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jacesbeloved · 2 years

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for the kingdom: part III

summary: being the youngest daughter of alicent, you hadn’t known what it was like to feel restraint until you had been betrothed to the eldest son of queen rhaenyra for a pact. for who? for the kingdom

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

warnings: violence, mentions of blood, themes of burning (??), very mild nsfw (consented), y/n is actually way more manipulative nd evil than u might think

part: I, II, III, IV

a/n: not rlly my fav work/part but it’s a plot point sooo >< this took me such a long time to proofread (this is like 4k words) and stuff gosh anyway i hope u guys like it!

Silence.

That was everything that was inside the tent after one word from Jace's mouth.

He blinked a few times when he watched you pull away, sitting back in your place across from him as the two of you breathed heavily. Tension is rotting both of you away.

You lick your lips, only now noticing how dry they were. Your face was back to its blank look like it used to be, narrowing your eyes as you went by him to head out of the tent, not being able to withstand what just happened while Jacaerys rushed to follow you.

"Did I just get turned down?" You thought to yourself. The mere idea of being turned down damages your ego far more than you imagined. Because of it, you rushed out. Talking to your husband is the last thing on your mind right now.

Jacaerys calls out your name as he too slips out of the tent, seeing you under the tree talking to Cregan. The man sighs, taking a sip of wine from his canteen before grimacing.

Various men approached him after a second of standing outside of their tent, talking to him about the animals they caught as well as their admiration for you, the princess.

He had to put on a fake smile for them, thinking it was just genuine admiration they had for you.

When he glanced back in your direction, there were a lot of people within your circle. When he saw you whisper something to one of the boys, his eyes narrowed, and the boy looked at you with wide eyes before nodding frantically.

You let out a fake giggle at his eagerness, laughing internally at how easy it was to have boys do your bidding just by having them believe such gullible things as having a date with you.

With your dismissal, the people surrounding you eventually dispersed, and you watched quietly as they ate, drank, and even fished by the trees.

Jace shook himself, sobering up before he poured the leftover wine in his canteen onto the grass, gathering confused stares from the ones with him. He excused himself from the men around him, smiling tightly as he made his way towards you.

The young prince sits on an empty log beside you, thankful that Cregan had been distracted enough not to notice him sitting there, saving him from possibly drinking even more than he already has.

You ignored his presence there, brushing off the looks the maidens gave you when they saw your husband behind you. They discreetly tried to tell you that he was behind you—with subtle waves, widened eyes, and obvious glares—but you ignored them.

When Jace cleared his throat, thinking it could possibly catch your attention, you turned your whole body in the opposite direction. He sighs as he is faced with your back.

He gets out of his seat, and the maidens giggle as they stare at him. You clenched your jaw, your patience running thin.

The both of you look shortly at each other, not really having the stomach and pride to look at each other for long, you stood up. He breathes heavily, walking away from the fire, and you follow him without any questions, dreading each step.

When he stops, you stop as well.

You notice that he brought both of you a bit far from the bonfire—not super far, but far enough to not let the other men see you both alone.

You two stand there in awkward silence. You take a step away from him to lean on a tree, crossing your arms on your chest as you glare at him.

"What do you want?" You ask loudly and in a monotone.

Jace licks his teeth subtly before taking a cautious step toward you. He awkwardly waves his hand, staring quietly at his feet.

"I'm sorry for earli-"

"Apology accepted. Good bye," you said as you walked away from the tree, and Jace, perplexed by your actions, drew you back by your arm.

"Hear me out first," he says quietly and you glare at him. "I was.. drunk. I didn't want something to happen to us when we're drunk. It's... different. When you left, I didn't want you to think that there was something about you, because there isn't," he stammers.

"Jace, it was just a kiss." You paused to emphasize on it. "Don't make it any bigger than it actually is. I assumed, and I was mistaken," you scoffed. "I shouldn't have expected anything more from you."

Jace's eyes looked down apologetically, pursing his lips as he nodded. "I apologize again."

You laugh sarcastically at him. "Jace, if you weren't drunk, would it have made any difference?" It was his turn to look at you weirdly, his forehead contorting as he tilted his head a bit, confused at the way you were laughing at him.

The prince remained silent, his lips opening ever so slightly before he closed them. Dozens of thoughts and possible responses ran through his head, but he remained quiet.

That simple action gave you every response you needed.

You walk away from the man, going back to the bonfire, only for your eyes to widen at the sight.

A naked man running to the flames, his screams deathly frightening as he frantically patted himself off, trying to stop the fire from spreading throughout his body. The people around him were all alarmed, desperately trying to get some water for him.

Jace immediately ran over to you, holding you by your shoulders as he saw what you were seeing. The two of you snapped at each other with both of your eyes wide.

Then a simple chuckle escapes your lips. You didn't even know why you laughed; there was something that entertained you, something that took away your boredom from that very moment. Jace glared at you, appalled by the fact that you were chuckling. It took him a second to look closely at the man before he recognized him as well.

The boy on fire was the same one who had asked for a chance with you the day before.

"My prince, princess!" One of the guards from the Red Keep calls out to the both of you, running to your side. Jace glared at you, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

The guard tried to say something, but it was obvious from the way he looked that he was equally shocked and frightened by the boy's screams.

"He's saying the princess made him do it!" He says. You gulp at the sudden news, recognizing the guard as one of your sworn guards. You turned to Jace with an unexplainable look on your face, and he looked back at you speechless.

Jace turns back to the guard. "What do you mean? Who was that?" He follows the guard back to the fire, where they were already pouring water on the boy, grimacing at the sight of the burns on his body.

"Prince Jacaerys!" Cregan approaches both of you, your guard shifting defensively to your side.

The two men face each other, Jace's jaw clenching in response to Cregan's stern expression.

"Where's the princess? This boy walked into the fires, yelling your wife's name," Cregan raged, pointing to the panting and writhing boy on the ground.

"Her! It was her! You promised me!" He screamed at you when your guard moved to the side. You moved back in shock, seeing Jace's arm come in front of you in a protective manner, shielding you from the other men coming close.

You acted scared, frowning at the burned boy's death glare at you. While you looked at Cregan with the softest eyes you'd ever seen.You tried your best, acting unaware of what was happening.

Cregan sighs, nudging his head over to the boy, commanding his men to bring him to the maesters. Once he saw that his men were already attending to the boy, he went towards you and Jace.

The women and men around you began to gossip, their inaudible chatter becoming louder than the owls hooting in the trees. You glared at them, analyzing each of their faces with your eyebrow raised, before you turned back to the two men.

Jace looked only once towards the crowd, followed by Cregan, and the chattering died down almost immediately. They scurried back to their tents, where they could gossip in peace.

"I hope you don't hold the sudden commotion against me, my prince, we were all shocked. He just ran to the fire and stayed there for a second. He kept babbling on about the princess' promise for him, but I haven't seen them together." Cregan brings it up while adjusting his shirt.

"What do you think, my prince?"

Jace glances at you before he withdraws his hand, pulling you close to him by your wrist and making you yelp.

"I..." He pauses for a long time, swallowing harshly, before he loosens his grip on your wrist, only noticing now how tight his grip was.

You look away from him; it would only take him one sentence to turn every person around you against you. He knew that the boy earlier was one of your playthings, one of your gullible boys during the hunt, and with just one confirmation or word from him that you did know the boy, you were done for.

The man visibly stiffens up, unsure of how to respond, while you and Cregan look at him expectantly.

"I was with her the whole night and day. I can assure you, Lord Cregan, my wife has never been near that boy." He reassured, nodding slowly as you exhaled a relieved breath.

The days that followed the hunt were tense and awkward.

Jace couldn't bring himself to be near you for more than what was needed, he kept thinking about how he lied for you and the screams of the innocent boy.

One side of him had been pestering him, telling him that what he did was below everything his mother had taught. Him lying for you, ignoring the accountability that you should have taken because of your actions, letting you go without any punishment all continued to eat at his conscience. Every time his eyes closed, he always remembered the screams of that boy.

However, the other side of him applauded him. You are his future queen, the woman who will bear and raise his children. Your protection and well-being, no matter how difficult they may be, should always be his priority. He even swore to always be with you and stand by you during your wedding. If he were to say the opposite of what he said that night, he wouldn't be able to keep any of his priorities or his vows.

Daemon is not innocent; he did bad things just to protect his wife, Jace's mother. Viserys surely isn't as well, for the protection of his wife. But here's Jace beating himself up because of it.

He never spoke about that night with you again; he was always so tensed and awkward around you. When it came to night, the barrier between the two of you became bigger and bigger. While you snored peacefully, Jacaerys moved closer to his side.

Eventually, some of the people in Winterfell noticed this, thinking maybe it was just one of many conflicts as a married couple.

You, on the other hand, hated how he was acting. "If he's going to keep acting like this, we might as well separate." You found yourself thinking to yourself at times, glaring at him whenever you could, a dirty expression on your face as he interacted with everyone but you.

This night, you were alone in your room. Your bedside was peacefully empty, as it had been for the past two days, with no worries about where or what Jace was doing. It was in the middle of the night; he couldn't possibly have any affairs or things to do with Cregan at this hour, but you couldn't care less. He could be fucking a whore, and you wouldn't bat an eyelash at that; you're used to your brother, Aegon, mentioning such activities.

Someone suddenly emerges from a hidden doorway, from the wall covered by a curtain. You stare in confusion as Jace walks in normally, stepping back in surprise when he saw you.

He awkwardly scratches the back of his head, hanging his coat on a hanger. "I'm sorry if I have woken you..."

"Was it that hard to lie?" You asked directly, standing up from the bed with your arms crossed. His eyebrows furrowed, shaking his head a bit in confusion.

"Let's not kid ourselves, Jace. You've been acting like I've murdered someone and asked you to seal your lips for me. I didn't even ask you to. I could have gotten myself out of that situation myself." You start off, "I don't care if you're distancing yourself from me, I'd actually like that! But at least tell me what you are doing; if you're fucking another person or if you'd rather not be near me, tell me. So I can plan how to make this shit marriage work. The more we act like this, the more we'll get in trouble with our mothers."

"How is it so easy for you?" Jace replies quietly, with his head hanging down, biting at his lips.

"What is?"

"That boy, an innocent boy, almost died from his burns because of your silly games, Y/N. You made him run into the fire in exchange for your hand, and you're married! You act like it's nothing. Laughing at the matter as if it is just a mere performance when it is a life, Y/N." Jace was enraged, his voice as loud as it had ever been. "And I lied about it.." He whispers after, massaging his scalp as he sat down on one of the chairs, obviously troubled by the guilt.

"You just lied, Jace. A little white lie. It's not like you killed someone."

You sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed that was face to face with the chair he sat on. You didn't care, honestly speaking.

He's right; to you, it was nothing more than a show, a distraction from your boredom that night. But Jace knew nothing—at least nothing that would alter his opinion in light of what you did.

"That boy wasn't innocent, Jacaerys, trust me. And you aren't as well; none of us are. Did you not understand that the moment you lied for me?" You spoke in a low tone, his head slowly rising to stare at you, "You'll never be a king if you think all is nice and good, Jacaerys."

"How do you think our ancestors became rulers? By asking nicely?" You laugh mockingly.

"They were evil, Jace. They killed, they lied, they cheated, and they played dirty! But all of that doesn't matter because it's all for us. Every evil thing they did, every life they gave up, every bad thing they thought of and did, it was all for their subjects, for the kingdom they ruled."

You watch the dilemma further intensify in Jacaerys' face, different thoughts conflicting in his head. Leaning against the stone wall, he watched the guards monitor the area, the torches in their hands lighting their pathways.

"How is that connected? When you told him to run into the fires, was it for the common good? Was it necessary? Did it save anyone?"

You sealed your lips at Jace's rhetorical questions, waiting for him to calm down as you saw him start to get angry at the subject. He notices the cautious look on your face, and so he sits back down on the chair in front of you.

He inhaled deeply. Part of him was relieved that he had finally gotten everything off his chest, but another part was also scared he might yell at you.

"I'm your wife, you are my husband. You should side with me, always." You stood up, walking to Jace as he looked up at you from his seat.

There had been something different when Jace looked into your eyes—something that pulled him differently.

In his mind, there were no longer two opposing sides; now, there was only one.

He rose from his seat, staring at you in silence as he was now looking down on you from his place.

Your forehead scrunched as you felt the air around both of you change, feeling a pair of hands go over the side of your bare arms, harshly pulling you close. Jace paused for a moment to look at you, licking his lips before he notices your slight nod, throwing every bit of rationality out of the window because of it.

The feeling of his lips hastily and aggressively attaching themselves to yours caught you off guard. Both of your eyes closed as you reciprocated the aggression, swiping your tongue against Jace's lips as you placed your arms around his neck, pulling him down.

He held the side of your face, tilting it a bit as he deepened the kiss. He leaned his body weight onto yours, the both of you stumbling before you hit the bedpost with an audible gasp.

You glared at him when he pulled away, his lips already pink and puffy.

"Get used to lying for me, I'm sure you could do that for your wife." You spoke quickly with one sharp intake of breath.

The sides of Jace's lips rise a bit, scoffing audibly before he kisses you once more. This time, much more aggressive than before. Tangling his tongue with yours as the two of you fought for dominance, his hands rushed to unbutton the buckles in front of his coat.

You pull roughly at the hair behind his head, pulling Jacaerys away with a teasing grin. He hissed at that, scowling at you.

"You are so insufferable," Jace mumbles before he pushes you softly onto the bed. He pulled off his vest as he went on top of you, harshly kissing your jaw while you held him close.

He starts sucking on various parts of your neck, his hands moving all over your body, making you mewl as you close your eyes. You felt his lips smile on your skin while leaving kisses on the places that he bit.

Right before he pulls off your nightgown, you felt him halt.

Your brows furrowed, slowly opening your eyes, only to see Jacaerys looking cautiously around the room, his nose scrunching as the smell started to invade your nose as well.

It smelled like fire, like something was burning.

You jerked up almost immediately, a hand on your chest as you took a quick look around. Smoke began to come in from the chamber door. Jace quickly turned over, pulling a random tunic from his closet. "There's something burning, stay here," he announces lowly, walking to the door.

You roll your eyes in disbelief; he just left you. Nonetheless, you stand up from the bed itself, walking to the window while Jace slowly opens the door. Smoke came into the chambers while the smell of the fire intensified as you approached the window. Your eyes squint at the foggy window, and you wave your hand by your face because of the smoke before a bright flame catches your attention.

Only then did it hit you that the fire wasn't inside the house; it was outside.

"Jace-"

A blade was put to your throat the moment you turned around. A boy that was a few centimeters taller than you with bandages all over his body, dark spots on his face. You gulped as you recognized him.

"I thought, the prince would be the one here..." he starts off, clutching your face tightly as he moves you away from the window. You gripped his arm as hard as you could, struggling to pull it off your jaw. "Doesn't matter. At least I'd get to collect your debt, running into the fire isn't exactly an... easy play. Acting like a gullible fool wasn't as well."

Your eyes flickered helplessly towards the door, hearing hard knocks from the outside and the door handle hitting loudly. He grabs your face with his other hand, pulling it in his direction with a wicked grin. "It's locked, princess."

He pulls off the bandage from one of his wrists, the one that wasn't holding you. Your forehead contorts as you see a familiar brand on it. He's from Essos, a member of the triarchy to be exact. "H-how did you get here?" You gritted your teeth when he pushed the blade closer as you spoke.

You don't get a response or a reaction from him, he merely stares at you. His fingers soon find themselves on your bare shoulders. "D'you know how many people have mistaken me for a boy?" He pulls you close to his lips, whispering in your ear, letting his foreign accent seep through his voice. You stiffened when you felt him lightly push aside the thin string of your nightdress.

"Think, Y/N." You screamed in your head, eyes blinking rapidly as you tried to think of something. Soon enough, you found yourself leaning back into the bed on your own accord as the man's eyebrow raised at your action, his grip on the blade loosening a bit as he let you do it. He paid close attention to your every move, like a predator to his prey.

You kept your eyes on him, pulling your leg up to make the ends of your dress hike up, and you felt a bit relieved as you saw his eyes go down your legs. He quickly stalks up to you, pressing his blade once more against your neck pulse.

"Don't jester with me, Hightower." He threatens, speaking the family name like something rotten.

"You said you wanted to get your end of the bargain, right?" You chuckled shakily, and he smirked as he watched you pull off the other string of your gown, his eyes feasting on your bare chest as he pulled down the front of your gown.

When you hear something clanging, you both turn quickly in that direction. Your eyes widen when you see Jacaerys, and you take a split second to grab a random golden vase from your bedside and smack the man's head as hard as you can.

"Took you long enough!" You yelled at Jace, glaring at him while the loud echo from the vase rang throughout the room. The man groaned loudly. Jace was about to reply when he saw the way the man's grip on the blade loosened before tightening once more around its handle.

He lunged towards him, pulling the man off of you as he pinned him down on the wooden floor with a loud thump, throwing away the blade from his grip. You pulled up the strings of your gown, running to their side and seeing Jace land a punch on him, the man under him trying to overpower him.

You sighed loudly, dropping down to the draping under the bed as you looked for the blade that Jace took away from the man. Once you managed to grab its handle, you pushed Jace off of him, driving the blade straight into his shoulder. What you did makes Jace's eyes widen. Your jaw clenched while you pulled the blade out before stabbing him once more. This time, in his chest, close to his heart.

His screams filled your chambers; what might sound like pure agony to Jace sounded like music to you. The man could have killed you as soon as you turned around, without any struggle, but it was his biggest mistake not doing so.

Right before you stab him the third time, Jace pulls you off. Taking the blade from your hand and dropping it to the floor. The two of you stare blankly at each other, chests heaving at what just happened. Everything happened so quickly—one moment you two were kissing, and then in the next you were already stabbing someone.

You blinked at the body on the bedroom floor, gulping as you saw the man panting for air, his hand covering the parts you had stabbed.

Jace watched you stare blankly at the body, also shocked at the sudden turn of events.

The two of you looked towards the doorway wherein Jace had entered, seeing Cregan and some of the guards of Winterfell with him. His eyes turned from the body on the floor to you and your bloodied hands, to Jace, and finally to the body laying on the floor. He gives one look to his guards, and they unlock your chamber's door. More men come in as they pull the body away.

Jace approaches your side, just as silent as you were. Cregan walks over to talk to the both of you, not before you beat him to speaking first.

"Me and my husband will be returning to King's Landing at first light on dragonback. Do tell your commanders to notify our guards of the decision." Jace turns to you. "Also, we will be bringing the man with us to face trial on charges of arson and attempted murder against the prince and princess."

Cregan looked to Jace for confirmation, concerned by your blank expression. You kept your face straight as you looked at Cregan, not bothering to look at Jacaerys.

"It is in my desire that you understand and accept my wife's decision, my lord. Her safety had been put at risk, as had mine.” He confirms, warily placing an arm around you.

You tilt your head, waiting for the lord's response. When he accepts your decision, saying that he'll arrange everything, you get to breathe again, walking away from the two men as you opened your cabinet and grabbed a new gown. You turned to them, raising an eyebrow before Cregan nodded, leaving the room and having servants clean the mess on the floor.

"I told you, didn’t I?" You brought up when you and Jace were alone, the prince glancing at you. "He wasn't nice."

hearts, reactions, replies, and reblogs are very appreciated if you liked the story! <3 ^w^

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lykegenia · 8 months

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So something has been bugging me for a while now about A and N’s backstories, and while I know not everyone will be as pedantic as me, as someone who loves history and has done a lot of writing, I feel that if you’re going to write a story about vampires and give them a specific time and date of origin, then there should be a certain level of research that goes into making that background authentic. I'm not saying that Mishka didn’t do any research. It just seems that in order to keep the vibe of a happy, mellow fantasy some of the less savoury aspects of A and N’s upbringings have been left out, and it's a shame. To be honest, it feels a bit disingenuous, and it feels like an opportunity got wasted.

Let me explain (long post got long, it's 2am)

Let's take A first, since the problem is simpler here.

A is the child of a Norman lord and an Anglo-Saxon noblewoman, born in the first generation after the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. A says that these were turbulent times but that their parents had a happy marriage. Which. While I’m sure a lot of unions in that time period made the best of it, I can’t help but feel this description strips away a lot of the context of what was going on at that point in history - and removes some of the complexity about A’s thoughts on love and relationships.

Basically, after he took control of the throne, William the Conqueror stripped many Anglo-Saxon lords of their lands and titles so he could give them to his Norman buddies instead - with the added bonus that it left the Anglo-Saxons without the means to raise armies against him. The sisters, daughters, and widows of the dispossessed Anglo-Saxons were then forced to marry these new Norman lords to legitimise their power, not infrequently after all of their male relatives had been slaughtered. It’s not as if Anglo-Saxon women weren’t used to being used as political chess pieces, but the years after the conquest were brutal. It’s why William had to build so many castles. The point that I’m trying to make is that even if A’s mother was content enough in her daily life, due to the power imbalance between her and her husband, it's very likely she had little choice in the matter. She may have seen a lot of her family killed for political reasons, with the knowledge that – in an age where women had very little protection outside of their paternal household – she might be next if she made too much of a fuss.

It would be fascinating to see what effect that tension has had on A 900 years later, or even to get an acknowledgement of how much times have changed, but we don’t. We don't see how their early years affected them, how they view relationships formed naturally instead of via political contracts. And I really, really wish we did. There is so much potential there.

But A is not the one keeping me up past 2 in the morning. It’s N, and the utter detachment their backstory seems to have from the period in history they lived in as a human. And it all stems from the fact that they came from the English nobility in the late 1600s.

See, the bulk of the problem is that English inheritance law at the time heavily favoured primogeniture, where a man’s wealth would go to his first-born son. Some dispensation was made for widows and other children, but the estates, assets, and most of the money had a very clear destination.

For one thing, this makes it kinda weird that N’s stepfather would have needed an heir before he could inherit, because except in extreme circumstances everything would have gone to him anyway. Don't get me wrong, this isn't the worst part of the problem, it’s just annoying when there are more plausible reasons for him marrying a woman already pregnant with another man’s child (old family friend wanting to save her from disgrace, needed the dowry to pay off gambling debts, there was a longstanding betrothal between them that would have been tricky to get out of, etc.).

No, the bigger problem with N’s backstory vs primogeniture is firstly that at the time the English aristocracy was racist af (still is tbh) and given his pretty obvious mixed-race heritage, no court would have agreed that Nate was a legitimate son (this is for a very special reason that we will be coming back to). I say Nate specifically here because primogeniture requires the eldest legitimate son. Nat wouldn’t have inherited at all, as women in that period passed from the guardianship of their father (or other male blood relative) into that of their husband after marriage, and only gained any kind of independence with widowhood. If N had been an only child, maybe they would have been treated as a special case, but unfortunately Milton exists: the eldest legitimate son who by law will inherit everything.

Now here’s the thing. Your average aristocrat in the 17th century is very obsessed with lineage and keeping the family line unbroken. He would not, therefore, send his legitimate heir to sea to be shot at or drowned before he can carry on the family name – that joy instead goes to any other sons who need their own profession, because again, they will get very little. Nat would have had a dowry, but would never have been expected to make her own living, so I'm going to focuson Nate for this next bit.

In Book 3, if you unlock his tragic backstory Nate tells you he joined the Royal Navy after Milton went missing so that he could go look for him. And, well. This is where his backstory as Mishka tells it completely falls apart. For two reasons:

1. Even in the modern day, you can’t ‘just’ join the Navy, and you certainly can’t just jump straight to being a lieutenant – it takes years of training and after a certain age they won’t take you because they won’t be able to mould you easily enough into a useful tool. For most of the Navy's history, the process was even more involved. It wasn’t an office job you could just rock up to and then quit if you felt like it, it was a lifetime commitment. Boys destined to be officers would be sent to sea as early as 12 to learn shipboard life, starting at the bottom and moving up the ranks. These were gained by passing exams and by purchasing a commission – which is why you generally had to come from wealth to be an officer at all. Once you get to lieutenant you're responsible for a lot of people, and might be tasked with commanding any captured ships alongside the daily running of yours - it was not an easy job.

2. Even as a lieutenant (one rank below Captain, with varying levels of seniority) it’s not like you can just go where you want. In the 1720s British colonies already existed in India, the Caribbean, and up the entire eastern seaboard of North America and into Canada, and the Navy was tasked with protecting merchant shipping along these seaways (and one trade in particular that we’ll be getting to, don’t worry). Nate could have ended up practically anywhere in the burgeoning empire. He would not have been able to choose whom he served under, and would not have been able to demand his superior officer go against orders from the admirality to chase down one lone vessel because he thinks another one of the admirals might be a bit dodgy. It could not have happened.

Besides these impracticalities, there’s a far easier way for the child of a wealthy man to get to a specific point on the far side of the globe to look for their lost sibling, which is the route I assume Nat took sine she couldn’t have joined the Navy (yes she could have snuck in but she’s specifically in a dress in the B2 mirror scene so). All they'd have to do would be to charter a ship and tell the captain where to go, which is the plot of Treasure Island. It's quicker, less fuss, with less chance of things going wrong. It's even possible in the age of mercantilism that the Sewells had some merchant vessels among their holdings that could be diverted for the task. Why go through the hassle of joining the Navy and potentially ending up on the wrong side of the world when you can just hire a ship directly?

If Nate does have to be in the Navy (and let’s face it, it’s worth it just for the uniform) then it's far more plausible is that, as the illegitimate son who would not inherit because of racism etc, he got sent to the Navy as a boy and rose through the ranks to become a lieutenant. When he got news of Milton’s disappearance not far from where he was stationed, he begged his captain to go investigate in case whatever happened turned out to be the symptom of a bigger problem. Like pirates.

I like this version better not just because it makes more sense, or because it keeps Nate’s situation re: inheritance closer to Nat’s and therefore makes their stories more equal, but also because it adds a delicious amount of guilt to Nate’s need to find his brother. We know his entire crew died looking for answers, because he was selfish – that’s roughly 100-400 lives lost because of him, and we know that sort of thing eats at him.

So that's one side of the story, but if Milton wasn’t in the Navy, what was he doing on the other side of the Atlantic in the first place? Well, this is where we come to the biggest elephant in the room regarding N’s backstory as a member of the 17th century English aristocracy and potentially as a naval officer: the Atlantic Slave Trade. If you are wealthy in 17th century Britain it's more than likely that your wealth comes either from the trade itself, or from the products made with the labour of enslaved people. If you are wealthy, you want to protect your assets from attack by pirates or foreign powers so you don't become less wealthy, and that is what the Navy is for.

Regardless of N’s own views on slavery at the time – and any subsequent changes in opinion – it’s likely their family owned or had shares in slave plantations in the Americas. As distasteful as it is, it makes far more sense that Milton was on a trip to check the family’s holdings when his ship - specifically a merchant vessel - went missing. From a pirate perspective, a merchant ship would make a much better target than a Navy vessel, being slower, more likely to have valuable cargo, and less likely to have marines or a well-trained broadside.

It's not surprising that Mishka left out the subject of the slave trade given her tendency to skirt around darker subjects and general blindspot for racial politics, but it is nuance that, if it was there, would create a more grounded and coherent backstory for N that doesn’t have quite so many holes. Like with A being the child of an invader and his war bride, we could get some deeper thoughts from N about their place in the world - How do they feel to have grown up so privileged when others who looked like them were regarded as literal property? How did they feel being part of the system that made it happen? Did it inform their compassionate nature? Is it still a source of guilt or someithng they've tried to make up for?

I'm not sure where I was going with all of this. It's late, my sleep pattern is fucked. The tl;dr is that giving the vampires' backstories historical context would make them feel more multifaceted and would give opportunities for character growth that are instead missed because of a desire for a more sanitized version of the past.

#thank you for coming to my ted talk #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #a du mortain #adam du mortain #ava du mortain #n sewell #nate sewell #nat sewell #it's annoying because it’s such a small tweak in the grand scheme of things #If she didn’t want unfortunate implications she could have made N from a century later when the navy was actively trying to stop slavery #A could have been from a 50 years earlier to tie his whole family’s demise into the subjugation of the english after the battle of hastings #or a century later when the two courts had mostly integrated #mishka made choices #they deserve to be given more substance than mere aesthetics #you can tell it’s late I’m using long words

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writingfool001 · 2 years

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I Already Found my Happily Ever After Part 2

Author’s Note: I want to finish the dorm leaders and trade Kalim for Jamil because he was the intended villain and I wanted to. I might write about Kalim, Rook, and Lilia later. I also noticed how long these became and tried to stop myself with details but couldn’t. I rushed a bit on Malleus.

Pairing: Jamil, Vil, Idia, & Malleus x Female! Reader

Warning: Female Reader, Spoilers for Chapter 6, this is long... like LONG

Part 1 (Riddle, Leona, & Azul) Part 3 (Kalim, Rook, & Lilia)

It was a joint school get together or basically what prom would be with several academies together which was an upside for you and your lover. You barely have had the time to see each other since both of you go to different schools and your school would rather affiliate themselves with the Royal Sword Academy than Raven Night College.

When the event was announced, the headmistress advised everyone to be on their best behavior and if anyone from another school tried to force themselves, you had full permission to take care of the problem or find an instructor. Yeah, your headmistress had zero tolerance for assholes. She also mentioned that it was NRC's turn this year to

You met up with each other at the event and your lover was dressed handsomely as he stood out in the crowd. You both decided to have a nice night, wanting to enjoy the time with each other. He complimented you on your attire and gave you a kiss on the cheek before escorting you to the main hall where the event was being held.

At some point, you stepped away to use the restroom and right as you were on the way to return, a figure stepped into the middle of your path which made you stop.

“My humble apologies, but I couldn’t help ignoring your gorgeous self and was wondering if I could possibly have this dance as your date.” He started bowing and held his hand out.

“Sorry, but I’m here with someone,” You decline politely, stepping around him to continue on your way and only get a couple feet away before he spoke again.

“What could be better than dancing with a prince and possibly your future true love?” He said, causing you to freeze as others paused and watched the interaction.

“What could be better than that, you ask?” You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, “Dancing with my betrothed.”

“Who could he possibly be? Possibly from RSA?”

“Nope, he goes to NRC.”

“A villain?! Are you mad?”

“Nope, I’ve always loved the villain more than the hero. Perhaps all the other girls, fawning after you, will take up your proposal.”

You walk off, leaving many people’s jaws on the floor as you made your way over to your beloved who saw you publicly humiliate some prince.

Jamil

He chuckles underneath his breath before coming and escorting you off, wanting to enjoy the night with you. Part of him was somewhat worried about what consequences may follow after tonight, but he could care less.

He remembered your family would come around every summer, building familiarity between Kalim and his betrothed. Given, he never saw what his betrothed look like, even though he was usually around Kalim. He was going about his usual duties, walking past one of the many gardens, then noticed a girl standing very still. He got closer, hiding behind a pillar and noticed that the girl was staring down at a tiger, slowly stalking towards her before charging. Right as the tiger tackled her, Jamil readied his magic and was about to charge in before hearing laughter.

The tiger was licking the side of her face as it purred loudly while she scratched the sides of its face. He watched the two interacting before approaching and questioning why she let the tiger tackle her as well as how the tiger was so friendly.

She just said that the tiger was friendly and wanted to welcome her back. Back? You must have been Kalim's betrothed when he was annoyed that Kalim left you alone. Watching the interaction, he noticed your curiosity and how easily you adjusted to the current situation. He wondered if you had a weird animal taming ability. He then told you he was going to escort you back to Kalim and took you away before letting you speak. Internally, he was grumbling about Kalim being so foolish to let his betrothal wander the palace. He held your hand in his as you two walked back to the main room. Deep down in his gut, the feeling of his hand in yours felt nice. Immediately, he tossed aside that feeling and ignored it since you were to be Kalim's bride and it would be foolish to fall in love with you.

By the time you both reached where Kalim was, he saw him talking excitingly to another individual before noticing you two and introduced the mysterious person next to him as his future spouse. Ther was one thing that stood out to him about Kailm's newly introduced spouse, the resemblance between you and them.

He looked back and forth at Kalim's betrothed then you. He questioned you and you told him that you were their sister/bodyguard. He asked angrily why didn't you tell him who you were, and he nearly fell over when you told him that he never let you explain who you were. After that day, you would drag him away l, giving Kalim and your sibling space to bond while you two watched from afar. He told you a bit about his family as you did the same to him, without noticing your sibling watching you. He showed you the wonders of the Scalding Sands as you showed him the diamonds hidden within the city and palace. He watched as you curiosity shone during your small excursions.

Over the many years you spent together, your fondness for each other flourished and many could see it, deciding to leave it to the wind. You both had your own duties or training to do, and he would sometimes pass by where you were training. He would pause and watch you burning determination as you wielded your weapon skillfully, bringing down each of your opponents, before Najma snapped him out of his trance. He would deny he was staring with some blush on his face before leaving as Najma giggled at her brother. She knew he was down bad and was ready to have you as her sister-in-law. She even teased him about marrying you, causing his doubts to plant a seed in his head.

He tried to tell you that you should marry someone who will make you happy and was of your blood. You should stick around someone who can promise you a bright and safe future.

You took his face in your hand and asked him what made him think he wasn’t important to you. The multiple times you two would slip away, the meals you two shared, all the time you two spent together, and not to mention, that you stayed by his side while in his two week coma.

“You know you’re stuck with me, right?” He said as you both walked towards the balcony.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Vil

He simply smiled as you both strutted away from him, this wasn't the first time you've publicly rejected someone with great power.

You both originally met on set for a movie where you both were part of the lead group. You would both work online and do social interactions with fans as well as interviewers. The main reason you both were spending so much time together was due to your chemistry with each other and confidentially, your characters were being shipped together. During that time, you both got closer and could consider each other friends while others would say you were closer. When the movie wrapped up, you both went your separate ways and would run into each other on set at every other film production that you two were brought into.

You got to hear about Vil's hatred for Neige and noticed how companies or casting would always put them against each other. Yes, Vil played excellent villains, but he has so much potential to play the hero. You would occasionally catch Vil checking Magicam’s trending list, only to see Neige was still above him, and you wished that things would turn in his favor.

Between the time, you both would keep in contact, checking on the other. You made appearances on each other's social media, only feeding the fire for fans to think you two were together and advertised the other's current projects.

When you were called to work on a movie, you found out Vil and Neige were going to be in the same cast as you. The two different auras together and you got to experience it all. How lucky you were.

He remembered that while everyone wanted to be around Neige’s bubbly self, you spent time with him and mainly wanted to stay away since in your words, being around Neige is like being around the sun and you’d rather not go blind from his bright personality. You stuck by his side a majority of the time since it felt comfortable.

There was a cast party, and you were dressed gorgeously, mingling around and talking to your fellow cast members and production crew, before Neige approached you while he watched from afar with another cast member. Neige tried to woo you, but you just brushed off his hints and told him that you weren’t interested in him. Neige just smiled and left you alone, Vil smiled a bit before returning to his conversation.

After a while, Vil asked to meet up with you and during your lunch together, he asked you to go out with him. You were surprised as Vil told you that you fascinated him and made him feel comfortable around you, making him forget about the world. You were skeptical about this little proposal of his, not wanting to get your hopes too high, and told him that you weren't going to be a pawn for him to one up Neige You would rather have a relationship with someone who saw you as an equal rather than something to be tossed aside later.

He understood your skepticism and reassured you that he wanted to have a romantic relationship with you. That little moment of reassurance led to the happiest relationship you ever had. Neither of your fans caught up to it because you both would show up on each other's account until you posted a picture of him with the caption, my pretty boy. The internet broke for a while as both of you got media attention and you simply brushed it off and went about your day. Your boldness was something that he admired about you.

A few years later, you both were together for 3 years when he was in his third year of NRC when he asked you why you stuck around.

“I already found my happily ever after and wanted it to last as long as it can.” You gave him a bright smile.

“Is that a marriage proposal?”

“It’s a promise, only if you want.” You slid an open ring box towards him with a simple yet tasteful ring.

He smiles back on the memory from a couple months back and kissed your matching promise ring on your hand.

Idia

Internally, he broke down and was flustered as he tried to mask his flushed cheeks before you came over and kissed him on the cheek. You took his hand in yours and led him away from the small scene you called. He had a small lovesick grin on his face, thinking about how you would rather stick around with him than run off to some royal normie.

He remembers when you two were first introduced to each other at a young age since your parents worked for the same company and knew each other personally. You both hid behind your parent’s legs, peeking from behind to get a glance at each other. The reasoning behind your two meetings was to have two strong households come together to come as one, translation meeting your betrothed.

Once they left you to your own devices, you met Ortho and opened up a bit more to each other. You learned more about Idia and heard about his interests as he learned about yours. He told you about how lucky you were to see the world due to your parent’s work, which caused the two Shroud brothers to be curious about your travels. You told them about some of the places you went to, filling their minds with vivid images.

After that, your parents would always have dinner with Idia’s parents every month so you would bring back a piece of the world and a story that Idia would appreciate. For a while, you grew close to Idia and became someone, who also had to take up their household mantle, he could confine himself while he became your rock.

When you heard what happened to Ortho, you visited and sat outside of his room for hours, even days before he let you in. He told you that you were stubborn, and you told him that someone had to be. You helped him the best you could once he told you what he wanted to do and kept him company even after that, even if you two were in separate places.

You both had gaming nights together, especially when you both went to separate schools, and he would hear you deny your classmates’ offer to go out and meet some boys. You were a bit of a loner, like Idia, yet kept a few friends, even though you would get called away for work.

He also remembered when you showed up to his school as he was dropping off everyone from S.T.Y.X and hugged, panicking after you got word what happened. You got a call from the STYX laboratory that concerned him and an overblot which caused you immediately left your work sight to get here. He could feel the multiple eyes zeroing in on you two as you worried over him. He tried to keep a straight face and guided you back to the plane, ignoring the questions that were being thrown at him.

He revealed what happened at STYX and Ortho before showing you the memory card that you both worked on. He started rambling about bringing Ortho back and what scenarios could happen then stopped as you cupped his face.

You told him that all we could do was try to see what and he was stumped when you referred to the both of you rather than just him. He questioned your statement before you showed the email from the facility for your help to improve the security system.

You helped him with rebuilding Ortho's body and gave your insight when he was stumped. You watched the two brothers reunite before leaving the room, to give them time to reconnect.

Idia was glad you stayed with him, knowing about his curse and being his rock, and cherished every fiber of your being. Rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand and leaning a bit on you as you both sat outside, enjoying the stars.

"Let's stay together forever." he said, staring at the sky.

"Even in the next life?"

"Absolutely."

Malleus

He smiled while watching you approach him, dazzling him with your presence and your performance. He kissed the back of your hand and offered his right arm for you to take.

As you both walked away, he turned his head back to the rejected prince and just gave him a small smile before turning his focus back to the front of him.

He couldn’t blame the poor boy for trying to woo you, but it was quite bold of him.

Malleus thought back to the first time he met you and how this entire situation looked familiar because he saw the same thing.

He was at a gathering of nobles and royalties, going about his usual royal duties, while trying to be as social as he can. Even though it was a masquerade, he still felt that he stuck out like a sore thumb even with his mask. He danced a bit with noble women and socialized but wanted to get this over with. Excusing himself from a group, he slipped away and made his escape to the Palace’s Garden without Lilia noticing him slipping away.

“Are you going to keep watching from afar?” They spoke and looked in his direction, catching him off guard, before he revealed himself.

“Forgive me, I didn’t expect to see anyone here.” He spoke as the figure relaxed a bit.

“You missed the couple making out that I came across earlier.” They revealed before looking at him. “So, what’s the crowned prince doing out here, away from his party?”

“How-”

“The horns give you away.”

He explained to have a break from a party among many strangers, which the stranger agreed to doing the same, before asking who they were.

“I guess I should tell who I am considering I know who you are.” They chuckled before telling him her name. For the rest of the night, they both strolled around the garden and enjoyed a midnight stroll. His parents asked him if he met any possible candidates to marry him. He thought about you and how you two got along but decided to keep it to himself. His parents wanted to try a couple more times to see if they could help with the engagement process before giving up.

At every single party, you two would either meet on the dance floor or find the other hanging by the wall. There were several occasions that princes from other lands would propose or ask for your hand, as you two were hanging out, before you flat out rejected them. Every time and no matter how dramatic or extravagant they were, you told them that you weren’t interested, and you wouldn’t marry a man you just met. He brought it up, during one of your nightly walks, and asked why you rejected them. You told him that you’d rather marry a villain because they’d be someone who would burn the world for you and treat you as an equal rather than a steppingstone to reach their goal. Your confession left Malleus awestruck, causing his jaw to drop. You simply lifted his jaw back up and continued to walk, confidently away.

You knew what you wanted and weren’t scared to speak up to all the bullshit you deal with. It was at that moment that he knew that he wanted to marry you or at least ask for your hand. He started showing more of himself to you as you did the same which after a while, his parents noticed and decided to leave it to fate. You taught him more about culture outside of the Thorned Valley and humans. You kept in contact when you both attended school and it was after his first year that he asked you to marry him. As he waited in anticipation with a hint of fear of rejection, you kissed his forehead and brought out a ring. What a coincidence, you were going to ask him the same. Excitingly, he accepted and showered you in kisses before resting his forehead against yours, cherishing this starting moment of your lives together.

“I’ll give you more than the moon, my love.” He said while showing you NRC’s botanical garden.

“A tempting offer, darling. But for now, a night with you is a good start.”

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jooniperbonsai · 2 months

Text

Thanks for the Sub (ksj) | Chapter Three

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 14.9k

Release date: March 24, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn (?), coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: Now that Seokjin has agreed to come over and help you practice for your streams, you find there's a lot more you want to do with him than actually prepare for this stream.

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety and panic attacks HEAVILY referenced in this chapter, familial verbal and emotional abuse that might be triggering to some (slamming of doors, manipulative behaviors), references to puberty, implied chubby/fat reader, references to disordered eating (not main characters), references to oral (f), mention of sub drop, Seokjin is STRONG and the king of consent, lots of little domestic moments idk let's hope I didn't forget anything

a/n: Ahh finally, I'm so sorry it took so long to get to you. I have been very busy in my little corner of reality so I haven't had a chance to really dive back in for a while. I hope you enjoy more of the backstory to the characters in this one, I found pulling away from the spicy bits a little necessary so I could learn more about my characters as they grow.

I'll be in South Korea these next few weeks for my birthday, so I might be mostly offline but I'll enjoy looking at your comments, tags, questions, etc, while I'm away! Thanks for your patience. Enjoy! -h

This, she thinks, is goodbye. Her body sprawled in the silk sheets of August’s chamber, head thrust back onto the plush pillows. Never again in her life did she think she would see the dark beams of his ceiling again, yet now, her legs bent and open for him, his lips eagerly suckling her inner thigh, she couldn’t imagine life any other way.

How many times had she counted each knot in the wood above her, her eyes tracing the swirl and swell of the grain while August swirled the swell of her sex? Perfectly matched in this way, as if he were reading her like a map he’d crafted himself. He knew her. Knew all of her, how the heady moan leaving her throat now was a sign she was becoming impatient with his thorough ministrations.

She dared to risk a glance down, only to see him watching her intently, devilishly choosing that moment to latch himself onto her, a wicked smirk flashing across his face as she elicited a hearty gasp.

“August,” she breathed, instinctively tangling her fingers through his newly-raven hair, dyed dark now to comply with his family’s request. While his once-bleached locks were the definite sign of his rebellion, a sign that he would fight against the ruling state and their convoluted and asinine laws that prevented royalty from marrying a commoner, she admitted his natural hair suited him more. He looked less harsh this way, his delicate skin creamy and soft as she skimmed her fingertips across his cheek.

“No,” he breathed into her sex, sending a delightful shiver down her spine.

Something about the glint in his eye as he feasted upon her spelled out more than simple lust. No, she forbade herself to think that this was more than a parting gift, a transaction before she would be cast aside for his betrothed.

“Please,” she begged, though she knew she was asking for many things in that request. Please end the hunger between her legs, please end his engagement. Please take her to bed tonight and tomorrow and every night after. Please love me.

“Say my name,” he growled, sitting up to wipe his mouth with the back of his robe sleeve.

“August,” she called but he only chuckled darkly, the cool blue of the fabric cascading around him.

She felt so exposed. Here she was, completely naked, and yet he hadn’t even begun to undress. It felt cold, final, and sickening. Her eyes roved his body, looking for more skin, anything to keep her close to him at this moment, but he was so carefully tucked away.

“August,” she said again and he shook his head.

“That’s not my name,” he argued.

Her eyebrows knit together, and she reached forward, needing now more than ever to touch him. She was drowning fast in the night, the blue robes sweeping over both their bodies as he leaned closer, finally letting her grip his forearm as she groped around. He was drifting from her in one way or another, his body a boat on the water that was capsizing her under his waves.

“I–I can’t. I can’t see you. I–.” A rush of white hot panic surged into her throat, constricting her words. As she began drowning, August moved quickly, disrobing himself and pulling her into his embrace. She gasped for air as she wrenched out a heavy sob, her nipples stroking the soft hairs on his chest, yet she ignored the sensation instead for the thing she needed more: his heartbeat.

There, in his chest, was the melodic thrum that sought to calm her erratic one, calling her home to him in the cold night air.

“Breathe, Petal,” he commanded, and she felt a rush of air fall from her lungs as she remembered once more to do the most simple of human tendencies. His arms laced around her back, where the soft tracing of his fingers along her spine brought her back into herself.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, a prick of tears falling despite her best efforts to appear unaffected.

He hummed in response.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, and she felt her joints loosen as she molded herself further into his embrace.

“I want to,” she replied, voice unsteady. “Sugar, please just hold me.”

He melted into her, a pool of warmth overtaking him as he absorbed her nickname. He kissed her forehead, her temples, everywhere his mouth could spread some of the sweetness.

After long, she hummed a satisfied sound through her lips, and her hips began rocking against him. He laid her back down, his eyes searching hers before the corner of his mouth ticked into a smirk.

“You with me?” he asked, his smirk becoming a full grin as she bucked further toward him, desperate and wanting. He was back, the ever-changing prince who within a blink of an eye could transform the room into his sensual paradise.

August’s hand skimmed up her calf and back between her thighs, resting up against her heat.

“August,” she panted, and he chuckled darkly, the scar over his eye almost glowing in the moonlight.

“I told you that’s not my name,” he warned, sliding his fingers into her wet folds.

“Seokjin,” you said, his name caught in your throat as he continued moving.

“Good girl,” he coaxed, two of his fingers covering the edges of your clit as he began rolling it under his touch.

“Fuck.”

The wooden beams were gone. Now it was the familiar white plaster that you often looked at, trying to remember what constellations were above during what season, though you could never see the stars anyway in this part of the city.

Seokjin pulled himself up off the chamber bed, though the chamber was hazy, almost pixelated as you realized around you it was not the chamber of August and his beloved, but your small bedroom.

“Focus,” he commanded, and your eyes flashed over to Seokjin, who was naked and sweaty, his chest flush like it was when you’d seen him before. His fingers roamed over your calf and he lifted you leg at an angle, exposing your pussy to the cool air.

Seokjin licked his lips and began swirling his fingers around your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

“You gonna be good for me?” he asked and you moaned an affirmative as you felt the first of his fingers tip into you.

“Nuh uh, use your words, Y/N.”

You opened your mouth to beg but found no words could come out. He cocked his head, confused. Seokjin reached over to touch your face. You felt nothing.

“What–”

The plop of the book hitting the floor jars you awake. At some point in reading, you must’ve dozed off, your world and the book world merging into a hot, overwhelming dream that has your heart racing.

He’s in your mind again, Seokjin. And it really is all your fault. Because you’ve spent the rest of your weekend and the first half of this week texting him with a plan to put this After Dark stream into place, an idea that you hadn’t really thought through before proposing to him.

You know you want this, to feel at ease in your body and confident to hold your own on streams. Especially since the option to quit is becoming less and less of an option. This week, your university confirmed your withdrawal, meaning that for the next few months you’ll be focusing on streaming and working more shifts at the restaurant to try and replenish your income for the summer term.

And that also means you’ll be seeing Seokjin a lot more often. Your stomach does a tiny flip just thinking about it.

Now with him being around you everywhere, all the time, your subconscious has been drifting to dreams of him, and every waking thought is somehow finding a way to wiggle him in. At the market this morning, you were walking through the produce section where you noticed a large pile of mangoes on sale. Does Seokjin like mangoes? you’d wondered. That shirt on the mannequin would look good on Seokjin. That dog looks like the one in the old picture in Seokjin’s office. What would Seokjin think about this recurring ad?

It’s becoming relentless. So much so that you also find yourself asking him random questions to take the edge off.

Me 1:47PM: Thoughts about fruit on pizza.

Seokjin 1:50PM: Are you asking because we are having pizza later?

Me 1:51PM: No I was just wondering

Me 1:51PM: Unless you want that later? I can get us some

Me 1:51PM: I’ll pay

Seokjin 1:51PM: No you will not! I’ll pay

Seokjin 1:53PM: Also depends on the kind of fruit

Seokjin 1:53PM: Never had blueberries on pizza.

Seokjin 1:54PM: But I would maybe try it. Pineapple is fine though.

Seokjin 1:55PM: I’ll pick up the pizza on the way over. Be there at 6.

Seokjin agreed to stop by today to do some roleplay exercises for you to practice before your stream later tonight. He thought it was important that you run through the full scale of situations you might be presented with so you could say no firmly but without risking losing your viewership, two things equally at odds with each other for you most of the time.

You look for your phone in the mess of your couch cushions, assuming that at some point in your impromptu nap, it slunk down between the crack. Sure enough, you find it nestled between two cushions, the comfort of its weight in your hand dismissing some of the panic when you see it’s only 4:30. He hasn’t texted, which means he hasn’t canceled.

You remember from his stream last week that he maintains a tempered persona, never giving too much or too little away to his viewers. He’d exuded such self control. Is he always like that?

You know he mostly keeps it together at work, but that amount of restraint shocks you. You’re always wondering what it is that will make him snap. Sure, you’ve seen him annoyed, or occasionally yelling at your coworkers, but never rageful. Never out of control. That just isn’t Seokjin.

Determined to keep your hands busy while you wait for him to arrive, you busy yourself tidying, though your apartment is scarily clear because you’ve been frantically cleaning all day. You walk into the kitchen, a small, narrow room that has never been very welcoming as a cooking space. Your old, banged up fridge has dents from where the door has opened too quickly and rocketed into the oven handle, leaving a jagged, metal scar on the surface.

When you’d first moved in, you didn’t understand how something could be so damaged, but within the first week, it became apparent how heavy and quickly the door swung into it, probably because the floors, and thus everything else, doesn’t sit exactly level in the space, meaning that everything that you bake comes out at an angle, and everything else always falls to one side of the pan, making things uneven. Every time you use your rolling pin, you have to place it on an oven mitt or else you risk it rolling into the large gap between the countertop and the wall.

Your apartment is one that you’ve done your best to uplift. While your kitchen is somewhat of a hellhole, with a buzzing fluorescent light that sounds almost like it’s mocking you when you dare to cook anything in it, the rest of your space has some sense of charm to it.

There’s a large window facing the back parking lot of the building, which some may find less exciting because it isn’t exuding some Instagram-worthy backdrop of urban living, but you benefit from the fact that there’s a large, undeveloped lot in your view, with some plum trees that will bloom in the next few weeks, and the soft chartreuse green that ushers in the early spring grasses is slowly starting to brighten in hue.

Some summer nights, you crack your window and hear the loud chattering of cicadas and birds as they rustle through the trees, and it helps to distract from the usual traffic noises that ricochet off the other buildings around you.

You have some small herbs growing on the windowsill, as well as some salvaged green onion ends you’d tossed into an empty yogurt pot with soil and let take off. A sad excuse for a dining table is propped against it with two mismatched chairs.

An oversized, well-loved, brown couch you got for a steal from one of those local posting groups takes up a large chunk of your living room, which will probably have to be sawed in half to get out of your space if you ever move. It weighs a ton and you can’t even shuffle it into a better angle toward your television, which has resulted in one side of the couch being further worn-down and frumpy from the creases of you sitting in the same spot day after day. The other side usually houses a variety of character plushies and a large pink knit blanket you swaddle yourself in regularly. Today, everything is given a place, and the blanket is folded and resting on the back of the couch.

The rest of your apartment is a collection of stuff: some mismatched bookshelves shoved into one corner with all your smutty reads and figurines, postcards and repurposed mailers you’ve collaged into some type of wall art, and Barry, your Big Mouth Bass that knows one song and one song only: “Take Me to the River”.

Due to your lack of space in your cozy apartment, your desk and gaming set-up are in your room. During streams, you tote out a collapsible green screen to give yourself at least some privacy, but behind the screen is your bed you’ve cluttered with some throw pillows, a dresser whose drawers are so warped they don’t fully close, the nightstand which hides your collection of sex toys, and that’s about it. As the months have progressed, your schoolwork has moved from being the main event on the desk to now being crammed into the shallow drawers beneath. Beyond that, your PC and streaming supplies take up the rest of the space in your room.

After fussing with everything for a whole ten minutes, you retreat from your bedroom, heading into the hellscape kitchen to stare at the groceries you’ve just bought.

A jar of kimchi, some beets, and a comically large bag of carrots you impulse bought greet you. You sigh. Yes, this is what you’ll have to do to make time pass. Pulling the items from the fridge, you shuffle around to gather your cutting board from its slot next to the microwave, and find your good knife set in the drawer.

One of the conditions you were given upon being hired at the restaurant was to purchase your own set of knives. “It teaches you how to respect the tools before you. Having pride in your knives ensures you’ll serve food with pride,” Mr. Kim had told you.

When you shared that knowledge with Seokjin he snorted. “It ensures you’ll not damage our own knives that he’s too cheap to replace is what he means.”

Regardless, you now own a decent quality set of cutting knives, perfect for what you need them for. You scrub and lightly peel the carrots to trim away the dirt and uneven shapes adorning the outside.

Then, you begin your setup, placing your cutting board with a kitchen towel near the end to catch any rollaway carrots you’re bound to encounter during your task. You snag a large bowl, a rubber jar grip to keep the cutting board in place, and your Chef’s knife from your knife set. You chop up the kimchi and beets, doing a tiny bit of prep by cutting those for later in the week. Then, you begin with the carrots.

You pull from the washed pile and grip your knife, and remember what Seokjin taught you: cut the rounded edge off the carrot so it sits flat on the board. You slice again, then again, stacking the pieces before cutting in the next direction until a pile of neat matchsticks lay before you.

No chaos erupting in the kitchen, no pieces flinging to the floor or a semi-concussion. Just you, the yellow glow of the humming light, and your carrots. You begin the next one. Then again. It’s almost addicting, like the affirmation that you are capable of this, of anything, has started to warm something inside of you.

When was the last time you felt this confident and assured? Felt like you were growing in the right direction? In school, you were used to doing fairly well and understanding the material, but this is different somehow. This is you seeing the results as they pile higher into the bowl. You reach for another and another, washing the rest of the carrots and scrubbing them before continuing. Your hands are now properly stained, the beet juice, gochugaru, and carrot juice making your hands look like you are bleeding, but you don’t care. The ache from your grip, the loud thumping at the door, they don’t mean anything in this moment when it’s you feeling the give of the vegetable as it splits into finer pieces.

“Y/N?!! HELLO ARE YOU OKAY?”

A familiar voice bellows from the hall, another sharp thunk hitting the metal door. Seokjin.

Your eyes rip to the clock on the oven. It’s already five minutes past six. You’ve been cutting carrots for about an hour.

Hastily, you rinse your hands, ignoring the sting as the cold water spurts from the faucet. You grab the kitchen towel off the oven handle, and rush to the door.

You barely have it unlocked before Seokjin barges in, two large pizza boxes and a six pack of beer in his hands as he steps over the threshold. He smells faintly of mint and eucalyptus.

Seokjin whips in your direction, scanning his eyes over your face and down your body.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” His eyes are wide, his pupils blown out as he fervently looks you up and down, gasping as he takes in your hands. “What happened?”

“What? No, no I’m fine!” You hold one hand up in his direction, taking the kitchen towel and rubbing it into your palm for good measure. “They’re stained. Um, I was cutting vegetables.”

His eyes flit to the direction of the kitchen, where the light is still on and buzzing, and you can just make out the chopping board on the counter. Now assured you’re not injured, Seokjin recovers, stepping out of his shoes and padding into the kitchen.

“Whoa, you really were going to town in here with the carrots weren’t you? I thought I could smell it on you.”

Your cheeks flood with heat. “Well, you said I had to practice.”

Seokjin chuckles, shaking his head in amusement before holding up the six pack. “Uh, I brought beer. I don’t know if you like it or not but I feel like it goes really well with pizza.”

You smile. “I’m not sure if getting me wasted is the solution to setting boundaries with my stream. Doesn’t alcohol lower your inhibitions?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you planning on finishing off this entire six pack by yourself and getting trashed? Much less beer that is…” He squints at the packaging. “...four percent alcohol?”

You laugh. “No, I suppose not. Thank you.” You take the case from his hands and pluck two bottles from the cardboard before putting the rest in the fridge. Holding the cold bottle in your hands, you grimace.

“What’s wrong? Do you not like this brand?” Seokjin asks.

You shake your head. “No, it’s not that. Um, I don’t really drink often so I don’t actually own a bottle opener.”

Seokjin frowns and looks around your kitchen, grazing his hand along the chipped laminate counters. Then he takes the bottle in his hand and whacks it down on the counter edge on an angle. The cap pops off, a subtle wisp of fog puffing from the top. He smirks, proud. He gestures for you to hand him your bottle.

With ease, he pops off the second cap and deposits it back into your hands.

Your jaw hangs slack. “Wh-how did you do that?” you ask.

He chuckles. “There’s a science to it, angles. I’m just glad I didn’t take a chunk of the counter with me. I’ve done that before.”

“And you risked my counter top just now?”

He snorts. “Come on, did anything happen? A little bit of trust would be nice, Y/N.” He glances at the giant bowl of cut carrots. “Well, you’ve certainly improved. What are you going to make with all those?”

You pull your lips into a thin line. You hadn’t thought about it. Your silence seems to tip Seokjin off to that as well, because after a sip of beer, he sets his bottle on the back end of the counter, rolling up his sleeves and scooting over to the sink to wash his hands.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Cooking,” he replies simply. “Do you have flour? Green onions?”

You nod. “Okay, get those. I’ll also need some soybean paste if you have it, vegetable oil, salt, and sugar.”

You furrow your brows. You know this recipe from the restaurant. “You’re making jeon? But, we already have pizza.”

“We can have the pizza as an appetizer. Jeon will be the main course.”

You laugh. “How much do you think I eat?”

“Not much. But you see, I am very hungry.” Heat shoots to your core. You glance over at Seokjin, who is looking at you amused as he squeezes the carrots between his hands to wring out the excess juice.

You didn’t really notice before, but Seokjin looks effortlessly cool, a loose pink linen button down framing his broad shoulders. He’s left the top two buttons undone, exposing the white t-shirt he wears underneath. Lighter wash jeans cover his strong thighs. If a stranger ever passed him on the street, they might think he’s too cool for them, too serious or vain.

But, there are notes of him everywhere in this outfit that suggests the break in the persona. One of the buttons in the middle of his shirt has popped open, a few hairs on the back of his head are cowlicked out of place, and on his feet are a pair of neon green Chikorita Pokemon socks. You find it impossible to hide your amusement.

“Ah, got it. Nice socks by the way,” you joke, trying to distract from the singing heat and close proximity. You can’t help but think about the last time you and Seokjin were in such confined spaces and how that ended up. “Didn’t know you were going to use your feet later to guide an airplane into landing.”

“Well, I figured it was a necessary backup in case your hands weren’t bright enough.” He nods toward you. You laugh.

“Touché.”

You open your upper cabinet. The paper bag of flour sits on the middle shelf, which you usually climb onto the counter to reach, but with Seokjin in the kitchen, there’s even less space than usual. You stretch, lifting onto your tiptoes. Your fingertips brush the bag, but it’s not enough to move it. As you try to angle yourself better, you see two large hands come above yours, Seokjin easily grabbing the flour off the shelf to set down onto the counter.

You feel his body heat behind you, his shirt brushing the small of your back from where your own rode up during your stretch, and a swell of goosebumps rise on your arms from the gentle tickle.

“There,” Seokjin says softly into your ear, almost breathless. “Don’t want to have any more kitchen related incidents, do we?” Too soon, he moves away, his warmth, the subtle note of his cologne fading into the smell of the green onions he’s set next to your not-so-glorious prep space.

Suddenly, he scoffs. You turn toward him. “What?”

“Really, Y/N? Have you learned nothing?” The heat in your core immediately dissipates, welcoming a familiar sour stroke of shame as you try to put together what you’ve missed. How did you fuck this up? What haven’t you learned? When you focus on what he’s pointing at, you realize he isn’t angry. He’s teasing you.

Your knife is unsheathed on the cutting board, abandoned in your haste to let him in. “When are you ever going to learn basic kitchen safety?” he laughs. The prick of embarrassment dissolves, Seokjin’s laugh soothing the ache.

You smile and shrug. “In my defense, I didn’t have the time to put it away or in the sink because you were disturbing the peace by practically breaking my door down.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Well excuse me for wanting to ensure your safety. Now where’s that soybean paste?”

Seokjin had been sitting on, or practically in your couch for the last twenty minutes as you ran through various scenarios and questions you were likely to experience while streaming. Your old couch was comfy, but as you’d practiced longer, he felt he was shrinking, the cushions settling further and further down. That, he thought, was probably going to hurt to climb out when the time came.

Despite the size and outdated condition your apartment was in, he was fascinated with how you’d chosen to decorate it, as if everything had its own place. You had an impressive collection of colorful books on a bookshelf, framed in with little knick-knacks and figurines of your favorite characters or collectibles. One large sunny window was decorated with stickers that acted as prisms, sending rainbow beams across your floor at a certain point in the day. A photo of a very young you and two people he assumed were your parents leaning against a guard rail over a canyon was framed and hung next to a giant plastic fish.

No, you didn’t have much. It was clear you’d thrifted or trash picked most of the furniture in your apartment, with the exception of your computer setup. You’d taken him into your bedroom to show him what system you used, how you’d built your system based on the specifications of your mod, who Seokjin now knew, was also your best friend Wonwoo.

But Seokjin couldn’t help but revel in how well cared for and cozy this small place was, so different from the cold floors of his own apartment. It reminded him of the tiny place he used to live in with his parents. It was familiar, safe.

When he’d come in, he did worry something was wrong. You weren’t one to not answer, attentive in the restaurant to everyone, often whipping your head in someone’s direction the second you heard the first sound of your name slip through someone’s lips. When you didn’t answer, he’d wondered if you’d been injured or worse. As much as he tried not to judge your building, he was a little concerned about the safety precautions put in place. He’d walked straight in, no lock on the front door, no door man. Everyone’s names were blatantly listed on their mailboxes. If anyone wanted to find you, it wouldn’t be hard to do so.

But you were fine, and the acrid worry that had bloomed in him during those five minutes of you not answering had dissolved once he saw your bright smile, and the even brighter colored stains on your hands.

They were still blotchy, though a few runs under the sink with dish soap was helping them fade. As you feathered a hand through your hair, he found himself grinning. The fact that you had acquired a bulk bag of carrots and used them for practice was so endearing to him. He never doubted your dedication to work, but the fact that you were using the techniques he taught you in your kitchen had brightened something in Seokjin he hadn’t even known felt dark.

And he also couldn’t ignore the sense of pride he had as you practically moaned into the jeon you two had made together, the crispy texture and roll of hot oil over your tongue invoking something in you Seokjin couldn’t help but be drawn to. You loved to eat. It was one of the first things he noticed about you, and as creepy as it sounded, also what stoked those first wisps of attraction.

You loved food the way he did, without care, or at least without care the way most people who he was raised around cared. No, you didn’t eat a lot, but when you did, you were all in, bare hands sticky after eating peaches, their juice dribbling down your chin and forearms, joyful hums when you bit into your favorite crunchy snacks from the convenience store.

He remembered growing up the ways in which women, even his mother, were almost afraid of food, afraid of how they would spend hours in the kitchen making heaps of it, pounds of fresh kimchi, grilled fish, decadent soups with tofu and mushrooms and packets of ramyeon, and yet when it was time to eat, they were too busy too or suddenly not hungry, or they would eat a few bites and excuse themselves from the table to clean up.

It was sad, really. Because Seokjin ate and ate fully, and maybe because he wasn’t a woman he didn’t need to worry about his body that way, or maybe because he always had some insane metabolism that didn’t impose weight like it did with others, but it never hit him the same. He loved food.

And clearly so did you, delighted in the meal he gave you, even eliciting a groan as you washed down a bite with your beer. It was like you were grateful for every bite of food that ever entered your mouth.

“You were right. This does taste better together,” you said. He was practically beaming.

He glanced down at the pile of jeon. They weren’t bad, but they were a little uneven. While cooking, he’d noticed that something was a bit off about your kitchen. Your oven and everything else were a bit titled, and it pooled the jeon batter toward one end, making them thicker on one side and harder to cook properly. Your fridge door also was dented, having the similar issue of the weight pushing things to one side. He made a mental note to shove some cardboard under the floor pegs later to help level the appliances.

Your counter situation, though, he couldn’t help. You would just have to keep with your barricade at the end to avoid rolling. But you seemed to be savvy in how you solved the various erroneous features of your apartment, making the best of what you had.

In fact, as Seokjin sat in the crook of your massive couch, he noticed why this side was so sunken; it was the only spot you could actually see the TV from this angle. He wondered if he could shuffle it a little bit more in a better view while you were streaming later, or if you would even notice.

You hovered next to the couch, your bottom lip worried between your teeth. You were nervous about something.

“What is it?” He asked. The time for your stream was growing nearer, and he’d promised he would stay for at least the first half, setting up his laptop in your living room.

“What am I doing?” you groaned and flopped down on the floor, a frustrated wail muffling into the carpet.

“Testing yourself and growing. Listen, Y/N, you know you don’t have to do this, but we’ve been over it daily at this point. You want more money and this is what you’ve decided is the most viable option. After-Dark type streams do make a lot more money, you want to exercise more freedom with yourself, do I need to go on?”

You shook your head. Seokjin chuckled.

“Okay, so–yah, sit up!” You bolted off the carpet and folded your legs underneath you.

“So, you know I’m going to be out here if you need anything. If you need me, I’m just on the other side of that door. Also, we’ve been practicing, right?”

“I know, I just…I’m not like you. I’m not confident, I’m not really easygoing or likable like you are. I can’t dom–command a room or everyone’s attention with my charisma how you can. I’m worried that if I don’t give people what they ask for, they’re just going to leave.”

Seokjin scoffed. He knew that on the outside, in the context of work that you were used to seeing him in, he appeared in charge and control at all times. It was part of the job, to be well tempered and fair and even, maintain a sense of friendliness but firmness, it was common sense. But much of his advice today wasn’t coming from that version of him you knew. A lot of this was insight and experience he’d gained as Jin, who he needed to be to ensure he was meeting his tip goals, or needing to remind everyone he was the one in charge, not them.

Even at work last week, when Seokjin needed to call the distributor because there was some issue with a shipment of produce, it was Jin he was channeling to make the call. If it were Seokjin, he would have been a sweaty, nervous mess. Jin was business, Jin was the one who laid down the law. Seokjin himself?

He was the youngest Kim son, the one who, when his parents’ friends and family members thought he wasn’t listening, gossiped about. Why wasn’t he married? Didn’t he have that fiancée for a while? Oh she had a baby with another man? His boss? Well surely that has been long enough now, right? He had another girlfriend, or found some other salaryman career. At 30, it would be kind of sad if his life wasn’t going anywhere.

And that’s where Seokjin was, after all. Single, a sex worker, or temporary restaurant manager. This morning he’d received a text in the family group chat from his brother with a photo of his nephew kissing his sister-in-law’s bump. He loved his nephew, he loved his brother and was happy for their little family. But he also felt hollow as he opened that picture, like some part of him knew he was never going to truly get to have that for himself.

“Hey,” he said, and your eyes flitted from the floor back to him. “First of all, if they leave they leave, right? Those aren’t the people you want to be on your streams because their energy sucks and they’ll just keep asking more of you. Second,” he cleared his throat, “you are likable. Otherwise you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place, having viewers and subscribers. There has to be a part of you that is genuine there, otherwise everyone will know you’re lying and move away from you. Don’t they say something about how all the best lies are rooted in truth?”

“But I’m not trying to lie to them,” you said meekly.

Seokjin internally kicked himself for saying that. Perhaps suggesting that you lie to everyone wasn’t the best move.

“I know, I mean, that you don’t offer all of yourself, but offer the parts of you that you know are there that are stable. And for the rest of it, fake it until you make it. Until you can feel confident as a streamer, able to set boundaries. Pretend you’re someone else. The person you want to be.” he amended.

Jin was some of the best parts of Seokjin. Maybe even better. Self-assured, knowledgeable about sex and sexuality in ways he hadn’t been when he was with Soon Yi, he could say no to things he’d never been able to say no to his boss about, and things he couldn’t say no to now because the restaurant wasn’t technically his. There were things he could do, ways he could slip some power in there or make decisions, but nothing was really his. Not the way streaming was. That was all for him. And while yes, his friends knew he did it and supported him in their own way (thankfully most of them did not tune in but on occasion Jungkook and Taehyung would hop on when completely wasted to goad him to “release the beast”), it was still a success that couldn’t be shared publicly, even though he didn’t really want to share it anyway, and didn’t really feel successful.

“Is that what you did? Faked it until you made it? Until you were the person you wanted to be?”

His blood ran cold. Were you reading his thoughts? Did you know?

“W-what?”

Oh god, what if you knew? Seokjin would rush out into the night and dig his own grave. Because if anyone else knew what he did, if his parents found out or his brother or you, he was sure he would become the worst parts of himself. A failure again. Once more someone to be quietly gossiped about in rooms when he was in full range of hearing what they had to say. He couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating than you seeing him, your own boss, with a bright pink dildo shoved up his ass as he pandered to thousands of people with whimpers and cries. Especially when he just spent the better half of an hour telling you that you didn’t need to pander to anyone.

Would you think less of him for it? Would you ask him why he was doing gay streaming of all things? His face flushed, probably turning incredibly red with embarrassment.

“With the restaurant,” you said.

He swallowed the thick lump that had formed in his throat and coughed.

“Y-yes,” he stammered. “What you see there. It’s not really me all the time. I’m not always all that confident. But I want to be.”

You nodded quietly and stretched your arms over your head. “That makes sense,” you said as you began to pace. “Okay.”

You still had another two hours before your stream was set to start, and Seokjin could tell you were still on edge. He took a deep breath when you turned away, letting the rush of air into his lungs help cool his face.

“Seokjin?” you asked.

“Yeah?”

“Will you stay until it’s over? I know it’ll be late, and it’s a big ask, but maybe we can eat leftover pizza and debrief?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

He couldn’t imagine a better way to spend his night, and probably early morning if he was honest. Your streams could go well into the wee hours of the morning, and while tomorrow while opening he’d probably be kicking himself for this, right now he didn’t care about anything except the warm tug he felt in his chest as he imagined the two of you sitting on the floor with cold pizza and laughter at 3a.m.

“Thank you. Also, do you think we could have another beer or something? I need to take the edge off. I know I’m overthinking it but I need something to distract me before this stream or I might not show up.”

You didn’t wait for his permission, probably because you weren’t asking for it. You slid into the kitchen and back out with two more cold beers.

“Will you show me how to open these again? I want to try.”

Seokjin struggled a bit against the dip of your couch, but eventually found himself level and close to you, so close in fact that the soft scent of your shampoo was once again permeating his nostrils.

You were intoxicating to him, honestly, and he found himself unable to help himself as he squeezed behind you in your tiny kitchen, inhaling partially into your hair as he walked you through the process.

You fiddled with the bottle for a second, holding yourself at an awkward angle.

“Like this?”

If you did it at this angle, you would be sure to cause the beer to explode, the cap wouldn’t get enough traction to pop off easily.

“Not unless you want to participate in a wet t-shirt contest,” he joked before he even realized how sexually charged that comment was.

You inhaled a little sharply.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you’re a little stiff here.” Then, very carefully, he rested his hands onto your hips, gently maneuvering you so you were able to prop your arm up and out of his way so you wouldn’t elbow him in the ribs when you slammed the bottle down.

He kind of hated himself when he had to let go of your waist. His fingers were tingling simply from brushing them along the seam of your shirt, from feeling the warm curve of your hip under his fingers. Why did his hands feel so at home on your body?

Your sharp movement pushed him out of his reverie as you launched the bottle down onto the counter top, the soft plink and your sparkling eyes confirming you were successful.

That’s my girl, he thought. Only you weren’t his girl. You couldn’t be further from his. And as soon as he thought it, he also felt the soft ache in his chest knowing that you would probably never be his. Because you couldn’t. Because you were without a doubt too good for him, and Seokjin knew all that stood between you and the right guy was time. An opportunity. You walk into the right place some day and then boom, there he will be.

He fucking hated that guy already.

You popped the second cap from the bottle and turned around, shoving your body directly into him as you beamed with pride. “See! I did it!” You looked so adorable, your eyelashes long and fluttering as you gazed up at him.

A smile cracked through his gloom. You were like a little sunbeam to him.

“You did,” he acknowledged, and he took the bottle you offered, taking a swig. He waited for you to make the next move, to dislodge your body from the cramped corner of the kitchen, for the magnetic pull of your body to signal it was too close, too intimate so one of you would break away.

But neither of you did. In fact you sighed and moved closer to him, forcing the small of Seokjin’s back to rest up against the handle bar of the oven. It wasn’t comfortable at all, but he didn’t dare move.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked quietly after a while, staring down at the bottle.

“Sure,” he responded.

You nibbled your bottom lip then sighed again, unsure. He felt your warm exhale hit his forearms. Did you really not realize how close you were to him? The smell of you, even that tiny hit of beer breath, was starting to drive him insane.

You shifted yourself even closer.

“Um, it’s going to sound embarrassing to ask this but I just have to.”

Your voice was low now, a tiny whisper coming out of you. Fuck, you were perfect.

“Go ahead,” he whispered back, smirking. “I won’t judge you.”

“Okay, um. Are you…are you bi?”

“Am I by what?”

You fidgeted uncomfortably and pulled back slightly. You raised your eyebrows.

“No, not by as in near, I mean bi as in like, you know, bisexual?” You shifted your gaze away, and then Seokjin felt the question sink in.

He was such a fucking idiot.

God, this is one of the most awkward interactions you’ve ever had in your life and you feel yourself getting hotter and more embarrassed by the second.

Standing in your tiny cramped kitchen, you decided now for no good reason was the best time to ask Seokjin if he’s bisexual. Or really if he’s gay. Because you need to know. Need answers. Or a confirmation that will help kill this crush for good because as of tonight? It’s much, much worse.

Something about watching him cook earlier, specifically in your kitchen, did something to you. The way he touched your hips to show you how to do that beer opening trick, how he looked slumped into your couch, the way he hovered over your bookshelves and belongings with curiosity, and laughed hysterically over Barry once he pressed the button.

He fits here. In your apartment. It isn’t just some stupid fantasy version of him you could imagine. He is real and beautiful and fits into this corner of your life like a perfect puzzle piece.

And if he’s gay, if there’s no chance that he can give you even the fantasy of this, then it all needs to stop. But it’s also so unfair for you to ask this of him. What if he’s not out? What if you’re forcing him to come out and no one knows and all because your insatiable horniness led you to a gay streaming site where you found him now his livelihood and privacy are technically in jeopardy?

Fuck. You can’t do that to him. And suddenly you’re aware of what you just did, how uncool this was for you to just out and ask. Heat claws into your throat as you sit in this shock of silence, clamping down on your airway and leaving your voice in a reedy wheeze as you try to take back your inquiry.

“I–I’m sorry, you don’t need to answer! I’m out of line. Really, I shouldn’t have even asked. Jesus, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you splutter, heart beating erratically, a line of perspiration beginning to form at the back of your neck at an insane speed. How humiliating.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay. Relax. Breathe,” Seokjin says. You force a ragged inhale but find yourself coughing, gasping to try to find air in this room that is too small and a million degrees warmer.

You are standing in the hallway outside of the bathroom, rasping for air into your lungs. Your mother has just come home from work, shouting about how you haven’t remembered to take the chicken out of the freezer or done any of the chores she’d asked you to while she was gone.

The day has gotten away from you, a hot summer that is so oppressive no one even wants to go outside. You would get all she asked of you done and more before she returned home. The chicken would be thawed, you’d vacuum and mop the floors, would even wipe down the bathroom sink from all the hair she and your father left in it during his morning shave.

And then you would go to your friend’s house tonight, for the sleepover you’ve been dreaming of, eat lots of candy that her father would bring home from work that yours never let you have. You could tell her about the boy whose parents own the convenience store at the end of the street, and how all summer you’ve been finding an excuse to run up to the shop with your allowance to get a pack of gum or snacks or a can of iced tea you would have to chug outside before you even walked home anyway.

You start junior high this fall. Your period started this spring. Everything around you is changing. Your legs are stocky and getting fuller. Hair is starting to grow everywhere. Your breasts are no longer flat on your chest and while you know all of this is happening, you know why and what is going to happen, that doesn’t change how awful all this feels. Your baby fat isn’t baby fat anymore, and the oils of your skin, your hair, your smell? It all is changing so fast and you hate it. You want to hide. And at least having this boy down the street to talk to, Wonwoo, who makes you feel less like you want to crawl outside of yourself.

Him, and all the books you’ve been reading. Ones where they’re older, girls who you’ll be like soon. Who go to school, and date and have families with problems just like your family has problems. Who run into the woods and fall in love with other families. Who find belonging. There’s comfort there, and that’s why despite all your promises to make the house clean for your mom this morning, you forgot. Because you’d fallen into the world of your book.

And now, your mother has told you that you can’t go to your sleepover anymore. Can’t get away from the house and the heat and your body and the ongoing argument you know your parents are having about finances that they shout about when you’re in the shower and they think you can’t hear them. You can’t eat fun secret snacks or talk about boys or pretend for a second that this isn’t your life. Because it is.

Your throat closes up, the dim lights of the hallway outside the bathroom feel like they’re flickering.

“I told you. I reminded you multiple times! Now we don’t have dinner. Unless you’d like to think of something?” She strips off her stockings, balling them up in her fist. “Unless you want to go out there and buy some expensive meal for us tonight?”

Shame. This is it in its purest form. How wrong you are for not helping. For spending the whole day in your fantasy world with your new friends, ones who aren’t real. All your mother asked for was such simple things, and yet you are unable to just do what she asks.

“When your father gets home, you can tell him why there’s no dinner ready.”

Hot tears sting your eyes and you gasp for air. Your father? If he’s having a hard day today, if his boss or his co-workers didn’t recognize him for that presentation he spent all those late nights at the dinner table preparing, you know how this will end. Your father is a fair man, but even he has his limits.

And sometimes that means that the things you love, the things that you covet, they go missing. Precious dolls that you’ve had over the years have disappeared when you were being careless with them, leaving them around in the hallway for him to step on. Once, you left your birthday gift from your aunt, a purple Skip-It, on the sidewalk during a Spring rain shower and when you went to bring it in, it had vanished.

You’d found it in the garbage bin, the ankle loop and cord snapped into pieces.

When your father gets home, he’ll go for your book. He knows just which one it is. You had started it last night and he asked you about it.

You push off the wall of the hallway, swallowing the bile down your throat. You have to hide it, to take it somewhere.

You want to leave. Your eyes dart around the room. Anywhere but here, you can’t let him see how much more embarrassing it is now that he knows you’re anxious. A lump in your throat continues to constrain the air. You can feel your pulse in it, pulling acid up from the depths of your stomach.

You rip another breath from your chest and try to propel yourself across the room, across the universe, but your feet won’t budge. Your muscles are locked in this bump of panic, leaden and unyielding.

Somewhere in the fuzziness, Seokjin has moved but already returned, and you feel a set of cool hands on your cheeks as he comes into focus, gently stroking behind your ears and saying something to you.

“–ow that it’s hard but I need you to breathe, Y/N. Breathe with me. Can you do that?”

His face is concerned, and it twists your stomach even further. He shouldn’t be doing this. You should remember how to fucking breathe on your own. But then again, isn’t that why he’s here anyway? Because you can’t do shit on your own? Can’t hold boundaries, can’t stay in school or keep it together. Can’t live somewhere nicer where you don’t smell the stomach-turning stench of the sink’s old plumbing next to you, metallic and stale. And definitely can’t even remember how to mind your business or breathe like a person.

You rush down the hall, into the living room, snapping the book off the couch. You shove it behind a cushion.

Your father walks in the door, and from the look on his face, you can tell the presentation didn’t go well.

“What’s all this?” he snaps, and gestures to the left-out vacuum and the bucket of water you’d gathered earlier. All the bubbles from the soap have long popped, leaving a heavy, sickening floral scent in the room from the solution.

“I, oh–”

“Your daughter spent all day reading instead of doing her chores. So unless you have a McDonald’s hamburger in your briefcase, we have nothing for dinner.” Your mother interjects, huffing as she heads into your parents bedroom and slams the door behind her.

Your father’s eyes narrow, and this is how it begins. He and your mother slamming, stomping, hitting, and crashing in every interaction they have with an inanimate object around you.

He chucks his suitcase onto the table of the small dining area, then whips open the fridge door a few feet away.

“Y/N, come here.”

You tiptoe in behind him, needing desperately to do the opposite of him, to show that you aren’t mad that they’re mad. That you understand exactly what you did wrong.

But it doesn’t matter, does it? They’re going to show you anyway. He moves aside and you peer into the fridge.

“What do you see in there?” he asks, restrained.

“Um, some celery, lettuce, dressing, milk…”

He growls, indicating that this isn’t the right answer. You’re wrong again. “Food, Y/N. This is food. That your mother and I work hard to put on the table so you can sit around and read your books. Food that needs to be eaten. Do you understand?”

You say nothing. You know the question is rhetorical.

“So, when we ask so little of you to simply take the food out of the freezer or fridge and thaw it, how can it be so hard? Hm? Here let me show you.”

He reaches in, and begins pulling and pulling the veggies, marinades, dressings, milk, eggs, cheeses and meats, and crowding the counter top. You’re frozen, unable to walk away, to ask him to stop.

When he’s done, he looks at you.

“See? Not so hard, huh? And if you were helpful to us, none of this would have happened. Honestly, your selfishness sometimes,” he says. “Now, go get me that book of yours. I think you know you haven’t earned it right now.”

You should go peel it out from under the couch cushions. Should hand it to him, then put all the groceries back away, because you know he’s not going to do it with you here. You should apologize. Accept punishment.

But instead, you’re nauseous and shaking and sobbing.

He waits expectedly. And then he shoves past you to your room, beginning to hunt through your clothes on the floor, under your bed.

“Where is it Y/N?”

You don’t follow him. Instead, you run. You grab the book from behind the cushion, shove your shoes onto your feet and run into the heat of the ending day with it in your hands, the heat from the sidewalk still boiling up underneath you.

Your parents don’t run out the door or into the street behind you. They stay in your home, possibly putting it back together. But you don’t care. You run, until you see the light of the convenience store and your lungs feel like they’re going to collapse.

Inside the cool air, Wonwoo is helping his father place drinks from their crates into the refrigerator. His eyes are wide as you plow in.

You have so much you want to tell him, so much worry in your chest. Your cheeks are hot and your body is sweaty. Nothing is coming out. Just the hum of the fridges, and Wonwoo’s father rushing to get his mother.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks, and you can’t do anything to answer, just stare at his soft face as you well up with tears. You shove the book toward him wordlessly.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” he asks again, and you inhale steeply but choke on the air. A bubble of saliva clods your tongue.

“Please, take this. Hide it,” you urge. He holds his hands out and takes the book.

“Um, okay. Tuck Everlasting, I’ve never read this one.” He looks back up at you and winces.

“Hey, hey, breathe Y/N. You need to breathe.”

Seokjin is standing in front of you, coaxing breaths from you, wasting his time after cooking you dinner like it’s something you deserve. Like you’re not just doing all of this anyway because you can’t control yourself to not have feelings for him. Tears singe your eyes and you gasp another shallow breath.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m not mad. I promise I’m not mad.” Seokjin breaks through your thoughts, his voice gentle, and almost like he hears you in this silent exchange, some constant that is numbing this spiral. You feel yourself inhale a little more fully as you understand he’s not upset or annoyed. “Good, you’re doing good. Let’s breathe another breath, okay?”

You can’t look away. Even if you wanted to, Seokjin’s touch is keeping you focused completely on him, his soft and kind eyes, his plush lips that he’s holding in a slight frown that won’t shake. One that you can tell is worry.

“Another breath, sweetheart. Good, good girl. That’s really good, Y/N. Okay, keep doing that for a second okay?” One hand releases from your cheek, and you find yourself pressing harder into the other, needing him to touch you and keep guiding you back, needing that security of him.

He doesn’t move it away, in fact he pushes himself closer, holds the weight of you in his palm tenderly, and then you see in your periphery what he moved to get: a glass of water.

“I want you to take three small sips of this for me, okay? Slowly.” He holds the rim of the cup up to your lips, tilting it slightly. You open your mouth slightly, letting a trickle of cold water flood into the hot cavern of your mouth, extinguishing so much of the tight, fiery panic that moves through the rest of your body.

You do as he says, sipping and swallowing slowly until he pulls the glass away and sets it down behind you.

“You with me?” he whispers, and you breathe.

“Yes,” you say.

“Can I touch your arm?”

You’re not sure why he’s asking, so you knit your brow and gaze up at him, confused.

“What?”

“Can I touch your arm? I want to move us out of the kitchen and into your bedroom if that’s okay?” His voice is still quiet, and you realize that the hum of the light is so loud it’s almost drowning him out, almost drowning you again.

Your eyes flash wide and you nod. You see him relax a little, and slowly Seokjin untangles the web of your bodies away from the kitchen, into the cool air of your living room. Why is it so cold?

Seokjin guides you through it, and through the doorway to your bedroom. Before you even realize it, he’s unbuttoning his pink shirt and draping it over you.

“Is this okay? You’re shaking.”

You go to tell him yes, of course it’s okay, and then notice your teeth are gritted tight from trying not to chatter.

You take another breath. “Yes,” you squeak.

He pulls down the duvet and gestures for you to sit. “I’m going to put this blanket on you so I can help you warm up.” You feel the soft, heavy weight and start to feel a little better. But without Seokjin holding you, tethering you back into your body, you feel like you might float away any second. You shoot him a panicked look and he seems to understand, drawing the blanket back so he is also swaddled in it, the two of you knee to knee as he pinches the blanket closed with his fist.

“You can touch me if you’d like,” he says, and this, you realize, is what you need.

You immediately shift forward, putting your face into his white t-shirt, inhaling that minty, fresh cologne he wears. You can feel his chest rising and falling slowly, evenly, and you match your breathing to his, hoping soon your heartbeat slows to the same rate. Your hands twist into his shirt but it’s not enough. You find one of his hands and take it, lacing your fingers together and resting them in your lap.

The heaviness is nice, stabilizing, but you know you still need something more.

“Seokjin?” Your voice sounds foreign to you.

“Yeah?”

“Will you hold me for a minute?”

His hand untangles from yours and he moves to place it around your back, but with you two cross legged and facing each other, it’s an awkward embrace.

“I’m sorry, this is such a weird position. If you’re okay with it, you can sit in my lap? If you want? And then I can just hold you for a second?”

You nod and sit up, unfolding your legs and wiggling yourself up so you are on his lap. You wrap your legs around his back, then your arms. And then you feel his arms around you, his fingers lazily tracing the length of your spine.

You feel yourself sinking deeper back into the safety of your body.

You both sit like this for a long time. So long that you feel yourself starting to grow hazy and sleepy. Seokjin is warm and soft and so soothing. You feel like you’re untangling from a sharp web that has been trapping you for a long time. And when your alarm for your stream goes off, you turn off your phone.

“You okay?” Seokjin asks and you huff out a sigh.

“Yeah, I’m sorry for all the dramatics.” You slide yourself out of his grip and flop back onto your bed, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“What do you mean? You weren’t being dramatic, Y/N, you had a panic attack.”

“Yeah, over asking you a highly personal question I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry for that too.”

“I’m not-it’s-look. Panic attacks aren’t ever just one thing. It’s always a compounding of stress and anxiety and other thoughts and feelings. You just came across the one thought or feeling that forced everything to collapse. And I can guess based on how much you’re apologizing, it was probably you doing that shit inside and beating yourself up that knocked all the rest of this stuff down. I told you, I’m not mad. Or insulted that you asked.”

He goes on. “Which, by the way, I’m not bi or gay. I’m very straight. But that’s not the point. The point is, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You asked me a question. I have a right to choose to answer it or not. So there’s your answer. And also, you are never dramatic to me. Panic attacks are fucking scary; you felt like you were dying, right?”

You nod. “Drowning, yeah.”

He gives you a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, those things are no joke. But you came out on the other side of it.”

“Not without your help though. You seem like you know a lot about these when they happen. Do you get them too?”

He flushes. “Uh, no, I don’t personally. My friend Yoongi has them sometimes. He taught me a lot about how to help him with them. The cold water trick really is from him. And then also when Soon Yi and I were together, she would have them, but those were a bit different.” He looks down at his hands.

Soon Yi. So that’s her. The person Seokjin has often stopped himself talking about. The one who his parents would occasionally refer to as “that woman” during shifts when he wasn’t around. No one ever said her name, almost like she was some kind of curse and you always were curious why. You assumed she must be the devil incarnate the way his mother would sling a bunch of insults after she was mentioned, but the way Seokjin now says her name so casually, so personally, you aren’t entirely sure if he sees her that way.

Parents usually carry a greater grudge than their child who was hurt. Your own father has told you on various occasions that the guy you dated for one summer in undergrad, who coincidentally is his barber’s nephew, will never be allowed in his house ever again. Forget the fact that there’s no reason he would be invited over in the first place. Whenever you’re catching up with your parents on the phone, if he has recently visited his barber, he’s sure to bring it up. “Scum is never allowed in my house! He will just drag his filth in with him!”

Thinking of your father and mother right now forces you to wince. Maybe it’s the freshness of these memories, of you realizing now that what happened to you that day as a child wasn’t you being dramatic, as they had insisted even after you’d gotten home. Everything had been put back into place when you’d returned after the sunset, even the bucket and vacuums put away. Your parents never apologized or talked about it again.

And your friend, she didn’t talk to you after that either, claiming you were flaky and rude for blowing her off.

Your father doesn’t even refer to your ex by name, similar to Seokjin’s mother. “That Woman”. “Scum”. If there was ever a name tied to these people, it’s clearly gone in the haze of whatever angry frenzy your parents carry. “Scum” also didn’t even do anything wrong. You broke things off with him, but because you came home crying after the breakup, now that is his legacy.

But Seokjin’s mother, how she behaves, you’re not sure that it’s for the same reasons. You’ve seen firsthand how much she adores her children, and “adoration” is a word you aren’t so sure applies to your family.

Soon Yi, too, it’s clear she was not just a blip on the screen in Seokjin’s life. The hushed, angry chatter between his parents, the way his mother would often get so worked up she would start punching her shoulder and clicking her tongue, saying she needed to go sit down. That’s not a Scum-level relationship. You wonder how close she was to Seokjin. Closer than you two are becoming, clearly.

“Soon Yi,” you repeat to yourself, still lost in the haze of putting things together.

“Um, my ex.” Seokjin says, and you feel heat rise in your cheeks as you realize he heard you. “We were engaged. For a while.”

“Oh.”

You want to ask how long he means by a while? Did they break up right before you joined the restaurant? Or was this from many years ago? It’s odd in a way to think of how Seokjin has lived a completely different life from the time before you knew him. He loved someone, enough to marry them, to start a life together, to know she had panic attacks and how to help her.

Did he place her in his lap the same way he did with you? Did he sit with her in the dull winter light of their bedroom and talk like this?

He had to have. Why wouldn’t he? Your stomach dips. Were you under some impression that this thing you’re experiencing–the closeness of his body, the soft thrum of his heart, that tiny whistle in his throat that breaks through the room as he speaks–would be special?

The dim light of the lamp on your bedside table makes the deep browns of his eyes look even darker, and he watches you as you stretch your legs out in front of you, your foot shifting a bit to rest up against his thigh. His eyes flicker toward it and then back to you.

“How, when did you guys break up? I didn’t know you were engaged,” you ask gently. He sighs, and then slumps a bit, the careful, rigid posture he was holding for so long finally loosening a bit with his exhale. He bends his knees and pulls his legs up, glancing to the other side of your bed.

You pat the spot next to you, turning over so he knows it’s no imposition.

And it’s not, not in the slightest. If you weren’t so fried and exhausted after that panic attack, your brain might try to imbue some innuendo into this moment, but for now, this is all you can do, and you want that ache in your stomach to go away. You want to feel like this is special.

Seokjin flops down into the pile of oddball plushies and pillows next to you and you snort, smiling as he carefully tucks the plushie he smashed in his landing into his arms.

“I’m sure my parents have talked about her enough times for you to know everything,” he scoffs.

“Not really. I didn’t know her name. I just thought she was some girlfriend you had that she hated because she was keeping you away from her. You know, the same way your mother also says that the really old lady down the road who sells flowers keeps your dad away from her.”

He smirks at this, and his fingers rove over the marble eyes of the plushie.

“My mother would blame the sun if it kept her family away from her. She’s been messaging the group chat nonstop for updates from my hyung’s wife about the pregnancy. And she’s supposed to be somewhere in Iceland right now on a cruise. Honestly I wish she would just enjoy herself.”

“Well, she cares. About you especially. Which is maybe why she didn’t air all of your business to me when I was mopping the floors and she counted down the drawers. She just would say that I would be better than “That Woman” but I think she might think anyone would be better than her.”

“She said that to you? Ugh, eomma.”

She did, one late night, when Seokjin left early for “something urgent”. His mother alleged that he was dating a secret new girlfriend that he kept under wraps.

“Honestly, he acts as if I’m going to eat her alive or something. Tsk. That son of mine, both he and his brother are going to send me to an early grave. Behind my back like this when I’m getting older by the minute. Ever since he and that woman broke up, he shut down. I tried to set him up with someone and he kept saying no! That he would find someone. But if she was any better than the others, wouldn’t he have brought her around by now,” she’d said.

She slammed some coins back into the register. You jumped at the sound.

She sighed. “You know what he needs? Someone like you. Someone with vision! That woman never had any of that. So much more focused on status. You’re not like that Y/N. I can tell. And that’s exactly why I hired you. You can’t teach someone that as an adult. They either have it or don’t, and you. You’ve got exactly it.”

You didn’t really know what “it” was, but you didn’t argue, and soon she moved on to complain about something else.

Now, knowing Seokjin’s secret, you think you know where he went that night, and it definitely wasn’t to go hide in his lover’s house. Chances were, he was streaming. And that also would explain why he shut down on her so quickly. You can’t imagine Mrs. Kim’s reaction if she found out Seokjin was a gay cam streamer. Despite being straight.

It dawns on you. You’d been so distracted with that panic attack that you forgot already that Seokjin is in fact interested in women. Solely. Enough to have been engaged to one.

“But, back to your story,” you prod, trying to distract yourself from the fact that now none of this feels like just friends sharing. Seokjin hisses in some air as if he agrees.

“Right. Well, Soon Yi and I were together really in college and on. We started dating really young. Just two kids. And then we just kind of stuck together? She and I were together for a long time before I got the nerve to propose. And then…” He trails off, his face now a deeper blush. Is he embarrassed?

You lick your lips, ready to tell him he doesn’t have to share, but he waves his hand to quiet you.

“She cheated on me. With my boss. We were in the midst of planning the wedding and everything. I was supposed to get this big promotion at the end of some large conferences. But, I don’t know. We had grown apart. Suddenly we didn’t see eye-to-eye on anything.”

Your jaw drops, caught on that larger detail. “She cheated on you with your boss? After all that time? God, Seokjin, I'm so sorry. That’s awful.”

He smiles and nods. “That’s not even the worst part,” he says. His smile grows bigger, like this is some huge joke. “She cheated on me multiple times with him while I was away. And I caught them. Uh, you know. On my dining room table when I came back early to surprise her. I did not get the promotion by the way. But, she actually has a baby, or I guess a toddler, with him now. I heard she’s pregnant again, they’re married. It’s all some surreal life. And now I’m here.”

“Um, you’re right, it was worse than that.” You’re really not sure what to say. Seokjin’s becoming harder to read by the second, turning this conversation into some big joke when it’s not really funny to you on your end. Maybe he’s processed it enough by now, but based on how tightly he’s now squeezing your alpaca plushie, you would wager that he doesn’t really find it funny either.

“Is this,” you take a breath. “Is this why the other night you said you were a failure? Because of what happened with Soon Yi?”

“Partly. I mean, it’s not like I did too great of a job keeping her satisfied. She clearly found other ways to do that.” He laughs darkly.

“That’s not how that works you know,” you say. His eyebrows lift.

“What do you mean?”

“What you just said. Keeping her satisfied. Isn’t it the job of being a human to keep ourselves satisfied? Find things with meaning and joy? It’s not your fault that she chose to do that. To cheat on you, to not be honest when she started feeling differently. She could have told you at any point. Did she?”

He sighs. “Not really, no. Soon Yi wasn’t great at communicating with me about things like that. For so long, we just knew what the other person needed. Because we’d been together since we were so young, we had come up with some other kind of language. And my friends, too, they were in on it. She was not always going to tell someone how she felt but she would show them. For Jungkook’s 21st birthday she threw him an “American Stereotype” themed birthday which he was always obsessing over from the videos. Bought a bunch of red solo cups, they played that Miley Cyrus song and bought a bunch of discounted Fourth of July partyware. She was one of us.”

Even now, despite everything, Seokjin is speaking so kindly about someone who hurt him. And honestly, it throws you. You are so used to the men you’ve been around talking so poorly of their exes that you didn’t know someone could experience such a negative thing and not immediately resort to extreme name calling.

That’s just how good Seokjin is. Enough to not be mad at you for asking questions, for panicking. Enough to speak kindly about others even if it might be eating at him.

“That doesn’t mean it was your fault though,” you stifle a yawn. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Maybe we should shelve this conversation for another time,” he says.

“No, no, I want to hear. I want to know all of it.”

“You were supposed to start your scheduled stream an hour ago.”

“Change of plans. I’m not streaming tonight.”

“Do your subs know that?”

“Don’t call them that. They’re subscribers not subs. Sub is something you do.”

Jesus. Please don’t let him cling to that. Please don’t let that give away that I know.

“Pfft. Okay, do your subscribers know you’re not streaming anymore?”

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s created this distance on purpose and now the moment has passed.

Fine, you’ll get more from him about this eventually. You need to understand how Soon Yi impacted him. You don’t really know why, but you can’t help but feel like knowing more might make you feel less uneasy about all of this. About you and Seokjin and what this could all maybe mean someday.

“I can post about it,” you say softly and he nods.

“That might be a good idea. You’ve had a big day. A big panic attack, you probably need some sleep.”

Your stomach sinks at the idea that he might leave after this, and you’re still not sure you want to be alone. You chew your lip.“What I really need is some pizza,” you say.

Seokjin smirks. “Good thing for you, I know exactly where we can find some.”

“Thank you again for the pizza,” you said, nibbling on the edge of one crust. “I didn’t think I could be that hungry after eating so much earlier.”

Seokjin took another swig of beer, shrugging. “Well, you’ve had a big day, and you burned energy and probably calories earlier.”

Your panic attack may have seemed to you like it was coming out of nowhere, but to Seokjin, it wasn’t. He had noticed your embarrassment the second after you asked him that question, saw you spiral inside yourself as you tried to huff air. He wasn’t sure what really triggered it, but he also knew he didn’t want to leave you after that.

He wasn’t unfamiliar to them. Yes, Yoongi had his share, and it took a little while to learn what ways he could be soothed. Soon Yi’s were different, though. A lot more similar to yours.

When they had started experimenting sexually, there would be times in which she would fall so quickly into panic, like she couldn’t give up control. And from that point on, sometimes she would spiral deeper, into some pit of shame where whatever they were doing, even if it wasn’t super kinky, led to these shaking, sub-drop-like breakdowns. They were more rare, but they did happen, especially earlier in their relationship.

At the time, Seokjin didn’t understand what was going on, and neither did Soon Yi. Just that she sometimes would flip on him during foreplay when he would get a little more confident and dominant, or if he started falling into a scene that she had asked them to do, using the script the way she asked, it would happen anyway. Almost like she was fighting between what she wanted and who she expected herself to be.

And that’s in a way how you seemed to be too. Maybe you weren’t like this sexually, and he would unpack that idea later. But in this intimate space of your home, it was like Seokjin was experiencing some type of whiplash as you went from being so uncomfortable about asking about his sexuality to you lying next to him in your bed talking about his ex.

He wasn’t mad, not in the slightest. He understood that especially after a panic attack, people were desperate for closeness and intimacy, and whatever reaction he had to your panic, you felt soothed and safe with him. He was being let into your world little by little, even if you were fighting yourself to let it happen.

He wanted that. He wanted this: you two eating cold pizza on the floor of your living room, you chewing happily and Seokjin warm and full of life watching you do it.

You even let him make adjustments to your space, laughing and applauding him after he ripped some of the clean cardboard from one of the pizza boxes and made shims to prop up and balance your oven and fridge. He found if he scooted the couch slightly to the left and your entertainment system got turned a few inches, you could completely see the TV from anywhere on the couch. You dove to the other side almost immediately, whooping when you realized you wouldn’t have to strain yourself to see anymore.

You were comfortable. He made you comfortable.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” you said, your hand caressing over the soft roll of your stomach to demonstrate how full you were. Then, a deep burp echoed into the room. Your eyes widened. “Oh, wow, sorry. Excuse me,” you said suppressing a chuckle.

But Seokjin was already laughing, his body shaking at the sound. “So polite for someone who made that noise.”

The tenseness in your shoulders fell and you gave in, laughing next to him. “Listen! It was good, and the carbonation of the beer is making me have to burp!”

“Sure, sure. That’s what it is. You know I’ve seen those memes about how women don’t fart or burp or poop and I’m onto you! You have one strike. If you fart or shit I’m going to prove that meme false.”

You scoff, tears leaking out the side of your eyes. “Well good thing for you, I will not deny those allegations. I don’t just poop, I shit.”

Seokjin choked on his next sip of beer, spluttering some of it out of his nose. “Oh shit.” Tears flowed from his eyes from the sting, and he grasped for some napkins near the pizza.

You weren’t much better off, coughing heavily into your shirt as you tried to recover. This, this was everything he could ever want. Afterward, you both cleaned up the kitchen and pizza together, finishing off the six-pack of beer until your yawns were impossible to ignore.

“It’s really late, Y/N. You should go to sleep,” he said. He hated himself for suggesting it, almost wishing that you would extend the invitation to stay. Even then, though, he would have to decline.

“Or we could, I don’t know, play a game or something?” As you said this, you stifled another yawn.

He chuckled. You were stalling, he could tell. And he wasn’t strong enough to say no. “Hm, okay how about this. We can hang out in your room and I’ll tell you more about me. But you have to get ready for bed first, otherwise it’s no deal.”

Your eyelids were heavy, but you beamed anyway. “Yeah, okay.”

You went into your room, grabbing some clothes before shutting yourself into the bathroom to get ready. Seokjin paced your living room, scanning the book shelves, a variety of titles he’d never seen before in the stacks. But there was one, a smaller and thinner book that had more wear and tear than the rest. He slid it out carefully and held it in his hands. Tuck Everlasting, a book he’d read in elementary school about a teenager who met a family that drank from a tree’s magical spring and lived forever.

Based on your copy, he could tell it was well-loved and read many times. How old were you when you read it, he wondered. Did you want to run away into the woods like he did afterward, trying to find a magical spring of your own?

The bathroom door opened, and he carefully slotted the book back onto the shelf before turning to you. You were wearing an oversized T-shirt and some very, very short pajama shorts. Your legs looked so soft to touch. His hand twitched.

“Okay,” you said, “I’m ready.”

Seokjin wasn’t. But he followed you into the darkness of your room anyway, laid himself down next to you on the bed as you tucked yourself under the blankets. Your eyes shimmered as you looked at him, now way more awake than you had appeared just ten minutes ago.

Were you hustling him?

“You need to crawl under the blankets too. Otherwise they’ll constrict me and I will absolutely not fall asleep like you have clearly planned,” you tease.

You were hustling him. He liked it.

He chuckled and obeyed, folding back the comforter and sheets to get in. But in doing so, he revealed you with your shorts already bunched up on your thighs, exposing your lacy panties at your hip. Your shirt was riding up, and he could see a tiny bit of your stomach peeking out.

God fucking help him. He managed a deep breath, begging himself not to get hard, or for his body to at least wait until you wouldn’t see him getting hard and he was under the covers. This wasn’t the time. Not after all the emotionality of the day. But his dick didn’t know that.

Your covers smelled like you, soft and even a little sweet and you really had to be fucking with him because you shoved yourself even closer to him under the covers, so that there were just a few inches between you two. He felt your body heat radiating from you.

“There,” you sighed, and he smelled a hint of your mint toothpaste. His mouth watered. “Now, where were we?”

No, but where were you really? He didn’t remember, didn’t know where to start. And then it clicked.

“Mmm, you were going to go to sleep I think,” he said.

You frowned, your nose wrinkling. “No, that’s not true. Or it was. I’m not tired now.”

“Give it a minute, I’m sure soon your eyelids won’t be able to stay open.”

“Sure, but yours are heavy now too. So you must be tired. Now it’s a competition.” You were right. His eyelids were heavy, and he was tired. But he knew his body, especially as keyed up as he was getting, wasn’t about to let him fall asleep any time soon.

“I think I’ll win that one,” he laughed lightly.

“Doubt it,” you challenged, and you shifted your legs, now a little less comfy and more antsy. You slowly released a breath.

“Are you sure you want to do this right now?” He asked, and you didn’t hesitate to nod.

“I want to know more about you. It’s nice to put the puzzle pieces of you together in my head.” Your voice was growing husky.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” you replied. A beat passed. Neither of you moved to say anything, just looked at each other.

Shouldn’t this be awkward? Shouldn’t all of this feel wrong? Somewhere in his mind, the logical response was yes, this is weird and he should leave. But then he would be leaving you after a hard day, when you clearly were trying to avoid him leaving by going so far as to keep yourself awake to stare at him. To try to get to know him. And that’s what rooted him now. He couldn’t leave even if he wanted to. Maybe you were only being needy. But he also felt needy right now. And for the moment, logic could fuck off.

So he pushed it away, letting the parts of him he liked most bubble to the surface, the parts that led without overthinking and just acted on what he wanted.

He moved slightly closer to you, and you blanched, a little taken aback, but you recovered quickly. “

I’m cold,” you said. He knew it was a lie. He could feel the heat of you.

“Here,” he replied, and he pulled the blanket open slightly so you could wiggle forward, resting yourself against his chest.

He angled himself carefully, trying so hard to avoid the rest of your bodies touching, but it was impossible, so he pulled you closer, letting every part of you rest against him.

“Tell me,” you muttered.

“What should I tell you?” he whispered back.

“I don’t know. Anything.” You were fading quickly, and he was relieved. Sad that he would have to go soon, but relieved that you were finally resting.

“Okay,” he said, even softer. “I think if I ever drank from a magical spring, I would do a better job hiding it than the Tuck family did.”

You hummed in response, and then he felt your head nod into his chest as you fell fully asleep.

#bts smut #seokjin smut #seokjin #seokjin x reader #bts fanfic #kim seokjin #thanks for the sub

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letaliabane · 2 years

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Quiet Love - Part 2

After confessions have been made, your father makes a decision for you that that send you into a panic, but also causes tension between you and the Commander of the Watch.

Ser Harwin Strong x reader

genre: angst, confessions, slight nsfw

a/n: Thank you guys so much for the support on the first part of this story I really do appreciate it! There will be one more part after this. Just a note this includes the young cast of Rhaenyra and Alicent.

word count: 3.3K

Part 1

Ever since the confession in the garden you had been severely on edge.

You snapped at anyone even for the smallest of things, many long nights lying awake with endless thoughts and most importantly kept as much distance away from Ser Harwin which was nearly impossible.

As painful as it had been watching the princess walk away that morning, Harwin also kept his distance, not wanting to overwhelm you. From what he could tell, you had experienced very little love, and have been convinced in some wicked concoction that you did not deserve it. He knew he would have to try to take this slow.

A couple of weeks later when Viserys suddenly called upon you to join him in the small council chamber and you couldn’t be happier.

It had been so long since you had sat alongside your father in when council was in session. Or perhaps he had wanted to have a word with you? Share the gossip of the court. Or maybe he just wanted to spend time with you?

In any case, you rushed excitedly down the corridor with a large smile, Harwin following behind at a distance.

Making your way inside the council chambers, your smile fell at the sight of the Queen sitting close at your father’s side.

Alicent had been a friend to both you and Rhaenyra, however when her marriage to your father had been announced, it had been a great betrayal, even for you.

You had stayed up all night comforting your sister, her tears had stained your nightgown as she wept against your shoulder before she had fallen into a restless sleep.

Now it had become hard to swallow the idea of the young girl replacing the spot of your loving, kind and yet fierce mother. In your mind, she could never be replaced.

‘Ah! There is my dearest daughter!’

Your father’s cry brought you out of your thoughts. You couldn’t help but beam at the large smile on his face as he beckoned you over.

‘Good morning father,’ You pressed a kiss to his cheek, giving a brief nod towards the young girl who sat beside him, ‘Your majesty.’

‘You must be wondering why I summoned you here today!’

‘Well, I was hoping it would be a simple gathering between a father and daughter but this seems a little more serious to what I had in mind.’

Alicent’s dazzling smile briefly faltered but Viserys paid no mind to your quip.

‘Since Rhaenyra is off looking for a suitable husband I’ve been thinking it’s time for you to do the same! You may not be heir to the throne but you are still my eldest.’

With all the attention Rhaenyra had been getting, you had hoped that the idea of marriage for you would be put off for at least a couple of months.

You chanced a glance towards Ser Harwin in the corner of the room whose expression had darkened, pain evident in his eyes. And you couldn’t help but feel the same.

‘But wouldn’t that clash with Rhaenyra’s betrothal? I wouldn’t want to ruin the celebrations for her,’ You said sheepishly.

Viserys roared with laughter. ‘Many betrothals are set long before a marriage date my dear! No need to act so modest!’

You couldn’t help but close your eyes, breathing in deeply as he poured himself some wine into the goblet sitting before him.

‘I have a proposition for you—well it was actually Alicent’s idea!’ He took a big gulp of wine, smacking his lips, ‘And I have to agree that it is indeed a very good match!’

‘Oh? And who might it be I wonder?’

‘Jaison Lannister.’

You couldn’t help but chuckle. You, Rhaenyra and your father had always laughed at the man, his pig headed words and cowardice. However, your laughter died at the seriousness on your father’s face.

‘Wait father you are not serious are you?’

‘The man may be dense Y/N, but he has status, power, everything a King looks for in a husband for his eldest daughter. Perhaps you can soften him when you are wed.’

It took you a moment to let the words sink in, but your head shot up immediately, anger now burning in your belly. This was not a proposition, this was an arranged marriage.

You got to your feet, hands balled into fists as you glared down your father.

‘Do I not get a say a in the matter?!’

‘The alliance between the Lannister’s and Targaryen’s will be strengthened tenfold,’ Alicent perked up and you had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes, ‘It will ensure that was have such a house at our back instead of being our enemy, not to mention a worthy bloodline to have worthy heirs.’

‘That pig sees women as merely an object! He’d rather have them be silent and ripe for impregnating at his wish, and I’d rather burn by dragon fire than marry him!’ You seethed towards the Queen before beginning to pace the length of the room, shaking your head.

Turning back to the table you looked directly at your father. ‘Is this because I didn’t want to be the heir?’

Viserys looked up, puzzled. ‘What?’

‘Are you punishing me because I did not want to be heir to the iron throne? Or is it because your new wife has been whispering in your ear wanting me to be unhappy—’

‘Y/N! Enough of this!’

You tried to hold back the trembling of your lip, staring up at your father tearfully with a shake of your head.

‘Mother wouldn’t have ever allowed you to do this—’

‘I will not hear of it!’

‘Can you not see how much you’re hurting us? Poor Rhaenyra would bend backwards to see you happy and yet you barely pay her any attention whatsoever! When was the last time you even had the chance to spend with us?! One of these days, you’ll realise it … and by then it’ll be far too late—’

‘I said enough!’ Viserys roared, slamming his fist against the table, making not only you, but Alicent jump, the jug of wine toppling and spilling across the table; like fresh blood pouring from an open wound. It was almost poetic.

He stood to his feet, coming to your side to glare down at you.

‘You will meet Jaison Lannister in a week’s time and I will hear nothing more of it.’

You looked between your father to a scowling Alicent, scoffing and turning on your heel, stomping out of the room. You refused to let either of them see your tears fall.

Servants and other members of court hurriedly moved out of your way, not wanting to endure the wrath of the dragon as you thundered down the corridor.

You threw open the door to your quarters with a ‘bang,’ nails digging crescents deep into your palms as you paced in front of the roaring fireplace.

You discreetly heard the door shutting quietly even as the blood pumped loudly in your ears, merely glancing to see Harwin, cape sweeping around him as he turned to you.

He watched you quietly, dress dragging across the ground as you paced, heels clicking against the marble floors until his eyes raised to your face; the unbridled anger that had made the Targaryens ferocious and frightening.

And yet there was a glint to your eye, a hurt he was familiar with.

‘Are you okay Princess?’

‘What do you think? You must be enjoying this, watching me be humiliated,’ You hissed, refusing to look at him.

‘Who said that I was?’ He questioned, ‘Certainly not I your Highness.’

You ignored him. Harwin sighed, stepping forward. Anyone would call him brazen maybe even crazy for trying to reach out to the Princess in her fiery state, but what’s getting burnt to ease her mind.

‘Is it really that difficult to understand my affection for you?’

His very words made you halt mid step, the anger that had been bubbling deep within your heart rearing its ugly head within.

You wheeled around, yelling furiously, ‘Yes! It is Harwin! It is hard to understand when I’m used for nothing but the needs of others! For hundreds of Lords and princes travelling from across the land to apparently gain my favour only to use me to get to my sister and dispose of me when they have become bored.’

Angry tears streaked down your face but you wiped them away immediately, almost growling to yourself at the showing of weakness.

Harwin’s face was unchanged, but on the inside it pained him immensely to see how much you had suffered at the hands of the court.

You couldn’t help my but chuckle sadly to yourself shaking your head.

‘And now I’m being sold off like a horse to the highest bidder knowing its new master will be a nightmare to live with. All I want is t-to be allowed to be happy! To choose my own path and love whoever I wish to but every time I try something gets in the way! Honestly I’d rather be happier alone than go through this—’

‘Then why did you ask me to go out with you that morning?’

You stuttered at Harwin’s question as he stepped towards you.

‘Why Y/N?’ He firmly asked yet again when you said nothing. You groaned, throwing your hands up.

‘Because I wanted a walk! Maybe I wanted some company while I got some fresh air—what difference does it make?!’

‘You know that wasn’t just it Y/N. I know you feel the same as I do for you and yet for some reason you’re fighting it.’

You tilted your head in defiance, standing tall and your stare unwavering up towards the Commander’s hazel eyes.

‘Watch your tone Ser Harwin. You will remember your place and address me as Princess! And since you're so keen to understand, I know my own mind better than you do.’

As the words left you, you knew they were childish. Your mother would’ve been disappointed, having always warned you never to say things when your temper unfurled. You had always disdained when people referred to your title and yet here you were ordering it out of spite.

However it had not invoked the reaction you had expected.

Harwin smiled, stooping down so he was directly looking you in the eye, causing you to cautiously lean back.

His hand came up to caresses your cheek and your eyes fluttered at the heat of his touch, tingling against your skin.

‘If you’re trying to scare me away, you should know that you can’t,’ He whispered, his voice deep, ‘I’m going to make this as hard and as horrible as I can for you.’

You whacked his hand out of the way, barely taking in the frown that crossed over his features. ‘You're being extremely unfair Harwin!’

‘How so?’ He tilted his head, the corner of his lips still lifted in a smirk.

‘Do you really think this is easy for me?! That I want to be like this! I know you think I’m trying to be difficult but I most certainly am not!’

The teasing smirk faded, Harwin straightening up as he stared down at you.

‘I’ve want to tell you for so long,’ Your eyes strayed from him, staring at the embroidered gold cloak over his shoulder, ‘that I—I lo—’

Your throat closed up, a painful lump rising as you tried to say what you felt, staring into his eyes as he waited with bated breath. But you shook your head, averting your eyes quickly to wipe away the tears that had fallen.

As you went to walk away, Harwin gripped your shoulder turning you to face him, keeping his hands there. Not to cause harm but to keep you in place.

‘You don't think it’s hard for me as well? My affections for you could be seen as treason against the crown and the vow I’ve made as Commander of the city watch. I could be hanged or fed to one of your families dragons if your father so wishes. That day in the garden I-I tried to remain silent but I knew I would live a life of regret if I did not at least let my feelings for you be known.’

Carefully, his hand came up to your cheek, swiping away the remnants of your tears, smiling as you leant into his brief but warm touch.

‘I tried everything possible to keep you from mind and yet you are all I can think about even when I'm in your presence. Trying to forget your scent.’

Harwin couldn’t help but lean down allowing his nose to drag against the curve of your neck, a sharp sigh leaving your lips as he breathed in the perfume you had brushed against your skin that morning.

‘Jasmine and honeysuckle, that sweet decadence, I’m reminded only of you ever time it passes over me.’

He pulled back to look into your eyes, his own darkened as he growled.

‘To imagine you pressed against me and conjure the most improper ways I wish to ravish you.’ His lips were warm against your ear, his large hands gripping your waist to the point of pain, but welcoming that only made your skin tingle. ‘How I’d happily get on my knees for you Princess, treat you better than that coward Lannister could ever even if he tried.’

‘Harwin—’ You whispered, desperateness twinged at your voice. Gasping as he pulled your body flush to his your hands pressed against the cold armour on his chest, his own travelling down the sleeves of your gown before entangling your fingers together with a squeeze.

‘You are one of the kindest soul in a depraved place like this and have been hurt far too many times. All I ever wanted was to show you what you truly deserved Y/N. And I hope you will allow me that honour.’

Desire had you delirious, eyes hooded as you stared up at Harwin, silently nodding, nose brushing against his.

With his hand bracing the back of your neck he pressed his lips to yours swallowing your gasp, gripping your cheek and pulling you up to him, so much you were balancing on the tips of your toes.

Harwin’s arm was wrapped around your waist pulling you in close, his hand gripping your jaw, heat seeping into your skin. Your hands glided across his armour before resting against the nape of his neck, nails embedding into his skin, groaning as his beard scrapped deliciously against your skin.

‘Y/N! Sister! I have-Oh Gods!’

You ripped yourself away from Harwin, fear seeping into your skin at the sight of your sister standing within the threshold of your room.

Rhaenyra was adorned in a red and black gown embroidered with gold, hair tied back in braids, letting her face shine in the sunlight. Truly the realm’s delight. However the shock in her expression as her eyes drifted between you and Harwin had you barely noticing.

The pleasurable heat that had coursed throughout your body turned unpleasant, unwanted as you stared into her eyes. You looked anywhere but towards the Commander who cleared his throat.

‘Princess Rhaenyra—’

‘Nyra—’

You were both cut off by her as she raised her hand. Even for such a young woman, she held more authority than most lords in Westeros.

‘Ser Harwin please leave us.’

‘Princess please if I could just—’

She gave him a firm look, raising an eyebrow. ‘I wish to speak to my sister alone. That is an order Commander.’

You wanted to grab him, cling to him, stop him from leaving but the fear that sprouted within your belly kept you rooted to the floor.

He cast a glance towards you, your eyes meeting his, gaze filled with worry and guilt. With a heavy sigh, he gave you a nod before leaving your side.

A sudden sob escaped you, your hand quickly covering your trembling lips. Immediately he halted, hesitating where he gripped the golden handle painfully. However with one more intense glare from Rhaenyra, the door was shut.

The quick clicking of heels echoed through your room as she came to your side, wrapping her arms around you.

‘Y/N what in seven hells has happened in my absence?! I leave you quiet as a mouse only to return to find you in the arms of the Commander!’

As the tears continued to plummet, she lead you to the couch to sit before the fireplace, briefly hearing her coo ‘oh sister’ as she let her hand run over the top of your head in comfort.

‘Y/N I am here, speak to me!’ Rhaenyra pleaded.

A few minutes go by before you finally catch your breath, opening your eyes to find her squeezing your hands, almost as a reminder that she was present with you in this moment.

‘S-Ser Harwin he-he told me he cares for me. N-No more than that ... that he wants me as his wife.’

Her expression darkened. ‘Don’t tell me he forced himself upon you? I swear I will cut his cock off myself and feed it to Syrax—’

‘No! No!’ You gasped, grabbing Rhaenyra as she stood to her feet in a fury, sitting her back down beside you, ‘None of that at all! He has been nothing but gentle, and patient and kind to me, even when I haven’t deserved it.’

‘Then do you not share his affections?’

‘But Nyra I do—I do, I-I love him. I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember! But I was scared, so scared of being abandoned I hurt him!’ You said tearfully, shaking your head with a wet chuckle. ‘I’ve been so foolish! I don’t know why I turned him down! I’ve been alone for so long I thought his words were nothing but a ruse.’

Rhaenyra’s head tilted in curiosity, ‘What do you mean Y/N?’

You sighed, taking her hand into your own. ‘With you now heir to the Iron Throne you were busy with your duties, we’ve barely been able to even see one another since father declared you! I was afraid that you had forgotten about me.’

For a moment, Rhaenyra’s expression is blank, taking in your words carefully, eyes dancing across your features before shaking her head frantically.

‘Oh my dearest sister,’ She sighs, her own tears wetting her eyelashes as her hand came up to clasp your cheek, ‘It was never my intention to make you feel that way. These duties have been nothing but taxing and a hassle.’

You nod, going to respond sheepishly before she states, ‘And don’t think I don’t know about the men who have come to me after meeting with you.’

‘Nyra-’

‘You should know I have dealt with them accordingly.’

Your eyes widen in horror before she bursts into laughter. ‘I banished them! Not to worry I wouldn’t be that cruel now!’

A very grateful sigh leaves you as you smile, shaking your head towards your sister. you can’t help but take her in; her beautiful smile, eyes crinkled in delight. ‘Seven Hells, I sometimes forget that you are younger than me Nyra.’

‘Even so! You must heed my words as your Queen!’ Rhaenyra says with a smirk. She gets to her feet, hands on her hips, ‘If you do indeed love Ser Harwin Strong you must tell him, or live the rest of your days in regret!’

‘Thats the thing, father has arranged for me to be married. I am to meet with my betrothed in the week ahead.’

Her smile fell, watching as her shoulders slacking and the joy in her body seeping away.

‘What? To who?!’

‘Jaison Lannister.’ You briefly smiled as she gag, shaking her head, continuing, ‘At the recommendation of her majesty Alicent.’

At this Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened with anger once more; but she quickly calmed herself sitting at your side and clasping your hands. ‘I will see to Alicent you can be sure of that. But you must tell father of your feelings sister, it is only right, and then go to Harwin and tell him of your true feelings’

You wanted to fight her words but you knew she was right. First you would see to your father, and then you would go to the man that set your heart alight.

harwin masterlist - masterlist

a/n: i’m unsure how to feel about this, not sure if its that good. anywho we love a good argument to make out session don’t we lovelies? Part 3 will be coming soon.

tagged (if your tag isn't working DM me and we'll try and fix it up!): @thesithdiaries @dazecrea @ppeuppeuppeu @a-sunflower-in-bloom @ladystrongofharrenhall @ccallistata @agoldin @vivilingme-blog @my-dark-prince @derzauberermitlilabademantel @blooomsstuff @starxdame @alexslittlegirl @budugu @piper570 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @words-way-of-life @m1tzifa1ry @gibbsgirl7 @b0xfullofdarkness @hueanhdang @criesinsagitarius @nicolewithanee @starxqt @ateliefloresdaprimavera @akilababs @lakamaa12 @iwillboilyourteeth @littlebirdgot @venus2eros @akinatrix @rainazinha @missusnora @whiterosesblackroses @lucyysthings @whiterosesblackroses @ineffableperception @andyrazzledazzle @mikariell95 @starxdame @her-fandom-sanctum @b3nzeynep @rosemalachi

#ser harwin strong #ser harwin #ser harwin strong x reader #harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #rhaenyra x harwin #rhaewin #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon imagines #harwin imagines #harwin strong imagines #harwin strong imagine #harwin strong x rhaenyra targaryen #harwin x reader #ser harwin x reader

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 2 months

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Idk if you‘ve already talked about this but I found it so weird that Gabe and Tomoe forced Adrigami together in s5 but in s4 when they actually tried to date they hid their relationship from their parents??

The inconsistency is insane

I don't think I have, but it is one of the many things I lay at the alter of "the authors are either terrible at telling a good story or this show was NOT planned out as they clearly had to retcon a bunch of stuff for some reason! May also be a bit of both." Because those are really our only options since Adrigami's writing is total nonsense.

I was honestly under the impression that season 4 Adrigami was a total secret from Gabriel and Tomoe based on the episode Lies.

Kagami: I lied too. I lied to my mother so that we could see each other. I even lied to her when I said you came here with me tonight. I lied at every fencing lesson so we could spend more time together. You see, we're both a couple of liars. Except I lie because I want to be with you. (points at him accusingly) You lie… because you don't want to be with me.

You don't lie to your parents in order to see your betrothed who they picked out! I mean, you might if you're doing something they don't approve of, but Gabriel and Tomoe seem fine with these two hanging out and/or dating in season five, so why was Lies written like this if Adrigami was totally fine and had full parental approval?

There's also this list of issues:

Kagami and Adrien were not introduced by their parents. They met at fencing class and almost didn't even attend the same class due to a random fencing match

Kagami and Adrien never met before the start of canon or even seemed to know about each others existence

Gabriel and Tomoe go a full season and a half without realizing that their kids broke up (and, according to the episode Protection, Gabriel WAS aware that they were dating)

Nothing prior to season five indicated that Gabriel and Tomoe wanted these two together even though we have a handful of occasions where Adrien acts as Kagami's escort or goes to an event with her, which would have been the perfect time to hint at this. The driving force for Adrigami pre-season five was Kagami

It's all just really, really weird. At the very least, they could have established that Tomoe knew about the miraculous before season five because I truly don't believe that she did. Kagami has been akumatized multiple times and Tomoe also got hit once, after all. You'd think that Tomoe would be mad about that or that Tomoe's akumatization scene would have hinted that she knew who was akumatizing her. But it plays like a normal akumatization which is very weird now that we know that she's in on everything and clearly has been for many years. Seriously just mentally compare Tomoe's akumatization to Nathalie's and tell me that doesn't feel off. Only Nathalie is presented as a coconspirator even though a good story where this was all planed would foreshadow that something is weird about Tomoe.

#ml writing salt #ml writing critical #ml season 5 salt

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aemondsbeloved · 1 year

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The Cost of Duty Pt. 2

pairing(s): (Mentioned) Aegon II Targaryen x reader, Aemond Targaryen x reader

summary: It has been weeks since you’ve seen Aegon after you reminded him of your duty to your betrothed, his brother. If you thought you could keep your affections for Prince Aegon a secret to Aemond you were wrong.

warnings: none I think? mentions of drinking and alcoholism. this is kinda angsty kinda not. love triangle vibes between aegon, aemond and the reader but also kind of not. probably typos in this, I will edit later

notes: I haven’t really been on here because of finals taking up all my time BUT here’s part two! this is very little women inspired with aemond and the reader being like Amy and Laurie. there will be another part

[read part 1 here]

It had been weeks since you’ve seen Aegon more than a glimpse in the castle that you were granted. Ever since he had left you in the hillside of the Red Keep when you told him you would do your duty and marry his brother despite your love for him, he had done much to avoid you.

Now, you were with your betrothed. Prince Aemond held your arm as you walked the gardens.

Before you spent time in the gardens alone sometimes reading a book or doing embroidery, while other times Princess Helaena, your soon to be good sister, would join you. She had not joined you as of late, why you did not know, but you knew that Aemond without fail would come to the gardens to walk with you after his training with Ser Criston.

“My sister has not been accompanying you as much,” He observed quietly. “Is there a reason behind this?”

When you were first betrothed to Aemond you thought his questions like this were very accusatory and had often wondered if he asked them expecting someone was always lying to him somehow. Helaena had told you this was not the case and you had trusted her.

“I am not sure, my Prince” You replied. “I had thought she was busy with her duties and I did not want to presume that she would always be free to spend her time with me.”

“What have I told you about calling me Aemond?” He asked with warmth in his voice, almost like he found your manners endearing. “We’ve known one another since we were children, the least you could do is stop the formalities.”

You only wish the smile on his face, one of mirth or at least as much mirth as someone like Aemond could muster, could incite the reaction that one from his elder brother would. There was no heat rising to your neck and cheeks nor did you feel any butterflies in your stomach at it, much to your disappointment.

You smiled in apology to him, gently squeezing his arm that you held with yours as you walked.

“I think, perhaps, that Helaena might be spending more time with my brother, if you would believe such a thing.”

You schooled your features trying not to show surprise. “Is that so?” You asked, instead.

He hummed. “Mother wants to get them married sooner rather than late and is not content with how my brother spends little time with Helaena, so he has been told to spend time with her.”

“Why move up the wedding date?” You asked, curiously.

He shrugged. “She did not say. I think, perhaps, it has something to do with father’s health. She wishes for him to see them wed, I would say. Even my grandsire agrees that they should be wed soon.”

“That is such good news” You said, despite not truly believing it as you pushed a bright smile onto your face. “It will be a wondrous thing to be at a wedding in the Sept.”

“Do not lie to me, Y/N” Aemond said, not unkind, as you reached a quieter, more secluded part of the gardens where a rose bush bloomed. “I am not blind and I know you better than you might think. Your attachment to Aegon is no secret to me.”

He had turned to you, dropping your arm for a moment as he faced you. “I am, perhaps, not the husband you wish for, but we share a duty now. My brother and sister are going to be wed soon and we too will be married by spring’s end.”

Your skin felt hot and your dress itched as you could not look him in the eye now. The shame of it, if Aemond thought you had perhaps done something with his brother besides spending time with him.

“Aemond, I—” You cut yourself off, not knowing what to say in your slight panic at what he may think of you. Affection for him or not, the thought of him, someone you had been friends with since your youth, thinking lowly of you, cut you deeply. “I have not sullied myself with Aegon.”

You pinched your eyebrows together, your eyes squinting closed at your phrasing. Sighing, you opened your eyes again. “I only mean to say that I have not lay with him. I would not do that to you, or Helaena. I-I know what you think of him, the same what your mother and grandsire think of him, but he hasn’t— we haven’t.”

“Hush” He said soothingly, holding your arm with a gentle squeeze, a gesture of reassurance. “You do not need to explain yourself to me. Ser Criston has told me you spend time with one another with great frequence, that is all.”

Your skin felt aflame at that. You had not gone into his bed chambers, you had not lain with him in bed, but you had sought him out more than your betrothed, his brother. Somehow, spending time with Aegon on the hill of the Red Keep overlooking King’s Landing felt like a more lethal form of treachery. You had told him you loved him and would only ever love him. You hated yourself for it and you hated how true the love for Aegon was despite the man standing in front of you.

“We are to be married. You will be my lord husband. If I do not have to explain my misgivings to you, who do I have to explain myself to?”

He smiled at that. Not the restrained smiled, but an open, content one. It was like hearing the words, my lord husband, from your tongue was all it took to please him. At that the knife in your heart twisted brutally.

He was making it so easy to love him with his smile, his kindness you were undeserving of, the duty he had kept to you. And you were stuck thinking of his brother, the one who had pulled your hair when you were children, and now told you he wanted to run away, shirk from his duties to his family, soon to be sister wife, and the throne.

How despicable you had turned out to be. What would your Septa say now if she could see you?

“I would never accuse you of such a thing” He said. “You are a woman of honor even if my brother has none. I will be proud to call my lady wife.”

“Aemond…” You voice trailed off, sounding unsure and quiet. What was there to say? He knew from Ser Criston Cole that you would meet with Aegon, seeking him out and having too deep a friendship to be so platonic.

“Come,” He urged, taking your arm again. “Let us walk some more, my Lady.”

“I asked a favor of Ser Criston” He told you, which made you curiously look at him from the side of your eye. “I wasn’t so sure he would agree, being as devoted as he is to my mother, but he will not tell her how you and Aegon spend so much time together. In these past weeks she has come to the conclusion that her idea to have Aegon spend more time with my sister is the reasoning behind him not being seen in the street of silk. Ser Criston agreed that it is better if this allusion remains.”

You briefly recalled how the last time you had seen Aegon he had said how glad Aemond would be if he knew he was the reason behind the elder Targaryen’s drinking habits, all because Aemond would have you and Aegon would never.

“She has elected to ignore how he barely makes it to his bed these day without the help of a Kingsguard, a new low for my brother, but I must allow my mother to take a reprieve from worrying over him.”

For a moment you wondered why he was telling you this. For the many years you had known him, Aemond was not one to do something without reason, much less tell others why he has done something.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you are to be my wife, my lady, and unlike my brother I wish my marriage to be a happy one.”

Your eyes were glued to the ground at his last words. Aegon had, after all, spent nearly all his time with you besides the last weeks and never even acknowledged his sister, his wife to be. You had let him a part of you loathed your actions. No, nothing sinful had occurred between you and Aegon but you did know he was betrothed to someone who was possibly the kindest Targaryen to have lived.

You were little better than Aegon, you wagered, as you had a betrothed who was dedicated to you but you had sought his brother’s company instead.

“I do not tell you this to cause you harm, Y/N.”

Using his index finger, he gently tilted up your chin so he could look at your reluctant gaze. His touch was gentle despite the roughness of his finger, calloused from years of training with the sword.

Aegon’s fingers, the ones who had held your hand, wiped away tears from your cheek, were as soft as could be. Unlike his younger brother, Aegon did not train with the sword much.

Aemond could not be more different than Aegon, you realized. When you hurt most, desperate for Aegon to stay, he had left you on the grassy hill. You could not see Aemond doing such a thing, even if you had hurt him somehow.

“But if we are to be happy in this marriage, you cannot seek my brother’s company as you have.”

You gulped as he told you this, looking at you intently. You did not want to disappoint him nor did you want to hurt him, so you grabbed one of his hands in yours squeezing it. “I promise I will do no such thing again, Aemond. I know my duty to you, our joining families, ourselves, I do.”

He sighed, part of him seeming relieved while the other part seemed to want to say something else. Your brow furrowed, confusion marring your features at this. “What is it?”

He dropped your hand. “You have to understand, my lady. I am the second son. I know I am not your preferred choice but—”

“That is not true, Aemond” You whispered shakily. “I do not view you as such—”

“But I am a second son. Aegon has my mother’s devotion. She has to give it to him with the errors he ceaselessly makes.” He said and you could hear the resentment. “But I cannot be second in my wife’s affections. I know you cannot have the man that you want and we will be wed no matter what our heart’s desires but I will not share my wife with my brother.”

His words may not have been angry but between you both you could feel the waves of resentment for his brother, the man he knew you cared too deeply for the be platonic. The words we will be wed no matter what our hearts desires rung through your mind.

Was their a paramour of your betrothed’s, you wondered.

“Is there someone you wish to wed?” You asked, doing your utmost to sound strong, hoping you did not waver. “Someone else?”

Hu hummed at that, the way Aegon said was annoying, but you knew Aemond. It was contemplative at most. Maybe even something he did not wish to say aloud.

He looked at you, smiled again, though you noted it was a little bit tighter, like he was already holding himself back from being open with you. Holding his arm out, you took it as you both continued your walk through the gardens.

You did not get an answer of what his affections were and who for that day in the gardens, although you knew, even then, that this went beyond your duty in its complications.

taglist: @greinch @itsghostgirlyo @cullenswife @rosaryos

let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader

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littlekohai77 · 6 months

Note

Hello 👋 can I pls request dating headcanons for Julian, Schnauder and Duke Grane? Thank you ❤️

𝚂𝙾 𝚞𝚖 𝚑𝚒, 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚣𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝.

🅆🄰🅁🄽🄸🄽🄶🅂: uhm bad writing, not proofread, a bit toxic, lots of baby fever, ooc kinda

*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*

🚩🅳🆄🅺🅴 🅶🆁🅰🆈🅽🅴:

✾I've done this mf before but ya know what, maybe I can bust out some more.

✾So let's start with before Jiwoo.

✾before he got defeated by Jiwoo and his ego took the most massive hit ever, he honestly wasn't half bad.

✾made time in his tight schedule to spend time with you.

✾not just training but also just for hanging out with you.

✾you guys binge watch horror movies because he thinks romcom is dumb (it's actually because he starts giggling like a fucking high school girl whenever something cheesy happens)

✾he tries to act all macho and shit during horror movie nights but he isn't as slick as he might like to think. Yeah, you very obviously notice the way he jumps slightly whenever the ghost pops on the screen out of nowhere.

✾I mean how could you not, you're basically using him like a chair. And he isn't bothered by that.

✾cause after a long day of training, he's sore as hell and your body on him feels like a weighed blanket that makes him forget the pain and numbs the soreness.

✾kind of reserved and not into PDA. Like the most you'll get out of his is probably hand holding and he barely tolerates that.

✾but when he's jealous or feels like he needs to show people (and you) who you belong to, he gets 𝐁𝐨𝐥𝐝.

✾straight up spanks your ass whenever he's passing by.

✾drags you into the bathroom and latches onto you like a leech.

✾leaves hickies in the most conspicuous places known to man.

✾literally everyone is staring at you and he's acting so fucking smug when he sees the guy that has been getting too close to you burn with anger.

✾literally a petty baby.

✾will get so mad if you don't let him do your eyeliner.

✾and if you watch a show alone that you two were supposed to watch together but he was absent because he was going around the world whopping ass.

✾will not look at you. Act like you betrayed him and will be glued to the opposite side of the couch muttering about how evil you are.

✾might flirt with others to make you jealous.

✾will not tolerate the same treatment.

✾very whiny and bitchy.

✾will say some really harsh things when he's mad.

✾it's likely that you guys are already betrothed or about to be.

✾will train you if you're weak.

✾if he loves you enough, he might, rare chance, might share a teensy tiny bit of force control. Especially if you're weak as hell.

💍🅹🆄🅻🅸🅰🅽 🅿🅰🆃🆁🅸🅲🅺:

✾have done him before too but eh.

✾let's talk about before Jiyoung because honestly... He changes so much and it gets so depressing for you.. .

✾anyway ahem.

✾at some point in his life. When he was probably quite young, he probably hated you cause he had to marry you when he got older. But obviously he later found out how awesome you were and fell for you.

✾literally the best boyfriend ever.

✾learns how to braid if you have long hair because he adores it and wants to play with it.

✾will also learn how to do makeup. Because he wants to spend even more time engaged with you and he gets a bubbly feeling in his chest when you smile at him and tell him he did a good job (bro got a praise kink).

✾him doing good and making you pretty makes you happy and you being happy makes him HAPPY HAPPY.

✾will let you paint his nails. Will get upset if you don't use gray, black or some dark color because that's his aesthetic. But don't worry, he won't whine even if you use that puke green shade, but there will be a depression cloud around him.

✾will not mind if you try to put makeup on him but will try to make sure that he ends up looking presentable and somewhat professional.

✾you forgot your coat? Oh don't worry suddenly it's too hot in here and he doesn't need his coat anymore.

✾he might get a bit peeved if you puke on his favorite suit, but he won't stay mad for long because those obviously don't matter when he has you and also because he's holding your hair back as you throw out dinner into the toilet pan.

✾dates with him are mostly domestic because he likes the comfort of his home and just being with you without those nosy officials breathing down your necks.

✾cooks for you on every occasion. He doesn't care about gender norms, he loves you and he likes keeping his darling healthy and happy with good food. Also because he's a bit paranoid about your safety and is scared that you might get poisoned.

✾will let you put silly clips in his hair and make him look ridiculous but only in the privacy of his or your rooms. He does not want his brother to have blackmail material.

✾if he somehow ends up looking professional, fashionable and good though, he might wear it to work.

✾is literally so jealous whenever you baby his brother.

✾literally glaring holes into the poor guy's back as you talk with him, bring him sweets and just treat him oh so well.

✾gets seriously upset when you come to visit them and hug Ian first.

✾will give you silent treatment for 2 hours before caving.

💪🆂🅲🅷🅽🅰🆄🅳🅴🆁:

✾he's kinda hard to do cause we don't really know much about him but I'll try.

✾I'm kinda stuck on one thing though. Which is, I feel like he doesn't have the patience or time to le le lay lay and play around with you and if you guys met a long time ago, like 3-5 years, he'd be married to you by now but he also might play around.... But if he did, he would break up in like 1-7 months. So if he's been with you longer, you can probably assume that he plans on wife-ing you up.

✾very reluctant to get into a relationship with you if you're weak.

✾because 1. He has a reputation.

✾2. He doesn't want his enemies to target you.

✾if you're strong than he's less reluctant but still a bit paranoid of you getting targeted.

✾makes a brutal example out of anyone who tries to touch a single hair on your head.

✾will slap your ass in public, if his underlings are around? Even better.

✾instructs Roist to take care of you and protect you even if you're wayy stronger than the boy.

✾he says it's free training opportunity for him.

✾this man doesn't quite care about his apprentices. But when he sees you treating Roist like he's your son, treating his injuries, helping him train, interacting with him casually, it makes something warm in him bloom and spread throughout him.

✾literally starts imagining how you would look like with you belly full of kids, all round and cute, waddling around and whining, so fucking cute. (Tits filled with milk 👀)

✾but it wears off easily too when he remembers how troublesome children are. And how low his patience is when dealing with them.

✾he thinks that maybe he doesn't actually want babies, maybe he just like the image of you knocked up and full because that makes you just so 𝙃𝙞𝙨.

✾but he also feels a sort of longing in him whenever he watches you interact with teens or toddlers. Maybe with you, he doesn't mind having mini demons running around.

✾will train you if you're weak and help you grow strong and then date you.

✾he's self aware of his physic and in turn, treats you like a porcelain doll.

✾likes to take you shopping. Loved to see you all dolled up just for him. Just loves to spoil you in general.

✾it comes off as a huge surprise but he's great at cooking.

✾but he mostly chooses to lay back and let you do the cooking because he loves the sight of you wearing aprons.

✾if you're a healer, he sometimes intentionally get flesh wounds. They're pretty harmless as they don't have that much harmful residual powers. Because he loves being fretted over by you, his lil baby as you nag him to be more careful.

✾no matter how pissed he is, he will never harm you. He loves you too much for that.

✾if you're a fan of muscles, he'll have a huge blush on his face as he laughs and boosts about himself. In the privacy of his room of course.

✾likes to carry your stuff for you. No matter how light it is.

✾lives for seeing you in his clothes.

✾intentionally puts things out of your reach so that you would have to call him over to get it down.

✾will get moody if you call for Royst or use a ladder to get it your.

✾magically all ladders have vanished over night after you did that.

✾and suddenly Royst has become deaf because he acts like he doesn't hear you and runs off.

✾if Royst makes a silly mistake, he's looking your way for help and Schnauder immediately gives up trying to punish him because you'll be sad and pouty and huffy, he doesn't want that.

✾regrets introducing you to Royst.

✾will be on his ass the moment you look away.

✾please never leave him for Royst's safety. (Dw he won't die)

✾loves cuddling you, especially with you laying on top of him with all your weight on him.

✾insecure about your weight? Girly, he can carry you in one hand alone. Don't you worry about being too heavy.

#eleceed #eleceed x reader #world academy #frame #duke grayne #duke #julian patrick #julian x reader #eleceed julian #eleceed julian patrick #julian #schnauder #duke x reader #schnauder x reader #schnauzer

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acourtofthought · 10 months

Text

Lucien has not stood in the way of Elain choosing to be with anyone.

“Elain loves this lord’s son.” Not quite a question.

“And then I’ll ask your mate how he survived it—knowing you were engaged to someone else. Sharing another male’s bed.”

She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male’s bride. A mortal man’s wife. Or she would have been.

“I’ll go.” Lucien was staring at Elain as he spoke. We all looked at him. Lucien shifted his focus to Rhys, to me. “I’ll go,” he repeated, rising to his feet. “To find this sixth queen.” He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap. “I’m not needed here.

“Good. But is she still …” A muscle flickered in his jaw. “Does she still mourn him?”

“She was deeply in love with him, Lucien.” His russet eye flashed with simmering rage. An uncontrollable instinct—for a mate to eliminate any threat. But he remained sitting. Even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair. I continued, “It has only been a few months. Graysen made it clear that the engagement is ended, but it might take her a while longer to move past it.”. Again that rage. Not from jealousy, or any threat, but—“He’s as fine a prick as any I’ve ever encountered.” Lucien had encountered him, I realized. Somehow, in living with Jurian and Vassa at that manor, he’d run into Elain’s former betrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

First, Lucien walked away once he realized Elain was not over Graysen, walked away so his mate could try to be happy without him.

After the war Lucien could have killed Graysen, the most major threat to his mating bond with Elain at that point. It didn't matter that Graysen rejected Elain because Elain was still in love with Graysen and Lucien was fully aware of that.

Graysen was a fae hating human and while Lucien thinks he's a prick he never once voiced judgement that Elain chose Graysen like the others did. He never made a comment along the lines of "How can she be interested in him?". He simply respected the fact that she did.

“And Elain,” Rhys said, sighing as he removed his other boot, “should not be marrying that lord’s son, not for about a dozen reasons

“Is he good—the lord’s son she’s to marry?” “She thinks he is. She loves him like he is.” “And what do you think?” Nesta’s eyes—my eyes, our mother’s eyes—met mine. “His father built a wall of stone around their estate so high even the trees can’t reach over it. I think it looks like a prison.”

“Why are you letting her marry that bigoted prick?” The question snapped out of him.

“You have a damned opinion on everyone else in the world. Why not tell Elain she’s marrying a monster?”

“She deserves better than someone like that.” “Indeed she does.” Flat and cold.

So if Lucien was willing to walk away from his mate so she could try to reconnect with her fiance (as fine a prick as any he encountered, even his insults are elegant) who she was in love with and agreed to marry, who she had sex with, then why does anyone think Lucien will stand in the way of Elain wanting to be with Az if that is in fact what she wants.

To date, Elain has not told anyone that she wants to be with Az, that she has feelings for Az beyond the physical. If she wanted to be with him, why not just be with him? No one is standing in Elain's way, certainly not Lucien. Not even Rhys because as far as we can tell, she wasn't aware of what was discussed between he and Az on Solstice (though wouldn't it be amazing if she did hear and gave the necklace back because of how Az acted? 😈).

But I'm getting off track because my point was it Lucien has always been willing to step aside so Elain could go back to Graysen, if he did nothing to Graysen or Elain before or after the war knowing she still loved him (despite what his instincts may have wanted him to do), then why are we thinking he'd stand in the way of E/riel? There's no forbidden love when a male is willing to suffer in silence while the mate he longs for takes time to decide what she wants even if it doesn't currently look like him.

And you know what happens to the SJM mates who step aside to allow the female to marry another (Feylin)? To the mates who stand aside while the female they want chooses to sleep with many others (Nessian)? (In comparison, a near kiss is nothing).

They get the girl in the end.

#elucien #pro elucien #anti e/riel #elucien supremacy #acotar mates

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otobabe · 9 months

Note

Please may you create headcanons on the hakuouki boys and even kazama if possible on what they would be like if your pregnant thank you

Ahhhh I'm not sure i'm the best to ask about pregnancy HCs, but I do have thoughts on how some of the Hakuouki boys would do babysitting with you! Hope that's an okay substitution 😘

🖤Amagiri- 100% in control. Patient, practiced, kind, he can help babysit kids of any age and will be able to keep conversation with you throughout the intermingling of kids conversations and questions! You'll happily be chatting about what you want for the future while playing your third round of 'Go Fish' with the kids, get asked "Do Caterpillars poop?", and Amagiri will be able to respond eloquently and correctly (yes, a lot, in pellet form much like a small rodent), and then smoothly continue your conversation whether it be "I do hope any future children of ours could inherit my well-defined cheekbones" or "I'm excited to see you progress in your career, I'll make sure to keep dinner warm on the table during your late nights". <3

❤️Sano- He's enjoys being around kids, even if he isn't "the best" at knowing what to do with him. Still, your favorite "date", if you could call it that, was babysitting twin 3 year olds with him. Watching him trying to hide that tall and lanky (begrudgingly handsome) frame behind a kid's sized chair for hide and seek, smiling on and cheering against him as they chased him in circles around the backyard for hours, and hearing the different inflections in his voice for different characters when the four of you snuggled up for their bedtime stories, all created a lasting memory of fun and laughter in your heart!

💚Souma- Fucking it up in the least damaging and hilarious way, which all in all means he does a pretty good job as your co-babysitter, so long as you're there to help clean up the mess. School age kids LOVE him, but they also love to tease and torture him. The kids you babysit together, ages 5 &7, know damn well how to get what they want out of him and con him into playing what they want to play. Homework? No, thank you! It's actually way past the time you were meant to show up for your haircut Kazue! Where do you think you're going?? Sit in this chair! Unfortunately for him, this will not have been the first time one of the kids have snuck a real pair of scissors into the mix and given him an "asymmetrical bob" before...

🤍Kazama- Might surprise some of you with this, but read it through before disagreeing with me! Kazama is fantastic with babies. Would he admit it? Absolutely not. But they love to coo and laugh at his various facial expressions (even his 'serious' ones) as he holds them, and something about his temperament is a true baby-sleep-whisperer to them. He won't forget to slide in comments about how, "It's cute, but ours would be cuter", and reminding you that you ARE betrothed to him and this could be your future soon enough. The cutest part? When you go to put down the baby for a nap, Kazama takes them from you and, a little degradingly, tells you that he "can do it better, you can just take a rest". The walls aren't that thick, so you can hear him lowly singing a lullaby that you'd never heard before to the baby in the rocking chair next door, and you snuggle up on the couch with a cup of warm cocoa daydreaming about your future together <3

#hakuoki #hakuouki #otome #hakuouki amagiri #kyuuju amagiri #harada sanosuke #hakuoki harada #souma kazue #hakuouki souma #hakuoki kazama #kazama chikage #hakuouki headcanons #hakuoki headcanons #headcanons #babysitting headcanons #ask

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

Text

High Tide Came And Brought You In

Summary: Desperate to escape her impending marriage, Feyre throws herself from a cliffside. Anything is better than what's waiting for her.

Even the monster hiding in the waves.

Happy BEACH DAY for @unofficialfeysandmonth2022

YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS DONT PRETEND LIKE YOU DONT

Read More on AO3

Warning: attempted suicide, tentacles used inappropriately

Feyre wasn’t going to marry him.

Not in a year, or a million years. Not to save her ruined family and certainly not because her father, a man who had only ever noticed her in the periphery, decided someone ought to. Not Nesta, who’d flat out said no and was so terrifying even their father yielded. And not Elain, who the prince had taken one look at before discarding. His attention fell solely on her, those green eyes brightening with a hunger Feyre didn’t particularly care for.

Each time that golden-haired prince tried to set a date, Feyre threatened to throw herself into the sea, and each time Nesta bullied their father until it was pushed back and back and back. Feyre is too young, Nesta would scream, and their father would cow at the sight of their mother's furious face reflected in his eldest daughter's countenance.

Feyre bought three whole years that way. And then, Nesta was shipped away, far, far north and Elain was sent south and for the first time in Feyre’s life, she was isolated. Trapped in a crumbling palace, Feyre decided it was time to make good on that promise. She wasn’t going o marry a beastly man just to save her father from ruin.

Feyre had heard a story of a western princess who drowned at sea. Pulled beneath foaming waves by a creature so unearthly, so grotesque, and terrifying that no one dared to speak its name, let alone capture its likeness.

And Feyre, desperate as she was, was jealous. That princess vanished from an equally miserable wedding, escaping what was likely to be a cruel marriage to an intolerable man. Feyre had to wait, given her betrothed was currently in her home, sleeping a mere two doors down. He’d come to set an unmovable date, declaring he would remain until the marriage was done.

He’d force his way regardless of her own opinion. It was enough to spur Feyre into action. She didn’t bother with shoes, or a jacket, or anything that might convince her to turn back. A light, spring rain caressed her skin when she stepped into the night, her feet sinking into the muddy grass.

Feyre turned to look over her shoulder at the once magnificent manor. It had been a wedding gift from her mother's family, gifted by the king for such a profitable and favored union. Her mother had died long before, taking all their father's will to live with her. It wasn’t that he missed her, or even that he loved her—it was his unwillingness to put any care into that home. He simply did not care, and was so tight-fisted that Nesta wasn’t allowed to step in and run things like she might have.

One of the spiraling towers had crumbled in a particularly vicious storm, taking the entirety of the east wing with it. Curling vines had pulled more stone back to the earth, as if the world was physically taking back what had been stolen. In the silvery moonlight, Feyre half thought the entire place looked abandoned. A fairytale she’d accidentally stumbled on, one that she ought to leave alone.

She turned back to the dark landscape, forcing one foot in front of the other. She was shaking with fear by the time she reached the very edge of the cliffside. Beneath her, the inky ocean churned with a ferocity that nearly sent her running back inside, tail tucked between her legs. She didn’t want this.

She didn’t want to be married, either. If Tamlin learned she’d come out here, he’d put guards on her at night like he did during the day.

Still, Feyre didn’t think she could go through with it. She stood there, toes hanging off the edge of the cliff, and just watched the water crash towards her—taunting her. Moonlight reflected silver over the surface, creating shimmering bands of violet just beneath the foam. The wind whipped around her, blanketing her gently.

As if promising whatever was waiting at the bottom of the sea would be gentle. Kind. Feyre lifted her foot, took a deep breath, and before she could truly consider the utter insanity of her plan–or the fact that at her core, she liked being alive, she flung herself into the night air. For one blissful moment, Feyre felt free. Like she was flying, weightless in a world so hell-bent on beating her into the dirt.

And then she hit the water, and all her good sense, along with her self-preservation, came screaming back.

What are you doing?! Her mind demanded as her body tumbled in the water, locked up from the shock of cold. The world might be warming, but the water sure hadn’t. Feyre didn’t mean to gasp, and thus flood her lungs with the burning sting of salt water—her body was merely operating on instinct.

And her instincts were apparently very stupid. She tried to open her eyes, which only served to terrify her further. There was nothing to look at, which made her imagine the worst sort of lurking monsters. Had she wished to be that drowned princess to the west?

Stupid.

Feyre struggled for the surface, bounced back and forth by water that no longer felt playful. Feyre’s body was dying and unlike her hope that perhaps it might be easy or kind, it was in fact painful—torture. She flailed, desperate for even a breath of air, when something smooth slid over her bare leg.

She twisted in the water, wondering if she’d floated down so far she was now at the seabed, trapped in a tangle of weeds. The lack of light was disorienting, and the need for air was choking the rest of her good sense. Feyre kicked at whatever slithered up her leg. If some fish meant to make a meal of her, it would have to wait until she was well and truly dead.

Her sluggish brain forced another breath from her, sucking in more water she couldn’t expel. Feyre blinked against the salt, her vision spotting. She swore it was hands circling her ribs, that it was a cold chest she was being cradled against. The last vestiges of a frightened brain look for meaning, she decided, because when she opened her eyes, it was a dark tentacle wrapped over her middle, pulling her through the water.

Feyre was grateful for unconsciousness.

She slipped in and out. She had the vaguest sense of water being expelled from her lungs while a voice, rich like the night around her, murmured, that’s a good girl. And she thought, once, she blinked open her eyes to find herself staring at a pair of twinkling violet stars, only to lose focus and slip back into sweet, blissful nothing.

Feyre dreamt of a truly beautiful face. Golden brown skin and hair so black it gleamed blue in the moonlight. A sensual mouth pulled upwards with a graceful smile, his well-groomed, dark brows raised into his wet hair.

“There you are,” she dreamt, his long, sturdy fingers brushing hair from her face. “I’ve been looking for you.”

She knew he didn’t exist because that man, for all his broad shoulders, sculpted torso, and bulging biceps, was made of tentacles at his tapering waist. And when Feyre actually woke to a mouthful of sand and a cheerful spring sun beating down on her, she exhaled a sigh of relief he wasn’t real. That the last dreamt words—I’ll be back for you—were merely a figment of her exhausted imagination.

Feyre picked herself up and plodded back home–there was no hiding what she’d tried to do. Her nightdress was torn and soaked through, her body a tangled mass of sand and ocean debris. Her father’s fury had nothing on the quiet anger radiating from Tamlin. He took her into the study he’d been using and promptly flung a chair across the room while quietly insinuating to her if she ever resorted to such antics again, perhaps it wouldn’t be a chair he threw.

Feyre spent the rest of her day in the bathtub, soaking in hot water until her skin was shriveled and the cold and salt had finally leeched itself from her bones. Feyre fell asleep that night, indulging in a fantasy that there really was a man, and he would do exactly as he promised.

That he’d come back.

In truth, Feyre would have taken any savior over what she currently had. She wanted her sisters or at least a father who wasn’t so motivated by greed to recognize that his youngest daughter had flung herself off a cliff to avoid this terrible marriage he refused to undo. Her father, while not an outright violent man, was a coward. He could solve his problems and only had to sacrifice one daughter to do it.

Feyre forced herself down the next morning in a conciliatory dress of sea foam green. She’d left her golden brown hair in long curls, pulling it off her face with a simple pearl-studded headband. She could get through this. Perhaps, once married, she’d find Tamlin’s home agreeable. He might leave her to her own devices. She could paint if she wanted.

Or run away. That was a different thought, one she kept so private she just barely dared to think about it. Feyre channeled her inner Elain when she stepped into the dining room, dropping ino a graceful curtsey and offering a smile to Tamlin.

Not Tamlin.

Him.

Seated at the far end of the long, wooden table was the man she’d hallucinated. Same dark hair pushed casually off his beautiful face. Same sensual smile, same teasing violet eyes. He was dressed in a black and silver tunic, a match for the circlet set against his brow. He had one long, powerful leg crossed over the other, his fingers tapping impatiently against the arm of his chair.

“My daughter Feyre,” her father said, clearing his throat. Feyre opened her mouth to say they’d met, but the stranger interrupted.

“Fey-ruh,” he said, as though tasting the words in his mouth.

“My betrothed,” Tamlin added, his eyes narrowed to slits. That seemed to amuse this lord, whose eyes never left her face.

Is that so, he seemed to wordlessly taunt.

“Feyre, this is King Rhysand of the Southern Isles,” her father explained with some embarrassment. “He’s staying only for the evening.”

“I was robbed,” he explained as if that made any sense at all. Feyre opened her mouth to call him a liar, but he raised his brows and cocked his head in warning.

Don’t spoil our fun.

“How unfortunate,” she murmured, taking her usual seat beside Tamlin. She didn’t dare look at him again, well aware Tamlin was watching her like a hawk. “Your majesty–”

“Rhysand,” he all but purred. Beside her, Tamlin stiffened, as if he somehow knew they’d met before. “But for you, Feyre darling, call me Rhys.”

She dared to look up at him and instantly regretted it. All at once, her heart sped up, leaping into her throat where it pounded a furious, traitorous beat. A new plan began to take shape in her mind. Perhaps she could beg this stranger to take her with him. To shelter her, at least long enough to find a better plan. One that offered her agency, if nothing else.

Freedom.

Seeking him out was a wholly different matter. After breakfast, Tamlin demanded she escorted him through the gardens, warning her not to get too close to the stranger.

“I’ve never even heard of the Southern Isles,” Tamlin had grumbled, as if his knowledge was all that existed in the world. To Feyre, that only added to the allure of Rhys. Somewhere Tamlin had never heard of? Perhaps it was too far for one of his ships then, too. Maybe Rhys lived somewhere so remote that even in a hundred years, Tamlin would never reach her.

She managed to track him down in the ruined part of the castle. She’d watched him slip behind a door quick as a shadow and followed just behind. She’d ditched Tamlin’s sentries back in the library, who, as far as she knew, still thought she was asleep beneath that heavy blanket.

Rhys was panting as though he’d run a mile, his hand pressed to the damp stone.

“Are you well?” she asked. She turned quickly, some color reblooming on his golden cheeks.

“Perfectly so,” he said, eyes straying towards the glittering amethyst water in the distance.

“Do you swim?” she asked, thinking it might be fun to walk along the same beach she’d washed along two days before. She wanted to ask him something else—did you rescue me?

The teasing smile curved along his lips was answer enough. “Quite well, my lady.” Yes.

“Lord Tamlin says he’s never heard of the Southern Isles,” Feyre continued, wondering how bold she could be.

Hand still planted along the stone, Rhys turned to face her. “Why were you in the water the other night, darling?”

No pretending, then. Feyre sucked a breath in through her teeth and decided to lie, lest he think she was insane. “I slipped.”

His eyes flashed. “Oh? Off a cliff?”

“It was windy—”

“It was not,” he interrupted, not moving from his post. He seemed to be glued to the wall, revealing the whites of his knuckles. Feyre thought the rigid way he held his body betrayed his silent suffering of pain. As if it were agony standing there talking to her.

“Do you know what I think?” he whispered, rooting her to place among the ruined wing of the estate. Feyre was held captive by his gaze, as though he’d wrapped a string about her neck whose very presence bound them in some deep, interlocking way. “I think you jumped to escape your marriage.”

She shook her head, but he knew what a liar she was. “I didn’t,” she whispered.

“No,” he conceded, some soft breath of air escaping him. “An accident, then.”

Feyre was trembling when he looked away, releasing her from whatever spell he’d wound. She almost collapsed to the ground abandoning her plan to ask him for help. Feyre turned her back to him, though it made the hair on her neck stand upwards. She paced to the door, halting when she touched the cool, silver handle.

“Were there tattoos on your chest?” she asked, blinking at the memory of him without a shirt…of a creeping, violet-black tentacle caressing her cheek. “Did you—”

Feyre looked over her shoulder, but Rhys was gone.

Dinner was odious—it was clear Tamlin meant to one-up Rhys at every turn, who only seemed amused by their little game. Feyre pushed the food around her plate, feeling very much like a pawn caught in the middle of a game she did not understand. Every time Feyre closed her eyes, she saw Rhys looking down at her and whenever she opened them, she saw Tamlin watching her. There was no escape, not when the golden prince followed her to her bedroom and pressed a hand against the door.

“What is the point of waiting?” he began, but Feyre merely snapped it shut in his face. The point was, she almost said, that she was tired. Feyre changed into a thin nightdress, discarded her headband, and crawled into bed. Outside her window, she could hear the sea crashing and, distantly, a melodic call beckoning her to join. The music—whatever it was—made her restless.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she did jerk awake in a panic. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, revealing her soon-to-be husband standing just beside them, peering out at the ocean with a moody expression.

“Tamlin?” she asked, understanding what frightened her. He was forbidden from her chambers until the day they were wed and was, currently, trespassing in forbidden space.

“The Lord is still here,” Tamlin told her, as if they were united in their hatred of him. Feyre was more intrigued, though she didn’t dare admit that. Instead, she pulled her covers up to her chin, hiding any part of her form from him. “He wants to take your father's court out for a swim. Apparently, he has access to great wealth and a large ship—all of which arrived in the dead of night.”

“That’s lucky for him, then,” Feyre commented, wishing Tamlin would leave. It was as if he didn’t realize how uncomfortable he’d made her, or had any sense this intrusion was not welcome.

He continued to stare, color creeping up his neck.

“He wants to repay your father for his generosity.”

Feyre’s patience reached her limit. “So?”

Tamlin finally turned to look at her, eyes blazing. “So, I have never heard of a monarch ruling so far south, first of all. He overstays his welcome, showering the palace with gifts–”

“We need the help,” Feyre interrupted, frustrated by Tamlin’s lack of gratitude. “If he wants to pour gold into fathers coffers, that only spares you a later expense.”

His eyes narrowed. “Well. You should dress for his boat. Your father insists we spend the afternoon there.”

Feyre offered him a saccharine smile. “As you say.”

Tamlin swept from the room furiously, unaware that Feyre still intended to align herself with this strange, foreign prince. If he so easily angered Tamlin, she thought it was all the better. Feyre dressed in a buttery rose-colored dress, with fluttering sleeves. She left her hair unwound around her face, devoid of pins or a headband to keep it from blowing in her face. Feyre would have preferred a simple braid slung over her shoulder, though many women found that stylish to be too childish.

And she wanted to leave just enough of an impression on Rhys that he was willing to shield her, at least for a time. She found him, along with the majority of her father's court, her father himself, and Tamlin, milling about the open dining hall with clear excitement. Several large chests of gold had been hauled in, proving Rhysand was, if nothing else, exactly who he said he was. If this was his show of good faith, no wonder Tamlin was so frustrated.

It was a measuring contest, of which Rhys was winning.

Unlike the other courtiers, Rhys’s dark hair was windswept rather than neatly styled, as if he’d flown on a particularly kind breeze. He’d forgone his elegant tunic for a black shirt half laced over his chest so he could see the whorling ink against his golden brown skin. Tamlin clocked the way Rhys smiled at her, causing Feyre to look away.

She didn’t need any more scrutiny than she already had.

“Are we ready—”

“Feyre hasn’t eaten,” Rhysand interrupted her father, nodding towards a table already picked apart by greedy fingers.

More disapproving frowns kept her from accepting the chair he’d pulled out. “I’m fine.”

“She eats like a bird,” her father agreed while Tamlin nodded fervently. Feyre’s eyes slid back to Rhys, letting him see the defiance flash, if only for a moment. He swiped a croissant from the table and, striding towards her, put it in her hand.

“I’ve never met a woman who ate that delicately,” he replied, his eyes wholly on her face. Feyre swallowed, noting the pastry was filled with heavy chocolate. “A day on the water will suck the life right out of you if you’re not careful.”

Something about his words felt distinctly like a promise.

The ship was large enough to keep Feyre far away from Tamlin, though she noticed in the wake of the breakfast debacle, he continued to try and feed her—or otherwise ply her with sweet wine that made her headache under the increasingly hot summer sun. While they all remained mostly indoors on the rocking yacht, Feyre made her way towards the edge of the ship where she could sit on a railing and dip her legs into the crystalline water. It was warmer in comparison to the night she’d jumped.

Calmer, too.

A splash on the side of the ship revealed Rhys had convinced several younger courtiers to hop into the water with him. He was close enough that she could see the gleaming droplets on his skin, but not so close she could hear the murmuring conversation. He saw her, grinning like a rogue and waving a hand before reclining backward. Shirtless, his hair flopping in his face, and utterly beautiful.

He was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her entire life.

She turned her attention back to the vast expanse of sea, wondering where he came from. Would he take her with her when she went to him that evening and begged? Or would he scoff, unwilling to start an incident with a new ally? She wanted to believe the gold was more than a gesture of friendship and knew too well that men did not pay bride prices.

Her father had already given everything they had to Tamlin. He could only return the gift Rhysand had given, were Rhys ever interested. Feyre kicked her legs into the water sullenly, her dress floating like sea flowers around her. Sighing, she wondered if she couldn’t convince one of the serving staff to row her back to the distant shore.

Something cool drifted over her skin, eliciting a panicked shriek as she pulled back. Seaweed, she told her pounding heart when her foot came back to the surface unharmed. Feyre forced her foot back into the warmth where once again, the tangled weeds slid over her shin.

Teasing. She swore there was a method to the rocking madness, something too firm to be plant life. Peering into the water, Feyre thought maybe it was a playful school of fish swarming, given the way little mouths seemed to kiss over her skin. She kept herself still—even when she thought what was lurking just below seemed more like a moving shadow than anything distinctly animal.

Something she’d seen, hazy, once before.

Her eyes drifted to where Rhysand floated lazily with a ring of other men, his eyes burning like starlight as he watched her right back. He’d drifted closer, his lower half utterly invisible in the gentle waves.

Up, up, up, the sucking touch went, until whatever it was had breached the water entirely to continue gliding over her thigh. Feyre was panting, her heart racing. She reached for the hem of her dress, earning a soft slap against her leg and Rhys shaking his head almost indiscernible. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but more of those thick, prodding arms had wrapped around her ankles, tugging her into the water with a friendly splash.

Feyre went under for a moment, eyes blurred against the stinging salt water. It wasn’t a school of fish or seaweed, but a large, splintered tail, wholly attached to the shirtless Rhysand just above.

She twisted, fingers gripping the edge of the boat to haul her face back to safety.

The tentacles of his tail kept her from doing so, though he did let her rest her chest on the wood, cheek pressed into the grain. He was exploring her with abject curiosity, tugging at her underclothes until they vanished deep into the inky abyss.

“Did you fall, darling?” her father called from a higher deck. Tamlin, just beside him, held a goblet of that sickly sweet wine in his hand. His mouth was pulled with disapproval, eyes very much demanding she get back on the boat. Feyre lowered herself back to the water, ignoring the way the smooth appendage rubbed appreciatively between her thighs, as if to say very good girl.

“I’m enjoying the water!” she called back, now braced only on her elbows. Another rub nearly made her moan—it certainly made her gasp.

Tamlin kept his eyes on her even after her father stepped away. “Get out,” he hissed, which only served to inflame her. Feyre parted her now bare body in the water, not that Tamlin could see. She would deny him this–the expectation of having her first. Even if whatever she was currently yielding to was hardly human, and certainly going to damn her in some way.

Feyre slipped an inch in Rhysand’s excitement. He tugged, drawing his own body closer without arousing Tamlin’s suspicion, as though he couldn’t help himself. Perversely, Feyre wanted to feel his hands on her skin, too. His lips, his mouth—all of him as he finished what he’d begun just under her father and Tamlin’s nose.

The warm water met the cool tentacle of Rhys’s tail drawing a shiver down her spine. Feyre was breathing heavily, fingers gripping the edge of the boat as he pushed closer to the nub of flesh just between her legs. She’d only ever dared to touch herself there in the middle of the night, fingers hidden beneath layers and layers of blankets.

It was so open, so brazen when she felt the soft suck. The water lubricated the gesture, drawing hot arousal into her throat. And still, Feyre did not take her eyes off Tamlin, who was trying to intimidate her into bending to his will.

Another gentle flick had her rolling her hips in time with the gentle waves, urging him to keep going. He spread her open obscenely, pulling her knees upwards while arching her spine ever so slightly. Feyre’s eyes fluttered shut as if she were merely warming her skin against the sun.

“That’s it,” she heard Rhys whisper. Her eyes flew open to find Tamlin was gone, along with the men he’d been swimming with. They were alone, unwatched in the water and he was touching her. With both hands on her shoulders, he drew her against his bare chest as he continued to tease and stroke, the feel of him both immensely wrong and utterly right.

His lips ghosted over her shoulder as something else prodded at her open cunt. She squirmed, but Rhys whispered softly, “It’s only my tail, darling.”

“You…” she didn’t know what she was trying to say. Feyre ground her body against him, wishing she could turn and fully look at him. More of those curling arms were tugging at her breasts, exposing them beneath the water while he poked and touched. Rhys’s breath was warm against her neck, nosing her skin just behind her ear.

“Me,” he agreed, his actual hands ripping open her dress. “Have you figured it out, darling? Do you understand?”

Feyre didn’t—and she didn’t care. Instead, Feyre tipped her head backward, exposing her neck as she stared upwards at a cloudless sky. His fingers grasped her now freed breasts, teasing her nipples as another tentacled arm wrapped itself gently around her waist and yet another wound itself against her throat.

“You’re mine,” he nipped at her ear, teeth sharp against sensitive skin. “I’m not leaving without you. I know you want to ask me to take you away. Ask. Ask me, Feyre, darling.”

“Rhys,” she panted, the sound muffled by her own sense of propriety. At any moment Tamlin might return to the deck, might look below and find her losing herself to mindless pleasure, held in a monster's arms.

“Ask,” he ordered, one of the tentacles teasing at her cunt pushing itself inch by inch into her body. Feyre gasped, writhing against the cool intrusion suddenly filling her. She couldn’t think straight, not when so many sensations were pulling her attention. Another of those long arms rubbed at her backside, as if it were preparing her for something else.

Her urge was to tense herself, to push him back and squirm away, even as her blood practically boiled beneath his ministrations.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands massaging her breasts while he angled her back. Ferye was practically floating against him, her fingers pulled from the boat. They were adrift on the current like weeds, unnoticed by the world around them. She wondered how he’d managed it and decided, when that sucking tentacle was replaced by one of his fingers at her clit, that she didn’t care.

“Ask me,” he whispered again, the prodding tentacle against her ass pushing a mere inch. Ferye moaned, unable to help herself. Feyre rocked, chasing more of the friction. Relaxing helped, along with the warm water and his expert touch. Rhys’s fingers were making Feyre stupid, convincing her that maybe she wanted more than just to escape with him.

“Take me away,” she replied, turning her head to face him. Dark slits against his golden brown skin betrayed gills, her eyes adjusting the true sight of him. His violet eyes seemed darker, more ominous—built to see through the piercing black of the water, so deep not even light could penetrate. Arched ears glistened in the warm sunlight, half hidden under the blue-black of his hair.

There was no hiding what he was. Not below, not above. Rhys pushed further into her body working her from all angles with more appendages than he should have had available to him. She moaned again.

“I should have the night I found you,” he panted, his voice strained. “Should never have sent you back, my pretty, perfect Feyre.”

Feyre moaned again, losing herself entirely. Pleasure was pooling like a bright, burning star in her gut. She was going to finish around a monster's tentacles, on his hand, bound in his arms. She should have screamed—should have demanded he stop.

“Why did you?”

His teeth grazed her shoulder. “I wanted to know who drove you over that cliff. I wanted to know who I had to punish for hurting my mate.”

The word mate ripped through her at the same moment her orgasm did. Feyre might have screamed if Rhys hadn’t yanked her fully into the water, filling her lungs with salt to avoid being detected. He rode her through it, the pumping tentacles reaching a fevered pitch. His excitement was apparent if his own furious heart pulsating against her back was evidence.

Feyre twisted in his arms to look at him as he actually was, stunned by the sheer size of his body. Rhys was large, a creature that seemed as if it couldn’t go as unnoticed as he presumably had. His carved, muscular body tapered into the midnight black tail at his waist covered in shimmering scales glinting blue in the shifting water just overhead before they splintered into eight curling tentacles, some of which were still buried in her body.

Feyre, ignoring the way she was still convulsing around him, reached out a tentative hand and touched his chest. Just to see if he was real.

His eyes rolled upwards. “I’m going to devour you,” he told her with a clear, melodic voice. Feyre wanted to respond, wanted to breathe. She twisted against him, freed from the arms and tentacles holding her. Rhys let her break the surface, though he remained just below, still buried to the gills inside her.

“Ferye!” Tamlin’s voice drew her attention back to the boat which had become smaller in the distance. “Are you okay?” She wasn’t. She could feel Rhys’s mouth sliding down her spine as he pulled apart her still-shaking legs. Devour her, he’d said. She turned to look but he held her in place so only her neck and face were readily available.

Feyre could see what Tamlin surely could, floating like a lilypad between the boat and her body. Her tattered, ruined dress bounced against gentle waves, the focus of Tamlin’s pine-green gaze.

“I…”

A warm tongue slid between her thighs as playful tentacles began gently thrusting back into her. How was she supposed to speak when she could barely think?

“I—” Rhys’s tongue licked a stripe through her still-aching folds, swirling over her clit. Feyre squealed, swearing she heard rumbling laughter just beneath.

“What happened?” he called, and Feyre wished he’d stop talking. She slid her fingers through the floating, silken hair of the male beneath her, urging him not to stop. Not that she thought he would. It was clear he was getting some perverse pleasure from her circumstances, from everyone's panic as they tried to figure out how she’d managed to float unnoticed from his own ship for so long.

Feyre ground her cunt against his face. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded, release gathering along her spine. She was going to come again, and again if he willed it. Tamlin couldn’t see, even as he crouched at the edge of Rhys’s ship, growing smaller and smaller with each frantic pass of Rhys’s tongue.

He pushed himself into her with a groan that sounded like thunder. Overhead, clouds had begun to form and the water became choppier, drawing her further from Tamlin even as the boat worked to reach her. She watched through a half-lidded gaze when he scooped up her dress, holding it up to see the shredded seams.

“Rhys,” she panted, her voice lost in the warm wind. “Rhys, please—”

His lips sucked while he fucked, stretching Feyre to the point of insanity. With the flat of his tongue unrelenting as he rubbed, Feyre came with a violent scream of pleasure. It was an unmistakable sound, one she knew Rhys could have silenced sooner than he did. He wanted Tamlin to know, wanted whatever suspicions her ill-gotten fiance imagined to be confirmed before he yanked her under.

Sharp teeth sank into the side her necks as the tentacles in her body receded, leaving Feyre momentarily bereft—and then panicked. She struggled, realizing he might actually eat her and what he’d done between her legs was merely a prelude to the violence.

Tentacles and strong arms pinned her against his chest, holding her utterly still while the blooming maroon of her blood darkened the water just overhead. Feyre swore she heard yelling on the surface, drowned by the crashing of thunder and a streaking bolt of lightning.

“Breathe,” Rhys ordered, his voice ripping through her like a golden cord. The world was sharpening, coming into focus for the first time in her life. Feyre, with burning lungs, had no choice but to do as he said and hope this wasn’t a terrible trick. She inhaled, ignoring the stabbing at her neck and the pulling of her ribs.

Air—glorious and warm—flooded through her in a rush. Rhys’s body relaxed, his hold loosening. “That’s it,” he praised, kissing just behind her ear. “You’re doing so well. Deep breaths.”

“You…” Feyre twisted, not to escape him, even as he pulled her further from the choppy, roiling surface. “Did you plan this?”

“Yes.” He offered her a sensual smile, one wholly devoid of shame or apology. “I told you–I returned you only to learn who had harmed you.”

“And do you know?” she asked, winding her arms around his neck, bringing their faces closer. She could kiss him like this, if she wanted—and Feyre very much wanted to. Rhys nuzzled his nose against hers, lips parted.

“Yes,” he breathed, bubbles floating from his mouth. “I intend to make them suffer as you would have, had I not been there when you jumped.” He slanted himself against her, holding her as his tentacles rose overhead, terrifying and large like corporeal shadows. Feyre closed her eyes and clung to him, wrapping her bare legs against his waist not to keep her steady, but to keep her close.

She understood, at that moment, why the boat had been so important. Why he’d come looking that day, wasting his time getting to know her father, her fiance? As wood splintered over them, echoing even in the violet swirling water, Feyre knew it had only ever been a ruse to lure them away from the palace where a storm blowing through would cover the truth of his fury. Waves crashed overhead, though they remained just as they were, floating safely just out of reach.

“Did you know?” she asked, still kissing him everywhere she could reach. Rhys seemed to vibrate with boundless fury, his face tilted towards the surface. “About the storm?”

“I am the storm, my wife,” Rhys replied, his voice rich like the now night sky around them. “I never lied when I said I was the King of the Southern Isles—those islands, and the water, their shores, their sand—all of it—belongs to me.”

She could feel the whirling current, dragging the ship and everyone who’d been aboard further and further into the abyss—he hid the worst of the violence from her, pinning her with his starlit gaze.

“I was always going to take you with me. Leave the gold for your sisters. ”

“How did you end up here?” she asked, caressing his beautiful, terrifying face. “How did you find me?”

“I have been looking for you,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers again. More of the tentacles of his tail slid around her waist, stroking against her skin lazily. “Your life is tied to mine by a string—you can feel it, can’t you?”

Feyre pulled at the muscle in her chest, the cord she’d felt when he’d sunk his teeth into her neck to change her with whatever strange magic he governed. Rhys groaned, sending more bubbles to the heavens. He was dragging her further and further out into the open ocean, the only light his own eyes. She could still see the violent churn of the ship he’d ripped apart, sinking in pieces to the depthless fathoms.

Feyrw turned her head, hiding it from view.

That could have been me, she thought with no small amount of horror. Because she would have jumped again. Had she been forced to go through with the marriage, Feyre would have flung herself off the cliffside a second time, determined to make it stick. No regrets, no last-minute attempts to live.

“You found me,” she said instead, pushing the blue-black strands of hair from his face. His smile softened, chasing the shadowed fears from his eyes.

“I found you,” he repeated, the words echoing through the new, aquatic world around them. “And I intend to keep you.” Rhys took her wrists in his large hands, braceleting them as he ran her fingers down his broad, sculpted chest. Down, down, down, until she was touching the cool, unbroken scales on his tail. Something seamed was pulling apart, and when she turned to look, Feyre understood that Rhys, for being a monster, was put together much like a regular man.

If regular men had two cocks one atop the other. He was achingly erect, the first much thicker than the second, though both were strangely tapered just at the end. Ferye had the sense that Rhys, with his tentacles, had been preparing her for something.

Now she knew.

Their eyes met for only a moment. His chest rose and fell with his anxiety, waiting for the moment she’d finally rebuke him. Feyre drank him in, the writhing mass of dark shadow trailing around him, still holding her casually—she could have pushed away. Feyre thought he’d let her go if she wanted.

She wrapped her fingers around the first, tugging experimentally. Rhys gasped, eyes widening with clear and obvious surprise.

“Be gentle,” she said, the words pressed to his mouth.

“Whatever you command,” he replied, his words coming in short, panting bursts.

Feyre tugged at the strands of his hair, ripping to bring them closer. The slide of their slick bodies shoved her hand off his cock which was just as well. She wanted to touch him, wanted to know every groove, every contour of his body just as thoroughly as he was coming to know her own.

He moaned, the sound of music in the churning silence around them. They were alone in the inky sea, floating just beneath a storm of his design. Feyre clung to him, tasting the inside of his mouth when his lips parted, allowing her to sweep inside. Every inch of him was decadent, seemed made specifically for her.

She swore he tasted like citrus and salt, like the sea made tangible. She rubbed herself against his cock, slick even in water.

“Will I–” he captured her lips, one hand on the back of her neck, the other kneading at her ass. She spread her legs without realizing what she was doing, giving in to the instinct of wanting—no, needing—more of him. “Will I have a tail, too?”

He groaned. “I’m told it takes some time, but yes.” He made it sound as if he wanted nothing more in the world than to see her take scales, just as he had. “You’ll be able to move far freer on land than I will.”

“Why would I ever want—Rhys, Gods—” he punctuated her question with a push of both cocks into twin holes, making a compelling argument for why there were two. Forehead to forehead, the two did nothing but breathe while he worked himself inside her. Rhys’s fingers dug into the bone of her hips, gently pulling her onto him while one of his tentacled arms snaked over her shoulder, wrapping carefully about her throat.

It wasn’t like before—that stretch had nothing on the strange, throbbing cock now pushing inch by inch into her willing, wet cunt. Fully seated, Feyre squeezed tightly around him, looking for any room to breathe. Rhys merely panted, kissing and quietly begging some god she’d never heard of for mercy.

“Is it okay?” she asked when he kept himself there, letting her warm him with her body when all she really wanted was for him to move.

“Fuck—Feyre, your body, I—”

His words choked into an intelligible moan, hips rocking slowly, still letting her acclimate to being filled as she was. She was used to it, stretched to absolute capacity and burning beneath the sensation. Feyre felt like a comet caught in his gravity, pulled home without ever knowing that was what she’d been looking for.

“More,” she pleaded when it was clear he meant to ease her into him until she died. “Rhys, please—”

His mouth bruised against her. “You don’t have to beg. Not me. Not for anything,” he growled, teeth nipping at her neck. More tentacles wrapped around her arms, inclining her until she was angled just enough for him to fuck himself into her. Fingers spanning her ribcage, Rhys drove relentlessly, like the monster she’d once thought she was.

Brutal, pounding force was the only threat of drowning Feyre faced, even beneath the volatile waves. There was a strange beauty to the violence, both lurking in her chest and crashing overhead. All of it was punctuated by him, controlling the world like a vengeful, unforgiving God.

But to her–and perhaps only to her—his touch was loving. Gentle. Hard only because she’d asked him not to hold himself back. Unleashed, Rhys was magnificent, his hair floating around his glorious face, and when another tentacled arm of his tail slid over her taut stomach to rub at her clit, Feyre thought she’d never wanted anything or anyone more.

Feyre came with a scream she thought overpowered the raging storm, her body clamping hard against his cocks. Rhys pushed, stretching the ringed muscle of her ass and cunt to the point of pain, as though he was trying to fuse their flesh and make them one. Hips jerking, she felt him come, spending himself with a whimpering jerk.

All at once, he released her, pulling her against his chest as he slipped out of her body. The water washed away the worst of their sins, and the absence of him left Feyre strangely bereft. For a moment she clung to him, focusing on nothing but pushing air in and out of her lungs.

His hands slid up her bare spine.

“What now?” she asked him, inclining her head to look at him.

Rhys stroked her cheek. “Now we go home.”

#do i tag this?#like more than it already is?#you know what i trust the feysand girlies #feysand #DONT MAKE ME REGRET IT

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typically-untypical · 6 months

Text

The Future We Build Together

AU: Human - Arranged Marriage

CW: None that I know of

WC: 1478

Date: 12/3/2023

It was a warm day in the kingdom, a beautiful summer morning. The sun hadn't risen high enough to cast its heat yet it was high enough to cast a warm glow through the castle window. Patton stood still as his father adjusted his tie for the fourth time. The two of them had barely spoken over the past week, an argument over this marriage turning bitter and vicious. Patton had wept, pleading for his father to understand that he didn't want to get married to a complete stranger. He wasn't even against the idea of an arranged marriage. He knew how advantageous it would be, but Patton didn't want to be tied to someone who would inevitably hurt him. Patton didn't want to be tied to someone he had never met. "This will be good for you Pat. He's a noble who has taken an interest in our business, this marriage will solidify our ties." Neither of them laughed at the unintentional pun as his father's hands lingered on Patton's tie. "With this man's backing, we will finally be able to get your mother help." That was the only argument that had kept Patton rooted to where he stood. His mother had been sick for quite some time and though they weren't peasants by any means, her medicine was still expensive and so was the business that kept all of them a float. "Even if you don't love him he should treat you well and I know he will fall in love with you. Who wouldn't?" His dad gently rested a hand on Patton's face and the younger man did his best to smile though even Patton knew it was weak.

"I know papa, but I wish you would have let me meet him first." Patton had been told plenty about Janus, both from those who served him and from those who worked alongside him. There were so many conflicting accounts. Some people said Janus was kind and compassionate, helping them when they were in their darkest hours. Others said he was cruel and ruthless, and the divide wasn't socioeconomic like one might expect.

"I know Pat, I know, but that was the one stipulation he had." Another thing Patton had heard over and over again. He couldn't meet Janus because he had asked for distance until their wedding day. Patton didn't like that. He didn't like the secrecy around someone who was supposed to become his one and only, his future.

"You are the strongest boy I know, and I love you." His father commented, giving Patton a gentle hug and Patton wanted to hug back, desperately, but his arms continued to sit limply by his side.

It was hard to hear those words from his father, the man who was giving him away to a stranger, but Patton just nodded. "I love you too," Because he did, despite the tears that threatened to slide past his eyes, he did love his family.

"Are you ready?" His father asked, holding out a hand to him so the two could head toward the ceremony hall.

"Ready as I'll ever be pop star." His dad gave him a weak smile and Patton did his best to return it, even if it grew harder with each second. Patton tried not to shake as he heard his own footsteps echoing down the hall, the organ music coming into play as soon as they were close enough for the groomsmen to see. The soft tune set the scene of a happy couple and a happy marriage. Patton had heard that song before, hoping one day he could walk down the cobblestone path of his city toward the person of his choosing. That wasn't going to happen now. That wasn't Patton's fate.

His betrothed stood at the altar, hands clasped behind his back, turned so Patton could only see half of him. He was barely taller than Patton yet standing on the steps he felt like such a looming figure. His shoulders were squared and Patton thought he saw a sharpness to the other man's nails. If Patton had seen him on the street, he might have been interested but here, he was gripped with fear. Only his father's strong hold, stopped Patton from running away and by the time his first foot was on the stairs, it was too late. Janus was reaching out to him, helping him up the rest of the way. He was in Janus' clutches now.

"Am I that hideous?" He asked, leaning in closely as he whispered into Patton's ear. It was the first good view he had gotten of Janus, scars like chainmail littering his face. He wasn't hideous, but Patton wasn't expecting his fiancé to be handsome. He had convinced himself that Janus would look cruel. Finally looking up into Janus' mismatched eyes, seeing the quirk in his brow, Patton attempted to respond.

"No, uh, it's not. I promise it's not... I just... you look-"

"I know," Janus whispered, brow softening and lips sliding into a gentle smile. He reached up, gently pushing a tear off of Patton's cheek before he slowly started to pull away. He still held Patton's hand, but no longer stood close enough to share the air between them.

Something suddenly shifted. Suddenly Janus wasn't a terrifying unknown that Patton didn't know how to speak to. Suddenly, he wasn't a monster. Patton looked at him in awe, watching as the light shifted against him and the sun continued to rise higher.

"Janus Asterio, do you take Patton Heart to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The officiant asked, pulling Patton out of his day dream and back into the present. Janus gently squeezed Patton's hand, looking him in the eyes.

"I do." His voice was soft and clear, like a secret whispered between just the two of them. Patton's romantic heart melted. For a moment he could imagine a life together, whispered secrets in the dead of night, a soft melody of only their voices. It was brief and it was sudden, but Patton felt as if he would be safe in Janus' arms. His fear hadn't disappeared, it whispered in the back of his mind, but the emotions swept him off his feet. This would be okay, he had to believe that this would be okay.

"Do you, Patton Heart, take Janus Asterio to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Patton took in a deep breath, returning the reassuring squeeze Janus had so graciously given. "I do." He smiled, more genuine than anything else he had smiled this morning. Their marriage was one of money and power, but that didn't mean it couldn't turn into something beautiful. He just had to have hope. He had to give it all a chance.

"Then I pronounce the two of you married. You may kiss one another."

Patton was hesitant, still caught in the fact that Janus was a stranger. Janus moved in first. It was soft and chaste and stole Patton's breath away. Then Janus stole Patton away, taking his hand and leading him down the aisle, out of the ceremony hall and toward a private room. Nerves built up in Patton's heart as the door closed but Janus didn't make a move. He stood there silently before gently leading Patton to a couch and kneeling in front of him.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions, on my appearance, on why, and on everything else of that nature."

Of course he did, but Patton needed time to collect some of his thoughts. Janus might not have understood that because he quirked his eyebrow once again.

"Why me? I'm sure you had other prospects and I don't think you really got anything out of our marriage. So why me?" Patton wasn't sure why that was the first question that came out of his mouth when there were so many other questions, but it was still one that was important to him. Why, out of everyone in the city... in the country... had Janus chosen him?

He had no expectations for the answer, tried not to assume anything at all, yet he was still surprised when Janus started to laugh, barely holding in his chortle.

"Of all the questions, that was your most important?"

Suddenly, Patton's face lit up red and he couldn't help but nod. "Well, yeah," He whispered and Janus just squeezed his hands.

"I will explain it in detail one day, but for now, you should get changed for the reception. The only solace I can give you for the time being, is that I did so, with full knowledge of who I was marrying." That wasn't reassuring, but Patton's mind went a bit fuzzy as Janus kissed his hand. "And I will wait as long as I need to, for you to fall in love with me as well."

Tag List: @simplestoryteller @fantasticfangirl21 @joylessnightsky @glacierruler @tsspromptmonth

#untypical creations #tss rare gifts event 2023 #Arranged Marriage #sanders side fic #sanders sides #patton sanders #janus sanders #moceit

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emilykaldwen · 6 months

Text

Hey everyone! So I meant to do this a freaking month ago when it was the first anniversary of properly working on this fic but hey! time flies. So on this Thankful Thursday (thanks for the idea, @mercurygray!), I decided to post the original end of chapter one for The Maiden and the Drowning Boy. This scene was redone and became the opener for Chapter 2, with Aegon and Abby in Rhaenys' garden, as well as the picnic date in Chapter 6. I wrote this back in mid-November before I needed to stop for surgery prep soooo I guess we're closer to the anniversary of this scene LOL

Overall, I adore both of these scenes so I wanted to share the original as a thank you for those who have been supporting me since the start.

TMatDB returns on December 8th!

A huge thank you to those who have been with me for so long, through the gif sets and the snippets as I recovered from surgery and finally got back into writing this. Thank you for finding me and loving this story, thank you for giving me the love and motivation to really put this passion project out into the world. I'm so grateful for each and every one of you!

She didn’t dare look back over her shoulder as they rushed past the sleeping stone dragon. Abby didn’t even think she could form words. Instead, she stroked her thumb over the knuckle on his hand in a circular pattern. She kept her eyes forward so as not to trip, and she felt his hand flex against hers. Then, so light she almost missed it, Abby felt the rough pad of his thumb stroke once. Twice. Three times over her pinky. Are you okay? Not really. Abby heard the faint clink of at least one guard following them, but they had enough of a head start that there was time to lose the one that either Otto or the queen dispatched in their wake.

“Wait,” she gasped, tugging on his hand to slow down as they hit the stairs so she could gather her skirt up. Aegon didn’t even stop as he reached across her to shove a handful of fabric into her hand. He was too focused on putting as much distance between him and the Hightower as fast as he could.

Betrothed. Married. To Aegon.

Abby was so overwhelmed that she didn’t even voice a protest when he yanked her into the alcove behind the tapestry at the bottom of the stairs. The thick fabric muffled the world outside, and it was dark save for the light that broke through around the edges and the worn patches visible from this side. There was enough that she could make out his flushed face, and Aegon was close enough that if she squinted hard enough, she might even make out the pale dusting of freckles over his nose. His silver hair nearly glowed in the dark.

“You’re hilarious. That was really…” He shook his head, and another laugh escaped him with the mad edge of hysteria making her shiver. He held his hands up, which was awkward because he was still holding her own, but either he’d forgotten or he didn’t care. “That was really something. You really had me fooled.”

Abby could feel her own face crinkle in confusion, and she tugged on their joined hands in hopes that he’d let go. Aegon steadfastly refused. “I’m not going to run.”

“You could.”

It was her turn to laugh, although it was a far less delicate snort while she attempted to pry his fingers off her hand. It only goaded him on. Two pairs of hands fighting to hold on and let go. He slapped her hand, and she slapped his back, which only called for more of his mad, hysterical laughter. She could just make out the sound of armor approaching, and Abby pressed her hand over his mouth to muffle him as the guard approached their hiding spot.

Aegon’s breath was heavy as he panted, then something warmer and wetter slowly dragged across her palm. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper to muffle her startled sound, but other than that did not give him acknowledgement. Abby felt the burning flush creep further along her cheeks and up her ears before she finally glared up at the amused look he was giving her from behind her hand. She felt Aegon drag his tongue along her palm again. Childish games, as always.

“You’re ridiculous,” she hissed, finally letting go once the guard had passed and wiping her palm off on his sleeve. She was closer to him now and could smell the lingering scent of stale wine still clinging beneath the clean smell of soap. “Did Ser Criston shove you in a trough, and have them soap you down like a horse?”

He pressed a hand to his heart as if she’d wounded him and leaned forward. The last time they were this close, Aegon was maybe a hand’s width taller than her. Now, leaning forward meant he leaned over her. Damp waves of his moonlit hair fell across his forehead and into a doe-eyed gaze; lilac glittering beneath a sheen of wine and the lingering presence of tears from his laughter.

“You wound me, Lady Abrogail. It was a proper bathtub, but the water was like ice.”

“If you’re trying to intimidate me, it won’t work.” She went to cross her arms but ended up hugging herself instead as the uncertainty and confusion of what had just transpired filtered back through. “I wasn’t trying to fool anyone.”

Aegon’s eyes flashed, and she took a step back as he leaned into her even more. “Weren’t you?” His voice took on a higher pitch in mockery of her courtesy. “Oh, how lucky we are. Thanks for looking out for me, brother. No protests, not even when he was dangling the opportunity to get away right in front of you. It took me longer than I’d like to see how terrified you were.”

“Are you still drunk?”

“Is it drunk if you never stop drinking? Or just a state of being? You could ask Aemond. He’s got a new philosophy book he won’t shut up about.” Aegon rocked back on one foot and reached down to snag at the end of her embroidered belt to play with the fringed edge. “You didn’t answer my question.”

In the space between heartbeats, Abby imagined they were back in the Godswood beneath the tree. She, with the book in hand, giggling along with his running commentary on his assigned reading he was supposed to be doing – the assigned reading that she was too nice to deny doing for him. Aegon, with his head in her lap, offering her bits of cake so she wouldn’t get sticky fingers on the delicate pages.

Beneath the haze of inebriation and hysteria was that same laughing boy. It was the only reason she hadn’t left yet.

“It was the truth. I don’t want to marry Elmo Tully. I don’t know him except that he has an heir-”

“Is that what you care about? Your son inheriting a seat and power?” His expression twisted as his voice sharpened, his eyes searching her face again for something she didn’t understand.

She continued, ignoring him. “And I don’t want to go to Faircastle only to be attacked by a Greyjoy fleet and made into some salt wife, let alone be closer to my sister. She despises me.”

Aegon’s boots scraped against the flagstone, and his free hand reached for the edge of her belt. He wrapped the woven band around his hand and then unwound it. “You wouldn’t be a salt wife,” he said in a still, quiet tone. She’d heard it once before, but it did not throw her the way it had then. He watched his own hand fiddle with her embroidered belt, and she ran her thumb over his knuckle again. “Sunfyre and I would come to your rescue.”

Even as his tone dipped, Abby felt her mouth twitch as an amused smile threatened, one she tried to force away. The desire to ease the dragon claws that had descended, to soothe the sullen expression, was as instinctive to her as breathing.

“Four days at least to get a raven to King’s Landing. I’d be on a rocky outcrop in the Iron Islands by then.”

Aegon re-wrapped the edge of the belt around his hand and sharply tugged her closer. Abby stiffened immediately, her heart kicking up and something knotting tight and low in her belly. He watched her face, bitterness twisting at his mouth. “You hate me so much now, don’t you? You can’t be close to me.”

There was a painful ache in her chest. He sounded so lost, defeated. What happened before didn’t matter; it didn’t erase everything else. She felt a nagging feeling that he was trying to manipulate her, but she couldn’t ignore the genuine pain in his voice, for she knew it as well as she knew her own. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, Aegon.”

“You were terrified in there, and your smile was so convincing.” The quiet stillness remained, and he refused to meet her eyes, despite being the one to close the distance between them.

Abby blinked as the air left her lungs to join the observation that hung in the little space left between them. She couldn’t discern if it was because she hadn’t realized that was what she had been doing, or that he’d noticed at all.

She reached up to rest her free hand along the back of the one that held her belt hostage. The warmth of his fingers felt like a balm against the coolness of her own, but she focused on stroking his hand in reassurance, allowing the movement to soothe the confusion inside of her.

“So were you. That was a brave thing you did. I couldn’t have done it.” She reached for his hand to deflect the attention from him. Maybe it was more than Aegon deserved, but that was who she was.

Aegon’s gaze snapped to hers, then caught on the reddened wound on her lower lip. Abby was relieved; she didn’t think she could bear his look right then. “So convincing you are,” he said again, but the stillness had given way to something different. A deeper tone that made the knot low in her belly tighten. “Don’t pretend with me, Abby.” Unlike everything else, his warning was unmistakable.

“It doesn’t mean I’m not still upset, and that I’m not still hurt.” She kept her own voice soft, but he scoffed just the same. The hysterical laughter was bitter now – ugly and harsh – and his eyes shone with tears as he tore his gaze from her mouth to meet her eyes. It rooted her to the spot. Abby couldn’t figure out which feeling was stronger: the urge to run, or the urge to stay.

“Terrified.” They were back to that. “Thank you, thank you, for betrothing me to a monster, right?” he whispered.

All she could do was watch him. Even though she caught him drifting closer to her, she didn’t move away. Aegon knocked his head into hers, rubbing a cheek fuzzy with stubble against her own; it reminded her of the way Theraxis would purr and rub his soft face against her cheek. A shiver of relief washed through her. She inhaled sharply and held it in before shutting her eyes and leaning her head against his. His hair tickled at her nose, and when she concentrated hard enough, she was certain she could hear his heartbeat echoing into her chest.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Are you okay?

Not really.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Aegon’s hands released her first, pushing her abruptly away from him. Her eyes flew open, but she only caught his retreating form as he left her alone.

Left her behind.

Again.

tag list: @fyeahhotdocs, @ocappreciation, @stannisfactions, @fragilestorm, @starcrossedjedis, @darkwolf76, @arrthurpendragon, @dopedaegus, @hiddenqveendom, @mantillon, @lightofthearrow, @songsonacliffside, @acrossthesestars, @insabecs, @prosemoireia, @dragonsbone, @corporalicent, @jadore-andor, @selfproclaimedunicorn, @gwenllian-in-the-abbey, @notbloodraven, @impales, @arcielee, @thesunfyre4446, @alexandria-millie

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon targaryen x oc #aegon ii x oc #aegon targaryen fanfic #fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #oc: abrogail strong #aegon x abby #my fics

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searchingforserendipity25 · 8 months

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prompts to choose from!! gil-galad/anyone + pet names OR finrod/beor + chains OR eonwe/finarfin + fealty

this was so hard to choose (and i might come back with more stuff for the other options). here's some galad/gwindor. thank you so much for the ask @welcomingdisaster! you've opened my heart to deeper gil-galad appreciation <3 <3

@silmsmutweek. day three. prompt: liege/vassal, trans and nonbinary identities (and some supernatural elements):

acquaintances you greet in the street

It was not as strangers that they met, nor lovers reunited beyond death. It was all a thing anew - a new knowing, rich with recognition and marvel, an eager reacquaintance. Gwindor could not wait to escape his company.

“I am afraid I have a commitment in the morrow,” Gwindor said firmly.

Gil-Galad's braids shone with the cuffs and seashell beads of the Falathrim; the swift expanse of his movements, as he spoke and made his bracelets and rings catch the light was all Noldor; the eloquence of his tongue and manners were spoken in the way of the Sindarin spoken in the time of his reign, a dialect all its own. Gwindor would have known him anywhere, under any name. It was not as strangers that they met, nor lovers reunited beyond death. It was all a thing anew - a new knowing, rich with recognition and marvel, an eager reacquaintance.

Gwindor could not wait to escape his company.

“Surely not so soon,” Gil-Galad said, sounding genuinely disappointed, as if he truly did yearn for another long hour of trading island gossip and studiously not speaking of anything that had taken place before the Third Age with the living specter of his old betrothed.

Of his old life, older by far than his death, and finished not less violently or thoroughly. Gwindor had taken care not to cross paths with him, up and down the narrow sandstone alleys of Avallonë, for nearly a year now, and not merely to spare himself from grief and awkwardness.

"A very pressing engagement," Gwindor stressed. He would not rise from the blankets and the pillows, leave the plates with the last of the fruit to the flies and go without leave, would not be discourteous towards the king for anything - and therefore he had done his best to avoid him altogether.

Gwindor’s heart tripped on itself again. He did have a commitment - the goats would not milk themselves. Most importantly, Gelmir would tease him mercilessly until Túrin returned to destroy Morgoth if Gwindor arrived late and starry-eyed after being surprised in the streets by his old betrothed.

He had his house in the hillside to return to - the date trees with the sly cats sleeping in the hot adobe of the steps, the small, kindly bats that liked to skim the top of his head to steal fair strings of hair to play with. Always his house kept its doors opens, to welcome the breeze, and those that came, at times, to greet and speak with Gelmir and Gwindor.

Gwindor had been the first to return to life, of those that had been enthralled by Morgoth. He owed much to the guidance of those that had been freed with the fall of Angband, and had welcomed him through his slow and faltered Return. In his turn he welcomed the ones that wished for counsel. Most often all that was wanted was a quiet place, some tasks to do in his workshop, warm food and silent company.

He had wondered. When Gil-Galad came to the island - for it was known in all the songs that the last king of Beleriand and Eregion had been lost in spirit long Ages before coming back to life. But never did his shoulders stand against the threshold of the house in the hills; and Gwindor had told himself to be glad all the way through, for it meant the king was not so desperate as to seek even his company.

Gil-Galad did not press again outright; only smiled again, something sharper around the edges. "I understand perfectly. Will it be the crate of oysters this time, or do you mean to flee me in such fright as to jump into the sea?"

He was almost unbearably handsome to look upon when he was being prickly. It hurt Gwindor with a sweet and blooming ache, as much as it had when he had caught a glance of him coming down the quay, arriving to the island of his people - and immediately hidden behind a barrel of fresh mussels to avoid being seen.

"I," Gwindor said, very politely. "Am quite certain I know not of which you speak, lord; but I am certain there shall be plenty of mischances, if you wish for them to pass."

An accident, their meeting - A happy mischance, Gil-Galad had named it. Gwindor doubted it. Gil-Galad did not believe in accidents; they had courted each other with many an unlikely ambush by the shores of the river Sirion, once.

An invitation for a drink, in the stretch of pale sand in front of the king's sea-facing house - and another, and a platter of fish, fried fruit and honeycomb. All of Gwindor's old favourite indulgences, and other ones, too, in case his tastes had changed with death and new life. Gil-Galad had poured the wine, cooked the marvellous dinner, smiled his slow, dazzlingly rakish smile at Gwindor over the candles and the tablecloth spread on the sand no less than five times.

This was quite enough for an evening out. The king was generous; Gwindor did not cheapen his kindness in the least, but neither did he suppose any greater intent to be behind it.

The stars were high in the sky, their light glinting upon Gil-Galad’s long braids, his fair lashes; and Gwindor kept remembering himself sternly that fealty was well, infatuation was to be expected, but there was nothing else to make him linger.

Gil-Galad met his eyes evenly, as if relenting. Gwindor did not believe that, either.

He offered a kind hand for Gwindor to hold. A friend might do such a thing in parting, and a lord to his vassal; Gwindor had no right to it as either, but he could not have shamed such generosity for anything.

"Farewell, then, dear friend," said Gil-Galad, a little pointed, holding out his hand for clasping. He tilted his chin, met his eyes charmingly. "May it not be the last I meet sweet Gwindor in this life; rare has there been so welcome a sight to my eyes since my return."

Gwindor ought to have done better and more courteously; but the familiarity unmade him a little. Perhaps Gelmir was right, and he did spend too much time with his woodwork, wandering the groves of olive trees, because despite himself a noise of disdain slipped his throat at the words.

Gil-Galad straightned, pale brows drawing together in a frown, and it was enough for Gwindor's heart to leap.

The king of the Noldor looked down at Gwindor, close enough to grasp and as distant and proud as a star, and said, "Do you doubt me?"

"Never," Gwindor said, appalled at the notion. "You need prove nothing to me, lord."

"O, I am certain I do! I hoped you knew it, though I would not wonder if you were uncertain!” Gil-Galad raised a hand to forestall any denials. “I do not apologize for the course of my heart - you never wished for such entreaties, and I would love you less if you had. How bitterly I know now the sting of that kindness! I live, and I look upon you, marveling at your strength; and I do find you most lovely to behold.”

This was a bit too plainly an offer to be quite convincing, Gwindor thought, though he could not what kind. He wondered whether it was the gifts and interest of a courtship - or something like it, an encounter between people that had cherished and pitied each other greatly.

If he were a greater fool he might suspect a lordly offer - meat and mead, a place to rest as the stars rose, an offer of protection and vassalage and shared devotion of the kind that had been usual in Nargothrond, made popular by Felegund after his meeting with the Edain, and his exchange of vows with Bëor.

He was not quite certain how tightly he had managed to hide away the thought; Gil-Galad's frown deepened.

Aloud, Gwindor insisted. "You have given me more of your time than ever I could think to claim." More quietly, he added, "Your kindness does me honour beyond expectation, king. I thank you truly for your time this evening."

He did not mean to sound bitter. He did not sound bitter, not even to his own ears; he was well past such things. But his voice was weary - he thought once more of his house with its pale curtains, his brother's limping steps on the porch, so like his own. He had grown - unused, to being looked at so intently.

“Honour! I should hope so," Gil-Galad said - and it was so like Gwindor's own tone in the worst days, dismayed and seeking to hide it, that he could not help how wanting to reach out. "It is my pleasure; and my obligation, if you would have me as liege. I see now that that was a presumptuous hope."

It was remarkable how mobile his face was - when last Gwindor had known him, there had been a terrible stillness over his expression. Nothing of his this verve - only a terrible passion, and the persistent foresight of its terrible end to come. Gwindor was sorry at once to watch the line of his back grow sterner, even as he could not help looking away from the slant of his mouth, movement of his bare arms, the chest hidden by his loose doublet.

Gwindor could not help himself - he stepped forward just before Gil-Galad's preferred hand could fall entirely to his side.

He could not bear to watch that shadow come again over this beloved face, and to know himself the cause. It had been hard enough to bear, the first time, when he could do nothing to ease it - and this time, Gil-Galad's doubt was almost as ridiculous as Gwindor's evasion tactics.

It was entirely unfair, Gwindor thought very faintly, how some people left the Halls of Mandos radiant with new life, brimming with great internal joy and offering it lightly, easily to all old friends that crossed their path - unfair to them, who felt the world with renewed sensitivity, and felt all losses keenly. Gil-Galad was one such, plainly.

Of course, Gwindor had returned at peace with himself and his deeds, his failures and defiance, bearing those scars he chose and no others. But like most of those that returned with the marks of thralldom visible upon their flesh, he had chosen to pilgrimage in the green wilds of Valinor before rejoining society, and struggled to gather the same ease in company that had once been his without a thought.

He spoke with his heart instead, and little grace, and hoped greatly that it was enough not to make Gil-Galad step even further away from the circle light of their resting place amidst the dark beach.

"You have ever have my fealty. Take you as my liege, in this time of peace!" Gwindor’s words trembled, almost laughing. It was absurd to say it - to speak of it aloud, to have cause to mention it. “My lord, I would choose you always, in war or peace, to Doom and beyond Doom. Surely you had always known this.”

Gil-Galad did not seem better able to look away from him. He accounted it a marvel merely to feel those strong fingers slot between his own. To feel that heart’s steady beating once more, so dear a song. So, too, Gil-Galad looked at their pressed palms - with a glittering eye, a deep and well-pleased sigh.

His hold was so warm. Gwindor had not noted how cold the night had grown, and found a shudder sliding down his back now.

He grasped his palmed Gwindor’s arm, and smoothed his fingertips over the gentle skin of his wrist. Where once the thick scars of shackle burns had been, thin lines remained - soft, soft to the touch, where Gil-Galad kissed them.

Gwindor’s eyes burned. He looked at the bent head of silvered hair blindly, the hands that did not flinch from him - something out of a fever dream, or a bitter wish swallowed down. Something he had died for, in another life.

"Say that again," Gil-Galad said. Gwindor shivered to look at him, for his eyes were very bright, and all the power of his voice very even. "It pleases me so, to hear you say it! I like being your lord, Gwindor. Sweet Gwindor, faithful to the last! I missed you more than you think, more than you know. Say I may be your friend, your lover, he that has you faith - say you will honour me and do me honour, as ever you did."

Sweet Gwindor he had been, by the green shores of the Sirion, in the glittering caves and carved halls of Nargothrond. Sweet Gwindor clad in mail and iron armour, pressing his brow and his lips to his lady's hand before he went to war. Sweet Gwindor, well after all the sweetness was tormented out of him, when her hand was cold as dead in his, that cold dawn when Orodreth's host followed Túrambar to ruin.

"Lord," Gwindor said helplessly. He was stricken through, catching fire. Gil-Galad's words were as a spark on dry kindling, the tender-talk on that deep voice that had stolen his heart and, it seemed, kept it still. Gwindor was altogether chagrined at himself - or he supposed he would be in the morning, if he could think sensibly by then. "My lord."

He could not keep himself from smiling. There had been a time when even to move his face and pretend at pleasure was an effort, and another when he did it rarely not to discompose those who saw him - but Gil-Galad pressed an inquiry, skimming it gently over his mind, and the touch of his mind was so much his own that Gwindor thought his face might never lose this foolish look of delight again.

There was no need to pretend. He had conceded to going mad for the evening already. He gave his accent, and could not quite help the way his breathing went fast and uneven when Gil-Galad touched the edge of his scarred wrist reverently, kissed his chin and his cheeks, huffing his own smile against him.

“Finally I catch you,” he said, smiling, enthralling in his arrogance - Gwindor’s knees almost failed him for the rush of warmth that filled him. “My erstwhile warrior never to be found in the training houses, my wise counsellor that avoids every meeting I call and all the ones I might attend perhaps, how pretty you are.”

“My lord you may be, but a horrid one,” Gwindor accused. “Terrible, always. I have changed my mind; I think I shall go without mastery again, or find Lord Finrod -”

Gil-Galad's laughter was close enough to thrum in Gwindor's own chest. His dimple deepened sweetly, even as his eyes glittered with the power of his attention.

"Go, certainly, if you wish to! - the sea is right there waiting for swift escape, and I am certain boulder yonder by the dunes will hide you well. Finrod would seat you gladly at their table, and Orodreth as well. But valued as Gwindor of Avallonë is, and accounted most highly among Returned and Exiles, I think you may find they have not felt your lack as keenly as I."

It could not be denied that Gil-Galad had always been an excellent and eager host.

And an excellent and eager kisser, too. Gwindor had nearly taught himself to forget it. Gil-Galad's hand caught Gwindor’s hip, pulled him flush against his strong thighs; his mouth swallowed Gwindor’s gasp in a greedy, familiar embrace.

His blood rose fast, as he had known it would if given the slightest incentive. It was not Gwindor’s first encounter since returning to life, but the first in a long time. And even if it had not been, he felt helpless and well-kept under Gil-Galad’s strong grip.

He tried to restrain himself a little more in embarrassment, but Gil-Galad bit the tip of his ear, and chided him for it.

It was too much. To be alive - to be given food and shelter, and a promise freely given. Gwindor almost regretted not having fled the island entirely - his chest hurt with feeling, and as wholesome as all of Lorien's healers agreed that it was to feel it, he was not certain just then he could do justice to their teachings.

“My lord Ereinion,” Gwindor said. Tears sprung to his eyes; he dashed the first of them away, before Gil-Galad took that duty over for himself. He could not allow for there to be any doubt - not between them, not after so long! “You must know I regret nothing - only that I could not outlast my end, and live to serve you longer.”

The words leapt from him and left him aching, as heartful and fervent as ever he had whispered his devotion to the same mouth, in another continent and in another Age to someone bearing a different name.

Gil-Galad’s face shone, ferocious and fey in the candlelight. He was a stranger; but Gwindor adored him not the less for it.

“Then serve me in this life, that I might have your counsel always; and that we shall heed each other a little better,” he said warmly, and let his own eyes fill with saltwater without shame or embarrassment.

He draped his warm grasp on the small of Gwindor’s back, holding him steady - lightly enough that he could step back, if he wished, meaningfully enough that there was no question as to his offer.

Gwindor shivered again. Gil-Galad's fingers splayed wide and strong against his spine were enough to dry his throat, wake his body to his own desire.

“If you wish it,” said Gil-Galad. He made no move to shrug away the hand Gwindor laid on his arm to steady himself, but neither, Gwindor understood, was he keen on baring his skin to touch. He pressed his nose to Gwindor's neck for a moment, nuzzled gently at the side of cheek. “I have no ring of lordship to offer you, nothing but myself - and myself you know better than none I shall not give lightly, nor offer any promise that I cannot keep. Yet I should like to give you a mark of my esteem, for the faith you have given me anew. Thy lord I would be, and thy king, and in the love of fealty I hold thee most dear. Gwindor, pray let me -"

Gwindor had been of a roving bent in his youth, a warrior in the service of king Finrod, and had loved the heir of the steward of Sirion for his open doors, his devoted care for the people that followed Orodreth. Gil-Galad had turned all of himself to upholding the governance of Nargothrond in Finrod’s absence, as much as had been allowed and possible to him.

It was no wonder, then, that he had done the same to the crown of the Noldor, after all others that might claim it perished. No wonder that Gwindor’s wandering heart turned to him still so easily. Everything in him was warm and fulfilled, glad beyond words to see those eyes, that neck, to feel that mind rustle against his - bright as ever and brighter still, changed and altered to a fiercer gleam.

And just as beloved. Turning down another alley and escaping to his quiet and well-beloved house would not have changed it - he was glad, after all, that Gil-Galad at least was brave enough to set an ambush, call his name, take his hand under the stars.

This, Gwindor despaired, was why the silly scurrying had seemed so necessary. He would permit Gil-Galad anything. He would give him whatever measure of him he wished to have, and resent not a morsel of it. To be known as he was and know again was the easiest thing. It had never been his pride or his trust that was wounded; only himself. And Gil-Galad, who made himself anew, and was doing it again, and had sought him out as a thing to be brought back and prized from the wreck of the long years.

He showed Gil-Galad what he had seen, when he had spied his coming to Tol Eressëa. The great stranger so familiar to his eyes, the king that embraced so many in greeting, whose eyes caught the sunlight with wisdom and might. Uncrowned and plainly-dressed, still he had been to the eyes of any who saw him a lord of power, venerable and good.

Gwindor had heard all the tales, all the lays and histories of his reign; he had loved him without knowing it, and known he loved at the sight of him. It had been him that Gwindor had longed and avoided in his longing, the one he had wished to follow and hoped while hoping to be sought by.

Anything, Gwindor thought, shedding the bindings that bound back his thought as if from a stranger. I am thine, from your hand I should take any gift as a pledge and a joy, and his king sighed happily.

Anything was a great deal. A careful hand held his hip; the other stroked over rib and hip, parting his way to the inside of his robes. Gil-Galad bent down from his great height, kissed him deeply and deeply, until Gwindor leaned on him entirely.

He moved against him, almost blindly; and stilled an instant later, uncertain, flush rising from his breast and filled his neck, stained his ears. But Gil-Galad only laughed, the bright sound of his voice turning the evening silver, calling down the starlight - pulled him all the closer. He slotted their mouth and legs again easily, tilting down to kiss Gwindor’s collarbone.

Slowly, and then all at once, he released his mind and his spirit from himself, to be taken and held in the tender shackles of Gil-Galad's rule. He felt very clearly how the king's breath hitched; the molten satisfaction that seeped through Gil-Galad entirely.

Gil-Galad reached out to hold him with his mind, all gratitude entangled with vindication, a righteous and fierce joy strong enough to leave Gwindor panting, jerking against him, light-headed and lust-drunk.

“Dear one,” Gil-Galad sighed, stroking him with slow, indolent strokes Gil-Galad's hold tugged him smooth and unchanging, impossibly steady. Gwindor cried out, obeyed him command, let him guide the rhythm of his hips and his pulse. “Truest, sweetest Gwindor, how great a joy it is to hold thee again,” and Gwindor shuddered, trembled, fell apart: grasping Gil-Galad’s broad shoulders, gasping against the golden-silver of Gil-Galad’s braid when Gil-Galad bit the soft underside of his neck.

Gwindor sighed. As far as plain marks of claiming went, he supposed it was traditional enough the lore-masters could not complain, and it would do until a ring could be found. But really -

"Stars above, my king, Gelmir is going to be insufferable," he sighed; and Gil-Galad's shoulders shook with laughter clear enough to make the very night shine with it.

#ereinion gil galad #gwindor #silm fic #silm smut #my fics #silmsmutweek #gil-galad/gwindor #gil galad x gwindor #gil galad

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