#while also now in the belly of a war after the bridge meet

[waldenstationed]

kane before the 300 people died to save oxygen is NOT the same kane after

[rere-the-writer]

Can I request an imagine where the reader is mad at the Mikaelsons and she pretends to forget anything about them (maybe through compulsion like Stefan forgot about Klaus?) to teach them a lesson? And I would also like to say that I love your fics!

Yes time for some angst. And thank you also sorry for this angst.

Warnings: Angst like all the of the angst again sorry

You knew it was stupid and knew they loved you but you were feeling ignored by your lovers. You understand that Hayley needed to be protected as she had Klaus's child. But you saw how she seemly had both Elijah and Klaus wrapped around her finger.

Kol was always around Hayley too so was Rebekah, while Hope you completely understood but why Hayley. The more you thought about it the angrier you got and was tired of a cold bed and being seemly cast aside so you had packed a bag feeling an anger you never felt before. You texted Marcel to meet you at the train station as you headed down stairs pausing seeing Hayley practically nuzzled up to Elijah as she happily talked to the others.

Angry tears clouded your eyes and left knowing that once they knew what you did they'll be upset. But so were you and left for the train station.

"Are you sure about this? What about the baby?" Marcel asked as he stood in front of you as you smiled sadly looking at your best friend placing a hand on your abdomen as hurt wrapped around your heart.

"Yeah Marcel.....maybe they'll learn a lesson but I know I'll go crawling back if I don't. So here." You say taking off your vervain necklace handing it to the vampire ready for him to compel you.

"You will forget all you know of the Mikaelsons. You'll forget that you loved them. You'll live a happy life, find love....you will happy with your baby."

The composition settled over you and Marcel left watching you blinked confused then looked at your train ticket. You hurried to your train ignoring the odd pain in your heart.

"Where is she!" Kol called out from your bedroom that felt oddly cold as it had been three months since you left. Kol was looking for you when Rebekah brought up your anniversary was coming up.

"Who?" Hayley asked as Elijah gently removed the female hybrid from his side frowning. Elijah knew who Kol was talking about, you their little Queen who seemed to be gone at the moment.

"Y/N isn't in her bedroom?" Elijah asked Kol looking up at his brother who was on the catwalk while Hayley followed after him.

"No."

"Check my bedroom if she isn't there then she's in Niklaus's."

"She isn't there either!" Kol said making Elijah frown listening for your heartbeat coming up with nothing. Klaus and Rebekah was walking in with bags of gifts for you.

"Something wrong?"

"Y/N isn't in the compound." Elijah answered Rebekah who smiled placing the bags down.

"Maybe she out getting gifts. You know our little wife Elijah, things need to be prefect."

"No she would have told Kol and I if she was leaving." Elijah said this made Klaus and Rebekah frown while Hayley was confused.

"Wait....I thought Y/N was only dating Kol?"

"No, Hayley we share her. She is our lover but now seems to be missing." Rebekah tells the hybrid as Klaus searched their home for you. Hayley looked to Elijah who nodded this made Hayley a little jealous knowing this new information.

"She isn't here." Klaus growled as Marcel walked in carrying a box when Klaus grabbed his attention.

"Marcel! Do know where Y/N is?" Klaus asked the vampire who was your best friend. Marcel was a little annoyed that it took them three months for them to notice you were gone.

"Yeah but I am not telling you." Marcel tells Klaus as he had a guy watching over you as you were happy and safe. Marcel grunted surprised to see Elijah was the one holding him by his throat.

"Speak. Where is she?" Elijah growled eyes narrowed at Marcel as the younger vampire flinched.

"She is in New York."

You were shopping getting some Christmas presents for your work friends and your boyfriend. You had settled in New York after leaving New Orleans and you gotten a job as a historian at a museum.

"Oh sorry." You say bumping into a man dressed in a long coat and suit, he was handsome too handsome. He caught you and right away noticed your bumb and helped you stand.

"My apologies." He breathed as you felt like crying for some reason and saw four other people with the guy. You felt heartbroken for some reason seeing them but let go and stepped out of the man's arms.

"Well I need to go. So once again sorry." You say picking your bags up walking off missing the heartbroken look in the man's eyes. They watched you run to a man smiling at him as he wrapped his arm around you touching your belly.

"She doesn't seem to know us." Rebekah said frowning as Elijah nodded watching the man kiss your forehead. You both talking about a Christmas party something that hurt your vampires seeing you with another.

"It seems she had Marcel compel her." Kol said frowning as Hayley stepped forward wrapping her arms around Elijah's arm.

"Sounds like to me she doesn't want to be you with anymore." Hayley said rubbing Elijah's hand as he frowned.

"No she would still want us." Klaus said hurting as Kol and Rebekah agreed so they stayed going to win you back even though Hayley thought it was a waste of time.

They arrived to a Christmas party that Kol compelled their way in and stopped seeing you dressed in a gorgeous dress that flowed over your curves perfectly. You were with Ryan when you noticed the Mikaelsons blinking as the weird heartache was back

"Baby? You Alright?"

"Yeah Ry. Just the little bean being restless."

"All this lawyer talk got your little bean tired." Ryan teased lightly kissing your neck making you giggle pushing him away. Jealousy flooded the Mikaelsons as Hayley didn't understand why they wanted you back if you left and having Marcel compelled you to forget.

"Compel this Ryan and undo what Marcel compelled her to forget." Kol said as they agreed while Hayley got a drink shaking her head finding this all stupid. Hayley watched for the rest of the party of the Mikaelsons getting closer to you.

"Can we just go home? Who cares that she left. Because from what I'm seeing she doesn't want you all anymore." Hayley said wrapping her arms around Elijah's arm who was ignoring her.

"Heading off Ryan and Y/N?" Larry called out as Ryan laughed nodding wrapping your scarf around your neck getting the vampire's attention. Hayley was quite impressed of the apartment Ryan and you lived in still finding the Mikaelsons wanting you back stupid.

They reached your door and Kol knocked on the door which Ryan answered blinking seeing Kol. You looked up from knitting seeing Ryan walking in smiling with the Mikaelsons and Hayley following.

"Ryan, what is hap......" You cut off when Elijah was suddenly in front of you cupping your cheek.

"The composition you are under is lifted. You will remember everything." Elijah said watching you blinked as Ryan was compelled to stay in his office. You surprised them when you slapped Elijah as angry tears fell from your eyes.

"Why are you here?! And I am not surprised you guys brought her ." You said glaring as Elijah touched his cheek finding it hard to believe you smacked him.

"Now love, no need to be hostile."

"No need to be hostile? Fuck you Nik! You all seemly set me aside for some new pretty face!" You said standing anger filled you as they were taken back as Hayley crossed her arms.

"Rich coming from the pregnant woman that ran off. Maybe you don't satisfy them no longer." Hayley said as you glared darkly at her clutching your fists that were shaking.

"Or maybe you were just some lonely little wolf who took advantage of the fact she was pregnant with Klaus's daughter." You said lowly making Hayley freeze.

Now your lovers had never seen you like this before and this angry before as Rebekah stepped up to calm you down.

"Now sweetheart no...."

"No what? Be angry? Be upset? You all ignored me and that I gave you what you wanted suddenly you want me back? Because you finally notice I was gone."

"Guess what this isn't something you can fix with a sorry and we'll do better!" You said pulling away from Rebekah which hurt her as she other than Kol was the most affectionate with you.

"Look sorry I slept with Klaus and had Hope. Sorry you feel like I am so call stealing them away from you." Hayley huffed rolling her eyes annoyed with the situation. You held your head high a gilt in your eyes.

"Then say it Hayley if it ain't true. Tell Elijah that you aren't in love with him. Tell him your feelings for him means nothing. In fact tell them all how you didn't just sleep with Klaus to get information about the Crescent wolves."

You stood there a fire in your eyes anger in your heart as Hayley stared feeling the Mikaelsons eyes on her. You were ready to burn every bridge while Klaus couldn't take his eyes off you. You were reminding him of a Queen ready to wage war.

"I....you guys can't seriously believe her?! I have no feelings for Elijah." Hayley said looking at you frowning.

"If this is done. You guys can leave and undo the composition on Ryan." You say going back to your knitting things as Kol frowned.

"Darling, we can't leave you here to raise Elijah's child with some lawyer."

"How did you?"

"Figure it out? Easy Elijah was the last one in your room after me," Kol said crossing his arms, "also over heard you and Freya talking about getting you pregnant."

"Fine I'll give you that but I am not leaving." You said sitting down as Klaus groaned.

"Love, you are being stubborn. Come home.....it is cold without you."

"I could say the same when I was home. My bed was just as cold and lonely while you all fawned over Hayley." You said hitting them in the heart.

"Then why not speak to us how you felt?"

"Oh sorry Y/N Hayley needs help with the wolves. Sorry Y/N I am doing this thing for Hayley. Sorry for missing dinner love but had dinner with Hayley." You said mocking their accents while putting away your yarn since you won't be knitting.

Kol snorted a laugh getting a glare from Rebekah as Elijah knelt by you grabbing your hand. You looked at him raising your eyebrow at him.

"You're right. If you wish to stay here baby then we won't force you to come home. Lesson learned but promise you will come home when you forgive us."

"I will but don't hold your breath." You say taking your hand away as Elijah stood nodding to Klaus who fixed Ryan. They moved to the door hoping you'll change your mind but it never came.

You waited until you heard the door close before the tears fell from your eyes as you let out a sob and Ryan came out pulling you into his arms. You knew it hurt but you couldn't bring yourself to follow after them.

"We should have dragged her home, Elijah."

"Then she would have been more angry, Niklaus. We can only hope she'll return to us."

"Better hope you didn't make a mistake Elijah." Klaus growled walking out of Elijah's study. Elijah looked at his drink frowning.

"I hope so too Niklaus."

[junqkook]

— THE YOUNG WOLF (m.)

pairing; jungkook/reader genre; game of thrones au, angst, smut words; 23,003 rating; explicit

— synopsis; he was promised to another, meant for another to hold and to love and to kiss. but when his hand lingered on yours for a moment too long to be proper, and when his eyes held yours for a beat too long to be a passing glance, you allowed desire to creep into your veins, to take root inside your heart. perhaps before you might have been permitted to love him freely. perhaps he might have even been promised to you instead. but war was no place for the wants and desires of two people, no matter how much they yearned for it to be.

contents; stark jungkook, arranged marriage, (kind of) forced wedding, war, graphic depictions of violence, blood, murder (massacre, really), betrayal, manipulation, character deaths (minor and major), lovers to enemies to lovers, mutual pining (lots of pining), grief, loss, depression, trauma, reader’s dad slaps her once, infertility, slight dubcon if you squint (sort of but not really), alternating pov, virgin reader, jungkook’s got a big dick, very slight virgin kink, rough sex, creampie, unprotected sex (stay safe!), breath play, masochism, some sadism, dom jungkook, manhandling, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting/marking, fingering, dirty talk, possessiveness, riding.

— notes; this is based on a song of ice and fire by george r.r. martin (aka game of thrones). includes major spoilers for the series, however previous knowledge of game of thrones is not needed to understand the fic. please read the contents carefully before proceeding. also i’m so sorry this is so long, i couldn’t shut up.

the young wolf. the dragonrider. vipers in the sand. every rose has thorns. as good as gold. blood of the dragon. the king who knelt.        ↳ series masterlist.

JUNGKOOK

His eyes scanned the parchment, the dried ink settling his heart into his throat. He looked up at his mother and the maester, their worried eyes trained on him as he took only seconds to make a decision.

“Call the banners,” he said, voice gruff.

“All of them?” his mother asked quietly while the maester watched on.

“All of them.” Jungkook’s tone left no room for argument, his eyes cold as ice. “They all swore oaths to defend my father. Let us see now what their words are worth.”

The maester nodded his head and left the room as quickly as his old bones could carry him, the rings on the chains dangling off his shoulders signifying the many subjects he had mastered clanking with each step he took. Jungkook shut his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers as the words on the small scroll bounced around his head.

“Are you sure about this?” his mother asked him, coming to stand by his side and rest a hand on his shoulder.

Jungkook sighed and stood straighter before looking down at his mother. “The new king has labeled my father a traitor and keeps him in chains. This message is a royal summons that I cannot ignore.” He looked away from her dark eyes, clenching the parchment in his fist. “If he wants us to come south, we will. But we will bring an army of Northmen with us.”

His mother pursed her lips and nodded slowly, letting her hand fall away from his shoulder. “Whatever your decision, I will stand behind you.”

Jungkook smiled briefly at her. “If it’s a war the king wants, it’s a war he’ll get.”

YOU

“When will we arrive?” you asked your father, the horses trotting along the Kingsroad leisurely.

Your father, an older man with a gruff exterior and experience with war, grunted and shrugged a shoulder. “Your brother rode ahead of us. It shouldn’t be too much longer until we reach the Jeon boy.” You stayed quiet, letting your horse follow your father’s the rest of the way.

By the time you reached the camp, night had fallen and darkened the skies. Torches had been lit around the tents and along the way. Many men wandered around the grounds, chatting with their fellow Northmen. You turned forward again just in time to see your father unmount his horse and leave it to a squire from your household. You quickly followed suit, sliding off the saddle and handing the reins to the same boy, only a handful of years younger than you.

You knew your father was headed off to see the son of Lord Jeon, Warden of the North, and that he wouldn’t want you coming along. So you stayed behind, slinking in the shadows away from the torches, keeping a careful eye on your father until he reached a tent and ducked in through the flap, two men guarding it and prohibiting anyone else from entering.

You cursed under your breath and attempted to make your way to the side, but you could see one of the guards eyeing you suspiciously, thwarting your plan to eavesdrop on the lords inside. But it didn’t take long for your father to come out of the tent, a younger man right behind him.

When your father saw you, a sheepish smile creeping onto your lips, he rolled his eyes. He walked a few steps away from the tent, talking quietly to the man beside him, and waved you over. You hurried forward, stepping into place beside your father as he cleared his throat.

“My Lord,” he started, gesturing to you. “This is my eldest daughter.” You bowed your head slightly and peeked up at the man through your eyelashes, surprised to find him still looking at you and your heart leapt into your throat. Your father called your name again and then dropped his hand. “This is Lord Jeon’s eldest son of House Stark.”

“My Lord,” you said quietly, keeping your head bowed.

“It is good to meet you, my Lady,” he said kindly, bowing his own head. “My name is Jungkook.” The last part he murmured quietly, as if in an attempt to ease your nerves. It was just loud enough that you knew your father had heard him and your cheeks felt hot when Jungkook continued to watch you even after you had straightened, his eyes holding yours for a few moments that felt like an eternity.

The young lord then moved his eyes to your father, tilting his head respectfully before walking away. Your own eyes followed him, watching every step that he took farther and farther away from you. You snapped out of your daze when your father rested a heavy hand on your shoulder and drew your attention.

He had a strange look on his face, his lips twitching up briefly. “Let’s go find your brother.” You smiled and agreed, pausing just as he began to walk forward. Unable to resist the urge, you pivoted to look behind you for a few seconds before going after your father.

You wiped the sweat from your brow, focused on wrapping the bandage around the man’s leg and keeping it tight to stop the bleeding from worsening. The battle had been a success for Lord Jungkook and the North, as evidenced by the aftermath you now stood in. You were tending to the injured on the field, and you had lost count how many you had attempted to help.

Once you were done, you nodded to the man sitting to the side, signaling for him to take his friend elsewhere. You stood up and stretched your aching muscles for a few moments. A hand came down on your shoulder and you whirled around, eyes wide and breath catching in a startled gasp.

Your father was giving you a hard look, his bearded face covered in dirt and blood. You swallowed, but you didn’t have the chance to say anything.

“Go on,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of one of the tents. “Lord Jeon’s son is waiting for you.”

You turned to look at the tent he was referring to and bit your lip as you left him to walk over to the tent, your supplies and medicine still in the bag hanging at your hip. Once there, you ducked slightly as you shifted the flap to the side. Entering, you made eye contact with your Lord immediately.

He gave you a brief smile, seated on the edge of the table. You could see blood dripping down his fingers, but the fabric covering his arm was too dark to spot where his injury was.

“My Lord,” you greeted, bowing your head slightly.

“My Lady,” he returned, eyes still focused on you. “You did not need to come. The wound is nothing more than a scratch.”

Your eyebrows went up as you got closer, standing only a few feet away from him. “I mean no offense, my Lord,” you said playfully. “But mere scratches do not bleed as much as yours seems to.”

Lord Jungkook chuckled quietly, the sound causing a flutter in your belly. “My scratches seem to be special, then,” he replied, tone just as teasing as yours.

Unable to hide your smile, you ducked your head so he wouldn’t see instead. You peeked up at him and made to reach for his arm. “May I?” you asked. He nodded his head and held out his hand, which you took in your own. His skin was warm and sticky with blood, but you stopped your thoughts before they could spiral out of line. Pushing his sleeve up, you didn’t fail to notice the way he hissed quietly, his so-called scratch coming into view quickly.

“Is this scratch too big to be mended?” he asked you quietly as you examined it.

You shook your head, running your hands up his arm to the slice on his forearm. “No,” you told him. “But you will need this stitched up. I’m afraid this scratch is too deep to simply bandage up and send you on your way.”

“Stitch it up for me, then,” he commanded, though his voice was soft. When you looked up from his arm, startled, his dark eyes were just as soft.

“Alright.” You swallowed nervously and looked around, spotting a few chairs around the table he was sitting on. “Would you mind moving to the chairs, my Lord? It might take some time.”

He stood without a word and you stumbled back to keep a respectable distance between the two of you. Lord Jungkook dragged two chairs over to where you stood, placing them so they faced each other, and then sat down in one. He raised his eyebrows at you until you sat in the chair opposite him. You looked down to sift through your bag, taking out a thread and needle that had already been prepared from others that had needed stitching as well.

Once you had what you needed, cleaning the needle with a bottle of alcohol that was on the table, you reached out and took his hand in yours gently. You ran your hand up his arm and bent over it, looking up at him with a wince.

“This will hurt, my Lord,” you warned quietly. “Would you like for me to get you some Milk of the Poppy?”

Your Lord shook his head. “No, that’s alright. It is nothing I can’t handle.”

“Excuse me for being adamant, my Lord,” you continued, looking at him properly now. “This is no time to let pride take hold.”

His lips twitched up into a smile. “Do your work, my Lady,” Jungkook replied. “If the pain is too great, I will scream.”

You huffed, turning back down to his wound. You bit your lip and started to sew it shut, wincing every time his muscles tensed under your hands. You were grateful that you had the stomach for it, or you would have to clean the remnants of your pitiful lunch off the floor. You made quick work of the wound, surprised that he did not let out a sound other than a grunt every time the needle pierced his skin and tugged it.

“There,” you mumbled, tying the thread and slipping a knife from your bag to cut the excess.

“Will you bandage it now?” Jungkook asked, his chest moving up and down slowly. There were beads of sweat running down his face.

“Yes,” you replied. You took out the bandaging and started to wrap it around his arm, taking great care not to tighten it so much that it would hurt him. As you worked, you brought up something that had been nagging at the back of your mind. “I heard that you captured the kingslayer during the battle.”

There was no reply for a few moments, the only sounds the faint ones of the men outside the tent. “You have quite the open ears,” he finally said amusedly.

“So I’m right?”

Lord Jungkook chuckled. “You are. He is bound and being held as prisoner.”

You finished bandaging his arm. “Will you use him to bargain for Lord Jeon’s release?”

Looking up, you met his eyes easily. “You’re quite clever, you know,” he said. “I will use him to bargain, yes. The new king will want his uncle back safe.” You gnawed on your bottom lip, your question on the tip of your tongue and just barely being held back by your teeth. Your Lord noticed and sat back in his chair across from you, resting his injured arm across his lap. “Go on, ask whatever it is you’d like.”

Your eyes nearly sparkled as you met his, sitting up straight in your chair. “How did you capture the kingslayer? I heard there was some distraction—”

“Yes, I sent two thousand men down the Kingsroad,” Jungkook explained. “They distracted the kingslayer’s larger forces, led by his father, while I took the rest of my men to the Twins. We ambushed the kingslayer there and he fell into our trap easily. The man has gotten too comfortable in his abilities.”

You hummed. “Very strategic, my Lord. How many men did you lose? I helped where I could with the injured, and there were quite a lot of them.”

Jungkook’s face shut down and he leaned forward again. “Has your father spoken to you?” he asked quietly. When you shook your head, he reached out hesitantly and then rested his hand on your knee. It felt warm through the fabric of your dress. “We lost those two thousand men, and another few hundred during the ambush.” Your heart started to beat harder in your chest. “Among them was your brother.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. He looked sympathetic, his hand on your knee heavy and distracting. You stood from the chair, dislodging his comforting grasp, and he jerked back to avoid your skirts in his face. “No, you’re wrong, you—you must have—”

Lord Jungkook rose as well, standing before you with a frown on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said gently, reaching out and taking your shoulders in his hands. He pulled you closer to him, voice softening when he could feel the trembling in your limbs. “I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes filled with tears as you stared at him, almost unseeing. He was saying something, but you couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing in your ears. “No,” you whispered to yourself, your tears starting to slip out. “He can’t—he can’t be dead, he can’t be—”

The Lord pulled you in, crushing you to his chest. You stared at a point on the tent over his shoulder as his hand ran down your back, his cheek pressed to your hair, but still warm. The furs around him were tickling your skin and his breath was warm on your neck when he spoke, though you had no idea what he was saying.

It didn’t feel real, what he’d just told you, the way his arms felt around you, the whispers against your skin. Nothing felt right. You wanted to push him away, wanted to forget what he had said, wanted to go back in time to before the battle—but you couldn’t. And you knew the only thing holding you up was his embrace.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when your senses came back to you, but Lord Jungkook’s arms remained firm around your body, and his head had not moved from its place against your hair. His hand was rubbing your back comfortingly and you felt heat warm your cheeks.

Lifting your hands to his chest, you pushed him back lightly. He looked at you curiously when he moved only inches away from you, hands still pressed warm against your back. “My Lord,” you whispered, cheeks flushed with heat and voice thick. “I—”

“My Lord!”

You startled, turning to look at the entrance of the tent, where a squire had just come in. The young boy was staring at the two of you, locked in an inappropriate embrace, his eyes darting between you. Lord Jungkook cleared his throat and dropped his arms, turning to face the squire, and you inched back slightly, lowering your head—though you knew the boy must have seen you and known who you were. You only hoped he would not spread rumors of what he thought you must have been doing.

“Yes?” he replied. “What is it?”

“The—the kingslayer, my Lord,” the boy stuttered. “He is bound and awaits your audience.”

“Yes, I will be there immediately,” Lord Jungkook said. “You go ahead. I have… things to attend to.”

The young squire’s eyes landed on you for a brief moment before he bowed and took his leave. You were gnawing on your bottom lip hard enough that it was painful. The fleeting moment had passed, taking along with it the ease with which you had forgotten to grieve. With the prying eyes of the squire gone, you returned to feeling like there was an ache in your chest, a gaping hole that felt like your brother’s sweet smile; he had never been cruel, a man too young and too kind for war.

“My Lady,” Lord Jungkook started, reaching out and gently taking your hand. “I am deeply sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do to ease your pain—” He paused, meeting your eyes intensely. His grip was firm on your hand and his eyes were soft as he watched you. “Please let me know.”

You bowed your head, not knowing what to say to him. The loss still didn’t feel completely real and you weren’t sure if it ever would. You had a feeling that you would still wait every day for your brother to walk into your line of sight, laughing and ready to tell you everything he had done.

Barely able to muster up a smile, you squeezed his hand in return. “Thank you,” you said sincerely. “I will keep that in mind.”

He seemed pleased, a smile breaking out on his face. “I must take my leave now, forgive me. But I thank you for your assistance tonight.” You nodded and he turned away, grabbing his sheathed sword and belt before he left the tent. You met his eyes again when he quickly looked over his shoulder at you, smiling sadly and walking out from under the tent flap.

You followed suit after a few minutes and numbly walked back to your father’s tent, where you found him sitting in a heavy silence. Your knees felt weak and you fell to the ground, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Your father barely looked over at you, his gaze burning a hole into the grass in front of him. You fisted your hands in your skirts until your fingers started to hurt.

And you wept.

JUNGKOOK

He walked with heavy footsteps toward the cell his men had made for the kingslayer. He’d given up part of his freedom to get his hands on the man and succeeded. But his chest was heavy with the sacrifice his men had given for it to be a possibility.

Walking into the cell, he laid his eyes on the man, whose blonde hair was sticking to his face with sweat and dirt. With a wolfish smile, the bound man opened his mouth. “My Lord,” the kingslayer greeted mockingly. “Why haven’t you sent me to one of your bannermen’s castles? Instead you drag me with you to your camp; I dare say you’ve grown fond of me.”

Jungkook had to hold back his sneer, tilting his head to the side instead. He observed the kingslayer’s bonds, his seated position leaving him vulnerable. His hands were bound behind his back to a pole his men had dug into the ground. Seeing him in a similar to position to how he presumed his father to be, all the way in King’s Landing, gave Jungkook a twisted sense of pleasure.

“If I left you with one of my bannermen, your father would know within a fortnight. My bannermen would receive a raven with a message: ‘Release my son and be rich beyond your dreams. Refuse and your House will be destroyed root and stem.’”

The kingslayer raised a brow at his words. “You don’t trust the loyalty of the men following you into battle?”

Jungkook held back a scoff, though his lips did twitch upwards for a second. “Oh, I trust them with my life.” He paused and took in the sight of the Lannister man again, feeling powerful as he towered over him. “Just not with yours.”

The kingslayer chuckled humorlessly. “Smart boy.” Jungkook couldn’t stop the twitch at his words. Of course, the kingslayer took notice of it and tilted his head, his dirty hair falling over his face. “What’s the matter? Don’t like being called ‘boy?’ You feel insulted?”

There was a low growl from behind the cage in the darkness. Jungkook could see the way his body tensed, head shifting to try to get a look behind the cage to no avail. Footsteps echoed in the night, the rumble of the growl low and the short pants sending a chill through the air.

Jungkook’s voice was just as low when he spoke. “You insult yourself, Kingslayer.” The man’s eyes darted to the opposite side as the beast came into view outside the bars, circling it slowly. “You’ve been defeated by a boy. You’re held captive by a boy.” Jungkook paused, a small smile playing at his lips when the kingslayer’s wide eyes remained solely focused on the grey and white fur of the large direwolf as it came to a stop beside Jungkook. “Perhaps you’ll be killed by a boy.”

The direwolf, on all four legs, was nearly half the size of Jungkook himself. He was sure if the beast stood on its hind legs, it would be taller than himself. The pleasure twisting inside of his belly grew stronger at the look on the kingslayer’s face, stiff and fearful. Jungkook slowly brought a hand to rest on the back of his companion, fisting the fur gently in his gloved fingers.

“I’m sending your cousin down to King’s Landing with my peace terms,” Jungkook informed him, comforted by the presence of his wolf.

The kingslayer swallowed roughly and glanced up at him before returning his eyes to the terrifying beast. “If you think my father will negotiate with you, you don’t know him very well.”

“No. But he’s starting to know me.”

The man scoffed. “A few victories don’t make you a conquerer.”

“No,” Jungkook mused, smirking and releasing his loose hold on his direwolf. “But it’s better than a few defeats.” The wolf’s growling grew louder, until it almost drowned out the sound of his voice. “Sleep well, Kingslayer.”

Turning swiftly, Jungkook left the cage and allowed his smile to linger at the sound of his direwolf’s snapping teeth and the rattling of the kingslayer’s chains.

As he walked through the camp, he nodded his head respectfully at the people who greeted him. His eyes raked across the fields, looking for you in particular even though he knew he shouldn’t. You were probably still reeling from the news he’d given you earlier. Jungkook couldn’t quite halt the thoughts of how you had felt in his arms and against his body, like you belonged there, and he couldn’t quite hate himself for it either.

As if the gods had smiled down on him, he bumped right into you while scanning the people for your face. Jungkook’s hands found your arms, steadying you on the ground after the impact. You let out a soft noise and backed away, flustered. You looked adorable, standing in front of him, barely illuminated except for the light of the torches.

“My Lord,” you greeted him, bowing your head. When you looked back up, he could see how red your eyes were and how puffy your face was. His chest tightened with sympathy for a moment and he had to shove his tongue against the inside of his cheek when he started thinking about how beautiful you still looked.

“My Lady,” he replied. “How are you?”

You smiled briefly at him. Jungkook wanted to crush you to his chest right then and there. He clenched his fingers tightly into fists. “I’m well. How is your arm, my Lord?”

Jungkook paused for a moment, taking the sight of you in silently. “My scratch is doing fine, thanks to you.” You chuckled quietly and he couldn’t help the smile on his face at the sound. “I am in your debt, my Lady.”

You shook your head quickly, lifting your hands up in front of your chest. “No, my Lord, there is no debt to be paid. It was my duty.”

“Still, I did not wish to trouble you—”

“It was no trouble at all, really!” you interrupted. “I was happy to do it, my Lord.”

“Very well, then.” Jungkook’s smile softened. “Goodnight, my Lady. I hope you are able to rest tonight.”

Your small smile fell and your eyes fell downward, toward the grass. “Yes, thank you, my Lord. Goodnight.”

As you walked off without another word, Jungkook kicked himself internally. He hadn’t meant to upset you, but he wished he could comfort you. He knew there was no way to comfort you, it wouldn’t be proper. Especially not when—

No. It was best not to dwell too much on such thoughts. Jungkook sighed heavily and turned back toward his tent, his thoughts torn between you and the strategies he still needed to go over.

YOU

Awoken by shouts and the clinging of armor, you sat up straight in your cot. Too drowsy to really focus on anything that was being said, you hurried to get out of bed and start to get dressed, haphazardly fixing your hair as you did. When you deemed yourself presentable enough, you raised the flap of the tent and squinted at the bright sunlight, heart pounding.

The men were running back and forth, voices loud and barely comprehendible. But you did manage to catch a snippet of what was being said as you walked a little closer, avoiding the soldiers as they frantically ran about.

“The Kingslayer! He’s escaped!”

“Where is Lord Jeon?!”

“How did he escape?”

Mouth falling open in shock, you hurried to find your father and Lord, even if you knew it wasn’t truly your place to intrude on either. Logical thoughts, however, were not your biggest concern at the moment. You found them in Lord Jeon’s tent, slipping inside to the raised voices of everyone inside. They barely noticed you.

“What have you done?” Lord Jeon’s voice growled. You heard him before you saw him, stood almost at the opposite end of the tent, his face twisted with rage. Before him was his mother, her hair pinned back as it usually was. In front of you were the many lords, your father included. You stayed silent, standing behind them and near the entrance, too afraid of drawing attention in the tense atmosphere.

“Jungkook, please,” his mother pleaded, voice gentle. “It was for—“

“I don’t care what it was for!” he interrupted, throwing his arms out in frustration. “What were you thinking? He was our prisoner!”

“I did it to save your father!” she screamed back, desperation filling her voice. “He swore to return him to us! That’s what we’re fighting for—“

“He’s an oathbreaker! Have you lost your mind? Do you know what I had to do to secure his capture?” Lord Jeon stopped for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose between gloved fingers. “Two thousand men lost their lives so we could capture the kingslayer. You had better pray to all the gods that he does not break his word and returns my father safely.” His voice was dangerously low and he turned to face away from his mother, as if he couldn’t stomach to look at her. “All of you, leave.”

You quickly stepped out, keeping yourself at the side of the tent’s entrance before the men could begin to shuffle out. Once they had all exited, you saw his mother being led out of the tent with more than one guard. Biting your lip, you waited a few more moments before gathering the courage to step inside the tent, eyes finding Lord Jeon’s hunched frame over the table.

“My Lord?” you asked hesitantly, lingering by the entrance of the tent.

His head shot up, pleasant surprise etched into his features. He smiled at you kindly and you almost couldn’t believe he had just been yelling at his mother a few moments ago. Lord Jeon said your name softly. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering how you were,” you said.

“That’s very kind of you,” he replied, walking around the table and gesturing at the chairs. You followed suit and sat in the chair beside the one he took, fidgeting with your hands. “We’ll be moving camp today, to Riverrun.”

You nodded your head. “I will be sure to have all of my things ready.” You paused, unsure exactly how to bring the topic up. “I’m sorry that you lost the prisoner, my Lord,” you eventually settled on, voice barely above a whisper.

Lord Jeon looked tense, but he reached out hesitantly and rested his hand over yours. You clenched your hands tighter in your lap so that you wouldn’t do something mad, like hold his hand.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. His hand was hot on top of yours despite the cold weather. “During times of war, we must prepare for losses. Even without the Kingslayer, the North will not bend to the will of the boy-king in the South.”

Silence fell upon the two of you, though you could faintly hear the commotion of the men outside of the tent. The light inside was dim, casting shadows across Lord Jeon’s face as he watched you, his hand still resting atop yours. You could feel your body heating up from his touch, gnawing on your lip as you considered what you should do. You turned your hand under his, clasping his fingers in yours, and looked directly at him, meeting his wide eyes.

You leant forward, eyes darting down to his lips. You knew it wasn’t proper, that you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop yourself even if you had wanted to. All was quiet save for your breaths, steady and deep as you moved closer and closer, fingers tight around his. You could feel his breath on your lips, so close that your noses almost touched, when his other hand came to grasp your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning back and away from you. Your heart thudded in your ears, eyes wide as you watched him move. His hand slipped out of yours and he removed his other from your shoulder. His lips were drawn into a thin line.

“No, I—“ you cut yourself off to take in a shaky breath, standing from the chair and lowering your head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, my Lord, I shouldn’t have presumed—“

Lord Jeon stood as well, stepping closer to you. When you swallowed roughly and took half a step back, he seemed to come to his senses and halted sheepishly. “No, it’s not that,” he interrupted you. He sighed heavily, dropping his hands to his sides. “I’m betrothed to a Frey girl,” he finally said, so quietly you almost couldn’t hear him.

“Oh,” was all you said in return.

Before you could truly process what that meant, your lord continued. “We had to pass through the Twins to get to the Kingslayer’s forces,” he explained. “There had to be negotiations made with Lord Frey. His condition to let us through was for me to marry one of his daughters.”

You finally looked at him, clasping your hands in front of you tightly. “Oh,” you repeated.

“I—“ Lord Jeon stopped himself, gazing back at you almost desperately. He seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t get the words out—or wouldn’t.

You steeled yourself and took in a breath. “Regardless, please forgive me, my Lord. It was not proper nor my place to do such a thing.”

Lord Jeon’s face softened as he looked at you. “There is nothing to forgive, my Lady.”

You bowed your head slightly. “I wish you good fortune with your bride-to-be,” you continued, almost choking on the words. “Please excuse me.” You heard him faintly murmur what you assumed to be a dismissal and you took your leave, walking straight out of the tent and back towards your own without looking back.

Your name was called by a soldier, catching your attention as you finished cleaning the wounds of the young boy in front of you. You turned to meet his gaze, blinking up at him curiously from your crouched position.

“Lord Jeon wants to see you,” the man said, a smirk on his face.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, simply nodding your head and finishing up with the patient you were currently bandaging up. You hadn’t seen or spoken to Lord Jeon in days, too afraid and embarrassed to go looking for him again—not after what he’d told you the last time. Your face felt hot as you recalled the memory, chiding yourself for acting so impulsively and improperly. What had you been thinking, trying to kiss your lord?

You found him in his usual tent, alone. You swallowed nervously as you walked in with your bag of medical supplies. The last time you had been alone with him had been disastrous. He looked up at you with a small smile.

“Hello,” he said easily.

“Hello,” you replied, your voice quiet. You walked over to the chair he was seated at, the map and plans for his next move in front of him on the table. His attention, however, was focused solely on you. “You wanted to see me, my Lord?”

“Yes,” he responded without missing a beat. “I seem to have gotten another scratch.”

“I see.”

He tilted his head to the side, almost playfully. “Would you mind terribly if I asked you to treat me, my Lady?”

You ducked your head, biting back a smile. “Of course not, my Lord. Where is the scratch?”

Lord Jeon chuckled, shifting to put his leg out closer to you. When you took a closer look, you could see that there was blood pooling over his knee and his pants were torn higher up along his thigh. You swallowed past the quickly forming lump in your throat, glancing up at him briefly as you crouched down between his legs. The air suddenly tensed, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen to inhale, and you wondered if it was just you who felt like this.

You pulled out a pair of scissors from your bag after you set it beside you, fixing your position so you were comfortably on your knees. You set a hand on his thigh, trying not to think about how firm the muscles felt under your palm. You dragged your fingers along the tear in the fabric, pulling it up so you could cut away from the wound. You had to force your breathing to remain steady as you got to work cleaning the large gash on his thigh.

“We managed to push back the Lannister army,” Lord Jeon said quietly, cutting through the tense atmosphere while you worked. “We took two Lannister boys as well.”

You perked up slightly. “Have you caught the Kingslayer yet?”

He sighed. “No, he was nowhere to be found, the coward. And to think they call him the greatest swordsman alive.”

“He’s no match for you, I’m sure,” you quipped.

Lord Jeon chuckled. “Of course not.”

After another brief silence, you grabbed your thread and needle to stitch his wound, just as you had before. “This will hurt, my Lord.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” he joked.

You rolled your eyes playfully and started to stitch, sticking the needle through the skin at the end of the wound. “Who are the Lannister boys you captured?”

“Distant cousins of the Kingslayer,” he said, though his voice was pitched low. “They’re just boys.”

“How old are they?”

“Thirteen and eleven.”

Your eyes widened, but you continued to work on the wound as carefully as you could. “That’s very young.”

“Too young,” Lord Jeon replied.

A few more moments passed as you worked, your eyes never leaving his wound. “Why did you call for me, my Lord?” you finally asked, barely able to gather the courage to do it. “There are many nurses to treat the wounded.”

When he didn’t respond, you worried that you had overstepped, but then his gloved hand came to rest atop your head. You stopped your stitching and looked up at him in surprise, shocked to find his expression a mix between regret and tenderness. His thumb was gently stroking your hair, almost like a subconscious movement. “I trust you.” The hand on your head, even through the glove, felt unbelievably warm on your head and you couldn’t stop the shiver that shot through your spine. “And it wouldn’t do to have the others see their lord wounded.”

You wanted to kiss him.

He was promised to another, meant for another to hold and to love and to kiss. But when his hand lingered on yours for a moment too long to be proper, and when his eyes held yours for a beat too long to be a passing glance, you allowed desire to creep into your veins, to take root inside your heart. Perhaps before you might have been permitted to love him freely. Perhaps he might have even been promised to you instead. But war was no place for the wants and desires of two people, no matter how much they yearned for it to be.

You swallowed, opening your mouth to say something, when Lady Jeon rushed in with a few guards, a paper clutched tightly in her fist. Your head snapped over to look at them, your position provocative from behind the table. Body flushing with heat, you moved away as far as you could without pulling the thread of the needle, and Lord Jeon quickly removed his hand from your head.

“What is it?” he asked after clearing his throat. He beckoned them over to the side of the table the two of you were on. They approached cautiously, but you could see the line of his mother’s shoulders relax when she was close enough to see that you were mending his wound.

“It’s your father,” she told him with a broken voice. “They’ve executed your father.”

There was silence in the tent and you looked up at Lord Jeon’s face, his pain and shock written all over it for everyone to see. He started to move, but you quickly pressed down on his thigh, catching his attention.

“My Lord,” you said. “You mustn’t move. The wound is not properly mended yet.” He looked down at you with stony eyes and you almost flinched away, but you ducked your head and worked to finish stitching his broken skin with your trembling fingers.

“What,” Lord Jeon began with a voice that sounded almost like that of a wolf’s growl, “happened?”

Lady Jeon dropped the parchment on the table in front of her son. You couldn’t see her face for she stood behind you, but you attempted to complete your work as quickly as you could. He picked the parchment up off the table and his eyes took in the words harshly.

“Treason?” Lord Jeon scoffed. “Father? He is no traitor. The new king fancies himself a man, labeling my father a traitor of the Seven Kingdoms and taking his head.” You barely recognized the edge in his voice, unlike you’d ever heard it before. “Guards, escort my mother back to her tent. We arrive in Riverrun tonight.”

“Jungkook, you can’t be serious—“ his mother started, but he silenced her quickly.

“You released my prisoner for the sake of my father’s safety,” he said bluntly. “Now he has been beheaded, his name smeared with the word ‘traitor,’ and the Kingslayer is probably drinking and whoring himself back in King’s Landing. You will be confined to your chambers indefinitely.” His voice dipped low, dangerous, and you had just barely managed to finish your stitching, tying the thread and cutting it with the scissors. “The only reason you’re still breathing for your treasonous acts is because you are my mother.”

Once the guards had escorted Lady Jeon out of the tent and toward her own, you shifted back a bit, your knees aching when you moved them. You opened your mouth to excuse yourself, sure that Lord Jeon would want to be alone, but before you could get to your feet or say a word, his arms had wrapped around you and pulled you in close.

Your face was crushed into the furs of his coat, his hands holding your crouched body as close as he could to his chest. He had pulled you in closer between his thighs, until the two of you were flush against one another. You didn’t know how to react, the needle and scissors still in your hands as you held them still over his thighs.

His fingers carded through your hair. You could feel him rest his head atop yours, breath fanning the strands. “Please stay,” he whispered into your hair. “Don’t go.”

Instead of replying, you released your tools to fall to the ground and wrapped your arms around his midsection, turning your face so that your cheek rested on his torso. He buried his face into your hair, clutching you tighter at your silent compliance. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you could hear his own heart beating at a quick rhythm.

You stayed there, in that same position, for what felt like an eternity. You were just as reluctant to let go of him as he seemed to be of you, the only sounds filling the tent your mingling breaths and the quiet whimpers of a boy who had too heavy of a burden to carry.

Everyone was gathered for the victory feast, meat and fruits littering the tables set across the camp. It wouldn’t be long until the forces reached Riverrun. Night had fallen and you sat idly beside your tense father, eating silently even as the men around you started to debate which king they should pledge to fight alongside against the boy-king in the southern capitol. Your eyes kept flickering up from your plate of food to find Lord Jeon, who was seated at the middle table with his mother and a few other lords.

One of the many lords stood from his table, walking to the middle to continue the debate. “The course of action is clear! We should swear fealty to the Baratheon boy and march our forces South.”

Lord Jeon cut in, still seat at his table but turned to face the rest of the soldiers. “We cannot swear fealty to the Baratheon boy. He is not King.”

“My Lord,” another soldier spoke up. “Do you mean to pledge us to the boy-king? He put your father to death—“

“That doesn’t make the Baratheon king,” Lord Jeon argued. “He is the youngest brother of the late king. Just as my brothers cannot be Lord of Winterfell before me, he cannot be King of the Seven Kingdoms before his older brother.”

Lord Umber stood abruptly, interrupting all of the arguments. “My lords,” he started, walking leisurely until he was in the middle. His stance commanded the attention of everyone. “Here’s what I say to these two kings.” After a brief pause, he spat on the ground, drawing a few chuckles from the soldiers—and yourself included. You didn’t much care for either of these kings, as you would never be going South after this war was won—your place, and everyone else’s here, was in the North.

The lord continued, voice rising as he grew more passionate with every word. “The two of them mean nothing to me. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of war? Of the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong!” You found yourself laughing heartily alongside your father and the others, eyes falling on Lord Jeon briefly. There was a small smile on his face and you found your own dwindling at the sight. “Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to. And now the dragons are dead!”

There was a murmur of agreement throughout the now hushed group, and you could see heads nodding as he continued his speech.

Lord Umber drew his sword easily, turning his body and pointing the tip at Lord Jeon. “There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to.” The camp was completely silent, the only sounds the crackling of the fire. Lord Umber dropped to one knee, digging the very tip of his sword into the grass in front of him and holding the hilt tightly. “The King in the North!”

Your eyes were wide and your breath caught as you watched the scene unfold before you. Lord Jeon’s dark hair was swept handsomely across his forehead and his dark eyes were trained on the kneeling lord in front of him.

Another lord stood, this time from your table, and approached Lord Umber. “I’ll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castle. And their iron chair, too!” He kneeled beside Lord Umber and in front of Lord Jeon, drawing his sword and digging it into the grass. “The King in the North!” he repeated loudly.

Lord Jeon stood from his place, looking down at the two men with something like awe in his expression. You knew you must have mirrored his look, but it was directed at him. As others rose to their feet, your father included, all drawing their swords and lifting them in the air, you looked around in astonishment.

“The King in the North!” they all shouted. “The King in the North!”

And standing amidst his people, all cheering for their new king, Jungkook appeared to you not as a boy taking his father’s role, but as a man worthy of the crown of his people.

Your breath felt labored, the blood rushing in your ears nearly drowning out the calls of everyone around you. You stayed seated, lips parted as the North gained a new king and its independence, its freedom, back. Your eyes couldn’t stray from your king’s form, tall and powerful among the lords rallied around him, and your chest was tight with a feeling you knew all too well and wished not to recognize.

You had been given your own chambers once the Northern forces had reached the Riverrun keep weeks ago. There had been another battle, one that you had witnessed crumbling from the moment King Jungkook’s uncle had gone off on his own instead of listening to the strategy the new king had told him. That argument had not been a pretty one, after all was done and the Lannister forces were forced to flee—he had wanted to trap the Lannister army between them, unable to retreat back to the South, but thanks to the insubordination they had been able to make a full retreat.

Walking down the hall, you made your way down the now familiar route to the king’s chambers. You were always discreet, but with a place this large and servants bustling about at all hours, it had only been a matter of time before rumors began to spread of the two of you.

You opened the door after you knocked, his voice signaling for you to enter. “My King,” you greeted with a small bow of your head. Once you had secured the door shut behind you, the king in the north beckoned you over to where he sat on the edge of the large bed.

“How many times must I remind you to call me Jungkook?” he asked.

“As many as you wish, my King,” you teased. Sitting beside him on the bed, he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you close. “How is it today?” you asked softly, lifting your own arms and embracing him back. You let one hand trail up to his hair, running your fingers through the dark strands.

He sighed into your neck and you had to suppress a shiver. “Better now that you’re here.”

“You really ought to let me give you some milk of the poppy,” you told him gently.

You could feel him shake his head against your shoulder. “The only thing I need to soothe me is to have you here, in my arms.” You didn’t respond, simply playing with his hair. This had become a nightly ritual for the two of you—your king summoned you to his chambers discreetly and you appeared, his request from the first night to just let him hold you until the tremors subsided still ringing true now weeks later. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into your skin. “I know this is unfair of me to ask of you.”

You shook your head, swallowing past the lump in your throat. You didn’t have the right to touch him like you were, to hold him as you were, but you wished for it to never end regardless. You knew that, eventually, you would have to hand him over to his betrothed, to a woman who was a stranger to him and to you; she would be the one wrapped up in his arms, clutching him to her breast and running her fingers through his hair. You selfishly prayed that day would never come.

“You can ask anything of me, Jungkook,” you whispered back, hugging him closer.

Neither of you said another word for the rest of the night, content with listening to the other’s calm breathing and the feel of your bodies pressed together in a sweet embrace. Once it was time, the two of you growing tired, Jungkook pulled away and lifted his hands to cup your face. His fingers brushed back your hair. You blinked blearily up at him, your arms slipping away from his body to rest on your lap.

“Go rest,” he said softly. “I’ve kept you long enough.”

You smiled at him, nodding your head, but he kept his hands on your cheeks. His thumbs trailed back and forth on your skin and he gazed at you for a long time, until your breathing started to deepen and your fingers started to shake. Finally, he released you from his gentle grasp, sitting back and watching as you gathered yourself and left his chambers as quietly as you could, just as he did every night.

The walk back to your own chambers was quiet, the rest of the castle fast asleep or outside on duty. Once you were curled up in your bed, sleep overtook you quickly. As you drifted off to the land of dreams, you thought you could almost still feel your king’s arms circling you.

You woke as early as you usually did, stretching and preparing for the day ahead of you. You knew you wouldn’t see Jungkook again until the night, as he was busy with his advisors and planning his next move against the Lannisters. You found your way to the kitchens, sneaking a few pieces of fruit and bread, dropping them in your bag.

Making your way down to the dungeons, the guard sighed and let you through the door easily; he had long given up arguing with you over it.

Two pairs of blue eyes met yours with excitement as the guard unlocked the cell and let you in. The two young boys smiled up at you easily, excited to see you. It broke your heart, how happy they seemed just to have another person come to them.

“Good morning, boys,” you greeted, digging through your bag. “I brought you some breakfast.” Their small hands took the food gratefully, quickly digging in to eat. Your chest twisted with something painful, watching them. “Did they bring you supper?”

Martyn, the older Lannister boy, shook his head. “No. One of the men said that Lannisters should learn what hunger really feels like.”

You bit your lip, brows furrowing at the bit of information. You stayed silent, watching the two young boys eat ravenously, and your heart ached for them. Once they had finished, you pulled out a cloth from your bag and knelt in front of them. They blinked at you but did not move.

“Martyn, don’t you know how to keep yourself clean?” you chided, though you didn’t mean it. The boy looked sheepish as you cupped one of his cheeks to hold his face still, using the cloth in your other to wipe away the bits of food stuck around his mouth. You wiped away the grime and dirt sticking to his face from the cold, small cell as well before moving on to do the same for Willem, who eagerly let you clean his face—you supposed the eleven year old must have seen you as a surrogate mother figure while he was being held away from his real one. You swallowed roughly at the thought of how worried their mother must be, wondering where her sons were and if they were even alive.

“Will you come back again?” Willem asked innocently, lifting one of his small hands to grab part of your dress.

You smiled at him as best you could, trying not to show them how affected you were. “Of course I will. Who else will take care of you?” All three of you giggled together, the tension easing. “Do either of you have any more scrapes for me to take a look at?” They shook their heads and you quietly let out a breath of relief.

“Is it true, what they say?” Martyn asked you abruptly.

“What do they say?” you questioned back.

“That the King in the North turns into a direwolf at night,” he said innocently. “That he howls at the moon and eats the flesh of his enemies.”

You gnawed on your lip, taking in the sparkling eyes of the young boys. Playfully, you leaned forward and lowered your voice. “It’s true,” you told them. “But only on the full moon. And he only eats the flesh of naughty boys who don’t listen to what they’re told, so you two had better behave yourselves.” They nodded their heads quickly, easily believing the tale.

As you took your leave, hugging each boy goodbye and promising to come see them tomorrow and to bring a bigger breakfast for them, you could hear them murmuring about how the king in the North couldn’t be killed with admiration in their voices. You sighed, the guard giving you a pitying look as you left the dungeon, hoping that the war would be won sooner rather than later. At least the boys didn’t seem to hate Northerners or the Starks, regardless of their family name and position.

As you exited the castle, you saw your father fuming and Jungkook’s mother in front of him. Their voices were loud enough to draw attention and you slipped closer to the crowed of soldiers around them, listening in.

“I’ll have their heads!” your father was shouting. “And if you try and stop me—“

“You will strike me down?” Lady Jeon yelled back, narrowing her eyes at him. Her face was twisted with rage so like the way Jungkook’s had before that you were momentarily reminded of how alike the two really were. “Have you forgotten me, Ser? I am the widow of your liege lord—I am the mother of your king!”

Lady Jeon’s guard unsheathed part of his sword, drawing nearer. “Threatening my Lady is an act of treason—“

Your father interrupted menacingly. “Treason? How can it be treason to kill Lannisters?”

Lady Jeon looked at him firmly. “I understand your grief, my Lord, better than most. The Lannisters will pay for their crimes, I promise you. But for now, in the name of my son—your king—stand down.”

“I will demand their heads from your son,” your father continued, anger still simmering in his expression.

Lady Jeon’s face tightened. “Wise men do not make demands of kings,” she warned.

“Fathers who love their sons do,” he spat back, turning away from her and marching toward the others. Soon, the crowd dispersed, and you quietly slipped away, unwilling to let anyone know that you had been down in the cells. Your heart was pounding harshly against your ribs, pumping dread through your entire body as you set about making your usual rounds to the soldiers to keep them healthy and well.

As you were going back to your chambers to grab a few things and rest a few moments, you were summoned by your father to his own. You quickly made your way there, knocking on the door to his chambers lightly.

“Come in,” he called from the other side of the door.

When you walked in, shutting the door behind you, you took in the dark look on your father’s face. You immediately knew to brace yourself for a lecture. “Yes, Father?” you prompted, clasping your hands in front of you as you waited.

He stood from his chair, watching you coldly. “Do you know what they’re saying about you?”

You swallowed. “What are they saying about me?”

“That you go into the king’s room every night for hours,” he started, almost spitting the words at you. “That my daughter is the king’s whore!”

You had to calm your breathing, trying not to panic at the insinuations. You already knew that they had been spreading rumors about you, but not to this extent. “I haven’t done anything improper with the king,” you mumbled, barely able to string a coherent sentence together; you were lying, of course—being alone with him and letting him hold you close was far from proper, but you hadn’t shared a bed with him.

“Do you think it matters, you stupid girl?” he shouted, drawing closer to you. You had to stop yourself from flinching away. “It doesn’t matter if you have or not! The rumors themselves, that you’re—that you’re spreading your legs for the king, no man will ever come near you!”

“But, Father—“

“Quiet!” he roared, his open palm coming down hard against your cheek. Your head snapped to the side and you cried out, reaching out to hold your stinging skin, looking back up at your father fearfully. “The king is betrothed to a Frey girl,” he continued, towering over you. Your hands started to shake. “He will never marry you. Do not bring dishonor on our family—on our House!”

You nodded your head, staying silent. After a few moments, your father scoffed and turned away from you, walking back toward the table in his room. You straightened your back again, hand still cupping your burning cheek.

“You are dismissed,” he told you coldly.

Without a word, you left his chambers. You kept your head down as you passed people in the halls, dropping your hand to your side and fisting the fabric of your dress in your hands. Once alone in your own room, you hurried to wash your face and press a cloth wet with cold water to your cheek, hoping that it wouldn’t swell.

You slipped down the hall toward Jungkook’s room, as you did every night. He hadn’t called for you yet, but you were impatient to feel his arms around you and feel his breath on your skin. The dread pooling in the pit of your stomach hadn’t subsided, but you pushed it to the back of your mind in favor of seeing your king.

When you passed the main hall, you paused, hearing people talking inside. The door was ajar and you peeked through the crack, seeing your father surrounded by a few other men and Jungkook himself standing before him. The king had a scowl on his face and you couldn’t help but quietly enter the room, watching and listening in even though you knew you shouldn’t. Jungkook’s eyes caught yours and for a brief moment you saw a distressed expression take hold on his face before he schooled it into something harsh and he looked away from you, toward your father.

You didn’t have to say anything, as your eyes were drawn toward the ground, where on a rag lay two bodies, dried blood smearing their throats. You bit back the gasp as bile rose in your throat, eyes wide and trained on the two young Lannister boys’ dead bodies, the familiar color of their golden hair and baby features startling you. You snapped your gaze back up toward your father’s back.

“Is this all of them?” Jungkook asked one of his guards. The man nodded his head. “It took five of you to murder two unarmed boys?”

“Not murder, Your Grace,” your father spat. “Vengeance.”

“Vengeance?” Jungkook repeated incredulously. “These boys did not kill your son. I saw your son die on the battlefield against the Kingslayer.”

“And they were his kin—“

“They were boys!” Jungkook yelled, unable to keep his composure. There was silence and you were sure if a needle dropped to the floor, you would be able to hear it. You wrung your hands, squeezing your fingers repeatedly, trying to keep your breathing steady and even. Your father had really gone through with his threats and killed the two boys. “Look at them,” Jungkook snarled at him.

“Tell your mother to look at them,” he shot back, eyes never wavering from Jungkook’s face. You managed to tear your gaze from the dead bodies, catching sight of a silent and disheveled Lady Jeon seated at the window sill, her eyes unmoving from the Lannister boys. “She killed them as much as I.”

“My mother had nothing to do with this. This was your treason—“

Your father interrupted, provoking the already angry King. You wished he would just stop talking for once, but you were familiar with his combative nature, too hot-headed to ever just shut up. “It’s treason to free your enemies! In war, you kill your enemies—did your father not teach you that, boy?”

There was a heavy silence, everyone’s eyes snapping to your father. Nobody seemed to be comfortable with the insult at Jungkook’s deceased father—he had been a good man, and an even better lord. One of the guards started to draw his sword, but King Jungkook raised his hand in a motion for him to stop.

“Leave him,” he said.

“Aye, leave me,” your father taunted, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Leave me to the king; he wants to give me a scolding before he sets me free. That’s how he deals with treason.” You could see the hateful smirk on your father’s face. Your eyes darted to Jungkook’s, which was set into a scowl. “Our king in the North… Or should I call him the king who lost the North?”

Jungkook’s face didn’t even twitch at the provocation. His eyes remained firmly on your father and when he spoke, his voice was soft—but the words were not. “Escort our lord to the dungeon. Hang the rest.”

After a beat of stunned silence, there was a flurry of movement. The guards began to push at the men to lead them out, and two guards gripped your father’s arms. One of the younger men spoke in a panic, struggling against the guards.

“Please, mercy, Your Grace!” he begged. “I didn’t kill anyone, I only watched for the guards!”

Jungkook’s cold eyes cut to the man, not a shred of compassion in his gaze. You shuddered, the look so foreign on his face. “This one was only the watcher,” he started, voice growing harsh. “Hang him last so he can watch the others die.” You watched on with a sense of growing horror as the men were shuffled out of the room and Jungkook turned away, his mother and uncle watching his every move.

“Word of this can’t leave Riverrun,” his uncle said, approaching Jungkook. You stood by the door, too frightened to make a move and draw the attention to yourself. “You can bury them and remain silent. The Lannisters always pay their debts, they keep fucking saying it—”

Jungkook cut his gaze to his uncle, halting him with just his look. “I can’t fight for justice if I don’t serve justice to murderers in my ranks, no matter how Highborn.” His eyes seemed to find yours for only a brief moment. “He has to die.”

The words cut straight through you and it was like your muscles remembered how to move again. Your steps were quick as you made for Jungkook, grabbing his arm and looking at him pleadingly. His own hands automatically raised to grip your elbows, almost steadying you.

“Please, my King,” you rasped. “Please, don’t do this, I beg of you—”

Lady Jeon cut in. “Keep him as a hostage until the war is over,” she argued, approaching the two of you quickly. “They’re Northmen. They won’t forget the killing of their lord, nor will they forgive it.”

“Please,” you whispered, gripping the fabric of his sleeves so hard your fingers started to ache. “Please don’t kill him, please, he’s my father—”

Jungkook’s eyes bore into yours and his brows furrowed. He seemed pained and his hands around your elbows tightened, as if he was going to make to pull you close. “Take her to her room,” he said instead, shoving you away from him. “Make sure she doesn’t come out.”

“No!” you begged, fisting the material of his shirt even tighter, refusing to let go of him even as his uncle grabbed your shoulders from behind to yank you back. “Please don’t do this, Jungkook, please, he’s my father, don’t take him from me like my brother was, please, he’s all I have left—”

Your pleas fell on closed ears, Jungkook turning away from you harshly as you were dragged out of the room, still kicking and screaming and pleading with him to reconsider. You didn’t even feel the hot sting of tears rolling down your cheeks until you were thrown into your chambers and the door locked from the outside.

You rushed at the door, attempting to open it even as you heard the locks click into place, screaming and crying until your voice went hoarse and your throat ached with every wracking breath you took in.

JUNGKOOK

Jungkook watched the men lead the lord over to the stone, the weather just as gloomy and threatening as the atmosphere that surrounded everyone. Many of the lord’s men stood to watch the execution, as well as his own family and other houses.

His hands were bound, his look venomous as Jungkook approached him. “The blood of the First Men flows through my veins as it does yours, boy,” he spat at the young king. “I fought the Mad King for your father,” he continued. “I fought the boy-king for you. We are kin.”

Jungkook’s voice was even as he spoke, though he could feel the weight of the sword at his hip like it wished to drag him to his knees. “That didn’t stop you from betraying me. And it won’t save you now.”

“I don’t want it to save me,” the lord scoffed, a mean smirk playing on his lips. “I want it to haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed at the older man. “Kneel, my Lord.”

The man did so after a long look at his king. He dropped his knees to the ground and bent his body over the stone until his head was past the edge. Jungkook drew his sword, willing his hands to stop shaking and that nobody would notice it; he set the tip on the ground and held the hilt with both hands as he started to speak.

“Lord of Karhold, here in sight of men and gods, I sentence you to die.” Jungkook looked down pitifully at the older man. “Would you speak a final word?”

The man slowly turned his head to glance up at Jungkook, his features contorted with rage. “Kill me and be cursed,” he said. “You are no king of mine.”

Before he had even fully turned his head back down, Jungkook drew his sword up in front of him. With a harsh, swift movement he swung the sword down and the metal sliced into the lord’s neck until it went cleanly through. The head fell to the ground with a thud and blood dripped down the metal of his sword beside it. His eyes tore away from the sight and he was breathing heavily as he turned away, the silence of everyone around him deafening.

Jungkook walked away from the scene, sword clasped tightly in his fist and trailing blood behind him.

It didn’t take long for his mother and uncle to find him in his chambers, sitting at his table with a look of concentration on his face. His sword was nowhere to be found, as he’d given it to a squire to clean.

Before they could say a word, Jungkook spoke up without looking at them. “Are there guards posted by ____’s room?”

“Yes,” his uncle replied.

Jungkook sighed. His mother stepped closer to him, but stayed on the other side of the table. “His men won’t forget this,” she warned. “The second they seize her, they’ll abandon you and march back North.”

He sighed again. “I know.” Staring daggers into the wood, he repeated the words. “I know.”

“How will you manage to keep her as a political hostage?” his uncle said. “They might abandon us even without her. I don’t think those stubborn soldiers will willingly ride into battle for us regardless of if their lord’s daughter is locked up in a room somewhere or not.”

Jungkook had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Bile rose in his throat and he knew what his mother was going to say the second he met her eyes.

“You’ll have a choice,” she said gently, kindly. “You can let her go with her father’s forces back to the North, and marry the Frey girl for more men from Lord Frey.”

“There’s no guarantee that he would send them in time,” Jungkook groaned, dropping his chin to rest on his palm. “Lord Frey is notorious for sending his men at the end of wars.”

His mother reached a hand over to settle it on his shoulder. He wished, for a brief moment, that he was young enough again to be able to hide in her skirts and be comforted by her. But he wasn’t. And the burden he carried now would forever rest on his shoulders.

“You can marry her,” she said. Jungkook glanced up, catching sight of his startled uncle staring at his sister as if she were mad. “It would bind our families together and as the only remaining heir to their House, you would be in command of their men until she had a son. They would have to stay.”

“If you do that,” his uncle started. “The Freys will never forgive you. Lord Frey is not a man to be crossed.”

“You are both right,” Jungkook mumbled. “But I will not force her to marry me. And I’ve already given my word to Lord Frey.”

His mother pursed her lips. “You won’t be forcing her. We need only speak to her mother. And they won’t refuse you—their House will care more for having a daughter as Queen in the North. I need only your agreement, Jungkook.”

Jungkook dragged a hand over his face. There was no way he could put his trust in Frey to send men in time for the next battle. That wretch of a man would rather see them all dead than send his aid, even if his daughter became Jungkook’s wife; his children were too many to count on his favor for any of them.

“I’ll do it,” he strained. “Send a raven.”

YOU

It had been days since the execution of your father. You were not allowed to leave your chambers, maids leaving your meals for you before leaving and locking the door. There were always at least three guards posted right outside of your room—and if you had somehow managed to get past them, there would be many more of Jungkook’s men that you would encounter.

The door to your chambers opened suddenly and you flinched, straining to see from your spot on the windowsill. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of your mother, the door shutting quietly after she was let inside. You stood from the window and rushed over to her, wrapping your arms around her tightly. She embraced you just as tightly, her hand stroking your back comfortingly as you started to cry like you had as a child.

“Are we leaving?” you finally whimpered, sniffling. “Are we going back home?”

Your mother’s silence concerned you. Your heart started to beat faster and you tightened your grip on her, waiting. “We’re not going home, my sweet child.”

You pulled back, hating the pitying look on her face. “What do you mean? Why not? They—“ You swallowed, eyes turning down toward your feet. “He killed Father.”

“He did,” she replied. Her hands pulled away from your back and she brushed your hair from your face, wiping your tears gently. “But you’re going to marry him.”

Her words were like ice piercing straight through your abdomen. “What?” you whispered. “No, you can’t be—you can’t be serious!” Your voice started to strain and you backed away from her, shaking your head. “You can’t make me!”

She sighed, clicking her tongue as if you’d just refused to sit with the maesters. “Think about what you’re saying,” she chided. She walked to your bed and sat at the edge. “Your father and brother are dead. You’re the heir to Karhold. Who will take care of us?” she asked. “Neither of us will be able to take care of ourselves. You’ll have to marry anyway.”

“But surely not him,” you sputtered. “He’s promised to a Frey girl! He can’t marry me!”

Your mother stopped your arguments with one harsh look. “Think. The King in the North has already sought out your hand. Do you think any other man, Highborn or not, will dare ask for your hand now?” You bit your lip, unable to say anything back. “If you don’t marry him, you’ll bring ruin to our Great House.” She sighed, standing again. “I’ve already approved the match. After all this, you’ll be Queen in the North. Our family will rise to an equal level with House Stark.”

You blinked back your tears, letting your mother take your limp hands in her own and squeeze them. “How can I marry my father’s murderer?” you whispered, staring at her fingers wrapped around yours.

She frowned. “We all do the things we must, in any situation. He will not be the man who killed your father after this. He will be your king and your husband.” You sniffled and she made a displeased noise. “Your children will be princes and princesses. Soon, you will forget all about your worries and be free, my dear.”

You tried to give your mother a smile, swallowing all of the pain stirring in your chest. “You’re right. I’m being silly.”

She smiled, now, and wrapped you up in another hug. “I want you to be happy,” she said quietly in your ear.

“I will be,” you answered her, though you didn’t believe it yourself.

The ceremony would be soon, you knew. You hadn’t seen your newly betrothed nor anyone else, for that matter, besides the servants who brought your meals. You knew they must have been afraid that you would run away if given too much freedom, even if you had agreed to the marriage. You spent your days and nights doing nothing but think and remember the last conversation you’d had with your father. You blinked and wiped away your tears, not wanting to ruin the makeup they had spent so long on.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock on your door—you had to hold back a chuckle at the notion. It was locked and the person outside would need to unlock it themselves, so there really wasn’t a point in knocking.

Your mother walked in, smiling widely as she saw you. “My sweet child,” she breathed. “You look beautiful.”

You hoped your own smile didn’t look too much like a grimace. “Thank you.”

She rushed over, helping you stand and fixing a few of the wrinkles she could see in your gown. “Here,” she said, gesturing for you to turn around. “Let me put the cloak around you.” You faced away from your mother to let her put the thin fabric with your House colors on your shoulders, covering much of your frame.

You turned toward the door just in time to see a man you didn’t recognize walk into your chambers. “Who is this?” you asked.

“A distant relative,” your mother answered easily. Her face soured for a moment before it fixed back to her normal smile, though you could tell she was forcing it. “Since your father and brother both won’t be able to walk with you.”

You swallowed past the growing lump in your throat. “Right.” Your mother left before you, hurrying to the courtyard where the ceremony and feast would be held. You took in a shaky breath and approached the handsome man.

“You look beautiful,” he said kindly as he offered you his arm. “My name is Eunwoo.”

“Thank you, Ser,” you mumbled, taking his arm hesitantly and allowing him to lead you from the room toward the feast. You could hear a soft melody the closer you got.

“Oh, please,” he laughed. “I’m no knight. Just call me Eunwoo.”

You somehow managed to shoot him a strained smile, fingers subconsciously tightening on his arm the closer you got to the feast. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Silently, he helped you drape your veil over your face.

The two of you exited the castle and a hush fell across the guests. There were candles and torches lit, placed strategically to give off an intimate atmosphere under the darkness of the night sky. Through the veil, you could vaguely make out the shape of Jungkook standing at the end by the Septon.

You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, you repeated to yourself like a mantra.

Once you were close enough, Eunwoo released you and you took a deep breath. You could tell that the ceremony was being held in the Godswood, the different faiths combining for your wedding. You supposed it was to appease all the gods, since the two of you were from Northern families who still worshipped the old gods.

Jungkook’s uncle stood beside him—at least, you assumed it was his uncle. You weren’t sure until you heard his voice.

“Who comes before the old gods this night?” he asked. With all the ceremonies you’d been to, his voice reciting the words sounded awkward; it couldn’t be helped, you supposed, since Jungkook’s uncle was from Riverrun and not the North.

Eunwoo spoke on your behalf, saying your name and House. “She comes here to be wed. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods,” he finished with. His voice was confident as he said the words. “Who comes to claim her?”

You swallowed as Jungkook stepped forward. “Jeon Jungkook, of House Stark. Heir to Winterfell and King in the North. Who gives her?”

“Cha Eunwoo of House Poole,” your distant relative answered. “A cousin to her mother.”

Jungkook’s uncle spoke again, directing his question to you. “Do you take this man?”

There was a long silence as they all waited for you. I could go now, you thought to yourself, heart pounding harshly. If I beg the Septon, he’d help me, surely. I could go.

“I take this man,” you murmured, stepping forward toward Jungkook. Everyone seemed to release a breath of relief when you finally answered, the tension that was starting to build up easing. Jungkook’s uncle and Eunwoo left the two of you.

You could vaguely make out their figures moving to the side, presumably to find a place to stand on the proper sides of the guests. You walked forward the rest of the way to Jungkook on shaky feet. Once you stood beside him, you faced him and he pivoted to face you as well. His hands gripped the hem of the veil and he lifted it from your face, letting it fall over your shoulders. Your eyes met his for a long moment and your chest felt tight with something bittersweet; this had been the sight that you yearned for, a mere few weeks ago. Now seeing him illuminated by the fires and moonlight, standing before you and a Septon, you were overcome with the urge to cry—for your grief and for your love, which hadn’t disappeared as you thought it would.

The Septon’s voice broke the spell the two of you had suddenly been put under and you darted your gaze over to him. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Jungkook nodded and shrugged the dark cloak off of his shoulders. He circled you until he stood behind you and he gently lay the cloak over your shoulders, making sure it was completely in place before he pulled his hands back. You found yourself wishing that he would keep his hands against your skin and you hated yourself for it.

When he came back to stand at your side, the two of you faced the Septon. Jungkook stretched his arm out with his palm facing the ground and you followed suit, resting your hand on top of his. A shiver ran up your arm and you almost couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight.

“In the sight of the Seven,” the Septon started, voice echoing through the silent grounds. He dropped a strip of fabric on your hands and began to wrap them together, looping the thin white cloth around three times as he continued. “I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words.”

You swallowed roughly and turned to face Jungkook, who did the same and faced you. Your hands remained together between the two of you. Like this, you almost felt too close to him. You could hardly breathe, especially when his dark eyes were so tender in that moment, the features that had looked so cold the last time you saw him now appeared soft and gentle.

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” the two of you recited together. “Mother, Maiden, Crone.” You licked your lips. “Stranger.”

“I am hers, and she is mine,” Jungkook said softly.

“I am his, and he is mine,” you echoed at the same time.

The two of you finished the last of the vows quickly. “From this day until the end of my days.”

There was a long pause, everything quiet but the sound of your breathing and the crackling of the fire. You glanced at the Septon, who gave the two of you a small nod with a smile. Jungkook’s hand turned upwards and he held yours in his gently. Leaning forward, he raised his other hand and his fingers grazed your cheek. He cupped your face and you let your eyes flutter shut as he pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. Jungkook’s mouth remained on yours for a few seconds and a tingling sensation started on your lips, spreading to the rest of your body as if the gods themselves had reached forward and given you a drop of nectar.

When he pulled back, you opened your eyes and an applause started from the guests—almost all of which were soldiers. You took in a shaky breath and tried to smile, eyes scanning the crowd of suddenly noisy people for your mother. You met Lady Jeon’s eyes instead and her smile was so warm as she gazed at the two of you, hands clutched together tightly, that it almost brought a wave of fresh tears to your eyes.

You squeezed Jungkook’s hand, wanting to feel his skin on yours desperately and hating yourself for it.

Jungkook walked over to the largest table with you at his side, hands still clasped together. Everyone’s voices started at once, the crowds starting to gather from the food that had been prepared, digging in immediately. As the two of you sat down, Jungkook released your hand. You put them in your lap, staring at the food in front of you blankly, the mix of emotions swirling inside your stomach distracting you from wanting to eat anything. When you peeked over at Jungkook, he was eating slowly, talking with the people who came up to the table lightly.

It didn’t take long before the guests grew rowdy, their voices growing loud and chanting something that you didn’t want to hear.

“Bed them! Bed them! Bed them!”

You glanced over at Jungkook with wide eyes. The corners of his lips were twitched down into a small frown, but he clenched his jaw and forced a smile onto his face.

“Perhaps we should skip the bedding ceremony,” he said.

There was a round of boo’s from the guests and soldiers.

“Your Grace!” someone shouted from the crowd. “It’s only right to bed the new lovers!”

He sighed as everyone started to laugh and cheer, already getting up from their seats. “Alright, alright,” he grumbled. He got up, the few women in attendance hurrying up to the two of you.

A group of the soldiers followed suit, all of them rushing the two of you out of your seats and shoving you toward the hall again. The women giggled as they pulled at Jungkook, undoing his buttons and strings. Your breathing quickened as the soldiers lifted you in the air, hands gripping you tightly so you didn’t fall. They led forward first, tugging at your cloak and dropping it in the warm hall as they rushed you toward the king’s bedroom.

“Watch your hands!” Jungkook shouted from behind. The men looked sheepish and stopped their insistent gripping at your gown, thankfully leaving you with your dress on. They pushed open the door and carried you to the bed, dropping you unceremoniously onto it. The women dragging Jungkook inside weren’t far behind, and you swallowed as you saw his disshelved state—his shirt was pulled open to reveal most of his chest, and his pants already half undone.

They pushed Jungkook beside you and he let out a small noise as he fell next to you, hand catching on yours for a brief moment. The two of you looked up at the men and women still laughing, their smiles wide and naughty.

“Have fun,” one of the soldiers said, winking as he ushered the others out. “Don’t be too rough, now! One should always be gentle with a lady on the first night!” he called loudly before they left the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

And then you and Jungkook were alone in his chambers, only the dim candlelight illuminating your forms.

You stood from the bed, pulling at the sleeves of your dress nervously. Jungkook stayed seated on the bed, watching you silently. It only served to unnerve you more. You heard him shift behind you, but you refused to turn and look at him.

“If you don’t want to—” he started.

“It’s fine,” you said tightly. “We have to.”

More silence. You continued to fiddle with your sleeves, unsure of what to do. There was a soft sigh behind you and more rustling. You didn’t hear Jungkook come up behind you until you felt his hands on your arms, gripping them gently. You couldn’t stop the flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop,” you said, just as quietly.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Jungkook continued. “If things had been different—”

“I said stop!” you shouted, whirling around to face him. Jungkook dropped his hands from your arms. You hit his chest with one of your fists, not hard enough to truly hurt him but hard enough for him to feel the weight of it. He said nothing, eyes falling shut as the room smothered the two of you in silence.

Tears were starting to fall down your cheeks and your chest was heaving with soft sobs. “You killed him,” you whispered, voice thick. Jungkook remained silent. You hit him again, with both fists, and kept hitting him, moving his body backwards with each strike. “You killed him and you didn’t let me see him!” Your voice cracked as you screamed the words at him, your punches to his chest landing more frantically in your hysteria. “You didn’t let me, you didn’t let me, you didn’t let me—”

Jungkook’s fingers wrapped around your wrists tight and he pulled you flush against his chest, halting your assault. You were crying loudly, now, thrashing and twisting in his grip in an attempt to dislodge his hands. He didn’t let go, instead shaking you back and forth.

“Of course I didn’t!” he shouted, his own voice hoarse and his eyes glassy. You fought to get away from him, not wanting to hear his voice, the same voice that had whispered such sweet words in your ear only weeks before. “You would never have forgotten it, if you had seen. I was trying to protect you!” He shook you again and you let yourself finally look at him, let yourself see the desperation in his eyes. “Don’t you understand?” he asked. “Don’t you understand that I was trying to protect you?”

You went limp in his grasp, sobbing violently. Jungkook released your wrists and caught you in his arms instead, wrapping you up in his embrace as he held you close. You rested your head on his chest and let him hold you as you cried, grief washing over your body like the winter winds. His hands stroked your back comfortingly, his face burying itself in your hair. You could feel his heartbeat as you wept against his chest, fast and unsteady just as yours beat.

Looking up at him with teary eyes, you took in a shaky breath. “Comfort me,” you whimpered, leaning forward. “Please.”

Without another word, Jungkook pressed his mouth to yours harshly. He kissed you almost violently, hands gripping your body tight enough to leave bruises as he led you back toward the bed. The back of your legs hit the edge and you sat down, his lips following after you while you crawled up onto the middle. Jungkook crawled up toward you, lips finding the skin of your neck and trailing chaste kisses up and down it before pressing his tongue to the flesh.

You arched your back and spread your legs, allowing his hips to nestle comfortably against yours, the hard bulge in his pants pressing against you deliciously. He bit down on your shoulder as his hands hurriedly lifted the skirts of your dress, fingers trailing on your skin light enough to ignite a sense of urgency in your nerves. You rocked your hips up into his, chuckling breathlessly at the groan you received from him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, beginning to pull his head away from you so that he could look at you.

Your mouth dried and you didn’t want his eyes on yours. With your hands, you gripped his hair and lightly pushed his head back down toward your neck, swallowing roughly. “Make me forget, Jungkook,” you told him. “Please.”

There was a pause and the tension between you was harsh, almost suffocating you as you waited, throbbing, underneath him. Then Jungkook moved and you let a relieved sigh escape your lips as he slightly lifted his head to kiss you. His eyes were closed and his mouth was rough, just as you wanted it.

His hands continued to shove your dress up until you could feel the breeze of the cool room against your bare skin. He barely glanced down to look at you as his hand found your undergarments, fingers caressing your most sensitive spot. You gasped softly, pulling away from his hungry kisses as he rubbed his fingers against you, the added friction of your underwear making you shudder.

“Do you want it?” he asked roughly, looking down at you.

You couldn’t meet his eyes and turned your head to the side, thighs opening wider to give him more room. “Yes,” you whispered.

“How badly do you want me?” Jungkook pressed, rubbing against your clit harder.

“So badly,” you breathed, a moan escaping. “I want you so bad, please—”

Jungkook nearly tore your undergarments off, yanking them roughly down your legs until you could kick them off, roughly maneuvering you as he did so, which you didn’t mind. He continued with your dress, actually ripping the seams on the back after he pulled you up a bit to get it off. You helped him as quickly as you could, pulling your arms out of it and then kicking the heavy thing off and tossing it to the floor.

Pausing to just look at you, splayed out beneath him, Jungkook gave you a strained yet soft smile. You didn’t want to see it. Instead, you grabbed at the hem of his own shirt and started tugging, wanting him to take it off. He snapped out of whatever it was he was thinking and helped you, undressing himself quickly until the two of you were bare before each other.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes trail down his body, taking in every inch of his beautiful form. Your gaze stopped at his cock, erect and red—it was larger than you’d thought. Would it even be able to fit inside of you? You paled for a second as you stared shamelessly at it.

Jungkook chuckled, leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to your head. You looked up at him in slight alarm. “Don’t worry,” he reassured you. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Are you sure it’ll fit?” you asked in a small voice, unable to stop yourself.

With a choking cough, Jungkook looked away from you and bit his lip hard. When he turned back to you, his eyes were nearly black, the pupils dilated and covering almost his entire irises. “Yes, it’ll fit,” he said gruffly. “I’ll prepare you first.”

“What do you mean, ‘prepare’ me—” You cut yourself off with a hitched gasp as one of his fingers slipped inside of you slowly. You clenched your fists and flopped back all the way onto the large bed, your cheeks and neck hot.

Jungkook leaned over you as he worked his finger inside of you, curling it and seemingly looking for something. When you peeked up at him, you could see that his eyes were focused completely on his movements between your thighs.

“I’ll prepare you with my fingers, first,” he said in a dark voice, another finger starting to slowly push inside of you. You groaned gutturally, screwing your eyes shut. “You’re already very wet, so it shouldn’t hurt when I replace my fingers with my cock.”

Your eyes were wide at his crude words and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at how he was looking at you—or, well, a part of you. The pleasure from his fingers was starting to take you over completely, the pressure from the second digit starting to disappear.

His thumb pressed against your clit and you moaned unbidden, the sound nearly tearing itself out of your throat. You quickly covered your face with your hands, not wanting him to see whatever faces you were making as he worked on pleasuring and preparing you.

“No one’s ever touched you like this?” Jungkook asked, his voice breathy and pleasant. You shook your head, pushing it back into the pillow as your back arched and your hips rocked up toward his fingers. “Gods, you’re beautiful. I could spend all day like this, watching you come undone on my fingers.”

“Please,” you begged, not sure what you were even asking for. “Please, Jungkook—”

“You want to come?” he asked. You nodded your head. “Answer me when I ask you a question.”

With a whimper, you moved your hands down your face and rested them on your chest. “Yes, please Jungkook, I want to come—”

“Then come,” he said easily. His fingers worked you harder, his thumb pressing against your clit deliciously and your mouth fell open as the ecstasy ran through your abdomen and through your entire body. You came around his fingers, clenching them erratically and rolling your hips up into his palm.

When the feeling had passed and you relaxed your tensed limbs, Jungkook’s fingers moved inside of you. You winced and wriggled, but he shushed you and moved his thumb away from your clit. You felt a third finger press against your folds and then he slipped it inside, all the way to the knuckle, along with the two still inside you.

“Jungkook—”

“You’ll need more than two fingers to be able to take my cock,” he told you gently, but when you glanced at his eyes you could see them flickering with something like delight. His fingers moved inside you slowly until you were moaning again, the slight pain turning to pleasure again. Jungkook groaned and his voice was unsteady when he spoke. “You’re so tight and wet, and all for me.”

You whimpered at his words, clenching around his fingers. “I’m ready, please, Jungkook, I want you—”

“Fuck,” he grunted, pulling his fingers out of you abruptly. You were left clenching around nothing and feeling strangely empty, but it didn’t last long. You peered down and saw Jungkook using the hand that was pleasuring you wrapped around himself and he was pumping his cock with it, letting out quiet hisses of bliss at the friction. He guided himself toward you and the head of his cock rubbed against your folds, gathering your slick.

You swallowed nervously and couldn’t help but tense up your body.

Jungkook noticed and used his other hand to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Are you ready?” he asked seriously. You couldn’t move away from him thanks to the hand on your jaw, but you knew he would pull away from you if you asked in that moment. You knew he was asking you are you sure you want this and not are you ready for me because you knew him.

“Yes,” you whispered, holding his gaze confidently.

Jungkook released your jaw and then pushed his cock inside of you slowly, eyes never leaving your face. Every time you tensed your body more or bit your lip, he stopped and waited for you to relax. It took a few moments, but eventually he was buried completely inside of you.

You were already sweating, your body feeling completely damp. Jungkook was right above you, his own hair damp and his breath heavy on your face. He held himself up and off of you, only touching you where his cock was sheathed in you, his hips against yours, and his thighs brushing yours. You let your hands press against his chest, dragging your hands up and down slowly. You were clenching tightly around his cock, still unable to relax completely. It felt more like an intrusion than anything you would willingly partake in, but you were sure the pain would ebb into pleasure soon.

Jungkook shuddered above you and you watched him curiously as you let your fingers caress his collarbones and up his neck to his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut and you could see him swallow. You raked your nails lightly down his neck and chest, letting your hands grip his sides. He shifted and then you felt him brush against something inside of you that made you arch your back and nearly cry out from the ecstasy that shot through your limbs.

“There?” he asked breathlessly. He pressed in even deeper, holding himself still against that spot inside of you and your legs wrapped around his hips, trying to get him in even deeper. Your arms moved of their own accord, going around his back and nails digging into his skin. “Does that feel good?” he teased.

You let out a puff of air and nodded your head, pulling him down against you completely. He nipped at the skin of your shoulder as you buried your head against his neck and pressed a chaste kiss to his warm skin. “Yes,” you answered shakily. “You can move now.”

With a shaky exhale, Jungkook shifted and then pulled his cock out slowly. You made a strangled noise, the sensation strange and foreign. Then he pushed back in slowly, starting a gentle pace in and out as you adjusted to the new feelings between your thighs. You were throbbing and he let you hold him as tightly as you desired, his chest brushing your breasts lightly. His hand ran down the side of your body and he slipped it between your bodies, fingers finding your clit easily and rubbing circles against it.

“Faster,” you breathed, arching your back and throwing your head back against the pillow. Jungkook groaned and didn’t quicken his pace, simply looking down at you curiously.

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Please,” you whispered, shutting your eyes and clinging to him tighter. “Harder.” You didn’t dare open your eyes and look at him, simply letting yourself lose your senses in the movements of his cock and hands.

He complied with your request, pulling back from your body and then slamming into you roughly, making you cry out in surprise. It was as if he became a beast, his hands grabbing hold of your hips and yanking you toward him as he sat back on the bed, thrusting his cock in and out of you harshly. Your hands slipped off of his shoulders and you fisted them in the sheets of the bed, moaning unabashedly at how blissful it felt.

The pain strangely offered you a newer sensation, mixing with pleasure deliciously. You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t want him to stop. No, you wanted more.

Clenching around his cock, you moved your hands back up to his forearms for purchase as he pistoned in and out of you relentlessly. His quiet grunts as he rocked his hips into yours only fueled your pleasure, the ecstasy spreading from where you were joined to your abdomen once again. You took in a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut as you came undone a second time, this time around his cock.

As the pleasure ebbed away, you winced at Jungkook’s continued movements. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked quietly, still thrusting into you harshly. You grabbed one of his hands and swallowed, moving it away from your hip. You pulled yourself backwards, off of his still hard and leaking cock, and he bit his lip as he watched you.

When he started to shift away from you, you squeezed his hand to stop him. Jungkook watched you curiously, unsure of what you wanted from him. You yanked on his hand to bring him forward and he took the hint, letting you maneuver him until he was seated against the headboard of the bed. You licked your lips and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his mouth while you straddled his lip, positioning yourself above his no doubt aching cock.

You slowly sat down, using one hand to guide him in properly. With a hiss, you felt the head of his cock push past your folds and into you. Somehow, he felt much bigger in this position. You could barely make out his expression as you were too focused on fitting him in completely, but you could tell he was holding himself back from making any movements while waiting for you.

Once you were fully seated on his cock and your slick was dripping onto his thighs, you fluttered your eyes open and met his hungry gaze immediately. Jungkook let his palms rest on your thighs, where he slowly trailed them up to your hips, his fingers caressing you tenderly.

“You’re so big,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck while you adjusted to the stretch once again.

Jungkook groaned and pulled you closer, both of you moaning when you rolled your hips and clenched around him. “You don’t know how dangerous you are,” he breathed, letting his forehead rest against yours and his eyes shut. “It’s taking every bit of self-control that I possess not to fuck you until you’re crying.”

You couldn’t help but smile shyly at him, even though he couldn’t see it. “Why don’t you, then?” you said teasingly.

Jungkook’s eyes snapped open and he peered at you darkly. “It would be wise to keep your mouth shut before I find another use for it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his words, but then he thrust upwards and your giggles turned into gasps for air and quiet moans. One of his hands found its way to your clit again, rubbing the throbbing area until you were almost wildly bucking into his hand, clenching erratically around his cock. His other hand trailed up from your hip to your hair at the base of your neck, gripping it tightly in his fist and yanking your head back to bare your neck.

“I think you need a lesson,” he growled against your skin, biting down hard on your throat while he fucked up into you. Your fingers found their way to his hair and and you fisted the strands sporadically while you moved along with him, feeling as if every nerve in your body was screaming, drowning you in a pleasure you’d never known before.

It didn’t take long for you to orgasm again, your hips stuttering as he rolled his own upwards, his cock dragging against your clenching walls heavily, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders for support. His fingers didn’t stop moving against your clit, his cock still shoving into you roughly, and it all helped you drag out your pleasure until tears were spilling from your eyes, all of your feelings crashing into you at once along with the pleasure.

You held Jungkook to you tightly as he chased his own release, breathing heavily while he left a trail of sloppy kisses against your shoulder and neck. It took only a few more strokes until he was coming, tugging on your hair and pulling you close, his fingers moving from your clit to wrap around your back and hold you to him while he emptied his seed inside of you. You shuddered at the warmth filling you, squeezing tightly around him to try to prolong his pleasure.

When it was all over, the two of you sat there, holding each other close, the tears in your eyes freely flowing down your cheeks. You had no doubt that Jungkook knew you were crying, but he said nothing. He released his grip on your hair and let his hand drag down your back gently, still hugging you close to him. You could feel his come start to drip out of you, his cock softening inside you until it started to slip out as well.

Jungkook didn’t make a move to shift the two of you, allowing you to take a moment that you so desperately needed. You used one hand to rub at your eyes and cheeks, wiping the tears away, and you shakily exhaled as you pulled away from him. His arms relaxed around you so that you could pull back, and you met his dark eyes. Looking away from him, you shifted your hips up so that his cock slipped out of you, grimacing at the dripping release that followed it.

Neither of you spoke as he helped you clean yourself up and then the two of you prepared for bed. Once you were both comfortably laying underneath the furs, Jungkook turned to look at you beside him. You turned your own head toward him, watching him silently and waiting.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, almost whispering. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You allowed yourself a brief smile as Jungkook reached over and gently caressed the side of your face with his fingertips. “No,” you whispered back, trying to ignore the swell of the ache in your chest. “You didn’t hurt me.”

The morning had been stiff and odd, soreness settling into your limbs and making you wince with each movement. Jungkook had risen the same time as you, both of you muttering quietly as you spoke briefly—neither of you were used to waking beside another.

Jungkook had left a mere moments ago when there was a knock at the door. You were still seated by the mirror in the room, head turning to call for whoever it was to enter. When the door opened, you saw your mother’s bright face peeking in and you smiled. At the sight of you alone, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her, walking over to you with something clasped in her hands.

“How was it, my sweet child?” she asked, a smirk on her face. Your cheeks felt hot and you were violently aware of the marks littered on your neck and down your chest. The servants had not been in yet, but you knew your mother could clearly see what she was looking for on the sheets, barely covered by the furs.

“Mother,” you chided, voice muffled with embarrassment. “That’s not proper—”

“Oh, please,” she waved off, coming closer to you and putting a hand on your shoulder. “Men will be men. As your mother, I want to know that my daughter is being taken care of.”

You sighed aggressively, rolling your eyes. “It was fine.” At her raised eyebrows, you curled in on yourself a bit. “He was just fine. I didn’t know I could feel like that,” you muttered, almost under your breath.

She chuckled and nodded her head. “Good. Now, here, drink this,” she continued, holding out a small vial to you with a liquid you didn’t recognize inside. At your questioning look, she finished speaking. “It’s to help with fertility. You need to cement this union with a child soon.”

You pursed your lips but took the vial from her nonetheless. Going down your throat, the liquid was bitter, but you held back the cough as you handed it back to her. She smiled sweetly at you and patted your shoulder.

“I will be with you a while longer,” she said. “There is nothing much for me to return home to, as things are.”

The ache that had dulled in your chest grew sharp at her words. You couldn’t speak even as she left the room, and you fidgeted with your fingers where you sat. Tears sprung to your eyes and you sat where you were, crying as quietly as you could manage. Even as the maids came in and inspected the sheets before removing them, replacing them with new ones, you sat and wept for all that you had lost—you were not sure that what you had gained could ever overshadow the grief.

You stretched your arms and back, letting out a satisfied groan when you felt the crack in your stiff muscles. Jungkook had gone out to speak with the soldiers and heads of the Houses, and you had just finished up your breakfast when your mother came into your room, precisely at the time she did every morning these days.

“Again?” you huffed.

Your mother clucked her tongue at you as she held out the same vial to you, which you took with a grumble about the taste every morning. “You know it’s important for you to produce an heir, my darling. Once you are with child, there won’t be a need for these visits.”

You rolled your eyes but drank the bitter liquid anyway, crinkling your nose as you swallowed it down in one go. “It’s been weeks, Mother, surely it’s helped as much as it could with fertility by now. We wouldn’t know, anyway, if I were with child already.”

She didn’t say anything, instead sitting across from you and helping herself to some of your almost finished breakfast. You let her, setting the vial down on the table and sighing. With her mouth full, your mother started to speak. “And how is our king? Can I assume he’s still as enthusiastic as he was on your wedding night?”

Your neck felt warm and you huffed loudly, crossing your arms. “Mother! How can you ask me that so easily?”

She smiled at you wickedly. “Everyone can hear you two, you know. It’s a little unnerving hearing the servants and a few others talking about your daughter’s activities with her husband, but thank the gods I’m staying nowhere near this room—”

“Okay, okay, enough!” you yelped, shaking your hands out to get her to stop. She laughed heartily, but you couldn’t stop the embarrassment that filled your gut. Though you knew by now that if Jungkook knew about this, he’d be thrilled—he did often whisper huskily in your ear to be louder, to let everyone know how good he was making you feel.

There was a knock on the door to your shared quarters and a guard poked his head in after you called out for whoever it was to enter. You stood from your chair, your mother quickly doing the same.

“My Queen,” he said gruffly. “Your presence has been requested by the King. You are to come at once.”

You nodded your head, letting the smile slip from your lips and a more serious expression settling in place. “Take me to him,” you told the guard. He nodded, opening the door fully and waiting for you. Turning to your mother, you found her already looking at you. “I’ll come visit you soon,” you said softly. She nodded her head and took the empty vial with her before she left ahead of you, walking down the hall. You walked out of your room and the guard shut it behind you before he escorted you to the main hall that was used to welcome in guests.

When you entered, you saw Jungkook seated on one side of the large table, two men seated across from him. Your husband looked at you warmly and quietly motioned for you to take a seat beside him, which you did with ease. He reached over and gripped your hand under the table, intertwining your fingers with his. You tried to keep the small smile off of your lips, but you knew you weren’t too successful in your attempt.

“These are two of Lord Frey’s sons,” Jungkook introduced, squeezing your hand.

You swallowed nervously and smiled at them. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lords.”

One of the men looked you up and down, his gaze lingering on your chest for a few moments too long. You tried not to scowl or roll your eyes. “So this is who you married instead of one of our sisters.” Jungkook cleared his throat. The man continued, not letting your husband utter a single word. “No matter. We come bearing news from our Lord Father. He is a forgiving man, our father. He wants to make you an offer.”

Jungkook leaned forward a bit, interested. You didn’t know much about the strategies, but you knew that House Frey was better to have on your side rather than the enemy’s. Everyone knew Walder Frey was not a man so easily crossed. “And what is this offer?”

“If your uncle takes your place and marries one of our sisters, all will be forgiven,” the other man said, leering at you in a way that made you uncomfortable. “But he demands that they be wed immediately, so that you cannot go back on your oath a second time.”

Jungkook cast his eyes down for a split second before he looked back up at them. “It will be arranged. We make for the wedding tonight, then.”

The men smiled and then stood, prompting the two of you to stand as well. Jungkook dropped your hand on the way, keeping it at his side. He shook hands with the two men and then they were escorted out of the room, where they were to gather their things and then make their way back home along with everyone here.

Jungkook had a soldier outside call for his mother and uncle to come to the hall, where he would go over everything with them. You wondered how his uncle would take the news—not well, you were sure. The news of your own sudden betrothal had come as a shock, even if it had been under slightly different circumstances than Jungkook’s uncle’s. You had an inkling that he would respond in a similar way as you had, or in a way much more exaggerated than you had—men had a tendency to express their emotions more often.

When both of them had appeared, Jungkook paused for a few minutes of tense silence before he decided to break the news.

“Uncle,” he said. “Arrangements have been made for your marriage to a Frey girl.”

There was an almost instantaneous burst from his uncle, as you’d expected. “What is the meaning of this? Why was I not consulted before the decision?”

Jungkook’s face was emotionless as he stared at his uncle, looking every bit a King in the North. “There was no need to consult you. We do not want the Frey House in our bad graces forever, and this is what they demand for crossing them.”

“So I will be fixing your mistake, then—”

“Careful, Uncle,” Jungkook said lowly. A shiver ran down your spine at his tone. “I may be your nephew, but I am still your king.”

The sentence shut the older man up, his face turning red with humiliation. You simply stood in silence, glancing between the men. Jungkook’s mother stood by the window, watching her brother and her son argue. You wondered how it felt for her.

Jungkook continued in the face of the silent but fuming man. “The Freys clearly want a powerful alliance and we have snubbed them already after making an oath. We cannot afford to make another enemy of a House, not when we are fighting for peace and the freedom of our people.” He turned to give his uncle a disappointed look. “Is your comfort more important than the future of our Northmen?”

At least at these words, Jungkook’s uncle had the decency to look embarrassed. He lowered his head, unable to meet Jungkook’s eyes. “No,” he nearly spit out. “It is not, Your Grace.”

“Good,” Jungkook replied without missing a beat. “Then prepare yourselves. We will be leaving at once to make our way to Lord Frey’s keep.”

His uncle bowed his head and then turned to leave, slamming the door behind him. You tried not to roll your eyes and turned toward your husband, only to find his mother already beside him.

“Are you sure about this, my son?” she asked quietly. There was a strange look in her eye but you did not question it.

Jungkook sighed and let his shoulders relax now that it was only the three of you in the hall. He faced you briefly and the tired look on his face prompted you to walk over to them and grab his hand with yours to comfort him.

“What else is there to do?” he asked. “I have no more options. If I hope to win this war, I need more men on my side rather than the Lannister’s. This will be a way to fix both the rift between our Houses and get more men. Refusing Lord Frey isn’t an option.”

His mother paused, looking down at your intertwined hands and you thought you saw the ghost of a smile crack on her stern face. When she met her son’s eyes, the smile had gone. “Do what you think is right for your people. You always have.”

With those words, she parted, leaving the room to go prepare herself to leave for the wedding. Jungkook turned to face you fully when she left, releasing your hand so he could grip your upper arms lightly and look at you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, though it almost sounded like it hurt him to say it. Like he wanted to say something else, but held back. “With me.” He shifted his hands up your arms and the sides of your neck until they were cradling your face gently.

“Me too,” you replied, keeping your voice soft and gentle. You couldn’t meet his eyes, the guilt of your statement gnawing at your insides like a ravenous beast, even as his touch on your skin ignited sparks of a flame.

Jungkook leaned forward, resting his forehead on yours. You raised your hands and placed them atop his on your cheeks, letting your eyes flutter shut as he breathed in deeply. Your husband was a just and fair ruler to his people, you knew that despite what had happened, but you could tell he was feeling the burden that had been placed on his shoulders.

“My father would have liked you,” he whispered, losing himself in his thoughts. You bit the inside of your cheek, remembering that you hadn’t been the only one to lose someone amongst the Northerners. It was a painful reminder.

“I wish I could have met him,” you told him, gripping his hands a little tighter.

“As do I.” He sighed slowly and his thumbs started to caress your cheeks absentmindedly. “One of the last things he told me before he went to King’s Landing was that being a Lord was like being a father.”

“How so?” you asked.

“It’s like you have thousands of children,” Jungkook said. “You wake with fear in the morning and go to bed with fear in the night. The farmers are yours to protect. The children and women scrubbing the floors are yours to protect. The men you order to fight for you are yours to protect.” He pulled back a bit to look at you, smiling with only the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t believe him, you know. I asked him how a man could be brave if he was afraid.”

“What did he say?”

Jungkook chuckled. “‘That is the only time a man can be brave,’ he said.”

You allowed yourself to laugh briefly as well. “Your father was a wise man.” Getting the words out were harder than you expected, a lump forming in your throat.

“Yes, he was,” Jungkook continued. “He was the best man I ever met.” Pulling away from you completely, your husband brushed his fingers across your cheek before he dropped his arm to his side. “We’d better get on our way, as well.”

You nodded your head and followed beside your king as the two of you left the hall and made your way to your quarters to pack what little you had brought with you.

The lot of you were gathered in front of Lord Frey and all his many children and grandchildren. You shifted uncomfortably every time any of their eyes landed on you, standing beside Jungkook.

“My Lord,” Jungkook started confidently, stepping a little forward. “You have my sincerest apologies.”

“You broke your oath,” Lord Frey returned, a nasty smirk on his face. “Your father would not have.”

You could see the tension in Jungkook’s shoulders at the lord’s words. “You are right,” he said calmly, lowering his head briefly. “I should not have done so. It was wrong of me to break my word.”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” the lord continued dismissively. You could tell he was enjoying all of this, even if everyone else looked extremely uncomfortable. You tried not to let it show how uneasy you were at being here. “It is my girls who you spurned.”

There was a pause and Lord Frey gestured with his arms for his daughters to step forward. They did, coming to the front in a very long line. You tried to count them all but there were too many of them. You had heard numerous times from your parents having attended multiple weddings of Walder Frey himself that he had married many young girls. It seemed every time a wife of his passed, he would find himself another.

He made you sick.

“Your father is right,” Jungkook said, his voice much softer now than it had been when addressing the lord. “It was wrong of me to treat you, and my oath, with such disregard. The fault is not with you; it is with me. All men should keep their words, and kings most of all. I pledge to do all that is in my power to amend these wrongs so that our Houses may continue to be friends.”

The old lord clapped his hands almost mockingly and his daughters returned to their original places, no longer standing in a visible line. You wondered how the old man had the courage to so blatantly disrespect the King in the North, but you supposed he knew there was not much that Jungkook could do to him right now.

“Very good,” the lord said loudly, smirking at Jungkook. Then his eyes turned to you, dragging up and down your form in a way that made you wish you had another cloak over your shoulders. “And there is the bride you broke your oath for.” He leaned forward in his seat and narrowed his eyes at you. “Come closer, dear. Let me have a look at you.”

You fidgeted, glancing at Jungkook. He turned his head and met your gaze, giving you a small nod. Stepping forward, you bowed your head briefly to the lord. You glanced around the room, noting how all of the Frey men eyed you up along with their lord. It was disgusting. You wished you hadn’t come.

“Very pretty,” he said appraisingly. “Quite beautiful, indeed. Alright, enough of that. The servants will help you all to your accommodations and then we will feast.”

You breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped back and tried not to completely shy away into Jungkook’s side. When you were all led out of the hall and to your own rooms, Jungkook made sure to stick close to you even though he wasn’t touching you.

Once you were in your quarters, your bags having already been placed there before you, you turned and faced Jungkook. He placed a hand on your cheek and then leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips, leaving you flustered.

“Whatever happens tonight,” he started, “stay close to me, alright?”

“Are you afraid they’ll try something?” you asked curiously.

Jungkook sighed and shook his head. “Lord Frey is a dangerous man, but he’s not stupid. It wouldn’t do well to start a fight with me and my men here. But I want you safe.”

“I will be safe,” you promised. “I have you, don’t I?”

Jungkook chuckled, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close into a warm embrace. “Yes, you do,” he mumbled into your hair softly. “You’ll always have me.”

You wrapped your own arms around him, holding him close to you as you shut your eyes.

It would be a long night ahead.

The chatter during the feast was loud and servants were walking around refilling goblets with wine and replenishing the food that was being eaten by the hungry Northerners. You spotted a few of your own men seated at tables or standing around flirting with the women, having fun. You could even spot a few people dancing to the merry tunes the band was playing.

Your eyes landed on Jungkook’s uncle, seated happily by his new bride—who turned out to be quite a beautiful girl—eating berries from her hand while she laughed. You couldn’t help but have to hold back a chuckle at the sight, as the entire way here he had been moaning and complaining about the marriage. But now he was sat beside his bride, enjoying himself completely. You tried not to think ill of your husband’s uncle, but he was indeed extremely shallow. Just a look at a beautiful girl and he was forgetting himself, completely overjoyed.

“That could have been you, up there,” you teased, turning toward Jungkook, who was sitting beside you. He was comfortable, leaned back in his chair, the food on his plate nearly completely gone and the wine in his goblet having been refilled at least twice. “Eating berries from a beautiful girl’s hand, enjoying yourself.”

Jungkook hummed, sending you a small smirk. “Maybe I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Your mouth fell open and you faced him fully, making to smack your hand against his chest for the jab. He caught your wrist easily and his smirk turned into a wolfish grin. “Striking your king is treason, you know.”

You lifted a brow at his words and cocked your head to the side teasingly. Jungkook pulled you toward him with the hand in his grip and you pushed at him lightly when he made to kiss you. “No, don’t,” you mumbled, leaning away from him. “Don’t insult them.”

Jungkook grumbled but did as you asked, leaning back in his chair and dropping your wrist. You sat back in your chair as well, just in time it seemed. The loud music in the dining feast started to quiet, the new happy couple stealing glances at each other seated up by Lord Frey.

“Your Grace,” the man called. “Your uncle has wrapped my daughter in a cloak and the Septon has prayed his prayers. But they are not yet man and wife! A sword needs a sheath, and a wedding needs a bedding!” There were roars of laughter around you and you grimaced. How could a man utter such words at his own daughter’s wedding? You supposed you were luckier than most to have married Jungkook, even if the wedding had been cloaked in despair and death. “What does my sire say?”

The men around all of you started to cheer and slam their cups into the tables. “Bed! Bed! Bed!”

Jungkook smiled and sat up in his chair. “If you think the time is right, Lord Frey, then by all means—let us bed them!”

Applause and cheers broke out as the Northerners rushed forward to make a grab for the newlyweds. Jungkook’s uncle was laughing along with the women and girls who grabbed at his clothes and started to undress him as they went, though you could see the Frey bride’s unease as the men carried her out, shedding her of her outer clothes.

You tried not to shake your head at the sight, remaining in your seat instead. Jungkook reached over and held your hand comfortingly in his, sending you a smile. The large doors shut loudly after the couple was led out along with the men and women, and only a handful remained—including a lot of your own men. You leaned toward your husband, but then Lord Frey’s voice rang out again in the quieted hall, a strangely familiar tune playing from the band.

“Your Grace,” he called out. “I’m afraid I’ve been remiss in my duties. I’ve given you meat, and wine, and music, but I haven’t shown you the hospitality you deserve. My King has married and I owe my new Queen a wedding gift!” The lord chuckled as he spoke, but something about his voice and the way he was looking at the two of you made you uneasy.

You glanced over at Jungkook, whose eyes were on the lord’s, and you caught the barest glimpse of something in the light. You started to turn in your seat and saw a hand with a tight grip come down toward your king. You couldn’t process what was happening until you heard Jungkook’s pained grunt, his hand loosening around yours.

It was a knife.

Your eyes widened and you started to scream as the man stabbed Jungkook’s abdomen repeatedly with his blade, blood splattering on your hand gripped in your husband’s, and spilling from his clothes. Jungkook released your hand to grip at his wounds while the man hurriedly shifted away so that he couldn’t grab him. Your hands started to reach for Jungkook.

You were still screaming when hands gripped your arms, yanking you out of your seat and away from Jungkook. You could vaguely hear shouts and the sound of metal slashing against armor and skin, the faint sound of Jungkook’s mother screaming her son’s name, but your eyes were focused on him and him alone. He tried to get up from his seat and failed, groaning with pain as his men were slaughtered alongside him.

“Let me go!” you shouted, thrashing against whoever was holding you. “Please, please, let me go—let me go!” The man didn’t listen to you, simply holding you against him in place as he moved away from the bloody scene. A hand came up to cover your mouth when you started screaming incoherently.

Your wide eyes took in the scene of carnage, Northern men falling into puddles of their own blood, the band shooting arrows from their crossbows at any Northerner still standing, and you could feel the hot tears slipping down your cheeks. Jungkook crumpled to the floor from his seat, cradling his torso as blood pooled underneath him. With a quick sweep of the room, you could see that it was your men along with the Freys who were weilding bloody weapons.

What had they done?

As the screams and shouts had faded, almost everyone lying dead on the floor, you spotted Jungkook’s mother standing in front of Lord Frey, a knife in her own hand and blood dripping down her arm and to the floor. Jungkook was gripping the side of a table, pulling himself up shakily onto his feet, one hand still pressed uselessly to his bleeding stomach.

“Enough!” she shouted, voice thick. “Let it end! Please… he is my son. Let him go and we will take no vengeance, I swear it! By the old gods and new, we will forget this!”

“You already swore me one oath—you swore by all the gods your son would marry my daughter!” Lord Frey shouted back, comfortably seated in his chair.

“Jungkook!” she cried, turning to face her staggering son. “Jungkook, get up! Get up and walk out, please!” Your chest was wracked with silent sobs as the man held you, his hand still covering your mouth, and you cried helplessly at the desperation in her voice, the same desperation filling you. “Please!”

Lord Frey scoffed. “And why would I let him do that?”

Jungkook was standing now on his own, facing his mother. Then he turned back, his dark eyes finding yours. You fought against the grip around you harder, trying to get to him.

You spotted a man making his way toward Jungkook and you screamed, tried to make Jungkook understand that he needed to leave, needed to get away from the man. With a shock, you realized the man making his way to Jungkook was Eunwoo. Had this all been arranged before with your mother and Eunwoo, along with your men?

He grabbed your husband by his shoulder and stood completely in front of him. Brandishing a knife, he mumbled something quietly to Jungkook, and then he plunged the knife into his gut once more. Yanking it out, Eunwoo stepped away and left Jungkook to crumple once again to the ground, into his own blood, completely limp.

The grip around you loosened enough for you to stumble forward, falling to your knees. Staggering forward, you made your way over to Jungkook and fell once again to your knees at his side. You could feel the damp blood seeping into your dress, but you paid it no mind as you cried, your hands desperately clinging to Jungkook, his eyes open and staring up at nothing.

You looked up and saw someone grab Jungkook’s mother and shift their blade against her skin, slitting her throat, and she fell to the floor in a heap as blood spurted from the slice. You turned back to your husband and king, laying lifeless in front of you as the men hurried to and fro, cheering for their victory against the King in the North.

Your hands grabbed at his chest and torso, coming away sticky with his blood, and you shakily placed them against his cheeks. His dark eyes were unseeing and you couldn’t stop sobbing, not paying any mind to anything else that was happening around you.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, the tears still falling. “You can’t leave me, please,” you cried. “Please don’t leave me, you have to stay with me, Jungkook, please—don’t you remember?” The tears fell onto his face while you asked, a small pained smile making its way onto your face. “You said I would always have you. That’s what you said, Jungkook. You can’t leave—” You broke off into muffled sobs, unable to continue speaking.

There was no answer.

You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his, weeping for another loss amidst the deafening shouts and cheers of the men around you.

all rights reserved © junqkook | 17 JAN 2020 | the reposting, modifying, and/or translating of any kind on any medium is strictly NOT allowed. 

[glenncoco4]

War Zone

A/N: Chapter 6. Some M.

••••

Present

If her eyes weren’t already closed they’d be rolling back in her head right now as his finger tips dig into her scalp, making her sink into the tub even further. Dear god she knew his hands were magic but this is euphoric. 

“How you doing, baby?”

She feels his breath hot against her ear, if she wasn’t so miserable, and over 39 weeks pregnant, they’d definitely be using this tub for other purposes. “Why won’t she just come out already?”

The whine in her voice makes his heart sink a little. These last few days have been hell for her and he so wishes he could, but he can’t take her pain away. This warm bath was the only thing he could think of to help her relax at least a little bit, but that doesn’t seem to be working either. Helpless isn’t even the right word for what he’s feeling right now. “I think its because you made such a nice home for her over the past 9 months that she just doesn’t want to leave.”

“Bullshit.”

“She’ll come when she’s ready.” He huffs a laugh before getting up from the stool and leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “In the mean time…” 

Her brow furrows at the sound of his retreating footsteps. Lifting her head up from the tub, she opens her eyes and is suddenly alone. “So you’re just gonna leave me here?” Getting no answer, she rolls her eyes. “If this is your idea of a sick joke, I’m-“

As he steps back in the room, Marty’s unable to keep the smile from his face seeing her mouth open in shock. Closing the distance, he pulls the stool to the side of the tub, sitting down with a tower of her favorite treat, 13 to be exact. He sits the tray on the counter and then takes one of the yellow snack cakes, unwrapping it as her hungry gaze watches his movements. 

Her eyes meet his as he extends the Twinkie towards her mouth, offering her a bite. If she weren’t already head over hills in love with him before, she most certainly is now. Yeah, being in this kinda pain sucks, but knowing he’s doing everything he can to make her feel better is one of the best feelings in the world. Leaning forward, she takes a bite, moaning in pleasure. “Mmmm, I love you.”

 “What a difference 13 years make, huh?”

“I remember being less fat before I met you.”

“You’re not fat, baby.”

“I look like a beached whale.”

“A very beautiful beached whale.”

Her bottom lip begins to quiver at his words as she lays a comforting hand across her protruding belly. “Did you just call me fat?”

His eyes go wide in panic, realizing just how wrong the sentence that left his mouth sounded. “No, I mean…you just-“

••••

May 12th, 2009

Her body shakes with anticipation as she makes her way down the jet bridge. It’s been 4 months, 4 long and treacherous months since she’s seen him…well in person that is. When he got his assignment to Egypt right after he finished following her team they were both devastated. It’s part of their jobs of course, they spent most of their dating life apart but there’s something about being married that makes it even more agonizing. Especially since the longest they’ve been together since tying the knot is 3 weeks.

As her Navy issued boots hit the terminal floor the chatter of the people around her and the announcer over the intercom fade, her mismatched orbs immediately scan the room. His flight was due to land an hour before hers and he was going to meet her at her gate. 

She’s briefly pulled out of her search at the sudden feel of tugging of her camouflaged dry fit. Looking down, the SEAL’s eyes meet beautifully innocent chocolate orbs, standing there with a shy smile on his face.

Sitting her bag down, Kensi crouches down, now eye level with the young boy. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

She looks down at the small stuffed animal in his hand and then back up at him. “I like your puppy.”

His response catches her a little off guard as his tiny arms wrap around her neck in a tight hug and the words that leave his lips turn her into a big pile of goo. “Thank you for protecting us.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome.”

“Is this where we get in line for the hugs?”

Her eyes go wide at the all too familiar voice. The the voice that up until now has been thousands of miles away from her. Pulling back from the little boy, she quickly spins around, jumping up and throwing her arms around his neck for the death gripping hug. 

The blonde smiles as his arms find their way around her waist, picking her up in excitement. To say he missed her would be an understatement. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi.” She pulls back a bit, her lips immediately finding his. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more.” He goes to move the hair out of her face but catches himself when the plaster on his hand touches her.

Her brow furrows as he sits her down, now noticing the obstruction on his left arm. “What happened?”

“Oh, I was fighting some Transformers, you know the usual.”

She smiles shaking her head before bringing her lips to his once more. God she missed his sense of humor. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

She pulls back from their embrace, grabbing her bag and saying a quick goodbye to the little boy before they start heading towards the exit. As they make their way through the terminal, the SEAL wraps her arms around her husband’s uninjured one, hugging it to her body. “So what really happened there?”

“I was playing soccer with some local kids. Kens, we gotta go to Egypt one day. I mean it’s hot as hell but so beautiful.”

“I like that idea. Maybe for our honeymoon that we’ll get to go on one day?” Her mind drifts to a small quaint resort, and her shirtless husband feeding her grapes as they relax beach side in Attaka.“Speaking of monumental moments, do you realize what today is?”

As they step out into ground transportation area, he finds a lone pillar and leans up against it, pulling her body into his. “Of course I do, Nutty Fudge Day!”

Tilting her head back, her mismatched orbs meet his as she bites her lip, trying to keep the smile from spreading to her face. “I’ll show you Nutty Fudge Day.”

“Baby, not in front of the children.” His eyes go wide as they dart over to the two little kids watching them a few feet away.

This time she can’t stop the laughter from leaving her lips before placing a kiss to his once again.

He deepens the kiss, wishing so much that they were already in their hotel room. The sound of little giggling voices forces him to pull back, shaking his head, the photojournalist takes in his wife’s beautiful features. All the things they had plan to go out to do while they’re in the Big Apple are sounding more and more like a drag when he could very well have her all to himself in their luxurious hotel suite. The look in her eyes tell him she may be thinking the same thing, but he tiptoes around the subject just in case. “So, what do you want to do today?”

“I may have a surprise for you.” And oh, does she have a surprise for him.

••••

Present

She takes another bite when her eyes suddenly go wide at the sudden burst of warmth that fills the cooling water around her. The moan that escapes deep from within her throat can’t be helped as a new feeling shoots through her body. 

“Woah, maybe I should just hop in there with you.” He smiles thinking that the noise was caused by her treat.

“How do you feel about delivering babies?”

“I’ve never done one myself but-“ His eyes quickly find the panic shining in her eyes, making his entire being freeze. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Um, my water may have just broke.”

••••

May 12th, 2009

Humming with excitement, he walks into their hotel room, bucket in hand. “Baby, I got the ice, now I’m ready to rock your-“ He stops in his tracks at the sight before him.

“Hi.” She smiles, her mismatched orbs darken with desire as she looks him up and down seductively, biting her bottom lip.

“H-hiii.” He gulps, his cerulean blues roam her body, every bare inch glowing in the soft light coming from the lamp in the corner. Then his eyes reach the lace…the oh so delicate cornflower blue lace that barely covers her beautiful breast and delectable pussy. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

“No, just waiting to wake up.”

“What?”

“I’m still in the hot Egyptian desert and just hallucinating. Yep, any moment now and that lamp over there is gonna turn into a camel.”

A grin spreads to her lips as she gets up from her strategic positioning and walks on her knees to the end of the bed. She reaches for his hand and pulls him towards her. Placing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, his eyes darken as her fingers work their way down to the hem of his pants and slip into his boxers. Her delicate fingers wrap around his already hardened cock, earning a moan of pleasure, one she hasn’t heard in too long. “You’re very much awake, baby.” 

“Thank god.” His lips find hers in a desperate kiss as she pulls him towards her and onto the bed.

A little while later as they both lay sated and out of breath, his head pillowed on her chest as her fingers work their way hrough his golden locks.“Why do you have so many knots in your hair?”

“Well, I’m a little disabled at the moment,” He lifts his casted hand and arm in the air for emphasis, “so I can’t really run my fingers through my hair in the shower like I usually do.”

“Ya, know…” Her fingers find his scalp and dig in a little, earning a moan of pleasure from him.

“Oh, god, that feels amazing.”

“I have two free hands and there’s an empty tub just a few feet away that can massage other things.”

His lips find her breast as his fingers delicately walk down her abdomen to find her already sopping wet pussy.“Well, it just so happens that I have a free mouth that can also massage things.”

••••

Present

She lets out one last groan as the little girl is fully free. Her tiny cries filling the air as Marty quickly cuts the umbilical cord before wrapping her in a towel and handing her over to his wife. 

“You did it, baby.” He comes up beside her, his arm going around her shoulders as he pulls her into him. Yeah, moving to the bed was a good idea. Placing a kiss to the top of her head, he smiles as he gets a glimpse of his two girls…his whole world right in his arms. “I love you so much.”

She tilts her head back, eyes locking with his as he places a kiss to her lips. “I love you.” 

The tears that begin to form in her eyes, he can feel pooling in his own. “No, no, don’t cry. Cuz if you cry then I’m gonna cry.”

“She’s just so beautiful.”

“Exactly like her mama.”

“You think so? I thought she looked like you.”

“Well, I guess that’s good considering we’re her parents.” His lip curls into a smile.

Shaking her head, she gives him another kiss before her head finds his shoulder once again. “Touché.”

[pacific-rimbaud]

27 - panville (lets pretend its after their wedding) (lets also pretend this isnt me trying to extend bright objects epilogue in every way I can) (but just because you are the real queen of this ship)

Drabble #27: “I’m pregnant.”

by PacificRimbaud

Pairing: Pansy Parkinson x Neville Longbottom

Tags: WWII AU, unplanned pregnancy, hospital, brief mentions of war

Wiltshire, May 1944

“I’ve had a letter.”

Lavender’s voice dipped to a conspiratorial low, as though a letter was a secret Pansy both had an interest in and ought to be party to.

“From which one?”

Pansy shut off all attention to Lavender and inspected the label on a bottle of morphine tablets. Finding it sound, she filed it away in the back of the second shelf from the top in the medicine cabinet, and made a sharp graphite tick on the inventory form. 

“Lieutenant McLaggen. The fellow from Dunfermline. Oh, thank you.” Lavender received a wrapped bundle from one of the laundry girls, and set it down on the center of the table on the opposite side of the room. “He’s going to be in London next month, and wants me to come over on the train.”

Ticking at her form, Pansy fitted away a third vial, made another tick, and then filed a fourth in a martial row moving forward in the cabinet.

“You need to be careful with all that,” she said.

“Oh, I am.” Lavender checked the tag on the laundry. “I might seem silly, but I’m not daft.” 

Pansy scraped her pencil so hard against her form that it tore a small hole in the page.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You alright?” Lavender asked, hand paused at the task of untucking the edges of the bundle.

“I’m fine.”

Lavender laid out the edges of the cloth wrapping, removed a stack of cloth face masks, and set them on the shelf in front of her. “It’s only you look a bit flushed, Pans.”

Pansy tightened the aperture of her attention down to a ruthless diameter, wide enough for nothing beyond the minute detail of dates printed on pasted labels and the tick of her freshly sharpened pencil.

Once the old bottles were secured at the front of the shelf and the new ones filed behind them, Pansy closed the cabinet doors and brushed her hands against the cotton of her pinafore.

“I’m going to get some air,” she said, her shoulder nearly glancing against Lavender’s on her way out the door.

“Alright, love,” Lavender called after her. “I’ll tell you about the letter I’ve had from Second Lieutenant Creevey when you’ve come back.”

For a long while, Pansy had thought of the hospital as a cheap robe hung on the exalted bones of Thornwood Abbey. The war would end, and it would fall away as immaterial and disposable as the wrapping on a parcel.

No stain, no echo, no vibration of its requisition would be left behind.

It would be her sanctuary once again, and only hers, free to take her tea in solitary silence by the large window in the drawing room, watching the mallards dabble in the lake.

As it was, the drawing room was filled with men who sent up prayers to God if they woke with a headache from the anesthetic.

Day by day, Pansy felt the memory of her home drain away, replaced as it needed to be by the urgent and essential now.

She passed Daphne in the hall outside the room where her servants used to eat their dinner. She intended to keep up her pace and offer nothing beyond a tip of her head, but Daphne slipped her hand into the crook of Pansy’s elbow. 

“Your captain is looking for you,” she said quietly. “I’ve tried to deflect him, but I think he’s gone to Pomfrey already and knows you’re here.”

A voltaic shimmer traveled down the surface of Pansy’s skin and back up again.

“Fucking hell.”

Pansy turned around and stalked off in the other direction, abandoning the idea of a turn around the rose garden.

She nearly escaped to the nurse’s dormitory that was once her own, solitary boudoir.

But naturally he recalled the narrow service stairs in the east wing, and opened the door to descend just as she arrived at the top.

“Pansy,” he said, almost breathless with a sort of half-panic. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Neville.”

He held his hat at his side, pinched between his spare, muscled fingers.

His hair was never fully tamed, and the impacts of having put his hat on his head and then removing it again made themselves clear.

Pansy flattened herself against the wall of the confining stairwell, grasping her own forearms in her palms behind her back.

“Well?” she asked. She pursed her lips and lifted her chin, fluidly performing the impatience and imperious nonchalance that constituted the entirety of her personality as far as most people were concerned.

“I’m leaving.” He breathed in, an intake of air meant to fortify and compose. “Today. Just now, actually.”

His dark eyes scanned her own, but her vision caught on the pink line of scar tissue running from below his left ear, over his cheekbone, through the outside third of his left eyebrow, then turning back to end in a jagged half circle at the hairline at his left temple.

The scar and a Victoria Cross he kept folded in a handkerchief at the back of his top bureau drawer were the only mementos he had been given for a wound that had done everything in its power to end his life.

The desire to trace it with her fingertips flooded her with so much force that she pinched the skin of both her arms hard enough with her fingernails that she sucked in a breath through her nose.

“I wish you all the luck, then, Captain,” she said, leaning hard into the clipped tones of her breeding to mask the quaver in her throat.

“Pansy, please.”

She might have persisted—would have persisted—had he been any other man, but his hand was at her hip, and then his elbow was crooked behind her nape, and she was in his arms, sighing against the mouth that had been mercifully spared of injury for her own selfish, covetous, unappeasable use.

“I’m going to write to you,” he muttered against her jaw.

“I told you. I won’t read them.”

“I don’t care.”

Pansy took his hand in hers, and folded it over her breast.

She might have known better. Should have known better.

He made her mindless with want.

His hand closed hard, in the way that she liked best, over her too-tender breast, and she gasped with the pain of it.

He pulled back instantly, skin flushed and lips heated for her, and stared at her with an expression of hurt and confusion that she hated, instantly and forever.

“Pans, I’m so sorry. I—”

She prayed, earnestly, fervently, for his stupidity.

But there was only one time she’d known him to be a fool.

His thinking was both careful and thorough, and after a moment his skin paled.

“You’ve been avoiding me for a week,” he said.

She wouldn’t tell him.

She refused.

He would go, and meet the enemy at the door with nothing to remind him of her except the knickers she’d folded into his pocket on the afternoon he’d first taken her, breathless, his scar still red, against the grass bordering the rushes at the edge of the lake.

He would go, and there he would be stupid, beating back disaster with the hard brick of his self-sacrificial love.

Maybe he would come back to find her Miss Parkinson of Thornwood Abbey, sitting in her drawing room with a cup of tea.

Maybe he would come back to find her another man’s wife.

Maybe he would come back with no desire to find her anywhere.

Maybe he wouldn’t come back at all.

“Pansy.”

She was hard as flint.

She was so soft.

She could have told him the hour of the disaster with devastating precision.

Lying on her back, a prohibited object in his bed, she’d been lost with him moving in her, bleary eyes half closed, muting her voice against the sweat at his shoulder, heels at the small of his back holding him tight to her as she gasped out that she loved him.

She had hoped he hadn’t heard, but outside the borders of her own unbearable arc of sensation, she was aware that he’d finished inside her.

If she’d moved immediately after, it might have been possible to have done something, but she couldn’t care about anything beyond how it felt to be held in his arms.

In the dreary dark of the stairs, he studied her with dogged and patient intelligence.

And then his fingertips stroked down her belly, and flexed over the secret below.

He moved quickly then, ducking down and tossing her over his shoulder, and marching with singular purpose up the stairs to the second floor.

Below her, the familiar carpet of her ancestral hall streaked away from the backs of his heels.

He finally stopped at the mahogany door to what was once the least-offered guest bedroom in the east wing, and pushed it open with startling force.

He set her down on her feet in the middle of the room, and tightened one of his long arms around her waist.

The chaplain sat at his desk ramrod straight, auburn hair slicked into an adamant wave over his forehead and spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. He cradled a pen in his hand, poised over a sheet of paper.

“Captain Longbottom. Nurse Parkinson,” he said, mannerly and terse. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m going to need you to marry us, Father Weasley,” said Neville. “Straight away.”

Father Weasley laid his pen down in a strict perpendicular to his page, and folded his hands together at the edge of his desk.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to submit the proper paperwork. Then Major Weasley will have to approve. He’s on leave in Devonshire at the moment,” he said, shifting his pen a millimetre to the right, “and isn’t expected to return until Tuesday.”

“Get Brigadier General Moody to sign off on it. He’s downstairs in the wards.” Neville’s hand tightened on Pansy’s waist. “I’m...that is so say we’re—”

He turned to Pansy, pink-cheeked, eyes shining, and smiled with half his mouth like an absolute clot.

Pansy couldn’t bear to look at him. Instead she stared hard at Father Weasley until he puffed a beleaguered breath through his nostrils.

He looked at the face of his wristwatch, then drew open a drawer at the side of his desk, and pulled out a blank form.

“You’ll need a witness.”

Neville released Pansy’s waist, stalked to the door and stuck his head out.

“Malfoy,” he called out. “You’re needed.”

Half a minute later, Captain Malfoy strolled through the door entirely unbothered, half-eaten apple in hand.

“Hullo. What’s going on then?” he asked.

“Give me your ring,” said Neville.

Malfoy looked down at the emerald ring on his little finger.

“What do you want my ring for, Longbottom? Go and get one of your own.” He looked Pansy up and down. “Where’s your wee cap gone, Pans?” He took an enormous bite of his apple. “I shouldn’t think the priest has it.”

“Father Weasley’s marrying us just now,” said Neville. “You’re needed as witness.”

Malfoy laughed. “What? Right now? What’s the bloody great rush?”

“I’m pregnant, idiot,” said Pansy.

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Well that’s extremely naughty of you.”

With an effort, he pulled the ring off his finger and tossed it to Neville.

“You’d better have something a fair sight better than that in your vaults, Longbottom. I hope you’re aware that our Pans has champagne taste.”

Pansy tucked her hair over her ear. “Fuck off, Draco.”

While Father Weasley scribed at the form, Pansy tucked her hand in Neville’s, and turned to face him.

“I’m going to write to you,” he said quietly, rolling Draco’s ring in his fingers. “Constantly. I don’t care whether you read them.”

For two weeks, Pansy had watched the mirror with mounting terror.

She’d seen her soft, glassy eyes. Her swelling breasts. The heat rising visibly at the surface of her skin.

Fatigued and faint, nauseated and utterly sick with love and longing, she shifted to fill the open geometry of Neville’s body.

“Normally we’d get two days, Pans, but we’re...I can’t—”

She pulled up on her toes, and his arms tightened around her, lifting her nearly off the floor and into the warm space he kept reserved for her at the side of his neck.

“Were you going to tell me?” he whispered hoarsely.

“You can’t worry,” she muttered against his pulse. “You’re not allowed.”

“I’m going to use every last piece of paper I’m given.” He pressed his face into her hair. “I don’t care if you read a single one.”

Pansy breathed him in, using every sense to press him hard into the soft wax of her memory. “I’m going to read them all.”

[teroknope]

Disruption [Maul X Reader]

AN: Hello There! This oneshot is set after The Clone Wars season Seven and happens while Maul is the hidden leader of Crimson Dawn on Dathomir, his home world.

Summary: Reader is struggling to cope with the overwhelming temperatures on Dathomir. Fed up of the summer heat, she decides to see what Lord Maul is up too...

AN: Divergent from canon as Maul’s cybernetic implants are below his knee for, reasons...

WC: 3.9K // Rating: Explicit.

Dathomir was hot,

Unbearably hot, for the human skin.

There was also an abundance of adequate air conditioning. But Dathomir was a quiet, desolate world. It was to be expected. The summers on this planet were unbearable, and far too long for your liking. It did not matter how many you experienced, they were always unfathomably unpleasant.

The holopad you held was serving as a futile distraction, lying on the dark framed bed with the device held over your face. You found yourself stripping from your usual attire, down to your simple black briefs and a simple crepe vest top.

Thankfully sunset was in a short while. But it felt like cycles away.

When you were off duty you tried to limit yourself to where you could go, otherwise you would end up picking up little pieces of work. A problem you found, with work and home being the same place. But, you would much rather be working now. It would distract you.

Too impatient to wait for the sun to slip away, you decided to take yourself away from your quarters. Slipping off the low bed, throwing on your long black chiffon robe, warm arms slipping into the loose sleeves. As you touched the tiles with your bare feet you thanked the force that they were not not hot enough to scorch your skin. You walked over to the grey metallic door, shifting open with a cool breeze that was shorter than you liked.

The metal cladded corridor was dimly lit, thin white lights sat on the wall in adjutant rows. The radiant heat still penetrated the dark walls.

Your location was the central room Maul conducted his operations, and where you supported him. It was a private room, one of the only ones in the facility that did not give any hints that his base of operations was on Dathomir.

He wanted to remain in the shadows, after all

Upon arriving at the large grey doors, the intercom panel was lit green. The door was not locked. Pressing a warm finger to the panel, the door shifted open.

The room was much larger than your shared quarters, but it was fairly dimmer. The only light in the room was the various holograms that would occupy the space and scattered white lights across the walls. But at this moment in time, the white lights served as the only light source.

In the center of the dark cool room rested Maul, seated upon a metal chair, holopad in one hand, cheek resting upon a closed fist in the other.

Maul’s ear’s picked up the door closing, his screen-worn eyes focused on the transcript. A report on a shipment from Dryden Vos, how lucky he was.

And, how bored, so boring.

“What is it” Maul uttered sharply.

You had become accustomed to his bluntness, taking no offence as none was meant  “Would you prefer it if I looked over those Dryden’s reports?”

Really, you were bored. Maybe a bit lonely,

But you didn’t want to be in that room anymore.

Maul switched off the holopad, throwing it on the crate next to him. “I have sensed… unease from you today” Maul clicked his teeth, turning in the chair to face you. “You should do better to control-“

Maul paused, words stolen off his silver tongue.

He did not expect you to be wearing those clothes.

The chiffon robe, hung at your feet. The collar is embroidered with a beautiful crimson pattern. The crepe vest rested comfortably against your chest, the skin around your collarbone was bare. The black briefs were a simple thin fabric, but they rested comfortably against your thighs.

Maul noticed a shift, now it was his thoughts that needed to be controlled.

Kriff, he loved seeing you like this.

“I do not mind taking over, if you would like to meditate” Maul continues to observe your features as you leaned over to retrieve the holopad off the crate, including a cheeky stair down the nape of your vest.

Your appearance, your mannerisms, demonstrated how comfortable you were around him.

And how much he was infatuated by you.

Maul noted that the crimson detail of the robe rested across the curve of your breasts, one move and it would dare to slip off. It would be simply a matter of removing the vest....

Or, ripping it off.

Temptation flooded his thoughts.

“I have a syndicate meeting in a moment’s time, care to join me?” He held his hand out, gesturing for you to take it.

He was up to something.

Suspiciously, you reached for his hand branded hand. But then, an unknown force pushed you closer to him. Weak knees buckled, falling into his lap, hands falling onto his tight abdomen.

“Careful,” Maul playfully teased, catching you by your hips with his eager hands. The same thirsty palms found themselves sliding across your hips, up your back, slipping underneath the robe and vest.

Long fingers caressed against your skin. Likewise, your hands traversed up to his defined chest. Maul was painted in layers of back robes; Fathomed on how he could manage wearing those layers in this heat yet you could still feel the fine ridges of the muscles beneath the thick fabric.

One of Maul’s hands diverted from your back, trailing down to your brief covered buttocks, giving it a lively squeeze.

He was feeling unusually playful.

You were fond of his touch, although you did not want to admit it. Although it was obvious on your face.

You didn't always call him Lord, but you knew it swelled his pride, as well as other things. “Lord Maul, I do not think this is appropriate for-“

“Quiet,” Eager hands retracted from your back, now pursuing the chiffon fabric that rested on your shoulders. Flicking his fingers underneath the fabric with ease, pushing it away from your shoulders. It now rested on  the middle of your back.

The Crepe vest hung mischievously low, it was a thin fabric and up close Maul could see the details of your breasts though the material. The crime lord brought his right hand up through the crepe fabric; calloused fingers teasing with the soft flesh before crossing his thumb over your perky nipple

You tried to hold back a small moan, his eager touch lighting a fire in your belly.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Maul removed his hand, much to your displeasure. With haste, he lifted up the soft vest, flicking his warm tongue over your pert nipple. A moan reverberated off your lips when his tongue licked you. Your moans became louder once his lips kissed over the warm flesh.

Maul sucked, hard. Low groans and gasps emerged from your throat, body arching against his touch. Maul removed his hand from the vest, allowing the fabric to rest on the bridge of his nose. Two hot hands secured your back, keeping you from falling while he sent pleasurable waves throughout your being with just his mouth and tongue.

Maul removed himself from your breast, a thin line of spit hanging between his lips and your nipple.

“I think I am the one that decides what is appropriate or not”

He left a trail of kisses across you as he moved across your chest, bringing one hand from his back forward.

“Don’t you agree, darling.”

“Yes- “Gasping, distracted by the pleasurable sensations that were crippling your body as he set his tongue to work on your untouched breast, while his thumb and index finger pinched at the wet nipple he was previously attending to.

Maul pulled away from your chest, golden pupils looking into your flushed eyes

“Are you sure, you did not come here to tempt me?”

Maul manoeuvred his hand, trailing down your back once again. First, beginning to toy with the waistband of your thin briefs before traversing further downwards, two eager digits stroking exactly where you wanted him to stroke. Maul could feel the wetness that was beginning to soak your briefs, wetness that he caused.

He watched with eager eyes as he teased you, he adored watching you become unraveled under his touch.

Kriff, he was unbearably hard. He just wanted to bury himself inside of you.

But, he would be patient, he could wait.

For a short while.

Maul’s lips moved to your neck, small kisses and nips planted across the supple skin as he continued to tease his fingers against you.

“M-Maul” breathless moan left your lips, you wish he would just rip off your briefs and fuck your there and then

It wouldn’t be the first time.

An eager growl left Maul's throat. “Shall I fuck you, darling?” sharp teeth now scraping against the warm skin of your neck, no doubt leaving a mark.“Shall I show them all, who you belong to?”

The answer did leave your mouth, instead desperate lips met him in an intense kiss. Maul nipped at your bottom lip as you ground yourself against his fingers.

You wanted him, no, you needed him.

Now.

“!!”

The high pitch communicator echoed across the room, accompanied by a flashing red light on the panel next to the chair. Maul’s dark lips removed themselves from yours softly. A disappointed sigh accidentally left your lips.

Maul noticed your lips parting, before closing again. Holding back your words.

His two fingers that were vigorously teasing you paused for a moment, although maul noticed the wetness was becoming too much for the thin fabric and began to slip onto his fingers.

Both of you were flustered, burning with want.

But, the syndicate comes first,

You went to remove yourself off his broad thighs, but Maul protested. An eager growl leaving his throat, the hand that wasn’t occupied pleasuring you was pressed firmly on your back, holding you to him.

He could have used the force, but he didn't need to. “Do not consider this prematurely finished, darling.”

The thought had crossed his mind of fucking you during the meeting. Thick Rigid cock buried completely in your cunt. Maul wondered if the syndicate leaders could see the wetness that would slide down his cock as he fucked you. The expressions of pure satisfaction on your face as he made you reach pure bliss.

But no,

He would not give them the pleasure of them seeing you like that,

That was a privilege for him and him alone.

Hastily sliding his hand from your back, Tapping the glowing receiver and ensuring the visual was switched off. Maul spoke, his voice low and thick.

“Our meeting is unfortunately delayed, a matter of higher importance has arisen”

Communication was cut abruptly, there would be no disturbances for another rotation.

“Maul, are you sure you-“ your false concern hastily redacted when his hand flew from the receiver, harshly pulling your underwear to the side, two digits finding their way inside of you  with embarrassing ease,

Maul felt the groan emerge from your throat, “You, are always concerned, aren’t you”. He fucked you with his fingers, pumping them at an achingly slow pace, as they became slick with your juices, dripping down to his knuckles.

He had teased you far too much, with just his two fingers you were already becoming close to your release.

Maul’s mouth crawled up to your ear, whispering lowly “Maybe, you should be concerned with what I’m going to do to you, dear one.”

Then, he felt it. The way your body began to tense, lips parted and lowly moaning.

Maul smirked, pleased with his handiwork, indulging in the feeling of your walls contracting around his fingers as met your release.

But he was not satisfied.

The crime lord increased the intensity and speed of his finger fucking, intending to drag your release out until it became unbearable.

It was pure indulging and overwhelming pleasure, Without you realizing you began to grind against his fingers, greedily seeking more from the crime lord. “Lord M-maul!”

Dedicated fingers were still rubbing against your sensitive pleasure points, sending electrifying sensations throughout your body.

“Greedy today, aren’t you my darling?”

After a short while, your climax had finished. Maul withdrew his dampened fingers. Golden eyes taken back by your dazed expression, your cheeks glowing, lips sighing satisfyingly.

He fucking loved that he could unravel you like this.

“Come,” He demanded, pulling your underwear back in place. He began to rise from the chair, your  legs wobbly as you stood on the cold ground.

“I think you can handle the rest of me now, darling”

Finally,

…..

The Sun of Dathomir has begun to set and the two moons crept over the horizon. The temperature has lowered, and so the bedroom has begun to cool slowly.

But, you had never been hotter.

Once you entered your shared room, Maul shed his upper robes. Discarding them onto a nearby chair. Your mind, still dazed from your climax couldn't help but stare when he removed his clothing. Toned Branded shoulders were defined to perfection, his chest equally as muscular, Painted in the dark tattoos that were so, him.

Maul positioned himself at the end of the bed. The only clothing was his final layer of bottom robes; you failed to keep your eyes averted from the outline of his hardness through the fabric.

He noticed your stares, and decided to indulge.

“Stay where you are,” Maul commanded. You were positioned parallel to him, your body in full show to him.

“Take off your clothes,” Voice sultry. “Slowly,”

You let the black robe slip off your arms, piling onto the floor near your feet. As you remove the vest, you made sure to glide your hands over your body as you did. Putting on a show of course.

Maul shifted his hands into his lower robes, running his rough hands across his ribbed cock, enjoying the performance you were giving him. He gave himself a firm squeeze at the base of his bulge.

“Now,” voice deep with need, the pleasant sensations of his own touch pulsating through him. “The rest”

Maul observed  intensely as you slowly pulled the briefs down your thighs until they reached the floor, already stained with his own handwork. His grip was hard on his cock as he pumped it a few times, precum slipping onto his hand as he did so.

Attentive eyes met his hazy ones, you wished you could see him touch himself, and not be hidden by his clothing “Like what you see?”

“Mmm” Maul simply grunted,removing his hand from underneath his robes so could shed the remaining layer of clothing “Come here”

Heeding his command, you approached the crime lord. Admiring at how the ink was patterned across his entire body, with the exception of his cybernetic legs. From the knee downwards his leg’s turned from the warm crimson skin to the cool ashen metal.

They never bothered you, of course the cool metal sometimes surprised you when it comes into contact with your skin. But, it was who he was, you wouldn't change that for anything.

Soft footsteps approaching him at a teasingly slow pace, once you were close to him your right hand sneaked down to his cock, which he allowed of course. Maul grunted as your warm hand came into contact with him. Slowly drawing your hand over the three thick ridges that gave you so much pleasure, before stroking one finger over the tip. Rubbing away the leak of precum onto your finger before bringing it to your lips, kissing and licking the wetness away.

Maul sighed, heavily. A low growl leaving his throat.

“Shall we then?” Confidence brimming through your body “The usual position?”

He grunted, agreeing. Maul backed onto the center of the bed, lowering himself onto the soft mattress. You planted your knees on the side of his chest, hovering over his impressive length .

This position was more suitable, no matter now many times you had sex. You had to be prepared to take him. Really, he just wanted to bury himself completely in you, feeling you tighten around him as he did. But, he knew he had to be patient.

Otherwise, you would gain nothing but pain from this. He couldn't have that.

Maul’s hand’s caressed your hips as you positioned himself, The wet tip finally sitting against your entrance.

“What are you waiting for” Maul Growled, impatience brewing within.

“Patience,” Lowering a hand to grip the thick base of his cock, “Dear one”

Slowly, you started to lower yourself onto him. Letting out a sultry moan as you felt your walls beginning to slowly take him in.

“That’s it’ Maul encouraged, head now pressed against the mattress, he could feel the horns at the back of his head rubbing against the smooth bed linen.

His eyes closed, focused as he indulged in how tight you felt around him.

Maul became washed away in his thoughts

Yes, Give yourself to me.

As you crossed the second ridge a stifled moan left your lips. His hands clawed at your hips, trying desperately not to slam you down to his base.

Surrender, to me

He did not want to rush you, but kriff did he want to fuck you, hard.

Finally, you passed the final ridge, hitting the base of his cock with a satisfied moan.

Be mine, mine alone  

Initially, you moved very slowly. Grinding up and down, feeling every ridge as you adjusted to his girth His hands were tight on your hips while yours rested on his defined torso. Sometimes, if you were too slow he would grind his hips into you, demanding, begging for you to move faster.

But today, you were feeling nice and decided to move at a pleasurable pace, for the both of you.

Maul was better than any human lover you had ever had. While humans sometimes would have their own quirks and charms. The physical capability of Zabraks was far greater; their two hearts meant they could go faster, and for much longer. If you was to compare Maul to a human it would not compare; his cock, deep red in color, was delightfully thick and had exquisite details like no human

You never wanted to fuck another human again

Not after this, not after him.

Maul could not avert his eyes from you, the way your breasts moved as you lifted yourself grinded against him.

He recognized the way your body was beginning to tense up slightly, the way you increased the pace of your grinding the concentration in your facial expression and the small moans that left your lips.

He knew you was close,

Luckily for you, he was feeling generous.

Maul shifted his back off the bed, moving into a sitting position, you sighed at the sudden movement. Feeling his cock reach you in places it couldn't touch before. Maul lowly groaned, as you continue to fuck up and down his impressive length, already becoming soaked with your wetness.

You wrapped your arms wrapped around his shoulders, as you moved faster and harder on him. Feeling every ridge hit your walls. His hand’s found themselves squeezing your behind eagerly as you increase your speed and pressure, your orgasm in reach.

You were so close, you could feel yourself on the edge,

But Maul had a change of heart.

Toned arms wrapped around your back, with ease he flipped you onto your back. He noticed the displeased winge that left your lips as he took control.

He had disrupted your pace, he knew you were close to orgasm and he ripped it from you,

Almost.

“Patience, dear one.You have worked so hard. You deserve a reward for your work.”

Without holding back, he crushed his hips into yours, loud satisfied moans leaving your lips.

“M-maul!, you’re gonna make me-”

“Yes, that’s right.” Maul shifted your right leg, placing it onto his right shoulder. “Show me, how i make you feel,” His right hand spread across your left thigh, fucking you hard and deep “Come for me,”

The orgasm crushed though you, body burning up at your release, Maul felt your wetness coat his cock, making his assault on you even easier.

He wanted more, craved more. He needed to go deeper, as deep as he could. Maul’s hands moved, tightening around your ankles, hoisting them in the air, using his hips mercilessly to ram into you.

He desperately wanted to fill you up, to see his seed leak out of you. It was at times like this he wondered if you would ever sire his children,even if it was possible.

He never wanted children, but to see you become swollen with his child, It made him feel a certain way that he could not explain.

It was a passing thought.

Your Orgasm was reaching its end, as your mind focused you noticing mauls thrusting started to become erratic. He would never announce he was going to cum, but rather a crescendo or loud grunts and groans would confirm it.

You knew he was close.

“Maul...” Voice soft, satisfied and warm

That’s all it took, he removed his hands from your ankles, lowering himself on top of you. Your chest’s meeting. His hot lips meeting yours as he started to become undone, growling into your mouth as he came, cock twitching and warmth spilling into you. You planted soft kisses onto his lips as he groaned at his intense release.

It wasn’t just the orgasm for Maul, nor the way you touched his cock. He adored the way your hands explored his chest as he fucked you, the way you would trace the marks that were etched onto his skin. The way your gentle hands would circle the base of his horns.

He relished in the touch, the contact with another being. The way you would return his aggressive violent kisses with soft pecks of reassurance.

Physical Contact was something he has been without, for most of his life.

Until he found you.

He needed it, desperately so.

As his release reached its end, the final waves of pleasure cascading though his body. Golden eyes met your wide starry eyed ones.

They were so comforting, unlike his.

The moons of Dathomir were finally high in the night sky. The room was cool, but both of your bodies were searing. You could feel both of his hearts beating rapidly in his chest.

And, your smile was so soft,

He did not deserve such a smile.

“Why do you look at me in such a way?” Maul wistfully questioned,

Gentle hands danced around his scalp, sliding across the base of one of his horns. It was soothing to him “Why wouldn’t I look at you in such a way”?

Oh, he could think of many reasons. But unusually, the words could not find him.

For a moment, you thought that his eyes looked lost. Your soft palm caressed this cheek, radiating with heat. Maul found himself leaning into your touch, as if he was craving it. As if he needed it.

Calloused fingers interlaced with your smooth ones

Maul’s voice was low and full of somber. “I do not deserve such affection”.

Instead of words, you decided to show him how you felt. Placing a kind, gentle kiss onto his lips. Maul closed his eyes, leaning deeply into your lips. Enclosing his firm arms around your shoulders as you both melted into the bed sheets.

After a short while, the kiss broke away. satisfied eyes staring deep into his golden ones.

You wondered if they had always been golden.

Both of your hand’s still interlaced, tightly, as if you were never going to let go. Word’s finally came to your mind, so you spoke. “That, is not for you to decide, darling.”

[madsthewordclown]

Fire Lily | Pt. 5

warnings: mentions of violence

summary: Y/N enjoys a day off in the city, but there’s always trouble in the night. 

a/n: This chapter takes place during the Tales of Ba Sing Se, so you could call this “The Tale of Y/N.” At first I really struggled with this chapter, but it didn’t end up taking as long to write as I had anticipated. Hope you enjoy!

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6

“Y/N, sweetheart, I need you to calm down,” her father cooed. Her mother stood in the doorway, watching with a woeful look in her eye. “Take some deep breaths with me.”

After the signs of her bending first began to show, they became harder and harder to control. The pain was evident in her parents’ eyes, watching their child—still so small, not understanding the war raging on outside of their home—grapple with a power none of them could understand.

“Go away!” Y/N cried, fire shooting from her small hands. Tears were running down her face. There were scorch marks on the floor and the walls of her bedroom.

“Breath with me,” her father pleaded. Y/N met her father’s eye. “In, and out.”

It was Y/N’s first night off in weeks.

Pao was a kind man to work for, but he was also a firm believer in paying your own way. Y/N suspected that the asking price for the room he was lending her was a bit high, but she wasn’t one to complain.

Working at the tea shop could be therapeutic at times. She had gotten to spend more time with Lee, who seemed to be slowly opening up. He didn’t smile very often, but Y/N felt her heart flutter whenever he did. It felt like an accomplishment to make him smile, if only for a moment. And it felt so normal. She had a roof over her head, food in her belly, and, for the first time ever, friends.

Even with work and Lee as an effective distraction, Y/N couldn’t keep Jet out of her mind for long. The scene replayed in her head during nearly every spare moment. The hook swords dragging in the dirt. His dark eyes as those wagon doors swung shut. Y/N knew what Jet had done was wrong, that it was violent, and brash, but the Dai Li agents gave her a sour feeling, too.

Jet had been her first friend. He had been the one to offer her a meal on the ferry and put a knife in her hand and taught her how to defend herself, and now he was who knows where. She hadn’t seen him since the day he was arrested, and she hadn’t seen Longshot or Smellerby, either.

Y/N tried to avoid the subject at work, and it seemed that Lee did, too. They tended to ignore that corner of the shop where Jet had lurked before. That was, until the spot was taken up by another particular.

Lee had seemed paranoid about how frequently that girl visited the tea shop, and Y/N would have laughed if the situation didn’t make her heart drop. The Earth Kingdom girl was pretty, and definitely had an eye for Lee. The chances of Lee catching on to it were pretty low, Y/N knew, but the selfish part of her still hoped that he wouldn’t.

But it would be good to enjoy a day out in the city, Y/N told herself. She could try and get her mind off of Jet, Lee, and the family seal that was burning a hole in her mind. She had saved up enough money from work for a light shopping day, and the soles of her shoes were almost worn through.

“Have a wonderful day off, Y/N!” Mushi waved joyfully as Y/N walked through the teashop. Y/N noticed that Lee was busy serving the girl she kept seeing, but quickly turned her head away. He could see whoever she wanted to. Besides, she couldn’t afford to be with him like that. She had too much to hide.

“Thank you, Mushi,” Y/N smiled. “See you tomorrow!”

“Look for a Pai Sho board while you’re out!” Y/N heard Mushi call as she stepped out the door. “We need to play a game sometime!”

Y/N added it to her mental list. She missed the game; the last time she had played was with her father, and she tended to lose against him. He had been the one to teach her how to play, after all.

---

The streets of Ba Sing Se weren’t overly crowded, and it was a pleasant afternoon. The sunshine was warm on Y/N’s back as she walked. And the walking was made better by the feeling of a new pair of boots on her feet.

Y/N stopped for a moment on an old cobblestone bridge, taking a moment to look out on the water. She had traveled all the way to the upper rings, and it was astounding how different the city looked. There were no beggars on the road; no one wore dirty or torn clothes, and even her new boots were put to shame by the footwear of the other girls wandering the upper rings.

She had caught plenty of odd looks but tried to ignore them. She was here to see the city that she lived in. Why should they look at her any different?

Y/N heard voices approaching and saw three girls dressed to the nines. They were giggling about something, and Y/N got the feeling that it wasn’t something very kind. She didn’t want to give them the opportunity to say something about the tear in her shirt, or the fact that she was wearing trousers today instead of a dress.

As Y/N quickly walked away across the bridge, already mourning the view of the water, she thought she heard something about a salon. Why not? She thought, despite a voice telling her not to care. It would lessen the stares on her walk back home. And, she had plenty of time.

The women in the salon gave her weird looks, too. But they seemed to get their act together when Y/N could actually name a lot of their products and services. The whole experience reminded her of her mother. It was something they’d done together, when her father had to travel for meetings and her brother was away at school.

Her mother would mix up masks and scrubs in the kitchen. They’d sit around the house in thick, fluffy robes and Y/N would get to choose whatever color she wanted to paint her mother’s nails. At the end of the day, her mother would braid her hair, and Y/N would keep it as long as possible before eventually taking it out and admiring the waves it left in her hair.

It had cost an arm and a leg, but it was worth it to finally get the dirt out from under her fingernails. Her hair felt softer than it had since she left, and she couldn’t stop running her fingers through it.

“Such a pretty girl,” one of salon ladies, Wu, said. “Would you like me to braid it for you? Free of charge.”

“No, thank you,” Y/N answered kindly, already pulling her hair into a low knot herself. “Thank you so much.” As Y/N stepped back out onto the streets, the tear in her shirt seemed less important. She felt truly clean for the first time in a long time. She could sew the hole in the shirt sometime.

Y/N could see the sky beginning to darken, but the orange of the sunset was hidden by the surrounding buildings. Y/N sighed; it was probably time to be getting back to the tea shop.

As Y/N walked through the mostly dark streets, she was glad to have brought her new knife, now securely tucked into her waistband. She kept a hand on it as she walked, but felt more confident than before, thanks to her training.

Y/N caught a flash of movement in one of the many alleyways. Dark, shaggy hair…

“Jet?” It was a long shot, and she knew it. But a part of her hoped that she’d see him again. Would the Dai Li really keep him very long for what he had done?

Y/N continued moving but couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling that someone was following her. She heard footsteps… “Jet?” She tried again. Deep breaths. In and out.

Suddenly, a shadow jumped out from an alleyway. Y/N couldn’t tell who it was but drew her knife. She thought of the steps Jet had taught her; widen your stance, stay balanced, wait for your opportunity.

The figure charged, and just before it got close enough, Y/N swung her blade. She just barely managed to graze the figure’s arm. It jumped back for a moment, before approaching again. It was a man Y/N didn’t recognize. He seemed to be just another desperate refugee. But he wasn’t relenting.

The man had a knife of his own—Y/N caught a flash of it as the man brought up his arm. She ducked out of the way. Look for an opening. Y/N swung again, grazing the man’s abdomen as he recovered from his missed strike. She took another swing of her blade as the man stepped back but was careful. She didn’t want to hurt him. Violence wasn’t justice.

The man dropped his knife on the ground and raised his hands in the air, panting. Y/N held her knife out between them. “Leave.”

The man nodded slowly, some strings of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, his eyes wide. He took another step back, and Y/N lowered her knife slightly.

Before she had time to react, the man leapt, knocking Y/N to the ground. She scrambled to keep her knife away from him, but he was prying it out of her hands. Y/N heard someone call her name, but they were too far away. Her knife flashed as it was pried out of her hands, the mugger’s weight holding her down.

You’ll have to defend yourself. Then everyone will know, Jet’s voice echoed in her ears. Someone called her name again, but she could tell they were still too far. Breath with me, her father had said. In and out.

“Good,” her father praised, placing a hand on her shoulder despite the obvious risk as the flames died away.

“Why am I like them?” Y/N collapsed into her father’s arms. “I’m a monster.”

“No,” her father reassured her. “You are my daughter.”

The man’s arm was raised above her, poised to strike. Breath with me.

Y/N ignited.

Fire burst from Y/N’s palms as the shoved the man off of her with a burst of strength. The fire was bright and alive in her hands. The man’s eyes widened with a fear Y/N knew could only be caused by the Fire Nation. By her. The mugger ran off into the night.

“Y/N?” The voice was close now, and she could recognize it anywhere. The light pouring from her hands illuminated the scarred face that was now staring at her in shock.

“Lee, I—”

Before she could say another word, a pair of stony hands clamped around her wrists, and her flames were extinguished. Three Dai Li agents came out of the shadows, clad in their dark green.

She couldn’t fight them, she knew. Two of the agents held on to her already bound arms. It was too dark to see Lee now, with the fire out, but she called to him anyway.

“Lee, I’m sorry!”

She was thrown into the back of a wagon before she heard a reply.

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6

Fire Lily Masterlist

taglist:

@kaylove12 

[starkerforlife6969]

I’ll Be Home - Starker

@starkersecretsanta @lilsoshie For you <3 

The story starts when Soldier Tony comes home for a few days, and is introduced to the love of his life. 

TW: Mentions of war, overload of fluff, A/O dynamics, mutual pining

Happily Holidays, my dancing sugar plums! 

Tony remembers his first station. 

Just off the coast of Kuwait, he was a fresh recruit, eighteen years old and awkward with a gun in his hand.

Though the army is Alpha-only, Tony had never really thought he’d want to join until he finished school. He remembers that first year, remembers the fear, remembers the confidence building, remembers the shared-smiles of people in his platoon. 

Stephen had been his bunkmate during training camp, and the two have been inseparable since. Stephen’s an irritating, self-righteous ass, a damn fine medical doctor, and Tony would lay down his life for him. 

One night in February, fresh off the plane, their general hires out a bar and fills it with dancers and family and lays on a huge spread. Tony’s just about to treat himself to the most expensive drink on the menu, when Stephen taps his arm. 

“Anthony, I want you to meet my brother. General Rogers had him flown out as a surprise for me.”

Tony lifts his eyebrows, already a little bemused at the softness around Stephen’s eyes. He’s never seen that before. A gentle smile on the doctor’s face, relaxed in a way that’s impossible to be unless you’re home.

Out from behind the other Alpha, a little omega steps.

He can feel his lips part, feel his mouth drop open a little in awe. The omega is beautiful. Tony’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his whole life. He has dark hair like Stephen, but it’s all fluffy and curly. He’s tiny, with huge honey eyes and lips like pink oceans. 

Tony doesn’t know what love at first sight is. He’s never read about it in books, never known anyone who experienced it, never heard stories. All he knows is that the second he lays eyes on the boy, he can see it all. In a flash he sees a future of shared smiles and kisses, he sees a family of curly haired children and a dog running in with the paper in his mouth. He sees the boy in white walking down an aisle, a veil framing him in all his glory, he sees-

“Peter, this is Tony, he’s the most narcissistic, egotistical, brilliant soldier I know. I’m very proud to call him my friend. Tony, this is Peter, the best little brother in the world and Brooklyn’s finest obstetrician in training.”

Okay, Stephen’s gotta be pretty drunk to be this nice, but Tony doesn’t even have the focus to mock him for the sentimentality. Peter. Perfect, beautiful Peter Strange. He’s got the loveliest blush on his cheeks, ducking his head like he’s shy and Tony’s heart-

Peter holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he beams, a sunbeam, a fucking ray of sunshine- “and I’m not very good, Stephen’s the real doctor.”

Stephen scoffs in outrage and Tony grins, tipping his head.

“I’m sure that’s not true. There’s quite clearly something special in your family’s genes.” Tony murmurs, feeling stupid even as the words leave his mouth. He can just picture this omega with babies now, babbling in his arms, babies with big eyes and soft skin and-

A woman from across the bar calls Stephen’s name and he wanders off leaving the two with each other. Peter blushes again.

“Let me buy you a drink.” Tony offers and Peter smiles.

“No, no, please let me buy you one. It’s the least I can do- thank you for-for your service, it’s- so- so brave-“

Tony laughs, feeling a little giddy. “I’ll have a beer. And I’ll get you a…” he glances at the drinks on the board. “A blueberry horizon.”

The omega hops onto a barstool and Tony slides in beside him. Peter nods delightedly. “Okay. Are they nice?”

“I think you’ll like it, I have an eye.” The alpha hums, “it’s very sweet. Like you.”

Another glorious blush.

Tony remembers that night. Eighteen years old and his first time back. He remembers talking to Peter all night, remembers them leaning into each other, feeling the heat of the omega’s body, he remembers Peter’s giggle, remembers steadying him when the two had gone outside for some fresh air.

He remembers the starlight in Peter’s eyes, and the flush across the bridge of his nose.

“I want you.” He’d whispered, drunk off alcohol and lust.

Peter had blinked up at him sweetly. “Want me to do what?” He’d whispered back, and Tony’s chest had clenched something fierce. 

“To…to take a walk with me.” He’d offered instead, holding out his arm like a gentleman. “To look at the moon with me.”

Peter had been speechless for a moment, looking up at him in wonder. “It’s like an old movie.” He’d beamed and Tony laughed. 

They’d strolled away into the darkness and by the time dawn came up, Tony was in love.

***

It’s been a few years since then. Tony’s twenty-five now, and his six-year contract has finally come to an end.

“You’re not gonna stay on?” Stephen asks in surprise, renewing his contract as a field medic for another five.

“Enough for me,” Tony murmurs, looking up at the moon the way he always does when he feels like he could finally get everything he wants. 

The problem with only being back in America a few weeks at a time is that over the past few years, he and Peter have only seen each other on a handful of occasions. They’re friends. Peter writes and sends care-packages to both his brother and Tony.

On average, Tony’s seen him maybe two days a year for the past seven years. 

Each time Peter is more beautiful. Last time was at a New Years Party, with Peter breathlessly regaling him with a story of a premature birth, hands moving expressively, as the two of them leaned against the railing on the roof and watched fireworks going in the distance. 

“I’ve missed you, Pete,” Tony had admitted, wincing at his own lack of tact. “I never get to see you.”

“Aw, Tony,” Peter had knocked their hips together, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. “I miss you too. But it means we always have lots to talk about when you’re back.”

They talk and talk and they have a good time, but there are topics that are never touched on. 

Tony’s never asked if Peter’s seeing anyone. Never broached it with Stephen either. It hadn’t seemed fair to express any sort of interest, to stake any sort of claim, not while he was away so often. The thought- the miraculous thought- of Peter liking Tony back, and then having to wait for him. To wait alone for a few days of snatched contact, to be lonely and unsupported and-

The thought was too agonising. 

So, Tony has waited and waited and-

“I want to go home. Settle down. Be around.”

Stephen smiles, pouring the both of them some bourbon. “Any idea where you’ll go?”

Tony takes the glass as it’s offered. “Brooklyn, maybe.”

Stephen chuckles in surprise. “Well good, keep an eye on Peter for me. He adores you, you know.”

Tony’s fingers tremble and he hopes it’s true. 

Stephen gives him a look then, curious and frighteningly intelligent, but he doesn’t say anything. They play cards and drink bourbon and Stephen accuses him of cheating.

At the end of the night in their bunks, Stephen talks into the darkness. 

“I’ll miss you, Stark. You’re…you’re like another brother to me.”

Tony says, “I’ll miss you too,” and thinks about what it might be like having Stephen as a brother-in-law.

He thinks it might be pretty great. 

***

As a young Alpha in Brooklyn fresh out of the army, he’s treated with a lot of respect. People nod at him, offer to buy him drinks and clap him on the back like he’s an old friend.

He finds a place to rent and gets a great deal even though he doesn’t need it. He’s got a lot saved up. His fingers itch to call Peter, but first he goes to a few job interviews. Tries to get a feel for living in the city and having his own space after so long of sharing and barracks. 

He gets the first job he applies for. It’s as a security consultant for a big firm. It’s good pay and the female Alpha who shakes his hand is no-nonsense and impressed with him. 

He buys himself a bed.

He spends a lot on it. It’s ludicrously big and the mattress is extra plush, queen, memory foam. He gets a fancy headboard and high-thread blankets. When he tries to sleep on it that night, it’s a little awkward. He sinks into the softness, feels unnatural. 

He tells himself he wants a change, but he’s lying. The bed isn’t for him. 

It’s for the softest, most beautiful, most deserving person Tony knows.

***

“Tony!” Peter cries, leaping into his arms in the March sunshine and clutching him tight. Tony lifts him clear off the ground: breathing him in. 

Tony’s in uniform. He feels more comfortable in it, but also, he thinks that maybe- maybe Peter likes seeing him in it. A few people on the street around them aww and applaud, but Tony has eyes for none of them. 

Peter’s in a bumble bee sweater and white jeans, looking so pleased to see him that Tony wants to- wants to make his move. 

But no. It’s not the right time. He’s just got back, he’s just moved to Brooklyn, he’s just started his job- it’s too soon. 

“Wow,” Peter murmurs, tracing his finger down the jagged line near Tony’s eye. His touch is like heaven and Tony leans into his caress. “A close call?”

“Real close.”

“I’m glad you’re safe.” Peter whispers, eyes huge, “and it’s very, very handsome.”

The scar had bled and bled and hurt like a bitch when it happened-

And Tony would do it again in a heartbeat, just for the way Peter wets his lips as he looks up at him. 

***

Over the next few months, things move slowly. 

Tony has a few bad dreams, writes letters to Stephen, and does his job. He buys more furniture, puts down more roots in the form of a real oak coffee table and a tv with cable. 

He visits Peter at the hospital he works at. He sees Peter as everything he knew he could be. Capable, brilliant, eyes flickering over information and reassuring to the pregnant Omegas. Peter’s hands are confident, assured, as they touch round bellies or squirming, wriggly babies. 

After his shift, they go and get lunch. 

“It’s like watching Stephen,” Tony says in awe, “you’re brilliant.”

Peter blushes and smiles, a classic Tony adores, and takes a bite of his salmon. Tony watches it go past his lips. “Well I think you’re brilliant.”

“And devastatingly handsome.”

“It’s devastating alright,” Peter teases. “So, what’s new? Have you made any friends in your building yet?”

Tony makes a face. “Why on earth would I want friends in my building?”

“Fine, Mr Grumps, what about…um…have you been…dating, or- or anything? Seeing someone?”

Tony stills, eyes flickering over Peter’s face trying to read him. What does that mean? But the omega looks carefully schooled, focused on his lunch. Is Peter asking as a friend? Or asking because- because- “I’m not seeing anyone,” Tony murmurs, waiting for Peter’s reaction. “Are you?”

“You’re- me? No, no…”

“No?” Tony hums, “no Alpha swept you off your feet?”

Peter’s honey eyes meet his. There’s silence for a beat, before Peter looks away. “Well, I mean- it’s just hard to find the time.”

“Is there someone you’re interested in?” Tony asks, voice a little too rough.

Those big, beautiful eyes keep looking at him, and then Peter’s pager beeps and they both seem relieved.

Tony finishes his lunch alone and tries to think. Maybe it’s time, maybe it’s time he made a move. He’s wanted Peter since that night in the bar. He’s back now, he’s-

But no. No, it’s not the right time and Peter’s right. The omega works so hard and doctors’ shifts are long and tiring and-

No. Not yet.

***

Peter’s apartment is all bronze accents and fluffy pillows. It’s near the hospital and has a pretty good view that makes up for all the sirens that go by. 

“I swear you’ve spoilt me.” Tony moans after he’s finished dessert. Peter’s cooking is phenomenal. After three helpings of spaghetti and chocolate brownie for dessert, he’s so content he could purr. 

Peter laughs, licking chocolate from his fingertips in a way that’s obscene. “I love watching you eat. I wish I could just feed you all the time, make sure you’re getting enough.”

It’s a very omega thing to say to an Alpha. Very traditional. Very domestic. Very intimate. What does it mean?

“It’s late,” Peter says, standing up and stretching. Tony can’t drag his eyes away from him. From the gorgeous figure he makes even in his frumpy green sweater with the floral collar and chocolate on his mouth. 

He pulls himself to his feet and reaches for his coat. “You’ve got an early shift-“

“No, I mean-“ Peter takes a step closer, swallowing hard, looking brave. “I mean, it’s late, you could…if you wanted, you could just stay over…”

Tony frowns, “what do you mean? The commute will be a bitch in the morning.”

Tony doesn’t understand when Peter looks embarrassed. “Nothing, no, don’t worry, I was just being silly, sorry.”

Tony doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like Peter looking awkward and humiliated. He feels like he’s missed something. “Pete?” He prompts gently, “are you alright? Was it a…was it a bad shift today?” That happens sometimes. Tragic things happen and Peter gets small and sad and needs someone to lean against for a few days, Tony gets that. “I’ll stay, sweetheart-“

“No, no, you don’t-“

“Hey, hey,” he collects the boy into his arms. “I’m here for you, okay? I’m here for you.” He kisses Peter’s temple: holds him tight. It takes a second, but eventually Peter relaxes into his embrace and they stand there, wrapped around each other.

Eventually they pull apart a little, and Peter peeks up at him.

Maybe now, Tony thinks to himself. Maybe this is the moment, maybe this is the right time-

But no. Peter’s had a long day and-

Warm and soft and perfect is the kiss placed onto the corner of Tony’s mouth. 

He’s so stunned that he can only stand there, unmoving, staring down at the omega in shock. 

Peter’s the colour of a rose petal, looking like the bravest thing in the world. 

Tony can’t even move. Does this- is this-

Peter stretches onto his tiptoes, hands still clutching Tony’s shoulders, and slower, much slower, presses another little butterfly kiss right onto the corner of Tony’s mouth.

He can hear his heart beating in his ears- is this- does he-

He’s hyperaware of his hand on Peter’s waist, one on the small of his back, of how they’re pressed together, of how perfect-

“Tony, I really like you.” Peter whispers, breath fanning over Tony’s face. “I was um…I was wondering if-“

“Yes,” Tony croaks, “yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyes.”

Peter makes the most adorable sound of delight, and kisses Tony right on the mouth.

He tastes of chocolate and love and Tony sees it all again. He sees the golden mornings and the crosswords in bed. He sees the dog coming into the kitchen with the paper in his mouth, he sees a future, his future, with the love of his life-

“Hey Tony,” Peter giggles, lashes all wet with tears, “I adore you.”

Tony lets out a sob and buries his face into Peter’s curls. 

Coffee tables and cable can go screw themselves. He doesn’t need roots to be tethered somewhere- with Peter, he’s always home.

***

On Christmas Eve, Christine and Peter are making mince pies and competitively quoting It’s a Wonderful Life, and Tony’s in the living room, phone to his ear.

“How’s Christie?”

“You just spoke to her-“

“How is she really, Anthony?”

Tony sighs. “She misses you, but we’ve got her, Stephen, don’t worry. She understands. It’s just hard.”

Stephen’s silent for a while. Tony wonders if he’s thinking about his contract. Stephen clears his throat: “It’s a squeeze the three of you in that tiny flat, when are you and Peter going to get a house?”

“We’re gonna start searching after Christmas,” Tony chuckles, “Guess what I’ve got Pete for Christmas.”

“Something ingenious no doubt. A framed photo of yourself?” 

“Ha ha. No, get this,” Tony drops his voice, “it’s a puppy.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh,” Tony grins, “Rhodes is bringing it over tomorrow morning, crack of dawn.”

“Tony, he’s going to love it.”

“I know, right? Best-present-ever-sex is definitely on the table.”

“That’s my brother, Tony.”

“Not literally on the table, Christie’s here-“

“I’ve got you something.”

Tony laughs in surprise. “Really? How’d you pull that off? You didn’t have to do that, Stephen-“

“Shut up and let me tell you what it is.”

“Is it good?”

“Obviously. You’re going to feel bad about making sex jokes.”

“I’m excited.”

“Christie should’ve put it under the tree- in an envelope.”

Tony hums in surprise, looking under the tree where all the presents are. Sure enough, there’s a red envelope with his name on it. He examines it curiously. “What is it?”

“Open it, you moron.”

Tony rolls his eyes, balancing the phone in the crook of his neck, and opens it up. Inside is what looks like an old letter. He glances at it in confusion. “What am I looking at here, Doc?”

“It’s a letter Peter wrote me a very long time ago.”

Yes, he can recognise Peter’s handwriting now, doctor-scruffy with lots of loops. It’s very sweet. Tony gets the gist of the first few paragraphs. Peter asks if Stephen’s safe, tells him he misses him, how his studies are going and then- and then-

You might not remember but you introduced me to one of your friends when you were here last month. His name’s Tony. Is he single? He’s got the prettiest dark brown eyes and he was really nice to me and I was just wondering if he’d told you about me? We went for a walk and we talked all night. Do you think he might like me? Could you tell him I say hi? Don’t make me sound like a dork! He’s not like any Alpha I’ve ever met before. And mom said to call her! And-

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed.”

“A month after we met- a month after-“

“Yes, Tony,” Stephen sighs, but his voice is fond. “I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you two pine for seven years. I thought you might like it. I don’t say it often, but I do love you, Tony. I’m very glad you’re with my brother. However, you do worry. You’re a soldier and you have a keen sense of time and when to do things, but you hesitated with Peter. I’m not sure why, maybe you thought he didn’t like you, but regardless, I think, in love, just doing what feels right is okay, from time to time. Especially with you and Peter.”

“Stephen…”

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

“I’m so glad I met you. You’ve changed my life.”

Stephen sniffles, like he might be crying. Tony calls Christie in, to let the two of them say goodbye, and heads into the kitchen.

Peter beams at him, flour on his cheeks. “George Bailey, I’ll love you till the day I die!” He quotes merrily, skipping over to peck Tony’s cheek, and Tony thinks about Stephen, and about love and about the puppy he’s going to give Peter tomorrow and the dog it’ll grow into and the kitchen they’ll have. He thinks about timings and all the waiting and the missed moments and then- he doesn’t think, he just does.

The first thing he says is: “I love you so much, Peter.”

And the next thing he does is get down onto one knee. 

--

merry christmas @lilsoshie your prompts were all equally amazing so it was really hard to choose, so I tried to merge a few of them together. I hope you liked this and that you have an amazing Christmas! All the love in the world1 

#starkersecretsanta2019

[essektheylyss]

for the fic prompts: hesitant affection? (any ship) Alternatively: Caleb is nervous about introducing Astrid and Wulf to Essek

anon I loved both of these so this is... a combination of the two? it got long because there wasn’t a way to keep it short, but that’s fiiiiiine I like it anyway, I hope you do too! (also now I wanna write this voyage lol)

They are, once again, sitting in the belly of a ship, out of sight of the Crownsguards, and Caleb feels as though he’s been here before.

More certain, then, maybe. More in control. More self-righteous.

Now he is with different wizards who have fled their nation for different reasons, and he does not feel as certain as he did then, though perhaps that is what happens when you start to realize that there are more choices before you than you’d expected. Doubt begins to creep in.

“It’s not forever,” Astrid says, her hand resting on his shoulder, and his smile back to her is strained.

“No,” he agrees. “But I think I’d prefer to have you both by my side when this ends.”

“I know.” She sits down onto a crate as Eadwulf enters from his rounds of the rest of the hull, wringing his hands with as much anxiety as Caleb feels, even now that they have confirmed that there are no apparent threats down here. Astrid and Eadwulf are anxious, he presumes, because they are sailing to a strange land away from the home they have spent so long trying to protect with someone who has always been little more than a faceless enemy.

Caleb is anxious because there is a chance that he will never see any of these people again.

Because on one hand, he is on a very dangerous mission, one that may very well result in his death.

And on the other hand, he’s not certain that Astrid and Eadwulf won’t kill Essek, or vice versa, before the journey’s end.

“When is your, ah—“

“Hello.”

Essek is standing—yes, standing, Caleb feels the need to point out to himself—in an outfit that is more casual than anything he’s ever seen the drow wear, traveling wear rather than his court garb. Of course, as of today he is a fugitive of the Kryn Court, and as such he had told Caleb he’d be leaving the mantle at home.

Still, without it, he’s tiny in comparison to the rest of them, even Astrid, and he stands in the doorway, self-conscious. The slight flush of his face reaches the pointed tips of his ears, going magenta. “Essek, it is good to see you,” Caleb says, relieved enough that he breaks into a smile and ushers him inside. “Come in, come in. Ah, Essek—Astrid, and Eadwulf. And—“ he gestures back to Essek, “Essek.”

No last names are exchanged. None are needed here.

“Fugitives?” Allura had frowned, when he’d brought the matter to her, and her brow furrowed. He knows from his studies that Wildemount is a harsher place than Tal’dorei, and he wonders if she understands.

“Refugees,” he’d replied. Refugees of what, he didn’t specify, but there has been a war recently, and she is not unaware of the demeanor of the king, nor the history of corruption within the Cerberus Assembly, so she appraises him and then nods.

“Hmm,” she said. “Yes, I think I have a place for them.”

So the refugees would be traveling by boat to Whitestone, together—without him.

It makes his heart ache to think about. He loves the Nein, but he loves them in a different way than the wizards in this room. It’s hard to let go of the work he can do with them, even if it may not be forever.

Caleb clears his throat and pulls the attention back to himself as the others stare at each other. Essek still appraises Eadwulf’s height with what Caleb thinks he’s identified as apprehension, but it’s harder to tell on the drow’s face.

It’s been getting easier, though, as he gets to know Essek better, without all of the lies on top.

Ludinus cannot know they are alive, he reminds himself, then shakes his head. Any of them.

“Well, now that I’ve made everyone’s acquaintance,” he says stiffly, to an awkward silence, and starts to pull out the chalks that will return him to Zadash. Before he can stoop to draw out the runes, a hand finds his, and Eadwulf meets his eyes with a frown.

“Did you think you could leave without saying goodbye this time around?” he asks, and wraps his arms around his shoulders, burying his face in his neck, and he—

Exhales. He exhales for the first time in a while, and probably the last for a time as well. It is yet another tragedy in the tumbling wheel of tragedies in their lives that they have only now escaped from under the thumb of Trent Ikithon to find that it is not the end of the story.

Wulf had always been the easiest in instigating affection. Caleb just hadn’t been sure that offer still extended to him.

When he pulls away, he is shocked to find that he’s crying, tears streaming down his face, and he looks around to the group, wiping his eyes hastily on the sleeves of his sweater. “I will miss you,” he says, gripping Wulf’s arms, then looks to Astrid and Essek, both of whom seem a bit more  awkward about the display. “All of you.”

“Stay safe,” Astrid says, squeezing his fingers, and he wants to hug her as well, tell her that this isn’t a place he thought he would stand again—among his childhood friends, safe and healthy and free, and he almost starts crying again.

“Alright,” Eadwulf rumbles, and pulls both Caleb and Astrid into his chest, all smashed together under his strength, and it should be uncomfortable but it just feels correct. He breathes in Wulf’s shirt and Astrid’s hair and finds that somehow they smell the same after over a decade. It is a comforting thought for a moment, before he wonders if the same can be said of him—an olfactory imprint of the child he was even still.

He tenses and pulls away.

“I should really be going,” he says, and turns, and Essek is still standing there, looking awkward as he shifts from foot to foot. He offers his arms with half a laugh. “May I give you a hug as well?”

“Hmm,” Essek says, and Caleb wonders if that is hunger that he sees behind his eyes. “I am not generally one for hugs.”

“You allowed Jester to give you a hug, once.”

Essek laughs. “Who can say no to Jester?”

“That is true,” Caleb says, and steps forward to grip Essek’s hand. “I fear I will never see you again.”

“That feels rather fatalistic,” Essek smiles crookedly, and pulls his eyes away from Caleb’s. “And you have learned more control of fate in a few months than I have gained in a century.”

Caleb exhales a melancholy laugh and looks to Wulf. “I think the two of you may get along yet.”

Wulf hmphs, but there’s amusement in his eyes. “We will see.”

Essek’s hand still in his, he pulls the drow into his chest and hugs him tightly for a moment, feeling him inhale and freeze, before letting go to grip his shoulders tightly. “Be well, friend.”

Lips pursed, Essek opens his mouth to speak, before seeming to think better of it. He drops his gaze to the floor and nods. “You as well. Friend.”

Caleb turns, readies the chalk in his hand again. There is much more he would like to say here, but there are too many bridges to cross. This feels like a promise of something on the other side, but for now he will let these three wizards cross the ocean together and begin to move past the things they are atoning for.

A heavy shuffling accompanied by the wheeze of bagpipes approaches, and Orly peers into the storeroom where they have congregated. “Mister Widogast, you’re still here, I see. Are we, ah, nearly ready to cast off?”

“Yes, I was just getting ready to go,” Caleb nods, and crouches in the middle of the floor to sketch out the teleportation circle to Zadash. With any luck—luck that Wulf believes in, that Essek has taught him to manipulate—this will be waiting for him, whatever this is. He smiles up at them as he chalks out the final lines. “I’ll see you all on the other side.”

And then the circle completes, and hurtles him through space.

[kewltie]

Three days after the Earl of Aldera was spotted with an oiran in a Yoshiwara's teahouse, causing the rumor mill to spin in a heated gossip over it, Izuku wakes up that morning to the steward tentatively informing him that the lord had just slipped in late last night, dishevel and tired.

Without dropping his polite smile, Izuku thanks and asks him to have the cook prepare a luncheon for him and the lord instead of breakfast, and that they'll be eating in the garden for this afternoon.

With his orders given, Fujino is dismissed but he hesitates. Face wary, brows furrowing with consternation briefly before he opens his mouth. "This old servant has been watching over the Bakugou family since the time of Lady Mitsuki's father and I know the Bakugou have always been loyal and steadfast in their marriage vows," he says solemnly. "Do not care for the careless whisper of others, Master Izuku."

Izuku pauses, turning his head toward down the long hallway where the lord's chamber lies. The distant between his and Katsuki's chamber is but a minute walk, yet it feels enormous all the same.

"I know," he acquiesces, smile tights around the corners. "He's an honorable man, but forgive me for not being such a dutiful spouse to let my husband disappear for an entire week without a single word and not fret about it."

There's not a trace of an angry infliction held in his words, but it spears Fujino right in the heart with the severity of the lord's sin laid out in front of him like that. "M-master Izuku—" he starts, face flushed with anxiety, but Izuku quickly cuts him off with a dismissive wave.

"Do not worry, I will only have a talk with him," he says plaintively. "After all, as I understand it, it's not his fault that he find me difficult to confide in."

The smile cresting on Izuku's face is now crooked and detached like it's going to fall off at any moment because someone had haphazardly plastered it on and didn't bother to check if was done right before disappearing.

It feels fake. He feels fake.

It's as fake at that smile he'd worn against the sharp tongue of various lords and ladies at the theater house. Their sly but pointed inquiry into his marriage and the speculative looks they had sent him when they had found his answer lacking. He'd learned to endure it all with a smile.

Fujino’s lips part as though to argue, but quickly thought against it, snapping his mouth shut. The marriage affair between the nobility is a confounding but interesting melodrama that keeps the idle tongue of many people wagging for months. Gossip is a theater that sells no ticket but is always packed and for the member of the elite class of Kazoku, their kind of playhouse is ripe with scandals.

"I see," he says, lowering his head. "I'll have lunch set up for you in a few hours."

The breath didn't know Izuku was holding escapes him in a long, weary exhale the moment after the Fujino takes his leave. Izuku leans against the wall, gathering his thought and dispelling the somber cloud hanging over him. He slap his cheeks in a resounding smack.

"Alright," he murmurs to himself. His cheeks sting, but the pain is grounding. "You can do this, Izuku."

He pushes himself away from the wall and heads back into his chamber. He calls several maids to him and have them assist him out of his current kimono, a subdued brown iromuji. Earlier, Izuku had them help him get dressed in it and now he'd seemingly changed his mind on his chosen attire for the day, but their puzzle expression is fleeting. Their careful and deft hands quickly strips him to the nagajuban layer before placing a new kimono, the he'd selected, over him once more.

It's a brightly color blue houmongi with white peonies descending from the left shoulder, to the left sleeve, and down to the bottom hem. It's more formal and lavish than his earlier austere choice of a kimono. This one commands attention and expects nothing less than that. If there's ever a lesson to be learn from his nanny and mother is that alphas are strong. Their strength lies in their ability to exert dominance over others and command an entire room with the sheer force of their will. That is power, but there's no one absolute way to it.

Here is what Izuku knows: Katsuki is an alpha of good standing and noble birth. He had seen it firsthand how Katsuki is undeniably strong, smart, and brave; a true patriot to his country, who has undertaken the crown's mission to solve the worst afflicted crimes in the country.

Izuku's husband is truly amazing, but Izuku isn't lacking either. He can’t be if he is to stand by Katsuki’ss side. He may not run around Tokyo, haunting brothels and slumming it in gambling dens to weed out miscreant of society, but Izuku wages a battle of wits and arms himself with just as lethal weapon as Katsuki's fist. An omega's battlefield is in the space their home and in society's arena. This is where many battles are fought, where wars are won and lost. Izuku's sword is the sharp edge of his smile, his courtesy is his infallible shield, and each piece of clothes and accessories add layer to his armor. These are the measure of his strength; it’s not as obvious as Katsuki’s but it’s there and Izuku wields it deftly. He maintains Katsuki's household in an orderly shape, defends Katsuki's reputation against gossip mongering fools, and all the while keeps the facade of the perfect marriage between them. It's a trial, but Izuku perseveres on because he's a good, dutiful husband. He is the kind of omega his mother had stringently taught to put family and duty first, even at the cause of his happiness.

He did everything correctly, yet Katsuki still doesn't acknowledge any of his effort. Izuku has had enough. He's going to war and he's taking no prisoner.

A gold fukuro-obi with phoenix embroidery on the sash is wrap around his waist. He has a maid switches out the simple jade tama kanzashi adorning his hair for a more pronounce hirauchi kanzashi pinned to his bun in the crest of the Bakugou family.

It's all decorative, but piece by piece, each layer on top the other, it's a carefully orchestrated show that bellies a statement to all eyes. This is his armor of choice as he stares at the elegant and poise creature in the mirror that he hardly recognizes as himself anymore. This strange, confident man standing before him isn't Izuku, but if he’s to dress the part then he'll play the part. He always been good at stepping into the roles other had placed before him; the expected betrothed, the contentious spouse, and now the firm master of the household.

"Thank you," he tells the maids before dismissing them. Emboldened now, he strolls into Katsuki's study that he'd taken over since his arrival at the manor because his husband finds being trapped behind a desk to be criminally boring; he rather be out there raising hell and dodging bullets instead.

He spends the next hours combing over the household budget, reviewing party invites, and replying to missives from acquaintances. It keeps him busy and distracted enough that when a knock on the door from Fujino, informing him that they’re ready for him. catches him by surprise.

"Lunch is set up in the garden pavilion as you requested, Master Izuku," Fujino says.

"Is my husband awake yet?" he asks as he gets up from his seat.

"The lord had just woken up a moment ago."

"Good," Izuku says, stepping around the desk, "have him meet me there then." It’s not a request.

Fujino lower his head in acknowledgement, knowing this is command won’t be easy to comply but it won’t be deny either. Servants are the ears and hands of Kazoku’s household, privy to all sort of secrets, that it makes Izuku wonder what do the servants of the Bakugou household has to say about the marital spat of their lord and master? Nothing good, probably.

But they're loyal and discreet, and he can count on them not to spread rumors about the Earl of Aldera and his new spouse's turbulent marriage that ended Izuku in one bedchamber and Katsuki in the other and stilted conversation shared between them over sparse dinner, however true they may be.

Izuku walks toward the back garden of the manor, a massive green space that's a mixture of eastern design and western influence. There is a large lotus pond, cascading waterfalls, and stones path that is the hallmark of tradition, but also a hedge maze and a fountain centerpiece hailing influence from the west. Normally, when he’s at the manor he can be found in the office or in the library, but when he got time to spare he would wander through the garden, listless in thoughts. It reminds him of home, of the country side that he had left behind so he can marry Katsuki.

This small measure of a paradise is his haven.

The gazebo is located on the other side of a short bridge, arching over a pond with fishes swimming under it. He strolls up to it and immediately spots the plates of food already prep for him and his guest on a bamboo patio table. He takes a seat and pours himself a cup of hot tea.

And waits.

The tea is cool in his hand by the time the unmistakable musky, bitter scent of an angry alpha storm into the area, making his nose twitch in annoyance. The pungent scent is follow by the disgruntle face of Izuku's husband, glaring at him across the bridge.

Izuku puts his teacup down as Katsuki marches toward the gazebo, hands balled at his side and a frown etched onto his handsome face. A ticked off alpha is discerning, but so is an omega and their wrath isn't a fleeting thing.

"You had the servants dragged me here?!" he spits. He glowers down at Izuku, eyes narrowed in contempt. His presence a dark and domineering thing that makes Izuku's hand twitches minutely under the pressure he exerts over him. It's hard to breathe all of sudden. "Did you already forget who is the master of this household?"

Izuku smiles thinly. "That is difficult to say when you're rarely home as it is and I've been the one managing the entire household affair while you're gone, my lord." He cocks his head curiously. "Did you at least enjoy your time with Oiran Aoyagi at the Magnolia teahouse?"

Face red with outrage, Katsuki sputters out, "W-what, no, that is—I—"

Taking pity on him, Izuku cuts in, "Please sit and eat first." He gesture to the food on the table. "We can talk afterward." He looks like he's about to argue, but Izuku is already picking up his chopsticks, shutting down the entire argument before it can even begin.

Lunch is a quiet and stiff affair, full of stilted silence and sullen glances from Katsuki. The food had long since cool and the conversation is left halted in the air between, hanging over them like a dark, ominous cloud that neither of them is willing to address right now.

Izuku can count only a handful of times in his memory that he was able to share a meal with the person sitting across from him since he'd arrived here. Often he'll find himself eating a table of food all alone in this large manor with only his thoughts to keep himself company.

It's a strange existence to go from the rowdy, loud atmosphere of his own home—Kouta's rambunctious laughter, father's calm tenor, and mother's fond sigh—to this empty nest. He wonders when will this manor feels like another home to him, and if that day will actually ever come.

“Are you going anywhere after this?” Katsuki manages out between bites.

The unexpected question startles Izuku. “No,” he says with a curious tilt to tone.  

Katsuki stares at Izuku, eyes dropping from his face to the neckline of his kimono and then to the obi wrap tightly around his waist. “Then why are you dressed like that?”

He pauses, cocking his head. “Is there a problem with how I dress?” He had prepared this outfit to draw strength from, but Katsuki’s sudden acute attention to his choice of attire makes him self-conscious. He shifts in his seat and deliberately adjusts his collar as though that will keep him distracted from Katsuki’s heated gaze.  

“No, you look—“ he stops, swallows, and lets the rest of the sentence die on his tongue. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Dress however you like.” And goes back to eating, silently and surly.

Izuku’s brows pinch in puzzlement about this strange broach of topic, but Katsuki doesn’t appear to be receptive to further probing so he too resumes eating.

The rest of the luncheon is stifling affair as they both choose to stew in their awkward and taut silence.

Izuku stares down at his half-finished lunch, a bowl of rice and grilled fish, and suddenly doesn't find it quite appetizing anymore. He looks over at Katsuki who is wearing a constipated expression on his face as he shoves food into his mouth like every bite physically pains him.

If Izuku wasn't still nursing his anger from earlier, he would have find Katsuki's sulky action to be stupidly endearing, which honestly say a lot about him and what a fool he truly is.

"How do you find the food so far," he asks, a smile painted across his face once more. “I've been told it's made to your specific taste, my lord, but you must have had finer meals when you were at the Magnolia teahouse." He slips his hands under the table, wringing it unseen. "I have heard of many great things about that place. A world of dreams, they call it. It’s where all your fantasy can be fulfilled and every courtesan is lovelier than the last." His nails digging into his flesh, but the smile remains in place. "Many people have said that Oiran Aoyagi is easily the most beautiful the flower there. Truly a dream made real. I'm sure you are well acquainted with that knowledge since you spent so much time there." He's rambling now, he knows, but he can't stop this stream of bitter words from spilling out. "I can see why though. He’s not only beautiful but I've heard he’s talented in various arts too. Maybe, I should consider taking lessons from him since I'm lacking the necessary qualities—"

A hand slams down on the table, rattling all the silverwares and making Izuku swallow the rest of his words in shock. "Stop," Katsuki says, low and foreboding. "Just fucking stop it."

Caustic anger emanates from him. The air is pungent with his oppressive presence. The fact that they're outside shouldn't make Izuku feels so trapped of a sudden, but Katsuki's scent have always been an imposing and a tyrannical thing that can easily bully even other alphas.

Izuku bites back a whimper, crossing his legs under the table and pinching his hand to keep himself from slipping out of the chair to fall on his knees before his husband. He won't be unmade here. He refuses to. "I'm sorry, is there a problem?" he asks, keeping his voice steady. He smiles placatingly. "I'm sure we can easily resolve it if we talk it over."

"That right there! That fake ass smile of yours," Katsuki accuses, gesturing toward Izuku's face as though that explain everything. "Stop pussyfooting around. I don't need your polite pleasantries bullcrap." Hes sneers. "If you're furious then just tell it to me straight instead of treating me like one of those empty-headed fools you like to hang around with." He glowers at Izuku. "I'm your husband, not some insipid hanger-on you have to woo and ply with pretty words to get your way. If you're mad at me. Fine. Yell at me. Hit me. Throw something. I don't care, but don't you fucking dare hide your real self from me behind that phony smile."

Izuku's eyes round in surprise. "I—" His gaze drops down to his lap helplessly. "I can't. It wouldn't be proper." No matter how angry he feels, how hurt had dug its teeth into his battered heart, he just couldn't allow himself to express it fully. He can't expose his ugly side to Katsuki.

"Fuck propriety," Katsuki snarls. "If you're upset then you're upset. Don't spare my feelings. Especially when you think I have done you wrong."

Izuku jerks his head up. Heart constricting tightly, he asks warily, "So you—?"

Realizing what he'd just implied, Katsuki hurriedly spits out, "Fuck no, I didn't cheat on you with Aoyagi." He pauses. "Or with anyone for that matter."

"Oh," Izuku says stupidly for lack of a better word, even as Katsuki's confirmation warms him all over. He didn't doubt Katsuki's fidelity from the start, but hearing it said out like this suddenly make it easier for him to breathe.

Katsuki sighs, rubbing his face tiredly like a man at war. "Just stop whatever you were doing earlier. Be mad, get mad, whatever. Just don't be so distant." He turns away, ears flushing red. "Don't treat me like everybody else. I can't stand it when push me away like that."

"Oh," Izuku says again. Dumb and so irrevocably in love in that moment.

Since the time when Izuku was seven and discovered his fate was bound to another boy, he'd trained and learned all there was so that one day he can stand equal to his future husband. To be the master of the household, a good omega, and a worthy spouse just like his lady mother.

Compose. Strong in mind and sharp in wits. An unfaltering smile. Fiercely protective, but endlessly gentle and empathetic. Dutiful and ever faithful. These are the qualities that ultimately shaped his mother. Izuku can only hope emulates a quarter of Lady Inko's imperviousnessl, but no matter how hard he’d tried to follow in his mother's imposing footsteps, to never falter in his duties or bring dishonor to his husband and family, that sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night drowning cold sweats, haunted by this sense of helpless failure.

He wants to be good, but he doesn't always know what that even means when he has to endure the snide remarks from outsiders about his wayward, troublesome husband with only a smile as his shield and his tongue the sharpest blade he can wield to defend himself and their marriage. No matter how much faith he holds in Katsuki's words and the fidelity that he'd promised to Izuku and no matter how much he loves this honorable and stubborn man who bow to no one, he still waver occasionally; he doubts. This weakness in him is so abhorrence and horrid, that he hates himself for it.

Izuku bites his lower lip, eyes catch the edge of the table, and breathes. "I," an exhale, "I am indeed very furious with you." Katsuki's breath hitches. "And with myself mostly. I know you and I trust you, but you don't ever tell me anything, refused to even mention to me that you were going disappear for a week like that isn't important information at all! I had to find that out from our steward!" His voice rise with every offense laid out at Katsuki's feet. "And whenever anyone ask about your absence, which keeps happening that they don't even bother pretend to be surprise when you're not there with me, I had to come up with excuses for you!" He turns to Katsuki, his smile no longer in place because frustration has now overwritten it. "All the while rumors were getting around about you hanging out with prostitutes at teahouses and I had to keep smiling while getting speared by the truthful accusations, because you did have tea with Oiran Aoyagi but I wouldn't tell them why. Couldn’t , really, because I knew nothing about it.”

Eyes startling wide, Katsuki gasps out, "Deku, I—"

"No," he shakes his head, holding his hand out to cut him off, "I'm not done," he huffs. "You asked me to be honest and I'm trying here." All the hurt and anger he had been nursing begins to stir and rise to the surface. "So yes, I am mad at you," he admits softly, "but more than anything I'm furious with myself because while I insist on defending you and our marriage against these detractors, I find myself struggling to not believe their empty slanders as more days passed by."

Katsuki bristles in offense. "I told I didn't—wouldn’t do that shit."

Izuku sighs. "I know," he says, wringing the sleeve of his kimono in his hand. "I'm fully aware of your obsessive nature about honoring your vows, my lord, but that doesn't stop me from being insecure and doubtful, wishing that I was in Aoyagi-san's place instead."

"You," Katsuki's voice sounds oddly skeptical, "were jealous? You?!"

Izuku flushes, ducking his head as though to hide. "Very much so." It is so petty and rather childish of him. "Oiran Aoyagi is known to be extremely beautiful and well versed in many talents and I, well, am just me." He gestures to himself casually and grimaces. "I'm fully aware that I'm old fashioned, simple, and boring. I'm not a good much to a future duke, but I do my best to fulfill my duty as your husband." He smiles crookedly. "Though that doesn't mean I can compete with a high class oiran."

Katsuki glares at him. "Who the fuck said that to you?! I fucking rip their tongue out of their mouth if they dare."

"But that is the truth, is it not?" he muses. It sounds deprecating even to his own ears, but it’s hard to argue with facts.  

"You," Katsuki pinches his nose and heaves a sigh, "yes, you're nothing like Aoyagi, but it doesn't make it necessary bad. Aoyagi is," he makes a face of utter disgust, "annoying. He says a lot, but it's all empty words to get his clients to fatten his purse in the end and make you dance in the palm of his hands. He's smart and knows how to read people, but it's used to further his goals.” He leans back into his chair tiredly. “You can never let your guard down around him because if there's even a crack in your defense, he'll slip through and find what make you tick so he can use it against you later. He didn't survive this far by being a pretty, empty headed doll," he continues.

The words are biting but there's also a grudging sense of admiration and pride tucked in there. It makes Izuku’s chest tightens uncomfortably, wondering if Katsuki will ever think that way about him day. Aoyagi and Katsuki are friends even if he doesn’t admit it.

He looks at Izuku, pinning him with a pointed look that leaves him breathless. "Then there's you, and there’s plenty to say about that."

Izuku blushes, cheeks burning with such implication. "That's not—"

"Shut the fuck up, it's my turn to talk now." Katsuki scoffs. "I can be a blind fool sometimes to not see what it's right in front of me, but now I know how hardworking you are for one, faithful for another, but most of all you're kind even when the world isn't kind to you back.” He gaze softens as Izuku squirms under it. "Sometimes it's harder to be kind than it is to be cruel. I would know, because my first reaction to any offense is to lash out and hurt them back, but you," he grins sardonically, "would reach out and ask if there’s something first. It's stupidly softhearted of you because not everyone have some sob story for you to save them from," he flinches at those words, but Katsuki continues on undaunted, "but the fact that you try and empathize first with them make you better than most people. At least better than me and Aoyagi."

His last sentence is bitter and self-condemnatory. It reminds Izuku that Katsuki was a soldier, a war hero by everyone’s measure, but any mention of war and the things he had done out there always draw a conflicted and dour expression his face.

“My hands are unclean. I only had trade one battlefield for the next,” he once said in discussion of his employment with the crown. “Fighting is all I ever known and this is how I chose to find value in it.”

It had made Izuku’s heart ached when he’d first heard it.

"So if I hear anyone put my husband down like that again, I'll drag them out and beat their ass bloody." Katsuki glares at him. "Even if that person is yourself, you hear me Deku?!"

Mouth drops open, but not words come out of Izuku. He sucks in a deep breath and with his chest feels like it's going to collapse within itself, his manages get out, "Y-yes, I understand, Kacchan." It’s the familiar nickname that he had given to Katsuki when they first met all those years ago, but left behind when he didn't think he could call him that anymore.

It's Katsuki's turn to look away, ears red and right hand drumming anxiously on the table. "Good," he says, clearing his throat and looking like he's about to make a run for it. "If that's everything we have to say..."

"I wish to come with you on your next job," Izuku gently broaches the subject, but apparently not gentle enough because Katsuki's hand forcibly grips the edge of the table so hard that it makes a dent on it. He stares at it, then back to Katsuki's ominous expression.

"No," Katsuki asserts, eyes narrowed and lips pinched. "Absolutely fucking not. If I take you with me, I know some dirtbag is going to say something offensive in front of you, so I'm going have to duel them to defend your honor. Then it'll devolve into an utter shitshow."

Izuku pouts. "Why not? I don't mind."

"Well, I do," Katsuki retorts. "I won't have you hanging around the dregs of society in Yoshiwara."

Izuku raises a brow. "And you can? You're the heir to a dukedom."

"Yes, because I know what exactly kind of people they are," he snaps sharply, eyes narrowed. "They aren't like your high society friends whom you have tea with thrice a week. These are people who have to scrape the bottom of the barrel just to survive. They're grifters. Scavengers. Outcasts of society. Do you know how many people go missing there a month?" he demands.

Izuku shakes his head numbly, mouth drying.

"Too many to count." He makes face. "Too many for the police to do anything even though that's somebody's child, parent, sibling, or significant other. It doesn't matter to them because Yoshiwara is too wild to be tame so they don't bother." He glances at Izuku, eyes heavy and piercing. "That's why I can’t bring you there. It's not safe."

Izuku recalls just the day before Katsuki had disappeared, when he’d read the headline of the sixth mutilated body found in Yoshiwara that morning and grim determination set in his eyes afterward. "But it's not all bad, is it?" he prods.

Katsuki pauses thoughtfully. "No, it's not all bad." He wouldn't  havespend so much time away from home, away from Izuku, to hunt down the worst of the worsts in Yoshiwara if he didn't care—if he didn't think this place and its people are worth his time and effort to help them.

Izuku may not understand everything that has to do with Katsuki's job, but this he gets at least. He smiles. "So take me with you on your next job then."

Katsuki frowns. "Did you not hear what I just said about how dangerous it is there?!"

He nods his head, amused. "I did, but you also said it's not all bad there, and I'm sure the Great Hound of the Empire would have no problem keeping his husband safe, right?"

Katsuki's frown morphs into a deep scowl. "How did it take me this long to realized how incredibly annoying and stubborn you are?!"

Izuku's smile broadens. The sharp edge of Katsuki's words doesn't cut him as cruelly as before. His skin had grown too thick and he knows by now that when Katsuki want it to hurt, he won't use any flimsy knife and he'll go for the throat. "If you had care to spent more time with me then maybe..."

Katsuki winces. "I was neck-deep several cases."

"I know," he says, resting his hands on the table. "I understand how easily it is for you to get caught up in one of your cases." Too many times he'd seen Katsuki dragging his exhausted body home with a haunted expression on his face, haunted by the ghosts of the people he couldn’t save. For all his prickly and rough exterior, Katsuki easily bled for the people under his care. It's what Izuku loves the most about him; his tin can soldier with a bruised heart. "But as much I claim to understand your motivation, I only wish to be included in your world." His gazes drop forlornly down to his hands. "You never tell me anything. I don't know where you're going, how you’re doing, or who you're meeting up with when you leave the manor. The only news I get about you are from the mouth of others and even then it does not quell my anxiety and dread." He clench his hands, nails digging into his palm. "You'd said that the places and the people you encounter far too dangerous for me, so don't you think I have that same concern for you when you're out there running around in dark alleys and I don't know if you're safe at all?"

Katsuki opens his mouth, closes it, and sighs.

Feeling momentary courageous and encourage by Katsuki's lack of a rebuttal, he continues to press on, going for the throat. "And I wish to personally meet with Oiran Aoyagi for a one on one conversation,” he adds blithely.

"Huh?!" Katsuki demands. "Didn't I just explain to you that nothing is going on between us?"

"It's not about that.” Izuku roll his eyes. Honestly. "I only want to seek advice and to learn from him."

He splutters in outrage. "What the fuck do you even have to learn from a high class prostitute? You're my husband! The spouse of an earl! I won't have you be seen with him like that."

Izuku's lips thin out. "And yet you can, my lord?" he says dryly. "What's the difference between you and I then?"

"That's not it." Katsuki shakes his head, frustration blackening his mood. "You're not listening to me! Do you think this is all fun and game to me? I go there for work and not to play. You keep insisting you understand, but clearly you don't know what sort of place it is."

Under the table, Izuku slips his foot out of the zori and extends his leg toward Katsuki as he drones on about Izuku's lack of preservation skill.

"I can't let you tagged along like this is some sort of playdate," he spats. "And what do you even plan to talk to Aoyagi about—" Izuku keeps a carefully neutral expression as he attempts one of the moves he'd read in one of Lady Momo's highly recommended sordid romance novels.

He's painfully new at this game of seduction, but he's willing to learn and this seems easy enough to start especially now when Katsuki looks like he's want to strangle him for even considering going with him to Yoshiwara. Maybe this will be enough to distract him from his rant.

"—do you think Aoyagi is just going to happily have tea with you like you're bosom friends?!" Izuku's leg creeps over to Katsuki's pants leg and he runs his foot around the ankle first.

Katsuki's speech ceases at the touch. Eyes widen in shock. Mouth agape as he stares at Izuku. Izuku continues to keep his face blank as he move his socked foot toward the calve, slowly making its way upward toward the thigh and—Katsuki jerks out of his seat so unexpectedly and forcibly that he kicks the table with his knees hard. So hard that the wooden legs give away and breaks.

Izuku quickly withdraws his leg and blinks as their lunch comes crashing onto the floor and the table cracks in half under the force of Katsuki's sudden and violent shock. He scrambles away from Izuku, mouth snapping open then shut. Again and again as he struggles to find words. Face flushed, hands clenched into a fist by his side as his eyes darts across the garden, anywhere but at Izuku. He looks manic and helpless, and Izuku is stunned by the sight of his fierce and steadfast husband so out of sort because he decided to play footsie with Katsuki under the table.

Izuku rises to his feet, feeling like went at this completely wrong. Wasn't this how people flirt with their spouse? Was the book wrong? It is romance novel after all. Not exactly a how to guide to woo one’s spouse. Perhaps, he got the right idea after all to seek help from Oiran Aoyagi to properly seduce Katsuki if his first time flirting went this badly.

Distressed, Izuku steps around the broken plates and wasted food. "F-forgive me, Kacchan," he says, chagrin. "I didn't mean to offend with my amateurish flirtation skill." He wrings his hands anxiously. "I'll make sure to do better next time!"

Katsuki makes a strangled noise that sounds like a dying animal.  "Who the fuck taught you that," he demands furiously, still refusing to meet Izuku's eyes. "Don't ever to do that again. With anyone." He clears his throat. "Now if you would excuse me, I have some matters to attend to." And he turns around and runs off, leaving Izuku alone and terribly confused in the aftermath.

Was he not being to forward enough? Maybe that was too weak. He’ll just be more aggressive in the future, Izuku swears to himself. 

[clockworkgraystairs]

I just went a read all your pregnant Jurdan hcs and my gosh, they were so amazing!! If you want and can, could you write one where Jude and Cardan tells the court of shadow crew personally about her being pregnant. I feel like they are her second family tbh.

Hi there!! Sorry it took me a long to write this, but it’s finally finished!!

You’re totally right, they are like a second family to her and deserve all the love and respect! 🧡

Also, thank you so so much for your lovely comment!

Scheming great schemes masterlist

Read on AO3 here!

Tags: @thesirenwashere

If I was supposed to tag somebody else PLEASE forgive me and let me know! (it’s like 2 am and I’m not thinking straight rn) 

SCHEMING GREAT SCHEMES:

The Court of Shadows finds out Jude’s pregnant

(aka Cardan is being overprotective again)

Three weeks had passed since Jude learned she was pregnant. Still, they chose not to make the official announcement until the Full Moon festivities, which lasted almost a week. 

Cardan’s wish was to shout it from their balcony the same day his wife had told him, and then throw a revel for two full weeks. But Jude had convinced him to wait, not wanting to make more fuss than the strictly necessary, which being honest, was going to be a lot. 

At the moment, only three people besides her and Cardan knew about it: Vivi, Taryn and Heather. Even if Jude was dying to see Asha’s incredulous face she’d decided to make her wait until the official announcement. Telling her before would make her feel important. Jude was decided to show her the exact opposite. 

Still, she could feel Asha’s eyes following her everywhere, always calculating. Almost suspicious. Could she know something already? And if she did, why staying silent?

Jude inhaled deeply and lifted her hand to her belly, she needed to stop being so paranoid. 

Her mind kept thinking about it while she entered the Court of Shadows hideout. Jude usually went there when she wanted to train or work without being bothered. It was calm and quiet and-

She stopped in her tracks as she realized the place was not empty. In fact, one could say it was quite crowded.

The Ghost, Roach and the Bomb stood in the middle of the room, and to Jude’s surprise, Cardan was in front of them. They were serious enough that she could almost believe there was a war approaching. She rushed to them with furrowed eyebrows.

“This is top priorit-” Cardan paused, noticing her. “Jude.”

The others turned and nodded, welcoming her. Still, something alarmed in their eyes that made Jude’s shoulders tensed immediately.  

“What’s wrong?” She asked. 

She reached Cardan, her fingers itched to take his, but this was a serious meeting. Maybe later. His expression was unreadable, one that he usually had when his mind was solely focused on a single issue.

“I meant to talk to you later but, I guess now is a good moment as any. From now on, Jude, the Court of Shadows will be your personal guard.” Her what?! She stared at her husband wide eyed. “They shall accompany you on every step and make sure nothing will-” 

“Personal guard?” What on earth was going on? She gazed back to the others, looking for a reasonable explanation. “Did I miss something?”

The Bomb stepped forward and gave a slight bow. “You have my word Your Highness, that no harm will come to the High Queen, no matter the threat.” 

She looked at Jude solemnly, frowning a bit. 

Ok she’d definitely missed something. 

“Can someone please explain why am I to be protected?” Jude crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at Cardan.

He cleared his throat, looking back to their friends. “Your safety has always been important to me, wife.” 

She didn’t buy it, he wasn’t even making eye-contact with her. Suddenly, something clicked inside her brain. 

That idiot.

“Cardan.” 

“Roach and Ghost, you will be with her at all hours. On council meetings, one of you will be inside with her and the other one outside guarding the door. When she retires to sleep, one will be outside the room and the other may go to rest. You-”

“Cardan” She repeated louder this time. He didn’t answer.

“...will report to me of every suspicious movement around her, no matter where it comes from.” He turned to Bomb. “Lilliver, you will be in charge of the perimeter, you are the best at it. Also when Jude needs to bathe or something, l trust you to be with her and assist if she-”

“Oh my god, stop!” Her fists were now tightened at her sides. She wasn’t sure of who to punch first. 

“Jude” The Bomb started, her voice soothing. “It is ok, whatever threat is coming we will not let it reach you.”

“Is there an actual threat upon me, my King?” The way she was glaring at him could make dozens run for their lives, but he just returned her look with strange adoration. She wanted to slap him so hard. 

“Come on Queeny, you can let us protect you for once.” Roach teased, standing next to the Bomb. “It will not make you look less terrifying than usual, no offense.” 

“No one will dare to question that.” Cardan concealed, with that irritating and charming smile of his.

“I am not saying…” She sighed. “I do not need any protection. Whatever nonsense Cardan told you please just forget it.”

“They shall not.” 

Cardan’s voice was back to that autoritary tone. When she get to be alone with him…

At some point the Bomb had approached her and took her hand. “If something is frightening you Jude, we can start investigating it immediately.” 

“I am not scared!” Jude jerked back her hand. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she groaned deeply. “I’m… gods… I’m pregnant ok?”

Raising her gaze again she found the three of the Court frozen in their places. Roach and the Bomb mouth-opened. The Ghost with an eyebrow raised. All of them wide eyed. All of them turning to Cardan in a single motion. Jude found herself biting down a laugh from their incredulous faces. 

Cardan shrugged as if it didn’t change anything. Still, the intensity of his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. 

After a couple of seconds in complete silence, something finally exploded. The Bomb let out a sharp squeal that startled even Roach before throwing herself at Jude in a tight hug, which she answered a little clumsy at the beginning, unused to such displays of affection from her. 

Roach laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh I see now. I knew there was something odd about all of this but…” He swore, still cackling. “Congratulations you both!”

On the other hand, the Ghost looked as if he’d just solved a big mystery. “Ah, I noticed Taryn was keeping some sort of secret from me, got me worried for a while.” He sighed and smiled at the couple, congratulating them as well. 

In all of that time, the Bomb hadn’t let go of Jude, murmuring surprise words and happy nonsense about teaching their baby how to hide and be a spy. Jude didn’t know if being delighted or terrified, but couldn’t contain her smile at her friend’s joy. 

At some point, the Ghost, who Jude never noticed leaving, came back to the room with food, wine and juice. That last one probably for her. They sat on the cushions and carpets and talked, teased and laughed, Jude telling them the story of how she’d found out she was pregnant.

Cardan, who had already came down from his ‘King mode’, joined their happiness and jokes, thanking them for their words. He reach for Jude, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers. Watching her with something between love and wariness. “I hope you all have a better understanding now of why her security is priority from now on.”

Jude rolled her eyes, and took his hand. “I get your motives, but you’re really exaggerating, I do not need… well, all of that!”

“Oh no no, stop right there Jude.” Roach said. “Not even a cold breeze is going to touch that belly of yours, I am telling you.”

The other two nodded in agreement. The Bomb suggesting something about not letting anyone even approach Jude without proper previous inspection. 

She stared at them wide eyed. Those traitors. Cardan flashed her a triumphant grin.

Roach noticed Jude’s betrayed glare and shrugged. “Sorry lass, but even if we were not given royal commands to protect you, we would anyway. It may seem like you do not need it now but… it is not of public knowledge yet.” 

“Once it is,” The Bomb continued. “It will be impossible to guess the reactions among the folk. Better to be prepared for anything.”

“Thank you both, my wife is a little stubborn. But I will not take any risks.” Cardan’s grip on her hand tighten a bit. His voice so soft and full of gratitude it made Jude’s chest shrink. 

She sighed, knowing any further excuse would lead nowhere. She really understood, still, being guarded the whole time felt strange. Could she deal with it?

Unless...

“Don’t you think that making Lil stay with me while I bathe is a little too much?” She asked, taking a casual sip from her cup.   

Cardan pulled her closer and laid his chin on her head. “When it comes to you, my love, there is no such thing as ‘too much.’” 

Jude nodded. Raising her hand she started caressing his jaw, trailing her movements down to his neck, slower every inch. She muttered “I just thought you would be a better companion for me on that moment, that’s all. You could keep me close and... well observed the whole time.”

She practically heard his heart skip a beat. He swallowed, and made a low growling sound intended only for her. 

Someone cleared his throat, making them look back at their companions. 

The Roach was trying so hard not to laugh while watching the Bomb. She’d stopped chewing her food and stared at nothing, dramatically uncomfortable. The Ghost kept eating as if he didn’t hear anything, a mocking little smirk on his lips.

Heat climbed up Jude’s cheeks, she hadn’t realized they were being that obvious. Then again, it wasn’t like Cardan didn’t enjoy the attention. 

He chuckled, probably knowing what she was thinking, and raised his cup. “To you, my friends. For everything you have done for us, and what you are still willing to do. I will never find a way to show you how thankful I am.”

Jude mimicked him, her cup filled with grape juice. “You are family to us too, please never forget that.”

Glasses were raised, a couple of tears spilled and more hugs were given. This was one of those moments when Jude didn’t feel like the world was folding over her. She could breathe easily, and laugh in that little bubble of trust and love. Worries like ruling a kingdom, the former Court of Teeth, Lady Asha, nothing mattered now. Just this, just them.

Soft lips pressed to the base of her neck, startling her. She turned to Cardan as his arms surrounded her. “You look happy.” He mumbled. It was not a question. 

Jude cupped his cheek and grazed his mouth. Behind her, the Bomb said something like: “They just keep doing that in front of me, gods why?” 

They ignored her. Cardan chuckled, his chest shaking against hers. 

“I am.” She answered, finally pressing their lips together.

[piermanwalter]

Thief’s Apprentice: Popular Fiction in Surenia

As many revenants no longer have the mental faculty to keep track of stories and reality at the same time, these stories are mostly for the living to rationalise their plague-ridden surroundings. Common themes of the oldest and most well-known stories are escaping the plague and love that lasts after death. These stories usually follow someone as they travel across Surenia, and serve as escapist fantasy for bedridden plaguebearers as they look forward to all the travelling they can do as revenants and wait to die.

CURE QUEST

Hearing of the revenant plague spreading to their kingdom, instead of hoarding food and barricading themselves in fortresses like neighboring kingdoms, Prince Orto and his mother Queen Mavia set out to investigate the cause of the plague and find a cure with their court mage Ovid. The story is allegedly the writings of Ovid himself as he recorded their adventures, but Cure Quest is so fantastic and implausible that most people now believe it’s complete fiction. 

The basic story structure of Cure Quest is Ovid receiving cryptic messages from the Gods to guide the Prince and the Queen, then they encounter a weird guy in the wilderness that Prince Orto fights and/or befriends, then they rescue a town from some disaster and are allowed to rest there in thanks, and then Ovid finds some town specialty herb or potion that alleviates the plague a bit, but doesn’t totally cure it, so they have to keep going, and then they get captured by another kingdom or mage or giant gryphon that is too strong for them to beat, then Queen Mavia sings their captors to sleep or distracts them while Ovid comes up with an escape plan. By doing this many times, they eventually build up a huge procession.

There are many versions of Cure Quest, but they all feature Prince Orto making friends with wandering knights with extremely specific superpowers, such as a knight who can eat mountains of food, a knight who can steal anything that can fit in the palm of his hand, a knight who draws blood every time his sword is unsheathed, a knight who can turn into a flock of sparrows, etc. Most versions of Cure Quest are also known for huge epic battles between the royal knights and hordes of insane revenants, knights of rival kingdoms, monsters, and evil mages. 

However, there are also Cure Quest versions that address how a plague-ridden land can’t realistically support full-scale wars all the time, so the problems are instead solved with cunning tricks, political leverage, and magic.

In all versions of Cure Quest, the royal procession follows Ovid to The Fountain of Life, which can cure any disease or injury, but the Gods have led them to the end of The World. It turns out The Fountain of Life is on a separate land mass floating off the edge of The World, and while everyone is deciding how to get there, Prince Orto becomes impatient and jumps off the edge, but he misses and falls through space for all eternity. The rest of the procession builds a bridge to The Fountain, but as soon as they all cross, The World flies away. 

It’s widely believed that Cure Quest originated from Beringians in Surenia, since knights and dedicated soldier classes in general don’t exist in local cultures, and the effects of plague described in the story are hilariously wrong. Some people believe Cure Quest must have been first spun in the early years of the plague when people didn’t know exactly how it worked and genuinely had no idea revenants could be sane and articulate. Since different locations in Surenia are mentioned in many versions of Cure Quest, there is much literary debate over which city produced the earliest version of Cure Quest.

This story is the most popular among the living and not very well liked among revenants because all of the named characters are alive and all revenants are mindless shambling wrecks. However, the continued popularity of Cure Quest comes from there being a version anyone can enjoy. Children are told the version where Prince Orto is their age and Mavia is a beautiful young queen, and everyone aside from Orto, who was too impatient, got to live on an amazing new World. Once they outgrow that story, they can find another version where Prince Orto is a callous Machiavellian adult and Queen Mavia is wise and elderly, and they finally accept the plague has no cure, so they kill themselves to become the revenants they once so reviled. And if there’s no version to you liking, you can always make your own.

Most Surenians see leaving The World as a metaphor for death, and Prince Orto missing The Fountain as a metaphor for those who die before their time and go mad.

Muireland has coopted Cure Quest as an embellished retelling of their own kingdom’s founding and claims jumping off the edge of The World is a metaphor for establishing a new homeland on the edge of sea cliffs, and their own royal family is descended from Queen Mavia.

Despite getting blown up and occupied by Gehennans, many Veilheimers are still struck by, “Wow! Real Prince! Real knights! This is just like Cure Quest!”

WANDERING GONOT

He wakes his shirt covered in dirt and thinks, “How rude to pitch dirt upon a sleeping man! Dare they do this to I, the... I... know not mine own name.” A wooden signpost reads GO NOT. PLAGUE LAINS HERE. “Lo! My name. Gonot... Plague... Lainshere. I do not like the middle part! Bolfred Miller be called Bolfred Cheating Miller, but his name be not Cheating though he be cheating. A fool’s title on us both. My name is Gonot Lainshere.”

Gonot stands and leaves and sees a milkmaid. “Holla maid! There be dirt on my shirt, but not on my heart. Knows you the-” The maid cries like a hawk and runs. Dirt on a shirt be so vile? Gonot bends to clean and Horror! Skin is flaying off his legs! Nails torn from his fingers, but not a drop of blood! Bowels spilling from his belly! Gonot is dead! He is walking and speaking but he is dead!

Gonot is chased out of town with torches and pitchforks and wanders aimlessly around Surenia, getting into shenanigans and witnessing all sorts of interesting things. Wandering Gonot is a very relatable story about one of the first sane revenants figuring out basic things that every modern revenant knows, like seeing through solid objects, eating, or kitbashing your own metal prosthetics. 

Unlike Cure Quest, there is only one version of Wandering Gonot written over 600 years ago. Some attempts were made by other writers to add to the story, but the syntax and style of the original writer are so distinct that imitations are easy to detect. Wandering Gonot is historically important because it’s set when Surenians were most afraid of the plague, now that symptoms and epidemiology were better understood, but revenants were not. Earlier stories in Cure Quest had knights charging fearlessly into combat with supernaturally strong revenants that caused crushing bruises with the slightest touch, but by the time this story was written, it was known that massive inexplicable bruises were the first sign of plague infection, so Gonot empties towns and ends battles just by showing up. This time period is also significant because there was once so many people that Gonot could find a new town after one day of walking, but now revenants could wander for months and not encounter anything but thousands of miles of wasteland.

After wandering Surenia, barely holding himself together, trying to make friends, and killing thousands by accident, Gonot gets hit by a mudslide and sinks to the bottom of a lake, which dries up and traps him underground, so Gonot decides to Lainshere until the lake floods again. The story ends with a plea for the listeners to make their communities kinder and more peaceful so when Gonot wanders again, he won’t have to suffer.

Gonot probably never existed, since he is written as too preoccupied and destitute to record his own travels or tell them all to someone else. It’s believed that another early sane revenant wrote Wandering Gonot as a compilation of real events that happened to many different sane revenants in attempt to prove their sanity and humanise them to the hostile and suspicious living. It worked, because the story has been preserved for all this time, and the living like the story because it makes revenants funny and understandable, and revenants like it because many of Gonot’s struggles match their own. Most city dwellers, living and dead, are grateful because they don’t suffer from lack of basic understanding like the characters in Wandering Gonot do. 

Although Wandering Gonot is meant to be funny, many stories have an undercurrent of inescapable loneliness, such as “Priest of Harus” where Gonot meets another sane revenant but he’s a High Priest of a different God than he prayed to, so they could never be friends, and “Bone Mare” where Gonot finds a horse revenant and tries to catch it, but no matter what it always runs faster than he can so it slowly gets smaller and smaller in the distance until it disappears, except for one extremely divisive story that has since spun off into its own separate thing.

MERCIFUL DEATH

Gonot is hanging out in an orchard after harvest, because it’s a nostalgic place close to civilization, but nobody is there because all the remaining fruit is rotten. He sees a living maiden in a tree and tries to leave before she sees him and raises the alarm, but she isn’t afraid, introducing herself like he was any normal person. Gonot climbs the tree and has the first conversation with a living person he can remember. Goblinder asks how he was able to stay sane, then asks Gonot to strangle her. It is her town custom for plague bearers to do penance by starvation, and once they know she has the plague, they will wall her into a room. Goblinder would rather die quickly at the hands of a stranger than slowly by the hands of her friends. 

Gonot doesn’t want to strangle her, so he pulls an arrow out of his back and stabs her in the heart with it. After Goblinder dies, Gonot climbs down and thinks about how plaguebearers are like rotten fruit because nobody wants them, and sane revenants are like good wine because it is a rare state that not all rotten fruit can reach.

20 stories later, Gonot encounters a sane revenant with an arrow sticking out of her chest. It’s Goblinder. 

Although the original story wasn’t explicitly romantic, a lot of motifs from it, such as a heart pierced by arrows, fruit wine, and being in a tree with someone, became symbols of romance. There have been several rewrites and expansions of Merciful Death, usually with Goblinder deciding to travel with Gonot after either their first or second meeting. The archetype of a revenant killing someone begging for death and later falling in love with them was used for countless other stories. One Merciful Death subgenre exploded in popularity 300-400 years ago, because this was the time Veilheim was finally prosperous enough to support fine art and literature, and also relationships between the dead and the living weren’t taboo yet. 

One Merciful Death rewrite in this subgenre became so popular that it superseded the original and when people talk about Merciful Death, it’s usually in reference to this one. In this version, Gonot is a Gore Mage royal doctor and Goblinder is a Princess, and instead of everything being over and done in a single conversation, Gonot agonises over whether or not to kill Goblinder and what it means for her kingdom to lose their last heir while trying not to think about what she means to him, and Goblinder tries to live what remains of her life by taking scented baths, suffering elegantly from plague, hunting, and throwing huge parties while screaming inside because she truly doesn’t want to die. Whenever they meet, Gonot tries to stay professional while Goblinder tries to act resolute. After several emotional breakdowns and dramatic confessions, Goblinder finally loves Gonot enough to trust him to kill her. What tragic heartbreak! If Goblinder didn’t love him, she could yet live! Gonot uses Gore Magic to pull all of Goblinder’s blood out of a few small cuts so she can die painlessly. 

Gonot is depressed and wandering aimlessly outside for medicinal herbs to avoid the royal palace as much as possible and suddenly gets shot in the chest with an arrow. A hunter runs up and apologises for mistaking him for a wild animal. It’s Goblinder. 

Detractors hate this version of Merciful Death because the original was about two ordinary people calmly choosing to kill and die because this was the only way to survive in a world that feared them, and Merciful Death is basically set in Veilheim. Gonot and Goblinder are rich assholes wasting everyone’s time and money on interpersonal drama and killing and dying out of laziness and cowardice. This story is also hated for public health reasons now that romance between the dead and living is taboo, and also how it’s creepy to kill someone right as they are most in love, forcing them to stay in love forever.

Enthusiasts love this version of Merciful Death because it portrays the wild and opulent zeitgeist of Veilheim 400 years ago, and regardless of how it’s seen now, there really were romantic scandals between revenants and the living at that time, and Gonot would surely rather be a rich educated Gore Mage doctor in a kingdom where revenants are accepted than a terrified and confused peasant where almost everyone is trying to kill him. The whole point is that society has finally become kind and peaceful enough that outrageous luxury and interpersonal drama are the driving forces of people’s lives instead of survival.

Merciful Death Enthusiasts and Detractors are basically political parties. The Mayor of Veilheim stays neutral because he is a foreigner and wouldn’t have as much knowledge and attachment of Merciful Death as a born and raised Veilheimer.

Master Courtesan is a huge public Merciful Death stan because it’s expected of her, but her dark secret is that she doesn’t think it’s very good. Also she killed the author centuries ago for entirely different reasons.

Tax Collector has the political leanings of a Merciful Death stan but is a Merciful Death hater, because his job involves stabbing and being stabbed and he’s sick of people seeing it in a romantic context.

THAES

Unlike the huge rambling epics above, Thaes doesn’t exist in a specific story and instead serves as a mouthpiece for social commentary. Thaes is witty enough to make interesting observations, but is also oblivious enough to say them out loud. Thaes blunders her way to success via blind luck and coincidence, or she could just be resourceful. Depending on the story, she may be living or dead, anywhere on The World, set in any time. In a more contemporary setting, if Thaes is dead, she is instead called Careless Weaver. If you don’t want to reveal where you got information, you can say, “I heard it from Thaes.” Naming your children Gonot and Goblinder is universally seen as cringe, but Thaes is always a popular name for girls.

Thaes got the plague and had to leave the living district. She sees a stubborn donkey, refusing to take a single step and braying so loudly no one else can speak. “Good morning, The Mayor! How brightly Veilheim shines under your rule!” Thaes sees a towering lumbering ox, pulling ten times its own weight but moving as slowly as a snail. “Good morning, Noble Porter! Any important deliveries today?” Thaes sees a wild ass, kicking high and menacing its handlers with its horns. “Good morning, Tax Collector! Surely not everyone owes you money!”

Thaes is deciding which prosthetics to save for before she dies. She visits Noble Engineer and he says, “Your carpometacarpal and distal phalanges are gone! Do you want 32-2 cobalt steel? Do you want 56-1 lead steel? Do you-” Thaes interrupts, “You speak too quickly and I don’t understand what you are asking! I will ask someone else.” Thaes visits a Principian and he says, “I won’t let the Veilheimers make a carcass out of you. Why don’t you become a bronze statue like me?” Thaes says, “I may not look like a carcass in a statue, but it’s so heavy! I will feel like a carcass.” Thaes visits a Cyrenean and he says, “Don’t get prosthetics. Let yourself fall to pieces.” 

Careless Weaver stands in the market with her wares, yelling, “Tubes! Get your metal tubes! Use them for anything you want! Water pipes! Prosthetics! Augers! Opium cooling!”. A guard asks, “Say, Careless Weaver. You are not an Industrial Mage. Where did you get these metal tubes?” Thaes says, “We got new spring-powered looms put into the textile factory. We revenants had a go, and now look at them. Post-hole diggers! Pastry stamps! Rolling pins!”

Although Thaes stories are mostly told in person, and their format ensures a ton of them are extremely horrible, there are some written compilations of them, and Thaes will probably become a character in the distant future the same way Gonot is a character now.

ROSANGELA AND BENDANIEL

In a world where the plague is a fact of life, it’s fitting that the most popular horror story portrays being plague-free as alienating and unnatural. As the plague reaches the western shore of Surenia, the royal family escaped by sea to Sidra, but burned all the ships they left behind. Rosangela and her husband Bendaniel are imploring a powerful mage to save them and their children, and before he leaves to Sidra, he gives them a book of instructions for a magic ritual that allows them to be plague-free while they are conducting it and live forever, free from revenants once it’s finished.

By the end of the month, the plague has hit the coastline, and both of them have been bitten by plaguebearing animals with no ill effects. But the steps of the ritual are steadily getting more difficult, rubbing human ashes on themselves and eating nothing. Fortunately, the ritual also protects their children, who are growing up and looking more and more like their parents. The ritual worsens, and by the time it’s finished, their whole town is empty except for them and insane revenants. Rosangela and Bendaniel starve to death in a pit of human ashes. 

Their children are now identical to them, take their parents’ names, and have children of their own. Rosangela and Bendaniel and Rosangela and Bendaniel live like ghosts, unable to be touched by anything aside from their own family. When Rosangela and Bendaniel die, Rosangela and Bendaniel take their place as the heads of the family, and Rosangela and Bendaniel have to take on new responsibilities. 

Rosangela and Bendaniel and Rosangela and Bendaniel live in a little house together, with a pit of corpses on one side for Rosangela and Rosangela and another pit on the other side for Bendaniel and Bendaniel. 

Unlike the other stories, the city of Alhambra claims these people actually exist and are still alive. They are studied by the mages there, although it might be a lie to maintain Alhambra’s elite magic reputation. Rosangela and Bendaniel reportedly regret performing the ritual and refuse to share it, but it is known that it involves huge amounts of mugwort. 

Most people believe Rosangela and Bendaniel don���t exist, and the story is a cautionary tale about extreme measures taken to avoid the plague being worse than getting the plague, which makes a lot of sense given that the most plague-free regions are filled with inbreeding, cannibalism, and/or violent xenophobia. 

Some people believe that this story is about how life itself is bad, plague or no plague, since Rosangela and Bendaniel suffer every way the living can suffer before dying and compelling their children to replace them, and becoming a revenant is the only escape from going extinct or having someone take your place and continue to suffer.

[loopy777]

Got any personal headcanon of what Mai’s friendship will be like around the gaang+suki?

Well, if I didn’t, this Ask would be a perfect excuse to create some!

Aang: The comics show us that they get along. Aang is happy to see her when he arrives in ‘Smoke & Shadow,’ although that seems mostly to be about him shipping Maiko. Mai herself greets him with a smile (!), and while she’s no doubt pleased to have extra help in dealing with her brother’s kidnapping, she definitely sees his help and presence as a good thing. I think Mai appreciates Aang in the same way she appreciates Ty Lee and Katara, as nice people who are free to be emotionally vulnerable and who she will protect at all cost. She doesn’t necessarily spend a lot of time with him, but I think she tries to be nice to him when they’re together, in her own restrained way. And I think Aang completely gets the import of even her little gestures; when she half-smiles at his latest trick, he treats it as if he got a belly laugh and standing ovation from her. I also think that he sees her as even more respectful of life than Sokka or Katara and appreciates that. Sure, he remembers the times she threw knives at his face, but he also knows there were plenty of times when she could have killed or hurt him and the rest of the gAang, and instead she chose to restrain them. Although it’s possible he needed this pointed out by Zuko or Toph; I do think he found her intimidating at first, but he tried to get along with her for Zuko’s sake, and found it surprisingly easy. Aang definitely ships Maiko, as he loves their Childhood Friends thing and thinks that Zuko really needs someone with her perspective and practicality to keep him grounded. Mai in turn feels that Aang and Katara egg each other on in ways that works for them.

Katara: I recently wrote a full post about this, but I didn’t say much about Katara’s view of Mai. I think Katara finds Mai to be an affront on all readily-visible levels; she thinks Mai dresses weird, hates Mai’s knives, wishes Mai would actually smile or scowl or show emotion some time, and finds Mai to be stuck up and snooty in the way all people who demand regular access to bathrooms are. At least, that’s how it was at first. Katara just doesn’t get people who don’t display their emotions like she does. But then Katara wound up talking to Ty Lee about Mai. Ty Lee didn’t reveal Mai’s deepest secrets or anything, but the way she was so fond of her really surprised Katara- and the even bigger surprise was Ty Lee’s insistence that Mai had professed admiration for Katara several times. That led to Katara trying to take a closer look, and finding enough in Mai to respect. It did help that Mai apparently was not an enthusiastic follower of Azula; Katara heard about the “Just take the bear” incident, and of course was there for the “Victory is boring” lament. So they get along as much as Katara gets along with anyone who doesn’t meet all her standards- in fact, she gets along with Mai better than she does with Toph. (Mai doesn’t fight with Katara, even when she’s annoyed with her. It would be a waste of time and not fun.) Katara does enjoy the little excursions she gets invited on with Mai and Ty Lee to go get into trouble, even though they always include at least one argument with Mai. But that’s what friendship is all about.

Sokka: They bonded over Boomerang. Mai wanted to learn how to throw it, and Sokka wanted to teach an appreciative audience. She, in turn, showed him some tricks for throwing knives and hiding blades under clothes. That led to a mutual respect- she trusts that he’s practical and kind of knows what he’s doing most of the time, and he trusts that she is practical and doesn’t have time for anyone’s garbage. Practical people unite (to save their impractical friends, usually)! Sokka does have a hard time reading her, though, and can never quite tell when she’s messing with him. Mai actually goes out of her way to mess with him because he’s not an emotionally-fragile little wimp who can’t handle some jabs, and she doesn’t have a lot of people like that in her life. Sokka was sorry to hear that Zuko broke up with her, but shrugged and figured he’d never see again and that’s just how life goes. He was a bit surprised when he went to visit Suki and found Mai there, and was even more surprised to hear that Suki considers Mai a special friend. (Again, Ty Lee was preaching the Mai gospel, this time for all the Kyoshi Warriors.) Mai just raised her eyebrows and said, “What, thought you had finally gotten rid of me? I’m genuinely hurt.” And once again Sokka had no idea if she was being serious or not, but that was okay, because later she showed him how to cheat at cards.

Toph: Just about the only problem between these two is that Mai doesn’t like how ‘fragrant’ Toph is. Otherwise, they get along to a disturbing degree. Toph can sense what’s really going on under the surface of Mai’s outward blankness, and Mai enjoys how much of a blunt little troll Toph is. Mai has even become Toph’s favorite person to talk about her parents with; Mai doesn’t verbally respond much, but it’s nevertheless a full conversation. They get each other on a level no one else quite understands, except Ty Lee. For a while, Mai wanted Toph as “the third” when she and Ty Lee go looking for trouble together, because of that deep understanding, but eventually Mai realized that while Toph is a great fighter and great friend, she’s doesn’t bring anything to the group that isn’t already there. Katara, on the other hand, is different enough to fill some gaps and also adds that bit tension to the personal dynamics that makes things a bit more energetic and exciting. Toph is content with that, because she does think Mai is even more of a Madame Fussy-Bridges than Katara, and anyway all that metal weighing Mai down is a bit odd. Toph isn’t used to the way Mai can become so much lighter so quickly during a big fight. The first time, she thought Mai lost a lot of blood or something. The most defining aspect of their friendship, though, is their ongoing Insult Game. They call each other mean names, but never the same one twice. At first, this led to a solid hour of them insulting each other gleefully while the rest of the gAang tried to cover Aang’s ears. Now, it’s highly strategic and creative, with perhaps a single exchange per visit- and still not fit for Aang’s ears.

Suki: Suki has been training with the Kyoshi Warriors since age 8, and has risen to lead a prominent squad of them that went out into the world to fight the war and wound up in jail. Suki is an old hand at dealing with quirky female energy, and there’s nothing Mai can be or do that will throw her. It helps that Ty Lee is happy to talk about her best friend at any time, so Suki got a full briefing before she had to really spend a lot of time with Mai. She very much appreciates how Mai is the quietest of the new extended gAang, compared to how everyone else feels the need to yell about something at least once a day and usually more like once during every conversation. And yes, Suki very much did get tips on throwing and hiding blades; Sokka ain’t got a monopoly on that kind of exchange. Mai in turn likes Suki for being a practical, level-headed normal person, although she thinks Suki can do a lot better than Sokka. Mai is curious about war fans, but upon being told that their weight is the only thing making them worth throwing, she decided that this style of fans isn’t quite for her. (Oh, but she’s tinkering in her spare time. She’s going to invent the world’s first boomerang-fan. You just watch.) What really endeared Suki to Mai, though, is how she takes care of Ty Lee. Mai is hugely relieved that Ty Lee’s new boss is actually someone really cool and kind and sensible, and she likes that she has a standing invitation to join the Kyoshi Warriors even though she never would because of that awful makeup. Mai respects Suki enough that she never made fun of that makeup out loud a second time, not after how Suki reacted the first time. It was one of the few instances where Mai gave a sincere apology, and Ty Lee made sure that Suki knows what a big deal that is.

And here’s the companion piece of Ty Lee.

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

The Intern (CliffxReader Pt. 2)

Pt. 1 :)

Requested by @perawuat​

@tealaquinn​

Let me know if you wanna be added to either the basterds or OUATIH taglist :)

You grinned widely as you reached for your diploma. You looked out into the crowd, your radiant smile reminiscent of a sunflower as you looked to the cameras and did a peace sign with your left hand as you raised your diploma with your right.

You finally graduated.

You had a big job in a hotshot Hollywood production to show for all your hard work.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid...

You looked out at the crowd, spotting dozens of familiar faces.

You found your family among the sea of pride.

And by them, two empty seats.

Rick and Cliff couldn't make it. They were in Italy...

You sighed softly. It as a bittersweet moment. They were doing the best they could, you couldn’t be mad at them.

The next few days your family kept you fairly busy. They’d flown in from out of state. You didn’t mind the company. Especially since the summer felt a little empty without Rick and Cliff to deal with.

But as the summer wound down, so did your work.

You moved out of your old apartment, leaving Ziggy, Rowan, and Odie...

You moved into a high-rise apartment in west Hollywood.

It was your first time ever living completely alone. You had a place all to yourself, no brothers barging in or bathroom hogging sisters. No roomates.

And still...

....no Cliff and Rick...

Nothing....

You sighed, and muttered a despondent, “Groovy...” As you looked up at your new building.

You took a breath, and took the elevator to the fifteenth floor, and walked down the long hall to your apartment.

You stopped, seeing a bouquet of red roses at the doorstep. You wondered if it was from the apartments landlady... She seemed like an old fashioned person.

You picked up a card that came with it, expecting it to be complimentary.

But...you knew that writing.

You smiled a little, and sighed a little more cheerfully, "oh Cliff..."

You sighed, flopping onto the second hand couch from a garage sale that you’d hastily strewn in the middle of the empty living room.

Your living room.

You read the card.

Cliff apologized for missing your graduation and not being there to help with the boxes. He also added a million little things to make you blush.

You held the letter against your chest as you presided over the rows of brown boxes scattered around the room.

You smiled a little as you looked through the first box. The first thing you picked out was a framed picture of you and Cliff.

You smiled, knowing you'd finally made a life of your own, and that he was part of it.

And you knew you really had it together a few months later, when you were invited to a party. A big Hollywood party.

The movie you'd worked on had been nominated for a few Academy Awards, including for best cinematography...which you'd had a big hand in.

You met a few big names at the party, and a few familiar faces. The night was young, and you danced there with the stars and the writers that gave Hollywood it's lights. After a while you stepped aside to grab a drink. You looked at the scene, your new friends, and future.

Rick had been rigth all along... You were going to make it big.

As you took a sip of your drink, you overheard something behind a nearby table.

There were a few older and frankly snobby producers talking, and avoiding the younger crowd. They'd been talking about some projects they had been looking into.

The name Rick Dalton came up, and you raised your eyebrow in curiosity.

"Rick Dalton is an old, washed up chain smoking alcoholic has-been who's still waiting to happen!" The group of producers broke out laughing as he went on, "Won't be long till he drinks himself into a grave!"

Your blood boiled...

You'd been trying to get Rick to get help. You'd been making progress, until he had to go to Italy.

The producer went on, "Or worse. Lets himself go, gets a beer belly, and lets those pothead hippies melt his brain! And that pal of his, Cliff Boot."

One of the other producers corrected him. "Booth."

He nodded, "Booth. Killed his woman, didn't he? What's he still doing on sets? Bad luck. Don't want Dalton or that scumbag anywhere near me."

Another man stood between you and the circle of snobs. He smiled, "Say, aren't you that talented young lady what worked on that western?"

You nodded, "Yes, sir."

He smiled, "Say, O'Mara, this is the young lady that worked on Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid!"

The producer that had been ripping on Rick and Cliff turned around, with a wide, yellow, broken grin, reached his hand out to shake yours, but you stepped away in disgust, maybe hurting your relatively young and vulnerable career. 

But to you  it was worth every second seeing those snob's blood boiling.

"Don't get too cocky, O'Mara. You wrote Rick Dalton's first check, and then ripped him off when he got too big for you. Of course he's having a rough time, you all turned your backs on someone that made every single one of you a pretty goddamn penny, while he and Cliff are scratching and barely surviving. You should all be ashamed of yourselves, listening to that fucking rumor like a bunch of teenagers listening to Paul Anka. The man's a war hero, for crying out loud, and you're a fucking draft dodger. So no. Don't ask me to shake the hand of a man who turned his back on people he owes everything to."

Before things escalated, the man that had attemtped to introduce you to the producers stepped in, spoke fast, made them laugh, and ordererd drinks all around.

As the producers picked up gossip about other 'has beens,' the mystery man took you aside, "I like your work, and I like your spunk, you're a good kid."

You smiled a little, and he went on, "How about I let you in on a little secret, kid? All those old boys back there? Tearing apart actors because they’re jealous. And when they’re not with each other, they tear each other apart, because they all want this." He raised up a briefcase.

"What's that?" You laughed a little, seeing the quirky, odd character gripping the case as if it were worth the world..

He smiled, "Well, kid, this here's the next big thing in Hollywood what's gon' get somebody an Oscar, or an Academy Award round this time next year."

"So you're a writer?"

He nodded with glee, "Writer, director, as of now sole producer. But I still need my crew, and my stars. And kid, I seen the wonders you've done down at NBC and for that picture. So, once I get this show on the road, are you willing to get in on it?"

You could not have felt happier, "Absolutely!"

He smiled, "Well then, I need some stars, don't I? How about I talk to your friends about this, huh?"

"M-my friends?"

He nodded, "Mr. Dalton, and his stuntman, I hear they're a damn good team!"

You nodded, proud that some people still knew them as what they were, "That's right, sir."

He smiled, "I pictured Rick in this role. It's not exactly his regular western character, but, it's new, its fresh! It'll give him a new face, a new chance! I see him as...." He grinned, looking into the distance as he waved his hands, as if the name was appearing in front of you on a screen, "Hudson Murdock! International spy!" He sighed in satisfaction, "We’ll knock Bond out  of the water! And probably knock that guy, Cliff into the water!"

You both chuckled, and he asked, "Think they'll be interested?"

"I think so, sir."

He smiled, "Please, kid, call me Rudy!" He handed you a business card, and then a pen and a paper so you could write your number, Rick, and Cliff's down for him.

He took the paper after you were done, and hid it away safely with the script he guarded with his life, "Be in touch soon, will ya kid? They'll be home from Italy, soon I'll bet."

You nodded, "Yes, sir."

He titled his head, "Come on, kid."

You sighed and smiled a little, "Rudy."

He smiled, "Alright, that's better, kid." He gestured to the growing crowd of young party goers, "Go on, have fun before the real work starts!"

Despite the rocky moments with producers, and the inevitable burning of a bridge or two, you couldn't get over the fact that you'd just gotten Rick and Cliff a new big shot in Hollywood...

Still, the adrenaline and fun started to wash down the more the night went on. By the time you were home that night, you were a little more than just uneasy.

Cliff was supposed to call you and let you know he'd made it home safe with Rick.

You were sure they wre going to get blind drunk together, 'one last time,' thinking it was the end of the line...

Of course, they didnt' know about your development...and you'd let them have their fun for the night.

You could wait a million years for Cliff.

Or...you thought...

It just wasn't like him

Even in Italy, he called you every single night. Now that he was home, there was no excuse.

You spent the next half hours or so debating and reasoning with yourself....

Maybe they knocked out because of jet lag? Maybe they were drunk because they drank on the plane? Maybe the phones weren't working? Maybe he went straight to get Brandy? Maybe he wasn on his way to yours?

The possibilities were endless....

Still, there was that constant, nagging, feeling wringing your heart...

Ringing...

The phone was rining.

On the third ring, you picked up.

It was Rick.

You glanced up at the clock.

12:55 AM...

Your eyes went wide as Rick quickly and calmly tried to explain every thing that happened in the last half hour without giving you a panic attack.

12:56 AM...

"HE WHAT?!"

Rick replied, "H-he's o-k, don't w-worry! He-"

"He got stabbed! And-"

"He-He'll be ok, Y/n, everything's fine!"

"And you? Are you ok?!"

He chuckled a little out of tension, but mostly because he just missed hearing from a friend like you, "I'm uh...I'm actually at the neighbor's right now. Everything's ok, Y/n, don’t worry."

"The Polanski's?" You felt a little ease in your shoulders, knowing Rick finally got what he'd been wishing for for months.

"Yeah..." You could practically hear the smile, "But I'll meet you and Cliff bright and early tomorrow. We're ok, honey, don't worry. Get some sleep, he's ok."

"Ok..."

Rick sighed, knowing you better than you gave him credit for, "Oh, and Y/n?"

"Yeah, Rick?" You held the phone between your shoulder and your cheek as you reached between the couch cushions for your car keys.

Rick chuckled, "Drive safe."

You smiled a little and shook your head once.

You practically raced to the hospital, giving Cliff and every other stunt  double in Hollywood a run for their moeny.

Your heart skipped a beat, stopped, and broke al at once when you saw Cliff again... After six months...t felt like a lifetime,

And it felt like even longer seeing him like that.

You knew he was going to be alright. Rick told you so. The doctors told you. The nurses told you...

But you didn't believe it until you saw him for yourself.

"Cliff..."

He looked up at you, clearly tired. Of course, the acid, the fight, the stabbing, and the morphine were behind that. Still, he shifted trying to get up to get to you.

"No, no, stay down, it's ok..." You sat by him, rested your hands in his and smiled softly.

To him you were nothing less than an angel...

Especially with the drugs (legal and illegal) and the bright white hospital lights behind you. "Y/n....you...you came? Told Rick to tell ya to get some sleep I-"

"That's crazy talk."

He took your hand and pulled it up slowly to his lips, and kissed your hand softly. He looked up with soft eyes, "I'm sorry, baby...I should've gone home, should've gone to see ya..."

You shook your head, "If you had, there's no telling what would've happened...Best not to think of that, not now."

"I'm sorry I missed it."

You shook your head, and rested your hadn against hisncheek, "Best is yet to come, Cliff." You smiled cheekily.... you'd tell him about the party the next day.

Until then... You gave him  a kiss, and said, "Get some rest, Cliff."

"Only if you do, baby..."

You nodded, "I will, I will."

He chuckled a little, through the meds and drugs, and mumbled and hummed "Dream a little dream of me..." as he fell asleep, holding onto you desparately.

Somewhere deep in his mind, he was scared you were a hallucination...He wanted to hold you enar and dear. He wished Italy and that night never happened. He wanted nothing more than to be by your side.

When you woke  up, it was nearly noon, and the sunlight was streaming through the blinds. You'd fallen asleep on the chair by Cliff's bed, with your head against his chest. His arm was around you still. And you could hear the warm hum of his voice through his chest as you woke up slowly.

You could hear Rick too.

"Goddamn, Y/n and Francesca are gonna get along, they sleep like logs."

You smiled a little as you stood up to hug Rick.

He smiled at you, and shook his head, "You wanna tell me how the hell you managed to save me and Cliff's careers in one night?"

You shrugged, and playfully "Hey, when you got it, you got it."

Cliff guffawed, but then immediately held his wound, "Shit, Y/n, you oughta be the one carryin' Rick's load then!"

You rolled you reyes with a cheaky smile and sighed, "Anyone would've done the same."

Rick sighed, "Oh, honey, you don't know Hollywood just yet."

Cliff said, "What we're tryna say baby is thank you."

"Ah, it's nothing." "You got us some work!" Cliff looked at Rick, and they were both relieved, knowing it wasn't quite the end of the line. "We knew you'd make it far..." Rick saw the way Cliff smiled and looked at you. It was all clearer now that Cliff wasn't wearing sunglasses. Rick smirked a little, as he chuckled, "I'll go ahead an' leave you two alone for a while." You covered your face as your rubbed your eyes, "Oh, come on Rick!" Cliff chuckled, "I wIsH!" You looked to Cliff, "Cliff!" He laughed a little as he reached out for you. You heard Rick closing the door as he left. You sat by Cliff again, and he kissed you. "Told you everything would be ok, kid." "Yeah?" "Yeah..." He nodded. "Rick was right. You made it. You're not just an intern anymore...and me and Rick are gonna be ok, and you n me are more than ok." You smirked a little, looking down a tthe ground for a moment, then back at Cliff, "Yeah, we are..." He rested his hands on the sides of your face, his thumbs pressed against your cheek. It wasn't something he did often, but you weren't complaining. Because in that moment, everything mattered. The past six months had been hell, and the past night was a nightmarish trip. His blue eyes were wide open then. Everything realy was ok... And you could see that in his eyes: The hope and love the 'washed up' stuntman hadn't felt in a decade or two. And he owed it all to you, the intern.

[ladywindrunner]

@mynameisanakin i finally wrote us a starter ( fite me! )

In the void of space, nothing prevailed save for the eerie silence that was the galaxy’s symphony. A battle had been waged, ruined vessels of both the Republic and the Trade Federation drifted aimlessly about what was once a space station, now derelict from a catastrophic explosion.

           It’d been a defeat for the Republic, who’d had no choice but to pull back what remained of their defense force. Trade Federation ships had rightly pursued, high on a victory that was desperately needed for whatever morale remained in their troops. Their salvage teams had come and gone, leaving behind nothing but the reminder that they should not be underestimated.

           A wounded animal could still be deadly, after all.

           For a while, none came to the ship graveyard save for daring salvage-seekers and scouts. People came and went without incident, though there were whispers that the crafts themselves were haunted. Stories strange noises echoing throughout some of the Acclamator-class battleships nearest the ruined station.

           Then, the salvagers stopped returning.

           And soon after that, no scouts reported back in.

           The Republic’s growing curiosity of what could be occurring, turned to concern when the Consular-class Righteous Ambition abruptly vanished when it was sent to investigate. No word reached any Republic base or vessel, it was as if the ship simply disappeared as soon as it dropped out of hyperspace.

With the war now firmly turning once more in the Republic’s favour, their Grand Navy could afford to properly look into what was occurring in what was dubbed the Unwanted Rest. The Grand Navy’s understandable concern over the area and the strange activity within it, was compounded by the concerns of the Jedi Council.  

           Something about the Unwanted Rest was wrong. As a few of the masters of the Council dwelled on it in private meditations, they felt themselves drawn towards something foul there.

Darkness had taken hold of such a place, and while not unheard of, there was no value to be found there for any Dark Jedi or the Sith.

           In search of answers, the Jedi Council sent Anakin Skywalker to investigate the manner. He was a choice that the Navy’s highest ranking officers also agreed with.

           Aboard the Republic light cruiser Sword of Mercy, it was believed that Skywalker, and the crew, could overcome whatever foe may attack them.

What greeted the Sword of Mercy as it arrived was the desolate space-scape that was the Unwanted Rest. Ruined vessels almost forming a ring around the space station they’d failed to defend. The station itself was shattered into three main pieces, with rubble of the asteroid it’d been built into drifting aimlessly throughout the field.

           Seven Acclamator-class battleships were dead in the water, void-plagued graveyards to massive crews. Each was in a different state of ruin, with great holes in their hulls. There were the remains of countless fighters, and pieces of cruisers and light cruisers scattered about. There was surprisingly little evidence of any Trade Federation vessels, but they’d had the luxury of collecting their salvage and dead long before the Republic could.

           Then, on the far side of the debris, the Righteous Ambition. The distinctive three-engine back portion of the vessel was gone, undoubtedly lost in the sea of starship wreckage, and even without a scan, it was easy to see that the bridge of Republic ship had been blackened by a precise shot to render the ship entirely immobile, and without any sort of mechanism of control or communication.

           Yet the attempt had failed, as a transmission came through to the Sword of Mercy.

           “Help us!”

           A shadow slowly manifested over the Sword of Mercy. A single, massive warship never seen before. A dreadnaught by its sheer magnitude alone, it drifted over the newest vessel as if it didn’t even detect them. It was rectangular with a diamond stern and bow, and on the belly of the chilling craft was a circular port large enough to swallow a ship whole.

           The dreadnaught settled over the consular ship, belly of the craft opening up. The light that came from inside was a strange, vile green. Its glow haunting in every sense of the word.

           Massive harpoons shot out of the light, striking the crippled Righteous Ambition, along with other sections of the derelict vessels.

           Slowly, the cables began to retract, and anything hooked began to be pulled into the dreadnaught.

Sylvanas Windrunner waited in silence. Her expression coldly neutral as she listened to the frantic distress calls coming from the small vessel. They weren’t nearly long range enough to alert any Republic forces of what was occurring, which was thankful as they’d managed to land a lucky strike against her ship. Their short-range scanners weren’t functioning, not well enough to detect any craft if one managed to arrive.

           Thankfully, none had.

           Though there’d been something of a blip initially, Sylvanas was certain it’d turn out to be nothing—

           Her eyes narrowed in annoyance as an alarm sounded. She pivoted gracefully on her heel, watching as overtop a central console, a display of some Republic ship came into view, blasting at her harpoons. Her pale eyes took on a crimson glow as she watched a few of the cables snap, quickly retracting back into the immense bay of the Banshee’s Wail.

           A man stepped forward, skin grey, his eyes dimly glowed with cruel yellow light.

           “Dark Lady,” he murmured, his voice carrying a strange warble. “What is thy bidding?”

           She watched in silence, a sly smirk gracing her lips.

           “Jam their communications and release the other ship,” she ordered, “direct every harpoon at the interloper. Once they’re inside, seal the Maw.”

           The man bowed his head before he slunk away. The Dark Lady turned away from the console, instead stepping up onto the risen platform of the command deck.

           Around her, the scene happening just underneath her starship materialized as a superimposed display. She watched as, all at once, the harpoons that’d been so intent on dragging in debris and the crippled vessel violently released, reeling back into the glow of the Maw.

           Then, they all targeted the new ship. An Arquitens-class cruiser, another arrowhead shaped vessel from the Republic. Sylvanas permitted herself a soft chuckle as she watched thin lines extended from the massive opening in the base of her vessel, to the intruder. Ever so slowly, it was being pulled towards the Maw.

           With a wave of her hand, the Righteous Ambition became the center of view. Sylvanas considered it for a moment, recalling all those frantic calls for help, and warnings. The few attempts it’d tried at bargaining with her, and how she’d answered in silence.

           She wondered if they felt some sort of terrible relief. That they weren’t the ones who’d meet a terrible end within the Banshee’s Wail.

           The red in her eyes burned brighter for a moment, and then her dreadnaught opened fire.

           The Righteous Ambition’s communications abruptly fell silent as what was left of the ship exploded.

           The Sword of Mercy’s struggle came to an abrupt end as the closer it was dragged to the belly of Sylvanas’ flagship, more harpoons shot out. The Republic craft was riddled with sharp, magnetic hooks piercing its hull, with little care given for leaking atmosphere or retaining life support.

            Its engines flickered out as it became enveloped in the vile glow from the Maw. A strange, viral power surge overtaking the Banshee Wail’s prey.

           The ominous portal sealed itself as soon as the last inch of the light cruiser was inside.

           Anakin Skywalker, and the crew of the Sword of Mercy, found themselves cast in darkness.

           And in that pitch blackness, they fall. The ship is dropped abruptly. A brief weightlessness overtaking all onboard before the cruiser slams into the ground in a sparking, crippling crash.

[go-hux-yourself]

Holdout

Request fill for @thethespacecoyote​: Hux trying and failing to keep his pregnancy secret from SL kylo because he thinks he wont want it but when kylo does find out, he's SOFT. YES this is right up my alley let’s do it!

Also on my ao3 here :) My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

--

He’d thought he could hide it.

A tall order when dealing with a mind-reader, but Hux was certain Kylo would have neither the inclination nor the interest in the rearing of children, so the alpha was left in the dark about the pregnancy.

It would be a while more before the omega’s lithe stature gave away his secret. A while more for Hux to figure out how to hide it from a Supreme Leader that sometimes shared his bed, but had no greater urge in life than that which to hunt down every last faction the Resistance still had left.

Kylo had let it consume him, as if there were something he needed to prove, and his sole focus had kept him from Hux’s bed for weeks now. The First Order had been keeping very busy indeed; little time for attention on personal matters.

Hux hadn’t even noticed his heat was two week’s past, so embroiled in the detailed movements of the Supreme Leader and their various military incursions was he. Intelligence was coming in from various posts in the galaxy, and Kylo left Hux to delegate as he personally searched after leads. It was an exhausting amount of work, and one that prioritized sleep well over any ideas so strenuous as sex.

One exhausted moment of introspection about how he was sure to stress himself right into heat he was so tired, and Hux realized with dread that he was actually overdue for his own.

One panicked visit with a medical droid whose memory he wiped immediately after, and Hux was blankly faced with the fact that he was just over two months pregnant with the Supreme Leader’s pup.

It was far from an ideal situation.

Unbonded. The solidity of his relationship with Ren tumultuous at most. They got along best between the sheets, though professionally they still butted heads a great deal.

It was clear that his priorities and that of the new Supreme Leader went in opposite directions towards the same goal of conquest. They both wanted the old galactic systems of rule to die. Peace from war. Order. Crime punished, and people efficiently managed into a working system of governance.

Ren thought the destruction of the order of the Jedi would secure that end, and meanwhile Hux sent battalions of stormtroopers after Resistance hideouts to strike hard and fast with confirmed intelligence. But Ren was clear that he wanted every lead chased, every whisper checked out, and it spread their resources far too thin, their net cast just a bit wider than Hux would say was effective. Much of the crew had pulled extended shifts in order to deal with the heavier workload and sifting through gathered intel, and Hux was no exception.

His own duties as General kept him far too busy to add an infant to the mix. The idea of sending his own progeny away from him into the First Order nurseries, and subsequently into his Stormtrooper program, would never be an option. He’d never much entertained the idea of having children but already he was fiercely possessive about the pup inside him. His father might not have wanted him, but he desperately wanted his own.

Hux liked kids. They were moldable, adaptable, and the idea of being the father he never had-- to love, to cuddle, to teach his own child to carve out their destiny- plucked at some sore spot inside of him that would do anything to keep it.

When weighing the possible outcomes of telling Kylo, his mind easily imagined the worst scenarios, hard-based on their once-violent professional relationship. Even in the better-case scenarios, he couldn’t imagine a Kylo that would choose fatherhood over being Supreme Leader; to prioritize time for a pup over waging war. And with his hang-ups over family-- ignoring Hux’s own for the moment- his concerns weren’t just over Kylo’s indifference; he was worried the alpha would actively not want it.

Even now with their sometimes-heated arguments, he wasn’t necessarily afraid of the other man. Kylo had promised to never use the force against him in such a manner again, and while Hux did believe him, the cynical, protective part of himself still decided it wasn’t worth risking the not-yet-visible bump on his middle.

He could take being thrown about by the Force-- the terror didn’t do him any physical harm like the hard edges of console once had- but if Ren were to be particularly upset upon Hux’s insistence on keeping it-- in wanting some say in choosing just who would be siring any heirs to his reign- it wouldn’t take much to make the omega miscarry.

So Hux kept quiet, abandoning any ideas of letting the alpha know, and trying to formulate some plan to keep it from the other man’s notice before and after it was born. He had a lot to prepare, and many plans to make.

He didn’t mention it when Ren returned from some trek through an icy moon, warming himself around Hux for the first time in weeks with kisses and touches he’d sorely missed. And when Ren left on some mission again without even bothering to inform him, he felt vindicated in his choice to not inform the alpha in fair play.

Hux began his plan of discouraging their trysts when his belly began to show obvious signs of the pup there, pleading exhaustion to their workload that he followed up with a jab about how surely their Supreme Leader couldn’t spare the time to fuck him when he didn’t even have enough time to inform the fleet when and where he took off to at a whim. It only helped matters that, in terms of security, Hux’s jab was in-line with current Order protocol for high-ranking officers. As Supreme Leader, that made him the rule, rather than the exception.

It played well right into Kylo’s own petty sense of spite, and he’d declared that two could play at this game; if the man thought he could dictate when they’d fuck, then Kylo could wait until Hux became so frustated for his knot that he’d be begging his way back into the alpha’s bed.

That had been about three months prior, and the past three weeks Hux had been growing considerably concerned that his greatcoat could no longer hide the prominent bulge of his pup beneath his modified uniform. Holo-calls instead of in-person meetings, and general avoidance of one-another was the only thing standing between Hux and Kylo finding out his secret. But he knew that the further along the pup got, the more difficult his plan would be.

Thankfully, one could always count on Kylo being far more petty than he. The alpha avoided direct-contact with him (even if he made allusions to innuendo in order to frustrate Hux on their private calls), but by some mercy of the galaxy, Hux’s secret was still unknown by the Supreme Leader.

He knew his scent must be unmistakable now, and he was fairly certain that the inquisitive little looks he saw Mitaka give him were informed of the fact that their commander was pregnant. It was a credit to his crew that they largely pretended otherwise. Hux did the same, continuing in his duties no matter how his feet hurt or his back ached, trying in vain to keep to his usual routine and workload when his body was busy growing a little person.

If Hux’s crew didn’t know he was pregnant before, then when he’d collapsed from exhaustion on the bridge, they certainly did after.

Waking up on his back minutes later with Mitaka and petty officer Thanisson leaned over him was as disorienting as it was embarrassing, and Hux tried to right himself before the worried voice of his lieutenant gave him pause.

“Sir! General, please, we’ve called for a hover-stretcher--” Mitaka’s concerned voice informed, the other omega’s hands palm-up as if to deter him from getting to his feet. It was clear he wanted to touch Hux to keep him down, but also wouldn’t dare to do so without permission.

Thanisson got to his feet, informing those alerted that Hux had regained consciousness. Mitaka kept his place at Hux’s side.

“Hover-stretcher?” Hux repeated, cheeks growing a bit red as it sank in that not for the first time in his career, he was laid out flat on the bridge of his own star ship. His eyes darted around, passing over Thanisson’s face as the beta was speaking to presumed medical officers on comm. Mitaka’s gaze settled on Hux’s belly more than once, and Hux realized the telling-bump in his uniform was clearly visible in the way his greatcoat had fallen open on his figure. The stretch of modified, regulation pregnancy-attire over his belly was informing of its own, but splayed out on the flat of his back, it became wildly apparent that he wasn’t just pregnant, but heavily pregnant. Hux could curse Ren’s imposingly large stature later for what was surely going to be a pup that would take after its sire’s height, but for now, he focused on keeping his breathing even and deep even as his heart rate sped up. This wasn’t knowledge he could easily take back.

It was telling in the way that the other officers on-deck kept their attentions on their stations and not on the general lying prone on the floor. His secret was thoroughly exposed, even if the crew willfully ignored the spectacle as Mitaka personally fussed. He didn’t know if the crew were doing it for his benefit or his dignity, but the shock of their general effectively passing-out on-duty would have been cause for the exact opposite of focus on their jobs. That they weren’t gawking told him plenty.

The thought made Hux flush deeper.

“You collapsed, sir,” Mitaka informed in a gentle, respectful tone. “Until the medical team gets here...” his eyes darted to Hux’s belly in concerned meaning as he trailed off, still not touching the other man but gesturing for him to remain where he was.

Hux realized with gratitude that Mitaka was trying even now to be discreet, but as it was abundantly clear that the entire bridge now knew that someone had bred their general, not mentioning his belly for what it was was a practice in well-meaning futility. “I’m fine, Lieutenant.”

“But sir, your--”

He wanted to snap at the other man for defying him, but it was clear in the way Mitaka’s eyes continued to bounce back to his belly that the other omega was just worried about his pup. Maybe it was hormones, or just stress, but Hux appreciated the concern deeply. He bitterly thought it was nice that someone else cared about the pup, let alone knew of its existence, and also thought that that person should be Kylo.

The alpha was still hell-bent on waging his one-man wars on minor Resistance outposts than sharing Hux’s bed, though.

He reminded himself he’d chosen this, and that he’d have to step up his plans perhaps a bit sooner.

“Nothing feels wrong,” Hux informed as he managed himself to his knees, eyes scanning defensively over the crew as he possessively touched over his belly with both hands. Thanisson politely looked away; Mitaka awaited instructions. “Help me to my feet, Lieutenant.”

Mitaka stood, uncertain about how or where to touch the general, but Hux just extended a gloved hand to the other man, more than capable of still hauling himself around, albeit a bit cumbered. He pulled himself to his feet with Mitaka’s forearm.

“...Sir?”

Hux felt nauseous, a little dizzy, but the adrenaline of that slight humiliation would be plenty to get him back to his quarters and between sheets that had lost Ren’s scent some time ago. He gave the other omega a look before gratefully removing his gloved hand from the man’s arm. “I shall retire to my quarters for the remainder of the shift. You may send a medical droid there. I leave the bridge to you.”

A look passed between Thanisson and Mitaka, but neither pressed the general on an escort. Their concern was palpable, but the last thing Hux wanted was an audience as he effectively retreated from the bridge. He wouldn’t faint twice if he had any say in the matter, and it was with that focus that his feet brought him without incident to his door, and he deposited himself in bed.

The medical unit that entered his quarters gave him a vitamin-drip and beeped out that he was anemic and overworked, but that his pup was okay. Nothing he frankly didn’t already know or suspect. He’d limited his own caf intake significantly since finding out about the pup, and he hadn’t used a stim in ages. The strain of working without stimulants had simply caught up with him.

It didn’t help that even with all his plans in motion, his hormones craved the alpha that had put him in this state; even as he was sure that Kylo wouldn’t be interested in it. Rather traipse across the galaxy in search of sith relics after snuffing out Resistance cells than spend his time chasing after Hux. Far too busy to indulge in a pregnant omega who was supposed to be his second-in-command with his first priority to the fleet.

He wrapped his arms over his belly reassuringly. He didn’t need Kylo. He didn’t want him. He could manage this all on his own. He could prove he could still keep the Order running as he always had, pregnant belly or no.

Hux considered wiping this incident-- and the record of the pregnancy- from his medical file once the droid was done with him, but considered it an act in futility. Too many eyes had seen what he’d been hiding, reinforcing what they must’ve suspected for months now. Whether it got around the ship or not could be deterred with the threat of reconditioning. Kylo never checked medical records anyway, and the pup would be here in a few short months besides.

He complied with the droid’s orders for rest, but his sleep was plagued with dreams of an uncertain future for his pup; a future both with and without Kylo in it.

Hux tossed in his sleep, waking from nightmares only to hunker down into the pillows defiantly. He placed a warm palm over his belly as if to soothe the pup from his own dreams.

It would be okay. It would all be okay.

--

Second chapter will be found on the ao3 post for this fic :)

kofi | ao3