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#the sun sets on this battle... where to next
b33zlebubz · 3 days
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RIGOR MORTIS | CHAPTER SEVEN
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SIMON RILEY X AFAB READER | 18+ MDNI | MASTERLIST | AO3 PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: reader uses she/her pronouns, fluff angst & eventual smut, blood violence & death, suicidal ideology, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, toxic workplace environment, flashbacks “Abandoned in a battlefield with the one person you thought you would never see again; you're forced to come to terms with the ghosts of your past."
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WEDNESDAY APRIL 24TH 2024  MEXICO, 0000 HOURS
The pain in your chest is getting worse.
It's hard to sleep that night for many reasons.  One: with all the rain of the other night it's hard to find any wood dry enough for a fire.  Mexico has relatively tame weather compared to what you're used to, but Springtime is a whole different beast, inconsistent and unpredictable.  Nearly ninety degrees in the daytime and then dropping down to the fifties at night, you find yourself sweating all day just to be freezing and damp when the sun sets.  The thin blanket you pull out of the back of a wrecked truck doesn't help much and neither does the fact that you've developed a fever.
Two: you're definitely sure you have at least one broken rib.  The first day after the battle you had the adrenaline to numb the pain, but now that it's faded, it's easier to notice how it takes a great deal of effort just to breathe without your lungs spasming painfully.  Each breath aches, rattling in your chest.  You can't put pressure on your side without seeing stars and the bruises are damn near black across the expanse of your ribs.  Still, you won't rest more than a few hours at a time—knowing that the second you do, you might not be able to get up again.
And that brings you to the last thing; the radio is still dead silent.
You're staring at the ceiling, leaning back against the truck's wall as you listen to it; the static.  The charge has died twice now and both times you've revived it with an emergency battery.  Once that runs out, you plan to charge it with the SUV.  The longer you listen to the buzz of an empty signal paired with the steady sound of Ghost's breathing beside you, the longer you get to thinking about what might happen if nobody comes to find you.  
You think about the first time you put your survival training to use; left for dead in some safe house during your tour in Yemen, left by your squadron in a rushed retreat.  Back then, the pain in your side had been a nasty knife wound to your ribs, but now it was shattered bone and bleeding organs.  The longer you listen to the static the easier it is to recall the coldness of concrete on your skin, the burn of sand-caked sweat and blood in your eyes.  The sputtering static of your comms picking up no signal and the growing panic of being forgotten.  The blood.  The death.  The memory once so far away now felt tangible again; real.
It's funny.  The longer time went on the easier it was to forget about moments where you weren't so strong, but it was also easier to get lost in them whenever they unearthed themselves at the most inconvenient of times.  
Then a warm hand on your shoulder shatters the illusion—and you panic.
Within moments, you're up again.  You grab the unknown enemy by the front of his shirt and force him back against the floor with an audible thunk—causing weapons and gear to swing and the truck’s suspension to bounce.  When the red clears from your vision, your eyes are locked with two tired, brown irises blown wide with surprise as your grip tightens on his wrists against the floor.
Shocked to your core, your body goes rigid.
You lost a lot of your usual muscle mass during your first few weeks in Camp Viking; after Yemen and everything else that happened.  Stress, too much sleep or not enough, and a complete lack of appetite were a fatal combo to all the progress you made after signing your life away—so when Ghost met you, you were the weakest you've been since before joining the military.
Now: your shoulders are broader, arms and legs thicker and crisscrossed with ragged scars.  Skin glistens with the sweat of a fever as you hold him, still bigger than you, pinned to the floor.  
The breath knocked from his lungs; he's panting.  You're close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your face, to see how your own labored breathing stirs the hair laying on his forehead.  Close enough to realize you've only ever seen him out of breath like this one other time—
Christmas Day.
His eyes flash with something familiar and you know he remembers it, too.
You shoot off of him in an instant.  Mind reeling, you turn to leave.  Run.  Do something to quell the fire in your veins and the burn of memories in your delirious mind.
"Angel, wait—"
The nickname falls on deaf ears.  Before he can gather his bearings enough to scramble upright, you've grabbed the radio and disappeared into the night with a burning face and a newfound heat in your bones.
WEDNESDAY APRIL 26TH 2024  MEXICO, 0300 HOURS
"Echo 0-2 to Actual."  
Your voice sounds rough with insomnia whenever you speak into the radio for the hundredth time.
It's been two nights since you've been in the van with Ghost, two nights since you've talked.  You're avoiding him—it's just as clear to you as it is to him—and embarrassment ravages your mind as you continue to keep yourself upright, keep yourself moving.  Now, the stretch of bodies was four lines deep instead of two.  Now, sitting on top of the SUV with ruined boots dangling over the edge and a raggedy blanket on your shoulders; it officially burned like hell to breathe.
Above you, the stars are the brightest you've seen since Camp Viking.  The night is just as quiet.
You close your eyes for a long time, dread settling in your stomach at the thought of staying here much longer; of what might happen if you're not found.  You think about how long the walk from here to the next civilization might be—if, by some miracle, they don't shoot you on sight.
Bandaged, anxious hands hold the radio tight in your lap before pressing the button and bringing it to your face once more.
"Again, this is Echo 0-2 attempting to reach Actual.  I've got a wounded Lieutenant with me…is anyone there?"
Static.
You try again, "Echo 0-2 to Actual.  Watcher.  Anyone."
Again, nothing.  You sigh, batting the side of the small machine against the heel of your hand.  Crickets chirp somewhere far off in the distance as you curse and eventually give up.  Tired eyes fall over the pitch-black landscape before you, getting lost in the quiet.  Your skin prickles against the cold air as your eyes sink shut. Shoulders slump for what feels like the first time in weeks as exhaustion, a gentle but swift current, sweeps you under.
"Nice night."
You jump and whip around, clutching the fabric of the front of your uniform.  
"Fuck," you breathe out.  "Just you."
He stands with what appears to be two of the American MREs you found in hand, his uniform notably cleaner now—having shed his dark, dirt-matted jacket for a dark compression shirt that stretches over thick muscles.  He looks…better.  Able to stand upright, at the very least.  There's more color to his face but that could very well just be the cold.  The fresh bandages you helped him put on the last time you talked don't show any signs of being bled through and he definitely doesn't have a hard time sneaking up on you—a good sign.
"Well…don't sound too excited."
You only huff at his remark, turning back around to look at the radio in your lap as your face burns with embarrassment.  Your hands are still shaking as you take a deep breath to try and steady yourself, and you wait for him to finally mention it—acknowledge it.  Your hands on his wrists.  His heaving chest.  Your breath on his face.  Christmas Day.
He shifts and at first you think he might be leaving now that he knows where you are.  Instead, he appears beside you, sliding down to dangle his legs over the edge and wordlessly hand you one of the MREs.
Your throat constricts at the very thought of food, staring down at the sad, brown package as he tears his open and sets it up to heat.  You squint at the label to read the contents.
Cheese Tortellini in Tomato Sauce.  Well, there are worse things. 
"No luck?"  He asks.
You let out a sigh of relief and mentally thank whatever God above he decided against bringing it up.  Instead, you shake your head wearily as you set the MRE aside, deciding to save it for when you know you'll keep it down.  Hypocritical, you know, but you've only been able to find a handful in the rubble thus far.
"No," you breathe, disheartened.  "Still nothing."
A moment passes, filled only by the sound of crickets and the rustle of plastic packaging.  There's movement in the distance followed by barking.  Coyotes, no doubt.  
You both sit in silence for a while and your thoughts slip back into dark territory.  You rub your chilly arms as you stare out over the hellscape before you—wondering how many more bodies out there you have left to gather.  How many families you're failing; leaving their beloved soldiers in the mud to rot because you're losing the ability to walk straight.
Then, Ghost speaks, ripping you out of the depths of your head.
"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"
You shoot him an incredulous look.  Then, you shake your head with a scoff.  You know what he's trying to do; lighten the mood, in his own strange way.  For a moment it works, and it's easy to pretend you're somewhere else. A simpler time, maybe, where all you had to worry about was which hallways to take to avoid being seen sneaking around the barracks.
You try not to let his obvious attempt at lifting your spirits work.  So, you only raise an eyebrow at him, "really?"
"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"  He repeats again, nonchalant as ever, as he pushes his food around the package with his fork.
You stare at him for a while before deciding to humor him with a sigh.  "Too many bananas…or something?"
"'Cause he's dead."
"Hm," you nod your head, pursing your lips into a line.  "That was bad even for you."
He huffs, "too soon?"
"Far too soon." 
"Noted."  He shifts, placing his food to the side to take something out of his pocket.  After all these years, it surprises you that even he's still off-put by the smell of death in the air.  "You got a light on you?"
A stupid question—and he knows it.
"Always.  Why?"
He pulls a full pack of Marlboro Reds out of his pocket, flicking the top open.  The packaging is slightly crumpled but otherwise remains spotless, unlike the rest of him.  He plucks one out and holds it out to you.
You glance at the cigarette, then up at his face—almost shocked he managed to keep them safe while the rest of him is so beat up.  You notice bruises are beginning to show under his eyes from his broken nose and there's a stubble starting to form on his jaw, patchy with scars you never noticed until now.
You take out your lighter.  An orange glow lights up his battered face as you flick it twice, let the flame catch, and then shut it again.  He takes a deep inhale, sitting back on his other hand, before letting the smoke billow out past his chapped lips.
"Fuck," he sighs, already slumping with relief.  "Could always count on you for a light.  Good to know that hasn't changed."
"What can I say," you respond, managing what you can of a small smile.  "I'm an angel."
He chuckles lowly.  "You're anything but, Colonel."
He offers the cigarette to you.  It's tempting, really tempting, but the pain in your lungs is far more annoying than the nagging effects of withdrawal. 
"I'm good," you brush his arm away and attempt to hide the tremor in your hands.  "I quit a few years ago."
"Hm," He seems surprised, or maybe he's humoring your obvious lie, you're unsure.  Nevertheless, he presses the cig to his lips again.  "Good on you, then."
You find yourself relaxing again slowly, anxious thoughts easing as you breathe in the smell of nicotine and look up at the stars above.  It's silent save for the sounds of the desert, and you find yourself thinking about a time where you both sat just like this for hours.  Getting by with nothing but the warmth of a heater, a flickering lantern, and a pack of cigarettes to keep you both company.  You remember laughing until your stomach hurt at his dry humor, once upon a time.
"This place is hell," Ghost says, deadpan as ever, as he exhales another cloud of smoke.
Flashes of cold concrete, rough sand, and nauseating heat flash through your mind again.  You realize, then, you prefer the warmth over the cold any day—no matter what you've gone through. 
"I think I'd rather be in hell," you mutter, rubbing your arms.  "At least it's warm, there."
He chuckles a little, and you wonder if he's reminiscing just as you are.
"That it would, Colonel," he says.  "That it would."
It's quiet again.  Years ago, the silence might've been filled by soft touches—a head against a shoulder or a hand on a back.  Instead, you both just sit there.  His hand is just centimeters away from your own, and you wonder if it would be easier to take it or pull away.  Or just…talk.  You want to speak, want to apologize or something—but the words are stuck in your throat.  You want answers, you want closure, but your hand curls into a fist as you realize that fuck.  You're not strong enough to break the question.
He's staring at you.  You can feel when he does it.  For some reason, you always have.  After a moment, you hear him take a breath.  He leans back on his hand as the other flicks his cigarette and comes up to touch the sore part of his head.  
"You know…"  He begins with a sigh. His mouth opens and shuts again, hesitant.  Suddenly, he looks away.  "I—"
"This is Watcher trying to reach Echo 0-2 and Bravo 0-7," a garbled, female voice interrupts him from the radio.  "We hear you, Angel."
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@crazy-phan-girl13
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drakoneve · 6 months
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A Dragon's Wrath
Request: hello hello, how are u? Idk if u write for Harwin Strong, but I'm obsessed with this man, so if you're not taking requests for him, forgive me for being rude. So I wanted to make a request where the reader is the younger sister of Rhaenyra Targaryen, also daughter of Aemma and Viserys. She married Strong, and lives a dream life with him (they love each other very much, so please, Rhaenyra's children are not his 🫠) and the legitimacy of their children was questioned, of course the queen would never imagine that Harwin had a birthmark, which none of his brothers inherited from Lyonel, he being the only one to have it and ALL THE CHILDREN OF HARWIN AND THE PRINCESS HAVE THAT SAME BRAND, JUST LIKE THE FATHER'S. Maybe I went on too long and was stupid, sorry, you can do whatever comes to your brilliant mind, I just really wish the legitimacy of the children of the OC was proved by legal means and gave no right to be questioned even by the queen. Thank you for your attention, I understand if you don't want to do it 🤍.
pairing: harwin strong x targ!fem!reader
word count: 3k
warnings: mentions of childbirth, alicent being snakey
a/n: first harwin fic, harwin girlies lmk what you think!! for the sake of this fic, Rhae's children have Targaryen silver hair
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In all the years the pair were married, King Viserys and Queen Aemma were blessed by the Mother with only two healthy, living babes. First born has been your elder sister Rhaenyra, whom you followed two years later.
Growing up the two of you remained close through your lessons and dragon riding, but as Rhaenyra grew older she would end up spending more and more time with her lady in waiting Alicent Hightower. Rhaenyra and Alicent being two of the only other girls your age in the Red Keep and their refusal to have anyone join them in their activities, you felt somewhat dejected by your sister's budding friendship.
This is what led you to find solace in the Red Keep's training yards. Day after day you watched knights, and knights in training, battle it out in the yard while you worked on your studies. It was there in the yard you saw him for the first time- your future husband, Ser Harwin Strong.
At the time you had no idea you would end up marrying him, of course, but you should have.
You'd heard all about Ser Harwin Breakbones, son of Lyonel Strong, one of your father's most loyal council men. Harwin's reputation truly preceded him and was rightfully earned.
You hadn't noticed it at the time, but you'd abonded your books and parchments in the stands by your supervising Septa as you approached the rail separating the stands and the training yard in an attempt for a clearer view.
Harwin stood taller than his opponents, shoulders back, sword in hand ready to defend himself. He watched his opponents carefully, calculating their next move. His short brown curls were halfway pulled back out of his face with a tie, exposing Harwin's jawline, much to your own enjoyment.
That afternoon you watched Harwin take down man after man without so much as a proper blow to his own body. He wielded his sword as if it were an extension of his arm in fluid, rushing movements.
When he had finally finished for the evening you applauded him, finally grabbing his attention as he had held yours.
"You are quite the swordsman, Ser Harwin!" you call out to him. "I feel much better knowing there are knights as skilled as you protecting my home."
Harwin grinned largely at your praise, twirling his sword in his hand for show as he approached the rail you supported yourself on. "I mean only to ensure you are safe at all times, my princess."
You smiled down at him now that he was almost right below you. "Well I have no doubts of your capabilities, Ser. I have a feeling you will do great things here, should you wish."
"You are too kind, princess," he chuckles. Then he looks up at the sky, towards the sun on it's way to set. "It is getting quite late, princess. Shall I escort you back to your chambers?"
The excitement and hopefulness in his face brought butterflies to your stomach.
"I would like nothing more, Ser."
After that night it was scarce the two of you weren't side by side, which all but pushed your fathers to wed the two of you.
Now you stood in those same stands, watching Harwin in the yard yet again, but now he's joined by your two eldest sons. Maevor has just passed his tenth and second name day, and Daeragon his ninth. Your two youngest babes, however remained with you and your maid and close friend, Malina.
Malina had first been assigned to you after your marriage to Harwin, and she'd stood loyally by your side as you birthed all of your children.
Malina's elder brother Ellion, a knight of the City Watch, stood closeby on the order of Harwin. He'd been one of Harwin's best men as you'd heard him compliment the younger knight on many occasions in the past. Being a Targaryen princess and wife of the Lord Commander in such uncertain times in the house of the dragon could be dangerous, and Harwin meant only to protect you and your babes.
Your first daughter, eldest of your month old twins, Naelora cooed softly in your arms as she played with the loose sleeve ends of your dress. You indulged her for a moment, raising your arm to lift the sleeve from her reach to tease her.
She gurgles in laughter, stretching her chubby little arms to grasp your sleeve once more.
The moment is over by the approach of Queen Alicent's lady in waiting, Talya.
"My apologies, Princess," Talya bows to you first. "But the Queen has requested Malina's presence for this afternoon."
Why would the queen need Malina specifically? Surely she could find another maid within the Keep to aid her?
Malina looks to you, pale brown eyes silently asking to stay. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, of course. After giving birth to your second son Daeragon, Queen Alicent began requesting Malina's presence more often.
Still sore from your labors, Harwin had taken the day off to aid you and watch over Maevor to allow you to rest.
You watched happily from your spot on the bed as Harwin held little Daeragon, to introduce him to his elder brother. Maevor, a boy of three years, stood as high as he could on his toes to get a peek over Harwin's bulk of an arm to get a glimpse of his brother.
Then your chamber doors open and Malina returns to your side after serving the queen all day. She approaches the foot of your bed, hands clasped together in front of her with her eyes cast slightly downwards.
"Malina, you needn't worry about me," you begin to dismiss her kindly. "I'm sure the Queen-"
But Malina shakes her head, brown curls following her, still refusing to meet your gaze. "I need to speak with you, Princess. And you, Lord Harwin, in privacy."
You share a concerned look with Harwin, who's joyfulness has been replaced with worry. In the time she's served you Malina had never been afraid to look you in your eyes.
He wastes no time escorting Maevor to his chambers just off your own, and placing little Daeragon in his crib next to your side of the bed. Harwin returns and stands dutifully on the other side of you as if protecting you.
"What is it?" you ask, and pat the bed in front of you for Malina to sit.
Malina makes no move to sit on your bed. "My princess," her voice wavers nervously. "I have served your for near half a decade now, and I know you to be the most true and kind person I have ever had the pleasure of serving-"
"Malina," Harwin interrupts sternly. "Speak it plain, what have you heard of my wife?"
Your heart thudded hard in your chest as you instinctively reached for Harwin's hand. He intertwined his fingers with your in an attempt to comfort you.
Malina takes in a deep breath before finally looking up to meet your gaze. "Queen Alicent requested my presence after your labors today for questioning."
"Questioning?" you tilted your head slightly. "About what?"
"Your sons," she answered swiftly. "She... She wanted to know if this babe looked like Harwin or..."
Harwin pulled his hand from yours, placing it on the hilt of his sword. "Or who, Malina?"
"Ellion," Malina whispers. "The Queen seems to believe that you spend too much time with Ellion, princess. She asked if I knew of any relations between the two of you, but I swore to her you are deathly loyal and would never-"
You move from your spot on the bed to bring yourself to stand. Harwin aids you as you steady yourself, then reach for Malina's forearm.
"You needn't explain yourself to me, Malina," you assure her. "I know you to be true to me, and you are one of the kindest ladies I know. You should go, retire for the night. We shall do the same."
Malina apologizes the whole way out your chamber doors despite your assurances. Harwin begins to strip his armor as you settle yourself back into bed.
Daeragon's crib sat just off the side of your bed, close enough for you to have a view of the newborn's little face.
Harwin soon joins your side clad in his nightclothes. You can feel his gaze on you, but you refuse to meet his gaze. Emotions ran rampant through you. You knew it must be the strain and high emotions of you and your new babe surviving the day, but you couldn't stop the rush.
It's when the tears begin to fall from your lilac eyes that Harwin wraps you up in his arms and pulls you back against him.
"My love," he cooes. "Sweet girl, do not worry yourself with the opinion of a misguided, jealous woman."
He raises his right hand to show off the inside of his right wrist, showing off the small, discolored patch of skin he inherited from his father, Lord Lyonel. A small, almost missable, seemingly insignificant patch of skin both Maevor and Daeragon had inherited.
Harwin leans in close, placing his lips against the shell of your ear. "We know I have fathered your sons, my love. Do not worry yourself with this, it is not worth it."
"You're right, husband," you hum, settling into your husband's arms for the night. "I'm just glad he's here, and healthy."
He kisses your temple softly. "You did that. You made him the healthy babe he is."
As you promised Harwin that night, you did your best to ignore the rumors pursued by Alicent. In the years following Daeragon's birth you'd heard more whispers within the court questioning your son's parentage, though you said nothing.
You tried your best to pay them no mind, other days they really got to you. But for now you simply obliged to the queen's wishes.
"Ser Ellion," you motioned your friend forward with one hand. He looked much like his sister as they shared the same nose, and brown curly hair, though Ellion's eyes were an elegant green. Still, no man in the Seven Kingdoms could come close to Harwin in your eyes.
"Would you mind taking my sweet Raemor from your sister? I'm afraid I cannot tend to both babes at once."
Ellion nods and leans down slightly to make a peaceful transition from his sister's arms. He wore an awkward grin on his face as he cradles the blanket wrapped babe the best he could in a full suit of armor. "It is an honor, Princess. Though I'm not certain he will be comfortable against such steel."
Malina bows and takes Talya's arm in her own. You know Malina's dislike for the woman, and you can only guess she's done this to ensure Talya is led away from you and your family.
You shake your head in response to Ellion yet keep your attention on your daughter in your arms. "It is no issue, Harwin holds them in his armor every day. He has with each of them."
A moment passes in silence and you look up to your husband and eldest children. Maevor's brown curls are just long enough on the top to be tied back while leaving some down thus his hair is relatively tame. Daeragon's, however, is tousled and absolutely untame.
Both boys are breathing heavier now, their cheeks flushed. But the beautiful, pure look of excitement on their faces melted your heart. They knew their father was Lord Commander of the City Watch, and that Harwin worked hard for his family at his very important job, and they treasured their father for it.
After taking them to see Harwin train with some of the new recruits of the City Watch two fortnights ago had been a mistake on your part for the boys had not shut up about training themselves. At first you had been hesitant, of course other Targaryen princes had been taught to fight years before your boys, but you were afraid of the things they might encounter so instead you encouraged them to spend time in the libraries and their respective dragons.
As a result the boys were extremely well read and years ahead of their pupils in their studies. Maevor is practically fluent in Valyrian now, and Daeg is not far behind.
Their insistent pleading had wore on you though, and you gave in to them with Harwin's reassurance he would personally oversee their training. In the end, Maevor and Daeg's immediate joy at being granted permission made it worth it in the end.
Harwin and the boys were cleaning their training gear and putting it away.
Ellion clears his throat, pulling your attention from your family. "I fear something is happening, Princess."
"What do you mean?" you ask, standing from your seat and brushing your skirts with one hand.
"I have been approached twice now," he explains carefully, watching who was sat in the immediate area. The closest people sat on the complete opposite of the training yard in those stands. "Once by a fellow knight, and then by Talya herself. I only mention this as a warning, Princess."
Harwin and the boys are nearly there and you don't want the boys to hear such slander.
"Thank you, Ellion," you force a smile to give him. "And I apologize for what has been whispered around court these last years, but I plan now to make it right."
Harwin approaches you then, slinking one arm around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. "Come, my love, the boys need to bathe and our littlest ones must be ready for their nap."
Maevor perks up, "Mother, may I carry Naelora back to your chambers?"
Your hearts melts at the question, Maevor ever the doting older brother. You grant your son permission, gently reminding him to hold her head carefully.
"And I shall take Raemor from you, Ellion. I thank you for your services for today."
He bows respectfully, "Tis my duty, and an honor."
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Once the twins are down for their naps and the older boys off to the bathhouse with Malina you informed Harwin of everything that had transpired this afternoon while he trained with the boys.
His thick brows furrowed almost immediately, angre written upon his face. Harwin had shed his armor by now, settling for more comfortable leathers for the evening. His sword however, stayed attached to his hip with one hand gripping the hilt.
"I am sick of hearing your name and reputation tarnished by fools!" Harwin seethes, angrier than you've ever seen him. "I have half a mind to slay them all down for even thinking such things of our children, of you."
You shake your head softly, approaching him to cup his face. You press your forehead against his own, something you've always done to comfort him.
"I have a plan, my dutiful husband," you assure him. "I happen to have a wonderful relationship with my father by law, if you must know. And I just so happen to know that a Small Council meeting starts in mere minutes."
Harwin eases a little, but now he's wrought with confusion.
"What have you planned, my love?"
You smile mischievously and press a sweet kiss to your husband's lips. "Just you wait husband, I first require our Maevor."
The boys are back from their baths by now as you can hear them bustling about Daeragon's chambers, which is the adjoining room to your own.
You knock before you enter as you always do, to the sight of your boys on Daeg's bed, books sprawled open before them.
"What have we there, byka zaldrīzoti (little dragons)?" you ask as you join them on the bed.
Daeg pulls the leather bound book to cover his lap to show you. "The Histories of Old Valyria!" he chimes. "Maevor was reading it to me in Valyrian."
You stroke Daeg's plush cheek with one hand, still able to see the babe he used to be in his face, and take Maevor's hand in your other.
"He's smart, your brother," you 'whisper' to Daeragon. "I would study hard, my Prince."
Maevor breaks his hand away to rustle his brother's brown curls. "Muña's teasing, Daeg. You are smarter now than I was your age."
You swoon, heart melting at the relationship between your boys. "Oh my sweet Maev," you kiss his temple. "Might I borrow you for a awhile, I have something important to discuss with the Small Council and I need your help."
Maevor's brown eyes widened slightly, "Of course, mother."
"Have no fear, sweet boy, I have a plan."
And you sure did. Once you explained what you could to Maevor while sparing his innocence best you could, he'd been more than willing to join you.
You squatted down to be closer to your son's level, Harwin by your side. "You are special, Maevor," you explain to him. You grab Harwin's right hand and Maevor's to put them side by side. Both birthmarks were near identical save for Harwin's being larger and slightly darker than his son's. "Each of my babes have this mark, all from Harwin, who inherited it from your grandsire, Lyonel. Do you understand?"
He nods, but says nothing. Harwin crouches down next to you, reaching to cup his eldest son's face.
"I wish we did not have to burden you with such a task, my boy," Harwin admits grimly. "I want you to know we are only doing this because we love you children, and I love your muña too much to let people speak of her in such a way any longer."
So the three of you set off, accompanied by Ellion as Malina had stayed behind to watch the twins and Daeragon.
Despite the Kingsguard outside the meeting room of the Small Council, you march right past them and push the doors open yourself.
Each member of the council turns to you now silenced. Otto sat up straighter in his seat as he looked towards his daughter. Alicent looked shocked to see the group of you, and you noted her visible nervousness.
Lyonel stands and comes to Harwin's side, demanding answers most likely. Harwin begins whispering in his father's ear, explaining the situation.
"Sister," Rhaenyra stands, hand placed over her round stomach. "What is wrong?"
You cross your arms over your chest, eyes blazing as you glare at the Hightowers at the table. "Since the birth of my Daeragon I have endured vile slanders against not only myself, but my marriage, and every one of my children."
Alicent shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
"Princess," Otto pokes in. "I can assure you-"
"Assure what?" you snap, slamming down on the table to lean towards the Hand. "Alicent has been the one to pull my ladies from me just after giving birth to insinuate my babes have been fathered by knight of the City Watch who is not my husband. Even now, a month after having my twins, I am approached with more blasphemy. No more."
You usher Maevor forward, who happily extends his right arm before you have to ask. Harwin joins you, followed by Lyonel, both of whom put out their wrists as well.
Alicent's mouth widens in shock before she grits her teeth. Even Larys' wears a look of shock as he checks his own wrists, coming up with nothing.
"I am tired of my children being put under scrutiny," you say finally. "And of my loyalty to my husband being questioned. Now, if you all do not mind, I would like to enjoy the rest of the day with my family undisturbed."
You step back from the table to leave when Rhaenyra wraps you up in a hug. "I am so sorry, sister," she whispers.
You assure her with a simple kiss to the side of her head before reaching for Maevor's hand.
The boy is practically bouncing on his feet as the two of you make your way back to your chambers, both Harwin and Ellion following close behind.
"She is very scary, your wife," Ellion admits to Harwin lowly. "I would to want to be on the receiving end of her wrath."
He only chuckles, "No, nor would I."
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peachesofteal · 4 months
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Winter driving, or the ability to drive in hazardous conditions, is a major thing where I live.
People often overestimate their abilities or just lack the skills, proper equipment, and wreck… usually by sliding off the road.
Anyway, this makes me think about you, reader, driving a mountain pass in the dead of winter. The kind of winter where the ice is like glass on the trees, where the windshield of your car makes you feel like you’re in the millennium falcon during a hyperspace jump, where the air is so cold it hurts your chest. During the day it might be nice, the sun could be out, the wind could be warmer, but at night… everything is treacherous.
And maybe you’re not an experienced driver, in the snow. Maybe you don’t have great tires. Maybe you’re driving just a bit too fast, and before you can correct it, you’re spinning out of control, wrecking into a grove of thick trees. The last thing you can feel is the trickle of blood, dripping down your face, and the last thing you see… are the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.
When you wake, it’s in a bed. Your head is killing you and your shoulder, upper arm are screaming in agony. But you’re warm, and bundled under a heap of quilts, hot water bottle under blankets by your feet.
What happened? You try to sit up, but can’t, squinting in the light of the morning, and when you try again, putting more effort into curling your spine forward, it hurts so badly that you yelp.
That’s when you see him. A man steps out of the corner of the room, from the edge of your peripheral… and you freeze in terror.
“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye.” He coos, coming closer and you get a better look at him, handsome, sweet face with an overgrown mohawk and brilliant blue eyes. “Ye had a terrible accident.” He says, ceramic mug from his hand clinking down onto the table next to you. “Pure luck we found ye when we did. Ye might’ve died out there, hen.”
“I-“
“Here. Drink this.” He pours something from a kettle into the mug, lifting it your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even lift your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes at the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” He murmurs, re tucking the misplaced blankets around your shoulder. You’re feeling woozy all of the sudden, maybe a little sick, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, tallest thing you’ve ever seen.
“Those bones need setting.” The bigger one says to the mohawk one, and he grimaces, trailing fingertips along your cheek.
“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.”
“It’s been four days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Four days? Your brain latches onto the time. Since when?
“Ah know.” He slumps. “Tomorrow?” He sounds hopeful, and the brown eyed man nods.
You’re starting to fade, listening to them talk, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that confuses you until you’re losing the battle to sleep, not with it enough to hear the click of the padlock.
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mercurycft · 3 months
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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 — 𝐋𝐁
## lucy bronze x reader!
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Hello everyone! I’ve been working on this idea for a little while.. its definitely not my best work but i really liked writing this! Enjoy! Love always- RG! x
part 1 of 2! read part two here 2,603 words - this part is mostly build-up!
MATURE CONTENT & LANGUAGE WARNING 18+
The final stretch of the last training session before a break was always the worst, ending with all the girls heaving and sweaty as they piled back into the team changing room. It was Friday, and plans for the evening were already being finalised by the time you entered the room and made your way to your usual spot. Tucked away into the corner, happy to sit down and take off your boots before you heard your name hollered from within the fuss of conversation.
"Oi! Y/L/N, drinks at 8. You get no input or choice..." The voice belonged to Mary and was followed by a hound of laughs from around the room. Drinks were never your go-to, much preferring a takeaway and crap tv in the comfort of your own home. The girls knew this, so instead of asking - they would tell. You knew better than to fight it, laughing with them and nodding before throwing the group a sarcastic double thumbs-up as you placed your boots into your kit bag.
"I'll be there, Pre-drinks at Tooney's I'm guessing?" That was always the plan, meet at Ella's and either walk or get an Uber to wherever the group had decided to spend the remainder of the night. Your question was met with a couple 'obviously's and 'you know it's from the girls, who had now dispersed around the room and started packing their belongings away. You were packed up first, as per usual, and were sat chatting as everyone finished changing. Once everyone had grabbed what they needed and conversations were stalling to a halt, everyone made their collective way through the hall and out towards the front of the building. You, Ella and Alessia led the way, arms linked and phones in hand, already discussing the 'dress code' for the evening.
By the time you had finally made it home, battling through the usual city traffic it was nearing 4pm and all plans for an unrushed evening of preparing were out the window - so after dumping your bag in the kitchen you headed straight for the shower.
_________
The next two hours were spent rushing around your bedroom and flat, drying and styling your hair before applying your usual 'going out' makeup. Next came the clothes and after 6 failed attempts at outfits you had created in your head and two stressed glasses of whatever wine you had in the fridge, you settled on wide-leg jeans and a strapless bodysuit paired with a pair of comfy heels which gave you an extra couple of inches. After packing the essentials into the ridiculously small-seeming bag you had chosen and grabbing a jacket, you were finally ready to head out the door.
The journey to Ella's house wasn't long, 10 minutes at most, and the weather was in your favour - the sun starting to set and a gentle chill creeping through your clothes just as you had arrived at her front door. Holding a bottle of cheap wine close to your side, you rang the bell and waited, soon to be greeted by Alessia and ushered inside - music was already blaring from the kitchen where a few of the girls loitered. Ella grabbed the bottle from your grasp, pouring you a generous glass and placing the remainder into her fridge. "You look fit, mate!" She exclaimed as she turned back to you and passed your drink.
"Oh stop it, look at you Tooney." You said, holding your hand out towards her and feigning a dramatic gasp, you both fell into a burst of soft laughter and moved to join the rest of the group. You said your hello's, exchanging genuine compliments and stationed yourself by the sink, bringing the glass to your lips as the doorbell chimed through the house.
"Fucking hell, Luce! Didn't want to leave the rest of us a chance to pull then?" Ella squealed exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in fake annoyance and stomping back into the kitchen. You straightened up at the mention of the older right-back, taking another sip of your drink as she emerged into the room and said her hello's.
By the time she made it to you, you were sure you could draw her from memory. Watching her closely as she worked her way across the room - you noticed how the white shirt she wore was clinging to her arms and chest in all the right places, tucked neatly into a pair of slack-like trousers which sat loosely around her ankles to reveal a pair of crisp airforce. Before you could react she was in front of you, pulling you in with a gentle hand on the back and a warm smile, giving you a friendly cheek-to-cheek kiss and hug then pulling away and moving back into the centre of the room and retrieving her own drink.
She looked good and she was well aware, which made it so much harder to look away. Having to try your hardest to remind yourself of where you are and who she was. Her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, with her hair pulled back into her usual bun. You had always found her attractive - how could you not? She looked as if she had been carved by the Gods themselves, with smooth olive skin and muscles that put everyone else to shame.
You had always gotten along well, laughing and joking across the pitch during training. Sometimes meeting her eyes for a moment too long during conversations or humouring the lingering touches when you brushed past each other in social settings. Though nothing had ever come of it, that didn't mean you didn't enjoy the warmth of her hands on the small of your back or the way you seemed to fall into her eyes and stumble on your words when she would catch you off guard and today was no exception. You couldn't help but watch her as she worked the room, engaging in conversations.
When the last of the girls had arrived, the house was buzzing with the type of giddy excitement only alcohol could provide - everyone was a few drinks down now and it wasn't long before you were sat in a taxi heading into town.
_________
10pm rolled around and the drinks were flowing, empty glasses scattered across the table which a few of the girls sat around. Some were stood at the bar, ordering the next round and a few more occupied a section of the dancefloor. You, however, found yourself perched on a bar stool with a drink in hand, ear forward as Lucy told you a story about one of her former teammates. Trying your hardest to pay attention, but too focused on how close together you were.
You could feel her breath on your ear as she tried to speak over the music that rattled through the room. Her hand was placed just above your knee for leverage as she leaned over you and it was all you could think about. The smell of her perfume flooded your senses, disorientating the logical side of your brain which tried to scream through the cloud of subtle arousal that sat heavy behind your eyes. 'This is so unprofessional!' you were aware and you knew deep down this could ruin you - but the sweet smell of her skin was intoxicating.
Your train of thought was interrupted as your eyes refocused, grounding you back into the moment. Realising she now stood away from your ear, instead looking at you with raised eyebrows and a slight smirk across her lips. shit. caught red-handed. You stiffened when she leaned back towards your ear, "Am I boring you Y/L/N? Did you even hear what I said?" You hadn't. but she wasn't asking, she was taunting.
She watched you struggle for an answer, pure amusement plastered across her face. Putting you out of your misery she leant back in, this time pushing you further into your pit. Lips pressed cautiously against your lobe, "Strike one, darlin'." She muttered and you were sure you could feel her smirk against your ear before she departed entirely and you lost her in the crowd of bodies around you. strikes? what strikes? You wondered silently to yourself, bringing your drink to your lips as your eyes scanned the dark room but she was already gone.
_________
An hour later you found yourself on the dancefloor surrounded by your friends, who were all individually butchering an Amy Winehouse classic. As the song wrapped up to an end, you were pulled into a loose group hug - maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just the love you felt in that moment, but you couldn't explain the warmth that coursed through your veins as you looked at your people.
Before long a new song began, a low beat bounced off the walls and wrapped around the bodies on the floor. You didn't know the song but remained with the girls, swaying to the beat and laughing at some of their horrific dance moves. As the song hit the chorus you and Mary gravitated towards each other, dancing and laughing as you stood in front of her and attempted an awful twerk and grind move to the beat with her hands placed firmly on your hips. Both of you played into your roles, spilling your drinks as you did so and adding to the already sticky floor.
It wasn't unusual for the team to dance like this and it was very rarely serious when one of you was pressed back up against another, but today it felt different. One specific set of deep eyes stayed locked on your movements as Lucy watched from the opposite side of the group, tongue rolling along the inside of her teeth when you finally made eye contact from your compromising position. Through the darkness you could see her lips moving; she was talking - or at least mouthing something towards you. You couldn't connect the dots until she lifted her hand in front of her, showing you two fingers. "Two strikes."
What would happen at three? And why were you excited to find out?
_________
It was nearing 11 now and you stood at the bar, almost too close to a woman you had just met - sipping the fruity drink she had ordered you. Normally you would think twice about talking to someone at a bar, but tonight’s circumstances made it a thrilling game and you couldn’t wait to play. You knew she was watching, feeling her eyes bore into the back of your head but paying little attention while you focused on the task at hand. Lucy was standing a few feet behind you, between Ella and Leah who were trying to talk over the music. Lucy wasn’t interested though, her attention fixed on you and your new friend. Gripping her drink so tight she was sure it might shatter as she watched you lift a sly hand up and rest it on the stranger's shoulder. Lucy couldn’t pinpoint the feeling, internally confused at the sudden jealousy that burned deep in the pits of her stomach. Just as you were starting to think she had lost interest, a body was pressed to the side of you, pushing a wedge between yourself and the woman whose name you couldn’t even remember.
The game was no longer fun when Lucy ushered you around the room to say your goodbyes, excusing you both from the function. A few of the girls started to protest but she was quick to respond with “Y/N’s not feeling 100%, said I’d make sure she got home okay.” And that was enough for them. She held you close as you walked out into the street, whispering a small but steady “Third and final.” as she pulled you into a waiting taxi.
_________
The pair of you didn't even make it through the front door before she pounced, your key still in the lock when she had you pinned between her frame and the door. Her hands sat heavy on your hips, eyes locked on yours. "God, you've been drivin' me mental all night.." she groaned, scanning your features.
"Do something about it then," You pushed. This was new but unbelievably exciting, you had never seen her like this. Before you could speak again her lips were on yours. Rough and urgent, like she was scared someone would rip you right out of her grip. "Inside," You managed to mumble against her lips, unlocking the door and pulling her inside - not wasting any more time to attach your lips together again.
This time was different, a rage of hunger alight in the depths of your stomach. Your hands sat on the nape of her neck, lacing through the small amount of hair that had fallen from her bun throughout the night. Her hands couldn't settle, exploring your figure and fisting at the fabric that separated skin from skin. Somehow during this you had travelled through the hall and were now fighting through your bedroom door, shoes and jackets kicked off and discarded around the flat - highlighting your erratic path.
Once inside the safety of your bedroom, things seemed to slow. The initial hunger and speed now dimmed into lust. Yearning. She pressed rough but calculated kisses down your jaw, lingering below your ear for a moment before moving across your collarbones. The feeling made you shudder, holding her head in your hands.
She had you stripped in minutes, now pulled tightly against her in your underwear. "Jesus Christ Y/L/N are you trying to kill me here?" She murmured, thumb caressing the lace across your chest, tracing the shapes for a second before her eyes met yours. A moment passed and you were growing impatient, inhaling deeply when the pad of her thumb found your nipple through the thin fabric and circled gently. You could tell she was enjoying this, watching you shift your weight from side to side as she slowly broke you down.
"On the bed." You were quick to obey, laying down in front of her - on display. She made her way towards you, situating herself above you and lifting your legs to bend and sit beside her hips. She kissed you deeply, hands latched onto your thighs. The world seemed to melt away around you and all you could think about was the throbbing between your legs.
"Need you," You managed to croak out, hands pulling at the fabric of her trousers - desperate for some form of friction. She let out a cocky scoff from above you.
"I'm not sure you deserve it, love. Haven't been behaving, have you?" She spoke rhetorically, tutting and raising her hand to toy with your bottom lip. "And only good girls get rewarded.." She added lowly as her hand travelled down from your face, tugging at your bra and moving to take your nipple into her mouth. You let out a small moan when you felt the warmth of her mouth on you, legs constricting around her and your back arching into her touch.
You writhed beneath her as she moved between left and right, her hand now finding its way to your underwear. She had two fingers pressed against your clit through the fabric, letting out a soft hum against you when she felt your arousal through the barrier. "Got you all wet for me, hm?"
"Please," You whimpered, lifting your hips up towards her hand. Desperate for some relief for the ache, eyes glassed over with desire.
"Begging for it already and I'm only just getting started. What a shame.."
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srvbryn · 2 months
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I can request that luke x reader end up on a mission where consecutively luke is jealous of the guy they are on the mission with but after all they face they make it through together.
Luke Castellan. Jealous
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Luke Castellan X Hebe!Daughter!Reader
Summary: WHAT THE REQUEST SAID PERIOD!! 🤭🤭
Warning: insecure Luke + Sassy Luke (it's not that bad I promise), kiss scene is oddly specific
738 words 😋
A/n: HAIAI for the one that requests this - i'm not sure whether you want Dark!Luke or just Luke SO I hope you enjoy reading this! 🎀 I hope the scene adds the jealousy touch you were looking for 😭😭
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As Ares sent Tom, his newly claimed son, on a quest, he surprisingly included both you and Luke.
Tensions ran high, especially when Tom, seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere, went out of his way to gain your attention.
Luke's subtle glares and tightened jawlines, and Tom, enjoying the tension he created, sported a cocky smirk.
During one skirmish, Tom took an unnecessary risk, earning a wound that you promptly tended to with nectar. Luke's eyes narrowed as he watched you care for Tom, his possessive instincts kicking in. "You're not the only one who knows how to patch up injuries," Luke muttered under his breath, his competitive spirit burning.
As the quest continued, Luke attempts to win back your attention became more apparent.
All while subtly keeping an eye on your reactions. Insecurities lingered beneath his confident exterior, and he couldn't shake the feeling that Tom's antics were slowly chipping away at your focus.
One evening, around the campfire, tensions reached their peak. Tom, in a moment of bravado, tried to impress you with a flashy display of swordplay.
Luke, unable to contain his frustration, interrupted, "Enough showing off. We're here for a quest, not a theatrical performance."
The exchange escalated into a heated argument, with Tom challenging Luke to prove himself worthy.
In the aftermath, Luke's insecurities remained, but he found a safe place within your arms - especially when you slept with your head on his shoulder.
The quest led you through treacherous terrain. Tom's eagerness to impress became more pronounced with each passing day, drawing amusement from you and aggravation from Luke.
On the second day, as you and Luke set up camp, Tom, nursing a minor injury, couldn't resist an opportunity for an ounce of your attention. "Hey, (Name), think you could patch me up? Your healing touch works wonders," he grinned, casting a challenging glance at Luke.
Luke, retorted, "Don't you have some divine healing powers, Montgomery? Or is that too much effort for the god of war's son?"
You sigh, handing Tom a spoonful of nectar. "Save the bickering for the monsters. We're here for a reason."
The next day, during a battle with harpies, Tom took an unnecessary risk in order to demonstrate his combat abilities. Luke being Luke of course he noticed the danger unfold. "Watch your back, Montgomery!" he exclaimed.
He couldn't help but mutter, "Trying to impress someone, Tom?"
Tom smirked, "Why, jealous, Castellan?"
You interrupt them with a sigh. "Enough of this. We need to focus on the quest, not on each other."
In the quiet moments, Luke's insecurities surfaced. That night, as the three of you sat around the campfire, Luke glared at Tom, "I'm not used to sharing the spotlight, especially when you're trying so hard to win my girlfriend's attention."
Tom, surprisingly, replied, "I get it, man. But she's not a prize to be won."
"Yeah well she's my girlfriend so please back off" Luke scoffed.
It was the final day, which is finally the time for the three of you to go back to the camp.
As the quest concluded with triumph, the adrenaline still coursed through your veins. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the landscape. The trio stood victorious, catching their breaths.
As you began to share congratulatory words with Tom, Luke's hand subtly found its way to yours.
With a gentle tug, Luke pulled you away from the group, guiding you toward the edge of the forest.
The air between you crackled with unspoken tension from the quest. Once beneath the canopy of trees, Luke stopped, his eyes searching yours.
"Sweet," he began, his voice low and intense. "I couldn't stand watching Tom try to steal your attention during this quest. It drove me insane."
Before you could respond, his lips met yours in a passionate kiss and the realization of how much he valued you.
The forest around you seemed to hold its breath as the kiss deepened, expressing the intensity of the emotions both of you had kept hidden.
When he finally pulled away, Luke's eyes bore into yours, a mixture of possessiveness and vulnerability. "I don't want to share you with anyone. You're mine, (Name)."
The words hung in the air, and you could feel the weight of his emotions. As you reassured him by tilting your head forward and putting your soft lips on his. His lips were warm and soft. They parted slightly, allowing your tongue to slip inside.
"I love kissing you, y'know that?" Luke murmur.
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mayloma · 3 months
Text
Where You Are - Part 1
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Pairing: AU Viking!Geralt x female reader
Series masterlist
Summary: It's the morning Geralt and the other men of the village set off to go into battle.
Word count: 3.7k
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, melancholy, a goodbye, a little angst, fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, body fluids. 
Author’s note: To be honest, there’s a lot I don’t know about this fic yet. Among other things, I don’t know if the journey will begin and end at this point or if there’ll be more to tell. However, I’d like to share this part of the story with you while I’ll try to figure it out.  💕
Pictures: from Canva and Pinterest. Full credit to the owners.
Dividers: by saradika
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It is still dark outside. And it will stay dark. 
It is one of those days when the sun fails to burst through the heavy blanket of clouds darkening the sky. Withal, countless tiny snowflakes, each barely bigger than a grain kernel, have begun to sail down on the ground. And they cover the village in a delicate veil, white and cold as ice.
It is not the time to go into battle. (Has there ever been such time?) But this war doesn’t care about the winter descending on the land, and for a certainty, it doesn’t care about the winter it leaves in the hearts of those who stay behind. 
And so you got up long before dawn this morning to prepare breakfast for your husband. While he sits at the table, digging in the fresh bread and last night’s leftover stew, you wrap bread and fruits for him to eat on the way, as much as you can spare. 
His bundle is already packed, leaning against the wall of your hut, next to his swords that gleam in the light of the fireplace. 
As you sat by the fire last night, he pulled up a chair to sit beside you, like he does so often when the day is done. And while you darned a snag in his cloak, he carefully cleaned and sharpened the blades. 
Your eyes flicked between the black woolen fabric in your lap and his form, trying to memorize every detail of his appearance, even though it has long been etched into your mind. However, you’ll probably never get enough of watching him maintain his weapons. There is something calm, something unbudgeable about him and that pensive expression on his face whenever his steady hands wander over steel and silver. And you saw him stare into the crackling fire while his fingers absentmindedly traced Renfri’s broach. 
“Promise not to get involved in affairs that aren’t yours,” you said softly.  
His fingers paused, and you saw the corner of his mouth twitch before his gaze lit on you, golden and glowing like the dancing flames in front of you. 
“It might not be my choice to be made,” he said slowly. “Will a promise that I’ll try suffice for you, Little Bird?” 
His deep, raspy voice resonated in the darkness for a few moments, and although there was a touch of irony in it, there was also truth. 
“Whatever increases the chance of having you come back home will suffice for me,” you replied firmly, locking eyes with him. 
The hint of a smile curled the corners of his mouth, a curt nod signaling his approval. And yet, he remained silent.
He can’t promise you to come back. You know that he can’t. Not this time. Not ever. The world is too dark, too uncertain for such grand promises these days where nothing ever lasts, neither the good nor the bad. 
Nevertheless, the threads of your destiny are irretrievably entangled with his, binding you to each other. In this life. And in the next. Until Ragnarök and beyond, as you promised each other countless times. 
There wasn’t much you could have done in the here and now, and so you made love all night, rough and desperate, then again so slow and gentle it made you want to die right there in his arms. 
Your love left its traces all over your bodies, dark and harsh, as you engraved yourselves into each other’s skin with teeth and lips and nails. Those marks are there for the time being. And yet, they’re fleeting, and they will fade someday soon. Contrary to the scars both of you have been carrying since the day your paths crossed. 
It was also the day both of you almost died, killed by a dread with no name he saved you from. The monster that still haunts you in your dreams once in a while caused him grievous injuries in the fight, and it took you the last of your strength to drag him to your hut.
You spent weeks trying to cure his wounds, and you needed a plethora of healing herbs, teas and ointments and dressing, and every bit of knowledge your foster mother had taught you. In the end, you saved each other, sealing what destiny had long planned for you, ever since the beginning of time. 
You carry the scars of that fateful day with you, and you carry the ink under your skin, intertwined lines that mark you as the White Wolf’s mate and him as yours. 
Those marks will last when he rides out of the village with the other men, traveling toward the unknown and a battle that shouldn’t be theirs to fight.  
You already see him in your mind's eye, on Roach’s back, his pale white hair and vigilant golden eyes concealed under the hood of his cloak. He’ll keep a bit aloof from the others, like he always does, from strangers and even from the villagers who are supposed to be his people. In truth, however, they will never accept him as one of them. They know they need him, and they tolerate him, albeit grudgingly. But they also fear him, and they trust him as little as he trusts them. 
The rumors are spoken in hushed voices, at hearthfires, and behind closed doors. And yet they are there. Rumors about that man, the witcher, who can be no other than the human shape of Fenrir - son of Loki and prisoner in Asgard until the day of Ragnarök, where he'll finally break free and devour Odin and the sun herself. There are rumors about that man, who appeared in the village out of nowhere on the day he saved you. Before they knew it, he had made you his wife - you, the late healer's foundling they had always been a bit suspicious of. He had insinuated himself into their midst, and they were certain that his presence adumbrates the end of all times. 
Once spoken, the rumors stuck, and nothing Geralt had done for this village could cleanse them away. No matter how many times he had set out, putting his life at risk.  
It’s moments like this, when you realize how truly alone he will be amidst a whole army, that your heart tenses and fear threatens to flood your veins. 
“Don’t.” Geralt’s low voice reaches your ears, and his arms embrace you from behind, pulling your back against his chest. 
You didn’t even notice he already finished his breakfast and stepped toward you. And you involuntarily let yourself sink back, allowing your eyes to flutter shut and your body to lean against him. 
He feels so warm, and the heat of his body slowly creeps up your spine. To your neck and your shoulders and your arms. Until it permeates your every limb. And you take deep breaths to your stomach, trying to relax your shoulders like he taught you to. 
“Good girl,” he mumbles, lowering his head until his lips ghost your ear. “Don’t freeze. Don’t let it take control. What will be, will be, and you can’t change what is destined. But you can control your actions at this moment.”
“I know,” you whisper, nuzzling closer to him. “It’s just so… hard sometimes. And sometimes, I don't know how I’m supposed to go on… if…”
“I know, Little Bird. Believe me, I know. But you have to go on. I want you to promise you’ll go on. In any case. Promise me!” he urges.
And as you carefully turn around in his arms, the concern, the pain in his golden eyes takes your breath away. 
You put one hand on his chest, your palm on the familiar wolf amulet, and your fingertips on his heart. Your other hand rests on the Web of Wyrd pendant between your breasts underneath your nightgown. What will be, will be. Just as the three sisters, the norns at the root of the world tree, decide.  
“I promise.” 
He nods. And he smiles.
He smiles his usual hint of a smile, but still, you marvel at how much warmth it can radiate. And then, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your fingertips. One after the other. 
Your fingers brush his unusually clean-shaven cheek. And then, you run your hand through his hair. Your digits get tangled in his thatch, and as you withdraw your hand, a long strand falls into his face. 
“May I braid it for you?” you ask, brushing the curl behind his ear. 
“Mmhm.” His hum is almost a sigh, and he nuzzles his cheek against your hand before he steps to the bed, sitting down on its edge. 
His eyes follow you as you get a comb and a short leather cord, and they wander up and down your body, as you walk over to him. All of a sudden, you’re overly aware of the thin linen billowing around your legs under the warm shawl you wrapped around your form. And you're overly aware of the sweet, sore sensation between your legs. And your fingertips ghost his cheek as you climb onto the bed, kneeling behind him on the soft furskins. 
As you begin to comb his hair, carefully detangling the long snow-white strands, the faint scent of milk and honey from the soap you used last night for his bath floods your nostrils. And you recall how he felt under your fingers as you thoroughly lathered his hair and his body. Warm and slippery skin. His hair, sometimes coarse and sometimes soft. And countless scars, some hard, some raised, others smooth and soft. 
As you gather the hair from his temples, braiding them to an artful pattern at the back of his head, you silently beg the gods to protect him, to ward him from death and injuries and from any malice lurking on his way. To bring him back safely. 
You fix the braid with the black leather cord, smoothing down the silky strands falling freely onto his back. And then, you fail to pull away. Instead, you wrap your arms around him, nestling up to his back - too close the moment when he’ll walk out the door. 
You lean in, pressing your lips to his temple, and then you slowly kiss your way down his cheek to his mouth. One kiss after another while Geralt’s eyes close and his lips slightly part in response to your caress. 
He hums quietly, and as you arrive at the corner of his mouth, you pause right there, letting him, letting you hang in the air for the length of a few heartbeats while your blood begins to seethe with longing. 
As he casts up his eyes and his glowing gaze meets yours, you forget everything around you. You forget the noises from outside where the men are already assembling on the village square. You forget his departure and the imminent danger. You forget the oncoming winter and the cold and darkness it’ll bring. And you forget the loneliness you’ll have to endure. All that vanishes in that moment because he’s still here, right here with you. 
“Little Bird,” he whispers urgently.
And then he kisses you, kisses your lips that are still swollen from a thousand bygone kisses. Yet, he captures your mouth, still reckless in his yearning, and yet, you need this right now, need to feel that he hates to leave you as much as you hate letting him go. 
And he continues to kiss you as he turns in your embrace, pulling you closer, closer until your body is pressed flushed against him, and you lose your balance, clutching his shoulders. But he holds you tight, and then he carefully lets you sink down on the mattress, hovering over you without abandoning your mouth. His hand, however, rucks up your nightgown, and you moan quietly as he settles down between your legs, forcing them apart for him.   
“No!” he growls as your hands move to his pants, and then his teeth dig into your bottom lip, drawing a whimpering from your mouth. “I need to taste you first,” he mumbles, kissing his way down your throat. Down the valley of your breasts, running his tongue over your pebbled nipples showing underneath your nightgown. 
“Geralt,” you whisper as he plants more kisses on your belly, and “Geralt!” you squeak as his teeth grace the soft skin on your hip, and his hand hastily rucks up your gown further to expose your most sensitive spots for him. 
“Need to taste you,” he hums against your skin as his lips brush your thighs and your mound, his breath hot on your wet flesh. 
And your groan blends with his as he licks a long stripe from your dripping opening to your swollen pearl. 
“Mmmm, so sweet, Little Bird!” 
As you briefly raise your head, you see that his eyes are closed, a raptured expression on his features, as if you are the sweetest thing he has ever tasted. However, as he casts up his eyes, seeing you look at him, probably all flustered and breathless, his expression quickly changes to cocky. And he swirls his tongue around your pearl in a way that never fails to make your mind go blank.
The sound leaving your lips is something between a gasp and a moan, and you feel his hum, his smile against your wetness, before he repeats the movement, sending a wave of heat down your spine. 
“Oh gods,” you whimper, throwing your head back against the pillow, balling your fists around the bedding, not even trying to brace yourself for what’s to come.
Instead, you just let it happen, and you leave yourself to him, allowing him to carry you away. 
He is gentle with you this time, so damn gentle, and yet, he couldn’t burn you hotter.
The twilight of your hut becomes blurred and hazy as blistering heat washes over you, churning you, making you helplessly writhe and squirm on the bed. And the room fills with your moans and whimperings and his groans and grunts and the lewdest sounds of his mouth feasting on you.
As your hips begin to buck, eagerly rocking your burning core against his tongue, you feel his body picking up your movements. And his hoarse groan vibrates against your flesh as he humps the mattress, desperately longing for the friction. Desperate for you. And then, his tongue swipes around your pearl in the most perfect way, making you arch your back like a bow while an undefinable sound rises from your throat. 
And he continues what he started and what can no longer be stemmed as your arousal surges inside you like a wave making landfall. Your movements grow desperate, and so do your sounds as you move with him, so eager to break, so eager to get carried away. 
As the wave finally breaks, as you break, and liquid fire sloshes through your veins, his hands hold you in a firm grip that feels iron and oddly safe at the same time. And his lips and his tongue lap around your core while your climax ripples through you in gentle and oh-so-delicious waves. 
At some point, your body goes limp on the bed, and your chest heaves with shaky breaths as you gasp for air.  
“Breathe!” he reminds you, planting more open-mouthed kisses on your swollen flesh, humming with relish as he laps at your dripping opening.  
And then he lays a trace of kisses upward, dwelling on your breasts. 
“Geralt,” you whimper, hastily wrapping your arms around him as he closes his lips around the puffy buds, only a thin layer of damp fabric between his tongue and your soft skin.  
Then his mouth finds yours, and your kiss floods your tongue with the aroma of your lust and his barely suppressed greed, so alluring, so irresistible your heart doesn’t stand a chance to calm down. And you feel his contended hum against your lips as you moan into his mouth. 
“You sing the sweetest songs for me, Little Bird,” he mumbles. “Can you give me one more, hm?”
“Yes,” you breathe, and your hands fumble for his pants without missing a beat. 
You fail to fight back the smirk creeping upon your face as you yank the buttons open, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip as he hastily slips off his pants, freeing his throbbing cock. 
He looks more than ready; his thick, veiny shaft rock-hard, his tip colored a dark purplish red, shining with thick droplets of precum you long to taste on your tongue. A part of you still wonders how you’re even able to take him. Yet, your body opens up for him as if by itself, and you feel more heat pooling between your legs as you spread them wider and your hands reach out for him to pull him closer to you. 
As you feel his tip against your opening, too sensitive from last night, you inhale sharply, clinging to his arms.  
“I’ll be gentle,” he promises, and you nod, briefly squeezing your eyes shut. 
And he holds you, planting soft kisses on your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks, as he enters you, slowly, bit by bit, pausing again and again while he works you open for him. And you welcome him, reveling in every sensation while the waves of fire that just drew back begin to rush back on you. 
Both of you breathe heavily as he bottoms out inside you, pausing for a moment, and you cast up your eyes to look at him, at his features, almost too beautiful for this world, and at his golden eyes that seem to see so much more than anyone you’ve ever met. Once again, they seem to see right through you, to your soul. And you writhe and squirm under his burning gaze. 
“Fuck!” he mutters. “Fuck! Oh gods…” And he grits his teeth, his muscles twitching as he fights a silent battle with himself. 
It’s a hopeless fight, and its hopelessness is partly to blame on you. 
However, you can’t help but roll your hips, whimpering as you try to get him to move, to feel more of him. 
“Fuck!” he growls through clenched teeth, and his fingers dig into your skin. “I can’t be gentle if you fuck yourself on my cock like that.”  
And then he pinches your nipples. The whining he elicits from you turns into a moan as he repeats the coarse caress. And your hips buck as if by themselves. 
“Then don’t be gentle,” you whisper. 
“Little Bird…,” he breathes, a faltering protest. 
“Please! Please, take me, Geralt!”
Your soft plea is all it takes for him to give in. And your unbridled moans drift through the room as he finally fucks you.  
You wrap your legs around him, urging him to amp up the force of his thrusts while he fucks you into the mattress. He is relentlessness and abandon, a force of nature, devouring your body and soul. And a sea of flames washes around you, rising higher and higher until it surrounds you from head to toe. 
He holds you, just as much as you hold him, and then he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin and his desperate groan reverberating through your body. And his need, the pure need in those final thrusts, makes your feet lose touch with the ground. 
And you whirl around, weightlessly, as he spills himself inside you, painting your walls with hot jets, and you clench and flutter around him. 
The end comes all too soon. And you haven’t even remotely stopped floating when you already perceive that the voices, the clopping of hooves, and the commands being barked outside have grown louder, announcing the approaching departure. 
As he pulls back from your heat, you can’t help that hot tears flood your eyes, and you briefly bury your face in his hair. So as not to let him see. 
But of course, he already knows, and he gently withdraws from your chokehold to look at you. 
He doesn’t say a word. Instead, his lips dance across your face, kissing away the stray tears in the corners of your eyes and the lines of worry on your forehead and around your lips. 
As he sees you looking back at him with calm, dark eyes, a soft smile curls the corners of his mouth. And then, he gets up. 
You roll over on your side, watching him clean himself up before he pulls his pants back on. Then, his boots. And his cloak. 
He steps to the stove, putting two more logs on the fire before he pours tea into a mug he sets down on the bedside table. 
Then, he gets two fresh cloths, wetting one with warm water. And he sits down on the edge of the bed, indicating you to spread your legs for him. 
Goosebumps bloom on your skin as he gently cleans you up and dries you off, and again, you see him smile. 
He adjusts your nightgown, and then he envelops you in a thick woolen blanket, pulling it up to your chin. 
“Stay here for a while, will you?” he says quietly. “So I know with certainty where you are. So I know it at least this one more time, before I can only wonder where you are, and what you’re doing, and if you are well.” 
“I’ll be here, Geralt,” you say, cradling his face in your hands. “I’ll be here, and I’ll be thinking about you by day and dreaming about you by night. I’ll be waiting for you to come back to me.” 
And his lips move, without a sound passing them, but the kiss he presses to your mouth tastes like the promise he can’t give. 
“Witcher!” a man yells from outside, banging at the door. “You’re late!”
“Gods,” Geralt growls, resignedly leaning his forehead against yours, not even bothering to give a reply. 
“Go now,” you whisper. 
“They won’t leave without me, anyway,” he shrugs, smirking as you chuckle quietly. 
“Still.”
A last kiss. And then, he gets up.  
At the door, he grabs his bundle and slings his swords over his shoulder. As his hand dwells on the door latch, he turns to you, a lugubrious smile playing on his lips. 
“I love you, Little Bird,” he says quietly. 
“And I love you,” you reply, swallowing hard around the aching lump in your throat. “Until Ragnarök and beyond.”
“Until Ragnarök and beyond.” 
And then, he walks out the door.
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tigertale · 5 months
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A/N: Fantasy AU ahead, like, those fantastic middle aged themed worlds with magic, bards n' all? Anyway, I'm such a messy writer I'm sorry
A/N2: I wrote this before chapter 7 and finished the smut recently, although the end is messy :(
• F!Reader; Malleus
•〔 ! 〕 Smut; Virgin Malleus/Reader; Creampie; Grammatical errors; Not proofread
•6.8k words
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"It's beautiful isn't it?" Lilia's words only made the man by his side groan. They were both beings of the night. Period. No need to explain just how uncomfortable he was. No matter how mesmerizing the colorful flowers aligned by each windowsill looked, nor how the sun brightened the streets and further empathized each of the bystanders' smiles, he couldn't stand them. They were everything that he wasn't, the exact opposite of what he had known and experienced his entire life, of what he needed the most; a new beginning, joyful laughters and an undying happiness paired with the feeling of fullness.
"The longer I stay here, the more repulsive they become." The soldier sighed at his words and disapprovingly shook his head from side to side, although it looked more like he was annoyed by the prince than anything else. But the dragon couldn't see it as he tried to avoid the petals flying around while spitting the one that had already gotten into his mouth. He wasn't one to curse, but the heavy sweet smell of the pollen filled street tickling his nose threatened him to do so.
"Malleus, we came here to observe the tradition of humans. Having a new outlook on life can only benefit you." The fae said as he stopped next to a merchant who handed two ice-cream cones after he had given them 2 silver coins. The dragon was soon to become the next king of Briar Valley and all Faes as whole. But with the secluded life he had had to live through, Lilia could only wonder if so few experiences in life could properly let him have a peaceful reign. "You need to see more whilst you're still young." He then handed one of the ice-cream cones to the prince who reluctantly took it.
"I do not see how prying into the mortals' life and customs will help my impending rule." This once again made his caretaker sigh as he shook his head from side to side. This would prove to be more difficult than what he expected if he didn't soon find anything that could possibly catch the attention of the boy. A surprised huff was taken out of him as he was suddenly stopped by a kid who collided with him.
The man merely smiled as he pushed all of his hair, some locks dyed in a blood red, onto one of his shoulders and knelt down. He reminded him of the young child he had taken under his care not long ago — he had actually taken him when he was a newborn, and he was already around six, which wasn't exactly a "long time ago", and with a deep chuckle, he took the child from under his armpits and set him on his feet before dusting him off. While the kid was still confused, he continued to make sure that he wasn't hurt by the fall, his father like instincts pushing him to do so —although he didn't mind as he still kept a smile up as to not scare the child. "Where were you running at so fast? It's dangerous to run around in a crowd." The kid nodded but was clearly excited and impatient as he was fidgeting more than one his age was supposed to.
"It'll start soon!" He rocked on the back of his feet as he was trying not to peek above the man's shoulders to see if the oh so expected event of the year had started. "The Battle of the Spring Queen!"
Lilia perked up at that. He let the kid go without further questions, only giving a playful "be careful" and his ice cream in exchange of the promise that he shouldn't run in the streets anymore or at least be more attentive, before getting up and dusting his clothes off.
"I thought humans were pacifists as of today. Why would Queens fight?" The fae laughed at that under the annoyed gaze of his younger fellow. Oh, he sure had missed a lot, hidden in this castle of his! Maybe that he should ask Maleficia for permission to take Malleus out more often. He eventually calmed down as he removed the tears threatening to fall from the sudden laughter that took over him.
"Of course it's no battle per say." He hummed as Malleus was patiently waiting for the rest of the answer while passing his tongue over the cool dessert. It wasn't often that he received ice cream, and one from Lilia was cherished even more, so he tried not to eat it in one go out of excitement. "Each year for spring, they hold a dance contest of sorts, where the winner becomes the Spring Queen for a year."
"Just dancing?" Humans were fighting by dancing now? They were more peculiar than he had given them credit for.
"Of course I said dancing, but it's not something that simple." When they arrived at the town center, Lilia easily pushed through the crowd with his small size to reach the front as the prince struggled to follow him. At Lilia's request, he had hidden his horns to avoid a mayhem among these mortals, but right now he wished he hadn't because the annoyed looks he received were slowly boiling his blood with how much they annoyed him. "I've heard that it can take years to perfect it. And— Ah! Just on time!"
The dragon fae eventually arrived beside his caretaker and looked unimpressed at the rows of women standing in the middle of the town center. They had all formed many circles, the smallest inside and the others extending to be bigger the farther it was from the center, around a maypole and all had a ribbon in their hand. The white dresses they all wore nearly made him cringe, it was all too bright and the sun rays bouncing back on them and into his eyes tenfold this sentiment. Even the crown of flower resting on their head and the embroidered fabric attached to it and hiding their face from the onlookers was almost too much. Should he just go back? But then Lilia would be disappointed in him and he feared the distress it would bring him more than anything.
A voice loudly announced from within the public the start of the competition and the musicians started playing a folk tune right after, hurdy-gurdy, tabors and flutes becoming one. Lilia pushed the tip of his elbow against Malleus' arm to catch his attention at the same time. "That's what we came to see." The women all lifted their hands up, wrists decorated with a mix of flowers that the dragon had a hard time trying to recognise, before slowly turning on themselves with the soft and sluggish tempo of the melody. "This is one of the few traditions humans inherited from us."
Slowly picking up speed, they followed suit. They each took a step to the side as they continued to turn on themselves. Each row was rotating to different sides which created an eye-catching show as the fabrics all flew around the more the rhythm grew to be frenetic.
The pace of the song eventually arrived to the point where it was hard catching up to it, and soon enough someone fell. She looked rather frail as her face was finally unveiled from when her flower crown had flown away. Stumbling, falling on one another they all smiled, their no longer hidden bright eyes only making the public even more excited. The orchestra suddenly stopped, and so did the women. But it picked up just as fast and they all spinned to the other side with linked arms. "Oh this is the moment. I forgot to ask, Malleus, do you want to join them?"
He looked at him incredulously as more women fell to the point that the remaining upright had to jump over the bodies to continue. But he didn't get to answer as he was pushed forward, more men following behind him. Lilia was surprised by the sudden rush and merely managed to take Malleus' ice cream as he was soon too far for him to hear him. He didn't expect something like this to happen, hopefully he'll manage his way out of this predicament he had accidentally found his way in. Or he could partake in it which would please him more than the other option.
The dragon looked back to his caretaker, but before he could react, someone had taken him by the crook of his arm and twirled with him closer to the center of the dance which only further widened the distance between them. He couldn't back out now, he was surrounded by the town folks, dizzy and the dance had also become more complex and he knew he would bump into someone if he decided to walk out of the dance.
One moment they were linked to one another, the next his partner had left him as a new one jumped into his arm now hopping and spinning with him. And just as fast, she left him and he was once again handed over to someone else.
He didn't like it, being passed around like, what he could compare as, a mere toy. Swirling on the same spot with little to no rest as he felt the ice cream he had eaten slowly climbing its way up his throat. He couldn't see it from how blurry and loud everything was, but there were only a few people left standing, enough duo that he could count them with only a hand. He was strong on his feet, due to his fae nature, unlike all the others who would fall from the sheer speed their new partners came at them with. He was the center of the attention, everyone watching carefully how this stranger had imposed himself as the one anchor needed for the winner.
He broke out of his haze for a mere second as he had finally locked eyes with Lilia who still had his dessert in hand. But he could only make out a few words from his stretched lips "It feels like we'll have a surprise this year. Aren't you lucky fufufu~" before his new partner brought him back to the current situation at hand. Much to his surprise, unlike all the others that had a deathly and uncaring grip on his shoulder and arm, she turned out to be more conscious about his uneasiness.
It didn't stop her from forcing him into the dance, continuing to twirl with him, but when her veil lifted with the wind sweeping it away from her face, he could make out an apologetic smile. "Sorry for forcing you into this." She said more to herself than for him, knowing that he wouldn't have heard it as her voice was drowned out by the music, but he did, thanks to his keen ears. The music came to a sudden stop right after. And she used this chance to come closer to him, pushing her chest against his as she tiptoed so her lips could reach him right under the shell of his ear. The closeness didn't faze him enough not to notice that there were only two pairs left. His and another couple staring daggers at him. "This one will be the last part, please keep up with me a little longer."
And seemingly entranced by whatever power she had bewitched him with, he listened, immediately following her when the music started again. As if his body had learnt the dance, definitely against his will, he easily matched her movements. Unlike before when he was just being pushed around, he was now the one gripping her hand hard enough not to hurt her but to make sure she didn't fall or lose balance, and he made sure to turn at the same time with her.
She was concentrated, not noticing the sudden change of demeanor of her partner, as she looked at her feet to make sure that she got it right. If she was to fall now, it would be all over. She had worked hard to come this far and she wouldn't let victory slip through her fingers so easily. And at long last, the same booming voice that announced the beginning of the contest ringed far above the music. This time, marking the end of it.
The two standing slowly came to a stop, regaining both of their senses as they mindlessly looked at their feet. It was… the end. It came faster than what they had expected. Or was it because they had lost themselves in the heat of the competition? When they remembered the situation they were in they looked around for the duo they were competing against. And here they were, bickering on the ground, too caught up in their anger and accusations to get back on their feet.
Malleus turned back to his own partner when he heard her laughing. She took the flower crown and removed it from her head, shaking her head to put her hair back in place, before looking up at him. Oh. She was…
He couldn't even finish his thoughts that someone came and took her hand, throwing it up as they announced her as the new queen. Clapping and shouting became louder the closer the public approached him and the woman was still gripping his hand, but it only brought back the previous headache racking the back of his head.
Thankfully for him, he was whisked away by the very person who put him in this predicament in the first place. He didn't even bother to hide his pout as Lilia wore a bright smile, taking him farther away from the public's eyes. "Did you enjoy it?" And Malleus could barely believe his words. If he had enjoyed it? Did he look like he had enjoyed it at all?
Once they were far enough, he had begrudgingly walked to a driveway where he could hide as he was vexed by Lilia's question. "I want to go back." And Lilia sighed at the tone his prince had taken. He had hoped for him to become a little more aware about his duties as a prince, but it seemed like it didn't work his way this time. Thus, while a hand was pushed against his hips, he snapped his fingers, bringing them both to the inn they were staying at.
"Malleus." The soldier started as he circled the bed to sit on the cushions decorating the windowsill. Although he wanted to sit on it, he ended up slumping onto them with yet another aggravated sigh. "You didn't learn anything from it, did you?"
As an answer, and seemingly vexed, said Malleus crossed his arms, still standing before the door as his own way to protest his displeasure with the entire situation. "I don't believe that there was something to understand from such an unpleasant event." The entire thing was reckless, ungrateful, and overall displeasing to him. The noise, the heat, the light, he would have never imagined someone liking such things if he hadn't witnessed it first hand.
"These people are under the care of faes. All of the previous rulers cared way beyond Briar Valley's borders." He moved his fingers, summoning a kettle brimming with hot water and the teacup by the bedside. With another fickle, the hot water was poured inside the cup where a used teabag was patiently waiting to be of use again. "And as the heir, it is your duty to understand what will fall under your charges. Their customs are different yet similar to ours, neglecting that can quite easily create a rift that will bring to a new war." He took a sip of his cup once it was ready, a small grimace appearing on his face at the bitter taste. He immediately brought a few more suspicious ingredients that he put into his cup.
"You have much more to learn about this world, and I hope that you will learn something before we leave."
At that, he disappeared, the slowly dying greenish sparks the only proof that he was here just a moment ago. And Malleus was confused to say the least. He understood his words, yet, he found them hard to decipher. He surely had learnt everything at the castle with the most proficient teachers of this age, he couldn't think of anything left to explore. What a mystery, he would have to work on it fast if he wanted to talk to Lilia again. His caretaker had always been one to teach through actions rather than words, and when Malleus was at fault and too stubborn to open himself, he had found out that leaving him to think about what he did wrong would work the best. Although what truly scared Malleus wasn't the scolding but the fact that Lilia just refused to talk to him as he was one of the very rare people he could feel at ease with.
And the only person he could turn to as of now was the mysterious Queen of the Spring.
˚    ✦   .  .   ˚ .      . ✦
She was still by the town center thankfully. Although this time she was draped in a modest but fitting green dress, the only decoration were flowers that seemed to have been haphazardly thrown on her by who he could only suppose were the many men praising her beauty by her sides. Surely when he thought about meeting her again, he expected her to be praised as a Queen, but the crowd of men surrounding her, craving for her attention as marriage proposals were thrown here and there for her to take, was definitely not what he had in mind. And by the look on her face, a tight smile as she uneasily looked around for an escape, she wasn't enjoying the situation as much as him.
But by some miracle, as he was thinking that he should maybe go back to the inn as she was not in the position to help him, she locked eyes with him. Her pupils dilated and stars dancing in her eyes as she recognised him in an instant. She stood up, walking down and forcing her way through the people still waiting to have a good look at her, a few apologies thrown at those who she feared she could have hurt, and excitedly marched towards him.
"I– I've been looking everywhere for you!" She started right off the bat, her cheeks definitely hotter than they should be as she tried not to stare at him too much. Even if it wasn't her fault, he was pretty handsome to look at after all, especially compared to the folks here.
He hummed, not fazed one bit by the shy look she wore. "Is that so?" He merely said, not knowing how to react to the information she gave him. It was unexpected indeed, for her to look for him despite how irrelevant their meeting had been. (But could he really think that when he was the one that came to see her, thinking of her as his only anchor in this unfamiliar place?)
She buried her head in between her shoulders, fingers playing with each other as an attempt to calm the awkwardness she felt from his answer. "Of course, you're the reason I've won after all." And when he repeated her sentence with a curious but surprised tone, she could only try and add more context to what she had said. "You saw the one we were against at the end right? They're two nobles and like, their families have always worked with each other so they could win the title of the Spring Queen each year. And I kind of found it unfair so I tried to go up against them, and like, if it wasn't for you, and you're really strong by the way, I would have never won because most people here are too scared to go against them you know? And I am too, it's even surprising that I'm still standing here right now because I expected them to just come and snatch my head off because of my impertinence or whatever excuse they'd created but no! So like…"
If she was hot before, well her embarrassment had now reached a whole other level where she had became a furnace. Of all times she could have let her stupid habit of ranting take over, it had to be with the pretty man whom she had danced with. "I'm uuh… I'm sorry for rambling…" She had always been scolded by her family for it, even the kids that would hang around her had innocently commented negatively about it. And she was trying really hard to get rid of this habit, she could even swear on her pride if needed!
"It's okay, although I don't think that talking about such things out in the open is good for you." Ah he was right! What if those nobles were actually looking to take their revenge on her? But there was no place where she would be free of danger. These guys were everywhere and—
"Then you wouldn't mind coming to my house, right?" A humm left his mouth as an approval, more fascinated by the fact that she was continuously embarrassing herself yet was self-conscious about her own attitude.
She moved to the side, a meek "this way" leaving her lips as she led the way to her small abode. And her house, farther away from the town where everyone had gathered, was… Would comparing it to a pet home be offensive? Because compared to the castle back home, this was akin to comparing an ant to a dog. And when she opened the door, he was somehow even more surprised. The house seemed to have only two rooms. The kitchen, dining room and bedroom all welcomed him at once which made him assume that the door at the back led to what must be the smallest bathroom he could ever imagine.
Still, what truly was unexpected was how cozy it seemed. Unlike the walls made out of cobblestones back in the Fort he lived at, which only made the atmosphere colder than it was already, the various plants and colors around was a sheer contrast to what he was used to. And it bothered him.
As he sat down on the drawn out and only chair in the house, he mused at the different shades coloring the walls. "What are those?" She came next to him as he pointed at the paintings above her bed. She smiled softly at the question.
"Before I left, my family gifted me those." The colors were clashing and unsightly. And despite the fact that it was made by someone close to her, he couldn't find it in himself to somehow change his views. They were still childlike and clumsy at best. So he merely hummed, not caring about voicing his… not distaste, but he definitely didn't have the best opinion on those. "Anyways, do you want some tea?"
She moved to the counter by the sink, pulling out a small wooden box from the mess decorating what would be considered the kitchen. "Actually I would much rather go for coffee." She stopped dead in her tracks. Coffee? People like her couldn't afford such things. She truly wondered who that man was.
Still, she slowly turned to him, an apologetic look on her face as an awkward smile hung on her lips. "I'm sorry I don't have coffee." She watched as he pondered a bit, fingers resting against his chin with closed eyes, before he looked back at her and told her tea was fine. She let out a quiet relieved sigh as she went back to the herbs sitting in the box before her, taking the most expensive flavour to give him before moving to heat some water on the stove.
His eyes were fixated on the intricate design decorating her back, the shape of a flower drawn with all the threads interwoven through one another and letting him see a star that seemed to be a birthmark in the middle of her spine. And his gaze slowly moved lower and lower, the need to be satiated growing the more he looked at the small parcel of skin showing between the bottom of her rather short dress and her white thigh high stockings. Why did he suddenly feel his body yearning for her? He didn't know and didn't want to. He was tempted, entranced, to move closer and pass a hand under the skirt of her dress. He wasn't used to seeing such loose and short clothing, having been mostly in company of nobles, they were posh and well-dressed with layer and layers of fabric hiding their skin. Even the soldier or the few villagers he had seen across Briar Valley were only covered from head to toe with little to no skin showing. Maybe that was why he was hypnotized by her, wondering for the very first time what was hiding under someone's clothes as his draconic instincts were teasing him into taking actions.
Malleus somehow managed to keep calm as she approached after a while, a cup of tea and some low-cost biscuits to eat with the soft drink. "Here, I don't know what you like so I made some Earl Grey tea." He smiled kindly, or at least tried to as only a small almost unseen smile appeared, before switching his attention back to the drink sitting before him to take his mind off the impulsions of his dragon side. Partaking into the carnal desire and losing the purity that was only meant to be given to his future wife? He knew better than that. And while he was debating with himself, she quickly ran to the counter in the kitchen and back to him. "Ah wait!" She bent forward, her short dress hiking up and flashing him a good amount of the small panties she wore, a cube of sugar hanging in between her fingers as she plopped it in the drink so soften it up.
Fuck, he actually didn't know better than that, because right before he could properly think, his hand had moved to cup one of her buttcheeks. She froze, and so did he, as an awkward silence stretched between them, one that seemingly wasn't registered by him as his fingers flexed around her flesh, earning a small and surprised squeak out of her. She turned back to look at him, the top of her body allowing her to turn enough for him to see her flushed cheeks as she peeked over her shoulder. "I-Is there a problem?" And she cringed at the question she asked. But he didn't care, nor did he answer back as he got up, towering her while his hands slid along her body, assessing each curve and bumps under his long fingers, before stopping under her breast.
She was pinned on the table, unable to get back up as the man was pressing his chest to her back, his hot breath tickling her neck as she felt the tip of his fingers tentatively pressing the fat of her chest. She didn't know how to react, should she push him back? She should, as she had yet to marry and had to keep herself away from any sexual activities that could "taint" her according to the religious man who had blessed her and the many other women of the village. She hadn't respected that rule as she had… already explored her own body a few times already. But partaking into something greater than merely playing with herself? While the fear of being accused of hysteria taunted her, she was still heavily tempted by this stranger's, more than vulgar, invitation.
And against her better judgment, she softly placed her hand atop his, slowly guiding it as her breath hitched when she felt his cold skin touching hers above the low-cut of her dress to the top of her larynx. His eyes dilated, pressing his hand around her throat at the same time, trying to assess all the small reactions she would have which further drove down this unknown feeling devouring him. He wasn't one to fight back his urge, far from it, he was more often than not indulging it which would always make Lilia shake his head out of disappointment. So without much thinking, he wrapped an arm around her waist, the other hand moving her head to the side for him to graze her skin with his pointy teeth, as he quickly brought her to the bed by the corner of the room. He fell on it ungraciously, her body now trapped in-between the bed and the erection he was rutting against her backside in near oblivion, each of his grunts feeling like honey soothing her mind.
His fingers started exploring her, tormenting and harassing every bit of skin showing, even tearing new holes in the pristine white dress she wore to access more of her. She felt herself drifting away when two of his sharp nails eventually found themselves back to one of her breasts, pinching it as he continued to press the hard-on still confined in his pants along her clothed slit. And as if to make things worse, he had finally started to nibble on the junction between her neck and shoulder, the lewd sound of his lips and tongue playing with her skin driving her further down this hole he had opened. What if she was fucked silly after all? She wouldn't mind if it was this handsome stranger whose lust was oozing and overwhelming her senses. But it seemed that after a short while he grew bored, instead moving away from her, just enough for him to turn her around so she could face him, settling by leaning above her as his hands rested above her ass.
She was now laying on her back, his body still towering her as he decided to press a delicate kiss on her lips, quite unexpected especially when one would consider how rough and impatient he had been until now, as if he had finally taken over the instincts that were pleading for him to drill into her hole and make her his for the night. And she reciprocated, moving her hands behind his head to grasp a handful of his hair and bring him closer. She wanted to feel him more closely, to have him imprint his lips on hers so that she could never forget him, who would surely defile her in a few moments. And hopefully, what a childish wish it was, he would understand her feelings and return the affection back. She didn't know who he was, not even his name which she had forgotten to ask, but she knew that this wise man eating her lips would be better than any of the men who were crying out to tie the knot with her. Because unlike them, he had proven how capable he could take care of her, how he was an immovable pillar when needed. And she only needed this. No fancy gifts from someone who she knew would cheat behind her back.
Whoever this man was, she craved him. He could do anything to her, she knew not why and didn't want to, and she would be on cloud nine as long as he would give her the slightest bit of attention.
But he didn't understand those hidden messages she tried to pass over to him through their languid kiss. Because when he felt her gripping the dark locks sitting around the base of his horns, he quickly lost himself back into those dangerous impulses of his. The dragon in him needed to put an heir or two inside her warm and welcoming womb before the feeling disappeared.
He broke the kiss, listening to the delightful panting leaving her mouth as his mouth traveled farther down along her collarbone. At the same time, his hands had moved from the small of her back to her legs parted on each of his sides, passing them under her bunched up dress and stopping once a finger had passed under the band of her underwear. And his hard-on, more prominent than ever, was once again grinding against her clothed slit, snatching loud whines out of her. Her breath momentarily hitched when she felt a hand leave her thigh, only to feel it scrambling with the belt stopping him from clearing his most urgent need. The occasional and unexpected knocking of a finger or two against her clit made her mewl, and urged him to move even more messily as it only annoyed him how much he was struggling with the leather tied around his waist.
At long last, he freed himself from the clothing confining him away from her. He hissed at the cold air that contrasted with the heat of his length which prompted her to look downward. But he immediately pressed his lips against hers, once again, which stopped her from seeing it, tongue entering her mouth and creating a mess of drool pooling on both of their chins, a strong hand moving to the back of her neck as he removed her undergarments. He did ponder a few seconds, should he let the stockings hugging her tights on? But he quickly shook this thought away, a deep groan rumbling all the way down from his throat as he ripped the fragile layer of clothing off her legs, leaving only a few stray of white fabric to cover her skin.
Her breath hitched when she felt him, surprised by the sheer size of his warm hard-on resting right in-between her legs. She was supposed to…? Not that she was a prude or anything, but she truly stopped a second to think if she was really ready to take something like this inside her. It was only normal for him to have a size proportional to his height but it definitely looked bigger than what she had heard from the women gossiping early in the morning at the corner of the marketplace. He didn't wait and immediately went to slowly rub his length along her still clothed cunt, earning small gasps and whines from her as she pitifully tried to hide them behind her hand. But he didn't care about them, not when he could feel the warmth she was producing, so heavy and impossibly addicting, which shrouded his mind more than it actually was.
He went back to what he was doing a moment ago, this time passing a finger on the underside of her panties as he pulled it to the side to allow the tip of his cock to press against between her walls, grinding and spreading out her cum along his length. Right when he stopped at her entrance, ready to plunge in, she weakly grasped each side of his face with moist hands which caught his attention. Breath heavy, eyes teary, and cheeks burning, she still took the time to ask one simple question that she had been dying to ask since she met him… "Y-Your name… What's your name?"
"Malleus."
And he slid inside her before she could say anything, pace hard and fast from the get go as he couldn't get a grasp of the insatiable need to fuck her. A loud gasp resonated in the room at the first thrust before a string of whines followed, she could hardly keep up with him, hanging on dear life by wrapping her arms around his shoulders as her fingers drew deep lacerations on his back. She didn't know what motivated him to be so harsh against her poor body, handling it so carelessly that she feared that she'd break, and they were only beginning.
But these actions didn't spurt out of nowhere. He had been hungry, unknowingly keeping it in the needs to mate as he had never been confronted to it directly, his caretaker having deemed that he had no need to indulge them so young —the Draconia family surprisingly didn't indulge much into sexual activities unless they were with their significant other, which lead them to believe he didn't have to learn about his impulses. Yet this woman he had found himself dancing with, acting so gently with him, unlike those who would do so out of fear or excessive admiration, had managed to grab his attention. And the dress they had given her to go with her new title as the Spring Queen, how small it was, hugging her body in a way that made him imagine just how she would look without it, how could it not fill him with inappropriate thoughts? How could it not tease the dragon inside him?
His fangs, elongated the more the seconds passed, the more his cock thrusted back inside her as he felt her walls closing around him, the more he heard her small whines, pressed against the skin of her neck tentatively as his mind was clear enough that he knew that he at least shouldn't mark her. It didn't stop him from teasing her, loving the way she would tense up whenever she felt his teeth pressing a little too hard on her skin.
With each thrusts, she felt herself breaking, her body reacting not only to the length racking her insides up, she could feel the telltale signs how her orgasm building up although she knew that it had yet to properly overcome her mind, but also the strangely long teeth against her neck and the sharp end of his nails playing with the tips of her breasts, the pain only further inviting her down the sin she was partaking in. Her voice rung inside the small house through the form of short and high pitched whines that aroused him the more he heard them.
With one unexpected motion, he turned her body over pressing her upper body down with one hand, fingers tightly clasped around her neck and playing with her breath. Her breath staggered, definitely taken aback by the sudden change of position, and she almost gagged when he went back inside her, fucking seemingly harder than before. Her senses tingled, blurring out any clear perception of what was happening and emphasizing the heat pooling between her leg with each of his thrusts.
She was on cloud nine, feeling her legs trembling as she neared her end, and his pace stuttered when he felt her walls clenching around his cock almost viciously, prompting him closer to his own release despite the tension of his body having yet to disappear. He went to a sudden stop, her confusion only lasting a mere second as his cum filled her up right after with his groans resonating around her. She whined back, his lips instinctively pressing against her neck to sooth her, having a hard time keeping up with the amount of cum overflowing inside her and dripping out on her thighs in the appearances of pearly white drops.
Eventually, she huffed tiredly, her mind finally starting to clear, and soon she would realise that he had came inside her. Possibly impregnating her with the sheer amount he had pounded inside her. But before she could think about it, he carefully took her hips with his hands, moving her to a new angle as he draw his cock back, leaving the rest of his semence to finally flow out. He pressed the tip of his dick between her folds once again, this time a small smirk on his face as he looked at her fucked out face.
"Darling. I'm not finished."
Her eyes widened, but she couldn't say anything that he was already back inside her. She didn't know how someone could have such stamina, and she wondered for a moment if he was human —which he wasn't but any hints he had given that he was fae had been drowned out by her pleasure. Yet, her mind quickly felt like mud, preparing herself for a long night.
˚    ✦   .  .   ˚ .      . ✦
Lilia stared incredulously at the way Malleus was fiddling with his breakfast the next morning, his mood visibly brighter than before. It was… troubling to say the least. The boy was easy to read, hiding his emotions has seemingly always been a problem for him who was easily swayed, and after he had so coldly scolded him, he didn't expect to see him in a good mood. So when the boy turned towards him with a contemplative look; "Those children of man sure hold many qualities." he was surprised to say the least.
What happened for him to change his mind so fast? He could only wonder.
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fanaticsnail · 2 months
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I'm so glad u liked the idea of the shanks shenanigans! All I can think about is him going "WHERE THE HELL is this woman?"
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Where is my bride?
Thank you for propelling the Shanks thought. I love it and its made my mind dance a little bit. Allow me to share a small glimpse of where his little plot is leading my mind away. @sordidmusings & @feral-artistry, thank you for always hearing my thoughts before I run with them like a mad woman.
Here is the direction I'm running with: snippet under the cut!
Shanks awoke in a cold sweat, his mind racing with the cool chill of horrifying thoughts that began to once again plague him.
The eyes. There was something in the eyes. Those haunting eyes that had consumed his thoughts with visions of his own mortality. His heart began to bind, a covenant once again sealing his fate with the circlet of gold he thought once was lost. No whisper of a face, nor semblance of a name were granted to him. Only those eyes.
The only sound that rang in his ears was a laugh akin to the greatest melody and a soft whisper of appreciation. Shanks closed his eyes, focussing on the words coming to him. He hung on every single one of the words springing into his thoughts, his fist balled and lying firmly on his right knee.
"What a beautiful ring, Luffy! Thank you, Captain. I will cherish it always." The melodic laugh relayed and echoed within the chasms of his mind. He furrowed his brows in deep focus, searching for more words to hold firm to.
"Let's make it interesting, huh? I'll wait at the chapel and by the sun meeting the horizon, setting its light over the ocean on the seventh day - I will wed the next person to ask me. Always wanted to get married, and what a fun way to do it. Seven days should give Zoro enough time to recover, no?"
Shanks' eyes reopened: meeting with a spectre of a woman of unspeakable horrors.
Eyes as deep as the sea; pupil-less and unblinking, hair as black as ink and skin as pale and grey as the clouds that split the storm over the ocean.
"Seven days, Red-Hair Shanks," Her otherworldly voice hissed its warning at him, "And I will lay claim to your soul."
"Sapsorrow," Shanks whispered, continuing to stare into her transparent form as it faded from vision in tufts of scentless smoke, "I will find her. Mark my words, witch. I will find her."
"May the sea carry you home to her, Captain," The spectre spoke, a bitter and haunting laugh followed and shook the walls of the captain's quarters.
Shanks flung the duvet from his body, his bare feet finding the floor and carrying him above.
"All hands! All hands to the deck!" He shouted, running to begin releasing the rigging from the mast and unrolling the sheets. Beckman was the first to arise at the commotion.
"Where's the battle, Captain?" He roared, his grey eyes scanning over the sea for an incoming enemy.
"Sapsorrow, Becks," He stuttered, his eyes wide and frantic, "Seven days until she kills me. Gotta find her." Beckman stepped closer to his captain, searching his wild eyes and witnessing his hair sticking to his paled forehead under the glue of sweat.
"I've got to find my bride and wed her in seven days."
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yeontantrash · 4 months
Text
Jeon Jungkook- Standing Next To you
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(Jungkook Brain Rot, Sorry but not really)
Warnings; MATURE CONTENT MDNI 18+, SMUT, Mentions of Underage drinking, Mentions of Death parent/Loved One. Please read at your own risk!
***Y/N Age Six***
I cowered behind my older brother, seeking refuge from the young boy across the street. My brother stood tall and strong, his arms folded in a protective stance. With a four-year age gap between my brother and him, I knew the boy wouldn't dare to challenge us.
"I'm Jungkook," he introduced himself with a charming smile, extending his hand towards my brother. His eyes were innocent and doe-like, yet I couldn't help but feel intimidated by his presence. I scurried behind my brother, seeking comfort behind his protective stance.
As I clung to my brother's side, I watched as he shook Jungkook's hand, their size difference highlighting the stark contrast between them. "I'm Y/B/N, and this is Y/n." We were introduced by my brother, who gestured towards himself and then me. Jungkook glanced over my brother's shoulder to catch a glimpse of me, and a smile graced his lips. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks, and I averted my gaze, secretly wishing he would vanish. "Y/n is a bit shy," my brother remarked, causing my ears to burn as I glared at him. "But I'm certain she would enjoy playing." I stared at him in betrayal, but he simply shrugged me off and I released my grip. "Having friends is wonderful," he affectionately patted the top of my head before making his way towards our front door.
With a heavy sigh, I watched as my brother made his way toward our front door, leaving me alone with Jungkook. As nervous as I was, I couldn't deny the spark of curiosity that ignited within me. Perhaps, with time, I could find the courage to let Jungkook into my world and discover the joys of friendship that my brother so adamantly believed in.
"What types of games do you usually play?" Jungkook asked, catching my attention once again. Despite his missing tooth, messy hair, and scraped knees, he seemed full of enthusiasm.
"I like to play make-believe," I admitted softly, expecting him to disapprove due to its association with femininity. However, Jungkook smiled at me.
"I'll be the brave knight, and you can be a fearless princess," he suggested. I squinted at him. "But not the typical kind of princess, the ones who embark on exciting adventures," he clarified, taking my hand and leading me to his front yard.
As we stepped onto the grass, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. Jungkook's imagination was infectious, and I found myself eagerly playing along with his game. We created a world of our own, filled with dragons to slay, hidden treasures to discover, and kingdoms to save. With each step we took, our surroundings transformed into a magical realm, where anything was possible. Jungkook wielded a makeshift sword, swinging it with determination as he fought off imaginary foes. His energy was contagious, and I couldn't help but join in, brandishing my own imaginary weapon and engaging in epic battles alongside him.
Together, we faced countless challenges and overcame them with bravery and wit. We rescued captured villagers, outsmarted cunning villains, and even tamed mythical creatures. As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over us, we found ourselves sitting on a fallen tree trunk, catching our breath. Jungkook's scraped knees and messy hair were now badges of honor, proof of the adventures we had embarked on. "You make a great princess," Jungkook said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Not the conventional kind, but the kind who fearlessly takes on the world and fights for what she believes in."
I smiled at him, grateful for his acceptance and understanding. In that moment, I realized that it didn't matter what games we played or how unconventional they may seem. What mattered was the bond we had formed, the shared experiences that had brought us closer together. And in that magical world we had created, we were free to be whoever we wanted to be. As I made my way back home, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for the world we had just left behind. But I knew that it would always be there, waiting for us to return whenever we wanted to escape reality.
That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't help but smile as I replayed the adventures we had gone on in my mind. I knew that I had found a true friend in Jungkook, someone who understood me in a way that no one else did. Maybe my brother was right about having friends. And as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't wait to see what other magical worlds we would create together in the future.
***Y/n Age Thirteen***
'Jungkook please come over'
As I gazed at the text message I had sent him, my vision blurred with fresh tears. I fought back the urge to cry out, pressing my lips together in a desperate attempt to remain composed. My father and brother had already shouldered so much of my grief during the funeral, and I couldn't bear to burden them any further. Yet, the thought of being alone was equally unbearable. In that moment, all I could do was pray that Jungkook would find a way to open my bedroom window from the outside, bringing me solace in his comforting presence.
The sound of my window latch being opened caught my attention and I sat up to see Jungkook quietly entering my room. His gaze swept over me, concern etched on his face. "What's the matter?" he asked in a hushed tone, taking off his shoes and making his way towards my bed.
"I can't sleep," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper due to all the crying. He looked at me with sympathy, sitting down beside me.
"What can I do to help?" he asked, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Please, just stay with me," I pleaded, hoping he would understand the depth of my need for his presence.
Jungkook gently massaged the nape of his neck, a telltale sign of his embarrassment. "You mean... Sleep? Together... in bed?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on me with a solemn intensity, as if he sought to ascertain the authenticity of my request. I nodded wearily, too fatigued to articulate any further. Suddenly, a blush crept across his cheeks and he sprang to his feet.
"No," he declared, taking a step towards the window.
"Jungkook, please," I begged, tears welling up in my eyes anew, desperately reaching out to him, yet remaining too distant to grasp onto anything. "Don't leave me." I could perceive how my words tugged at the strings of his heart. Jungkook's hesitation was palpable, his internal struggle evident in the furrow of his brow. He turned away from the window, his eyes flickering with a mix of concern and uncertainty. Slowly, he approached me, his steps measured and deliberate, as if he was carefully navigating a delicate terrain. His hand reached out tentatively, hovering in the air for a moment before finally finding its place on my shoulder. The warmth of his touch seeped through my skin, offering a glimmer of solace amidst the turmoil. His voice, barely above a whisper, broke the heavy silence that hung between us.
In a soft whisper, he assured me, "I will stay by your side until you fall asleep," as he positioned himself on the edge of my bed. A faint smile of gratitude appeared on my face, and he gently guided me under the comforting covers. 
"Give me your hand," I murmured, extending my palm with anticipation. Granting my request, he brought both hands towards his chest, as if I had asked him to cut them off for me. "All I want is to hold your hand," I clarified, and he agreed, offering me his left hand. Tenderly, I intertwined my fingers with his, allowing our hands to rest on the pillow beside my head.
When I was young, my mother would always soothe me by holding my hand whenever I struggled to fall asleep. Now, as I lie here feeling weighed down by sadness, I attempt to suppress my tears but apparently I hadn't cried enough. I can't help but feel self-conscious about how exposed and vulnerable I must appear to Jungkook, but he is my unwavering support and I trust that he would never make fun of me. Suddenly, a wave of fatigue washed over me and I succumbed to sleep. The next morning, I struggled to wake up, realizing how exhausted I truly was. My eyes were heavy and my throat parched, but eventually I regained my senses. It was the first real day without my mother. Despite the pain in my chest, I managed to push it aside. I felt Jungkook's hand in mine and I turned to see him sleeping soundly, his fingers intertwined with mine, and a smile formed on my lips.
"You stayed." my words were barely audible, yet they managed to awaken his senses. In the soft illumination of the sun rise, he was still sitting next to me, providing a comforting and warm presence.
"You wouldn't let go," he softly uttered, extending his hand to intertwine with mine, as if our hands were glued together. I couldn't resist playfully rolling my eyes, gently releasing his hand from my grasp.
"It's just holding hands," I whispered, pulling my knees closer to my chest. The idea of attending school felt burdensome, as I had been frequently absent lately, teetering on the brink of truancy. Nevertheless, I knew I had no alternative but to go.
I rose from my bed, the weight of grief still heavy on my shoulders, and made my way to the closet. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the room. As I reached for the closet door, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as I shed the dress I had worn the day before. It had been a favorite of mine, but now it held memories of a time when my mother was still alive. A soft gasp caught my attention, and I turned to see Jungkook struggling to put on his shoes. His usually confident demeanor seemed to falter, mirroring the heaviness in my own heart. I watched him for a moment, his fingers fumbling with the laces, before I decided to focus on my own task at hand.
Opting for comfort, I chose a cozy sweater and a pair of worn-in jeans. The act of dressing, once a mundane and effortless routine, now felt like a burden. Each movement, each decision, seemed to carry the weight of my grief. I couldn't help but wonder if my choice of outfit gave off a sense of desperation for sympathy, a silent plea for understanding and compassion after my mother's passing. As I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of the sweater, memories flooded my mind. I remembered the countless hours my mother had spent knitting it for me, her hands working diligently to create something warm and comforting. The softness of the yarn against my skin reminded me of her gentle touch, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and sorrow.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about how much I missed her. The simple act of getting dressed had become a reminder of her absence, a painful reminder that life would never be the same again. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and wiped away the tears that threatened to spill over. Turning away from the mirror, I faced Jungkook, who had finally managed to put on his shoes. His eyes met mine, and I could see the empathy and understanding reflected in them. 
"You look great." It was most likely a lie. I could feel my face frowning, and my shoulders slumped. My knees were wobbling, and my bloodshot eyes that wanted to cry but couldn't probably made me more of a spectacle. Either way I cross the room and throw my arms over his shoulders, hugging him tightly against my chest.
"Thank you."
***Y/n Age Fifteen***
"Jungkook, please assure me that you will protect her," my brother pleaded softly, his words filled with an intensity I had never witnessed before. He simply wanted to ensure my safety, but as a young girl of fifteen, I believed I was capable of taking care of myself. I didn't require Jungkook, who lived just across the street, to be my guardian.
I used to believe that my dear friend would bravely defend my honor and pride by confronting my brother and assuring him that I didn't need anyone to protect me. But to my astonishment, he simply replied with two words, "I will." In that moment, Jungkook went from being one of my closest friends to the person my brother trusted to look after me. It was frustrating to be around him, especially since their conversation was never meant for me to overhear.
I couldn't help but feel like my agency and independence had been taken away from me. I had always prided myself on being a strong and capable person, but now it seemed like my brother and Jungkook had decided that I needed someone to watch over me. It was a blow to my self-esteem and made me question whether I was really as capable as I thought I was. To make matters worse, Jungkook seemed to relish his new role as my protector. He was always hovering around me, asking if I needed anything or if I was okay. It was suffocating, and I found myself avoiding him whenever possible. I didn't want to be coddled or treated like a child.
"He thinks we spend too much time together." I confided in him, revealing a partial truth, that he believes we spend an excessive amount of time together. The young man I had been conversing with brought up the topic, and I assured him that Jungkook was merely a companion who followed me closely, putting his concerns to rest. However, deep down, I yearned to distance myself from Jungkook's constant presence. As we strolled back to our respective homes, Jungkook questioned, "We are friends residing across the street from one another. What did he expect?" I pondered for a moment before responding, "Perhaps we don't need to be inseparable every single moment?"
As I gazed into Jungkook's eyes, I could feel my heart racing. His expression was filled with curiosity, as if he was trying to decipher my thoughts. I almost regretted my statement, but I knew I had to stand my ground. After all, he had other friends, so why couldn't I? 
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.
"I think we should spend some time apart," I replied, trying to sound confident. But as soon as the words left my mouth, I could feel my confidence waver. Jungkook let out a laugh, and for a moment, I felt like a fool. But then he realized that I wasn't laughing along. I wasn't joking.
"You're not serious, are you?" he asked, his eyes searching mine for any sign of doubt.
"Wouldn't it be better to spend more time with the young man who has the potential to be my boyfriend, instead of the guy who is just a friend?" I tried to have a logical conversation with him, but unfortunately, he quickly became defensive and angry. Whenever he gets like that, it's impossible to change his mind.
"I think you should spend your time with the person who is better company."
"I'm just saying, perhaps we've outgrown sleepovers," I playfully remarked, attempting to lift his spirits. However, he remained resolute, his jaw clenched, and he refused to meet my gaze as we strolled along. "Now you're concerned about that. You used to beg me to stay," his words caused a blush to creep up my neck, but I stood my ground. "Why are you making this so difficult?" I inquired, feeling irritated. "You're asking me to not spend time with my favorite person," he responded honestly, and my angry glare softened slightly. "I'm not suggesting we end our friendship, but rather make room for others," I said, reaching out to hold his hand and giving it a tender squeeze. Despite his annoyance, he held my hand in return. "Please? For me?" I pleaded.
"I know it's hard to imagine, but we're growing up," I continued, my voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation. "We used to spend every weekend together, laughing until the early hours of the morning, but now we have responsibilities and commitments that demand our attention." He finally looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and longing. "I miss those days," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But things change, people change, and we have to adapt." I nodded, understanding his sentiment. "I miss them too, believe me. But we can't hold onto the past forever. We have to embrace the present and look forward to the future." He sighed, his grip on my hand tightening. "I just don't want to lose what we have," he confessed, vulnerability seeping into his voice. I squeezed his hand reassuringly. "We won't lose it. Our bond is strong, and it will withstand any changes that come our way. But we also have to make room for new experiences, new friendships." He looked down at our intertwined fingers, contemplating my words. "I guess you're right," he finally said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "I don't want to hold you back." I smiled, relieved that he was starting to understand. "You're not holding me back. We're in this together, remember? We'll always be there for each other, even if we're not spending every night under the same roof." He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Okay, I'll try. For you." I beamed at him, grateful for his willingness to compromise. "Thank you," I whispered, leaning in to give him a gentle hug. "I promise, this change will be worth it. We'll make new memories, meet new people, and our friendship will only grow stronger." As we continued our stroll, hand in hand, a sense of excitement and possibility filled the air. I'd show him and my brother that I could take care of myself.
Jungkook and I would walk towards our school every sunrise and sunset, treasuring those special moments. But once we entered the school's walls, his presence seemed to fade away, almost imperceptible. Maybe he was lurking in the shadows, silently protecting me as my dear sibling had asked him to, but things had shifted. Our paths had diverged, leading us to make new friends and explore different worlds. I longed to be free from his watchful eye, yet his absence left a painful void within me, but I was too proud to admit it to him. So, I shifted my focus on a different person in my life. 
By the end of the academic year, I found myself caught up in a romantic affair with the man I had been conversing with. It was his charming persuasion that convinced me to attend a grand party on the last day of school. Despite my father's disapproval, I boldly dressed in a captivatingly short dress, showcasing my slim legs, and walked in high heels that were quite tall. Holding hands, the man escorted me into a lively house filled with high school students of different ages. The air was heavy with the smell of smoke and the sound of glasses clinking, reminiscent of scenes from those enchanting movies.
As we made our way through the crowd, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and nervousness. I had never been to a party like this before, and the fact that I was with a man who I had developed feelings for only added to the thrill. He introduced me to his friends, who were all friendly and welcoming, and we spent the night dancing, laughing, and drinking. As the night wore on, the party became more and more wild. People were jumping into the pool fully clothed, and some were even smoking marijuana in the backyard. I felt a bit out of my element, but the man I was with kept me close and made me feel safe.
Against my better judgment, he managed to persuade me to take a sip of the drink. Despite the unpleasant taste, the feeling of being tipsy was a welcome distraction. However, the euphoria was short-lived as my chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe, and my heart raced uncontrollably. I felt feverish, yet my bones were trembling with cold. I turned to my companion to seek help, only to find him gone. Panic set in as I frantically searched the room, but the bright lights disoriented me. Just as tears began to well up in my eyes, I caught sight of him - Jungkook
His presence alone brought a sense of relief, as if he held the key to unraveling the mystery of my sudden affliction. With a concerned expression etched on his face, he rushed towards me, his footsteps echoing in the empty room. As he drew closer, I noticed the worry lines creasing his forehead, mirroring the fear that gripped my own heart.  "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. I tried to respond, but my words were caught in my constricted throat. Instead, I nodded weakly, hoping he would understand the silent plea for help. Without hesitation, he reached out and gently grasped my trembling hand, his touch providing a much-needed anchor in the midst of my escalating panic.
Together, we navigated through the disorienting maze of bright lights and unfamiliar faces. Jungkook's presence was a steady reassurance, guiding me towards safety amidst the chaos. Finally, we made it out of the house, away from the pulsating music and flashing lights. Jungkook's eyes bore into mine, searching for any signs of improvement. With a gentle touch, he brushed a strand of hair away from my sweat-drenched forehead, his touch soothing and comforting.
Y/n! I was looking for you!" Both Jungkook and I turned our heads towards the young man who had accompanied me to the party. His brows furrowed as he observed my disheveled state. "What going on?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion.
"I am not feeling well," I replied timidly, pulling away from Jungkook despite my desire to remain close to him.
"I can bring her home, Jeon-"
"No, I want Jungkook to take me home." I didn't mean to interrupt him, but my tight grip on Jungkook spoke volumes. The young man's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched in anger.
"Very well."
Jungkook wrapped his arm around my waist, leading me towards the exit. I could feel the young man's eyes on us as we left, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to be with Jungkook, to feel his warmth and comfort. As we walked towards his car, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. Being with Jungkook made everything feel better, even if it was just for a moment. I leaned my head against his shoulder, taking in his scent and the feel of his body against mine. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I didn't want to ruin the moment by breaking down in tears. Instead, I focused on the way his hand felt on my back, the way his breath tickled my ear. When we reached his car, he opened the door for me and helped me inside. As he started the engine, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him. He had always been there for me, even when I didn't deserve it.
Upon reaching my modest home, I gracefully stepped out onto the pavement, and in that instant, I was overcome by an intense feeling. My heart was captured by a storm of emotions, rendering me unable to move. A single tear rolled down my face, followed by more, until my sadness erupted into uncontrollable sobs. Falling to the ground, I sought solace from the pavement, my hand trembling beneath me. I wept, my cries reverberating through the air, as my entire being shook with anguish.
In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as Jungkook materialized before me, his presence filling the room with an electrifying energy. Without a second thought, I lunged towards him, my heart pounding in my chest, desperate for the solace only his arms could provide. The force of my embrace caught him off guard, causing him to stumble backward and find himself seated on the nearest surface.  His strong arms instinctively encircled me, drawing me closer to him, as if he understood the depth of my anguish without a single word spoken. I nestled my tear-streaked face into the crook of his shoulder, seeking refuge from the storm of emotions that threatened to consume me. The weight of my pain, accumulated over countless sleepless nights and silent battles, finally found release in the form of gut-wrenching sobs that shook my entire being. 
 It was more than just the numbing effects of alcohol that fueled this outpouring of raw vulnerability. It was a culmination of all the heartache, disappointment, and shattered dreams that had silently plagued my soul for far too long. Each tear that cascaded down my cheeks carried with it the weight of every unspoken word, every unshed tear, and every unhealed wound. "How long?" he whispered into the shell of my ear and my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "How long have you been keeping this from me?" He asked his fingers tangling in my hair. In Jungkook's embrace, I found solace and understanding, a safe haven where I could finally let go of the burdens that had weighed me down. His presence alone was a balm to my wounded spirit, his touch a gentle reminder that I was not alone in my pain. With each passing moment, the intensity of my cries lessened, replaced by a profound sense of relief and a glimmer of hope.
As the last remnants of my tears subsided, I slowly lifted my head from his shoulder, my eyes meeting his with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. In that shared gaze, I saw a reflection of my own pain mirrored in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment that whatever hurt me, hurt him too.
My heart ached as I reluctantly acknowledged the truth: "My father had found love again." The words escaped my lips, but the bitter taste lingered. "But How? They had promised each other always and forever, yet it seemed that promise was broken with death's cruel arrival." Waves of anguish washed over me, engulfing my chest in a torrent of pain. "I want my father's happiness, for him to find companionship, just as my mother had wished. Yet, it feel as if my mother's memory was fading, slipping away from everyone's minds, except mine." Overwhelmed by emotions, I sought refuge in the darkness behind closed eyelids, pressing the heel of my wrist against my tear-stained eyes.
Jungkook held me in a tight embrace, pulling me closer to his heart as tears streamed down my face. "I won't forget." Instead of reminding me of my father's love or my mother's importance, his words resonated with me deeply. I didn't need explanations or justifications, all I wanted was comfort, and Jungkook, who understood me so well, knew that.
"She was the first person I saw the day you guys moved in," He started, his fingers stroking my back. "She was the one driving the U-haul truck, and she picked you up and placed you on her hip as she walked toward the new house, your dad and brother trailing behind." I could feel myself begin to calm down as he spoke of her. "She came over the next day with a pie and told me to be a good friend to you, and I tried, even though you hide behind your brother from me." I couldn't help but smile at the memory. "Have I been a good friend?" He asked, a hint of vulnerability behind his words.
"Yes," I answered cuddling into him. "You always have been."
***Y/n Age Seventeen***
Unintentionally, I found myself eavesdropping on their conversation. Jungkook had promised to take me to his football game, so I had adorned his spare jersey and styled my hair in an adorable ponytail, hoping to catch his attention. As I neared him and his friend, I slowed my pace, eager to engage in a conversation.
"When will you let go of this protective older brother act?" his friend questioned, voice filled with a hint of playfulness.
Irritated, Jungkook responded, "What are you talking about?"
His friend continued, emphasizing, "She is capable of making her own choices, you know." Jungkook rolled his eyes, fully aware that I struggled with even the simplest decisions on most days. "Either you are in love with her, or you don't think she's capable on her own." It had been a while since I blushed with shyness, and I never expected others to notice our bond so keenly.
 "She's capable enough," He insisted.
"You must really love her," he commented. 
"She's my closest friend," Jungkook answered. I couldn't understand why those words hurt me, as they were accurate, but I felt a sense of rejection nontheless
Upon arrival, the energy in the air was palpable, a mix of anticipation and adrenaline. I reunited with my friend, their faces mirroring my own excitement, as we prepared to witness the football match that Jungkook had been tirelessly preparing for. The stadium buzzed with activity, the crowd filling every seat, their cheers and chants echoing through the air. 
 Jungkook, now transformed into his role as the team's captain, stood tall and confident on the field, his eyes focused and determined. He led his teammates through warm-up drills, his voice commanding and authoritative. The passion he exuded was contagious, spreading through the team like wildfire, igniting a fire within each player.  As the match began, the intensity grew, the players displaying their skills and strategies with precision and finesse. Jungkook, a force to be reckoned with, showcased his agility and strength, effortlessly maneuvering through the opposing team's defense. His dedication and hard work were evident in every move he made, inspiring his teammates to push themselves to their limits.  The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices blending into a symphony of support and encouragement. We, the spectators, were swept up in the exhilaration of the game, our hearts pounding in sync with every goal and near miss. The atmosphere was electric, the air crackling with anticipation and excitement.  As the final whistle blew, signaling the end of the match, Jungkook and his team emerged victorious, their faces beaming with pride and satisfaction. The stadium erupted in applause, the sound reverberating through the air, a testament to their hard work and dedication.  I approached Jungkook, my smile widening as I congratulated him on his exceptional performance. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of exhaustion and triumph, his breath coming in short bursts. "My good luck charm," He panted tugging on the end of my jersey and my heart skipped a beat, but then he was surrounded by his teammates who were still excited about their win.
As the moonlight bathed the quiet street, casting a soft glow upon the familiar surroundings, Jungkook and I made our way back home. The night had been filled with laughter, music, and the joyous company of our friends, leaving us both physically and emotionally exhausted. Yet, amidst the weariness, there was an inexplicable allure that had been steadily growing within me towards Jungkook in recent weeks.  It was as if an invisible thread had been woven between us, drawing us closer with each passing day. His presence had become a constant source of comfort and excitement, his smile capable of brightening even the darkest of moments. And tonight, as we walked side by side, the weight of this unspoken connection became too much to bear.  Overwhelmed by fatigue and the intoxicating energy of the night, I found myself crossing the divide between our seats, my body instinctively gravitating towards his. With a delicate grace, I perched myself upon his lap, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. Our eyes met, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still. In his gaze, I saw a reflection of my own desire, mirrored in the flushed cheeks and the subtle tremor of his lips. It was a silent acknowledgment of the emotions that had been building between us, a shared understanding of the passion that burned within our souls. The moonlight danced in his eyes, illuminating the depths of his being, and I couldn't help but be captivated by the intensity that radiated from him. As we sat there, enveloped in the quiet embrace of the night, the world around us faded into insignificance. It was just the two of us, bound by an unspoken connection that defied logic and reason. In that moment, I knew that something extraordinary was unfolding, something that had the power to change the course of our relationship forever.
Delicately, I remove his shirt, leaving me in only my bra. It was a challenge. His gaze fixates on the exposed flesh before him, his fingers gliding over the silky surface of my bare skin. I draw nearer until our foreheads are almost touching, and his mouth meets mine in a passionate kiss. His hands find my hips and draw me closer, my supple curves pressing against his chiseled physique. Our tongues dance together, never tiring. His lips are warm and tender, just as I had envisioned. The kiss intensifies, becoming more insatiable and fervent.
Jungkook's expertise surpassed mine, as he skillfully nibbled and kissed my lips, evoking delightful sounds from me. Despite any potential embarrassment, I paid no mind when I sensed a firmness beneath me. His tongue gently traced the inner contours of my lips, enticing me to part them, while his hands explored every inch of my being. As I ran my fingers through his hair, I eagerly welcomed him into my mouth. However, his touch suddenly halted upon brushing against my bra, as if he had just realized the significance of our connection.
"Shit. Sorry I- we got a bit carried away." His voice breaking the silence.
"I want to be with you," I admit and pull back enough to look into his blown out eyes. "But if you don't want to, I understand." I gave him a weak smile that I would be okay with his choice. I could see the internal fight behind his eyes.
"Whatever you want," His voice cracked at the end. I remained still, hoping he would take the lead. He gently held the back of my neck, drawing me closer until our lips converged. Slowly, his fingers crept towards my back, skillfully unfastening the clasp of my bra. Without hesitation, he discarded it onto the passenger seat. His hands then caressed my breasts, applying a gentle pressure, while his thumb delicately brushed against my nipple. A soft moan escaped my lips as I pressed my hips against his, lost in the intoxicating moment.
As his fingertips traced the curve of my hip, my breath hitched in anticipation. With a gentle tug, he skillfully removed my bottoms, revealing the vulnerability beneath. His hands caressed my backside, savoring the velvety touch of my skin. Unable to resist, I leaned back to meet his gaze, only to find him still clothed. Feeling a surge of desire, I decided to rectify the unfairness by swiftly removing his shirt. Then, with a teasing pull, I unveiled the hidden treasure concealed beneath his sweats. In that moment, our bodies melded together, completely exposed and consumed by the raw intimacy we shared.
I carefully wrapped my hand around him, and a curse pushed its way out of his lips. I directed it to where my desire burned for him before sinking down on him. His touch gently caressed my quivering thighs, then shifted to my hips, guiding me as I moved up and down on top of him.
As I took the lead, guiding us both with a confident sway of my hips, Jungkook effortlessly fell into step, matching my every movement with a natural grace. Our bodies moved as one, a symphony of desire and passion that seemed to transcend time and space. The connection between us was electric, a magnetic force that drew us closer with each passing second. Our lips collided once again, igniting a fire within me that burned with an insatiable hunger. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of sweetness and raw desire that left me yearning for more. I kissed him with a fervor that bordered on desperation, my lips hungrily exploring every inch of his mouth, savoring the way he responded to my touch.  His hands, strong and confident, roamed over my body, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. Every touch, every caress, sent shivers down my spine, igniting a fire deep within me that threatened to consume us both. There was no inch of me left untouched, as his fingers traced the contours of my skin, memorizing every curve and dip. In those moments, time seemed to stand still as we lost ourselves in the blissful haze of pleasure. Euphoria washed over me, drowning out any rational thought or worry, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly consumed by him. I couldn't help but whimper his name, a desperate plea for more, as the intensity of our connection grew. Jungkook's gaze, filled with a mix of desire and adoration, locked with mine, and in that moment, I knew that he felt the same way. We were lost in each other, our bodies moving in perfect harmony, our souls entwined in a dance of passion and love. Nothing else mattered in that moment, as the world around us faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of us, bound together by an unbreakable bond.  As the intensity of our connection reached its peak, a wave of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me breathless and trembling in his arms. The world spun around us, a kaleidoscope of sensations and emotions, as we rode the waves of ecstasy together. It was a moment of pure bliss, a culmination of desire and longing that left us both gasping for air, our bodies intertwined in a tangle of limbs and sweat. In that moment, as we lay there, our bodies still entwined, I couldn't help but feel a sense of impending doom.
I gracefully shift away from his embrace, returning to the cozy passenger seat. The windows, veiled with a delicate mist, enveloped us in an intimate silence, accompanied only by our breathless whispers. As we reluctantly began to dress ourselves, a heavy realization hung in the air. "Maybe we made a mistake," I confessed, fearing that my heart would shatter if he were the one to say it.
"Perhaps," he concurred, his voice laced with desire. Tenderly, he clasped my hand, and I found solace in his concerned gaze. "You don't regret this, do you?" he anxiously inquired.
"No," I reassured him, my voice filled with sincerity. "It surpassed every dream I ever had." We found ourselves at a crossroads, unsure of what to do next. In that moment, I bestowed upon him a tender smile before gracefully stepping out of the car. He, too, decided to accompany me, and as I made my way towards my front door, I bid him farewell with a wave. Across the street, he reciprocated the gesture, his eyes filled with longing.
I cherished the memories we had created together, the laughter and tears we had shared, and the unspoken understanding that seemed to exist between us. Our bond was built on trust, respect, and a deep sense of companionship that I had never experienced before. But as time went on, the incident began to weigh heavily on my mind. It lingered in the back of my thoughts, a constant reminder of the vulnerability we had allowed ourselves to succumb to. I couldn't help but wonder if it was a mistake to dismiss it so easily, to brush it off as a mere error in judgment. The more I reflected on it, the more I realized that it wasn't just a fleeting moment of passion. It was a glimpse into a different side of our relationship, a side that we had both been too afraid to acknowledge. It was a moment that held the potential to change everything, to redefine the boundaries of our connection. 
 Yet, despite these realizations, I couldn't bring myself to confront Jungkook about it. The fear of losing what we had, of shattering the delicate balance we had created, was too great. I convinced myself that it was better to leave the incident unspoken, buried deep within our hearts. 
 But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the weight of the unspoken truth became unbearable. It gnawed at my conscience, leaving me restless and filled with a sense of longing for something more. I yearned for a deeper level of intimacy, a connection that went beyond the surface. 
 I knew that I had to make a choice. I could continue to dismiss the incident, to pretend that it meant nothing more than a momentary lapse in judgment. Or I could gather the courage to have an honest conversation with Jungkook, to lay bare my feelings and desires, and risk everything for the chance at a deeper connection. 
 In the end, I deicded that if Jungkook wanted to alter the course of our relationship, he would've years ago. So I pushed away the uncertainty, and the wonderinf of what could have been. I knew that our connection was too precious to let it stagnate in the realm of what-ifs.
***Y/n Age Nineteen***
As I stood in the powder room, the soft glow of the vanity lights casting a warm hue on my tear-streaked face, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions swirling within me. The sight of my father, so full of joy and love, twirling with his new spouse, was undeniably beautiful. It was a moment that I had always dreamed of witnessing, a moment that I had hoped would bring me nothing but happiness.
But as I watched them dance, their laughter filling the air, a bittersweet pang nestled within my chest. It was a reminder of the absence that had become a constant companion in my life. My mother, who had passed away years ago, was missing from this celebration. She should have been the one twirling with my father, her laughter echoing through the room. Instead, it was his new love who had taken her place.
Clad in a bridesmaid gown, I tried to push aside the ache that threatened to consume me. I had to leave my brother on the dance floor, who looked dashing in his suit because every step, I forced a delicate smile, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over. But the weight of my emotions became too heavy to bear, and I knew I needed a moment alone.
That's how I ended up in the powder room, seeking solace in the silence. The room was adorned with elegant decor, a stark contrast to the turmoil within me. I leaned against the sink, my hands gripping the edges, as tears streamed down my face. It was in this moment of vulnerability that I allowed myself to acknowledge the ache that had been building up inside me.
I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss, a longing for the mother who should have been here to witness this joyous occasion. The ache was not just for her absence, but also for the realization that my father had moved on, finding happiness with someone else. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that life had moved forward without me, leaving me to navigate this new reality on my own.
But as I wiped away my tears, I knew that I couldn't let my pain overshadow the happiness of those I loved. I took a deep breath, straightened my dress, and resolved to return to the celebration. My brother had found love, and my father had found happiness once again. It was a beautiful thing, even if it stung a little.
Inhaling deeply, I gently brushed away the tears that adorned my delicate cheek, replacing them with a forced smile that I knew was anticipated by all. Stepping out of the lavatory, I found myself on the verge of colliding with Jungkook, who had undoubtedly sought me out. "I'm fine," I reassured him, gracefully maneuvering past him to make my way back to the festivities.
Jungkook halted my steps, his hand gently holding onto my arm. I gazed at him, puzzled by his sudden action. "I have a surprise for you," he whispered, his eyes sparkling with excitement. I turned towards him, intrigued by his words. Was it possible that he had a gift for me on this day of all days?
"What is it?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued. Jungkook's hand delved into his pocket, retrieving a delicate necklace with a heart-shaped pendant.
My eyes widened in surprise as I took in the beauty of the necklace. The pendant was made of a shimmering silver. 
He presented it to me, and to my surprise, the heart was not a mere charm, but a delicate locket. My brows knitted together in curiosity as I gently unlatched it, revealing a hidden treasure within. A tear formed in the corner of my eye as I gazed upon the tiny faces captured in the photograph - a younger version of myself and my beloved mother. It had been an eternity since I last laid eyes on this cherished photo, yet its sight never failed to ignite a warm, nostalgic smile upon my lips.
I was amazed by the extent to which Jungkook went for me. A comforting feeling filled my heart, making me smile. As I shut the locket, I took a deep breath, knowing that its valuable contents would always be a part of me. "I honestly don't know how to thank you enough," I admitted genuinely. "Well, I told your father I wanted to get this for you and he said he had the best photo." He hesitated briefly, his heart filled with uncertainty. "Originally iit was your birthday gift, but I felt today you might need it." Overwhelmed with gratitude, I embraced him tightly, my arms encircling his shoulders. He reciprocated, enveloping me in his embrace, his fingers tenderly caressing my hair. "I won't forget."
Our embrace ended and Jungkook gently turned me to face him, his hands deftly fastening the necklace around my neck. As I felt the cool metal settle against my skin, I couldn't help but reach up to trace its delicate design. Taking his hand, I whispered, "Shall we return?" Together, we made our way back to the dance floor, where Jungkook twirled me around in a graceful waltz. In that moment, all my worries melted away.
Jungkook remained by my side for the remainder of the wedding celebration. As the night drew to a close, I bid farewell to Jungkook and climbed into my brother's vehicle. He noticed the  necklace that now graced my neck and grinned slyly. "He couldn't wait, could he?" he murmured to himself.
"You knew about it too?" I inquired.
"Who do you think Jungkook approached first?" My brother teased, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
My heart swelled with joy as I heard my brother's words. "You are so lucky to have him as a friend," he said with a smile. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his sentimental declaration, but deep down I knew he was right.
"But who's to blame for him following me around?" I asked playfully, trying to hide my true feelings.
"You should be thanking me," my brother countered, a mischievous glint in his eye. I couldn't help but laugh at his response and shake my head side to side. "But really, I mean it. Jungkook is the only boy I'd be okay if you'd date."
"Unfortunately, brother, I have no feelings for the boy you asked to babysit me." It was a lie; we both knew it, but my brother let it go, and for that, I was thankful. I didn't want to complicate what Jungkook and I had.
"Ah, youth," my brother sighed, his lips curling into a knowing smile. I felt a pang of curiosity, but instead of asking, I gazed out the window, trying to quell the yearning in my chest.
***Y/n Age Twenty One***
"Oh, Jungkook, what's your problem? We are at a bar, where people go to flirt. Yet, you persist in obstructing any chance of  me finding romance, all because of a promise you made long ago to my  brother. I assure you, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself," I whispered, my cheeks flushed with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. Jungkook's voice died on his tongue was like a warm breeze on a chilly night, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at him. I was tired of trying to prove that I wasn't helpless. I turned to head back inside, back to our friends waiting.
My heart skipped a beat as his hand gently grasped my wrist, preventing me from drifting too far away. "Do you know-" His voice, barely a whisper, reached my ears, compelling me to turn and face him. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured softly, his words filled with longing and affection. His words made my cheeks turn red and my mind go blank. I was lost in confusion, unsure of how to respond to his question. I couldn't tell if he was asking what I thought he was asking, or if I was just imagining things. Was he really jealous?
"Do you know how much it aches to be around you?" He inquired with a tender smile, his laughter escaping softly as if he couldn't fathom the depth of his confession. His fingers gently caressed his tousled hair, a gesture of vulnerability. "My heart races, and I find myself breathless whenever you're around. Your hand intertwines with mine effortlessly, as if it was destined solely for me. And those  eyes, God those eyes, they possess the power to sway me in any direction." I struggled to discern whether his anguish was a blessing or a curse in our connection.
"Why do you subject yourself to it then?" I murmured, my voice barely audible.
"Do you have any idea how much I fucking love you?" he inquired, causing my heart to flutter. His eyes, brimming with tenderness, locked onto mine with an unwavering sincerity. "I mean it," he continued, "my love for you- There aren't words Y/n."
"I know now," I murmured, tears welling up in my eyes. "But after we had sex in high school, you agreed it was a mistake."
He reached out and delicately brushed away a tear that had trickled down my cheek. "I only said that because you said it first. And I'd rather supress those feeling than risk losing you completely." He leaned in and pressed his forehead against mine. "I'm sorry for being such a coward."
I felt a wave of relief wash over me as he spoke. All this time, I had been wondering if I had misread his signals, if I had imagined the connection between us. But now, hearing him pour out his heart, I knew that my feelings were reciprocated. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close, and felt his body relax into mine. "I love you too," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've been scared too, scared of getting hurt, scared of losing you. But I don't want to be scared anymore. I want to be with you, to love you, to be loved by you."
He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Are you sure?" I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm sure." He smiled, a smile that lit up his face and made my heart skip a beat. "Then let's do this. Let's be together, and let's make this work." And with those words, we sealed our love with a kiss, a kiss that was full of promise, of hope, of a future together. Jungkook withdrew gently, his lips adorned with a lovestruck smile, a reflection of my own. "We have ventured far from our imaginary realm," he whispered. Memories of our cherished moments flooded my mind. Strolling to school hand in hand, waking up to find him peacefully slumbering beside me, late-night escapades to the convenience store for slushies just to escape the confines of our home. Dressing up for movies, fast food outings, or early breakfasts before our classes commenced. Exploring aquariums, scaling water towers, visiting zoos and amusement parks. The day spent on the tranquil lake, the hike through the enchanting woods, and the moonlit walks where fireflies danced. Erecting forts of blankets to ward off the chill, indulging in our favorite treats while watching movies beneath their cozy shelter. Every delightful moment we shared, every adventure, every memory and experience. He was there, and I hoped he would remain by my side for the rest of our days.
"We've come a long way," I whispered, my voice filled with emotion, as his gentle touch wiped away a tear of pure bliss from my cheek. Despite his constant presence by my side, I had yearned for him for what felt like my whole life.
"And we've got a ways to go," Jungkook murmured, his words laced with anticipation, before his lips met mine once again. This kiss held a deeper meaning, fueled by years of longing and passion. Our tongues danced fervently, our hands exploring each other's bodies, as we embraced each other with an intensity that could not be denied.
The excuse Jungkook made to our friends slipped my mind, but what I do remember is the way his hand held onto mine tightly. As we walked back to his apartment, time seemed to slow down, and I couldn't help but notice the intense desire in his gaze that ignited a flame within me. The electricity between us was palpable, and every touch sent shivers down my spine. With each step, the anticipation grew, and I found myself yearning for him just as much. The air was thick with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. We barely made it through the door of his home before our lips met in a fiery embrace, consumed by our passion for each other. The taste of his lips was intoxicating, a perfect blend of sweetness and urgency. Our bodies pressed against each other, as if trying to merge into one. The world around us faded away, leaving only the two of us in this moment of pure bliss.  His hands roamed my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Every touch, every caress, fueled the flames of our desire. Our bodies moved in perfect harmony, dancing to a rhythm only we could hear. The intensity of our connection was overwhelming, as if we had been waiting for this moment our entire lives. Time lost all meaning as we explored each other's depths, our souls intertwining in a passionate symphony. The room was filled with the sound of our ragged breaths and the soft moans that escaped our lips. It was a dance of pleasure and vulnerability, a dance that only we knew the steps to. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside ceased to exist as we surrendered ourselves to the intoxicating pleasure that consumed us. 
Jungkook swiftly had me lying bare on his bed within moments. His chest rose and fell rapidly, the strain of his muscles evident as he struggled to catch his breath. His deep, intense gaze explored every inch of my body, as if he couldn't believe I was real. "I'm waiting, Jungkook," I murmured, parting my legs invitingly, and without hesitation, he positioned himself between my thighs. 
My heart skipped a beat as he knelt down in front of me, his eyes locked onto mine. "Jungkook?" I whispered, barely able to catch my breath. His hands gently grasped my thighs, spreading them apart as his lips trailed feather-light kisses along my inner thigh. A wave of heat washed over me, leaving me breathless and wanting more.
"Please," he murmured, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. "I've imagined this for so long." Suddenly, his tongue caresses my lips, evoking a broken sigh of ecstasy. He possesses a remarkable skill with his tongue, understanding my desires intimately. Unable to contain my pleasure, I release a symphony of blissful sounds as he explores me passionately. My fingers entwine in his hair, gently tugging to draw him nearer. Craving more, I yearn for more of his touch. Jungkook delicately inserts a single finger, skillfully finding the sweet spot that transforms my moans into a harmonious, melodious crescendo.
Jungkook's name escaped my lips as I arched my back against him, feeling a surge of desire coursing through my veins. His gaze met mine, filled with a tantalizing intensity that only fueled my passion further. With a deliberate slowness, he rose to his feet, urging me to recline against the bed as he showered my chest with kisses and gentle suction. As his skilled fingers delved inside me, a wave of pleasure washed over me, causing my eyes to flutter closed. The sheer intensity of the sensations building within me was overwhelming, threatening to reduce my very being to mere particles of ecstasy.
If he were to stop his actions, my tears would flow uncontrollably. I would cry, beg, and possibly make soft whimpering sounds. However, he continues without stopping. I arrived with painful groans, feeling tense in every part of my body. The intensity was almost too much to handle. I shook against him, my legs trembling, and when he finally removed his fingers and looked into my eyes, he seemed even more disheveled than I felt.
His head found solace in the curve of my neck, as his lips embarked on a tender journey from my throat to the delicate shell of my ear. In a hushed tone, he inquired, "Do you want more?" My hand instinctively grasped the nape of his neck, drawing his lips back to mine. Our bodies intertwined, pressed together in a passionate embrace. Exploring his form, my hands glided over his shoulders, tracing the contours of his sides, until they reached the button of his jeans. With his assistance, we shed the remaining layers of clothing, all the while engaged in a fervent exchange of kisses.
My fingers glide delicately between us, caressing the velvety length of his manhood. A deep rumble escapes his throat as I explore it with a gentle touch. Jungkook's size surprises me now, for I was naive when we were young and he was my first time. But now, I wanted to savor every inch of him. With anticipation, I guide him towards my longing core, and his hips eagerly meet mine. The mere brush of his tip against me sends waves of pleasure coursing through my body, evoking passionate moans.
With each deliberate thrust, he penetrated deeper, savoring every tantalizing inch until our bodies were intimately intertwined. As the intensity of our connection grew, the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the raw, unadulterated desire that consumed us both. With each rhythmic movement, our bodies moved in perfect synchrony, a dance of passion and longing that knew no bounds. His touch, firm yet gentle, sent shivers down my spine, electrifying every nerve ending in my body. I arched my back, inviting him to delve deeper into the depths of my soul, craving the intoxicating pleasure that only he could provide.
The heat between us intensified, a blazing fire that threatened to consume us whole. His lips, soft and demanding, captured mine in a fervent kiss that spoke volumes of the hunger we shared. Our tongues danced in a passionate tango, exploring and tasting each other with an insatiable need. In that moment, time stood still, and the world outside ceased to exist. As he withdrew, a wave of anticipation washed over me, only to be replaced by an overwhelming rush of pleasure as he reentered, filling me completely. The symphony of our moans filled the air, a melody of ecstasy that echoed through the room, a testament to the depths of our connection. Our hands roamed freely, tracing every curve and contour, igniting a fire that burned brighter with each caress. Fingers tangled in hair, nails grazed skin, and bodies melded together in a passionate embrace that defied all reason. We were lost in a sea of desire, consumed by the intoxicating pull of each other's touch. The ecstasy surged through us, building with an intensity that threatened to shatter the very fabric of our beings. Our moans grew louder, mingling in a harmonious chorus of pleasure as we approached the pinnacle of bliss together. In that moment, our bodies became one, and time seemed to stand still as we reached the climax of our shared passion. As we lay there, breathless and spent, our bodies still entwined, a sense of profound satisfaction washed over us. In that moment, we knew that what we had experienced was more than just physical pleasure; it was a stepping stone in our relationship, a testament to the power of love and desire.
Jungkook shifted our positions, and now I found myself lying on top of him. His chest was my pillow, and I could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath me. I lifted my head to meet his gaze, and his eyes were hazy with desire. His fingers traced delicate patterns along my spine, sending shivers down my body. "It's getting late," I murmured, and his expression shifted to confusion. "I should probably go home." His arms tightened around me, as if he was afraid I would slip away. "Stay," he pleaded, his voice low and urgent. "I should have asked you to stay back then too." I hesitated for a moment, torn between my desire to stay with him and my responsibilities at home. But as I looked into his eyes, I knew that I couldn't resist him any longer. I leaned in to kiss him, and his lips met mine eagerly, his hands pulling me closer.
"Can I at least shower?" I playfully inquired, and without a moment's delay, he rose to his feet, his hands tenderly caressing my waist, while my arms lovingly encircled his neck as he guided me towards the bathroom. Gently placing me on the bathroom counter, he skillfully turned on the cascading water of the shower. Before departing to his bedroom, he tenderly planted a tender kiss upon my cheek, leaving me with a sweet anticipation of his return.
I gracefully leaped off the countertop and gracefully made my way behind the shower curtain, immersing myself in the soothing warmth of the water. As the water gently caressed my body, it washed away the weariness of the day, leaving me feeling refreshed. Suddenly, I heard the sound of the curtain being drawn back, and I felt a pair of strong arms enveloping me from behind. A soft gasp escaped my lips as I recognized the touch of Jungkook. He tenderly pressed his lips against my shoulder blade, then moved to the top of my shoulder, and finally to the delicate junction where my neck and shoulder met. In a hushed voice, he whispered against my skin, "Making up for lost time."
I shivered at his touch, my heart racing with a mixture of surprise and desire. Jungkook's presence always had a way of electrifying my senses, and in that moment, I couldn't help but surrender to the overwhelming emotions that flooded my being. His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer as the water continued to cascade over us. The warmth of his body against mine created an intoxicating contrast to the coolness of the bathroom tiles. I leaned back into his embrace, feeling the strength and security he offered, as if he could shield me from the world.  His lips continued their gentle exploration, leaving a trail of soft kisses along my skin. Each touch ignited a fire within me, a longing that had been suppressed for far too long. I turned my head slightly, seeking his lips with my own, craving the connection that only he could provide. Our mouths met in a passionate kiss, a merging of souls that spoke volumes without the need for words. It was a dance of tongues and a symphony of breaths, a language only we understood. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world outside the bathroom fading away as we lost ourselves in each other. As the water continued to pour over us, our bodies moved in perfect harmony, a rhythm that echoed the love and desire we shared. The steam filled the air, creating an ethereal atmosphere that mirrored the intensity of our connection. It was a moment of pure bliss, a reunion of two souls that had been ignorning their feelings for too long. Jungkook's whispered words lingered in the air, a promise of devotion and a pledge to make up for lost time. And in that moment, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together. The water washed away not only the weariness of the day but also any doubts or fears that had plagued our hearts. In the sanctuary of the shower, we found solace and love, a sanctuary where time stood still and our love could flourish. And as the water continued to caress our bodies, we embraced the warmth and the passion, knowing that we had finally found our way back to each other.
As Jungkook looked into my eyes and held my face tenderly, there was a moment of silence before he spoke the words, "You are my best friend." I knew what it was, and the unspoken emotions hung in the air. As we made our way back home years ago, I could feel his affection lingering in the shadows, softly whispering. And now, completely bare in front of each other, he finally confessed, "I love you, Y/n."
"I love you too, Jungkook."
***Y/n Age Twenty Three***
As I sat before the gleaming headstone, I whispered, "Hi Mom," my heart overflowing with emotion. My fingers delicately traced the intricate locket around my neck, and a gentle smile graced my lips. "It has been ten years since you left this world, yet there are moments when time seems to stand still, and it feels as though you were here with me just yesterday." After a brief pause, I collected my thoughts. "I'm okay."
I took a deep breath and continued, "I have accomplished so much since you've been gone. I graduated from high school with honors, got into my dream college, and even found love. I know you would be proud of me, and I wish you were here to share in my joy." Tears welled up in my eyes, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand. "But I also know that you are watching over me, and guiding me. Your love is still with me, and it gives me strength and courage to face any challenge that comes my way."
Jungkook appeared beside me, in his hands, he held a breathtaking bouquet of Lillies, delicate petals dancing in the sunlight. My heart skipped a beat as I realized they were my mother's favorite flowers, a poignant reminder of her love and the memories we shared. Jungkook's thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze me, his gestures always filled with meaning and intention. With a gentle smile, he sat down next to me, his eyes sparkling with affection. As he leaned in, his lips brushed against my cheek, leaving a trail of tenderness in their wake. The touch of his kiss sent shivers down my spine, a sweet reminder of the love we had built together. 
 Placing the bouquet in front of us, the vibrant colors seemed to mirror the blossoming love between us. I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with happiness, a wave of emotions crashing over me. And then, as I shifted my gaze towards my left hand, I felt the weight of a ring on my fourth finger, a symbol of our commitment and the promise of forever. 
 Before Jungkook could utter a word, I spoke, my voice filled with sincerity and vulnerability. "Before you say anything, I have to admit that you were right," I confessed, Jungkook's arm wrapping around me, drawing me closer. I nestled into his embrace, finding solace in his presence. "He is my future husband," I continued, his words resonating deep within my heart.
Jungkook gazed into my eyes, his curiosity evident. He understood that there was a tale hidden within my words. It astounded me how deeply he comprehended me, but I reciprocated that understanding just as profoundly. "When we first played together, my mother whispered to me, 'Treat him kindly, that's your future husband.'" As I concluded my story, laughter escaped my lips, and Jungkook joined in, his laughter harmonizing with mine.
As our laughter subsided, Jungkook's eyes sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and understanding. It was as if he had unlocked a hidden part of me, a part that I had kept guarded for so long. His gaze held a warmth that made me feel safe, as if I could trust him with my deepest secrets and fears.
"Thank you for the honor," he expressed, his words intended for my mother, yet his gaze fixated on me. Leaning in, our lips met briefly in a tender kiss before I gently pulled away, and Jungkook's attention shifted towards the solemn gravestone. "I will take care of her," he promised.
"Always have," I murmured, and he met my gaze with a loving smile.
"Always will."
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kyluff · 2 months
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— ↺ Awkward Confessions
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✎ shoko x reader !
✦ summary ➠ Gojo is in love with you, when he goes to confess his feelings to you he learns something that will go on to shock him for the rest of his days.
✦ warnings ➠ none, maybe nsfw almost but it’s just making out really, wlw
✦ note ➠ this is the laziest thing I’ve ever made, I just love shoko and her beautiful self.
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— The summer heat glared down on Jujutsu High, it held no remorse for the second years innocently say below. Each of them were sprawled out across the training grounds, they had no intent of using it to battle in this harsh weather. All but one were there, a certain white haired man was missing from the group.
“Where’s that idiot gone off to know?” One of the two girls there asked, her head was lazily resting on your upturned stomach since you were laying on your back.
“Who knows.” Suguru, the said man’s best friend carelessly said, not caring much about what Satoru could be up to right now.
A wave of warmth pasted through your body, not just because of beating sun above, but also because of the woman that had her head on your torso. You started to struggle, wishing for this feeling to end, so you softly nudged the brown haired girls head away. “Off, please.”
She rolled her eyes in annoyance, but still pushed her figure up to free you. As she got up, she saw the boy she was asking about earlier. His hands were full, carrying four things that looked like snacks.
“Y/n! I made sure to get your favourite,” He handed you the snack he had personally picked for you, he learned that you liked this item from the schools local vending machine.
“Thanks, is that where you were? Getting these treats for everyone?” You kindly took the package, not without saying a thank you of course. “That’s very nice of you.”
“Oh no, the rest are for me, I only got one for you.” He smiled like what he said was not a little rude. You made a noise of surprise, not expecting him to just give you something. He copied the three of you, making himself comfortable on the hard ground.
“Whatever, let’s go back to my room, I’ll set up the fan for us.” Shoko decided it was time for the two of you to leave, tugging you up with her.
Once you were officially out of view, Gojo took the opportunity to talk to his long haired friend. “I’m going to do it today.”
“Do what?” Suguru was amused, he knew what he was talking about but he wanted to hear it still.
“Ask out Y/n! I have a whole plan set up, the first step is already complete; give Y/n her favourite food. This will make her day, and she’ll think about me as she eats it.” Gojo had this idea ever since he developed feelings for you, now felt like the right time for him to confess his feelings to you.
“And what are the other steps this plan has?” Suguru was intrigued, the first step was idiotic already so the following steps must’ve been just as good.
“Next is words of affirmation, I will compliment her. Shoko said they were going to her room, right? I’m going to pay them a visit!” He waved and started on his way to the room you were supposedly in. The black haired man could only wave back in response, a mischievous look forming on his face. Gojo was in for a surprise.
Back at Shoko’s room, you both had changed out of your uniforms and into shorts and tank tops to try to cool off. Shoko had turned on the fan and placed in so that it would blow onto you bodies that were laying on the bed.
You were laying on you back, reading a magazine to distract yourself from the weather outside. Shoko was leaning against the wall that her bed was cornered against, she held her own magazine.
Her gaze dropped onto you, watching as you flipped through the pages. You had the magazine hovering in the air, leaving room under your arms. She dropped her book onto the bed, crawling up towards you and placing herself into the opened spot that fit her perfectly.
You stopped reading and looked down at her, discarding your book now. You let your arms wrap around her neck, enclosing them. You took time to savour the moment, playing with the ends of her hair and looking into each others eyes.
“Your cheeks are so pink.” She noticed, reaching out to brush her fingers along them.
“Ya well, it’s crazy hot outside.” You chuckled. “Are they bothering you?”
“No, you look cute.” Your mouth fell open, a small smile fighting to come out. “Oh look, they’re turning pinker!”
You brought your hand from her hair to flick her forehead softly. She always teased you no matter the situation, she always found a way. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, grabbing the back of her head to smush it against your own. She quickly reciprocated, slightly tilting her head to kiss you at a better angle. You were both lost in your own world, just the two of you.
“Knock, knock! Are you in there Y/n? I have to tell you something.” You heard a voice calling for you from the door, you knew who it was just from the enthusiasm that came with his words. He didn’t wait for a response though, busting through the door. You panicked, trying to push of your girlfriend. But she didn’t budge, continuing the make out session between you. “Y/n, I just wanted to tell you that-”
There was a long pause, Gojo just started at you from his spot at the door. He was still gripping the doorknob in shock, afraid to move. “Oh.”
You finally successfully rid of Shoko, shoving you off of you. “Gojo! Uhm, uh.” You weren’t sure what to say. “Shoko, why didn’t you move!”
“I knew that idiot has been eyeing you up for the paste couple months, wanted him to see that you’re taken.” She got up from the bed and walked up to the door where Gojo stood.
“Now you know.” And she shut the door on his face.
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tending-the-hearth · 7 months
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thinking about percy keeping a photo of annabeth in his binder during "sea of monsters" and how this means that maybe during that year they don't see each other they send pictures back and forth as a "please don't forget me" thing
there's a picture sally took of percy the night before the minotaur attacked, when they were sitting beside the campfire as the sun set. in the picture, percy's sitting next to the campfire, grinning brightly at his mom behind the camera as he roasts a blue marshmallow. the sunset is lighting up his eyes, and the exhaustion and fear of the past few days has disappeared for a little while.
annabeth keeps the picture as a bookmark, using it in whatever book she's currently reading. it's kept secret, a little precious treasure that she looks at during the school year whenever she's feeling lonely.
she shows it to percy the day after they get together, blushing as he looks at the worn edges and small tear stains from when she cried in her bunk the night before his funeral pyre in "battle of the labyrinth". he wraps her in the tightest hug, and shows her the picture he's kept in his wallet since the day she sent it to him.
during the eight months that percy's gone, annabeth carries the picture in her pocket. at that point, the picture is taped and glued onto a stronger backing, because it's falling apart. she also keeps percy's picture of her as well, after finding it on his dresser in the poseidon cabin, and when the war is over, and the romans and greeks are gathered together for a celebration, she gives it back to him, and they hold each other and cry.
and when percy and annabeth get their own apartment, that picture is framed and put on their mantle, right beside percy's picture of annabeth he carried around (he wrote to frederick and got a new one after the first one was ripped). they look at the pictures together from time to time, cuddled up together and thinking about the younger versions of themselves, each wishing they could go back in time to hug those little kids, but grateful for where they've ended up.
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m00nlight-ramblings · 2 months
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Waiting Room
You see Astarion again, years after the final battle of the Elder Brain.
Pairings: Ascended Astarion x GN! Reader
Warnings: swearing, angst, sad girl hours, discussions and allusions to sex but no smut, NOT a happy ending. MINORS DNI 18+
Word Count: 2.9k
A/N: Based on "Waiting Room" by Phoebe Bridgers. Get ready to cry because I love hurting my own feelings. Graphic made by me, I do not consent to my work (graphic or writing) to be shared without my permission
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The first time you had fallen in love with Astarion was the first time you laid eyes on him.
Sure, the handsome, charismatic vampire had threatened a knife to your throat at first meeting, but that was only because he was scared – unsure if you and the other companions were trustworthy. Though there were ups and downs throughout your journey, eventually you had all fallen into a found family dynamic – looking out for one another as if you had all grown up together, though you were all as different as the next.
It only took a few days for the magnetic connection to take hold between you and Astarion. Once the initial shock of the parasites wore off, you often found yourselves near each other. In battle, tents next to teach other, nights around the fire…where one of you was, usually the other was as well.
The romance started the night of the camp party with the Teiflings. You were sure Astarion was only looking for sex – which, to be fair, was the most incredible sex you had ever had in your life – and that was how he acted.
For a bit.
Late night sneaking into your tent turned into talking until the sun rose, or secret walks alongside creeks, or stolen kisses when the companions weren’t looking. The secretive nature of your love was exciting – a bright light in between the doom and gloom of the Ilithid, and battle, and blood. When Astarion finally started to open up, and the reality of his traumatic past set in, you were there for him in more ways than one.
Soon, the others in camp started to notice. There was no denying how you stole glances at him, or how Astarion looked at you, totally enraptured as you spoke. His smile when you entered the room, or the gleam in your eye as he teased others.
“You two have been in love since the moment you met,” Karlach had mentioned one night, smiling, “We’ve all seen it. There’s no denying it. It’s a beautiful thing to witness throughout this whole thing…in a way, it’s giving us all hope.”
Heavy breathing, gentle touching, hair pulling, and names muttered like prayers. Silent laughter while the rest of camp slept, promises of finding a ring so Astarion could walk freely in the sun, admitting to fantasies of your future together. A renewed hope in both of you, finding solace in each other’s hearts and bodies. Trusting each other with stories of your dark pasts, pacts to never lie, promises to love each other for ever. And ever. And ever. And ever.
Your love. Your light…your life.
“I will love you for my lifetime,” Astarion had promised one night, his voice barely above a whisper. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear gently, “You have brought me a happiness I had never thought possible. My whole life I have lived in fear…only after meeting you have I finally begun to know joy.”
Eventually, you had made your way to Cazador’s palace – the plan in place to stop the ritual, kill him, and set free the rest of the spawn. Astarion came face to face with his past, and confronted his actions and decisions head on, ready to settle the score and start anew. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before – Astarion stabbing Cazador so many times it seemed like there wasn’t any blood left. His body covered, as his heaving sobs wracked his body so hard he shook, his cries echoing through the dark hall. Tears in all of your eyes – Karlach and Gale holding you back to give Astarion his time to mourn the past 200 years. All he needed to do was free the spawn, to give them another chance at life, and you could leave, Astarion leaving behind the trauma and hurt.
But something happened. Something went wrong.
Before you knew it, the ritual was completed. The cries from the bodies of the dying spawn had infiltrated your ears before you could figure out what was happening – Astarion had finished the ritual, ascending. Never to fear again, only to be feared. Tears fell openly from your eyes, screams from your throat, fear in your heart. Why Astarion did it, you would never know.
All you knew was that the future that both of you had longed for was gone, never to be seen again.
You tried your hardest to stay with Astarion, to be by his side like you promised. But when you tried to discuss his newfound love of evil, he turned on you – he didn’t want a partner, he wanted a slave. A pet in a way…someone to follow exactly what he wanted to do, and say. His offer of turning you into his spawn made you sick – the words he spat at you when you told him “no” forever ingrained in you forever.
“I can’t believe I thought you were worthy of a life with me,” He said, his dark eyes shining, “When this little journey to finish the Elder Brain is done, so are we. I never want to see you again – the very sight of you makes me sick.”
Your whole life turned to tragedy in the blink of an eye, and you were so depressed, you didn’t even truly feel there. In fact, you and Astarion never spoke another word to another the rest of the time around each other, which only worsened the blow of your depression.
Numb the rest of the journey, you tearfully finished your task, saving Baldur’s Gate and more. The months you had travelled together, you had envisioned a giant sendoff together when you were done – food, drinks, dancing, music…to celebrate your victory and time together. One last party before you parted ways.
Instead, you silently slipped off into the night, never saying goodbye to any of your companions. Thinking it would be the easiest move for your shattered heart, you decided to push that time in your life aside, even though it was the most important time in your life.
A shell of your former self, constantly thinking about Astarion. About the Astarion that once was. Life returned back to “normal” – back to working in Baldur’s Gate, pubs with friends, research on magic in your library. Trying to enjoy the life you had desperately wanted to return back to when you were first infected, only to miss the life you had cultivated while in the midst of battle.
Trying to return back to him.
Even though he no longer existed.
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The moon shone high in the night, a starless sky. You were leaving the inn; a party for a friend’s birthday. You were the last one to leave, helping them close down the bar. Even though you didn’t have much to drink, you tried to stay around for as long as possible, desperate to not be home alone.
The pub was in an off street of the main road, and its location combined with the late time of night made for a quiet walk home. You’d be back in a half hour or so…you tried to enjoy the warm evening air, reminding yourself of the beauty surrounding you.
The moon is beautiful, You thought, trying to look for happiness in the small things, The air smells nice. The warmth feels good.
Your footsteps echoed in the night, your arms wrapped around yourself like protection. You tried to not think too hard about feelings often – even after two years, your thoughts would always wander back to Astarion, given the chance. As if you had no choice in the matter.
Suddenly, a rustling. You stopped walking, trying to get a better idea of the sound. You narrowed your eyes, your heart immediately racing. You didn’t dare move, but instead swiveled your head so you could stay put.
Nothing. Silence.
You had just began walking when you heard the voice.
“I never thought I would see you again.” He said.
You stopped in your tracks, your body turning to ice. Slowly, you turned towards the voice, your heart racing so hard you could feel the blood pumping in your head. Your fingertips buzzed with adrenaline, and your throat immediately became dry. You instantly met his gaze.
Astarion.
Standing in the shadows of the back alleyway you were walking down, he took a step forward. In an outfit adorned in shining black metal, intricate weavings fit for a king. His trademark smirk was nowhere to be found, only his dark, ruby eyes.
He looked absolutely breathtaking.
“You said you didn’t want to.” You finally were able to manage, your voice more of a whimper. Your worst fear coming true – you knew that Astarion had resided in the same city as you, but you didn’t think you would ever come face to face with him again. The city was big, he was a vampire lord…so many variables.
He chuckled – one quick sound. “I can’t believe you remember what I said.” He took a step forward, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You could feel the frown on your lips.
“I’ll never forget it.”
Astarion paused to look at you, his expression unreadable. Finally, he took another step closer to you and spoke again, “I smelled you…a bit ago. At first, I thought I was going crazy – I thought it couldn’t be. But I decided to investigate and…here you are. After all this time.”
You were not afraid. You knew he would do nothing to you – your fear of seeing him again was not rooted in fear of your life. It was rooted in fear of your heart – how long would it take you to numb yourself again, now that he was standing in front of you again? Weeks…months…years? You had barely begun to feel normal again.
“I hope you are faring well after our adventure,” He spoke again, his voice far away. He was close to you now, a foot or so away. “I’m assuming you are living here now.” He spoke as if we were old colleagues, not former lovers. Not as two people who thought they were destined for one another.
You nodded, “I’ve came back home. After we were done.”
“You didn’t say goodbye.”
“I couldn’t.” Your voice began to catch in your throat. Astarion noticed, nodding. Giving you space to feel for a moment. After a minute or so, it seemed he was done – he turned to walk away.
Just like that.
“Do you regret it?” You called after him, causing him to stop. He didn’t turn around, but merely stared straight ahead. Your tears threatened to fall as you spoke, “Ascending. Do you regret turning into this?”
Astarion stayed so still you had thought time stood still. Crickets chirped around you, and you could hear the blood pulsing in your body the silence was so heavy. Eventually he turned slowly, taking a few quick steps to you, a smirk on his lips.
“Regret it? Regret it! Regret being one of the most powerful vampires, of never living in fear? Of having every desire, every want, every need met?” His eyes darted between yours, “Of having any body I want, whenever I want?” A blow to your heart – Astarion had added it to hurt you, of that you were sure. “No, darling, I don’t regret it at all. I savor it.”
You nodded, unable to say anything. His smile was a slap in your face – the Astarion you had once loved was completely gone, washed away with everything you had known about him. Instead, standing in front of you was someone you didn’t even know. In that moment, you realized something: ever since he had ascended, you were grieving the death of him. And grief, you knew, never went away, which is why it was so hard for you to think about. The death of who Astarion used to be never left you.
“I loved you,” You said. You shook your head slowly and smiled, embarrassed you were even discussing it. “I loved you more than I had loved anyone ever in my entire life. I will never love someone the way I loved you. I loved you so wholly and completely and fiercely, I-” Your voice broke, the tears steadily streaming down your face now, “I wasn’t sure of anything – if we would survive the journey. If we would defeat the Elder Brain. I wasn’t even sure of who I was half of the time…but there was one thing I was sure of: I was sure that if you were by my side, I would always have the courage to try. I’d have the courage to keep going.” You had to stop yourself, the tears turning into sobs. Your voice trailed off as you wiped the wetness from your face.
Astarion’s face was a snarl, almost disgusted with what you said. He took a small step back, as if he was unable to deal with your emotion.
“Why did you do it?” You asked through your sobs, your voice almost a scream, “How could you finish that ritual? How could you ascend? After everything we talked about, everything we promised each other…you became the very person you hated!”
“You have no idea!” Astarion shouted, his face suddenly centimeters from your face. You felt his hot breath on your cheeks, his voice causing you to jump, “You have no idea what I had been through in my life. That ritual? The ascension gave me freedom! I have become exactly who I was destined to be,” He laughed, extending his arms, “I am exactly who I want to be. I was not meant for a soft life – for a life of love or domesticity, or stillness. I was meant for more.” He started to pace, seemingly overwhelmed, his voice never lowering below a shout, “And you could have lived that life with me! You could’ve had everything you ever wanted…a castle. Jewels. Servants. The finest garments…we could have made love every night until the sun rose. I would have had you screaming my name so regularly, it would become commonplace.” He stopped his pacing and was close to your face again. He was red with anger, his voice finally lowering to a murmur, “But you were weak. You were…pathetic. Saying no was the biggest mistake of your life.” He was breathing hard, his shoulders moving up and down so harshly they seemed to move on strings.
The silence between you was so loud that your ears rang. You took a deep breath in, trying to steady yourself. “That isn’t love, Astarion. I wanted nothing but you. I didn’t need a castle, or servants…I just wanted you. The you that was before.” You took a step back, overwhelmed. You were so overcome with emotion that you felt like you were going to faint. Finally, you decided you needed to leave. Taking one last look into his eyes, you spoke again, “I’m sorry you felt you weren’t worthy of a life of love.”
Without waiting for a response, and hoping you would never see him again, you turned to walk away. You had only made it a few steps before Astarion spoke again.
“You were a gift, you know,” He said, so softly, that if you weren’t listening, you wouldn’t had heard him. You stopped, but didn’t turn. “You are someone who deserves a life so full of love, that every day you are reminded of how much. I…” He sighed. “I am not a someone who could have given that to you.”
Stifling a sob, you finally turned. You looked at Astarion, and for a moment, you saw a flash of the old Astarion, before the ascension. He looked at you, and for the first time in gods knows how long, he looked unsure of himself. His expression reminded you of the first time he had told you that he loved you.
“I’ve never done this before, but…” Nervously, Astarion took your hands, looking into your eyes, “But I love you. At least…I think I do. I’m not quite sure that I know what love is, really, but darling what you make me feel? Is unlike anyone has ever made me feel…and it’s a good feeling. And incredible, perfect feeling, actually. And I promise every day to try and make you feel the same…to remind you how much I love you.”
You smiled softly, sadly, unable to do much else. Fully facing him, you stood tall. “Astarion…I hope the life you chose fulfills you…I hope it’s worth it.”
Astarion looked at you for a minute more, and for a moment, you thought he would smile. That he would smile, and rush to you, and kiss you – that somehow this was all a spell that needed to be broken. That this could’ve been the beginning of the rest of your lives together…the life that you both had spent nights fantasizing together.
But he nodded curtly, and left, his footsteps silent in the night.
The feeling of sadness crushed you, sending you to your knees. You let your sobs echo into the night, releasing everything you had left. You could only hope that this could act as some sort of closure, that the grief you’d feel wouldn’t ruin you.
That it was a way to move forward, not backwards.
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No, it’s for the better,
I know it’s for the better.
---
As always, comments, reblogs, likes mean a lot (especially comments and reblogs!) brb gonna go cry now bye.
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limitbreaker23 · 4 months
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It’s my Sunshot Campaign fic’s anniversary, Before the Sun Sets, so I’m suffering with feelings trapped on the battlefield that I need to ramble about. This beautiful Chengzhan Sunshot Campaign piece I commissioned from @rounove is too big for this site, but please look at a cropped version.
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The full image in all its low-res beauty and me gushing about things below:
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I always enjoy taking the opportunity to gush about all the details in artworks. Like, obviously I’m forever in love with my otp’s expressions here. Jiang Cheng’s cheek was cut in battle, narrow escape situation for our beloathed companions, and after they found the illusion of shelter, they can take care of any injuries. Lan Wangji is focused on this, completely, diligently, and wipes the blood away so carefully, leaning close. Jiang Cheng, sitting on this tree, sore and in pain, stares up at this unscathed, seemingly radiating face and appears to feel a different kind of ache. His expression murders me every time, he’s fighting a battle he’ll lose here, reaching up to cup Lan Wangji’s face with his bloodstained hand. AH! And what does Lan Wangji see and feel, with his eyes trapped on Jiang Cheng’s mouth, with his lips already parting, when he should take care of the wound? AH!
Jiang Cheng’s hand with Zidian on it already found a resting place on Lan Wangji’s thigh, a trail of blood left where it ran up from his knee. Steadying Lan Wangji as he leant in to look at the injury? Pulling, perhaps? All the white, so pristine robes draping over Jiang Cheng’s purple robes makes me feel all the things. Lan Wangji is a protective cloud brighter than anything in this moment. AH!
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Their swords resting next to them, a mirror of their positions. Sometimes I just love to stare at the swords, all the details, the small, delicate patterns on the sheaths, the ruffled, soft looking tassels. Bichen would slip to the forest ground if Sandu weren’t steadily holding it up. And Sandu is safely shielded by Bichen. AH!
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And the background! The rainy darkness that followed them to this spot to haunt or shield them, down a river that looks like spilled ink rippling the reflection of the trees. And this ancient, magnificent tree that keeps them dry from the rain with those thick leaves. AH!
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I just love falling into this picture and thinking of how they ended up here. The pain, the suffering, the brushes of skin and fleeting touches that lead to them literally falling into each other’s warmth here. Now kiss!
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suavemania · 10 months
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to be honest with you...
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pairing: leon kennedy x reader word count: 850+ reader summary: you cant help yourself and tell leon the truth, you like him a bit too much than just a casual fling. warning: this sat in my drafts so here it is notes: not pining for once. just a bit short and sweet before i drop the most emotionally destructive drabble ive inflicted on myself:(
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“I think I like you.” 
The words just came out, almost as if you couldn’t help yourself. Your body was pressed against his, you were on top of him; fingers had just traced his collarbone.You blinked at him, your eyes wide as you realized just what you had said.
The two of you weren’t anything official. It started with meet-ups every now and then, bodies intertwining with each other for emotional comfort. The nights would always end with the two of you sleeping next to each other, clinging onto the other as if to cram in as much physical touch before the sun came up. The two of you always hated mornings, but for various reasons. Leon never liked mornings because it meant he had to leave. You hated mornings because you would have to kill the feeling in you that this was more, meant more than just being a casual thing.
You swore that you wouldn’t meet him more after the tenth time, it was always on his accord, his rules. He would be the one to reach out, he would be the one to reply hours later after you ask him simple questions- it was never easy to get to him (you never knew why), but god, it was easy to be with him. His hands were always placed on your body perfectly, he always knew where to touch, where to be and when. It’s like he set his eyes on you, and he just knew how to treat you, to adore you, to love you. Parts of you would die for him, and you always figured it was because the two of you never just settled with ‘fucking’ each other, it had to be more. 
Your eyes would always lock with each other, hands clasping and bodies pressing desperately against each other; almost as if to carve a part in the other. It felt like love. To be filled with the desire to dig for each other, to live inside the very ribcage of the other but settling for just sex because it was as close as you were gonna get to being a part of him. 
It wasn’t only about being close to each other’s bodies. It was also the fact that the two of you didn’t sleep, like at all. After every session, the two of you would lie in your bed, chatting about everything, like for example: your theory that Leon dyes his hair blonde or Leon scolding you for the way you cook your scrambled eggs in the mornings. 
The routine is uncomplicated, simple yet enough:
Leon would come over. You’d kiss, sloppy kisses turn into passionate, feverish ones. It would be a stumbling battle to the bed, Leon would push you to the bed, leaving you to say: how did we actually pull it off to get here? Which was Leon’s cue to shut you up until your brain couldn’t possibly string together a sentence properly. Then, it was just mindless chatting so long into the night that the two of you would later head into the kitchen to cook a late-night snack. From there, it would just be a movie to fall asleep, or more chatting until the other went silent, usually you.
“You like me?” Leon asks, raising an eyebrow as you push yourself off his chest, scrambling for your underwear as you try to cover your body with the wrinkled, warm sheets. 
“I don’t know-” you spit out, hands aimlessly patting at the floor. Where were your underwear and why did it feel like everything had gotten a lot darker? And was it always this warm in the room? You let out a whine, but suddenly you felt the warm muscular chest meet your back. A gentle hand placed on your shoulder as Leon leans into your ear, his hot air brushing your already-blushing ear. 
“I know something you don’t.” He muses, and you could just hear that Leon had a smirk on his dumb, soft lips. The lips that you so desperately didn’t want to stop kissing. You close your eyes, feeling the awkward tension in your body numbing your entire body. Was this it, the slow humiliation? The painful end of your casual meet-ups that you promised you were fine with, settling for the crumbs of Leon that you could possibly get?
“What’s that?” You respond, a small tinge of reluctance as you await Leon’s disapproval, still disgruntled over the disappearance of your undergarments. Leon chuckles, plopping your underwear onto your lap as he lays himself down onto the bed again.
“That I think I like you too,” He says, and you could feel his eyes on you as you turn to look at him. The words sent a shiver down your spine, and then the lower part of your stomach began stirring. Your heart beating in your chest as you felt yourself growing needy. Without really realizing it yourself, you inch closer to him; disregarding the found underwear that was given to you by him. 
“Now come over here.” he says, his voice soft and affectionate as he speaks. "I want to kiss you."
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mayloma · 15 days
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Where You Are - Part 4
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Pairing: AU Viking!Geralt x female reader
Series masterlist
Part summary: You arrive at Liljasborg, where you hope to find Geralt.  
Word count: ca. 6.3k
Warnings: Angst, violence, more corpses, alcohol. It's a viking AU, okay? 🤷‍♀️ Melancholy, jealousy, longing, fluff.
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Looks like the gods aren’t that well-disposed toward you after all. 
The downpour started as you saddled Björna in the early hours of the morning, and it hasn’t stopped yet. As you reach Liljasborg in the afternoon, you are soaked to the bone. Even Björna, who usually couldn’t care less about rain or cold, lets her ears hang to the sides as she tiredly plods up the hill toward the town. 
Your wet cloak seems to be weighted with stones, and you arduously raise your head, looking out from under the dripping hood as you’re about to pass the town gates. 
Your eyes linger on the battlement and the spears left and right of the gates, and as your gaze wanders higher, your stomach churns. 
The ends of the spears are adorned with heads. Human heads. There are six of them, horrid mugs without exception, with holes instead of eyes and traces of the battle, the corvids, and the beginning decay. 
You’ve never seen them during their lifetimes, but you’re sure that these are the remains of Jarl Harald and his commanders. And just like on the battlefield, you force yourself to look at every single one of them. The sight makes you shudder, and you’re barely able to breathe a sigh of relief after you assured yourself that Geralt isn’t among them. 
From the corner of your eyes, you see a movement in the guard house, and you hastily avert your gaze, holding your breath as you urge your mare to pass the gate. 
They say Jarl Erik is a cruel leader who expects nothing less from his men. But thank gods, you either didn’t arouse the guards’ suspicion, or they’re just not keen on getting out and wet to the skin in that rain. 
Anyway, there aren’t many people on the road, and those who are, hurry around puddles, mud pools, garbage, and the dirt on the streets to get back inside. 
Lady Lilja - Erik and Harald’s mother - is said to have been a true beauty. However, this place her husband named after her after she died in childbed could hardly be more disgraceful to her remembrance. 
The air smells like the filth on the streets and the smoke of too many hearthfires. The bedraggled houses within the town walls are built so close together they look almost squashed, and a confusing warren of streets and paths runs up the hill. Even from here, you can see Erik’s castle on top of the hill, with high walls and guard towers, built from dark stone and overgrown with moss. It looks gloomy, and still it’s the place where you need to go in order to find Geralt. 
But there’s no way you could just go up there and knock on the gate. No, you need a plan first, and before that, you and Björna finally need to get into the dry. 
You descend and walk her through the streets as you try to ask the few passersby for the way to an inn. Try because the first and second person you address don’t even meet your gaze. They just hurry past you, and only the young maid you address next stops and listens. 
“Stay on this street until you come to a well. Turn left and then take the fourth left again. You’ll see a bakery backmost, and the Bear’s Den is just behind it. The innkeeper is all right. You’ll also pass The Sun on the way, but don’t even think about going in! It’s a shithole and a brothel. One of the worst kind.” 
And you just about manage to thank her before she hastens away. 
You find the way without problems, giving the drunken bodies and pools of vomit in front of the Sun a wide berth. The Bear’s Den looks just as bedraggled as the Sun, but the noises you hear from the inside sound slightly calmer, and the stable in the outhouse looks somewhat decent. 
As you set about tying Björna to the rail under the eaves, a little head with tousled red curls appears at the stable door. 
“If you plan on drying before you continue your journey, you can bring her inside,” the boy offers, curiously eying you up. 
“Looks like that might take a while, doesn’t it?” you mutter, looking down at your drenched clothes, which have already left a puddle on the ground. 
“Yeah, the rain stands like rods on the hillside today,” the boy states. 
“I’ve never heard that one before!” you smile. 
“How about, it’s raining like it could drown the ducks?” 
“Either."
“It's raining like a tall cow pissing on a flat rock?” he suggests, and his smile turns into an adorable gap-toothed grin as you laugh out loud. 
“Those are good,” you nod appreciatively. 
“Thank you,” he replies casually. “Can I take her inside now? I could dry her and organize some better fodder than hay in exchange for a tip, you know?”
You involuntarily smile at the boy’s business acumen. 
“What’s your name?” you ask him. 
“Kári.”
“Listen, Kári,” you smirk at his eyes going wide as you show him a little silver coin, holding it out of his reach. “This is what you get now. For the biggest and cleanest box you have. For drying and grooming her, for the extra fodder and fresh water. I’ll probably be staying for a few days, and you’ll get a half coin every day for taking care of her, and another coin like this one if I’m satisfied with your work at the end. Can I count on you?” 
“You can count on me,” the boy responds, proudly drawing up his small frame. 
“We’re in business then,” you nod, handing him the coin. 
He fails to suppress a beaming smile as he tucks it away in his pants pocket before he receives the reins from you. “What’s her name?” he asks, expertly petting the mare’s neck. 
“Her name is Björna,” you explain. "She’s a good girl who won’t bring trouble to you.”
“Yeah, I saw right away that she’s no troublemaker,” Kári agrees. “C’mon Björna, let’s get you inside.”
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The Bear’s Den might be less of a shithole compared to the Sun, but it’s definitely not a place you’d stay any longer than necessary. Nevertheless, you rent a room for four nights. That should be enough to find out where Geralt is held captive and… well. Whatever you’re going to do then. 
This is where your undertaking admittedly lacks detail, but you’ve made it here, and giving up is simply not an option. But right now, your head is spinning, you're exhausted and freezing, and your stomach growls like a bear - not the best time to forge plans or reckless maneuvers. 
You abandon the attempt to wring out your clothes further and just hang them over the chairs in front of the fireplace in your room. The spare clothes you fish out of your wax cloth bundle aren’t dry either, but they're at least drier, and you simply can't afford to be fastidious right now. 
The same goes for the salty dried fish and porridge you scarf down as you sit in the taproom shortly afterward. It’s still early in the evening, but the inn is already crowded with men and a handful of women, and their conversations and laughter blend into an ear-deafening noise. You found yourself a vacant seat at a long table where a group of handcraft helpmates drinks their ale, sounding off about the rich asshole they build a house for. But as they get onto the latest events, they lower their voices. 
“And I tell you, the jarls in the north aren’t happy about Erik,” one of them says after taking a big gulp from his ale mug. “And why should they? He’s an asshole spreading terror-”
“Sshhh, not so loud!” hisses one of his companions, “Shut up, Ulf! Or do you want everyone to hear you?!” another one. 
“But it’s true,” the one called Ulf protests, just to be cut off again.
“Tell that to his bootlickers up there!” mutters the man to his right, nodding his head toward the castle on the hill, and the others hum in approval. 
Ulf mumbles something into his beard before he begins anew, this time leaning forward and lowering his voice further. 
“Anyway, I bet they’ll come for his insane ass soon.”
“You might be right about that,” another one chimes in. “But it won’t give him the shivers. Because he’s insane, as you said.”
“And because he’s confident in his victory, now more than ever since he has the White Wolf on his side.”
Your hand with the spoon, absentmindedly stirring in your bowl, freezes in mid-movement. 
The White Wolf! 
He has the White Wolf on his side; that’s what the man said. 
Has. Not had. 
So Geralt must be alive! 
And you sit stock-still at your place while you silently send a thousand fervent prayers of thanks to the gods and the three Norns. 
“Well, Harald had him on his side before, and look what it got him,” Ulf objects. 
“True. But gods, you should have seen him on that battlefield! He fought like Odin himself before they knocked him out cold.”
“They let him have it for sure! The guy was bleeding like a stuck pig when they carted him away. More of a red wolf than a white one.” 
You feel blood draining from your cheeks, and their words and their laughter hurt as if you were the wounded one. And like a wounded predator, you want to go on the offensive and shut them up. But instead, you force yourself to set your hand into motion and bring another spoonful to your mouth. 
Don't let it take control, Little Bird.
“Has anyone seen him at all since they brought him here?” asks the youngest of them, who has been silent so far, and once more, you hold your breath. 
“Well, not that I know of. But as far as I heard, he’s alive and kicking, having the time of his life up there. They make a feast every night, and our dear jarl seems hellbent on spoiling him with wine and tidbits. And with tits! They say Erik’s finest whores scramble to get laid by him.” 
“Lucky guy!” The men mutter, all of them agreeing, while you suddenly feel as if someone had slapped you in the face. 
You put the spoon down, shuffling the bowl off even though it’s not empty yet and you should really eat. 
It can’t be, you try to reassure yourself as you choke down the last bit. It can’t be, as you stare down at your wedding ring.
It can’t be because he loves you. It can't be because he’s yours. Until Ragnarök and beyond. 
However, a slight pain remains. The words have left a little stab, not bigger than a needle prick. Nevertheless, it's big enough to let doubt seep into your heart. 
You remain sitting for a few more moments, waiting for them to say more about Geralt or the castle. But the men’s conversation now revolves around the most wantable whores in town, and after finishing your ale, you quietly get up from the table and return to your room.
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As the darkness descends outside, you begin to clean yourself up. 
You change into the best dress you brought with you, the one with the contrasting colored top and the beautiful embroidery along the neckline. It might not be the most fashionable dress, but Geralt loves seeing you in it. He always smiled when he spun you around, making the long skirt swirl, until you were dizzy and giggling, and then he pulled you into his arms for a long kiss.  
You fix your hair. And then, you wrap yourself in your dark cloak. The fabric is still a little wet, but it’s still raining outside, and you have a premonition that you’ll soon look like a wet rat anyway. 
The way up to the castle is easy to find, and you walk up the hill in measured steps, casually letting your eyes roam the walls and the guarded gate ahead of you as if the sight is nothing new to you. 
Shortly before you reach the square in front of the gate, you turn into an alley on the right. And after a few more yards, you crouch down in the darkness, pretending to tie your shoe. 
In truth, you need a moment to catch your breath and gather your thoughts. 
There is every indication that Geralt is there in Erik’s castle, not far away from you. Just how on earth are you supposed to get to him? 
The same possibilities you already pondered and scrapped a hundred times cross your mind again. But you still can’t just request admission, you still can’t look for a secret passage, and you still can’t climb those darn walls. So, how? How, how, how? 
It is only a few minutes later, just when you’re shy of returning to the inn, when you finally receive an answer. 
A crashing noise, then shouts and curses, draw your attention to the square in front of the gate. As you come closer, you see that an oxcart has got bogged in a hole on the muddy street.
The cart is heavily loaded with ale barrels that are, without doubt, intended for the castle. And the carter on the box swings his whip at the two oxen, who moo loudly as they brace themselves into their harnesses.
At the back, where the wheel is stuck, a small, skinny form pushes against the cart. It’s a child, probably the man’s son, and he pushes with so much force that he almost slides away in the mud. 
However, the efforts of both humans and animals seem to be in vain. The wheel moves slowly, bit by bit, but every time it’s almost free, it skids back into the roadhole.
At some point, the carter champs with rage, flailing at the oxen and yelling at the child. Even as the boy slips and falls, almost getting caught under the wheel, he wins nothing but cusses and threats. 
You rush over to them, along with a few other passersby. Together, you brace yourselves against the heavy cart, and with united forces and under curses and groans, you finally manage to free the wheel. 
The little boy has bobbed himself up, his clothes and his face caked with mud and wet. He hurries to keep in step with the rolling cart, and you quicken your pace as well, reaching for a handkerchief in your pocket. 
“Here,” you mumble, holding it out to the boy. 
He hesitates to accept it at first, but then he mutters a thanks and quickly wipes his face. As he hands you the dirty piece of fabric back, he darts a careful glance at you, and his eyes suddenly go wide. 
“You?!” he asks, bewildered, and that’s when you recognize him as well, giving him a smile. 
It’s Kári, the stable boy from the Bear’s Den. Now that his face is more or less clean, you see that he looks pale and exhausted. He must have been up and slogging his guts out since the early morning. And he’ll probably be more than glad when they finally arrive at the castle. 
And that’s when you finally hit on an idea.
A suspicious frown appears on Kári's face as he notices you walking alongside him as the cart approaches the gates. 
"What-"
“Not a word! It’s not what you think,” you admonish him in a hushed tone, and for the blink of an eye, he actually remains silent. 
“I wasn’t going to say something,” he retorts then, almost a trifle annoyed. “Besides, you have no idea what I’m thinking.”
And you can’t help but smile at the little smartass. 
“Stooop!” a voice shouts before you can reply. 
Then, the cart lurches to a stand in front of the gates, and the jolt makes the wooden cart and the barrels creak alarmingly. 
“I have a load of ale for Jarl Erik. Twelve barrels,” the carter declares. 
“Check that!” orders the same voice that stopped them before. 
“Really? In that rain?” grumps another one. 
“Yes, in that rain,” the first one scoffs, imitating his voice. “Now move, slackass!” 
“And don't bother about the wet, little rat back there,” the carter shouts as the guard begins to inspect the load. 
“Your father?” you ask Kári quietly, and the boy lowers his gaze as he gives a little nod that seems somehow resigned. 
The barrels are stacked so high his father can’t see you from his spot on the box, and you hope and pray that he won’t descend right now. 
Lucky for you, it has begun to pour down again, and neither the carter nor the guards seem keen on drawing this out. 
“Wet, little rats, indeed,” the guard just mutters as he sets eyes on Kári and you behind the cart, and you politely bow your head before he continues his inspection. 
Maybe he didn’t hear Kári’s father speaking of one rat. Maybe he reckons you as the boy’s mother. Who knows...
As a matter of fact, the guard signals to open the gate, and you and Kári brace yourselves against the cart once more to help it set into motion. 
And then, you’re inside, behind the high walls, following the cart further, around the castle to a back entrance. 
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?” the boy whispers to you, holding your gaze as you eye him up for a moment. “You can trust me, you know? After all, I didn’t betray you. And I’m not going to either.” 
“Fair enough,” you mumble before you take a deep breath. “I’m looking for someone. I don’t want to harm anyone, I swear. I just need to find him.”
“And do you know where you can find him?” 
“They say there’s a feast he joins every night,” you say, more of a question than a statement. 
“Ah, I bet that’s in the hall. Listen, we'll be right there. When we stop, just walk past us and through the door. On the left are the storerooms, on the right is the kitchen. But you go straight down the long corridor, okay? Then up the stairs. And there's the hall. Just act as if you belong there!”
“Kári!” his father shouts from the box. “Come here, rascal!” 
“Good luck!” the boy whispers before he runs to the front. “Yes, father?” 
“Run ahead and let them know we're coming!”
“Of course, father!” 
And you see him take to his heels, disappearing behind the next corner. You, however, continue to walk behind the cart until it stops at the wide door that was obviously built as a passage for goods and supplies. And you manage to scurry into the building while the carter climbs down from the box with stiff legs. 
Inside, dozens of attendants and servants scurry along the corridor, carrying boxes, trays, mugs, and plates, some empty, some full of steaming food. And the delicious scent instantly makes your stomach growl. 
You quickly remove your wet cloak so as not to attract any attention to you. But where to put it? On the left are the storerooms, said Kári. And you arbitrarily enter one of them.
Inside the storeroom, your eyes need a moment to become adjusted to the darkness. But then, you recognize the barrels, boxes, and sacks, carefully arrayed along the walls. And without missing a beat, you chuck your cloak behind a barrel and make your way back to the corridor. As if you belong there, as Kári said. 
As you mount the stairs, you quickly skim over your appearance. Your hair is wet, but at least it’s not dripping. And the carefully arranged hairstyle hasn’t come apart yet. The fabric of your dress shows traces of the rain as well, but as far as you’ve seen, you’re not the only one. 
At the entrance of the hall, you’re tempted to flinch as you see the armed guards, but you force yourself to keep walking past them without batting an eyelash. And instead of pausing at the door to orient yourself, you immerse in the constant flow of servants scurrying between the tables and the guests of the feast. 
The part of the night when food is served seems to be almost over. The long tables, arranged along the walls, are full of empty mugs, plates, and platters with leftover food. You step to an abandoned table and begin to clear up and pile the plates while unobtrusively looking around. 
The hall looks beautiful with its massive ceiling beams, colorful tapestries on the walls, and richly carved tables and chairs. A fire crackles in a large fireplace, and countless candles on the tables, at the walls, and in chandeliers light up the room. 
People dance and stand together while a group of musicians plays against the laughter and exuberant conversations. The guests’ clothes and jewelry are the most sumptuous ones you have ever seen in your life. And you involuntarily think of the bedraggled houses and huts down the hill. Of the people in your village and all the others who don’t even have a home anymore. And of the battlefield and the graves, and of the men and boys who lost more than their homes. 
And there, at the high table, sits the man who is responsible for all that. 
You’ve never seen him before, but there’s no doubt that the man sitting in the middle of the long table is Jarl Erik.
His hair is long and blond, arranged in dozens of braids and adorned with silver beads. His beard is long and braided as well, almost covering the front of his richly embroidered tunic.
One might have been tempted to call him good-looking with his brawny frame and weather-beaten features, if there weren’t something cruel about him - something cruel and chilling, even as he just sits here, settled back in his chair, with a petite young woman on his lap. 
He holds a glass of wine in his hand, locking eyes with her as he brings it to her mouth. The hint of a smile plays on his lips, but as the woman opens her mouth, his free hand grabs the hair on the back of her head. And he holds her in a chokehold as he tilts the glass further, forcing her to swallow the content to the last drop.
The woman gasps in shock and chokes, red liquid spilling from the corners of her mouth. As Erik finally releases her, she coughs while he runs his hand over her face and her throat to smudge the wine all over her skin and down to her cleavage. You can hear his booming laughter despite all the noise in the hall, and the woman joins in, drunkenly swaying and giggling as he gropes her breasts. 
Hate seethes in your guts, and your hands clutch the plate and the fork as you fiercely scrape gnawed-off chicken bones, sauce, and a bitten slice of bread onto a platter. You let your gaze roam along the high table, but none of the men and women sitting there seem to care about what is happening next to them. Moreover, similar scenes take place all over the hall. 
The only point of calm in the picture is a figure sitting motionlessly in the shade of a pillar at the end of the high table, and as you look closely, the plate almost slips from your hands. 
Geralt! 
You carefully put it down, and your hands tremble uncontrollably as you step to the next table. A little closer to him. Even though you know that you mustn’t cause a stir, not on any terms, you can’t help but stare at him, trying to take in every little detail. And as you fumble around with the plates and the silverware without actually perceiving what you’re doing, it takes everything you have not to run to him.
He is dressed in a tunic and a cloak you’ve never seen on him before, but the pendant with the wolf dwells on his chest as usual, the silver gleaming light against the black fabric. He looks pale and exhausted, his golden eyes oddly dull. And the sight of the barely healed scar running over his forehead makes you swallow hard. 
You know all too well how dangerous head wounds can be, how painful and prolonged, especially if they’re not treated correctly. There should be a bandage on his wound, ointment, and for a certainty, he should rest instead of sitting here and… drinking? 
You involuntarily knit your brows as you notice his unsteady hand and posture as he raises a glass to his mouth. His eyes, however, are fastened on Erik, who has pulled the woman on his lap at this point, grabbing and squeezing her butt for the whole hall to see as he captures her lips in a heated kiss. And it is only when the woman sitting next to Geralt leans in that he averts his gaze. 
You haven’t really noticed her before, but now you see that the woman looks stunning, and her showy dress emphasizes her beauty even more. Her appearance is the complete opposite of you, and a lump forms in your throat as you watch her put her hand on your husband’s arm in an almost intimate way.
She leans closer until her breasts nearly brush against him as she whispers something into his ear. And she giggles as his lips curl into the hint of a smile. He doesn’t touch her, but he doesn’t push her away either, and his features seem distinctly more relaxed than before.
Erik’s finest whores scramble to get laid by him - that was what the men in the inn said. 
So, is it true? Is she his chosen one for tonight? 
And then, you suddenly feel as if someone twisted a knife in the stab wound the men's words had already left. 
As you turn away, you struggle to stand upright. And you start walking without looking where you’re going, slowly at first, then faster, and then you bump straight into someone rushing toward the high table.  
The clash makes your teeth knock together, and then something drops and smashes to pieces on the ground. For the length of a few heartbeats, the lanky servant and you struggle for balance. Then, you gaze down at the shards and the puddle of deep-red wine on the floorboards in horror. And everyone flinches as an infuriated yell echoes through the hall. 
“Go get her!” 
Blood prickles in your veins as you run off, but even before you reach the entrance of the hall, a guard pounces on you. His armor-clad body crashes against you, sending you flying. And you yelp in pain as you hit the floor. 
The man’s hands capture you in a painful grip as he heaves you to your feet and drags you to the high table. To Erik.
And the imminent danger makes you struggle, makes you fight with tooth and nail, and the guard howls with pain as your nails dig bloody lines into his skin. But then his fist meets your stomach, pushing the air out of your lungs. For a moment, you go limp in his chokehold, gasping for air and trying to choke back the bile rising in your throat while tears cloud your vision. 
In front of the high table, you hit the ground once more, and just when you’re about to bob up, another hand grabs you by the throat, pulling you upward. Its grip is painful and merciless, and once again, you struggle for breath. 
As you stand on your feet, you find yourself eye-in-eye with Jarl Erik. His features are distorted with rage, his teeth bared, and his nostrils flared like a mad bull. But the most terrifying thing are his eyes. Their color is a pretty, light blue, but they’re cold and hard, and there’s not a spark of compassion to be seen in them. 
“My, my, look who we've caught here,” he casually says into the deadly silence in the hall, whereas his hand squeezes your throat so firmly that your lungs scream for air. 
And just as you see sparks at the edge of your field of vision, you hear a familiar voice. 
“Let go of her!” 
And your eyes stray until you finally see him. 
Geralt shot up from his seat, standing upright at the high table without any signs of drunkenness, while his gaze seems to pierce straight into Erik’s head. 
“Witcher!” Erik says with unconcealed surprise. “Why should I? She wasted a whole jug of wine. Don’t you know how expensive that shit is? I should whip her! One stroke for every glass she wasted, what do you think?”
“Let go of her!” Geralts growls again.
This time, the threat in his voice is clearly audible, and then he slowly steps down the platform and toward you and Erik.  
His gaze only brushes you, and you clench your teeth so as not to show any reaction that could give you away. 
Erik, however, pulls you closer to him, manhandling you in front of him like a shield, and you involuntarily shudder as his chest presses you against your back, and his breath sweeps along your neck. 
“You’re serious, huh? But so am I. However, I’m might be willing to negotiate... let’s say… if you could give me a bloody good reason why I shouldn’t tan her hide. Maybe she could serve me in a different way and work off her debts. So, tell me, Witcher, why should I let her go?” 
“Because she’s my wife,” Geralt says slowly, fastening his golden eyes on you, and no one who has heard or seen him here would ever dare to doubt his words. 
As the words are out, the whole hall seems to hold its breath. However, immediately afterward, a soft murmur of voices sets in, just to fall silent as Erik grabs your arm and spins you around to face him, with so much force you almost stumble and fall. 
For a few excruciatingly long moments, he squeezes your arm so hard you almost whimper, and you can’t help but feel like a mouse in the claws of an eagle.
“Your wife?” he drawls as his piercing gaze eyes you up, and yet it’s not you but Geralt to whom his words are directed. “I didn’t know you had a wife. You never even mentioned her,” he says with a mocking smile, and even though you clench your teeth, something in your face must have given you away because a wolfish grin creeps upon his face. 
The grin doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s rather a grimace - the grimace of a man teetering on the verge of lunacy, and it makes your flesh crawl.
“Which is a shame indeed. Look how pretty she is! I mean, she could definitely use a bath,” he says, scrunching up his nose, and now you really get a good mind to spit on his face despite everything, which in turn doesn’t go unnoticed. “And so feisty! Look how she’s glaring at me!” he chuckles, and before you know it, he pushes you off, sending you flying once more. 
This time, Geralt is there before you hit the floor. He catches you, pressing you against his chest for the tiniest moment before he maneuvers you halfway behind him, so his broad form shields you a bit from Erik’s gaze. 
“Well, I bet she’ll be a joy to have around,” Erik continues nonchalantly, “and she’ll enjoy my hospitality as well from now on. And none of you should ever forget how hospitable I’ve been toward you!” 
And then, you suddenly feel as if you’re trapped under a heavy rock threatening to crush you alive. You’re a captive. A captive in Erik’s castle. And your fingers involuntarily dig into the fabric of Geralt’s tunic as you nuzzle closer, as if your body seeks his protection.
“We won’t forget it,” Geralt replies. His voice is calm, his tone dry, and there’s a tang of ambiguity and irony in it. 
It's so typical and incorrigible that you almost roll your eyes. And there’s no doubt that Erik heard it as well. 
“Good,” he states, and once again, a lunatic grin flickers across his features. Like a man who just picked up the gauntlet, looking forward to the bloody fight. 
And then, he chuckles, sloppily waving his hand. “You may show her to your room now, Witcher. I bet you two have a lot to… talk about.” 
He winks at you, and then he turns away, signaling the musicians to start playing again. 
Within a few moments, the hall looks like a colorful hustle and bustle again, but in contrast to earlier, the wanton mood around you arose from Erik’s command. You hear the whispering, and you see the sneaking looks dwelling on Geralt and you, and yet, none of it matters to you. 
Because he is here, right next to you, and so close that your bodies touch, and somehow you miss him even more than before. Your whole body hurts from the encounter with Erik and his men, and maybe your heart hurts even more. Still, your hand is more than reluctant to ease its grip around Geralt's tunic. And just when you finally made it, he reaches out, clasping your hand in his.
His skin feels almost hot against yours, suddenly making you aware of how cold you are, and you fail to suppress the shiver running through your limbs. 
“Come with me, Little Bird,” he mumbles softly, and you let him usher you out of the hall without objection.  
You carefully take step by step as you walk up the stairs, along a corridor, and up the stairs again. The corridors are as cold as the winter and manned by guards, and you’re more than aware of their vigilant eyes never leaving you unobserved. 
As Geralt unlocks the door to one of the chambers, you tremble in every limb, and you would have probably fallen to the floor if he hadn’t drawn you inside, backing you up against the closed door. And then, he clasps your smaller form in his arms, forcing his forehead against yours.
You feel his panting breath against your lips as his mouth hovers over yours, moving without a sound coming out, and all you want is to kiss him, kiss him and taste him and his love that you’ve been so certain of for so long. Until tonight. 
A sob escapes your lips as you turn your head away, and another one follows as you see hurt and confusion seep into his eyes, mixing with concern and longing into a restless maelstrom.
“Little Bird,” he whispers urgently. “Please say something. Anything! I need to know how you got here. I need to know if you’re okay. I need… I missed you so much!” 
“Did you really?” you manage to squeeze out. 
“What?” 
“M-miss me.”
“I missed you day and night. I missed you in every single moment. Why would you even think that I didn’t?” he inquires, cradling your face in his hands.
“The woman next to you in the hall…,” you mutter with trembling lips. “And… and they say down in the town that… that Erik’s w-whores scramble to get l-laid… by you.” 
“No!” he objects fiercely, shaking his head. “No, that’s not true! I’ve never been unfaithful to you!” 
Nevertheless, tears begin to roll down your cheeks, and your gaze shirks from his. 
“Please believe me,” he mutters, agonized, and then he drops to his knees. “I would never do that! I did take one of them to my chamber every night, but only to let them sleep here. I guess you’ve seen what happens in the hall, and tonight, it was downright tame. And the reason they scrambled to come with me was because they knew they had nothing to fear from me. I let them sleep on the divan while I slept in the bed, and I swear I have never touched any of them.”
His hands clutch your hips, and as you remain silent, he lets his forehead sink against your belly. “I’m all yours, Little Bird. And I love you so much. Until Ragnarök and beyond!” he mumbles, his voice muffled and almost imploring.  
The warmth of his breath and his body begins to penetrate the fabric of your dress until you can feel it on your skin. And you begin to feel him again, his pain and his genuineness, his longing and his love. And that's when you know it.
You slowly raise your hand and put it on his head, and it trembles ever-so-slightly as you gently stroke his hair. 
“I love you, too,” you say softly.
You feel his broad shoulders quake with a silent sigh of relief, and then he hugs you tighter, wrapping his arms around you as he nestles his face against your belly.  
As he raises his head to look at you, you want to drown in his churning eyes. But you also long to soothe the maelstrom, and you cradle his face in your hands. 
“Until Ragnarök and beyond,” you reassure him, brushing your fingertips over the stubble on his jawline. 
And you feel him shiver under your touch, longing surging up wildly in his gaze, and this time, you can not, do not want to, withstand. 
You drop to your knees as well, throwing yourself into his arms, and as he grabs you, pressing you to his body, your lips find each other like they used to and like you know they always will.
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Author’s Note: When I decided to continue this story after the first part, this is where I thought it would end. But now that we’re here, I’m afraid it isn’t over yet. Therefore: to be continued, lovelies!
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leighsartworks216 · 6 months
Text
I Come With Knives Pt2
Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader
Part 1
I am posting this at almost 1am AND I have to get up early tomorrow to do work for class before the actual class haha I plan my time accordingly
I was going to make this chapter longer. I had an idea and I started to write it, but it just wasn't coming out like I wanted it to (bc I'm writing at 12am duh) so I'm gonna put that in another chapter
Warnings: mentions of torture, trauma, hints of paranoia, hints of self-deprecation
Word Count: 1,390
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After a grueling battle yesterday, you chose to give everyone a day off. It gave them time to rest aching muscles, repair and sharpen weapons, relax. It gave you a chance to bathe.
You didn't neglect your hygiene, but most of the time, once camp was set up, the sun would be dipping below the horizon. On those days, you'd run into the water, scrub the gunk out of your hair and get out, back to the safety of company before the first stars faded in. Now that you had the chance, you weren't going to squander it.
Once you were certain you were alone - an uncomfortable thought soothed only by the sun filtering in through the canopy above - you stripped down and waded into the water. It was cool, but not unpleasantly so. You wasted no time scraping the dirt and blood off your skin.
Once you cleaned your body within an inch of its life, you ducked your head under the water and scrubbed at your hair and scalp. It was disgusting - you could only imagine the smell your companions had put up with this last week. You were just so happy you were clean. Your hair was smooth as water soaked it through, no knots or clumps of blood to be found. As you squeezed out the excess water, you caught your reflection between the ripples. In moments where it stilled enough, you could see the scar on your neck. It was still deep and prominent, but it was beginning to heal. It'd never healed before.
"Enjoying yourself?"
You nearly shrieked when you turned, sinking into the water up to your neck for protection. Astarion chuckled at your reaction.
"Would it kill you to stop sneaking up on me?"
"I was practically stomping like an ogre, dear, it's hardly my fault you weren't paying attention." You shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. It was your fault you let your guard down. In the day, you were safe from (most) vampires, but there were any number of things ready to attack at any moment. "Mind if I join you?"
You shake your head, but you're already wading to shore to grab your clothes. "No, go ahead. I'm done."
"Leaving already?" You nod, not making eye contact. "I won't look, darling, if that's what's got you so flustered."
You pause mid reach for your shirt as he removes his, placing it haphazardly on a rock by the water's edge. His pants came next and you looked away until you heard the water sloshing around him.
"Though, I don't mind if you look," he teased, sparing one last glance over his shoulder before he got to work cleaning himself.
Gods, if he could hear the way your heart raced... You peek over, just a glance, before you look back at your clothes. But then you're looking again.
An intricate scar of circles, lines, and curved symbols marred his back. You feel your throat close just looking at it. You'd been forced to watch spawn and slaves alike punished by the cracking of a whip. Forced to keep your eyes forward by a hand on your jaw as the leather snapped and tore into their skin. This was worse. This was deliberate.
"Did..." You swallow, forcing your voice not to crack with the sorrow you felt for him. "Did your master do this?"
He hummed, continuing to wash his arms as though you'd asked him about the weather. The only hint it bothered him at all was the way his muscles tensed and the disdain in his voice. "Cazador," he spat. "He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas." His movements slowed to a stop. "He composed and carved that one over the course of a night. He made... a lot of revisions as he went."
You couldn't stop staring. Your mind kept replaying the torture you witnessed, but it replaced their cries with Astarion's voice. You hated to be so lucky. To be so fortunate that your master wanted you to look absolutely perfect and unmarked. You never received physical punishment. You were too precious.
"I'm sorry," you whisper, shakily. "If I could, I'd..." What? Remove the markings forever? Take away his pain and suffering? Go back and change everything so he never had to be a puppet? You couldn't do anything. You can't help. You can't remove that pain. All you can do is witness the aftermath.
He sighed and ducked his head so he could wash his hair. Drops of water slid down his back, only drawing your eyes in further. “It won’t matter when we get to Baldur’s Gate. I’m going to kill that bastard for everything he did to me.”
You know you should leave. Put on your clothes and slink away. But… being around Astarion isn’t entirely unpleasant. You’re still a little scared of him - of what he could do, but you trust him enough to believe he wouldn’t do those things. He probably understood your plight better than anyone else.
So, you slide down into the water until you’re resting on your knees in the silt. It doesn’t quite cover your neck unless you duck deeper in. You want to hide the scar, the damn mark showing everyone else who - or rather, what you belonged to. But it felt wrong to try hiding it when Astarion was fully showing you his.
“I never asked who your master was.” He turns his head slightly, eyes just barely catching sight of you. He did promise he wouldn’t look, after all. “Where she…” He waved a hand noncommittally and scowled. “Rules.”
Her eyes flash in your mind, wicked and burning. You almost flinch just thinking about them. When you speak her name, your voice trembles. “Kir Parthene. I… don’t remember where she lives. It’s been years since I’ve even been outside - I must have forgotten.”
He slowly turns, giving you time to tell him to turn back again, but you don’t. You watch him through a fog of memories. “How long were you enslaved?”
It’s harder to answer than you thought it would be. Time begins to blur when you can’t tell if it’s night or day, when everything is fuzzy and incoherent because you never had enough blood to think straight. Sometimes she’d feed and then leave you for days. Others, she never wanted to stop feeding - drinking from you morning and night before you ever got a chance to recover. You were a slave to her hunger - time never mattered.
“I was… 16 when I was taken.” You wrap your arms around yourself. Safe. “I don’t even remember home. My parents… I’m all alone.”
He’d never heard your voice so small before. You weren’t the most demanding leader, but you could still bark commands when things were getting rough. You even held yourself well in conversation, shutting down lopsided deals or uncomfortable topics with all the authority of a royal guard. It was easier, seeing you like this, to imagine your life in servitude. Meek and quiet.
“That’s not entirely true.” He kneeled in the silt a few feet from you, smirking. “You have us for as long as this adventure lasts, as long as we don’t transform into tentacled Mind Flayers.”
“And then after that?” He shifts uncomfortably at the question. “Everyone will go their separate ways, and when you do I’m a sitting duck. I’ll be captured again. Used again.”
You trail off, but the weight of your words sit heavy. You’ll never be free. You could help everyone else with their quests, help them free themselves from what ties them down, help them get stronger - but the same couldn’t be done for you. Without knowing where your master lives, there’s no way to seek her out and kill her, too.
The water is too cold now. The cool summer breeze only freezes you more. Astarion watches as you get up and slink back over to your clothes. He looks away before he can see anything you wouldn’t want him to. In no time at all, your clothes are back on and you’ve pulled on your boots. But before you walk away, you turn to him. Your eyes are so sad.
“Thank you. For… showing me.” He says nothing. So you head back to camp. Alone.
---
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