#but the clock was ticking and I needed one

[cherry-zip]

─ • CSC .ᐟ Tie a Cherry

› content ┆ Choi Seungcheol x fem reader ⊹ genre .ᐟ smut and cute ending ✎ word-count ┆ 2k. ⌁ summary ┆Choi Seungcheol comes home late from work, dressed in his suit and tie, to find his girlfriend waiting in pink pajamas. With a playful pull of his tie, she drags him to the sofa, ready to unwind with a sexy Valentine’s Day gift, filled with affection and desire. ⨯ content warning .ᐟ dry humping, making out, cheol is hot.

✧ happy valentine's day - here's my first even nsfw fic as a gift ✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! this is my first even nsfw fic so bear with me.

› minor do not interact, you will be blocked

It’s nearly midnight when you hear the familiar sound of Seungcheol’s key turning in the lock. You’ve been waiting for him all night, watching the clock tick steadily past the hours he usually gets home. Though you know how busy he can get with work, it doesn’t stop the small knot of worry from forming in your stomach. Seungcheol had let you know beforehand that he was going to come home late today but that didn’t stop you from waiting.

Had it been any other day you would have already gone to bed, but, it was Valentine’s Day, and you felt the need to stay up for him tonight. You didn’t mind him not being home for this special day—you knew how important work was for him, and it was something that you were okay with.

He would make it up for you. He always did.

Finally, the door creaked open, and there he was —your tired, overworked boyfriend, standing in the doorway with his suit still on. You can practically feel the weight of the day hanging around him. He looked exhausted, his broad shoulders slumped, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he slipped his shoes off.

You watched him for a moment, taking in the sight of him, knowing just how much he’d been pushing himself lately. You can see the strain on his face, the last thing he needs is to be left alone with his thoughts. You wouldn’t let that happen, not tonight at least.

You approached him before he could get too comfortable, stepping softly toward him while wearing one of his shirts paired with pink shorts that left nothing to the imagination. The kind that made you feel both cozy and confident. You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow playfully, but there was a hint of concern behind your teasing gaze.

"You’re late," you say, a gentle accusation in your voice.

Seungcheol looks at you, his lips curling into a tired but genuine smile. "I know, I’m sorry," he says, his voice low, but you can hear the weariness in it. "It’s been one of those days."

You know exactly what he meant. He said it all the time. But it never stopped you from worrying, especially when he’s gone all day, getting caught up in the never-ending cycle of meetings, deadlines, and calls.

"You’re always saying that," you tease, but it’s softer than it sounds. "You’re always working so hard. Are you ever going to let me take care of you?"

A brief pause follows, and you see the hint of guilt flash across his face. You hate when he feels guilty, even though you know he can’t help it.

"I promise I’ll make it up to you," he says, stepping closer as if trying to reassure you—and maybe himself, too.

And he will make it up to you, one way or another. But before he can say anything else, you act on impulse. You reach for his tie, grabbing hold of it with a sudden surge of energy.

"Hey!" Seungcheol laughs in surprise as you pull him toward the couch. He stumbles slightly, but you guide him down easily, tugging him until he’s sitting down.

“Stop laughing,” you say, smirking. “I’m trying to help you relax.”

You sat on his lap, straddling him as your hands worked on his tie, undoing it with practiced ease. His jacket was already slipping off his shoulders, but you weren’t done yet. You could feel the stiffness in his body, the tension clinging onto him even after the long day. You won’t let him stay like this. Not while you’re here. Not while he was under you.

“Let me take care of you,” you murmured, the words soft but firm. "You deserve a break."

He chuckled, but there was something softer behind his laughter. "You always know what I need," he says, his voice low, a little tired but somehow full of affection.

You look at him as you work, your fingers deftly loosening his shirt, watching the tension melt away from his face as you carefully help him strip off the layers of his workday. There was something soothing about this process, it felt grounding in a way, especially when he leaned into your touch. His warmth was comforting—like a weight you’ve come to rely on, something that was as familiar as your own heartbeat. And him, just him - looked so good. 

You’re so in love with this man.

“You always look so serious in that suit,” you tease again, glancing up at him. "It’s good to see you out of it for once."

Seungcheol smiles, a little tired but appreciative. "I’m serious about work, you know that."

“And I’m serious about making you relax,” you reply, your tone playful but affectionate. You begin to unbutton his shirt, your fingers brushing against his skin as you move down each button, carefully peeling away the layers of his day. “Just let me do this for you."

He doesn't fight you. Not really. Instead, he lets you, letting out a slow breath as he sinks into the couch, his hands resting high on your thighs. He looks like he’s falling into a peaceful calm, his posture loosening, the weight of the day falling away.

“Are you cold?” he asks suddenly, his voice soft, as he looks down at your pajamas.

You shrug, not really caring.“I’m fine,” you say with a smile. "But you—" You pause, your eyes flickering to his half-unbuttoned shirt and the tiredness still clinging to him.. "You’re not fine. Let me take care of you, okay?"

He smiles again, the fatigue melting from his eyes as he watches you work. He’s always so serious, always the one taking care of everyone else. 

But tonight? 

Tonight, he was yours to take care of. 

And you clearly had something in mind to make him feel better.

You lean down to kiss him. He hums into the kiss, bringing you even closer to him, arms holding onto your waist tightly. He felt himself growing addicted to feeling the comforting warmth of your body. His tongue softly bit at your bottom lip, making you open up, welcoming his tongue to lick into your mouth. Your hands glide up on his chest to find the nape of his hair. He loves when your hands are in his hair, tugging at it, making him growl loudly. The atmosphere gets hotter from the kisses he gives you, you can’t help but let soft whines escape your lips.

Your reactions made Seungcheol smirk while he kissed you, but that wasn’t going to last for long. Instinctively, you roll your hips down onto him, making him groan against you. All you’ve done so far is kiss, but you both got so worked up—and you loved it.

You keep rolling your hips, small whimpers escaping your mouth as you chase any kind of friction you can get. Your hands slid down onto his shoulders, needing more support as you grinded harder against him.

Seungcheol could feel himself getting hard from the way you were grinding on him and from the way you were whimpering in his mouth. He grabs your hips tightly, shifting you right on top of his clothed cock. You don’t seem to notice at first, but when his cock twitches against your thigh, you pull away from him, staring down.

“Don’t stop moving,” he groans out, you feel his mouth on your neck, slowly biting down as he starts giving you hickeys. “Fuck, I love your moans so much, you sound so good for me.”

He pulled back from your neck so he could see how good you looked, only for him. He curses silently when he sees how much of a mess you are; flushed face, parted mouth letting out moans, and your eyes rolling back in pleasure. You could feel his clothed cock twitch under you.

“Your body is so hot Cheol, so warm, so hard.”

You were desperate in your movement and will to make him cum hard, knowing the man under you felt just as good. You felt proud knowing that it was you who was making him feel that way. You felt the need to get yourself off with him, you needed him.

His hands wandered down, grasping at your ass. He was no better than you, letting out low grunts every single time his hips rolled to meet yours. He helped you roll your hips, grinding harshly down on him.

Seungcheol could easily flip you over and fuck you hard on the sofa but he doesn’t. You had this special moment for him in mind, to pleasure him and he was more than content with where you were now. He tilts his head back, a hiss of air escaping from his clenched teeth as his fingers dig into your hips. He can't stop the little laugh that follows the exhale because you're driving him crazy. Your lips attack his throat as your hips descend sinisterly on his.

“Fuck...” he wanted to get all those clothes off but at the same time, the way you were rubbing against him felt too good. He couldn't even think about telling you what he wanted. He felt like he was going to cum like that.

“You're so hard for me Cheol.”

You hear his low laugh against your jaw before Seungcheol bites the flesh there. You were a fucking tease. He revels in the sound of your breath catching as he wiggles against your own arousal. Your trousers were soaking wet from wanting him so badly.

“You're trying to make me come like this”, Seungcheol's hand tangles in the hair on the back of your head, making you moan his name, as he pulls to look into your eyes. He laughs at the smile on your lips at his words and the feel of your hips rolling against his bulge.

“Will you Cheol? Cum with me just by doing this?” Your head fell on top of his shoulder, licking and biting the available skin.

His hands grip your hips, setting a pace for you as he grinds you harder against him. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, not when he’s holding you and letting out groans of your name. Watching you restlessly chasing your climax pushes him over the edge.

You enjoy the silence only the sound of you both breathing heavily can be heard, slowly coming down from your high. Seungcheol holds you regardless of how hot you two feel.

“Can we just stay like this for a while?” he murmurs, his voice almost barely above a whisper. "I haven’t been able to relax properly in so long."

Your heart swells, and without saying a word, you shift closer to him, resting your head against his chest. You love the feeling of his strong arms holding you; you would never refuse him. The familiar rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his skin — that was all you needed to know that everything was okay.

"Yeah," you reply softly, your voice barely audible. “We can stay like this as long as you need.”

The world outside falls silent, and all that’s left is the sound of his heartbeat and your own, in your quiet home. You cherished these moments.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers after a long while.

You raise your head to look at him, your fingers gently brushing across his jaw. "You do," you reply simply, your voice full of affection. "You just need to remember how to breathe sometimes."

He smiles, a slow, genuine curve of his lips. "I’ll try to remember. Happy Valentine’s Day my love, I’ll make it up for you."

You know he will make it up eventually. It’s during moments like these—when his arms tighten around you— that you realize nothing else matters. Work, deadlines, all the pressures—those things can wait. What matters now is the peacefulness between you and the way you fit together in this small, quiet space.

For tonight, home isn’t a place. It was just the two of you, tangled together on the couch, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world outside forgotten.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆big thanks to @kyeomofhearts for beta & proof reading the hell outta this fic ☆彡 honestly can't thank you enough, even if i have to bully you into writing more @ credits┆also gonna thank @shinysobi, @tusswrites and even the crazy @hisnowbie2 for helping me out coming up with a title ☆彡

❀ a/n┆ yes, this is real. My first ever NSFW fic is officially out

☘︎ taglist: @zozojella, @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts

‧₊ ᵎᵎ “CHERRY.zip" 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

You Had Me at...

He didn't know why he was even still awake.

No, that was a lie.

He knew exactly why, but he also knew it was stupid and silly and completely outside the realm of possibility. He just hadn't been able to help himself.

He'd stayed up and watched the clock, waited as the minutes ticked by until it was officially Valentine's Day, and held his breath...

And then nothing.

He'd huffed out a laugh, telling himself he was more embarrassed than disappointed because honestly, what had he expected?

Evan to show up at the door to declare his love? To want to get back together?

To want him?

That wasn't Tommy's life. That was fantasy. The stuff of romcoms, not the real world.

Reality was getting into his ratty pajama pants and an ancient, worn-soft LAFD t-shirt (that still had a B and a U and a half-peeled Y on the back) and accepting the fact that he was once again alone for this stupid, fake holiday...that he absolutely loved.

Sighing, he made his way out to the kitchen and dug around in his freezer until he found the pint of cookie dough ice cream that Evan had left there and Tommy had been avoiding for the past three months. What was the point of leaving it? Evan was never coming back. It wasn't like he'd be there to get mad at Tommy for eating it and why let it go to waste?

He stood there, staring at the ice cream.

His therapist would have plenty to say about him struggling to let himself have things, but that was a problem for Tuesday Tommy.

...screw it.

He was eating the ice cream.

Tommy snatched the container out of the freezer and set it down on the counter, ignoring its accusing stare as he grabbed a spoon out of the drawer.

"This is for the best," he muttered. "I'm putting us both out of our misery, okay? We can't wait forever. He's never coming back."

He tapped the spoon against the lid, frowning when a faint knock sounded back.

"What the fu-"

The knock again, louder this time and clearly coming from the front door.

Tommy set the spoon down beside the ice cream, grabbed his phone, and crept down the hallway toward the door. He was still debating calling 911 when he caught sight of a familiar silhouette through the window and his heart stopped.

He'd know those curls anywhere.

Evan startled, hand still raised when Tommy whipped open the door.

"Shit," he said, eyes going wide. "I mean, not sh-not that, I just...I wasn't expecting you to answer so quickly and I'm still kind of working on what I'm going to say..."

"...did you want me to close the door and give you a minute?" Tommy asked after another weighted beat passed between them. He'd stand back in the hallway for as long as it took. As long as Evan needed.

"No!" Evan jolted forward, hand flexing like he was ready to catch it - as if Tommy would willingly close a door between them ever again. "I..."

Tommy waited, drinking in the sight of Evan as he fidgeted on the front porch. He itched to tug the lip free that he was chewing on, but he was equally afraid to touch him.

He didn't think he could bear it if this turned out to be a dream.

"I watched them all," Evan blurted out suddenly. He rubbed at the back of his neck, cheeks going red. "All of the movies I could remember from your shelves. T-the romance ones? And then Maddie recommended some more."

Tommy didn't know what to make of that. "Why-"

"Because everyone said I wasn't allowed to bake anymore," Evan said, as though that was a sentence that would clear things up. "But I had to do something, right? To stop myself from calling you every second that I was awake."

Wait, what?

"And I figured, if I couldn't stop thinking about you, then at least, I could maybe get inside your head and try to understand where we went wrong - where I went wrong," Evan barreled on like he wasn't completely upending Tommy's brain. "I watched them all and in every single one, ever single one, the couple has a fight and b-breaks up because, well, for all kinds of reasons, but it was because they were always missing what was right in front of them."

Evan took a deep, steadying breath, bracing himself on the doorframe. "I said a lot of stuff that night, but I missed saying the most important thing of all. I felt it, felt it so much it felt too big to say, but that was a mistake." He looked up, meeting Tommy's gaze with bright eyes.

"I love you, Tommy. I love you. I'm sorry I did everything backwards and managed to leap ahead all at the same time." Evan shook his head, blinking back tears as Tommy fought to hold back his own.

"I'm sorry I ever made you doubt that what I feel for you is real," he said "The most real and right thing I think I've ever felt in my life and I don't want to lose you. The last few months have been...I felt like I was missing a part of myself. Like my heart has been out there in the world without me and I've hated every minute of it."

"Please," Evan said, searching Tommy's face, hope threaded through every letter. "I know we have a lot we need to talk about, but can we - can we try again?"

Tommy took a shaky breath, still half-convinced he was about to wake up and have all of this ripped away from him.

"Please say something," Evan whispered, his shaky plea finally snapping Tommy into action.

He reached out to cup Evan's cheek, stroking a thumb against his skin as he leaned in. "You had me at 'shit'," Tommy said, a helpless smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

Evan's mouth dropped open as Tommy's words sank in. Relief warred against an extreme pout as he poked at Tommy's chest. "Did you seriously just Jerry Maguire me? I can't even-"

The rest of his protest was cut off when Tommy yanked him inside the house for a searing kiss, kicking the door shut behind them.

"I love you too," Tommy murmured against Evan's lips as he pressed him into the wall. He tried to get the apology he'd been agonizing over for the last three months out between kisses. "I'm sorry I ran. I got scared and stupid and I want this. Want you. Want everything."

Evan groaned, grabbing at him as he gave back as good as he got, kissing every part of Tommy he could reach without letting him move an inch out of his arms.

"Stay," Tommy gasped when they finally broke apart for air. "Please stay and just sleep beside me and we can talk properly in the morning?" He wasn't prepared to let Evan out of his sight any time soon.

"Try and get rid of me," Evan said with a little laugh as he rested his forehead against Tommy's. They kissed once more, softly, knowing they had time now. Letting out a happy sigh, Evan dropped a tiny peck on the end of Tommy's nose before releasing him and moving toward the kitchen.

Tommy went to lock the door, freezing when Evan let out a garbled noise of outrage.

"Is this my ice cream?"

Biting back a grin, Tommy headed toward Evan and his continuing grumbles...

And let his grin actually spread when he rounded the corner to find Evan standing there, holding out a second spoon.

[sunderwight]

Shen Qingqiu gets hit by a rare wife plot.

And it actually is a rare one because Airplane didn't even write this one down! He toyed with the idea before ultimately dismissing it as being too controversial for the tastes of his readers, and adapting only a few of the same elements for a subsequent chapter of PIDW.

But apparently the System can pull inspiration even from the author's thoughts, especially when there's nothing to contradict the concept and even a few threads of it still to be found in the original, and somehow Shen Qingqiu runs afoul of this previously-unwritten plot bunny.

The core concept was a cuck scenario, of all things. One of the Luo Binghe's wives gets afflicted by a poison that can only be cured by dual cultivation, but specifically can't be cured by by dual cultivation with anyone who has mastery over demonic qi. Something something conflicting energies, something bullshit something. Peerless Cucumber would have ripped the chapter to shreds if it had actually made it to publication, not just for the insult of implying that Luo Binghe should let one of his wives sleep with someone else, but also because why would Luo Binghe -- able to use both kinds of cultivation -- somehow not be able to keep his demonic energies from influencing the situation just in this one case?

Well it turns out that in his specific case it's because sex gets him too worked up to keep things strictly separate, and the degree of control required to treat the affliction whilst dual cultivating is extensive enough that even a little slip-up would be fatal.

Of course, in the actual chapter of PIDW, this same plot device was altered and used to create a harem orgy where Luo Binghe oversaw several of his wives "treating" one another's "afflictions", but Shen Qingqiu just had to go and get a fatal of dose of the more severe version (he didn't realize the risk, because again, this version didn't even make it into the novel).

Anyway, of course this ends up with Shen Qingqiu trying to figure out another way to cheat death, while Luo Binghe goes through the five stages of grief before accepting that he's just going to have to let someone else fuck his husband. This leads to an argument because of course Shen Qingqiu's not going to cheat on Luo Binghe, and he's especially not going to force one of his martial siblings to sleep with him, come on now, and Luo Binghe trying not to cry tears of blood while bringing himself to explain that a fair few of Shen Qingqiu's sect siblings would be happy volunteers for this task.

Shen Qingqiu's just like, well of course you think that, for some bizarre reason you think everyone wants to sleep with me. Bias is what it is. Really it's flattering Binghe but obviously every other person we know is straight, that's just statistics, and everyone in the entire cultivation world knows that Qi Qingqi would sooner chew glass than have sex with a man!

Luo Binghe, weeping now: Shizun please. This is serious. I need you speak words that make sense in the order you're saying them.

They argue, they reach an impasse, the clock is ticking. So Luo Binghe reluctantly turns to the most reliable source of information (outside of himself) on Manipulating Shen Qingqiu to Do Things That Are in His Own Best Interests -- Shang Qinghua.

At first Shang Qinghua is like, well I'm flattered Junshang but I don't think I could shoulder the baggage of fucking Cucumber-bro for you. But then Luo Binghe is like no I need someone who is way hotter and more capable than you, if Shizun is going to fuck someone else at my behest they're going to be TOP TIER so that when I fuck him better afterwards he's really impressed with me. Liu Qingge, obviously.

Not Yue Qingyuan, Shang Qinghua asks? (He'd take the insult a little more personally but honestly he's just relieved that he's not being asked to navigate this social minefield.)

No, Luo Binghe says. He's not 100% sure he could beat Yue Qingyuan in a fight even to this day, which in his mind also translates to not being 100% sure he could do sex better than him either, so Yue Qingyuan is an emergency last resort. He's way more likely to cry on Shizun too and Shen Qingqiu is into that shit, it's too risky.

Alright, says Shang Qinghua, and he thinks about it, and then he comes up with the beautifully simple solution:

Luo Binghe has to fuck Liu Qingge first.

Because of course the crux of the issue is that even with permission, Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to cheat on Luo Binghe. But in the twisted annals of his mind, Luo Binghe himself is still entitled to a harem, even if Luo Binghe is also happily monogamous in this life. So if he shacks up with Liu Qingge first then Liu Qingge essentially joins Luo Binghe's harem, at which point if Shen Qingqiu sleeps with him it's not an affair, it's the gay version of those fanservice-y 3P scenes that the wives in PIDW did. Shang Qinghua translates the concept as best as he can to Luo Binghe, who -- though slightly dubious -- must accept that so far Shang Qinghua's wisdom hasn't steered him wrong with regards to his shizun's eccentricities.

Luo Binghe's mission: seduce Liu Qingge, or at least convince him to have sex, or possibly to lie and (convincingly!) tell Shen Qingqiu that they had sex. That last one is the longest shot so he's probably going to have to just fuck him (Luo Binghe still underestimates how willing his husband is to believe that just about anyone would have sex with him).

Shang Qinghua's mission: convince Shen Qingqiu that he owes his husband steamy threeway gay sex or something so that this plan he pulled out of his ass doesn't backfire and get him killed.

[cutiefulism]

toji (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡ jjk

wc: 1.5k

synopsis: u n toji work together, but ur broke n fucking toji for cash. uhh that's it.

tags: porn w minimal plot, semi-public?, black&fem!reader, a little banter (if u can even call it that)

your break is only thirty minutes long.

any time over, and that greedy fucker you're forced to call your manager docks your pay.

you need that money. life, even when you live alone, is expensive enough, but with your cat needing urgent surgery and some bank-breaking medicine, that base expense doubles.

one grand a month just isn't enough.

you know it, your boss knows it, and toji knows it, too.

that's why he's splitting you open on his cock, after all.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip, worrying at the raw and kiss-swollen flesh to suppress a whine. the weeping tip of his dick is loving your gooey insides — kissing against your cervix with every thrust.

the staff-only restroom is almost unbearably hot, the musky scent of sex and the consistent sound of damp skin slapping against skin filling the tiny room. the mirror, luckily, is perfectly clear, allowing toji to see your debauched expression.

it's, for lack of a better word, lewd, and yet the knot of need in your stomach loosens a bit more, your legs spreading a little wider.

“ungh, t-toji, hurry up—” while you'd hate to bring such good times to an end, it must have been at least twenty minutes by now, and both the literal and metaphorical clock are ticking.

losing your job over some dick would seriously be a major low point in your life.

he only hums, and one hand from your hip slides up to the delicious dip in your back. toji’s thumb lightly traces along the ink there, sending a shiver up your spine and making your walls clench around him, as if you can suck him in any deeper.

he wouldn't have expected a cute waitress like you to have a tattoo there. ya learn something new every day.

“why? ain't know we was in a rush.”

god, doesn't his snarkiness ever turn off?

you lift and turn your head to look over your shoulder, hazy eyes narrowing into a shitty imitation of your usual glare. “y-yes, you did.”

he might play dumb, but he's far from it.

he shrugs, and that flame of irritation only burns brighter. obviously he doesn't give a fuck — he has nothing to lose.

you open your mouth to chastise him again, the words resting on your tongue, only for a sharp snap of his hips to scramble any coherent thoughts and shut you right up.

toji likes you better when the only thing coming from your lips is his name.

your head turns right back around and lolls forward, and his entire hand comes to rest on the small of your back, pressing down and pinning you to the cold restroom counter. the stark contrast between the scorching hot skin of your stomach and the smooth coolness of the marble makes you whimper, and he has to swallow down a moan.

“we'd already be done if i didn't hafta prep that prissy pussy of yers. tight like a… mmm, shiit — l-like a virgin.”

not that toji minds, of course. he loves prepping you, loves getting a taste of that pretty, needy cunt while stretching you with three thick fingers.

but, you don't need to know that, so it somehow comes back on you.

you shake your head, curls spilling free and clinging to the sides of your sweat-soaked face. this isn't your fault. it's his.

no man needs his dick to be eight and a half inches long.

carrying something like that in your pants should be a crime is what you would like to think, but judging by the way your moans fill up the cramped restroom and your gummy walls grip his shaft, you really aren't complaining.

and to be fair, how could you?

he's fucking you so nice-nasty, something that would put even the most experienced pornstars to shame.

long, deep strokes that hit that spongey spot every single time. toji has to actively remember to swallow down the saliva that floods his mouth every time you groan his name or your hips squirm back to try and meet his thrusts almost in spite of the fact he's holding you down.

his half-lidded emerald eyes leave your reflection in the mirror and track the bounce of your ass when he rams his hips into yours. maybe next time he'll get to try that hole instead, on one of your longer breaks.

if he threatens that bastard manager enough, surely he'd be willing to let you have an hour long break. paid, too — none of that clocking out and then clocking back in once it's over bullshit.

god, you really need a better job.

the calloused hand on your hip slides down between your quivering thighs and to your puffy clit, and the scar in the corner of toji’s lips stretches with his grin when you mewl.

you're so soaked, drenched in your own arousal and cum. it's running all down your brown thighs, dripping onto the tiled floor. a mess one of you will be forced to clean up later, lest your coworkers finally use their brain and actually figure out what happened here.

he swirls small, quick circles against that bundle of nerves, and your eyes roll all the way back, fingers scrambling for the edge of the sink. the pressure in your gut builds and builds, that knot only getting looser.

“oh, ohhh! toji, ‘m gonna cum—”

of course you are.

toji grunts, adam’s apple bobbing as he picks up his pace. what was once quick but measured thrusts now become something more like a fucking jackhammer, sloppy and painful.

is he trying to put you through the sink?

but you can't blame him, can you? not when you sound so sweet, look so gorgeous, feel so perfect around his cock.

it's like you were made for him. or maybe his dick was made for you.

tomato, tomatoe, right?

“be the fuck quiet,” he huffs out, head dropping forward and dark fringe obscuring his eyes. “don't… fuuuck, that's it… want the whole restaurant knowing yer getting f-fucked, now do ya?”

these sounds — the squelch of your pussy every time he shoves back in, your melodious whines and moans and grunts, the sweet, needy sighs and desperate gasps — all are reserved for him.

no one else can make you feel like this.

not that bitchass loverboy in your dms. not your creepy landlord.

just him.

“n-no!” you cry, and he can't help but coo. how cute. “t-toji, oh my god, please, p-please, fuck—”

you don't even know what you're begging for.

  to cum? he won't stop you.

for him not to tell your manager? he'd never ruin y'all's secret meetings like that.

hell, toji doesn't really know what you're begging for either, but the hand in the small of your back returns to your bruised hips, and he lifts you up and back, ass flush against his abdomen.

if he were to flip you over, you'd see an outline of how deep he's gone, right up to your empty womb.

that mental image is enough, and your jaw is going slack in a silent scream, pussy gushing and legs trembling for the second time in half an hour. the pads of your fingers press so hard into the marble that you're sure they'll break.

toji holds you right there, down to the now creamy base, thumb still rubbing at your poor clit to draw out your orgasm. your ragged gasps are all that he can hear, and he has to close his eyes and bite the everloving fuck out of his lip to not cum inside.

you wouldn't be very happy about that, and a lot of things would get complicated very fast.

once you slump forward, face the pinnacle of bliss, toji moves his hand and pulls out with a squelch of protest from your cunt. with a few quick, easy pumps of his fist, using your essence as lube, he's cumming, long, stringy ropes of creamy white spurting from that angry-red tip and painting your back.

a long groan of your name leaves his swollen lips, dick twitching a few more times in his hand before growing soft.

“ah, fuck,” he whispers, and, shit, he might be getting old, because he has to catch his breath.

after a few moments just filled with shared ragged, uneven breathing, toji begins to dress, tucking that monster back into his boxers and fastening his pants.

you start to follow suit with trembling fingers and unsteady legs. honestly, you could lay there for a couple minutes longer, but by now, your break is definitely up.

and here comes the awkward part — leaving without any of your coworkers noticing either of you, acting like you don't have his cum on your back or that toji can still taste you on his tongue.

his eyes roam over you — just a cursory glance to make sure you're okay, presentable enough for work. if you lose your job because of indecency, how will he spend his breaks?

jacking off won't cut it. trust, he's tried.

you're perceptive as always, however, and scoff. “don't do that. ‘m fine, and make sure to wire me my money.”

and with that, you're leaving the restroom, the heavy door swinging shut behind you.

toji feels his lips curl up into a grin again.

he can't wait for y'all's next shift.

smut is hard to write, i admire all of u that does so consistently and for over 500 words ᕙ⁠(⁠⇀⁠‸⁠↼⁠‶⁠)⁠ᕗ also to my lovely 40 followers how do we feel about this layout, pls give criticism!! </3

[silentsneezes]

my time and energy to write sneezefics has unfortunately hit a bit of a brick wall with classes starting back up after break, but i promise i'll get to people's asks eventually!

until then, here's some sick j/ayce in a college professor au. it'll eventually be a j/ayvik fic once i get around to writing the second part, but this is just the intro!

with that said, here's 3k of j/ayce being a stubborn miserable mess

Sitting in his office, Jayce keeps a close eye on the time, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the worn edge of his desk. It’s half past noon, and his lecture on thermodynamics in engineering is scheduled to start at one. His desk is unusually cluttered—notes, assignments to grade, and the lecture slides he had fine-tuned just this morning strewn messily across its surface. Realistically, he should spend the next hour polishing his lecture, but he can’t quite sum up the energy or motivation to do so. 

Instead, he glances out the window, noticing the overcast sky that stifles the usually bright campus in a gray fog. A dull exhaustion weighs down on Jayce, settling in his limbs and aching through his muscles. His movements are sluggish, slower than usual and tinged with slight incoordination. Every few minutes, he finds himself rubbing his temples, trying to ward off the intermittent headache that’s been bothering him all day. 

He hadn’t been able to pinpoint exactly when it started—maybe last night, or the day before—but it had crept up on him slowly, gnawing at the edges of his concentration: the constant, low ache in his temples, the tightness in his neck, the occasional dizziness. It wasn’t enough to keep him in bed, but it was enough to make everything feel like it required more effort than usual.

Jayce watches as the campus pathways are dotted with students rushing to their next class, heads down against the chill. The clock on the wall ticks forward, 12:35 now, a steady reminder that Jayce needs to get shit together. His usual room is prepared, of course, Room 112, the lecture hall he’d used for years now, with its high ceilings and neatly organized rows of desks. He’s grown accustomed to its elegant appearance, finding comfort in the fact that it was his room from the hours of 1:00 to 3:00 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. 

It’s only a short walk to the lecture hall, typically taking him 10 minutes at a leisurely pace, but he prefers to leave himself a cushion of time. Time to make sure the projector worked, to test the microphone, maybe even to grab a coffee if he was feeling particularly ambitious. That last part had become a bit of a ritual over the years. There was something calming about the routine of it all—the quiet before the classroom filled, the air of anticipation as students trickled in.

Arguably, his favorite part of his routine is stopping by Viktor’s office after his lectures. He often brings his partner food, knowing how frequently Viktor forgets to nourish his body throughout the day. The two of them typically exchange notes on the lectures, complain about certain bothersome students, and then work until they’re ready to go home. 

Jayce is torn from his rumination as his phone pings, glancing down and immediately recognizing the subject line of an email: URGENT – New Lecture Hall Assigned. With a sense of frustration swelling in his chest, he opens the email, skimming over the professional pleasantries to a line that reads, “There are currently electrical difficulties in Room 112. Your Thermodynamics in Engineering Lecture has been moved to Room 215 until further notice.”

Jayce takes a steadying breath, the throbbing in his temples making this slight change in plans feel like the end of the world. After taking a moment to bask in his frustration, Jayce registers that Room 215 is on the opposite side of campus, at least a 20 minute walk away at a brisk pace. He checks his watch, his stomach dropping as he registers the time: 12:39. 

He scrambles to collect his lecture notes, shoving them unceremoniously into his bag and exiting his office in a rush. Unfortunately, he only remembers the travel pack of tissues he’d left on his desk five minutes into his walk. He considers turning back for them, the steady dripping of his nose from the cold threatening to spill over his upper lip, but he doesn’t have the time. Instead, he berates his septum with a sleeve, grateful that the smear of moisture isn’t visible on the cuffs of his jacket. 

Despite the aching exhaustion throughout his body, he manages to make it across campus within a reasonable time. He swipes his keycard and enters the ancient building, taking a moment to appreciate the wave of warmth that greets him. 

As Jayce begins making his way through the labyrinth of corridors, he’s forced to sniffle every few seconds, the change in temperature only worsening his runny nose. He silently chastises himself for not having remembered the tissues, hoping in vain that Room 215  might have a tissue box stored somewhere. Realistically, he knows it wont. Room 215 is just a temporary lecture hall, used when the main buildings on campus have operational difficulties. 

As he walks, he double-checks the email confirming the switch, his brow furrowing in frustration once again. Of course, of all the days for this to happen, it had to be when Jayce felt like utter shit. Any other day, it would’ve offered him a pleasant walk across campus and a topic of conversation to bring up with Viktor when he yaps about his day. 

The further Jayce walks, the more he’s reminded of the building’s age, noting the cold patches in the hallways where the installation fails to maintain its heat. He keeps his coat held tightly around his broad frame, his shoulders uncharacteristically slumped. 

‘Damnit, not now’ 

With a particularly wet sniffle, Jayce’s sinuses begin buzzing. He recognizes the telltale itch, not enough to inspire a sneeze, but enough to make him berate his nose with a knuckle. The touch only worsens the itch, causing the buzzing to move up to the tip of his nose and flare his nostrils. His eyebrows knit together, his mouth falling slightly agape as a hitch slips through his lips, “hh-”

The singular hitch is enough to change the unpleasant buzzing to a full on burning sensation, and it’s quickly follow with a second, more urgent “hhHH-”

Jayce pauses in the middle of the hallway, grateful that no one seems to be around to witness his struggle. His elbow is bent over his nose, his eyes lidded and teary as his breath continues to catch in his throat.

“hhhhH’uh…hhih,” after a few seconds, Jayce moves to paw at his nose, desperate to either trigger a sneeze or relieve the itch. Unsurprisingly, Jayce’s nose decides on the former. He sucks in a final urgent breath, “hhhHHH-” before pitching forwards, his knee jerking up with the force of the expulsion, “hhHHRSSZZXCHH’uHh!”

Caught against his palm, the sneeze casts a thick spray across Jayce’s skin. He cringes at the clear sheen, sniffling desperately as the congestion in his nose starts slipping over his upper lip. He wipes the back of his hand against his septum, collecting a clear string of mess and hurriedly wiping it on his jacket. Yes, it’s gross, but without a tissue or handkerchief in sight, he doesn’t have much of a choice. 

With a defeated sigh, Jayce continues down the hall, the itch still tickling through his nose. He shouldn’t be surprised, really, It’s rare that he only sneezes once, especially when he’s sick. Still, he’d been hoping his nose would give him some relief after the expulsion. 

After what feels like years, Jayce reaches the door to Room 215. It stands slightly ajar, inviting him in. The moment he pushes the door open, he’s hit with a heavy wave of dust, so thick it coats his already irritated throat. His breath catches, the air too thick to take in without coughing. He sucks in a desperate breath in preparation before a harsh, chest rattling cough erupts from his chest, his body jerking forwards with the force of it. After a minute of painful sputtering, the fit dies down and Jayce registers the raw, burning sensation of his throat, feeling as if dust is settling deeper inside with every stuttered breath. 

“Great,” Jayce mumbles to himself, wincing as he attempts to clear his throat, which does nothing but worsen the watering of his eyes. He steps further inside the room, flicking on a lightswitch and glancing around. It’s evident that the college has left this room in slight disrepair since its last use. The desks are disorganized, the lights flickering every few seconds, as if teasing his already aching head. 

"This is going to be a mess.” Jayce mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair and hoping he doesn’t look as terrible as he feels– though he doubts that's true. He checks the clock on the wall, surprised to see that it’s still functioning. It’s nearly time for his lecture to start. 

‘At least the students haven’t arrived yet,’ he thinks, clearing his throat again as he feels phlegm sitting in its base. As he sets up his laptop on the podium, he feels the itch in his nose begin again. It teases along the innermost walls of his nose, causing the appendage to twitch. Before he can do as much as sniffle, his breath catches in a vocal hitch.

“hhHH-,” for better or for worse, this sneeze doesn’t tease him, coming out a second later and echoing through the room, “hHHGDSSXHCHew’hh!” Entirely uncovered, the sneeze mists the air in front of him, made visible by the overhead lights. 

Without warning, a second sneeze follows, though he manages to catch this one in the crook of his elbow, “hhhHMPDDSXCHHh’ewh!” 

Jayce snuffles wetly. He can feel the mess caught between his elbow and his nose, knowing the second expulsion was much more productive than the first. He takes a moment to clean himself up, though it’s more easily said than done without any tissues. He wipes his nose against his sleeve, hoping that students won’t be able to see the damp spots splotched along his jacket from their seats. 

He can hear the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching down the hall, feeling a pit form in his stomach as he realizes there’s no turning back now. He’s going to have to give a two hour lecture while fighting back a sneezing fit and feeling dead on his feet… What could possibly go wrong?

Jayce busies himself with his notes as students begin filtering into the hall, greeting him upon entry. Usually, he’d have a chipper response; he’s always loved getting to know his students. Today, he settles for a tired smile and a wave, deciding not to use his already strained voice more than he has to. 

Against all odds, Jayce manages to make it through the first half hour relatively smoothly. He has to pause often to clear his throat or cough into his elbow, but the students seem to blame it on the dust coating the room’s furniture and floor. 

Of course, Jayce can’t catch a break forever. As he begins the portion of his lecture on thermodynamic cycles, he feels a slight buzzing settle in the base of his sinuses. Between sentences, he attempts to sniffle quietly away from the mic, occasionally rubbing his nose. 

Jayce quickly realizes that this isn’t a sustainable solution, the touch only reddening his nostrils and causing them to flare. Still, he continues. He can’t just stop teaching in the middle of a lecture, not while he has over 40 students expecting a two hour class. 

“As we know, thermodynamic cycles are a series of processes that- hh- return a system to its initial state,” Jayce forces himself to continue speaking even as his breath begins to hitch, glancing down at his notes as his brain stalls, “these processes typically involve the transfer of heat and w-hHH’eh- snDf- work between the systehhhm and- Excuse me-”

Jayce turns around as his chest swells with a gasp, pivoting into his elbow as his back is turned to the class, “hhHHDDSSXHCHHew!” He stays bent over for a moment, his breath hitching again, “hhhh’uhH- HrRSCDXCHHHew’hh!” 

Jayce mops up his nose with his sleeve, blushing as a chorus of “bless yous” sound from the students. With a final wet sniffle, he turns back to the podium, “Thangk you,” he says to the blessings before continuing, “Where was I? Oh, right,” he mumbles to himself. 

“The processes work between the system and its surroundings, and the system undergoes period changes,” he begins lecturing again, but the itch stubbornly returns. He changes course, straying from his notes in an attempt to get a moment to collect himself, “work with the phh’ehrson beside you and discuss why these changes- hhhHih- might occur.”

Jayce is grateful as the room fills with chatter, finally granted a second to attend to his nose. He berates the appendage with his palm, turning his back to the class once again and catching a wet, “hhHHGGSSXHCHHew!” against his wrist. 

Luckily, this sneeze seems to dispel the itch for now, allowing him to refocus on his notes. After a few minutes, Jayce interrupts the discussion, drawing his student’s attention back to the lecture. It only takes a simple, “Let’s continue,” for the students to stop speaking. They listen well to him as he’s one of the more favored professors at the school for two reasons. Firstly, he’s nice: he takes time out of his day to talk to students one on one if they’re struggling, he’s lenient in giving extensions for assignments, and he makes pleasant small talk instead of acting superior. Secondly, he’s hot. Sure, it may seem inappropriate to say so, but if you put an intelligent, kind, wildly attractive man in front of a group of twenty-something-year-olds, they’ll pay attention.

“As I’m sure you all know, thermodynamic cycles are vital to a lot of mechanisms in engineering machinery,” Jayce starts lecturing again, noting that even a few of the students seem especially sniffly and sneezy– maybe it’s the dust, or maybe there’s a cold going around campus, that would at least explain where he caught it from. 

As Jayce continues teaching, his headache gradually worsens, the weight of his body threatening to make him drop to the floor. And yet, he stubbornly continues. He glances at the clock on the wall: 2:12. He’s already made it halfway through the lecture, surely he can make it another hour…. Right?

Wrong.

Within a few minutes, the tickling sensation in his nose returns, forcing him to rub it every few sentences to keep the liquid clinging to his septum at bay. Logically, he knows it’s only a matter of time before he has a fit. He’s grown accustomed to the signs, knowing full well how bothersome his nose gets when he’s sick. 

“The Brayton Cycle, also known as the Gas Turbine -hhh- cycle is used in gas turbines and jhhhH-jet engines,” he says as he moves to the chalkboard, brushing the coating of dust away with his sleeve, “it involves- hHH,” Jayce realizes his mistake a moment too late, the dust pushing his nose past its limit. 

Before he can even cover, Jayce snaps forwards with a harsh sneeze, “hhHHZZZXCHHEW’hh!” He watches as a splatter of droplets land on the floor below him, blushing and quickly moving to cover his dripping nose, “hhHGDSHHDXCH’uhh!”

Once again, a chorus of bless yous sound from his students, and he embarrassedly says, “Thangk you.”

“As I was saying, this cycle involves many components,” he continues, sniffling against his runny nose as he begins writing on the chalkboard, “Air, combustion, and expansion of exhaust gasses are the most- snNDFf- important…” 

Jayce’s voice trails off as his breath begins hitching again, and once again he curses himself for having forgotten tissues. His brain short circuits as a build up begins, and he tries desperately to mutter, “ExchhhH-cuse hH’eh mbe-” before doubling over into his elbow again.

“hheH’HNNGGSXCHh’uh- hhhih’ih’HRSSZZCHHHhh!” 

The double comes out back to back, and it’s as if the floodgates are finally broken. Jayce blushes as he registers the strings of snot clinging from his nose to the crook of his elbow, turning away from the podium and wiping a smear of mess along his sleeve. After a moment, he turns back with a defeated sigh. He glances at the clock: 2:25. 

“Mby abologies,” he starts, cringing at the sound of his own voice, almost unrecognizable through its congestion, “I’mb calling class early. Remember thad your- hhh- blueprint drafts are due this- snNDFf- Friday.”

At their dismissal, the students begin chatting and clearing their notebooks, evidently pleased with their class being cut short. On a day like this, Jayce can’t blame them, the gloomy overcast outside making it a perfect afternoon to stay bundled in bed. 

As the student’s exit, he hears a few mentions of the dust in the room, figuring that they’re blaming his nose’s performance on allergies rather than illness. He busies himself with cleaning up his notes, grateful that no one tries talking to him. 

After a few minutes, he’s finally alone. In the silence of the lecture room, it finally hits him just how miserable he feels. Aside from his dripping and raw nose, his throat is aching, his head is throbbing, and he feels like he’s carrying around a bag of bricks. 

His movements are dulled, making his progress in collecting all his things and wiping the chalkboard painfully slow. Finally, Jayce manages to compose himself enough to leave the room, giving the Room 215 placard one last glare before heading down the hall.

i hope someone enjoyed! as always, comments, tags, and reposts are much appreciated :) i'm hoping to post the second part next week, so expect some j/ayvik caretaking fluff

sorry for any grammatical errors or typos! i wrote most of this around 3AM so it has some issues (that i'm too tired to fix lol)

[hisfavegirl]

Endless Battle Of Love - Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6.

Word Count : 5.4k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The office smelled like lavender and old books, a mixture that had become strangely familiar over the past month. The soft ticking of a clock on the wall was the only thing filling the silence as you sat on the couch, knees pulled close to your chest. Jace sat beside you, his hand resting protectively on your thigh, his thumb drawing soothing circles over the fabric of your jeans.

"How have you been sleeping?" your therapist, Dr. Elara, asked gently, her pen poised over her notepad.

You hesitated.

Jace’s grip on your thigh tightened slightly in encouragement.

"Better," you said finally. "The nightmares aren’t as bad anymore. Some nights, I sleep all the way through."

Dr. Elara nodded, offering you a small smile. "That’s progress. And the panic attacks?"

Jace answered for you before you could. "Less frequent," he said, his voice firm. "But they still happen."

You glanced at him, watching as his jaw tensed, his other hand curled into a fist on his lap. Even after all this time, he still carried the weight of what had happened to you. He had seen the worst of you—the screaming, the shaking, the nights when you woke up clawing at your own skin as if you could rid yourself of the ghosts Cregan had left behind.

But he never left.

"Would you like to talk about them?" Dr. Elara asked.

You swallowed hard.

"It’s always the same," you murmured. "I dream about being in that jet again. About being trapped."

You closed your eyes, and for a moment, you were there again. The dim lights. The suffocating silence. The weight of Cregan’s hands on you.

Jace must have sensed your distress because he immediately shifted closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth.

"You’re not there anymore," he whispered. "You’re safe. I’m here."

Safe.

You clung to that word.

Dr. Elara tapped her pen lightly against the notepad. "Have you been using the grounding techniques we discussed?"

You nodded. "The breathing exercises help. And…" You glanced at Jace. "So does having him with me."

Jace looked down at you, something unreadable in his expression. He had given up so much for you—his company, his peaceful life—stepping into the darkness without hesitation just to protect you.

Dr. Elara sighed softly. "That’s good. But you need to be careful. Depending too much on one person for stability can be dangerous. You need to find strength in yourself, too."

"She is strong," Jace said immediately, his voice quiet but firm. "Stronger than she thinks."

You turned to him, startled.

Dr. Elara smiled knowingly. "And do you believe that?" she asked you.

Did you?

For months, you had felt like a victim. Like a shattered version of the person you used to be. But now… you weren’t so sure.

You had survived.

You had fought back.

You had walked into the darkness—and come out the other side. You inhaled slowly, then exhaled.

"I think I’m learning to."

The sun streamed through the windows of the therapist’s office, casting golden rays onto the wooden floors. You shifted slightly on the couch, feeling the warmth seep into your skin, but it did nothing to ease the unease creeping through your chest.

"You’re making progress," Dr. Elara said, her voice calm and reassuring. "You’ve been able to get into cars without panicking. That’s a big step."

You nodded, biting your lip. "I know, but… the plane was different."

Jace’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he gave a gentle squeeze.

"Tell me about it," Dr. Elara encouraged.

You took a slow breath, trying to steady your thoughts before speaking. "Jace’s family planned a trip last week. I—I wanted to go. I didn’t want to be left behind."

You swallowed hard, recalling the way your hands had started trembling the second you stepped into the airport.

"She started shaking before we even got to security," Jace murmured, his grip on your hand tightening. "And when we got to the gate…" He trailed off, jaw clenching.

You glanced at him, watching the way his thumb brushed absentmindedly over your knuckles. He still carried every moment of your pain like it was his own.

"I froze," you admitted softly. "I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was back there again."

The memory came rushing back—your heart pounding against your ribs, the feeling of walls closing in, the sheer terror that gripped you as you stared at the cabin door of the private jet.

"I told her we didn’t have to go," Jace said, voice edged with frustration—though not at you, never at you. "But she wanted to try."

Dr. Elara nodded. "So what happened?"

You exhaled shakily. "I couldn’t do it. I wanted to, but my body just—just shut down. I started crying and—"

"And she almost passed out," Jace finished, his voice tight.

You flinched at the reminder, your free hand curling into a fist against your lap.

"So we had to sedate her," Jace muttered bitterly. "She slept through the entire flight."

Dr. Elara regarded you carefully. "How did that make you feel?"

You swallowed, looking down.

"Weak."

"You’re not weak," Jace said immediately, his voice a low growl. "You went through hell, and you’re still standing. That doesn’t make you weak."

Your throat tightened.

"It felt like I was back there," you whispered. "Like the moment I stepped into that plane, I wasn’t safe anymore."

Dr. Elara leaned forward slightly. "That’s a trauma response," she explained gently. "Your brain associates the plane with danger because of what happened. It’s not something you can just ‘get over.’ It takes time."

Jace exhaled through his nose, clearly struggling to keep his frustration in check. "How do we fix it?"

Dr. Elara smiled slightly. "We don’t ‘fix’ it. We work through it. Gradually." She turned to you. "Would you be willing to try exposure therapy?"

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

"It doesn’t have to be all at once," Dr. Elara assured you. "Maybe just stepping onto an empty plane while it’s still grounded. Sitting in a cabin for a few minutes. Small steps."

You hesitated.

Jace’s thumb stroked over your knuckles again. "You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for," he murmured.

You bit your lip, glancing between him and Dr. Elara.

"I… I want to try."

Jace tensed beside you, but he didn’t argue.

Dr. Elara smiled. "That’s a good first step."

And deep down, you knew she was right. You couldn’t keep running from this forever. If you wanted to take back your life—to stop feeling like a prisoner in your own mind—you had to start somewhere.

Even if it scared you.

The ride home was silent, the weight of the session still lingering between you. Jace's fingers traced slow, comforting patterns over your knuckles, but neither of you spoke.

Your mind was spinning. Next session. That was when you’d have to face it. The thought alone made your stomach twist, but you had agreed. You wanted to try. You needed to try.

Jace glanced at you again, his grip tightening around your hand for a brief moment before loosening. "Are you okay?" he finally asked, his voice soft.

You hesitated, staring out the window at the passing city lights. "I don’t know," you admitted.

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t push. Jace had learned not to pressure you—not after everything. Instead, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. "We’ll take it slow," he murmured. "You don’t have to do this alone."

You turned to look at him then, meeting his gaze. The concern in his eyes, the quiet determination—it made your chest ache. "I know."

The car pulled up to his mansion, and Jace stepped out first, walking around to open your door. His hand was already reaching for you before you had even moved. You took it, letting him help you out, his warmth grounding you as he pulled you closer.

Inside, the atmosphere was just as quiet. Jace set down his keys and immediately turned to you, hands finding your waist. "Come here."

You let him guide you toward the couch, where he sat down and pulled you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his head resting against yours.

"I hate seeing you like this," he murmured after a while.

You sighed, curling into him. "I’ll get better."

"I know," he said, but there was something else in his tone. Something unspoken.

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. "What?"

Jace hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "I just—" His grip on you tightened. "I wish I could make it all go away."

Your heart clenched. You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. "You being here helps."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes dark with something unreadable. "I’ll always be here."

You nodded, believing him. Jace had never once left your side. For now, that was enough.

Jace stiffened at first, caught off guard by the way you leaned in. Your lips brushed against his—gentle, testing—and for a moment, he didn't move.

You felt his hesitation, the way his hands stilled on your back. Jace had always been careful with you, sometimes too careful. He never wanted to push, never wanted to risk hurting you. But this time, you were the one reaching for him.

So you kissed him again, a little firmer.

A quiet sound escaped him, something between a sigh and a groan, and then he was kissing you back. Slowly, deliberately, his hands sliding up your spine as if mapping every inch of you. His lips moved with restrained hunger, as if he was still holding himself back.

But you didn’t want restraint. Not tonight.

You deepened the kiss, shifting in his lap so that your arms wrapped around his neck. He pulled you closer instinctively, one hand pressing against your lower back, the other coming up to cradle your jaw. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch unbearably soft.

When you finally broke apart for air, Jace rested his forehead against yours, his breath uneven.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt. "Jace… I want this. I want you."

His grip on you tightened for a fraction of a second before he exhaled sharply. "I don’t want to hurt you," he admitted, his brows furrowing. "I don’t want you to feel like you have to—"

"I know." You cut him off gently, brushing your fingers against his jaw. "But I’m not afraid right now. With you, I’m safe."

Jace swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. Whatever he saw there seemed to undo him.

"God, I love you," he murmured, and then he was kissing you again, deeper this time. Less hesitant, more sure. His hands roamed your back, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then lower.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were reclaiming a part of yourself—one kiss at a time.

You felt Jace’s arms tighten around you as Aegon’s amused voice filled the room.

“Well, well, well… don’t stop on my account.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you turned away, but Jace only exhaled sharply, his grip on you firm. “Get out, Aegon.”

Aegon merely laughed, strolling into the room with that insufferable grin on his face. “Relax, lover boy. I’m just here for my laptop. Unless…” He smirked, looking at you. “You two need some pointers?”

Jace growled low in his throat, his jaw ticking. “Aegon.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” Aegon held up his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk didn’t waver. He grabbed his laptop from the desk, but before he left, he paused at the door, casting one last glance at the two of you.

“You know,” he drawled, “it’s about time. Poor Jace has been suffering for months.”

Jace didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed a pillow and threw it straight at Aegon’s head.

Aegon ducked, laughing as he stepped out of the room. “Just saying!” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t be too loud. The walls are thin.”

The door shut behind him, leaving the room in silence.

You could feel Jace’s frustration radiating off him, his hold on you still possessive. When you looked up, his face was buried in your shoulder, his breaths slow and controlled.

“You’re tense,” you murmured, running your fingers through his hair.

“Because he’s an ass.” Jace huffed against your skin.

You giggled, the sound soft. “He’s not wrong, though.”

Jace lifted his head to look at you, his expression softening. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, your fingers tracing slow circles on his shoulder. “More than okay.”

His lips quirked up slightly before he leaned down, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because I’m not letting Aegon ruin this moment.”

You smiled as he pulled you closer again, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips—one that Aegon, thankfully, wasn’t there to interrupt.

Jace pulled away first, and you let out a small noise of protest, making him chuckle.

“Patience, love,” he murmured, his fingers tracing your jaw before cupping your cheek.

You pouted. “You started it.”

His grin widened as he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. “I know. And I plan to finish it—later.”

Before you could complain again, he took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “But first, I’m taking you out tonight. Dinner. Just the two of us.”

You blinked in surprise. “Dinner?”

“Yes. A proper one.” Jace’s thumb brushed over your knuckles. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

You smiled, your heart warming at the idea. “Okay.”

He smirked. “Good. But first, I’m taking you to a salon.”

You raised a brow. “A salon?”

“Yes.” Jace tilted his head slightly. “I want you to relax and feel good. I’ve already made an appointment.”

You laughed softly. “You planned all of this?”

“Of course.” His fingers toyed with a strand of your hair. “You deserve to be pampered.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch. “You’re spoiling me.”

“And?” He grinned. “Isn’t that my job?”

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t hide your smile. “Fine. I’ll get ready.”

Jace’s smirk grew. “Good girl.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could say anything, he was already guiding you toward the closet. “Now, go. I want you looking like the most beautiful woman in the city tonight.”

“I already am,” you teased.

Jace hummed, his eyes darkening slightly as he pulled you close once more. “That you are.”

Then, with one last kiss, he let you go. “Now hurry up. The salon is waiting.”

You chose a simple dress, something elegant yet understated—just the way you liked it. Even though you now lived with Jace and his family, you had never been the type to indulge in excessive luxury.

As you descended the stairs, you felt Jace’s gaze lock onto you. He had been leaning casually against the railing, scrolling through his phone, but the moment he looked up, he froze. His expression shifted—his eyes darkened, his lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he looked as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, stopping a few steps above him.

He blinked, inhaling sharply before smirking. “Can you blame me?”

Your lips curled into a small smile. “It’s just a dress, Jace.”

He stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands found your waist as he looked up at you from where he stood a step below. “No. It’s you in that dress. That’s the difference.”

Heat crept up your neck, but before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Come on, love. We have a salon to get to.”

You let him take your hand, allowing him to lead you outside. The drive to the salon was peaceful, the city lights passing by as Jace rested one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns.

“Are you nervous?” he asked suddenly.

You glanced at him. “About what?”

“Tonight.” His grip on your thigh tightened just slightly. “It’s our first proper date.”

You considered his words. In a way, he was right. The two of you had been tangled in each other’s lives for so long—through obsession, trauma, and chaos—but you had never had something as simple as a normal date.

“Not nervous,” you admitted softly. “Just… I don’t know. It feels different.”

Jace smiled, his thumb stroking your skin. “Different is good.”

You met his gaze, warmth blooming in your chest. “Yeah. It is.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the radio. When you arrived at the salon, Jace was already out of the car before you could move, opening your door for you.

“My lady,” he teased, offering his hand.

You rolled your eyes but took it, letting him guide you inside. The staff greeted you warmly, already expecting your arrival, and Jace made sure you were comfortably seated before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Enjoy yourself,” he murmured. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smiled as he stepped back, watching him settle onto one of the couches near the entrance, his eyes never leaving you. Even now, he couldn’t take his attention off you.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You hummed softly as the hairstylist ran their fingers through your hair, carefully working on the final touches. The salon smelled of lavender and vanilla, the air warm and calming.

“You’re a lucky woman,” the stylist commented with a smile as they adjusted a curl. “Jacaerys Velaryon isn’t just rich—he adores you. I can see it in his eyes.”

You met their gaze through the mirror, a small smile forming on your lips. “I know.”

Jace was many things—obsessive, overprotective, sometimes reckless—but his love for you had never wavered. He was always there, watching over you, making sure you were safe. Even when you had been at your lowest, drowning in trauma, he never left.

Just as you were about to turn and look at him, you noticed he was gone. His seat near the entrance was empty.

Your eyes scanned the room until you caught sight of him through the reflection of the mirror. He was standing near the back of the salon, phone pressed to his ear, his expression dark. His jaw was tight, shoulders stiff, fingers gripping his phone with more force than necessary.

Something was wrong.

Your fingers curled into your lap. You wanted to ask, to get up and walk over, but before you could, the stylist gently tilted your head. “Almost done, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes.”

You swallowed your concern and nodded, letting them finish. Jace was still on the phone, his voice low, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck.

By the time you stood up, he had disappeared completely.

Your stomach twisted slightly as you stepped away from the chair, smoothing down your dress. Where did he go?

You made your way toward the back of the salon, slipping past the employees. You pushed open the door leading to a quieter hallway, and there he was—standing near the exit, his back turned to you.

”—if he’s still alive, I want to know where the fuck he is.”

Your breath hitched.

“No mistakes this time. Handle it.”

Silence.

Then, Jace let out a slow breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing before he ended the call.

You took another step forward. “Jace?”

He turned sharply, his eyes meeting yours. The storm in them softened almost immediately.

“You’re done?” he asked, his voice lighter now, as if nothing had happened.

You nodded slowly. “Who was that?”

“Just business.” He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look beautiful.”

Your heart clenched. He was trying to distract you.

“Jace,” you murmured, your fingers brushing against his. “That call—who were you talking about?”

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, instead of answering, he sighed and cupped your cheek. “I told you, love,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your skin. “I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Even if it means making sure ghosts stay buried.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Ghosts.

Cregan was dead.

Or at least… he was supposed to be.

You froze for a moment when you saw the dress draped over the chair—a stunning white gown, its fabric smooth and flowing like liquid silk. It was elegant yet simple, not overly extravagant, but enough to make anyone feel like royalty.

Slowly, you turned to face Jace. He was leaning casually against the counter, hands in his pockets, watching you with a small smile.

“You got this for me?” you asked softly, fingers grazing the fabric.

His smile widened. “I did. Thought you might like it.”

You swallowed. The idea that he had taken the time to choose something like this, something so perfect, made warmth bloom in your chest.

Before you could say anything else, one of the salon attendants approached, bowing her head slightly. “Would you like to change now, miss?”

You hesitated, glancing back at Jace. He didn’t say anything, only giving you an encouraging nod.

So you took the dress and followed the attendant into the fitting room.

The moment you slipped into it, you felt… different. The way the fabric hugged your body, the way it shimmered under the soft salon lights—it was breathtaking. You barely recognized yourself as you stared into the mirror.

The attendant helped adjust a few details before stepping back. “Perfect,” she murmured.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the fitting room.

Jace was waiting just outside.

The moment he saw you, his entire body seemed to go still. His usual confidence faltered, his lips parting slightly as his gaze traveled over you. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared.

You had seen him look at you many times before—with adoration, with amusement, with that possessive hunger that never seemed to fade. But this?

This was something else.

“Jace?” you murmured.

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, then exhaled a soft laugh. “You’re…” He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You smiled, stepping closer. “You really think so?”

His hand reached for yours, fingers curling around your wrist gently. “I know so.”

There was something about the way he was looking at you—like you were the most precious thing he had ever laid eyes on. Like he would burn the entire world down just to keep you safe.

And in that moment, you realized—no matter how dark things got, no matter what ghosts from your past tried to haunt you—Jace would always be there.

"Jace, what are you doing?" you grumbled, your hands reaching up to pry his away from your eyes.

He only chuckled, his breath warm against your ear. "Patience, love. Just a little longer."

You could hear the waves crashing gently in the distance, the salty scent of the ocean filling your lungs. The breeze was cool against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Jace—"

"Alright, alright." He finally let go, stepping back. "Open your eyes."

The moment you did, your breath caught in your throat.

The beach stretched out before you, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns carefully placed in the sand. A small dining table sat in the center of it all, draped in white linen, adorned with flickering candles and a delicate arrangement of roses. The ocean reflected the moonlight, casting silver ripples across the waves. It was… perfect.

You turned to Jace, speechless.

"You did all this?" your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curled into a smirk. "Do you like it?"

You exhaled a shaky laugh. "Jace, this is—" You shook your head, eyes glistening. "It’s beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he murmured, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

Your heart fluttered.

"Come," he said, guiding you toward the table. He pulled out your chair, waiting for you to sit before taking his place across from you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stared at each other, the sound of the waves filling the silence between you.

"You didn’t have to do all this," you said softly.

"I wanted to." His voice was firm, unwavering. "You deserve this. You deserve everything."

You looked down, swallowing hard.

Jace reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "You’ve been through hell, love. But you’re still here. Still fighting." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "I want you to know that no matter what, I’ll always be by your side. Always."

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes.

"Jace…"

"No more looking back," he whispered. "Only forward. With me."

You nodded, squeezing his hand.

"With you."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched Aegon and Aemond pour champagne into your glass with exaggerated grace, as if they were trained butlers.

"What is this?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aegon smirked. "A royal service, my lady. Enjoy it while it lasts."

Aemond rolled his eye, setting the bottle down with practiced ease. "Jace insisted we do this. I still don’t know why I agreed."

"Because I made you," Jace interjected smoothly, amusement flickering in his eyes as he took a sip of his drink.

You shook your head, still chuckling, before a sound caught your attention—the soft, elegant melody of a violin drifting through the night air. Your laughter faded as you turned, eyes widening.

A musician stood a few feet away, playing a slow, enchanting tune that mingled perfectly with the sound of the waves. The scene felt like something out of a dream.

When you looked back at Jace, he was already watching you. His gaze was intense, filled with something deep, something unspoken. The flickering candlelight reflected in his dark eyes, making them look almost golden.

"Dance with me," he murmured, standing up and holding out his hand.

You hesitated for a second, your heart pounding, but then you placed your hand in his.

Jace pulled you to your feet gently, his grip firm yet careful. With Aegon and Aemond smirking behind you, you stepped onto the soft sand, where the melody continued to play.

"Ignore them," Jace whispered, pulling you closer. "It's just us."

And so, with the moonlight shining above, the waves singing their lullaby, and the violin playing just for you, you danced.

Jace’s arms tightened around you as you swayed gently to the rhythm of the violin, the soft sound of the waves harmonizing with the melody. His warmth enveloped you, grounding you in the moment, in him.

Then, his voice—low, rough with emotion—whispered against your ear.

"I love you."

You stiffened slightly, your breath catching in your throat.

"I love you more than anything in this world," he continued, his voice steady, unwavering. "And I will protect you, no matter what it takes. No one will ever hurt you again."

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as your heart pounded.

"Jace... I—"

"Shh," he cut you off softly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with infinite tenderness. "I don’t need you to say anything. I just need you to know that I will never leave you. Never."

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his words, of his presence.

Jace leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "You are everything to me," he whispered. "And I will walk through fire, through hell itself, if it means keeping you safe."

The night felt still around you, as if the universe itself had paused to witness this moment.

Slowly, you lifted your hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. A silent promise. A vow.

And when you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

"I believe you."

Jace exhaled shakily, his lips curling into a small, relieved smile. And then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed you—soft and slow, as if pouring all of his love into that single moment beneath the moonlit sky.

The world around you seemed to blur, the sound of the waves fading into the background as Jace knelt before you. The small velvet box in his hands was open, revealing a stunning ring that sparkled under the soft glow of the moon.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Jace..."

His gaze never wavered as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with nothing but love, devotion, and something deeper—an unbreakable promise.

"I know you’ve been through hell," he began, his voice steady yet thick with emotion. "I know you think you're broken, that there are pieces of you that can't be put back together. But I don’t care how many scars you carry, how many nightmares still haunt you—I love you."

Your hands trembled, your mind racing, but he reached out, gently taking one of your hands in his.

"You don’t have to be perfect," he whispered. "You don’t have to heal overnight. I just want to be the one standing beside you, through every high, every low, through every dark night and every bright morning. I want you, always."

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him—the man who had fought for you, who had held you through your worst nights, who had never once turned away even when you tried to push him away.

"Marry me," Jace said, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. "Let me be the one to love you for the rest of my life."

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping as emotions swirled inside you—fear, hope, love.

You had never thought this moment would come. Not after everything. Not after the nightmares and the broken pieces you thought no one would ever want.

And yet, here he was.

Still choosing you.

Still loving you.

Your voice wavered as you finally found the strength to speak.

"Yes."

The moment the word left your lips, Jace let out a breath he had been holding, his expression breaking into one of pure, unfiltered joy. He slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking slightly, before standing up and cupping your face.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you—slow and deep, as if trying to tell you everything words couldn’t.

The cheers of Aegon and Aemond broke through the quiet night, but you barely heard them.

Because, for the first time in so long, you felt something you thought you had lost forever.

Hope.

Your tears fell freely, but for the first time in a long while, they weren’t from pain or fear. They were from joy—overwhelming, heart-crushing joy. Jace was still kissing you, his lips moving softly against yours, pouring all his love into that one moment.

Then, the sound of clapping grew louder.

You pulled away slightly, your breath hitching as you turned to see a group of familiar figures standing nearby. Rhaenyra, Alicent, Luke, Daemon—his usual smirk present—Helaena. They were all there, watching, smiling, celebrating.

Jace chuckled, pressing his forehead against your temple. "I should’ve known they wouldn’t let us have this moment alone."

Rhaenyra stepped forward first, a teasing smile on her lips as she looked between the two of you. "Took you long enough," she mused, her voice warm. "I was starting to think my son didn’t have the courage."

Jace groaned, shaking his head. "Not you too, Mother."

Alicent laughed softly, stepping beside Rhaenyra. "Oh, she’s not the only one. We’ve been waiting for this moment for a while." Her eyes softened as they met yours. "And I can’t think of anyone better to stand beside him."

Luke practically tackled you in a hug before Jace pulled him away, shaking his head. "Careful with my fiancée, Luke."

Hearing that word—fiancée—sent a shiver through you. It was real. You were engaged.

"Fiancée, huh?" Aegon smirked, holding up a glass of champagne. "So does this mean we can start planning the wedding? Because I have some… let’s just say, unique ideas."

Aemond rolled his eye. "Don’t let him anywhere near the planning, unless you want a bachelor party that ends in absolute chaos."

Jace shook his head, wrapping an arm around you protectively. "Aegon is not planning anything."

You laughed softly, leaning into Jace as he held you close. The moonlit beach, the sound of waves crashing, the warmth of Jace’s body beside you, the presence of family—it was more than you ever thought you could have.

And for the first time in forever, you didn’t feel like a broken woman trying to survive.

You felt like a woman who was finally, truly living.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @ashblooddragons

[imaginedreamwrite]

I have no chill

The cloud of smoke billows in the room, a haze that obstructs his eyes that are both piercing and cold. The tension in the room is heavy as the old grandfather clock ticks in the hall. You remembered it even as a child, the sound of the gold pendulum taking you back to a time when you were innocent of this world.

Now you were all aware of the danger. If danger could even quantify the reputation of the man sitting across from you. The devil in a black suit smoking a cigarette with a bottle of bourbon in his hands.

“The little princess needs protection, even you can’t keep her safe.” The accent that sends a chill down anyone who hears it, reverberates in the study. Though there is a small group of men standing nearby the infamous man, it feels as if there is no one but you and him.

The two of you, at a standstill with your eyes communicating everything were words fail you.

“And you can?” The revile in your voice is poignant and brisk, and you speak over your parents voices, uninhibited by the respect you know he’s earned.

It’s only a beat, only a single moment before your father nods your head. Movement to the left of this bastard Simon Riley, draws your attention. A man with crystallized blue eyes steps toward you, the air around him as equally dangerous and yet there’s a gleefulness around him.

“Soap, take her out. The rest of this conversation is going to take place without her.” The smoke he exhales wafts toward you just as the man he commended brings you to your feet. “Don’t worry your pretty head poppet, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

[obsidianpen]

please please please give us some new b&g snippets?

Draco had been right on all accounts. Security was a nightmare. There were about twenty different curses and charms set upon newly made, various doorways that had to be removed as they made their way into the Department of Mysteries proper. But the Unspeakables in charge of guarding them had not been able to deny the Harry Potter entrance when he said–with undeserved confidence and entitlement, Draco thought–that he needed to speak with the Unspeakables in Time. 

Even if they didn’t look thrilled about it. Even if he did have Draco Malfoy trailing along after him. 

“Feels weird being back here,” Weasley murmured, ruining Draco’s attempt to pretend he didn’t exist. They had finally gained access to the dark, black-tiled hall, one which was lit up by a series of blue-flamed torches. They passed the stairwell that led to Level Ten, making their way towards a single black door.  

Draco felt his skin prickling with unease. He had never been in the Department of Mysteries before. 

“Yeah,” Potter responded. “Let’s just stay away from the brain tank this time, yeah?”

“Please stay away from the brain tank,” their Unspeakable guide, a middle-aged, tired looking man agreed. “I cannot begin to explain the damage we had to repair on that, and one the brains never did recover…”

“I hope it was the one that attacked me,” Weasley said bitingly. He rubbed at his forearms, which, Draco now noticed, were covered in faded, raised scars. 

The Unspeakable didn’t respond, only continued to walk with them. Draco also refrained from making some snide remark–despite how fertile the landscape was for roasting Weasley for being bested by a discorporeal brain.

“Right this way,” said the Unspeakable. He opened the door, then led them into a circular room that was just as dark as the hall. Many unmarked, identical doors with no handles surrounded them, thin candles illuminating the space with that same blue light. The black, marble floor shimmered underfoot.

Draco had no idea what door they were supposed to go in, and judging by the looks Potter and Weasley gave each other, they didn’t, either. Their guide, however, could clearly tell them apart, because he went straight to the third door from the right and placed his hand on it. It swung open. A thousand ticking sounds greeted them, as well as an array of sparkling, golden light.

“Come along, then,” he said. Potter followed him in at once, then Draco and Weasley followed.

Draco stared, open-mouthed, as this strangest of rooms. There were clocks everywhere–of every kind, of every size, on every surface. Shelves and shelves of clocks, and between them standing ones and hanging ones, grandfather clocks and clocks with far too many hands and far too many numbers. At the far end of the room was a shelf holding dozens of jars, all filled with bright, glittering things, varying from golden sand to small, metal scraps. Draco’s heart soared and then swiftly collapsed as he examined them. 

Individually, the pieces in those jars looked like the components of a Time-Turner…

[biblical-chronicles]

Plastered

_________________________________________

where Liam needs some help to find the courage on Valentine's Day.

_________________________________________

Liam sat slumped on his couch, flicking through channels on the TV without really watching anything. His mind kept circling back to you, the thought of confessing, the pressure building with every tick of the clock. It wasn’t like he’d never felt this way before—he’d been through the motions with women before—but this... this felt different. And fuck, he wasn’t ready for that. What if she doesn't feel the same? What if I make a tit of meself?

He sighed heavily and glanced at the clock again. It was mid-afternoon, and you’d mentioned you were staying in tonight. That was his window. He had a plan, he just had to make sure it went well. Nothing too grand—just a simple, honest conversation. Yeah, right. Simple.

Just as he was stewing in his thoughts, the door buzzer rang.

Liam groaned, his fingers drumming on the arm of the couch. “What now?” he muttered to himself, dragging his feet over to the door.

When he opened it, Noel breezed in, cigarette already hanging from his lips. “Alright, dickhead,” Noel greeted with his usual smirk, not waiting for an invitation. “Got them papers for you. You know, the ones you’ve probably forgotten about 'cause you’ve been too busy pacing around this dump of a flat like a fucking madman.”

Liam rolled his eyes, stepping aside. “I’m not pacing around, I’m thinkin’.”

“Wrong, you're not capable of that.” Noel threw himself onto the couch, throwing the documents onto the little coffee table.

“I’ll get to 'em later. I’ve got stuff to deal with today.”

Noel raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Liam. “Stuff? Like what? You finally gonna man up and tell her you fancy her, or what?”

Liam shot him a glare, but Noel was already grinning like he knew something Liam didn’t. "Nah," Liam muttered, scratching his head. "Not like that. Just... yeah. You know. Think I’m gonna swing by hers later, innit."

“Swing by?” Noel chuckled, eyes narrowing. “So you’re just gonna turn up at her gaff, all confident, all ‘Hey, I fancy ya’, and expect it to go smoothly, yeah?”

Liam frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

Noel laughed harder now. “Oh, you poor bastard. You’ve never been able to ask the bird out to lunch without getting all twitchy, let alone doin’ some grand confession on bloody Valentine’s Day.”

Liam bit his lip, already feeling the nerves creeping in. “I can do it, alright?”

Noel grinned, clearly loving how worked up Liam was getting. “You’re sure she’s even stayin’ in? She could be off out, mate. You’ve not even checked, have ya?”

Liam stared at him blankly. “I don’t—” he stammered, caught off guard. He hadn’t thought about that. “I mean… She said she was stayin’ in. Why would she suddenly change her plans?”

Noel’s smirk only grew wider. “Oh, who knows? Maybe someone actually asked her out. You ever think of that, Liam? She's not reserved for ya so plesse stop just stewin’ in here like a prat.”

Liam let out a grunt, clearly starting to get a bit frustrated. “I don’t need you to make me feel worse, alright?”

Noel laughed again, shaking his head as he stood up to leave. “Nah, mate. I’m just tellin’ ya how it is. But listen,” he added, turning back toward the door, “You really have to do this, she won't wait around forever for your nervous arse.”

Liam glared at him, his jaw clenching. “I’m not nervous.”

“Yeah, right,” Noel shot back, the playful glint still in his eyes. “You look like you'd benefit from a shot"

Liam blinked, his brain slowly processing what Noel had just said.

Noel grinned, mischief still dancing in his eyes. “Anyway, you better sort yourself out, yeah? You’ve got a date to ruin.” With that, he strolled out of the flat.

Liam stood there, processing it all for a second before returning to looking at the telly again, procrastinating any further planning.

Yet, as the evening crept closer, Liam’s nerves ramped up like mad. He had been fine, totally fine, but now, with the sun dipping below the horizon, the weight of what he was about to do hit him like a fucking train. His knee bounced restlessly as he sat on the couch, staring at the clock.

6:12 PM.

Shit. Less than an hour until he was meant to head over.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. His palms were clammy, his heart was hammering. He needed to get his shit together. What had Noel said? Right—have a shot. Just a little something to take the edge off. Sounded like solid advice.

So he did.

And then, because his stomach was still flipping and his brain was still screaming, he had another.

And then another.

And then… well, after the fourth one, things were starting to feel much easier.

By the time he glanced back at the clock, it was 6:54 PM.

His stomach dropped. “Oh, fuck.”

Scrambling to his feet, he nearly tripped over the coffee table as he grabbed his coat. He had no gift, no grand gesture, nothing. He had spent so much time spiraling over how to tell you that he’d forgotten to actually prepare anything. In a last-minute stroke of genius, he dashed outside, spotting a small patch of flowers behind someone's fence but close enough to reach.

“Ah, perfect.” he mumbled to himself, crouching down. They weren’t exactly the finest bouquet in the world, but they’d do. He yanked a few out of the ground, dirt and all, and—after wiping his hands sort of clean on his jeans—set off towards your place, swaying slightly as he walked.

When you opened the door, the sight that greeted you was nothing short of chaotic.

Liam stood there, swaying slightly, looking like he’d just been through something. His hair was sticking up in odd directions, his pupils were blown wide, and he smelled of booze. In his grip—barely—was a small, pathetic bundle of flowers, some of them missing petals, others still clinging to their roots.

You just stared at him for a second. “Liam?”

He opened his mouth, as if he had some grand declaration prepared, something sweeping and romantic, but all that came out was a strangled, “Oh, fuck, love, I’m so sorry.”

Your brows lifted. “For what?”

“For—” He gestured wildly at himself, the flowers, the whole tragic state of affairs he’d brought to your doorstep. “This! This whole—this whole fucking disaster! This is not how this was supposed to go, at all.”

Your lips twitched, but you managed to keep a straight face. “And how was it supposed to go?”

Liam let out a long, weary sigh, like he was personally disappointed in himself. “Well, not like this, obviously.” He rubbed a hand down his face before leveling you with a surprisingly serious look. “I had a plan, y’know.”

You just barely bit back a smile. “Did you now?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, swaying slightly with the movement. “I was gonna knock on your door all cool, say summat dead smooth, summat that’d make ya weak in the knees—‘cause let’s be real, I make ya weak in the knees, yeah?”

You let out a snort, and he pointed at you like he’d caught you in some kind of admission.

“Exactly,” he said. “But then—” He suddenly looked deeply betrayed. “Then Noel—”

He flung his arms out dramatically, like the mere mention of his brother’s name was enough to conjure bad luck. “He’s sittin’ in me flat, takin’ the piss, right? And I’m tellin’ him about tonight, proper serious, and he’s just laughin’ at me! Like I’m some kind of—I dunno—some kinda mug! And then he’s like, ‘Oh, just have a shot, mate,’ and I thought—yeah, alright, good shout.”

Your amusement only grew as he barreled forward with his confession.

“But then I kept havin’ ‘em,” Liam went on, his voice increasing in volume like he’d just realized the depth of his own mistake. “And then suddenly it’s, like, ten to seven, and I’m leggin’ it down the road, tryna find ya some flowers, and now—now—I’m here, stood in front of ya, absolutely fuckin’ wrecked, makin’ a right fool of meself.”

You couldn’t help it anymore—you laughed. Loudly.

Liam immediately froze, his face falling like you’d just punched him in the gut.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, looking properly crushed. His eyes darted everywhere but you, like he was already planning his escape.

Before he could spiral any further, you reached out, grabbing the front of his coat and tugging him closer.

“Oh, Liam,” you murmured, still grinning. “C’mere.”

His eyes flickered to yours, completely dazed, and then, just as quickly, he stumbled forward, colliding into you. His nose brushed against yours as you pressed your lips to his, and for a second, he didn’t react—almost like his brain couldn’t process what was happening. But then, all at once, his hands gripped onto your waist, pulling you closer, like he had to make sure this was real. He kissed you back with everything he had, and somewhere in the midst of it, the sad little bouquet in his hands slipped from his fingers, landing on the doorstep with a soft thud.

When you finally pulled away, he blinked at you, still swaying slightly.

“… Does that mean you’ll be me Valentine?” he asked, his voice soft, full of hesitant hope.

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, smiling. “Of course, Liam.”

His face lit up, but then his brows furrowed, like something important had just dawned on him. “Wait—not just today, yeah? I mean it. I wanna be with ya—properly. Not just for Valentine’s, not just for now. Like… forever, or summat.”

You let out a snort. “Yeah, Liam, I’m not stupid. I know.”

That was all he needed. His lips crashed onto yours again, more urgent this time, like he was making up for all the time he’d wasted. His hands roamed—your waist, your back, anywhere he could get a grip—until finally, he pulled away with a sharp inhale.

You pressed your forehead against his, smiling as he blinked at you, still swaying slightly. His breath warm against your lips, and he looked just so pleased with himself.

You huffed a small laugh, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “Come on, let’s get you inside, yeah? Get you some water before you fall over.”

Liam’s brows furrowed like he was debating whether he should be offended or grateful. Eventually, he settled on grinning, throwing an arm around you as you guided him inside. “Yeah, alright, but only ‘cause ya asked so nicely.”

_________________________________________

happy valentines day to all you lot, hope you liked it !!

noel valentine's story here x

[merbear25]

heyyyy, hi I would like to request for the Valentine's day event! can you do Mihawk x fem reader with number 12 please? Thank you <3

Thank you for sending in a request! I hope you like it 💜💜

Couldn’t there have been another to carry out the Marine’s plans? Being a Warlord came with perks, no doubt, yet the drawbacks seemed to be rearing their ugly heads more and more often. He was the greatest swordsman! That was what you kept telling yourself, yet those words brought you no comfort. The only thing that would calm your worried heart would be his return.

CW: SFW, fem!reader, fluff, established relationship

In your arms again, I can finally be (Mihawk)

Long nights that stretched past the midnight hours, rolling clouds that didn’t seem to part to let in the hiding light, the sun that refused to shine its rays on the woman waiting for her man to return home: you sat alone in the large castle for yet another day. The cold stone surrounding you started feeling like a tomb quite some time ago, when exactly you couldn’t remember.

Eating your meals in the grandhall left each one unfulfilling. The flickering orange flames on the candles painting the dark grays of the interior did little to offer any warmth. Sleeping became a trying task, as well. The bed was unwelcoming, and the absence of your lover had you tossing and turning throughout the night, plagued with nightmares of him never coming home to you.

Creaking in the old walls was the only communication you exposed yourself to. Going out with others while your man’s whereabouts were undisclosed felt like a betrayal. Guilt forbade you from indulging in the simplest of luxuries, which was regrettably creeping into the most basic of needs.

When he got home, you would sleep. When he got home, you would eat. When he returned to your loving embrace, you could allow yourself to feel again. However, for the time being, feeling anything was simply too painful.

Every night blended with the next. Losing track of what time and day it was—-you were at your wits end, but then there was the unlatching of the front door.

Your head shot up as you focused every bit of energy into deciphering who or what had entered your home. Curiosity was sprinting into hope as you dashed to the main hallway overlooking the entryway. You caught a glimpse of a tailcoat and every fiber of your being urged you down the stairs as quickly as your tired legs could carry you.

There he was, finally. He turned to look at you, the worry on his own expression now leaving him. “There you are.” 

Before he had the chance to get out another word, you threw yourself into his arms. Due to the sudden force of your body, his first reaction was to pat your head, though the need felt in your exhausted form soon coaxed his touch into a loving stroke of your hair. A soft kiss was pressed against the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment to savor what you and him had both been absent of for much too long.

That day couldn’t be long enough. You had so much to ask him, so many questions about what he’d been up to, but the clock ticked away in a disregard to your lost time together. Laying down on the silk sheets felt more comforting that night. The large, empty feeling that bed gave you went unnoticed, too. Everything felt right again as you wrapped your arms around him, unable to get over the fact he was back.

“I missed holding you.” Your words brought on an unexpected comfort, like a warmth blanketing him on this cold night.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Turning over to face you, he pulled you against him. His hands gently caressed your back, as he rested his chin on top of your head. You gave into the embrace without any hesitation. Why wouldn’t you? The man whose return you’d been dreaming of finally came true, and you were going to treat this moment with the tender care it deserved.

You placed your cheek against his chest; the gentle rises and falls of his body soothed you like nothing else could. The rhythm of his heart was lulling you to sleep, although you resisted its pull.

“Sleep, little bird.” The low voice picked you up and carried you off to bed.

“I don’t want to miss out on any time with you. It’d already been so long since I last saw you.” The yawn wasn’t convincing him of your ability to stay awake past the witching hour.

With a sigh, he gave you a soft squeeze, as if offering a sense of security to your worried mind. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” The weight of his words draped over the both of you, knowing how much you needed that extra reassurance. “I promise.”

Your eyes closed as those last two words graced your ears. The tired sigh leaving you brushed against his skin, letting him know how much you appreciated words that weren’t exactly simple. Your trust in him was immeasurable. He was fully aware of that and wouldn’t dare make a promise he couldn’t keep.

[pethfics]

ZUTARA WEEK 2021 (Catch-up), Day Four: Lavender

Title: Remedy in a Bouquet Summary: "It's not a cure or anything," Zuko said humbly, "but it might make you feel a bit better." Katara was amazed and grateful. Read on FF.net

[laugtherhyena]

You guys have no idea how fucking awesome this scene is to me (Clock devil oc yadda yadda yadda)

[qualitative-decay]

spending a normal amount of time staring at clocks in tsp:ud

they start every loop at 11:20, and move forward at what seems to be a normal pace at least insofar as i've checked with a stopwatch. while someone is watching them. they keep ticking away, but they don't actually move if you aren't looking at them. so every clock i've looked at is at 11:20 in the moment i first look at it. the two i can see from the room i'm in, one of them is almost at 11:30, and the other is barely past 11:20. i'm trying to watch this one long enough to get a sense of if the hour hand Also moves. it isn't important but i'm committed now so.

or uh

most of them. start at 11:20.

the one visible from 432's desk, seems like the hour hand is broken maybe

minutes hand moves but hour hand is dead on the 12 and doesnt seem to be going anywhere

which i'm sure is

Fine

i'll go back and check that one after i'm more sure whether the hour hand moves on this one

[taniushka12]

extremely torn between playing alwake2, keep working on my alwake fanarts or try to finish/edit/start any of my alwake fics. yes i am monothematic, sue me

[moreaujeans]

😐

[werewolf4vampire]

hmm. i think. maybe i can't actually get better