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gamesetart · 2 months

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sweet 'n easy

Art thought dating you would be enough. He's content to have your heart, wait until marriage to have your body, too. But it's proving really difficult when you look like that.

tags: art donaldson x fem! reader, open relationship, guided masterbation, reader's kind of messy in this one (corruption), religious themes/corruption of religious themes. nsfw. minors DNI.

a/n: this is part of what im referring to as the open relationship au and im more than expecting to write more about this dynamic! im also very open to suggestions about it

Art Donaldson is a Good Christian Boy. He's a good, smart young man. He wears his thin silver purity ring on his left ring finger. He wears a delicate silver cross on a chain around his neck. He used to sing in the church choir, and now he spends his Sundays volunteering with the children's sector and frequenting church picnics. If it wasn't for tennis, he'd probably be a priest.

You're not right for him, and he knows it. Guys like him aren't made to marry girls like you - girls with low-cut tops that show off the top hem of your lacy electric purple bra. Girls who wear low, low-cut jeans with your matching purple thong hanging out the back. Girls with butterfly-shaped tattoos hovering on your lower back. Girls who spend weekends drinking and clubbing and dancing with absolutely no room for Jesus.

But there's just something about you. Maybe it's your attitude, the way your hand flies up in class whenever you know the answer to a question, the way you speak, with such clarity, such conviction. Maybe it's the way you walk with your friends across campus, beautiful and assertive, a pack of wild hounds. You're terrifying to him. A force of nature, a thunderstorm. Art's managed to get caught up in your jet stream, but it doesn't mean he's any less scared of falling out. You and all your hot, brash, party-girl friends. You and the 'bitch pack', as some of his friends have taken to calling you and yours. The sorority girl, frat party, dim clubs, bitch pack. Girls like you don't give guys like him the time of day: you're too pretty, too powerful, far too high up on an entirely different social ladder.

But you're different. You're sweet. He's watched you stop to pet stray kittens. He's seen you volunteering to donate blood at the campus blood drives. He's seen you stop to help a girl pick up her books even though you were already late to class. He's seen your notes in his biology lecture, your cute, bubbled handwriting and your array of gel pens. He's seen you buy an extra coffee at the campus cafe for a friend. People contain multitudes, or whatever, right?

So maybe it's no surprise when you end up paired up on an assignment and you bring him back to your dorm room. Maybe he shouldn't have been so stunned by the boy band posters and the stacks of fantasy novels and the stuffed bear sitting on your bed. Maybe he shouldn't have been thrown off by your framed pictures - family, friends - and your collection of Beatles CDs. Just a girl. A normal, nice girl. Who lays out all her notes for him, glances up with a sweet smile, and asks,

"Where d'you wanna start?"

He didn't mean for it to go any further than that. For the study visits to start happening at night, after dinner. For you to start blowing off club nights to curl up on your plush blue shag carpet next to art, pointing out lines of text and highlighting things with a bright pink marker. For you to start eating with him at lunch, talking about your lecture, laughing over some stupid thing your professor said or did. For him to start seeing you, really seeing you, and liking that you saw him, too. It happened before he even registered it. Somewhere, somehow, Art Donaldson fell in love.

It's different than how he felt with Tashi. This isn't that painful, all-consuming desire to please, to have her notice him, the obsession with the idea of her and her tennis. This feels sweeter, kinder. This feels like what he used to read about: fireworks in his heartbeat, butterflies in his stomach, the giddy thrill of First Love. A slower, ennobling sort of love.

If he had it his way, he'd date you. Flowers. Expensive dinners by candlelight. Picnics. The works. Court you for the four years you were at Stanford together, then propose once you graduated. Spend a few years engaged so he could do his tennis, make a good amount of his own money. Save until he could plan a dream wedding. Honeymoon somewhere pretty and exotic, like Bali or Punta Cana. Then the country house and the kids, the white picket fence. Except, Art doesn't really ever get things his way, does he?

"I... I don't know," you say slowly, digging your heels into your carpet. You can't meet his sad blue eyes. You can't bear to. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. It feels alien, even in your head.

He stares at you, crestfallen. Your heart plummets and you race for an explanation, for some way to explain this without blaming him. Because it's not Art at fault, it's his Faith.

"It's not that I don't like you!" you scramble. "I do, really, Art, I do. I just... a girl has... needs, you know? There are things I'd want that I can't ask you to give me. Things I can't take from you."

You both know what it is. You'd never ask him to give up on or waver in his faith for you. Never. You like Art how he is. But you know you'd be wanting. You know you can't wait until your wedding night.

"I... I'm just not the dating type, Art," you explain mournfully. "And you don't want to date a girl like me, anyway, trust me. You deserve someone nice."

"But... you are nice," Art says, and he really does look like you've just torn his heart out and stomped on it. It's horrible. It's awful. And you feel like a monster for doing it, but what can you do?

He doesn't have a solution until a full week later. He pretends (to you, and himself) that he came up with it all on his own, when in reality it was Patrick's idea. Patrick's suggestion, murmured over the phone in cloying low tones, luring him in like sailor to siren, bee to honey, moth to flame. Art, for all his cleverness, for all his ability to read Patrick like a book, could not see it. He trusted Patrick. He should have, he's sent Patrick some of your pictures, talked about you endlessly. But Patrick was on tour, far, far away, where he could do no harm. And Patrick was taken, as he was so keen to remind Art all the time.

"She doesn't have to fuck you, man," Patrick muses. "Date her. Be her good boy, be her fuckin' sweetheart. She can get dicked down with someone else."

"You're suggesting my girlfriend cheat on me?" Art laughs, and even saying it, my girlfriend, even in hypothetical, makes his heart do a flip.

He can practically picture Patrick's face, screwed up with a mixture of pity and disdain. Poor Art. "Nah, man. I'm suggesting an open relationship, you know? Let her fuck who she wants, she's gonna come home to you."

The conviction in Patrick's voice makes Art's heart somersault. Because there's something about that idea that makes his pulse quicken. Patrick's right. You'll come home to him, your heart - the thing that really matters - will be his. He doesn't like the possessive thing that curls up in his chest and purrs at the idea. But he doesn't fight it.

"What if you didn't have to wait with me?" Art asks.

He's twirling a highlighter over his fingers. Cross-legged on your plush duvet, working at a piece of spearmint chewing gum. Gum you'd offered him, gum that you now kept a small stash of in your desk drawer for evenings just like this. The project you'd been paired up on was long over, the proud 96% sitting in your Stanford grading inbox. Now you're just regular homework buddies. Art sought you out for homework he missed because he was at practice and lecture notes he didn't get. You don't mind. You enjoy it, actually. You just wish you could give him more. Hate that you couldn't be what he deserved. It almost feels like leading him on, when he sits with you until the wee hours, sharing diagrams and passing your textbook back and forth. When he brings you your morning coffee before class, or you bring sandwiches and Gatorade to his practices.

Except now, apparently, he has a solution.

"What?" you ask, blinking at him. "What d'you mean?"

Art flushes. Soft pink. Mostly around the ears, you've noticed, red against the gentle gold of his curls. Evening rose.

"I mean, what if..." he looks away. "You know. You went out with me. Dated me. But you could... 'hook up' with other people when you needed to."

You stare at him. Dumbfounded. Art Donaldson. Is sitting on your bed, asking you for an open relationship? Are you dreaming? Has the world suddenly gone mad? Did you go to bed last night and wake up in an alternate dimesion?

"You... are you suggesting... what I think you're suggesting?" you ask faintly.

He nods, ears burning a truly impressive shade of crimson. You suppose you should be flattered, really, the lengths he's going to date you. Most guys would have given up by now, egos bruised, feelings hurt, hearts shattered. And with most guys, you would have been firmer, clearer, colder. Meaner. But Art isn't most guys. Art is sweet.

"I-- shit, Art, wouldn't you rather just date some other girl like you?" you say helplessly.

"I don't want another girl, I want you," he replies plainly. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like there's no other answer.

And that's all it takes for you to agree. It's impossible to say no to those baby doll eyes. The two of you set ground rules - you don't tell him who or where or how, just that it happened. He doesn't ask you any questions. No one leaves you any marks. Immediate friends, such as Art's tennis circle and his church friends, are off limits. And that's that. He's your boyfriend now.

Art thought it would suffice. He likes being with you. Holding your hand while you walk to class. Seeing you in the stands when he plays a match. Chaste little pecks here and there. But you're like a pit of quicksand, a hurricane. You draw him in quicker than he thought possible, and now he can't breathe, can't think, can't move. The corruption is slow, certain, and inescapable.

He starts to find himself wanting more.

A kiss in his dorm room that deepens instead of stops, one hand cupping your jaw, the other floating to rest on the small of your back, above the waist of your low jeans, on the warm, bare skin there. A glance that feels more than affectionate, his eyes roving over your collarbone, the glint of your skin in the sun, the line of your bra beneath your sheer, tight shirt. He sees you smile at another guy and a hot flash of jealousy surges through him as he wonders if this is one of the guys you're fucking, if that guy, that random piece of shit, gets to touch you, see you, feel you. He tamps it down, and it feels too little, too late.

You'd be a fool not to notice. Stupid, not to feel the press of his hard-on when he hugs you from behind. Not to sense the shift in the way he kisses you, tongue slipping past your lips, hands sliding down further than they usually do. He plays it off, always. An accident. The heat of the moment. But you know. And because you're weak, because you're a terrible person, because ruining Art Donaldson is the most beautiful thing to ever happen to you, you let him.

"Art, do you ever touch yourself?"

He falls off his chair in his hurry to spin around and look at you. From the floor of your dorm, he stares with wide blue eyes and pink cheeks. "Wha--"

You shrug. "You know. Do you ever..." you make a crude gesture with your hand, and he buries his face up to his nose in his collar.

"No," he says, muffled into his tee shirt. "It's sinful."

It takes every fibre of your being not to laugh. He's so precious, so pure, sometimes you wonder why a guy like him could ever be interested in you at all. Your looks are one thing - you know you're hot. But Art likes you. He likes you even when he can't fuck you. He liked you even when you told him you wouldn't date him. He likes you because you're you. Which makes you feel a little shitty about what you do next, but you can't help it.

"So, what, when you're hard, what do you do?" you press casually. "Send up a Hail Mary and wait?"

Art's ears, which peek out over his shirt collar, are so red they could have been on fire. He shakes his head, a little frantically. He flushes easily, you notice, blood flowing quickly whenever he's even mildly embarrassed. It conjures images of his cock, whatever it might look like, red and aching with need. And you feel a lot less bad, the mental image of Art's dick fuelling the way you lean over, sliding off your chair to join him on the floor. You kneel, hands resting on your knees, and you know he's getting an eyeful of your tits. You keep your eyes on his face.

"Show me," you murmur. "I won't touch you. I won't even touch myself. I just wanna see."

He stares at you like you've asked him for his social security number and all his credit card info. Which, honestly, he probably would have given up a little easier. And you're an awful person, because you know the effect you've had on him, especially these days, you know that Art will probably do anything you ask of him, just for the pleasure of pleasing you.

"Please?" you wheedle, cocking your head to one side lightly, staring up at him through your lashes.

And, really, how could he say no to that?

"I-- okay," he says, and he tries to pretend like he's relenting a lot more than he actually is. Pretends like he's doing you a huge favour, as if his cock isn't straining at the mere idea.

Art doesn't jerk off often. He's only ever used his hand once - the single time Patrick showed him. After that, he'd cried in the bathroom and washed his hands so many times he got a contact allergy. But he's figured out an alternative. One that doesn't involve him touching himself at all. So he slides off his sweats, all too aware of your steady eyes on him. You look at him like you've never seen legs before, as if you haven't seen him at a thousand practices. You look at him like you want to eat him.

He tries to tell himself that's not what's making his cock throb in his boxers. He keeps those on, more for his sake than yours.

"You can lie on my bed," you offer innocently.

Art almost moans. Because it's your bed. Because it's yours, and when he lies down it's almost like lying with you. When he buries his face in the pillow, he can smell you, your vanilla and roses body wash, and, beneath it, the gentle smell of you. It's your sheets he starts to cant into, hips rolling in a familiar motion as he starts to work away the desperate pressure in his cock. It's your pillow he bites in a futile attempt to muffle his moans. And when he looks up, eyes half-lidded, he can see you watching him. You're biting your lip, looking flustered, and it's the cutest he's ever seen you, and he moans your name without meaning you.

You keep your promise, hands folded neatly in you lap as you watch Art rut into your bed like a wild animal, like he's in fucking heat, like your sheets are a person and he's fucking it. Like your sheets are you, you realise, as his eyes meet yours and he whines your name. He's pretending he's fucking you. It's hard not to give up and shove one hand into your panties, but for his sake, you try. Art's moans are almost musical, and with a sharp slap of embarrassment, you're reminded of the sounds he makes when he hits the ball at practice. The same whining grunts of exertion, except now they're fuelled by pleasure, spurred on by the desperate grind of his hips into your sheets, not a fucking tennis ball.

"Oh, oh, fuck," Art's voice gets a little higher. "Oh, fuck, it's so good--"

You can feel yourself soaking through your panties, and you shift slightly. His movements grow a little more erratic, hands balling up into white-knuckled fists into the soft fabric of your sheets. You drink it all in while you can - his ears are red, his cheeks are pink. You follow the curve of his ass in his boxers. You stare at the muscles in his thighs. The bones of his hips.

Art gets breathy when he's about to cum. Breathy, very whiny, almost crying if you're being honest. You file that information away for later.

"Please, please, can I?" he gasps, staring up at you with pupils blown wide with lust. "Can I cum, please, fuck, need it, need it-- you-- fuck, please?"

It's surprising he can even string together a full sentence. "Of course, baby," you murmur, already resolved to not changing your sheets until after you've cum in them too.

Another nugget of information: Art favours a deep grind when he cums, like he's looking for a place to put it, to bury it, looking to breed, to mark, to keep. The sight of him pushing his hips as far into your mattress as he can before he cums, a cry of your name and a shuddering breath slipping from his lips, will probably fuel your nighttime ventures for the next few weeks. You'll use it when you find your next hook up, it'll probably send you right over the edge.

You don't know when you started thinking of Art while you fucked other guys. You just know that now, it's tricky to get off without it. It's hard enough biting your tongue so you avoid saying his name. Now, you'll have the image of his face when he cums locked in your brain forever.

"Shit," Art curses, still breathless, sitting up to examine the sticky mess soaking from the front of his gingham boxers, all the way into your sheets. "Sorry."

You just shake your head. "Don't worry about it. That was... really hot. That's actually how you get yourself off?"

He nods, embarrassed. When he shuffles off to shower, borrowing your shower caddy and a towel, you wait until your door click, and then you practically rip open your nightstand. It takes less than ten minutes with a vibrator and the memory of Art's voice moaning your name for you to add your cum to his. You imagine his hips fucking into you, not your sheets. You imagine pulling his stupid fucking purity ring off and wearing it like some fucked-up engagement ring. His hands are so big, you'd probably have to wear it on your thumb. His hands. You imagine them grabbing you, holding you, sliding up your skin. You wonder what it would be like to have him revere you, not his God. Worship you. You want him to, you think. The idea of him shattering every promise he's ever made, just to be inside you? It sends you over the edge with a muffled cry of his name.

It's that feeling, that messy need for him, that drives you to that frat party. You told him, obviously, and while he seemed sort of put-off when you mentioned you were probably going to sleep with someone, he told you it was okay. Told you to be safe.

You wish you could tell him, but you're worried it'll scare him off. Don't worry, Art, every guy I fuck, I pretend he's you. And now I'll have the knowledge of exactly what you look and sound like when you cum to help me out! Not exactly girlfriend material.

Still, you're thinking of Art when your eyes land on a boy playing beer pong. He's tall, all messy black curls and tanned skin. Handsome, too, if you're being honest, in a messy, frat boy-y kind of way. Hook up hot. You're thinking of Art when he waves you over, holding up a beer like it's a peace offering. You're thinking of Art when you give him your name and ask for his.

"Patrick," he tells you easily. "Patrick Zweig."

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem reader #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #kit.writes #open relationship au

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mostly-imagines · 3 months

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Would your Jason even be into a threesome with his girlfriend? 🤔

mentions of NSFW content below

so i think jay would do literally anything if he thought it would make you happy and the idea of him trying to convince himself that he’d be cool with a threesome is very funny to me. for example:

“What happened to Dick anyway?”

He pushes the front door open, letting you through first. “I think he went home with those two girls.”

You laugh, “That sounds right.”

He looks at you with questioning eyes behind a smile as he closes the door behind him.

You shrug, shaking your head as you continue on to the bedroom, him following close. “I’m under the impression that threesomes aren’t a rare occurrence for Dick.”

He grimaces, “You’re right.”

You busy yourselves with undoing the dress up from the gala, working in harmony.

You unclasp your necklace, placing it on top of your dresser carefully. “Have you ever done that?” you ask absentmindedly as you remove the rest of your accessories.

“No,” he says, like it’s uninteresting.

You smile, looking over your shoulder at him. “What? You’ve never wanted to have sex with two girls?”

He shrugs, “Never did it before, and now I don’t wanna kiss anyone but you.”

You hum to yourself, taking off your heels. You wonder if he knows how much of a romantic he is. He must.

He peels off his suit jacket, taking in your thoughtful expression with deliberation.

“But..” he hesitates, “I mean…if you wanted to, I would.”

You turn around, wordlessly asking him to undo your zipper for you, “Have sex with another girl?”

“No,” he pulls it down, shaking his head. “I’m not touching another girl.”

You slip your dress off and he immediately holds his arm out to you for balance as you step out of it. It’s not until a moment after the fabric hits the ground that you register what he means.

You look up at him, jarred, “You’d have a threesome with another guy?”

He shrugs again, sitting on the bed. “If you wanted to.”

You give him a funny look, smiling through furrowed brows. “What are you talking about? You’d never do that.”

“I…I would be fine with it,” he gets out, though you can’t quite tell if he’s trying to convince you or himself.

You tilt your head knowingly, “You would?”

He frowns, nodding. “Yeah.”

You plop down next to him, closer than you needed to. “You’d be fine with someone else touching me in front of you?” you ask, faux-awed.

He says nothing, only shifts in his seat and shrugs slightly.

You sit up on your heels, smiling to yourself as he struggles to maintain eye contact. “You’d be okay with some other guy taking my clothes off and kissing me?”

He looks genuinely sick at that which amuses you greatly.

You take his face in your hands, pulling him to look at you, “No, but it’s okay if he fucks me?”

“Alright, enough,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing your wrists to hold you still. “Fine. I don’t want anybody else to touch you, s’that what you wanted to hear?”

You nod, pleased.

His eyes dart across your face, taking in every detail with a heavy gaze. “Don’t want anybody else to look at you like that, they don’t deserve it.”

He pulls you in closer, head lowering to place kisses across the side of your neck. “You’re my girl, my beautiful girl,” he says, brushing your hair back. “No…don’t need anybody going near my pretty girl.”

He flips you around, laying you nicely on the bed underneath him. He leaves a line of open mouthed kisses down your stomach and thumbs at the band of your underwear as he looks up at you, “But what do you think, hm? You need somebody else to take care of you?”

You shake your head as you comb through his hair, “Mm-mm,” you smile at him, “Jus’ need you, Jay.”

He grins and presses a kiss to your inner thigh before pulling your underwear down your legs.

#two in one day??? who is she????#jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd smut #jason todd x y/n #jason todd/you #jason todd thoughts #jason todd/reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd thoughts™#red hood smut #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #jason todd loves his gf

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couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name · 1 year

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random percy headcanons:

wants to be the photographer friend SO bad and he technically is but like 70% of the pics come out blurry or weird bc there was a monster attack in the middle of them. his instagram is truly so chaotic looking.

literally always has seashells on him someone will ask him for a pencil or spare change and he has to empty all his pockets of shells to find it. drops his backpack and a bunch of shells fall out. kicks his shoes off and sand and shells fly out and his mortal friends are like percy What the Fuck

his eyes glow underwater!! bioluminescent king. no one told him though and he didn't find out until he joined his school's swim team and terrified everyone (he managed to convince them his contacts were having a weird reaction to chlorine lmao)

he really likes art!! he doesn't just pretend to for rachel's sake he genuinely enjoys painting with her. he likes splatter paint, collages and pop art styles the best. one day after splitting some edibles they realized percy could manipulate water colors and went CRAZY with it

will ask to be excused during class and comes back like an hour later with scorch marks all over his face bleeding from one of his ears covered in dust missing three fingernails rips in his jeans and a fat lip and the teacher is like percy what the actual hell were you doing in the bathroom all this time and he's just like uhhhhhh I have ibs

the brand from camp jupiter did unfortunately (for sally) Unlock something in him lmfao he keeps getting shitty little tattoos. usually stick-n-poke but someone's friends cousin's girlfriend's brother has a gun that gets brought to parties every now and then. most of them are sloppy but you can tell what they are HOWEVER he has one that was supposed to be a seal that came out looking like one of those shitty ms paint crying memes. annabeth laughed at him for ten minutes straight when she saw it.

he wanted to dye his hair blue but he was too chicken to bleach his entire head so he just did the tips. his hair is curly though so it looks absolutely ridiculous but he loves it

percy and annabeth get a crusty little yappy white dog in college and he carries it around like a baby lmao

back to his chaotic instagram, he's got so many pics of him like, relaxing at the bottom of the mariana trench or hugging a giant squid or riding on a whale shark and his mortal friends all think he's just really good at photoshop and this is a very specific bit he decided to commit to. they're always like lol percy where do you even FIND these pictures are you subscribed to like scientific journals for the laughs? but no he just took them all on his shell phone

has an ongoing prank war with annabeth's little brothers bobby and matthew but like it's Unhinged. they're playing 5D chess and she has no idea whats going on

weird tshirts!!! he loves them! like

shit like this or those 'women want me fish fear me' shirts, anything with a funny or incomprehensible slogan is going in his closet right along with his band tees lmfao

bought estelle a panda pillow pet when she was born 🥺

can NOT bring himself to eat seafood no matter how many times poseidon has told him its fine. he's like NO these are my FRIENDS JONATHAN WAS TELLING ME ABOUT HIS GRANDDAUGHTERS WEDDING LITERALLY YESTERDAY WHY IS HE ON A PLATTER DAD. they had to give up and just start eating normal land food at the palace every time he comes to visit lmfao

gets into horsegirl antics with hazel she NEEDS to know everything the horses have to say. they spend hours gossiping in the stables.

movie nights in the poseidon cabin were 10000% a thing and when he was missing annabeth and thalia and grover (and a few others) would still sleep in there every now and then and talk about how much they miss him :(

percy and beckendorf had the worlds most elaborate handshake

he DOES impulse buy stuff just because they're ocean-themed. stuffed animals, home decor, school supplies, clothes, you name it he bought it if theres like a fish on it

has more scars from crashing off his skateboard than he does from monster attacks

grover is somehow the only person who's ever noticed percy is severely claustrophobic

has a deep passion for adele. I can't explain this one I just feel and know it to be true.

he and annabeth both proposed to each other at the same time and they were SO mad about it they kept yelling over each other's speeches lmao

he can SING but he doesn't know it. sally keeps trying to record him singing to himself but something always happens to the camera and she loses the evidence

called chiron a brony one time and mr d thought it was so funny he was nice to percy for an entire week

the camp keeps trying to convince him to teach sword fighting lessons to the younger kids but he can NOT bring himself to swing a sword at a 9 year old so he keeps getting injured

has the most complicated iced coffee order in the world his go-to local coffee shop finally just put the damn drink on the menu and named it after him

he IS the quiet kid in the back of your math class that always has his hood up to try and hide his headphones and eats increasingly elaborate meals out of his backpack when the teacher isn't looking. one time someone caught him with a rotisserie chicken in the middle of a geometry final.

he argued that he DID have enough to share with the class

currently obsessed with the image of him knocking back a container of sea salt as if it was a shot and his mortal friends being like hey! what the actual fuck! and he's just like uhhhhh anemia kills!

its his birthday<3

#percy jackson #pjo #hoo #toa #percabeth #molly mumbles

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euniexenoblade · 10 days

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"I'm not a girl!" - a transfem forcefem story

Hi hi hi hi, note that the premise of this is essentially an egg being cracked by an older woman, so there's a lot of he/him and "boy" useage. But stick with it please, I assure you the end is worth getting to :) also don't be mean about any weird grammar I literally wrote this in a couple of hours for free. Be nice.

----

The boy stood there against the wall holding a red solo cup, looking down at the floor, overwhelmed from alcohol and loud booming music of the party. He had watched his drunken roommate drive off with a date – his ride home was gone. He didn't know any of these people, his roommate insisted he come to this party to meet new people, and now he was all alone. Panic and anxiety swarmed his thoughts. He was drunk, he'd never been drunk before. He was fairly far from home, could he walk home like this? He doesn't know any of these people, would any help him if he asked for a ride home? He doesn't ask, though, he just stands against the wall, looking down at the floor, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone there, trying his best not to panic.

A moment of bravery, the boy looks up from the floor to scan the party to see if there was anyone that looked like they'd be approachable. To his dismay it all looked like drunken college kids talking, dancing, being obnoxious, people he felt too scared to talk to. His eyes flow from one side of the room to the other, noting nothing interesting. That is, until he sees a tall woman standing with a group of girls. Long legs under a short skirt being the first thing to catch his attention, but before long he noticed her wearing a band tee that was so tight it was straining against her chest, causing him to stare at her chest from afar. For a brief moment, he is distracted from his anxiety with drunken horniness. That is until he finally notices, she's staring back at him.

The boy freaks out. He doesn't want to offend anyone, especially drunken party goers. He decides it's finally time to head for the door across the room, but as soon as he moves towards it, he collides with some other drunken guy. His drink spills all down his clothes, the other guy getting none of the splash back. They apologize to each other, and the guy walks away leaving the boy alone in the party again. He looks down at what was once his favorite shirt, now potentially stained and ruined. He's angry he let his roommate talk him into this, he just looked like a dork and felt more out of place than he usually did.

“Are you going to clean up or are you just going to be a mess for everyone to see?” a voice whispers in his ear from behind.

He jumps around and finds the lady he had been staring at so intently greeting him with a smile. “Um, I, uh,-”

The woman grabs him by the wrist, “Bathroom's this way, silly.” She drags him to the hallway and opens a door, pushing him in before coming in herself and locking the door. He stands there in the middle of the bathroom, staring at this woman in shock, unsure of what to say. She looks at him blankly, “What are you doing? Take your shirt off so we can try to save it.”

He gets nervous again, “I...uh...I don't really like being shirtless.”

The woman scoffs, “Such a child. You were about to cry in the middle of a party when you noticed your shirt was stained, take the damn thing off.”

Nerves or not, it's hard to say no when an older woman tells you to do something. "I wasn't going to cry," he mumbles as he pulls his shirt off. Before he can do anything with it, she snatches it from him, fills the sink with water, pulls a small cleaner bottle out from the bag she had been carrying under her arm, and starts working it into the shirt. “I know the guy that lives here. He's always throwing these stupid parties to feel cooler than he is. There's never anything interesting happening at these parties. Just drunken college losers.” He sits down on the side of the tub, letting the random woman do the work he didn't really know how to do. “That is, until I saw some pathetic perv about to cry in the middle of one.”

“Hey!” He yells without thinking, “I am not a perv!”

“Oh? Then why were you staring at my tits?”

“I, uh, um, I don't think that's, uh very pervy. I mean, Isn't it kind of normal?”

She turns around, a big smirk on her face. “Aw, someone's embarrassed about her perviness.”

He notices the pronoun she used, but decides to ignore it. “So, uh, can I have my shirt back? I don't feel well and I want to go home.”

“Sorry sweetie, it needs to go through the wash and dry. You can just go like that. This is basically a frat boy party, no one's gonna think a shirtless guy is weird.”

He considers it. “I'd rather not, even if my shirt is wet.”

She stares at him as if he said something incredibly stupid. “Ok, fine.” She grabs the bottom of her shirt with both hands and somehow pulls it free from her body, her breasts only concealed by a black lacy bra. She tosses the shirt at him, “There you go, a fresh shirt to go home in.”

“I c-can't wear this, it's a g-girl's shirt. They'll make fun of me...”

“Huh? Nothing about it is inherently girly. It's a concert shirt. And these dorks are so drunk they won't notice a thing.”

“I. Uh.” He's overheating. Overwhelmed again from the alcohol, the booming music, and a situation with a girl he's never been in before. But, above all else he's struggling with the realization that he's fully erect at the idea of wearing her clothes. “I. I. I can't. If peo-if people see-”

“Oh I see, wearing girl clothes turns you on, huh?”

His whole face turns red. Embarrassed is an understatement. He doesn't know how to respond. He's frozen.

“Aw, how cute. Strip.”

“WH-WHAT?!”

“I said strip. Take your pants and underwear off now.”

“N-N-NO! WHY WOULD I??”

“You're going to do what I tell you or I'm going to push you back into the hallway shirtless, and you can navigate what ever feelings that makes you feel.”

The boy's confused. That's not really a punishment. Anyone not wanting this situation would easily accept that. Even with being uncomfortable shirtless around people, he could deal with it to get out of a weird situation with a woman like this. But, despite that, he found himself standing up straight, unbuttoning his jeans, and pulling them and his boxers down. His body on full display for her, his cock fully erect, which he tries to hide with his hands as his face getting incredibly red again.

“Good girl.”

“I'm not a girl!” he yells back.

“Not yet, maybe.” She reaches up her skirt, and loops her fingers around the ends of her panties and slowly pulls them down. He watches her, confused and excited, and for a split second he can see from under the skirt that she has a dick. The boy looks away, pretending not to have seen.

“Aw, adorable. I'll make a girl out of you for sure.”

“I'm not a girl!”

She sticks her hand out, her black lacy panties hanging from one finger.

“Put them on.” She says.

“WH-WHAT?? NO, I can't, absolutely not!”

Her demeanor doesn't change. She just keeps looking at him with an intense stare. “Put them on, now. I will not repeat myself again.”

Once again, it's an easy situation to walk away from. He doesn't have to listen. He can grab his clothes and go. As she said, everyone's drunk, no one will likely noticed he came out of the bathroom naked. But, as before, he does as he's told. He takes the panties from her hand, and slowly slides them up his legs, his fully erect cock making the most noticeable bulge.

“Now you won't be so concerned about wearing my shirt, will you?” He doesn't reply. He's standing there in this woman's panties, feeling emasculated.

“How are you getting home?” the woman finally asks.

“I, uh, I guess I was going to walk.”

“Oh sweetheart, not in this state you aren't. I'll drive you.” Once again, he doesn't argue, he's already so embarrassed and overwhelmed he just avoids making eye contact and nods. "Now put on your clothes.”

He pulls his jeans on over the panties and puts her shirt on, noticing that it fits him remarkably well. “She was definitely wearing this to show off her boobs” he thinks to himself. Once he's dressed, she grabs his boxers and wraps the wet, cleaned shirt in them and places them in her bag. She unlocks the door and once again, grabs him by the wrist and pulls him with her. He doesn't resist, his will is beaten down too much, and a ride home sounds ideal. Just as she said, none of the drunk people even notice that he's wearing her shirt, all they notice is that she's topless now. “Haha yeah I spilled a drink!” she says, which is enough to make these people nod and ignore her. No one even notices him, or the fact he's wearing her panties. A fact that's getting his cock even harder.

The woman pulls him outside and guides him until they finally reach her car. She only finally let's go of him so he can get in the passenger seat, making him feel like a little kid with the way he's being lead around. He's finally free to just sit down, something he's longed for all night, he collapses into the seat, finding such comfort in her car. She gets in the driver's seat. “So, where do you live.” He mumbles the address to her, so drunk and so comfortable that he's having a hard time staying awake. She plugs the address into her phone and seems ready to go. She turns on the car, loud music comes on as she does, overwhelming the boy again. The car doesn't move. He doesn't care though, he's barely still awake. The comfortable seats feel like a new home for him to melt into. And, as he's starting to drift away to his dreamland, he jolts awake, she's rubbing his cock through his jeans.

“WH-WH-WHA”

“Aw, my sweet girl, you got so excited wearing my cute panties through that crowd of people didn't you.”

“St-stop, w-what if someone sees?!”

“Then they'll see me playing with a pervy girl.”

“I'M NOT A GI-” he couldn't finish, instead erupting into a moan as her hand went beneath his jeans and stroked him through the lacy panties. The softness of the panties felt so good on him.

“That's a good girl, quiet down and let me reward you.”

Once again, he was red. He couldn't argue with her, she knew exactly what to say to shut his brain down. She's stroking at a decent pace, he can see people going in and out of the house, but none seem to turn their gaze to the car. And even if they did look, he didn't care anymore. He was so very close to popping. He needed this. He needed to cum right here, right now. But, then the feeling stopped. He looked at her pulling her hand back, “No please I really want to cum”

She ignores him and as he tries to ask again she pushes her fingers into his mouth. “Clean my fingers, and maybe you'll earn the right to cum.” This time he wasn't embarrassed, he was frustrated. Horribly frustrated. He needed to cum and now instead he was sucking his own precum off of this woman's fingers. But, he accepted it. He wanted to cum, and she promised he might get to. So he was willing to do as he was told.

“Good girl.” He doesn't argue this time. He knew she would just embarrass him again if he tried. Plus he wanted to cum. His silence brings a bigger smirk to her face. “Now let's get you home.”

The drive home was uneventful. She was taking her time making sure she didn't get into an accident. Eventually they arrived at his apartment complex, and he lead her to the apartment itself. He unlocked the door and walked him, she followed him in. The living room was dark, but he could tell his roommate hadn't come home yet. “Take me to your room.” And he does as told.

His room isn't very interesting. No posters or anything, not much furniture, just the bed, a dresser and a tv with some video games spread around. He could tell she was disappointed by what she found, but she didn't say anything about it. He tried to think of what to say, but he didn't know what the next move was.

“Strip down to your panties.”

But, clearly the older woman here knew what the next move was. He did as told, he took her shirt off, he took his jeans off, and he stood there in the middle of his bedroom in this woman's panties, made wet by his precum. She walks over and runs one hand through the hair on the side of his head, and with her other grabs his ass, and then starts to kiss and bite him along the neck, slowly moving up his neck. Each kiss followed by a sharp bite, each one making him grow all the more restless. He lets out soft moans, surprising himself that he can sound that way.

“Such a good girl~” she whispers.

“I'm not a girl.” The boy moans.

“Oh? You're embarrassed to show your chest to a bunch of drunken men like a girl, you've got your panties incredibly wet like a girl, and right now you're moaning like a girl.”

He blushes. “N-none of those things make someone a girl.”

The woman slips her hand under the panties, grabbing his bare ass as she responds, “That's true. But doesn't it sound more fun to be a girl? What do you have to lose by embracing this part of yourself? Why not try something new?” He moans as she starts to bite him again. He has no retort. Just desire. His cock throbbing, yet tears forming in his eyes. “Please make me uh....please make me your girl.” the girl finally says.

A big smile forms on the woman's face. “Of course, sweetie.” She pushes the girl backwards onto the bed. The woman looks down on her with such a big smile as the the girl adjusts herself so she'll be more comfortable on the bed, but all her movement stops as the woman gets on top of her. The woman starts by kissing her upper chest, slowly working her way to her nipples. The girl grabs her sheets and squeezes her hands into fists as the woman sucks and bites, making her moan from pleasures she never knew she could feel. The woman takes her time, sucking and biting, eventually kissing her way to the other nipple and repeating the process. Slow, biting, sucking, kissing, pleasure.

The woman starts to move on, kissing slowly down her chest, slowly down her stomach, slowly down her crotch. The woman starts to pull the panties down, just enough for her cock to pop out, and the woman takes it into her hand and puts the head into her mouth. The girl moans at the feeling of the warm mouth on her cock. With her hand, the woman starts to jerk the girl off, while lightly sucking on her and her move her mouth back and forth. The girl's eyes roll into the back of her head and she moans the biggest moan of the night. She's never felt such ecstasy before. It's intense. So intense. She needs it. She needs to finish. She needs to cum now. “Please, please, please” she moans. “I want to cum please.” She can feel it close. She knows it's soon.

And the woman pulls the girl out of her mouth. The girl is once again frustrated, “no, p-please, don't stop please...”

“Do you think you've been a good girl tonight? Why should I let you cum?”

“Please please please I'm sorry I'll be your good girl please let me cum.” She's desperate. She'll do anything. She has never felt this good before, she doesn't want it to end like this. “Please I'll do anything you want please, I'll be a good girl for you I swear.”

The woman smiles again. She pulls off her bra, revealing her giant tits for the girl to see. She pulls the girl head into her chest, face between her tits. “How do you like the tits you were so obsessed with?” The girl doesn't know what to say. They're lovely, but the pressure in her is too intense, “please, please, please” she cries while her eyes start to form tears.

The woman let's her go and stands up next to the bed. “I don't want to hear you beg. I want you to earn your right to cum. Put your mouth to good use.” The girl never considered she might be expected to do something back. This is all so new to her, she was just riding along with what the woman did. But, she didn't feel resistant to it, she just wasn't sure what to do. Sitting on her knees, the girl was easily crotch height with the woman now. The girl slowly lifted the woman's skirt, revealing the woman's semi erect cock. The smell of the woman's sweat and cock flooded the girl's senses. And she loves it. It made her even hornier. She takes the woman into her mouth, trying to copy what the woman has done before.

The woman puts both her hands on the top of her head, “Don't overthink it, just relax.” The girl listens and tries to slow down and relax, and then the woman thrusts, her cock hitting the back of the girl's throat. She pulls back and thrusts again. The girl understands now and tries to relax, but this is completely new. But that doesn't stop her from being a good girl. “Oh babygirl, your throat is just like a fleshlight, it feels like you're made for my cock.” The girl barely hears the words, she just lets the woman have her way. The seconds become minutes, the minutes drift by as the girl loses all sense of time. She is not a boy tonight, she is this woman's toy.

The woman eventually stops thrusting, exhausted she pulls her cock from the girl's mouth. The girl can see strings of saliva and precum connecting them still. “Lay down.” the woman commands. Having learned her place, the girl does as told, laying her head on her pillow, preparing for what's to come. “You've been such a good girl, I think it's time I helped you cum.” Excitement wells up in the girl. She's waited all night for this.

The woman crawls onto the bed and stands on her knees, pushing herself between the girl's legs. She puts her cock on the girl's cock, and thrusts. The girl lets out a loud moan. And again, the woman thrusts. And, again. And again until she's developed a rhythm. The girl realizes she can see the woman's face like this. She can see her face strain and hear her moan with each thrust. This turns the girl on even more. The woman notices the girl staring, and slows her rhythm as she pushes herself forward to shove her tongue into the girl's mouth. The girl doesn't know what to do and just let's her do it. The pleasure is slower, but the pleasure is there. The woman lifts her head back up, resuming her previous posture and previous rhythm, causing the girl to let out long, deep moans. The pressure is coming back, the intensity in her cock is building, “I'm g-going to c-cum” she moans out.

“Mmm, cum for me sweet girl,” the woman replies. Finally with the permission, the girl finally feels herself explode. Her cum shooting out of her and covering them both. The girl breathes heavy, nearly in tears, “th-thank you thank you.” The girl can't tell if the woman replied, her senses fade, the world around her fades, and she melts into the bed, deep into sleep.

The sounds of chirping birds wake the girl up. She's in bed, covered in cum, in a girl's lacy panties. The woman she met at the party before is putting her top on when she notices the girl woke up. “Oh hi sweetheart, I need to go, stuff to do. You should go back to sleep if you don't need to get up early.”

The girl shakes her head, she has no where to be. “But..I don't want you to go...”

“Awww,” she coos at the girl, “but I have to my sweet girl.” The woman picks up her bag and pulls a pen out of it. She looks around the room for something to write on, finally deciding to just write it on the girl's arm. “This is my number. Text me sometime.” The girl nods, excited. The party worked, she got a friend!

She escorts the woman to the living room, but before the woman leaves, she reaches into her bag again and pulls out two pill bottles and puts them in the girl's hand. "Take two of these a day.”

“What do they do?” The girl asks.

The woman motions at her body, “they do this. It'll make you the girl you've wanted to be.”

“I'm not a girl.” It was automatic. She didn't even intend to say it.

“Ok, ok, girl adjacent. You can be whatever you want, but take those pills and it'll do it for you. I have extras so I might as well give them to you.”

The woman opens the door and as she exits the apartment, she turns around, “Also, you're going to clean those panties and give them back. It's a matching set, damn it, I can't just lose them” The girl, realizing finally that she's still covered in cum and in panties, goes red and finally closes the door in a panic.

The girl goes to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water before going back to her room. She stares at the pill bottles given to her. She opens the one bottle and takes a small blue pill out. She stares at it, trying to figure out what to do with it.

“I'm not a girl.” she says to herself, just before washing the blue pill down her throat.

#forcefem #transfem smut #my writing #the kids are asleep #long post #if yall like the this i'll probably name the characters and continue the story

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anthotneystark · 2 months

Text

Well, if you're rough and ready for love (Honey, I'm tougher than the rest)

(edit: now on ao3!)

Eddie is suffering.

It’s hardly the first time, but it’s self-inflicted this time. At least it’s not going to physically almost kill him like the bats did.

Emotionally, sure, but not physically. That has to be some kind of win.

“Did you get Vecna’d? Do I have to get my trumpet? I don’t know if you can play Metallica on a horn, but I’ll try if you need me to.”

“Buckley, I would pay money to see you attempt it,” he says absently, his gaze never moving.

“Good, I could use the bonus.”

“Probably a good time to say I’ve only got Monopoly money.”

“Damn, there goes that plan.”

He hums an agreement, startling a moment later when a hand is suddenly blocking his view.

“Stop drooling, it’s not attractive.”

“Nothing about me is attractive to you.”

“Fair, but still. Ew,” she snorts.

“It’s not my fault, I can’t help it. He’s just so….” He doesn’t even have a word for it, so he just sighs.

“Who would have thought. Mr. Anti-Conformity drooling over Jock Extraordinaire. He’s wearing pastels. What have you become?”

“Shut up, he’s your platonic soulmate.”

“He is. And I love him. I just also know that he’s all sporty and preppy.”

“He can be as sporty as he wants as long as he keeps wearing those shorts he had on the other day.”

“Gross.”

“Even you can admit he looked good.”

“Sure, but you’re drooling again.”

He should be allowed a little drool. Steve had looked so biteable.

“He’s not even wearing shorts today, it’s too cold for that, doofus.” It was. Summer had well and truly turned into fall. Shorts had been replaced by jeans (except on the days Steve and Lucas played basketball, then the shorts came back out), polos more often than not were exchanged for sweaters, and by god, it was kissing him even more than the shorts and tank tops of summer had.

(This is without even considering the extreme number of shirts that Steve had sacrificed to become half shirts “for more air flow, because I can’t just walk around shirtless, obviously.” Because it was obvious. Showing his chest was too much, but the soft skin of his stomach, interrupted by the trail of dark hair vanishing under his waist band, wasn’t too much. Obviously.)

It made no sense. It shouldn’t have been worse with less skin showing. But it was because somehow, knowing that the soft knit of those sweaters was covering slowly paling skin, strong muscles and that beautiful, amazing layer of softness that rounded out hard edges…well, it completely ruined his train of thought until he couldn’t remember where he’d been going originally.

Worth it, just getting to imagine how Steve looked under his clothes.

“He’s worn this stuff before, why does it have you in a coma today?” Robin sighs, put upon even though it was her decision to sit with him.

“His hair.” Because that was the kicker today. Because Steve Harrington had never walked outside looking less than completely perfect.

Because Steve somehow managed to look amazing even roughed up and dirty.

Because Stevie was comfortable with himself and picked the clothes he liked and didn’t bother hiding scars that only proved how far he’d be willing to go to protect his loved ones and didn’t care about if he didn’t look perfect.

“He didn’t style it.”

“I can see how you’d get that impression, but I assure you he did.”

“What?!” That makes Eddie finally look at her, nearly falling over where he’s sat.

“Yeah. It’s just not hairspray. He’s trying something new.”

“It works for him.” The response is automatic. Because it’s true. Because poofed up and closer to god could only work on someone as pretty as Steve, and gunked up and water-logged could only work on someone as pretty as Steve, and bedhead could only look that good on someone as pretty as Steve.

Steve is just. So pretty.

But today, today it’s not firmly in place, soft even if it’s not going to move from it’s position. Today it’s not slicked back with water as he pops up from under it to splash one of the kids. Today it’s not half flat from where he slept on it, the same side he’ll leave pressed into Eddie’s shoulder if he’s not quite ready to start the day.

Today, it’s soft, curling around his ears, over his forehead, fluttering in the wind. It’s not the same kind of curly that his own hair is, the chaotic kind that if he tried to brush it, it’d eat the brush. It’s gentler, and he desperately wants to touch it.

“Seriously, I’m worried about your brain right now.”

“My brain is fine.”

“Close your mouth then.” Well, that’s embarrassing. He tosses a glare at her, and it’s just enough time to miss Steve heading their way. He does fall over where he’s sitting this time, but it’s so worth it because it makes Steve laugh.

He’d do an embarrassing amount of things to hear that laugh.

“You okay?” Steve asks, looking so fond and amused at Eddie’s antics that it makes his heart skip a beat.

It’s still surprising, having that look aimed at him, getting it from Steve.

“Fear not, Sir Stevington, I will survive,” he says, pushing himself up dramatically. Steve’s eyes crinkle as he snorts another laugh, and they both ignore Robin quietly bleching.

“Yeah? Good. I’d hate to see you get through everything just to get taken out by your own theatrics,” Steve says. Eddie doesn’t even have time to react – Steve’s smiling and that always slows him down – when his gorgeous, beautiful friend pulls off that pale green sweater and presses it into Eddie’s hands.

“Don’t get cold on me, alright? I saw you shivering,” he says, like he hasn’t just ruffled his own hair once more and completely distracted all of Eddie’s thoughts in the blink of an eye.

And then he’s gone, off to give another attempt at skateboarding (trying to follow Max’s instructions and letting her laugh at him when she hears him fall before she does whatever trick it is perfectly even without her sight), and Eddie is left standing there, watching that perfect, broad back covered by a too tight tee shirt.

“This is a whole new level of pathetic, I think.”

“Shup it,” Eddie says, then freezes, feels her shit-eating grin growing. “Shut up!” He groans.

She can laugh all she wants, he decides, pulling Steve’s sweater over his head. It’s warm with his body heat, smells like his soap and his cologne and him.

She can laugh, he’s got a beautiful boy to watch, one who looks at him with a promise of what’s to come, when the time is right.

#pre steddie #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #platonic stobin #kat writes #eddie is pining and i love him for it #inspired by Joe's hair lately and how totally soft it looks #(he looks so good I love him so much)

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hairmetal666 · 1 year

Text

Steve has this bar he loves in Chicago. It's a little bit dive-y, a little bit dirty, but it's quiet. A good place for when he needs to clear his head.

Only, tonight, the place is packed. Music pounding from the jukebox, no space at the bar, patrons at the dartboard and pool table. In three years he's never seen it like this.

He has a second to wonder what's going on before he sees exactly who is going on, and for him to catch Steve looking.

"Stevie!" Eddie Munson cries. He leaps from the bar top, the people below scrambling away from the stomp of his big black boots.

He hasn't seen Eddie in years. Can't actually remember the last time. Max and Lucas's wedding? Robin and Nancy's baby shower?

Steve considers booking it out of there, escaping in the crush of the crowd. By the time he has the thought, though, Eddie's already pulling him into a hug.

He's excited to see his friend. He is! Really. He loves Eddie. But that's kind of the problem.

Steve fell in love and Eddie left town.

Well, maybe it wasn't so dramatic as all that. It wasn't until six months after they packed the last box in the back of Eddie's van that Steve could name his feelings for what they were. And by then, Corroded Coffin were building buzz and Eddie had a huge whole life outside of the people he saved the world with.

Over the years, as Eddie's fame grew, he came around less and now they hardly see each other. They still talk from time to time, Steve still buys all the band's records, and Eddie's still close with all the kids, Nancy and Robin too.

Eddie releases him, those big eyes bright, a pure and genuine smile stretching his face. Steve's stomach twists, heart skipping a beat.

"Gotta be honest with you, man. Never expected to see Steve Harrington in a place like this."

Steve snorts. "There's lots of place I go you wouldn't expect."

Eddie's smile wobbles, Steve thinks. It's gone in a blink, though, and Eddie laughs. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart. Have time for a drink with me?"

Eddie navigates to the bar, returns with two beers in hand. He presses his palm to the small of Steve's back, directing him to the single empty table in the corner as far from the jukebox as possible.

"How's life treating you, Stevie?" Eddie asks after a sip. "Nance told me the store is doing really well."

"It's good, yeah. Finally turning a profit. Wasn't sure about Dustin having us add a game section, but he was right. It's really taken off."

"Oh, he told me," Eddie smirks.

Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that he did. He hasn't let me hear the end of it."

"That tone," Eddie says, voice soft.

"What brings you to Chicago?" He asks to hide the way all the fucking love he feels for this man is bleeding out of him.

"Not really supposed to be," he laughs. "Flight got diverted to O'Hare, can't get another one until tomorrow. Have to make it to LA in time to play a show."

They both know Eddie loves it; the rush, the adrenaline, that comes with performing, to making it to shows at the very last minute. It's how they got here in the first place.

"Working on new music?"

Eddie leans back, dimples popping with the pleased lift of his lips. "Oh, Harrington, you don't even know what we have in store." He leans over the table and launches into tales of rehearsals and writing. Steve drinks his beer and can't take his eyes off his friend, Eddie the sun Steve orbits around, helpless to his gravitational pull.

"So, Stevie," Eddie says, once there's no more to tell about music. "You seeing anyone?"

Steve hides his cringe with a chuckle. Picks up his beer to buy time and finds it empty. "Not anyone of note."

"C'mon, how is that possible? You're easily the hottest guy in this place."

He grimaces. "That's a low bar."

"Oooh, still bitchy after all these years." Eddie snickers, takes a swig from his bottle.

"Shut-up."

"Seems like it's been a while since you dated."

"You interrogating my love life now, Munson?"

"No, not at all. Just curious."

"Okay, who are you dating? Still that guy from People?"

"Gossip," Eddie frowns.

"Anyone else you got your eye on?"

"No one new," Eddie says. He stares at Steve hard for a second, like he wants to dig into his brain, like it holds the answer to all life's question.

"There is someone, then." Steve tries to ignore the jealousy licking down his spine. Eddie isn't his and never will be.

Eddie picks at the label on his now empty beer. "Not--not really." He licks his lips, leaning over the table again. "Is there a reason you don't seem to date anymore, man? It's just--you wouldn't hurt for options, right?"

Steve freezes, trying to figure out a way to answer that won't end up breaking his own heart. "Ah, it's--you know, things got busy with opening the store and everything. Stopped being a priority."

"Are you lonely?"

"Are you?" He snaps before he can stop himself. "Sorry, I'm--sorry."

"Yeah, man. I'm lonely as hell." Eddie answers as though Steve didn't give him an out.

"I--you ever have someone where the timing is always wrong?"

"Think it's a hazard of my profession. Who's yours?"

"What?" Steve clunks his bottle too hard against the table.

"The one that got away?"

"It's--it--I--it doesn't matter."

Eddie's smile is all jagged edges. "Nancy?"

"God, no. Nance and I are good with being friends. No lingering feelings there. Who's yours?"

"Ahh," Eddie sits back a little, eyes glittering with an emotion Steve can't place. "The best boy I ever met. Can't get over him, can't forget him. I think they guys are going to start banning my 'pathetic gay yearning songs'. Gareth's words."

Something in Steve's chest crumbles to dust. There's someone. Has always been someone. Of course. Eddie is beautiful and hot and charismatic and fucking famous. And Steve is--just a guy who runs a struggling bookstore with a couple of his best friends.

"That's--I'm sorry it didn't work out." He's trying to stop his voice from breaking, from giving Eddie any hint of what he's feeling, just knows he has to get out. "Listen, man, thanks for the beer. Great to catch up. You should hit up Robin and Nancy the next time you're in town. I gotta get going."

"Wait, Steve--"

"See you around."

He doesn't wait. He pushes through the people, and races out the door, into the crisp Chicago fall air. He squeezes his eyes closed, practices his breathing exercises, tries to relax the clench of his teeth, ease the screaming in his lungs.

Three steps away from the building is as far as he gets before he hears, "Steve, please wait." A hand catches his hip, holding him in place.

"Eddie, I don't--"

"It's you," Eddie says. His face is pale, stricken. "You're the one who got away, Steve."

"What?"

"I've never been able to work up the nerve to confess. I've been trying for years, but. Too afraid of losing you to tell the truth."

"Years?" Steve's brain is trying to wrap around what's happening. That Eddie has feelings for him? That he's the source of the pathetic gay yearning?

"God, since 1986, at least."

Steve doesn't know what to say; what to do. He's been waiting for this moment so long, and his brain goes on pause.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same," Eddie rambles. "Hell, I'd be surprised if you did, but--"

"You're mine too," the words tumble out.

"What?"

"You're the one who got away. For me. You're mine."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. "Is this--are you serious?"

"Pathetic gay yearning and all."

Eddie's laugh is a bright spot in the darkness, relief and happiness mixed with the hope of what's next.

Steve can't help but giggle. "We're so dumb," he says.

Eddie looks at him with a raised eyebrow before bursting into giggles of his own. "So dumb, Steve, oh my god."

"It's been a decade!"

"Fuck," Eddie cackles.

They collapse against each other, chests heaving with their mirth. As they catch their breath, Steve nuzzles against Eddie's neck, relishing the closeness. It's easy for him to change the angle so their lips meet in a kiss frantic with ten years of longing.

"Your place or mine?" Eddie asks once they part.

Steve laughs. "You think I'm that easy, Munson?"

"Oh, Steve," Eddie smirks. "I know it."

"Asshole." Steve presses a kiss to his jaw. "How many songs did you write about me?"

Eddie smiles so hard his dimples pop. "All of them, baby. Every single one."

Steve rests their foreheads together, body fizzing like freshly uncorked champagne, "Take me home, Ed."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #oneshot #angst #friends to lovers #angst with a happy ending #idiots in love #mutual pining #famous eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #regular guy steve harrington #pathetic gay yearning #fluff #the one that got away #second chances #getting together

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letorip · 7 months

Text

somethin’ stupid

“and then i go and spoil it all, by saying somethin’ stupid like ‘i love you’”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: even knowing that your relationship with wednesday is one huge grey area, you can't help the words that come tumbling from your lips one night while on an expedition together.

warnings: blood, violent attack scene, angsty pining, mentions of sex, fear of the dark

word count: 4.2k

A/N: first post, kinda nervous. honestly pumped to start posting on here after being somewhat new to writing. will try my best not to suck.

===+++===

It’s only after you meet Wednesday Addams for the first time that you understand why storms are named after people.

In the near five months total she had been in your life, she had quickly climbed to the top priority, and you found yourself trapped in her rain bands, tugged under her dark, swelling tide and drawn to less direct ways.

Now and likely until the very end of time, you followed her through the forest, peeking around each passing tree and shining your flashlight into the dark. It was a knight's sword for you, and you held it like a weapon so as to ward off evil spirits or howling beasts. Only, half of the time it ended up being a squirrel.

It seemed antithetical, to walk into the pitch black forest that had killed several hikers and injured Eugene, -or more the big ass creature inside it had, but Wednesday had never cared much for what made sense, and you knew better than to argue with her.

The rain continued to fall around the both of you, splattering against the hood of your rain coat and rolling down your sputtering lips, tracing your nose on the way down. If Wednesday was at all affected by the rain, she hadn't let it show yet. Not that she let much show, that was.

You shivered from a sudden gust of cold, wet wind rushing over your knuckles from where they white-gripped the rubber wrapping of your flashlight. "Are we almost there yet?" You asked, squinting into the trees. "I have to get up early tomorrow."

There was no possible way Wednesday could know where she was going in the sheer amount of darkness fended off by a flimsy Acebeam, but she pushed through like she did. Maybe orienteering was just part of the outré magic she always carried with her, or at least that's what you figured it probably was. In another life she had been a cheerful girl scout, though you knew better than to suggest that aloud.

The same could not be said for you, who was an utter idiot about directions and probably would have driven off a cliff by now without the use of a GPS. Wednesday had once said you wouldn't be able to find your way out of a cardboard box, and offensively, she was probably right.

It didn't make sense why she chose you of all people to bring along, then. You had no special strength or sight, and virtually no knowledge on how to investigate a murder, especially the serial kind. The only ability you had allowed you to read thoughts and minds, though you never dared read Wednesday's, even when you itched to know what she was thinking.

Despite feeling more like an achor dragging her boat down, almost every evening, at around the same time after dark, she showed up on your doorstep to tug you off to some dangerous place.

Maybe you were secretly hoping for a reward of some sort. She often indulged you as such, lips like a heroin shot directly to your veins, powering you through the day as you watched the clock tick away into night anticipating the next rush. Enid was right. You were whipped for her.

"Your protesting doesn't make the journey any shorter," she replied, turning with the dark look that always lurked in the back of her eyes.

You knew the movements well: when she glared, her eyes lowered slightly and her mouth tensed. One could not help but watch in awe, storing the memory for later. Or, at least those ‘whipped’ for her couldn’t. She spun back around to face forward, your flashlight pointing over her shoulder into the brooding dark.

The rain only seemed to come down harder from there, punishing you both for slogging through the mushy leaves when sane people would be indoors. But Wednesday would not settle until she found Arcadia.

You cleared your throat, uneasy with the ensuing silence.

"Where are we even going, Wednesday? We've been walking forever," you said, looking down at the pale grey rocks as you stepped over them. You were grateful for being clever enough to remember hiking boots.

"We're finding evidence," she replied. "I was informed of a suspicious cave out in the forest, and-" Wednesday's words came rushing to a halt as her foot clipped the rock in front of her. She stumbled a bit, and you threw out an arm to her back, there if she needed something to steady herself on.

It was uncoordinated and it was clunky at best, and Wednesday was far from appreciative. She jolted back from your touch as if you had stung her, glaring as harsh as ever. "Sorry," you said. "I didn't want you to fall." The tips of your ears had begun to burn again, upon realising you were made the fool for another time in a row.

"You should have," said Wednesday, walking ahead. "It simulates dropping dead." Of course, on you, such a statement did not have the desired effect. Whereas most would have replied in shock or disgust, you laughed. Out loud, right at her. The gall. She whipped back to you, perplexed and annoyed by the noise. "Have something to share?"

You grinned. "You can act cool all you want, but if you had actually landed in the mud, you would have been pissed." Her expression went from glare to glower impressively quickly, though you took great glee in the fact she didn't try to dismiss it.

Anyone who had just met her would have been terrified, but you knew that look meant she hated just how much you were right. Wednesday's moody eyes lowered to your jacket, as if she was looking for an insult to sling in response.

"Why are you yellow?"

You blinked, then shrugged. "Because for someone so intelligent I'm the only one who remembered a raincoat."

"The beast will eat you wether you're rained on or not," she replied reasonably.

You blanched at this. It was apparent the possibility had never crossed your mind. "It eats people????"

Suddenly the darkness of the woods only seemed to worsen and the rain seemed to come down even harder, as if life was laughing at the terror it was causing. You had never been one for haunted houses, and you decided in that instant that this was far worse than any haunted house you had ever been to.

Wednesday shrugged, and you were far from put at ease by that. She glanced at you up through mischievous lashes, entirely knowing what she was doing and enjoying every sadistic moment of it.

"I suppose we may find out tonight. I should offer up you, the yellow highlighter, first. You have longer bones than I do, and I'm sure it would appreciate a snack, after-"

"Ha. Ha."

As surprising as was Wednesday's capacity to joke, you knew that's all it was. Such falsehoods could not be exposed to the public, and she would rather die than admit she cared for anyone. That was her secret. You knew to keep it well.

It had been weird to see Wednesday attempt comedy at first. Often times you still thought she may be dead serious. But on these nightly expeditions it seemed she could joke freely. Sometimes she kissed you freely. You just had to know she didn't do it for you. She told you constantly, just to be sure.

From in front, Wednesday trembled from a sudden angry breeze and you watched her, sighing and tugging off your raincoat. You tossed it over her shoulders wordlessly; Wednesday didn't acknowledge it either. She put one arm in, then another, but didn't pull the hood up, and you rolled your eyes. "Pull the hood up, Wednesday. Don't be stubborn."

"I'm fine," she shot back, tone sharp and piercing to any sort of armour you could have put up. But even that didn't make you buy it.

"Your hair is like, stuck to your forehead, Wednesday. Just pull up the hood part."

"I don't even want to be in this dreadful thing, why would I want more of it on me. It's yellow."

"It's keeping you warm."

"I'm allergic to colours."

"Well then I guess it's great you brought a black one- oh, wait! That's right! You didn't."

She blinked at you unappreciatively, but your unimpressed expression made her give in, and she begrudgingly did as she was told. With a hood now over her, shrouding her soft hair from the harsh rain, you felt a bit better about her being out in the cold. After a moment she grumbled, messing with the sleeves. "Why are your arms so freakishly long?"

You didn't answer, biting back a response that included the word 'short.' It would have been entirely unproductive and probably earned a rock thrown at your head. Instead, you focused on the small row of houses you could see on a road in the far distance.

Their windows were small, warm boxes in the dryness, as opposed to the pouring, angry storm only a heathen of some sort would be caught in. It looked the same as it had the week before when you had passed the same area with Wednesday, and you recognised the same lamp that sat in the same spot of the same window on the second floor. It hadn't moved even an inch and neither had the flowers in the pot sitting next to it.

You hummed, "I love streets like those. It looks so warm and comfortable. I could be out here forever and it would still be the same warm place."

"Poetic," Wednesday dryly replied. Poetry had never seemed to move her much, beyond the grim ones from Poe about death and despair. She had tried to teach you about it once, during an impromptu "study session," which was what Wednesday usually called hunting you down after class and sticking your head between her legs.

It was the very first time she had let you stick around after, and the more and more often she let it happen, the more you felt yourself allowing for false hopes. Of course, accusing her of growing fond was a way to end up in an early grave and you knew better.

It had been a whisper, really, what she said with your head resting on her stomach, arms against the skin of her thighs. You were both sweating, terribly so, and then came, "years of love have been forgotten, in the hatred of a minute." It was only a whisper, and you weren't even sure Wednesday had spoken it into existence. But you looked up, and she was staring down at you, eyes unreadable. Her mouth was tensed into a grimace; a symbol for words unsaid.

"What's that?" You asked, leaning your head back.

She had shook her head. "It's Poe. He founded the school."

"I know who Edgar Allan Poe is, Wednesday. I meant what you were saying."

She looked away to the window, like eye contact then would have doomed her. "I'm not sure." It was a lie, and you knew it, but you couldn’t scan Wednesday’s thoughts and it was the first time she had let you stay propped up against her. You knew better than to ruin that.

"Why do you like that kind of poetry, anyhow? It's awfully depressing."

"It's a reminder," she replied, eyes still away and tone flat. "You and I will be in the ground someday, or maybe I will be in the family crypt. 'As you are now, so once, was I.' And other such ruminations. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." Her gaze sliced back to you, as if she were gaging your reaction. "Either way, we're doomed."

You hadn't known what she meant by that, and you still didn't know, walking through the forest. She spoke in riddles, and it was impossible to know if she wanted you to decipher them or leave them as they were. Her vagueness with emotions was her armour, maybe.

Wednesday was usually cold and efficient and exact, in a way you could appreciate. You were far warmer, and though you seemed to constantly trip over yourself, patiently waiting for any sort of warmth to be returned, she stayed with the same chill that kept you close enough to bring comfort to her fingers, but never close enough to make her melt.

"When we get there, I want you to stay outside and keep watch. Don't come inside with me, I want to look around alone. If you hear anything or any noise or thoughts over the rain, give me the signal I trained you on," said Wednesday, looking through the bowers and thread veins of roots so as not to trip again.

"You're not my boss, Wednesday, and I'm not your henchman," you said, the words spilling out in annoyance. You hated when she went into work mode. She looked over at you, eyes giving an intense challenge.

"What am I then?"

You rolled your eyes at this. "Like my hobby, at best." It wasn't true, and both of you knew it.

"Do you kiss and sleep with all your 'hobbies,' then?" Wednesday's eyes studied you.

"Maybe," you shrugged. "I don't really kiss and tell." Actually, you hadn't kissed anybody since she had made out with you two days prior, and you hadn't kissed somebody other than her since she had first kissed you two months ago.

You knew, though, that Wednesday had done similar peregrinations with the normie boy, Tyler, from town who worked at the Weathervane. Sometimes you wondered if she put her lips on his, too. Other times, you couldn't help wondering if either of you really mattered to her.

She had said no when you asked her that once before, but slow danced and made out with you immediately after answering, at the Rave'N, so your confusion was understandable. It was like she both hungered for you and hated you for it at the same time, and you knew getting thrown around like that wasn’t what you wanted. But if it gave you her, even for a brief moment, you were all too eager.

From behind the both of you, you heard a branch snap, spinning around as the rain poured. There was nothing visibly there; your stupid flashlight didn't reach out that far and no moving through the brush could be heard. "Did you hear that?" you said to Wednesday, freezing completely. She nodded, but did not seem phased even slightly, turning to watch your terror with an eyebrow raised.

“Likely an animal," said Wednesday.

You were still frozen to the spot, staring into the dark as fear screamed at you to run away. “Are you okay?” she asked, puzzled.

You shook your head, sticking your hand out towards her. “No.” It was a question that needn't be asked. Wednesday examined your fingers closely, like she was contemplating if it was a bad idea, but then grabbed your palm and held it tightly in hers, locking the digits in with her own and squeezing it gently. It was an immediate comfort and you unfroze, Wednesday pulling you into the dark.

===+++===

"Your obnoxious coat is warm...thank you." She seemed to spit the last part out with a bit of reluctance, but you appreciated it nevertheless. For around the last half mile, you had been getting rained on instead. Droplets dripped from your hair, rolling down your cheeks and over your lips before dribbling from your chin.

"You can keep it for a while. Until you get your own, I mean," you said, absentmindedly playing with the flashlight. You would rather die than admit you were nervous aloud. Luckily, it didn't seem you needed to.

She stopped short at your words, grabbing your collar roughly with her hand and balling it between her fingers. It was harsh and it was passionate, like Wednesday always seemed to be in flares. Her mouth crashed into yours, teeth clinking together, toes poking into the mushy ground so she could even reach your face.

Unfortunately, it was over as soon as it began, and she pulled away quickly, walking away and leaving you behind, panting awkwardly as your mind began to spin. She was all too much, everything about her. You couldn’t stop yourself. "I love you,” you blurted out.

From the way she whipped back to you, it hadn’t been nearly quiet enough. Silence seemed to echo through the clearing, even in the raging storm around that pounded into trees and pooled in mushy puddles. She stared at you, and all you could do was stare back. Wednesday stomped back over, cheeks red and dark eyes shining with an unusual capriciousness. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Talking to myself.”

But she didn’t believe you. In previous attempts by you to draw out any indication of her affections, she could blatantly ignore it or change the subject without answering. Now, she was frustrated by how you always wore your heart on your sleeve. And this time, how your words demanded she do the same.

“What did you say,” she demanded. “Tell me right now, or I’ll-“

“I said I love you, Wends,” you cut her off before she could make a threat. God, she stared. She stared and stared and stared at you with her eyes in the dark, looking like she would be the one to read your mind and not the other way around. The humidity of the rain was suffocating you, but the powerful wind filled your lungs with air again, in a vicious, heaving cycle.

She took a small step forward, tilting her head up at you like she was inspecting you up close. “You don’t mean what you say.”

"I really wish I didn't, but I absolutely do." Your tone burned with a relieving candor, and Wednesday's eyebrows furrowed, before she backed away again. Your flashlight turned towards the ground, lowering your face into shadow.

"I told you, I don't want anything more from you," she said. "You're spoiling what we already have." She seemed more agitated than anything, but you stood your ground.

"But I feel like there's more here, Wednesday. I know I'm not crazy, you can feel it too. So I don't know why you're being all tough, when I just want to take care of you. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Learn to want for something else then," she argued back. "We can't work, we won't, I-"

"Why?"

"I told you why," she replied, crossing her arms. "Years of love-"

"No no, none of that bullshit you know you want to confuse me with. Just lay it out, plain and simple."

She bit her mouth shut, then narrowed her eyes at you before giving a huff. "Have you been reading my thoughts?"

"What?" Your forehead creased into lines, staring at her intently. "You know I don't."

"I don't know if you're aware, but I see you, in my visions sometimes. I actually think about the same one often, when I'm with you."

"What am I doing, then?" You asked, feeling a sickness come to your stomach. You didn’t know what future event you would be up to, but you could guarantee Wednesday you would stop yourself from hurting her.

“You’re being killed. By the beast.”

“…Oh.”

“You’re running far away, being chased. I see you get tackled or hit, and you fall into the dirt. Then I see your face being slashed over and over again by a creature, and you appear to bleed out on the floor of a forest.”

“Wednesday, that won’t come true.” You tried to assure her, but a small hand came forward, covering your mouth, shushing you. The gentle palm pressed against your soaked lips, fingertips ghosting the lines of your cheeks.

“I would hate you for it, dying. What I hate even more is that your closeness to me is likely what causes this. I don’t love you, (Y/n). I can’t. Stop trying to make me. It’s only pitiful and painful for the both of us.”

You reached up for her hand, pulling it away. “But how do you know it’s definitely you that ruins it? What if it’s something else, or what if it’s you saying no?”

“Because as painful as it is, I’m certain I break your heart if I indulge you.”

“Wednesday,” your voice shook a bit. “You’re breaking my heart right now.”

“This,” she said, “This is why I cannot give you more than I already have. I’m not my parents, (Y/n). Can’t you just be happy with our current relationship? You always try to complicate things. Like a stupid little puppy.”

You took a step back like a wounded animal. “What? You’re being mean.”

“Maybe if I am it'll get through to you. We won’t work, and if we don’t try to make it work, I won’t end up breaking your heart, and you won’t run away.” Her speaking volume was getting louder now.

“That’s a stupid plan!” You said raising your voice.

“And you’re a fool!” She said back. “I’m trying to protect you and take what I can get at the same time."

"You're hurting me."

"You're hurting yourself. I keep pushing you away. Stop coming back."

You frowned, feeling your face grow hot. "I come back because I care, and I know you care too."

"Caring for you gets me nowhere. You're doomed, (Y/n). I'm trying to protect you, so do us both a favour and get as far away from me as possible. Don't let me pull you back."

"Wednesday, I-"

"Go, you idiot." You swallowed her words. She was still wearing your yellow raincoat, looking at you with the most steely expression you had ever seen. You stepped forward in silence, only the mushing of the leaves filling the space between you. You unwrapped the armband of the flashlight from around your wrist and extended it out to her.

"Here. For the cave." She blinked at you, then she took it. Without another word, you did as you were told, stepping off into the dark and pulling against the magnetic field. With your ability to break past her facades turned off, you couldn't see the deep regret that wormed its way into her stare, watching your back retreat into the tree line.

===+++===

It only took around five minutes for you to regret not having the flashlight. The storm had turned to complete and utter chaos, and you could hear thunder and lightning booming and cracking against the night sky. Everything was so much darker than before, and it seemed to grow up and out like a giant ladder, turning to shadow and fog a few feet in front of you.

Part of you was still mad at Wednesday. Knowing she was scared for you didn't make it any of an easier pill to swallow. Neither did knowing you would likely die soon.

The looming question still sat unanswered, weighing down the wrinkles of your brain and cozying up at the mantle of your thoughts. Would it be weeks? Months? If she never ended up catching it (though that was very unlikely) how many years would you have left?

From behind you, you heard a branch snap again. You spun, looking around. An animal maybe. Then, you heard footsteps. They were big, though not an animal. Maybe it was Wednesday. She wore thick shoes often, with heavy soles.

It was only with the sudden realisation that there was no flashlight with the figure coming towards you, that your eyes began to widen and a chill shot up your spine like a spooked animal. It only took the dropping of your telepathic cancelling to fully realise what was about to happen.

KILL. KILL. KILL.

The monster's thinking was thunderous and loud, and it reverberated within your skull as you turned to run. You stomped your foot into the swampy ground, running the fastest you felt you ever had. KILL. The forest seemed to blur, rushing past you as you fled through the trees and smacking at branches that sagged in your way.

KILL. You heard the footsteps now, coming up quickly. They sounded huge, and with every bound you could hear greenery get smushed behind you as the beast moved through it. KILL. You had no idea how close it was behind you, but there was no time to look either. In one rush, you found yourself back in a stoney quarry, and in the far distance illuminated a KILL. streetlight standing over a mountain road.

You ran towards it, face scratched by a branch in the process as you forgot to swipe it away. The wood KILL. connected with a stabbing pain, piercing your lip as you ran, but you didn't so much as wince. "HELP!" You yelled KILL. out, trying to catch any attention as you ran for the pavement, and you were almost there. KILL.

You were too slow. A set of long, pointy claws latched onto your back, sinking into the skin and ripping you down with a yelp, throwing you to the ground. Your back slid into the tree with a sickening crack, and pain seemed to freeze your body. KILL.

Standing over you was the muscular, horrifyingly disfigured body of a towering creature, its eyes shining with violent zeal. It lowered with a clicking growl, eyeing your heaving, bleeding body and sneering. KILL. KILL. KILL.

Your eyebrows furrowed, blood spilling from your lips. In a single instant, you knew who it was, digging past the monstrous yells to the real thoughts of the boy underneath. "Tyler?"

Its claws sunk into your stomach, and everything went dark.

===+++===

a/n: a part two maybe? idk, i'm no rocket scientist. anyways, this is my very first post, so, here we go i guess? excited to start this and grateful for anyone who reads this. i tried to spellcheck but if it isn't perfect please please please let me know, i would fix it immediately.

#wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x you #wednesday netflix #jenna ortega

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rafeandonlyrafe · 7 months

Text

safe

words: 1.1k

warnings: home break in (not really described though), drug dealer!rafe and reader, pregnant!reader, husband!rafe

“r-rafe.” your voice is timid and shaky, so unlike what rafe is normally used to hearing. he instantly knows something is off, wrong.

“baby, what is it?” rafe asks into the phone, wishing he could see your face right now, could read the emotion in your expression.

“something uh-something happened. the police are here.”

“shit, are you alright?” rafe is suddenly moving away from the party, needing the noise of music from the live band and people talking and laughing to stop drowning out your words. “is the baby alright? did barry get caught?”

“yeah, we are both fine.” you press your hand against your stomach, the spot your baby always kicks, glad when you feel her stomp against your skin, reminding you she's okay, even if you don't currently feel like you are. “its not the business. there were some um… robbers.”

“what?” rafe shouts, knowing he probably just made you jump over the phone, but he can't help the loud reaction, needing more information, and needing it now.

“yeah they came into the house. i hid in the closet, but they found me. they didn't do anything, just shoved me a bit. they did take a lot of the jewelry you got me, i don't know what else, you'll have to talk to the police and give them a full invento-”

“shit, y/n!” rafe interrupts you. “i don't care about our stuff! i only care about you and the baby. im coming home right now.”

“okay.” you whisper over the phone. “im sitting on the front porch.”

“and police are watching you?” rafe asks, hurrying to his car, not bothering to explain to anyone his sudden leaving as he tears out of the parking lot.

“yeah, they're here. don't worry, im safe. i don't think they even had weapons, at least none that i saw.” rafe can hear you take a shuddering breath, his heart breaking that he wasn't there with you, foot pressing down even harder on the pedal to get him there faster. “the police think they broke in and expected no one to be home because of midsummers.”

you look down, rubbing your hand over your belly. “guess they didn't expect me to be home because none of my heels fit anymore and even the maternity dresses make me look like a whale.” you mean it as a joke, but it has tears flowing down your eyes, wishing you would have just sucked up your insecurities and gone with rafe. you still would have got robbed, but without the trauma of being there during the break in.

“im two minutes, baby. two minutes and you'll be safe in my arms.” rafe tries to keep his voice calm for you, but it's a struggle.

“i… i just wanna be safe.” you mutter the last words of the call, voice breaking as you begin to sob. rafe hears an officer try to calm you, but he knows it won't work, knows the only thing you need is him.

he parks haphazardly behind the police cars, fully blocking the street without a care in the world, not even taking the car keys out as he runs across the yard, sprinting until he reaches you.

“im here.” his arms are finally around your shoulders. “im here.”

you continue to sob, only lessened by pressing your face into rafes chest as he cradles you, even managing to pull you onto his lap despite your protruding baby bump.

“ive got you, princess.” rafe kisses the top of your head, continuing his reassuring words, the police officers giving you some space, but not retreating any farther than the steps leading onto the porch.

“oh my god, i was so scared.” you whine out, managing to blink back your tears enough to look at rafe.

“im so sorry baby.” rafe sighs. “i should have been here.”

“no.” you shake your head. “you had to go to midsummers. it's okay.”

“as soon as you said you weren't coming, i should have canceled it. should have never left my pregnant wife at home alone. im the worst fucking husband.” rafe knows his words aren't comforting, but he needs to make sure you know that he is the one to blame for what happened.

“what?” you press your fingers against rafes cheeks. “you couldn't have known, baby.”

“i still should have been here.” rafe leans in, taking your mouth in a strong kiss. “i love you, baby.”

“oh my god, you're not gonna leave my side for the next year, are you?” you let out a tiny laugh, the noise relieving rafe, loosening some of the tension in his chest.

“definitely not, my love.” rafe pulls you closer.

“thank you for coming so quickly.” you whisper, letting your head rest against rafes chest. “i really am okay. just freaked out.”

“don't worry, baby.” rafes voice suddenly changes tone. “the second they try to sell any of your jewelry, ill find them. they won't make it far at all. ill make sure they can never hurt you or anyone else ever again.”

you know you should tell rafe to let the police handle it, to not get personally involved in clearly dangerous men, but any man who lays their hands on a pregnant woman doesn't deserve to breathe, let alone only be punished to a few months in jail like what would no doubtabley happen if you went the legal way.

“im surprised you haven't called barry already.” you laugh softly, knowing he will be just as pissed as rafe. you came into their life and helped expand the business, turning them from lowly dealers to something bigger, better. still dealing, of course, but offering protection and other services as well.

“figure id let the police leave first.” rafe rubs your back, glad that you're slowly getting back to your jokey and sharp witted self. “before he insisted on being your personal armed guard until those guys are put in the ground.”

“yeah, once baby girl pops, im going to have to ask him to teach me to shoot. just in case anything like this happens again.” you feel bad that you relied so heavily on rafes protection, that you let yourself slack to the point where an emergency arose and you hid in the closet instead of grabbing a glock.

“hey, what about me?” rafe whines, knowing he'd never let another man teach you how to shoot, not even your joint business partner barry.

“fine.” you joke, sighing and sliding off rafes lap. “you better go talk to the police about what else might be missing. i wouldn't let them snoop around.”

you don't keep anything illicit in your house, but just in case you weren't about to give the law open access to your home.

“in a minute.” rafe keeps his arms around you, not willing to let you move too far from his hold. “need to just keep my wife in my arms for a few minutes longer.”

you look out onto the sky, the stars glimmering in the darkness of light, allowing yourself to take a full, deep breath, at peace held in your husband's arms.

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid

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ambrosiagoldfish · 5 months

Note

Adam x third spouse part 3 I’m begging pookie ❤️

like a time skip to when Charlie appeared and proposed the idea

Benifit of the doubt Pt.4

Adam x 3rd Spouse! Reader

Warnings: General Adam TW’s, a little bit sad for a moment but it’s ok. Gn! Reader! honestly that’s about it I think?? Wow this is the first time it’s been this short in this series.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Request Box: Open

Word Count: 4617~

A/n: So… it’s been almost 2 months… whoops. In all seriousness though I’m sorry it’s been so long. I’ve just not been in the mood to write and a lot of stuff has been happening (which is finally over) and I’m glad I could finally post this. I was also, if I’m honest, nervous to post this, cause I’m not sure if everyone’s ready for the direction of the story. But I have made it clear that I wanted to do a time skip to the show at somepoint and decided to do it now! If you enjoy this, please let me know cause I’m really nervous about (Not my words of affirmation love language coming out-) ALSO to the requester, I know you said part 3, but I used it for part 4. I got your request as I was making part 3 soooo my bad. Hope you don’t mind tho <3 this will be the last part before the angsty finale (and maybe an epilogue)

Reblogs are always appreciated!

Anyways this was NOT beta read unfortunately, I tried to get as many errors out during the writing process so hopefully it’s fine. Also, there’s probably some words I might have wanted to italicize or make bold that aren’t, but I’m too tired to care honestly.

Tags: @tired-of-life-86 @nervoussystemss @qopia @lovelyemily @hcneyiced @v3r41ynn @ghostdoodlen @nxptvne-13 @ximenavc-che @edgyfluff @ericityyy @diffidentphantom @faimmm @slasher-whore69 @1-randomized @ozzersauce @fanlovedlt @alientee (if I forgot someone or you want to be added just tell me !!)

Days turned to weeks, to months, to years. Until eventually an eon had passed. An entirety filled to the brim with an indescribable happiness and love, threatening to spill over at any given moment. You loved Adam and Adam loved you.

To say it was all happiness would be a lie, there were some moments of sadness and pain, but all relationships were like that, even ones that lasted for eternity. You both always bounced back, apologize and moved on with a stronger bond than before. And you loved every second of it.

A lot has changed in these last few eons. Adam formed a band and is now the most popular guitarist in all of heaven. You both made new friends, some got into heaven while others were made there. Emily was one of these people to you, she looked up to you for being older than her. You’ve existed for almost all of human existence so, of course she’d look up to you.

Adam had also made new friends, his band members, some officials in heaven, but someone he’s grown close to recently was Lute. You're really happy about his friendship with Lute. She seems like a strong and loyal friend, someone that can keep him grounded while still encouraging him to be more himself. Overall, you really liked her.

How they became friends though is something… less tasteful for you. All the way back when Heaven and Hell had their first meeting on what to do with the surplus of sinners in hell causing an uprising. Neither side came to an agreement in the end, you do feel partially to blame for that, but you still stand by what you did.

You never returned to any of the follow up meetings

But Adam did, surprisingly to you. In the end, you were called to talk with Sera and Adam. You were told of the agreement between Heaven and Hell, about the yearly “cleanse” that Adam and his “Exorcists” would have to commit. At first you were shocked, sure, you didn’t have the best experience with sinners and especially with the rulers of hell, but was death really necessary? You didn’t know what to say, and Adam clearly saw this.

“Babe, you alright?” He puts his hand on your shoulder rubbing his thumb in circles. You place your hand on his.

“Yeah it’s just a lot to take in. Are we sure it has to be done… that way?”

Sera looked down in pain “they’re… uprising and are becoming to much of a threat to heaven.”

You sighed as Adam took you in his arms. Adam was fully aware that you don’t share the same sentiment towards sinners as he does. His hatred towards the unholy souls down in hell was brought about by events that you simply cannot understand. Which he is thankful for, he never would want you to experience what he did.

“If there isn’t anything else we can do then… I guess we have no choice. But I don’t want to… kill anyone, even if they are sinners.”

Adam holds you closer “You won’t have to,” you smile at him, the now familiar flickering of his LED mask meeting your gaze before softly frown “you ok?”

You nod, “yeah, just…I wish there was another way.”

That was it. Adam would take his exorcists down to hell to kill as many sinners as they could each year. Adam knew you didn’t want him to talk about it , he kept it as separate as he could from your life. You did have to attend meetings regarding it, as one of the very few people to know about it, that was your duty.

You were fine with having that part of the job. You weren't sure if you could kill someone, sinner or not. So, for the countless years to follow, you played your part with every new extermination, attending meetings to deal with the repercussions of each cleanse.

Adam would also have to attend the occasional meeting. Which is exactly what today was. Sera had called you both in to talk.

“Thank you both for coming. I have to inform you that you will be attending a meeting tomorrow.”

Adam groaned “What! Again? This is like the 4th fuckin’ one this week! Ugh fine! Where is it this time? halo city? Cherub towne” Adam’s voice mocked the locations you’ve both been sent to countless times with a high pitched voice. Even you have to admit that the meetings could drag a bit.

Sera's face turned into a slight grimace as she looks away from you both, she sighs and continues “The meeting will be in… hell.”

“What!” Both your voices raise in shock

“Sera, you know I don’t want to go down there again!”

“Why can’t you just send the other fucking dipshits who know about-“ Adam crossed his arms defiantly

“Stop,” Sera raises her hand toward you both “no one wants to go there, and I know you both especially don’t.” She pauses “But you both are the only available angels who know of the cleanse that aren't busy. Please… I understand your disdain but heaven’s business comes first.”

“Who are we even gonna be talking to -Wait a damn minute- Don’t fucking tell me we have to talk to him.”

“I'm sorry…” You all sat in silence for a moment before Sera begins to speak again, “But you both won’t have to worry about physically being there, we have prepared holograms for you, so neither of you would be in any danger.”

“I'll have an Angel escort you to the ‘meeting’ room tomorrow, please, get some rest. I’m sure you both have had a long day.”

With that, you and Adam went home, you were definitely not feeling well about the meeting, but the fact you wouldn’t actually be there calms your nerves a bit. You had to be a little honest with yourself, hell wasn’t really the issue for you, it was more so the people. Lucifer for one, that made you feel uneasy.

The next morning, you and Adam got ready, you had to motivate him a little. He was clearly not excited for this meeting like you. The entire way there he held you close, even though nothing could have hurt you it made him feel better knowing how close you were.

On the way there, you also got Adam some ribs, his favorite. You thought it would help his nerves a bit. Turns out, Lute was the one Sera assigned to escort you both there. That also made you both a little calmer knowing a mutual friend would be there.

The three of you waited in the ‘meeting’ room for a while, about an hour. At first you thought the meeting might had been canceled or moved and you just weren't told. But then, Lute walked up to you both.

“Sir! The Seraphim has told me to inform you that there’s been a change in plans!”

“What? The fucks that mean?” Adam said stuffing a rib into his LED mouth

“Lucifer won’t be attending the meeting, instead… his Daughter will be here in his stead.” Lute’s mask showed a continuous frown and stern expression as she spoke.

“Daughter?” Your voice shook a little. This was news to you, as long as you’ve existed you had never heard he had a daughter while in hell. You look over to Adam to see His LED eyes were wide in shock but his mask turned into a smile as he sighed.

“Phew boy, we sure dodged a big ass bullet, huh Sweetcheeks?” He laughed as his arm pulled you closer. The whole thing caused you to join in. Suddenly your nerves felt a lot better than before.

“When should she be arriving, Lute?”

“Within the hour.”

Adam scarfed down another plate of ribs as you all wait for the “princess of hell” to arrive. The entire time you just had to wonder what kind of person she’d be. The daughter of Lucifer and Lilith. The more you thought about it, the more bizarre it seemed.

But suddenly your thoughts were interrupted by the sliding doors opening to the meeting room and a girl steps in, asking if anyone is there.

“She can’t see us?”

“Yeah, Sera gave me a long ass lector on how this stuff works before we got here. Let’s see here…” Adam pushes a button causing a click to sound out as he says “Sup!”

The girl jumps back and falls to the floor, shocked by Adam’s sudden appearance in the room. She introduces herself as Charlie. Adam offers her to shake his hand, only for it to go through.

“Ha! I fuckin’ got you! Did you fucking see that? Good shit.”

You let out a slight laugh, as you sit and watch the meeting happen. Well, you say “meeting” but nothing about it seemed very professional. Adam for the last hour (you honestly wasn’t sure at this point) had been talking about the most random of things.

You or Lute occasionally shakening your head yes or no while listening to him, while Charlie seemed quite tired already. Not that you could blame her, people who weren’t used to Adam’s banter definitely weren’t cut out for it. But You love every word that comes out of his mouth.

Eventually Adam decides that it’s time to get into what you all came here for. Pulling out a bunch of papers, Charlie begins explaining her solution to hell’s overpopulation. You were only really half listening at first, at least before she mentioned that her solution could stop the extermination which peaked your interest.

She explains her “Hazbin Hotel” and its purpose to rehabilitate sinners, you wanted to hear more of it but Adam cut her off.

The meeting didn’t really go that well, At least for Charlie. But the whole thing left quite the impression on you. The idea of ending the extermination was stuck in your head for so long, and now you had someone who had an alternative.

“Adam, are you sure that it couldn’t have worked?”

Adam looks at you in surprise “What? Do you think that shitshow could have actually worked?” He laughed as he placed a hand on your back. “Don’t even pay it any mind, alright Babe?”

“I know, it’s just… you know I don't like the extermination. So another way to lessen the population of hell should at least be looked into.” Your voice was soft enough to barely hear.

Adam’s gaze softened but he didn’t say another word, only wrapping his wing around you pulling you closer. You lean towards him, snuggling into his soft robe. No matter how much you wanted to ignore it, you couldn’t. You needed to do something, anything.

So that night, after Adam fell asleep, you asked to talk with Sera. Leaving a note for Adam saying you went to buy something just in case he woke up.

“What is troubling you?” Sera’s voice was clear and concise.

You looked toward the ground, your nerves feeling tighter than ever, as you struggled with how to put your words together. “You're aware of all that happened in the meeting with Lucifer’s Daughter, right?”

Sera nods her head “of course, all meetings are documented about as they happen.” She tilts her head slightly “What about it?”

“Well!” You steel yourself before continuing “I would like permission to observe Charlie Morningstar’s ‘Hazbin Hotel’”

Sera’s eyes widen, breaking her calm demeanor before giving a firm “No”

“But-“

“It’s too dangerous for you to be there, Adam wouldn’t want that anyways”

“He would listen if it was an order from you!” Your eyes felt watery but you continued “Please Sera… I know you don’t want the extermination to continue. Just let me do this!”

Sera looked away from you, her feelings evident on her face, any mask now down. ‘Just a little more’ you thought

“Sera, I promise you, I’ll be careful! We don’t even have to fully support them yet, just let me observe them. It would be devastating if so many souls parish if we failed to seek all options!” You beg

Sera sighed, shakingly “…I’ll see what I can do.”

Your eyes gleamed up at the tall woman “Sera, thank you, thank you!” You wanted to hug her but out of courtesy, you advised against it.

Sera tells you that she can’t guarantee anything but she will try as she sends you home to rest.

A few days past after that and you haven’t heard anything from Sera. It was a little worrying and felt like a bad sign to you. That was, until you were informed by Sera that your request was accepted!

“But.” Sera stops you before you can celebrate “You're only there to keep track of the progress and to make sure nothing is happening under our noses” You nod your head in understanding

“Also…” she pauses “If anything involving this hotel happens, you will have to take full responsibility, understood?”

You nod again “yes I understand. Have you… told Adam yet?”

She shakes her head

“Ok… can you… not tell him it was my idea, please. I don’t think he’d agree if he knew.”

Sera sighs before nodding her head “Very well, I’ll tell him after you leave”

“Thank you.”

You return home, when you got back Adam was already gone, Sera must have already called him to the office. You dreaded when he got back. You didn’t want to see him upset, it hurt you to know how worried he was for you.

A few hours later, Adam comes through the door in a panic. He stomps up to you and pulls you into a warm and intense embrace.

“Don’t go down there. I need you here with me” his voice hitches as his wings wrap around you both, curling you both into a warm and feathery ball.

“Adam…” you paused, was this really the best thing to do? No, It had to be. If this goes well, not only will the extermination stop but Adam wouldn’t have to go down to hell ever again.

“Adam, you know I can’t go against Sera’s orders.” You kiss his cheek “and I won’t be gone forever, I’m only supposed to be there till the next cleanse. Not to mention, I’ll always come back to see you.”

Adam grumbled a little “I know, I just… don’t like you being in the same place that bastard is, and in his brat’s stupid hotel! ”

You laugh softly “Adam…” grabbing his hand, you put yours in it, showing off the gold ring on your finger “I’ll never forget my promise. You know that, right?”

Adam looks at the ring, the gold wrapped around your finger with a perfectly snug fit. Everytime he looked at it was just a reminder of your love for him. That promise was something he could never forget. He slowly raises your hand to his LED mask, kissing the back of it. “Of course not.”

“Good. I promise I’ll be fine, ok?”

He nods. Hand in hand, you slowly lead you both to the bed. The both of you lay next to each other, your bodies linked together like knots. You slwoly remove his helmet from his head, laying it on the nightstand.

Your hands move up his body before landing on his face, cupping his cheeks before pulling him to a kiss before snuggling into his chest.

Finally it was Time for you to leave. Sera allowed you to create portals back to heaven in case anything happened and you were in need of assistance. Adam walked you to the front gate.

“Ok, do you have everything? You didn’t forget that fucking angelic dagger I had Lute get for you right-“

You shush him “Adam, I told you I’ll be fine!”

He’s sighs “Damn it- I know that but just make sure to text me while your there ok-

You kiss him deeply “Adam. I know, you’ve told me a hundred times.” You smile as you cup his face “I love you”

He sighs “Love you too Sweetcheeks”

With one final kiss, you give Adam a tight hug before waving goodbye as you went through the flaming portal. As you went through, you take a second to look at your surroundings. In front of you was a tall building. You take a few steps back to see LED lights of a sign flashing the words ‘Hazbin Hotel’

You let out a sigh of relief. You had been a tad bit worried you’d spawn somewhere random and you’d have to find the building yourself. But it seems heaven at least spared you of that.

The red skies of hell were quite different from the pristine blue ones of heaven. Even though you just got here, you could already hear the sounds of screams and explosions in the distance. How welcoming.

You steel yourself and with three hard knocks to the door, you wait for someone to open it. Muffled Scurrying sounds of footsteps approach the door before it creaks open revealing the young blond woman in the doorframe, Charlie Morningstar.

“Hi! I’m-“

The door is slammed shut, Before opening again

“Be not afraid-“

It shuts again…

Well, this may be a bit harder than you initially anticipated. You go to knock again only for it to open once more. This time, the door doesn’t close again, instead the girl mutters a quick “Hi” before going quiet.

“Hello! I didn’t mean to scare you!” You give a small laugh before continuing “I believe we met a couple days ago?” You bring your hand towards her for a shake, to which she reciprocates.

“During the meeting with.. Adam? Right?” She grimaced when she mentioned Adam, which you decided to ignore, you simply smiled and nodded. ”but I don’t believe I caught your name?”

You tell her about yourself, about how your there to stay and monitor any progress the hotel may have. You made sure to pronounce ‘may.’ While you were hoping for this idea to show some kind of positive results, even you weren’t sure if it’d would work.

“Charlie? who’s at the door- WhatHolyShit-“ a woman with a red X over her eye suddenly shouts in surprise. You look over at her, She looked very familiar…

“Wait, you are-“

“Vaggie! Charlie’s sinner girlfriend! And you are?!” The woman known as Vaggie, highlighted the word sinner while performing a “be quiet” gesture with her hand. Your eyes widen a little at the ex-Angel in front of you but you simply smile a nod “I’m Y/n, I don’t believe we’ve met, yes?”

Look, lying is the last thing you’d want to do as a citizen of heaven but you figured that it would be fine if it was to protect someone. Vaggie nodded, her face scrunched up in a tense look.

“You feeling ok Vaggie? You’re looking a little… red?”

“I’m fine! *ahem*, Hun, how about you give them a tour of the hotel.”

Charlie gasped “Yes that's perfect, you may as well get acquainted with everyone if you’re going to be here more often!”

Charlie ran off, telling you “this way! This way!” Over and over. Before you went to follow her, you leaned toward Vaggie and said a quick “Relax, I won’t tell anyone.”

She lets out a sigh before muttering “Thank you”

You both follow Charlie as she shows you the various rooms in the hotel before leading you back to the hotel’s lobby and lounge area.

“Hey! Hello everyone!” Charlie’s voice picked up a little “I’d like to introduce you to our uh… new staff member?” You nod in agreement with the title. The room in front of you was shrouded in looks of both horror and amazement.

“What the hell’s an angel doin’ here?” A lanky spider demon spoke up first

“It’sss an ambush! seek Cover!!” The Snake demon shouted, seemingly grabbing an army helmet from thin air before taking a deep dive behind the couch.

“No Pentious-” She sighs “they’re here to monitor the hotel! Heaven sent them to scout any potential progress the hotel will have”

“It’s nice to meet you all” you look at the people in front of you, to say it was a colorful cast would be an understatement.

“These two are our current tenants of the hotel! Angel dust and Sir Pentious!”

The snake slithered slowly from behind the couch up to you, while the Spider demon remained rested on the couch

“Oh… *ahem* Excuse me dear! I am Sir. Pentious! Formally known as ‘the Architect of destruction’!” He laughs, a slight hiss sounding in his voice.

He offers a handshake which you accept. To which you immediately regret. ‘ Slimey’ you thought, before wiping your, now wet hand on your clothes.

The spider demon, who you now know as Angel Dust, just gives a wave with one of his 4 arms.

“And-“ Charlie extends the word as she quickly walk to a bar by the entrance “this is the recreational area, run by our Bartender, Husk!”

The winged bartender seemed entirely uninterested in your presence or even Charlie’s. The most you got was a small glance before he takes a swig of his alcohol and walks off.

“He’s not the most… social guy in hell” she awkwardly laughs before moving on to the next person. “And this is Nifty, our one and only maid at the hotel! Nifty say hi.”

The short woman scurried moved around you, her eye quickly looking at every every nook and cranny of you as she moved. She made numerous attempts to touch and grab various things on you, your clothes, wings, and eventually she tried to climb up you to get to your halo. That’s when you finally grabbed her in place “you're a… fast one, huh? Nice to meet you!”

“And last but not least! This is Alastor, the hotel’s executive producer and our first -and only- overlord sponsor!”

Immediately, you could tell there was something off about Alastor. The entire aura he gave off was as if he was restraining something completely and utterly ungodly. The static that surrounded him was just one of many whispers you could hear from his soul.

“Hello! It’s quite a pleasure to meet someone of your… holy status!” He offers a hand to which you, hesitantly, shake. “And what do we owe the pleasure for your service?”

“They’re going to be here to keep track of the progress of the hotel…” Charlie paused “you know I’m starting to sound like a broken record- here, it’s late, how about we all get some sleep and we can talk about it in the morning!”

“Fine by me, I am waaay too sober to be having social interaction this late” Angel picks himself up and stretches “I’m gonna hit the hay”

“Here I’ll show you to your room!” Charlie smiles “We -obviously- didn’t have time to make your own so I hope you don’t mind using one of the guest rooms” she laughs

She and Vaggie walks you to your new room before leaving you be, The room was nothing more than just your average hotel room. Of course it did have its differences, a multitude of… eyes seem to be on the wall, staring at you. Well, that’s not the least alarming.

You place your stuff down and begin unpacking, you mostly just brought the basics. Clothes, hygiene stuff, your phone, and, most importantly, a framed photo of Adam.

You sat the photo on your nightstand, angling it just right so that it would always be visible to you. As you do so, you think about the memory the photo brings, you took it on one of the first dates you went on with Adam. It was a relatively tame date, you and Adam, having a picnic by a lake at night. You brought candles so you both weren’t completely in the dark, and you just loved the way he looked, his golden eyes watching the water. The dim candle light illuminating his face with a warm golden shade. Adam hates photos of him with his mask off but… You just had to keep that moment in time forever.

*Ding* *Ding* *Ding*

Speak of the- well, you know the rest. The bright light from the phone comes with the notification sound displaying Adam in bold letters. You smile as you read his messages.

Dixkmaster69

Heyy Sweetcheeks, it’s been a bit since you left

You there??

Fucking answer

You let out a small laugh at Adam’s barrage of messages. He’s not used to you being away from him for more than a day, huh? Not that you could blame him, this is honestly nothing compared to how you feel each year he has to do the extermination.

Sweetcheeks

Hey love

Everything’s fine, I’m ok.

Aside from not having you with me :’(

Dixkmaster69

Fucking finally

You know you don’t have to do this

If I bitch enough to Sera I can get you back by tomorrow

Sweetcheeks

Please don’t, Sera already has enough on her plate.

I promise I’m going to be fine

I’ll be back before you know it.

Dixkmaster69

I know

This shit just worries me

Gonna miss hearing your sexy ass voice at night too ;)

You blush at the message before sighing. Whenever you or Adam approached a topic that made him uncomfortable, he would always try to change the subject to something that made him feel better. You knew why, Adam’s someone who rarely talked about his feelings, even after all these eons together that was something he hadn’t changed. You knew exactly what he needed, even if he didn’t explicitly tell you.

Sweetcheeks

I already miss yours too <3

Do you want to help me fall asleep with that heavenly voice of yours on the phone?

Dixkmaster69

Whatever you want Sweetcheeks <3

You smile when, almost immediately, Adam begins calling your phone. You click the lights off before You make your way in your new bed, not even bothering to change out of the clothes you’ve been wearing. You grab the cover and pull it over you and tapping the answer button.

“Sup”

You yawn “Hey handsome, I missed your voice”

You hear his voice hitch before he caused on “Of course you did, no one has a better voice than the dick master. But uh, yours is a close second”

You’re let out a tired giggle, “such a charmer, you. How’s your day been huh?”

“Oh! don’t even get me started on that- Lute took me to get some ribs to ‘calm my nerves’ or some shit and they had me, ME, wait in line for like 15 minutes! The fucking audacity!”

You smile to yourself as Adam tells you about his day, the sound of his voice was like a sweet lullaby to your ears and you couldn’t get enough of it. But eventually…

“And then when I got home, I couldn’t find my damn charger and it took me like 40 fuckin’ minutes to realize it was under our bed, do you have any idea of how it keeps getting there?” He waits for you to respond only to be met with silence. “Uh bitch, I’m talking to you.”

More silence… well no, actually if Adam focused on listening, he could hear the faint sound of your snoring from the phone. Adam sighs,”Long day, huh?”

Adam lays back in your shared bed, getting comfortable. He sets the phone beside him, plugging it in while keeping it on speaker. He yawns, “Goodnight Sweetheart, can’t wait to see you again”

Slowly, the soft sounds of both yours and Adam’s snores filled each others rooms, a distant, but intimate connection. Even in slumber, you couldn’t stop thinking of your handsome and caring soulmate.

954 notes · View notes

seafarersdream · 19 days

Text

Kismet | Modern AU! (Jace Velaryon x Y/N)

Jace Velaryon, a wealthy legacy student at the University of Cambridge and captain of the football club, is barely surviving his second year in majoring in History and Politics. With a 5,000-word paper looming, Jace is hopelessly lost. His concerned professor decides to assign him a study partner: Y/N L/N, a star student. Y/N knows all about Jace’s wild reputation and his band of troublemaking friends. She's managed to steer clear of his orbit—until now. Aegon Targaryen, ever the wildcard, throws down a challenge to Jace: a bet on whether he can get Y/N into his bed. After all, Jace is a notorious womanizer, with a reputation for charming his way through the university’s female population. Should be easy enough for him, no? Word count: 14,5k

TW // Strong language and profanities, explicit scenes (oral), dub-con, sexual innuendos, alcohol use and intoxication, emotional manipulation, smoking, slow burn narrative.

Note: Massive thanks to @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 for the idea! Hope I did it justice. I really ran with this one—what can I say? I love a good, slow build-up. So yeah, this fic definitely got way longer than I planned. But hey, grab some snacks, settle in, and enjoy!

“Five thousand words? She’s taking the piss, isn’t she?” He thought.

Jace Velaryon slouched back in the worn, creaky chair, an amused grin tugging at his lips as he stared at the ceiling of Professor Jeyne Arryn’s office. The beams above were ancient, older than his ancestors probably, and seemed like they might crumble at any second. He couldn’t help but think it’d be a hell of an excuse to get out of this meeting if the whole damn roof just collapsed right then and there.

Professor Jeyne Arryn, all prim and proper in her tweed blazer and horn-rimmed glasses, sighed dramatically from behind her desk, fingers tenting in that classic I’m disappointed in you way. “Jacaerys, you do realize that the War of the Roses is one of the most pivotal conflicts in English history, right? It’s not something you can just... ‘wing’ in a night.”

Jace chuckled, the sound rich and careless. “Is that a challenge, Prof?” he teased, stretching out his long legs, one foot resting lazily on the opposite knee. “You know I love a good challenge. Ask anyone on the pitch.”

She didn’t smile. She never did, not when he was being an ass—which, admittedly, was most of the time. “This isn’t a game, Mr. Velaryon,” she said, voice tight with irritation. “You can’t charm your way through a five-thousand-word paper like you do with the girls or your professors, for that matter.”

Jace scoffed, giving her a cocky wink. “Worked on you, didn’t it? Remember that first-year exam?” He flashed her a grin that was all white teeth and mischief, the kind that usually got him out of trouble—or into it, depending on the situation.

Professor Arryn's lips twitched, but she quickly straightened her expression. “Enough, Mr. Velaryon. This isn’t negotiable. You’re going to do this paper, and you’re going to do it well, even if it kills you. Or, more accurately, if it kills me trying to drag you through it.”

Jace rolled his eyes, the weight of her seriousness finally sinking in. “Alright, alright, you’ve got my attention. What’s the plan then? A crash course in roses and wars?”

Jeyne leaned forward, her tone softening just a fraction. “I’ve assigned you a study partner.”

He sat up straighter, eyebrows shooting up. “A what now?”

“A study partner. Someone to help guide you through the research, outline, and, hopefully, writing process. Someone who actually understands the material and takes it seriously.”

Jace frowned, feeling his stomach twist. “Who?” he asked, wary now. “Not one of those posh History Society nerds, yeah?”

Professor Arryn smiled, a thin, knowing smile. “No, not one of those... though she is quite the academic star. Y/N L/N.”

Jace blinked, trying to place the name. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember a face to go with it. “Y/N?” he echoed, like it might conjure up a memory. “The one with the… cat?”

Jeyne’s smile grew wider. “Yes, that one. She’s in her third year. Sharp as a tack, that girl. And far more disciplined than you.”

“Great,” Jace muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “So, I’m stuck with a cat lady who probably hates my guts. This’ll be fun.”

“Perhaps,” Jeyne replied, “it’ll be good for you to spend some time with someone who doesn’t fawn over you or buy into your charm. And let’s be honest, Jacaerys, you need all the help you can get.”

Jace sighed deeply, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “Fine. Whatever. When do I meet this... Y/N?”

Professor Arryn checked her watch. “Actually, right now. She’s waiting outside.”

Jace’s eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

The door creaked open, and there she was—Y/N L/N, standing just outside with an expression that could only be described as skeptical. Her hair was up in a bun, a few stray strands escaping around her face, and she was clutching a notebook like it was a lifeline. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked over Jace briefly before settling on Professor Arryn.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” she asked, her voice low and even.

Jace couldn’t help but smirk. Oh, this was going to be interesting.

Professor Arryn gestured for Y/N to enter. “Y/N, this is Jacaerys Velaryon, your new study partner.”

Y/N’s lips quirked ever so slightly, but she quickly schooled her features back into a neutral expression. “Oh,” she said. “Lucky me.”

Jace chuckled, leaning back in his chair again, arms spreading out as if he owned the room. “The pleasure’s all mine, love,” he drawled, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Looking forward to all those late-night study sessions... with your cat, of course.”

Y/N’s gaze was flat, unimpressed. “Yeah, don’t get your hopes up. This isn’t a charity case. If you want my help, you’ll have to actually put in the work.”

Jace blinked, caught off guard. “Right,” he said slowly, recovering with a grin. “Fair enough. Let’s start with the basics, then… What’s a ‘War of the Roses,’ anyway?”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, clearly unamused. “We have a lot of work to do.”

Professor Arryn watched the exchange, a satisfied glint in her eye. “I think this partnership will be good for both of you,” she said. “And remember, Velaryon, this is your last chance to prove yourself. Don’t blow it.”

Jace glanced at Y/N, who was already walking towards the door, her back straight and her expression unreadable. He scrambled to his feet, hurrying after her. “Oi, wait up!” he called, trying to catch her.

Y/N paused, turning slightly, her eyebrow arched. “First rule,” she said calmly. “Don’t call me ‘love.’”

Jace grinned, loving the challenge already. “Alright… Y/N,” he replied, putting on his most charming smile. “Shall we?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was the slightest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah,” she muttered, “Let’s get this over with.”

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“Look, we can start with some basic texts,” Y/N said, flipping open her notebook and scribbling something down with a quick, practiced hand. She barely spared Jace a glance as they walked down the narrow cobblestone path, her steps purposeful and brisk. “Seeley Historical Library has the best collection on late medieval England. I figure we’ll start there. I know a few—”

“Wait,” Jace interrupted, his tone incredulous. “You want to start now? Like, right this second?”

“Yes,” Y/N replied, not breaking her stride. “Because it’s clear you know absolutely nothing about the War of the Roses, and I’m not about to waste my time with some half-baked attempt at a history paper. We’re going to the library.”

Jace groaned, dragging a hand through his tousled dark curls. “Oh, come on, love—”

She shot him a sharp look.

“—Sorry, Y/N. Can’t we at least get a coffee first? I haven’t even had my caffeine fix yet, and you’re already dragging me to some dusty library.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “No time for coffee. We have a lot of ground to cover, and I’m not about to let you turn this into some kind of social hour. The library, now.”

Jace huffed but kept pace with her. “You’re a hard-ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” She replied dryly.

They turned a corner, and Jace caught sight of the courtyard just ahead—a familiar patch of green surrounded by old brick buildings, where his mates were kicking a ball around. His gang—Cregan Stark, Oscar Tully, Aegon Targaryen, and Davos Blackwood—were all there, clad in their team jerseys and shouting insults at one another.

Aegon, spotting Jace first, smirked and jogged over, his bleach-blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. “Oi, Captain!” he called out, voice booming across the courtyard. “Where the hell you think you’re going?”

Cregan and Oscar followed, both looking amused. Cregan, tall and broad-shouldered, clapped a hand on Jace’s back as he got closer. “We’ve got practice in five, mate. What’s this? Thought you were allergic to books,” he teased, nodding towards the notebook Y/N clutched like a weapon.

“Yeah, I thought the only paper you touched was hundred-pound notes,” Oscar added with a grin.

Jace gave a sheepish grin, throwing a thumb in Y/N’s direction. “Meet my new study partner,” he announced, his tone half-mocking, half-serious. “Apparently, she thinks I need to learn a thing or two about the ‘War of the Roses.’”

Davos snorted, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, you’re gonna learn what war is if you don’t show up for practice, Captain. Coach is already pissed.”

Y/N, standing a step back, folded her arms across her chest, her patience visibly thinning. “I’m sorry,” she interjected, her voice cutting through their banter like a knife, “but Jace and I have actual work to do. Unlike whatever this is.” She waved a dismissive hand at the football pitch behind them.

Aegon let out a low whistle, eyeing Y/N with mock admiration. “Feisty one, isn’t she?”

Jace chuckled, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, Y/N, they’re right. We do have practice—”

“Don’t care,” she cut him off sharply. “We’re going to the library, and you’re coming with me. You can play your little game later.”

Cregan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Your little game? Oi, Jace, I think she just called football a ‘little game.’”

Jace shot a pleading look at Y/N, but she remained resolute, chin tilted up defiantly. “This isn’t optional, Velaryon,” she stated flatly. “You can skip practice once. It’s not going to kill you.”

“Actually, it might,” Oscar quipped, elbowing Jace. “Coach’ll string you up by your own bootlaces.”

Jace hesitated, caught between the demand in Y/N’s eyes and the expectant gazes of his teammates. “Come on, Y/N,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “Just one hour? I’ll be right there at the library after.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, clearly irritated. “Fine,” she muttered, “One hour, Jace. But if you’re not at Seeley, I’m done with this, and you can flunk out on your own.”

Jace grinned, sensing a small victory. “Deal.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode off toward the library, leaving Jace standing there.

Aegon nudged Jace with a sly grin. “Mate, you’re in deep with that one.”

Jace shrugged, his grin widening. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Then, he jogged toward the pitch, already plotting how to charm his way out of trouble.

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The sun was setting over Cambridge, casting a warm, golden glow over the courtyard where Jace and his gang were sprawled out on the grass, panting and laughing, still high from the adrenaline of practice. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut grass. Jace gulped down his energy gel, feeling the rush of artificial citrus flavor burst in his mouth. Aegon, leaning back on his elbows, was grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly up to something.

“So,” Aegon started, with that telltale smirk plastered across his face, “what’s the deal with your new study buddy, Jace? This… Y/N?”

Jace shrugged, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Nothing much. Just some girl Professor Arryn stuck me with to make sure I don’t bomb this paper. Proper bookworm, you know?”

Davos, lying flat on his back and squinting up at the sky, chuckled. “Yeah, heard she’s one of those types. Always in the library, never out for a drink. Bit boring, if you ask me.”

Aegon’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Boring, eh? Anyone know anything interesting about her?”

Oscar, sitting cross-legged, shook his head. “Nah, mate. She’s just… normal. Doesn’t bother with us, and we don’t bother with her. Mundane as they come.”

Aegon scoffed. “Mundane, my arse. There’s always something, yeah? Everyone’s got a secret.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing some great forbidden knowledge. “I heard she’s still a virgin.”

Davos snorted, nearly choking on his water. “No way. At Cambridge? The land of drunken hookups and bad decisions?”

Aegon nodded, his eyes fixed on Jace. “Yup. Pure as the driven snow, they say. Bet she’s never even been kissed.”

Jace laughed, but it was more out of surprise than anything else. “What’s that got to do with me?”

Aegon’s smirk turned devilish. “Just saying, mate. You’ve charmed the pants off half the girls in this place. Why not try the one that’s got everyone else stumped?”

Davos caught on, grinning widely. “Yeah, Jace, bet you can’t even get her to look at you twice, let alone… you know.”

Jace raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously betting I can’t get Y/N L/N to…?”

“To shag you,” Aegon finished, laughing. “That’s the bet. Get in her knickers, mate. Come on, it’ll be a laugh.”

Cregan, who had been sitting quietly, frowned, his brow furrowing in disapproval. “This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Messing around with someone like that… it’s not right, Jace.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’m with Cregan on this one. It’s one thing to have a bit of fun, but this… it’s different. She’s not one of your usual types. You could really hurt her.”

Jace felt a strange flicker of something in his chest—a mix of guilt, curiosity, and… excitement. He brushed it off, shrugging casually. “Come on, boys. It’s not like that. Just a bit of fun, yeah? Nothing serious.”

Aegon leaned forward, eyes glinting with amusement. “So, are you in or not? Hundred pounds says you can’t do it. That’s what, a week’s worth of drinks and cigs for you?”

Jace hesitated for a moment, thinking of Y/N’s determined glare, her sharp wit, the way she didn’t give a damn about him or his reputation. She was different. Uncharted territory. A challenge.

He smirked. “Alright, you’re on,” he said, hearing the cheers and groans from the lads around him.

Cregan shook his head, already looking like he regretted being a part of this conversation. “This isn’t going to end well, Jace. I’m telling you.”

Oscar sighed. “I don’t approve, mate. But… you’ve never been one to listen anyway.”

Jace just laughed, but there was an edge to it, a thrill of something dangerous. “You all worry too much. I’ve got this.”

As they all started to pack up, heading off in different directions, Jace couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just stepped onto a very slippery slope.

He had an hour to make it to the library. And now, he had a new game to play.

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The small study hall in Y/N’s dorm was quiet except for the faint hum of the ancient radiator and the occasional rustling of paper. The place was cozy, with mismatched chairs and a long, scratched-up wooden table in the middle that looked like it had seen better days. A soft yellow light flickered overhead, casting a warm glow that made everything feel just a bit more intimate than Jace was used to.

Y/N sat across from him, her head buried in yet another thick textbook, her glasses sliding down her nose in that way they always did when she was deep in concentration. Her cat, Tabby, was sprawled out next to her, purring loudly, its fat tail flicking every so often. Jace watched the cat with a wry smile, the can of wet food hidden in his backpack, ready for his next move.

He had to admit, these study sessions weren’t exactly torture. Sure, he’d rather be out with the lads, downing pints at the pub or kicking a ball around, but there was something oddly… nice about the routine they’d developed over the last two weeks. Y/N was sharp, with a sarcastic wit that he’d quickly learned to appreciate. She didn’t laugh at his jokes, didn’t fawn over his every word, and wasn’t afraid to call him out when he was being a lazy git.

And yeah, maybe that made him want to impress her just a little bit.

Tonight, though, he had a plan. He set his textbook aside with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “So,” he started, his tone casual, “I think I’ve got the gist of this whole War of the Roses thing now. The Yorks, the Lancasters, the whole shebang.”

Y/N glanced up, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “Oh, really?” she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. “Let’s hear it then. Enlighten me, Velaryon.”

Jace grinned, ready for the challenge. “Alright, so it’s like this: Basically, you’ve got two families—Yorks and Lancasters, right? Both got a claim to the throne, both think they’re the shit. Lots of battles, lots of blood, lots of people getting their heads chopped off. The Lancasters start off strong, but then the Yorks take over for a bit with Edward IV, right?”

Y/N nodded, her expression almost… impressed. “Okay, so far, so good.”

“Then Edward’s brother, Richard III, the shady bastard, knocks off his own nephews, or so they say—”

“They were never found,” Y/N interjected, raising a finger. “It’s just a theory.”

“Right, right, allegedly,” Jace corrected himself, rolling his eyes, “Anyway, then Henry Tudor comes in, wipes the floor with Richard at Bosworth, and boom, new king. Tudor dynasty kicks off. End of the Wars of the Roses.”

Y/N tilted her head, a small, amused smile playing at her lips. “Not bad, Jace. Not bad at all. Maybe you’re not as hopeless as I thought.”

Jace chuckled, leaning in a little closer, letting his voice drop. “See? I’m full of surprises.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the can of wet cat food, holding it up like a trophy. “And speaking of surprises… look what I brought for our furry study buddy.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard, and then she laughed—a soft, genuine laugh that Jace hadn’t heard before. “Seriously? You brought food for Tabby?”

Jace grinned. “Figured it might earn me a few points. Besides, I’m starting to think she’s the one actually running this show.”

Tabby’s ears perked up at the sound of the can, and Y/N shook her head, amused. “You know, you didn’t have to do that. But… it’s sweet. Thanks.”

He shrugged, feeling a strange, warm twist in his chest at her reaction. “No big deal. Besides, I’m trying to stay in your good graces here, remember?”

Y/N gave him a sly look. “Oh, is that what this is? Buttering me up? This is bribery.”

Jace laughed, leaning back. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like spending time with you, even if you do make me memorize the most boring shit ever written.”

She smiled, a real one this time, and he felt something shift in the air between them, something that made his heart pick up a little faster. “History isn’t boring, Jace,” she corrected, but there was no bite to her tone, only a soft fondness. “You just have to find the right angle.”

He watched her for a moment, taking in the way her eyes sparkled behind her glasses, the way a loose strand of hair fell across her cheek. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “you can help me find it.”

For a moment, they were just there, sitting in the soft light, with Tabby purring between them. And for the first time in a long time, Jace didn’t feel like he needed to be anywhere else.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “tell me more about this Henry Tudor bloke. Sounds like a bit of a legend.”

Y/N laughed again, and Jace realized he could get used to that sound. “Oh, he was. But not in the way you think.”

And as she launched into a passionate explanation, Jace found himself leaning in, genuinely listening, genuinely interested. Maybe it was because of her, or maybe… just maybe, it was something else altogether.

Jace then pulled his laptop out of his bag, its surface covered in stickers from random pubs, indie bands, and some meme that Y/N didn’t quite get. He flipped it open and tapped the trackpad a few times before turning the screen toward Y/N. “Alright, don’t judge me too harshly,” he said, flashing her a grin that was equal parts sheepish and cocky. “I’ve got about fifteen hundred words down.”

Y/N took the laptop, eyebrows arching as she began to read. Her expression shifted quickly—from neutral to slightly amused, and then to something bordering on exasperated. “Jace… this reads like a bloody blog post,” she muttered, her tone half a scold, half a laugh. “I mean, really? ‘York versus Lancaster: The Original Family Feud?’”

Jace chuckled, leaning back in his chair, hands resting behind his head. “Hey, I’m just trying to keep it interesting. No one wants to read a paper full of dry academic crap.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “This isn’t about being interesting, it’s about being accurate and precise. You’re supposed to be writing a serious outline, not an article for BuzzFeed.”

He raised his hands defensively. “Alright, alright, fair point. But can you blame me? I’m trying not to fall asleep while I write this thing. I figure, if it’s fun for me, maybe it’ll be fun for whoever ends up grading it.”

Y/N shook her head, though there was a softness to her expression that Jace couldn’t ignore. “That’s… not how it works. But I’ll help you refine it. You’ve got the right ideas, just not the right… execution.”

“Story of my life,” Jace muttered, and for a moment, his grin faltered. He quickly recovered, though, leaning forward to take the laptop back. “Seriously, though, I appreciate it. I know I’m a bit of a lost cause when it comes to this stuff.”

“You’re not a lost cause,” Y/N said, surprising even herself. “Just… a bit misguided. But you’re trying, and that counts for something.”

Jace smiled, feeling that strange twist in his chest again. “Trying, yeah. I’ve got my reasons. If I don’t pass this paper, my mum’s going to cut me off. And trust me, you don’t want to be around when that happens.”

Y/N looked up, curious. “Your mum… she’s Rhaenyra Targaryen, right? The one who’s always in those society pages?”

Jace nodded, leaning back in his chair again. “That’s the one. Everyone thinks she’s this glamorous socialite, but she’s tough as nails. Proper iron lady, you know? It’s always Jacaerys, do this or Jacaerys, don’t embarrass the family. She’s got this whole plan for me, for my brother Luke, for everyone. She’d have me running for Parliament if she could.”

Y/N listened, her face softening. “That sounds… intense.”

Jace laughed. “You’ve no idea. Luke—my little brother, he’s at Eton right now, the little shit—is the golden boy. Mum dotes on him like he’s the second coming or something. He’ll be here at Cambridge next year, probably ace every exam and make me look even worse by comparison.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his grin turning a little wry. “Between you and me, Luke’s the smart one. Reads all the time, top of his class, the whole package. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to stay on the pitch and out of trouble.”

Y/N smiled a bit. “I doubt that’s all you are. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have something going for you.”

Jace shrugged, playing it off, but her words struck a chord. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just because Mum and Grandfather have their names on a few buildings around here.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, but her eyes held a glimmer of understanding. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be here. It just means you have to work a little harder to prove that to everyone else.”

Jace looked at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone. “You really think that?”

Y/N nodded, her expression steady. “I do. I mean, you’re lazy as hell, sure, but you’re not dumb. You just need to find something that makes you want to try.”

Jace felt a flush rise in his cheeks, unexpected and a little confusing. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ve found something,” he muttered, looking away.

Tabby, sensing the change in the atmosphere, stretched out on Jace’s lap and yawned loudly, demanding attention. Jace chuckled, reaching down to scratch the cat’s ears. “You’ve got a good taste in cats, at least,” he said, grinning.

Y/N leaned back, watching Jace with a look he couldn’t quite place. “Tabby seems to like you,” she said softly, a hint of surprise in her voice. “That’s… unusual. She doesn’t usually take to strangers.”

“Maybe I’m not as much of a stranger anymore,” Jace said, looking up to meet her gaze.

Y/N’s eyes lingered on his for a moment longer than he expected, and something passed between them, something warm and tentative. She quickly looked back down at her notebook, clearing her throat. “Alright,” she said, shifting gears. “Let’s get back to work. This ‘original family feud’ bit needs to go.”

Jace laughed, pulling his laptop back toward him. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, boss.”

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Two more weeks of grueling late-night study sessions, endless cups of coffee, and Y/N’s relentless revisions had finally paid off. Jace’s paper was finished. No, more than finished—it was actually good. Even Y/N had begrudgingly admitted it was up to her usual standards, which, coming from her, was high praise indeed.

Jace couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction when he handed the paper to Professor Arryn that morning. He watched her face closely as she skimmed through the first few pages, her eyebrows slowly rising with what he hoped was approval. When she finally looked up, there was a rare, pleased smile on her face.

“Well done, Jacaerys,” she said, her tone warm. “This is… quite an improvement. I’m impressed.”

Jace grinned, feeling a surprising swell of pride. “Thanks, Professor. Guess I had a good teacher.”

Professor Arryn chuckled softly. “Yes, well, I’ll have to thank Miss L/N for her patience later. But I’m glad to see you’ve taken this seriously. Keep it up. You’ve got more potential than you think.”

Jace nodded, and as he left her office, he couldn’t shake the grin off his face. He had done it. They had done it. And he couldn’t deny the thrill he felt knowing he’d actually managed to prove everyone wrong for once.

Later that afternoon, he found himself wandering through the winding pathways of the campus, searching for Y/N. He finally spotted her by the fountain in the courtyard, sitting on a bench.

He sauntered over, casually leaning against the side of the bench. “Oi, bookworm,” he greeted, flashing her that grin he knew usually worked on most people. “Guess what?”

Y/N looked up, mildly surprised, but a small smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know. You found another typo in your own name?”

Jace laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, better. Professor Arryn loved the paper. Said she was impressed.”

Y/N’s eyes brightened a little. “Really? Well… that’s good. I mean, not surprising, considering all the work we put into it. But still… good to hear.”

“Yeah,” Jace nodded, feeling a surge of excitement he hadn’t expected. “And I figured, you know, since it’s the weekend and all, we should celebrate. There’s a pub just off campus that does the best chicken wings. Thought you might fancy a night out?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, um, I don’t usually go to pubs,” she started, fidgeting slightly. “Not really my scene.”

Jace wasn’t deterred. He leaned in a bit closer, his voice dropping to that smooth, persuasive tone he knew could win over even the most stubborn people. “Come on, Y/N. It’s just a drink, some wings, a bit of fun. You’ve earned it. Besides,” he added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I know you’re obsessed with chicken wings. And trust me, this place makes them mean.”

Y/N’s mouth twitched like she was trying to hide a smile. “How do you even know that?”

Jace shrugged, pretending to be innocent. “Just a guess. But seriously, you can’t turn down an offer like this. I’m buying, and I promise not to make you read any history books while we’re there. Think of it as… a reward for your hard work.”

She hesitated for a moment, but the look in his eyes was so genuinely hopeful, so damn persistent, that she found herself softening. “Alright,” she sighed finally, a small smile breaking through. “But just this once. And only because you said there’d be good wings.”

Jace’s grin widened. “Deal. I’ll pick you up at six?”

Y/N nodded, still looking a bit skeptical, but there was a flicker of excitement in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide. “Six it is. But if it turns out to be one of those rowdy pubs with sticky floors and bad beer, I’m leaving.”

Jace laughed. “Trust me, Y/N, I’ve got taste. You won’t regret it.”

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“Tonight’s the night, mate. The night you finally conquer the wallflower,” Aegon declared, sprawled out on Jace’s bed with a grin wide enough to split his face in half. He was already two beers in, and his enthusiasm was rising with every sip. “I mean, come on, you’ve done all the groundwork. You’ve got her thinking you’re some misunderstood genius or whatever. It’s bloody perfect.”

Jace rolled his eyes, tugging a fresh shirt over his head. “Piss off, Aeg, you make it sound like I’m storming a castle. It’s just a drink, alright?”

“A drink?” Aegon snorted, sitting up with exaggerated incredulity. “No, no, my friend. This is a tactical maneuver. A carefully orchestrated operation. You’ve been planting the seeds, and tonight… you reap the harvest.”

Davos, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy smile, added, “Yeah, Jace, think of it like one of those battles you’ve been studying. Except instead of swords and armor, you’ve got charm and… chicken wings.”

Jace shook his head, but he couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. “You lot are ridiculous. It’s not that deep, alright? It’s just… it’s been fun hanging out with her. She’s different.”

“Different?” Cregan scoffed from where he sat at Jace’s desk, fiddling with a random keychain. “Different how? Like, ‘actually has a brain’ different? Or ‘won’t fall for your bullshit’ different?”

“Both,” Jace admitted, smoothing his shirt and checking himself in the mirror. “She’s… she’s not like the usual girls, yeah? Makes me work for it. And maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Oscar, who’d been mindlessly strumming Jace’s guitar, looked up and smirked. “Wow, you’re going soft, Jacaerys Velaryon. Next thing we know, you’ll be quoting poetry or some shit.”

Aegon laughed loudly. “Nah, he’s too thick for poetry. But don’t lose focus, Jace. Remember the bet. She’s a challenge, yeah, but you’re the bloody captain. You don’t lose.”

Jace turned to Aegon, a hint of irritation in his voice. “I know what I’m doing, alright? I don’t need you lot in my head.”

Davos chuckled, raising a hand in mock surrender. “Fair enough, fair enough. Just don’t forget why you’re doing this. I’d hate to see all your hard work go to waste.”

Jace paused, looking at his reflection, and for a second, the bravado slipped. Why was he doing this? Was it really still just about the bet, or was there something more?

He shook the thought away and turned back to his friends. “I’m not losing,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “And tonight, I’ll prove it.”

Aegon raised his beer in a mock toast. “To Jace, the knight in shining armor, off to slay the virgin dragon.”

Jace flipped him off, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Wish me luck, you pricks. I’m off.”

He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in his chest.

Jace arrived at Y/N’s dorm at exactly 5:50, which was impressive by his own standards. Usually, he didn’t bother even showing up on time with his usual rotation of girls. Hell, half of them wouldn’t mind if he rolled in an hour late, two hours, even three—they’d still fall over themselves to be near him, giggling and batting their lashes, ready to jump him at the first opportunity.

But tonight was different. He didn’t want to be late, didn’t want to give her any reason to back out. So he was there early, leaning against the doorframe, tapping his foot to an imaginary beat in his head.

When Y/N finally opened the door, she looked a bit startled, clearly on her way out herself. Her eyes widened when she saw him standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Jace?” she said, blinking. “You’re… early.”

He grinned. “Yeah, thought I’d mix things up a bit. You know, keep you on your toes.”

Y/N folded her arms, a little smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, color me surprised. You don’t strike me as the punctual type.”

Jace laughed and shrugged. “Usually not, but I figured you’d appreciate it. And besides, I’ve been looking forward to those chicken wings all day.”

Y/N shook her head, still looking amused. “Of course, it’s the chicken wings,” she muttered, locking her door behind her. “Alright then, let’s go.”

They started walking together down the winding path that led from the dorms to the main road. The evening air was cool, and the streetlights were just beginning to flicker on, casting long shadows along the cobblestones. Jace lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face in the dim light.

“So,” he began, making small talk, “aside from being an academic weapon and the loyal servant of Tabby the Cat, what else do you get up to?”

Y/N smirked at his choice of words. “Oh, you know, world domination, the usual.”

Jace chuckled. “Seriously, though. What do you do when you’re not buried in books?”

She shrugged, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. “I volunteer at a local shelter. Animal rescue, mostly.”

Jace raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. “Yeah? That’s pretty cool. What made you get into that?”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised he seemed to care. “I’ve always liked animals. And I figured, if I’m going to be stressed about everything else in life, I might as well do something good with my time. Plus, it’s kind of hard to worry about exams when you’re busy trying to get a terrified dog out from under a car.”

Jace laughed, a deep, genuine sound. “That does sound like a bit of a distraction.”

She smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah, it’s… it’s good. Keeps me grounded, you know?”

He took another drag of his cigarette, considering her words. “Makes sense. I guess we all need something like that.”

Y/N looked at him curiously. “What about you? What keeps you grounded?”

Jace hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He hadn’t really thought about it like that. “Football, I suppose,” he answered finally, a bit more seriously than he intended. “It’s the one thing that makes sense, you know? When I’m out there, everything else just… fades away.”

She nodded, understanding. “Yeah, I get that. Everyone needs a release.”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, the sounds of the city around them filling the spaces between their words. Jace felt a strange calm settle over him, a sense that he didn’t have to perform or play a role.

As they neared the pub, the warm glow of its lights spilling out onto the street, Jace flicked his cigarette to the side, stubbing it out with his foot. “Here we are,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Prepare yourself for the best damn chicken wings in Cambridge.”

Y/N laughed, a sound that made him all warm inside. “Alright, Velaryon, I’ll be the judge of that.”

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In wine, there is truth, they say. But in beer? Well, in beer, there’s a hell of a lot of bad decisions.

Jace hadn’t expected Y/N to get drunk off a few pints. Hell, he’d forgotten what it was like to be around someone who wasn’t a seasoned drinker, someone whose idea of a wild night wasn’t pounding shots until the room spun. He was used to heavyweights—Cregan downing vodka like water, Aegon always pushing the limits, the lot of them living on a constant edge between buzzed and blackout.

But Y/N? Three pints in, and she’d gone from reserved and witty to giggling mess, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, and—most dangerously—her hands a bit too free with him.

It was around ten when he realized she’d crossed the line from tipsy to drunk. She stumbled as they stepped outside the pub, the cool night air hitting her like a slap. Jace instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, and she leaned into him, her head tipping against his shoulder, a small, sleepy smile on her lips.

“Y’alright?” he asked, feeling a mix of amusement and something else, something warmer, spreading through his chest. Full of denial, he made himself believe it was because of the alcohol.

“Mm, yeah,” she mumbled, her voice slightly slurred. “Just… didn’t realize how strong those beers were.”

Jace chuckled. “Lightweight,” he teased, but there was no bite to it, just an unexpected tenderness.

Aegon’s words rang in his head like a bell. Tonight’s the night. She’s a challenge, yeah, but you’re the bloody captain. You don’t lose.

It would be so easy. She was already leaning into him, her fingers curling into his jacket, her body soft and pliant against his. She looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy, and he felt his resolve waver.

“My place?” he heard himself say, the words slipping out before he could stop them, and he cursed himself immediately.

But then she nodded, a small, trusting smile spreading across her lips. “Okay,” she agreed softly, and he felt something dark and selfish twist in his gut. Fuck.

He wrapped his arm tighter around her, supporting her as they started walking. His dorm was closer anyway, and she was so warm against him, so… trusting. He felt the tension building in him, the battle between the guy he was supposed to be and the guy he wanted to be.

As they walked, she kept giggling, saying things he couldn’t quite make out, her hands playing with the zipper of his jacket, her breath hot against his neck. “You’re not so bad, Jace,” she murmured at one point, and he felt a pang in his chest, a mix of guilt and something else. “I think… I think you’re actually kinda sweet.”

Jace swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “Yeah, well… don’t go telling anyone that,” he joked, trying to keep his tone light, even as his mind raced.

They reached his dorm, and he fumbled with the key, feeling her sway beside him, her fingers brushing his arm. “Here we are,” he muttered, pushing the door open.

She stumbled inside, giggling again, and he caught her by the waist, steadying her. She turned in his arms, looking up at him, her expression soft and open. “Thanks,” she whispered. “For tonight. I had fun.”

Jace stared down at her, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he could do it—he could lean down, close the gap, and she wouldn’t push him away. She’d let him, she’d probably kiss him back, and it’d be the easiest thing in the world.

But something held him back. Something in the way she looked at him, her eyes so trusting, so… innocent. It made him feel like the biggest prick on earth.

He felt Aegon’s taunting voice in his head, heard Davos’s laugh, remembered the bet, the stupid bloody bet. And he hated himself in that moment, hated the way he’d played this, hated the way he was tempted.

“Come on,” he said softly, steering her toward the bed. “You need to lie down.”

Y/N giggled, collapsing onto the mattress. “Oh, is that an invitation, Velaryon?” she teased, her voice light, her eyes half-closed.

Jace forced a laugh, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Nah, just… making sure you’re comfortable,” he said, pulling a blanket over her.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his heart thundering in his chest as he tried to get his bearings. This wasn’t how he’d planned for tonight to go—he wasn’t sure what he’d planned, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. Not sitting here, feeling like the floor had dropped out from under him while Y/N lay there, soft and warm and too damn close.

He was about to stand up, to put some distance between them before he did something stupid, when he felt her fingers brush against his cheek, tentative and light. Her touch sent a spark skittering down his spine, and he froze.

“I never noticed your freckles before,” she murmured, her voice slurred. “They’re… cute.”

Jace’s breath hitched, and his focus, which had been hanging by a thread, snapped completely. He’d lost it five minutes ago, maybe longer, the second she’d started touching him, the second she’d looked at him with those eyes, her lips all plump and pink from the spicy wings earlier.

He was staring at her lips now, unable to look away. They were wet and inviting, and he could almost taste the beer and the traces of spice on them, feel the warmth of her breath. His mind was racing, and his body… shit, his body was reacting like he’d never had a woman over before.

Y/N caught him staring, and she let out a soft, self-conscious laugh. “I must be a mess, huh?” she said, her voice laced with uncertainty. “I mean… I’m definitely a downgrade from all the women who’ve graced your room and this bed before.”

Jace’s heart stuttered, guilt and desire twisting together in his chest like a vice. She had no idea, did she? No clue about the bet, about the way his friends had egged him on, made this into some twisted game. She was here, vulnerable, open, looking at him like he was something more than a stupid, privileged jerk who could charm his way into anything.

His body continues warring with him, every muscle taut, every nerve alive with want. He knew damn well that under his bed, there were probably scraps of lingerie and thongs left over by fuck knows who, little trophies of past conquests, forgotten in the haze of nights he could barely remember.

But this? This was different. This was real. And he felt like he was on his very last string, the tightrope fraying beneath his feet.

Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, she asked, “Will you kiss me?”

Jace’s brain screamed at him to stop, to decline, to be a better man than he usually was, but the words caught in his throat. Y/N was looking at him, all hot and bothered, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, and he could see the longing in her eyes, the same need he felt thrumming through his veins.

“Y/N…” he managed, his voice hoarse, strained. “You’re drunk, and I… I don’t want to—”

But she leaned closer, her breath warm against his lips, her fingers still resting on his cheek. “Please, Jace,” she whispered, her voice pleading, “just kiss me.”

And fuck, he tried. He really tried to hold back, to keep the distance, to be the decent guy he’d been pretending to be for the last few weeks. But the way she looked at him, like he was something she needed, something she wanted, something more than a mistake…

He was gone. Completely and utterly gone.

He closed the distance between them in one swift movement, his hand cupping her jaw, his lips crashing against hers. The kiss was rough, desperate, all the tension of the last few weeks pouring out in one fierce, needy snog. He groaned, pulling her closer, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Y/N responded immediately, kissing him back with equal enthusiasm, her hands clutching his shirt, pulling him closer, pressing herself against him. He felt her body arch into his, and he couldn’t help but deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting her, losing himself in the heat of it, in the softness of her lips.

He knew he should stop, knew he was crossing a line he had no right to, but he couldn't think clearly anymore, couldn't focus on anything except the feel of her against him, the taste of her lips, the way she was kissing him with so much need. He could tell she hadn’t done this much before—her movements were uncertain, a bit clumsy—but none of that mattered now.

Jace’s mind was spinning, his breath coming in ragged as he broke the kiss and gently pushed her back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Wait,” he murmured, his voice unsteady. “Y/N… have you done this before?”

She blinked up at him, her eyes hazy but honest. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, like she was admitting a secret she wasn’t sure she wanted to share.

His heart lurched at that. He cursed under his breath, his hands still on her shoulders, holding her at a careful distance. “We should stop,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I don’t want you to be angry with me… or yourself, come morning.”

Y/N shook her head, her fingers sliding up his arms, stubborn as ever. “I won’t be,” she insisted, her voice firmer now, a determined edge to it. “I know what I want, Jace.”

He felt a shiver run down his spine, but he fought against it, trying to hold on to his last shred of self-control. “You’re drunk,” he murmured, “and I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

But she was already leaning in again, pressing closer, her lips grazing his neck, right where she knew his pulse was pounding. “I’m not that drunk,” she whispered against his skin, her breath hot, sending a jolt through his entire body. “And I want this… I want you.”

Her mouth moved over his neck, by sheer luck finding a soft spot just below his ear, and he felt a groan rise in his throat, his body betraying him completely. Her lips were gentle but insistent, kissing the spot where she could feel his pulse racing, and he felt his resolve slipping, melting under the warmth of her touch.

“Y/N,” he breathed, trying to keep his voice steady, but it was hopeless. Every time her lips brushed his skin, he felt like he was losing another piece of himself. “We really shouldn’t—”

But she wasn’t listening, her hands moving up his chest, her lips still at his neck, kissing and nipping, her touch sending sparks all through him. She was so damn stubborn, and it was driving him wild, his hands gripping her waist as if to anchor himself.

“Please, Jace,” she whispered again, her voice a breathy plea against his skin, and he felt something in him snap. For a moment, he hovered on the edge, caught between his desire and his conscience, every nerve screaming at him to just give in, to take what she was so freely offering.

But then he saw her eyes, the way they were wide and unguarded, and he remembered her earlier words, the soft confession—no, she hadn’t done this before. She was drunk, not in her right mind, and damn it all, he knew he wasn’t either.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. For once in his life, he chose to be the bigger person, to do the right thing, even though every part of him was screaming to just lose himself in her. There was no way in hell he was going to go all the way with her—not like this, not when she was a virgin and not when they both were just a little too far gone.

But he also wasn’t going to just leave her wanting, not when he could see the need in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, feel the way her body was pressed up against his, warm and willing. He could give her something, at least. And that was a thought that sent a rush of heat through him, a decision settling deep in his bones.

Jace let out a slow, shaky breath, his hands sliding down her sides. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. “Not everything… but I can still make you feel good. Really good.”

She blinked up at him, confusion and desire mixing in her eyes. “What do you—”

He didn’t let her finish. Instead, he gently pushed her back onto the bed, his lips brushing against her jaw, trailing down her neck. He felt her breath hitch, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he moved lower, kissing down her collarbone, his hands sliding under her shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal her skin.

He looked up at her once more, his gaze intense. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Y/N,” he promised, his voice rough with need. “Just trust me.”

And then he was lowering himself between her thighs, hands gently spreading her legs, his breath warm against her skin. He kissed her inner thigh, his fingers teasing at the edge of her panties, and he felt her shiver beneath him, her breath coming faster, her eyes wide with anticipation.

He knew this was something he was good at—something he had honed to perfection over the years. Someone should really give him a degree for it, a bloody medal for his services to women. Because if there was one thing Jace Velaryon knew how to do, it was this.

He slipped her panties down slowly, savoring the way her breath hitched, the way she tensed in anticipation. He spread her legs a bit wider, his hands gripping her thighs firmly, and he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste her. The first touch was gentle, almost tentative, and he felt her gasp, her hips arching off the bed.

Jace grinned against her skin, a low, satisfied hum rumbling in his chest. “Just relax,” he whispered, his breath hot against her, “and let me take care of you.”

He set to work, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing her, tasting her, finding every sensitive spot and lingering there until she was gasping, her hands clutching his sheets, her head thrown back in pleasure. He ignored his own growing need, focused entirely on her, on the way her body responded to him, the way she trembled under his touch.

He sucked gently, his tongue swirling over her clit, his hands gripping her thighs tighter, feeling the tension building in her, the way her breaths were coming faster, more desperate. She was close—he could feel it, could hear it in the way she moaned his name, her voice breathless and needy.

He kept going, picking up the pace, his tongue moving faster, more insistent, his fingers joining in, stroking her in rhythm with his mouth. She was writhing now, her hips moving against him, her moans turning into cries, her fingers twisting in his hair, holding him closer.

“Jace,” she gasped, her voice breaking, “Oh, gods, Jace—”

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. He kept up the relentless rhythm, his mouth working her with a skill perfected by experience, by knowing exactly how to drive a woman to the edge and hold her there until she was begging for release. His fingers moved in motion with his tongue, pressing deeper, finding that perfect spot inside her, feeling the way her body clenched around him, her thighs quivering under his hands.

Y/N was a mess above him, her breaths coming out in broken gasps, her body arching off the bed, every muscle tense, straining toward that peak. Her moans were getting louder, more frantic, her nails digging into his scalp, pulling him closer.

She was so close—he could feel it in the way her hips bucked against him, the way she was practically chanting his name now, over and over, like a prayer, like a plea.

And then, with a final swirl of his tongue, a firm press of his fingers, she shattered.

Her orgasm ripped through her, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole her breath, her cry breaking into a sob, her entire body shaking with it. Jace kept his mouth on her, coaxing her through it, feeling the rush of her release, the way she came apart beneath him, raw and real and beautiful.

He didn’t stop until he felt the tremors subside, until her hands loosened in his hair, her body going limp, spent and sated. Only then did he pull back, kissing her inner thigh softly before moving up the bed to lie beside her, his breathing ragged, his own body still tight with need he chose to ignore.

Y/N lay there, her chest rising and falling, her eyes still closed, a dazed smile playing on her lips. She turned her head to look at him, her gaze soft and filled with something he couldn’t quite name.

“That was…” she breathed, her voice still a little shaky, “that was...”

Jace smirked, his thumb lazily tracing her cheek. “Mind-blowing? Legendary? Best damn thing you’ve ever had?” he teased, his voice thick with cheeky arrogance. “Told you I’d make it worth your while.”

Y/N slapped him playfully on the chest, her eyes still feel heavy with the afterglow, but a grin tugging at her lips. “Yeah, yeah,” she laughed, her voice a mix of sarcasm and lingering breathlessness, “I get it now. I understand why every woman at Cambridge turns into a cat in heat around you.”

Jace chuckled, his grin widening, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the sight of her so relaxed, so damn comfortable with him. “Well,” he drawled, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against her ear, “I do aim to please. Can’t blame them for wanting a repeat performance, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was amusement in them. “You’re a real piece of work,” she muttered, but her smile gave her away.

He laughed, dropping a quick kiss on top of her head. “Maybe,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, “but admit it—you’re not complaining.”

Her cheeks flushed a bit, but she didn’t look away. “Alright, fine,” she conceded, her grin softening. “I guess you’re not completely useless.”

Jace barked out a laugh, his hand now resting on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. “High praise, coming from you.”

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The next morning, Y/N woke up with a pounding headache, her mouth dry as sandpaper, and a groan slipping from her lips before she even opened her eyes. The room felt too bright, her skull thudding like someone was hammering a drum inside her head. Her first hangover—and it was every bit as awful as people had warned.

“Morning, sunshine,” came Jace’s voice, too cheerful, too loud. She cracked one eye open to find him leaning against a desk, a lazy grin on his lips. He held out a bottle of some isotonic drink and a couple of ibuprofen tablets in his palm. “Here, take these. Trust me; they’re a lifesaver.”

She squinted at him, trying to make sense of the blur that was his face, and groaned again. “Do you have to be so… perky?”

Jace chuckled, moving closer and handing her the pills and the drink. “Nah, but it’s a bit fun watching you suffer,” he teased. “First hangover?”

“Obviously,” she muttered, swallowing the pills and chugging the drink like it was holy water. “Why did no one tell me it would feel like getting hit by a bloody carriage?”

He laughed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Consider it a lesson learned, yeah? But hey, you handled yourself pretty well last night.”

Y/N felt her face flush, memories from the night before rushing back in a haze of heat and embarrassment. “Yeah, well… thanks, I guess,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes.

Jace grinned and, after deeming her well enough to stand, pulled out a well-worn sweater from his wardrobe. “Here,” he said, tossing it to her. “Borrow this. You’re going to need something warm for the walk back.”

She caught the sweater and stared at it for a moment. It was oversized, soft-looking, and smelled faintly of him—a mix of cologne and something else she couldn’t quite place. She slipped it over her head, the fabric swallowing her, but it was warm and oddly comforting.

Jace then grabbed a pair of sunglasses off his desk and slid them onto her face with a wink. “And these, to protect you from the cruel, unforgiving daylight.”

She couldn’t help but smile, a small laugh bubbling up despite the ache in her head. “Thanks, Jace,” she murmured, feeling strangely touched by his small gestures.

He gave her a once-over, nodding approvingly. “Look at that. Almost like you’re ready to face the world again.”

She rolled her eyes but felt a warmth spread through her that wasn’t just from the sweater. “Almost.”

Jace walked her to the door, his hand on the small of her back, guiding her gently. “Come on, let’s get you out of here before the rest of the lads wake up and start giving us grief.”

Y/N smirked, adjusting the sunglasses on her nose. “Thanks for… everything,” she said, her voice soft but sincere.

Jace just smiled, that damn charming grin of his, and opened the door for her. “Anytime, Y/N. Anytime.”

He watched her disappear down the hall, his sweater draped over her like a dress, her steps still a bit wobbly but steadier than before. He lingered for a moment longer than necessary, an odd mix of satisfaction and uncertainty bubbling in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, he didn’t want this to be a one-time thing.

As he turned around, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Cregan standing a few steps away, leaning casually against the wall near the water cooler. His arms were crossed, and there was a knowing look in his eyes.

“Fucking hell, Cregan,” Jace muttered, a bit more defensive than he’d meant to sound. “You spying on me now?”

Cregan shrugged, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps closer, his expression calm but unreadable. “Just grabbing some water,” he said, though his tone was heavy with implication. “Couldn’t help but notice… that was quite the exit.”

Jace rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, well, we had a fun night. No harm in that.”

Cregan’s lips quirked up in a small, humorless smile. “She’s a nice girl, Jace,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that made Jace shift uncomfortably. “A real nice girl.”

Jace sighed, already sensing where this was going. “I know, I know,” he said, holding up a hand like he was warding off a lecture. “And I didn’t sleep with her, alright? Just… third base. That’s it.”

Cregan’s expression didn’t change. If anything, his brows drew together, a shadow of disappointment crossing his face. “Third base, huh?” he repeated, voice flat. “And how do you think she’s going to feel when she finds out about the bet?”

Jace bristled, his jaw tightening. “Look, I didn’t do anything wrong. She wanted it. I didn’t push her.”

Cregan sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not saying you forced her, Jace,” he replied, his tone measured, like he was trying to keep his annoyance in check. “But you know damn well she doesn’t know the whole story. She doesn’t know she’s just a notch on some stupid bet you made with Aegon and Davos.”

Jace clenched his fists, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Cregan gave him a long, hard look, his eyes piercing. “Maybe not to you,” he said quietly, “but it will be to her when she finds out. And trust me, Jace, she’s going to find out. These things always do.”

Jace opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

Cregan shook his head, stepping back. “Don’t say I didn’t see this impending mess coming,” he said, his voice resigned. “Just… don’t hurt her, Jace. She doesn’t deserve that.”

Jace watched him turn and walk away, his words hanging heavy in the air. And he felt the weight of what he’d done settle on his shoulders, the reality sinking in.

He could still hear Aegon’s taunting voice in his head, but now, it sounded more like a curse than a victory.

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How to Find Out You're the Punchline of a Bet: A Step-by-Step Guide!

Y/N stood outside Jace’s door, holding his sweater and sunglasses in her hands, trying to calm the fluttering nerves in her stomach. She’d had them freshly laundered, even though she’d slept in the sweater more nights than she’d care to admit. It had been too warm, too soft, and way too him. She might have drooled on it as well, but whatever, he didn’t need to know that.

She’d been debating for days whether to bring them back in person or just drop them off and leave. But somehow, she found herself here, standing outside his door, trying to summon the courage to knock.

That was when she saw him.

He was at the end of the corridor, coming back from another practice session, sweaty and still in his kit, flanked by his usual crew—Aegon, Davos, Oscar, and Cregan. They were laughing, shoving each other around, lost in their own world. They hadn’t noticed her yet.

She took a step forward, ready to call out, but then she froze.

Aegon’s loud, obnoxious voice cut through the hallway like a knife, his tone mocking and overly enthusiastic. “Oi, Jace!” he shouted, punching Jace playfully in the arm, a wide grin on his face. “Fair’s fair, mate! You earned it.”

Y/N watched as Aegon reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He peeled off a couple of notes and smacked them into Jace’s hand—£100, easy. Maybe more.

Her stomach twisted, a weird, uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. What the hell was that for?

Then she heard it—the answer she hadn’t been looking for, delivered in Aegon’s stupid, booming voice.

“Can’t believe you actually did it,” Aegon laughed, clapping Jace on the back. “Thought you’d bottle it with the little wallflower, L/N. Didn’t think you had it in you to seal the deal, but you proved me wrong. Fair bet, mate. A hundred quid well-earned!”

Y/N’s heart stopped. She felt her blood run cold as her own name slipped from Aegon’s mouth, followed by a word that made her stomach drop: bet.

She ducked back into the shadow of the wall, pressing herself flat against it, her heart hammering in her chest. She felt like she’d been slapped, the shock of it hitting her all at once. She clutched the sweater to her chest, bile rising in her throat.

She’d been a bloody bet. A joke. Something for them to laugh about over beers and practice sessions. She had trusted him. Believed in that stupid grin and those stupid, warm eyes. And all the while, he’d been playing her.

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing, but it felt like the air was choking her. She had her answer now—clear as day.

And god, did it hurt.

They were coming closer, their voices louder, their laughter echoing down the corridor. Y/N’s heart pounded in her ears, each step they took making her feel like the ground was about to give way beneath her. She gripped the sweater tighter in her hands, trying to steady herself, to stop the tremor that had started in her fingers.

And then Jace saw her.

His face paled instantly, the color draining from his cheeks, his smile vanishing like a shadow under harsh light. He slowed to a stop, and the rest of the group followed suit, their expressions shifting from amusement to confusion—and in some cases, dread.

Cregan sighed, a resigned, knowing look in his eyes. Aegon, who had been all smiles a moment ago, faltered, his grin slipping away, replaced by an uneasy look.

Y/N felt a cold fury settle in her veins, pushing back the wave of hurt that threatened to swallow her whole. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, her chin lifting with a defiance she didn’t even know she possessed.

“I just came to return these,” she said, her voice colder than ice, every word clipped and deliberate. She thrust the sweater and sunglasses into Jace’s chest, her hands trembling despite her best efforts to stay calm.

Jace took them reflexively, his mouth opening and closing like he was searching for something to say, but no words came. His eyes were wide, filled with panic and something that looked a lot like shame.

Before he could get a word out, before he could try to explain or deny or beg, Y/N’s hand came up in one swift motion.

She slapped him across the face, the sound sharp and loud in the suddenly silent corridor.

Jace flinched, the impact snapping his head to the side, his cheek reddening instantly where her hand had connected. He blinked, stunned, his hand instinctively touching the spot where she’d hit him.

Y/N didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears that were threatening to spill over. She turned on her heel, her head held high, and walked away, every step feeling like it was taking all the strength she had left.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t say another word. She didn’t need to.

Jace stood frozen, his cheek stinging, his mind whirling, trying to process what had just happened. The corridor felt like it had gone eerily quiet, the only sound the dull thud of his heartbeat in his ears. He could still feel the imprint of her hand on his face, the shock of it running through his body like an electric current.

Did that really just happen?

He blinked, still trying to make sense of it, his thoughts a chaotic mess. He’d been slapped before, sure, but not like that. Not with that kind of fury, that kind of raw, cold anger.

Aegon and Davos stood a few steps behind him, both of them looking like they’d just been doused with ice water.

“Well… crap,” Aegon muttered, scratching the back of his neck, his usual bravado suddenly deflated. “That… that did not go as planned.”

Davos grimaced, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “No shit, Aegon,” he muttered, glancing over at Jace, who still hadn’t moved.

Jace didn’t respond, still staring at the spot where Y/N had been, his expression blank, like he was trying to decipher some impossible puzzle.

Cregan just sighed, shaking his head with a look that was equal parts disappointment and resignation. “I told you this would happen,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Without another word, Cregan turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving the rest of them standing in the heavy silence.

Oscar, who had been hanging back, finally spoke up, a half-amused, half-sympathetic look on his face. “Crash and burn, mate,” he said, his voice almost soft. “Crash and bloody burn.”

Jace blinked, finally tearing his gaze away from where Y/N had disappeared. He felt a strange hollowness in his chest, a tightness in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down.

He’d messed up. Badly. And this time, he wasn’t sure he could charm or talk his way out of this one.

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In Aegon’s defense, he didn’t expect Jace to trip balls and spiral the way he had. The guy looked like he’d been living in a cave, all hollow-eyed and pale like bloody Dracula, and he was a miserable sight—mopey, silent, just plain ugly these days. For the past few weeks, Jace had been in a mood so deep and dark that even Aegon, the king of bad decisions, was starting to feel concerned.

Aegon had tried everything in his bag of tricks. Hell, he even brought out the big guns—he knew Jace used to have a thing for his sister, Helaena. So he’d gone to her, practically on his knees, begging for her to hook up with him or at least flirt a bit, throw him a bone to pull him out of this funk.

But Helaena had returned with a bemused smile, reporting that Jace had looked at her like she was crazy or some shit. “Honestly, Aegon,” she had said, “he stared at me like I had personally offended him. I don't think it's going to work.”

Nothing worked. Not a damn thing.

Cregan, usually the voice of reason in their little gang of idiots, had tried talking sense into him, cornering Jace after practice with the kind of serious, no-nonsense tone that usually worked. But Jace had just brushed him off, muttering something incoherent, looking like a phantom drifting through the halls.

Oscar had taken his turn, too, showing up at Jace’s dorm with his best bottle of whiskey and a pack of expensive cigs, hoping to lure him back to life with old vices. But Jace barely touched the drink, barely looked at the smokes, just sat there staring out the window like a man waiting for the death penalty.

His mates were at their wit's end. They’d bent over backward to drag him out of this shambles, tried everything they could think of, and nothing had made a dent. Jace was lost in his own head, his own mess, and Aegon was starting to wonder if this was what permanent damage looked like.

Aegon sighed heavily, watching Jace slouched in the corner of their usual pub, staring blankly at his untouched pint. “For fuck’s sake, man,” Aegon muttered under his breath. “What the hell are we supposed to do with you?”

Even Davos, normally the most reckless of the bunch, was beginning to worry. “We’ve tried everything,” he whispered to Cregan, who only nodded grimly.

“Maybe,” Cregan said quietly, “he’s got to figure this one out on his own.”

Aegon scowled. “Yeah, well, he better figure it out soon, or I’m dragging his sorry arse to therapy. I’ve got limits, you know.”

Jace didn’t even glance up. And his friends could only watch, exasperated and out of ideas, as the once carefree, charming captain of the football team spiraled deeper into his own self-made hell.

Jace then muttered something under his breath about needing to use the loo, pushing himself up from his chair and shuffling off toward the back of the pub. His mates watched him go, the silence thick.

Oscar leaned in as soon as Jace was out of earshot, his voice low but urgent. “I think we need to talk to Y/N,” he said, glancing around the table. “Get her to talk to him, or at least see if she’ll give him a chance to explain himself.”

Davos nodded quickly, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, shit, man. I’m scared one of these days he’s going to do something stupid. I mean, look at him? He’s a bloody mess. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Cregan sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “His brother called me yesterday,” he admitted, his voice grim. “Said Jace hasn’t been answering his mum’s texts or calls. She’s worried sick. Wants to know what the hell’s going on, but I’ve got nothing to tell her.”

Aegon looked around at the lot of them, his usual cocky grin replaced by a serious frown. “Yeah, we need an intervention. This is getting out of hand. If anyone can snap him out of it, it’s her.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “She’s got every right to hate him, but… we’ve gotta try, right? Maybe if she just talks to him, hears him out, it’ll help. He’s spiraling, and none of us know how to get through to him.”

Cregan looked uncertain, but he finally nodded. “Alright,” he said. “But we have to be careful with this. She’s pissed, and for good reason. We can’t just waltz up and ask her to forgive him like it’s nothing.”

Aegon leaned back in his chair, looking more serious than any of them had seen him in a while. “So, how do we do this?” he asked, eyes flicking to the others. “Who’s gonna reach out to her?”

Cregan exhaled slowly. “I will. I’ll find a way to talk to her, explain… something. Let her know he’s not himself. We just need a chance. Otherwise, I’m afraid Jace is going to do something we can’t fix.”

They all nodded, glancing toward the hallway where Jace had disappeared.

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The next afternoon, Cregan Stark found himself walking along the Cambridge Backs, the gentle curve of the river Cam glinting in the sunlight, punts gliding lazily over the water, laughter and the murmur of tourists drifting in the air. He had asked around, pieced together the clues, and finally located her usual haunt—a quiet spot along the riverbank, tucked beneath a canopy of willows.

And there she was.

Y/N sat on the grass, a book open on her lap, though she didn’t seem to be reading it. Her eyes were swollen and puffy, dark circles smudged beneath them, as if sleep had been evading her for days. She looked almost as bad as Jace did, and for a moment, Cregan thought it was almost funny—if it weren’t so damn tragic—how much alike they looked.

She spotted him approaching and her eyes narrowed into thin slits, her whole body tensing like she was preparing for a fight. Cregan raised his hands quickly, palms out, a peace offering. “Hey, hey, I come in peace,” he called out, a small, disarming smile on his lips. “Promise I’m not here to make things worse.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but at least she didn’t immediately bolt. She looked annoyed, but resigned, almost like she’d been expecting one of Jace’s friends to show up sooner or later. “Of all people,” she muttered, “at least they were smart enough to send you. The one with half a brain.”

Cregan chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he walked over and sat down a good distance away, giving her some space. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said lightly. “Though I think you’ve already got my number. I’m not here to defend anyone. Just… wanted to talk.”

She snorted softly, glancing back at her book. “If you’re here to try to make me feel sorry for Jace, save your breath. I’m not interested in playing the sympathy card.”

He shook his head, his expression earnest. “I’m not here to ask for sympathy, Y/N. I’m here because… look, for all the love I have for my mates, especially Jace, I told them from the start that this bet was a shitty idea. Callous. I disagreed with it, and I warned them. Didn’t stop them, obviously, but… I tried.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes still guarded, but there was a flicker of curiosity there. “So why are you here now? You think saying ‘I told them so’ is going to make any difference?”

Cregan sighed, leaning back against the bench. “Nah, I know it doesn’t fix anything. But I thought you should hear it from someone who… I don’t know, isn’t completely messed up in the head like Aegon. Gods, I love him like my own brother, but the man is a ticking timebomb.”

Y/N let out a small, involuntary laugh at that, surprising herself. “Yeah,” she muttered, “I got that impression.”

Cregan smiled slightly, sensing he was making a little headway. “Jace has been… well, let’s just say he looks like he’s been waterboarded. I’ve never seen him like this before, Y/N. He’s not eating, not sleeping, not talking to anyone. We’re worried, and none of us know how to reach him. It’s like he’s punishing himself or something.”

Y/N’s face softened for a brief moment, but then she straightened, putting her defenses back up. “Well, maybe he deserves it,” she said quietly, though there wasn’t as much bite to her words as she’d intended. “He made his bed, didn’t he?”

Cregan nodded. “Yeah, he did. But I think he’s realized just how badly he’s messed up. And I know you don’t owe him anything, not even your time… but I’m asking. Would you talk to him? Even if it’s just to tell him off properly, maybe it’ll snap him out of this spiral he’s in.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, her fingers playing with the edge of her book. “Why should I?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Why should I give him the satisfaction?”

Cregan leaned forward, his gaze steady. “Maybe not for him,” he said softly. “But for you. Because carrying this around… it isn’t doing you any good either.”

She looked down, her shoulders tense, a battle clearly waging inside her. After a long pause, she finally nodded, just once. “Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll talk to him. But I’m not promising anything.”

Cregan smiled, relief flooding through him. “That’s all I’m asking, Y/N. Thank you.”

She nodded again, her expression still wary, but Cregan could see tiny cracks in her armor. Seems like he has done his job. And that’s all the push he could do.

“Good luck,” he said, standing up and giving her a reassuring nod. “You’re gonna need it with that idiot.”

An hour later, Y/N stood outside Jace’s door, her heart pounding, her nerves shot to hell. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then knocked on the door with more force than necessary.

Jace opened it, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, his hair tousled, eyes wide with shock when he saw who was standing there. He looked so stunned, she almost laughed.

“Y-Y/N?” he sputtered, his voice an awkward mess of surprise. “What—what are you doing here?”

He started to stammer out more incoherent sentences, a jumble of half-formed apologies, but she cut him off with a raised hand. “I don’t want to do this here,” she said firmly. “I need some fresh air while I listen to whatever sad attempt you’re about to make to justify what you did.”

Jace blinked, swallowing hard, and nodded quickly, grabbing his jacket off a chair. “Okay… yeah, sure,” he mumbled, following her out of the dorm like a scolded puppy.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Y/N leading the way through until they reached a quieter, less crowded part of the grounds. The air was crisp, the sky overcast, but it felt good—clean, refreshing, something he hadn’t felt in weeks.

She finally stopped, crossing her arms over her chest and turning to face him. “Okay, talk,” she demanded, her tone sharp, daring him to make this worth her time.

Jace ran a hand through his hair, feeling like a complete idiot. “Look,” he started, “I know I messed up. I know how stupid and cruel the bet was… I realized it from the start, but I went along with it anyway. I was out of my damn mind. I don’t have a good excuse.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed, anger boiling over. “Why?” she spat. “Why would you do that? I mean, I get that you’re a bit dim, but I didn’t think you were that cruel. And I’m an idiot for falling for it. If you’re dumb, then I’m even dumber.”

Jace flinched, the sting of her words hitting him hard, but he forced himself to keep going. “I didn’t want to do anything that night,” he said, his voice softer, more desperate. “You were drunk, and I knew it wasn’t right. But… fuck, Y/N, I really did want to kiss you. So when you asked me to, what was I supposed to do? How the hell was I supposed to say no?”

That shut her up real good.

She stared at him, her anger momentarily replaced by confusion, disbelief. “Why the hell would you even be into me?” she demanded, her voice tinged with frustration. “You could have anyone—why would you even look twice at me?”

Jace’s frustration boiled over. “Maybe that’s exactly why!” he shouted back. “Maybe I’m tired of the same old bullshit! Maybe you’re the first real person I’ve met in this whole bloody place, and it scared the hell out of me.”

They bickered back and forth. Y/N was still angry, still hurt, and Jace was struggling to make her understand, to make her see that it wasn’t just about the bet, that there was more to it—more to him, to them.

And then, suddenly, the sky opened up. Rain poured down out of nowhere, drenching them both in seconds.

“Great, absolutely fantastic,” Y/N muttered, throwing her hands up in exasperation as the rain pelted down. “I just washed my hair this morning. And now this.”

She looked like she was on the verge of tears, a mix of frustration and exhaustion weighing her down, and Jace’s heart twisted at the sight. He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly near her arm. “Can we start over?” he asked, his voice pleading. “Please, Y/N. You can slap me again if you want. I’d do anything to make this right.”

Y/N just stared at him, long and hard, the rain streaming down her face, mingling with the tears she refused to let fall. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, the raw, unfiltered regret, the desperation in his voice. And in that moment, all the anger, all the hurt, seemed to wash away with the rain.

“I just really want to kiss you right now,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the downpour.

And then, before he could say anything, she closed the distance between them, her lips crashing against his with a force that took his breath away.

Jace responded immediately, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close as he kissed her back with everything he had, the rain soaking them both to the bone, but neither of them cared. The world around them seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was this—this kiss, this connection, this second chance.

His lips moved against hers with a desperation that bordered on frantic, his hands sliding up to cup her face, thumbs brushing the rain-soaked strands of hair from her cheeks. He kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Between kisses, he managed to whisper, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… please, forgive me…”

Y/N felt his words more than heard them, the breath of each apology warm against her mouth, mingling with the rain. Her heart twisted, conflicted, every emotion tangled up inside her—anger, hurt, relief, and something stronger, something she’d been trying to bury since the moment he’d first kissed her.

But she couldn’t deny the way he was holding her, the sincerity in his voice, the way his hands trembled slightly against her skin. He was being so gentle with her.

“Jace,” she whispered against his lips, her voice catching in her throat. “I… I want to forgive you, but I don’t know how. You hurt me. You made me feel like a joke.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his forehead resting against hers, his breath ragged and warm. “I know,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I know, and I hate myself ever since for it. But I swear, Y/N, I never meant for it to be like this. I never wanted to hurt you. It was stupid and wrong and… and I was a bloody idiot.”

She swallowed hard, searching his eyes, finding nothing but raw, open honesty. “You were,” she agreed softly, her fingers still clutching the front of his shirt. “But… maybe we’re both idiots. Because I still…”

Jace’s heart leaped in his chest, hope flaring bright and wild. “Because you still what?” he pressed, his thumb brushing over her cheek, wiping away a raindrop that looked suspiciously like a tear.

“Because I still… want to try,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

Jace’s lips curved into a small, hopeful smile, his hand cradling her face with a tenderness that surprised even him. “Then try with me,” he whispered, his lips hovering over hers again. “Let me make it up to you. Let me prove that I’m worth it… worthy of you.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded, just once, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. “Okay,” she whispered. “But don’t make me regret this, Jacaerys Velaryon.”

“I won’t,” he promised again, and his lips found hers with a new urgency, a fervent hope that maybe, just maybe, this time he could get it right. “I swear, love, I won’t.”

And then, as if the universe wanted to punctuate the moment, a blinding flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed immediately by a crack of thunder that shook the ground beneath them. Both of them jumped apart, startled, wide-eyed like kids caught sneaking out past curfew.

“Shit!” Jace laughed, glancing up at the dark sky. “That was close. We should probably get back inside before we’re fried like fish and chips.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking the water from her hair. “Yeah, I’d rather not be a human lightning rod today.”

He grinned, noticing the way she was shivering now, rain running down her face, her clothes clinging to her skin. He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close, his voice dropping to that familiar cheeky drawl. “Come on, then. I’ll warm you right up,” he teased, giving her a playful wink, his hand sliding lower on her back, pressing her against him. “Plenty of ways to heat things up, you know?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile was undeniable. “God help me, you’re cocky,” she muttered, but there was a spark in her eyes, a waggish glint that matched his own.

Jace’s grin widened. “Oh, you liked it,” he teased. “Don’t pretend otherwise. You loved every second of it. I’ve got more where that came from.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not willing to let him have the upper hand for long. “You mean the head you gave me?” she shot back, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Yeah, I have to admit, that was… nice.”

Jace barked out a laugh, his eyes lighting up with delight. “Oh, nice, she says!” he repeated, leaning in closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “L/N, that was just a taste. I’m a man of many talents. Consider that your appetizer.”

Y/N snorted, swatting his chest. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Velaryon. I’d hate for you to blow your entire repertoire too soon.”

He laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got stamina to spare. We’ve got all night to explore… my menu.”

She blushed and couldn’t stop her breath from hitching. “Alright, alright, let’s get out of this rain before you start making more food innuendos. I’m getting hungry.”

He grinned, holding her tighter. “Deal. But once we’re dry, I’m taking you up on that second course.”

She just rolled her eyes again but leaned into him, letting him lead her back toward the safety of the building, their laughter mingling with the sound of the rain as they ran for cover.

#hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd modern au #jace velaryon #jace targaryen #jace x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon #harry collett

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