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spideyjimin · 9 days ago

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Bloodlines entwined: I | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child.

— pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader

— genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut

— rating: 18+

— words: 7,213

— warnings: strong language, mention of death, mention of murder, mention of loneliness, mention of blood, several mentions of abortion, and crying

— author’s note: here it is the first chapter of this series! <3 i’m actually very excited about this entire universe, i’ve been working on it for a little while already & i’ve been taking my time to write each part 🤗 the beginning is inspired by Jane the Virgin and the Flash as they are both my favorite shows ✨ i hope you’ll enjoy this part & don’t hesitate to let me know what you think 😊

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Chapter I: when worlds collide

SERIES MASTERLIST | next

Sitting in your car, you’ve been looking blinkingly at the windshield, hands trembling against the steering wheel. For ten whole minutes, you’ve been frozen like this as if moving would shatter the fragile sense of calm you’ve barely managed to hold together.

Your life is about to drastically change; you know it deep down.

“The deed is done,” you whisper to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, and your reflection in the rearview mirror catches your eye. You look exhausted, your eyes wide and glistening.

For two years, this moment has been building. You have thoughtfully considered having a child on your own. At first, it was just a random thought that crossed your mind, a curiosity born on one of those quiet, lonely moments where life felt both too much and not enough. Then, you deeply thought about it. The idea rooted itself deep within you, anchoring into something raw and tender: a longing to create a family on your own terms.

After much research and consideration, you decided to go for it.

Many people couldn’t understand your choice, but honestly, you don’t give two shits about others’ opinions. What did matter to you was the support of close family and friends.

Felix, the man who raised you after your parents were stolen from you, proposed to accompany you to the fertility clinic, but you gently declined his offer. This was something you wanted to do by yourself. Well, you just came alone to be inseminated. Other than that, he has been by your side every step of the way.

He helped you to go through the countless donor profiles, and every document needed for this adventure of yours.

The process was a bit long and emotionally draining. The first steps were more like an evaluation, mostly for the clinic to understand your reasons and ensure you’ve deeply thought about all the aspects. Having a kid alone isn’t just about fulfilling your dreams but also about building a life for a child.

Once you’ve successfully completed those steps, you had to choose the donor. There were a lot of choices; it was like going grocery shopping. You were handed a catalog of potential donors with their medical histories and first names. It felt odd to be choosing the progenitor like this. After going through every profile, one of them stood out.

Following the donor selection, your cycles and hormone levels were tracked. When all was good, you’d get inseminated on your ovulation period, which technically is happening this week.

So, ten minutes ago, you walked out of the clinic after being artificially knocked up.

If your egg is fertilized, in nine months, you’ll welcome your very much desired baby. A tiny human who will call you mom. You already picked the names, one for a girl, one for a boy. You simply can’t wait to welcome a tiny human in your life. Hopefully, the life of your baby will be better than yours.

You lean your head against the steering wheel, closing your eyes as the ghosts of your past surface.

Twenty years ago, your life was turned upside down when a terrible murderer put an end to your parents’ lives. Nobody ever found him or her; it’s like the person completely vanished into the night. That person left behind a little girl with questions nobody could ever answer and scars nobody could understand.

Since you didn’t have any family left, you were raised by your father’s best friend, Felix. Over time, he became like a second father to you. Even though you were full of anger when he took you over, he stayed by your side and helped you navigate this sad reality; one where your parents weren’t part of anymore.

His daughter, Lexi is your age. You were already so close, and living under the same roof brought you even closer. She’s your super best friend, almost like a sister today. A smile grows on your face as you think of her. Your life would have been a nightmare without her.

Lexi was the first person to be aware of this desire to become a single mother. She even pushed you to do it as soon as you could, and she has encouraged you like nobody else. She also helped you select a donor; she even made fun of the names of some of them.

Your phone buzzes; the name and picture of Lexi appearing on the screen.

“Hi,” you say when you pick up.

“Soo,” she says. “How did it go?”

“Good, I guess?” you say with clear hesitation. “The doctor just inserted a thin catheter, looked at the screen, and said it was done,” you explain. “Now we just have to wait.”

Waiting is now the worst part, especially since you decided not to take any pregnancy test until the next appointment. Meaning, you have to wait two full weeks.

“Let’s hope the donor’s little swimmers are good ones,” she says.

While you always wanted to have a kid, Lexi never wanted one. You and her are total opposites but that’s what helped create such a strong bond between you. “Yeah, let’s hope for that,” you smile.

Two weeks later

A couple of days ago, you took a blood test, and now, you’re in the waiting room, patiently waiting for the doctor to call you up.

These past two weeks, you’ve been internally battling to take a pregnancy test. It’s been hard to fight the urge to discover beforehand if you’re expecting or not. On your way to the clinic, your heart was beating extremely fast with nervousness. Even the music playing in the car didn’t seem to calm you down.

Even though you’re extremely nervous, a part of you knows. You can’t explain it, but you feel it deep down. Two nights ago, you were lying in bed completely exhausted after an intense day at work. The rhythm of your heartbeat was rocking you to sleep. Amidst the thrum of your own heart, you swear you could hear a faint, smaller, and quicker rhythm.

You instantly opened your eyes, scanning the room. The sound wasn’t coming from outside. It felt like it was inside you. You stayed perfectly still, listening to that tiny sound. That night, you were rocked to sleep by that new rhythm.

The morning after, as you caught your reflection in the bathroom’s mirror, something felt off. Your brows furrowed as you noticed your own scent was different. It felt like it was mixed with somebody else’s scent, but it wasn’t as strong as yours or any other living human. It was extremely odd.

After a little while, the doctor says your name, and with shaky legs, you walk to her office. Your heart is beating at a very crazy pace, ready to burst at any moment. This is so stressful; it feels like time is moving so slowly.

“Hello yn,” the doctor smiles at you while you’re entering the room. “How have you been feeling?” you now take a seat.

“I’m good, thanks,” you smile back at her.

She sits down at her desk and takes a look at her computer.

“So, did you take any pregnancy test?” she asks.

“No, no,” you answer. “I wanted to keep the surprise for today.”

“I see,” she looks again at her screen before taping on her keyboard.

She seems to quickly read something before her smile widens. Your heart is going completely crazy. It really makes you nervous, and you try to mentally prepare yourself to receive the bad news as well. It’ll definitely break your heart but you’ll try again.

This entire process is quite expensive, but the payment can be spread out over time rather than made in one shot. With this first payment, you have the right to three attempts. If pregnancy isn’t achieved after those attempts, you’ll have to go through another round and pay for additional attempts.

The doctor mentioned that usually, it takes about three to six attempts to achieve a successful pregnancy. Hopefully, you’ll get pregnant within those first three tries. You’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to afford another round of insemination.

“Well, it looks like it only took you one try to conceive,” she informs you.

And right there, your heart bursts with joy. There’s indeed a little human being growing inside you. You’ll become a mother in nine months. You can’t believe it.

A little tear runs down your face as you hear the good news. It’s such a relief. You won't have to worry about coming back for another round.

“That’s good news,” you clean the tear on your cheek.

“It is indeed,” she says. “In four weeks more or less, we’ll plan an ultrasound to confirm the embryo’s implantation and check for a heartbeat,” she adds.

Well, you’ll still get worried about that because maybe until there, your baby will not survive. But you need to remain positive. No need to start stressing about it; you promised yourself that you’ll try to remain calm the entirety of the process and pregnancy so you’ll offer a great beginning of life to your baby.

“I’m very hopeful everything will go well because both you and the donor are in good health,” she says.

“Let’s hope for that,” you answer.

You then proceed to schedule the next appointment in four weeks. You can’t hide the immense smile on your face. This is the best news you got today. Nothing else will ever be possible to ruin this day.

When you leave the clinic, you instantly call Lexi.

“I AM PREGNANT!” you scream with excitement.

“Yeeeah,” she screams as well. “I’m going to be an aunty!” she adds.

“I’m so relieved that this first attempt was successful,” you admit.

Once you get inside your car, you touch your belly to caress it.

“That baby is so lucky to have you as a mother,” she says after. “And even more lucky to join our family.”

For sure, your family will extremely love this baby. It’s such a desired baby, and everybody has been so excited.

“They’ll be so loved,” you reply.

“There’s absolutely no doubt,” she says. “Dad will be so happy about this news; he’s been so excited to become a grandpa.”

Felix has expressed lately that he couldn’t wait to welcome a baby and become a granddad. This man has raised you for twenty years, and you consider him as a second father. There’s no doubt that your baby will see him as their grandfather even if, biologically speaking, he isn’t.

When you hang up, you stare into the void for a couple of minutes. In this moment, you wish your parents would be here. They would have been so happy to become grandparents, but they won’t be by your side for this new chapter of your life.

They are also the reason why you’re doing all of this. Since they passed, there’s been a tremendous emptiness inside you that even the love of Felix couldn’t fill in. This void stems mostly from the fact that you were left alone when they were killed. You’ve been feeling so lonely since then.

Throughout your life, you tried to fill it with relationships but they all failed. As far as you can remember, you wanted to follow the traditional path to build a family. However, it never worked out. Then, one day, you saw a brochure about single mothers, and you’ve been thinking about it since then.

You’ve seen motherhood as a role that will fill this emotional void you’ve been carrying for years. Plus, you’ve also seen it as a way to finally control your life. Twenty years ago, someone decided for you what your life would become. This wasn’t fair.

And you also want to give your baby the life you never got. You want to give them a loving family that won’t disappear the second the parents die. Outside of your parents, you didn’t have a family. Based on what Felix told you, your grandparents were against your parents' relationship so they moved into another city to live freely and build a family.

Life hasn’t been fair for you, but you want to make it fair for your baby.

Two weeks later

The clinic called you this morning to urgently come in the afternoon, only making you grow concerned during the day. You kept wondering what the reason for such urgency would be. Did they notice something when they did the blood test? Did they get the wrong blood test? Are you even really pregnant?

However, you’re a hundred percent sure you’re carrying a life inside you. You haven’t had the ‘normal’ early symptoms yet, but you can feel your baby inside you. The faint heartbeat can still be heard, and there’s still that subtle scent interwoven with yours.

For the past two weeks, you’ve repeatedly inhaled this new scent, almost to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Most of the time, you wondered if it wasn’t something like blood, sweat, or the smell of your new shampoo. It was definitely an earthly one. One that only a human can possess.

Once inside the clinic, you’re instantly installed in the doctor’s room. Your heart is crazily beating inside your chest; you’re so nervous right now. Seconds later, a man joins you in the room.

At first glance, you’d think he is the CEO of a huge company. He’s fully dressed in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, his hands casually placed in his pants pockets. This man is extremely charismatic; something about him draws you in.

The man looks at you while frowning, his eyes moving from your eyes to your belly. By reflex, you cover your stomach with your hands. He’s making you uncomfortable with his intense stare.

He has a very strong bestial scent, it predominates his cologne. Everything about him is imposing, even the way his heart beats; it’s so calm while yours is completely erratic. The man’s eyes are clued on you.

The doctor arrives right after and closes the door behind her. Her face is quite serious; she even seems concerned.

“Miss y/l/n,” she takes a seat at her desk. “Mister Jeon,” she looks at the man behind you. “Please take a seat.”

The two of you sit down next to each other with apprehension. You can hear his heart beating a little faster, but he remains extremely calm on the outside.

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The doctor pauses, giving you time to absorb the gravity of the statement. Her tone is gentle, but at the same time professional.

The sterile, cold walls of the room seem to close in around you as the doctor’s words pierce through your thoughts.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” your breath is caught in your throat, your hands trembling. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

Your eyes look at the man sitting next to you. All you can see in his eyes is the same disbelief that reflects your own. So, this is your child’s father.

Many questions cross your mind, but they remain unspoken, lodged in your throat.

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

You desired nothing more than being alone in this adventure; you didn’t want a present father. That was the whole point of a donor. Now, you know the father of your child, and he’d probably like to be present.

For the past months, you went through a series of questions regarding the fact that you’ll raise your child alone. They asked you many times how you’d explain to your child that they don’t have a father. This now feels like a complete waste of time.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment’s costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

Those words seem so heavy and yet, they represent the reality of the choice you now have to face. A knot tightens in your stomach at the thought of undoing something you wished for so long. The baby is now growing inside of you, you’ve got used to falling asleep with their tiny heartbeat. The only thought of not having it anymore breaks your heart beyond comprehension.

Right now, everything—your carefully constructed plans, your hopes, the small life growing inside you—seems to be slipping through your fingers.

Mister Jeon is silent beside you, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He seems as stunned as you, but you can’t help but think that there’s something else there too. Something deeper and darker.

You ignore if he’s thinking the same thing as you, but you can feel it: the strange twist of fate pulling you both into an unknown world, one you both hadn’t planned for.

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

Time seems irrelevant now. There’s a choice you need to make; a choice you didn’t expect to face. You swallow hard, your heart racing inside your chest. Your hands caress your belly through your shirt while you only hear the baby’s fragile heartbeat.

This isn’t supposed to happen. This can’t be real.

Jungkook’s face went pale as the doctor’s words sank in.

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

Just like you, the room’s white walls feel suffocating, the air thick with a tension he can’t shake. A mistake. His mistake. He tried to avoid this situation. He was supposed to go through surrogacy to guarantee a child that would uphold his lineage. His werewolf lineage, pure and untouched by human blood.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” the doctor’s words hang up in the air like a death sentence. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

His eyes quickly look at you, and he notices how much you’re shaking. It seems like you’re in a more devasted state than he is.

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

Jungkook blinks, trying to absorb what is happening. A human child. Nonetheless, his child. Having children with humans isn’t just a personal choice; it’s a fundamental rule of the werewolf society. The very foundation of his power as the king depends on the purity of his bloodline. To break the rule is to risk everything.

He knows better than anyone what happens to the werewolf-human hybrid kids together with the parents. They are killed by the pack. Being a king doesn’t make him the exception to the rule. If this pregnancy goes to full term, not only will he be killed, but the baby and the lady sitting next to him will too.

You didn’t ask for any of this. You don’t deserve to die because of a mistake.

His gaze filled with frustration and panic moves toward you once more as his pulse quickens. He wanted control over the situation. He never intended to father a hybrid child. And now, not only is he involved in this pregnancy, but the child is going to carry his blood mixed with human genetics. God only knows what can happen to this kid, genetically speaking.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

‘This can’t be happening’, he thinks.

His eyes move back to the doctors, his hands clenched into fists. The thought of the entire werewolf community learning of this is unbearable. And what is his mother going to think of this?

She was the first person to support him in this surrogacy journey. She knew how important it was for him to have a child as soon as possible because he’d been struggling to find someone with whom he’d mate. Having an heir is the first thing a king should do to ensure the legacy.

Now, he’s about to have a child with a human. That’s not possible. This child won’t have a pure bloodline, this child can’t ever be an heir.

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

The idea of termination seems dreadful, but the possibility of a hybrid child heir seems even worse. His responsibility as king, and the traditions that have been in place for centuries don’t allow for such breach. To raise a kid with human blood would mean instant disgrace, not only for him but for his entire family. How could he even be respected after this?

His entire world is slipping through his fingers. His position as king is now in jeopardy. This baby will destabilize the entire werewolf community. Nobody will respect him and will only see him as weak. Weak for having a human child.

There’s no going back. His mind tries to find a solution to fix this, or how to undo this. The idea of raising a child with a human—no matter how much it is his responsibility—is unthinkable. He never desired this and hasn’t even considered it. He has been so focused on maintaining his bloodline that the idea of a mistake happening never crossed his mind.

Your presence beside him destabilizes him beyond comprehension. He can see the confusion in your eyes mixed with disbelief. You can’t comprehend the extension of this entire problem. You can’t even comprehend the danger of mixing bloodlines, because you aren’t a werewolf.

Jungkook stands in silence for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts. Terminating this pregnancy isn’t something he desires, but having a child with a human is simply impossible. His heart beats too crazily, and he can hear yours beating just as fast. His heart and duty are pulling him in two different directions.

Finally, his eyes meet yours. His voice is soft but it carries a heavy weight. “We need to decide. This affects both of us.”

After what felt like an eternity, you both leave the room completely shaken up by the news you just got. How could this be happening?

As you’re both walking in the clinic in the parking lot’s direction, none of you dares to speak. You’re a complete stranger to Jungkook. All he knows is that you’re a human carrying his child.

“I can’t have that child,” he finally breaks the silence.

His words cause you to stop.

“It’s too early for me to consider terminating this pregnancy,” you admit. “I need time.”

Jungkook understands your perspective. It’s not a decision you lightly take, especially if you’ve come to this clinic to have a child. It’d be completely absurd to abort after going through this entire process.

“Of course,” he says. “But I want you to know my point of view.”

You nod, understanding his perspective as well. This is such a horrible situation. Jungkook wanted to have an heir while you simply wanted to have a child on your own. On top of that, he doesn’t look like the donor you selected.

“So if I decide to keep it, would you be out?” you ask.

Jungkook considers your words. There’s a possibility that the baby could still exist, but he wouldn’t be part of their life. He’d still be losing because he wants a child, but at least this way, his position wouldn’t be jeopardized, and no one would get hurt or killed.

“It’s possible,” he honestly answers.

You nod once more. Even though he decides not to be part of his child’s life, he’d still know that he has a kid somewhere. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding you; he already knows your smell, and he has the means to find you.

“Okay,” you say.

Jungkook watches you take a pen and paper from your purse before writing something.

“This is my phone number,” you hand him the piece of paper. “In case you change your mind or take a decision.”

The man takes the piece of paper while you give him a small smile. You start walking away, his eyes following you until you disappear inside a car.

In this situation, he definitely would like to ask his mother for advice, but he can’t. He already knows the answer she’ll give him. ‘This baby can’t exist.’ And she’s right, but he can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy. It’s your body after all.

In the eventuality that you decide to proceed with the pregnancy, he guesses he’ll let you be a mother alone and pretend like this kid doesn’t exist.

You’ve spent the last two days crying in bed. The conversation with the doctor and this mysterious Mister Jeon has been playing over and over in your head. You can still picture everything so clearly; the white walls of the doctor’s room, the apologies from the doctor, and Mister Jeon’s piercing gaze.

‘There’s been a mistake,’ ‘There was a mix-up with the sample,’ the words still echo in your mind.

You’ve been trying to make sense of how such a monumental mistake has happened. But nothing seems to make sense. The clinic did this; the clinic took control over your decision. This chapter of your life was about you gaining control, but once more, someone decided for you. It’s been making you angry.

You’re furious at the clinic and their negligence. You trusted them with your project of building your own family. However, they decided otherwise.

But underneath that anger, there’s another fury; one directed to yourself. You were so focused on having a child on your own terms that you didn’t stop to consider the what-ifs. You didn’t stop to consider that something might go wrong. And now, you are here.

You’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours now, your mind trying to find a solution. Do you keep this baby? Do you terminate the pregnancy?

This choice feels impossible. It feels like no matter what your life will completely change.

But deep down, you somehow feel some kind of relief. Because when Mister Jeon—this intense and charismatic man—said there was a possibility he’d walk away, that he’d leave you to raise this child alone, you felt lighter.

His potential absence is appealing. It aligns with your original choice, to be a single mother. A choice where your child is yours, and yours alone. But then, there’s also a possibility where he stays, or that he comes back later. What would happen then?

You press your hands against your face while a guttural growl leaves your lips. This is so damn frustrating. This should be simple. Because now, you’re left wondering what you want. Do you want to walk away from this and stick to the original plan? Or do you want to embrace this chaos, and see where this might lead?

Your hands slide down to your stomach, caressing it while you hear again the tiny heartbeat. This sound comforts you which makes you close your eyes.

For now, you don’t have any answers to all your questions. You’re not even sure you’ll have them tomorrow. For now, you’ll let yourself breathe. You’ll let yourself feel. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the answers.

The sound of your phone ringing pushes you out of your own thoughts, informing you that you received a message. You sit on your bed before grabbing the phone on the nightstand. You received a message from an unknown number. By curiosity, you unlock your phone to read it. To your surprise, it’s the famous and mysterious Mister Jeon.

From unknown: hi miss y/l/n, this is jeon jungkook, the father of your child. i’d like to meet you to discuss the matter. would you be free tonight?

Your heart hammers inside your chest, ready to burst at any second. He contacted you sooner than expected. You were thinking that you wouldn’t hear anything from him for at least a week. You thought you’d have more time to make a decision before meeting him. Now, it seems you don’t, and that you’ll have a very interesting conversation with him tonight.

With shaky hands, you start typing your answer.

To unknown: hello mister jeon, we could meet tonight

When you press ‘send’, you stare at the conversation, waiting for an answer. Mister Jeon responds instantly to your message, proposing to meet in a town square. You accept the suggestion and quickly go to your clothes cupboard to pick up an outfit.

The man seems very impressive, and you want to be presentable. He’s after all the progenitor of the life growing inside you.

A couple of hours later, you take the road to the meeting point. Surprisingly, you’ve remained calm for the entire drive. Driving is actually the only thing able to calm your tormented soul. Whenever you go through something very intense, you just drive to clear your mind.

However, since this pregnancy thing, even driving hasn’t been able to help you out. You tried to drive yesterday, but it only made things worse. So it definitely surprises you that you’ve been able to clear your mind before meeting Mister Jeon.

When you arrive, he’s already there waiting for you. He’s not wearing a suit, quite the contrary. His outfit is only made of a grey sweater with a blue pair of jeans. His hair isn’t perfectly pushed back as it was two days ago. It feels like you’re meeting a completely different person.

When he sees you, he stands up. As he does so, you notice he holds a box in his right hand. It’s a small one, but it still intrigues you.

“Good evening, miss y/l/n,” he says.

“Good evening, mister Jeon,” you say back.

His presence is still very imposing, but the fact that he isn’t wearing a suit anymore changes it a bit. He seems more approachable than he was in the clinic.

“Please call me Jungkook,” he offers you a small smile.

It’s the first time you see him smiling, and it feels like a very warm one. Beneath it all and in the midst of the city noise, you can perceive his heartbeat. It’s quite rapid which makes you tilt your head. Is he nervous?

“You can call me yn as well,” you smile back at him.

“I’ve brought you a box with some pastries,” he hands you the box. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Your smile grows wider at his simple but heartwarming gesture. This wasn’t expected, but it lightens the mood. Jungkook seems to be a nice person which contrasts with the cold and unreadable person he seemed two days ago.

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the little box. “You didn’t need to,” your eyes look up at him.

After that, you both sit down on the bench he was on before you arrived. By the way he rubs his hands on his tights, you can tell that he’s a bit nervous. You try not to overanalyze him, because you know your mind will go crazy, full of questions.

“What is happening is really crazy,” he admits with obvious nervousness. “I never imagined things would go this way,” you nod.

Jungkook looks everywhere, except at you. It seems like he isn’t brave enough to face you, almost like a teenager confessing his love.

“As I told you two days ago, I can’t have this child,” he finally speaks. “I really would love to, but I’d put the three of us in danger.”

Your heart starts beating rapidly. What does he mean by ‘putting you in danger’? Does he come from a crazy family? Is he part of the mafia? This is scaring the hell out of you.

“We didn’t know each other up until two days ago, and you don’t deserve to be put in danger because of a stupid mistake the clinic did,” he seems angry when he mentions the mistake. “But I can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy, it’s your body, and it was also your wish to have a child. I can’t take that away from you.”

It kind of surprises you how respectful he is. Any other man in his position could have forced or paid you to put an end to this pregnancy. It’s really admirable.

“In case you want to keep going with it, I just want you to know that I’ll step away, and I will never come back to reclaim a role I refused from the beginning.”

You wonder what the reasons behind his decision could be. This man desired to have a child but is now refusing to have one with you because of a mistake.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know what to do,” you admit.

His piercing eyes finally look at you. For a split second, you can swear that they were red. Red like blood. This destabilizes you, and you furrow your eyebrows. You’re not sure if you’re being delirious or if this is real.

“I wanted to become a mother, but not like this,” you continue, still destabilized by what you just saw. “So it leaves me wondering what I should do. But if you walk away, I’ll be more tempted to keep the baby because, in the end, it’ll go as I planned.”

In an unexplainable way, this man puts you at ease. It feels like you can confess how you truly feel about this situation without being judged by him. This man exudes serenity which draws you even more to him.

“I get that,” he says.

For a brief moment, you only look at him while your heart peacefully beats in your chest. His dark eyes stare right into your soul, and it feels like the world completely stopped. There’s just the two of you. But Jungkook breaks the contact, looking in another direction.

“If you decide to keep the child and need any financial help, I can give it to you,” he speaks.

This man definitely seems like a good guy, and you wonder even more why he’s walking away from this.

“I won’t,” you answer. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t have any means to take care of the baby.”

For sure you need financial stability to be a single mother, and you would have never embarked on this adventure without having it.

Jungkook runs his fingers through his fluffy hair, avoiding still your gaze. “Can I ask why you want to become a single mom?”

The question catches you off guard. You weren’t expecting this man—this stranger—to be interested in you.

“I didn’t have an easy life and I grew up without my parents,” you confess. “Motherhood was something I aspired to have in my life since I’m very young, and I’ve desired to give to my child everything I didn’t have. No matter if it was with someone or alone.”

Your eyes shift from Jungkook to the square full of people. It’s never easy to express out loud and to a complete stranger why you embarked on this adventure. Mentioning your parents is actually never easy; even after all this time.

Suddenly, you feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you in complete silence. For once in your life, people’s heartbeats and scents don’t suffocate you. You can hear and smell them, but it’s like it doesn’t matter.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve had those developed skills. You can hear stuff from afar, and you can strongly smell people’s natural body’s scent. Since it’s kind of ‘normal’ to you, you got used to it; but sometimes, and especially when you’re in the middle of heavy crowds, it suffocates you. It becomes simply too much.

This is something you never told anyone, too scared to be judged. Undoubtedly, people would say you’ve gone crazy due to the trauma of losing your parents. Not even Felix or Lexi knows about it. They just think you’re agoraphobic.

However, lately, you’ve been trying to go to some crowded place to overcome this suffocating feeling. You ignore why you’ve been doing it, but you’ve been doing it. It’s still too much, but today, next to this complete stranger, it doesn’t feel like it.

“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” he whispers.

You turn to look at him to offer him a little smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “Can I also ask you why you’re doing this?” you dare to ask.

Jungkook nods before looking away once more. It definitely looks like it’s hard for him to hold your gaze.

“In my world,” he starts saying. “I have heavy responsibilities, and having a child is one of them. But I can’t have one with anybody. I’m very limited in who is the biological mother so that’s why I can’t have one with you.”

You almost feel offended by his words. In which kind of world can’t you be the mother of his child? It’s completely crazy!

“Oh,” you simply say.

“You could have been the surrogate…” you can hear some kind of chuckle. “But never the progenitor.”

“It’s seems like a tough world.”

His eyes look again at you; you can see that he seems to hesitate with the answer.

“It isn’t,” he finally says. “But it is with me.”

Obviously, he carefully chose his words.

“Well, I hope you’ll find the right mother for your child,” you offer him once more a little smile.

“Thanks,” he smiles back at you.

The two of you look back again at the people walking in the town square. They are walking around you, ignoring totally what you’re going through, what tough decision you have to make. They ignore everything about you, just as you ignore everything about them…

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he adds.

“It’s not your fault,” you answer. “It’s the clinic’s.”

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the people walking in front of you. His heart is racing and piercing through your ears. He’s even more nervous than he was before, and it concerns you a bit. But you don’t say anything, too afraid to scare him off if you reveal you can hear his heartbeat.

“Yn…” he starts. “There’s something you need to know,” his voice is deep and low at the same time. It’s so low that it almost drowns out by the distant chatter of people passing by.

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing. “Okay,” you whisper.

Jungkook takes a deep breath, his jaw tightening before he exhales. His eyes don’t meet yours immediately, but when he does, there’s an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“When I said my world is different,” he swallows with difficulty. “I don’t mean it in a metaphorical sense. My world, my reality is not the same as yours.”

You frown even more, confusion plastered all over your face. You’re definitely incredibly confused. How could his world be different than yours? You live on the same planet, and breathe the same air. How could it be not the same?

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook gets closer, his voice dropping even lower, barely audible. However, you still hear it perfectly.

“I am not entirely human, yn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You stare at him while waiting for him to elaborate. However, Jungkook just stares at you, waiting for your reaction.

“What do you mean by ‘not entirely human’?” you tilt your head.

For a couple of seconds, he doesn’t speak, almost as if he’s scared to reveal his true nature to you.

“I’m a werewolf.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. It leaves you wondering if this man is of sound mind. Right now, you’re slightly concerned about his mental health, and the future of your child, if you keep them.

Your first reaction is to laugh, dismissing his words as if it is some kind of twisted joke. But the look on his face tells you that he’s deadly serious. This isn’t a joke.

“A werewolf?” you repeat to make sure you hear it well.

Jungkook nods. He looks tense and he maintains his deep glance on you.

“It’s why I can’t have this child,” he starts to explain. “In my world, bloodlines matter. Werewolf bloodlines are sacred, and the continuation of my lineage isn’t just about having a child. It’s about having the right child with the right kind of mother.”

The weight of his words crashes over you like a tidal wave. You stand up, your hands running through your hair. Your mind is spinning, and your pulse thunders in your ears. This is something you definitely weren’t expecting to hear today.

Werewolves? You’re carrying the child of a werewolf?

This sounds like it comes straight from a fantasy movie.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you whisper to yourself but Jungkook hears it.

“I didn’t want you to be dragged into this world, but you deserve the truth.”

You keep your back turned to him while you cross your arms against your chest.

“This is something you need to consider if you decide to keep the baby.”

At his words, you freeze. Instinctively, your hands down move to your stomach. Jungkook’s eyes follow your hands.

“Is this…” your voice trembles. “Is this a viable child?”

If you want to keep going with this pregnancy, you need to know if this baby can survive.

“There wouldn’t be any reason why this child wouldn’t survive because of mixed blood,” he stands up and gets close to you. “But as they grow up, they’ll develop werewolf abilities. And, one day, they’ll probably turn into one. It’s pretty unpredictable, though. There’s never been a human-werewolf hybrid before.”

Damn, this is leaving you speechless. How can this be real? Werewolves are supposed to exist in movies, not in real life.

“This is insane,” you rub your hands on your face. “This can’t be real.”

Jungkook steps closer. His presence is grounding but nonetheless overwhelming.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” you demand, your voice filled with panic.

Before you can blink, he gets even closer to you. He’s in front of you in an instant, his hand gently grabbing yours. Your eyes look down at his hand as you notice it changing. His fingers elongate, his nails sharpen into claws, and the texture of his skin turns into something more beastly. Slowly, your eyes look up, and what you see completely freezes your body. His eyes glow a deep, predatory red, and there’s something undeniably wolfish about them.

You take a step back while setting your hand free. As you do so, Jungkook shifts back, his hand returns to its normal form, and his eyes fade back to a human form. The transformation is so quick that it almost feels like you imagined it.

“So what happens now?” you ask.

Jungkook’s gaze softens at your words.

“That depends on you, yn.”

Please note that the taglist is closed

#bts #bts fanfic #bts imagine #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bloodlines entwined #spideyjimin

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serendippertyy · 2 months ago

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WELCOME TO THE AMAZING DIGITAL WINTER WONDERLAND!! ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

pomni the cute little elf lady! not entirely happy with her new arrangements she begins her quest to escape which isn't easy as she's very sensitive to the cold!

ragatha is a tree topper angel whose the representative of the isle of misfit toys- she wants everybody to feel included and loved!

jax is a mischievous sprite, similar to jack frost. he loves causing wintery mayhem like turning people into snowmen! him and ragatha are very close :]

zooble is a voluntary resident of the isle of misfit toys- they feel quite comforted being around others with jumbled parts! ragatha is their best friend <3

gangle is a gingerbread creature from the candy canyon kingdom, she is in search of adventure with her new friend pomni!

caine is a nutcracker and the king and queen's most loyal guard! his companion bubble is a shape shifting sprite created by jax lol

and kinger and queenie are the mr. and mrs. claus of this au! they are gentle leaders who long await the arrival of their new elf! jax is their adoptive son :]

❄️❄️❄️

this is an au I've been drafting since september and I'm so excited to finally have enough to post! I'm sure I'll be showing off more of their dynamics through doodles n whatnot, but I've been very burnt out this week so I just made some simple refs for now lol

and I'm not very well versed in making aus so let me know what ya guys think! :] 💜

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brightgoat · 11 months ago

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JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE PART Ø : STAND FREE

(but let's call the AU 'Standverse')

Transcript:

The universe has been reset! Twice, in fact.

On the flipside, a strange nonsensical purgatory made out of past places and memories, awaken the Stands - now equipped with an independence and self-autonomy that most of them are not used to.

The ones whose emotions, goals and spirits they embody; their Users - are curiously nowhere to be found.

The Stands awaken at the same time, no matter whether they've died before the Separation or not. Every version of every Stand (from parts 1-6 that is).

Each Stand sees their User differently - some with undying loyalty, some with dismay and others with a mix of both.

But most settle on one thing - that they need to bring their Users back and return the universe to how it was. So, some set out on a crusade, while others begin cultivating a plan.

And thus we explore the existential horror of being a Stand!

....... this AU is very silly but just uhh-- bear with me- let me cook-

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pullhisteeth · 4 months ago

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saturn return | eddie munson

hello! I'm back :) will leave a little author note at the end of the fic for u. but in the meantime: enjoy this medieval slow burn fluffy smutty monster of a fic (which has not been proofread because I am so tired) <3

in short: you're from royalty, and the illicit crush you're harbouring on your sworn protector is threatened when your father, the king, reaches the end of his tether and finally begins the search for your husband.

medieval/fastasy au with knight!Eddie and fem!princess!reader, smut (18+ only, minors dni!), implied virgin!reader, (one attempted) assault, general fluff and angst and fun fantasy frolicking, mention/threat of arranged marriage (brief), enemies to lovers if you squint but mostly a bodyguard au but he wears armour and you live in a castle.

14k words (!!!)

You had only seen your knight without his cuffs and cloak once before in your life.

When you were nineteen, you had a fling with one of the boys who tends the horses in the stables. It had been a wet summer and against your father’s wishes you’d spent many evenings returning to the castle sodden and smiling. Your afternoons were adventurous - too much so for your age, your mother would say over dinner - and your escapades to the woodland beside the keep resulted in muddy fingerprints up the curve of your thighs and difficult-to-hide bruises blooming below your collarbone.

You may have been reckless, but you knew better than to show up to court with purpling bite marks where the collars of your dresses did not reach.

On one of the rare sunny evenings, you had stolen away after supper to the balcony that extended across the western wing of the castle. It stretched from your quarters around the side of the building, ending at the room that had belonged to your sister before she had been married to a man who lived across the sea. The sun was low and the air was thick and so in your nightgown you prowled the terrace, fingers dancing along the worn stone and up the wilting vines. As you rounded the corner there he was - your sworn protector, a man who could be barely a year your senior, hunched in an old chair over his armour. You stopped behind the wall with enough haste that he didn’t spot you - or if he had, he never let on - and while he was engrossed in the work of polishing the silver, you watched.

He’d done away with his undershirt, most likely because of the stubborn, close heat, and though he was side-on to you, his chair facing out towards the mountains in the distance, he was hunched to his left, leaving you with a view you much preferred to the vast one beyond the wall.

The muscles across his back rippled as his arm moved back and forth over the metal. In the quiet of the evening you could hear small grunts and sighs, and as your eyes adjusted to the light you spotted silvery marks of healed flesh across his side. His back was speckled with freckles and as he moved, you took notice of his mop of hair.

Though your father’s knights were never required to wear their helmets in the castle, the hair that now flowed freely was usually tightly bound at the nape of your knight’s neck. You had never realised how long it truly was - nor how unruly. Brown curls stood in what seemed like every direction, swaying back and forth in tandem with his shoulder, glowing a slight auburn in the setting sun.

You had watched him for a while, listening to the sounds of his efforts and drinking in the way the light made his skin gleam golden. It wasn’t until the sun had set that you had made your escape, bare feet padding silently across cool stone.

Ser Munson - Edmund, or Eddie as he preferred - was assigned as protector of the King’s first daughter when she came of age, at sixteen. You had been a moody teenager, belligerent and stubborn, determined you did not need protecting, even if the protector in question was broodingly handsome and a challenge to crack.

Thus, you lingered around the castle while your sisters sought husbands and new lives. Your father, though a cunning ruler, was soft when it came to his girls, and so no man was worthy of a single one of them unless he made her happy.

And no man ever had made you happy. The ones who put themselves forward as candidates for your hand were, in most cases, perfectly nice men. Mostly wealthy, often handsome, but always boring.

It was always the same: they believed you to be the most beautiful princess in the history of the realm, and they would be honoured to wed you. But as your father’s eldest daughter you knew one thing to be true: every one of them wanted the throne, and would marry you to get there.

So you sought fun in lowly servant boys, stealing kisses from cupbearers and kitchen porters, running wild in the vast gardens of the castle, just out of grasp of your grumbling mother. One day, you’d tell her when she chastised you over monstrously glutinous dinners. One day a man will come here and sweep me off my feet. Until then, I am content with my lot.

After that evening when you were nineteen, you had not looked at Eddie the same way. His job was to follow you everywhere - well, mostly everywhere, unless you were behind a tree with the stableboy again - so it was difficult to not look at him. But those aimless adventures became tiresome, and your daydreams became occupied instead by the man who tailed your every move. Stableboys were getting married, all your sisters were getting married, every eligible nobleman for a hundred miles was getting married - but you remained, as did Eddie.

“So it doesn’t hurt?”

“No, your highness.”

Eddie stares straight ahead, off into the distance, answering your childish questions through gritted teeth. You grin at him, elbow on the arm of your chaise and chin cupped by your hand, enjoying this latest instalment of your petty little game: you ask him silly questions, Eddie’s cheeks go pink, and you get a good giggle and a kick out of teasing him. It began as something lighthearted, a test of the waters after that late night wander changed your perspective, but that was two years ago and understandably, Ser Munson is getting increasingly tired of your games.

“Your highness, can I suggest that you get dressed? You’ll be late for-”

“No,” you yelp as he stands to move, sword clanking. “I’m sorry, I’ll bite my tongue. Don’t go.”

“But Miss-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll dress, just wait outside the door, will you?”

“I always do, your highness,” he says. “It is my duty.” You cannot see the smirk he sports as he turns his back to you; it is one he reserves only for himself, lest your ego get too big.

You deflate into your chair as he leaves, the heavy door swinging open. Three young maids are by your side as it slams shut, lifting you from your doze and tying you into a corset and skirt. Today you’re offered a deep navy gown, the colour of your family’s flag and perhaps the colour you look second best in.

At least it matches Eddie’s cloak.

You knock softly twice on your bedroom door, your handmaids tugging at the final details, and the guards who stand watch pull it open for you. You breathe in quick and deep, hands smoothing the satin across the top of your skirt, and step forward into the hall.

Eddie stands to one side, awaiting your direction. You follow your usual morning route, down the wide corridor to the stairs, which roll out into an even wider hall like dropped silk. Eddie’s cloak slinks across the stone floor behind you, and you yearn to make a joke, prod at him, get under his skin but you cannot, for many eyes are upon you now.

The Great Hall sits at the opposite end of the atrium to the staircase. The walls between yourself and the huge, towering doors are decorated for the brief return of your youngest sister, the most recent to wed - she is pregnant, and so there must be celebrations.

Floral garlands follow you as you make your way across the room, where, at the far end, your father stands in the doorway, watching, your mother by his side.

Peering glances follow you until other guests arrive and attentions are diverted. So you slow your step just slightly, enough that Eddie does not notice immediately and falls in line with you. Before he can correct himself, you lean in.

“Ed- er, Ser Munson,” you say, tone playful but slightly sinister, an indicator that you are brewing one of your schemes.

“Yes, your highness?” he responds neutrally.

“Ser Munson, would you please do me a favour?”

Long ago, Eddie learned to never respond to this query the way he is supposed to as your protector: Anything, your highness.

Instead, he asks: “What can I do for you?”

“You know that sword?” You twist slightly, tapping the hilt of his blade where one of his fists seems to permanently rest. “You’ve killed people with it, right?”

“Only when I have to, your highness.”

“How many, would you say?”

You hear him take a sharp breath in. You smile softly.

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen,” you repeat. “Care to make it nineteen? Do me a favour and slice through my guts so I don’t have to bear another one of these idiotic ceremonies?”

If you’d paid closer attention, rather than sharing your gaze between Eddie and your father, who was ever-nearing, you’d have seen that your dear knight almost broke. This would have been the closest you’ve come to getting a laugh out of him, your stoic, stone-faced hero.

“That’d be highly inappropriate, your grace,” he says, composed. “And I’d surely lose my head.”

“Oh, but that’s your job,” you whisper. “To die for me! And anyway, I can’t go to hell alone, you’ll need to keep me company. And protect me from the ghouls. So maybe make it twenty instead.”

This time, you do catch it. The corner of his mouth twitches and something in his eye, the way it dodges you, gives him away. In your peripheral vision you see him open his mouth - it’s close to your ear, you almost hear the beginning of a word - but you’ve reached the end of the hall, and your father awaits. Eddie falls back again, a step or two behind, as you drop your shoulders and brace yourself.

Being one of many sisters is a difficult life. Impossible to prevent yourself from comparing their hair to yours, their eyes, the slant of their shoulders, their waists, their hands, and worse is the bickering, the competition.

Being the only one of them not to be married is the worst.

Twenty minutes ago, you stole yourself away to a corner of the Hall with a too-full cup of wine and three slices of the best bread. Here you camp, munching on the final crust, eyeing up the table across the room. How do I get a refill without someone asking me to dance?

With your eyes squinted and shoulders hunched in, you scarcely notice your knight down the wall. He’s on guard, back straight with his hand on the hilt of his sword - watching, as he is supposed to. Only his attention is distracted, because in his peripheral vision is you, alone, as always.

It’s only when you hear the familiar clinking of sword sheath on armour that you turn to see that he’s beside you, and in a rare moment of peace, he’s leaning back, letting the wall take his weight.

“What’re you looking at?” You eye him suspiciously, swallowing the final sip of wine. “Come to ask for a dance for one of those snivelling Harrington boys?”

You hear him scoff, though he’s smiling just slightly. “No,” he says quietly. “Why, do you want to dance with Steven?”

You scoff. “Do I fuck.”

“Language, your highness.”

“Please stop calling me that when dad isn't around.”

He glances at you, smiling still, and rolls his eyes. “Why aren’t you with the other ladies?”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “The Buckleys aren’t here. It’s no fun without Robin.”

“And your sisters?”

“Oh yeah,” you drone. “I just love being reminded by all four of them how lucky a man would be to have me and how I must get married because, oh, weddings are so lovely!”

He turns to look at you properly, silver collar creaking, and reaches over to take your goblet. “How many of these have you had?”

You drop your hands behind your back, looking down at your slippers like a naughty child. “Three.”

To your surprise, you feel the damp rim of the cup meet your chin, pushing your face up. Eddie looks back at you and keeps the pressure under your head so you can’t divert your gaze. Your cheeks warm, heat blooming under his watch.

“Fine,” you sigh, eyes dropping closed in defeat. “Seven.”

You brace for a scolding, expecting a telling off from your faithful knight, but when you look at him in the silence, you find him grinning down at you.

“You’re going to feel awful in the morning,” he tells you.

You look back at him a little dumbfounded, because he’s very close to your face and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him in such detail before. There are creases by his eyes from smiling, and there’s an old, white scar across his nose, which is crooked, presumably from old punches.

“Will you take me to bed, then, please?” you ask softly, and he lowers the cup slowly, placing it on a nearby table without looking away from you. You look back at him, trying your hardest through the fog to give him your best pleading eyes, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He’s close, still; time suspends as he nears even more and runs his thumb along the underside of your chin. It is the first time in your life that your knight has ever touched you.

You watch as he brings it to his mouth - it’s a deep, bruised pink, dyed by the wine from the rim of the cup where it had held your face up - and, taking his eyes off you, slides it between his lips.

It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been breathless around him, but it is the first time you’re face to face with him as the air leaves your lungs in a slow, desperate whine. It feels criminal, illicit, standing in the shadows at the back of the room, within reach of anyone who cares to look for you, watching Eddie lick wine off the pad of his thumb.

The festive music on the other side of the room ends and people around you cheer. Eddie’s smile drops and he straightens up as though kicked in the back, looking around like he just woke from a dream.

“Uh, yes- Your highness. I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

He steps back but holds his arm out for you to take. For a moment you just stare at him, incredulous, before wrapping your fingers around the cool leather covering his forearm and lifting yourself off the wall, your heart wilting as his guard rises again and your fun, playful protector is lost to duty once more.

The ceiling of your bed chamber hasn’t changed in fifteen years. You know because you’ve had many nights like this, staring at it forlornly, yearning for something you cannot and will not have.

When you were six, your father had the sleeping quarters across the whole castle redecorated, and you requested a fresco above your bed. Under the guise of education, telling your father that it would help you practise your knowledge of Arthurian legends, you asked for a depiction of the knights of the round table. Truthfully, you wanted to be able to look at Arthur every night before you slept.

Now, it makes you feel sick. It’s an ugly, truthless fairytale, spun to make little girls giggle and you despise every inch of it, regardless of how beautiful it may have appeared to you once.

In the dark, you can still make out Arthur’s faded features. He is plain, with cropped blonde hair and a silly chestplate, looking over the expanse of your ceiling to Guinevere, whose clasped hands by her cheek make the picture of a woman in love.

You turn over, frustrated, and cover your head with a spare cushion.

The stone of the balcony wall is cool beneath the palms of your clammy hands. In the courtyard, your sister’s carriage is leaving, followed by many horsemen from her husband’s house. They’ll return only when the baby is born, to christen him in the family chapel.

You sigh as she leaves the gates and lean your weight on your hands. It’s still hot out, too hot for so many layers under your dress and a corset so tight, and you’re too exhausted to carry the weight around. Your maids are nowhere to be seen because it’s the middle of the afternoon and you should be socialising, but you’re an adult. You can dress - and undress - yourself.

As you return indoors, you reach behind your back and tug at the knot at the base of your corset. After a couple of frustrated tries it finally gives, loosening so that you can hook your fingers under each stretch and pull it undone. You gasp for air, filling your lungs properly as your ribs expand, and use your shoulders to pull it loose enough for you to remove. You take care to place each layer gently over your chaise - corset, overdress, skirt. You’re left in your undergarments - a long, loose slip made of cotton - when you hear an unexpected knock and the door begins to open.

You jump, feeling suddenly exposed in so few layers. It’s unlike anyone to disturb you at this hour.

You tense even more when your knight, with his hair loose and his cheeks pink, pushes the doors wider. He stops in his tracks for a moment as he spots you across the room, flushed your own shade of mortified.

“Eddie,” you hiss. “Shut the fucking door.”

His eyes widen and he straightens up, knocked out of his daze. You expect him to retreat, but he moves inside and pushes the doors closed behind himself.

“I meant with you outside them, ideally,” you bite.

“I- Uh, sorry- My apologies, your highness, I-”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Sorry! Sorry, shit, I- It’s important, sorry.”

“So important that it requires you to see me indisposed?”

He looks at you blankly for a second. “I mean, technically I see you like this every morning when you interrogate m-”

“Oh, shut up,” you spit, eyes narrowing. Your arms are still crossed over your chest, even though you’re covered from neck to ankle. “You know that’s different. There’s no robe or slippers between us now, Ser Munson.”

His cheeks bloom at that, pink slipping into fiery red. He breathes impatiently through his nose, clearly irritated by your prodding, and steps closer.

“Your highness,” he says pointedly. You roll your eyes. “Your father- His Highness requests your presence. In the throne room.”

“I refuse.”

“Darling, I-”

“No!”

Your father stands at the other end of the table, his head hung and his hands on the wood in front of him. You are in the room in which he has his important meetings with his council. Over the years you’ve tried a hundred times to get in here during such meetings, to no avail, but now all you want is to get out.

“You are twenty-one,” he says after a breath. “I’ve given you time, five years of it. You can’t remain unmarried any longer.” This conversation has only been happening for maybe two and a half minutes, but it seems more like an age; you’re exhausted from yelling already, especially at him. But it feels like the walls are closing in, your entrapment in a loveless marriage with a stranger now a certainty rather than a possibility. It’s beyond your power to stop the tears falling.

“You can’t make me,” you say through the thickness of your throat. Your arms wrap around your waist, squeezing, breath hiccupping on its way out.

“I can,” he sighs. “But I really don’t want to. It doesn’t have to be horrible. Your sisters, they’re all happy, why-”

“I don’t care about them. I want to be-” You stop yourself, because this isn’t something to talk about here, with your father of all people; you’d barely even talk to your mother about this stuff. But he’s looking at you again over the expanse of mahogany and his eyes are sad, because he’s fighting with his first daughter, and you break. “I want to be in love, father. I don’t want to be sold off to the highest bidder because I’m the eldest. That can’t be my life.”

He sighs again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It is. There are fifteen houses coming here tomorrow, each with an eligible son. I’m letting you choose; it’s the most I can do.”

Your nose burns with betrayal and terror. Your cheeks are wet, tears falling into soft, wet spots on the front of your dress. Your arms squeeze your middle one last time before you turn, pushing past the Kingsguard who stand at the door, past the cupbearers and the maids, and past Eddie, who has been waiting for you outside. For the first time ever you don’t hear the familiar sound of armour following you, and for a moment you almost stop to turn and look for him, but you’re still crying and although it’s the middle of the afternoon, all you want to do is hide.

“It’s true,” Robin sighs. “I’ve been looking in our library, and I’ve counted at least three instances.”

You roll onto your back. Robin sits beside you on the plush of your bed, which has been remade by your maids so that there are no remnants of your painful, sleepless night. She strokes your hairline softly, looking down at you with sorry eyes.

“The most recent was eighty-three years ago,” she continues. “Lady Flora. She ran off with her knight, to be fair… But still!”

“I’m the eldest, Robin,” you tell her, trying your hardest to stop your words coming out in a hiccup; you only stopped crying this morning, and you’re in no mood to begin again now. “There’s too much expected of me. I can’t run off. I have to pick the right person.”

She takes in a breath. “Who says he isn’t the right one? Or that you’d have to run off?”

“Centuries of historical precedent,” you tell her flatly. When you meet her eye, though, you watch as she tries and fails to hold in a laugh.

“Since when have you ever cared about historical precedent?”

“Never, but that’s the problem.” You sit up quickly, knocking her affectionate hand back into her lap. “I can’t… This isn’t right. None of it is, but especially… Him.”

“But in the centuries of historical precedent,” Robin says, a poor imitation of you, “There were people like you.”

“And what happened to them?” you ask with a huff, standing to pace beside your bed. “Exiled, abandoned, cut off, ridiculed… I can’t live like that, Robin. But- But I can’t exist here while he’s always around, right behind my back. He’s like my fucking shadow. I can’t-” You hiccup, a wet sound that heralds the return of tears. “I can’t move on.”

Robin watches you with eyes laced with a pity that makes you furious. You want her to fix this; it’s entirely irrational, but you’re lost, and surely someone somewhere has to take responsibility for this, fix it so you don’t have to feel anything anymore. Remove Eddie, replace him with someone lifeless and unfunny and ugly, hand you a beautiful, attentive husband on a platter and, most of all, take the pain away.

But it doesn’t work like that. You know it doesn’t.

“Your Highness,” Eddie says in a raised voice from beyond your door. “It’s time.”

You look at Robin, who looks back at you, her eyes wide.

“I’ll be a minute,” you shout back hesitantly as she rises and rushes over. You let her help you adjust your dress and she dips a cloth left behind by a maid into the basin of cool water by your bedside, wiping it gently over your cheeks in an attempt to reduce the blotches there.

Neither of you say another word. She takes your hand firmly and squeezes.

You hate this.

Although you’re desperate for anything but a pre-arranged marriage pact, part of you had quite genuinely hoped for some kind of miracle, that one of your suitors would be The Guy. In your restlessness the evening prior, you’d even let yourself fantasise that one of them, strikingly handsome in your daydreams, would appear at the foot of the throne and you’d feel it in that instant: love.

But in every version of this delusion, The Guy was faceless, nameless, a blur of a person until he wasn’t. Until he was Eddie.

In reality, your knight is out of sight for once, and you’re nearing hour three in the gardens, where the court musicians entertain the countless guests and wine is flowing freely for everyone except you. (With your father at your elbow all afternoon, it’s impossible to get a second cup. Your mouth is dry and your boredom inflating.)

You know better than to assume Eddie’s left the gardens completely, but there are too many people for you to see him.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp elbow nudge your rib.

You turn to your father and find him wide-eyed and pink in the nose - a tell-tale sign of frustration - nodding to the man standing opposite the two of you.

“Hm?” you hum, painfully aware of how obvious it is to the both of them that you weren’t paying a lick of attention.

“Lord Carver was telling us about his hunts,” your father says through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” you sigh, turning to the stranger. “How… Interesting. What do you hunt?”

“Deer, mostly,” he responds, puffing out his chest. His cheeks are blotched with pink and the caramel blonde of his hair is unpleasant. The pleasure of your attention is clearly feeding his ego. “Started on pheasants when I was ten. They’re far too easy now; I’m heading out tomorrow to try for a stag. Say, care to join me?”

“Oh, I’m flattered,” you say with a saccharine giggle and hand to your chest that your father can certainly see straight through. “But I don’t hunt. Thank you, though, Lord Carver.”

Lord Carver seems to take this somewhat personally, despite your almost sincere attempt at a polite curtsy. He comes over stoney, steel-eyed as though you’ve wounded him.

“No matter. Your highness,” he says flatly, bowing quickly to your father before turning on his heels and marching away.

You barely listen as you are accosted by the king for being so blatantly rude. Lord Carver is far from your mind because across the heaving mass of strange bodies, you can see your knight, looking straight back at you.

Your father hisses your name but you do not listen.

“I’m taking a walk,” you tell him. “Sorry, father, I just need a break. And… A glass of water.”

It must have rained this morning. The grass is damp beneath your feet, soaking slowly through the velvet of your lilac slippers as you push your way between bodies as politely as you can manage.

With your focus on the ground you do not see Eddie’s eyes following your figure through the crowd; you also do not see Lord Carver six steps behind.

The latter reaches you first, by quite a margin, a moment after you’ve broken free of curious strangers and can finally breathe again. Everything happens very quickly. In the shadow of a high wall, the man reaches for your arm like a viper. His fingers coil and the fresh garden air is replaced by his coddling breath on your cheek. He spun you so quickly you feel momentarily winded, enough to catch you off guard as your face scrapes the old brickwork. Spit hits your cheek and mixes with fresh blooms of blood as his pink face looms, dominating your field of vision - like a bear in a trap you feel helpless, his fingers around your wrist so tight you fear he may break your bones. In a moment you’re frozen stiff and he takes his chance, his lips pushing angrily into the stretch of bare skin above the collar of your dress.

“You’re a bitch,” he says, muffled by the skin under your jaw. You writhe and whimper but you cannot scream. “You humiliated me. See what happens to cunts like- Ungh-”

The force of your knee between his legs is enough force to knock him back. Stumbling, he lurches forward again, only to meet your elbow, sharp and swift at his throat. The pathetic choking sound he makes mixes with the familiar sound of heavy boots; you turn to find Eddie, pink in the face, fist on the handle of his sword.

“Christ,” he pants, “Are you okay?”

Lord Carver coughs as he struggles to regain his balance.

“You-” Cough. “You bitch,” he spits, hand at his collar.

“Watch yourself,” Eddie growls, towering over the spluttering lord, his sword pulled only a few inches from its sheath - a warning: I will not hesitate. “I suggest you take your family home, Sir.”

Lord Carver looks up at him, red eyes watering and breath still catching. For a moment he seems to contemplate fighting back, but even you almost find yourself laughing at the possibility, until you look to Eddie and find a version of the man you’ve never seen before.

Your life, which Eddie tails endlessly from a few paces behind, always, is quiet. Mundane, boring, unadventurous; you rarely leave the castle grounds and when you do, it’s inside a carriage. Your bravest adventure since you were sixteen was taken barefoot, that evening after dinner, up on the balcony where you’d stumbled across your knight, bare-chested and panting.

You’ve teased Eddie before about how the lack of danger in your life must mean his own is boring. Though he never once gave into you, deep down you worry that it’s true.

Now, though, your knight is coloured a shade unknown to you. He’s come over like a shadow, eyes hard and brow set, and there’s a vein visible above the collar of his cape. Lord Carver seems to halve in size beneath his frame, and though he has never shown himself like this in front of you before, you’re sure of one thing.

Your pleading cry is too late, too weak - before you can intervene, Eddie’s fist makes contact with Lord Carver’s cheekbone. There’s a crack that, to you, is as loud as thunder, though the skies are as blue as they’ve ever been. As his back hits the floor, Lord Carver yelps like a wounded dog, and Eddie moves in on him.

“Eddie,” you plead, voice weaker still, your hands grasping his arm, “Leave him alone, I’m okay, please.”

In the commotion, you’d failed to notice your growing audience. You’re sure that if you let him, Eddie would give another punch, and another, but the man on the floor is bleeding from his nose and from a wide gash under his eye and your slippers are drenched through and so is the collar of your dress where your tears, unbeknownst to you, have been soaking the cotton.

“Please,” you hiccup, your hands squeezing, pulling Eddie backwards with as much strength as you can manage.

“Asshole!” Carver spits, his voice broken. Two men who resemble him are helping him up off the ground, the small crowd murmuring between themselves as they watch him stumble away. “You’ll regret this!”

It’s an empty threat. You barely hear it, in fact, because Eddie is finally turning to you, his shoulders dropping. His face softens the moment he looks at you.

“Are you okay? Did he- Where did he hurt you?” He asks again. People are dispersing but you pay them no mind because Eddie’s hands hold your face and it stings when he runs his gloved thumb over the gash on your cheek. You wince and his grip on you tightens, as though you might slip away if he lets you.

As his arms wind around your shoulders, you push your face into the embroidered crest that sits by his heart.

“You’re okay,” he tells you firmly, sweet words murmured into your hair. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Your father’s booming voice cuts through whispering strangers like a whip. Eddie moves away from you so quickly that you almost choke.

Tears mix with old blood and you want to scream. You want these strangers to leave your garden, you want Eddie to clean your wounds, you want to run away.

You cannot have what you want.

Two and a half weeks ago, your father replaced your knight via a letter.

Ser Munson has been reassigned.

After two nights of bed-rest in your chamber, wherein you were seen only by your mother and two alchemists, your new knight - an older man, as old as your father and then some - made himself known at your door. He informed you of his new appointment as your sworn protector. When you asked after Eddie, he closed the door.

Two lonely weeks entailed many downward spirals. One evening after countless days spent rotting, refusing the attendance of your mother or father, you find yourself staring blankly at your reflection in the glass beside the chest that houses your dresses. The girl looking back is gaunt and her eyes are bloodshot. There’s an old cut on her bottom lip, close to healing but you’re sure you’ll bite it open again soon enough, splitting the skin so that deep red plumes can burst through and begin the process again.

You think about Eddie. What would he say if he could see you now? Over the weeks you’ve spent more hours than you can count thinking about how he’d held you, the words spoken into your hair, low enough to avoid unwelcome ears. His hands had gripped you so firmly that you’d almost felt whole again after Lord Carver’s grubby paws had violated you so horribly. Now you’re hollow.

His reassignment was surely your punishment: how dare you let yourself be so distracted that you humiliate a noble Lord to the point of such anger? How dare you humiliate him such that he wants to hit you, bite you, kiss you, hurt you?

Meals delivered by your maids go uneaten. You do not speak to your new knight, only catching a glimpse when he opens the door for attendants.

At the dawn of a Thursday, your mother delivers the news that you are to stay behind while your parents visit your sister. You’re not sure which one of the four it is, but you do not care. With them gone, maybe you can go out; it’s early summer, after all, the weather is glorious, and you’re gasping for some sunlight and some respite from this stupidity.

When the sandbag splits, old hay spills onto the muddy ground.

Eddie’s sword is freshly sharpened and slices through the woven material like a hot knife through butter. He imagines Lord Carver’s face where the bag is tied together with string and watches it fall limply to the floor.

Outside in the courtyard, the sun is hot and shade is rare, and sweat beads on his forehead and drips to his chin. Other knights spar around Eddie, practising for nothing. His new position in the Kingsguard is, quite obviously, a downgrade, but only a few of his fellow knights have tried to get the why out of him: why have you stopped tailing the eldest daughter around? Why are you now forced to watch the southern walls in the dead of night? How did it happen? What did you do?

He chances a glance upwards, to the higher balcony along the wall, squinting under the sun. He doesn’t know if what he sees is you, standing in the shadow, or a trick of the light.

Your parents have been gone for two days, and the castle is like a ghost town. It’s never like this; even on late night escapades through the hallways, there are always maids at work, cleaning ladies and cupbearers. Guards on constant rotation, your father’s advisers wandering the halls having hushed conversations.

Tonight, though, there’s nothing. Your family’s absence is a moment of respite for the staff, who get a rare few evenings off to venture into town for some fun. You’re completely alone.

The long corridors look almost blue. The full moon is rising over the horizon and you’re enjoying an evening of freedom.

With most of the court staff out of the castle walls, you can’t be sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for tonight. He may have gone off with them, with his friends in the guard, down to a pub, getting drunk because he can, stumbling half-blind into a brothel like the rest of them do.

You shake the thought off because it turns your stomach, despite having no claim over the boy. It’s true that he may have gone but you’re searching anyway, because you’re driving yourself mad with guilt, and secretly you’ve missed him horribly.

You miss knowing he’s right outside your door, only ever a few paces away if you need him. You miss the blooming pink across his cheeks whenever you tease him, his stumbling answers and poor attempt at staying stony-faced and stoic. And you miss the smirk, though you’re sure he thinks he hides it well, that creeps across his face whenever you finish your teasing.

It’s your first time in this corner of the castle. Almost twenty-two years of living here, you’ve never had a reason to venture to where the knights stay. It’s a long way from your own wing - you’ve been walking for ten minutes and you’ve only just spotted a door. You’re treading softly in your favourite ruby slippers which, though you’d never admit it even to yourself, were surely chosen on purpose. You dressed yourself this evening, so there’s no use blaming your maids for the decision to drape you in scarlet.

As you come to a stop outside the room, you hold your breath and listen. You haven’t seen a single knight - not even your own new one - this whole time, but there’s somebody in there, and it sounds like they’re pacing.

Your hand reaches for the handle but just as you touch the iron, it twists on its own and the door flies open. You stumble forwards, losing your balance, but a familiar hand steadies you.

“Your highness?” He breathes, helping you back up. “What the- What are you doing here?”

You look at him. The man staring back at you is wide-eyed, those browns as pretty as ever but framed by new, dark circles. It’s difficult to see in the low light but he’s more tired than you’ve ever seen him. And though he seems sleepy, he’s dressed up in most of his on-duty getup, without the cape and sword.

“Eddie?”

“I thought the- Aren’t you supposed to be seeing your sister?”

“No, I… I stayed behind,” you tell him. A half-lie.

He looks back at you blankly. “Well,” he sighs. “We should… I should escort you back to your chamber.”

“No,” you say firmly. He does not invite you inside but you step over the threshold anyway, pushing past him into what you assume must be his bedroom.

It’s a plain room. The bed is low with old sheets, and there’s one candle burning on a table by the window. On the wall above his bed, he has hammered what looks like a letter into the plaster. And to the left of that-

“Is that mine?” You point plainly to the embroidery hoop. Even in the near-darkness you cannot miss the rosy flush you ignite across his face.

He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Yes.”

It’s a small hoop, one you must have done years ago. A deep red rose, your favourite.

You look at it for a moment, and then to him. “Where have you been?”

He drops his hand. “I was reassigned,” he tells you.

“Why?”

“I don’t-”

“Why?” you press. He sighs and leans in the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest.

“After the… Incident with Lord Carver, your father thought it best that I be moved.”

“And now?”

“Now,” he sighs, “I’m on the nightwatch.”

“The nightwatch?!” you parrot. Even you, with only superficial understanding of the mechanics of your father’s guard, know that that’s one of the worst jobs. “But you… Why would he punish you?”

“Ask him,” he says bitterly, and so quickly that you know he regrets it instantly. “Sorry,” he corrects, “That was out of order.”

“Don’t apologise,” you say back, stepping past him into the wide hallway. It’s a brighter blueish-grey now, the moon nearing its highest spot in the night sky. You stop, turning to look at Eddie, and there’s a beat of silence.

He’s watching you quietly, and it takes him a moment to realise that you wish him to follow you. Under the moonlight you’re effervescent, your skin almost sparkling. The soft glow of the moon reflects a million times in your eyes like tiny diamonds. You’re so pretty it’s difficult to look away.

Eventually he closes the door behind him and falls into a familiar step, just behind your left foot. You walk and talk as you meander through random hallways, clearly unsure where you’re going but he says nothing, silently grateful to see you again and willing to walk every hall of the castle if it means stretching out the time before he has to leave you again.

“Why do you say that?” he asks. You turn your head to look at him, lost. “You told me not to apologise.”

You huff, striding forward. “You don’t have to respect my father around me, Eddie. It’s not like he respects me, or anything.”

“I don’t understand,” he says quietly. You bristle, frustrated that you’ve allowed the conversation to move to you. You’d intended to find out where he’d gone, not tell him about this.

“He can quite easily forget about me,” you tell him over your shoulder bitterly. “I’m happy to forget about him for a few days.”

“I… I don’t understand,” he repeats, and it irritates you double.

“For God’s sake,” you spit, stopping so abruptly that he almost crashes into your back. You spin and stare him down. “I’m a disappointment, okay? They left for their trip, and they left me behind. I’m useless. No man likes me, not enough to marry me, only stupid stableboys have ever come close to me. Something went wrong somewhere and now I’m here, heir to the throne and without a husband. And it’s. Your. Fault.” You jab your index finger to his chest for emphasis, but it’s meagre because you can feel the tears returning and you want nothing less than to be seen crying by Ser Munson.

You cross the remainder of the hallways alone, Eddie left behind. Whether by choice or because of shock you don’t know, and frankly you don’t care. When you finally return to familiar halls, you push your way into your chambers and slam the heavy door as hard as you can behind you.

After a few minutes of pacing, having make-believe arguments with yourself in hushed tones, there’s a soft knock. So soft you almost miss it, but the eerie quiet of the castle has you jumpier than usual.

“Sweetheart,” you hear through the thick wood. “Let me in? Please?”

Maybe it’s your fear in the silence, or maybe it’s the way the rare sweetheart makes your stomach drop; either way you cave, rushing over and heaving the door open.

On the other side of the threshold, Eddie stands, hair unruly like he’s run his hands through it a few times. The curls stick out at odd angles and stand out dark against his alabaster skin.

Something in his eyes makes you break. The tears come thick and fast and before you can hide or apologise or close the door, arms wrap you up and his hand is on your back, smoothing patiently up and down.

It’s not the most comfortable hug; his armour is mostly leather and cloth but the toughness of it all makes it difficult to completely lean into him. As though he senses that, he pulls back, though his hand lingers on your arm where he gives you a squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup, palms smudging wet tears across your face in an attempt to dry your eyes. “That was so mean of me, I’m sorry.”

“I just want to know what you mean,” he says, his eyes sadder than you’ve ever seen them. You dreaded this inevitability the moment you let the blame fall from your lips, but you owe him that much.

You sigh, look down at your feet, and resign yourself to truth.

“Father… He loves me, but he loves the throne just as much. And I’m the eldest, and I’m almost twenty-two, so…”

In your peripheral vision you see him sag, his shoulder dropping in premature realisation.

“He brought all those men here, and not one of them was even slightly as interesting to me as you.”

Eddie looks at you, at the tears that periodically drop from your cheeks to the floor, listens to you sniff and hiccup, and wonders how on Earth you exist, let alone how you’ve landed here, with feelings so profound for him of all people.

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me,” he tells you honestly. You look up at him and the sight winds him: you’re crying, and it’s sad and stressful and difficult but you’re so beautiful.

You giggle and to him, it’s the ringing of a thousand bells by a thousand angels. It’s golden and brilliant. “I’m surprised,” you say, your smile lingering. “You’re really very lovely.”

He steps forward and reaches up, taking your chin in his gloved hand. You look back at him and sigh without meaning to as he moves his hand to cup your cheek and wipes stray tears away with his thumb. It takes your mind back to loud music, seven goblets, and a wine-stained thumb between his teeth.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells you quietly. There’s no one around but this still feels painfully scandalous, like glass that could - and will - shatter at any moment. No sudden movements.

You smile into his palm. “Stop it.”

“It’s true,” he says as his thumb moves across your skin, over the remnants of the cut across your cheekbone, over expanse of skin to your lips.

You watch him as he takes a deep breath in.

“I wasn’t reassigned,” he admits to you. You match him, breathing deep through your nose, preparing for the truth. “Well, I asked to be reassigned. I had to plead, really, because your father… He’s a good man.”

You roll your eyes without thinking and feel your bottom lip quivering again, the tears reemerging.

“He told me I’d never be able to see you again,” you tell him in a whisper.

“That’s my fault.”

“What?” You lift your head upright and he drops his hand, bringing it to his hair instead to run it through the curls again.

“I asked that I be kept away from you.”

“Why?! Why on earth would you… What could possibly possess you?”

“I couldn’t go through that again,” he says. “I couldn’t be near you. It was too… Too painful, and I let it get the better of me when I punched Lord Carver.”

“You were protecting me,” you say flatly. “That’s- That was your job.”

The emphasis hurts. “I know,” he sighs, “But… I wanted to kill him.”

“I don’t understand,” you tell him. You despise the whimper your words come out with, the way your jaw clenches to hold back more tears. What you can see of his neck above the collar of his thick tunic and under the cover of ringlets of tired hair is blotchy, coming up rosy in uneven patches. Is he stressed? Nervous? Both?

Your vision blurs with tears and your nose burns. He looks back at you softly, just like always, his eyes dark and inviting. Your lip wobbles again and you hear his breath hitch in the quiet.

“Let me show you,” he offers as he holds your cheek again. You cannot help but lean in, head tipping to the left to feel the expanse of leather over your cheek, his thumb dancing softly across your skin.

“No, I- You have to explain yourself, I don’t-”

“Please?” He looks at you with those fucking eyes of his and you want to kick him and kiss him all at once. “Do you trust me?”

The urge to kick him persists but you nod anyway. Perhaps the kicking is not a frustration aimed at him but at yourself instead: why can you not tell him how you feel? Why does the possibility of what he’s about to do scare you so much?

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit to him in a whisper. You feel naked before him, though there’s layers of thick velvet and scuffed leather between the two of you, a hundred barriers of material, an aching yawn of distance that you find yourself disliking immensely.

Can Eddie read your mind? It feels that way right now - you only uttered six words but he seems to understand you entirely at this moment. He drops his hand from your face, takes a step back, and as you watch him wordlessly unbuckle his armour, your stomach contracts and your soul becomes hollow in anticipation. He removes the belt that the sword usually sits on, and then his leather gauntlets, pulling each finger from the gloves and placing them, too, on the table. As he peels off each piece of his uniform, creating a growing pile on the wood and on your floor, you see, for the first time since that night when you were nineteen, the bloom of his flesh under his billowing undershirt. He’s paler now than he was then, though the moonlight seeping in through the cracks between heavy curtains over your windows is no match for the golden wash of colour he had once basked in. If you had any sense you’d laugh at the display before you: endless metal defences and leather covers come away from his body and pile noisily beside him. But you’re transfixed, fingers fidgeting, bottom lip absentmindedly between your teeth.

You do not notice him glance at you every so often. Between removing each greave, he looks up at you again, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the flurry of blood to his cheeks. He’s baring himself, and you’re looking at him like he’s edible; perhaps, to you, he is.

After many minutes filled only by the sounds of deconstructed armour, metal and leather, he’s free of it, and he stands before you in a loose shirt and cotton slacks. His pale chest is visible behind the deep, un-tied collar and your fingers itch, fidgeting still, yearning to know what it feels like.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

“I saw you like this, once,” you say quickly, voice so low it’s almost a whisper. You’re looking at everything - his arms, his legs, neck, chest, hands - except his eyes.

He’s taken aback. “What?”

“Years ago. I was nineteen. You were outside-” You turn to look through the open balcony door behind you, at the bright white gleaming down on the stone beyond. “-polishing. It was so beautiful out there, but I remember watching you for ages.”

You turn back, eyes on his finally. As ever, they’re wide and deep brown and beautiful. “Sorry. I know that’s strange. And forbidden, I guess.”

“No,” he breathes, taking a step towards you. “No, it’s fine- It’s okay.”

The air is thick and between that and your corset, you can barely breathe. He’s inching closer and it’s difficult to know where to look.

Nobody has ever been this close to you before. Not truly; you kiss your father and mother on the cheek before heading to bed each evening, you give your sisters fleeting embraces, you've fooled around with stableboys and, of course, you once loved to lean into his space whenever you teased Eddie, but this is different. Someone electing to be so near, choosing to breathe your air and not flinching or pulling back, instead lingering just to let his eyes dance over yours once more - it’s new, and it’s addictive.

He’s breathing your air but you’re also breathing his. The hills of his cheeks are mere whispers from your own, and his nose, crooked at the bridge where it once broke, nudges yours so lightly that you ought not feel it. It takes your breath away anyway.

At the sound of your gasp he smiles, only slightly, but you’re so close you see it in his eyes. Crows' feet emerge, wrinkling happiness beside his temples, and you can’t help but return it. As you fight the urge to close your eyes you watch him as he watches you, bated breaths and whimpers. All of a sudden he meets your gaze and you stumble where your foot had been resting on your other ankle. The heel of your slipper slides across bare skin and your balance goes, but before you can panic or cry out, you are pulled in breathless by his strong arm around your back. There may be layers upon layers of fabric but you feel it anyway, the electric jolts up your spine where his palm presses firm into your waist. Whether he means to or not is unclear, but you’re chest-to-chest with him now, the firm bones of your corset pushed against his shirt.

Your fingers spread across the fabric of his shirt. Without meaning to, you venture upwards, fingertips meeting the small smattering of coarse hair there, under the cotton. You watch your hands like they’re moving on their own, until his finger, hooked beneath your chin, tilts you up to meet his eye again.

It’s happening, you think to yourself. But then his arm, still around your middle, tightens briefly and he’s gone.

You watch him cross your room, the few steps he takes to your bed suddenly a criminal distance, too far, far too far. He sits upright on the edge of it, legs parted.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a melodic tug at your core. You move to him, sliding each of your slippers off on the way, and stand hesitantly between his knees, holding your breath without thinking to.

You can’t look at him. You caught a glimpse of his eyes and the way they’re looking up at you and you can’t. It’ll surely kill you.

He thinks you’re perfect, standing here, towering over him, relenting. His tough palms smooth over the layers of deep red velvet that lie over your hips, and for a moment he allows himself to relish in the small noises of shock you’re making before he urges you to turn around.

“You know,” he begins as his deft fingers untie and release the intricate ribbons at your back. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You turn your head towards him, as far round as you can. “What?”

“The… What happened, that afternoon. The way he spoke to you…” Eddie’s fingers still for a moment and you hear him take a deep breath. “The way he touched you. I don’t know what your father- what His Majesty said about it, but it wasn’t your fault.”

His left hand begins pulling at the ribbons again, but his right rests safely on your waist, as though he’s demonstrating something: how you should be touched, the way you deserve, soft and kind and gentle and wanted.

You hum in agreement.

“And I truly am sorry I punched him,” he says. “It- If I’d just told him to back away, it never would have become such… Such a thing, a big deal.”

“Eddie,” you breathe, grateful that you can get a lung-full again. You turn back to him in his grasp and take his face in both hands. Your palms are warm but they’re nothing compared to the flames of his cheeks, which almost burn under your touch. “I’m not mad that you punched him. I wish I’d done it, truly. But I’m never mad that you want to protect me.”

Your hands on his face startle him. You both sense it in the moment, how unlike you this is, to touch him so willingly and so carefully.

“I don’t think you needed me to protect you,” he says quietly, a smile emerging though he tries his best to hold it back. “Your elbow seemed to do a good enough job of that.”

Ah! The sound of your feather-light laugh fills a yawning gap in his chest that appeared two and a half weeks ago. It sounds even more beautiful than before, a twinkling spark of a sound, just for him.

“You’re funny,” you tell him. “I’ll always need you, Ser Munson. Don’t worry about that.”

He looks up at you from his seat on the edge of your bed with eyes that sparkle like the sky outside. Perhaps it’s the reflection of the faded stars painted onto your ceiling, or perhaps it’s just the sight of you.

Both of his hands are on your waist, now, as you stand between his legs. There’s a lot of material in your skirt, though, and it feels too distant still, so you reach behind your back to pull the remainder of the ribbons keeping your corset on, and pull it over your head. Eddie helps where he can from such a low vantage point, and as soon as it’s off and disregarded on the floor, his eager fingers are pulling the velvet dress down and away from your body.

“Fucking hell,” he heaves, “How many things do you have on right now?”

“You’re one to talk,” you giggle. “It took you five whole minutes just to free your arms.”

“Okay, but that’s important. I don’t want to lose my arms. This must weigh a tonne, and… For what?”

You hold his cheek in your left hand again while he unties various laces and undoes buttons. Your skirt has fallen away, as has the underskirt and the other, thicker layers. You’re left in your underdress, a simple white cotton embroidered at the collar. It’s nicer than the one he caught you in all those weeks ago, moments before your life seemed to tilt and slip away beneath you.

Under the fabric, your nipples harden in the cold, jutting out and catching Eddie’s eye.

“Is this okay?” He asks, pulling you in anyways, standing you safely between his knees, his wide hands tentative on your hips. “We don’t have to-”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “Please, yes.”

His hands slide over the hills of your behind to the backs of your thighs. He’s still looking up at you, eyes drooping when your fingers dance through his hair.

“I meant it, though,” you say. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” he sighs, standing slowly. “I have all the time for you.”

The moonlight bleeds a sharp bluish hue but it doesn’t matter. Right now, as he says those lovely words, the boy is a golden ball of light, humming pinks and warm ochre. Your yearning arms wind over his shoulders as his breath mixes with yours once more, his nose nudges the swell of your cheek, his hands press firm into your waist. He’s slow with it, tantalising, keeping you whimpering and desperate, until he finally dips into you, lips on yours with a surprising urgency.

It’s magic, you are so sure of it. His mouth moves over yours with certainty: he wants to be here, he wants to kiss you. He’s wanted to kiss you.

All those fairytales that your wiry old school teacher told you were real, about spells and conjurings and spirits: it’s all real, surely, and it’s in this feeling. There’s no other way you can understand it, though in truth your brain isn’t entirely clear because his fingers are smoothing lower, bunching your dress in his fists to pull the fabric up over the stretch of your legs. All the while his kisses never cease; in fact, once you feel the cool air over the material of your underwear, you gasp and welcome his tongue with your own. Air is worthless to you now; all you want is Eddie.

Much to your dismay, he seems to disagree, pulling back from you to take a breath and lift your dress over your head. He whispers up and you raise your arms, letting him undress you quietly, and once he has, you daren’t open your eyes, instead winding your arms across your chest. You feel the nighttime breeze across the backs of your thighs and you tense knowing that you’re bare in front of him.

There’s a slow beat before you feel his hands again. You hear the dress discarded on the stone floor and then his rough fingers are gently, oh so gently, holding your waist. It’s like he thinks you could break.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Of course you can.”

You expect more solid grabs of flesh, hands smoothing over the expanse of your stomach, maybe even venturing upwards, but you take in a surprised breath when you feel his mouth on your sternum.

His rough hands hold your lower back and he kisses, framing each of your breasts with rows of feather-light pecks, dancing blossoms of affection. You drop your hands to his hair as you let out a breath of satisfaction, tangling your fingers in the curls as his mouth rises.

The whine of your name that leaves your lips is met with his hands tightening, fingers almost curling into the flesh of your back. His kisses turn eager, frantic, crossing the mounds of each of your breasts. His hands leave you to pull his shirt over his head and it’s too much all at once: too much to see, feel, know. You can’t take it in before he’s kissing you again, less than kind as his arms pull your bare chests flush.

Your fingers explore new terrain, which is littered with freckles and white, years-old scars that stretch over his alabaster skin, each one a story that you hope he will tell you one day.

“Eddie,” you pant. He returns the sentiment, breathing your name over and over into your mouth as he sits back down and pulls you into his lap.

The rough of his slacks sends an unfamiliar jolt up your spine when your hips meet his. In the heat of the moment he’s pulling at you a little rough but your gasp draws him out.

“You good?”

“Just… Slow down,” you tell him, resting back on your heels with your hands on his broad, bare shoulders.

“Sorry,” he says. His face is flushed pink and his dark eyes are drooping. “Want to stop?”

“No,” you respond, too quickly to keep your cool. You shake your head. “No, I just- I’m scared I’ll go too fast. I like you too much.”

“I told you,” he says, moving in with his eyes on you. You nod, almost imperceptibly. He kisses your collarbone and then your shoulder. “I have all the time in the world for you.”

“What if someone catches us?”

He pulls back again and reaches up, moving hair from your face and putting it behind your ears. Tidying you up. Fussing over you. It’s nice.

“I promise that everybody who would even think to come anywhere near this room tonight is gone until at least tomorrow afternoon.” He kisses under your jaw, and it returns the shivers back down your spine. “They’re too busy getting drunk. Nobody’s thinking about us.”

“You promise?”

He kisses your chin. “I promise.”

A few years ago, your father entertained a visitor from one of the bigger cities. They had been on a ship for some years and they brought goods the likes of which you’d never seen before: round, vibrant, sharp fruits, powders that made food taste wildly different, and, your favourite, a small collection of fireworks.

In the light of a small bonfire, your father helped the visitor set the wooden tubes alight. They flew off into the air and sparkled, fizzed, popped. It was a display that you couldn’t help but gawk at, enjoying the sizzles and the colours in the deep January sky.

That’s what this feels like. His lips plotting a map across your bare neck, up over your jaw, until they reach your mouth, it feels like seeing fireworks. You keen into his mouth as he licks across your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth gently before letting go, meeting your tongue with his own. His hands at your back pull you in and that flush returns between your legs. He keeps you moving slowly, a lethargic push and pull across his crotch. The dips and folds of the tough fabric there, paired with the growing hardness beneath, give you a friction that you chase instinctively. It’s coupled with a litany of praises whispered into your skin between kisses, and the combination is clearing your head and sending you dizzy.

“That’s it, you’ve got it,” he coos, “Nice and slow for me, yeah? Just-”

Through drooping lids you watch him, his face scrunching in pleasure as you rock against him. It is not lost on you that this feels just as good for him, but you can tell he’s holding something back.

His face relaxes, and he meets your eye. “Hey.” He nudges your nose with his own and takes a deep breath. “You have to breathe, deep breaths. Doesn’t feel half as good if you stop breathing, promise.”

You let out a sigh and a twinkling giggle and he smiles, wide enough that you can see his dimples. He continues showering you with sweet praises, urging you towards oblivion. Look at you. I don’t even need to tell you what to do. You’re so beautiful.

“Fuck- My god.”

The pace quickens as you chase the abyss. His hands don’t move, keeping you anchored to him, moving you back and forth. It’s bliss like you’ve never felt; your own hand could never get you this far. The friction of his pants between your thighs is perfect and your need is ferocious as your stomach winds like a coil.

“C’mon,” he encourages, “You can do it. You’re doing such a good job, c’mon-”

You fall forwards and rest your forehead on his shoulder, whimpering something desperate into his neck as your stomach tenses and bends. Please, Eddie, please, please, please.

A white-hot light sears the darkness behind your eyelids as you come apart for him. He’s calling you all sorts of filthy things but you can barely hear him, brain too occupied by the burning in your belly and his hands, which are seemingly everywhere all at once.

“Good girl,” he whispers into your hairline. He scatters kisses there as you catch your breath.

“Thank you,” you sigh. “Thank you.”

He laughs and you feel it reverberate through his chest.

As you slouch into him, feeling returning to each limb, you feel a foreign yearning in your gut, a relentless feeling that prompts you to squirm. Wriggling, your restless hands paw at his arms and his back and they move lower, until you meet the waistband of his slacks.

You whine into his neck when he won’t move to accommodate your impatience. His hands lure you back from your resting place so he can look at you, with your kiss-swollen lips and happy eyes.

“I need to know that you want this,” he whispers. He rests your foreheads together, the tip of his nose nudging yours.

All you can do is whine. You’re too elated to care to form words, but Eddie’s not having it.

“I need to hear you say it,” he tells you sternly. His eyes do not betray him: they’re steely and suddenly darker than ever.

You dip your head to kiss his jaw, nosing at his cheek, lips and teeth dragging along his skin.

“I want you, Eddie,” you tell him. His fingers tighten at the nape of your neck and pull you back, gentle but firm, as he watches you speak through obsidian eyes. “Please.”

He says nothing as he gives you one more kiss, soft as anything to the pillows of your lips, before helping you off his lap and laying you between the pillows at the head of your bed. You curl up there, the breeze colder still against the wetness between your thighs, which you squeeze together as you watch him stand.

He’s all lean muscle and long limbs. You let yourself gawk for the first time since that night on the balcony; you usually have to ration your glances at him, and he’s always covered by so many layers, so you allow yourself this luxury.

He knows you’re watching, so he makes a little show of it, bending down to get rid of the slacks. Before he does, you notice that the brown has deepened around his crotch with the stains of your pleasure. Acknowledging this makes you shiver, and though you feel you should be disgusted, it’s oddly comforting instead.

When he looks over at you, finally bared and unflinching, he takes a moment to take you in.

You’re still glowing, perhaps more so than before. Some of your hair is stuck to your face, plastered there in the heat of your first orgasm, but the rest of it is laid out around your head like a halo. It’s unfair that you can be so casually magnificent. You’re also not looking at him - well, not meeting his eye, anyway. The tip of your index finger is between your teeth as you take in the sight before you, Eddie as hard as he’s ever been, just for you.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

You look up at his face and break out in a grin. “Absolutely.”

He’s slower than you want, leaning over you, his knees on the comforter beside you, mouth lazy as he gives you kisses. You take and take, happy under his touch.

His hands are everywhere again. Your skin is on fire, aflame from the praise and the affection and the attention. The sensation of being so close to another person while naked like this is achingly unfamiliar but learning it is nice, new, natural. Though it’s nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced before, you’re finding that you like it. You like smoothing your hands over his back, feeling the dips and peaks of his muscles there, or around to the slight pudge of his stomach, just above a thatch of hair similar to your own. You like the feeling of his palms on your shoulders, down your arms, across your waist. You like that when he kisses you, you feel the nudge of his nose beside yours. You like that he appears breathless to you, like your kisses are preferable to air, especially when he becomes restless and impatient.

Above you, his hand moves south, fingers burying their way between your legs. Without realising it, you’ve been squeezing them together, desperate for any relief you can find, but his fingers are certainly better. They push your knees apart so that he can climb into your space, his waist framed by your thighs, the weight of him crashing into you as he dips again to kiss you silly. You wind your arms around his neck and pull him in, enjoying the proximity rather than fleeing from it, and feeling desperate without shame.

One hand hooks under your thigh while the other plants firmly on the mattress beside your head.

“You ready?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“I’m going to go slow,” he tells you, his lips moving against yours lest he get too far away. “Just tell me if you want to stop, please?”

“Yes,” you pant, “Yes, of course, please-”

The hand beneath your thigh escapes and he holds himself as you wind your arms under his, around his chest, pulling him in tight.

It’s definitely slow. A slow, tantalising push between your thighs, filling that gaping yearning within your gut. He’s big, though it barely takes you by surprise because of course he is.

He’s panting, biting his lip above you. “Fuck-” he gasps, “Shit- You okay?”

You nod as fervently as you can because words are escaping you and all you can think about is him, hovering over you, pushing into you, breathing your air and nudging your cheek.

“You feel- You feel so good,” he breathes, pushing further. You nod in agreement and tug him closer still, until he’s in as far as he can go, filling you to the hilt.

The proximity dazzles you as you open your eyes and examine his face. The scrunch between his brows, the freckles across his crooked nose, his teeth biting firm into his lip. It feels only natural to lean up and plot a path of kisses across the hills of his face, bright, happy kisses that relax him until he can kiss you back. He lets the weight of his body fall into yours, keeping some pressure on his arm so as not to crush you entirely, but the feeling of closeness is too comfortable for him to forego.

He speaks into the flesh of your cheek when he says, “I’m going to start moving, okay?”

“Yes,” you pant, and he does, pulling slowly away before pushing back. The friction of the movement over your clit adds to the swelling feeling of fullness each time he returns to you, and the pleasure is almost overwhelming. You take heavy breaths until they become moans, matched by his own noises. Your head is empty and all you want to do is become him; being here, underneath him, is never quite enough. Instead you wish you could, in this moment, under the stars and the moon and wrapped in the night breeze, merge with your knight and stay here forever.

Your lazy daydreams are interrupted when he groans and mutters some kind of praise into your hairline: You’re doing so well. Fuck, so good. And then, to your surprise, you feel his free hand traverse the expanse of your body, between the two of you, over the hill of your stomach until the pads of his fingers find your clit.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Perhaps you haven’t melted together, but this somehow got even better. His cock moves just as quick as he draws lucid circles with his middle and ring fingers over you. He kindles the flame like an expert as his mouth drops kisses messily across your own lips. That’s it: everything is messy, lazy, desperate. He moves and kisses and whispers please, come on, come for me, are you okay? I know you can do it, you feel so good, you’re beautiful.

The hot wire returns. It burns as it coils, tighter and tighter around an abyss in your gut, tugging on each limb like you might implode and become a black hole right here in your bed.

“Eddie, oh my god-”

“Come on.”

“Unngh- It feels s- So good-”

“Come on, sweetheart.”

His movements never relent as you come, the wire burning out in a white-hot bang. You yelp, moaning his name, and he keeps going through it all, kissing you silly all over your face. It’s only when you start to squirm that he slows, brings his busy hand out from between the two of you and smiles. He allows himself a moment to watch you, face lax and mouth agape, sweaty brow and hair a mess, before he taps your hollow cheek with his knuckles.

You open heavy eyes to look back at him and watch as he smirks down at you and brings two messy fingers to his mouth. He’s still inside you and he feels it, the way you squeeze him just slightly as he tastes you on his tongue, making a little show of it for you. He hears you gasp, panting like a dog, and even the moan that leaves you when he pulls his fingers free and they glisten in the low light. “Holy shit,” you breathe, and he breaks out in a grin before he can stop himself. “Holy shit, Eddie.”

“Happy?” he asks.

“Happy? Fuck yeah, I’m happy.”

His laughter is deep and loud, a rumble from his chest that makes you grin back at him.

“What about you?” you ask, eyes drooping again, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead. It burns there, like you have a fever. You must look a state.

“I’m more than happy,” he says, smiling. “You up for a little more?

You look at him. “Hm?”

“I, uh… I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock,” he admits, flushing, “And you… You feel so good, and I’d like to… Y’know.”

He feels bad for a second when your eyes widen and you look down quickly. “Oh, Eddie, shit, did you not- Oh my god, I’m so selfish, are you okay?”

Your hands are everywhere all of a sudden, pawing at his arms and his chest, your fawning interrupted by another bellowing laugh. When you giggle back, he winces, feeling it in the way your body pulls him tighter.

“I’m fine,” he assures you, “But I want to try something.”

“Of course,” you say.

“You sure you’re okay to keep going?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “I want to help you, I want you to feel good too.”

“Hold on, then,” he says, threading an arm between your back and the sweat-damp mattress. You wind your arms back around his neck and yelp when he swings you around, all the while keeping his cock firmly inside your walls.

“Fuck,” you splutter, planting your hands either side of his head.

He likes this view. Your face hovering over his, your knees either side of his waist. He holds you by the hips, feeling the curves and dips, pushing impatient fingers into the flesh at the base of your back.

“God, you are gorgeous,” he says. He likes this view, too, watching you flush and bat your eyelashes, made nervous under his gaze and by his lovely, genuine words.

“Not too bad yourself,” you respond, smiling, lifting one hand to push curls from his warm face.

This feeling is new but it’s lovely. Gravity pulls you onto him and it feels as though he’s somehow even deeper than before. His hands at your ass fist at the flesh there and he tells you he’s going to help you, that you may be worn out and that’s okay, and as he helps you lift yourself upwards, you get the hang of it.

You plant your hands firmly on the expanse of his chest and drop yourself down before pushing yourself back up again. It helps to sit upright so you do, letting him hold you and watch you and god, his face is a picture.

He’s scrunching his nose again, eyes tight as he huffs each time you drop onto him. He’s droopy and blissful as you move up and down, circling your hips just a bit, letting him guide you. It burns after so long but it’s nothing compared to the warmth in your chest watching him near the edge. His stomach tenses, the muscles flexing between your thighs, as his breathing becomes more ragged. And suddenly his arms come up your back and pull you down flush and inside your walls, his cock sits as far in as he can push it. You feel him stiffen and shudder and the warmth as he comes inside, hugging you close, his forehead on your shoulder.

He warns you as he pulls out, and then you lie still, spent, limbs going soft together. The sky is a pale blue-green now, the sun soon to cross the horizon. You can hear birds, and the soft morning light coats your skin in a kind of effervescent glow.

Eddie’s breathing lulls you into a doze, but after a short while he stirs. The space between your core and his is sticky and damp and it’s uncomfortable for a short moment, until he tells you quietly that he’s going to get up and get a rag. He moves you softly onto your back and you sigh, a happy, contented sound, watching him move around your space so comfortably.

He returns from the water basin with a damp cloth, cleaning the remnants of your night from between your legs. You wince when he does, only because you’re tired and sore and the cloth is cold, but he apologises and kisses the inside of your knee.

“Eddie?”

He’s at the basin again, rinsing the rag. “Mhm?”

“Do you really think everyone will be gone until the afternoon?”

You catch him smiling at your question, like he knows what’s coming.

“If you want to play it safe, lets say noon.”

“And what time is it now?”

He looks over to the clock, which sits above your mantlepiece, ticking softly.

“Early,” is all he says. “Early enough.”

“Stay with me?”

He drops the rag over the side of the basin and pads over to you. The mattress dips as he rejoins you, this time lifting your sheets to bury the two of you beneath them.

“I told you,” he says quietly, kissing the peak of your shoulder and pulling you in, his arm around your waist, “I have all the time in the world for you.”

The castle is bustling. People rush here and there, carrying armfuls of floral arrangements, buckets of wine, heaving plates of food. Your home is lively and noisy and your mother is pacing, directing the placement of each bouquet and chair.

In your chamber, the noise seems far away. Your maids finish tying your corset and your shoe ribbons before filtering off to complete other tasks. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror above your fireplace. Red really is your colour.

There’s a resolute knock at your door. The maids stand to attention and move out of your way as your knight pushes the doors open and you step through to the hall.

“Thank you, Dustin,” you say to him.

Your new knight, a replacement both for Eddie and for the man who took his place all those months ago, bows kindly at your regards. He’s young, younger than yourself and Eddie, but keen and worthy and you’re more than happy.

And then he appears, your beacon, a gorgeous vision of handsome beauty.

Eddie, Ser Munson, your knight. Or, rather, your former knight. He’s been promoted to fiancé.

He stands at the top of the stairs, looking back at you like you hung the stars. To him, you may as well have. You are all he has eyes for now, especially now, after giving up his duties and telling your father: Your daughter is my true and only duty.

“My god,” he breathes. You step over to him, too giddy to maintain any air of grace or class. Your step is more like skipping, your love for him giving you far too much energy to merely walk to him.

He holds his arm for you and you take it, leaning up on tip-toes to give him a chaste kiss to the cheek.

“How do you do it?” he says in a low voice, dipping his head so you can hear him as the two of you descend the stairs, Dustin in step behind you.

You’re smiling while you cling to his arm. “Hm?”

“How do you keep getting more beautiful?”

“Just think, Munson,” you say in a whisper, “By the time we’re one hundred, think of how beautiful I’ll be by then.”

“I dread to think,” he says sarcastically, squeezing your arm with his. You look up at him and the noise and fervour of the castle falls away. He looks back down at you and smiles, and it’s truly the only thing that matters.

The engagement party, your sisters, your parents, your birthright - what is any of it for, what does any of it mean, when you have the one thing you ever wanted?

author’s note Hey! Thanks for reading (or scrolling all this way). It's been so long since I uploaded my last fic and I’ve been lurking ever since - I miss u all but there isn’t really any room in my life for writing anymore. I have loved doing this and thank you all so so much for reading everything! I’ll be about, so the blog will stay and you can read whatever you want whenever you want. I love ya, I’ll miss ya, see ya l8r!

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msfantasy-anime · 11 days ago

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A Visit from Father

Monkey D. Luffy x Wife!Reader

Summary: Y/n’s father Mihawk has visited to check in on his daughter.

A/n: I wasn’t ever going to give Y/n parents in this AU. But someone sent a DM requesting to Mihawk to be the father and on good terms, so here we are hehe. You mother is whoever you want to picture.

Part IX

Where the hell is everyone?! One minute you were all walking down the street. The next minute everyone walked off on their own without saying anything.

Whilst you begin to wonder the back streets yourself, you came across someone you expected the least.

“Dad?!” You shout with pure excitement, jumping into the arms of Dracule Mihawk, who is suddenly standing right before you in a random back alley. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Saw your wanted poster.” Mihawk answers, holding up the newest edition. “Came to check in on you.” He answers, his demeanour remaining void of emotion, but the corner of his lips twitch ever so slightly at his daughter. “I just wanted to check in on you...“

“Huh? What about it?” You grumble, unable to resist making a sour face.

“You know, I never wanted this life for you.” Your heart plunges, unable and uninterested to be lectured by your father. It’s rare to cross paths and you just want to enjoy him being there whilst you can until he rushes off like he always does.

“Ugh, are you serious right now? Let’s not talk about it let’s just go and-”

“Listen.” Mihawk says, grabbing your shoulders and forcing you to listen. Your eyes darting away, unwilling to have a heart to heart with your father who you haven’t seen in a long time, next to some garbage. “After the Marines took your mother from us, simply because she was my lover, made me realise that you could never live a normal life with my name attached.”

“Yeah I know. You made the hard decision to leave me to be raised by others and your sacrifice was all for nothing because I went and became a pirate anyway- well I’m sorry to disappoint you-“

“Stop. You do not disappoint me.” Mihawk said sternly, his fingers digging into your shoulders and gives you a slight shake as if shaking you would bring you back to your senses. “You would never disappoint me. But since you now have a bounty, I see no reason to hide you from the world anymore.”

Your heart begins racing at your father’s words. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I want you to come live with me, I can teach you, spend time with you, take you on adventures.” He offers. “And I want the world to know you are my daughter. There’s no reason to hide you anymore.”

You missed out on being with him in your early years and now is your chance to spend time with him. But…

“It’s a dream come true dad… but…” Mihawk had some suspicions before, but he’s certain now.

“My offer doesn’t expire my girl.” He says, pulling you into a hug. “When you are finished with your adventures, the front door will always be open, ready to welcome you home.” Your eyes welled up but you swallow back your emotions, too embarrassed to cry.

Mihawk holds your face one last time before turning to leave. “Dad, before you go, I just wanted to thank you for leaving me in the east blue all that time ago.” Mihawk pauses, his eyes widening, his back remaining turned to you. “I could not have imagined what life would’ve been like without Sabo, Ace and of course … my husband, Luffy.”

“Your mother would be so proud of the woman you grew up to be.” Mihawk smiles at your bittersweet fair well. “Take care of my girl for me Strawhat.”

“Will do.” Luffy answers making you jolt from your spot.

“Ah! Seriously?! How long have you been standing there?!” You screech making Luffy cackle.

“Still afraidy cat huh?” He teases but quickly shuts up when he sees your serious face.

“I’ve just been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“My dad won’t hide me from the rest of the world anymore, which means I’ll be known as Dracule Y/n.”

“Yeah and?” Luffy asks, picking his nose.

“I know I shouldn’t care but I do! You’re my damn husband and I want people to stop questioning it! Take me to the courthouse so we can hurry up and make this official already!”

“Huh?! We already talked about this damnit! We don’t need papers! We already had the wedding and everything!” Luffy protests but you stomp off on a mission.

“I don’t care! We are doing it again!”

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izzyizumi · 6 months ago

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Some extra details under the 'read more's!

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(The concert/Source in question):

youtube

{YES singer is playing the actual song youre hearing–}

(Anyway, the next time someone asks me where I was before 2010, I just might show them this post…!!) {*Even then, even this location is hours+ away from places I’m more familiar with (no I am not local to Sunrise) It’s still a very personal event for me, so genuinely, please be kind if Interacting on this work.}

BONUS:

{^ If I get a chance to add few more scenes, this one feat. Canon Adopted!Koushiro is definitely getting added somewhere too–}

[However, I am currently in the Process of Smoothing it Out; Any 'final’ updates will come later!]

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#The Beginning Spoilers #TheBeginningSpoilers #Digimon Adventure 02: The Beginning Spoilers #Digimon Adventure 02 The Beginning Spoilers #Kizuna Spoilers #Tri Spoilers #BNM Spoilers #Bokura no Mirai Spoilers #Our Future Spoilers #Digimon Adventure: Spoilers #Loudness Warning

-The 1080p option’s audio seems glitched up; (At least, on my end) I will see if I can Fix that on my 'finished version’ in the future. (For now, please watch in 720p!) {It’s possible any option may work for you regardless}

And Remember: Digimon {+FANDOM} is FOREVER

vimeo

Digimon Adventure+02/tri./Kizuna/(+Adventure:) {2020 Reboot} + Digimon Adventure 02: The Beginning (+minimal Kizuna) A.M.V x “Apologize” {David Archuleta} Live Concert Version Featuring Characters/Duos/Ships: + {+2020!}/{Kizuna!}KOUTAI, {02!}KENSUKE, (Implied/Former?/Un-requited??) YamaSoraTai/Yamachi, {briefly/+also from Yamato's end); Adventures Chosen; (Overall 02 Chosen-Leaning +Side KouxTai)

“I’m hearing 'what' you say…”

“Take a Fall {?}”–

“I Need you like a heart 'needs' a BEAT– … BUT that’s Nothing {N E W…}”

“{’XXXXX’} like the A N G E L…"

“IT’S TOO– (???)”

"...Ten feet..."

Comment: If you think I'M not in this CROWD somewhere, {despite the fact my voice is really soft 'irl'} you might just be Mistaken,,,,, (Also - This is my overall personal 'final thesis' on The Beginning.) {If you watch, please genuinely try to FOLLOW the themes presented.}

{Note: Tri Pt. #6 Bokura no Mirai/"Our Future" Spoilers, Major The Beginning Spoilers, (select scenes from opening, final battle, FINAL Post-credits scene at very end clip) + middle part Big spoiler (Rui’s eye & Ukkomon) {Notes: Eye Trauma/Injury; Blood}

Original Song © O.n.e.R.e.p.u.b.l.i.c Archuleta cover from AUGUST 1st 2009’s Sunrise, Florida Concert {“Hey O.P., can you explain that GAP in your blogs' hISTORY of this fANDOM—???”} [Do you hear 'THEM' here???]

*Edited in about 5 hrs 10~ min overall (Preparing for this however took at least four days of off-and-on out-lining) {Any final fix's will come in the future...!!}

{*Slightly LOUD/Low quality audio at points!!} (*Contains cheering, as its LIVE Ver.)

by Me/Hikari M. Productions @hikari-m/@koushirouizumi/@izzyizumi {DO NOT Repost} {DO NOT Copy} {DO NOT Reproduce my Work/Video Edits Without my Permission Under any Circumstances}

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helyft · 6 months ago

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Shenbro au where, Shen Yuan wakes up inside the body of the scum villain's little brother. Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan join the Qing Jing peak togather. Shen Jiu is way more popular than SY, even if it's not really a good thing. SY doesn't really leave the peak unless he must, so not many people know that SJ has a brother, let alone one who is a fucking saint.

After fixing and healing sqq like bob the builder, (transmigrator) SY is finally sure that SQQ isn't gonna fuck up his future even if he is left to his own device. But that doesn't mean SY will leave his big bro though, nope, He is just gonna go on his own little adventures while SJ is doing what-head-disiple-usually-do. Just temporarily yeah

It takes a lot to convince SJ, but with the help of YQY and their Shizun, SY manages to leave after promising SJ that he'll come back more often than not. It's not like he is planning on leaving forever, he will be back in time for the original to begin! Just to make sure his brother doesn't dig his own grave.

it's mighty fun, seeing monsters he had only ever read about with his own eyes, observing the wild life and noting down his adventures, if he didn't have SJ waiting for him back in the sect, SY might have just settled as a rogue cultivator.

SY is curious about how people in this day and age live. When he first came to this world, he was too busy trying to not die and keep his brother from pissing people off left and right. Now that SJ has calmed down a bit (he is still a little bitch but a likeable bitch atleast.) and canon is still a few years away, it's definitely the right time to enjoy the mundane activities and savoury street food!

But you know who else also leaves the sect to hunt down monsters for indefinite amount of time?

SY totally doesn't expect to run into future Bai Zhan lord while out in the wild (Wellll, not that he knows this is LQQ. ) but he is so glad he did! Otherwise he would have been mauled alive by a poisonous-clawed bear!

The amount of times they coincidentally meet eachother is actually suspicious. But SY doesn't mind. Who would mind being saved by a heavenly beauty (even if it's a man)? Sure, this guy might not talk alot, stare at him like he has grown another head and leave instantly after killing the beast that was about to attack SY, he sure is a eye-candy!

They get close soon enough. It can't be helped since they run into eachother every other week. SY even managed to fish out his surname! Which happens to be the same as Liu Mingyan's!

Liu-gongzi is actually nicer than he looks, turns out the reason he looked at SY as if he had grown a second head isn't because he dislikes him but because he looks identical to an unsavoury person Liu-gongzi knows!

SY learned quite a bit about him, like how he is part of a sect, how he only goes back to his sect once a month to show his face to his shizun, and how he even has a little sister. Liu-gongzi's company is a delight to have! He even lets SY observe a beast before killing it.

(if there is a slight voice whispering in the back of his head about the similarities Liu-gongzi has to a certain war god, he ignores it)

They don't really stick together, SY isn't really here to fight fight and fight, he is here to learn about the behind the scenes of PIDW, and enjoy his life the fullest before canon inevitably comes. Liu-gongzi on the other hand likes to mindlessly charge into battle. SY suspects that his head is somewhat empty other than thoughts about brawling with monsters.

Spending time with Liu-gongzi is...fun. It feels like he has finally made a friend who isn't mentioned by the original story. He is a little sad inside everytime they have to go their own way but somehow, they end up meeting always so he can just think that they are meant to be together right? In a platonic way ofc.

Time passes by in a flash, and before SY realises it, Canon is already looming over.

It's about time he heads back to Cang Qiong.

(and if he catches sight of a very, very familiar man, who has become even more beautiful since the last time SY saw him, wellll, that's a sorry for another day.)

#mxtx svsss #svsss #scum villian self saving system #liushen #liu qingge #shen yuan #shen brothers #might write this #probably

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crystallizedtwilight · 4 months ago

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Nightmare Before Christmas AU Overview:

🎃🦇🍂

OVERVIEW: This AU follows the events of the movie The Nightmare Before Christmas. Taking place a few years in the future, it focuses on the adventures of Lock, Shock, and Barrel as young adults. The trio has since been welcomed into the town by Pumpkin King and Queen Jack and Sally, though they still live happily in their treehouse on the outskirts. They enjoy life under their own command, free from the now-deceased Oogie Boogie, causing mischief and pulling pranks on the good folk of Halloween Town. Throughout their continued adventures together they discover that growing means learning about themselves, each other, and dealing with change. But one thing remains constant—they'll always be birds of a feather, now and forever.

BACKSTORIES: The trio came to Halloween Town under unfortunate circumstances. Each of their families had lived in the human world, as many monsters do, either nomadically, elusively in the wilderness, or by masquerading. The trio were all born in different parts of the the world during the height of monster hunting. They were three fortunate cases who were found by other monsters and taken to Halloween Town as orphans.

Once in Halloween Town, the trio often ditched school, feeling they weren’t as accepted as the local kids, and deliberately caused trouble which earned them a bad reputation. The three bonded over a love of mischief and the feeling of being outcasts, so when Oogie offered them a life free of rules, they were easily convinced to leave the town entirely to become his henchmen.

Unbeknownst to them, the reason monster hunting took place during that time was because Oogie was rampantly devouring human children. Essentially, they were orphaned because their boss had given humans in several towns desperate cause to hunt the supernatural.

They would not come to learn this until after Boogie’s death. They grew up resenting humans for orphaning them and were horrified to learn that they'd worked for the monster who forced humans to defend themselves as well as let their parents take the fall. Nowadays, they choose to give the human world a chance by regularly traveling all over the world.

LOCK:

Lock is an imp, which is a type of devil. He has nocturnal vision, speed, and a natural desire to climb to very high places. He can often be found on the roof of the treehouse or up a tree when he needs to think. In the human world, imps are stealth hunters in deep forests, preying on deer and other local fauna. However, Lock has a diet of junk food and candy since he was raised without these hunting skills in Halloween Town.

Imps are naturally solitary creatures and dislike group settings, so no imp has ever come through Halloween Town. This, unfortunately, gave Lock a subconscious sense of loneliness and doubt. This is why he tries the hardest to keep the trio together by rejecting any change, which at one point resulted in a huge argument with Shock when she wanted to start attending coven studies a few days a week.

Of the three, Oogie’s abuse rooted itself mostly deeply within him, as Oogie played into the “who else would want you” angle Lock already felt as the only imp in town. He often overcompensates for his insecurities with arrogance and acts childishly, selfishly, and even meanly at times. However, under it all, he has a good heart and just wants to know that his friends aren’t going to leave him.

Lock and Shock are rivals who motivate each other, constantly bickering over which one of them is actually the leader of the trio. At the end of the day, they respect each other's skills and would do anything to keep their friend safe, but you'll never hear them say that.

Eventually, Lock begins a casual fwb relationship with Barrel, under the terms "as long as it doesn’t change anything”—worried that if they labeled themselves and it went sour, he could lose his friend. Barrel, who had always been in love with him, happily agreed to these terms. However, despite insisting that they were only friends, Lock finds himself extremely jealous when another ghoul, Belladonna, takes an interest in Barrel.

Lock is overwhelmed to realize that he actually does have feelings for Barrel but has likely missed his chance with him by insisting they weren't together, and Belladonna is probably better for him anyway. In an emotional confrontation where Lock accidentally scars Barrel’s arm with a bite, the two finally confess their true feelings.

SHOCK:

Shock is a witch, which is a type of magical entity. Of the three, she is the most confident and intelligent. Most witches will start coven studies at a young age to learn how to harness their magic, however, growing up under Oogie, she was discouraged from doing so. After Oogie’s demise Shock found herself determined to pursue her dreams of magic. Unlike how it had affected Lock, Oogie’s vicious words of “you’re not good enough” were only fuel to her fire, and she took all that anger and turned in into passion for her studies.

She demanded that Halloween Town’s coven mentor her, even though she was older than the typical witch who was just starting her studies. The coven saw her passion and agreed. The studying has three phases: master flying, master potions, and master hexes, and one cannot be learned until the previous is mastered. The process takes years but Shock is currently deep in her potions phase and can often be found nose-deep in a book or foraging for herbs. Mastering hexes is her dream and she is eagerly chasing it.

One night, while out for a flight, Shock encounters a banshee crying in the moonlight. Shock learns that her name is Calliope and the human family’s line that she watched over had comes to an end. Shock instantly feels drawn to her and they quickly become friends. Shock secretly makes it her mission help Calliope feel happy again. Eventually, the two develop romantic feelings for each other as well.

BARREL:

Barrel is a ghoul, which is a type of demon that feasts on the flesh of cold, buried humans. Like Lock, Barrel was raised on junk food and candy in Halloween Town so that’s the diet he prefers today. Ghouls are naturally nomadic due to their diet, needing to find different graveyards to dig in to avoid being caught. However, many ghoul packs often breeze through Halloween Town for events, and are genuinely regarded fondly by the locals since they’re always polite and up for a fun time.

Of the three, Barrel is the most easygoing. He wants to hang out with his friends more than he wants to prank people, but is always up for fun nonetheless. He also keeps scorpions as pets. Regarding Oogie, Barrel walked away the least scathed because Shock and Lock intentionally took the brunt of his anger to protect him since he was the youngest. This left Barrel with a sense of guilt for not being strong enough to protect his friends back then. However he’s worked through that by deciding he would never let either of them be hurt again now that he could hold his own.

Barrel always had a crush on Lock since the moment he met him. The feeling was not mutual, and it wasn’t until Barrel kissed him much later in life that Lock even entertained the idea. Despite this, Barrel continues to love him timelessly and patiently, despite Lock still having a lot to work through and trouble recognizing his own feelings.

CALLIOPE:

Calliope is a banshee, which is a type of fairy that heralds death. She is sweet-natured and very new to the ways of Halloween Town, having grown up in the human world. She loves dogs since, like her, they also warn humans of danger. She has taken a liking to Zero in particular.

Calliope develops feelings for Shock who not only helped her feel at home in Halloween Town, but also helped her find her happiness when she never thought she'd smile again. Nowadays, Calliope is happier than ever before.

BELLADONNA:

Belladonna is a ghoul who lives in the human world with a pack of other ghouls. They masquerade as a human band/roadies, live nomadically, and actually put on some good concerts. Ghouls don’t kill or cause any harm to humans (they love their audiences!) but they do eat corpses by raiding graves at night. They breeze through Halloween Town once or twice a year for big events.

Belladonna is instantly attracted to Barrel when they meet at one of Halloween Town's formal parties. She is fun, good-natured, and helps Barrel learn about what his kind is up to in the human world.

JACK:

Jack still reigns as Pumpkin King, alongside Sally whom he recently wed. Regarding the trio, Jack feels guilt for overlooking them when they were children. Jack had a no-kill policy when it came to humans and Oogie Boogie did not—due to this conflict, Jack banished Oogie to the outskirts, and he is the reason the town has a guarded gate.

Jack was especially bitter about this rivalry, since he used to be friends with Oogie, and declared that Oogie would never be allowed into town again. Moreover, anyone associated with Oogie needed a by-name invitation from Jack himself before they’d be allowed into town. Even though the trio were just children at that time, Jack declared there would be no exceptions, and ignored the fact that the trio were actually in real danger with Oogie, which he found easy to overlook since they were so ill-behaved and rude to him.

At the end of the movie the trio have a change of heart and warn the townsfolk that Jack, Sally, and Sandy are trapped in Oogie's lair. Even though Jack was able to defeat Oogie before needing the town's assistance, this helped him see that the trio are actually good kids and he was wrong to ignore their circumstances for so long.

Nowadays, Jack tries very hard to make up for his mistake. He has declared that they are welcome inside the town, removed the gate, and regularly defends them when they prank the townsfolk (and Jack himself). Sometimes, Jack tries too hard, requiring their attendance at Town celebrations which the trio roll their eyes at. They regard Jack as a nerd, but know he is well-meaning. The mayor still dislikes them, but trusts Jack’s judgement.

SALLY:

Sally, now Pumpkin Queen, gets along quite well with the trio. Because she is so clever, she’s the only person in town they’ve never managed to prank, and she even managed to prank them once. Though Queen is her title, sewing is her passion and she happily has taken up the job as town seamstress, eagerly designing clothes for all the wonderful shapes that call Halloween Town home, trio included.

Shock actually enjoys Sally’s company and thinks of her like an older sister, even confiding in or asking her for advice at times. Lock is still a bit skeptical and cold with her since he is forever done with authority figures, though Sally finds him funny. Barrel likes Sally just fine, and really enjoys how soft and comfortable she makes all his clothes.

OTHER KIDS:

Growing up, the trio didn’t like the inner-town kids (Corpse Kid, Mummy Boy, and Winged Demon, as they’re referred to in the movie). The trio saw them as “goody-two-shoes” who grew up nice and cushy inside the town gate, happy to follow Jack’s ever order, and going home to loving families every night. However, the inner-town trio prove to not actually be so bad and take earnest steps to make the trio feel welcome in town after Oogie’s demise.

MISC FACTS: ▪️ The trio regularly utilize the towns tomb portals to travel all over the human world. They're particularly interested in celebrations or festivals that are similar to Halloween. They're technically not supposed to interact with human festivities so openly, as fear of the unknown gives monsters more mystery and therefore more fright factors on Halloween, but Sally knows they do so and keeps their secret: [1] [2] [3] [4]

▪️ They upgraded their treehouse to be more spacious: [1] [2] [3]

▪️ They gave each other piercings to signify them being friends forever

▪️ The three of them were brought to Halloween Town just days apart. They were then named as a unit after the merism. However, they did have other names before they arrived, though they no longer want to use them.

▪️ None of them know how old or when their birthdays are. They mark time in a very general sense by how many Halloweens it feels like they've had together.

▪️ This AU began as sketches in 2018 and I posted my first art of them publicly in 2020. I was inspired by the Photo Booth pin. I thought it would be fun if the trio took pictures in the more modern sense, capturing their shenanigans with selfies and documenting their mischief, which is why the first couple drawings are framed that way.

The second thing that inspired me was the screenshot of Oogie saying he’ll decide which of the trio to eat when they displease him, and the general theory that the masks in the treehouse are from previous victims whom he had eaten. I thought since Jack destroys Oogie at the end of the movie, maybe the trio gets the chance to grow up, hence an AU about their happy, older years.

ART TAGS:

🎃 Entire Nightmare Before Christmas Tag

💘 Lock/Barrel Tag

🩵 Calliope Tag

💚 Belladonna Tag

🤩 Fan Art of My AU Tag (THANK YOU!!)

INSTAGRAM:

best_trickortreaters

#non rebloggable #will be used for linking #tnbc

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 5 months ago

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Been a bit since I've drawn my older Phileas Fogg

#david tennant #around the world in 80 days #let the adventure begin au #phileas fogg #john's art

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abeejasarts · 4 months ago

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I absolutely LOVE the Bill Goldilocks Cipher AU. (AU by @ckret2) I love it to bits. I think that its important everyone knows WHY I love it so much so more after the cut

I have recently gotten into reading the Bill “Goldilocks” Cipher AU, and I’m absolutely in love. (As an important note, I am on chapter 45) Not just because of the characterization and how it feels like how all the characters would act and adventures that could happen in the show, but also because specifically what Bill looks like. And I WILL INFODUMP!

Bill, for context, is stuck in this body. it’s not something he’s possessing, it’s his own body, but it was made by a computer. He created it instantaneously to escape the Theraprism (in an INCREDIBLE one shot I suggest fans of the Book of Bill read)

But then he got stuck. He couldn’t leave it, his soul was essentially stitched to the body with no powers and no way to escape. And he hates it. Bills body doesn’t look like him, not because it’s a woman, because it’s a human, and he wishes he was still a 2D triangle. The FACT that it’s a woman, the fact that it doesn’t match up with what we the audience imagine Bill would look like, let’s us imagine some of that “this isn’t right” dysphoria that is so essential to the story and Bill’s characterization. Of course we would imagine Bill to be a man, but he isn’t here. When he says he hates how his body curves and moves, we think, “oh, he means cause he’s a woman” NAW HE JUST WANTS TO BE 2D! It’s BRILLIANT!

But that’s not all!

Bills entire reason for escape is because he doesn’t want to stop being himself. He doesn’t want the prison to take away his memories or make him “perfect”, he just wants to be him and he’ll do anything to stay himself. He wants to be free.

and then when he escapes to try to stay himself forever, to “freedom”, he’s immediately trapped again. He’s trapped inside Gravity Falls, he’s trapped with the Pines, but worse; he’s trapped in a foreign body. He isn’t himself. The thing he wanted most cost him what he was fighting for to begin with.

This AU is so beautiful. It’s amazing. I adore it. And Author, if you’re reading this, your work has brought me many days of brainrot and joy.

Also, importantly, I haven’t read through the authors blog, so there’s a chance that they just think Bill should be a woman and that’s just what he would look like humanized, and there’s nothing deeper than that and I’ve made a fool of myself. If that’s the case, and the whole “the audience understands the dysphoria” part isn’t correct, I apologize, but if that is what you were going for, you did it perfectly and please never stop writing because it inspires me.

Also I have more fan art coming this AU really did give me serious brainrot like nothing else

#my art #gravity blorbos #gravity falls #bill goldilocks cipher #AND I WILL GO INTO DETAIL!!!#bill cipher

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 days ago

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Squeaky Clean 8

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)

Note: Oh Steverino.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The rhythm of flesh echoes in your head. It isn't until you open your eyes that the world is still. It's over.

Your teeth chatter as you exhale, eyes glued to ceiling as you languish in the aftermath. The smell of sweat drowns you, the shadow of his touch stain you. Your skin is raw from his ravenous exertion and your insides are shredded.

It hurts just to roll your eyes around their sockets. You tilt your head carefully and look down at Steve’s arm strewn across your middle. His heat swelters over you like arid desert air.

You wallow like that for a time. Your consciousness stirs your restlessness. As your chest wracks tightly, you push away his embrace and sit up. You need space, just for a second.

You get one leg over the edge of the bed before he has you by your arm, just above the elbow. With ease, he yanks you back down. You tremble and let out a yelp.

"Please, I'm just going to the bathroom."

"Stay," he insists.

"I--" you begin but it's meaningless.

His hand trails up your arm and tickles across your shoulders. He purrs as he draws himself flush to you. He nuzzles your cheek and pets your other. His lips brush your ear as he whispers, "on your side, baby."

You tense but obey. You hide behind your eyelids as he grazes over your hair and pushes it flat. He slips his other arms beneath your and bends it to cover your throat. His grip hovers but does not squeeze.

His other hand traces the length of your body and he latches in your hip. He pushes until your arch your back.

You clutch the corner of the pillow as he drags his fingertips around your ass and strokes himself hard. He pushes his tip along the crease of your cheeks and leans against you as he finds your entrance. He pushes a finger along the front to steady himself as he impaled you with a sigh.

You turn your face into the pillow and whine. His intrusion is even more torturous than before. He clamps down on your throat and puffs into your hair as he bottoms out. His other hand cups your stomach as he quickly falls into a rut.

The slapping skin batters your ears and body alike. You try not to hear, not to feel, but that only makes it worse. His fingers flutter down your pelvis and he delves between your lips.

You gasp as he flicks over your clit. You spasm and choke on your whimpers. He swirls his fingers as he hammers into. You feel him in your stomach as your nausea swells again.

You clasp onto his wrist as he toys with your clit. He growls and puts you on your stomach again. His hips pound against your ass as he plays with your clit, tangling your nerves into a ball.

"Fuckkk...." he rasps as his weight flattens you against the mattress. "You're so good, baby."

You bite down and let out a fractured moan as your body surrenders. You cum into the pillow. He does not stop.

You sink down into the darkness, breath clouds you as it traps in the cotton, and you dig your nails into the pillowy cushion. When it ends, you swear it's not. The stinging impact against your ass radiates still.

He slides free with a groan and leaves you empty, dripping with him. That sickly trickle adds to your shame. You don't move. You can't. Whenever you do, it just triggers him, like a snake waiting to strike.

The bed bounces as he gets up. Your heart slows but not beneath that constant rush of terror. Just enough to breathe.

His feet slap the floor as he paces and hums. He clears his throat as he circles like a lion. You brace yourself for another pounce.

"Hi, yes," he says firmly and your eyes snap open. You turn your head and see only his shoulder as he spins on his heel. "I just wanted to report a now show."

You blink and turn onto your back. You groan as you push yourself up, watching him as you sit in the puddle of his desecration. He holds the phone to his cheek and sighs, a convincing show of exasperation.

"Yeah, uh, my cleaner didn't show up today," he repeats, "uh huh. Yes, it's Steve Rogers. That's right." He nod and clicks his tongue. "You haven't heard anything?"

He listens as you crawl to the edge of the bed. He sniffs and tubs his nose, dragging his hand down his chin. "No, no, it's fine. You know, I don't think it was working out.... yeah, uh I'll have to think about it before that. Sure. Yes." You try to parse together the other side of the conversation, "thanks. Alright, yeah, you too."

He hangs up and heaves. He grins and blacks the screen. He tosses it away and faces you.

Your phone buzzes in quick succession. You flinch. He calmly crosses the apartment and picks it up. He brings it to you. The display flashes with the agency's ID.

"Answer it."

"What did you do?" You babble.

He shoves the phone at you. You take it and swallow dryly. You slump and stare at the phone as you put it to your ear.

"Hi--"

"Hello," Jan's voice is rigid with anger. "Where are you?"

"I'm--"

"You know, it doesn't matter. You skipped the day and that's a firing offense--"

"What? I--" You are keenly aware of Steve right beside you.

"After yesterday, I shouldn't be surprised. You wanted out and you think you can just play hooky like a teenager. That's not how this work, hon. Do you understand you may have lost us a prestige client?"

"But--"

"You are fired. I don't have time for this, I have to try to salvage what you've ruined."

The line clicks. You stare at the floor and lower the phone. You bend over your lap and hide your face. It's all so methodical. He planned this. All of it.

You just don't get why. Why you? You put the phone down carelessly and slowly drop onto your side. You out your back to Steve and curl up with the mess on the bed.

"Everything okay?" He taunts.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #maid au #series #drabble #squeaky clean #captain america #avengers #marvel #mcu

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h0neylevi · 1 month ago

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Chapter Two

After a major shift, your life has become a series of monotonous routines. Eat, sleep, go to work, repeat. But when you find a man bleeding on the subway with no idea how he got there, things become anything but ordinary.

General content warnings: isekai/parallel universe, modern AU, mentions of blood and canon-typical violence, some light angst, eventual smut.

chapter warnings: brief discussion of human trafficking

word count: 3.2k

“Where did you find him again?”

“On my way home last night on the subway.”

“... And he was–”

“In the full scout uniform, yeah.”

Your friend and fellow nurse, Allie, pauses in the wake of your words, eyes fixed on the door at the other end of the hall where one of the hospital’s doctors took Levi to be examined.

They’ve been back there for over an hour now, and you’re starting to get nervous. If this goes badly, you’re never going to live it down with your coworkers.

“Is he hot?”

Your jaw hangs when Allie’s words register, and you turn back to her with an incredulous look.

“I told you all that and that’s what you take from it?”

She raises her hands up in a defensive gesture. “I’m just saying, if the universe decided to drop a man into my lap that thought he was Erwin Smith, I would take advantage of the situation.”

That, oddly enough, makes you laugh.

“He isn’t Levi Ackerman,” you say once you’ve calmed down. “He probably just hit his head on the way from a costume party and got confused.”

On the other side of the nurse’s station, Allie groans and gets up. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I’m being realistic,” you defend.

“We see weirder things walk into this hospital every day.”

“I think an anime character come to life would surpass anything we’ve ever seen.”

With a defeated little sigh, she grabs a file and rounds the corner. “Well, whatever he is, I have to get back to work.” She taps the file on your shoulder as she passes. “Have fun with Beyblade. Let me know what Paul says.”

Just as she starts down the corridor, the door at the end of the hall opens and Dr. Paul Holloway exits the exam room. His expression is solemn as he gestures for you to join him.

“Thank you again for doing this on such short notice, Dr. Holloway,” you greet him. “Did you find out anything?”

He looks down for a moment at the clipboard in his hand. “Well, the only thing really to note is that he doesn’t seem to know what year it is or where he is, but all of his tests and scans came back normal. Cognition and reflexes otherwise seem to be just fine.”

He rifles through the pages for a moment before continuing. “There are no drugs in his system, and no significant injuries that I could find that would cause this sort of temporary amnesia, so I would have to refer him out to a specialist if you wanted more answers. But as of now, my only guess could be that maybe he was trafficked and escaped. Possibly in a fugue state for so long that he has no recollection of how he got here.”

You listen intently. That wouldn’t explain the clothes you found him in, but it’s worth considering all the same. Large cities were usually hubs for human trafficking. It’s more likely than Allie’s theory at least.

Dr. Holloway seems to sense your thought process. “He should recover his memories soon, but I would suggest maybe filing a police report. I’m sure he has a family out there somewhere who’s missing him.”

You consider it. “Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I’ll mention it. Thanks again, Dr. Holloway.”

“Of course.”

You wait quietly as he opens the exam room door again and beckons Levi out.

He’s just as passive as ever when he sees you waiting. With a departing nod, Dr. Holloway continues down the hall to another exam room.

“So,” you begin, “how are you feeling?”

“Like a test subject,” Levi grumbles, falling into step with you. “Four-Eyes would love this place.”

You turn to look at him. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” he quickly says. “So, are you satisfied now? I can go?”

You walk through the nearby exit door on the side of the building and onto the street.

“Well, Dr. Holloway didn’t find anything wrong, so I guess you’re welcome to go wherever you like,” you say. “But I really think you should go to the police. I think something really bad has happened to you, Levi. They might be able to help you.”

While you speak, Levi looks around, studying the cars as they pass and the tall buildings.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he sighs. “I think I’m too far from home to go back.”

The recognition that bleeds through his tone makes you curious. “Do you remember where you’re from?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His mouth twists into a frown. “It’s definitely not around here.”

You want to keep pressing but ultimately decide against it. It isn’t as if it’s any of your business, but you feel a sense of responsibility for his well-being. You were the one who found him, and if you have the means to help him get to where he needs to go, you’d be willing to offer. It isn’t as if you’ve got anything else going on in your life, but you can only do so much when he doesn’t want you to pry into his personal life.

“Well...” you trail off, unsure. “I need to get some groceries but once we get back to my place, I can wash your clothes before you leave. That’ll give you some time to decide what you want to do.”

To your surprise, it doesn’t take him long to agree.

“Okay,” he nods. “Let’s go.”

The supermarket isn’t far from your apartment, so you get onto the city metro together. It’s a familiar route to you, but it’s clear that Levi isn’t accustomed to the amount of people that cram themselves together into the narrow space at once.

There aren’t any seats when you climb on, so you’re forced to stand together in one of the corner exits. At the very least, Levi remembers to grab onto one of the handrails just before the train starts moving—an action that he still seems to find disgusting despite the necessity.

“What?” you laugh at his pinched expression.

“I think I preferred it the way it was last night,” he remarks, not doing anything to hide his distaste while looking around. “How often do these things get cleaned?”

You blink. “Uh, I don’t know. Probably only when something seriously hazardous happens. Like blood or puke.”

The look on his face only grows.

“Don’t worry. I have sanitizer in my bag. I can give you some when we get off,” you promise. “I never got rid of the habit from covid.”

The way Levi’s brows furrow suggest that he doesn’t know what either of those things are either, but you just shake your head, wordlessly promising to explain later.

Once you’re off the train and back out onto the street, you move to the side to pull the aforementioned bottle out of your bag. Levi watches quietly until you reach and squeeze some of the liquid into his upturned palm.

He lifts it closer to his face. “What is this?”

“It’s sanitizer,” you say, rubbing your hands together. “Just rub it in like this. It kills the germs on your hands that you can get from touching random surfaces.”

He follows your example, albeit a bit more slowly, and you set off again down the street.

The rest of the walk is done mostly in silence. Thankfully, Levi doesn’t seem to mind. He chooses mostly to walk along beside you, occasionally looking up at skyscrapers as you pass them or balk at the occasional interaction on the street. There’s a sense of wonder and curiosity that settles on his face, smoothing out the stern glare that you’ve seen him wear since you first found him on the metro.

It really is like he’s never seen anything like it before, and you wonder again about his history. He doesn’t seem afraid of anything, merely curious as he walks, and he carries himself confidently. Like a soldier…

No, that was Allie influencing your thoughts. There’s no way this man was the Levi Ackerman. Even if he had his hair, his stature, the same sullen expression, and similar mannerisms to ones you’ve seen in the anime. It’s an impossible thought. You’re not even considering it.

“What are you staring at?”

You blink and realize that he’s looking at you now and holy shit, his eyes are even that shade of blue-grey.

You turn forward again just as a crosswalk changes for you to go. “Nothing,” you say quickly. “You just… remind me of someone.”

He doesn’t reply—most likely because he doesn’t care—but you’re grateful that he doesn’t pay it any mind.

But by the time you’ve entered the supermarket and grabbed a cart, your curiosity outweighs your hesitation.

“Can I ask you something?”

Beside you, Levi scans the produce aisle you’re approaching with passive interest. “That depends.”

Ignoring him, you press forward. “Is there some reason you won’t tell me what’s going on?”

You speak and he turns to look at you, his brows furrowed.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious that there’s more to what happened than you’re letting on,” you continue. “And I know it’s none of my business, but…”

“You’re right. It is none of your business.”

The comment stings more than you expect, but you try to quickly brush it off. You don’t know this man, and in a matter of an hour or so he’ll be gone. You’d promised yourself that as long as he was healthy, you wouldn’t meddle.

But after everything you’ve done for him, it still feels unfair to treat you so dismissively. He acts like you’re a nuisance more than the person who cleaned him up and gave him a place to sleep out of the cold.

The ensuing silence is tense. You push your cart forward, suddenly eager to get out as quickly as possible. The faster you get home, the quicker he leaves. If that’s what he wants after everything you’ve done, he can have it.

You’re moving through the selection of deli cheeses when Levi speaks up again.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he says in a low voice. “I wouldn’t believe it myself if I wasn’t witnessing it with my own eyes.”

You look around, following his gaze as it skims over the refrigerated walls of pre-packaged meat and cheese.

“What are you talking about? It’s a grocery store.”

He huffs. “That doctor said the year was 2024.”

You change course, leading the way into an aisle of canned goods. “Yeah?”

It’s quiet for a long moment. Levi’s arms are crossed over his chest as he follows along.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I’m not from here.” He pauses for a moment as you pull some cans from a shelf and place them in your cart. “I’m not from this time.”

You stop for a moment and look at him. On his face is the same look he had the night before, that same sincerity when he told you he’d been looking for some sort of headquarters.

You can’t help it. You chuckle. “You’re talking about time travel.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

You continue down the aisle and turn into the next one. “Levi, there’s never been a recorded instance of time travel…ever. It’s never happened.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “See? You don’t believe me.”

“It isn’t about believing you. It’s impossible.”

But even as you say it, you don’t feel entirely convinced that it’s true.

Improbable, sure. Very unlikely. Insane that you’re even considering it, but the more you think about it, the more the pieces seem to fall into place.

The way you found him, his clothes, the way he looks around at everything like he’s seeing it all for the first time. There’s no indication that he has a serious head injury, so you can’t fall back on that anymore. And the trafficking? Well… You’ve been trained to look for red flags, and nothing about his situation seems to fit with that explanation.

Plus, there are the coins you found in the pockets of his clothes this morning. Copper and silver ones bearing symbols you don’t recognize. The silhouette of a woman in a crown.

You’d looked up every conceivable country that you could think of that might fit the bill and nothing had matched.

There’s no way that what he’s saying is true though, right? If you believe him, you’d have to believe all of it—meaning that he is Levi Ackerman and that the events of Attack on Titan are real.

No, that’s silly. In all of recorded history, there’s never been a single event that coincides with the existence of man-eating titans. Belief in giants is a fringe theory not backed by actual evidence.

But, still. Just to humor him.

“What time are you from then?” you ask.

“854.”

You stop and stare at him. “You realize that’s…over a thousand years ago, right?”

With his mouth in a thin line, Levi nods.

You continue to stare, waiting for a break in his composure. The inevitable laugh that will surely come, marking this entire conversation as a joke, but it never comes.

“You’re serious,” you finally say.

Levi blinks. “You believe me?”

God, what do you believe? “I…” You bring your hands to your face. The middle of the pasta aisle is not the place to be weighing the possibility of time travel. “No,” you finally say. “I mean, I don’t know…can you prove it?”

Levi raises a brow. “How am I supposed to prove it to you?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one claiming to be over a thousand years old.”

“I’m not claiming to be—” he cuts himself off with an irritated sigh. “You’re just as bad as the brats back home.”

Something in your patience finally snaps.

You start walking again, needing space. “You know, you could stand to be a bit nicer to me considering all I’ve done for you.”

For a long moment, there’s only the rattling sound of the cart’s wheels as they roll down the aisle.

“I am grateful,” Levi finally says, surprisingly still following next to you. “But I didn’t ask you to interfere.”

“Well, most people wouldn’t have just left a man to bleed all over the metro. I’m sorry I have basic human decency.”

“Basic human decency would have been pointing me in the direction of the nearest sink,” he points out. “You let me sleep on your couch.”

You turn to glare at him. “I’m sorry, are you complaining right now?”

“I’m saying that I don’t like owing people,” he says.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. I would have done the same thing for anyone.”

Levi doesn’t look like he completely believes you, but at least he lets the matter rest.

He follows you the rest of the way through the store in thoughtful silence.

Left to your own devices, you grab things without thinking, relying on muscle memory to lead you to the items you usually buy. It isn’t as if you deviate much from your favorite meals, so the rest of the process is quick.

By the time you’ve grabbed everything you need, your mood has improved enough that you feel a bit remorseful for doubting him.

Even if it was a weird idea, Levi appeared genuine. Like Dr. Holloway had said, he’d probably regain his memories soon. If he really didn’t remember anything about modern life, he was going to need someone to help him.

Maybe he shouldn’t leave so soon.

It isn’t until you turn around to speak that you realize you’re alone. A quick look around the aisle confirms that Levi’s nowhere to be seen. That’s odd. When had he wandered off?

You begin searching back through the aisles and after a few minutes, you spot him. Standing in front of the long, neat shelves lined with tea and coffee. Something akin to dread settles into your stomach at the sight.

He glances over as you approach and places a box back on the shelf. A beat passes before he clears his throat and says, “I’ve never seen so much tea in one place before.”

“Do you want some?” you ask, glancing at the box he put back—a black tea blend. He doesn’t respond, simply skimming over the labels again with a peculiar glint in his eye.

You don’t wait for an answer and pluck the box off of the shelf. He doesn’t stop you as you place it into your cart.

It’s a truce. An apology and an acknowledgment that you’re helping him all in one.

You turn your cart back around and lead the way toward the front. “I’m all done. Let’s go.”

The walk back home isn’t as tense as before, but it isn’t exactly comfortable either.

You keep watching Levi every chance you get. He appears more thoughtful. His gaze lingers just as it always has on the buildings and the people walking past. Cars, billboards, restaurants, all of it.

It’s got to be overwhelming. Not that you're believing him, but if he believes that he isn’t from this time, it has to be a shock to see so many unfamiliar things at once.

“What are you thinking about?” you finally ask.

His expression remains passive as he takes a deep breath, like he’s grounding himself. “Everything just looks so…”

“Artificial?” you supply when he pauses, but the look on his face tells you he’s confused by the word you use. You try again. “Uh, not natural?”

“I was going to say clean.” His voice goes soft as he looks around again. “The air is clean.”

Not sure how to respond, you turn forward and continue down the street.

It doesn’t take much longer to reach your apartment.

Levi helps carry the bags of groceries upstairs and into your kitchen, where he stands awkwardly as you unload everything into their respective spots. Luna, still curious, climbs onto the table nearby, making Levi scowl.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t shoo her away when he decides to take a seat, and he even goes so far as to let her sniff him as he looks out of the window.

You smile when you hear her chirp. A noise that you know she makes when she feels like she’s being ignored.

“You can pet her, you know?” you look over your shoulder to tell him.

He meets you with a bored look. “I know. I don’t want to.”

As if she can understand him, Luna meows again.

After you put the last item away in your fridge, you move to sit at the table across from him.

“So what are you going to do?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he replies, and for the first time, he sounds truly at a loss.

“Well, you’re welcome to keep staying here for a bit longer,” you say, petting Luna when she slinks over to you. “Until we figure something out.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “We,” he repeats.

You meet his gaze evenly. “Look, I don’t know where you came from or how you got here, but you’re here now and you’re still a human being. As long as you’re open to letting me help, I will.”

He seems to think on it for a moment before agreeing. “There are worse things in the world, I suppose.”

And you think that’s as close to a thank you as you’ll get.

#levi ackerman x fem!reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman fic #aot fic

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