#sorry youre out so early again king

[miningroseakira]

no more dying immediately after jimmy i guess o7

[sttoru]

ahh i just cant stop thinking of sukuna's fav concubine getting injured from the other concubines but she hides it because shes scared of being weak (in sukuna's eyes) and/or a burden ☹️☹️

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. fluff, sprinkle of angst n comfort. size difference. reader gets called ‘brat, woman, little one’ — ig this is a bit early in their relationship

“i’ve arrived, my lord,” you announce your presence once you step into sukuna’s quarters. the dimly lit room removed all the stress you currently had in your system—the knowledge that you’re safe in his space causes your shoulders to drop.

sukuna turns his head to look at you while he’s laid back on his bed, topless. all four of his eyes roam over your body, which isn’t anything unusual for you. he always does that.

“tch. took ya long enough,” the king of curses scoffs before gesturing for you to come closer, making that familiar motion with his fingers, “when i order y’ to come, you’re supposed to drop everything and rush to be at my service, woman.”

you hurry over to his side of the bed with a nod. “my apologies,” you mutter. you can’t tell him why you’re late, because hell would break loose within these walls. and also because you’re scared of what his reaction would be.

before being called over, you were in the kitchen, peacefully trying to get a snack, when two other concubines entered the room. you tried ignoring them, but that didn’t seem to be the smartest move. it wasn’t long before they threw derogatory remarks at you.

of course, you stood up for yourself and yelled some back. that’s when one of them pushed you backwards, causing the skin near your hand to get slightly burned by the fire on the stove.

if it weren’t for the maids around that went to report the ruckus to uraume, god knows what more would have went down in that kitchen.

“oi,” sukuna grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. he can immediately notice the vacant look in your eyes, which is unusual for you. you snap out of your trance and set the nasty memories aside—ignoring the impulse to scratch the injury on your wrist.

“i’m sorry, my lord,” you say again before slowly undoing your obi. you figure that is why sukuna had called you over, to do your job as his concubine. you halt your movements when you realise that undressing meant that he’s going to see the wound on your skin.

you hesitate. that same instant of hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed by the king of curses. a large hand of his moves to stop both of your wrists from pulling off your robes.

“. . .i’m giving y’ three seconds of my time,” sukuna narrows his eyes after allowing you to speak up and tell him what’s on your mind. he hears you whimper in pain when he holds onto your wrist, your facial expression clearly uncomfortable. “spit it out,” he impatiently huffs. he wants to hear you say what’s wrong.

you desperately shake your head, biting your bottom lip. you don’t want to tell him—even though you know you’re obligated to.

denying an answer to sukuna was your next big mistake.

“fuckin’ brat,” the pink-haired man grunts. he yanks your arms up to his face, harshly pulling down the sleeves of your kimono. all four of his red eyes immediately fall onto the wound on your wrist. you obviously hadn’t treat it yet, even though you should have done so long ago.

there’s tension hanging in the air almost instantly after your little secret gets revealed. sukuna’s grip on your hands tightens which causes you to flinch. you close your eyes and expect the worst. you can already hear the insults he’ll throw at you—how he’ll call you useless, weak, stupid and all that.

“look up at me,” his voice rings out in a firm tone. you don’t want to anger him more than he already is, so you obey. you open your eyes and glance upwards, your worried gaze meeting his.

sukuna takes a deep breath to contain the bubbling rage inside of him; a rare sight indeed. he doesn’t want to unnecessarily lash out at you when it isn’t needed. however, he can’t deny that itching urge in his chest, to get mad at whoever caused your skin to get tainted like that.

sukuna stares at you with an intimidating glare. when you expect him to yell profanities at you, the unexpected happens.

“who did this to you?” he asks, voice strained like he’s trying to hold himself back.

you blink a few times. the king of curses sounds pissed off, and when he’s in that kind of mood, you know he’s not to be played with. you look the other way and try to think of a proper answer.

will you snitch and cause unnecessary bloodbath, or will you spare the lives of the concubines who hurt you and lie?

you’re scared of being seen as useless by sukuna if you tell him the truth. if you lie, he’ll probably call you weak and stupid as well. it’s a lose-lose situation, you conclude.

you swallow the spit that has gathered in your mouth before parting your lips.

“m-miko,” her name echoes in his ears. you decide to be honest, because you know that there’s no fooling the ryomen sukuna. a second of silence follows and when you look up at him, he stares back at you with furrowed brows.

“ah,” you then realise that he doesn’t know his concubines by name. he has way too many women at his disposal and doesn’t find them worthy enough to remember.

however you have heard from uraume and the others that he does know your name—only yours. it makes you feel special.

you try to describe the concubine you’ve tussled with, “s-short blonde hair, uhm, mole under her right eye.. brown colored eyes—“

sukuna thinks for a moment before clicking his tongue once he faintly remembers who that’s supposed to be. without a word, he stands up and wraps one muscular arm around your waist, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you under his armpit like some package.

“uraume!”

his voice is loud enough to make the walls shake and it carries a clear hint of pure rage. everyone in the estate should have heard him by now, which means that they know what is going down in a couple seconds.

sukuna sounding this angry only means one thing; someone is going to die today.

the servants hurriedly scurry around, deeply bowing as he walks past them in the hallway with you still tucked underneath his arms. you let yourself be carried while your heart beats uncontrollably fast in your chest.

you feel your hands shake a bit. seeing someone like sukuna be this mad for your sake—to the point that he’s ready to turn the entire area upside down—is somehow thrilling. though, you can’t help but feel sick because of your own thoughts.

someone is going to die and there you are, cheesing about the king of curses.

you see the white-haired chef appear from a corner, their steps hurried. they glance at you and then back at their master. it’s like they immediately connect the dots.

“treat her in my quarters. don’t let her leave until i come back,” sukuna commands without even looking at uraume. he’s staring ahead, with an ominous aura emitting from his body, one that somebody can sense from miles away.

he puts you down next to uraume before glancing your way one last time. he lets out a deep sigh as he sees the worried expression you’re making. he lowers his head to your level so you’d be face to face.

“and you,” his warm breath hits your cheeks and sends a shiver down your spine. you gulp as sukuna’s hand reaches up to firmly tug at your earlobe, “i’ll deal with your ass later, yeah? i’ll make you feel what it means to hide stuff from me, little one.”

that sentence makes you even more nervous. you know you won’t be able to avoid the punishment sukuna has in mind, so you simply nod. “understood,” you reply in a squeaky voice. you don’t have the guts to disobey him—he’s already out to kill someone and you don’t want to be the next victim.

sukuna straightens his back again and continues his journey towards the concubines’ quarters. every heavy step makes the floors and walls shake, a sign of his unstoppable rage that’s about to be unleashed.

you feel slightly puzzled. you didn’t expect this outcome when you revealed your injury to the ruthless man. you expected to be belittled and mocked for not being able to prevent a wound from being inflicted on your body.

instead, there he goes, off to get revenge in your stead. you feel a twisted sense of satisfaction after seeing sukuna be this protective over you. actions like these demonstrate more than his dull words can do, even if it may seem like he doesn’t care about what could happen to a human like you.

[chloe-petrichors]

cradling constellations // jace x reader

when rhaenyra brings her family to court to celebrate the king's fiftieth name day, there was but one thing on your mind: getting to see jace, the boy you'd loved in secret, once more.

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. —emily brontë

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!aunt!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon-typical incest, canon-au (it's viserys' birthday party baby), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s) idiots in love, instant attraction/love at first (second) sight, childhood sweethearts (kinda?), soulmate vibes, love confessions, switching povs, smut (mdni !) including masturbation (m), p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex, mild marriage kink if that’s even a thing, body worship, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, mild overstimulation, soft dom vibes, jace being a tits man. word count; 15k+ (oops) notes; me, obsessed with jace? more likely than u think. this whole fic spawned from the fact that i noticed jace's freckles on a gif and lost my gd mind. this was meant to be a quick smut fic. and then i took 11k+ words to get to the smut part. i'm sorry (i'm not). this is totally self-indulgent, soulmates, love at first sight kinda fluff-to-smut and i regret nothing. way too much time of writing this was me trawling through the asoiaf wiki pages to find details that are relevant for one whole sentence. why am i this way. valyrian is pulled straight from a translator i found online, pls let me know if you notice any errors! requests; are open !

the first time you laid eyes on jacaerys velaryon, you knew he was something special.

you had just been children, then, uncertain of each other due to the discontent between your families. but he had been kind to you, dark eyes warm, and it had been an easy thing to be kind in return. your brothers make it difficult, of course, as they seem to do with everything they get involved in. aegon had been the worst at first, spouting off the same vitriol your mother had always whispered into your ears, but aemond had not been far behind him.

after the events of laena’s funeral and the loss of aemond’s eye, the hostilities only grow and grow. helaena keeps herself apart from most of it by virtue of her typically distant manner, but your brothers insist on drawing you into the same arguments again and again. it's tedious, laborious, but they are your family.

jace and luke are too, of course, not that anyone else seems to want to admit it. for all that they are velaryon’s by name (and strong in heart, mayhaps, yes), they are your nephews. your brothers only seem interested in remembering this when it serves them, however — which is usually when they’re lording it over the dark-haired boys.

in truth, the velaryon’s are hardly innocent either. it seems like the two sets of boys bring out the absolute worse in each other without fail, and it’s usually left to you to try and be the voice of reason.

away from your brothers’ taunts, jace is like a different boy entirely. endlessly curious and ceaselessly kind, the brunette seems to always have time to talk and jape with you. your friendship grows surprisingly easy as children, and with early adulthood comes the bloom of a different kind of affection, too. you never say anything, knowing all too well that if your brothers catch even a whisper of your feelings that there will be no end of hells to pay.

it matters little, regardless. your mother will never tolerate a betrothal between the two of you and you know better than to even attempt to broach such a topic. it had been sheer miracle that she hadn’t tried marrying you off to aemond after securing aegon and helaena’s marriage, and you aren’t willing to tempt fate by giving her ideas now. so what if you spend countless nights dreaming of freckled skin and dark hair? it matters not in the scheme of things.

rhaenyra flees kings landing after daemon’s return to westeros, leaving you feeling strangely bereft without your nephews’ company. years go by with no contact from your sister’s family, and so you let your old daydreams fall to the wayside. there’s no use dwelling on what you can’t have, and no point bringing it up since even now just a mention of luke or jace is enough to inflame aemond’s temper.

and then, of course, the news comes that rhaenyra is returning to court for the king’s fiftieth name day. there are great feasts and celebrations planned in honour of your father, which you privately think silly considering it’s unlikely he would be well enough to attend half the festivities. still, there’s no denying your excitement at the idea of seeing jace again. he would be a man grown, now, his twentieth name day having passed only a few moons ago.

for once the majority of your family will be under one roof, and you are certain it will end in disaster — but you intend to enjoy it while you can.

going flying the morning of the velaryons arrival is perhaps not your smartest idea. 

your nerves wake you well before dawn. you feel as if you’re going to crawl out of your skin if you don’t do something, and you know your chances for flying will be limited with the celebrations expected to start tomorrow. so you decided to take the chance while you can, dressing quickly in your riding gear before creeping to the dragon pit well before any of your family wake.

silverwing likes it when you take her for unexpected flights, so she makes no complaint when you have the dragon keepers release her. you go through the motions of saddling her yourself, as you always do, taking the chance to reinforce the bond with your dragon.

silverwing hadn’t been your hatched dragon. the egg that you had slept beside as a babe had never hatched, just as aemond’s and helaena’s hadn’t. it had infuriated aemond when you were children, that jace and luke’s dragons hatched while he was left without. it had made him an easy target for the other boys; aegon had often led the others in riling him about his lack of dragon until he had claimed vhagar. you can admit now that the others had oft been cruel to him in their japing, and it had ended poorly for everyone involved.

your claiming of silverwing had been incredibly boring in comparison. she had found you, in truth, a year after aemond claimed vhagar. she’d been your great-grandmother the good queen alysanne’s dragon before your own, and had not taken a rider since the queen’s death. she’d flown from the dragonmont to find you, and you’ve been nigh on inseparable since. your mother despairs over it, hating how her often her ‘perfect daughter’ has shown up to court late with windswept hair and flushed cheeks.

but, to you, flying is freedom.

there’s nothing else like it in the world; the sensation of silverwing beneath you, the seven kingdoms at your fingertips, and only the sky above. your mother has never really let go of her fear of the dragons, and you can understand it in a way; she is no targaryen, and she’ll never know what it is to bond with a dragon, to have that presence so alien and yet so familiar nudging against the corners of your mind. any attempts to explain it to her are met with bemusement and wariness, and you’d long ago learned to stop bringing it up.

silverwing’s joy to fly merges into your own as you climb atop her, running a soothing hand over the gleaming silver spikes at her neck as you adjust the straps. her impatience thrums loudly through the bond as you settle yourself into the saddle, and you feel her heart beat through you like a second pulse as your own anticipation rises.

“ivestragī īlva sōvegon, ñuha raqiros! [let us fly, my friend!]”

she needs no further nudging than that, and with a delighted roar she launches into the air. your laughter is stolen by the wind as she beats her wings, propelling you higher and higher before sweeping over the towering peaks of the red keep. with a shouted instruction she banks sharply to the left, flying out over blackwater bay as the sun finally crests the horizon. the dark sea lights up with reds and golds beneath you, the sky gloriously blue above, and silverwing’s distinctive scales shine in the breaking dawn.

a glorious morning, you think, and as the two of you climb higher to the sky you feel all your nerves and excitement for anything but the flight leave you. this is what your mother will never understand; flying is an escape, yes, but not from your duties as she assumes it is. this is an escape from your worries, from the petty machinations of court. in the sky with your dragon, you need worry only about how chill the wind will be, or if aemond is out with vhagar, who’s a grumpy old beast at the best of times and silverwing is feeling mischievous.

you find peace, here, in the sky. this is what you were born for.

long minutes pass as you fly leisurely, circling over the bay and the keep and back again in ever widening circles. sometimes silverwing dives just to do so, plunging so close to the blackwater that you could reach out and skim your hand over the dark depths. you lose track of time as the two of you fly, contentment bleeding across the bond so completely you can’t even tell which one of you it’s coming from.

a dragon’s cry in the distance catches your attention, and silverwing pulls up from where she’d been ducking her head into the water to snatch fish. she propels you rapidly higher into the air, crying out in response as you break through the thin cloud cover. you expect to find aegon’s dragon; sunfyre is the only dragon silverwing likes, rather than tolerates, to be making such a noise in greeting.

but it’s an unfamiliar dragon that greets you, olive green scales shining with the damp from the high altitudes. your mind races as you struggle to place it, and it’s only when you catch sight of a head of dark curls astride the dragon that you realise who it is.

vermax.

and jacaerys.

your heart skips in your chest, silverwing’s unexpected excitement tangling with your own nerves as she swoops towards the much smaller dragon. it’s only her sheer happiness that stops you from panicking or shouting a command to halt in valyrian, and moments later you recall she’d have known vermax from her time on dragonstone.

she somersaults over and around vermax playfully, and you release an exhilarated laugh in response as you cling tightly to the saddle. you see only snatches of jace as your dragons fly complicated patterns around each other, but the quick flashes you do get find an easy smile on his face.

the dragons spend a long while flying together, racing and diving and spiralling to new heights. they move so quickly that you have no chance to try and greet jacaerys, can offer nothing more than quick smiles as you pass him. it gives you the time for your nerves to settle back down, time to reassure yourself that any childhood feelings are long faded and that you will be able to act perfectly composed when it is time to greet him.

eventually you realise your dragon is not going to land until you tell her too, and vermax is clearly just as willing to chase after the larger she-dragon for as long as she is willing to be chased.

“māzigon, silverwing. istiti tegun [come, silverwing. we must land],” you shout, laughing again when the dragon whines her displeasure. she listens regardless, soaring down in tightening circles with vermax following close on your tail. her landing in the dragon pit is far from smooth, but you’re well used to compensating for the jostling as she settles onto the ground once more.

you’re quick in freeing yourself from the saddle, murmuring warm thanks and praise to your dragon as you walk to the side of her great head to meet a single burning eye. “kirimvose, ñuha raqiros. kesi sōvegon arlī aderī [thank you, my friend. we will fly again soon],” you tell her, and she responds with a content grumble as she nudges her head gently against your chest in affection.

you leave the dragon keepers to return her to her cave, instead turning to watch as jace shares his own goodbyes with his dragon. you take the chance to look at him, properly look, and find yourself suddenly warring with self-consciousness and a burning in your chest.

despite the acrobatics of the dragons, he looks perfectly put together with his dark curls brushing his shoulders and a pleasing tan to his skin. you fear you must look a ruin, with your hair undoubtedly a mess and cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. your breath is still a touch laboured from the exertion of the flight, while he looks perfectly composed in his fancy black and red doublet. you curse the old gods and the new that you’d picked out your old riding gear this morning — comfortable, yes, but certainly not ideal for greeting the heir to the heir and the man you’d once daydreamed about marrying.

you push the thoughts away with determined stubbornness, refusing to dwell on the warmth in your chest when jace finally turns to look at you. he’s grown, you note immediately, now standing at least a head taller than you. any traces of baby fat have left him, leaving behind a strong, square jaw and strong yet slim shoulders. his dark eyes are warm, though, and his smile friendly as he takes you in.

you dip instinctually into a curtsey, a perfectly respectable greeting ready on your lips, but you’re startled into straightening back to standing when jace laughs.

“come now, princess,” he says, fond and teasing he approaches you. he’s the only one who’s ever been able to make the title sound more like an endearment. “since when have we been ones for formality?”

it sets you at ease immediately, tension relaxing from your shoulders as you beam at him. “i suppose we never have been very good at that, have we?” you let your eyes skip over him again, something like relief settling in your bones at the sight of him. “it’s good to see you again, jace.”

“aye,” he returns, dark eyes sparkling. “it is good to see you, indeed.”

for a long moment he simply looks at you, and it makes that peculiar warmth in your chest blaze a little brighter. there’s something in his face that you’ve never seen there before — but then you think of course there is. you haven’t seen him in so long there’s probably all kinds of things about you him you no longer know. it aches, almost, to think it, but in a way he’s a stranger to you; a man with the kind eyes of the boy you’d loved in secret, once.

you clear your throat as you drop your eyes from his stare, glancing at the bustling keepers as they tend to your dragons instead as you cast about for something to say.

“are the rest of your family not flying in?” you query after a moment.

he shakes his head, dark curls swaying with the movement. “no, arrax and tyraxes are still too small to fly luke and joff for such a journey, and mother would rather stay with my brothers on the ship.”

you nod in acceptance, shifting slightly on the spot. “well then, let me be the first to welcome you back to king’s landing, my prince.” you take the formality out of your tone with a playful wink, and are gratified to see the way he chuckles at your antics.

“i had hoped you’d be the first i’d see.” he admits this casually, as if this doesn’t set your heart and mind racing. “i have missed you, aunt.”

you duck your head again to try and hide the smile spreading across your face. you tell yourself sternly to stop acting like some lovesick child, all the while that small flame continues to burn away inside of you. “and i you, nephew.” you glance up at him shyly from beneath your lashes, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, and you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement.

he’s the one to clear his throat, this time, stepping a half-pace away from you and gesturing for you to proceed him. “shall we head to the keep, then? my mother’s ship should have arrived by now and we wouldn’t want to miss the formal welcome.”

“as you say,” you agree, and the two of you set off.

you spend the long walk to the keep catching up on the long years between you. you’d expected the time apart to be like a gulf between you, a canyon that could not be crossed, but if anything it’s the opposite. it’s as if you’d last seen each other only hours ago. it should startle you, how simple it feels to fall into your old friendship, but you don’t have it in you to be surprised. that’s always been the thing with jace, after all — it’s easy. being around him, speaking to him, listening to his odd tangents. it all comes as natural to you as breathing, as if there’s a part of you that was just born knowing him.

he's dodging your questions as you finally arrive at the keep, having let slip something about an old secret from the days of your childhood that he’s never shared with you. it makes something flutter in your chest, the way he looks at you as he says it. the way he’s looked at you the whole time, in fact, has you having to bite back a smile. he looks at you as if he is looking at something precious, expression tender and fond and uncomplicated. it threatens to steal your breath again, and so you make an effort to try and act as unaffected as possible, because he cannot mean it in the way you think you might want him too.

“oh, but you simply must tell me!” you wheedle cheerfully, a mischievous smile on your lips. “you wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, my prince?”

you pout at him, fluttering your lashes in the way you usually do when trying to get your way with your brothers. jace swallows audibly at the sight, some emotion you can’t read flickering across his eyes as his gaze drops to your mouth and then lower again before returning to your eyes. something in his expression makes you flush, cheeks burning as your lips part slowly. a heat rises in you, unbidden, as he steps ever so slightly closer into your space. you’re overwhelmed with the smell of him; sea salt and dragon smoke and something almost woodsy underneath it, something entirely jace.

he murmurs your name so quietly you almost miss it over the sounds of courtyard. his hand twitches as if to reach for you as he ducks his head slightly, and you think if you lifted yours just so you’d be able to brush your lips over the strong line of his jaw. you realise suddenly how much you want to — how much you want to drag your tongue over his skin and taste.

oh.

oh.

you want him. that peculiar feeling that had been burning in your chest — you recognise the desire for what it is, now. the easy camaraderie that you’d fell into on the walk to the keep subsides in the wake of it, and abruptly all you can think of is what his mouth will feel like on your own. the palpable tension between you makes your hands tremble with the urge to touch, heart pounding so loudly in your ears it drowns out anything that isn’t him as the rest of the courtyard fades away.

you sway the barest inch closer, inhaling his scent deeply, and watch as jace’s nostrils flare in response. with a shaky breath you lift your chin, eyes dropping to his parted lips, and you bite your bottom lip as his tongue sweeps over his own.

“jace…”

“brother! there you are!”

luke’s voice startles you both back to reality as you spring apart. you hadn’t realised just how close you’d gotten, your chests almost brushing with every breath, until the gap between you widens. you drop your eyes to your feet, cheeks blazing with embarrassment as you realise how close you’d come to kissing him in an extremely public place. you chide yourself internally for forgetting yourself, and take another second to gather your composure before lifting your head with a smile.

“hello, nephew,” you greet luke warmly, doing your best to ignore the way jace’s eyes burns into the side of your face. “it is very good to see you again.”

“aunt!” luke fairly cheers, and you note how the youth still clings to his face. while certainly older than the last time you’d seen him, he still seems like a child to you. his limbs are long and gangly, in that awkward stage at the cusp of adulthood where he’s not quite grown into himself yet. he bounds closer, drawing you into a hug that you allow and return with a fond laugh.

“luke, honestly,” jace tuts, shaking his head as the two of you separate. “we’re at court, now. at least try to remember your manners.”

the younger boy winces. “ah, right, yes.” he sketches a quick but perfect bow your way. “it is a great honour to see you once more, princess.” he flashes a cheeky smile and a wink your way as he straightens out, and you press your hand to your mouth to smother a giggle at the exasperated look on jace’s face at his brother’s antics. he’s hardly one to talk, you think, considering how quickly he had dispensed with manners when greeting you.

in return, you dip into a practiced if impish curtsey. “it is a sincere pleasure to see you as well, prince lucerys.”

luke does giggle, then, as jace rolls his eyes so hard you think they’re at risk of falling out of his head. despite his dramatics, you spot the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watches you jape with his brother.

“the queen is looking for you, dear aunt,” luke says after the greetings are done, and your amusement flees you as your stomach drops.

it’s only then you realise that with both luke and jace being here, you’ve certainly missed the official welcome of princess rhaenyra back to court. you wince at the thought of your mother’s ire, resigning yourself to a long lecture about your responsibilities and how dragon riding is ‘not one of them’. jace catches your expression, concern creasing his face as his brows furrow.

“alright?” he checks, and you do your best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“yes, i’m sure all will be well.” you hesitate a moment before offering a one-shouldered shrug, ignoring the voice in your head that sounds far too much like your mother telling you how unladylike such a motion is. “i expect my mother will be displeased with me for missing the official welcome, but the festivities will surely distract her quick enough.”

luke and jace both offer you a commiserating smile as the three of you head into the keep. you expect your mother will be waiting in her solar, which is on a close route to the guest suites set aside for the visiting royals, and so you walk with the velaryons as far as you can. when it comes time to part, jace lingers at the entry of the hall as luke continues down the corridor. his dark eyes are fixed to yours so intensely it steals your breath as you slow to a stop as well.

“i’ll see you at the feast,” he says quietly, capturing your hand in his much larger one and bringing it to his mouth. your breath hitches in your chest, eyes widening as he brushes his lips tenderly over your knuckles. your lips part in surprise, tingles racing up your arm from where his mouth makes contact with your skin. before you have chance to respond, jace dips into a sweeping bow and then bids you farewell, leaving you staring after him for a long moment.

well. if your mother doesn’t kill you, you think jace certainly will.

jace sinks into the hot water of the bath with a deep sigh of relief.

after meeting with his mother to explain why he’d been late to the formal greetings — or, rather, offer excuses as to why he’d been late, since he doesn’t think his mother will take well to the idea he was so busy enjoying himself flying with you that the thought of any formal welcome party left his mind entirely — he’d sought his chambers. the bath had been ready and waiting for him, tendrils of steam wafting from the clear water, and he’d wasted no time in shedding his clothes. he’s keen to wash the dragon stink from his skin before the feast, and he makes quick work of scrubbing his skin clean. when he’s done, he allows himself to relax against the metal of the tub, arms draped carelessly over the metal rim as he soaks.

king’s landing from dragonstone is not too long a journey on dragon back, but flying for such a stretch causes its own particular aches. vermax had enjoyed the chance to stretch his wings, at least, and had enjoyed the playful flight with silverwing even more.

he can admit to himself he’d enjoyed it, too, the sight of you astride your dragon lighting something within him. it’s been so long since he’d seen you, not since the aftermath of laena’s funeral, and he hadn’t been prepared for how the sight of you — breathless and flush and beaming at him — would make him feel. he’d almost managed to push back his boyhood adoration and childhood daydreams of marrying you one day with the years passing, but seeing you again brings it all rushing back and he feels as hopelessly enamoured with you now as he did as a child.

you’ve grown well, there’s no denying that. where childhood had left you sometimes awkward and gangly, you’ve become a woman grown now with all the curves and delights that come with it. he’d been embarrassed at how hard it had been to pull his gaze from you on the trip to the keep, but you’d not seemed to notice. too occupied with filling the air between you with light chatter, you’d been oblivious to the way his eyes had dragged over your form again and again.

you just — you’re so unlike anyone else he knows. he’d let himself forget how lovely you were, but there was no way to ignore it now. riding the high of your flight and genuinely happy to see him, you’d been like something out of a dream. your face had been as open to him as ever, plainly delighted to see him, and seeing you had eased some ache he’d become so used to he’d not even know it was there until he felt the lack of it.

he’s not some foolish child. he knows better than to think of things like love when his head must lie with his duty. but the thought remains regardless, lingering in the back of his mind that you would be as easy to love now as you had been when you were younger. it had been a childish love then, of course; innocent and sweet in the ways only children could be. but it had been there, unspoken and unacted upon, but no less real for it.

you’re not children anymore. it would be impossible to think otherwise with the way your riding gear had clung flatteringly to your chest and hips. your mouth looked so pretty stretched into a smile, a smile for him, and he thinks it’s a testament to his restraint that he’d not kissed you on the spot when you’d pouted so prettily up at him. he’d thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps you were going to kiss him with the way your eyes had darkened, how you’d gravitated into his space as if without intention.

heat pools in his stomach as he thinks about how the neckline of your riding dress had cut low enough to allow him a peak at your chest, heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. he wonders what your mouth would taste like, what noises you would make if he’d slid his tongue against your own. gods, he feels like a green boy seeing a woman for the first time — almost undone at just the thought of you. he won’t be able to get through the welcome feast like this, he thinks, so on edge with his lust for you burning him from the inside out.

it’s not even a conscious choice to curl his fingers around his cock, half-hard already as he thinks of you. jace’s head tips back against the rim of the bath, eyes drifting closed as a quiet gasp escapes him. the warm water eases his way as he strokes himself, and he lets himself imagine it’s your slick, instead.

he pictures you before him, pretends it’s your hand teasing at the skin at the head of his cock. your hands are so small, so dainty, he thinks you probably wouldn’t be able to wrap them all the way around him. he imagines they’re a little calloused — soft, mostly, but with the fingertips just rough enough from years spent riding and caring for your dragon. they’d drag so deliciously against his skin, and you’d take to the task with the same voracious enthusiasm you do with everything else. you’d watch him closely, pick up on the cues of his pleasure, and he’d unravel for you so quickly it’d be embarrassing if it was anyone else.

“fuck,” he hisses out, thumb dragging over the liquid leaking copiously from his tip. his head tips back even further, water dripping from his curls onto the stone floor as he chases his release. his imagining splinters into disconnected fantasies; you, on your knees with your mouth stretched around him, lashes damp with reflexive tears as your eyes fix on his. you, sprawled beneath him and writhing as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved. you, babbling in high valyrian as he sinks into the tight wet heat of you. you, clenching and shuddering around his cock as you come for him, blazing and beautiful. you, you, you.

his release hits him hard, a low groan tearing from his throat as his hips thrust up into his hand as he drags out those last few moments of pleasure. his panting breaths sound loud in the silence of his chambers, and jace is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is alone. there is, of course, no trace of you.

he knows in that moment he has to have you. he cannot tolerate the thought of anyone else — not for himself, and certainly not for you. he wants you as his wife, his queen, the mother of his children. jace doesn’t care how he must do it — as long as you’re as willing as he is, he is going to make you his.

the feast has started by the time jace arrives.

his indulgence had cost him time, and then he’d spent longer than usual readying himself while trying to ignore the fact he was doing so only to impress you. by the time he makes it to the hall his family are already seated and the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune. his eyes seek you instantly, and he resists the urge to frown in disappointment as he sees you sat between helaena and aemond. he’d hoped to sit beside you and use this time to see if there was any hint of you returning his feelings. no matter — there would be time enough later. if he has his way, there’ll be all the time in the world.

you look beautiful, he notes. you’re dressed in your usual deep green, the gown cut flatteringly for your shape. your face is animated and happy as you chat to aemond, and though he finds the idea of anyone enjoying that grumpy prick’s presence bizarre, he enjoys the sight of you so at ease.  

as he approaches the head table and the empty seat between his mother and luke, your eyes linger on him. he’s gratified by the way you light up when you spot him, offering him a warm smile in welcome for all that you’re quickly entangled into a conversation with your sister. it eases some of the sting at finding you unavailable, and he’s helpless but to smile back at you even when your gaze slides back to helaena.

luke eyes him strangely as he settles into his seat but says nothing as jace reaches for a goblet of wine. his mother greets him absently, entangled as she is in conversation with the king, and he takes the moment to glance out at the hall.

it’s a relatively small feast. large enough to not cause offence to the heir to the throne, but not so grand as to detract from the festivities planned for the next fortnight. he recognises a few faces in the crowd, people from different houses from across the kingdoms. the king’s birthday celebrations are no small affair, and he spots representatives from all the great houses as well as some of the more minor ones.

it makes him want to slump in his seat, for all that he keeps his posture straight. he knows the next few weeks will be full of politicking and double speak, and it grates. as the heir to the heir, jace knows it’s partially his responsibility to ensure their alliances still stand while seeking out any news one that might present themselves. he has no doubt that some of the lords in this crowd will have brought their daughters, planning to parade them in front of him and his brothers in hopes they might pick one as their betrothed.

his lack of betrothal has been a point of contention for many of the court, he knows. most had assumed he would be betrothed to his stepsister baela, and he’d thought the same for years. it was only when his mother had confided that baela had no interest in being queen and, in fact, was so strongly opposed to the idea that she swore to fly to essos and never be seen again if they tried marrying her to him that he realised just why such a betrothal had never been announced.

it had left him free, in a way, to pursue his own desires; without a betrothal attached to him he’d shed any guilt about seeking company at the pleasure houses. but, in turn, it had left him open to the machinations of the other houses who all sought to have their blood on the iron throne. it’s incredibly tedious, but he knows he must grin and bear it for the sake of his mother and his house.

the food arrives then, and he busies himself with the meal and talking to his siblings. his grandsire makes a speech welcoming his daughter and her family home, and jace notes the sour faces of alicent’s sons. they keep their tongues, at least, which shows a maturity from them he truthfully hadn’t expected. perhaps they’ve grown just as you have, he thinks, but dismisses the thought when aemond catches his eye and only sneers in response to jace’s tentative smile.

he's often wondered at the conflict between the two sides of the family. the animosity now he can pinpoint, of course; aemond losing his eye. but there had been years before that of tense, standoffish behaviour interspersed with camaraderie when everyone seemed to forget they weren’t meant to be friends. he remembers playing pranks with aegon while luke trailed after them, and he remembers sitting with helaena while she perused the dirt for bugs.

he remembers you, most of all. kind and fearless and smart, you’d enamoured him from the moment he was old enough to recognise girls were different to boys in interesting ways. even before then you’d been fast friends, something in your similarly mischievous behaviour drawing you into each other’s orbit. he’s always been drawn to you, he thinks, to the uncomplicated joy you took in your life. there was so much to be miserable about, so much duty on all your shoulders, but you always found something to smile over. your unfailing optimism would no doubt be irritating to some, but to him it has always been one of his favourite things about you.

his gaze, predictably, shifts to you. he startles to find you looking at him already. you flush immediately as your eyes lock, presumably embarrassed at being caught, and he enjoys the colour it brings to your cheeks. you don’t drop his stare, though, not until helaena says something to draw your attention back to her once again. he catches sight of a private little quirk of your lips as your head turns, and something like satisfaction settles in his chest as he hides his own smile in his goblet.

perhaps this feast won’t be as tedious as he’d feared.

“are you enjoying the festivities, princess?”

jace’s voice pulls you from where you’ve been staring into your wine as if it holds all the secrets of the world. you’ve lost count of how many goblets you’ve had, chattering away with your siblings before aegon had started to become cruel in his inebriation and you’d all opted to split apart through the hall. you glance up to find the velaryon prince standing before you, hands perched loosely on the hilt of his sword. he looks unfairly handsome, you think, with his tumble of curls and well-fitted doublet, and something about the slight smirk on his face makes you think he knows it.

“i am enjoying them well enough,” you allow, flicking your gaze from his to look out at the dance floor. aemond is dancing with helaena, aegon far too deep into his cups to bother thinking of his wife. your mother is as tense as she has been since you’d found her earlier; her stepdaughter’s arrival to court has set her incredibly on edge, and the lecture she’d given you earlier had certainly been one of her worst. and your father is oblivious to it all, simply too pleased at the presence of his favoured daughter to care about the way the rest of his family are fracturing apart.

he's not been a good father to you, the king. he’s called you and helaena rhaenyra more than once over the years, and even when his eyes are you on you, you never feel like it’s you he sees. your mother had tried to soothe the ache of his absence, of his blatant favour for a woman who was not here, but as the years stretched on even she had seemed to fade further and further away from you all. for so long it’s just been the four of you, clinging to each other and tearing each other apart in equal measure. you’ve oft thought that daeron is the luckiest of you, able to thrive at the hightower and away from the mess of your family.

you pause at the maudlin turn of your thoughts, peering contemplatively into your wine again before offering jace a slightly sheepish smile. “i… fear i may have indulged in too much wine,” you admit, startling a laugh from the darkhaired prince.

it’s aegon’s fault, you decide; before he’d gotten belligerently drunk he’d been so cheerful, seemingly pleased to have the pressure of being the eldest targaryen child in court off of his shoulders. in his cheer he had plied you with wine, laughing and japing with an arm over your shoulder as you reminisced on simpler times of your childhood. happy to see him so, you’d not resisted, but now you find yourself regretting those choices as your thoughts tumble sluggishly through your mind.

jace shakes his head fondly at you, reaching out to carefully steal your goblet away. his fingers brush against yours as he does so, the barest of touches and yet enough to set your heart racing as you blink slowly up at him. he sips from your wine deliberately, amber eyes darkening as he holds your stare, and your lips part with an unsteady breath. something about him drinking your wine from your cup has your stomach fluttering pleasantly.

gods, i want him.

the thought is enough to startle you, heat suffusing your cheeks as you avert your gaze. jace doesn’t, though, and you can feel the weight of his stare on you like a tangible thing. it makes your skin prickle with warmth, and you lurch a touch unsteadily to your feet before you can say anything silly like ‘kiss me, please’.

“i think i should retire to my chambers before i make a drunken fool of myself,” you announce, fingers smoothing over the green velvet of your dress.

“i’ll escort you,” jace returns, tone leaving no room for argument.

he sets aside the wine and offers you his arm, quirking an eyebrow as if in challenge. you hesitate for barely a second, taking a steadying breath, before looping your arm through his and allowing him to lead you through the crowd towards the open doors. the woodsy smell of him you’d noticed before is clearer, now, and you take another deep breath of the scent. it calms your nerves and yet inflames your desire, and your fingers tighten infinitesimally against his bicep.

you stop at the doors of the feasting chamber for long enough to let ser erryk know that you’re retiring for the evening, leaving it to him to pass the message on to your mother, and then you and jace are alone in the halls of the keep.

of course, you’re not truly alone. guards litter the corridors and even at this late hour servants bustle along, busy with their chores. but in the quiet of the keep as jace leads you to your rooms, you can almost imagine yourself alone with him. the thought threatens to overwhelm you, mad fantasies of him tugging you into a dark alcove to devour you flashing through your mind, and you scold yourself internally.

you’re really very cross with aegon. he and his wine have left you in this state, too far into your cups to keep control of your dangerous wonderings. if only he had not kept calling for more of that gods-be-damned arbor gold, you’d have been able to keep your wits about you. you’d wanted to dance at the feast, too, mayhaps even with jacaerys but at the very least with your brothers. instead, you’re being led back to your rooms like a child who’s had their first taste of wine with dinner and let it go to their head.

jace’s presence helps your intoxication little. seeing him again, touching him, smelling him — it’s all too much when all your defences are down like this. you feel like a girl again, staring breathlessly after him and so full of certainty that you love him, and it’s just— ridiculous. you’ve spent mere hours in his presence and you’re like some lovelorn idiot with no thought in your mind beyond being as close to him as is possible. it’s foolish, reckless, absurd. but it’s there, regardless, unfurling in your chest with a lovely kind of agony.

you keep quiet on the walk, too afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll beg him to have his way with you or, worse, confess your re-blooming infatuation for him, and jace seems content enough to walk in silence for a while. eventually, though, he speaks.

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you drunk before,” he observes, tone light.

you glance at him sidelong, pursing your lips at the teasing smirk curling on his mouth. “it’s aegon’s doing,” you tell him solemnly. “my brother is something of an expert on the subject of wines, and his tolerance is… much higher than mine own.”

jace snorts. “aye, i had noticed.”

you lapse into silence, again, only now you find yourself stealing glances at him. he really is very pretty, you think, though in quite a masculine way. something about the sharp line of his jaw and the curl of his eyelashes keeps drawing your attention, and you suspect you are not being subtle with your admiration in your inebriated state. as you walk by an open window moonlight floods into the hall, sending jace’s profile into sharp relief, and your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his smooth skin. something about the pattern makes you think of the stars, and you realise too late that your quick glances have turned to a lingering stare.

“is there something on my face, princess?”

jace’s mockingly innocent words draw your eyes to his. he’s smirking down at you, eyes dancing with amusement, and your cheeks flush. gods, you don’t think you’ve blushed so much in moons compared to the mere hours you’ve spent in his company. the things this man is doing to you — it is unconscionable. you don’t know how much more of this you can take before your resolve breaks.

“i apologise, my prince,” your respond after a beat, teeth biting at your lip. “i did not mean to… i was leagues away.”

his eyes darken, mischief fleeing them in favour of flickers of something else as they linger on your mouth, and that damnable heat in your stomach blazes. you want desperately to surge forward and kiss him, or for him to take you in his hands and kiss you. you just want, and ache, and burn. and it’s too much, far too much for your wine-addled brain to process, but you know if anyone was to happen upon you in this corridor, starting at him with your mouth parted and your breaths shuddering through your lungs, there will be consequences.

“we should— we are almost at my chambers.” your words are stumbling, loud in the sudden quiet that had descended over the pair of you, and jace startles a little, eyes darting away from yours as your stomach plummets. gods, what are you doing? staring at him in such a way? he must think you a simple-minded fool, gaping at him for the sake of a few freckles. you step away from him, rubbing your arm as you turn your eyes to stare intently at your feet instead. “i can make it the rest of the way from here. you should return to the feast.”

jace is quiet for a long moment and you peek up at him to see him watching you with an indecipherable expression for a charged breath before nodding slowly and taking a step away.

“as you wish,” he murmurs, ducking his head in a simple bow. “sweet dreams, princess.”

you stutter out your own farewell, half-convinced you’ll be dreaming of nothing but his hands and his mouth this night, before turning and all but fleeing down the hall.

oh, yes. jacaerys is certainly going to be the death of you.

jace spends the next few days at court so entangled in his responsibilities he feels he barely sets eyes upon you.

he and his mother are roped into starting the celebrations in the absence of the king himself. his grandsire’s health is failing, of that there is no doubt, and after enjoying himself a touch too heartily at the welcome feast he requires a few days to recover. he thinks perhaps that’s why these festivities are so important; it’s unlikely the king will make it to his five and fiftieth name day, and almost certainly not his sixtieth. it leaves him with… complicated feelings.

when his grandsire dies, he will no longer be the heir to the heir, but the heir to the iron throne itself. it’s a daunting thought; for all that his mother has seen him well prepared to sit his throne one day, it feels such an impossible task. he doesn’t understand how he’s ever supposed to be ready for such a thing.

the thought rises, unbidden, that it would be easier with you by his side. with your kind heart but sharp mind, you’d make a fine queen. he finds himself daydreaming of it still and scolding himself all the while for acting the green boy, and yet unable to stop. it’s as if his every thought leads back to you in some way or another — he sees a flower and wonders if you’d like the smell of it, or sees a dress and thinks of how much lovelier it would look on you. at night he indulges in more sensual wonderings, and he swears he’s not felt the urge to touch himself so much since he was a boy of five and ten just starting to discover the pleasures the touch of another can bring.

for all that you’d appeared to reject him the night of the welcome feast, he finds himself certain you desire him just as he does you. in fact, he fancies it’s that very desire that had led to you fleeing his company and avoiding him in the days after.

because you are avoiding him.

yes, he is busy with the festivities and you are perhaps equally so. but he does not think it’s busyness that drives you to seek conversation with absolutely anyone else when he looks for your company, and it is not busyness that has you clinging to aemond’s side so fiercely either. you know he won’t approach you when you’re with your brother, knowing how it hurts you to see them trade barbs and knowing himself well enough to know he will not be able to bite back his rancour if aemond says a word about his father.

jace is not an idiot. he knows what people say about him, the words they barely bother to whisper behind their hands about who his true sire is. he has complicated feelings about that, too, but it all boils down to one simple thing: he is his mother’s son. she is heir to the king, and he is her heir. for him, that’s all that can matter.

he knows it’s all that matters to you, too. for all that your brothers had spit bastard at him for as long as he can remember, you’ve never done so. you’ve never looked at him differently for the rumours of his birth, and it’s just one thing among many he treasures about you.

perhaps it’s foolish, to cling to these childhood feelings so tightly, but he cannot let the idea of the two of you together go. he knows luke has noticed how he stares after you in longing, since his brother has never been shy about teasing him relentlessly. he thinks his mother has noticed, too, from the few carefully inane comments she’s made about betrothals and duty. 

he supposes an argument could be made for the fact that with the years without contact between you, he doesn’t really know you anymore, not as he once did, but he doesn’t feel it matters. he can learn anything new about you and will in fact do so joyfully, but the important things? the things that speak to who you are at your core? jace has always known those, has always felt connected to you in a way he never has with another, and he loves you now just as he did as a boy. 

it would be easier in a way if he felt sure you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. at least then he could try and move on from them, put to bed his endless wonderings of you. but for as often as he turns his head to look at you, he finds you looking away from your own watching of him. the few, brief interactions he has with you over the next few days feel loaded, the desire and affection between you a palpable thing, and he’s tiring of pretending there’s nothing there anymore.

he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t miss you.

so, at the halfway point of the celebrations when there’s another, larger feast held with plenty of chances for dancing and sneaking away into dark corners, he makes it a point to keep an eye on you. the moment he spots you, finally alone, he beelines for you. your attention is on your necklace, readjusting the pendant that rests on your chest, and he cannot help but let his gaze linger on the swell of your breasts as he approaches. he’s found himself staring at your chest more often than is wholly appropriate over the last few days, but then he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to a woman’s form.

“p-prince jacaerys,” you greet weakly when you look up from your necklace, hands smoothing over the skirts of your dress. your eyes dart about the room as if seeking a rescue from someone, and he tries not to feel how such a response to his presence stings. “how are you enjoying the feast?”

“well enough,” he returns, echoing the words you’d spoke to him days ago. gods, has it only been days since that conversation? it feels like an age, and he has felt more distant from you in these passing moments than he is in your years apart.

“that is… good.” your fingers twist around each other, teeth catching on your bottom lip, and he has to swallow back the sudden rush of desire to be the one nipping at the pouting flesh.

“would you do me the honour of a dance, princess?”

his request startles you, eyes widening as your fingers drop back to your side in surprise. he thinks for a wild moment that you’ll say no, make some excuse to remove yourself from him, and he feels himself bracing for the rejection. but you hesitate, searching his face, and whatever you find there seems to soften something in you as you nod.

“of course.” you offer him your hand, an unsure smile on your face.

he takes it with relief, trying not to react at the sensation of your hand in his own. he was right in thinking your hands are smooth, but as he leads you to the dance floor and your fingers slide over his palm he feels the drag of callouses as he’d expected. it pulls him back into that heated imagining of before for a moment, and he has to shake his head slightly to keep himself from losing his wits.

you stay quiet as he guides you into position, dainty hand resting on his shoulder as he places his own at your hip. he leads you through the first few steps in quiet, too, taking the moment to enjoy having you in his arms, having you close. but he realises after a silent minute that you’re obviously not going to say anything, and even as he looks beseechingly at you appear to avoid meeting his eyes.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he speaks lowly, watching you carefully as you stare purposefully at the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes.

your eyes flicker away and back and then away again, fingers tightening around his own as he leads you through the steps of the dance effortlessly. “aye,” you admit quietly. “i have been.”

“why?” he doesn’t mean to sound so desperate nor so accusing, but the quiet hurt that your absence has caused him surges forth before jace can stop it.

you finally meet his gaze, eyes helpless and wanting and aching, and his stomach twists at the sight of your conflicted expression.

“i— jace, i can’t.” your voice cracks with the weight of your emotion and without thinking he pulls you closer, arm wrapping tight around your waist to provide you some semblance of comfort. “i can’t. not here, please.”

wordlessly he alters the steps of the dance, drawing you with precision through the crowd of dancers until you come to one of the balconies. it’s blessedly empty of anyone else, and as soon as you realise it some tension seems to shake loose of you.

you step out of his grip slowly, almost reluctantly, and walk to the railing, palms splaying on the stone. he joins you after the barest hesitation, drinking you in as you stare out at the courtyard and beyond. he notices how tightly you grip the banister, colour leeching from you knuckles with the strength of your grip, and almost without thinking jace rests his hand beside your own, pinkie fingers brushing. the touch seems to release something in you and he hears how your breath shudders before you speak.

“i embarrassed myself on the night of the welcome feast,” you confess miserably. “i drank too much, and the way that i behaved— staring at you in that way— it was not becoming behaviour of a princess, nor of a, a friend. i did not wish to make you uncomfortable again, so i thought it best i keep my distance from you.”

he blinks in surprise. “uncomfortable?” the mere idea of such a thing is maddening. he recalls the sight of you before him, lips parted and oh so kissable as you’d stared at him with such intention it had set him ablaze. how in the name of the gods can you think he found such a thing uncomfortable? “princess, i can assure you, the only feeling i took from your admiration is delight.”

your head snaps around, eyes finally meeting his own again, and he shakes his head in bemusement at the sight of your desperate hope. “truly? you do not jest?”

he resists the urge to chuckle, knowing you’ll take any kind of laughter, no matter how well meaning, poorly. instead he reaches for you, grasps your hands in his own and tries not to bask in the way you lean into him as he steps recklessly into your space. he feels your trembling breaths puff against his jaw as he ducks his head to stare intently into your eyes, and if he were a weaker man jace thinks he’d be on his knees in prostration for you in that very moment.

“surely you must know how i feel for you?” he murmurs, tracking the way the flush in your cheeks travels down your neck and onto your chest with greedy eyes. “how desperately i adore you?”

“jacaerys—.” you huff, shaking your head in denial for all that with every breath you take you sway ever closer to him. “we hardly know each other anymore. i won’t deny there is, is a yearning between us, mayhaps, but you cannot claim to adore me when you know me not. it’s been years since—"

“—do you think time matters?” he talks over you, strong in his conviction that you and he share a bond that transcends time or distance or duty. “that any distance between us could change what i know in my bones? i loved you before i had a name for it. i loved you when we were children and, yes, i love you again now. mayhaps i don’t know your favourite sweet or if you prefer to watch the sun rise or set, but i know you. i know who you are, princess, for all that i might no longer know the rest of it. i know your good heart, your quick mind and i know that i love you.” he hesitates, drinks in the dawning, open wonder on your face, and then adds, “and i think you might love me just the same.”

you sigh out his name sweetly, fingers tangling with his own as he squeezes your hands tenderly. you tilt your chin towards him as your eyes flutter shut. his nose slides against your own as you turn just so to the side, and your mouth is so close. he could kiss you, right now, and he knows that you would not pull away. but he’s too aware of the noise of the feast, the crowd of people that at any moment could find you in a compromising position.

he wants you, gods does he want you, but he will not ruin your reputation, will not sully your virtue for the sake of a stolen kiss on a balcony when he desires no less than forever with you.

“i will not push you,” he murmurs against your lips, breathing the air right from your lungs as he presses his forehead to yours for just a moment. “if you do not want this — if you do not return my feelings — i won’t push you nor pursue you. i hold too great a respect for you for that.” he cradles your jaw, thumb dragging at the corner of your mouth, and he glories in the way you shudder at his touch. with an unsteady breath he separates himself from you, hands clenching into fists at his side in an effort not to immediately reach for you again.

“but if you decide you want me as i want you, that you love me as ardently as i you, then my chambers will be unguarded and unlocked for you.” he sketches a bow, heart thundering in his chest as you stare at him in wordless shock. “i hope to see you later tonight, my princess.”

you have no chance to respond before jace leaves you standing on the balcony.

he leaves you with your mind swirling, one thought after another coming so quickly you have no hope in processing them. you’re glad to be outside, at least, the cool breeze helping soothe the heat that blazes through your veins as you press your hand over your racing heart. you don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. all you can think about is jace, earnest and honest and in love with you.

he’s in love with you (!).

it’s too quick. too much time has passed with too little contact. in the years since he left court you’ve grown into new people, people who for all intents and purposes are strangers to each other. the lust is there, there’s no point in denying that with how your body warms at the smallest glance from him. and that old familiarity that blossomed as friendship as children and now into easy companionship as adults, that remains as it always has. and mayhaps you’ve thought to yourself, in the dark quiet of the night, that you’ll surely love him once more. that to know him any better at all is to love him again, because how can you know him and not love him?

but there’s been years and leagues between you for so long. time and distance have their ways of changing a heart, and he might say it doesn’t matter but it does. it does.

only it doesn’t, not at all, because giddiness is bubbling up in you so sudden that you cannot fight it, a helpless laugh escaping you as you press your hand over your mouth in unabashed amazement. your brave prince, plunging headfirst into the long-unspoken feelings between you. it incites you to act, drives you back into the hall where you catch aegon for long enough to tell him you’re retiring for the night before escaping into the quiet corridors.

you feel like your heart is going to burst in your chest, nerves and excitement and awe twisting together inside of you until you feel like you might vibrate out of your own skin. the walk to jace’s chambers is a haze, and in the morning you expect you’ll panic, wonder if anyone saw you walking so shamelessly towards the prince’s rooms. but now, in this moment, all you can think of is how fervently you want him, how guilelessly you love him.

the knock on his door — unguarded, as he had promised — echoes loudly in the silent corridor. you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as you wait for him to answer, and when he finally does he takes your breath away.

he’s shed his doublet and sword belt, standing in only his breeches and a billowing off-white tunic. the ties are loose on his neck and you’re entranced by the peek of tanned skin there, the freckles you can see disappearing beneath the shirt. he says your name, once, and your eyes snap back to him in time to see the relief and wonder coalesce into smouldering fire.

he curls his fingers around your wrist, thumb swiping over the delicate skin in a way that makes you shiver, and he uses the hold to wordlessly tug you into his chambers. you step into the space, eyes darting from the large bed to the roaring fire and back to the bed again as he locks the doors behind you.

you are finally, blissfully, alone.

you feel his presence behind you, heat and woodsmoke radiating from him as you turn to face him. something in your chest loosens at the blatant awe in his amber eyes, like liquid gold in the light of the flames, and before you can pause to think you’re speaking, your feelings escaping you in a flood.

“i shouldn’t be here,” you say shamelessly. “i know my being here is—. i shouldn’t be here. but i couldn’t not be, jace, not when you left without giving me a chance to tell you how i feel. because, gods, of course i feel for you. it’s unreasonable, insensible— there’s so much about each other we just don’t know anymore.” you shake your head, smiling at him wide and helpless and hopelessly, hopelessly in love with him. “but despite all the rationality in the world, all the good sense — despite knowing the trouble this is sure to bring us — i am completely and utterly in love with you, jacaerys velaryon.”

he kisses you, then, surges into your space and cups your cheeks and slots his mouth so sweetly against yours. you gasp into his lips as he kisses you deliberate, slow and tender in a way that makes your chest ache. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him as close as you can as his own arms wrap around your waist. your noses bump and your teeth clash in your eagerness and it’s still glorious, it’s the best kiss you’ve ever experienced because it’s him.

it’s always been him.

you part after a few minutes, remaining close together as he runs his hand through your hair before cradling your face once more. “tell me again,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing your breath.

“i love you,” you say, smiling so wide it makes your cheeks ache. “i love you, i love you, i lo—”

he kisses you again, a quick press of his mouth against your this time, and then he’s laughing softly as his golden eyes shine down at you. “i have loved you forever,” he tells you, indulgent and affectionate as his thumb traces over your cheek. “i will love you forever, my princess.”

he draws you closer still, holds you tightly against him but far enough that he can drink you in, and for long moments you simply bask in the presence of each other, of this slow unfurling of happiness in your heart. this close to him, you can once again see the freckles dotted across his face. without even thinking of it your hand rises, and with butterfly-gentle fingers you trace a path over the constellations mapped on sun-kissed skin. jace sighs softly with your touch, dark lashes fluttering closed as his lips part.

“iksā sīr gevie [you are so beautiful],” you murmur, slipping into high valyrian in the quiet of his chambers.

he exhales shakily, breath hitching in his chest as your fingers brush gently over his eyelids, the slope of his nose, the furrow of his brow. you want to remember him like this forever – bathed in the soft firelight, trembling beneath your tender touch, wholly and entirely yours.

“ñuha dārilaros [my princess],” he breathes, and hearing him speak possessively of you in your mother tongue ignites something within you so suddenly you cannot fight it.

arousal roars to life, deep in your belly, and you are helpless but to do anything but lean forward and press your lips to his once more. jace meets you just as greedily, hands gripping tightly to the flesh of your hips as he hauls you closer until your chests press together. your hand moves from his face to fist in his hair, tugging at his curls until he whines against your lips. he kisses you deep and open mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding against yours so deliciously that you can feel heat pulse between your legs.

one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling until your head is tilted back. he trails hot, wet kisses along your neck and you hiss at the sensation, pressing his head closer to your skin. you feel him smirk against you before he mouths at your pulse point, teeth nipping just enough to send a thrill of pain and pleasure through you.

“jace,” you moan, grinding against him shamelessly as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your throat. you want him so fiercely it makes you reckless, makes you insatiable as the hand not buried in his curls drags down his back to grip at his ass. he groans against you, your name spilling from his lips so deep and husky that you want to do whatever you can to make him say it like that again and again and again.

“this is— we shouldn’t,” he says into your skin. he pushes at the shoulder of your dress to expose more of your bare skin to his greedy eyes, lips trailing the path his fingers have taken. “we should wait until we—. if anyone knew of this—”

“—no one will know,” you assure him, fingers flexing into the taut skin of his ass to drive him closer to you.

“i don’t want to, to besmirch your honour.” even as he speaks he’s dragging his tongue against your collarbone, chasing a bead of sweat down to the swell of your chest.

“fuck my honour,” you burst out, and your language has him moaning. you hitch your leg around his waist and his hand drops instantly to grip you at the knee, pulling you just so until the hard length of him is grinding deliciously against your core. you can’t think, can’t breathe, for wanting him. his touch and his scent and his taste consumes you, inflames you, and you care for nothing but the feel of him against you.

he pulls away from your chest, mouth swollen and pupils blown as he pants hotly. he presses his forehead to yours, squeezing your hip to still you as you shamelessly try to rub yourself against him. “this will bring ruin to you if it gets out, do you understand? it would break me to be the cause of such a thing.”

his desperation makes you hesitate, something about the fierce tone breaking into the haze of lust that consumes you. you take a moment to look at him, and you know with certainty that if you ask him to stop right this second he will.

but you don’t want him to stop. you’ve never wanted anything less.

“jace.” you cup his cheek, thumb dragging over his bottom lip as you force him to keep your gaze. “i know the risks of this as well as anyone.” you lean in closer, your nose sliding against his before you tilt your head to pepper soft, deliberate kisses along his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “i love you.” he sighs softly in pleasure before turning his head to capture your mouth again, and this kiss is a softer, slower thing.

when you break apart, you stare deeply into his eyes, making sure he can see the truth of your words. the heat in his amber eyes threatens to splinter you to pieces as you swallow thickly, almost overwhelmed once more with your desire for him.

“i am yours, jacaerys velaryon,” you say steadily. “no matter what happens from here— i belong to you.”

it’s like a dam breaks in him. his hands are suddenly everywhere as his mouth devours yours relentlessly, leaving you gasping and arching into his touch. he backs you towards his bed as his hands fist in your skirts, bunching the material up to your hips. he breaks from your mouth long enough to tug your dress over your head, leaving you in your thin small clothes, and despite the sweltering heat of the room your nipples harden beneath the sheer material.

“look at you, pretty thing,” he says reverentially, the weight of his heated gaze tangible as he stares at your heaving chest. “is this all for me?”

“yes,” you hiss, head tilting back as he trails kisses down the column of your throat. “all for you, jace. only ever for you.”

he groans at your words, deft fingers making quick work of the complicated stays of the brassiere, and when the material falls from you he stares for a long moment as if transfixed by the sight of your bare breasts. it makes you smug, knowing that those times you’ve caught his eyes lingering on your chest haven’t just been in your imagination.

“you are perfect,” he murmurs worshipfully, large hand cupping the side of your breast tenderly. “such a perfect girl for me.”

his thumb sweeps over your nipple, featherlight at first before returning more firmly when you sigh and lean into his touch. his other hand grips your hip once more, pulling you close to him as he lavishes more attention on your neck. he nips and kisses his way down your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast until he’s hunched slightly in front of you, sucking bruises into the tender skin of your chest.

“jacaerys, please.” you know not what you’re pleading for, only that you need something, and it’s as if he can read your mind as his mouth closes over your nipple. his hand, now free, gropes at your other breast as his tongue swirls tight circles around your nipple and your head tips back with a moan. it’s somehow enough and yet not, your hips bucking aimlessly as heat and slick pools between your legs, and you crave.

“more, please,” you beg shamelessly.

jace drops to the floor in response and the sight of him on his knees for you has your head spinning. he presses open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your abdomen, bites gently at your hip as his hands slide steadily up your legs. you tremble beneath his careful ministrations, and he murmurs wordless assurances into your sweat-slick skin.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your smalls, dragging them agonisingly slowly down your legs until you can step out of them. standing completely bare before him you expect to find yourself shy, but the way jace looks at you rapturously has liquid heat licking through your veins instead.

he leaves lingering kisses on your thigh and down your leg, and when his mouth brushes over the tender skin at the back of your knee you feel them buckle. he huffs a gentle laugh against you, warm hands cradling your waist as he urges you to sit back on the bed. you do so unsteadily, planting your hands against the soft feather mattress and watching him with intent ardour.

he nudges your legs apart and settles between them, his shoulders spreading you wide around him and you release a soft breath as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your thighs. “let me take care of you, my princess,” he pleads, eyes wide and soft and beseeching as he gazes up at you. you nod hesitantly, not wholly sure what he intends, but then his eyes finally drop to your core and darken so quickly it makes your mouth dry.

“gods, look at you.” he drags a finger through your folds and your head cants back, a whine escaping you at the touch. “you’re so wet for me, love. so gorgeous.” he brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean of your slick and it has your mouth dropping open because he’s obscene, you think. he’s glorious.

“you taste so good,” he says, his voice so rough with arousal it makes you shiver. “wanna taste more of you.”

with no more warning that that, he licks a deliberate strip along your slit before circling his tongue over your clit. your hand shoots to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he feasts on you. his name falls from your lips over and over again like a prayer as he laps at your core, tongue pressing deliciously inside you. you grind wantonly against his mouth, panting as he laves at your cunt.

your pleasure climbs sharply, rising so high you’re helpless to resist the way your stomach tightens. as if sensing your approaching high jace shifts his focus to your pulsing clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves.

“jace, gods, feels so good,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his curls to press his head impossibly closer. “please don’t stop, ‘m so close—”

he sucks harshly on your pearl, ever so carefully dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh, and you fall to pieces as that tightly wound ball in your stomach snaps. he coaxes you through the trembling release, gentling his attention on you to drag out your pleasure until you’re squirming away from him in sensitivity. when he pulls away from your core his face is shining with your slick and the sight makes you feel feral. you bend to reach him and he presses up to meet you, kissing you hot and messy as you drink the taste of yourself from his mouth.

“you did so well for me, my princess,” he pants into your mouth as he crowds you onto the bed and the praise blooms hot in your chest. “need you to be good for me a little longer, okay? need to prepare you.”

you whimper, capturing his mouth in another sloppy kiss and nipping thoughtlessly at his lips as he settles between your legs. you can feel the heavy length of him against your hip, kept from you by his breeches, and you’re suddenly insensible with desire to see more of his skin. you tug wordlessly at the hem of his tunic, pulling it free from his trousers, and with a huff of fond amusement he separates from you to pull it over his head and toss it aside.

you drink in the exposed planes of his chest, leaning up to drag your tongue from freckle to freckle along his collarbone, and jace groans out your name in response. you follow the map of constellations down his chest, pressing kisses and gentle bites to the skin until you come to one of his nipples. hesitantly you flick your tongue out, curl it around the puckered skin just as jace had done to you earlier.

“fuck,” he hisses, fingers clenching in the sheets as his arms tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady above you.

emboldened by his response you lavish the pebbled bud with attention, switching to the other when the fancy takes you, until jace is shuddering with desire and pushing your shoulders back into the bed. he swallows your protests with a flurry of kisses as his fingers trail down your chest, your abdomen until he reaches the heat between your legs. he presses a finger against you again and you arch into the touch, tossing your head back into the pillows.

“i want you so badly,” he confesses in a whisper as he sucks another bruise into your neck.

“yes,” you respond senselessly, hips bucking up to meet the slow stroke of his finger. “want you, jace, please.”

“i need to prepare you first, love,” he tells you again and you whine in displeasure. “i don’t wish to hurt you, so i need to get you ready for me.”

you’ve heard that it can hurt, what happens in bed between a man and a woman. you can’t comprehend the idea with how good you feel right now, how good he’s made you feel already, but you nod in acquiescence at jace’s stubborn expression and he beams down at you.

“that’s my good girl,” he utters affectionately, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

the finger that’s been sliding leisurely against you shifts, pressing inside with a familiar stretch. you’ve touched yourself before, explored what pleasure you can draw from your own body in the late of the night. you don’t know if it’s different because it’s the angle or just because it’s jace, but the feeling of his finger pumping into you is so much better than anything you’ve managed with your own clumsy digits and you moan with the pleasure of it.

“you’re so tight,” he says in amazement, burning gold eyes staring down at you worshipfully. “can’t wait to be inside you, my princess.”

you moan at his filthy words, hips bucking into his touch as he presses a second finger into you. this one pinches more, makes it almost uncomfortable until jace starts to rub slow circles over your clit with his thumb. any discomfort melts into liquid pleasure as he mouths at your neck once more, fingers crooking inside of you just so until stars burst behind your eyes.

“fuck, jacaerys—”

he shushes you softly even as his eyes gleam with smug pride. he picks up the pace, now, fucking you with his fingers as your pleasure starts to climb once more. just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore he slides a third finger in, the stetch burning deliciously this time, and you come apart on his fingers with a strangled moan of his name. he doesn’t relent this time, though, even when you writhe helplessly beneath him; he just chases another release for you without giving you a chance to recover, and the thrill rises so quickly it almost makes it a little hard to breathe.

“just one more,” he soothes as you whine, pressing delicate kisses to the corner of your mouth as he drives his fingers into you relentlessly. “you’re doing so well. just one more for me.”

your third climax hits you so hard your back bows up from the bed, mouth parting in a silent cry of pleasure as jace coaxes you through it before pulling his fingers from you. you ache at the loss, mewling your displeasure as your cunt clenches around nothing. he breathes a laugh at your impatience, kissing you so sweetly in such contrast to the delicious heat between you that it almost makes you weep.

with shaking hands you reach for the ties of his breaches, fumbling with the laces while he kisses you languidly. you make a triumphant little noise when you finally untie them and he smiles at you, adoring and soft and yet somehow feverishly aroused as you push the leather trousers down his hips. he helps you the rest of the way, kicking them off before returning to hover over you.

your hands brush his abdomen as you reach for him, fingers curling gently around the hard line of his cock, and he realises a shuddering breath in response. he watches you intently as you stare at his arousal, fascinated by the way your fingers barely close around the thick girth of him. he’s going to fill you so well, you realise, and you bite your lip as your core clenches again. the tip of him is leaking fluid, and you drag your hand up his cock to swipe your thumb over the head.

jace moans at the movement, so you do it again and again, watching in inflamed curiosity at the way his stomach contracts as he thrusts into your hand, the wet noise of it making you flush down to your toes as desire sparks in your core. his hand covers your own abruptly, stopping your exploration, and you pout up at him as he fixes you with a blazing stare.

“if you keep doing that, i’m not going to last,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of his desire.

“fine.”

you huff, pretending at annoyance even as you eagerly lie back and spread your legs for him. you fix him with an expectant look, raising an eyebrow, and he chuckles fondly as he settles himself between your legs once more. you’re not expecting the velvet heat of him dragging against you and you gasp at the sensation, grinding against him as he thrusts shallowly against you.

“are you ready for me, love?” he checks, cradling your face in his hands as his thumb rubs over your jaw.

you turn to press a kiss against his palm, near overwhelmed with your love and affection for this man. “yes,” you say simply, and it’s all the permission he needs as he ducks down to kiss you unhurriedly.

his head catches at your opening on the next thrust, and with the slightest shift of your hips he’s pressing inside of you. the stretch of him burns, pinches, but just as he did with his fingers, he worms his hand between your bodies to drag circles over your clit. you do your best to relax, keeping your eyes fixed on his golden stare as he slides into you, agonisingly slow.

the whole while he keeps up a litany of praise, calling you good and precious and perfect as sweat beads along his forehead. when he’s finally fully sheathed inside you he stills his movements, kisses you hard and wanting as he thumbs at your pearl, and when you’re ready you tilt your hips. the stretch of him burns, still, but in a way that sets your skin alight as you cling to his shoulders.

he moans your name like a prayer, drawing away from you until the tip of his cock catches at your entrance once more, and this time when he sinks back in your eyes roll back into your head. he feels so good, stretching and filling you so completely that you’ve no room to think, to breathe, to do anything but take it as he thrusts into you. he buries his head in your neck, resting on his forearms as he plunges into you again and again and again, and between your own choked breaths and the sounds of skin against skin, you hear him muttering in high valyrian.

“sīr sȳz syt nyke, sīr ȳrda, sīr lōz. vēttan syt nyke. ñuha dārilaros, mirre ñuhon [so good for me, so tight, so wet. made for me. my princess, all mine].”

it drives you wild, his voice and his words and hearing him speak in valyrian combined with the exquisite torture of the slow drag of his cock inside you. it’s too much, not enough, and leaves you with nothing but the need to feel as much of him as you possibly can. your hands drag up and down his back, fingernails leaving raised red lines in their wake as you seek to be as close to him as you can bear.

“more, jace, gods, please, i need—”

he cuts you off with a hard thrust, your breath punching out of your lungs as he starts to drive into you harder and faster. it’s so good, so fucking good, but still not quite enough and you whine, seeking something you’re not sure you know how to verbalise.

“whatever you need, love. i’ll give you whatever you need.”

understanding your need even when you don’t, jacaerys rears up, grips your legs and presses your knees to your chest before bearing down on you. like this he reaches so deep it hurts in the most unbearably, searingly pleasurable way. and it’s perfect, exactly what you needed, feeling him so far inside you that it soothes you and ignites you and makes you ache all at once.

“y’feel so good,” you manage to slur out, head lolling as you lose yourself to the feel of him taking you apart so expertly. “so— fuck— so deep. so good, jace, so good.”

jace groans your name, pounding into you so hard and so deep that it’s unconscionable, has your eyes rolling back into your head as your hips buck up to meet him recklessly. your peak approaches again, searing heat blazing through you as you inch closer to another climax, and all you can do is whine and moan as he fills you over and over again. he starts to lose the thread of his rhythm as you clench around him, valyrian and common tongue mixing senselessly as praise spills from his lips.

“avy jorrāelan [i love you] my perfect girl, gūrogon nyke sīr sȳrī [take me so well], can’t get enough of you, hells, i love you, ao sagon ñuhon [you’re mine], my love, my princess, my queen, ñuha ābrazȳrys [my wife].”

you come so hard you see stars, walls pulsing around jace’s cock as he curses. he thrusts sloppily into you, chasing his own release and dragging out your own as you keen, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. he finds completion with a drawn out noise, seed spilling hot and thick inside of you as he lazily pumps his hips two, three more times before collapsing on top of you.

you press absent kisses to his temple, brushing back the sweat-soaked curls from where they’ve matted on his forehead as he shudders against you. you feel lethargic, body aching in the sweetest of ways as you fight to catch your breath. eventually the heavy weight of jace on top of you becomes uncomfortable and you squirm beneath him in protest. with a sigh he slides himself free of you, rolling over onto his back and wrapping an arm around you to pull you with him so that you sprawl over his chest.

you bury your smile into his neck, satisfaction settling bone-deep as his hand runs up and down your back idly. for long moments the two of simply lie together in the quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets and the crackle of the dying fire.

“i’ll speak to my mother and the king on the morrow,” he says into the quiet and you raise your head to look at him. he looks serious, amber eyes contemplative as he peers down at you. “i’ll not let another night pass without you as my betrothed.” he smiles at you then, a little crooked as his eyes crinkle, and without thought you reach up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.

“i love you,” you say, eyes shining with mischief. “ñuha valzȳrys [my husband].”

jace swallows your laugh with another kiss, doing a poor job of hiding his own amusement as his smile presses to yours, and as the candles burn down you let all of your worries and doubts fade.

you love him. he loves you.

there’s nothing else that matters.

[thebubblesareevil]

Only the best Kings wear pink! Pt 2

Part 1 part 3

The day things changed was just like any other. The Keep was decked out with pink decorations and different activities though-out the castle, including but not limited to: tea in the garden, manicure stations, parent playgrounds (note spa), bowification stations, the glitter corner, the archery range, Queen Dorothea’s dragon tower…etc

Everything was ready for their monthly guests when, rather unexpectedly, he heard a knock at the door.

His guests had long forgone knocking (the parents could rarely get to the door before the children charged in). He managed to get to the door, waving off a busy maid carrying a delicious looking cake, where her was greeted by the teary eyed face of a young girl.

That in itself was odd, Danny made a point of no tears in the keep.

There was also the fact that she was very much alive.

Danny immediately kneeled in front of the little girl.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your tears, but are you here for the princess tea party?” He asked gently.

The little girl sniffled. “Tea party?”

Danny nodded. “All the little princesses of my Kingdom are invited.”

“But I’m not a princess.” She cried a bit more. Danny gave her a thoughtful hum.

“You certainly look like a princess to me.” Danny stated. “Are you lost little princess?”

She nodded, rubbing the tears from her eyes.

“Tell you what, why don’t you join us for our tea party and then I’ll personally escort you back to your castle, what do you say?”

The little girl sniffled, pondering for a moment before nodding.

“Wonderful!” Danny grinned. “And may I learn the name of the such an adorable princess?”

The little girl giggled “Lian! Lian Harper!”

“A lovely name for a lovely princess!” Danny grinned. “C’mon, I’m sure Lilac can get you your very own princess dress while we wait for the others.

——-

Lian fit in perfectly with the other children. Some of the parents seemed a bit skeptical, though they quickly accepted it after a brief explanation from the King.

Some parents went straight for the spa while others headed towards the suggestion room. (It really cut down on audiences when issues could be resolved with a letter)

All too soon the day ended and skulker reported to Danny with Lian’s home address.

Danny found her in the garden napping among the blossoms.

Danny smiled, gently nudging the girl awake.

“Lian? It’s time to go home now.”

“Hmmm?” Lian sluggishly raise her arms to be picked up by the King. Danny chuckled.

“Of course.” He gently picked, cradling her in his arms.

Silently he opened a portal into Lian’s bedroom carefully tucking her into bed.

Not even a moment after he vanished did a frantic babysitter rushed into the room, nearly sobbing in relief when she found the little girl.

(She was never playing hide and seek with the little ninja again)

——-

For the next few months the pattern continued. Though somehow no one ever seemed to notice when the girl vanished each month.

She had fully indoctrinated herself among the little ghosts of the tea party, every month the boys would challenge her to an archery bout and lose each time reluctantly conceding to getting the makeup done with each loss. (Edgar was quite fond of rainbow unicorn sparkle nails)

She was never late nor was she ever early (this led to many suspicions that Danny didn’t care enough to confirm). More than anything, after the 2nd time of her wandering into his Keep, Danny made a point of giving her a ghost whistle to call cujo if she ever got lost or needed him.

So he was understandably concerned when he was summoned by his (favorite) little princess by magic of all things.

He of course answered to summons (what if she was in dAnGeR???!?!?)

He stepped out of the portal at his full size, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling of the warehouse he found himself in.

Danny frowned, looking around he didn’t see Lian until he looked down at the crying little princess at his feet. Danny immediately shrunk down, completely ignoring the heroes fighting the cloaked (cultist? Fanatics? Victims of his wrath? That last one felt right) soon to be victims of his wrath.

Once he was at more manageable size he picked up Lian and swiftly removed her bindings.

“What’s wrong princess? If you wanted to see me all you needed to do was call.” He asked gently combing her hair with his claws, ignoring the red headed archer shouts.

“The mean men said they were gonna hurt Daddy and uncle Jay Jay, and all their friends!” She sniffled looking up at Danny giving him a clear view of the line of blood on her neck where his (very) soon to be victims nicked her.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry princess. Why don’t you go hang out in the keep and help Spectre paint Banshees nail, hmm? I’m sure Fright would love it if you could braid his hair again too.” Lian pressed her wet face into Danny’s chest as she nodded.

He reached out, opening a small portal to gently place the little princess in his daughter’s room with a quick explanation.

He temporarily ignored the red heads screams and allowed the flurry of arrows and gunfire to pass through him.

He had other things to deal with right now.

“Now who do I have the pleasure of destroying today?”

One of the cloaked soon to be victims was clearly an imbecile as he stepped forward and began to shout.

“We offer you these two sacrifices in addition to the girl, that you might grant us the power to defeat our enemies, o mighty King of the Infinite Realms!”

Danny took a moment to count. “How strange, see I counted 15 victims and 2 spectators. You must need to get your glasses checked” Danny nodded to himself, allowing his for to stretch and his power to fill the room.

“But, I don’t have-“

Danny struck hard and fast. They would never see the light of day again.

After he was done disposing of the trash, he turned his attention to the heroes. Each of which had a weapon trained on his head, unfortunately human weapons didn’t work on him so they wouldn’t be much help.

“You son of a bitch! Give her back!!!” The red head shouted, his hands shaking.

“The rest of our team will be here any minute! Surrender now return the girl and we won’t have to fight you!” Helmet head shouted. Something felt off about that one, almost…familiar. Danny squinted and made a (probably stupid decision)

“Hmmm, nope” he snapped his fingers and two portals appeared underfoot of the two heroes.

[revasserium]

Okay okay hear me out Rain: reader watching Sanji cook, just sitting, waiting, maybe reading a book but catching glances at him every so often and he knows they're looking at him and just smiles....sorry I love that man

accidentally in love

opla!sanji; 2,569 words; fluff, banter so much banter, flirting, flustered!sanji, whipped!sanji, no "y/n", confessions, "sweetheart", fem!reader, straw hat"!reader

summary: in which sanji is trying to cook dinner but you're very, very distracting. or, sanji finally meets his match.

a/n: i know i said i might not write for anyone other than zoro but i lied. i guess i'm a sanji bitch now too. fuck.

Sanji’s always liked to say that he can cook anywhere, anytime, given that he’s got something that resembles heat and a smattering of ingredients — like any great artist, he knows how to make do. But, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this — the quiet of a ship’s kitchen, the gentle sway of the ocean, the simmer and pop of fat on a pan, the soft bubbling of boiling water — and you.

You, perched on the counter with your legs hanging off the side, hair piled up and pinned with a chopstick, a book in your hands or on your lap, the early afternoon sun spilling in to caress your skin like so many loving fingers. Sometimes, he’ll glance over while chopping onions or mincing garlic to catch a glimpse of you, and he’d find himself stilling, his fingers slowing, his breath suspended in his chest, caught like an insect in amber: held weightless and perfect.

“You’re staring,” you say, flipping a page without looking up, a smile twitching at your lips.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve found that admiring beautiful things helps me in my creative process,” he says, his grin going lopsided as he lowers his eyes to the ingredients on the cutting board — tiny, plump cherry tomatoes ripe to bursting. He resumes slicing each in half with swift, decisive cuts and relishes in the sound of your laughter.

“Careful with that mouth of yours — someone might accidentally fall in love with you,” you flip another page.

Sanji slides the cut tomatoes into a bowl and wipes a hand on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Accidentally? C’mon, you gotta gimme some more credit. But if anyone’s fallin’ in love, it’s gonna be with you.”

Another page. Sanji plucks a few zucchini from a large bag and starts to julienne them into thin strips.

“What are you making?” you ask, finally setting the book down in favor of peering at all the ingredients he’s got laid out. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing up.

“What, finished with that book already?”

“Nope — just found something more interesting to look at, that’s all.”

Sanji blushes.

Let it never be said that Vinsmoke Sanji can’t take as good as he gives but by all the gods and monsters and sea kings — you’re a damn good flirt. Almost as good as he is, he used to think. Now, as he covers up his rapidly darkening cheeks with a chuckle, turning away to grab a potato for skinning, he wonders if you might just be better.

“You never answered my question, y’know.”

He looks up again, his tongue feeling strangely swollen and uncoordinated in his mouth. You’re grinning at him, your legs still swinging, but in the few seconds he’d looked away, you’ve inched closer, your outer thigh now almost pressing against the edge of his cutting board.

The first time he’d found you perched up on his long work table with a book in your lap, he’d blinked, crossed his arms, and debated on asking what on earth you thought you were doing. Chefs generally do not take kindly to their prep spaces being treated like free real estate for sitting, but he’d never been able to say no to a beautiful woman, now has he? And least of all you.

“Thought you could use the company,” was your answer to his then-unasked question. He’d laughed, nodded, and gotten on with his breakfast prep. But that was months ago and since then, it’s become something of a habit; a ritual, almost.

“What question was that? I was —” he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers almost slipping on the freshly peeled potato, “distracted by your —”

“What are you making?”

“Oh —” Sanji returns his gaze to the cutting board, now acutely aware of the smell of your skin, creamy and warm. He swallows, trying to focus on slicing the potato.

“Just a cherry tomato and zucchini noodle pasta — not often that we get such fresh produce. But Luffy’d asked if I can make chips from scratch the other day so that’s what this bad boy’s for,” he says, holding up half the potato.

“You sure one potato’s gonna be enough?” you shift your leg to cross one above the other, and Sanji has to swallow passed the thickness building up in the back of his throat at the sight of your soft, smooth thighs.

“Good point,” he says, laughing as he bends down to grab a few more.

You fall into a companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by the tack-tack-tack of his knife on the cutting board and the occasionally shunk-thump of ingredients being swept into a metal prep bowl.

“You’re staring,” he says. And this time, it’s Sanji who grins, keeping his eyes fixed on the remainder of the herb mix he’s chopping up.

“Yeah, I know. I’m making a habit of admiring beautiful things. I’ve heard that it’s good for me.”

Heat bursts in Sanji’s chest as if he’d swallowed a shot of whiskey or gin or perhaps something even more potent. His head spins, but he steadies himself before letting out a soft, low whistle. He fights the urge to look up just to check if you’re as affected as he is.

“Keep talkin’ like that and falling in love with you’s not gonna be an accident.”

When he finally looks up to shoot you a flirty smile, he finds himself faltering as he meets your eyes.

“Who said I wanted it to be an accident?”

The knife in Sanji’s hand slips and he swears as it knicks the skin of his forefinger.

“Ah, shit —”

“Oops.” You have the decency to look sheepish as he shoots you a mildly reproachful look. But you shift your legs and tug open a drawer that had been tucked beneath where your knee had been, pulling out a small bandage.

“Come here,” you offer, reaching out as he stares at you for a second before moving forward to give you his hand. You gently wipe away the blood before pressing the bandage to the small cut, running a thumb over the edges to make sure it’s sealed.

The air hangs between you like dust motes trapped in sunlight, like first snow caught in the silvery breaths of awestruck children.

“There,” you say, the word no more than a whisper. Your hands linger over his, his skin burning where you’d touched him. Shivers skitter down the length of his spine as he gulps in a breath of air that tastes faintly of fairytale endings and happily-ever-afters.

“Thanks.”

He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

Like this, he can count every single lash that frames your doe-wide eyes. Like this, he can feel the static thrum of electricity threatening to jump from his body to yours, and all at once, he understands why lightning always tries to reach for the closest thing to its storm-ridden skies.

Perhaps it, too, yearns for closeness — for that infinitesimal moment of connection.

He wants to reach for you.

Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.

An alarm goes off.

“Oh fuck —”

He jerks away from you, the world clanging rudely back into focus as he reaches for the lid of a large pot, his heart hammering something fierce inside his ribcage. He nearly burns himself on the thick fog of steam rising from inside the pot to reveal six flat-face crabs, freshly caught that morning.

Behind him, he hears the distinct sounds of you slipping from the long work table.

“Leaving already?” he asks as he turns back around with a stab at his usual light-hearted cheek.

You lick your lips, grinning, “I feel like I’ve caused enough damage for one dinner service. If I keep hanging around, you might lose a finger next.”

“Small price to pay for the company of a beautiful woman,” but there’s a gravel and grit to his voice that wasn’t there before, and he looks away first when this time your eyes catch. He tries to busy himself with prepping the pan sauce for the crabs.

“I’ll let Nami know that the next time she wants to peek in on you cooking.”

“Hey —”

You pause at the sound of his voice just as you reach the door. You turn.

Sanji’s expression flickers between caution and anticipation as he opens his mouth, his eyes somehow sharper and darker than they usually are.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

You cock your head, “About what?”

But there’s a smile teasing at the corner of your lips and Sanji lets out a good-humored sigh.

“Alright, go. Or else I might lose more than a finger.”

Like a heart, he thinks as you close the door behind you with a soft click.

Dinner is an appetizer of cold zucchini pasta followed by a warm, tangy tomato veloute. Then come the crabs — freshly steamed over a bed of risotto and served with a lemon and rosemary pan sauce so delicious it has even Zoro sighing with satisfaction.

“Wow, special occasion?” Nami asks, looking up as Sanji comes around with a tray full of cocktails, complete with blood orange slices garnishing the lip of each glass.

“Ain’t every day a special one with this crew?” he asks, winking at Nami as she takes her drink.

Everyone laughs, but as he sets down your drink, you notice a tiny note tucked beneath the base of your glass.

You take a sip of your drink, glancing down at the note. It has three simple words written in Sanji’s unmistakable, slanted handwriting:

Kitchen — after dinner.

You tuck the note away in your pocket with a secret grin, taking another long sip of the cold, refreshing drink.

The final course is a heaping pile of home-made potato chips with garlic and cheese dip, and Luffy wastes no time in shoveling half the batch into his mouth, crunching loudly over a series of vague, animalistic hums and grunts that all seem to denote happiness.

You finish your drink and slip away under the guise of going for another.

When you get to the kitchen, it's to find Sanji already cleaning up.

“Need a hand?” you ask, setting your empty glass on the counter before lightly hoisting yourself up onto it.

Sanji shakes his head, turning off the water and wiping down his hands. He pours you another drink from a large pitcher before setting it down and pursing his lips.

“This afternoon —”

“I meant what I said —” you say, cutting him off as you look away, eyes fixed on your knees as you swing your feet away from the table’s edge, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sanji clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette and a lighter, if only to keep his hands busy. The thing in his chest that he’d been so convinced was his heart for most of his life now feels very much like a ticking time bomb. Or perhaps a hand grenade, with the pin held precariously between your teeth.

One word from you and —

“So? What about you?” you ask.

Sanji sucks in a long breath of smoke, holding it in his lungs before letting it out. The familiar sting grounds him as he looks at you and wonders if you know all the things he’d do for you. All the things he’s already done.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yeah — did you mean it?” And for the first time since he’s known you, you sound uncertain, “All… all those things you said? All the things you’ve been saying?”

He takes a few steps forward, finally allowing himself to breach the delicate circle of your personal space, his free hand coming to rest on the counter next to your thigh, his palm pressing flat to keep himself from going too far, too fast.

“Three guesses,” he says, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips and linger there, “You guess right… and there might be a prize involved, hm?”

A small, knowing grin spreads across your lips even as you quirk an eyebrow.

“Three guesses to a yes or no question? C’mon, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch.”

Sanji leans in and you can almost taste the smoke on your tongue.

“But you do know better, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You suck in a breath, reaching up to tug the cigarette from his lips.

“Yes.”

You catch a flash of his smile a second before his lips find yours. He tastes of salt and tobacco and lemon-rosemary sauce.

“That’s one,” he says as the pair of you break apart. The cigarette lies forgotten on the counter.

Somehow, his hands have found their way to the bend of your waist, settling there as naturally as the tide might settle against its favorite stretch of forgotten beach.

You smile as you reach up to tug him closer, “Yes.”

Another kiss.

Sanji notes with a satisfied grin that your cheeks are just as flushed as his feels when he pulls away this time. He nods, trailing long fingers up your side, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, the other pressing at the small of your back.

“That’s two.”

You nudge his nose with yours and he feels his hand-grenade heart leap into his throat.

“And…” you hum, letting your head lilt to one side as you ghost your lips over his, “Hm, lemme think about this one…”

Sanji rolls his eyes, tugging you forward by the back of your neck, crushing your mouth to his. It’s more insistent this time — the kiss, the breath, his fingers, your hands — more desperate and fumbling, fueled by the ever-growing heat bubbling at the base of his spine.

“Yes —” you hiss, panting as the pair of you pull apart, your pupils blown wide and dark in the dim kitchen light.

“And that’s all three,” he says, his smile going wide with warmth, “See? You’ve got it. Knew you’d get there.”

“Did you ever doubt?”

Sanji shrugs, taking half a step back to admire the sight of you, with kiss-swollen lips and heat-flushed skin. Perfect might not be strong enough a word.

“There was a moment here or there,” he says, to which you respond with a light shove to his shoulder as you hop off the table.

“Oh, I meant to ask you — what’s for dessert?”

Sanji laughs, “What? Did my garlic-cheddar chips not satisfy?”

“Really? Chips for dessert? And here I was hoping for something sweet.”

You make to leave the kitchen but Sanji reaches forward, pulling you back all too easily, spinning you around and pinning you against the door. His eyes are soft with mirth but as he leans down, you can’t help but shiver at the promise of something more lingering beneath the smoke of his breath.

“Well then, sweetheart, I think I’ve got my dessert picked out already now, don’t I?”

recs r technically closed, but... if you have an opla!sanji one... send it here.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Shift in the Routine

Author’s Note: Vibes are up from episode one of Hard Knocks starring Batman but I really wanted to write something angsty.

Part II

The morning started off with an entire 16 oz cup full of coffee spilling all over the kitchen floor. The brown puddle continued to spread and you watched in horror as the caramel frappuccino you’d just spent the last 20 minutes carefully curating to perfection went to waste. Then, your apartment key got stuck in the door, snapping in half so you had to make a call to your lovely landlord who charged you $150 to replace the key, and get the maintenance guy to come in and get your old key out. There went the money that you wanted to use to splurge on lunch.

Just when you thought you’d turned a corner for the better when you got off work early, your best friend Rachel called in a panic, putting an immediate end to the relaxing afternoon you had planned.

“Hi babe! I need you to do me a huge favor.”

You sighed, mentally saying goodbye to the Netflix binge on the couch with a fluffy blanket you were desperately looking forward to. “What’s up?“

She chuckles softly, breathing out a sound of relief that you were willing to help. “You know you’re my favorite person in the world, right?”

“What do you need Rach?” You bite out, your patience mostly nonexistent after such an awful day. Even her best attempt at buttering you up wouldn’t fix it.

“Okay, okay jeez. Who pissed in your cereal this morning? Anyways, I need you to run to my office and grab my other laptop. The one I have with me died and the tablet just isn’t cutting it right now,” you can hear her whispering to someone while you wait on the other end of the line for further instructions, “texting you the address as we speak.”

Your destination was 48 minutes away from her office, much closer to your job. Rachel owed you. Big time. “Fine. Be there in an hour.” You hung up a little in the midst of hearing her say “thank you” for the sixth time.

Rachel was an interior designer, working on some top secret project with a client for the last year, whose identity she refused to reveal, that was until today when she clearly had no choice. She’d apparently asked the client if it was ok for you to come to the house and they were clearly cool with it because the gate opened and the mansion you were faced with was unlike anything you’d ever seen. Every part of you wished you’d worn nicer clothes to work today.

Before you could even knock, your friend opened the door and ushered you in, plugging the laptop into one of the kitchen outlets and pulling up whatever she needed, thanking you again for saving her ass.

You looked around the room, exquisite marble covered the countertops, super cozy looking white swivel chairs and every square inch of the place just screamed luxury. “Who the hell lives here alone? Head of the mafia?”

Rachel snorts out a laugh, typing away without looking up at you.

“Not exactly,” a male voice is heard behind you, scaring you a little. And that makes Rachel laugh even more. “I assume you’re Rachel’s friend y/n.”

No fucking way.

You glance at Rachel before turning around to face him, nodding your head. “I’m so sorry your highness, you’re more…King of the Jungle, right? The mafia is more of a Bills thing.” All the secrecy made sense now and you turn towards her, your eyes full of disbelief.

“You signed an NDA didn’t you? Because I know you’re the world’s worst secret keeper and you’ve worked for the Bengals starting quarterback for a year and I haven’t heard a peep. Wait,” you look at him again, “does this mean I have to sign one?”

“Would you like to?” Joe deadpans, a hint of amusement pokes out behind his rigid exterior. He looks even better in person, you think to yourself.

“I have always wanted to sign one but I’ve never really been in the position to do that. But now…”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Rachel cuts in, “he’s not gonna make you sign anything, you don’t even know the gate code.”

Waving her off for ruining your fun, you grab your keys and get ready to head home when Joe’s voice stops you in your tracks for the second time in the last 20 minutes.

“You don’t want water or anything before you go? I have an entire fridge just for Voss water. The glass bottles.” His voice is so relaxed, a calming energy surrounds him and he delivers his words with such a casual tone like it’s not one of the most absurd things you’ve ever heard.

“Are you being serious?”

“No! I’m kidding,” he laughs, a genuine hearty sound that you hope to never forget. You need to leave this fortress as soon as humanly possible before you find yourself attracted to the way the man breathes.

Rachel has long forgotten the two of you are in the room, completely in the zone while deciding between white oak and alder so the gorgeous man walks you out. Has he always been this tall? “Rich and funny. It’s very nice to meet you Joe.”

He’s about to let you leave, but he doesn’t want to regret not going for it. “Would you—maybe want to um, see each other again? When you’re having less of a bad day? I promise there will be no coffee involved, just a little dinner?” This is a stark difference from his earlier nonchalance, you can tell he’s trying to keep the nerves at bay.

“You heard all of that?” You look at him wide-eyed. Of course Joe freaking Burrow heard you complaining about spilling coffee everywhere and damaging your keys, not your finest moments. And somehow, none of that deterred him from asking you out. “I’d love to. Rachel can give you my number and I’ll see you soon?”

“Yes, definitely.”

Dinner turned into dinner and a movie which turned into several nights of ordering in. That became FaceTime dates when he would travel across the country, helping him pick out clothes to wear for his foundation’s golf tournament or getting up at ungodly hours to answer his calls during Paris Fashion Week. Then he came home to lock in for the season but not before giving you a jump scare by randomly buzzing and bleaching his hair. Everything you thought you knew about him from the media or via word of mouth living the city, was nothing compared to actually getting to be with him. He was funny and kind and the most caring person in the world and you really owed Rachel your entire life for asking you to drop off that laptop.

Admittedly, you were nervous going into the season. You’d seen him go down last year in Baltimore, watching on tv like every other fan feeling helpless as his season ended. Now you’d seen first hand how much work had gone into not only getting him back to what he was before but transforming him into a better version of what he once was. And routine was everything. Workouts and meals were scheduled down to meticulous detail, meetings with his nutritionist and strength trainer happened frequently and the closer you got to week 1 the more dialed into the process he was. You just tried your best to navigate the controlled chaos.

Friday evening before you drove home after work, you made a pit-stop at Joe’s to drop something off. Having already decided that you were staying at your place for the rest of the weekend as to not be distraction, you placed your surprise in the fridge feeling proud of yourself before closing the door, meeting your boyfriend face to face.

“Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me!” You playfully smacked his chest as he grabs onto your hands, enveloping you in a warm embrace. “I didn’t think I’d see you. Thought you’d be up to your eyebrows in New England film right now.”

“Took a break to grab a snack,” he sidesteps you to get to the fridge, taking a look inside before he spots the item you just placed in there. “What are these?”

You nod toward the tupperware in his hand, “open it.”

Joe carefully takes off the lid, looking at the contents inside like a kid on christmas morning, recognizing the look of his favorite dessert, with a twist.

“They’re protein pumpkin pie cups. The bottom is peanut butter.”

“Two of my favorite things. Well, three now, including you. Thank you.” You want to pretend to have a toothache at how sweet he’s being but instead you stand on your toes, inching your way up to kiss him on the lips and when you pull away to stand at your normal height he sneaks another kiss, pressing one onto the side of your head. It’s getting late and you really don’t want to leave, but you can’t mess up his routine. The next time you see him is after the loss, he’s understandably disappointed but also a little relieved to shake some of the rust off and come back more relaxed the next game.

Slowly but surely the losses piled up and they added more weight to his often slumped shoulders. You tried to lighten the load by being a constant presence, reminding him of how well he was playing, but the once comfortable, homey atmosphere that Joe created for you became tense. Long conversations about how the team could be better turned into shrugs, “I don’t knows” and exhausted sighs.

And now? The team was 4-8.

You’d been staying at Joe’s since the bye week ended just to make sure he wasn’t isolating himself and completely consumed by football. When he came home after the Steelers game you could instantly tell it was going to be a long night. As soon as he set foot in the door he dropped his bag off and headed up to his office without giving you so much as a glance.

Dinner was cold by the time he emerged again two hours later. You didn’t want to say the wrong thing. And you also didn’t want to just sit there and say nothing. The elephant in the room was doubling in size by the minute. “Joe, you—”

“If you’re about to say I played well you can just…not. I fumbled the ball twice and threw a pick. Three turnovers isn’t exactly a recipe for success.”

You closed your eyes, trying to come up with something that would get him to see things the way you did. “I know that, but you still fought your way back and you guys were so close to completing the comeback.”

His adam’s apple bobs uncomfortably slow as he swallows some of his frustration. None of this was your fault and he knew that. He just, really didn’t want to talk about it anymore today. He’d discussed it with the team, with coaches, the media. The game had ended long ago and he was still having to explain himself. Glancing at the clock, he let you know he was heading to bed and he was just…gone. No hug, no kiss on the cheek or anything. Which usually wouldn’t have bothered you but then you found him fast asleep with his back facing you. You climbed in behind him, treating him like the little spoon as you wrapped your arms around him but he easily removed himself from your grasp, covering himself with the blanket, mumbling something about not feeling like cuddling tonight. You had this overwhelming urge to cry so you turned away from him, squeezing your eyes shut, begging sleep to overtake you.

Waking up the next morning, you decide to shake off whatever that was last night. You texted Joe’s chef and asked him what was on the menu for tonight, thinking that a good meal and some lighthearted conversation was just the thing he needed. The work day was long and frustrating, some random sponsors came in to do some long winded presentation about the new health guidelines which was about as entertaining as watch Geno Stone miss tackles. One thing was motivating you to get through it and that was Morgan, Joe’s chef texting you that he would have everything ready when you got home and all you had to do was put your finishing touches on the evening.

All of the food was prepped, the table was set, candles lit and all you needed was Joe. You wait 45 minutes for him to walk in the door, looking surprised. “What is all this?”

“Nothing special, I just figured we could eat together before watching Monday Night Football in bed.”

The look on his face isn’t promising. “I already ate at the facility,” Joe says regretfully. He’s met with silence and it’s uncomfortable, worrying. “How was work?”

“I texted you,” your voice hardens, “twice. No response.”

“Wasn’t near my phone all day. We had a team meeting, guys said things that were on their minds and we had an open and honest conversation. I’m sorry I didn’t see it.”

You close your eyes, really trying not to cry about something so small. “Right, ok. How did your meeting go?”

“It was fine,” he shrugs, not divulging any other details and it irks you even more. Joe catches you massaging your temples, a clear sign that you’re stressed. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you echo his words, hoping he gets the hint, “had a long day.”

The quarterback places his hands on your shoulders, hoping to ease the tension in your posture. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“That’s rich,” you mumble.

“Hm?”

You grab his hands and pry them off of you. “I said that’s rich. You know, coming from you.”

He looks irritated but keeps his voice even, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you want me to open up and talk about my feelings when you’ve been an emotional brick wall the last couple weeks! I can barely get two words out of you. Joe, I’m trying babe. I respect your time and your space, I never stay the night on Saturdays or ask you do anything past 8pm and you still shut me out. Why is that?”

“You don’t think that doing all of this is a little much right now? Everyone wants something from me all the time. I just need a second to think, on my own. And I get it, you’re trying to help but you’re always here, pestering me about little things. I really don’t need you breathing down my neck and smothering me this week.”

You stare at him for a while, processing every word he just said.

You’re pestering him.

You’re smothering him.

Breathing down his neck.

That’s why he didn’t want you to hold him last night. He thinks you’re too needy, too clingy.

You’d done the one thing you’d been telling yourself you wouldn’t do. You had disturbed his peace, messed up his flow. In trying to be helpful and proactive, you had actually gotten more in the way. And he didn’t want you here right now. He’d just made that painfully clear.

“No you’re right,” you tell him, in your most normal tone, “I’ll stop with the questions. You probably have stuff to do so I’m gonna clean this stuff up.”

Joe nods simply, heading upstairs to crack open the Dallas film. A few stray tears escape your eyes as soon as he’s gone. You gave yourself 10 minutes to have a little cry and then the leftovers were placed in the fridge, dishes put away, candles blown out and everything back in its rightful place. Then you headed upstairs to Joe’s room to pack your stuff. He clearly needed space from you and you weren’t going to stay anywhere you weren’t wanted. Carefully placing all of your bags in the car, you took a shuddering breath before putting the keys in the ignition.

He woke up out of his sleep around 4am looking for you, feeling the cold space where your body was supposed to be. Chalking it up to you maybe having slept in one of the guest rooms after the tense conversation from earlier, he turned over and went back to sleep. You knew you had a problem, tossing and turning aimlessly, growing accustomed to being next to him, literally proving his point. The honeymoon phase was over and you desperately needed to pull it together.

“You don’t need to freak out, every couple goes through a rough patch,” Rachel tries to reassure you, digging into her bowl of popcorn as you lay face first, mumbling into your pillow. “Babe I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

It feels like there’s a ton of bricks weighing you down after one disagreement. “Rach you didn’t hear what he said. And the way he looked at me. He hasn’t even called or texted or anything. And I’m not texting him, that would be smothering or pestering or everything else he said. God I just, I don’t know.”

She hated to see you struggling like this. “Just give yourself some time and you’ll eventually know the right thing to do. You two are annoyingly into each other and those genuine feelings don’t go away because of a stress filled heated moment.”

She was right, all you needed to do was give him space. You dove face first into your job, attending every meeting five minutes early and staying later to get ahead on the next day’s to-do list. Joe did eventually text late in the afternoon, asking if you were coming over for dinner but you told him you had a work thing.

By day three of you having “work stuff,” Joe was calling bullshit. All of your responses were either dry, a simple “yes” or “no” or you kept it short and sweet. And he didn’t like it. Even though he prided himself in being able to compartmentalize, at home it felt empty and void of color and joy without you. He’d pushed you away and embarrassingly said some things that he didn’t even really mean, he just lashed out of exasperation and now he hadn’t heard the sound of your voice in almost 80 hours.

He needed to fix this.

“Can open the door? We need to talk.” He sounded out, in between semi frantic knocks on your door.

Slowly cracking it open, you let him in. “What do we need to talk about?”

His hair is messy and still slightly wet, like he ran here immediately after a shower. Seemed like this couldn’t possibly wait another second. “I’m sorry. I said things I shouldn’t have. I was upset because you’re right. The other night,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “you called me out and I didn’t want to admit you had a point so I dug myself a hole. And I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

You wanted to melt into his arms and forgive him. You wished it was that easy. But his words just kept playing over and over in your mind. “I appreciate the apology.”

“So…you’ll come home with me?”

“Joe I am home. And you have—a strict sleeping schedule. It’s getting late, I’m sure you’re tired.”

He wonders quietly how long you’ve been like this, giving robotic, monotone responses like you’re just saying things that you think he wants to hear. “It is getting late, but I’ve gotten so used to you being next to me that I don’t sleep as well when you’re gone.”

“Really? Cause I thought I was smothering you. Or what was the other one? Oh right, breathing down your neck.”

“Babe, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well you still said it! And now I’m wondering if I’m too much for you or how you had to drive over here instead of going home and getting your rest trying my best to be what you need,” you pause, looking at him through watery eyes, “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

He seems visibly shaken, hesitantly steps toward you, reaching out to hold your hand to make your not going to disappear into thin air and leave him on his own. “Wh—what you mean?”

“I just, I really think I’m the one that needs some space. To figure out where the hell I even fit into all this. If I still want to fit into all this. I’m not saying I want to breakup I just think—you’re in a really pivotal time in the season and I don’t want to get in the way.”

Joe gives your hand a squeeze, “you’re never in the way. Actually it’s the opposite, I just wasn’t appreciative enough of everything you’ve done for me this year. But if you want space then, take all the time you need.” He swallows the lump in his throat and presses his lips to your forehead, uttering out that he’ll be waiting until you’re ready.

You take a step away from him as his soft lips linger on your skin whispering, “Joe…can you please go?”

He nods, slowly closing the door behind him. You imagine him walking away, climbing into his Porsche and heading home alone. Maybe this is how it should be, him over there, you here.

Tonight almost hurts more than the last time, so much so that the tears won’t even come. You’re just…numb. But you need this space to see if this life is something you’re ready to commit to. Because the last thing you want to be is another thing on his schedule.

[affableramen]

kinktober. you walk in on them relieving stress

early relationship, explicit content (18+ only), smutty

wriothesley, neuvillette, pantalone, ayato

Wriothesley

The duke was relaxing on his couch in the living room, a glass of whiskey mixed with fonta on the fancy glass coffee table next to him. His expression was one of bliss, and he was letting out silent grunts while his hand was moving quickly between his thighs. He was not naked; all he had to do was unbutton his trousers and he was feeling extremely comfortable. 

You entered the living room, but unlike your boyfriend’s calculations, you arrived a tad bit earlier than usual. He was just going to finish his quite lustful leisure to blow off some steam since his job was hell of stressful. When you came into the room and saw the glass of whiskey you did not quite expect to see your boyfriend doing that. Wriothesley is passionate in bed with you, but he always keeps his desires and emotions in check. Seeing him sprawled out on the sofa and jacking himself to the leakage made you quite perplexed immediately. You could not say that you were not aroused at this so private sight of your man. You decided to simply watch, more so it would be rude to not let him get a release he worked so hard on.

“Baby… I’m coming—I’m coming!” you could swear you heard your man whimper, but hell did he know you were standing right behind the sofa bed, staring at him fisting himself with rapid pace.

Upon Wriothesley releasing, you hugged him from behind, your mouth to his ear, gently grazing against his skin.

“Fuck—archons! You were looking!”

“I couldn't deny myself.”

Wriothesley turns to face you.

“You tease. I wanted to offer you a romantic evening tonight, but since you already saw me embarrassed… We should skip dinner and go instantly to the best”, he smooches you, pulling you onto the sofa lazily, “part.”

Neuvillette

Neuvillette wasn't exactly a lustful man and he didn't indulge sex too often, but one specific day he turned out to be extremely horny. His body was just boiling, it wanted to feel your touch, it wanted you. Though you were in your appartment and he felt most lonely. To call you and say that he wanted some intimacy for tonight in his opinion would sound improper. Instead Neuvillette chose to suffer by himself. He was lying on his sofa in the living room, a thick book rejected on the coffee table as he was palming himself quite eagerly. Rare moans would escape his lips to the vulgar thoughts of you.

And there it was — a knock in the door. Neuvillette almost fell from the sofa, but ultimately gathered himself, pulled his trousers back and went to open the door.

“Hi, I’m sorry it must be an improper of me to come so late. I just got into the rain and… you know, your house is much closer to the court than mine… I’m so sorry again, monsieur.”

Neuvillette stared at you with widened eyes.

“Of—of course, my dear. Why don’t you come in? I must say I wasn't expecting guests tonight but—I-I assure you you’re most welcome here at any time.”

The nervousness betrayed Neuvillette and you saw one button of his trousers undone, altogether with his white shirt.

“Forgive me. I was just going to take a shower.”

“I’m sorry once again, I hope I didn't ruin the evening for you.”

“Goodness no. Not in the slightest.” Relieved, he walks you to the kitchen. “Please, you must be hungry. And cold.” He touched your shoulders, your coat was indeed soaked. “Allow me to take it off for you and please do help yourself to some tea. My butler just prepared some for himself but most certainly forgot about it. Here, I’ll fill the cup for you…”

Even though Neuvillette was acting incredibly strange and if you could say lewd, he put lots of efforts to remain a perfect gentleman in your eyes, and that warmed your heart to enormous extent.

Pantalone

With his head thrown back and his Adam apple moving as he breathes heavily, Pantalone is lying in the softness of his own king-sized bed, a lovely evening behind the curtains. He is quite sure that you’re still downstairs giving orders here and there to his cook and the butler while he is talking his time to relax. He went completely mad seeing you in the new outfit today; and even though it was formal, perhaps it was about your charm and charisma that drew him insane so badly. After all, you were not at all a stranger to him, and seeing his girlfriend looking with such finesse and uniqueness of taste just brought Pantalone to the state of a lustful fool who was doing that in his own bedroom.

“F-fuck—for God’s sake—” he breathes in and out but it doesn't help much. His eyebrows are furrowed and his face muscles strained. He didn't want you to see that big damn bulge in his black trousers (that did not help him at all). It was an offence. It was extremely embarrassing for him. He couldn't let you see how much lust he was holding inside. He didn't want you to feel that he only wanted you for that outfit! But he didn't know that he’d be only embarrassed more when you entered the bedroom.

Lucky for him the lights were off and you didn't see what exactly he was doing, however the suggestion was on the surface. Pantalone quickly steadied his frail hands and looked to the side, giving you a most grave, serious expression. 

“I’m coming for dinner soon. Just need to finish some…” he clears his throat, “business calls.”

You smile sincerely. Lucky for the two of you, you pretended like nothing happened. You didn't mind him jacking off, not at all, but you also wanted to let him believe that his act was spotless. 

“Hope they won’t keep you late too much, Lone. I’ll be waiting downstairs darling.”

Ayato

You were just passing through his office door when you pushed it open and see your boyfriend on his chair, turned to the window, not a single piece of him seen. Your gaze falls on his desk where a half empty tissue box is placed. He abruptly turns on his leather office chair and almost jumps seeing you. His thin hands move quickly to pull the boxers up, though he does not have time to clasp his belt.

“What are you doing here? Why didn't you knock?”

“You are quiet. Impressive”, you could not do without your cocky smile, you just had to tease this smooth old bachelor who was being extra naughty in his own office.

Ayato finally does his trousers back and adjusts his tie. He coughs in his hand, but the flushed cheeks and his veiny hands betray his sleek façade.

“Don’t do that ever again.”

“Don’t jack off in your office when it’s unlocked. Anyone could barge in, darling.”

His face grows pale and he nervously wipes the sweat off his forehead. 

“Goodness—was it—unlocked?”

You smile, thinking there’s nothing else needed to be said. 

“Actually Kamisato Ayato, you are so lucky to have me so polite a girlfriend, otherwise you’d get yourself in a situation”, you stop, a dreamy expression on your face while poor Ayato grips the edge of the desk until his knuckles turn white. “And hopefully, you were thinking of me.”

“It was you. Your ass. Those—god damn tight skirts you wear”, he sighs, calming himself with each second more and more returning to the familiar gentleman-like behaviour. “You wanted to talk, I presume? My break has just finished. You’re late. We’ll talk home.”

“Why, you want to get rid of me so badly. Let’s see if we do continue our conversation later. In the bedroom. ” You leave his office with a proud smirk that is difficult to contain.

[the-flaneur]

matchmaker pets (cl16) | pt2

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: in a world where one's furry best friend is secretly their cupid, the drivers' love lives are sure to be entertaining for everyone (written from the pov of the pets!)

warnings: none (i think)

wc: 1194

[prev] [masterlist] [requests]

energetic!leo who charles adopts in early 2024 after seeing the constantly adorable pictures of alex’s rambunctious zoo of pets, and roscoe, king of paddock 

surely, with lewis joining ferrari next year, it wouldn’t hurt to also have a star pet of his own?

energetic!leo who’s a feisty little dachshund puppy, and not one to shy away from the glitz’y and glamor’y of his father’s worldwide job

energetic!leo who’s also secretly a puppy cupid-in-training, having been trained since birth’y to eventually find a true love’y match for his one and only owner

energetic cupid!leo who loves prancing around the paddock’y, but he hates’y the very tight leash held by his father’y or someone else from his team

energetic cupid!leo who eventually plasters a grumpy frown’y on his face; his dad thinks he’s a bit too much to handle at the paddock’y (he’s really not), but too young to leave’y at home. 

unfortunately, this means that his father eventually leaves him under the supervision of a young’y ferrari intern at the motorhome.

energetic cupid!leo who (with some advice from roscoe’y), quickly figures out the best hiding spots (of course in the ferrari motorhome’y) and asks for the help of the other pets’y to sneak himself out of supervision. 

energetic cupid!leo who eventually wanders off to the ferrari cafeteria, led by the delicious’y aroma, hopefully finding’y some snacks (made just’y for him!)

energetic cupid!leo who wanders’y towards the table with the tall dishes stacked high on the counter top’y and tries to jumping’y onto one of the stools in order to reach the food…

however, when he’s falling backwards’y, he thinks that his jumping is a tad bit too energetic, and is now rocketing’y himself straight into the path of a poor ferrari chef.

that poor ferrari chef is you…

the imola gp is your first official time at the motorhome, often preparing dishes off site before sending them off to the track.

you definitely did not expect to see a bright golden ball hurtling straight towards your legs within the first hour of your job, and you yelp in surprise, unfortunately tossing up the plates of macrons in your hands to avoid the young dog.

your yelp of surprise doesn’t help leo either, who yips loudly, before running between your legs again.

clumsy cupid!leo who is a bit sorry that he’s accidentally knocked’y over such a pretty girl, but is still quickly distracted’y by the brightly coloured circles’y on the ground.

clumsy cupid!leo who quickly spots’y his father rushing in the direction of the pretty girl’y and tries to hide in behind your body.

clumsy cupid!leo who sees’y his father apologise a lot to you (he almost looks’y likes he’s going to beg on his knees) and decides there and then that you need to be with his father. 

why?

already from one small little nibble’y, he can tell that you makes’y the best treats and even hid him from his sometimes mean’y father.

was it brash’y, bold and maybe even a bit stupid’y on his part? yes. 

did he care? no.

it’s literally his job. 

menace cupid!leo who goes back’y to his little dog house (it’s literally a house and as lavish as you would think it is), and starts scheming a plan’y to get you and his dad together.

menace cupid!leo who decides that the best course of action would be to steal his father’s belongings and then hide them in the kitchen, so he has to go and see you.

it’s the perfect plan!

menace cupid!leo who slowly begins taking things’y from his dad: his necklaces, his rings, his keys, his caps, his shoes, his underwear…

menace cupid!leo who hides them around’y the ferrari motorhome kitchen. it’’s in the cupboards, the cabinets under the sink’y, in the utensil holders, in the freezer…

menace cupid!leo who after each little “adventure” happily finds his way back to his father’s driver room, eagerly awaiting his father’s innocent greeting.

who after a few races, is still yet to suspect a thing.

you, on the other hand, are now the victim of a resident hoarder. It’s not too obvious whose work it is, but you definitely have a few options in mind. granted they could be your co-workers and placing underwear is a bit of an odd choice, but you don’t question it. 

that is until at silverstone, you find a hairy little ball in the bin, one ear flopped protectively over its head.

sighing, you reach into the bin and pull out a slightly remorseful cupid!leo who does look happier to see you. he yips a few times, as you haphazardly brush the dust from his fur (thankfully it was still early in the morning, and the lack of rubbish definitely helped).

remorseful cupid!leo who anxiously watches you walk’y with him cradled in your arms towards his father’s motorhome’y. he’s not ready to see the disgruntled yet embarrassed look’y on his face…

remorseful cupid!leo who watches you harshly knock’y on his father’s driver room door, banging on it again when he doesn’t answer it after a half a minute. 

you lean the two of you against the door, and he can hear a faint singing from inside the room; his father must be listening to music, which is why he can’t hear you

remorseful cupid!leo who after you knock’y again loudly on the door, starts barking aggressively, whining, howling, and likes, just to get his father’s attention’y. 

you wince at the loud sounds, almost tempted to drop leo just to cover your ears, but you just hold him towards the door as you step away

remorseful cupid!leo who finally hears the sound’y of his father heading towards the door, but you’re still facing;y away, eyes shut from the piercing noises

scheming cupid!leo who barks loudly once more, when he sees his father open the door…

except he’s half naked; his toned abs and chest still slightly wet from the downpour earlier that morning. his pants, although loose and baggy, still accentuate the muscles developed over years of training.

you, however, are still oblivious to this sight, having still had leo thrusted out towards charles’ door

“everything ok y/n?” he calls out to you, and you whip your eyes open to face charles. except your eyes can’t help but fixate down at his chest,

then his abs,

then his v-cut

and then…

“eyes up sweetheart, can’t let you get too distracted yet,” he smirks, gently taking leo from your hands, before grabbing his phone out of his pocket. “you, me, 8pm tomorrow night? i would love to know about the woman who’s making leo steal things from me. maybe even my heart…” he grins, placing his phone in the palm of your hand.

mischievous!leo yips from below, as he watches you type in your phone’y number, before giving charles a quick kiss on the cheek…

“i wouldn't miss for the world. although charles…”

“yes…?”

“you might want to keep leo out of your underwear drawer; i’ve already become quite familiar with it,” 

[next]

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[oceantornadoo]

staring problem (john price x f!reader, same rank!!)

the visiting weapons specialist was droning on and on, fifteen minutes over his allotted time slot. you should have been paying attention, at least taking notes, but that was hard to do with john price’s glare seeping into the side of your face.

you chanced a side glance and there it was again, steely blue eyes tracking your every movement. his posture uptight and perfect, hands collected in front of him like a king on a throne. he was poised to strike and you dreaded it, could tell by the way his body charged up like preparing for war. like you were the mission.

“thank you for that informative presentation. we’re dismissed for the day. captain, i’d like a word.” he refused to name you under the guise of professionalism, a worse sign. you packed up your belongings as everyone left, hiding shaking hands under the table as you fiddled with your pockets.

“c’mere.” you shook your head no, instead slumping backwards in your chair, eyes trained on the ceiling. john sat back too, content to watch you let down your captain’s mask in front of only him. “captain…” “don’t captain me, john. it’s not going to work.” you scoffed. “you’ve got a staring problem, you know. thought i had something on my face the first twenty minutes of that presentation.” he hummed in thought. “come over here an’ fix it.”

you stomped over, purely out of frustration rather than flirtation. you tried to stop a good foot away, a respectful distance between two captains, but he reached out and tugged you in by your belt loop, trapping you between him and the table. he didn’t let go once he got you there, a heavy hand resting on your hip, his finger twisted in your belt loop. what an arrogant, presumptuous man.

“y’ve been avoiding me.” you tried to look down to your boots but instead made eye contact with his lap, strong thighs straining under woven fabric. what a terrible view. “i’m being a professional.” he squeezed your hip. “is tha’ what friday was? professional?”

“this isn’t very professional, john.” you whispered, almost knocking over the half-empty bottle of whiskey as you straddled him. he pulled you in closer until your pelvises kissed, his eyes dark in the moonlight of his office. “‘s alright, sweetheart, we’re off the clock.” he leaned in to kiss you but you stopped him with a hand to his chest. “no- no kissing on the lips, okay? i can’t, i’m sorry.” he frowned, then leaned in again, lips touching your neck in a sorry imitation of a first kiss.

“friday was a mistake. we were drunk and alone, right?” he moved his chair closer, your legs trapped almost uncomfortably so as he put himself in your line of sight, furrowed brow and well-trimmed beard. “we weren’t drunk, sweetheart. bit fuzzy, but not drunk.” you weren’t sure how to respond to that, arms akimbo at your sides as you planned a way out of this conversation. his free hand grabbed your own, brushing over your worn knuckles before bringing it to his face, entwining your fingers in his beard.

“i like your beard, y’know.” the admission rolled off your tongue easily like the two glasses of whiskey before it. “y’do?” you nodded solemnly. “can i tell you a secret, though?” your eyes flicked up at his, your best impression at being seductive without looking it. “can tell me anything.” his tone made you pause. it sounded like a vow, proud and unwavering. “the recruits make fun of it. they call you captain chipmunk.” he raised an eyebrow and it sent you giggling, scooting closer to him on his office couch. “‘s that why you had them running extra laps yesterday?” you bit back a smile. “maybe.”

you felt like a goddess on an altar, john your willing supplicant. your hand in his beard was like a leash, and he gave you control easily. “can’t believe y’ve got a man like me begging, sweetheart.” you scratched his jaw out of pure curiosity and were rewarded with his closed eyes, an invitation to study him without pressure. you traced his early crow’s feet, dark lashes and smile lines, a few silver hairs in his beard. “begging for what?” he opened his eyes, all blue and wanting. “another friday. another night in my office.”

“hips up, sweetheart.” you whined at loss of his warmth on yours. john laid you down on his couch, unbuttoning your pants with reverence. “up now, there we go. there’s a good girl.” he leaned into the juncture of your thighs, beard scratching you gently as he kissed your scars and stretch marks and every piece of skin in between. the sweetness of it was too much, the aching in your core too much to bear. “john, i need you.” he chuckled, callused hands tugging down your underwear. you swore he moaned, low grumbling as he kissed around your pussy, ignoring where you needed him most. “patience, baby. been waitin’ a while f’ this.”

you pulled your hand away, sitting back on the table as you folded your hands neatly in your lap. “john, i can’t. i-“ the conference room door openly suddenly, subordinate voices filling the room. you cringed inwardly at their view: the female captain spread for her male counterpart, a walking stereotype. it didn’t take a genius to guess who you were, even from the back, based on john’s presence. “out. now.” you made to leave at his command but his strong grip forced you back down, that ever present hand at your waist. the sounds of your intruders slowly faded, but you swore you could hear your name echoing through the halls. you dropped your head to your hands, practically shaking at the thought of even more rumors being spread. never mind you were a captain and worked hard to get where you were - any association with a male colleague was a hit to your reputation. you heard john stand, moving your head to his chest, a gentle hand cradling the back of your neck as he stroked the skin there.

“that’s why, john. i can’t be your captain in the daytime and the girl warming your sheets at night. there’s too much at stake for me to risk it.” he was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. you took the time to soak up the ease of his presence, probably for the last time before he rejected you, cheek pressing into the hardness of his body. warm and powerful, a honed machine capable of so much damage, wrapped in soft murmurs and even softer touches. predictably, he pulled away, untethering himself from you. you wrapped your arms around yourself, preparing for impact.

“think i started us off on the wrong foot, sweetheart.” he tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes on his. “should’ve taken you out on a date first.” wait, what? “took the coward’s way out with the whiskey. i should’ve let y’ get dolled up, nice restaurant, the nine yards.” you moved back, out of his reach again. “what are you saying, john? you’re confusing me.” his voice grew bolder. “‘m sayin’ i want you in every way, not just in my bed.” oh.

“i’m not a nonchalant person. i need a lot of attention.” he nodded. “good thing i’ve got a starin’ problem.” you frowned. “but i’m also busy. you can’t expect me to give you all my time.” he huffed. “i’m a captain too, love.” you pulled him in by the belt loop. “and im not going to put out just because of friday. i need seduction.” his hands landed on your hips again. “got years of experience f’ you.” you locked eyes again, finally without any pretense between you.

“y’ gonna give me your lips? not gonna hide again, are you, sweetheart?” you snorted. instead of answering, you tugged him down towards you, capturing his lips with your mouth. the kiss was soft and sweet until you wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him into your embrace. he squeezed your hips hard, preventing you from bucking into him. “eager, are we?” you shut him up with another kiss, hard and unwielding. “i think i’m already tired of you, john. you’re very presumptuous.” he pulled you in closer, hands moving under your ass as he tugged you up. “never done with you, love.”

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter Six

A/N: Hello hello! Here I am with more pain for you, my friends! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your support on this fic! We are over halfway done with the story and I hope you all stick it out until the end. As always, keep the likes, reblogs, and comments coming, and let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 4.3k Synopsis: Jace and the reader bask in the glow of finally acting on their feelings, only for that light to be stomped out as Jeyne arrives in King's Landing and Baela learns of their relationship.

Tag List: Hi all, it seems like the taglist is being wonky (thanks tumblr) so instead of tagging you all here, I'll tag you in the comments, that way I know it actually gives you the notification!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Jace awakes early that next morning, his first thoughts immediately of you. As he dresses for the day, he is thinking only of ways to steal a moment alone with you, and what he’ll do when he does. He passes one of the servants on his way out the door, foregoing the breakfast they are bringing in.

He moves down the hallway quickly, no particular plan in mind, except to run into you somehow. However, when he turns down the next hallway from his own, it’s not your face he sees, but his mother’s.

“Jace,” she says with a smile, “You’re up early.”

“Yes,” he says, stopping in front of her. She brushes a hand to his cheek, studying his face for a moment.

“Any particular reason for your early morning?” she asks. The look in her eye says that she suspects but is giving him the opportunity to deny the events of last night.

“Just eager to start the day,” he says with a half-smile. She nods her head, completely disbelieving him.

“I’ve given thought to your request,” she says, taking his arm in hers. He walks in pace with her, towards her council chambers. “I want to give you my blessing, Jace. You have proven yourself time and again, especially during the war, to be a perfect heir. You deserve to be happy,” she says, looking at him.

“So why can’t you?” he asks.

“Baela,” she says simply.

“Our family is already well connected with the Velaryons, through your marriage to Daemon,” he says, “What advantage to our line is there if we marry?”

“She fought alongside me as well,” Rhaenyra says. “She expects to be queen. She's earned it.”

“I know,” Jace says on a sigh.

“I can’t in good conscience cut her out like that,” she says. They fall into silence for a moment as they near the council door. “Has something happened, Jace?” she asks. “You seem . . . changed.”

“I am,” he says with a smile. She searches his face with a furrowed brow.

“I will keep considering it,” she says, “I don’t want to hurt you, or Baela. I am afraid that whichever way I chose, I am heading towards that path, anyhow.”

“Baela doesn’t want to marry me either,” he says. Rhaenyra gives him a disbelieving look. “Really. She feels the same as me.”

“If that’s the case, I will happily relieve you of this betrothal. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Jace,” she says, “Baela would be giving up the crown, not just you.”

“What are you smiling about?” Joffrey asks.

“What?”

“You’re smiling,” he says, gesturing towards the wall you had been staring at. “At nothing.”

“Sorry,” you say, averting your gaze from him, and back to the book in front of you. Joffrey had requested your aid in helping him learn about his future seat, Driftmark. You have maybe read a page, so distracted are your thoughts.

“Did something happen?” he asks, leaning in closer. His eyes meet yours. “With Jace?”

“What?” you ask quick, shaking your head. “Of course not.”

“Your blush says otherwise,” Joffrey says.

“Why are we talking about me at all?” you ask, “I thought we were learning about . . .” You glance down at the book in front of you, picking the first word you read, “High Tide.”

“Tell me what you know about the building of High Tide,” Joffrey says, a smug look on his face. You open your mouth, planning to bullshit your way through an answer, but Joffrey starts laughing. You roll your eyes, trying to hide your own smile.

“Just tell me what happened,” he says.

“Nothing happened!” you say, a bit too loudly. You both peer around the library, making sure no one turned their attention to the two of you. When you’re sure they haven’t, you say again, “Nothing happened.”

“I’ll pretend to believe you,” Joffrey says, sitting back in his chair. For the next ten minutes, you sit in quiet, actually reading the words in front of you, just to ensure that Joffrey can’t catch you daydreaming again. He is the first to break the silence.

“Hello, brother,” he says. You exhale through your nose, not lifting your head.

“Not funny, Joff,” you mutter.

“Good day, Y/N.” You lift your head, a blush already forming across your cheeks, as you see Jacaerys standing next to you.

“Your Highness,” you say breathlessly. Jace has a smile on his face that he seems to be trying to hide. Joffrey looks between the two of you, a giddy look spreading across his face.

“Right,” he says, looking to you, “Nothing happened.” You glare at him, but Jace only laughs at his brother.

“What brings you to the library, brother?” Joffrey asks.

“I wanted to see how your studies are going,” Jace says with a shrug.

“I am here every day,” Joffrey says, “You’ve never once come to check upon me.”

“Well then, all the better I’m here now,” Jace says, his hand nervously clutching the pommel of his sword.

“Lady Y/N could tell you better than I,” Joffrey says, “She’s just read up on the forming of High Tide.” Their attention turns to you, and all you can do is glare daggers at Joffrey.

“I regret ever offering to help you,” you say, flipping the page back to High Tide.

“As do I,” he says, “You’ve been of no help.”

“You’re right,” you say, closing the book, “I’ve been a distraction.”

“You have,” he says, smirking, “But really, I think it’s more my brother’s fault than your own.”

“Joff,” Jace warns.

“You both should probably leave and attend to other matters,” he says with a wave of his hand. You are equally annoyed and enamored to him. He can clearly see that something has changed, and although he is being a jerk, it is for the two of you.

“Good luck with your studies, My Prince,” you say, standing. Jace is suddenly so much closer than you realized, and you both take a step back quickly. Joffrey lets out a tut of laughter.

“Can you put these back?” he asks, gesturing to the books littering the table. “I’m sure Jace would be happy to help you.” You exchange a look with Jace that sends dragon fire to you.

“You are incorrigible,” you mutter to Joffrey, picking up all the books. “I don’t really need your help, Your Highness,” you say to Jace. He gives you a small smile and nods.

“I’d like to help, nonetheless. At the very least to show you that not all the princes are as horrible as this one,” he says, glaring at Joffrey. The younger boy just smiles.

Jace follows you down the long hallway in between the stacks. You keep your back ramrod straight, as if just his close proximity sends a chill over you. You turn down the aisle where the books initially came from, and Jace takes the books from you seamlessly. One by one, you put them back in their respective spaces.

“What was he on about?” Jace asks quietly.

“Just being insufferable,” you say with a smirk.

“About what though?” he asks, a smile on his face to match your own. You look down for a moment, laughing to yourself. Jace takes your hand in his own, drawing your eyes up to his.

“He thought something might have happened between us,” you whisper, the smile never leaving your face.

“I see.”

“Obviously, I told him he was imagining things.”

“Is he?” Jace asks, a playful look on his face. Slowly, he leans in closer, his lips just brushing against yours. You sigh into the kiss, into the taste of him that you have craved since last night. A hand to his shirt, you pull him into you. Jace grips your waist, smiling against your mouth as he presses you into the stack of books.

At that moment, the library becomes your new favorite spot in the castle. Secluded in the rows of books, no one hears the slight whimper you make when Jace kisses along your neck. The shelves are so abandoned, the sound of Jace’s frustration when you break away from him, your teeth pulling on his lower lip as you do, is heard only by you. He lets out a breath, laughing softly.

“What?” you ask.

“I’ve never needed someone like this before,” he says.

“Me either,” you say. His hands and yours are still on each other.

“Joffrey is going to be very smug if we’re back here any longer,” you say.

“Let him,” Jace says, kissing your lips again.

For the next few days, every moment you and Jace can find to get your hands on each other, you take. Whether its meeting him in the dark hallways that lead to the sparring grounds, pulling you into a servant’s hallway, or your midnight meetings in your quarters, you can’t seem to get enough of him. All thoughts of suitor hunting have fled your mind.

Sometimes, after he leaves your quarters, or when you’re returning to your own, guilt seeps into you. Not only are you not doing what Jeyne requested, but you are going behind the backs of the family who brought you here. At night, you tell yourself that it must be the last, until you see Jace the next day. It was true – he was ruining you – but you were gladly letting him.

Jace lips are on yours the next day. Even though you spent the night before together, your need to be with him only seems to be growing.

“Y/N,” Jace says against your mouth.

“What?” you ask, in between kisses.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning back from you.

“Nothing,” you say, reaching for him. He takes your hand but stays back from you.

“You can tell me anything,” he says, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

“I know,” you say.

“So, tell me," he says. You sigh, looking down at your entwined hands.

“I love you,” you begin, “And I love being with you, but I also know that we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Y/N,” he says softly, pulling you closer. “There might still be a way this all works out.”

“Maybe,” you say, giving him a soft smile, “Logically, though, I know there is a greater chance that this all burns down around us.”

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, his eyes filled with pain.

“Not at all,” you whisper. You brush a hand over his face, bringing your lips together.

“I love you,” Jace says when he breaks away, “I’m not going to give you up without a fight.”

Jeyne arrives later that same day. You had know of her arrival for months now, but still her presence surprises you. Too long, your thoughts had lied only with Jace, and unfortunately, Jeyne had fallen to the back of your mind.

Queen Rhaenyra invites you both to a dinner with her family, wanting to officially thank Jeyne for sheltering her sons and Rhaena during the war. Seeing her makes you realize how much you’ve missed her.

As always, she is the center of attention, regaling the group with stories from the Vale, embarrassing anecdotes about you, Rhaena, and the boys. Multiple times in the evening, you catch her eyes lingering on you for a long moment, or glancing between you and Jace. You even catch her looking at Balea, looking to see if the princess can see what Jeyne herself was seeing quite clearly.

“So,” Jeyne says, flopping into a chair in your quarters after dinner, a smile on her face, “Tell me of all the excitements of King’s Landing.”

“I think you saw a great deal of it tonight.”

“Yes, I did notice some things,” she says, meeting your eyes with a knowing look. You try to hold it for a moment but too quickly have to look away. “The prince’s attentions seem to not have strayed from you."

“You think so?” you ask, sitting in the chair next to hers.

“Everyone at that table should think so, I presume. What they might not have noticed, though, was the look you gave the prince in return.”

“Jeyne,” you say quietly, a smile growing on your face. She furrows her brow at you, studying your face, until her face clears and a grin grows instead.

“You return his affections?” she asks.

“Yes,” you say, whisper soft. This is the first time you have been able to voice these feelings aloud, other than with Jace.

“Y/N!” she says excitedly, taking your hand in hers. “Your letters hinted that you were enjoying his attentions more than you had in the Vale, so I thought it was a possibility, but then your letters started coming less and less.”

“I’m sorry about that,” you say, “Things just got away from me.”

“Clearly,” she says with a cocked eyebrow. “So, what has happened between you two?”

“I love him, Jeyne,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “I don’t know how it happened, I was fighting it for so long and then sort of all at once I couldn't, but . . . I love him,” you say with a shrug, meeting her eyes. There is nothing but happiness on her face.

“Well, I can’t blame you for your changed feelings,” she says, “He has had quite the transformation since he came to the Vale.”

“He has,” you say, heat growing along your cheeks.

“Does anyone else know?” she asks.

“Joffrey, I think. Mostly, he’s just suspiciously accurate,” you say. “And, the prince has at least told the queen of his affections for me.”

“He means to break his betrothal?” Jeyne asks, her face immediately changing with interest.

“It won’t happen,” you say with a shake of your head. Suddenly, the fear from before is back, the crippling guilt.

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Rhaenyra is not going to cut her husband’s daughter from the throne,” you say, “No matter how much she loves Jace.”

“Jace,” Jeyne says with a smile at the casual way you say his name. You let out a breath of laughter. “Does Rhaena not know then? Baela?”

“Neither of them knows,” you say. “Which has left me feeling awful, after all the work they’ve gone through to try and find me an appropriate suitor.”

“They have to be blind, to not see the way he looks at you,” she says. “I noticed it the very moment I met him, and again, when I arrived here. He loves you.”

“Regardless, the betrothal to Baela remains.”

“Well, how about the pursuits of your own?” she asks. “Anyone standing out?”

“No,” you say. “Not like Jace, and ever since I gave into these feelings, I have completely forgone the mating hunt.” A strange look passes over Jeyne’s face, one that dulls her good mood, but before you can ask about it, she jumps up from her seat.

“We need wine. This is the first I have seen you in months,” she says, gesturing to your lady’s maid. “And I only want to hear about the good.”

“Jeyne,” you start.

“No details until we have wine,” she says. When it is brought to the two of you, you thank Brigitta and pour the both of you a glass. Once Jeyne’s is in hand, she takes a hearty drink.

“So, tell me everything.”

The next morning, you are still feeling the effects of the wine. You forgot how much she likes to drink, and it has been a long time since you've kept up with her. Regardless of that, you feel lighter that morning. Keeping Jace a secret had been eating at you, and even though nothing had changed about the circumstances, you felt better just voicing your feelings.

You get out of bed, the morning light just beginning to pool into the room. You hear a soft snoring, and turn to your couch, where Jeyne had fallen asleep the night before. You had completely forgotten she was here, but just the sight of her makes you smile.

Brigitta enters into the room, startling you slightly, but a welcome addition altogether.

“Good morning, My Lady,” she says.

“Good morning, Brigitta,” you say. “I think we’ll need a few extra pastries this morning,” you say, rubbing your forehead. “And maybe that tonic from the Maester.”

“Of course, My Lady,” she says, “Before I fetch that though, I should tell you that the prince is waiting at your door."

“He’s what?” you ask in shock, a smile creeping its way across your face.

“At the door,” Brigitta repeats, with maybe a ghost of a smile on her own face. You move quickly towards the door, swinging it open so fast, it startles Jace.

“Sorry,” you say.

“That’s alright,” he says, looking between you and Brigitta, who is standing behind you. She shuffles by the two of you once you step out of the way. You beckon Jace into your room, making to tell him of Jeyne’s presence, but before you can, he grabs hold of you, wrapping you in his arms. His face burrows into your neck. You squeeze him just as tightly.

“Hi,” you say, when he pulls back enough to look at you.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” you say, “It’s been so long that we haven’t spent the night together.”

“It was torturous,” Jace says. You laugh as you lean in to kiss him softly.

“Believe me, it was good to catch up with Jeyne, but I agree, it was quite torturous without you.”

“Glad to hear it.” You both snap your heads in the direction of Jeyne, who is sitting up on the couch, a smirk on her face. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she says to Jace. He is blushing furiously but nods his head to her.

“Lady Arryn.”

“You two are very beautiful together,” she says with a smile, “And I hate to part you, but I should remind you that Rhaena is meeting us for breakfast this morning.”

“I completely forgot,” you say, breaking from Jace’s arms. “You need to leave.” You begin to usher him towards the door, Jace laughing and coming up with half-hearted excuses to stay. At the door, he turns back to say something else or kiss you, but you only look at him sympathetically as you shut the door in his face.

“Thank you for reminding me about Rhaena,” you say, sitting down in the chair across from Jeyne. Brigitta walks in a minute later, a tray of pastries in her hand, and a pot of tea. You pour a cup for yourself and another for Jeyne, but she waves you off.

“Tell me, what did you mean by spend the night together?” Jeyne asks. “Don’t tell me you’ve bedded him.”

“Jeyne!” you scold, your cheeks flaming. “Of course we haven’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?" you ask in disbelief. "Because I am to be married, and most likely that husband is not going to be Jace.”

“Men can’t tell if you’ve done it before,” she says with a shrug. “Also, by the way he looks at you, he wants to badly.”

“It doesn’t matter if he does,” you say, taking a greedy, anxious bite of a pastry.

“It’d be good, I reckon,” she says, continuing, completely oblivious to your growing shame, and the fact that the door opened on the opposite end of the room. “With how much he loves you, he’d do you right.”

“You are shameless.”

“What is there to be shameful about!” she declares with a laugh. “Just sleep with him!”

“Stop it,” you say with a shake of your head.

“Why? I’m the one that saw your love from the start! That puppy dog look never left, it just got hornier, and it spread over to you, too.”

“What are you talking about?” Rhaena asks.

She stands in the entry way of your chambers, a smile on her face. She thinks this is another one of Jeyne’s jokes, that she’s talking about one of the suitors that she looked so hard to find for you. This is your worst fear coming true, and you see it all happening before it does. No gods come to stop it, no matter how hard you beg.

“Rhaena,” you say, standing quickly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Clearly,” she says. “Were you talking about . . . Jace?” she asks, looking between the two of you. “Joffrey said Jace was acting differently,” she says, brow furrowed, “He was teasing him, about falling in love. A puppy dog look . . .” she ponders, “They were referring to you.”

“He’s not in love with me,” you say quietly, knowing it’s a lie. Jeyne focuses her attention into her cup of tea.

“I know we used to joke about it,” Rhaena says, shaking her head. “I just never thought . . .”

“I promise you, nothing has come of our feelings,” you say, speaking too quickly to realize that you’ve slipped, in trying not to do so. Before you can correct yourself, Rhaena takes a step back.

“’Our’ feelings?” she repeats.

“Rhaena, I . . . What’s going on with Jace, it’s . . .” You give up trying. There is no explanation, because you can’t explain to yourself what’s going on with him. There are no steps to the dance you two are doing, no instructor to stop you from waltzing to your destruction.

“I need to go,” she says softly. “Good day, Lady Arryn.” She only gives you a look in parting as she walks back out through the doorway. You watch the closed door for too long, regret seeping into your bones.

“She’ll get over it,” Jeyne says, gently.

“She’s going to tell Baela!” you say, spinning to face her.

“If she doesn’t already know, she’s going to make a terrible wife,” she says with a sad laugh. You look at her in confusion, which makes her laughter stop. “Every nobleman cheats on his wife. If she doesn’t see it coming, she’s the one at fault.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say. About them both.”

“You think you’re the first wrong girl a prince ever fell for? It is an age-old story. They are bound by duty, they’ll produce heirs, but their hearts and their cocks still lie within the ones they truly loved,” she says sagely.

“And what happens to the girl?” you ask, “The one they really loved?” Jeyne looks at you for a long moment, her face falling even further. She swallows before speaking.

“Lord Blacktyde is a bachelor again,” she says softly. "His wife . . . died under mysterious circumstances."

“What?” you ask, your voice dropping as you do, too, into the seat across from her.

“I just got word a few days ago. I thought about writing, but it felt like something better shared in person."

“Of course,” you say with a shake of your head.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Jeyne," you say. "How long ago?"

"My source thought maybe two months back. Obviously, they've kept details about her death quiet," she says. She sighs as she meets your eyes. "I'm afraid he'll come looking for you again."

“I should be able to protect those of my house,” she says firmly, her eyes watering. “If he does come, I will do everything in my power to keep you from going with him. I won't stop--"

“I know you won’t,” you say carefully. “I'm so foolish for not finding a match quicker, we knew this was a possibility, I—”

“No, you are not foolish. At all.” She looks at you plainly for a long moment. “Fuck the prince, Y/N. You might never get the chance to be fucked by a man who loves you as much as he does. You deserve it at least once.”

“What about Baela? About—”

“What could she do?” she asks with a sad shrug. What fate, worse than Blacktyde, could she sentence you to, her words seem to mean. “She’ll get to fuck him her whole life. Only fair to give you a turn.”

Baela and Rhaena are standing in your room, talking in low, urgent whispers, when you return to your quarters, that night. When the door creaks open, they quiet and look at you. Rhaena’s expression is anxious, her eyes wide and watery. Baela’s is the exact opposite. Dragon fire is ablaze in her eyes, and you are smart enough to be nervous.

“Before you say anything,” you say, “I just want you to know that—”

“I don’t wish to hear what you have to say,” Baela says quickly. "No more lies, Y/N."

“I never lied to you,” you say. She lets out a tut of laughter.

“Maybe not to my face, but you certainly went behind my back with Jace.” You say nothing, because apologizing won’t do anything right now. “I don’t have to remind you of what the kingdom has just gone through. Another fight for the crown will end us all, I fear.”

“I want no fight, Baela. Jace and I haven’t done anything. They are feelings only, and ones I do not wish to act on.”

“Why not?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

“What?”

“Why don’t you wish to act on them?” she asks. You scrunch your eyebrows, but shake your head.

“Because I care about you and your sister,” you say, looking to Rhaena. “And because I know that no matter what, I am not good enough for the prince, and never will be.” Baela studies you for a long moment, some of her anger washing away.

“The prince and I need to sort things out,” she says, when she does speak again. “I think it’d be better if you weren’t here when we do.”

“What?” you ask, panic shooting through your body. You look to Rhaena.

“I don’t want you in the Red Keep anymore,” Baela says, lifting her chin regally. “But seeing as Lady Jeyne Arryn is here, I will not send you home. Dragonstone should be a fine location until we can get this all settled.”

[azuredawn81]

patron of the arts p4 | quinn hughes x musician!reader

part 3

♫ summary: quinn and y/n go to new jersey to meet his family. she's nervous. his family just adores her.

♫ pairing: quinn hughes x reader

♫ content: fluff, flirty!quinn, queen ellen, mama’s boy!quinn

♫ word count: 2k

♫ warnings: the eras tour (sorry to everyone who didn’t go)

♫ note: merry christmas

❅ tags: @verycoolusername1 @luvoblivixus @tomskookie @leclerc-drives-in-circles@dream-girl06 @skepvids@how-what-why-huh @devilinpradaheels @r0wdymaize86 @summert158 @lolatokki@captainhuggys @camiesully

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“baby, are you sure you got everything?” quinn said, a smirk on his face. there’s no way y/n could’ve forgotten anything, not when she packed the whole apartment.

“yes, i’m sure.”

“just double checking. can’t let your forget perfume number 5.”

“oh, that reminds me, should i wear miss dior or good girl to meet your mom?”

quinn just blinked, exasperated. “y/n, it does not matter. my mom will think you’re amazing.”

“so, chance?”

“you’re hopeless.”

“hopelessly in love!”

“unless you want to put the bags in the car, go sit down.”

y/n sat in the passenger seat, plugging in her phone for music.

“you better not be putting on taylor!”

“you were at the eras tour!”

“höggy made me go!”

he slammed the trunk shut and sat down in the driver’s seat.

“and did you enjoy it?”

“i mean, i kinda liked vigilant sh-”

she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “don’t you dare finish that sentence, quinny.”

“i’d rather see you do that.”

“ugh, i have to go on a eight hour flight with this sicko!”

“the sicko that holds you every night.”

“the very one.”

“you know i love you, right?”

y/n made an affirmative hum noise, staring out the window.

“no, no, look at me.”

“yeah?”

“turn your head.”

“what?”

“i love you.”

she kissed him again.

“baby, you gotta say it back.”

like clockwork, her lips were on his yet again. “i love you more.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

quinn held her hand as they boarded the plane, taking their seats in first class. y/n got the window, quinn got the aisle.

“goodnight, love.”

“goodnight? baby, it’s 1pm.”

y/n pushed the divider between their seats up and nestled into quinn’s arms. “goodnight.”

“forgetting something?”

“oh right!” she leaned down and grabbed her purse. inside, was a little bag containing her sleep mask.

“goodnight, quinny.”

he pressed a kiss to her forehead and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “goodnight, my sweet girl.”

as soon as she was asleep, quinn put his airpods in. he’d been taking a break from podcasts to listen to what he viewed as the highest form of music, the new vso album. it was about 45 minutes, so he could listen to it about eleven times. eight and a half hours, snuggling his girl, staring out the window. this was going to be an easy flight.

“mr hughes?” the flight attendant asked.

“hi.”

“would you like anything to drink?”

“just a water.” he nudged y/n. “angel, wake up.”

“what?” she muttered, groggily.

“drink?”

“it’s too early.”

“2:30, love.”

“diet coke… with the little biscuits.”

“so a diet coke and water?”

“yes, please.”

“ice?”

“angel, you want ice?”

“sure…”

“i’ll be right back.”

y/n was already back asleep.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

quinn: hey mom

quinn: we’re on the plane

ellen: oh good

ellen: is y/n feeling alright? quinn: she won’t admit it, but she’s a little nervous

quinn: she’s performed for presidents and heads of state

quinn: flown out to perform at the coronation for king charles

quinn: but meeting you and dad is scaring her

ellen: oh poor girl

ellen: i love her already

quinn: you do?

ellen: yes of course

ellen: she’s made you so happy

ellen: she actually has substance and her own career

ellen: and the grandbabies i’d get… adorable

quinn: mom be so serious right now

ellen: i am!

ellen: she has a nice nose.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

“angel… angel, wake up.”

“no….”

“we’re landing soon. if you keep sleeping, your ears will hurt.”

“too early…”

“tausk will be mad if you can’t use your perfect pitch.”

y/n jolted awake. “don’t say that name, i’m on break.”

“you’re so cute when you sleepy… and asleep.”

“were you watching me sleep?”

“baby, we’ve been on this plane for almost nine hours, yes i watched you sleep.”

“this is what i mean, you’re a creep.”

“i had to be your pillow for eight hours.”

“and? you’re my boyfriend?”

“i love you.”

“love you too.”

she put her earbuds in and leaned against quinn, smiling. he pulled out his phone to text his brothers.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

da boyz 😈

quinn: 30 minutes till we land

jack: lets gooooo

luke: how’s y/n

quinn: tired

quinn: she slept the whole flight

quinn: she’s very nervous

luke: why

jack: probably mom

quinn: all of you actually

luke: no way she’s nervous about meeting me

quinn: she’s nervous cause you’re my brother idiot

jack: mom loves her already

quinn: y/n doesn’t know

luke: did you not tell her

quinn: no i did

quinn: she just doesn’t believe me

jack: she’s mostly just happy that y/n is famous for something other than wearing bikinis

luke: dude you can NOT be talking

quinn: yeah jack one of us has to

jack: ok whatever

jack: luke and i will be at the airport soon

luke: mom and dad won’t be staying with us

luke: but don’t think that mean you and y/n can be loud all night

jack: luke that would mean quinn gets action

quinn: who has the girlfriend

jack: you and me both dork

luke: 😔

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

“i think i have a pretty good idea of your family. you talk about them a lot,” y/n said, watching quinn grab their suitcases from the overhead bin.

“quick refresh.”

“uh-huh.”

“don’t leave your food unattended around luke.”

“you’ve made that clear.”

they walked off the plane into the airport, his hand holding her so tightly.

“seems like you’re the nervous one, quinny.”

“me? no.”

“your hand’s clammy.”

“is it?”

“are you nervous?”

“very.”

“you’re just seeing your family.”

“yeah, but i’m bringing you home and i haven’t brought home a girl in a long time. and you’re amazing. but with an atypical job.”

“i don’t want the hockey player telling me how i have an atypical job.”

“lots of people are pro athletes, y/n.”

“and lots of people are musicians.”

“tomatoes, tomahtoes.”

“uh-huh.”

“oh, and my mom’s gonna be asking if we’re gonna get married soon or have kids and i don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything.”

“quinn, i know we’re going to get married.”

he raised an eyebrow. “what makes you think that?”

“you call me mrs. hughes in your sleep.”

quinn didn’t look back at her, just looking straight ahead.

“cat got your tongue?”

“shut up.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

“jack, look.”

“she’s so pretty.”

“that’s our new sister.”

y/n’s eyes widen as she spotted them. she waved. quinn gave her a look that said “what are you doing?” until he followed her line of sight and saw his brothers. then, he frowned.

luke had a sign that said “welcome back from rehab!”

jack had a sign that said “just married! quinn & y/n”

“are you two serious?” he asked, getting jack in a headlock.

while those two fought like brothers do, luke hugged y/n. “i finally get a big sister.”

“quinn’s dated before, no?”

“yeah, but i can tell you’re the real thing.”

“thanks, luke.”

“c’mon, i’ll carry your stuff. mom and dad are waiting.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

“welcome to casa hughes.” jack said, opening the door into his and luke’s apartment. “you two will be down the hall.”

quinn led y/n down to the spare room, where an air mattress had been set up.

“try not to use the closet, it’s storage,” luke said, peeping his head in.

“bye, luke.”

“bye, y/n.”

he closed the door, leaving the happy couple alone.

“this is quite the bachelor pad.”

“yeah, not all of us have amazing girlfriends with a penchant for peonies.”

“shame.”

they laid on the air mattress, on top of the dark blue sheets that smelled faintly of sweat.

“ready to meet my parents?”

“i’d like to fix my hair first.”

“i’m sure that can be arranged.”

she nestled a little closer to quinn. he wrapped his arms around her, like a teddy bear. “q, you’re so warm.”

“i aim to please.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

y/n was wearing a little black satin dress with black heels. her hair was in a cute updo, a silver pin holding it in place. in one hand was her purse, in the other was quinn’s hand. he was wearing his suit, the one he typically wore for gamedays.

“if you put that stupid beanie on your head, i’m dumping you and going back to vancouver.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“yeah, you’re right. luke would probably be my favorites hughes, thought.”

“that’s crossing a line.”

“love ya, q.”

“god, can you two save this for after dinner?” jack asked from behind the wheel.

“sorry, jacky.”

“thank goodness, we’re here,” luke muttered, getting out of the car.

quinn stepped out, then gave y/n his hand to help her out. he pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“what a charmer.”

“i love you.”

inside the restaurant, jim and ellen were already waiting at a table. the kids joined them, luke sitting next to ellen and jack, quinn, and y/n on the other side of the table. ellen scanned y/n up and down before smiling.

“good job, quinn.”

“thanks, mom.” he was as red as a tomato.

“mrs. hughes, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you and mr. hughes. i have nothing but respect for you two and-”

“y/n, you don’t need to talk like that unless you’re about to tell us about your pregnancy.”

“pregnancy? mrs. hughes, i assure you that-”

“y/n, y/n, you’re okay. you can just call me ellen. jim and i already like you.”

“really?”

“did quinn not tell you?”

“no, he did.”

“i did.”

“the poor girl didn’t believe me.”

“she’s really nervous, mom.”

ellen turned back to y/n. “don’t be nervous. you’re the best girl out there for little quintin.”

“mom!”

“if things keep going the way they are, she’ll know your full name. they have to print it on marriage certificates.”

“we’re just taking things slow.”

the rest of dinner flowed with ease. quinn was thrilled to be back with his brothers. ellen and y/n swapped stories about quinn, like how he set off the smoke detectors making pizza when he was 12 and how he did the same thing just last tuesday. jim was impressed with y/n’s jazz knowledge and vice verse. she showed him pictures of her replica of miles davis’ moon and stars trumpet, the one she played during her jazz stint in new york.

“thank you for dinner, ellen.”

“thank you for taking care of my quinn. i haven’t seen the boy this happy since he got drafted.”

“i try my best.”

“you’ve really turned his life around, y/n. i’m so glad he’s stopped partying.”

“how do you know about that?”

“give it a few years. you’ll know too.”

“what do you mean?”

“moms always know.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

“y/n, come to bed.”

“give me a second! someone can’t remember how to leave their sleeves facing the right way.”

“is that- is that my hoodie? from earlier?”

“… maybe.”

“baby, i wore that on the plane!”

“and? it smells like you.”

he opened his arms for her as she laid next to him. the blanket was tugged across the two of them, engulfing them in a warm cocoon.

“how did i get so lucky?”

“i ask that every day.”

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[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒. love; you wonder if the king of curses is capable of feeling that emotion too. so, you take on a more direct approach to ask him.

word count. 1.7k

note. sukuna brainrot sorry. . .

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. angst (+ comfort) / fluff. size difference mentions. eh sukuna’s a bit mean. established relationship, but you’re like v early into the relationship.

it was a calm sunday evening. both sukuna and you had fulfilled your duties for the day. all you needed after working hard was the presence of the person you admire most. thus, you had made your way over to sukuna’s chambers. to your surprise, you already found him sitting on the engawa which led to the connected backyard.

sukuna noticed your presence, but didn't utter a word. he simply shot you a glance before continuing to stare into the distance. he seemed to be in deep thought about something. you didn’t want to bother him when he was like this, but the voice in your head told you to stay.

you silently kneel next to him and gather your hands in your lap. your eyes automatically move to focus on sukuna again. two of his hands are supporting his weight as they rest flat on the wooden surface. the other set rests limply on his thigh.

your gaze falls on his bottom left hand. the one he uses to kill, but also the one he uses to hold and caress you. you could easily recall its feel without having to touch him; rough, callused and warm. you reach your hand out towards his without hesitation.

sukuna’s eyes dart over to your small stature next to him. he allows you to grab his hand, to pull it over to your lap and let it rest palm up on your thighs. it’s almost funny. how big his hand is in comparison to yours.

the comfortable silence continues. the rustles of the leaves and the water movements in the koi pond in the yard are soothing to the soul. your finger traces the lines on sukuna’s palm, following them until they end before switching to the other.

the king of curses watches you play around with his hand. still with that stoic expression on his face. however, feeling your delicate touch on his skin and seeing you smile to yourself for whatever reason makes the corners of his lips curl up. for a split second.

a faint, amused grin. you sure are an interesting creature in his eyes.

“sukuna, can i ask you something?” you break the silence with a question. there is an unknown feeling in your chest; one that makes you restless at night. your smile slowly drops into a small pout when you think about what you want to ask him.

not a single action goes unnoticed by the man next to you. he lifts an eyebrow, but other than that, there’s no reaction visible. he answers you with a hum of approval, “mmh.”

you lift your head and look up at him. sukuna was already staring right at you—his piercing eyes catch your soft ones. he squints. there is something wrong with the way you are looking at him. normally, the smile you give him would reach your eyes. now it doesn’t.

that same smile completely disappears over time.

“do you.. are you..” you stammer. you don't know how to articulate your question. it’s probably dumb. to both you and him. sukuna watches you struggle to ask him whatever is on your mind. he firmly grabs your wrist and squeezes it. not too hard. he doesn't want to inflict any unneccesary pain.

sukuna sighs. a heavy sigh. one thing he dislikes is when you leave him in the dark. it isn’t the first time you did so during the past week. asking him if you could ask him a question and when he grants you the permission to, you back down or change topics.

it’s getting tiresome.

“spit it out.” sukuna grumbles. he pulls your body closer to his by your wrist, your arm stretched upwards with your hand hovering near the side of his face. his breath hits your wrist, causing goosebumps to form on your skin.

crimson orbs stare right into your soul. you gulp and feel your body warm up. when you try to avert your gaze, one of sukuna's free hands grabs you by the jaw and steers your head to face him. his thumb presses down on your chin. he’s not letting it go today. he needs answers.

before sukuna could add to his words, you breathe in sharply. like you’re ready to ask him what had been weighing on your mind ever since a couple days back. oh, stupid it sure is. you know. you’re probably making it too big of a deal. when it isn’t. not in the slightest.

your eyes water. you blink the tears away. you don’t want to embarrass yourself any further by sobbing. your bottom lip trembles as you finally muster up the courage;

“do you love me?”

there it goes. you try to squirm away from sukuna’s grasp after that. you feel flustered. embarrassed. you just want to crawl into a hole and rot.

sukuna does not tighten his grip on you. instead, he loosens them. your wrist slips from his hand. your chin no longer restricted by his fingers. he lets you go.

a painful sting in your heart. you secretly hoped that he’d resist. pull you closer maybe. you don’t know why you expected that. you learnt not to get your hopes up around him and yet you always wish for him to do something.

a silence falls between the two of you again. you act like you didn’t ask him anything. you try to ignore the way sukuna clenched his jaw. how he subtly clicked his tongue. how he let you shuffle away from him.

you clear your throat. with hesistance this time, you gently grab one of sukuna’s hands again. that he allows you. you appreciate that. at least it means he isn’t completely upset. you know sukuna does not allow just anyone to touch him so without permission.

you hold tightly onto his hand like it’s your last hope. his fingers don’t close around yours, though. you don’t mind.

“what a foolish question.” sukuna scoffs and looks the other way. his voice was hoarse. probably from not speaking for quite what time. you silently nod. an expected answer, at last.

you stay silent after that. it hurts. more than you want it to have hurt. maybe it was too early into your relationship to ask such a question. you got into it, knowing fully well how harsh the man next to you could be sometimes.

what you can’t deny is that soft spot sukuna has for you. you see it. uraume sees it. the maids see it. sukuna probably.. knows of it, but doesn’t speak on it. he does not speak up about his feelings much anyway.

but it’s visible in his actions. the king of curses allows you to say and do whatever you want around him. he makes sure his subordinates treat you well. he looks at you with a hint of softness hidden in those red eyes. when he touches you, it’s firm but gentle. like he desperately craves to touch you, though knows not to make that yearning accidentally hurt you in any way.

the latter is what you love most about his soft spot for you. sukuna handles you with utmost care. even uraume had told you that it surprises them greatly whenever they witness the way their master treats you in general.

especially at night. you can’t count the amount of times you quite literally melted into his arms. those four, beefy arms that know just how to make you feel protected. you never sleep in unease. you know that nothing could hurt you when you’re laying against his chest.

sukuna’s actions speak volumes. despite all of that, you wish he’d at least tell you with his words. how much you mean to him.

“my apologies.” you give up. for today, you’ll let him be. the slight irritation in his voice earlier nearly made you cry. he needs more time and you’ll give him that. you slowly detach your small hand from his big, warm one, “i won’t ask you that again.”

sukuna frowns and grumbles something under his breath. you think it’s still because of your previous question, yet his gaze tells a different story. he narrows his eyes as he glares down at his now empty hand. you connect the dots once you see the man take a glimpse at your hand on your lap.

your touch. the sudden abscence of your touch.

“i didn’t say you could do that.” sukuna murmurs. his tone low and maybe even upset to a certain degree. you blink a few times and freeze on spot. the king of curses starts to get grumpy the longer you fail to take the hint.

he kisses his teeth out of impatience. sukuna tightly gets ahold of your hand again and softly yanks it towards him. you squeal as your body stumbles closer to his.

sukuna holds eye contact with you as he brings your hand to his mouth. his tongue wets a spot on your palm—specifically the area that connects your thumb with your wrist. your lips part, your tummy doing flips from the sudden touch.

“don’t let go again,” he bares his teeth before slightly sinking them into the soft flesh. it isn’t a hard bite. more a nibble that leaves a faint mark. what you didn’t expect was for sukuna to kiss that same place after marking it. his thumb runs over that exact spot as well, “got that?”

you nod. you’re unable to refuse him. those feelings of disappointment from earlier long forgotten. you intertwine your fingers with sukuna’s and unlike the previous instant, his fingers do curl back around yours. your skin is still tingling from the feeling of sukuna’s kiss.

the king of curses keeps your entwined hands on his lap this time. he stares off into the distance for a couple seconds before returning his gaze to you. he scans your face and finds what he had been missing;

that tender smile of yours. it was back, tugging at your lips. one of your fingers resumes its soothing motion on his rough skin again. sukuna’s face relaxes. his jaw unclenches.

“good.” sukuna nods at the sight. he turns to watch the night sky again—secretly (yet not so secretly) enjoying this moment of peace.

you’re content with how that ended. and, you’re sure that you don’t mind if it takes days, weeks or even months for your relationship to fully blossom. when you’re with sukuna, one thing is clear: actions do speak louder than words.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jack Howl: Fluffy is Justice

Me, expecting Jack to be in a tank top and sweat pants:

Twst: HAH, you thought 😩

He looks so cozy! Apparently the patterns featured are inspired by Nordic ones. This makes sense since Jack is from a snowy region in the Shaftlands.

Rise and Shine!

Early to bed, early to rise.

Jack followed his regiment rigidly. He tucked into bed at 10 pm sharp every evening and rose at 6 am every morning. A protein-packed breakfast and a morning stretch, job, and weight-lifting session with Vil later, then he was off to classes. (Ace sometimes poked fun at him and declared he may as well be an honorary member of Heartslabyl.)

But sometimes life didn’t seem to want to cooperate with him.

Peering into a washroom mirror, Jack scowled at his reflection.

He must have been tossing and turning in his sleep—his hair stood on end. It looked as though he had plugged his tail into an electrical outlet, frying his fur.

The teeth of his comb wove through his mane. As soon as the comb retreated, the hair sprang back up again, as if deliberately defying him.

Jack gritted his teeth, letting loose a low growl.

Frustrated.

He checked his phone and nearly jumped out of his cardigan. He had spent longer than he had intended tackling his hairdo. If he didn't hurry it along, he would be late.

Can’t have that, Jack sighed. Guess I’ll have to skip fixing the hair today.

He laid down his comb and turned on the facet. Cold water spilled out and onto his hands.

SPLOOSH!

Jack ran his wet fingers through his hair, matting it with the weight of the water. Tamed, at least for the time being.

He blitzed through the rest of his routine, peeling off his pajamas and shimmying into his P.E. uniform. Grabbing a protein bar and his duffel bag--crammed full of his school supplies and his track and field uniform--Jack rushed out. No tardies on his permanent record, not today.

He was fast. A wolf sprinting, unrestrained, out of the Chamber of Mirrors and thundering down Main Street.

"Like the wind," Coach Vargas would remark.

"I have to catch up," Deuce, his fellow club member, would say.

"Way too eager," Ruggie would snicker.

"Jack!"

He came to a half at his name, his ears perking. There, standing by the statue of the King of Beasts, was a familiar face. You waved at him as he approached, a hand fiddling with the strap of his bag. It snapped against his beefy shoulder.

"... Hey. You're up early," he remarked gruffly.

"I wanted to catch you before you met up with Vil-senpai for your usual workout," you grinned. "Glad I did--I have something for you."

Reaching into your backpack, you produced a water bottle and a small container. Inside were sandwiches sliced into triangles: leftover canned tuna (courtesy of Grim), ham and cheese, and vegetables.

Surprise sparked in his amber eyes. His tail jutted up, wagging excitedly. "You made this for me?"

"I figured you'd need to keep your energy up since you've got a whole day of lectures afterwards," you said bashfully. "Sorry, did I overstep?"

"No, I... I don't think so at all." Jack cleared his throat. "Really. I appreciate this. I didn't pack any real food today. The timing couldn't be better."

Relief washed over your face. You offered the water and the sandwiches to Jack, who stiffened slightly when he felt the warmth of you grazing his fingers. He quickly pulled away, avoiding your gaze, and busied himself with shoving the snacks into his bag.

"Oh....!" you suddenly gasped.

"What's wrong?"

"Your hair, it's..." You gestured to your own.

"Yeah, I know it's a mess," he mumbled, his ears flattening in shame. "Didn't have the time to style it right earlier. I had to compromise."

You shook your head.

"It looks different than usual, but that's not bad. In fact, it's kind of cute."

"What? Cute...?" He scratched his chin. "Not sure if I'm getting it."

"Yes! It looks super fluffy, like a cloud. Or whipped cream on top of ice-cream or cake," you suggested. "And cuz it's sticking up so much, it's like it's inviting someone to come along and pat your head to smooth it down."

"Pat my head?!" His hands flew there, as if to protect him from the terror that was an aggressive head pat.

"You don't like the idea?"

"I-It's embarrassing!" he snapped. "Only my family goes and does stuff like that. I'm getting too old for head pats, anyway."

"That's a shame then. Fluffy things should be cuddled more! Fluffy is justice, after all." You linked your fingers together and chuckled. "Fluffy means plushies, blankets, and coats. All the things that make us feel warm and protected. It fills our hearts with happiness. You're the same, Jack. So... I don't think it's anything to be embarrassed by."

He stared at you, bewildered.

The sun warmed his cheeks--or were they warmed from within? And there it was again, the telltale way his tail moved, back and forth and back and forth, like a metronome.

"I... I guess so," Jack managed to say. “A-Anyway, I need to get going. I can’t keep Vil-senpai waiting.”

“Alright, I won’t keep you for any longer.” You gave another wave and a smile brighter than the sun. “Good luck!”

He nodded before surging off.

His face aflame.

Maybe being fluffy wasn't so bad after all.

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Heartache ⭑

Masterlist

Request: Yes, this one

A/N: Had to tweak it a teeny tiny bit but hope you like it anon!

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Warnings: Angst, a bit of fluff, mentions of trauma

Summary: Once best friends now turned against each other, will their betrothal mend their rift?

Word count: 5k

6 years before, early days of summer

He shouldn’t be doing this, every muscle in his body had a mind of its own. But rage and shame that moved like a storm within him drove him further. Breath caught in his throat when he heard the faint roar of a dragon down below. If he was caught he would be in so much trouble, but that wasn’t going to stop him now. If he wanted a dragon, he was going to have to work for it, that much was clear.

His feet shuffled further and further down and his thoughts wandered off, were there even any unclaimed dragons in the dragon pit? He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t change his mind now. He was so close, what would you think? Would you treat him differently if he came back with a dragon? Maybe you would at least finally stop pitying him, your brothers would stop bullying him. Maybe Aegon would finally leave him alone. He was never going to find out though if he didn’t round this corner. 

He was at last down in the caves, hiding behind a stone wall as he listened to a dragon rustle close by. He pushed the thoughts out of his head and carefully peeked around the corner, flashes of a big blue dragon caught his eye, Dreamfyre. If he ran further down now he had a chance of not getting burned alive by his sister's dragon. So he counted down 3…2…1, go, he hastily rounded the corner but in his hastness his fabric covered shoulder got caught against the rough stone wall, making him trip and fall. 

Dreamfyre’s big eyes turned to him and she let out a piercing roar, her fire almost burning him as he quickly scrambled to his feet, almost tripping again in the sand, as he made a run for it. He thought he could get away with it and pretend it never happened, but as he ran up, back to the arena of the pit, the dragon keepers stared at him in fury. “Skorkydoso dare ao jikagon against se rules, nyke jāhor report bisa naejot se dārys!” How dare you go against the rules, I will report this to the king! Tears filled his eyes, how could he have cowarded away, he wanted to prove himself but instead all he proved was that he was weak.

‘The Pink Dread’ stared at him as he passed the pig, the dragon keeper dragging him firmly along by his arm. All he could mutter was a meek, “Iksan vaoreznuni.” I’m sorry. He knew his mother would lose her mind over this, it wasn’t the first time he was caught and it was certainly not the first time he ran away from the dragons like a coward. Once he was back in the Red Keep, he luckily didn’t run into his brother or his nephews and when he reached his mothers bedchamber door he couldn’t stop the tears rolling down his cheeks. And he was proven right, his mother was furious.

When he left his mothers chambers, his tears had dried and all that was left was fury. How could he be shamed like this, time and time again. All that consumed his thoughts was ‘What if his egg had hatched?’ ‘Would Aegon still have made fun of him?’ It was almost supper time but he still let his feet guide him to the inner courtyard. There was no one there, just like he suspected. He lowered himself to the ground and hiked his knees up to his chest, he needed silence, needed to think. The big tree looming over him.

A soft rustling of feet pulled him from his thoughts, not that he had any good ones to begin with, he didn’t know how much time had passed. Then he saw her figure in the corner of his eye, lowering herself next to him, joining him on the ground. He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn’t look at her. If she hadn’t already heard from her brother’s, she would’ve probably heard it from the whispers around the castle. “Aegon is cruel, my brothers are young and don’t understand. I...I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble. My brothers certainly didn’t, I heard your mother is furious though, for what they did.” You noticed he didn’t really respond, which was odd. Usually he would at least talk to you about it.

You were his only friend, even though it was discouraged by his mother. Who often called even the eldest, silver haired and purple eyed daughter of Rhaenyra a bastard. He liked to pretend you weren’t, and that your Valyrian features proved it but of course he couldn’t be certain. After a few moments of you staring at him, he spoke, “I’m fine, I just needed to think. Clear my mind.” You nodded at his words but you knew that it was more than that. “You missed supper you know? No one spoke a word but I’m pretty sure everyone knew what happened.” He sighed and looked down at your words, great, he just gave his brother and nephews more material to bully him with. 

His eyes widened when he suddenly felt your small warm hand grasp his. He at last looked at you and saw your soft smile. “You’re not lesser than us just because you don’t have a dragon, yet. The day will come, I promise.” Your words usually soothed him and most of the time he genuinely believed you but something about today, made him break. “Easy for you to say, your dragon actually hatched.” He mumbled irritated, everytime you would tell him he would have a dragon, he rolled his eyes. You didn’t know what it was like, wouldn’t know what it was like. Even a bastard could have a dragon but he could not.

In the late days of summer the shocking news arrived, Laena Velaryon had died. Even though there was a rift in the family, the horrible news of the by everyone beloved Laena had brought them together. But of course tensions never left the air, even as they stood together, they were divided. Aemond saw how her lips thinned at Vaemond Velaryons words, even though he felt justified that at last someone dared to speak up, he still felt bad for her. She was the only one that didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve the cruelty the gods had gifted her. 

The somewhat draining ceremony had concluded but there was still a remembrance feast for the lady Laena. Not that anyone was eating. They were surely drinking though, especially Aegon. He too nursed on a cup of wine as he let his eyes wander the crowd, Laenor hadn’t been seen after the ceremony, no doubt that he was destroyed by grief. His eyes finally found her dressed in black figure. His heart tensed when he saw you hug both the Velaryon girls, comforting them. You were only ten years old but you were more mature than his sixteen year old brother Aegon. 

His mind wandered as it so often did, drawing out Aegon’s nagging about Helaena. Would you comfort him like that if his mother or father died? Finally hold him as he so desired? He hoped so and wondered if he should offer some words of comfort, it would certainly please his mother. Even though he had been punished enough after that night he still felt ashamed and hurt more than ever, even you couldn’t calm the storm inside him. Vhagar’s distant roar snapped him right out of his thoughts. Seven Hells, of course, Laena is dead, the rider of Vhagar. She was free to claim, the largest dragon in the world, if that couldn’t prove how worthy of a Targaryen prince he was, nothing could. 

It would certainly impress you, wouldn’t it? You could even fly together, your dragon was big enough now and you had your first flight mere weeks ago and were now often seen in the sky alongside your mother. Warmth spread through his body at the thought, it was a dream he wanted so badly to come true, so bad he was climbing through the dunes. If he failed this time, it was over, for good. He would never recover if he did not succeed now. He was determined, no one and nothing would stop him, he would claim Vhagar. In the dark it was a bit hard to see but the moonlight then revealed her ginormous body, resting in the sand. 

His breaths came out in short pants, he had never felt this scared in his life. Everything in his body was telling him to run, that it was a mistake. But he couldn't, he wouldn't, he had to do this. And so he had reached her, his trembling hand touched her rough skin, his heart skipped a beat as her eyes snapped open, her low growling echoing through the night. Her head lifted and her giant jaws opened ready to burn him where he stood. He quickly held up his hand, “Dohaeras! Dohaeras Vhagar! Lykiri! Lykiri!” She seemed to calm somewhat at his words and at least closed her jaws. A new power and determination flowed through him as he grasped the ropes hanging from her body, making his way up to the saddle. When he sat, he loosened the reins among the horns of the saddle, “Soves!” Vhagar looked at him for a moment and he repeated, “Dohaeras Vhagar! Soves!” 

Her giant body moved, shaking the ground beneath her, finally taking to the sky. Aemond almost fell off but he held on thight and made his way back in the saddle. He was sure his screams could be heard back on Driftmark and he was right in a way. Both the girls leered out the window as Vhagar’s body rose to the sky. You were comfy in your bed, telling Luke for the tenth time to stop snoring so you could finally get some rest, but when he had at last shut up, the door opened and Baela and Rhaena entered the room. Awake already, you quickly rose at their words, someone had claimed Vhagar. You knew it was Aemond, who else could it be?

You, Jace and Luke followed the two sisters down to the caves, where Aemond had just appeared. He took note of the disappointing look on your face, something he didn’t expect. Weren’t you proud of him? He finally had a dragon, why weren’t you happy for him? “It’s you.” Baela spoke up, “Yes it’s me.” You looked down at your feet, even though you knew he had every right to claim Vhagar for himself, you couldn’t help but feel bad for Rhaena. “She was mine to claim!” Rhaena said angrily, Baela standing next to her. Next thing you knew vile insults were thrown and so were hands. You tried to stop him, you really did, but Jace bumped into you while getting pushed by Aemond and took you with him. It happened so fast, Aemond bent over in pain clasping at his wound, blood pouring in the sand. You hadn’t realised you screamed.

You hid behind your mother as the king sneered angrily, you were terrified, terrified when the maester proclaimed his eye could not be saved and even more terrified of what would happen to Luke. But the king surprisingly did not take action, Aemond seemed to accept his sacrifice for a dragon but Alicent did not. Once again screams echoed through the room and your mother held Alicent in a tight grasp. You didn’t understand how, but all of a sudden everyone stood still, silent. Then you noticed the blood dripping from your mothers arm on the floor. Even though you all got off easy for such a grave accident, the actions completely ripped the family apart, and you feared it could never be mended. 

Present time, early days of fall

Tension was high in the air as your mother told you the news. After years of leaving King’s Landing, your ‘father’ dead and Daemon now taking his place, you were to return to King’s Landing. You had mixed feelings over your betrothal to Aemond, he was once your best friend and you his. But after that night, everything changed, the two of you had not spoken after the incident and you already knew it was going to be hard seeing him again. He was now eight and ten years old, you five and ten. 

Alicent agreed to the betrothal desperately made by your mother to somewhat mend the family, it seemed like a good idea, to her. Jace would marry Baela and they would one day rule, Luke was to marry Rhaena and then rule in Driftmark. And you, well you would serve as a wife in King’s Landing, more like serve as a peacekeeper. A reminder that the family ‘was one’. The journey was not a long one since Dragon Stone and King’s Landing were fairly close and a short dragonflight away. The household would follow on ship, you, your mother and father, Jace and Luke would take to the sky. 

The day was still quite early when you all made your arrival to the Dragon Pit, a large coach already waiting to take you to the Red Keep. Once you were inside, the coach started moving and you noticed small folk scattered around in the city, cheering. Were they happy about this union? Did they even know of how divided this family was? Perhaps not, it would actually be a good thing if they thought all was well, otherwise it would create doubt and that would be bad. 

You were greeted only by lord Caswell, questioning looks being passed. Someone of your mother’s station being greeted this way was rather offensive. But you were quite happy to have this small audience, nerves were eating away at you at the thought of seeing Aemond again. But you also reeked of dragon and wanted to clean up before meeting anyone. And so you were brought to your chambers, a hot bath waiting for you. To the servants surprise you sent them away, all you wanted was to lower yourself in the hot water and relax, think and calm yourself for the supper that would occur tonight. The supper that would officiate the betrothal in front of the king, in front of the whole family. 

You hoped you wouldn’t suffer a similar fate to Helaena, for you knew how miserable her marriage to Aegon was. You could luckily only imagine what being married to a drunk like him would be like. The bath calmed you somewhat and you were nice and clean by the time servants came back to dress you in a beautiful gown. But they didn’t bring one of your own, one of the servants nervously looked at you as she clasped the green gown in her hands, two dragons seemed to be embroidered on the corset, your dragon… and Aemonds. Did Alicent do this? You hoped it wouldn’t start another fight in the family but you reluctantly let them dress you anyway. 

Supper was getting awfully close and a servant started to work on your hair, a typical Valyrian braided hairstyle, with some emerald pins keeping it in place. Even though the colour green was pretty much forbidden by your mother on Dragon Stone, it still looked beautiful on you. Your stomach started to hurt, like it usually did when you were nervous. You dreaded this entire thing, of course you wanted to see Aemond again but the way the circumstances have changed everything made it so difficult to pretend. Your feet shuffled behind your mother to the dining room, it was decorated beautifully, something you decided to focus on to keep the nerves at bay. 

Then you saw them, Otto, Alicent, your grandsire, Aegon, Helaena and Aemond. All standing to welcome you, however you felt like you were going to throw up. They did not look particularly happy, except for the king of course. He was delighted to see his daughter again, he could barely stand even with his cane but somehow still managed to hug his beloved daughter. Then the king shifted his eyes to you and then to Aemond, a bit of a forced smile now on his face. “What a joyous occasion today, joining our families as one. My son and granddaughter binding their ties. Let us celebrate, please take your seats.” He almost panted out, he could barely walk or talk anymore, everything costing too much energy. 

You let your eyes shift over Aemond’s figure, he was so much taller now. Towering over you by at least a head. His eye patch covering the dark past between you. And even you had to admit he had become a very handsome man. Aemond gestured next to him as he sat down, you didn’t even realise you were the only one still standing. You took a deep breath and made your way over to the empty seat the servant was holding back for you. And so you sat next to Otto Hightower and your betrothed. You could barely listen to the king’s speech when Aemond was so close, he smelled nice, must’ve used perfume oil in his bath. His now massive hands rested on the table. When you noticed him looking you quickly diverted your eyes. 

Supper was incredibly draining and of course ended in a fight, surprisingly Aemond pushed you out of the way to safety when things broke loose, and Otto Hightower himself put his arm in front of you, ensuring you wouldn’t go near the danger. Even though things ended somewhat amicably, you still veered towards Aemonds chamber. You still remembered the path well, the light of the moon shining through the halls of the Red Keep. You had to talk to him, really, talk to him. None of that polite and stiff small talk during supper. 

The dark wooden door seemed so much more imposing now that it was in front of you but you lifted your hand anyway and knocked three times on his door, something you used as a code when you were kids. His eyes snapped from the fireplace at the sound of the knocks. No one ever knocked three times on his door, no one but you. He swiftly rose from his seat and made his way to the door, before he opened it he took a deep breath. He couldn’t appear weak now, not after all this time, not in front of you. He opened the door and it revealed your figure. 

“I’m sorry for disturbing you.” You spoke softer than you wanted. He didn’t say anything, instead he stepped to the side and gestured for you to come inside. He was quieter now that he had grown older, something you had noticed during supper as well. You both sat down on his settee in the room. Since he kept quiet you decided to kick the dreaded conversation off. “I never… I never got the chance to talk to you… after what happened. I’m so sorry Aemond. I wish I could’ve stopped Luke, if only Jace didn’t take me with him as he fell down-” 

“Stop.” His low voice cut through the room, through your sentence. You swallowed hard, was he mad at you as well? “We don’t need to do this.” He urged. His gaze was on the fireplace again, not even looking at you. “Aem-” Aem, a nickname he hadn’t heard in years, a nickname which once brought him joy now hurt him deeply. He felt betrayed and angry, that even you left him behind. “Do you hate me now?” You asked, if he didn’t want to talk you had to force it out of him, which you could only do by being direct. 

He sighed before he spoke. “I could never hate you, I know you wish no more for this betrothal than I do.” His words cut you like a knife. Did he actually not want you? Did he also see you as a bastard now? “What? Aem-” He stood from his seat and walked to the door, opening it. “I think it’s best you leave.” You shook your head in disbelief, the Aemond you once knew was gone and this hardened, cold man replaced him. “No, you can’t just kick me out. We have to talk about this, we are getting married! Please, let’s just talk, like old times.” He looked down at the ground, still not looking at you. 

You stormed over to him and grabbed his jaw, hearing the slight gasp in his breath. “Why won’t you even look at me!” You yelled now. He couldn’t bear to look at you, he wanted to be angry, to push you away like you had him and he knew that one look at your beautiful eyes would make all that anger melt away. Reluctantly he finally let his eyes find yours, and right as he predicted, all his anger melted away. Desperation took its stead, he was desperate for you to touch his hand again, to comfort him again. 

His head then hung low and your hand let go of his jaw. He closed the door and walked back over to the settee. “You don’t have to pretend, not in front of me.” You said making your way back over to the settee, joining him again. “What do you mean by that.” He grumbled. “Oh please, you know what I mean, you used to be sweet and kind and now you’re colder than the north.” He looked at you with disdain. He couldn’t believe what you were saying, anger bubbled in his gut again. “You mean the night your bastard brother took my eye? And then not getting punished for it? Or do you mean the years of bullying I’ve endured, suffering by Aegon’s hand even after I claimed the largest dragon in the world?” He snapped. Now standing again, pacing the room in frustration. 

Seeing you and your family made it all come to the surface again, for a year or four he had some peace again, but that was all shattered when he got betrothed to you. You looked at him with confusion, had Aegon continued to bully him after you left? You stood as well and walked over to him. “It doesn’t need to be like this, we can go back to what we once had, please.” Aemond’s resolve seemed to crumble a bit, the idea was so tempting, yet he still showed some restraint. You noticed it, the battle going on inside him, so you stepped forward, closer and closer to him. You noticed his widened eyes, then you wrapped your arms around him. You hadn’t hugged him in years, the last time being the whole situation with ‘the pink dread’. He completely tensed up at first.

But as you held him longer, his arms found his way around you, hugging you close. The wall around him seemed to fall the longer you held each other. “I missed you so much Aem.” You mumbled against his chest. Tears welled up in eye as you spoke. He couldn’t believe it, he had you in his arms again and you were to be his wife. Before you left that was his dream, having a dragon and you, and now it was to become true. 

One year later, early days of summer

Vaemond Velaryon asking for a petition for Driftmark was a grave offence to your family, you had been married to Aemond for a couple of months now and finally mended the rift between the two of you. In that time, you had gotten to know him again, he still studied history and philosophy, still trained with the sword and still lacked affection. You were horrified when he finally told you of what Aegon did to him after you left. The pain you felt for him went beyond words and after that night, when he told you while laying against your chest, you went above and beyond to make him feel loved. You felt like it was the very least you could do for him and so now here you were, about four times a week Aemond would have a bath but it wasn’t the servants that washed him, it was his own lady wife. 

The water splashed softly when you dipped the sponge in again, carefully washing the dirt of skin. He felt his entire body relax under your touch, letting his head rest against the edge of the tub. His eye patch somewhere discarded in the room, he didn’t need it when he was alone with you. The realm had profited greatly from your marriage with Aemond, everyone seemed calm and happy. But you could feel the storm coming with the petition on the morrow. Your family had already arrived today and you told them how happy you were and that seemed to do well for now. 

When you finished washing his body, you kissed the top of his head before moving on to wash his long hair. He hummed softly when your fingers massaged his scalp, making sure to clean his hair thoroughly. He loved the way you cared for him, it's all he wanted his entire life. You kissed his head a few more times while washing his hair, then you helped him dry off and get back into his breeches. Making him sit down, you grabbed a comb and started to carefully comb through his silver locks, making sure to braid it before bed.

You had already prepared yourself to sleep, so now the both of you crawled in the sheets, and as he layed in your arms, falling into a deep slumber, anxiety of what could happen on the morrow clouded your mind and sleep evaded you. The morning soon came and you walked next to Aemond as you entered the throne room, Aegon and Helaena in front of you. Your family already stood to the right, the Velaryons to the left. Everything had gone so well these past few months, why did Vaemond have to ruin it?

The petition started as bad as you expected, you gave Luke and Jace soft comforting smiles through the ordeal but when your mothers turn to speak came, the giant doors opened and the king dragged himself in, stumbling to his throne. Of course you knew of the Hightowers conspiracy with Vaemond, it was quite plain to see but you held your tongue, you didn’t want to ruin the bliss you were in after all these years. But when the king had spoken, Vaemond’s sneer was a clear sign of what was to come. The horrible insults that left his lips, shattered your dream, you looked at Aemond with tears in your eyes but your stomach turned when you saw the small smirk on his lips. 

Your lips parted and gasped when Vaemond’s head was cut off by Daemon. Aemond then stepped in front of you, holding you back and protecting your eyes. But that did nothing to erase the memory of him smiling at Vaemond calling your brothers, including you, bastards. Hurt consumed you and you wanted nothing more than to take to the sky on your dragon and leave, what Aemond just did could not be easily forgiven. Supper was even worse, if the last time you all had supper was any indication this could only go wrong but you couldn’t care less, the knife in your back only seethed deeper as you saw Jace and Baela laugh, even Rhaena and Luke were having a good time. 

Aemond just had to ruin it. He tried to reach out, caress your hand on the table but you pulled back and ignored him when he gave you a questioning look. Then he noticed Luke smirking at the scene. He lost it. He raised his cup and made sure to give an even worse speech than last year. Only this time, swords were drawn, you didn’t care to see how this ended, instead you left. Your steps were hurried as you made your way back to your shared bedchamber, slamming the door behind you. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you sat on your bed, all you had was ruined. It went so well and it just had to get destroyed. You knew your marriage was fragile but you didn’t want to believe it. At last Aemond returned.

He too slammed the door behind him and stormed over to you. “Why are you acting like this? You humiliated me!” He seethed. You only looked at him with red eyes, you only now realised what a selfish person he was. Of course he went through so much but so did you and you didn’t deserve his anger. “I humiliated you? What about Vaemond humiliating me?! Insulting your own wife in front of you and you smiled! Smiled! How could you do that to me?! And that speech, just to further humiliate me!” His face fell at that, he never even realised he smiled, never realised that his wife was still Rhaenyra’s child. “My love…” He started but you didn’t want to give him the time. “I want to join my family on the journey back to Dragon Stone. I’ve barely seen them and wish to spend time with them, to think.” You stated, you left no room for argument.

You saw how his face turned to panic. “No. No no no, I’m sorry, I never realised. I never meant to hurt you my love please. Please don’t leave, I need you here.” You shook your head. “You made your bed, now lie in it.” His eye teared up, and pleaded again. “I need you, please don’t leave me, not again. I can’t go without you again. I’m begging you.” You shook your head again, “Some time apart might do us good, maybe you’ll realise how much I do for you and how little I get back.” Words couldn’t describe how his heart broke at the sight of you boarding the ship, no kiss goodbye, nothing, his life was empty yet again. He could only hope you returned soon.

[southerngothicchic]

we're too young to be lonely (part one)

King!Steve Harrington x reader (18+)

This is a rewrite of a fic I wrote last year that I felt could be improved upon 💖

The King of Hawkins High had made a habit of climbing through your bedroom window every Friday night. His visits started out innocent enough, with you both commiserating about the past week of school and maybe sharing a kiss or two.

As weeks went on, and as both of your crushes grew, sweet kisses turned into steamy makeouts. He would murmur how pretty you were into your neck as he tried not to leave any hickies, though he desperately wanted to.

He wanted everyone to know you were his, but wasn't sure if you wanted to belong to him, outside of your bedroom.

It was a typical Friday night, with you laying in bed, waiting for Steve. The radio hums lowly while the dim light from your bedside lamp illuminates the room. You keep glancing up from the latest issue of Seventeen every few minutes to check the digital display of the clock on your nightstand. He's usually here by now, you think, as you're beginning to think he's not going to show.

If something changed he would've let you know, right? A horrible thought then enters your mind making you wonder if he's lost interest in you and found someone else to spend the night with. You glance at the window again before shaking your head.

After all the nights you spent together, you knew he wouldn't do that to you. At this point, you knew him better than his 'best friends' or anyone else at school did. He was different when he was with you, so sweet and attentive, you almost forgot about his famous persona.

As you wrack your brain for answers, you hear a familiar tapping on your window. You look over and see his silhouette crouching outside the glass.

With a relieved smile, you get up and cross the short distance to let him in.

He greets you with a smile and a soft, "Hi," before he climbs into your room. You feel his arms around your waist as you quietly close the window. You turn, in his arms, to face him, still with a smile on your lips.

"I was starting to think you stood me up," you say, now with a slight pout.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, nuzzling his nose against yours. "My parents came home early so I had to wait til they went to bed to sneak out."

"Oh," you breathe, as he ghosts his lips over yours.

"Did you really think I'd miss a chance to see my best girl?"

You sigh his name, already under his spell in record time.

"I missed you," he whispers before finally kissing you.

You eagerly kiss him back, wanting to make up for all the lost time spent not kissing the cutest boy you'd ever seen.

"I missed you, too," you reply, breathless with your fingers gripping the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

"I can tell," he softly laughs. "Maybe we should extend these visits to more than just one night."

You glance up at him, with a hopeful shimmer in your eyes, that makes him weak.

"You really like me that much?" You ask, earning another soft laugh from him.

"I wouldn't keep coming back if I didn't," he replies, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. "You're, like, the only real friend I have."

"Is that how you see me, just as a friend?"

His eyes widen in panic as he stumbles through his reply: "No, I mean, at first, yeah, but not now. I like you more than that."

His thumb tenderly brushes your cheek as a goofy smile forms on your lips.

"So you like me like me, then?"

"I thought it was obvious, but yeah, I do," he also smiles, as he leans in to kiss you again.

You sigh his name against his lips as he guides you towards your bed. He smoothly slips off his Nike's before laying you back onto your sheets, all without breaking the kiss. His denim clad thighs press against your bare legs, making you feel extra vulnerable. He subtly spreads your legs with his knee, so he can nestle his hips between them. You gasp into a kiss when he grinds teasingly.

"I guess I don't have to ask if you liked that..." he pants, between kisses. "You wanna feel more of me?"

You nod, while whimpering a soft, "Yes."

"Okay, honey," he smiles, gently taking your hand and placing it between your bodies, against his growing bulge.

"Want you to feel what you do to me..." he breathes, as he nips at the tender skin under your jaw.

You palm him through his jeans before squeezing slightly. He moans into your neck as his hips chase your touch.

Moments like these still feel so surreal to you. Having Steve Harrington in your room was one thing, but touching him like this was something else entirely. Feeling him through denim wasn't enough, you wanted more.

You pull him into another kiss while your hand moves to unbutton his jeans. You feel him shudder when your fingertips graze his skin. You tease him through his briefs at first, before slipping your hand under the waistband. He whines against your lips as he feels your fingers wrap around him.

"Mmm, fuck..." he breathes, while you slowly stroke him. "I've dreamt about this."

"Have you?" You ask, between kisses.

"Yeah, been wanting you to touch me like this," he whispers, desperately trying to keep his voice down. "Its all I can think about most days."

You smile into his kiss, feeling truly desirable for the first time in your life.

"You're all I think about most days," you quietly reveal before kissing him again, muffling another moan.

He pulls away, and sighs your name, already looking completely wrecked.

"If you keep on, I'm gonna-" he warns, before your hand stills. "And I don't want to yet, not like this."

"What are you...?"

"I wanna go all the way with you," he whispers, gazing into your eyes.

"Steve..." you breathe, his name the easiest thing for your mind to latch onto, as his admission has you reeling.

"Only if you want to," he adds. "I won't make you do anything you don't wanna do."

You notice how he's looking at you, with such sincerity and adoration, it's almost overwhelming.

"I want to," you softly reply, holding his gaze.

He smiles. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Just... not here, not with my parents down the hall..."

"You could always come over to my house," he offers, leaning in close. "My parents should be going out of town again soon and we'd have the place to ourselves."

"I actually have a better idea," you reply, with a smile. "I just remembered mine are going to a dinner party tomorrow night and will most likely be gone for most of the night."

"That is much better," he agrees, his lips brushing yours. "We can have our first, proper date then."

He feels you smile against his lips before you whisper, "Yeah, we can."

He pulls away, for a moment, so he can admire the sight below him.

"I really like this," he compliments, lightly dragging his finger along the collar of your silky pajama top.

"I was hoping you would," you quietly reply, as you watch his eyes darkening.

"Is it okay if I...?" He then asks, his fingers already gripping the top button.

Your eyes meet his as you nod. "I want you to feel more of me, too."

He leans forward again, pressing his lips to yours, as his skilled fingers unbutton your top. The lightest scratch of his nails against your stomach makes you shiver. He pulls away slightly to marvel at you again, and suddenly you feel too exposed. The look on his face instantly reassures you, as it's one of awe.

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous," he laments, leaning in close.

He nuzzles his nose along your jaw, before trailing kisses down your neck. You pull your hand from his jeans and curl it into his hair as he kisses his way to your collarbone. Soft moans of his name fall from your lips as he places wet kisses against your breast. His mouth has your back arching into him, as his teeth barely scrape your nipple. He flicks his tongue over it and you have to keep yourself from screaming.

He's presses himself against you, unable to keep from grinding, as you feel how hard and big he is.

"Fuck, I can't wait til tomorrow night..." he pants, words almost muffled by your skin. "...When I can kiss you like this while I'm buried deep inside you."

You whimper his name and he thinks it's his new favorite sound.

"You still want that too, right?" He asks, glancing up at you, his amber eyes alight with desire.

You nod, as your pretty, pink lips part with a gasp. He tries to hide his smirk before raising his head so he can kiss you again.

The way he kisses you is so deep and romantic, its unlike anything you've ever felt before. Your thoughts melt into a dreamy haze, as the only constants are how you feel about him and how he's making you feel. It's a moment seemingly frozen in time that you never want to leave.

"Can I feel more of you?" He breathily asks, with his hand hovering over the waistband of your matching silky shorts.

You hesitate, trying to catch your breath as you gaze up at him. Your hand grips his sleeve as you struggle to answer him.

"It's okay if it's too much. We don't have to -" He comforts before you interrupt him.

"I want you to touch me. I've dreamed about this, too," you admit, as a familiar heat rises to your cheeks.

"I want you to tell me about all the filthy dreams you've had about me," he smiles, as his fingertips lightly glide across your stomach.

"I might, someday," you smile, in return, pulling him into another kiss.

You feel him smiling against your lips before deepening the kiss.

He slips his hand into your shorts, and presses the pads of his fingers against the thin cotton of your panties. He softly moans when he feels how wet you are.

"You must really like me," he whispers, as he teases you with his finger.

"I do," you breathe.

"Want me to make you feel good?" He asks, pressing harder.

"Y-Yes, Steve, please..." You almost don't recognize your own voice as you've never heard it sound so desperate.

"Fuck, I'll do anything for you, honey," he replies, his own voice ragged as he slips his hand into your panties.

He slowly eases his finger inside you while his mouth hovers over yours. He whimpers over how tight you are as he begins to pump it in and out. Your eyes are already rolling back at how different and good he feels compared to you.

"Look at me, honey," he quietly commands, nudging the tip of your nose with his. "Want you to keep your eyes on me when we're like this."

You nod, obediently, as your hands claw at his sweatshirt again. His kisses are a little rougher as he adds another finger. He's already losing himself in you, in wanting to make you feel so good, you'll never want anyone else.

You body trembles underneath him, as you fight to kiss him back with the same intensity. You whine his name repeatedly against his lips and he can't help the smug look on his face as he says, "I know it's good now, but imagine how much better it'll feel when I'm actually fucking you."

You finally break eye contact as your orgasm washes over you. His lips are instantly on yours, quieting your continued cries of his name. Your fingers now curl around his wrist as his movements slow. He pulls away just enough, and once your eyes meet his, you smile so warmly at him. He leans in again and covers your face in kisses.

"You really are my best girl," he laments, gazing at you with total adoration.

It mirrors how he was looking at you earlier, but there's something new in his eyes. It's a hint of something more, something deeper that he can't find the words for yet.

He stays with you for the next few hours, as you just lay holding each other, before drifting off to sleep. You wake him up sometime before sunrise and tell him he should get home. He whines, tightening his arms around you before getting up.

You stand next to your window, with his arms around you again as he gives you a lingering goodbye kiss.

After watching his taillights fade into the early morning air, you climb back into bed with a smile. You close your eyes, your thoughts consumed with being his girl, before sleep overtakes you again.

[daemour]

Pairing: crown prince! San x maid! f! yn

Word Count: 2,971

Warnings: cursing, slight arguing, smut warnings under cut

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut, royalty au, M for mature audiences

Summary: You're called to attend to crown prince San for an unexpected bath. Before that happens, the two of you talk about some unexpected happenings.

Smut Warnings: Bath sex, oral (f receiving), breast play, biting/marking, unprotected sex (dont do this unless discussed guys), some praise, riding, creampie, ignore the logistics please <3

-

This was supposed to be a surprise for @sanjoongie but my husband spoiled it 🥹🤣 so now you all get to enjoy it for San's birthday (cus i actually remembered this time)

Ik this is pretty short for a smut writing i post on main but i promise this will not be a normal occurrence 🤣 please still expect most smuts to be on the 18+ blog

“YN, you’ve been requested by the high prince to assist him in his bath.” One of the maids, Ryujin, informs you before you’re about to tend to the gardens. “I can take garden duty for you.”

Your brows furrow. “It’s only just noon, and he’s taking a bath? Is something happening later on tonight?”

Ryujin shrugs, bumping you with her shoulder. “I’d hurry though, he seemed pretty upset. And we all know Prince San could never be mad with you around.”

Your face heats up and you hurriedly shush her, although you can’t wipe the knowing smile off her face. It’s not a well-kept secret among the servants that Crown Prince San has a softer spot for you, and if he wasn’t next in line for the throne he would’ve married you by now. He’s courting you without the flowers, and anyone can see it except for the nobles themselves.

It’s not like you haven’t tried to keep him at an arms’ length, but as sweet and loving as San is, he’s the Crown Prince. What he wants, he gets.

With an internal sigh and a moment to steel yourself, you knock gently at the ornate doors leading to San’s chambers. “My prince? You have requested my assistance.”

“You may enter.”

You push open the doors slightly to let yourself in, shutting them behind you and locking them, as is a habit that you’ve ingrained into your routine by now. “My prince, why are you taking a bath so early in the day? Is there something happening?”

The prince turns from where he is leaning against his large windowsill to face YN, his face stormy. “My parents have secured a ‘proper’ marriage for me,” he scoffs, his voice harsh, but it softens once he sees you flinch. “I am sorry, YN. I did not mean to startle you. I have just been struggling to remain calm after hearing of the news.”

And now that you have heard the news, your mind is also muddled. In your head, you knew this day would come. The King and Queen had been generous enough to let San wait until he was twenty-five to even think about marriage, but you knew the time would come soon enough. So then, why does your heart hurt?

You struggle to keep your face impassive as your hands grip your heavy skirt. “I see. That’s great news, I understand your parents have been trying to increase the size of their kingdom and now’s a great chance for them to.” You quickly turn away and open the door leading to his bathroom. “Now let’s see about this bath.”

“YN.”

“Would you like lavender or rose petals? Your future wife would probably like a sweeter smell. Maybe I can send for some orange essence,” you ramble on as you turn the tap and let the warm water fill the tub. “I heard orange essence is what’s popular these days.”

“YN.”

“Do you know who she is? I wonder if she’s prettier–”

“YN!” San’s voice snaps you out of your daze, as does his hands on your shoulders. “I do not want to marry her.”

You hesitate for the slightest moment before pulling out of his grasp. “It doesn’t matter whether you want to or not,” you finally say, avoiding his eyes. “You’ll marry her.”

“Like hell I will!” San cries, reaching out for you again, but you dodge his hands this time. “I only want you, YN.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Sa– your highness,” you sigh, turning away again and reaching for the bath herbs, turning off the faucet while you were at it. The tub isn’t nearly full but you don’t want it to flow over in the middle of this conversation. “You’re the Crown Prince.”

“Do not do this to me, YN. Do not shut me out like this. I would give it all up for you if you just give me the word. Say you love me back and I will drop everything for you,” San begs, and you can hear him drop to his knees. You turn around, grabbing his arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. “I will grovel for you if need be, YN. I cannot bear to live without you by my side.”

“Get up, San. You can’t be on your knees for me,” you hiss. “What if someone walks in?”

San looks up at you, his eyes desperate. “Let them! I will revoke my title, my crown, and my privilege to be with you. Jongho is born to be the leader, he is a better fit for me and he’s not much younger than me either. I want you, YN, and I would do anything for you to have me to. Please.”

He stumbles to his feet, and you move back until your back hits the wall. His head drops into the crook of your neck and you can feel his desperate breaths against your skin. “YN…” your name passes through his lips in a longing whisper.

“San…” You suck in a breath, carefully carding your free hand through his hair to smooth it down. He tilts his head to peek up at your face. “I…I just don’t want to make you give up your life for me.”

Your words are enough to console San and he straightens up, his hands finding yours again as he grips them tightly. “I want to, YN. I would give up that easily, and much more for you. Please,” he repeats one more time. “I will care for you. We can run away to the edges of this country, and live a humble life. As long as I may be with you.”

You bite your lip, turning your eyes away from San again, but he does not allow that to happen, reaching up to hold your jaw gently and direct your gaze back to him.

"San..." San's breath hitches as you breathe his name, your voice barely above a whisper. You can't resist the urge to touch him, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. He leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours with a desperate longing.

"I don't want to lose you," he confesses, his voice thick with emotion. "I know it's selfish, but I can't imagine my life without you."

Your heart aches. You want to believe him, to give in to the desire that has been simmering beneath the surface for so long. But the fear of the unknown, the potential consequences, holds you back.

"San, we can't..." you begin, but he just shakes his head, cutting your words off as he captures your lips in a passionate kiss.

For a moment, you lose yourself in the sensation of his touch, the taste of his lips. It's everything you've ever wanted, yet everything you know you can't have. When you finally break apart, your breath is ragged, your cheeks flushed. San's eyes are filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

"Tell me you do not feel anything," he pleads once more, his voice barely audible.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words won't come. You can't deny the truth any longer. "I..." you begin, your voice trembling. “I care for you, San. But are you sure this is a life you’ll want to live?”

San presses his forehead against yours, his breath dancing over your parted lips. “It is, as long as you are there,” he agrees readily. With each word, he brings his face closer and closer until his soft lips are only just brushing yours. “I will gladly show you, if you will allow me.”

You laugh breathily, leaning back to try and create more room. “You still need your bath, San. The water will get cold,” you try and divert weakly, but all San does is raise an eyebrow.

“Then get in,” he hums, pressing another kiss to your lips to quiet your gasp. “Unless you want me to ravish you on my silk bedsheets. The choice is yours—if I had my way, I would do both.”

You squeak, pushing your face into his warm shoulder, feeling it rumble as he chuckles. “Fine. At least the bath will be easier to clean. Move aside, San.” With one last kiss, San steps back, his eyes practically sparkling as he looks you up and down, causing heat to bloom over your cheeks. “Turn around too,” you command.

“I am going to see you anyway,” San grumbles good-naturedly but does as you ask.

You quickly unlace your bodice, stepping out of your dress and undergarments and into the tub. The water is still warm, and you take a moment to breathe deeply. You can’t help but feel both excited and worried. After this, there’s no going back.

“Can I turn around now?” San’s warm and soothing voice brings you back from your mind.

“I– Yeah,” you agree carefully, letting yourself relax as the warm water sloshes just barely over your hips. You fully appreciate the luxury of having such a big and deep bathtub at this moment. You keep your eyes on San as he turns around, apparently having unclothed himself as you were, eyes sparkling like you’ve just gifted him all the most precious jewels in the world.

He takes slow steps towards the edge of the tub, his mouth parted ever so slightly as he takes in the view of you. “You are gorgeous,” he whispers reverently, and you swallow as you try to keep your eyes on his face and not the half-hard cock bobbing lightly against his stomach. He steps into the tub across from you, lowering himself slowly into the shallow water, his eyes still trained on your face.

You can’t stop the heat from rising to your cheeks and you avert your eyes, although San’s had quite enough of that. He scooches forward until his legs are on either side of you and one of his hands rests on your waist and the other on your cheek as he leans in to press a passionate kiss to your lips. His tongue gently prods at your lips and you let your mouth drop open ever so slightly, inviting him in.

He immediately invades your mouth, deepening the kiss until he has you gasping and moaning quietly into his mouth. “You sound so perfect,” San hums into your mouth, his hand trailing up your waist to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your nipple. “God, I could sit here all day and love you the way you deserve.”

“San–” you breathe out when he finally pulls away from your swollen lips, and San chuckles at how breathy you’ve gotten just from him fondling and kissing you.

Without another word, he bends down to take your unattended breast in his mouth, sucking and nipping at your sensitive nipple as you whine and your hands fly to grip his hair. “God–” you gasp, head thrown back as he bites at your soft flesh. “San, please.”

San pulls off your nipple with a pop, looking up at you with a crooked smile on his face. “Please what?” he teases. “Please eat me out? Gladly.”

Before you can say anything, he pushes his hands under your hips, lifting you until you’re seated on the tub’s lip (once again grateful for how large his bath is), and attaching his mouth to your dripping cunt. You throw a hand over your mouth to muffle your squeal as his teeth scrape gently against your folds.

His tongue is flat as he laps at your entrance, making your thighs tense and your back arch. “You taste so fucking good,” San moans against your entrance. “You are like fucking nectar, and I cannot get enough.”

Without warning, his tongue plunges deep into your hole and one of his hands moves from your hip to press against your clit. Your eyes widen, then squeeze shut as your teeth sink into your hand, trying desperately not to moan too loud. “San, please, I’m so close–” you gasp through your hand and San’s ministrations only intensify.

Your fingers dig into his scalp and your body starts to tremble as your legs squeeze around San’s head. The heat in your core burns as you can feel pleasure course through your veins and you come into San’s mouth. He doesn’t stop, licking up your slick until you’re pushing at his head and whining.

When he comes up, his chin is glistening with your release and he leans in to press his lips against yours. You can taste how bitter you are on his lips, and it only serves to make you sigh into his mouth. “Please,” you repeat, “fuck me.”

San arches a perfect brow. “Are you sure? You have just–”

Instead of gracing him with an answer, you pull him in by his shoulders and press your lips insistently against his again. “Now,” you whine and San chuckles, reaching down to stroke his cock, the tip an angry red.

“All right, whatever you want. I live for you.” Without another word, he lines himself up to your dripping pussy and pushes in. “Fuck–” he hisses more to himself than to you before capturing your lips again.

He starts slow, pushing into you carefully, but as your moans rise in pitch into his mouth, his thrusts increase in speed. It’s thick, long, and stretches you so perfectly that you fear you’ll never get enough of it. Your teeth sink into San’s lower lip and you can taste blood before he thrusts into you so perfectly that you squeal into his mouth, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist.

“God, you’re so fucking big,” you whine, head dropping down as you sink your teeth into his shoulder as well.

San laughs low in his throat, lifting you back off the tub and holding you in the air as his hips meet your ass, the slick noises growing louder and louder. “Filling you up so well, yeah? God, I can feel you moulding so well around me. Built to take me, take my cock until all you can say is my name.”

You nod frantically in agreement. “All yours, San– please, please, please,” you groan into his neck.

“God, you beg so much,” San hums, pleased. “Come on, show me how much you want it. Show your prince how much you love him.” He sits back in the tub, lowering you carefully until you can keep yourself upright on his lap, his length spearing deep inside of you.

It takes you a moment to start moving, San’s teeth working into his lip as he keeps himself from thrusting up into your tight heat. You start by grinding on his lap, but you can’t bring yourself to tease him too much before you fall apart. After not even a minute, you lift yourself and let yourself drop, moaning so loudly you swear everyone in the castle could hear it.

San isn’t faring any better, his hands gripping your waist as his cock twitches inside of you. It doesn’t take long for him to bite into your shoulder and groan as he spills his seed deep inside of you, the warmth filling you up. “Fuck,” you sigh, your body finally relaxing as San’s arms around your waist keep you from collapsing.

It takes a moment for the two of you to finally find the energy to move. When you get up off San’s lap, his come drips out of your sore cunt, and you laugh, shaking your head. “Come on, let’s take a proper bath and get you cleaned up,” you murmur, reaching out and turning the faucet back on. “We still need to deal with…the arrangement from your parents.”

Your voice sours on the last bit and San sighs, leaning over to give you a warm hug. “Please do not worry too much, my love,” he begs. “I will talk with Jongho. He will help us, I promise. He prefers the royal lifestyle more than I do, after all. Will you trust me?”

You bite your lip as you turn to face the man you love. “I always do,” you confirm, smiling softly at the way San’s face lights up. “I’ll follow you anywhere, my prince. My San.”

-

As your two young daughters nap inside, you step onto the porch to wrap your arms around San’s broad shoulders. “Another letter from Jongho?” you hum, pressing your cheek into his soft woollen sweater you had knitted for an anniversary gift. “What did he say this time?”

San lets his head rest upon yours. “He says Mother and Father have gotten over it, and are now just happy I am safe. He still would not tell them where I am, however, and he finds their reactions amusing.” You can hear the smile leak into his voice. “Maybe when my father finally passes his crown on to Jongho, we can let them visit. I would love for them to meet the girls.”

You smile too, tilting your head to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sure at that point they’ll just be happy you’ve given them grandchildren, Sanah.” You pause. “Thank you.”

San pouts, turning to properly face you. “Now, whatever are you thanking me for?”

Shrugging, you wrap your arms around his trim waist. “For giving all that up for me. I know you must miss them. And it can’t have been easy adjusting to the life I live.”

San quiets you with a gentle touch of his lips against yours. “I miss my parents, yes. I miss Jongho. But this is all I’ve ever wanted.” He pulls you in closer. “I do not wish for you to feel guilty over a choice that I made myself. To me, you’re worth more than a crown.”