctor.”

"Oh you can stay if you’d like, it's just a check up and typically parents stay with their kids during these." The doctor clearly didn't understand the situation.

"It's just a check up right? She doesn't need to stay." Monoma stared back at his mother with a look telling her to get out.

Before she left she announced, "I'll be back tomorrow." And left with a nod.

Aizawa eyed her until she was out of sight and snapped his attention to Monoma, but said nothing.

The next day, true to her promise, "Mrs." Monoma made her way into the hospital that her son had been staying at for the past week and a half.

Her heels clacked on the tile floor as she started to make her way up to his room before hearing a man's voice from behind her.

"Ah, Mrs. Monoma."

She turned around to find the owner of the voice was the scroungy man who was next to the doctor yesterday. A teacher, she remembered, but his name...

"Hello. You're one of Neito's teachers, yes?" She didn't bother with reaching out a hand to shake, she didn't want to formalize with a man who helped kill her son.

"Aizawa Shouta, Mrs. Monoma. We haven't properly met."

"Well, now we have. If you don't mind me, I'm going to visit my son- who is hospitalized." Monoma said shortly, a soupcon of resentment in her voice, as she turned around and started to walk away.

Aizawa didn't try to stop her but continued talking. "Your son is actually a topic I wanted to discuss with you. We've been informed that you plan to remove him from the hero course and UA entirely, whether he wants it or not."

Monoma stopped in her tracks and whipped around, "Yes well, sometimes people make decisions for others without asking their permission. It's how things get done." She slowly walked towards the audacious man, her voice etched with discontent. "It's what UA saw fit to do when they shipped off our children to war with little regard on if they'd come home to us."

The mother stood in front of Aizawa with a face of anger and her voice a threatening whisper, “Now you may see my actions as paranoid, or stringent, but I am doing what is best for him and one day he will understand that. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow or next week, but this is the decision I have made and he will just have to deal with it.”

Aizawa understood where she was coming from. The hero commission demanded that everyone with a hero license were to fight, and no parents were made aware of this in case there was an uproar in reaction. Illogical, in his opinion- and look how that decision landed.

But as much as Aizawa understood and agreed with this mother's anger, he came here for a reason. "I completely understand your decision. However, your son loves being at this school, and being with his classmates. His homeroom teacher has reported that he's been much happier as the school year went on and Neito finds a lot of comfort in his friends here. If you were to take him out-"

"YOU GET NO SAY IN WHAT IS GOOD FOR MY SON'S WELLBEING." Monoma suddenly shouted as she stuck an accusative finger in Aizawa's chest, "BECAUSE OF YOUR IDEA OF "SUPERVISION", NEITO IS STUCK IN A HOSPITAL BED FOR THREE WEEKS. HE HAS A DEATH CERTIFICATE. I WOULD RATHER NEITO HAVE A LIFE AWAY FROM UA THAN NO LIFE AT ALL." She took in a shaky breath and lowered her arm to her side, body tense and unmoving.

The air was thick as silence followed the mother's shouts. Then suddenly, Aizawa lowered his body in a bow and spoke in acquiesce.

"You're right. It was my job to keep your son safe and I failed. Because of my failure as a hero and a caretaker- you, your son, and all his classmates have gone through a terrible experience and I cannot offer enough condolences and apologies to erase your pain, as much as I wish I could." Aizawa paused for a moment, clearly pensive and radiating sorrow. He kept his bow low and respectful and took a deep breath before making his request, "But despite what has happened, Neito still wishes to be a hero. He wants to continue his educational journey here at UA, and he wants to continue his life alongside his friends in class 2-B."

"So please, do not take away Neito's dream because of our shortcomings."

Monoma looked at the pleading teacher as if she had been turned upside-down. Working her entire career in the modeling industry and then at her husbands company, an actual remorseful apology was rare, and was certainly not expected from the "heroes" entrusted with her son's life and had messed up horrendously. She felt ambivalent staring at this man with an eye patch and a metal leg, realizing that those are from trying. This man had truly tried to protect her son and might have even given his life to protect him.

But all she could think was her son having the same fate- missing limbs and appendages, failing to save people and feeling sorrow and despair. Her heart wouldn't be able to take that.

"I can't... I can't do that to myself, or my son." She spoke slowly and low, her voice thick. "Have a good day." A clear end to the conversation and Aizawa watched as the woman turned and walked away, making her way to her son's hospital room.

As Mrs Monoma started to open the hospital door, she stopped at the sound of two distressed teenage shouts coming from the room.

"WHAT?!"

Through the small opening she had made through the door, she watched a short, round faced boy with light blue hair and a taller muscular redhead girl converse with Neito.

"She's taking you out of UA?" The boy said.

"She can't do that- I mean, this has been your dream for years and-" the distressed girl spoke quickly but Neito managed to cut her off.

"I know..." He held his hand up to motion the girl to stop, "But I don't think there's anything I can do. She sounded pretty ready to take me out."

Seeing the dejected look on Neito's face made his mother so upset to see. She knew that he didn't like this decision but that's what is best for him... right?

The boy sat down on one of the chairs next to the hospital bed and sat in thought, his eyebrows knit together. "And you're sure there's no way of convincing her?"

Neito's voice broke as he spoke, "I... I don't know." He brought his legs towards his chest, something the doctors definitely wouldn't approve but Neito showed no pain.

The redhead girl gripped onto the end of the bed and was practically shaking in anger. "Why does she care?" She whispered.

Mrs Monoma felt offended by the outrageous question, but there was something tugging on the back of her mind, a blurry memory of someone with red hair.

The round faced boy looked at the girl like she was suddenly someone unfamiliar.

"Well, any worried parent might do this, we should've expected it. I mean," he let out a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, "I'm surprised Midoriya's still enrolled."

"But it's not like she's ever cared before." The girl let out an aggravated breath, "Now she just- appears out of nowhere and-"

"Kendo." The boy interrupted, "there's no point in getting all mad over it, Monoma's the only one who gets a say in what to do."

At the mention of the girl's name, the memory snapped to the front of her mind, and Mrs Monoma remembered a little redhead girl at her door, along with an older boy who looked similar to the girl, saying she was Neito's friend. The boy introduced the two of them as the Kendo's who lived a few blocks away.

Neito, still curled in on himself, just shrugged and mumbled something.

This "Kendo" seemed to have heard him and suddenly reached out her hands and held his face- much more aggressively than Mrs Monoma recalled having done just the day before, but Neito looked less tense with her. No, not quite "less tense", he was just comfortable. Comfortable with her, and not his own mother.

"No-" Kendo started, "no it is not okay, and we are not going to let her take you out of UA."

"But what-" he started to argue.

"You love it here don't you?" The girl interrupted. Neito stared at her for a second, surprised by the question, before letting out a small 'yeah'. "Then we are not going to let her take you out."

The hidden mother sucked in a small breath at that. How could he love it there? Regardless of any happy memories, they had gotten him killed. They couldn't guarantee his safety anymor-

They already couldn't guarantee his safety for a while.

She remembered hearing about the USJ attack, and when they were attacked at camp. She'd thought about how dangerous it was, and glad that Neito was okay, but she'd never thought to take him out over it. She barely even thought to call. She didn't care when they insisted on housing him- and all the other students.

UA had been a danger for a long time- all the more reason to take him out now.

The girl was half on the bed after reaching out to Neito, but was too focused on his face to notice or move, "You have wanted to be a hero for YEARS, and I won't let anyone take that dream from you, you hear me?"

The other boy spoke up as well, "Yeah, we'll all be right there with you, just give us the word."

Neito looked between his two classmates and his eyes became glossy. Kendo noticed and crawled on the bed to hug him.

The moment was silent as the two sat on the bed in a tight hug before Neito whispered:

"I like being at UA."

"I know Monoma."

"I don't want to leave."

"I know, we won't let you."

"I don't want to change my life, I like it now."

Kendo said nothing but squeezed him tighter.

...

....

"I don't want to change" the words rung in her ears. The woman behind the door felt as if she couldn't breathe, breath became irrelevant, unimportant to the mind of this woman. "I don't want to change," how many times had those words echoed in her head in passing thought. How many hours had she stayed in bed, wishing she hadn't changed herself for a faux man, who spoke empty promises. How many years of her life was wasted away because she allowed others to decide her life.

Hiromi no longer felt that she was standing on a hospital floor, or that she was standing at all. Everything felt lost, that she was floating in everything her life was, floating in nothing.

Hiromi? When was she last called her name. She wasn't Hiromi anymore, she was a Monoma. That's who she had been for the last 17 years of her life. That's all she was.

Is this how Neito would feel when he was in his adult years? Had he already reached his adult years? He just fought in a war, did he really still feel like a child? Could he?

Mrs. Monoma found herself sitting on the floor, clutching onto the chair next to her, but she couldn't feel the grip, couldn't feel the cool tile floors. She couldn't feel anything. Everything was lost- her life was lost, the man she fell in love with was lost, her son was lost, her beautiful sister was lost, the wedding of her dreams was lost, the cozy home she dreamed of filled with laugher and love was lost, what else? What else was ripped away from her, what else had she chosen to throw away in exchange for a life she didn't want, hadn't desired. When had this happened.

She felt as if she turned around and everything was suddenly gone. But she knew it wasn't true, she could feel the pathway of her life crumbling as she walked for years. She's cried so many nights as she felt the unsteady cracks catch at her heels and make her trip, scratches and bruises appearing in every single place, later replaced by scars, scars replacing every single part of her, leaving her nothing of the same person she once was, the giddy and ebullient woman who loved the world despite it's battles. She was now cold and emotionless, broken by the world, by her world, and breaking everything else in the process.

And yet still she walked, on a cracking, breaking, spiraling road, because what else is she supposed to do? What other road is there to go? There's nothing left, every other road she had was destroyed with her own hands till nothing else was left, nothing to fix the road, nothing to know the road even existed, except maybe a shared name or a picture, but even those are cracked and freyed, erased and thrown out.

Over the years she worked and worked, trying to appease her in-laws, trying to wash out her emotions and everything she loved in order to be taken more seriously. And for what? To become "Mrs Monoma"? "Mrs" "Monoma". That's all she was, a Monoma wife. A wife to that slimy, stinking, rotten man that can't even stick up for his WIFE, the woman he CHOSE to love, chose to MARRY- instead it was left up to her to to go against those foul people, and look how good she was at that. Left with a son she didn't want, a house she didn't want, a job she didn't want, a husband she didn't want, a title she didn't want- a "Mrs. Monoma"

Mrs Monoma

"Mrs." "Mrs." "Mrs." Was all they ever called her.

What about Hiromi? When was the last time someone ever called her by her name? When was the last time she talked to someone who called her that?

"Mrs." Oh it was all she ever heard anymore, "Mrs" "Mrs" "Mrs-

"Miss?!" Hiromi felt someone gently grab her shoulders and lightly shake her, knocking her out of her stupor.

Suddenly she could feel the cool tile floor underneath her, the grip her hand had on the chair next to her. It felt as if all of her senses came back in an instant and immediately short circuited, the lights blinding her, the ringing sound in her ears making it hard to hear what the nurse next to her was saying.

Hiromi's eyes focused on the woman and let her ears slowly stop ringing to let the nurse's voice into her head.

"Ma'am are you alright?"

"Ah, yes yes I'm fine." Hiromi put a hand on her head as if suffering a headache. "Got lightheaded for a moment is all."

"We should get you some place to lay down and some water." The kind nurse helped her up but Hiromi stepped away from her.

"Oh no I'm quite fine now, I'm just visiting my son and I'll be leaving."

The nurse knit her brows together and cautiously reached for the woman's arm. "It's dangerous to shrug off dizzy spells, do you have them frequently?"

Hiromi could recall a few after a good many hours of staring at her computer screen, or working long hours of calls, meetings, reviewing products, writing papers, and other grueling tasks- but those were caused by overworking herself. This was fine, she was fine.

"No, I don't, I am completely fine. Thank you." She began to reach for the door next to her as the nurse continued to reach for her arm, when the door suddenly opened and two high school students were on the other end.

"Oh." Kendo stared Mrs. Monoma with no attempt to hide her surprise that the woman has visited.

Hiromi knew there were many things she should say to this girl, many apologies and many thanks. But at the moment, she didn't care to do any of it; she walked past the two children and walked right for Neito.

"Miss I really do think you should sit down-" the nurse shouted but Hiromi didn't care. She kept walking towards her son and reached her arms out surround him in a stuffing hug. Probably the fist hug she's given him since he got into UA.

Neito squeaked at suddenly getting pulled into a hug, especially since he had no idea what was happening, having little vision and little hearing. But he was a smart one, from what little he heard, what he could feel, and who had yet to visit him, Neito could reasonably deduce that it was his mother hugging him.

Reasonably.

But… why was she hugging him? Monoma tried to look over where his mother had stomped over from to gain some context.

He could see a blurry figure that looked unlike his classmates walk closer and speak loud enough that he could hear her worried tone, before she suddenly stopped as Monoma could feel his mother say something, although his head was swimming so much he couldn't discern what it was.

The arms around him squeezed him tighter for a moment and Monoma could hear his mother's voice.

"I'm sorry."

Monoma could barely understand his mother. He could hear her, but what she said made no sense. Why was she apologizing? What stirred her so much that she was apologizing?

His thoughts cut off when he heard a sniffle, and his mother moved a hand to hold his head.

"I'm sorry." She said again but in a much wobblier voice.

It felt like had time stopped, the two stuck there like statues- unmoving and unbound by time. The only movement was Monoma shifting a hand to complete the hug. He held his mother and he held on tight: an action he had wanted to do for so long.

Monoma felt like a child, holding onto his mom as she hugged him tight. It felt childish to admit that the whole time he had been cooped up in the hospital, a small piece of him wanted to hug his mother. It felt dumb too.

Neito was never close with either of his parents, his mom felt estranged to him. But in that moment everything felt...

Right. Like two pieces of a puzzle finally connected. Neito wanted nothing more than to just stay there with his mom. For a moment, for a year, for forever- it didn't matter- he just wanted to stay right there.

#monoma neito #neito monoma #monoma death au #bnha #mha #my hero acedamia #boku no hero acedamia #kendo itsuka #itsuka kendou #aizawa shouta #nirengeki shoda #hiromi monoma #!!!!#god this has been hanging over my head for like a week #probably 2 #I'M DONE IM SATISFIED

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