#We'll see how long before I burn out again

[mainstreamangel]

SEE YOU AGAIN

P. Bueckers x Fem!Reader

Summary: Paige is going insane, she feels like she's been struck by Cupid's arrow.

Genre: Fluff

Warning(s): N/A

WC: 1.2k

Part I / Part II

Paige groaned into her pillow. She was currently in her room while Azzi sat on the floor.

"She's literally our friend why are you like this?" Azzi rolled her eyes.

"Because she's so perfect and... attractive... and perfect.." Paige spat.

Not in a jealous tone but in a longing way. Ever since she met you she's felt nothing but butterflies. Your personality made her feel like she was always alone with you in an open world.

"Just tell her that you like her or you can shove your feelings up your-"

"Hey!" Paige flipped over and sent Azzi a half hearted glare.

A knock at the door caught both their attentions and as the hinges swung open, the door revealed you on the other side.

"We're going to go play some casual, wanna come?" You looked at Paige.

Paige looked at Azzi and Azzi just gave her a goofy grin.

"I don't-"

"We'll be there in 10." Azzi cut Paige off and gave you a small smile.

"Awesome. See you guys there, I'm riding with Chen so let her know if you wanna come too."

You softly close the door and Paige lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding.

"Why'd you do that? I'm gonna make a fool out of myself in front of her. She's so pretty it's distracting." Paige complained.

"You're literally Paige Bueckers. You've hit several buzzer beaters in front of hundreds and thousands of people, and you're telling me your own teammate makes you as good as an unathletic stick? You must not deserve your spot on the team then Bueckers." Azzi stood up and flicked Paige's arm.

"Ow." Paige whined.

Paige and Azzi arrive at the training facility and already hear the sound of squeaky sneakers and baskets being made.

You were practicing your perfect 3's in your sports bra and a pair of UConn shorts. You lined up your shot and took a deep breath before tossing the ball towards the net.

"Paige!" One of her teammates call.

She tears her gaze away from your form and dap up whoever called her name.

"You, me, HUSKY? You down?" KK asked, spinning a ball on her finger.

Paige glanced back at your figure as you bounce the ball towards Azzi who had walked away to go talk to you.

"S" Paige groaned as she predicted her inaccurate shot.

"Man you suck."

Paige looked up from where she was and saw you standing, a little out of breath, with a ball under your arm

"No one is." Paige smiled.

She studied the rosy tint of your cheeks. Paige watched as you walked to where she just stood and lined up the same shot she had failed. A neat swish sounded nearby and you smirked at her.

"Guess you're just losing your touch."

Paige caught the ball that someone had passed to her and she held eye contact with you, walking back until her feet were planted behind the half court line. She took a deep breath and released the ball.

The ball flew through the air and landed deep through the net.

"Am I?" She smirked back.

You laughed and walked up to her offering her a handshake.

"Fine, I respect your talent P."

Paige's skin burned as she grabbed your hand. She's always had skin contact with you, through practice and games. But it never got easier, because she always felt the same butterflies since the very first day.

Most of her teammates had filtered out as the hours ticked by and then it was just you and her.

"Bet you can't do a cartwheel and then a logo shot before me." You challenged.

"That's not fair you know I can't do cartwheels." She whined.

"I know that's why I said it."

She laughed.

"Hold on I wanna record a TikTok. Break?" You asked.

She gave you a look.

"How did you go from cartwheels to TikTok?" She asked.

You shrugged and pull out your phone, opening the app. You fixed your appearance and dragged Paige in view.

"We're doing a fit check."

"But we're all sweaty. Shouldn't we have done that at the start?" She asked.

"Better late than never." You pressed record and started talking.

As your lips moved Paige couldn't help but watch you in awe. You were so angelic with the way you move and every shake of your body.

She snapped back to reality when she saw you turn in her direction waiting for her to give her outfit breakdown.

"Huh?" She asked.

"Your fit?" You smiled, giving her a weird questioning look.

"Oh yeah, uh top is from Nike, shout out Nike for providing the best wear, uh pants are from Nike as well, and jewelry; I have a hard time saying the word jewelry." Paige chuckled.

"Jewelry?" You attempted.

Both being from the Midwest you shared similar accents and found comfort in the common nostalgic moments that only certain areas could share whether it be the Midwest or the East Coast.

"Jewelry." You stumbled.

Paige laughed and finished her spiel before looking at you again with the same lovestruck look.

She watched as you ended the video and captioned it, tagged her and posted it.

"Wanna head back? It's late." You offered.

She smiled and shook her head. She gently grabbed your hand and brought you to the centre of the court.

"You remember this?" She asked.

You and Paige would sometimes slow dance on the place you proudly called your second home. Even though both of you weren't one for slow dancing you found comfort in it every so often because it reminded you to take a breather.

Life could get so busy and there wasn't ever time to stop because your fans needed you. The media needed you, and you needed each other.

Paige swayed your bodies slowly and softly to the sounds of silence.

"Paige I have something I need to say." You began, looking deep into her blue eyes.

"I love you. I mean I'm in love with you, I mean- shit." Paige stilled and internally winced at her confession.

Your eyes widened and you released yourself, standing in front of her.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have- look before you reject me, I guess I should just come clean. I can't ever stop thinking about you. Like that sounds so fucking creepy I just realised but it's true like you're always crossing my mind and I wonder if you look both ways so that you don't get hit you know. By my mental cars, because my brain never stops you know? That's a weird reference but I guess that's just how I feel."

She wanted to just run away. But instead she watched as you put your arms around her and smile softly at her.

"Been waiting for you to say that, you know? I see the way you look at me and I look at you the same way. I always feel like I got struck by like cupid's arrow or something. Whenever we have practice and stuff I just get distracted because you look so... edible during it and I always have very not so cordial thoughts about you I admit."

Paige laughed and placed a soft kiss on your head.

"Can I take you out on a date then? Of course before our next game."

"Make it worth my while and perhaps I'll see you again."

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

Be Warned, for I have free time this evening and Thoughts about the Characters. Unfortunately my wrists are also kind of achey and tired but! I shall take medication for that and persevere!

Anyway, How about Tahraim. Our favorite Blue and Orange Morality guy. I've been thinking about the fact that he was there the entire time in Zuurith.

OKay Characters like him intrigue me so much. Like. He's helping our protagonists because their goals align. But also, we can't get too comfy. He's not.... malevolent persay, but also. People are projects.

Let's go through what we know. Start at the very beginning. I've heard that's a very good place to start.

Arc 1, chapter 12! Tynan, the Storm of Terror is making his way towards the City of Vash. Vash asks Tahraim if he can forge Vash a weapon so he can fight Tynan to keep his city safe. "Tahraim considered his request for what Vash considered to be a unnecessarily long time" (a line I love so very much. the repeat of considered. what we learn about Tahraim first from that line itself and then from the reveal that Tahraim's telling the story.) before giving Vash the ingot of starmetal and blue crystal, and telling Vash he "could forge him his weapon but only after Vash had made the materials his own." Vash spends three days trying to understand what Tahraim meant, before (in arguably a moment of desperation) slipping his soul inside the metal, reforging his body, and beating Tynan. Then he brings the metal back to Tahraim for him to make into a sword. When Caliban asks about that, why he didn't just make the sword in the first place, Tahraim says,

"Because if I had, I'd have deprived him of a much better weapon." Caliban points out that the city of Vash could have died if Vash hadn't figured it out. Tahraim says, "Weapons can only be forged in fire," and a few panels later, "I can give you your weapon in time. But if I interfere now - it will never become what you need it to be."

"If you want him to do the impossible, we need him to believe he can."

The next time we see Tahraim, it's chapter 16. And Dainix, who we know to be the person Caliban and Tahraim are talking about here, is having a very bad time (partly because Caliban poked at him earlier in disguise but we'll get to that later). And Tahraim appears and helps Dainix back from the ledge he's on, helps him control his abilities, and is just great for emotional catharsis. I mean:

I love "if you burn, how can you help them?" so much. It's what Dainix needed to hear at that moment. The hand holding. Dainix can't hurt Tahraim; he's literally a god of forging. Dainix also likely hasn't had someone just tenderly hold his hand since he was exiled. He helps Dainix work through what he's feeling, and then gives a bit of advice on fighting Tynan before Dainix leaves.

Scene change to Erin figuring out buying time and then to Alinua breaking open the prison and having a crisis about Life using her/ not letting her die/ not helping her. (and then Theia taking the archive out of the city) Cut back to Tahraim now looking at the tree Alinua grew. There, Caliban and Tahraim compare notes ("You got him all riled up before the fight, didn't you?" "You mean how I heated your material so you could smith it into shape?") and sass Zuurith, before Caliban says "Just leave him, we got what we needed." Caliban isn't seen again until Arc 2 chapter 4.

So let's pretend it's the early in year 2022. And you're reading Comic Aurora. If someone asked you what you thought of Tahraim, you'd probably mention he's funny, seems to like helping people, and views everything through the lens of shaping the best thing out of it. But he's a good guy. We've seen bad guys in Aurora. We've seen ones who think they are the hero of the story, like Zuurith, Jolon, and the Collector. We've seen ones who know they're bad and don't care, like Tynan. Situational Antagonists like Shrike, who knows she's not the best but also is just surviving. Falst himself was temporarily a situational antagonist. There's the Void Dragon. We've seen bad guys and malevolent gods, and Tahraim is on the same side as the good guys.

And then chapter 18. And it's less "he's a good guy" and more "his goals currently align with ours."

Some time ago, The Collector asked Tahraim to forge her a soul stealing dagger. Tahraim, like when Vash asked him for a weapon to fight a storm, and turned her down, "since [he] was worried she'd continue to stagnate if [he] gave her an easy shortcut to power." Not "Oh creating that would be a bad idea" No, he turns her down so she has to figure things out herself.

The 1.18.18 comment section was I think the first time I really saw blue and orange morality really discussed. MAN that page was crazy.

Tahraim is a teacher. He guides people towards, like how one might refine a weapon. He takes pride in his work. If giving aid might cause one to not learn something greater, then he holds back. Offers hints instead. He gave Vash starmetal and a crystal, told him to make those his own, and let Vash think it through. He and Caliban let Dainix stay in the prison for a year so Dainix wouldn't feel like he didn't have any choice in leaving, and then helped Dainix work through huge explosion of Soulfire in the arena. This same nature applies to people like the Collector, who's .... let's say scholarship he likely knew about, letting her develop her own way to capture souls so she wouldn't stagnate and would grow.

Let's look back at that first conversation again:

"Because if I had, I'd have deprived him of a much better weapon... Weapons can only be forged in fire... People temper at a more complicated pace than metal... If you want him to do the impossible, we need him to believe he can."

Vash spends three days frustrated trying to find a way to protect his people. He endured hours of fighting Tynan, losing an arm and an eye, till he reforged himself around the starmetal. Yes, he gained a sword, a better understanding of himself, but he went through pain to do that. Dainix spent a year forced to fight in an arena. He tamped down his fury and his guilt of hurting others, clung to his last principle of not fighting to kill till it left his body cracked, with inner flames spilling out. Yes, he now knows more about what he is, is able to fight more, feels like he can do the impossible, but oh the pain he went through.

Tahraim was in Zuurith during the Tynan fight. He might not have really been paying attention to our heroes other than Dainix, but he was there.

Tahraim watched as the tree broke the prison. As Alinua wrestled with her abilities, and what Life wanted from her. "I don't think I can do this in time. But you can... You can save them! Just use me!"... "She won't help me. But she won't let me die either."

Tahraim was well aware of the fight between Kendal and Tynan. And he doesn't interfere until Tynan is defeated. Until Kendal has started to figure out the starfire in the blade, and summoned Vash. Tahraim waits to show up till after everyone has done everything they can, till after Vash has given Zuurith an ultimatum.

Tahraim was at Zuurith the entire time. And he didn't interfere in the Tynan fight till every one of our heroes (and also Zuurith) had grown, stretched their capabilities, or made steps toward something new.

While I don't think Caliban and Tahraim's hidden plan is going to be harmful to the world, I do think I need to remind myself to be wary. Caliban and Tahraim aren't known for being voluntarily helpful. As Kendal mentions in arc 2, chapter 4, everyone who isn't a project is a tool.

A Trickster God and a Divine Smith have a plan. The plan thankfully seems to involve helping our heroes. At least for now.

[brooklynislandgirl]

The day that came and went in the Lord's keeping that Beth did not find a moment to lighten the mood or to needle a little finger into his side in jest, is the one that finds her gone and mourned in the world. Even so, she recognises Benjamin's eloquence. "Then in mystery we'll have to spend the rest of our days, I shan't make a battle of your wish."

She totters on the edge of the moment. An undercurrent she can't quite put her finger on. Brow to brow she can feel the steady beat of his heart. But in every breath he takes there's something tender beneath his surface. It is heavy and unbalances him but he isn't going to allow her to share that burden despite his words. She'll take what he does give and ducks her head slightly when he whispers that he takes some measure of amelioration from her. It is all that she can truly offer and heaven willing, it will be enough to see him through the dark days of winter. "Then I'll stay for as long as the General allows it." There is so little left back home to assuage her terrors and so much here, with the Continental Army in general, that could use an extra set of hands. She will stay for Ben. She will lift up his spirits and make his camp life as nourishing as it can be with what little they have. In ancient days, it was so. She sees no reason why it can't be again. As long as she gives him his space, does not cause any problems with her fiery temperament and rebellious nature. "Praise whispered in your ear? Let it shine through my eyes when I see you across camp? Or shall I spend the rest of our days listing one thing each time? You deserve to hear your virtues lauded, Ben Tallmadge for they are many." There is a hint of a pause as she smiles against his skin. "Even for a Protestant." No heat in the tease. At least not the kind that was born of anger and intolerance. Her breath caresses him as much as her hands do, the faint echo of her heartbeat to give that warmth some sort of loose structure. Whatever greed of ardour they were stoking chills when he, too, thinks of her brother, as she knows he must. And that in turn reminds him of the more important duty he has before him. She cannot taste regret in his softly murmured words. How fascinating it is, then, that he should burn bright as a pyre with his passions, his belief in the Cause. It is as beautiful as it is stirring and she wonders how many have been roused by his speeches. Between Ben and the General, perhaps even the angels are swayed to the war effort. A sudden rush of nerve floods through. She had not considered the possibility of children. In one regard, the idea of being the mother of Ben's children has been a fluttering daydream at the edge of her senses once she'd bloomed into womanhood and the adoration she felt for him as a boy turned into something deeper. But this is too fragile to touch at the moment. War makes everything ~including their next breath~ a question left to an uncertain future. The thought of loosing Ben the way they lost Andy is too much to bear. And perhaps that is what makes her suddenly clutch at him. Buries her face into the space between chin and chest and she shivers. "Were bravery enough to smite the Enemy, you would single-handedly win the war." His lips are a balm that seeds a calmness against her fingers though she can't quite push every ill thought from the back of her mind. Amidst his beautiful promises, she nuzzles the hollow of his collarbones. "I hope you know we Irish have a long memory, Mr Tallmadge, an' I might remember what you say when the time comes." One hand slips away from his so that she can trail her knuckles along his arm, down his side to his hip then making the long trek back to start all over again. One slender leg washes over his like a wave all in an effort to be just that much closer to him. "I believe in the Cause, I do. I would give it all that I have and more if I could. Even if there are those who say 'tis a fools errand. That the King will soon stamp out the flame of rebellion and bring us all back to heel. I...I just...I need you. I need you to be safe. I need you to live. I...I need you to be you and I know what that means. I am not ignorant to your nature. You have me at war and in peace."

"Hmm, you shouldn't tease me," Benjamin hummed, smiling against her lips as his eyes crinkled like starbursts. "I tend to convert people away rather than towards... And the proof is in my boyhood stories at Yale. Ask anyone..." Here, he held up a hand, then lightly tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "But I'd rather you didn't. I should surely keep some aura of intrigue, after all."

Beth whispered of him being her muse. It was a warm, sobering thought, and nudging his forehead into hers, he skimmed his fingertips along the soft curve of her hip, etching into her as naturally as sand and stone. "I'm never comfortable," he softly confessed, his eyes low-lashed and lamplit, wet with both affection and sorrow as he peered at her from across their shared pillow. "But perhaps with you here...?"

No. He needn't heap that sort of pressure upon her heart; not when he could barely withstand it himself.

Nuzzling into her open palms, he amended, "I'm comfortable with you here. If I am to glean rest, it will surely be with you by my side."

Beth turned in towards him, seeking comfort by pressing her face into his neck. She hid in him the same way he dwelled in their shared memories -- of how when he was browbeaten, defeated, lost, he would think of wind-chafed winters with entwined gloved fingers, or dizzying summer nights awarded when their families deigned it time to visit. Although Benjamin had always been closer to Andrew, Beth was assuredly a part of him -- his shadow, his heart, ever intrinsic.

As she spoke of how proud she was, he had to bite down on the soft flesh of his cheek. It was all he'd wanted; perhaps all he needed. Although Washington, and sometimes his own father were ever quick to dismiss his blatant cries to be seen, to be heard, to be needed and appreciated, Beth somehow echoed all the pleas in his head that were just yearning to be acknowledged.

"No," he whispered, brushing a kiss over the top of her head, "it is I who am blessed..." Here, a more impish glimmer came to his eyes as he said, "Though I'll never denounce the chance for praise. It's somewhat of a rarity around these parts."

Beth's hand lifted to his face, gently stroking. And as he settled into the smooth dip of her palm, his smile faded as he listened to her speak.

"I know the fires that burn in you just as bright and deep as they burned in--"

The name lingered between them, unspoken and far more haunting than any specter. Benjamin swallowed, offering a stilted nod. "Yes," he softly affirmed. "I never intended for this to be my life...I never wanted to burn away my youth on a game of chance, but Beth, this is our only chance. This is our only life, and if I can't secure it for our future -- for our children -- then what good am I?"

She spoke of joining him on the field, and although the thought always horrified him, this time, Benjamin didn't rebuke such ideas. He drew her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, soft and lingering. "When this is over, there will be no one but you," he vowed. "The Cause requires my attentions now, but...I one day hope to devote my entire heart and soul to you -- to us and what that could bring."

It was premature, he knew. Perhaps once the war was over and done with, Beth would no longer wish to be with him; perhaps the allure of soldierly valor would wear off, and he'd be far too exhausting, too broken to put up with, when she could settle for many a number of wealthy and prestigious gentlemen who could give a better contribution to her family name.

And yet, Benjamin knew that wasn't her. She'd never been the type to preen and showboat, and he felt guilty for even contemplating the idea. Still, the prospect of being worthy of both her time and energy seemed preposterous, and he vowed to make the most of each and every moment she granted him upon this uncertain earth.

[rpedia]

How to deal with lack of motivation to reply?

Ah, the old blank screen stare. So, for the most part I consider this issue to be several intersecting problems at the same time. Usually a lack of motivation indicates a.) a lack of fun/enjoyment, b.) low/no expectation of reward, or c.) fear or apprehension. Let's explore that under the cut.

When you are roleplaying and you're not enjoying yourself explicitly, if the journey to a finished post is not fun itself, we're kind of fucking ourselves over. Creation of these words, excitement at turning a phrase or approaching an idea you really want to explore is basically the whole gist of it. It is a hobby, and loving what you write and laughing at your own jokes is important! You are your own first audience, and if you're not impressed or pleased with what you're writing, it becomes an endless Sisyphean task where you unhappily struggle to write something, anything, to just get through it.

In this case it may be a lack of inspiration. With no structure, or core, we can really easily lose sight of what kind of play we're looking for. What are your goals? Are you here for plot, or character? For smut, or a quick playful bit of banter? Do you want to fight, or are you reaching for some overarching thing? Hell, do you know where THIS scene is headed, or does it feel like an endless trudge? These ideals disappearing or falling to the wayside for someone else can really fuck the vibe!

How are you supposed to know what to write, if you don't have any plans for the character, or don't know where they might potentially go? Like it doesn't have to be hard and fast, but understanding your characters own personal goals, fears, joys, and secrets (entirely different to you, the player) can help with motivation in writing them. I like to explore these by playing games with myself, and daydreaming about scenarios and possibilities that aren't "canon" to my character, but just let me know more about them if a similar situation were to come up. Having a library chock-full of potential what-ifs can help a ton in figuring out how to approach any actions or direction a partner may push you towards. Be excited to explore your character, and to show them off to others! This journey is soooo important to love for itself!

Like with any piece of art, not enjoying the process is a quick short-cut to burn-out and misery. So, if this is happening you might want to adjust some things if you're sitting there upset and bored instead of enjoying what should be a fun pastime you can lose yourself in! So instead of beating yourself up about posting, figure out why it's a chore. Are you taking care of yourself? Have you met the S.H.R.E.K. criteria for the day? Is this post not something in your wheelhouse, or do you feel like you could be doing something else and getting more fun out of it?

Before I get ahead of myself, let me address the truly horrific acronym I just threw at you. S.H.R.E.K. criteria? Who would inflict this on you? Well... me, because it's so memetic and stupid I remember it way better than most acronyms, so buckle up buttercup. It stands for:

Socialization: Have you talked to someone or had meaningful interactions with others for the day? Depending on your needs, you may need hugs, touching others, chatting with loved ones, or cuddling. Some people literally need to be touched, held, hugged, and talked with the thrive, and others can do just fine with a little less. Listen to the monkey studies: Don't be a wire mother to yourself, let yourself have cloth mother sometimes. Hydration: Have you been drinking enough liquids to be hydrated and keep your piss from being too yellow? No liquids means your body starts sucking at everything from getting oxygen to the brain, to making food into energy. Make sure you balance hydration with salt and food intake, but never underestimate what a good cold cup of something can do. And yes, any liquid works. Coffee is dehydrating, so is soda, but their hydrating effect is way bigger than how often they make you piddle so it balances out. Still, water is best but don't beat yourself up about it. Rest: Have you slept enough in the last 24 hours? I know you think 4-6 is okay, but it's really not, it will actually cause you to behave like an alcoholic and lead to later insomnia, mental issue worsening, and health problems like heart issues. Nip that in the bud, sleep full 8-10 hour nights. Or nap if you're just sleepy! Eat: Have you shoved nutritious food in your gob or are you dying from scurvy, beri-beri, and malnutrition simultaneously while depriving the lil dudes who help you write a good lunch? Don't starve your lil neuron folks, they need a good meal too. Even if it's just ingredients for a meal, anything is better than nothing and you deserve food. Kinetics: Have you moved around? Stretched? Walked or played? Sometimes if you're starting out from zero, you might try just standing up and sitting down a couple times to help get bloodflow going! Getting active at whatever level you're at is good for the brain.

Anyways after that interlude, back to basics. At the lowest tier we want to be having fun. If we're not, it might be us, or it might be a boring lackluster partner. That's where a lack of reward comes in. If the partner is, bless them and their hard work, just not giving you the thrills to pay the dopamine bills? That just might mean you guys aren't a good match! This is not the end of the world, it just means you might need to stop playing with them.

Step back, consider if roleplaying with their style and output is worth your time and effort, and do BOTH of you a favor if they aren't. Set them free to play with other players who love their writing and can't get enough of it, and stop grating your teeth across cement trying to come up with something to keep things you don't even like going. This is the communication part, remember how I used to harp on that? Well old Uragani still thinks it's super important. So discuss that 'hey, we might not be a great fit for writing together' and come up with solutions. Maybe finding new partners, and just staying friends, or just waving goodbye to each other and hitting the road.

Here we find ourselves looking at challenger #3, the good old fear and apprehension. This comes up more than I'd like to admit. Are you worried about what's happening next? Or how you might portray something? Have you worked yourself up too much, and now you feel like you can never meet your own expectations? Are you scared of letting down a partner, and not giving them your best? Do you feel like your post might go over an unwritten line, and leave people upset with you?

Congrats! I hate that shit too! I do not know why brains do this to us! I would like to sue!

Anxiety is a hell of a beast, so is Impostor Syndrome, and fear of letting people down, and all the other fun goodies in that bag. They can be worked on at home, in small doses. You gotta learn to sit back, and be able to talk to yourself. Why are you feeling this way, and finding the name for your emotional state, accepting it, and letting it pass through can help. In major situations, you might need to find yourself a good old Common Sense Dispenser, better known as a therapist. They have the tools you need, and yes, roleplay can be a play you find out what you need. It's not dumb, it's useful.

Working through this can be as simple as discussing your fears with your partner and making sure everything is kosher. It might need you to look at a worst case scenario and then planning an exit strategy for that, even if it never happens. Sometimes, you just gotta heft yourself up, and push through the fear. There's a million ways to get through it, and I'm not the person who can tell you which will work for you. But I can tell you, it gets better the longer you work with it. Confidence comes from experience, the more you work at it, the more it feels like second nature.

But that brings with it the last beast, the hidden #4. Burn-out. Sometimes, when we delve too deeply into something we love, we ignore the signs of burn-out. Losing interest in things we once deeply enjoyed. Feeling exhausted at the thought of starting a post, or writing anything. Feeling like we've lost touch with what we used to be good at. Burn out can be a miserable thing, because it stand between us and our goals, our happiness, and it keeps them behind the thickest glass, so we can see them, but getting them feels impossible. The harder we push, the thicker the glass becomes.

In cases of burn out, like the kind I've experienced, sometimes you need to take a step back and just do something else. Go on hiatus. Maybe it's hooked to a character, and you simply have to play with some other muse. Maybe it's with another player, and finding a new fandom without them in it can help. Maybe it's with writing at large, and you need to go find some other outlet to explore while this one heals. You cannot do the same thing forever, you will lose touch with what makes it special. Believe me.

But after healing, which can take years if you keep pushing it like some idiot who wrote RPedia long after you should stop, it'll be fun again. You'll want to come back, and do the thing you were good at, and loved again. The spark will return, and things just... settle and feel better. I promise. Just let yourself have that time to recover without pushing yourself somewhere you aren't meant to go right now.

Naturally there's other stuff too. ADHD/Autism/other issues could be throwing the executive dysfunction ball into your lap and suddenly doing the thing you've done a thousand times is impossible. Stars aren't in alignment. Maybe you're stressed out because of an external force and need a break. Maybe the thread you're in has been going on too long in the same scene, and you need to cut and start a "fresh episode" before everything stays stale forever. Maybe you just aren't in the mood! There's a million reasons, but all of them come down to figuring out what the problem is, and engaging with ways to break that problem down into bits. Find your fun. Look for partners who make you feel like writing with them is worth it. Work with your fears, and express yourself about them and let them past through you. Find external help if needed, and take care of your body while you're at it.

And hey, remember, I am not the end all be all of advice. It could totally be something outside of these circumstances, but I'd like to think that in my experience these are the major factors that I keep coming across. If any of this has been a help, I can only be happy to have said it. Thank you so much for reading!

[imflyingfish]

Going through another phase of wanting to buy a record player verses being unsure if i should

[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Chapter 5. Back to Square One

Masterlist

Summary: Simon's rapidly growing obsession with you comes to a halt.

Warnings: obsessive behavior, cursing, slight nsfw

The drive back to Simon's house was quiet and dark. Price had turned on the radio, letting classic rock play quietly in the background. He tapped the steering wheel every so often, humming to whatever lyrics he could remember.

Simon sat in the passenger seat, staring at the cars ahead, occasionally glancing at the signs that whizzed by the truck. Each sign that brought him closer to home made him ache. He thought about his bed. He thought about Riley. And, of course, he thought about you. He knew you most likely wouldn't be there - it was after midnight. But he liked to imagine that you'd be waiting there, sitting on his couch with your book and mug of tea, Riley settled next to you, ready to greet him with your smile - the smile that he'd been thinking about in every stolen moment during the mission.

"Alright there, Simon?" Price cut through the silence, dragging Simon back to earth.

He cleared his throat. "Yes sir. Jus' ready to be back."

Price scoffed. He knew Simon didn't consider his house a home. If anything, it was a safe house between missions. "I'm sure Riley will be happy to see you."

"We'll see about that." Simon said with a chuckle. "This dog-sitter might've stolen her from me."

"Nah, she's yours. Been with 'er through it all." Price said as he turned into Simon's neighborhood. "I'm sure she enjoyed the company, though."

Simon grunted. "Seems like it." He said, remembering the picture you had sent him; the way Riley had cozied up to you, the way she seemed so docile and calm in your presence. He imagined you running your fingers through her fur, the perfect ratio of scratching to gentle pets. He wondered what it would feel like on his scalp...

A shiver ran down his spine. How does one become jealous of their own damn dog? It was ridiculous.

"Speaking of the dog-sitter..." Price said, "Johnny mentioned she's a real-"

"Whatever Johnny told you, you can disregard." Simon grumbled. "I told him not to worry 'bout it."

Price chuckled, which made Simon burn with frustration. "Touchy subject, eh?"

"There's nothing to discuss." He replied bitterly. Quite frankly, he didn't like the picture Soap had managed to paint of him. His entire team thought he was whipped by someone he had barely known. Despite it being entirely true, it was the complete opposite of the image he had built of himself - and he had a reputation to keep.

"Right." Price nodded. Simon could tell he didn't believe him, but as long as he didn't try to pester him anymore about it, Simon would take it as a win.

Price pulled into the driveway, and Simon immediately unbuckled. He reached into the back and grabbed his duffel bag, then yanked his door open and got out.

"Y' know this isn't over." Price said, right before Simon could close the door. "We most likely 'ave a week 'fore we get sent out again. Just don't get too comfortable 'ere."

"Never do." Simon replied, shouldering his bag. "I'll wait for your call."

Price nodded, sending Simon off with a wave. He watched as he closed the passenger door and walked up the path to his house, before pulling out of the driveway and heading towards his own home.

Simon sighed as he fished his keys from his pocket. He heard Riley barking on the other side of the door, and a small smile formed on his face. When he pushed it open, she immediately jumped on him, whining and sniffing him all over. He knew she could smell the others on him, and probably wondered why he didn't bring her this time.

"Hey, girl..." he said, yanking his balaclava off and kneeling down to ruffle her fur. "Sorry I's gone so long. Miss me?"

She stood her front paws on his knees and licked his face, still whining and swinging her tail rapidly.

"Yeah, missed you too." He chuckled. "D'ya have fun? Did she treat you right?"

Riley dropped down to the floor as Simon stood. She turned towards his duffel bag and began sniffing, eyes focused on the fabric as she took in all the new and familiar scents.

Simon sighed. "'Bout time for a proper cuppa." He said, making his way into the kitchen. Despite it nearing one in the morning, it would be a while before he was decompressed enough to fall asleep.

He reached into the cupboard for a mug, ignoring the way his back popped. When he placed the mug down and reached for a teabag, he saw a note on the counter. With a furrowed brow, he picked it up and read it.

Hello Simon!

Hope your deployment was fun good! Riley and I had a blast! She learned how to play dead - if you want to try it, just make sure to give her a biscuit for it (she's only had one today, and she was a bit bitter that I left before giving her a second one). Also, she's had her medicine for the day. I gave her last dose around 9 pm.

Can't wait to spend more time with her, but I'm sure she's happy to see her dad! Let me know when you need me next!

Have a nice evening!

P.S. I had to use your washing machine, I hope that was alright. I got a bit muddy trying to teach her the new trick.

He stared at the note for a good amount of time. His eyes wandered over your meticulously neat handwriting. He noticed how often you liked to use exclamation points - the same way you did in your texts and emails. It made him annoyed - but not with you. He was annoyed that he found it... adorable. He shouldn't. You were too bright and happy; your personality should burn him, not warm him up.

He tried to brush it off, blaming his obervant behaviour on the recent mission. Old habits die hard, he lied to himself.

"Riley, c'mere."

Upon hearing her name, Riley meandered into the kitchen and stopped in front of Simon. She sat on her hind legs and looked at him expectantly.

He looked back at her - he felt a bit silly, commanding a retired veteran dog to do simple party tricks. But, it sounded like you put a lot of effort into teaching her this - not to mention, you had somehow dirtied your clothes over it - so he decided to entertain the idea.

"Play dead." He said firmly.

Riley immediately flopped down onto her back, sticking her paws into the air. She even let her tongue hang out of her mouth to really sell the image.

He felt an immediate rush of pride. "Atta girl..." he praised, kneeling down and patting her affectionately. Despite all the annoyance he felt a moment ago, Simon couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto his face.

She twisted and sat up, snuffling and groaning as he rubbed her fur. She barked once, sharp and demanding.

"Yeah, yeah- suppose you deserve a biscuit, huh?" He stood up and grabbed the box of peanut butter and bacon treats, fishing one out and tossing it to Riley. She caught it perfectly, crunching it with an open mouth and licking her lips afterwards.

He watched her with a smile, his arms folded over his chest. Sure, tricks were dumb, something only glorified house pets did for small rewards. But he was impressed that Riley had so effortlessly followed a new command, especially after being out of work for so long. And he was warmed by the fact that, not only did you watch her, but you engaged with her. He was confident he'd found the perfect pet-sitter.

After starting a load of laundry, Simon had taken a cold shower. He scrubbed his eyeblack off with nothing but his hands and the generic body wash from the corner store. He slathered some of his 3-in-one hair gel into his scalp, giving it no more than seven scrubs before rinsing it out. He stood there for a while, letting the water beat against his sore back as the details of the previous mission swarmed throughout his head. He picked apart what he could have done better, what had nearly gotten him killed, and what had probably saved his life.

His eyes flickered to the corner of the tub; there was a cluster of travel-sized bottles, labeled "face wash", "body butter", and so forth. He let himself imagine - who was he kidding, he had no control over his thoughts when it came to you - your body, standing under the stream of the shower. You probably liked hot showers, didn't you? You most likely stayed in there for an hour, going through your meticulous routine, lathering yourself in scented soaps and creams... you'd be appalled if you had seen the three-minute showers he takes, wouldn't you? Maybe you would pull him into your routine, once Simon did eventually get the balls to ask you out, despite how much the thought of being romantic with someone made him scoff. He'd let you wash his face, or shave his balls, or do whatever it is you would do to him.

He suddenly snapped out of his trance, realizing he was holding one of the bottles labeled "conditioner". His thumb was on the edge of the cap, ready to flip it open and take a whiff of the scent - but he quickly stopped himself. He put the bottle back with the rest, then splashed cold water over his face. Quit being a fuckin' creep... he thought.

After turning the shower off and drying himself with a towel, he went into his room and grabbed a pair of sweatpants. He made his way back into the basement, patting Riley on the back as he passed her by the door. He pulled his laundry out and placed it on top of the washing machine, and opened the dryer. Just as he was getting ready to toss his clothes in, he noticed something hiding in the back of the barrel of the machine.

He reached in and pulled it out - it was your flannel. The same green-and-grey one you'd been wearing during your interview.

He paused for a moment, posture rigid as he held the fabric in the air. He wasn't quite sure what to do with it. It was just a flannel... but it was your flannel. He fought with his muscles, resisting the urge to bring it closer and inhale the scent - he tried to reason with himself. Maybe she used my soap, and it would just smell like my detergent. Nothin' special.

He dropped it on top of the dryer, still wrinkly and warm - but, strangely, that felt too rude. It's a fucking piece of clothing, for Christ's sake... he thought. Not her dead nan. He then attempted to hang it on the rack, but that felt too formal. He groaned, rubbing his eyes with irritation. How something so insignificant was causing him so much turmoil was beyond him.

He ended up bringing it back upstairs. Riley sniffed the fabric as he passed her - she thumped her tail eagerly on the floor as she smelled your scent. Once again, Simon was jealous of the dog being able to act so carefree with you - he knew for sure that if he tried sniffing your flannel, he would be a certified creep. Or, worse yet, he might not care, and wouldn't be able to stop himself.

He tossed it over the back of the couch, planning on forgetting you had ever even worn it. He dropped himself onto the cuhions with a groan. Riley immediately took her place in her bed, just a few feet away from him. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned on the telly, flicking through the channels until he found some action/drama that caught his interest. He watched it boredly, drowning himself and his thoughts in the drone of the movie.

Suddenly, Riley barked. Simon looked at her - his gaze was met with hers, mouth opening and tail thwapping against the wall.

"Hmm?"

She let out an impatient, garbled sound. She lowered her head to the edge of her bed, still looking at Simon.

He shrugged internally and looked back at the screen. He settled further into the cushions and let his eyes fall shut. He thought about maybe drifting off then and there - the din of the telly might help keep the nightmares at bay...

Riley barked again, making Simon jolt. He snapped his head towards her - she was standing at the foot of the couch, ears back and panting.

"Wha' d'you want?" He asked in an annoyed tone.

She barked again, shifting her weight from one paw to the other.

"Ya need to go out?" He asked. He stood from his seat, only for Riley to scamper back to her bed and plop down on it. She looked at him expectantly.

Simon huffed. "'M not following." He dropped down to the sofa again. Riley groaned, making a scene of dragging herself out of the bed again and walking over to Simon.

"Now, don't you go 'n start aga-"

She cut him off with a shrill yap.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew it couldn't be time for her medication - you had just given her some at nine. But he was entirely stumped on what she was trying to communicate to him. Was she hungry? She wasn't usually, after she'd had dinner... did she want to play? But... she was acting like she wanted to go to bed.

"What are you on 'bout?" He asked, leaning down to ruffle her fur. She dodged his hand and backed up a bit, yowling out a frustrated sound.

He scoffed. "Fuckin' hell..." he mumbled, pulling his phone from his pocket. Only one way to fix this, he thought, as he tapped through his contacts, until he landed on yours.

He stared at the picture for a moment, familiarizing himself with the details he had spent so long ogling at: your smile, your damp hair, the curve of your cheekbones, the way you marked your spot in your book with your fingers-

Riley barked again, making Simon scowl.

"A'right- just hush." He ordered, sending her a stern glance as she shuffled back to her bed. He started the call - he felt unusually nervous, his gut twisting as he listened to each ring on the line. Maybe he really was whipped, he thought.

Eventually, the call picked up. His shoulders tensed as he heard shuffling on the other end of the line.

"... m... hello?"

Fuck. You sounded tired- no, you sounded like you were still asleep. He quickly pulled the phone away and checked the time; it was nearly two in the morning. Of course you'd been asleep.

"Uh... hey." He said, mentally cursing himself. "Shit, I, uh... didn't even consider you might be asleep."

"No..." You mumbled - were you even awake at all? "No, iz fine... yeah..."

Simon waited a moment, expecting you to say something else - but you didn't. Eventually, he heard the soft sounds of your breathing again.

"Hello?" He asked cautiously.

"Up... 'm up... what's up?"

Simon shifted in his seat, slightly ashamed that he hadn't put two and two together and ended up calling you so late. "Right- jus' a quick-"

Riley barked again, staring at Simon impatiently.

Simon covered the speaker to his phone and sent her a harsh glare. "Oi! 'M workin' on it, hush!"

Your sleepy giggle wafted through the phone and into Simon's ear. "Sweet baby..."

Simon's breath caught in his throat, and he coughed nervously. She means the dog, the fucking dog, you idiot.

"Uh, sorry- jus' got a question for ya."

"Hmm?"

"Well- she's acting a bit funny," he stared at Riley and held a cautioning hand up as she shifted her weight and whined, "she's runnin' around and yellin' at me. Keeps gettin' in 'er bed, then comin' back like- like she wants somethin'. I have no bloody idea. Just wonderin' if she was doin' this with you."

"Oh, yeah..." Simon could hear your smile through the phone, and he desperately tried to push the image of your tired face from his mind. "She wants her blanket."

Simon paused. "She- she's got her blanket."

"No- she wants you to tuck her in."

"She wha' now?"

You laughed again. "You need to tuck her in her bed. She's right under the air vent and she gets cold."

He looked back at Riley. She was now sitting down, mouth closed, as if agreeing with what you said. He scoffed, rising from the couch and shuffling towards her. She slowly thumped her tail as he approached.

"Never 'eard of a dog gettin' tucked in..." he grumbled. He grabbed the felt blanket behind her, swaddling it around her body. She groaned, slowly blinking at him in an appreciative manner.

"Ya spoiled, you hear me?" He said quietly, tucking the blanket in between her and the cushion of the bed. She sighed happily, completely unaware that he was insulting her. She licked his cheek when he bent down close enough, and he grumbled and wiped the spittle away.

You giggled in his ear - Christ, you've got to stop doing that, do you have any idea what it does to him? - as he sat back down on the sofa. "All better?" You asked.

"Seems t' be-" he replied, watching Riley as she settled into her cocoon, "ya turnin' her into a princess."

"Well, she is one." You quickly replied - Simon could hear you stretching your limbs, followed by a long exhale.

He wanted to talk to you all night. Hearing you prattle on was like a balm to his jagged mind. But he knew he couldn't. You were half asleep, after all.

"Well, tha's all I needed- oh, and you, uh..." he grabbed your flannel off the back of the sofa. "Y' left your flannel here."

"I did?"

"Yeah. The green one."

"Oh, bullocks, I knew I-"

"Who are you talking to at this hour?"

Simon felt his heart stop when he heard the other voice. It had hit him like a train, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His brain went into overdrive, thinking of the worst possible scenario. Break in? Crazy stalker? Murderous ex? "Y' aright, love?"

"Simon." You said, and he couldn't tell if you were talking to him or someone else. Were you trying to warn him? To ask for help?

"Talk to me."

"Who the bloody hell is Simon?"

"My client, ya git."

"Oh- sorry love-" Simon heard more shuffling, then a kiss, followed by a grunt from you. He let himself linger in the confusion of what was going on - but, in the back of his mind, he understood it completely.

"Got me right in my bloody eye-"

"Oh, hush."

"Left your flannel at his house."

"My green one?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you were using the grey one!"

"Well, I was, Tyler, and then I wanted the green one!"

"That's it - I'm stealin' all ya knickers tomorrow."

You laughed again - this time. The sound nearly shattered Simon. He felt like it was wrong to hear you laugh so sweetly.

"Well, uh-" he was speaking before he even realized it. "You can pick it up- or I'll drop it off- or, uh, I can drop it- I mean, I'll-"

"You can shove it in the closet until next time, if that's alright?" You said, yawning shortly after.

Simon paused. He needed to get it together. "Yea, that'll work. I'll let you go then - sorry to call so late."

"It's fine, really. But let me know when you'll need me again, ok?"

"'Course I will. I'll send you an email, as usual."

You scoffed. "I know you said we should only text for emergencies, but you can text me if it's something small, Simon."

"Right, will do. I'll text you."

"Is everything ok?"

"It's fine. You should sleep. I'll talk later."

"Ok. Goodnight, Simon."

"G'bye."

He ended the call, staring at the screen for a moment, until your contact photo faded away. He leaned his head back and sighed. His thoughts suddenly came rushing back - except this time, they were about you. How he should have expected you to have a partner. How could you not? You were so bright and bubbly, of course you'd be snatched up. He felt stupid for thinking you'd be single. Maybe this whole idea of you falling for him was stupid. Maybe this was better - he was saved from rejection, even if this situation stung painfully within his chest.

Whatever. Hopefully, your personality would finally drive him over the edge of annoyance and anger, and you'd be more of a nuisance to him. That'd be the easiest way you could let him down.

He looked at the flannel in his lap. It's not even hers. He thought. He crumpled the fabric into his hand and flung it behind him.

Riley's head snapped up at the movement, and she floundered out of her bed, chasing after the flannel.

"Riley, no- don't-" he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he heard her scuffling across the floor. He kept his eyes closed as he heard her come trotting back, before she stopped at the edge of the couch.

She whined and tilted her head. Simon opened his eyes and looked at her.

"That's not even hers, ya ninny." He said. He looked away and turned up the telly, hoping that everything in his head would just disappear into the back of his mind.

Riley stepped around Simon's feet as she carried the flannel in her mouth. She then hopped onto the couch and settled next to Simon, depositing the (now damp) clothing onto his lap. He grunted as she laid her head down on his leg, whining and flattening her ears. She looked up at him with curious eyes, slowly thumping her tail on the cushion.

He exhaled through his nose. He stared at the flannel, then back at Riley. "Ya really like her, eh?"

She licked her lips and blinked, sighing through her nose.

He chuckled, patting her side and looking at the ceiling. "I know. I do too." He closed his eyes.

"We'll be alright, girl."

Next ->

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[stevesgother]

omg horny blurbs. struggling to take horsedick harrington! ‘its too big baby’

we all know i'm a horsecock steve harrington truther so here ya go anon :)

18 + below the cut

You knew your boyfriend was well endowed, to say the least. A pair of too-tight, blue Levis hates to see Steve Harrington coming. This was your first time seeing it without that pesky denim barrier.

You'd felt it, sure, after three months of heavy petting sessions in the driver's seat of his Chevy. But tonight, things had escalated past the point where the grinding comes to a halt and Steve drives you home like the gentleman he is.

Steve is being anything but a gentleman right now.

Your dress is hiked up past your hips, revealing a pair of baby blue underwear. Not the sexiest pair you owned, but it hardly mattered when Steve started to teasingly slide them down the meat of your thighs.

"You're shaking, honey. Is everything okay?" He asks you so tenderly as he gentle holds your trembling palm in his larger calloused one.

"Yeah-- Yeah, I'm just," a pause, "you're really big." You admit sheepishly.

"We'll go slow, baby, I promise." He reassures you as the hand that's not holding yours strokes the side of your cheek. He kisses you languidly as his thick digits circle your clit tantalizingly slow, "Can I touch you here?"

You nod a little desperately and he hums in acknowledgment. His middle finger breeches your entrance and he curls them inside of you; perfectly bumping your most sensitive spot in a way you've never been able to on your own.

You keen and Steve takes the opportunity to suckle on the spot just below your ear, eliciting a whine from you. You decide you should probably return the favor, even if it's hard to focus on anything except the way Steve is fucking you on his fingers.

His cock is frankly huge. It's not only long but girthy too, with an upward curve. The thought alone of fucking yourself on it makes your mouth water as you wrap a hand around his shaft. He gasps in surprise at the motion, evidently not expecting it. You run a thumb over his leaking, red slit and he groans your name.

"Want you to fuck me, Steve," you whisper against his lips as he begins to kiss you again.

"You're sure?"

You nod fervently and that's all the confirmation he needs to line his head up with your sopping heat. His hands find your hips, lifting you and then slowly lowering you back down until you're able to take him to the hilt.

It's a big stretch. Any partner you might've had in the past could've never prepared you for the sheer size of Steve. It burns deliciously as you're being sheathed with him, but it quickly becomes overwhelming.

"You're too big, baby, I can't"

"Shh," he shushes as he pulls you flush to his chest in a strong embrace, "yes you can, sweetheart, I've got ya'"

Once you're fully seated on him, it's as if you were made to fit. The thatch of hair on his pubic bone provides the perfect amount of stimulation on your throbbing clit as you begin to ride him.

"God-- you're so tight, fuck," he's already panting and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't a bit of an ego boost.

His words give you the confidence to bounce on him a bit faster. You can feel him in your stomach, practically rearranging your guts. Every time you sink back down, his ruddy head hits that perfect spot inside you, sending you hurtling towards your orgasm embarrassingly fast.

"Good girl," he groans, "keep bouncing on my cock, baby, that's it."

Whereas before you were more reserved in how vocal you were during sex, now you're crying out without restraint; chanting Steve's name like a prayer.

When he feels himself becoming close, he swiftly moves a thumb to play with your sensitive button-- needing to get you off before himself at least once. His own personal rule.

"Oh! Yeah, Steve-- don't stop, don't stop--" you're all but shouting now.

"I won't, baby, I won't--" he assures, "that's the spot, huh? Can feel you squeezin' me-- ah!"

You come with a cry of his name, your hands tangled in his chestnut hair, giving Steve the greenlight to let himself finish. Both hands grab you abruptly to life your hips enough for him to pull out.

With a few more quick strokes of his cock he's coming with his head thrown back and several heady grunts. You lean forward to kiss and nip at the constellation of beauty marks along his stubbly neck. They're one of the first things you'd noticed about him when you met.

"Was that good for you?" He pants as he comes back down to Earth with you.

You stroke the side of his face with your hand, pushing the damp hairs that stick to his forehead away before kissing the spot where they had been, "That was amazing, Stevie."

He gives you a short peck to your plush and waiting lips before once again pulling you in. You stay just like that, flesh to flesh, and count the stars until the sun rises again to replace the moon.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch.5 child's play

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

nav. masterlist

Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you. 

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan. 

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip. 

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress. 

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips. 

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down. 

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone. 

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed. 

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.” 

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old. 

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door. 

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together. 

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…” 

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him. 

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

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[mommyslittlebird]

A Room of Your Own

Married!WandaNat x Reader

Summary: After getting kicked out of your college dorm, you find yourself living with two older strangers. It was never meant to be anything more than a temporary arrangement born out of necessity, but as the semester continues, something new starts to grow.

CW: Homophobia, Getting Kicked Out, Slow Burn (No sex or romance in this chapter), Age Gap

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I’m back from the dead, though probably not in the way you wanted or expected. I had to take a (not so) little break from one-shots and smut for the time being for some personal reasons. But I’m still finding ways to write and enjoy myself. Some of you probably have already seen this. It’s been up on AO3 for a while now. But I figured I’d post it here too.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing any sort of slow burn, so we'll see if I can resist having them all fall into bed together in the first few chapters. I also don't know how to write an introductory chapter without making it boring as shit, so I at least made it short to spare you all. I promise it gets better.

Chapter 1 of A Room of Your Own

You sat, knees curled to your chest, on the curb in front of what used to be your dorm. It was late, a little after midnight, and absolutely pouring rain.

Three days. You had been in the dorms for three days and you had already been kicked out. You’d expect some pushback, going to a religious college and being queer, but nothing like this. Nothing like getting kicked out of your dorm in the middle of the night because you were making your roommates uncomfortable. You’d tried so hard to get them to like you. They seemed sweet. Not your type of people, sure, but you thought the three of you could get along just fine.

As it turns out, they were actually so repulsed by your presence they couldn’t even wait until classes started to kick you to the curb. Literally.

“Hey!” Somebody shouted from the doorway, holding a large umbrella. You turned to see her approaching and shrunk back in on yourself. You didn’t think you could handle anymore ridicule that evening.

When you didn’t respond or turn to face her, she sat down next to you, sure to cover you with the umbrella as well. She spoke softer now. “Hey. I’m sorry for what happened back there.”

You still didn’t speak, but you looked at her now, partially soaked from where she was sitting next to you on the wet concrete. “I’m Yelena.” She reached her hand out for you to shake.

You shook her hand. “Y/N. Nice to meet you.” You recognized her from your dorm floor, though you’d only ever seen her in passing.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” she smiled softly. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”

You nodded, turning your gaze back to the raining night.

“Do you have anywhere to go? For tonight I mean. I would offer you to stay in my room, but…” she turned back to the door of the building. You both knew you couldn’t go back in there.

You shook your head. You hadn’t even thought where you would stay tonight. You could always stay in your car. It wouldn’t be the first night you’ve slept in the backseat. Still, the sopping wet clothes would surely make for a morning full of rashes and blistered skin.

Yelena sighed, looking at the ground. She was silent for a moment before she came up with an idea. “Let me call my sister. She and her wife have a massive place not so far from here. They’ll have a bedroom or two to spare.”

Before you could form a rebuttal of any sort, Yelena pushed the umbrella into your hands and dashed back inside. You tucked the umbrella between your leg and the crook of your arm, resting your head on your knees.

It wasn’t very long before Yelena was by your side again. “Okay she’s on her way. She’ll be here in about 10 minutes.”

You didn’t look at her, facing intentionally in the other direction. You felt so horrible. You just wanted to curl up and disappear. And now you were going to be picked and taken to the home of some random classmate’s sister? You try to formulate a response, a reason that you will be fine on your own, but there was nothing. It was either this or the back seat of your 1993 Toyota Corolla. Somehow, you bet Yelena wasn’t going to take that as a reasonable explanation as to why she should call off her sister.

“Are you coming with me?” You asked weakly.

She sighed and put her hand on your back. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I will if you really want me to.”

You finally turned to face her. She didn’t look thrilled at the prospect of leaving. She was probably a freshman. It was her first couple days in the dorm too and everything was so new and exciting. The last thing she wanted to do was go back home with her sister.

“No it’s okay,” you responded. The last thing you wanted was to inconvenience someone else tonight, and it’s not like a freshman you hardly knew was going to bring you much solace anyway.

She patted your back. “They’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Before too much longer, Yelena stood up at the sight of headlights. She waved her arms in an “over here” motion. The car approached Yelena, stopping hard in front of the curb you were sitting on. The tires splashed you in rainwater and mud. Yelena winched, walking back towards you to usher you into the car.

She led you to the passenger door, popping it open and peeking her head in. “This is your girl,” she said, pointing back towards your soaked, mud covered figure. She motioned for you to sit.

You hesitated. The car looked nicer than any you’d ever been in before. The idea of ruining the nice leather seats made you want to shrink further into your ball of shame.

The woman in the driver's seat noticed your hesitation, but didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned with her seat. “Come on in,” she ushered. “Get out of that rain.”

You handed the umbrella back to Yelena, reluctantly taking a seat in the car. Yelena peaked her head back in to say “take care of her,” before closing the door and scurrying back into the dorms.

The woman looked at you, reaching up to pop on the overhead light. The sight of her in the light nearly took your breath away. She looked oddly familiar. Maybe you’d seen her around town. You sharply inhaled as the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen leaned over the console towards you. She frowned. “Oh you poor thing!” She reached out to wipe off your face. You cringed when you saw the mud smear across the sleeve of her jacket. “Let’s go home and get you cleaned up.”

You nodded and she turned the light off before pulling out of the parking lot. You fought the urge to curl up in her passenger seat, fearing further ruining her seats with the dirty bottoms of your shoes. When you didn’t speak, she offered up an introduction of her own. “My name is Natasha. I don’t know what Yelena’s told you, but I’m her sister. My wife and I have a place not so far from here.”

“I’m Y/N” you managed.

“A friend of Yelena’s?” She asked.

You chuckled a little. “I suppose you could say that. We met about 20 minutes ago.”

Natasha chuckled. “Of course. Leave it to Yelena to seek you out after such an injustice.”

You bit the inside of your lip. You wished you had heard the phone conversation so you could gauge just how much she knew.

It was as if Natasha could read your mind when she started next with the details of the phone call. “Yelena told me you got kicked out of the dorm by the other girls. They were uncomfortable because you were gay? I never expected to hear anything like that happening in 2024, but I guess I stand corrected.”

Well, that was one way of telling the story. At least Yelena had left out the peeping Tom allegations that got you chased off the floor by everyone who had to share a bathroom with you. They weren’t true, of course, but the fact that you’d made people so uncomfortable they were willing to name you a pervert without second thought made your skin crawl.

After a short, largely silent car ride, Natasha pulled the car into a garage. You hadn’t gotten a good look at the house, both because of the dark and getting lost in your own thoughts, but even by the state of the garage you could tell it was nice.

Natasha got out of the car, unlocking the door and leading you into the kitchen. You took your shoes off by the door, then decided to take your socks off too to avoid tracking muddy water through the house. The woman took your hand and guided you to the stairwell, then to a bathroom. She turned on the lights and opened up a cabinet, pulling out fresh towels and washcloths.

“I’ll get you some fresh clothes and sheets. The bedroom is through here.” She opened a door that revealed a sizable bedroom connected to the bathroom. You could hardly believe this wasn’t the master suite she’d led you too.

She turned to face you, exhaling as she once again took in your disheveled state. She picked some errant pebbles from your tangled hair and wiped it out of your face. “Now,” she started, “do you need anything else before I let you get cleaned up and off to bed?”

You shook your head. “No. You’ve done enough already. Thank you, Miss Natasha, for letting me stay here. It means a lot. Truly.”

“Of course.” She smiled. You didn’t notice the blush that crept onto her face at the formality. She swiped away the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes again. “We wouldn’t want a sweet girl like you sleeping out in the rain.” She booped the tip of your nose. “Now promise you’ll wake me or Wanda up if you need anything at all. We’re just in the room across the hall. Can’t miss it, it’s the only door on that side.”

You nodded slowly. There was no way in hell you were going to wake her or Wanda, who you assumed was her wife, for any reason. But you nodded anyway.

She smiled and rubbed your chin. “Good girl. Now go get cleaned up and try to get some rest.”

As she set off to her room, you hoped the mud had covered how pink your cheeks had gotten. You headed to the shower, sliding open the glass door and turning on the water. You decided to hop in with your clothes at first, hoping to get enough of the mud off that you could wear them again tomorrow. Then you wrang the clothes out and threw them over the door to dry. You took your time in the shower, letting the hot water warm you up from the cold rain. By the time you were finally clean, you grabbed the fresh towel Natasha had left for you.

Your clothes were, obviously, still soaked save for your underwear. You were thankful for the little time it had taken the thin silky material to dry. You put them back on and wrapped yourself in a towel before entering into the bedroom.

There was a maroon hoodie at the end of the bed. It had been there since Natasha first showed you the room, so it clearly wasn’t laid out for you. However, in lieu of other clothes, you decided the owner probably wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it for the night. You slipped the soft fabric over your head. It was much too big for you, going down to almost your mid thighs while the sleeves dangled over your hands. But it was, quite possibly, the softest material that you’d ever felt. It felt simultaneously brand new and freshly washed.

You crawled up into the queen sized bed, slipping under the covers. You held the fabric of the hoodie close to your face. It smelled nothing like the musky bergamot of Natasha, which had been equally as entrancing in its own way. This was distinctly different. It smelled soft and comforting like lying in a meadow on a spring day. The comforting smell and warmth, along with your own exhaustion, quickly had you asleep.

[koriangguk]

✧ vegas temptation

✧ synopsis: Falling victim to yet another failed situationship, you're consumed by dread. Maybe love is something you aren't destined to experience in this lifetime? Or maybe you just need a little getaway and a friend who'll accompany the series of impulsive decisions this would entail. Thankfully, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?

✧ genre: fake dating au, heavy on smut with a sprinkle of angst

✧warnings: cream play, nipple play, hickeys, different positions, protected/unprotected sex, public nudity (?), tongue-fuck, fingering, denied orgasm, overstimulation, ice play, vibrator play, rope play, candle burns (?) ✧recommended artists: Chase Atlantic, The Weeknd, Daniel Di Angelo, Doja Cat

Everyone knows heartbreak is a pain in the ass, but an intriguing one at that.

It pulls on your heartstrings and fuels the desperate longing to feel whole again. Releasing a tide of emotions that follow suit as your consciousness drowns under the shattering pieces of broken promises, white lies and everything in between. 

But, nothing compares to the ego that awakens within you as you enter a phase of recovery, embarking on the infamous villain arc. One that is flamed with rage and hunger for revenge. 

Because, let's be honest, a good heart can only take you so far until everything comes crashing down again. Before you are back at square one, like clockwork, slaving after hours just to receive the bare minimum. 

So, fuck that and fuck Kim Jaewon. Stupid cunt. 

Honestly, if it wasn’t for Jungkook and his Black Amex you wouldn’t even bother brushing your hair, let alone worry about which lacey lingerie you should pack for a week in Vegas. 

The Entertainment Capital of the World. 

Well, it certainly would be entertaining to put two best friends into a couple’s suite and hope that nothing happens. But, as Jungkook’s dilated pupils watched you swallow your feelings with another shot of tequila it didn’t really seem like he was the one betting on that deal. Quite the opposite actually. 

“Honestly, screw him, y/n.” he muttered, running his fingers through those dark locks as the two of you waited for your flight at the boujee business lounge. 

In contrast to his trust fund upbringing, you felt like the biggest elephant in the room venturing into the wrong tax bracket. So, the potential side effects of the alcohol running down your esophagus were primarily to calm the nerves of sticking out like a sore thumb, and only slightly to forget your ex. 

“Have you been listening at all? I kind of already did.” your lips pursed in annoyance, words barely stringing together. 

You weren't annoyed at Jungkook, per se, more so at yourself for letting it get this far. For intoxicating your system at the crack of dawn, as at least twenty pairs of eyes watched the two of you bicker. But, come on, surely it was 5 pm somewhere. Listen, when everything is already going wrong, how damaging could another bad decision be? Especially, in the form of a liquid. So, please, everyone keep your judgement to yourself. 

“Well, then that might just be the problem.” 

“Huh?” your gaze furrowed, brows knitted with confusion. 

“You’re fucking the wrong guys, y/n.” Jungkook whispered with a sly grin. 

“Right. And you, I’m assuming would have been my Mr. Right, of course.” you scoffed, jabbing your finger into his chest before looking back up at his heavy gaze. 

“Give me a week and we'll see.” he teased, using his foot to pull on your chair, bringing your tipsy form closer until inches were separating your parted lips from his. 

Playful would have been the best word to describe your relationship with Jungkook. You never crossed the line between friends and lovers but were in very close proximity to doing so. So, when you poured your heart out, crying on his shoulder the night Jaewon’s cheating scandal broke out like wildfire, a part of Jungkook was pleased by the news despite how selfish it might have looked. 

Simply put, he was never a fan of your boyfriends. How could he be when the mere sight of another man beside you triggered every cell in his body, charging a visceral reaction that was forced to be suppressed, kept on the low because you were never his to be territorial of. 

Never his to be taken care of. To be loved. Oh, if only you knew how badly he wanted it. How badly he wanted you. 

Only, you did know. Because, like a sickening aftertaste, the tension between the two of you always lingered. But he kept his distance, and you played on with the denial. Praying for each other’s downfall, you hoped that the other would finally cave in, and say the three words that would change the trajectory of your relationship forever. 

But, as time went on, his fetish for your love only grew stronger and an innocent crush matured into a craving. One that could no longer be suppressed no matter how much you tried to push it away. To push him away. 

Jaewon was your last straw. The breaking point that made you question whether you were destined to be loved in this lifetime. And although he caused you pain, you didn’t know if you should thank your ex or curse his whole bloodline, because now that he was gone there was no point in denying that Jungkook and you were more than just friends. 

Lathering the shea butter on your damp skin, your vision was hazy, body seemingly recovering from the hot shower. But, after that 15-hour flight surrounded by multiple throw-ups and diaper changes, a scrub-down was a must. So, there you were standing in front of the full-sized mirror in the pink pyjama set your mom gifted you specifically for this trip. Whatever that meant.  

See, Jungkook had a way with words. It was his charm. His sensual demeanour could have an innocent bystander wrapped around his finger with one plea. A practical skill that most likely fueled your mother’s spending on the silk fabric, but one that you have yet to fall victim to. 

His mind games were strong, but your stubbornness was stronger. He didn’t mind, actually, kind of adored it. The dominant side of you, the way you could shut him up with one glare. It made loving you so much more thrilling, worth fighting for every sigh, every eye roll, every sneer. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” you blurted at the man's reflection as his palms rested on the top of the doorframe, darkened orbs bluntly eying your body from top to bottom. 

“Like what?” Jungkook grinned, nibbling on his lip rings.

“Like you want something.” you whispered with a furrowed gaze, spraying some leave-in conditioner into your detangled hair. 

“Hmm … but, I do want something.” he teased, inching closer before you felt his bare chest hit your back, veiny hands holding onto your waist. 

“I bet. I made rules you know? In case you thought I’d give in so easily.” you murmured, turning to face him as your fingers slightly tugged on the towel wrapped around his hips. 

“Is that so?” he chuckled softly, eyes flickering down to your plump lips. 

“Mhhm,” you nodded, feeling his hands slowly travel up your top as your own intertwined behind his neck. 

“Did I break any already?” he rasped into your ear, teeth grazing against the soft skin. 

Your mouth curled into a mischievous sneer as you whispered, “Just one.” 

However, before he could respond, your fist was already gripping the chains on his neck, gently pulling him toward the king-sized bed that was covered in rose petals and a complimentary note from the hotel. 

Happy honeymoon, lovebirds!

Loosening his towel, Jungkook watched as you straddled his lap, pressing your hands onto his chest before innocently glancing up at his parted lips. You could have sworn a drool dripped down his mouth, but it might’ve just been your ego flying through the roof as you felt his racing heartbeat.   

“May I?” you teased, slowly rocking your hips against the friction beneath you. 

“By all means, love.” he purred, tracing his hands back onto your thighs before flinching at your sudden slap. 

“Hands off, Jeon. Rule number one.” you giggled at the sudden change in his demeanour. The way his furrowed gaze searched for the audacity that could’ve potentially justified the words that came out of your mouth. 

“You’re fucking with me, right?” he groaned, jerking his head back. 

“No?” a small pout worked its way over your innocent face, eyes fluttering. 

“Baby, please.” 

Was he begging? Or were your knees buckling from the fatigue? Whatever. Keep focus, y/n. 

“I warned you, Koo.” you winked, brushing your lips over his before a knock on the door interrupted the little moment. 

“Room service!” a man’s voice echoed from the corridor. 

I guess the sight of Jungkook’s sculpted chest completely hazed your mind as you struggled to recover even the slightest recollection of ordering food. 

“Coming!” you yelled out, planting a kiss on the tip of his nose until his hold on your waist tightened. 

“No, stay.” he murmured, voice laced with desperation. 

“I have to open the door, Jeon, that's kind of how it works.” 

“I like you here.” he grinned, tugging on your bottom lip before leaving a soft spank on your ass. And, as you glanced back at his heaving chest you feared that rule number one was going to be short-lived. 

“Do you like it? They didn’t have Carbonara but I thought shrimp fettuccine would have sufficed,” you said with slight hesitation which shortly dissipated as you watched him empty the dish clean.  

“Trust me, y/n. You being here has already made me a happy man. Everything else is just a cherry on top.” Jungkook smiled, rubbing his tattooed hand along his jaw before reaching for the last plate cover.

“Honestly, I wanted to thank y-,” your words were interrupted by his sudden whine. 

“No dessert?” his brow arched slightly. 

“Oh. Shoot, sorry. I … I didn’t think you’d want any.” your words came out as a stutter, eyes frantically searching for the phone. 

“Mhmm, but I would kill for some cheesecake.” he sighed with a pout, loosening the buttons on his shirt. 

Changing out of the cotton fabric that covered his cucumber-scented body roughly five minutes ago, Jungkook decided to parade the same pyjama set as you. And, now that the two of you were matching, it was clear what your mom’s mission was all along. 

“Yeah, okay, let me just call them b-” 

“No need.” 

“Huh? So, you don’t want dessert?” 

“I do.” he teased, keeping his voice low and calm. 

“Okay, let’s cut back on the riddles, Jeon. Do I call or not?”

But, there was no answer. Instead, he simply excused himself from the table before walking towards the red couch, patting the seat next to him. 

“Come here, y/n.” his voice lowered to a rumble, darkened orbs filled with nothing but lust. 

“Why?”

“If I can’t touch you let me at least taste you.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. Hands fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. 

“I beg your finest pardon?” you scoffed from pure disbelief, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Baby, you have at max three seconds to walk your fine self over here before I grab you myself.” 

“Was that a threat?” you glared at his sly expression, hooded gaze colliding with yours. 

“One …” his tone demanded a response. 

But, you didn’t move. Not even an inch. Aggravating the tension. 

“Two …” 

Who does he think he is? Grab you myself. Claw machine sounding ass. 

“Three …” 

You chuckled, giving him the nastiest eye roll before your muscles tensed up, seeing his 5’8 gym rat physique actually get up. 

“Okay! Alright! I’m coming.” you blurted in sheer panic, fixing your bottoms before doing the walk of shame toward his pleased self. 

Reaching out his hand, you pushed it away, reminding him of the deal. 

“Right here, love.” Jungkook grinned, marking his chest as a target for your landing. 

What a tease. 

“You know what, Koo. Fine. If you want to play games, let’s play a game.” you hissed with a wink, stripping out of the silk fabric before dropping it on his lap.  

“Fucking hell.” a growl escaped his parted lips as his eyes raked over your glistening skin, admiring every inch, every crevice of your body. 

He was needy, but you were too busy rummaging through the mini-fridge to notice how desperately he longed for your attention. 

“Perfect!” you exclaimed, shaking a bottle of whipped cream before straddling his lap once again. Except this time, in your black lingerie. One that was initially reserved for Jaewon’s eyes only until he decided to fuck you over. Now, the privilege was all Jungkook’s. 

“Y/n.” he breathed out heavily, creased forehead resting on yours. 

And, as you pressed your thumb against his chin, your index finger slid along his bottom lip, feeling his tongue lick the cream off your skin. 

“Just like that, baby.” you gave him a tiny nod of reassurance, glancing up at his doe-eyed gaze. 

Fuck, submissiveness never looked this good. 

“Y/n, please.” he whimpered, hands hovering over your skin before you finally gave in, intertwining your fingers with his. 

Unclasping your bra, you let his veiny hands rest on your perky breasts, decorating your hardened nipples with his special treat. 

“Taste me,” you purred, tugging on his bottom lip as his mouth opened in a half-moan. 

He was wasted. Big time. 

“You sure?” he had to double-check, searching your lustful gaze for approval. 

“I am. Enjoy your dessert, Jeon.” the words simply rolled off your tongue, like you’ve been meaning to say them all along. And, as you ran your fingers through his messy hair, slightly tugging on the ends, the built-up need within you slowly inched up, begging for his touch. 

Cupping your breasts in his burning palms, he peppered your skin with sloppy kisses, teeth grazing against the pinks of your sensitive nipples before biting down on the flesh. 

“Fuck” you hissed with your head jerked back. 

Sucking off the creamy delight that painted your swollen tits, his pierced tongue licked its way up to your parted mouth, marking your neck with purple hues of possession. 

“Koo,” you rasped against his ear, shamelessly rocking your hips back and forth as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten. 

“I know, baby.” he muttered, gently lifting your frail body before pinning it against the armrest of the red couch. 

Giving a little shake to the whipping cream that dropped from your hands, Jungkook levelled his face to yours, drawing a line down your stomach. And, as he watched you arch your back from the cold sensation, a spark of temptation danced in his darkened eyes, cheeks flushed from the sinful whimpers that escaped your parted lips until the warmth of his tongue eased the pain. 

Moving down the center line, his fingertips traced your ribs, a faint outline of which poked with each breath you took. In and out, your diaphragm was working overtime, trying to keep up with the suffocating demand. One that only fueled Jungkook’s cravings, as he tugged onto the black lace of your lingerie. 

“Compliments to the chef,” he whispered teasingly, gaze softening at the arousal that had your panties all drenched. 

“Jeon, stop staring, this is so embarrassing.” you whined, voice muffled by the pillow that covered your rosy cheeks as you desperately attempted to close your legs and simply vanish. 

“It’s not my fault someone forgot to order dessert.” he grinned, pulling you closer as his hold on your thighs tightened, before hooking your ankles over his bare shoulders. “Now, please. Let a man eat.”

Admiring your sleeping features, Jungkook cuddled into your chest, planting soft kisses on your marked neck before dozing off inside your arms until the buzzing of your phone startled him right out of REM. 

No Caller ID

“Y/n?” a man’s hesitant voice echoed in his ear. 

“She’s sleeping.” Jungkook muttered, gently stroking your knuckles with his thumb. 

“Who is this? Jungkook, is that you?” Jaewon exclaimed, evidently more on edge than before. 

“What do you want?” 

“Can I talk to, y/n?” 

“As I just said, she’s sleeping.” Jungkook’s tone was low, aggravated by the need to repeat himself.

“Well, can you wake her up?” 

“She seemed quite worn out after the fifth round, so I probably shouldn’t.” a grin curled his lips as you rested your head on his heaving chest, completely naive to the unfolded event. 

“What?” 

“Lose the number, Jaewon.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth, ending the call before tossing your phone on the edge of the bed. 

Feeling the warmth of the sun rays peeking through the silk curtains, you stretched your sore body, patting the mattress next to you before noticing Jungkook’s absence. 

“Mmhm?” you pouted, reaching for your phone to check the time. 

There’s no way you slept through breakfast and he didn’t wake you. Based on your history of ‘hangryness’ and emotional breakdowns that followed suit he should know better. 

7:45 am 

“Jungkook?” you called out, covering yourself with the sheer nightgown before knocking on the bathroom door, waiting for a response. 

Nothing. 

“Jeon?” you called again, this time scanning the living room. Everything looked frozen in time, left untouched from the night before — the empty bottle of wine and the stained glass marked with your red lipstick. But still, no trace of Jungkook.

Going back into the bedroom, you quickly brushed your teeth and changed into a baby blue sundress, opening up the blinds to let in the natural light.

“Shit!” you yelped, widened eyes staring at Jungkook’s sculpted back. 

Sliding the door just enough to pass by, you felt the goosebumps spread across your body as the morning breeze danced around your bare skin. 

“Oh, I thought you quit.” you gasped, brows knitted with confusion as you looked over his broad shoulders, the smell of cigarettes lingering between you two. 

“Yeah, well, I thought you cut ties with Jaewon. So … I guess we’re both disappointed.” Jungkook exhaled sharply, turning his head halfway to take in another puff. 

Something was off, he seemed distant, cold to the touch. 

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked, hands fidgeting with the straps of your dress. 

“He called last night.” 

“Why? Is he okay?” 

And, that’s when he erupted. Back pressed against the railing, his body turned to face your timid form, before muttering, “Do you care?”

“Well, no? But … if we stopped talking and you suddenly called I would want to know why,” you hesitated with the explanation, analyzing the way his forehead creased with each word.  

“Mmhm, except I never treated you like a scrumbag, did I?” Jungkook swallowed, rubbing his tattooed hand along his flexed jaw. 

“True, but you never pursued me either.” you snapped back, arms crossed over your burning chest. 

“This is a prank, isn’t it?” he scoffed maniacally, eyes twitching from disbelief. 

“I’m dead serious, Jeon. Why did you keep your distance if you wanted me so badly?”

He didn’t answer. Letting the two of you stare at each other for a split second, before finally taking a step forward, following your pace as your back hit the glass door. Leaning his hands on either side of your head, his broad shoulders hovered over you.

If this was his attempt at scaring you or somehow making you feel beneath him, it was not working. Because, as his face levelled with yours, your gaze furrowed, never breaking eye contact. Standing firm on what you said. 

“Y/n, I kept my distance because I wanted you so bad.” 

“Kind of dumb, don’t you think?” you pouted with a slight head tilt. 

By now, Jungkook was ready to combust. The adrenaline running through his veins prepared to set off his fight or flight response at any given moment. 

“Okay. Fine. How about I pursue myself into your ass, hmm?” he growled, tone demanding a response. 

“I'd looove to see you try.” you teased, eyes fluttering with innocence. 

“On the bed.” 

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, tongue poking the side of your cheek. 

“You heard me. Chop chop, baby girl.” Jungkook rasped against your ear, nibbling on the soft skin as a final warning. 

To be honest you really didn’t know what you were getting yourself into until his fingers ran down your spine, hands tightening their hold on your hips as his growing boner pressed against the arch of your ass. 

Fuck, he was serious. 

“From now on, I’ll be so close you’d have to scrub my scent off you,” he sneered, gently sliding his two digits over your folds, fingertips coated with your wetness as you remained on all fours. 

“Koo,” you whimpered, tugging on your bottom lip.

Parting your throbbing cunt, his pierced tongue licked your clit, thumb rubbing it in small circles before your moans grew louder. More desperate. More needy. Hazy mind unable to fathom the calmness you radiated just a few minutes ago. 

“Hold on.” he whispered, reaching for his wallet to grab a strip of condoms before ripping one open with his gritted teeth. 

“Tell me if this is dumb enough for you.” Jungkook teased, mouth sliding along your tensed jaw as he rubbed his erection against your clit, resisting the urge to fill you up right then and there. 

It was clear that your words irked him but he had to remain calm enough to not hurt you, forcing his annoyance to cool off with a verbal mock. 

And, as he slowly pushed himself in, whimpers escaped your parted lips, hands gathering up the white sheets into knots, feeling his cock stretch its way in against the warmth of your walls. Cautious of his pace, he needed you to adjust, pulling in and out until there was enough lubrication for the growing friction to feel good, painless.

“Koo,” you whined again, gasping for air as his lips left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your back. 

“Just like that, baby. You’re doing so good.” Jungkook reassured, softening his hooded gaze upon hearing your sweet sounds. The ones that poisoned his thoughts and invaded his dreams all those countless nights. 

Clenching your clit on his throbbing length, his vision grew in and out of focus, hissing at the tingling sensation. 

“Fuuuck, y/n.” he moaned, fingers digging into your ass, before jerking his head back. 

Picking up his pace, Jungkook went faster and harder. Slamming himself into you, until his twitching tip touched the surface of your cervix, making your toes curl in ecstasy, as a trail of juices ran down your trembling thighs. 

“Jeon, I'm gonna faint.” you cried out, feeling your throat tighten, lungs stripped away from air.

“Just a little longer, baby.” he muttered, chest heaving up from exhaustion. 

He was close. Very close. So, as your walls clenched around him for the sixth time, he could have sworn his dick melted. Became part of your anatomy, no longer attached to his person. Surrendered with a white flag. 

“Y/n, look at me.” he urged breathlessly, snapping the rubber off his sensitive dick before giving it a few more pumps, squirting his cum onto your displayed tongue, completely exasperating in the process.  

“So,” you swallowed obediently, “now that you've pursued my ass you'll quit smoking, right?” your doe-eyed gaze glanced up at his darkened orbs that watched you lick the dripping cum off his tip as you sat on your knees. Aware of his response, you brushed your lips against his, inviting his tongue inside before his burning body collided with yours, smiling into the deep kiss. 

“Well, technically, I didn't go near your ass. Not many girls like that.” Jungkook teased, tucking a few curls behind your ear.  

“Many girls, huh? How many?” you murmured, tracing the tattoos on his arm as your bodies laid skin to skin, staring at the white ceiling. 

“About five.” he answered, a bit too quickly for your liking. 

“Five? You man whore.” you scoffed with disgust, quickly retracting your hand from his. 

“Sometimes six, depending on which video loads first.” his nose scrunched in a tiny giggle once he saw your mouth drop, expression left dumbfounded as the dots in your head began to connect. 

So, that's what kept him busy all this time. Porn? Phenomenal. 

“Next time, I'll just stay curious.” you sighed, half disappointed yet, also relieved. He might’ve just lied straight to your face but sometimes, it's better to simply pick your battles, choosing to live in blissful ignorance than the chaos of reality. Whatever his reality entails.

[syluslnd]

I'm so curious how you'd write about it if the reader shyly bought up to Sylus that she's kind of turned on by the idea of vanilla cnc/perma consent? Not violent or anything dark like that, just blushing to Sylus that she thinks it'd be kinda hot if he didn't bother to ask, he just bent her over the kitchen counter by surprise or woke her up going down on her and without warning type thing...

when you confess to sylus you’re into cnc

The evening had been quiet but your heart raced as you sat beside Sylus, trying to find the courage to voice the thought that had been swirling in your mind for days. You shifted nervously on the couch, chewing on your bottom lip as he leaned back, one arm draped casually over the backrest, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to your racing thoughts.

"Sylus?" your voice came out quieter than you intended, making you swallow hard and try again. "There's something l've been wanting to tell you..."

He turned his head to look at you, eyebrow raised in that teasing way he always did.

"Hmm? What's got you so worked up, kitten?" His voice was soft but there was always a hint of a smirk there, like he knew exactly how to make you nervous.

Your stomach flipped. "It's kind of... embarrassing."

That caught his attention. He shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction as he studied your face. "Go on” he said, voice low and coaxing. "I'm listening."

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, heart hammering in your chest. The words felt heavy, like they would make the room implode the moment you said them. But you took a deep breath and forced them out. "I think it's... kind of hot if you just... you know, did something to me without my permission.Like..." You could hardly believe you were saying this. "If you just, I don't know, went down on me without asking."

The silence that followed made your pulse ring in your ears. Sylus just watched you, his expression unreadable, making you want to curl into yourself out of embarrassment.

Why did you say that? Why would you ever-

A slow, amused smile crept onto his face and he tilted his head. "Without asking, huh?" His voice was rich with teasing, his gaze suddenly sharper. "Is that so?"

You nodded, cheeks burning as you looked down, too shy to meet his eyes. "Yeah... I mean,only if you're okay with it" you quickly added, nerves getting the better of you. "It's not, like, mandatory or anything..."

Sylus chuckled, leaning in closer, his hand lifting your chin so you had no choice but to look at him. "I didn't think you had that in you, sweetie. I'm impressed." His thumb brushed over your bottom lip before he pulled away, leaving your heart pounding.

"We'll see."

You tried to shake off the nervous excitement that conversation left you with but the days that followed were oddly quiet.

Sylus didn't bring it up again and you convinced yourself maybe he'd just forgotten-or maybe he'd decided against it.

It was fine, you reasoned, nothing to stress over. But part of you kept wondering if he had tucked that request away for later.

It had been a long week and the comfort of your bed had never felt more inviting. You drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep, curled under the blankets, the soft hum of the night filling the room. Everything was calm, until something warm and soft brushed against your skin. You stirred, still half-asleep, your mind slow to register what was happening.

But the sensation deepened. A wet, warm mouth moving deliberately between your thighs.

Your eyes fluttered open in confusion, your body already responding to the pleasure before your mind caught up. Your breath hitched and you tried to move, but something held you in place. That's when it clicked-Sylus. His hands gripped your hips firmly, mouth working in slow, languid motions, teasing you in that maddening way only he could.

"Sylus?" you breathed out, your voice barely a whisper, still groggy with sleep. A mix of shock and pleasure shot through your system as you tried to comprehend what was happening. "What-what are you-"

He didn't stop, his lips curving into a smirk as he kissed the inside of your thigh, his voice low and dangerously amused. "Isn't this what you wanted, kitten?"

The realization hit you like a wave-your confession from days ago. He hadn't forgotten. Your face burned with both arousal and embarrassment, the heat spreading through you as his mouth returned to its relentless work. "I-I didn't think you'd actually..." Your words stumbled over themselves, lost in the rising pleasure.

He hummed against you, sending a fresh wave of sensation coursing through your body. "Oh, I remember everything, sweetie” he teased, his voice a delicious mix of playful and possessive. "You wanted me to take control. So here I am, giving you exactly what you asked for."

Your hands gripped the sheets as you tried to hold onto some semblance of control but it was slipping fast. Sylus knew exactly what he was doing, drawing out every moan, every shaky breath from you with precision.

He was in charge and you loved it.

"Sylus... I-" You couldn't even finish the sentence, your mind fogged with pleasure.

His hands tightened on your hips, holding you in place as his mouth worked you closer and closer to the edge. "Shh" he whispered between kisses, his voice a soft command.

"Just let me take care of you."

Your body obeyed, surrendering to the pleasure as Sylus brought you higher and higher. There was no asking for permission, no hesitation- just him, fulfilling your desires in a way only he could. He pulled you right to the edge, his mouth and hands pushing you until you finally fell over, gasping his name as the pleasure washed over you.

As you lay there, trying to catch your breath, Sylus kissed his way back up to your lips, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He hovered above you, brushing a stray hair from your face, his voice still laced with amusement.

"Did I get it right, kitten? or do I need to remind you again?"

You couldn't help but smile, even through the lingering haze of pleasure. "You... definitely got it right."

[natsaffection]

Hii I’ve been a fan of your writing for awhile and loveeee it 🫣. I’ve never sent a smut request before but could you do something like, jealous nat with a totally oblivious to flirting reader. Like nat goes all “I’m gonna show you who you belong to” with reader and they’re like “no keep going I like this side of you” include like overstimulation and bondage with spanking plssss🙏🏻

LMAO it’s been rattling in my mind for a bit😭. If you do decide to write it, thank you so much!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Lesson. | N.R

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Bondage, spanking, ending, begging, vibrator use multiple orgasm, overstimulating, Kinda possessive Nat 🧍🏻‍♀️

Word Count: 1,9k

A/N: I said it once, I’m saying it again..Overstimulating is my weakness..🫠

The party was in full swing at Avengers Tower, the room filled with laughter and conversation. You moved gracefully through the crowd, your charm and wit drawing people to you like a magnet. You were a natural speaker, effortlessly making jokes and compliments that made everyone smile.

Natasha, leaning against the bar, kept an eye on you. Your friendly nature was one of the things she loved most about you, but tonight a hint of jealousy gnawed at her. She noticed how people's eyes lit up when you spoke to them, how their smiles lingered a bit too long.

As you chatted animatedly with Wanda, making her giggle with one of your clever remarks, Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly. She trusted you, of course, she did, but something primitive and possessive flared up inside her.

"You always know how to light up a room," Wanda said, grinning. "What's your secret?" You laughed, your eyes sparkling. "Just being myself, Wanda. It's all about confidence and a good sense of humor." Wanda nodded appreciatively. "Well, you certainly have plenty of that."

Natasha's grip on her drink tightened. She loved seeing you happy and in your element, but tonight your interactions with others felt a bit too intimate. As you moved on to chat with Carol, Natasha decided she had seen enough.

You were just making Carol chuckle. "So, Carol, tell me more about your last mission. Did you really take out an entire fleet on your own?" Carol laughed. "Well, I had a bit of help, but yeah, most of it was me." You playfully nudged her. "Of course, it was. You're amazing."

As you moved back towards the bar, Natasha grabbed your arm and pulled you close. "Are you having fun?" she asked, her voice low and controlled but with a sharpness you couldn't miss.

You smiled and tilted your head. "Just being friendly, Nat." Natasha's grip tightened slightly. "Friendly, huh? I think you've been more than just friendly." Your eyes sparkled mischievously. "Are you jealous?" Natasha's eyes darkened, a smile playing on her lips. "Should I remind you who you belong to?“

Your breath caught, excitement flooding your veins. "Oh, I like this side of you," you whispered, leaning closer. "Remind me then, Natasha."

Natasha's green eyes burned with intensity. "You think you can flirt with anyone you want?" she murmured, her lips brushing your ear. "You belong to me. Don't forget that."

You shuddered, a mix of anticipation and desire flooding your senses. "I belong to you, Natasha. Always." Natasha's eyes softened slightly, but the intensity remained. "Good. Because I don't like sharing."

"I don't either," you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. Then, with a cheeky grin, you added, "But I love seeing you jealous. It's kind of hot."

Natasha's expression hardened, and her grip on your arm became more possessive. "Oh, you're asking for it now," she growled, pulling you even closer.

Your heart raced, but you couldn't help it. "Go on. I like this side of you," you teased, your voice dripping with challenge.

Natasha's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and desire. "Is that so?" she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Then you'll get exactly what you've asked for."

Instead of heeding Natasha's warning, you pulled away with a playful grin. "We'll see about that.." you said, diving back into the crowd.

Natasha watched, her jaw clenching as you continued mingling with people. You made your way to Maria, complimenting her new tactical suit, and then to Cho, laughing over a shared joke. Every interaction was accompanied by lingering touches and meaningful glances in Natasha's direction.

Your eyes frequently sought out Natasha, gauging her reaction. You could see her knuckles whiten around her drink, the possessive fire in her eyes growing. When you finally reached Pepper and praised her leadership skills, leaning a little too close, Natasha had enough.

Natasha's anger exploded. She stormed across the room, grabbed your arm, and pulled you away mid-sentence from Pepper. "Natasha!" Pepper called out in surprise. "Excuse us, Pepper," Natasha said, her voice tense. "I need to have a word with my girlfriend."

Your heart pounded with a mix of fear and excitement as Natasha dragged you into a secluded hallway. Natasha pressed you against the wall, her eyes blazing with anger.

"You think this is a game?" Natasha hissed, her face just inches from yours. "You think you can flirt with everyone and get away with it?"

Your breath caught, but you couldn't suppress the smile on your lips. "I knew it would get a reaction out of you," you said, your voice breathless. "And I loved every second of it." Natasha's grip on your arms tightened. "You belong to me. No one else has you."

"I know," you whispered, your eyes locking onto Natasha's. "And I wouldn't have it any other way." Natasha's eyes darkened further, a steely determination in her gaze. "You need to learn not to challenge me," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Before you could respond, Natasha spun you around and began marching you towards the elevator. You rode up in tense silence, the tension between you palpable. As the doors to their floor opened, Natasha pulled you firmly towards her room.

Natasha shoved the door open and practically dragged you inside, slamming it shut behind her. She turned you around, pressing you against the wall with a fierce look in her eyes.

"You think you can challenge me and get away with it?" Natasha hissed, her face inches from yours. Your breath quickened, your excitement mingling with a hint of fear. "Natasha, I—"

"Enough," Natasha interrupted, her voice commanding. She pulled you away from the wall and led you to the bed. "You need to be reminded who you belong to."

Natasha sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you over her lap in one swift motion. Your heart pounded as Natasha's hand rested on your backside, the anticipation building.

"You will count," Natasha instructed, her voice firm. "And you will thank me for each one." You nodded, your voice trembling slightly. "Yes, Natasha."

The first smack came down hard, the sound echoing in the room. You gasped, the pain sharp and immediate. "One... Thank you, Natasha."

Another smack, harder this time. Your body jerked at the impact. "Two... Thank you, Natasha.."

Natasha's hand continued to come down, each smack leaving a burning sensation. Your breath hitched with each one, your voice growing shakier.

"Three... Thank you, Natasha..."

"Four... Thank you, Natasha."

By the tenth smack, your resolve broke, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Ten... Thank you, Natasha..." Natasha paused, her hand resting gently on your reddened skin. "Do you understand now?" she asked, her voice deep and intense. "You belong to me. No one else."

"Y-Yes..," you whispered, your voice filled with submission and arousal. "I understand. I'm sorry.."

"Good." Natasha helped you to your feet, her expression softening slightly. "Now, for your next lesson." Natasha positioned you on your back. She retrieved a set of soft but secure restraints from the bedside drawer and bound your wrists to the headboard.

"Do you remember your safeword?" Natasha asked, her eyes locking onto yours with a serious look. "Yes," you replied, your voice firm. "It's 'red.'"

"Good," Natasha said, her voice softening for a moment. "If it gets too much, you use it." Natasha's fingers glided over your body, teasing and caressing. "You've been a naughty girl," she murmured. "And naughty girls need to learn a lesson."

Your heart raced as Natasha's hands roamed over your body, teasing and caressing. Natasha's touch was both gentle and commanding, driving you almost mad with anticipation.

Natasha leaned down, her lips brushing your ear. "I'll make sure you never forget who you belong to, Detka..I’m going to love this.." she whispered.

Natasha then retrieved a small vibrator from the nightstand, turned it on, and let the soft hum fill the room. She brought it to your most sensitive spot, teasing and stroking with expert precision. You gasped, your body arching in response. "Natasha... please..." you moaned, your voice filled with need.

"Not yet," Natasha said firmly, increasing the intensity of her touch. "You'll take everything I give you." Natasha continued her relentless teasing, bringing you to the edge of release only to pull back at the last moment. You writhed against the restraints, your body begging for release. "Natasha, P-Please!!"

"Not until I say so," Natasha replied, her voice unyielding. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Natasha allowed you to tip over the edge, your body shuddering with the force of your release. Natasha continued to touch you until you were a quivering, gasping mess.

"One more for flirting with Wanda," Natasha whispered, bringing the vibrator back to your overstimulated spot. Your eyes widened, your body tensing as you were driven towards another climax. "Wait, please, I can't..." you whimpered, your voice breaking.

Natasha paused, leaning close and looking deeply into your eyes. Her hand gently stroked your hair as she spoke softly but firmly “You know you can always use your safeword, right?” You nodded, your breath catching. “Yes..”

“Good,” Natasha said, her voice softening for a moment. “But until you do, you’ll take everything I give you.” With that, she resumed her relentless teasing, the vibrator pressing against your sensitive spot. Your body convulsed with another orgasm, your voice breaking into a cry. Natasha didn’t relent, the vibrator continuing its torturous work.

“And this one is for Carol,” Natasha continued, her voice deep and commanding. “You’ll remember this.” You struggled against the restraints, your body trembling with the intensity of your third orgasm. Tears welled in your eyes, your voice hoarse from moaning.

“F-FUCK! Please! I-I get it..!” you whimpered, your voice barely more than a whisper. “One more for Pepper,” Natasha said, her tone unyielding. “You wanted my attention, and now you have it.”

Your body was a trembling wreck, your senses overwhelmed as Natasha drove you to another peak. The overstimulation was almost too much to bear, your mind reeling.

Natasha slowed her movements slightly, letting you catch your breath but never completely stopping. She lay beside you, her hand gently stroking your hair and keeping the vibrator in place.

“Do you know why I’m doing this?” Natasha asked quietly, her voice filled with a mix of authority and care, her eyes locked on yours.

“Y-Yes, please im s-sorry..” you stuttered, your body trembling with sensitivity.

“Tell me,” Natasha demanded, her fingers continuing their relentless teasing. “B-Because I… I flirted with them, to..make you jealous..“ you gasped, your voice shaking.

“That’s right,” Natasha said, her voice softening slightly as she brought you to another climax. “And you’ll remember it.”

Your body convulsed again, your screams growing louder as Natasha held you on the edge, not letting go. Each wave of pleasure was more intense than the last, pushing you beyond your limits.

“Please, I can’t… it’s too much..!“ you begged, tears streaming down your face. Natasha leaned down, her lips brushing your ear. “You can always use your safeword,” she whispered, her eyes boring into yours.

With that, Natasha drove you to another climax, your body convulsing violently. Natasha held you close, grounding you as the intense pleasure washed over you.

When Natasha finally stopped, she turned off the vibrator and released your wrists, pulling you into a tender embrace. “Do you understand now?” she whispered, her voice soft and loving.

“Y-Yes, yes i do, i-I’m sorry..” you replied, your voice hoarse. “I understand. I’m sorry..”

“Good,” Natasha said, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Never forget it.” As you lay together, Natasha continued to stroke your hair, her eyes filled with a mix of love and authority.

[drmaddict]

Bunny Prince

Summary: When Aegon tangles with a playful sorcerer, his life is turned upside down for once. It was nice that his wife still loved him, but how was he supposed to be any kind of respectable as a bunny-prince?

Word count: 2.261

Warnings: fluff, mentions of smut (mostly humping), use of (y/n)

Inspiredby this: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGde3RFYN/

Aegon acts before he thinks. Always had. His impulse control was simply non-existent. But he was lucky that his wife usually took care of that by now. She distracted him or stopped him. She made sure that he calmed down and was busy enough, not to do anything stupid.

Alicent was so happy about this, that she made sure that her new daughter-in-law's every wish was read from her lips.

But even she had her limits. At some point, Aegon was without her. No matter how much he became attached to her and sought her closeness.

At some point, like today for example, his friends dragged him back to flee bottom. Where he drank. Not exactly a little. Where he partied. Not exactly quiet. Where he messed with someone. Someone who had his own sense of humour. With a sorcerer, that is.

The very same one looked at Aegon, who was drunkenly mocking him, and playfully tapped him on the nose.

"Don't worry little bunny. I know exactly what you are." He smacked the heel of his hand against Aegon's forehead. He staggered back. His head suddenly went completely blank. His companions caught him. He hung limply in their arms.

"Let's show the world what you really are. Because it's definitely not a dragon." The sorcerer laughed and blew a powder in Aegon's face. "Sweet dreams."

No one knew what they could do. The maesters realised immediately, that this wasn't their job and the priests didn't even know such a thing was possible.

(Y/n) sat next to her husband on the bed and looked at him, as he looked at himself in a mirror in shock.

"I can never be around people again.", he whispered in shock.

"Aegon it's not-"

"I'm going to be a laughing stock!", he groaned and threw the mirror away.

She stroked his back reassuringly. "You're still the prince."

"I have bunny ears (y/n)! Bunny ears!", he shouted.

She couldn't deny it. The long ears were impossible to miss. They stuck out towards the back. (Y/n) vividly remembered that this was a sign of stress.

"And I love you anyway.", she said simply and kissed him on the nose.

He grimaced slightly, but immediately refrained from doing so, as he suspected it would only make him look more like a bunny. Annoyed, he fell back into bed.

"Ow!", he groaned as he landed wrong on one of his new ears.

"At least you'd have time to attend to your studies now.", Aemond jested, just as (Y/n) entered the room.

Aegon tried to ignore him. And yet, annoyed, he reached for a goblet of wine. He had barely put it to his lips when he threw it away, grimacing and holding his nose.

"What's wrong?", (Y/n) asked immediately, alarmed.

Aegon shook his head, as if trying to shake something off. "It burns.", he whimpered.

"The wine?"

He nodded.

They heard Aemond laugh. "Is your little nose too sensitive?"

Aegon's gaze darkened. Suddenly he stomped one foot on the ground with full force. Shocked, Aegon looked at his own foot.

"Aemond, we'll see you later.", said (Y/n), who saw how upset Aegon looked.

He just kept laughing.

"Get out!" shouted Aegon. Stomping his foot again.

(Y/n) went to Aemond and quickly pulled him out of the room. It was nice to finally see him laugh, but this really wasn't the best situation for it. She closed the door and turned back to Aegon. He was already curled up on the bed with his hands over his eyes. His body was shaken by little sobs.

She pulled his head onto her lap. Carefully positioning his ears in a comfortable position.

"Shh."

"I'm pathetic."

(Y/n) waited patiently in her chambers for Aegon. She had all but urged him to fly out with Sunfyre. The two needed each other. It would help him m, to feel more like himself again. He had withdrawn. Since Aemond had surprised him, he hadn't let anyone but (Y/n) and his mother see him.

Time with his dragon was what he needed now.

He had hidden his hair, and therefore his ears, under a cap when he had left the room. That had been several hours ago now. Here and there she saw Sunfyre flying over the rooftops of the city, performing playful loops and turns. She smiled.

Aegon came through the door to her in a better mood and kissed her briefly on the lips. He grabbed some of his clothes and was on his way out again.

"Where are you going?", she asked, confused. First you couldn't get him out of the room and now he didn't want to stay?

"I stink of dragon. I'm going for a bath."

"You usually bathe here."

"I'll be right back."

"Aegon... What's wrong?"

"I just want to bathe alone, like always!", he groaned, annoyed, and pushed his foot into the floor again. He groaned in annoyance and rolled his eyes at this new reflex.

She nodded. She didn't want to push him any further. "I'm sorry. Of course. You're right." She didn't want to spoil his good mood right away.

He nodded and disappeared, probably into his private room.

When he returned, he hesitantly sat down next to her. "You're sad.", he realised.

She sighed. "It's okay.", she smiled bravely. "It's just...," she started. "Well, since we've been married, there hasn't been a day when you haven't walked around this room shamelessly naked. You've never fussed with those robes... You never holed yourself up on the other side of the bed. You liked to bathe here and let me wash your hair." She looked at his worried face. "I understand that all this is weighing on you, but... I miss you, too.", she confessed quietly.

Aegon pressed his lips together and nodded in understanding. He reached for her hand.

"I don't exactly feel... well, like a husband, at the moment.", he confessed, looking down at the floor in embarrassment. "I just tried to hide, what I can hide."

She looked at him in irritation.

He sighed. "I don't know, if we'll ever find a solution to this dilemma... All right."

He stood up and turned his back to her.

"Aegon?"

"I forbid you to laugh.", he pressed out and unfastened the cloth belt around his robe.

The fabric fell down his back. She gently scrutinised the muscles beneath the milky skin. Her gaze travelled downwards, where she expected to see his rump, strong from dragon riding, but before she got there, she saw something else.

She blinked in surprise. A fluffy puff. A cosy, fluffy puff in the same silvery white as his hair.

Aegon looked over his shoulder. When he saw her staring, he immediately turned round.

"No! Wait! I just... wasn't expecting this."

He threw the robe back on.

"It's cute.", she blurted out.

"I'm not cute!", Aegon insisted and stomped to his feet. "This stupid leg!", he grumbled, ruffling his hair.

"Hey. Hey. Hey." (Y/n) placated him immediately. She pushed him onto the armchair and simply sat on his lap. She stroked his hair. "You're still Prince Aegon. The dragon rider with the strongest bond to a dragon that there ever was." She kissed his forehead. "We'll find a solution to everything else."

Aegon dropped his forehead to the crook of her neck. "Couldn't that damned sorcerer have chosen a more frightening animal?"

"Shh." She kissed the crown of his head. "No one needs to know but me."

"I love you.", he murmured.

"I love you.", she replied.

"Aegon?!"

He sat up jerkily as she nudged him roughly.

He wiped his eyes and, as he had been doing lately, his nose. A quirk that (Y/n) usually found simply endearing.

"What?", he grumbled.

"What do you mean? What?", she huffed. "I thought you were dead!"

He looked at her in astonishment. "I was just asleep."

"And you couldn't be woken up. Were you even breathing? Because it certainly didn't look like it. If you ever do this to me again-"

She felt his lips gently on hers. "I'm fine.", he said simply.

She took a deep breath. "I was scared, okay? Who knows what this spell will do in the long run."

Aegon grumbled. "I thought we knew that by now."

"Now don't be like that." She stroked his head between the ears. He immediately closed his eyes with pleasure. Over the last month, he had adopted more and more of the behaviour of a bunny. He had hyperactive phases. Even more than usual. For half an hour, he was a storm on two legs and would dismantle, albeit accidentally, almost everything in his path and then just fall over and sleep. Sometimes he would lovingly push (Y/n) to get her attention. He enjoyed nothing more than having his ears gently stroked by her. His puff wiggled when he was excited. He munched. He munched his food like a rabbit.

His already high sex drive was boosted to such an extent, that (Y/n) could no longer keep up. By now, whenever he could, he simply lay on top of her and rubbed against her leg, while she read and scratched his head, until he came often enough to fall asleep.

And now, apparently, he slept like the dead.

"You know what I mean.", she grumbled.

He lolled onto the bed. "It's all right.", he mumbled, then suddenly stood up.

Without warning, he put his nose in the crook of her neck and sniffed.

"What are you doing?", she asked in astonishment.

He only let out a pleasurable hum.

He walked in circles around her. He looked at her mischievously, then jumped towards her and knocked them both over so that they landed on the bed.

"I need you.", he whimpered, his eyes suddenly glazed over.

"Aegon?"

"Please." He bit the back of her neck lightly. Sniffed her hair. Licked her skin. "I need you.", he whispered again.

(Y/n) had an inkling of what was to come. But nothing could prepare her for the hours that followed.

Aegon lay absolutely still next to her. He had simply fallen over like a sack.

Hours, the whole night, he had... rammed. There was no other way to put it. He had taken her. Quickly and easily. Over and over and over again. She had got her money's worth, but at some point she had to change things. She had offered him her hand, until even that was sore and he simply rubbed against her leg again. He hadn't been able to form a single word. He lay on top of her. He drooled unhindered against her shoulder, where he had buried himself. Panting, moaning, whimpering. Until at some point he suddenly collapsed and fell asleep.

Now, the next morning, (Y/n) could hardly move. Everything hurt. She was sore and wanted to bathe in ointment when there was a knock at the door. She sighed in annoyance.

She pulled the sheets over herself and at least enough over Aegon's rump to cover his puff.

"What?", she called out.

Someone from the Kingsguard came into the room, saw their condition and immediately turned round. "The... The sorcerer has been found.", he explained. "He is willing to release the spell." He bowed with his eyes closed and left the room.

(Y/n) slapped Aegon awake. The gentle way wasn't going to work anyway.

"What?", the mumbled.

"They found the sorcerer. Get dressed."

They went into a smaller chamber. Aegon made sure to hide his head under a hood.

When they entered the room, the sorcerer was already waiting for them with a grin.

"Hello bunny, how are you?", he grinned. Aegon's foot stomped on the floor. He groaned in annoyance. "I don't know what I did to deserve this, but PLEASE undo it."

The sorcerer grinned. "No problem."

He blew a powder in Aegon's face and watched with a smile as he lost consciousness. He didn't bother to help (Y/n) try to catch him.

Aegon recovered after less than a minute of unconsciousness. He grabbed his hair. Not rabbit ears. Normal human ears. His hand shot to his rump. Thank the gods. No puff.

The sorcerer grinned. "All you have to do is ask. If you don't mind my asking." He gestured in the direction of the door.

Aegon simply waved it off and continued to run his hands over his ears.

"Not so fast." Aemond stepped out from a corner. "You attacked a member of the royal family and for that-"

A blast of powder hit him square in the face. No one caught him as he went down.

The sorcerer held out a pouch to Aegon.

"Decide for yourself, when he will be redeemed. I'm leaving the city.", he said casually.

Aegon didn't have the heart to do anything but nod. "Thank you?"

The sorcerer nodded, bowed to (Y/n) and walked away.

They looked back at Aemond.

"Are those whiskers?", asked (Y/n), surprised.

Aegon looked at his little brother. "With ears and a tail to match.", he grinned.

(Y/n) looked at him reprovingly.

"Oh come on.", he sighed

"One week. No longer."

"A month. I had to endure it longer."

"Two weeks. Thats my last word.", she said.

"Fine."

Aemond on the floor opened his eyes, looking sly. Something came out of his throat that sounded almost like the mewing of a kitten.

"This will be the best two weeks of my life.", Aegon grinned.

(Y/n) sighed. "Gods help us."

[aeralux]

"About You" - Jacaerys Velaryon

Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

Summary: War breeds loss and grief. Yet, even knowing this does not make it any easier to be apart from your love. Every night spent crying as you hoped for his safe return... perhaps then you could leave, just the two of you, forever.

Warnings: angst; mentions of death and blood; war; hurt and comfort; smut; breeding kink; very soft and loving explicit scene

Words: 8k

Notes: No description of the reader and no use of (y/n). English is not my first language. This is also perhaps the softest and most loving language I have written in a smut, so we'll see how this goes. Do not read if you do not feel comfortable with the warnings. I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

You had a dream—perhaps it was more of a nightmare—one that clawed at your heart. Jacaerys's not returning to you after the battle was a dark and heavy thought that haunted you. It seemed all too possible, a shadow lurking at the edge of your mind. In that restless unconscious state, you clung to him tighter, as if your grip could keep him safe. This could very well be your last night together.

There he stood, clad in shining armour, but it did little to mask the scene's horror. His eyes—wide and glistening—held a mixture of fear and tenderness. Blood stained his face and armour, a stark reminder of the violence surrounding him. It was his blood, and it terrified you. "I'll find you," he whispered, his voice breaking as he fell into your embrace. In those fleeting moments, his gaze held yours. As if you were the sun and the moon, all the stars in the sky. Passing away with a soft smile on his lips.

You jolted awake, your body slick with cold sweat, your cheeks damp with tears that had spilt in the night. The bed felt empty without him, and a deep ache settled in your chest. Outside, Vermax's roar echoed through the air, a fierce cry that sent shivers down your spine as you watched them soar above the towers, dark wings stretching against the dawn sky. You raised your hand in a silent goodbye, hoping against hope that he could somehow feel your love calling him in the vastness. But he was gone now, and the weight of that truth pressed heavily on your heart.

The sky was war.

Not just the kind waged with steel and fire, but the type that opened the world—winds howling like the old gods had turned on each other, clouds splitting with roars and flame. Above the chaos, Jacaerys clung to Vermax’s saddle, fingersblistered from heat and strain, his jaw set with resolve.

He had trained for this. He had studied the skies, learned how to dive, and how to read the air like scripture. But nothing—nothing—could prepare him for what war truly looked like from the back of a dragon.

The air smelled of scorched flesh and burning banners. Below, ships were reduced to drifting skeletons, fire blooming across their decks like deadly flowers. Vermax roared beneath him, not in challenge—but in pain.

There had been a blow. Arrows had come from the clouds, their sharp points digging into Vermax’s side before they’deven seen it coming. The scream Vermax let out then was like nothing Jace had ever heard. And still, he fought. Still, they wheeled and burned through the sky, young and furious and too brave for their own good.

Jace’s ears rang with the sound of wings. His shoulder throbbed—he'd taken a crossbow bolt in the scramble, the pain white-hot and searing. But none of that mattered, not really.

What mattered was the thought that pierced through all the chaos.

“If I fall, I’ll never see her again.”

Not his crown. Not his cause. You.

He pulled Vermax around sharply, feeling the dragon falter beneath him. One wing lagged. Blood streamed in long red ribbons behind them. Still, Jace reached forward and pressed his hand against the hot scales at the base of Vermax’s neck.

“Come on, boy. Just a little further. We can do this.”

Vermax gave one last push, flames licking at the edge of his mouth. But then came the second hit.

Arrows like spears. A shriek of agony. Jace barely had time to shout before they were spinning—air, blood and water rushing all at once. Vermax’s wings wrapped around him in instinctive defence, curling in. And Jace’s last thought before the world turned black was not of glory or thrones or dragons.

It was of your hand, slipping from his.

And the whisper he had sworn: I’ll find you.

You waited and waited, the silence thick like fog in the air. Pacing in his chambers, each step felt heavier than the last as you clung to the hope that he would burst through the door at any moment. Your heart raced at the thought, imagining how he would run into your arms, ready to whisk you away from all of this. But the hours turned into days, and now it had been two long days since he had left. 

Rhaenyra, his mother, was already deep in mourning, her grief hanging like a dark cloud over the castle. You could see it etched on her face, a mix of sorrow and determination, her plans growing darker as she desired to avenge her eldest son.

But in your heart, you could not accept the loss. He had promised he would return to you—that he would find you again. How could he break such a vow?

Desperation fueled your spirit, leading you to climb onto your dragon and soar into the skies. You flew to the cliff where you had spent countless joyful days as children, laughing and sharing secrets as the sun dipped below the horizon. The memories flooded back—those innocent promises of forever, spoken in whispers filled with dreams, so naive and full of excitement. 

Now, standing on that cliff, the wind whipped around you, carrying the scent of salt and the echoes of laughter from a time before this heavy sorrow. How you wished you could go back to that moment, to feel his warmth beside you once more, to see his smile just one last time.

He woke to the scent of crushed herbs and seawater, salt crusting his lashes, his throat raw from breathing in brine and smoke. The pain came in waves, each breath tugging at the torn skin along his ribs. His shoulder was bandaged, and his leg was splinted. The room was dim, with stone walls and driftwood beams above, and the window opened to the crash of the tide.

And at the foot of the bed: a man with grey in his beard and sorrow in his eyes.

“You’re lucky,” the man said softly, “that the gods let you wash up here instead of dragging you down with that poor beast of yours.”

Jace tried to rise. Pain answered.

“Stay still. You’ll tear the stitches.”

The man moved closer, laying a cool hand on Jace’s forehead. The touch was practised. Familiar. Maester’s hands.

“I know who you are,” he said gently. “No use pretending. There are not many Targaryens left who ride dragons, and fewer still who fall from the sky into the sea like dying stars. And that sigil on your breastplate—what’s left—well.” A small, dry smile. “Let’s just say it doesn’t take a Citadel archmaester to piece it together.”

Jace’s lips cracked when he tried to speak. “My dragon—”

“Gone,” the man said. “I’m sorry.”

Over the following days, the maester—Marcyl was his name—cared for Jace like a father might a wounded son. He crushed willow bark and poultices, set bones, and read aloud when Jace drifted in and out of sleep. He said little of his past, but his hands gave him away: ink-stained fingertips, the worn chain still tucked beneath his robes, dulled from sea air and years of silence.

He spoke often to Jace about not going back.

“You're young. Strong. The gods spared you. Take that gift. There are ships from Lys that stop by the bay below. Slip aboard. Go east. Grow a beard. Learn a trade. Live.”

But Jace's eyes always turned to the sea, haunted and stubborn. “I made her a promise.”

Marcyl sighed, sitting back in his chair. “And if you return now? You’ll be captured and or used. Or killed. The boy you were may be dead, but the prince you are is a currency of war, and you are in debt.”

“You said you served the crown once.”

“I did,” Marcyl said. “And then I saw what crowns do.”

Jacaerys sits in silence, lost in thought, as days drag on. He knows that if he flees, he might save himself. But the idea of leaving you behind breaks his heart. He thinks of your smile, so bright and warm, and the way your eyes hold a world of understanding. He misses the softness of your hands, the comfort they bring. Without you, life would feel empty, and he can’t bear the thought.

Finally, after struggling for days, he finds the strength to rise and walk. He approaches the maester, determination in his voice. “I’m going back... back to her,” he says firmly. “Maybe we can escape to Essos together someday. Who knows what awaits us?” In his heart, he clings to the hope of a new life with you, filled with love and endless possibilities.

The old Maester doesn’t try to stop him. He simply nods, eyes shadowed, like he’s known all along that the boy would choose you over hiding.

“You’ll need this,” Marcyl says, pressing a thick wool cloak into Jace’s hands. Inside its folds: dried meat, a waterskin, a small vial of milk of the poppy. And a coin—old, Valyrian. “For luck. Or leverage.”

They part in silence, the wind cold and damp with salt as Jace steps into the boat at dawn. He rows until the tide takes him, and sails once the wind favours him. Every muscle burns, and his shoulder still aches, but he pushes through it. What’s pain to a man who’s already lost everything but one person?

Nights are the hardest. Alone, wrapped in damp sails, he dreams of you—sometimes as you were, laughing by firelight, other times as you might be now, broken with grief. He whispers your name into the dark, hoping some old god still listens.

And then, finally—land.

Back at Dragonstone—the war continues. Your heart is brittle, barely holding together. Your eyes are red and sunken from crying and lack of sleep.

You lie in his bed, the sheets still faintly carrying his scent, a bittersweet reminder of the warmth you once shared. His pillow, soft and familiar, is often stained with your salty tears, each drop a testament to your heart's aching sorrow.

The only thing keeping you from spiralling completely into madness is the milk of the poppy that the Maester has been offering you. Its numbing effects provide a fleeting escape from the relentless pain.

The sight of Baela and Rhaena watching you, their eyes filled with worry, barely registers in your foggy mind. Their fears no longer matter. Not when the love of your life lies beneath the waves, entombed with his great beast, leaving you lost in a world that feels dark and hollow without him.

Still every morning and night, you go out to the sea. Hoping to even see a ghost of him. Some sign that he is still out there, watching you, looking for you. He will find you.

The fog is thick that morning. It rolls in heavy from the sea, turning the world into shades of silver and ash. You stand at the cliff’s edge like you always do, the hem of your cloak dancing in the wind, eyes scanning the horizon for something you’ve never truly believed you'd see.

A shape breaks through the mist.

At first, you think it's your mind playing tricks again—like the other times you’d sworn you’d seen wings, or heard his voice in the crash of waves. But this time, it moves closer. Steadier. Realer.

You don’t breathe.

The figure staggers as it climbs the rocky path, shoulders hunched, limping. A dark cloak clings to him, soaked through, hood drawn up. Your heart races violently, painfully. You take a step back, clutching your chest.

Then he lifts his head.

Your knees give out.

For a moment, all you can do is stare. The sea behind him howls, and the wind rushes past your ears, but none of it matters. The world narrows to the face before you—gaunt, bruised, beautiful.

“Jace?” It comes out like a breath. Fragile. Disbelieving.

He sways on his feet. “I told you I’d find you.”

You run.

There’s no hesitation. No room left for doubt. Your hands reach for him and his arms catch you, shaky but desperate, pulling you to him like he might vanish if he lets go. You bury your face in his neck, against the soaked fabric, and sob.

“You’re alive—gods, you’re alive—” you choke through tears, pressing trembling hands to his face to be sure, to feel the heat of him.

“I’m here. I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse. “I couldn’t—Vermax—” his throat closes on the name. You feel it, the pain. The grief. The guilt.

You just shake your head. “No more apologies. No more goodbyes.”

The two of you cling to each other as if the storm might come again as if fate might reach in and try to steal him a second time. But it won’t. Not this time.

He came back.

You bring him inside, your arms around his waist, guiding him through the familiar halls like a ghost returned to the land of the living. No one sees you. No one needs to. Right now, there is only him—cold and trembling, half-starved and so fragile beneath your fingertips, and yet, miraculously alive.

You feed him and draw him a bath, your hands steady even as your heart shakes. He watches you with wide, tired eyes as if he still isn’t sure this is real. The steam rises, curling between you, and when you help him undress carefully, reverently, he lets you. Not out of weakness, but trust. Bone-deep, wordless trust.

Scars now map his chest and arms, angry and healing. You touch them gently, and he flinches—not from pain, but emotion. You don’t ask about what happened. Not yet. You just dip a cloth into the warm water and begin to clean him, slow and quiet, your fingers trembling only once when you run them across his cheek.

You finish washing him, your hands lingering on his cooling skin before you help him from the tub and wrap a soft blanket around his shoulders. He leans against you, his weight settling like he means to rest his burdens on your frame, and your heart swells with fierce protectiveness. This man—your prince, your love, your everything—is here. He kept his vow.

"I thought I'd lost you," you whisper, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Gods, I thought you were gone, like the rest of them..." 

A shudder runs through his frame at the unspoken grief between the words. The loss of his brother, of his cousins, of innocence and hope. Of a future that once seemed so bright and full of promise.

"I'm here," he murmurs, his arms tightening around your waist. "I'm here, and I'm not letting you go again." His voice is fervent and desperate, and you feel the weight of his stare on your face. "I found you, just like I swore I would."

He leans in to capture your lips, his own cool and searching, and you open for him without hesitation. A soft groan escapes him as he kisses you deeply, a kiss that feels like a homecoming, like a promise sealed.

You cradle Jace's face in your palms, your thumbs brushing away the remnants of tears and water from his chilled skin. Your tears fall freely, tracing paths down your cheeks to dampen your kiss with a brittle, bittersweet essence.

"Jace," you murmur against his mouth, his name a prayer of relief and gratitude. "My love, my heart... you're here. Truly here." You nip lightly at his lower lip, a physical affirmation.

Your fingers sink into the damp curls at his nape, savouring their softness and the reality of him, whole and real in your arms. You tug him closer, moulding his lean frame to the curves of your body, chasing the warmth that had begun to feel like a distant memory.

Jacaerys shudders as your fingers sink into his hair, his own hands sliding down to the small of your back to press you flush against him. He can feel every curve, every soft swell, and it ignites a hunger in him that has nothing to do with the meagre rations he's had on his journey. No, this is a deeper ache. A yearning. Something that only your body can satisfy.

He breathes your name, his voice rough with emotion and desire. "My heart, my soul... I thought I'd lost you. Thought I'dnever hold you again, never feel your touch, your kiss..." He claims your mouth once more, more urgently this time, his tongue delving deep to taste you, to consume you. To remind himself that you're real, that this is happening.

His hands roam your back, your sides, your hips, mapping the dips and curves he knew so well. They slip beneath the hem of your tunic, seeking the bare skin underneath, calloused palms skimming up your ribs to cup the soft weight of your breasts. He thumbs your nipples through the thin linen of your small clothes, feeling them pebble and tighten at his touch.

"I need you," he rasps against your lips, rocking his hips into yours with a soft groan. "I ache to feel you, every part of you."

He walks you backwards towards the bed, his mouth never leaving yours, his hands not stopping their sensual exploration. When your knees hit the mattress, he lowers you down onto it, covering your body with his own.

His touch was gentle yet urgent like a man starved for affection. A soft whimper escaped your lips, your eyes flutteringclosed as you leaned into his caress.

"Jacaerys..." you breathed, your voice trembling with barely contained emotion.

Your hands drifted over his chest, his shoulders, admiring the pale muscle and warm skin beneath your fingertips. You drank in every detail, committing it to memory, in case this was all a fleeting dream.

Leaning up, you tenderly brushed his damp curls back from his brow, tucking them behind his ears. Your breath caught at the sight of him, at the raw beauty and vulnerability in his eyes. Your pretty prince, back in your arms where he belonged.

"Let me take care of you," you murmured, your voice low and soothing. "Let me love you, cherish you, the way I always have. The way I always will."

You cupped his face in your palms. Your heart ached to see him so weary, so worn, yet it swelled with fierce love and protectiveness.

Slowly, you guided him up the bed, your body melting against his as you sank into the soft furs. You rolled him over, straddling his hips, wanting to be the one to comfort, to nurture, to worship him.

Jacaerys' breath catches as you roll him onto his back, his eyes darkening with desire as you straddle his hips. He looks up at you, his princess, your hair falling around you like a curtain as you lean over him. In this moment, the war, the grief, the fear—it all falls away. There is only you, only this, only the love that burns between you.

"Let you love me?" he whispers, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you already did, with every breath, every beat of your beautiful heart." His hands find your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the small of your back as he pulls you down, urging you to settle against him.

"I need your touch," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire and something softer, something that feels a lot like devotion. "Need to feel your skin, your heartbeat, your breath. Need to be inside you, surrounded by you, until I can't tell where I end and you begin."

"I love you," he breathes, his eyes never leaving yours. "I love you more than anything in this world or the next. And I'mgoing to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much."

With that, he surges up to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, pouring all of his love, his relief, and his desperation into it. His tongue delves deep, tangling with yours, tasting you, consuming you. One hand tangles in your hair, and the other slides down to grip your hip, pulling you harder against him.

He rolls his hips up into yours, letting you feel the hard, hot length of him through the fabric of the towel. A low groan rumbles in his chest as he grinds against you, seeking friction, seeking more.

You sigh breathily as Jacaerys guides your hips to grind against his, your body melting into his touch. "Oh, my prince..." you gasp, your voice trembling with honest emotion. You smile down at him. "I missed you... so very much. My heart felt so empty, so lost without you by my side."

Your eyes shimmer with unshed tears as you gaze at him, drinking in every beloved detail of his face. "My life had no colour, no warmth without you in it, Jacaerys. I was merely existing, not truly living, not until this moment." You lean down to brush a tender kiss against his lips, pouring all your longing and love into the soft press of your mouth against his. "Please... do not ever leave my side again."

Jacaerys' heart clenches at the raw emotion in your voice, at the shimmer of tears in your eyes. He feels a surge of love so fierce it steals his breath, a protectiveness that makes him want to gather you up and never let you go. He knows exactlywhat you mean—the time spent without you had been a bleak, empty hell, a hollow imitation of life.

"Never," he vows, his voice low and intense. "I swear it, my love. I'll never leave you again." His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness beneath your eye. "My life has no meaning without you in it. No purpose, no joy, no light."

He sits up, bringing you with him, his forehead pressed against yours. "You're my heart, my home, my everything," he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours. "I'll spend every day showing you how much you mean to me, how deeply I love you."

His hands slide down your back, over the curve of your rear, before gripping the hem of your tunic. Slowly, he starts to lift it, his calloused fingers skimming over the bare skin of your thighs, your hips, your waist. He tugs it up and over your head, tossing it aside to leave you bare before him, save for your small clothes.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his dark eyes roaming over every inch of exposed skin, drinking in the sight of you. "My goddess, my queen, my everything..." He leans in to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste your skin, making you sigh in pleasure. His hands map the curves of your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples through the thin linen until they pebble and strain against the fabric.

He leans in to capture your breast in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak, suckling and teasing as he wets the fabric. He wants to show you with every touch, every kiss, every thrust, just how much he loves you. Just how much he needs you. Just how much you mean to him.

"Ohhh, Jacaerys..." you breathe out, your voice hitching as pleasure courses through you. Your fingers thread through his damp curls, gripping them lightly as you hold his head to your breast. "That feels...mmm...don't stop."

You rock your hips harder against the growing bulge underneath the flimsy towel, seeking some relief from the throbbing ache he's ignited between your thighs. The rough fabric rubs deliciously against your most sensitive places, making you gasp and clench around nothing.

"Please, my love," you whimper, your back arching to push your breast more fully into Jacaerys' eager mouth. "I need...I need..." you can't even finish the thought, too lost in sensation, too desperate for his touch.

Your head tips back, exposing the long column of your throat as soft mewls of pleasure spill from your lips. The wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the swirl of his tongue—it's almost too much, yet not enough. You're drowning in sensation, consumed by the love and desire that burns between you, hotter and brighter than any dragonfire.

Jacaerys groans around your breast, the sound vibrating against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He can feel your need, your desperation, and it fuels his own. He wants to consume you, to devour you, to make you feel pleasure so intense it borders on pain. He wants to hear you scream his name, to feel you clench around him as you find your release.

He releases your breast with a wet pop, his lips trailing kisses up the column of your throat until he reaches your mouth. He captures it in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, tasting your gasps and whimpers. His hands slide down to grip your rear, kneading the soft flesh as he pulls you harder against him, grinding his covered erection against your core.

He's aching to be inside you, to feel your tight heat surrounding him, but he forces himself to take his time. He wants to worship you, to make you feel pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

"Ah, Jacaerys," you gasp, your voice ragged with need as you rock wantonly against the hard length of him, the rough fabric of his towel rubbing deliciously against your aching core. "I want to bear your children, my love. I long to feel your seed quickening inside me, to grow round with your heir."

Your hand slides down his back, nails raking lightly over his skin as you pull him harder against you, desperate to feel every inch of him. "I want to be your queen in truth, your partner, your lover, the mother of your children. I need to have a part of you with me always, growing inside me, a testament to our love."

You capture his lips in a fierce, passionate kiss, pouring all your longing and desire into it. "Fill me, Jacaerys," you breathe against his mouth, your voice low and urgent. "Give me your heirs, bind me to you in every way possible. I'myours, now and forever."

Jacaerys shudders at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The thought of you round with his child, your belly swollen with new life, your breasts heavy and full—it ignites a primal hunger in him. He wants to claim you, to mark you, to make you his in every way possible.

"Gods, yes," he rasps, his voice rough with desire. "I want to fill you, to claim you, to make you mine in every way possible." His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he grinds his clothed erection against your dripping core.

He captures your mouth in a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperation, pouring every ounce of his love and lust into it. He wants to devour you, to consume you, to make you a part of him forever.

"Mine," he growls against your lips, his hips snapping forward, the hard length of him pressing insistently against your entrance. "You're mine, now and always. I'll fill you again and again until my seed takes root until your belly swells with my child."

Frantic with need, you yank off your small clothes, baring your dripping sex to Jacaerys' hungry gaze. With trembling fingers, you undo the towel wrapped around his waist, freeing his pretty cock. It springs forth, hard and heavy and perfect, making your mouth water with anticipation.

"Please, my love," you whimper, spreading your thighs wider on top of him. "I need you inside me. I need to feel all of you, every thick inch of your cock splitting me open, claiming me, filling me. I'm aching to have you so deep inside me that I can feel it for days."

Your voice is ragged, your chest heaving with each desperate breath. You reach for him, your hands gripping his firm ass, urging him closer, needing him closer. "Fill me with your seed. I'm yours, now and forever. Let me take care of you, my prince."

Jacaerys' breath catches as you bare yourself to him, his eyes darkening with lust at the sight of your glistening sex. He groans lowly as you free his aching cock, his length throbbing and heavy with need. The feeling of your small, soft hands gripping his ass, urging him closer, is almost too much to bear.

He lines himself up with your entrance. He teases your folds with the swollen head of his cock, coating himself in your arousal, making you both slick and ready.

"Ride me," he commands, his voice low and rough. "Take what you need, what you want."

You gaze at him through hooded eyes, your plump lips curling into a coy smile as you bite down on the soft flesh, leaving a crescent imprint. Your fingers wrap around his throbbing, leaking cock, helping him guide his leaking cock to your entrance. You let out a breathy whine as you feel him start to push inside, your inner walls stretching and yielding to his thick size.

"Jace," you keen, voice high and breathy, thighs trembling and quaking around his hips as you adjust to the intrusion. The initial penetration is a mix of sweet pain and intense pleasure, your body having tightened slightly during your time apart. The feeling of being so utterly filled, claimed, and possessed by him is overwhelming. "You're...so big," you pant, your nails digging into his abdomen as you try to relax your hips, to take him deeper. "I've missed this, missed you, so much... love how you fill me up."

Jacaerys lies back, his chest heaving as he gazes up at you with hooded, adoring eyes. His hands skim over your curves, caressing every dip and swell, as if committing your body to memory. "You're exquisite," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire and emotion.

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing with the effort, as he watches you take him deeper. "Gods, you feel incredible," he grits out, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips hard enough to leave marks.

He reaches up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that occasionally slip down your cheeks. "My princess," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "My everything. I love you so much... I'm here now, and I'm never letting you go again."

As he speaks, he rolls his hips up to meet yours, driving himself deeper inside you. His hands slide down to grip your rear, urging you to take more of him with each downward thrust. He sets a steady, deep rhythm, his thick length stretching and filling you so completely that you can feel every ridge and vein as he moves within you.

"Ahhh," he whimpers, his head tipping back against the pillow as he loses himself in the exquisite sensation of your body surrounding him. "You feel like heaven, my love."

"Ohhh, Gods!" you moan loudly, your voice echoing off the stone walls as you feel him fill you up completely with every deep, powerful thrust. Tears of joy and overwhelming pleasure stream down your face as you gaze down at Jacaerys in awe as if the Gods had answered your prayers and returned him to you.

Your hands find his chest, fingers splaying over the firm muscle as you balance yourself and start to move faster, riding him with increasing eagerness. The sensation of his thick, hard length stretching you open, claiming you, filling you so utterly and completely—it's almost too much. But you don't want it to ever end. You want to drown in it, to lose yourself in the feeling of being one with him.

"Jacaerys," you gasp, your hips rolling and grinding against his, taking him as deep as you can. "I need you." Your voice is ragged, desperate, consumed by the love and lust that burns between you.

Your eyes are locked onto Jacaerys, drinking in the sight of him, committing every moment to memory. You want to sear this moment into your mind, to hold onto it forever—the moment when he claimed you, body and soul, and made you his for all eternity. Giving you his seed, a part of him.

Jacaerys' breath comes in harsh pants as he watches you, his eyes dark and intense, filled with a love so deep it steals his breath. He can feel your need, your desperation, and it fuels his own. He wants to give you everything, to fill you up until you're drowning in him, in them.

"Take it," he pants. "Take all of me."

He snaps his hips up to meet yours, driving himself impossibly deep, his thick length pulsing and throbbing inside you. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, gripping him, and it takes every ounce of his control not to spill himself inside you right then and there.

"Ahhh, fuck," he grits out, his head tipping back against the pillow as he loses himself in the feeling of your body surrounding him. "You feel so fucking good, my heart. So perfect, so right."

He reaches up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. "I love you," he whispers, his voice breathless and low.

With that, he surges up, flipping your positions so that he's hovering over you, his hips nestled between your thighs. He starts to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, his length stretching and filling you so completely that you can feel every ridge and vein as he drives into you again and again.

"Ohhh gods, Ja-Jacaerys!" you cry out, your voice breaking on a moan as he flips you over and drives into you with renewed hunger. Your eyes roll back in your head, nails raking down his muscular forearms as you cling to him desperately.

"Mine," he growls, his voice low and possessive. "You're mine, now and forever. And I'm going to fill you up. Going to give you my seed, my heirs."

"F-fuck, you feel...ungh...incredible," you pant out, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. You can feel every thick, pulsing inch of him dragging along your sensitive walls, the fire building low in your belly.

You gaze up at him with hooded, lust-darkened eyes, your heart stuttering in your chest at the breathtaking sight of him lost in pleasure above you. "You're...you're so p-pretty," you manage to gasp out, your voice thick with desire. "Want to be...ahh!...filled with your seed. Want to feel you...coming inside me."

Your thighs tremble and clench around his waist, urging him deeper, needing him closer. You're so close to the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. You just need a little more, a little harder, a little deeper...

Jacaerys' eyes blaze into yours, filled with love and lust so all-consuming it steals your breath. He can feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his length, and he knows you're close. He wants to feel you come undone beneath him, wants to watch as the pleasure overwhelming you play out across your beautiful face.

"Fuck, I love you," he growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "I love you so fucking much."

He doubles his efforts, his hips slamming against yours with enough force to rock the bed beneath you. He's determined to bring you to the peak of pleasure, to make you scream his name until it's the only word you remember.

The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, with your moans and cries and the low, guttural groans spilling from his throat.

"Come for me," he commands, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles over the sensitive nub. "I want to feel you come apart around my cock, want to feel your sweet cunt milking my seed from me."

He leans down to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. He's so close, so desperately close, but he's holding back, waiting for you, wanting to feel your release before he lets go.

"Now, my love," he demands against your lips, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "Come now, and scream my name. Let the whole castle know who you belong to, who fucks you like this, who loves you like this."

You can barely get a word out as you moan loudly, cries of pleasure falling from your lips like a prayer. "I'm... I-I... oohh Gods!" you scream, your voice echoing off the stone walls as the most intense orgasm of your life crashes over you. Your vision goes white, your back arching sharply as ecstasy consumes you utterly.

Tears stream down your face, you're overwhelmed, drowning in sensation, your body shaking and trembling with the force of your release. You can feel Jacaerys' fingers digging into your hips, holding you in place as he chases his own pleasure, as he fucks you through your climax.

You're making noises you have never made before, sounds of pure, unadulterated bliss that fill the room and make the air crackle with energy. You're lost in a haze of pleasure so intense it teeters on the edge of discomfort, your mind blanking out everything except the feeling of Jacaerys moving inside you.

Jacaerys feels your velvet walls clamp down around him like a vice as you come undone, your scream of ecstasy echoing off the stone walls. The sensation is too much, too perfect, and with a roar of your name, he surges forward one last time before burying himself to the hilt inside you.

"Fuck, yes! Take it, take my seed, my love!" he bellows, his length pulsing and throbbing as he spills himself deep inside your spasming core. Jet after jet of his hot, thick cum paints your insides, filling you up just as you begged him to do.

He collapses on top of you, his hips still twitching and jerking as the last waves of his release course through him. He peppers your face with kisses, tasting your tears, your sweat, your pleasure. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he chants, his voice raw and wrecked.

Finally, he stills, his softening length still nestled deep inside you. He knows his seed is taking root, and knows that in a few short months, your belly will swell with new life. The thought makes him groan with satisfaction.

"Mine," he murmurs, his hand sliding down to splay across your lower belly. "All mine. You, me, and our child. A family, a legacy." He smiles softly, his eyes filled with love and adoration as he gazes down at you. "My queen, my heart, my everything."

You gaze up at him, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. A soft, sated smile plays at your lips as you drink in the sight of your beloved Jacaerys above you. You reach up with a trembling hand, your fingers lightly caressing his cheek, needing to feel the warmth of his skin, to assure yourself that this moment is real.

"My king," you whisper, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. You search his brown eyes, seeing your love and devotion reflected at you. "You found me... as you promised"

Jacaerys leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savours the feeling of your fingers against his skin. When he opens them again, his gaze is intense and filled with emotion. "I did," he murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. "I'll always find you. No matter where you are, no matter what stands in our way, I'll always come back to you."

He rolls to the side, gathering you into his arms and holding you close. He strokes your hair, your back, your arm, his touch gentle and soothing. "You're my home," he whispers, his breath stirring the hair at your temple. "You're where I belong. And I'm never letting you go again."

He tilts your chin up, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I love you," he says softly, his voice filled with wonder and awe. "More than anything in this world or the next. You're my heart, my soul, my everything."

He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own. "My queen," he breathes, a smile playing on his lips. "My love. My future. I'm yours, now and forever."

The war didn’t end with thunder but with silence.

With both of your parents gone and perished, the realm was at Jacaerys' feet.

The lords of the Black Council looked to him. The armies whispered his name. There was talk of vengeance still to be taken. Of fire yet to fall.

But Jacaerys felt hollow.

He stood on the shores of Dragonstone, holding your hand tightly, staring at the horizon as the waves rolled in, and said the only words that had made sense to him in days:

“I’ve seen enough death. Let it end with me.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand in response.

He had no more heart for the Iron Throne. No more hunger for the game that had devoured his mother and shattered his bloodline. The boy who once trained with blades and studied treaties, who had flown into battle thinking himself a hero—was gone.

And in his place stood a man, bruised and wiser, holding the hand of the only person who made him feel human again.

“The war is over. Aegon the Younger is the rightful king. I will kneel to him.”

There were protests. Rage. But no one dared to challenge him outright. His wounds were still fresh.

And so Aegon III ascended the throne—crowned quietly in the ashes of the past. A boy-king with haunted eyes, grieving his mother, his brothers, his innocence.

Jacaerys gave up his claim. Not as a coward. But as a prince who chose to break the cycle.

He left behind the Red Keep. The black banners. Even the ruined corpse of Vermax, buried in the cliffs beyond Driftmark. No dragon would ever bear him again.

Instead, he took you.

Just you.

One ship. A handful of loyal guards. A sack of coins gifted by Maester Gerardys, who simply clasped Jace’s shoulder with a heavy heart and said, “Your mother would have wanted this—her line to live, not just survive. Take the coin, and the histories too. Someday, your daughter may wish to know the truth.”

Giving him scrolls, books and maps to pass down to your children.

And so you set your sights on Lys. The sunny island with palm and fruit trees and the surrounding blue-green waters filled with fish.

It was a place of warmth and colour, of lightness that neither of you had known for so long.

Some knew who you were.

Whispers floated like sea foam on the docks, passed between wine merchants and old sailors with sharp eyes. The silver in your hair. The curve of his jaw, unmistakably Velaryon. The way he moved, the ghost of a prince still in his spine.

But no one said anything. No one came knocking. And soon, the rumours faded like stories told too long under the sun.

You made your home in a white-stoned villa nestled against the curve of the sea. Vines crept up its sun-warmed walls, and flowering trees spilt their perfume into the breeze. From the terrace, you could see the blue stretch of the water, the same sea that had once tried to take everything from you—now glimmering with peace.

There was salt in the air always, but also the scent of honey wine, fresh herbs hung to dry, and the spices that simmered in your kitchen. Laughter lived here now. Laughter, and the thudding of small feet.

Your daughter—curious and bright-eyed, with his gentle mouth and your intense eyes—ran barefoot through the kitchen, chased by her younger brother. He was all cheeks and mischief, his curls bouncing as he shrieked with joy, clutching a stolen fig in his tiny hand.

“Careful!” you called, though your voice was light with laughter. Jace looked up from his seat by the open window, his book forgotten on his lap, a quiet smile playing on his lips.

He had not worn a crown in years.

But in this moment, he looked every bit a king.

He rose, scooping the boy up in his arms with ease and planting a kiss on his head before the child could protest. You watched them together, sunlight caught in his dark hair, the way he held your son like something sacred.

“I caught a thief,” he said, grinning as the boy giggled against his shoulder.

“He’s your son,” you teased, reaching to stir the pot on the stove. “What did you expect?”

Jace crossed the room to kiss your temple, one hand resting briefly on the curve of your hip, grounding. Familiar. You leaned into him, just for a moment, breathing in the salt and spice and the warmth of his skin.

There were still days when you and he woke in a cold sweat, memories of fire and falling and the ache of absence.

But they were fewer now.

And the sound of your children laughing chased them away, piece by piece.

Night had fallen soft and slow over Lys, and the windows of the villa breathed in the breeze from the sea. The curtains swayed gently, catching the gold flicker of candlelight that bathed the bedroom in warmth. Outside, waves murmured against the shore, a lullaby.

You stood near the open doors that led to the balcony, the scent of the sea curling in, salt and jasmine and wine. Jace came up behind you quietly, arms slipping around your waist, pulling you back into the safety of him.

The children were asleep. The wine was gone. The world, for once, was still.

He swayed with you—slow, steady, like the tide. One hand at your waist, the other pressing lightly over your heart. The candlelight danced on the walls, catching on the soft curve of your collarbone, the shadows on his jaw, the lazy curl of his smile.

“I could live a thousand lives,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, “and never feel as full as I do with you in my arms.”

You turned your head slightly, enough to feel the scratch of his stubble against your cheek, the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“You do say the sweetest things after a bottle of Lyseni red,” you teased softly, voice a murmur, thick with affection.

He chuckled low, burying his face in your neck. “Only when they’re true,” he replied. “And maybe the wine helps me say them out loud.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, eyes half-closed as you listened to the sea. His fingers drew slow, lazy patterns along your waist, grounding you. Loving you.

“I still see you,” he said after a pause, quieter now, like a confession. “Even after everything. I see you the way I did that night in Dragonstone when I came back to you.”

You turned to face him fully, hands resting over his heart. “And I see you, Jace. Not the prince, not the heir. Just... you. My lover.”

He kissed you then—soft, unhurried like the world had given him all the time it had ever owed.

The waves sang to the sand just below the cliffs, and the night stretched out before you, tender and wide and full of dreams that no longer felt so far away.

tags: @bey0nd-1he-stars @venusbyline

[ohdorothea]

More information about the tournament here and lyrics are below the cut! Happy voting!!!

cowboy like me lyrics

And the tennis court was covered up

With some tent-like thing

And you asked me to dance

But I said, "Dancin' is a dangerous game."

Oh, I thought

This is gonna be one of those things

Now I know

I'm never gonna love again

I've got some tricks up my sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

Never wanted love

Just a fancy car

Now I'm waiting by the phone

Like I'm sitting in an airport bar

You had some tricks up your sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

Perched in the dark

Telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear

Like it could be love

I could be the way forward

Only if they pay for it

You're a bandit like me

Eyes full of stars

Hustling for the good life

Never thought I'd meet you here

It could be love

We could be the way forward

And I know I'll pay for it

You're a cowboy like me

Perched in the dark

Telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear

Like it could be love

I could be the way forward

Only if they pay for it

You're a bandit like me

Eyes full of stars

Hustling for the good life

Never thought I'd meet you here

It could be love

We could be the way forward

And I know I'll pay for it

And the skeletons in both our closets

Plotted hard to fuck this up

And the old men that I've swindled

Really did believe I was the one

And the ladies lunching have their stories about

When you passed through town

But that was all before I locked it down

Now you hang from my lips

Like the Gardens of Babylon

With your boots beneath my bed

Forever is the sweetest con

I've had some tricks up my sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

And I'm never gonna love again

I'm never gonna love again

I'm never gonna love again

ivy lyrics

How's one to know?

I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones

In a faith-forgotten land

In from the snow

Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow

Tarnished but so grand

And the old widow goes to the stone every day

But I don't, I just sit here and wait

Grieving for the living

Oh, goddamn

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Taking mine, but it's been promised to another

Oh, I can't

Stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows

And now I'm covered in you

I wish to know

The fatal flaw that makes you long to be

Magnificently cursed

He's in the room

Your opal eyes are all I wish to see

He wants what's only yours

Oh, goddamn

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Taking mine, but it's been promised to another

Oh, I can't

Stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows

And now I'm covered

Clover blooms in the fields

Spring breaks loose, the time is near

What would he do if he found us out?

Crescent moon, coast is clear

Spring breaks loose, but so does fear

He's gonna burn this house to the ground

How's one to know?

I'd live and die for moments that we stole

On begged and borrowed time

So tell me to run

Or dare to sit and watch what we'll become

And drink my husband's wine

Oh, goddamn

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Taking mine, but it's been promised to another

Oh, I can't

Stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows

And now I'm covered in you

And I'm covered in you

So yeah, it's a fire

It's a goddamn blaze in the dark

And you started it

You started it

So yeah, it's a war

It's the goddamn fight of my life

And you started it

You started it

Oh, I can't

Stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows

And now I'm covered

In you

In you

Now I'm covered in you

In you

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

45 / 1.9k / soap soulmate au, part 11

...

Mercenaries can be paid off for just about anything.

So when Price rings your cell phone to propose a trade—Laswell had your number, naturally—Horangi has no qualms with fishing it out of your pocket. You glare at him, but he doesn’t bother giving you anything more than a dry look before he answers it.

You hear Price’s voice from the speaker in Horangi’s ear. "Was wondering what was taking you lot so long."

Horangi sighs. It never ends, apparently. "What do you want?" he asks.

"Just to talk," Price replies. "What's your rate?"

"Come again?" Horangi asks.

"We're all soldiers here. Unfortunate that our mission came at the cost of yours, but we can all walk away happy, hm? I want to make sure you don’t go uncompensated. That’d be a shame."

Horangi scowls, but one of your squadmates in the back seat grips your shoulder and shifts his weight toward the phone in obvious interest.

"What do you have in mind?” Horangi asks.

"First, your rate."

"Too rich for your blood."

"Try me."

Horangi narrows his eyes. Then he shrugs and throws out a number. It's far more money than KorTac’s real fee, but before you can decide whether to say something, Price speaks again.

"We'll double that."

"Will you now?"

"I will. Even pay you all directly if you like. No need to involve the company. Just keep your handler’s cut for yourselves. I won’t say a word," Price says. "That should be good enough, shouldn't it?"

Horangi leans back, tapping the steering wheel in thought, but you can tell he's interested now. "What's the job?"

"Not a job, really. Just a favor. Let us have custody of your songbird, and the money's yours. Make up some story about how she got away or got shot if you need a scapegoat. We’ll turn a blind eye if you prefer. Keep the record nice and clean."

Horangi glances at you. “Songbird’s worth a lot to the company.”

“You’re not the company, now are you? You already did the damn job. You should get paid. You and your team.”

He likes the sound of that. Price's offer turns both of your situations into something everybody can be pleased with. Get the mercs paid for what they lost. They get the girl. Fine by him. He hums in thought. “Cash in hand.”

There’s a beat of silence on Price’s end. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Cash in hand,” Horangi says again. “Or no deal.”

“Are you sure about that? Wired funds spend just as well as cash.”

“I can afford to be picky, my friend.”

Another long pause. “Is that so?”

“Apologies. I’d be happy to consider your deal if I hadn’t already made a better one with someone else. He’s willing to pay cash.”

“Who?”

Horangi scoffs and ends the call. He tosses your phone into the backseat floorboards and ignores your stare burning into the side of his head. “Don’t worry, rookie,” he tells you. “You know it’s a better deal than you’d get back at base. You’ll thank me one day.”

…

But you don’t make it back to base.

It’s an ambush. A trap—Horangi doesn’t see the charges on either side of the road until it’s too late, and the truck transporting you flips forward onto its roof. One minute, you’re feeling the melted snow in your boots; the next, you’re looking down at the road through the windshield. Then you’re coming to in a haze of gunfire and hoarse voices barking call-and-response orders all around you.

It’s not until your teammates have evacuated the wrecked truck that you attempt to move yourself and do the same. Maybe they plan to come back for you; maybe they think you’re dead. Maybe you are dead. You really fucking hope not. Whatever death has in store for you, it had better not force you to contend with the agonizing pain of a dislocated shoulder and broken glass buried in every second nerve ending.

You push against the seatbelt holding you to the seat, having to twist out of your coat just to slump to the pavement. You’re still ziptied, but you have to move. If whoever laid this ambush finds you, you're done for.

Somehow, all you can think about is Johnny. If he could see you now, he’d never let you hear the end of it. He’d lecture you like a goddamn recruit. You hate how much you want to see his stupid face get angry at you again.

There’s a long lull in the gunfire. Then the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone curses and orders the others to “spread out,” searching for your scattered teammates—for survivors.

Your teammates aren’t coming. You’re on your own.

Then you remember Price’s call and Horangi swiping your phone from your pocket.

Desperately, you shoulder your way back into the wreckage. Somehow, you find it. The screen is cracked, but it still lights up when you wrestle your bound wrists under your feet and touch the screen. Thank Christ. You redial Price's number from the call log.

He picks up on the first ring. "Go for Price."

"I need to talk to Johnny."

There's a moment of crackling silence through the line. Then: "Soap's tied up at the moment. What's going on?"

"I don't know. Ambush. The car flipped." You wince, feeling broken glass cut into your shoulder. The slushy pavement under you is turning ruddy. Oh, that’s your blood. "It's bad."

Price swears under his breath. "Where are you?"

"Near the base of the mountain. In the side. There's a... a lot of trees. Twenty hostiles. I think. I can't see."

"Stay put. We'll find you. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime."

"I want to talk to Johnny."

"For God’s sake. You can talk to him in person when we find you. Just sit tight."

"Let me talk to my goddamn soulmate," you hiss. You put as much venom into your voice as you can, but even you hear how weak you sound.

Price says something away from the speaker you can't quite make out. There's shuffling and then another familiar voice picks up, low and gruff, and tinged with a Scottish burr.

"Hen?"

The wave of relief that sweeps through you renders you mute for a second.

That makes the worry in his tone swell. “You okay? They hurt you?"

The concern in his voice has your throat tightening. Dammit.

Before you can reply, there's another burst of gunfire and a hostile voice much too close by for comfort. You grab the phone and edge your way further into the tenuous safety of the wreckage. You clutch the phone in your hands, barely clocking the glass screen digging into your palm.

The sound of your voice cutting out over the line triggers Soap’s anxiety all over again. He curses up a storm on the other end, his voice rising with every word and the urgency in his tone growing as he calls you by name.

You hear more footfalls, but whoever it is, they don't seem to notice you. You've not been gunned down yet, at least. You need to find somewhere safer.

Peering around the wreckage, you look for somewhere else you can hide. The tree line is close. You don't know how long you'll last in the snow no matter what, especially without your coat—but cold cover is safer than none. Staying under a leaking, gasoline-filled truck carcass isn’t a good long-term plan.

Soap’s voice rises over the line. "Dammit, say somethin'!"

Finally you do. "Johnny?"

"Jesus." Soap closes his eyes, hoping like hell he's not about to hear you get shot, or captured, or worse. He can already tell by the rough sound of your voice that he's not going to like what you say next. "I'm here," he says quickly, trying to keep the worry from his own voice. "Where are ya?"

"I’m an idiot. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn about..." You let out a harsh sigh. "You. Just wanted to tell you that."

It suddenly feels like there's a block of ice lodged in Soap’s chest. "That a goodbye, darlin'?" he says.

"I'm doing my goddamn best. Alright?"

"That’s a sorry fuckin’ excuse. You’re aways doing your best," Soap snaps. An ugly, hard thread of bitterness creeps into his tone. "Trouble is you always choose the worst way of goin’ about it. I’m not lettin' you go like this.”

"I know it's my fault," you retort. "Okay? I should've listened to you. Are you happy to hear me fucking say it?"

"Does it look like that's gonna fix things?" Soap’s voice rises with every word now. His temper is frayed at the edges. "No, I'm not bloody happy. I don't want apologies. I don't want some grand realization. I just want you to survive. You're damn right you fucked up. And you've got a lot of work to do to make it up to me, so you'd best stay alive. You hear me?"

You swallow, clutching the phone tighter in your hands.

"Answer me."

"I'll try."

"No. You'll do," Soap says in a voice that brooks no argument. His voice drops low again, but the anger is still there. "You will make it back to me. You'll do whatever it takes. You don't get to leave me alone after all the trouble you gave me. I'll not hear one more sorry excuse."

God. You want him so bad it hurts. You close your eyes, concentrating on the pain of the glass in your skin and your dislocated shoulder to sharpen your focus. "Fine."

"That's my girl." The words come out rough, heated, and tinged with something like pride. "You just stay put," he says. "We'll find you."

You tense as another set of voices raise in aggravation nearby. The longer you stay here, the greater the chance you'll be seen. "I have to go," you say lowly into the phone. "Need better cover."

"Stay on the line," he says quickly. "Do not hang up. Hen!"

You bring your ziptied wrists down hard on the edge of your boot—and again, and again, pain radiating up your arm—until it finally snaps.

With your hands free, you pull yourself out from under the wreckage and away, leaving Soap on the line to hear nothing but shouting and gunshots.

Soap listens through the phone, biting down hard on the curse that threatens to tear free. He can't lose you. He's going crazy imagining the worst right now. His mind is all too happy to cycle through a parade of gory images. No. No, you can't go, not like this.

He'd give anything to be a knife on your belt right now. A bullet in your gun. Anything but this—this utter fucking helplessness. He can’t do anything but sit on the other end of a line and listen. It's torture.

Even with Price at the wheel, racing all of them toward the bottom of the mountain.

"We'll make it, Soap," is all Price says.

Soap nods, but he barely hears it. All he can listen to is the sound of gunfire through the phone and the cold, visceral rage in the pit of his stomach. He'll claw his way to you with his bare hands if he has to. It doesn’t matter how much blood and sweat it costs him to get you back. You’d better keep your word and stay alive to make it up to him.

...

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