mariana-oconnor · 1 year ago
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Playing Baldur's Gate 3 and being on Tumblr when you're not into vampires is kind of... limiting.
Also I'm playing very slowly, so trying to avoid spoilers limits things as well. But not as much as the vampire thing.
This is what I get for hanging out on the vampire-fucking website I guess...
Feel obligated to add that I am not upset about this. You go, you funky little vampire fuckers, you! Just an observation that fandom is skewed in a very definite direction.
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starryhyuck · 11 months ago
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against all odds. (m)
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pairing: gryffindor!jaehyun x slytherin!afab!reader
words: 13.2k+
summary: jeong jaehyun has always had the biggest crush on you. that is, until he finds out you’re engaged to nakamoto yuta.
genre: fluff, angst, smut
warnings: jaehyun and reader are extremely horny, pregnancy, penetrative sex, rough sex, public sex, pussy eating, creampies, breeding kink, fingering, squirting, dick sucking, messy sex
Jaehyun feels like he’s on top of the world.
He’s managed to secure another Gryffindor win under his arm with his House praising his ability to spot the Golden Snitch so quickly. Many have speculated that Jaehyun’s the best Seeker the Gryffindor team has seen in years, and that he could easily go into the professional sport after graduating. Jaehyun tries not to let the whispers go straight to his head, even though playing Quidditch on a professional level is his ultimate dream.
The Gryffindor afterparties have gradually become more hectic as the season passes. The party planning committee has been attempting to outdo themselves every time the team bags another victory. The current one is surrounded by a monstrous amount of Firewhisky and dizzy students dressed head to toe in red and gold.
Jaehyun thinks he’s about to turn in for the night until he spots you.
It’s very unusual to see the Slytherin queen casually lounging around in the lion’s den, but you manage to blend in effortlessly. You’re giggling into Jihyo’s ear, prodding the Quidditch captain to take another sip of her drink.
Jaehyun’s always harbored a small crush on you ever since his first year at Hogwarts, but considering you were sorted into separate houses, he never got to spend much time with you. Once Jihyo spots him, however, he doesn’t have much time to flee.
“Jaehyun!”
She grabs his elbow and pulls him forward until he’s standing directly in front of you. Your eyes lock with his, and his heart beats so loudly that he’s sure you can hear it.
“This is our star player,” Jihyo says, stumbling a bit over her words. “He’s the greatest Gryffindor has ever seen!”
“Jihyo,” he grumbles in embarrassment, the tips of his ears turning bright red.
“Nice to meet you, Jaehyun,” you smile, extending your hand out. He awkwardly shakes it, trying not to focus on the fact that his palms are abnormally sweaty. You don’t seem to mind, taking another sip of your drink. “Does your captain here always follow the rules?”
“Annoyingly so,” he chuckles, familiar with Jihyo’s inability to relax most of the time.
As the captain of the most talked about Quidditch team of the decade, Jihyo didn’t have blocks of time in her schedule for fun. She was always planning the best strategy for the next match or conspiring with the team to see what tricks their opponents would pull. Jaehyun notes how you encourage Jihyo to take the edge off by pouring more Firewhisky into her glass.
“No no no,” Jihyo sighs, pushing you away. “I can’t keep drinking. The Quidditch Cup is still at play.”
“Please,” you roll your eyes. “If Jaehyun’s as good as you say he is, then it’s not something you should worry about.”
Jaehyun knows his ears are probably burning bright red by now. Your smile has to be the prettiest sight he’s ever seen, and he secretly wishes he could use a Time Turner to ask the Sorting Hat to place him in Slytherin instead.
“If you pour me another glass, I’ll expose your Slytherin ass right here, right now!”
You simply smirk at Jihyo’s empty threat. “Go ahead. I’m sure the lions would love to devour the head snake.”
There’s no way Jaehyun’s getting turned on right now. Not in the middle of this celebration party, where most of his friends can visibly see him. He abruptly coughs and adjusts the growing tent in his pants.
“I should go to bed,” he says awkwardly. “I’ll see you both later?”
Jihyo beams. “See? What a good Quidditch player! I’m going to bed too!”
“Not so fast,” you laugh, pulling her back. You throw Jaehyun one last look. “See you around, Jae.”
Jaehyun would never admit to anyone that he cast a silencing charm around himself that night to muffle his growing moans. He would never admit that he imagined you on your knees for him, your pretty eyes fluttering as you took him in your mouth. He would never admit he wanted to tangle his fingers through your hair as he pinned you down and fucked you until you cried.
No, this was something he had to carry to his grave.
“Today, we’ll be discussing the strongest love potion in the world, Amortentia.”
Johnny rolls his eyes, nudging Jaehyun’s side. “Here we go again,” Johnny whispers gruffly.
Amortentia was an assignment they covered last year, sending most of the classroom hormones ablaze as people tried to convince each other they smelled them in their potion. Johnny and Jaehyun received the brunt end of it, with love letters greeting them at breakfast nearly everyday.
A hand shoots up in the air. “Professor, we covered this topic already,” Mingyu complains. Jaehyun recalls Mingyu also received his fair share of letters the previous year.
“Good recall, Mingyu. However, we’ve never done a project with Amortentia that supports interhouse unity.”
Johnny coughs next to Jaehyun. “This has to be a joke.”
The professor claps his hands and grins, confirming Jaehyun’s worst fear. “Please find your partner for this assignment! The only requirement is that it has to be someone from a different house.”
“I’m grabbing Doyoung,” Johnny hisses before he vanishes from Jaehyun’s side.
Jaehyun’s mind works a little slower, trying to think about who he can partner up with before he feels someone poke his shoulder. He turns to see you behind him, your smile once again making his heart beat out of his chest. You take Johnny’s place and set your books down next to his.
“Nice to see you again, partner.”
“You want to be partners?” Jaehyun stutters.
You giggle. “Why? Is the star player taken already?”
“No! No, definitely not,” he says, wincing at how loud his voice rises.
You just laugh at him. “Good. I heard you’re just as good in your studies as you are on the field.”
Jaehyun opens his mouth to respond, thinking about other ways he can impress you off the field, but the professor claps his hands again.
“Wonderful! Looks like you all have found a partner. The assignment until the end of the term is to brew a batch of Amortentia and document what you smell at the end of each week.”
Doyoung raises his hand with a bored expression. “Professor, what we smell in the Amortentia potion is meant to reflect what we find the most attractive. I don’t believe this changes weekly.”
“I beg to differ! As you all are growing young adults, your taste and interests do, in fact, change everyday! I want to highlight this unique fact about students your age with this assignment.”
The professor dismisses the rumble of arguments that grow throughout the room, offering more details about the project before class ends. Once he’s finished talking, your head turns to face Jaehyun.
“How about we meet up later tonight and brew the first batch?”
“Y-Yeah! After Quidditch practice?”
You grin, gathering your books and standing. “See you there.”
Jaehyun’s eyes linger on the sway of your hips as you walk away. He’s totally fucked.
Jaehyun knows he’s terribly distracted at Quidditch practice.
Jihyo is reprimanding him for his carelessness as the Snitch zooms past him and he doesn’t even attempt to grab it. He takes all of her constructive criticism to heart, fingers gripping his broom tightly as he tries to focus.
His mind betrays him, nonetheless, wandering to the idea of you studying in the library. He imagines your knee high socks clinging to your skin, the bottom of your skirt barely covering the tops of your thighs. He wonders how high your skirt will rise if he asks you to grab him a book from the top shelf. Maybe your panties will peek out, showing him an eyeful of-
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you today?” Jaehyun blinks, returning to reality. Johnny’s floating in front of him, eyebrows raised. “You missed the Snitch again. You’re lucky Jihyo didn’t see it.”
Jaehyun shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m just all over the place today.”
Johnny leans forward, eyes narrowing at him. Jaehyun would normally be disturbed if this was anyone else, but he recognizes that look on Johnny’s face. Almost as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
Johnny stares at him for a few more seconds before he starts laughing, clutching his stomach and almost falling off his broom.
“What?” Jaehyun frowns, not understanding the joke.
Johnny manages to calm himself down, brushing away his tears of joy.
“You’re pussydrunk!”
“What?” Jaehyun questions, eyebrows furrowed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Johnny chuckles and calls Jihyo over.
“I know what’s wrong with Jaehyun,” Johnny says confidently.
She’s far from amused. “Well, please enlighten us. I’d love to know why my star player is playing at the worst I’ve seen in years.”
“Jaehyun’s got a little crush.”
Jihyo’s pissed-off expression turns into one of happiness when she hears Johnny’s reply, and Jaehyun’s shocked to see the captain giggling into her palm.
“No way! For who?”
“He hasn’t said.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you two are on,” Jaehyun mutters in agitation. “But I don’t have a crush. I’m just distracted, that’s all.”
Jihyo snickers. “Now I really don’t believe you. Well, make sure that whoever it is doesn’t prevent you from playing at your best this weekend. Fuck in the locker rooms beforehand for all I care.”
“That’s not-“ Jaehyun tries to argue, growing more and more red by each passing second. He fails to find a comeback and zooms away, ignoring Johnny and Jihyo’s laughter at his predicament.
Jaehyun has to talk himself up before entering the Potions classroom.
He knows you’re already in there, waiting for him to begin your assignment. He’s conjured up a few conversation starters that he thinks will work well with you. He probably looks like such a loser, but he genuinely hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you and it’s starting to drive him insane.
He coughs quietly before opening the door, pausing at the sight of you leaned over the cauldron, the illumination of the potion casting a glow over your face. You look up and smile, and he swears his heart stops in his chest.
“Hey, there you are,” you laugh softly. “How was Quidditch practice?”
He manages to gather himself enough to join you at the Potions table, setting his bag down. “It was alright. I was a little in my head so Jihyo was a bit displeased.”
You waved him off. “I’m sure you were fine. Jihyo just needs to relax.”
He chuckles. “That’s an understatement.”
“Well, I actually brewed the potion while I was waiting for you. All we need to do is document what we smell for today and we’ll be set.”
Jaehyun frowns. “I’m sorry you had to brew it alone. I would’ve asked Jihyo to leave early if I-“
You giggle and shake your head. “Jae, you’re completely fine. I just didn’t want to keep you too long in case you needed to rest. I can’t imagine having to juggle Quidditch with these silly assignments everyday.”
His heart warms by the fact that you’re so considerate of him, but he’s also disappointed that he has less time to spend with you. In order to avoid looking like he’s lingering too long, he thanks you and leans over the cauldron. It’s no surprise that it smells exactly like you, and the tip of his ears bloom red. He rattles off random scents and avoids your gaze.
When you lean over, there’s a small hope in his chest that he is the object of your desire. Even the faintest touch of Quidditch grass in your Amortentia potion would have him jumping for joy.
You quickly withdraw from the cauldron, almost as if you immediately recognize the scent.
He clears his throat. “What did you smell?”
You shrug. “Iris and jasmine. Typical.”
And his heart falls straight to the ground.
“What do I smell like?”
Johnny jolts back in his seat at the sight of his best friend frantically pushing his neck towards Johnny’s face. Doyoung is also startled by Jaehyun’s presence, gasping and placing a hand over his chest.
“Merlin, Jaehyun. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Jaehyun ignores the awkward stares from his other Gryffindor housemates. He slumps down in one of the common room chairs, facing Johnny and Doyoung from their spot on the sofa.
“Do you think I smell like iris and jasmine?”
Johnny exchanges a look with Doyoung, who shrugs at Jaehyun’s unnatural behavior.
Johnny sighs. “I mean, not really. You always just kind of smell like grass and amber.”
“But do you think I could?” Jaehyun asks, eyes a little more frantic. “Do you think I could smell like iris and jasmine? Especially to someone who doesn’t know me that well?”
Doyoung leans over to whisper to Johnny, even though Jaehyun can clearly still hear him.
“I think this is about the Amortentia assignment.”
Johnny’s eyes light up. “Oh, so this is about that girl you’re pussydrunk for!”
Jaehyun’s eyes widen at the volume of Johnny’s voice. He throws himself across the room to cover his best friend’s mouth.
Johnny just laughs and pries him off. “Listen, dude, I get you’re pussydrunk right now but this stupid assignment is the last thing you need to worry about. We have the qualifier game against Slytherin tomorrow, remember?”
And Jaehyun knows Johnny’s right. He tries not to think about you for the rest of the day and puts Quidditch at the forefront in his mind.
Jihyo holds a mandatory practice that night to run over the key plays, and it takes everything in Jaehyun to stop thinking about what you would look like in Gryffindor colors, cheering him on in the stands.
On the day of the match, he throws himself into the sport that he knows best. He doesn’t falter at the sight of the Slytherin seeker, Nakamoto Yuta, who mindlessly chews his gum on the field before the game starts. Yuta’s known for his carefree attitude, contrasting his sharp flying abilities and quick wit.
He smirks at the sight of Jaehyun, tilting his head slightly to challenge him. Jaehyun narrows his eyes and maintains his focus, immediately taking off once the whistle is blown to signal the start of the game.
The match is high with exhilaration from the two rival teams, with Gryffindor and Slytherin battling it out like no other. Jaehyun knows he and Yuta have to be the tie-breaker since the points from both sides aren’t adding up as quickly as anticipated, and he can see Jihyo’s frustration from across the field.
It’s an hour into the game when Jaehyun sees the fluttering wings.
He doesn’t hesitate, taking off and chasing the Snitch. Yuta spots it at the same exact time and quickly follows. The two are neck and neck until Jaehyun’s hand stretches a little farther than Yuta’s, securing the Snitch in his hand and effectively ending the game.
“Yes! Another game ending win from Jeong Jaehyun! Gryffindor advances to the finals of the Quidditch Cup!”
The audience breaks out in applause and cheers, and Jaehyun finally allows himself to take it in. Just like with every other game, Johnny rushes over to wrap him in a hug once they’re on the ground.
“That’s my boy! Only Jeong Jaehyun can do that!”
Jaehyun laughs when the whole team joins in on the hug, wrapping arms around one another in a sweaty pile of victory.
“Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!”
The stadium chants loudly and Jaehyun feels happiness spread all the way down to his toes. He chuckles when Jihyo embraces him, almost crying herself.
The team gets cleaned up in the locker rooms before heading out to celebrate their win. Jaehyun’s surprised to see a few Slytherins lingering around, and even more surprised when one of them happens to be you.
Was it possible that you were waiting for him? That would be ridiculous, right?
And just as he’s about to call out your name to confirm his suspicion, he stops in his tracks when Yuta approaches you. Freshly showered, Yuta swings an arm around your shoulder effortlessly.
Jaehyun’s heart stops in his chest.
Yuta spots him out of the corner of his eye and whispers something in your ear. Jaehyun feels frozen on the spot when the two of you grow closer and closer to him.
“Jeong, nice game out there. I guess it’s true when they say you’re the best Seeker in our year,” Yuta compliments, lips still twisted in a smirk.
Jaehyun’s eyes are hyper focused on Yuta’s arm dangling from your shoulder while you look like the picture perfect girlfriend.
You smile at him, not sensing his discomfort. “Yeah, great game, Jae. Gryffindor’s star player indeed.”
Yuta laughs and hums in agreement. Jaehyun can’t find any words to say, almost like they’re lodged in the middle of his throat, so he nods instead.
“Well, we won’t ruin your victory party,” Yuta winks, arm moving downwards to wrap around your waist. “See you around.”
You smile at him again as you and Yuta begin walking back to the castle. “Bye, Jae.”
Jaehyun remains rooted in his spot, heart breaking into a million little pieces.
The scent of iris and jasmine overwhelms him.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was with Yuta?”
“I didn’t know she was the one you were pussydrunk for!”
Jaehyun groans, collapsing in one of the big chairs in the Gryffindor common room. He roughly runs his fingers through his hair as Johnny stares at him worriedly.
After finally coming to his senses, Jaehyun had managed to locate his best friend and confront him about his knowledge of you and Yuta.
“And technically, they’re not actually together,” Johnny corrects, trying to mend Jaehyun’s heartbreak. “Their families are the old Slytherin type so they’ve been engaged since birth. I don’t think they’re willingly dating.”
“She smelled him,” Jaehyun whispers, wringing his hands together. “In her Amortentia potion. That’s why I was asking you and Doyoung what I smell like.”
Johnny winces. “Maybe you brewed the potion wrong?”
Jaehyun curses. Of course this had to happen to him. The one person he genuinely has feelings for, a person he will desperately beg for attention, is not only taken, but engaged to someone else.
Just his luck.
“How am I supposed to keep doing this project with her?” He mutters roughly to Johnny, like taking out his anger on the tall Gryffindor will help his situation. “She’s going to keep smelling Yuta every week and I know all I’ll smell is her.”
Johnny can sense his friend is mentally combusting and tries his best to help.
“Rumor is that they don’t romantically like one another. It’s more of a mutual transaction — if they don’t end up with each other, they’ll have to get married to a random stranger. Listen, you can win her over with that Jeong charm, I know you can. The whole arranged marriage tradition can’t keep lasting for generations. Someone has to break it, and maybe this is the time.”
“And the chances of her actually leaving him?”
The look on his friend’s face tells Jaehyun everything he needs to know.
Maybe this is a sign that he should move on. He’s had a crush on you for long enough, and it clearly will never go anywhere beyond his imagination. He knows that he shouldn’t bring it up or even mention his discovery of it, but the next time he meets you for the project, he can’t help himself. The sight of you looking so fucking breathtaking while you carefully mix peppermint flower is enough for his common sense to switch off.
“Are you engaged to Yuta?”
You pause at the question, an eyebrow raised at him in confusion. He doesn’t blame you since the past twenty minutes of brewing the potion have been spent in complete silence before his inquiry.
“Um, yeah, I am. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering,” he murmurs under his breath. “When will you get married?”
“It’s customary to marry immediately after schooling. Our parents have been planning it since before we were born,” you share, sounding like you’ve already explained this thousands of times.
He coughs awkwardly. “Sorry for the interrogation, I’m not very familiar with Slytherin customs.”
“It’s okay,” you smile assuredly as you drop the peppermint flowers into the cauldron. “Many other houses are usually curious about our situation. I never realized how abnormal it looks from the outside until I came to Hogwarts.”
“You should get a choice, you know,” he replies, chewing his bottom lip nervously. “A choice to choose who you want to spend the rest of your life with.”
If you sense any underlying intentions in Jaehyun’s statement, you don’t show it. Instead, you plaster on another perfect smile and he realizes how rehearsed it looks.
“Yuta is my best friend. Even though we didn’t choose each other, it’s not a bad thing to end up with someone you can trust. If anything, it’s a wonderful gift.”
The words don’t even sound like yours. It sounds more like someone spoon fed it to you in the hopes that you would end up believing it yourself. He analyzes your body language, noticing how stiff your shoulders have become. You brush off the discomfort, focusing on stirring the Amortentia.
“Let’s finish the assignment for the week and call it a night, hm?”
He nods in agreement and leans over, not shocked in the slightest when he smells the citrus of your shampoo. He tells you the same scents as the week before, grasping at the hope that maybe you’ll smell something different.
But just like the week prior, you barely catch a whiff of the potion before you hum.
“Iris and jasmine.”
Jaehyun wishes someone would pierce his heart with the Sword of Gryffindor.
Jihyo furrows her eyebrows when she steps onto the field, registering the sight of her star player sulking on his broom, legs kicking the air like a small toddler having a tantrum.
She walks over to Johnny and gestures at Jaehyun’s floating figure.
“Pussy related?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Jihyo grimaces. She loves Jaehyun, she really does, but she can’t afford to have a heartbroken teenager on her team right now. The Quidditch Cup is just inches away from her fingers and if she wants to play the sport professionally after Hogwarts, she needs Jaehyun to be at the top of his game.
She takes her broom up to his brooding form. “Hey, champ. How’s it hanging?”
“Maybe I can die and reincarnate into who she wants me to be. Do you think there’s a spell for that?”
His eyes look sunken in. Jihyo sighs, placing a hand on his shoulder for comfort.
“Why don’t you take practice off today? I have no doubt you’ll bring your all to the finals but I need you to be in the right state of mind. Go fix your pussy problem and come back when you’re ready.”
Jaehyun leaves Quidditch practice with his tail tucked between his legs. He changes in the locker room, swapping out his uniform for his regular clothes, and heads back to the castle.
He thinks about you the whole way, wondering how he should move on. Should he play his part as a miserable bystander and watch you marry Yuta? It’s been your fate since before you were born, and who is he to come in and change it anyways?
His swirling thoughts are interrupted by a high-pitched giggle. Just as he turns the corner down the hallway leading to the Gryffindor dorms, he pauses when he catches a glimpse at the current thorn in his side.
Yuta has Seo Soojin cornered against a wall, lips brushing against her ear as his hand roughly grips her thigh to hook it around his hip. She’s laughing at whatever he says, fingers bunched up at his shoulders. Jaehyun stills when Yuta leans forward and captures her mouth with his. The two pay no mind that they are clearly in a hallway and can get caught at any time, whether it be by a classmate or teacher.
The only part that Jaehyun can focus on is the delirious rage taking over him.
How dare Yuta do this to you! He has the opportunity to be with you, to give you all the love that Jaehyun so desperately wants, yet he’s here making out with another girl.
His feet act before his mind does. His brain doesn’t completely register what he’s doing as he breezes past Yuta and Soojin, heading for the Great Hall with blazing fury. His eyes spot you as soon as the doors fling open, chatting with some of your friends at the Slytherin table.
You’re startled when you hear his voice behind you.
“Can I talk to you?”
The table falls silent at the sight of the Gryffindor prince confronting the Slytherin princess. Your classmates throw you confused glances and you offer them a smile of assurance in return. You excuse yourself and follow Jaehyun outside, where he pulls you to a nearby corner.
“Go out with me,” he starts, his body inches from yours. “This weekend at Hogsmeade. We can get sweets before it gets colder and have a few Butterbeers together.”
You blink at him, silent for a few moments before you carefully respond.
“Jae, I’m flattered by all means. You’re such a sweet guy but you know Yuta and I-“
“I just saw him making out with Soojin!”
You don’t look phased at all by the outburst. “Soojin and him are very close partners,” you say calmly. “We have a mutual understanding.”
He frowns. How could you have no reaction to your future husband kissing someone else?
You read the bewilderment on his face. “I told you Yuta’s my best friend. We’ve never had romantic feelings for one another. He’s free to be with as many people as he wants before we marry, it’s not an issue with me.”
“But what about you?”
Rejecting Jaehyun is like kicking a sick puppy. He was so unbelievably cute and hot at the same time, and you would be dumb not to notice how he stares at you like you invented magic.
However, you know how this story will tragically end and you don’t want Jaehyun to experience that fate.
“Jae, no matter what, I’m still marrying Yuta after leaving. The amount of flings he or I have is inconsequential, we’re going to end up together anyways. Nevertheless, the people who develop feelings for us will get hurt along the way. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
He feels more vulnerable than he ever has before, but he pushes through the discomfort of your possible dismissal.
“I don’t care if I get hurt. I mean, fuck it, my heart already broke in half when I found out you were engaged,” he sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “I just want one day with you. It’s completely selfish but I want to spend time with you — no assignment, no Quidditch, no Yuta. I know it’s not going to change anything but is it so pathetic of me to act on my desire before your fate is officially sealed?”
Your heart swells. You’ve never had anyone fight for you like this before. Normally, you had to witness a handful of girls bawl their eyes out after Yuta ends their situationship. You’ve always avoided being in the spot you’re in now, with someone’s heart in your hands and their hopes and dreams contingent on yours.
You exhale. “Fine, just one day. Pick me up at the Slytherin dorms on Saturday.”
You slowly talk yourself down when Saturday rolls around. As eager as you are, you couldn’t show it to Jaehyun. You didn’t want him to keep hanging on to this last shred of hope that you would end up together.
You stare at your reflection in the mirror, wondering if you look too dressed up for a day in Hogsmeade. An emerald green dress hugs your figure — a present from Yuta’s parents three years ago. You’ve grown a little since receiving it, so now the hem barely covers your thighs.
You give yourself a twirl, hoping it’s not too short for Jaehyun’s liking.
“Why are you taking so long? I’ve been waiting downstairs forever.”
You turn at the sound of the familiar voice and find Yuta standing at your doorway, eyebrows raised at the sight of you.
“Woah, you look nice. Feeling good today?” He asks.
“I actually promised to go to Hogsmeade with a friend today,” you say casually, hoping Yuta doesn’t prod too much. “Sorry I forgot to tell you.”
“Do I know this friend?”
“No, he’s in Gryffindor. I know you’re a Slytherin only club.”
“Oh, so it’s a he?”
You sigh. “It’s just a Hogsmeade outing, Yuta. You have nothing to worry about.”
He hums noncommittally and you know it’s his way of saying that this was a bad idea. Yuta’s possessive over you, but only because he knows if your lives do not go the way your parents have planned it, you both would be completely disowned from your families.
He takes a seat on your bed and gives you a look. “I heard Jeong Jaehyun’s been asking around about you.”
You shrug. “We’re partners in Potions.”
He doesn’t buy your half-assed explanation and you know it. As much as you could see right through Yuta, he could see right through you.
“I’ve never had an issue with Soojin,” you point out, hoping to end his line of questioning.
“Yes, and that’s because I’ve always drawn clear boundaries with her. She knows we’re a temporary item. Can you say the same for Jaehyun?”
“Yuta,” you beg, throwing him a defeated glance. “Please drop this.”
He purses his lips, pausing for a few moments before nodding. He leaves you to finish getting ready, mind swirling with a million thoughts. Since he’s known you, you’ve never given him a reason to believe you’re unhappy with your engagement. Raised traditionally, you were the type to never question what your parents decided for you. Yuta was always the more rebellious one in your relationship and you never cared what he did.
Although sometimes, Yuta wishes that you would show a tiny ounce of concern.
When he steps out of the Slytherin common room, he locks eyes with none other than Jeong Jaehyun. The Gryffindor freezes at the sight of him and Yuta smirks.
“She’s almost finished, if you’ve been waiting long,” Yuta says, eyes testing Jaehyun’s.
The Gryffindor smiles but Yuta can tell it’s forced. “That’s fine, I don’t mind being out here.”
Yuta nods. “You know, we usually go to Hogsmeade together. Every weekend we can.”
“Oh?” Jaehyun swallows, intimidated by Yuta’s glare. “I didn’t know. We’re partners in Potions so I just wanted to spend some time together outside of the classroom.”
“I’m sure you do,” Yuta smiles knowingly, sending a shiver down Jaehyun’s spine. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”
Jaehyun watches Yuta’s figure disappear down the hallway, and he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Ready to go?”
He nearly jumps five feet in the air when you approach him. You giggle into your hand at the sight of him looking so startled.
“What’s wrong? See a ghost down in the Slytherin dungeons?” You tease, eyes sparkling.
Jaehyun straightens himself before scoffing. “No, I just got so tired waiting out here for you.”
You smile at his flustered state and bump his hip with yours. “Let’s get going then. Wouldn’t want Gryffindor’s star player to die from waiting too long.”
He mutters quietly to himself when you start walking.
“If only you knew.”
The trek to Hogsmeade is filled with tentative smiles and shy gazes. Jaehyun has been stressing out all week on how to make this trip a life changing one for you. He somehow has to convince you that being chained to Yuta for the rest of your life is a living nightmare, and that you should be with Jaehyun instead.
The task feels too demanding, so he starts off simple.
“You look really pretty.”
You flush at the compliment, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
He grins, dimples peeking out. You observe as he shrugs off his jacket in favor of placing it on your shoulders to protect you from the incoming wind. A few Hufflepuff girls pass, whispering to one another. You catch the tail-end of their questioning.
“Did they break off their engagement?”
“That’s impossible, there’s no way their parents would allow it.”
Jaehyun hears their gossip as well, not hesitating to throw them a heated glare. They scurry away from the both of you. You soothe him by setting your hand on his upper arm.
“It’s okay, Jae. Don’t worry about them.”
You make your way to Honeydukes, which is bustling with students trying to buy holiday gifts for their friends and family. You’re scanning the shelves of Chocolate Frogs when you feel Jaehyun’s presence inch closer to your back. A hand suddenly slinks around your waist, and you jolt at the contact.
“Sorry,” Jaehyun’s apology is spoken quietly in your ear. You shudder at the sudden proximity. “There’s so many people here.”
Although that may be true, you know the nearest person to you is at least six feet away, giving Jaehyun plenty of space. You indulge his lie, however, mainly for your own personal interest.
“That’s okay,” you reply quietly. “I don’t mind.”
The sexual tension from that point on increases tenfold. You’ve never been a very intimate person, especially considering you know where you’ll be at the end of your Hogwarts journey. There have been a few affairs here and there, but never someone you find yourself captivated by.
And fuck it if Jaehyun isn’t only captivating, but causes your panties to grow wetter and wetter in the winter breeze.
He somehow finds a reason to always be near you — “there’s so many people around,” “want to make sure you don’t trip and fall,” “think I saw some guy staring at your legs too long,” — you name it. You entertain him every single time, allowing his hand to secure its place on your hip and the warmth of his chest to be pressed against your back. You can’t recall what you even bought at Honeydukes or Zonko’s because Jaehyun’s thumb stroking your collarbone sent you into a frenzy.
As he escorts you into the Three Broomsticks, he mumbles a comment that nearly makes you moan. Out loud.
“Your dress would look even better if it was in red, don’t you think?”
You’d like to say you’ve never developed an affinity for the Slytherin house colors, but by your second year, your wardrobe had been filled with varying shades of green. The thought of donning red just for Jaehyun supplied your body with a warmth that was unexpected during this time of year.
He orders two Butterbeers, smirking the whole way while throwing side glances at you.
He planned to make this an incredibly difficult trip for you.
“Can I ask you a question?” He asks when the server leaves.
You’re seated in one of the booths in the corner, away from prying eyes. You nod at him, heart accelerating when he takes the opportunity to scoot closer to you until your thigh is touching his.
“This marriage contract — tell me what it entails.”
“Well, the terms are pretty simple. After graduating, Yuta and I will have a traditional wedding for friends and family to witness. We vow to spend the rest of our lives together in the hopes of producing children who also carry magical blood. Its purpose is to hopefully extend our bloodline for generations to come.”
The explanation of your relationship with Yuta has been memorized by now, but Jaehyun doesn’t look like he’s appeased by your answer.
“And what about those flings you were referring to? You said you have a mutual understanding of Yuta and Soojin. What about when it comes to you?”
You stutter. “W-What do you mean?”
He leans closer, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. His hand rests on your inner thigh, and you fear he’ll find evidence of your arousal dripping on the hardwood.
“If you were to have a little fun for yourself, would Yuta mutually understand? Even if it’s, per se, done in the public eye?”
You’re hyper aware of his fingers moving higher and higher. You’re about to beg for him to touch you when two glasses of Butterbeer slam down on the table, causing you to nearly jump out of your seat.
Your waitress, Suyeon, seems unfazed by your blatant public indecency.
“Two Butterbeers for the table,” she recites in a bored tone before quickly leaving.
You grab the handle of the glass and down your Butterbeer in one go. You wipe the remnants of the drink from the corner of your lips and glance over at Jaehyun, who is wearing an amused expression.
“That thirsty?”
“A little,” you reply nervously. You suddenly feel like your body is not your own, because there’s no way you’re dripping in a public setting right now.
Jaehyun doesn’t skip a beat, pushing your drink aside and cupping the back of your neck, pulling you to him. You gasp when you’re merely inches away from his face. You stare at each other for a good amount of time before you close the gap, sealing your mouth with his.
The kiss is hungry, and you feel like a rabid animal Jaehyun needs to tame. Your hand grabs his and forcefully moves it to cup your clothed cunt. He groans into your mouth, pulling away briefly to cast a silencing charm on your booth.
“You can be as loud as you want, but remember there’s people watching,” he murmurs, and your eyes dart around the pub.
There are some students gathered but it’s not as full as it usually is during this time. Most people aren’t even paying attention to the two of you secluded in your corner. However, at any point, you know they could look over and see Jaehyun fingering you in public.
And at a school sponsored outing, no less.
You throw all your dignity out the window regardless. “I’ll be good,” you promise breathily to him. “Just touch me, please.”
His fingers curl at the fabric of your underwear and you whine loudly, gripping the end of the table like it’s going to save you. His head is angled purposefully to make it seem like he’s just whispering in your ear to any onlooker, attempting to shield what he’s doing to you under the table. You try your best to control your facial expressions so that you don’t end up on some wizarding porn site.
He pushes your panties aside to play with your folds and you hear him chuckle.
“So wet already? I’ve barely even touched you.”
When two fingers slide inside your cunt, you whimper when you hear the squelch, leaking onto his palm. He curses to himself, stretching his digits as far as they can go in your tiny pussy.
“You’re making it so hard for me not to fuck you senseless right now.”
His confessions are driving you closer and closer to your orgasm. You’re thankful he cast a silencing charm because you could hear the gush of your pussy every time his fingers push in and out of your messy hole.
You don’t know if it’s because of Jaehyun or the fact that you’re in a public area or a combination of both, but this climax feels a lot different than the ones you’re used to. He picks up on the signs of your impending orgasm and swiftly casts a Disillusionment charm, temporarily making you both invisible.
“Wait-“ you say, gasping for breath. “I feel weird, Jae. This is different.”
“It’s okay,” he assures you, adding another finger for good measure. “I’m right here, just let go, baby.”
His thumb circling your clit is what drives you over the edge. You squirt everywhere, your orgasm painting the table and the floor. He groans into your ear, moving his fingers faster and faster while you ride out your high.
You can barely register the sweet nothings he continues to mumble.
“Such a good pussy for me. All mine. So fucking pretty when you squirt for me, baby. And doing it in public? Filthy girl.”
You push him away when the overstimulation becomes too much. Your chest is heaving and you feel completely spent, trying to catch your breath.
“I’m going to get some towels and clean us up before the spell wears off,” he says to you, even though you barely comprehend it. “Stay here, baby.”
You come to when Jaehyun returns with a handful of towels, wiping the inside of your thighs and clearing the table. The spell wears off shortly after, and you do your best to make yourself appear presentable and not like you just got finger fucked at the Three Broomsticks.
When Jaehyun finishes cleaning up, he brings your mouth to his again. You could stay like this for hours with him, and you’re about to ask him if you can suck him off before the sound of slow clapping interrupts you.
You yelp when you hear it, disconnecting yourself from Jaehyun.
Yuta stands in front of the both of you, eyes narrowed. “Get up,” he demands. “We’re heading back to the castle.”
Your lips twist angrily. “You have no right-“
“Don’t even start with that,” he hisses, slamming one hand on the table. “I can’t believe what you just did in front of everyone.”
You rise to your feet so that you’re on the same level as him. “Are you kidding me?” You say in frustration. “You make out with Soojin on the daily!”
“But I’ve never finger fucked her in a pub! Especially not when I know my father’s friends frequent the area.”
You ball your hands at your side, knowing he’s won the logical part of this argument. He throws you another stern look before leaving, expecting you to follow shortly.
You step over to Jaehyun, who was watching your argument unfold with a defeated expression. You press your lips to his again and sigh.
“Meet me in the library tomorrow night, okay? I’m sorry about him.”
He nods in understanding and you smile at him, giving him one last kiss before you depart. Once you encounter Yuta outside, he rolls his eyes at you and shoves a pair of gloves to your chest to keep your hands warm.
You both angrily stomp together back to the castle.
“You had no right.”
He scoffs. “I had no right? You were the one exposing yourself in front of almost all of Hogwarts. You’re lucky I was there to shoo off any unwanted glances.”
“Yes, I’m so lucky you came in and stopped me from having a good time,” you hiss, rage fueling at the pit of your stomach.
“You know if you were caught we would have our heads served on a silver platter to them,” he bites back at you, and you know he’s alluding to the wrath of your parents. “And I’m trying to save you from breaking that poor guy’s heart.”
You shake your head. “I already told Jaehyun about us. He knows it won’t go anywhere.”
“Do you think that will actually stop him? He was throwing fucking heart eyes at you whenever you weren’t looking.” He turns and stops you when you’re almost back at the Hogwarts entrance. “Listen, you know I’m not trying to be an asshole. With all things considered, we have to marry next summer even though the both of us don’t particularly want to. Developing feelings for him is only going to make it harder when we leave.”
You ignore the tears swelling in your eyes, burning from the harsh temperature.
“I told you that he knows. It’s not going anywhere.”
He doesn’t buy your reasoning and you both know it.
“You better hope it’s not. For both of our sakes.”
Jaehyun can feel your hands roaming the expanse of his body. He hears your voice whispering in his ear, teasing him.
“Want to suck you dry.” You’re smiling, lips tracing the shell of his ear. Your fingers are dancing on his chest, slowly moving downwards. “Maybe I’ll make a show for everyone. Make them see I’m yours.”
“Even Yuta?” He groans, unable to stop himself from asking.
“Especially Yuta.”
Your hand grips the base of his cock, pumping him slowly. Your thumb teases the tip and you squeeze him gently. He hisses, hips thrusting upwards in an attempt to get you to move faster.
You laugh and the melody sounds like bliss.
“Be patient, silly.”
Jaehyun jolts out of his sleep when a pillow lands square in his face. It has to be past midnight since his room is still completely dark. Johnny hovers over his bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Dude, either cast a silencing charm or have those dreams when we’re not all in the room with you.”
Jaehyun’s ears redden and Johnny slowly crawls back into his own bed, turning on his side and falling back to sleep. Jaehyun grabs his wand and quickly draws the curtains of his four poster bed, casting a silencing charm like Johnny advised. His hands wander to the band of his sweatpants, and he’s embarrassed to admit he’s already rock hard just from a vision of you.
He wraps a hand around himself, closing his eyes and imagining you on your knees, waiting for him. You’re wrapped in Gryffindor red as his present, the lace hugging your body in all the right places. You smell exactly like his Amortentia potion while your lips wrap slowly around his cock. Jaehyun guides you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and easing you down until his tip hits the back of your throat. He moans louder at the thought, moving his hand faster up and down his length. He wonders what you’ll look like when he cums — if your mouth will be wide open, waiting for his release, or if you’ll close your eyes, allowing him to paint your face as he pleases.
It’s the thought of you licking him clean that drives him over the edge. His eyes roll back as ropes of white cover his stomach, and he rides his high until the oversensitivity becomes too much.
As he regains his breath, the conscious part of him starts to nag in his ear. He shuts his eyes tightly, pushing away the picture of you in white, walking down to the end of an aisle to meet Yuta.
“I thought you were meeting the Slytherin queen?”
Jaehyun sighs, pushing the palm of his hands against his eyes. “I can’t. I saw her at the table and-“
A few moments pass in silence and Johnny raises an eyebrow.
“And?”
“And I wanted to bend her over it.”
Johnny whistles. “It’s getting real bad for you, huh?”
“Johnny, I can’t keep doing this.”
He’s not looking, but he knows Johnny’s rolling his eyes. “Listen, horndog. Just go over there, have a nice talk with her, and then go back to bed and beat it to your heart’s desire.”
Jaehyun approaches you carefully. You’re sitting at a table near the back of the library, reading over the next assignment for your History of Magic class. He takes a deep breath before pulling out the chair across from you and taking a seat.
“Hi,” you brighten up when you see him, closing your History of Magic textbook and pushing it to the side.
“Hey,” he says, the corner of his lips turning up at the sight of your smile.
He’s down so bad for you.
“Sorry about yesterday,” you apologize. “I didn’t know Yuta would be there.”
“It’s okay,” he assures, not detailing how he went back to his dorm that night and had wet dreams about you sucking him off. “He was right, we should have been more careful.”
You nod, chewing on your lower lip nervously. Jaehyun imagines slipping his thumb between your lips, watching as you wrap your mouth around it while innocently staring up at him. He wonders how messy you would be with drool pooling out of your mouth and teary eyes begging for him to go deeper.
“Jae?”
He shakes himself out of his trance and you giggle to yourself.
“We can’t. Not here. They put a sex ban charm on the library after the incident last year, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” he says sheepishly, embarrassed to be caught by you.
Last year, two students got a little handsy against one of the shelves and traumatized a bunch of first year students trying to locate a book for their first Charms class. Since then, any student who tries anything beyond kissing in the library is immediately sentenced to a week of cleaning up the Potions classroom.
“I wasn’t trying to initiate anything,” he promises. “Sometimes, I just can’t control myself when I’m with you.”
You flush, smiling to yourself at his honesty.
“Well, it’s been another week so we should check on our Amortentia assignment. I think the Potions room is empty by this time of night.”
That’s how you end up with Jaehyun’s cock in your mouth as he’s propped up against one of the Potions tables, hand tangled in your hair. He moans loudly when you take him until he hits the back of your throat.
“Shit, baby. You have no idea how many times I dreamt of seeing you like this.”
Jaehyun’s definitely bigger than you’re used to, but the thought of making him unravel encourages you to give him the best head of his life. Your hands find purchase on his thighs and you look up at him, catching his dark gaze.
You tap his thigh twice to give him the go ahead and he takes a firmer grip on your head before violently thrusting into your mouth. You try your best to control your gag reflex, the room being filled with garbled choking and Jaehyun’s continuous moans.
“So fucking messy,” he hisses at you. He turns even more feral when he realizes you’re fingering yourself while sucking his cock, hands disappearing underneath your skirt. “Fuck, baby. Are you playing with your cunt while you suck me off, hm? Too turned on from me using your mouth?”
You whine around him and he pulls out with a loud pop, watching you struggle to collect the drool dripping from your lips. His arms hoist you up and before you know it, his lips are on yours, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss. It’s a heavy mix of tongues and moans, and he even pulls away from you just to spit in your mouth.
He pushes your back against one of the tables and grips your ankles, folding your knees to your chest. He doesn’t bother stripping you of your underwear, simply pushing it to the side and running his tip through your folds.
“Please,” you beg, voice heady and desperate. You actually think you might pass out if Jaehyun doesn’t fuck you right now.
He leans down to kiss you again, hands digging into your hips. “I’ll take care of you, baby. No need to worry. This pussy has been crying for me since yesterday, hm?”
You nod, fat tears starting to roll down your face. You can’t imagine how fucked out you look right now — folded in half and sobbing when Jaehyun’s dick isn’t even inside of you yet.
The stretch of him nearly makes you delirious. He takes his time pressing inside of you until he bottoms out, moaning into your neck when he’s in all the way.
“You’re so wet,” he whispers, and you hear the familiar squelch of your pussy welcoming his cock. “It’s so easy for me to slide in, baby.”
Eyes rolled to the back of your head, you have zero thoughts swirling in your mind at this current moment. You never knew sex could be so mind numbing but your body is completely drunk on Jaehyun. He looks breathtaking above you, pressing his body weight to yours so he can take advantage of the best angle to drill into you.
His hands frantically paw at your buttoned up uniform until he rips open your top, exposing your lacy black bra. He’s quick to pull it down, mouth attaching to your right breast.
Lewd sounds fill the air of the classroom as his balls slap against your cunt with every thrust. One hand darts down to thumb at your clit and you moan even louder.
“Can you squirt again for me, baby?” He murmurs, tongue flicking your nipple. “Want to see you make a mess.”
“I d-didn’t even k-know I could,” you whimper. “That w-was my first t-time.”
“Yeah?” He growls and rails into you faster. “No one’s ever made you feel as good as me, isn’t that right?”
You nod, more tears starting to drift down your face. Pleasure fills you until you can’t possibly take any more of it.
“Jae, I’m gonna-“
“Go ahead, baby. I’m right here.”
Your release coats his upper half and he takes his cock out to flick it against your folds, spraying your orgasm across the floor. Your thighs are trembling, throat dry from your cries. He shushes you, pressing kisses to the side of your face as you come down from your high.
“J-Jae, cum inside,” you mumble, pushing back the strands of hair covering his face.
His head darts up so fast that you’re surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.
“We didn’t cast a contraceptive charm.”
You hum, your orgasm still singing in your veins. “That’s okay, I don’t mind.”
Jaehyun swallows, pushing out of the haze of being pussydrunk to try and form a coherent thought.
“We can’t- It’s too dangerous.”
You’ll probably regret saying this later but you bring him closer to you, sucking at the shell of his ear and whispering quietly.
“They won’t let me marry Yuta if I’m pregnant with your child, isn’t that right?”
That’s all he needs to shove his cock back inside your warm cunt. “Fucking filthy girl. Gonna let me breed you? Fill your dirty pussy until it’s leaking with my cum?”
“Ungh, ungh, ungh,” you blubber at the force of his thrusts. Your second climax creeps up on you, spurred on by the thought of carrying Jaehyun’s baby.
Ropes of his cum fill you just as you come undone. Jaehyun grunts and pushes into you as deep as possible, painting your walls white.
You both lay in a heap of limbs on the Potions table, completely spent from your orgasms.
“Do you realize what we just did?” He asks when he catches his breath.
You nod, running your fingers through his hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
He gently kisses you. “We need to finish brewing our Amortentia batch.”
You laugh. “Your cum is literally dripping down my legs and you want to finish our homework?”
He smiles. “I need to see something.”
You clean yourselves up as best as you can before getting to work. You fall into a peaceful harmony adding the ingredients together, and you find your notebook once the potion is complete.
“Raspberries and parchment.”
Now that you know Jaehyun a little better, you raise an eyebrow at him. He chuckles at your questioning look.
“I was waiting for you to realize I was making up shit,” he says. He circles his arms around you, breathing in your scent. He confesses to you calmly, lips ghosting the crown of your head. “I smell the citrus of your shampoo that drives me crazy. I smell the chocolate chip cookies you and Jihyo make every Valentine’s Day. I smell the peppermint flowers you mix every time we brew this potion.”
You giggle. “How do you know about all of that?”
“I’ve dreamed of you for years, you don’t think I know the scent of your shampoo?” He chuckles. “Or how you would give me a cookie every year on my birthday, Valentine’s Day? Every time you handed it to me, I always tried to get the courage to build a conversation with you.”
You just shake your head with a grin. He patiently waits for you to lean over the cauldron, holding his breath in anticipation.
Your eyes twinkle. “It smells different.”
“Yeah?” He hums, burying his face in your shoulder. “What does it smell like?”
“Like the Quidditch pitch after a Gryffindor win,” you reply with a laugh. “The scent of amber after you shower. The cinnamon you like to put in your hot chocolate. It smells just like you.”
You squeal when he pounces on you again, kissing you with as much love and adoration that he can express.
A week before the holidays roll around, you gather enough courage to finally have the conversation you’ve been dreading with Yuta.
It seems like he already knows what you’re going to ask when you approach him in the Slytherin common room. He’s resting on one of the dark leather couches as Soojin sits on his lap, playing with his hair while giggling.
“Soojin, could you give me and Yuta a moment?”
You’ve never actually spoken to Soojin in all the years she’s been with Yuta, so she’s shocked to hear you addressing her formally. She offers you a timid nod before disappearing up the stairs.
Yuta has a dejected look on his face, wringing his hands around uncomfortably.
“Don’t ruin this for us,” he sighs, staring at you. “Don’t ruin this for some guy you met a month ago.”
Your eyes well up with tears. “Can you be my best friend for a second, please? Not my fiancé, not the Slytherin king. Just my best friend.”
He pauses, and you swear you could hear a pin drop from the tension. He takes a glance around the room, where a few first years are studying together and some older students are trying to eavesdrop on your conversation.
“Everyone out. Now.”
The room is sent into a frenzy at Yuta’s stern tone, with the first years clumsily gathering their things and the older students attempting to act like they weren’t listening in. It isn’t long before it’s just the two of you, and you take a seat next to him.
“I like him, Yuta,” you admit, nails digging into the palms of your hands. “I know you’re going to say I told you so but I really like him.”
“Don’t do that,” he scolds, ripping your hands apart so that you stop injuring yourself. It was always a bad habit he tried to get you to break. He exhales before standing, starting to pace in front of you.
Yuta had seen you hanging with the Gryffindor star more lately as Jaehyun walked you to and from classes, and you both would disappear into empty classrooms almost every chance you got. He tried to brush it off to the best of his ability, but he knew he was losing you from the moment he caught you in Hogsmeade. And seeing you now, teary-eyed in front of him, confirms his suspicions.
“We’ll get shunned. Burned from the family tree,” he says, making you cry even more.
“I know, I know,” you whisper, trying to hide the croak in your voice. “Maybe they’ll let you marry Soojin — her bloodline is strong and she comes from generations of Slytherins.”
“And what about you? What do you think they’ll do to you when they find out you plan to run away with a Gryffindor?”
You swallow. “They will strip me of my birthright. I will no longer be allowed to attend any family dinners or be associated with the household name, and I’ll have to make due on my own in terms of fortune and stability. I know the protocol, Yuta.”
“And you think I’ll just let that happen to you? That I’ll leave you to die on your own when you don’t even know if there’s a future with Jaehyun?”
You fidget around in your seat, growing even more afraid to confess to Yuta about your tether to Jaehyun.
“I’ve- um, I’ve let Jae release in me multiple times now. I cast the childbearing charm every day and there’s no baby yet, but we’re hoping it will happen to us soon.”
You look up to see his reaction, and you’ve never seen him more heartbroken.
“So that’s it, then? You’ve already made the decision without me?”
“Yuta,” you plead, rising to your feet and gripping his hands. “Even if we did get married and followed everything according to plan, I don’t think I could put our children through this. I can’t stand to see them accept the same fate we did and carry it on to our grandchildren. Could you?”
He shakes his head. “Our morals are not what’s important. What’s important is the safety of the bloodline and ensuring that the future of wizardry-“
“You and I both know you don’t believe in any of that shit,” you interrupt his useless speech. “I see the way you look at Soojin. I know you won’t admit it to me but I can tell you want a different future too. Help me break this ridiculous curse together.”
He rests his forehead on yours and sighs, pulling you into his arms. You wrap your hands around his middle and cry into his shoulder.
“You know I’ll protect you no matter what it takes,” he hums, stroking your back softly. “If you want to be with him, I’m not going to stop you.”
You sniffle and hug him tighter. The pair of you stand there for a while, enjoying each other’s presence. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to have a heart-to-heart with Yuta, and it reminds you of why you trust him.
He breaks the silence first.
“I think I know a way to make sure you don’t lose everything.”
You pull away from him, tilting your head in confusion.
“How?”
“How fast can you get pregnant?”
Jihyo has a huge smirk on her face when Jaehyun finally returns to Quidditch practice. He narrows his eyes at her, expecting her to be completely on edge with the Quidditch Cup finals tomorrow.
“What’s with the look?”
She smiles from ear to ear, twirling her broom in her hand like a ditzy schoolgirl.
“A little birdie told me who you’ve been so pussydrunk for.”
His head snaps to the side. “Johnny!”
The man to blame throws his hands up in the air and claims his innocence.
“Look at you, sly dog!” Jihyo giggles. “Who knew you had the hots for the Slytherin queen?”
“Can we just start practice?”
She gives him one last hip bump before calling a huddle. “My gorgeous team, I first want to tell you how proud I am of you. I’ve seen firsthand how hard each and every one of you have worked this year, despite certain personal obstacles.” Jaehyun rolls his eyes when she throws him a wink. “But our fight is not finished! The ultimate battle is against us this weekend, but I have no doubt we’ll beat all odds. So let’s give everything into this practice and pretend there are hundreds of screaming fans in those seats, waiting for you to carry us to victory! And for my lovely seventh years, don’t forget that recruiters will actually be in those stands on game day. This is our last chance to prove that we will be the greatest Quidditch players of our generation! Let’s fucking go!”
With Jihyo’s hurrah, the Gryffindor team launches into one of the most intense practice games they’ve had all year. Jaehyun finally feels like himself again, especially after you let him eat you out right before he left. His body is tingling with excitement, and it’s only thirty minutes into practice when he spots the Snitch.
He manages to catch it in a new record time for him, thrusting his balled fist in the air to signal victory. The rest of the team laughs as they descend to the ground, joining together for one more hug.
“Now, I want everyone to get a good night’s sleep tonight. Tomorrow, we will take home the victory for Gryffindor!”
Jaehyun immediately runs to find you after practice, kissing you as soon as he locates you in the Potions room. You squeak when he suddenly grabs you, embracing you in his arms.
“J-Jae-“ you try to say while he mouths at your neck. Your eyes widen when he shifts down to his knees, pulling up your skirt. “Jae, you just ate me out two hours ago.”
“Mmm, it’s been too long, baby.”
You smile and run your fingers through his tousled locks. “I need to tell you something,” you murmur, watching him pull your panties down to your ankles.
He hums and licks a stripe up your cunt, causing you to moan. You can tell he’s barely listening to you, tongue slurping at your folds.
“Jaehyun,” you say his name again, hoping it will garner some sort of attention. “I told Yuta about us.”
That makes him pause. He pulls his head out from under your skirt.
“And?”
“He has some sort of plan to help us,” you tell him, thumb swiping the corner of his lips that’s covered in your juices.
Since Jaehyun wants to actually listen to you now, he replaces his tongue with his fingers, easily sliding two into your cunt with no warning. You whine and throw your head back, his dark gaze drinking up your moans.
“What’s he going to do?”
You struggle to form a coherent sentence when his fingers curl inside of you. “I-I don’t k-know,” you stutter. “He just said I need to get pregnant.”
His fingers quickly withdraw from your pussy and you’re flipped around, hands landing on one of the desks to catch yourself. You hear the metal clink of his belt buckle and you cry when he lines himself up to your entrance, slowly pushing in.
“Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
“You didn’t give me a chance!”
He fucks you hard and rough, pulling at the strands of your hair until your scalp is burning. Your thighs ache from the force of his thrusts while Jaehyun goes wild at the sight of your creamy pussy forming a base around his cock. Your poor little cunt is begging for a break since he literally gave you three orgasms before he went to Quidditch practice.
He releases deep inside your pussy, his thick cum filling your womb.
“Always milk me dry, baby,” he says, hands moving to massage your hips.
You blink twice when you realize he’s still hard inside of you.
“Jae, those recruits will be at the Quidditch tournament tomorrow. You have to get a good night’s sleep.”
“Just a few more rounds and I’ll go to bed, baby. I promise.”
True to his word, he pounds you for another few hours before finally pulling out. You’re completely plugged full of his cum, some of it dripping out as soon as his cock leaves your pussy.
You stand with shaky legs and he pulls you in for a gentle kiss.
“Love you,” he whispers.
Jaehyun told you he loves you pretty quickly after you first got together. You insisted on him taking his time to think about it, unsure if he actually loved you or if he was just seeing you through rose-colored glasses.
Since then, he’s told you he loves you every single day. He hopes one day you’ll start believing him.
“You should get some rest. I’ll clean myself up, but you need to be prepared for tomorrow or else Jihyo will have your head.”
“Don’t be silly,” he chastises. “I’ll clean you up. Why don’t you come back with me to the Gryffindor dorms? I’ll sneak you in.”
You roll your eyes. “You just want to take me back there so we can go another round.”
He pouts. “Maybe two.”
“Jaehyun.”
“Fine,” he sighs like he’s been assigned the worst task in the world. “Let me clean you up and I’ll go to bed. One last thing though.”
He drags you to the cauldron, which is still filled with the latest Amortentia batch.
“What do you smell, baby?”
You laugh and kiss his cheek. “You know I smell you.”
He grins. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
You’re shaking on the morning of the Quidditch Cup tournament.
Since you started sleeping with Jaehyun, you’ve been casting a childbearing charm every morning to see if there are any signs of you being pregnant. Every time, the charm has shown you a red light over your stomach to signal that you are not with child.
This is the first day the red light has shifted to a warm orange color.
You gasp when you see it. The orange hue displays a little dot the size of a tiny bean, barely kicking in your stomach.
You stand in front of the mirror for several minutes, unable to take your eyes off of this new sign of life.
Your baby. Jaehyun’s baby.
Once you come to your senses, you hastily throw on one of Jaehyun’s spare Gryffindor jerseys and rush downstairs. You have a one track mind as you run to the Quidditch pitch, not stopping until you see the locker rooms in sight.
Jihyo is the first one to spot you, grabbing hold of your shoulders just as you’re about to enter.
“Woah, tiger! What’s got you in such a hurry?” Her mouth twists into a smirk. “In a rush to see Jaehyun?”
You huff. “I’m surprised you’re not shitting bricks right now.”
“Trust me, I am,” she sighs. “But if I think about it too much, I’ll combust in the middle of the field.”
“You’re going to do great,” you assure, embracing her. “Greatest captain Gryffindor’s ever seen.”
She exhales again as she hugs you. “I sure hope so.” You pull away and she’s back to wearing a smirk. “Now you wish our star player good luck. I’ll clear the room for you scoundrels.”
“You’re a menace.”
She does, in fact, scream at everyone to leave so that you can speak to Jaehyun. You find him in the back of the room near the showers, muttering to himself quietly.
“You got this. Just go out there and show them why you deserve to be on this team.”
You giggle into the palm of your hand. “Do you give this pep talk to yourself before every game?”
He spins around at the sound of your voice, lighting up like a Christmas tree at the sight of you. He hurries over to pull you into his arms, smacking your cheek with a big kiss.
“Hi, baby. Come to wish me good luck?”
You grin. “That, and a little something else.”
He nearly purrs. “We have five minutes if you want to go a round.”
“How are you always this horny?”
He whines into your neck. “You made me this way, baby.”
You carefully take his hand and ignore his confused gaze. You lift your Gryffindor jersey and gently place his hand on your stomach.
You wait for his brain to add two and two together, and when he finally realizes what you’re trying to tell him, his eyes well with tears.
“Are you-“
You nod, chewing on your lower lip nervously.
He kisses you hard, pulling you as close to him as he possibly can. “I love you,” he whispers. “Do you believe me now? I love you.”
You can’t wipe the smile off of your face if you try.
“I love you too. Now go win that game for us.”
You find Yuta in the stands shortly after you leave Jaehyun, hands intertwined with Soojin. He smiles at you when you approach, gesturing for you to take the seat next to him.
“Hi, you two,” you greet happily, ignoring the blatant stares from your classmates at the sight of you dressed head to toe in red and gold. Soojin is stunned by your acknowledgment, still getting used to you speaking to her.
“You’re a happy camper today,” he says amusedly, noting how your grin stays permanently etched on your face.
You lean closer and speak quietly. “I finished your first step of the plan.”
His head whips around, and he’s more shocked than you’ve ever seen him.
“You’re-“
You nod.
He laughs loudly, enveloping you in a hug.
“You’re insane. I literally told you to get pregnant yesterday.”
“I told you Jaehyun’s crazy.”
Soojin watches the exchange unfold, not wanting to pry into your personal business. She’s startled when Yuta turns back to her and brings her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently.
You’re delighted by watching them, thrilled to see Yuta letting his guard down.
Your focus shifts back to the game when the whistle is blown. You spot Jaehyun from his place high in the air, eyes darting around in an attempt to catch any glimpse of the Golden Snitch. You’re enamored by seeing him in his element, and you can’t deny he looks incredibly attractive from this angle.
Your mouth waters at the thought of swallowing his cock while he balances himself on his broom.
Maybe you were the horny one in this relationship.
Yuta would later tell you that the match was one of the best games he’s ever seen, with both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw battling it out to the death. You, however, were too focused on your Gryffindor Seeker floating higher than eye level. It wasn’t your fault he looked so pretty.
You eventually grow excited when you see Jaehyun finally zooming past you, eyes locked on the Snitch that was practically invisible to the students in the crowd. You scream when his hand tightly grasps it, ending the game and securing the Quidditch Cup win for Gryffindor.
You probably look like a lunatic in the stands, yelling and jumping for Jaehyun’s win despite being surrounded by the majority of Slytherin house, who were all rooting for Gryffindor to lose. A blushing Yuta even has to pull you down to save his embarrassment.
You push your way through the spectators to head to the pitch, body thrumming with excitement. Jaehyun opens his arms when he sees you, and you jump into them, almost knocking the both of you to the ground.
“My pretty girl,” he coos in your ear.
“You did amazing!” You praise him. “I’m so proud of you.”
He kisses you deeply, hands circled around your waist tightly. The sound of cheers and screams turn dull in your ears — the only thing you can focus on is the velvet of Jaehyun’s lips.
All you know is that you’re the happiest you’ve ever been, and you never want this feeling to slip away.
“There’s a clause in our contract. It’s been written up since the day we were born, and our parents signed it through an Unbreakable Vow. I’ve read that thing front and back since we turned eight years old. If there’s one piece I remember from that contract, it has a section that details what’s to happen if a pregnancy occurs.”
You furrow your eyebrows. Yuta looks smug from his spot across from you and Jaehyun, like a detective who has just cracked the case.
After Gryffindor’s win yesterday, Jaehyun was approached by a recruiter from the Montrose Magpies, offering him a full-time position as their new Seeker. You and Jaehyun celebrated with an extremely tiring night with lots of drinking, crying, and plenty of orgasms. Jihyo also cried with you, receiving her own commitment with the Holyhead Harpies.
When morning rolled around, you both decided to confront Yuta in the Great Hall about his big plan before you had to face your family for the holidays.
“A pregnancy clause? I don’t remember reading that.”
“That’s because it was always blacked out on your side of the contract,” Yuta points out. “Fucking sexists, of course, they never wanted you to find out.”
“Find out what, exactly?” Jaehyun asks, also deeply confused.
“The contract says in the event of you getting pregnant, all titles and birthrights would immediately be transferred to your heir. The part they never added in, though, was if the baby had to be mine.”
You straighten your spine. “So you’re saying-“
“I’m saying that your little bundle of joy just saved you from having to relinquish your household name. Under the Unbreakable Vow, whatever belongs to your parents has to pass on to your child, regardless of the baby having Nakamoto blood or not.”
You lock eyes with Jaehyun, both of you grinning widely.
“We get to be together,” he says incredulously, as if he can’t believe it himself.
“We get to be together,” you repeat, laughing to yourself out of pure joy.
“You get to be together,” Yuta smiles at the both of you. “And I’m not letting either of our parents take that away from you. You deserve to be happy.”
“Thank you, Yuta,” Jaehyun says genuinely. “We owe you our lives.”
“No need for dramatics,” Yuta waves him off. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your girlfriend standing up for herself.”
You lean over to kiss Jaehyun and Yuta scratches the back of his head awkwardly.
“Please don’t finger her in front of me again.”
You giggle and Jaehyun swings an arm over your shoulder, lips pressing against your cheek.
“Don’t worry. That view is for my eyes only now.”
The last item on your to-do list before you have to face your parents is to turn in your Amortentia assignment. You walk hand-in-hand with Jaehyun into the Potions room, ignoring the curious whispers and the one holler of encouragement from Johnny.
You stand blissfully in front of your designated cauldron, trying to push back the fact that you and Jaehyun have defiled this room more times than you can count. As the professor goes around the room to grade your projects, you clutch Jaehyun’s arm and smile up at him.
“I love you.”
He kisses your forehead, staring at you with pure devotion written in his eyes.
“I love you too, baby. Thank you for taking a chance on me.”
“Thank you for waiting for me to realize that you’re worth it.”
Your professor finally lands in front of you, beaming at the sight of your close proximity.
“Now what do we have here?” He laughs. “I guess the potion worked the best for you two. Let’s hear your progress.”
“She had a great amount of development, professor,” Jaehyun shares. “My scents have stayed the same since the first week.”
“I see,” he chuckles. “And how has that worked out?”
“You gave us a dream we didn’t think was possible,” you murmur, orbs twinkling with glee. “So it’s safe to say this assignment was a success for us.”
“That’s precisely what I wanted to hear. Well done you two, and congrats on the new coupling.”
You squeeze Jaehyun’s arm again, pulling him down once more to press your lips to his. His hand darts out to rest on your stomach, and although your child is barely the size of a pea, you hope they know that you already love them unconditionally.
A new beginning awaits you both and you’re ready to face it against all odds.
2K notes · View notes
fireya-x · 2 months ago
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family dinner
AO3 Link (for the full tag list) || masterlist
John asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night, to save himself from annoying questions from his family. Turns out, you're actually who he really wants.
[9k+ words]
cw: smut, piv sex, cowgirl, handjobs, come eating
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Embossed golden script on cream white card paper - it was an invitation to his grandmothers' birthday party, alright. A subtle attempt at elegance from a woman who thought tea and a tin of biscuits solved most problems. John sighed.
He already knew the drill; his mother, every aunt and uncle, cousins and second cousins twice removed would be there, armed to the teeth with baby pictures and probing questions to make him wish he’d stayed in another country in some godforsaken warzone.
The phone ringing cut through John’s meager dinner of takeout curry, one of his favorites, when he was back in his flat for a short time leave. He picked it up and answered before checking, as he usually did, expecting it to be Laswell – but that voice wasn't Kate.
“Jonathan, my dear boy, did you receive the invitation?” His grandmother’s voice was a robust cackle for her age, a force of nature that kept her so fit at ninety.
“Just held it in my hands seconds ago, Nan.” 
“Ninety years young, can you believe it?”
“Never a dull moment,” he answered, picking at the takeaway container lid.
She laughed lightly, then cleared her throat. “Listen, dear. The caterer is extra fussy. Your opinion is special to me, you know that. It’s not like I get to plan this every day”
Here it comes.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m asking you what you want, John. I have everything else planned.” Of course she did. 
“It’s your birthday, Nan. I’ll eat anything,” he sighed. “Toffee pudding can’t be missing from any birthday, though.”
“Of course, that’s a must! Especially with you visiting! You’ve always loved it as a little boy. Now tell me, is your girl more a partial to fish or chicken?”
The fork clattered onto the styrofoam. John almost choked.
“You’ll be bringing someone, aren’t you?”
He should have said no. He should have clarified, for the thousandth time, that his occupation left no room for romantic walks on the beach and candlelit dinners. Maintaining relationships wasn’t something John did, especially when his job included more explosions than birthday candles on her birthday cake. And apparently, eliminating terrorists and global threats was not a suitable substitute for great-grandchildren.
But there was something in her voice. Hope? Excitement to finally see her grandson with a woman at his side? It was her 90th birthday, after all. Who knew how long John would have her still? Seeing him happy was the greatest gift he could give her, and he knew that.
John sighed. “Yes, I will bring someone.”
That she didn't squeal was unexpected, but he knew his mother was right there with her, listening to everything.
Fuck.
What was he supposed to do? Try Tinder, maybe? How hard could it be to find a woman who’d go on a date with him? But John hated every single aspect of using his phone for anything other than texting and calling — and he gave up when the app asked him too many questions about himself.
That’s when he heard footsteps outside his apartment. He remembered that beautiful, chatty neighbor of his. You'd watched his flat and watered his plants a few times when he was deployed. You’d only met briefly, but given John’s sparsely decorated way of living, he wasn’t worried you would steal anything. But his grandmother's plants were something holy to him, and you kept them alive, and that made you a trustworthy person in his book.
And he would be lying if he didn't admit he'd stolen a glance at you here and there, always hidden in a hoodie or a way-too-big raincoat that obscured your figure, and something about it intrigued him.
Before his brain could even process what his feet were doing, he stumbled to the front door and opened it, revealing you, arms full of groceries, struggling to get the key into the door.
“Need help with that?” A low, grumbling voice startled you, and you almost dropped the bag full of fruits and veggies.
“Jesus, you scared me.”
John chuckled, then took the bag from you as if it was something he'd casually do all the time. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.”
“Thanks,” you muttered, putting the key in the lock. You took the bag from him and wanted to escape this awkward situation with your way-too-good-looking neighbor as fast as possible. But before you could close the door, he intervened.
“Hey, uh, I have a question.” John’s hand ran through his hair, a nervous gesture that betrayed his usual confidence.
“Yes?”
“I – I kinda promised my grandma that I’d bring a girlfriend to her 90th birthday party, and, well –”
“You don’t have one?” The question came out sounding more shocked than you intended. You were certain he had women lining up for him.
“Yeah, I mean, no, I don’t.” His gaze dropped to the floor for a fleeting moment, as if suddenly embarrassed by the admission. You tilted your head, looking at him expectantly.
“So, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? What’s in it for me?”
“Free fancy food?” He smiled crookedly, and you were done for. How could you say no to that smile? The same smile that had been haunting your thoughts ever since he’d given you his keys to his apartment? Your heart was pounding.
“It’s a date,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink it. The relief that flooded his eyes made something inside you flutter.
“Thank you, I owe you one. Six p.m. on Friday, alright?”
“What should I wear?”
John wasn’t prepared for that question. And he didn’t mean to check you out – but he did. His eyes wandered from your boots, over your hips, up to your breasts – where his gaze lingered a second too long— and then to your face.
“It’s a garden dinner. I’m sure you’ll look nice in anything,” he said, the words feeling ridiculously inadequate the moment they left his lips.
“Very helpful, thanks.” He braced himself for a sarcastic retort, but you chuckled, shaking your head. “I’ll figure it out. Have a nice evening.”
You retreated to your apartment, leaning back against the closed door, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your heart was still pounding. Did John, your neighbor, ask you out? The same John who seemed so unapproachable, wrapped in that aura of intensity he always wore, who disappeared for weeks on end to go on “business trips” and returned with a deep shadow under those blue eyes? 
What did he even do when he disappeared? You'd never asked. Even when he'd given you his keys so you could look after his flat while he was gone, there was nothing that gave away what exactly he did or where he went.
The small conversations you’d shared had always been just that— small nothings, polite exchanges with your friendly neighbor. Still, those infrequent encounters always sent your stomach into a nervous frenzy. 
You rummaged through your closet, trying to find something that screamed “I'm a cool, collected woman who casually dates mysteriously handsome men ” without looking like you’d overdone it. A garden party could literally mean anything, especially since you knew nothing about his family. Were you supposed to pick a nice, flowing dress or stick with casual jeans and a shirt? You had no idea.
You stopped your mind from spiralling further. It wasn’t a real date. It was a fake date . 
What were you thinking, agreeing to this? You were doubting your own sanity — but then you remembered the crinkled corners of his eyes when he smiled, the warmth that radiated from him when he’d helped you with your groceries – saying “no” to him wasn’t even an option. There was something about him that drew you in, a gravitational pull you couldn’t resist, even if it meant playing pretend.
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The sundress you wore – he couldn’t even pinpoint the colour, something soft and warm, summery, like the sky just before dusk – hugged your curves in all the right ways, the delicate straps showcasing the elegant line of your neck and collarbone. His gaze traced the gentle swell of your breasts beneath the thin fabric, the way the skirt flowed over your hips, his mind already picturing how it would look bunched up around your waist when –
Fuck.
A wave of heat - he knew it so well, yet hadn’t felt it in what seemed like forever - crashed over him, settled deep in his gut, tightening his muscles, making his cock twitch.
He shifted uncomfortably, desperately hoping you hadn’t noticed the way his pants suddenly felt about two sizes too small.
He’d usually never been one for flowery dresses and delicate gold jewellery like the earrings that decorated your ears. They clashed with the brutal reality of his world. But on you, it was devastating. You were an innocent, oblivious creature walking straight into his hardened, cynical world without even knowing it. And somehow, against all logic and years of self-preservation, he wanted to corrupt every part of you.
His gaze snapped to the flesh of your delicate thighs that left little to his imagination, those toned legs wrapped around his waist while he pulled you closer and –
Jesus fucking Christ, get a grip.
He forced himself to look away, clenching his jaw so hard he thought he’d pull a muscle.
This was his neighbour. You , who’d watered his plants, borrowed his toolbox, offered a smile whenever you met in the hallway. The one who’d agreed to this incredibly stupid idea. You were doing him a favour, for God’s sake.
“Ready?” He shoved the word out harsher than he’d intended, the sound completely alien to even his own ears. But before you could answer, he shut his door and ushered you towards the exit. He needed air. He’d preferred an ice bath, preferably yesterday.
You didn’t mind adapting to roles and play pretend at all, but as soon as you arrived at the estate, your confidence got humbled. The house was huge, and the driveway alone was already filled with floral arrangements and all sorts of birthday wishes – an enormous ninety made out of entirely blush pink roses and lavender decorated the front yard.
The garden party was in full swing already when you two arrived. The air buzzed with the sound of laughter and chatter, clinking glasses and the distant beat of a live band. John seemed oddly out of place in between the flowers and the brightly dressed guests, like a lone wolf who had been dragged to a tea party.
But as soon as you stepped further into the event, the warm air surrounding you, the scent of freshly cut grass and citrus, the smiling faces all around you, your anxiety about the whole thing lessened. 
“Don’t worry too much," John's arm brushed against yours as you navigated through the clusters of guests. He reached out to grab two drinks from a passing waiter’s tray. “The worst they could do is show you my childhood photos.”
He offered you a drink, and you took it from him, smiling. “Somehow, that’s not as reassuring as you think it is.” You earned yourself a deep chuckle that rumbled through his chest and did decidedly inappropriate things to your equilibrium.
When John took your free hand into his like it was the most normal thing in the world, you felt like this was going to be the easiest task. For a fleeting moment, it was easy to forget you were living a lie.
Until dinner.
The seating arrangements were strategically orchestrated, it seemed, to maximize family bonding - or torture, you hadn’t decided which. You found yourself sitting between John, radiating a mix of polite restraint and his usual natural intensity that set your pulse racing, and a woman with the same kind eyes as him.
“This is my mother, Eleanor,” John had introduced her earlier, her smile so warm and welcoming you’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be playing a role. She seemed almost too impressed when you'd introduced yourself, as if she couldn't quite believe he was telling the truth about having a girlfriend. 
You'd prove them wrong, not for their sake, but for your own growing satisfaction at seeing John surprised.
You were no stranger to the barrage of questions about your single status and lack of a partner from your own family, so you knew how tiresome it could get. You braced yourself for a similar interrogation.
Across the table, John's grandma beamed at you with a delight that melted your heart. You understood then what this was all about for him — fulfilling his grandmother's wish to see him happy, settled.
On impulse, you reached out to grab John’s hand beside yours, your fingers threading through his, offering him a reassuring smile, pretending to bring out your best I-am-so-in-love look you could muster. 
He seemed taken aback, his entire body stiffening for a split second as if your touch were an electric shock. But then he recovered quickly, his fingers tightening around yours with a gentle pressure that sent goosebumps dancing up your arm. He raised your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your knuckles that lingered a heartbeat too long.
Your breath caught in your throat, your gaze fixated on the curve of his lips, the way his beard scraped against your skin. Your stomach did a somersault, your senses flooded with a rush of longing that was as unexpected as it was undeniably thrilling.
“So,” John's aunt leaned across the table, her voice a bit too loud, as if intended to break the spell you’d fallen under. “What do you do?”
You blinked, momentarily disoriented, your gaze reluctantly leaving John’s hand and focusing on the plate of food a server had just placed before you. Shepherd's pie. But not just any shepherd’s pie. This looked like a culinary masterpiece compared to the frozen meals you were used to eating all the time.
“I work in healthcare,” you answered, your mouth already watering at the sight of the culinary heaven before you. “I’m an ER nurse.”
“Oh, wow,” his grandma chirped from across the table, her eyes twinkling with genuine interest. Her comment, however, was quickly drowned out by his aunt's next, slightly more probing, question.
“I'm amazed you two met with such busy schedules. To be fair,” she added with a sly smile directed at John, “I'm shocked Jonathan managed to find someone at all with his occupation .”
Your fork, laden with a generous portion of creamy mashed potatoes and perfectly seasoned mince, froze halfway to your mouth. Your earlier questions about the nature of John’s job came rushing back. What exactly did he do? You knew he was often away for extended periods, you even kept his plants from dying a slow death from time to time, but his reasons had always been vague. “Business trips,” he’d called them, with a shrug and that infuriatingly handsome smile.
“Right,” you managed, forcing a light laugh as you carefully set your fork back down, your appetite momentarily forgotten. “We make it work. We talk a lot on the phone."
“You do?” His mother, ever the perceptive one, turned to John, her brows raised in what you could only describe as disbelief. “How come you always tell us you can’t contact us?”
John cleared his throat and his hand reached for his beer, his fingers wrapping around the cold glass. “Kate makes some exceptions,” he explained, his gaze fixed on the drink.
Kate? Your mind scrambled for context, your internal “John’s-Life” file coming up short. “Kate” let him make exceptions? Who was Kate, and more importantly, what kind of job required someone to ask permission to make personal phone calls? And why did you feel jealous - you had absolutely no business to feel this way. 
“Who’s Kate?” You asked, reaching for your champagne flute, unable to hide the accusatory edge creeping into your voice.
“My boss . Sort of.” The golden liquid got caught halfway in your throat. First name basis with his boss? His family knew his boss? So many questions came up, and you were slowly starting to panic. You were supposed to be a believable girlfriend, but you were scared the mask was slipping away by the second. 
“Oh, right, Kate. Sorry, darling. You know how my weeks have been lately. It's a wonder I can remember my own name half the time.”
“She must be happy for you, too,” his mother commented, delicately spearing a piece of fish with a precision that made you suspect years of etiquette training lay beneath her impeccably polite facade. “Finding someone special, I mean. Might even spare her some of your, shall we say, moods .” She glanced at John, her eyebrows arched as if she was sharing a private joke with the entire table, except you.
Moods? You’d always found John to be quiet, reserved, perhaps a tad intimidating at times, but never moody. 
You glanced at John, who was pointedly studying his plate, the faintest hint of a flush creeping up his neck. You wouldn't have thought the man capable of embarrassment. It made him seem unexpectedly human, and somehow even more attractive.
You were about to ask for clarification when Nan seized the conversational reins. “So, darlings,” she asked, her gaze moving back and forth between you and John, her smile widening expectantly, “How long have you two known each other?”
“I think six months?” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips.
At the exact same moment, John declared, “Almost a year now,” his voice deep and steady, completely contradicting your rushed estimation.
You froze. The silence that descended upon the table was deafening. 
“Has it already been that long?” you exclaimed quickly, forcing a bright smile and injecting as much wonder and mock surprise into your voice as you could muster. You prayed that your sudden rush of amnesia would be enough to distract them from the giant, elephant-sized hole you’d just blown in your story. You reached over to slightly squeeze his hand. “I suppose time flies when you’re in love.”
You snuck a peek at John, expecting to see panic, maybe even annoyance, but what you found in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He was watching you intensely. And that smile playing at the corner of his lips? It made something dangerous and delicious twist low in your belly.
“I believe that,” John’s grandma chimed in, her voice warm with the wisdom of nine decades lived. “You two are very lovely together.”
Eleanor nodded in agreement. “She’s good for you, Jonathan. Maybe having someone special to come home to will make those long missions away a little easier.”
"Speaking of which, how’s that new posting treating you, lad? Heard it’s a bit of a hot zone, eh?” John's uncle boomed across the table.
“It has its challenges,” John replied, taking a long sip of his beer as if to fortify himself for the inevitable round of inquiries. “But it’s good to be back in the field.”
You frowned. Field? Posting? What kind of job involved working in a “field”? And what exactly made it a “hot zone?” You felt more and more confused by the conversation, it was as if they spoke an entirely different language, a language riddled with code words and shared experiences you weren’t privy to.
“That I believe,” his uncle answered, also reaching for his beer as if to toast to a shared understanding. “Bet your rank will get you far, though.”
You felt John tense beside you, his hand tightening around yours, not letting go. His family's casual acceptance of his frequent — and apparently lengthy — disappearances made you increasingly curious. You knew by now he often travelled for work, but something about the way they spoke, the underlying thread of concern laced with pride, hinted at a world you were only just starting to glimpse.
“I imagine those long stretches apart must be difficult, darling,” John's aunt commented, her gaze fixed on you with a sympathy that only deepened your bewilderment. “But I’m sure you’re used to it by now, working in a hospital and all. Those long shifts must be a challenge, too.”
You smiled, still confused about what was going on—but you also saw an opportunity. It was time to take control of the narrative, to steer this conversation into a territory you could navigate — even if it meant bending the truth further than it had already been twisted.
“Speaking of long stretches,” you interjected, shooting John a look that was equal parts challenge and playful invitation. You’d gone from wanting to bolt to wanting to play this game, see how far you could push him, how convincingly you could both lie. “Remember that road trip we took last fall? The one where we got hopelessly lost in the Scottish Highlands and ended up sleeping in the car?”
As you spoke, you noticed that everyone else at the table had dived into their food, the initial round of introductions and polite inquiries fading into a comfortable murmur of conversation. Nan beamed at you both, her fork hovering over a generous slice of shepherd’s pie, her eyes twinkling with the quiet pleasure of seeing her grandson – even a pretend version of him – happy.
Beside you, John stiffened, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of surprise and what you could only interpret as wary amusement. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like velvet draped over steel. “Scotland. Beautiful, isn’t it, love?”
“Beautiful?” you countered, tilting your head and letting out a soft laugh that you were fairly certain sounded far more genuine than it should have. You couldn’t help but admire his quick thinking, the way he effortlessly picked up on your cue and played along. “Those winding Highland roads. They were more treacherous than romantic, if I’m being honest. I was certain you were going to drive us straight off a cliff at least a dozen times.”
His smile widened, revealing a flash of teeth that made something deep inside you melt a little. “I assure you, love, my driving is impeccable. You were simply distracted.” His gaze lingered on your face for a beat too long.
A delicious warmth flooded your cheeks. “Distracted? I seem to recall you being the one with wandering eyes," you countered, your voice dropping to a low murmur as you met his gaze head-on. You weren’t sure if the heightened awareness you felt buzzing between you was a product of the lies you were weaving or something more.
“That’s because you are quite the sight to behold, love,” he said, his voice husky, the words brushing against your senses like a caress.
You stared at him, your mind scrambling to process his words, their unexpected sincerity throwing you off balance. Had he just complemented you?
“You are—” He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on your chest. He didn’t even try to hide it. You held your breath, waiting, as the air thrummed with a sudden, unexpected intimacy.
“Breathtaking.”
What was he doing? you thought, your heart pounding. Was he still playing the part, or was there something more simmering beneath the surface? And why did the possibility excite you?
The air thickened, the sound of his family’s conversation fading into the background as the world seemed to shrink, the space between you charged with an energy that was impossible to ignore. You weren't sure if you wanted to laugh or lean across the table and kiss him senseless.
Just as you felt yourself leaning into that dangerous impulse, Eleanor cleared her throat delicately.
You both startled, like students caught whispering in the back of the classroom. John's cheeks, you noticed with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, were flushed a faint shade of pink. Even a man like John wasn't immune to a mother's watchful gaze.
“Those rolls are delicious, dear,” Eleanor commented, and turned to you, her tone light but her eyes sharp with amusement. “Why don't you have one?” 
You reached for a roll, suddenly starving, the earlier tension dissolving into a relieved chuckle as you caught John's eyes. He winked at you, a playful glint in his blue eyes. You winked back, feeling a warmth spread through you caused by the man sitting beside you, a man who, despite your best efforts to resist, was quickly becoming more than just a convenient prop in this game of play pretend.
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You'd managed to escape the clutches of the dinner table without completely blowing your cover, even when, at some points, you weren’t so sure how nobody saw right through you. But then came the real challenge — mingling. The party had moved inside the house, and you were separated from John. 
You silently cursed yourself for agreeing to this whole fabricated scenario. What if you told completely different stories to his relatives? What if someone asked you about his work, for God’s sake?
Glasses of port in hand, John’s extended family seemed very determined to catch up on months’ worth of news in one evening. You did your best to smile politely at every occasion, your inner monologue continuously reminding you to simply not say anything stupid.
Suddenly, a very chipper and well-dressed woman intruded on your personal space, waving her phone in front of your face. “You must be John’s girl!” she exclaimed, and before you could even answer, she swiped through numerous photos. “Look at her – isn't she adorable!”
You leaned in, attempting to make eye contact with the child in the photos while subtly taking a step back, her perfume a bit overwhelming. “Absolutely adorable,” you agreed, putting on a wide grin, and the woman beamed. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what children you and John will bring into this world. Aren’t they the greatest thing?”
Children? Your smile faltered. You opened your mouth to respond, to stammer out some vague response about “one step at a time”, but before you could even get a word out, the woman had moved on, already excitedly showing off her offspring to the next unsuspecting relative. 
Note to self: Avoid eye contact with anyone holding a baby photo, you thought, your internal panic rising. This whole “fake girlfriend” thing was rapidly becoming a high-stakes obstacle course, and you weren’t sure you were agile enough to navigate it without falling flat on your face.
You were trying to reach John, a plate of sticky toffee pudding on your plate, wanting to show off that you were going to try his favorite dessert – when a booming voice cut through the chatter, catching your attention. “There he is!” A tall, older man with curly hair approached John and shook his hand with a force that could crush granite. “That last mission you pulled off? Absolute textbook. A captain leading his own task force? The old man would be bloody proud.”
John’s posture stiffened ever so slightly. “Cheers, uncle,” he responded, raising his glass, his gaze darting towards you for the briefest of moments.
Mission? Captain? Task force?
The people around you, completely oblivious to your internal meltdown, continued chatting, casually dropping words like “deployment,” “classified,” “weapons,” and all other sorts of military jargon as if they were discussing the weather.
Suddenly, everything fell into place.
All those late-night departures, when you heard heavy footsteps echo through your shared hallway; the vague explanations about “work trips” when you met him outside your apartment; those calls he received at odd hours, his voice tight, his tone clipped, echoing through your shared walls; those calls that always seemed to coincide with a breaking news report or some global crisis. John, your sweet, infuriatingly attractive, seemingly normal neighbor – was leading a deadly task force.
Not that it was any of your business what he did. He owed you nothing.
Then why did this feel like such a blow? That he didn’t tell you beforehand, throwing you into the midst of his family who were clearly all about that life, and leaving you in the dark, making a complete idiot of yourself?
You had been looking forward to trying the famous dessert all evening, but suddenly, your appetite completely vanished. The plate that you held suddenly felt as appealing as cold porridge.
“Everything alright, love?” John approached, noticing the shift in your mood.
You forced a smile, hoping it was convincing. “Peachy,” you replied. “Just, fascinating, hearing everyone’s stories.” You stabbed the pudding with your spoon, not sure where the feelings of anger came from.
You shoved the plate into his chest, forcing him to take it from you. “I just need some air.” You turned and made your way towards his Nan’s beautiful rose garden.
He’d lied to you.
Well, maybe not lied, exactly. Maybe it was the sudden awareness of the danger that shadowed his every move, who he really was, who he was compared to you.
You had every right to feel foolish, to even agree to such a stupid idea. But betrayal? You had no idea where it came from, it seemed like an overreach for a situation that had been, from the beginning, just a constructed lie.
Stepping out into the cool of the garden, you breathed a sigh of relief. The scent of flowers seemed to calm your racing mind a little, a welcome contrast to all the voices you just escaped. You found your way to a small bench underneath an old oak tree, sinking onto the cool wood, straightening your dress doing so.
You didn’t hear John approach, but then again, stealth was probably part of his many talents. You didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.
“Enjoying the party?” he asked, stopping right next to you, an arm leaning on the backrest of the bench.
You sighed, running a hand through your hair, frustrated by all these emotions you were feeling. “Well, the food is excellent, your grandma is adorable, and I haven’t witnessed any international incidents first-hand - yet. So that’s a win, I guess?”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm, a welcome contrast to the tension that had been knotting your stomach ever since you’d pieced together the things about his life. You’d grown accustomed to that sound, to the way it rumbled deep in his chest, unexpectedly gentle for a man who, apparently, spent his days navigating a world far removed from yours.
He shifted slightly, settling beside you on the bench. You felt the heat radiating off him in the cool air of the evening, an awareness that lingered even though he wasn’t touching you.
“Look,” he began, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, a gesture that was strangely endearing on a man who usually was so confident. “My life –” He gestured vaguely towards the party, the house. The unspoken explanation – “ my life is a full-blown, military-grade soap opera ” – hung in the air between you.
“You know,” you interrupted him, turning to face him. “A little heads-up about what you do would have been nice. Especially that it’s such an important thing in your family.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. It wasn’t fair to throw you into that without a warning. I guess because it’s so normal to me, I just completely forgot about it.”
“I’m a nurse, I don’t really specialize in disarming bombs or whatever it is your uncles like to do for fun.”
He laughed then, a full, hearty laugh, that made your heart flutter faster in your chest.
“It’s not funny.” You said, looking away. “And I know I have absolutely no right to feel – ” you struggled to find the right word. 
“To feel –?” he prompted, leaning a little closer.
“Disappointed,” you breathed. “It’s silly, I just felt like I was left out of inside jokes during dinner. I tried so hard to not let this lie slip, but it could have been so much easier if I had known.” You took a deep breath. “So, while I was keeping your plants alive," you added, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice, "You were out there doing what exactly? Neutralizing threats? Saving the world? I missed that chapter in the ‘Good Neighbor Handbook.’”
You couldn’t help the edge that crept into your voice. At first, it had just been a fun little game, a chance to play dress-up and enjoy delicious food. But now, now it felt different. You were, suddenly, uncomfortably aware of just how much you didn’t know about the man sitting beside you. 
The silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the gentle chirping of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves overhead. John stared at you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.
“You probably think I am a complete idiot,” you continued, the words tumbling out in a rush, a jumble of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. “I'm sorry, I'm being absolutely dramatic –”
The words died on your lips as his hands shot out, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a touch that was both possessive and unexpectedly tender. His gaze held yours captive, those blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity that stole your breath away. And then, without a word, without warning, his mouth crashed down on yours.
His lips were hard, demanding, hungry, devouring yours as if he couldn’t get close enough, his tongue tangling with yours in a desperate, unyielding dance. 
It was primal, raw, untamed. It was the kind of kiss that stripped away the pretence, obliterated the boundaries, and left you gasping for air, your mind reeling, your body aching for something you couldn’t name but craved with every fibre of your being.
Time seemed to stand still — the garden, the party, the lie — it all faded away. There was only the feel of his lips on yours, the light scrape of his beard against your skin. The taste of him was intoxicating, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves.
Eventually, he pulled back, his breath mingling with yours in the night air. His hands lingered, resting on your face, slightly tracing the lines of your jawline. His gaze was wild, eyes dark and burning into you with an intensity that made you want to melt into a puddle.
You stared back, your mind racing. This was the moment the lines blurred. There had been something there — you felt it. It was more than pretend, more than just playing a game. Desire. Interest. Even though you felt like you no longer knew this man at all, you wanted to get to know him all over again. Taste him, touch him — you blinked, trying to collect your thoughts.
“Would you prefer to leave?” John's hand, still warm from its possessive grip on your face, gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture both intimate and oddly reassuring.
You shook your head. “It’s your grandma's birthday. You can’t just leave because I feel uncomfortable.”
“I think we’ve both had enough of the party for one night,” he murmured, a quick smile flashing across his face. “I’m going to let her know you aren’t feeling too well. Alright?”
He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your cheek, then, with a low rumble, he whispered in your ear, “Wait here.”
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In front of both your apartment doors, the silence was an awkwardly long stretch. It felt like you were both trying to understand what had just happened, unsure where to begin.
“So, um,” he started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that you found strangely endearing. “Thank you for coming.”
You nodded and smiled, “Of course. It was nice to get the dust off this dress again.”
He leaned towards you slowly, and your breath hitched. For one heart-stopping moment, you thought he might kiss you again – would he? Was what happened in the garden just an impulsive decision?
But he hesitated, the moment frozen, and there was something indecisive happening between you. But you didn’t mean to push, neither did he.
He cleared his throat and finally spoke. “Good night,” he said, his words careful, as if he were holding back from saying something else.
“Good night,” you echoed, your voice barely a whisper. The small hope that you'd taste him one more time evaporated.
You turned, your hand reaching for your door, keys almost to the lock, when strong hands grabbed you, spinning you around in a dizzying motion. Before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours again — silencing all those unspoken doubts and hesitations.
This was real. You felt it; your heart screamed it; the way his mouth was devouring yours, displaying a hunger and desire that shouted it from the rooftops.
Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on for dear life, as his tongue traced the seam of your lips with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. You felt the rumble of his groan against your mouth as he backed you against your apartment door, his body moulding against yours as if he was starving for the feel of you. You were breathless, lost in the heat of his touch, the way his hands roamed your back and finally settled on the curve of your ass.
You realized then that you had always dreamed of kissing this man, silently, secretly, whenever his eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long right there in the hallway. You’d always dismissed those fantasies as wishful thinking, but clearly, he’d been wanting the same.
You heard a click as the lock on your door was turned, and you felt as his hand fumbled with the doorknob behind your back – all while his lips were still on yours, occasionally wandering to kiss your jaw and giving you an opportunity to breathe. He cursed under his breath, and before you even processed what was happening, he shouldered the door open and pushed both of you back into the darkness of your apartment.
The familiar space of your home was suddenly transformed, and John's touch was the compass guiding you. He didn't release you, keeping you close to his body as if you might slip away. With a smooth movement, he shoved the door shut, tossing your keys somewhere onto the floor.
His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you up flush against him, the gasp that escaped your lips quickly swallowed by his next kiss. He carried you, your legs wrapped around his waist, until he reached your couch, where he gently laid you down, his body hovering over yours, his eyes devouring you, making you feel incredibly vulnerable.
The sofa dipped as he planted his knees left and right next to your legs, and he leaned to hover over you. You were both breathing hard, the only sound in the silent room. The only light illuminating you was the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window above.
“Is this still pretend?” you managed to whisper, your voice a shaky breath.
His eyes locked onto yours, the slight smirk on his face sending a thrill to your core. His hands moved to your hips, deliberately grinding them against his groin. You gasped as you felt the hardness of his arousal pressed against you, hyperaware of the thin fabric separating your most intimate parts.
“Fuck, no,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. He moved his hips again, his hands slowly but intentionally pushing up your dress.
Your skin felt like it was on fire; your head was spinning. 
One of his hands moved up to the line of your dress, and with a rumble in his throat, he pulled the fabric aside, exposing the swell of your breasts to his hungry gaze.
His pupils dilated, his eyes dark and intense, as he stared at you like a starving man presented with a banquet. You'd never been so incredibly turned on, no man had ever made you feel this way— John’s simple gesture of delicately tracing the skin around your nipples made you moan so loudly you immediately threw a hand over your mouth, slightly embarrassed.
“No, let me hear it all. You sing so beautifully, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand gently moving yours away, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and unexpected tenderness.
"John,” you breathed, your voice a shaky sigh.
“This bloody dress,” he groaned. “Wanted to rip it off you the second I saw you standing at my door.” His voice was raw, unfiltered – gone was the nice, gentle neighbor; this was the Captain coming through, the darker, more commanding side of him that should have scared you, but only served to intensify the desire swirling inside you. You wanted to know all about the man he left behind as soon as he stepped into this building.
“Every fuckin' time I saw you in the hallway, those quick hellos were never enough,” he confessed, one hand tightening on your hip, the other slowly trailing down your skin beneath the hem of your dress. His touch was agonizingly slow, leaving a trail of heat in its wake that made you lose your mind. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
His words were so honest, it caught you off guard completely. It must have shown on your face right then, because he smiled in return. “Never thought I’d stand a chance," he admitted. "You always seemed out of reach.”
You frowned. “Out of reach?”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Figured I’d never stand a chance against the queue of blokes lining up at your door.”
“John, what? A queue, for me?” You laughed, your disbelief genuine, gesturing towards yourself.
He sighed, sitting up, his fingers playing with the lace trim of your panties as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You’re beautiful, and tonight, I learned it’s inside and out. You're you, and that's fuckin’ wonderful."
You shook your head in disbelief. His words made your entire body tremble.  He wasn’t just looking at your body; he was seeing you. And it felt extraordinary.
He watched you intently, his eyes filled with a longing that mirrored your own. “I kept thinking about what you were hiding underneath those baggy clothes,” he confessed, his voice a husky whisper, his fingers slowly sliding your panties down your legs. He felt you shy away from him a little, a smirk on his face stole your breath, as he pushed your legs apart with his calloused hands. “Like I said, so beautiful.” He whispered, his voice so rough with what you could only describe as lust. It made you shiver.
“You know,” you whispered, “The funny thing is, I thought exactly the same.”
“What do you mean?” You watched as he slowly ran a hand along your thighs. A ragged breath escaped your lungs, and you struggled to continue speaking.
“You’re incredible – there’s no way you didn’t have someone to –”
“To what?” he asked, suddenly stopping his movements, his gaze intense. “Willing to take a chance on a bloke who doesn’t know a thing about flowers or romantic dinners? Who spends more time on planes than in his own flat? Whose idea of a good time involves dodging bullets and disarming explosives?” He let out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.
He was being so completely honest with you, so vulnerable, it sent a sharp pang through your chest. He was seeing you – the real you, hidden beneath the baggy clothes and carefully constructed walls – and for the first time that night, you were truly seeing him . John, who looked like he could bench-press a small car, who radiated an aura of danger as naturally as he breathed. 
He wasn’t some playboy who brought women home every other night, like you’d assumed. He could have any woman he wanted – and yet, here he was, his gaze tracing every inch of your naked body.
He liked you. He’d thought about you.
It felt surreal.
“Best decision I’ve made in a long time,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Asking you, I mean. Thinking I could never have you, and now –”
You held your breath, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “Now what?” you whispered.
“You’re mine.” He growled, and before your brain could even process what happened, his mouth was on your clit, kissing and sucking like he finally got to taste that delicious meal he was promised. 
“Oh god–!” you moaned, your hands instinctively gripping his hair, your nails digging into his scalp. He moaned, and the vibration of it against your skin made your legs twitch uncontrollably.
John’s touch was relentless, his tongue swirling against your most sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you that were unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. You arched against him, your hips bucking involuntarily, craving more of the delicious friction that was driving you to the edge of madness.
He seemed to sense your desperation, the way your body was begging for something more. He pulled back, his gaze meeting yours, his eyes dark with a possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified you. His hand replaced his tongue, fingers gently caressing your sensitive clit. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ hot.”
“John,” you breathed, you were speaking without any control over it.
“What do you need, love?” he asked, his voice thick with lust, his hand never ceasing its tormenting, exquisite torture against your aching core.
“I – I need –” You couldn't form the words. Your mind was blank, and your body was trembling with need that eclipsed all rational thought.
He seemed to understand, his gaze softening, a knowing smile curving his lips. He rose slightly, his hands moving towards the belt buckle, groaning as he released himself from the confines of his trousers.
He stepped out of his pants, the sound of fabric hitting the floor echoing in the sudden silence. His shirt followed shortly after, and you were captivated. His body was hard, sculpted muscle, his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxers, proof of the desire you'd awakened within him.
You watched, mesmerized, as he slowly peeled off his boxers, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached down, fisting himself, and your breath hitched at the sight.
“Still think you’re not attractive to me, love? Look what you’re doing to me,” he let his thumb slowly run over the head of his length, spreading the drop of pre-come that formed there, and he must have known it was teasing you, driving you mad. “Tell me what you want,” he commanded.
You opened your mouth to speak, to voice the desire that was burning through you with the force of a supernova, but the words caught in your throat. All you could manage was a whimper as your fingers were digging into the cushions, hips arching upwards, instinctively seeking out friction you craved.
You felt like if you couldn't have him, you might die.
“Uh-uh.” His hand reached forward to grab the soft flesh of your tits, one after the other, and his thumb brushed a teasing circle around your nipples, the pressure increasing just enough to make you gasp. "I said, tell me what you want.”
“You,” you confessed, the words torn from your very soul. “For God's sake, I fucking need you.”
John's gaze intensified, his eyes dark, and the corner of his mouth twitched, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. He loomed over you like a predator about to claim his prey. With a growl, he leaned down, pressing his mouth on yours, and you could feel his erection pressing between your folds.
One of his hands shot out, cupping the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you captive. 
“You’re going to get everything you need, love,” he breathed, and followed by his promise, he entered you in a deliberately slow movement, almost torturous. He moaned, so raw and primal, it made you clench around him, and your entire body ignited as he filled you completely. His size, his heat, the intensity of the sensation – it sent your senses into overdrive, causing you to dig your nails into his back.
“Ohhh fuck,” you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper, lost in a world of sensation he'd created with his touch.
He paused, holding himself perfectly still within you, savoring the feel of your body clenching around him and the soft moans escaping your lips.
You whimpered, arching your hips up instinctively, desperate for more, aching for him to erase every thought, every doubt, every worry, with the overwhelming pleasure that throbbed between you.
He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine, and then he moved. Slowly at first, deliberately drawing out the sensation, his hips rocking against yours, each thrust a slow, agonizingly delicious torture that had you clinging to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your nails leaving trails of fire on his skin.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice tight with need as he buried himself deeper. “You're so fucking tight – so fucking wet.”
But even in the haze of pleasure, a primal instinct took over. He needed more. He rolled you both over, shifting his weight so that you were straddling his lap, your legs draped over his thighs, your core aligned perfectly with his arousal. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he reached for the hem of your dress, his fingers working quickly, impatiently, to free you from the loosely hanging fabric.
“Now,” his hands found your hips, guiding you closer, his thumbs stroking the sensitive flesh. “Ride me, love.”
You looked down at him, at the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath, and a surge of confidence, of pure, unadulterated lust, washed over you. You began to move, supporting your weight against him by running your hands through the light fur that dusted his chest. 
His hands dug deeper into your skin as you increased the pace, moving faster, harder, riding his cock wildly, completely lost in the pleasure.
Every movement sent jolts of pleasure through you. He watched you, his gaze never leaving your face, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as if he were hanging onto your every move.
“Fuck, yes,” he growled, his voice thick with approval. “Like that, love. Ride me hard.”
His words were a primal command, a challenge that sent a thrill through you, making you even bolder, even more daring. You leaned forward and kissed him, biting his lip, drawing a groan from him that resonated deep in your core.
He tasted of salt and desire, the scent of his arousal filling your senses, making you wild. His hands were guiding your movements, matching your intensity, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge of release.
With each thrust, you felt the coil of pleasure tighten inside you, building towards a crescendo that threatened to shatter you both. You moved faster, harder, your body driven by an instinct as old as time itself. His touch was a brand, marking you as his, and the possessive hunger in his eyes as you rode him, almost send you over the edge alone.
He was groaning now, his words a jumble of incoherent pleas and praises, his fingers digging into your flesh as he struggled to maintain control. You felt him tense, the muscles in his thighs and arms bunching beneath your touch, and you knew the storm was about to break.
“Don’t stop,” his voice was raw with need, his gaze burning into you as if he wanted to sear this moment into his soul. “Come for me, love. Let me feel you shatter."
And with one final, earth-shattering thrust, you did.
A shudder ripped through you, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole your breath away. Your walls clenched around him, a thousand tiny sparks of sensation exploding behind your eyelids. Your name tumbled from his lips, a breathless groan, as he held you tighter. You cried out, the sound swallowed by his eager mouth as he captured your lips in a desperate kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as wave after wave of pure bliss crashed over you, leaving you trembling, weak, utterly undone.
After you came down from your high, you watched him intently as he was also struggling on the edge of release. Driven by need and desire, you slowly let his cock slip out of you. He made a sound that sounded animalistic, a groan, low and deep in his chest, an expression of frustration. Your hand moved instantly, your fingers finding his length, circling him, stroking him with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm. Your fingertips traced a feather-light path up the underside of his shaft, lingering at the sensitive ridge just below the head before gliding back down to the base, your thumb brushing teasingly against the swollen vein that pulsed with his arousal.
His head fell back against the cushions, his eyes closed, a ragged breath escaping his lips as you continued to tease him, your touch the only cure for his aching need. You watched him, mesmerized by the play of muscle beneath your hand, the raw power he embodied even at that moment of vulnerability.
“I can't –” His fingers dug into the cushions, his body tensing as if fighting against the tide of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him.
You smiled. The power thrumming between you was intoxicating, addictive. “Can’t what, John?” you whispered, leaning in, your lips trailing a teasing path along the hard planes of his stomach. “Can’t hold back anymore?”
His answer was a strangled groan. His body went rigid, and the wave of pleasure that followed was written all over his face. His hand shot out, not to stop you, but to grip your wrist. His fingers tightened around it, his control started slipping, shattering, as his release washed over him.
You whispered small praises, and watched, fascinated, as his release spurted over your hand in hot, pulsing bursts. His hips were stuttering, his cock, hard, thick in your grasp, throbbed, and the remnants of his release felt warm against your skin. He was completely at your mercy.
You’d never felt this bold, this empowered, this reckless. Before you could overthink it, you raised your hand to your mouth and licked his come off of your fingers.
Your wish to taste him, it couldn’t get any more him than this. Salt, sweat, and something so uniquely his. It made your walls clench around nothing, sending a new wave of excitement through you.
John’s gaze snapped to yours, his eyes wide, a flicker of something dark and possessive flaring in their depths as he watched you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Fuck,” he groaned, and reached out, his hand resting on your neck, his thumb slowly stroking along your pulse. “You’re something else, you know that, love?”
A nervous giggle escaped your lips. The sudden awareness of your actions, the intimacy of the moment, sent a wave of shyness washing over you. “I, uh,” you trailed off, averting your gaze, unable to meet the intensity burning in his eyes. Your cheeks burned, and you wanted to hide.
John’s hand shifted, his fingers tracing the curve of your jawline. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“Don't shy away from me now, sweetheart,” he murmured and softly ran his thumbs over your lips. “Not after that.”
“That was –” You struggled to find the words, your thoughts were a mess. “I've never –”
“Never?” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, the scent of him filling your senses, making you dizzy.
“Never been that bold,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to his lips, their fullness suddenly a source of endless fascination. “Or wanted someone so intensely.”
A dark smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with triumph and something that sent a delicious thrill through you. “Good,” he growled, the word a low rumble that vibrated through you. “Because you're mine now, love. And I'm not about to let you forget it.”
And then, before you could protest – not that you had any intention of doing so – his lips crashed down on yours. It wasn’t gentle. This kiss was a possession, a claiming, a wildfire consuming everything in its path. His hand shot out to grab your neck, holding you close to him.
This really wasn't pretend anymore.
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ceilidhtransing · 2 months ago
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Having spent pretty much the entire year immersed in studying Nazi Germany, the Holocaust, and genocide more broadly, my heart is bursting with the need to stress how much you should take Project 2025 seriously. This is a long post but please stick with me.
Don't take this post as an attempt to concretely predict anything. We can't ever fully know the future and I think it's silly to say with total certainty “if Trump wins then America will become just like Nazi Germany” - not only because the future isn't written yet, but also because Germany under the Nazis was a very specific regime with its own quirks and peculiarities and I don't think that even a worst-case-scenario Trump regime would look exactly like Hitler's Germany. No two regimes ever look exactly alike: it would use the same colour palette as all far-right dictatorships but be constructed from a different medium, like what a watercolour is to an oil painting.
But just because Trump is a very different person from Hitler, and a worst-case-scenario Trump dictatorship would not literally be “Nazi Germany all over again”, that doesn't mean that what happened in Germany isn't instructive here. Forget the specifics of whether or not Trump as a dictator would organise a state identically to how the Nazis organised Germany or whatever; on a far broader and more relevant level, there is a distressing number of similarities. And too many people are falling into the same thought traps as they did then.
Please don't assume that Trump is “way too incompetent” to achieve what's in Project 2025 or Agenda 47. They said the same thing about Hitler. They said that there was no way this showman could govern effectively - holding big rallies and making speeches that get people riled up isn't the same as being good at running a functioning state and achieving what you want. The New York Times even wrote after he became Chancellor of Germany that this would only “let him expose to the German public his own futility”. And in many ways Hitler was pretty incompetent. But that didn't end up mattering. The greatest crime of the Nazi regime, the Holocaust, was masterminded mostly by a whole load of people besides Hitler, who were delegated the nitty-gritty task of actually orchestrating it. Hitler's personal incompetence didn't prevent war or genocide.
Please don't assume that Trump is “just a wacky nutcase” who “can't possibly be a real risk”. They said the same thing about Hitler. The mainstream media gave constant coverage to all the crazy extreme things Hitler said as if he was merely a bit of a joke and not a massive threat. The Nazis were quite happy with this. To quote Goebbels repeatedly in his diary, “The main thing is they're talking about us.”
Please don't assume that being in power will “moderate” Trump and that “of course he won't be able to do all the crazy stuff once he actually has to govern”. They said the same thing about Hitler. It was a common sentiment in the early 1930s that all the sensible politicians around him would force him to moderate his stances. Fritz von Papen, the last Chancellor of Weimar Germany, persuaded President Hindenburg to make Hitler the Chancellor by assuring him, “In a few months, we will have pushed [Hitler] so far into the corner that he will squeak.” It turns out that power doesn't “moderate” people who are openly talking about a dictatorship.
Please don't assume that there's any truth to the whole “Trump has nothing to do with Project 2025 and trying to link it to him is just liberal hysteria” line. They said the same thing about Hitler. People repeatedly asserted that Nazi street violence wasn't really representative of the party leadership; it wasn't representative of Hitler. He was even subpoenaed by a very brave lawyer in 1931 in a bid to prove that recent violence by Nazi stormtroopers was committed with the knowledge and encouragement of the party leadership, with part of the prosecution's argument hanging on a pamphlet by Goebbels that promised a violent overthrow of the state if the Nazis couldn't come to power legitimately. Surely no legal political party could be publishing that. In a successful attempt to escape criminal charges, Hitler repeatedly lied that the pamphlet was not official Nazi Party material and that he didn't know anything about it. No Trump didn't write it, no it isn't an official GOP manifesto, but the links between Project 2025 and Trump, the previous Trump administration, and Trump allies are extremely well documented. Just the other day, Project 2025 co-author Russell Vought was caught calling Trump's disavowals of the document “graduate-level politics” and saying, “what he's doing is just very, very conscious distancing himself from a brand ... he's in fact not even opposing himself to a particular policy.”
Please don't assume that “there's no way something like that could happen here; we're way too educated and advanced”. They said the same thing about Hitler. The Germany of the 1920s and 1930s was one of the most educated and most scientifically and industrially advanced nations in the world, and its cities were some of the most progressive in the world. People were stunned and horrified that it was in Germany of all places - Germany, land of music and art and science and literature! - that fascism took root. Germany's economic and social advancement didn't stop about 40% of its voters choosing the Nazis. It didn't stop them taking power.
Please don't assume that Project 2025 is “just a wishlist” and “not actually a serious plan”. They said the same thing about Hitler. As is hopefully very clear by now, plenty of people did not think that the Nazis were capable of, or would dare to try, putting into actual practice the horrific ideas about race that undergirded so much of their ideology. “I like Hitler; he talks sense economically and I think all this stuff about Jews is just bluff and bluster.” “Every party has a loony wing, right? You have to understand they're not serious when they talk about this stuff; they're just telling their base what they want to hear.” “God have you heard this crazy race science shit about head shapes and stuff? It's hilarious! I'm sure none of them at the top really believe that; there's no way they'd be that nuts.” When a group of people like this tells you what they believe and tells you what they want to do with power, believe them. No matter how ridiculous they seem, they're not joking.
In the words of Hans Litten, the lawyer who subpoenaed and cross-examined Hitler in that court case in 1931, “Don't listen to him; he's telling the truth.” Litten was arrested on the night of the Reichstag fire in 1933 and spent the rest of his life being tortured in concentration camps before dying in Dachau in 1938 at the age of 34.
A tyrannical dictatorship can often be seen coming a mile away. I don't want to imply for a second that what the Nazis did came as a surprise to everyone and couldn't possibly have been predicted. There were people who saw this coming in the 1920s and 1930s and tried to sound the alarm while they still had a chance. But they were too often in the minority, taking the threat seriously while others had convinced themselves that there was no need for concern because the Nazis wouldn't really do all the things they repeatedly talked about wanting to do. Everyone should have seen this coming, but too many people wanted to believe it couldn't be true.
Don't let this scare you. Let it energise you. Talk to the people in your life about Project 2025 and Agenda 47. Push back against people who assert that “they'd never actually do all that stuff” or “Trump didn't even write Project 2025” or “it's not a real plan, just a list of crazy shit to get the base riled up”. Have conversations with folks you know who are on the fence about voting or about who to vote for and who seem persuadable. Make sure you're registered to vote, and keep making sure, especially if you live in a red state where people keep mysteriously dropping off voter rolls.
Now, again, please don't read this as some confident prediction that Trump will be a Hitler figure. I want to stress that is a worst-case scenario. If a Trump presidency is what happens, I would much prefer the best-case scenario: that he spends four years fumbling around and not really accomplishing anything and then gives up power at the end without much of a fight. But it would also be a folly to be smugly overconfident that the worst-case scenario “won't” or “can't” happen. It could. It has happened before. There is no reason it couldn't happen again.
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motorsport-halloween · 9 days ago
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⇨ AO3 COLLECTION | ROUND ONE ⇦
☠︎ another superstition by @emillians - Max/Daniel, 25k, rated T (complete)
“What the fuck is wrong with your house?” Daniel manages to wheeze out. “Fucking hell, you’re like turbo haunted.”
☠︎ Listless Playthings of Enormous Forces by @mercurial-vroom - George/Alex, 15k, rated E (ongoing)
“I’ve waited six years for that to happen again,” Alex says, tucking himself closer into George’s side. “Didn’t realize all it would take was the end of the fucking world.”
☠︎ After me, The Flood by @1425fivefive - Max/Charles, 5k, rated E (complete)
Charles is a 500-year-old vampire. Max is a human. They meet in Amsterdam in 1662.
☠︎ Daniel's Ghost Adventures by @onboardsorasora - Max/Daniel, 12k, rated M (complete)
Daniel was a ghost hunter, a good one– nay, a great one, but not particularly by choice. Ghosts love him, but he does not like them back. Daniel wasn’t so much a ghost hunter, as he was… bait.
☠︎ left a calling card so they would know that it was me by @xxxdeerlordxxx - Oscar/Carlos, 6k, rated E (complete)
Because of course no one believes him. But Carlos knows that Oscar’s to blame. Just not in the way people might think.
☠︎ this is not a dream by @officialmood - Max/Daniel, 5k, rated E (ongoing)
When he was awake, Daniel couldn’t summon the pain. He knew it had hurt, and badly, but awake he couldn’t feel it. But when he was asleep, he could.
☠︎ sweet dreams (are made of this) by @freeuselandonorris - Lando/Oscar, 6k, rated E (complete)
The bad feeling goes away for a couple of days, and Oscar lets himself forget about it, concluding it must have been an unusually vivid nightmare, his body reacting to some perceived threat. Nothing to worry about.
☠︎ Me and my shadow by @latecomersprivilege - George/Alex, 3k, rated E (complete)
They’d put George in the tyre store. Shov had explained something about the fewest points of entry and exit, and George had done his best not to read into it. It’s just a precaution, anyway.
☠︎ Bury A Friend by redscarez - Max/Daniel, 6k, rated E (complete)
Freshly retired, Daniel lets Josh drag him to a Halloween matchmaking party. Things escalate.
☠︎ in midnight's jaws by @testarossa - Oscar/Carlos, 15k, rated E (ongoing)
Surely there is a perfectly good reason for Carlos to have woken in the dirt the morning after a full moon, with no idea where he is or how he got there.
☠︎ The Curse of the Scarlet Prince by @seafoampearlygirl - Lewis/Seb, 6k, rated G (ongoing)
So David sends six of the sport's most controversial figures - the warring Mercedes drivers, ex-lovers Mark and Fernando, Seb, and Jenson - to a desolate castle on the Italian coast, said to be haunted by the ghost of the greatest champion Ferrari never had...
☠︎ I might take you home with me if I could, to knight by @tiredeg - Max/Daniel, 5k, rated E (complete)
Daniel’s been knighting people all evening. Half of the people at the party have knelt before him, bowed their heads laughing while Daniel moved his toy sword over one shoulder then the other and made them kiss his knuckles dramatically.
⇨ JOIN US NEXT WEEK, OCT 29, FOR ROUND THREE! ⇦
graphic by the incomparable @racecrafting
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aphroditelovesu · 9 months ago
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Hello, can you do a headcannon Yandere (father) King Henry and Yandere (mother) Anna Boleyn with their only surviving son?
❝ 👑 — lady l: I really like the idea of ​​them being platonic yanderes for a son, so I hope you like it! Forgive me for any mistakes and good reading! ❤️
❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, overprotection, mention of miscarriages, murder and implied cheating and toxic relationships.
❝👑pairing: platonic yandere!henry viii/anne boleyn x son!reader.
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Anne was desperate to conceive a male heir, her only hope of staying alive and maintaining the interest of the King who, after some miscarriages and the birth of a daughter, has already began to wander towards one of her ladies-in-waiting.
So when she discovered a new pregnancy, she desperately prayed for a son and that she wouldn't suffer another miscarriage. She could not bear the loss and pain. Henry was pleased with the new pregnancy, but worried. Anne had already had several miscarriages and was only able to produce one healthy child, a daughter.
Anne took great care of herself during her pregnancy, taking care of what she ate and drank and trying to maintain good health. The first few months were the most tense, with fear enveloping both Anne and Henry. As the pregnancy progressed and there was no miscarriage, Anne became more confident.
When the day finally arrived to give birth, she was anxious. Henry was also anxious and he was so nervous when he heard Anne screaming outside the room, he didn't know what to think. When a baby's cries finally came after what seemed like hours, he entered the room.
Anne held her baby on her lap and cried softly and when a doctor approached Henry and said, "Congratulations, Your Majesty. You have an heir", it was the first time that Henry felt complete happiness. When he picked you up, he was smiling from ear to ear. Not only were you the much-desired male heir but you also saved your mother's head.
Both of them would be extremely overprotective of their only son and those close to you will be scrutinized. Henry has become very paranoid about your safety and takes every precaution possible.
You are always by your mother or father's side, you cannot be alone at any time with a stranger. Anne, especially, would like to keep you sewn to her side all the time. She cares about you a lot and is always checking up on you. When you get sick, she becomes paranoid that you will die.
You are your parents' greatest pride and Henry doesn't try to hide it. He neglects all his other children and gives you all his love and affection. He takes you for walks, hunting and spoils you with all the perks that a future King deserves. In addition to showing you off before the Court. After all, you are the future King.
They are both very proud of anything you do. Any milestone, no matter how small, will be applauded by them. Your first words, the first time you walked and everything else will be treated with great celebration. Expensive parties are thrown in your honor all the time.
As you grow up, they become even more overprotective and controlling. Anne does not want you to leave the Court under any circumstances and Henry allows you to do so, but only with many guards. There were many threats lurking and they couldn't let anything happen to you. May God forbid anything from happening to you as the results will be disastrous.
Anne hates it when you spend time with other people, especially if they are women. The only women you need in your life are your mother and your older sister, Elizabeth. Although she understands that's a part of a man's life, she still doesn't like it and any potential mistress or love interest will be dealt with quickly. She is your mother, so no one has more right to you than her.
Henry is more than aware of his wife's actions and although he doesn't encourage them, he doesn't reprimand her. In fact, he's probably the one who encourages you to enjoy your life even if it always leads to fights with Anne. It was worth it when you looked happy. And your happiness is very important to him.
Your potential friends will be scrutinized and if your parents don't like them, they will leave. Henry and Anne won't sentence them to death at first, but if you or they are stubborn, they will be tried for treason. Don't you understand that you shouldn't trust anyone other than your own family? Your parents are the only ones who want the best for you.
Henry and Anne are smothering and protective parents but they only have your best interests at heart. They want you to live a full and happy life, but with them by your side. You were everything they both wanted and they would be damned if they let anything happen to you. England still does not know the fury of its monarchs nor the overwhelming love they feel for their only son.
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deadpresidents · 3 months ago
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On the cliffs of Normandy, in a small holding area, the President of the United States was looking out at the English Channel. It was only six weeks ago, on the 80th anniversary of the D-Day landings, and President Biden had just finished his remarks at the American cemetery atop Omaha Beach. Guests had been congratulating him on the speech, but he didn't want to talk about himself. The moment was not about him; it was about the men who had fought and died there. "Today feels so large," he told me. "This may sound strange -- and I don't mean it to -- but when I was out there, I felt the honor of it, the sanctity of it. To speak for the American people, to speak over those graves, it's a profound thing." He turned from the view over the beaches and gestured back toward the war dead. "You want to do right by them, by the country."
Mr. Biden has spent a lifetime trying to do right by the nation, and he did so in the most epic of ways when he chose to end his campaign for re-election. His decision is one of the most remarkable acts of leadership in our history, an act of self-sacrifice that places him in the company of George Washington who also stepped away from the presidency. To put something ahead of one's immediate desires -- to give, rather than to try to take -- is perhaps the most difficult thing for any human being to do. And Mr. Biden has done just that.
To be clear: Mr. Biden is my friend, and it has been a privilege to help him when I can. Not because I am a Democrat -- I belong to neither party and have voted for both Democrats and Republicans -- but because I believe him to be a defender of the Constitution and a public servant of honor and of grace at a time when extreme forces threaten the nation. I do not agree with everything he has done or wanted to do in terms of policy. But I know him to be a good man, a patriot and a president who has met challenges all too similar to those Abraham Lincoln faced. Here is the story I believe history will tell of Joe Biden. With American democracy in an hour of maximum danger in Donald Trump's presidency, Mr. Biden stepped in the breach. He staved off an authoritarian threat at home, rallied the world against autocrats abroad, laid the foundations for decades of prosperity, managed the end of a once-in-a-century pandemic, successfully legislated on vital issues of climate and infrastructure and has conducted a presidency worthy of the greatest of his predecessors. History and fate brought him to the pinnacle in a late season in his life, and in the end, he respected fate -- and he respected the American people.
It is, of course, an incredibly difficult moment. Highs and lows, victories and defeats, joy and pain: It has been ever thus for Mr. Biden. In the distant autumn of 1972, he experienced the most exhilarating of hours -- election to the United States Senate at the age of 29. He was no scion; he earned it. The darkness fell: His wife and daughter were killed in an automobile accident that seriously injured his two sons, Beau and Hunter. But he endured, found purpose in the pain, became deeper, wiser, more empathetic. Through the decades, two presidential campaigns imploded, and in 2015 his son Beau, a lawyer and wonderfully promising young political figure, died of brain cancer after serving in Iraq.
Such tragedy would have broken many lesser men. Mr. Biden, however, never gave up, never gave in, never surrendered the hope that a fallen, frail and fallible world could be made better, stronger and more whole if people could summon just enough goodness and enough courage to build rather than tear down. Character, as the Greeks first taught us, is destiny, and Mr. Biden's character is both a mirror and a maker of his nation's. Like Franklin Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan, he is optimistic, resilient and kind, a steward of American greatness, a love of the great game of politics and, at heart, a hopeless romantic about the country that has given him so much.
Nothing bears out this point as well as his decision to let history happen in the 2024 election. Not matter how much people say that this was inevitable after the debate in Atlanta last month, there was nothing foreordained about an American President ending his political career for the sake of his country and his party. By surrendering the possibility of enduring in the seat of ultimate power, Mr. Biden has taught us a landmark lesson in patriotism, humility and wisdom.
Now the question comes to the rest of us. What will we the people do? We face the most significant of choices. Mr. Roosevelt framed the war whose dead Mr. Biden commemorated at Normandy in June as a battle between democracy and dictatorship. It is not too much to say that we, too, have what Mr. Roosevelt called a "rendezvous with destiny" at home and abroad. Mr. Biden has put country above self, the Constitution above personal ambition, the future of democracy above temporal gain. It is up to us to follow his lead.
-- "Joe Biden, My Friend and an American Hero" by Jon Meacham, New York Times, July 22, 2024.
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glassica · 3 months ago
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Surprise boyfriend
Notes: M!yan x F!reader, non-con, sexual language, cursing, pregnancy trapping, blackmailing threats
"Hey Y/N, heard you go out with Ray right?"
You spat out the remaining cold brew. You? Go out with whom???
People must've assumed you were into him after seeing your exchanges at the party. But you swear that wasn't that serious at all! You were just fooling around to kill time!
- No. Who told you that?
- Ray posted about you all over his insta. Yeah right you don't use that app... But what do you mean you two aren't dating!?
You took one look at your friend's phone. Lo and behold, countless pictures of you and him holding hands and acting all lovey-dovey like a real couple. Your brain juggled through the hazy memories to see when the selfies were taken but oh dear, you were so drunk off the mind on that night to recall everything.
- Ray, excuse me. Do you have a moment?
- Sweetie I always have time for you. What do baby want from me now? ~
His cheesy line brought shattering earthquakes to your brain. God this man had zero shame, or you had been cursed to carry the embarrassment baggage on his behalf. "If we were alone I'd rip his ass off right instant." - you thought. "And I'll never have time for your goofy ass."
- I believe you misunderstood our relationship. I must've said something deceitful to you during at the party and I'll take responsibility for that. I don't plan to date you or anyone, Ray. I'm so sorry for misleading you.
You spoke in a remorseful tone. Though not able to recollect what nonsense the mouth had blabbered, you felt like owning him an apology regardless. Kids this was why you should never let peer pressure get to you and drink over limits, you never knew if one day you accidentally being entangled with some jackass.
Surprisingly Ray's expression didn't seem to fazed for a bit. On the contrary, the grin on his face got even more ominous and deranged, alerted your sixth sense that nothing coming out from this man was any good: It was a grave mistake involving him in your life.
"My baby wanna break up with me? Oh sweetheart how could you abandon me like that? Have you forgot your little promises to me about love and loyalty? Didn't you say I was your type, that your greatest wish was to be wrapped in my arms every night and showered your body with plenty of kisses?"
Freak. Weirdo. Creep.
How could anyone breath in the same direction of this guy and not get their skin crawled for a second? You were both amused and pissed off witnessing this whole circus show, wondering how out mind you were last Friday to be attracted to this walking joke of a man.
Get this over quickly, or you would end up committing some atrocities on that stupid face.
"I wasn't sober at the time. I must've been spewing rubbish. I'm really sorry for lying to you Ray, but can you please take down those pictures?"
"Why should I? I need to show off everyone my Sweetie's already taken, so that no one could touch you. Besides," - Ray tucked his head over your shoulder, the eerily off-putting grin grew even wider as he whispered softly to your ears, "those pics aren't the only proof of our unshakable bond."
He trailed off, calmly put a hand on your belly.
Your mind went blank.
"BITCH! YOU FUCKING RAPED ME!?"
"Now now. You hurt my heart, Sweetie. How could you accuse me of such heinous crime when all I did so much to give you such good time on bed? And don't lie, your pussy was cumming hard for my crotch. I still can recall those pretty little buds-"
Just then, Ray felt a burning heat on his left cheek. You were done. Completely dropped off manners. Eyes flaming with disgust and resentment while both hands clenching fist furiously, you became a wild animal determined to chew off its prey to the bone. You didn't care about anything else, any consequences after, your absolute goal at the moment was to tear this asshole to shreds.
But Ray was infuritatingly nonchalant, cocky even. He wasn't bothered for a bit when facing your wrath. Rubbing hand on the reddish cheek, he continued:
"Don't you believe you can brush your hand away from me, love. I don't like anyone seeing my angel in her purest form, but I have no problem releasing those clips."
A sadistic chuckle let out of his mouth observing the bloodthirst drained out from your face. If you didn't want him as your prince, then he wouldn't hesitate becoming the big bad villain tainting your life forever.
Ray caught your lifeless body in a loving embrace, just like that Friday night, and many more nights in the future.
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supercap2319 · 1 year ago
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"You know it's bad enough that there's a possible attempt on my life, but being sardined canned into a closet with you two is punishment enough. Y/N grumbles. His foot is in a mop bucket, and it's still wet from the mop water. "I think I'd rather be shot. Would be less painful than feeling Claremont's elbow in my ribs and your majesty's foul breath down my neck."
"Are you quite finished?” Henry said. "Can you perhaps stop putting all our lives in danger with your incisive tirade?"
"Why do you hate us so much, Y/N?" Alex and Henry turned their heads to squint at him. This close Y/N could see the flecks of blue in Henry's eyes and the soft black curls of Alex's hair.
"You guys really want to go there?"
"Maybe we do."
Y/N tried to un-sandwich himself between the two boys, unsuccessful in his mission as he huffed and looked at both of them. "Olympics 2016." He looks at Henry. "I went to introduce myself and was excited to meet you, but you looked at me like I was the antichrist and told Shana to get rid of me."
He turned to Alex. "2018. Your New year's party. My dad insisted on getting to know you, Nora, and June. So, I went to one of the rooms and when Nora asked if you were going to invite me, you laughed and said 'fuck no! Fuck that cocksucker' and started to laugh."
Alex and Henry looked down. "I didn't realize you'd heard that." Henry said.
"Is that your douchey-prince way of apologizing? Because you sure suck at it."
Henry looks at him and pauses. "I could have been nicer."
"And I can be a big mouth when I'm drunk and you're right. I should have invited you in the first place. I don't think you're a cocksucker." Alex said.
"And you think that makes it okay? Half-assed apologies and everything is fine?" Y/N said.
"I'm sensing there's more to your dislike of us." Henry noted.
Y/N sighed. "It's just… it's not fair. You guys make it look so easy. Everyone loves you and thinks you're sexy and the greatest thing since sliced bread. Me? I feel like I'm always being compared to Prince Henry and First Son Alexander Claremont. I feel like I have to struggle to catch up to you both to prove I'm worth it too. Now can you understand why I'd rather be shot than spend another minute in this janitor closet with you both?"
They're both quiet for a while. "Well, I can't change that, but I can tell you that I was, in fact, a prick that day. Not that it excuses my behavior, but my father passed away fourteen months back and I wanted everyone to suffer like I was suffering. I'm sorry."
"And I'm the son of the first female president. And I'm not white like she is, so I understand the struggle to prove yourself to the world. And it may seem like I have it all figured out, I don't. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Y/N." Alex apologized.
Before Y/N could reply, Alex's bodyguard opened the door. "Threat neutralized. Some kid brought fireworks for his friend."
Alex looks her. "When you say 'neutralize…'"
"It's a good thing he's already in the hospital." She winks at Y/N.
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dailyadventureprompts · 1 year ago
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Tableskills: Creating Dread
I've often had a lot of problems telling scary stories at my table, whether it be in d&d or other horror focused games. I personally don't get scared easily, especially around "traditionally horrifying" things so it's hard for me to recreate that experience in others. Likewise, you can't just port horror movie iconography into tabletop and expect it to evoke genuine fear: I've already spoken of being bored out of my mind during the zombie apocalypse, and my few trips into ravenloft have all been filled with similar levels of limp and derivative grimdark.
It took me a long time (and a lot of video essays about films I'd never watched) to realize that in terms of an experience fear is a lot like a joke, in that it requires multiple steps of setup and payoff. Dread is that setup, it's the rising tension in a scene that makes the revelation worth it, the slow and literal rising of a rollercoaster before the drop. It's way easier to inspire dread in your party than it is to scare them apropos of nothing, which has the added flexibility of letting you choose just the right time to deliver the frights.
TLDR: You start with one of the basic human fears (guide to that below) to emotionally prime your players and introduce it to your party in a initially non-threataning manor. Then you introduce a more severe version of it in a way that has stakes but is not overwhelmingly scary just yet. You wait until they're neck deep in this second scenario before throwing in some kind of twist that forces them to confront their discomfort head on.
More advice (and spoilers for The Magnus Archives) below the cut.
Before we go any farther it's vitally important that you learn your party's limits and triggers before a game begins. A lot of ttrpg content can be downright horrifying without even trying to be, so it's critical you know how everyone in your party is going to react to something before you go into it. Whether or not you're running an actual horror game or just wanting to add some tension to an otherwise heroic romp, you and your group need to be on the same page about this, and discuss safety systems from session 0 onwards.
The Fundamental Fears: It may seem a bit basic but one of the greatest tools to help me understand different aspects of horror was the taxonomy invented by Jonathan Sims of The Magnus Archives podcast. He breaks down fear into different thematic and emotional through lines, each given a snappy name and iconography that's so memorable that I often joke it's the queer-horror version of pokemon types or hogwarts houses. If we start with a basic understanding of WHY people find things scary we learn just what dials we need turn in order to build dread in our players.
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Implementation: Each of these examples is like a colour we can paint a scene or encounter with, flavouring it just so to tickle a particular, primal part of our party's brains. You don't have to do much, just something along the lines of "the upcoming cave tunnel is getting a little too close for comfort" or "the all-too thin walkway creaks under your weight ", or "what you don't see is the movement at the edge of the room". Once the seed is planted your party's' minds will do most of the work: humans are social, pattern seeking creatures, and the hint of danger to one member of the group will lay the groundwork of fear in all the rest.
The trick here is not to over commit, which is the mistake most ttrpgs make with horror: actually showing the monster, putting the party into a dangerous situation, that’s the finisher, the  punchline of the joke. It’s also a release valve on all the pressure you’ve been hard at work building.
There’s nothing all that scary about fighting a level-appropriate number of skeletons, but forcing your party to creep through a series of dark, cobweb infested catacombs with the THREAT of being attacked by undead? That’s going to have them climbing the walls.
Let narration and bad dice rolls be your main tools here, driving home the discomfort, the risk, the looming threat.
Surprise: Now that you’ve got your party marinating in dread, what you want to do to really scare them is to throw a curve ball. Go back to that list and find another fear which either compliments or contrasts the original one you set up, and have it lurking juuuust out of reach ready to pop up at a moment of perfect tension like a jack in the box. The party is climbing down a slick interior of an underdark cavern, bottom nowhere in sight? They expect to to fall, but what they couldn't possibly expect is for a giant arm to reach out of the darkness and pull one of them down. Have the party figured out that there's a shapeshifter that's infiltrated the rebel meeting and is killing their allies? They suspect suspicion and lies but what they don't expect is for the rebel base to suddenly be on FIRE forcing them to run.
My expert advice is to lightly tease this second threat LONG before you introduce the initial scare. Your players will think you're a genius for doing what amounts to a little extra work, and curse themselves for not paying more attention.
Restraint: Less is more when it comes to scares, as if you do this trick too often your players are going to be inured to it. Try to do it maybe once an adventure, or dungeon level. Scares hit so much harder when the party isn't expecting them. If you're specifically playing in a "horror" game, it's a good idea to introduce a few false scares, or make multiple encounters part of the same bait and switch scare tactic: If we're going into the filthy gross sewer with mould and rot and rats and the like, you'll get more punch if the final challenge isn't corruption based, but is instead some new threat that we could have never prepared for.
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citycrows · 10 months ago
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Strangers
JJK AU where Yuji still finds the finger first but not before he and Megumi get up to loads of shenanigans trying to find it and the greatest threat they have to deal with is Yuji earnestly falling for him while Megumi fights for his life 🥹
My first itafushi post! Internet please catapult me to the itafushi crying party 🙏
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pb-dot · 7 months ago
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This latest Adventuring Party really drove home my favorite aspect of Brennan's DMing style. He genuinely loves seeing his players succeed, even against odds he considered to be nigh insurmountable.
Let's take the Last Stand as an example. Now, Brennan made no secret out of the Last Stand encounter being very hard, and for people who do not play D&D it may even seem like he overhyped it, but from a mechanics standpoint, the CR, functionally the difficulty rating of this battle royale was sky-high. Yeah, none of the Bad Kids went down, but that is entirely thanks to a combination of excellent strategic play from the Intrepid Heroes and some choice luck.
To mention some of the game changer moves, the Scatter spell really re-defined the battlefield more favorably for the Bad Kids, the disguise self was a value proposition because it split the flying monsters, which was the greatest threat to the proctor by far, in two, functionally halving the threat to the squishy normie, not to mention dealing with the mega-mosquitos in combo with Spirit Guardians. Those little flying bastards would have been such a pain in the ass if Fig didn't bug zapper them to kingdom come. And the bless. Dear god, the Bless saved so many asses in this encounter.
This isn't to say magic was the only thing that defined the battlefield. The single-target damage dealers did some truly astounding numbers and managed their attention and abilities shockingly well. Yeah, Gorgug crit like a madman, but he also tanked like three or four non-barb PCs worth of effective HP damage without going down even once. If he had failed his saves and gotten eaten by the Purple Worm things would have gotten nasty for him, but again, the touch of luck (and bless) saw him through.
So, this is all to say that this was an encounter meant to kick the players' ass. Not an unwinnable one, evidently, but this was supposed to be a considerably worse experience even without getting into the non dice-roll exam questions. And how does Brennan react when the Intrepid Heroes put their game face all the way on, get really smart with their level 1 spell slots, and dismantle the whole thing? He's overjoyed, he's cheering for his strange adventure children, and we're cheering with him because frankly it's rad as hell.
This illustrates one nuance I feel sometimes gets glossed over about the DM-player relationship. A lot of people have talked about how Junior Year is the "Revenge of Brennan" or what have you, and I feel that kind of misses the central appeal of DMing and Brennan's style in D20 in particular. Yes, Mr Mulligan enjoys playing the heel on occasion. It's good fun to play the personification of everything going wrong and the inherent shittiness of the world, but like the wrestler heels, all that wicked charisma is meant to do one thing, and that is build up the faces, or the players in this case.
Now, the ghost of Gary Gygax may come after me for this, but I firmly believe it's not the DMs job to kill the player characters, or even to inconvenience or torment them. A good DM's job is to make it seem like they're going to kill the player characters, as to provide an environment for the players to succeed, a challenge for them to overcome. It's all one big improv exercise (or kink scene if you prefer to view it that way), where the DM derives their (near)absolute authority over the world the PCs inhabit from the shared understanding that they're going to show the players a spectacular, if not on occasion harrowing, time.
This is Brennan's biggest strength as a DM I think. He genuinely wants to make a spectacular time for his friends, and he understands that to do that he must on occasion be the monster they oppose, and on occasion he must be their breathless cheerleader. On occasion, one imagines, he must also be both.
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pastanest · 2 years ago
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Jon Snow x she/her!reader
warning: brief reference to attempted SA
part one can be found here
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Yours - Part Two
Tension rose between the two hot-headed siblings as they discussed the plan for their future, where such a plan would take them. Sansa was set on starting a war with Ramsay Bolton and taking back their home, saving you in the process, but having already been aged by the ways of war, Jon stood to his feet.
“I am tired of fighting. It’s all I’ve done since I left home. I’ve killed brothers of the Night’s Watch, I’ve killed wildlings, I’ve killed men that I admire, I hanged a boy, younger than Bran! I’ve fought, and I lost.” He was exhausted, in mind, body and soul.
But when Sansa stepped toward her brother and held his gaze, she knew exactly what she needed to say.
“You have not lost, because she is still waiting for you. She will believe until the day she dies that you are coming to save her, because that is who you are to her. You’ve fought, and now you must fight for her.” 
Something flickered in Jon then, a spark that only you could ignite. “I have always fought for her.”
“Then do it once more. This time, knowing she is on the other side. If we don’t take back the north, we’ll never be safe. I want you to help me, but I’ll do it myself if I have to.” Sansa raised an eyebrow, seeing the fire in her brother’s eyes and knowing that you have succeeded, as you always have, in bringing Jon Snow back to his senses.
It was only then, Sansa chose to disclose the nature of your capture. With every detail, Jon’s blood boiled in his veins. Chained by one wrist to the leg of a bed, forced to live each day and night on the castle floor, in complete darkness, save for when Ramsay Bolton decided to pay you a visit for a regular beating. That particular comment made Jon visibly flinch, fists clenching at the thought of getting his hands on the man that thought he had any right to touch you. While Sansa tried to free you, the door to the room you were trapped in was locked and she did not have time to search for the key, you would not let her, instead you had been shouting for her to go, to escape to the Wall, to Jon. 
In that moment, Jon Snow knew he was ready to beat Ramsay Bolton to death. And that was only exacerbated by the raven he decided to send to the wall, addressed to Jon, regarding his sister and younger brother, Rickon, with disgusting threats. There was no mention of you in the letter, but Sansa assured Jon this was a good thing, because it meant Ramsay did not intend to use you as a bargain, he did not think you were important enough, so he would keep you alive as his plaything. Jon did not find that as comforting as Sansa had intended. 
Following Sansa’s advice, Jon arranged a meeting with Ramsay Bolton upon gathering his forces. By no means did they have enough men to truly beat Ramsay, but Jon was certain that he alone could blaze through an army, knowing you were on the other side of it. 
Naturally, Ramsay arrived late to their meeting, leaving Jon, Sansa, and their accompanying party of Lords and Ladies from the northern houses that had rallied behind them, waiting in the clear field that surrounded Winterfell until Ramsay Bolton approached on his horse with his own display of Lords.
Smiling at Sansa on his arrival, Ramsay addressed her first, then looked to Jon, seemingly bemused by the sight of him as he greeted him with far less respect, if that is what his greeting to his wife could be deemed as. 
“Come, bastard, you don't have the men, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell - why lead those poor souls to slaughter? There’s no need for a battle, get off your horse and kneel. I am a man of mercy”
Jon smirked at him. “You’re right, there’s no need for a battle. Thousands of men dont need to die, only one of us. Let’s end this the old way - you against me.”
And Jon so wished the bastard opposite him would be foolish enough to agree. He could be the greatest fighter in the history of Westeros, and Jon would fancy his chances, for you.
Unfortunately, Ramsay laughed at that suggestion. “I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good, maybe not. I don't know if I’d beat you, but I know that my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men, you have, what, half that? Not even?”
Jon was thoroughly enjoyed taunting such a petulant child. “Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you, when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?”
Ramsay pointed to Jon, laughing. “He’s good, very good. Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you’re too proud to surrender?”
It was then, Sansa spoke up. “How do we know you have him?”
And with a nod from Ramsay, one of his men threw the severed head of Rickon’s direwolf in between their respective parties.
Trying her best not to show any kind of reaction on her face, Sansa nodded. “And what of my maid?”
Ramsay shrugged. “Well, dear wife, with you gone, I will have no choice but to turn to the others at my disposal, to…serve me.” 
It took more strength than Jon Snow had ever had to conjure up for anything, to not launch himself from his horse and tackle Ramsay from his, beating him into the earth below. With everything he had, he held onto what was at stake, what Sansa had advised him would keep him safest, and held his ground, restricting his visceral response to Ramsay’s words to the slightest clench of his own horse’s reins. “I wonder, will your men want to fight for you when they find out the only women you can keep at your side are your prisoners? A man who cannot please a woman is hardly one to inspire the heart’s of men.”
Ramsay tilted his head to the side, his ego clearly pricked by the notion of being undesirable. “Do you mean to tell me, bastard, that you broke your sacred Oath as well as deserted your post?”
At that, Jon scoffed. “No man would ask such a question, but a boy would. Killing your father does not make you a man, neither does forcing yourself upon a thousand slaves.”
Ramsay composed himself, Jon only picking up on the tiniest flash of a tantrum behind his eyes. “I have heard of your righteousness, bastard. That, I suppose, is the one thing you must have received from your father, and look where it got him.”
Oh, Jon Snow knew he was going to enjoy dragging out Ramsay Bolton’s death for as long as possible. 
For the rest of the day, following the conclusion of their meeting, Jon’s mind was spinning with the threats Ramsay Bolton had made against you and your virtue. He hoped to the Gods he had not given himself away in his fists clenched the reigns of his horse, but that was the most he could do to conceal the fury that raged within him. Even during the continued discussions of the battle plan he had formed with his men, thoughts of you tugged at the back of Jon’s mind constantly. Having once again butted heads with Sansa, she began to take her leave from the tent Jon was situated in.
Turning to face him one last time, she held his gaze. “If Ramsay wins, I'm not going back there alive. Do you understand me?”
Jon’s heart sank in his chest, immediately understanding what she was insinuating. “I won't ever let him touch you, or (Y/N), again. I’ll protect you both, I promise.”
In her angered, traumatized state, Sansa seemed almost offended at such a sincere promise. “No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”
He dared not argue with her, but he knew that she was wrong. Jon would protect her, and you, even if it killed him. To die for someone he loved would be a better demise than his first. 
That night, Jon Snow laid in the bed of his tent and stared up at the ceiling. He knew he needed the rest, but could not quiet his mind in the wake of what the dawn would bring. A war like none he had ever faced, with you on the other side. Reaching into the shirt pocket that sat directly above his heart, Jon retrieved the folded, aged piece of parchment that was worn and faded by the countless instances of him rereading it. Huffing beside his bed, Ghost nudged the back of Jon’s hand, bringing a soft smile back to his face as he tore his gaze from the page. 
“We’ll get her back, Ghost, we have to.” He whispered, and Ghost breathed deeply in response, agreeing in his own way.
Following suit, Jon took a deep breath of his own and closed his eyes, folding the parchment back into a neat square and slotting it back into his pocket, feeling a piece of him returning as he did. He envisioned himself as the boy he once was, lying in the godswood, under the weirwood tree, with his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. If he focussed hard enough, he could almost feel your fingertips against his scalp. That was the only sensation that could bring rest to his racing mind, on the eve of war.
The next morning, the sun rose high, illuminating the field of battle as Jon rode his men to their frontline. Seeing the army that stood between himself and you, Jon began to doubt whether he really could make it to the other side. That was, until a raven flew from one side of the field to the other. Upon one of the wildlings shooting it down, Jon was handed a small scroll of parchment tied with a torn black cord, a slightly crooked sword charm hanging from it, and a strand of your hair that fell with a wind that slowed time to a stop as Jon untied it with trembling hands. Seeing red, his eyes scanned the page, the words that were written on it, and the heart that he firmly believed still resided with you dropped to the field below him.
“She screamed terribly for you when I tried to take this from her. The bastard’s common whore screamed loudest for me, in the end. But fear not, she won’t be making a sound like that again, or any other for that matter. 
I’ll let you watch her rot, if you like. 
Come and see.”
The parchment fell from Jon Snow’s shaking fists, landing on the ground atop the hair that Ramsay Bolton had ripped from your head, but the necklace stayed clenched in Jon’s fist. It couldn’t be true, he told himself, he would feel it if you were no longer there, if you were not waiting for him anymore. As hard as it hammered in his chest, his heart felt the same way it did before, that it was not truly with him. It would have returned to him, were you not there to take care of it anymore, he thought. But deep within his soul, Jon knew that his heart would stay with you long after yours had stopped beating, for his heart had been with you when it had stopped beating in his own body. He truly believed that you were what had brought him back to this life in that sense. What would be the purpose in bringing his greatest motivation for winning such a battle, leading him to the field of war and then taking you from him. It did not make sense, Jon thought, and used that to rationalize to himself that Ramsay Bolton was simply lying for the sake of distracting him. Little did Ramsay know, Jon’s mind was solely on you regardless of such a threat.
And as he unclenched his fists to tie the black cord at the back of his neck, icy gaze fixed on the form he recognised on the opposite side of the field, Jon Snow knew that he would make it through any number of men to punish the one that dared to take a single hair from your head.
The short lived hope of being able to save his younger brother, Rickon, only set Jon’s resolve further into stone. Through a sea of arrows, Jon Snow rode his horse until he was thrown from it, and then he stood. Arrows at his feet that stuck upright, having failed in harming him in a way that reassured him the Gods were on his side once more. And as he faced the army that charged towards him, a single man serving as the front line, Jon’s life flashed before his eyes. He saw your smile, and over the sound of horses and men, he heard your laugh, your call of his name. For the briefest moment, Jon swore he could see you standing at one of the windows of Winterfell in the distance, but the version of you remembered so fondly was years younger than the one that he was here to save. The emotional weight of the sword charm at his chest and your first letter to him folded in the pocket over his heart, made it difficult for him to breathe, and he knew that this was it. Nodding to himself, he unclasped the belt of his sword and unsheathed it, standing to face the wall of men that charged for him, knowing that regardless of whether Ramsay Bolton was telling the truth, you were still on the other side. If Jon Snow could not save you, he would still fight for the right to rescue what was left of you and ensure you were laid to rest in the way you deserved, with his journey’s end being at your side when this was all over. The fury with which he would fight for you was unchanged, because it was still you he was fighting for, it would always be you.
And he fought harder than he had ever fought in his life, ending more lives than he could count without any regard for the men they were, whether he had known them once. If they were standing on the path that led to you, Jon Snow did not know them anymore.
Before long, the bodies had formed a wall at his rear and a living blockade of flayed-man banners at every other side began closing in on Jon and the men that had followed him into battle. His mind raced, every step and every swing of his sword accompanied by the mantra of your name, his very reason for being. For a fraction of a second, suffocating beneath the weight of his own army, he wondered if dying for you then was the best outcome, if you truly were not waiting for him in the land of the living, it would be his one means of returning to you at long last. 
And then, the Eyrie’s horn sounded, with Sansa watching on from afar as they rode into battle for her, for you, for Winterfell. Many had told her the field of battle was no place for a woman, but Sansa would never sit back and let Jon fight for you on his own. She said she would finish this herself if she had to, and she did.
Bursting free from the trap that had been set by the enemy, with WunWun the giant on his left and his dear friend Tormund on his right, Jon Snow charged the field on foot with one deserter in his sights.
At the gates of Winterfell, WunWun took arrow after arrow, but crashed through the only barrier remaining between Jon and his home. Defeated and exhausted, the giant collapsed to his knees with a mighty yell, sharing a long glance with Jon at his side before falling forward. Wildlings rushed to surround him, protecting the giant from any further harm, and the blood soaked Snow stood before his greatest enemy.
“You suggested one-on-one combat, didnt you? I’ve reconsidered! I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.” Ramsay taunted, readying his bow.
And Jon lunged for a shield on the ground, raising it just in time to take the impact of the first arrow Ramsey fired, then the second and the third. None dared to break Jon’s stride before he reached Ramsay and slammed the shield into him, knocking him to the ground. Like a feral animal, Jon Snow jumped on him, the fury of an ancient dragon awaking from an age-old sleep burning in his veins, vision crimson with rage, knowing nothing except for your name, again and again and again, with every crunch of his fists against the red of Ramsay’s face.
It was only when Jon glanced up at Sansa that he was able to regain some composure, his chest heaving as he rose to his feet and stood over the sputtering Bolton bastard.
“You will never touch my sister again. And if you have harmed (Y/N) in the same way, if you have done her any disservice, if there is a fingerprint of yours on her, I’ll know, and I will relive the joy of your death in every dream I have for the rest of my days.” Jon Snow seethed, the flayed-man banner falling from the walls of Winterfell as its children finally returned home.
Running to his side, Ghost began licking at Jon’s palm, and Jon turned to him, crouching down and staring into the direwolf’s eyes.
“Find her, Ghost, take me to her.” He pleaded, not truly understanding how much his companion could comprehend, but knowing the second the beast took off inside the castle that Ghost understood exactly what had been asked of him.
With the spark of you reignited within him, Jon hurried after the white, blood spattered direwolf, your voice in his head calling out to him, growing more urgent with each whisper.
In the darkness of your cell, you rock yourself, your arms wrapped around your knees, attempting to tune out the noise from beyond the confinement of your cage. A large thud against the door sends a shock through your shivering form and you suck in a sharp breath, squeezing your eyes shut and focussing on the first memory you can grab at, deep in your subconscious. 
“It was only a dream, (Y/N), it’s alright.” Jon’s hushed whisper reaches you, both so much younger than you are now.
“The fire, it was so-” Your younger voice was panicked, sobs catching in your throat as Jon’s arms squeezed you.
“You are safe, I promise. I’ve got you.” 
Another thud at your prison door pulls you back to the present and you shake your head rapidly, desperate to lock yourself away in the memory of being in your best friend’s arms again, the safest place in the world that you had come to know. If you focus hard enough, you can almost feel them around you. Almost hear his soft voice in your ears, comforting you, lulling you back to sleep. 
A final thud against the door sends burning light into the room and you squeeze your eyes shut harder, shaking your head and burying your face in your knees.
“It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass.” You whimper to yourself, over and over again in an attempt to reassure yourself.
Large hands on your shoulders cause you to snap your head up, eyes wide and wild with fear and anger, but no tears blur them, you refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“LET GO OF ME, GET AWAY!” You scream, trying to back away from him, but already having your back to the wall beside the leg of the bed that you are chained to.
The hands leave your shoulders and raise in surrender, either side of a blurry, bloody face that your terrified eyes can’t yet focus on. 
“(Y/N), (Y/N), it’s me, look at me, it’s your Jon.” A familiar voice reaches your ears, and your wild mind halts to a sudden stop, the fog clearing and allowing you to see the face before you.
Jon watches your rigid, frightened expression falter, before it softens completely, his fractured heart at seeing you so afraid, healing at the recognition now in your eyes.
Very slowly, he takes ahold of your hands and brings them to his blood spattered face, gently holding them there and staring into your eyes.
“It’s your Jon, it’ll always be your Jon.” He tells you, relief flooding through him at being able to say such a thing to you, alive and safe again. 
And after everything, after the countless days and nights spent surviving in darkness, locking yourself away in memories to avoid being mentally present in the regular acts of torture you were forced to endure, only when holding Jon Snow’s face in your hands and knowing you are truly safe, do you finally let the tears you’ve been burying fill your eyes. 
Without sparing a second, Jon shuffles forwards and pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and softly shushing you as you sob into his chest. Covering your ears to shield them, not wanting to scare you, Jon yells out for someone, a ginger haired wildling running into the room with wide eyes at the sight of his friend, reunited with the love he had only heard him mention in moments when it wasn’t too painful for him to do so. With a nod, Tormund leaves the room and passes the order given to him by Jon amongst the wildlings, and between them they turn Winterfell on its head in search of the key for your chain. 
For the time it takes them to find it, you stay safely nestled in Jon’s arms, cries slowing to a stop, allowing you to listen to his heartbeat, a sound that you had not realized just how much you had missed. 
“D-Did…” You sigh, humiliated by your loss of ability to talk after being silent or screaming in an act of survival for so long. Jon squeezes your form gently in his arms, encouraging you to try again, he’ll wait, he’ll wait forever if he has to. Taking a deep breath, you clear your throat.
“Did you kill him?”
Jon takes a moment to reply. “Very nearly. Had Sansa not stopped me, I think I would have broken every knuckle I’ve got before I could have stopped myself.” He pauses. “The two of you should decide what to do with him, but you don’t need to worry about that now.”
Removing his arms from you briefly, Jon moves his hands to the back of his neck to untie the necklace. At the loss of contact, you lift your head from his chest to meet his eyes, and upon him opening his hand out to show you the necklace that had been so cruelly taken from you, you gasp, holding the base of your neck where it had previously resided. Turning away from Jon, he smiles softly and moves the necklace to your front, carefully tying it at the back of your neck. Feeling it back in place, you breathe deeply and settle back into Jon’s arms.
“That was all he took from me, you know.” 
Jon frowns. “What do you mean?”
“He tried to take more, but I bit him through his trousers, so he has been…out of commission, shall we say, ever since.” The subtle tone in your voice is one Jon is so certain he recognises as smug.
Kissing your temple, he can’t wipe the smile from his face. “I am sorry that you had to do such a thing, but I am so proud of you, all the same.”
Sansa enters the room then, Ghost at her side and key in hand. She gasps at the sight of you, running to you and falling to her knees. Taking ahold of your hand and passing the key to Jon, she closes her eyes in a pained blink.
“I am so, so sorry that I left you here, (Y/N). Can you ever forgive me?” Her eyes open then, searching yours and seeing only a smile on your face.
Freeing your other wrist from the chain it had been confined in, you twist and stretch it before placing your other hand over hers.
“There’s nothing to apologize for and nothing to forgive.”
Sansa shares a look with Jon, both of them with knowing smiles, as those had been his very words when Sansa had been apologizing for her treatment of him as a child when she had not long arrived at the Wall.
“You really are the best of us, (Y/N).” Sansa chuckles in disbelief. “It’s about time we got you cleaned up and out of those rags, too. I’m sure Jon will see to that, and I’ll get a room ready for the two of you.” With a teasing smile, she rises to her feet and all but floats out of the room, leaving you and Jon with flushed faces.
Busying yourself with greeting Ghost and rubbing behind his ears, you try your hardest to distract yourself from the butterflies that have burst to life in your stomach after so many years of dormancy. 
Clearing his throat, Jon taps your leg. “She’s right, y’know, we’d best get you cleaned up. There’s someone I’d like you to meet, when you feel up to it.”
Raising an eyebrow at him, you shakily bring yourself to stand, Jon’s hands holding your waist to keep you steady. “Who?”
At that, Jon Snow gives you the first dazzling smile that you have seen in Gods only know how long. “All in good time, my Lady.”
In your attempts to take your first steps on wobbling legs, Jon swallows the lump that forms in his throat, seeing the strong person that he adores more than any other, reduced to such physical weakness. If his hands were not on your waist, they would be returning to Ramsay’s face in several more punches for good measure.
Sensing your frustration and embarrassment at your own lack of mobility, Jon doesn’t hesitate to swing you up into his arms, carrying you like the bride he had always wished was his. 
“I take it I don’t have to ask you to retract the bedding ceremony from our marriage at this time?” You tease in reference to the thought that the two of you share in being carried through the castle in such a way, bringing a laugh from Jon that he feels he hasn’t heard from himself in as long as you have.
“Even in more ideal circumstances, I’d never let that happen. Wouldn’t be right to break a man’s jaw on our wedding night.” He says, eyes never leading yours as he traverses the winding staircases of the castle he has not ventured since he was a boy, but are etched in his memory regardless.
Giggling and patting his chest, you shake your heard bashfully. “Good to know the Night’s Watch didn’t remove your chivalry, Lord Jon.” You gasp. “Gods! That really is your title now, as Lord Commander, isn’t it?”
Having not had a smile on his face for this length of time in many years, Jon feels an ache forming in the corners of his mouth, but doesn’t care at all. “Aye, I was, for a time, but my watch has ended.”
It’s then, a confused frown that Jon remembers well returns to your face, years older than he had last seen it, but no less endearing to him. “But...your watch only ends as a dead man?”
Jon nods as he descends the final staircase and kicks an all too familiar door open. “It’s a long story, one for another time.”
You want to question him further, but when your peripheral vision registers where Jon has carried you, you turn your head to look around, your jaw dropping.
Though the room is dark, you recognise every corner enshrouded in the shadows. The large and ancient communal bath that sits atop the hot spring that is Winterfell’s source of heated water, that none use in favor of their own personal baths, but had been your preferred method of cleanliness ever since you and Jon had discovered the dark and “secret” room when you were children. Placing you back on your feet gently, one of his hands on your waist and the other cradling your elbow to steady you, Jon’s gaze stays locked on your expression at his side, remembering this place with as much fondness as you do. 
“This is about to be a bath for the ages. I will stay in this water for a week, at least, ‘til I am but a shriveled prune and you will have no choice but to drag me out against my will.” You tell him, tone so serious and words so humorous they pull another hearty laugh from Jon.
“We’d best get that week-long-bath started, then. I shan’t keep you and your heart’s true desire apart any longer.” He plays along, making you smile as you step in front of him, nodding to yourself.
Taking his cue, Jon lets go of you and turns around, expecting to give you the privacy to strip free of the filthy rags you have been kept in and stepping into the water to conceal yourself, until he hears you hiss in pain.
“Jon, I…I don’t intend to make you uncomfortable, but I do not think I can take this off without help.” You admit, embarrassed for too many reasons to list. 
“It would cause me no discomfort at all, but are you certain you are comfortable with me…assisting you?” Jon asks in a soft voice, careful with his choice of words.
“Of course. You could never make me uncomfortable, Jon.” You respond without delay.
Needing no further instruction, Jon Snow takes a deep breath and turns around. With your back to him, you raise your arms and wait for trembling hands to lift the hem of your dress - if you could call a ripped potato sack such a thing - up and over your head. Dropping the fabric to the floor, Jon immediately turns around again, face burning.
“Thank you.” Your voice is meak, filled with shame over your true love seeing you bare for the first time, filthy, bloody and bruised.
All the while, Jon Snow is trying to remember how to breathe while the mental image of your naked form imprints itself into his flailing mind. The dirt had not even crossed his mind. Your injuries, of course, brought him sadness and anger, but the triumphant emotion was one he is not willing to admit, even to himself.
Taking slow and careful steps, you reach the water’s edge and lower yourself to sit on it, slipping your legs into the water and breathing a sigh of relief as the heat envelopes you immediately, inviting you in until your body is completely submerged and at peace. Every ache within your beaten body is soothed and you are quick to scrub the dirt from yourself, to be clean of your days caged and the memories that clung to your skin like the dried blood of your wounds. 
Hearing the gentle slosh of the water, Jon settles as he realizes you are no longer standing behind him. Standing up straight, he fixes his gaze on the closed door and decides that he will keep watch. As you raise your head from the water, you see his silhouette standing at the door and smile, unable to withdraw the connection your mind makes between this picture and the one you saw so many times as a girl, of a much younger Jon Snow standing as he is now, shorter then, but just as determined to keep watch while you were vulnerable in the water. 
“Y’know, you could do with a wash, yourself.” You note aloud.
Jon chuckles airily. “Aye, you’re probably right.”
Smirking in advance of your devious plan to make Jon blush again, you glide over to the edge of the water and rest your arms on the cold stone. “Join me then.”
And you watch in absolute glee as Jon’s form turns rigid at your suggestion. He does not answer.
“Jon?” You call in a singsong voice.
He clears his throat. “Hm?”
“As grotesque as my body is in its current state, I did not imagine you would ever reject an offer to join me?” You tease, only half joking.
Jon’s reaction is visceral. In a second, he is standing over you with a harsh frown, having had no thought in the effect the sight of you below him in such a way would have on him, too focussed on his emotional response to the ridiculousness in what you had said.
“I cannot even bring myself to say such a word in association to you, the thought alone would be criminal. Do not allow yourself to think that I could see you as anything less than the most beautiful person to ever exist, as you have always been and will always be to me.” 
You have never heard Jon so serious in all your life. His words and the sincerity with which they are spoken renders you speechless for a moment as you stare up at him. 
“Won’t you let me share such a view, of you, then?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.
And after a moment’s eternity of silence, as though practicing some ancient dance, the two of you step apart from each other and turn your backs, neither of you able to face the tension a moment longer.
The sound of Jon’s armor hitting the stone floor sends goosebumps erupting across the tops of your shoulders that peak above the water, your heartbeats ringing in your ears almost in unison. Even when you hear the splash of his body entering the water, you do not dare turn to face him. As quickly as he can, he fully submerges himself in the water and scrubs the blood and dirt from a battle won. Then, Jon Snow stands, slowly wading through the water until he stands behind you. It is your turn to take a deep breath as you turn to face him, your eyes drinking in the sight of his clean face, the scars on his chest sitting distorted beneath the water, and to take his mind away from the pain of what you assume are his battlescars, your hands lift from the water to trace the line of his beard with an admiring smile. 
“I always knew you’d suit a beard.” You compliment him, easing his nerves as he laughs, gracing you with another charming smile.
Your hands continue their journey around the back of his neck, feeling the wet, inky curls of his hair there and sighing deeply.
“Truly, you have the best hair in the seven kingdoms.”
And Jon laughs the hardest he has in longer than he can remember, throwing his head back and shaking it as though emphasizing the hair that you have never failed to shower in praise, making you laugh with him.
Taking ahold of your hands at the back of his neck, Jon brings them to his lips and places feathery light kisses against your knuckles, holding your gaze. 
“I have missed you more than words can say.” He whispers. 
You raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that your excuse for not writing me any, then?”
Jon sighs, closing his eyes and hanging his head in shame. “I am so sorry.”
Chuckling, you lift his chin with your finger until you can see into his eyes again. “Considering you won a battle for me today, I think I can forgive you for not having time to read my letters.”
Jon smiles at you gratefully. “I read them all before coming to get you, I swear it.”
“And I believe you, as I always have. I believed you’d read them, I believed you would rescue me, and both rang true in the end. It seems my faith is safe.” You beam up at him.
“Your faith in what?” He questions.
“My Jon.” You tell him, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and the moment he hears it, he agrees that it is. 
Unable to resist you a moment longer, Jon’s arms wrap around your waist and pull your body flush against his, lips falling on yours in a kiss softer than a summer breeze. Briefly, he falters, wondering if perhaps he has acted on his instincts far too soon, but then he feels your fingers running through his curls, pulling him into a deeper kiss than he had assumed you would be ready for, but you have been waiting far too long for this. 
Only when the two of you recall the human need to breathe do you have the strength to pull away from each other. But Jon’s lips chase after you, leaving a trail of kisses from the corners of your mouth to your chin, your cheeks, your temples, your neck, with pleading whispers in between.
“Will you be mine, my wife- my queen, should the north call for a king? I cannot lose you again, I cannot deny myself the dream of us anymore.”
And in equally flustered, desperate whispers, you answer. “Yes to all and yes to any. I have always been yours, Jon.”
For a time, it feels like the two of you are the only people in existence, the world having stopped around you, the Gods having paused time to allow you to hold each other for your own eternity. It is not the time for love beyond a passionate kiss, both of your bodies need to heal and rest after the battles you have fought and won, together, to get back to each other. To simply hold each other, after so many years apart, is the greatest joy either of you can ask for.
But, time cannot be slowed forever. Soon enough, there is a knock at the door of the bath and in a wild panic that has you in fits of giggles, Jon scrambles from the water and grabs his armor, holding it over himself to answer the door to the young squire that has kindly delivered fresh clothes and towels for the two of you to dry yourselves with. Nodding and thanking the squire, Jon takes the pile from him and closes the door, turning back to face you with a sheepish expression and only seeing the humor in it when he finds you wheezing against the side of the bath.
Once dry and dressed, the two of you make your way to the door, pinky fingers intertwined between you out of habit. Until your boot steps on something that does not sound like the stone floor and you frown, bending down to pick up a folded piece of parchment, worn at the edges and ink fading in the handwriting that you recognise to be your own as you unfold it. Turning to face Jon, you meet his gaze and know you do not need to say anything as you fold the parchment back into the neat square in which you had found it and slot it the pocket of his new,  clean shirt. Holding your hand over it, you lean up to kiss his cheek and, intertwining your pinky fingers again, you ascend the stairs together and step out into the courtyard of Winterfell. There, your eyes immediately lock onto the sight of the immense form of the hunched over giant, sitting against one of the stone walls as some wildlings watch over him. The child within you gasps, your hands covering your mouth in delight as you look between Jon and the giant frantically.
Laughing endearingly at you, Jon gestures to the giant and walks you over to him. “(Y/N), I’d like you to meet Wun Wun.”
Unable to tear your gaze from the giant, you approach him slowly. “Hello, Wun Wun, it’s…it’s been a dream of mine to meet someone like you, ever since I was a little girl.” Looking over him and his injuries, tears immediately sting your eyes. “I am so sorry that you got hurt, are you in pain? I can fetch you some milk of the poppy, if you like? Or fix up some stew for you?”
Wun Wun watches you with a frown that seems to be etched into his features, curious of you. Taking a few seconds, the giant processes what you have said, looks to Jon and then back to you.
“Snow princess.” His voice is like a tumbling boulder, thunderous and without the human pitch-difference that is associated with asking a question, but Jon understands what he is asking.
“(Y/N) would be my queen.” Jon clarifies, and Wun Wun blinks slowly.
“Snow Queen.” He attempts to maneuver his large form, but roars in protest at his own injuries.
Raising your arms, you attempt to stop him. “Please, don’t hurt yourself further!”
Jon remembers how Wun Wun had acted towards the Princess Shireen and takes a step forward. “You don’t need to kneel to us, Wun Wun, you are our friend, our equal. You bow to no-one, not anymore.”
Your eyes widen in realization of what the giant had been trying to do as he slumps back down with a large thud against the ground. 
Breathing deeply, Wun Wun looks at you. “Snow Queen.” He looks at Jon. “Snow.” Then lifts an arm and loosely gestures to both of you. “Friend.”
Jon scoffs playfully. “So (Y/N) is Queen, but I am just Snow?”
You grin at the giant, who acknowledges your expression with a thunderous laugh that is so loud it would hurt your ears, were you not enamored by the creature it comes from. 
“If she is not my queen, who’s queen is she?” Jon asks, bemused and hoping to catch out the giant, who considers the question for only a second before responding.
“Wun. Weg. Wun Dar Wun’s.” And despite how long it takes the giant to speak his full name, the impact of his own punchline hits just as hard, sending you into another wheezing fit of laughter while Jon shakes his head in disbelief. 
“Well, it seems both Wun Wun and I are yours, now.” Jon throws up his hands in dramatic surrender, causing you to laugh harder, the giant smiling at you fondly and Jon watching you with an adoring gaze, so relieved to see you relaxed and safe enough to laugh again.
When Jon asks you if you feel ready to eat, you nod, but request that you eat together, with Wun Wun, to ensure he eats and gains some energy to help his body heal, too. Naturally, Jon does not deny you of the endearing request and the two of you return to the giant with your own bowls of fresh stew and an extra large one for your new best friend. The three of you sit and talk, taking time to listen to Wun Wun’s responses, which take a lot longer than general conversations with a human would, but you don’t mind one bit. With every word he speaks, you are utterly mesmerized, having already pinned the creature as every bit as incredible as the giants from your favorite tales as a child. 
Though it is not late in the evening by the time you finish your supper, you are too exhausted from the events of the day to stay awake much longer. Having not walked around for any length of time in so long, your limbs are too weak to stand on your own again, Jon having to help you back to your feet with an arm around your waist.
Waving to Wun Wun, you give him a tired smile. 
“Goodnight Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, I wish you pleasant dreams.” 
The giant gives you a smile that Jon has not seen him give anyone else. “Friend. Sleep good.”
With that, Jon begins leading you back into the warmth of the castle, walking you along the path to what had been his bedroom as a boy, without thinking of what the room could be now, his direwolf trailing behind the two of you. Thankfully, it seems that Sansa was thoughtful in the room she requested be prepared for you all, as Jon’s old bedroom door is open, displaying the candlelit room and the freshly made bed. The two of you share a chuckle in disbelief as you enter the room, Ghost instantly finding a patch of rug on the ground to curl up on and Jon walking you over to the bed to sit down on it before he leaves you to close the door and draw the curtains. 
Falling against the mattress, you groan. 
“I think this ordeal has aged me 20 years and perhaps it is time we retire. I could finally let Sansa teach me to sew and you could herd sheep with Ghost, what do you think?” 
At the mention of his name and in confusion at your suggestion, Ghost lifts and tilts his head to the side.
Jon laughs as he joins you, landing on his back beside you, the mattress bouncing slightly beneath you. “I think that sounds like a wonderful plan. Only, I’m afraid, my Lady, there is another war to be fought.”
You turn your head to face him, seeing the simultaneous amusement and seriousness playing in his eyes. “Surely, you jest. Against who?”
Jon sighs. “An ever growing army of the dead, unfortunately.”
Throwing your arms up and against the mattress above your head in a dramatic display of defeat, you scoff. “But of course! Winter is coming, I should have known.”
Jon smiles at you, having never felt so at ease when discussing the threat that looms over the entire world as he knows it and marveling at the wonder that is you. “Aye, but for now-” He stands to his feet, swings you up in his arms, kicks the bedcover from the mattress and lays you down on the sheet. “-we are free to rest.”
Shuffling to remove your boots and watching as Jon removes his to nudge them under the bed, you use the last of your strength to move over and allow space for him to slide in beside you. 
Turning to face each other, you snuggle beneath the bedcovers and share a smile, like the giddy teenagers that had been lost in your memories until now. 
“When is the wedding due, then, dear almost-husband?” You ask, amused but genuinely curious as to when the two of you will have the chance to arrange such an event.
“Whenever you like, dear almost-lady-wife.” Jon laughs airily, taking hold of your hands beneath the covers and staring into your eyes. “How do you feel?”
You take a deep breath, knowing that the time to set aside your humor would come soon enough. “It is…difficult to put into words. Deliriously happy to be with you and Sansa, to have our home back and to be safe again, of course, but there is still a dark cloud that looms over me and I cannot ignore it. At any moment, I feel as though the rain could start to pour and I could drown in it, lose myself to the fear. In truth, the thought of trying to sleep is terrifying.” 
Jon nods slowly, understanding you completely, as he always has. “However dark that cloud gets, however hard the rain falls and however scared you are to sleep, I will be here. To show you the sun again, shield you from the rain and guard you through your dreams, I will be right here, and I will never leave you again. I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”
Tears threaten to blur the perfect vision of the candlelit Jon Snow, but you are quick to blink them away, removing your hands from his to run your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, until his forehead rests against yours. “And in return, I swear to protect you from whatever horrid memories plague you from the time when we have been apart, to hold you through them and remind you that no matter what, you are a good man, the best man, and the man that I love more than anything.”
Closing his eyes, Jon Snow takes a deep breath, and you do the same, sharing the silence and darkness in a peace that neither of you ever thought you would find again. 
“Can it be that this night, I’ll dream of you and wake to find you here?” You whisper.
Jon sniffles, having not let his relief and love for you truly overwhelm him until now. “Aye, this night and every night thereafter.” 
Gently tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb, you lean forward to close the space between your lips. “To be yours is to live nothing but a dream, Jon Snow.”
And for the second time since reconnecting to the rest of his soul, Jon Snow loses himself to you, falling into you and cradling every part of you with such care, having craved every second of these moments with you that he never thought he could have beyond the land of dreams. The two of you had lived separate lives for long enough, the Gods had no choice but to force you back to each other in an act of fate that defied everything Jon thought he could believe in, except for you. Every foe he fought, every task he took on, his first thought would be that in some distant way, he would be saving you from something, because he would be doing so from the frontline of your heart. To be yours was the only victory he truly felt. 
——————
taglist: @otteropera @neymarjrrwife @oliviabelova @nyotamalfoy
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dronebiscuitbat · 5 months ago
Text
Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 18)
N was peacefully in sleep mode, wrapped around something he inherently wanted to protect, whatever it was, it was pleasantly cooler than the rest of his body, and he found himself bringing it closer to him.
“En! En! En!” A small little voice chirped into his audio receptors, but even still he remained in sleep mode, where all that was active was his most base code.
That voice was no threat, it was the opposite, it meant love and protection, it was someone who belonged with him, no need to panic, no need to disrupt recharge.
His programming pulled the source closer.
Love. Protect. Mine. Those keyphrases ran on repeat within the part of his system that was always active, always ready to immediately jump into action even when he was asleep.
“Shhh… Tera let your dad sleep…” A second, very sleepy voice met his audio receptors, sending more code running through that system.
Freind. Partner. Love. Protect. Safe.
Still no reason to disrupt charge. Partner not in distress. Offspring not in distress.
“Zi!” He felt something shuffle against him, and the sudden removal of the weight in his arms, finally he snapped out of sleep mode, visor and eyelights popping on all at once in a sudden outburst of conscious thought.
Tera-
“Huh…?” He asked noone, blinking around dumbly, his eyes landed on Uzi, who was currently filling yet another bottle with oil. Tera was unplugged, rolling excitedly in her arms as she impatiently waited for her feed.
“Sorry, I tried to let you sleep.” She said sheepishly, before finishing what she was doing and rolling back down her hoodie, she rubbed her side, apparently all the attention was beginning to make it sore.
“S’okies…” He slurred, still groggy. Dang, what background process was running that had him this out of it?
“Can't believe you have a full size bed and we both used the couch.” She grumbled as she slowly squeezed the oil into Tera’s port, he blushed, oh yeah, they'd cuddled all night…
“Hey the past week's been crazy, you can't blame me for falling asleep.” He defended, not giving into the fact he'd been having a little trouble sleeping without her there.
“Fair.”
Uzi looked disheveled, like she'd just lost a fight or crash landed, her beanie was crooked and her hoodie was lopsided, there were lines under her eyelights that indicated poor sleep.
“How did you sleep?” He asked on instinct, stretching as he splayed out on the couch, he wouldn't lie, it was incredibly comfortable.
“Meh… weird dream.” That was typical for Uzi at this point, “weird” probably didn't describe them very well “terrifying” and “prophetic” was probably a better description.
“Wanna talk about it?” He asked, only for her to yawn and shake her head, she would put it up on her conspiracy board when she was next home, it was way easier to sort out that way.
“I'm good.”
N looked slightly concerned, he hoped she wasn't bottling in any emotions, she tended to be good at that.
“I got a message from Thad?” She suddenly said, although it was clear she was talking more to herself, N felt his core flip at the mention of the drones name.
Usi had just checked her system messages (and they were nearly always empty) and found several green colored messages awaiting in her inbox.
WID-Thad: Hey Zi, throwing party this wknd, ur still coming right?
WID-Thad: It's gonna b outside. Don't worry, @ nite
WID-Thad: Or r u gonna need a babysitter fr the kid?
The kid? Oh… oh no.
“Thad knows about Tera…” Uzi whispered, living one of her greatest nightmares, how- how did he find out?
“How'd he find out?” N asked as if he read her mind. She wasn't in the headspace to think about that, not when Thad, the least gossipy person she knew, knew about Tera.
“I don't know! I thought I was doing well in hiding it!” She pulled at her hair, eyelights hollow and the feeling of extreme anxiety crawling up her mechanical spine.
Ohnonononononono….
“I mean it's not all bad? What did he say exactly?” N could immediately tell she had started to freak out, and took Tera in his arms, standing up just to put a hand on Uzi's shoulder.
“Uh… if I needed a-uh babysitter to come to his party?” She tried to breathe, maybe it was some sort of weird, oddly coincidental misunderstanding?
“I mean… I would…” He admitted, but that made sense, he was the one who adopted her, that was the main name on those papers, not her.
“Yeah but he asked me that. I'm not- at least not officially!” She stammered, trying to both claim ownership and avoid it at the same time, two juxtaposing desires, to be seen as edgy and mean so that she could protect herself, and all soft and gushy and parental, bragging about her kid.
It was all very confusing.
“It's okay! Maybe it's just Thad?” N offered, smiling like he really, truly meant it.
It was not just Thad.
When Uzi left N's apartment later that day to track down Thad and figure out exactly where he'd found out from. She'd been approached by drones she didn't even know, asking her how the baby was and how N was doing. Like they totally didn't ignore her existence for her entire life.
The entire colony seemed to know. N had just brought Tera home, how has it spread this quickly! And the assumptions! Several drones had asked how long her and N had been together, one had even asked how well her and N's code fit together.
How was she supposed to answer!? Other than how she did, which was a gruff “Bite me, none of your business.” Before she continued her warpath to Thad’s room, a blush slowly but surely growing everytime she was stopped, congratulated, or questioned.
When she did eventually get to the door, she pounded on it with a fury. How the hell did everyone know so soon?!
“Zi? Woah… you look pissed…” Thad opened the door first with a confused smile, then extreme nervousness, glancing from side to side and backing up slowly.
She shoved him wordlessly into his apartment (which was littered with sports memorabilia) and followed him inside, unleashing her tail to close the door behind her with a aggressive smack.
“How the fuck did you find out about Tera?” She asked, so serious that Thad's eyelights gained a few extra lines underneath them.
“Tera? Is that the kids name? It's cute!” He replied, clearly trying to appease her.
Her tail came up to point at him, saliva dripping from it's needle-like teeth, each drip causing his carpet to singe slightly. It's hot organic breath blowing over his visor.
“Wasn't what I asked Thad.” She put a hand on her hip. She wasn't really controlling her tail right now, but she did agree with it's sentiment, less small talk- let's get to the point.
“Right! Right! No need to get the tail involved!” He gulped, backing away from her tail slowly, putting both his hands up in surrender.
“I overheard your Dad talking to some of the WDF! That and Lizzy said she saw you and N walking into his new apartment with a baby! I drew conclusions?!” He stammered out rather loudly. Sweat appearing and falling rapidly down his visor.
“Okay sure, but why does everyone know!” She exclaimed, raising both her hands in irritation and stomping angerly. If it was just Thad she may not have even minded, but it wasn't was it, it was freaking everyone!
“Lizzy is a blabbermouth and your Dad isn't much better…?” He suggested, still attempting to get away from her irate tail, which had begun chasing him as much as it could while still attached to her.
“I didn't say shit Zi! I knew better!” He exclaimed, looking more and more freaked out of the fleshy appendage as it had somewhat backed him up against the wall.
She sighed, groaning as she put her tail away. Of course it was freaking Lizzy!, she didn't even blame her dad for this one, dispite his everything, he kept family matters pretty tight lipped- he probably hadn't said much.
“Dammit… Sorry Thad, I just… didn't want anyone else to find out about uh… her.” Her voice became… not soft but no longer as aggro.
“Hey it's cool. Didn't think you'd ever want kids though, did N wear you down or something?” He chuckled, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, looking at her with an eyebrow raised.
“Uh! No! She's- She's not mine. Er, not mine mine. She's adopted, and N adopted her, not me.” She explained, violet breaching her defenses as she stammered over her words. Dammit not now! Not in front of Thad!
“Oooooh, yeah that… that makes way more sense. He always seemed more the type then you.”
“Y-yeah…” She couldn't help it when her voice lost it's edge. Even when she tried to hide it.
“Lizzy took a picture though, she kinda does look like… yours.” He sent her a photo over short-range, and she immediately brought it up to her view.
And yeah, he was absolutely right.
It wasn't just the fact that Tera had purple eyelights as well (it's not like that was uncommon.) But her and N were looking absolutely enamored with her, she was even gripping onto his arm as they were walking to get a better look.
She uh… did not remember doing that.
She looked back up at Thad, who was smiling warily, trying to look supportive but also looking incredibly nervous.
“Uuuuuuuuugh” A blush had taken over her face again, this time impossible to hide.
So that's how everyone knew… there was a picture floating around. Photo evidence of her being soft and squishy with a baby.
“Uh Zi…?” Thad looked at her with an amused smile, quickly recovering from her threats once noticing her bravado had deflated.
“My life is over…” She replied, looking like she was suffering deeply, her arms drooped to the floor.
“Thats… probably overdramatic.” He chuckled, stepping closer into her personal space, he hadn't been scared of Uzi, not really. He wasn't sure why, but he'd never got the impression she ever wanted to actually hurt anyone as much as just scare them. He knew she could, and the tail was intimidating, but want to? Nah.
“Theres photo evidence of me being-ah!” She yelped, she was also always… dramatic, seemingly overanimated at times, some people found it off-putting, he found it endearing. A nice juxtaposition to his eternal mellow.
“Of you… being, motherly?” He asked with a smirk as she seemed to melt with embarrassment.
“Yes!”
“I don't think that's a bad thing. I mean, has it been bad for you so far?” He asked, cocking his head. Surely it hadn't, she looked happy in that picture, happier then he'd ever seen her before.
“Well uh, no…” She admitted, the people who had stopped her had all been relatively nice… not as mocking as she'd expected.
“I think it looks good on you! You can't be edgy all the time.” He replied, this time a wide smile on his face, honestly, Thad had known about Uzi's soft center for a long while. He had known her right before Nori died, she'd been… much sweeter then. Soft spoken but not shy.
“Yes I can! Bite me!” And there was the shield… oh well.
“Sorry. You're trying to help.” Oh. Now that was new, the Uzi he knew would never apologize for anything, much less for saying “Bite me.”
“No issue. So are you and N…?
“Uh… no, we're not… I'm just helping him take care of Tera, and uh… speaking of.” The way she stammered and sputtered told him a lot. Mostly that she was still hiding something that's for damn sure, but he didn't want to pry.
“Riiiiight…” He said as if he didn't quite believe her, and he didn't. There was no hiding it in that picture. Hell, they looked like they were married, not even just dating, with the soft looks they both had.
“Okay now actually Bite Me!” She shouted as she stomped off, but Thad stuck his head out of his doorway to shout back.
“You better be still coming!”
She grumbled all the way back to N's apartment, still being stopped every once in awhile to be asked questions, either about Tera, or about her relationship with N.
While her first instinct was to still snap at them, she found herself actively beginning to surpress it. None of these people were asking out of any sort of malice or trying to be mean. Some of them even looked genuinely happy for her.
So she answered them, possibly not in the best or friendliest way (her voice was still rough and a little rude.) But she did clear up a few things here or there.
“No N and I didn't have a baby. She's adopted.”
“No, N's on the paperwork, I'm just listed as a caretaker.”
And when she did reach N's apartment and opened the door. She found N on the floor, helping Tera roll around to chase her toy, a wide grin on his face as a peel of laugher escaped his adoptive daughter each time she was boosted forward gently by his hand.
His eyes snapped up to meet her and they immediately softened, and Uzi had to supress another blush.
Now that she knew he liked her, the signs were rather obvious.
“What did you find out?” He asked, cute little head cock and all, she sighed, sending him the picture.
He blinked, before his face seemed to explode with color, taking a gander over the picture he couldn't help but think how much they both looked like parents.
“O-oh.” Was the only thing that came from his mouth, he look another look at Uzi, who was obviously far tenser than usual, she looked at him, and with only a beat of hesitation, threw herself onto his lap, wrapping her arms around him.
“Uh! Uzi-wha-” He stammered, was something wrong? She didn't typically initiate hugs like this unless she was extremely upset.
“Shut up and hold me goober.” Was all she said, holding him gently. He couldn't see the blush or the smile on her face that had appeared after she'd heard his core skip over a cycle when she'd made contact.
“Y-yeah okay…”
Next ->
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lost-estradiographer · 1 month ago
Text
I
know that voting for the status quo sucks.
To say it "sucks" massively understates the exact amount of suffering that exists under the status quo, an amount that I acknowledge I am too privileged to ever fully grasp.
I cannot magically provide some viable third-party candidate just barely a month before the election. I cannot solve Israel/Palestine Conflict that has haunted the world for over 70 years. I am a 29-year old transgender woman working her way through her own mental illnesses, trauma, and an undergraduate degree. I was never going to be the one to solve anything here.
All I can tell you is that regardless of whether you vote or not, there will be a presidential election. It's going to be a shitshow, regardless. Whether you vote or not, there will be a different president in January. Voting for the status quo may not be directly in your interests.
We had four years of Trump and we are still trying to unfuck ourselves from that. The beginning of my antagonistic relationship with the government was protesting in the streets of DC under his administration. I've fled from the Metro PD. I've put on a change of clothes and slipped out the back door of a gay sports bar.
Fucking vote.
Fucking vote.
Fucking vote.
Honestly, I
I don't want to see this voter apathy shit anymore.
People are going to keep dying under any president. Any president can, and probably wil, be morally culpable for the deaths of innocent people, both in the country and abroad. Carter might be the last president we had that wasn't overtly a war criminal and we still had foreign civilians killed by U.S. military involvement under the Carter admin.
I'm torn between asking you to block me, or asking you to message me, if you're taking the route of voter apathy. I'll tell you right away, here and now, that I probably don't have a solution to whatever problem is keeping you from voting for Harris. I can't even solve my own problems right, tbh. The government isn't really here for me, either.
But there isn't going to be some sort of miraculous revolution that results in The Ending Where Everyone Lives. If there's a revolution, then supply chains will falter and children and the infirm will die of preventable diseases and infections and complications in hospitals that would have otherwise been able to easily deal with such things. That's what happens in a revolution. I'm after the long-term idea where Humanity as a species lives. I'm after the route where we don't have an ending, we keep going.
Fucking vote, because exactly one of the two leading presidential candidates believes climate change is real, and it is the single greatest threat to all life on earth. We have spent the past 250 years, not just playing God with the environment, but actively creating an ecological niche in which future generations of humanity must continue to play God with the environment, dragging it back to a healthy place drop by drop, inch by inch, a degree at a time.
Or, I mean, don't vote. Either way, we'll all die at some point. Perhaps some of us will be lucky enough to die standing by our principles.
Those lucky few will become soil one day, just like I will.
I am begging you on my hands and knees to fucking vote, though, because our options are The Status Quo vs. Worse. That's
That's it.
There is no door number three right now. Our system, our flawed and broken and imbalanced and unjust system, does not accommodate for a third door. Whether you vote or not, you will be dragged through either Door 1 or Door 2 with all of humanity, as we whirl through the cosmos upon our tiny little speck of dust. The only other legitimate option is to allow oneself to become trampled; to become soil early. I don't say legitimate to give this option legitimacy, but to make clear that again, there is no door three. Door three is a casket. A one-way bed.
I didn't vote in 2016, and I'm hoping that you'll vote for the status quo this time, because that's the route that gives me the best odds of having a long and healthy life to regret my failure through inaction.
Just please
Fucking vote.
Or again, if you're taking the apathy route, probably just save me the time of blocking you, because you're not going to magically pull a viable third-party candidate out of your pocket less than six weeks before the election.
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findmeinthefallair · 2 years ago
Text
Therapist Analysis of Hunter's Mental Health in For the Future
Ok, getting down to business and writing this meta at last..(delayed thanks to physical health issues that manifested)..
Throughout most of the ep, leading up to the climactic scenes, we see a new kind of manner in which Hunter is responding to psychological pain, drastically different from what we got used to seeing:
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I don't think we've seen him this irritable ever before. There is 99% no recoiling, retreating or shrinking back in his body language except here:
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Instead, we see him marching forward, almost like how an animal makes itself look bigger to scare others off, with a singled-minded laser-like focus. But he is in deep anguish.
In addition, he maintains physical distance, unlike his usual self who would want to check on everyone and make a physical effort to feel like he is part of the group. His own mind is more than enough of a rollercoaster to handle in the wake of bereavement, which is why he's keeping the others at arm's length to not be overwhelmed:
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(..sorry, I miss the chicken onesie and obviously want to upload 30 pics of him in this post too lol)
The fear of Belos himself, has become more like a fear of feeling the emotional pain caused by Belos, if that makes sense. Stopping Belos is all that matters to him now because his new greatest fear is the pain of bereavement related to losing Flapjack, and that it would be in vain.
It's a crazy massive shift in what he's most afraid of.
He has a strong sense of urgency but it's a world away from how he wanted his thoughts to be as far away from Belos as possible, back in Labyrinth Runners. Instead, Belos is now occupying pretty much every thought he has:
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and jfc, I felt so sad seeing this shift: because it reminded me how trauma and its aftermath can take you further away from your real self, in more than one way or direction.
Instead of being numb (a necessity for his mind to protect itself and for him to survive, while he hid from the Emperor's Coven search party back then), it's more a rawness that's present in his emotions in this episode.
Different kinds of pain/fear require different means to be suppressed or numbed out.
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He won't allow himself to go to that place of being directly in touch with that raw pain, or else he cannot accomplish the goal of stopping Belos. Anger is after all a secondary emotion, usually protecting emotions like sadness. Clients often choose to come to therapy once they sense they need guidance to go to this painful emotional place, if they can't do it on their own. It's having to remove the band-aid, see what's there (which can be scary and quite unpleasant) and clean out the wound with care.
Hunter needs to maintain this armored state of mind in order to not fall apart (he already did this to a lesser extent when he cried right after Flapjack faded away: that wasn't a long cry, and he didn't even sob), and to subconsciously minimize the chance of going through what's called emotional flooding. He gets close at times to being overwhelmed by flooding, but never gets totally reeled into it, unlike the scenes where he darted out of Eda's house (Hollow Mind) or became trapped and curled up in the first panic attack he had in Labyrinth Runners.
If you notice, him shielding himself psychologically in For the Future like this means he automatically resists moments of emotionally connecting with anyone, subconsciously seeing this as a threat. A very notable example of this can be seen in how he reacts to Clover and Emmi here:
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Because emotional connection with any of his loved ones might make him unprepared for a face-off with Belos that could happen literally any second. These quick mental calculations could all be happening in his head subconsciously, while he is reacting and being on edge like this, with a lot of adrenaline putting him in this mode.
However, it's important to note that he isn't completely consumed by this grief response, and his heart was definitely not completely hardened, because other familiar sides of him can be observed e.g. looking out for others:
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He makes an effort to be as patient as he can, giving Luz and the others quite a bit of space to lead, though he can't hide the rawness from appearing on his face. It's telling how he has never been an aggressive, pushy personality, and he only veered in that direction in S2A out of fear that he would not please Belos (there was the risk of him literally being cast out and abandoned by his former 'caregiver').
Below is the part of the ep where the tone shifts, after the others call attention to his emotional needs (having love expressed to him, being noticed, etc):
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and it's the part of him that we already knew existed, the deepest part that wants someone to reach out and connect with him:
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It's a core part that never vanished:
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but was just buried down beneath his anguish.
I believe he no longer put up resistance using his emotional armor because he realized deep down that this need to receive love/care was just as important as getting justice for Flapjack, if not more. His support network was going to help him get justice and he had to lean into that and trust in that. He must've realized that both those needs for love and justice are not mutually exclusive.
Anyhow..after Willow, Gus and Luz reach out to him lovingly, while Amity and Camila are also giving him their quiet attention, we can already observe his expression softening. When Willow and Gus leave the room, he runs out of the room after them, calling out their names:
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and this easily segways into his heart softening, and the walls beginning to come down in a healthy environment (the trusted good company of his friends):
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These were such good signs that not only was he thawing out: he could also begin to hold (and express) multiple emotions at once, instead of letting only one of them (the raw hardened anger) hijack his mental state. He could hold the raw grief, feeling love for Willow and Gus, yet still maintaining the desire to go after Belos which is a mix of fear and anger. His emotions weren't so rigidly all-or-nothing as a result.
I'd like to also note that he likely felt safe enough to express his tears after Willow revealed how she felt about herself. It strongly aligned with his values to minister to her pain: and while he did that, some of his own anguish could be healthily expressed instead of stuffed down in the dark where it would be feared.
Interestingly I find that scene similar to one case I handled whereby my client took a long time to dare to speak about her own pain, which could only happen after we spent a few sessions discussing fictional characters that she resonated with. Other clients do this by preferring metaphors rather than directly referencing themselves, what happened to them, and their pain.
References outside of the client themselves, that have similar enough struggles to the client's own struggles, can provide the safety of detachment and distance for the client to explore their own issues. This detachment is a gap that a therapist should work on closing over time, at a pace that the client is comfy with, until the client feels safe to reference themselves and experience their own darkness without getting overwhelmed.
Basically, Hunter connecting with Willow's pain could've been what allowed him to feel the scary emotions that he'd been avoiding in all the scenes prior to Willow showing him the photo of him and Flapjack. Feeling any form of love would also mean feeling grief he was carrying.
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Sometimes in trauma, our emotions and cognitions flip like a switch quickly in a black-and-white sort of fashion, which may be useful if things are life-or-death, but may cause issues once any real dangers have passed (though if S3 hadn't been shortened, I wonder how differently this part of his arc would've played out).
What's interesting is we never quite see any contending or an active struggle between 1. the part of him that wants (and rightfully needs) to receive love/care, and 2. the angry part of him that wants justice, that wants to track down Belos so badly after the loss of Flapjack. It's more like one eased into the other, and I believe both parts can coexist, and it's a balance that he should be able to strike while remaining stable in the next episode. Balance like that is an indication of improved mental health: being able to hold multiple emotions in your mind at once and remaining relatively calm, instead of one or maybe two difficult and unpleasant emotions hijacking everything.
It makes sense that the group gave him his space throughout most of the ep, instinctively sensing that they should be nearby in case he asked for support, but not being too close because he would be in more undesired and unnecessary pain. E.g. if Camila had asked him what he asked Willow ("Willow, hold on. How are you feeling?"), early on in the ep, he probably would've brushed it off by minimizing his pain with a "I'm fine", to politely decline anything she'd do to extend support and care. Maybe he wouldn't have been ready. Only once he saw Willow in a lot of her own anguish did he feel ready to truly connect.
It's a big contrast..how afraid he was back then about the others finding out he's a grimwalker:
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versus his response when Gus brings it up at last.
Hunter is so tired by this point, too preoccupied with the major life change he's experiencing, that he doesn't even look fazed. It helped that Willow had just told him "you're one of us now".
Plus I strongly believe there was already underlying healing that made him capable to handling the grimwalker reveal and any ambush by Belos. One indication is this body language comparison here:
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where the 2nd one shows that he still leans forward, instead of pulling back like in the first one.
By the end of For the Future, more emotional balance has been restored in him, and it began when Willow took the risk to show him the old flyer derby photo and use it as a conversation starter.
That's a wrap for today's episode of Holy Titan I Love This Kid So Much That I Might Die.
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