#but not too much to not make it feel too close and tangible

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (14)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: 13

- Next part: 15

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sea air is heavy with salt and sorrow as the royal family steps off the ship onto the black stone of Driftmark. Waves crash against the shore, a mournful symphony that echoes the grief in every heart gathered here. The Velaryon banners flap in the wind, their vibrant colors a sharp contrast to the somber mood that hangs over the assembled nobles.

You stand with Rhaenyra and your sons, Jace and Luke stiff by your side. Joffrey is in Rhaenyra's arms, his small face confused by the sarrow he doesn’t yet understand. Viserys and Alicent’s children stand apart, an invisible line drawn between your family and theirs. It’s an unspoken separation that feels almost tangible, like a chasm you cannot cross.

Viserys, frail and bent with age, is supported by Alicent. She’s wrapped in mourning black, her face a mask of solemnity, but there’s a tightness around her mouth, a stiffness in the way she holds herself that you recognize all too well. Aegon, Aemond and Helaena stand close by, watching your family with guarded expressions. Even now, on this day of loss, the divide is painfully clear.

The funeral rites are performed with all the gravity and tradition expected of House Velaryon. Laena’s casket, intricately carved and draped in blue and silver, is lowered into the sea. You watch Daemon, his face a mask of stoic grief, his eyes dark as he stares at the waves. There’s a loneliness in his stance, a pain that no words could touch. You know what it is to lose, to feel helpless against the tides of fate, and your heart aches for your uncle.

As the ceremony concludes and the crowd begins to disperse, you make your way toward him. Daemon stands apart from the others, his gaze still fixed on the spot where Laena’s casket vanished beneath the water’s surface. He does not turn as you approach, but you know he’s aware of your presence.

“Uncle,” you say quietly, your voice carrying just enough to reach him over the sound of the surf. “I am sorry for your loss. Laena was a remarkable woman.”

He glances at you then, his violet eyes shadowed. “Thank you,” he replies, his voice low and rough, as if the words cost him more than he can bear to give. “She deserved better than this.”

You nod, standing beside him, the two of you looking out over the endless expanse of the sea. “If there is anything you need, anything I can do…”

Daemon huffs a mirthless laugh, shaking his head. “What can anyone do, except let the dead rest and the living grieve?” He falls silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to the Velaryon children, huddled together in their own pain. “They will need strength now, and guidance. We cannot let them be consumed by bitterness.”

“I will help where I can,” you promise. “But I know they will look to you.”

Daemon’s lips twitch in something like a smile, though there is no warmth in it. “The wandering rogue of House Targaryen, a role model. Gods save us all.” He sighs, the sound heavy with more than just grief. “And you, how is life in the Red Keep these days? I hear the Hightowers have made themselves quite comfortable.”

You stiffen at the question, glancing over to where Viserys stands, isolated despite the presence of his children and wife. Alicent’s gaze keeps straying to you and Rhaenyra, a watchful, calculating look that makes your skin prickle. “Comfortable would be one way to put it,” you reply, keeping your voice low. “They hold much sway over the King now. More than they should.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow, a sharpness returning to his gaze. “I warned him, years ago. Warned him what would happen if he let that snake Otto slither too close. And now his daughter’s there, her children in line before yours.”

You glance back at your own sons, standing awkwardly with Rhaenyra, their young faces solemn and unsure. Jace and Luke keep glancing over at their half-uncles, the silent anomasity between the two sets of siblings visible even from a distance. “Viserys still loves us, still claims me as his heir,” you say softly. “But every decision, every move is shadowed by Alicent’s influence. They’ve all but taken over the Small Council.”

“And yet you remain,” Daemon murmurs, his tone unreadable. “I’d expected you to take your family and fly far from that viper’s nest.”

You shrug, watching as Rhaenyra kneels to speak softly to Jace, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “For now, it’s best we stay. The closer we are, the more we can watch and counter them. And besides,” you add, your gaze flicking to your father, looking frailer than ever, “Viserys is not long for this world. When he’s gone, the realm will look to us. We need to be ready.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, his eyes dark. “He’s grown weak, blinded by his need for peace and love. He doesn’t see the knives being sharpened behind his back.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you agree quietly. “But we do. And we’ll be prepared.”

You fall silent then, your eyes once more drawn to your sons. Jace and Luke stand straight and tall, though you can see the stiffness in their shoulders, the uncertainty in their eyes. You watch as they exchange a few words with each other, the bond between them strong despite everything. You take comfort in that, at least.

Daemon follows your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “They’re good boys,” he says, a note of pride in his voice. “Stubborn and fierce, like their mother. And their father.”

“They’ll need to be,” you reply, a grim smile touching your lips. “The road ahead will not be easy.”

“No,” Daemon agrees, his gaze shifting back to the sea. “But they have you and Rhaenyra to guide them. And they have the blood of the dragon. That counts for something.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the future pressing down on you. But for now, there is nothing to do but stand here, beside your uncle, and honor the memory of a woman who was lost too soon. 

The sea continues its mournful song, a lullaby for the dead and a reminder to the living. And you, like the tide, will endure.

Rhaenyra stands quietly among the mourners, her eyes fixed on the sea where Laena’s casket has just disappeared beneath the waves. The ceremony is over, but the heavy weight of grief still hangs in the air, a palpable presence that settles in the hearts of all gathered. She glances at her three sons—Jace, Luke, and Joffrey—standing close by, their small forms huddled together, their faces solemn and uncertain.

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. This is not just a time for mourning but a moment to show unity and strength, especially in the face of the silent but glaring division between her family and the Hightowers. Her gaze flits to you, standing a little distance away with Daemon, your head bowed as you speak quietly with him. The sight of you brings her a fleeting sense of calm amidst the turmoil.

Turning her attention back to her children, she kneels down to their level, her voice soft but steady. “Jace, Luke, Joffrey, I need you to go and speak with your cousins, Baela and Rhaena. They need to know that they’re not alone in their grief.”

Jace shifts uncomfortably, glancing over at the twins, who are standing with their grandmother, Rhaenys. The Queen Who Never Was has her arms wrapped around her granddaughters, her regal bearing barely concealing the depth of her sorrow. “But, Mother,” Jace murmurs, “what if they don’t want to talk to us?”

Rhaenyra reaches out, brushing a lock of hair from Jace’s forehead. “It’s not about what you say, my love. It’s about showing them that you care. Just being there for them is enough.”

Luke looks up at her, his young face twisted with uncertainty. “Are you sure we won’t make it worse?”

Rhaenyra’s smile is gentle, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You won’t. They need to see that their family is with them, that we’re all here to support each other.”

Joffrey, the youngest but no longer a baby, steps forward, his little face serious. “What if they cry?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant.

Rhaenyra’s heart aches at the question, but she forces herself to remain strong. “Then you comfort them, Joffrey. Sometimes, it’s okay to cry. It shows that you care.”

Joffrey nods slowly, still unsure but willing to follow his mother’s lead. With one last glance at you, Rhaenyra gently ushers the boys forward, watching as they make their way over to where the twins stand. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, your presence a solid anchor in the swirling chaos of grief and uncertainty. She draws strength from knowing you are here, that you are with her.

Baela and Rhaena are huddled close to Rhaenys, their faces pale and streaked with tears. They look so small and lost, so unlike the vibrant, lively girls they usually are. Jace hesitates, glancing back at Rhaenyra for reassurance. She gives him a nod, her eyes encouraging.

Taking a deep breath, Jace steps forward. “Baela, Rhaena,” he begins softly, his voice trembling slightly. “We’re really sorry about your mother. If you need anything, we’re here for you.”

Rhaena looks up first, her big, sorrowful eyes meeting Jace’s. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “But nothing will bring her back.”

Luke moves closer, his heart aching for his cousins. “We know. But we want to help, even if it’s just being here with you.”

Baela’s gaze is fixed on the ground, her jaw clenched. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge their words, but her hand tightens around her grandmother’s. Joffrey, standing beside Luke, reaches out and gently touches Baela’s arm.

“It’s okay to be sad,” he says quietly, his young voice earnest. “We’re all sad.”

For a long moment, there’s silence. Then Baela finally looks up, her eyes fierce despite the tears brimming in them. “I don’t want to be sad. I want her back.”

Jace takes a step closer, his face serious. “I know. We all do. But she’d want us to be strong, to be together.”

Rhaenys watches the exchange, her gaze softening slightly as she looks at Rhaenyra’s sons. “You’re good boys,” she says, her voice steady despite the pain etched in every word. “Your parents have raised you well.”

Rhaenyra, watching from a distance, feels a swell of pride and relief. She glances at you again, your eyes meeting hers across the space. There’s a wordless exchange between you, a shared understanding of the challenges your children are facing and the pride in how they are handling it.

You give her a small nod, and she takes a deep breath, drawing strength from your support. She knows this is only the beginning of the trials they will face as a family, the divisions and rivalries that will continue to test them. But for now, here on this rocky shore, they are doing what they can—standing together, offering what comfort they can in the face of loss.

The boys remain with their cousins, their presence a small but solid comfort. Rhaenyra stays where she is, watching them, her heart heavy but filled with a fierce determination. Whatever lies ahead, whatever storms may come, they will face it as family. As Targaryens.

The night on Driftmark is dark and still, the only sounds the distant roar of the waves crashing against the cliffs and the occasional mournful cry of a seabird. The funeral had left an oppressive silence in its wake, grief heavy in the air like a storm about to break. Inside the guest chambers, Jace and Luke lie sleeping, their small forms huddled under the thick blankets. Joffrey sleeps soundly beside them, his tiny hand clutching the fabric of his pillow.

A soft whisper breaks the silence.

“Luke… Jace…”

Luke stirs, blinking groggily as he turns over to see Baela and Rhaena standing by the door, their faces pale in the faint moonlight streaming through the window. “Baela?” he mumbles, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What is it?”

“Someone took Vhagar,” Baela whispers urgently, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “Come on, you have to see.”

Jace sits up immediately, his heart racing as he throws off the covers. “What do you mean, someone took Vhagar?” he asks, his voice low but insistent.

“We don’t know,” Rhaena whispers, glancing anxiously at the door. “We just know she’s gone.”

Luke glances over at Joffrey, who’s still fast asleep. He carefully slips out of bed, trying not to make a sound. “We can’t wake him,” he murmurs. “He’s too young.”

Jace nods, his expression set with determination. “Let’s go.”

The boys follow their cousins out of the room, moving quietly through the darkened corridors of High Tide. The stone walls are cold and damp, the silence around them oppressive. As they reach the outer courtyard, the reality of what Baela and Rhaena have said begins to sink in. Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon in the world, gone? How could anyone have taken her?

They slip outside, the chill night air biting at their skin. Ahead, in the dim light of the moon, they see movement—two figures approaching. As they draw closer, the faces of Aemond and Aegon become clear, the older boys walking with a swagger that sends a surge of anger through Jace and Luke.

Jace and Luke exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. This was the confrontation they’d promised themselves before leaving King’s Landing, after Aemond had insulted their father. They wouldn’t back down now.

“What’s going on?” Jace demands, stepping forward. “Where’s Vhagar?”

Aemond’s smirk is sharp, his eyes gleaming with a strange triumph. “I’ve claimed her,” he says, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction. “She’s mine now.”

Baela’s face contorts with rage, her fists clenched at her sides. “She was my mother’s dragon!” she shouts, her voice breaking with a mixture of grief and fury. “You had no right!”

Aemond’s smile doesn’t falter. “She was your mother’s dragon,” he agrees, his tone condescending. “But now she’s mine. And she’s the most powerful dragon in the world. She could eat all of yours in one bite.”

Luke steps forward, his young face twisted with anger. “Vhagar was ours to claim, not yours. You can’t just steal her!”

Aemond’s expression darkens, his smirk fading. “She chose me. And now you’ll have to live with it.” He turns his gaze on Jace, his eyes cold. “Or would you rather challenge me, Jacaerys? Let Vhagar settle it. Your little dragons wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Jace’s jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer, his fists clenched. “Maybe they wouldn’t,” he says, his voice low and steady, “but my father’s dragon, Silverwing, would burn your old beast to ashes. You think you can insult my father and get away with it?”

Aemond’s face twists in disdain. “Your father is nothing but a reckless fool, who only cares for himself. He’s not half the dragonlord he thinks he is.”

Before Jace can respond, Baela steps forward, her eyes blazing with fury. “Vhagar was my mother’s!” she yells, her voice shaking. “You had no right! None!”

Aemond’s smirk returns, but before he can speak, Jace lunges at him, the fury he’s been holding back all evening exploding to the surface. The two boys collide, falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs, fists flying.

Aegon moves to step in, but Luke is already there, shoving him back. “Stay out of this!” he shouts, his voice high and furious. “This is between us!”

The courtyard erupts into chaos as the children clash. Rhaena tries to pull Baela back, but Baela breaks free, launching herself at Aemond with a scream of rage. Jace and Aemond roll across the ground, each trying to land blows on the other. Aegon grabs Jace, pulling him off Aemond, only to be shoved aside by Luke.

It’s a wild, desperate fight, all the anger and grief of the past few days spilling out in a furious storm of fists and shouts. Aemond manages to break free, staggering to his feet, his eyes wild with fury.

“You’re all just a bunch of inbreds!” he snarls, wiping blood from his split lip. “I have the true blood of the dragon, and now I have Vhagar! I’m more Targaryen than any of you!”

Jace roars and charges at him again, but Aemond is ready. He swings, landing a punch that sends Jace sprawling. Before Aemond can follow up, Luke steps between them, his small form trembling with rage.

“You don’t deserve Vhagar,” he spits, his voice shaking. “You don’t deserve any of it.”

Aemond sneers, stepping closer. “And what are you going to do about it, little one?”

Luke’s hand moves instinctively to his belt, where the small Valyrian steel dagger you gifted him for his nameday is sheathed. He pulls it out, his hand steady, the blade catching the moonlight as he holds it up.

Aemond’s eyes widen in shock and then fury. “You think you can scare me with that?”

He lunges at Luke, his hand reaching out to grab the dagger, but Luke moves faster, his arm swinging in a desperate, instinctive arc. The blade catches Aemond across the face, a line of red blooming across his cheek and eye.

Aemond screams, a raw, terrible sound, as he stumbles back, clutching his face. Blood pours between his fingers, the wound hideous in the moonlight. The other children freeze, the shock of what’s just happened crashing over them like a wave.

And then, there are footsteps—heavy, urgent. Ser Harrold Westerling appears at the edge of the courtyard, his face going pale as he takes in the scene before him.

“What in the name of the gods—?” he begins, rushing forward. But it’s already too late. Aemond’s eye is gone, his screams echoing into the night, the others standing around him, horrified and frozen in place.

Ser Harrold shouts for help, his voice urgent, commanding, and within moments, the courtyard is filled with guards and attendants, their faces mirroring the shock and horror of what’s just occurred.

Luke drops the dagger, his hand shaking, his face ashen. Jace steps forward, his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes locked on Aemond’s bloodied face.

“It was an accident,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “It was an accident…”

But even as he says the words, he knows it won’t matter. The damage is done. The divide that had been brewing for so long has now erupted, and there will be no going back.

As the adults converge, shouting orders and lifting Aemond’s screaming form from the ground, Jace and Luke are pulled away, their hearts pounding with fear and guilt.

And in the cold, unforgiving night of Driftmark, the bonds of family are stretched to their breaking point.

The flickering candlelight casts a soft, intimate glow over the chamber as you and Rhaenyra move together, bodies entwined in the heat of your shared passion. The soft sounds of your lovemaking fill the room, mingling with the gentle rustle of sheets and the quiet murmur of the sea beyond the windows. This moment, stolen in the midst of sorrow and tension, is a brief escape from the heavy burdens that weigh on both of you.

Rhaenyra’s hands grip your shoulders, her breath hitching as you press deeper, your lips finding the curve of her neck. You’re both lost in the sensation, in each other, when a sharp, insistent knock at the door shatters the quiet.

You freeze, your heart pounding, and Rhaenyra’s eyes snap open, her expression shifting from pleasure to sudden worry. The knock comes again, louder this time, accompanied by a voice.

“Prince, Princess, forgive me, but you’re needed immediately!”

You close your eyes briefly, frustration and concern warring within you. “What is it?” you call out, your voice rough, still thick with the remnants of your passion.

“It’s one of the guards, my lord,” the voice replies, strained. “The King has called for an emergency meeting in the great hall. There’s been an incident with the children.”

Rhaenyra sits up abruptly, the color draining from her face. “The children?” she whispers, her eyes wide with fear. You can see the thoughts racing through her mind, each more terrible than the last.

You pull away, your body already cooling as the urgency of the situation seeps in. “We’re coming,” you call back, your voice steadier now. You turn to Rhaenyra, your hand brushing against her cheek. “We need to go.”

She nods, though her eyes are still distant, her hands trembling as she reaches for her robe. You both dress quickly, the easy intimacy of moments ago replaced by a cold, gnawing dread. Every movement feels heavy, your mind spinning with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.

You can hear Rhaenyra’s breathing, quick and shallow, as she ties the sash of her robe, her fingers fumbling in her haste. “What do you think happened?” she asks, her voice strained. “Do you think—”

“I don’t know,” you interrupt gently, reaching for her hand. “But we’ll find out soon.”

With a final glance at each other, you move to the door and pull it open. The guard outside looks tense, his face pale in the dim light of the corridor. “Your Graces, the King is waiting in the great hall. He seemed… very distressed.”

“Thank you,” you say curtly, your hand still clasping Rhaenyra’s. “Lead the way.”

As you walk through the dimly lit halls of Driftmark, the air feels charged, every shadowed corner holding a sense of foreboding. Rhaenyra’s grip on your hand tightens, her eyes darting around as if expecting answers to spring from the very walls.

The night is unnaturally quiet, the only sound the echo of your hurried footsteps on the stone floor. The guard moves ahead of you, his back stiff, and you can’t help but feel the tension radiating from him as well.

“Do you know what happened?” you ask the guard, keeping your voice low.

He hesitates, glancing back at you. “Only that there was a… confrontation between the children, my lord. I’m not privy to the details, but from what I heard, it was… serious.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, and she stops short, her breath catching. “The children—are they hurt?”

“I—I don’t know, my lady,” the guard stammers. “I’m sorry. I was just told to fetch you.”

You exchange a glance with Rhaenyra, your heart hammering. You can feel the fear in her eyes, mirroring your own. The thought of your sons, hurt or worse, makes your stomach twist with a sickening dread.

“Let’s keep moving,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm, though your mind is racing. “We’ll know more soon.”

As you continue down the winding corridors, you can see servants and guards moving about, their faces tight with unease. Whispers follow in your wake, but you pay them no mind. Your focus is on reaching the great hall, on finding out what has happened, on making sure your children are safe.

You and Rhaenyra burst into the great hall, the heavy doors slamming against the stone walls as you rush inside. The scene before you is pure chaos—voices raised in anger and fear, bodies milling about in frantic confusion. Your heart plummets at the sight.

On one side of the room, Jace and Luke stand with Baela and Rhaena, Daemon already at their side, his face a mask of simmering rage. The children look disheveled and frightened, Luke’s hands stained with blood, his face pale and tight with anxiety. Jace’s jaw is set, his eyes blazing with fury, while Baela stands rigid, her small frame vibrating with barely contained anger.

Across the hall, King Viserys sits hunched on the dais, his face pale and drawn, Alicent hovering anxiously beside him. Aegon stands nearby, his usual swagger gone, replaced by a tense, watchful look. Aemond is seated in a chair, Grand Maester Mellos just finishing the last stitch on a savage wound that runs across his cheek and where his eye used to be, a patch hastily tied around it. Blood stains his skin, his tunic, and the floor beneath him.

You take a step forward, your voice cutting through the tumult. “What happened?”

The question hangs in the air for a heartbeat before the room erupts into a cacophony of shouting voices, each one clamoring to be heard over the others. Rhaenyra moves to Jace and Luke, her hands on their shoulders, as if her very touch could shield them from the storm of words and accusations flying through the air.

The doors swing open again, and Corlys and Rhaenys stride in, their expressions thunderous as they take in the scene. Corlys’s eyes flash as they fall on Aemond, the fresh wound stark and terrible. “What madness is this?” he demands, his voice booming across the hall, instantly silencing the clamor.

“Madness indeed,” Alicent snaps, her voice quivering with fury as she glares at you and Rhaenyra. “It is your children’s violence that has caused this! They are the ones who should be telling the tale!”

“Violence?” Daemon’s voice is a silken drawl, dripping with contempt. “From what I’ve heard, it was your precious son who instigated this.”

Viserys, his face flushed with a mixture of confusion and frustration, raises a shaking hand. “Enough! All of you, silence!” His voice cracks through the room, forcing everyone to fall quiet, if only for a moment. He turns his weary gaze to the children, his eyes lingering on Jace, Luke, and then on Aemond, the wound on his son’s face making him flinch visibly. “I want to know what happened. Now.”

Jace, his voice trembling but clear, steps forward. “Aemond insulted us. He insulted my father,” he says, his voice growing louder, firmer. “He called us—he called us inbreds.”

A ripple of shock sweeps through the hall, followed by a tense, stunned silence. Viserys’s face drains of color, and he takes a faltering step toward Aemond, his hand trembling as he reaches out. “Aemond, why would you say such a thing?”

Before the boy can answer, you step forward, your voice cutting through the tense quiet like a blade. “Because it’s something his Hightower Faith-loving mother would say.” Your words are cold and precise, each one landing like a blow. The room seems to freeze, all eyes turning to you.

Alicent’s face goes ashen, her breath catching audibly. She stares at you, a mixture of shock and wounded disbelief twisting her features. It’s as if the air has been sucked from the room, the silence now heavy with accusation and unspoken truths. She takes a step back, her hand clutching the fabric of her gown, the strength of your words shattering something fragile and deeply buried within her.

Viserys’s head snaps toward Alicent, confusion and betrayal warring in his eyes. “Alicent…?” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Her face is a mask of conflicting emotions—anger, pain, and something like heartbreak, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She looks at you as though seeing a stranger, the weight of your accusation pressing down on her like a crushing weight.

Daemon, standing at your side, lets out a low, amused chuckle, his lips curling into a smirk. “Bold words, nephew,” he murmurs, his eyes glittering with dark satisfaction. “Very bold indeed.”

You hold Alicent’s gaze, your own eyes hard and unyielding. “If you won’t own your words, Lady Alicent, at least have the decency to control your child,” you say, your voice icy with disdain.

The silence in the hall is thick, suffocating, as everyone waits for what will happen next, the air charged with unspoken tensions and shattered façades.

And then, with a deep, ragged breath, Viserys straightens, his frail form trembling but his voice firm. “Enough,” he says, his eyes sweeping over the room, taking in the shocked, tense faces of his family. “This has gone too far. I will have order.”

But even as he speaks, the sense of impending disaster lingers in the air, the threads of control slipping through his grasp, the rift between the families widening, the fractures deepening with every breath.

“This infighting must cease!” he declares, his voice strained with desperation. “We are one family, and we will not tear ourselves apart!”

Alicent’s face twists with rage and disbelief. “That is not enough!” she cries out, her voice sharp and filled with venom. “Aemond has been permanently disfigured. And Prince Lucerys brought a dagger into a fight with clear intent. This cannot be dismissed, Viserys!”

Viserys lifts a trembling hand, his patience wearing thin. “Alicent—”

But she cuts him off, her words like a whip cracking through the hall. “You must stop shielding them! You cannot let your grandchildren escape punishment for this. There must be consequences.”

His frail body stiffens, anger and exhaustion warring in his eyes. “What would you have me do, Alicent?” he demands, his voice rising in rare fury. “They are children!”

Alicent’s gaze, cold and unyielding, locks on Lucerys, who stands pale and wide-eyed beside his brothers. “I want justice, Viserys,” she says, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. “I want one of his sons to lose an eye, as my son has lost his.”

A gasp ripples through the room, shock and horror painting every face. Rhaenyra pulls your boys close, her eyes blazing with fury and fear as she shields them with her body. You step forward, placing yourself between your family and the Queen, your own anger simmering beneath a cold veneer of control.

“This is madness,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You’re speaking of mutilating my child.”

Alicent’s eyes, burning with a desperate, almost manic intensity, shift to Ser Criston Cole. “Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Targaryen.”

Cole hesitates, his face tightening with conflicted emotion. “Your Grace, I swore to protect you,” he says, his voice strained, “but not for this.”

“Cese this insanity!” Viserys roars, his voice cracking through the room. He points a trembling finger at Alicent, his eyes filled with a mixture of grief and disbelief. “This ends now! I will not have this—”

But before he can finish, Alicent lunges forward, grabbing the King’s dagger from its sheath at his side. The Valyrian steel blade gleams menacingly in the torchlight as she whirls toward your children, her expression wild, her intent unmistakable.

“Rhaenyra!” you shout, stepping toward Alicent, but you’re not fast enough.

Rhaenyra moves like lightning, pushing past you and intercepting Alicent before she can reach the boys. The two women collide, Rhaenyra’s hands gripping Alicent’s arm, struggling to hold back the dagger.

“Stop this, Alicent!” Rhaenyra snarls, her voice shaking with rage and desperation. The room is frozen, every person watching in horrified fascination, too stunned or too fearful to intervene.

“Let go!” Alicent hisses, her face twisted with fury and despair. “You did this! All of it! You poisoned him against me! You took him from me! You’re responsible for everything!”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flash with anger. “You’re mad, Alicent!” she shouts back, her voice filled with contempt. “You can’t stand that he chose me, that he saw through your manipulations!”

They struggle, Alicent’s face contorted with rage as she tries to wrestle free. Rhaenyra holds firm, but the blade shifts dangerously between them. And then, with a sickening inevitability, the dagger slips from Alicent’s grip, the sharp edge slicing across Rhaenyra’s forearm.

A collective gasp echoes through the hall as blood wells up, a dark crimson line marring Rhaenyra’s pale skin. Alicent freezes, her eyes widening in shock as the dagger clatters to the floor, the sound like a death knell in the tense silence.

For a moment, everything is still.

You move before you even realize it, rushing to Rhaenyra’s side. “Rhaenyra!” you breathe, tearing a strip of fabric from your robe and pressing it against the wound. “Hold still. I need to stop the bleeding.”

Rhaenyra looks down at the blood seeping through your fingers, her expression stunned, as if she can’t quite believe what’s happened. Alicent, her face drained of color, stands rooted to the spot, her hand shaking as she stares at the blood on it.

From across the room, Otto Hightower’s voice rings out, harsh and commanding. “Alicent, stop this madness! Stand back!”

Alicent blinks, her father’s voice breaking through the haze of rage and pain clouding her mind. She stumbles backward, her eyes locked on Rhaenyra, confusion and anguish warring in her gaze.

Rhaenyra, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts, looks up at you. “I’m fine,” she says, her voice firm despite the pain. “It’s not deep.”

You nod, though your hands shake as you press the cloth harder against the cut, willing the bleeding to slow. “I’ve got you,” you murmur, your voice fierce and steady. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The room remains tense, everyone watching the two of you, the weight of what has just occurred hanging heavy in the air. You can feel the eyes of the entire court upon you, but your focus remains solely on Rhaenyra, on the woman you love, the mother of your children, and the blood that stains your hands.

A week has passed since the night of blood and betrayal, but the echoes of that fateful confrontation still linger over Driftmark like a storm that refuses to fully dissipate. You and Rhaenyra stand on the cliffs overlooking the bay, watching as the ships of King’s Landing sail away, their white sails billowing against the backdrop of a leaden sky. In the distance, the dragons of Alicent’s children take to the air, their wings beating a steady rhythm as they follow the ships below.

Rhaenyra’s eyes are fixed on the departing figures, her face tight with a mix of emotions. “I can’t do this anymore,” she murmurs, her voice raw with a vulnerability she rarely shows. “I don’t want to go back to King’s Landing. I don’t want to put our children through any more of… whatever this was.”

You nod, understanding the unspoken weight behind her words. “Viserys hoped this would heal the rifts between us,” you say, your voice steady but tinged with bitterness. “But all it did was deepen them.”

She turns to you, her gaze fierce despite the sadness that lingers in her eyes. “I won’t let them be in that viper’s nest again. Not after this. They’re children—they deserve to grow up somewhere safe, somewhere we can protect them.”

“Then we’ll go back to Dragonstone,” you agree, your hand slipping into hers, squeezing gently. “Away from the court, away from the Hightowers’ poison.”

Rhaenyra’s shoulders relax slightly at your words, some of the tension easing from her frame. “But we can’t just run and hide, can we?” she asks, her tone thoughtful. “We’ll need allies, support… and a plan for what comes after we don't appear in the capital.”

You nod again, turning your gaze back to the bay, where the distant figures of the dragons are now just dark specks against the sky. “I’ve already spoken with Corlys,” you tell her. “He’s agreed to our proposal—Jace to Rhaena and Luke to Baela. The Sea Snake seemed more than pleased. His blood will sit the Iron Throne one day, through our sons.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen slightly, and a smile, though small and hesitant, tugs at her lips. “That’s… that’s good news. They seem to get along well enough with the girls.”

“They do,” you say, a faint smile of your own touching your lips. “It’s not just about alliances, Rhaenyra. They need each other. They’re stronger together, and they’ll need that strength for what’s to come.”

She nods, her gaze drifting back to the horizon. “They’ve been through so much already. I want them to know love and loyalty, not just duty and fear.”

“They’ll have that,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll make sure of it.”

She leans into you, her head resting against your shoulder, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift, just a little. You watch the ships disappearing into the distance, the dragons following, and feel a surge of resolve settle in your chest.

“We’ll build our future on Dragonstone,” you say quietly. “Where we can watch over them, guide them. And prepare for whatever challenges come our way.”

Together, you watch as the last of the ships vanish beyond the horizon, and then you turn away, walking back toward High Tide. Your initial plans to stay close to Viserys disappearing like waves that clash against the cliffs of Driftmark.

[loveandleases]

(Kinda NSFW)

I'm sleep deprived, so if you find any English mistakes, I'm sorry.

How would the ROs react if after a slow burn romance with an MC recovering from trust and self-esteem issues that they acquired after Chris, both of them finally reach the boiling point where they can't hold it anymore and reveal their love for each other along with a night of passion and in the end, already exhausted, the RO looks at the MC, noticing that even though their eyes demand that MC close their eyes to finally sleep, the MC refuses, and when the RO ask why they answer "I'm scared... I don't want to wake up tomorrow and end up finding out that this is all a dream."

Sure thing nonie , the rest are under the cut!

❤️ Cam - "How about we make a deal? I'm going to pinch myself, and if we're both still here after then you have to go to sleep. Alright?" Cam pinches his cheeks with more force than necessary. "I'm still here, so go to sleep. I'll be right beside you when you wake up. Promise." He'll leave you no choice, either those eyes close or he's going to be reminiscing about some dumb things the two of you did when you were young. When you are finally asleep, Cam will just watch you. Because no matter how much he hate's to admit it, you spread a little seed of doubt. What if this is a dream? What if the thing he has longed to happen for so long vanishes when he wakes up?

💙 G - They want to say something logical, but logic tends to go out the window when the two of you are together. They allow their fingertips to rub along the lines of your face until they reach your eyes, using the soft pressure of the pads of their fingers to guide your eyelids down. "If it's just a dream, mind you the best dream of my life. Promise me, that if I'm not here when you wake up you'll find me. So that this can become real. I'd find you a hundred times over. Just to be with you again."

💚 Kara - She pulls you closer, allowing her head to rest on your chest as she studies you. "You'd dream of me?" she asks, with every intention of tiring you out. Talking until you have to no choice but to drift off. Reassuring you that she's here, and when she decides to be with someone, she means it. She will be there with her gold hair tangles in knots and old makeup clinging to her face. She'll be there to wake you, to remind you that tonight like the night before she'll spend it with you. Until you're no longer scared that it's a dream.

💛 M - "Would you rather stay up and let me tell you how I would make it a reality if it were?" M leaves a feather light kiss on your cheek. Burying their face into the crook of your shoulder. "I'd like to think I could write a character as amazing you, even with all the things that has happened that got you here. But I couldn't do you justice, not even in a dream." M would cradle you close, allow you to feel their heartbeat. Something real and tangible. There's no dream that could sum up the feelings between you, the way your very face lights up their own.

💜 Isaac - "It's ironic, you're worried this is a dream, and I'm worried it's real." Isaac shares the pain of losing someone, of losing a relationship held so dear that it could break you if you let it. They don't say it to worry you, they say it because they want to be honest for once. To let you see how messed up and scared you make them. "You scare me. This," they motion to the both of you, "scares the hell out of me. Because I didn't think I could feel for someone again. I don't want to lose you, to lose us. So if it's a dream, let me dream it." "And if it's real?"

"If it's real, promise to love me through the dumb things I'm going to do until I realize you actually want to be with me."

🖤 Ardent - He places a hand on your hip pulling you tight so that your bodies can slight together, your shared warmth radiating throughout your bodies. An all too familiar crooked grin falls on his lips, "You mean to tell me, out of everyone, you dreamt me up" Ardent laughs, rubbing your back with his palm to ensure he means no harm.

He stares at you, those eyes looking for reassurance, and his smile fades into something more sincere. "If this were a dream, I'd be the luckiest man." He kisses your forehead, allowing his deep voice to soothe you.

His nose nudges your own, as those dark brown eyes latch onto yours. "You know a dream could never be this real," he allows his fingers to trail along your bare arm causing goosebumps. "A dream could never capture my affection for you. How much I want to hold you like this, it would never allow me to make love to you like we did. Go to sleep, and I promise when you wake up I'll prove to you all over again this is real."

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Oversensitive

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: Your body sometimes overreacts to touch, telling you it hurts when it doesn't. So when it happens while Sirius is kissing you, you ignore it. This doesn't go over too well. Warnings: Chronic pain Series Masterlist

The fire crackles in the corner of your room, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The soft glow fills you with warmth, contrasting against the chill that seeps through the windowpanes from the night outside.

You are safe here, surrounded by the boys who have become so much more than friends to you—Sirius, Remus, and James. They've been your sanctuary in a stormy world, their love an anchor when everything else seemed intent on tearing you away.

"You're beautiful," Sirius murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he hovers over you. His grey eyes meet yours, filled with mischief and something deeper—a rawness that makes your heart race.  

"Flatterer," you tease, but your breath catches as he leans down, mere inches separating his lips from yours.

Remus is there too, sitting by your side, one hand resting lightly on your waist. His presence is quieter, steadier—but no less intoxicating. Where Sirius is the flame, daring and unpredictable, Remus is the embers, burning slow and steady underneath.

His thumb traces small circles on your skin, grounding you even as Sirius stirs up a whirlwind inside your chest. Every now and then, Remus leans over to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder or brush his fingers along your arm, sending shivers coursing through your veins despite the heat of the fire nearby.

There's a tension in the air—one that has built slowly throughout the evening, thickening until it feels almost tangible. It wraps around you all, binding you together in anticipation of what's to come.

Your heart pounds as Sirius closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. His hands roam your body, fingertips tracing paths that set your skin aflame. There's an urgency to his touch tonight, a fervor that mirrors the wild look in his eyes.

"Easy, Padfoot," Remus murmurs from beside you, his tone a mix of amusement and concern. But Sirius only grins against your skin before pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat.

The sensation is exquisite—the roughness of his stubble scraping slightly against your sensitive flesh, the heat of his mouth searing a path down towards your collarbone. It's intoxicating, overwhelming, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the rhythm of your own heartbeat thundering in your ears.

But then, without warning, something changes. What was once pleasure begins to twist into discomfort under Sirius's touch. You try to ignore it at first, blaming it on the awkward angle or perhaps a muscle pulled too taut. But as he shifts above you, his hands gripping your sides just a bit too tightly, pain slices through you like a shard of ice.

You gasp, the sound barely audible over the crackle of the fire and the rushing blood in your ears. His weight pins you to the bed, each breath sending another jolt of agony radiating from your ribs. The room seems to spin around you, your vision blurring with tears that threaten to spill over.

Yet you remain silent, biting back the cry that claws its way up your throat. This isn't how it's supposed to be, but admitting it feels like surrendering to weakness. And more than anything, you don't want to ruin this moment, to see the guilt etched onto Sirius's face or the worry clouding Remus's eyes. It's not their fault that your body is oversensitive sometimes, and if you ignore it long enough, it tends to go away.

"Something's not right," Remus murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans closer to you. His hand hesitates at the edge of your shirt, fingertips brushing against the exposed skin there.

His touch is a stark contrast to Sirius's, light and cautious where the other is insistent. You feel the tension coil tighter within you, a knot of apprehension growing with each passing second.

Remus's fingers trace along the curve of your waist, moving so slowly it's almost maddening. He seems to be searching for something—any sign that might explain what's wrong—but all he finds is the rigid line of your body beneath him.

His brow furrows, lips pressing into a thin line as realization dawns. "You're tense," he says, words measured and careful as though afraid they might shatter the fragile silence that has fallen.

Sirius pulls back from your neck, teeth grazing your lower lip in a way that sends jolts of pleasure shooting through you. Your eyes flutter open, meeting his stormy gaze. A small smile plays at the corners of your mouth—a silent plea for him to continue—and he obliges, leaning back in to capture your lips once more.

Across the room, James sits back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are half-closed, a lazy grin playing on his lips as he takes in the sight of you and the others. There's an air of contentment about him, a sense of satisfaction that comes from seeing his friends happy.

He's not partaking in the moment, not physically at least, but his presence is felt nonetheless. It's in the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, in the subtle shift of his body as he leans back in his chair, comfortable and relaxed amidst the chaos.

But even in his state of repose, James isn't blind to the changes unfolding before him. The faint crease between your brows, the quick intake of breath as Sirius shifts atop you, his hand sliding under your shirt—it doesn't take much for him to put the pieces together.

"Kiss me," you breathe, a plea more than a command. And Sirius does, his lips finding yours with an urgency that leaves no room for thought.

His hands roam your body, tracing paths of desire and need that have been left untouched for too long. Yet as the pressure increases, so too does the pain in your ribs—a sharp reminder of reality's cruel hand.

You gasp against Sirius's mouth, not out of pleasure but discomfort. He freezes above you, pulling back slightly to search your face for signs of distress. "Are you alright?" he asks, concern seeping into his voice.

"I'm fine." You force a smile, willing yourself to ignore the throbbing pain radiating from your side. "Just... be gentle."

But even as you say the words, it's clear something isn't right. Your smile doesn't reach your eyes, and your body remains rigid beneath Sirius's touch—not relaxed as it should be, but tense and on edge.

Remus catches the slight hesitation in your voice, the strained expression that flickers across your face before you can hide it away. His brow furrows, worry lines deepening as he watches you closely. Something is wrong—that much is obvious—but what?

Without saying a word, Remus extends a hand, placing it gently on Sirius's arm. It's a silent gesture, communicating unspoken concern through the simple act of touch. For a moment, Sirius hesitates, confusion etched onto his features. Then he turns to look at you once more, really look, and sees it—the strain around your eyes, the tightness of your jaw.

There's a long pause, a heavy silence filled with unasked questions and unsaid apologies. The air between you three seems to thicken, tension building like a storm ready to break. But when it does, it's not with thunderous anger or regretful tears; instead, it's with quiet acceptance and understanding.

"I think we should stop," Remus says finally, breaking the silence that has settled. His voice is soft, barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. But its impact is immediate, cutting through the fog of desire that had clouded your judgment.

Sirius pulls away, sitting back on his heels. His grey eyes are dark with concern and something else—guilt, perhaps? But there's no time to dwell on that now. All that matters is the pain coursing through your body, a stark contrast to the warmth that had enveloped you moments ago.

"You're hurting," Remus states, though it sounds more like a question—an attempt to understand what went wrong.

The shift in the room is almost palpable, the playful energy from moments ago dissipating like smoke. It's replaced by a heaviness that settles over you all, thick and suffocating.

"No," you protest weakly, pushing yourself up on your elbows. "I'm fine, really." But your words fall flat against the silence, overshadowed by the grimace of pain that contorts your features.

"You're not fine," James murmurs, standing abruptly from his chair. He crosses the room in two long strides, stopping just short of the bed. His glasses sit askew on his nose, but he makes no move to adjust them. Instead, his gaze remains fixed on you, studying each nuance of your expression with an intensity that leaves little room for doubt.

"Y/N," Sirius's voice is hesitant, filled with an uncertainty you've rarely heard before. His usual bravado is gone, replaced by something far more vulnerable. He takes a step closer, each movement measured and deliberate. "I'm... I'm sorry."

His apology hangs heavy in the air, laced with sincerity and guilt. You can see it in the way his shoulders slump, the way his gaze flits away. This isn't the Sirius Black who charges headfirst into danger, laughing in the face of fear. This is someone else entirely—a boy stripped bare of arrogance, haunted by the consequences of his actions.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." The words come out choked, as if every syllable causes him physical pain. "I got carried away, didn't realise how much..."

"It's not a big deal," you insist, though the strain in your voice betrays the truth of your pain.

But to them—to Sirius, Remus, and James—it is a big deal. They see through your brave facade, recognizing the discomfort that lingers behind each forced smile. Their worry hangs heavy in the air, a silent testament to their concern for you.

"You don't need to downplay it, Y/N," Remus finally speaks up, his voice soft yet firm amidst the tension. "We can all see you're in pain."

You open your mouth, ready to argue back, but his words resonate with a truth you've been trying to ignore. He's right; denying the obvious isn't helping anyone, least of all you.

"Well... maybe just a little sore," you admit, shifting slightly under the weight of their gazes.

"You should've said." His hand squeezes your shoulder gently, offering a small measure of comfort. "You don't have to pretend otherwise."

The room falls silent again as they digest Remus' words—simple and true. It's easy to forget sometimes, amid all the chaos and bravado, that you are allowed to feel, to show vulnerability. Especially now, while pain still throbs at your side, a harsh reminder of the line between fun and recklessness.

James moves then, uncrossing his arms to reach out towards you. His fingers brush against yours tentatively before he takes your hand into his own—a silent vow of support. The warmth seeping from his touch seems to dull the ache, if only for a moment.

"Remus is right," he says, looking straight into your eyes. There's an intensity in his gaze, a spark of determination flickering beneath the surface. "Your health comes first, Y/N. Always."

"But I—" you start, preparing another feeble protest.

"No buts," he interrupts, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "We care about you too much to let this go."

"Y/N," Sirius's voice is a whisper now, shaky and raw. "I... I really didn't know what I was doing. I'm sorry."

The air in the room grows heavy with those words—words that don't come easily to someone like Sirius Black, who always appears so sure of himself.

"I've got you," James reassures softly, his grip on your hand firm yet gentle. "Just breathe."

His voice is an anchor amidst the storm of pain surging through your body—a constant pull back towards reality. You squeeze your eyes shut as another wave hits, gritting your teeth against the sharp sting. When it recedes, leaving only a dull ache in its wake, you let out a shaky breath.

Your gaze flits over to where Sirius stands, his face pale. He's silent, his eyes never straying from your form. There's something fragile lurking just beneath the surface of his usual bravado. It's disconcerting, seeing him this way: unsure, hesitant, vulnerable.

He takes a step forward, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. His touch is feather-light, but it sends shivers down your spine nonetheless—not from fear or discomfort, but from the sheer intensity of his concern.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs again, voice barely above a whisper. "Merlin, baby, I'm so sorry."

You want to reassure him, to ease the guilt etched across his features, but your words catch in your throat. Instead, you offer him a weak smile, hoping it conveys everything you can't seem to say aloud.

He doesn't return the gesture, his expression remaining sombre as he pulls away, settling back into his previous position at the foot of your bed. The distance between you feels insurmountable despite the small size of the room, each inch amplifying the heaviness of the silence that follows.

"Here," Remus' voice cuts through the quiet, drawing your attention away from Sirius. He holds out a glass filled with a water and offers an encouraging nod when you hesitate. "Drink."

With James' help, you manage to sit up enough to take a few tentative sips, the coolness soothing your parched throat. As you lean back against the pillows, exhaustion seeps into your bones, making every movement feel like a monumental effort.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, more from relief than anything else. For the first time since waking up, you allow yourself to relax, eyelids growing heavy as you sink further into the mattress.

"You should have been more careful," James says to Sirius after a moment, breaking the silence that has settled once again. His fingers trace idle patterns on the back of your hand, a comforting presence amidst the turmoil.

"You're right," Sirius agrees, his voice hoarse. "I shouldn't have pushed her so hard."

There's a finality to his words, a promise veiled beneath layers of regret. He won't let this happen again—you can hear it in the slight tremble of his voice, see it in the set of his jaw.

Remus remains silent, though his agreement is evident in the subtle nod of his head. His gaze stays fixed on you, thoughtful and intense, as if trying to decipher the complex emotions flickering across your face.

A part of you wants to protest—to argue that you were equally responsible for the events leading up to this moment—but fatigue clings to your limbs, and the thought of engaging in any sort of debate seems far too daunting.

The air in the room shifts, heavy with unspoken words and lingering guilt. The boys gather around you, their touches gentle as they adjust your position on the bed, making sure you're comfortable. Their faces are masks of concern, eyes darting to each other before settling back onto you.

Gone is the playful banter, the heated exchanges that had filled the space only moments ago. Now there's just this—a quiet tenderness that wraps around you like a blanket, warming places inside you didn't realise had gone cold.

"Is there anything you need?" Remus asks, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand. His touch is grounding, a steady presence amidst the whirlwind of emotions churning within.

"No," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just... just stay."

They nod, understanding passing between them without a word spoken. And so they remain, clustered around your bed like sentinels, their focus solely on you.

As the minutes tick by, the tension gradually eases from your body, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that tugs at your eyelids. You fight against it, not ready to surrender to sleep—not yet—but it's a losing battle. Your eyes flutter shut, and despite the pain still throbbing faintly in the background, you feel safe.

Safe because you know they'll be there when you wake up—just as they've always been, watching over you even when you don't realise it. Safe because no matter how much they push and prod, challenge and provoke, they will always put you first, always keep you out of harm's way.

[ganondoodle]

Hi! Big fan of your work and I love evil Rauru, now I'm curious what would Mineru & Sonias' role be in this rewrite? Like "Dam, my husbands a fuckin madman..."

Hi!! thank you!!

so .... as of now mineru basically doesnt exist (im sorry) and sonia only has a little somewhat appearance

theres no time travel in my rewrite (both the first one and new one) and with the new version that works with villain rauru there are no flashbacks aside possibly some illusions rauru shows you to tell you just how great it was before bad bad ganondorf showed up (so .. kinda like in canon but with the direct contrast of him telling you a verrrrrryyyy one sided perspecitve vs what you later learn)

so i considered having rauru mention that he had a beautiful perfect wife back in the day and ganondorf murdered her for her stone (unsure yet if hes telling more or less the truth or if its another lie ... i dont want to make him too one note evil either bc whats the point then) and perhaps, before the final confrontation, the true end fight against rauru have her appear

it being on the great plateau where he builds his castle towards the end of your quest- which is sort of a dungeon- and just before you are going into the final room you might encounter sonia ....... s puppet really, like an apparition rauru made of her as part of his plan to revive his old glorious kingdom but not able to literally revive the dead, her greeting you and asking if youd like an audience with king rauru- but in an unsettling way, robotic, always smiling and super nice, oblivious to what you had to fight through just to get here (or alternatively .. she greets you at the start and begins to lead you in until zelda tries to talk to her about what raurus doing thinking she might just be real, but since its just a magic trick of rauru she turns on you and throws you into the dungeon, quite literally, as soon as its clear you/zelda intent to stop him)

i feel a little bad about it but as of now i dont know how to make use of them, i want to keep the past as much of a mystery as i can while still have it all make sense, i want it to be about saving the world as you know it, which is different from the past, very different, but not different in a bad way, and the idea of there being only light with no shadow being bad bc a balance is needed

[chrisbangs]

its 5:45 am and i just need to get this off my chest but when i see blurry pictures of chan my heart starts fucking racing smtimes like there's a very specific genre of pictures of him that get my head dizzy and my heart racing and it's always when it's kinda blurry and hazy and it makes me feel so many fucking emotions i dont know how to explain but it just drives me fucking insane like there's smth abt it smth that makes it feel so hazy and soft and dizzying in a wonderful way i don't really know how to explain it but it makes me feel sick in the head because i just . i want him

[secondbeatsongs]

as a bi person, the bisexual flag brings me infinite joy and always puts a smile on my face, however as a person who has a Passion for Graphic Design, that undersaturated shade of purple infuriates me when it's used digitally

like, on an actual flag - which was its original purpose - it looks great!

those look fine! lovely, even! with the semi-transparent fabric, the way it catches the sunlight, it looks beautiful!

but now look at how it looks digitally

the pink and blue are so vibrant compared to the sad, lonely lavender!

and let's look at this statement from Michael Page, the creator of the bi flag:

(sidenote: he created this flag in 1998, so if his takes on bisexuality is different from yours, it's okay to notice that! a lot has changed since the 90s when it comes to lived experiences and the way we describe them. but, it's also important to respect his thoughts about this and the way he presented them, even if today, we'd probably not say that bi people "blend unnoticeably into both the gay/lesbian and straight communities.")

so in pantone colors, the pink is 226 C, the blue is 286 C, and the purple of the flag is 258 C.

but...here's the deal

Michael talks here about how the key to understanding the symbolism is to know that the purple blends into both the pink and blue. and on a physical flag, I think you can see that!

but digitally, it absolutely does not blend. it clashes badly, and looks oddly separate from the other two colors.

which got me wondering...what purple do you get if you actually blend 226 C and 286 C?

oh! oh, my god.

look at that! look at how nicely it fits between those colors!

look at it next to the original color scheme! look at how much more vibrant the purple is!

and friends. this is just blending through rgb! you get even more purple variations when you use other color spaces!

let's compare all of them:

(top: original, lab. middle: lrgb, lch. bottom: rgb, hsl)

look at all of the different purple options you can get just by combining these two colors!

if you want almost too-vibrant saturation, you can go hsl, if you want something more relaxed that's closer to the original, you can go lab or lrgb. and if you want to split the difference, lch is bright and violet, while rgb is there with its saturated but darker purple.

anyway, I guess I don't really have a point here? this isn't so much an informational post as it is Me Getting Weird About Colors, but I think it is a useful lesson about how colors look very different on screens compared to how they look on objects in real life.

and sometimes, I think it's okay to compensate for that.

out of all of these, this is my favorite bi flag:

it's the one where the colors were blended in lab color space. for me, the lighter, softer purple is close enough to the original bi flag purple, while also feeling like a smoother blend of the blue and pink

but that's just me! and it might not even look the same to you, since every screen is different, because technology is a nightmare!

anyway, thank you for coming with me on this colorful journey! I will now retreat back to inkscape and make pained sounds about inkstitch gradients until something tangible pulls me back into reality

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Hiiii, I loveeeee ur work ❤️

I was thinking about a head cannon of how some of the mw2 characters (ghost, soap, König, etc) would react to their partner sending them a nude photo?👀👀👀

Sorry if you did this already but I’m pretty sure you haven’t tho cuz I definitely would have read it already 😭

MW2 Reaction to Receiving a Special™ Photo from Their S/O

Warnings: 18+ (just to be safe), Non-Specific/Explicit Implications of Smut, No Pronouns used for Reader except 'You', Singular Mention of Graves Throwing Himself off a Cliff, Dominant! MW2, Submissive! MW2, Dominant! Reader, Submissive! Reader, Profanity, etc.

Ghost

He will literally stare bug-eyed at the picture you’ve sent him like 👁️O👁️

Since it’s a physical photograph, he keeps it on him like a chapstick, which is to say all the time.

He isn’t risking ANYONE besides himself seeing it.

And when he’s about to embark on a mission, he keeps it tucked into his vest right where his heart is so that it’s practically part of him.

He likes to think that, somehow, you can hear – feel – his heart beating, know that he’s still alive and fighting so that he can come home and see you.

And when he returns from a mission and goes to his quarters, he has some…alone time.

You know, to really study the picture.

Not that he doesn’t know every curve and edge of your body already.

But that doesn't stop him growling your name into the pillow as he rocks against it, a hole cut into the bottom of it – a poor imitation of you.

A makeshift lover.

If anyone ends up seeing that picture – if they stole it from him, if by some act of God (because that’s what it’ll take) it slipped out of his vest or pocket – they are in for a World of Pain™.

There won’t be a time they won’t flinch upon hearing Ghost’s name, or when they see his shadow like an omen on the wall as he commandeers the halls. Prowling.

He’d feel pretty guilty about someone else seeing you how he does, even if it was only for a fraction of a second.

So he’s definitely going to make it up to you when he gets back <3

König

His heart can’t take this kind of torment.

He’ll be looking down at his phone, the image of you burning into his skin like a holy artefact.

He definitely gets more jumpy around people when he has his phone on him.

Will literally clam up and shove it into the deepest recesses of his pocket if someone comes too close.

Even when your picture is safely stored behind a password-protected photo album.

He has to excuse himself from training or other commitments whenever his mind wanders back to you, and subsequently that image (which is basically all the time).

Sometimes he calls you while he’s sorting himself out.

He just needs to hear your voice – to feel closer to you.

It’s the only way he can finish.

“Engel,” he rasps, his breath stuttering, “I need you,”

And everyone just looks at him like he’s grown a third eye when he returns because, unbeknownst to him, König can’t keep quiet, and everyone who has never heard even a peep from him is suddenly aware of the carnality that lies beneath his skin, wired into his soul.

And at the centre is his love for you, boundless and overflowing so that the rest of his teammates know it, too.

Not that they mind all too much.

They all sit and think that you must be one beautiful person to evoke such a response from König.

Soap

Will tease you back.

Sends a mirror pic of him in a tight black shirt, saying something like ‘You’ll see the rest when I get home.’

Is absolutely ravenous when it comes to you.

No cap, goes absolutely ham in the shower when the image of you in nothing flashes in his mind.

His low moans are enough of a warning for the rest of the 141 to stay away for the next half an hour or so.

Aside from that, he’ll just look at the picture because he finds you beautiful.

Stares at it while he’s in bed. Laments on how much he misses you ☹️.

He’s counting down the days until he can see you again, and with each that passes, he can feel your silhouette becoming tangible in his hands, as if you were stepping out of the photo.

Sometimes, he dreams that you’re there with him, nestled between his arms.

Other times the dreams are a little more…graphic.

But Johnny can’t help it.

He just can’t contain himself when it comes to you.

Valeria

If you thought her violent tendencies could never extend to you, prepare to be amazed.

The second this woman sees what you’re trying to do – or, rather, what she thinks you’re trying to do – she is not happy.

You could have sent that image with the purest (within reason) of intentions; just letting Valeria know that you miss her, wishing her a good day – whatever.

What she sees is you trying to manipulate her by using your body as an instrument of destruction.

Dramatic, yes. But Valeria has never been one to take chances.

She’ll be deceptively calm over text: ‘Don’t tease me, Darling. You know what happens when you do.’

All day, all she can see is that image.

Whenever she turns a corner, you’re there; whenever she’s talking to someone, you’re peering at her over their shoulder; when she’s alone, you’re sat with her – on her – trying to take her attention away from her paperwork.

Redemption is a baseless concept when Valeria returns home that evening.

You will not know rest until she’s done with you.

Price

“Fuckin’ Hell, Love,” he’ll say, the darkness hanging on his voice tangible even through the voice note.

“What’ve you been up to while I’ve been away, hmm ?”

Will not rest until he knows he’s got you hot and bothered.

This entails him sending increasingly risqué images of himself; first, just one of him flexing, his arms thick and crawling with veins.

The next is of his shirt raised just below his chest, the dim light of the room keeping enough of him shrouded that his identity is unknown to all but you, his wide silhouette taking up most of the picture.

And, if you decide to be resilient against his attempts to make you feel as you have him, you’ll receive a series of menacing messages.

‘Don’t get too comfortable, Angel’, he’ll say.

‘You never know when I’ll come through that door–’

He grins as he sees you’ve read his message, hanging on his every word.

‘And ravage you.’

And you know he means it, too.

Meanwhile, he’s multitasking; keeping a clear, professional head and giving orders while resisting the primal urge to drop everything and find you.

And no amount of pleading or tears will spare you from his wrath when he returns.

Horangi

Regardless of how well the military life trained his self-discipline, nothing can dampen the sheer need Horangi feels whenever he receives a special picture from you.

I’m talking: he will literally sit in silence for ten minutes because he’s got a raging issue he needs to take care of but can’t risk anyone else seeing it.

Will thunder down the hall to the nearest bathroom when the meeting’s over and take out his frustrations there.

When he calls, you’d better pick up the first time.

If you don’t, you’ll have Hell to pay when gets home.

“Baby,” he breathes down the phone, the fog already making his mind frost over, his body burning up.

“What have you done to me–”

These brief encounters are the only thing keeping him sane while he’s away; they make him feel closer to you.

And, repaying you in kind, he returns one night, in the silence of the moon hours.

He finds you, pulls you to him, clutching on tight as you begin to wake.

And, between delirium and consciousness, his voice is all you can hear.

“Shouldn’t have tested me, Sweetheart,” he says, whispering as though partaking in a secret.

“Now I’m going to have to challenge you.” His arms are snakes as they constrict you.

“Fall asleep before I’m done with you, and I promise there will be no end to your suffering.”

Alejandro

Teasing a man as passionate as Alejandro is not going to end well for everyone involved.

Expect to receive a barrage of very choice texts back.

‘You have no idea what you’re doing to me’, he’ll say, followed by a photo of the tent in his trousers.

And a sinister: ‘But you will’.

If he’s away on business for even just a few days, he’ll go practically feral whenever he sees that picture of you.

To everyone else, he’ll be the leader Alejandro Vargas they all know him as – ruthless and righteous.

Yet, there’s something different in the way he walks as he excuses himself from the table, his destination unknown.

His gaze is narrowed and his teeth are grinding, rabid in disposition.

And when he gets home, no matter how long of a day it’s been, you’re in for a very long night.

He’ll appear behind you, a spectre, clamping a hand down on your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t test a soldier, Love,” he says, his grip tightening.

You don't turn around, an exhilarating fear keeping you frozen.

He leans down, his mouth just at your ear, his breath hot.

“Because you never know when he’ll snap.”

Rodolfo

This man is usually rather quiet and submissive when it comes to the more personal aspects of your life together.

But when you send him a picture that makes him question how long he can keep his composure for, you’re in trouble.

You’ll be receiving a phone call from a very exasperated Rodolfo, who, despite his best efforts, has succumbed to your charm.

Definitely a growler when he’s in a dominant mood.

More of a whimperer when he’s not.

At times like these, you get both.

“Darling,” he breathes, the back of his head pressed against the cold cubicle wall. “Look what you’ve done to me…”

His whining is more than enough to let you know the effect you’ve had on him.

And it’s what he says next that makes your blood run cold.

“I won’t let you get away with this.”

The husking baritone in his voice tells you he’s being truthful.

And if you try to clap back with something witty, or even an apology, Rodolfo just laughs.

“The time for mercy is long past, mi Amor,” he tells you.

“All you can do now is prepare for the Reckoning.”

Graves

This smug idiot.

Definitely smirks to himself when he gets that picture.

Has to resist the urge to show it off to everyone in the boardroom because he’s just that proud to have you as his partner.

Yes, he is hard. Yes, he’s still going to give this presentation in front of all the major shareholders.

Why ?

Because he’s Graves. Also, because he knows he has more money than everyone else in that room, and, consequently, more power.

Will shoot you back a text like: ‘Mighty fine work, Babydoll’, followed by, ‘You’re getting a promotion when I get home.’

Yes, he uses corporate jargon when discussing intimate matters.

He’s a businessman at heart, he can’t help it.

Definitely more playful than most of the others on this list.

The type to take his time with you and make you laugh while he does so.

But when he wants to be rough (and when you want him to be), he can be.

And he gets mean when he’s like that.

I’m talking hair-pulling, name-calling – basically just bullying you, but consensually.

Does his best to take care of you, though.

If he found out that he’d actually upset you, he’d literally jump off a cliff – he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Expect many lavish gifts if this happens, though.

But don’t tell him that I told you that 👀.

Gaz

Will nearly drop his phone – it turns to butter in his hands.

He looks over his shoulder at least fifty times before he’ll allow himself to look at the photo again.

Poor boy’s face is turning red, his palms are sweating, he can’t think straight.

Paranoid 24/7 that everyone knows he has that picture of you.

But it doesn’t intimidate him enough for him to even try to keep quiet in the barracks when he has some alone time.

Similar situation to Soap; everyone knows to steer clear of whichever room Gaz was last spotted walking into for a while.

It would take him a few days for him to send a picture back.

More than likely, it’ll be of him in a scarcely lit bathroom in nothing but his boxers with a very prominent outline in them.

Followed by a text with something to the effect of: ‘Been thinking about you all night, Sweets’

And God forbid you send him another image of yourself. And definitely do not send a message saying ‘Aww, has my good boy been behaving himself ?’

Will literally send him over the edge.

The rest of the 141 can’t commandeer the bathroom for the rest of the day after that.

And when Gaz gets home, just know that your phone screen can’t protect you anymore.

Not when you have a man made of pure intellect and solid mass running full-force at you with all the pent-up energy seen only in a nuclear reactor.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[hoshifighting]

— jihoon + roomates to lovers — mrs. lee might think her son is focused on his books, but the truth is, jihoon’s attention is entirely on you.

— synopsis: mrs. lee is a strict, no-nonsense mother determined to keep her son, jihoon, focused on his studies. her only condition for letting him have a roommate in his dorm is that it has to be a boy—no distractions allowed. when jihoon reveals that his new roommate is you, a childhood friend she remembers as a sweet, innocent girl, mrs. lee is ultimately relieved. surely, you wouldn’t do anything inappropriate with him… right? — WC: 2.6k — WARNINGS: smut, clit stimulation, dirty talk, penetrative sex, oral (f.receiving) pervert!jihoon, mentions of another, making sex on the couch jihoon's mom bought being mentioned, them almost getting caught, jihoon's mom being strict. 

you were sitting across from mrs. lee, the woman’s gaze piercing as she stirred her tea with a delicate clink. she hadn’t changed much since the days you rang her doorbell with scouter cookies in hand—still the same sharp eyes, still the same subtle judgment wrapped in a soft smile. “you’re not going to do something like that with him, right?” she asked, her voice dripping with the kind of sweetness that left a bitter aftertaste.

you could feel jihoon shifting awkwardly beside you, his discomfort almost tangible. he hadn’t said a word since his mother had started this impromptu interrogation, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand clenched around the arm of the chair. he was too old to be treated like this, you thought, but still too young in her eyes to make his own decisions.

“of course not, mrs. lee,” you replied, your voice as innocent as you could muster, though the irony wasn’t lost on you. you had grown up, after all. “i’m just here to help out with rent. that’s all.”

“good girl,” she murmured, taking a sip of her tea. “i knew i could trust you. you always were such a sweet little thing.”

you forced a smile, but inside, something coiled tight. it wasn’t the first time someone had underestimated you, but there was something about the way mrs. lee did it that made your skin itch. maybe it was the fact that she was right, in a way. you weren’t here just to split rent with jihoon. no, your reasons, or his reasons were far from innocent, but they were none of her business.

[...]

“you’re not going to do something like this with him, right?”

BZZZZZZTT! HAHA! DAMN WRONG.

mrs. lee’s voice was just a distant memory now, drowned out by the heat of jihoon’s mouth on yours, his grip tight on your ass as he pushed you up against the wall in the dorm hallway. the sweet, shy boy she thought she knew? long fucking gone, replaced by this guy who couldn’t even wait to get inside before pawing at you like an animal. the taste of alcohol was heavy on his breath, mixed with the remnants of the cigarette you’d both shared earlier, and the way he was devouring your mouth left no doubt about what was coming next.

if only she knew this was your routine—every time he came back from a night of drinking and smoking with you, his hands were on you before the door even closed behind him. you’d barely made it through the door last time before he had you bent over the arm of the couch—the very couch she’d picked out and bought for his dorm—fucking you so hard you were sure the neighbors had heard every slap of skin against skin.

“jihoon,” you gasped against his mouth, but the sound of his name only seemed to spur him on, his grip on your ass tightening as he ground his hips against yours. “can’t even wait, can you?”

“fuck no,” he muttered, lips trailing down to your neck, his teeth scraping over your skin in a way that made your knees weak. “need you now.”

you didn’t protest when he practically dragged you to the couch, his hands already tugging at your clothes as he pushed you down onto the cushions. the look in his eyes was wild, nothing like the shy boy mrs. lee still saw in her mind. this was a man driven by pure, unfiltered need, and you were more than willing to let him take what he wanted.

“she’d lose her mind if she knew,” you teased, voice breathless as you wriggled out of your clothes, your eyes locked on his as he yanked his shirt over his head.

“don’t care,” he growled, and the next thing you knew, he was on you. his hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, squeezing your thighs, rough fingers brushing over your nipples.

oh, you two were damn lucky that this couch couldn’t talk, because if it could, it’d be the first to spill the beans to mrs. lee. blabbing about all the times jihoon’s had you spread out on it, making you cum on his mouth like it was his favorite fucking meal. this couch had seen more than its fair share of your moans and gasps, had felt the tremors of your body when he made you melt in his pretty little mouth, and if it could, it’d give mrs. lee a full report—every dirty detail.

too bad for her, though, because this couch? it kept secrets like a vault, and tonight was just another deposit.

jihoon had your clit in his mouth, sucking on it like it his life depended on it. the way he worked his tongue made sure you couldn’t form a single coherent thought. every flick of his tongue against that sensitive nerve was so fast, so precise, it felt like he’d turned into a human vibrator, leaving your mind completely scrambled. he had you quiet, reduced to nothing but gasps and moans, and fuck, he knew exactly what he was doing.

and jihoon was downright filthy. he’d pull his tongue away just enough to show off the slick, glistening line connecting it to your clit, a blatant display of how much he was enjoying every second. the sight alone was enough to drive you wild his nasty face + his greedy mouth.

jihoon took his time eating you out, like he was conducting a symphony. every flick and swirl of his tongue was calculated to build you up, to make sure you were more than ready for when he’d finally shove his fat cock inside you. 

he made damn sure you came enough to be completely dazed, your mind a foggy mess as if every coherent thought had been wiped from your head. when he finally pulled away to grab a condom, you were left sprawled on the couch, still in the same position he’d left you in, utterly wrecked. he’d bite his lip to hold back a laugh, clearly amused by how out of it you were.

you prop up on the couch, your ass practically waving at him. he gave you a playful slap on your ass before sliding the condom on, his eyes sparkling nastily, but his mouth had a cute smile.

“good girl,” he muttered, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

you shot him a half-hearted frown, shaking your head. “don’t tell me your momma used to say the same thing?”

he chuckled, sliding in with a slow, deliberate push. “well, she might’ve. but i’m pretty sure she wasn’t talking about this.”

“yeah, i’d hope not,” you retorted, letting out a breathy moan as he filled you. “because if she was, i think we’d have a whole different family dinner conversation.”

“can’t argue with that,” he said, pressing deeper, a grin tugging at his lips. “but, you’re still my favorite good girl.”

you tightened your pussy grip around his cock, a playful warning. “yeah? well, you better remember that. you only have me.”

jihoon’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he felt the squeeze. “a-ah! okay, okay, true, true! you’re the only one—no one else gets this much of me.”

you grinned, feeling him twitch inside you. “oh, really? because i could’ve sworn you said that to your last—”

“stop!” he interrupted, laughing between his moans. “no more exes, i swear! it’s all you, babe.”

“glad to hear it. i wouldn’t want to share my favorite toy.”

he laughed heartedly. “believe me, i wouldn’t let anyone else near it. you’ve got exclusive rights.”

“damn right i do,” you said, giving him another teasing squeeze. “now show me why i’m the only one who gets to enjoy this.”

jihoon groaned, sliding in deeper with a satisfied grunt. “you got it, babe, and this”—he thrusts just a bit harder—“is all yours.”

you felt your ego swell with his confession, knowing it might be flattery, but it was in these moments—when he was deep inside you—that you could unlock jihoon’s secrets. a well-timed squeeze or a slick suck was all it took.

“jihoonie it feels amazing… you’re making me lose my mind.”

“losing your mind, huh?” jihoon’s voice was a low, teasing purr. “do you like it when i hit that spot, make you shake like this?”

you could only whimper in response, your body trembling with each thrust. “yes, fuck… don’t stop.”

he chuckled, his hips snapping forward with intentional force. “what’s it gonna take to make you admit i’m the best? more of this? or maybe you want me to keep making you come so hard you can’t even think?”

your breath caught in your throat, escaping as a breathy gasp as you throbbed around him. you cursed under your breath, realizing that if you had known this shy guy had such a filthy side, you would’ve jumped his bones way sooner. 

just as you were about scream his name, you heard a series of knocks on the door, making both of you freeze. you glanced back over your shoulder, eyes wide with panic. jihoon’s face was a mask of concentrated silence as he put a finger to his lips, shushing you—like it wasn’t painfully obvious what was happening.

he then clasped a hand over your mouth, pulling you flush against his chest. starting to roll his hips deep and slow, your eyes rolling back. 

“don’t you dare make a sound, babe. if you want me to keep going, you better stay quiet.”

you squeezed your eyes shut, cursing the person at the door for the awful timing. all you wanted was to scream his name, let the whole building know how fucking amazing jihoon was making you feel. and he was as into it as you were, if not more.

“you’re gonna stay quiet and take every inch.”

“i want to come so bad, jihoon. i wanna scream it.” you mumbled through his hand.

jihoon’s breath turned into a desperate whine against your ear, the knocks at the door growing more insistent with each passing second.

“fuck, i swear if they don’t shut up,” he muttered, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. despite the distraction, he kept his movements steady, his cock still sliding in and out with the perfect pressure.

you shivered, clamping down on him, your body quaking with the effort to stay quiet. “jihoon, i need to come so badly,” you whispered through clenched teeth. “can’t you just…”

“shhh,” he murmured, his voice a seductive growl. his grip on you tightened, pulling you even closer, as if trying to drown out the unwanted noise.

“goddammit,” he whispered fiercely in your ear, his voice trembling with and irritation. “i can’t believe this shit. i’m gonna make you come anyway. just stay with me.”

you could only manage a muffled whimper in response, your hips still moving in sync with his. 

jihoon could feel your warm puffs of breath on his palm, your breath coming faster as you clenched the couch rest, eyes squeezed shut in desperate frustration. he kept his hand over your mouth but gently turned you to face him.

“open your eyes,” he whispered.

you slowly opened your eyes, eyebrows furrowed, silently pleading for mercy. a thick tear slid down your cheek, coming to a halt on his hand. jihoon’s gaze softened, a flicker of pity in his eyes as he felt the tight clench around him.

“i know, baby, i know,” he murmured with empathy. “i know it’s rough, but you gotta hold on for me.”

you spasmed around him, your body trembling uncontrollably. jihoon’s eyebrows furrowed in response, his own expression mirroring your pain and need. he could feel your struggle, the way you were trying so hard to hold on, and it made him ache for you even more.

“i’m so close,” you whispered, barely managing to speak through the muffling of his hand. “please, jihoon.”

“just a little more,” he whispered back, his voice strained with longing. “i’m almost there too. i need you to come for me, baby. let go and let me take care of you.”

you clenched around him with renewed strength, your body shaking with the effort. jihoon let out a low, pained groan, his hips grinding into you with a desperate rhythm.

jihoon’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his movements becoming sharper, trying to offer as much relief as he could while still keeping quiet.

“fuck, i can feel how close you are,” he continued, his voice desperate. “i’m right here with you. i won’t leave you hanging.”

he adjusted his position slightly, angling his hips to hit you just right, hoping to push you over the edge despite the interruptions. 

jihoon’s other hand, slick with his own saliva, moved to your clit. he sucked the tips of his middle and ring fingers, then placed them against the sensitive spot, making you flinch. he could feel your body reacting eagerly to his touch.

you loved it when he fingered you, no matter how he did it, and he knew it well. your eyes squeezed shut, and you arched your back, head falling against his shoulder.

as the tension built, you finally let go, your body trembling violently against his. jihoon’s face contorted in pleasure, fighting the urge to moan out loud. he bit his lip hard, stifling the sounds he loved to make, watching your fucked-out expression combined with the way you were swallowing his moans, was all it took for him to lose control.

jihoon’s jaw went slack as he felt the condom growing wetter, his cum trapped inside the rubber. the knocks on the door sounded muffled and distant, like they were underwater, barely registering through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss.

you felt his sweaty body pressed firmly against you, anchoring you in the moment. his hands, still warm and slightly trembling, roamed over your tits, giving them a gentle, affectionate squeeze. a satisfied smile spread across your face.

you whispered against his skin, “aren’t you going to answer the door?”

jihoon sighed, his breath still heavy. “it’s stopped now. probably just someone being nosy.”

just as he finished speaking, his phone buzzed loudly. he glanced at the screen and saw it was his mom calling. jihoon cursed softly under his breath and grabbed his phone.

“hey, mom. what’s up?”

“jihoon! i’ve been trying to reach you. i need to know if you’re okay. there were some noises, and i—”

“yeah, everything’s fine. just a little noise from the neighbors, you know how it is.”

“oh, okay. i was worried. you didn’t answer earlier, and i thought something might have happened.”

“nah, it’s all good. just dealing with a bit of stuff here. i’ll call you back later, okay?”

“alright, but make sure to take care of yourself. call me if you need anything.”

“will do. talk soon.” 

as you lay on the couch, you mimicked jihoon’s voice in a high-pitched, exaggerated tone. “oh, it’s just a little noise from the neighbors, mom!”

jihoon rolled his eyes, a playful grin extending across his face. he stuck his tongue out at you, waggling it just enough to make you laugh.

you raised an eyebrow, catching his teasing gesture. “oh, is that the same tongue you used on me earlier?”

jihoon’s grin enlarged. “pftt, come on. you’re not telling me you didn’t like it when i used it on you?”

you laughed, shaking your head. “keep that tongue to yourself.”

jihoon leaned in. “what, you don’t want me to give your pussy the same attention?”

you playfully smacked his arm “jihoon!”

quick fic based on friends > roomates > lovers anon request. ❤️

[nouearth]

feel the rush.

tom holland x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. rushing a fraternity is highly-competitive, and all-so overwhelming. if it was up to you, you wouldn't have participated in the first place. fortunately, tom was here to provide you all of the shortcuts in receiving a bid to the greek life, as long as you did a bang-up job.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 5.5k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 college!au 〳 frat!tom 〳brief alcoholic drinking 〳 closeted!reader 〳 reader is kinda religious coded 〳 sexual content: top!tom, bottom!reader, breeding, kissing, spitting, blowjob (r!giving), humiliation, dirty talk, muscle worship, scent!kink.

“You know you’re not exactly dressed for the occasion, right?”

The door closed behind Tom, sectioning you off from the party. The atmosphere of the event was tangible regardless. Strong beats throttled from wall to wall, tremors from a familiar song tickling your feet. Chants, albeit muffled, were resonant as you could only presume that someone executed a keg stand for the nth time of the night.

Chug, chug, chug, chug, and the crowd roared as if downing a keg of beer prevented Earth from being infiltrated by extraterrestrials. Granted, that was within the best scenario, in which alcohol and everything loud and deafening like university students wanting to fit in were highly toxic to those devious space invaders.

“What—how do you mean? Rushing is pretty formal, isn’t it? That’s what my mom tells me, anyway.”

You felt small from Tom’s comment, taking a peek at yourself in his mirror and shamefully finding nothing out of the ordinary with your white dress shirt, polka-dotted tie, and khaki pants. Though, you had to be honest. It wasn’t a fair assessment, considering you were judging under the purple hue of his dim lights. The compact size of his room certainly didn’t help either.

“Yes and no. Obviously, you don’t want to look like a slob. But you also don’t want to stand out too much. You’re not going to be a Greek if you wear Ralph Lauren from head to toe—that’s obnoxious. It looks like your mum dressed you for the Lord’s Supper or someone’s granddad, which is frankly the worst offender: don’t look like a square.”

“These are all I have—duly noted—so, it’s okay to dress… like you then? Won’t I blend in with everyone else?”

Tom wore a snapback, a blue polo, and white cargo shorts—which was brazen of him considering the amount of drinking and bile you had seen before the party had even began. It was simple to replicate. If it was your mother’s judgement, she would have all the men and women cover up their legs and arms, while embarrassingly leaving you as the prime example of what a gentleman should dress like.

But your mother wasn’t here, was she? Which meant, you could enjoy the holy sight of Tom’s biceps threatening to burst his shirt at the sleeve, his bulky chest at the placket—all for a little while longer before your intuition stepped in at the call of your mother, and forced those thoughts to scurry off.

That was ungentlemanly.

“That’s the point. You blend in, which means you put in the extra effort to get you noticed by the brothers—by us. Outfit aside, I reckon you’re off to a mighty start. Could be a pledge if you keep this up. I’m certainly noticing you,” Tom muttered after taking a sip of his beer, backing you with small, but imposing steps, until your ankles knocked against the footer of his bed, making you fall back. “Here, loosen up.”

He handed you his beer can.

“I don’t—“

“Just a sip to get in the mood. Not asking you to get blackout drunk here, Christ.”

“Sorry, mama.” You tipped the can into your mouth and instantly, the first taste of lager made you grimace, your face and body shriveling up like the bitter bubbles in the back of your throat. “That’s not… pleasant.”

“You get used to it.”

You were an easy target, weren’t you?

All you had to do was lurk around the party like a lost puppy, head and shoulders down as if the entire objecting of rushing was the complete opposite of being noticeable, and then Tom came around to your aid. He flashed that confident, gorgeous smile of his, immediately knowing you’d do anything to receive a bid from anyone at Alpha Kappa Psi, to be a pledge, without ever doing the hard-work of politely boasting about yourself to complete strangers.

Using your body was easier.

“You’ve done this before?” Tom took the can out of your hand and set it on his desk. He joined you at the foot of the bed after, his thigh touching yours. Then his hand on your knee, rubbing to simultaneously appease those nervous twiddling fingers of yours, and to warm you up.

“Yes—but don’t tell my mom, all right? She doesn’t know that I’m—Just… a couple of hook-ups back at home. Nothing much.” You nervously laughed to fill the silence, watching Tom’s hand warm your knee in gentle strokes that seem to ascend closer to your thigh with every cycle.

He stopped at your inner thigh. “I don’t plan on it unless you do a bad job. And/or your ass somehow rips my dick off and I need someone to take accountability for your actions.”

Your body straightened when Tom began kneading at your tender skin. “Not funny, I mean it.”

“Relax, I’m not telling your mom. It’ll be fun…” With one smooth motion, Tom turned his snapback around, the visor facing the back, and his mouth lowered to the shell of your ear. “And if I can be honest…? It turns me on knowing you’re hiding such a dirty secret from your poor mother.”

There was a shuffling, and then a firm grip on your nape that made your breath hitch. Before your instincts to pull away could react, Tom drew you in for a pressing kiss.

You breathed in, sucking the taste of liquor into your lungs, and trailed after the sweep of his lips. His nose smashed against yours, you could practically hear him inhaling you, and you barely got a sound out before your lips were pushed apart with Tom’s wet tongue. He tasted of familiar lager, yet certainly much more appetizing than drinking from the source itself as you pressed closer to him, welcoming him into your mouth with messy licks to the slithering muscle.

“Mm…”

Electricity shot up your spine when his tongue began properly mingling with yours. Sparks ricocheted off your cranium, then back down to your toes, where they flexed and brought the rest of your legs onto Tom’s bed. Heat flushed through your veins, the kiss all-consuming like Tom had needed your moans to survive. He drew you in closer, holding you close, exploring your mouth with his. You let out small whimpers and pressed into him, drowning yourself in his groans as your hand experimented with desperate tugs and kneads to his growing erection. He licked and nipped at your lips in revenge, countering your touch with a much more brazen hand down your khakis and briefs, toying with your bare chub in his palm.

“Had my eyes on you since you walked through that door,” Tom’s breath spilled over your neck, kissing at the stretch of skin in between the seconds of stripping your clothes off and his after. “You stuck out like a sore thumb. Have no idea why you thought you even had a chance, but then I thought about it for longer, watching you stick to the walls, observing everyone, drinking our punch. I knew you weren’t as innocent as you looked.”

You were lost in this sanity. Your lips were swollen and nearly numb from use, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. They tingled in all the right ways, sending signals to your exposed cock, throbbing out in the open air after many clumsy movements of shimmying yourself out of your pants and briefs.

You helped Tom with his clothes, fingers swiping across his muscular back when you pulled off his polo, palms brushing over his toned thighs when it came to undoing his shorts. Surprisingly, no briefs to remove after, which made you even harder, even when you were nearly assaulted in the face with the spring of his erection.

All of Tom was impressive, especially his hard, thick cock.

“Mom told me to make some friends—“

When Tom returned his grasp onto your nape and pushed your head toward his groin, you lost all semblance of self-control. He held you close enough to smell his cock, but far enough to deprive you the pleasure of having him in your mouth. He smelled salty, something of sweat that made your nostrils flare for more, so you pushed your head. You sniffed, lowering yourself until your nose was buried into his heavy balls, and inhaled your curiosities.

The aroma of Tom’s musk was familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time. It was intoxicating. The scent was strong and pure when you pressed in. It was here, a pungent assault to your nose when you took another indulgent breath of his sweaty balls, and your senses went haywire when Tom’s fingers dug into your nape, scraping sweet lines of fire across the nape of your neck, and pulled you over his leaking cock.

Your inability to control yourself was as much of an arousal for Tom, judging by how his cock was twitching with every breath you took to fight off the urge in gulping him down.

“Wow, you really are a momma’s boy, aren’t you? Bet you have her constantly in your mind, telling you what’s right from wrong, don’t you? Tell me, what’s she saying while you’re sucking me off?”

“I don’t know what—mmf!”

Just like that, your mouth was full of Tom’s smell, full of him, god. Your eyes snapped shut and you choked down a moan as you took his thick cock into your mouth at the help of Tom’s bruising grip. One hand braced on his toned and flexed thigh while the other was wrapped around his shaft, holding him steady in your mouth. Your lips wrapped snug around him, hallowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue over veins—multiple veins that were the source of his pre-cum leaking into your mouth like a broken faucet.

Salt spread on your tongue, wakening every taste bud to an early bloom as you squeezed and stroked him at the base, forcing out more drips of pre-cum onto your tongue.

“Fuck, your mouth’s so warm…” His eyes widened at the warm and wet embrace of your tongue slobbering over his cock, groaning at the obscene sounds of your saliva spit-shining his shaft as he was leaning on his elbows. “God, look at you.”

“I’m doing okay…?” You gasped after pulling his cock out of your mouth, spitting out the thick, droopy web of saliva that connected your lips to Tom’s shaft back over the plump, swollen glans. You looked up at him for approval, wide-eyed and dazed, recovering from the stretch Tom had provided your mouth seconds prior.

When you needed a breather, you licked at the underside of his cock, tending to the inches you couldn’t possibly fit inside of your mouth with multiple tantalizing strokes of your hand. You spread your spit thick over his hard flesh, massaging every spit bubble until his cock and balls were moisturized with the slick of your mouth.

“Better than I could imagine, honestly…” Tom marveled with a chuckle, exhaling slow and deep from his gut to seemingly keep himself from spilling too early from your unrelenting strokes. His toes wiggled in his socks, a tic you found yourself simpering about because it was rather the opposite of Tom’s imposing demeanor.

He pressed two fingers against his own tongue, slicking it up with spit, before shoving them into your mouth to get a second opinion on your cock-sucking skills. Tom hummed, his hand removed from your nape to hold your chin up while he watched you take his fingers, pumping them in and out of your tight, sucking lips.

He seemed pleased.

Somehow, it was more intimate sucking his fingers off. Tom was staring. He had always been, which made you nervous since he introduced himself to you. But he was staring, as if he could control your every move with a simple look, as if he was capable of communicating with you without uttering a word. His lips parted, his brow raised, and you quickly caught on to reflect upon his wishes, diligently opening your lips to welcome a third slicked up finger into your mouth.

Right then and there, you figured Tom had taken your brain cells hostage and forged them to work in his favor. Whatever he wanted, you were absolutely pleased to do without a single complaint peeping from your end.

He pulled out embarrassing sounds that would’ve gotten you stoned if your mother ever heard them from your room. His other hand worked on your leaking cock, massaging your testicles and palming the plump tip, because he can—because you let him.

You were Tom’s puppet, and your body was at his disposal.

“See? This is fun, right?”

He slid his fingers out of your mouth ever so-slowly, the dim light catching onto the trail of spit that bridged his fingers and your tongue with a magical glint. They eventually lost their sparkle when Tom was quick to bring his hand to your ass and wet your exposed rim with a finger, circling the flesh at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“M-mm…”

It was pathetic how deprived of touch you were.

Something as simple as a tease made you writhe on all fours. All it took was a lazy stroke of his finger for you to arch your back and draw your ass out. You couldn’t manage more than a moan as Tom guided you flat on your stomach and himself behind you, continuing his taunts after freshly lubing his fingers and throbbing cock.

Upon the next turn, Tom had the generosity of delivering you of a fill that had been making your cock leak into his sheets, that had been making you rock your hips like you were an animal in heat.

After pushing your legs apart, Tom slowly slid one finger inside of you, his mouth opening in rapport, but also in wonder, as your tight hole welcomed his thick digit in with such warmth, your body locking up as pleasure entered your body.

“C-Christ…” you hissed, thighs clenching and ass squeezing around the foreign intrusion. Something like panic, mixed with agonizing, desperate need, froze you in your place, yet you could feel your body melt, beads of sweat forming over the slope of your tense shoulders and back muscles. Every contact point of your body meeting his, from his firm hand kneading your plump ass, to the tender push and pull of his finger, scorched.

“I don’t know, (M/N)… I don’t know if you can take my cock. My finger can barely move. Might have to call it a night…”

The thudding of your heart muffled your ears as Tom pressed in another finger after slowly working you open. Upon instinct, you closed your legs, only for Tom to spread them back apart before your sweaty thighs could meet, keeping yourself exposed and bare under his direction.

You chewed on a whimper, your face pressing into a pillow in your arms while Tom’s two fingers curled and pumped deep inside of you. You felt yourself pulsate around him, the tight ring of muscle unrelenting in its grip around his fingers, but Tom was determined to break you, another digit joining the pair of fingers, demeaning the tightness of your hole with an obnoxious whistle while pushing into your resistance. “Damn, look at that hole… barely fitting in three fingers.”

“N-no, I can take it. Please…” you gasped on an onslaught of curls, fast and repetitive until you were stretched enough for Tom to yank his fingers completely out of you and quickly feel withdrawal symptoms of his fill. Your thighs shook, your ass pushed out for more, your hole twitched in rapport—you murmured a whine that you needed Tom to hear, but was too self-conscious to let it be known, so you settled biting into his pillow to resist your throat from spilling.

“Such a shame. I thought you made the perfect fit for A.K.P., too.”

His touch was soft and exploring, smearing the sweat on your back over the expanse of your ass and covering it in a humiliating sheen that you’d reckon Tom was stroking himself to upon picking up on the lewd, slick sounds of lube sliding over something thick behind you.

“S-stop, stop, please. I-I’ve taken it before, just—give me a chance, yeah? Please? Hear me—feel me out?”

“You’re that desperate, huh? Don’t know if you need the pledge more, or my cock…”

“Your cock… Tom, please—“

“So, you wouldn’t mind if you received nothing in return, as long as my cock was inside of you? Fucking you? Breeding you?”

“No, I just—“

No, no, no. I don’t want you to stop. Please don’t stop. Your ass communicated those pleas in desperate wiggles. A strong smack to your ass cheeks meant to halt you in place, but it only made your hips more fervent as you graciously backed into the thick of Tom’s cock, reaching back and giving him a needy pump or two, then slid him against your crack.

A needy moan escaped when you felt the weight of his cock sandwiched between your cheeks.

“So, you don’t want my cock? I’m confused on what exactly you’re telling me. Hurry, before I lose my patience.”

You felt a stickiness to your rim. Peeking over your shoulder, you took a glimpse of Tom presumably tracing your hole with his cock and spreading his pre-cum thick over the smooth flesh. The small space grew humid with the tension between your body and his, heavy breaths adding onto the heavy air as Tom rocked into you, holding you by the waist, gliding his cock through the wetness of your lubed ass cheeks. His shaft rubbed over your hole, and your cock throbbed and leaked in between your legs at the chance that anytime now—Tom could breach you open, and fill you wondrously. Your hole clenched at the thought, aided by Tom’s hands pressing your cheeks tighter around his cock as it slid over you.

If only you could command your asshole to open, because you would’ve taken him in by now.

“I want you inside of me, Tom. F-forget the pledge, I just—I need something, someone inside of me. Please, just—Christ, fuck me. Fuck me with your thick cock. Fuck your cum into me. Fuck my ass until I’m nothing but a gaping hole dripping with your seed. Don’t even care if we never see each other again, please, Tom—”

Your eagerness took Tom by surprise, making him chuckle and slap his cock over your blinking hole before resuming on sliding his shaft against your crack, hopefully for one last turn. “Who knew you had such a potty mouth?”

You don’t know what drew you back to looking at Tom again. Maybe it was the hard, brawn structure of his body, cut straight from a sculpture of the most heroic Greek warrior. The firm lines of his abdominal muscles, or the way his snapback was adjusted backwards, emphasizing his soft, yet handsome looks. All in all, you didn’t mean what you said.

You would absolutely care if you never saw him again.

He was too good.

His rough hands over your ass, smacking them whenever you would try to angle your hips in a way to fit him in, were too good. His delicate kisses on your neck, back, and shoulders, quelling the tremble of your limbs, were too good. His soft lips, when you and him met halfway until your mouths were exchanging breaths, making the effort of holding yourself still against him excruciating, were too good.

Tom’s lips ghosted over yours, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. You groaned as he supported your core with a strong hand, opening your mouth to take more. Every part of you, even the moisture in your body, wanted to touch him. You were sweating, drooling into his mouth, leaking into Tom’s palm when he wandered down to stroke your cock; all strong indicators that you were losing control, if you hadn’t already.

His voice, as he murmured something about your body in your ear while he was gathering you against him, was too good. His breath forced itself between your lips, breathing out a supply of oxygen into your mouth, into your lungs, to prepare you for the inevitable, and you had never felt so fragile before—especially so, when you found yourself quickly using up Tom’s oxygen when he pushed his cock into you without hesitation, without warning, your body hammered by a thousand needles in the process.

“T-Tom!” you hissed in a breath, but it only made the grip on your hips more strident when his thrust made you collapse back onto all fours. It wouldn’t be surprising if your skin was blemished with bruises the very next day with the way his fingers dug into your flesh.

Tom was generous enough to let you adjust to his size, indulging in the warmth and tightness of your entrance with only the tip of his plump cock despite feeling like he had toppled your backside with all of his body weight. Even then, those minuscule ruts were enough to make you whimper out of agony.

“So fucking tight…”

Tom pulled himself out and spread your ass cheeks apart, marveling and silently wondering to himself how he was going to puzzle himself inside of you. Some spit would surely help. He licked his fingers, then pressed it over your swollen hole, smoothing the skin before pushing the tip back in, having only a tenuous grasp on his self-control.

After the burning mellowed with the help of multiple deep exhales and kisses from Tom, you felt yourself finally unravel the moment he moved his hips. Your fingers raked against his abs as you reached back to pace his hips, palm on his pelvis to keep from completely ruining you. A shiver ran down the length of your spine as Tom smoothed a hand over your back, then kept it at the lower half, pushing deeper into you while he held you still. You made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, pleasured yet disoriented by the ample stretch Tom was providing you with. It gutted the fog of arousal, you could feel your hole instinctively pushing his cock out with overwhelmed pulses, but Tom was persistent, driving into you deeper— harder—the moment your body tried to resist him.

“Don’t mind it hard, right?” Tom asked against your ear, gruff in between his slow, yet deep strokes.

“Please,” you whimpered, barely getting the word out before Tom’s hand found its way to your mouth, covering it and holding your head back at the millisecond your answer registered in his brain, giving him the green light to pummel you relentlessly.

Your eyes popped open when Tom soared, bucking his hips wildly into you. Cries of pleasure, your whimpers and moans of being hammered with such overwhelming desire for your body, were muffled into the palm of Tom’s hand. He squeezed your cheeks, loud groans leaving your throat, and your torso arched into the mattress.

The brutal stretch was what you’d been needing. All this pent up sex drive that you had been harboring for so long came exploding out of you like molten lava, scorching your torso and all in effect. Your body was on fire, coupling with Tom’s as sweat dripped from his forehead, and somewhere onto your backside. Your mind emptied out while you hovered in the space between deprived arousal and complete ecstasy, only perfected by Tom’s cockhead screwing into your tight, clamping hole.

“Open,” Tom demanded with a huff, and you did as you were told at the prodding of his fingers. You welcomed him in with the parting of your lips, luring each digit with the curl of your wet tongue. “You like that? You like taking my hard cock like this? Fucking you open until you’re nothing but a hole? God, look at you drooling…”

As Tom pumped inside of you at a steady pace, angling his hips so he stretched you wider, you suckled on his fingers as they remained hooked over your mouth—you were starting to guess that he loved having them sucked, or at least, liked playing with the idea of having himself inside of you in more ways than one.

It was a messy affair. Pools of saliva leaked from either corners of your mouth. The smell of sex was thickening in between the heavy pants that you and Tom would collectively exile. It wouldn’t be long until your body was drenched in sweat, and you’d come to realize that you wouldn’t be alone in that department. Tom had his sweaty arm around your throat, pushing all of his body weight onto you and gutting you open with the deep hammering of his thrusts. His chest rumbled with wild growls as he pounded into you from behind, burying your hole to the root of his shaft, fucking you with the salacious sound of his heavy and musky sack slapping against your sweat-stained taint. You whimpered when his cockhead brushed past that sweet spot of yours, an unfamiliar feeling that you had no doubts in wanting to befriend.

“O-oh, that’s s-so g-good—“ You bit into his forearms, the thick vein pulsing through looking appetizing, and you were glad you did it because—it was like an ‘on’ switch for Tom.

“Taking my cock so well—your mom would be disgusted, wouldn’t she? Knowing her baby boy is taking a man’s cock. Want you to remember this. I don’t care how many cocks you had before me. I want you to remember what my cock feels like, digging deep inside of you. And when I’m done with you, I don’t want you coming home, crying to mommy—because I’ll never be done with you. Once you get your bid, you’re fucking mine.”

This was it.

This was Tom at his peak performance.

And your body was at his mercy.

He pulled out, flipped you over, then hooked your legs over his shoulders before resuming in his relentless rapture.

You stroked yourself to the image before you, a tight fist around your aching cock, squeezing from base to tip, spreading your pre-cum down your already sticky length, while your other hand toyed with your nipples, playing with the perky nubs.

Tom’s muscular body dripped in sweat. His teeth gritted as he struggled to control his volume. Glimpses of the base of his cock would appear when he would pull out, only to be hidden by the trimmed hairs of his pubic hair when he would shove himself back in, veins of his large cock throbbing and basking in your warmth. Hard and strong kisses layered your ankles while Tom’s pecs jiggled with every thrust he made. Even if you weren’t being fucked right now, you could get off to this. You could come right now, to the absolute bliss on Tom’s face as he buried himself deep inside of you, impaling you with his cock, moulding your hole to the shape of his shaft.

It enthralled you knowing how much pleasure your body gave Tom.

The squeaking of the bed roped everything together, gathering all sorts of noises—lewd sounds of sex and delirious desire—like a beautiful symphony. Your moans against his were the choir when Tom came down to kiss you hard on the mouth, sloppy and wet as he explored you open both ways. His tongue curious into your mouth and his thick cock rearranging your guts.

Your hands freely roamed over the expanse of his broad back, clutching and scratching at his back muscles when he curled his hips in a way that made you arch your body off the bed and knocked the breath out of you. God, he was so strong. So buff. You could feel his back muscles move in sync with his hips, flexing and flaring as he sank his cock deep into you. Your body stuttered, your eyes shut tight, tears nearly welling from the utter pleasure, shriveling as Tom would batter your prostate with better precision every time his hips came down on you. You couldn't be bothered to find the proper words to tell Tom how good he was making you feel, so you settled for a mixture of gasps, whimpers, and a daring scratch over the length of his spine.

That was telling enough, right?

Tom growled at the sting overloading his senses when you made your marks, grazing his teeth and lips over the palm of your hand when he reached back to take and hold the culprit of the forming welts before him. You and him shared a gaze, a kiss when he lowered himself and briefly settled on imposing you with strong, but slow and deep thrusts. To catch his breath. To catch yours. You both exchanged breaths, swapped saliva, explored each other's mouths, held each other hands, and the intimacy of it all made it all the more tranquilizing for you.

“Gonna breed that ass of yours. Fuck, it’s perfect for me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Have your hole dripping, gaping, and raw? Maybe I’ll get the bros to look at the mess you made. Maybe they’ll want in on it and have a turn at your body, too. It could be your initiation, hm? Could skip the entire process, and be a Greek, as long as you let all of us breed you. How does that sound?”

“Holy, s-shit—“

You pumped your cock, a familiar feeling quickly bubbling to a high from the pit of your stomach, all the way to your swollen nipples, and you knew what awaited you as that sensation wouldn’t falter. Your heart beat ran faster than the effort of caffeine. Even though it was muffled, the rhythmic beats downstairs were still resonant, and you were absolutely outpacing its tempo. The heat of Tom’s hands returned on your body. He caressed and rubbed your hips, thighs, chest, balls, and ass, all while he urged you to come.

“There we go. Good boy. Keep fucking that fist. Yeah, fuck—“

His palms smoothed over your skin, up the sides of your body, thumbs pressing into either sides of your hips, then maneuvered you with his strength to meet him half-way into his strong thrusts. His biceps flexed, thick veins demonstrating his rush of adrenaline and sheer strength as he brought you down onto his cock with thundering claps, sweaty skin contacting sweaty skin, constantly assaulting your prostate with his swollen cockhead.

It both frightened and thrilled you, your eyes blown, and you felt yourself quickly spill, thick and heavy over your stomach, knowing you were at Tom’s disposal. You shuddered, watching the thick ropes of cum fly high before splattering and soon pooling at the plane of your body.

“I’m close—“

“Come inside of me, please–“

You were panting as your cock finished spilling itself all over your stomach and chest, as Tom’s big cock pounded in and out of you with such ease now, the weight of his hips coming down on you making you continuously bounce on the mattress.

“Fuck.”

His breathing was even heavier than yours, laced with grunts as he used your ass like a toy, pulling hard and pushing you as he pleased, breaching you with the thick of his cock. His thrusts become wilder, sweat dampening his snapback as Tom mustered up the rest of his strength and energy to completely overpower you. His swollen cock dug deep, you could feel every veins about to burst. With a choke of your name, he delivered one more grandiose rut against your ass, the impact of his hips biting sharp into the back of your thighs, and filled you with his cum, burying you to the root.

“Holy shit…”

“O-oh, god—“

Warmth spread thick inside of you, and you writhed and groaned as your hole swallowed another fat fill. Tom’s body goes slack, crashing into your arms immediately, and he moaned on each slow thrust, creaming you from the inside and out. You strained toward him in desperation, wrapping your legs around his hips to lock him in place, and reaching over to his ass to push him deeper, to urge him to keep breeding you as your hole held Tom’s sensitive cock with gratitude, taking his thick seed without hesitation, until his cock veins stopped pulsating.

As promised, Tom kept you impaled, rocking his hips and kissing you once more, soft and passionate, something of him owing you one laced in the way he smooched your lips and refused to let you reciprocate—because Tom never came like that before. His hand was tender on your cheek, stroking the dried stain of drool that was left abandoned when he pulled away to look at you, properly this time. You sighed, brushing the snapback off his head to let his scalp breathe, and pulled him in at the introduction of a sudden draft, your legs still anchored by his hips.

You lay intertwined, sharing deep kisses in between moments of recovery, where the post-nut clarity rendered you and Tom into fit of collective shy laughter, incredulous to the affair both of you had just engaged in.

“So, you live on campus?”

“Oh—yeah. East side, near Turing…”

“Figured you’d be a science guy. Anyways, I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Give me your phone.”

“Pick me up? For what?”

“Christ. Did I fuck the memory out of you or something? Bid day’s tomorrow. It gets hectic, so I think it’ll be better if you stick with me.”

“Won’t that… be suspicious?”

“Nah. Plus, I figured we’d get an early start on your initiation…”

“You mean—“

“Fuck, yeah.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 8•\

Former and further chapters here.

You (fem!reader) and Johnny and Simon watch a movie. CW: Fingering, handjobs, cum-eating. For @/laughroditee.

-

Sharing a bathroom with Johnny and Simon turns out to be a lot more invasive than you expected. 

It's not actually the bathroom that’s the invasive part. That is no more invasive than sharing any public space, really. You’re a little more secretive with your tampons, and they’re likely a little more stringent in their efforts to clean up after themselves. Even-Steven and all that. You’re all very careful to never even so much as knock when the door is closed, lest you disturb the person within. 

The worst part is that the bathroom can only be accessed through your bedroom. 

You had envisioned (somehow, sillily) that they would only need the bathroom during daylight hours, and likely when you weren’t home. You trusted them not to go through your belongings, but it felt so personal for Johnny to knock on your door and ask to piss when you’re dressed in your skimpy relaxing clothes (the ones you don’t even subject the rest of the apartment to). 

It felt even more personal to wake up in the night to the water running and catch Simon coming out of the bathroom twenty minutes later with dripping hair in nothing but one of his compression t-shirts and boxer-briefs. The two of you freeze at the sight of the other. He jerks a thumb toward the shower, like that explains everything. You hold up a sleepy thumbs-up, though you’re decidedly less sleepy than you were twenty minutes before you were given a front row seat to just how thick Simon’s thighs are. 

Laying in bed, smelling the steam and scent of Simon’s body wash waft gently from the bathroom, if you roll over onto your belly and slip a hand down your panties, nobody ever has to know. 

Except that’s a problem too. Your time for dedicated masturbating (not the frantic, haphazard rubbing-one-out that you’ve taken to since the other bathroom flooded) has decreased dramatically. Before, you would have felt no guilt locking the door and taking care of your own needs—but now just beyond your door was an intrinsic piece of the apartment. You couldn’t just lock your roommates out and tell Johnny or Simon to come back later. You had to be accessible.  It was a nightmare. 

Johnny was the opposite of a help. He was happy to let you rub against his cock (and more than once you’d come to one of those superficial, limb-tingling orgasms) but he was masterful at distracting you from asking for more. 

It led to some stressful days. 

Today was a bad pain day for Johnny, which had turned him sullen and taciturn. He spent most of the day stationed on the couch (finding every excuse to avoid standing up) and in charge of the remote control. It didn’t help that repairs were being done to the bathroom today, with strangers filtering in and out of the apartment. Simon hadn’t been able to go out on a single run, and you could tell that he was drawn tense as a bowstring. 

You made it a personal mission to remain in your bedroom during the repairs, anxious at the strange men in the apartment and the tense feelings tangible in the air. 

By the time dinner rolls around and the repair people are gone, you are eager to be outside of your own four walls. You can’t help craving Johnny and Simon’s company—or any company really, after an entire day spent listening to drills and hammering, feeling trapped thanks to your own social anxiety. Simon helps Johnny to the balcony and lets him smoke, the tension in his shoulders melting away some. By the time dinner rolls around, Johnny is in a better mood, and starving. 

All three of you eat at the sofa instead of the table, brushing elbows and thighs and trying not to make messes of yourselves. A cool breeze comes in with the evening, and Simon stands to shut the balcony doors. 

“Sit with me?” Johnny asks, spreading his thighs. 

You frown. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Then be gentle to me, aye?” 

You sit with your back against his chest, his arms looped around you. “Jesus, yer freezing.” 

“You’re warm,” you murmur, pressing yourself more firmly against him, careful not to jostle his bad thigh. Simon takes a seat at the other end of the couch and you meet his eye accidentally—but he doesn’t look angry. There’s something surprisingly tender and fond in his gaze. He overhears your conversation and drags the duvet off the back of the couch, laying it over you both. Immediately you are swathed in warmth, melting deeper against Johnny. You loop your arms through his, keeping them wrapped securely around you. 

The three of you get sucked into a movie on the television—some of you more than others. 

It’s hard for you to focus on anything besides Johnny and the ache between your legs. Being so close to him has awoken it, stoked it from embers into a deep burn. It doesn’t help when one of his hands drifts down to grip your thigh softly, thumb stroking dangerously high on the inseam of your leggings. 

Your thighs inch open a little, hoping you can pass it off as just getting comfortable, but Johnny seems to take no notice at all, his eyes glued to the television screen. Sometimes he makes a comment to Simon about the plot, and the other man will hum in agreement. 

His other hand gets restless and slips beneath the hem of your t-shirt to rest against your belly, calloused fingertips trailing softly over smooth skin. Something must give you away—a sound or a movement—because his lips brush your ear as he whispers: “Okay?” 

You nod, not trusting your voice. You’re okay. You’re dying, but it’s fine. His thumb finds the crease of your pelvis and traces along it. You’re so sticky between your thighs that you’re sure you could hear it if you shifted too much. Something about his distracted touches make you feel combustible, like C4 in his hands. 

Johnny’s hand on your belly drifts up—you catch it with your hand. 

“‘M not wearing a bra,” you mutter. 

He snorts softly, breath ruffling your hair. “Trust me. I know,” he says. Then his thumb brushes the full softness of your breast. “Been thinking about it all night.”

“Do you two mind?” Simon says dryly, popping the soap bubble of arousal that Johnny had created around you both. You tense, shame in your belly. How horny did you have to be to be willing to let Johnny touch you on the same couch Simon was sitting on?  

“Sorry,” you mutter. 

Johnny nails him with a throw pillow in the chest, asking: “Do you mind?” 

Simon’s head turns away from the telly, the pillow resting innocuously in his lap. He’s got the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen, nearly black in the dim light. The television lights up the edge of him, throwing his features into sharp, harsh light. 

“No,” he says at length. “Play wherever you want.”

The three of you turn back toward the movie, not a single set of eyes truly watching it. With Simon’s explicit permission, Johnny’s hand comes up to cup your breast softly, thumb stroking over your puckered nipple. A sound slips from your throat—you can’t help it. 

“Pent up?” Johnny asks. You can hear the grin in his voice. 

“Be nice to me,” you mumble. 

Simon snorts softly at the other end of the sofa. Then Johnny pinches your nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger, and the pleasant ache goes straight to your clit. 

“Fuck,” you sigh. 

“Like it?” he asks. 

You nod. 

“Want more?” Your head nearly disconnects with the force of your nod. If he doesn’t touch you, you might go mad. Merciless, Johnny says: “Ask for it, and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallow, mouth dry. “Johnny…”

He hums. 

You turn your head a little, til you can see him out of the periphery of your vision. It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask for him to touch you, to kiss you maybe. But instead something more honest comes: “Johnny—do whatever you want to me.” 

 Johnny groans, burying his face in your hair. “You hearin’ her, LT?” 

“I hear.”

“Sweet as can fuckin’ be,” Johnny says, pressing the words to the soft skin beneath your ear. “Stay that sweet, no matter what I do, aye? Now watch the movie.”

You turn your eyes back to the television. It’s just a conglomeration of color and shapes that your eyes follow, but your brain doesn’t register a lick of what’s happening. All you can think about are Johnny’s hands, the way they cup your breasts. He touches you like you’re something precious, something friable and likely to come undone if he presses too firmly. He hums, a pleased little sound in the back of his throat and rolls your nipples between his fingers. 

Your thoughts leak out of your ears the longer that he toys with your body. It’s hard to sit still with how bad you need something in your pussy—you’re so turned on that it hurts. Against your back you can feel the solid line of his erection and you wish that you were in a position to get your hands on him, to map the shape of him beneath his sweatpants. 

When your mouth is dry from panting, your hands aching from the way your nails have bitten into your palms, Johnny finally smooths a hand down your tummy and cups your pussy over your leggings., your cunt a match for the burning heat of his palm. 

“Stop me if you don’t want it,” he says, coming to slip his fingertips beneath the waistband of your panties. 

“I want it—Johnny please—“ 

Simon shifts on the couch beside you both, and it draws your eyes to him, your face burning hot. He isn’t even looking at you, is instead staring at the television with a bored expression. At your movement, his eyes flicker to meet your own, and his mouth quirks at the edge. Against your will, your eyes shift down to where his cock would be visible— 

His knuckles are pale where he clenches a hold of the throw pillow in his lap. He flexes his fingers when he catches you looking, working the circulation back into them, but it’s too late to hide. Simon isn’t unaffected by this—you’d swear that he was turned on too, and the thought makes the last little whisper in your head (the one that says this is nogoodbadwrong) quiet. 

Johnny slips his hand into your underwear and finds you soaked, the fabric sodden where it drags along the back of his fingers. His cock twitches against your back. 

“Fuck, y’re wet,” he groans. “Just from having your tits played with?”

“It counts as foreplay for a reason.”

Johnny laughs, breath brushing your temple. His fingers sink into your folds before you can say anything else, stroking deep along the length of your sex which is so tender it feels like a blissful bruise. Your hips jerk upward into the touch, and his fingertips nearly slip inside you. Instead he tempers his movements, careful to follow along with the motion of your hips to keep from giving you any more stimulation than he’s ready to.

“Easy,” he breathes. “Relax—just let me play with you.”

I’ve had enough playing, you think to yourself, eyes rolling. But you work to loosen your death grip on the blankets around you, work to relax your hips until they rest back against Johnny’s cock again. 

He plays with you like this: the lightest brush of his fingertips along your vulva, spreading your wetness all over you. Sometimes his thumb will find your clit and stroke over it, but more often than not he avoids it altogether, content to play with the rest of your pussy, to coax more slick from it until his every touch is audible over the sound of the television. 

Simon must surely hear it. The thought makes you clench around nothing, an unhappy sound rising up in the back of your throat. 

Eventually, something happens to you—something breaks in you, maybe. You go soft and pliant against him, your hips still even when he slips two fingers inside you easy as anything, stroking along your walls as best as he can from this angle. Your noises are louder, too, like the muffler dampening them has rusted and worn away. When he sinks inside you, you let out a groan that has Johnny laughing softly against you. 

“Oh, she’s hungry, isn’t she? You’ve been starvin’ her, haven’t you?” 

He’s talking about your pussy. Jesus. 

“Haven’t,” you pant. “Not on purpose, I—“ 

Johnny just hushes you softly. “It’s alright. Bet you need it so bad, it hurts, don’t you?” 

You nod against his chest, tears filling your eyes, this foggy headspace amplifying your own emotions like an echo chamber. 

“I’ll make it all better,” Johnny promises. He slips his fingers free from you and drags the burning, wet warmth of them up over your clit. 

Just a few firm circles, and you’re climbing that peak, the cord in your belly drawn tighter and tighter until it snaps and sends you free falling, your back arching against Johnny’s chest. Frantic, you reach down and grip his wrist, urging his fingers lower until they slip back inside you, filling you up just right as you clench and spasm around them. The meaty part of his palm rubs against your clit and it’s enough to make you cum again before you’ve properly finished the first time, a choked gasp born and dying in your mouth as he fucks you through it with his fingers. 

Your body goes limp against him. This, this is what you needed.

Awareness filters back, your fingers cramping with the strength you use to grip Johnny’s wrist. You let him go, muttering a sorry. You admit: “It feels better to cum when there’s something inside me.” 

“I’ll remember that,” he says, voice rough. He nuzzles against your temple. Carefully, he withdraws his hand from inside your panties and holds it up to the light; he is slick all over from palm to fingertip. Fuzzy headspace gone, you have plenty of room inside now for embarrassment, your face warming as you bury it in your hands. “Jesus, make me still. You made a mess of me. Who gets them?” 

“Who—? Gets what?” 

He wiggles his fingers. You pull a face. 

“Don’t like the taste of yourself?” Johnny asks mildly. 

“Never tried it I guess,” you admit. Is that a silly thing? That you’ve never tasted your own cum? You wish you hadn’t admitted it, anxious about looking like a prude (which you are anything but, thanks. See the casual sex with your married roommate for more information) but Johnny just brushes over it like it’s nothing. 

“Would you like to?” Johnny asks. It’s on the tip of your tongue to say no, but at the last moment you decide what the hell. You open your mouth, and obligingly, Johnny feeds his first two fingers past your lips to let them rest on your tongue. It doesn’t really taste like anything—clean, a hint of musk. Feminine. Not at all what you had expected. You take Johnny’s wrist when he goes to pull away and lick his palm clean, relishing in his stuttered breath. “Converted you, didn’t I?”

“I think I converted myself, thanks.” Speaking of thanks—you toss the blanket off of you both and slip down to the floor at Johnny’s feet, turning around to rest your hands gently on his knees, hyper aware of his bad thigh. Johnny’s cock stretches his sweatpants obscenely, the fabric darkened around the head from how much he had been leaking pressed against your back. “Let me return the favor.” 

“It’s not about being reciprocal,” Johnny says smoothly. 

“Big word, Johnny,” Simon says. It makes you jolt. You had nearly forgotten that he was there—he is so quiet and still, unmoving on the other end of the sofa. God, he had watched you lick Johnny’s hand clean. The thought makes your face flush with warmth, though he seems cool and calm as anything, not repulsed like you might have expected. 

“I know a few, aye,” Johnny says, eyes rolling. He admits to you: “Math is my strong suit.” 

“Well, subtract your pants.” 

Johnny guffaws. It takes him work, wincing as pressure is placed on his bad thigh, but eventually he is able to draw his cock free, and fuck, what a cock it is. He’s uncut, thick. Just looking at him, you can tell that the stretch of him inside you would be blissful. It’s almost enough to have you aching again between the legs. 

You reach out and then hesitate. “Can I?”

“‘course you can,” he says. “Don’t take this as any representation of my stamina, I’ll have you know—“ 

“Tighter.” 

You both glance towards Simon. He’s loosened his grip on the throw pillow, though it still rests in his lap. He’s abandoned any facade of watching the television and has angled his body towards you where your hand looks downright dainty wrapped around Johnny’s cock. 

“What?” you ask him, unsure if you heard him correctly. 

He wets his lips and says: “Johnny likes a firm grip.” 

Your hand tightens, reflexively responding to the instruction, and Johnny groans above you. Precum leaks from the head, dripping down over your knuckles. 

“That’s it,” Simon says softly. “Good. Go ahead.” 

Maybe that ache between your legs wasn’t as gone as you had thought. Grip firm, you give Johnny a single, slick stroke from head to base, and it has his head lolling back against the couch cushions, his groan echoing around the apartment. 

“Don’t team up against me,” Johnny breathes. “Please, I already don’t stand a chance.” 

“Twist on the upstroke, if your wrist can manage it,” Simon says, eyes glittering as he watches your hand work over his husband. “Just like that—keep doing just that and—” 

Johnny sucks in a breath, wrenching the hem of his t-shirt up just as his cock bursts, pale seed splattering his tanned abs as his face twists with pleasure, eyes screwed tightly shut. His hips jerk upward on instinct until he hisses out a pained breath, and Simon shifts to reach out and place his broad palm over Johnny’s bare sternum, urging him into stillness as you work every last bit of cum from his cock. 

“Jesus,” he groans, palming at his eyes when you have finished. 

“Your turn,” you tease, holding up two sticky fingers to Johnny’s mouth. 

Johnny laughs. He takes your wrist—guides it towards Simon. 

You expect Simon to refuse—not because of Johnny’s cum, but because of your fingers. Simon looks like he thinks about refusing, his eyes careful as he looks over your hand and then your face, examining the slope of your brows, the raised corners of your mouth even as it likely slips into an anxious frown. He takes your wrist gently and brings your fingers to his mouth. His tongue is burning hot where it laps between your fingers. 

You stare, wide-eyed. 

Simon doesn’t stop until your hand is clean. 

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Reckless Sins

Summary - Their inability to see eye to eye often leads to arguments and mutual disdain, frequently escalating into reckless intimacy as both are eager to dominate and assert control, but what happens when, one day, they are caught in the act?

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!), getting caught in the act, strong language

Word count - 2416

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"We must act," Jace declared, his voice urgent and eyes burning with intensity. 

Rhaenyra shot him a stern look, her expression a mask of restrained frustration. The war had ignited fierce disputes within the family, but their bond somehow endured the strain.

"We cannot be hasty," I interjected, siding with Rhaenyra. Jace rolled his eyes, the exasperation evident in his demeanour.

"You always find a way to oppose me," he retorted, his tone dripping with irritation. I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to back down.

"I simply wish to make you see reason," I replied calmly. 

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, the weight of the day's bickering visibly wearing on her. Without another word, she exited the council room, leaving Jace and me alone in the cavernous space, the tension between us palpable.

As the heavy door closed behind her, Jace turned to face me fully, his expression hardening. 

"Do you take pleasure in contradicting me at every turn?" he demanded.

I met his gaze steadily. "I take no pleasure in it, Jace but someone must temper your impulsiveness with caution."

His jaw tightened, the muscles working as he struggled to contain his anger. "And you believe you're the one to do that?"

"Yes," I replied firmly. "Because I care about the outcome of this war just as much as you do, and I refuse to see us make reckless decisions that could cost us everything."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the air thick with unresolved conflict. His eyes bore into mine, sharp and unyielding.

"You're insufferable," he spat, stepping closer, his chest heaving with frustration.

"And you're impossible," I shot back, my breath quickening.

We stood inches apart, the heat between us almost tangible. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Why do you always have to challenge me?"

"Because you need to be challenged," I snapped, stepping even closer until we were nearly touching. "You're too reckless, too impulsive."

"And you're too stubborn," he growled, his breath hot on my face.

The tension reached a boiling point. Without thinking, we lunged at each other, mouths crashing together in a fervent kiss. It was fierce, hungry, fueled by all the pent-up anger and passion we had in us. Our hands roamed urgently, fingers digging into flesh as we battled for dominance.

We stumbled back, knocking over a chair in our frantic embrace. His lips trailed down my neck, and I gasped, pulling him closer. 

The world outside ceased to exist, there was only the heat of our bodies and the desperate need to consume each other.

His hands slid under my dress, the touch igniting a fire beneath my skin. I arched into him, our movements becoming more frenzied. We tore at each other's clothes, driven by a primal urge that overrode all reason.

His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto mine. "You drive me mad," he breathed.

"Then stop resisting," I whispered, pulling him closer.

In that moment, the line between love and hate blurred, consumed by the inferno of our desire.

He grabbed me by the waist, lifting me onto the council table sweeping away the papers and pawns scattered across it.

Looking down at me with a smirk, he teased me, trailing his tip against my entrance and relishing the effect it had on me. 

"Stop," I warned, but he only grinned, pushing himself into me. He began thrusting, his hands gripping my hips, moving me in time with his powerful movements.

"Fuck," he groaned, eyes closing as pleasure filled him. "You feel so good, no matter how many times I fuck you," he said, and I moaned softly.

"Jace," his name escaped my lips like a prayer.

"Yeah, that's it," he encouraged, savouring the sounds escaping my mouth as they echoed through the room. 

His rhythm increased, thrusts turning into relentless pounds, each movement filled with the raw intensity of our conflict and desire.

"Fuck all of them," he muttered, burying his head into my chest. "Fuck the usurper and fuck his kinslayer brother," he continued, his movements becoming sloppy as his rage consumed him. 

His hands tightened on my hips, fingers digging in as he drove deeper, the mix of anger and lust fueling his every motion.

The room filled with the sounds of our passion, the slap of skin against skin, the ragged breaths, and the mingled moans of two people lost in their own storm.

His teeth grazed my neck, sending shivers down my spine as he bit down, marking me. His hand slipped between us, finding that sensitive spot and rubbing circles that sent me spiralling.

"Jace, I'm close," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the chaos of our desire. He took my face in his hand, forcing me to look at him.

"No," he said firmly, and I frowned, frustrated. "I'm not done with you." 

He pulled out of me as abruptly as he had entered, leaving me whimpering at the sudden loss, a slight ache forming between my legs.

"Asshole," I murmured, and he smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Such a filthy mouth," he mocked, and I rolled my eyes, sitting up.

"Touch yourself," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. I shook my head defiantly and he shrugged, settling into a chair opposite me. He began stroking his cock, never breaking eye contact.

"Do it," he insisted, and I sighed, finally bringing one hand down between my legs and the other to one of my breasts, massaging and pinching periodically.

"That's it," he encouraged, quickening his movements as I threw my head back in pleasure. Our soft moans and groans reverberated through the room as we pleasured ourselves, each sound heightening the intensity.

"Gods," I whimpered, my hips bucked against my hand, my movements becoming frantic as I chased my release. His eyes burned into me, his own pleasure evident in the way his body tensed, his strokes becoming erratic.

The sound of clattering made me look up, and Jace approached me swiftly, grabbing my hand to stop my movements. "Fuck," I cussed, frustration bubbling over as he leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"I never told you to cum," he said, his voice low and commanding. I glanced down at his length, twitching and strained, noting with satisfaction that he hadn't let himself go either.

"That's my job," he growled, thrusting into me again. I sighed at the exquisite feeling of him filling me once more.

"I love it when I piss you off," I said, my fingers tangling in his curly locks.

"You infuriate me," he corrected, his voice a mix of anger and desire.

I laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. "Then why can't you stay away?"

His response was a deep, primal thrust that made me cry out. "Because you're the only one who can match my fire," he said, his pace quickening.

Our bodies moved together with a reckless urgency, every thrust, every touch driven by the volatile mix of our emotions. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer with each powerful motion. 

"You're impossible," I gasped, arching into him, my nails scraping down his back.

"And you're insufferable," he shot back, but his voice was hoarse, tinged with something deeper.

Our breaths came faster, mingling with the fervent sounds of our passion. His movements became frantic, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. "Jace," I moaned, my body trembling.

"Not yet," he commanded, though his own control was slipping. His rhythm grew erratic, driven by a desperate need. "Together," he growled, his eyes locking onto mine.

With a final, shuddering thrust, we found our release, our cries of pleasure mingling in the heated air

We collapsed together, breathing hard, the weight of what had just happened settling over us. The council room, once a place of strategy and war, had become a battlefield of a different kind, our bodies the only weapons we needed. 

As our breathing slowed and the sweat cooled on our skin, the reality of our situation returned.

"Clean up your mess," I said, leaning back on my elbows with a smirk. "Before someone walks in and finds the heir face-deep between my legs."

He shot me a look as he began putting his pants back on. "Our mess," he corrected, straightening the chair we had knocked over.

I hummed in response, sitting up fully and spreading my legs provocatively. "Clean it," I commanded, my voice low and taunting.

His eyes flickered with hunger, a predatory gleam lighting up his face. "You're stubborn," he said, approaching me once more.

"I've been told," I replied, my voice a purr as his face dipped between my legs. His tongue lapped at the mess we had created, each stroke sending shivers of pleasure through me.

I moaned softly, my fingers threading through his hair, guiding him as he worked. The heat between us reignited, our bodies responding to each other with the same intensity as before. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open as he continued his ministrations, the sensation driving me to the edge once more.

Just as I was about to lose myself in the moment again, the unmistakable sound of the door creaking open cut through the haze of passion. Panic surged through us both.

"Shit," Jace muttered, pulling away quickly and scrambling to his feet.

"Give me my dress," I hissed, urgency lacing my voice. He bent down quickly, searching the floor, but we were unsuccessful in our frantic efforts to cover me up.

"What do we have here?" Daemon's voice rang out, an amused smirk on his face as he took in the scene. Jace immediately stood in front of me, shielding my body from view.

"What are you doing, little prince?" Daemon asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"We were just..." Jace began, taking a step forward, but I grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back in front of me.

"I'm still naked," I shrieked in his ear, my voice a desperate whisper. He looked back at me, panic evident in his eyes.

"It's not what it looks like," I stumbled out, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. 

Daemon laughed shaking his head, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, I think it's exactly what it looks like," he said, taking a few steps closer. "But don't stop on my account."

"What?" Jace asked his voice a mixture of confusion and alarm.

"Go on," Daemon said, gesturing toward me with a lazy wave of his hand. "Make sure you do a good job. I wouldn't want to report that the heir of the kingdom doesn't know how to please a lady."

I could see the hesitation in Jace's eyes, the conflict between his duty and his desire. He glanced at me, his face a mask of uncertainty.

"Now," Daemon commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

With a deep breath, Jace turned back to me, his eyes filled with renewed determination. He sank to his knees, his hands spreading my thighs once more as his mouth descended to my centre.

The embarrassment of Daemon's presence mixed with the raw pleasure of Jace's tongue, creating a heady, intoxicating sensation. My fingers tangled in Jace's hair, guiding him as he worked, my moans growing louder with each passing second.

"That's more like it," Daemon remarked, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched. "Don't be shy now. Let him know how he's doing."

I threw my head back, a loud moan escaping my lips as Jace's tongue found a particularly sensitive spot. The thrill of being watched only heightened my pleasure, pushing me closer to the edge.

"Good girl," Daemon purred, his voice low and encouraging. "Show him how much you enjoy it."

The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, each touch, and each sound amplifying the pleasure coursing through me. I was teetering on the brink, my body trembling with the effort to hold back.

"Don't hold back," Daemon commanded, his voice a seductive whisper. "Let go."

With a final cry of ecstasy, I did as he said, my release crashing over me like a tidal wave. Jace continued his efforts, prolonging my pleasure until I was spent, collapsing back against the table.

"Well done," Daemon said, a satisfied smirk on his face as he straightened up. "Now, clean up your mess, both of you. We wouldn't want anyone else stumbling upon this little scene, would we?"

As Daemon turned to leave, his laughter echoed in the hallway. We exchanged a glance, the reality of our situation sinking in. This was a dangerous game we were playing, but the thrill of it was impossible to resist.

Jace turned back to me, exhaling heavily. I slapped his chest in frustration. "Ow," he mumbled, rubbing the spot I had just hit.

"Give me my dress," I demanded. He quickly found the discarded garment and handed it to me. I slipped it on, hopping off the council table as I adjusted the fabric.

"This is your fault," he muttered, irritation in his voice.

"My fault?" I retorted, incredulous.

"You're the one who wanted me to clean my mess," he pointed out as we began picking up the scattered papers and pawns.

"I didn't mean," I snapped. "You're the one who couldn't control himself."

"Neither could you," he shot back. "Don't act like you weren't just as involved."

"Oh, please," I scoffed, shaking my head as I tossed papers back onto the table.

Jace rolled his eyes. "Look, maybe we both lost control, but what about Daemon?"

I froze, the weight of his words hitting me. "Daemon saw... oh, gods, he saw my—" I buried my head in my hands. 

Jace chuckled, the sound a mix of relief and amusement.

I looked up at him, mortified. "So now what?"

"Now we get out of here before anyone else catches us," he said, giving me a squeeze.

As we walked out of the council room, Jace's arm around my shoulders felt oddly comforting. We moved quickly, our footsteps echoing through the empty corridors.

"I can't believe Daemon saw—" I started, but Jace cut me off with a smirk.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Daemon's got bigger things to worry about, I certainly don't think he disapproved."

"I'm still mortified," I muttered. "What if he tells someone?"

"Let him," Jace shrugged. "If anything, it might remind us to be more careful next time."

"Next time? You think I'm letting this happen again?"

He laughed. "Well, if Daemon's reaction was any indication, maybe we'll have to be more creative. Or, just a little more discreet."

I couldn't help but smile. As we reached the end of the corridor, we parted ways, the tension between us temporarily eased by our shared laughter.

For a moment, the war outside was forgotten, replaced by the war we fought with each other, a war that ended, at least for now, in a fierce and reckless truce.

A/n - This is VERY different from my usual style, so I’m extremely nervous to share it. I spent an absurd amount of time writing it because I kept second-guessing myself, but I really hope it doesn’t disappoint!! 

[qqueenofhades]

i registered to vote for the first time ( i feel old) now that im an adult but my state has closed primary elections which i was wondering if you have an opinion about. my initial thought was that its bad because i had to register democrat (rather than my states green party which represents my beliefs more) just so i could vote between democrat candidates, which feels like being pressured into supporting the weird pseudo two party system we have. but then i looked it up and apparently a reason for this is so that people from opposing parties wont purposefully mess up the votes just so that their preferred candidates have an easier time winning, and i think that makes sense too. but is that actually the reason theyve closed it or is it just to force us dem/republican?? cause it feels strange

Okay, look. I respect the fact that you're a young person, and I appreciate that you have not only registered to vote, but plan to vote in the primaries, so I don't want to lecture you too much. That said: I am taking you out for coffee, I am sitting you down, I am looking into your eyes, and I am urgently telling you the following:

The Green Party is a scam. It is a scam. It has existed for decades in American politics as an empty shell corporation weaponizing the good intentions of young people like yourself, because all it theoretically stands for "it's good to save the planet maybe." Which is not something that any non-insane person seriously disagrees with, but there is no world in which that cause is actually furthered by registering/voting Green (you mentioned that you did vote for Democrats, which -- good, but listen to me here, youngun, okay?) It ran Jill Stein in 2016 to siphon more votes from HRC, and this election it plans to run Cornel West, a pro-Russian tankie who positively equated Bernie and Trump, as another spoiler candidate. It does not stand for "protecting the planet" or America in any real way. It has never elected a single senator or congressman, let alone a president. It stands for empty performance/grievance political theater by those people who feel too morally superior to vote for/affiliate with Democrats, often because the internet has told them that it's not Cool or Hip or Progressive enough.

If your main priority is climate/the environment, you're doing the right thing by registering as a Democrat and voting for Democrats. (Also: the adjectival form is Democratic. It is the Democratic party and Democratic candidates, otherwise you sound like the Fox News host who wrote a book literally entitled "The Democrat Party Hates America.") They are the only major party who has in fact passed major climate legislation and have made environmental justice a central tenet of their platform. As opposed to the Republicans, whose Project 2025, along with the rest of its nightmare fascist prescriptions, openly pledges to completely wreck existing climate protections and forbid any new ones, just because we weren't all dying fast enough under their death-cult rule already. That's the main logical fallacy I don't get among both the Online Leftists and the American electorate in general: "the Democrats aren't doing quite enough as I'd like, so I'll enable the active wrecking ball insane lunatics to get in power and ruin even the progress we HAVE managed to make!" Like. How does that even make sense?

On a federal level, the Greens have contributed nothing whatsoever of tangible value to American or international climate policy/legislation, environmental justice, or anything else, because as noted, they don't have any elected candidates and mostly focus on drawing voters away from Democrats. There might be plenty of good candidates on the local or city level, which -- great! Vote away for Greens if they're available, or the only other option is a Republican! But on the federal/primary level, please understand: once again, they are a scam. There is no point in affiliating yourself with them. You're welcome to register Green and vote Democratic, if that makes you feel better or if you prefer having another label next to your name, but once again, I'm telling you in my position as a salty Tumblr elder that they have done nothing but harm to the causes they claim to care about, because "environment" is such a nebulous priority and has demonstrably been hijacked to stop the American government entity, i.e. the Democrats, that is actually working to improve on it.

As for your question: nobody is "forcing" or "pressuring" you to vote in primaries. By your own admission, you made a conscious choice to register as a Democrat in order to vote for Democratic candidates. If you were just a regular registered voter of whatever party affiliation, you would vote in the general election for whatever candidate the primary process produced. But if you are sufficiently vested and committed to that process that you would like to have a say in who is running under that party label, it is not unreasonable that you would register as a member of that party. Nobody has twisted your arm behind your back and made you do so; you are taking a considerable level of initiative on your own. Likewise, open primaries can be both a good and bad thing. This falls under the "the political system we have is flawed, but we can't magically pretend it doesn't exist and act according to our own fantasyland versions of reality" thing that I keep saying over and over. So yes, if you want a role in shaping the Democratic candidates who emerge from a Democratic primary process, you will usually register as a Democrat, and nobody has forced you to do that. It's that simple.

Likewise as a general programming note: I'm trying to cut back on politics a bit right now, because I don't have the spoons/bandwidth/mental health to deal with it. I apologize. So if you've sent me a politics-related ask recently and haven't received a response, I'm not deliberately or maliciously ignoring you; I just am not able to handle it as much as usual and will have to put it on pause. However, I feel as if this is important enough to be worth saying, so, yeah.

[earthtooz]

x : LOVIN' YOU RIGHT :*+ﾟ all of me i'm offering, show you what devotion is !

in which: reo keeps chasing after you because the one thing he knows how to do is love you right.

warnings: 2.2k words, FLUFF, gn!reader, reo is an athlete, post-argument fic inspired by jungkook's 'seven' mv, mentions of food, pet names used by reader and reo, reo is a little bit of a flirt and a lot in love and pathetic bc that's how we like our men!

a/n: I LOVE REO

“what are you doing here?” 

reo looks at the direction of your voice, eyes widening in surprise upon seeing you. there are grocery bags in your hands, you’re wearing the sweater you always wear when running errands, and you’re looking at him like he’s a fly that’s invaded your home, annoyance and exasperation seeping right off you. despite it, his heart flutters alive and reo feels like he can finally breathe after the few days you spent ignoring him. 

“y/n!” he exclaims, a smile making its way onto his face. “hi baby, i’ve missed you!”

just as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, you swerve aside smoothly, causing the purple-haired’s smile to drop.

“y/n? what was that for?” you don’t answer him, instead slipping past his figure to stand in front of your door, perhaps pressing a little too close for it to be normal, but reo keeps quiet about it. “at least let me help you with your groceries, you can’t unlock a door with both hands-”

“don’t.” you command, struggling with getting your keys out. “why are you here?” 

“wh-what do you mean? i haven’t seen you in three days and i missed you so i came to visit,” he pouts. “did you not miss me?” 

your eye twitches. “i’m still mad at you,” you finally unlock your door, pushing it open and closing it before reo could come in. 

however, that plan is much easier said than done because your boyfriend has better reflexes and is considerably faster than you, so he jams his shoe in between the doorway before you could close it. he makes no move to push it open though. 

“i’m sorry!” he calls out guiltily and he hopes his words reach you through the thin space. “you know i am, i didn’t mean to upset you, and i came to talk it out and make it up to you!”

you peek through the gap, looking reo in the eye. “as much as i appreciate your apology reo, there’s no point in letting you in, i need to go run some errands soon so why don’t you leave and come back later when we can talk.”

“then can i come with you?”

“why? you’re just going to be bored following me around.”

“i’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you allowed me.” 

the silence is deafening, utterly suffocating as reo awaits for a response. he has never wanted to kick down a door so badly in his life because if you spend another millisecond not speaking to him then he might lose his mind, he’d rather die than have you shut him out. 

thankfully, you open up the gap just a little more, allowing him to see more of you, but you don’t meet his eye, looking to the side bashfully instead. “fine, but i’m still mad at you, so don’t get any ideas.”

heaven is on his side, reo decides as he fails miserably at hiding his smile.

“you wait outside though, i’ll be out in a bit.”

“wait, can’t i help you put your groceries away?”

“you don’t even know how to do it properly.”

“i’ll learn for you.”

“another time.”

reo retracts his foot and you close the door with a gentle click, the sight of you being replaced with a wooden plank souring his mood significantly. better than you slamming the door in his face, he supposes, but nevertheless, the purple-haired sighs, moping in front of your door like it was his birthright. 

he only broods for a few minutes maximum because soon enough, he’s reunited with you, trailing behind you like a second shadow as you both make your way through your neighbourhood. the excitement that reo feels practically tangible, leaving a trail of undying devotion, powered by the love he feels for you.

the walk is quiet, filled by sounds of passing cars, birds chirping, and people strolling by that stare a little too long at the purple-haired, either subtly admiring him or wondering why he seemed so familiar. you’re acutely aware of the stares and how strange the sight must be to them. world-class soccer player and multimillionaire trailing behind a nobody as if it was just another day, how unfathomable. 

you wonder if reo gets tired of it.

“what are you doing today?” your boyfriend asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“i need to drop by the bank first of all, then i have some things to return, and then i need to buy some new headphones because mine broke.”

“oh, good to know!”

“reo, i swear, don’t even get the idea about paying for any of it. use your credit card today and i will personally-”

“-okay, okay!” he jokes, defensively putting up his hands. “i won’t.”

“promise?”

“promise.”

you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion, very clearly not believing him before continuing your journey. you know your boyfriend better than anyone and if it’s one thing he’s stubborn with, it’s never letting you pay, but you’re determined and reo is plotting the many ways to break his promise. 

the first method is dropped in front of him like a divine gift, which took shape through a flower stall in front of the mall you planned on going to. reo is a man of taking his chances whenever he sees it. grabbing your hand to stop you from walking any further, reo doesn’t explain his intentions as he wordlessly drags you to the quaint store that had set itself up. 

“reo, no-”

“-this one, please,” reo demands as he hands the bouquet of his choice to the store owner, keeping you in a tight grip before you could run away. 

“reo!”

“that’ll be 7700 yen.”

“that’s too much! reo, stop it! i told you you couldn’t use your credit card today!”

from his pocket, reo fishes out a crisp ‘10000’ bill, dropping it on the platter for cash before speed walking away with the bouquet. “thank you very much, no need for change!”

the protests of the store attendant fades in the background and reo turns to you with a boyish smile, pushing the bouquet into your arms as if you hadn’t witnessed everything that just happened. 

“reo,” you murmur, resolve crumbling as the beautiful arrangement shines up at you and it doesn’t help that your (very charming) boyfriend is looking at you with a pleading look in his eyes, practically begging for you to accept. “i told you not to buy anything-”

“-with my card! you never said anything about cash.” 

“that’s not the point- oh my goodness,” you pinch the bridge of your nose whilst shaking your head, but you quickly admit defeat when a small giggle slips through your lips. 

glancing back up at him, there’s scorn in your eyes but it’s easily contrasted by the gentle smile that dances along your lips. reo feels a warmth spread in his chest, as if he had swallowed the sun and made itself home beside his heart, the same one that begins to race at the sight of you laughing. he is so pathetically devoted to you that it makes him stupid, but he’d buy all the flowers in the world if it will make you smile at him like this. 

“you’re so silly, reo,” taking the bouquet from his relaxed grip, you hug it close to your chest. “thank you though, i love them.”

“i love you,” slips past his lips before he can think.

“ever the smoothtalker, aren’t you?”

you walk away without another word, causing reo to chase after you. “wait, why aren’t you saying it back?”

“still mad.”

reo shuts his mouth, complaints dying on his tongue as he continues following you through the mall. slowly but surely, you make your way through your list of things to do, with the world-class athlete silently losing his mind more and more with each second that you weren’t giving him attention. he needs to plot more ways that would break your resolve, and fast.

his opportunity comes up when the two of you pass by a bakery that catches your eye, your gaze to lingering a little too long on the display of baked goods for reo not to notice. without a second thought, he drags you in with him, your immediate complaints falling on deaf ears. 

“i don’t want anything!” you hiss, trying to keep loyal your stubbornness despite the enchanting smell of baked goods wafting through the air.

“too bad, either you tell me what you want or i’m buying out the whole store,” reo promises, eyes alight with determination.

“i want to go home.”

“aren’t you hungry?”

“there’s food at home, i don’t want to waste any unnecessary money.” 

“it’s not wasting if it’s spent on you, though,” he reasons before ordering the baked goods that he knows you will like, and once again, paying for it with cash. 

“if you’re trying to get me to forgive you by spending your money then forget it,” you mutter, ripping your hand out of his grasp before walking out of the store.

“y/n-” reo begins, cutting himself off as he waits impatiently for his order to get finished packing; not that it takes long before he leaves the store with a branded paper bag in hand, filled with perhaps multiple boxes of baked goods as dashes out to the entrance, prepared to chase after you.

except he doesn’t need to, because you’re standing outside patiently waiting for him, the bouquet of flowers still snug in your arms. its beauty could never compare to yours, reo thinks offhandedly as he approaches you like a magnet. 

“i thought me walking out would deter you,” you murmur, eyeing the bag in his hand. “should’ve known that it wouldn’t work.” 

reo grins, partly out of adoration, mostly because he’s just glad you didn’t actually leave him behind, not that you ever would or could do such a thing. 

“you treat me too well, don’t you think?” you hug the flowers closer to your chest. 

“what? where did that come from?” 

you shrug, not meeting his eyes. “i don’t know, you’re just too good for me sometimes. aren’t you tired?”

a crack resonates through his heart, causing a few pieces to crumble and shatter on the ground. “how could you ever think that?” he says in a panic. “do i need to give you more flowers? i need to call to make you an arrangement soon, i’m so inconsiderate! we can go out next week, i’ll clear my sche-”

two hands are placed of either side of his face and the words die on reo’s tongue. you look at him with a look of fondness that almost makes him cry and fall to his knees. “-i’m sorry, i don’t know where that came from. i just think i got really lucky having someone like you in my life.” 

reo wants to say that its reverse, that he’s the one who landed in a pot of fortune and came out with someone as kind and beautiful as you, but he’ll find the words some other day because he wants to kiss you, badly. 

finally, you say, “thank you love, i appreciate your gifts.” 

he beams and falls harder in love than he already was.

by the time the two of you arrive at your apartment, the sun is beginning to dip belong the horizon and you hold a lot more goods than anticipated, your boyfriend being the one to blame for most of them.

“are you gonna call someone to drive you home?” you ask, stopping in front of your door.

reo frowns, “i guess i could do that.” 

he makes no move for his phone and his pout is a strong indication of what he truly wants. you’ve always been good at reading reo but you’ve never been good at resisting his wishes, so it’s with a faked sigh that you give in.

“fine,” you hold out your hand for him to take and he very happily complies, beaming with a hope so bright that it blinds you. “want to stay the night?”

he almost drops to one knee but doesn’t get the time to because you’re unlocking your door. this time, you’re leaving it open and reo storms in like its his birth right (which it could be. he thinks he was put on this earth to love you and being welcomed in to your apartment might as well be another declaration of love.)

its refreshing to be in your space once more, to bathe in your presence and be welcomed in instead of shut out. as much as you may scorn him, reo’s only place in the universe is beside you, and he’ll take whatever you give so long as it’s you he gets to see at the end of the day.

“reo!” you call out from the kitchen, disrupting his thoughts. “should we have some of those cakes you bought earlier?”

“yeah, i’m coming!” shouts reo, happy, content, and grateful that you will let him love you, because he’s the only one that could do it right.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[luveline]

hi jadey would you do something with r peeling an orange for peter even though he’s perfectly capable of doing it for himself but she wants to do acts of service for him ☹️🫶

There are some bad boyfriends out there. Guys who’d rather argue, who won’t walk their girls to the door, who never help with the dishes. There are losers who expect things after they pay for dinner, and never say please. 

Peter Parker is the polar opposite of all those men. Peter Parker gets home from a long day at work and a short shift as his crime-fighting alter ego and makes you a hot chocolate without asking how many marshmallows you want. “Hello,” he says, kissing you behind the ear as he comes around you from behind, the hot chocolate set carefully next to your laptop. “Did you hear me come in, or are you ignoring me?” 

The former, for sure. You beam to yourself and twist in his hold to meet his eyes, brown and wide where they take you in. “Hello!” you say, not shouting, but certainly not whispering either. “I never hear you. You’re a cheater.” 

“You have ears,” he says. 

“And I choose not to use them.” 

“You okay?” He gives your shoulder a concerned rub. When you nod, it turns to a quicker, softer patting. “Okay. I’m gonna make dinner, yeah? I’m starving.” 

He’s strange in that he says ‘starving’ like he’s excited about the feeling. You nod and he nods back, tangible affection in the air between you before he presses his nose to your forehead and leaves. 

You’re just a girl. You finish what you’d been working on as quickly as you can and close your laptop, sipping at the hot chocolate he’d made you with a smirk. Your boyfriend loves you a lot. He’s handsome and tall and smart but he fucking loves you; Peter comes home from a long day hungry and makes you a drink. 

“My love.” You push open the kitchen door. 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“I can make dinner.” 

“No, that’s fine. I’m making it.” 

“I can do it, Pete,” you say, putting your mug down on the counter. 

“I’m gonna do it,” he says, taking your hands, moving you out of the way of the fridge. His smile is as sugary as his eyes. “You have hot chocolate to drink. Before it’s cold chocolate.” 

“Boo.” You let him win reluctantly. He’s too strong, you argue to yourself smugly, he could totally take you in a fight. There’s never any winning with him. 

Peter turns the oven on and lights the stovetop, a frying pan on the heat, a square of butter melting in the centre. He cuts the veggies swiftly, asking question from over his shoulder. How was your day, babe? Did you eat enough? Did that headache come back? 

You lean on the counter and take a clementine from the fruit bowl. It was fine, you tell him, digging your fingers into the skin. Not much to say. I ate plenty. Headache stayed at home. The sharp citrus smell of torn pith hits the air as you peel the skin from the fruit's flesh. Then you spend a good five minutes taking off the stringy white bits as Peter fries your veggies with some leftover chicken from last night. 

“Here,” you say, breaking the clementine into pieces. 

“Oh, thank you,” he says, taking one from the well of your hand.

He eats it so fast you could argue he doesn’t taste it. 

“It’s for you, Peter,” you say, putting the rest of the clementine on the chopping board next to the carrot tops. “I’ll peel you another one. I know one’s not enough for you.” 

“Au contraire,” he murmurs, grabbing your waist, tugging you in, orange on his breath as you let him take your weight and move in. “You’re the only one for me.” 

“Terrible,” you murmur back. 

Peter’s grinning as he takes your face into his hand. He tips your head back, your heart fluttering just as much as it did the very first time he touched you like this, his eyes lit by a deep, unignorable sweetness for you. “Thank you,” he says. “You’re real nice to me, huh?” 

“Thank you for the hot chocolate.” 

“That wasn’t me. That was just sitting here when I got in.” 

You wrap your arm around his neck to close him in. “Sure it was.” 

“It was!” He kisses the corner of your mouth eagerly. Each word he says after is half smothered by the press of his lips on your cheek and the soft skin just below your eye as you laugh. “Wanna feed me as I stir? I think our dinner’s burning.” 

“If you keep kissing me, then yeah. I’ll peel every orange in that bowl for you.” 

Such a promise spurs another round of soft kisses. 

[pickingupmymercedes]

Give yourself some credit - Lewis Hamilton NSFW

Can be read as a part two to Later is it, but it's a piece on its own.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, angry sex of sorts.

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +2K

a/n: This one really ran from me. It was suppose to be an angst but this story had a life of its own.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

Y/n entered quietly the dimly lit hotel room; her footsteps barely audible on the plush carpet as she took in the scene before her.

Lewis was lying on the bed, one arm draped over his forehead, his phone in his other hand, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram posts. The tension in his body was palpable, even from a distance, and Y/n felt her heart clench at the sight.

The day had been long for both of them, but the energy in the room felt stale, weighed down by the disappointment that clung to Lewis. She hated seeing him like this—defeated, deflated, and already done with a race that hadn’t even started.

She could still hear his voice in the back of her mind, the way he had told the journalists over and over “that was his weekend done” the infamous “it is what it is.”

Quietly, she approached the bed, her eyes never leaving his face. He didn’t notice her at first, too absorbed in his own thoughts, and it wasn’t until she was standing right beside him that he looked up, his gaze meeting hers.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching between them like a taut string ready to snap.

Y/n didn’t say anything as she gently took the phone from his hand, her movements deliberate and calm. Lewis frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she set the phone aside and met his gaze head-on.

“I’m gonna give you five minutes to mourn that shit qualy” she said, her voice steady and firm, “then you’re going to pick yourself up and behave like yourself again.”

Lewis stared at her, surprise flickering in his eyes at her bluntness.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just took in the defiance in her eyes, the way she stood her ground. He could feel the tension between them, it was tangible, as if the room itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

“What if I don’t?” he asked, his voice low and challenging, though there was a spark of something else in his eyes—something that told her he wasn’t entirely opposed to being challenged.

Y/n didn’t waver, her gaze locked on his as she stepped even closer until she was standing right in front of him. “Then I’m gonna have to hammer it down onto your brain” she said, her voice soft but laced with an undercurrent of determination.

Lewis’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile, and he pushed himself up from the bed, his movements smooth and predatory.

He could see the fire in her eyes and the way she refused to back down. He liked this side of her—how she wasn’t afraid to challenge him, to push him when he needed it.

“Oh, really?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he took a step forward, backing her up against the wall. His hands came up to rest on either side of her head, caging her in as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin.

Y/n’s heart was racing, the intensity in his gaze making her pulse quicken. She could feel the heat of his body, the way his presence seemed to envelop her, and it took every ounce of self-control not to let him see how much he affected her.

But she wasn’t about to back down now—not when she was so close to getting through to him.

“Really” she whispered, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest, “I’ll remind you of who you are.”

Lewis’s eyes darkened, the challenge in her words the sign he needed that she was on it too.

“You really think that’s enough to get me out of this mood?” he asked, his voice a low growl as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear.

Y/n shivered, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, allowing access to his lips to graze over her jaw as she whispered, “I know it is.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes, his hands sliding down to grip her waist. “You think you can handle me, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice a low, teasing rumble.

Y/n’s breath hitched at the way he was looking at her, the raw intensity in his gaze making her knees weak. But she wasn’t about to let him see that.

Instead, she met his gaze with equal intensity, her voice steady as she replied, “I have always been able to handle you, Sir.”

Lewis’s eyes flashed with something primal, and before she could say another word, he closed the distance, his lips crashing down on hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was fierce, hungry, and filled with a challenge that took her breath away. She responded in kind, her hands fisting in his shorts as she pulled him closer, her body arching into his as if trying to get even closer.

The fire between them was more than just physical—it was a battle for dominance, a fight to see who would come out on top, who would be the one to break the other.

With a sudden, almost brutal movement, Lewis gripped her arm, spinning her around and pressing her hand against the wall. She gasped, the force of it taking her by surprise, but there was no time to react as his other hand yanked at her pants, ripping the buttons open with a harsh tear.

His strength was intoxicating, and Y/n could feel her pulse quicken as the roughness of his actions got her aroused.

His hands moved with a purpose, one holding her arm firmly in place, pinning her to the wall, while the other found its way between her legs. He didn’t waste any time, his fingers pressing against her through the thin fabric of her panties, the pressure on her sensitive bud rough and almost painful.

Y/n moaned, the sensation a mix of pleasure and discomfort, but it was the intensity that pushed her closer to the edge, her body responding to his every move.

Lewis’s lips found her neck, his mouth leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin. Y/n’s breath hitched, her knees weakening as the relentless friction against her clit drove her closer and closer to the edge.

She could feel her orgasm building, a tight coil of heat low in her belly, ready to snap at any moment.

“Lewis” she gasped, her voice breathless and needy as she felt herself unraveling. But he didn’t relent, his fingers pressing harder, faster, pushing her over the edge with an intensity that left her trembling.

She came undone with a sharp cry, her body shuddering against his, the waves of pleasure crashing over her in dizzying succession.

Lewis held her steady, his lips still on her neck as he whispered dirty praises into her ear, the sound of his voice only heightening the aftershocks of her orgasm.

But he wasn’t finished—not by a long shot.

While she was still panting, her body limp and pliant in his arms, Lewis picked her up and tossed her onto the bed, her body bouncing slightly from the force.

Before she could recover, he was on her, his hands deftly pulling her pants the rest of the way off. Y/n barely had time to catch her breath before she saw him lowering the shorts he was wearing, his hard cock springing free, the sight of him making her mouth water.

She reached for him, her fingers desperate to touch him, but Lewis wasn’t about to let her take control just yet. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand, while the other hand slid down her body, his touch rough.

His hand snaked to her throat, his fingers wrapping around it with just enough pressure to make her head spin, her breath hitching in her throat.

The dominance in his touch getting her mind in a sub state she tried to fight off but her body instinctively arched towards him, craving more of the roughness he offered.

With a smirk that promised more, Lewis used his free hand to guide the tip of his cock to her wet folds, the sensation of him brushing against her still-sensitive clit. Y/n trembled, the aftershocks of her orgasm mixing with the anticipation of what was to come, her mind spinning as she tried to brace herself.

But there was no preparation for that.

In one swift, powerful motion, Lewis pushed inside her, bottoming out in a single, mind-numbing thrust. Y/n cried out, her back arching off the bed as she felt him fill her completely, his cock pressing against every inch of her walls.

He didn’t wait, didn’t give her time to adjust— setting a brutal pace, his hips slamming against hers with a force that left her breathless.

The room filled with the sound of their bodies colliding, skin against skin, the raw, primal moans echoing off the walls. Each of his thrusts was rough, deep, his cock brushing against her cervix with every movement.

Shockwaves of pleasure through her body that bordered on pain. His hand on her throat tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to remind her who was in control, who was dominating this battle.

But Y/n wasn’t one to give up easily.

And then she felt him falter, his pace stuttering slightly as his own desire started to catch up with him. That was all the opportunity she needed.

With a mischievous gleam in her eyes, Y/n clenched her walls around him, feeling the way his cock twitched in response, the tension in his body increasing as he tried to maintain control.

“Y/n” Lewis growled, his voice rough, almost desperate as he felt her tighten around him, but she just smirked, continuing, her walls tightly clenching around him in a way that got his head spinning.

He let out a low, feral sound, his hand leaving her throat as he braced himself above her, his arms on either side of her head, trying to regain the upper hand.

But it was too late. Y/n saw the opening and took it, using the leverage to push him off balance, rolling them over until she was on top, straddling him with a victorious grin.

Lewis’s eyes were warm, his hands gripping her hips tightly as she hovered above him, the head of his cock still buried inside her, her wetness coating him just about enough.

He was on the edge, she could see it in his eyes, the way his chest heaved with labored breaths, his body trembling beneath her as he fought to hold on.

But Y/n wasn’t about to let him off that easy.

She slowly sank down onto him, her pussy swallowing every inch of his cock until he was fully sheathed inside her, the sensation making them both groan. She could feel him throbbing, the desperation in his grip as he tried to control himself, but she wasn’t going to give him the lead again.

“I’m not gonna last at all like that.” Lewis muttered, his voice strained, his eyes half-lidded with lust.

Y/n giggled, the sound soft and teasing as she started to move, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles that made his eyes roll back. “I know” she whispered, her tone playful and confident, knowing full well that she had the upper hand now.

She rocked against him, the friction driving him insane, his grip on her hips tightening to the point of almost pain, but she didn’t stop. She kept going, kept riding him, her movements purposeful, designed to push him over the edge.

Lewis’s breathing became ragged, his control slipping, and she could feel it—the moment when he lost the battle, his body tensing beneath her as he tried to stave off his orgasm.

It was no use, though.

With a deep, guttural groan, Lewis’s hips bucked up, his hands stilling her movements as he thrusted up deep inside her, the force of his release sending a shudder through both of them.

Y/n could only feel the warmth of his cum, the sensation overwhelming as she watched him come undone beneath her, his groans like music to her ears.

She stood still for a moment, savoring the feeling of him inside her, and the sight of how his body trembled with the aftershocks of his orgasm, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

Then Y/n smirked and fell forwards, her fingers gently brushing a drop of sweat from his forehead. “You needed that” she whispered, her tone teasing but with an undercurrent of affection. “Had to remind you who you are.”

His eyes fluttered open, locking onto hers, and for a moment, the air between them softened. The intensity from earlier was still there, but it was tempered now by an understanding that went beyond the physical.

“You always know how to get me out of my head” Lewis admitted, his thumb stroking small circles on the skin of her waist as she leaned down to press a soft kiss to his chest.

Then with a mischievous glint in her eyes, Y/n decided it was time to move. She pushed herself up abruptly, knowing full well what the sudden shift would do to him.

As she leaned forwards in his lap, his semi-hard and still-sensitive cock slipped out of her, the sudden movement earning a sharp hiss from his lips. She couldn’t help but chuckle softly, her amusement clear as she watched him wince.

Lewis caught his breath, the discomfort quickly giving way to a grin as he blinked back to look at her, his eyes twinkling with lingering desire. “Was that my five minutes to grieve?” he murmured, his voice still strained.

Y/n smiled, her fingers tracing the lines of his beard as she whispered into his lips “More like 15, babe. Give yourself some credit”

______________________________________________________________

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⋆ ｡⋆୨୧˚— ENOUGH FOR YOU

𝜗𝜚 ༘⋆ ⋆˙pairing. brothers best friend! jake sim x fem! reader synopsis. in which your brothers best friend whom you’d been in love with for years- suddenly ghosts you after kissing you, making a mess in the process. genre. angst ,, fluff wc. 2500. 𝐥u𝐧a notes ⋆.˚ im reformatting my works!! 🤭.. 🫧 — 𝓵𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝔂

if you enjoyed ,, please reblog & like !! <3

GROWING UP WITH AN OLDER BROTHER MEANT CONSTANTLY BEING IN THE SHADOW OF HIS FRIENDS AND ANTICS. among his friends, jake sim has always stood out in your eyes.

with his rebellious attitude, dark clothes, and the gleam of mischief in his eyes, jake was the boy all the parents had warned their kids about, a bad influence with a not so great family.

you never cared about any of that, you had always been in love with him, ever since you were a kid.

he was kind to you, he wasn’t the jake everybody had talked about, he had a way of making your heart race with just a single glance directed at you.

but your brother, sunghoon, had always been adamant. “jake’s off limits,” he’d say, his tone brooking no argument. “he’ll just hurt you. trust me, he’s not the guy you think he is.”

despite your brother’s warnings, you couldn’t help but be drawn to jake. over the years, your paths crossed more frequently, and each encounter seemed to intensify the tension between you.

the stolen glances, the brief touches, the way his gaze would linger on you just a moment too long—it all built up to a point where the air crackled with unspoken desire.

it was a warm summer night, the warm air invading seoul. you found yourself alone at home. sunghoon was out, and you were enjoying the rare peace and quiet. the doorbell rang,

“that’s probably hoon..” you mumbled to yourself, and to your surprise, you opened it to find jake standing there, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever. he gave you a soft grin, that familiar twinkle in his eye.

“hey, y/n” he said casually, ruffling your hair as he leaned against the doorframe. “sunghoon around?”

you shook your head, flustered with his touch, trying to keep your voice steady. “no, hoon’s out. why?”

jake shrugged, his eyes locking onto yours. “just thought i’d hang out. mind if i come in?”

you knew what that meant, jake had always confided into the comfort of your home after another argument took place in his, you nodded with a smile.

stepping aside, you allowed him to enter. as he walked past you, the subtle scent of his cologne filled your senses, making your pulse quicken. you closed the door and followed him to the living room, where he flopped onto the couch, looking completely at ease.

“so, what are you up to, puppy?” he asked teasingly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“just… relaxing,” you replied,

feeling a bit self-conscious under his intense gaze, internally groaning at your outfit choice, a worn-out shirt you had worn since you were fifteen and pants with golden retrievers on them? of course this would happen to you.

“what about you?”

jake chuckled, the sound low and smooth. “trying to escape my house. too much drama.”

he said with a lingering sadness fleeing his words, making you frown.

you nodded, understanding. jake’s home life wasn’t the best. his parents were always fighting, and he often sought refuge elsewhere—usually with sunghoon. but tonight, it was just the two of you. the tension between you was almost tangible, the air thick with unspoken words and unfulfilled desire.

as you sat down beside him, the proximity made your heart race. you tried to focus on something—anything—else, but jake’s presence was overwhelming. he leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, one arm brushing lightly against your shoulders.

“why so tense?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. “i don’t bite… much.”

you laughed nervously, the sound awkward even to your own ears. “just… not used to being alone with you, i guess.”

jake’s eyes darkened slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “is that so, puppy? don’t get shy on me now, let me change that.”

before you could respond, he leaned in, his face inches from yours. your breath hitched as his nose touched yours, and your heart pounded in your chest.

every rational thought screamed at you to move away, to stop this before it went too far. but you couldn’t. you didn’t want to.

jake’s lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, as if he was testing the waters. when you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, his hand moving to cup your face as his other wrapped around your thighs pulling you on top of him.

the kiss was slow and exploratory, filled with the pent-up tension and desire that had been building for years.

you melted into him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as you tugged on his hair.

“don’t do that… i really won’t be able to hold back.” he whispered against your lips.

his touch was intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough. the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble of passion.

but all too soon, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway shattered the moment. you pulled back abruptly, your heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

“hoon’s home,” you whispered, panic evident in your voice as you felt the pang of guilt from your actions kicking in.

jake’s eyes widened, and he quickly stood up, straightening his clothes. “i should go,” he said, his voice hushed and quiet.’

you nodded, unable to find the words to express the number of emotions coursing through you.

jake moved toward the back door, but before he left, he turned to you, his eyes softening as he pats your head, a familiar habit he’s had your whole lives. “we’ll talk later, okay y/n?”

you nodded again, watching as he slipped out of the house just as sunghoon walked in. your brother greeted you with a happy smile, completely unaware of what had just transpired.

you forced a smile in return, trying to act normal, but the guilt was running through your vein’s as your mind was still reeling from the kiss.

that night, as you laid in the comfort of your bed, you replayed the events over and over in your head. the kiss, the look in jake’s eyes, the way your heart had felt like it might burst from your chest—it all felt like a fever dream.

a part of you wondered if jake felt the same way, if he had also been thinking of you, if he was in love with you, or if it had just been a moment of weakness for him.

you were more than confused with his feelings, you sighed as you sat up,

unable to sleep, you picked up your phone and sent jake a message.

“can we talk?” you typed, your fingers trembling with nervousness.

you hesitated for a moment before hitting send, hoping for a quick response.

minutes turned into hours, and as you stared at your phone, there was no reply. your heart sank with each passing moment, doubt and insecurity creeping in. had it meant nothing to him? was he regretting it now? the questions swirled in your mind, making it impossible to find any peace whatsoever.

the next day at school, you kept an eye out for jake, hoping to catch him and talk. but when you finally saw him, your heart shattered. he was standing with eunhee, the most wanted and prettiest girl in school. she was giggling, as her hand playfully lingered on his bare arm, and he was smiling back at her.

it felt like a punch to the gut. the hope you had clung to crumbled in an instant, replaced by a deep sense of betrayal and hurt. you turned away, the tears stinging your eyes, and hurried to find a place to be alone.

you found your best friend, yunjin, in the cafeteria, and she immediately noticed something was wrong.

“hey, what happened?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

you shook your head, trying to hold back the tears. “it’s nothing. just… jake.”

yunjin’s eyes widened. she was the only other person who knew about your little ‘crush’ on jake other than sunghoon. “what did he do?”

you took a deep breath, deciding to tell her everything. “last night, he came over, and we… we kissed. but now he’s with eunhee, and he never replied to my message. i feel so stupid.”

your voice breaking as you spoke, yunjin’s eyes widened as she saw the figure behind you, you didn’t notice sunghoon approaching from behind.

he had overheard everything, and his expression darkened with anger. “jake did what?” he growled, his fists clenching.

“sunghoon, no—” you began, but it was too late. he was already storming off, determined to beat the shit out of his best friend.

you and yunjin hurried after him, your heart pounding with fear. sunghoon was protective, but you had never seen him this angry, not even when your boyfriend in tenth grade cheated on you..

when you reached the courtyard, you saw him shoving jake against a wall, complete furt and anger clouding his face.

“what the hell, man?” jake exclaimed, trying to push sunghoon off.

“you stay away from my sister!” sunghoon shouted, his voice filled with rage. “you hear me? she’s not some toy you can play with!”

jake’s eyes flashed with a mix of anger and confusion. “it’s not like that, i’d never play with her sunghoon. i care about her.”

“bullshit!” sunghoon retorted. “you were with eunhee this morning!”

jake’s expression softened, realization dawning on him. “that’s what this is about? eunhee’s just a friend. i was only talking to her.”

sunghoon’s grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. “then why didn’t you reply to her message? why are you messing with her head?”

jake glanced at you, his eyes softened at you as they filled with regret. “i’m sorry,” he said softly.

“i was scared. i’ve never felt this way before, and i didn’t know how to handle it. i thought staying away would be better for her, you know me...”

sunghoon finally released him, but his glare didn’t waver. “if you care about her, then prove it. make it right.”

jake nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “i will.”

he took a step toward you, his expression nervous and vulnerable. “i’m sorry i didn’t reply,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “i was an asshole. i thought pushing you away would protect you from me.”

“protect me from what?” you said as you played with your fingers,

“you know my family, y/n. i’m not the golden boy next door, hell- your parents would probably slam the door on my face if i said i was your boyfriend.” he replied looking down.

tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, the way he thought about himself absolutely broke your heart.

“jake, i don’t care about any of that. i just want to be with you.”

he looked at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. when he found none, he closed the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands.

“i love you, so much.” he whispered, his voice trembling. “i’ve loved you for so long, but i was too afraid to admit it.”

you felt your heart swell with adoration. “i love you too, jake.”

he placed his soft lips onto yours, a kiss filled with all the love and passion you had both been holding back for years. the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment. his lips moved against yours, soft and insistent, and you kissed him back with equal energy.

when you finally pulled away, jake rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “i don’t deserve you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “but i’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be even the slightest bit worthy of you, enough for you.”

you smiled through your tears, your heart filled with love. “you’re more than worthy of me, jakey. you’re so much more than enough” you replied caressing his cheek.

sunghoon watched the exchange, his expression softening. he placed a hand on jake’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

“don’t screw this up, man.” he said, his voice stern but supportive.

jake nodded, grinning at his best friend, his eyes meeting yours as he intertwined his fingers with yours.

“i won’t.”

from that day forward, things changed between you and jake. he became a constant in your life, no longer hiding his feelings or running away from them. you faced your fears together, and with your brothers support, you built a relationship based on love and loyalty.

jake opened up to you about his family, his fears, and his dreams. you listened, offering him the comfort and support he had always needed but never had.

in return, he loved you unconditionally, with a passion that took your breath away.

one evening, as you both in each other’s arms, watching the stars twinkle outside your bedroom window, jake turned to you with a smile. “you know, i’ve been thinking.”

“that’s not good..” you joked as jake pouted at you, making you giggle with a sparkle in your eyes.

“about what, jakey?” you hummed, nudging your nose against his.

“about how lucky i am to have you, to be called yours” he said softly playing with your fingers.

“and about how i never want to take you for granted again.”

you smiled, your heart overflowing with love. “i’m lucky to have you too, jake.”

he leaned in, kissing you gently. “let’s make a promise,” he said when he pulled away.

“no matter what happens, no matter how stressed or tired we get, we’ll always come back to each other. we’ll always remember how much we love each other.”

you nodded, a warm feeling spilling over your body, a feeling that could bring you into a fit of tears, “i promise.”

jake grinned as he kissed you again, sealing the promise with a kiss that was filled with all the love and devotion you felt for each other.

as you laid there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you knew that no matter what issues came your way, you would never be facing them alone, your love guiding you through the darkness.

the night air flowing in from the window was cool, and the stars shone brightly in the sky.

listening to the steady rhythm of jake’s heartbeat, you felt a deep sense of peace and contentment. the world outside might be full of darkness and pain, but within the warmth of jake’s embrace, you found a haven of love and safety.

jake’s fingers traced gentle patterns on your back, his touch soothing and reassuring. “i love you,” he murmured, his voice a soft caress in the quiet night as he felt himself falling into a deep slumber.

“i love you too,” you whispered, snuggling closer to him. “always.”

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