#this has nothing to do with valiant

[valiant-if]

Can you tell us ten thing about you

Hi, anon!

Ah, which ten things to share...

I've been playing video games since I was three years old.

The first video game I ever played was either Super Mario Bros or Gyruss on the NES—I can't remember which.

I have a menagerie of pets in my house. Okay, it's not quite that level, but between me and the other person I live with, we have four cats and two dogs. Oh, and one pleco that's literally 20 years old. I swear, that fish will live forever. (Also one of my cats is 21 years old this year. She will live forever out of spite.)

Even though I am not a fan of the author, one of my favorite books of all time is Speaker for the Dead. I usually read it about once a year.

I'm a pretty big fan of Kirby. I've spent an embarrassing amount of money on Kirby blind boxes, the contents of which adorn my desk.

I like TTRPGs, both as a player and as a GM.

I can read, write, and speak a little bit of Japanese, but I'm nowhere near fluent.

One of my favorite movies of all time is Interstellar.

I'm not very big on Marvel stuff these days, but Deadpool (as written by Brian Posehn and Gerry Duggan) is one of my favorite Marvel characters.

When I was in high school, I read the entire Twilight series in two nights just so people would stop telling me to read them.

And there you have it! Thanks for the ask!

[fierykitten2]

If my Violet aces were a band they’d probably have a similar composition (that’s not the word I’m looking for. Instrument distribution?) to Iron Maiden (heh, ironic given four of their species names begin with Iron) - Char sings because she can’t really do much else with blade for hands, Orange thinks electric guitars are cool (they are), Knight’s blades can transform into an electric guitar because I said so (it plays a left-handed guitar), Spriggie plays electric guitar too probably for a similar reason to Orange, Cherry plays base guitar because reasons idk and Passionfruit plays drums

[when-did-this-become-difficult]

me livestreaming the ohio senate in the minutes leading up to a vote that will determine whether or not gender affirming care is outright banned for minors: this is the bad place

"It also prevents doctors from prescribing hormones, puberty blockers or gender reassignment surgery before patients turn 18" per the Cincinnati Enquirer.

[dirt-str1der]

Btw shinada is by far one of my favorite yakuza character, i think he is one of the very few characters that got an actual decent closure

Yeah ...... it didnt un-ruin his life but like it was satisfying at least .... but his whole story arc was crazy (in a good way) like god ...

[artsycloudysleepy]

a game i loved from years back got a sequel. played it and i didn't like it at all. but my main issue with it?

they. took. away. the. option. to. pet. the. dog.

i am beyond angy >:(

[yandere-writer-momo]

Thinking about a Yandere Demon Lord. This is Part 1.

Yandere Head Canons:

Defying Destiny

Yandere Demon Lord x Isekai Saintess Reader x Yandere Hero

TW: Voyeurism, stalking, Somniaphilia, dacryphillia, dark content, etc

Part 2

You were surprised to be alive after your cold fiancé pushed you into oncoming traffic when you got into an argument with him… all you had wanted was for him to show you that he loved you, but instead he killed you. Yet your life didn’t end… no. Far from it.

Rather than waking up in the supposed after life, you woke up in the Rerenth Kingdom. A fantasy kingdom in a magical world plagued with problems written in fiction novels. And the emperor explained to you, no, demanded that you to take on your role as Saintess to save them from the Demon King.

The demon king was now your enemy. Defeating him was the only way for you to go home… but did you even want to do that? In your last life and in this one, you were merely another unhappy pawn. The silk robes and dazzling abilities did nothing to shield you from the harsh reality of what your life has become once more… would you ever truly be free? Would you ever truly be happy?

The servants often spoke of the monstrous Demon King who controlled the forces of darkness that sought to destroy the light. A demonic entity none of the people in this kingdom had ever truly seen with their own eyes, but they believed him to be out there… how else were they to explain the supernatural happenings that plagued their kingdom? This entire ordeal made little sense to you since you hadn’t seen many disputes between humans and demons unless they were over territory. Vast majority of the time, it was humans that ventured into the demonic lands anyways. Was this perhaps some propaganda tactic? You didn’t know and you didn’t question it, you simply wanted to retire to a peaceful life.

It took a few weeks for you to be able to control your new holy power, but you were able to now harness it for barriers and for healing. Abilities that would be useless without a hero… a fact that the citizens soon realized so they began to devise another plan. To summon a hero!

Another few weeks passed by and they successfully summoned a valiant hero by the name of Reinhardt. His chiseled face was constantly covered by the taxidermied lion mask that adorned his face. The man was massive and intimidating, yet you couldn’t help but feel there was something familiar about him. You couldn’t place a finger on who he could possibly be since you didn’t know anyone else with an imposing stature like his but that gut feeling never left you.

Reinhardt would often glance you up and down when he thought you weren’t looking. His green eyes would bore into yours until you felt as if you’d be set ablaze. He was terrifying to you. Especially now that you were on a journey with him to defeat the demon king… along with a fox beastwoman fighter and an elven mage who had joined your party due to the emperor’s order. The Emperor didn’t see you to be enough aid to the hero on this important quest.

Both adventurers were quite rude to you at first since you had no offensive abilities. They often fawned over the hero who blatantly ignored their affections to instead watch over you like a hawk. A fact the two women didn’t really enjoy, but they accepted it as the weeks melted into months. And you still didn’t know their names since they never told you (and Reinhardt never spoke).

The three of them often fought and killed monsters and demons while you protected the supplies and healed their injuries. It upset you that your party ambushed them since the enemies usually were unarmed. Majority of the time, it was a one-sided slaughter. An endless bloodbath that you had no power to stop.

You often lied to your peers about monsters hiding, unaware that your small act of kindness would lead to a snowball effect in the future. You had now caught the eye of an entity much stronger than you and the hero’s party… all because you were merciful. You were kind and sweet. A true saintess.

Your softness had made your peers joke about you being a cry baby. The elven mage and beastwoman often jabbed their elbows into your side to joke about the tears you’d cry because they thought you were scared. The dense women never realized your tears were for the innocent monsters they slaughtered on a day to day basis too. You were never scared of the demons or monsters, you were scared of them.

Yet Reinhardt nipped the subtle bullying in the bud by shoving the other two adventures away from you with his strong arms. He always made sure you were safe before he offered his body for healing… which he’d just make gesture at you with his hands rather than speak. It seemed he was fond of you, a fondness you didn’t understand since he never spoke to you.

Reinhardt would often pick you up without asking you and tuck you into the crook of his large arm. It bothered you that he never took off his mask, but he had quite an attractive jawline with the slightest bit of stubble. There was not a doubt in your mind that Reinhardt was likely an attractive man, but that didn’t matter. Since he was creepy.

Reinhardt never uttered a word to you but would always dutifully stand by your side (or carry you like some sort of damsel). He often reminded you of your ex fiancé with his stoic demeanor and his bewitching green eyes. And the staring. You swore you felt bare under his gaze even if you had multiple layers on.

And it wasn’t just his eyes you felt on you, you swore there was someone else watching you in the shadows and the possibility of you having another stalker made your skin crawl. Had you finally gone insane from having Reinhardt be around you 24/7? Or was there something sinister amiss?

Maybe that’s why Reinhardt so dutifully clung to you? Whether his protection was out of obligation or simply because he lusted for you, his presence did little to ease the extra set of eyes. In fact, he made it worse.

Wherever you were, Reinhardt was never far. He was with you when you bathed to stand guard. He was carrying you if you couldn’t keep up with him and the rest of the hero’s party. Reinhardt even began to stay in your tent with you…

He didn’t utter a word when he watched over you whenever you had nightmares. Reinhardt never woke you up from the horrific dreams of the man with pitch black hair and sharp talons pulling you into his lap and having his way with you. No, Reinhardt instead dragged his tongue down your tear stricken face in delight.

Reinhardt knew his actions were wrong, but he couldn’t help but fawn over your helpless form. You were so weak without his protection… you were a lamb sent to a slaughter that luckily had a herding dog with you. You should be grateful Reinhardt had such an intense interest in you, otherwise you could have perished earlier on at the goblin camps. Or those other two party members would have likely broken a few of your bones from rough housing. You were a frail bird that needed to be locked up at all times and Reinhardt was willing to be the one to do that! He would keep you safe, even if it took you years to understand even an ounce of his magnitude of feelings for you. He was a patient man!

It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake up in your tent with Reindhart’s imposing form standing over you ominously. You’d cry every single time, but he’d make no move to comfort you. Only stare.

Over the last four weeks, you begin to receive little trinkets in your tent on the daily. Delicacies that Reinhardt would immediately pitch once he saw them, but it filled you with anxiety that he was not the one slipping you those gifts… who on earth could be gifting you such pretty rocks and wild flowers?

You were flattered, just the tiniest bit, by the small, temporary gifts. They were much more welcomed than the iron grip of Reinhardt’s arms. Even though the sender made you anxious, it was nice to know that someone took you into consideration. It was a small action that filled you with hope. Perhaps you would be saved from this fate?

Shame you didn’t understand just how much those tiny gifts upset the hero. Your eyes should only be on him. Your entire purpose should revolve around him. Reinhardt wanted to find the individual who sent you these gifts so he could rip them limb from limb. You belonged to him and he would show you that you had no way of escaping him. You were going to be his bride! Whether you liked it or not, the hero had chosen you as his destined one!

Recently, you’d wake up to him laying beside you in your tent with his large arms wrapped around you. His Roman nose buried into the crook of your neck. This was far worse than him lingering in your tent since he had become so physical.

And your peers did nothing about his harassment of you. To them, it was cute that the hero was so ‘enamored’ with the Saintess! You’ve even heard whispers of how the emperor will no doubt arrange a marriage between the two of you once the four of you eliminated the demon king. It terrified you even more because you knew you’d have little say in the matter… your life was spiraling out of your own control once more. This time, into the arms of some brute with attachment issues. You didn’t want to marry another emotionally constipated man! You wanted to have freedom!

You often cried yourself to sleep which only made Reinhardt even more overbearing. He now would press kisses to your cheeks and cuddle his body into yours. Even in your dreams, you couldn’t escape this massive man. If only you could be saved…

And when you drifted off into an unnaturally heavy sleep, your barriers deactivated. An action that allowed the Demon King to finally slip into your party’s camp and take what he wanted. You.

[flowersforjude]

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Cousin!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You could not leave him. Not when your very breath was the only thing that kept him tethered to this world. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1,433

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Arguing, Angry Jace, Desperate Jace, One curse word, Kind of hurt/comfort. 

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | This was requested by @intheheartoftheking. I had a million different ideas for this, but the inspiration wasn’t there for any of them. So, I hope this is to your liking! Also, Varaxs is the name I gave the reader’s dragon! 

masterlist

Sea salt kisses your cheeks as the gentle roll of the tide rushes below you. The familiar scent of your dragon fluttered in the breeze as the Dragon Keepers brought your ivory mount out to you. Varaxs growled deeply, as if mimicking the waves that crashed against the inky cliffs of Dragonstone.

Chills danced up your spine as the cold seeped into your bones beneath your riding clothes. The weather wasn’t what had you so chilled, though.

Nervousness burns through your mind. Has your eyes darting from the dragon pit to the palace looming behind you. Every howl of the wind and every tumbling pebble falling from the rocks, kept you on high alert of discovery. There were more than enough troubles to keep your mind occupied, but should anyone catch you here before you could depart, your plan would be all for nothing. 

The Greens had sent an assassin to take Rhaenyra’s life in the dead of night. Ser Arryk was unsuccessful thanks to his brother’s valiant efforts, which cost him his life. But even if the Queen was unharmed, the usurper must still pay for the cowardly attempt on her life. 

Rhaenyra still hoped for peace, though, and such wishes had her stalling her hand. You, as her stepdaughter and loyal subject, could no longer rationalize doing nothing. 

And so, you were going to King’s Landing.  

You dare not give thought to what could befall you once you’re there. But if death or something worse awaited you, then it would have been worth it fighting for your queen. 

The wind seemed to pick up with his arrival. You didn’t notice until a loud cry of your name sounded over the currents. You spin around and see your betrothed, Jacaerys, dashing towards you. Trepidation and unease flowed through you as you caught sight of his vexed expression. You hadn’t told anyone of your plan, and you thought you had snuck away with no one noticing your absence. But of course, it was Jace who figured it out. 

He’s still in his princely attire, the Targaryen colors displayed proudly. The deep hues of black and red had always complimented him in the most alluring way. His boots kick up clouds of dust and sand as he comes to a stop in front of you. His lips pressed into a hard line, and his jaw clenched in irritation. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword like he always did, but the knuckles were white with the forceful hold he had on it. 

“Jacaerys.” You greet, meeting those serious, dark eyes you’ve lost yourself in more times than you could remember. 

“What are you doing?” He asks simply, but the sharpness of his voice made it clear this was no easy matter. His eyes burned into yours as he stood just inches from you. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” You questioned in return. Deciding to let him reveal what he knew before you told him the whole of your plan. 

He scoffs and swallows thickly. “I am not certain, but I am sure that it is something reckless and not something that my mother approved of.” 

Shifting your weight in the sand, you thought about how best to proceed. “I was anticipating no one finding out until I was already gone.”

“Did you think I would not notice your absence?” He asks incredulously, his brows rising in disbelief. 

You shrugged. “I hoped it would take you a little longer.” A leaden sigh leaves your lips while the restless waters below you rage on. The light reflecting off the water shines like a beacon around Jace, and you have to battle against the longing ache that spreads through your chest. 

“Someone needs to scout King’s Landing. Gather what information we can.” You explain praying to the seven that he’ll understand. 

His eyes widened as exasperation ignited in them. “Have you lost your mind?” He exclaims, shaking his head of dark curls. 

“Jace-” 

“No,” he insists. “You’re not going. You’re not going to fucking King’s Landing, where you very likely will be spotted.” His jaw is tight, and his eyes are just as troublesome as the waters crashing against the rocky shores of the island. 

“Someone has to do something!” You argue back, your raised voice causing Varaxs, waiting in the landing pit, to hiss with displeasure at your growing distress. 

“And if you are captured? Slain? What then?” He sneered, a sudden thickness lingering in his words. 

You lose yourself for a moment. Imagining all the horrors that could come upon you should anyone discover you even somewhat close to the capitol. Aemond held resentment towards you and your sisters for what occurred the night Luke took his eye. And Aegon was a mindless drunk, but no less cruel than his brother. But thinking of all their treachery just made you all the more determined to do everything in your power to see Rhaenyra on the throne. And Jace, good-hearted, compassionate Jace, as the heir.

“I have to do this, Jace. And if I meet my end, then it would be worth it to see Rhaenrya and you reclaim your birthright.”

Desperation colors his features, his sharp expression melting to one of concern and tenderness . Something that stokes the fires of your affection for him. 

“I forbid you.” He finally declares after a long moment of silence. 

“Forbid me?” Your own frustration at last rises to match his. “You are not my king yet. You’re not even my husband yet. So unless you intend to tie me up, I will be leaving now.” 

You turn on your heel to approach your mount. Fully planning on flying off to King’s Landing before his voice breaks. 

“You cannot leave me!” 

You halt in your place, your throat growing tight upon hearing the sheer panic coming from him. Your hands twitch at your sides as the wind dies down enough to allow you to hear the ragged breaths sounding from your betrothed. Hesitantly, not wanting to be met with his distraught expression, you turned back to face him. 

Raw desperation swam in his eyes. His lips, that had welcomed yours in so many devoting kisses, parted with pleading breaths. He closes the short distance between you; his hand captures yours before falling to rest against his heart. Heat flashes through you where your skin touches his. 

When he speaks, his words come out breathlessly. “It is no secret between us my devotion to you.” The strong fingers of his free hand, calloused from all his hours of training, fluttered over your cheek with a touch as light as goose down. “But even before our betrothal, you were my guiding light. In the wake of all the chaos, there was you.” His normally collected voice cracks. He clings to his hold on you as if terrified of you vanishing from his sight forever. “My entire heart craves only a fraction of yours. Even if only a piece of you loved me, that would be plenty, because that would mean at least a part of you was genuinely mine.”

“Jacaerys.” 

His gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I cannot live in a world where you do not exist,” he professed. The air had been stolen from your lungs upon hearing his words. You were no fool to Jace’s affection; you returned it tenfold. But never had he confessed such adoration to you. 

“I cannot just do nothing.” You whispered, knowing he could hear you. 

He was nodding along with your words. “We will destroy them,” he vowed. “But we will do it together. You cannot not be so careless with your life, Issa jorrāelagon.” 

You do not wish to be labeled as rash or reckless, but the Greens must face retribution. For all the agony they’ve caused. You wish only to help your family win back the heritage that was stolen from them. One day, sit by Jace’s side as he rules with all the kindness and strength you know him to possess.

But he was right. 

You look down at his hand, holding yours to his heart. It beat as fiercely as dragon wings in the sky. Each pulse hammered in each nail of faith you had in him. “Together?” You coaxed meeting his eyes again and seeing determination mingling with his sheer devotion. 

“You and I will take back my mother’s throne.” He pledged, pressing a reverent kiss to your brow. “And one day I will take you as my queen, and we will rule together just as we are meant to.”

This was shorter than I wanted it to be, but I'm just glad I was finally able to finish it!

Issa jorrāelagon; My love

[eratosmusings]

Loyalty (I)

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!reader

summary: the king decides it's time for his brother to produce more targaryen heirs. who better than another hightower daughter to carry them?

warnings: adults only, all characters over 18, dubcon smut in later chapters, arranged marriage, abortion allusion (moon tea), coercion, terrible parenting

word count: 2.3k

dividers

“I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it?” Viserys asks with an air of frigid humor. “Who are you to deny your king what he has commanded?”

Otto seethes, decades of practiced court manners faltering under the demand. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but she is my daughter. I will not have her married off to a man whose love of violence and debauchery trails him like a shadow. She is a pious child. To marry her to Daemon is—“

“A blessing. She will marry a prince and a valiant knight.”

The other men at the table are silent. They'd expected talks of reinforcing the kingdom's claim on the Stepstones or of quelling rumors that had cropped up of Daemon corrupting his young niece in a brothel a year prior. The king commanding a marriage between Otto Hightower's youngest daughter—his only child from a tragically short second marriage—is an unpleasant surprise.

"He is already married."

Viserys gives a taut smile. "Daemon's marriage to Lady Royce has been annulled. By royal decree and with the blessing of the High Septon. It is in the best interest of Westeros that the Targaryen line remains vast and strong and it has been decided your daughter will do what Lady Royce did not."

Otto's face falls in disbelief. He's heard nothing of it. This had been set up to corner him. "She is a child."

"She is nearly four years older than Alicent was when we wed. The queen has proven your daughters are strong vessels for Targaryen children."

"It is different. She is different. She is not as strong as Alicent."

The king shakes his head. "I will hear no more discussion of this. She will wed Daemon and this feud between the two of you shall end once and for all.”

Alicent’s touch is feather-light as she takes hold of your hands. Her eyes wander across your form, taking in the exquisite ivory gown. Its crimson embroidered dragon along the skirt a special request from your soon-to-be husband. “You look beautiful, sister.”

You can say nothing to your half-sister, barely able to retain the tears brimming in silence. A fortnight was all you’d been given to prepare to wed the vilest creature in Westeros. Daemon Targaryen was all you could have ever hoped against in a husband.

Your father stands tall behind Alicent, head held high. "The image of the Maiden herself."

A choked sob escapes you at his words. This marriage was punishment by the Seven for every sin you'd ever committed. For the impure thoughts you'd had of knights. The white lies you'd spoken to save yourself the wrath of Septa Agerrea. The gambling you'd participated in when you’d bet your favorite embroidery needle in a game of cards with Lysa Tyrell. Had you only followed the Faith more faithfully, this torture would not be yours to endure.

“I believe it is time to take your place with the king, Your Grace,” your father says.

Alicent hesitates with glossy eyes. She draws you into a tight hug and whispers an apology and how much she loves you. You have the faintest memory of her wedding to the king a few years before. The happy sister who’d spent hours braiding your hair when the handmaidens failed to do it properly disappeared into a hardened queen round with child seemingly overnight. The smiles and giggles you’d shared daily turned to fond, distant memories. She withdraws a moment later, wiping at her face.

When the door shuts your father moves behind you. You watch in the ornate mirror as he drapes the green maidencloak of House Hightower across your shoulders. The new burden's weight feels uncomfortable.

He returns to stand before you, his expression sorrowful. "I am sorry, my sweet child, for this atrocity. You deserve far better.”

“I could have saved myself this fate had I been less worldly and become a Septa.” Your palm wipes at the tear that had fallen.

He cups your cheek. “Perhaps. But we cannot lament on what we could have done. Indeed we must focus instead on your duty to the realm.”

“To be a good wife,” you state. It was what he had raised you to be.

“No, sweet child,” he says softly, “I fear that I must ask something far more difficult of you. For your duty to the realm must supplant your duty in marriage.”

The wedding takes place in a haze. You tremble, stumble over words, and can not meet the eyes of your now husband nor the Septon. Soon you would betray them both.

For the good of the realm.

You do not eat or drink through the feast. You barely speak. You think you might have danced, though all you remember of it is a blurring background and an embroidered dragon that matches your own. It had stared at you accusingly.

“Shall I call for the bedding ceremony to begin, brother?” the king slurs loudly. If there had been anything in your stomach, it surely would have come out now. It was one vile thought to have him touch you. But to have other men undress you as well?

Your hand is pulled from your lap, enclosed in another twice its size, callous and rough against your skin. For the first time that day you look at your husband. You’d never seen him this close. The lavender gaze cannot have been of this world. It’s too vibrant, too knowing. “Too many of the men here have wandering hands. I’d hate to spill blood on such a blessed day.” His lips brush against your hand. “My sweet wife should not have to endure such tragedy.”

The king responds dismissively. Something of disappointing guests, but to do as he pleases. Daemon takes it as a dismissal and pulls you from your seat. The last thing you hear is the call from many about bloody sheets.

Perhaps the Mother has decided to take mercy on you. For you cannot breathe as the doors to the prince’s chambers close behind you. Death can take you before he can.

He stands in front of the fire, pouring some drink into a goblet. The flickering orange light suits him. Like he was born for flames. “You must relax. There is nothing for you to fear from me.” A lie. There was much to fear from him.

A booming knock echoes through the room.

“Enter.”

Two servants carrying trays of bread and fruit enter. Then they are gone just as swiftly. The door closes once more.

“You must eat,” he says, taking your hand once more and leading you to a small table. You sit and a piece of bread is offered. You take it and, after an expectant nod, take a bite. It’s still warm and soft. You take another bite. And another.

It’s gone quickly. Too quickly for a lady. A bowl of berries clatters softly in front of you. You pick at it slower, though not as slowly as you’d like. They are sweet. Perfectly ripe.

“Would you like some wine?”

Despite the juice of berries coating your tongue, your mouth is dry as you speak for the first time since you’d said your vows. “Yes, please.”

“So well mannered.” A smug smile spreads across his face as he raises his goblet and sips. He reaches over and sets it down beside the half-empty bowl. “I forgot to have them retrieve another cup.”

The crimson red liquid ripples. A challenge.

“You are very gracious, my Prince. Thank you.” You lift it by the stem and drink. It was stronger than you’ve ever had before. The taste takes you aback, coughing as it soaks your tongue. Hastily you set the cup back down.

"I take it you don't often indulge in Dornish Reds."

"No, never."

His head cocks to the side appraisingly. "I suppose such a thing has never been offered to you before. Not within the confines of your father's authority. He has given you a rather sheltered life."

A prickly heat seeps up your neck. "My father did not confine or shelter me. He has only ever guided me to live as virtuously as the Seven wished for all their children to live.”

“How very kind of him to not let you endure the same vices as himself.”

You blink, his words sinking in. The implication that your father is a drunkard stings. He isn't, but you don’t fight his accusation. Selfishly, you do not wish to defend your father. Instead, you pluck a berry from the bowl, hoping to end the conversation entirely.

"Are the berries quite good?"

You nod, not wanting to speak again.

"Might I have one?" When you go to pick up the bowl, he stops you. "Pick me out the best one."

The best one? The bowl is still half full. Which berry was the best? Would he be disappointed if you picked one he did not like? Or one that was not ripe enough? Not sweet enough? What would he do to you if he disliked the one you chose?

It was the largest blackberry that you finally settle on, prepared to hear how terrible the choice had been as you hold it out to him. He doesn't simply take it. He leans over the table, taking the berry and your fingers into his mouth.

The act is heinously intimate. It leaves you frozen and breathless as he pulls away, his eyes alight in devious amusement. "I'm not sure which taste I prefer. The berry's or your's."

Fire spreads across your cheeks. You flinch away, embarrassed. In the escape effort your arm knocks against the goblet. To your horror, it clatters against the table. The liquid sloshes across your front, staining the white gown.

The crimson seems to seep from your womb, condemning you for something you had yet to do. You paw at the stain as the chair clatters on the ground from the force with which you'd stood.

Tears brim in your eyes as it continues to spread.

“There's no need to fret. It is only wine.”

“I have desecrated it.” The tears have not stopped falling and your hands have not stopped scrubbing at it with your fingers. “The stain will never come out.”

“It is only a dress.” He cups your face, encouraging you to meet his gaze. It searches for some understanding.

He would never understand.

“I am so sorry, my Prince.”

He shushes you softly and places a kiss against your forehead. This was the monster? The vile, unholy beast whose every action was an affront to the Seven? This man who had shown you nothing but kindness?

You cry harder.

He is not the monster.

You are.

You aren’t sure how long you cry. But he holds you through it all. He speaks little more than a few consoling phrases, but it is more than you deserve. His presence, arms around you, kisses on your hair. All of it more than you deserve.

You’re finally calm, only left with sniffles, when he says, “We should get the dress to the washwomen before the stain sets.” What good would it do? The stain can never be removed from your soul. Still you agree and turn for him.

His fingers are swift as they loosen the strings of your bodice. Practiced. He is practiced. Behind closed doors you assume, but there were numerous tales of his public debauchery. It has been gossiped that he prefers the thrill of open affairs and touches of multiple women.

“Why did you refuse the bedding ceremony?”

He pauses. “Did you wish to have one?”

“No,” you say quickly. “But given your…tendencies I…I thought…” A quiet hum has your words trailing off.

His work continues, though slower. “You are not a whore in a brothel.”

“Neither is your niece and yet...”

Air blows across your neck as he chuckles. “Has my pious little wife been gossiping about the chastity of the Crowned Princess?”

Your lungs seize at the realization of what you’d just said. It’s treason. Questioning her virtue is treason.

“Relax, jaesa.” His hands slip between the shoulders of your shift and the loose gown, pushing the sleeves down your arms. “I took you under my protection today. You may speak freely to me.”

“I,” you hesitate, freeing your hands of the garment, “I had heard that a year ago you snuck the princess from the castle and—“

He bunches the fabric at your waist and tugs. “Had my way with her in some brothel?”

“Yes.”

The gown struggles for a moment, snagging on the curve of your behind. Another tug and it is a pile around your feet. “My niece wished to see King’s Landing. I showed her and returned her to the castle, still a fair maiden like yourself.”

“Of course.”

“You doubt me?”

“No, my Prince.”

"It would do a great disservice to our union to begin it with lies." He prompts you to turn and hesitantly you do. He is shorter than your father, yet his presence is as commanding. More so. It makes you aware of how thin the fabrics of your shifts were when his gaze drifts down. "My niece's heart belongs elsewhere. As do my desires."

His touch is gentle as he cups your cheek, but the feeling's it stirred are rough and uncertain. Bordering on traitorous.

“Shall I call a servant to fetch the dress?” The words waver. You wonder if they’re comprehensible at all.

They are, it seems as he rejects the offer and slips out the door himself with the dress. The reprieve from his watchful, astute eye is welcome. You fall to your knees at the edge of the bed and recite the prayer your father had taught you minutes before you’d been led down the aisle.

Warrior, give me strength for what I must do. It is for the good of the realm.

Mother, forgive me for what I must do. It is for the good of your faithful servants.

Stranger, lead my children to peace. It is for the good of their innocent souls.

a/n: all your thoughts and reblogs are appreciated 🌺

join my taglist

next chapter

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you sacrifice your strawberries and eyelash wishes for the boy knocking at your door.

idol!jungkook x reader, strangers to friends (?) to lovers / fluff and a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: allusions to death and grief / jungkook is a cutie patootie and a blushing hopeless romantic mess / he wants to kiss oc so bad (me too bro) / oc is a sunshine <3 / they do chores and watch movies together :((( / in one scene he was worried oc would think of him as a perv lmao / they’re dorks and i love them / seokjin cameo hehehe

> in which masterlist!

note: to make up for the pain i may have caused and will cause <3 LOL. i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing :D as always reblogs and feedback are appreciated! come chat w me. ily 🌼

—

“it’s so cold,” you mutter through chattering teeth.

the grocery bags sit on the hardwood table with a thud— the careless bringer too hasty. you shove your icy hands in the deep pockets of your jacket, breathing in and out with a sense of relief.

you are not granted the mundane euphoria for much longer, however. the doorbell rings and you are padding across the floor against your will. the cold air hits your face before it enters your apartment.

however, the happy smile that greets you blankets your heart with a type of warmth that is difficult to describe.

if you had to guess who was behind the door, you wouldn’t say the boy you’ve been fiercely pining over for the past month, but it is certainly who you’d be hoping for regardless.

“good morning!”

“oh! wait there for a moment!”

jungkook stands motionless by your open front door as you disappear into your apartment. confusion accompanied by curiosity, he tries poking his head inside, but then decides that he shouldn’t.

upon your return, his face lights up again.

“here you go!”

he accepts the jar of honey faster than he could think.

“w-why are you-?”

you tilt your head, lips forming a small pout. “isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“uh, actually-” he awkwardly pauses, hand that carries the heavy paper bag behind him suddenly feeling weak. “i came here to give you something.”

your eyes animatedly expand in surprise of the size of it, not at all expecting to receive a gift from him today. you do know that he’s fresh from japan, as you converse on the phone almost everyday… why would he come here almost immediately? and didn’t he say they weren’t given the chance to roam the city because of their work schedule?

“i just grabbed things i thought you might like. i hope i got most of them right?” he explains with a nervous chuckle as you take a look inside.

a diverse array of snacks; a beautiful journal painted with cherry blossoms; a hello kitty plushie; stickers, muji pens…

“oh my god, jungkook… these are too much. you didn’t have to.”

oh, curse the hopeless fluttering of your heart.

“wow, gifting your merch- that’s real idol behavior for you.” you tease him, referring to the hooded jacket that has their group logo on its plastic packaging. “thank you!”

“no but it seriously warms you up! i have one too!”

“jungkook, why are you so cute?!”

“ah, shut up! i’m getting embarrassed!” he whines, blushing. “just look at them later after i leave, how about that?”

“let go! it’s mine!” you glare at him, hugging the paper bag to your chest to deny his advances on snatching it away. “are you not leaving? don’t you have work?”

“i told you— it’s my rest day.”

“you did?”

“while we were texting last night.”

“oh,” you blink. “i don’t remember reading that.”

“you? what are you doing today?”

you bite back the smile threatening to give away the thoughts running in your mind a thousand miles per hour. why does he want to know?

“nothing special. just chores the entire day.”

jungkook puts his hand inside the pocket of his coat, an attempt to appear casual as he offers you his valiant effort. “do you want some help? i’m good at doing chores.”

you stare at him, perplexed, as if he just said the most ridiculous sentence you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“it’s your rest day and you want to do chores?”

“sure,” he grins playfully, not at all seeing how that could be wrong. “why not?”

“you know…” you pause— observing his expression, considering shutting your mouth, but that plan rarely ever works out. “you can just say that you want to spend time with me, right?”

your bluntness sends his heart racing. you’re a danger to his health.

he sinks his perfect teeth on his bottom lip, bringing his dimples into view. to be honest, you didn’t always have a thing about dimples. you didn’t consider them all that special. but why do they make him look cute and sexy at the same time?

his cheeks become tinted with a pale scarlet. you’re wearing that friendly beam again; he doesn’t know how to act. he never knows whether you are joking or not.

“well, now i know.”

—

jungkook sets down the jar of honey on the table as he settles in the living room, fascinated doe eyes darting around every inch of your place. it’s not his first time here, but somehow, it looks different each time. the two frames hanging above the sofa captures his attention all over again, colorful drawings against the plain white wall. gifted to you by your siblings, you said.

a tall castle with a happy family. a little boy slaying a dragon to protect a princess from its savage fire.

he is blissfully unaware of the knowledge that the drawings are the lone survivors of a school bus and a tragedy. you want it to stay that way. you want people to feel the opposite of the sadness you feel when you look at them. that is how you seek your peace.

“are you wearing toe socks?”

“huh?” he makes a sound of confusion, only processing your question upon seeing your gaze trained to his feet. “ah- toe socks- yes.”

“i’m only noticing them now. they look funny.” you scrunch your nose, chuckling.

“don’t laugh! they’re so comfortable!”

“really?” your eyes widen with genuine interest. “i should try them then.”

“yeah, you should!”

he whips his head around as he jokingly voices out an observation.

“but ____, your house kind of looks different today… it’s almost like it’s cleaner than the last time i was here.”

you bury your face in your hands with a high-pitched wine, hiding from him in humiliation. you did not plan on inviting someone over that night, and he had to watch you run around organizing and picking up things— the scattered books all over the table and the floor; the jackets that have created a big heap on the small couch; the jewelry box that ended up on the dining table for some reason.

he laughs in endearment, unable to take his eyes from you. even the way your hair bounces as you furiously shake your head is pretty. wait, does that sound weird?

“that’s right, it should look different! the first thing i did when winter break started was clean up my mess.”

“what’s the first chore on the list then?” he catches the grocery bags in the kitchen from his peripheral. “were you putting away your groceries?”

“you really want to do chores? you don’t want to watch a movie or something?”

“aigoo, it’s fine!” he waves off your reluctance. “stop worrying! i already said i’d help you.”

“but it’s embarrassing…”

it’s either jungkook is denying your advances or he is simply dense. but the fact that he showed up at your door unannounced on his day-off despite complaining about his exhaustion from their hectic work schedule, you want to lean towards the latter and believe that he is… as good at chores like he claims to be.

“you must like fruits a lot.” jungkook comments as he is squatted infront of your fridge, sheltering the freshly bought perishables one by one.

kimchi, lettuce, strawberries, tangerines, shine muscat, apples…

this is an entirely different world through your lens.

it feels strange to watch another person restock your fridge for you.

“they’re easy to eat and i’m lazy to cook.”

he chuckles as he looks back at you, who is sat on the dining table, airy and carefree as you snack on a bag of assorted chocolates from the paper bag he brought. almost all of the white chocolates are gone, he notes.

“not because they’re nutritious?”

“that’s the bonus!”

“what is this?”

“cranberry juice.”

“and this?”

“oyster sauce.”

you energetically hop off the table, an idea lighting up the bulb in your mind.

“i have another recipe for you. french toast with strawberries, then drizzle some of the honey. should i make it for you?”

“ah!” he gasps as if he is in pain, but the truth is his mouth is watering. he hasn’t eaten breakfast, and he wanted to eat more for dinner last night but sleep proved to be much more enticing than food. “that sounds so good! i’m starving!”

“stand up!” you begin pulling at the back of his sweater, forcing him to remove himself from the floor. “i’ll make it! just go relax in the living room, okay?”

“but you just said you’re lazy to cook.” he tilts back his head, meeting your gaze. “i’ll help you.”

“i’m not lazy when it becomes to being a host.”

you bend down with a sweet smile, merely inches away from him, and jungkook swears the earth has stopped spinning on its axis. your face is natural and bare, except for the sheen of lip balm across your lips— and dear heavens, having you this close, you are so breathtakingly beautiful.

“they’re playing christmas movies on channel 36.” you announce, giving him the bag of chocolates. “and the remote is… somewhere on the sofa… or maybe the floor.”

and as he gets practically kicked out of the kitchen, your hands roughly pushing his back, he daydreams of kissing you and tasting sugar on your lips.

—

the sweet, addicting smell of the french toast— strong hints of butter and cinnamon— invades every corner of your apartment. consequently, it also compels jungkook to break your rules and insert himself in the kitchen again.

“you never give up, do you?”

“i don’t,” he agrees, nodding eagerly. he has successfully stolen the task of washing the strawberries, and then slicing them after. he endures the freezing water rendering his hands numb. “it’s a known fact.”

“are you saying i should study harder?” you cross your arms, expression painted with faux vexation.

“yes! exactly!” he humors you, grinning of amusement. “what’s my favorite color?”

you sigh, looking at him from head to toe.

“anyone can guess that from a mile away, jungkook.”

“fuck, okay. that’s fair!”

the sound of his laughter reminds of you reasons to stay through the cycle of the seasons. you don’t understand why, but for some reason, it has finally begun to feel like christmas. the only comfort that comes along with the cruel winter that nips at your skin; the blanket over your heart that provides a type of warmth one can travel to seek but will never be able to find alone.

“what’s my height then?”

“aren’t you six feet?”

the silence that follows is an answer enough for you. the noise of the television emerges now that none of you is talking. he pretends to be too busy to speak, transferring the strawberries over to the chopping board.

“yes, you’re ri-”

“liar!” you point an accusatory finger at him.

and he winces, guilty as charged.

“you hesitated!”

“tsk, i should’ve said yes faster! i wanted to experience what it’s like to be tall!” he regretfully purses his lips, eyebrows knitted as if he just lost the lottery. “but haven’t you read it online? even my shoe size and weight are there.”

“what? why do people even need to know that…?” you exclaim, flabbergasted. “i mean- of course i’ve searched up your name, but it feels like cheating on a test. does that sound silly…? it’s just more fun learning about you from you.”

you briefly walk away to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and jungkook is left at the counter with fondness blossoming in his chest, bleeding into the chopped strawberries staining his hands red.

he calls out your name.

“mhmm?” you hum in question, muffled by the water in your mouth.

“want to hear a fact about me?”

you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, eyes expanding with fueled interest. “what?”

“i’m actually very good in the kitchen.” he boasts his skills with the kitchen knife, quick and precise, the blade against the wood creating the satisfying click you usually only hear from cooking shows. “are you seeing this? huh…? what do you think?”

“so i’ve noticed. i want something new!”

at that, his shoulder sags in disappointment. to his demise, there goes another failed attempt at making you acknowledge that he is boyfriend material.

“what do you want to know? ask me questions.”

“what’s your ideal type?”

being in your presence for the past hour has gotten jungkook re-adjusted to your personality— straight-forward, bold, smart— so vivacious that it’s dizzying. you make him nervous and comfortable at the same time, and he doesn’t quite know how to explain it either. but you’re a breath of fresh air, the change that he has been anticipating to disrupt his routine.

“why do you want to know that?”

you shrug coyly, smiling like the troublesome vixen that you are. you rather enjoy the tension that has hung in the air. if you’ve learned something from the past: men are easy to get, not easy to keep. because they relish in the chase, getting strung along like this. so, shouldn’t you have your fun too? but even if jungkook’s intentions were pure, you can only imagine that seeing someone whose life revolves around their career is… the perfect recipe for disaster.

“i think who you like also says a lot about who you are as a person.”

“i like someone who is kind and funny…” he hums in thought, unconsciously slotting a piece of strawberry in between his lips. “and passionate about the things they love… mhmm, someone who can be honest with me.”

his words form a constellation named after you, unbeknownst to you, and he wants to say more but anticipating what comes next after you connect the dots makes his stomach twist. he doesn’t feel like an adult yet. he’s still just a young boy with a gorgeous crush and high ambitions that coalesce in his dreams.

“i like someone who has a really pretty smile, too.”

and he should probably stop staring, erase the dumb lovesick smile on his face. for fuck’s sake, it would be easier for him if you would just do the same. behind the sparkles of your eyes, there is something he’s been dying to decipher.

“okay, why are you looking at me like that?”

because you are so pretty, especially when you smile.

“nothing,” he replies innocently. “you? what’s your ideal type? who do you like?”

“i don’t know… no one has captured my heart yet. they’re not trying hard enough!”

every romance you’ve had so far has been a letdown.

“but i’m still looking. i’m young, and hot, and the universe is vast.”

“mhm, i see… that’s true, but maybe… you don’t want to be looking too far.” jungkook suggests.

you smirk. “so you agree that i’m hot?”

“you know. you don’t need me to say it.” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“but i want to hear you say it.”

“you’re very beautiful, ____.”

“but that’s not-”

“the food is ready! let’s eat it before it gets cold!”

he runs to the living room without waiting for you, and you seize the opportunity to squeal without a sound, punching the counter without actually punching— releasing the giddiness threatening to spill from the seams of your heart.

you don’t know if this is heading somewhere, nor do you expect it to, but where you are right now is a good place to be.

—

the movie playing on the screen has become more of a white noise to you, a family comedy far less fascinating compared to jungkook drizzling honey over strawberries and bread from a spoon. you wonder if he is aware how often he creates sound effects while he is doing something.

beside you, his body quakes with cackles during the scenes that an editor would definitely insert the classic sound of an audience’s collective laughter and holler. you stumble upon the understanding that his happiness lies in a myriad of things, and you would envy him for it if not for the fact that he is currently sharing that happiness with you. you laugh when he laughs, and being becomes a little less heavier at that moment.

another commercial break rudely interrupts and jungkook turns towards you. the two of you sit cross-legged, knees knocking against each other as you occupy nearly the entire sofa.

“hi!”

“hi.”

“what are your plans for the holidays?”

“my best friend’s family invited me to stay with them for christmas until the new year. it’s kind of been a tradition since…”

the end of your sentence hangs suspended in the air. you still can’t say it out loud.

jungkook knows they’re gone and you’re alone: only the plain and brutal truths.

the reminder that this is the third christmas you will not spend with your family; the thought that this would be the third christmas they would spend without you if the afterlife was real— they bring tears to your eyes at once, but you forcibly blink them away, shoving enthusiasm down your throat.

“how about you?” you take a bite from your toast, attempting to divert your thoughts to… anything else. “are you coming home?”

you hide so well behind a smile. it doesn’t occur to jungkook that his question rubbed salt on an open wound.

“i miss my mom but i can’t go home yet.” he pouts. “i have work on christmas day as usual. we’ve been preparing hard for it.”

“oh, that’s right! gayo daejeon?!”

he nods in confirmation.

the music festival has been an annual event for his group since they debuted, and he never feels the need to complain because not everyone is given this kind of opportunity. what’s extraordinary for most has become his ordinary, and what was once his ordinary like everybody else’s has simply become a thing of the past. nevertheless, he does not have regrets. he is living a good life, one that he believes is his fate. as long as he has a voice and it is being heard, then his existence has meaning.

“your family will surely watch you, so they’re still celebrating it with you in a way. making them proud is the best christmas gift you can give!”

and right now, in his life, you are the cherry on top. you were so cheerful and supportive about the final shows of their tour as well, raving about how amazing it is to perform three nights in a row at gocheok skydome.

“i’ll watch you too!”

he can’t help it— you’re driving him to be better at what he does. childishly, he wants show off and be the one to capture your heart.

“ah!” he groans. “that means i should work harder at practice tomorrow! i can’t mess up infront of you and my family!”

“why not me? you want to make me proud too?” you interrogate him jokingly.

“of course, it’s my job. it’s what i do best. i’ll make you see!”

“use me as motivation then. you can’t mess up, okay? you have to do well, jungkook! you better not make a mistake! my eyes will be focused on you only!”

his face is reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights— the headlights being your wide, threatening eyes.

he releases a shaky sigh in dramatic fashion. “i don’t feel motivated, though? i’m getting pressured?”

you wheeze; the plate over your lap tilts along with its contents.

“this is tough love!”

jungkook nearly staggers to his feet. “…love?”

you roll your eyes, small corners of your lips still cheekily lifted. “was the french toast good?”

jungkook is interrupted before he can form a response.

“but if it tastes like shit, just lie to me!”

“what are you talking about?!”

oh my god, you’re too fucking good at making him laugh.

“you’re eating it too! you know it’s delicious!”

“maybe you got a bad batch!”

—

“i’m going to the laundry shop across the street. i’ll just be a minute.” you announce, hauling a laundry basket to the living room.

your strained grunts prompt jungkook to look up from his phone, and eventually to stand up with urgency and relieve you of your heavy, heavy burden.

“shit, how heavy is this?”

you’re not given a chance to protest as the basket is immediately stolen from your grasp; your lips part open but no words come out.

“i’ll come with you!”

“well, hopefully not more than twelve kilos.”

it’s definitely heavier than usual; mainly comprised of the thick and layered clothes you’ve been wearing to shield yourself from the unforgiving cold.

“let’s go.”

jungkook wraps his hand around your wrist, gently tugging. the butterflies in your stomach wakes up earlier than spring’s arrival.

“this thing is bigger than you.”

an extremely obvious exaggeration.

“i’ll be the one to carry it.“

—

jungkook wears a cap and a face mask underneath his hoodie, eyes barely even visible in his all-black getup for the public to see; and somehow you also find yourself with a scarf around your neck, pulled up over the bridge of your nose.

when the year 2017 rolled in, you predicted that more crazy, life-altering stuff would happen. it has been an on-going theme, a relentless domino effect that has brought you to your knees time and time again. but you never would’ve fucking imagined that this is how you would be wrapping it up. how the hell did you cross paths with a famous idol, and why is he carrying your laundry basket right now?

“wait here for a bit.” you bring both hands to the basket’s handles, coaxing him to let go. “i’ll just bring it inside.”

“are you only dropping it off? that’s expensive!”

“what?” you stare at him in bewilderment, not expecting him to utter such statement at all. “you’re talking like you’re not rich!”

“i’m not! and still,” jungkook becomes flustered underneath his disguise. “it’s good to be practical. anyway, we have a lot of time.”

“you sound more like a mom than my mom did.”

“shhh!” he shushes you, putting a finger over his face mask. “let’s just do your laundry ourselves.”

“why would you do laundry right now? you’re supposed to be resting in the first place!”

a tug of war ensues infront of the laundry shop. strangers doesn’t know better. you look like a married couple bickering over who should take responsibility of the chore.

“____, just let me, mhm? i’m a pro at doing laundry too! we’ll be done before you know it!”

“how are you good at everything? honestly, it sounds like a scam!”

“how dare you doubt me?” he gasps in offense. “i do my own laundry!”

“seriously?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“i’m serious!”

“i don’t think i believe you, though…”

“if you search online, you-” your voice echoes in his mind, and subsequently, jungkook cuts himself off.

‘it feels like cheating on a test. it’s more fun learning about you from you.’

“oh, nevermind. let’s go inside already. i’m freezing!”

“jungkook!” you whine, stomping your feet on the ground as you refuse to let go of the basket despite jungkook beginning to head inside.

“why?” he copies the childishness of your tone, and although you can’t see his face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you enough.

“we can’t…”

the adorable sight of you appearing to be so shy is foreign to him. he can’t help but to chuckle. “why not?”

your lips form a pout.

“my panties…”

you bring a finger to point at the basket.

“they’re in there too… i was only going to drop them off today because you came with me…”

“ah…” jungkook awkwardly freezes, unblinking. “wait, you’re right?”

why didn’t he think of that? he’s a fucking idiot. of fucking course. what if you take things the wrong way and you’re creeped out by him now?!

“fuck, sorry. i’m sorry. i wasn’t- um, i swear i wasn’t trying to…”

his tongue becomes tied, struggling to search for the words that won’t make him sound like a damn pervert.

yeah, way to go, jungkook. you’re not the fucking boyfriend yet and you’re ruining your chances.

“did i make you uncomfortable? i’m sorry. it probably looked li-”

“hey, breathe, calm down. it’s alright, jungkook.”

you giggle in amusement, placing a hand over his chest— his heart. it’s meant to ease him, but the knowledge that you’re feeling his racing heartbeat only causes it to further intensify. he swallows the lump in his throat, dumbfounded by the turn of events. he wants the ground to swallow him whole, but he also wants to stay in this moment a little while longer.

“it’s alright. i’ll go bring this inside then i’ll treat you to lunch at the restaurant over there! don’t run away from me, okay?”

—

“the yukgaejang looks good.” you utter absentmindedly, admiring the spicy beef soup with plentiful vegetables from afar. “i’m jealous of you.”

the other tables are already having a feast while you and jungkook are waiting for your take-out to be prepared.

“then you should’ve ordered it too.” jungkook scolds you lightheartedly. “should i go?”

“no! i’m not good with spicy food. spice makes me cry.”

he smiles softly. once again, you complete the picture from his eyes. “what is there to frown so sadly about?”

“i feel like i’m missing out.” you complain, the pout on your face almost permanent. “spicy food is like one of the trademarks of korea, you know? but i can’t handle it!”

“so cute…” jungkook has decided to give in to his impulses, it seems— the evidence is him pinching your cheek for the very first time, and with the discovery of its delightsome softness, it will definitely not be the last.

“oh, oh, oh! an eyelash!”

his doe eyes glisten with pure wonder and excitement, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended when his hand moves to tenderly cup the side of your face. as he is absorbed in capturing the tiny eyelash that has fallen and glued itself on your cheek, your mind reels with the size of his hand, the sensation of his innocent touch against your neck.

“aaand-” jungkook takes your hand, passing on the eyelash to your index finger. “there you go. make a wish!”

your eyes flicker down, and none of you speaks for a moment or two.

a wish…?

what does one wish for when they have given up on wishing for miracles?

“did you do it?”

you peek at jungkook, nodding. at last, you blow the eyelash away, outside the window, where it becomes one with the snowflakes that came from the same sky where wishes are supposedly granted.

“what did you wish for?”

“i’ll tell you when it comes true.”

—

jungkook eats so well— you feel full just by watching him eat. so when he asked you, eyebrows knitted and legs bouncing, if he could have more rice, you were left with no choice but to plug in the rice cooker for the second time today. you cooked only enough for two meals today: brunch and dinner for one. you’re more than happy to have given him the dinner portion. you like that your apartment is providing warmth for another soul, despite the old times that it housed ones that ended up haunting you.

“are there any more chores to do? while we wait for the rice?”

you gaze switches from him to the living room.

the boy who was knocking at your door is now vacuuming your floors.

you sit on the couch with your legs hugged to your chest, chin propped on your knees. an unexplainable feeling swims in your chest, but your heart calls to welcome it. not to be delusional, but technically, isn’t this a marriage proposal?

it falls on dear ears— the infuriating sound of the cheap vacuum cleaner your landlord lended you and never came back for. underneath it is jungkook’s mellifluous voice, humming and singing, and it’s all you can hear.

the only use you knew of honey is the magic it does with tea for a sore throat. when you learned about his demanding occupation, he is all you can think of in relation to the elixir. since then, you’ve been taking the god awful amount of honey your pesky neighbor provides without any complaints.

this is nice… this is good. you are glad that you opened the door.

—

after a hearty and satisfying meal, you and jungkook retired to your previous spots infront of the television screen. more of the snacks he bought for you ended up being shared. near your stacks of books are colorful food wrappers and half-empty glasses of water. two mediocre yet entertaining movies later, you tell jungkook that you should pick up your laundry before the shop closes in an hour. however, after he has excused himself to the bathroom, he is greeted by the sight of you peacefully asleep on the sofa.

once more, a new side of you is laid bare, and his affection grows. he doesn’t know when he can admire your face this close again without melting from your stare.

heedful of disturbing your much deserved rest, he carefully places a pillow beneath your head, and he pulls down the blanket you’re wrapped in to cover your cold feet.

with one last stolen glimpse, he grabs your key and receipt from the bowl and leaves.

—

“is it time for you to leave?” you delicately rub at your eyes that are still half-closed; voice quiet, barely there.

you were awoken by the front door opening and closing, but nothing has quite registered to your fuzzy brain yet, except for the coat that you neatly kept and is already re-worn by its owner.

and he knows you’re most probably just sleepy, but the way you’re gazing at him as if you’re sad to see him go makes his heart clench.

“no, i picked up your laundry.” he enlightens you, consciously speaking with refined tenderness, as to preserve the serenity that has enveloped the atmosphere. “i can stay until eight. is that okay?”

you release a weary sigh, nodding. “of course… and you’re such a nice friend, thank you.”

he plops down on the sofa, filling the jungkook-shaped space beside you.

tired… you’re so tired… despite the given privilege to finally sleep to your heart’s content, you’re still so tired. your forehead lands softly on his shoulder, and unbeknownst to you due to your stupor, jungkook’s breath hitches— the polar opposite of the steady rise and fall of your chest. you make him swoon. he deliberately ignores the fact that you just called him a friend.

you peer down at the floor, past the curtain of your disheveled hair, slowly blinking. those ridiculous toe socks… you giggle in secret.

“jungkook?”

“yes?”

“are you cold?”

“freezing.”

you lift your head and he knows— you have to be playing games with his heart, bringing the temptation to kiss you so painfully close. “do you want some tea?”

—

the performance has commenced but the passionate screams of the audience still rings in jungkook’s ears as he runs backstage, chased by the staff attempting to wipe the sweat he is practically bathing in. he squeezes one eye shut as beads of sweat threaten to enter it. his chest heaves with exhaustion and his heart pumps with overwhelming adrenaline. most of the time, this job doesn’t feel real. he feels high. this is the textbook definition of a dream.

“where’s my phone? please? does anyone have it?” he yells in the midst of the chaos and clamor as he completely strips off his in-ears.

a hand reaches towards him with the device, and his expression of gratitude gets lost somewhere among the repetitive reminders of the remaining time before they should have returned to their designated seats.

he allows the hair and make-up stylists to do their jobs, him as their doll in need of a retouch. on the other hand, he impatiently waits for his phone to power on.

the tapping of jungkook’s foot ceases, and from his glowing reflection on the vanity mirror, the clueless people surrounding him witnesses love strike.

guess my eyelash wish worked like a charm. your performances went really well

and you looked so cool on stage ☺️

merry christmas jungkook ❤️

“jungkook-ah, what are you smiling at?!”

seokjin cackles. jungkook didn’t even notice him roll his chair so close. he then decides to play dumb to tease their youngest one.

“wow, who is this ____ you’re texting?”

“hyung!” jungkook panics, hissing underneath his breath. “lower your voice!”

“ouch!” seokjin yells, rubbing his arm that was hit as a punishment.

he allows a moment of silence.

his expression goes blank and he avenges himself.

“ah!” jungkook gasps as the slap on his thigh resonates, forced to be ripped away from overthinking a text message. “hyung! you better start running!”

Draft: i know it’s late.. but can i see you later?|

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[valiant-if]

Okay. I was scarce yesterday because I had to deal with some IRL things outside of my normal sleeping schedule, ended up sleeping most of the day to make up for it, and then was working on making something for the 1st birthday of one my friends' kids.

Here it is, by the way, and the pattern, which I did very incorrectly 😂 is by this seller, if anyone wanted to know. I like the colors I chose, but also the pink makes it look like a pig instead of a dragon 😂

But I'm back now, and though I don't have much time today I'm gonna try to get through another chunk of asks I received in the last week, so bear with me!

[sp4ceboo]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: ty taylor swift i attempted to base this fic on your song but then i divulged as normal

tw: 18+, smut, p in v, inkpie, oral (both recieving), sub feyd by which i mean feyd is DOMMED, spit, degradation + praise, one spank kinda, swearing, lil bit of crying, mention of evil baron activities so sa + pedophilia, tiny mention of cheating but none actually happens, lmk if there's anything else bc lbr there probably is i just forgot it

wc: 3.9k

Feyd-Rautha has gravely underestimated you.

It is true that you are not strong in terms of Harkonnen definitions, but you expected a man destined to father the Kwisatz Haderach to be able to see past that. What was that the Bene Gesserit were saying about superior genetics? You don’t see even a glimpse of that in his frosty gaze when he regards you - he looks at you as if you’re a delicate vase that may shatter in the lightest of breezes. He thinks he needs to fear breaking you.

He misses how you miss nothing.

You are not Bene Gesserit; you are merely one of their pawns, a genetic machination produced from centuries of manipulations and deceptions, but you can read a man better than the majority of their number.

The seething jealousy in the clenching off Glossu Rabban’s fists is like a monster sinking its venom laced fangs into his heart: starkly evident to you - as evident as the barely repressed, parasitic fear of inadequacy that lurks like a second beast within the first. Just the same, the gazes the Baron sends your husband do not escape you. Nor does the caged, wild look that washes over him whenever you leave his uncle’s chambers: the look of a man who inside is still a boy, relief washing over him that he has left unscathed and untouched for another time.

Even more nuanced than that, you see the vulnerability within Feyd-Rautha. He craves to be loved, the way he should have been as a child, when instead he was desired; all this at an age where the most he should have been doing was playing with carved wooden toys at his parent’s feet.

He believes no one can see the last, soft sliver of his heart that he’s fought to preserve, that wants nothing but to have someone to be vulnerable with, just because he’s buried it so deep inside of him that sometimes even he doesn’t think it’s there any more.

But you see it.

You see beneath it too, to a place that he himself is not fully aware of. A place where he hates who he has become - a wild, savage creature, bleeding from wounds that do not seem to close up, slipping in its own blood when no one can see.

It’s from here, from this place, that the urge to preserve you somehow originates. He thinks you are a flower whose petals will easily be crushed in his heavy, calloused hands, and he is wrong; in a strange way it endears you to him, that he believes that he is too rough to hold you. You do not think it is quite love - not yet, at least, it is only the third month of your marriage - but when you see him fighting to not be the beast that he is before you in an effort to spare you, something that is not just pity stirs in your heart.

You can hear him now, pacing, cursing under his breath in the antechambers. Sometimes he sleeps there, on the narrow sofa, and you’ve come to realise it is those nights when he wants you most. Aside from your wedding night, he has made no other attempts to produce an heir, and you find his restraint valiant, but stupid.

He could try as hard as he liked; he would not get anywhere close to breaking you.

Rising from your seat on the small, ornate stool at the vanity, you push open the door to the antechamber and take a step into the room. Feyd pauses his pacing with his back to you, and you can see the tension in his shoulders and the rigid way he holds his body before he turns around to face you. His pupils are dilated, his eyes dark, and you watch him regard you with something too untethered to be restraint.

‘Am I keeping you awake, wife?’

You shake your head. ‘I had not retired yet.’

You know he expects you to explain why you’ve interrupted him, but you remain quiet - your silence is as much of a tool as your words. He doesn’t speak either, but his eyes tell you enough; they do not leave your frame, hungry, torrid, and his fingers twitch as if they ache to slip you out of the simple shift you wear to sleep and touch you everywhere, to explore the curves and dips of your body.

Tilting your head, you smirk. ‘If you wish to give me your heirs, husband, I would advise another method that differs from staring one into me.’

‘You don’t know what I want,’ he growls, but his face tells other tales.

Stepping forward, you reach out to him but he backs away. Still, the sheer thirst in his eyes sears away at you, even as his actions fight against it, his fingers closing on the doorknob. His hands are steady, his shoulders too, but the tightness in his muscles betrays him as always. Usually, you’d let him go now, but tonight you wish to see how far he will let you push him before he pushes back, so you snare his forearm in your fingers, tugging at him as he turns the knob.

He doesn’t look at you. ‘Don’t test me.’

You smile, cloyingly so. ‘Why not?’

Lightly, you trace your fingers down his chest, straightening the fabric of his black shirt while you gaze thoughtfully up at him through your lashes, lips curving upwards at the indecision in his eyes. He fights it, wrestles with the burning need, but in the end, he prevails, transforming it into a streak of anger that colours his voice as he tears himself from your grasp, recoiling as if your touch ignites pain within him - and maybe it is pain, that he wants you so but fears to indulge himself.

‘Get away from me.’

Feyd-Rautha does not give you a second to do so, because he is the one haring down the dimly lit corridor, his jaw tight, nails digging into his palms. Truthfully, you have never seen him move that fast, not even in the arena, and it almost makes you laugh - the great na-Baron fleeing from his wife and his own lecherous thoughts.

Maybe you did not win this round of tug of war, but he has asked something of you - to get away from him. Over the next few weeks, you follow this to the letter, avoiding him like the plague; you do not interrupt his pacing in the antechambers, nor do you haunt the bedroom like you normally do, asking him questions that he cannot answer. Feyd-Rautha is sensitive to change and you know he will seek the reason for it.

There is a barely cloaked intensity in his eyes when he finally corners you, and under it, you detect recognition: he sees that you are not who he thought you were, and he sees that you are not so different from him - always observing, always planning, and so, mind shatteringly hungry.

You were just dropping by the bed chambers to gather some of your clothes. The night before, you’d relocated yourself to one of the guest bedrooms - you could sense Feyd’s resolve cracking, and you knew that this would break it for certain: coming into his chambers to find them empty, wifeless, your side of the bed damningly cold. Jealousy is clear in his eyes as he backs you against the vanity, filling you with a rising sense of triumph.

‘What has caused this change in your behaviour, wife?’

You raise a brow, faking confusion. ‘What change? I would argue it is your behaviour that has changed, Feyd, you who can barely stand to be in a room alone with me.’

He snarls. ‘Who were you with last night?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get away from you,’ you reply, keeping up your pretence a little longer. ‘I slept in the guest quarters. You do not reciprocate any of my advances.’

‘Advances?’ He echoes, incredulous. ‘You taunt me, wife. It’s like you want me to break you.’

Cocking your head, you regard him coolly for a moment, letting some of the sharpness of your unmasked gaze leak through, letting him see the calculation in your eyes - you see the wariness it incites in him as he realises again that you are not who he thinks you are. Wordless, you lean in close to him, bringing your face to his, hovering there.

And then you let your arm drop and make a swipe for the knife at his belt.

Fast as a viper, he catches your wrist in your fingers, but you smile, challenge in your eyes as you bring his second blade to his neck. You’d slipped it out while he was distracted with your other hand, and he blinks at the cold press of it to his skin.

‘That’s the problem, isn’t it?’ You murmur. ‘You’re not scared of me, you’re scared of breaking me. Who’s afraid of little old me, huh? No one is, Feyd.’

‘They should be,’ he whispers, and when you meet his gaze, it sets you alight.

‘Indeed,’ you reply softly, letting your lower lip brush his.

As he kisses you, his hands seizing your face and locking you to him, you hook his knife’s blade in the collar of his shirt and drag it down, slicing the fabric until it flutters to the floor. Pulling away, you take him in - the moonlight planes of his sculpted chest, the broadness of his shoulders, his roiling, keen gaze. This man whets your appetite in the darkest kinds of ways: you cannot wait to ruin him.

Absently, you trace the outline of the tent in his pants with the tip of the knife blade. A breathy noise leaves him, and he freezes as if he can feel the cold kiss of the metal against his skin; you laugh, delighted that he is so mouldable in your hands.

‘Get on your knees,’ you command, seating yourself on the end of the bed.

It’s captivating, his lack of hesitation as he follows your orders. He sits back on his heels, looking up at you, and you can tell that he’s letting you see him like this, you can tell that if he didn’t want you to have him like this, you wouldn’t, but still, you reach out, gently skimming his shoulder with your fingertips.

‘All you have to do is say, and I will stop,’ you say.

He dips his chin. ‘I do not think I’ll have to.’

You smirk, something savage and powerful and thrillingly depraved rearing its head inside you, awakened by the sight of the na-Baron kneeling at your feet. That will be his last coherent sentence tonight.

Pausing, making him wait, you lean down a little, inspecting his features, the ardour in his eyes. He looks at you as if you hold the universe in your hands, as if you hung the stars in his sky, as if you are a  goddess, and he wants nothing but to worship you until he is expended.

You spit on him.

It lands on his cheek, and his eyes widen a fraction. A shudder wracks his body, and he simply stares up at you, breathing heavy, before slowly, his lips part, and he sticks out his tongue, his request evident. You grab his jaw, squeezing so that he opens up wider, and spit in his mouth - the low groan that leaves him as he swallows is fucking delectable.

His cock twitches in his pants when you pick up the knife. Tracing the blade over the shell of his ear, over his cheekbone and over his lips, you marvel at the way he holds still, awaiting what you’ll inflict on him next like a good little toy.

When the metal reaches his jaw, you nick the skin, drinking up his sharp intake of breath and the clench of his fists as the blood trickles down the column of his throat; you catch the droplet of crimson on your tongue, licking a careful stripe up his neck, grinning when you catch his lips in a kiss and he trembles at the taste of his own blood. Feyd is greedy, his tongue brushing against yours as he leans up into your touch, the way his mouth works against yours hot, fervent, pleading.

Planting a palm to his sternum, you push him back, chuckling when he strains to follow you, eyes glazed, lips swollen. You spot a streak of red and swipe your thumb over his lower lip, wiping it off before standing.

‘Get up, strip, and get on the bed,’ you bid him, pulling your own shift over your head.

Feyd scrambles to follow your orders, yanking his pants down, and you take your time to admire his muscle sheathed body; strength ripples beneath his skin, a sweet dichotomy to his weeping cock, rock hard and flushed rosy. He halts his movements, as if he’s pinned down by your appraising gaze.

‘For whom do you wait, husband?’

As he turns to get onto the bed, he’s a little too slow and you swat at his ass. A choked sound leaves him, and you laugh at the way his knees almost buckle. Feyd’s ears run red when he lies down on the mattress, and you straddle his thighs, sneering at the way he twists his fingers in the sheets, squirming beneath you.

‘Pathetic.’

You don’t give him time to respond, instead wrapping your fingers around his cock and pumping up and down fast, and he gasps at your rough touch, his back arching and his hands coming up to touch you - you wave them off you, meeting his eyes.

‘No touching,’ you intone, the hint of warning in your voice enough to render him obedient.

This time, you take his cock head in your mouth. He’s so fucking sensitive, reacting as if the sweep of your thumb down the underside of him and the slide of your tongue over him is mind shattering; it doesn’t take you long to get him teetering at the edge of his orgasm, just for you to pull away at the last moment.

His thigh jolts, weak pleas of your name leaving his lips, gripping the sheets so hard you wonder if they’ll rip. Again, you take him in your mouth, deeper, one hand dipping to play with his balls; you revel in the wretched sound that he makes when you hollow your cheeks around him, your teeth grazing up his length. You toy with him until you think he’s moments from breaking, until he’s writhing upon the sheets, face contorted in pleasure loaded with sweet, sweet agony.

‘Please let me come,’ he whimpers, voice cracking, the look in his eyes crazed, pitiful. ‘Please.’

You decide to give it to him, jerking him brutally fast until he comes; it hits him like a tidal wave - his eyes roll back in his skull, his body tensing, rigid and impossibly taut before he goes boneless, a broken cry of your name on his lips as he spills all over his stomach. A single, ecstatic tear slides down his cheek as his orgasm seizes him, snatching him up and shaking him like a ragdoll.

Lingering at his side, you wait until he’s come down from his high before getting up to retrieve a damp cloth from the bathroom, perching on the bed beside him and cleaning up his come, pressing kisses to the surprisingly soft skin of his hips. One wavering hand comes to rest in your hair, and you glance up at him, biting back a smug grin at the dazed look in his eyes.

‘Feeling okay?’

He nods.

‘Words,’ you chide.

‘Y - yes, na-Baroness. Better than okay.’

You raise a brow at that. You did not specify for him to call  you anything, so this is all his doing; he fidgets beneath your gaze, and you note that he’s growing hard again, his cock stiffening between his thighs.

‘Can I…’ He begins, but trails off, thinking better of it.

‘No, little na-Baron,’ you reply coyly. ‘Tell me what you desire.’

His eyes scorch you with their yearning. ‘I want to taste you, na-Baroness.’

You smile. ‘As you wish.’

You lean back against the pillows, letting your legs fall open for him. It’s somewhat comical, the way his eyes widen as he sees your slick cunt, and he swallows harshly - you can almost sense his mouth watering. Carefully, reverently, almost, he nudges your knees over his wide shoulders, bringing his face close to your pussy, admiring you. It’s as if he’s testing himself, waiting to see how long it takes for him to break and taste you.

Lurching forward, Feyd groans, low and deep and right against your clit when he laps at your heat, quickly becoming insatiable as his tongue moves masterfully at the apex of your legs, laving over your clit and curving in and out of you. Bolts of pleasure spear through your body, fierce like crackling lightning at the eye of a storm - he is everything to you in this moment. He shatters you, breaking you and mending you anew.

As he brings you closer, your body begins to shake and your legs close around his head; you suffocate him with your thighs, and you can tell he lives for it from the way he fervently grips your ass in his large hands, kneading the flesh and moaning into your pussy.

Something pulls tight within you, deliciously so, and you cry his name in warning, fingers curling around the base of his neck to hold him still as your hips buck, rutting into his face. Dimly, you can see him grinding into the mattress as you fuck yourself on his tongue - the chafe of his nose against your clit makes you shatter, and you fall apart for him with a ragged cry, nails digging into his shoulders.

You’re still coming down from it when Feyd begins to lap at you again, dutifully cleaning you up, and you twitch with the slight overstimulation, hooking a finger under his chin to see his eyes: his gaze is loaded with the heat of a thousand suns, and yet somehow it is also bleary, drunk. A laugh escapes you, and you tug at his hand, encouraging him to lie beside you.

‘Good boy,’ you hum as he nuzzles into your touch. You can feel him achingly hard against your thigh, and you let yourself catch your breath before reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock. ‘Want to fuck me now, hm?’

He nods avidly. ‘Yes, na-Baroness.’

All it takes is for you to half spread your legs before he’s climbing eagerly between them, hesitating before looking up at you for permission. You dip your chin, smirking, and then he’s sinking into you, burying himself inside you.

Voice cracking, Feyd chokes out your name, and he shudders, gasping at the velvet vice of your cunt as it clenches, bearing down on him. Sharply, you rock your hips up to meet his, and this time, a soft, keening whine leaves him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down hard on his lower lip.

He can barely keep himself from spilling inside you.

‘You can barely hold it, can’t you, my little na-Baron?’

His words come out jumbled, his speech scrambled, mind ground to a standstill by the all consuming heat of your cunt; he babbles out protests, saying that he can, desperate to prove he can, stammering that he wants to make you feel good.

Cruelly, you buck your hips up against his again, and a pained sound looses from his chest, but he thrusts to meet you, hips lurching forward, his arms almost buckling either side of your head. Panting, he pulls out slowly before slamming back in, unable to stifle the whimper that tears from the back of his throat when you rake your nails down his shoulder blades, claiming him, littering his shoulders and neck with bites.

‘That’s it,’ you sigh as he finds his pace. ‘Just like that, good boy.’

A strangled noise tears itself from him at your praise, and he fucks into you, frantic, almost feral. Eventually, his thrusts begin to turn sloppy, and you kiss him in order to steal his breath and taste his fervid moans of your name on your tongue as he comes deep inside you.

Pressing a palm to his lower back, you pin him there, buried snugly within your pussy as you reach down with your other hand and rub your clit hard - it takes but a moment for you to come, and he writhes at the cataclysmic feel of your walls fluttering around him, overstimulating him, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as he comes again with your cunt milking his cock.

Completely spent, Feyd goes limp, and you rub your hand over his back, smoothing circles on his skin with your lips to his forehead. The post orgasm clarity begins to hit him, and you feel him go rigid - slowly, he pulls out, his seed leaking out now that he’s not filling you, and he attempts to get up, but his legs are too weak and he collapses beside you instead, his chest heaving, his eyes still a little hazy, still fucked out, even as he fights for lucidity.

There’s something on his face that cuts at your heart - a look of expectancy, as if he’s waiting for you to get up and leave now that you’ve had your fill of him. Concerned, you reach out, and he leans away from your touch.

‘Feyd,’ you murmur. ‘It was not too much, was it?’

‘N - no,’ he replies. ‘I just…’

Sitting up slowly, you look him right in the eyes. He stares back, bewildered, but you press a finger to his lips, foregoing your own fumbling words to instead recite the pledge of allegiance of a Harkonnen soldier to their general; his eyes widen - you know you have hit home. You’d exchanged wedding vows, of course, but these have a different meaning: you see it in the respectful way it is uttered, a soldier acknowledging his superior’s presence.

You pledge to him not only your heart, but your sword - your service - too.

‘Wife,’ Feyd bites out. ‘Surely you do not mean - ’

‘I mean it,’ you cut in. ‘Every word.’

Again, you reach for him, and this time he does not flinch away, letting you tuck him close to you, his breath coming out shaky. Gently, you tip up his chin, planting a chaste kiss on his parted lips, and he returns it slowly, wondrously, no teeth or tongue, just the gentle brush of his mouth against yours: the innocence of it is bittersweet - has anyone ever kissed him this tenderly?

Carefully, you withdraw, wanting to see him, but he does not let you meet his eyes, instead hiding his face in your neck, his lips at the hollow of your throat. You grant him the privacy of not being seen when you feel wetness on your skin, his hot tears tracking down and pooling in your collarbone - his hands ball at his sides, and you pry open his fingers and lace yours with his, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Tightly, you wrap your arms around him, holding him with a hand cupping the back of his head, cradling him to your chest.

Your voice is quiet in the still air, but it carries as if through an arena, a promise arcing through the air like a soaring arrow.

‘You no longer walk this world alone, Feyd-Rautha.’

best believe when i started writing this i did not anticipate the 2x 'good boy's 🧍

dune taglist: @callumsgirl @oh-you-mean-me @insufferablyunbearable

[always-a-king-or-queen]

C 👏 S 👏 LEWIS 👏 WAS 👏 NOT 👏 MISOGYNISTIC

IM SO SICK OF THIS TAKE

“But he said girls shouldn’t fight in battles—" No, actually. What he said was “Battles are ugly when women fight.” Which literally translates to “in a war where women are required to fight to help win it, it means the war itself is really bad.” And this literally just means that the war has gotten so bad that women have to fight, not that women shouldn’t fight. Just that they shouldn’t be forced to. Anyway, remember Lucy?? Lucy who rode to battle in The Horse and His Boy?? Lucy who fought as an archer?? “But Susan didn’t—" Yeah. Because she didn’t want to. No one was forcing her not to fight. She had free will to fight or to not fight, and she chose not to because she didn’t want to, not because a man made her stay home.

“He punished Susan for growing up—" S i g h. This is the one I see the most often. “He did Susan dirty” “he made her suffer because she liked lipstick” “etc etc blah blah blah” First of all Narnia is a children’s book series. For CS Lewis to delve into why Susan forgot Narnia, talk about her dealing with the death of her entire family, discuss her grief, and write about her eventual return to Narnia (more on that in a second), it would’ve made for a pretty dark and heavy children’s book, and Lewis said that he didn’t think that was something he wanted to write. But he also encouraged people to finish Susan’s story themselves, and said she might eventually make her own way back to Narnia. Not only this, but Susan’s name means lily, and the waters around Aslan’s country are covered in lilies. Coincidence? I think not. I think it symbolizes she was going to go back. (Especially considering I think Lewis was very careful in choosing each of the Pevensie’s names, since they all relate to their character).

Also, Lewis did not condemn Susan simply for growing up and liking makeup and clothing and boys. If so why would he have written about Aravis and Shasta/Cor, or Caspian and Liliandil? Why would he have written about Susan and Lucy being beautiful and having many suitors? So no, he wasn’t condemning her for that, and in fact he wasn’t condemning her at all. It’s extremely probable that her family’s death would have brought Susan back to her senses. Because here’s the thing: she forgot. She threw herself so much into the world and approval and convinced herself that her life as a queen and her acquaintance with Aslan was all a silly game they played as children, that it wasn’t real. But, she very well could remember again, and I 1000% believe she did.

“All his female characters were weak and did nothing—" My friend. Lucy Pevensie was a female. She discovered Narnia. It was because of her. Her siblings would never have found it without her. Lucy is one of THE most important characters in the entire series. And her title? The Valiant. Lucy’s very title as queen denoted her bravery and fortitude without one even knowing her. As for Susan, she was not any weaker for being “The Gentle.” I would say gentleness is honestly one of the strongest traits a person can have, because it takes a lot to live and be gentle. Also remember Aravis? A major character in The Horse and His Boy and future wife of Shasta, Aravis literally nearly killed herself to escape an arranged marriage. She was not someone to be dictated to; she made her own choices and escaped rather than submitting. And in the end, she’s still fiery, just a little more humble and with less of a chip on her shoulder. Then there’s Polly, who is the more logical person in The Magician’s Nephew and tries to stop Digory from ringing the bell that wakes the White Witch. A boy causes her to awaken, not a girl. It was Digory’s fault she woke up, not Polly’s!!

Also, Peter and Edmund do not ignore their sisters because they’re girls. They listen to what they have to say and speak to them as equals. They don’t forbid them from fighting; Susan chooses not to, but Lucy goes straight into the heart of the battle with them! So don’t even say Lewis made his female characters weak. They were the backbone of much of the series and without them much of the plot would never have happened!!

So don’t you ever say to me that CS Lewis was misogynistic because it’s the furthest thing from the truth

[torchwood-99]

After the destruction of the ring, during his time in Cormallen, Eomer starts getting letters from nobility from all across the land, offering condolences for the death of his uncle, congratulations for his ascension to the throne, thanks for his country's support in the war, and offers of marriage for either himself, his sister, or both.

Eomer decides to enlist his knight, Meriadoc Brandybuck of Brandy Hall, to take over his correspondance for him, a task Merry takes to with zeal.

Unfortunately, no one bothered to tell Merry that all he needed to do was send some gracious lines back, acknowledging their congratulations and condolences on Eomer's behalf.

Merry knows how to write a letter properly, and if there's one thing hobbits are good for, it's getting chatty with strangers, even through writings.

He writes long, friendly letters, rambling on about the war, the House of Eorl, Rohan, horses, Bill the Pony, pipeweed, and everything else that pops into his head.

In response to the marriage proposals, well, he doesn't want anyone to waste their time, so while he writes back that "the Lady Eowyn is indeed most fair and valiant", he's actually pretty sure that she and Lord Faramir have a thing going on, or at least, Lord Faramir would like them to, and nothing has been announced but they did spend an awful lot of times holding hands and Ioreth; Ioreth one of the head healers at the Houses of Healing, very chatty but nice lady, her sister keeps a garden, said she saw Lord Faramir kissing her on the forehead on the battlements, and he gave her a mantle belonging to his mother, of course, it was rather cold, but when Merry's father courted his mother her gave her a brooch that had belonged to Merry's grandmother, who got it from her husband, who got it from an aunt, who got it in a card game (and on it goes), and as for Eomer King, well, he can't say for certain but he hasn't heard of anything going on there, so certainly, if they think Eomer and their daughters might take a fancy to each other, there could be no harm in them meeting.

And that's how Eomer ends up having daughters from every noble house thrown at him, and becomes the last man in the kingdom to find out about Eowyn and Faramir, and Merry ends up becoming pen pans with half the nobility in Middle Earth.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Maybe hook x reader where she is like sunshine reincarnated like she’s so bubbly

Hook never understood how you could be so energetic and bubbly all the time, but yet it was because you were the way that you are that has lead him into adoring you in the first place unashamedly.

You saw things in a brighter hue of colour than he did and greeted others with a smile that it outshone any and all the stars that hung in the night sky above Merlin Academy.

It was due to your sweet and bubbly persona that made Hook more weary of the people that tried so hard to associate with you for one reason or another, he didn’t wish for your kindness to be seen as a weakness to be exploited.

So he’d often acts as your personal guard dog and scared off those who sought you out for their own personal agenda by flashing his hook along with a couple of vague threats before watching with pride as they ran with their tails firmly tucked between their legs.

‘James.’ You’d say.

Hook smiles as he crosses over to you and holds you close as he uses the back of his hook to trace your jawline. ‘Now before you say anything dearest, did I mention that I adore the sparkle in your eyes whenever you see something or hear something you love, or the way you’d grab my arm and squeeze it when you could hardly contain your excitement before dragging me along your escapades.’ He says sweetly as your pout was quick to become a growing smile as you found yourself unable to be mad at him for long periods of time.

‘You are temporarily forgiven.’ You’d tell him as he raises brow at you.

‘Only temporarily?’ He gasps, holding both hand and hook to his chest, closing his eyes as though in pain, ‘darling you wound me.’ He adds, opening one eye to look at you adoringly as you laugh at his dramatics before playfully swatting his bicep.

‘Okay you’re fully forgiven. I shall pardon your actions today because I can never seem to remain upset at you, captain handsome.’ You said as hook hummed at your new nickname for him. ‘Captain handsome?’ He rests on his tongue, ‘is there a joke somewhere in that I’m missing sweetheart.’ He adds as he rests his forehead against yours.

‘No,’ you giggle as you peppered hook’s face in kisses, much to his delight. ‘Just wanting an excuse to call you handsome.’ You add cheekily before squealing when he pulls you in by the waist and steals a kiss from your lips, smiling.

James Hook refused to share you, his beloved darling. with anyone else. You were his greatest treasure, his friend, his confidant but most importantly his love and he’d be damned if he lets that fool Peter Pan -who had been eying you for a while- to have you when you were his to have and to hold for as long as he could.

For you were the light he was refused from accepting but now he’d happily watch as you spread your love, happiness and joy to all you thought needed it most however you could. You were warm again this skin in more ways then one, your soul burned brightest when you were making others happy or relieving them of their stresses.

Hook may not value the same things as you did but that didn’t mean he couldn’t admire your valiant efforts to help as many people as you could, all the while smiling that gorgeous smile of yours while doing so.

You were his sunshine and he wasn’t about to let anyone take you away. Safe to say you warmed his cold heart back to life, and while your bubbly nature could often leave him with a need to keep you safe form those who thought this insinuated your nativity, when in actuality it emphasised your emotional intelligence in comparison to others who didn’t feel that same level of comfortably yet.

James hook would always be proud of his partner who was nothing short of sunshine incarnated in human form.

Warm, welcoming, and above all kind.

[pomefioredove]

Okay okay, hear me out. Lilia with the quote “trouble never looked so goddam fine”. I can imagine as the parental figure of Diasomnia he tries to set a good example even with his playful behavior. No clue if you write for him so this is a bit of a shot in the dark. Have a lovely day/night ♡

I write soo much lilia 🫡 this was a really fun prompt!!

summary: "trouble never looked so goddamn fine." type of post: short fic characters: lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, flirting is MAYBE a little suggestive if you want to read it that way, reader flirts back a liiiittle bit

"And... please... no trouble," Silver says, already sounding weary at the thought of the night to come.

Lilia tilts his head to the side, feigning innocence.

"Me? Trouble? Never," he says.

"...Though I'm wounded by your lack of faith! You know I wouldn't do anything to scare them off!"

Silver sighs. "Alright. They just mean a great deal to Malleus, and I'll be busy watching Sebek all night so he doesn't deafen them,"

Lilia chuckles; he's tempted to tell Silver to relax a little, it's just a small dinner with Malleus' new friend, nothing to worry about!

...Though, he has to admit, he is very much looking forward to meeting this mysterious individual.

"They're older than I expected," Silver mutters, looking towards the door as Malleus leads you inside.

Curious, Lilia thinks, though he only responds to Silver with a nod.

Malleus pulls out a chair for the prefect like a proper gentleman. You thank everyone for having you over. How cute.

"...I do hope you've met Sebek, being in the same year. Next to him is Silver, another one of my knights-in-training, and this is Lilia Vanrouge,"

Lilia waves, his mind wandering to a dangerous place as he smiles at you from across the table, cradling his chin in his palm.

Malleus starts explaining the architectural history of the building, and you nod along, making a valiant effort to listen.

...Though (and much to his delight), Lilia still catches you stealing glances in his direction.

He knows he's supposed to behave, but trouble never looked so damn fine.

Silver asks something about the statues on the building, and sets Malleus off on another tangent about the differences between gargoyles and grotesques...

Something you've probably heard before, if your silence is any indication.

Lilia takes the opportunity to make his move, tentatively nudging his shoe against yours from under the table.

Your eyes dart towards him, perhaps expecting an apology; he smiles, giving you an open invitation instead.

You glance between him and the others, then return the nudge.

Oh, this is fun.

Lilia hasn't felt so restless in ages. Having to stay relatively still and discreet is killing him.

But he is nothing if not patient. He has all the time in the world.

He leans against his elbows, teasingly rubbing up the side of your leg while you try to answer a question, flustered.

You're quite the entertaining thing, he'll give you that.

Lilia could easily take this a step further, and he's almost tempted to do so. Then-

"Fa-Lilia, are you listening?" Silver says, momentarily stumbling over his words. You raise an eyebrow at the slip up, but are apparently too polite to ask.

"Hm?"

"Malleus asked you to tell the Prefect about your travels,"

Malleus nods, smiling softly. "I think they would enjoy them, they're quite interesting,"

You return the smile, turning your attention back to Lilia. "I think I would,"

He tilts his head to the side, almost intrigued by the mysterious lilt in your tone, before he feels you returning the teasing gesture from earlier.

"Go on, I'm at the edge of my seat,"

[hangmanssunnies]

Heat To Boil

Summary: After a failed Tinder date, you go to hang out with your friend Jake "Hangman" Seresin. When you get to his house, you unexpectedly find him with a baby, and it is a sight that rewires something in your head. Jake needs a baby of his own. Right now — like yesterday, actually. And that is a task you would be more than willing to help with; now, you just need to find the courage to bring it up.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Word count: 9k

AO3 Link

Warnings: 18+ Only, Friends to lovers, baby fever, smut, P in V, Oral, Hangman with a baby (deserves its own warning)

Author's note: The attorneys at work keep bringing their babies in and letting me hold them, and @top-hhun has done absolutely nothing to discourage the subsequent baby fever I've been dealing with. Anyways, that's where this fic came from. I hope you enjoy this. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

You had become friends with Jake unexpectedly some years ago, hitting it off at your mutual friend's wedding. Part of you had, of course, hoped the attractive blonde aviator would be interested in you, maybe in a romantic sense, but it never came to fruition. He shipped out the week after the wedding, but the easy rapport you carried with him started with sharing jokes about how trashed other people got at the reception, and eventually developing into a true and close friendship. 

It was for the best because the more you got to know Jake, it became clear to you that he didn't want the same things that you did. He was focused on his career and didn't have time for a partner. When he did talk about settling down, it was never in an authentic way, more joking that he was waiting to swoop in if Coyote's marriage fell apart or that his Mama would set him up with a nice southern belle who wanted to give her twelve grandkids. Jake would claim he was too busy for a relationship, away from home too much to be steady. However, none of that seemed to stop him from finding time for you, which is probably why you hadn't been able to completely repress your feelings for him despite some valiant efforts. 

Just today, after a failed lunch date with someone from Tinder, you texted Jake disheartened. He hadn't hesitated first to ask if you were okay and then invited you over for dinner to tell him all about it. He had even promised to cook you whatever you wanted. A special treat guaranteed to make you feel better, considering Jake's superb culinary skills. 

You walk into Jake's house without knocking or ringing the bell, knowing he left the door unlocked in anticipation of your arrival. After securing the front door's lock into place, you toe off your shoes, making sure to set them neatly in line with the others there. Jake's home is clean and tidy, just like it always is; the organization of the entry is no exception. You know from the smells and sounds wafting towards you that he must still be cooking, which is odd because he's almost always done by the time you show up. 

Venturing further into the house you see him, standing in the kitchen, with a baby strapped to his chest. It's an unexpected sight, and you're frozen by it. Jake's in a casual white teeshirt, jeans, and a dark navy blue sling with a camo pattern wrapped tightly around him, securing a tiny infant in place against his broad chest. His hair is fluffy like it often is on his days off, and the golden strands fall across his forehead. Seeing it like this always creates an instinctual desire to run your fingers through it. However, you can hardly even process that thought because you're so distracted by the bundle on his chest. Music is playing on his record player, and he is humming along. 

Jake suddenly stops the humming, and the prep he is doing, looking down at the baby. After a pause, a smile pulls at the edges of his lips, his eyes crinkle before he drops a kiss on the infant's head. And it's like everything is right. Jake with a baby seems so natural. The fact that he exists any other way than with a baby in his arms every day feels wrong. Your heart starts beating harder in your chest, and a thought pops into your head, instantly taking deep root: Jake needs a baby of his own. Right now — like yesterday, actually. 

You don't know what sound you must have made, but Jake looks up and finally notices you standing in the hallway. He doesn't appear at all startled as a wide grin spreads across his face as he greets you, "Howdy there, Doll!"  

"You have a baby," you say stupidly in an entirely delayed response. 

"Yeah, this little guy is Jackson. Coyote and the Mrs wanted a date day, so I offered to watch the baby for them. They were supposed to be here two hours ago to pick him up, but I'm sure they just got caught up." Jake laughs and presses another kiss to Jackson's head. Before continuing on, "I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind," you manage to breathe out, unable to tear your eyes off Jake or even pretend you're not staring. He quirks an eyebrow at you but otherwise doesn't comment. After he gestures for you to join him, he returns to the cutting board in front of him. You are transfixed; when you sit down at the bar in the kitchen, it occurs to you that you should probably say something and not just stare like an idiot. "Do you want me to take him?"

"I think he is just fine here," Jake says, examining the sleeping baby strapped to his chest again. Jackson has hardly moved since you showed up, clearly passed out, not disturbed by the music or any of the kitchen sounds. 

"At least let me help finish cooking then?" You request. 

"No, Ma'am. Bubba and I have this dinner taken care of. I did pick up that wine you like from the store. Maybe you can open it up for us?" 

Entering the kitchen, you pull out two wine glasses from a cabinet. Opening the fridge you see your preferred wine stocked, as well as a few of your other favorite drinks stored there. Warmth blooms in your chest that Jake picked up things for you when he was at the store last. It was touching that he would take care to buy something he would never touch but getting it anyway just to have beverages you prefer on hand. After pouring the wine, you set one glass next to Jake's cutting board, making sure it's in easy reach for him. 

"Thank you," he says appreciatively. You sigh and lean against him, pressing your face into the bicep of his arm, careful not to disturb Jackson or the sling as you do. Closing your eyes, you breathe him in, looking for the subtle cedar scent of his cologne to soothe you. However, only a hint of it tickles your nose, the cedar not as strong as it usually is. Today, Jake smells more like clean laundry and his natural musk than anything else. You are surprised to find it still does the trick in helping settle your nerves, though. Jake hums but doesn't protest your closeness, instead asking, "Long day?" 

You don't answer with words, just humming noncommittally against his arm. You leave your face pressed there for a moment longer. "Not enough wine to talk about it yet," you eventually say into his arm before pulling away. Settling on the other side of the counter again, you take a long drink of the wine you poured. Deciding to admire Jake again, you ask, "How was your day?"

"It was pretty good. Javy dropped Jackson off this morning. We had tummy time, went on a walk, and to the grocery store to get things for dinner. Then we got a little cranky, so we rocked in the lazy boy for a while." You took a moment to picture Jake doing these activities and can't decide which is most swoon worthy. Jake is always swoon worthy, of course, but knowing that he was caring for a baby while doing it feels like an extra kick to the stomach or maybe ovaries. 

"And?" You ask him, taking another drink of your wine and pillowing your face on your palm. 

"And what?" Jake asks. 

"What else did you and Jackson do today? I want to hear every detail." 

Jake gives into your request easily. Starting his description of the day over, he tells you how even though he has babysat before, the Machados were still anxious to leave Jackson alone here when they dropped him off that morning. Jake told you about tummy time, which toys they liked and which were uninteresting. How long their walk was, and what they saw. He told you about the old woman who fawned over them in the store and how they helped her with getting her groceries to the car. It was endearing that Jake used the first person plural 'we' as if he and Jackson were a team with equal agency in their day's activities. It was especially cute when Jake told you about the tantrum they had thrown earlier in the afternoon as if he had been crying right along with his godson. 

Just as dinner was finished and you were setting the table, Jackson woke up and started to get fussy. Jake cooed to the baby affectionately, leaving to the guest room, where Javy had stuffed almost a car full of supplies for Jake to watch Jackson. Some of the just-in-case supplies included toys and clothes Jackson wouldn't even be able to use until he was at least a year old.  

When Jake comes back, both he and Jackson are wearing different clothes. Jake is in a soft green shirt and sweats, while Jackson is now wearing a giraffe onesie. He has the baby propped on his hip and doesn't offer you any explanation aside from that they had an accident. Then he sees that you have plated and set everything for dinner at the dining room table, and he offers a soft thank you. 

You watch as he balances Jackson on his hip and starts following the written out directions for making a bottle that's taped to his fridge. Jake isn't someone who struggles, and you know that this is something that he is fully capable of doing, but you also can't help but think that it would be easier for him if he had two free hands. So, you gently pull Jackson from his arms and into your own instead. 

The baby blinks up at you, his eyes still soft and sleepy. He babbles a bit of nonsense but otherwise makes no protest at you. Jackson has the same brown eyes and skin tone as his father. Even with his chubby cheeks, you can tell that the little boy is going to be Coyote's mini-me. The similarities in their appearance are so close it's like the universe had just hit copy and paste. 

He is so cute you can't stop the grin that stretches across your lips when Jackson snuggles into you. One of his hands starts grabbing at your shirt's fabric while he absently gnaws at his other one. The little boy completely steals your attention as you walk around the living room and dining room with him. Asking him how he feels about his day with his Uncle Jake, pausing for his babbling like they were real answers. Jake comes up behind you several minutes later, setting a steady hand on the small of your back.

 "Here, let me take him," Jake mutters practically in your ear while reaching for Jackson. 

"No," you protest, turning away from Jake's reach. "You've had him all day. I've only gotten to hold him for a few minutes." 

"Now, darling," Jake drawls. 

"Don't darling me."

"Doll," He says 

"Don't Doll me either." You snap, though the aggression of it is completely manufactured. 

"Fine, fine," Jake says, holding his hands up. "You can have him for a few more minutes, but then it's my turn again."  

"How is that fair?" 

"It's fair because he is my godson." 

You pout at Jake, and he pouts back." I can't believe you're going to be a baby hog like this. Don't you know sharing is caring?" 

"Jackson isn't a rental car, sweetheart. Can't just hand him out to anybody."

"So what? You don't trust me with him?" 

"No," Jake says, suddenly dropping all of his dry, teasing tone. "Of course, I trust you with him. Of course, I trust you."

Jake steps closer when he says this, crowding a bit into your personal space. His sea glass green eyes hold you in place, and you don't think you imagine that they flick downwards, that he has his sights set on your lips, that Jake could be considering kissing you. However, a breath later, he is swooping Jackson out of your arms and into his own, quickly back peddling. 

"You can have the baby back after I feed him, okay? I don't want to risk him throwing up on that pretty blouse you've got on." 

"Kidnaper! Baby Snatcher!" You half gasp, half yell, and start to chase after Jake as he runs away, holding Jackson close and carefully but still managing to evade you.  

You're both laughing, and Jackson has started joyfully screeching as well when the doorbell rings, startling all three of you. Jake hands Jackson to you wordlessly before going to check who's at the door. It only takes a minute for him to come back with Coyote in tow. Who immediately rushes to sweep his baby from your arms and press kisses all over his cherub face. 

After Javy examined his son to ensure nothing was out of sorts, he handed Jackson back to you to hold while he and Jake packed up all of his stuff and moved the car seat. This was only after he made a sly comment about how good you looked with a baby in your arms, though. 

When you are alone with Jackson again, you take a moment to admire yourself in the mirror hanging on the wall. It wasn't such a hard thing for you to imagine holding a baby, and it looking normal, like something right, especially when you start to picture one with Jake's features or one that would take more after you, possibly even some sweet mix. The feeling of casual want that started from seeing Jake when you first arrived suddenly twists into an unexpected ache and intense need. 

You expect it to let up, but it doesn't. Rather, the feeling smolders in you, burning hotter and hotter until it feels slightly consuming. Seeing Jake hug and kiss Jackson goodbye, promising they would spend another day together soon, nearly does you in. Heating your feelings from a low simmer to a roaring boil. 

When you and Jake finally sit down to actually have dinner, it gets a little hotter with every sip of wine you take. Every time that Jake smiles and his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way he asks about your failed date with the perfect mix of sympathy and care, even the way he reheated dinner, all adds to the fire. As Jake is starting to put away the leftovers from dinner, refusing to let you help, you can't keep it in anymore, and you boil over. 

"Jackson was so precious," you say, casually swirling the bit of drink you have left around in the glass.  

"Little mans is so fun. I love him. It's always a treat to babysit," 

"You were really great with him today." 

"Aw, thanks Doll. Now, what do you want to do with the rest of the night? Play a game, watch a movie? We can do anything you want."

"Anything I want?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jake says easily as he pops the lids of his pyrex container into place.  

"I want a baby." You say in a quick breath. You nearly slap your hand over your mouth in horror that had just jumped out of your mouth. You really haven't had enough wine to be this bold, but then again, maybe you were a little intoxicated on having seen Jake be so domestic. 

"What?" he asks with a laugh, probably thinking he misheard you. You grip the edge of the cool countertop trying to steady your nerves and prevent your hands from shaking. 

"Jake, I want a baby," you tell him more slowly, making sure each word comes out clearly. 

"No, you don't," he laughs, shaking his head. He starts tossing dirty dishes into the sudsy water of the sink and stacking up the food containers to put in the fridge. Jake turns away from you before saying, "I thought you've said you didn't want kids."

"It's complicated," you explain softly. "Are people not allowed to change their minds about things anymore?" 

"Oh, so are you debating or like —"

"I don't really know how to say this more clearly. I want to have a baby with you, Jake." 

He freezes. You see his shoulders tense, and he stares into the fridge for a long moment, slowly finishing storing the leftovers. When he closes the fridge, he still doesn't look at you immediately. 

"You want me to be the father of a child you have? You want to have my baby?" Jake asks you incredulously. You gulp, now feeling entirely too vulnerable to speak, so you just nod in agreement instead. Jake's eyes are piercing, and his body language is tense as he stands in front of the sink again. He heaves a heavy sigh, his lips flattening into a tight line. Then he scrubs his hands over his face before narrowing his eyes at you, "This is not a very funny joke." 

"It's not a joke, Jake. I want a baby, and I know you would be a good father." When Jake's demeanor still doesn't change, you continue on hurriedly. "I think we could do the whole platonic coparent thing easily enough. We get along so well, and we're already such good friends." 

There is a long pause where he does not say anything, turning on the sink, waiting for the water to heat, and sudsing up a scrub daddy sponge. Only once this task is started does he answer you in a very stoic, perfectly level tone, "No, I don't think I can do that. I can't just sleep with you."

"Oh, well. I see. Forget that I asked, please." You mutter, embarrassed but trying to not let the sting of rejection affect your tone. You knew that this could backfire, but you didn't think it would feel this bad. Feel like the pit of your stomach falling so low you are almost nauseous. 

"I'm sorry, Dolly." 

"It's okay, Jake, really. It's just the wine getting to me."

"Are you going to ask someone else?" 

"What?" 

"Are you going to ask someone else to give you a baby?" Jake asks in a gruff tone. 

You wouldn't actually, you wouldn't want one without Jake. In fact, this urge to have a child came from seeing him. However, you didn't know how else to play off your out-of-pocket request than to commit to the bit. Nonchalantly, you say, "Maybe." 

"I could help you find someone," he offers. 

"Please, Jake. It's okay you said no. You don't have to try and fix my situation."

He practically ignores you, asking, "What about Rooster?"

"I'm sure that I would have fun with the process," you say. Jake, who has focused himself with dedication on the dishes, looks up at you sharply. He quickly looks away again as you continue, "I'd be worried about having a baby that's born with a full mustache, though. So, no, thank you." 

"I'm sure Fritz would be happy to help you out." 

"No —"

"Harvard—" 

"No Hangman. Stop," You say much harder with emphasis, cutting him off and leaving no room for argument. 

"I tell you no for one thing, and suddenly I'm Hangman to you?"

"No, you're Hangman when you disregard the people around you, no matter what they say. You're Hangman when you decide something's a mission objective, and you refuse to let it go. This isn't your problem to fix or one to pawn off on one of your friends." 

"You made it my problem when you just asked me to give you a baby," Jake says, frustrated. Roughly scrubbing the dishes, rinsing, and setting them in the drying rack. 

"Well, the moment you said no, it's not your problem anymore. I'm absolving you of responsibility. It's my problem, and I will find someone for myself to put up with me, at least for a night." You joke, trying to lighten the mood again, not wanting to ruin the whole night from this mishap. Jake doesn't react more than his face darkening significantly, a deep frown pulling at his lips as he rinses the last dish and closes the dishwasher. 

"Put up with you?" He asks, his eyebrows knitting together. Jake reaches for a dish towel to dry off his hands, and you're momentarily distracted by the thick fingers and web of veins tracing up his arm. It's a better sight than meeting Jake's intense eyes, those eyes that can stare you down and leave no room for you to hide. 

"I mean, I know I'm a lot, but I think even I can get someone to fuck me once or twice. If I want and am very lucky, I'll only need one night. There are also other options, of course, like sperm banks and adoption. Let's just let it go. Okay?" When you don't get an immediate response, you glance at Jake once more. He is staring at you, but it's not a look you like. He's looking at you like you are a problem to be fixed, a puzzle to solve, an item to take off his to-do list. So you force a chuckle out and smile.  

"I don't think I want to. Actually, I can't let this conversation go." 

"We have to," you insist. 

"Why?"

"Because Jakers, it doesn't have anywhere else to go. I expressed a stupid desire without thinking. It was awkward, and that's okay. It doesn't have to stay that way, though. Now we laugh and forget it. There is no other option." 

"A lot. Put up with. Stupid desires," Jake scoffs the words as he rounds the kitchen island. He spins the bar stool chair you're sitting on by the back, turning you to face him. Then he sets his hands on the marble countertop on either side of you, effectively boxing you in. Even sitting on the tall bar stool, you have to tilt your head a bit to look up at him. When your eyes meet again, the green isn't as soft or kind as you're expecting. "I don't like how you're talking about yourself right now." 

"I'm just being honest. I'm taxing to deal with; people get tired of me. My past relationships have certainly taught me that I'm only desirable under the right conditions. And I am stupid. I just ruined our whole night because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. What kind of normal person asks one of their best friends to fuck a baby into them unprompted?"

"Oh wow, I'm not even sure where to start with all that." Jake breathes. You can't take seeing his furrowed brow and disappointed frown. So instead, you examine his right arm that's stretched by you, mapping out the moles and freckles there. "You've developed a warped sense of the truth, Doll."  

It's your turn to scoff and roll your eyes. When you do, the arm you've been studying shifts, and Jake cups your cheek. Gently, he urges your face to turn back towards his, and a calloused thumb sweeps across your cheekbone. "Listen to me good now. The things you want and desire they ain't stupid, and neither are you. You're not too much. You're just enough."

"Thank you, Jake." You whisper. And while his words are kind, you don't really believe them.  

"Don't say thank you."

"What else am I supposed to say?"

"Say you believe me and mean it," Jake urges you. 

"I don't want to lie to you. That's not who we are, that's not our friendship," You say. Jake's hand drops from your cheek, and he steps back quickly as if he's been burned. After you had been so surrounded by him, you nearly reach out to urge him close again. Running a hand through his hair, you can tell he's resisting the urge to pace. 

"Is that our friendship, one built on honesty?" 

"I thought so." 

"Then I've failed you, and I've failed us because it's not." 

"Jake, what are you talking about?" You ask him, confused. He shakes his head at you and doesn't respond, instead backing away further until he is abandoning you in the kitchen. Swiftly, you stand to follow him, "Where are you going?" 

"I'm leaving." 

"And going where? This is your house," you remind him. You've caught up to him in the doorway of his bedroom, where he's grabbing a hat and his wallet. "I'm sorry I ruined tonight, and I'll leave. You have to be honest with me before I do, though. I have to know we're going to be okay tomorrow." 

"I can't," Jake says tersely, not meeting your eyes and attempting to sidestep you in the doorway. 

"I was wrongly under the impression there wasn't anything you couldn't do, Hangman. But I guess we are finding a lot of things you just can't do tonight, aren't we?" You aren't expecting the little lash out of a taunt to get you anywhere. Jake is normally always calm, cool, and collected, acting with decisive precision. However, nearly as soon as you've finished speaking, Jake's hands are on your arms, and he backs you up until you gently hit the wall of the hallway across from his door. 

"You're asking for more self-restraint than I have, Doll." He warns roughly. The sudden movement doesn't make you back down like he was probably expecting. Instead, the rush makes you feel emboldened. 

"I don't care. I can accept you don't want a baby with me, that you don't want to fuck me. I can accept that you want to force me to talk, but I can't accept you making me question our friendship." 

"Oh god. You really don't understand. My honesty is not going to make this better," he warns. 

"Yes, I do. Whatever it is, please tell me. I can think of many things you could be referring to, like that I'm not attractive to you. How I would make a terrible mother. Maybe I'm not a good friend. Or you don't actually like spending time with me. Whatever it is, you have to tell me. I've never thought you would lie to me. So, I need to know, or it's going to drive me crazy." 

"There you are, all twisted up again," Jake sighs. 

"And whose fault is that?" You snap back. Jake still has you pressed against the wall, so you set your hands on his broad chest with the intention of pushing him away. However, he doesn't budge; in fact, he does the opposite, coming even closer so he is flush against you. You refuse to tilt your chin to look up at him as he looms, rather only lifting your eyes in a cold stare. "I shouldn't be surprised that you're going to leave me hanging to dry, but you could at least —"

You don't get to finish the thought because a hand has snaked to hold the side of your neck, thumb tucking under your chin, turning your face upwards to Jake's waiting lips. The first brush of his lips on yours doesn't line up quite right, but that doesn't stop your breath from catching. Shifting to get a better angle, Jake applies two more feather light kisses. Your hands, which are still resting on his chest, creep up, and you loop them around his shoulders, using the leverage to lift higher on your toes and get closer to him. 

This prompts him to deepen his next kiss, lips moving harder against yours. When you open your mouth wider in invitation, Jake's tongue traces along your bottom lip but doesn't dive in. You whine when Jake pulls away to take a breath. 

"Forgive me, Doll, I should've asked first." 

"Asked what?" You wonder, not moving your eyes away from his lips and strategizing how to get them back on yours. You think if you could just get a little higher, you would be able to kiss him without Jake needing to bend down so much. 

"May I kiss you?" He asks. 

"Yes, please." You answer immediately. You tug your hold on his shoulders, hoping it will urge him to get right back to it. Jake doesn't, though. His hand shifts from your neck to cup your cheek again, his other leaving the wall to settle on your waist. 

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes, Jake." His hand traces up your side from your waist and back down again in what is a soothing motion. It's too soft and delicate for what you want right now, though, so you tug on his neck again, pressing your chest into his. He gives in this time, molding his lips to yours once more. 

When his tongue meets yours, a low rumble emulates from Jake's chest, and the sound sends a new wave of arousal coursing through you. Reaching up, you push off Jake's hat, not caring where it falls, only that it's no longer in your way. When you thread your fingers into his hair, it's smooth and silky, providing no resistance when you tug it. 

"Tell me what you want, Doll," Jake says when your lips part again. 

"You. I want you," you whimper, tugging his hair again. A wide grin breaks across Jake's face, and his eyes crinkle around the edges. He tucks his face into your neck, and you can still feel him smiling. 

"What else do you want?" He questions. When his lips brush a spot that makes you stretch your neck to give him easier access, he nips it lightly. You stumble, coming up with a response, just sighing his name as he finds another spot to bite. "Come on now, you said it so pretty earlier. Tell me again."

Once his request processes through your lust filled brain, you push on Jake's shoulders once more. This time, he doesn't resist, backing away from you and creating some space between your heated bodies. Sagging against the wall, you try to catch your breath while examining Jake. His hair is disheveled now, some of it falling across his forehead. 

"You said no, you don't want that with me. You don't want this with me," You answer, finally dropping your gaze to examine the grain of the hardwood floor near your feet. Confusion at this sudden turn in attitude from him settles over you as your head clears. One of Jake's hands enters your field of vision, turned upwards in an offering. "Come sit, we need to set some things straight." 

Taking Jake's hand, he curls his fingers with yours and gently tugs you back through the doorway of his room. With his direction, you perch on the edge of his four poster bed. Jake presses a kiss to the back of your hand and lets it go to settle on the accent chair that's in the corner. 

"We'll be honest, right?" You say hesitantly, already missing the feeling of Jake's hand in yours. 

"Yes. I'll be honest." Jake answers reassuringly before continuing, "From the beginning, I never wanted to be friends with you. 

"You didn't?" 

"Nope," he says, popping the p. "I never wanted to be friends, and then once we were friends, I was stuck. You didn't seem to want the same things as I did, and I'm not the kind of man to complain about the friend zone."

"I haven't friend you zoned you," you say, scandalized at the suggestion. 

"Just earlier tonight, you asked me to have a baby with you, platonically," Jake deadpans. 

"Because I can't conceptualize you wanting me any other way." 

"I want you. I've always wanted you, but not platonically, baby." 

Baby. Jake was a casual sweet name user, there was doll, sweetheart, honey, darling, those all were commonplace, but baby was new. Hearing it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. He called you baby, and he has wanted you. You could have had him from the start if your fears and insecurities hadn't held you back. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper. 

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to need me, to love me," Jake explains with more hesitation than you've ever heard from him as if he is tip-toeing through this conversation. Worrying your fingers together, you have to take a calming breath to settle your own hesitation before answering him, "Well, that's easy because I do."  

A gleeful grin stretches across his face, and it's so bright you feel a matching one appear. He rubs a hand over his face, hiding it from view for a moment, and when you see his face again, he is still smiling. He looks as if he is trying to bite it back but can't quite manage. 

"Well, alright, a few more things we have to iron out then. I love spending time with you. You've never not been desirable to me." You can't help a disbelieving laugh when Jake says that, and the look he gives you is disapproving. "I mean that. I was thinking about it even the time I came over to bring you soup when you had the flu. Wanted to bundle you up and crawl into bed with you." 

"Oh, come on, that can't be true. I was so gross." 

"It is. I promised I would be honest, and I'm not going to be breaking any of the promises I make to you. Can you believe that?" 

You study his face, tracing over his nose, and jaw. He still has the hint of a grin that hasn't slid off his features yet, and he looks so very earnest. You can't imagine that Jake would be in the business of lying to you, and the openness he is offering makes it feel like you can believe him. That you can keep trusting him just like you always have. "I can believe that."

"Great. So, baby —" 

"Yes?" You say entirely too breathily before he can even finish the sentence. It was really a surprise how much hearing him say that already turned your brain to some form of liquid. 

"I want to sleep with you," Jake says plainly. 

"Then why are you all the way over there?" 

"I didn't want you to feel any sort of pressure while we were talking, and wasn't confident I could keep my hands to myself." 

Standing up from his bed, you walk steadily over to the chair Jake is sitting in. Crawling into his lap more confidently than you truly feel, his hands automatically slip around your waist, steading you against him. Holding eye contact with him, you say, "I don't want you to keep your hands to yourself." 

"Fuck, you're going to kill me," he sighs, tightening his hold on you. You go to kiss him again, but when you do, he blurts out, "I don't have any STDs or STIs." His cheeks stain a little pink, and he looks as surprised by the declaration as you are. 

"That's good to know. I'm clean too," you inform him. 

"Good to know. I just thought it was important to put it out there. Got to do safety checks first and everything. I don't want us to have any questions or be unsure about anything, and it's important to consider all the factors involved with —" Jake's rambling comes to a halt when you dip your face into his neck, kissing at the underside of his jaw softly. 

"Jake," you say, linking your arms around his neck and playing with the short hair there. "Will you give me a baby?" 

"Fuck, Doll. I promise to give you anything you want. The ring, the house, the baby. It's yours." 

You don't waste any time kissing him. When your lips meet, all the hesitancy and nervousness that Jake had while you were talking melts away. His mouth confidently teases yours open for his tongue to quickly follow. Your hands thread into Jake's hair again as his start to roam your back, sides, and arms. When you wiggle closer on his lap, he groans and grabbing a handful of your ass, lifting you up. Jake stands easily and walks you back to the bed. 

He doesn't drop you on the bed like you're expecting. Instead, he sets you down gently, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as he does. Laying on your back with Jake standing over you reminds you just how large and broad he is. 

With surprisingly little fanfare, he pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the side. Jake shirtless is not a new sight; in fact, it's a tantalizing one you've seen too often. He has every right to be proud of his body, you know how much time he dedicates at the gym. So it shouldn't be a surprise that, never one to be self conscious, Jake hardly could be found wearing a shirt if the situation didn't require it. However, you realize this is the first time that you don't just have to look but can also touch. 

Wanting to get the nervousness of undressing out of the way, you sit up, quickly discarding your shirt and tossing it aside. Before you can shimmy out of your bottoms, Jake's large hands are on your wrists, stopping you. 

"You're doing my job," he chastises huskily. Jake is slow and meticulous in removing your clothes, running his hands over all the skin that's exposed to him. When he pulls off your bra, leaving you only in your panties, he just sits back and stares for a moment. Such intense scrutiny from his gaze has you covering your chest, crossing your legs, and looking away. 

"I wasn't planning on sleeping with anyone tonight," you mutter, knowing that you don't have the sexiest underwear on and perhaps were not as physically prepared for this intimacy as you would like. 

"Good," he says lowly. "No one else is going to get to see you like this anymore." Grabbing an ankle in each big hand, he spreads you out for him. He slides off your panties so you're completely bare, and takes up his staring once more. "Ain't you fucking gorgeous?" Jake mutters and you realize he ain't talking about you necessarily; he's talking to your pussy. Whining his name gets Jake to shove off his sweatpants, leaving him in a pair of dark grey boxer briefs as he crawls over your body. 

As he kisses you again, your hands greedily explore his exposed skin. His chest hair proving to be much softer than you had imagined it, and his shoulders are taut as he holds himself up. While Jake's lips move with yours, you use a leg to encourage him to ease more of his weight into you, seeking friction. Kissing down your neck he lavishes attention to your breasts, licking and sucking his way across your skin. 

"You know, I was too busy to make dessert," he says when he reaches your core. One of his hands teasingly traces all around the skin. Placing a kiss on your inner thigh, he asks, "Do you mind filling in?" 

"Jake, you don't need to." You say, trying not to squirm when his fingers dip between your lips. 

"I want to. Do you not want me to?" 

"I know it's not everyone's thing," you answer, giving him an out. 

"It's my thing," Jake says. His eyes lock onto the cleft of you, and he licks his lip, biting at the bottom one. Reaching up, he grabs one of your hands and brings it up to his hair, encouraging you to thread your fingers there. His fingers that are teasing you spread you open more, and he groans, "Oh yeah you're my thing." 

Jake's tongue traces over you, probing until he finds the spot that makes your hips jump. Once Jake finds your clit he doesn't waste his time. Widening his mouth, he latches on and sucks. While he starts gently, he ramps up to sucking hard and twisting his tongue as he does. When you pull at his hair, he moans encouragingly.

"More," you request tugging his hair gently. Jake listens, sliding a finger into you. Whispering praise into your thighs about how pretty you are and how good you taste. You don't know how long Jake spends between your thighs, but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry. He sucks and licks, fucking his finger into you until the sound is sloppy and wet. He slips a second finger in, stretching you, occasionally scissoring them wider open in you. 

Even when you are whining and gasping, working against Jake's tongue, he doesn't let up. You don't have the mind to worry how you're trying to suffocate him with your thighs, which he keeps pushing back open with no complaints. All that you can focus on is Jake, how good he is making you feel, and how close you're getting. It's a matter of time until you're shuddering and falling apart for him.  

Continuing to lavish attention even as you jerk with sensitivity, Jake seems content to keep eating you out. You try to pull him away by his hair, but he just licks into you harder. "Jake, enough," you whine, trying to wiggle away from his mouth.

 "I haven't had my fill yet, Doll," he says, pulling his mouth off you but not going far, pressing wet kisses to your thighs. 

"I haven't even seen your cock yet, and I don't know why it isn't in me." You say, trying to reason with him. It doesn't come out very strong, though as Jake's fingers curl in you, making your cunt flutter. 

"Patience is a virtue," he teases.

"Being virtuous isn't really at the forefront of my mind at the moment."

Jake sighs dramatically and presses one more kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his haunches. You can see the hard outline of him in his briefs as he gets off the bed. You watch his every move closely, more than ready to finally see him naked.

However, Jake is clearly taking some sort of joy from making you wait, because he detours to start picking up your hastily thrown clothing. As he is laying them out on the chair, you lose your patience. Grabbing one of his decorative pillows, you throw it at him. It smacks him between his shoulder blades before dropping to the floor with a thunk. 

Spinning to face you, Jake crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge, his eyebrow raised. "Did you just hit me with a pillow?" 

"No, I wouldn't do that," You deny trying to look innocent. Jake tsks at you, picking up the makeshift weapon and setting that neatly on the chair as well. 

"Being desperate for my cock isn't an excuse to misbehave, baby." 

"Big talk for someone who still hasn't shown it to me. It's okay if you don't have a pretty dick, Jake. It won't change how I feel. I'm still going to want you to fuck me."  

Goading someone into action was a wonderful tactic you had learned over the course of your friendship with Jake. Something he easily did with others, and something tonight that it proved was just as effective against him because he doesn't even respond to your words. Sliding off his underwear, his dick springs free. He's hard from eating you out, and just from the first glance you get, it's clear there isn't one thing for him to be self-conscious about. 

The fleshy pink length is nestled among dark hair, and the size of him is nothing to dismiss. It's a very symmetrical cock, lining up nicely with his balls and adonis belt. Bouncing a bit as he gets back on the bed, you can't bring yourself to look away. You know he is going to fill you so deliciously. When he's finally close enough for you to touch, you hesitate though. 

"Speechless?" Jake wonders, with no ounce of shame or self-consciousness present. 

"Can I touch?" You ask. Jake nods, taking your hand and bringing it to your mouth. You suck a few of your fingers in, wetting them with your spit. Then he guides your hand to his dick, encouraging you to wrap it around him. Jake's hand covers yours for the first few strokes, showing you what he likes, but then it falls away, letting you explore. He grunts when you trace one of the veins that runs along the side, following it down to cup his balls. He allows your teasing for a few more strokes before he pulls you close, kissing you hard. 

The hard planes of Jake's naked body pressed against yours is nearly too much. He is so close and yet not close enough. With some gentle maneuvering, Jake is in between your legs and checking that the position is comfortable for you. Jake runs his length through your lips, the head bumping into your clit. Despite all the encouragement and build up, he's still not in a hurry. When his cock is wet from you, it starts to slide effortlessly. Losing your patience, you cup Jake's face, making him look you in the eyes. 

"Jake, fuck me now. Please." You say. He nods, kissing you slowly. Then finally, he grabs his cock lining himself up and pushing the tip into you. When his pelvis meets yours, he holds himself there, your breaths mingling together in light pants as he stretches you out. The time he gives you to stretch and adjust is necessary, but once you have, Jake fills you deliciously. 

"How're you feeling baby?" He asks. Your thumb moves across his cheekbone, soothing until the worry lines between his eyebrows disappear. Only responding when you know you're okay and so is he, "Perfect. Feel so full of you."

"I'll fill you up," Jake promises. 

"Yeah?" You ask. He hums his agreement and rocks his hips against your experimental, drawing a small gasp from you. 

"Promise," he says, starting a lazy punctuated rhythm, moving his hips against yours. Your hands explore the skin of his back as he thrusts into you. You hike a leg up on Jake's hips, letting him get a little deeper in you. The action makes him moan, and he pulls your other leg up around his hip, too. 

Hooking your ankles together, you use the leverage to encourage Jake to fuck into you faster. Digging your heels into his ass and lifting your hips up to meet each of his thrusts increases the heat boiling between you. His face falling into your neck, Jake starts whispering dirty praise about how good you feel around him and how long he's been dreaming about this. 

Stamina clearly isn't something that Jake is lacking in. He fucks you until you are both dripping with sweat, and you are begging for him noncoherently, unable to process anything but how good his cock feels. He maintains a steady rhythm, snapping his hips to meet yours the whole time. 

"You feel so good. Want to get you there again. What do you need?" Jake pants huskily. 

"Harder," you answer shakily, snaking your hand to play with your clit. You're close, and you know it's not going to take much more for you to get there with how long Jake's been building you up. He listens, slamming his hips more pointedly into you, grinding his pelvis every time he bottoms out. 

Huffing, Jake pulls out of you a few minutes later. Making you cry out wantonly, reaching for his retreating body. He takes a moment to kiss both your hands that he unhooks from his neck. Then, shushing you gently, he grabs a pillow and lifting your hips, he slides it under them.

"It's okay, just a little better angle." He explains to you. You flop back on the bed, content to have Jake manhandle you any which way he wants if it means he'll be in you again.  

"Oh, you're such a needy thing, aren't you?" He asks, as your cunt clenches around nothing, empty and wanting him. His fingers dipping in to play with the wet dripping from you. A flash of shame passes through you as he asks that. You drop your arms that had been reaching out for him back to the bed, and you screw your eyes shut, turning your face to the side looking away from him. 

Jake had already got you to cum once, and it was possible he didn't want you all over him as he was trying to get off now. Preferences were probably something y'all should have talked about more in depth before jumping into intimacy. You didn't want him to think you were overly needy or hard to please. You didn't want to ruin what you and Jake could have the very first time together. Noticing the shift in your enthusiasm Jake immediately stops pressing his cock into you, worriedly asking, "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," you answer, staring up at the ceiling looking for patterns there. It's easier to play this off if you don't have to look at him; easier if you don't have to acknowledge the unexpected, unwelcome swell of emotion that's overcoming you. 

"Doll, look at me." He orders you, but you shake your head, refusing. Jake grips your chin, tilting your face to meet his eyes. They are intense studying you intently, completely focused on you. "The honesty we just promised each other needs to extend to sex nearly more than anywhere else going forward with this relationship," Jake says seriously. His hard dick is pressed against your thigh, and you don't know how he's able to have such a level-headed conversation considering the circumstances, just having been balls deep in you a minute ago. "So, what's wrong?" 

"I don't want to be too high maintenance or needy," You sigh, trying to work through your words. Knowing this conversation is important, but also not completely sure how to express what you're feeling. "Sometimes I might seem needy, or maybe I could take a while to cum or not at all, which wouldn't be a reflection of you. I don't want you to think, well, I don't want to be too much for you to change your mind about this, and now I'm ruining the mood with a dumb fucking insecurity."

"Stop," Jake says gently, but leaving no room for argument. "You haven't ruined anything. I'm sorry I called your pussy needy. I didn't know it would make you feel this way. Can I tell you something, though, Doll?" When you give a hesitant nod, Jake's voice drops so low it's nearly gravelly. "I want you to be needy. I want your pussy desperate for my cock, desperate for my cum. I want you as desperate for me as I am for you." 

"You're desperate for me too?"

"Frantically and wildly so." He answers easily. Then he asks with his thumb ghosting over your nub, "Are we okay? Is this still okay?" 

"Yeah, this is good," You sigh, enjoying the zing that runs up your back when he nudges your clit more pointedly. 

Jake grabs his cock, giving it a few languid strokes before he guides it back into you. You push your hips up to meet him. The new angle that the pillow gives him leverage to hit somewhere that's just a delicious feeling. As he rocks into you, his thumb maintains its place on your clit. Your fear of the mood having been ruined proves wrong as the coil in your core quickly builds, pushing you near the edge once more. 

"Cum in me, Jake, please. Give me a baby," you request, your thighs quivering as you near your orgasm. 

As his hips snap nearly frantically, Jake rolls your clit over in nearly the same rhythm. He moans your name a minute later, falling over the edge and spilling inside of you. Though his hips stutter to a stop leaving himself fully seated in you, he continues working over your clit. It doesn't take long until you're dissolving into pleasure along with him. 

The ripples run through your body, and you feel every muscle tense and relax, turning into jelly. Jake grunts when you spasm around him but doesn't move or pull out until you've fully melted into the bed on the downward crest of your peak. 

When he does pull out, he doesn't go far, shifting enough to spoon you. Settling behind you, Jake pulls you close to his chest, wrapping you tight in his arms. His hand is tracing lazy patterns on your hip and occasionally venturing to the soft skin of your belly. You don't have the mind to be self-conscious at the moment, still a little too blissed out. It takes significant brain power to process his question when he asks, "Do you actually want to have a baby?" 

"Do you?" You wonder. 

"You can't answer a question with a question," Jake chastises you. Turning in his arms so you are sprawled against his chest, you snuggle close, nuzzling him affectionately. 

"Do you know how it was seeing you with Jackson today?" You ask him. 

"If it was even half of how it felt seeing you hold him, then I'm sorry." 

"Whatever you felt, double it. Triple it even." You say lightly. "It was enough for me to ask my friend, who I thought could never want me, for a baby." 

"I do want you," Jake immediately reassures you. 

"Thank goodness for baby fever, then. Because at least now we know we want each other," you reason, slowly starting to draw mindless patterns of your own against his skin. 

Jake heaves a sigh and strokes his hand down your back, wondering, "Was this just baby fever?" 

"No," you answer after thinking about it for a long span of silence. "I would have a baby with you. It seems right. I want that, I think." You can feel the relief in his body, hearing that, all his tension easing into relaxation. 

"Good," is the only response he gives you, kissing the crown of your head. You expect more but don't get it. Rather, Jake seems content to just bask in the afterglow. That doesn't seem to be too bad an idea, so you close your eyes, listening to his steady heartbeat.  

When you wake up from your impromptu nap, you're not alone in bed. However, you are now under the covers of a different comforter than there was before, and Jake is no longer acting as your pillow. He is on the other side of the bed, but his hand is stretched out, grazing the middle of your back. 

Rolling to face him, you admire the sight he makes stretched out on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Jake's got a book open, folded in half, clearly abusing the book's binding just so he can have one hand on you. When he notices you sleepily admiring him, Jake shoots you a soft smile. 

"Hey baby," he whispers. 

"Hi," You whisper back scooting closer to him and grab the hand that had been touching you, threading your fingers together. 

"Let's go on a date," Jake suddenly springs on you, squeezing your hand. 

"I would love that," you respond, feeling giddy as butterflies erupt in your stomach. "Want something first, though."

"I already told you I would give you anything you want, and I meant it," Jake says, setting his book on his bedside table and giving you his full attention. 

"Good, because I want round two and a shower, which hopefully has round three involved." 

"Your wish is my command," Jake says easily. You move even closer to him so your lips are only a breath apart. "I meant it, the ring, the house, the baby. I can make it all happen by tomorrow." 

"Let's start with breakfast in bed," you say, kissing him hard. When your lips hardly touch because you're both smiling too wide, well, that actually makes it feel all the better.