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alanisinskz · 11 days ago

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⋆˚꩜｡「 ᢉ𐭩 your reaction to skz dyed hair」

pairing > ot8 x gn!reader

summary > readers reaction to skz dyed hair!! (blonde chan , bluesung mention WOOOO)

warnings > none

authors note ᢉ𐭩 > okay i haven’t wrote in a while so i tried my best + han’s is the shortest i think i’m sorry😞

BANGCHAN - blonde

Earlier that day, Chan had told you that he was going to get his hair done. He didn’t tell you what he was doing , whether it was a haircut , a dye , whatever it was. You were left in the dark. Sure you liked the surprise, Chan looked good in anything he wore. Anything fit him.

You sat on the couch, scrolling on your phone. Patiently waiting for Chan to return home. You felt a bit anxious, just from the surprise. And weirdly enough, all your social media feeds were about Chan’s previous hair looks. You groaned. Fighting the urge to just throw your phone and not think about it.

Soon enough , almost too soon , Chan walked through the door. You instantly jumped up. Running to the front door , your heart beating fast , anxiously waiting for Chan to completely walk in so you could see his hair.

He shut the door behind him and faced you, standing in front of you. His face locked onto yours. Your jaw was dropped. You didn’t think he was gonna go back blonde.

“Y/n.. Are you okay?” He chuckled lightly, almost nervously.

He went to scratch the back of his neck. You sat there , mouth still agape. Still in udder shock.

“Is it - is it bad?” His voice went soft a bit. His gaze moving to the ground.

You quickly shook your head. Grabbing his arms and shaking him softly.

“Bad??? Chan are you serious??” “I’m shocked by how good you look. You look better than you did the first time you had blonde hair!” You rambled out.

“I can’t believe you did it again.”

Chan laughed at your reaction. He looked back at your eyes, moving your hands to intertwine with his.

“I’m glad you like it baby. I did it just for you.” He bent down and gave you a soft peck on your cheek.

LEE KNOW - purple

You and Minho had a date plan for you guys’ anniversary. The restaurant you guys went to for you two’s first date. You had arrived earlier than Minho, his excuse being he had to stay at the studio for a bit. You didn’t complain, no matter what Minho wouldn’t have missed it.

You waited outside the restaurant, Minho not that far away. You scrolled on your phone, patiently waiting for your boyfriend’s arrival.

Soon enough you heard a familiar voice. “Hey babe, you ready?”

You quickly moved your gaze from your phone, ready to kiss your boyfriend and walk inside. After putting your phone into your purse and looking up at Minho, you froze. Just staring at his hair. Your mouth trying not to just drop. His hair was that shiny purple, like it was almost 3 years ago. That purple that you loved.

Minho was almost inside when he noticed you weren’t behind him. He turned around and saw your shocked expression. He closed the door to the restaurant and walked back up to you.

“Babe — Are you okay?” He put his hands on your shoulders, staring at you with almost a worried expression.

You nodded slowly. Your breath hitched in your throat. Your voice was basically gone. You swallowed before trying to speak again.

“Your - Your hair!”

“What about it?” Minho asked nonchalantly. Like nothing was different, like nothing had changed. Like it was still that dark black.

You looked at Minho like he was dumb. A confused expression on your face. Your eyes still held wide. You moved out of his arms. Enough space between you two so you could use your hands as you talked.

“What do you mean ‘what about it?’!” You exclaimed. “It’s purple!”

Minho just nodded, standing there like nothing was happening.

“Yeah it’s purple. You’ve seen it before.”

You put your face in your hands. Shaking your head softly. Minho was so nonchalant about this but you loved him.

You were honestly more shocked that he didn’t tell you that he was going back to purple, let alone that he was getting it done. No heads up, nothing.

“That’s not the point! You surprised me!” You moved your hands back down to your sides.

Minho stepped back closer to you, a soft smirk on his face. That same smirk he always had. His eyes kind of going low.

“Do you not like it? I thought you would like for me to surprise you with it.”

You chucked softly. Shaking your head at him again, looking back up at him as he looked down at you.

“No , no i love it. Just surprised.”

CHANGBIN - purple

Changbin was shooting a music video with the rest of his group. You texted him telling him to have fun and that you were waiting for him to get home.

After an hour or two you had gotten a picture from one of the members, just a little update from the shoot. You were about to reply when something caught your eye. Changbin was in the background , you could spot him from a mile away. But something was different. His hair, purple.

Your eyes went wide, jaw dropped.

You quickly went to type a reply about Changbin’s hair. But then, you got an idea. You were gonna wait til he got home to say something to him about it.

You weren’t gonna scold him about it, he looked amazing in his dyed hair. Purple was probably your favorite look of his. You were just more shocked that he didn’t tell you.

Soon enough Changbin arrived home. You two had texted, you acted like you hadn’t noticed, like you hadn’t gotten the picture at all. You waited to see if Changbin would tell you at anytime that he dyed his hair, he didn’t.

As soon as you heard him pull up you ran to the front door. Standing right in front of it. You heard the car door shut and him walking to the door. Then the door opened. You sat there smiling innocently.

When Changbin opened the door he jumped. Lightly cursing under his breath.

“Y/n! You sca-“ You quickly cut him off. Your hands behind your back just standing directly in front of Changbin.

“You dyed your hair?” — “Purple?” You asked quickly. Your gaze strong. Changbin sat there , a bit nervous. He went to scratch the back of his neck. Before he spoke again he stuttered a bit.

“Yeah, I mean, I was gonna tell you.”

You titled your head slightly. Listening to Changbin basically scold himself for not telling you. In your head you were just giggling to yourself, he genuinely felt bad for not telling you.

He continued trying to make excuses, his gaze on the floor. You smiled softly and a soft giggle escaped your lips. Changbin’s head quickly shot up and looked at you confused.

“What’s so funny?” He said softly, his eyes going a bit wide.

You grabbed his hand softly and smiled at him. Your teeth poking out of the smile, hoping it would calm him down.

“I’m not actually mad, Bin. I was just joking. Just shocked you dyed your hair.”

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His body slumped as he breathed out. Putting one of his hands on top of yours.

“Thank god. I thought you were gonna like, scold me for not telling you.”

You chucked at him again. You got your hand free and pulled his head down and kissed him on top of his head. You moved his face directly in front of yours. Both of you smiling softly at each other.

“I would never.”

HYUNJIN - black buzz cut

Hyunjin and the rest of his group were on tour. You missed Hyunjin deeply, and you knew he’d be gone for what felt like forever.

You two still talked, facetimed, texted any time you could. It was almost like he was still with you. Just a thousand miles away.

You two were sending pictures back and forth like you normally did. The pictures with captions about your day or what you were doing, etc etc. You had sent your last one, shutting your phone off and waiting for Hyunjin to see it and respond.

You were walking the streets of your town, your coffee in your hand. Peeking into art stores every once and awhile. You continued walking on the sidewalk when you felt your phone buzz. You pulled it out of your pocket and opened it, a picture from Hyunjin. You quickly opened it. A selfie with him posing. You didn’t even get the chance to read the caption of it, you were focused on your boyfriend’s changed hair.

Yes, it was still the buzz. But it was black. You stopped in your tracks. Your coffee slipped out of your hand. It splashing on your shoes and on the sidewalk, but in this moment you didn’t care. Your jaw dropped. You didn’t even send a picture back.

“HWANG HYUNJIN!!!” You were froze in the middle of the sidewalk. Your fingers typing quickly on your phone.

“Yes Y/n..?” You barely gave Hyunjin time to respond before you were texting him again. Still in all caps.

“YOUR BUZZ!! ITS BLACK!!” You weren’t like appalled, oh no. It looked amazing. The grown out buzz with the black dye, heaven on earth.

You waited anxiously for Hyunjin to text you back. You quickly found somewhere to sit down, giggling to yourself as you continued staring at the picture.

“Do you think it’s cool? I like it..” You could tell Hyunjin was nervous texting you about it, that you didn’t like it. You quickly reassured him that you loved it. You didn’t want him to overthink it at ALL.

“Hyune stop RIGHT THERE. I LOVE IT!!” — “I think i even like it better than the pink buzz.”

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Waiting for his text bubbles to pop back up. Your eyes kept going back to the selfie he had sent you. It was already saved in your camera roll, into your “hyune🥟💗” album.

Soon enough he texted you back. You quickly went back into you two’s messages and read it. Not even a minute passed after he responded.

“Really? You loved the pink buzz,” — “I’m glad you like it sweetie.”

HAN - blue

Jisung never heard the end about his blue hair. From STAY, the members, you, everyone just begging him to go back. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he was just letting his hair breathe.

Almost everyday you looked at pictures of Jisung when he wore eyeliner and had his dark blue hair. You especially did it when you two were laying in bed together. As you laid on his chest you would pull a picture up, sighing loudly like you were a military wife who missed their husband. And honestly, to you it felt like that.

It had been forever since Jisung had last had blue hair. At least it felt like it. You mourned it everyday, wishing one day it would just come back. And finally your dream came true.

Jisung hadn’t told you anything. Just a quick text saying that he had a surprise for you. You spammed his phone, asking him what it was. He didn’t respond. Not even a simple read. Your heart rate increased. You didn’t expect anything bad, but knowing Jisung there was no telling.

You quickly sat up quickly on the couch, waiting for Jisung to come home. You weren’t even holding your phone, it was face down on the table next to the couch.

Soon enough you heard keys jingle, you tried not to look until Jisung was completely in the house. He shut the door behind him and sat his things down on the counter. Then he made his way towards you.

That’s when you saw it. The hair. Blue. You gasped loudly. Jumping up and tackling Jisung onto the couch. You didn’t even look at his face, just his hair. The shiny , dark, soft blue hair. He had his hands softly on your waist. He chuckled.

“You like it baby? I knew you miss-“ You cut him off. You were too sucked into his hair. It was like a spell, it was pulling you in.

“Shut up. I’m sucked in.” You were too focused on his hair. Twirling it in your fingers and scratching his head softly. Basically both of you got something out of it. You got bluesung and he got endless head scratches.

FELIX - black

Because of practice and recordings Felix came home late a lot. You tried to stay up and wait for him. But most of the time you fell asleep before he he came home. And every time he would bring you to the bedroom from the couch.

This night was no different. You had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for Felix again, he came home and brought you to the bedroom and laid you in your spot on the bed. He was gonna tell you he dyed his hair, but you had fallen asleep before he could. He smiled to himself thinking about your reaction the next day.

Soon enough he fell asleep right beside you, his arm wrapped around you pulling you closely like always.

The next morning you woke up before Felix did. Your eyes opened softly and Felix’s face was right across from yours. You hadn’t notice his darkened hair yet, you were too focused on his face. Smiling softly as you watched him sleep peacefully. That’s when you noticed it.

You looked up slightly and noticed a few strands, they were dark, black. You sat up quickly. Crust still in your eyes and everything. You put your hands in his hair, making sure it was real. You breathed in softly. Your breath hitched in your throat, still utterly shocked.

A few minuted later you saw Felix’s eyes flutter awake as well. His eyes went wide as he noticed your shocked expression and how you were sitting up. He sat up as well, his face meeting yours. He was genuinely worried, he thought something was wrong.

“Baby? What’s wrong? Bad dream?” He spoke quickly, his voice cracking and low since he just woke up.

Your eyes were still on the top of Felix’s head. Still stuck on his hair. You couldn’t believe he actually dyed it black. He liked his blonde hair, he always went back to blonde no matter what.

“Your hair. Lixie. It’s Black!” You spoke softly. Your hands reaching out to touch it involuntarily.

He smiled softly when he realized what was wrong. He looked down at his shoulders trying to look at his hair.

“Oh yeah, i was gonna tell you when i came home last night but you were asleep.”

You kept playing with his hair. Your pupils getting big as you watched how easily his hair intertwined with your fingers. You took your hand out of his hair. Slouching back down and looking into his eyes.

“I’m glad you dyed it. It’s cute.”

SEUNGMIN - pink oreo

You were going over to Seungmin’s for you guys’ annual movie nights. It was a tradition between you two. Every wednesday and friday, if Seungmin wasn’t busy.

You hadn’t texted him much, just a quick “omw” and “okay”. That’s how Seungmin was, just really nonchalant about everything.

You finally made it to Seungmin’s, locking your car behind you and knocking on the door three times, like you always did so he knew it was you. You waited patiently for Seungmin to open the door. Your hands tucked tightly into your hoodie.

Finally Seungmin came to open the door. You heard the locks unlock and the door open. Your gaze at your feet until the door creaked. You looked up at Seungmin and walked in. You didn’t comprehend his hair until after greeting him and doing a quick double take. Your eyes going a bit wide. Seungmin just looked at you weirdly.

“Y/n, you’re acting weird, more weird than usual. What’s wrong with you?” Your hand raised and pointed at his bangs. His hair wasn’t just plain black anymore. It was pink. You stuttered a bit before actually responding.

“It’s pink. Why is it pink?” You questioned. Seungmin pushed your hand down, walking back to the couch and sitting down. You stood in your original position, your feet were froze. You couldn’t move. You could hear the eye roll in Seungmin’s voice.

“Because i want it to be? Come on Y/n, it’s just hair.”

You rolled your eyes and walked to join Seungmin on the couch. You grabbed the blanket and pulled it over your legs. You took a handful of popcorn from the bowl that was sitting on the coffee table.

“I was just gonna say it was cute.” You put the popcorn in your mouth and put your focus onto the tv, not noticing how Seungmin turned to look at you after you spoke.

I.N - oreo

You and Jeongin always did weekly sleepovers, once or twice a week. This time it was at your place. You had got everything ready and situated for Jeongin to arrive, snacks, movies, blankets, all that jazz.

You had been talking to Jeongin all throughout the day, nothing different there. Until right before he showed up he texted, “oh yeah, i dyed my hair.” Your mouth dropped as you read the text, quickly texting back “WHAT???”. No response. You groaned and slammed your phone down on your bed.

You heard your front door open and quickly ran to the front door. Jeongin wasn’t even all the way into the living room before you tackled him to the ground. The front door was still wide open, the outside air coming in.

You finally got Jeongin to the floor and you both had calmed down. Through the struggle you couldn’t really tell what his hair looked like. You put your hands on his shoulders, sort of pining him down so he couldn’t escape before showing you his hair.

“Y/n what the hell!” He exclaimed, breathing heavily. Looking at you, eyes wide.

“Let me see!” You yelled back. Finally calming down. Your body relaxed when you finally got a good look at his hair. His hair mostly black with a big white skunk patch on the right side of his head. You touched it softly. Jeongin still had a confused look. Your face more soft.

He squinted his eyes at you softly. Looking up at your hand. He chuckled softly. Laying his head back on the ground. You still sitting on top of his torso.

“So you tackled me to the ground just to see what my hair looks like?”

You nodded. Looking back at him with a soft smile and crawling off of him. You put your hands out and helped him up. Watching as he dusted his clothes off. Right before you two walked into your bedroom, you turned around and spoke softly.

“It’s cute.”

authors note ᢉ𐭩 > welp here it is , blonde chan the kids miss you💔 ALSO if someone did this first full creds to them !!

#stray kids #skz x reader #skz imagines #bang chan #lee minho #changbin #hyunjin #han jisung #felix #seungmin #jeongin #skz scenarios #skz drabbles #skz #skz fluff #skz fanfic

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aeralux · 3 months ago

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"About You" - Jacaerys Velaryon

Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

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

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

Words: 8k

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

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

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

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

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

The sky was war.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not his crown. Not his cause. You.

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

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

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

Arrows like spears. A shriek of agony. Jace barely had time to shout before they were spinning—air, blood and water rushing all at once. Vermax’s wings wrapped around him in instinctive defence, curling in. And Jace’s last thought before the world turned black was not of glory or thrones or dragons.

It was of your hand, slipping from his.

And the whisper he had sworn: I’ll find you.

You waited and waited, the silence thick like fog in the air. Pacing in his chambers, each step felt heavier than the last as you clung to the hope that he would burst through the door at any moment. Your heart raced at the thought, imagining how he would run into your arms, ready to whisk you away from all of this. But the hours turned into days, and now it had been two long days since he had left.

Rhaenyra, his mother, was already deep in mourning, her grief hanging like a dark cloud over the castle. You could see it etched on her face, a mix of sorrow and determination, her plans growing darker as she desired to avenge her eldest son.

But in your heart, you could not accept the loss. He had promised he would return to you—that he would find you again. How could he break such a vow?

Desperation fueled your spirit, leading you to climb onto your dragon and soar into the skies. You flew to the cliff where you had spent countless joyful days as children, laughing and sharing secrets as the sun dipped below the horizon. The memories flooded back—those innocent promises of forever, spoken in whispers filled with dreams, so naive and full of excitement.

Now, standing on that cliff, the wind whipped around you, carrying the scent of salt and the echoes of laughter from a time before this heavy sorrow. How you wished you could go back to that moment, to feel his warmth beside you once more, to see his smile just one last time.

He woke to the scent of crushed herbs and seawater, salt crusting his lashes, his throat raw from breathing in brine and smoke. The pain came in waves, each breath tugging at the torn skin along his ribs. His shoulder was bandaged, and his leg was splinted. The room was dim, with stone walls and driftwood beams above, and the window opened to the crash of the tide.

And at the foot of the bed: a man with grey in his beard and sorrow in his eyes.

“You’re lucky,” the man said softly, “that the gods let you wash up here instead of dragging you down with that poor beast of yours.”

Jace tried to rise. Pain answered.

“Stay still. You’ll tear the stitches.”

The man moved closer, laying a cool hand on Jace’s forehead. The touch was practised. Familiar. Maester’s hands.

“I know who you are,” he said gently. “No use pretending. There are not many Targaryens left who ride dragons, and fewer still who fall from the sky into the sea like dying stars. And that sigil on your breastplate—what’s left—well.” A small, dry smile. “Let’s just say it doesn’t take a Citadel archmaester to piece it together.”

Jace’s lips cracked when he tried to speak. “My dragon—”

“Gone,” the man said. “I’m sorry.”

Over the following days, the maester—Marcyl was his name—cared for Jace like a father might a wounded son. He crushed willow bark and poultices, set bones, and read aloud when Jace drifted in and out of sleep. He said little of his past, but his hands gave him away: ink-stained fingertips, the worn chain still tucked beneath his robes, dulled from sea air and years of silence.

He spoke often to Jace about not going back.

“You're young. Strong. The gods spared you. Take that gift. There are ships from Lys that stop by the bay below. Slip aboard. Go east. Grow a beard. Learn a trade. Live.”

But Jace's eyes always turned to the sea, haunted and stubborn. “I made her a promise.”

Marcyl sighed, sitting back in his chair. “And if you return now? You’ll be captured and or used. Or killed. The boy you were may be dead, but the prince you are is a currency of war, and you are in debt.”

“You said you served the crown once.”

“I did,” Marcyl said. “And then I saw what crowns do.”

Jacaerys sits in silence, lost in thought, as days drag on. He knows that if he flees, he might save himself. But the idea of leaving you behind breaks his heart. He thinks of your smile, so bright and warm, and the way your eyes hold a world of understanding. He misses the softness of your hands, the comfort they bring. Without you, life would feel empty, and he can’t bear the thought.

Finally, after struggling for days, he finds the strength to rise and walk. He approaches the maester, determination in his voice. “I’m going back... back to her,” he says firmly. “Maybe we can escape to Essos together someday. Who knows what awaits us?” In his heart, he clings to the hope of a new life with you, filled with love and endless possibilities.

The old Maester doesn’t try to stop him. He simply nods, eyes shadowed, like he’s known all along that the boy would choose you over hiding.

“You’ll need this,” Marcyl says, pressing a thick wool cloak into Jace’s hands. Inside its folds: dried meat, a waterskin, a small vial of milk of the poppy. And a coin—old, Valyrian. “For luck. Or leverage.”

They part in silence, the wind cold and damp with salt as Jace steps into the boat at dawn. He rows until the tide takes him, and sails once the wind favours him. Every muscle burns, and his shoulder still aches, but he pushes through it. What’s pain to a man who’s already lost everything but one person?

Nights are the hardest. Alone, wrapped in damp sails, he dreams of you—sometimes as you were, laughing by firelight, other times as you might be now, broken with grief. He whispers your name into the dark, hoping some old god still listens.

And then, finally—land.

Back at Dragonstone—the war continues. Your heart is brittle, barely holding together. Your eyes are red and sunken from crying and lack of sleep.

You lie in his bed, the sheets still faintly carrying his scent, a bittersweet reminder of the warmth you once shared. His pillow, soft and familiar, is often stained with your salty tears, each drop a testament to your heart's aching sorrow.

The only thing keeping you from spiralling completely into madness is the milk of the poppy that the Maester has been offering you. Its numbing effects provide a fleeting escape from the relentless pain.

The sight of Baela and Rhaena watching you, their eyes filled with worry, barely registers in your foggy mind. Their fears no longer matter. Not when the love of your life lies beneath the waves, entombed with his great beast, leaving you lost in a world that feels dark and hollow without him.

Still every morning and night, you go out to the sea. Hoping to even see a ghost of him. Some sign that he is still out there, watching you, looking for you. He will find you.

The fog is thick that morning. It rolls in heavy from the sea, turning the world into shades of silver and ash. You stand at the cliff’s edge like you always do, the hem of your cloak dancing in the wind, eyes scanning the horizon for something you’ve never truly believed you'd see.

A shape breaks through the mist.

At first, you think it's your mind playing tricks again—like the other times you’d sworn you’d seen wings, or heard his voice in the crash of waves. But this time, it moves closer. Steadier. Realer.

You don’t breathe.

The figure staggers as it climbs the rocky path, shoulders hunched, limping. A dark cloak clings to him, soaked through, hood drawn up. Your heart races violently, painfully. You take a step back, clutching your chest.

Then he lifts his head.

Your knees give out.

For a moment, all you can do is stare. The sea behind him howls, and the wind rushes past your ears, but none of it matters. The world narrows to the face before you—gaunt, bruised, beautiful.

“Jace?” It comes out like a breath. Fragile. Disbelieving.

He sways on his feet. “I told you I’d find you.”

You run.

There’s no hesitation. No room left for doubt. Your hands reach for him and his arms catch you, shaky but desperate, pulling you to him like he might vanish if he lets go. You bury your face in his neck, against the soaked fabric, and sob.

“You’re alive—gods, you’re alive—” you choke through tears, pressing trembling hands to his face to be sure, to feel the heat of him.

“I’m here. I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse. “I couldn’t—Vermax—” his throat closes on the name. You feel it, the pain. The grief. The guilt.

You just shake your head. “No more apologies. No more goodbyes.”

The two of you cling to each other as if the storm might come again as if fate might reach in and try to steal him a second time. But it won’t. Not this time.

He came back.

You bring him inside, your arms around his waist, guiding him through the familiar halls like a ghost returned to the land of the living. No one sees you. No one needs to. Right now, there is only him—cold and trembling, half-starved and so fragile beneath your fingertips, and yet, miraculously alive.

You feed him and draw him a bath, your hands steady even as your heart shakes. He watches you with wide, tired eyes as if he still isn’t sure this is real. The steam rises, curling between you, and when you help him undress carefully, reverently, he lets you. Not out of weakness, but trust. Bone-deep, wordless trust.

Scars now map his chest and arms, angry and healing. You touch them gently, and he flinches—not from pain, but emotion. You don’t ask about what happened. Not yet. You just dip a cloth into the warm water and begin to clean him, slow and quiet, your fingers trembling only once when you run them across his cheek.

You finish washing him, your hands lingering on his cooling skin before you help him from the tub and wrap a soft blanket around his shoulders. He leans against you, his weight settling like he means to rest his burdens on your frame, and your heart swells with fierce protectiveness. This man—your prince, your love, your everything—is here. He kept his vow.

"I thought I'd lost you," you whisper, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Gods, I thought you were gone, like the rest of them..."

A shudder runs through his frame at the unspoken grief between the words. The loss of his brother, of his cousins, of innocence and hope. Of a future that once seemed so bright and full of promise.

"I'm here," he murmurs, his arms tightening around your waist. "I'm here, and I'm not letting you go again." His voice is fervent and desperate, and you feel the weight of his stare on your face. "I found you, just like I swore I would."

He leans in to capture your lips, his own cool and searching, and you open for him without hesitation. A soft groan escapes him as he kisses you deeply, a kiss that feels like a homecoming, like a promise sealed.

You cradle Jace's face in your palms, your thumbs brushing away the remnants of tears and water from his chilled skin. Your tears fall freely, tracing paths down your cheeks to dampen your kiss with a brittle, bittersweet essence.

"Jace," you murmur against his mouth, his name a prayer of relief and gratitude. "My love, my heart... you're here. Truly here." You nip lightly at his lower lip, a physical affirmation.

Your fingers sink into the damp curls at his nape, savouring their softness and the reality of him, whole and real in your arms. You tug him closer, moulding his lean frame to the curves of your body, chasing the warmth that had begun to feel like a distant memory.

Jacaerys shudders as your fingers sink into his hair, his own hands sliding down to the small of your back to press you flush against him. He can feel every curve, every soft swell, and it ignites a hunger in him that has nothing to do with the meagre rations he's had on his journey. No, this is a deeper ache. A yearning. Something that only your body can satisfy.

He breathes your name, his voice rough with emotion and desire. "My heart, my soul... I thought I'd lost you. Thought I'dnever hold you again, never feel your touch, your kiss..." He claims your mouth once more, more urgently this time, his tongue delving deep to taste you, to consume you. To remind himself that you're real, that this is happening.

His hands roam your back, your sides, your hips, mapping the dips and curves he knew so well. They slip beneath the hem of your tunic, seeking the bare skin underneath, calloused palms skimming up your ribs to cup the soft weight of your breasts. He thumbs your nipples through the thin linen of your small clothes, feeling them pebble and tighten at his touch.

"I need you," he rasps against your lips, rocking his hips into yours with a soft groan. "I ache to feel you, every part of you."

He walks you backwards towards the bed, his mouth never leaving yours, his hands not stopping their sensual exploration. When your knees hit the mattress, he lowers you down onto it, covering your body with his own.

His touch was gentle yet urgent like a man starved for affection. A soft whimper escaped your lips, your eyes flutteringclosed as you leaned into his caress.

"Jacaerys..." you breathed, your voice trembling with barely contained emotion.

Your hands drifted over his chest, his shoulders, admiring the pale muscle and warm skin beneath your fingertips. You drank in every detail, committing it to memory, in case this was all a fleeting dream.

Leaning up, you tenderly brushed his damp curls back from his brow, tucking them behind his ears. Your breath caught at the sight of him, at the raw beauty and vulnerability in his eyes. Your pretty prince, back in your arms where he belonged.

"Let me take care of you," you murmured, your voice low and soothing. "Let me love you, cherish you, the way I always have. The way I always will."

You cupped his face in your palms. Your heart ached to see him so weary, so worn, yet it swelled with fierce love and protectiveness.

Slowly, you guided him up the bed, your body melting against his as you sank into the soft furs. You rolled him over, straddling his hips, wanting to be the one to comfort, to nurture, to worship him.

Jacaerys' breath catches as you roll him onto his back, his eyes darkening with desire as you straddle his hips. He looks up at you, his princess, your hair falling around you like a curtain as you lean over him. In this moment, the war, the grief, the fear—it all falls away. There is only you, only this, only the love that burns between you.

"Let you love me?" he whispers, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you already did, with every breath, every beat of your beautiful heart." His hands find your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the small of your back as he pulls you down, urging you to settle against him.

"I need your touch," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire and something softer, something that feels a lot like devotion. "Need to feel your skin, your heartbeat, your breath. Need to be inside you, surrounded by you, until I can't tell where I end and you begin."

"I love you," he breathes, his eyes never leaving yours. "I love you more than anything in this world or the next. And I'mgoing to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much."

With that, he surges up to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, pouring all of his love, his relief, and his desperation into it. His tongue delves deep, tangling with yours, tasting you, consuming you. One hand tangles in your hair, and the other slides down to grip your hip, pulling you harder against him.

He rolls his hips up into yours, letting you feel the hard, hot length of him through the fabric of the towel. A low groan rumbles in his chest as he grinds against you, seeking friction, seeking more.

You sigh breathily as Jacaerys guides your hips to grind against his, your body melting into his touch. "Oh, my prince..." you gasp, your voice trembling with honest emotion. You smile down at him. "I missed you... so very much. My heart felt so empty, so lost without you by my side."

Your eyes shimmer with unshed tears as you gaze at him, drinking in every beloved detail of his face. "My life had no colour, no warmth without you in it, Jacaerys. I was merely existing, not truly living, not until this moment." You lean down to brush a tender kiss against his lips, pouring all your longing and love into the soft press of your mouth against his. "Please... do not ever leave my side again."

Jacaerys' heart clenches at the raw emotion in your voice, at the shimmer of tears in your eyes. He feels a surge of love so fierce it steals his breath, a protectiveness that makes him want to gather you up and never let you go. He knows exactlywhat you mean—the time spent without you had been a bleak, empty hell, a hollow imitation of life.

"Never," he vows, his voice low and intense. "I swear it, my love. I'll never leave you again." His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness beneath your eye. "My life has no meaning without you in it. No purpose, no joy, no light."

He sits up, bringing you with him, his forehead pressed against yours. "You're my heart, my home, my everything," he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours. "I'll spend every day showing you how much you mean to me, how deeply I love you."

His hands slide down your back, over the curve of your rear, before gripping the hem of your tunic. Slowly, he starts to lift it, his calloused fingers skimming over the bare skin of your thighs, your hips, your waist. He tugs it up and over your head, tossing it aside to leave you bare before him, save for your small clothes.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his dark eyes roaming over every inch of exposed skin, drinking in the sight of you. "My goddess, my queen, my everything..." He leans in to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste your skin, making you sigh in pleasure. His hands map the curves of your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples through the thin linen until they pebble and strain against the fabric.

He leans in to capture your breast in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak, suckling and teasing as he wets the fabric. He wants to show you with every touch, every kiss, every thrust, just how much he loves you. Just how much he needs you. Just how much you mean to him.

"Ohhh, Jacaerys..." you breathe out, your voice hitching as pleasure courses through you. Your fingers thread through his damp curls, gripping them lightly as you hold his head to your breast. "That feels...mmm...don't stop."

You rock your hips harder against the growing bulge underneath the flimsy towel, seeking some relief from the throbbing ache he's ignited between your thighs. The rough fabric rubs deliciously against your most sensitive places, making you gasp and clench around nothing.

"Please, my love," you whimper, your back arching to push your breast more fully into Jacaerys' eager mouth. "I need...I need..." you can't even finish the thought, too lost in sensation, too desperate for his touch.

Your head tips back, exposing the long column of your throat as soft mewls of pleasure spill from your lips. The wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the swirl of his tongue—it's almost too much, yet not enough. You're drowning in sensation, consumed by the love and desire that burns between you, hotter and brighter than any dragonfire.

Jacaerys groans around your breast, the sound vibrating against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He can feel your need, your desperation, and it fuels his own. He wants to consume you, to devour you, to make you feel pleasure so intense it borders on pain. He wants to hear you scream his name, to feel you clench around him as you find your release.

He releases your breast with a wet pop, his lips trailing kisses up the column of your throat until he reaches your mouth. He captures it in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, tasting your gasps and whimpers. His hands slide down to grip your rear, kneading the soft flesh as he pulls you harder against him, grinding his covered erection against your core.

He's aching to be inside you, to feel your tight heat surrounding him, but he forces himself to take his time. He wants to worship you, to make you feel pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

"Ah, Jacaerys," you gasp, your voice ragged with need as you rock wantonly against the hard length of him, the rough fabric of his towel rubbing deliciously against your aching core. "I want to bear your children, my love. I long to feel your seed quickening inside me, to grow round with your heir."

Your hand slides down his back, nails raking lightly over his skin as you pull him harder against you, desperate to feel every inch of him. "I want to be your queen in truth, your partner, your lover, the mother of your children. I need to have a part of you with me always, growing inside me, a testament to our love."

You capture his lips in a fierce, passionate kiss, pouring all your longing and desire into it. "Fill me, Jacaerys," you breathe against his mouth, your voice low and urgent. "Give me your heirs, bind me to you in every way possible. I'myours, now and forever."

Jacaerys shudders at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The thought of you round with his child, your belly swollen with new life, your breasts heavy and full—it ignites a primal hunger in him. He wants to claim you, to mark you, to make you his in every way possible.

"Gods, yes," he rasps, his voice rough with desire. "I want to fill you, to claim you, to make you mine in every way possible." His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he grinds his clothed erection against your dripping core.

He captures your mouth in a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperation, pouring every ounce of his love and lust into it. He wants to devour you, to consume you, to make you a part of him forever.

"Mine," he growls against your lips, his hips snapping forward, the hard length of him pressing insistently against your entrance. "You're mine, now and always. I'll fill you again and again until my seed takes root until your belly swells with my child."

Frantic with need, you yank off your small clothes, baring your dripping sex to Jacaerys' hungry gaze. With trembling fingers, you undo the towel wrapped around his waist, freeing his pretty cock. It springs forth, hard and heavy and perfect, making your mouth water with anticipation.

"Please, my love," you whimper, spreading your thighs wider on top of him. "I need you inside me. I need to feel all of you, every thick inch of your cock splitting me open, claiming me, filling me. I'm aching to have you so deep inside me that I can feel it for days."

Your voice is ragged, your chest heaving with each desperate breath. You reach for him, your hands gripping his firm ass, urging him closer, needing him closer. "Fill me with your seed. I'm yours, now and forever. Let me take care of you, my prince."

Jacaerys' breath catches as you bare yourself to him, his eyes darkening with lust at the sight of your glistening sex. He groans lowly as you free his aching cock, his length throbbing and heavy with need. The feeling of your small, soft hands gripping his ass, urging him closer, is almost too much to bear.

He lines himself up with your entrance. He teases your folds with the swollen head of his cock, coating himself in your arousal, making you both slick and ready.

"Ride me," he commands, his voice low and rough. "Take what you need, what you want."

You gaze at him through hooded eyes, your plump lips curling into a coy smile as you bite down on the soft flesh, leaving a crescent imprint. Your fingers wrap around his throbbing, leaking cock, helping him guide his leaking cock to your entrance. You let out a breathy whine as you feel him start to push inside, your inner walls stretching and yielding to his thick size.

"Jace," you keen, voice high and breathy, thighs trembling and quaking around his hips as you adjust to the intrusion. The initial penetration is a mix of sweet pain and intense pleasure, your body having tightened slightly during your time apart. The feeling of being so utterly filled, claimed, and possessed by him is overwhelming. "You're...so big," you pant, your nails digging into his abdomen as you try to relax your hips, to take him deeper. "I've missed this, missed you, so much... love how you fill me up."

Jacaerys lies back, his chest heaving as he gazes up at you with hooded, adoring eyes. His hands skim over your curves, caressing every dip and swell, as if committing your body to memory. "You're exquisite," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire and emotion.

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing with the effort, as he watches you take him deeper. "Gods, you feel incredible," he grits out, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips hard enough to leave marks.

He reaches up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that occasionally slip down your cheeks. "My princess," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "My everything. I love you so much... I'm here now, and I'm never letting you go again."

As he speaks, he rolls his hips up to meet yours, driving himself deeper inside you. His hands slide down to grip your rear, urging you to take more of him with each downward thrust. He sets a steady, deep rhythm, his thick length stretching and filling you so completely that you can feel every ridge and vein as he moves within you.

"Ahhh," he whimpers, his head tipping back against the pillow as he loses himself in the exquisite sensation of your body surrounding him. "You feel like heaven, my love."

"Ohhh, Gods!" you moan loudly, your voice echoing off the stone walls as you feel him fill you up completely with every deep, powerful thrust. Tears of joy and overwhelming pleasure stream down your face as you gaze down at Jacaerys in awe as if the Gods had answered your prayers and returned him to you.

Your hands find his chest, fingers splaying over the firm muscle as you balance yourself and start to move faster, riding him with increasing eagerness. The sensation of his thick, hard length stretching you open, claiming you, filling you so utterly and completely—it's almost too much. But you don't want it to ever end. You want to drown in it, to lose yourself in the feeling of being one with him.

"Jacaerys," you gasp, your hips rolling and grinding against his, taking him as deep as you can. "I need you." Your voice is ragged, desperate, consumed by the love and lust that burns between you.

Your eyes are locked onto Jacaerys, drinking in the sight of him, committing every moment to memory. You want to sear this moment into your mind, to hold onto it forever—the moment when he claimed you, body and soul, and made you his for all eternity. Giving you his seed, a part of him.

Jacaerys' breath comes in harsh pants as he watches you, his eyes dark and intense, filled with a love so deep it steals his breath. He can feel your need, your desperation, and it fuels his own. He wants to give you everything, to fill you up until you're drowning in him, in them.

"Take it," he pants. "Take all of me."

He snaps his hips up to meet yours, driving himself impossibly deep, his thick length pulsing and throbbing inside you. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, gripping him, and it takes every ounce of his control not to spill himself inside you right then and there.

"Ahhh, fuck," he grits out, his head tipping back against the pillow as he loses himself in the feeling of your body surrounding him. "You feel so fucking good, my heart. So perfect, so right."

He reaches up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. "I love you," he whispers, his voice breathless and low.

With that, he surges up, flipping your positions so that he's hovering over you, his hips nestled between your thighs. He starts to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, his length stretching and filling you so completely that you can feel every ridge and vein as he drives into you again and again.

"Ohhh gods, Ja-Jacaerys!" you cry out, your voice breaking on a moan as he flips you over and drives into you with renewed hunger. Your eyes roll back in your head, nails raking down his muscular forearms as you cling to him desperately.

"Mine," he growls, his voice low and possessive. "You're mine, now and forever. And I'm going to fill you up. Going to give you my seed, my heirs."

"F-fuck, you feel...ungh...incredible," you pant out, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. You can feel every thick, pulsing inch of him dragging along your sensitive walls, the fire building low in your belly.

You gaze up at him with hooded, lust-darkened eyes, your heart stuttering in your chest at the breathtaking sight of him lost in pleasure above you. "You're...you're so p-pretty," you manage to gasp out, your voice thick with desire. "Want to be...ahh!...filled with your seed. Want to feel you...coming inside me."

Your thighs tremble and clench around his waist, urging him deeper, needing him closer. You're so close to the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. You just need a little more, a little harder, a little deeper...

Jacaerys' eyes blaze into yours, filled with love and lust so all-consuming it steals your breath. He can feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his length, and he knows you're close. He wants to feel you come undone beneath him, wants to watch as the pleasure overwhelming you play out across your beautiful face.

"Fuck, I love you," he growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "I love you so fucking much."

He doubles his efforts, his hips slamming against yours with enough force to rock the bed beneath you. He's determined to bring you to the peak of pleasure, to make you scream his name until it's the only word you remember.

The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, with your moans and cries and the low, guttural groans spilling from his throat.

"Come for me," he commands, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles over the sensitive nub. "I want to feel you come apart around my cock, want to feel your sweet cunt milking my seed from me."

He leans down to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. He's so close, so desperately close, but he's holding back, waiting for you, wanting to feel your release before he lets go.

"Now, my love," he demands against your lips, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "Come now, and scream my name. Let the whole castle know who you belong to, who fucks you like this, who loves you like this."

You can barely get a word out as you moan loudly, cries of pleasure falling from your lips like a prayer. "I'm... I-I... oohh Gods!" you scream, your voice echoing off the stone walls as the most intense orgasm of your life crashes over you. Your vision goes white, your back arching sharply as ecstasy consumes you utterly.

Tears stream down your face, you're overwhelmed, drowning in sensation, your body shaking and trembling with the force of your release. You can feel Jacaerys' fingers digging into your hips, holding you in place as he chases his own pleasure, as he fucks you through your climax.

You're making noises you have never made before, sounds of pure, unadulterated bliss that fill the room and make the air crackle with energy. You're lost in a haze of pleasure so intense it teeters on the edge of discomfort, your mind blanking out everything except the feeling of Jacaerys moving inside you.

Jacaerys feels your velvet walls clamp down around him like a vice as you come undone, your scream of ecstasy echoing off the stone walls. The sensation is too much, too perfect, and with a roar of your name, he surges forward one last time before burying himself to the hilt inside you.

"Fuck, yes! Take it, take my seed, my love!" he bellows, his length pulsing and throbbing as he spills himself deep inside your spasming core. Jet after jet of his hot, thick cum paints your insides, filling you up just as you begged him to do.

He collapses on top of you, his hips still twitching and jerking as the last waves of his release course through him. He peppers your face with kisses, tasting your tears, your sweat, your pleasure. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he chants, his voice raw and wrecked.

Finally, he stills, his softening length still nestled deep inside you. He knows his seed is taking root, and knows that in a few short months, your belly will swell with new life. The thought makes him groan with satisfaction.

"Mine," he murmurs, his hand sliding down to splay across your lower belly. "All mine. You, me, and our child. A family, a legacy." He smiles softly, his eyes filled with love and adoration as he gazes down at you. "My queen, my heart, my everything."

You gaze up at him, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. A soft, sated smile plays at your lips as you drink in the sight of your beloved Jacaerys above you. You reach up with a trembling hand, your fingers lightly caressing his cheek, needing to feel the warmth of his skin, to assure yourself that this moment is real.

"My king," you whisper, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. You search his brown eyes, seeing your love and devotion reflected at you. "You found me... as you promised"

Jacaerys leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savours the feeling of your fingers against his skin. When he opens them again, his gaze is intense and filled with emotion. "I did," he murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. "I'll always find you. No matter where you are, no matter what stands in our way, I'll always come back to you."

He rolls to the side, gathering you into his arms and holding you close. He strokes your hair, your back, your arm, his touch gentle and soothing. "You're my home," he whispers, his breath stirring the hair at your temple. "You're where I belong. And I'm never letting you go again."

He tilts your chin up, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I love you," he says softly, his voice filled with wonder and awe. "More than anything in this world or the next. You're my heart, my soul, my everything."

He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own. "My queen," he breathes, a smile playing on his lips. "My love. My future. I'm yours, now and forever."

The war didn’t end with thunder but with silence.

With both of your parents gone and perished, the realm was at Jacaerys' feet.

The lords of the Black Council looked to him. The armies whispered his name. There was talk of vengeance still to be taken. Of fire yet to fall.

But Jacaerys felt hollow.

He stood on the shores of Dragonstone, holding your hand tightly, staring at the horizon as the waves rolled in, and said the only words that had made sense to him in days:

“I’ve seen enough death. Let it end with me.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand in response.

He had no more heart for the Iron Throne. No more hunger for the game that had devoured his mother and shattered his bloodline. The boy who once trained with blades and studied treaties, who had flown into battle thinking himself a hero—was gone.

And in his place stood a man, bruised and wiser, holding the hand of the only person who made him feel human again.

“The war is over. Aegon the Younger is the rightful king. I will kneel to him.”

There were protests. Rage. But no one dared to challenge him outright. His wounds were still fresh.

And so Aegon III ascended the throne—crowned quietly in the ashes of the past. A boy-king with haunted eyes, grieving his mother, his brothers, his innocence.

Jacaerys gave up his claim. Not as a coward. But as a prince who chose to break the cycle.

He left behind the Red Keep. The black banners. Even the ruined corpse of Vermax, buried in the cliffs beyond Driftmark. No dragon would ever bear him again.

Instead, he took you.

Just you.

One ship. A handful of loyal guards. A sack of coins gifted by Maester Gerardys, who simply clasped Jace’s shoulder with a heavy heart and said, “Your mother would have wanted this—her line to live, not just survive. Take the coin, and the histories too. Someday, your daughter may wish to know the truth.”

Giving him scrolls, books and maps to pass down to your children.

And so you set your sights on Lys. The sunny island with palm and fruit trees and the surrounding blue-green waters filled with fish.

It was a place of warmth and colour, of lightness that neither of you had known for so long.

Some knew who you were.

Whispers floated like sea foam on the docks, passed between wine merchants and old sailors with sharp eyes. The silver in your hair. The curve of his jaw, unmistakably Velaryon. The way he moved, the ghost of a prince still in his spine.

But no one said anything. No one came knocking. And soon, the rumours faded like stories told too long under the sun.

You made your home in a white-stoned villa nestled against the curve of the sea. Vines crept up its sun-warmed walls, and flowering trees spilt their perfume into the breeze. From the terrace, you could see the blue stretch of the water, the same sea that had once tried to take everything from you—now glimmering with peace.

There was salt in the air always, but also the scent of honey wine, fresh herbs hung to dry, and the spices that simmered in your kitchen. Laughter lived here now. Laughter, and the thudding of small feet.

Your daughter—curious and bright-eyed, with his gentle mouth and your intense eyes—ran barefoot through the kitchen, chased by her younger brother. He was all cheeks and mischief, his curls bouncing as he shrieked with joy, clutching a stolen fig in his tiny hand.

“Careful!” you called, though your voice was light with laughter. Jace looked up from his seat by the open window, his book forgotten on his lap, a quiet smile playing on his lips.

He had not worn a crown in years.

But in this moment, he looked every bit a king.

He rose, scooping the boy up in his arms with ease and planting a kiss on his head before the child could protest. You watched them together, sunlight caught in his dark hair, the way he held your son like something sacred.

“I caught a thief,” he said, grinning as the boy giggled against his shoulder.

“He’s your son,” you teased, reaching to stir the pot on the stove. “What did you expect?”

Jace crossed the room to kiss your temple, one hand resting briefly on the curve of your hip, grounding. Familiar. You leaned into him, just for a moment, breathing in the salt and spice and the warmth of his skin.

There were still days when you and he woke in a cold sweat, memories of fire and falling and the ache of absence.

But they were fewer now.

And the sound of your children laughing chased them away, piece by piece.

Night had fallen soft and slow over Lys, and the windows of the villa breathed in the breeze from the sea. The curtains swayed gently, catching the gold flicker of candlelight that bathed the bedroom in warmth. Outside, waves murmured against the shore, a lullaby.

You stood near the open doors that led to the balcony, the scent of the sea curling in, salt and jasmine and wine. Jace came up behind you quietly, arms slipping around your waist, pulling you back into the safety of him.

The children were asleep. The wine was gone. The world, for once, was still.

He swayed with you—slow, steady, like the tide. One hand at your waist, the other pressing lightly over your heart. The candlelight danced on the walls, catching on the soft curve of your collarbone, the shadows on his jaw, the lazy curl of his smile.

“I could live a thousand lives,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, “and never feel as full as I do with you in my arms.”

You turned your head slightly, enough to feel the scratch of his stubble against your cheek, the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“You do say the sweetest things after a bottle of Lyseni red,” you teased softly, voice a murmur, thick with affection.

He chuckled low, burying his face in your neck. “Only when they’re true,” he replied. “And maybe the wine helps me say them out loud.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, eyes half-closed as you listened to the sea. His fingers drew slow, lazy patterns along your waist, grounding you. Loving you.

“I still see you,” he said after a pause, quieter now, like a confession. “Even after everything. I see you the way I did that night in Dragonstone when I came back to you.”

You turned to face him fully, hands resting over his heart. “And I see you, Jace. Not the prince, not the heir. Just... you. My lover.”

He kissed you then—soft, unhurried like the world had given him all the time it had ever owed.

The waves sang to the sand just below the cliffs, and the night stretched out before you, tender and wide and full of dreams that no longer felt so far away.

tags: @bey0nd-1he-stars @venusbyline

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diorsdahlia · 4 months ago

Text

is it harmless? (iv) (v)

luke castellan x hypnos!fem!reader social media au with some writing. luke slips up when giving reader back her stuff

cw: reader gets cyberbullied.. but shes giving #unbotheredqueen tho. mention of ex situationship?

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

it was nearing midnight when you had gotten the notification of luke's tweet. you made your half-brother, clovis stay on guard as you opened the door incase luke had any funny ideas. oddly enough, you just saw a paper bag infront of the door. both you and your brother retrieved back into the cabin, sitting on your bed as you opened. you laughed quietly as you saw your glue bottles safe and sound. there was something else in the bag still, your hands reached into the bag and you found a bracelet. the matching bracelet you made with this boy you were talking to back home before summer break started. and you didn't even notice it was missing.

"what's that?" clovis questioned. he was familiar with your missing glue situation but nothing about a bracelet.

"uhm a bracelet i made with a..friend," you exhaled, the word friend making you feel weird. "i didn't even know it was gone though?" you added, gears turning in your head.

"how would luke know its yours then, if you didnt ask for it?" clovis questions which ended up with a staring competition with you both.

"why does luke do anything?" you mumbled, putting your newly retrieved items on your nightstand.

"do you like him?" your brother asks so casually, making your head snap back at him.

"what?" you almost shouted, eyes wide. "no. no. NO. hes a dickhead and annoying at that."

"well you do complain a lot about him" he said with a teasing grin on his face making you roll your eyes.

"im gonna miss you," you decided to change the subject but it doesn't make it any less true. he was your only sibling and he was leaving tomorrow.

"oh dont change the subject" he chuckles.

"im serious" you let out softly. "you're a good brother. and you better do well at school." your soft tone was long gone as soon as you started talking about school.

"i will. promise" clovis assured.

it was late and your brother needed to be awake early, so you turned off all lamps. however, this became the perfect time to doomscroll on your phone until you passed out. as you unlocked your phone, you were met with significantly more notifications than usual, especially on twitter. your jaw almost unhinges itself when you saw a bunch of mentions from other campers regarding you— more specifically, the fact they had thought you and luke had something going on due to his tweet. all your problems really do stem from luke castellan. that and the british colonialism too.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo #charlie bushnell #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo smau #twt au

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zozoparsnips · 7 days ago

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Tethered

prologue: something lost

The earworms are WRIGGLING, so that means it's time to get to cooking. Very much a prologue, but need to wet those appetites with something beyond our collective tears.

Prologue can be found below the line :)

AO3 link

Summary

He gave her his soul. She never asked for it… but now she’s not sure she can let it go.

Gwi-Ma is defeated, the Honmoon restored, and Rumi has come to accept her insecurities. But as she finally begins to feel at home in her own skin, she can’t shake the sense that something is missing. Until she hears his voice in her mind, sees his face everywhere she goes, and feels his presence even when she’s certain he’s long gone.

Perhaps what was lost isn’t gone at all, but just waiting to be found.

It was still strange for Rumi to showcase her demon markings so openly.

Having them out and exposed around Mira and Zoey was one thing, but being seen by the ever-growing number of Huntrix fans was something else entirely.

The buzz following their performance at the Idol Awards and the Saja Boys final performance had been overwhelming. For the fans, it wasn’t just a show, it was the beginning of a new era. Headline after headline, post after post, their performance wasn’t just the talk of the town… it was the talk of the world.

Huntrix Wows Fans with Jaw-Dropping Special Effects at Idol Awards!

PR Stunt of the Century? How Huntrix is Shaking Up the K-Pop Scene

Huntrix’s Rumi Debuts Bold New Tattoos in Show-Stopping Idol Awards Performance

Saja Boys Disappear: Breakup Rumours or a Mastermind PR Move?

From Heartbreak to Harmony: How Huntrix’s New Era is Sparking a Transformation

Where Are the Saja Boys? Fans Question Sudden Disappearance

Rumi had tried not to pay too much attention to the media, but that was easier said than done when the world seemed obsessed with dissecting the mind-boggling show they’d put on, or with how Bobby kept gushing over the new song they’d “premiered” at the Saja Boys’ concert, calling the ballad a possible anthem of the decade.

"Such a great idea, girls! Premiering the song in collaboration with the Saja Boys on the night of their final performance? Brilliant! Strange for the boys to offer to share the spotlight, though… Especially with their sudden disbandment.” Bobby had raved in the days after the show.

Oh, if only he knew...

Huntrix was bigger than ever. Their bond as a team had never been stronger, and they’d faced fewer demons in the past few months than ever before. Rumi knew she should be happy, raving and celebrating like Mira and Zoey still were, as if they were still riding the high of their performance from months ago.

Everything was great, perfect even.

So then, why did her heart feel like it was being weighed down by rocks? Why did it feel as though there was an ache in her bones that no amount of time at the bathhouse could remedy?

It was as if something inside her had been quietly splintering, not loudly enough to break, but just enough to make every breath feel heavier. Her chest was a hollow cage, echoing with a presence she couldn’t name, and the silence left behind rang louder than applause ever could. She should’ve felt triumphant… but all she could feel was the slow, steady sinking of something unfinished, something lost.

And Rumi had no idea how to pull herself out of this agony — a hollow, gnawing ache she had no name for, no explanation, no reason she could wrap her mind around. Her heart twisted under a weight she couldn’t justify, except for the one truth she couldn’t bear to acknowledge. The one she buried beneath layers of distraction and denial.

It haunted her dreams every night.

Two soft, sorrowful golden eyes, wide and cat-like, glowing with delicate tension, staring back at her; brimming with everything he wanted to say but never could. They shimmered like liquid light, deep and dark and endlessly aching. And framing them were jagged, branching markings etched into his skin, glowing violet like the ones that curled along her own.

Marks that pulsed like memories; shared, unfinished, and quietly unbearable.

Rumi had long grown accustomed to the dreams that tore her from sleep in the dead of night, her body slick with sweat, dampening the sheets beneath her. Her heart would pound against her ribs like a trapped thing, not just startled, but searching. It felt less like she was waking from something terrifying, and more like she was being pulled from something unfinished.

As if her heart wasn’t running from danger… but desperately trying to run toward something just out of reach.

Something familiar.

Something lost.

#kpop demon hunters #kpdh #rumi kpop demon hunters #jinu kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters jinu #jinumi #rumi x jinu #jinu x rumi #jinu #rumi #jinu kdh #rumi kpdh #enemies to lovers #reunion #soulmates #soul bonded #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #angst with a happy ending

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dangerousstrawberryshark · 2 years ago

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Stress Relief

Pairing(s): Thor Odinson x male reader

Rating: Explicit

Requested: Yes or no?

Warnings: top Thor Odinson, bottom male reader, praise kink, oral sex, cum eating, slight spanking, biting, and blowjob (Thor receiving.

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Thor wants to unwind after working and dealing with his brother. You decided to give Thor the best way to relax.

A/N: Hello, my 🍓little strawberries🍓! I’m finally on summer break, so now I can work on requests! Hopefully, all requests will be made before the year ends. Anyways, enjoy!

Tags: @spnfanboy777 @meyocoko @buckyshusband0 @blurredx18 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost

Read before continuing: If you’re younger than 18 or any warnings make you uncomfortable, do not continue reading! You may continue reading if there are no problems.

You were lying in bed, scrolling through social media to entertain yourself. Some people were doing the most idiotic things; others told stories from Reddit; and random memes that were becoming popular.

Nothing was happening. Usually, something would be happening at the Avengers Tower, but everybody is out doing something. Tony was testing new weapons in the desert, Steve and Sam were in Washington D.C, and the others you don’t know.

Everything was quiet until your door opened. You jumped at the sudden intrusion until you looked to see it was Thor.

He had an annoyed look on his face. You thought there was a vein popping out on his forehead. His jaw was clenching, face red with annoyance. He just looked at you before his features softened, but the look before was still there.

He then sits right next to you.

You would ask what happened until you remembered why he was gone. Thor had gone back to Asgard to deal with some things. “Was it Loki or Odin?”

“Yeah,” Thor replied as he lays down.

“Do you want me to help you relax?” You said, moving your body closer to Thor’s. He immediately knew what you were hinting at. He smirks at your offer.

“I would love that, darling,” Thor whispers into your ear as his rough hands roam underneath your shirt. He is pinching your nipples. You groan at the sensation of Thor’s touch. It was rough but soft and sweet.

Thor pulls his hands away. He pushed all the sheets to the side. His hands then move towards his pants, rubbing the noticeable bulge, blue eyes staring into yours.

You moved from your position on the side of the bed to the floor between his legs. Thor removed his pants, revealing his enormous bulge trapped underneath his undergarments. You could see the thing throbbing with a little wet spot at the tip.

Your mouth salivates at the sight. Thor smirks as he strokes his cock through the fabric. Without a second thought, you pulled down the last piece of clothing: The most delicious part of Thor.

No matter how often you saw Thor’s cock, it always amazed you. He had the cock of a God. 7.5 inches (19 cm) with veins tracing to the red tip. A somewhat darker shade compared to the rest of his body. His cock was also girthy, measuring 6.5 inches wide (16 cm). You could see the tiny slit already leaking a transparent liquid, precum.

“Like what you see?” Thor said gruffly, as he grabbed his thick cock and slapped it against your left cheek. Smearing his pre-cum all over your cheek. You sigh as Thor guides his cock to your mouth.

The salty taste of Thor’s precum made contact with your tongue as he slowly pushed deep into your mouth. You could feel your nose touching Thor’s trimmed bush. An incredible musky scent feels your nostrils as Thor doesn’t move your head.

After a few moments, you pulled your head and began slurping his thick cock. Your tongue swirling around the fat red tip, drinking his sweet but salty pre-cum. Thor’s chest heaves as he feels your warm wet mouth slurping his enormous cock.

Thor’s cock felt warm and heavy inside your mouth. You pulled back again to lick the sides of his cock before tracing your tongue along the protruding vein. Thor begins to move his hips as he grips the bed sheets. His balls are slapping against the bottom of your chin.

His grip on your head tightens as he thrusts into your mouth. “Fucking– so good…” Thor moans as he thrusts a little faster. He could feel your tongue flicking over the silt drinking his sticky precum from the source.

Thor looks down to see a beautiful sight. You are on your knees sucking his cock, drool, and precum sipping from the edges of your mouth. His cock glistened in the light from your saliva as you moved up and down his cock.

“F-Fuck, baby… Y-you’re– s-sucking m-me so… g-good!” Thor begins to remove his shirt. His chiseled body glistened in sweat as his other hand moved to his pectorals. He groans as he plays with his rock-hard nipples. Twisting and turning while squeezing his pecs.

“Y-You’re amazing! F-fuck” Thor thrusts faster as he lets out a loud groan. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, teeth-gritting. You feel his thick creamy cum gush out from his tip, making contact with your tongue. A salty taste was prevalent as it ran down your throat.

You could feel your cock throbbing in your pants. Some pre-cum seeping through the cloth of your briefs. You happily let the cum run down your throat.

Thor’s chest heaves up and down as he tries to calm his breathing. Sweat runs down his forehead as he continues to admire you from above.

You pull back from between his legs as you gather the remaining cum around your mouth. Eyes half-closed and lazy as you swirl your tongue around the cum coated finger.

“Fuck, baby… You must want me to fuck that tight ass of yours? Yeah?” *Thor growls as he pulls from the ground and throws you onto the bed. Face first and ass facing him.

You could feel Thor beginning to remove your pants and your briefs. The cold air makes your throbbing cock shiver from the coldness.

Thor was mesmerized. His large rough hands move across the fat of your ass. Giving your ass slaps as he smirks from the way the flesh jiggles.

His hands spread your cheeks apart to reveal your tight hole. Puckering from the air as it clenches around nothing.

He was chuckling to himself as he pushed you further into the mattress as his hands continued to smack your ass, enjoying the way it jiggled from the hard impact. Your ass turning red with noticeable handprints.

“You’ve been working out? This ass got fatter. I like that,” Thor says as he squishes and kneads it like dough. Even though he had an orgasm a few minutes ago, his cock was throbbing again.

The bed’s springs squeak as Thor’s heavy body moves temporarily to search through a nearby dresser. After a few seconds, he returns with a bottle of lube.

You could hear the bottle cap opening and the lubricant squeezing out onto his hand. Thor smears the lubricant all over his hand before moving them down toward your hole.

Your eyes widened for two reasons. One was feeling Thor slowly penetrate your tight hole with the lubed finger. His thick fingers slowly pushed deeper until you felt one hit your prostate.

The other one is Thor wrapping his large hand around your throbbing cock. You could feel him slowly stroking. One finger swirls the tip to gather copious amounts of precum. He smears it everywhere, and your cock glistens.

Your teeth clench the bed sheets as you bite down from how Thor is fingering your ass and stroking your leaking cock

“Does that feel good, baby?” Thor says as he thrusts his fingers faster and strokes your cock. He leans down to your neck, biting and licking your ear.

You start to breathe harder. Your cock was throbbing and leaking more. The tip turns a little red. Your balls tighten as it signals your orgasm.

Thor strokes you faster. You moan into the sheets as your cock, overstimulated from Thor’s constant stroking and fingering, finally spurts out its white sticky cum. The substance coats Thor’s hand and he makes sure to milk every drop.

Your eyes rolled back as you covered Thor’s hand in cum.

“Delicious,” Thor says as he licks his hand clean of your cum. He pulls his fingers out after determining you were stretched enough.

You then feel Thor slap his hard cock against your cheek. Thor smiles as he hears your moans. He grinds his fat cock between your ass cheeks. The tip nearly penetrated the rim.

“It’s been forever since I pound this tight ass,” Thor growls as he pushes the tip past the rim. His cock was surrounded by the lubed insides, slowly pushing deeper until his cock rested against your prostate.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt Thor’s thick cock penetrate your ass. His groans could be heard as you clenched around him, sucking his cock deeper.

“F-fuck… r-right- oh… there!” You moan as you push your head deeper into the sheets as Thor settles down for a moment. Letting you breathe and calm down.

After a minute or two, you give Thor confirmation to continue. He slowly pulls out and pushes back. You grip the sheets tighter as Thor thrusts into your ass. His cock slams into your prostate.

Your limped cock starts to become erect as Thor continues to ram his cock.

Thor’s hands grip your hips as he thrust wildly into your ass. His mind turns mushy from how tight you are. Loud squelching noise rings through the room.

He pulls your ass cheeks apart and watches how his cock disappears and reappears from your hole. “Such a slutty ass. This slutty ass belongs to me!” Thor growls as he starts stroking your cock again. Syncing the thrusts and stroking.

“Y-yours! B-belongs to you~” you scream in pleasure as Thor rams his cock into your prostate and his hand stroking your cock.

You could feel your second orgasm nearing from the constant stimulation. His cock rearranging your guys.

After a few more rough thrusts and strokes, your thighs tense and your hole clenched around his cock. Back arches up and screams of ecstasy as your orgasm ripples through your body. Spilling thick cum onto the bed sheets underneath you. Thick and hot seeping from the tip.

Thor groans as he gave a few more thrusts until he grips your hips tighter. The knot in his guts breaks open; he fills your ass, one spurt after another. Filling you to the brim.

Your mouth fell open as your body collapsed onto the bed. Your body glistens from sweat and exhaustion.

Thor pulls his limped cock out of your ass. He grabs and spreads your cheeks, admiring the art he created. Cum gushing out. He then collapses next to you.

He pulls you closer to his body. You could feel your body sticking against his sweaty muscular one. He buries his head into your nap.

“I love you, m/n.”

THE END.

A/n: it's been forever since I wrote smut. I'm sorry if this took so long to post. Anyways, bye, my 🍓little strawberries🍓!

#x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #male reader imagine #male reader smut #avengers smut #avengers x male reader #thor odinson x male reader #thor odinson smut #thor odinson imagine #thor x male reader #thor #smut #requested #thor odinson x reader #thor x reader

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bookyeom · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: vernon x reader word count: 3.7k warnings: angst (she did it y’all!!!!), swearing, kissing, wet!vernon

Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary. Happy Birthday, Bononie!

kissing in swimming pools by holly humberstone

do you think we were made to last in the coldest of weather? maybe i don’t have to leave so soon you look heavenly in this shade of blue

Vernonie [8:48pm]: finally back from dinner

Vernonie [8:49pm]: everyone’s gone btw, so i’ll come get u now?

Y/N [8:51pm]: yeye! Just text when ur outside

You hear his car before you see it.

His parents must have kept his old, beat-up car from high school for when he came back for the summer, you muse, and it makes you smile. You’d spent a lot of time in that car, listening to whatever new indie band Vernon had “discovered” that week, or eating take-out in the department store parking lot after hours, or your personal favourite: with the engine shut off at the lookout Vernon had discovered on his way home from work one day, tucked away from most of the world as the two of you reclined in his car seats and looked at the night sky.

You used to wonder if it was there that you fell in love with him, but the truth is that you loved him long before he showed up at your door at 1am, eyes wide with excitement over his new discovery, and brought you there in your pajamas.

You still have the hoodie he’d leant you that night in the closet of your childhood bedroom.

Tonight, you shut the door quietly behind you out of habit, twisting the knob so it doesn’t make a sound. You’re long past the days of sneaking out, but your muscle memory won’t quit.

It’s been eight months since you last saw Vernon. You only came home for two days at Christmas, claiming you couldn’t take that much time off from your part time job, and had managed to avoid him. You had still needed the space from him, then. December had only marked four months since he’d broken your heart, and you weren’t sure at the time if you’d ever be able to look him in the eye again.

The months after Christmas break had finally begun to heal you. Your new semester had started, and you had decided to dive headfirst into both academic and social endeavors instead of wallowing away in your dorm room. You’d finally made new friends, your grades had improved, and while it still hurt to see his name when it popped up across your social media platforms, it wasn’t all you thought about anymore.

Right now, you kind of can’t wait to see him.

“Hi,” you say, breathless, and when Vernon meets your eyes, you know you’re not breathless because of the jog from your front door to his car.

He looks good. His hair is a bit longer, curling at the ends and falling softly across his forehead, and you think his shoulders have filled out. His jaw is just as sharp, eyelashes just as long, and you immediately wonder how you’d gone so long without him.

“Hi, stranger,” he says, and you’re terrified that the sound of his voice might tear you apart — but it doesn’t. You hold firm, despite the sound of your heartbeat roaring loud in your ears. It hurts, but it’s a dull ache instead of the sharp pain you’re used to. Seeing him sends a wave of relief through you instead of the dread you’d been half expecting, and you can feel the tension in your chest ease just the slightest bit. You can do this. Because it’s Vernon, and because life sucks without him.

You stare at each other for a few moments, and then he raises an eyebrow as if in a challenge, and you can’t help it. You break into a smile, and then you’re surging across the middle console and pulling him in for a hug. He laughs against your neck, and you know he’s just as happy to see you as you are him. The hand that was on the steering wheel finds your back, and your eyes fall shut.

“I missed you,” you say honestly, and you swear you can feel him exhale.

“Yeah,” he says before squeezing you tight, once. Brief, but enough for you to feel it, to understand, as he adds, “Me too.”

You pull back. Vernon puts the car into drive as you click on your seatbelt, and you fall into an easy, comfortable silence as he begins to make the familiar way back to his place.

When you texted him a few weeks ago, your hands trembling but determined, you hadn’t been sure what he would say. You hadn’t spoken in months.

For a while, you didn’t think you’d ever get over the rejection of last August, but a year away at university had done you good. It was full of distractions; you’d even had a couple of flings here and there. Vernon had texted you a bit at first, because you’d insisted that you were fine, but it had hurt to see his name show up on your phone. You had responded slowly, using any and all excuses to explain away the days that passed without you answering. You’d texted sparingly throughout the year on birthdays and holidays, and you knew he watched your stories the same as you watched his. You knew he knew the real reason why you were distant, but he never pushed. After all, he’d broken your heart, not the other way around.

Eventually, you had recognized that the distance was helping, and conversations between the two of you had become even more sparse after that. It had been hard — one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do — but you’d needed the space. So when his response to your text a few weeks ago had come quickly and enthusiastically, a Vernon-esque “bet :)” in response to your ask to hang out when you got home for the summer, you had been so relieved that you’d cried. Though you’d known he would never hate you, deep down a small part of you had still been afraid that you’d pushed him away for good.

The silence in the car tonight is comfortable, and you’re grateful. Vernon is tapping in tune to the beat on his steering wheel while you hum along in quiet contentment. After a couple of songs that you recognize play in a row, you turn to him in surprise.

“Is this the playlist I made you for your birthday two years ago?”

Vernon simply nods, eyes on the road as he makes a turn. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Vernon laughs. “Am I not supposed to listen to it?”

“Just surprised me, that’s all.”

”Okay, weirdo.”

The conversation moves on, but you don’t forget about it, even as you pull up to Vernon’s childhood home.

It looks almost exactly the same. You follow Vernon up the steps and to the front door, through the foyer and to the kitchen where you used to help his mom prep for their summer barbecues. He tosses you a bottle of water wordlessly before he’s slipping out the back door without warning, and you trail behind without question. His peculiar mannerisms don’t faze you, even after all this time apart, and that realization brings you a warm sort of comfort.

As soon as you step through the back door and into the warmth of the summer evening air again, you can’t help but smile. This, too, remains unchanged. The heated pool with its blue and white tiled sides; the metal table with its umbrella, a single tip bent out of shape so that it sags just in one small part; the overgrown trees whose leaves spill over the sides of the wooden fence. You’d spent many days and nights here, too.

You join Vernon, who’s already sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs hung over the sides.

“Damn, you didn’t waste any time, Sol.” The nickname falls out before you can stop it. It’s been so long since you’ve been around him, since you’ve even let yourself think of him as anything other than Vernon. If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t say.

”It’s hot out,” he points out, simple. “Why wait?” He takes a swig of his own water bottle, and you’re smiling again.

You join him without further comment.

Quiet settles between the two of you again, which would be fine if you weren't suddenly itching to ask him a million questions. How was his first year of university? How are his parents, his sister? Is his favourite food still carne asada tacos? Does he still only own t-shirts and jeans? Is he… seeing anyone?

Is he happy?

Had he really missed you?

“I’ll be right back.”

You’re surprised when Vernon gets up, barely missing you with the water he sends splashing as he does. But you don’t question him, your legs swinging back and forth in the water. You watch the underwater lights distort in the ripples you make, distracted by the simple movements and your racing thoughts. When you hear him re-emerge, you turn to find him with two towels in hand. Your eyes widen and you frantically shake your head.

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit, Vernon.” And I am not getting into that pool with you in just my underwear.

He pulls something out from under one of the towels, and you recognize it as one of his favourite band tees that he’s had for years. He raises his eyebrows at you, eyes twinkling in a teasing challenge, and you narrow your eyes at him. The smile on his face briefly sends you reeling back — back to before that night last summer when everything changed. Back to when he was just your best friend who liked to tease you for fun, who brought you your favourite ice cream every movie night, who took you to your high school graduation dance even though you knew he would have rathered gouge his eyes out with a spoon.

Back to when you were in love with him, but he didn’t know yet.

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll get in.”

He grins, and your chest does a little flip-flop. You forcefully ignore it as you take the shirt from his outstretched hand. He turns around to give you privacy, and you keep your eyes on his turned back as you remove everything except your underwear and his shirt. Though he’s grown up now and wears things that fit him better — you had noticed the bomber jacket in his backseat, and the t-shirt he’s wearing that fits him just right — he used to love things that were three sizes too big. The old, worn shirt just brushes your thighs, but you don’t have time to think anymore about it when he moves to pull his own shirt up and over his head.

You watch the muscles in his back contract, and you swallow. Don’t go down this road again, you tell yourself. It’s just going to hurt like hell.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re starting to wonder if you’d ever really strayed from that path in the first place.

Because when he turns back to you with raised eyebrows and a smile, when he pulls you with him by the hand, it hits you with as much force as the cool water you jump into. And when you resurface and your eyes find him already looking back at you, his hair sticking up every which way and water dripping from his lashes down onto his cheeks, it hits you again.

That you don’t know if there will ever be anyone else for you but him.

You turn away from him, running your hands through your hair, trying desperately to keep your cool. You feel like you’re being punched in the stomach, like that sharp pain you’d felt since last August had never left. You thought you were ready to see him again, and you had been so, so wrong.

You can feel all those months of mending, of trying desperately to get over your feelings for him so you could have him back in your life — you can feel them as they slip away.

“I’m sorry,” was all he’d said that night, and your heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. You could tell through blurry eyes that he was hurting, too, because he loved you, you knew he did. Just not like that. He hadn’t said anything else, even though it looked like he wanted to, and you just didn’t understand. You thought for sure that he felt the same, because he’d kissed you back, because you knew him just as well as he knew you.

And it really felt like you’d healed. Just an hour ago, you’d even been excited to see him again.

You will yourself to breathe.

“Hey. I’m sorry I pulled you in with me.”

You don’t respond.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t answer as his voice breaks through your racing thoughts, your back still turned to him.

“…Y/N?”

He sounds concerned, like he cares. You know he does — know that he always has. And it hurts.

You can feel the water moving behind you when you still don’t respond. You can feel it as he takes a step or two closer, and you can almost imagine the look on his face as he tries to figure out what he did wrong. You feel like you’ve been burned when he reaches for you, when his hand tries to find your arm to turn you back to him. You can hear his inhale when you flinch away, your skin on fire where his fingertips just barely brushed your shoulder.

He tries again, because he loves you. Because he loves you — but not like that. “Talk to me?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you take a deep breath. You know you have to face him in order to get through this, to leave here in one piece even if it’s by pretending. You have to. You don’t want him to know, don’t want him to know that you’re still the reason you can’t be close to him, that you still love him, that you probably never stopped.

But when you turn to find him right there, find him so close, when you see that his eyes are full of worry, you can’t find a single word. He looks beautiful in the dim blue light of the pool, and it makes your heart ache.

“Y/N.” Your name is nothing but a whispered breath as he says it, his eyes locked so intently on your face that you suddenly feel warm all over despite the slight chill of the water. His gaze pierces through you, and you watch as it travels across your face, down to your lips, where it lingers.

You’re not sure you’re breathing, not sure what to do, not sure how to possibly move on from what feels impossible. Why isn’t he moving away? Why is he so close?

“I…” He tries again, eyes still on your mouth. Then he snaps his gaze up again. “I’m… I’m really happy that you’re here.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You…”

“I missed you.” He looks hesitant before he says it, but he says it anyway, and your breath catches when you hear the tender, soft tone of his voice. It makes your head spin. “I really missed you. So much.”

You take a steadying breath at the same time as he does. The air between you feels charged — charged with something you won’t let yourself name.

Then he’s stepping even closer, a hand lifting to your face, and you freeze. You can’t move — you don’t even know if you want to. You’re confused, but you don’t move, and all you can manage to say is a single word.

“Sol,” you caution.

He takes a deep breath in, and then he says, “You haven’t thought about it?”

His hand is gentle on your jaw, thumb tracing lines back and forth across your skin. You feel goosebumps everywhere he touches. Your eyes search his, trying desperately to understand. You hate that you’re finding him extra hard to read right now — now, when you need to know what he’s thinking more than ever.

“Thought about what?” Your voice is small, and you hate it.

Vernon’s other hand lifts to your face, tilting your chin up towards him. His eyes search yours as he speaks, his voice low. “Last summer.” He pauses. “Us.”

The words hit you like a truck.

“What the fuck, Vernon?” You finally manage. You can feel the tears begin to well up, and you pull his hands away from your face. “Don’t you dare.”

He takes a step back, eyebrows knit together. “I’m sorry.”

You stare at him incredulously, frustration bubbling to the surface the longer you look at him. “Don’t be an asshole.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and all you can hear is the water gently hitting against the side of the pool. You frustratedly tuck a lock of wet hair behind your ear before crossing your arms.

“Why would you say that to me?” You’re hurt, and he knows it.

“I just…” He searches your face for a moment before he breathes out, “I think about you all the time. I miss you all the time.”

You can feel angry tears pricking at the back of your eyelids. You blink them away rapidly as you spit out, “You were the one who kissed me back and then pretended like nothing happened. You—“

“Would you have gone?”

You blink when he interrupts you, and it takes you a second to try and understand what he means. You wrack your brain, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “What?”

“Would you have gone to school there if I had told you I loved you last summer? Or would you have chosen somewhere closer?”

You’re absolutely dumbfounded as you process what he’s saying. You’re blinking away furious tears, mouth agape as you try and settle on something to say. “Was that your fucking choice to make?”

“I was trying to make it easier for you. It’s your dream school.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “What the fuck? I was in love with you, Vernon!”

“I was in love with you, too!”

The silence is deafening. You stare at him with wide eyes, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. You wonder if he can hear it. Then you squeeze your eyes shut, your hands lifting to cover your face as you try and regain your composure.

“I thought I was doing what was best for the both of us.”

His voice is quiet. You know he’s telling the truth. It hurts, but you know he’s being honest. That he thought he was doing the right thing.

“I thought that maybe the distance would make it a little easier,” he continues, voice carrying softly across the water in the space between you. “But it didn’t. Not for me.”

Moments pass, and you realize you’re shaking. Your hands stay covering your face as you take deep breaths, waiting until you’ve recovered enough to say, voice low, “I have never been more upset with you than I am right now.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he responds. “I know, and I deserve it. I’m sorry that I made that decision for you. I really am. I shouldn’t have done it.”

You nod after a minute, after you force yourself to breathe, letting your hands fall from your face. You can’t look at him, though, eyes instead focusing on your fingers that begin tracing patterns in the water at your sides. “Okay.”

“And I'm…” He trails off, and you wait. He takes so long that you look up to find him looking at you, waiting, and something in his eyes has you stuck there. He searches your face, and then he says, “I’m sorry that I made you think that I don’t love you back. Because of course I do.”

Your heartbeat has begun to roar in your ears again. “You do, present tense?”

Vernon freezes, eyes wide. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally settles on something. “Shit. Sorry, fuck, I—”

“Is that a yes?”

He inhales sharply. “Yeah — yes. I don’t expect anything from you, though. I promise I’m not —“

“You are such a fucking idiot.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I know. I know. I’m—”

“I spent so long figuring out how to put myself back together,” you say softly, and he cuts himself off. You can feel tears pricking at the back of your eyelids again. “Without you.”

Vernon’s shoulders sag, and he nods, looking down at the water. “Yeah.”

Your breath catches before you steady yourself and you say, “It’s literally always been you, Sol. Even though you’re a fucking idiot.”

His eyes are wide when they shoot back up to meet yours. You inhale a shaky breath, watching as he waits, unsure.

“It’s still you,” you add quietly, and you’re certain that you hear his breath catch.

“I’m in love with you,” he breathes out before you can say anything else. “I love you back. I did then, and I do now, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I wanted to, I swear. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m…” He trails off, a hand running through his hair as he finishes, “I’m just really fucking sorry.”

“I believe you,” you say softly, because you do. You believe him, and you’re not sure your heart has ever beat this fast. Because he loves you — the same way that you love him. Vernon looks down at the water again, and you think you can see the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks as he thinks. “Sol?”

Your soft voice makes him look up. He still looks uncertain, like he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do.

“Come here?”

You’re in his arms so fast you can barely process. He’s hugging you so tight against his chest that you can feel the warmth of him through your wet t-shirt, and it sends shivers down your spine. He doesn’t say anything else as he holds you, and neither do you. Your arms are wound around his neck, and you can feel the way his nose nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder.

You pull back, your hands finding either side of his face. He blinks, slowly, taking in every part of you in the same way that you’re taking in every part of him. You brush away a stray drop of water that falls from his hair down onto his forehead, and you’re certain you’re dreaming. He’s so beautiful, a perfect juxtaposition of sharp edges and soft lines, so… Vernon.

And he’s gazing at you like you hung all the stars in the sky — because he loves you, in the same way that you love him.

For the second time in a year, you kiss him first.

A/N: thank you so much to everyone for all the love on the other fics so far :) Here’s the sixth of our Thirteen Valentines in honour of Bononie’s birthday. Please please please reblog if you can to spread the word, and check out the Thirteen Valentines masterlist! If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a message :) Your kind comments and reblogs don’t go unnoticed, I promise.

Taglist: @waldau @wqnwoos @tae-bebe @gyuminusone@savventeen @eoieopda @minisugakoobies @wheeboo @lvlystars@darkypooo @christinewithluv @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @bella-l (Strikethrough means it wouldn’t let me tag you, sorry!)

#Vernon x reader #vernon angst #vernon fluff #vernon x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #vernon imagine #seventeen imagine #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #thirteenvalentines #my writing #chsfic

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liquorcooked · 3 months ago

Text

Etched (wolfwood)

Media: Trigun Maximum Pairing: Wolfwood x reader wc: ~2k (?)

an: MORE of my silly bits of writing. tried to merge em together to make them cohesive but alas this is all I have :] enjoy!. it really isn't a fully fleshed out fic by any means because mostly just scnariors I thought of, but pls let me know what yall think

some tags: hurt/comfort, past-torture, care, the eye of michael is a little shit, I'm going to curb stomp chapel, branding, scars, I LOVE WW

They caught you in the night.

One moment you were with Vash and Wolfwood, setting up camp outside a crumbling town whose name you never caught, and the next you woke in a place that didn’t smell like dust or wind or oil, but antiseptic and metal. Too clean. Too white. It made your skin crawl before you even saw the mask.

You counted hours by the number of times Chapel came in.

He didn’t hide his face. No—he wanted you to see him. Wanted you to know the face of what was about to be done. He said it was for your own good. That you’d understand in time. That he was doing what Nicholas never had the strength to finish. All that Eye of Michael propaganda, scripture twisted and sharpened into blade edges.

You remember the sound of your own blood dripping on the floor before you remember how long you were gone. Hours. Days. Maybe weeks. Time bled in and out the way the wounds on your side did—slow, sticky, without end. Pain had become a rhythm. A prayer. One you chanted in silence while they tried to make you speak.

You never screamed. Not once.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t. Screaming was surrender. Screaming was for victims.

So you lay there, breathing shallow, muscles clenched tight, as Chapel carved the edge of a blade along your ribs and murmured doctrine like it was a lullaby. Sometimes he smiled. Sometimes he didn’t. The silence between words was the worst part—it meant he was thinking.

“You care for him, don’t you?” he asked once, brushing a gloved finger along your jaw. “Nicholas. You love him.”

You turned your head and spat in his face.

He laughed as he wiped it off. “Then let’s make sure he remembers you.”

He brought out the iron brand. Shaped not like a religious cross but like his cross—the Punisher. The one Nicholas D. Wolfwood carried on his back like a burden, like a confession, like a legacy soaked in regret. They’d studied it. Modeled the mark perfectly. You remember the shape of it pressed against your side—the long steel shaft and wide-barred arms that mimicked the weapon you had watched him wield a hundred times.

You didn’t scream when they branded you with the Punisher.

But later, when they were gone, you cried into the table straps. Not from the pain.

But because you knew what it meant.

---------------

When the rescue came, it was gunfire first. You heard Vash’s voice, strained and sharp, cracking with fury you’d never known he could carry. Then came Wolfwood’s—lower, louder, a storm trying to fight back the flood.

You were half-conscious when he kicked down the door. You remember the shape of him in silhouette—the Punisher in his hands, the outline of his coat, the fire in his eyes.

He didn’t ask if you were okay.

He just dropped the weapon and crossed the room in three long strides, dropping to his knees beside the table, cutting the straps with hands that shook more than they should have.

“I got you,” he said, voice cracking on the last word. “I got you. Hey. Hey, come on. You gotta open your eyes. Please. Please, don’t do this to me.”

When you slipped into unconsciousness again, it was with the feel of his arms under you, his breath in your hair, and the tremble in his chest where he held you too close.

---------------------

You woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours, wrapped in bandages that stuck to open wounds. Your mouth was dry. Your side burned like it had caught fire and hadn’t quite gone out.

Vash was there.

He sat on a chair near the window, legs pulled up like a kid, arms braced on his knees. When your eyes fluttered open, he didn’t rush you. Just looked at you with red-rimmed eyes and said quietly, “You’re safe.”

You didn’t feel safe.

But the words settled into you anyway, like a coin dropped in a dry well.

“How long?” you asked, throat hoarse.

“Three days since we found you. We had to sedate you. Your body…” He hesitated. “You weren’t just hurt. You were worked over. I'm sorry...”

You turned your head away. “He was trying to get to Nick.”

Vash didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was soft. “He hasn’t left the hallway since we got here, he's been waiting.”

You didn’t reply.

Because part of you didn’t want him to see you like this.

Not broken. Not like this.

You refused to look at your wound the first time Vash changed the bandages. You could feel it—a deep, raised welt on your ribs, in the unmistakable shape of the Punisher. The gauze stuck to it. You bit your tongue to keep from crying out.

Vash’s hands paused when he saw the shape. He didn’t say anything, but his breath hitched. You saw it in his face—recognition. Horror. Pity. You turned your face toward the wall and let your mind go somewhere else while he cleaned the blood away. How cruel. “God, they…” You turned your head away, ashamed even though you knew you shouldn’t be.

Vash didn’t finish the thought. He just swallowed hard, then wrapped you back up with hands that trembled more than he wanted you to notice.

----------------

Wolfwood came in the next night. The room was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp. You were sitting up, supported by a pillow, and staring at nothing.

He looked like shit.

Hollowed out. Jacket wrinkled, eyes bloodshot, stubble unshaved. But when he saw you sitting up, eyes open, something in him cracked. He said your name once, quiet. Almost afraid.

He fell to his knees beside the bed, and reached for your hand. Stopped just short. His breath caught. His eyes went to the gauze on your side.

“I can’t…” His voice broke. “I can’t fix this. I can’t make it right.”

You looked at him—really looked—and for a moment, the grief between you was a living thing. “You saw it,” you said. Your voice didn’t sound like your own.

He nodded.

He looks like you stabbed him.

You think maybe you did.

“They… branded you with... me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, eyes flicking to your side. “My goddamn cross.”

You nodded slowly, throat tight. “Yeah. Figured you’d haunt me either way.”

That earned a broken laugh—painful, like it hurt him to even make sound.

“They wanted me to hate you,” you said, voice raspy. “Said you’d never want me after this.”

He stared at you, silent.

"They said you grew soft. You trusted people too much, that loving me made you weak."

Then: “They’re wrong.”

You looked away. “I’m not the same. I’m not—clean. Not untouched. They took things I can’t—”

“I don’t love you because you’re clean,” he interrupted. “I love you because you’re you. Scars and all.”

You blinked at him.

His hand found yours, tentative at first. Then firm.

“I don’t care how much they cut. You’re still here. You lived. And I—God, I’d trade everything to have gotten there sooner.”

You squeezed his fingers. It was all you could do. He doesn’t speak. But his hand moves — slow — and reaches for yours. You let him take it. His fingers curl around yours like a lifeline.

“I’d burn them all,” he says hoarsely. “I’d burn the world if it meant they’d never touch you again.”

“I know.”

The wind whistles. Somewhere, a door creaks.

“I can’t undo it,” he says. “I can’t take it back.”

“I don’t want you to.”

He flinches. You lift his hand. Press it gently to the bandaged cross on your ribs.

“I’d rather carry you like this… than forget you at all.”

His shoulders shake. Just once.

And then he leans forward, forehead to yours, breath warm and raw, pressing his lips to yours like a vow, gently letting his hand rest below your rib, next to the wound.

It was a part of you. And that meant he loved it too.

-----------

It took time to heal.

The physical wounds came first. The brand scabbed, scarred, then settled into your skin like it had always been there. Raised, red, permanent. You started sleeping through the night again, though you still woke sweating sometimes, chest tight, heart racing.

The psychological wounds took longer.

There were days you couldn’t bear to be touched. Times you curled away from the hand that used to bring you comfort. Times Wolfwood sat beside you in silence and didn’t ask for anything, not even your eyes.

But he never left. He never looked away from your pain, even when you flinched. Even when you pushed. And slowly, quietly, something began to mend.

The first time you let him see the brand without flinching, he didn’t say a word.

You were changing your bandages in the mirror, fingers clumsy on the wrap. The cloth slipped and the scar was exposed—angry and red, shaped unmistakably like the Punisher.

Wolfwood stepped into the doorway. Froze.

You didn’t cover it. You just turned your head and met his gaze.

“It still hurts,” you admitted. “But not as much.”

He crossed the room and cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“They tried to turn you into a message,” he said, voice low, “but all I see when I look at you is the person I couldn’t live without.”

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t want to be marked by this.”

“You’re not,” he whispered. “You’re marked by me. And I’ll carry that too.”

#trigun #trigun maximum #trigun 98 #trigun stampede #wolfood #nicholas d. wolfwood #wolfwood x reader #wolfwood #trigun wolfwood #wolfwood headcannon

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nameless-jamie · 5 months ago

Note

If you ever think about how the interview process/selection went when Jamie first met PAreader. I'd love to see how/why she decided to work for the then prick lol

Or.........

(Sorry, I just got another thought)

The one where Keeley's, amongst many other models, videos and pictures, are leaked it heavily suggests they all came from Jamie's personal email and is "password" so how might she chastise him or clean up the mess that is a problem nightmare. (Perhaps try and make sure no ones links him to the leaks)

Anyways, I love your work! Just some thoughts, lol ❤️

The Interview

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

A/N: I love these ideas! I started with the first one and will maybe work on the second one later, might have to re-watch the episode again. Thank you for your requests!

TW: cursing, innuendos

Leslie Higgins had been nothing but kind since Y/N walked into his office. The interview had gone smoothly so far—Higgins had asked her about her experience, her ability to handle high-pressure situations, and her general thoughts on working with athletes. She had answered confidently, feeling like she was making a solid impression.

Y/N sat across from Higgins, back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. She had prepared for this. She knew the job of a personal assistant to a football player required organization, patience, and an ability to manage egos. And Jamie Tartt? He was just another potential client to her. A high-profile one, sure, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

Higgins smiled warmly. “You have an impressive résumé. Scheduling, media relations, crisis management—”

“I like to run a tight ship,” Y/N said with a polite nod. “I know athletes have demanding schedules, and my job is to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“Lovely, lovely,” Higgins said, clearly pleased. “You know, I think you’d be a wonderful fit, but Jamie can be a bit of a, uh… handful, but I have no doubt you’d be able to—”

The door burst open.

“Oi, Higgins, did you find me an assistant yet—”

A man strolled in like he owned the place, sunglasses pushed up into messy blond hair, hands in his pockets. Y/N knew his face well. Everyone did. Jamie Tartt. Star player, tabloid favorite, self-proclaimed legend. And on first impression...a total prick.

Jamie barely glanced at Higgins before his gaze landed on Y/N. He stopped in his tracks, giving her a once-over—not in a sleazy way, more like he was genuinely curious.

“Oh, sick. This my new PA?" He asked curiously. "Ok, listen love, I need you to book me one of those bouncy castle things, should be about as big as the football pitch and—” Jamie gestured around widely, way too overexcited for Y/N's liking.

Y/N exhaled slowly. “Please.”

"What?" Jamie looked at her confused,

"I need you to book me a bouncy castle, please. Also my name is not love, my name's Y/N Y/L/N and I'm not your PA...yet." Y/N reciprocated in a stern voice.

Oh, fuckin' 'ell she is dominant alright. Jamie thought

His expression looked unbothered, though. “Right, alright, ok. She passin’ the vibes test then, Higgins?”

Higgins cleared his throat. “Jamie, this is was supposed to be a professional interview—”

"Well, then I should be part of it, shouldn't I? Should have a say in who I spent everyday of me life with from now on..." Jamie ignored Higgins, plopping down in the chair beside Y/N. “I can be very professional too. What’s your deal, then?”

“My deal,” Y/N repeated, arching a brow. “You mean my qualifications?”

“Yeah, like… why d’you wanna work for me?”

Higgins cleared his throat and answered the question before Y/N could. “Well, Jamie, Y/N has an impressive background in player management. She’s handled schedules for some of the biggest names in the league.”

Jamie barely looked impressed. “Ok but I asked her, didn't I?”

Y/N's jaw tightened. “First of all I’d be working with you, not for you.”

"What, you ain’t already buzzing to work for me?” He said provocatively.

Oh. He was one of those guys.

Y/N kept her expression neutral, but internally, she was already reconsidering her life choices.

“Not until I know it’s worth my time,” she shot back.

“She’s cheeky. I like her.” At that, Jamie’s smirk widened. "Ok but is it true that you've worked with big names in the league? Tell me more, anyone as big as me?"

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard she practically saw the back of her skull. “That depends. Do you mean big as in talent, or big as in ego?”

Jamie smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, she’s one of them, eh?” He leaned back, arms crossed. “So, what, you proper organized and all that?”

“I pride myself on professionalism.”

“Boring,” Jamie muttered.

Y/N’s nostrils flared slightly, but she kept her expression neutral. “I also make sure my clients don’t embarrass themselves.”

Jamie raised a brow. “Yeah? You reckon you can handle me?”

“I’ve handled worse.”

Jamie laughed, looking genuinely impressed. “Oi, she’s got a bit of bite.” He turned to Higgins. “Yup. I like her. She’s hired.”

Higgins pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jamie, I am the one conducting the interviews.”

"And I'm the one paying for a PA. I want her." Jamie pointed towards her, now turning his full body back to Y/N, ignoring Higgins completely. “Come on, then. You wanna work with me or what?”

Y/N hesitated. He was insufferable. He was full of himself. He was exactly the kind of athlete she typically had no patience for.

And yet.

Something about Jamie Tartt had gotten under her skin—his cheeky arrogance, his ease, the way he didn’t rattle her as much as he should. She was intrigued.

“…Ok,” she said, sitting up straighter. “But if I take this job, you follow my schedule, you listen to my instructions, you stop barging into rooms unannounced and most importantly you behave.”

Jamie grinned. “Yeah, alright. But no promises on the last one.”

Y/N sighed. “Fantastic.”

Jamie leaned forward, elbow on the desk. “One more thing—”

“Yes?”

His grin widened. “Try not to fall in love with me, yeah? That's proper unprofessional.”

Y/N stood, her face beet-red. “I’ll send over my contract terms and I'll start tomorrow. Goodbye, Sir. See you soon, Jamie.”

Jamie laughed as she walked out. Totally not staring at her ass in that prissy little pencil skirt she wore.

Higgins sighed deeply. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.”

Jamie smirked towards the now-closed door and said. "Well I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy this..."

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #sam obisanya #jamie tartt imagine #roy kent #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso show #afc richmond

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burreauxsss · 18 days ago

Text

thirty for thirty

background: the boy of every girl's dreams, joe burrow who was in a long lasting relationship with a model, ended due to infidelity, what happens when he runs into someone new at the met gala?

synopsis: a game gone wrong means that theres a elephant in the room, that joe and y/n finally address

word count: 1.5k

notes: grammarly is really a pain when i try to write on google docs, so please ignore any spelling mistakes/correction mistakes.. anyways im home for awhile so im gonna be writing alot of these to pass my time.

warning: this is a au aka alternative universe series.

📍Chicago IL

The wheels of the jet screeched onto the runway, slowing to a quiet hum as the cabin lights flickered low. Joe leaned back in his seat, jaw tight, hands clasped in front of him. His phone vibrated for the 50th time that hour, texts from Ja’Marr, an ESPN reporter, and his PR guy all lighting up the screen. But the only person he cared about still hadn’t answered his last text.

Joe: “Landed, be there in 20, you okay?”

He stood up slowly, grabbing his duffel and tugging his hoodie up over his curls. A pair of oversized black sunglasses slid on as his Bose headphones connected. Music wasn’t playing. He just needed an excuse not to talk.

Two security guys spotted him, they didn’t speak for the sake of their job.

Joe moved through the small terminal fast, avoiding eye contact. But it didn’t matter, someone always noticed.

A guy in a Bears hoodie whispered to his girlfriend, eyes wide. “Yo… that’s Joe Burrow. What’s he doing here?”

Someone else took a blurry photo from the corner near the airport store. It’d be on Twitter in 15 minutes with the caption: “Joe Burrow in Chicago tonight?”

But Joe wasn’t checking social media. He wasn’t thinking about trolls or teammates or press conferences.

He was thinking about Y/N.

And how, when he saw her on FaceTime earlier, her face looked tired in a way that scared him. Like she was disappearing under all the pressure. Like she was trying to armor herself so hard she was breaking from the inside.

He was thinking about how the world had turned on her this weekend, over a foul, a look, a shove. Like they’d been waiting for her to mess up.

And he was thinking about how he hadn’t done enough, not publicly, privately, or when it mattered.

He reached the SUV waiting for him just outside baggage claim, tossing his bag into the backseat and sliding in. The driver gave him a nod.

“Straight to the address?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah. Fast as you can.”

As the city blurred past outside, his mind ran faster.

He was never one to react emotionally. He liked slow decisions, controlled narratives. But something about this situation lit a fuse in him. The protectiveness. The guilt. The helplessness.

He’d watched women he cared about get ripped apart by the press before, hell, even his ex girlfriend, but he always promised that this time around, it’ll be different.

Fifteen minutes later, parked in front of her high rise condo, Joe sat in the backseat of the SUV, watching her condo from the tinted window.

No paparazzi yet. But the night had that scared feeling, like anything could go wrong.

He stared at his phone, opened up Instagram, and hovered over the photo he’d taken days ago.

Y/N, in his Bengals hoodie. Hair up. Pizza in hand. Barefoot in the kitchen.

A candid. He’d taken it the morning after the Met Gala, laughing while she told him a story about her teammate’s terrible blind date.

He hadn’t posted it then, didn't want to make her feel attacked, and never wanted to face backlash for it.

But now, he was feet away from her. And when she opened that door? Everything was going to change.

The intercom sounded sharp in the silence of Y/N’s living room.

She didn’t move at first. Didn’t breathe. Just sat on her couch in Joe’s hoodie with her knees drawn up to her chest, phone face down on the coffee table, untouched since the last wave of hate started crashing in.

She already knew who it was, he said he was coming, but she didn’t believe he actually would.

She exhaled, finally walking to the screen by the front door. She tapped the video feed.

There he was.

Joe Burrow. Hoodie. Hands in his pockets. Head down.

Her heart clenched, and she buzzed him in.

A few seconds later, three soft knocks at the door.

She opened it slowly. He looked up. Eyes bloodshot from the flight, jaw clenched, voice low.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she whispered.

Neither of them moved.

Then he stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug so tight, she nearly fell into it. Her fingers gripped his back instantly, pressing into the cotton of his hoodie, and she felt the tension he carried, shoulders stiff, arms protective.

No kiss. Just presence. His weight. His warmth. His breath was near her ear.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice so quiet she almost didn’t catch it. “I should’ve shut this shit down sooner.”

She swallowed. “It’s not your job to fix it.”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the face. “Maybe not. But I can stand with you. That’s all I want to do.”

Y/N blinked hard. “You flew out here just to-”

“Yes,” he cut in. “I’m done hiding like you’re a problem I need to keep quiet. Like I’m protecting my image by protecting my distance. I should’ve known better. You don’t need protection. You just need truth.”

She stared at him, lips parted. “So what now?”

Joe stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and dropped his bag by the wall.

“Now,” he said, pulling out his phone, “we launch.”

yn.handle

❤️ 1m 💬 30,000

Liked by: lahjay_10 haileyvanlith teehiggins joeyb_9 and others

yn.handle: most unexpected plot twist @/joeyb_9

haileyvanlith: oh we KNEW

username_1: joe please dont do this to me i have work in the morning

username_2: just fell to my knees inside a walmart username_3: just saw someone fall to their knees inside a walmart

joeyb_9: beautiful.

*load more comments*

📍Chicago Sky Practice Facility Chicago, IL

The second Y/N walked through the gym doors, everything stopped.

Basketballs bounced in slow motion. Sneakers squeaked and stalled. Her teammates all turned toward her like they’d been waiting for this exact moment.

She could feel it in her bones, the aftermath of that post. The unspoken questions. The sidelong glances. The “omg bitch you better tell me everything” energy vibrating under the surface.

She kept her walk slow, steady, hoodie tied around her waist, headphones in, pretending to scroll her phone like she hadn’t seen her face on SportsCenter this morning or read a TMZ thread talking about her.

She made it halfway to her cubby when Hailey practically launched a Gatorade at her head.

“SOOOOOOO.” Hailey dragged it out dramatically. “You were just gon’ soft launch that man to hell and BACK, huh?”

Y/N smirked. “Technically… it was a hard launch.”

Courtney, already lacing up her shoes, threw in, “Hard launch? Girl, you damn near livestreamed your marriage license.”

“Yeah,” Kamilla said, jogging by with a towel. “Twitter thought y’all were engaged by midnight.”

Hailey added from now across the court, “And don’t think we didn’t clock that he’s been liking all your old thirst traps.”

Y/N opened her locker and grinned. “Oh, you went through the likes?”

Hailey was grinning like a kid on Christmas. “Duh. I saw him hit that bikini pic from the Turks like he was tryna go BACK in time.”

Y/N tossed her gym bag down and sat. “Okay, but real talk, y’all not mad at the circus right now?”

Courtney shrugged. “We’re used to the noise.”

Kamilla leaned against the lockers. “Girl, you handled the noise. Caitlin Clark tried to send you to the ER last game, and you still walked off the court like Rihanna in heels.”

“Plus,” Hailey added, “half of Chicago loves a little drama. And the other half just became Bengals fans overnight.”

Maddy deadpanned, “Except Caitlin stans. They’re already writing essays on Twitter.”

Y/N exhaled, stretching her arms over her head. “It’s just a lot. People think I’m here to be a headline. Not a hooper.”

That made the girls pause.

Courtney walked up, placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Listen. They might come for your relationship. They might even boo your free throws. But you lace up and lock in every game. That’s what counts.”

Hailey added with a grin, “Besides, if we do play the Fever again, I wanna see you drop 30 and then blow a kiss to Joe courtside.”

Everyone hollered in unison as they headed out for warmups. The coach walked in and clapped once. “Let’s get focused. Cameras are showing up later, so put your game faces on.”

He gave Y/N a pointed look, her chin held high for once. But during practice, Y/N drilled her shots harder than usual. Hustled harder. Talked less, and when she sank three straight from deep, even Coach cracked a smile.

Kamilla jogged past her on a breakaway and whispered, “Joe’s favorite player still Caitlin Clark?”

Y/N smirked, wiping her forehead. “Not after this week.”

#joe burrow #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smau #joe burrow insta au #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow fic #joe burrow one shot #joe burrow text imagine #joe burrow x y/n

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gay-wh0re-slut · 2 years ago

Note

I’ve just realised I’ve never read any fluff about cuddling with Rhea? Like wtf

oh that’s so true bestie

i gotta do everything around here lmaoooo i kid i kid. i hope this suits your needs!!

Anything

rhea x reader

content: pure fluff with babygirl rhea

This past week has been especially hard on you. You were extremely busy at work and the seasonal depression has finally hit, so you were drained mentally and physically.

Rhea had been gone most of the week too being on every WWE show imaginable. You watched when you could but it was hard to focus on anything for a long time. She usually told you when in the show she would be on so you tuned into those parts specifically.

It was finally Saturday night and you were doom scrolling on any and every social media but you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer. You didn’t know when you fell asleep on the couch and you didn’t know how long you had been out until you felt a gentle hand rubbing on your arm.

A small whisper from above you, “hey baby.”

You jumped a bit when you saw her towering over you but your body softened once you realized who it was. “Hi,” your voice hoarse with sleep. You stretched wide as you groaned.

The wrestler let you finish as she watched you with a smile, “c’mon, let’s go to bed.” Barry and Luna followed orders and their nails clacked against the floor before they sighed into their respective beds. Ryuk didn’t move, unsurprisingly.

You raised your arms and weakly made grabby hands at her pouting, “not yet, c’mere.”

“I promise it’ll be more comfy in the bed,” she chuckled, but she couldn’t help falling for it.

As you slowly sat up rubbing your eyes, you scooted over just enough to let her sit down next to you. She sat as close to you as possible leaning back into the cushions, opening her arms for you to snuggle into her. You laid your head on her chest close to her shoulder and placed your legs over hers. She wrapped her arms around your waist and thighs pulling you in close.

“I missed you,” you breathed her in. The smell of her filled your nostrils, you missed that smell. You missed the feeling of her arms around you, her presence in the house, her voice, her laugh, her.

“I missed you too,” she kissed the top of your head, “I’m sorry you had a rough week and I wasn’t here,” her voice was calm and low, you could tell she was just as tired as you or more.

“Don’t be sorry,” you lifted your head to meet her gaze, “I know you’ve been all over and did so many things,” you gave her a small smile.

She returned the smile, “tell me about it,” she scoffed.

You puckered your lips to request a kiss and she complied giving you a soft but long one. The hand around your legs cupped your jaw as she did. Letting go, she gave you a few small quick pecks before rubbing your cheek with her thumb and pushing the hair out of your face. “I missed your pretty face,” she smirked.

You blushed in response, “I missed yours too,” you chuckled squeezing her cheeks.

“Alright,” she laughed swatting your hand away.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence with you cuddling into her muscular arms with her stroking your hair, almost breathing in unison. You both almost fell asleep after a few minutes until she came to, “We should go to bed.”

You nodded your head against her shoulder. So she cradled you and picked you up bridal style and carried you into the bed room. She laid you on the bed before she changed into her pajamas. As she did, you snuggled up into the covers waiting for her. It didn’t take her long to slide under the covers with you.

Though she was taller than you, you loved being the big spoon. You let her get comfy then you formed your body behind hers pulling her in tightly, “I love you,” you said quietly.

“I love you, baby,” she breathed.

You were so content with where you were in this moment. You smiled to yourself feeling her breathe against you thinking about how you’re the luckiest person in the world and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You both fell asleep pretty quickly and barely moved throughout the night, but neither of you cared, it’s where you’re meant to be.

#rhea ripley #wwe #rhea ripley x reader #cuddling & snuggling #i wanna be wrapped her beefy arms so badly

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the-fiction-witch · 1 day ago

Text

The Female Applicant P2

Media - The Maze Runner Series AU Alternate Universe - 1940s University (Dead Poets Society Inspired) Characters - Newt / Thomas / Minho / Frypan (Spiggy) / Zart Couple - Flirting Attempts being made by most if not all Rating - 12 Word Count - 1329

As usual, the boys gathered in the classroom, the room was alive with whispers and hushed conversations as the boys settled in for their usual meeting.

Thomas, perched on a desk, "She's got guts, I'll give her that. The guys are already staring at her like she's some sort of exotic animal."

Zart asked, "Won't it cause disturbances? Boys and a girl mixing in the same space…"

Spiggy scoffed, a cocky smile on his face. "Where's your sense of adventure? This could be interesting."

"We should give her a chance. She's probably got her reasons for being here." Newt nodded,

"Wouldn't it be strange to have a girl sitting among us?" Minho asked,

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it?” Thomas laughed,

Their discussion, of course, like most discussions of a girl by a group of only boys, soon turned dirty. The practicalities of the school laundry, of gym class, of how any of them were going to get any sleep with her across the lake.

"Imagine gym class," Spiggy smirked,

"I guess we can't walk around the dorm in just our boxer shorts anymore." Minho laughed,

Thomas chuckled, unable to resist making a cheeky comment."Maybe we could convince her to join a few clubs."

"You lot need to rein it in a little. She's just a girl, like any other." Newt reminded them,

"Oh, come on. She's no ordinary girl, she's the first girl ever to attend here."

Suddenly and unexpectedly, a gentle tap came from the door.

The boys stopped talking abruptly, their eyes darting to the door. A wave of curiosity flickered among them as they wondered who could be interrupting their little meeting.

Fry, the closest to the door, cautiously stood up and approached it. His hand hesitated on the handle for a moment before he opened it enough to peek at the knocker. Immediately, his jaw dropped as he opened the door wide. Revealing ‘Her’ standing in the doorway.

"Hello." She waved, wearing the same pair of polished brown oxfords she had earlier in the day, some black stockings leading up to her knee-length brown plaid skirt, a crisp white blouse with little flowers embroidered on the lapel, as well as a brown blazer buttoned tight. Her curls were still pinned up in a very mid-1940s style, and her bright rose-red lipstick was beginning to fade.

The boys froze, their eyes widening. Thomas let out a low whistle while Minho and Newt exchanged an astonished look. Zart pushed his glasses up his nose. They all stared at her silently, as if they'd just seen a ghost…or a very pretty girl.

Fry was the first to regain his composure, quickly clearing his throat and trying to act natural. "Uh…hi."

"Hello." She softly smiled." "Do excuse me, I was looking for room 204, Professor Janson?" She asked,

This was professor Janson’s room however, he would likely be gone doing the upperclassmen's Latin papers.

"You're looking for Professor Janson?" Thomas asked,

"What do you need him for, sweetheart?" Minho asked before she could even answer Thomas,

"He said to go to his classroom when I arrived. He said he was to lend me a book." She smiled,

"And what kind of book did you need from him? A recipe book? A manual on how to be a lady?" Spiggy laughed,

"He said he'd allow me to annotate a spare copy of the raven." She nodded, "Is he here or… Am I already lost?"

Thomas spoke up, "No, you're not lost. It's just…well, Professor Janson is busy right now. But you can wait for him in here if you'd like."

Newt raised an eyebrow, shooting a look to him.

"Thank you so much." She said, "So long as that's alright with you, gentlemen." Y/n happily came in, head held high like a proper lady. She picked a seat in the centre of the room, putting her books down and tucking her feet under the chair as she sat down.

The boys formed a loose ring around her, their eyes never leaving her as she sat down. Their gazes were filled with a mixture of curiosity and awe at having a real girl in their little meeting space.

"So you enjoy poetry, huh?" Minho asked,

"Aspects." She nodded, opening her book to read, but already she kinda assumed she wasn't going to do any.

"Aspects? What do you mean?" Spiggy asked, crossing his arms.

"Some poetry in my mind can thread the line of utter insanity, far too metaphorical to mean anything."

Thomas let out a soft snort. "Yeah, some poetry can get pretty abstract. But that's what makes it interesting, right? It's up for interpretation."

Minho nodded in agreement, his eyes still fixed on Y/n. "I think that's the beauty of poetry. It's supposed to make you feel something, even if you don't fully understand it."

"Exactly. Poetry is meant to stir emotions and provoke thought, isn't it? It doesn't need to make sense all the time." Zart chimed in with a nod.

"True. Perhaps I simply see things as I think they should be." She nodded,

Newt, ever the romantic, couldn't help but add his two cents. "Or maybe you're too practical. Sometimes, you need to let poetry sweep you away. Not everything needs to make sense. It's art, after all."

"As sweet as that sounds, I like to know where I'm being swept off to." She joked, fixing a stand of Newt's hair,

Newt immediately became red at her gesture, feeling a bit flustered by her touch.

The other boys watched the interplay between them, exchanging another round of knowing looks.

Minho, of course, couldn't help but chime in with a sly comment. "Maybe you just need the right poet to sweep you away, sweetheart."

"Perhaps." She shrugged,

"Don't mind, Minho. He's a charmer but not always the most tactful." Spiggy sighed,

"Humm… I suppose I could deduce as much." She nodded. "But the rest of you? Surely you all have adorable little quirks of your own."

The boys exchanged amused glances, intrigued by her curious nature.

“Quirks, huh? We've all got our moments." Thomas nodded,

The others nodded in agreement,

Minho groaned. "Oh, I've got more quirks than a circus sideshow.”

"I think we're all a little quirky in our own ways. That's part of what makes us guys." Newt nervously smiled,

"We're a bunch of misfits, really. But we make it work." Zart spoke up,

"Humm, adorable." She cooed, tussling Zart’s hair,

Zart blushed slightly at her gesture, swatting her hand away playfully. "Hey, quit it! I'm not a child."

"Humm, I suppose not. But boys are so often less mature than the ladies." She laughed,

That comment earned a collective "Hey!" from the boys, all of them shooting her mock-offended looks.

Minho, of course, was the first to speak up in the group's defense. "Oh, and why is that? You think you ladies are so much more mature?"

Y/n giggled, happy she got the reaction she intended. "Ladies learn to be polite and proper. While boys fight with sticks. And ladies are told the harsh reality of the world while boys are pampered by their mother's apron tails.”

Thomas leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face. "Sounds like you have us all figured out."

Spiggy, still a bit disgruntled, tried to defend himself. “Hey, we're not all pampered. Some of us can handle the harsh realities just fine."

"Oh? Such as?” she asked,

Fry opened his mouth to respond but found himself at a loss for words.

Thomas, sensing his opportunity, cut in before he could speak. "Well, we handle the harsh reality of being here, don't we? Tough classes, strict teachers, the works."

"And don't forget about sports. You girls wouldn't last a day on the playing field." Minho smirked,

"Oh? That a challenge?" She asked,

"A challenge, huh? You think you could handle yourself on the field?" Newt asked, a little worried for her,

"You think you could handle being tackled by one of us, sweetheart?" Minho asked,

"I think so." She nodded,

Spiggy nodded. "Oh, you think so, eh? You're a little thing. We could take you out with one hand tied behind our back."

"Oh? I do encourage you to try." She laughed.

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angel-of-the-moons · 11 months ago

Text

Blood Moon

Marc Spector/Moon Knight (Vengeance of Venom) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Mentions of child death, trauma related to that, some coping, Marc being an emotionally constipated idiot as usual; Also you can't convince me that after the symbiote invasion, Marc and May Parker didn't become like, catty bff's

A/N: After a million years, I have returned to this particular incarnation of Moon Knight! I've been trying to consume various forms of media to help get me in the zone for him, and yes that includes watching the only two episodes in that Spider-Man cartoon he's actually in on repeat...

Taglist: @badbishsblog @patchesofwork

Divider done by the ever so lovely @/saradika-graphics!

PT. 6

It had been a few days since you and Marc had discussed his past.

And you were... angry for him. What had happened to your family was bad, but it wasn't as bad as Marc coming home to his dead child.

Marc had his whole family ripped away from him because his little brother literally went insane with jealousy? Honestly, if the bastard wanted superpowers so fucking badly, he could gone to play in a pool at a nuclear power plant!

Marc's lot in life truly wasn't fair. You understood his prickly, walled-off personality a bit more, but moreover you just felt... saddened. You almost didn't push through the loss of your family. Being a combative young girl, violent and opposing to your guardians as you frog-hopped your way through foster homes; many parents simply didn't bother with you after the first month of constant disobedience and violent outbursts.

And couple all of that with the running away... it had gotten to the point nobody had wanted you, so you were forced to live in a roughened group home for the duration of your dwindling childhood.

But none of that felt as horrible and gut-wrenching compared to coming home to your own child brutally murdered out of petty jealousy and perceived rivalry.

Your heart broke for him; he had suffered horrible situations all because of someone he should have been able to love and trust with his life. Someone--

"You're spacing again."

You jumped, almost dropping your gauntlet as Marc's voice cuts through your thoughts.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, "Yeah, just... Got a bit on my plate, so to speak."

His chair squeaks as he turns back to sharpening his darts; after pointing out he needed new ones, Marc actually took your advice and put in a request with Fury for the materials to manufacture new ones. And provide a few modifications to your own equipment as well. It was the least he could do for being such an ass to you before.

The grindstone whirred, soft sparks falling onto the worktable as he meticulously honed the edges of the blades down to their fine edges; his warm chocolate eyes focusing with intensity on his task.

You tucked one leg beneath yourself from where you hunched over on the couch, staring at him for a moment before returning to your own work, hoping to distract you from your morbid and depressing train of thought.

"Have anything to do with Strange?" He asked, the question short and clipped.

"Eh?" You blinked, almost dropping your tool at the suddenness of his question. It was... weirdly out of nowhere. You hadn't really interacted with Stephen much since your hospitalization, and maybe once or twice when dealing with things at Avengers Tower.

"No?"

"He's been hovering." He muttered, frowning as he began working on a new dart, setting the completed one off to the side with the others.

"You mean like... at meetings?" You blinked dumbly, your jaw slacking slightly.

"Yes."

"Well, I mean... kinda?" You rubbed the back of your neck.

"Any particular reason?" He hummed, his mouth twisting as he scowled through the magnifier.

You furrowed your brow and squinted at him, blinking a few times. He seemed... Stiff. Prickly, almost. He almost looked like he...

You grinned widely, a lightbulb blipping to life inside of your head.

"Oh my god."

You lean forward, grasping your gauntlet in one hand and still grinning, staring at his posture. Marc seemed to go even stiffer than before, his movements not as precise as before, almost as if he was trying to distract himself from the current subject.

"Marc, are you jealous?"

The silence was your best answer, and you laughed, leaning back on the couch, and kicking your feet as your giddiness overtook you. "Marc!"

Marc spun around and slammed his fist on the table, barking, "I was only wondering if there are any distractions that might screw you up on patrol!"

You finally dropped your gauntlet, clutching your belly as it ached from laughing, his absurd reaction to your observation just ratting him out more, "Oh my god!" You gasped, rolling onto your side.

"Shut the hell up!" He snapped.

"Marc!" You sputtered, snorting at him.

"Ugh!" He grunted, jerking his chair back around to look at the task he'd dropped on the worktable.

"Stephen has been like, nosey because I was thinking about asking Fury to transfer me as his partner."

His shoulders twitched, "What?"

You sit up again a bit, resting your weight on your elbow as you let your leg sling over the side of the couch; "When we split our little dynamic duo; before I got hurt, I requested I work with Stephen because... Well? We have decent chemistry and ideally that's what you want in a partnership."

Marc scowled, keeping his back to you as you spoke; why was he so defensive over this? Why did that hot, simmering feeling return to the pit of his gut? He thought he buried it the day he saw you in the medical ward back in the Tower when you agreed to be his partner again.

"And as for the weird ass flowers? Gamora and Groot gave those to me. She popped in to say hi, and Groot happened to sprout some while we were talking. They gave them to me as a get-well present."

He looked at you out of the corner of his eyes, over his shoulder, "You certainly enjoyed his attention, though."

You coughed awkwardly into your hand, and cleared your throat; "Well, a woman appreciates chivalry every now and again, Marc. And Stephen can be really chivalrous when he wants to be."

You crossed your arms, and huffed out a puff of air. "And your manners certainly match the sewers you were living in... But it's no reason to get friggin' jealous or anything."

"I'm not jealous for the last damn time!" He snapped again, glaring at you.

"Oh... so you're protective, then? Are you that worried about me?"

He growled, grinding his teeth together as he pushed himself up from the table, the wheels on his chair squeaking audibly as he muttered under his breath.

"Hey! Where are you going?" You asked, climbing to your feet as he yanked on his hoodie.

"Out for a drink. I need one after dealing with you." He scoffed, walking up the basement stairs.

"But it's 11 in the morning!" You retort.

Even though he seemed pissed, you couldn't help but smile to yourself, your fingers touching your chin as you heard the front door slam.

"She's insufferable!" Marc growled, scowling deeply out of the window, his brown eyes watching as children played outside and cars drove by. The muffled barking of a dog could be heard from somewhere through the window.

"I swear, dealing with her has me wanting to shave my head and jump in the Hudson in the middle of winter!"

May smiled into her tea, her green eyes twinkling with mischief as the wrinkles at the corners became more obvious the more Marc ranted about you.

"Your tea is getting cold." She reminded him with a hum.

The former Marine slumped his shoulders with a hefty sigh and dropped onto the cushioned chair on the other side of the tea table next to her, taking the chipped mug in his hands before taking a big swig of it; swirling the slightly bitter liquid around in his mouth before swallowing.

"You've been talking about your partner for a while, Marc. And while you seem agitated about her," May set her mug down on a saucer to look at him with a patient smile.

"Has she really done anything to make you this angry? Or is there some other underlying issue?"

His brows furrowed and he rubbed his hand along his stubble, looking at her quizzically, "I don't follow."

"Marc, you're not used to having to rely on someone in such a hefty capacity like this," May said gently.

"You've been working alone for so long you've boxed yourself into a little corner and get mad when people don't act the way you want them to, or if they don't see things the way you do, at first. It's why you acted the way that you did when all those symbiotes invaded."

"Okay, I have my reasons for..." Marc noticed her silvery brow quirk up, her lips tipping into a smirk. He brought his tea to his lips and drank again. "...continue."

"You were concerned with your own survival. You had been alone for so long you felt like, even with your hero work as Moon Knight, you were still in it by yourself."

"...Someone helped convince me." He sighed softly, looking into the tea a bit, swirling it in the mug.

"Oh yeah, someone did all right." May said haughtily, "And I bet she was so smart and amazing at it, too."

"And a little full of herself. And preachy..." Marc slowly smiled at her.

"Okay, well, aside from that--" May giggled. "It's nice to know that I had a hand in you opening up more. Spider-Man being that other hand."

Marc pursed his lips. May Parker may know that Marc Spector is actually Moon Knight... But she did not know her beloved nephew was the Spider-Man. He didn't like lying to her, it left a foul taste in his mouth. She was one of the few--the very few--friends he had left in the world and it felt wrong to mislead her.

But he swore to Peter he wouldn't tell May until the youth decided he was ready.

"So, I think your apparent "frustration" with her might just be the fact that you're not used to having someone inhabit your personal bubble so easily. Your personalities are very different, but... You like her. It angers you because you try not to like her--or people in general--but it just happened."

"That's not..." Marc started to say; but, instead he rubbed the back of his neck. "...Entirely untrue."

"And you seem to be unreasonably annoyed that this girl had been looking for a new partner... And seemed to enjoy whatever flattery he was putting on for her."

He raised an eyebrow, "And?"

"Marc, did you stop to analyze your feelings on a slightly more... intimate manner?" May sighed hopelessly, shaking her head before taking another sip of her tea.

"Uh--hey, wait! What's that supposed to mean!" He sputtered, turning in the chair to look at her fully, feeling an uncomfortable sweat in his palms.

"Do you think you might be so protective of her because you're interested in her on a more personal level? You know, romantically. Or... otherwise."

Ugh, he hated how sagely this woman could be sometimes. She was wonderful at giving advice, but torture when she got to the core of the issues discussed.

And he knew, deep down, that she wasn't far off from the truth.

"May--"

"Marc." She put her hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze, "Would it be so bad to let somebody in like that? To let her get close to you?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and determinedly sucked the rest of his tea down before speaking;

"Yes. May, I'm taking a big risk just even being friends with you. Being around your nephew."

"Is it... because of your hero work?" May asked, her eyes shining with concern.

"Yes and no... it's..." His eyes cast down to the floor, the bitter memories of what happened to his wife and daughter, his friends, associates... all at the hands of his brother.

"There's someone. A criminal who--who has it out for me. He's been targeting people close to me for years, May. I... don't want him to hurt anybody else."

She squeezed his arm again, smiling kindly, "Tell me. Please. You know you can."

"It's... not pretty, May. It's horrific, what he's done. She found out about it and I'm pretty sure she's started letting it fester in her brain." He sighed, slumping his shoulders a bit.

"I've seen a lot, Marc." May says softly. "After losing Ben, how he was taken from us... it wasn't easy. You know how I felt, I've already told you. So... Please."

Marc lifted his eyes and took a deep breath.

And began to speak.

PT. 7: No idea, with fall around the corner I may come back to this just for the spooky vibes and to hopefully be able to wrap this up!

#moon knight #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #Spiderman moon Knight #Moon Knight vengeance of venom #Spiderman maximum venom

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cjsoleil · 2 years ago

Text

Got Lovesick All Over My Bed (Seonghwa x Hongjoong)

Summary:

Prince Hongjoong finally sees his soulmate, prince Seonghwa, after three long months of being apart. They sneak away so Hongjoong can show how much he missed him.

Warnings: Smut (MDNI) Marking, Body Worship, Possessive Behaviour, Edging

Authors note:

Hey guys, this is my first time writing something like this, so please excuse any mistakes. Enjoy

Heeled shoes tapping against marbled floors, crystal chandeliers overhead, pink champaign in hand and an orchestra playing music that travels throughout the room. It’s what’s expected at these types of parties, Hongjoong has experienced it a lot throughout the years. It’s usually the same things every time without much change, but he doesn’t care all that much about that, as long as one thing stays a constant.

Across the room, close to the bar, stands the only thing that makes these events worth going to. The reason why Hongjoong refuses to look less than absolute perfection, why he chooses to wear his nicest suits, one of a kind made with only the most expensive fabrics and beautiful designs. The man wearing a clean white suit is taller than Hongjoong, has silky onyx hair, a sharp jaw but such soft lips, speaking from experience. His aura screams to everyone in the room exactly how Important he is, as he in-bodies elegance as a whole.

Park Seonghwa looks as royal as the family he was born into.

Hongjoong must have been staring too hard, because Seonghwa had caught him. The elder gave him a glare that was clearly fake, because he catches the prince’s mouth twitch upwards. In return, Hongjoong gives him a subtle wink, before walking towards him. Nearly everyone in the room followed his steps with their eyes, they couldn’t help it.

The Kim family Is renowned and famous, as many royal families are. People look at him as if he is art at a museum, painted by a long gone artist. He is well appreciated for his looks, and he is well aware of this, but couldn’t care less. Hongjoong has had his share of longing glances directed towards him, less than innocent intended touches, but every flirtatious motion was and always will be quickly turned down.

So many stars in the sky, but he can only look at one.

“Prince Hongjoong.” Seonghwa greets with a short bow when he gets close to him, one that the younger returns.

“Seonghwa.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Despite the mundane conversation Seonghwa is trying to make, Hongjoong can still see how non put together he is. Picking at his nails, the small bites to the inside of his cheeks, the slight shifting of his weight.

The elder is trying so hard to stay composed, to not pull the other into a hug and go on a tangent about how much he missed him, thought about him.

It makes Hongjoong need to fuck him even more.

They haven’t seen each other in three months, and for both of them it’s been practically torture. It’s one of the longest times they’ve been completely apart since they got together.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong met when the latter was fourteen and the former, fifteen. And the younger will admit, he believes he fell for him right then. He’s not even dramatizing, from the moment they met, he’s been doing things to catch the older’s attention. Seonghwa ignored him at first, not because he wanted to, but more because of their families. Their families aren’t exactly friends. Everyone’s civil with each other, of course since nobody wants unnecessary nation wide conflicts, but they would both be heavily looked down upon if they were to become friends, let alone partners. Seonghwa was simply being the responsible person he is, but Hongjoong still managed to break him down and get him to like him back. Even though it took a few years.

In recent years, the two have been able to spend a lot of time together, each spending months out of their own home countries. Having them go to social events together and develop a close friendship is purely for the media, and bringing the two monarchs closer together. Of course this is all for the public, their families still don’t really get along, with the exception of Seonghwa and Hongjoong. Seonghwa likes to say they’re just like Romeo and Juliet, without the double suicide.

Hongjoong has to resist his own instinct to bring Seonghwa into his arms.

“I’m much better now that you’re here. Was your flight alright?” He asked instead, receiving a nod in response. And his lips nearly pull upwards into a smile when he sees the light pink blush on Seonghwa’s face.

“It was fine.” Hongjoong’s eyes darken slightly, effectively changing the air around them.

“Good. So tell me…” he starts, and the tone of voice makes Seonghwa have to suppress a shiver, “what were you doing greeting San before me?” Seonghwa remains composed to the public eye, but the prince can tell exactly what his words are doing to him.

“He approached me first.” The taller responds, and Hongjoong hums, taking a step closer into his personal space.

“And you couldn’t walk away?”

“Unlike you, I have some decorum.” Hongjoong places his hand on the prince’s shoulder, his fingers digging slightly into his jacket, creasing the fabric. The action can’t be called anything more than innocent, though for Seonghwa, it is nothing close.

“It doesn’t take more than five minutes to exchange pleasantries.” He doesn’t give him the opportunity to answer, because he leans a little bit closer.

“Meet be in the bathroom in twenty minutes. If you’re late, there will be consequences, I don’t care if you’re talking to the fucking queen.” A sharp inhale, before the raven answers.

“I understand.” Hongjoong gives a little smirk, before moving an agonizing distance away, that being less than arm length.

“I missed you, Starlight.” Seonghwa was left with a love struck look on his face and a hummingbird heart as he watches his other half walk away.

Twenty five minutes later, and Seonghwa sits on one of the cushion chairs in the bathroom. He’s been waiting over ten minutes for Hongjoong since he went to the bathroom early in fear of being late. He’s been at the mercy of Hongjoong’s punishments plenty of times and as much as he loves them, he would rather get exactly what he wants after months of not seeing the other.

The second he hears the door open, his head jerks upwards to see Hongjoong entering with an expression that makes Seonghwa’s hands shake.

“Get in a stall.” He demands, and despite being in no position of power, Seonghwa questions it.

“Joong, we can’t do that here-“

“Seonghwa.” The younger’s eyes have darken and he almost looks angry.

The rational part of Seonghwa knows he’s not, he never gets mad at him, but the onyx haired man still goes in the closest stall, the other man following just a few steps behind.

Hongjoong turns the lock, and instead of pushing him into the corner like Seonghwa thought he would, he leans against the stall wall opposite of him.

“You’re all dressed up.” Is what he says, reaching over and running a hand down Seonghwa’s chest, where his heart is hiding behind his rib cage

“My pretty boy.”

“Yours.” The elder quickly responds, knowing what the young prince wants to hear.

“Yes.” Hongjoong smirks and finally gets into Seonghwa’s personal space, nosing at his neck and he tilts his to give more room.

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes, Hongjoong-“ his legs are spread by Hongjoong’s muscular one, and his thigh slots between Seonghwa’s, “I thought about you all the time. I missed you so much-“ Hongjoong laughs lightly into his ear.

“Are you sure you missed me much at all? Your attention was focused on someone else…” he accuses the raven before starting to bite at his neck, not hard enough to leave a mark.

“I needed to calm myself-I-how else would I resist kissing you in front of everyone?” Seonghwa just barely manages to get the words out, having already brought a hand to his boyfriend’s hair to stable himself as he licks up the side of his neck, before closing his mouth lightly over his earlobe. He rolls his hips against his boyfriend’s thigh.

“Are you needy baby?” He nods, so desperate for just a little more.

“Kiss me, love, kiss-“

“Shh..” Hongjoong covers Seonghwa’s mouth with his hand, just as they hear the door to the bathroom open.

He waits a few seconds before pulling his hand away, and Seonghwa tries to creating some sort of distance, but Hongjoong’s quick to stop him by pinning his wrist against the stall with a small shake of his head. Slowly, he leaned forward, resting his head so Seonghwa could feel every exhale against his neck as the hand not pinning him comes up to hold his face.

The touch was innocent, until the hand starts trailing down.

“Joongie-“ he starts to whisper, but stops himself.

“Quiet.” His hand slips under Seonghwa’s shirt and jacket, dragging his nails lightly on his abs, making the older man shiver. Hongjoong then pinches his nipple, making Seonghwa’s hips unconsciously buck forward against the his thigh, just adding to the pleasure.

Seonghwa uses his hand not pinned down and bites down on it to keep himself quiet. Usually he would bite on Hongjoong’s shoulder, but he can’t since he’s wearing his suit.

Suddenly, Hongjoong moves his hand and grabs Seonghwa’s crotch, making him cry out and jerk forward against the hand. The younger clicks his tongue,

“Having a hard time listening?” He asks, as if he isn’t at fault. Hongjoong does that a lot, makes impossible demands. After receiving no response, he grabs his face with one hand, forcing the other to look at him.

“Answer me.”

“Hongjoong, please-“ Seonghwa doesn’t try to control his voice that much, since he knows the room must be empty. Hongjoong would never let anyone other than himself hear, or even know what’s going on in moments like these. Less because of the scandal and more so out of respect.

Ignoring his partner’s begging, Hongjoong pulls away from him completely, only soothing Seonghwa’s small whine with a pat on his cheek.

“Hush now. I’m not fucking you in public baby, despite you not having barely any shame about it.” Hongjoong smiles as he looks at his hyung, who seems to have catch his breath a bit.

“I’m sure you would if you weren’t so possessive.” Seonghwa chimes back, with his head resting against the stall.

“Slut, you’re that willing to walk back out after just having cum in your pants?” Despite the harsh words, there’s a certain enduring tone that goes along with it. The young prince cups the other’s face between his hands and reaches up a bit to softly kiss Seonghwa, one he’s quick to return. Hongjoong’s lips are always so soft.

“I love you Hwa~” Hongjoong drawls out after pulling away and he starts fixing Seonghwa’s hair. He catches the younger’s hand and kisses it softly.

“I love you too.” Wrapping his arm around his waist, Hongjoong pulls Seonghwa against him, and lightly slaps his ass with the other hand.

“God, I can’t wait to get you alone.” He grabs a fist full of black hair, “I’m going to ruin you Seonghwa. I’m going to make you cry.” His eyes almost roll back at his partner’s words, the sudden switch from hot to sweet and back again is giving him whiplash, “Would you like that?”

“Yeah.” Hongjoong smiles and rubs his waist,

“Do you want me to stay with you for a bit?” Seonghwa shakes his head. He wouldn’t be able to calm down if he stayed.

“You go.” Going out at separate times brings less questions. Hongjoong nods and gives Seonghwa’s temple a quick kiss, before leaving the room.

Seonghwa stays in the stall for a bit, still a little out of it. After a minutes or two, he goes to the mirrors by the sink and sighs seeing he looks somewhat a mess. It’s the usual outcome of when he spends too much time alone with Hongjoong. After fixing his hair, and putting on more of a blank face, he goes back to where he is expected.

The rest of the night, Hongjoong had made sure to keep Seonghwa within eyesight. Maybe he was caught staring once or twice, but he really couldn’t give a shit, not when Seonghwa looks even more gorgeous now. A natural glow of sorts surrounded him, evidence of what they did earlier. Besides, it’s not like he’s watching with mal intent, he’s simply making sure his partner is alright. For Seonghwa, he’s a gentleman, sometimes. They had to stay for a few hours before they could both make up a reason to leave.

“Just couldn’t wait, could you?” Wooyoung teased Hongjoong when he said he was leaving early.

“Of course not. If anyone comes looking for me-“

“Yeah yeah, I got you.” Wooyoung assures the prince, making him grin.

“I owe you one.”

“Oh it’s much more than that.” He had to explain to many people that Hongjoong was feeling unwell that night, as well as coordinating a little excuse to give reason to Seonghwa’s mysterious absence as well. It’s safe to say he will ensure that the favour is returned.

The hotel room that Seonghwa is staying at is, well, suited for royalty. With a beautiful balcony that shows off the diversity of unique plants in the garden, golden details around the room and a king sized bed to finish it all.

Preferably, they would be at one of their own homes, in their own bedrooms. But even so, in an ideal world they would be able to live together, so both are used to settling.

Not to say that the location really matters, all they need is each other anyways.

“You know people are going to get suspicious of us one day?” Seonghwa mentions as he goes over to the spacious bathroom to take off his makeup.

“There’s only so many times we can leave the same room at the same time.” Hongjoong gives him a soft smile as he takes off his own tie, standing at the door way of the bathroom. Seonghwa always looks so pretty, but Hongjoong loves to see his face bare.

“I don’t see any problem.”

“Just a thought.” Seonghwa hums and looks at the man through the mirror, “Are you still jealous?”

“I’m never jealous.” Seonghwa ignores him.

“I don’t understand why you are. If anything I should be.”

“How so?” Hongjoong asks, just as Seonghwa has finished taking his makeup off. He walks past his partner and sits on the bed,

“You’re the one everyone wants.” He sighs in content, looking out the balcony window, “Not that it can be helped.”Hongjoong tilts his head, coming closer to the prince.

“You must be blind to not notice people’s stares.”

“I only ever notice you.” He responds, still not looking at his partner.

A piece of fabric is looped around Seonghwa’s neck, forcing his head up.

“That’s how it should be.” Hongjoong says, holding Seonghwa in place with his tie. In contrast to the hold he has on him, The younger very softly kisses the top of the ravens head. He’s soon released, and Hongjoong sits down beside him on the bed.

“Do you not hear what nearly everybody has to say about you whenever you walk by?” The elder asks as Hongjoong starts to kiss up his still covered arm.

“I don’t care what others have to say.” He kisses his shoulder, “Unless it’s about you.” Seonghwa lifts his hand up to Hongjoong’s hair when he starts to mouth at his neck,

“To properly answer your question.” He starts, “I am always jealous, of anyone who gets to be in your presence while I’m somewhere else. I should always be by your side, you belong to me after all.” Pulling away, Hongjoong grabs Seonghwa’s facing, forcing him to look at him,

“Not San. Not the men and women who want you in their bed. You’re mine, the way I’m yours.” He’s barely able to finish his sentence before Seonghwa practically jumps at him, roughly pressing their lips together in the real kiss he’s been waiting for. Unfazed, Hongjoong simply pulls the raven’s head back by his hair, covering a moan that follows from the slight pain. Using his hold on Seonghwa’s hair, Hongjoong guides his hyung to lay on the bed, after he uses his other hand to untuck the blackest and sheets, ruining the work of the hotel maid.

Once Seonghwa Is laying down, Hongjoong moves above him between his legs. Bending down, the younger starts unbuttoning Seonghwa’s jacket and dress shirt, kissing at the newly revealed skin all while he grinds against him. When Seonghwa’s upper body is completely bare, Hongjoong leans down and runs his tongue over his right nipple before latching on.

Hongjoong loves to properly worship Seonghwa, especially when they’ve been apart. He considers it an art form, so he forces himself to be patient, take his time to achieve the desired outcome. Hours can pass before Hongjoong sheds even one article of clothes, but his patience is always rewarded.

Seonghwa thrusts his hips upwards to meet the younger’s much too slow grind. In response, he is pinned down with a muscular arm.

“Stay still.” Hongjoong demands, switching sides and uses one hand to keep Seonghwa’s hips still, the other messaging his chest. He lets out a pleased sigh and tilts his head to rest his left cheek against the pillow, panting a little bit.

Eventually, Hongjoong sits up and moves over a bit so he could take off Seonghwa’s pants, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Lifting the elder’s right leg, he places a small kiss on his knee before continuing down his thigh, becoming more messy and leaving marks in his path. After giving the other thigh the same treatment, he runs his tongue over Seonghwa’s abdomen, making him whine a little.

“Joong.” He says, grabbing the younger’s hair in an attempt to pull him up, which is pretty useless. Hongjoong will only do what he pleases,

“Stop teasing.”

“You’re in no position to make commands baby.” Hongjoong grins, a sadistic look that Seonghwa is well acquainted with, “But you can beg as much as you want. I want you to, beg for me as if I’ll listen.” He frowns, any other time he may take Hongjoong words seriously, but he knows the man well.

“You’re so full of-“ his words are cut off when Hongjoong leans down and kisses him. He’s only allowed a second or two between each kiss to breathe, but that’s fine. The lightheadedness that the lack of air causes brings a certain fog to Seonghwa’s head, one that makes him forget everything except the man on top of him.

When Hongjoong does pull away, he removes the onyx haired boy last article of clothing. His eyes darken from the sight.

“Christ, Hwa you’re so fucking gorgeous.” He then leans over to the bedside table and grabs the bottle of lube his partner must have left and pours a generous amount on his fingers before putting it back. Reaching down, he circles Seonghwa’s rim with his index finger, before slowly pushing inside.

Seonghwa squeezes his eyes shut with a small gasp from the familiar feeling he’s been missing for months. Having Hongjoong this close to him, being connected in such a way. Both of them have missed it.

“Hongjoong~” he drawls his partner’s name, tilting his head up to gently kiss his still clothed chest, “Don’t tease.”

“Then what should I do?” Hongjoong grins, placing his unused hand onto the front of Seonghwa’s neck and pushing him back on the bed, before whispering in his ear “Tell me Hwa. How should I touch you? How should I demonstrate how I felt when I saw you for the first time in months talking with someone who wasn’t me?” He adds another finger, making Seonghwa gasp.

“How should I make you feel how much I missed you? How much I fucking adore you, all at the same time.” Seonghwa lets out a sharp moan when Hongjoong finally rubs against that spot.

So good

“C’mon. Tell me, what am I supposed to do?” The younger prince asks again, putting two more fingers into Seonghwa.

“Just shut up!” He whines, kicking his leg out of reflex, “Give me more. Take off your clothes. Do something.” Hongjoong hums, still driving Seonghwa insane with his touch. He’s relentless, and continues to push, push Seonghwa to the edge and just as he’s about to-

“Alright.” Hongjoong pulls his hand away, making Seonghwa groan in annoyance and tear up. He’s been on edge for hours now, since the moment he saw Hongjoong earlier that night.

With a quick motion, he takes off his shirt, before standing and stripping himself completely. Seonghwa can’t help but stare as if he was seeing him for the first time. Seonghwa has been to the most famous museums all over the world, and even priceless art works renowned for their beauty has no comparison to Hongjoong.

Getting back on the bed, Hongjoong grabs his thighs and Seonghwa takes the hint, wrapping his legs around the younger’s slim waist. Hongjoong leans down and kisses the black haired boy harshly. Seonghwa tastes the smallest amount of blood after Hongjoong bites his lip, he doesn’t mind. The elder moans out Hongjoong’s name when he moves to further mark his already bruised neck, screams it when Hongjoong enters him without warning.

“Shit.” He lets out a choked sound from feeling the elder instantly tighten around, it’s his favourite feeling, “What a good boy, taking me so well.”

“Fuck- Hongjoong.” Seonghwa thrashes a bit, but strong arms soon pin him to the sheets,

“Shhh. Settle down star.” Hongjoong whispers with a strained voice against his lips, before kissing Seonghwa softly. After a few minutes, he gets used to the stretch.

“You okay?” He asks, and receives a nod and a quick kiss,

“Now, hold onto something. I won’t be giving you any mercy.” Seonghwa grins, moving his hands to beside his head, fisting the sheets.

“Good thing I don’t want any.”

With that, Hongjoong places his hands beside Seonghwa’s head and pulls all the way out before pushing back in, repeating the process until he builds a steady pace. He always starts off a little slower, savouring the feeling of Seonghwa’s warmth around him.

“Shit baby.” Hongjoong moans into Seonghwa’s ear, as he starts rocking a little bit faster.

“I thought you were going to wreck me, love.” Seonghwa pants out with a smile, looking up at Hongjoong with half open eyes.

“Greedy little slut, aren’t you?” He comments, but he still rocks faster.

“Oh-“ Seonghwa gasps, twisting the sheets in his hands. Hongjoong roughly grabs his jaw with one hand, the other holding himself up.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, I’m-“ he keens when Hongjoong just brushes against that spot,

“Hongjoong- yes, please, please.” Reaching up as he pleas, Seonghwa grabs the man’s back and digs his nails into his shoulder blades.

Hongjoong hisses slightly from the sting of the scratches, it will probably scar, but he doesn’t really care. It would just add to his collection. It’s his consequence for making Seonghwa like this. Eyes closed, small bruises covering his chest and neck and even his thighs, saliva coating his lips and sweat dripping down his skin. It’s a sight for his eyes only, and that thought just spurs him on.

“You’re so beautiful, Hwa.” Hongjoong states the obvious, allowing himself to be pulled down to be practically chest to chest with Seonghwa, kissing at his neck and jaw and his already swollen lips,

“You’re so good. Such a good boy.” He lets out a particularly loud moan when he hears those words, making Hongjoong grin.

“Joongie.” He pants out, bringing one hand to the younger’s hair and pulling a little too hard, “Please.”

“What are you begging for baby?” Hongjoong hums the question in Seonghwa’s ear, still keeping up a steady pace,

“You want me to make you cum? Is that it?” He puts emphasis on his by hitching one of Seonghwa’s legs up a bit and thrusting hard, directly hitting his prostate.

“Yes- Hongjoong make-let me-“ The words Seonghwa babbles out don’t make any sense, let alone a actually sentence, but Hongjoong still smiles softly at his lover under him.

Usually, he would take the time to be mean. Force Seonghwa to find the words and make him mess up whatever he was trying to say. That’s for another night though.

So Hongjoong grabs the hand still locked in a tight grip to the roots of his hair.

“Oh sweetheart.”He kisses Seonghwa’s palm before intertwining their hands together and placing them on the bed.

“All you had to do was ask.”

The new pace Hongjoong sets rocks Seonghwa’s body up the bed a bit, so Hongjoong uses the hand not holding Seonghwa’s to cup his head. Just to prevent Seonghwa from hitting his head against the bed frame. His legs become limp and fall from around Hongjoong’s waist and on the bed.

“Feels so- so-“ Seonghwa attempts to speak between breaths, tears starting to fall from the relentless thrusts that Hongjoong is giving him. He kisses close to the corners of his hyung’s eyes to comfort him.

“Tell me Seonghwa.” Hongjoong asks, moving to mouth at his neck again, before leaning to reach the top of his chest, “How do you feel?”

“I-I-“ Seonghwa stutters, moving his hand to fist the sheets again, and unconsciously bucking his hips up with the younger’s movements,

“Close. Touch me please.”

Hongjoong, of course, knows exactly what Seonghwa wants. Having spent this entire night untouched is driving him insane.

“No.” He answers, patting the side of Seonghwa’s face. It’s so fucking condescending but makes Seonghwa feel so damn good,

“You don’t need that, you’re my good boy, right?” He nods, eyes rolling back as Hongjoong’s movements become more erratic.

“So all you need this.”

It takes barely anymore time for both of them to get to the edge, and Hongjoong tortures himself by forcing himself to wait longer, just until Seonghwa finishes.

“C’mon baby.” Hongjoong says to him, using one hand to rub his chest,

“Pretty, you’re so beautiful. Fuck- I missed you so much Hwa- I’m gonna fuck you stupid every single night.” He’s rambling at this point, and Seonghwa doesn’t really have the mental capacity to comprehend anything he says.

Hongjoong grabs his right leg and forces it over his shoulder that Seonghwa widely opens his eyes and lets out a silent scream as a new wave of tears stream from his eyes.

“Hongjoong!” The young prince leans down so they’re chest to chest again and it only takes one, two, three more rocks of his hips for the man under him to cum with the change of angle.

Seonghwa thrashes and lets out a long whine as Hongjoong continues to thrust into him, drawing out his pleasure until he’s overstimulated. Hongjoong pushes as deep as he can go, hips against Seonghwa’s ass. He kisses Seonghwa as he cums inside him, moaning his name into his mouth.

They both take a few minutes, Hongjoong resting against Seonghwa as the older man kisses the top of his head. When Hongjoong eventually finds the strength to move, he places a kiss to where Seonghwa’s heart flutters in his chest before rolling off him and onto his back. Seonghwa winces a little as he pulls out, still lightly panting with his mouth parted.

“You’re alright star?” Hongjoong questions, tilting Seonghwa’s head to face him. The only response he receives is a soft smile.

He gives the elder a lingering kiss on his lips before sighing and getting out of bed, going to the bathroom and coming back out with a damp cloth.

“I’m assuming you don’t want to shower now.” Hongjoong states as wipes Seonghwa’s stomach clean.

“Hmm… later.” He mumbles, and whimpers just a bit when Hongjoong cleans his sensitive hole the best as he can.

Hongjoong doesn’t protest, knowing there’s no point and crawls back into the bed and covers both of them with the heavy blanket. He smiles as Seonghwa throws a leg over his hips and rests against his chest. The rythme of his heart lulls him as he looks out the glass door of the balcony to the sky.

Hongjoong rubs his back as he runs his other hand through Seonghwa’s long black hair.

“Seonghwa.” He says after a few moments, and Seonghwa hums to let it be clear he’s listening,

“I love you. I will never be away for that long ever again. We’re going to move in together soon, get married and anything else you want. I want everyone to know who’s yours.” Seonghwa hums, dragging his fingers along Hongjoong’s chest.

“We will be disowned.” He states, closing his eyes as the matter does not concern him much. At least not at the moment.

“At this point I hope so.” Hongjoong mumbles, grinning when Seonghwa slaps his chest softly.

“We can talk about it later.” Seonghwa tells him, nuzzling closer to him.

“Yeah.” Hongjoong starts to sit up, making Seonghwa do the same just for him to see that easily identifiable evil glint in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” He asks, against his better judgement as Hongjoong leans over and picks something up from the floor.

“We have to make up for lost time, right?” Hongjoong smirks, snapping the tie he now holds in his hands, “Besides, the fact you’re not unconscious right now tells me we’re not done.”

Seonghwa, still breathless, grins and brings his hands to rest over his head on the pillow. A clear invitation.

“Then get over here and take me.” Hongjoong runs his hand over Seonghwa’s jaw before whispering against his lips,

“With pleasure.”

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