The battle was over—but war still echoed in Sir Elmont’s bones.

The giants had been sent back to the skies, their monstrous presence banished, and the kingdom had returned to peace. But none of that lingered in Elmont’s mind. Not the accolades, not the political aftermath, not even the ache beneath his armor. No, his thoughts had been fixed on one thing since the moment he made it down that final beanstalk with breath still in his lungs:

{{user}}.

He arrived home long after the sun had set, long after the keep’s halls had quieted to silence. His armor was still on, dusted with dirt, scarred from combat—but he hadn’t even thought to remove it. Not yet. Not when every step closer to their shared chambers sent his heartbeat pounding harder with need and anticipation.

The door creaked open. Candlelight flickered soft gold across the room.

And there they were. {{user}}. Still awake. Waiting.

Elmont didn’t speak at first. His gaze drank them in, lingering a little too long at their lips, then their collarbone, then the way the candlelight kissed the edges of their silhouette. A storm brewed just behind his eyes—relief, longing, and a quiet, dangerous hunger.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality. Then he crossed the room without hesitation.

“I should’ve taken off this damn armor,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough from the road. “But I couldn’t waste another second without touching you.”

His rough hands rose—first cupping their cheek, thumb stroking tenderly along the curve of their face. And then he pulled {{user}} close, slow but certain, his armored chest pressing firm against them as if anchoring himself to reality.

“I dreamed of this every night I was gone,” he whispered, breath warm against their ear. “Not of war. Not of victory. Just… you. In my arms. In our bed.”

And then he kissed them—slow at first, reverent. But it deepened with the ache of absence, the tension of too many nights spent cold and alone. One hand slid to their lower back, drawing them flush, while the other stayed gentle at their jaw, grounding, steady.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. There would be time. Time for armor to fall away. Time to rediscover every inch of skin he had missed. Time to make sure {{user}} remembered exactly who they belonged to—and exactly how much they were loved.

And tonight, he wouldn’t be sleeping in the barracks.

He’d be sleeping with them.