#its been almost a year since my house caught on fire.

[voyter]

DEVOTION — jeon jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Grace?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ser Kim Seokjin," the Lord Commander announces.

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

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

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

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

The Lord Commander nods solemnly, signaling the next candidate.

“Ser Jeon Jungkook.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And today was no different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Grace?”

It’s him.

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

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

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

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just the barrier of wood between you two.

The next day unfolded much more peacefully than the last. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You froze.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stopped. They wanted Celeste. Your daughter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take off your armor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But neither of you move.

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

And just like that, his lips are on yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all it takes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like that one time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© voyter 2024, all rights reserved.

[craniopagi]

[lila-lou]

✨Houston - Pt. 2/2✨

Summary: While Jensen was away filming, a hurricane hit and you had to face it alone, burdened by a secret. When Jensen finally returned, relief and fear collided as you shared the news.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff

Word Count: 5722

A/N: No hate towards anybody. It's just fiction.

English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 🩷

Meanwhile, Jensen sat in the plane, his leg bouncing nervously as he stared out the window. He had barely slept since hearing about the hurricane, his mind consumed with worry about you. The relief he had felt when his flight finally boarded was fleeting—now, all he could think about was getting to you. He needed to see for himself that you were okay, that the house had held up, and that you hadn’t been hurt during the storm.

The flight had seemed to drag on forever, and now, as the taxi slowly made its way through the neighborhood, his stomach churned at the sight before him. Chaos. Pure chaos. The remnants of the storm were everywhere—trees uprooted, power lines down, debris scattered across the streets. The taxi driver struggled to navigate through the mess, constantly having to stop and weave around fallen branches and debris.

Jensen stared out the window, his heart sinking further with every turn. The fire department was out in full force, and neighbors were already outside, doing their best to clean up the damage. But the destruction was impossible to ignore. Several houses looked like they had taken a beating—older homes missing porches, shattered windows, even one house that had its roof torn away by the storm. Cars had been flipped or smashed by falling trees, some nearly unrecognizable.

Jensen clenched his jaw as the car crept closer to home, his heart pounding harder with every piece of damage he saw. This was exactly what he had feared, what had kept him up all night. The thought of you being in the middle of this, alone, terrified, made him sick with guilt. He had brushed it off as “just a little rain”, and now he was driving through what looked like a war zone.

But as the taxi turned down your street, his eyes went straight to your house. Relief washed over him as he saw it still standing, mostly untouched, aside from some debris scattered across the yard. The house, which had been renovated just a couple of years ago, looked sturdy—massive stilts holding it high above the ground, windows intact, the roof still in place. You had insisted on the renovations, on making the house as secure as possible. He had thought it was a bit overboard at the time, but now, looking at the destruction around him, he was beyond grateful that you had been so insistent.

The taxi came to a stop just down the street, unable to drive any closer due to the debris blocking the way. Jensen paid the driver quickly and practically jumped out of the car, his feet crunching on the broken branches and debris as he hurried toward the house. His heart was racing as he climbed the steps to the porch, which, to his relief, was still intact, though bits of leaves and broken tree branches littered it.

“Please be okay”, he whispered to himself, fumbling for his keys with shaking hands. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, the silence inside the house overwhelming after the storm he had driven through.

“Babe?”, he called out, his voice tight with worry. The house was still kinda dark, the power clearly not restored yet, but it was eerily quiet compared to the chaos outside. He dropped his bags by the door and immediately started toward the guest room where he hoped you had taken refuge.

When he pushed open the door, his breath caught in his throat. There you were, curled up on the bed, wrapped in the blanket, fast asleep. The sight of you, safe and sound, made his chest tighten with emotion. Relief hit him hard, so much so that his knees almost buckled.

Jensen walked slowly toward the bed, careful not to wake you just yet. He could see the tear stains on your cheeks, the exhaustion written all over your face. You had been through hell last night, and he hadn’t been there for you. The guilt settled in deep, but right now, all that mattered was that you were okay.

He knelt down beside the bed, reaching out to gently brush a lock of hair from your face. His fingers were trembling slightly, but he just needed to touch you, to reassure himself that you were real, that you were safe.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he watched you sleep. He had been so wrong. So, so wrong. And now, seeing you like this—vulnerable, curled up in the middle of the storm’s aftermath—he promised himself he would never brush off your fears again.

For now, he was just grateful that you were here, safe.

Jensen had just begun to stand, moving as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb you after the hellish night you’d just had. But as he shifted to leave, your eyes suddenly snapped open, wide and full of alarm. You blinked quickly, disoriented, your heart instantly racing as you jolted upright, still tangled in the blanket. For a moment, you didn’t know where you were, the remnants of the storm and the hours of restless fear swirling in your mind.

“Jensen?”. Your voice was barely above a whisper, laced with confusion and exhaustion. The sight of him standing there, in your room, felt surreal—like a dream you weren’t sure you believed yet.

Jensen froze, his eyes locking onto yours, and you could see the mixture of relief and guilt swimming in his gaze. He knelt back down beside the bed, his hand immediately reaching out to touch your arm, his thumb brushing your skin in gentle reassurance.

“Hey, it’s me”, he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to wake you”.

You blinked again, tears instantly welling in your eyes as everything from the past night rushed back to you. The storm, the fear, the feeling of being so utterly alone… and now, seeing him here, in front of you, after all of it—it was too much. Without thinking, you threw your arms around him, pulling him close, needing to feel the solid warmth of him. Your body trembled against his, and you felt his arms tighten around you, pulling you into the kind of embrace that made everything else melt away.

"I missed you”, you whispered, your voice trembling as you pressed your face into his shoulder. The warmth of him, the familiarity, the safety—everything you had been craving through the terrifying hours of the storm—was finally here. You held him tighter, your arms wrapped around his neck, refusing to let go as if he might disappear again.

Jensen’s arms wrapped around you securely, his body shifting as he slowly sat down on the floor with you, cradling you in his lap. His legs stretched out underneath you as he leaned back against the wall, pulling you closer to him. He ran a hand gently through your hair, his other arm firmly around your waist, holding you as if he could shield you from everything you had been through.

“I missed you too”, he murmured softly against your hair. His voice was thick with emotion, the weight of his guilt still lingering in his words. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here”.

You shook your head, not ready to let go of him or the comfort of this moment. “It’s okay… you’re here now”, you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady, though the tremor of relief and lingering fear was still there.

He held you tighter, his breath warm against the top of your head.

You stayed like that for quite a while, wrapped up in the warmth of his embrace. His hand moved rhythmically through your hair, and you let yourself relax into him, feeling the tightness in your chest finally start to ease. It was the first time in hours that you felt safe, like you could finally breathe.

But even though the storm outside had passed, the one inside you hadn’t. The weight of what you needed to tell him pressed heavily on your heart, making it harder to fully sink into the comfort of his arms. You wanted to stay like this forever, safe and protected, but you knew there was something else, something you could no longer keep to yourself.

Eventually, Jensen shifted, pulling back gently, just enough to look at you. His eyes searched your face, concern still flickering in the depths of his gaze, though his hands remained firmly on your waist, as if grounding you. “It’s okay now”, he whispered softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “It’s over. You’re safe”.

His words were meant to comfort, but they stirred something deeper within you. It wasn’t over—not for you. Your lips trembled as you met his gaze, your heart pounding against your ribs. The tears that had been threatening to spill over since you’d woken up began to gather in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just from the relief of surviving the storm.

Jensen’s brow furrowed as he noticed the fresh tears welling up. He cupped your face, his thumb gently wiping at the corner of your eye. “Hey… it’s okay”, he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “It’s over now. I’m here”.

But it wasn’t just about the storm. You knew that, and deep down, so did he. You could see it in his eyes—the way he studied you, the way he seemed to sense that something else was wrong. The weight of your secret had become too heavy to bear, and the fear that had consumed you last night was nothing compared to the fear you felt now, sitting here in his arms, knowing what you had to say.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as the tears began to fall freely. “It’s not… it’s not just the storm, Jensen”.

His eyes widened slightly, his expression softening with concern as he leaned in closer. “What is it, sweetheart? Talk to me”, he urged gently, his voice steady and reassuring. He stroked your hair, his touch calm, but you could feel the tension building in him, too. He knew there was more.

Your heart raced as you searched for the words, feeling the enormity of what you were about to tell him weigh heavily in the air between you. It had been gnawing at you for weeks, and you had tried so hard to push it down, to pretend it could wait. But now, after everything, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. It was now or never.

Your heart pounded even more in your chest as you tried to gather the courage to say the words. But instead, what came out was a trembling whisper: “Something happened”.

The moment the words left your lips, you felt Jensen tense. His eyes, which had been filled with concern and love, suddenly shifted, guarded now, as if a wall had gone up between you. His hands, once resting so protectively on your waist, slipped away slowly. He stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you could see the flicker of something darker behind his eyes—fear, uncertainty, maybe even suspicion.

“What do you mean, ‘something happened’?”, he asked quietly, his voice tight, controlled. There was a noticeable shift in his tone, and it made your stomach churn. He had pulled back, both physically and emotionally, and you could sense the guardedness, the way his body language changed, as if bracing for something painful.

You blinked in confusion, watching as his entire demeanor shifted in front of you. His hands, which had moments ago been cradling you so tenderly, were now resting on his knees, clenched into loose fists. His eyes were still on you, but they held a different kind of intensity now, as if he were preparing himself for the worst.

You opened your mouth to explain, to say the words that had been weighing on your heart, but Jensen spoke first, his voice suddenly low and careful. “What happened, exactly?”. He sounded like he was struggling to keep his emotions in check, and it took you a moment to realize why.

He was thinking something else entirely—something you hadn’t intended to imply.

The realization hit you like a freight train, and your heart sank. You saw the way he was looking at you now, the way his body had stiffened, and it became clear. He was thinking of something worse. He was thinking that maybe… you had done something to betray him while he was gone.

His guarded posture, the flicker of hurt in his eyes—it all made sense now. This wasn’t just about you being scared; it was deeper than that. He’d been through this before, hadn’t he? The memory of Danneel—his ex—flashing in your mind, of him telling you once, in a quiet and vulnerable moment, that she had said those exact same words to him once: “Something happened”. And what had followed had shattered him.

“Jensen, no”, you whispered, suddenly panicking at the thought of him believing that. “It’s not what you think. It’s not—”.

Jensen’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant, his face hardening as he pulled back further, the tension in his body palpable. His eyes darkened with a mix of hurt and anger, and when he spoke again, his voice was no longer soft or gentle. It was sharp, raw, like a wound reopening.

“The fuck it’s not what I think?!”, he snapped, his voice loud now, echoing through the room in a way that made you flinch. The anger was clear, but it was the pain in his voice that hit you hardest. “You say ‘something happened’ and then expect me not to think the worst? You think I don’t remember those words, don’t remember what they meant the last time someone said them to me?”.

His words cut deep, and you could see how much it was costing him to hold back. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight, his body vibrating with the effort to control his emotions. The hurt in his eyes was so raw, so deep, it nearly broke you.

“No, Jensen, please”, you pleaded, your voice trembling as tears welled up in your eyes. “It’s not what you think. I swear, I would never—”.

But he wasn’t listening. Not fully. He was lost in his own pain, his own fear. “You have any idea what it’s like to hear those words again? After everything I went through with Danneel?”. His voice cracked, just slightly, but it was enough to show the depth of the wound this had opened. “She looked me in the eyes and said, ‘something happened,’ and it tore my life apart. I can’t—”.

You reached for him, desperate to make him understand, to make him see that this was different. “Jensen, please, just listen to me”.

He pulled back, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair, pacing now, his emotions too much to keep bottled inside. “How can I just listen when the same damn words are coming out of your mouth? How can I not think—”. He stopped himself, his breath ragged, his chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to calm down, but you could see the storm inside him raging just as fiercely as the one you had endured the night before.

“I would never do that to you”, you said, your voice small but firm, tears spilling over now as you stood frozen in place, watching the man you loved unravel in front of you. “Jensen, please… it’s not what you think”.

His pacing slowed, but his expression was still dark, his eyes full of guarded hurt. “Then what the fuck is it, huh? If it’s not what I think, fucking tell me!".

The silence that followed was thick with tension. Your heart raced as you realized how quickly things had spiraled out of control. You had meant to tell him the truth, to relieve yourself of the secret that had been weighing you down, but now everything felt so much heavier.

You took a deep, shaky breath, your hands trembling as you finally said the words you’d been too afraid to say. “I’m pregnant”.

Jensen stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock. The anger that had been radiating off him seemed to falter, replaced with disbelief, confusion. He stared at you, unblinking, as if he hadn’t fully processed the words you had just spoken.

“What?”.

His voice was quiet now, almost a whisper, as he looked at you like he didn’t quite understand.

“I’m… pregnant”, you repeated, tears streaming down your face, your voice breaking with the weight of everything that had built up inside you. “That’s what I meant when I said something happened”.

Jensen stood frozen, his face a mixture of shock and confusion. The anger drained from him in an instant, leaving behind only disbelief. He ran a hand over his face, taking a few steps back as if trying to wrap his head around it.

“You’re… pregnant?”.

His voice was barely audible, his eyes searching yours for confirmation, for understanding.

You nodded, your eyes falling to the floor as tears streamed down your cheeks. The weight of everything you’d been holding in felt unbearable now. You could barely bring yourself to look at him, terrified of what his reaction would be. Jensen stood there, staring at you in stunned silence, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as he took in the enormity of your words.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. You watched as his expression shifted—his eyes distant, his mind racing with a million thoughts. You could feel the tension rolling off him, the stress of the last weeks, the sleepless night, the whirlwind of emotions from just minutes ago. All of it seemed to come crashing down on him at once.

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the house, so loud and forceful that it made you jump. You heard the sharp crack as the doorframe splintered slightly under the impact, the sound tearing through the silence that followed. It was a small but audible reminder of just how broken everything felt in that moment.

You stood frozen, staring at the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The tears that had already been falling now came in a flood, uncontrollable, as the reality of what had just happened sunk in. He had walked out. He didn’t say a word.

Your legs felt weak, and you slowly sank to the floor, pressing your back against the wall as sobs wracked your body. The weight of the silence was unbearable, each second stretching into what felt like hours. You couldn’t shake the image of his face—his eyes wide with shock and disbelief, his body tense with so much emotion that he had seemed ready to explode.

And then he had just left.

Your mind raced, every possible scenario flashing before your eyes. Was this it? Was this the moment everything fell apart? The thought twisted painfully in your chest, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to find some small comfort, but there was none. You were terrified. You had always known that this news would be difficult, that it might hurt him, but you never imagined he’d react like this. Not like this.

Minutes passed, though it felt like an eternity, and with every tick of the clock, the fear inside you grew.

You wondered where he had gone. If he would come back. If he was okay. Your heart ached with worry for him, but you were also hurt—crushed, really—by the way he had left. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to fix this or if you even could.

You wiped your tear-streaked face with shaky hands, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you tried to regain some semblance of control over your emotions. You didn’t know how long you sat there, curled up on the floor, waiting. Waiting for him to come back. Waiting for answers.

Waiting for anything.

The minutes stretched on until the faint sound of a door opening in the distance jolted you from your thoughts. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly wiped your face again, pushing yourself up off the floor. You held your breath, listening for movement, for any sign of him coming back, but all you heard was the soft creak of the floorboards.

A few seconds later, Jensen appeared in the doorway, his expression still unreadable, but his anger seemed to have faded, replaced by something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place. His shoulders were slumped, and there was a weariness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The tension hung thick between you, but there was also an unspoken understanding that everything had changed. He stood there, his hands stuffed into his pockets, staring at the floor as if the weight of what had just happened was too much to bear.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice hoarse and strained. “I needed some air”, he muttered, his eyes still fixed on the ground. “I just… I didn’t know what to say”.

You nodded, though the gesture felt hollow. “I get it”, you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I wasn’t expecting this either. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you”.

Jensen slowly lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and confusion. He took a step forward, and for a moment, you thought he might turn away again, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, watching you, the raw emotion between you so palpable it was almost suffocating.

“I’m sorry”, he said quietly, his voice cracking with emotion. “I shouldn’t have stormed out like that. I just… I couldn’t think. I didn’t know how to process it”.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall again. “It’s okay”, you whispered, though the ache in your chest told you otherwise. “I didn’t mean to drop it on you like that. I just didn’t know how else to say it”.

He nodded slowly, his hands still in his pockets, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “I just…”. His voice faltered, and he let out a long, shaky breath. “I don’t know what to do with this. I wasn’t ready for this”.

“I know”, you said softly, taking a tentative step toward him. “Neither was I”.

He looked up at you then, his eyes meeting yours, and for the first time since the door had slammed, there was a softness there—an understanding. He didn’t look angry anymore, just lost, like he was trying to make sense of everything.

Jensen let out a slow breath, his body visibly relaxing as he stepped toward you, closing the distance between you. He reached out, his hand gently brushing against your arm, his touch tentative but comforting.

“I don’t know how to be okay with this”, he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. His hand, now resting lightly on your arm, trembled slightly. You could see the conflict swirling in his eyes—pain, confusion, and something deeper that tugged at your heart. He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice broke, exposing the vulnerability beneath his carefully controlled exterior. “I told you… I never wanted another baby”.

The words hung between you like a heavy cloud, and your chest tightened as you absorbed them, even though you had known this was how he felt.

“I know”, you whispered, the tears pooling in your eyes again, your voice shaking. “I know that, Jensen. That’s why I was so scared to tell you”.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, as if trying to process everything all over again. “It’s just… I’ve been through this already. I thought I was in a place where… where that was behind me. And now…”. He trailed off, his eyes searching yours, filled with uncertainty. “I don’t know if I can do this again”.

The honesty in his voice was like a punch to the gut, but it wasn’t unexpected. You had always known how he felt about this, and now you could see just how deeply rooted that fear was in him. He wasn’t just worried about the practicalities of having another baby—he was afraid of how it would change your lives, afraid of the unknown, afraid of losing the stability you had both worked so hard to build.

“I don’t want to force this on you”, you said softly, the tears finally spilling over as you looked down, unable to meet his eyes any longer. “I never wanted to hurt you with this. But I didn’t want to hide it from you, either”.

Jensen reached out then, his fingers lifting your chin gently, his touch warm against your skin. “You’re not forcing anything on me”, he said, his voice soft but firm. “I just… I need time. This is big. And it’s not just about me. It’s about us. About you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone in this”.

His words gave you a small sense of relief, but the fear still clung to you, heavy and suffocating. “What if you can’t do this?”, you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it. The fear of losing him, of this driving a wedge between you, was almost unbearable. “What if you don’t want me anymore?”.

Jensen’s face softened, and for the first time since he had stormed out of the room, you saw the love and care in his eyes. He cupped your face with both hands now, brushing away the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. “I’m not saying I don’t want you. I would never say this. I’m saying I don’t know how to wrap my head around this… yet”.

The vulnerability in his voice echoed your own, and for a moment, the raw honesty between you felt like a lifeline. You had both been thrown into something you hadn’t expected, something neither of you had planned for, but in this moment, it wasn’t about blame or anger.

“I’m scared too”, you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how we’re going to do this. But I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want this to drive us apart”.

Jensen’s expression softened further, and he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. He pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes as he held you tightly. “I don’t want to lose you either”, he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ll figure this out. I just… I need time to get there. To wrap my head around it”.

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face, but for the first time since you’d told him, you felt a small flicker of hope.

“We’ll figure it out”, Jensen whispered again, his voice steady this time, as if he was convincing himself as much as he was you. “I love you. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t. Never”.

You let out a shaky breath, clinging to his words as you buried your face in his chest. The fear, the uncertainty—it was still there, but in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you knew that whatever happened next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

Jensen held you tighter, his arms wrapping around you as if he could shield you from everything in the world. He pressed his forehead to yours, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just breathed with you, letting the tension between you slowly dissolve. The weight of the past few hours still lingered in the air, but his touch, his closeness, was a balm to the raw emotions swirling inside you.

“I’m just glad you’re okay”, he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though he were afraid of breaking the fragile peace between you. “I’m so damn glad you’re safe”.

His words hit you in a way you didn’t expect. After everything—the fear, the storm, the confession you had been dreading—he wasn’t focused on the whirlwind of emotions that had just unfolded. Instead, his focus was on you, on the fact that you had made it through, that you were here, with him, despite the chaos that had threatened to tear everything apart.

The intensity of his relief was palpable, and you could feel the tension in his body ease slightly as he whispered those words, as if the realization that you were safe was finally sinking in for him. You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, which were still soft, full of concern and something deeper—something that cut through the uncertainty of the situation.

“I was so scared”, you whispered back, your voice shaking as fresh tears welled up in your eyes. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if you’d—”.

He cut you off gently, brushing your cheek with his thumb, his touch steady and reassuring. “I’m here”, he said, his voice firmer now, though still laced with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to figure this out. I don’t have all the answers right now, but I know I don’t want to lose you. And I know I’m just… so relieved you’re okay. I couldn’t handle it if something had happened to you”.

His eyes searched yours, and you could see how deeply he meant every word. The vulnerability in his voice, the rawness of his emotions, made your heart ache in a different way now. You could see how the fear of almost losing you—not just physically, but also emotionally—had affected him. The weight of it all had pressed down on him in ways you hadn’t even realized.

Jensen's hand gently slid from your cheek down to your chin, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he tilted your face up toward his. His touch was soft but deliberate, grounding you in the moment as the raw emotions between you seemed to quiet for just a second. Your heart pounded in your chest, but not out of fear this time—it was something else, something deeper.

His eyes searched yours for a brief moment, as if making sure you were okay with what was about to happen. And then, slowly, he leaned down, closing the small distance between you. His lips met yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache, the kiss soft, slow, full of all the unspoken emotions that had been swirling between you for what felt like forever.

The world outside seemed to fade away, the storm, the fear, the uncertainty, all of it dissolving as his lips moved against yours. It was a kiss that wasn’t rushed or desperate, but one that spoke of relief and connection—like he was trying to tell you with every brush of his lips that no matter how hard things got, he was still here, still with you.

You melted into him, your hands instinctively reaching up to rest against his chest as you kissed him back, the warmth of his body grounding you in the moment. Every fear, every doubt you’d carried over the past few weeks seemed to evaporate, replaced by the overwhelming sense of safety that came with being close to him.

When he finally pulled back, just slightly, he rested his forehead against yours again, both of you breathing heavily from the weight of the moment. His hand moved from your chin to the back of your neck, gently holding you in place, like he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

“I’m not going anywhere”, Jensen whispered again, his voice rough with emotion. “No matter what happens, I’m right here with you. Always”.

Your chest tightened with emotion as you nodded, unable to find the words to say what you were feeling. Instead, you leaned into him again, pressing your lips to his, this time with a little more urgency, needing to feel the reassurance of his presence, needing to know that he really was there, that you weren’t alone in this.

Jensen kissed you back, his grip tightening slightly on the back of your neck as he pulled you even closer, his other arm wrapping around your waist. His kiss was deeper this time, more sure, more certain, and you could feel the shift in him, the way he was letting go of some of the fear and replacing it with the quiet determination to face whatever came next together.

When you finally pulled away again, you rested your head against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat comforting you in a way that nothing else could. He held you there for a long moment, his chin resting on top of your head as his arms wrapped securely around you, as if he was making sure you knew that he was still with you, still holding you close.

“We’re going to be okay”, Jensen whispered, his voice steady now, full of quiet conviction. “No matter what happens, we’re going to be okay”.

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you believed him.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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[normatural]

Echoes of Souls | A.T

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Summary: In the old, abandoned castle, she found a love letter addressed to her, written by someone who died a century ago.

Word Count: 2.328

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote something and my writing is a bit rusty so please bear with me :) Feedback is always welcome. I love to know your opinions and questions. English isn't my first language so excuse any mistakes but feel free to point them out to help me improve.

Aemond's masterlist

Chapter Two: Back to the Fire

As the first light of dawn filtered through the broken windows, you roused yourself from sleep. The dream's vivid fragments lingered in your mind, each scene suffused with an inexplicable emotion. A longing that you couldn’t quite understand. Determined to uncover more of these echoes of the past, you decided to explore the mansion's grounds. The repairs could wait another day.

The garden, though now overgrown and wild, still held a certain beauty of its past. Weeds mingled with the remnants of perennials that had once been meticulously tended. Ancient statues stood silhouetted against the rising sun, their stone faces weather-beaten but still graceful. You wandered through the garden, trying to trace the paths from your dream.

Every step seemed to draw you closer to something just out of reach, a secret waiting to be unveiled. You reached a wrought iron gate, barely hanging on its hinges, and carefully pushed it open. Beyond lay what seemed to be the castle's graveyard, shrouded in a somber stillness. Moss-covered statues stood as silent chronicles of lives long past. Like ghosts in a forgotten house. 

Your heart began to pound as your eyes scanned the names at the bottom of the figures. Graves. You moved through the rows, pausing occasionally to read a name or a date. Most of them passed really young. Just as expected when a war is looming. The royal name appearing over and over again. And then you saw it—an elaborately carved white stone, still pristine despite the years. The name etched into the stone made your breath catch in your throat: Aemond Targaryen.

You’ve studied in college that the royal family used to be burnt in pyres by their dragons so it was odd to see those statues in the field as some sort of graveyard. Perhaps it was a way to honor the royal family, just like a museum. A reminder of the past.

Overwhelmed with a mix of sorrow and wonder, you knelt before the grave. The inscription was simple but profound, speaking to a life of duty, passion, and an untimely end. You traced the letters with your fingers, feeling a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion and recognition. The statue was almost a carbon copy of the man you had seen in your dream.

A rustling sound caught your attention. You looked up to see a black bird perched on Aemond’s shoulder, its dark eyes reflecting a startling intelligence as it seemed to stare deeply in your eyes. The bird regarded you for a moment, then took flight, its inky feathers stark against the morning sky. You watched as it flew to a massive tree, the only one still vibrant with life, its leaves a deep, blood-red hue. Unable to ignore the goosebumps in your skin.

Drawn by an invisible force, you rose and walked towards the tree. It seemed similar to the one you had seen earlier. Its red leaves stand proudly against the soft breeze. The tree's bark was rough against your hand as you gently touched it, feeling a strange energy pulsating beneath the surface. Like blood pumping in veins. Such an ancient piece that endured time way better than its surroundings. Suddenly, the world began to spin. Colors blended and swirled, and your vision blurred. You tried to hold onto the tree, but your strength waned, and you succumbed to the overwhelming dizziness, collapsing to the ground.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you noticed was the sky, clear and blue above you. Pushing yourself up, disoriented, you looked around, touching your throbbing head. The once-overgrown garden was now meticulously manicured, the statues restored to their former glory. The world around you was vibrant and alive, brimming with the sounds of life. It was like being pulled back to that dream again.

Heart hammering, you realized you were no longer in the abandoned castle’s grounds. You were… in the past, in the Targaryen age. If that was even possible. Maybe you were going crazy but the castle loomed majestically behind you, its towers and walls gleaming in the sunlight. 

Voices and the sounds of bustling activity drew you towards the main courtyard. You blended in surprisingly well, your attire somehow fitting in with the period. As you moved through the crowd, your mind buzzed with the realization of where - and when - you were. The Targaryen age.

Everywhere you looked, there were signs of the looming strife. Soldiers in armor, courtiers whispering urgently to one another, and the dark, foreboding presence of the dragons, their cries echoing in the skies above. Something was about to happen and it didn’t leave a good feeling to your guts.

Your thoughts raced as you tried to comprehend your situation. You had somehow traveled back in time, to a world that had existed centuries ago. A world where Aemond was alive. Where dragons flew in the sky… When one of the greatest wars was unfolding.

You made your way back to the garden, the same spot where you had seen the man with white hair. It was exactly as you remembered it from your dream - vibrant, full of life, and breathtakingly beautiful. As you walked, your heart skipped a beat when you saw Aemond in the distance, speaking with a group of knights as they walked in the out the gates. He seemed just as you had seen in her dreams, every bit the imposing and mystery figure you had come to know… somehow.

As you watched from a distance, trying to hear anything that wasn’t your thrumming heartbeat, a voice broke through your racing thoughts.

"Lady Vaela!" Startled, you turned to see a maid hurrying towards you, her expression a mix of concern and urgency. "My lady, you are not yet ready! The ceremony will begin soon."

"What ceremony?" you asked, voice shaky. The maid seemed taken aback by your furrowed brows but recovered quickly.

Fear of being caught and hanged for wandering around the castle was the only thing keeping you from tripping on your feet as you followed the maid through the dark and imposing halls. She had recognized you, or better, who she assumed you were. And that may be something good. They’d hang someone known by staff.

"Your wedding, my lady. To Prince Aemond Targaryen. Come, we must make haste!"

The world around you seemed to spin again, but this time with a dizzying revelation. Her dream, her memories - it was all falling into place. They were your memory. You were Vaela… Or perhaps, you were in another dream. You followed the maid in a daze, questions swirling in your mind. How did you end up here? Why did they recognize you? 

The maid led you through the bustling corridors of the castle, and you took in the splendor of the surroundings - the rich tapestries, the gleaming armor, the hurried preparations of the household. It all felt surreal as if you were walking through someone else's life.

They arrived at your chamber - you supposed-, and the maid quickly set to work, helping you bathe and change into the elaborate wedding gown that awaited. It was a breathtaking creation of silks and lace, embroidered with the sigils of House Targaryen. As the maid adjusted your veil and added the final touches, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the polished metal. The reflection looking back at you was both familiar and strange, a mixture of your past self and the woman you had become. It was you and yet it wasn’t. 

"You look beautiful, my lady," the maid said with a warm smile. "Prince Aemond is a fortunate man."

The words brought a flush to your cheeks, and you took a deep breath to steady yourself. This was happening. Your heart raced with a mix of fear and excitement. When would you wake up?

As the preparations concluded, the maid guided you towards the grand hall where the ceremony was to take place. The hall was filled with guests, a sea of faces you did not recognize but who seemed to know you. High lords and ladies, knights, and nobles, all turned to watch as she made her entrance.

The hall itself was a marvel of Valyrian architecture, adorned with dragon motifs and glittering chandeliers. Some of them you had the luck of seeing in museums, others in your history books but most of them were never seen in your century. At the far end, standing tall and regal, was Aemond Targaryen. His white hair gleamed under the chandeliers, and his one good eye fixed on you with a burning intensity, making your stomach do black flips.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Every step you took echoed through the hall together with your heartbeat or maybe that was just your nerves. Your mind racing with a multitude of emotions. This was the moment you had dreamt of since childhood - to wed in a palace-, yet it was more real and overwhelming than you could have imagined. You didn’t know that man and still, you haven’t tried to run away since you awoke there.

As you approached, Aemond stepped forward to take your hand. His grip was firm yet gentle, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. For a moment, time seemed to stop as their eyes met, the connection between them sparking and palpable. It was as if their souls were recognizing each other, despite the chasm of time that had separated them. Could he know that you weren’t his beloved Vaela? If so, he didn’t let it show.

The ceremony began, a blend of Valyrian rites and Targaryen traditions. The words of the officiant washed over you as you stood beside Aemond, your hand still clasped in his. Somehow it was the only thing keeping you from fainting right there. 

"Sȳndor bē naejot māzigon hen ñuha prūmia, ao issi ñuha ēngos, ñuha prūmia, se ñuha gevives. Nyke daorūbagon ao va īlva gīmigon, īlva vūjigon, se īlva ānogar. Iā vala mēre, ȳdrā ēdruty. Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor, sepār iksan sȳndroro gūrogon." Aemond purple’s eye was focused on yours, the words leaving his lips seemed to held a deeper power to it. "As we come together from my heart, you are my light, my heart, and my strength. I bind you to our love, our life, and our future. As one man and one woman, always together. A dragon does not bow, yet I am humbled by your love."

The vows were spoken in High Valyrian, their meaning both ancient and profound. 

"Sȳndor bē naejot māzigon hen ñuha prūmia, ao issi ñuha ēngos, ñuha gevives, se ñuha bantis. Nyke daorūbagon ao va īlva gīmigon, īlva prūmia, se īlva rhaenagon. Iā valar mēre, ēdruta va gevie. Zaldrīzes ōños iksā, se nyke ēdrur ao va gevivys.” Your mind only raced further with innumerous thoughts as the supposedly foreign words slipped so easily out of your lips. “As we come together from my heart, you are my light, my strength, and my night. I bind you to our love, our heart, and our dreams. As two souls, bound in strength. You are a dragon of shadows, and I honor you in the darkness."

 With each word, the bond between them seemed to grow stronger, as if the very fabric of time was weaving their destinies together. Again.

When the moment came to seal their union, Aemond leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft yet powerful kiss. Awakening something long torpid in your chest. The hall erupted in applause, but for you, the world had narrowed to just the two of you. Love and passion radiating from him, a promise of what was to come.

As the ceremony concluded, the people were led to the grand banquet hall where the celebrations would continue. The hall was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. You found yourself surrounded by well-wishers and congratulations, yet your focus remained on Aemond, who surprisingly stayed by your side like an anchor in the storm of emotions.

As the evening progressed, you took the chance to accept every goblet of wine that was offered to you in hopes it’d control your mind. You sat down on the chair, eyes quickly finding your.. husband as he spoke to whom you assumed was his brother, King Aegon. It was as if you had known each other for lifetimes.

When they finally found a moment alone amidst the revelry, Aemond took her hand and led her to a quiet alcove. "Vaela," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "I know this may feel overwhelming, but trust in our love. We are destined for each other, no matter the challenges we may face."

You looked into his eye as the crease between your brows deepened, seeing the sincerity and passion there. But there was something else there. Knowledge. He knew. "I’m back, Aemond," you replied, your voice surprisingly steady. "And I am ready to face whatever comes our way, as long as we are together."

He smiled a rare and genuine expression that made your heart soar. "Then let us embrace our destiny, my love. Together, we shall conquer all."

His words seemed to strike something on you. Unlock whatever your memory was keeping from you as pages of books and illustrations flashed in your mind. The name Targaryen is in all of them. Your heart sank as you looked at Aemond. You’ve read about his death. What if... That was the reason you were sent there? To avoid it.

As they stood there, hand in hand, the world around them seemed to fade away. They were no longer bound by the constraints of time, but rather united by a love that spanned centuries. At that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges or trials awaited you, your love was eternal, a flame that would never be extinguished. You had a purpose there. You’d save your lover’s life.

+

Taglist: @donut-seam @strangersunghoon @teasweeter @darktrashsoulbear @m00n5t0n3 @rosey1981 @kniselle @rebloggerist-extraordinaire

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Hi, and welcome to my Tony Stark Masterlist. It is nice to welcome you to my little corner of Tumblr! 🤍

On this Masterlist, you'll find all the one-shots, series, alternate universes, and requests that include fluff, smut, and angst, but each story will have its own appropriate warnings. If you'd like to check out who else I write for, you can check my Main Masterlist!

I do not work with a tag list. If you want to be kept up to date when I post new stories, you can follow @nicoline1998enilocin-library! 🤍

WinterIron || Masterlist

All graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin

|| 🥀 ~ Angst || 🤍 ~ Fluff || 🌶️ ~ Smut ||

A relaxing night at home || 🥀 🤍 🌶️ You've been going through a bit of a rough patch lately and Tony's caught on, so he wants to do everything in his power to make sure you have a nice, relaxing evening at home. This way you won't have to think about work or any other worries for even a second. He will of course join you, because he could use one of those nights himself, too.

Swinging together || 🤍 You have always dreamt of having a porch swing on your porch, and now that you and Tony are moving into your new house, this is the perfect opportunity. He will do everything he can to build it before your baby boy arrives and make your little family complete.

Love by the fire || 🤍 🌶️ Tony has taken you for a weekend away to a small cabin in the woods where it'll be just you two, and no one around for miles to interrupt either of you. The weather outside is cold, but the atmosphere inside the cabin is almost reaching its boiling point as you two can't keep your hands off each other.

I'll always be by your side || 🥀 🤍 What was supposed to be a comfortable, easy Sunday turned into one of the worst as you're caught off guard by your period and in horrible pain. Luckily, your boyfriend, Tony, is by your side the entire time to make you feel better and spoil you absolutely rotten.

Spiked candy || 🤍 🌶️ You've had a crush on Tony for as long as you can remember, but you didn't know he also has one on you. During his annual Halloween party, he makes a move using a project he's been working on for a long time, and they have precisely the desired effect because you couldn't be happier the morning after. Your dream of being his might finally come true after all.

Together forever || 🥀 🤍 🌶️ You and Tony have been head over heels in love with one another for as long as you can remember. It isn't until someone is getting injured and nearly loses their life that your feelings come out, and both of you wish you would have shared your feelings sooner, especially after seeing how fragile a human life is.

His innocent assistant || 🌶️ || Part 2 || 🤍 🌶️ [ Part 1 ] Tony's feeling a little needy, and he can't resist asking his sweet, innocent lab assistant for help. You don't like seeing your boss in discomfort, so you're more than happy to help.

[ Part 2 ] Tony enjoys taking you to his parties as his date since he loves to show off his sweet, innocent assistant to everyone willing to hear about you. This time, however, the party doesn't go entirely to plan as he finds you flirting with none other than the God of Mischief himself, and jealousy takes over his entire being.

Everything I ever wanted || 🤍 🌶️ During your pregnancy, Tony couldn't keep his hands off you, and neither of you could get enough of each other. Now that your twin boys are born, he wants nothing more than to have you pregnant with his babies again, and he'll let you know exactly how he's planning on doing that.

Special assignment || 🌶️ You've had a crush on your professor since the first day you followed his classes, but little did you know you didn't precisely escape his mind either. When he asks you to go to his office for a 'special assignment,' you instantly get excited, looking forward to being alone with him.

Mine || 🤍 🌶️ You've been Tony's PA for many years, and you have both developed feelings for one another over time. When Tony sees you in a beautiful red dress he can't take his eyes off you, and feelings are confessed later that same night. When you spend your first time together it is filled with raw passion, but you wouldn't change it for the world as you're with him.

Mile High Club || 🤍 🌶️ You and Tony have been in a secret relationship for the past seven months, and you're being sent on the first mission for just the two of you since you've become an Avenger. Seeing how the two of you will have nothing but time during the long flight to the other side of the world, he wants nothing more than to make you a part of the Mile High Club.

Warm welcome || 🤍 🌶️ It promises to be a beautiful night at home with your cat and a rom-com playing on the television when you're surprised by your fiancé, Tony. What was supposed to be a three-week mission turned into a two-week one and a surprise welcome, which you're very grateful for.

Love at first sight || 🤍 🌶️ Howard and Maria Stark, the current reigning king and queen, are planning on retiring, but they aren't able to until the heir to the throne is married. Their only son, Tony, feels like it isn't the right time for him to get married, nor does he have anyone he would even think about marrying in the first place. This all changes when you walk into his life and turn his entire plan for the future upside down.

Lovers Garden || 🤍 🌶️ After years of dreaming about starting your life in Italy, the day has finally arrived for your dream to come true. After the exhilarating process of renovating your dream house and turning it into your sanctuary and the anticipation of all your belongings being shipped to the other side of the world, it's time for you to leave New York behind and start your new life with your husband, two-year-old son and the little one on the way.

Discovering Our Love || 🥀 🤍 🌶️ When Tony throws a party after an extended, challenging mission to celebrate its success, you and the other Avengers get wrapped up in a game of truth or dare, which turns out to be the start of the most fantastic love story you’ve ever witnessed: you and Tony. When you’ve gone without warning the next day, Tony can’t help but get distracted every time he thinks about you, the thought of you and your first kiss still fresh in his mind.

Sprinkles Of Romance || 🤍 When your dream of opening your coffee shop becomes a reality, you get a lot more than you bargained for. Not only do you get to fall in love with the shop, you also get to fall deeper in love with your best friend.

The Only One For Me || Part 1 || 🤍 You and Tony have been crushing on one another since the beginning of your time at college, but it’s not until he gets to kiss you during a kissing booth that he finally gathers the courage to ask you out on a date. Once he’s picked you up for said date, he can’t stop telling you how he feels about you, and and he also wants nothing more than to kiss you every chance he gets.

Bare It All || 🤍 🌶️

Healing Hearts || 🥀 🤍 🌶️ || Coming Soon

His Innocent Assistant || 🥀 🤍 🌶️ || Coming Soon

"Marry me" || 🥀 🤍 🌶️

The Power Of Love || 🥀 🤍 🌶️ || Coming Soon

Don't Go Baking My Heart || Baker!Tony Stark || 🥀 🤍 🌶️

Lips Like Sugar || Sugar Daddy!Tony Stark || 🥀 🤍 🌶️

The Love Of My Life || Young!Tony Stark || 🥀 🤍 🌶️

Tony Stark x Fem!Reader x Son!OC

Tony Stark and his hair-pulling kink

Baby, it's cold outside || 🌶️ You've just gotten married to the love of your life, and are currently on your honeymoon in one of the most beautiful countries of the world. The scenery you're looking over is absolutely breathtaking, but your husband is doing everything he can to take that breath away in all different kinds of ways. And of course, there will also be lots of snuggles in front of the big fireplace too.

Touched for the very first time || 🌶️ You and Tony have been going steady for a while, and you're finally ready to take the next step in your relationship. Tony wants to make sure your first time will be unforgettable and takes out all the stops to make you feel like the most special and beautiful woman on earth, which you will always be in his eyes.

Nice and round for me || 🌶️ || Part 2 || 🤍 🌶️ [ Part 1 ] You and Tony are enjoying your honeymoon in Switzerland, and you had a little more to drink this particular night than usual. You still can't keep your hands off one another, but when the night gets more heated, a specific kink of Tony's comes to light, and you can't help but indulge him in his biggest fantasy.

[ Part 2 ] The two of you are absolutely in love with each other and your amazing twin boys. The two of them are like angels sent straight from heaven, and now Tony can't wait to make more kids with you. Especially now that he wants a few that are exact copies of you, after having boys that are his carbon copy.

Making a new friend || 🤍 You've been dropping hints about adding a little feline friend to your family for a long time, but when it seems Tony doesn't pick up on your hints, you drop the subject altogether. That is until he suddenly shows up with a little ginger cat, just like the one you have told him about all this time.

Like a King || 🥀 🤍 🌶️ Your husband had a bad day at work, so you decide to treat him like an absolute king. From a nice home cooked meal to a warm bath and a massage, you're pulling out all the stops to make him feel loved and to turn his day around completely.

Falling in love again || 🤍 🌶️ You've been living abroad for almost a decade, and when you find yourself back in New York, you also find yourself in touch with the man you thought you had said goodbye to forever all those years ago. When the flame reignites, the two of you never let go again and finally live the life you have always dreamt of.

Perfect picnic || 🤍 You've been seeing the one and only Tony Stark for the last few months, and you're not ready for the world to know that, so you're enjoying every minute of peace and quiet you two have together. When he invites you for a picnic to discuss something important, you can't help but think about your future together.

Talk dirty to me || 🤍 🌶️ You have been asked to interview and shadow Tony for a few months regarding his research in nanotechnology and his life as Iron Man. During this time, the sexual tension builds quickly between you two, and when you can't stop staring at him while he's working, the tension snaps, and you learn about a new kink you never knew you had.

Never grow up || 🤍 Your beautiful son came home a few hours ago, and now you witness Tony having a sweet moment with him, making your heart beat faster and filling with love like never before.

I can hear you || 🌶️ After a rather intimate moment in the kitchen with Tony, you go to your room to take the edge off for yourself. When he happens to walk by and hear you moan out his name, he can't help himself as he walks in, wanting to give you the pleasure you're so desperately craving from him.

A drunk mind speaks a sober heart || 🤍 🔥 You and Tony have been mutually pining for months, and he finally reveals his feelings during a party—albeit after a few too many drinks. The next day, you go out to confront Tony about it, and what happens next is better than you could have ever dreamed.

Reflection || 🤍 🌶️ The sexual tension between you and Tony has been steadily rising for the past few months. After the latest victory tour, it's reaching an all-new height before boiling over, marking the start of a new adventure for you both.

[ohtobeleah]

Flight Deck // Bob Floyd

-> Prologue: Conspiracy Theories

Summary: In an attempt to prevent Bob from running for the hills believing you’re a murderer. You sit him down to discuss your past.

Warnings: Mentions of Death of a loved one. Mentions of house fire. Bob Floyd x F!reader.

Word Count: 3.4k

Author Note: Day Twenty Four of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Disowned by Family, Oxygen Deprivation, Silent Treatment. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Flight Deck Masterlist

The cafe was closed. The flashing open sign that signaled to patrons that premium coffee beans were ready to be freshly ground and a plethora of pastries, toasted sandwiches, crumbly but oh so gooey cookies and massive muffins were fresh and ready to be devoured, was switched off against the window. 

The awkward silence that filled the atmosphere was almost too much to handle as Bob sat across from you in the book nook. There was a flat white with one sugar and a macaroon sitting on a small tea plate before him. He didn’t like macaroons, but there had only been a few items left to choose from come closing and his favourite apple and cinnamon muffins had all but vanished from the menu.

It was his fault really, he’d been caught up in his own insecurities for far too many weeks to realise the damage he’d unintentionally caused. You didn’t deserve to be ghosted like he ghosted you. The silent treatment was a poor representation of the man he wanted to be. He never should have believed you were capable of such things. The rumors he had heard about you had a nasty bite. They left a sour taste in Bob's mouth—sometimes he wished he’d never listened, and especially the Jake fucking Seresin of all people. What Hyde saw in him Bob would never truly know. 

“You don't owe me an explanation—“ Bob began as he looked down at his hands that rested between his thighs under the table. He’d been picking at his cuticles for the past ten minutes as you shut the cafe down to other customers and locked the front door. It was one of those rare occasions where your son, five year old Oliver Lipscombe, was at after school vacation care. 

“You’ve already heard the rumours.” You replied, there was a sadness in your voice Bob couldn’t miss. He knew he’d hurt you. It was never his intention, but his fight or flight response had kicked in and his immediate reaction was to avoid you at all costs. It was his brain's defense system telling him that he was in danger, to run as far away as he possibly could so that he wouldn’t be hurt. 

He grew up doing that, running away from any situation that could have caused him any kind of pain. Emotionally or physically. Bob Floyd was a runner, a flight risk of you will. 

And that’s exactly what the Weapons Systems Officer who had started to fall in love with you did, despite his heart screaming at him to stick around and just ask you what the hell was going on and why there was a rumour: 

A rumour that you’d killed your fiancé and burned your house to its very foundation to hide the secrets you kept close to your chest. 

“I've never talked about this with anyone besides my lawyers before.” The zucchini and corn fritter that sat on the tea plate in front of you had gone stone cold. Usually you looked forward to a treat after you closed up. 

But sitting across from Robert Floyd, the first man you’d ever bothered to look at let alone entertain the idea of beginning a new chapter of your life with, since your entire life was turned upside down, you hardly had any appetite. 

“It’s always stayed with me—and it’s taken me three years to push it back from this cortex part of my brain.” You point to your head, hopefully explaining what your therapist had told you to Bob. “To the frontal part of my brain, the memory.” Again, you pointed to your head—only this time your finger touched your forehead gently. “It took me three years to just put him somewhere else in my mind with the help of psychiatrists and the clinicians.” Bob could tell you were already becoming visibly upset, the teary look of numbness and pain lurked behind your gaze as you looked towards him, but not at him. It was like you were looking right past him as he sat before you. “They helped me move him around so that he wasn’t going to be in my mind's eye in the daytime or in the night time—or any time.” 

Three years ago your entire life changed. Just shy off three months ago you thought the missing pieces to your very traumatic puzzle were coming together again. When you first met Bob you were a little weary, afraid to put yourself out there. But he lingered. His presence was welcome and soon enough you found yourself making unapologetic advances towards the reserved but gentle man who adored your apple and cinnamon muffins. 

But six weeks ago, Robert Floyd took you and your son, Oliver, out for dinner at the Hard Deck and he never returned your texts after. He didn’t call or stop by. Your apple and cinnamon muffins began to rot and go stale in the display. Turns out you really were just making that particular recipe for him. 

“The human body, or the human mind, Bob—isn’t perfectly equipped to deal with trauma despite our very need to believe it can handle everything life throws your way.” That’s what your therapist had told you when the nightmares wouldn’t go away. That’s what she had told you when you could smell the smoke in your room when you laid awake at night. That’s what your therapist had told you when you had been named a person of interest. 

Bob sat quietly, watching and listening to you speak like you were on autopilot, like you were reciting an analysis done by some professional who had assessed your physiological state of mind. Still—your eyes remained trained on him, but you were looking right through him. It was eerie, to say the very least. 

“The brain can't be positioned to deal with the tragedy of another human being being murdered, it just reminds you that it could’ve as easily have been you or someone you love, and when it is someone you love, when something like that happens to someone close to you—the brains just doesn’t know how to exist with that kind of trauma.” 

“So—“ Bob spoke up in the lingering silence as you dropped your eyeline down to the cup of tea that was now lukewarm that sat beside your fritter. “What exactly does the mind do?” 

You let the silence echo off the walls of your humble cafe. The Flight Deck as it was appropriately called for the Navy Town that had taken you in with open arms. Accepting the stray you were like you had done with your cat, Oreo, that was older than some of the Admirals that frequented your caffeine corner. You let the silence go for as long as you could—until it was thick and all consuming and you had to remind yourself to breathe again. It was always that burning feeling, your lungs igniting from a lake of oxygen that reminded you to breathe. 

“It starts to play games.” You sighed as you tried to let go of the pressure that had built up in your jaw. Anxiety laced your nervous system as you spoke and Bob could practically smell it. “It starts trying its best to process the grief, the loss, the pain.” 

It made sense in a way, Bob had truly never stopped and looked back at his own past, he’d never tried to process his sorrow or his own feelings about what had happened to him during his early childhood and teenage years. He just repressed the rage, the anger, the feelings of betrayal and despair that he felt and ran. He ran as far away as he could and never looked back. 

Now? He was sitting in a small but beautifully designed coffee shop owned by the most beautiful woman on the planet, listening about how the mind isn’t equipped to deal with trauma. Ironic isn’t it? 

“Sometimes if you’re lucky your brain just decides to block the memory all together, but sometimes it begins to create scenarios.” You reached out to rip a little bit of your fritter off as Bob remained still, he was just trying to soak up everything you were saying. “It starts to question the ‘who done it’s’ and the ‘how comes’ and the small intricate details that could have been avoided to avoid the disaster and the choices made that ultimately led to it.” You paused for a second, taking a small but satisfying bite of the cold fritter to stop your stomach from doing backflips. “And when none of that helps? It looks for a different angel, conspiracy theories are born, it’s the very reason why the whole ideology that the Bush administration was responsible for September Eleventh came about.” 

In your book nook there sat a book that had always caught Bob's eyes. Ground Zero by Alan Gratz. He could see it behind you just off to the left, shoved between an array of true crime, fiction and biographies. The books were communal—like a library built on a trust system. You take a book, you bring it back and if you have any old books at home you’d like to share? They always have a spoke on the oak shelves. 

“People need answers to help them process the utter magnitude of such a tragedy, and when they don’t find it internally, and still can’t process the facts laid out in front of them, the brain searches elsewhere.” Your sudden chuckle caught Bob by surprise as you wiped away tears that streamed down your cheeks. “And you always think conspiracy theories are wild and far-fetched and exactly what they are—theories designed to help people’s minds deal with trauma that their brains can’t comprehend.” That’s when you really took a deep breath in for a moment and looked up at Bob through watery lashes and deep sorrow. 

“You always think that conspiracy theories are fake and aren’t grounded in any kind of truth or reality until you're suddenly in the middle of one and your brain is running a million miles an hour trying to understand what the hell is happening.” 

Bob knew that your name was shrouded in rumors he never should have believed. He felt so guilty for allowing his own personal issues with trust and loyalty to alter his perception of you. As he sat across from you and watched your tears fall freely, he knew he should have just asked sooner, he never should have grown distant, tried to back away, he should have just asked what happened. 

“My fiancé was murdered.” You explained as quickly and as calmly as you could. “We’d been arguing earlier that same day about some upcoming bills that were due to be paid towards our wedding.” It seemed so arbitrary the more you said it, whenever you did think about it you caught yourself wondering had things been less heated that morning, you wouldn’t be sitting here—defending yourself in front of a man that had broken your heart before he even got a chance to officially be anyone beyond the title of ‘Close, sometimes we have sex, my son thinks you’re his best friend, friends.’ 

“He decided that he was going to go for a run around the estate.” You had to pause for a moment as Bob raised an eyebrow your way. It wasn’t the mention of murder that got his attention—it had been the mention of an estate. “The Lipscombes are old money, estates, luxury homes, cars, hotels, restaurants, you name it.” 

“What was his name?” You hadn’t been asked that question ever. It took you a moment to process as you just stared at Bob in shock. “Your fiancé? What was his name?” 

“Harrison—“ A little over two years had passed since you had said his name out loud. “He liked Harry.” Bob saw a genuine smile creep itself across your face, he adored it. It was one of the many things he admired about you—your infectious smile. It didn’t last long however. “It was such a petty argument and I spent a lot of time wondering if we had just paid what the photographer wanted then he’d still be here.” 

“Can I uh—“ Through a nervous croak Bob cleaned his throat and shifted in his position. “Sit next to you?” It was a simple question really, but the weight of it was truly something else. 

Bob really did like you, he’d just made a horrible choice in judgment. 

You nodded in response silently as your bottom lip trembled with a sorrow all consuming. Bob was quick to move from sitting across from you, to beside you with an arm slung up and around your shoulders to draw you into him for comfort. 

“He never came back.” You continued explaining your past through tears that seeped into Bob's flight suit. He’d come straight from work to the cafe with another bunch of apology flowers. He was as unrelenting as he was endearing. “And I can still remember that feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, that feeling that something was wrong, Ollie was only young, he doesn’t know that his dad was killed, he just knows that he died.” 

“What happened?” Bob asked tentatively as he held you, your face was pressed into the comfort of his shoulder and chest as you slid down the booth a little.

“It’s still unsolved.” It gave Bob the chills. “But after three days of searching the property we found his body in the shrubbery that led into the forest, beaten up, stabbed, he was unrecognisable.” 

“Oh my gosh—“ It was pretty confronting to hear, but as Bob held you close and guided you through what he could only describe as remembering the worst day of your life, he knew that the more he knew, the more he understood, the easier it would be to move forward.

“Yeah, he was the love of my life.” You didn’t want it to be a secret. “Besides the odd argument, which just so happened to have happened before he died, we were good.” You could remember quite easily what it was like to be loved by someone. “We loved each other so much, there was no malice or spite or secrets.” That’s when you paused and sat up out of Bob's hold to take a sip of your tea. The lukewarm liquid soothed your throat, calmed your nerves and grounded you in reality. 

“So when I was being asked to come in for questioning a few days after his body had been found I didn’t know what to think.” 

“The police thought you were the one who killed him?” 

“Them and the entire town.” You nodded as you pressed your lips together. “Trial by judgment doesn’t leave a hell of a lot of room for innocent until proven guilty.” 

“What about his family?” Bob was invested now, not that he wasn’t before. But the more you spoke and the more you told your story the more Bob felt himself understanding. “What did they think?” 

“Oh—“ You had to laugh through the painful memories, Bob just pulled you back into him when he saw you shake your head in defeat. “They were the first ones to point blame, someone killed their baby boy and the only possible person who could have done it was the soon to be wife.” 

The Lipscombes were old money, which meant they had a hell of a lot of assets to protect. It made sense why they turned on you so quickly when their son turned up dead after an argument with his soon to be wife. But what didn’t make sense was how easily they portrayed you as a woman with ill intentions. 

“I loved him so much, with all my heart for five beautiful years Bob, and those people who I considered family, who are my son’s family, decided without any hesitation that it was my doing, that I was capable of murder.” 

But the worst part of all was still yet to be told. You had never spoken to anyone about the events that took place the night before you decided to run and never look back.

“Family isn’t always forever.” Bob understood better than most just how easy it could be for the people who were meant to love you the most could turn their backs on you. “And I gotta say, if they were so quick to ostracize you then they weren’t good enough to be a part of your life.” 

“Little hypocritical coming from the man who thought he was going to be my next victim don’t you think?” Okay, Bob deserved that. He took the hit but instead of pulling away to sit in his own shame, he leaned in and gently tilted your chin up. For a second he hesitated, wondering if he was crossing some invisible line. But when your teary, water filled eyes trailed between his baby blue orbs and soft lips that tasted of spearmint gum, he knew that it was safe to gently press his lips against yours. 

The kiss was fleeting, but was well received. You didn’t hesitate to kiss Bob back in your moment of weakness. Talking about your late fiancé’s death in your cafe with the man you so hoped would love you with all your baggage in toe seemed like something right out of an episode of the twilight zone. But, you pulled away and continued telling your story. You wanted everything laid out on the table for Bob to access and decide if he could handle it. 

If he couldn’t? You wouldn’t blame him. You’d be all alone again but at least that meant no one could hurt you. 

“Eventually the police dismissed me as a person of interest, they had no evidence to support that I was involved and the security footage from the front and back doors all showed I didn’t leave the house in the timeframe the coroner determined the time of death.” 

You could smell it, the burning smell of smoke that deprives you of oxygen. It lingered in the air around you as much as it did in your memories. You hadnt smelt it in years—the smell of your entire life burning down around you. 

“Logan, one of Harry’s best mates since high school had come over to help me clean up the house, he cooked dinner and I put Ollie to bed and said goodnight and I ended up just crashing on the lounge.” Bob knew what was coming next, he remembered Hangman telling him when he was on his high horse. 

But knowing the rough outline never came close to the actual details. 

“It was the smell.” You sobbed as Bob held you tight. “I couldn’t breathe.” Oxygen deprivation was something you’d never experienced to the degree you did that night. “The smoke was so thick and consuming, I woke up coughing and couldn’t see.” 

“The house was on fire.” Bob mumbled against the top of your head, he was just trying to process everything you were telling him. And you were trying not to spiral back into that moment. 

“HELP!!” The house was full of thick black smoke as everything went up in flames. “HELP ME! SOMEBODY?” You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face as you shot up from the couch. “OL—“ Allconsuming smoke filled your lungs as you coughed and splattered and tried to cover your mouth. “OLIVER!” 

“I crawled my way over to where I thought the stairs were and raced up to grab Oliver from his room.” You remembered it all too well, the feeling of not being able to breathe, the smell, the fear of losing your child after losing his father. “I was practically hanging him out the window by the time the fire brigade arrived, the neighbours who owned the estate across the way were up and saw the orange flames.” 

“Do you know what caused it, the fire?” Bob asked as you calmed a little in his warm embrace. The next two words that left your mouth sent chills down Bob's spine. He thought maybe you left a candle burning, that maybe the oven was on? That perhaps there was an electrical fault or lightning stuck somewhere. 

While Bob was searching for an explanation, he could still smell the smoke. All the oxygen from your body had been absorbed and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see. It was like you were being totally consumed once again by that deprivation. That all consuming smoke that nearly killed you. But when you felt Bob's hands in yours? Suddenly—you could speak. 

“It's still undetermined.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

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[thedomesticanthropologist]

What would the bg3 companions do if Tav fixed a home-made meal and cleaned up their stuff for them, studio ghibli style?

I had to take quite a bit of time to think on this one because it would vary wildly depending on /when/ this happened. So, I am re-using my favorite scenario that was widely popularized over 20 years ago by the Gundam Wing fandom for fanfiction purposes, and we are going to say:

"The companions find a safe house where they must hole-up for several weeks before a major confrontation/continuing their journey. It provides a needed opportunity for respite and recovery, a moment to breathe in the eye of the storm." timeline: late Act 3

Tav prepares a home-made meal that takes them the entire day to make. Grilled fish fresh from the river, bread from scratch with herbs from the garden folded into it and butter spread across the top. Potatoes from the garden sliced, seasoned, roasted. Chicken caught and killed that very morning and boiled into a stew with pounds of fresh vegetables - and more. Yams, parsnips, salad greens, All they could find in the cellar, in the surrounding abandoned garden and small farmstead they had settled in. The type of meal that filled a table so thoroughly there was almost no place left to sit if one tried to have their meal at the table.

It had been so long since they had a home to care for, and this journey had given precious little time for such things as careful cleaning and cooking. The little cottage was full of delicious smells, a warm fire burned in the hearth and heated the entire space. The companions, who had all been out for the day on various missions, arrived back to find not only this, but more.

All of the clothes laundered, scented with lavender from the garden. All of their armor polished and scrubbed, weapons cleaned, packs tidied. Rooms swept of cobwebs, bedding replaced. Perhaps a little bit of magic had been used, for everything was dry as well as clean. How would they respond?

Gale: Warmth and joy. He breaks out into a huge smile and fills the room with compliments on everything youve done. A stickler for detail and known for his verbosity, he leaves out no single comment nor does he miss the chance to reflect on what each detail reminds him of - his mothers cooking, his home, the soul-brightening joy of fresh bedding pulled tightly over a clean mattress. He would do all of the clean up after dinner, showing his appreciation not only in words but affirming them with his actions as well.

Karlach: She gets choked up. Honestly. "you didnt have to" isnt on her mind at all, shes just incredibly grateful. You get the biggest bear hug and a shuddering voice of gratitude in your ear. It hasnt been just 'so long' since shes had this level of care- she never has. Nothing like this. She will remember this for the rest of her life, no matter how long or short that life may be. You gave her something that healed a part of her permanently.

Wyll: Flushed and flustered. HE would be heavy on the "you shouldnt have- I would have helped! had you only asked-" Embarassed almost, in the way that he responds, as if he feels bad that he hadnt been able to pre-empt this scenario and find a way of doing it for you first. He feels... guilty. Tries to hide it with gratitude. Is a little quieter than usual.

Lae'zel: Asks what you expect in exchange for services rendered. Makes a quip about you being suited for running an inn as much as you are for battle. Clears her plate, then another. Goes a little quiet for a moment. Then: "You didnt need to. A waste of your time to cater to us thusly. (long pause) .... thank you."

Shadowheart: Questions why, wonders if youve done it to soften the blow of some oncoming bad news. Spends most of her time teasing the other companions for their reactions but in a way where its clear that shes guiding them towards more grateful responses. She smiles at you warmly and softly across the table, eyes twinkling. Her gentle teasing of you is filled with subtle offers of repaying the kindness in ways that you will not be able to expect or predict later on so that she may surprise you in kind. Also, to ensure you cannot reject her because you dont know whats coming or when.

Halsin: Very clearly thanks you with direct eye contact. If your relationship is good, he holds both your hands in his and gives them a firm but caring squeeze. All of his feelings are in his eyes and his words are exceptionally heartfelt and to the point. He has no issues with being appreciative or straightforward, and this meant a lot to him. Offers to run your bath for you later, since Gale is doing the dishes. Probably offers to wash your hair. Comes on to you a bit, he cant help it. Heart eyes 1000%

Astarion: Awkward. Uncomfortable. Initially tries to play it off with pomp and flourish, goes to hint that you just wanted to rifle through everyones things while no one was home. Does, actually, double check all of his belongings. You cant fault him for being who he is. Questions you with a deep frown, but waits to do so until he has you cornered in the back of the hallway where he waited for you to come out of the privy. You reassure him, and hes huffy about it. It takes a lot for him to go from accusational to deflated. Laments he cant enjoy the meal you prepared, only to be presented with a live hog in the store room and a bottle of red wine. You didnt forget. He stares, stutters out his gratitude. Does not apologize for grilling you. Body language towards you for the next few days has a distinct affectionate companionability to it. Small genuine smiles half hidden behind wine glasses.

[thebunnyslibrary]

To Someone From a Warmer Climate

summary. On Halloween night, a storm rages on outside your door. But when the sheriff of the nearby town arrives and reveals his true nature to you, you will be caught in your own storm in desire and fear.

characters. Witch!Reader x Demon!Lee Bodecker

wc. 4.8k

warnings. Non/Dub!Con, Forced Mating/Marriage, Housewife Kink, Threats and Mentions of Violence, Blood.

an. Happy Halloween! Thank you for joining me for my first Halloween Collection.

BunBun’s Spoop-tober Collection Masterlist / Main Masterlist

It was the Samhain, All Hallow’s Eve…Halloween. A storm raged on outside, but you could still feel the moon’s power from behind the clouds. The storm itself actually made you feel calm, content, knowing you were safe for the night in your cozy cabin. You’d put out an extra place setting on your table and even dribbled some candy across it just for fun. You were planning a mute supper of the delicious smelling stew bubbling away in your crockpot (much more convenient than a cauldron, in your opinion).

Cooking was your specialty in magic, infusing spells and potions into food to help absorb them faster, and strengthening the effect. Tonight, you were testing a new potion to infuse with the stew; made to keep you warm and give you strength through the cold winter months. After dinner, you planned to cozy up to by the warm fire and tuck in with a collection of scary stories with some Nina Simone records.

 Suddenly, a loud banging noise outside the door made you jump. At first, you thought it was just the storm, but you heard someone hollering, you rushed and threw open the door, fearing it was some poor lost soul. Instead, there stood a mountain of a man.

Tall and stocky with a wide brim hat doing its best to keep rain off his face where dark blue eyes peered at down at you. Soft pink lips pursed in a thin line were framed by 5 o clock shadow. He wore a black windbreaker with a shiny gold star pinned to his chest. You knew him; Lee Bodecker, the sheriff of the local mortal town just outside the wood.

                “Evening ma’am, may I come in?” Wiping your hands on your sweater and crossing your arms over your chest, you eyed him suspiciously. However, you couldn’t sense anything too malicious about him. You stepped back, letting him enter and watching as he easily crossed your threshold. You knew your dwelling was protected from negative forces. You’d made well and sure of that.

                 “Is there something I can help you with?” you asked as you shut the door, not wanting any trouble and trying to be polite. You knew sometimes the teenagers of the town came into the woods to drink or fuck, especially on Halloween night. You’d hoped the storm would keep them away, but if the sheriff was here, maybe something had happened.

                “Wellness check, ma’am. I got a call from some little old lady that said she knew there was a woman living in the woods. She wanted to make sure you hadn’t been flooded out.” He explained. A smile spread across your lips as you breathed a silent sigh of relief.

 There was a woman whose farm backed up almost into the woods. Since her husband died a year ago, a few times a week you would go and help her with some of the chores; and she would give you milk, eggs, and fruits and veggies from the farm. You would also bring her soup and healing herbs when she was sick. She wasn’t aware of your powers, but always thanked you when she remarkably felt better the next day. Of course she called it in; knowing where your house was after you’d brought her there for tea one afternoon.

                “Well, I appreciate you coming all this way Sheriff-”

                “Lee, please” He interrupted. Your skin bristled a little at the interruption, but you nodded gently at him, knowing mortal men could be a little brash sometimes.

                “Lee.” You continued. “But I really am alright. Can I offer you some tea or something for your trouble? I did just mix up some stew.” You’d heard stories about the sheriff, the town hero, who seemed to always be in the right place at the right time. But you were always suspicious of things that were too good to be true. It was your nature as a witch.

However, the man HAD come all the way into the woods in a storm just for one little old lady’s request.  He must have something resembling a heart, you reasoned. You decided to give him some nice warm, strong, stew and slip a little forgetfulness potion into his coffee; then send him on his way, never to remember this place. You could return to your cozy evening.  No harm done.

                “Coffee would be appreciated if you have it.” Lee requested. “And that stew sure does smell good.”

“Have a seat.” You gestured to the chair at your small round table, only fit to hold 3 chairs, 2 of which already had a place set. Lee sat down at the one without, setting his hat down on the table.

“Can I take your coat?” you offered.

“Thank you kindly.” He took his coat off, handing it to you before setting his hat on the table and sitting across from the set place as you hung his coat by the fire. Going back to the kitchen cupboard and grabbing a mug and a bowl. You shook some grounds into a filter, infusing your forgetfulness spell.

Filling the coffee machine with water, you pressed the buttons and let it brew.  You ladled a healthy serving of stew into the bowl and carefully placed it in front of him. He dug in as you sat across from him and tried to think of anything to say. You never had mortal company, only the nice lady who liked to knit and read, just like you; But Sheriff Bodecker didn’t seem the type to knit. Finally, he cleared his throat and asked you.

                “You uh…live alone out here? You had another place set.” He gestured to the table. “Your husband leave you all alone out here?”

                “Of course not.” You answered and he seemed taken aback. “Well, I mean… I don’t have a husband. But I’m not alone. The animals live out here too. And the plants. And my books.” The burbling of the machine caught your attention. “Do you take anything in your coffee? You asked him as you went to pour it into the mug.

“No thank you, ma’am.” He answered. “This stew is absolutely delicious.”

“Thank you, kindly.” You beamed as you set the mug down in front of him. “And I must admit the place setting is more of…personal thing. It’s a Halloween tradition to set a place for those who you have lost in the past.”

                “That’s mighty sentimental of you. Though I’ve never heard of that one. Where’d you learn that?” Lee asked.

“Oh I uhm. I read about in a book.” You said, technically not lying. You just didn’t mention it was a magic book.

“I see.” Lee looked around the room. “You sure do have a lot of books.”

                “Yes, well, sometimes I find the company of the books better than that of people.” You joked, looking to the coffee and hoping Lee would take a sip soon. You looked back at him but his body suddenly seemed a lot closer, his leg resting between yours, leaning against your right knee.

                “Ah c’mon people aren’t too bad. Look at me for example, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Look at him you did. He was decently handsome. Strong arms and a well-built frame. He was heavier set than other men, but you kind of liked that. You knew food was a comfort and you would rather people knew too much than not enough. Even the face you’d been suspicious of when he arrived had a more homely charm as he slurped up the last of his stew. He took a swig of coffee, then turned to face you fully.

“Mmmmm…damn…That’s the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had. And I just love the taste of the forgetfulness potion you added.”  Your heart dropped into your stomach.

                “What did you say?” He didn’t answer, only leaning back in his chair. He blinked and where crystal blue eyes had seemed to make him handsome and rakish; now were two inky black pits. He blinked again and his eyes were human again, but now his irises were crimson red.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You’d dealt with a few lower-level demons in your travels, but never someone who you could walk through your house’s defenses so easily. Usually, any malevolent force was neutralized before it even touched your house. But he…he was something darker.

“I’d heard about a pretty witch living out here in the woods.” Lee continued. “Thought it was just another one of them dippy mortals wearing peace signs. But then that little old lady came in, bringing some brownies she said you’d made. And when I tasted them, I knew for sure. There was a real little witch somewhere in town.

“Though it took me a while to find ya, darling. All them wards and runes…you’ve kept yourself pretty well hidden. But when that same sweet little old lady called in, worried about her friend in the woods, I knew I’d found you and here you are. Hidden away from the world, cooking up spells your nose buried in a mountain of books. All that defensive magic and you opened the front door for me and invited me in. Silly girl.” His eyes raked over your body, studying you.

“Damn, you are something pretty. You got a name, sweetheart?” But your lips tightened. You didn’t want to say another word to him, fearing what else he might be hiding. “Oh, come now, darling. I won’t bite.” But his wolfish grin spoke otherwise.

 You told him your name in the strongest voice you could muster, trying to think of a plan to drive him out. As if reading your mind, Lee gently shook his head.

“Now let’s not do anything foolish sweetheart. I don’t want to get too nasty with you.” He warned.

“What-what DO you want then?” you asked. Lee paused for a moment, reaching across the table to grab a piece of candy, unwrapping it slowly and staring into your eyes as he placed the candy in his mouth, licking his lips as he chewed and swallowed.

“Quite frankly, darling…you. You’re clearly pretty good with the magic, and you’d be even more so with a little training. I’ll have all the power I need. See, I’ve been living like a king for years, feeding off the darkness of the souls in this town.”

“Darkness…?” The woman from the farm was always talking about how wonderful the town was, how safe it was…all because of him.

“Oh yes, sweetheart. There is a darkness in this here town. Seems half the people are born just so they can be buried. And I’ve managed to feed off of it for years. You’d be surprised how many people will give truly anything to get what they want. Sometimes they surprise me, just wanting basic mortal shit they could get if they tried a little harder. But some of them want to watch the world burn. They offer their souls and what happens? The town sheriff stops their crimes before they’ve even started. I look like got damn hero and never have to lift a finger.” He grinned wide. “All the praise of the good people feeding my pride. All the sin of the others feeding my powers.”

“But why…why do you need me?” You asked, meekly. His smile faded and his jaw clenched. His steely gaze and making you shiver and squirm in your chair.

“The good people have started to question me. Why I haven’t settled down with a wife...  And if the good people are questioning me, I can’t clean up the filth in the town. See, I’m thinking about a run for state senator, maybe even governor. And the higher up the ladder you climb, the darker people will get. I can’t do that without a little lady with me to keep me in their good graces.” He stood up now, his hand on the table, leaning in close to you, but you managed to shove the chair away and rushed to the sink, grabbing the sharpest knife you had and pointing it at him. But Lee only shook his head and smiled.

“Now what are you gunna do with that, huh? You certainly don’t have it in you to use it” He mocked, stepping closer to you. He let out a low groan. “And that’s exactly why I want you. Your innocence, and your kind heart are exactly what I need. Someone to look good for the town, show off at all the little local town events, and keep my bed warm at night.” He licked his lips. “So, here’s the deal. You keep my bed warm and my stomach full, and I'll keep the town safe; keep being the hero.” He was standing in front of you now; still holding the knife in your trembling hands as you shook your head. Lee reached up, grabbing the knife like it was nothing, and throwing it somewhere.

Blood ran down his hand but he made no move to wipe it off. Instead, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the cabinets behind you, his lips thundering down upon yours in a harsh and punishing kiss. He bit your lip, making you gasp, giving him a chance to force his tongue into your mouth. Your eyes widening as you swore the end of it was forked. When he pulled away, you were gasping for air. He leaned in close to your ear, his breath hot on your cheek and neck.

 “Maybe you didn’t understand me clearly in that dumb little brain of yours, but I could ruin this town. Your poor little old lady friend? Out on the street. Your library? Closed. I could stand back and make you watch this town suffer. Or you can be my good little housewife.” He leaned back to look at you, his eyes soulless black pits.

 “Or maybe I'll take you out to the town square. And show them what you really are. Some mortals around here get scared, they start getting jumpy…and pretty scary themselves.” Your breath hitched; you knew some mortals, even as time moved forward, who still got too scared of what they didn’t understand and could get violent quickly. It was one reason you kept yourself hidden. “So, what’s it gunna be, little witch?” You stared back at him, your breathing shallow.

 In a flash of quick thinking, you thought to the holy water in your cabinet, and it manifested in your hand. You managed to dump it on his hands, and he roared in pain, letting you escape. If you could make it to the bedroom, your sacred room, you might be able to ward him out, or at least escape to somewhere else.

You were steps away from the threshold when you were suddenly wrenched back and slammed against the wall. Your hands were pinned above your head and your legs were spread wide. You heard Lee down the hall; his heavy footsteps getting closer and closer until he stood directly in front of you.

                “Tsk tsk tsk. Just couldn’t make it easy could you? But that’s okay, Nothing worth having ever is.”

                “But…how…no other magic works in my space…” you stammered. But he only chuckled, relishing in your fear as you struggled against the bond, studying you like a work of art.

“Seems to me you’re in MY space now.” As you fought to free yourself, you realized he was right; nothing in the house, none of your powers were working. “Now Let’s try that again shall we, sweetheart?” 

                “Please…” you begged. “Please don’t do this.”

                “Oh, come now. It ain’t all bad... A powerful demon husband, access to magics you wouldn’t believe, I can make this so good for you.” He forced his hands up your sweater to run them down over your breasts, one hand stopping to fondle your nipple with his thumb while the other slid into your pajama pants, between your legs and cupping your pussy over your panties and rubbing his ring and middle fingers back and forth.

“Well well, for such a good little witch, you sure are dripping wet for me. I’m must say I’m flattered.” He kissed you with a fire that stirred something dark and twisted within your heart and soul.  Something you ignored as a witch who tried to do only good to others.

“God…please...” Your voice was soft, but Lee heard you growled, his hand going from your breast to grab your hair and force your head back. His voice was soft but dangerous in your ear.

“Trust me sweetheart, Even if he gave a shit about you, there’s not a damned thing he could to stop me. You worship me now. Go on, say my name.”

                “Lee…” you breathed heavily. Your resolve was slowly crumbling as you realized there was no way out of this. And that fear, that resolve, was being replaced with desire. The way Lee looked at you seemed like he wanted to devour you whole should’ve terrified you, but you couldn’t deny how wet you were. You didn’t want to want him, but your whimper gave you away.

                “Yeah, baby? You want something? Go on…beg for it…” he ordered; his fingers moving faster as he kissed down your neck, biting gently in just the right spot to make your toes curl. You let out a low moan. Your breathing was heavy as you spoke.

                “You…you promise you won’t hurt the good people?” You asked, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Lee scoffed with a smirk, staring down at you.  

                “Good people, oh if only you knew…but you’ll learn.” Without another word Lee pulled his fingers from your shorts, making your whine in loss and feeling yourself clench around nothing. Lee snapped his fingers and your clothes were gone.

 Before you could react, he grabbed you, lifted you over his shoulder, smacking your ass then storming into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you two and locking it. He tossed you unceremoniously onto your bed, hardly giving you a moment to breathe before he was on top of you. He leaned over you and his black soleless eyes bore deep into yours.

                “The people in this town are bathed in sin. Just you wait and see.” His gaze softened, his eyes returning to their crimson form. He ran one hand down your cheek, using his thumb to hold your chin and force you to look at him. “But you know what, I think you want something darker… I saw some of those books on your shelves. I think you wanna be a little damsel in distress. And I’m more than happy to oblige.” His hand wrapped around your throat; then he leaned down so his lips were just ghosting against your trembling ones.

“How long have you wanted the touch of a strong man?” Your whimper in response only made him grin wider. “You’re adorable and you reek of loneliness. He kissed you deeply before leaning back to rake his eyes fully over your naked form. “So fucking purty…” he growled. “And you taste sweeter than any mortal sin.” He stood up, but you were still unable to move. Your arms crossed over your head and your legs were forced wide.

Wasting no time, he stripped out of his own clothes; Finally he pulled his boxers down to expose his cock which bobbed against his stomach. Your eyes widened in shock at the size.  It had been some time since you’d been with a man, but his thick cock was bigger than you’d ever had. You tried to shy away from him a bit but he stroked it up and down a few times, laughing at the more than apparent shock on your face

“Never had a cock this big before, have you?” he slowly climbed on the bed, kneeling between your legs. “Well not to worry, little witch. I’m here now and I’m gunna take good care of you. Starting by fucking you like the little bitch in heat that you are and making you cum.” He stroked his cock while gently running his fingers up and down your slit.  You wanted to struggle, scream, fight back. But when Lee pressed his thumb down on your clit, you let out a moan and seemed to almost grind against his hand. It was wrong, but it felt so good. He brought the fingers he’d been rubbing you with up to your lips.

                “Suck on em, slut.” Pushing his fingers in your mouth, rather than be repulsed, your tongue laved over his fingers; thoughts clouding your mind of kneeling before him and sucking his cock. “Oh don’t worry, little witch. You’ll be doing that soon enough.” Lee promised. “Tell me you want this cock. Tell me how bad you wanna be my little whore.”

                “Want…want your cock in my pussy Lee…want to be your slut..” you begged.

                “You gunna be my good wife? Give me whatever I want?” You could feel the head of his cock brush against the inside of your thigh.

                “Yes…please…”

                “Open your mouth.” He ordered. You did as he said and he squeezed your cheeks, making sure your mouth stayed open as he leaned over and snarled something in Latin before spitting in your mouth. Your eyes widened as you realized what he was doing but he covered your nose and mouth with his hands. “Swallow it, slut. Swallow it if you wanna breathe again.”  You had no choice but to swallow. Your veins came alive like fire travelling through you as you were now soul bonded together. He let go of you but replaced his hand with his lips in another hard kiss.

You felt the last of your resolve crumbling. You hated yourself, but you wanted him…and he knew it. He snapped his fingers again and now your arms were free to move, but they didn’t fight him, instead they sought to hold him close to you. You wanted to feel him against you, he was so warm compared to the chilly night air. Like a blanket wrapping around you on winter’s first night.

                “Well now, we certainly have changed our mind, haven’t we?” You didn’t answer, turning away, and trying to not meet his leering gaze. But he gripped your chin and forced you to look at him.

                “When I ask you a question, you answer, understand? I’m being real nice here, but I can go back to being mean if you want.” He threatened. But you shook your head softly.

                “No please…I’ll be good…” you whimpered and he smiled.

“I know you will.” He kissed you, taking the chance to push his cock inside you making you moan into the kiss.  His hands were on either side of your head and you dug your nails into his shoulder to try and pull him closer to you.

You pressed your knees tight against his sides as he set a torturous pace. Dragging his cock out slowly so you could feel the head rubbing the walls of your pussy, making you keen and moan. Then pushing back in hard so you felt like you were going to be split in two. 

“Lee…please.” You wanted to beg him to stop but it came out as a plea for more.

                “Such a powerful little witchling, reduced to my wanton whore…” His hands grabbed your breasts, tweaking and rolling your nipples between his calloused fingers. “Gunna be so pretty on my arm. And if you be a good little wife, I’ll buy you all the books you want, and I’ll fuck you to sleep every night on my cock.” He took one hand away from your breasts to smack your clit…hard. Your vision went white with pleasure as you screwed your eyes shut; your pussy clenching hard around his cock.

                “Fuck and a pain slut to boot. You’re gunna be lots of fun, little witch. I want you to cum. Cum for your new husband.” His thrusts increased to a punishing pace and he used his thumb to rub your clit. “And when you cum on my cock, I own you. Heart, body, and soul. You understand?”

                “Ye-Yes I understand…Lee…” His eyes flickered to black as he pinched your nipple hard and ordered you in a voice much lower and darker than his usual tone.

“Then cum.” The sound of it making your eyes was the final straw as your eyes rolled back in your head and you felt every muscle in your body clench as you came harder than you ever had before. Lee had made your body feel like it was on fire but your orgasm was like a cooling only water could bring. You called out his name as you bucked your hips up, like you were trying to draw him in more.

He kept fucking you through the waves of pleasure crashing down on you, chasing his own release. “Look at you, all fucked out and all mine. Can’t wait to get you home, gunna bend you over and spank this ass hard before I fuck it…”  His words made your breath hitch and you clenched his cock one final time before he stilled above you, growling and snarling.

You could feel his hot cum filling you as he pumped his cock into you a few more times. For a few moments, only the sound of your combined breathing’s filled the space. You lay there with your eyes closed as your feelings washed over you; shame, embarrassment, but at the base of it all, satisfaction and power. Power stronger than anything you’d felt before. Lee chuckled above you as you opened your eyes to meet his, now back to crimson.

                “You can feel it, can’t you? All that new power from being my mate flowing through you?” You nodded weekly. “Good but just remember. I’m the one in control now, you’re bound to me so if you even think about hurting me or doing something stupid, I’ll strip them away and leave you for dead. We clear?”

                “Yes, Lee.” You sighed, accepting your fate. His eyes flashed once more to black before turning back to the blue that had drawn you in so easily. You bit your lip, staring up at his rugged looks and acknowledging there were worse options to be bound to for all eternity.

“Fuck, I hope you never lose that doe eyed look. I just wrecked your pussy and you still look like the shy little bookworm you are.” He pulled his cock from you slowly, the first gentle action of the night. “Do you need some stew now, little witchling?” He asked, teasing you and tickling your side, forcing a smile onto your face that didn’t last. Lee let out a small sigh.

“Listen, you might look cute when you cry on my cock, but you’ve got one hell of a smile, darling. I’d like to see it for real.” His words struck a chord, all night he’d teased and degraded you, but now he seemed gentile, almost trying to be charming. He brushed a strand of hair back from your face. “You have to remember sweetheart, I may be strong and powerful, but I have to lure in my pray first.”

Lee gently pounced on you, placing hot, open mouth kisses to your neck, nipping and kissing until you were squealing and laughing in pleasure, forgetting for just a moment the rude and brash way he’d taken you, sexually and literally. When Lee stopped, he pulled back to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I told you sweetheart, if you’re good for me, I can be so good for you.” Despite everything you’ve ever known about demons, you decided to trust him; hoping that as his wife, maybe you could do some good and help the people of the town on a wider scale.

“Can I ask for one thing, please?” you asked, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

“Well, I am feeling awfully generous.” He said, smiling coyly.

“Please let me keep this place. I promise I’ll come home to you every night but…a witch needs her sacred space.” You asked, batting your eyelashes just a little.

“Hmmmm, I suppose that can be arranged.” Lee conceded. “But I have complete and unfettered access, understood?” You nodded, knowing the road ahead as his wife would be rough, but seeing who he was and hoping you could smooth down the rougher edges gave you a sense of relief.

He lay on his side, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against him. You were almost shocked how comfortable you felt in his embrace. But it happened easily, his leg feeling so natural wrapped around yours in your bed.  

[voidsteffy]

Promises

Jai (Mirchi) x fem!OC Madhu

A/N: @mahi-wayy asks me to write a Jai fic and I write a Jai fic, it's as simple as that. After that Rajasaab snippet that thrust me back into the immaculate Mirchi first half Darling feelz, I was held at gunpoint to relive my Mirchi days (I was the one holding the gun btw). Angsty ending beware. Some violence. idk I suck at feelers for fic segments. Can't reveal the ending sorry. Tell if there's anything I must add. Btw, not proofread!

Word Count: 2368 words

Glossary: Mavayya - father-in-law Atthayya - mother-in-law

“I’ve never seen an Anthropology major so against peace.”

That’s what Jai said to her after the rest of the house had finally left her alone. A few hours ago, Madhu had showed up at the doorstep with bloody knuckles and a few bruises. He had kept mum when the rest of his relatives, now almost like her family too, fretted over her and her slight bruises. To their credit, though they were happy that Madhu was getting involved in matters of the town’s welfare, they were very worried that she might have gotten seriously hurt.

“I’m not against peace Jai. I just think that sometimes it might necessitate slight aggression.”

Jai’s face scrunched up in inexplicable worry, and for a moment she felt crippling guilt. Madhu winced as she angled herself towards him in bed, feeling quite less energetic by the minute. He avoided her gaze but she had felt the tension and anger simmering in his eyes. His jaw was taut, his gaze avoidant from where he sat at the foot of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For defending the farmers by beating those goons or for getting hurt in the process?”

“For getting caught.”

Jai rolled his eyes and his hands grabbed hers so sharply, desperately. He slid down from the bed, crawling onto his knees to be beside her. He kissed her bruised knuckles, running his fingers over them as gently as he could.

Most of the people who knew her, saw Madhumati, the jovial city girl. But he was the first one to see the fire in her heart, the way she cared so much about protecting the defenceless. Figures, that he’d fall for the one girl who cared for social service as keenly as his father whom he’d never known until a few days ago. Maybe that was why his mother was reluctant about her in the beginning, but it was impossible not to see the pure goodness behind whatever Madhu said or did.

“Things seem different here. I’m not asking for you to change yourself, but please,”

“Please what?”

Even after all the years of being together and one year of married life, Madhu had a tiny spec of fear crawling somewhere in her. That Jai would leave her. He wouldn’t love her anymore because she was too brash, because she was away from home a lot, away from him a lot, for social causes. Because he had to defend her to everyone in his life and she wouldn’t blame him if at some point, he ran out of reasons to ever stand up for her. Madhu wouldn’t blame him if he ever stopped wanting her near. She’s been trying to run from herself since she could remember.

“I can’t lose you bujji.”

He’d always called her bujji, and she always wanted to call him that in return but she could never bring herself to do it. The world swayed on its axis for a blink of an eye and when her eyes accustomed themselves to the shock, Madhu realised that all of this was real.

She was loved.

Loved, like you had someone on your side all the time. Loved, like you could spend the rest of your life loving them back. You had someone that kissed your knuckles and put his head on your chest. You had someone’s hair to run your hands through after a tough day.

She was so loved.

Tears sprang to her eyes, rolling down her temples to the pillow that smelled just like him.

And to think she was so ready to put it all at risk.

Of course, the heart is stupid and its grip on the tongue is more envious of the title; so the first thing that comes out of her mouth sounds like a hoarse tantrum.

“And you think I can lose you?”

Jai is quiet for a long time. Madhu wondered whether he went through the same epiphany as her. She wished her love to be his epiphany just this once despite having nurtured it for years for it to be a click of the moment.

“Jai, I see you in your anger. I see you when you threaten Mavayya’s enemies. I see it when you hide their beaten bodies behind their own cars. I see it when you’re angry and you don’t want me to look at you. But I do, and I’m not scared, because I understand. And I can get angry too.”

He nodded, his face burrowed into the soft fabric of the bed. There seemed to be a conversation in his own head, the angel battling the devil for control. He wouldn’t ever lose Madhu but he too understood the gravity of the situation as she had. Neither of them could afford to let their anger take root. Mavayya insisted there was always a peaceful way of winning a war.

“Ok…” he shook his head, like he was trying to tumble the idea of something out of his head. “Ok ok.”

Her hands were still buried in his hair, smoothening it out just like his mother said she used to.

“I promise,” he looked up at her finally. “I promise. I promise I’ll let go of my anger. Whatever it takes, I’ll never choose the violent way ever again. I’ll protect you.”

Jai looked expectantly at her and she knew he wanted her to say the same thing. But she smiled, shaking her head.

“Please don’t ever promise that. I can’t promise to never choose violence. But I promise I will always look for peace before I choose violence.”

He didn’t look convinced, like they were close to being back to square one.

“Not all of the world bends to peace Jai. There are people out there who will kill the people we love no matter how softly we could handle issues. So I promise I’ll always protect us, our family, this village. I promise. And I promise I won’t put myself in danger voluntarily again Jai. Trust me.”

They exchanged more such promises, almost like they were creating their own vows in the sanctity of their realisations behind the locked doors of the room. Her body didn’t want to hurt that much anymore. And so Madhu and Jai found themselves chest-to-chest, his toes pulling the hem of her sari higher and higher as his buttons slowly became undone and his hair messier under her hands.

Suddenly, it occurred to her that she hadn’t mentioned one crucial thing.

She kissed his temple, “I love you.”

—--------------

Quite some time had passed and the family— surprisingly including Mavayya and Atthayya, had planned a small reception for Madhu and Jai as a couple. Everybody in the kind cosy town knew that she was married to their favourite heir. But since he was that - an heir, their own regional royalty, it was decided that a feast and celebration was called for.

The farmers whom Madhu had helped before were grateful and insisted on gifting her half of their gorintaku (henna) crop. Everyone’s hands were pulsing, cooling red that auspicious day— most of the men refused to hide their loving hands that applied mehendi to their spouse’s or betrothed’s hands. Everyone was happy seeing their serious authoritative prince oh so tenderly hold his wife’s palms while he rolled the mehendi into balls and imprinted designs all over her hands.

All of this reminded Jai of their first wedding reception. It had been a court wedding since neither of them ever thought of making it a spectacle after Madhu’s parents passed away during a workers’ agitation gone wrong. But now everything was bright and shining, and Jai had a father who loved her as much as he loved his own son. His mother looked younger when she laughed with his father. Vennela’s eyes shone like stars as she admired them: like seeing her life’s hero get back his heroine.

The shehnai signalled Madhu’s presence as she stepped out of the house.

She thought she saw Jai catch his breath.

She had the most beautiful yellow sari draped around the curves of her tall body, the golden and ruby all over it shimmering in the rough sunlight. A dark bindi, kohl in her eyes, your nuptial thread hanging down your neck, hair adorned with the flowers of all the gardens in the entire village, hands adorned with glass bangles that the wives of the town gifted her after she had helped them start their businesses, silver anklets tinkling melodiously with every step - his first gift to her. Madhumati was the most divine bride he had seen and for her, he was no less.

A silk shirt that matched streaks of gold with her sari, a matching lungi, garlands of fragrant flowers and kundans hanging from his hands, his gold watch - her first gift to him.

Everyone cheered as Jai passed the garland back to Vennela to help Madhu up some small steps. She took his hand despite needing no help, and it became evident that he knew that too. He smiled, almost looking like he bowed,

“Inta bagunte ela bujji? Nenemaipovali cheppu?” (How can you be so beautiful, bujji? What would happen to me?)

Her smile widened, and for a moment she allowed herself to swim deep within his admiring gaze.

Flower petals already came showering on them and everyone said they might have been born just to witness a couple like them.

Jai and Madhu ended up in the centre of the crowd with all their family members, Vennela managing the situation to appease the people that flourished across town.

She felt happy on seeing the house regain its former happiness, the kind that she had only dreamt of when she was little. Vennela was always so sweet and innocent, she was Madhu’s best friend despite having spent so little time with her. Completing her chance to say a few words, Vennela winked at her, all but pushing Madhu forward to say something.

Madhu looked back at the rest of the family. Jai stood between Mavayya and Atthayya and everyone else while the town police officers in attendance stood to the side. They all smiled, asking her to go ahead. They never opposed Madhu’s relation with the pulse of this land, these people. She smiled, pulling Jai along to address the people.

“We are so happy for all the love you have shown us. They say it’s not a celebration until all the guests feel like family. You are our family now, and—”

They spoke in turns to the excited crowd, letting them butt in between to shout out their blessings.

But among the happy faces, she noticed a masked man weave his way through the crowd.

It all happened so suddenly. One second she was smiling at Gangamma insisting that you have a child soon, and the next— everything was chaos. People she didn’t recognise jumped at them from all sides, and it was her and Jai against them. The crowd gave an uproar of panic, people stampeding haphazardly as men charged with weapons.

Jai pushed her back, giving a way cry that tore through dry and humid bloodthirsty air. He fought the goons off till the veranda was soaked in streaks of red mixing with the holy water they had sprinkled not that long ago.

Everything was back to normal, she had realised belatedly as spots of black enveloped the corners of her vision— everyone’s lives were threatened once again, and Jai had no choice but to choose violence.

The earth gave away under her feet and she was caught by a pair of arms. Blood ran down her neck, and something loud echoed in her ears. Her eyes couldn’t help but flutter close in pain.

Jai’s father had caught Madhu, writhing in pain at an injury, while Vennela harboured Atthayya and the rest of the family inside the house into safety.

“Jai! Jai!”

Mavayya shouted and shouted till the name rang through her body. Madhu gasped for air, gasped for that name.

“Jai! She’s hurt!”

Every fibre in her body hurt when Jai came running, crashing onto the rough wet ground to take her from his father’s grip.

Jai had held Madhu like this many times - her head in the crook of his elbow, his eyes finding the universe in hers. But this time her head hung limp and heavy in his hold.

He slapped her cheeks as she fought to keep her eyes open.

“Bujji? Bujji look at me, bujji!”

That’s what he always called Madhu. ANd she hadn’t even managed to say it back to him.

Madhu whimpered as he shook her like a rag doll, crying out for him again and again. It hurt, it felt like hot and cold daggers running through her heart. Jai kept his grip firm on a wound on her neck, which seemed to pour out blood the more he gripped it.

The yellow of her sari was drenched in her blood now, and she forced her eyes open to look at Jai, one last time. Her husband.

Her hands found his face, wiping away his tears with blood as she stuttered.

“B-Buj-jji?”

The first time she reciprocated his special little form of affection, was also the last time she ever would.

“Hey… Hey! Hey! Bujji? Look at me, come on look at me! Bujji, open your eyes……… Open your eyes! Please, please. Bujji! No!”

Her cries cease, leaving Jai’s sobs for her lonely and orphaned, ringing through the air with more pain than his rage ever allowed him.

Madhu had once told him that when she’d die, she would be at peace if it was in his arms while she looked into his eyes, knowing that there was nothing she would have done differently.

That day, the town mourned the death of their chieftain. It would be years until the family manages to smile again but not that long until Jai avenges Madhu’s death with kindness and the violence of her memory and absence. He failed in his promise to protect her but would not make promises he couldn’t keep anymore.

Jai had only one wife, and the day she died…

A part of him never came back.

THE END

(ps: mahi, I hope you liked reading this🫂 and I hope it satisfied your Jai fic appetite that we spoke of. maybe I'll write more who knows)

[liv2post]

Serenading Him

CHAPTER 4: A Hand and An Ear

Prev. Chapter

AO3

He went somewhere again.

The smokey, black form cut through the sky like ink on parchment paper, his form leaving behind a faint, rapidly dissipating trail in the sky heading south as you returned from your morning walk with a travel mug of tea.

You hadn’t seen him for another few days since the flying lesson incident and now it was New Year’s Eve. Tomorrow night the students will have returned from their break away from Hogwarts and the Carrows will be back to torment everyone. You weren’t actively avoiding him like you did the one time for dinner, it’s just the timing didn’t always line up while the two of you remained here.

Your shoulder was as good as new, save for the faintest of aches when you rotated your arm back behind you, which should naturally disappear within the coming days. That potion bath soak potion he had given you healed your bruising too, lightening them into a yellow-green hue by the time you went to bed, and then completely gone when you woke up the following morning. Still, you limited your activity with that arm so as to not strain it.

The day was spent in a relatively passive manner; reading by the fire, practicing DADA spells on an old dueling dummy outside, baking chocolate chip cookies, and before you knew it, it was almost dinner time. The gloomy, dark clouds managed to clear away, allowing for a yellowish sunset to break through, casting a lustrous shimmer on the frozen surface of the Black Lake. Your pencil scratched lightly on a small, portable sketchbook as you captured the contour lines of the castle and the Headmaster’s office contrasting sharply against the evening sky from your view in the Clock Tower.

A streak of black in your peripheral caught your attention. The Headmaster’s smoky form was bleeding through the sky like a comet of pure darkness towards his office. As he got closer, his speed did not seem to decelerate. Is he not going to slow down??

The loud crash of glass echoed from the Headmaster’s Tower as the trail dissipated from where the windows were. 

You shot up to your feet from the alcove you were sitting in. Oh my god. Your mind was barraged with a flurry of thoughts. Was he alright? Did he do that on purpose? Or was that another Death Eater? You waited a few minutes, drumming your fingers along the stony edge. There was no departing smoke trail leaving the office from where it crashed through. It had to be him.

You jogged through the corridors, using one of the secret passages to get down to the Potions classroom to raid Slughorn’s store room for first-aid potions before ascending all the way up to the Headmaster’s Office. You were a bit winded from all the stairs but managed to say the word “Dumbledore” to the gargoyle outside the office, you promptly opened the spiral staircase for you.

The twisting staircase came to a rumbling halt. The large set of windows that the Headmaster crashed into were destroyed, the window’s frame tilted off its hinges as bits of glass littered all around the Headmaster’s body. He was wheezing, his chest stuttering up and down as his limbs trembled and spasmed involuntarily. You could discern a few blast marks on his robes, presumably having spells cast at him. His physical state was very familiar to you from what you’ve seen of the 1st years in your house. He’d been put under the Cruciatius Curse recently.

“Professor,” you spoke calmly, approaching his sprawled-out body.

His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, attempting to occlude the pain, but failing as he had spent his energy occluding so he could fly back as quickly as possible. “D-Don’t. . . t-touch—”

“Shut up,” you ordered. He could do nothing but scrunch his eyes and attempt to stifle pained noises. You withdrew your wand and slowly swirled it about the mess. The pieces of glass rolled about the rug and jumped up into the air. The frames corrected themselves and the glass molded back up into their mosaic-like form and closed themselves shut. 

You kneeled down by his shoulder and presented a few potions to him. “I saw the nature of your return and had a hunch. I yanked ‘em from the Potions classroom.” You pulled the top off with a satisfying ‘pop’ and brought the bottle to his lips. “Drink.”

He did so eagerly without protest as you carefully tipped the liquid into his mouth. His eyebrows began to slowly unpinch the more he swallowed and his body became a little less tense as the pain began to dull, but he was still trembling.

“C’mon. Next one,” you stated removing the lid of the next potion. This one was not a pain-reliever potion, but rather one for any bruises or minor injuries that may be hidden beneath his robes. You would’ve liked to give him another one, but pain relief potions needed to be staggered by a few hours. He accepted the next potion just as willingly, attempting to still his body against the twitching to no avail.

When you aimed your wand at his chest he tensed all over again, vulnerability flashing in his eyes.

“Relax,” you said softly. “This won’t hurt a bit.” His eyes flicked over your face, trying to discern any deception as you rested the tip of your wand on his sternum.

“Relevarvos,” you chanted.

The pain that made it feel as though he was getting stabbed all over with white-hot knives, the rapid firing of his nerves that caused his body tremors, and the extreme tightness in his lungs that made it almost impossible to breathe had ceased. His lips parted further in sheer relief as he took a deep, quivering inhale and looked at you nonplussed. He had no words as a faint yellow glow emanated from his body, the magic slowly spreading down all the way to his feet. He even, hesitantly, stopped occluding to see if the spell was as effective as it seemed, and there was still no pain.

“I. . .” he croaked out, not from pain, but in near bliss. You pressed your lips together in understanding. Many of the 1st years reacted in a similar manner. 

“Keep taking deep breaths,” you instructed as you accio’d a book, transfigured it into a pillow, and rested his head on it. “And try not to talk so much.”

Severus closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He felt waves of…something rippling from the spot where your wand touched all through his body. It was strange, but calming. He made an attempt to shift his arms to a different position but found that he couldn’t.

“I can’t. . . move. . .”

“Yeah, you can.” You settled into a criss-crossed sitting position. “I didn’t paralyze you. It’s just your mind and body playing tricks on you. It’s a side effect of the spell. Your limbs will feel really heavy. And maybe a bit jello-y.”

He considered your words and made an attempt to lift his foot, finding it a bit easier than his arms, but still only managed to scooch it over a few inches and lull it to the side.

“You should be able to gain more mobility within the hour as the potions and the spell settle further in your body.”

“What…spell…?” he rasped, his breathing sounding more eased.

You sighed, patting the tops of your knees. “The spell is one of my own creation. Its intent is to help with the Cruciatius Curse.” His eyebrows scrunched slightly and his mouth formed like he was going to say “you,” so you kept talking. “Sometimes, Madam Pomphrey has her hands full and even runs out of potions to help with the after-effects of the curse. And sometimes…the kids can’t even get themselves to the Hospital Wing. So…I came up with a spell to help. It soothes nerve inflammation, which is really all the Cruciatus Curse is; attacking and overstimulating the nerves to the point of horrific pain. Our nerves send electrical signals to our muscles when we are in pain and this spell…dims those signals. It’s decent at best by itself, but without the potion, you’d still be in a bit of pain.”

He simply blinked at you, lacking the words to express how impressive it was.

The growl of both your stomachs rumbled aloud in need of your evening meals.

“If you’re alright remaining down there for a bit, I’m going to go make us some food.”

He gave no verbal response, only managing a nod of his head.

You went with something easy to prepare for dinner, not wanting to leave him there for too long. With the many cooking accommodations in the kitchens you were able to take care of multiple things at once; two steaks cooking in the woodfire oven, asparagus being sautéd on the stove, boiled potatoes being mashed… 

​

The gargoyle didn’t ask for a password a second time as you ascended the stairs with two plates in your hand. You frowned when the Headmaster wasn’t in the same spot that you left him in as you stepped into the office, but rather had managed to get himself seated in his office chair, slouching a bit as he still took deep breaths.

“...I’ve got food,” you announced as you approached his desk, setting his plate and utensils with a soft clatter.

His eyes flicked from the windows over to the food and then to you before he said, “Take off the spell.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. The potion should have reached its full effect by now and my arms feel as though they are made of lead.”

You nodded, raising your wand to him. “Alright then.”

The light from his body flickered out as you chanted the counter-spell. His expression did not offer whether he was feeling any lingering pain or discomfort, but the lack of scrunching in his eyes or nose when he stretched his neck out and reached for his utensils gave you some assurance.

“I’ll leave you to it then…” you murmured and got about halfway across the room when he spoke again.

“Stay.”

You turned your head back, unsure if he said what you think he said. “What?”

“...Stay,” he uttered with the same tone of flatness and an almost bored-looking expression, his eyes flitting over to a round table and chair that he narrowly avoided when he had crashed through the window.

You pursed your lips, glancing hesitantly at the polished table before quietly tapping your plate to the surface and stretching your arms back.

“Mmph!”

There was a twinge in your shoulder when you rolled it a certain way. You tried to restrain the sound but it came out too sharply and just audible enough for the Headmaster to pick up on paired with the way your hand massaged the area before you sat down and began eating.

“I… apologize for the…lesson.”

“…Don’t worry about it,” you mumbled. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“It was optimal for you to perform under the impression that you might’ve died. However, I was prepared to magically prevent you from hitting the ground.”

“Given the circumstances, I wouldn’t have blamed you otherwise.”

Severus tapped his fork against his plate, staring at you distantly. “And why is that?” he questioned softly.

You shrugged. “My death offers you no downside.”

Those words were blunter than a hammer but true in your eyes. However, you were either immune or ignorant to the shift in energy in the air as the Headmaster remained silent, opting to not respond further with a mouthful of potatoes. It didn’t last for long however as you spoke once more.

“Does the state you returned in mean I should worry about my own well-being?”

“…No. We’re both fine. That was more or less the result of a…tantrum.”

You snorted, his word choice making you think of Voldemort as a screaming toddler, but you cleared your throat remembering that the Headmaster was still hurt from it as a result. “Sorry to hear that. Was it at least a justified tantrum?”

Severus clicked his tongue. “Yes and no. Potter was nearly captured today.”

The meat you were swallowing got caught in your throat from surprise and you beat your chest until it went down. “And what did that have to do with you?”

“Apparently it is my fault Potter and his friends know how to apparate,” he drawled with bitter sarcasm. “Though the snatchers suffered worse than I did.”

The two of you talked for a while, much longer than you would’ve anticipated, though, you sensed that was more so because he had invited you to stay longer and drink because it was New Year’s Eve and neither of you had the capacity to care about a student, albeit of age, drinking in his office given the current state of the wizarding world. The alcohol had thoroughly loosened your tongues and soon the reserved and secretive Headmaster was spilling. 

He told you about all the crap that happened behind the scenes from your first year at Hogwarts up until this year. He told you about this crazy broom chase way up in the sky at the beginning of the school year where he accidentally hexed George’s ear whilst aiming for a Death Eater’s wand in an attempt to protect George and Lupin. The mission that went wrong was a trap at the Lovegoods’, which unfortunately meant that Luna was still being held at Malfoy Manor. Of all the things that had happened, he was most pissed about last year's Christmas. Last year he had made an Unbreakable Vow with Draco Malfoy who was originally given the task of killing Dumbledore and when he confronted him during Slughorn’s Christmas party, Draco said “I guess you’ll have to break it then.”

“Stupid, fucking boy,” you murmured, currently starfished out on the floor with a bottle in your hand, claiming the position was very comfortable. Snape looked far more dignified than you even though he had his feet up on the desk with a bottle of his own. “Dumbass daddy, too. Why the hell would he reveal his face to Potter regardless of whether or not he managed to get the Prophecy? Memories can be pulled…”

“He’s as egotistical as he is rich,” Severus slurred.

You snickered. “Merlin blessed him with looks and left no room for brains.”

A silence briefly took over the both of you as your drunken thoughts began to swim again. About now. About the future…

“…You’re doomed,” you breathed with an abrupt amount of seriousness. “No matter what you…” The words were left unsaid as you trailed off, but Severus knew what you wanted to say.

He stared off at the window with a grim expression. “…I know.”

You sniffed dryly, slowly pushing yourself off the rug and ambling towards his desk. Snape only focused on you when your form became larger in his peripheral. Your attempt at propping yourself with your hands against the desk looked more like you were slamming your palms down on the surface in an indignant gesture.

“You’re really brave, y’know that?” you mumbled, frog-blinking at him. “Everyone knows about your duel with Potter ‘n call you a coward, but good lord…if only they knew. You’re the bravest fucking wizard I’ve ever met, Severus.”

He was sure it was the firewhiskey making him drunker as he felt another wave of heat glow around his pale cheeks, his lips parted in a silent daze. The euphoria of being seen nearly twenty years later… He surely resembled a gaping fish. 

Your eyes flit past him to a clock on the wall that displayed the time, oblivious to the fact you had called him by his first name. “Ooh… ‘S midnight.” You looked back at him with a melancholic look. “The teachers ‘ll be back in the morning. This ‘s the last time we’ll see each other for a while. Probably ever.”

“You’ve forgotten Easter break,” Severus murmured groggily. 

Your bottom lip jutted out in a momentary pout before you smiled lightly yet sadly. “We’ll see.” You drew your palms back and traipsed around toward the other side of his desk. Severus was staring off at the wall in his thoughts once more as you placed a lingering kiss on the crown of his head. He made absolutely no movement, the only indication that he registered the action was the sudden glassiness of his eyes as lower lids rimmed with restrained wetness.

“Happy New Year, Severus,” you said before stumbling out of his office.

Next Chapter

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

With Me, Always. (Oneshot)

Rhysand x Reader

Hiiii. I've had many requests about writing for Rhys - and while I am gradually working on the more detailed ones, and working on my Lucien series, I thought I'd post this sweet lil oneshot I wrote.

Warnings: None. It's just angst and fluff.

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The Windhaven Camp was ready for the Winter Solstice.

As much as such a soulless place could be ready for the celebration, anyway. There was something darkly poetic about garlands and wreaths and sprigs of holly and ivy being hung on buildings that you knew housed awful people. Awful things.

Only three days left to go. If nothing else, the males were in decidedly brighter spirits — meaning there weren’t quite so many sneers, as usual, while you strolled through the camp. It had become a hive of even more activity than normal, with people flying family members in for the celebrations, and the few shops and businesses there were staying open later and later to accommodate last-minute gift buying.

If nothing else, the hectic atmosphere meant that none of the males seemed to glimpse you and your friend, Ivanna, sneaking further into the hills and mountain range for your clandestine work-out sessions.

“You’d think,” Ivanna panted, stopping to lean against a tree, “that considering we’ve grown up here and never left the damn place, we’d be a bit more used to the cold.”

You snorted, tipping your head back and heaving your heavy breaths skywards. Indeed, it seemed the air was teasing a snowstorm — your wings could feel it; a freezing caress that made you long for the roaring fire of Ivanna’s small home. Your small home.

It was almost two years, now, that you’d been living with Ivanna and her father above his shop — a courtesy he’d hesitantly agreed to, only because your own late father had been a friend of his. But as an Illyrian female with no family left — and sparse assets left behind by your father — your best option had been taking refuge in your closest friend’s home. Shacking up with the only three Illyrian males you were friends with — Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel — would have raised too many eyebrows. And so her father had reluctantly taken you in.

Your gratitude for that generosity was about as far as any pleasantries with him went; one look at the ruined remains of her clipped wings was reminder enough of what a bastard he was. Unlike your own father, who had been a very rare breed of Illyrian male — a kind one.

“Shall we walk back,” You said once you’d caught your breath, “or should I fly us?”

“Ugh. Fly.” Ivanna grimaced. “I don’t feel like having frostbite for Solstice. Speaking of which — what have you bought me?”

You rolled your eyes, your lips twitching as you scooped her up into your arms. “Stop asking. I’m not telling you what I’ve bought you.”

“Rude.” She didn’t even jolt as you launched into the skies, your wings beating against the wind. “I have another question.”

“Of course you do.”

A flash of a wicked grin. “Have you heard from Rhysand?”

The humour eddied from you, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. The subject was a sore one — one you tried not to broach, if you could help it.

“Since the last time you asked that very question?” You shrugged tersely. “You know I haven’t.”

No, you hadn’t seen Rhys, or heard from him, for months and months, now. The male, who had once been the only light you had in this dark place, seemed to have forgotten your entire existence since becoming High Lord. It was…lonely. Painful. You knew how busy he must be — and grieving the loss of his mother and sister, too. But he’d never shut you out before, never pushed you away. That he’d not even been back to visit, to say hello…it hurt. And the best you could do was pretend that it didn’t.

Ivanna offered you a gentle squeeze as you swooped down into the camp, landing on the path that cut through the training rings. They were mostly empty, with most males having already started their Solstice break, but your stomach plummeted a bit as two dark, towering figures turned into your path.

Edric and Cenric were two males — twins — who you’d had the displeasure of growing up around. Illyrian brutes through and through, they got off on the torment of females — the torment of you and Ivanna, in particular. It had died down a little when you’d become close to Rhys, Cassian and Azriel — but with them so absent these days, it had ratcheted right back up.

“There you both are.” The one on the left — Edric — smirked. “There’s been a spillage in one of the tents. Ale all over the place.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging Ivanna past them. “Guess you’d better find yourselves a mop and bucket, then.”

The twins were quick to dart into your path. It was Cenric who folded his arms, puffing his chest out. “That’s your job. All you females are good for.”

Your head fell into a tilt. “Is that why you opt for rutting against a pillow instead of finding an actual, living being to stick that poor excuse of a cock into? I suppose that vile mouth doesn’t win many females over.”

Both twins’ eyes flashed with rage, with challenge. Edric stepped towards you, his towering height and flared wings seeming to swallow up the lingering daylight.

“Go mop up the mess,” He hissed through gritted teeth, “before I shove you to the floor and make you lick it up.”

You opened your mouth to retort — and promptly snapped it shut at another flash of darkness. Like a cloud of pure midnight pluming behind the twins, the empty path was suddenly shrouded in a mass of smoky black that cleaved in two.

As Rhysand appeared.

“Hello, you two.” The High Lord greeted the twins, his smirk mocking. “How lovely to see you both.”

The two males had the good sense to back down — even if they did so reluctantly. But with Rhys so newly in power, a whole host of adjustments was rippling through the camp. Nobody wanted to get on the High Lord’s bad side — having not quite discerned, yet, what kind of High Lord he was going to be — lest he remember it for years to come.

So both twins dipped their heads and ground out, “High Lord” in unison.

“I see the two of you are still your delightful selves.” Rhys studied them. “Do me a favour, boys — fuck off.”

There was absolutely no hesitation as the twins dipped past the High Lord, not sparing a glance back. Not until Rhys called out to them once more.

“Find a camp mother and ask for a mop and bucket.” He ordered. “Clean your filthy mess up yourselves.”

Edric seemed to pause; seemed to contemplate barking back at him. But it was Cenric who had the sense to pull him away. They quickly disappeared out of sight, their bickering fading with them.

And then Rhys turned back to you. The smirk softly moulded into a smile. “Hello, you.”

Both you and Ivanna bowed your heads. It felt weird — saying the words. “High Lord.”

Rhys snorted. “What’s with the formalities?”

Ivanna relaxed beside you, lifting her chin. But you…you kept your gaze on the ground; didn’t think you could bear looking at him for too long. It would bring too many things to the surface.

Namely, that one, single night of passion you’d shared with him before things had changed so fast, and he was suddenly High Lord of the Night Court. That very night liked to remind you of itself every day. And even more thoroughly, now, with the person in front of you who shared that memory. You begged — begged — your cheeks not to heat beneath his intense gaze.

“How are you, Ivanna?” Rhys politely regarded your friend. “You’re looking well.”

Ivanna inclined her chin. “As are you, High Lord. I’m very well, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it.” His eyes slid to you again. You could practically feel them coaxing you, begging you to look up.

Ivanna cleared her throat. “I actually just remembered — I have to do some stuff. And things.”

That had you looking up — quickly, abruptly, pleading with Ivanna not to leave you alone with him. But she was already clapping you on the shoulder and striding ahead.

“Enjoy your stuff and things.” You shouted after her, huffing.

A middle finger was her only answer.

In front of you, Rhys chuckled. “I forgot how much you two bicker.”

You flicked your gaze to his. Just momentarily — just enough to convey that you didn’t feel like standing and talking.

“Mm.” You murmured, brushing past him. “I suppose it’s easy to forget such things when you never come around anymore.”

You’d barely taken a step forward before he was jumping into your path. Gently grabbing your hand. The warmth of his thick glove was pleasant against your bare, frozen fingers.

“Wait.” He said. “I—how are you?”

“Oh, I’m great, Rhys, thanks so much for asking.”

“…I’m sensing some anger.”

You pulled your hand away. Used it to pinch the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger. “What brings you to Windhaven, Rhysand?”

“Well, it’s common courtesy for the High Lord to deliver well wishes at Solstice—”

You scoffed, launching into a walk once more. But Rhys was quicker, darting right back into your way.

“And I wanted to see you.” He said. “Please—let’s just go inside and talk.”

You stared at him. So many things you wanted to say. So many ways he’d made you feel. And yet you hated that very fact. That it had become unavoidably clear, and there was no escaping it.

You loved him. You were in love with him.

“Come on.” He said, his eyes flickering your shivering form. “At least come and warm up.”

The cold was beginning to become painful, your wings aching with the chill. You could ignore Rhys, go straight back to Ivanna’s house, but…you had a feeling she’d turn you away. Tell you to hear him out.

So you nodded — folded your arms, just so he couldn’t grab your hand again. “Fine. Lead the way.”

You didn’t know where he planned to take you. His mother’s cottage was the most logical place, but…maybe it was too soon, too raw—

“The fire’s already burning in my mother’s place.” He said, as though he’d read your thoughts. “Where are your gloves?”

Your eyes stayed pinned forward as you strolled beside him. “I forgot them today.”

Within seconds, he was pulling the thick gloves from his hands. “Here.”

“We’re almost at the cottage—”

“Put them on or I’ll do it for you.”

You scowled, snatching the gloves away and shoving them on. Their size wolfed your hands, but their pleasant warmth was such a relief, you almost moaned.

Rhys had always been a mother hen. Always behaved like this around you. Even when he was at his limit, stressed beyond comprehension, he’d looked after you.

And then it had all just…stopped. You’d tried to be understanding. Tried to have compassion for the fact that he’d become High Lord very suddenly, much sooner than he’d anticipated. That he was grieving on top of that. And if he’d needed space, you would have happily given it to him…

But to not even just…send a quick word, to tell you he was alright. To know that you were stuck in this awful place, worrying about him, thinking about him…

He probably didn’t even realise how much it hurt. How much you missed your friendship above all else.

His mother’s cottage loomed, sad and empty looking. It had squeezed your heart every time you passed it, to think of the female that had been so kind to you over the years, just — gone. The friend you’d once found in Rhys’s sister, a young girl of such potential — gone.

And then Rhys, just — gone.

He opened the front door, stepping aside to allow you to enter first. Indeed, the fire was roaring heat into the room, and you hurried towards it embarrassingly fast, your hands outstretched to its warmth.

Rhys chuckled softly, shutting the door behind him. “There’s a snowstorm coming. I can feel it in the air.”

You merely nodded — knew full well that he hadn’t brought you here to talk about the weather. As you leaned against the mantelpiece, embracing the power of the flames before you, you allowed your eyes to wander the small room.

It was just as it was when you were last here, months and months ago, now. You’d lost count of how many. The cramped area was crammed full with the echoes of the past, memories from long ago, and…some—some more recent.

Your eyes shot to the worn, shabby couch — your mind darting straight to the last night you’d been here. The night that, after so many years of close friendship, of subtle touches and glances, of meaningless flirting…one thing had finally led to another. You couldn’t remember what conversation, exactly, had led to you and Rhys kissing. How, exactly, you’d ended up on your knees before him, his rough groans filling the cottage as you’d sucked and licked him and brought him to a roaring release.

He’d had to leave for business the next morning. Within days…everything had changed.

Rhys was staring at that exact spot on the sofa, too. Probably reliving that night just as colourfully.

You felt a little petty as you bit out, “Have you brought me here to suck your cock again?”

His eyes flickered to yours, the swimming violet softening. “Of course not. Is that what you think?”

You shrugged. “I don’t really know what to think anymore, Rhys. It’s not like you’ve given me anything to go on.”

His eyes shuttered. Slowly, he moved to the rolled arm of the couch, perching atop it. No wings in sight, now.

“First and foremost,” He said. “I just want to know how you are.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Your eyes glazed over as you forced them to stay on one, insignificant rip in the sofa. Anything to avoid meeting those eyes.

“Why?” You asked flatly.

“Because I know you.” Rhys shrugged. “I know when you’re not fine. Not to mention the fact that you can’t even look at me.”

Your hands tightened into fists. You hated how right he was — that he did know you. That he probably knew every thought currently swimming through your head. That he probably wouldn’t stop pushing until you spilled the truth.

You were mentally willing yourself not to cry as you forced your gaze to him and shrugged weakly. “Alright.” You relented. “I’m not fine. I cannot possibly be fine when I miss you, and I think about you every damn day, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“…Y/N—”

“And believe me, Rhys, I know you’ve had a lot to contend with. A lot on your shoulders. And if you need to deal with that stuff on your own, that’s fine…but I’m so fucking scared that you pushed me away because of what happened between us that night. Because you didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did, and it might have damaged our friendship beyond repair. I cannot bear that thought because all I care about is having you in my life, even if you can never love me the way—”

You cut yourself off — blinked out of your thoughts, stunned by how freely you’d allowed your words to run. Your cheeks heated as you quickly wiped the tears forming in your eyes. But you knew it was too late — that you’d said too much.

Rhys stared at you. “The way what?”

You closed your eyes, tears spilling over. “Even if you can never love me the way I…the way I love you. I don’t care, Rhys — I just want you back in my life. That’s all that matters to me—”

“I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers, and you put me in my place for being a prick.”

You stopped, your eyes flying open. You went so, so still.

“I fell in love with you that day.” He stared back at you seriously — vulnerably. “And I have only fallen for you harder and harder every day since. I have been utterly consumed by you since we were eighteen years old. And I love it. I love you.”

“…what…” You breathed. “I…why did you push me away?”

He shook his head. Swallowed, hard. “Everything happened so damn fast. My mother, my sister…becoming High Lord. With my father dying, I knew there would be unrest…dissenters, people who held grudges against my father and would use me as a scapegoat to exact revenge. I needed to be in Velaris…to protect my people. And I wanted to come back, to see you, but…” He released a slow, heavy breath. “The target that has always been on my back is even bigger, now. Tamlin’s family killed the people closest to me. And if people knew what you meant to me…if they knew that I love you…I would be putting a target on your back as well. And that isn’t fair.”

Another tear rolled down your cheek. All these months of wondering…of thinking you’d fucked things up completely. You hadn’t even considered that Rhys was trying to protect you.

“It is for me to decide, Rhysand,” You said quietly, wiping your cheeks, “if I can live with a target on my back. That choice is mine.”

“I know that.” He whispered. “Believe me, I know. But I just…if I lost you too…”

You pushed away from the mantelpiece. Stalked over to him, until you were stood mere inches from him, your legs touching.

“Isn’t it better to take that risk…to live,” You said, “than this alternative? Than us being away from each other? I’m miserable without you.”

“As I am without you.” He met your gaze. “And that is why I came today. Because I can’t take it anymore. I love you, and I want you with me. I want you to come to Velaris.”

You blinked at him — balked. You’d never even been anywhere outside of Windhaven, never dared to push those limits and face potential consequences.

“I…” You stared into those violet eyes, stunned. “…this is my home…”

“In the loosest definition, yes.” Rhys slowly reached out a hand. Slowly brushed his fingers against yours. “But you don’t even have a home of your own here. You don’t have anything of your own here. You should be living, Y/N. Ivanna, too.”

If you were honest…Ivanna was the only thing keeping you there. The thought of leaving her behind, alone with the males…you couldn’t bear it.

But if she could come to Velaris, too. If you could have both Ivanna and Rhys…a life…

You frowned. “What would I do there?”

Rhys shrugged, properly grabbing your hand. “Whatever you want to do. I could find you a position in the court, or…or something, anything else. As long as you're happy. As long as I get to have you with me. Always.”

You studied him. The wonderful, selfless male before you — who you loved so, so intensely. You should have known, all this time, that he’d only pushed you away to protect you. That Rhys would never have left you without reason.

The relief almost had you succumbing to tears all over again.

“Take some time to think it over.” He lifted his other hand to your cheek, his thumb grazing beneath your eye. “No pressure. Just…promise me you’ll put yourself first.”

You snorted, wiping your eyes. “Says the male who puts literally everybody before himself.”

He smirked softly. “Guilty. But I’m always going to do that. Because I love you.”

Your heart guttered. Words you’d wanted to hear for so many years…they didn’t seem real, now.

You swallowed down another onslaught of emotion. “You really mean it?”

“More than I’ve ever meant anything.”

You swallowed. And before you could allow your tears to grip you again, you leaned forward. Pressed your lips against his.

The kiss was…sweet. Not the hungry, passionate kisses you’d shared that one night all those months ago. But a tender kiss that spoke of promise, of a future, of love.

Rhys kissed you back, deeply and slowly, tangling his fingers within your hair. He tugged you closer, slotting you between his legs.

And only when you were both gasping for breath, your chests heaving, did he pull back. Pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you.” He breathed, his eyes boring into yours.

You pecked him — once, twice. “I love you, too.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” He smirked. “And not only do I love you, but I believe I owe you.”

“…oh?”

“Hmm. If I remember correctly, the last time we were in this cottage, you had your head between my legs. It seems only fair that I return the favour.”

You felt heat pool inside you. Felt your toes curl in your boots. And you knew, from the way Rhys’s nostrils flared, his pupils dilating, that he immediately noticed the change in your scent.

“You’d better return that favour, then.” You bit down on your lip. “It is Solstice, after all.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

He grasped the back of your head, pulling your face back to his. And every part of you sang and shattered beautifully as he laid you down on the sofa.

And fell to his knees before you.

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[spicycinnabun]

Yes, Chef

WC: 696 🥟 Rated: G 🥟 Read on Ao3!

“Table four said their chicken Kyiv isn’t saucy enough,” Ian said, sliding the plate across the heated pass. He braced himself for a blowup as he added, “They want another one.”

“A chicken Kyiv don’t have sauce, first of all,” Chef Milkovich’s grumpy voice answered him. “It’s filled with garlic butter. I can’t pump ‘em with any more, or they’ll burst. They already have enough to clog a fuckin’ artery.”

“I know, Mick—Chef,” Ian corrected himself. He ran a hand through his hair, tired from pasting on his customer service smile all night. “That’s just what she said.”

Mickey slammed his spatula down. He grabbed the plate, staring down at it. All that was left on it was the picked-over salad. The feta and tomatoes were missing; it was just a sad pile of arugula. “So, did the chicken disappear into thin fuckin’ air? Must have been plenty saucy enough for her to eat the whole fuckin’ thing. I ain’t re-firing this unless they’re payin’ for a double.”

“Yes, Chef. I’ll pass along the message.” Ian’s lips twitched into a genuine smile. Why was Milkovich kinda cute when he got all worked up? (He was worked up ninety-nine percent of the time.)

“Just call me Mickey,” Mickey said distractedly, turning his back on Ian, already busy firing another order from his queue of tickets. “Hate that ‘Chef’ shit.”

“Okay, Mickey.” Ian saw Mickey’s shoulders relax a little as he dropped a basket of perogies into the deep fryer.

Ian straightened one of Mickey’s tickets after noticing it barely hanging onto its clip, and then he returned to the front of the house to break the news to his oh-so-lovely patron.

*

After dinner service, he caught Mickey outside, tattooed and burn-scarred fingers loosely holding a cigarette, chef whites now stained colorfully from a busy night. Ian didn’t bother saying anything—he could see the exhaustion on Mickey’s face, in the crinkles of his downturned eyes, and Ian, himself, had been talking almost nonstop since four PM.

They shared a moment of peace, leaning against the brick wall of the alley behind the restaurant and decompressing. Ian loosened his tie and watched Mickey’s full lips purse and pinch. Watched him exhale smoke as powerfully as the oven when someone left a tray of pyrizhky in for too long.

Finally, Mickey rubbed his nose and glanced at Ian almost self-consciously. “Fuck you lookin’ at?”

You. “Nothing, sorry,” Ian responded, looking down the alleyway instead.

“I got somethin’ on my face?” Mickey wiped at his cheeks, then his forehead, frowning.

Ian chuckled. “No.”

Mickey let out an irritable huff. “Fuckin’ what, then?”

“Can I bum one?” Ian asked, even though that wasn’t what he wanted. He’d stopped smoking a few years ago.

“Fine, but bring your own next time, freckles.” Instead of giving Ian a new cigarette, Mickey held out his own.

Ian accepted it and took a drag. This time, he was the one being watched. Mickey’s eyes were piercing, and he was about as subtle as a brick. Ian enjoyed that about him. “Fuck you lookin’ at?” he teased.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said, but Ian noticed a rosiness growing along his ears. He pushed off the wall. “See ya tomorrow, Gallagher.”

“Call me Ian.” Or any of the other nicknames Mickey liked to use. “Hate that ‘Gallagher’ shit.”

He really did. It was a tag he used to be proud to wear, or at least faithful towards, in the same way a golden retriever was loyal to their owner even if said owner was horrible to them, but he didn’t like Mickey using it.

“Gonna call you Polly if you keep mimickin’ me,” Mickey griped. Ian laughed, and Mickey turned back to face him. “Alright. Ian. Happy?”

“That was difficult for you, huh.” Ian smiled at him, though. Slowly. He liked how his name sounded coming from the big boss. “Thanks.”

Mickey looked suddenly flustered, shifting his weight, hands twitching by his sides like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. “Yeah. You’re welcome. Whatever.”

Had Ian made him nervous?

Mickey went back inside the restaurant at record speed, the door slamming behind him. Ian grinned.

[f1-disaster-bi]

Based on 9-1-1 rewatch:

"Still saying this isn't a curse?" Pierre rolled his eyes as he glanced across the cockpit of the truck at his partner. Lando was watching him, eyebrow raised and judging him as they were heading back to the station. They were seven hours in to a twenty-four hour shift that had started with their new probie, Oscar, mentioning the dreaded Q word and sparking chaos across the team. Pierre had laughed at Lando and Daniel's panic because curses were ridiculous. The idea that a probie saying the word quiet had caused them to have non-stop calls. As the hours ticked by, Pierre had watched Daniel and Lando go down a rabbit hole of tricks and google searches on how to break the jinx while their Captain, Sebastian shared looks and ignored the conversation as best he could while managing some of the weirdest calls they had had in the last year. "We had to catch a turkey, Lan, I'd hardly call that a curse", Pierre laughed, knocking his boot against Lando's as his partner huffed. Pierre knew the huff was just a joke. His boyfriend wasn't really annoyed with him, they were just all tired and on edge, waiting to see if they'd finally get back to the station and be able to eat before the bell went again. "A violent turkey", Lando muttered, stretching his legs out to rest on the chair across from him and beside Pierre. A little smile appeared on his face when Pierre wrapped a hand around his ankle. "At least it didn't try bite your nuts", Daniel snorted, making them all chuckle a little because they had all seen the turkey when it had gunned for Daniel's crotch before they caught it. "As if I would let anything near my crotch, unlike you Mr Got-Caught-In-The-Bunk-Room", Lando teased, knocking his elbow against Daniel's side as the other glared at him. "How is Detective Verstappen these days, Daniel? I've seen less of him since that day", Sebastian teased, turning from his seat as Lewis. in the drivers seat, snickered beside him. "Fuck you both", Daniel glared before he turned to look at Lando and Pierre accusingly, "And its not like you two can talk with the way you snuck off to the showers the other day"

Lando had the decency to blush, but Pierre just grinned.

"I have a five year old at home, and at least we were off the clock", Pierre defend as he rubbed his thumb across the patch of skin that showed above Lando’s boots.

"I preferred it when you guys were arguing about the curse and not discussing all the places you've been inappropriate in our house", Sebastian sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, making them all laugh.

"You can't say shit man", Lewis teased as he started to back into the truck bay, Ocon waving him after hoping out of the ambulance, "I don't think there's an inch of this place that Sargeant Button has thoroughly explored with you"

The admission about the Captian and his husband had them whistling (Daniel), cackling (Lando and Lewis) and making "oooooh" sounds (Pierre), or at least they were until they were almost about to jump out of the truck only for the alarm to start blaring again as they sighed and Lewis fired the truck back up.

It was going to be a long shift.

[silver-scripts]

You say my name and everything just stops

pairing: Lockwood & Lucy

summary: When Lockwood gets home late from a job, he finds Lucy asleep in the library.Or the one where Lockwood walks in on Lucy having a sex dream about him

word count: 1.6k

crossposted: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50742568/chapters/129153598

Lockwood felt like death as he walked up the steps to 35 Portland Row. His entire body ached and was covered in dust. His palms were rubbed raw and scraped in places, and his legs felt utterly like lead beneath him.

More accurately, he felt like shit.

The solo job hadn’t gone well, that was for sure, but at least he’d finished it. London had one less ghost, and Lockwood & Co would have one more paycheck. So there was that.

With a sigh, he opened the front door and closed it silently behind him. It was nearing two-thirty already, and he was sure everyone else was fast asleep by now. Best not to wake them, he thought, as he deposited his rapier in the umbrella stand by the door and slipped off his jacket, hanging it neatly on its hook. He took a moment to systematically roll up his sleeves before heading for the stairs.

He paused when he noticed the light coming from the library.

Soft on his feet, he slipped into the room, moving silently in case George was deep in research. At such a late hour, there was no telling how much clothing George currently had on. Once, Lockwood had startled him in the midst of his midnight studies and received a full view of his friend’s ass, and he wasn’t keen on repeating the experience.

Inside the library, the embers of a fire that had burnt out hours ago were still glowing and clinging to life. The reading lamp on the side table was also lit, casting a warm haze across the room. Lucy was sprawled across the couch, and a novel lay haphazardly on the floor, as if she had fallen asleep reading it. A small smile grazed Lockwood’s lips at the sight.

He would never stop being glad that Lucy felt so comfortable here. He still didn’t know much about the house that she had grown up in, but he’d gathered enough to understand that it wasn’t a home. Not truly. And not in the way Portland Row had since become for her.

And, selfishly, Lockwood was glad for his own reasons. Portland Row hadn’t felt much like a home for him in years, yet Lucy had brought a life back into the house that hadn’t been there since Jessica had died. Him, George, Lucy… they’d become a family.

Smiling softly, Lockwood bent down and picked the book off of the floor, flattening the pages that had crumpled in the fall. On quick inspection, it was some kind of romance, and Lockwood rolled his eyes as he placed it on the coffee table.

He walked to the windows and pulled the curtains closed to block out the dawn light that would be coming soon. He knew Lucy hadn’t slept much lately — really, none of them had, with the amount of cases they’d been taking on. He was almost relieved to see her sleeping, and hoped she’d be able to sleep through the night without interruption.

Lockwood grabbed the blanket from his reading chair, and, holding his breath, draped it gently over Lucy’s sleeping form. He took a silent step backwards, and then another, and turned to retreat to his bedroom for the night.

Lucy shifted, and Lockwood paused.

She mumbled something in her sleep, and her forehead creased. A soft noise caught in the back of her throat, and Lockwood felt himself take an instinctual step back towards her, afraid suddenly that she might be having another nightmare.

It wasn’t uncommon for any of them — himself and George included. It came with the job description. And there was an unspoken rule that none of them would bring it up if they awoke to each other’s screams in the middle of the night. But god, how his heart burned whenever he heard Lucy’s cries. It took everything in him not to run up to her attic room and wake her up, but he knew she’d have his head for it.

In front of him now, Lucy muttered something else unintelligible as she rolled slightly to the side. Her breath fell out in a shallow gasp, and color flooded her face. Lockwood’s chest tightened in concern.

And then Lucy let out a small moan.

Time seemed to stop as Lockwood’s brain caught up with the present and he realized this was a very different type of dream. He stumbled backwards and his face burned with something between panic and embarrassment. Lucy let out another quiet moan, and Lockwood felt like he couldn’t get out of the library fast enough. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about anything else but his escape plan — that was what he was good at, right? It was what allowed them all to succeed on so many jobs, and truly, was this any different?

Anyways, it was easier to focus on fleeing. It stopped his mind from wandering to god knows where else, or from focusing too hard on how badly he wanted to hear her make those sounds in a different context.

“Lockwood.”

He froze at the edge of the hall.

She’d said his name thickly, like she’d just woken up, and he was horrified to have been caught. Horrified that she’d get the wrong idea and think he was watching or something. He could feel the heat in his cheeks spreading to the tips of his ears as he turned, ready to face the look of accusation in her eyes.

But Lucy was still asleep.

Lockwood stood there, still as a statue, mind racing, struggling to understand because he’d sworn she’d said his name, sworn—

Lucy moaned again, and her breathing came out shallow and fast.

Lockwood blanched. His face drained of color, and just as quickly flooded again until every pore on his cheeks was burning. His mouth hung open at an odd angle, and he couldn’t slow his thoughts, couldn’t slow the unfortunate arousal growing within him.

If Lucy was (presumably) having a sex dream, and had said his name in the middle of it?

Lockwood’s heart lurched. He felt lightheaded suddenly, and entirely off kilter. He was torn between feeling sick to his stomach and incredibly turned on, which was an odd mix to say the least. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the moment she’d walked in the door for the interview, but he’d always assumed it was one-sided, or at least had held his tongue regardless, because he liked what they had and he knew he would fuck it up.

And god, was he holding his tongue now, because all he wanted was to wake her up and ask what she was dreaming about so he could recreate it in real life. Do anything just to hear her moan his name for real, to hear her shallow breathing and know it was because of him and not just a dream version of him.

How many times had he quietly imagined what it’d be like to hear her like this? Had he silently cursed himself for allowing his mind to even stray that far?

He white-knuckled the door frame, afraid he’d lose whatever ounce of self control he had left. He knew he couldn’t - shouldn’t - wouldn’t do anything. Because everything else aside, what if it was just a mistake? God knows he’d had his fair share of sex dreams before about people he didn’t desire that way. What if this was the same for her?

The thought hurt worse than the idea of her never thinking of him that way at all.

He’d never gotten around to switching off the reading lamp, and in its glow he could see the crimson color of Lucy’s cheeks as she dreamed, the hazy movement of her eyes behind her eyelids. She looked almost angelic in the soft light. She was so perfect.

But he couldn’t keep staring at her like this. Besides being a complete invasion of her privacy, he didn’t trust himself not to do anything rash.

With an effort akin to escaping ghost lock, he tore his gaze away from her and forced himself to leave the room, forced himself to not stop until he’d entered the safety of his bedroom and had closed the door tightly behind him.

He didn’t realize he was holding in his breath until it all came loose at once, letting out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the back of his door frame. He cursed everything — himself for not doing anything, himself for having wanted to do anything at all, Lucy for having that bloody dream, the ghost at his job tonight for being a royal prick and keeping him out this late anyways.

He dragged himself over to his bed and dropped on it dramatically and without pausing to remove his suit. He stared blankly at the ceiling, eyes unmoving, as a million different unholy thoughts flashed through his mind. None of them helped the hard-on he had going on, and as much as he wanted to, it felt almost disrespectful to do anything about it.

Christ, he was down bad.

He pulled a pillow over his face and tried to get the way Lucy had moaned his name out of his mind.

But he couldn’t, because really, how could he?

In his head, he charged back into the living room and pulled her off of the couch so he could kiss her roughly, and she would grab fistfuls of his hair and make a sound like he’d heard her make in her sleep, and he—

Lockwood groaned.

It was going to be a long night.

[nescaveckwriter]

Paintbrushes And Romance 🥰🐞 - Part 14

Dean x Fem/Reader

Part 14🥰🐞

A/N: This might be triggering for people suffering from PTSD!💓 Side Note: thank you all so much for the support. Much love, my bugsies 🥰🐞

Warnings: hospital scenes, trigger warnings, sadness, violence, swearing, PTSD triggers, suicidal tendencies, drug use,🥹

......

The tear stained note, was short, when Cas read it, "Sorry Mom, I need some space, will call I promise, Love you" , shaking his head in disbelief.

In a soft low voice, Cas told Dean he could enter the house.

The broken ceramic pieces still scattered all over the open plan kitchen, Dean searching for her, the look in his eyes took Cas by surprise, it was filled with hurt, fear, sadness and guilt. He just handed Dean the note, he expected his best friend to have one if his outbursts of anger, but instead, all Dean did was crumble up the note, looked at him with bloodshot eyes, saying, I've lost her again Cas, his voice was low, barely audible but shaking.

Of course he tried explaining to best of his knowledge, that she didn't really mean to say all those things, it was merely because she was suffering from depression and the trauma but of course his friend didn't really believe a single word he spoke.

Eversince that day, he would check on Dean occasionally, finding out how he has been doing, he'll always get the same answer, just fine, never been better.

One night about 2 months since she left, he went by Dean's house, he just had a feeling he should check on him, walking up to the door, he could see the image of the once strong man, sitting at the table, bottle of whiskey, nearly finished, what looked like photos scattered out in front of him, the chain with the diamond ring in his one hand, but what really scared him was the gun in Dean's right hand, he didn't knock, he just barched in, making Dean look up from where he sat.

Not a single word was uttered at that moment, He just took the weapon out of Dean's grip, tossed it to the side away from them, begging him to talk to him. The only words that ran over his whiskey lips, was that he was tired, he misses her, and he tried searching for her, but she withdrew all her money at a gas station two towns over, and well as for her phone, she threw it in the closest trash can, she only called back home about three times from a damn payphone, Caroline said when they spoke her words seemed few and sort of slurred. I reviewed the cameras man, you should've seen her, his eyes filled with sadness, the body he came to know like the back of his hand was now only skin and bones, she seemed high Cas! Like she's using, she's doing drugs because of me.

Dean stood up, running his hands over his face. I did this Cas. If only I caught the bastard sooner. That night was the breaking point for Dean, and if he didn't show up, Sam would've lost a brother and their parents a son.

He explained to Dean that what very few people knew, is that its not just the trauma victim, but their loved ones that also get affected by it. He didn't leave his sight that night, promising Dean that he is there for him every step of the way and that they will get through this.

Its been almost a year now, and Dean has gotten better, he has healthier coping mechanisms for the dark days, and when those doesn't seem to work like it should, he throws himself into work, and taking care of Bobby, making sure he gets to physical therapy. Of course every know and then he sees Dean subconsciously play with the chain around his neck, still keeping his eyes and ears open for a clue of where she might be, hoping she'll just show up one day, and say she's sorry, and he knows for a fact Dean will take her back in a heartbeat. He knows that it isn't either of their faults that this messed them up so badly but, it still breaks his heart that all of this happened to two of the most generous, loving people he knows.

...

Its been three months since she left, the images replaying over and over. What am I even searching for, what was even the real reason why I left, fumbling in her handbag for some of the painkillers she bought by some sketchy looking dude at the corner, the only way of making the images of every damn thing disappear is by getting high, is it wrong? Hell yeah I know it is wrong. But really do I even care anymore.

More coffee comes a deep voice, looking up you can tell the man had gone through hardships in life but the smile on his face met his eyes. Yeah, thanks you said, your voice doesn't sound the same anymore, its gotten slower and well it sounded like you had given up on life. He just nodded and refilled your cup. Something to eat, the voice came out a little sweeter than before.

No thanks, you didn't really felt like eating, everything made you nauseous. How did I get to this point, a junkie who can't wait for her next fix, who's living out of her car, driving from one town to the next. Maybe it was a wrong decision to drive off that day, thinking back to the first time you felt high, you were about to towns over, tired off driving and crying, and in all honesty the pain in your leg was driving you crazy, busy searching through your bag, seeing the antidepressants and opioids the doctor and your psychologist gave you, with clear instructions on how to take them, you just took some, washing it down with an energy drink you bought at the fill up station. And that combination felt amazing.

For the first time the images in your mind weren't so scary, and you felt good, real good. Early morning came and the effects wore off, you made a promise to yourself that you won't do again. After you freshened up you might've took some more, for the pain of course, just saying that to make yourself feel better, that day was also the last time you spoke to your mom, just stating your okay and she shouldn't worry and you loved her. You could tell she was concerned and crying on the end of the line. But there was nothing you could say to make her feel better. If there was you would've tried it yourself. You just hang up the payphone, throwing your cellphone in a trashcan close by, you knew Dean had the resources to trace your phone, and you weren't ready to be found.

Over these past few weeks the using got more, wanting to feel the effects for longer, you started popping pills more than once a day, and before you knew it, the pill bottles were empty, and it ain't exactly over the counter drugs, so you drove around searching for someone who sold them, at first you were scared but know your just desperate. Taking any pills you can get that will do the trick.

The guy who sold this last batch to you, told you to take one, and it will make you feel good, and at first you did, but that didn't just quite cut it, so you took another two, swallowing it down with your black coffee.

After a while you started to feel Nauseous, walking as fast as you can to the bathroom, not really seeing how the man from the diner that refilled your coffee were watching you, after closing the door behind you, you could tell something wasn't right, everything started to look it was swimming before your eyes, you felt like you were burning up, sweat coming from your forehead, your legs felt weak and just gave in underneath you, you felt your head hitting against the basin and then the floor, your body started to shake violently and then it all went dark...

[lilacthebooklover]

An analysis of Rococo (OMORI), because he doesn't get enough love :)

This is an analysis of Rococo as a character, looking into almost every word he says and interpreting them. It's time to find out just how tragic this funny little artist man can be >:]

"I've been alone for so long... but after what feels like an eternity... At last... I have... an audience!"// "PLEASE LISTEN! I'M SO LONELY!!"

He's been alone for ages, judging by Sweetheart’s long-lasting relationship with Spaceboy, him falling in love and moving in with SWH when she got her castle 'as a young donut', and his loneliness . This is someone who hasn't spoken to anyone in years and is willing to beg for a bit of company. 

He also clearly thrives on attention, both from this quote and the grand flamboyance of others, so being without that for so long must have been terrible for him. While 'what feels like an eternity' could quite probably be a hyperbole, he's had no way to tell the time since he's been literally trapped inside the walls.

The poor guy's so lonely . :[ 

"In the beginning was me... crying in a pod in the middle of space... witnessing my home planet blow up right before my eyes." // "I can still remember it all so vividly... Fire... Fire... everywhere... and then darkness." // "Even as a baby, I knew I was the sole survivor of my species... the last elf in the entire universe."

I know this is a Superman reference, but I’m going to treat it as its own separate thing for the sake of the backstory :)

Immediately, this shows us that he's lost his home as a child (being a literal baby when his planet was destroyed) alongside any family, friends or even people of the same species. He was completely alone from the start, and there's no way that something like this wouldn't cause issues later on.

Also, the fact that he remembers this shows two things: A- this affected him so deeply that it remains with him to the present day; and B- he can remember it despite being incredibly young. This means that it's likely he remembers a lot more , having such an extensive memory– e.g. everything that happened with SWH, too: them being close, her claiming 'Sweetheart is for everyone', himself getting abducted by the guards, every moment of living in the walls... It may be a stretch, but it's a possibility, and his storytelling shows that he may overdramatise his past a lot, but there are still some key facts within it.

The repetition of 'fire' makes it seem like he's almost reliving it, caught up in his memories. This is a tragic backstory already , and this is just the first 2 lines.

""So this is how it ends..." I thought."

There's no panic, no regret. Just pure, depressing acceptance. He was ready to die, knowing that he couldn't do anything to stop it and having been exposed to death so early on.

(This is also likely just something he made up remembering for the effect, but that shows that either then or later on, he realised he could very well have died in that desert. Ouch)

"Yet... In a stroke of luck, I was found by none other than a young DONUT by the name of SWEETHEART. She brought me to her family and they took me in as one of their own."

He and Sweetheart grew up in the same house, the same area of Faraway, best friends. They seemed to be like siblings, judging by her taking him in, them fighting, and knowing and caring about each other incredibly well. This makes her later betrayal all the more heartbreaking because this isn't just a woman Rococo's pined for before, but rather his entire world . 

He never mentions Donut Grandma or any other relatives outside of this, just her. They don't mention him, either.

 He doesn't have any friends, or a close bond with anybody , except  for Sweetheart, who intentionally locked him in her walls for years. Again, Rococo's completely alone.

"It was a rough childhood. We fought frequently, but she would always win... If I fought back... Well... ..." // "Anyway! I learned to run! And I got quite good at running… But... there's only so far you can run." // "Yes, it was a hard time. But even through that suffering, I stood firm."

I have... A lot of feelings about this part.

He describes his childhood as 'rough' even after he was rescued, which is immediately a red flag. He says that he and Sweetheart fought frequently, and it doesn't seem like any adults broke up their arguments.

Then, Rococo says that SWH always won. They would get mad or disagree, but even as a child, Sweetheart refused to accept she was wrong. This says a lot about her character; Sweetheart's always been like this.

'Fought back' means that Sweetheart had to be fighting him in the first place, and Rococo just had to take it. He was getting hurt, either physically or verbally, on the regular.

The frequent ellipsis throughout show how difficult it is for him to remember and share this. He cuts himself off a few times, his voice trailing off, while never explicitly saying what Sweetheart did.

However, as a result of Sweetheart having different opinions to him, Rococo 'learned to run' . This means he had to be running from something, his forced cheer at the matter and determination to change subjects and make his story dramatic and lighthearted again demonstrated through the exclamation mark. 

Then, there's the phrase, '...there's only so far you can run'. He's speaking from experience here, and it really brings to question again just what he had to run from, and why. 

Furthermore, this is immediately followed by, 'Yes, it was a hard time', showing that he found simply growing up around her– and having reason to run– difficult. This is to be expected growing up with Sweetheart, but the fact that he didn’t seem to have anyone else means that she was his only company constantly. His childhood is far sadder than I initially realised.

'Suffering' again shows us just how much he endured as a child; I'll go back into this in the next point.

"Because even then, I knew everything had a purpose. I was sent to this planet and survived for one reason and one reason only... to repopulate my entire species."

Rococo ploughed through his 'suffering' for only one reason: he felt it was his obligation to repopulate his wiped-out species. That's... Actually really disturbing, when you think about it.

Rococo doesn't think he's alive for the sake of being alive. He doesn't think he was just fortunate enough to survive. He believes that he has been kept alive by the fates solely in order to procreate.

This is an impossible goal, too, since he is the only one left. There are no other elves for him to have kids with– even if they were, options for partners would be incredibly limited and based not on love, but necessity. At best, he could make hybrid elf-donut kids with Sweetheart, but he can't repopulate his species. What he views as his only purpose is one he isn't even able to fulfil.

This is also a huge weight on his shoulders. There would always be that sense of estrangement since he is the only one of his kind, his desire to make more showcasing even that hidden hope for those like him. Because people like to be around those of the same likes, interests and species , but for Rococo, that last bit's impossible.

Loneliness is the centre of his entire backstory, and has followed him relentlessly throughout. 

"There is a conspicuous gap in my memory after this, so I'll fast-forward a few years." // "At some point... SWEETHEART and I fell deeply in love, became engaged, and moved to this giant castle together!"

This has some truly horrible implications. 

Rococo, having remembered his time as a literal baby, lost an entire chunk of his memories as a (presumable) adult? It doesn't seem likely, and 'conspicuous' only further supports this.

The fact that this is immediately followed by him and SWH falling in love seems wrong , to say the least. Rococo has just said he suffered at her hands, fought frequently with her, learned to run because of her, and now, he doesn't even remember falling in love with her.

One moment, he's living in Orange Oasis with his adoptive family. In the next, he's engaged to Sweetheart in a giant pink castle with no clue how he got there.

What seems more likely is that Sweetheart, who loves people loving her , got frustrated with Rococo's lack of blind adoration and decided to do something about it. 

It seems that here is when she encountered the Keeper of the Castle, who she begged to make the castle hers. In the Keeper's words: "That girl. She was an elaborate one.

This dwelling. It takes the shape of one's deepest desires. A place to return to. Somewhere to call home."

Her 'deepest desires' resulted in Rococo having a years-long gap in his memory before finding out he was apparently in love with and engaged to Sweetheart. He probably believed this, too, as by that point, he would have been affected by the Castle he now resided within. 

The Keeper said he gave her "A castle full of riches, servants for her to command, a stage for her to flaunt her power". He does not mention Rococo, but this tells us about SWH's desire for power and reveals that the sprout moles are either of Sweetheart’s creation/wants or were tricked into loving her.

If it is the latter, the same would have likely applied to Rococo.

"We were inseparable, her and I... and we loved each other dearly! I would do anything for her, and I mean anything!"

The ellipsis here indicates either that Rococo looks back on this fondly or with unease. The following exclamation mark again shows that he's trying to make his story seem happy, trying to convince himself that the only person he was close to genuinely cared about him as a person.

The emphasis on 'anything' once again contradicts his feelings prior to the memory gap, suggesting that Rococo's mind has, in fact, been tampered with. There is no mention of SWH doing anything for him– only the Keeper' remark on her hunger for power.

Needless to say, this doesn't suggest that their relationship was particularly healthy .

"I was ready to spend the rest of our lives together... to grow old... and to raise hundreds upon hundreds of children!" // "Hmm... Thinking about it now, I wonder if I ever made that clear to her."

Again, he longs for people of the same type and is excited to fulfil what he believes is his purpose. He made it clear quite early on that he's always wanted to be a father, so him not mentioning this to Sweetheart ever seems unlikely. 

Knowing SWH, she was probably far more focused on her own wants than Rococo's, regardless of his feelings. Their relationship was based off of what she wanted– and it seemed that Rococo grew a little too attached for her liking.

"Alas, all good times must come to an end. As SWEETHEART's fan base grew, she and I grew apart as well."

He views their relationship as 'good times', despite what he's depicted being sudden and unequally reciprocated devotion. As Sweetheart became more centred on her fame and fans, Rococo grew more and more alone. 

Again .

"She began receiving gifts and letters from suitors from all over the universe... asking for a chance to prove their love to her."

The ellipsis once again shows his hesitation. He doesn't want to remember this, yet recounts it all the same as it is an integral part of his story. She’s the only person he has, and Rococo doesn’t want to lose her.

Don't forget that by this point, he and Sweetheart were engaged . 

"Being her one true love, I was vehemently against this notion! But she wouldn't have it!" // "“SWEETHEART is for sharing!” she would say!"

They are planning on getting married by this point. Sweetheart is all Rococo has, and he has said that he would have done anything for her.

And yet, that wasn't enough for Sweetheart. Rococo is being perfectly reasonable here, yet once again, he suffered as a result. This is a sad echo of their apparent fights as children.

"..." // "So... one night while I was asleep... SWEETHEART and her servants tied me up and sealed me inside the walls of her castle."

The pause here shows his sadness at this, seeming to have to take a moment for himself before speaking. Here, his grandeur is gone, replaced by pure misery.

Sweetheart assisted in tying him up, and as the guards were manifested from her desires, them helping her get rid of him shows that she simply no longer desired Rococo.

This would have been traumatising in itself– being kidnapped in the middle of the night and aware enough to see your attackers–, but the fact that Rococo knew and trusted her so much makes this even sadder.

He had nobody else, and Sweetheart sealed him away for what was probably intended to be forever. Rococo, once again, was alone .

"I have been wandering aimlessly through the darkness inside the walls ever since... surviving off old TOAST and TOFU." // "Yes... You four are the first living beings I have seen since that fateful day."

Firstly... Toast? As in, toast that people become if they lose a fight? As in, toast that is essentially dead bodies?

Considering all of Sweetheart’s skeletons in the dungeon, it would not be a surprise if the corpses of those she executed were also thrown into the walls– anything SWH didn't want, after all.

Rococo, potentially having never been exposed to the concept of toast=person, had to survive off of this. What's even worse is that he could have known what it was yet had no choice but to eat it, supported by the use of ‘living’ in the above quote. This also means he's been here for a while , long enough to start starving and for SWH to make through multiple seasons of a show and date Spaceboy.

If that isn't a horrifying thought, then what is?

Secondly, he became absolutely isolated after this. Left with no closure and no explanation, Rococo can only wonder what went so wrong for this to happen.

Living in the walls means he could have been able to hear everything SWH was doing– including her courtship of Spaceboy and 'Sweetheart Quest for Hearts'.

Either that, or he’s been exposed to no other form of human contact for years. He's also in a dungeon , with no natural light and a distinct lack of hygiene or, well, anything really.

"Sniff... Oh... SWEETHEART... Why did you do it? Was I not good enough for you?"

He doesn't blame her. He doesn't blame the fans.

Rococo blames himself .

His idea of 'not being good enough' for Sweetheart is equivalent to him being locked in her walls to rot for years. This is someone who is very much not okay.

He has to stop himself from crying here, sniffing as he laments what he views as his failure. Because Rococo has been alone for his entire life, and Sweetheart was the only exception.

He loved her more than anything, so it's hard for him even after he's found to view her as in the wrong. Sweetheart, after all, was always the one to win their arguments, to do something that caused Rococo to run if he fought back.

!

"Sigh... For the last few years, I've had a long time to think." // "I kind of gave up on my dreams and all that stuff now... It all seems so far away and pointless..." // "So... I've decided to drop everything and become an artist instead!"

He's given up on his dreams. Rococo's main one was to repopulate his species, but now, he can't think of anyone who loves him. It takes two people to make a child, and Rococo's all alone.

So, he's left without a purpose. He has nothing to do but utilise his surroundings– until Omori & co. find him, Rococo believes he's never going to leave the dungeon. So, he decides to use what he has available.

And that's painting supplies. He aspires to become an artist, waiting and waiting for anyone to make art for. He's desperate to be commissioned, to have a purpose again.

We never actually see him leave the dungeon, but he had to be getting those bed upgrades from somewhere . Imagine, after years of solitude, Rococo finally manages to leave the walls, only to retreat back to them at the first possible opportunity. He doesn't know how to live anymore, how to be around other people.

He feels incredibly lonely, but can't find the strength to interact with others anymore.

Art becomes his only reason for existing, Rococo devoting every bit of his time to it until he masters it. But then...

"Thank you, fellow living beings. Through these few commissions... I feel as if I had made great leaps in my quest of self-discovery in the process. I am also very rich now." // "I can do no more for you! I truly feel complete!"

'Fellow living beings'. Rococo's so socially awkward by this point that it's not even funny (okay, maybe it's a little funny). He feels the need to remind himself that he is, in fact, still alive.

He 'feels complete'. There's nothing more for him. He is ready to pass away.

Now, Rococo has managed to 'find his purpose', be it what he originally intended or not. He's become as good as he can at what he focused on doing, except...

...There's nowhere to go from there. 

Rococo will inevitably be left alone once again, trapped in a cycle of loneliness and purposelessness. If his purpose is to be an artist, how will he get any better than he already is? If he wants to spend his money, what will he use it on?

At the end of this story, just like the rest of the points throughout, Rococo is still alone. 

He has money, he has his art, he has a comfortable bed, but he still possesses a total of zero friends. Omori and co. are customers. Sweetheart is in Deeper Well, working for the Slime Girls and not giving a toss about him. None of his adoptive relatives in Orange Oasis seem to care about him.

Rococo always has been, and seemingly always will be, all by himself– all the way up until he dies, just like the rest of his kind. He was never able to complete his original goal, he is left with nothing more to do after completing his last commission, and he has nothing more to spend his money on.

Because Rococo is alone once again

The End :)

Huh, that turned out a little longer than I thought it would. Oh well :)

Rococo's such a fun character but I barely see anyone talking about him, so I hope you enjoyed this little look into him! He's so silly and dramatic and angsty :D

Thanks for getting this far lol