#Now I have the reins back on it again to just continue freely as I please

[grokebaby]

To feed an angel

Xerxes retreated into his private quarters after another long dusty day. Sensing it's parent's presence, Athena cracked into warbled, buzzing cries. Like a divinely singing little cricket. She must've been hungry, spending day after day alone in her nest, just waiting for Papa to come feed her again..

She always had breakfast of course, right before Xerxes had to leave for the day's duties. But seeing how long his days were, that was while ago by now.

Cooing at the fat little grub nestled inside a hay filled suit of armor, he picked it up, cradling her in his arms. His little angel.

Literally, of course.

"Ohh Papas here again little precious.. No more crying, I know.. I know, it was such a long day.. What a whipped papa you have don't you?" he hoisted the chubby thing into his arms as it squirmed and reached it's tiny appendages to him.

To the food source.

Wasting no more time, Xerxes cupped her into his armpit, making sure his hold was secure before giving it his wrist, and Athena latched on immediately. She always does. She's such a good, strong little baby. He felt her proboscis pierce skin in one swift sting and soon enough the little grub was suckling, with rhythmic wave motions going all throughout her body as she used all her might to fill her tummy with blood.

In her younger stages, her milky skin was translucent enough to tell where the food storage resided inside her squishy little body, but with each passing week it had began to get harder to spot the quickly filling, vermillion colored spot on the grub. They grow up so fast.. Soon her skin would likely become harder, more coarse.. Maybe then Papa could let her roam inside the barn more freely.

Xerxes found his usual spot, and his taur body laid down to sit as the happy little grub fed. He laid a little kiss on her dark little head. "That's my little angel.." he murmured softly. "It must be so dreadful to sit and wait here all day.. I wish I'd have friends for you.. Papa misses you so much every day. But here you are, always waiting for me. And I'm thankful for that every day. Good little angel.." he continued, softly speaking to the suckling grub. She was so beautiful. He wondered when it'd be her time to cocoon, and how long she'd be in there..

He can't really know until it happens, huh?

After a while, she did unlatch finally. He always flipped her on her back and petted her tummy after, she liked that alot. She usually fell asleep soon after for a little nap. Or for the rest of the night.. That worked too.

"ap.." a fragmented, circadian voice babbled. Xerxes hummed, massaging her belly. "apa.. Ap..."

"Yes, that's me.. Papas right here.."

"Apas.."

"Yes you just relax my sweet little bug.. You're safe with me. I'm here."

"Apas here.. Apa.."

He loved her so much

[writeonwhiskey]

the skz house: ch 9

a/n: So excited to get this one out to you guys! I hope you enjoy it 😁Thank you again to @cloverstayy for the beautiful graphic 🩵 she's amazing and is on insta & tiktok under the same name.

edit 1/22/24 - I have changed a few things around, this was previously chapter 7, but will now be chapter 9. Stay with me people!

Summary: Welcome to Sigma Kappa Zeta, the most popular fraternity on campus. When you, down on your luck and looking for a place to live, see their ad for ‘IN-HOUSE STAY’. You're one of the four girls chosen and find that your duties for the rest of the school year will be cooking, cleaning, and pleasing your assigned house members: Hyunjin & Bang Chan.

Chapter Nine: Of Halloween and Hallways

It’s now approaching the end of your first month at the SKZ house. Hyunjin still has not pressured you to move further, but you have continued to explore each others bodies more. Whenever you’re with him, kissing and cuddling in bed, you both allow your hands to roam freely across each other. He’s made it clear that you have control of the reins with him. You enjoy the power—getting both yourself and Hyunjin worked up, kissing, touching, fondling, just to back off. Maybe Chan’s sadism is rubbing off on you a bit. 

Speaking of Chan, your nights with him since offering your submission are always like rolling a 20 sided die. You might be teased, you might get fucked, he might be sweet, but more often he’s rough. He does seem to make some kind of effort to not come off as a dick, however there is definitely still a wall between you two. You feel more comfortable conversing with him, though it’s usually just small talk and nothing remotely deep. 

Lee Know’s birthday passes on Wednesday, October 25th and everyone celebrates with dinner, drinks and dessert. You and Allie helped Felix bake him a chocolate cake (they wouldn’t let you add arsenic, which was a bummer).

It’s now Saturday, October 28th—the day of the Halloween party. The morning of is spent with everyone moving throughout the house making sure their appointed tasks are complete. As evening approaches, your excitement for the event grows—everyone has kept their final costume reveals a secret and you can’t wait to see what they have all come up with. 

Your main goal is to have a good time and possibly, finally have sex with Hyunjin. But, oh, sweet girl, you have no clue what the night has in store for you. 

6:00pm

All of the decorations and finishing touches have been put in place. There are spiderwebs and bats strewn across the ceiling in the living room, a couple skeletons are seated at the dining room table that’s surrounded by floating candles, severed hands and feet rest on surfaces throughout the home, spiders of various sizes adorn the walls, and there’s even an animatronic Pennywise in the in the guest bathroom guaranteed to scare people shitless, but, hopefully not literally as that will just be a nightmare to clean. 

6:30pm

The kegs arrive and are carted off to the basement and backyard. You’re setting up the snack table, putting out the orange and black paper cups, plates, and napkins when you hear a commotion coming down the stairs. 

“This is stupid,” the familiar voice of Lee Know grumbles and you immediately smile.

“I can’t believe I’m wearing a dress,” says Changbin.

Two weeks ago you challenged Changbin and Lee Know in beer pong—winner got to choose the others Halloween costume. You had Hyunjin on your team and came out victorious.

“I don’t look that bad,” comes the voice of Seungmin. 

Seungmin you challenged in a game of pool, same stakes. You’re shit at it, but he sank the 8 ball early and thus, you had all of them right where you wanted.

You turn around to face the stairs as they finish making their way down and bring your hand to your mouth to cover your laugh. They really committed…and their assignees had obviously helped put their looks together, from the makeup to the faux cleavage.

“The Sanderson sisters have come to SKZ house,” Han announces, pointing and laughing at the trio.

Changbin is dressed as Mary—eyebrows drawn on pencil thin, lips crooked and painted red, with a black wig shaped like a witch’s hat. Seungmin is Sarah—thick, dark eyebrows and eye makeup and a long, blonde wig. And the beautiful Lee Know is Winifred—copious amounts of blush on his cheeks, red lipstick only on the middle part of his lips, red wig and, of course, the look wouldn’t be complete without the trademark buck teeth. 

“BoooOOOOOoook,” he wails as he enters the living room and everyone fucking loses it. 

7:00pm 

You finally have a chance to shower and get changed into your costume. It took you a while to decide on what you would be, but Hyunjin suggested an idea to play off what Chan is going as and you went along with it. 

With your dress, corset, fishnets, calf-high combat boots in place and make up complete, you make your way back downstairs. The regular lights have all been turned off so the house has a darker feel to it, but there are various purple, red, and orange lights throughout to compliment the decorations and mood. 

Hyunjin is sitting on the couch and offers you a look of appreciation when he sees you. You can only giggle at his costume. He’s half-assed it, for sure, but he still looks adorable. He’s wearing his regular clothing and has a headband on with pink ears, a pink bow tie, and a pink pigs nose covering his own. He turns around to show you the squiggly tail hanging near his butt. 

“Cute,” you tell him. 

“You look way better,” he says, pulling you close and lifting his pig nose to kiss you on the lips. 

You look around the living room and survey everyone’s costumes. Han is dressed as Jack Sparrow, Felix looks like a man being taken by an inflatable alien and Allie is dressed as an agent from ‘Men In Black’. Jeongin is Woody from Toy Story and Charlotte is Jesse, they’re adorable. Rhiannon has decided to play along with Seungmin and Changbin as the Sanderson sisters and dressed as Binx, wearing all black with cat ears and whiskers, she even popped in some yellow cat eye contacts. 

You don’t see Chan though and you’ve been dying to know what he’s put together. You excuse yourself from the room and check for him in the kitchen, but he’s not there either so you make your way to the basement. 

It’s dark there as well, but lights have been added to each step to prevent anyone from falling. The lighting in the room is purple and a projector casts various Halloween themed images against the walls in slow, spinning rotation. 

Chan and Changbin have their back to you as they struggle to get the dry ice machine working. 

“Need any help?” You ask, and they turn to look at you over their shoulder. 

Changbin’s eyebrows raise at the sight of you, followed by a nod and thumbs up thrown in your direction before he turns his attention back to the machine. 

Chan turns around to face you, smirking as he takes in your costume. The first thing you notice on him is the amount of skin showing on his upper body and the slash-like wounds that have been added to it. You look from his bare navel up to his eyes and arch an eyebrow. It’s definitely not what you had expected but holy fuck does the sight of him make you want to let him do despicable things to you.

In his ears he has one silver stud earring and the the other is shaped like a fang. On his upper half he’s wearing a furry, grey vest that has a hood with a realistic wolf’s head attached to it. On his lower half he has on a pair of black boots and low hanging, ripped black jeans with black Supreme boxers peeking above the top. His hands are covered in grey, furry gloves with nothing but his finger tips out. 

“Little red, eh?” He asks, looking you up and down. 

Your costume consists of a dress that is white at the top (frilly and off the shoulders) then turns red near your hips accompanied by a black bustier that’s squeezing your insides together and pushing up your breasts. A red cloak is also draped around your shoulders, tied in a delicate bow across your clavicle. The fishnets and combat boots add a sexy, grungy feel to the look.

You pinch the sides of your dress between your thumb and forefinger, extend your right foot back and curtsy.

9:30pm

You hate to admit that Seungmin was right. Actually, you would never admit that. However, telling people the party began at 7:30 ensured they actually started showing up around 8:30. Everyone is now scattered throughout the first floor, basement and backyard.

You start the night off with a shot to calm your nerves from being in the house full of so many people. You also can’t help but feel like a hostess, wanting to make sure the snacks and drinks are never empty. You make sure the best costume voting station has pens and paper. You refill bowls of chips. Changbin follows behind you as you refill the drink dispensers to slip more alcohol into it. You eye him carefully and shoo him away from the one dispenser clearly labeled as non-alcoholic. Not everybody wants to get shitfaced tonight. 

When you’re not playing hostess, you float around from room to room. With all the housemates here, you always have someone to wander off and talk to, which is comforting. You spend some time cheering Lee Know and Allie on as they reign over the beer pong table. You listen as Jeongin engages in a conversation with a group of girls, talking about needing models for an upcoming project. He has his arm wrapped around Charlotte’s waist as he addresses them, and she looks so out of her element, but leans onto him for support.

As far as you’ve seen, the boys really live up to the rule about not sleeping with anyone else outside of the house. Jeongin could probably pull any one of those girls in that circle, but he’s making it clear he has someone and is not interested. 

Felix really did put himself in charge of the music and made a master playlist that’s blaring throughout the main floor. You spend some time with him in the living room, watching the people mingle and dance. Later you join Seungmin and Rhiannon in the backyard, sitting around the fire pit with a couple of others.

11:30pm

The house is fucking packed. With the music so loud, people’s conversations sound more like shouting matches. You take another shot with Hyunjin and snack on some of the Halloween-themed food that was catered. There are several giant, soft pretzels shaped like spiders, stuffed peppers that look like Jack-O-Lanterns, witch hat shaped calzones, white chocolate covered strawberries that look like ghosts, cheese wrapped with prosciutto and a green olive in the center to make it look like an eyeball. You’re delighted with the selections you and the girls made. 

Eventually, you duck off from a conversation with Han (who, after two drinks is taking his role as Jack Sparrow a little too seriously), to head to the bathroom on the second floor. You bypass the yellow caution tape blocking upstairs to let everyone know it’s off limits, and head up. It’s dark and the lighting has been changed to red, making it feel extremely eerie. 

Once in the bathroom, you quickly relieve your bladder and wash your hands. When you’re done, you stay inside for a bit longer than necessary, just needing a moment of silence. You can still hear the music bumping and people chattering, but it feels calmer in here. You lean against the counter, check your makeup and adjust your costume. The corset is tight around your chest—but it does look good. You bounce, tipsy enough to giggle at the sight of your boobs jiggling in the mirror. 

There’s a knock at the door that snatches the laugh right out of you. 

“Yes?” You call out, wondering who it could be. The girls would have walked right in, but no one else should be up here. 

There’s no response, so you open the door, ready to tell off whoever it is. 

“Second floor is off—“

The first thing you see is a wolf’s snout. 

“What are you doing?” You ask Chan, shutting the light off to the bathroom. You place a hand on his chest and force him backwards into the hallway.

You move to drop your hand from his chest, but his fur clad hand stops you, keeping it in place. 

“Just making sure nobody else was up here,” he shrugs. 

He places his other hand on your waist and pulls you to him. 

“Hmmm,” you hum, looking up at him skeptically. “Did you find anyone?”

“This costume,” he switches gears and releases your wrist, not allowing you time to call him on his bullshit. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, but he’s not drunk.

His eyes trail down to your cleavage. He brings a hand up to trace lines back and forth across the top of your breasts with his finger.

“So you did wanna play dress up with me?” 

Your eyes drop to his fingers touching you. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying yes.

“It was Hyunjin’s idea,” you reply.

“Oh?” He cocks his head to the side. “Those are two different wolves though—from the three pigs and little red.”

“And?” You counter.

His hand slides up from your breasts to your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. You are slowly growing accustom to the feel of this. You were shocked the first time he did it—there must have been an intense look of panic on your face because he eased up his grip and assured you he wouldn’t hurt you. It’s odd to think you trust him more sexually than in your everyday life, but he’s shown you enough when fucking you to let you know it’s all meant to be pleasurable in some way—sometimes for both of you, sometimes just for one of you. 

“You guys never clarified what wolf I am,” he says.

His hand drops from your neck to yank down the fabric and reveal one of your breasts. You look down the hall, a look of shock plastered to your face, but there’s no one in sight. He doesn’t seem like he would care, even if there was. When your eyes meet with his again, he’s staring right back at you. Daring you to protest.

He pushes the wolf head off and it falls to his back. His dark, curly hair is stuck to his forehead after having it on for so long. You lean back instinctively as he lowers his head to take your nipple in his mouth and let out a surprised gasp. 

“Chan,” you say, gripping his bare waist. 

He swirls his tongue around your nipple and bites it, eliciting another gasp from you. He releases your nipple and stands up straight, cupping your breast as he makes a declaration you’ll never forget.

“I wanna be Red’s wolf.”

No smirk, no smile…it doesn’t feel like he’s joking or teasing you. Does he mean it?

Your hand shoots up to his neck lightning fast, pulling him down and crashing your lips to his. He spins you both around so your back is now against the wall as he kisses you. You roll your body, pressing your hips against his as his tongue clashes with yours. 

He leans back for a moment, biting his furry glove with his hand to pull it off so his hand can feel you completely. When his lips are on yours again, his other hand takes hold of your neck once more, squeezing it as you slip your tongue in his mouth and he sucks it in further.

With his now glove free hand, he lowers it to rub at your fishnet covered thighs. His hand inches higher beneath the hem of the dress until it’s right between your legs. But then he freezes.

He breaks the kiss, still gripping your neck. His thumb rests on one side, pointer finger directly on your chin, and the other three are on the opposite side. He pushes your head up, pressing your head to the wall as you both catch your breath.

“Is shark week over yet?” He asks, cupping your pussy. 

You start to repeat the phrase back to him, but chuckle as the realization hits you. The last three days you had been with him you were nearing the end of ‘shark week’ as he just called it. He had kept his distance, for the most part, aside from an impromptu morning blowjob before he trotted off to class on Tuesday. 

“Yes,” you breathe in response. 

His thumb and pointer finger squeeze your jaw, lowering your head and allowing him to recapture your lips. He resumes moving his other hand, hooking two fingers between the fishnets and the side of your underwear. He sucks on your bottom lip as his fingers rub your pussy, feeling how wet you are. He groans into your mouth as his fingers circle between your lips.

“I wanna fuck you so bad, Red,” he says, breaking the kiss once again.

He withdraws his fingers and brings them up to his mouth, popping them right inside and sucking your juices off. You watch him through lustful eyes, loving how fond he is of your taste. He’s not even remotely communicative with you but in these small moments you share, you understand all you need.  

He pulls his other glove off and tosses it aside before dropping to his knees in front of you and bringing both hands to where the fishnets are at your crotch, poised to rip them apart. 

“Chan!” You yell, grabbing his wrists. “I’ve only gotten to wear this for three hours, the party isn’t even over yet.”

“So?” He says, breaking his wrists free of your hands with ease. 

“So, relax.” You say, taking hold of his wrists again. “And wait.”

He drops his hands and sits back on his heels, looking up at you. With only the red light illuminating the hallway, his gaze feels ravenous. Perhaps he does not like you telling him what to do. You second guess your word choice…maybe you should have added a please in there. You shift your weight from one foot to the other as his continued silence makes you anxious. 

When his hands move back to your thighs, you don’t even try to stop him this time. Resisting is futile. You always give in to the pleasure. They slide up beneath the hem of the dress again, but instead of ripping them, he respectfully finds the waistband of the fishnets. His eyes never leave yours as he hooks his finger inside them and slowly pulls them down, dragging your underwear with it. 

You bite your lip to keep from smiling. So maybe he disregarded the part about waiting, but he did at least grant your request to not rip them. He has a smug look on his face, seeing your reaction. You avert your gaze down the hall, wanting to check that the coast is clear but also wanting to keep him from seeing how much of an affect a small act of kindness from him makes you feel. 

The hallway is still empty. 

You look back to Chan and pull your dress up and out of the way. He uses one hand to keep the fishnets and underwear pulled down as the other guides your leg over his shoulder. And as soon as he leans forward, taking your pussy in his mouth, you know you wouldn’t fucking care if the entire party walked up here right now.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you roll your hips, pushing your pussy against his face so he can properly devour you. The music downstairs is muffled, but still mostly drowns out the sound of him slurping you up. He replaces his mouth with his fingers, playing in your wetness. He uses his thumb to rub circles around your clit as you grip his hair with your free hand. 

“Fuuuck,” he drawls, pressing his thumb against you harder, watching your hips move in response. He slips his fingers inside of you and swaps his thumb and mouth again. 

Your eyes snap open at his words and your hand forces his face against your pussy even more. You had already declared you belong to him the first time he fucked you. Hearing him say it, hearing him claim you drives you wild. 

His fingers pump in and out of you rapidly as his tongue licks up and down your pussy. You put your head back against the wall, moaning at all the feelings. His fingers inside of you, his mouth on you, being in the hallway where anyone could come up and see you. But most of all, being his. 

“Please, Chan,” you say, feeling so fucking turned on you think you might burst.

He detaches his mouth and stands up, causing your leg to fall from his shoulder, and reclaims your mouth. You can taste yourself on his lips as his fingers keep thrusting into you. His other hand finds it way back to your neck, squeezing it harder than before. 

“Please what?” He asks, lips pressed against yours.

You keep your eyes on his as your hips fuck his fingers back, whimpering. You reach your hands between you, undoing the button on his jeans and pushing the zipper down. You slip a hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and grip his cock, feeling how hard he is.

“I need you,” you force out with his hand still around your neck and he grins. 

He knows how he makes you feel and he loves it. Seeing you desperate and needy, begging him to fuck you. 

Before he has a chance to, you see someone step onto the landing from the corner for your eye. The thought of being caught and the reality of it are two very different things. 

Chan reacts so quickly, turning to shield you, lowering his hand from you neck to pull your dress up and cover your breasts. You drop your dress and pull your fishnets and underwear back up. You peek over his shoulder to see who’s come up.

It’s Han. 

He sees you two, but he doesn’t say anything. He opens the door and walks into his room, but a moment later his head pops back out, adorned with his pirates hat and he throws a grin in your direction. You flip him the middle finger and he disappears fully into his room.

You press your head to Chan’s chest. Maybe he does care about people seeing you exposed and he just talks a big game. You don’t want to ask, though. He might just take it as a challenge. 

You lean your head back to look up at him and he chuckles, wrapping his hand around your back and pressing your hips against his. You can still feel the bulge of his cock.

“Let’s go back downstairs,” you say, taking a step away from him as you come back to your right state of mind. You need to clear your head—maybe get another drink, maybe get some fresh air. 

“Will you stay with me Sunday?” He asks suddenly, pulling his zipper back up.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to concede so easily, nor ask you to stay with him. You had yet to spend a Sunday with him. In all honestly, you didn’t think he cared much for you to be there. But maybe he’s only asking since he didn’t get to fuck you during the week and feels like he needs to make up for lost time or something. 

“Maybe,” you reply.

Sunday is your day. It would mean a lot, to you, for you to choose to stay with him. What would it mean to him? 

He buttons his pants as you pick up his discarded gloves from the ground and hold them out to him. 

“Maybe?” He repeats skeptically, eyeing you as he accepts the gloves with one hand. 

His other hand—the one that had been inside you—he brings to his lips and sucks his first three fingers into his mouth one by one. He’s silent as he puts the gloves back on, mulling over your answer. 

“Okay,” he finally says. 

“Okay?” You repeat him this time. 

The dark look in his eyes makes you feel as though it’s not okay.

“Sure,” his tone is now sickly sweet and you find it unnerving. “I’ll be back down in a sec.”

12:15am 

The keg in the basement has been tapped already. Changbin and Chan work to move the one from the backyard down there with the help of a few other guys. It looks like a disaster waiting to happen and you don’t want to watch. You spot one of your friends that you stayed with after the breakup hanging in the kitchen and talk with her for a bit. You let her know you’re fine and have found a place to stay—sparing the specifics, of course. 

1:00am 

All the housemates and a good majority of the guests crowd around the living room as Felix MC’s, to hand out best costume awards. Much to your chagrin, Changbin, Lee Know and Seungmin win best group. Some guy dressed as Elton John in his bedazzled LA Dodger outfit wins most like the original. A girl with a literal UFO floating above her head and lights streaming down wins most creative. Sexiest female goes to a girl dressed as a skimpy Mario. Sexiest male costume goes to none other than Chan—he celebrates by taking two shots back to back. You’re close enough to notice a small dribble that’s trickled down to his abdomen and you’re tempted to get on your knees and lick it off in front of everyone.

After the prizes—gift cards and alcohol—are handed out, the crowd disburses throughout the house. You stay in the living room with Hyunjin and Felix as Felix gets the music going again. 

Hyunjin wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to his side as Despacito plays. He’s smiling down at you with glossy eyes and you can tell he’s definitely had a couple cups of the Changbin-spiked punch.

“Dance with me,” he says.

“Hell no,” you spit back, shaking your head. “I’m not anywhere near drunk enough for that.”

“Well, drink up,” he says, moving your hand with the cup to your mouth. 

You take a large gulp but still shake your head again. He takes the cup from you and finishes it off, sitting it on the table next to Felix. You protest as he pulls you to the middle of the living room where others are dancing. You’re struck with a wave of embarrassment, covering your face as he dances around you. He moves freely and easily to the beat, tongue caught between his teeth with a smile. He stops behind you and puts his hands on your hips, moving you from side to side with him. 

He spins you in a circle, then brings you back against him, rocking his hips backwards and forwards to the music, guiding yours in sync with his, holding you firmly to him. You want to feel mortified, but you’re smiling and laughing. You’re enjoying yourself. As you always do with him. He wraps his arms around your shoulder, pulling your back flush against his chest and kisses your neck.

“Y/n?” You hear your name called and as your eyes snap up to the person who said it your smile immediately drops.

Your ex. 

Hyunjin still has his arms around your shoulder, holding you against him, but he stops moving and looks up at your mood killer too. 

“Who’s that?” He asks.

“My ex,” you tell him. He straightens up, but doesn’t remove his arms from you. 

Your ex walks closer to you, not even glancing at Hyunjin behind you.

“Can we talk?” He asks. 

1:45am

You’re hesitant. You don’t walk to speak to him, not now when you’re having such a good time.  You also don’t want to cause a scene, though.

You tap Hyunjin’s arm around your shoulder and he releases you. You gesture for you ex to follow you and lead him through the kitchen to the backyard. There are people out here too, but it’s not as crowded. You fan yourself when you hit the fresh air—you hadn’t realized how hot it had gotten inside with all the people, combined with the alcohol and dancing. 

“What’s going on with you?” He asks in an accusatory manner. 

“Nothing?” You respond, not sure what he means. 

“I saw you a few weeks ago with one guy, now you’re dancing up on some other dude?”

“You keep asking these questions as if you’re entitled to answers,” you snap at him. “You wanted to break up with me. You wanted to see other people. You don’t get to say shit about what I do.” You step closer to him and jab your finger into his chest each time you say ‘you’. 

“Is this where you’re living now, then?”

You sigh, shaking your head. 

“Listen, I think closure would be good here…but this is not the way.”

“I told you I wasn’t looking for closure.”

You let out a wry laugh.

“I’m not going to sit around waiting for you, if that’s what you’re wanting. I’m single. I’ll do whatever and whomever I want.”

His jaw clenches as he glares at you. 

“And I have no intention of ever being with you again.” You add. “So, either leave me alone and enjoy yourself at the party or get the fuck out if that’s too hard for you to do.”

You throw your hands up at him and shake your head before opening the sliding glass door and walking back into the house. He follows you inside, grabbing you by the arm to stop you before you reach the living room. You turn to face him, snatching your arm back. 

“So you give me shit about wanting to see other people, but now you’re living in a house with these frat bros?” He arches an eyebrow.

You shrug. He becomes more annoyed at your response. 

“You’re fucking them aren’t you?” He spits, stepping closer to you, leaning down so you can hear him over the loud music. He grabs you by the arm again, dragging you to him.

You put a hand on his chest and struggle to push him away, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. You’re certain the music is still blaring, but it suddenly feels extremely quiet.

“You’re fucking all eight of these squinty-eyed motherfu—“

Your fist connecting with his jaw cuts him off. You don’t know what’s come over you to react in such a physical way, but you’d be damned if you let him finish that sentence. 

The next few moments happen in a blur.

He yanks you closer, seething, as he opens his mouth to say more disprectful shit. But someone wraps their arm around your waist and pulls you away from him and at the same time, someone else shoves your ex. Then Chan is standing between you and him, facing your ex. You can’t clearly hear what he’s saying over the music and the erratic beating of your heart, but they look to be exchanging some heated words. Your ex looks furious with Chan in his face, acting like the literal big, bad wolf. 

You look back to see who’s grabbed you—it’s Seungmin. He’s holding you close, but his eyes are locked on Chan, waiting to see if he needs to get involved. 

Hyunjin and Felix come into the dining room amidst the commotion. He walks behind your ex and places a hand on his shoulder. Your ex shoves his hand off, says one last remark to Chan then storms out of the room. Hyunjin follows behind him to make sure he leaves. Felix puts a hand on Chan’s chest to keep him from following. He forces Chan to look him in the eye to hear whatever he’s saying. 

Changbin storms in, coming from the basement a little too late, but still looking ready for a confrontation. All while dressed as Mary Sanderson. The sight sends you into an immediate fit of laughter. 

The partygoers go back to their own conversation as Changbin approaches you, Chan, Felix and Seungmin. 

“Why didn’t you ride your vacuum?” Seungmin says to him. “You would have gotten here sooner.”

“He’s lucky I was late,” he huffs. 

Chan turns away from Felix to face you and Seungmin releases you from his grasp.

“You okay?” Chan asks, softly. 

“I’m fine,” you tell him, wiping at a stray tear as you regain your composure.  

Chan lifts your chin up with a finger so you’re looking him in the eyes, possibly wanting to make sure the tears are from laughing. 

You nod your head, reassuring him. 

“Nice job, slugger,” Seungmin says, ruffling the top of your hair. You swat him away and wince as your hand comes in contact with his arm. He laughs at your pain. “I’ll get some ice.”

He disappears behind you towards the fridge. 

Chan gently takes your hand in his and brings it up for inspection as you weakly wiggle your fingers. 

“Can you make a fist?”

You squeeze your hand together the best you can but it becomes painful before you can make a complete fist. 

You hear Chan take a deep breath. He closes his eyes, hand still holding yours. 

“Tell me I shouldn’t go after him,” his eyes snap back open and they are brimming with rage. 

“Don’t,” you plead. 

“I wouldn’t lose,” he says, rubbing his thumb across your fingers. He’s here, physically, in front of you, but it seems like his mind is already out the door. 

“He’s not worth it,” you shake your head. 

He readjusts the wolf on his head and nods, as if trying to convince himself you’re right. 

“Go to Seungmin, put some ice on it.”

He lets go of your hand and heads for the basement with Changbin.

3:30am 

You’ve apologized profusely to the members and the other assignees, hoping the altercation with your ex hadn’t put a damper on the night. They assure you it’s alright—they all seem more concerned that you’re okay, and it makes you feel warm and cared for.

The house has mostly emptied, Seungmin and Jeongin are getting the last few stragglers out. Changbin and Hyunjin are supposed to be helping clean but Changbin, drunk off his spiked punch, is cradling Hyunjin’s face in his hands and loudly alternating between calling him the cutest piglet he’s ever seen and asking him to ‘oink’. Hyunjin is cackling, trying to squirm away from his touch, but he’s no match for Changbin’s strength.

Chan, Jeongin and Han come up from the basement and shut the light off behind them. 

“Everyone’s clear from down there,” Han says, removing his pirate hat.

Chan has his arm around Jeongin’s neck as Jeongin supports his stumbling steps. 

“…and that’s why you’re my baby,” Chan is saying to Jeongin.

“Okay, hyung, okay. I’m your baby forever,” Jeongin is smiling widely, amused.

He must not get to see their chapter president like this often. 

You’ve never seen him like this. 

“Y/n,” he says with a smile when his eyes fall on you.

He shakes free of Jeongin and walks to you.

“What did you do to him down there?” You ask.

“We had to keep him from going after that guy—he’s at least responsible enough to not drive drunk,” Han tells you. 

His words give you some pause. You would never want to condone any further violence, but…had Chan been ready and willing to fight over you? 

Chan hugs you from behind, head hanging over your shoulder.

“You should probably take him upstairs,” Felix says, taking the stack of paper plates you’ve amassed and tossing them into the trash bag he’s holding. 

You step to the side and drape Chan’s arm around your neck, holding on to it with one hand as the other holds him by the waist. 

He lets you walk him up the stairs, giggling to himself as he concentrates on taking one step after the other. 

“Do not fucking fall. I’m telling you right now I can’t save you,” you warn him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he giggles again, putting his other hand on the rail to grip as he walks.

Once in his room, finally, you ease him onto his bed and he immediately splays out flat on his back. You kneel on the bed to get his costume off and he lets you remove his gloves, and vest without putting up a fight. However, when you get off the bed to place them on the dresser, he protests

“Come here with me,” he whines. 

“You need to sleep it off, Chan.” You tell him, softly.

“No,” he pouts, sitting up on the bed, swaying. He looks like he’s concentrating every fiber of his being on holding steady. “Come here.” 

There’s more demand to his voice the second time. You sigh and walk towards the bed.

“Don’t do that,” he chides.

“Do what?”

He mimics your sigh.

“Like you hate me or something. Don’t hate me,” he turns to look at you with sad eyes and pout once again firmly in place on his lips. 

“I don’t hate you,” you tell him truthfully, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you sit next to him on the bed. “You’re just always so hot and cold with me. I don’t know how to be or feel when I’m around you. I’m in a perpetual state of conflicting confusion with you.”

You choose to be honest with him about your emotions. You do want him to know how it feels, but you also wonder if he’ll even remember any of this tomorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, leaning to the side to rest his head on your shoulders. “I have to be this way, y/n.”

You furrow your brow at his response. Why on earth would he have to be this way to you? You shake him off of you and he sits back up on his own, leaving his head hanging. 

“Why, Chan?” You ask angrily. He doesn’t budge. “Chan. Look at me!”

Your sharp tone of voice causes his head to snap up.

“Why?” You ask again, softer this time. 

“It’s just easier this way…I don’t think I cou—“ he starts but trails off and shakes head, unable to finish.

“Chan, please,” you plead with him. “How is this easier? Easier than what?”

He shrugs and places his head in his hand. A silence falls over the room as you wait to see if he will respond. He doesn’t, and it angers you. 

“Why would you choose me,” you start slowly, “if you’re so determined to treat me like an object you own when everyone else in this house can be both friends and lovers, fuck buddies, whatever the hell you want to call it with their assignee. Why is it so fucking hard for you?”

“I couldn’t let you end up with anyone else,” he says, words muffled by his hands.

You sigh. Again. You’re desperate to know what he means, to get some kind of clue about why he keeps you at arms length. Why he wants your full submission but refuses to let you get closer to him. You wish he were sober. It's even more frustrating that even when he’s drunk, he’s not spilling out helpful information. It’s the most of an explanation you’ve ever gotten out of him, though, but talking to him like these feels useless. He’s too heavily guarded. 

He looks up again and turns to face you.

“Stay with me tonight?” 

What is he trying to do to you? It’s the second time tonight he’s asked you to stay with him. And the way he looks right now, annoyingly adorable, you want nothing more than to grant his wish. But it’s infuriating to think that this isn’t the real him. Or if it is, why the fuck can’t sober Chan be the same? If you give in to him like this, after he’s explained nothing yet expects everything from you, you will lose even more of yourself. 

You find logical ways to justify your shared intimacy and lack of anything else, telling yourself that it’s part of the gig as an in-house stay. But what happens if you start to choose him and his behavior doesn’t change? Will you become upset if he continues to treat you the same?

“It’s Saturday,” you say finally, standing from the bed. 

He pouts again.

“It’s Sunday, actually.” He corrects you. 

He stands, taking a moment to catch his balance. He reaches for your hand and brings you towards him. He rubs his finger over the back of your knuckles. The pain from the punch earlier had mostly subsided after icing it.

You think back to Chan’s actions in the kitchen, how he immediately sprung to your defense. It’s as if he wants to be the only one who can get away with mistreating you. 

“We’ll just sleep. Stay with me.” He asks again, bringing your hand to his mouth and placing a soft kiss on it. Your stomach flutters at the sight. 

“No,” you say defiantly, shaking your head. “That’s not how it works.”

“It works how we decide it works,” he counters, placing his hands on your hips and looking down at you. 

“No, Chan…not like this.”

“Fine,” he mumbles, dropping his hands from you. 

He turns away from you and walks towards the corner of the room—to your bed. He grabs your pillow and hugs it to his chest as he walks back to his bed. 

He’s acting like the cutest fucking brat you’ve ever seen and yet you still want to slap his face. How had his parents put up with this? Maybe shipping him off to the states for school had been in their best interest. He would have been a handful, and spoiled rotten. You can almost guarantee it.

He climbs into his bed, holding your pillow as he gets comfortable. You stand watching him. You want to go to him. You want to curl up behind him, to hold him. To share a bed with him for the first time. But you can’t keep setting yourself up for failure. If you do that tonight, what happens tomorrow? He won’t treat you any different and you’ll be upset you let yourself fall for it. 

“Goodnight, Chan,” you say, turning for the door. 

He grunts in response as you turn the light off and exit the room.

On your way downstairs, you stop to listen and see if anyone is still cleaning in the kitchen but it’s dead quiet so you continue to Hyunjin’s room. You make it back to the room and see he’s already knocked out. You contemplate waking him up but decide against it. Any mood you had for fooling around is gone. 

You rid yourself of your costume piece by piece and climb into bed with Hyunjin in just your underwear and a shirt. His body adjusts to your presence, as it always does, and you snuggle in to him. What started as a promising night that could have ended with some fun—with either Hyunjin or Chan—turned out to be quite the opposite.

[ read chapter 10 here ]

a/n: I am struggling so much to keep Chan in check. I want him to just give in an be the bestest boy ever, but then it'll be a rush and the story will end sooner. So, let's ride this out together.

taglist: @iflmho / @skzstaykatsy / @blackhairandbangs / @ayoitschannie / @idunnomanmynamewastaken / @charmer-c / @ihatemen55 / @channiesprincess / @channniesslefttt / @jiwoos-babygirl / @krayzieestay / @kayleefriedchicken / @sunnyhonie / @cotton-candycloudz / @lubsungie / @conwunder / @puckmaidens / @ashleighland / @hyunjiinnnn / @bmnyy / @ihrtlix / @maqqiekwon / @hynxnelly / @teti-menchon0604

[randombush3]

Kinda miss Fleur and Alexia bickering 🫣 can I get a request a one short of them getting into a fight

sorry I took ages to do it - I've been trying to think of a scenario. I imagine that the dutch players have had a very miserable international window lol

[...]

I slam the door behind me. 

There are few things in life that cause me absolute devastation, but this week has been one of them. I’m tired, I’m angry, and, what’s worse, I’m resenting the fact that Alexia’s apartment is bright and happy. 

She smiles as she emerges from the bathroom, perhaps not hearing how I entered as I used my own key. 

I take it as smugness. (I want it to be smug.) 

“Hola, mi amor,” she says with caution, heading over to greet me after not seeing much of each other for the best part of a week. She must sense the tension because her smile dampens, victorious glow from winning fucking everything fading away. 

“Hey,” I mutter, tone clipped and curt and dripping with resentment. Alexia approaches, concern beginning to make her frown, reaching out gently to touch my arm. 

I jerk it away from her. 

For the briefest of moments, I feel a long-dead emotion: hatred. I loathe Spain’s success, am jealous of it, and it is not fair that it comes at my expense. Not when we are together, not when we are no longer enemies. 

It was easy to play against Alexia when I was her rival. I could tackle her freely and let my teammates foul her when she was too good to beat, able to watch on without remorse. Seeing her hit the grass brought about a vindictive, satisfied feeling, and I relished in it. 

Being her girlfriend is a lot harder, and it has been a while since I have had to play on a different team to her. It has been a while since we lost to Spain, but, just like they did in August, they have crushed our dreams once more. 

My dreams. 

The Olympics are more special to me than any other tournament, and will continue to be until the games are no longer valued in women’s football. They are my family’s history, the gateway into my relationship with my mum, and they are now out of my reach. 

I huff out a breath, struggling to contain my emotions. “We lost twice so we won’t be going.” I tell her what she already knows but she does not rub it in. “Jaimie is going to qualify.”

Alexia looks at me, piercing eyes seeing through the floodgates I have shut. She must realise that I have cried on the plane – maybe even that I hadn’t stopped crying since we played Germany, only reining it all in as I made my way up the stairs to her place.

“What do you want, Alexia?” I snap as she attempts to touch me again, blinking myself back into reality and hoping I don’t start to cry. 

Clearly, my wounds have not been nursed enough. 

Alexia recoils, hurt flashing across her features before she schools them into something harder. Her jaw clenches. Maybe she thinks I am being immature. “What’s wrong with you, Fleur?” she asks, her voice tinged with frustration. “I know you're upset….”

“Oh, like you care,” I retort, bristling at her words. “You seemed happy to run around with Jenni, celebrating your socks off!” 

Her eyes narrow, patience wearing thin. “Excuse me?” She doesn’t sound convinced that I am the real Fleur de Voss, looking me up and down to check I haven’t been replaced with someone else. 

“You clearly have let it get to you. Have you forgotten what it’s like to lose?” 

“Oh, of course,” she scoffs, “because that has never happened to me before. I was inconsolable after we lost the Champions League final; I didn’t come out of my room for–”

“Please, spare me the sob story.” I roll my eyes. “You’re on top of the world right now, Ale. Spain wins everything and you keep adding to your list of victories, crushing anyone who dares to get in your way. And the worst part is, you don’t even play! You don’t even play, and you act like you have done it single-handedly, with the biggest grin on your face–” 

“Do you think I enjoy seeing you in pain?” She trembles with anger. She shouts, and she hasn’t meant to be the first to do that because she instantly steps back in regret. I may have flinched at the shock of her volume, but now I square my shoulders, daring her to fix my heartbreak. “Do you think it didn’t take all my willpower to not go over to you, to not comfort you, or hug you, or try to make you feel better? Do you think I wasn’t trying to get to you as soon as I could? Or that, in Sevilla, I didn’t look at flights to Germany so that you wouldn’t have to spend the night alone?” She steps towards me. “I know how much going to Paris meant to you, to your family. Believe me, I heard what your mother said to you – even if my English isn’t that good.” 

“Your English is fine,” I mutter, instinctively destroying her stupid insecurity. 

“Fleur, how could you think I take pleasure in your losses? You know me better than that.” 

I shake my head, unable to quell the storm of emotions raging inside of me. “I feel like I don’t know anything right now,” I admit, hardly audible. 

I was going to the Olympics. I was sure of it. 

Jaimie and I were going together, and, although Mum competed for a different flag, we were going to follow in her footsteps; continuing her legacy because she promised me I would be good enough to do that. She promised us both, time and time again. 

She may have left us, but she was the one who wrangled me a spot in the Australian youth teams. She started my international career for me, and I was going to repay her by showing her it was worth it. 

What is it worth now?

“All I know is that I’m tired of feeling like my best isn’t good enough, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending everything’s okay.” 

Suddenly, this is about more than just losing the Nations League and not qualifying for the Olympics. This is the fallout of the Ballon d’Or, and we both know it. Alexia seems to have seen this coming. 

“I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me,” she begins, though guilt courses through me because I know it would have been asking the impossible of her, “but I’m here now.”

[eventheodds]

@full-of-mercy

“Meryl!?”

Milly’s voice is drowned out by the rushing wind that’s beating against her as she urges her toma to go faster, the fowl beast of burden squawking as it feels small heels dig into its flanks while it navigates the dips of the sand dunes.

“Meryl, please wait! Slow down!”

Milly is closer now, almost caught up, though Meryl doesn’t look behind her when she can hear another set of galloping toma feet pound the sand, nor when she can just barely make out the edges of her junior’s cloak as it, too, flutters in the wind. “Meryl, please, we don’t know—”

Meryl, for the first time since leaving Wolfwood’s grave, stops and grips the reins and turns her toma around. In the light of the moons that are shining down upon Noman’s Land, there are tears in her eyes, though she’s not uttered a single sound.

There was nothing but a yawning grave, a chrysalis of some kind, and the Punisher was gone.

The place where Vash had buried Wolfwood was empty.

Milly’s brow furrows as she takes in the appearance of her senpai, feeling at a total loss of what to do or say. Brad had told her Wolfwood had gone on a journey and she knew what he meant by that—knew because whenever someone she knew passed, she would have been told the exact same words or something similar. Maybe as a child it hadn’t dawned on her, not yet, but as she got older and she could clearly see the sadness in people’s faces, well…

Right now, Meryl is expressing a gamut of emotions though Milly can see how hard she’s trying to stay strong, to keep a level head.

Meryl, for her part, hasn’t been able to fully overcome what she had witnessed through that residual touch of telepathy when she’d been trapped in that lift. She’d not told anyone about it, carried it all by herself because she thought she was strong enough to handle the fallout and pick up the pieces of her life, continue her work thinking that staying occupied would help—it hadn’t, and it all accumulated to that point when she sat over a prone Vash, begging for him to come back, begging for him to realize he didn’t have to do this alone.

Seeing the grave Wolfwood was buried in empty, yawning and filled with substances that resembled something like feathers—it had truly felt like the final straw to break the toma’s back.

“No, we don’t know! We don’t know anything but we need to!” She can hear the frantic edge in her voice and it makes her inwardly wince because she never meant to yell at Milly. “We visited his grave and he was buried. We saw the mound of earth, the Punisher as a marker, right?!”

The reins she’s holding are pulled again, this time directing her toma to where they’d been heading before this. “I need to know what happened, Milly. We need to find Vash—he needs to know.” She gives both a click of her tongue and a soft kick to the toma’s flank once more and the giant bird resumes its course, navigating the sand dunes at night with ease.

She’s thankful that Milly can’t see her, because the tears are streaming down her face freely now. Meryl doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t call back, just looks ahead. At least with this, there is a purpose she can focus on rather than let her mind wander to places it doesn’t want to go.

But even with such focus, Meryl knows they can’t continue on like this without exhaustion catching up to them. Before long, the toma will need food, water and rest, and so will she and Milly.

“Meryl, I think there’s a small town up ahead. Maybe we can stop there for a bit before continuing on?”

She catches the hopefulness in Milly’s voice and knows that it would be in their best interest to make that stop. She’s lost the number of hours they’d been riding through the desert since leaving Wolfwood’s grave—the image of it being empty save for whatever residue and feathers left behind is branded into her mind and she can see it clearly whether her eyes are open or not. A sense of fear and dread had come over her when she stood near it, feeling like she could fall in and be lost forever.

The lights up ahead shake those thoughts from her head. Their soft and dull orange glow makes her think of lighthouses leading ships to shore from an endless sea, or ports in a raging storm. Either way, she follows them with a ferver as it makes her think there’s safety to be had there once they’re within the city’s limits. It’s by no means bustling like one of the seven cities, but there’s enough to see that it’s well off to suit everyone’s needs. She misses the sign of which city this is as her toma slows down to a more leisure pace but there is still an edge to its rider as she navigates the streets to a building that has the words Saloon & Inn painted on the sign out front.

Their toma are taken into the stable on the side and Milly, thankfully, is the one who goes up to the counter to request a room with two beds. Meryl overhears her asking about food and she can feel Milly’s gaze upon her, but Meryl is too focused on gazing out at those who are still awake and present at this late hour.

It’s not packed, though she’s no stranger to seeing saloons occupied this late, patrons still dining and drinking until Last Call is announced.

“Last Call!”

Seems they made it just in time. “We’re upstairs,” she hears Milly at her side and Meryl turns. “They didn’t have one room with two beds left, so we each have one room to ourselves. We might need to consider taking on part-time work because our funds are running a bit low…”

“Okay, thanks Milly.” She’s since turned back to continue looking at the patrons in the sitting area. Something isn’t right…

“Here, the key to your room. I ordered us breakfast for the morning, so don’t forget okay?” Meryl can only nod as she hears receding footsteps. Then, Meryl feels a sensation overcome her, similar to when she’d been dealing with the fallout of those events on her own—like it’s become harder to breathe, though she makes no move to grip at her chest like she had once done, but there is that sensation of cold sweat forming.

And the feeling of being watched.

[judasofsuburbia]

how the light gets in: a fan playlist

"You're a monster."

"You're Nancy Wheeler."

read here.

listen to the playlist here.

fell in absolute love with the series How The Light Gets In by my lovely pal @fastcardotmp3 and decided to make a fan playlist!! seriously this series is so special and so poetic. it is about chrissy cunningham coming back from the dead as a vampire and nancy wheeler finding her out while she's visiting barb's grave. together, they go on a journey of self-discovery and girlhood through monstrosity. and of course, fall for each other in the meanwhile. GO READ THIS SERIES i cannot recommend it enough!

song explanations below the cut!

anthem by leonard cohen: where the fic title comes from! a slow song about life continuing to move forward even after tragedy. very fitting for this series.

just a girl (cover) by florence + the machine: of course this had to go on here! chrissy has "come back wrong" and has to rethink and relearn what it means to be a girl again and the horrors associated with girlhood.

all the things she said (cover) by poppy: there is a moment at the beginning where chrissy can't communicate to nancy yet because vecna can hear everything. but she starts to make a list of all the things she will tell her once she can speak freely again.

talk to you by ricky montgomery: kind of the same as before! they wish they could communicate with each other and eventually figure out that vecna (who is possessing chrissy, so to speak) can only hear what they're saying. not see or read. so they end up writing down notes to each other to avoid vecna ruining their plans.

seventeen by sharon van etten: this one is kind of more vibes but basically reminscing on the girl chrissy once was and how she's growing.

way of nature, way of grace by aly and aj and joy oladokun: soft love song that explores the growing fascination the girls have with each other and the admiration of beauty through the pain/ the horrors.

girls against god by florence + the machine: ONCE AGAIN of course this had to go on here. florence just gets troubled girls<3 something about taking the reins of your life even when everything feels out of control.

please, please, please let me get what i want by the smiths: it's explored in this fic that chrissy struggling to want things and nancy being so giving to her, unselfishly. it's so beautiful :,)

hungry eyes by eric carmen: WOO MONSTER SONG basically here for the vibes of monster girl finally getting to consume. and definitely looking at nancy with hungry eyes.

i'll be here in the morning by townes van zandt: nancy promising that she will be back for chrissy time and time again :,))

leonard cohen by boygenius: kind of just for vibes but because the title song is leonard cohen, i thought it fit! it's about that particular song and getting lost in your happiness<3

waiting for a girl like you by foreigner: some 80's vibes now!! basically following chrissy never understanding her attraction to men but everything finally starting to make sense once she gets close to nancy.

me and the devil by soap&skin: nancy's defense song! it takes a lot of convincing from her to the group to let her take care of chrissy. this song explores following the devil and not being able to explain why you need to<3

lay all your love on me (cover) by pale honey: felt fitting for their first kiss in the woods up against a tree. dot wrote the emotion and desperation in this scene SO WELL!!

i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie: kind of an overall vibe song but also relates to chrissy going through the upside down again to help save max and destroy vecna. willing to go back to hell in order to find her autonmy again<3

NFWMB by hozier: also a first kiss song after chrissy tears apart a demogorgan to save nancy phewwww<3 but also just general vibes of them protecting each other from the others who don't understand!!!

fade into you by mazzy star: ties into the irreplaceable bond that chrissy and nancy are making with each passing day. they're fading into each other.

to be alone with you by sufjan stevens: chrissy is craving genuine alone time with nancy like how it was when she first found her<3

like lovers do by hey violet: sexy spooky song ooo!!! i would relate this one to the way they can't keep their hands off each other once they get a taste you know ;) that's just how lovers do!!!

the way i feel inside by the zombies: a soft love song about deciding whether or not to speak their feelings. nancy and chrissy spend time in this fic finally being able to speak their mind and their desires (esp for each other! eep!) and being frightened by the power but also enlightened.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 10

Summary: Haunted by her own mind, Y/N isn’t sure what to do with the information she uncovered. On the other hand, the Darkling felt a growing distance between them, allowing himself to admit something he never thought he’d say.

Warnings: angst, swearing, fluff, sexual innuendos 

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven // Part eight // Part nine   

=================================

A long time ago lived a young boy with the power of saints. He held the darkness at the tip of his fingers, capable of forcing the day into an eternal night. Back then, he made all the wrong choices for all the right reasons. To protect the ones he loves, he allowed the shadows to consume him. Cursed with immortality, he walked the earth ever since. Forever alone, hurt and betrayed, the Darkling's heart no longer beat as it turned to stone. No longer did he suffer, no longer did he feel pain or anything at all.

Until now.

There was no escape from emotions when he looked at her. Even in the darkness, she had the ability to set his world on fire.

A single badly made decision in a moment where everything feels more important than love can make your entire life feel like a failure. He would never make the same mistake again. 

This lifetime he gives to her – wholeheartedly.

When they stopped for the night, he had felt uneasy as Y/N conversed freely with everyone but him. It seemed like she’s on edge and not knowing why gnawed at him. Once night came and they settled in their tent, the Darkling couldn’t contain himself.

"I sense some...hostility."

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes, "Oh, how observant of you."

"What happened?” He asked, “Did someone at the Palace do something to you? Was it Genya?"

"And what if she did?” Tilting her head ever so slightly, she neared him. “What would you do?"

Without thinking, he answered, "I'd protect you."

Inhaling sharply, she raised an eyebrow. "And what if it was you?"

Pausing, his eyebrows furrowed as he unclenched his jaw. "Is it me?"

"If it was you who upset me, would that bother you?" Y/N pushed further, genuinely wondering if he cares for her as much as she thinks. After all, who’d believe the Darkling has a heart? She was still trying to convince herself it’s real when he kisses her temple when he thinks she’s fast asleep.

"Immensely."

With her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him. "So, how would you protect me from yourself?"

Letting out a heavy sigh, Aleksander ran his hand through his hair. "I'd let you decide."

Closing her eyes in frustration, her lower lip curled inwards as her front teeth sunk into the flesh. A part of her wanted to ask him about being the creator of the fold, but it was an advantage that would be unwise to let go of. 

"Why are you being so agreeable? Is it because I spread my legs for you now?"

"I've never known you to be so crude." The muscles in his jaw tighten as he squints at her and it’s taking everything in her not to smile because she absolutely loved when he’d look at her like that. It felt more natural than the soft, wistful looks he’d send her way.

"And I never realized you could be so easily tamed”, she remarks, her voice louder than before.

Chuckling in disbelief, the Darkling shrugs off his kefta without breaking eye contact. "You believe that you've tamed me?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shut her eyes. Her face is flushed, her head spinning and she has nothing concrete to tell him. She can’t make sense of anything anymore, the image of him in her head changing with every passing minute.

"I don't know what to believe anymore."

In two strides, Aleksander found himself before her. Cupping her cheeks, he tilts her head up to face him and when she opens her eyes, she’s lost in the universe that’s captured in his eyes. She loved the night sky littered with stars, but she never truly knew what it means to stargaze until she met him.

“I’ve discovered I love you.”

Raising her eyebrows, her jaw slacked. “When have you discovered that?” Her voice is high, tone defensive, but his smile grows because it wouldn’t be her if she didn’t fight him even when he’s trying to admit to something he long forgot exists.

“When all my decisions started to revolve around keeping you safe.”

Shaking, her eyes widened. “That’s impossible! You hate me!”

Placing a hand over her mouth, he used his other to press his index finger to his lips. “Shh”, he chuckles, “You’ll wake the others.”

Rolling her eyes, she licked his hand.

“Really? I’ve touched you in a way that made you scream long into the night”, he deadpans, “Your tongue can’t possibly disgust me.” Smirking, he leans in, “On the contrary.”

Slapping his hand away, she turned away from him. Grabbing her head, she sat down with her thoughts running so fast, too fast for her to pick one out to decide what she thinks, feels, wants.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her back flush against his chest. “I know you hate me now, but I’m a patient man. I won’t give up on you.”

He held her for a while, too long for either of them to realize the night had slowly trickled away from them and given way to dawn. Their journey wasn’t quite as long anymore. Soon enough, they’ll be at the fold and Y/N didn’t know what to do.

Should she tell him? Ask him for an explanation?

Would he kill her even if he said he loves her?

She still felt his kisses as he laid her down beside him. For the first time since they made love, they didn’t initiate any physical intimacy. Instead, they simply stared at one another.

She’s not for feeble minded people, there’s no doubt about it in his mind and if anything, Aleksander was more determined to love her because of it. She tested him in every way possible and while she was incredibly frustrating to argue with, Aleksander refused to give up on her. She’s difficult to understand to ordinary minds, but he isn’t ordinary.

His love will conquer in the end, he truly believed that. He could have continued on like nothing changed between them, but he could not be silent any longer. After all the time he’s spent in vein, all the years he wasted and lives he’s lived, Aleksander never found someone who gave him a reason to believe. Not until he met Y/N.

While she remained silent, stunned by his admission, he spoke of the day he first met Ivan and Fedyor. He spoke of their adventures, of their silly mistakes and she found herself smiling at first. Soon, she was laughing with him, and though she had no courage to admit it yet, she fell asleep thinking about him. Their knees were touching and her heart was racing, but the world never felt so right as it did when she was next to him.

Once on the road, she took the reins once again.

Kirigan ignored the whispers about her riding his horse, choosing to glare them into silence. No one dared to speak of it after.

Stopping a few miles short of their destination, Y/N drew a shuddered breath. The sight is hauntingly beautiful, a nightmare come alive. Swallowing thickly, a faint line formed between her eyebrows as they furrowed.

How could Aleksander be the Black Heretic? How is it possible for him to live so long?

“I’m here”, he whispers in her ear.

Goosebumps rise across the back of her neck as his warm breath dances across her skin. And there he is again, with her when she’s looking for solitude, offering his hand to hold and shoulder to lean on even when she least expects it. The worst thing is that she’s actually becoming dependent on his help and that scares her most of all, because what is she supposed to do when he decides he never did love her and all of it was simply an obsession fueled by her rejection. 

She’s still a novelty to him, that will wear off eventually.

“I’m not afraid”, she remarks, “I’m-“, she pauses in an attempt to find a better word, “Admiring it.”

“Admiring”, he repeats in surprise. “Most people find it absolutely terrifying.” 

She wondered if it frightened him. What would happen if he went in?

Turning her head to the side, she caught a glimpse of his parted lips. She felt ashamed how it caused her heartbeat to quicken, how it ached for a taste.

“I’m not most people”, she reminded him. And he knew that well. The Darkling would never fall for an ordinary woman.

“What I want to know is what went through his mind”, she grips the reigns tighter.

“Of the black heretic?”

Feeling his hands tighten around her waist, she nods. “I wish I knew what led to the creation of the fold. Why did he do it?”

“Maybe he just couldn’t help himself”, Aleksander’s voice is strained, “Maybe he’s just pure evil.”

Leaning the back of her head on his shoulder, she looked up at him. She longed for him, for an earnest conversation with their souls laid bare, but would she live long if she unveiled what her mind’s been tormented by?

“I don’t believe that”, she says softly.

Their eyes meet in an instant, the closeness forcing them both to hold their breath and look at each other silently. Looking at her, he touched her cheek gently with the back of his hand.

“Why give him the benefit of doubt?”

Aleksander’s free hand gently moves along her arm, finding its rightful place at the side of her neck, touching her skin so tenderly she felt blissful and it reminded her of that night where he unraveled her, made her scream in pleasure she never found before.

There was no denying it, Y/N had a weakness for his hand on her neck and his words in her heart, neither of which she had any willpower to refuse, especially not when she couldn’t breathe when he looked at her with such longing, shameful lust and indisputable passion and understanding.

It took everything in her to find the strength to speak again without her voice cracking under the pressure of her own emotions. 

“Because darkness doesn’t equate evil, just as light doesn’t equate good.”

Without a warning, he kissed her fiercely, violently, leaving her raw. She didn’t move away, she didn’t make a sound. All she did was close her eyes and part her lips and in that fraction of a second, she allowed herself to get lost in the beauty of a lover’s touch for when his lips claimed hers, nothing mattered anymore.  

When he broke away, she was breathless and undeniably his.

“What was that for?” She raised an eyebrow, a shadow of a smile forming on her bruised lips.

She shuddered, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip ruthlessly as Aleksander’s breath caressed her skin. It felt so right, too right to resist his advances. She lived for those long nights in their bed, those thick with lust and romance and naked kisses.

Aleksander shrugs, “I wanted to.”

Lips parted, she didn’t know what to do with that. He told her he loves her, that he’d wait for her to love him back and most women would fall at his feet. Something inside her refused to do so. To admit her feelings out loud would be the end of her. 

If she allows herself to love him fully, how could she possibly be the cause of his downfall? 

What would be left of her if she took his love and used it against him in the most cruel way possible?

She’s losing who she is around him, but it hurt so much more to reject his love. Hating him, pretending her heart isn’t a feeble muscle where he resides is exhausting.

Truth is, he doesn't make her feel safe or comfortable as she once believed a man should. He makes her feel like she's teetering at the edge of a cliff and she's getting addicted to that feeling. She’s getting addicted to him – his scent, his touch, his handsome smile and devilish smirk and most of all to the way his darkness drives away her demons.

Love has to come at once, with thunder and lightning like a hurricane that wreaks havoc on your life, to shake you up and break the heart like leaves off trees, to drag it into the abyss - abyss he created. 

She used to fear the dark, but now she found herself running into it.

In that moment, she smiled. 

Perhaps the darkness is not so bad if he’ll be there, holding her hand.

=============================

A/N - So, I literally wrote this in about two hours and I’m about to pass out. I wanna thank you for Eid Mubarak responses and especially for the feedback, I was just reading through them and they made my day so much better. I’m seeing some interesting theories too, some paragraphs you loved or just thoughts about the characters and IT GIVES ME LIFE. I’m so, so grateful for it all.

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon  @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06  @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer @olympiacosplay @pansysgirlfriend @extrakyloren  @daybleedsintonightfa11 @thoughts-and-funnies @weirdowithnobeardo @folkloresworld @remugoodgirl​ 

PART 11

[rarephloxes]

@lucienvanserraweek, free day!

I’m so happy to announce that this is a collab with my dear friend @ratabrasileira!!! Go show the beautiful drawing she did some love!!

rating: G

words: 2.2k

Elain searches the woods for flowers and finds more than she ever expected. Sleeping Beauty Au

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Elain left the cottage barefooted, the soft cushion of the grass comfortable and well known to her feet. The familiar and gratifying feeling of calm earth beneath her, steady and grounding, more than enough reason to forego any sort of shoes.

Roses, Feyre had chanted, the dreamy look in her sister’s eyes persisting ever since her chance encounter with a newcomer guard at the town square, the prettiest ones you can find, please?

Elain had not the courage to tell her younger sister that she had picked fresh flowers just the day before, funny-shaped pink blooms Elain found at the lip of the stream near the border.

So, she had picked her basket - the one Nesta had gifted her on her last birthday, handmade by her older sister herself; a beautiful, intricate thing done with the hard-earned love of the hardest Archeron - and left, a spring to her step and a tune brimming in her throat.

The woods, the townspeople said, were older than the village by unaccounted years, and therefore filled with deep, wondrous and dangerous magic.

Elain, as well as her sisters, was orphaned too soon. A wasting sickness that had scourged their village had taken away both of her parents, one after the other, leaving only a nearly of age Nesta, a doe-eyed Elain, and a tear-stained Feyre.

Many years had passed since, the nebulous, all-consuming pain of the absence of their parents soothed by time. Despite her grieving, it never escaped Elain’s thoughts how lucky she was to have such wonderful people in her life: her kind neighbors; the quaint, energized people of the village, who never missed a chance for celebration; the old grouch at the square who made wooden figures just as her father once had; Feyre’s laugh, her creativity and Nesta’s attentive strength.

The woods, magical and mysterious, were a source of peace in Elain’s little life, too. A balm made of soft sunlight, fresh, perfumed breeze, and the singing quietness of wildlife.

She walked, shawl hanging on her elbows to ward off the slightest of spring chills. Elain sang to her heart’s content, a lively lyric dancing on her tongue and bouncing on the leaves of the tallest of trees, her heart soaring with each note she presented to her loved woodland.

With Feyre’s wishes in mind, Elain followed a path towards a grove, the humidity at her destination perfect for the birth of deep pink roses which best complimented Feyre’s complexion.

She crossed the sturdy old bridge that allowed passage over the river, her cottage’s mill no longer audible from where she stood.

“Hello, Mister,” Elain greeted the white, wild bunny, its twitching mustache smelling the air twice before hurrying on fast jumps towards her, a cupped palm of berries awaiting the animal’s eager mouth, allowing her to scratch its head “You’re rather famished this morning, aren’t you?” she asked. The bunny agreed with what seemed like and affirmative ear twitch before her furry friend scampered away to a nearby bush.

Then, singing about poets and kings, Elain continued her path through the meandering trees, her basket filling with dark, juicy berries - a few of them already staining her lips red - and multicolored flowers.

A bold, red little bird landed on Elain’s extended finger and enchantingly sung with her. Its melodic chirping lacing and harmonizing to the girl’s sweet voice, their impromptu duet accompanied by the rustling leaves and the gurgling stream.

How wonderful Elain felt, surrounded by nature, connecting to the air around her as if it had birthed her itself, offering it her voice. Respectfully reaping the charming flora, she found on her way, breathing their scent, befriending the forest animals, and spinning on the tip of her toes on the soft soil.

As she stopped dancing, her skirts still swishing around her calves from the last of her twirls, Elain noticed a magnificent shrub of the blooms she had braved the woods for, jewel-bright pink petals shining under sunbeams, as if the tress had organized themselves to create a spot of light for such earthly beauty.

Right then, the strangest of things happened.

With her heart jumping to her throat, beating frenetically against her ribs, Elain noticed a beautiful horse. Saddled, with a gleaming chestnut coat, dark eyes downcast, calmly munching on the grass near its hooves.

It wasn’t unheard of, horses in the woods, wild or otherwise, they were not far from the main road, but that was not what made Elain’s skin prickle with alertness.

A well-taken care horse as such must have a rider nearby.

“Samson,” called a male voice “There’s not much left to go.” The horse shuffled his legs, huffing before turning its nose away, back onto the moss.

“There will be carrots,” the voice tried again, with a tone of simulated indifference.

Caught like a fish on a hook, the horse’s great neck snapped up, looking at its rider, as if expecting the vegetable all at once. Stoic as the pair of them seemed, Elain had the impression Samson was kindly spoiled.

Elain, who could hear the rich sound of the stranger’s voice, had not yet distinguished his form in the shade beyond the grove she entered, but following the stallion’s gaze she finally sighted him.

Oh, but what a beautiful man he was.

Stranger was tall and broad-shouldered, with an old, silvery scar marking the side of his face, slitting his brow and narrowly missing his eye - which seemed to be a disconcerting shade of brown. He had the most vibrant shade of red hair she has ever seen, dark like autumn leaves and silky like water.

He was the most beautiful human she has ever seen.

Stranger, however, had yet to notice her.

And as handsome as he was, Elain was clever enough to realize that a quick, silent escape was the safest option.

Slowly, she walked one step back.

The crunch of the branch beneath her foot echoed loudly, too loudly to be confounded by an innocuous wildlife sound.

Elain couldn't raise her eyes to look at him, attention glued to the sword holstered at his hip.

“Be not afraid, lady. I’ll take my leave in a moment,” Stranger said in a placating tone, palms deliberately upraised for her benefit.

The woods turned to music at the exact moment their eyes met.

A world-altering spark of recognition lighted in her mind.

A stranger in the woods, merry music, dancing fireflies, and singing birds, trees being led by the wind as if women in a ballroom, her vision spinning, and her body lighting up like fireworks. A hand on her waist, a choreography her body must have been made for performing, such ease it was to allow it to guide her away.

Dreams, she remembered, wonderful dreams which always kept her under her covers for a moment too long, always ending way too soon, leaving longing as a dent in her pillow.

Now he was right in front of her.

“I know you,” she whispered, words slipping through her lips like birds escaping a cage, her hands shaking.

He was dressed in well-made traveling clothes, dark pants, finely done knee-length boots she had only ever glanced upon whenever wealthier people crossed the town to check on their local businesses, but those deftly dressed gentlemen couldn’t have looked better than the man even with the priciest of fineries. Elain resisted the urge to press her hands to her cheeks, heated and pink from noticing Stranger only wore a thin, unruffled poet’s shirt, - his cape and hat using the nearby trees as hangers - its open laces revealing golden skin and wisps of red hair.

Elain had never felt self-conscious of her looks or clothes, the townspeople dressing similarly to her (even if Elain herself had one of the best sewing hands in their village). Her current outfit was a simple corset with boning made out of prepped hedgehog spikes, the plain fabric embellished with neat seams and picturesque figures Elain had stitched herself; a brown, light skirt - easy to wash and easier to hide soil stains - and, what now she deemed absurd due to the grime on her nails, no slippers.

“And I, you,” he answered as in a daze, hands falling limply at his sides.

“Do you hear it?” Elain made her voice firm, lifting he chin but with her knees slightly bent, ready to run.

“Yes, my lady,” he took a step, then two, until a stretch of his arm would land his hand on her shoulder.

But he didn’t move to touch her.

Elain swallowed, the breeze cooling her body, eyes downcast, legs now motionless and nearly failing her.

“Why won’t you let me see your eyes, my lady?” She couldn’t be sure, for she knew him not, but there was pleading in his tone.

“I’m afraid, my lord, that if I look at you, I’ll awake and leave this dream,” she whispered, surprised, but not fearful, of her words. “And you’ll fly away from my grasp,”

Suddenly shy of her newly found boldness, she turned her back to him.

“I’m-" She started, voice small.

“No, please.” Elain saw a shadow over her shoulder but wouldn’t dare to guess. “Forgive me for my requests, my lady, you need not give me anything, I-”

He sounded... embarrassed.

She found it endearing.

The song of the woods shifted to a village rhythm she knew well.

“Dance with me,” he called.

A gasp fell freely from her mouth, the ghost of a touch on her hand.

Slowly, she turned back to face him and realized her mistake.

His eyes were not brown, but a vibrant russet shade, complimenting his hair better. Elain had heard only the continent bred humans with the most varied and colorful bodies.

“I forgive you,” she mouthed, her throat no longer functional.

There were callouses on his palms if from holding reins or sword fighting, she couldn’t determine, but they were so gentle against her skin she barely put any mind to it.

A blast of sound surrounded them, as if the song recognized their meeting, rejoicing in their movements, magnifying their volume to ensconce the pair of them in a cloud of magic. Elain allowed her stranger to spin and lead her in the dance of her dreams.

She couldn’t help to laugh and smile and giggle as they swayed in impossibly rehearsed arrangements, his wide, carefree, delighted grin pouring sunshine into her chest.

Time turned to a growing bloom, following the natural, slow, unpreoccupied pace of life. A hundred dances thrummed with them while the small pointer of the square clock circled once.

At that time, the resounding, deep clang of the church’s bell chiming twelve times broke through the magic steering the couple.

Elain ceased her steps, the pang of reality downing on her face, awareness washing the enchanted fog in her mind.

She let go of Stranger’s hand, the melodies dimming to a quiet hum, tempting her as a distance siren song,

“I must go,” she told him, yet unable to move.

“So soon?” he asked earnestly, arms lovingly tightening around her waist, not caging, only a gentle embrace.

“Oh, please, I must have my leave. Your lordship certainly has somewhere to be. I don’t even know what to call you-“ she babbled in a rush.

Stranger pressed his nose to the sliver of skin above her neck line, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if she were a saint and he a devotee. Elain lost the breath in her lungs, head lulling back, her words cutting themselves short.

“It’s yours,” his lips brushed the slope of her neck, “My name, my heart, my soul. It’s all yours. I’m Luc-“

Hurriedly, Elain lifted his head and pressed her pointer and middle finger to his mouth, “You must not tell me your name,”

“I heard your voice,” he admitted, a portrait of hope in his face, gently grasping her wrist “I deviated from the road to look for the angel whose song I was lucky to listen. But the singing stopped, as it was never there in the first place,”

“The woods have a mind of their own” she whispered to herself, eyes roaming around as if searching.

“I found you once I let Samson rest for a moment,” he continued, uninterrupted, as though afraid she would vanish in a poof of light.

“Please, my lady. Can’t you see? One is never to deny a gift from the Gods,”

“Are you a believer, Stranger?”

“Now, I am,” he said, his gaze unfaltering, “Will you allow me to reveal my name to your Ladyship?”

“I’m no lady,” she said, taking her hand from the warmth of his, regretting it immediately, “I must have my leave,” How would she explain her tardiness to Nesta? Oh, how reckless she was acting.

“At least allow me to take you to your home, my lady,”

Elain knew deep in her gut as clearly as she knew the color of the sky and the name of her favorite flowers that he would never hurt her.

But her oldest sister warning echoed in her conscience, coiling its limbs around her, refraining her voice.

The universe, it seemed, understood her decision.

Samson let out a loud neigh, attracting her love’s attention for just long enough.

“I’ll see you in my dreams,” she promised as he turned around to watch his horse.

And ran away, deep into the woods.

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments make my day.

Special thanks to @moononastring and @silvergriff for hosting this awesome event, @separatist-apologist for being the kindest and most considerate beta reader I could ever hope for.

I’m building a tag list! If you want to keep up with my writing, let me know :))

I may or may not continue this? I really want to mesh this with a bunch of other ideas I have on my notes!!

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Sam Wescott cam au but Buddy came back from the restaurant a little early so he has to be quiet.

-NITL✨ (I forgot sparkles on the last ask, who am I??)

More cam au! I am obsessed with this au naturally and this is the last of the raffle fics! I hope you all love it! I had so much fun doing them this time around and I am so happy and thankful for all of you! 2K of you, it is so hard to believe still but I am seriously so glad for all of you being here for me! Part one is here, hope you all dig the follow up! Let’s go!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 1.3K. Sam Wescott And Buddy Swanson. Warnings: Camming. Sex Worker Positive Fic. And They Were Roommates. Masturbation. Edging. Hold The Moan. Don’t Get Caught. 

—

Caught In The Act.

—

Sam streamed on Saturdays. 

Saturdays meant a big audience and big bucks, it was his best night by far. Saturdays also meant his roommate, Buddy, would be out of the house and at work late. The weekend dinner shifts were insane at the restaurant he worked at so Sam could confidently stream all by himself without fear of being overheard. 

He took his time doing his usual pre-stream ritual, taking care of himself, making sure his space was clean and welcoming, looking as inviting and comfortable as ever before settling in for the night. 

On Saturdays he had so much time he didn’t have to rush. He could check in with the regulars, talk, and really build up to the main event. Tonight was good, there were a lot of people in the room, lots of eyes on him, he felt hot, confident, was in a good headspace and just felt free, was having a hell of a lot of fun too.

Every other Saturday night was game night, he had a wheel with some different games on rotation laid out and they’d play a few rounds. Right now he was sweating, he was in danger of losing, he lost the last game night and wanted to win. The chat wasn’t helping, was piling on the praise and saying all kinds of shit that they knew affected him. His eyes scanned over the chat as his well lubed hand was wrapped around himself, following the set up tempo and pace perfectly, getting dangerously close to cumming until finally, the lights changed and he tore his hand away. Chest heaving, sitting back, his hands held up, clearly off of himself as he let his eyes fell closed for a moment, a half laugh as he said, “You haven’t beaten me yet.”

His eyes peeled open to see the chat affirming that there was another round paid for and ready to go and they could all still win. 

He took a breather waiting for the signal and soon enough, too soon, he had to start back up. Jerking himself off at the chat’s instruction yet again, all the edges were starting to stack up and he was getting close in almost no time flat, he needed a reprieve, a distraction. He was really focusing on staying on the right side of the edge when he heard a sound he knew all too well, a key in the lock of the front door. 

His hand didn’t falter but his eyes went wide. He closed his mouth hard, stopping the litany of moans that had been pouring out freely as he felt them. His glance flicked to the clock, it wasn’t even eleven pm! What was he doing at home already?!

He listened as he came in, closed the door and kicked his shoes off, he kept pace but bit his bottom lip to keep his mouth closed. This was a good distraction, was keeping him from cumming but he was so fucking scared, what if he got caught, what would he do then? How would he ever explain what he was doing?

He tried to calm himself, deeply breathing in through his nose as he continued to work himself over, how often did Buddy barge into his room at this time of night anyway?

He focused on the game, on the chat, which was starting to question why he was being so quiet he was wondering just how to play it off. He kept going and the edge was creeping up again, panting softly, he was dying to get off but he couldn’t, not yet, not without winning.

He was deep into it, had almost forgotten the fact Buddy was home except for reining in his moaning when the unthinkable happened. 

A loud knock on the door followed by Buddy opening it without waiting for a response, saying, “Hey man, I brought you home dinner, you hungry?”

Sam’s head snapped, turning to the now open door to see his roommate standing there in the doorway, bag in hand, other hand on the door knob and his eyes went wide as he took in the scene. Seeing his roommate sitting on the edge of the bed, not a single bit of clothing on, long and tone body on display, sweat on his brow, out of breath and his dick in his hand, looking wet with lube and pre-cum, flushed and hard as fuck. Sam looked shocked himself, his lips parted, face red and neither of them knew what to do for a moment. 

Buddy recognized the tip sound immediately when it went off, his eyes breaking from Sam’s gaze to the computer screen and he gasped seeing the familiar set up, the realisation struck right away and Sam saw the wash of recognition. He said, “Get out man!”

“Shit, yeah, sorry!” Buddy dropped the food and retreated out of the room, closing the door he went to the kitchen, got a drink, tried to calm himself. Did he really just see that?

Was it true or was he imagining it? Was Sam really…Camming?

He downed the glass of water in a second and leaned against the counter, hanging his head trying to ignore how hard he was already. The image of Sam like that, totally naked and his hand around himself, so hard and fuck, he had seen his body in bits and pieces but all of it on display was almost too much to handle. Maybe he should go to his own room and-

He heard Sam’s door slam open and quick feet stomping towards the kitchen, “Buddy!”

He almost choked on his second glass of water and set it down, “Shit…”

He snatched up his apron and tied it around his waist quickly to cover up his problem before turning to face Sam who was coming into the kitchen now in a pair of pyjama pants and a t-shirt. “Heyyy Sam.”

“Hi.” Sam said, hands on his hips as he looked him over, “What are you doing?”

Buddy picked up the loaf of bread nearby and said, “Grilled cheese? I got some jarlsberg earlier and-”

Sam threw his hands up cutting him off, “You know what? I don’t care, why the fuck did you just come into my room without knocking?!”

“I did knock! I knocked!” Buddy defended himself and Sam pressed on, “Most people wait for an answer before barging in. You’re like a helicopter parent! You knock to say you did but don’t wait for an answer which fucking defeats the whole purpose of fucking knocking in the first place!”

“Okay, okay! You’re right, it was not fucking cool of me, I’m sorry.” Buddy admitted, he did sound contrite. 

“Damn right it wasn’t.” Sam affirmed and the pair stared each other down. Buddy spoke first, “So…We gonna talk about the fact you were clearly camming?”

Sam’s eyes went wide as he sputtered, “You! You…You don’t know that I was!”

Buddy laughed loudly, eyes rolled and arms crossed as he said,  “Yeah I do! It was so obvious, I’d know that tip sound anywhere!”

Sam’s mouth opened and closed and when he realised he said, “Wait how do you know that sound?! Are you telling me that you cam too?”

“Duh-doy Wescott.” Buddy said with a grin and a raise of his eyebrows. The thought flew into Sam's head. Buddy sprawled on those black bed sheets of his, tattoos on display, unashamed and confident and dirty talking, sweat soaked curls as he fisted his own cock-

“So we both do?” Sam uttered in disbelief and Buddy said, “I guess so.” A brief pause before Sam spoke up still trying to keep the thoughts of Buddy naked and masturbating on camera out of his head.

“Well…This makes what I wanted to ask much easier.” Sam said slowly with a hand running through his hair, “And what is that?”

“I might have mentioned you to the chat before and now that people heard you stumble in on me they went nuts, I could barely tear away to come talk to you! I’ve got a lot of horny fans and I can’t leave them unsatisfied.”

Buddy could not believe what he was hearing. “You are asking ME to collab?”

Sam stepped closer, somehow managing to maintain eye contact as he stated, “I am. So what do you say Swanson?” 

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 3

Here is act 3!!! Thank you so much for all of your enthusiasm so far! Hope you enjoy :)

8.6k - masterlist - ao3

--

Aelin has never really thought of herself as someone with a lot of friends. She’s always had Elide, Aedion and Lysandra, but they almost fall into a separate category. Like what they’ve been through surpasses friendship, and she thinks at this point Elide and Lysandra are as much her family as Aedion.

Throughout her years in the industry she hasn’t made many friends, Chaol and Dorian are probably the only two, but she's learned how things work. It didn't take her long to realise that all the girls she met at auditions, and bonded with over all of the things they had in common, would have stabbed her right in the back at the earliest opportunity.

It's cutthroat, but she can't say she's never succumbed to the temptations.

She’d be lying if she said she’d never pretended she was there to audition for another character just to get the other actress to spill her analysis of the character. She can’t say it was unintentional when she’d leave the audition room and then pretend to take a phone call where she’d discuss how pleased the casting director had been with her take and had promised to call, watching the faces fall of the other hopefuls she waltzed past.

She can’t say she’d never do it again.

That said, she feels like she has a good thing going with Fenrys, Manon and Rowan. They've hung out a couple of times and she likes them admittedly more than she thought she would at first. The dynamic is fast and snappy, funny and sarcastic, and she can feel herself getting back into the old motions.

Aelin knows they’re friends now, and it feels really fucking good, but she has one concern. She’s not entirely sure that what she feels for Rowan can be described as friendship and she’s kicking herself for letting it happen. The physical attraction she can excuse, he looks how he looks and she’s defenseless against that, but the rest? The rest is where she’s really let herself go.

He’s opened up to them a lot more now, and they spend a lot more time together than they did at the start. Just last week she had thrown herself into her seat at the end of a long day of shooting and plunked her feet in his lap. She had expected him to throw them off and growl something at her, but he had simply rested his left hand on her ankle and continued to scroll through his phone with his right.

It had felt far too easy to settle into his touch, and far too enjoyable to have the heat of his skin against her own.

Even so, there’s a level of detachment to his interaction with them. He falls somewhere between bemused dad and despairing lecturer tasked with herding a group of unruly children through a life or death venture. He curses actors all day long but he’s just as dramatic. There are moments when she catches him beginning to smile at a comment from Fenrys or the bickering she and Manon do before he halts himself and seems to rein it back in.

She wants to see him grin.

It’s kind of weird to think back to the first week of shooting and how unsure she felt around them, how insecure she was of her own ability compared to theirs, but by now she’s pretty sure she’s past the worst of that and she doesn’t want to waste any more time doubting herself, at least in comparison to them. It helps when Rowan makes little comments like nice job, Aelin or when she catches the nod he does after she nails a scene, especially when he tries to hide it.

She posted a picture on Instagram of the four of them from set last week, her and Manon crouched at the front wrapped up again in the massive coats they give them on set, their faces almost completely covered by the puffed up collars, and Rowan and Fenrys stood behind them, their arms crossed across their chests and faces twisted into overly dramatic imitations of anger. It had taken some pleading and possible bribery from Fenrys to get Rowan to agree to the pose, but they had succeeded in the end.

She had captioned it so we stole their coats… and tagged each of them, watching as the likes came flooding in. Only seconds later the comments had begun to run a bit wild.

This is going to be so good I can already tell.

fenrys looks so hot fuck me up

ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!

Are they dating?

She stopped reading the comments pretty quickly after that.

They’re about a third of the way into shooting, and Aelin knows what she’s accomplished so far is some of her best work. It hasn’t been easy, but she’s put hours and hours of her time into understanding her character and she feels like she truly knows Feyre, and almost sees some of herself in her. There are differences of course, Aelin isn’t quite as naive as Feyre or as forgiving, but they’ve both been dealt a shitty hand, and Aelin likes to think she’s working just as hard as Feyre to pick herself back up.

She finishes the take, and slaps her usual high-five against Fenrys’ palm and sends her regular nod over to Rowan. Good? Her nod asks. Good, his own gesture returns. She tucks her smile away as she begins to wander over to where he’s stood chatting with a producer.

She’s built a habit of going over to him once they finish shooting, she wants to seek him out constantly, and she feels drawn to him in a way that she’s beginning to lose the fight against. She’s about halfway towards him when she spots a tall head of brown hair making its way towards her.

She barely has time to process before there are a pair of strong arms around her waist and she’s being lifted up and swung around, her feet dangling inches above the ground.

“Hello, superstar.” His voice is deep in her ear and she can feel the vibrations where she buries her face into his neck.

“Gods! I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.”

She gasps as he places her back down on the ground and she can finally smile up at Chaol. Taking in the chestnut-brown of his hair and the faint creases beginning at the corners of his rich brown eyes. Gods, she’s missed him.

She’s known he’d be visiting the set at some point. The Crescent City is his baby, a script he’s been working on for years, and she knows he couldn’t stomach leaving it all to Rowan without any supervision.

He had first mentioned it to her a few years ago, but back then it was nothing more than an idea. Aelin knew he had been chipping away at it in the background for a while and it wasn’t a surprise when he first sent it to her. It’s different now though, now that there’s a budget and a set and actual progress made in getting it on screen.

It feels like a big deal to her; she can’t imagine how Chaol feels.

She had never dreamed though, through all of their midnight conversations about it and their half-dreaming out loud discussions, that she would be the one to star in it.

Chaol just grins at her, a twinkle in his eyes that she knows means he’s happy, and says “thought I’d surprise you.”

“It’s definitely a surprise.” She leans up to wrap her arms around his neck for a second time. She squeezes him tight and breathes him in, his smell is comforting and it makes her feel young again. “How long are you here for?”

He gives her waist a short squeeze, reminding her that his hands are still resting there with hers still up on his shoulders. It’s not the closest she’s ever been to him, and it doesn’t cross her mind for her touching him so freely to be an issue.

“A couple of days.” He smiles down at her again. “Lunch?”

“Of course, let me change first?” She asks, releasing his shoulders and turning to walk back to her trailer. He holds a hand out, as if to say lead the way.

She sets off as he follows, and she can feel the lightness of the wide smile across her face. It’s a kind of comfort now that Chaol is here, he’s taken care of her for so many years and his presence grounds her in a way she hasn’t really found with many other people.

Rowan still stands with the producer behind where some of the team are tinkering with the filming equipment. His brow is drawn into a frown and the producer standing with him has begun to look profoundly uncomfortable.

The take was good, she knows that, and when he runs a jagged hand over his face a jolt of concern strikes her. He looks anguished, or frustrated, and she wonders how he’s soured so quickly after the silent exchange they shared mere moments ago.

His gaze snaps to hers and it’s a powerful thing. His stare weighs heavily into her, so much so she wants to look away and her steps falter. The stumble is barely perceptible, but she sees it and thinks maybe he does too. There’s something thorny in the pull of his brows and the twist of his mouth and she wants to go over, ease his troubles, but that’s not her place. And Chaol is inches behind her following her lead.

Rowan’s eyes flick to Chaol and his mouth twists further. And not to get ahead of herself yet again, but surely not, right? His gaze switches back to rest on her, only for a second longer before he mouths something short and sharp to the producer and disappears.

Aelin shakes it off. She might think they’re friends, but as has become her mantra, he’s her boss. What she needs is something gentle and simple and uncomplicated. In the real world, everything she wants from Rowan is decidedly complicated.

Sitting opposite Chaol is a place she’s been many times before. More often than not, Dorian would have taken up the mantle at Chaol’s side, the pair of them closer than brothers. They have the kind of relationship she thinks truly cannot exist for people other than the two of them.

The level of understanding they share, the lengths they would go to for each other, it’s unparalleled and she longs to find a bond like that one day.

When she was younger being sat in a position like this, opposite Chaol, so close they could whisper to converse, would have been a dream. She had a bit of an infatuation with him when she first met him; he was a few years older than her, charming, handsome and calming. He had been her entrance to the world she lives in now and he had kept her safe and taken care of her.

She had thought he was everything she wanted.

She had realised pretty quickly, after going in for an ill advised kiss that he had swerved, that that would never be an option for them. He had let her down kindly and gently, which she appreciates now, even if it felt like a blow at the time.

He hadn’t let her pull back from him though, he had kept her close until she eventually got over the embarrassment and was able to look at him without blushing. It’s not something she dwells on now, she was young and naive and she could have done a lot worse than Chaol.

He was who she had gone to when she had met Sam. She had waxed poetic to him about the boy with the curly brown hair and the shy smile. She smiles lightly to herself at the thought of him, what he would make of where she’s at now.

He’d kiss her cheek with his arms around her waist, boasting how his girl, his baby, was a star in the making. She swallows the thought, struck by both the image and the lingering pain it brings, but also by the knowledge that she’s gone a couple of days without thinking of him.

She hasn’t thought of the boy with the brown eyes in a few days, hasn’t woken up screaming in even more. She breathes past the panic that threatens in her throat, both at the idea that she hasn’t thought of Sam for a while and the reasons there could be for that.

“How is the love of my life?” She focuses back on Chaol and watches him try very hard not to choke on his mouthful of his drink.

He had picked the cafe, even though she’s been in Rifthold for a while it is still far more his space than hers, and he knows the hidden gems like this that she isn’t privy to yet. It’s rustic and cosy, the brick walls have colourful bunting draped between them and none of the chairs inside match. She’ll have to come back if the food is good, the atmosphere inside is relaxed and busy enough that she can feel completely anonymous. She doesn’t want to leave, maybe next time she can bring a book.

“My beautiful wife is well,” he manages once he swallows, and she smirks at how he knows exactly what she’s asking. “Almost past the second trimester now, and still refusing to slow down.”

That sounds exactly like Yrene. She says as much and Chaol nods wearing the expression of a man who, if he didn’t love his wife so much, would be tired of chasing after her.

Yrene is a whirlwind of energy and efficiency and it’s why she’s one of Aelin’s favourite people. She’s full of exciting tales and inspiration, that is, when she can get Yrene to slow for a second enough to catch up. She probably doesn’t need her high paced job as a doctor in Rifthold General Hospital, like, Chaol’s scripts are successful, he’s won a number of awards that sit in a special cabinet in their house, but that’s just how Yrene is.

Caring and kind and so, so smart. If Aelin didn’t do what she does, she’d love to be like Yrene.

“Second trimester?” She cries. “He’s almost here!”

Chaol is again at risk of choking. “Aelin, please. I still have a few months left to get ready.”

He looks almost panicked and she scoffs. “Chaol, please.” She mocks his tone perfectly and ignores the eye roll he gives her. “You were born ready. You’ve basically raised me for the past few years and look how well I’m doing.”

He laughs, and she smiles, it’s exactly the reaction she wanted.

“I’m not sure that’s the glowing compliment you think it is,” He says dryly and she just pokes her tongue out at him.

“Chaol,” she begins, seriously this time. “You are already the best dad I know, you’ll be fine. And if not, the baby has Yrene, so he’ll definitely be fine.”

He doesn’t bite on any of it, just looks bashfully to the table cloth and nods. She can’t resist one last comment.

“And even then, he’ll have me and Dorian.”

“Gods, Aelin. The thought will send me to an early grave.”

She tilts her head to the side and sketches a flip of her hair over her shoulder. The combination of her and Dorian and a baby probably would give Chaol a heart attack but she’ll embody her role as the cool aunt, and Dorian can more than handle the cool uncle.

“Do you not want your child to be cool?” She knows he’s barely finding her funny at this point but she’s missed him and she loves winding him up.

He’s saved from having to respond by the arrival of their food. She stares longingly at his burger and greasy side of fries and forces herself to take a mouthful of her wilted salad.

After a few bites she notices his expression, something pinched around the corners of his mouth, and she knows there's something he wants to say.

To say that Chaol is less invested in her sobriety than Aedion and Lysandra would be a lie, but he doesn’t question it as openly as they do, so she doubts what he wants to say is anything to do with that. She’s ordered an orange juice to spice it up, and he has a tap water that he ordered without question so she thinks he mustn’t be concerned.

“What?” She says slowly, whatever it is she wants to know, and the pain of waiting for him to spit it out was almost too much.

He shakes his head and pops another fry into his mouth. She can’t resist stealing one and a swipe of ketchup off his plate.

He begins carefully, after using his napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth. “How is it going? You read the script pretty early on, do you think…”

He trails off, and seems to pause while he considers his words, but she doesn’t need him to finish.

“Chaol, I think it’s going really well,” she says and it’s sincere. “And it’s not just because I’m in it.”

It’s far easier to crack jokes and reassure others than it is to be the one being reassured.

He shoots her an unimpressed look, but she knows her words have done their job. Even through her faults she knows he trusts her judgement.

“I feel like you asked that in a way that meant you thought it wasn’t going well.”

She’s fishing a little, but Chaol is a gossip at heart, even worse than Dorian despite how he’d deny it.

He sees right through her, but relents as he takes another bite of his burger. She stabs another bundle of lettuce, dipping it in a pool of dressing resting in the bottom of her bowl as he swallows and speaks.

“I didn’t think it would go badly, but Fenrys Moonbeam has a bit of a reputation, and I just hope he’s taking it seriously. I put a lot of work into it.” He pauses and Aelin just waits. It doesn’t seem like he’s quite done. “Rowan Whitethorn too. But I think his reputation is a bit different.”

It puts her in a bit of a weird position with a sharp taste in her mouth, wanting to defend her new friends to one of her oldest, but Chaol has to understand that how he sees them isn’t right.

“I don’t think either of them is quite how you think.” She says it gently because she doesn’t want to risk irritating Chaol with this. “Fenrys works really hard, you know. He’s putting a lot of work into understanding Rhys, Rowan too. He puts a lot of thought into what he does, he’s really smart.”

He’s watching her silently, his eyes shining with a question she doesn’t want to answer.

“You’ve written an incredible story Chaol, we all want to do it justice.”

The quirk of his eyebrow is somewhat impressed as he takes her in, but maybe there’s something more in there. Something that catches the difference between the way she talks about Fenrys compared to the way she talks about Rowan.

“I’m glad,” is all he says.

“It’s going well,” she says and truly believes it. “I’ve said it before, but it really is a work of art, Chaol.”

She pauses, her next words thick in her throat. “Thank you… for writing it, I mean. It means a lot to me, and I am honoured to play this part.”

He nods thankfully, and she knows he appreciates the compliment but his response is typical Chaol. Quiet and understated but shining with sincerity.

There’s a moment before the corner of his mouth pulls upwards and she knows he’s just about to turn the game around and tease her now.

“A part of me wishes I hadn’t written so many intimate scenes between them, the thought of you and Fenrys Moonbeam…” He trails off.

She tugs her lips inwards between her teeth, pleading with the blush on her neck not to rise. They haven’t got to those scenes yet, and she’s been avoiding the idea of them. She doesn’t want to think about what she’ll have to do with Fenrys in a couple of weeks.

Fenrys isn’t the problem though, she knows he’ll be professional and respectful. The problem is that Rowan will be there, watching them, watching her, and the idea plays with her in a dangerous way. Everything about Rowan feels dangerous to her, and gods if that isn’t half the draw.

“I know we joked before, but you do know you’re not my father? You’re worse than Aedion,” she laughs.

Chaol just shakes his head, “I’m allowed to look out for you.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but you’re only, what? Five years older than me?”

“Six. And Rowan Whitethorn is older than me.” The way he says it is noticeable, like he has a point to make.

“He is?”

So she didn’t know that, but it worries her how it doesn’t change things even a little bit. It doesn’t change how attractive he is, or the fact that she should be going nowhere near the idea of the two of them. She needs to call Elide, or her actual therapist.

“Yes, I think he was in the year above me at the Royal.”

She really doesn’t know all that much about him, hadn’t even known he went to the stage school in Adarlan.

What she knows is the fleeting moments she sees of him behind the camera, the expressions he makes when he’s impressed and when he’s not. She knows things like his coffee order, his hatred for the little pastries the catering department provide and how he doesn’t seem to drink alcohol. She knows about Lyria, but it’s from the internet, not him.

She doesn’t know him.

“Oh,” is all she manages.

Chaol eats another fry, watching her the whole time, and she wants him to look away. She has nothing to feel guilty about; they haven’t done anything. She has one, probably inadvisable, crush on her boss that she’ll speak to Elide about and get over. Then the movie will be done and she won’t ever have to see him again.

The dropping sensation in her stomach at the thought is less than desirable.

Chaol stays for a few days. He hangs around on set and sits in her chair while she films. It’s a pleasant kind of relief, tinged with an element of nostalgia, to have him around. He makes her feel like a kid again, and she feels herself looking towards him for approval when she desperately avoids how she wants to do the same to Rowan.

He relents on the second day, after having met Fenrys and Rowan properly, and admits to her that he thinks his baby is probably in good hands. She just says “I told you so,” because she’s a child and annoying Chaol is fun.

She’s sitting in Manon’s chair next to him, and they’re talking about Aedion. He and Chaol have a friendship she likes to pretend doesn’t stem from a mutual concern for her. Chaol is saying something about how he doesn’t envy Aedion’s schedule, but she’s barely listening.

Aelin’s watching where Rowan stands a few feet away. He’s wearing a soft-looking black sweatshirt and jeans, and she can’t help but imagine how it would feel to slip the sweatshirt on herself. How it would still be warm from his body, how the sleeves would trail way past her fingertips, how the smell of him would surround her.

He’s directing Manon, gesturing jaggedly with his hands and she’s nodding along. The shades of their hair almost match, Aelin notices absently, but she prefers the silver shine to Rowan’s compared to the clean-white of Manon’s. Rowan makes a gesture with his right hand and his fingers flex in a rhythmic movement, the elegant lengths of his fingers flowing freely in motion.

She wants to take that hand and put it on herself, she wants to run it down her side and between her thighs. She wants to take his fingers into her mouth and suck.

And like, what the fuck Aelin?

Texting Rowan is, objectively, a bad idea. Not that it’s a bad idea to text a colleague and ask to hang out, it’s just that that isn’t exactly what she wants to get from texting him. So yes; it’s a bad idea, and Aelin knows this, but she’s been thinking of doing it for a couple of days and the desire to do so hasn’t faded. She’s thought about it for long enough that she’s rationalised it, it’s not rash.

Aelin wants to know Rowan.

She taps away at her screen, hi rowan… No. That's not right. Aelin deletes it.

Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to… Nope. Not right either. She bites her lip while she backspaces the string of letters.

She wants to seem casual, so if he’s not into it it’s not awkward. Aelin’s a feminist, but she still doesn’t want to outright ask him out until she’s tested the waters a little more, got a bit of a better read on him and whether he could be into it or not.

She thinks he is, at least a little bit. She knows his eyes linger on her sometimes, sometimes her face, sometimes her arse. She likes it, but whether all he feels is attraction, or whether he feels the same as her is a mystery.

She still hasn’t spoken to Elide about it, but there’s a devil on her shoulder whispering that she’s probably past the point of no return already.

i’m sick of takeout, she types. want to go and grab a bite somewhere???

Aelin taps send before she can overthink it. She can always invite Fenrys to come along too if Rowan doesn’t seem keen on doing something just the two of us.

It’s not long before her phone buzzes with a response. You’re sick of takeout, so you want to go and eat out?

She chews the inside of her cheek, his response doesn’t really give her much. And while it’s not a rejection, it’s not a yes. Maybe her text was stupid, gods, why didn’t she think-

Her phone buzzes again. How about I cook something instead?

Much better. She smiles as she writes her response.

i don’t really want food poisoning :/// my boss might be a bit pissed if i can’t work

The bubble with the three dots pops up immediately, and her thumbs hover over the screen as she waits.

Ha. Ha. He sends, and she can’t fight the little laugh that escapes her as she imagines him rolling his eyes at her. His next text comes through pretty quickly. I’m on board with going out if you want, just thought something more private could be better.

And shit. There are a number of ways she could interpret that. Aelin’s trying not to read into things, things like Rowan saying he wants to go somewhere private with her, he could just be talking about paparazzi. Damn, he probably is just talking about paparazzi.

oh yeah sounds good actually but pls don’t poison me

He just sends a straight faced emoji.

Aelin leans back into her couch as he sends another follow up text.

Do you want to come here?

She could, but he hosted last time. And while she liked the atmosphere at Rowan’s house, she can’t deny that she likes the idea of him here. She likes the idea of seeing Rowan making his way around her kitchen, likes the idea of Rowan sitting opposite her at the end of this couch.

or you could come here????

She bites the corner of her nail as she stares at her screen, waiting for his response to come through.

Sure. I’ll swing by the store to grab some ingredients. How many people am I cooking for?

Aelin pauses, her thumbs hovering above the keyboard.

was thinking 2 but i can invite others if you want

She thinks that’s pretty clear, but it also puts the ball in his court. She’s the most nervous she’s been so far as she waits for his reply, and the three dots pop up before disappearing again. They pop up again, before finally his message comes through.

Don’t. His text reads. I’ll pick up enough for two.

His response is pretty clear too, and she smiles as she sends three thumbs up emojis.

Her apartment isn’t dirty, or even messy, but once she’s locked her phone she’s up and full of nervous energy. It’s probably presumptuous to make sure her bed is made, but she does it anyway. She leaves the leggings and oversized sweater she wears on, it’s casual, she’s chilled out. Or she can at least pretend to be.

She’s doing her last round of the apartment, keeping her eyes peeled for any stray socks or underwear that she could have left anywhere. A blush threatens her cheeks at the thought of Rowan and her underwear, but she forces it down when there’s a sharp knock at the door.

She swings the door open and there he is.

He looks good, as always, but today it’s highlighted by the deep green military-style jacket he has thrown on over his plain white t-shirt. The tan of his skin always looks good against bright white, and the green of his jacket draws out the depths of his green eyes.

“Hey,” she breathes as their eyes meet.

He smiles, a slightly crooked thing, and he just looks even more attractive. “Hey.”

He’s carrying a brown paper bag pressed against his side in his left hand, and she reaches out to take it from him as she steps aside to let him in. He steps in, but resists her grab for the bag, instead wrapping his right arm around her waist to pull her into a brief hug. “Thanks for having me.”

His words take her back to the first time she visited his house. The time with Fenrys and Manon and the football game. The visit with her and Rowan in his kitchen.

She’s nowhere near as stiff with him as she was then and she lets herself relax into the hug.

“I only let you in on the promise of food,” she says into his chest and feels more than hears his reluctant snort of laughter.

Every time they touch she’s struck by how much she likes it. How much she wants more. But then he pulls back, twisting to push her door shut.

“I feel like I should let you know now before we go any further that I can’t cook.”

Rowan only raises a brow.

“Seriously, when I was in college I set off the fire alarm in my residence at least three times.”

“Three times?” His eyes widen in playful disbelief. “What were you making?”

“Well,” she laughs. “The first time I was trying to make Lysandra a birthday cake but then I got distracted and left it in the oven for three hours. The fire department got called but it was not that big of a deal, there wasn’t a fire.”

There’s laughter dancing in his clear green eyes as she regales her tale of youth. She practically beams at the knowledge that she has put it there.

“But our kitchen did smell like smoke for the rest of the year.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re bad at cooking.” Rowan tilts his head down at her and she realises they’re still standing in her entryway. “That sounds like you don’t pay attention.”

Aelin shrugs at his teasing. “The third time was the worst. I was trying to do that thing where you put vodka in pasta sauce.”

“Gods,” Rowan’s laughing now and she loves the low rumble of the sounds. It pricks the hairs on her arm as the sound washes over her skin.

“There were some flames,” she confesses and he winces.

She didn’t have a completely normal college experience, she was acting part time in very minor roles during her time there but she managed to make some memories in her short time there. After Sam she dropped out and the memories always leave a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

Talking about this with Rowan and laughing at her silly little anecdotes is one of the first times it hasn’t hurt.

“Sucks to be an actor,” he says mockingly with a nod into her apartment as she finally leads him into the kitchen. The apartment she’s staying in is fine, more than fine, it’s actually a really great apartment and she tries to fake a frown through her smile.

Aelin shrugs. “We can’t all be big, household-name directors, living in glamorous mansions, too famous to go out to eat.”

She shoots him an amused look, and Rowan just smirks, tilting his head to the side in a way that exposes the length of his throat.

So maybe this was a fucking dangerous idea.

Inviting Rowan to her apartment had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he’s here, now he’s in her space, looking all… damn him, he looks so fucking good she feels flushed.

She used to think brunettes were her type, Chaol and Sam were both brunette, with tanned skin and brown eyes. Recently though, as much as she wants to resist it, her type has pretty much become Rowan.

Rowan with his silver hair, and green eyes. His low voice with it’s lilting accent from across the sea. His skin is tanned too, but she knows it comes from spending hours outside rather than genetics.

She hasn’t thought seriously about another man since they started filming, or more likely since the moment they met in the hallway.

And if she allows herself to admit it, probably a lot earlier than that.

She shakes herself as he watches her.

Rowan smirks at her as he places the bag on the counter. “We’ll have to try not to set this kitchen on fire.”

She’s perched atop her counter, with one knee crossed over the other, as she watches Rowan unpack the items from the bag. He’s shucked off the jacket by now, and the t-shirt he wears gives her uninterrupted access to the image of his toned arms and the tattoo that swirls down his left side.

She realises a moment too late that he’s asked her a question.

“What?”

She can tell Rowan knows why she didn’t respond, she just hopes it’s not too much for him. From the smirk he wears she thinks maybe not.

“I’m trying to teach you a valuable skill, it may help to pay attention.” She flips him off and revels in the dark flash of a smile he offers. “I asked if you have a frying pan.”

Aelin pulls a face, she hasn’t done a lot of cooking here past the basics like pasta and soup. Her microwave has been a trusty companion.

“I don’t know.” She waves a hand to the cupboards that line the side of the room. “Have a look in there.”

He gives her a look that tells her he’s deciding whether or not he likes her giving him orders, but then he turns to rummage through her cupboards before returning triumphant and waving the silver frying pan in her face.

“So, what are you making for me?” she asks as he finds a chopping board and unloads the hoard of vegetables he brought with himself.

“Veggie burgers,” he states simply, and she knows she pulls a face because he laughs. “Before you complain, they’re good for you. And they’re tasty.”

She still wrinkles her nose at him, unconvinced.

He cocks his head as he pauses his rhythmic chopping of the leafy green vegetable he has on the board. She’s trying desperately hard to make eye contact and not just stare at the motion of his hands, and his arms, and the ink swirling down his skin.

“Didn’t I promise not to poison you? Do you not trust me to take care of you?” Aelin doesn’t think she’s reading into things to hear the flirty tone to his voice.

“I’ll let you know after I’ve tried the burger.”

Rowan shakes his head at her, the ghost of a smile floating across his face as he resumes his chopping. “Ye of little faith.”

Aelin just shrugs, making a show of being sceptical by turning her nose.

“You could always help,” Rowan comments. “Or do you regularly invite guests around expecting them to make you a meal?”

“Tell me what to do, chef.” Aelin holds her hands out, ready for instruction. “I am yours to instruct.”

Rowan nods and reaches back into the bag and pulls out a can, he turns to find a bowl and a fork and places them in front of her. She’s impressed that in under half an hour he knows his way around her kitchen far better than she does.

“Mash these,” he says.

Her disgust isn’t pretend this time and her lip curls. “Mash these beans?”

Rowan nods.

“Mash them?”

“Yes, you do know what that means don’t you?”

Aelin hits him with the fork on the bicep and he laughs again, the sound smooth and rich in her stomach. “Shut up. You’re not convincing me this is going to taste good.”

Even so, she opens the can and is about to tip them into the bowl when Rowan grabs her hand. His fingers are warm and solid where they wrap around her own, and she snaps her eyes to his face at the contact.

“Rinse them first. You warned me and yet I still overestimated your ability in the kitchen.”

He’s smiling slightly, exposing the whites of his teeth, and he’s so close to her face. They’re almost level where she sits on the counter and Aelin swallows. His eyes are bright as he looks at her and she feels her smile grow involuntarily. Something flickers across his face before he clears his throat and steps back letting go of her hand. She misses his touch immediately after it’s gone.

Aelin slides off the bench and turns towards the sink to compose herself, she rinses the beans under the tap and Rowan stays silent while she does.

She turns back and tips them into the bowl and begins to mash as Rowan grates a carrot. Aelin really didn’t know her flat even came with these things.

“This is actually fucking disgusting.”

She’s managed to turn the bean mixture into a grey-ish mush. There’s no way this can taste good, she’s going to struggle even putting it in her mouth without retching.

Rowan snorts. “It’s good for you.”

Aelin wrinkles her nose again, but keeps going. It speaks volumes that she’s willing to trust Rowan on this.

It feels weirdly domestic to be here with him in her kitchen, and they move with an easy kind of synchrony. He adds his chopped vegetables to the bowl and she mixes them together as he readies the pan.

“Up for getting your hands dirty?” Rowan asks her once he’s done, and hell if Aelin doesn’t read far too much into that. The answer is yes.

“Always.” Sue her if she makes sure to look up at him through her lashes, and to bend forwards towards him as she rests her forearms on the kitchen counter.

“Grab a handful of the mixture,” He points to the contents of the bowl. “And shape it into a round patty.”

Aelin goes to put her hand tentatively into the bowl, it’s now a grey-ish mush with flecks of orange and green and she’s dreading it getting under her nails.

“Wait,” Rowan says, and he reaches out to roll the sleeves of her sweater up. It’s such a sweet gesture that it kind of takes her by surprise. The gentleness with which he holds her wrist as he rolls the fabric is nice, and she finds herself watching his face as he does it.

His brows pull together, in an expression she assumes is concentration, as he makes the careful motions. He looks good, she notes, not for the first time.

His thumbs and index fingers move down to squeeze the junction where her wrists meet her hands as he finishes and says, “there you go.”

“Thanks,” she breathes.

Aelin turns back to the bowl, attempting to somehow calm her heart. Rowan really needs to stop touching her if she wants to get over whatever this is. But now that he’s here, and he’s looking at her the way he is, and specifying that he wants to spend time with her, just the two of them…

It’s the first time she allows herself to consider that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t something that’s only dangerous. She finally allows herself to consider the idea that this could be fun, this could be something she could really enjoy. And here, in her apartment just the two of them, he doesn’t have to be her boss. He’s just Rowan and she’s just Aelin.

She really likes that thought.

Rowan clicks the pan on, and the sound startles her out of her head. Aelin hesitates before finally plunging her fingers into the mush and gods, she has some faith in Rowan if she’s going to even consider eating this.

It’s gross, but she manages to shape it into two round patties, and she places them into the pan when Rowan instructs.

Aelin washes her hands as Rowan pays attention to the burgers, and she retakes her seat on the counter after sorting out their plates and condiments. She might not be a great cook, but she can be a good host.

She watches him flip them a couple of times, taking the opportunity to ogle without risk of being caught staring. He has strong arms, and the tattoo snaking down his left makes her mouth water with every flex of his muscles. He has wide hands with long, almost elegant fingers that she wants to link through her own. Aelin is reminded, as he lifts the pan, of the thought she had the other day when he was directing Manon.

It wasn’t the first time she had considered Rowan in a sexual way, but it was the most direct, and she’s not complaining, but sometimes it makes it a little difficult to concentrate in his presence.

Finally, he switches the heat off and turns to place the patties in their buns. Aelin has to admit they look a little better now that they’re cooked, but she’s still not convinced.

He presents her with the plate, wearing a bashful little smile, and she’s taken by how adorable she finds it. He’s actually nervous to hear what she thinks.

She slathers it in ketchup, hoping to make it somewhat palatable and lifts it to her lips, about to take a bite when he speaks.

“We’re eating here?”

Aelin pauses, putting the burger back on her plate. “Where else would we eat?”

Rowan shrugs, still holding his own plate. He doesn’t put any ketchup on his and she’s trying not to be disgusted. She taps the bench next to herself, and Rowan seems to deliberate for a moment before finally hopping up at her side. He towers over her again now that they’re on an even playing field and she likes it. She likes how much bigger he is than her, and likes it even more how she still feels safe with him.

“Okay, now go,” he says, still apprehensive of her reaction, and Aelin makes a big deal of taking a deep breath before her first bite.

She chews it all silently before swallowing, working to keep her expression neutral, and Rowan doesn’t look away from her face the whole time. She purses her lips afterwards, and waits for him to speak.

“So?”

“It’s not terrible,” she admits with a small smile creeping up the sides of her mouth.

Rowan quickly takes his own bite, and she watches the way his fingers dwarf the same bun that fills her hands. He hums his own pleasure.

“Not terrible,” he repeats. “Admit it, it’s good.”

She flips a strand of hair over her shoulder before she takes another bite. She was sceptical -- more than -- when it was still a mush, but she has to admit it’s tasty, and very Rowan. She doesn’t know for sure he’s a health nut, but based on the parts of his body that she’s seen and his distaste for all things sweet, she can guess.

“Maybe,” is all she says before taking another bite. He watches her with a smug smile, one she desperately wants to get rid of. It isn’t helpful that the way she wants to do so is by kissing him.

“Oh!” She jumps down from the counter, throwing her plate to the side, suddenly reminded. “You know what I have that would go perfectly with this?”

She grabs two glasses out of the cupboard and sets them down on the bench in between where she’s been sitting and Rowan. Aelin turns to the fridge before pulling out the small bottle.

Rowan groans, and she tucks the sound to the back of her mind. “Aelin,” he starts. “I don’t want any of that.”

“Come on,” she cries. “A milkshake is an essential with a burger and this is the best I have to offer. If I’d thought ahead I could have at least found a bottle of wine to go with the dinner you cooked for me.”

She’s not entirely sure why she said it, especially when she’s pretty sure she’s deduced that he doesn’t drink, and the reason for it, but it feels like an automatic apology that just slips off her tongue whenever she’s in a setting where alcohol could be a presumption.

Rowan’s expression locks down at her comment and she immediately regrets it.

“Um-” she starts but Rowan clears his throat.

“It’s okay,” he says slowly, avoiding her gaze, “I don’t drink.”

“Oh,” Aelin all but whispers, and it surprises her when Rowan lets out a dark huff of laughter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you know why.”

His voice has a somewhat bitter edge to it that she hates.

“I wasn’t-”

She stops when he finally looks up at her and she sees his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says again quickly and he only shakes his head and pats the counter at his side.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes her retake her seat at his side and pick her burger back up, taking a bite as he takes a breath.

“It’s not something that usually falls into casual dinner conversation.”

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

It’s something she isn’t sure she realised the importance of at first. The offer of whether to share or not. She fights a desperate war inside of herself every time conversations head down a lane like this. The desire to scream her story from the rooftops squaring off against the desperation to remain closed up where no one will ever know what bubbles just below the surface.

Usually privacy wins. Usually she swallows those words down and stays quiet, keeping this reel of pain and loss and tragedy buried deep within, but here with Rowan, tucked away in the kitchen of her temporary home, the words don’t feel so daunting.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s often something that makes other people feel uncomfortable. They pity the guy with the dead fiancée”—Aelin blinks past the way his voice wavers—“but they don’t want to actually hear about it. I’ll spare you the gorey details but after that I couldn’t bring a drink to my lips again. I’ve never so much as considered it — never wanted to.”

There’s an ache beginning in her chest, and she puts her burger back down on her plate. Rowan hasn’t touched his since his first few bites. She desperately wants to comfort him, wants to place a hand on his shoulder and take the pain away any way she can, but she knows from experience that it can’t be done.

This kind of pain, this grief, is something that can’t be taken away. She lives with her grief and her guilt after Sam every day of her life, and she thinks she will forever. No matter how many therapy sessions she goes to, no matter how many days and weeks and months pass, Sam will always be a part of her. Scrawled across her heart in his messy penmanship.

“I understand,” she says quietly. “More than you’d think.”

This is the moment where she could probably finish, where she could twist the conversation back to Rowan and pat his shoulder sympathetically, or where she could tug it to somewhere new and safe.

But she doesn’t often get opportunities like this, in the dim light and the quiet of her flat where the only other sound is the noise coming from the hood above her cooker. She doesn’t often get to talk about this with someone who truly understands.

All of her friends tried in the months after Sam, and gods bless them they still do, but none of them were as close to Sam as she was. They were upset for Aelin and her loss, not at the loss of Sam. And Rowan, who sits next to her staring at the floor, she thinks he could understand.

His gaze lifts from the floor to meet hers as she begins to speak.

“His name was Sam,” she says and Rowan nods.

“I know.”

Aelin feels her breath leave her chest in a whoosh.

“I saw some of the headlines at the time, Aelin I’m so sorry.”

Her jaw works as she tries to find the words, any words, to respond to that. But she’s shaken. She didn’t think anyone knew, or even noticed, outside of her immediate circle. But then she thinks back to the dinner they shared, the way his gaze had burned into her when the conversation had turned to her break. He knows — he has known — and he gets it.

She shakes her head, composing herself enough to speak. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His lips twist as she repeats his words back to him.

She doesn’t mean to say, “I knew about Lyria too,” but Rowan just nods, breaking their gaze to stare down at where their hands lie beside each other with an expression she can’t read.

Aelin knows she shouldn’t, for any number of reasons, but she reaches out to twine their fingers together atop the marble of her countertop. His fingers are rough and calloused between her own but the thumb he rubs against the back of her hand is gentle and reassuring.

He doesn’t speak, but there isn’t anything Aelin feels the need to say. It’s a kindred kind of silence, one borne of more pain than either of them could bear to speak aloud, and there’s an awful feeling of comfort in it. She knows he’s thinking of Lyria the way she’s thinking of Sam. But there is a part of her mind, a part that’s like a rising sun creeping above the horizon to break the shadow of night, that’s thinking of Rowan too.

Eventually she picks her burger back up again, it’s cold now but she can reluctantly admit it doesn’t taste horrendous. Their fingers stay linked as they each eat single-handedly, building themselves back up to sharing short stories and playful quips.

She’s glad she invited him, her boss or not.

[galaxywhump]

Proper Introductions

[Masterlist]

Dusted off another old WIP, so here’s a continuation of Wrong Place, Wrong Time.

cw: hero/villain whump, winged villain whumpee, hero whumper, defiant whumpee, manhandling, captivity, restraints, police, forced name change, dehumanizing name, referenced drugging, trophified.

~~~

He was handled like cargo, sedated while Bradley dealt with formalities, and when he was finally allowed to sober up he wasn’t even given any time to process the revelation of what was going to happen to him; instead he was unceremoniously thrown in the back of a van, wrists and wings restrained. The officers handling him weren’t wearing uniforms, and the van was unmarked, a clear sign that whatever was happening to him was no longer official and constrained by protocols.

It didn’t instill him with optimism, to say the least.

He was a criminal, of course, and now that he got caught he knew he wouldn’t be treated as anything else, but he’d never considered being handed over directly to the hero who had defeated him, who would be given free rein.

Stop being paranoid, he scolded himself, stretching his legs out as he sat up. He wanted to lean against the side of the van, but with his wings folded up and pinned together he couldn’t do so comfortably, so he decided against it. He winced when the van hit a rock or a pothole and his temporary prison swayed. He’s a hero. He must have some kind of a moral code, even-

Even though he had effectively trophified him.

He exhaled and fixed his eyes on the headliner as the van continued its trip, one-way for him. He cursed under his breath and his heartbeat picked up the pace when they briefly came to a halt, raised voices sounded outside, then the van revved up again and, judging by the sound, the asphalt gave way to gravel.

He was scared. He didn’t want to be, he shouldn’t be - risk was, after all, what he operated in, he knew how to keep his cool when faced with danger - but there was no denying that he had never felt more fear.

The van stopped definitively, the engine powered down. There were voices again, doors slamming, footsteps of someone circling the car until they reached the back door, and Oscar had to turn his face away when light flooded the dark space.

“Get out.”

For just a moment he wanted to refuse, but he knew there was no good way out of this, and him staying inside could be taken as a sign of cowardice rather than defiance. He got up, almost losing his balance, his body still accustomed to the swaying of the van, and leapt down from the back with as much nonchalant energy as he could muster. The officer immediately grabbed his arm, holding him in place.

Oscar looked around, keeping his chin up. There were a few people staring at him; the officers, three more tough-looking people in black button-up shirts, and, finally, Bradley McKenna himself, lighting up the driveway with what seemed to be a genuine smile that gave Oscar a sliver of hope. He quickly looked away from Oscar, though, and the feeling of being nothing more than cargo came back with full force when the button-ups - no doubt security workers of some kind - approached him and the officer handed him over to them with a nod. Two of them grabbed his arms with way more force than necessary and began to lead him away from the van. He strained his neck to see what was happening behind him and caught a glimpse of Bradley conversing with the officers, his posture relaxed, before the third security guard caught up and obstructed Oscar’s view.

He gave an experimental pull, squirmed a bit, but all it got him were fingers digging into his arms until they hurt and a light kick to the shin, so he settled on sulking in silence, taking in the sight of the house he was being led towards. It was huge and modern, clear cut angles, white pain and wooden panels, obscenely large windows, even a damn swimming pool to the left, which he noticed out of the corner of his eye. It looked like a house from a brochure, an unattainable dream that was hard to imagine anyone could afford.

It didn’t surprise him one bit that Bradley lived in a house like this.

What he was being taken to, however, was a garage, and there was a part of him that found having to awkwardly stand still while the door slowly opened almost amusing. They led him in - there was no car, or cars, judging by the capacity of the garage, only a few shelves with everything and anything, spare tires, a workbench, and a few metal stools.

There were also chains, almost comical, thick and rusty with heavy daunting manacles, already waiting for him.

“Rustic”, he commented, barely able to hear his own voice over the beating of his heart. No one laughed. He was held still while the third security guard crouched down and closed the manacles on his ankles, making sure it was secure with a tug on the chain.

Then they left him alone, just like that. He followed them with his gaze; he wanted to make another comment, anything to appear more collected than he really was, but words were stuck in his throat, so he watched the garage door close, sealing him inside, in silence.

“Alright”, he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking down at his restraints. First he gave the short chain of the handcuffs a pull - it felt almost dainty, thin, like it should be severed easily, but of course it couldn’t. He tried his legs next, shuffled his feet and grimaced at the weight of the chain and the sound it made when it was dragged across the floor. He didn’t know what he was counting on, and yet his stomach sank when the reality of being restrained like this, with nothing to do but wait for Bradley to tell him what he was going to do to him, dawned on him.

He looked at the workbench, way out of the range the length of the chain allowed, and frowned. It almost felt teasing, knowing that there must be tools in there that could help him break free, until he realized that they could also be used for torture, and fear struck again. He averted his gaze, let it wander over the shelves, the spare tires, canisters, work clothes which he doubted were Bradley’s. He considered trying to pull one of the stools closer, but didn’t do that in the end. He’d done enough sitting when they were keeping him drugged.

Is he even going to come here?

The uncertainty was already killing him. He forced himself to focus on minute details, counting the canisters, following the pattern of the tiled floor with his gaze, measuring the space he could freely move in. He was in the middle of counting the tiles when the door connecting the garage to the rest of the house opened and Bradley came in, hands in pockets, and the same genuine smile appeared on his face when he locked eyes with Oscar, who gave him a hard stare in return.

“Heya”, he started in a conversational tone, closing the door behind him, but not coming closer, staying well out of Oscar’s reach. “Glad you finally got here.”

“What the hell do you want?” Oscar asked, his frown deepening. He stayed still as a statue, not breaking eye contact, chin still raised, and he noted that the two of them seemed to be roughly the same height - at least Bradley wouldn’t get to tower over him.

Bradley cocked his head to the side and didn’t answer - instead two things happened simultaneously when he took a step forward and Oscar’s handcuffs yanked his hands upwards like they had a mind of their own, pulled until he stumbled and was forced to turn around, and pinned his wrists to the metal frame of one of the shelves, high enough that he was unable to move, almost standing on his toes, his arms straining.

He struggled, tried to pull back, fight the invisible force, but its hold was strong, and then his fate was sealed when he heard the clinking of another chain, this one with a lock, which floated up, neatly connected the handcuffs to the frame, and locked itself, securing his hands in place. All he could do was look back over his shoulder to watch Bradley with narrowed eyes as he approached.

“What do you want?” he repeated. The plastic tape dug into his wings when they twitched, stopped in his instinctual attempt to stretch them out to shield himself.

“Just to get to know you!” Bradley laughed, disappearing from Oscar’s field of vision, and he flinched violently when he felt his hand on his wings.

“Hands off!”

“They’re dyed, aren’t they? Your wings.”

He squirmed, trying to get away from the touch, but he was trapped, trapped like he’d been ever since he got caught, barely able to move in a way that mattered. Defeated, immobilized, helpless when there was an unpleasant - but not really painful - popping sensation when Bradley ripped out one of his feathers.

“Hey!” he protested, his words once again falling on deaf ears. Bradley rubbed the feather between his fingers and smiled seeing the powdery black residue.

“Hm. There go my name ideas.” Oscar tensed up again when Bradley patted him on the shoulder. “But we’ll find something else.”

“Something- The hell?”

He heard footsteps, a deafening echo in the mostly empty garage, and once again he tried - and failed - to crane his neck to see what was going on behind him. There were strange sounds he couldn’t identify, probably tools of some kind, and that combined with Bradley’s words turned his unease into unbearable fear.

“I doubt they cared about keeping you clean there, so let’s take care of that before I show you to your room, alright?”

There were so many confusing messages and stimuli, the primary fear, name ideas, your room, the sounds, that for a split second he just felt overwhelmed - which made the sensation of freezing cold water hitting his back with enough force to pin him to the shelves all the more shocking.

He cried out, uselessly tugging at the handcuffs to get away from the jet of water, but there was no escape. He was already shivering, his clothes soaked, his wings getting heavy with water, weighing him down.

And Bradley laughed, no doubt upon seeing their real color.

“I think I’ve found a name for you, buddy!”

“I already have a n-name, buddy”, Oscar snapped, his teeth chattering from the piercing cold.

“Yeah, now you do.”

After what felt like an eternity, during which the high-pressure water was washing off even the most persistent specks of the dye, it halted at last, and Oscar could swear he got even colder. He let his head hang low, taking deep shaky breaths, while Bradley coiled up the hose to put it away. For a few moments the only sounds were the happy tune he was humming to himself and the dripping of water, amplified by the echo chamber of the garage. Then his footsteps joined as he approached until he stopped by Oscar’s side, and he turned his head to look at him, glaring despite how pathetic he looked with water trickling down his face. He jolted in place when Bradley reached around him and ripped another feather out of his sopping wings, then held it in front of Oscar’s face, smiling his annoyingly genuine smile and gently waggling the feather, clean, light yellow in color.

“Nice to meet you, Canary.”

[next]

[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 8 / End

——It had been an absolutely bizarre day.

After Sherlock Holmes and the others had solved the case, that was what the man known to them as Jerry Dorff thought.

Presently, he was walking along a thoroughfare in the city, a piece of paper in hand. He still wore the bandages that had made him a suspect in the arson-and-murder case; as people walked past, his unusual appearance sent them casting dubious and uncomfortable glances openly in his direction.

However, he’d already grown used to such negative reactions. Paying no mind, he continued walking towards his destination, and thought back to the events that had resulted in this curious appearance of his.

——Originally, he’d been a capable businessman: one who had expanded a retail shop into a major commercial establishment. But one day, he was betrayed by a noble he’d thought of as a close friend. He was kidnapped abruptly in the dead of night, shot in a deserted area of London, burned all over while still alive, and thrown into the River Thames.

Yet he survived. After being swept downstream, he regained consciousness; somehow, he managed to climb out the river and save himself. At this point, he thought of returning home, and telling his child and his friend that he was alright—— but the moment he considered that, he stopped.

The man who’d tried to kill him was part of the nobility: an institution which wielded absolute power in this country. If that man knew he’d survived, he would attempt to eliminate him once and for all. On top of that, he could even be placing the people important to him in harm’s way.

As such, the man relinquished everything. He gave up proving that he’d survived, a life of peace, as well as the chance to see his family and friends again. From then on, he never revealed his true identity to anyone, and led a solitary life in the slums under the false name Jerry.

However, just the other day, a mysterious letter had arrived at the inn where he was staying. Written on it was his real name, and some simple instructions.

To summarise its contents: an incident would break out at a nearby inn; he was to get himself involved as one of the suspects; after which, the famous detective Sherlock Holmes would solve the case. Then, once the man had seen that the case was resolved, he was to go to this address.

And in reality, in the case involving the famous detective, the man had indeed been caught up as a suspect.

At first, when he read the letter, he was wrought with unease that his survival had finally been discovered. But if that had been the case, it would’ve been an assassin rather than a letter that arrived on his doorstep. As such, he surmised that at the very least, the author of the letter meant him no harm.

Moreover, the occurrence and resolution of the incident had happened exactly as the letter said it would; from that, it was apparent that this person had considerable foresight. Hence, powerless as he was right now, it would be mean nothing for him to disobey those instructions anyway. Having arrived at that conclusion, the man resolved to head to that address, even as apprehension took root within him.

“……Only being able to go with the flow — just like a puppet on strings, huh.”

He murmured self-abasingly, then stopped. He had reached the address written on the letter.

He was in the heart of one of London’s shopping districts. It was dusk, and the street lamps were lined up like candles on a birthday cake, casting a gentle glow all around. As usual, the passers-by cast strange looks in his direction, but the man didn’t care a whit.

Amidst the stream of people, he stood stock-still, his gaze fixed on the enormous building before him.

This was the department store he had, in the past, guided to success together with his friend. It seemed that a big incident a while back had forced the business to close. But as he soaked in its majestic atmosphere, a sense of nostalgia surged into his chest.

Nevertheless, at this point, he was no better than a recluse. No matter what end awaited this department store — the very one he had watched grow like his own child — that had nothing to do with him anymore. How was his precious family spending their days? That was immaterial to him too.

A firm resolve; and within it, an inexorable sorrow and regret. Perhaps the one who’d sent this letter was hoping to dredge up these emotions within him. If that were the case, then although he didn’t know who they were, he was certain they had rather bad taste.

Carrying a faint indignation, as well as an emptiness in his heart, the man made to leave.

Then, a little further down the street, a carriage caught his eye as it slowed to a stop.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“——Hey, William. You came to my house all of a sudden, picked me up in this carriage, then brought me all the way here — what on earth are you doing?”

As they rode together in a carriage, that was what Helena Curtis asked William James Moriarty seated across her. His elder brother Albert was seated next to him, and their youngest brother Louis held the reins in the driver’s seat.

However, both William and Albert simply responded with meaningful smiles.

“You’ll know it when you alight……. Since everything up till now, has been part of my plan.”

“………?”

She still couldn’t grasp the meaning behind his words; but for the time being, she did as he said and descended from the carriage.

Then, she found herself standing before the place where that brutal occupation had occurred several days earlier, and where she had ended up making William’s acquaintance: that very department store.

“……Maybe they’re going to unfurl a banner saying ‘Congratulations on your reopening!’ or something like that?”

Helena murmured as she gazed up at the building before her. Now, its enormity seemed almost hollow. She had thought of this store as her second home; part of her had been reluctant to see it fade away, but she also understood that there had been no other choice. For better or for worse, she was an intelligent girl.

What on earth was their purpose in bringing her here?

With that question on the tip of her tongue, Helena was just about to turn back to the carriage, when a voice came calling out to her from the side.

“……Helena?”

“——Eh?”

Her gaze shot toward the direction of the voice; there, stood a man whose face was wrapped all over in bandages. As the evening sun shone on him from behind, he looked almost like a demon from a child’s picture book.

Helena was shocked.

But it wasn’t because this suspicious-looking man had suddenly called her by name. What had taken her by surprise, was that ‘colour’.

——A warm, and slightly lonely colour, like clouds drenched in the evening sun.

It was dusk now: perhaps she had simply confused it with the sky? No, definitely not. That colour had certainly come from this man.

Then, the man seemed to have realised something all of a sudden, and turned his face away.

“Apologies. It seems I was mistaken. You reminded me of an acquaintance’s child.”

He said that as if making excuses to someone else, then turned away and tried to leave.

But Helena stared right at his back and shouted.

“Dad! It’s you, isn’t it!?”

Her voice had been clear, and imbued with a strong conviction. The girl’s plea washed over him, and the man looked down.

“……You’re mistaken. I’m not related to you.”

“That’s a lie! Your colour is the same as my dad’s! I’m absolutely sure on that!”

At this point, her voice was already trembling. With all her strength, she dashed toward him. He’d stood there with his fists clenched, and his back still turned; but finally, as if tearing himself free from everything, he spun around and knelt on one knee, hugging his daughter in his arms.

“I missed you so much……”

Helena spoke, her face buried in the front of his tattered, worn-out shirt. Even without looking at her, the man knew tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.

“……It’s been so long. And you’ve gotten so big.”

He too smiled at his daughter, no longer caring about the gazes of the people around him. Just for a moment, it was as if the bustle of the city had faded away, and the evening sun bathed the reunion of this long-separated family in its tender glow.

If only time could stop at this moment, they wouldn’t have to suffer the anguish of the impending tragedy. With that thought in mind, even as he felt a pang of regret, he pulled his daughter away from his chest.

“Helena. I’m glad I got to see you again. But, it’s no use: if he finds out I’m still alive——”

“——You need not worry about that anymore.”

Right then, William called out to him as he got off the carriage.

“……You are?”

“My name is William James Moriarty. I was fortunate enough to have made friends with Miss Helena.”

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Helena spread out her arms in joy.

“Thanks to William, I also saved Mr Kevin’s life, you know. Also, that noble, Andy — he can’t lay a hand on us anymore.”

“Is that…… true?”

From within the depths of his bandages, the man’s eyes widened, and he looked in William’s direction once again. At that, William responded with a smile full of warmth.

“This may be a bit too sudden, and perhaps you will need some time to process it, but that will not be an issue. We have completely eliminated that which has been tormenting all of you.”

“That…… How?”

“About that, please speak with your daughter in your own time after this.”

The man was more bewildered than overjoyed; but William left only those words with him, and stepped into the carriage once again. Her face brimming with smiles, Helena looked at William in the carriage, as well as Albert seated inside, and Louis in the driver’s seat.

“To everyone in the Moriarty family: truly, thank you. No matter how many times I say that, it will never be enough.”

William bowed respectfully, and then the carriage set off. As he watched the man stand there blankly, and the young girl waving at them as hard as she could, a gentle smile rose to his face.

Seeing that, Albert chuckled.

“So, is this the finishing touch?”

William nodded.

“That’s right, Albert nii-san.”

——Searching for Helena’s father, and reuniting them. That had been William’s plan this time around.

In order to pronounce judgement on Andy at the survival game, they had been looking into what the man did to Helena’s father, when William landed on the possibility that he was still alive and in hiding somewhere.

They had commenced their search right away, but it seemed the man was leading a rather inconspicuous life — his whereabouts were a mystery. Hence, William took advantage of the department store attackers who had fled from the police.

Those men were born and raised in the slums; having committed numerous petty crimes for a long time, they were well-versed in the art of escaping from the Yard. Of course, among the streets they’d grown up in, they were also familiar with the best places to evade detection. Putting it another way, one could take it that wherever these men had chosen to lay low, that same place would be perfect for Helena’s father to hide himself, seeing as he wanted to mask his existence. Hence, as soon as the fugitives holed up in one place, William would probe the surrounding area, and when he’d determined that Helena’s father was not there, he would let the fugitives catch wind of the Yard’s presence, and drive them on to their next hiding spot.

After repeating this a few times, as William had predicted, they finally discovered a man who appeared to fit the bill. He stayed at a certain inn, calling himself Jerry Dorff; but having laid low for such a long time, the man had become extremely distrustful — it would be no mean feat to call him out to meet Helena. Forcibly abducting him was out of the question, and even if they had brought Helena to meet him, he might mistake it as a trap set by the noble who’d betrayed him.

After exploring various methods, William chose to send him a single letter. Written on it was a full description of the incident that would occur — serving as a prophecy of sorts, to show that he meant him no harm, as well as a final notice: hinting that he couldn’t escape the net William had cast. After which, all that was left was to send an anonymous tip-off to the police regarding the fugitives’ location.

Then the detective and the Yard moved to hunt down the two fugitives, and Helena’s father was led to this place. Everything had unfurled from atop the palm of the “Lord of Crime” — and all of it occurred without the slightest deviation from his plan.

As a modest reward, William had been able to witness a beautiful love between parent and child. Sharing a meaningful look with Albert, he called out to his younger brother.

“Shall we, Louis?”

“Yes, William nii-san.”

With that, Louis urged their horse on a little faster.

Now that their twilight-coloured plan had been accomplished, they were headed in the opposite direction from the sunset sky, still radiant with the sun’s last rays — and towards one which was already dyed pitch-black.

When the sun went down, this city would once again be ruled by the darkness of the night. They would continue to race through its darkest parts, and work towards their goal. Finally, dawn would arrive. All the darkness would be dispelled, and a new day would begin: one that would bring people hope.

The carriage continued racing forward in a straight line. As it disappeared into the streets that had begun to dissolve into the gloom, William James Moriarty smiled.

One day, the morning sun would shine upon this world, and the ideals they created would come to life — that, was what he believed.

T/N: …When Helena’s father was revealed to be alive, I was oh my god what if—— and then they did get reunited and I was about to cry… It’s a better end than I could’ve imagined! (tears of joy)

[junqkook]

— THE YOUNG WOLF (m.)

pairing; jungkook/reader genre; game of thrones au, angst, smut words; 23,003 rating; explicit

— synopsis; he was promised to another, meant for another to hold and to love and to kiss. but when his hand lingered on yours for a moment too long to be proper, and when his eyes held yours for a beat too long to be a passing glance, you allowed desire to creep into your veins, to take root inside your heart. perhaps before you might have been permitted to love him freely. perhaps he might have even been promised to you instead. but war was no place for the wants and desires of two people, no matter how much they yearned for it to be.

contents; stark jungkook, arranged marriage, (kind of) forced wedding, war, graphic depictions of violence, blood, murder (massacre, really), betrayal, manipulation, character deaths (minor and major), lovers to enemies to lovers, mutual pining (lots of pining), grief, loss, depression, trauma, reader’s dad slaps her once, infertility, slight dubcon if you squint (sort of but not really), alternating pov, virgin reader, jungkook’s got a big dick, very slight virgin kink, rough sex, creampie, unprotected sex (stay safe!), breath play, masochism, some sadism, dom jungkook, manhandling, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting/marking, fingering, dirty talk, possessiveness, riding.

— notes; this is based on a song of ice and fire by george r.r. martin (aka game of thrones). includes major spoilers for the series, however previous knowledge of game of thrones is not needed to understand the fic. please read the contents carefully before proceeding. also i’m so sorry this is so long, i couldn’t shut up.

the young wolf. the dragonrider. vipers in the sand. every rose has thorns. as good as gold. blood of the dragon. the king who knelt.        ↳ series masterlist.

JUNGKOOK

His eyes scanned the parchment, the dried ink settling his heart into his throat. He looked up at his mother and the maester, their worried eyes trained on him as he took only seconds to make a decision.

“Call the banners,” he said, voice gruff.

“All of them?” his mother asked quietly while the maester watched on.

“All of them.” Jungkook’s tone left no room for argument, his eyes cold as ice. “They all swore oaths to defend my father. Let us see now what their words are worth.”

The maester nodded his head and left the room as quickly as his old bones could carry him, the rings on the chains dangling off his shoulders signifying the many subjects he had mastered clanking with each step he took. Jungkook shut his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers as the words on the small scroll bounced around his head.

“Are you sure about this?” his mother asked him, coming to stand by his side and rest a hand on his shoulder.

Jungkook sighed and stood straighter before looking down at his mother. “The new king has labeled my father a traitor and keeps him in chains. This message is a royal summons that I cannot ignore.” He looked away from her dark eyes, clenching the parchment in his fist. “If he wants us to come south, we will. But we will bring an army of Northmen with us.”

His mother pursed her lips and nodded slowly, letting her hand fall away from his shoulder. “Whatever your decision, I will stand behind you.”

Jungkook smiled briefly at her. “If it’s a war the king wants, it’s a war he’ll get.”

YOU

“When will we arrive?” you asked your father, the horses trotting along the Kingsroad leisurely.

Your father, an older man with a gruff exterior and experience with war, grunted and shrugged a shoulder. “Your brother rode ahead of us. It shouldn’t be too much longer until we reach the Jeon boy.” You stayed quiet, letting your horse follow your father’s the rest of the way.

By the time you reached the camp, night had fallen and darkened the skies. Torches had been lit around the tents and along the way. Many men wandered around the grounds, chatting with their fellow Northmen. You turned forward again just in time to see your father unmount his horse and leave it to a squire from your household. You quickly followed suit, sliding off the saddle and handing the reins to the same boy, only a handful of years younger than you.

You knew your father was headed off to see the son of Lord Jeon, Warden of the North, and that he wouldn’t want you coming along. So you stayed behind, slinking in the shadows away from the torches, keeping a careful eye on your father until he reached a tent and ducked in through the flap, two men guarding it and prohibiting anyone else from entering.

You cursed under your breath and attempted to make your way to the side, but you could see one of the guards eyeing you suspiciously, thwarting your plan to eavesdrop on the lords inside. But it didn’t take long for your father to come out of the tent, a younger man right behind him.

When your father saw you, a sheepish smile creeping onto your lips, he rolled his eyes. He walked a few steps away from the tent, talking quietly to the man beside him, and waved you over. You hurried forward, stepping into place beside your father as he cleared his throat.

“My Lord,” he started, gesturing to you. “This is my eldest daughter.” You bowed your head slightly and peeked up at the man through your eyelashes, surprised to find him still looking at you and your heart leapt into your throat. Your father called your name again and then dropped his hand. “This is Lord Jeon’s eldest son of House Stark.”

“My Lord,” you said quietly, keeping your head bowed.

“It is good to meet you, my Lady,” he said kindly, bowing his own head. “My name is Jungkook.” The last part he murmured quietly, as if in an attempt to ease your nerves. It was just loud enough that you knew your father had heard him and your cheeks felt hot when Jungkook continued to watch you even after you had straightened, his eyes holding yours for a few moments that felt like an eternity.

The young lord then moved his eyes to your father, tilting his head respectfully before walking away. Your own eyes followed him, watching every step that he took farther and farther away from you. You snapped out of your daze when your father rested a heavy hand on your shoulder and drew your attention.

He had a strange look on his face, his lips twitching up briefly. “Let’s go find your brother.” You smiled and agreed, pausing just as he began to walk forward. Unable to resist the urge, you pivoted to look behind you for a few seconds before going after your father.

You wiped the sweat from your brow, focused on wrapping the bandage around the man’s leg and keeping it tight to stop the bleeding from worsening. The battle had been a success for Lord Jungkook and the North, as evidenced by the aftermath you now stood in. You were tending to the injured on the field, and you had lost count how many you had attempted to help.

Once you were done, you nodded to the man sitting to the side, signaling for him to take his friend elsewhere. You stood up and stretched your aching muscles for a few moments. A hand came down on your shoulder and you whirled around, eyes wide and breath catching in a startled gasp.

Your father was giving you a hard look, his bearded face covered in dirt and blood. You swallowed, but you didn’t have the chance to say anything.

“Go on,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of one of the tents. “Lord Jeon’s son is waiting for you.”

You turned to look at the tent he was referring to and bit your lip as you left him to walk over to the tent, your supplies and medicine still in the bag hanging at your hip. Once there, you ducked slightly as you shifted the flap to the side. Entering, you made eye contact with your Lord immediately.

He gave you a brief smile, seated on the edge of the table. You could see blood dripping down his fingers, but the fabric covering his arm was too dark to spot where his injury was.

“My Lord,” you greeted, bowing your head slightly.

“My Lady,” he returned, eyes still focused on you. “You did not need to come. The wound is nothing more than a scratch.”

Your eyebrows went up as you got closer, standing only a few feet away from him. “I mean no offense, my Lord,” you said playfully. “But mere scratches do not bleed as much as yours seems to.”

Lord Jungkook chuckled quietly, the sound causing a flutter in your belly. “My scratches seem to be special, then,” he replied, tone just as teasing as yours.

Unable to hide your smile, you ducked your head so he wouldn’t see instead. You peeked up at him and made to reach for his arm. “May I?” you asked. He nodded his head and held out his hand, which you took in your own. His skin was warm and sticky with blood, but you stopped your thoughts before they could spiral out of line. Pushing his sleeve up, you didn’t fail to notice the way he hissed quietly, his so-called scratch coming into view quickly.

“Is this scratch too big to be mended?” he asked you quietly as you examined it.

You shook your head, running your hands up his arm to the slice on his forearm. “No,” you told him. “But you will need this stitched up. I’m afraid this scratch is too deep to simply bandage up and send you on your way.”

“Stitch it up for me, then,” he commanded, though his voice was soft. When you looked up from his arm, startled, his dark eyes were just as soft.

“Alright.” You swallowed nervously and looked around, spotting a few chairs around the table he was sitting on. “Would you mind moving to the chairs, my Lord? It might take some time.”

He stood without a word and you stumbled back to keep a respectable distance between the two of you. Lord Jungkook dragged two chairs over to where you stood, placing them so they faced each other, and then sat down in one. He raised his eyebrows at you until you sat in the chair opposite him. You looked down to sift through your bag, taking out a thread and needle that had already been prepared from others that had needed stitching as well.

Once you had what you needed, cleaning the needle with a bottle of alcohol that was on the table, you reached out and took his hand in yours gently. You ran your hand up his arm and bent over it, looking up at him with a wince.

“This will hurt, my Lord,” you warned quietly. “Would you like for me to get you some Milk of the Poppy?”

Your Lord shook his head. “No, that’s alright. It is nothing I can’t handle.”

“Excuse me for being adamant, my Lord,” you continued, looking at him properly now. “This is no time to let pride take hold.”

His lips twitched up into a smile. “Do your work, my Lady,” Jungkook replied. “If the pain is too great, I will scream.”

You huffed, turning back down to his wound. You bit your lip and started to sew it shut, wincing every time his muscles tensed under your hands. You were grateful that you had the stomach for it, or you would have to clean the remnants of your pitiful lunch off the floor. You made quick work of the wound, surprised that he did not let out a sound other than a grunt every time the needle pierced his skin and tugged it.

“There,” you mumbled, tying the thread and slipping a knife from your bag to cut the excess.

“Will you bandage it now?” Jungkook asked, his chest moving up and down slowly. There were beads of sweat running down his face.

“Yes,” you replied. You took out the bandaging and started to wrap it around his arm, taking great care not to tighten it so much that it would hurt him. As you worked, you brought up something that had been nagging at the back of your mind. “I heard that you captured the kingslayer during the battle.”

There was no reply for a few moments, the only sounds the faint ones of the men outside the tent. “You have quite the open ears,” he finally said amusedly.

“So I’m right?”

Lord Jungkook chuckled. “You are. He is bound and being held as prisoner.”

You finished bandaging his arm. “Will you use him to bargain for Lord Jeon’s release?”

Looking up, you met his eyes easily. “You’re quite clever, you know,” he said. “I will use him to bargain, yes. The new king will want his uncle back safe.” You gnawed on your bottom lip, your question on the tip of your tongue and just barely being held back by your teeth. Your Lord noticed and sat back in his chair across from you, resting his injured arm across his lap. “Go on, ask whatever it is you’d like.”

Your eyes nearly sparkled as you met his, sitting up straight in your chair. “How did you capture the kingslayer? I heard there was some distraction—”

“Yes, I sent two thousand men down the Kingsroad,” Jungkook explained. “They distracted the kingslayer’s larger forces, led by his father, while I took the rest of my men to the Twins. We ambushed the kingslayer there and he fell into our trap easily. The man has gotten too comfortable in his abilities.”

You hummed. “Very strategic, my Lord. How many men did you lose? I helped where I could with the injured, and there were quite a lot of them.”

Jungkook’s face shut down and he leaned forward again. “Has your father spoken to you?” he asked quietly. When you shook your head, he reached out hesitantly and then rested his hand on your knee. It felt warm through the fabric of your dress. “We lost those two thousand men, and another few hundred during the ambush.” Your heart started to beat harder in your chest. “Among them was your brother.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. He looked sympathetic, his hand on your knee heavy and distracting. You stood from the chair, dislodging his comforting grasp, and he jerked back to avoid your skirts in his face. “No, you’re wrong, you—you must have—”

Lord Jungkook rose as well, standing before you with a frown on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said gently, reaching out and taking your shoulders in his hands. He pulled you closer to him, voice softening when he could feel the trembling in your limbs. “I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes filled with tears as you stared at him, almost unseeing. He was saying something, but you couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing in your ears. “No,” you whispered to yourself, your tears starting to slip out. “He can’t—he can’t be dead, he can’t be—”

The Lord pulled you in, crushing you to his chest. You stared at a point on the tent over his shoulder as his hand ran down your back, his cheek pressed to your hair, but still warm. The furs around him were tickling your skin and his breath was warm on your neck when he spoke, though you had no idea what he was saying.

It didn’t feel real, what he’d just told you, the way his arms felt around you, the whispers against your skin. Nothing felt right. You wanted to push him away, wanted to forget what he had said, wanted to go back in time to before the battle—but you couldn’t. And you knew the only thing holding you up was his embrace.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when your senses came back to you, but Lord Jungkook’s arms remained firm around your body, and his head had not moved from its place against your hair. His hand was rubbing your back comfortingly and you felt heat warm your cheeks.

Lifting your hands to his chest, you pushed him back lightly. He looked at you curiously when he moved only inches away from you, hands still pressed warm against your back. “My Lord,” you whispered, cheeks flushed with heat and voice thick. “I—”

“My Lord!”

You startled, turning to look at the entrance of the tent, where a squire had just come in. The young boy was staring at the two of you, locked in an inappropriate embrace, his eyes darting between you. Lord Jungkook cleared his throat and dropped his arms, turning to face the squire, and you inched back slightly, lowering your head—though you knew the boy must have seen you and known who you were. You only hoped he would not spread rumors of what he thought you must have been doing.

“Yes?” he replied. “What is it?”

“The—the kingslayer, my Lord,” the boy stuttered. “He is bound and awaits your audience.”

“Yes, I will be there immediately,” Lord Jungkook said. “You go ahead. I have… things to attend to.”

The young squire’s eyes landed on you for a brief moment before he bowed and took his leave. You were gnawing on your bottom lip hard enough that it was painful. The fleeting moment had passed, taking along with it the ease with which you had forgotten to grieve. With the prying eyes of the squire gone, you returned to feeling like there was an ache in your chest, a gaping hole that felt like your brother’s sweet smile; he had never been cruel, a man too young and too kind for war.

“My Lady,” Lord Jungkook started, reaching out and gently taking your hand. “I am deeply sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do to ease your pain—” He paused, meeting your eyes intensely. His grip was firm on your hand and his eyes were soft as he watched you. “Please let me know.”

You bowed your head, not knowing what to say to him. The loss still didn’t feel completely real and you weren’t sure if it ever would. You had a feeling that you would still wait every day for your brother to walk into your line of sight, laughing and ready to tell you everything he had done.

Barely able to muster up a smile, you squeezed his hand in return. “Thank you,” you said sincerely. “I will keep that in mind.”

He seemed pleased, a smile breaking out on his face. “I must take my leave now, forgive me. But I thank you for your assistance tonight.” You nodded and he turned away, grabbing his sheathed sword and belt before he left the tent. You met his eyes again when he quickly looked over his shoulder at you, smiling sadly and walking out from under the tent flap.

You followed suit after a few minutes and numbly walked back to your father’s tent, where you found him sitting in a heavy silence. Your knees felt weak and you fell to the ground, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Your father barely looked over at you, his gaze burning a hole into the grass in front of him. You fisted your hands in your skirts until your fingers started to hurt.

And you wept.

JUNGKOOK

He walked with heavy footsteps toward the cell his men had made for the kingslayer. He’d given up part of his freedom to get his hands on the man and succeeded. But his chest was heavy with the sacrifice his men had given for it to be a possibility.

Walking into the cell, he laid his eyes on the man, whose blonde hair was sticking to his face with sweat and dirt. With a wolfish smile, the bound man opened his mouth. “My Lord,” the kingslayer greeted mockingly. “Why haven’t you sent me to one of your bannermen’s castles? Instead you drag me with you to your camp; I dare say you’ve grown fond of me.”

Jungkook had to hold back his sneer, tilting his head to the side instead. He observed the kingslayer’s bonds, his seated position leaving him vulnerable. His hands were bound behind his back to a pole his men had dug into the ground. Seeing him in a similar to position to how he presumed his father to be, all the way in King’s Landing, gave Jungkook a twisted sense of pleasure.

“If I left you with one of my bannermen, your father would know within a fortnight. My bannermen would receive a raven with a message: ‘Release my son and be rich beyond your dreams. Refuse and your House will be destroyed root and stem.’”

The kingslayer raised a brow at his words. “You don’t trust the loyalty of the men following you into battle?”

Jungkook held back a scoff, though his lips did twitch upwards for a second. “Oh, I trust them with my life.” He paused and took in the sight of the Lannister man again, feeling powerful as he towered over him. “Just not with yours.”

The kingslayer chuckled humorlessly. “Smart boy.” Jungkook couldn’t stop the twitch at his words. Of course, the kingslayer took notice of it and tilted his head, his dirty hair falling over his face. “What’s the matter? Don’t like being called ‘boy?’ You feel insulted?”

There was a low growl from behind the cage in the darkness. Jungkook could see the way his body tensed, head shifting to try to get a look behind the cage to no avail. Footsteps echoed in the night, the rumble of the growl low and the short pants sending a chill through the air.

Jungkook’s voice was just as low when he spoke. “You insult yourself, Kingslayer.” The man’s eyes darted to the opposite side as the beast came into view outside the bars, circling it slowly. “You’ve been defeated by a boy. You’re held captive by a boy.” Jungkook paused, a small smile playing at his lips when the kingslayer’s wide eyes remained solely focused on the grey and white fur of the large direwolf as it came to a stop beside Jungkook. “Perhaps you’ll be killed by a boy.”

The direwolf, on all four legs, was nearly half the size of Jungkook himself. He was sure if the beast stood on its hind legs, it would be taller than himself. The pleasure twisting inside of his belly grew stronger at the look on the kingslayer’s face, stiff and fearful. Jungkook slowly brought a hand to rest on the back of his companion, fisting the fur gently in his gloved fingers.

“I’m sending your cousin down to King’s Landing with my peace terms,” Jungkook informed him, comforted by the presence of his wolf.

The kingslayer swallowed roughly and glanced up at him before returning his eyes to the terrifying beast. “If you think my father will negotiate with you, you don’t know him very well.”

“No. But he’s starting to know me.”

The man scoffed. “A few victories don’t make you a conquerer.”

“No,” Jungkook mused, smirking and releasing his loose hold on his direwolf. “But it’s better than a few defeats.” The wolf’s growling grew louder, until it almost drowned out the sound of his voice. “Sleep well, Kingslayer.”

Turning swiftly, Jungkook left the cage and allowed his smile to linger at the sound of his direwolf’s snapping teeth and the rattling of the kingslayer’s chains.

As he walked through the camp, he nodded his head respectfully at the people who greeted him. His eyes raked across the fields, looking for you in particular even though he knew he shouldn’t. You were probably still reeling from the news he’d given you earlier. Jungkook couldn’t quite halt the thoughts of how you had felt in his arms and against his body, like you belonged there, and he couldn’t quite hate himself for it either.

As if the gods had smiled down on him, he bumped right into you while scanning the people for your face. Jungkook’s hands found your arms, steadying you on the ground after the impact. You let out a soft noise and backed away, flustered. You looked adorable, standing in front of him, barely illuminated except for the light of the torches.

“My Lord,” you greeted him, bowing your head. When you looked back up, he could see how red your eyes were and how puffy your face was. His chest tightened with sympathy for a moment and he had to shove his tongue against the inside of his cheek when he started thinking about how beautiful you still looked.

“My Lady,” he replied. “How are you?”

You smiled briefly at him. Jungkook wanted to crush you to his chest right then and there. He clenched his fingers tightly into fists. “I’m well. How is your arm, my Lord?”

Jungkook paused for a moment, taking the sight of you in silently. “My scratch is doing fine, thanks to you.” You chuckled quietly and he couldn’t help the smile on his face at the sound. “I am in your debt, my Lady.”

You shook your head quickly, lifting your hands up in front of your chest. “No, my Lord, there is no debt to be paid. It was my duty.”

“Still, I did not wish to trouble you—”

“It was no trouble at all, really!” you interrupted. “I was happy to do it, my Lord.”

“Very well, then.” Jungkook’s smile softened. “Goodnight, my Lady. I hope you are able to rest tonight.”

Your small smile fell and your eyes fell downward, toward the grass. “Yes, thank you, my Lord. Goodnight.”

As you walked off without another word, Jungkook kicked himself internally. He hadn’t meant to upset you, but he wished he could comfort you. He knew there was no way to comfort you, it wouldn’t be proper. Especially not when—

No. It was best not to dwell too much on such thoughts. Jungkook sighed heavily and turned back toward his tent, his thoughts torn between you and the strategies he still needed to go over.

YOU

Awoken by shouts and the clinging of armor, you sat up straight in your cot. Too drowsy to really focus on anything that was being said, you hurried to get out of bed and start to get dressed, haphazardly fixing your hair as you did. When you deemed yourself presentable enough, you raised the flap of the tent and squinted at the bright sunlight, heart pounding.

The men were running back and forth, voices loud and barely comprehendible. But you did manage to catch a snippet of what was being said as you walked a little closer, avoiding the soldiers as they frantically ran about.

“The Kingslayer! He’s escaped!”

“Where is Lord Jeon?!”

“How did he escape?”

Mouth falling open in shock, you hurried to find your father and Lord, even if you knew it wasn’t truly your place to intrude on either. Logical thoughts, however, were not your biggest concern at the moment. You found them in Lord Jeon’s tent, slipping inside to the raised voices of everyone inside. They barely noticed you.

“What have you done?” Lord Jeon’s voice growled. You heard him before you saw him, stood almost at the opposite end of the tent, his face twisted with rage. Before him was his mother, her hair pinned back as it usually was. In front of you were the many lords, your father included. You stayed silent, standing behind them and near the entrance, too afraid of drawing attention in the tense atmosphere.

“Jungkook, please,” his mother pleaded, voice gentle. “It was for—“

“I don’t care what it was for!” he interrupted, throwing his arms out in frustration. “What were you thinking? He was our prisoner!”

“I did it to save your father!” she screamed back, desperation filling her voice. “He swore to return him to us! That’s what we’re fighting for—“

“He’s an oathbreaker! Have you lost your mind? Do you know what I had to do to secure his capture?” Lord Jeon stopped for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose between gloved fingers. “Two thousand men lost their lives so we could capture the kingslayer. You had better pray to all the gods that he does not break his word and returns my father safely.” His voice was dangerously low and he turned to face away from his mother, as if he couldn’t stomach to look at her. “All of you, leave.”

You quickly stepped out, keeping yourself at the side of the tent’s entrance before the men could begin to shuffle out. Once they had all exited, you saw his mother being led out of the tent with more than one guard. Biting your lip, you waited a few more moments before gathering the courage to step inside the tent, eyes finding Lord Jeon’s hunched frame over the table.

“My Lord?” you asked hesitantly, lingering by the entrance of the tent.

His head shot up, pleasant surprise etched into his features. He smiled at you kindly and you almost couldn’t believe he had just been yelling at his mother a few moments ago. Lord Jeon said your name softly. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering how you were,” you said.

“That’s very kind of you,” he replied, walking around the table and gesturing at the chairs. You followed suit and sat in the chair beside the one he took, fidgeting with your hands. “We’ll be moving camp today, to Riverrun.”

You nodded your head. “I will be sure to have all of my things ready.” You paused, unsure exactly how to bring the topic up. “I’m sorry that you lost the prisoner, my Lord,” you eventually settled on, voice barely above a whisper.

Lord Jeon looked tense, but he reached out hesitantly and rested his hand over yours. You clenched your hands tighter in your lap so that you wouldn’t do something mad, like hold his hand.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. His hand was hot on top of yours despite the cold weather. “During times of war, we must prepare for losses. Even without the Kingslayer, the North will not bend to the will of the boy-king in the South.”

Silence fell upon the two of you, though you could faintly hear the commotion of the men outside of the tent. The light inside was dim, casting shadows across Lord Jeon’s face as he watched you, his hand still resting atop yours. You could feel your body heating up from his touch, gnawing on your lip as you considered what you should do. You turned your hand under his, clasping his fingers in yours, and looked directly at him, meeting his wide eyes.

You leant forward, eyes darting down to his lips. You knew it wasn’t proper, that you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop yourself even if you had wanted to. All was quiet save for your breaths, steady and deep as you moved closer and closer, fingers tight around his. You could feel his breath on your lips, so close that your noses almost touched, when his other hand came to grasp your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning back and away from you. Your heart thudded in your ears, eyes wide as you watched him move. His hand slipped out of yours and he removed his other from your shoulder. His lips were drawn into a thin line.

“No, I—“ you cut yourself off to take in a shaky breath, standing from the chair and lowering your head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, my Lord, I shouldn’t have presumed—“

Lord Jeon stood as well, stepping closer to you. When you swallowed roughly and took half a step back, he seemed to come to his senses and halted sheepishly. “No, it’s not that,” he interrupted you. He sighed heavily, dropping his hands to his sides. “I’m betrothed to a Frey girl,” he finally said, so quietly you almost couldn’t hear him.

“Oh,” was all you said in return.

Before you could truly process what that meant, your lord continued. “We had to pass through the Twins to get to the Kingslayer’s forces,” he explained. “There had to be negotiations made with Lord Frey. His condition to let us through was for me to marry one of his daughters.”

You finally looked at him, clasping your hands in front of you tightly. “Oh,” you repeated.

“I—“ Lord Jeon stopped himself, gazing back at you almost desperately. He seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t get the words out—or wouldn’t.

You steeled yourself and took in a breath. “Regardless, please forgive me, my Lord. It was not proper nor my place to do such a thing.”

Lord Jeon’s face softened as he looked at you. “There is nothing to forgive, my Lady.”

You bowed your head slightly. “I wish you good fortune with your bride-to-be,” you continued, almost choking on the words. “Please excuse me.” You heard him faintly murmur what you assumed to be a dismissal and you took your leave, walking straight out of the tent and back towards your own without looking back.

Your name was called by a soldier, catching your attention as you finished cleaning the wounds of the young boy in front of you. You turned to meet his gaze, blinking up at him curiously from your crouched position.

“Lord Jeon wants to see you,” the man said, a smirk on his face.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, simply nodding your head and finishing up with the patient you were currently bandaging up. You hadn’t seen or spoken to Lord Jeon in days, too afraid and embarrassed to go looking for him again—not after what he’d told you the last time. Your face felt hot as you recalled the memory, chiding yourself for acting so impulsively and improperly. What had you been thinking, trying to kiss your lord?

You found him in his usual tent, alone. You swallowed nervously as you walked in with your bag of medical supplies. The last time you had been alone with him had been disastrous. He looked up at you with a small smile.

“Hello,” he said easily.

“Hello,” you replied, your voice quiet. You walked over to the chair he was seated at, the map and plans for his next move in front of him on the table. His attention, however, was focused solely on you. “You wanted to see me, my Lord?”

“Yes,” he responded without missing a beat. “I seem to have gotten another scratch.”

“I see.”

He tilted his head to the side, almost playfully. “Would you mind terribly if I asked you to treat me, my Lady?”

You ducked your head, biting back a smile. “Of course not, my Lord. Where is the scratch?”

Lord Jeon chuckled, shifting to put his leg out closer to you. When you took a closer look, you could see that there was blood pooling over his knee and his pants were torn higher up along his thigh. You swallowed past the quickly forming lump in your throat, glancing up at him briefly as you crouched down between his legs. The air suddenly tensed, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen to inhale, and you wondered if it was just you who felt like this.

You pulled out a pair of scissors from your bag after you set it beside you, fixing your position so you were comfortably on your knees. You set a hand on his thigh, trying not to think about how firm the muscles felt under your palm. You dragged your fingers along the tear in the fabric, pulling it up so you could cut away from the wound. You had to force your breathing to remain steady as you got to work cleaning the large gash on his thigh.

“We managed to push back the Lannister army,” Lord Jeon said quietly, cutting through the tense atmosphere while you worked. “We took two Lannister boys as well.”

You perked up slightly. “Have you caught the Kingslayer yet?”

He sighed. “No, he was nowhere to be found, the coward. And to think they call him the greatest swordsman alive.”

“He’s no match for you, I’m sure,” you quipped.

Lord Jeon chuckled. “Of course not.”

After another brief silence, you grabbed your thread and needle to stitch his wound, just as you had before. “This will hurt, my Lord.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” he joked.

You rolled your eyes playfully and started to stitch, sticking the needle through the skin at the end of the wound. “Who are the Lannister boys you captured?”

“Distant cousins of the Kingslayer,” he said, though his voice was pitched low. “They’re just boys.”

“How old are they?”

“Thirteen and eleven.”

Your eyes widened, but you continued to work on the wound as carefully as you could. “That’s very young.”

“Too young,” Lord Jeon replied.

A few more moments passed as you worked, your eyes never leaving his wound. “Why did you call for me, my Lord?” you finally asked, barely able to gather the courage to do it. “There are many nurses to treat the wounded.”

When he didn’t respond, you worried that you had overstepped, but then his gloved hand came to rest atop your head. You stopped your stitching and looked up at him in surprise, shocked to find his expression a mix between regret and tenderness. His thumb was gently stroking your hair, almost like a subconscious movement. “I trust you.” The hand on your head, even through the glove, felt unbelievably warm on your head and you couldn’t stop the shiver that shot through your spine. “And it wouldn’t do to have the others see their lord wounded.”

You wanted to kiss him.

He was promised to another, meant for another to hold and to love and to kiss. But when his hand lingered on yours for a moment too long to be proper, and when his eyes held yours for a beat too long to be a passing glance, you allowed desire to creep into your veins, to take root inside your heart. Perhaps before you might have been permitted to love him freely. Perhaps he might have even been promised to you instead. But war was no place for the wants and desires of two people, no matter how much they yearned for it to be.

You swallowed, opening your mouth to say something, when Lady Jeon rushed in with a few guards, a paper clutched tightly in her fist. Your head snapped over to look at them, your position provocative from behind the table. Body flushing with heat, you moved away as far as you could without pulling the thread of the needle, and Lord Jeon quickly removed his hand from your head.

“What is it?” he asked after clearing his throat. He beckoned them over to the side of the table the two of you were on. They approached cautiously, but you could see the line of his mother’s shoulders relax when she was close enough to see that you were mending his wound.

“It’s your father,” she told him with a broken voice. “They’ve executed your father.”

There was silence in the tent and you looked up at Lord Jeon’s face, his pain and shock written all over it for everyone to see. He started to move, but you quickly pressed down on his thigh, catching his attention.

“My Lord,” you said. “You mustn’t move. The wound is not properly mended yet.” He looked down at you with stony eyes and you almost flinched away, but you ducked your head and worked to finish stitching his broken skin with your trembling fingers.

“What,” Lord Jeon began with a voice that sounded almost like that of a wolf’s growl, “happened?”

Lady Jeon dropped the parchment on the table in front of her son. You couldn’t see her face for she stood behind you, but you attempted to complete your work as quickly as you could. He picked the parchment up off the table and his eyes took in the words harshly.

“Treason?” Lord Jeon scoffed. “Father? He is no traitor. The new king fancies himself a man, labeling my father a traitor of the Seven Kingdoms and taking his head.” You barely recognized the edge in his voice, unlike you’d ever heard it before. “Guards, escort my mother back to her tent. We arrive in Riverrun tonight.”

“Jungkook, you can’t be serious—“ his mother started, but he silenced her quickly.

“You released my prisoner for the sake of my father’s safety,” he said bluntly. “Now he has been beheaded, his name smeared with the word ‘traitor,’ and the Kingslayer is probably drinking and whoring himself back in King’s Landing. You will be confined to your chambers indefinitely.” His voice dipped low, dangerous, and you had just barely managed to finish your stitching, tying the thread and cutting it with the scissors. “The only reason you’re still breathing for your treasonous acts is because you are my mother.”

Once the guards had escorted Lady Jeon out of the tent and toward her own, you shifted back a bit, your knees aching when you moved them. You opened your mouth to excuse yourself, sure that Lord Jeon would want to be alone, but before you could get to your feet or say a word, his arms had wrapped around you and pulled you in close.

Your face was crushed into the furs of his coat, his hands holding your crouched body as close as he could to his chest. He had pulled you in closer between his thighs, until the two of you were flush against one another. You didn’t know how to react, the needle and scissors still in your hands as you held them still over his thighs.

His fingers carded through your hair. You could feel him rest his head atop yours, breath fanning the strands. “Please stay,” he whispered into your hair. “Don’t go.”

Instead of replying, you released your tools to fall to the ground and wrapped your arms around his midsection, turning your face so that your cheek rested on his torso. He buried his face into your hair, clutching you tighter at your silent compliance. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you could hear his own heart beating at a quick rhythm.

You stayed there, in that same position, for what felt like an eternity. You were just as reluctant to let go of him as he seemed to be of you, the only sounds filling the tent your mingling breaths and the quiet whimpers of a boy who had too heavy of a burden to carry.

Everyone was gathered for the victory feast, meat and fruits littering the tables set across the camp. It wouldn’t be long until the forces reached Riverrun. Night had fallen and you sat idly beside your tense father, eating silently even as the men around you started to debate which king they should pledge to fight alongside against the boy-king in the southern capitol. Your eyes kept flickering up from your plate of food to find Lord Jeon, who was seated at the middle table with his mother and a few other lords.

One of the many lords stood from his table, walking to the middle to continue the debate. “The course of action is clear! We should swear fealty to the Baratheon boy and march our forces South.”

Lord Jeon cut in, still seat at his table but turned to face the rest of the soldiers. “We cannot swear fealty to the Baratheon boy. He is not King.”

“My Lord,” another soldier spoke up. “Do you mean to pledge us to the boy-king? He put your father to death—“

“That doesn’t make the Baratheon king,” Lord Jeon argued. “He is the youngest brother of the late king. Just as my brothers cannot be Lord of Winterfell before me, he cannot be King of the Seven Kingdoms before his older brother.”

Lord Umber stood abruptly, interrupting all of the arguments. “My lords,” he started, walking leisurely until he was in the middle. His stance commanded the attention of everyone. “Here’s what I say to these two kings.” After a brief pause, he spat on the ground, drawing a few chuckles from the soldiers—and yourself included. You didn’t much care for either of these kings, as you would never be going South after this war was won—your place, and everyone else’s here, was in the North.

The lord continued, voice rising as he grew more passionate with every word. “The two of them mean nothing to me. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of war? Of the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong!” You found yourself laughing heartily alongside your father and the others, eyes falling on Lord Jeon briefly. There was a small smile on his face and you found your own dwindling at the sight. “Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to. And now the dragons are dead!”

There was a murmur of agreement throughout the now hushed group, and you could see heads nodding as he continued his speech.

Lord Umber drew his sword easily, turning his body and pointing the tip at Lord Jeon. “There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to.” The camp was completely silent, the only sounds the crackling of the fire. Lord Umber dropped to one knee, digging the very tip of his sword into the grass in front of him and holding the hilt tightly. “The King in the North!”

Your eyes were wide and your breath caught as you watched the scene unfold before you. Lord Jeon’s dark hair was swept handsomely across his forehead and his dark eyes were trained on the kneeling lord in front of him.

Another lord stood, this time from your table, and approached Lord Umber. “I’ll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castle. And their iron chair, too!” He kneeled beside Lord Umber and in front of Lord Jeon, drawing his sword and digging it into the grass. “The King in the North!” he repeated loudly.

Lord Jeon stood from his place, looking down at the two men with something like awe in his expression. You knew you must have mirrored his look, but it was directed at him. As others rose to their feet, your father included, all drawing their swords and lifting them in the air, you looked around in astonishment.

“The King in the North!” they all shouted. “The King in the North!”

And standing amidst his people, all cheering for their new king, Jungkook appeared to you not as a boy taking his father’s role, but as a man worthy of the crown of his people.

Your breath felt labored, the blood rushing in your ears nearly drowning out the calls of everyone around you. You stayed seated, lips parted as the North gained a new king and its independence, its freedom, back. Your eyes couldn’t stray from your king’s form, tall and powerful among the lords rallied around him, and your chest was tight with a feeling you knew all too well and wished not to recognize.

You had been given your own chambers once the Northern forces had reached the Riverrun keep weeks ago. There had been another battle, one that you had witnessed crumbling from the moment King Jungkook’s uncle had gone off on his own instead of listening to the strategy the new king had told him. That argument had not been a pretty one, after all was done and the Lannister forces were forced to flee—he had wanted to trap the Lannister army between them, unable to retreat back to the South, but thanks to the insubordination they had been able to make a full retreat.

Walking down the hall, you made your way down the now familiar route to the king’s chambers. You were always discreet, but with a place this large and servants bustling about at all hours, it had only been a matter of time before rumors began to spread of the two of you.

You opened the door after you knocked, his voice signaling for you to enter. “My King,” you greeted with a small bow of your head. Once you had secured the door shut behind you, the king in the north beckoned you over to where he sat on the edge of the large bed.

“How many times must I remind you to call me Jungkook?” he asked.

“As many as you wish, my King,” you teased. Sitting beside him on the bed, he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you close. “How is it today?” you asked softly, lifting your own arms and embracing him back. You let one hand trail up to his hair, running your fingers through the dark strands.

He sighed into your neck and you had to suppress a shiver. “Better now that you’re here.”

“You really ought to let me give you some milk of the poppy,” you told him gently.

You could feel him shake his head against your shoulder. “The only thing I need to soothe me is to have you here, in my arms.” You didn’t respond, simply playing with his hair. This had become a nightly ritual for the two of you—your king summoned you to his chambers discreetly and you appeared, his request from the first night to just let him hold you until the tremors subsided still ringing true now weeks later. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into your skin. “I know this is unfair of me to ask of you.”

You shook your head, swallowing past the lump in your throat. You didn’t have the right to touch him like you were, to hold him as you were, but you wished for it to never end regardless. You knew that, eventually, you would have to hand him over to his betrothed, to a woman who was a stranger to him and to you; she would be the one wrapped up in his arms, clutching him to her breast and running her fingers through his hair. You selfishly prayed that day would never come.

“You can ask anything of me, Jungkook,” you whispered back, hugging him closer.

Neither of you said another word for the rest of the night, content with listening to the other’s calm breathing and the feel of your bodies pressed together in a sweet embrace. Once it was time, the two of you growing tired, Jungkook pulled away and lifted his hands to cup your face. His fingers brushed back your hair. You blinked blearily up at him, your arms slipping away from his body to rest on your lap.

“Go rest,” he said softly. “I’ve kept you long enough.”

You smiled at him, nodding your head, but he kept his hands on your cheeks. His thumbs trailed back and forth on your skin and he gazed at you for a long time, until your breathing started to deepen and your fingers started to shake. Finally, he released you from his gentle grasp, sitting back and watching as you gathered yourself and left his chambers as quietly as you could, just as he did every night.

The walk back to your own chambers was quiet, the rest of the castle fast asleep or outside on duty. Once you were curled up in your bed, sleep overtook you quickly. As you drifted off to the land of dreams, you thought you could almost still feel your king’s arms circling you.

You woke as early as you usually did, stretching and preparing for the day ahead of you. You knew you wouldn’t see Jungkook again until the night, as he was busy with his advisors and planning his next move against the Lannisters. You found your way to the kitchens, sneaking a few pieces of fruit and bread, dropping them in your bag.

Making your way down to the dungeons, the guard sighed and let you through the door easily; he had long given up arguing with you over it.

Two pairs of blue eyes met yours with excitement as the guard unlocked the cell and let you in. The two young boys smiled up at you easily, excited to see you. It broke your heart, how happy they seemed just to have another person come to them.

“Good morning, boys,” you greeted, digging through your bag. “I brought you some breakfast.” Their small hands took the food gratefully, quickly digging in to eat. Your chest twisted with something painful, watching them. “Did they bring you supper?”

Martyn, the older Lannister boy, shook his head. “No. One of the men said that Lannisters should learn what hunger really feels like.”

You bit your lip, brows furrowing at the bit of information. You stayed silent, watching the two young boys eat ravenously, and your heart ached for them. Once they had finished, you pulled out a cloth from your bag and knelt in front of them. They blinked at you but did not move.

“Martyn, don’t you know how to keep yourself clean?” you chided, though you didn’t mean it. The boy looked sheepish as you cupped one of his cheeks to hold his face still, using the cloth in your other to wipe away the bits of food stuck around his mouth. You wiped away the grime and dirt sticking to his face from the cold, small cell as well before moving on to do the same for Willem, who eagerly let you clean his face—you supposed the eleven year old must have seen you as a surrogate mother figure while he was being held away from his real one. You swallowed roughly at the thought of how worried their mother must be, wondering where her sons were and if they were even alive.

“Will you come back again?” Willem asked innocently, lifting one of his small hands to grab part of your dress.

You smiled at him as best you could, trying not to show them how affected you were. “Of course I will. Who else will take care of you?” All three of you giggled together, the tension easing. “Do either of you have any more scrapes for me to take a look at?” They shook their heads and you quietly let out a breath of relief.

“Is it true, what they say?” Martyn asked you abruptly.

“What do they say?” you questioned back.

“That the King in the North turns into a direwolf at night,” he said innocently. “That he howls at the moon and eats the flesh of his enemies.”

You gnawed on your lip, taking in the sparkling eyes of the young boys. Playfully, you leaned forward and lowered your voice. “It’s true,” you told them. “But only on the full moon. And he only eats the flesh of naughty boys who don’t listen to what they’re told, so you two had better behave yourselves.” They nodded their heads quickly, easily believing the tale.

As you took your leave, hugging each boy goodbye and promising to come see them tomorrow and to bring a bigger breakfast for them, you could hear them murmuring about how the king in the North couldn’t be killed with admiration in their voices. You sighed, the guard giving you a pitying look as you left the dungeon, hoping that the war would be won sooner rather than later. At least the boys didn’t seem to hate Northerners or the Starks, regardless of their family name and position.

As you exited the castle, you saw your father fuming and Jungkook’s mother in front of him. Their voices were loud enough to draw attention and you slipped closer to the crowed of soldiers around them, listening in.

“I’ll have their heads!” your father was shouting. “And if you try and stop me—“

“You will strike me down?” Lady Jeon yelled back, narrowing her eyes at him. Her face was twisted with rage so like the way Jungkook’s had before that you were momentarily reminded of how alike the two really were. “Have you forgotten me, Ser? I am the widow of your liege lord—I am the mother of your king!”

Lady Jeon’s guard unsheathed part of his sword, drawing nearer. “Threatening my Lady is an act of treason—“

Your father interrupted menacingly. “Treason? How can it be treason to kill Lannisters?”

Lady Jeon looked at him firmly. “I understand your grief, my Lord, better than most. The Lannisters will pay for their crimes, I promise you. But for now, in the name of my son—your king—stand down.”

“I will demand their heads from your son,” your father continued, anger still simmering in his expression.

Lady Jeon’s face tightened. “Wise men do not make demands of kings,” she warned.

“Fathers who love their sons do,” he spat back, turning away from her and marching toward the others. Soon, the crowd dispersed, and you quietly slipped away, unwilling to let anyone know that you had been down in the cells. Your heart was pounding harshly against your ribs, pumping dread through your entire body as you set about making your usual rounds to the soldiers to keep them healthy and well.

As you were going back to your chambers to grab a few things and rest a few moments, you were summoned by your father to his own. You quickly made your way there, knocking on the door to his chambers lightly.

“Come in,” he called from the other side of the door.

When you walked in, shutting the door behind you, you took in the dark look on your father’s face. You immediately knew to brace yourself for a lecture. “Yes, Father?” you prompted, clasping your hands in front of you as you waited.

He stood from his chair, watching you coldly. “Do you know what they’re saying about you?”

You swallowed. “What are they saying about me?”

“That you go into the king’s room every night for hours,” he started, almost spitting the words at you. “That my daughter is the king’s whore!”

You had to calm your breathing, trying not to panic at the insinuations. You already knew that they had been spreading rumors about you, but not to this extent. “I haven’t done anything improper with the king,” you mumbled, barely able to string a coherent sentence together; you were lying, of course—being alone with him and letting him hold you close was far from proper, but you hadn’t shared a bed with him.

“Do you think it matters, you stupid girl?” he shouted, drawing closer to you. You had to stop yourself from flinching away. “It doesn’t matter if you have or not! The rumors themselves, that you’re—that you’re spreading your legs for the king, no man will ever come near you!”

“But, Father—“

“Quiet!” he roared, his open palm coming down hard against your cheek. Your head snapped to the side and you cried out, reaching out to hold your stinging skin, looking back up at your father fearfully. “The king is betrothed to a Frey girl,” he continued, towering over you. Your hands started to shake. “He will never marry you. Do not bring dishonor on our family—on our House!”

You nodded your head, staying silent. After a few moments, your father scoffed and turned away from you, walking back toward the table in his room. You straightened your back again, hand still cupping your burning cheek.

“You are dismissed,” he told you coldly.

Without a word, you left his chambers. You kept your head down as you passed people in the halls, dropping your hand to your side and fisting the fabric of your dress in your hands. Once alone in your own room, you hurried to wash your face and press a cloth wet with cold water to your cheek, hoping that it wouldn’t swell.

You slipped down the hall toward Jungkook’s room, as you did every night. He hadn’t called for you yet, but you were impatient to feel his arms around you and feel his breath on your skin. The dread pooling in the pit of your stomach hadn’t subsided, but you pushed it to the back of your mind in favor of seeing your king.

When you passed the main hall, you paused, hearing people talking inside. The door was ajar and you peeked through the crack, seeing your father surrounded by a few other men and Jungkook himself standing before him. The king had a scowl on his face and you couldn’t help but quietly enter the room, watching and listening in even though you knew you shouldn’t. Jungkook’s eyes caught yours and for a brief moment you saw a distressed expression take hold on his face before he schooled it into something harsh and he looked away from you, toward your father.

You didn’t have to say anything, as your eyes were drawn toward the ground, where on a rag lay two bodies, dried blood smearing their throats. You bit back the gasp as bile rose in your throat, eyes wide and trained on the two young Lannister boys’ dead bodies, the familiar color of their golden hair and baby features startling you. You snapped your gaze back up toward your father’s back.

“Is this all of them?” Jungkook asked one of his guards. The man nodded his head. “It took five of you to murder two unarmed boys?”

“Not murder, Your Grace,” your father spat. “Vengeance.”

“Vengeance?” Jungkook repeated incredulously. “These boys did not kill your son. I saw your son die on the battlefield against the Kingslayer.”

“And they were his kin—“

“They were boys!” Jungkook yelled, unable to keep his composure. There was silence and you were sure if a needle dropped to the floor, you would be able to hear it. You wrung your hands, squeezing your fingers repeatedly, trying to keep your breathing steady and even. Your father had really gone through with his threats and killed the two boys. “Look at them,” Jungkook snarled at him.

“Tell your mother to look at them,” he shot back, eyes never wavering from Jungkook’s face. You managed to tear your gaze from the dead bodies, catching sight of a silent and disheveled Lady Jeon seated at the window sill, her eyes unmoving from the Lannister boys. “She killed them as much as I.”

“My mother had nothing to do with this. This was your treason—“

Your father interrupted, provoking the already angry King. You wished he would just stop talking for once, but you were familiar with his combative nature, too hot-headed to ever just shut up. “It’s treason to free your enemies! In war, you kill your enemies—did your father not teach you that, boy?”

There was a heavy silence, everyone’s eyes snapping to your father. Nobody seemed to be comfortable with the insult at Jungkook’s deceased father—he had been a good man, and an even better lord. One of the guards started to draw his sword, but King Jungkook raised his hand in a motion for him to stop.

“Leave him,” he said.

“Aye, leave me,” your father taunted, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Leave me to the king; he wants to give me a scolding before he sets me free. That’s how he deals with treason.” You could see the hateful smirk on your father’s face. Your eyes darted to Jungkook’s, which was set into a scowl. “Our king in the North… Or should I call him the king who lost the North?”

Jungkook’s face didn’t even twitch at the provocation. His eyes remained firmly on your father and when he spoke, his voice was soft—but the words were not. “Escort our lord to the dungeon. Hang the rest.”

After a beat of stunned silence, there was a flurry of movement. The guards began to push at the men to lead them out, and two guards gripped your father’s arms. One of the younger men spoke in a panic, struggling against the guards.

“Please, mercy, Your Grace!” he begged. “I didn’t kill anyone, I only watched for the guards!”

Jungkook’s cold eyes cut to the man, not a shred of compassion in his gaze. You shuddered, the look so foreign on his face. “This one was only the watcher,” he started, voice growing harsh. “Hang him last so he can watch the others die.” You watched on with a sense of growing horror as the men were shuffled out of the room and Jungkook turned away, his mother and uncle watching his every move.

“Word of this can’t leave Riverrun,” his uncle said, approaching Jungkook. You stood by the door, too frightened to make a move and draw the attention to yourself. “You can bury them and remain silent. The Lannisters always pay their debts, they keep fucking saying it—”

Jungkook cut his gaze to his uncle, halting him with just his look. “I can’t fight for justice if I don’t serve justice to murderers in my ranks, no matter how Highborn.” His eyes seemed to find yours for only a brief moment. “He has to die.”

The words cut straight through you and it was like your muscles remembered how to move again. Your steps were quick as you made for Jungkook, grabbing his arm and looking at him pleadingly. His own hands automatically raised to grip your elbows, almost steadying you.

“Please, my King,” you rasped. “Please, don’t do this, I beg of you—”

Lady Jeon cut in. “Keep him as a hostage until the war is over,” she argued, approaching the two of you quickly. “They’re Northmen. They won’t forget the killing of their lord, nor will they forgive it.”

“Please,” you whispered, gripping the fabric of his sleeves so hard your fingers started to ache. “Please don’t kill him, please, he’s my father—”

Jungkook’s eyes bore into yours and his brows furrowed. He seemed pained and his hands around your elbows tightened, as if he was going to make to pull you close. “Take her to her room,” he said instead, shoving you away from him. “Make sure she doesn’t come out.”

“No!” you begged, fisting the material of his shirt even tighter, refusing to let go of him even as his uncle grabbed your shoulders from behind to yank you back. “Please don’t do this, Jungkook, please, he’s my father, don’t take him from me like my brother was, please, he’s all I have left—”

Your pleas fell on closed ears, Jungkook turning away from you harshly as you were dragged out of the room, still kicking and screaming and pleading with him to reconsider. You didn’t even feel the hot sting of tears rolling down your cheeks until you were thrown into your chambers and the door locked from the outside.

You rushed at the door, attempting to open it even as you heard the locks click into place, screaming and crying until your voice went hoarse and your throat ached with every wracking breath you took in.

JUNGKOOK

Jungkook watched the men lead the lord over to the stone, the weather just as gloomy and threatening as the atmosphere that surrounded everyone. Many of the lord’s men stood to watch the execution, as well as his own family and other houses.

His hands were bound, his look venomous as Jungkook approached him. “The blood of the First Men flows through my veins as it does yours, boy,” he spat at the young king. “I fought the Mad King for your father,” he continued. “I fought the boy-king for you. We are kin.”

Jungkook’s voice was even as he spoke, though he could feel the weight of the sword at his hip like it wished to drag him to his knees. “That didn’t stop you from betraying me. And it won’t save you now.”

“I don’t want it to save me,” the lord scoffed, a mean smirk playing on his lips. “I want it to haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed at the older man. “Kneel, my Lord.”

The man did so after a long look at his king. He dropped his knees to the ground and bent his body over the stone until his head was past the edge. Jungkook drew his sword, willing his hands to stop shaking and that nobody would notice it; he set the tip on the ground and held the hilt with both hands as he started to speak.

“Lord of Karhold, here in sight of men and gods, I sentence you to die.” Jungkook looked down pitifully at the older man. “Would you speak a final word?”

The man slowly turned his head to glance up at Jungkook, his features contorted with rage. “Kill me and be cursed,” he said. “You are no king of mine.”

Before he had even fully turned his head back down, Jungkook drew his sword up in front of him. With a harsh, swift movement he swung the sword down and the metal sliced into the lord’s neck until it went cleanly through. The head fell to the ground with a thud and blood dripped down the metal of his sword beside it. His eyes tore away from the sight and he was breathing heavily as he turned away, the silence of everyone around him deafening.

Jungkook walked away from the scene, sword clasped tightly in his fist and trailing blood behind him.

It didn’t take long for his mother and uncle to find him in his chambers, sitting at his table with a look of concentration on his face. His sword was nowhere to be found, as he’d given it to a squire to clean.

Before they could say a word, Jungkook spoke up without looking at them. “Are there guards posted by ____’s room?”

“Yes,” his uncle replied.

Jungkook sighed. His mother stepped closer to him, but stayed on the other side of the table. “His men won’t forget this,” she warned. “The second they seize her, they’ll abandon you and march back North.”

He sighed again. “I know.” Staring daggers into the wood, he repeated the words. “I know.”

“How will you manage to keep her as a political hostage?” his uncle said. “They might abandon us even without her. I don’t think those stubborn soldiers will willingly ride into battle for us regardless of if their lord’s daughter is locked up in a room somewhere or not.”

Jungkook had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Bile rose in his throat and he knew what his mother was going to say the second he met her eyes.

“You’ll have a choice,” she said gently, kindly. “You can let her go with her father’s forces back to the North, and marry the Frey girl for more men from Lord Frey.”

“There’s no guarantee that he would send them in time,” Jungkook groaned, dropping his chin to rest on his palm. “Lord Frey is notorious for sending his men at the end of wars.”

His mother reached a hand over to settle it on his shoulder. He wished, for a brief moment, that he was young enough again to be able to hide in her skirts and be comforted by her. But he wasn’t. And the burden he carried now would forever rest on his shoulders.

“You can marry her,” she said. Jungkook glanced up, catching sight of his startled uncle staring at his sister as if she were mad. “It would bind our families together and as the only remaining heir to their House, you would be in command of their men until she had a son. They would have to stay.”

“If you do that,” his uncle started. “The Freys will never forgive you. Lord Frey is not a man to be crossed.”

“You are both right,” Jungkook mumbled. “But I will not force her to marry me. And I’ve already given my word to Lord Frey.”

His mother pursed her lips. “You won’t be forcing her. We need only speak to her mother. And they won’t refuse you—their House will care more for having a daughter as Queen in the North. I need only your agreement, Jungkook.”

Jungkook dragged a hand over his face. There was no way he could put his trust in Frey to send men in time for the next battle. That wretch of a man would rather see them all dead than send his aid, even if his daughter became Jungkook’s wife; his children were too many to count on his favor for any of them.

“I’ll do it,” he strained. “Send a raven.”

YOU

It had been days since the execution of your father. You were not allowed to leave your chambers, maids leaving your meals for you before leaving and locking the door. There were always at least three guards posted right outside of your room—and if you had somehow managed to get past them, there would be many more of Jungkook’s men that you would encounter.

The door to your chambers opened suddenly and you flinched, straining to see from your spot on the windowsill. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of your mother, the door shutting quietly after she was let inside. You stood from the window and rushed over to her, wrapping your arms around her tightly. She embraced you just as tightly, her hand stroking your back comfortingly as you started to cry like you had as a child.

“Are we leaving?” you finally whimpered, sniffling. “Are we going back home?”

Your mother’s silence concerned you. Your heart started to beat faster and you tightened your grip on her, waiting. “We’re not going home, my sweet child.”

You pulled back, hating the pitying look on her face. “What do you mean? Why not? They—“ You swallowed, eyes turning down toward your feet. “He killed Father.”

“He did,” she replied. Her hands pulled away from your back and she brushed your hair from your face, wiping your tears gently. “But you’re going to marry him.”

Her words were like ice piercing straight through your abdomen. “What?” you whispered. “No, you can’t be—you can’t be serious!” Your voice started to strain and you backed away from her, shaking your head. “You can’t make me!”

She sighed, clicking her tongue as if you’d just refused to sit with the maesters. “Think about what you’re saying,” she chided. She walked to your bed and sat at the edge. “Your father and brother are dead. You’re the heir to Karhold. Who will take care of us?” she asked. “Neither of us will be able to take care of ourselves. You’ll have to marry anyway.”

“But surely not him,” you sputtered. “He’s promised to a Frey girl! He can’t marry me!”

Your mother stopped your arguments with one harsh look. “Think. The King in the North has already sought out your hand. Do you think any other man, Highborn or not, will dare ask for your hand now?” You bit your lip, unable to say anything back. “If you don’t marry him, you’ll bring ruin to our Great House.” She sighed, standing again. “I’ve already approved the match. After all this, you’ll be Queen in the North. Our family will rise to an equal level with House Stark.”

You blinked back your tears, letting your mother take your limp hands in her own and squeeze them. “How can I marry my father’s murderer?” you whispered, staring at her fingers wrapped around yours.

She frowned. “We all do the things we must, in any situation. He will not be the man who killed your father after this. He will be your king and your husband.” You sniffled and she made a displeased noise. “Your children will be princes and princesses. Soon, you will forget all about your worries and be free, my dear.”

You tried to give your mother a smile, swallowing all of the pain stirring in your chest. “You’re right. I’m being silly.”

She smiled, now, and wrapped you up in another hug. “I want you to be happy,” she said quietly in your ear.

“I will be,” you answered her, though you didn’t believe it yourself.

The ceremony would be soon, you knew. You hadn’t seen your newly betrothed nor anyone else, for that matter, besides the servants who brought your meals. You knew they must have been afraid that you would run away if given too much freedom, even if you had agreed to the marriage. You spent your days and nights doing nothing but think and remember the last conversation you’d had with your father. You blinked and wiped away your tears, not wanting to ruin the makeup they had spent so long on.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock on your door—you had to hold back a chuckle at the notion. It was locked and the person outside would need to unlock it themselves, so there really wasn’t a point in knocking.

Your mother walked in, smiling widely as she saw you. “My sweet child,” she breathed. “You look beautiful.”

You hoped your own smile didn’t look too much like a grimace. “Thank you.”

She rushed over, helping you stand and fixing a few of the wrinkles she could see in your gown. “Here,” she said, gesturing for you to turn around. “Let me put the cloak around you.” You faced away from your mother to let her put the thin fabric with your House colors on your shoulders, covering much of your frame.

You turned toward the door just in time to see a man you didn’t recognize walk into your chambers. “Who is this?” you asked.

“A distant relative,” your mother answered easily. Her face soured for a moment before it fixed back to her normal smile, though you could tell she was forcing it. “Since your father and brother both won’t be able to walk with you.”

You swallowed past the growing lump in your throat. “Right.” Your mother left before you, hurrying to the courtyard where the ceremony and feast would be held. You took in a shaky breath and approached the handsome man.

“You look beautiful,” he said kindly as he offered you his arm. “My name is Eunwoo.”

“Thank you, Ser,” you mumbled, taking his arm hesitantly and allowing him to lead you from the room toward the feast. You could hear a soft melody the closer you got.

“Oh, please,” he laughed. “I’m no knight. Just call me Eunwoo.”

You somehow managed to shoot him a strained smile, fingers subconsciously tightening on his arm the closer you got to the feast. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Silently, he helped you drape your veil over your face.

The two of you exited the castle and a hush fell across the guests. There were candles and torches lit, placed strategically to give off an intimate atmosphere under the darkness of the night sky. Through the veil, you could vaguely make out the shape of Jungkook standing at the end by the Septon.

You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, you repeated to yourself like a mantra.

Once you were close enough, Eunwoo released you and you took a deep breath. You could tell that the ceremony was being held in the Godswood, the different faiths combining for your wedding. You supposed it was to appease all the gods, since the two of you were from Northern families who still worshipped the old gods.

Jungkook’s uncle stood beside him—at least, you assumed it was his uncle. You weren’t sure until you heard his voice.

“Who comes before the old gods this night?” he asked. With all the ceremonies you’d been to, his voice reciting the words sounded awkward; it couldn’t be helped, you supposed, since Jungkook’s uncle was from Riverrun and not the North.

Eunwoo spoke on your behalf, saying your name and House. “She comes here to be wed. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods,” he finished with. His voice was confident as he said the words. “Who comes to claim her?”

You swallowed as Jungkook stepped forward. “Jeon Jungkook, of House Stark. Heir to Winterfell and King in the North. Who gives her?”

“Cha Eunwoo of House Poole,” your distant relative answered. “A cousin to her mother.”

Jungkook’s uncle spoke again, directing his question to you. “Do you take this man?”

There was a long silence as they all waited for you. I could go now, you thought to yourself, heart pounding harshly. If I beg the Septon, he’d help me, surely. I could go.

“I take this man,” you murmured, stepping forward toward Jungkook. Everyone seemed to release a breath of relief when you finally answered, the tension that was starting to build up easing. Jungkook’s uncle and Eunwoo left the two of you.

You could vaguely make out their figures moving to the side, presumably to find a place to stand on the proper sides of the guests. You walked forward the rest of the way to Jungkook on shaky feet. Once you stood beside him, you faced him and he pivoted to face you as well. His hands gripped the hem of the veil and he lifted it from your face, letting it fall over your shoulders. Your eyes met his for a long moment and your chest felt tight with something bittersweet; this had been the sight that you yearned for, a mere few weeks ago. Now seeing him illuminated by the fires and moonlight, standing before you and a Septon, you were overcome with the urge to cry—for your grief and for your love, which hadn’t disappeared as you thought it would.

The Septon’s voice broke the spell the two of you had suddenly been put under and you darted your gaze over to him. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Jungkook nodded and shrugged the dark cloak off of his shoulders. He circled you until he stood behind you and he gently lay the cloak over your shoulders, making sure it was completely in place before he pulled his hands back. You found yourself wishing that he would keep his hands against your skin and you hated yourself for it.

When he came back to stand at your side, the two of you faced the Septon. Jungkook stretched his arm out with his palm facing the ground and you followed suit, resting your hand on top of his. A shiver ran up your arm and you almost couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight.

“In the sight of the Seven,” the Septon started, voice echoing through the silent grounds. He dropped a strip of fabric on your hands and began to wrap them together, looping the thin white cloth around three times as he continued. “I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words.”

You swallowed roughly and turned to face Jungkook, who did the same and faced you. Your hands remained together between the two of you. Like this, you almost felt too close to him. You could hardly breathe, especially when his dark eyes were so tender in that moment, the features that had looked so cold the last time you saw him now appeared soft and gentle.

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” the two of you recited together. “Mother, Maiden, Crone.” You licked your lips. “Stranger.”

“I am hers, and she is mine,” Jungkook said softly.

“I am his, and he is mine,” you echoed at the same time.

The two of you finished the last of the vows quickly. “From this day until the end of my days.”

There was a long pause, everything quiet but the sound of your breathing and the crackling of the fire. You glanced at the Septon, who gave the two of you a small nod with a smile. Jungkook’s hand turned upwards and he held yours in his gently. Leaning forward, he raised his other hand and his fingers grazed your cheek. He cupped your face and you let your eyes flutter shut as he pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. Jungkook’s mouth remained on yours for a few seconds and a tingling sensation started on your lips, spreading to the rest of your body as if the gods themselves had reached forward and given you a drop of nectar.

When he pulled back, you opened your eyes and an applause started from the guests—almost all of which were soldiers. You took in a shaky breath and tried to smile, eyes scanning the crowd of suddenly noisy people for your mother. You met Lady Jeon’s eyes instead and her smile was so warm as she gazed at the two of you, hands clutched together tightly, that it almost brought a wave of fresh tears to your eyes.

You squeezed Jungkook’s hand, wanting to feel his skin on yours desperately and hating yourself for it.

Jungkook walked over to the largest table with you at his side, hands still clasped together. Everyone’s voices started at once, the crowds starting to gather from the food that had been prepared, digging in immediately. As the two of you sat down, Jungkook released your hand. You put them in your lap, staring at the food in front of you blankly, the mix of emotions swirling inside your stomach distracting you from wanting to eat anything. When you peeked over at Jungkook, he was eating slowly, talking with the people who came up to the table lightly.

It didn’t take long before the guests grew rowdy, their voices growing loud and chanting something that you didn’t want to hear.

“Bed them! Bed them! Bed them!”

You glanced over at Jungkook with wide eyes. The corners of his lips were twitched down into a small frown, but he clenched his jaw and forced a smile onto his face.

“Perhaps we should skip the bedding ceremony,” he said.

There was a round of boo’s from the guests and soldiers.

“Your Grace!” someone shouted from the crowd. “It’s only right to bed the new lovers!”

He sighed as everyone started to laugh and cheer, already getting up from their seats. “Alright, alright,” he grumbled. He got up, the few women in attendance hurrying up to the two of you.

A group of the soldiers followed suit, all of them rushing the two of you out of your seats and shoving you toward the hall again. The women giggled as they pulled at Jungkook, undoing his buttons and strings. Your breathing quickened as the soldiers lifted you in the air, hands gripping you tightly so you didn’t fall. They led forward first, tugging at your cloak and dropping it in the warm hall as they rushed you toward the king’s bedroom.

“Watch your hands!” Jungkook shouted from behind. The men looked sheepish and stopped their insistent gripping at your gown, thankfully leaving you with your dress on. They pushed open the door and carried you to the bed, dropping you unceremoniously onto it. The women dragging Jungkook inside weren’t far behind, and you swallowed as you saw his disshelved state—his shirt was pulled open to reveal most of his chest, and his pants already half undone.

They pushed Jungkook beside you and he let out a small noise as he fell next to you, hand catching on yours for a brief moment. The two of you looked up at the men and women still laughing, their smiles wide and naughty.

“Have fun,” one of the soldiers said, winking as he ushered the others out. “Don’t be too rough, now! One should always be gentle with a lady on the first night!” he called loudly before they left the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

And then you and Jungkook were alone in his chambers, only the dim candlelight illuminating your forms.

You stood from the bed, pulling at the sleeves of your dress nervously. Jungkook stayed seated on the bed, watching you silently. It only served to unnerve you more. You heard him shift behind you, but you refused to turn and look at him.

“If you don’t want to—” he started.

“It’s fine,” you said tightly. “We have to.”

More silence. You continued to fiddle with your sleeves, unsure of what to do. There was a soft sigh behind you and more rustling. You didn’t hear Jungkook come up behind you until you felt his hands on your arms, gripping them gently. You couldn’t stop the flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop,” you said, just as quietly.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Jungkook continued. “If things had been different—”

“I said stop!” you shouted, whirling around to face him. Jungkook dropped his hands from your arms. You hit his chest with one of your fists, not hard enough to truly hurt him but hard enough for him to feel the weight of it. He said nothing, eyes falling shut as the room smothered the two of you in silence.

Tears were starting to fall down your cheeks and your chest was heaving with soft sobs. “You killed him,” you whispered, voice thick. Jungkook remained silent. You hit him again, with both fists, and kept hitting him, moving his body backwards with each strike. “You killed him and you didn’t let me see him!” Your voice cracked as you screamed the words at him, your punches to his chest landing more frantically in your hysteria. “You didn’t let me, you didn’t let me, you didn’t let me—”

Jungkook’s fingers wrapped around your wrists tight and he pulled you flush against his chest, halting your assault. You were crying loudly, now, thrashing and twisting in his grip in an attempt to dislodge his hands. He didn’t let go, instead shaking you back and forth.

“Of course I didn’t!” he shouted, his own voice hoarse and his eyes glassy. You fought to get away from him, not wanting to hear his voice, the same voice that had whispered such sweet words in your ear only weeks before. “You would never have forgotten it, if you had seen. I was trying to protect you!” He shook you again and you let yourself finally look at him, let yourself see the desperation in his eyes. “Don’t you understand?” he asked. “Don’t you understand that I was trying to protect you?”

You went limp in his grasp, sobbing violently. Jungkook released your wrists and caught you in his arms instead, wrapping you up in his embrace as he held you close. You rested your head on his chest and let him hold you as you cried, grief washing over your body like the winter winds. His hands stroked your back comfortingly, his face burying itself in your hair. You could feel his heartbeat as you wept against his chest, fast and unsteady just as yours beat.

Looking up at him with teary eyes, you took in a shaky breath. “Comfort me,” you whimpered, leaning forward. “Please.”

Without another word, Jungkook pressed his mouth to yours harshly. He kissed you almost violently, hands gripping your body tight enough to leave bruises as he led you back toward the bed. The back of your legs hit the edge and you sat down, his lips following after you while you crawled up onto the middle. Jungkook crawled up toward you, lips finding the skin of your neck and trailing chaste kisses up and down it before pressing his tongue to the flesh.

You arched your back and spread your legs, allowing his hips to nestle comfortably against yours, the hard bulge in his pants pressing against you deliciously. He bit down on your shoulder as his hands hurriedly lifted the skirts of your dress, fingers trailing on your skin light enough to ignite a sense of urgency in your nerves. You rocked your hips up into his, chuckling breathlessly at the groan you received from him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, beginning to pull his head away from you so that he could look at you.

Your mouth dried and you didn’t want his eyes on yours. With your hands, you gripped his hair and lightly pushed his head back down toward your neck, swallowing roughly. “Make me forget, Jungkook,” you told him. “Please.”

There was a pause and the tension between you was harsh, almost suffocating you as you waited, throbbing, underneath him. Then Jungkook moved and you let a relieved sigh escape your lips as he slightly lifted his head to kiss you. His eyes were closed and his mouth was rough, just as you wanted it.

His hands continued to shove your dress up until you could feel the breeze of the cool room against your bare skin. He barely glanced down to look at you as his hand found your undergarments, fingers caressing your most sensitive spot. You gasped softly, pulling away from his hungry kisses as he rubbed his fingers against you, the added friction of your underwear making you shudder.

“Do you want it?” he asked roughly, looking down at you.

You couldn’t meet his eyes and turned your head to the side, thighs opening wider to give him more room. “Yes,” you whispered.

“How badly do you want me?” Jungkook pressed, rubbing against your clit harder.

“So badly,” you breathed, a moan escaping. “I want you so bad, please—”

Jungkook nearly tore your undergarments off, yanking them roughly down your legs until you could kick them off, roughly maneuvering you as he did so, which you didn’t mind. He continued with your dress, actually ripping the seams on the back after he pulled you up a bit to get it off. You helped him as quickly as you could, pulling your arms out of it and then kicking the heavy thing off and tossing it to the floor.

Pausing to just look at you, splayed out beneath him, Jungkook gave you a strained yet soft smile. You didn’t want to see it. Instead, you grabbed at the hem of his own shirt and started tugging, wanting him to take it off. He snapped out of whatever it was he was thinking and helped you, undressing himself quickly until the two of you were bare before each other.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes trail down his body, taking in every inch of his beautiful form. Your gaze stopped at his cock, erect and red—it was larger than you’d thought. Would it even be able to fit inside of you? You paled for a second as you stared shamelessly at it.

Jungkook chuckled, leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to your head. You looked up at him in slight alarm. “Don’t worry,” he reassured you. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Are you sure it’ll fit?” you asked in a small voice, unable to stop yourself.

With a choking cough, Jungkook looked away from you and bit his lip hard. When he turned back to you, his eyes were nearly black, the pupils dilated and covering almost his entire irises. “Yes, it’ll fit,” he said gruffly. “I’ll prepare you first.”

“What do you mean, ‘prepare’ me—” You cut yourself off with a hitched gasp as one of his fingers slipped inside of you slowly. You clenched your fists and flopped back all the way onto the large bed, your cheeks and neck hot.

Jungkook leaned over you as he worked his finger inside of you, curling it and seemingly looking for something. When you peeked up at him, you could see that his eyes were focused completely on his movements between your thighs.

“I’ll prepare you with my fingers, first,” he said in a dark voice, another finger starting to slowly push inside of you. You groaned gutturally, screwing your eyes shut. “You’re already very wet, so it shouldn’t hurt when I replace my fingers with my cock.”

Your eyes were wide at his crude words and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at how he was looking at you—or, well, a part of you. The pleasure from his fingers was starting to take you over completely, the pressure from the second digit starting to disappear.

His thumb pressed against your clit and you moaned unbidden, the sound nearly tearing itself out of your throat. You quickly covered your face with your hands, not wanting him to see whatever faces you were making as he worked on pleasuring and preparing you.

“No one’s ever touched you like this?” Jungkook asked, his voice breathy and pleasant. You shook your head, pushing it back into the pillow as your back arched and your hips rocked up toward his fingers. “Gods, you’re beautiful. I could spend all day like this, watching you come undone on my fingers.”

“Please,” you begged, not sure what you were even asking for. “Please, Jungkook—”

“You want to come?” he asked. You nodded your head. “Answer me when I ask you a question.”

With a whimper, you moved your hands down your face and rested them on your chest. “Yes, please Jungkook, I want to come—”

“Then come,” he said easily. His fingers worked you harder, his thumb pressing against your clit deliciously and your mouth fell open as the ecstasy ran through your abdomen and through your entire body. You came around his fingers, clenching them erratically and rolling your hips up into his palm.

When the feeling had passed and you relaxed your tensed limbs, Jungkook’s fingers moved inside of you. You winced and wriggled, but he shushed you and moved his thumb away from your clit. You felt a third finger press against your folds and then he slipped it inside, all the way to the knuckle, along with the two still inside you.

“Jungkook—”

“You’ll need more than two fingers to be able to take my cock,” he told you gently, but when you glanced at his eyes you could see them flickering with something like delight. His fingers moved inside you slowly until you were moaning again, the slight pain turning to pleasure again. Jungkook groaned and his voice was unsteady when he spoke. “You’re so tight and wet, and all for me.”

You whimpered at his words, clenching around his fingers. “I’m ready, please, Jungkook, I want you—”

“Fuck,” he grunted, pulling his fingers out of you abruptly. You were left clenching around nothing and feeling strangely empty, but it didn’t last long. You peered down and saw Jungkook using the hand that was pleasuring you wrapped around himself and he was pumping his cock with it, letting out quiet hisses of bliss at the friction. He guided himself toward you and the head of his cock rubbed against your folds, gathering your slick.

You swallowed nervously and couldn’t help but tense up your body.

Jungkook noticed and used his other hand to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Are you ready?” he asked seriously. You couldn’t move away from him thanks to the hand on your jaw, but you knew he would pull away from you if you asked in that moment. You knew he was asking you are you sure you want this and not are you ready for me because you knew him.

“Yes,” you whispered, holding his gaze confidently.

Jungkook released your jaw and then pushed his cock inside of you slowly, eyes never leaving your face. Every time you tensed your body more or bit your lip, he stopped and waited for you to relax. It took a few moments, but eventually he was buried completely inside of you.

You were already sweating, your body feeling completely damp. Jungkook was right above you, his own hair damp and his breath heavy on your face. He held himself up and off of you, only touching you where his cock was sheathed in you, his hips against yours, and his thighs brushing yours. You let your hands press against his chest, dragging your hands up and down slowly. You were clenching tightly around his cock, still unable to relax completely. It felt more like an intrusion than anything you would willingly partake in, but you were sure the pain would ebb into pleasure soon.

Jungkook shuddered above you and you watched him curiously as you let your fingers caress his collarbones and up his neck to his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut and you could see him swallow. You raked your nails lightly down his neck and chest, letting your hands grip his sides. He shifted and then you felt him brush against something inside of you that made you arch your back and nearly cry out from the ecstasy that shot through your limbs.

“There?” he asked breathlessly. He pressed in even deeper, holding himself still against that spot inside of you and your legs wrapped around his hips, trying to get him in even deeper. Your arms moved of their own accord, going around his back and nails digging into his skin. “Does that feel good?” he teased.

You let out a puff of air and nodded your head, pulling him down against you completely. He nipped at the skin of your shoulder as you buried your head against his neck and pressed a chaste kiss to his warm skin. “Yes,” you answered shakily. “You can move now.”

With a shaky exhale, Jungkook shifted and then pulled his cock out slowly. You made a strangled noise, the sensation strange and foreign. Then he pushed back in slowly, starting a gentle pace in and out as you adjusted to the new feelings between your thighs. You were throbbing and he let you hold him as tightly as you desired, his chest brushing your breasts lightly. His hand ran down the side of your body and he slipped it between your bodies, fingers finding your clit easily and rubbing circles against it.

“Faster,” you breathed, arching your back and throwing your head back against the pillow. Jungkook groaned and didn’t quicken his pace, simply looking down at you curiously.

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Please,” you whispered, shutting your eyes and clinging to him tighter. “Harder.” You didn’t dare open your eyes and look at him, simply letting yourself lose your senses in the movements of his cock and hands.

He complied with your request, pulling back from your body and then slamming into you roughly, making you cry out in surprise. It was as if he became a beast, his hands grabbing hold of your hips and yanking you toward him as he sat back on the bed, thrusting his cock in and out of you harshly. Your hands slipped off of his shoulders and you fisted them in the sheets of the bed, moaning unabashedly at how blissful it felt.

The pain strangely offered you a newer sensation, mixing with pleasure deliciously. You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t want him to stop. No, you wanted more.

Clenching around his cock, you moved your hands back up to his forearms for purchase as he pistoned in and out of you relentlessly. His quiet grunts as he rocked his hips into yours only fueled your pleasure, the ecstasy spreading from where you were joined to your abdomen once again. You took in a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut as you came undone a second time, this time around his cock.

As the pleasure ebbed away, you winced at Jungkook’s continued movements. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked quietly, still thrusting into you harshly. You grabbed one of his hands and swallowed, moving it away from your hip. You pulled yourself backwards, off of his still hard and leaking cock, and he bit his lip as he watched you.

When he started to shift away from you, you squeezed his hand to stop him. Jungkook watched you curiously, unsure of what you wanted from him. You yanked on his hand to bring him forward and he took the hint, letting you maneuver him until he was seated against the headboard of the bed. You licked your lips and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his mouth while you straddled his lip, positioning yourself above his no doubt aching cock.

You slowly sat down, using one hand to guide him in properly. With a hiss, you felt the head of his cock push past your folds and into you. Somehow, he felt much bigger in this position. You could barely make out his expression as you were too focused on fitting him in completely, but you could tell he was holding himself back from making any movements while waiting for you.

Once you were fully seated on his cock and your slick was dripping onto his thighs, you fluttered your eyes open and met his hungry gaze immediately. Jungkook let his palms rest on your thighs, where he slowly trailed them up to your hips, his fingers caressing you tenderly.

“You’re so big,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck while you adjusted to the stretch once again.

Jungkook groaned and pulled you closer, both of you moaning when you rolled your hips and clenched around him. “You don’t know how dangerous you are,” he breathed, letting his forehead rest against yours and his eyes shut. “It’s taking every bit of self-control that I possess not to fuck you until you’re crying.”

You couldn’t help but smile shyly at him, even though he couldn’t see it. “Why don’t you, then?” you said teasingly.

Jungkook’s eyes snapped open and he peered at you darkly. “It would be wise to keep your mouth shut before I find another use for it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his words, but then he thrust upwards and your giggles turned into gasps for air and quiet moans. One of his hands found its way to your clit again, rubbing the throbbing area until you were almost wildly bucking into his hand, clenching erratically around his cock. His other hand trailed up from your hip to your hair at the base of your neck, gripping it tightly in his fist and yanking your head back to bare your neck.

“I think you need a lesson,” he growled against your skin, biting down hard on your throat while he fucked up into you. Your fingers found their way to his hair and and you fisted the strands sporadically while you moved along with him, feeling as if every nerve in your body was screaming, drowning you in a pleasure you’d never known before.

It didn’t take long for you to orgasm again, your hips stuttering as he rolled his own upwards, his cock dragging against your clenching walls heavily, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders for support. His fingers didn’t stop moving against your clit, his cock still shoving into you roughly, and it all helped you drag out your pleasure until tears were spilling from your eyes, all of your feelings crashing into you at once along with the pleasure.

You held Jungkook to you tightly as he chased his own release, breathing heavily while he left a trail of sloppy kisses against your shoulder and neck. It took only a few more strokes until he was coming, tugging on your hair and pulling you close, his fingers moving from your clit to wrap around your back and hold you to him while he emptied his seed inside of you. You shuddered at the warmth filling you, squeezing tightly around him to try to prolong his pleasure.

When it was all over, the two of you sat there, holding each other close, the tears in your eyes freely flowing down your cheeks. You had no doubt that Jungkook knew you were crying, but he said nothing. He released his grip on your hair and let his hand drag down your back gently, still hugging you close to him. You could feel his come start to drip out of you, his cock softening inside you until it started to slip out as well.

Jungkook didn’t make a move to shift the two of you, allowing you to take a moment that you so desperately needed. You used one hand to rub at your eyes and cheeks, wiping the tears away, and you shakily exhaled as you pulled away from him. His arms relaxed around you so that you could pull back, and you met his dark eyes. Looking away from him, you shifted your hips up so that his cock slipped out of you, grimacing at the dripping release that followed it.

Neither of you spoke as he helped you clean yourself up and then the two of you prepared for bed. Once you were both comfortably laying underneath the furs, Jungkook turned to look at you beside him. You turned your own head toward him, watching him silently and waiting.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, almost whispering. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You allowed yourself a brief smile as Jungkook reached over and gently caressed the side of your face with his fingertips. “No,” you whispered back, trying to ignore the swell of the ache in your chest. “You didn’t hurt me.”

The morning had been stiff and odd, soreness settling into your limbs and making you wince with each movement. Jungkook had risen the same time as you, both of you muttering quietly as you spoke briefly—neither of you were used to waking beside another.

Jungkook had left a mere moments ago when there was a knock at the door. You were still seated by the mirror in the room, head turning to call for whoever it was to enter. When the door opened, you saw your mother’s bright face peeking in and you smiled. At the sight of you alone, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her, walking over to you with something clasped in her hands.

“How was it, my sweet child?” she asked, a smirk on her face. Your cheeks felt hot and you were violently aware of the marks littered on your neck and down your chest. The servants had not been in yet, but you knew your mother could clearly see what she was looking for on the sheets, barely covered by the furs.

“Mother,” you chided, voice muffled with embarrassment. “That’s not proper—”

“Oh, please,” she waved off, coming closer to you and putting a hand on your shoulder. “Men will be men. As your mother, I want to know that my daughter is being taken care of.”

You sighed aggressively, rolling your eyes. “It was fine.” At her raised eyebrows, you curled in on yourself a bit. “He was just fine. I didn’t know I could feel like that,” you muttered, almost under your breath.

She chuckled and nodded her head. “Good. Now, here, drink this,” she continued, holding out a small vial to you with a liquid you didn’t recognize inside. At your questioning look, she finished speaking. “It’s to help with fertility. You need to cement this union with a child soon.”

You pursed your lips but took the vial from her nonetheless. Going down your throat, the liquid was bitter, but you held back the cough as you handed it back to her. She smiled sweetly at you and patted your shoulder.

“I will be with you a while longer,” she said. “There is nothing much for me to return home to, as things are.”

The ache that had dulled in your chest grew sharp at her words. You couldn’t speak even as she left the room, and you fidgeted with your fingers where you sat. Tears sprung to your eyes and you sat where you were, crying as quietly as you could manage. Even as the maids came in and inspected the sheets before removing them, replacing them with new ones, you sat and wept for all that you had lost—you were not sure that what you had gained could ever overshadow the grief.

You stretched your arms and back, letting out a satisfied groan when you felt the crack in your stiff muscles. Jungkook had gone out to speak with the soldiers and heads of the Houses, and you had just finished up your breakfast when your mother came into your room, precisely at the time she did every morning these days.

“Again?” you huffed.

Your mother clucked her tongue at you as she held out the same vial to you, which you took with a grumble about the taste every morning. “You know it’s important for you to produce an heir, my darling. Once you are with child, there won’t be a need for these visits.”

You rolled your eyes but drank the bitter liquid anyway, crinkling your nose as you swallowed it down in one go. “It’s been weeks, Mother, surely it’s helped as much as it could with fertility by now. We wouldn’t know, anyway, if I were with child already.”

She didn’t say anything, instead sitting across from you and helping herself to some of your almost finished breakfast. You let her, setting the vial down on the table and sighing. With her mouth full, your mother started to speak. “And how is our king? Can I assume he’s still as enthusiastic as he was on your wedding night?”

Your neck felt warm and you huffed loudly, crossing your arms. “Mother! How can you ask me that so easily?”

She smiled at you wickedly. “Everyone can hear you two, you know. It’s a little unnerving hearing the servants and a few others talking about your daughter’s activities with her husband, but thank the gods I’m staying nowhere near this room—”

“Okay, okay, enough!” you yelped, shaking your hands out to get her to stop. She laughed heartily, but you couldn’t stop the embarrassment that filled your gut. Though you knew by now that if Jungkook knew about this, he’d be thrilled—he did often whisper huskily in your ear to be louder, to let everyone know how good he was making you feel.

There was a knock on the door to your shared quarters and a guard poked his head in after you called out for whoever it was to enter. You stood from your chair, your mother quickly doing the same.

“My Queen,” he said gruffly. “Your presence has been requested by the King. You are to come at once.”

You nodded your head, letting the smile slip from your lips and a more serious expression settling in place. “Take me to him,” you told the guard. He nodded, opening the door fully and waiting for you. Turning to your mother, you found her already looking at you. “I’ll come visit you soon,” you said softly. She nodded her head and took the empty vial with her before she left ahead of you, walking down the hall. You walked out of your room and the guard shut it behind you before he escorted you to the main hall that was used to welcome in guests.

When you entered, you saw Jungkook seated on one side of the large table, two men seated across from him. Your husband looked at you warmly and quietly motioned for you to take a seat beside him, which you did with ease. He reached over and gripped your hand under the table, intertwining your fingers with his. You tried to keep the small smile off of your lips, but you knew you weren’t too successful in your attempt.

“These are two of Lord Frey’s sons,” Jungkook introduced, squeezing your hand.

You swallowed nervously and smiled at them. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lords.”

One of the men looked you up and down, his gaze lingering on your chest for a few moments too long. You tried not to scowl or roll your eyes. “So this is who you married instead of one of our sisters.” Jungkook cleared his throat. The man continued, not letting your husband utter a single word. “No matter. We come bearing news from our Lord Father. He is a forgiving man, our father. He wants to make you an offer.”

Jungkook leaned forward a bit, interested. You didn’t know much about the strategies, but you knew that House Frey was better to have on your side rather than the enemy’s. Everyone knew Walder Frey was not a man so easily crossed. “And what is this offer?”

“If your uncle takes your place and marries one of our sisters, all will be forgiven,” the other man said, leering at you in a way that made you uncomfortable. “But he demands that they be wed immediately, so that you cannot go back on your oath a second time.”

Jungkook cast his eyes down for a split second before he looked back up at them. “It will be arranged. We make for the wedding tonight, then.”

The men smiled and then stood, prompting the two of you to stand as well. Jungkook dropped your hand on the way, keeping it at his side. He shook hands with the two men and then they were escorted out of the room, where they were to gather their things and then make their way back home along with everyone here.

Jungkook had a soldier outside call for his mother and uncle to come to the hall, where he would go over everything with them. You wondered how his uncle would take the news—not well, you were sure. The news of your own sudden betrothal had come as a shock, even if it had been under slightly different circumstances than Jungkook’s uncle’s. You had an inkling that he would respond in a similar way as you had, or in a way much more exaggerated than you had—men had a tendency to express their emotions more often.

When both of them had appeared, Jungkook paused for a few minutes of tense silence before he decided to break the news.

“Uncle,” he said. “Arrangements have been made for your marriage to a Frey girl.”

There was an almost instantaneous burst from his uncle, as you’d expected. “What is the meaning of this? Why was I not consulted before the decision?”

Jungkook’s face was emotionless as he stared at his uncle, looking every bit a King in the North. “There was no need to consult you. We do not want the Frey House in our bad graces forever, and this is what they demand for crossing them.”

“So I will be fixing your mistake, then—”

“Careful, Uncle,” Jungkook said lowly. A shiver ran down your spine at his tone. “I may be your nephew, but I am still your king.”

The sentence shut the older man up, his face turning red with humiliation. You simply stood in silence, glancing between the men. Jungkook’s mother stood by the window, watching her brother and her son argue. You wondered how it felt for her.

Jungkook continued in the face of the silent but fuming man. “The Freys clearly want a powerful alliance and we have snubbed them already after making an oath. We cannot afford to make another enemy of a House, not when we are fighting for peace and the freedom of our people.” He turned to give his uncle a disappointed look. “Is your comfort more important than the future of our Northmen?”

At least at these words, Jungkook’s uncle had the decency to look embarrassed. He lowered his head, unable to meet Jungkook’s eyes. “No,” he nearly spit out. “It is not, Your Grace.”

“Good,” Jungkook replied without missing a beat. “Then prepare yourselves. We will be leaving at once to make our way to Lord Frey’s keep.”

His uncle bowed his head and then turned to leave, slamming the door behind him. You tried not to roll your eyes and turned toward your husband, only to find his mother already beside him.

“Are you sure about this, my son?” she asked quietly. There was a strange look in her eye but you did not question it.

Jungkook sighed and let his shoulders relax now that it was only the three of you in the hall. He faced you briefly and the tired look on his face prompted you to walk over to them and grab his hand with yours to comfort him.

“What else is there to do?” he asked. “I have no more options. If I hope to win this war, I need more men on my side rather than the Lannister’s. This will be a way to fix both the rift between our Houses and get more men. Refusing Lord Frey isn’t an option.”

His mother paused, looking down at your intertwined hands and you thought you saw the ghost of a smile crack on her stern face. When she met her son’s eyes, the smile had gone. “Do what you think is right for your people. You always have.”

With those words, she parted, leaving the room to go prepare herself to leave for the wedding. Jungkook turned to face you fully when she left, releasing your hand so he could grip your upper arms lightly and look at you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, though it almost sounded like it hurt him to say it. Like he wanted to say something else, but held back. “With me.” He shifted his hands up your arms and the sides of your neck until they were cradling your face gently.

“Me too,” you replied, keeping your voice soft and gentle. You couldn’t meet his eyes, the guilt of your statement gnawing at your insides like a ravenous beast, even as his touch on your skin ignited sparks of a flame.

Jungkook leaned forward, resting his forehead on yours. You raised your hands and placed them atop his on your cheeks, letting your eyes flutter shut as he breathed in deeply. Your husband was a just and fair ruler to his people, you knew that despite what had happened, but you could tell he was feeling the burden that had been placed on his shoulders.

“My father would have liked you,” he whispered, losing himself in his thoughts. You bit the inside of your cheek, remembering that you hadn’t been the only one to lose someone amongst the Northerners. It was a painful reminder.

“I wish I could have met him,” you told him, gripping his hands a little tighter.

“As do I.” He sighed slowly and his thumbs started to caress your cheeks absentmindedly. “One of the last things he told me before he went to King’s Landing was that being a Lord was like being a father.”

“How so?” you asked.

“It’s like you have thousands of children,” Jungkook said. “You wake with fear in the morning and go to bed with fear in the night. The farmers are yours to protect. The children and women scrubbing the floors are yours to protect. The men you order to fight for you are yours to protect.” He pulled back a bit to look at you, smiling with only the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t believe him, you know. I asked him how a man could be brave if he was afraid.”

“What did he say?”

Jungkook chuckled. “‘That is the only time a man can be brave,’ he said.”

You allowed yourself to laugh briefly as well. “Your father was a wise man.” Getting the words out were harder than you expected, a lump forming in your throat.

“Yes, he was,” Jungkook continued. “He was the best man I ever met.” Pulling away from you completely, your husband brushed his fingers across your cheek before he dropped his arm to his side. “We’d better get on our way, as well.”

You nodded your head and followed beside your king as the two of you left the hall and made your way to your quarters to pack what little you had brought with you.

The lot of you were gathered in front of Lord Frey and all his many children and grandchildren. You shifted uncomfortably every time any of their eyes landed on you, standing beside Jungkook.

“My Lord,” Jungkook started confidently, stepping a little forward. “You have my sincerest apologies.”

“You broke your oath,” Lord Frey returned, a nasty smirk on his face. “Your father would not have.”

You could see the tension in Jungkook’s shoulders at the lord’s words. “You are right,” he said calmly, lowering his head briefly. “I should not have done so. It was wrong of me to break my word.”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” the lord continued dismissively. You could tell he was enjoying all of this, even if everyone else looked extremely uncomfortable. You tried not to let it show how uneasy you were at being here. “It is my girls who you spurned.”

There was a pause and Lord Frey gestured with his arms for his daughters to step forward. They did, coming to the front in a very long line. You tried to count them all but there were too many of them. You had heard numerous times from your parents having attended multiple weddings of Walder Frey himself that he had married many young girls. It seemed every time a wife of his passed, he would find himself another.

He made you sick.

“Your father is right,” Jungkook said, his voice much softer now than it had been when addressing the lord. “It was wrong of me to treat you, and my oath, with such disregard. The fault is not with you; it is with me. All men should keep their words, and kings most of all. I pledge to do all that is in my power to amend these wrongs so that our Houses may continue to be friends.”

The old lord clapped his hands almost mockingly and his daughters returned to their original places, no longer standing in a visible line. You wondered how the old man had the courage to so blatantly disrespect the King in the North, but you supposed he knew there was not much that Jungkook could do to him right now.

“Very good,” the lord said loudly, smirking at Jungkook. Then his eyes turned to you, dragging up and down your form in a way that made you wish you had another cloak over your shoulders. ���And there is the bride you broke your oath for.” He leaned forward in his seat and narrowed his eyes at you. “Come closer, dear. Let me have a look at you.”

You fidgeted, glancing at Jungkook. He turned his head and met your gaze, giving you a small nod. Stepping forward, you bowed your head briefly to the lord. You glanced around the room, noting how all of the Frey men eyed you up along with their lord. It was disgusting. You wished you hadn’t come.

“Very pretty,” he said appraisingly. “Quite beautiful, indeed. Alright, enough of that. The servants will help you all to your accommodations and then we will feast.”

You breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped back and tried not to completely shy away into Jungkook’s side. When you were all led out of the hall and to your own rooms, Jungkook made sure to stick close to you even though he wasn’t touching you.

Once you were in your quarters, your bags having already been placed there before you, you turned and faced Jungkook. He placed a hand on your cheek and then leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips, leaving you flustered.

“Whatever happens tonight,” he started, “stay close to me, alright?”

“Are you afraid they’ll try something?” you asked curiously.

Jungkook sighed and shook his head. “Lord Frey is a dangerous man, but he’s not stupid. It wouldn’t do well to start a fight with me and my men here. But I want you safe.”

“I will be safe,” you promised. “I have you, don’t I?”

Jungkook chuckled, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close into a warm embrace. “Yes, you do,” he mumbled into your hair softly. “You’ll always have me.”

You wrapped your own arms around him, holding him close to you as you shut your eyes.

It would be a long night ahead.

The chatter during the feast was loud and servants were walking around refilling goblets with wine and replenishing the food that was being eaten by the hungry Northerners. You spotted a few of your own men seated at tables or standing around flirting with the women, having fun. You could even spot a few people dancing to the merry tunes the band was playing.

Your eyes landed on Jungkook’s uncle, seated happily by his new bride—who turned out to be quite a beautiful girl—eating berries from her hand while she laughed. You couldn’t help but have to hold back a chuckle at the sight, as the entire way here he had been moaning and complaining about the marriage. But now he was sat beside his bride, enjoying himself completely. You tried not to think ill of your husband’s uncle, but he was indeed extremely shallow. Just a look at a beautiful girl and he was forgetting himself, completely overjoyed.

“That could have been you, up there,” you teased, turning toward Jungkook, who was sitting beside you. He was comfortable, leaned back in his chair, the food on his plate nearly completely gone and the wine in his goblet having been refilled at least twice. “Eating berries from a beautiful girl’s hand, enjoying yourself.”

Jungkook hummed, sending you a small smirk. “Maybe I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Your mouth fell open and you faced him fully, making to smack your hand against his chest for the jab. He caught your wrist easily and his smirk turned into a wolfish grin. “Striking your king is treason, you know.”

You lifted a brow at his words and cocked your head to the side teasingly. Jungkook pulled you toward him with the hand in his grip and you pushed at him lightly when he made to kiss you. “No, don’t,” you mumbled, leaning away from him. “Don’t insult them.”

Jungkook grumbled but did as you asked, leaning back in his chair and dropping your wrist. You sat back in your chair as well, just in time it seemed. The loud music in the dining feast started to quiet, the new happy couple stealing glances at each other seated up by Lord Frey.

“Your Grace,” the man called. “Your uncle has wrapped my daughter in a cloak and the Septon has prayed his prayers. But they are not yet man and wife! A sword needs a sheath, and a wedding needs a bedding!” There were roars of laughter around you and you grimaced. How could a man utter such words at his own daughter’s wedding? You supposed you were luckier than most to have married Jungkook, even if the wedding had been cloaked in despair and death. “What does my sire say?”

The men around all of you started to cheer and slam their cups into the tables. “Bed! Bed! Bed!”

Jungkook smiled and sat up in his chair. “If you think the time is right, Lord Frey, then by all means—let us bed them!”

Applause and cheers broke out as the Northerners rushed forward to make a grab for the newlyweds. Jungkook’s uncle was laughing along with the women and girls who grabbed at his clothes and started to undress him as they went, though you could see the Frey bride’s unease as the men carried her out, shedding her of her outer clothes.

You tried not to shake your head at the sight, remaining in your seat instead. Jungkook reached over and held your hand comfortingly in his, sending you a smile. The large doors shut loudly after the couple was led out along with the men and women, and only a handful remained—including a lot of your own men. You leaned toward your husband, but then Lord Frey’s voice rang out again in the quieted hall, a strangely familiar tune playing from the band.

“Your Grace,” he called out. “I’m afraid I’ve been remiss in my duties. I’ve given you meat, and wine, and music, but I haven’t shown you the hospitality you deserve. My King has married and I owe my new Queen a wedding gift!” The lord chuckled as he spoke, but something about his voice and the way he was looking at the two of you made you uneasy.

You glanced over at Jungkook, whose eyes were on the lord’s, and you caught the barest glimpse of something in the light. You started to turn in your seat and saw a hand with a tight grip come down toward your king. You couldn’t process what was happening until you heard Jungkook’s pained grunt, his hand loosening around yours.

It was a knife.

Your eyes widened and you started to scream as the man stabbed Jungkook’s abdomen repeatedly with his blade, blood splattering on your hand gripped in your husband’s, and spilling from his clothes. Jungkook released your hand to grip at his wounds while the man hurriedly shifted away so that he couldn’t grab him. Your hands started to reach for Jungkook.

You were still screaming when hands gripped your arms, yanking you out of your seat and away from Jungkook. You could vaguely hear shouts and the sound of metal slashing against armor and skin, the faint sound of Jungkook’s mother screaming her son’s name, but your eyes were focused on him and him alone. He tried to get up from his seat and failed, groaning with pain as his men were slaughtered alongside him.

“Let me go!” you shouted, thrashing against whoever was holding you. “Please, please, let me go—let me go!” The man didn’t listen to you, simply holding you against him in place as he moved away from the bloody scene. A hand came up to cover your mouth when you started screaming incoherently.

Your wide eyes took in the scene of carnage, Northern men falling into puddles of their own blood, the band shooting arrows from their crossbows at any Northerner still standing, and you could feel the hot tears slipping down your cheeks. Jungkook crumpled to the floor from his seat, cradling his torso as blood pooled underneath him. With a quick sweep of the room, you could see that it was your men along with the Freys who were weilding bloody weapons.

What had they done?

As the screams and shouts had faded, almost everyone lying dead on the floor, you spotted Jungkook’s mother standing in front of Lord Frey, a knife in her own hand and blood dripping down her arm and to the floor. Jungkook was gripping the side of a table, pulling himself up shakily onto his feet, one hand still pressed uselessly to his bleeding stomach.

“Enough!” she shouted, voice thick. “Let it end! Please… he is my son. Let him go and we will take no vengeance, I swear it! By the old gods and new, we will forget this!”

“You already swore me one oath—you swore by all the gods your son would marry my daughter!” Lord Frey shouted back, comfortably seated in his chair.

“Jungkook!” she cried, turning to face her staggering son. “Jungkook, get up! Get up and walk out, please!” Your chest was wracked with silent sobs as the man held you, his hand still covering your mouth, and you cried helplessly at the desperation in her voice, the same desperation filling you. “Please!”

Lord Frey scoffed. “And why would I let him do that?”

Jungkook was standing now on his own, facing his mother. Then he turned back, his dark eyes finding yours. You fought against the grip around you harder, trying to get to him.

You spotted a man making his way toward Jungkook and you screamed, tried to make Jungkook understand that he needed to leave, needed to get away from the man. With a shock, you realized the man making his way to Jungkook was Eunwoo. Had this all been arranged before with your mother and Eunwoo, along with your men?

He grabbed your husband by his shoulder and stood completely in front of him. Brandishing a knife, he mumbled something quietly to Jungkook, and then he plunged the knife into his gut once more. Yanking it out, Eunwoo stepped away and left Jungkook to crumple once again to the ground, into his own blood, completely limp.

The grip around you loosened enough for you to stumble forward, falling to your knees. Staggering forward, you made your way over to Jungkook and fell once again to your knees at his side. You could feel the damp blood seeping into your dress, but you paid it no mind as you cried, your hands desperately clinging to Jungkook, his eyes open and staring up at nothing.

You looked up and saw someone grab Jungkook’s mother and shift their blade against her skin, slitting her throat, and she fell to the floor in a heap as blood spurted from the slice. You turned back to your husband and king, laying lifeless in front of you as the men hurried to and fro, cheering for their victory against the King in the North.

Your hands grabbed at his chest and torso, coming away sticky with his blood, and you shakily placed them against his cheeks. His dark eyes were unseeing and you couldn’t stop sobbing, not paying any mind to anything else that was happening around you.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, the tears still falling. “You can’t leave me, please,” you cried. “Please don’t leave me, you have to stay with me, Jungkook, please—don’t you remember?” The tears fell onto his face while you asked, a small pained smile making its way onto your face. “You said I would always have you. That’s what you said, Jungkook. You can’t leave—” You broke off into muffled sobs, unable to continue speaking.

There was no answer.

You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his, weeping for another loss amidst the deafening shouts and cheers of the men around you.

all rights reserved © junqkook | 17 JAN 2020 | the reposting, modifying, and/or translating of any kind on any medium is strictly NOT allowed. 

[slkw]

Anything (Edmund Pevensie x Reader)

summary : While staying at Cair Paravel, y/n receives a letter from her father. The letter states that she is to be wed to a Prince that she has never met. Is Edmund able to prevent this from happening? 

I collapsed. Just utterly collapsed; my knees gave way under my body and my hands slammed to the floor in an attempt to catch myself. Sobs racked through body. My brain could not even process my thoughts as I was just so overwhelmed with the sadness that consumed my mind.

I ran up through the gardens, avoiding eye contact with anyone. I jumped up two stairs at a time – I was desperate to reach my room quickly – and hiked up my dress to increase my speed and decrease my chances of falling in my hurry. Pushing through doors and into rooms and corridors, I whipped my head around anytime I saw someone, not wanting them to see my tear-streaked face.

Just as I swiftly darted around a corner, my body collided with somebody else’s. I glanced up to see Edmund, his face sporting a worried look once he saw my eyes brimming with tears. I pushed past him, not wanting to explain myself.

‘Hey, y/n where are you go-,’ Edmund shouted after me, but I had disappeared around the corner before I could hear him finish his sentence.

After my collision with Ed, I changed course and headed for the stables. I knew that if I were to go to my room, he would either follow me or be there waiting.

I rushed so hastily down the front stairs that I thought my legs would not be able to catch up with me. I leapt to reach the reins of my horse and pull myself onto the saddle, however a pair of arms abruptly stopped me in the act. A gasp flew out of mouth in shock. My mind was in disarray and I was desperate to get away from Cair Paravel and the person who had a steady grip on my arms. Edmund, once again, stood in front of me with a look of worry painted across his features. I felt my heart ache at the sight but with the feeling of my brain processing what felt like a thousand different emotions at once, I did not have the time to consider the strain in my chest any further.

‘Where are you going? What’s happened?’ Edmund said to me.

Without any response, I shrugged off his hands and continued to pull myself onto my horse.

‘Hey, y/n, talk to me. Please, where you are going?’

I did not know what to say to him, I just knew I had to leave in an attempt to order my shaken and confounded state. Without a single word falling from my lips, I pulled on the reins and Edmund quickly vanished from my sight as my horse picked up speed. The tears continued to fall, the wind harshly dragging them behind me.

The words written in the letter just played on a constant loop inside my head.

For the benefit of our family, you are to be married to the Prince of Tashbaan.

How was I supposed to avoid this? How could I, all but a mere Lady, worm my way out of an arrangement made by my father?

This news may displease you, but you need to consider how this would provide an advantage to our family and how you would be gifted with security and comfort for the rest of your life.

The words ‘rest of your life’ knocked the air out my lungs once again. A feeling of unbearable confinement continued to run through me even as I rode far from the castle and past the songs that echoed from the Dancing Lawn.

However, just as the feeling began to spread, a sudden idea caused me to pull harshly on the reins and begin to manoeuvre around the woods and back in the direction of Cair Paravel.

 I was quick to arrive back at the gates of the castle, although, upon my return I was swiftly informed of the absence of King Edmund. He had followed me.

This meant that he would also soon be returning back to Cair Paravel, which also meant I had little time to execute my plan.

After I had acknowledged this information, I wasted no time in making my way back to my room - which had been provided to me for to my temporary stay – and piling all my belongings into bags that would easily fit onto a saddle. I had to travel fairly light if I were to move fast.

With this, I flung the bags over my shoulder and made a beeline for the stables. However, to my dismay, just as I had set the saddle with all my bags, Edmund came rushing through the golden gates. I did not even have a moment to pull myself up onto my horse before he was beside me, pleading to know what had happened and stating how worried he was.

‘Edmund, I-, I am so sorry, but I need to leave,’ I said, my voice wavering.

‘Why? Whatever it is, am I sure something can be done to solve it,’ he replied.

‘I do not think that that would be possible. Edmund, please, I need to go.’

‘I cannot let you go. Tell me what has happened.’

I struggled to find a way to avoid telling him the truth. I desperately searched his face in attempt to find anything that would allow me to flee this encounter, but nothing was found but a steeled face blanketed with concern.

‘My father is to marry me to the Prince of Tashbaan, I received a letter earlier this morning stating this,’ I blurted out, a sob breaking free.

Tears began to flow freely down my cheeks as I watched a number of emotions flicker through Edmund’s face. Once he had understood what I said, a look of pure rage replaced the steely one, then a look of disbelief, and then finally, his faced soften at the sight of my exhausted and crestfallen self.

‘Y/n,’ he exclaimed and rushed forward, pulling me into him.

His embrace allowed me to stay upright even as my knees buckled with the sheer force of the desolation of my conscience. He rubbed at my back in a comforting manner and whispered sweet words into my hair.

‘I will sort this out, okay? Come on, I will help you take your bags back to your room,’ Edmund stated.

‘How can this be sorted, Ed?’

‘You do not need to worry about that, just trust me on this.’

At this, I allowed a weak smile to form. I was desperate to recognise the small feeling on hope within me, however, I was scared that it would be in vain if I did.

 Once Edmund had walked me back to my room, I permitted him to read the letter that my father had sent. A look of disgust washed over his face in reading it and he again assured me that he would resolve it. By then the tears had dried on my face, and Edmund had sent for Lucy to cheer me up. As soon as Lucy arrived, he was gone.

 I did not see him again until dinner that evening. He seemed tired but as soon as he saw me at the dining table, he sent a reassuring smile my direction and although he typically sat across from me - next to Susan - he elected to take his place by me.

The rest of the Pevensie siblings filed into the large hall. On evenings, there tended to be additional guests that were either there for political reasons, business opportunities, or just the occasional faun or dryad, however there were no visitors seated at the table. Well, apart from myself. I was staying at Cair Paravel due to the friendship I shared with the Kings and Queens, and the alliance between my father and them. While my father was away on business in Tashbaan, I was to stay with the Pevensies for two weeks. The letter stating my marriage to the Prince was obviously the product of such alleged ‘business’.

The dinner provided a calming atmosphere that shrunk the fear that was gnawing at me; that was until the conversation shifted to me.

Peter, who sat at the head of the table, coughed and shot Edmund a pointed look.

‘Y/n,’ Edmund spoke.

‘Yes.’ I turned towards him.

‘Peter and I have sent an urgent message to your father requesting his presence at Cair Paravel to talk through and then prevent the state of affairs he has organised against your will.’

I nodded my head, ‘Thank you.’

Peter spoke up, ‘If he is to accept the request, then he will be here tomorrow at noon. You do not have to attend the meeting if you do not want to.’

I glanced around the table, everyone looked at me with sympathetic eyes.

‘I will consider it, thank you again,’ my voice was small, ‘if it is okay, I wish to retire to my room now.’

Without another word, I hurriedly left the table.

 Once in my room, I closed the door behind me and sunk against it. Pulling my knees tight against me, I pleaded with myself not to cry. I was more than pleased with what Peter and Edmund had done, and with the extent of their kindness, however I had this feeling that their plan would not work and that I would have to marry the Prince of Tashbaan even if I did not wish to. Furthermore, I felt betrayed by my father. He had gone behind my back and set me up for a life I did not long to have. He was more than happy to marry me off to a man I had never met, and for the benefit of himself and himself only. That was what hurt the most.

Just as the tears began to fall, a knock sounded above me. A voice came through the door. It was Edmund. I moved myself away from the base of the door and allowed him to come in. At the image of me seated on the floor, my face tear-stained, he sat himself next to me on the wooden planks and embraced me. And in this moment, I let myself fall apart. I nestled my face into his chest and just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed; and throughout it all, Edmund did not say a word, he just sat there knowing that his presence was enough.

After the rate of my breathing had returned to its usual state, Edmund placed his arms under my legs and around my torso and lifted me from the ground. Carrying me over to my bed, he laid me down atop the covers and kneeled next to the bed.

‘It will be alright, I promise. Even if this meeting does not convince your father enough then I will figure something else out, okay?’ he said gently.  

I looked at him and there was something in his eyes that I could not describe. Even without the words to explain it, it made my heart beat just that little bit faster. A grin spread across my face.

‘Edmund, thank you. Seriously, I-, I do not know how to thank you enough.’

‘Do not thank me,’ he spoke, smiling.

‘You need to sleep Ed, you look exhausted.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I will.’

‘Good, goodnight,’ I said.

‘Goodnight.’

He pushed himself off his knees. Yet just as he turned to leave, I caught hold of his hand. His palm was soft, but slightly cold. He looked down at our hands as I turned his in mine to examine the scars that littered the back of his hand. I ran my thumb over the raised skin in awe. I gazed up at him, his lips slightly parted and a smile dancing on his face. I released his hand.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he concluded.

 My father arrived as requested, and at exactly noon. I decided to not involve myself in the discussion as I did not wish to get upset while in conversation with him. At noon, I watched my father walk with Edmund and Peter to the Great Hall from my bedroom window. And there I sat until I saw my father leave with the two brothers. Father sported what seemed to be a displeased look and then bid farewell to the Kings.

As soon as I saw my father disappear through the gates, I rushed from my spot by my window to find out what had been said in duration of their meeting.

‘Edmund!’ I shouted as soon as I spotted him with Peter by the Great Hall, ‘what happened?’

‘Your father is to send a letter to Tashbaan stating that you are unable to marry the Prince,’ smiled Edmund.

My jaw dropped in disbelief.

‘But,’ said Peter, ‘he wishes for you to return home.’

My eyebrows knitted together in anger. ‘I will do no such thing, how am I to return home after he tried to pretty much sell me to a man I have never met?’

‘If you do not want to go home, then you do not have to. You are welcome to stay here for as long as you please,’ replied Peter.

I sucked in a deep breath, calming myself.

‘Thank you Pete. I will send a letter to my father. And I know not to outstay my welcome, so when I am able I shall find somewhere else to stay.’

Peter nodded in response and then took his leave.

Once Peter was gone, I flung myself into Edmund’s arms. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ I gushed.

He laughed at my actions. ‘You do not need to thank me, I would do anything for you.’

‘Anything, huh?’ I questioned.

‘Anything,’ he said with a smile.

‘Kiss me.’

For a moment Edmund’s eyes widened at my words but he was quick to recover this as he captured my lips against his own.

Pulling away, I grinned at him.

‘You did say anything.’

‘I suppose I did,’ and at this, he pulled me in by my waist and kissed me again.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

Damaged Souls

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: dark humor, cussing, loss of parent. 

A/N: A comfort fic for myself/ me dealing with my dad’s passing. NOT EDITED, sorry for mistakes. 

Summary: While waiting to meet with Steve, Bucky meets a woman trying to skateboard. 

The park was twelve steps away from where Bucky parked, waiting patiently for his usually on time friend. He leaned against his hood, a cup of stale gas station coffee in hand. The plan was to meet Steve for some down time - he hadn’t gotten much time off from work lately. Sam and he were doing some intense intel ventures that brought him away from home in weekly intervals. Now that his oldest friend was, well, his oldest friend - he tried to see the aging gentleman as often as possible. 

His cell phone rang and he picked it up to Steve apologizing for running late. “I guess old age has its disadvantages.”

“Come, on, punk,” Bucky teased, eyes following a woman who was walking passed him. She held a skateboard in hand, a duffle bag thrown over her shoulders. “By the time you get down here, I’ll have gray hair too.”

Steve laughed and promised to be there as soon as he could. “Go grab us a bench, before they’re all taken.”

“Jesus, you really are old.”

“Respect your elders,” Steve coaxed, laughing as his dog barked for his attention. “Be there soon, Buck.”

The friends hung up and Bucky sighed, pushing himself off the car hood. He walked further into the park, sipping on his coffee and enjoying the fresh air. Admittedly, he was tired and a little run down. He was truly looking forward to meeting up with Steve, so he wasn’t upset that he had to wait a little longer. It was nice being out, so he took his time looking for a bench and ended up finding one near a basketball court. No one was playing, so he sat down and relaxed. 

That’s when he noticed you walking up to the court; he wondered if you were going to play alone but saw the skateboard in your hand. You were the woman who had passed him in the parking lot - he watched as you threw the duffel bag down at the edge of the court. Drinking his coffee, he focused on you - observing as you put on knee and elbow pads on. That was more protection than Sam wore on missions, the thought made him laugh a little too loud because you turned his way. Bucky quickly took a sip of his coffee, pretending to not notice you.

You looked away and continued to secure yourself before moving to the middle of the court. Embarrassed, Bucky tried to not stare, cursing his friend to hurry up so he wouldn’t look like such a creeper. He attempted to think of the things he wanted to tell Steve, mainly asking him for advice on how to rein Sam in but those thoughts were momentary. His eyes quickly went back to watching you attempt to skateboard. 

He noticed how unsure you were at first, getting on the board and kicking off but stopping yourself right after. Personally, he never rode a skateboard in his life - he already spent too much time off the ground and he could only imagine how silly he would look. So, it was interesting to watch someone attempting to learn - he was living vicariously through you, whoever you were. Feeling a bit more relaxed as you noticed him less and less as the time went by, Bucky watched freely and even felt excited for you when things started to go smoothly. You were balancing yourself perfectly and even picking up speed, and as if his promising thoughts were jinx - he watched as the skateboard halted and you flew backwards. 

Bucky couldn’t stop himself, leaving his coffee on the bench as he raced forward. You had fallen on your back and when he got to you, he was shocked to see you were laughing on the ground.

“Miss, are you okay?”

You blinked a few times before waving a hand in the air. “I’m fine, just...my ass hurts.”

Bucky laughed and offered up a hand. “Let me help you up, it looked like…”

“I ate shit,” you murmured, letting him pull you off the ground. Rubbing the back of your head, he asked if you hit it. “Not hard at all, I guess that’s what I get for being 30 and thinking I was Tony freaking Hawk.”

Bucky had no clue who you were talking about, but he just smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay, if it helps, before the fall it looked like you were doing great.”

Reaching down for the skateboard, you shrugged. “I guess, it’s really not that hard but my body felt that fall.”

“It looked brutal,” he admitted, pointing to the bench he was occupying. “Maybe you should sit down for a bit?”

You looked to the bench then back to the man in front of you - he was attractive, that much was obvious but his smile was kind and that’s what reeled you in. You wondered if he did this often - lingered around the park for silly women who did silly things to occupy their depression. 

“I probably should, let me go get my bag.” 

Bucky watched as you started to walk away but stopped, turning to tell him your name. He took the hand you held out and shook it lightly. “I’m Bucky.”

“Thanks for watching me fall on my ass, Bucky,” you amused, nodding to where your bag sat. “I’ll meet you at the bench.”

He watched as you left to retrieve your bag, scratching his head and praying that in his old age, Steve would take even longer to get to the park. Jogging back to the bench, Bucky sat down and picked up his coffee just as you approached. You were limping a little and he had to hide his smile as you sat down, tossing the bag down to the ground along with the skateboard.

“I have to ask,” he said, trying to get the conversation going. “Why skateboarding?” 

You let out a low laugh but your smile faded quickly; he recognized the pain in your eyes and he felt guilty for asking such an innocent question. 

“Well, my dad passed a few months ago,” you explained, feeling the constant lump in your throat forming. “And...it was one of those things, where life just feels empty. So, here I am, trying to cure my depression one new hobby at a time.”

Bucky felt a sting in his throat as you shrugged and laughed - god, he knew that feeling all too well. He lost all his family and the hell he had been put through since then, had crushed his soul. “Sorry about your father.”

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t kill him.”

It was apparently raw, the false sense of humor in your voice - trying to deal with your pain with dark jokes. He could tell you used it often by the shrug you gave, paired with a nervous laugh. Bucky just grinned back and asked what number hobby was skateboarding.

“Shit, number six. I’ve done knitting, rug making, yoga, day drinking, throwing myself off buildings,” you laughed as you rattled off random things. Bucky grinned and shook his head, asking if you had found something worth sticking to. 

“I kinda like skateboarding, just gliding around feels free. At least...I don’t know,” you said, embarrassment written on your face. Here you were, showcasing your dead dad personality to a complete stranger….again. The difference was that this time, the person wasn’t walking away confused and unsettled by you - a person so terribly broken all she could do was just laugh at her life. Laugh loud and abruptly because it was either laughing or crying, and fuck, were you sick of crying. 

“I understand,” Bucky said quietly, half smiling as he stared down at the to go cup in his hands. “It feels like you’re just standing still while everything around you keeps on living, like you’re frozen in time…”

“Exactly,” you practically yelled, holding back as you laughed a little. “I mean, shit, can I bitch get a break?”

Bucky��s eyes widened at your vulgar humor and you apologized. “Sorry, I just - I blurt things out without thinking, more than ever now. “

He held up a hand and grinned. “No need to apologize, it’s actually refreshing.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, glancing down at your cell. “I have to go, I just decided to randomly come to practice but I need to go meet my sister. We have our weekly crying sessions over ramen and slushies.”

You reached down for the duffel bag and skateboard, and he watched as you took off the knee and elbow pads, stuffing them in the bag. Zipping the bag, you stood up and groaned. “Yeah, my ass is going to be sore tomorrow.”

“Ice it,” Bucky teased, standing up with you. “I’m glad you’re okay...it was nice meeting you.”

“Yeah, again, thanks for witnessing my downfall,” you remarked, unable to move. This was different, it felt strange and a part of you didn’t want to leave the bench or this stranger. Not wanting to miss your chance and this possible attractive sign from the universe, you decided to make a move. “So, I’m going to be coming back here tomorrow around noon to practice some more…”

Bucky felt relief in his chest as he smiled over at you. “I’ll bring a bucket of ice.”

Laughing, you pointed a finger at him. “That was a good one, I better go - my sister might commit suicide if I’m not there on time and I can’t let her go see our dad first. I’m very competitive like that.”

Your eyes watched for Bucky’s reaction and when he shook his head with a chuckle, you just knew he understood. Whatever he had gone through, although not the same as yours or maybe it was, it definitely was a pain the two of you could connect with and that was enough reason to show up the next day. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he nodded, his smile small and kind. 

Holding back a smile, you started to walk away but turned to wave at him. He waved back, although you had to admit, he looked pretty dorky. Laughing, you turned around and nearly bumped into an elderly gentleman with his dog.

“Oh, sorry!”

He smiled and shook his head. “No problem, sweetheart, have a nice day.”

Usually a sweetheart from anyone irritated you but his sweetheart was kind and surprisingly genuine. Smiling at him, you left the park somewhat happy for the first time in a long time.

…

Bucky watched as Steve made his way to the bench, patting the seat next to him. “About time, old man.”

Ignoring the comment, Steve sat down, whistled for his dog to sit, and nudged Bucky in the ribs - he was still pretty strong for a man of his age. “She seems nice.”

Not surprised at all, he laughed. “So you saw that whole thing?”

Steve shrugged. “I saw enough, are you going to see her again.”

Thinking of the sadness in your eyes and the familiar reflection he saw in the mirror every morning, he glanced over to the basketball court. He had felt lonely for so long and while he wasn’t going to depend on anyone else or put his own baggage on others, but something about you felt interconnected. 

Two damaged souls, it sounded very dramatic but hell, his whole life had been dramatic. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said through a smile. “I’m definitely going to see her again.”

[devildom-tyrant]

In your opinion, most to least, sex drive of the brothers? 🤔 (if you wanna include diavolo and the others as you please)

*Tossed in some headcannons and sexual feelings about the MC, too.  ;D .... These, uh... Got out of hand a little.  I may’ve written too much.  

Avert your eyes, kiddos.

* Asmo - 

He’s gotta be at the top because he’s the avatar of Lust.  He’s had the most sexual conquests of the guys, and is continually upfront about his skills in the bedroom.  He doesn’t really associate sex with love at the moment, however, because he hasn’t found anyone that he’s cared about more than himself... Until now, that is.  Now, he doesn’t try to seduce you; you’re not another conquest or a notch in the bedpost to him.  Until he figures out his feelings for you, however, and you actually start seriously dating, he’s going to continue to sleep around.  

He’d be the most versatile lover of the bunch.  He’d want to figure out your tastes and preferences and proceed from there.  Do you want to be the one calling the shots?  Do you want a gentle night of love making, complete with rose petals and candles?  He’ll make that happen.  Do you want something rough, to be spanked or bound beneath him?  He can happily do that, too.  

If you want to make his fantasies come true, make a connection with him.  Look him in the eyes and tell him you’re in love with him.

Oh, and give him a massage, too.    

* Lucifer - 

For someone that comes across so composed and in-charge, Lucifer can also be rather... pent up.  He isn’t someone that has random one night stands, usually, but it’s safe to say that he’s had many willing partners over the years.  The Avatar of Pride likes to be the one in control (especially when his current circumstances have left him feeling like many aspects of his life are out of his hands); he wants to dominate, to have you want him and yield under his touch.  Oh yes, being around you has awakened something in Lucifer again, and he keeping finding his thoughts drifting to you in the night and everything he’d do to you if you were alone in his room.  If you weren’t in the equation, Lucifer would be probably be down a few notches on this list, but having you around has really reignited his sex drive.  

He’d be a dominate, possessive lover.  He wants to feel as if no one can take you away, as if he’s the only one you’ll ever think about -- even if it’s just in that moment.  He has the restraint to not be rough, to not push your limits, but he’s going to be vocal about how you’re his.  He’ll likely even leave a hickey or two in areas that can be covered up, just so you’ll notice them when you’re getting dressed and think about everything he did the night before.

* Satan - 

There’s been plenty of opportunities for Satan to get laid, despite the rage he’s shoved back with a smile and seemingly-cool temperament.  Witches love him, finding him intelligent and level-headed -- although the ones that get to really know him fear inciting his wrath.  He’s had experiences with witches and demons alike, though they’ve been fleeting and meaningless, mostly for him to satisfy boredom or curiosity -- or provide a release without him raging over something trivial that may have transpired that week.   There’s even been some encounters where he grew bored in the middle and simply left.  Other than that, sex hadn’t really been at the forefront of his mind lately... until you caught his interest.  

He didn’t think of you that way at first, of course.  You were simply another human, someone he found interesting, but didn’t give much thought.  After you formed a pact, however, he saw you in a new light.  He found himself growing jealous over the thought of you with someone else, and every time he made a comment about wanting more of you... he meant it.  The more he wanted to touch you, to kiss you and have you to himself, the more ramped up his sex drive became.

Satan would be a heated, dominate lover at first, though he’d be willing to give the reins over to you to do as you please out of curiosity.  He wants to know what you’re into, what’ll make you gasp his name.  It’s unclear if the possessive feelings he has toward you are an echo of Lucifer’s personality imprinted within the rage he was born from, but they’re there all the same.  Sex with him is break-the-bed passionate, and he’s got plenty of stamina to keep going all night.    

* Belphie -  

This demon’s got a dirty mind, and while he may not necessarily be going out and sleeping with other demons, sex is something that he routinely thinks about... especially since he got to actually know you.  He’s rather blunt about what he wants from you, and he doesn’t even mind sharing in that experience with Beel involved.  When it comes down to it, he’s got experience; he’s gone off for the night more than once for a friends with benefits situation, but his interest in that waned for many years until you came along.  Now, he finds himself trying to tease you for a reaction and making excuses for you to be alone with him in the attic. 

He’d be a dominate lover, and probably more rough than he realizes; you’d have to let him know if he was gripping you too tight.  If you’ve got a degradation kink, he’d be happy to fulfill that, too.  If you were in a devil’s threesome with him and Beel, he’d be the one doing the instructing and taking charge.  He talks a lot during sex, and he wants you to be vocal about what you like, too.        

* Mammon -  

He’s way too tsundere to be the type that’s going to be out there, letting just anyone touch him.  He knows he’s good-looking, and he projects the confidence that everyone wants him... but when they actually do, he panics.  This isn’t to say he’s a virgin, but when he does decide to go for a one-night-stand or an acquaintance with benefits deal, it’s few and far between and usually involves quite a few drinks to loosen him up and more than a bit of stroking his ego.  He’s never been with a human (or witch), but there’s something about you that’s just so different.  You don’t think of him as dumb, you go along (even if it’s reluctantly) with his schemes, and he always finds himself laughing and joking around with you.  You provide a comfort to him where being around you is just easy, and whenever you lean against him while you’re watching movies together, his heart races.  He’s never felt like this, and he just wants you.

He loves you. 

You’ve reignited his sex drive, and although he feels embarrassed and awkward about it, he’s had more than a few fantasies and dreams about you letting him stay in your bed at night.  He’s even begun to be afraid that he’s going to have one of those dreams on the nights when you do end up cuddling, and you’re going to wake up with Little Mammon pressing against your ass, and then he’ll just have to die.  

Mammon would be a passionate lover, albeit a nervous one at first.  He’s willing to switch, to either be the one in control or have you do whatever you want.  He’s eager to please you, to feel a connection, but he also likes to be praised, to hear that the GREAT Mammon is doing a great job; he’ll catch your gaze and flash a satisfied smirk.  He’s also willing to try anything once, so he’s open to your suggestions.

* Diavolo - 

The demon prince could have his pick of practically anyone in Devildom or any witch in the human realm, and yet it’s not something he often indulges in.  That’s not to say that he hasn’t; it’s just that he wants respect, and he’s old enough to be able to resist the urges.  Sleeping with someone would require quite a bit of trust for someone in his position of power -- he’s not going to abuse it for such a need.  

That said... Lucifer has indeed caught his attention.  He would never use their roles to glean that intimacy from Lucifer, however; he wants it to come freely.  But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t fantasized about what that would be like, or that he hasn’t... hinted toward it on the nights when Lucifer stayed in his bedroom with him.  

“You’re so tense, Lucifer.  It’s like you need to just let go and have a... release.”

He picked his words carefully.  Everything about the interaction was careful and precise, from the friendly, yet concerned smile curving his lips, to the contradicting, serious heat in his gaze.  Lucifer’s spine grew straighter, every muscle in his body tense.  He understood the meaning immediately.

The fallen angel sucked in a breath.  “Is that an order?”

Diavolo felt a pang in his chest.  Although Lucifer was the picture of obedience, his posture was closed off.  The tone was conversational -- it wasn’t accusing -- but there was a distance in his gaze... and contempt underneath the surface.

“No, no.”  The prince shook his head, spreading his hands, palm-out.  His smile spread to conceal how deflated he felt.  “Just a suggestion from a concerned friend.”

Despite that, Diavolo has seen the way Lucifer looks at you.  It was to be expected when he started the exchange program, after all, but he doesn’t feel jealous about it.  No, he genuinely feels relieved that Lucifer has begun to show more of his personality.

Diavolo would be a passionate lover, one that’s used to being the most powerful being and would have a difficult time giving control away to someone else.  That said, he would be attentive and perceptive to his partner’s needs.  His ideal fantasy is being the one to dominate Lucifer, to get him to trust him that much that he can have such a beautiful, proud man willingly submit to him.  

However, he’s recently found himself thinking more and more about just what a threesome with you and Lucifer would be like...  

* Solomon -    

Don’t let the teasing smile fool you; this sorcerer is older than he looks, and he’s definitely gone with Asmo to quite a few succubus parties.  In fact, he and Asmo have been intimate on more than one occasion.  Solomon finds it fun to go with the flow most times, and he’s never been in a serious relationship, as his focus has been more on the magical arts and building pacts -- even though he’s jested about his past to keep people guessing.  He keeps a wall between people most of the time, not quite getting close, yet still getting involved if they pique his interest.  Love and lust are two very different things to him, and he’s able to keep feelings out of flings entirely.  The sexual relations he does have are for his own amusement, with people he finds interesting.

That said, Solomon finds you interesting because of how quickly you’ve managed to form pacts -- including a pact he’s sought after for quite some time -- and the untapped power you possess.  He hasn’t taken it beyond a sense of guidance and a little bit of rivalry, however, because he prefers to watch and see how everything plays out regarding you and the demon brothers.  

Solomon’s mood influences what kind of lover he’ll be.  Some days, he’s interested in seeing what drives the other person and what they want out of the encounter.  Other times, he has something specific in mind.  He’s someone that’s tried quite a few kinks and open to others.  He’s generally laid-back about everything, he isn’t possessive, and he enjoys getting to figure out what the other person’s into.  Some nights, he just wants to have fun, too; he’s been around Asmo enough to have experienced multiple partners at the same time.  

* Beel -

Food isn’t the only thing that Beel’s into.  He may come across as someone that isn’t overly sexual or concerned about those things, but food isn’t the only thing he wants, and there’s been plenty of people interested in getting it on.  However, he’s never taken anyone up on it; Beel’s a virgin.  He’s always thought that if he wanted food more than he wanted another person, then it wasn’t worth it; he didn’t want to grow bored or come away unsatisfied -- or use them just for an experience.  However, ever since he’s grown attached to you... there are times when he’s thinking about you and doesn’t even feel hungry -- at least not in a sense that he’s used to.  No, there’s a new hunger in Beel, one that scares him sometimes because he’s afraid he might lose himself and take a bite out of you.  You’re a human, after all, and so fragile, while he’s got immense physical strength.  If you kiss him, he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop, that he might squeeze you too tight or become too rough.  

But that doesn’t stop him from thinking about it.  Regularly.  And when Asmo told him that there’s a thing where people put chocolate on each other and lick it off --

No.  He can’t do that; he’d definitely bite you if you were covered in chocolate.

Beel would be a careful lover, despite his fears.  He would make sure he didn’t hurt you, but he’d also have bouts of being passionate, of kissing you until you were breathless and gasping.  The first few times, you’d likely have to take the lead, to show him that he’s doing everything right because he’d be holding himself back too much to just go for it.  But once he became comfortable, he’d be able to switch things up and be the dominate one.  And with his strength, he could easily lift you into whatever position you wanted.

Just no food-play.  Nope.  It’s a bad idea, I’m tellin’ ya.

* Levi -

 The otaku’s a virgin, definitely, but there’s no shame in that.  He’s had ample opportunities to sleep with demons (and angels when he was in the Celestial Realm), but he’s never had the self-esteem to follow through or take them seriously.  That’s not to say he doesn’t have a sex drive; Levi loves 2D characters, including hentai and H games, and he routinely finds himself getting attached to fictional characters and even reading smut online.  He’s gotten off plenty of times in his room, but it’s only when he becomes close to you that he begins to fantasize about an actual person he knows.  He feels a bit ashamed of it -- it feels dirty getting off to you when he thinks that you only see him as a best friend -- but he can’t help but find himself picturing you and him whenever he clicks over to his hentai.  

Levi’s someone that you’ll have to work to convince it’s real first.  You can tease him and flirt with him plenty -- he’s easy to fluster, and he’ll stammer as he fights to conceal his blush -- but even when you’re outright grinding in his lap, kissing him, he’s still not going to think it’s real.  Once you can get past that, however, Levi will be an eager lover, enthusiastic, but also in need of guidance.  Hentai isn’t exactly the most reliable form of sex ed, so you’ll have to show him what you like and take the reins to make him feel comfortable.  He’ll be nervous, his hands shaking and his heart going doki doki to the extreme.  But he’s a quick learner, and he’ll feel as accomplished as he would beating a dungeon if he can get you off.  

You know how Barret does the Final Fantasy victory music when you win a battle in the FF7 Remake sometimes?  Yeah.  He’s doing that after you climax.  

He’s also the only brother than might change into his demon form in the middle of it because his mind’s all over the place.  

* Simeon - 

It may just be because he’s an angel, but Simeon’s on the bottom of this list because he sees that intimacy as something sacred.  He tries not to have impure thoughts about others, and actually getting to the point of sleeping with them would require an absolute commitment.   Because of that, he’s never actually done the deed, though he’s opened his heart a few times to other angels over the centuries.  He’s just never felt the spark he needed to want to close the deal.  It’s not something he thinks about much -- but that said, he’s still able to be easily flustered.  He’s not used to anyone being that direct in the Celestial Realm, so being among humans and demons is an... interesting change of pace, to say the least. 

When Simeon does finally land the perfect partner for him, he’ll be an attentive lover.  It’ll be love-making, definitely, the kind that’s in the movies where they stare into one another’s eyes as if they’re gazing into one another’s souls.  He’s sweet, full of murmured words of adoration and body worship.  The other person can be a guiding presence or they can figure out what they like together; either way, Simeon just wants to make sure it’s a night of intimacy that brings them closer together.  

[pepethehobbit]

There really is no competition

VDS Week 2021

Day 5: Vacation

Ao3

This is a continuation of My Only You, so you should probably read that first, if you haven’t already.

~o~

“God, you're are worse than these two.”

Lucas looks up from where he sits on Jens' lap, trying to feed him some smores. He admits he was a little lost in Jens' giggle, reaching up to wipe away the chocolate around his mouth and just barely holding back from using his lips to kiss it off. Jens looks up too, confusion visible on his face as he turns his gaze to Moyo, whose words sounded harsh but there is a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Did you hear that, Robbe? We have competition,” Sander says with a smirk and Robbe just rolls his eyes at him fondly, used to his boyfriend's antics.

“There really is no competition, guys,” says Jens, sounding serious, but then he circles his arms around Lucas and reaches up to press a short but sweet kiss to Lucas' lips. And even though they have been dating for three months now, Jens' kisses still leave his lips tingling. “We're clearly cuter than them,” Jens continues with a pleased little smile that Lucas wants to kiss off.

Lucas hears Robbe and Sander scoff and say in unison: “You wish.”

There's a round of ohhhh's coming from Moyo and Aaron and Lucas can't fight the laugh at the ridiculous situation. When he looks at Jens he isn't much better off, but still rolling his eyes in fake protest.

It's only been two days since Jens has told his friends that he is bi and in a relationship with Lucas. He hadn't expected Jens to be so open with his affections, considering it was him who wanted to keep it a secret in the first place. Not that he is complaining, not in the slightest. He was still kinda wary with his touches, not sure how comfortable Jens would be, coming out only two day ago. Lucas wanted Jens to have the choice and control of how affectionate he wanted to be, didn't want to assume that he could simply kiss him in front of the others just because he had come out to them.

But then the next morning at breakfast Jens kissed him when Lucas came into the kitchen, so sure and unrelenting, not caring that the others were grumbling behind them at the PDA. And from then on, Jens has barely put any distance between them. Jens himself seems happier too, as if a weight has been taken off his shoulders, which, Lucas considers, is probably exactly that.

Keeping them a secret has been wearing down both of them. It was thrilling in the beginning but it became pretty difficult pretty fast having to rein in his touches and keeping a reasonable, platonic distance towards Jens whenever they were in public.

And apparently they weren't as successful at being discreet as they both thought they were. When Jens told Robbe, he looked at them both and the dimples were deep in his face caused by the wide smile he gave them both. “I knew it. I always thought there was something going on.”

At Jens' alarmed gaze Robbe pedaled back and said: “Don't worry, I think I'm the only one who noticed. Moyo and Aaron are idiots and caught in their heteronormative world view.” After that, Jens told the rest of his friends and since then Lucas has reveled in every bit of freely offered affection: Jens reaching out for his hand, tangling their fingers together, him playing with his hair, painting silly things on his back with sunscreen and those sweet little pecks that make Lucas want to reel Jens back in for more.

“But on a serious note, you really are great together and I'm happy for you,” says Sander and he shoots them a genuine smile. Lucas gives a smile of own, grateful for the words. Since he arrived in Antwerp Sander has become one his best friends, bonding over art, music and being a little shit, teasing the hell out of their other friends.

“Thank you,” says Jens softly and then his gaze turns towards Lucas. He looks deep into his eyes and Lucas is unable to tear his gaze away from the hypnotizing way the flames of the bonfire dance across Jens' nearly black eyes. Jens is all warmth and comfort and safety and Lucas can't hold himself back when he pulls him in for a deep and lingering kiss, leaving a few more pecks on his mouth before he pulls back finally. Jens' gaze is soft and warm and he feels how his arms circle him even closer into Jens' body.

“Ugh, okay. That's it. I take it back. You guys are actually worse,” Sander says and makes a retching sound but his voice is still full of fondness. Lucas and Jens let out a laugh after Robbe playfully hits Sander on the arm and he actually pouts.

“Mission accomplished, then,” says Jens and this time Lucas does kiss off the smug smile.

~o~

They only have two days left of their vacation and Lucas will seriously miss not being able to admire a shirtless Jens in swim shorts basically 24/7. The sun is shining down on their skin pleasantly warm and only shortly away from being on the brink of becoming too hot. The beach isn't as crowded today and they have no problem finding beach chairs for all of them. Lucas watches how Jens stretches out on his chair, pulling his arms behind his head, defining his toned arms and torso. The view makes Lucas swallow and he has to tear his eyes away before he does something stupid. Jens opens his eyes and finds Lucas', trying to suppress a smile. “Like what you see?”

Lucas doesn't understand why he is still so affected by Jens and blushes at the words. Before Jens told the others, Lucas found it easier to ignore the thoughts that crept up when he saw Jens like this. Maybe because he knew that touching him was off the table, knew he couldn't. But now, he was technically allowed but wasn't sure how to go about it. This was uncharted territory even for him.

Jens stands up abruptly and comes to stand next to Luc's beach chair. “Sit up and scoot forward.”

“What?” Lucas asks confused. Jens gives him a warm smile and only then does Lucas notice the bottle of sunscreen in his hand. “Oh,” is all Lucas says and suddenly feeling unreasonably nervous. Kissing Jens in front of his friends is one thing, accepting this kind of touch in front of strangers is another, making even him a bit hesitant. He is once again baffled by how fast Jens has become comfortable with touching him in front of people. Lucas does as Jens asks though and then Jens sits down behind him, knees pressing against Lucas' outer thighs.

Jens presses a light kiss to his shoulder and then he can hear the click of the bottle opening. Next to him he sees Sander wiggle his eyebrows suggestively and letting out a teasing whistle. Lucas gets flustered again and throws him a “Shut up, Sander.” Behind him he hears Jens chuckle quietly and Lucas repeats his sentiment, blushing despite himself, thankful that Jens can't see it. Jens squeezes his knees against his thighs shortly and begins rubbing the sun screen on Lucas' back.  

It's not what Lucas expected. Jens is methodical about it, spreading the cream across his back until all of it is covered. His touch is gentle but thorough and he takes his time, massaging Lucas' shoulder a little bit at the end. Lucas has to close his eyes at how good this feels. He lets out a satisfied hum and Jens pulls at his shoulder until his head lays on Jens' chest. Lucas melts a little bit when Jens leans down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “All done, baby.”

This time, Lucas is pretty sure it's Robbe who does the retching sound but right now Lucas couldn't care less, soaking up Jens' warmth emanating from his chest. He lingers for a few seconds until he sits up again and turns around to face Jens. “Your turn.”

Jens hands him the sunscreen and turns around, but not before he pressed a quick kiss to Lucas' lips. Lucas pours some lotion on his fingers and his hands are only shaking a little bit when he sets them on Jens' back. His skin is warm from the sun and his beautiful complexion already sun kissed from the previous days at the beach. Lucas spreads the sun screen on Jens' back, hyper aware of every bit of skin he touches, unbelievably happy that he gets to do this now. Jens leans back into him as soon as he starts massaging his shoulders and he hears him letting out a contented hum.

When Lucas is done he circles his arms around Jens neck and torso, his hands settling over his stomach and pulls him into his chest.  Lucas presses a kiss behind Jens' ear and whispers: “Lets go for a swim.” His lips move against the shell of Jens' ear and Lucas can feel Jens shudder at his touch. He absolutely does not preen at that.

They get up, turn towards the others and Jens announces: “We're going for a swim.” His voice is final making it clear that he doesn't want the others to come with them. But because his friends are idiots Aaron gets up and says: “I'll come with.” Surprisingly, it is Moyo who pulls him back down again and tells him to let them be. He sends him a thankful smile and when he lets his eyes wander to Robbe and Sander, he has to roll his eyes again. Sander sends him wiggling eyebrows again and Robbe wears that smile again that knows entirely too much.

Jens doesn't say a word, just takes Lucas' hand and leads them down to the shore. The water is pleasantly cold, the perfect temperature to cool off. Lucas should've expected it but he's still shocked when Jens splashes water at him. He jerks at the sudden cold water hitting his warm skin and turns around to glare at Jens, who looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Oh, you're going down, Stoffels.”

Jens lets out a laugh and Lucas' heart clenches at the sight, still finding it surreal that Jens chose him. He takes a step towards Jens, crouches down and splashes him in return before he can let his sappy thoughts continue. They have a little water fight until Lucas leads them into deeper waters planing on dumping Jens under water when they're deep enough. Lucas jumps on Jens' back and pushes him down so his head is underwater. He didn't think this through though, because Jens grabs his arm and pulls Lucas under water with him. Lucas lets out a surprised yelp before his head is submerged and he sputters when he emerges again. Jens is already in front of him, they're not as far out to not be able to stand anymore, and pulls his wet hair away from his forehead, laughing at Lucas. Jens gets his hand on Lucas' waist under water and pulls him into his chest. Lucas heartbeat picks up speed as Jens hands play along his back, fingertips moving in caressing circles.

“Rude,” says Lucas but it comes out breathless with Jens so impossibly close to him. Jens laughs at that, his eyes soft and amused as he replies: “You started it. I'm taller than you, did you expect to win?”

“Yes,” Lucas says stubbornly, but it comes out wobbly, voice still a little breathless. Jens laughs again, incredibly fond and he leans down to press his forehead against Lucas'. “You are so cute.”

“Jens, please just kiss me, already.”

Another chuckle from his boyfriend and then he is finally leaning down to connect their mouth. The kiss tastes like salt and summer and sun screen and maybe that shouldn't be good but Lucas clings tightly to Jens, threads his fingers through his wet hair and pulls him closer. When they pull apart its Jens who's breathless. “I love you so much.” And Lucas savors it, revels in the warmth spreading through him and something inside his soul settles when he meets Jens' eyes, full of love and so sure of him. Lucas doesn't say it back. He moves his fingertips over Jens' eyebrows, down his nose and his cheekbones, collecting droplets of water. His fingers reach Jens' mouth and he gently swipes his thumb over his bottom lip before he pulls him into a kiss again.

Lucas doesn't say it back. But he thinks Jens understands him anyway.