#If you see an error of course just let me know

[dreamersworldduh]

Hello! First of all I love all your stories ♥♥♥ Well, I wanted to make a request (if it's not bothering me) although I don't know if you write about Jon Kent, but well in this case. You could write a Jon x male reader story where the reader is a son of Trigon and like him he maintains control of his father like Raven.And Jon is like the reader's "anchor" that allows him to keep Trigon prisoner and then at some point Jon is hurt which causes the reader to lose control out of anger. Which makes him attack all his teammates and enemies and Jon controls him being the cinnamon roll that he is lol. That the reader and Jon have a relationship but keep it a secret, until that moment where Jon will not care about anything, only saving his boyfriend. I hope I have not bothered you, I apologize if so.

BOUND BY DARKNESS, ANCHORED BY LOVE

• JON KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Being the son of Trigon is an unimaginable burden. Trigon, a demon lord with immense power, casts a vast shadow that affects everything. Carrying his bloodline means not only inheriting his legacy but also becoming a vessel for his darkness. This struggle feels like a curse, with a constant battle within your soul. Every day is a challenge to maintain control against Trigon's tempting influence.

Jon Kent is your anchor, helping you stay grounded amidst chaos. He sees you for who you are and not just as a representation of Trigon's terror. Jon's unwavering faith in you shows you that your choices define you, not your lineage. His presence makes the internal war more manageable, providing hope that being Trigon's son doesn't have to dictate your life. With Jon, you're not just surviving; you're truly living, and for that, you are grateful.

WARNING! Suggestive Langauge. Violence.

WORDS! 5.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! It’s not bother to write! Thank you for so much for requesting, I hope you enjoy this ✨🫶🏽

Being the son of Trigon is a burden that defies comprehension. Trigon, a demon lord of unfathomable power and celestial tyranny, is a name that echoes across dimensions, conjuring fear and despair in all who hear it. To carry his bloodline is to inherit not just his infamy but the unrelenting darkness that defines his essence. It's more than a legacy; it's a curse, a war fought within the deepest recesses of your soul. Trigon's influence is not abstract or distant—it's alive, a seething force that courses through your veins, threatening to overwhelm you at every moment. Every breath, every thought, is a battle to resist the pull of that chaos, a desperate balancing act between light and shadow, humanity and monstrosity.

Your sister, Raven, bears her own connection to Trigon, but her mastery of discipline has allowed her to channel his power with precision and control. Through years of focus, meditation, and sacrifice, she has shaped herself into a weapon wielded by her will. You, however, are a different story. Your bond to Trigon is far more volatile, your powers raw, untamed, and ferociously destructive. Unlike Raven, whose strength is tempered by resolve, your abilities are a storm—wild and furious, a force that defies containment. You are not merely powerful; you are a cataclysm, a walking paradox of creation and destruction. Your struggle is not measured in quiet moments of focus but in primal, ferocious conflict. There is no margin for error in your existence. One lapse, one moment of surrender, and the devastation would be unimaginable.

The battlefield of your mind is no less treacherous. Trigon is always there, a shadowed presence at the edges of your thoughts, his voice a chilling whisper that weaves through your consciousness. He promises dominance, tempts you with visions of power, and mocks your efforts to resist him. The mental strain is relentless, a grinding weight that erodes your resolve. Some days, the effort feels unbearable, the temptation to let go—to embrace the storm within you—almost too strong to fight. But even in the darkest depths of despair, there is one constant, one anchor that keeps you from surrendering: Jon.

Jon is more than a partner; he is your lifeline. In the chaos of your existence, he is the calm at the center of the storm, the steady hand that keeps you tethered when the world feels like it's crumbling beneath you. Where others might flinch at the raw intensity of your power, Jon never falters. He doesn't fear you, doesn't shy away from the turbulence that rages within you. His presence is unwavering, his resolve a mirror to your own. He meets your tempest with quiet strength, his patience and understanding carving out a space of peace in a life otherwise defined by conflict.

As a comrade, Jon understands the weight you bear. He fights by your side, witnessing the devastating toll your powers take on both you and the world around you. He knows the stakes of the battles you face, the enormity of the threats you must repel. But as your lover, Jon's role transcends the battlefield. He is your sanctuary, the only place where you can lower your defenses, where the constant struggle fades and you can simply be. In his eyes, you are not a harbinger of destruction or Trigon's heir. You are just you. He sees past the chaos, past the shadows, to the person you strive to hold onto. His love reminds you of the humanity you fear you've lost, grounding you in a way nothing else can.

It is because of Jon that you find the strength to stand against your father's influence. In a life consumed by darkness, he is your light, a beacon that cuts through the oppressive shadows threatening to consume you. When the fight feels insurmountable, when the weight of your existence feels like it will crush you, Jon is the reason you keep going. His belief in you, steadfast and unshakable, inspires your own belief that you can win this war—not just for the world, but for yourself.

Without him, the battle would feel like an endless, futile struggle, a war against an adversary you could never hope to defeat. But with Jon at your side, the impossible feels within reach. The darkness remains, a looming and constant presence, but it no longer feels like an inevitability. With Jon, you remember why you fight. You remember what's worth saving—not just in the world you've sworn to protect, but in yourself.

Working alongside the Justice League is no ordinary job—it's a monumental responsibility, one that demands unyielding dedication, constant vigilance, and the ability to put the fate of the world above your own personal concerns. The stakes are always unimaginably high, and any lapse in focus could mean the difference between triumph and disaster. For you, this isn't just a duty—it's a standard you hold yourself to with unwavering commitment. That's why, when you and Jon decided to take the next step in your relationship, secrecy wasn't just an option; it was a necessity. It wasn't a decision made on a whim, but one born from a shared understanding of the pressures you face as heroes and as members of the League.

Balancing a relationship against the backdrop of constant battles, cosmic crises, and a world that never stops needing saving is already challenging. Adding the Justice League's watchful eyes into the mix would only complicate things further. You know your teammates well, and you can already predict their reactions if they were to find out about your relationship. Take Clark, for instance—Jon's father, the ever-principled Superman. He would approach the revelation with his trademark combination of earnestness and protectiveness, fumbling through advice about love and responsibility while trying to reconcile his paternal instincts with his respect for you as a peer. The thought of Clark, awkwardly yet sincerely attempting to deliver a "heart-to-heart" about dating his son, is enough to make you shudder—and laugh, if only privately.

Barry, of course, would be a whirlwind of jokes and teasing before anyone else could even process the news. He'd rattle off quips at lightning speed, leaving a trail of laughter—and mild annoyance—in his wake. Hal, never one to miss an opportunity to needle someone, would chime in with smug comments and suggestive grins, probably making a crack about office romances or "following in Superman's footsteps." And then there's Bruce—stoic, inscrutable Batman. He wouldn't say much—he rarely does—but the subtle lift of his eyebrow or that infuriating, knowing smirk would speak volumes. It's easy to imagine the two of you exchanging exasperated glances while Bruce stands silently, exuding his usual air of calculated disapproval.

The women of the League wouldn't make things any easier. Diana and Zatanna, for all their wisdom and camaraderie, would dive headfirst into your private life with relentless enthusiasm. Diana's curiosity, tempered by her warm-heartedness, would lead to endless questions about your connection, your dynamic, your plans for the future. Zatanna, meanwhile, would take a more playful approach, combining genuine interest with her penchant for mischief. You can already picture her crafting magical scenarios to "test your compatibility" while Diana plots some extravagant bonding activity meant to honor your relationship. Their intentions would be well-meaning, but the thought of being the center of their collective attention is exhausting.

But it's not just the teasing and prying that concerns you. What you and Jon share thrives in the quiet moments—the stolen seconds of connection in a life otherwise dictated by chaos. It's in the subtle, shared glances exchanged during tense missions, the fleeting but meaningful words spoken during a debrief, or the rare, precious nights when the weight of the world lifts just enough for you to be alone together. These moments are fragile, like treasures hidden in plain sight, and the thought of losing them to the relentless scrutiny of the League is unbearable. If your relationship were out in the open, those moments of intimacy would be harder to protect. The jokes, the questions, the interruptions—they'd chip away at the sanctuary you've built together.

Your need for privacy isn't about shame, or mistrust, or a lack of faith in your teammates. It's about preserving something rare and sacred in a life that so often demands sacrifice. As heroes, your existence is defined by duty and obligation, by the constant call to put others above yourselves. But your relationship with Jon is different. It's yours—something untouched by the demands of the world, something that brings light and meaning to the chaos around you. It's a reminder that beneath the masks and capes, you're still human, still capable of finding beauty and solace amidst the storm.

For now, the world sees you as comrades, warriors fighting for justice in an endless battle against darkness. To the League, you and Jon are allies, partners on the battlefield. But in the moments you steal for yourselves, behind closed doors and away from prying eyes, you're something infinitely more. You're each other's anchor, a refuge when the weight of heroism becomes too much to bear. What you share isn't just love—it's a lifeline, a reason to keep fighting, a bond that reminds you why the battle is worth it.

And that bond? That's worth every ounce of secrecy, every careful glance, every hidden touch. Because in a life dictated by duty, protecting the part of your world that feels most like home is the greatest act of heroism you've ever known.

Those moments with you are Jon's anchor—the rare, fragile pockets of tranquility that defy the relentless chaos of your lives as heroes. In a world where danger seems omnipresent and the weight of responsibility never lifts, those stolen interludes with you become his sanctuary. They are his reminder of what he's fighting for, of the strength and solace he's found in you. They're more than moments of reprieve; they're the essence of what keeps him grounded, what makes it all worthwhile.

Jon cherishes the way you both manage to carve out time for each other, no matter how demanding your lives become. It's not about grand, theatrical gestures or sweeping declarations; it's the simplicity of the connection you share that means the most to him. He treasures the quiet evenings spent recovering from grueling missions, where words are few, but the companionship between you speaks volumes. The two of you might share a meal in comfortable silence, exhaustion melting into a mutual sense of solace. Those moments of quiet, unspoken understanding remind him that, in a life full of noise and chaos, peace can still be found—if only in your presence.

One of his favorite memories is the time you both sat side by side on the Watchtower, gazing out at the Earth spinning below. Your shoulders had been close enough to touch, a faint warmth radiating between you that neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. The enormity of the universe had seemed so small in that moment, dwarfed by the quiet bond you shared. No words were needed. The stillness, the weightlessness of the moment, was enough. Jon carries that memory with him, a reminder of the unshakable connection that transcends words.

It's the way you let your guard down with him, even if only for fleeting moments, that Jon holds closest to his heart. You, who bear the burden of unimaginable responsibility, allow yourself to be vulnerable with him in ways you never do with anyone else. He treasures the soft curve of your smile when you think no one is watching, the rare but melodic sound of your laughter that seems to make the air lighter, and the way your hand lingers just a moment longer in his. Those subtle, fleeting acts of intimacy—so small yet so profound—are the things Jon finds himself replaying in his mind during the toughest days. They are glimpses of a side of you that belongs to him alone, moments that feel like a gift amidst the turbulence of your shared existence.

The late-night conversations, though, are what Jon cherishes above all. Those are the times when the rest of the world falls away, leaving only the two of you in the stillness of the night. He loves the way your voice softens in those moments, unburdened by the weight of the day, and the way you share pieces of yourself that no one else gets to see. You talk about your fears, your dreams, and the quiet hopes you keep hidden from the world. In those moments, he feels as though he's seeing the most authentic version of you, unguarded and real. It's during these late-night talks, when your words are a quiet murmur in the dark, that Jon feels closer to you than he ever thought possible. Those whispered confessions, spoken in the safety of each other's presence, are more precious to him than any victory on the battlefield.

Even the smallest gestures from you linger in Jon's mind long after they pass. The way your fingers brush against his when you hand him something, leaving a fleeting spark of warmth. The way you murmur his name, soft and full of a quiet affection that sets his heart alight. The way you instinctively lean into him when you're close, as though his presence alone offers you a sense of peace. These moments may seem insignificant to others, but to Jon, they mean everything. They are proof of the bond you share, a bond that remains unshakable in the face of all the challenges you both endure.

For Jon, these moments are more than just fleeting respites from the chaos of your lives—they're everything. They're the foundation of what you've built together: a relationship rooted in trust, fortified by love, and sustained by the quiet, stolen moments you create for one another. In a life filled with battles, uncertainty, and the ever-present shadow of danger, those moments remind him of what he's fighting for. They give him strength, hope, and a reason to keep going, no matter how dark the world becomes.

With you, Jon has found more than just love. He's found a sense of belonging, a home in a world that often feels fractured and unforgiving. And in those rare, precious moments of peace, he knows he has found something extraordinary—something worth protecting at all costs.

The room is quiet, wrapped in a fragile cocoon of warmth and stillness—a rare sanctuary in your chaotic lives. The television hums softly in the background, its flickering light casting muted shadows across the walls. Whatever show is playing has long since been forgotten, its dialogue fading into white noise as you both savor the fleeting comfort of simply being together. You're curled against Jon, your back pressed to his chest, his strong arms draped around you in an embrace that feels at once protective and tender. His warmth seeps into you, a grounding presence in a world that so often feels unstable.

Your head rests against his collarbone, and his fingers trail lazily along your arm, tracing aimless patterns that send pleasant shivers through your skin. It's in moments like these that the weight of the world feels lighter, the relentless demands of heroism pushed to the periphery. Here, in the safety of his embrace, there are no battles to fight, no masks to wear, no shadows threatening to swallow you whole. It's just the two of you, a rare and precious quiet that you both cling to.

Jon's lips brush against the curve of your neck, feather-light at first, as if testing the waters. When you lean into him, a small gesture of encouragement, he doesn't hesitate. His kisses grow more deliberate, his lips pressing firmly against your skin, lingering with an intensity that sends heat coursing through you. One of his hands slips to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulls you closer, while the other moves to rest against your chest. The tenderness of his touch contrasts with the raw, magnetic pull of his lips on your neck, and you can feel the world outside this room slipping further away.

The TV becomes nothing more than a distant hum, the glow of the screen forgotten as your senses focus entirely on him. His breath is warm against your skin, and you tilt your head instinctively, offering him better access. He takes it, his teeth grazing your neck in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, followed by a gentle, soothing kiss that makes your heart race. His touch is electric, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel as though you're floating.

And then it happens—a faint, pulsing glow catches your attention from the corner of your eye. At first, you try to ignore it, unwilling to let anything intrude on this rare, precious moment. But as the glow intensifies, flickering like a heartbeat, a cold dread creeps into your chest. You glance down and see it: the pendant. Its cursed, crimson light spills into the room, its glow erratic and insistent, a dark reminder of the power tethered to your very existence.

The air shifts almost instantly. The warmth of the room is replaced by a chill that seeps into your bones, the moment of intimacy fractured by the suffocating presence of the darkness you can never quite escape. The pendant's light grows brighter, its ominous flicker casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. You can feel it, like a cold hand gripping your heart—the stirrings of Trigon's influence, clawing its way to the surface.

Jon notices the change immediately. His lips still against your neck, and his arms tighten around you, protective and grounding. "What is it?" he asks, his voice soft but edged with concern. His hands, once playful and tender, now hold you with a steady firmness, as though ready to catch you should the darkness drag you under.

You don't answer right away. Your gaze is locked on the pendant, its glow pulsing in time with the faint, malevolent presence stirring within you. It's not the first time this has happened, and you know exactly what it means. Trigon's essence—his shadow—is awakening, drawn to the vulnerability of the moment, eager to remind you that it's always there, lurking just beneath the surface.

Your chest tightens as you feel the beginnings of his presence creeping into your mind, a dark whisper that threatens to pull you under. It's like a tide rising, insidious and unstoppable, and you can already sense the fight it will take to push it back. Gritting your teeth, you focus on the warmth of Jon's embrace, willing yourself to resist. Not now. Not here. Not with him.

Jon's voice cuts through the haze, calm but firm. "Hey," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. "I'm here. You're okay. We're okay."

His words anchor you, pulling you back from the edge. You take a shaky breath, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the solid warmth of his body against yours. Slowly, the glow of the pendant begins to fade, its pulsing light dimming until it's no more than a faint, ominous flicker. The air grows lighter, though the shadow of Trigon's influence still lingers, an ever-present reminder of the battle you can never truly escape.

Leaning back into Jon, you finally find your voice. "It's him," you whisper, your tone heavy with exhaustion. "Trigon... he's stirring."

Jon's hand moves to cover yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture of quiet strength. "Then we'll deal with it," he says resolutely, his voice steady despite the shadow of unease that hangs over you both. "Together."

Though the moment of peace has been stolen, the intimacy shattered by the relentless intrusion of the darkness you carry, Jon's unwavering presence remains. His arms around you, his voice grounding you, remind you that you're not alone in this fight. Closing your eyes, you let his words and his touch steady you as you prepare yourself for the battle ahead—the one within, and the one that will inevitably come.

Your bond forged is in love and trust but sometimes tested by the overwhelming fear of losing each other. That instinct is as natural as breathing, yet in the heat of battle, it often borders on overzealous. Neither of you can help it; keeping the other safe isn't just a priority—it's a necessity. That protectiveness was on full display during a recent mission with the Justice League, one that escalated into chaos faster than either of you could have anticipated.

It began with Felix Faust, the ever-ambitious sorcerer, whose reckless pursuit of power led him to tear open an unauthorized portal to a volatile magical dimension. This wasn't a minor disruption in the fabric of reality; it was a gaping wound, spewing malevolent creatures and destabilizing the surrounding area with chaotic energy. The portal's influence threatened to spiral out of control, drawing more and more destruction with every second it remained open. The Justice League was stretched thin, battling the endless onslaught of creatures that poured from the rift, but the real danger lay in the portal itself. If it wasn't sealed soon, it would consume everything in its path.

That's when Raven and Zatanna called out to you, their voices cutting through the chaos. They needed your help. Their combined magical prowess wasn't enough to close the tear, and they needed a third to stabilize the spell. You didn't hesitate for a second. You knew what was at stake, and your unique connection to magic made you the perfect choice to assist. But Jon's reaction was immediate, his protectiveness flaring to the surface as soon as he realized what stepping into the heart of the rift would mean for you.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with unease as he placed a firm hand on your shoulder. His piercing blue eyes searched yours for any trace of doubt, his concern evident in the tightness of his jaw and the tension in his posture.

You nodded confidently, offering him what you hoped was a reassuring smile. "Raven and Zatanna need me," you said, your tone resolute. "This is the only way."

Jon didn't move, his hand lingering as though he could physically anchor you to him. "If anything happens—"

"Jon," you interrupted gently, your fingers brushing his. "I'll be fine. I promise."

You could see the war in his eyes, the conflict between trusting your abilities and the gnawing fear of letting you step into such danger. But eventually, he gave a reluctant nod, his hand dropping away as you turned toward Raven and Zatanna. You could still feel the weight of his gaze as you moved toward the swirling chaos of the portal, the air around it charged with unstable magic.

The closer you got to the tear, the heavier the atmosphere became. The energy radiating from the portal was oppressive, a chaotic blend of light and shadow that threatened to pull everything into its maw. Raven and Zatanna were already in position, their voices a steady rhythm of incantations as they worked to contain the rift. You joined them without hesitation, summoning your own power to weave into theirs. Together, the three of you created a fragile balance, a barrier against the portal's expansion.

Jon was supposed to be focusing on the battle, helping the League fend off the endless creatures that poured from the rift. But his focus kept drifting back to you. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to be at your side, to shield you from the unpredictable surges of magical energy that flared around you. He trusted you—he trusted your strength and your skill—but that didn't silence the fear gnawing at the edges of his mind. Between every punch, every blast of heat vision, his eyes flicked toward you, his heart racing each time the energy from the portal crackled too close.

Your protectiveness wasn't any less fierce. Even as you concentrated on the delicate spellwork, your gaze darted to Jon whenever you had a spare second. Watching him fight the monstrous creatures that spilled out of the rift filled you with equal parts pride and anxiety. He was a force of nature, his movements precise and powerful, but every time a creature lunged at him, your breath caught in your throat. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to focus. The portal had to be closed, or none of you would make it out alive.

The strain of the spell began to take its toll, the three of you struggling to keep the chaotic energy in check. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and your arms trembled under the weight of the magic you were channeling. Through it all, you felt Jon's presence in the periphery, his protective instincts a constant undercurrent even when he was meters away. It was as if the bond between you transcended the battlefield, his silent promise to watch over you steadying your resolve.

Just when the portal's energy flared dangerously, a creature broke past the League's defenses, hurtling toward Raven and Zatanna. You acted without thinking, summoning a burst of raw magic to intercept the creature before it could disrupt the spell. The backlash from your magic sent a wave of energy rippling outward, momentarily destabilizing the rift..

Everything seemed to be under control—until Felix Faust turned his dark magic directly on you, Raven, and Zatanna.

You felt the shift before you saw it, the air growing oppressive, thick with malevolent energy that seemed to coil and writhe like a living thing. Faust's magic lashed out in a torrent of chaotic force, black tendrils streaking through the air, aimed directly at the three of you. The onslaught was relentless, designed to shatter your concentration and disrupt the delicate balance required to seal the portal.

Without hesitation, you raised a shimmering barrier of protective light around Raven and Zatanna. The shield absorbed the brunt of Faust's attack, but the force of it reverberated through your entire body like a series of thunderclaps. You gritted your teeth, pushing back against the overwhelming energy, even as you felt the strain begin to sap your strength.

"Keep working!" you shouted, your voice sharp and resolute, cutting through the chaos. Raven and Zatanna exchanged a quick glance before nodding, their chants never faltering as they refocused on stabilizing the rift.

The barrier held, but barely. Each impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through its surface, the shimmering light flickering under the pressure. Faust's dark magic was relentless, a tempest of hatred and destruction, and it demanded everything you had just to keep it at bay. You knew it was a gamble; diverting your focus from the portal to defend against Faust's assault was dangerous, but letting his magic reach Raven and Zatanna was not an option.

Across the battlefield, Jon noticed the sudden shift in energy. His sharp eyes found you instantly, his expression darkening with concern as he saw the way your barrier strained under the force of Faust's attacks. He was locked in combat with the monstrous creatures pouring from the portal, but his focus kept drifting back to you. Each glance fueled his urgency, his strikes growing faster, harder, as he fought to clear a path to your side.

But before Jon could reach you, a streak of malevolent energy shot across the battlefield, slamming into him with unrelenting force. The blast knocked him off his feet, and he hit the ground hard, a sharp, agonizing cry tearing from his throat.

The sound sliced through you like a blade, wrenching your attention away from Faust. Your eyes snapped to Jon, and the sight of him sprawled on the ground, his body wracked with pain, shattered something inside you. Your grip on the barrier faltered, and for a moment, everything went still.

Then the rage came.

It erupted from the deepest recesses of your soul, raw and uncontrollable, a tidal wave of fury that surged past the barriers you'd spent a lifetime building. The infernal power of Trigon, always lurking beneath the surface, seized its opportunity. You felt it surge through your veins, molten and all-consuming, igniting every nerve in your body.

Your skin flushed an unnatural red, glowing with an ominous, fiery light as veins of molten energy spread across your body. Your eyes multiplied, each one blazing with otherworldly intensity. The pendant around your neck, the cursed vessel of your father's power, pulsed violently, its crimson glow flooding the battlefield with eerie light.

The transformation unleashed a fiery manifestation of your rage—a phoenix of living flame that exploded into existence around you. Its wings unfurled, scorching the ground beneath them as it let out a piercing, unearthly screech. The battlefield seemed to shrink in its presence, all eyes drawn to the inferno rising from within you.

Felix Faust faltered, his confidence evaporating as he stared at the infernal spectacle before him. You turned your blazing gaze on him, your voice low and guttural, laced with barely restrained wrath. "You'll regret that."

The phoenix surged forward, its flames consuming everything in its path. Faust's spells disintegrated in the heat, his defenses crumbling as he scrambled to retaliate. But it was no use. You overwhelmed him with a fury he couldn't match, and within moments, he was on his knees, powerless and terrified.

But the victory brought no relief. The flames didn't wane; instead, they surged outward, unchecked and all-consuming. They devoured everything in their path, their relentless hunger fed by the raw fury coursing through you and the insidious whisper of Trigon's influence. His voice curled through your mind like smoke, a low, serpentine hiss that twisted your anger into something darker, more destructive.

Why hold back? This power is yours. Let it consume them. Let it consume everything.

Your heart pounded as the lines between yourself and Trigon blurred, the boundary of your own will and his malevolence fracturing under the weight of your unleashed rage. The fiery phoenix that had erupted from you seemed to grow larger, more feral, its flames casting an unholy glow across the battlefield. It screeched, its cry a harbinger of ruin, as it lashed out indiscriminately.

Raven was the first to step forward, her expression steady but her movements cautious. Her voice, calm but urgent, cut through the chaos. "This isn't you. You have to stop."

For a moment, her words seemed distant, muffled beneath the deafening roar of the flames and the insidious pull of your father's power. The rational part of you—the part that still clung to who you were—tried to grasp her voice, but the intoxicating pull of destruction drowned it out.

The Justice League wasn't far behind. They moved in unison, encircling you with precision, their intent clear: containment. Batman's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, a tone meant to cut through any chaos. "Stand down!"

But you didn't hear him. Or rather, you didn't care. The phoenix-form responded instinctively to their approach, its flames flaring brighter, hotter, as it lashed out at anyone who dared come close. Superman and Wonder Woman led the charge, their combined strength barely enough to withstand the inferno. The League's efforts, coordinated and powerful, were falling short against the primal, unrelenting fury of Trigon's unleashed influence.

Somewhere in the chaos, a glimmer of who you were fought back, screaming to regain control. But the voice of your father was louder, more persistent, more persuasive.

They fear you. They want to cage you. Show them what you are capable of.

Then, through the cacophony of destruction, a single voice reached you.

"Stop!"

It was Jon. His voice rang clear, cutting through the haze of rage and fire like a beacon. Despite his injuries, he pushed himself upright, staggering but resolute. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he moved toward you, ignoring the searing heat of the flames and the warning shouts of his teammates. His eyes, unwavering and focused, locked onto yours.

"It's me," he said, his voice firm but gentle, steady in a way that only he could manage. "Look at me."

Something in his tone, in his presence, sliced through the chaos gripping your mind. For a fleeting moment, the flames flickered, and the roar of the phoenix softened. His gaze held you, filled not with fear or judgment, but with something deeper—love, trust, and unshakable belief in you.

"You're stronger than this," he continued, his steps carrying him closer despite the heat and the danger. "You're not him. You're you. Come back to me."

The phoenix screeched again, a sound of defiance, but its flames faltered. Jon's words, like an anchor, pulled you back from the brink. You could feel the weight of Trigon's influence loosening, the suffocating grip of his power receding as you fought to reclaim control.

Slowly, painfully, you wrestled with the fury, with the darkness. Your skin began to return to its natural hue, the molten glow fading with each passing second. The extra eyes that had marked Trigon's influence vanished, and the phoenix, once feral and consuming, began to dissipate, its flames flickering into embers. The pendant around your neck, the cursed vessel of his power, dimmed to a faint, ominous thrum.

Your legs gave out beneath you, exhaustion and the weight of what you'd done crashing down all at once. But Jon was there, his arms steady and sure as he caught you. He sank to the ground with you, holding you close as the ash settled and the battlefield fell silent. His voice, a quiet murmur in your ear, was the only sound.

"I've got you," he said softly, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. "You're okay. I'm here."

The League stood down, their wary gazes softening as they saw you collapse into Jon's embrace. Raven approached cautiously, kneeling beside you. Her eyes, filled with both relief and understanding, met yours. "You fought it," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You won."

But you didn't feel victorious. The memory of the flames, of the destruction you had almost unleashed on your allies, lingered like a shadow in your mind. The fear of how close you had come to losing yourself clung to you, heavy and unshakable.

Yet when you looked at Jon, his face etched with concern and his eyes still unwavering in their faith, you found a flicker of hope. His presence reminded you of what you were fighting for—why you had to keep fighting.

As long as he was by your side, you knew you'd always have a reason to resist the darkness. And with him, you could believe that you were more than Trigon's heir. You were you. And that was enough.

[corsairspade]

Halenthir scenario where they get married for tax benefits (in a platonic good friends sort of way) and fall in love long distance via sending each other letters with ideas on how to best leverage their marriage for tax evasion.

[rivilu]

Putting him in the blender is no longer enough I need to-

[pastelaspirations]

Okay, I... I don't know what, I can't- W a i t, o k a y. I'm not even screaming right now or. Even in the process of losing my mind. I have already lost it. It's gone. My mind has left me, a shell of a person, as I ascend into the heavens as I am essentially dead in all manners but physical.

Would even saying "I'm not okay" be accurate to my situation??? It would be more akin to holding up a severed arm at the scene of a car crash, giving a skeptical look to said car crash, then addressing every horrified and disturbed individual that you, in your professional opinion, think that the person who used to own the severed arm is in fact, not okay.

Can I. Come back maybe. Reblog this when I have found my lost mind somewhere and can be more coherent.

O k a y. How do I. Even express what I feel right now.

My heart is in shambles. Utterly d e s t r o y e d, I tell you. I don't think there is a way I will ever possibly recover from this.

We laugh and we laugh at my lighthearted jokes of me crying over fan art. And while I was over the moon, delighted beyond the words that I so poorly tried to use and express the absolute joy I felt, I wasn't actually crying. Of course, there were times I came c l o s e, just from the sheer overwhelming joy that my tiny heart is not accustomed to feeling, but I usually was able to contain myself. The happiness cancelled out the tears that would have fallen. I'm sure this isn't a surprise, very often things said in full capital letters and repeated instances of the same letter at the end of words are said in hyperbole.

T h a t s a i d. I did actually cry from this. I promise, I am telling the full truth right now. To make matters brief, I had a very rough awakening due to an emergency and I had been stressed the majority of the day. S o, uh, I suppose that weakened the usually fortified walls I have up that prevent me from actually crying at things.

I don't know why, man. I'm just. So overwhelmed with so many emotions, I can't. ALL THE EMOTIONS YOU INFLICTED WITH THIS ARE ALL GOOD, I SWEAR, THEY'RE JUST. INCREDIBLY POTENT AND POWERFUL WHEN USED AGAINST A WEAK HEART.

I know how incredibly difficult animation is, even if I haven't attempted it myself yet. It takes so much practice and patience, and there are many who give up before they become better at it because of the unforgiving amount of time and perseverance it takes. So, that may be partly why I am so incredibly honored and humbled to have someone do all that for a story I made.

It just means so much, I don't know how else to express it. Never, in a million years, did I think when I created this fic three years ago, that I would be getting fan art, let a l o n e fan animations. If you were to tell me that three years ago, I would have looked at you like you had lost your mind.

That's what I wanted to do when I first started writing. I thought that if I inspired someone else with a little story that I created, then it would be worth it. ;_; So, to see all these incredibly talented people like you be so inspired to create something new means the world to me. It's just so incredibly flattering and overwhelming that it is over a story that I made. <3

OKAY, I'M SORRY FOR ALL THAT, I JUST. I'm so moved and touched and I'm not sure if I can even express how exactly I feel in words, but I tried. I promise, I will love this until the end of time and it means the absolute world to me <3 <3 ;_; ;_;

their first meeting . Based on the fanfiction "Perseverance" by: @pastelaspirations

[imaginedisish]

Modern Love (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! Here's something short and sweet. This is based on a request, so I hope the requester enjoys :) No song references here, but "Modern Love" by David Bowie seems appropriate. It's 80s, New Wave-y, and we're in an arcade in this fic, so it fits.

Summary: The team goes out to an arcade, and Logan is his usual grumpy self...but his soft spot for you is more clear than ever.

Warnings: Suggestive content (would totally write a second part with some true smut), tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, cursing, f!reader/afab!reader, grumpy!Logan, Jubilee is a cock block LOL, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,685 short and sweet indeed

“I do not want to be here,” Logan complains, rolling his eyes as the team strolls into the arcade. 

Jubilee skips inside, twirling with excitement. “Well, that’s just too bad, Logan!” She calls, running over to the arcade’s version of Dance Dance Revolution. Kurt is laughing, following at her heels. “Because everyone else is going to have a great time!” 

“Gambit’s winning big tonight,” Gambit says, taking Rogue’s hand in his. “Gambit’s winning chere a prize, he is.” Rogue blushes, letting Gambit pull her to one of the fake slot machines. 

Jean and Scott walk over to an older machine—Pac-Man or something similar, probably. Storm and Charles head towards the seating area near the snack bar in the back, leaving you and Logan to yourselves. Of course. You’re alone with Logan. The person you want but you know you can’t have. 

You’re friends—just friends. You’ve accepted that he’ll never see you as anything more, but it still hurts. 

“So…” You say, trailing off as Logan looks around the arcade. “Not your kind of place, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he says back, his eyes finding yours. You can’t help but smile at that stupid, grumpy look on his face. “You like this shit?” He asks, smiling back at you. 

You shrug your shoulders, noncommittal. “I think you’d have fun if you tried,” you say, nodding towards the crane machine, and walking over. You can hear Logan’s footsteps against the carpet, following you close behind.

You peer into the glass, looking at all the stuffed animals filling the machine. Your smile widens when you spot the cute little turtle in the back—green and brown, wide eyes, and extra plush and round. Logan leans against the machine, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “Which one are we going for?” He asks. We—you can’t help but replay the word in your head. There’s a “we” in this. You and Logan. 

You point to the turtle in the back row. “We’re going for that one,” you say, and his eyes find the green little thing. “Isn’t he cute?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear, his grumpiness seemingly gone now. “Sure, princess, sure he is.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of the familiar pet name. You lean down to put a quarter in the machine, trying your best not to overthink the situation. The crane starts up, whirring to life, giving you three tries to win the stuffy. 

You maneuver the crane to the back row, just above the turtle. “Do you think that’s good?” You ask, looking towards Logan. But he isn’t looking at the machine; he’s looking at you, smirking. “What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes incredulously. 

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” Logan says, his smirk unwavering. You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he peers into the machine. He nods, his eyes finding yours again, changing the subject before you can respond to his comment. “Looks good to me.”

You swallow nervously, pressing the button on the top of the stick, sending the crane down to the stuffy. It grabs the turtle, holding it up. It looks like it’s going to make it, but it falls in the center of the glass box. You groan, annoyed as the crane moves back to position. You try again, bringing the crane to the center of the machine, just above the turtle, and dropping it again. The silver claws grip the plushy, but it’s a bad grab—the turtle slipping right out of its grasp. 

 “Fucking rigged,” you mutter, moving the crane over the turtle for the final time. “This is it,” you say, looking at Logan. He’s suddenly shifting closer to you, standing behind you and pressing his front to your back. His arms rest on either side of the crane machine’s controls, caging you in. 

“Much better view from here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. You’re distracted by how close he is. You can smell him—tobacco and pine and musk. “Let’s see if it works, princess.” This is too much. Far more than you can possibly handle. 

You take a deep breath, your eyes surveying the crane’s distance from the turtle carefully, and you press the button. The crane drops, grabbing the stuffy, and picking it up successfully. “Yes!” You say, looking back at Logan. His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips. Your noses are so close, brushing together softly. He leans in, lips parted. 

“Game over!” A robotic, automated voice rings out, the crane whirling back into position. It snaps you back to reality, and you look inside the machine. There, off to the side just next to the machine’s drop box, is the turtle. 

“Shit,” you mumble, shoulders slumping with disappointment. You know it’s just a game, and you are an adult after all, but you can’t help the frown that forms across your face. “I really wanted him. I was gonna name him Bernie.”

Logan chuckles. “Bernie?” he asks, and you nod. He’s centimeters away from you again, leaning in. “Don’t sweat the loss, princess. You’re cuter than that little thing is anyw—"

“Look what Kurt and I got with our tickets!” Jubilee is suddenly in front of you, a stuffed, sparkly blue dinosaur in her hand. She’s tugging you away from Logan and across the arcade before you can protest. “You gotta dance with me!” You look back at Logan, who’s standing alone in front of the crane machine, arms tucked against his chest. 

Have fun, he mouths. And good luck. He winks at you as Jubilee whisks you off to Dance Dance Revolution. You let her pick the song, and you struggle through the round, your feet tapping to the beat. You and Jubilee are a laughing mess. You know you look absolutely ridiculous, but it’s fun. 

And yet, your mind still wanders to Logan. You think about how close he was to you, the way his lips practically brushed against yours—the ghost of a kiss. You think about the way he caged you in, pressed against your back. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realize how badly you’re fumbling all the moves; you don’t hear Jubilee calling your name. 

“Hey!” She shouts, finally bringing you back to reality. The round is over; you missed the entire second half of the dance. “Where’d you go just there?” She asks, concern hidden within her smile.  

You look over to the crane machine, expecting to see Logan, but he’s gone. In fact, you can’t find him anywhere. “Sorry Jubes, but I gotta go see about something,” you say, stepping off the platform. 

Your eyes search the arcade. Gambit and Rogue are at the ticket redemption counter, picking out a big stuffed bear. Kurt is fooling around on one of those motorcycle racing games. Storm and Charles are—uncharacteristically—sharing a soft pretzel, while Jean and Scott share a milkshake. Everyone is here and accounted for except Logan. 

That is, until you notice the puff of smoke in the corner of the glass door at the front of the arcade. You smirk, walking towards the entrance and pushing the door open. 

Logan leans against the brick wall of the building, cigar in his mouth. His head turns towards you, and he immediately takes the cigar out, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot. 

“Hi,” you whisper, standing next to him. 

He looks down at you, smiling widely. “Hi.” He’s leaning in again—so close—and a shiver runs up your spine. “Cold?” He asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket before you have a chance to answer. He helps you into the jacket one arm at a time, his eyes drinking you in once it’s on, trailing up and down your body. “Looks good on you,” he hums. “Way better than it does on me.”

You shake your head, letting your shoulder brush against his. You look over at him and suddenly notice something green and round in his hand. “What’s that?” You ask. But you already know. You recognize the little brown spots and the wide eyes. 

Logan smirks, lifting the turtle up. “Couldn’t let you go home without him,” he says, holding it out towards you. 

“No way!” You shout, ignoring the turtle and throwing your arms around Logan’s neck. It’s instinctive, natural. He tugs you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you so much,” you mumble into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe you ended up playing a game at an arcade.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your temple. The sudden vulnerability of his words makes your heart tighten in your chest. You stay like that for a while, his lips ghosting your forehead, your chests pressed together. You finally lift your head, looking up at Logan. 

“Lo?” You whisper, and his gaze meets yours, flitting between your eyes and your lips. He drops the plushy onto the bench next to him and walks you back into the brick wall, caging you in, hands on either side of your waist. 

He leans in. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He brings one hand to your hip, gripping gently. “What do you need?”

“Y-you,” you stutter. “I need y—"

His lips swallow your words, fitting against yours like a puzzle piece. The kiss is slow, languid, but you can feel his need in the way he moves against you, hands slipping underneath the borrowed jacket and your shirt to explore your skin. His fingertips drag along your back, relaxing you into his touch. 

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Logan mumbles against your lips. 

Your heart flutters in your chest. “But what about the others?” You ask, nodding to the arcade.

Logan smirks, stealing another kiss. “All the more reason to get back to the mansion before they do.”

“But how are we going to—”

He grips your waist, tugging you towards the parking lot. “I took my bike, pretty girl.”

Oh?

Oh. 

tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie

[jinniejjam]

Breaking Down Walls

✎ CollegeBand!Bang Chan x nerdyAfab!Reader

✎ Nerdy College AU, Emotional, strangers to Lovers, 18+ MDNI! NSFW, Slight breeding Kink and bulge kink, creampie, cunilingus.

✎ 5,9k

✎ Synopsis: Bang Chan, the campus heartthrob, reluctantly seeks help from Y/N, a no-nonsense tutor who doesn’t trust boys like him. As late-night study sessions turn into something more, their differences blur, and unexpected feelings emerge, challenging both their walls.

A/n : hii guyss, another Chan X Nerdy again loll, i just love this trope so muchh! Enjoyy and please don't mind the typo or the grammatical error^^

— Bae

You stared at the email on your laptop screen, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach.

Dear Y/n,

Professor Lee has recommended you for a special tutoring assignment. The student, Christopher Bang, has been struggling with his coursework and could use your expertise. We believe you are the right person for this. Thank you for your cooperation.

Best,

Academic Support Team

You groaned audibly and smacked your forehead against your desk. Christopher Bang. Everyone on campus called him “Bang Chan,” the lead singer of a campus-famous band. He was the kind of guy who was perpetually surrounded by a sea of admirers, always with an easy grin and a cocky confidence that screamed trouble.

You didn’t have time for trouble.

When Professor Lee mentioned this tutoring opportunity during class, you thought it’d be for someone serious. Someone who genuinely wanted help—not a guy who probably spent more time flirting than studying.

Still, you couldn’t exactly back out now. The professor had personally vouched for you. Besides, you needed the extra credit this gig offered. So, with a deep sigh and a firm resolution to keep things strictly professional, you emailed Chan back to arrange your first meeting.

"Tuesday, 4 PM. Library. Be on time."

It was Tuesday at 4:17 PM, and you were tapping your pen against the library table, glaring at the clock.

Of course, he’s late.

You had your laptop open, notes prepared, and a coffee you’d already drained. The quiet hum of the library did nothing to calm your irritation.

Just as you were about to send him a passive-aggressive follow-up email, you heard footsteps approaching.

“Hey! Sorry, sorry—I got caught up!”

You looked up to see him. Bang Chan, in the flesh. His dark hair was slightly messy, as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and his leather jacket was slung carelessly over his shoulder. He looked every bit the campus heartthrob you’d expected, complete with that infuriatingly charming smile.

“You’re late,” you said flatly, refusing to return his smile.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged. Traffic on the way here was brutal.”

“This is a walking campus,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, unbothered by your sarcasm. “Touché.”

You sighed and motioned for him to sit down. “Let’s get started. I assume you know why you’re here.”

“Enlighten me.” He plopped down across from you, leaning back in the chair with an air of relaxed confidence.

You slid a piece of paper across the table. “Your midterm grades. Let’s just say they’re not exactly... stellar.”

Chan winced as he glanced at the sheet. “Yikes.”

“Yikes indeed,” you said dryly. “If you want to pass this course, you need to take this seriously. No distractions, no excuses.”

“Got it. Serious. No distractions.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you with those annoyingly pretty eyes. “But just to clarify—you’re not a distraction, right?”

Your jaw tightened, and you rolled your eyes. “We’re not here to play games, Bang.”

“Call me Chan,” he said with a wink.

You ignored him and opened your laptop. “Let’s start with last week’s lecture material.”

Despite your initial assumptions, Chan actually seemed... attentive. He took notes, asked questions, and even admitted when he didn’t understand something.

“Wait, so this formula—does it only work for linear functions, or can it apply to quadratic ones too?” he asked, frowning at his notebook.

You blinked. That was actually a decent question. “It’s primarily for linear functions, but there are variations you can use for quadratic ones. Want me to show you?”

“Please.”

As you explained, you couldn’t help but notice how focused he was. His pen tapped lightly against the notebook, and his brow furrowed in concentration. He even nodded along occasionally, muttering things like, “Okay, that makes sense now.”

It was... unexpected.

“So, do you actually want to pass this course, or are you just here because your professor made you?” you asked after a while, unable to hide your curiosity.

Chan looked up, surprised by the question. Then he smiled—this time, it wasn’t the cocky grin you’d seen earlier. It was softer, almost sheepish.

“I mean, yeah. I’ve got a lot on my plate, but I don’t want to fail. Music’s my thing, sure, but I don’t want to let my grades tank either.”

Something about his honesty caught you off guard. Maybe he wasn’t as shallow as you’d assumed.

“Well,” you said, clearing your throat, “if you keep this up, you might actually pass.”

He smirked, the cockiness returning. “Is that a compliment, tutor?”

“Don’t get used to it,” you muttered, trying—and failing—not to smile.

--

The next few sessions followed a similar pattern. You’d meet in the library, Chan would inevitably charm his way through your carefully constructed defenses, and you’d catch yourself noticing more than his academic progress.

It was frustrating.

“Okay, I think I’ve got this,” Chan said one evening, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “All thanks to my amazing tutor.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the warmth rising to your cheeks. “Flattery doesn’t get you bonus points.”

“Good thing I’m not doing it for points.”

Your pen paused mid-sentence. His voice had dipped slightly, teasing, but there was something about the way he said it—soft and genuine—that made your chest tighten.

“Focus, Chan,” you muttered, flipping to the next page of notes.

“Right. Focus,” he echoed, but you caught the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

---

The tension reached a boiling point during one particularly late session. The library was practically deserted, save for the two of you tucked away in a quiet corner.

“Okay, last problem,” you said, sliding your notebook toward him. “Solve this, and we’re done for tonight.”

Chan groaned but picked up his pen. You leaned back, watching as his brows furrowed in concentration. He tapped the pen against his lips—a habit you’d noticed—and you quickly averted your gaze, pretending to check your phone.

“How’d I do?” he asked, sliding the notebook back to you.

You scanned his work, nodding slowly. “Not bad. You’re actually starting to get the hang of this.”

“Wow. Another compliment?” he teased, leaning closer. “You’re spoiling me, tutor.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t get used to it.”

But then, as you reached for your notebook, your fingers brushed against his. It was a brief, almost insignificant touch, but it sent a jolt through you.

You glanced up, and Chan was already looking at you, his eyes searching yours.

The air shifted.

For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you in that small, quiet corner of the library.

“You know,” he began softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re a lot more fun to be around than you let on.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. “Chan—”

“Relax,” he said, leaning back with a playful grin. “I’m just messing with you. Unless... you don’t want me to stop.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you, burning with heat. “Goodnight, Chan.”

As you packed up your things and left, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted—something you weren’t quite ready to face yet.

---

The shift came unexpectedly a week later, during a particularly bad storm. You’d just finished your last class of the day when your phone buzzed.

Chan: “Library’s closed. Raincheck?”

You sighed, staring out the window at the torrential downpour. Normally, you’d jump at the chance to stay in, but something about the thought of Chan struggling with the material alone bothered you. Before you could overthink it, you replied:

You: “Come to my dorm. Bring your notes.”

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door.

“Hey,” Chan said, slightly breathless. His hair was damp from the rain, droplets clinging to his leather jacket.

“You look like a wet puppy,” you teased, stepping aside to let him in.

“And you’re as welcoming as ever,” he shot back, but there was no malice in his tone—just the easy, teasing warmth you’d come to associate with him.

As the session went on, you noticed Chan seemed... off. He was quieter than usual, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more subdued.

“You okay?” you asked finally, setting your notebook aside.

He hesitated, then sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “It’s just... a lot. The band, school, everything. Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. For all his confidence, it was moments like these that reminded you he wasn’t as invincible as he seemed.

“You’re doing fine,” you said softly, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your tone. “You just need to give yourself some credit.”

Chan looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the unspoken tension between you thickening.

“Thanks,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “You’re doing the work. I’m just here to guide you.”

Chan gave you a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Still... It’s nice to hear. Sometimes, it feels like everyone only sees what they want to see, you know?”

You nodded, understanding more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. People look at me and think, ‘nerdy girl who has her life together.’ But they don’t see the rest—the doubts, the late nights wondering if I’m good enough, or if I’ll ever be more than just... this.”

Chan tilted his head, his eyes scanning your face. “Why would you think that? You’re... incredible. Smart, focused, driven—”

“Boring,” you interrupted with a bitter laugh.

“No.” His tone was firm, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. “You’re anything but boring.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, pressing against your chest.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, you looked away, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. “You don’t mean that. You’re just saying it because... well, that’s what guys like you do.”

“Guys like me?” Chan repeated, his voice laced with curiosity.

“You know.” You waved a hand vaguely. “The popular, charismatic type. Always knowing exactly what to say to get what you want.”

His expression softened, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You’ve got me all wrong.”

You glanced at him, skepticism evident in your eyes. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “You think I have it all figured out, but most days, I’m just trying to keep my head above water. And if I seem like I know what to say, it’s only because I’ve spent my whole life trying to make people happy. It’s exhausting.”

His honesty caught you off guard, and for the first time, you saw him—really saw him—as more than just the confident, untouchable guy everyone adored.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” you admitted quietly.

“Not many people do.” He smiled faintly. “But I feel like... I can be real with you. Like I don’t have to put on a show.”

Something shifted in your chest, a warmth spreading through you that you hadn’t expected.

“Same,” you murmured. “I don’t know why, but... you make me feel like I can let my guard down, too. It’s scary.”

“Why?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Because... I’ve spent so long convincing myself that people like you and me don’t mix.”

Chan reached out then, his hand covering yours. The gesture was gentle, tentative, as if he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

“Maybe we’re not so different,” he said softly. “And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

You looked at him, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed against the back of your hand.

“Chan—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in, his face inches from yours. His eyes searched yours, asking a silent question.

When you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was hesitant at first—testing the waters—but quickly deepened as you responded.

Your hands moved almost instinctively, one tangling in his damp hair while the other rested against his chest. His heart was racing, beating in time with yours as the kiss grew hungrier.

Chan pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “Is this okay?” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips.

“Yes,” you murmured, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips found yours again, more urgent this time, and you felt yourself melting into him.

The books and papers scattered across the table were long forgotten as he pulled you closer, his hands resting on your waist, anchoring you to him.

The storm outside raged on, but inside, everything felt still—like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against your lips, his voice raw with emotion.

Your heart swelled at his words, and you found yourself smiling despite the heat of the moment. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Chan chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed kisses along your jawline, trailing down to the sensitive spot just below your ear, a shiver ran through you, and you tightened your grip on him, pulling him impossibly closer, for the first time, you let yourself stop overthinking. You stopped doubting his intentions, stopped worrying about what this meant. In that moment, it was just you and him, tangled together in a whirlwind of affection and desire, and it felt... right.

The intensity between you grew, as the room seemed to shrink, leaving just the two of you in your shared bubble. Chan's hands trailed gently along your waist, his touch firm but careful, like he was afraid you might dissapear if he pressed too hard.

"Wait," you murmured suddenly, pulling back slightly.

Chan froze immediately, his hands dropping to his sides, his breathing was ragged, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. "What's wrong?" He asked softly, concern flickering in his eyes.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "I just... i need to know this isn't just a game for you."

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by your question. "What? No. It's not a game. Why would you think that?"

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Because guys like you—"

"Stop saying that," he interupted, his tone gentle but firm, he gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushed lightly in your cheek "I'm not some stereotype, neither are you. I know i've got reputation but that's not who i am—not when im with you."

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. Slowly, you looked up, meeting his gaze. There was no hint of the cocky playfulness that he usually do. Instead, his eyes were full of something deeper, Something real.

"I like you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not just for this. For everything. The way you so passionate about what you do, the way you don't take anyone's crap, the way you challenge me to better."

Your chest tightened at his confession, a warmth spreading through you that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I like you, too," you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, seeing him in that vulnerable state make your heart weak.

Chan's lips curved into a soft smile. "Good. Then let me prove it to you."

Before you could even respond, he kissed you again—this time slower, more deliberate. It wasn't just about the heat or the tension, it was about connection, it was about trust.

As the kiss deepened, you found yourself letting go of every lingering doubt. Your hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he responded by wraping his arms securely around your waist.

The storm outside seemed to mirror the intensity between you, thunder rumbling in the distance as the rain pounded against the window.

Chan's hands slip up your sides, his touch leaving a trail of heat in it's wake. His lips moved from yours to your neck, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses along your skin, sucking the skin under your colarbone untill it turn purple, marking you as his.

"Chan," you breathed, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own heartbeat. he reached for the hem of your sweater, his hands firm as he yanked it off with sudden force, sending it flying across the room. The fabric brushed your skin before it landed, discarded in the corner.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire but still full of that same tenderness "Tell me if it's too much," he said, his voice husky but laced with care.

"It's not," you assured him, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Its perfect."

The words seems to spur him on, and he captured your lips again, his kisses grow hungry.

Before you knew it, you were pressed against the edge of the desk, the paper and books scattered around the desk now laying on the floor. He trail kisses from your neck down to your clothed breasts, his fingers brushing against the plush skin, squeezing your tits with his big hands.

Your breath hitched at the contact, and he paused, his gaze meeting yours. "Is this okay?" He asked again, his voice steady despite the beat between you.

"Yes," you whispered, your cheek flushing.

He continue to assault your tits, yanking the bra off to suck on your right nipple, making you let out a loud moan from the feeling of his warm tongue swirling around your perked nipple, he let go of your right nipple to lick and play with your other nipple, giving it the same service, making you squeze his shoulder from the sensation.

His hand trail your curve and gripping your waist, he let go of your nipple with a pop, he smilled—a soft, almost shy smile that made your heart flutter— he leaned in to kiss you again.

His hands were still on your waist, his grip firm as he guided you to stand, before you could react, he was lifting you effortlesly, the next thing you knew, you were perched on the edge of the desk the cool surface hitting the back of your thigh sending a shiver down your spine.

He stepped closer, his breath hot against your ear as his hands brushed the side of your body, pulling you in with a controlled intensity. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, lips still attached to yours— his tongue slipped in to your mouth—guiding you closer until you were flush against him, the proximity sending a wave of heat through you.

He pulled back slightly from the kiss, "Look at me," he murmured, his voice low and commanding but tinged with something softer, something you couldn't quite place. You met his gaze, your breath hitching as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Spread your leg for me baby."

Chan’s eyes flickered with something dark and unreadable as he waited, giving you a moment to decide. The tension in the air was almost unbearable, and the quiet hum of the room felt louder than anything.

You could feel the heat between you two growing, the closeness undeniable as his fingers lightly traced the inside of your thighs, his touch a contrast to the urgency in his eyes. Slowly, you shifted, obeying the unspoken command, spreading your legs just enough for him to move closer.

He leaned in, his breath fanning over your lips, but he didn’t kiss you right away. Instead, his hand found its way to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his, searching your eyes for something—permission, reassurance, understanding. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, his gaze softening for a brief moment.

“You’re sure?” His voice was barely a whisper, the weight of his question settling between you, the intensity in his eyes matching the tension in your body. His hand was still on your thigh, but there was something so much deeper in his touch, as if he was waiting for you to guide him, to tell him you were ready.

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat. You didn’t need words anymore. The pull between you two was magnetic, and you knew that despite the hesitation in your chest, there was no turning back.

He smiled softly, his lips brushing against yours for a brief moment, the kiss slow, tender, before his lips parted from yours, trailing down to your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers through you. As his hands slid further up your body, his movements were deliberate, almost teasing, drawing out the anticipation.

He move his hand to cupped your aching core, "So wet already, hm? So eager aren't we?" Your heart pounded louder now, the room seeming to close in around you. Every touch, every breath felt amplified as you finally let yourself sink into the moment, unable to resist the pull of everything that had been building between you.

He paused again, his gaze meeting yours, that soft, unspoken understanding passing between you two. And then, as if to confirm the depth of what was happening, he murmured, “I’ve wanted this... wanted you... for so long, you have no idea what you've done to me" he said with a hoarsh groan falling from his lips, while his hand still drawing small sircle around your bundle of nerve making you squirm and moaning mess for him.

"Mmh chan, please." You were not even sure what you were begging for, but you just need him to ruin you into a complete mess with his touch.

He chuckled, low and deep, a sound that sent shivers down your spine making the wet spot on your panties even more visible.

Chan didn't stop swirling your clit watching you squirming under his touch, chasing your pleasure like a cat in a heat.

"Sshh sshh, patient kitten, patient." He said, stopping his finger movement on you, leaving you whining in the lost of contact. But not too long after, Chan lowered his height, pushing your knees to spread your leg even wider for him, displaying your damp panties.

You moan to the sight, him kneeling between your leg, spreading you open like that was never on your bingo card. Chan look up to you, drawing a small sircle on your inner thigh, asking for your consent once again, you nodded eagerly, you already so wet it literally drenched. "Please, Chan" you whine, feeling so desperate for his touch.

He chuckled, seeing you so desperate like this is so cute but also turning him on, Chan hook his finger to move your drenched panties to the side, displaying your glistening pussy clenching around nothing. He mutter "Fuck—" from the sight, "You're leaking baby, holy shit" your pussy is so wet—drench even— he bet he could slide right in right then and there, but he didn't want to rush, he wants to take this moment slowly, savoring every inch of your body, worshiping it, he wants to make love to you.

He began to run his finger up and down your slit, teasing the clit with his thumb, brushing it slowly making squelching noise from how wet you were. "You hear that baby?" He said, looking up to watch your fucked out expression, lips swollen from how much you bite it to muffle your sound, eyes looking down at him, you look so pretty like this—he thought.

Seeing you enjoying his action, Bang Chan started to get bold, he lick a fat stripe along your fold making you let out the most pornographic sound that you don't even know you could. "Ahhh Chanh fuck" eyes rolling back to the back of your head, the feeling of his warm tongue on your pussy is top notch, you never feel this good before. He continue his action, licking your cunt skillfully leaving you breathy and a moaning mess, hand fall to his head, gripping his hair for the overwhelming pleasure, that sent a shiver down his spine, the sound that u made is enough to make him rock hard and trying so hard not to bust in his pants.

"Fuck baby, keep moaning my name like that mmhh you taste so sweet" he said while giving your clit a kitten lick, making you feel a knot bubbling in your lower belly, a strange feeling that you've never experience before.

Your moan getting louder in each flick of his tongue, Chan knew that you were so close, he try to elevate the pleasure, he insert 2 finger into your hole, making you scream and tug his hair harder, the painfull stings on his scalp sending a rush right in to his throbing cock making him moan onto your pussy, the humm create a buzz who made you clench on his digit, making the knot inside your belly tighten, you are so close.

"Chanh i–i nghh fuck" the words die in your throat, he chuckle, quicken his finger pace, pumping his finger into you faster, curling it in the right spot where you can see the star.

"Cum princess, let go, cum on my mouth like a good girl you are" he keep hitting that certain spot with an unbelievably quick pace, making you break and cum on his mouth, your orgasm washes over like a tsunami, leaving you breathless from the intense orgasm you just had.

Chan sit up from his position, licking his lips clean, your wetness spreading all over his chin, the sight is blissful making you blush so hard, heat rushing up to your cheeks seeing him covered in your cum.

His smirk grew wider as he leaned in, his fingers sliding down to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You’re blushing, darling,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, dripping with mischief. “Did I make you shy, or was it the way you screamed my name?”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words sending a wave of heat rushing through your entire body. You tried to look away, but he caught you, gently pressing his forehead to yours. His scent enveloped you—warm, intoxicating, and entirely him.

“Don’t hide from me now,” he whispered, his nose brushing against yours. “I want to see every bit of you like this. All messy, all mine.”

His lips found the corner of your mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss that sent sparks racing through you. Then another kiss, softer, right below your jaw. Each touch was deliberate, leaving you breathless and clinging to his shoulders for balance.

“Chan,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice shaky but laced with yearning.

He hummed against your skin, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with you, "Say it again," he murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip. His gaze was dark, filled with something unspoken yet undeniable.

Your lips parted, and before you could even utter another word, his mouth was on yours— hungry, claiming, leaving no room for hesitation. His hand reaching to the waistband of your panties, sliding it down to your ankle, leaving you bare for him, the cold air hitting your core sent a shiver all over your body, making you gasp from the contact. His hands sliding back to your waist, pulling you flush against him, grinding his rock hard cock on your bare pussy.

The contact drew a chorus of moans from both of you, the raw pleasure sparking between your bodies like fire. “You feel that, baby?” Chan groaned, his voice thick and ragged, hips grinding against you with deliberate force. “Fuck… look what you do to me.”

His lips parted, his breath shallow and uneven as he took in the sight of you beneath him, flushed and needy. It was enough to snap the last thread of his patience. Without wasting another second, his hands moved with purpose, fingers fumbling slightly as he unbuckled his belt. The sharp clink echoed in the heated air, sending a thrill down your spine.

His gaze never left you, dark and full of promise, as he freed himself, his cock springing to life in his hand. “I can’t wait any longer, can i baby?” he murmured, the desperation in his tone making your heart race but the way he still asking for your consent is making you melt, you nod eagerly, muttering a soft "Please," that makes Chan groaning in return.

Your breath hitched as his hand returned to your waist, steadying you as the tip of his cock brushed against your entrance. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through you, and your fingers instinctively gripped his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“Relax, baby,” Chan murmured, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “I’ve got you.”

Slowly, he pushed forward, the stretch making you gasp, your body adjusting to the delicious intrusion. His low groan vibrated against your skin as he buried himself inside you inch by inch, his head falling to the crook of your neck.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispered, his voice shaking with restraint. “So tight… so warm… just for me.”

Your nails dug into his back, your mind hazy with pleasure as he finally stilled, letting you catch your breath. He pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, his hands stroking your sides soothingly, grounding you in the moment.

“Tell me how you feel,” he urged, his lips brushing against your ear.

You couldn’t find the words, overwhelmed by the fullness and the way your bodies seemed to meld together. Instead, you let out a shaky moan, tilting your hips slightly in response. That was all the encouragement he needed.

Chan began to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in, slow and deep. The sensation was maddening, each roll of his hips perfectly measured to drive you wild. He set a pace that was both tender and commanding, as though he wanted to savor every second while still unraveling you completely.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice rough but filled with affection. You opened your eyes, meeting his intense gaze. The way he looked at you—with unbridled desire and something much deeper—made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, punctuating his words with a deep thrust that left you gasping. "And i'm going to show you exactly what that means."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone making your core tighten around him. Chan groaned at the feeling, his control slipping as he snapped his hips harder, pulling a cry from your lips.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his hands gripping your hips as if anchoring himself. “You’re taking me so well, baby. So good for me.”

Each thrust seemed to claim you further, his movements growing more desperate as your moans filled the room. The sound of your bodies meeting was intoxicating, mixing with the broken gasps and groans that spilled freely from both of you.

“Chan, please,” you whimpered, your body trembling under his relentless rhythm.

“Please what, baby?” he teased, though his voice was strained, his forehead damp with sweat. He slowed his pace just enough to drive you insane, his cock dragging against your most sensitive spots with every deliberate stroke.

“Faster,” you pleaded, your nails digging into his arms. “Don’t stop.”

His smirk returned, though it was softer now, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting kiss. “Anything for you,” he murmured.

With that, he adjusted his grip, pulling your legs higher around his waist as he slammed into you, deeper and harder than before. The angle was devastating, and you cried out, your body arching into him as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned, his voice rough and full of pride. “I can feel you, baby. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “You’re gonna take everything I give you, aren’t you? Let me fill you up, baby. Let me make you mine in every way.”

The heat pooling in your stomach surged at his words, the thought pushing you even closer to the edge.

“Yes,” you whimpered, your voice trembling. “I’m yours. Always.”

“That’s right,” he growled, his pace quickening, each thrust hitting deeper. “Gonna fill you up so good. Gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he said, and his palm pressing to the buldge visible on your lower belly, where his cock going in and out.

The tension inside you snapped with his words, a wave of ecstasy crashing over you as your walls clenched around him. You cried out his name, your body trembling as pleasure overwhelmed you.

Chan cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering as your release pulled him over the edge. He buried himself deep with a guttural groan, his warmth spilling into you as he held you close, his grip on your hips unrelenting.

“Fuck,” he panted, his forehead pressing against yours as he caught his breath. “You’re perfect. You were made for me, baby.”

As the intensity of the moment passed, the room fell into a quieter, more peaceful rhythm. Chan pulled out slowly, carefully adjusting you so that you were no longer perched on the desk but supported against him, still breathing heavily. His hands gently cupped your face, his touch tender and reassuring.

“Hey, baby, are you okay?” His voice was soft, the previous urgency replaced by a genuine concern. His eyes searched yours, his gaze warm and comforting.

You nodded, still catching your breath, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your hands gently brushing his chest as you let your head rest against him.

Chan let out a breath of relief, his hand sliding down to your back as he pulled you closer to him, his warmth grounding you. He held you against him, his lips brushing your forehead in a soft kiss.

“You were amazing,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. “I’ve got you, alright? Just breathe, take your time.”

His hands continued to move gently over your skin, tracing circles along your back and shoulders as if he were trying to erase any tension that might have lingered.

After a few moments, you met his gaze again, your heart still racing but feeling safe and cherished in his arms. “Thank you,” you said softly, your voice trembling just a little. “For being so gentle…”

He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Anything for you, baby."

Chan leaned in and kissed you again, slow and tender this time, his lips soft against yours. When he pulled back, he continued to hold you close, his hands never leaving your body.

“You’re perfect," he said, giving your lips a light peck.

The air was still heavy with the aftermath, but now it felt like a calming silence, the love and care in his words washing over you like a warm tide. You stayed close, letting the quiet moments stretch out between you, savoring the feeling of his presence.

[theetherealbloom]

Don't Stop Talking To Me, And Maybe Stay Here Forever

Summary: You join Pedro Pascal in Morocco while he’s filming Gladiator 2. Between the beauty of the Moroccan landscape, the two of you share intimate moments, from quiet rooftop dinners to playful photo-taking and teasing with the cast.

Or… “I'll hold you, I'll know you. I'll never leave out the back door. And I'd love to complete you, hope you get all you could ask for.”

I just read your latest pedro fic it was the BEST DAMN THING i’ve ever read, my heart is going to burst out of my chest from all the butterflies 🦋🫠❤️ will you write more for pedro? perhaps his gf could visit him in marocco or something while he’s filming gladiator and to meet everyone from set and maybe have some alone quality time? :3 just a suggestion 😌 anyways have a lovely dayyy ^^ — anon

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, Age-Gap(ish), TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Cuddling, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Social Media, Embarrassment, Teasing, Shower, Slight Nudity, Make Out Session, Celebrities

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Okay, so, we’ve all seen the photo dumps!??!! Yes! GREAT! I haven’t watched Gladiator 2 cause it isn’t out yet in my country, so there’ll be no spoilers here mhmhmhmhm. I’m just gonna make stuff up based on the pictures Pedro posted on his Instagram lol. And again, this is all made-up, fictional, self-indulgent vibes so pls no one come after me ahhhhhh T^T

Also lowkey, I can see multiple parts to this so… stay tuned.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Songs: Packing It Up by Gracie Abrams, this is how you fall in love by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler

gif by @a7estrellas

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OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — DAY

The warm Moroccan breeze kissed your skin as you stepped onto the bustling set of Gladiator 2. Pedro’s laughter echoed from somewhere nearby, his distinct voice easy to pick out over the hum of activity. Your heart swelled just hearing it. He was always magnetic, but here—working, immersed in a world of creativity and camaraderie—he was luminous.  

You adjusted your sunglasses, feeling both excited and slightly anxious. Meeting Pedro’s castmates felt like stepping into his other life, one where you weren’t the center of his world but a welcome visitor orbiting it. He’d reassured you endlessly. “They’ll love you. I mean, how could they not?” But still, nerves lingered.  

“Mi amor!” Pedro’s voice cut through your thoughts. He emerged from behind a cluster of tents, his smile so wide it could eclipse the Moroccan sun.  

“Hey, stranger.” You grinned, letting him sweep you into a tight hug.  

He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, his arms still firmly around your waist. “You made it,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple.  

“Of course, I made it,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “I missed you too much to stay away.”  

The day unfolded in bursts of joy.  

Pedro introduced you to Coco Ullrich, Paul Mescal, and the rest of the cast. Everyone was warm and welcoming, their teasing camaraderie quickly drawing you in. Pedro stayed close, his hand finding yours at every opportunity, like he couldn’t stand to be too far away.  

Later, you found yourself perched on a stool in the makeup trailer, Pedro sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you. “Hold still,” you said, trying to fix his disheveled hair.  

Coco stood nearby, laughing as Pedro playfully swatted at your hands. “I’m serious, guapo! You’ll go out there looking like you just rolled out of bed.”  

“Maybe I did roll out of bed,” he quipped, grinning.  

You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t, but if you keep squirming, I’m going to make sure you look like it.”  

Coco shook her head, still laughing. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”  

“I have my ways,” you said, giving Pedro a mock glare.  

Pedro leaned closer, his eyes softening. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before you could stop him.  

“Pedro!” you protested, laughing as he pulled you into a full kiss, distracting you from your task.  

“Hopeless,” Coco muttered, snapping a quick photo of the moment.  

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — SUNSET

The Moroccan sunset painted the sky in hues of gold and rose as you, Pedro, and the cast settled onto the soft blankets laid out for an impromptu picnic. The sprawling desert seemed to stretch infinitely, its serene stillness a striking contrast to the chaotic energy of the set. A light breeze rustled through the palm trees in the distance, carrying the faint sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses.

Pedro sat behind you, his arms comfortably wrapped around your waist as you leaned back into his chest. His fingertips absentmindedly traced small, lazy circles on your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. It was a touch that grounded you, soothing and sweet, and yet it made your heart ache with affection.

“This is perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.

Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “No, you’re perfect,” he said softly, his voice laced with adoration.

You turned your head to look at him, catching the warmth in his gaze. He looked at you like you hung the very stars above, and your cheeks flushed. “Cheesy,” you teased, though you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“Honest,” he countered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. His nose nudged yours affectionately, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you.

Paul Mescal, lounging nearby with a bottle of something cold in his hand, cleared his throat dramatically. “Alright, lovebirds, can you save the smoldering for the cameras? Some of us are trying to enjoy the sunset without third-wheeling your Notebook audition.”

Coco Ullrich snorted from her spot on the blanket, where she was busy assembling a makeshift charcuterie board. “Please, Paul, don’t act like you’re not taking notes for your own love scenes.”

Paul shot her a deadpan look. “What’s there to take notes on? I’m already perfect.”

“Debatable,” Coco quipped, popping a grape into her mouth and grinning.  

Pedro chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back. “Paul, don’t be jealous. You already found someone who tolerates you.”  

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Paul said, gesturing between you and Pedro. “I’m inspired. The level of clinginess you two have achieved—it’s an art form.”  

“Clinginess?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.  

“Yes, clinginess,” Paul said, smirking. “He hasn’t let go of you since you got here. It’s like watching a koala in human form.”

Coco leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you think he’d survive a day without her?”  

“Doubtful,” Paul replied, his tone grave.  

Pedro shook his head, his arms tightening around you playfully. “Let them joke,” he said into your ear, his voice a low murmur. “They’re just bitter they don’t have their partners to hold them while they complain about the heat.”  

You turned your head slightly to whisper back, “I think they’re projecting.”  

Pedro laughed, loud and unabashed, and the sound sent warmth flooding through you.  

“Alright, enough roasting Pedro,” Coco said, waving her hands. “Let’s focus on the important stuff—like this cheese board I’m absolutely nailing.”

“Coco, you put a block of cheese next to some crackers,” Paul pointed out.  

“And yet, it’s still better than anything you’ve contributed,” she shot back.

You couldn’t help but laugh as they continued to bicker, the dynamic between the cast a perfect blend of teasing and genuine affection. It felt good to be a part of this world for a little while, to see Pedro in his element and to share these small, beautiful moments with the people who meant so much to him.  

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with deeper hues of crimson and violet, Pedro shifted slightly behind you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You doing okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice meant just for you.

“I’m better than okay,” you said, turning your face to his. “This is one of those moments I’ll never forget.”

“Same,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “But mostly because you’re here.”

Paul groaned from across the blanket. “Seriously, someone hand me a bucket. I can’t handle this level of sap.”

“You’re just missing Gracie,” Coco teased, tossing a cracker at Paul with a sly grin.  

Paul caught it mid-air with a dramatic flourish. “She’s the love of my life, thank you very much. I’m thriving, just long-distance thriving.” His wide smile softened slightly, a dreamy look crossing his face.  

Pedro chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder as he held you closer. “See, even Paul can be romantic. It’s not just us being disgustingly in love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul said, waving him off, though the grin never left his face. “But you two are setting the bar impossibly high. Stop making the rest of us look bad.”

Coco shook her head with mock exasperation. “Let’s face it, no one can compete with Pedro’s clingy koala act.”  

“Hey, it’s not clingy if it’s mutual,” you chimed in, leaning back into Pedro’s embrace.  

“Exactly!” Pedro said, kissing the side of your neck for emphasis. “This is just... efficient affection.”  

“Efficient affection?” Coco repeated, laughing so hard she nearly knocked over the cheese board. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Pedro shrugged, utterly unbothered, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured, “Don’t let them ruin this for us.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you whispered back, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw.  

The first stars began to dot the darkening sky, their glow faint but steady against the fading hues of gold and rose. The laughter of the group blended with the soothing whisper of the desert breeze, wrapping the evening in a cocoon of warmth and love.

You let out a contented sigh, your fingers intertwining with Pedro’s. These moments—filled with jokes, tenderness, and the quiet magic of a Moroccan sunset—were the kind you knew you’d carry with you forever.

THE NEXT DAY

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – AFTERNOON  

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting warm golden light over the sprawling desert set. The faint hum of activity outside the large tent provided a calming backdrop as you and Pedro sat together, stealing a moment away from the chaos of production.  

Pedro’s lap had become your designated resting place, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist as you leaned into him. You had been quietly chatting about the day—how stunning the desert looked on camera, how Paul had stolen one of Coco’s snacks during a break—when the warmth of the afternoon began to lull you both into sleep.  

His hand moved lazily up and down your back, the motion soothing as his voice grew quieter, more relaxed. “You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “this might be my favorite part of the day.”  

“Falling asleep during work?” you teased, your voice soft and playful.  

“Falling asleep with you,” he corrected, his smile audible in his words.  

It wasn’t long before exhaustion claimed you both, your head tucked under his chin and his cheek resting against your hair. The quiet hum of the tent became a comforting cocoon, and time seemed to stretch and blur.  

The sound of muffled laughter stirred you from sleep, pulling you out of the warm haze. You blinked against the light, realizing you were still tucked into Pedro’s chest, his arms holding you close even as he began to wake.  

“Don’t move,” a familiar voice called. You turned your head to see Paul Mescal standing a few feet away, phone in hand, his grin wide and mischievous.  

Next to him, Coco Ullrich smirked as she aimed her phone at the two of you. “We’re documenting history here. You’ll thank us later.”  

Pedro stirred, squinting at them through his grogginess. “Seriously?” His voice was raspy, a mix of sleep and disbelief.  

Paul shrugged, grinning even wider as he showed Pedro the photo. “We couldn’t resist. Look at this. It’s like a promo poster for the most annoyingly sweet rom-com ever.”  

Pedro glanced at the photo, then at you, and laughed softly. “We should use that for the holiday cards this year.”  

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “This is so embarrassing. They’re never going to let us live this down.”  

Coco laughed, flipping through her photos. “Oh, it’s way too late for that. I’m sending this to the group chat and the PR team. They’ll love it.”  

“Please don’t,” you pleaded, your voice muffled against Pedro’s shirt.  

Paul tilted his head dramatically. “Why not? It’s just a little fun. Besides, you two are giving us all cavities with how sweet you are. We’re suffering.”  

Pedro smirked, holding you a little tighter. “You’re suffering? Sounds like a personal problem.”  

“Alright, alright, enough!” A gravelly voice interrupted, and you looked up to see Ridley Scott standing at the edge of the tent. His hands were on his hips, but the amused twinkle in his eye gave him away.  

“Ridley,” you started, your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’m so sorry—”  

He held up a hand to stop you, his smirk growing. “Don’t apologize. If anything, I should thank you. Pedro’s been suspiciously well-behaved since you arrived. But,” he added with a pointed glance at Pedro, “if this keeps up, we’ll have to rename the film The Gladiator and the Muse. Production’s going to take twice as long.”  

The crew burst into laughter, and you buried your face back in Pedro’s chest, groaning. “This is officially the most embarrassing moment of my life.”  

Pedro chuckled, his hand brushing gently over your back. “Embarrassing? Nah. You’re the best thing about being here.”  

You peeked up at him, your cheeks still warm, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You mean that?”  

“Every word,” he said, his voice soft. “You make everything easier, better… you make it all worth it.”  

Your heart swelled, and a small smile broke through your embarrassment. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try to believe you.”  

“Believe me,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.  

Paul groaned, breaking the tender moment. “Someone get a camera crew. We’re turning this into a reality show. Lovebirds in the Desert.”  

Pedro laughed, finally standing and pulling you to your feet. “Careful, Paul. You might not survive the sequel.”  

Ridley clapped his hands, his voice carrying over the lingering laughter. “Alright, lovebirds, enough stalling. Let’s get back to work! Pedro, we’ve got a fight scene to shoot.”  

Pedro gave you one last reassuring smile before winking. “Don’t go far. I’ll need more luck soon.”  

You nodded, watching him head back to set, and felt a sense of warmth that no amount of teasing could dampen. As you stepped out of the tent, the desert sun shining overhead, you knew this moment—this strange, beautiful mix of chaos and love—was one you’d carry with you forever.

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – EVENING  

The rooftop restaurant was like something out of a dream. Lanterns hung delicately from wrought iron fixtures, casting warm, flickering light over the table as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was cool but pleasant, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from a nearby garden. Below, the city of Marrakech stretched out in an intricate maze of rooftops and twinkling lights, the hum of life soft and distant.  

Pedro had arranged everything, from the secluded corner table to the small vase of your favorite flowers waiting when you arrived. He always had a way of making even the simplest moments feel like magic.  

“Look at this view,” you murmured, leaning against the wrought iron railing as the sky turned from gold to a deep, dusky pink.  

Pedro stood close behind you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. “The view’s got nothing on you,” he said softly, the teasing lilt in his voice balanced by the sincerity in his eyes.  

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to face him. “That’s a terrible line.”  

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning as he pulled out his phone. “But it’s true. Hold still.”  

Before you could protest, he snapped a photo, catching you mid-laugh as you tried to dodge the camera. “Pedro!” you groaned, your cheeks warming.  

He chuckled, looking at the photo with a self-satisfied smile. “Perfect. Might frame this one.”  

“Stop it,” you said, trying to grab the phone from him, but he held it out of reach, his grin only widening.  

“Never,” he replied, his free hand reaching across the table to take yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and his gaze softened. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  

Your stomach fluttered at the way he said it—no teasing this time, just quiet, earnest affection.  

“Now you’re just being unfair,” you muttered, trying to hide your blush.  

Pedro leaned forward, his head tilting slightly as if to study you closer. “Not unfair. Just honest.”  

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was pounding. In a bid to regain some ground, you grabbed your own phone and quickly snapped a picture of him just as he brought your hand to his lips. The resulting photo was unfairly good—his lashes long, the lantern light catching the gold in his eyes, the softness in his expression making your chest ache.  

“Got you,” you said triumphantly, holding up the phone.  

Pedro laughed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again as he met your gaze. “Now we’re even?”  

“Now we’re even,” you confirmed, though your grin gave away how smug you felt.  

The waiter arrived with dessert just then—a delicate plate of Moroccan pastries accompanied by a small bowl of honey and almonds. You both leaned forward at the same time, reaching for the same pastry, and burst into laughter when your fingers brushed.  

“Go ahead,” Pedro said, gesturing gallantly.  

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, breaking off a piece of the pastry and dipping it into the honey. You held it up to his lips, your pulse skipping when he leaned in without hesitation.  

“Delicious,” he said, his voice low and warm. “But I think it tastes better coming from you.”  

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile as you took a bite yourself. The flaky pastry melted on your tongue, its sweetness perfectly balanced by the honey.  

As you shared the dessert, your conversation drifted from playful teasing to the little things that filled your days. Pedro told you about a funny moment on set earlier when Paul had forgotten his lines and improvised something so absurd even Ridley couldn’t stop laughing.  

“And then,” Pedro continued, his grin infectious, “he tried to blame me, saying my face was too distracting.”  

“Well, he’s not wrong,” you teased, earning a dramatic roll of Pedro’s eyes.  

“Oh, so now you’re on his side?”  

“I’m on the side of the truth,” you said, popping an almond into your mouth.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  

Your smile softened, and you leaned your chin on your hand as you looked at him. “Probably still charming everyone who crosses your path.”  

“Not like this,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. He reached across the table again, his fingers lacing with yours. “You make everything better. You make me better.”  

Your throat tightened at the rawness in his voice, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, his words settling deep in your chest.  

“You do the same for me,” you said quietly.  

The soft music playing in the background faded into the hum of the city as the two of you sat there, the world narrowing to just this moment. Pedro brought your hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before resting your joined hands on the table.  

As the night stretched on, the two of you continued to talk about everything and nothing—your favorite childhood memories, the places you wanted to visit together, the little quirks you loved about each other.  

When it was time to leave, Pedro stood and extended a hand to help you up. “One last picture before we go?” he asked, his phone already in hand.  

You nodded, letting him pull you into his side. The lanterns glowed softly behind you as he kissed your cheek just as the camera clicked.  

Looking at the photo, you smiled. It was perfect—just like this night, just like him. 

L’HÔTEL MARRAKECH, MOROCCO – EVENING

The golden hues of the evening sun had long faded, leaving the hotel suite illuminated only by the soft glow of warm, ambient lighting. Laughter filled the room, bubbling up between stolen glances and playful teasing. Pedro leaned against the edge of the plush sofa, his hand resting casually on his hip as you doubled over with giggles at another one of his overly dramatic impressions. 

“I’m just saying,” he said with a grin, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “If anyone here is getting an Oscar for Most Entertaining Human, it’s me.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting at him lightly. “You? Entertaining? Please. You’re just lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Just cute?” he teased, his voice dropping into a low, mock-hurt murmur. He stepped closer, tilting his head. “That’s disappointing.”

And just like that, with no warning, he took your hand and spun you gently into his arms. There was no music, no sound but the faint rustle of the curtains and the muted hum of life outside your window. But to Pedro, there was no need for anything more. 

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, pulling you flush against him.

“Pedro,” you started to protest, but the way he was looking at you—so earnest, so unguarded—stole the words from your lips. He rested his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go. 

“You are the reason I can breathe,” he murmured. His voice cracked slightly, raw and unfiltered. “The reason I can survive.”

Your chest tightened, and your hands gripped the soft cotton of his shirt as you closed your eyes. Slowly, the two of you began to sway, side to side, as if the universe itself had orchestrated this silent melody just for you.

“Pedro,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words sank deep into your soul. “You don’t have to—”

“Shh.” He cut you off gently, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “I want to. You’re my safe place.”

Together, you moved as one, the world outside forgotten. The phones were switched off, the curtains drawn, and for a moment, it felt like time had ceased to exist. All that mattered was this—his arms around you, your head resting on his chest, and the way his heartbeat felt steady and strong beneath your cheek.

“What’s easy is right,” you whispered suddenly, echoing words your mother had once said. The truth of it struck you in that moment, how being with Pedro never felt like a choice—it was instinct. Like breathing. Like coming home. 

Pedro smiled, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “What’s easy is right,” he repeated softly. “Then I guess it’s easy to know... I’m going to love you forever.”

You laughed softly, though the lump in your throat made it difficult. “Forever’s a long time.”

He tilted your chin up, his warm, brown eyes crinkling at the corners with a quiet joy. “Not nearly long enough,” he said, his voice a low promise. “You’ll be my best friend until we’re old and gray. And even then, I’ll still love you.”

There was something in the way he said it—so simple, so sure—that your knees nearly gave out. But as always, Pedro was there, holding you steady, keeping you close. 

This is how you fall in love, you realized. Not in a blaze of fireworks, but in the quiet moments where you let go and they hold you up. 

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” Pedro said after a long silence, his voice filled with wonder. “You make my stomach ache with hope. You make my hands stop shaking. I wake up smiling now, and it’s because of you.”

You bit your lip, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest. “Pedro…”

“No, listen to me,” he insisted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Love isn’t supposed to be heavy. It’s not supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be this. Us. A safe place. A hand to hold through every storm.”

His words broke something open inside you, and you nodded, letting the tears spill over. “You’re my safe place too,” you whispered. “You make me believe I deserve this.”

Pedro pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head as he swayed you gently. “You deserve everything,” he murmured. “Every laugh, every sunrise, every stupid little joke I’ll tell for the next fifty years.”

You both laughed softly, the sound mingling with the quiet hum of the room. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment—this love that was soft, steady, and unshakable.

Right from your hips to your cuticles, you were everything to him, and he was everything to you. Wherever you both went, it was heaven. And neither of you ever wanted to leave. 

Steam filled the bathroom, the warmth clinging to the mirrors and wrapping around the two of you like a soft cocoon. Pedro stood under the cascade of water, droplets running down his broad shoulders and soaking his messy curls. His eyes flicked toward you, a tender smile tugging at his lips as you stepped closer, your fingers gently reaching for the shampoo bottle.  

“Turn around,” you said softly, motioning for him to face away from you.  

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, though there was a hint of shyness in his voice as he obeyed.  

You lathered the shampoo between your hands, your touch careful and affectionate as you worked it into his hair. His curls were soft and damp beneath your fingers, the grays glinting like silver in the dim light.  

“I love your hair,” you murmured, your voice reverent.  

Pedro let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, tilting his head back slightly. “The gray makes me look old.”  

You paused, your hands stilling in his hair as you leaned around to catch his gaze. “Stop that. It doesn’t make you look old; it makes you look distinguished. And I happen to love every single one of these.” You tugged playfully at a curl for emphasis.  

He gave you a sheepish look, his lips twitching as he fought back a pout. “You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me.”  

“Stuck with you?” you repeated, feigning outrage. “Oh, no, Pedro. I chose you—gray hair and all. And I’d choose you again. Every single day.”  

His pout softened into a smile, one so genuine it made your chest ache. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple.  

“And you deserve it,” you countered firmly, finishing his hair with a rinse.  

When it was your turn, Pedro insisted on returning the favor, his hands gentle as he massaged the conditioner into your hair. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck as he marveled at you.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with sincerity.  

“Even covered in soap?” you teased, feeling heat creep up your cheeks.  

“Especially covered in soap,” he replied, leaning down to steal a kiss.  

The shower ended with a flurry of soft laughter and playful splashes, the two of you wrapped in towels as you padded into the bedroom. Pedro pulled on a pair of boxers while you slipped into one of his oversized shirts, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.  

The two of you slipped into bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden light over the room. The air smelled faintly of the lavender lotion you’d rubbed on your hands, mingling with the subtle hint of Pedro’s cologne that still lingered on his skin. He had one arm draped lazily over your waist, his other hand holding a book he’d claimed to be interested in, though his wandering eyes betrayed him.

A book rested in your lap, too, but you’d long given up on reading. Instead, you could feel his gaze flickering to you, watching you more than the words on his page. It was endearing, the way he thought you wouldn’t notice, how he never grew tired of studying you like he’d never quite figure you out.  

“You’re not reading,” you finally accused, peeking at him over the edge of your book.  

Pedro grinned, unabashed. He set his book down on the nightstand and scooted closer, leaning his head on the pillow beside you. “Can you blame me?” he said, his voice soft and teasing. His hand reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “I’ve got the most beautiful view right here.”  

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the warmth rising in your cheeks, but the smile that stretched across your lips betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, nudging him lightly with your elbow.  

“And yet, you love me,” he replied with mock arrogance, leaning back against the headboard with a self-satisfied smirk.  

“Unfortunately for me,” you quipped, though your tone was dripping with affection.  

Pedro’s laugh filled the room, low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. You settled back into your spot, his arm tightening slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him. For a while, there was only the sound of pages turning and the occasional creak of the bed as one of you shifted.  

Eventually, the books were forgotten, abandoned on the nightstand as the room grew darker, the soft click of the lamp switch plunging you into the comforting glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains.  

Lying side by side, your head resting on Pedro’s chest, you let your fingers trace lazy patterns along the bare skin of his arm. But your mind wouldn’t quiet, and as the minutes stretched on, the thoughts bubbling inside you demanded to be voiced.  

“Okay, but really,” you began, your voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Why is ‘llama’ spelled with two L’s? Wouldn’t one be enough? It’s not like we say ‘Llama-la.’”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. He tilted his head down to look at you, his lips quirking into a smile. “Mi amor, I adore you, but it’s almost midnight. Go to sleep.”  

“I can’t until I solve this mystery,” you said with mock determination, lifting your head to look at him.  

He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Maybe the second ‘L’ is there to confuse aliens.”  

You gasped, sitting up slightly. “That makes so much sense! Like, imagine aliens judging us for eating cereal with milk.”  

Pedro chuckled again, his arm tightening around you to keep you close. “Cereal with milk is sacred,” he said, his voice heavy with playful conviction. “If aliens have an issue with that, I’ll fight them myself.”  

You grinned, turning to prop yourself up on your elbow so you could face him fully. “Okay, serious question. If you could ask someone anything and be guaranteed the truth, who would it be?”  

Pedro cracked one eye open, his other hand lazily resting on your hip. “I’d ask you why you’re so determined to keep me awake,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.  

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious!”  

“Alright, alright,” he relented, the mirth in his eyes softening as he considered your question. “I’d ask my third-grade teacher if she really lost my homework or if she just didn’t like me.”  

You burst out laughing, the sound muffled by the way you buried your face into his chest. “That’s what you’d waste your question on?”  

“Don’t judge me,” he said with mock indignation, his fingers trailing absent patterns on your back. “It’s haunted me for years.”  

Your laughter subsided into a warm giggle as you tilted your head up to look at him. “Fine. My turn. I’d ask my mom if she’s proud of me. Like… really proud. Not just the ‘I’m your mom, so I have to say it’ kind of proud.”  

Pedro’s hand stilled on your back, his gaze softening as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “She’s proud of you, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “And so am I. Always.”  

The weight of his words wrapped around your heart, a comforting balm that eased the ache of self-doubt. You nuzzled closer, your fingers curling around his as you let the quiet stretch between you for a moment.  

Moments later, you broke the silence again, your voice a whisper in the dark. “When I was little, I thought my toys came alive when I wasn’t looking. Like Toy Story. Honestly, I still kinda think they do.”  

Pedro let out a deep laugh, his chest shaking beneath you as he pulled you even closer. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “Your stuffed bunny? Definitely a troublemaker.”  

You giggled, your heart feeling impossibly light as his hand returned to its slow, soothing patterns on your back.  

The conversation drifted into comfortable nonsense, the kind of midnight musings that didn’t need to make sense but brought a certain kind of intimacy only shared in the quiet hours of the night.  

Finally, as your eyelids grew heavy and your words faded into murmurs, Pedro pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, mi amor,” he whispered, his voice soft and steady.  

In his arms, with the world outside forgotten, you felt safe. Loved. His heartbeat was the only rhythm you needed as you drifted into sleep, a love like no other holding you steady through the night.

[gghostwriter]

You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face. 

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.” 

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.” 

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.” 

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?” 

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?” 

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice. 

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?” 

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.” 

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.” 

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?” 

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater. 

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?” 

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk. 

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation. 

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?” 

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed. 

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth. 

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” 

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory. 

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up. 

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who. 

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.” 

“Actually, the show started in the 60s��1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?” 

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them. 

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language. 

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst 

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?” 

“What? No! No, of course not!” 

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow. 

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend. 

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue. 

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course. 

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down. 

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking? 

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time. 

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk. 

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement. 

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered. 

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement. 

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with. 

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.  

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance. 

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest. 

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.” 

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hey! Gosh I love your fics, you are so talented! <3 I have a request after your latest fic haha. The sentences 'It's only a matter of time before he accidentally slips and calls you his spouse in front of people.' would be the perfect plot, actually. When and how would the Harbingers calls their s/o 'their wife' in front of others first time? If you don't like it, you don't have to do it! i hope you have an awesome day!

(hehe, yes, accidentally… mmm. Enjoy!)

✦ They accidentally call you their spouse 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Tartaglia

It was a complete and utter accident; just a harmless slip of the tongue. One moment, your beloved was politely introducing you to some of his Fatui subordinates, the other he inadvertently referred to you as “my spouse” in front of others. It would've been a sweet moment of shared laughter, were it not spoken in front of so many people of the Fatui. It’s not like your beloved’s subordinates would start correcting him, he's a Harbinger after all… now how would you navigate this awkward situation? 

✧ The ever-cold and calculating Pierro prevents any mistakes from slipping past him. Yet here he is, standing composed next to you as he gently gestures to you and claims:

“From here on out, my spouse shall reside in the Zapolyarny Palace and I expect all obedience to be directed towards them.” 

You went silent. The servants went silent. Even he went silent. You carefully murmured to him:

“... Pierro, dear. We are not married.” 

Somehow the Jester remained blank, as if the error of his brain eluded him. Or perhaps, he realized it was too late to reprimand his mistake, especially in front of the royal servants of the palace. He simply cleared his throat and nodded woefully: “Indeed, we aren't. My apologies.” 

The hushed murmurs of The Director’s “innocent mistake” spread soundlessly like an inside secret within the Palace's walls. It wasn't news that the Jester adored you, but to witness the typically collected Pierro clear his throat bashfully, while you stood there timidly after correcting his mistake was endearing. 

These rumors, of course, reached the ears of the 3rd of the Fatui Harbingers’ ears, Columbina. Such tales were her delight, a personal pastime, relishing the timid nature of your private relationship with Pierro. She just had to tease you two by reminding him of the incident. Thus, one day, she approached The Jester in his office on an inconspicuous day and asked:

“Oh, cheer up, Director. It's been months since your last mishap. Surely you wouldn't let your composure shatter in front of the one you call beloved so easily?”

“You are correct,” - Pierro replied to the Dove calmly. “It was a mistake. Hence, I amended it and made sure it's no longer an issue.”

That’s when Columbina’s gaze drifted to his hands, where he was not leisurely adjusting his cuffs but subtly displaying an ornament on his ring finger. His engagement ring. If the 3rd Harbinger could open her enigmatic eyes, she would stare absolutely wide-eyed and dumbfounded through her white ribbons. When the hell did he get engaged-?!

“Pierro, dear,” - you suddenly stepped in, that same embarrassed interjection escaping you “Please stop boasting about our engagement. We haven't made it official yet.” 

✧ The poor Fatui soldier under Il Capitano's recruit stood stiffly looking at their Harbinger. Was it dread or the web of discomfort one feels when seeing a couple argue over something entirely beyond their input? Because that's certainly what the current Fatui skirmisher felt when standing between you and Il Capitano. 

“I can't allow this, Capitano,” – you huffed, your head shaking in dismay. “You over-dedicate yourself in battles.” 

“We went over this, my cherished. I have to, it is my duty as the Captain. Not just for the Fatui’s sake, but for your own safety as well!” 

“No, no,” – you clicked your tongue. “Don’t give me that. You know that's not the issue… the issue is that you overwork yourself by beating everyone in a duel and not leaving me anything else to defeat! What am I supposed to do?!”

“But my beloved-!” 

That's how your lover's quarrel underwent, and the Fatui Skirmishers that kept blinking in disbelief, stood helpless as the argument ping-ponged between ‘who gets to defeat more enemies on the battlefield’. Finally, your beloved spoke with an irritated huff at your scolding:

“Well, did you perhaps consider that I do not wish for my spouse to overextend themselves and get recklessly injured over some personal records?”

“Oh, so now you-... What did you just call me?” 

The sudden realization caused a deafening silence between you and Capitano like a blade poised to strike. His pitch-black visage did not help to decipher whether he was grappling with his mistake or masking his shock. You insisted: “Capitano, what did you just call-”

“I did not say anything.” 

“You did, you…Hey-! Don't turn your back on me, come back here!” 

Perhaps The 1st of the Fatui Harbingers does not flee from a challenge like a pathetic coward. However, today was a great chance to use a tactful retreat, to put it softly, all in the hopes of escaping your wrath. How else would he explain his mishaps of calling you his ‘spouse’ so casually? If he confessed that he thought “it sounds so befitting for my one and only” he might as well just reveal every tender plan of a quiet life with you. And he can't have you teasing his affection for a domestic life alongside you. 

For now, fleeing was a wise and honorable choice, especially when you are ready to duel him any moment now.

✧ It was another one of those days in Il Dottore's lab. His fingers tap the surface of the table, chin resting on his palm, while a pen balanced precariously behind his ear. Delegating his final tasks for today, he supervised some final organizational matters in the lab while addressing some lab assistants with his usual air of nonchalant authority.

“Ensure all the surgical sets are properly sanitized and checked in the ultrasonic cleaner. I expect them neatly arranged by day’s end. My spouse prefers the equipment organized this way.”

One of the lab assistants stopped in their tracks, staring at him. 

“And don't inform them how some glassware shattered today. It would be irrelevant for them to worry…”

Mumbling to himself, Dottore only now realized that his lab assistants fell eerily silent, staying motionless as they blinked at him. Humming in confusion, he turned his attention at last, only to realize these unfortunate listeners were not gawing at him, but rather someone behind him.

Lo and behold, you stood there, behind him.

With a hand on your hip, you inquired with deceptive simplicity: “Oh? You have a spouse, dear?”

He pretends he wasn't aware of the conundrum and the absurdity of his slip-up. But even with his eyes covered behind that smooth black mask covering his eyes, you can see the haughty expression on his lips. Thus, he crossed his arms.

“Hm, Perhaps. You could say I do.”

“Then my condolences to your spouse. They must have the patience of a saint.”

The Doctor’s assistant had to repress their little chuckles. The tense atmosphere of the laboratory would always be dismissed with your ease, as you’d knowingly nod to Dottore’s colleagues and allow them to leave you two alone. Not even Dottore’s stern attitude would interfere otherwise, even if he tried to conceal his flustered composure at your mere words: “Well perhaps they are a saint, but also a handful for me to deal with.”

“Well, your hypothetical spouse is telling you it's late already and you should take a break for today.”

Conceding to your playful banter, The harbinger’s shoulders loosened up, a rare smile gracing him as he followed you with a wrapped arm around your shoulder. Your victory is marked by your knowing smile and Dottore would not object or conceal his infatuation by referring to you as his spouse. Even if he denies the marital titles as nothing but superficial formalities, he’d walk with you back to your shared personal quarters mumbling:

“Spouse’s orders it is, then.”

✧ It happened during a busy moment when Pantalone and you were at a tailor shop. After much persuasion that lasted weeks, your beloved succeeded at finally dragging you to a luxurious tailoring workshop, where store attendants welcomed you both and helped take your measurements with utter refinement and class.

You stood still with your arms extended, while the attendants did their swift duty with a measuring tape. In the mirror’s reflection before you, you caught sight of Pantalone standing a few steps away, his hand resting thoughtfully against his chin.

“Perhaps an elegant new blazer, white with golden accents?”

You remained still, looking absent-mindedly at the array of fabrics on display. “Dear, there is no need for every piece of clothing to look like it was made for a soirée. I am perfectly fine with a casual cotton blazer.”

The shop attendant closest to you stepped close with some swatches of fabrics to choose from, offering a polite smile. However, Pantalone had to shake his head and charmingly declare – “Oh, nonsense, my spouse deserves only the highest quality and looks when it comes to tailor-made pieces. Excuse me, may I inspect the catalogs for fabrics?”

With a polite nod, the shop assistant did not question the Harbinger or your baffled expression at the sudden choice of words. She was already moving around: “Most certainly, sir. I am sure you and your partner would love our available options. In fact, we also offer discounts for matching tailored ensembles for betrothed pairs if it's for a wedding or a honeymoon special.”

"Wait, wait… we are not-”

“Ah, wonderful,” Pantalone kept the same polite persona without missing a beat. However, the slight knowing smile did not go unnoticed as he glanced at you. “That will be excellent to keep in mind for the future."

What was promised as a quick visit to the tailor shop turned into Pantalone victoriously dragging you through multiple high-end workshops and analyzing the myriads of ‘honeymoon and wedding’ offers when it came to tailor-made clothes. And you, of course, could only gape at him while he kept that ever-charming grin.

“Pantalone, honey, we are not looking into engagement accessories. We are not married.”

“Oh? We are not?” - He feigned innocence and tilted his head. “Hehe, oops.”

✧ When Tartaglia made his way back with his men to Snezhnaya, the fuzzy white snow provided a stark white contrast to the shedding blood on the ground. Clear ruby red droplets stained the cool white terrain after the Harbinger’s successful expedition. 

“Lord Harbinger Tartaglia,” – a Pyro Agent approached, bowing in recognition. “Our reports are in. The site is clear; all abyssal monstrosities have been eliminated.”

Yet Childe was far from tranquil. The rush of battle was still hot in his blood, his hydro dual blades clutched tightly in his hands. Another mission dispelling any filth at the outskirts of Snezhnaya may be mundane for some Fatui skirmishers, yet for a man like Childe, this was his warm-up. 

“Ha… not bad. We finished much earlier today. And here I suspected this would take a whole day.” 

The Pyro Agent nodded – “Yes, sir, indeed. Judging by estimation, our troop would be back to the city by nightfall.”

“...Hold on, nightfall?” 

Suddenly, Tartaglia froze as if a deep culmination dawned on him. The confirmation from his subordinates did not quell his sudden shock. In mere seconds, all his battle rush and thrill of danger vanished before Tartaglia whipped around and exclaimed loudly to his men: 

“Teucer’s theater performance at school is today! My spouse is gonna kill me!” 

Without further words or thought, the Harbinger literally turned and sprinted as far as the horizon could see, leaving his subordinates baffled. Teucer? Spouse? This young Harbinger was married? 

“What… is he on about? I didn't know our lord Harbinger was married,” - the Pyro Agent mumbled, looking into the distance where the figure of a sprinting young man vanished off comically. An Anemoboxer Vanguard stepped nearby, adjusting his gauntlets. “I am pretty sure he isn't. It could be a family member.”

“Then who is the spouse…?” 

The Fatui colleagues exchanged shrugs before the other remembered – “Ah, could be his partner. Remember, they sometimes come to visit when he's training?”

“Oh, then definitely them.” – the two men stared off in the direction Tartaglia had gone, the bizarre image of their superior, so consumed by his bloodlust moments ago, suddenly halting everything to rush home for some kid’s theater performance. And accidentally calling his sweetheart his spouse would be hard to forget.

“Wanna bet he won't make it in time and his ‘spouse’ would teach him a lesson?” 

[ifwdominicfike]

you give inexperienced bsf!matt his first handjob

── .✦. ──

“are y’sure you’re ready baby? need to hear you say it.” you coo softly, poor boy could barely get a word out without whimpering. “y-yes.. please— just wan’ you to t-touch me!” his hips bucking up as you palm him through the thin layer of his sweatpants.

“kay’ sweet boy..” you begin to slide off his layers, the feeling of the fabric rubbing up against him makes him whine. hiding his face from embarrassment as he let out those sweet sounds you craved to hear. “dont hide from me baby, lemme see your face. yeah?” he slowly brings down his hand, opting to grip onto the bedsheets instead. “please y/n.. need y-your hand”

you smile at his desperation, once his sweats are gone you hook your fingers in his boxers and bring them down just enough to his mid thigh. you’re met with his hard cock, he twitches from the cool air exposed to him. “look at you.. mm— y’so big and pretty baby.” your hands slide up and down his thighs, purposely not touching him where he needs you most. “pl-pleaseee” he whines “please what? don’ know what you want unless you tell me baby..”

he squirms under your touch, growing more frustrated each second “pl- fuck! to-touch me, do anything! please i ne-need you” he pleads, trying his hardest not to do the job himself “good boy, s’proud of you sweet boy. just one more thing, kay?” your hand moves up to his mouth “spit baby, go ahead..” you coax him, a sweet smile adoring your face “y-yes ma’am”

after he does so you bring your hand down to his leaking cock “o-oh! fuck— ye-yes..” he groans, throwing his head back against the pillow “yeah? that feels good huh.. better than your own hand?” he vigorously nods his head, knuckles turning white due to his grip on the bed “f-faster baby.. please!” he breathes out “of course baby, can’t deny you when you sound like that..” your grip tightens around him and your pace quickens “oh- sh- shit! m’gonna fuck!” he hurriedly says.

“y’gonna what sweetheart? come on lemme hear that sweet voice” you tease “come! fuck- fuck! m’gonna come. d-don’ stop.. mmm” his hips moving up in rhythm with the thrusts of your hand “oohh look at you, soaking my hand like a slut. s’that what you are? just a greedy slut who needs nothing but attention, yeah?” your degrading words send him over the edge, thick ropes of white shoot out from him. “fuck! yes- yes, yes!”

“good boy, look at that.. all y’needed was a little bit of mean words and you’re a mess already.” you slowly removed your hand, looking over at matt all spent with his head thrown back and eyes shut from his previous orgasm. once he opens his eyes he’s met with the sight of you licking up the mess that he made.

“fuck..” his breathing heavy, shutting his eyes once more to help him calm down until he feels his overstimulated cock in your hold again. “oh you thought we were done baby?”

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

“WE LOVE YOU SUB!MATT” we all say in unison. i live for sub!matt idc i need that man whimpering and whining underneath me NOW. im surprised i wrote this IN ONE SITTING?? (if there’s errors, shhh) anyway, enjoy bye i love youu !!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @ellaapsworld @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

some things are worth it

a/n: so, because i haven’t been able to stop thinking about this guy, especially in this au (literally had multiple dreams about him this past week) i rewatched the longest ride for the yeehaw vibes and this fantasy popped into my head.

summary: “oh, yes you do,” you tilted your head, “you flirt with me all the time, I know you do, I’m not some sheltered little virgin, I know what it looks like when someone likes me!” you felt the truck roll to a stop as you spoke. 

warnings: farmhand!tyler owens x farmer’s daughter!reader, smut, farmer au, bull rider!tyler, takes place before the previous fic in this au, secret relationship, bull riding (except i'm a suropean who has no idea what she's talking about, so apologies for the errors), love confession, secret relationship, kissing, clothed sex, car sex, size kink, manhandling, dry humping, dirty talk, handjob, fingering, thighjob, pussyjob, just the tip, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, why do i keep writing for this dude in the middle of the night?

word count: 4238

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Hey,” Tyler cast you a glance as you came bouncing towards where he still worked, tinkering with the tractor that had quit halfway down one of the farm’s golden fields. 

“Hello,” you blinked down at him. A rusty toolbox was planted in the wheat by his kneeling form as he fiddled away at the machinery.

“You need help with something?” he kept on twisting a bolt. 

“Oh, no,” a shy giggle bubbled out of you, “my mom just sent me down here to invite you to stay for dinner tonight. She made a pie for dessert and everything, or well, we did, I helped… it’s rhubarb, if that can help sway you.”

“Rhubarb, eh?” he puffed out a short chuckle. 

“Yeah…”

Briefly glancing back over his shoulder at you and the way your flowy dress caught on the wind, he uttered, “I’d love to, Y/n, but–, uhm… I can’t tonight.”

“Right,” you exhaled, a nod swiftly accompanying your words, “you already have plans, of course…”

“Tell your mamma I’m sorry,” he tried to soften the blow, “next time, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you breathed, and as he returned his attention back to the machine, surely assuming that you’d bid him adieu and saunter back towards the main house, you instead shifted to lean against the tractor, “so… what are you doing tonight?”

Briefly glancing up at you, a soft smirk appeared on his lips as he purred, “you’re awfully nosy.” 

“Just tell me what your plans are,” you rolled your eyes. 

“Bull riding,” he informed you, “I ride on occasion, tonight being one of those times.”

Sucking in a breath, you uttered, “of course you do…”

Halting his tinkering with a chuckle, he pressed, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“No, you just got adrenalin junky written all over you, so it checks out,” you gestured towards him and he let out a small laugh, retroactively confirming your accusation. As he shifted to look for a different tool, you opened your mouth once more and asked, “can I come?”

“Come what?” his concentrated gaze didn’t meet yours. 

“See you ride.”

Tyler’s eyes then snapped up to find yours, “you wanna come see me ride?” hesitation suddenly washed over his usually confident features, “uhm… I’m not sure your daddy would like that.”

“What? Me being around a bunch of rowdy and probably drunk strangers or going somewhere to see you?”

A warm chuckle then rumbled in his chest as a gentle shake found his head, “you’re trouble…”

“Is that a no?” you tilted your head in hope. 

“No…” he slowly exhaled and met your eye once more, “no it is not.”

You cheered for him at first when his name was announced and you caught a glimpse of him behind the fence, he even found your eyes in the crowd a moment as you clapped in anticipation. But then when it actually began, you stopped breathing entirely. It didn’t matter that he only had to stay on the beast for a few seconds, your heart still wouldn’t start beating again even after his boots were back on the ground and a proud grin stretched his lips. The petrified expression plastered on your features didn’t fade even when he found you afterwards and offered you a ride back home.

“You okay?” his deep timbre ripped you out of your stormy thoughts. 

Twisting your neck to blink over at him behind the wheel of his truck, you hummed, “huh?”

“You’re not usually this quiet,” he pointed out. 

“Oh… I’m just tired, I guess…” you lied, averting your gaze before you then heard yourself utter, “hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he held his eyes on the road. 

“How is it that you haven’t been hurt yet doing all of that?”

“Oh no, I have,” a soft chuckle bubbled out of the daredevil, “just not hard enough to stop me from getting back up.” 

A murmur then escaped your lips, just beneath your breath, “either that or you’re just too determined for your own good…”

“Maybe,” he cast you a glance and smirked slightly at the embarrassment that washed over your features at the realisation that he’d heard you, “but then again, determination isn’t always a bad quality to have.”

“It is if it could get you killed.” 

“Oh, how unromantic of you,” he puffed, “I could think of a handful of ways dying would be worth whatever goal you were going for,” his eyes momentarily flickered back to you in the passenger seat beside him. 

Holding his gaze a second before he redirected it back upon the dark road, you felt goosebumps tingle your flesh. 

“Hey Tyler?” you breathed, unsure if you were able to stop the words about to flow out your mouth. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you ever actually gonna do anything?” your vulnerable question was barely audible. 

Not yet catching onto your subtext, he inquired, “about what?” 

Staring over at him, you uttered, “me.”

His eyes immediately fluttered back to find yours, gazing back at you a second before it faltered, “I–… I don’t know what you mean...”

“Oh, yes you do,” you tilted your head, “you flirt with me all the time, I know you do, I’m not some sheltered little virgin, I know what it looks like when someone likes me!” you felt the truck roll to a stop as you spoke. 

His firm grip stayed on the wheel long after the car had halted.

“Y/n, I–…” he tried, though gave up in a soft sigh. 

As he refused to meet your stare, you felt your stomach begin to flip.

“Oh…” you then breathed, blinking down at your hands as they fiddled with the fabric of the sundress that you wore, “unless I apparently don’t, I–… you know what? Forget it, I’m sorry,” your eyes squeezed shut at the mortification, “let’s just go back to the farm and pretend I didn’t say anything…”

Though his grip didn’t shift away from the wheel, didn’t drift down to twist the key and restart the engine. Instead, to your surprise, you saw him in your periphery twist towards you before you felt his hands come up to cup the sides of your face and pluck it out of hiding. 

Pulling you towards him, he then pressed his lips to your own, rendering you reeling to claw your way out of the stunned pit his bold actions had cast you into. 

As one of your palms slowly floated up to rest against the back of one of his, a soft sigh flowed from your form as you melted into his warmth. 

However, before you sank in and lost yourself completely, you felt him withdraw, though still remained close, letting his nose ghost against your own as he exhaled, “this is a really bad idea… we shouldn’t… I can’t afford to lose my job.” 

“Why would you think you’d lose it?” your fingers curled around the back of his hand in a plea to keep his touch glued to your heated cheek. 

“Have you met your father?” he scoffed softly, “I should be grateful if he only fires me and doesn’t outright kill me.” 

“He wouldn’t do that.” 

“You sure about that?” Tyler half-joked before slowly retracting even further. 

Blinking back at him, your lips still tingled from his kiss as you quietly said, “…I thought you were the one who just insisted that some things are worth dying for… I guess you just have to decide whether or not I could be worth that kind of risk…” 

A gentle chuckle then bubbled out of him as he gazed back at you in amazement, “you sound like a fair maiden 500 years ago,” twisting his fingers and tangling them in your own.  

Puffing out a laugh of your own, you defended, “well you started it!” before you felt one of his palms slide to the nape of your neck and tug you back in for another kiss. His lips felt like fire, though the slow smouldering kind that licked you up and ignited your entire soul, “if you don’t think it’s worth it,” you breathlessly uttered against his kiss, “then you should probably stop kissing me like that…” 

As a gentle smirk tugged at his mouth, he answered you not in the form of words, but instead drifted his hands down your frame and scooped you closer, plucking you up and lifting you into his lap, wasting no time at all to claim your lips again.

It didn’t take long after you settled above him, the wheel of the truck poking the lower part of your spine, that the slow peck evolved into something more, something else. Something that had muffled whines crawling up from the depth of your lungs and vibrating against his tongue as yours desperately danced against his own. Something that had you rolling your hips and grinding down against the hardness poking your panties so perfectly beneath the billowy fabric of your dress, the material of which had begun to ride up as Tyler’s wild touch began to wander over the curves of your frame. 

Panting into his mouth, your head started to lull slightly as you rocked down against him, the sensation being nearly too much to stand in the way it was both overwhelming yet also not at all enough. Nevertheless, if he gave you the chance, you’d surely be able to cum just like this if he let you, if he told you to desperately rut against him like some animal in heat, then you would, because that was just the effect he seemed to have on you. He was always able to turn your brain off with but a glance and nearly cause you to faint if he ever flashed you a dazzling smile. 

To say you had it bad was the understatement of the century, but evidently, and thankfully, you weren’t alone in the predicament. 

Snaking a hand down in the non-existent space between your frames, you found the bulky buckle of his belt and began to undo it. 

“Please,” you panted, your tone sounding downright pathetic, “I wanna–, can I touch you?”

And before you could fumble to do it, Tyler didn’t hesitate to undo his jeans and seize your hand, stuffing it into his pants and guiding your fingers to engulf his girth, squeezing them lightly around himself for but a moment before his touch then faded and he left you to your own devices.

“Oh, fuck–,” he growled, his hot breath fanning against your skin, “just like that.”

His cock throbbed in your palm as he kissed you once again and let his wide hands raked down to your ass, kneading your softness as he groaned against your lips.

But he didn’t let your zealous touch stretch out for that long before you heard him crack the door directly to his left open. His grip on your bottom locked securely as he got out of the truck, effortlessly carrying you with him as he made his way around towards the back.

His hold on you stayed fast as he flipped open the bed of the truck and plopped you down on the ledge. A soft giggle bubbled out of you, even as your hands came up to cup his jaw and he slotted himself in between your parted thighs. 

“Shit…” he exhaled as his gaze fluttered down to spot the damp spot decorating your underwear, neatly on show as your sundress had ridden up even further. Your legs dangled slightly off the edge as his touch then reached down to trace the mark of desperation, your bottom lip swiftly getting trapped betwixt your teeth as he rubbed you through the soaked cotton, “guess you really do have a thing for me, sweetheart,” his teasing touch traced your core as the sodden fabric clung to you, “I mean, not that I didn’t already have my suspensions…” 

“You knew?”

“You’re not exactly subtle when it comes to these things,” he chuckled before letting his fingers dip into your waistband, “it’s cute,” he smiled as your eyes fluttered when his digits swept through your folds, scooping back up to your puffy pearl as it buzzed beneath his caress, “I always enjoyed all the random little reasons you came up with just to have an excuse to talk to me.”

“Okay, I know they weren’t always that smooth,” an embarrassed heat sparked in your cheeks, “but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it is.”

“Oh, I know,” he stated casually, grinning at the way your eyes suddenly grew, “what? Did you really think I just happened to always have some work in the barn whenever you went for a ride?” one of his long fingers then eased into you, causing your mouth to fall open in a silent gasp. 

“Wait, seriously?”

“And the time I needed your help learning the system in the tool shed?” another one of his digits found its way inside of your cunt, rendering you a panting mess in his grasp as he leisurely pumped his fingers in and out, stretching you till your pussy sang out for him, “I already knew where everything was.”

The reply that was ready on your tongue swiftly fizzled out and became a forgotten relic as his touch then dissipated and instead floated down to where his jeans were already half undone. Tugging it the rest of the way open, he then stuffed his hand inside and freed his cock. Like a moth to a flame, your eyes couldn’t help but stare, yearning as you watched his cock throb in his tight fist. 

“O-oh, fuck…” the curse flowed out your lungs as your gaze stayed glued, nearly drooling as he suddenly hooked his grasp behind one of your legs and yanked you closer, causing you to tumble back onto your forearms as he manoeuvred your core that much closer to him. Hooking his fingers in the material of your panties, he slid them down your legs and, to your amazement, stuffed them into his pocket. As he then began to tap the hefty weight of his length down against your puffy petals, causing glossy strings of your desire to cling onto him and keep you ethereally attached, your eyes snapped back up to find his and the same whimper left your body once again, “oh, f-fuck…”

Trailing the bulbous tip through your wetness, he teasingly nudged the head against your swollen clit fiercely enough to make your whole frame twitch beneath him. 

“God… you feel so good…” he groaned, staring down at how his fat cock slid through and parted your glistening folds.

“Uh, Tyler–,” you begged hazily, your little hole winking every time he denied it any attention, “p-please–”

“What is it, baby?” he cooed smugly, “you want me to fuck you?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded foggily, your gaze flickering back down to watch his teasing. 

“You wanna know what my cock feels like inside your pretty little pussy, huh?” his touch then dented your thighs, pressing both of your legs together, enclosing them around his girth and resting your ankles atop one of his broad shoulders. 

“P-please–”

“Is it all you’ve been thinking about?” the softness of your thighs interlocked around him lend him to snap his hips against yours and freely fuck your folds, the underside of him sliding against the seem of your cunt, “what’s been occupying that brilliant brain of yours?” he smirked and you couldn’t help but rock back against his efforts, “because it’s all I’ve been thinking about… how warm you must feel around me, how tight, how fucking wet, how–, fuck!” he then moaned as the way you’d needily tilted your hips up towards him lend his length to accidentally catch your leaking hole and sink in just the slightest bit till he halted his movements.

A shuttering gasp escaped you as well at the sensation as he’d nearly caused tears to roll down your cheeks from how badly you wanted him. 

As he caught your eye, his grip digging into your legs in order to hold on to his last strand of self-control, you panted up at him just as he was about to pull back out, “don’t stop.”

Staring down at you, absorbing your every reaction, he slid the tip back out, but so painstakingly slow that it caused your eyes to roll in your skull. 

“But what if I did though? What if I just stopped, right here, right now? Just drove you back to the farm and left you a needy little puddle just like this?”

“No, don’t stop! Don’t–, I–…” your walls clung around his girth, “please just keep going, it can just be the tip, I just–, don’t stop…”

When just the memory of him kissed your entrance, he gently sank back in and stuffed the bulbous head inside your cunt, “you sure you just want the tip?” he slowly found a pattern, fucking you with just the essence of him, “you sure you don’t wanna feel me so deep inside of you that you won’t be able to walk afterwards? That you’ll still be able to feel what we did for days and days?”

Blinking up at him, your legs trembling against his chest, you breathed, “I–…” till your dizzy head began to rock in a nod. 

“Yeah?” he cocked his head and flashed you a smug smile, “then beg for it.”

“Please fuck me–”

“What was that?”

“F-fuck me–”

“What, like I am right now?” he rolled his hips to just shyly plug you up. 

“No, fuck me for real,” your words felt not your own as they desperately flowed out of you, “fuck me exactly like you’ve been dreaming of since we first met, since you first–, ah!” all of the air was then forced out of your lungs as he slammed the remainder of himself all the way inside, stretching you wide of him and letting the tip, the very part of him that had been driving you mad, kiss the deepest part of you and cause your eyes to flutter shut. 

Your knees bent and crumbled down to curl up beside your chest as he meticulously slid halfway out, only to jam his dick back inside. 

He was practically growling above you, sinful grunts rhythmically flowing from his lips at every one of his frantic thrusts.

“Oh my god,” you cried beneath him as your cunt swiftly began to flutter around him, “you f-feel so–, so–, g-good!”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked and then perceptively asked, “are you gonna cum?” leaning down over you as he kept up his efforts. 

You tried to offer him an answer, but in the blissful abyss he’d cast you down in, you could only nod and squeeze your eyes further shut. 

“Then look at me, baby,” you sensed his fingers curl around your cheek, his reach dipping into your hairline, “be a good girl and look at me when you cum around my cock,” and when you managed to force your hazy eyes to blink back open, he stared back down at you as your cunt clenched down around him so fiercely that you nearly forced his girth out entirely, “there you go, fuck…”

But as your high began to melt away into sensitivity, the blonde farmhand didn’t slow his efforts in the slightest, moaning above you as he also was too close to cum to simply stop.

“Tyler, it’s too–,” you whimpered, your thighs shaking on either side of his frame as the creamy aftermath of your orgasm created a ring around the base of his cock and aided his erratic efforts, lending the entirety of his length to plunge back into you with such ease, even as your walls quaked and squeezed tightly around him. 

“Shh, you can take it,” he uttered hazily, “fucking take it, fucking–, ahh!” his hips then shuttered as he tumbled over the edge and pumped you full of his hot load. 

When Tyler one day had an errand to run, some thingy he had to pick up at a neighbouring farm, you hadn’t really paid attention to that part, you had kinda just stopped listening after the discovery that you would get to tag along simply because the neighbour knew you better than him. 

So, once you were both waiting on the ground for the farmer to return with the item, just a curious look to make the time pass by morphed into the pair of you full-on wandering around and being more nosy than what was good for you. 

Though the snooping halted once you pushed open the door to the westernmost barn and discovered a DIY contraption that tickled Tyler’s nostalgia. 

It was a tin barrel, strung up with ropes and tied to a few beams, though he still had to open his mouth for you to fully understand how it was a homemade training tool for when you first began learning how to ride a bull.

By then, some of the fear you’d felt the night you had watched him ride had overflowed and spilt out, which surely also was the reason behind why he suddenly insisted on you hopping on and letting him try to teach the terror out of you. 

“So, like that?” you asked, one of your hands hovering above the one you clutched around the makeshift loop tied around the uppermost quadrant of the barrel you straddled. 

“Almost, you’re only allowed to hold on with the one hand,” he pointed out and you swiftly adjusted, raising your left hand up high just as you remembered he’d done, “yeah, there you go.”

“So, just eight seconds like this?” your thighs squeezed around the drum as Tyler gently tugged on one of the ropes, only making you sway slightly. 

“Yeah,” he nodded as you glanced over at him, “and then there are other things that can get you more points, like how well you hold your balance and if you’re able to control the bull or not, those kinds of things.” 

He then caught you off guard by pulling on the rope a little rougher and offering you a much harsher and more realistic buck of the barrel, though, to your shock, you reacted to it surprisingly well, clenching your thighs and tightening your grip. 

“Atta girl,” he grinned at the startled chuckle that bubbled out of you, “see? It’s not so scary. You’re a natural.”

“Or maybe you’re just going easy on me…” you pointed out, reflecting on how the love you’d had for riding horses since a very young age surely kicked in and aided you in this skill as well. 

“You’re doing great,” he stated, his stare staying glued to how your body and hips swayed borderline sensually to the rhythm he kept up, “relax, give in to the movements more.” 

“How?”

“Just–…” he sucked in a breath, “pretend that you’re on something else…” a sly smirk then spread across his features before he uttered, “pretend that it’s me you’re riding.”

You then promptly felt heat begin to rise in your cheeks, as it became impossible to keep up your concentration on the task at hand and swiftly heard yourself shriek, “oh my god, Tyler Owens!”

Letting go of the rope, he stepped closer to you and enjoyed your flustered visage, “or better yet, maybe I should just let you hop on and teach you that way,” he let his palm slide up your leg as he came to stand beside you. 

“You’re ridiculous!” you laughed.

Snaking his hands around your waist, he then effortlessly lifted you back down onto the ground and uttered, “you love it.”

As you felt his breath fan across your features, your giggle got caught in your throat and faded away as you gazed back at him. 

“Yeah, I think I might…” you then whispered before he crashed his lips against yours. 

His boots then began to shuffle as yours did as well, letting him shift you till your spine collided with the gate to one of the empty stalls in the dusty barn. Pushing you up against it as he ravenously kissed you, one of his wide palms then swooped up from his fast hold on your waist to caress the soft peak of your boob through the thin layer of your tanktop. 

A breathy moan couldn’t help but slip up from your lungs when his kisses then faded from your lips and began to dance down the side of your neck. 

“Okay, easy there, tiger,” you caught his head in your hands as his sloppy pecks fluttered against your rapid pulse, “we can’t do anything here.”

“Oh yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow as he peeked up at you, “is that a dare?”

“No,” you chuckled, then reminded him of your neighbour, “he’ll be back any second.”

A groan then seeped through his grin before he pushed himself off of you, “fine…” yet still held his burly arms stretched out and fast on either side of you, supporting his weight against the half wall behind you and doing his very best to stop himself from diving back in.

But then you slowly let yourself float back into his space, “hey,” and tilted your chin to catch his gaze, “I said not here, not that we shouldn’t give it a try…”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble

[delulustateofmind]

Can My Friend Join?

Your boyfriend wants his murderer of a best friend to join your relationship. You'll do that for him, right?

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

Part two

TW: Yandere Behaviors, dubcon/noncon?, Manipulation, SatoSugu, Potential grammatical/spelling errors, oral/fingering (f! receiving), Trapping/love bombing. MDNI

WC: 5.2k

You see, it wasn’t totally unlike your boyfriend to make crazy decisions.

Satoru was rash, impulsive, yet completely and utterly in love with you in a way that made it hard to say no to him. And he always knew how to work that to his advantage. You’d let him get away with just about anything—like buying a penthouse in Shibuya without even stepping foot in it, or whisking you off on spontaneous trips for “work” that had your boss threatening to fire you every time you gave him a last-minute call about your absence.

Crazy decisions were his specialty, after all. Including the craziest one of all: dating you, a non sorcerer, that was not a well-kept secret from his clan.

And now, his most recent decision was leaving you staring at him in stunned disbelief.

“Come on, baby, he’s going to therapy,” Satoru murmured into your ear, his arms snug around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. His voice was soft, almost coaxing, as he peppered gentle kisses along the curve of your neck. “You remember Sugu, right? You even mentioned you had a little crush on him before we started dating.”

Suguru Geto. The man who’d slaughtered a village, started a cult, and declared genocide on nonsorcerers like you.

But now, according to Satoru, he was “better.” Redeemed, even. Whatever that meant. He wasn’t a deranged cult leader anymore, apparently. Therapy had fixed him. Or at least, that’s what Satoru was claiming with his usual breezy confidence.

“My love,” you began softly, setting the tea you’d been preparing down to turn and face him. His cerulean eyes shone with that familiar affection, the corners crinkling slightly as he gazed down at you like you hung the moon. It made your chest ache. “I know you two… had a thing. But why does he need to be a part of our relationship?”

You tried to keep your tone gentle, like you were trying to reason with him. Because, honestly, you were.

Satoru tilted his head, his grin widening just enough to tell you he’d been prepared for this question. “Mmm, well,” he started, the teasing lilt of his voice softening. “You were there for me, weren’t you? You’ve kept me grounded—saved me, even.” He leaned in to nuzzle against your cheek. “I figured… maybe you could do the same for him. Help him down a better path, you know? Keep an eye on him.”

Your heart sank.

“And,” he added with a sheepish laugh, his blush deepening as his hand rubbed the back of his neck, “well, he was actually the one who suggested it.”

That had your stomach twisting uncomfortably. You searched his face for answers, for some sign that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded. But all you found was that lovesick smile of his.

And you knew.

Satoru still had feelings for Suguru. He’d never said it outright, but the signs were there. The way his voice softened when he spoke of him. The wistful, almost mournful glint in his eyes whenever Suguru’s name came up. And, of course, the times he’d accidentally murmured Suguru’s name in moments of intimacy with you.

Your throat felt tight.

“Satoru…” You struggled to find the words, to balance the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. Jealousy. Confusion. Heartbreak. And, strangely enough, pity.

“It won’t change anything between us,” he said quickly, like he could see your doubts forming. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing soothingly against your skin. “I promise. You’re my person—my love. I just… I can’t let him go again. Not like before.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “And what if I can’t do this? What if I can’t… share you?”

Satoru’s expression softened, his usual playful confidence replaced with something raw and pleading. “Please,” he murmured, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. It wasn’t like him to plead. To beg. “Just think about it, okay? You won’t be home alone as much anymore when I’m out on missions. With Suguru back, there’ll be two strongest sorcerers. That means I won’t have to work or be on call as much. I’m thinking about us, baby.”

His words were so earnest, so filled with affection, that they pressed against your chest like a weight. You should’ve voiced your opinions, should’ve argued, but the guilt crept in before you could. Satoru had done so much for you—letting you live with him rent-free, covering your schooling, and showering you with a kind of love that had felt impossible in a world where you were so much weaker than him.

How could you say no to him? Not after everything.

So, what if you were allowing some murderer into your relationship? Satoru said he was better now. Satoru loved you. He wouldn’t steer you wrong… right?

You bit your lip, glancing away before nodding hesitantly. “Can we… take things slow, Toru?” Your voice was soft, almost unsure, as you sheepishly met his gaze.

Satoru’s face lit up with relief, his cerulean eyes shining so brightly it was almost blinding. “Oh, of course, baby. As slow as you need to. I know I can be a bit… eager, heh,” he said with a nervous laugh, his hands cupping your cheeks tenderly. Then, with a playful grin, he squished them together, molding your lips into silly fishy shapes.

“There it is! Cute as ever,” he teased, leaning closer, his voice softer now. “But I still love you. You know that, right?”

You nodded automatically, leaning into his touch despite the unease swirling in your stomach. Perhaps, you were overthinking this. Relationships need a bit of spice, right?

“I know,” you murmured, forcing a small smile. “I love you too.”

The words almost came automatically, yet your anxiety continued to ring alarming bells.

He grinned, his usual teasing confidence returning as he kissed your forehead. “That’s my baby. I knew you’d understand.”

And so, within a week, Suguru Geto moved in.

It was awkward at first. You weren’t sure how to act around him—this man who carried a dark, complicated history yet exuded a calm, almost disarming aura. Offering shy smiles felt like the extent of your bravery, and more often than not, you retreated to the sanctuary of your bedroom.

At least Suguru had the decency to move into the guest room initially. That small gesture was a relief in itself. And thankfully, with Satoru and Suguru being sorcerers, you were rarely alone with him. At least not yet.

But Suguru was... considerate. You couldn’t deny that. He had a quiet, almost effortless charm, and while you had your issues—big issues—you couldn’t ignore the fact that he was a handsome, beautiful man.

“Ah, do you need help?” Suguru asked one day, his deep voice breaking the silence as he spotted you reaching for the Christmas decorations tucked away on the highest shelf of the closet.

You froze for a moment, clutching at the edge of the shelf. “No, I’ll be alright… thank you,” you murmured, your voice almost too shy.

Suguru tilted his head, his dark eyes softening as he took a step closer. “It’s no trouble. Here.” Without waiting for permission, he reached up effortlessly, his height making quick work of retrieving the box.

You thanked him quietly, clutching the box as you avoided his gaze. His lips quirked into a faint smile, but he said nothing, stepping back to give you space.

Then there were the times he helped without hesitation, like during grocery trips.

Satoru would inevitably dart off down the aisles, hunting for sweets or whatever caught his attention. Suguru, on the other hand, stuck to your side, the picture of calm efficiency. He’d scan the list you held, nodding thoughtfully before reaching for items on the shelves—always grabbing your favorite brands without you needing to say a word.

“You cook often, don’t you?” he remarked once, glancing at the cart as he placed a box of your preferred pasta into it.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied, startled by how observant he was. “It’s… kind of relaxing.”

He hummed in agreement, his expression neutral but not unkind. “I can see that. I’ll have to try some of your cooking sometime.”

The comment left you flustered, unsure how to respond. Satoru would’ve teased you mercilessly, but Suguru simply kept moving, scanning the shelves like he wasn’t even aware of the small storm brewing in your chest.

It was moments like these—small, thoughtful gestures and quiet interactions—that left you unsettled. Suguru wasn’t what you expected. You’d braced yourself for someone dangerous, cold, someone you couldn’t trust. But instead, he was... kind. Maybe too kind.

And that was what unnerved you the most.

Because every time you caught his lingering gaze or noticed the way he seemed to effortlessly fit into your routines, you couldn’t help but wonder: Was he doing this for Satoru? Or was he doing it for you?

It started off slow. Like a light sprinkle before the storm. 

Satoru was still the same as ever—the fun-loving boyfriend, full of laughter and mischief. He’d press kisses to your cheek, wrap you in his arms, and tease you in that playful way that made your heart flutter. But lately, his words carried a strange edge, a hint of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Maybe start showing Sugu a bit of love,” he teased one evening, nuzzling against your neck as you brushed your teeth. “He’s trying, y’know. Don’t be difficult, baby.”

You froze for a moment, the brush stilling in your hand as you quickly spit out the toothpaste. That… hurt. His tone was light, but the implication stung. Was he disappointed in you?

Still, you managed a tight smile and nodded, swallowing your unease. “I’ll try.”

Satoru grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “That’s my baby.”

But then Suguru began to be more… involved.

It wasn’t anything overt at first. He’d sit quietly in the living room while you watched TV, occasionally commenting on the plot like a polite guest. Not as the boyfriend he was supposed to be, that you didn’t want him to be. He’d help with household chores without being asked, his quiet competence a stark contrast to Satoru’s chaotic energy.

But there was something about the way his presence lingered—like a shadow stretching further than it should.

“Tired?” he asked one evening, his voice like honey as you struggled to keep your eyes open on the couch. You felt him sit down beside you, close enough that his warmth seeped into your side.

You nodded, your words slurring slightly. “Yeah… long day.”

Suguru reached out, his fingers brushing against your temple as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was gentle, almost tender, but his dark eyes… they hid something.

“You should rest more,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Satoru worries about you.”

You blinked, struggling to process his words. “He does?”

Suguru smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. We both do.”

The way he said it—we—sent a strange chill down your spine.

As the days passed, the small, unsettling moments began to pile up.

Suguru had a way of always being there, always watching. When you left a room, you’d turn to find his gaze following you. When you spoke, he listened so intently it felt like he was dissecting your every word.

And Satoru, who’d always been possessive in his teasing way, started pushing boundaries in ways he hadn’t before.

One evening, as you tried to excuse yourself to your bedroom after dinner, Satoru caught your wrist, pulling you back to the living room where Suguru sat quietly.

“Don’t run off so quick,” he said, his grin wide but his grip firm. “We’re a family now, aren’t we? Stay with us for a bit.”

Suguru looked up from his tea, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Satoru’s right,” he said softly, his lips curving into a small, almost inviting smile. “It’s nice when we’re all together.”

The way they looked at you—Satoru’s bright gaze brimming with love, Suguru’s dark eyes filled with something deeper, darker—made you feel trapped.

And then, Satoru had to leave.

He was off to Kenya for a mission with a student, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the apartment felt… quieter. You’d thought, perhaps foolishly, that Suguru would be sent off somewhere too, leaving you to breathe for a moment, to process.

But no.

Suguru stayed.

The first few nights felt strange, the absence of Satoru’s boundless energy a sharp contrast to Suguru’s quiet, deliberate presence. He wasn’t pushy—if anything, he gave you more space than usual, offering soft smiles and polite conversation. But there was always something in the air, something unspoken, something that made the silence between you feel heavier than it should.

And then, one night, as you lay in what felt like a bed too big without Satoru’s warmth beside you, you felt it—a hand wrapping around your waist, firm yet gentle, pulling you back against a solid chest.

Your breath hitched as a woodsy, earthy scent filled your nose, inky dark hair brushing against your shoulders.

Your heart sank once again, something it’s been doing a little too much as of late. 

“You’re awake,” Suguru murmured softly, his voice warm and low, like he’d been waiting for you to notice. His lips ghosted against your cheek in a feather-light kiss, making your skin prickle. “Satoru said I should join you. Keep you safe.”

Safe? The word felt foreign, almost cruel, as if it was meant to comfort you when it did the exact opposite.

“Suguru,” you said, your voice trembling as you tried to pull away, but his arm around your waist tightened, holding you in place.

“Shh,” he soothed, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s okay. I know it feels strange, but Satoru trusts me to look after you. He said you get lonely when he’s away.”

Your stomach twisted. This wasn’t Satoru’s doing—at least, not entirely. This was Suguru, using Satoru’s words, his trust, to inch closer, to blur the lines you’d been desperately trying to hold onto.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His hand moved, sliding up to rest lightly against your ribs, his touch slow and deliberate. “I want to,” he murmured. “You deserve someone to care for you, even when Satoru can’t. That’s what we agreed on, isn’t it?”

You froze. Agreed on?

The realization hit you like a wave, cold and suffocating. This wasn’t just Satoru’s idea. This wasn’t just about keeping you “safe” or “happy.” This was part of something bigger, something the two of them had decided for you, without you.

“I don’t think—” you started, but Suguru cut you off, his voice still maddeningly calm.

“You don’t have to think,” he said softly, almost kindly, as his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your head slightly so he could press a kiss to your temple. “Just go to sleep, yeah?”

But the way his grip on you remained firm, the way his body pressed so closely against yours, made it abundantly clear that this wasn’t a request.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic rhythm that you were sure he could feel where his arm wrapped around your waist. Go to sleep? How could you possibly sleep with this man lying so close, his breath steady against the back of your neck, his warmth invading every inch of your space?

Suguru shifted slightly, his arm pulling you tighter against him as though sensing your discomfort. “You’re tense,” he murmured, his tone carrying a strange gentleness. “It’s okay to relax. I’m here.”

His words sent shivers down your body and tendrils of anxiety in your mind, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to calm down. But how could you relax when your instincts screamed that something was wrong? That something about him, about this situation, was profoundly off?

You tried to focus on your breathing, hoping it would drown out the sound of your racing thoughts. But every inhale carried the faint, woodsy scent of him—so different from Satoru’s familiar, comforting smell. It was calming, yet suffocating all at once.

A small voice crept in your mind, you shouldn’t feel calm. 

Suguru hummed softly, a low, melodic sound that sent another wave of unease through you. “You smell nice,” he said, almost absentmindedly. His nose brushed against your hair, and you froze as he inhaled deeply. “Like home.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, you thought. But they felt wrong, invasive, like he was claiming a piece of you that wasn’t his to take.

You wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat. And in that silence, Suguru’s hand shifted, moving from your ribs to rest lightly against your stomach, the weight of it grounding and possessive.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispered, his voice softer now, almost tender. Almost loving. “I’ll keep you safe. Just sleep, okay?”

Your throat tightened, and your breathing came faster as you tried to steady yourself. Safe. He kept using that word, as though repeating it would make it true. As if he were tricking your mind into thinking it was true. 

But how could you feel safe when every instinct in your body screamed at you to run?

Suguru’s grip didn’t waver, and the steady rhythm of his breathing filled the silence, lulling you into a state of uneasy stillness. You didn’t know how long you lay there, rigid and wide-eyed, before exhaustion began to weigh on you.

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. Slowly, reluctantly, your eyes fluttered shut, and your breathing evened out.

You stirred awake to a sensation so surreal, so tender, that in your dreamlike haze, you convinced yourself it was Satoru.

The soft brush of hair between your thighs, a large, calloused hand rested on the fat of your thighs, keeping your legs open, as your eyes were slowly opening from sleep. 

You felt his tongue drift up you sopping slit, moving to circle around your bundle of nerves, a whine escaping your lips as you shifted a little only for a warm hand to press against your abdomen to keep you from moving as he continued to dive deep into your cunt, his tongue switching from spelling a name on your sensitive clit to fucking your tight dripping heat. You couldn’t help but muffle your moans by biting the sheets. 

“Toru…” You whimpered out in pathetic small breaths. “Feels…s’good” it wasn’t like Satoru to be this in-depth with eating you out. It felt like he was mapping out your entire insides as he slowly inserted a finger into your dripping mess. 

You felt a nip on your inner thigh, causing a whine and for you to finally open your eyes. 

“Wrong boyfriend,” Suguru murmured, his voice a low, velvety hum that sent a shiver rippling down your spine. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he hovered just above your pussy that clenched around his fat finger that curled in just the right spot, your gummy walls clenching, no, greedily sucking in. His lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk. 

He tilted his head, his inky hair brushing against your trembling thighs as he leaned back down, his movements deliberate, controlled, as though savoring every moment of your reaction. His breath ghosted over your poor pussy, slowly licking up the mess you were leaking as he pushed his finger knuckle deep inside you, before slowly, teasingly adding another one of his thick fingers inside. Compared to Satoru’s thin long fingers, his was different, it was almost mind-numbing as your poor cunny tightened at the sudden intrusion of another finger.  

“Suguru” You panted out. “I-” and a gasp left your lips as you felt him curl both his fingers. Hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars, no colors, all sorts of stars and colors, as he pried you open. Your mouth left agape as you tried to think of anything besides the pleasure and the sickening wet sounds that were filling the bedroom. 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. You mind sang to you. But god, did it feel so good. 

“Mmmm, such a sweet pussy” he said softly before lightly sucking on your nub, earning sweet moans and whispers from your lips “Want me to stop, pretty?”  he said softly as he released your poor abused little clit with a loud pop. Offering a small kitten lick as you were trying to form a coherent sentence. 

“Come on, baby girl, use your words f’me.” His fingers slipping out of your slickened folds that caused you to look down at him with half-lidded eyes and a pout. You were so fucked.  

“You need me don’t you? Need me to help you?” He said softly as he pulled away, his big warm hand cupping your heat as you bucked your hips, his thumb lightly grazing your clit, toying with it softly. His chin glistened with your juices as he moved close to your face. 

It didn’t help that he was so devastatingly attractive—so effortlessly pretty, yet undeniably handsome. Every sharp line of his jaw, every curve of his lips, and the way his dark eyes seemed to pierce straight through you made it impossible to look away, even when you wanted to. Even when you knew you should.

“Give me a kiss, just one little kiss, and then I’ll let you cum. Okay, pretty?” Suguru hummed softly, his gaze lingering on your plump, red lips, his voice almost syrupy in its coaxing. His dark eyes sparkled with amusement as he took in the teary-eyed expression you offered him. “Can you do that for me?”

You wanted to fight him. Wanted to kick him off, shove him away, bite that insufferable smirk right off his face.

But he made you feel so good.

You were warm, fuzzy, and completely disconnected from yourself. Every logical thought dissolved into the haze of pleasure he’d wrapped you in. Your body betrayed you, nodding mindlessly like some desperate, needy thing you hardly recognized.

“One kiss?” you murmured meekly, your voice trembling.

Suguru’s grin widened, predatory and oh-so smug. “Just one,” he purred, watching as your eyes flickered away from him.

That’s when you saw it.

The camera.

Nestled discreetly in the corner of the room, its cold, unblinking lens stared back at you. Your stomach dropped, the haze clearing just enough for panic to creep in.

Suguru followed your gaze, and when he saw what had caught your attention, he chuckled—a low, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Oh,” he said smoothly, as though you’d stumbled upon a delightful surprise. “You found the camera.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours, his voice a whisper now. “Say hi to Toru.”

Before you could react, his lips crashed against yours, the kiss fierce and consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle—it was possessive, demanding, a declaration that left no room for resistance. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his tongue brushed against yours, coaxing a response you couldn’t deny.

Every fleeting thought of resistance melted under the heat of his touch, leaving you utterly at his mercy, the world narrowing to the overwhelming intensity of him.

That fuzzy, dreamlike feeling reeled in your mind, spinning you further into a haze. The high you were on didn’t feel natural—it was too consuming, too overwhelming. Even after you came for the nth time, your body still burned with need, craving more despite the exhaustion creeping into your limbs.

You glanced at Suguru through the haze, his expression soft, almost tender, as he leaned down to scoop you into his arms. His strength was effortless, and the gentle smile that tugged at his lips felt entirely out of place with the aching mess he’d left you in.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” he hummed softly, cradling you as though you weighed nothing.

Your body refused to cooperate, too spent and trembling to do anything but lay limply in his embrace. Resigning yourself to your inability to fight, you rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek. It was almost comforting if not for the gnawing unease beneath the surface of your mind.

As he carried you to the bathroom, his voice broke the silence, low and soothing. “Satoru’s coming home today,” he said, his tone so calm, so casual, that it sent a chill down your spine. “He’s going to be so proud of the progress we made, yeah?”

The words hung in the air, their weight suffocating.

The day stretched on in a blur, and though Suguru remained by your side, tending to you with a gentleness that felt far too intimate, you couldn’t shake the words he’d spoken.

Satoru’s coming home today. He’s going to be so proud of the progress we made.

Each passing moment only tightened the knot in your stomach, the uneasy anticipation building to a crescendo by the time the front door opened with Satoru’s familiar sing-song call.

“My sweet sugar bears, I’m home!”

His voice echoed through the apartment, bright and teasing as always, but it carried a weight that hadn’t been there before. You stiffened, clutching the edges of the blanket Suguru had wrapped around you as you sat on the couch, your heart pounding in your chest.

Suguru, seated beside you with a calm, almost serene expression, stood and moved to greet him. “Welcome back,” he said, his tone warm and inviting.

Satoru appeared moments later, his bright cerulean eyes sweeping over the room before landing on you. His grin widened, mischievous and utterly unapologetic.

“There’s my girl,” he said, striding over and crouching in front of you. His hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “Missed you.”

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say as his gaze lingered on you, almost too intently.

Then he turned his attention to Suguru, who was now leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched the interaction unfold.

“And you,” Satoru said, his grin taking on a sharper edge. “You really outdid yourself this time, Sugu.”

Suguru inclined his head slightly, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m glad you think so. She was… responsive.”

Your stomach twisted at the way they spoke, as if you weren’t even there—or worse, as if you were some sort of project they’d been collaborating on.

Satoru’s attention flicked back to you, and his grin softened into something almost affectionate. “I loved the video,” he said, his voice low as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “You looked so perfect for him, baby. It made me jealous.”

Your blood ran cold.

“The—video?” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling as your mind raced to catch up.

Satoru tilted his head, his grin widening again as he straightened. “Oh, come on, don’t play coy now,” he teased, reaching out to ruffle your hair like you were some pet he was fond of. “You knew about the camera, didn’t you? Suguru said you even looked right at it.”

Suguru’s chuckle was low, almost inaudible, but it caused your chest to tighten. Throat to clench up, you suddenly wanted to cry. 

“We’ll have to make more next time,” Satoru continued, his tone light, almost playful, like he was discussing something as mundane as dinner plans. His grin stretched wide, carefree, but his words carried a weight that left your chest tight. “But don’t worry—I’ll be in the next one. No way I’m missing out again.”

The floor beneath you might as well have disappeared. The weight of their words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, and your heart hammered as panic welled in your chest.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling. “No, this isn’t… This isn’t right. You can’t just—”

Suguru stepped forward, his movements unhurried, deliberate. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unreadable yet brimming with a quiet intensity that made your skin prickle. He stopped just behind Satoru, his presence looming, steady.

“We’re a team, after all,” he said softly, his voice smooth and calm, like he was explaining something obvious. “It’s only fair we share.”

“No,” you said again, louder this time. The word came out sharp, cutting through the air like a blade, though your hands trembled as you clenched them into fists. “This isn’t fair. This isn’t normal, Satoru, Suguru—this isn’t love.”

For a moment, the room seemed to freeze, the weight of your words hanging in the tense silence.

Suguru’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his tone soft, almost disappointed. He tilted his head slightly, his dark hair spilling over his shoulder as he regarded you with something akin to pity. “You think this isn’t love?”

“Yes,” you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your confidence. “This isn’t right. You’re asking too much—this isn’t something I can give.”

Suguru took another step closer, his gaze unwavering. “And what do you think love is, then?” he asked, his voice low, coaxing. “Is it not trust? Devotion? Sacrifice?” He leaned in slightly, his presence suffocating as his words wrapped around you like a vice. “After everything Satoru and I have done for you, everything we’ve given you as of late—are you really saying we don’t deserve your love in return?”

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words sinking into your chest like stones. You had to swallow back your tears. “That’s not what I—”

“But it is,” Suguru interrupted, his voice never rising, never breaking its calm, steady cadence. “You’re saying no to us. To him. To me. After everything we’ve done to keep you safe, to give you the life you have now.”

You’d be nothing without them. You almost owe your life to Satoru alone. 

His words twisted in your mind, sharp and cutting, making you question the thoughts you’d clung to just moments before. He stepped even closer, his dark eyes softening, his tone shifting to something almost tender. “Do you really think it’s fair to push us away when all we want is to love you? To care for you? To protect you?”

Your lips parted, but the words died in your throat.

Satoru crouched slightly to meet your gaze, his cerulean eyes wide and impossibly soft. “Don’t you love me?” he asked, his voice heartbreakingly gentle. “Because if you do, baby, then you can love us.”

Suguru nodded, his smile warming into something deceptively kind. “We’re not asking for much,” he murmured. “Just for you to trust us. To let us take care of you. Isn’t that what love is about?”

The room spun, their words swirling in your mind, drowning out the panic that had gripped you moments before. Their voices, so soothing, so insistent, chipped away at your resolve, making you question everything you thought you knew.

“Shh, you’re cryin’,” Satoru said softly, brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch gentle as he wiped your hot frustrated tears. “Don’t overthink it, baby. Just let us love you. That’s all we want.”

Suguru’s hand came to rest lightly on your shoulder, his grip firm but not forceful, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You don’t want to disappoint us, do you? Satoru has given you everything. Don’t you think you owe us this much?”

The words struck deep, guilt twisting in your chest as you struggled to breathe.

They loved you. This is love, right?

[chloe-petrichors]

cradling constellations // jace x reader

when rhaenyra brings her family to court to celebrate the king's fiftieth name day, there was but one thing on your mind: getting to see jace, the boy you'd loved in secret, once more.

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. —emily brontë

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!aunt!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon-typical incest, canon-au (it's viserys' birthday party baby), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s) idiots in love, instant attraction/love at first (second) sight, childhood sweethearts (kinda?), soulmate vibes, love confessions, switching povs, smut (mdni !) including masturbation (m), p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex, mild marriage kink if that’s even a thing, body worship, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, mild overstimulation, soft dom vibes, jace being a tits man. word count; 15k+ (oops) notes; me, obsessed with jace? more likely than u think. this whole fic spawned from the fact that i noticed jace's freckles on a gif and lost my gd mind. this was meant to be a quick smut fic. and then i took 11k+ words to get to the smut part. i'm sorry (i'm not). this is totally self-indulgent, soulmates, love at first sight kinda fluff-to-smut and i regret nothing. way too much time of writing this was me trawling through the asoiaf wiki pages to find details that are relevant for one whole sentence. why am i this way. valyrian is pulled straight from a translator i found online, pls let me know if you notice any errors! requests; are open !

the first time you laid eyes on jacaerys velaryon, you knew he was something special.

you had just been children, then, uncertain of each other due to the discontent between your families. but he had been kind to you, dark eyes warm, and it had been an easy thing to be kind in return. your brothers make it difficult, of course, as they seem to do with everything they get involved in. aegon had been the worst at first, spouting off the same vitriol your mother had always whispered into your ears, but aemond had not been far behind him.

after the events of laena’s funeral and the loss of aemond’s eye, the hostilities only grow and grow. helaena keeps herself apart from most of it by virtue of her typically distant manner, but your brothers insist on drawing you into the same arguments again and again. it's tedious, laborious, but they are your family.

jace and luke are too, of course, not that anyone else seems to want to admit it. for all that they are velaryon’s by name (and strong in heart, mayhaps, yes), they are your nephews. your brothers only seem interested in remembering this when it serves them, however — which is usually when they’re lording it over the dark-haired boys.

in truth, the velaryon’s are hardly innocent either. it seems like the two sets of boys bring out the absolute worse in each other without fail, and it’s usually left to you to try and be the voice of reason.

away from your brothers’ taunts, jace is like a different boy entirely. endlessly curious and ceaselessly kind, the brunette seems to always have time to talk and jape with you. your friendship grows surprisingly easy as children, and with early adulthood comes the bloom of a different kind of affection, too. you never say anything, knowing all too well that if your brothers catch even a whisper of your feelings that there will be no end of hells to pay.

it matters little, regardless. your mother will never tolerate a betrothal between the two of you and you know better than to even attempt to broach such a topic. it had been sheer miracle that she hadn’t tried marrying you off to aemond after securing aegon and helaena’s marriage, and you aren’t willing to tempt fate by giving her ideas now. so what if you spend countless nights dreaming of freckled skin and dark hair? it matters not in the scheme of things.

rhaenyra flees kings landing after daemon’s return to westeros, leaving you feeling strangely bereft without your nephews’ company. years go by with no contact from your sister’s family, and so you let your old daydreams fall to the wayside. there’s no use dwelling on what you can’t have, and no point bringing it up since even now just a mention of luke or jace is enough to inflame aemond’s temper.

and then, of course, the news comes that rhaenyra is returning to court for the king’s fiftieth name day. there are great feasts and celebrations planned in honour of your father, which you privately think silly considering it’s unlikely he would be well enough to attend half the festivities. still, there’s no denying your excitement at the idea of seeing jace again. he would be a man grown, now, his twentieth name day having passed only a few moons ago.

for once the majority of your family will be under one roof, and you are certain it will end in disaster — but you intend to enjoy it while you can.

going flying the morning of the velaryons arrival is perhaps not your smartest idea. 

your nerves wake you well before dawn. you feel as if you’re going to crawl out of your skin if you don’t do something, and you know your chances for flying will be limited with the celebrations expected to start tomorrow. so you decided to take the chance while you can, dressing quickly in your riding gear before creeping to the dragon pit well before any of your family wake.

silverwing likes it when you take her for unexpected flights, so she makes no complaint when you have the dragon keepers release her. you go through the motions of saddling her yourself, as you always do, taking the chance to reinforce the bond with your dragon.

silverwing hadn’t been your hatched dragon. the egg that you had slept beside as a babe had never hatched, just as aemond’s and helaena’s hadn’t. it had infuriated aemond when you were children, that jace and luke’s dragons hatched while he was left without. it had made him an easy target for the other boys; aegon had often led the others in riling him about his lack of dragon until he had claimed vhagar. you can admit now that the others had oft been cruel to him in their japing, and it had ended poorly for everyone involved.

your claiming of silverwing had been incredibly boring in comparison. she had found you, in truth, a year after aemond claimed vhagar. she’d been your great-grandmother the good queen alysanne’s dragon before your own, and had not taken a rider since the queen’s death. she’d flown from the dragonmont to find you, and you’ve been nigh on inseparable since. your mother despairs over it, hating how her often her ‘perfect daughter’ has shown up to court late with windswept hair and flushed cheeks.

but, to you, flying is freedom.

there’s nothing else like it in the world; the sensation of silverwing beneath you, the seven kingdoms at your fingertips, and only the sky above. your mother has never really let go of her fear of the dragons, and you can understand it in a way; she is no targaryen, and she’ll never know what it is to bond with a dragon, to have that presence so alien and yet so familiar nudging against the corners of your mind. any attempts to explain it to her are met with bemusement and wariness, and you’d long ago learned to stop bringing it up.

silverwing’s joy to fly merges into your own as you climb atop her, running a soothing hand over the gleaming silver spikes at her neck as you adjust the straps. her impatience thrums loudly through the bond as you settle yourself into the saddle, and you feel her heart beat through you like a second pulse as your own anticipation rises.

“ivestragī īlva sōvegon, ñuha raqiros! [let us fly, my friend!]”

she needs no further nudging than that, and with a delighted roar she launches into the air. your laughter is stolen by the wind as she beats her wings, propelling you higher and higher before sweeping over the towering peaks of the red keep. with a shouted instruction she banks sharply to the left, flying out over blackwater bay as the sun finally crests the horizon. the dark sea lights up with reds and golds beneath you, the sky gloriously blue above, and silverwing’s distinctive scales shine in the breaking dawn.

a glorious morning, you think, and as the two of you climb higher to the sky you feel all your nerves and excitement for anything but the flight leave you. this is what your mother will never understand; flying is an escape, yes, but not from your duties as she assumes it is. this is an escape from your worries, from the petty machinations of court. in the sky with your dragon, you need worry only about how chill the wind will be, or if aemond is out with vhagar, who’s a grumpy old beast at the best of times and silverwing is feeling mischievous.

you find peace, here, in the sky. this is what you were born for.

long minutes pass as you fly leisurely, circling over the bay and the keep and back again in ever widening circles. sometimes silverwing dives just to do so, plunging so close to the blackwater that you could reach out and skim your hand over the dark depths. you lose track of time as the two of you fly, contentment bleeding across the bond so completely you can’t even tell which one of you it’s coming from.

a dragon’s cry in the distance catches your attention, and silverwing pulls up from where she’d been ducking her head into the water to snatch fish. she propels you rapidly higher into the air, crying out in response as you break through the thin cloud cover. you expect to find aegon’s dragon; sunfyre is the only dragon silverwing likes, rather than tolerates, to be making such a noise in greeting.

but it’s an unfamiliar dragon that greets you, olive green scales shining with the damp from the high altitudes. your mind races as you struggle to place it, and it’s only when you catch sight of a head of dark curls astride the dragon that you realise who it is.

vermax.

and jacaerys.

your heart skips in your chest, silverwing’s unexpected excitement tangling with your own nerves as she swoops towards the much smaller dragon. it’s only her sheer happiness that stops you from panicking or shouting a command to halt in valyrian, and moments later you recall she’d have known vermax from her time on dragonstone.

she somersaults over and around vermax playfully, and you release an exhilarated laugh in response as you cling tightly to the saddle. you see only snatches of jace as your dragons fly complicated patterns around each other, but the quick flashes you do get find an easy smile on his face.

the dragons spend a long while flying together, racing and diving and spiralling to new heights. they move so quickly that you have no chance to try and greet jacaerys, can offer nothing more than quick smiles as you pass him. it gives you the time for your nerves to settle back down, time to reassure yourself that any childhood feelings are long faded and that you will be able to act perfectly composed when it is time to greet him.

eventually you realise your dragon is not going to land until you tell her too, and vermax is clearly just as willing to chase after the larger she-dragon for as long as she is willing to be chased.

“māzigon, silverwing. istiti tegun [come, silverwing. we must land],” you shout, laughing again when the dragon whines her displeasure. she listens regardless, soaring down in tightening circles with vermax following close on your tail. her landing in the dragon pit is far from smooth, but you’re well used to compensating for the jostling as she settles onto the ground once more.

you’re quick in freeing yourself from the saddle, murmuring warm thanks and praise to your dragon as you walk to the side of her great head to meet a single burning eye. “kirimvose, ñuha raqiros. kesi sōvegon arlī aderī [thank you, my friend. we will fly again soon],” you tell her, and she responds with a content grumble as she nudges her head gently against your chest in affection.

you leave the dragon keepers to return her to her cave, instead turning to watch as jace shares his own goodbyes with his dragon. you take the chance to look at him, properly look, and find yourself suddenly warring with self-consciousness and a burning in your chest.

despite the acrobatics of the dragons, he looks perfectly put together with his dark curls brushing his shoulders and a pleasing tan to his skin. you fear you must look a ruin, with your hair undoubtedly a mess and cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. your breath is still a touch laboured from the exertion of the flight, while he looks perfectly composed in his fancy black and red doublet. you curse the old gods and the new that you’d picked out your old riding gear this morning — comfortable, yes, but certainly not ideal for greeting the heir to the heir and the man you’d once daydreamed about marrying.

you push the thoughts away with determined stubbornness, refusing to dwell on the warmth in your chest when jace finally turns to look at you. he’s grown, you note immediately, now standing at least a head taller than you. any traces of baby fat have left him, leaving behind a strong, square jaw and strong yet slim shoulders. his dark eyes are warm, though, and his smile friendly as he takes you in.

you dip instinctually into a curtsey, a perfectly respectable greeting ready on your lips, but you’re startled into straightening back to standing when jace laughs.

“come now, princess,” he says, fond and teasing he approaches you. he’s the only one who’s ever been able to make the title sound more like an endearment. “since when have we been ones for formality?”

it sets you at ease immediately, tension relaxing from your shoulders as you beam at him. “i suppose we never have been very good at that, have we?” you let your eyes skip over him again, something like relief settling in your bones at the sight of him. “it’s good to see you again, jace.”

“aye,” he returns, dark eyes sparkling. “it is good to see you, indeed.”

for a long moment he simply looks at you, and it makes that peculiar warmth in your chest blaze a little brighter. there’s something in his face that you’ve never seen there before — but then you think of course there is. you haven’t seen him in so long there’s probably all kinds of things about you him you no longer know. it aches, almost, to think it, but in a way he’s a stranger to you; a man with the kind eyes of the boy you’d loved in secret, once.

you clear your throat as you drop your eyes from his stare, glancing at the bustling keepers as they tend to your dragons instead as you cast about for something to say.

“are the rest of your family not flying in?” you query after a moment.

he shakes his head, dark curls swaying with the movement. “no, arrax and tyraxes are still too small to fly luke and joff for such a journey, and mother would rather stay with my brothers on the ship.”

you nod in acceptance, shifting slightly on the spot. “well then, let me be the first to welcome you back to king’s landing, my prince.” you take the formality out of your tone with a playful wink, and are gratified to see the way he chuckles at your antics.

“i had hoped you’d be the first i’d see.” he admits this casually, as if this doesn’t set your heart and mind racing. “i have missed you, aunt.”

you duck your head again to try and hide the smile spreading across your face. you tell yourself sternly to stop acting like some lovesick child, all the while that small flame continues to burn away inside of you. “and i you, nephew.” you glance up at him shyly from beneath your lashes, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, and you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement.

he’s the one to clear his throat, this time, stepping a half-pace away from you and gesturing for you to proceed him. “shall we head to the keep, then? my mother’s ship should have arrived by now and we wouldn’t want to miss the formal welcome.”

“as you say,” you agree, and the two of you set off.

you spend the long walk to the keep catching up on the long years between you. you’d expected the time apart to be like a gulf between you, a canyon that could not be crossed, but if anything it’s the opposite. it’s as if you’d last seen each other only hours ago. it should startle you, how simple it feels to fall into your old friendship, but you don’t have it in you to be surprised. that’s always been the thing with jace, after all — it’s easy. being around him, speaking to him, listening to his odd tangents. it all comes as natural to you as breathing, as if there’s a part of you that was just born knowing him.

he's dodging your questions as you finally arrive at the keep, having let slip something about an old secret from the days of your childhood that he’s never shared with you. it makes something flutter in your chest, the way he looks at you as he says it. the way he’s looked at you the whole time, in fact, has you having to bite back a smile. he looks at you as if he is looking at something precious, expression tender and fond and uncomplicated. it threatens to steal your breath again, and so you make an effort to try and act as unaffected as possible, because he cannot mean it in the way you think you might want him too.

“oh, but you simply must tell me!” you wheedle cheerfully, a mischievous smile on your lips. “you wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, my prince?”

you pout at him, fluttering your lashes in the way you usually do when trying to get your way with your brothers. jace swallows audibly at the sight, some emotion you can’t read flickering across his eyes as his gaze drops to your mouth and then lower again before returning to your eyes. something in his expression makes you flush, cheeks burning as your lips part slowly. a heat rises in you, unbidden, as he steps ever so slightly closer into your space. you’re overwhelmed with the smell of him; sea salt and dragon smoke and something almost woodsy underneath it, something entirely jace.

he murmurs your name so quietly you almost miss it over the sounds of courtyard. his hand twitches as if to reach for you as he ducks his head slightly, and you think if you lifted yours just so you’d be able to brush your lips over the strong line of his jaw. you realise suddenly how much you want to — how much you want to drag your tongue over his skin and taste.

oh.

oh.

you want him. that peculiar feeling that had been burning in your chest — you recognise the desire for what it is, now. the easy camaraderie that you’d fell into on the walk to the keep subsides in the wake of it, and abruptly all you can think of is what his mouth will feel like on your own. the palpable tension between you makes your hands tremble with the urge to touch, heart pounding so loudly in your ears it drowns out anything that isn’t him as the rest of the courtyard fades away.

you sway the barest inch closer, inhaling his scent deeply, and watch as jace’s nostrils flare in response. with a shaky breath you lift your chin, eyes dropping to his parted lips, and you bite your bottom lip as his tongue sweeps over his own.

“jace…”

“brother! there you are!”

luke’s voice startles you both back to reality as you spring apart. you hadn’t realised just how close you’d gotten, your chests almost brushing with every breath, until the gap between you widens. you drop your eyes to your feet, cheeks blazing with embarrassment as you realise how close you’d come to kissing him in an extremely public place. you chide yourself internally for forgetting yourself, and take another second to gather your composure before lifting your head with a smile.

“hello, nephew,” you greet luke warmly, doing your best to ignore the way jace’s eyes burns into the side of your face. “it is very good to see you again.”

“aunt!” luke fairly cheers, and you note how the youth still clings to his face. while certainly older than the last time you’d seen him, he still seems like a child to you. his limbs are long and gangly, in that awkward stage at the cusp of adulthood where he’s not quite grown into himself yet. he bounds closer, drawing you into a hug that you allow and return with a fond laugh.

“luke, honestly,” jace tuts, shaking his head as the two of you separate. “we’re at court, now. at least try to remember your manners.”

the younger boy winces. “ah, right, yes.” he sketches a quick but perfect bow your way. “it is a great honour to see you once more, princess.” he flashes a cheeky smile and a wink your way as he straightens out, and you press your hand to your mouth to smother a giggle at the exasperated look on jace’s face at his brother’s antics. he’s hardly one to talk, you think, considering how quickly he had dispensed with manners when greeting you.

in return, you dip into a practiced if impish curtsey. “it is a sincere pleasure to see you as well, prince lucerys.”

luke does giggle, then, as jace rolls his eyes so hard you think they’re at risk of falling out of his head. despite his dramatics, you spot the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watches you jape with his brother.

“the queen is looking for you, dear aunt,” luke says after the greetings are done, and your amusement flees you as your stomach drops.

it’s only then you realise that with both luke and jace being here, you’ve certainly missed the official welcome of princess rhaenyra back to court. you wince at the thought of your mother’s ire, resigning yourself to a long lecture about your responsibilities and how dragon riding is ‘not one of them’. jace catches your expression, concern creasing his face as his brows furrow.

“alright?” he checks, and you do your best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“yes, i’m sure all will be well.” you hesitate a moment before offering a one-shouldered shrug, ignoring the voice in your head that sounds far too much like your mother telling you how unladylike such a motion is. “i expect my mother will be displeased with me for missing the official welcome, but the festivities will surely distract her quick enough.”

luke and jace both offer you a commiserating smile as the three of you head into the keep. you expect your mother will be waiting in her solar, which is on a close route to the guest suites set aside for the visiting royals, and so you walk with the velaryons as far as you can. when it comes time to part, jace lingers at the entry of the hall as luke continues down the corridor. his dark eyes are fixed to yours so intensely it steals your breath as you slow to a stop as well.

“i’ll see you at the feast,” he says quietly, capturing your hand in his much larger one and bringing it to his mouth. your breath hitches in your chest, eyes widening as he brushes his lips tenderly over your knuckles. your lips part in surprise, tingles racing up your arm from where his mouth makes contact with your skin. before you have chance to respond, jace dips into a sweeping bow and then bids you farewell, leaving you staring after him for a long moment.

well. if your mother doesn’t kill you, you think jace certainly will.

jace sinks into the hot water of the bath with a deep sigh of relief.

after meeting with his mother to explain why he’d been late to the formal greetings — or, rather, offer excuses as to why he’d been late, since he doesn’t think his mother will take well to the idea he was so busy enjoying himself flying with you that the thought of any formal welcome party left his mind entirely — he’d sought his chambers. the bath had been ready and waiting for him, tendrils of steam wafting from the clear water, and he’d wasted no time in shedding his clothes. he’s keen to wash the dragon stink from his skin before the feast, and he makes quick work of scrubbing his skin clean. when he’s done, he allows himself to relax against the metal of the tub, arms draped carelessly over the metal rim as he soaks.

king’s landing from dragonstone is not too long a journey on dragon back, but flying for such a stretch causes its own particular aches. vermax had enjoyed the chance to stretch his wings, at least, and had enjoyed the playful flight with silverwing even more.

he can admit to himself he’d enjoyed it, too, the sight of you astride your dragon lighting something within him. it’s been so long since he’d seen you, not since the aftermath of laena’s funeral, and he hadn’t been prepared for how the sight of you — breathless and flush and beaming at him — would make him feel. he’d almost managed to push back his boyhood adoration and childhood daydreams of marrying you one day with the years passing, but seeing you again brings it all rushing back and he feels as hopelessly enamoured with you now as he did as a child.

you’ve grown well, there’s no denying that. where childhood had left you sometimes awkward and gangly, you’ve become a woman grown now with all the curves and delights that come with it. he’d been embarrassed at how hard it had been to pull his gaze from you on the trip to the keep, but you’d not seemed to notice. too occupied with filling the air between you with light chatter, you’d been oblivious to the way his eyes had dragged over your form again and again.

you just — you’re so unlike anyone else he knows. he’d let himself forget how lovely you were, but there was no way to ignore it now. riding the high of your flight and genuinely happy to see him, you’d been like something out of a dream. your face had been as open to him as ever, plainly delighted to see him, and seeing you had eased some ache he’d become so used to he’d not even know it was there until he felt the lack of it.

he’s not some foolish child. he knows better than to think of things like love when his head must lie with his duty. but the thought remains regardless, lingering in the back of his mind that you would be as easy to love now as you had been when you were younger. it had been a childish love then, of course; innocent and sweet in the ways only children could be. but it had been there, unspoken and unacted upon, but no less real for it.

you’re not children anymore. it would be impossible to think otherwise with the way your riding gear had clung flatteringly to your chest and hips. your mouth looked so pretty stretched into a smile, a smile for him, and he thinks it’s a testament to his restraint that he’d not kissed you on the spot when you’d pouted so prettily up at him. he’d thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps you were going to kiss him with the way your eyes had darkened, how you’d gravitated into his space as if without intention.

heat pools in his stomach as he thinks about how the neckline of your riding dress had cut low enough to allow him a peak at your chest, heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. he wonders what your mouth would taste like, what noises you would make if he’d slid his tongue against your own. gods, he feels like a green boy seeing a woman for the first time — almost undone at just the thought of you. he won’t be able to get through the welcome feast like this, he thinks, so on edge with his lust for you burning him from the inside out.

it’s not even a conscious choice to curl his fingers around his cock, half-hard already as he thinks of you. jace’s head tips back against the rim of the bath, eyes drifting closed as a quiet gasp escapes him. the warm water eases his way as he strokes himself, and he lets himself imagine it’s your slick, instead.

he pictures you before him, pretends it’s your hand teasing at the skin at the head of his cock. your hands are so small, so dainty, he thinks you probably wouldn’t be able to wrap them all the way around him. he imagines they’re a little calloused — soft, mostly, but with the fingertips just rough enough from years spent riding and caring for your dragon. they’d drag so deliciously against his skin, and you’d take to the task with the same voracious enthusiasm you do with everything else. you’d watch him closely, pick up on the cues of his pleasure, and he’d unravel for you so quickly it’d be embarrassing if it was anyone else.

“fuck,” he hisses out, thumb dragging over the liquid leaking copiously from his tip. his head tips back even further, water dripping from his curls onto the stone floor as he chases his release. his imagining splinters into disconnected fantasies; you, on your knees with your mouth stretched around him, lashes damp with reflexive tears as your eyes fix on his. you, sprawled beneath him and writhing as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved. you, babbling in high valyrian as he sinks into the tight wet heat of you. you, clenching and shuddering around his cock as you come for him, blazing and beautiful. you, you, you.

his release hits him hard, a low groan tearing from his throat as his hips thrust up into his hand as he drags out those last few moments of pleasure. his panting breaths sound loud in the silence of his chambers, and jace is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is alone. there is, of course, no trace of you.

he knows in that moment he has to have you. he cannot tolerate the thought of anyone else — not for himself, and certainly not for you. he wants you as his wife, his queen, the mother of his children. jace doesn’t care how he must do it — as long as you’re as willing as he is, he is going to make you his.

the feast has started by the time jace arrives.

his indulgence had cost him time, and then he’d spent longer than usual readying himself while trying to ignore the fact he was doing so only to impress you. by the time he makes it to the hall his family are already seated and the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune. his eyes seek you instantly, and he resists the urge to frown in disappointment as he sees you sat between helaena and aemond. he’d hoped to sit beside you and use this time to see if there was any hint of you returning his feelings. no matter — there would be time enough later. if he has his way, there’ll be all the time in the world.

you look beautiful, he notes. you’re dressed in your usual deep green, the gown cut flatteringly for your shape. your face is animated and happy as you chat to aemond, and though he finds the idea of anyone enjoying that grumpy prick’s presence bizarre, he enjoys the sight of you so at ease.  

as he approaches the head table and the empty seat between his mother and luke, your eyes linger on him. he’s gratified by the way you light up when you spot him, offering him a warm smile in welcome for all that you’re quickly entangled into a conversation with your sister. it eases some of the sting at finding you unavailable, and he’s helpless but to smile back at you even when your gaze slides back to helaena.

luke eyes him strangely as he settles into his seat but says nothing as jace reaches for a goblet of wine. his mother greets him absently, entangled as she is in conversation with the king, and he takes the moment to glance out at the hall.

it’s a relatively small feast. large enough to not cause offence to the heir to the throne, but not so grand as to detract from the festivities planned for the next fortnight. he recognises a few faces in the crowd, people from different houses from across the kingdoms. the king’s birthday celebrations are no small affair, and he spots representatives from all the great houses as well as some of the more minor ones.

it makes him want to slump in his seat, for all that he keeps his posture straight. he knows the next few weeks will be full of politicking and double speak, and it grates. as the heir to the heir, jace knows it’s partially his responsibility to ensure their alliances still stand while seeking out any news one that might present themselves. he has no doubt that some of the lords in this crowd will have brought their daughters, planning to parade them in front of him and his brothers in hopes they might pick one as their betrothed.

his lack of betrothal has been a point of contention for many of the court, he knows. most had assumed he would be betrothed to his stepsister baela, and he’d thought the same for years. it was only when his mother had confided that baela had no interest in being queen and, in fact, was so strongly opposed to the idea that she swore to fly to essos and never be seen again if they tried marrying her to him that he realised just why such a betrothal had never been announced.

it had left him free, in a way, to pursue his own desires; without a betrothal attached to him he’d shed any guilt about seeking company at the pleasure houses. but, in turn, it had left him open to the machinations of the other houses who all sought to have their blood on the iron throne. it’s incredibly tedious, but he knows he must grin and bear it for the sake of his mother and his house.

the food arrives then, and he busies himself with the meal and talking to his siblings. his grandsire makes a speech welcoming his daughter and her family home, and jace notes the sour faces of alicent’s sons. they keep their tongues, at least, which shows a maturity from them he truthfully hadn’t expected. perhaps they’ve grown just as you have, he thinks, but dismisses the thought when aemond catches his eye and only sneers in response to jace’s tentative smile.

he's often wondered at the conflict between the two sides of the family. the animosity now he can pinpoint, of course; aemond losing his eye. but there had been years before that of tense, standoffish behaviour interspersed with camaraderie when everyone seemed to forget they weren’t meant to be friends. he remembers playing pranks with aegon while luke trailed after them, and he remembers sitting with helaena while she perused the dirt for bugs.

he remembers you, most of all. kind and fearless and smart, you’d enamoured him from the moment he was old enough to recognise girls were different to boys in interesting ways. even before then you’d been fast friends, something in your similarly mischievous behaviour drawing you into each other’s orbit. he’s always been drawn to you, he thinks, to the uncomplicated joy you took in your life. there was so much to be miserable about, so much duty on all your shoulders, but you always found something to smile over. your unfailing optimism would no doubt be irritating to some, but to him it has always been one of his favourite things about you.

his gaze, predictably, shifts to you. he startles to find you looking at him already. you flush immediately as your eyes lock, presumably embarrassed at being caught, and he enjoys the colour it brings to your cheeks. you don’t drop his stare, though, not until helaena says something to draw your attention back to her once again. he catches sight of a private little quirk of your lips as your head turns, and something like satisfaction settles in his chest as he hides his own smile in his goblet.

perhaps this feast won’t be as tedious as he’d feared.

“are you enjoying the festivities, princess?”

jace’s voice pulls you from where you’ve been staring into your wine as if it holds all the secrets of the world. you’ve lost count of how many goblets you’ve had, chattering away with your siblings before aegon had started to become cruel in his inebriation and you’d all opted to split apart through the hall. you glance up to find the velaryon prince standing before you, hands perched loosely on the hilt of his sword. he looks unfairly handsome, you think, with his tumble of curls and well-fitted doublet, and something about the slight smirk on his face makes you think he knows it.

“i am enjoying them well enough,” you allow, flicking your gaze from his to look out at the dance floor. aemond is dancing with helaena, aegon far too deep into his cups to bother thinking of his wife. your mother is as tense as she has been since you’d found her earlier; her stepdaughter’s arrival to court has set her incredibly on edge, and the lecture she’d given you earlier had certainly been one of her worst. and your father is oblivious to it all, simply too pleased at the presence of his favoured daughter to care about the way the rest of his family are fracturing apart.

he's not been a good father to you, the king. he’s called you and helaena rhaenyra more than once over the years, and even when his eyes are you on you, you never feel like it’s you he sees. your mother had tried to soothe the ache of his absence, of his blatant favour for a woman who was not here, but as the years stretched on even she had seemed to fade further and further away from you all. for so long it’s just been the four of you, clinging to each other and tearing each other apart in equal measure. you’ve oft thought that daeron is the luckiest of you, able to thrive at the hightower and away from the mess of your family.

you pause at the maudlin turn of your thoughts, peering contemplatively into your wine again before offering jace a slightly sheepish smile. “i… fear i may have indulged in too much wine,” you admit, startling a laugh from the darkhaired prince.

it’s aegon’s fault, you decide; before he’d gotten belligerently drunk he’d been so cheerful, seemingly pleased to have the pressure of being the eldest targaryen child in court off of his shoulders. in his cheer he had plied you with wine, laughing and japing with an arm over your shoulder as you reminisced on simpler times of your childhood. happy to see him so, you’d not resisted, but now you find yourself regretting those choices as your thoughts tumble sluggishly through your mind.

jace shakes his head fondly at you, reaching out to carefully steal your goblet away. his fingers brush against yours as he does so, the barest of touches and yet enough to set your heart racing as you blink slowly up at him. he sips from your wine deliberately, amber eyes darkening as he holds your stare, and your lips part with an unsteady breath. something about him drinking your wine from your cup has your stomach fluttering pleasantly.

gods, i want him.

the thought is enough to startle you, heat suffusing your cheeks as you avert your gaze. jace doesn’t, though, and you can feel the weight of his stare on you like a tangible thing. it makes your skin prickle with warmth, and you lurch a touch unsteadily to your feet before you can say anything silly like ‘kiss me, please’.

“i think i should retire to my chambers before i make a drunken fool of myself,” you announce, fingers smoothing over the green velvet of your dress.

“i’ll escort you,” jace returns, tone leaving no room for argument.

he sets aside the wine and offers you his arm, quirking an eyebrow as if in challenge. you hesitate for barely a second, taking a steadying breath, before looping your arm through his and allowing him to lead you through the crowd towards the open doors. the woodsy smell of him you’d noticed before is clearer, now, and you take another deep breath of the scent. it calms your nerves and yet inflames your desire, and your fingers tighten infinitesimally against his bicep.

you stop at the doors of the feasting chamber for long enough to let ser erryk know that you’re retiring for the evening, leaving it to him to pass the message on to your mother, and then you and jace are alone in the halls of the keep.

of course, you’re not truly alone. guards litter the corridors and even at this late hour servants bustle along, busy with their chores. but in the quiet of the keep as jace leads you to your rooms, you can almost imagine yourself alone with him. the thought threatens to overwhelm you, mad fantasies of him tugging you into a dark alcove to devour you flashing through your mind, and you scold yourself internally.

you’re really very cross with aegon. he and his wine have left you in this state, too far into your cups to keep control of your dangerous wonderings. if only he had not kept calling for more of that gods-be-damned arbor gold, you’d have been able to keep your wits about you. you’d wanted to dance at the feast, too, mayhaps even with jacaerys but at the very least with your brothers. instead, you’re being led back to your rooms like a child who’s had their first taste of wine with dinner and let it go to their head.

jace’s presence helps your intoxication little. seeing him again, touching him, smelling him — it’s all too much when all your defences are down like this. you feel like a girl again, staring breathlessly after him and so full of certainty that you love him, and it’s just— ridiculous. you’ve spent mere hours in his presence and you’re like some lovelorn idiot with no thought in your mind beyond being as close to him as is possible. it’s foolish, reckless, absurd. but it’s there, regardless, unfurling in your chest with a lovely kind of agony.

you keep quiet on the walk, too afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll beg him to have his way with you or, worse, confess your re-blooming infatuation for him, and jace seems content enough to walk in silence for a while. eventually, though, he speaks.

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you drunk before,” he observes, tone light.

you glance at him sidelong, pursing your lips at the teasing smirk curling on his mouth. “it’s aegon’s doing,” you tell him solemnly. “my brother is something of an expert on the subject of wines, and his tolerance is… much higher than mine own.”

jace snorts. “aye, i had noticed.”

you lapse into silence, again, only now you find yourself stealing glances at him. he really is very pretty, you think, though in quite a masculine way. something about the sharp line of his jaw and the curl of his eyelashes keeps drawing your attention, and you suspect you are not being subtle with your admiration in your inebriated state. as you walk by an open window moonlight floods into the hall, sending jace’s profile into sharp relief, and your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his smooth skin. something about the pattern makes you think of the stars, and you realise too late that your quick glances have turned to a lingering stare.

“is there something on my face, princess?”

jace’s mockingly innocent words draw your eyes to his. he’s smirking down at you, eyes dancing with amusement, and your cheeks flush. gods, you don’t think you’ve blushed so much in moons compared to the mere hours you’ve spent in his company. the things this man is doing to you — it is unconscionable. you don’t know how much more of this you can take before your resolve breaks.

“i apologise, my prince,” your respond after a beat, teeth biting at your lip. “i did not mean to… i was leagues away.”

his eyes darken, mischief fleeing them in favour of flickers of something else as they linger on your mouth, and that damnable heat in your stomach blazes. you want desperately to surge forward and kiss him, or for him to take you in his hands and kiss you. you just want, and ache, and burn. and it’s too much, far too much for your wine-addled brain to process, but you know if anyone was to happen upon you in this corridor, starting at him with your mouth parted and your breaths shuddering through your lungs, there will be consequences.

“we should— we are almost at my chambers.” your words are stumbling, loud in the sudden quiet that had descended over the pair of you, and jace startles a little, eyes darting away from yours as your stomach plummets. gods, what are you doing? staring at him in such a way? he must think you a simple-minded fool, gaping at him for the sake of a few freckles. you step away from him, rubbing your arm as you turn your eyes to stare intently at your feet instead. “i can make it the rest of the way from here. you should return to the feast.”

jace is quiet for a long moment and you peek up at him to see him watching you with an indecipherable expression for a charged breath before nodding slowly and taking a step away.

“as you wish,” he murmurs, ducking his head in a simple bow. “sweet dreams, princess.”

you stutter out your own farewell, half-convinced you’ll be dreaming of nothing but his hands and his mouth this night, before turning and all but fleeing down the hall.

oh, yes. jacaerys is certainly going to be the death of you.

jace spends the next few days at court so entangled in his responsibilities he feels he barely sets eyes upon you.

he and his mother are roped into starting the celebrations in the absence of the king himself. his grandsire’s health is failing, of that there is no doubt, and after enjoying himself a touch too heartily at the welcome feast he requires a few days to recover. he thinks perhaps that’s why these festivities are so important; it’s unlikely the king will make it to his five and fiftieth name day, and almost certainly not his sixtieth. it leaves him with… complicated feelings.

when his grandsire dies, he will no longer be the heir to the heir, but the heir to the iron throne itself. it’s a daunting thought; for all that his mother has seen him well prepared to sit his throne one day, it feels such an impossible task. he doesn’t understand how he’s ever supposed to be ready for such a thing.

the thought rises, unbidden, that it would be easier with you by his side. with your kind heart but sharp mind, you’d make a fine queen. he finds himself daydreaming of it still and scolding himself all the while for acting the green boy, and yet unable to stop. it’s as if his every thought leads back to you in some way or another — he sees a flower and wonders if you’d like the smell of it, or sees a dress and thinks of how much lovelier it would look on you. at night he indulges in more sensual wonderings, and he swears he’s not felt the urge to touch himself so much since he was a boy of five and ten just starting to discover the pleasures the touch of another can bring.

for all that you’d appeared to reject him the night of the welcome feast, he finds himself certain you desire him just as he does you. in fact, he fancies it’s that very desire that had led to you fleeing his company and avoiding him in the days after.

because you are avoiding him.

yes, he is busy with the festivities and you are perhaps equally so. but he does not think it’s busyness that drives you to seek conversation with absolutely anyone else when he looks for your company, and it is not busyness that has you clinging to aemond’s side so fiercely either. you know he won’t approach you when you’re with your brother, knowing how it hurts you to see them trade barbs and knowing himself well enough to know he will not be able to bite back his rancour if aemond says a word about his father.

jace is not an idiot. he knows what people say about him, the words they barely bother to whisper behind their hands about who his true sire is. he has complicated feelings about that, too, but it all boils down to one simple thing: he is his mother’s son. she is heir to the king, and he is her heir. for him, that’s all that can matter.

he knows it’s all that matters to you, too. for all that your brothers had spit bastard at him for as long as he can remember, you’ve never done so. you’ve never looked at him differently for the rumours of his birth, and it’s just one thing among many he treasures about you.

perhaps it’s foolish, to cling to these childhood feelings so tightly, but he cannot let the idea of the two of you together go. he knows luke has noticed how he stares after you in longing, since his brother has never been shy about teasing him relentlessly. he thinks his mother has noticed, too, from the few carefully inane comments she’s made about betrothals and duty. 

he supposes an argument could be made for the fact that with the years without contact between you, he doesn’t really know you anymore, not as he once did, but he doesn’t feel it matters. he can learn anything new about you and will in fact do so joyfully, but the important things? the things that speak to who you are at your core? jace has always known those, has always felt connected to you in a way he never has with another, and he loves you now just as he did as a boy. 

it would be easier in a way if he felt sure you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. at least then he could try and move on from them, put to bed his endless wonderings of you. but for as often as he turns his head to look at you, he finds you looking away from your own watching of him. the few, brief interactions he has with you over the next few days feel loaded, the desire and affection between you a palpable thing, and he’s tiring of pretending there’s nothing there anymore.

he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t miss you.

so, at the halfway point of the celebrations when there’s another, larger feast held with plenty of chances for dancing and sneaking away into dark corners, he makes it a point to keep an eye on you. the moment he spots you, finally alone, he beelines for you. your attention is on your necklace, readjusting the pendant that rests on your chest, and he cannot help but let his gaze linger on the swell of your breasts as he approaches. he’s found himself staring at your chest more often than is wholly appropriate over the last few days, but then he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to a woman’s form.

“p-prince jacaerys,” you greet weakly when you look up from your necklace, hands smoothing over the skirts of your dress. your eyes dart about the room as if seeking a rescue from someone, and he tries not to feel how such a response to his presence stings. “how are you enjoying the feast?”

“well enough,” he returns, echoing the words you’d spoke to him days ago. gods, has it only been days since that conversation? it feels like an age, and he has felt more distant from you in these passing moments than he is in your years apart.

“that is… good.” your fingers twist around each other, teeth catching on your bottom lip, and he has to swallow back the sudden rush of desire to be the one nipping at the pouting flesh.

“would you do me the honour of a dance, princess?”

his request startles you, eyes widening as your fingers drop back to your side in surprise. he thinks for a wild moment that you’ll say no, make some excuse to remove yourself from him, and he feels himself bracing for the rejection. but you hesitate, searching his face, and whatever you find there seems to soften something in you as you nod.

“of course.” you offer him your hand, an unsure smile on your face.

he takes it with relief, trying not to react at the sensation of your hand in his own. he was right in thinking your hands are smooth, but as he leads you to the dance floor and your fingers slide over his palm he feels the drag of callouses as he’d expected. it pulls him back into that heated imagining of before for a moment, and he has to shake his head slightly to keep himself from losing his wits.

you stay quiet as he guides you into position, dainty hand resting on his shoulder as he places his own at your hip. he leads you through the first few steps in quiet, too, taking the moment to enjoy having you in his arms, having you close. but he realises after a silent minute that you’re obviously not going to say anything, and even as he looks beseechingly at you appear to avoid meeting his eyes.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he speaks lowly, watching you carefully as you stare purposefully at the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes.

your eyes flicker away and back and then away again, fingers tightening around his own as he leads you through the steps of the dance effortlessly. “aye,” you admit quietly. “i have been.”

“why?” he doesn’t mean to sound so desperate nor so accusing, but the quiet hurt that your absence has caused him surges forth before jace can stop it.

you finally meet his gaze, eyes helpless and wanting and aching, and his stomach twists at the sight of your conflicted expression.

“i— jace, i can’t.” your voice cracks with the weight of your emotion and without thinking he pulls you closer, arm wrapping tight around your waist to provide you some semblance of comfort. “i can’t. not here, please.”

wordlessly he alters the steps of the dance, drawing you with precision through the crowd of dancers until you come to one of the balconies. it’s blessedly empty of anyone else, and as soon as you realise it some tension seems to shake loose of you.

you step out of his grip slowly, almost reluctantly, and walk to the railing, palms splaying on the stone. he joins you after the barest hesitation, drinking you in as you stare out at the courtyard and beyond. he notices how tightly you grip the banister, colour leeching from you knuckles with the strength of your grip, and almost without thinking jace rests his hand beside your own, pinkie fingers brushing. the touch seems to release something in you and he hears how your breath shudders before you speak.

“i embarrassed myself on the night of the welcome feast,” you confess miserably. “i drank too much, and the way that i behaved— staring at you in that way— it was not becoming behaviour of a princess, nor of a, a friend. i did not wish to make you uncomfortable again, so i thought it best i keep my distance from you.”

he blinks in surprise. “uncomfortable?” the mere idea of such a thing is maddening. he recalls the sight of you before him, lips parted and oh so kissable as you’d stared at him with such intention it had set him ablaze. how in the name of the gods can you think he found such a thing uncomfortable? “princess, i can assure you, the only feeling i took from your admiration is delight.”

your head snaps around, eyes finally meeting his own again, and he shakes his head in bemusement at the sight of your desperate hope. “truly? you do not jest?”

he resists the urge to chuckle, knowing you’ll take any kind of laughter, no matter how well meaning, poorly. instead he reaches for you, grasps your hands in his own and tries not to bask in the way you lean into him as he steps recklessly into your space. he feels your trembling breaths puff against his jaw as he ducks his head to stare intently into your eyes, and if he were a weaker man jace thinks he’d be on his knees in prostration for you in that very moment.

“surely you must know how i feel for you?” he murmurs, tracking the way the flush in your cheeks travels down your neck and onto your chest with greedy eyes. “how desperately i adore you?”

“jacaerys—.” you huff, shaking your head in denial for all that with every breath you take you sway ever closer to him. “we hardly know each other anymore. i won’t deny there is, is a yearning between us, mayhaps, but you cannot claim to adore me when you know me not. it’s been years since—"

“—do you think time matters?” he talks over you, strong in his conviction that you and he share a bond that transcends time or distance or duty. “that any distance between us could change what i know in my bones? i loved you before i had a name for it. i loved you when we were children and, yes, i love you again now. mayhaps i don’t know your favourite sweet or if you prefer to watch the sun rise or set, but i know you. i know who you are, princess, for all that i might no longer know the rest of it. i know your good heart, your quick mind and i know that i love you.” he hesitates, drinks in the dawning, open wonder on your face, and then adds, “and i think you might love me just the same.”

you sigh out his name sweetly, fingers tangling with his own as he squeezes your hands tenderly. you tilt your chin towards him as your eyes flutter shut. his nose slides against your own as you turn just so to the side, and your mouth is so close. he could kiss you, right now, and he knows that you would not pull away. but he’s too aware of the noise of the feast, the crowd of people that at any moment could find you in a compromising position.

he wants you, gods does he want you, but he will not ruin your reputation, will not sully your virtue for the sake of a stolen kiss on a balcony when he desires no less than forever with you.

“i will not push you,” he murmurs against your lips, breathing the air right from your lungs as he presses his forehead to yours for just a moment. “if you do not want this — if you do not return my feelings — i won’t push you nor pursue you. i hold too great a respect for you for that.” he cradles your jaw, thumb dragging at the corner of your mouth, and he glories in the way you shudder at his touch. with an unsteady breath he separates himself from you, hands clenching into fists at his side in an effort not to immediately reach for you again.

“but if you decide you want me as i want you, that you love me as ardently as i you, then my chambers will be unguarded and unlocked for you.” he sketches a bow, heart thundering in his chest as you stare at him in wordless shock. “i hope to see you later tonight, my princess.”

you have no chance to respond before jace leaves you standing on the balcony.

he leaves you with your mind swirling, one thought after another coming so quickly you have no hope in processing them. you’re glad to be outside, at least, the cool breeze helping soothe the heat that blazes through your veins as you press your hand over your racing heart. you don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. all you can think about is jace, earnest and honest and in love with you.

he’s in love with you (!).

it’s too quick. too much time has passed with too little contact. in the years since he left court you’ve grown into new people, people who for all intents and purposes are strangers to each other. the lust is there, there’s no point in denying that with how your body warms at the smallest glance from him. and that old familiarity that blossomed as friendship as children and now into easy companionship as adults, that remains as it always has. and mayhaps you’ve thought to yourself, in the dark quiet of the night, that you’ll surely love him once more. that to know him any better at all is to love him again, because how can you know him and not love him?

but there’s been years and leagues between you for so long. time and distance have their ways of changing a heart, and he might say it doesn’t matter but it does. it does.

only it doesn’t, not at all, because giddiness is bubbling up in you so sudden that you cannot fight it, a helpless laugh escaping you as you press your hand over your mouth in unabashed amazement. your brave prince, plunging headfirst into the long-unspoken feelings between you. it incites you to act, drives you back into the hall where you catch aegon for long enough to tell him you’re retiring for the night before escaping into the quiet corridors.

you feel like your heart is going to burst in your chest, nerves and excitement and awe twisting together inside of you until you feel like you might vibrate out of your own skin. the walk to jace’s chambers is a haze, and in the morning you expect you’ll panic, wonder if anyone saw you walking so shamelessly towards the prince’s rooms. but now, in this moment, all you can think of is how fervently you want him, how guilelessly you love him.

the knock on his door — unguarded, as he had promised — echoes loudly in the silent corridor. you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as you wait for him to answer, and when he finally does he takes your breath away.

he’s shed his doublet and sword belt, standing in only his breeches and a billowing off-white tunic. the ties are loose on his neck and you’re entranced by the peek of tanned skin there, the freckles you can see disappearing beneath the shirt. he says your name, once, and your eyes snap back to him in time to see the relief and wonder coalesce into smouldering fire.

he curls his fingers around your wrist, thumb swiping over the delicate skin in a way that makes you shiver, and he uses the hold to wordlessly tug you into his chambers. you step into the space, eyes darting from the large bed to the roaring fire and back to the bed again as he locks the doors behind you.

you are finally, blissfully, alone.

you feel his presence behind you, heat and woodsmoke radiating from him as you turn to face him. something in your chest loosens at the blatant awe in his amber eyes, like liquid gold in the light of the flames, and before you can pause to think you’re speaking, your feelings escaping you in a flood.

“i shouldn’t be here,” you say shamelessly. “i know my being here is—. i shouldn’t be here. but i couldn’t not be, jace, not when you left without giving me a chance to tell you how i feel. because, gods, of course i feel for you. it’s unreasonable, insensible— there’s so much about each other we just don’t know anymore.” you shake your head, smiling at him wide and helpless and hopelessly, hopelessly in love with him. “but despite all the rationality in the world, all the good sense — despite knowing the trouble this is sure to bring us — i am completely and utterly in love with you, jacaerys velaryon.”

he kisses you, then, surges into your space and cups your cheeks and slots his mouth so sweetly against yours. you gasp into his lips as he kisses you deliberate, slow and tender in a way that makes your chest ache. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him as close as you can as his own arms wrap around your waist. your noses bump and your teeth clash in your eagerness and it’s still glorious, it’s the best kiss you’ve ever experienced because it’s him.

it’s always been him.

you part after a few minutes, remaining close together as he runs his hand through your hair before cradling your face once more. “tell me again,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing your breath.

“i love you,” you say, smiling so wide it makes your cheeks ache. “i love you, i love you, i lo—”

he kisses you again, a quick press of his mouth against your this time, and then he’s laughing softly as his golden eyes shine down at you. “i have loved you forever,” he tells you, indulgent and affectionate as his thumb traces over your cheek. “i will love you forever, my princess.”

he draws you closer still, holds you tightly against him but far enough that he can drink you in, and for long moments you simply bask in the presence of each other, of this slow unfurling of happiness in your heart. this close to him, you can once again see the freckles dotted across his face. without even thinking of it your hand rises, and with butterfly-gentle fingers you trace a path over the constellations mapped on sun-kissed skin. jace sighs softly with your touch, dark lashes fluttering closed as his lips part.

“iksā sīr gevie [you are so beautiful],” you murmur, slipping into high valyrian in the quiet of his chambers.

he exhales shakily, breath hitching in his chest as your fingers brush gently over his eyelids, the slope of his nose, the furrow of his brow. you want to remember him like this forever – bathed in the soft firelight, trembling beneath your tender touch, wholly and entirely yours.

“ñuha dārilaros [my princess],” he breathes, and hearing him speak possessively of you in your mother tongue ignites something within you so suddenly you cannot fight it.

arousal roars to life, deep in your belly, and you are helpless but to do anything but lean forward and press your lips to his once more. jace meets you just as greedily, hands gripping tightly to the flesh of your hips as he hauls you closer until your chests press together. your hand moves from his face to fist in his hair, tugging at his curls until he whines against your lips. he kisses you deep and open mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding against yours so deliciously that you can feel heat pulse between your legs.

one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling until your head is tilted back. he trails hot, wet kisses along your neck and you hiss at the sensation, pressing his head closer to your skin. you feel him smirk against you before he mouths at your pulse point, teeth nipping just enough to send a thrill of pain and pleasure through you.

“jace,” you moan, grinding against him shamelessly as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your throat. you want him so fiercely it makes you reckless, makes you insatiable as the hand not buried in his curls drags down his back to grip at his ass. he groans against you, your name spilling from his lips so deep and husky that you want to do whatever you can to make him say it like that again and again and again.

“this is— we shouldn’t,” he says into your skin. he pushes at the shoulder of your dress to expose more of your bare skin to his greedy eyes, lips trailing the path his fingers have taken. “we should wait until we—. if anyone knew of this—”

“—no one will know,” you assure him, fingers flexing into the taut skin of his ass to drive him closer to you.

“i don’t want to, to besmirch your honour.” even as he speaks he’s dragging his tongue against your collarbone, chasing a bead of sweat down to the swell of your chest.

“fuck my honour,” you burst out, and your language has him moaning. you hitch your leg around his waist and his hand drops instantly to grip you at the knee, pulling you just so until the hard length of him is grinding deliciously against your core. you can’t think, can’t breathe, for wanting him. his touch and his scent and his taste consumes you, inflames you, and you care for nothing but the feel of him against you.

he pulls away from your chest, mouth swollen and pupils blown as he pants hotly. he presses his forehead to yours, squeezing your hip to still you as you shamelessly try to rub yourself against him. “this will bring ruin to you if it gets out, do you understand? it would break me to be the cause of such a thing.”

his desperation makes you hesitate, something about the fierce tone breaking into the haze of lust that consumes you. you take a moment to look at him, and you know with certainty that if you ask him to stop right this second he will.

but you don’t want him to stop. you’ve never wanted anything less.

“jace.” you cup his cheek, thumb dragging over his bottom lip as you force him to keep your gaze. “i know the risks of this as well as anyone.” you lean in closer, your nose sliding against his before you tilt your head to pepper soft, deliberate kisses along his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “i love you.” he sighs softly in pleasure before turning his head to capture your mouth again, and this kiss is a softer, slower thing.

when you break apart, you stare deeply into his eyes, making sure he can see the truth of your words. the heat in his amber eyes threatens to splinter you to pieces as you swallow thickly, almost overwhelmed once more with your desire for him.

“i am yours, jacaerys velaryon,” you say steadily. “no matter what happens from here— i belong to you.”

it’s like a dam breaks in him. his hands are suddenly everywhere as his mouth devours yours relentlessly, leaving you gasping and arching into his touch. he backs you towards his bed as his hands fist in your skirts, bunching the material up to your hips. he breaks from your mouth long enough to tug your dress over your head, leaving you in your thin small clothes, and despite the sweltering heat of the room your nipples harden beneath the sheer material.

“look at you, pretty thing,” he says reverentially, the weight of his heated gaze tangible as he stares at your heaving chest. “is this all for me?”

“yes,” you hiss, head tilting back as he trails kisses down the column of your throat. “all for you, jace. only ever for you.”

he groans at your words, deft fingers making quick work of the complicated stays of the brassiere, and when the material falls from you he stares for a long moment as if transfixed by the sight of your bare breasts. it makes you smug, knowing that those times you’ve caught his eyes lingering on your chest haven’t just been in your imagination.

“you are perfect,” he murmurs worshipfully, large hand cupping the side of your breast tenderly. “such a perfect girl for me.”

his thumb sweeps over your nipple, featherlight at first before returning more firmly when you sigh and lean into his touch. his other hand grips your hip once more, pulling you close to him as he lavishes more attention on your neck. he nips and kisses his way down your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast until he’s hunched slightly in front of you, sucking bruises into the tender skin of your chest.

“jacaerys, please.” you know not what you’re pleading for, only that you need something, and it’s as if he can read your mind as his mouth closes over your nipple. his hand, now free, gropes at your other breast as his tongue swirls tight circles around your nipple and your head tips back with a moan. it’s somehow enough and yet not, your hips bucking aimlessly as heat and slick pools between your legs, and you crave.

“more, please,” you beg shamelessly.

jace drops to the floor in response and the sight of him on his knees for you has your head spinning. he presses open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your abdomen, bites gently at your hip as his hands slide steadily up your legs. you tremble beneath his careful ministrations, and he murmurs wordless assurances into your sweat-slick skin.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your smalls, dragging them agonisingly slowly down your legs until you can step out of them. standing completely bare before him you expect to find yourself shy, but the way jace looks at you rapturously has liquid heat licking through your veins instead.

he leaves lingering kisses on your thigh and down your leg, and when his mouth brushes over the tender skin at the back of your knee you feel them buckle. he huffs a gentle laugh against you, warm hands cradling your waist as he urges you to sit back on the bed. you do so unsteadily, planting your hands against the soft feather mattress and watching him with intent ardour.

he nudges your legs apart and settles between them, his shoulders spreading you wide around him and you release a soft breath as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your thighs. “let me take care of you, my princess,” he pleads, eyes wide and soft and beseeching as he gazes up at you. you nod hesitantly, not wholly sure what he intends, but then his eyes finally drop to your core and darken so quickly it makes your mouth dry.

“gods, look at you.” he drags a finger through your folds and your head cants back, a whine escaping you at the touch. “you’re so wet for me, love. so gorgeous.” he brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean of your slick and it has your mouth dropping open because he’s obscene, you think. he’s glorious.

“you taste so good,” he says, his voice so rough with arousal it makes you shiver. “wanna taste more of you.”

with no more warning that that, he licks a deliberate strip along your slit before circling his tongue over your clit. your hand shoots to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he feasts on you. his name falls from your lips over and over again like a prayer as he laps at your core, tongue pressing deliciously inside you. you grind wantonly against his mouth, panting as he laves at your cunt.

your pleasure climbs sharply, rising so high you’re helpless to resist the way your stomach tightens. as if sensing your approaching high jace shifts his focus to your pulsing clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves.

“jace, gods, feels so good,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his curls to press his head impossibly closer. “please don’t stop, ‘m so close—”

he sucks harshly on your pearl, ever so carefully dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh, and you fall to pieces as that tightly wound ball in your stomach snaps. he coaxes you through the trembling release, gentling his attention on you to drag out your pleasure until you’re squirming away from him in sensitivity. when he pulls away from your core his face is shining with your slick and the sight makes you feel feral. you bend to reach him and he presses up to meet you, kissing you hot and messy as you drink the taste of yourself from his mouth.

“you did so well for me, my princess,” he pants into your mouth as he crowds you onto the bed and the praise blooms hot in your chest. “need you to be good for me a little longer, okay? need to prepare you.”

you whimper, capturing his mouth in another sloppy kiss and nipping thoughtlessly at his lips as he settles between your legs. you can feel the heavy length of him against your hip, kept from you by his breeches, and you’re suddenly insensible with desire to see more of his skin. you tug wordlessly at the hem of his tunic, pulling it free from his trousers, and with a huff of fond amusement he separates from you to pull it over his head and toss it aside.

you drink in the exposed planes of his chest, leaning up to drag your tongue from freckle to freckle along his collarbone, and jace groans out your name in response. you follow the map of constellations down his chest, pressing kisses and gentle bites to the skin until you come to one of his nipples. hesitantly you flick your tongue out, curl it around the puckered skin just as jace had done to you earlier.

“fuck,” he hisses, fingers clenching in the sheets as his arms tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady above you.

emboldened by his response you lavish the pebbled bud with attention, switching to the other when the fancy takes you, until jace is shuddering with desire and pushing your shoulders back into the bed. he swallows your protests with a flurry of kisses as his fingers trail down your chest, your abdomen until he reaches the heat between your legs. he presses a finger against you again and you arch into the touch, tossing your head back into the pillows.

“i want you so badly,” he confesses in a whisper as he sucks another bruise into your neck.

“yes,” you respond senselessly, hips bucking up to meet the slow stroke of his finger. “want you, jace, please.”

“i need to prepare you first, love,” he tells you again and you whine in displeasure. “i don’t wish to hurt you, so i need to get you ready for me.”

you’ve heard that it can hurt, what happens in bed between a man and a woman. you can’t comprehend the idea with how good you feel right now, how good he’s made you feel already, but you nod in acquiescence at jace’s stubborn expression and he beams down at you.

“that’s my good girl,” he utters affectionately, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

the finger that’s been sliding leisurely against you shifts, pressing inside with a familiar stretch. you’ve touched yourself before, explored what pleasure you can draw from your own body in the late of the night. you don’t know if it’s different because it’s the angle or just because it’s jace, but the feeling of his finger pumping into you is so much better than anything you’ve managed with your own clumsy digits and you moan with the pleasure of it.

“you’re so tight,” he says in amazement, burning gold eyes staring down at you worshipfully. “can’t wait to be inside you, my princess.”

you moan at his filthy words, hips bucking into his touch as he presses a second finger into you. this one pinches more, makes it almost uncomfortable until jace starts to rub slow circles over your clit with his thumb. any discomfort melts into liquid pleasure as he mouths at your neck once more, fingers crooking inside of you just so until stars burst behind your eyes.

“fuck, jacaerys—”

he shushes you softly even as his eyes gleam with smug pride. he picks up the pace, now, fucking you with his fingers as your pleasure starts to climb once more. just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore he slides a third finger in, the stetch burning deliciously this time, and you come apart on his fingers with a strangled moan of his name. he doesn’t relent this time, though, even when you writhe helplessly beneath him; he just chases another release for you without giving you a chance to recover, and the thrill rises so quickly it almost makes it a little hard to breathe.

“just one more,” he soothes as you whine, pressing delicate kisses to the corner of your mouth as he drives his fingers into you relentlessly. “you’re doing so well. just one more for me.”

your third climax hits you so hard your back bows up from the bed, mouth parting in a silent cry of pleasure as jace coaxes you through it before pulling his fingers from you. you ache at the loss, mewling your displeasure as your cunt clenches around nothing. he breathes a laugh at your impatience, kissing you so sweetly in such contrast to the delicious heat between you that it almost makes you weep.

with shaking hands you reach for the ties of his breaches, fumbling with the laces while he kisses you languidly. you make a triumphant little noise when you finally untie them and he smiles at you, adoring and soft and yet somehow feverishly aroused as you push the leather trousers down his hips. he helps you the rest of the way, kicking them off before returning to hover over you.

your hands brush his abdomen as you reach for him, fingers curling gently around the hard line of his cock, and he realises a shuddering breath in response. he watches you intently as you stare at his arousal, fascinated by the way your fingers barely close around the thick girth of him. he’s going to fill you so well, you realise, and you bite your lip as your core clenches again. the tip of him is leaking fluid, and you drag your hand up his cock to swipe your thumb over the head.

jace moans at the movement, so you do it again and again, watching in inflamed curiosity at the way his stomach contracts as he thrusts into your hand, the wet noise of it making you flush down to your toes as desire sparks in your core. his hand covers your own abruptly, stopping your exploration, and you pout up at him as he fixes you with a blazing stare.

“if you keep doing that, i’m not going to last,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of his desire.

“fine.”

you huff, pretending at annoyance even as you eagerly lie back and spread your legs for him. you fix him with an expectant look, raising an eyebrow, and he chuckles fondly as he settles himself between your legs once more. you’re not expecting the velvet heat of him dragging against you and you gasp at the sensation, grinding against him as he thrusts shallowly against you.

“are you ready for me, love?” he checks, cradling your face in his hands as his thumb rubs over your jaw.

you turn to press a kiss against his palm, near overwhelmed with your love and affection for this man. “yes,” you say simply, and it’s all the permission he needs as he ducks down to kiss you unhurriedly.

his head catches at your opening on the next thrust, and with the slightest shift of your hips he’s pressing inside of you. the stretch of him burns, pinches, but just as he did with his fingers, he worms his hand between your bodies to drag circles over your clit. you do your best to relax, keeping your eyes fixed on his golden stare as he slides into you, agonisingly slow.

the whole while he keeps up a litany of praise, calling you good and precious and perfect as sweat beads along his forehead. when he’s finally fully sheathed inside you he stills his movements, kisses you hard and wanting as he thumbs at your pearl, and when you’re ready you tilt your hips. the stretch of him burns, still, but in a way that sets your skin alight as you cling to his shoulders.

he moans your name like a prayer, drawing away from you until the tip of his cock catches at your entrance once more, and this time when he sinks back in your eyes roll back into your head. he feels so good, stretching and filling you so completely that you’ve no room to think, to breathe, to do anything but take it as he thrusts into you. he buries his head in your neck, resting on his forearms as he plunges into you again and again and again, and between your own choked breaths and the sounds of skin against skin, you hear him muttering in high valyrian.

“sīr sȳz syt nyke, sīr ȳrda, sīr lōz. vēttan syt nyke. ñuha dārilaros, mirre ñuhon [so good for me, so tight, so wet. made for me. my princess, all mine].”

it drives you wild, his voice and his words and hearing him speak in valyrian combined with the exquisite torture of the slow drag of his cock inside you. it’s too much, not enough, and leaves you with nothing but the need to feel as much of him as you possibly can. your hands drag up and down his back, fingernails leaving raised red lines in their wake as you seek to be as close to him as you can bear.

“more, jace, gods, please, i need—”

he cuts you off with a hard thrust, your breath punching out of your lungs as he starts to drive into you harder and faster. it’s so good, so fucking good, but still not quite enough and you whine, seeking something you’re not sure you know how to verbalise.

“whatever you need, love. i’ll give you whatever you need.”

understanding your need even when you don’t, jacaerys rears up, grips your legs and presses your knees to your chest before bearing down on you. like this he reaches so deep it hurts in the most unbearably, searingly pleasurable way. and it’s perfect, exactly what you needed, feeling him so far inside you that it soothes you and ignites you and makes you ache all at once.

“y’feel so good,” you manage to slur out, head lolling as you lose yourself to the feel of him taking you apart so expertly. “so— fuck— so deep. so good, jace, so good.”

jace groans your name, pounding into you so hard and so deep that it’s unconscionable, has your eyes rolling back into your head as your hips buck up to meet him recklessly. your peak approaches again, searing heat blazing through you as you inch closer to another climax, and all you can do is whine and moan as he fills you over and over again. he starts to lose the thread of his rhythm as you clench around him, valyrian and common tongue mixing senselessly as praise spills from his lips.

“avy jorrāelan [i love you] my perfect girl, gūrogon nyke sīr sȳrī [take me so well], can’t get enough of you, hells, i love you, ao sagon ñuhon [you’re mine], my love, my princess, my queen, ñuha ābrazȳrys [my wife].”

you come so hard you see stars, walls pulsing around jace’s cock as he curses. he thrusts sloppily into you, chasing his own release and dragging out your own as you keen, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. he finds completion with a drawn out noise, seed spilling hot and thick inside of you as he lazily pumps his hips two, three more times before collapsing on top of you.

you press absent kisses to his temple, brushing back the sweat-soaked curls from where they’ve matted on his forehead as he shudders against you. you feel lethargic, body aching in the sweetest of ways as you fight to catch your breath. eventually the heavy weight of jace on top of you becomes uncomfortable and you squirm beneath him in protest. with a sigh he slides himself free of you, rolling over onto his back and wrapping an arm around you to pull you with him so that you sprawl over his chest.

you bury your smile into his neck, satisfaction settling bone-deep as his hand runs up and down your back idly. for long moments the two of simply lie together in the quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets and the crackle of the dying fire.

“i’ll speak to my mother and the king on the morrow,” he says into the quiet and you raise your head to look at him. he looks serious, amber eyes contemplative as he peers down at you. “i’ll not let another night pass without you as my betrothed.” he smiles at you then, a little crooked as his eyes crinkle, and without thought you reach up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.

“i love you,” you say, eyes shining with mischief. “ñuha valzȳrys [my husband].”

jace swallows your laugh with another kiss, doing a poor job of hiding his own amusement as his smile presses to yours, and as the candles burn down you let all of your worries and doubts fade.

you love him. he loves you.

there’s nothing else that matters.

[tusswrites]

Taming The Tempest (j.w.w)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x female reader

synopsis: “Hey Jungkook,” you call out angrily, “take it easy on the couch, it’s brand new. I just finished paying for it.” “Oh you mean this couch?” Jungkook retorts teasingly as he proceeds to slap the couch one more time. Harder. “Hey you asshole-” you begin. You feel it. The warning pressure of his fingers against your neck, the one where he signals you to calm down, the -‘it’s -not- that- deep - admonition ', and immediately you settle, opting to glare daggers from your perch on the couch instead. Jungkook must know. He definitely knows there was a code word between Wonwoo and you because his shit eating grin is in full swing, all bunny teethed and mischievous gleam in his eyes. or

when the angriest girl from high school settles for the quietest boy from uni.

genre: unadulterated fluff ; rating : 16+

word count: 3.7k+ (supposed drabble)

credits: our forefather Mr. William Shakespeare for the title- inspired by two of his plays . and my pesky bub @svtiddiess for helping me out in more ways than one. like every time.

warnings: hot tempered y/n and a soft hearted wonwoo, profanity, not beta read, you are right there are errors.

a.n. : this is set in the same universe as my upcoming fic- 'Mr. Steal Your Girl Man' ft Jungkook. don't be fooled by the banner, graphic design is my passion!

check out the masterlist here!

“And then Miss Jung slapped a detention slip onto Y/N’s hand, with that weird glint in her eye. I have never seen Y/N look more like a wounded puppy than at that moment.” “Hey I do not regret what I did for one second, she had it coming all this while. I know she failed me in Calc on purpose. Got in big trouble with dad for that F”

“Well, you wouldn't have had it coming had you not put Epsom salt in her drink Y/N! Epsom salt! Who does that? That was cruel what you did to her.” ‘I did that because she snitched on you to your parents and got you grounded! I was trying to serve her revenge for making you miss football tryouts!” “That you did.” And you look to see your best friend from across the couch, flashing you his bunny smile, like the whole reason you hadn’t gotten detention for a whole month straight was because you defended him.

 Growing up, you and Jungkook were best friends that stuck with each other through thick and thin. Ever since Kookie moved to your school in kindergarten, a handkerchief pinned to his sweatshirt and a bunny-eared bottle hanging around his neck, you had vowed to protect this little boy who was much shorter than you back then.

When Evan thought it was funny to bully the new kid by excluding him from a game of tag at recess—leaving a teary, snot-nosed Jungkook crying at the end of the park bench—you decided to take matters into your own hands. Literally

From that day forward, Evan dared not lay a finger on Jungkook again.

You had grown up with temper issues your parents had tried to find help for. They knew your choice of laying fists over words was going to be your downfall in the long run. But unfortunately for them, it did not warrant how loved you were by your principal. 

You were sent into her office to speak to someone and sort out your anger issues, maybe put a stop to all this rage that comes out of you. Maybe venting to someone would cause someone to find the roots of your rage. It was genes, you knew that, but of course your parents would never admit owning a temper like this. Outside the principal's office, you were met with loud wails and sniffles.

“Baby please, one chance”

“No Walter, I gave you one too many chances, let go of me.” You round the corner and see Mrs. Altman struggling to free herself from the firm grip of a strange man. Rage fills your five-year-old body. If she told him to let go, why won’t he let go?

Thinking the only thought you had, you run over and promptly jump up and kick the strange man on his shin. You didn’t know the outcome, but every fight with your brother Mingyu that resulted with a kick there ended up with him on the ground writhing and calling out for mom. You knew the repercussions of using your legs over your words, but Mrs Altman looked scared and your instincts were telling you to fight the only way it seemed logically possible at that time.

The strange man had fallen back on the floor, probably out of shock, cupping his shin and cursing with all the words your mother had said were unfit to be used in this house.

Mrs. Altman took one look at you, scooped you up, and hurried off to call security. Thus began a lifetime allegiance between you and Mrs. Altman. “That girl has quite the temper, she is never going to find a man with that mouth on her.” “Y/N is fine Mrs. L/N, she is quite the fireball but she fights for justice.”

Although you were warned to take hold of your temper, more so by a pleading mother , you found it harder to as the days increased and people’s brain power decreased.

In middle school, Jungkook was sent to an all boys high school to the chagrin of his mother. “He’s not telling me but I know he’s being bullied, Yuri. Everyday he comes with a new scar and although I have raised several complaints to the school, they refuse to take any action on the matter. I am quite literally worried for my child’s safety. "You overheard Mrs. Jeon tearfully spill to your mother over afternoon tea.

“Well say no more Mrs. Jeon” You had muttered in your head.

The next day you jumped over the fence that separates your school from Jungkooks, the five pebbles you had collected from your fish tank secured well in your pocket and ran off to Kook’s park. There you beheld Tesak who had a hand on Jungkook’s nape as he dipped his head into the hedge, a mob of laughing middle schoolers watching the spectacle.

Rage filled you like no other, you were well taught in archery by your father. Standing at the end of the fence you throw the first pebble. Tesak didn't see it coming. Catching him off guard you run and land a blow under his jaw, effectively bleeding him. You knew the amount of trouble you’d get into should you do it. But this was Kookie, your best friend. Reasoning flew out the window when you know someone dared to hurt your soft hearted best friend.

Getting home that day was a nightmare. Your parents were fighting. You could hear it over the sound of the loud music your brother was playing from the room across. “She was defending her fiend Yuri, I will not punish her for doing the right thing.” “Honestly Chen, you are the reason she has turned up like this. Stop siding with her. This is not the right behavior”

“I am going out for beer, Yuri, do what needs to be done, but I see no harm in what the child has done, defending her best friend against a bully." You heard receding footsteps and almost immediately slid under the blankets, you didn’t want anyone to see that you were awake, lest that warrants another scolding. You feel a soft kiss on your forehead , and a soft ‘stand for the truth Y/N’ crooned near your head and you knew your dad was mighty proud of you for doing the right thing. 

Teenage hood had you turning up to being an absolute monster. Your parents divorce had torn you apart in more ways than one, even more so since you were the one who was stuck with mom while Mingyu stayed with dad’s.

Sometimes even you couldn’t understand your feelings. You couldn't explain the rage you felt. When your friends got teased or picked apart for something they didn’t do and ended up sobbing about it, your body was quick to fuel with hatred.

Woe to the man who dared stand in the path of your wrath. Though you had outgrown the days of violence before words — a change spurred by a mother’s desperate pleas for restraint — you knew, deep down, there were moments when you still reached the precipice. You couldn’t deny it.

High school was insanity for you, A broody batch of teenagers in a school filled with cliques that created unwanted divides between the popular and losers? Because why did Sadie who peed her pants in kindergarten think it was okay to be mean to the other girls now? Why did Riwoo, the shortest boy in seventh grade think a sudden glow up gave him the right to beat up smart kids.

Nuh uh, not on your watch. No way were you going to let someone bully your friends and think it's okay to get away with it.

Inanimate objects were also not safe from your anger. But your constant breaking of objects did lead you to find the absolute love of your life.

The sudden pop quiz shoved on a class of groaning college students by Mr Huxley was no fun. You will never understand why this was merriment to anyone. In a state of irritation at the sudden exam you had not studied for,  you had slammed your pencil against the table, effectively breaking the lead. 

Great, you were now in an exam hall, with no way to pass the grade because you had broken your only mechanism to write. 

From behind you feel it. The light feathery touch of someone who had poked you slightly. You are annoyed at the intrusion .Who dared to disturb your small tantrum ?

You turn around and catch the eyes of a man. And at first all you can see is - soft. He looks soft.

He offers you a sleek fountain pen, its polished body gleaming. A bead of ink rests at the nib, poised as though ready to leap onto the page and transform into words.

He had on him a hoodie that covered his fists and a pair of glasses that rested on his nose, a little crooked albeit. And all you want to do is, reach out and fix it for him. And probably kiss his stupid face.

You freeze. You didn’t feel for people. Oh no no. You were L/N Y/N, dubbed as the ‘angriest girl in high school’, surely it can’t be you who has this urge to bridge the gap and sit on his stupid lap and kiss this stranger boy silly? You scoff and turn forward. Not without a scathing warning look directed at him. “Don’t ever touch me again”

Fast forward to now, and the very same boy is by your side. His hand glides up and down your arm, fingers kneading gently, expertly. He’s doing his thing — the quiet ritual you’ve come to rely on — trying to pull you back from whatever dimension of rage you’ve locked yourself in.

He seemed to be doing a good job, because you most definitely were being calmed. Very promptly he whisked you to sit up straight and lean a little better against him. You place your cheek against his shoulder, the cheek that is puffing up in a mighty pout, scornfully glaring at Jungkook.

“And then Mrs. Jung said, “Y/N with this attitude of yours you will never get anywhere in life, your anger issue will land you in hot waters”

“And, and”  you couldn’t catch head or tails of what Jungkook was saying, he had dissolved into a fit of giggles, slapping against the couch you had worked so hard to pay off for. “Hey Jungkook,” you call out angrily, “take it easy on the couch, it’s brand new. I just finished paying for it.” “Oh you mean this couch?” Jungkook retorts teasingly as he proceeds to slap the couch one more time. Harder. “Hey you asshole-”  you begin.

You feel it. The warning pressure of his fingers against your neck, the one where he signals you to calm down, the -‘it’s -not- that- deep - admonition ', and immediately you settle, opting to glare daggers from your perch on the couch instead.

Jungkook must know. He definitely knows there was a code word between Wonwoo and you because his shit eating grin is in full swing, all bunny teethed and mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Wonwoo knows you like the back of his head, knows that one sassy retort will come out of your mouth any second. And so he places one more small pinch against the back of your hand, before you go off at Jungkook.

Internally sighing, you turn up to look at Wonwoo with doleful eyes, hoping he’d show you some mercy. Can’t he see your best friend was being an absolute fucker right now?

Almost like he can read your thoughts, Wonwoo whispers, ‘he’s just doing that to get a rise out of you Y/N, don’t take the bait’.

So you leave it. For now, High school you would never. Not till at least a book was chucked across the head, But for Wonwoo, your quiet lover, you’d do absolutely anything.

You don’t miss the warning glare Wonwoo shoots at Jungkook, and you are mildly assuaged . At least your boyfriend has your back. With that thought, you fall asleep, lulled by Jungkook's unconscious humming and your lover's soft hands running across your arm. Not before you flip the finger at your best friend though.

“No you don’t get it hyung, this was who Y/N was like in high school. One time, Hardin came to give her flowers and guess what she did? She slammed him against the lockers and demanded to know who put him up to this? As if Hardin would never give her flowers out of his own will!”

Even though you were awake now, you pretended to continue sleeping, cringing at the memory of you shoving a boy against the lockers for confessing his feelings for you.

“Well, to be fair, Kookie, you were bullied a lot in high school. I’m sure she thought this was Hardin’s way of getting revenge for clocking him in the past.” Wonwoo had heard every detail of your high school stories, never missing a single one of your ramblings. He knew almost everyone from your school, despite the fact that you two had attended different ones.

“That’s true. Man, school was hell, I would never have made it this far had it not been Y/N defending me and fighting all those fuckers. Even though she bullies me too.” You hear the pout in his voice. “Hey, I never bullied you. I just call you out on your bullshit, like the best friend I am. Someone had to,” You protest weakly from where you were lying on Wonwoo. “I knew that bitch wasn’t asleep, I told you, she’s got a sixth sense for when she hears her name” Gukkie retorts.

You open your eyes to find Wonwoo’s brow raised, his gaze fixed on you with amusement as he watches your mindless banter with your best friend. It was in his best interest to never get between the two of you — a warning Mingyu had given him long ago, one he had learned to follow wisely

Leaning down, Wonwoo places his mouth near your ear, causing you to heat up and shiver at the proximity.

“Who’s Hardin?” Well oops. You hear his small chuckle at your instinct to close your eyes and turn around, fake snoring again.

So maybe you hadn’t told Wonwoo the list of everyone who had been on the receiving end of your wrath. To be fair, you didn’t think anyone with common sense should tolerate someone whose actions were almost always met with anger.

But you did change. Maybe you hadn't reached there fully, but you are getting there.  

“Words baby, use your words” he’d say when the emotions ran high and the advice of your therapist fell on deaf ears and all you could do was resort to punching holes in the wall. “If you could just come to me instead of cooking up a whole story in your head, the behemoth of troubles we could have avoided.” You have no idea what behemoth means, you have no idea about any of the things he says half the time. All you can feel is tender love and affection as Wonwoo lifts you up and places you on the bathroom counter, tenderly rubbing your knuckles as he bandages it up. You were a tough cookie on the outside but on the inside, you were a crybaby. You hated pain. “Hey, hey none of that now Y/N”. Wonwoo was probably the only good thing in your life right now, the one person you wanted to be good for always. So when the only person who you have wanted to be vulnerable gives you a disappointed look, of course you cry.

Wonwoo had chuckled then. Turning to get a tissue and get you to blow your nose he begins to talk. “How you get the whole world to fear you when you are scared of an antiseptic, I will never know.”

You jutted your lip out. “Oh, does the baby not like being teased?” There’s mirth in his voice and for that you are grateful. Everything is better than a boyfriend who is disappointed in you. When the feelings bubbled in you and all you wanted was to churn out the boiling fury that blossomed in ways you could never decipher, you now resort to ‘think happy thoughts Y/N’. Against your mother’s belief, above your brother's disbelief and to your fathers utmost happiness, you have secured a boyfriend. Someone who was gentle and soft. Wonwoo never scoffed at you, never cursed you, never wished hell upon you. But he did have his moments where you knew he was teetering over the edge. 

You still remember it like the back of your mind. Work had been frustrating, you had rushed into the kitchen, ignoring Wonwoo’s welcoming hug and dashed to eat your share of cake. But a quick rummage through the refrigerator and failing to see the last slice, rather a sheepish cake smeared Wonwoo behind the door had awakened demons out of you that you didn't know existed. What came out of that was a fight you didn’t think would ever happen. Out sprang a teary Y/N and an apologetic Wonwoo. Apparently you were not the only one with feelings in this house. He just knew better than to lose it. Wonwoo hadn’t slept the whole night, uttering apology after apology for having lost it. Truth be said, you didn’t really mind it. A serenity passed over you in knowing that your boyfriend took this much comfort in you to actually lose his frustration. But, never again did you want to see that side of him.

The high school reunion had left everyone speechless. First, they were stunned into silence when they saw Sadie Clark with her entire entourage of nine kids. But that was nothing compared to the second shock: there you were, strolling in hand-in-hand with a boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend — Jeon Wonwoo? Of all people?

Sure, no one knew Jeon Wonwoo that well, except for the fact that he was the son of the town mayor and, apparently, the subject of every teenage girl’s romantic daydreams. The rumors were thick — he was mute, he had a boyfriend, he was part of an undercover gang, he was a part time cop, he only had sex with grandmothers . But you? With him? How did that happen?

Jungkook tried to stir up some shit again — “Hyung look, that’s where Billy was dunked face down into the toilet by Y/N." Before Wonwoo could act surprised you come to your own defenses. “Billy Parker was a pervert who had it coming for filming girls under their skirts” there was a proud lilt in your voice as you triumphantly walked hand in hand with Wonwoo.

One fine day, when you were nine, over a daddy- daughter date, your father had told you the story about the boy whose father made him hammer nails onto a fence every time he got angry. Back then, you didn’t care much about the nails or the scars on the door. Didn’t care much about the tale either. “Just get a new fence Appa” you had said over a mouthful of noodles. But now, you know the implications behind the story and what it means to leave scars behind. And for your boyfriend, you are willing to try ; to never let your actions be dictated by fury.

“Take a deep breath Y/N, think happy thoughts”

And for the happy thoughts you had, for the marriage you want to have, or the children you wish to have, you try to put a pin on your emotions. 

Except when a Jeon Jungkook comes and changes all that

It was unmistakable, Jungkook was a boy with a great knack for playing games. Any games you picked, he owned it. But when he won every round of Uno, you had your sneaking suspicions that something was fishy.

Ain’t no way someone was winning for the thirteenth time in a row. Wonwoo had no problem losing in a game of cards, but agitation rose for you. How was this boy going to win every game ever?

When Wonwoo calls for a bathroom break, you cross the barrier between you and Jungkook, bunching him up by the collar and bringing your face dangerously close to his. Jungkook for the most part remains unperturbed, this isn’t his first rodeo, he knows how mad you get when you lose every time.

“Listen here you little fucker, I don’t care what games you are playing here but-” “Lovey”

There it comes, the soft yet dominant voice that warns you to think before you say the next words. And immediately you unclench around Jungkook’s tee, looking sheepishly back at Wonwoo. When had he come back so quickly from the washroom?

Your face burns, partially at the embarrassment of being caught and partially at the irritation that was rising listening to Kook’s grating voice as he laughs in glee.

It was pretty clear, Wonwoo hated cursing. Something about having an uncouth mouth didn’t sit well with him. Everything about Wonwoo screamed elegant and well mannered and everything about you screamed boorish. Boorish was a word he’d taught you when you asked why he couldn’t just swear like a normal person instead of saying “oopsie daisy ” at every odd circumstance.

When you’d sworn at your mother during Thanksgiving dinner, frustrated with her constant nagging, Wonwoo had simply sent you one look from across the table. Before his voice even had the chance to call you out, you were already apologizing to your mom.

“I used to pray for days like this,” she sobbed, crying into Wonwoo’s shoulder, thanking him for taking care of you and helping you change into a better person.

But like Wonwoo had said, “You didn’t change for me, Y/N.” And honestly, you had to agree with him.

It might have been a miracle to the world that the angriest girl in high school settled down with someone so gentle, so soft — someone as introverted as him, with ways so quiet and tender that showed his love and care.

But it wasn’t a miracle. It was a choice, one sealed over a pen that had been more than just an instrument for writing. It was the pen that helped you graduate college, the same pen that bonded you to him — the boy you wanted to change for, the boy you didn’t want to see scars on the fence for.

A.N : listen here- my bias is Seokmin and Seokmin only. But what is it about this Jeon Wonwoo that makes me wax poetry and write classic novels for? Sobs. I love this man. So much.

Please send an ask if you want to be added to the taglist.

Comments, reblogs, asks- I love those.

@skzbangchanniee @ariananotgrandeee

[bunni-v1]

Eating up your Harumasa content about him and cockwarming, May I request more of that pls🙏🏻Maybe some (consensual) somno as well👉🏻👈🏻

🍓I kept this in the drafts until baby girl came out! Happy Haru release day my loves <3 I hope you all enjoy him as much as I do!!! I fleshed out the original post into a full piece, so I hope you don't mind too much my love. Didn't do the somno unfortunately, just couldn't fit it in naturally.

Minors DNI!!

TW: NSFW; Grammar errors; Written pre-story quest so inaccuracies are bound to appear <3

Info: Harumasa x Reader; Fem bodied reader; They/them pronouns/ you/yours

Harumasa had a long day. You can hear it from the kitchen, the way his feet drag against the floor and the grunts he lets out as he fights off his shoes. You hear him cuss them out after they thump against the hardwood of your shared entrance. Then his feet drag their way all the way to you, finally slumping over your shoulder with the most relieved sigh.

The way he acts, it seems like he just came back from an unending war. That wasn't the case, of course, it was more likely that Yanagi asked him to do his portion of paperwork and he just didn't want to do it. (Then he would proceed to do not only his but also finish Yanagi's and Miyabi's if he saw fit.) His arms wrap around your waist, and he hums happily. It's cute enough that you set down the knife you were using to run your fingers through his pretty silky black hair, turning and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Hello, my love," you coo, "How was work."

It takes him a moment to respond as if he was soaking in the words fully before yellow eyes peered up at you, "Mmm, long... and hard."

You're too late to catch the innuendo, and his hands have already slid up from your stomach to give your chest a squeeze. Simultaneously, he pulls you back into him, and you feel that he is in fact long and hard. It draws a gasp from your lips, which satisfies him into sighing against your skin.

"Harumasa," you deadpan, pulling at his hands which won't budge for anything, as always.

He doesn't humor you with a response, pressing heated kisses up and down your neck. It's a tactic he loves to use, buttering you up just so he can get what he wants. It was infuriatingly effective. Still, you were in the middle of making dinner for him. Certainly, he could let you finish doing that.

You manage to push his head away from your neck, which has him whining like a child, but you don't relent and he finally pulls back enough so you can look at him. "We need to eat, Haru."

"I was getting to it," he quips back, smirking that annoyingly cute smirk.

"We need to eat food," You insist, gesturing to the half-made meal on the countertop.

He pouts at it like it was personally offending him just by existing. Then you see him go over the ingredients, and his face lights up just a little. You were making his favorite, figuring it would be a nice treat after a long week at work. Spoiling him was one of your favorite pastimes, after all.

Conflict arises in his pretty yellow eyes, and you watch him debate whether he'd prefer eating you out or eating your homemade cooking more. He comes to his decision by pulling away from you, a deceptively innocent smile on his face.

"Alright, I'll let you finish up," he hums, leaning against the countertop next to you.

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him, "But...?"

"Mmm," he taps his chin, feigning consideration and you already know what he's going to ask, "You have to cockwarm me while we watch a movie!"

Of course. It was his favorite thing in the world, especially after a long workday and a good meal. Most weeks ended like this, but it didn't bother you too much. It wasn't a bad deal for you, as annoying as he was about it.

You don't give him a direct answer, simply sighing and turning back to working on the food, "What movie did you have in mind...?"

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

Dinner isn't as relaxed as you wanted, not with Harumasa practically squirming in excitement across from you. You do your best to pretend it's not happening, eating the food you prepared and mentally preparing yourself for the night you have ahead of you. He practically bounds to the living room when you finish, and you know once you finish cleaning up he won't have the patience to wait any longer.

It was childish, but you couldn't help but find it cute. He rarely allowed himself to be this carefree, so indulging him was the least you could do. So you set the last of the dishes in the sink and make your way to the living room, sighing at the sight of him already palming his hard-on through his work pants.

When he notices you there he gives you a lopsided grin, patting his thigh with his free hand. He works his belt and pants open, and it gives you the idea that maybe you should mess around with him too. It was supposed to be fun for both of you after all, right?

He pouts at you when you don't immediately swing your legs over his lap like an obedient dog, jerking his neglected member in his hands a few times for emphasis. You snort at the sight, patting his thigh reassuringly before turning around to face the TV. You hear him let out an annoyed grunt that catches in his throat when you slowly slide your pants over your hips, around the fat of your ass, and finally down the meat of your thighs until it hits the floor.

He grabs at one of the cheeks, humming appreciatively to himself as the digits sink into the fat, "Maybe we should cut the movie altogether..."

You tut at him, swatting his hands away to give him the same show with your underwear. He inhales deeply at the sight of your glistening pussy, exactly the reaction you wanted. With a playful smirk, you turn and slide your legs on either side of him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"You're being a brat~" He sings in your ear, lining himself up with your entrance.

You pout innocently, "You didn't like the show?"

He doesn't humor you with an answer, instead guiding your hips down until you are fully seated on his dick. It stung a little not being properly prepped, but you had all the time in the world to adjust. Harumasa loved taking his time with things like these, after all.

He leans over to grab the remote to the DVD player and starts the movie. It's some stupid family film from over a decade ago about mutant rodents saving the world or something like that. You were never too interested in stuff like that, but Harumasa always brought those kinds of films home for cockwarming. Why, you had no clue, but they were delightful distractions.

The beginning is always the easiest for you. It's all nice and pleasant as you adjust to the stretch. You're able to rest your head on his chest and peer over your shoulder at the movie. He's surprisingly cold, which soothes the raging heat that builds in your core. His hands rest against your sides patiently, lying in wait for whenever he decides he's grown bored of the movie.

Perhaps that's why it's so easy because the start is mostly skinship. Harumasa may be a tease, but he does love having you close like this. It's almost innocent if only his cock wasn't buried inside you as deep as it would go.

It starts getting hard when his hands start moving around, which is where you're at right now. They slide from their place on your waist down to your ass, rubbing and squeezing the skin like a stress ball. Then they'll find their way to your thighs, dancing along the meat of them and running his thumbs over the tops before falling back to your ass and repeating the process.

You shiver, stiffening up in his lap as he repeats the motion for the millionth time. An unexpected sharp pain erupts from your ass, and it takes your brain a second to process that he has smacked you. You pull back to glare at him, and he returns the look with an innocent smile, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"I can't pay attention to the movie with you squirming like that," he scolds lightly, pressing you back into his shoulder.

You fight the urge to grumble back a 'neither can I', and instead try not to focus on the ever-increasing heat in your groin. It's much easier said than done, as each little twitch from either of you gives you a painful reminder that he's balls deep inside you and you can't do anything about it. He laughs at something in the movie and it travels from his chest right through his dick and into your weeping cunt.

You give up on paying attention to the movie at that point, deciding trembling into his shoulder was a better alternative than pretending you were fine. You nose the column of his throat with shaky breaths, burrowing yourself into his shoulder with a pathetic sigh.

He coos at you, running his fingers through your hair in what's meant to be comfort. You know he's just doing it to annoy you, though. Your spine tingles as his fingers tug a little at the hair, your pussy clenching around him in favor. He groans, pulling a little harder to get you to look at him.

Again, you see something like contemplation behind his eyes, then he smiles at you. His hand comes down from your hair to press your neck forward, and he locks lips with you. You sigh happily into the kiss, not realizing how desperately you'd wanted the attention until now. It seems he knows that, with the way he smirks into the kiss before gliding his tongue across your lip.

You happily give him the access he craves, humming as his tongue slips in and pressing against yours. He tastes bitter, like the medicine he takes every day, but the taste is welcome from your neglected body. You graze your fingers against his collarbone and he finally reacts, pressing his hips up into yours before correcting himself.

As if knowing you'd try it, his hands firmly pressed you to him, not allowing you to move. You whine into his mouth, and he pulls away to smile at you, head leaning against the back of the couch. His face is red, but he looks so satisfied which almost makes the torture worth it.

Deciding you can't handle how pretty he is, you lean down to litter warm kisses against his neck. He sighs, lulling his head to the side to give you better access. You suck at the pretty skin, nibbling on whatever your lips can find. You feel the effect it has on him, dick twitching inside you with each new mark you leave. He continues to run his fingers through your hair, humming contentedly as you service him.

It's when you get to his collarbones that he pauses you, pulling your face up to his. He presses a sweet little kiss to your nose, causing you to giggle. He tilts his head to the side, running a finger along your cheek, "How was your day, baby?"

You respond softly to his musing, answering all his questions about your day. Then, in the middle of telling him about what your boss made you do that day, you feel it. His hands very slowly ease your hips into a short, circular movement. You choke on the words, shuddering at the sensation. It felt... so good, you forgot how to think for a moment as your neglected pussy throbs at the attention.

Harumasa tilts his head at you, though he's smirking, "What was that?"

You stutter out the rest of your response, hardly coherent, but it satisfies him nonetheless. He continues to work you against him at the same slow and easy pace, a master of making things long and drawn out.

Those fingers that had been steadily controlling the pace, slide under your shirt to rake against your ribs. Bunching the fabric up along with your bra and tugging it off your body. Your skin pebbles in the cold air of your apartment, and his hands are quick to glide over it to heat it up. He lets out a low whistle at the sight of your tits, hands immediately cupping them like they belonged there.

Your hips stutter at the new sensation, earning you a look from him that makes you return to the previously set rhythm. Without breaking eye contact, he leans forward to kiss over your chest. Even at the awkward angle, he manages to rub every sensitive spot deep inside you, all while sucking pretty red marks into your hot flesh.

He keeps that up for a long while, ensuring that neither of you can cum until he wants you to. It's sweet sweet torture. The pleasure curls up in your gut, unable to release but somehow forever building up.

All at once his head lulls back and his oh-so-steady rhythm suddenly becomes unreliable. His hips stutter against his beat, but he keeps up that slow pace as best as he can. His hand comes down to roll your clit under his thumb, and you finally feel yourself building to your orgasm. He's close too.

"Baby," he whines, gripping your hip tightly, "lemme stuff you, please? I'll getcha plan b in the morning, jus' lemme this once."

He always says that. Not that you're coherent enough to remind him of that fact. All you can think of is how badly you wanna cum, and how you'll say yes to anything to reach that high. So you awkwardly bob your head in a 'yes' motion.

His eyes roll back and he groans, picking up his pace finally. Your hips rut into his with a fervor you didn't know you were capable of. You slump forward, moaning into his shoulder unabashedly. The coil in your stomach twists and twists until it finally snaps.

At the same time, you feel his warm hot cum flood your insides. His cock twitches with each release, and your walls tighten around it almost encouraging the action. His chest rises and falls in succession with yours, fingers curling in your hair soothing both of you.

Your eyes slowly drift closed at the gentle sensation, sighing happily into his shoulder. He presses kisses to your temple, but you know he's just as spent as you are. Neither of you would be leaving the couch, not that it was a problem when he tugged one of your throw blankets across your back, pulling you down into a much more comfortable sideways position.

You drift off with his dick still inside you, the warm sensation of his cum inside you calling you to rest. You always sleep well on nights like these, wrapped up in one another.

[imaginedisish]

Heart to Heart (Logan Howlett x F!Reader)

A/N: Okay...here's that car sex request. This one is like pure smut with some exposition. Like...plot...what plot? Listened to "Heart to Heart" by Mac DeMarco while writing this one. Kinda fits. Not quite sure how I'm churning these out so quickly...so I hope this doesn't suck. And! Most importantly: I hope this lives up to the requester's expectations. Enjoy guys!

Summary: Logan doesn't seem like himself on the car ride up to Lake George to meet the other X-Men for the weekend, and you're not going to leave him alone until you find out why (it's car sex, the whole fic is basically just rough car sex).

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MINORS DNI, Unprotected PIV (WRAP IT UP!), Oral (f!receiving), fingering, rough sex, fem!reader, AFAB!reader (no other major physical descriptions that I can think of), cursing, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, feelings, pre-relationship (I am a sucker for writing first times), probably some grammatical errors, think that's everything.

Word Count: 3124 this was supposed to be a blurb im not joking

Logan’s hands firmly grip the steering wheel, white-knuckling, fingers wound around the curved leather. Your eyes flicker between his face and his hands.  

He had been like this since the drive to Lake George started. You and Logan were meeting the rest of the X-Men up there—Charles arranged some sort of weekend getaway. You and Logan would be the last ones to arrive, having just gotten off from a mission. 

But something was off about him. He was silent, eyes dead set on the road. The sun had long set, but you still had two hours of the drive to go. You look out the window to a world asleep, lights out, families in beds. You look back at Logan; his face is completely unchanged. 

“Logan?” You mumble, shifting in your seat to face him. Your already-short shorts hike up your thighs, revealing more of the skin underneath. You don’t think twice about placing your hand on his bare shoulder, brushing his exposed skin with your thumb. “You okay?” You ask, but he ignores you. You’re not letting this go. He’s been like this for far too long, and you’re sick of not knowing why. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” Logan finally lets go of the wheel a bit, his eyes flickering briefly to you and then back to the road. “No, of course not.”

“Then what’s the matter?” If he was going to be stubborn, you were going to be stubborn, too. “You can tell me, Lo.”

He shakes his head, his grip tightening on the wheel again. Your hand trails down to his bicep, lingering for longer than you should before stroking back up to his shoulder. You draw circles into his skin, hoping to relax him, but it only seems to work him up. His throat bobs, and you catch him peeking at you out of the corner of his eye. 

You’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but before you can even think of stopping yourself, your fingers gently glide up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging into his hair lightly. Logan groans softly, the sound sparking a fire in your belly. You push it down, reminding yourself that this is just an innocent moment between friends—nothing more. 

“You gonna tell me what the matter is now?” You chide, smirking, thinking you have him exactly where you want him. You lean over a bit more, the air conditioning blasting against your bare legs. Your fingers are still buried in his hair. 

You see the moment when his expression shifts, when his head finally turns towards yours. His nostrils flare. You search his eyes frantically, your hand dropping back to your lap. “Logan I—” but you’re cut off by the feeling of his palm—of his long fingers—on your inner thigh. He keeps one hand firmly on the steering wheel as he swerves into the shoulder of the highway and off into the grass. 

He puts the car in park, keeping his eyes straight ahead, tightening his grip on your thigh and working his jaw as he thinks of what to say. You can feel the heat growing between your legs, a feeling you’ve long denied yourself while alone with Logan. Silence fills the air, the tension of it absolutely suffocating.  

And then Logan cuts through the quiet like a knife. “You have any idea how you make me feel?” He’s turned his body completely towards you now, as if he’s ready to pounce.  

You swallow harshly. “So, you are angry at me. Logan, I have no clue what I did, but I—”

“I’m not mad at you, sweetheart,” he mutters, lifting himself up slightly to maneuver closer to you. He’s practically climbing over the center console as his lips find the shell of your ear. “It’s just when I can smell how much you want me, and you start touching me like that…” He trails off, kissing your ear lightly. “Do you know what you fucking do to me?”

“Logan—”

He’s not finished. He’s cutting you off again. “I can’t concentrate when you’re around.” His hand slips further in between your thighs, and you shudder under his touch. “Can’t do anything except think about fucking you.” He’s slipping his hand up your shorts, feeling your folds through your panties. “Fuck, you’re soaked already, pretty girl.”

You moan as he teases you, playing with you, taking his time. “W-want you,” you stutter, grinding into his hand, searching for more friction. 

He’s got that familiar, cocky smile spread across his face. “I know you do, beautiful.” Even that lilt in his voice is cocksure. He’s teasingly pulling your panties to the side. You can feel the ghost of his fingertips against your folds, but he’s refusing to give you the relief you need. He’s the one driving you insane now. “You gonna let me fuck you in the backseat of this car?” 

“F-fuck,” you stutter as his fingers finally brush against your bare cunt. You throw your head back as he strokes languidly, lazily. Your words are caught in your throat. You can’t enjoy his touch for long as he pulls away from you. “W-wait,” you whine, sitting up and grabbing his hand. 

He smirks, that teasing grin still spread across his face. “Didn’t answer my question, pretty girl,” he says, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your knuckles. He repeats himself: “You gonna let me fuck you in the backseat of this car?” You nod as he brings himself back to hover over you. “Use your words, darlin’.”

“Yes,” you choke out. “Please. Need you so fucking bad.”

He doesn’t let a second go by before he’s wrapping his arms around you and shoving you into the backseat. You fall into the leather and watch as Logan opens the car door and briefly disappears into the darkness before opening the door next to you. He climbs inside, slamming the door behind him. 

He crawls over you, and you use your hips and forearms and back all the way into the door on the opposite side. 

He grabs your hips, keeping you in place, lowering down over you. “’Can hear that little heart beating all the fucking time,” he whispers, his lips inches from yours. His forearm rests by your head, while his free hand slips underneath your shirt and under your bra. His fingers graze over the swell of your tits as he settles his palm above your heart. “Need you, pretty girl.” His hand trails over to a nipple, pinching softly.

Logan swallows your moans with a desperate, starving kiss. His stubble is rough against your cheeks. His tongue slides across your bottom lip, asking for permission to come inside. You open up immediately for him, meeting his tongue with your own, savoring the taste of him. 

You bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, keeping his lips close to yours. You dig your nails into his scalp, raking through his hair. He groans into your mouth before briefly coming up for air. His chest heaves against yours. He’s a panting mess. You’ve never seen him this worked up. 

There’s something different in his eyes now. You can see the lust, the desire, the longing. But there’s something else there. Fear? Desperation? Hunger? He’s yanking your shirt and bra up and over your head before giving you the chance to think about it. He’s taking you in, his hot, solid, fervent hands exploring your body. He’s palming your breasts, pinching your nipples and messaging the pain away. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him tight against you. 

He instinctively recognizes what you’re doing. “’M’not going anywhere, I’ve got you.” He presses a chaste kiss just under your jawline. His nails trail down the side of your stomach, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. 

You can feel his erection against your core, rutting needily into you. You push your hips up to meet his, grinding against him, impatiently searching for more friction.

His hands finally land on the hem of your shorts, his fingers working at your button, and then your zipper. He hooks his fingers into your shorts and your panties, and yanks them down your legs, casting them to the floor. You think he’s going to come back up, but he crawls in between your legs, his eyes locked on yours. 

You can feel his hot breath fan over your aching cunt. His mouth is just centimeters away from where you need him most. 

“Wanna taste you,” he mumbles, his face inching closer to your core. 

You moan as he licks a stripe through your folds, and then another. “L-Logan.” Your hips come up and off the seat. One of his arms latches across your hips, holding you down. 

“Stay there,” he murmurs in between laps. “Tastes so fucking good.” You can’t stay still, squirming under his touch, he presses down harder, forcing you to stay in place. You can feel him smirk against your pussy as his mouth latches on to your clit, sucking the bud in roughly. 

You’re already close as his fingers start to swipe through your folds. “So fucking wet for me.” His words vibrate against your swollen clit. Two fingers prod at your entrance, slowly pushing inside. You’re squirming again, your pussy stretching out to fit around his long fingers. He chuckles against you, the feeling pushing you closer to the edge. 

“C-close,” is all you can stutter. 

Logan doesn’t slow down. “’M’not done with you yet, pretty girl,” he husks between desperate laps. His fingers pump in and out of you, your walls fluttering uncontrollably around him. “Doing so good for me, taking what I’m giving you.”

His words are making it harder to hang on. “C-can’t…” You trail off, your chest heaving. His face is buried deep inside your cunt, each flick, each suck, each thrust more feral and starving than the last. 

“You gonna come on my tongue, sweetheart?” He teases, knowing full well now what his words are doing to you. You clamp down on his fingers, his name a chant hanging in the air. “Let go for me, pretty girl. Wanna know what it tastes like.” 

You’re a stuttering mess, his words piercing that fire in your stomach, the heat flowing freely as he pulls your orgasm from you. The release feels so good, so right. Logan works you through it, his laps slowing down, becoming languid, like he’s savoring the taste of you. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. He pumps his fingers in and out a few more times before carefully pulling out of you. 

He sits up on his knees, sweat glistening on his chest, his hair a tussled mess. He holds out his fingers—covered with your come—and shoves them in his mouth, sucking hard. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. He lazily pulls them out, swallowing, his throat bobbing. “So fucking sweet,” he soothes. “Can’t get enough of you.”

And then he’s hurriedly ripping his beater off, undoing his belt, shoving his jeans and boxers down his legs. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock springing up to his stomach. You knew he’d be big, but fuck. 

“You sure you want this?” He whispers, his lips back at the shell of your ear. You bring your hips up to meet his and mumble a yes. 

He lines himself up with your entrance, nudging against you. You can tell he’s holding back, doing his all to take his time, to let this moment last. But you want him. You need him. Now. You arch your back, your chest rising to meet his, your pebbled nipples brushing against his bare skin. The contact feels so good, so warm. “Fuck me, Logan,” you beg. 

He curses under his breath, and suddenly he’s thrusting into you, sinking all the way in, bottoming out. He stays there, unmoving, letting you adjust to the length and girth of him. He’s so big, stretching you out so good. He’s deep already, pushing against your walls, hitting that spot where you need him most. 

“F-fuck.” His composure is melting. “Knew you’d feel perfect. So fucking beautiful like this, always so beautiful.” He pulls out and pushes all the way back in. You cry out his name, and he muffles it as his mouth comes crashing down onto yours. 

He lowers down onto his forearm, closing the gap between the two of you. His other hand grazes over your nipples, trailing down your stomach, slipping in between the place where your bodies connect. His fingertips find your clit, ghosting around the bud lightly, toying with you before drawing long, languid circles around it. 

His thrusts start out slow as he rolls his hips against yours, but he quickly builds up speed. He bottoms out with each pump, plunging deeply, working you open for him. 

“Could stay inside you forever,” he gasps between kisses, sweat coating his brow. “You still have no fucking clue what you do to me,” he whispers, his hips snapping into you. He’s fucking you into the leather, pounding harder, knocking the wind out of your chest. He flicks your clit again and again. He’s losing control in the best way. “Watching you all the time, not being able to touch you, to be with you.” His vulnerability contrasts deliciously with how rough he’s fucking into you. “Think about you all the time.” 

He swallows your whines with another starving kiss. “Always thinking about you, too,” you whimper. 

He smiles against your lips. “Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart. Want you to come on my cock.” It’s a command, the bass of his voice rumbling through his chest. You hum in affirmation, your eyes fluttering closed as pleasure courses through your body. “Want you to look at me when you come.” There’s that demand in his voice again, and so you force your eyes open. “Good girl,” he husks. “So fucking good.”

You’re crumbling underneath him, fighting to keep your eyes open as he pounds roughly into you, his fingers pinching your clit, then circling rapidly. You’re coming undone in his arms, digging your nails into his biceps as you let yourself go. He keeps rutting into you, his pace faltering as he nears his own orgasm. 

“Wanna come inside you,” his lips press against your forehead as he whispers the words. “Don’t wanna leave this pussy yet.”

You shiver underneath him, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. “P-please,” you mumble.  “Fuck,” he trembles, painting your walls, filling you up. “So perfect,” he whispers, his head coming down to rest on your shoulder, pumping slower as he finishes. “So beautiful.” He kisses your shoulder as he stills, staying inside you for a moment. 

He carefully slides out of you, the sudden emptiness a shock to your system. You want him back, buried deep inside where he belongs. You involuntarily whine at the loss of him. He lifts himself up, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Later. We’ll do more later. ‘M’nowhere near done with you yet.” 

Logan separates from you, the hot, stuffy air of the car suddenly turning cold without him on top of you. He searches the floor of the backseat for your clothes. He worries about you first, helping you get back into your bra, panties, shorts, and top. You sit cross-legged once you’re done, watching him as he dresses himself. 

He smirks, sensing your eyes on him. “Still like what you see?” 

You can feel heat rise to your cheeks, suddenly embarrassed despite everything that just happened. “Always liked you.”

“Think what we just did warrants a little more than ‘like’ darlin’.” He’s right. It does. 

Once he’s dressed, he grabs your hand, opens the car door, and guides you out of the backseat and towards the other side of the car. He opens the passenger door for you, and you slip inside. He’s opening the driver’s side door and getting in a few seconds later, turning the key into the ignition, maneuvering the car out of the grass, and back onto the empty highway. 

He’s got his left hand on the steering wheel as his right comes down to your inner thigh, gripping tightly and pulling it closer to him. 

The rest of the drive is quiet, calm, Logan’s thumb occasionally brushing against your bare skin, reminding you of what he promised: later. 

You finally pull up to the cabin, surprised to see that some of the lights are still on. Logan gives your thigh one more squeeze before popping the trunk and exiting the car. You step out, and Logan already has your duffle bags in his hands. You walk shoulder to shoulder up to the porch of the cabin, your hand coming up to twist the doorknob and stepping inside. 

Storm, Charles, and Scott are in the living room, sitting around the fire, their heads snapping toward you and Logan. 

“What took you two so long to get here?” Storm asks, her brows raising incredulously. 

“Traffic.” Logan spits, his voice firm and unwavering. You hope the room can’t read the embarrassment on your face. 

“Yeah, sure, traffic, at one in the morning on a Thursday,” Scott teases. To your left, you can see your and Logan’s reflections in a nearby mirror. You’re disheveled and messy, but not terrible. And then, it suddenly dawns on you that Logan’s tank is inside out; you can’t help but grin at the sight. 

Charles smiles softly—knowingly. “You two can share one of the rooms upstairs, down the hall, last door on the left.” 

You watch as Logan catches his reflection in the mirror, his gaze quickly focusing on you instead, cocking his head up towards the stairs. 

His steps are hurried, and you try to catch up to him. He beats you to the top and leans in close to you as you finish the climb, his lips brushing the side of your head. “You’re in some massive fucking trouble, sweetheart,” he whispers, now holding the bags in one hand so that the other can snake around your waist. He shoves you down the hall with him. 

“What did I do?” You giggle as his fingers dig into your side. 

“You let me put my shirt on inside out.”

You smirk. “And what are you gonna do about it, bub?” You know he won’t like that last bit, but you want to see what he’ll do about it. 

“Remember when I told you I wasn’t done with you yet?” Your breath catches in your throat at his words. “Well, it’s later, darlin’.”