#first time drawing the cup brothers

[onyxmistkes]

took a break from homework to scribble

[peachpitfics]

Cruel Summer

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Following your romp with Benedict Bridgerton in his art studio, he asked your brother for your hand! Now you're on your honeymoon, and you're getting a little bored, posing for him. A lady must find ways to amuse herself!

Length: 2.1k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), Penetrative vaginal sex, unprotected sex, light bondage, food play.

a/n: This is an anonymous request for a continuation of 'Guilty as Sin'.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Benedict Bridgerton escorting you to view his artwork, at his private studio, was just the beginning of your story. After sneaking around behind your family’s backs for a small while, Benedict gathered enough courage to ask your eldest brother’s permission for your hand. This seemed strange to the y/l/n family, not one of them had ever seen the two of you together, which showed how much attention was paid to the middle child. Benedict made sure to ask you in the Bridgerton drawing room, just before family tea, for everyone to see. He made such a big to-do, confessing his love to you, before every member of the Bridgerton family in attendance. It felt particularly safe there, amongst people who took interest in who you were as a person.

It was bittersweet to have siblings who offered their time, their attentions, and their hobbies freely. You learned so many new things from each of them, from pall-mall, to sewing, even horse riding.  In six months, you were married and moved into the Bridgerton house for the meantime, until after your honeymoon. You would never outright tell Benedict you did not want to move out, but he felt it, he knew.

“My love” Benedict whispered, shaking your shoulders gently. Honeymooning in Paris was something the two of you had instantly agreed upon. So far, two weeks of sleeping late, making love, and eating copious amounts of divine food was your only concern. Of course, there were a lot of other lovely things Benedict had planned for your honeymoon – river boat rides and romantic dinners, every moment between locations filled with fine bread, wine, and cheese.

“Yes, my love?” You grumbled, rolling away from him, clearly having not had enough sleep.

“You must wake up, it is midafternoon!” Benedict exclaimed with a chesty laugh, rolling you back into him and tickling your sides. You howled with laughter, pushing him away playfully, leaning up to distract him as only you knew how. His lips were warm and wet against your own, seductive, and luscious.

“You must come downstairs! The housekeeper has left us a feast and I wish to paint my gorgeous wife” Benedict slid his hands around your naked body, lifting you out of bed as you groaned.

“Again?!” “My darling, I’ll be painting you until death takes me” Benedict chuffed, sliding sideways between doorways and down the stairs to the sitting room.

“What if death takes me first?” You smirked back, figuring you had him cornered here.

“I have made God promise I am to go first. And even so, I’ll have every detail committed to memory and these paintings and sketches of you now to keep me company” Benedict squeezed you in his arms, he didn’t like to joke about parting ways, in any sense. It was his truest nightmare, his deepest fear.

Benedict set you down in the sitting room and gestured to what he and the house keeping staff had readied. Paint, canvas, a staging area - littered around the room were bowls of fresh fruit, bottles of wine, candles surrounded by plates of cheese, oil, and bread. You relaxed back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, cupping your breasts sweetly. You giggle a little, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He nodded to your position for the rest of the day, a chair with the back faced to a very high window, casting a streak of sunlight down upon the spot.

There you sat, for hardly an hour before your mind began to wander, circling Benedict in your mind like a shark in open water. You had learned to become comfortable being nude for long periods of time these days, however Benedict had learned nothing of your persuasion or power when your attentions were dashed. Your movements started slowly, daintily taking your hands to your knees, and spreading your legs wide upon the chair. Resting a little, relaxing your back and cupping your own breasts. Your fingers gently grazing your nipples. But nothing, no attention from your husband. He sat close to his canvas, squinting into the detail of his work, his realm of perception clearly inhibited. With a huff and a light moan, you continued to palm at your own breasts, fingers trapping your nipples in a pulling motion- you decided to pretend Benedict wasn’t here. Suddenly, taking notice, you watched as his brush left the canvas, his mouth hung open a little and he removed his glasses, almost tossing them to the floor.

“What are you doing, darling?” He mumbled, swallowing hard. Your hands ran down your mid-section, over your belly and down your thighs sensually, soft mewls slipped from between your lips. Benedict loved the sounds you made.

“I’m just amusing myself, continue on with your painting my dear” Your replying comment was nonchalant in the best way. Benedict almost looked offended that you would suggest he could go back to painting.

“How do you suppose I paint, while my wife ravages her own body before me?” He blinked at the audacity of you.

“Well, dear one, this is what you have chosen for this afternoon’s activities… Now, you must endure” You smiled, sliding your hand between your legs, dipping your finger in the wet warmth there. Benedict shuddered, wishing any part of him were exchanged with your finger.

If there was anything you had learned about Benedict in the last six or seven months, it was that his desire for you was consistent and all encompassing. Benedict watched on as your fingers circled your clitoris, you moaned and exhaled gently - his paint brush never did return to the canvas. Beads of sweat formed on his brow line, the hot, French summer finally taking its toll in the late afternoon. You reached to the small stool next to you, extracting the tiniest jar of honey. You looked into Benedict’s eyes, holding the jar above your body, dangling your head back and pouring a steady stream of honey over your chest. The sun glistened, reflecting little pools of light off your sticky, sweet skin.

Taking your finger, you swept up your belly from your navel, placing your finger on your tongue in clear view of him, and that was his very last straw. Benedict threw his paintbrush to the ground, thrusting himself up and out of his chair, to march across the room to you.

“What do you think you are doing, wife?” Benedict’s voice rasped, his eyes were so dark, the colour had all but gone.

“Playing, my love” You replied cheekily, sucking another nip of honey off your finger. He all but growled watching your finger slip between your lips, his breath quickening in sheer lust for you.

“Are you punishing me for getting you out of bed?” Benedict’s face was so close now, his nose tip to tip with yours. There was such tension in his jaw, his teeth clenched hard in his fierce need of you. You fluttered your lashes back at him, refusing to answer with your words.

“Do you have even a semblance of an understanding of what you are doing to me? This is unbelievably cruel,” He breathed heavily down on you, desperation flooding his body and adrenaline surging behind, “You can’t begin to imagine the things I want to do to you right now” His stubble gliding across your ear and cheek, making you shudder.

“Show me then,” You challenged, “You are my husband after all”.

Benedict’s hands slowly moved to his shirt, shedding it, and throwing it somewhere behind him. He acted with a sureness and a strength you hadn’t yet experienced, but it was drawing you in. Undoing his pants, Benedict took his hard member into his hands, stroking himself against your chest, lathering it in honey. His other hand wove into your hair, tangling the perfect hold, bringing you forward.

“Oh. Goodness. Seems I’ve made quite a mess of myself… Wife, help me clean it up” He smiled smugly down at you.

 Something feral, untamed, was unleashed inside you, your eyes darkening, “Certainly, my lord”. As your tongue reached out to meet his tip, his head lulled back in pleasure, his hand still wrapped around the base of him. Your lips parted slowly, encasing his first inch, and swirling your tongue around to suck the honey from him. Benedict exhaled headily, his breaths deep, but quick with the slightest grunt mixed in. The way he sounded, even now, made you wetter and wetter.

There was something maliciously keen in Benedict’s eyes as he watched from on high, your pretty mouth sucking all the honey off him and then some. His body gently rocked forward, his hand heaving your head forward, onto him in a more perverse manner. His head hung back in greedy caution, grasping to the very last straws of his gentlemanly nature as you sunk to the base of him, your tongue wriggling slyly underneath.

His fingers grew taut in your hair, reefing you backwards. His laugh was low, both impressed and challenged by your ministrations. In the next moment, Benedict had hauled you up and over his shoulder, he was charging up the stairs, mad with temerity.

Entering the bedroom, he threw you down on the bed, scrambling for any piece of material in reach, he began ripping. Four pieces of silk fabrics in his hands, he loomed over you in profound ownership. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, Benedict taking each wrist and ankle, tying them to each to their respective corner post of the bed.

“There” He stood, hands on his hips, proud of his work, “There’ll be no more of that”. Clearly touching yourself had had a dire effect on Benedict’s work ethic.

Kneeling between your thighs, his naked body unjustly out of reach, Benedict’s supercilious smile sick with goofy dominance. He thumbs over your folds, his finger descending, extorting whines of pleasure you never knew existed within you. Broad strokes of the most painful, unapologetically evil gratification. Benedict’s tongue flicked over his lips hungrily.

“I need you” The words escaped you violently, the thrill of his touch, his charming smile becoming all too much for you. He ignored you and continued another moment or two, reducing you to a begging mess beneath him.

“Shall I oblige you, my marvellous bride?” His grin was jubilant and all knowing, his hands came down on your wrists, pressing them into the bed. Benedict’s brutal, familiar kiss sown into your lips permanently, as he pushed inside of you with surprise.

“Y/n” He groaned, growled with unrepentant lust. Your eyes cast wide, the length of him stretching you mercilessly while he thrust in and out. His villainous face claiming your entire consciousness as he used your body to his pleasure, decadent facial expressions, and damnable sounds he was delivering straight to your right ear.

“You feel unimaginably perfect” Benedict groaned, your moans joining in alongside his.

Hands grasping for silk to hold onto, you longed for your own release, grinding your hips back against Benedict’s. His movements became more ferocious, keeping up with the sounds you were making. Frenetic energy began to move through your body, your ravenous thirst for him finally quenched. Every muscle in your body engaged in vivid contortion, Benedict pressing into you as deeply as he possibly could before his own body found its own powerful release.

Covered in sweat and honey, you laid tangled together for a moment before Benedict recalled your wrists and ankles were tied. He chuckled with giddiness, sitting up to admire his knots.

“You look fantastic like this, perhaps we should do this more often” He suggested sweetly. His thumb caressed the side of your face, your panting, tired body unable to give a response. Benedict littered your face and neck with loving pecks.

“We could be one person and I still would never be close enough to you. No amount of time with you will ever satisfy me. You are the centre of my world” Benedict whispered gently. Every day you were reminded of the intoxicants his poetic mind dabbled into every sweet thing he said to you.

In another instant, Benedict had sprung from the bed, running downstairs. You laughed, thinking he must be returning with some of the food the housekeeper had left strewn about his romantically planned afternoon. Instead, Benedict returned with a new canvas and his implements. Your mouth fell open all on its own, blinking furiously in his direction as he set himself up off the side of the bed.

“If you could just stay there, like that, that’d be great!” Benedict’s grin, excruciatingly exquisite, and concocting. He held himself with such pride in his agendum, cockiness seemed to fill the room in a potent manner.

“BENEDICT!?” You squealed, tugging frantically on his bindings, your laughter filled with rich resolve.

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tagging: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr //

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[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ i'd go blind (just to see you) ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x fem!lady!reader words: 10.9k synopsis: It’s always been entertaining, this little dance of teasing words, of stolen glances, of flushed cheeks; Yet now, letters and suitors flood the Keep, eager for your hand - and the game has turned rather bitter in taste. notes: heyyyy sorry this took so long but im back! this fic has made me want to [REDACTED] myself for over a month so here it is i'll never look at it again. i didnt rly edit this sorry but thanks to my perfect princess @softspiderling for beta-ing this warnings: canon-divergent; dance does not happen. characters aged 20+. Rhaenyra is queen. jealousy, best-friends-to-lovers, yearning, mostly lots of fluff, slight rude jace, he has wild older brother vibes, kissing, tipsy jace and reader, allusions to smut. reader is so infatuated with him masterlist

THE SUN IS NEAR UNBEARABLE PAST MIDDAY. 

It bakes you, an oppressor in the sky; your hand, fanning yourself gently as the other drops to lay the parchment aside. A sheepish smile as you watch your handmaids, eyes flickering about the letter with excitement - but you’re rather unwilling to give it further thought for the time being. 

A delicate hand against the rays of the sun, pressing to your brow; a short sigh that escapes when you shift in your dress. The heat has begun to draw sweat upon the soft of your thighs, collecting at the base of your neck - dripping in a lick down gentle ridges of spine; though you are never one to resist such fresh air.  

Tea is poured for you. 

And though you know you will not so much as touch the cup of steaming liquid, a gentle thanks from you to the girl before you. The tree line shimmers in the distance, green points with spinning tops that blow against the blue breeze of day. 

“Another one?” 

A voice, familiar and warm, startles you from your daydream.

Against the glare of the sun, you note your visitor - a grin that stretches over your flushed cheeks and sheened brow; It would be futile to attempt any concealment of your delight.

“My prince,” you rise to curtsy, but make it not even halfway before he’s regarding you with a rather amused glance - you bite back a roll of your own eyes, delivering him a severe look in return. 

 In the earlier days, when your father first joined the Queen’s council, you and Jacaerys adhered quite obediently to the formalities expected of young lords and ladies - but as turns of moon became turns of years, polite conversation became a tight friendship; and with it, you’ve both found much humor in addressing each other so formally. 

Jacaerys always claims you curtsy like a young mare, and in response, you tell him he bows stiff as a plank. 

A lifted brow in jest; regarding you with that warm disposition and crooked smile. 

“Jace,” You relinquish with a smile of your own, hoping your affection doesn’t completely drip through your polite welcome. “Come join me.” 

He does, and with a boyish eagerness that often endears him to you further; Sitting with knees spread and arms draped over the back of the chair rather un-Princely, Jacaerys looks wonderfully at home amidst the half-eaten cakes and teacups. A maid steps forward to pour him a fresh cup of tea, and he returns an effortlessly graceful smile of thanks. 

“This makes the fifth proposal this week.” A gesture downwards to the parchment, its waxy broken seal crumbling below it. 

You smile sheepishly, regretful to admit. “I’m afraid so.” A relief that such scrutiny from the prince is not upon your countenance, but rather focused downwards - subtly reading the gaudy words frilled upon the parchment. 

You tilt your head at his interest, “Though I don’t believe I have been keeping track.” 

He hums, either in response to your observation or perhaps unsatisfied with the pompous letter sent to you - and takes the moment to tilt his face up in relish of the same sun that seems to scorch you. 

His skin has always taken to that kissed-look, for as long as you’ve known him; rosy cheeks so becoming, a charming smatter of freckles, a flush over his cheeks that sprouts after an afternoon sparring - or perhaps riding - and blossoms even in the respite of shade afterwards. 

He’s always enjoyed bathing in the sun, and you’ve always quite enjoyed watching him. 

Though you flush in embarrassment when Jacaerys cracks an eye open, glancing sidelong to catch your stare, he mercifully has the grace to not mention it - and so you look down to your cup of tea, how tendrils of steam climb out and stagger into the molten afternoon air. 

A smattering of petals, torn from the shrub beside your restless hands; blowing in the warm breeze over the discarded parchment. “You're quite popular these days." He says after a moment, his long, dark lashes fluttering shut once more.

“These days?” you chirp, unworried of the playful lilt in your voice, "And here I thought people have always sought my company. What could have possibly changed?” 

A small laugh, though his eyes do not open- unstirred by your attempts to provoke him, shifting in the warmth like a cat in a corner of sun.

A low hum from pink lips, lazy as he grins; Eyelashes fluttering over cheeks. “I wonder if I’ve grown accustomed to being your favorite.” He decides lightly, “Or perhaps I simply enjoy watching you when you can see no one else.” 

A familiar flutter of excitement dances through you, a warmth blooming in your cheeks at such uncomplicated charm. 

And it is the truth - Jacaerys has long past commanded your attention, been the first you seek in any room, no matter how vast; Perhaps there truly is no competition anymore. A glance to the parchment before you - and the returned stare of the word betrothal inscribed in frilly handscript.

“Is that so?” Your voice, mercifully, does not betray your fluster, “Well, poor luck, I suppose. I’m afraid I seek the company of one who appreciates not my countenance, but my presence.” 

Some huff of amusement exhaled sharply from his nose, tilting his head further - a slope against the sun, the expanse of a throat; the bob of an apple. “Then you look in the wrong places, my lady.” He decides, nodding towards the discarded letter, “Tales of beauty are one thing, but I'm afraid mere letters can not do justice your presence.” 

An effortless compliment; one of many shared between your lips and his. He’s right, as he so infuriatingly often is - though it does nothing to quell your reluctance to select a husband. 

In fact, it simply stirs the warmth that lies within your chest; and he, with fluttered lashes, blissfully unaware of how his words stir your heart. You cast your gaze to the letter. 

“It's overwhelming.”

And concern leaking through the opening of an amber gaze as you continue, thumbing the napkin in your lap. 

“I don’t know these suitors. Most of their fathers write to me." You confess, knowing how improper it would be to complain under regular company; but this is Jace. 

He leans forward at this, ever eager to bestow upon you his undivided attention - yet he merely shrugs, as though remarking on the weather, “It is little wonder they should be so interested. It is you,” And his tone, as effortless as the breeze. A leap in your heart. “The true question,” he muses - a distant melody, “is whether any of that interest might be returned.”

You pray your countenance might be enough to save you from the embarrassment of candor; Yet of course he plays the aloof, tilting his head. His hair looks quite full today - swept away from his cheekbones, sharp as the slopes of the Eyrie.

Indeed, you have interest to return - but not for any of those lords, nor their land, nor their riches. 

It seems nearly impossible that Jacaerys might be in any semblance unaware of your affections for him; everyone else has surely taken note, and you’ve hardly gone to great lengths to conceal them - just as you’re certainly aware of his own.

It’s always been entertaining, this little dance of teasing words, of stolen glances, of flushed cheeks; Yet now, letters and suitors flood the Keep, eager for your hand - or your father’s army - and the game has turned rather yearning in taste. 

Some ancient, desperate ache within you - a wish that it were the boy beside you, not these distant lords, who vied for your hand.

“-If you’re asking if I have a particular suitor in mind, then…” Your heart skips a beat at the fleeting spark of interest within an amber stare. A heat, an affection you must not name, blossoms in your chest at his interest; though you lose your confidence just as you get it. “...No.” You say, picking at a loose thread on your fine gown, “None of them.” 

He makes a noncommittal noise, moving to take a bite out of one of the sagecakes, warmed by the sun. The Blackwater glistens in the distance; Jace strikes a relaxed conversation with the handmaids.

A HALF HOUR IS SWALLOWED IN THE SUNSHINE. 

Birds sing - a hummingbird zips by, coaxing a gasp from your lips when it dips into a thatch of flowers before darting away unseen - absently, you’ve busied your hands with a ribbon that refuses to tie properly upon your hair. 

It seems Jacaerys’s hunger has quelled, half the sandwiches and cakes replaced with staling crumbs. A brushing of his fingers, the shift of his chair in the shade. Eyes, warmed pools of honey that begin to drip with quiet amusement as you struggle to untangle the ribbon. 

"Would you care for some help?" His voice is full of quiet mirth, and you, embarrassed by the difficulty, nod with a sheepish glance - “Please.” You agree, shifting closer. 

“-It’s bothered me all day, I can never get it to sit right.” Your voice quiets as you turn slightly away; perhaps it would be more appropriate for one of your maidens to relieve its knot, but Jacaerys has leaned behind you already.

His touch is gentle, as it usually is - calloused fingertips from training in the yard, from riding Vermax - soft. He whispers, less than a breath. “Tell me if I hurt you, gevie.”

You feel the word, whispered under his breath like a secret - perhaps it is, because it is not ever spoken in your common tongue, but in his own ancestral one. 

Deft fingers, warm breath upon your neck; a bee buzzes lazily into the brief shade above you. A spare glance to your handmaids, who hover on the other side of the small canopy and whisper to each other with poorly concealed grins; you’re sure to deal with a barrage of giggles and inquisitive whispers once back within your chambers. The thought lights you with your own giddiness, feeling the brush of fingers against the damp skin of your neck. 

A taught, gentle pull of the ribbon; a small pinch of hair that makes you wince gently.

Jacaerys’ hands still against your head, cupping the base of skull gently - resting for a brief breath - and as the flush creeps across your cheeks, his palms then return to his lap. “There, that should hold.” He murmurs.

A warmth as you whisper in return. “Thank you, Jacaerys.”

His grin is almost shy as he shrugs, cheeks bright pink and eyes squinting lightly against the bright day as he looks off towards the bay; you, too, return your gaze to the wild of the sea, ignoring the crashing of your heart against your chest.

It is quiet for a few minutes save for the birds in the distance, the babbling of a stream round the bend - you’ve taken to examining the bump along the bridge of his nose when he exhales, eyes opening slowly to find yours once more. 

You force your eyes over the row of bumbling hedges, to the small insects that lumber around the prettiest of blooms. The burn of a gaze in your peripheral; slight breeze rustles the ribbon he’d just fastened. 

“You know, it’s quite the thing to be sought after by so many.” 

You truly wish he would let the subject go. 

The parchment on the table - forgotten by only one of you, it seems. A tremble in your cadence gives way your failed efforts to remain nonchalant; worry, that unwelcome friend at the feast within your heart. 

“Yes, but they don’t know me, Jace.” You sigh; what heart palpitations your lord father would find if he heard the tone you take with the Prince of Dragonstone. “They see only what my father can offer to their house.” 

Jacaerys nods, thoughtful as he prods a half-eaten cucumber cake - he too, is of age, more so than you; he surely knows just as well what marriage means. “Come now,” He says, voice kind, gentle, “There must be someone interested in the woman behind the name.” 

A short sigh escapes your pursed lips. “If there is, he must be hiding under some dock, or his raven lost in some storm,” You thumb the teaspoon upon your saucer, “Because I’ve not yet found him.” 

He knows you too well - a smirk growing at your indignant tone; and a crooked grin on your own lips as you shake your head, letting out a soft chuckle that he echoes. 

Heart fluttering, some burst of amusement coaxes you to continue, if just to hear his laugh through practiced diplomacy. 

“Unless there is somebody you have in mind for me, Jacaerys?” Your voice belies all effort to remain less than invested; a desperation that you do not dare admit any further. 

You truly should know better than to act so bold when there are servants and guests walking around the grounds; the walls have eyes in the Keep, but indeed do the garden’s leaves. 

Jacaerys ceases pushing the handle of his teacup round with his pointer finger. "Someone in mind?" He repeats it; tone light, almost teasing. 

The question awaits a response; Heartbeat, soft and insistent, in your ears. Say it, please, your eyes wish. But then his fingers resume to toy with the handle of his teacup, the movement casual, "It would be unseemly for me to play matchmaker, wouldn’t it, my lady?" There is an equally desperate twinge in his own tone, one masked rather gallantly by practiced etiquette. 

Your lip is warm between your teeth - the Prince’s gaze flicks with such movements, of only for a second. 

“You imply I should not trust your opinion, then, my Prince?” You counter with his own title, a jest; he shakes his head with a soft smile, rising to gather himself. Your gaze catches the fluttering wings of another hummingbird just before you, dipping in to collect nectar before you.

 Its feathers, a quick blur, eyes beady against a bright glare. Such a peculiar barrage of colors, flashing - red, some iridescent green…

“In these matters…” A hum as he rises behind you, grasping the letter you’d left before you; you are stuck watching the small creature flutter before you, unaware of his eyes roving with a heat over the words written before him. “-Perhaps not.” 

Though his words are distant as you stare at the little bird; peculiarly, it stares back, its head tilting when your own does.

Your hum is an echo of his own, earlier - noncommittal, far away. The hummingbird sips from bright blossoms of sweet honeysuckle, its tiny eyes flicking to you to perceive any threats. It finds none. 

A drop of the letter back beside you, a hand steady upon the back of your chaise, “-Conflict of interest, among other reasons.” 

His words in your ear, tapping your shoulder lightly; you snap away from your daze at the touch, blinking to see his hand outstretched to you. 

What had he said? Clearing your throat of the butterflies which threaten to escape, you grasp his hand in your own, regretful that you seemed to have missed the opportunity to address the words he’d uttered - afraid to do so, to unturn the raw earth beneath this game you and he play so well. You wonder absently where the hummingbird’s gone off to.  

A murmur of your name as his hands fall to your shoulders, steadying you to take in your flushed face. 

“You’ve caught sun,” He chides, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, brushing his finger over the apple of your cheek; A brief touch - and a good-natured roll of your eyes to hide the flutter in your chest.

“Let us get you into the shade, gevie.” He gestures the path upwards to the Keep. 

You knock shoulders into his own, an effort against the upslope - clinking behind you as your maidens begin to tidy your tea spot as you begin the short walk back towards the chalky stone halls. 

“HIDING, ARE WE?”

You hadn’t meant to startle the prince. 

Yet when he jolts slightly from where his head rests upon a sharp jawline, you have to conceal your giggle with a palm. 

A slow blink of sleep from his syrupy dark gaze as he remembers himself, stirring from such a hunched position. 

“Oh, you truly didn’t have to stay up for me, Jacaerys.” You tease, swiping a hand over his sturdy shoulder as you slide onto the bench aside him. 

The library is a wonderfully cool refuge this time of day, and after the heatwave that has welcomed so many lords and ladies to the castle, you are appreciative of such solitude. 

He has the grace to laugh, still blinking sleep from his eyes. “Well, I suppose I tired of waiting to see if you’d show.” A smile so striking upon his lips you have to look away. 

“I am sorry I’ve come late.” you apologize earnestly, taking the leather of the book he’d taken for a pillow, opening it up. 

He hums, watching with his head propped similar to how you’d discovered him moments ago - though now, his eyes burn alight with amusement.  Jacaerys decides to begin your lesson promptly; perhaps making up for lost time. 

“Skoriot istan ao?” His voice, that smooth caramel; you ignore the heat that licks at such a tone - you’re here to learn, you remind yourself. 

You pause, trying your hardest to comprehend the sentence; What…what time is it? With a blink, you lean forwards, squinting in an attempt to gauge the position of the sun through the window’s mottled colors. 

There is indeed no part of you unaware that such a gesture leaves the line of your chest direct with his gaze; nor are you unaware of the eyes that trail down the slope of you; though his eyes are schooled to your visage once more when you return to your sat position, his cheeks pink. 

You return a smile, sweet as can be; hoping he will have mercy upon you today, as you have less than a clue of what he’s asked. 

“M…” You’re unsure, and it shows. He holds back a grin, but you choose to ignore him once more. “Mōris hen tubis?” Your accent is rough, poor; as is your translation. 

You think it is nearing the end of the day - but you also are not sure if that truly is what he asked you at all. The page below you is not helpful; ‘Word Cells in High Valyrian,’ -  written in High Valyrian. 

He shakes his head - that stern, scholared look, the one you’ve grown to cherish. You smile at him, unknowing, hopeful that he’ll take pity on you. 

“No, gevie.” He chides, an amused smile, “Skoriot istan - Where were you?” 

Oh. You bite away your sheepish grin, stretching your arms in a rather unladylike way; Jace watches you with that kind, patient look all the same. 

“Nyke…” You pause, cringing at the pronunciation - a glance shows that Jacaerys does not bat an eye. “...rȳbagon vala ȳdragon…naejot nyke… lēda ñuha muña.” It is a crude sentence, a crude translation - but you believe you’ve done well enough. 

Jace spends a moment deciphering your butchered phrase of his ancient ancestral language - in stride, thankfully - and then frowns. “You were… listening to a man speak?” 

You flush, “I do not know the word for courting, I’m afraid.” 

A minuscule reaction - likely more involuntary - the tighten of a jaw, and a spine growing rigid. 

A moment before he mutters. “Rudhy.”

His words are through clenched teeth; his eyes, alight with something unspoken, some faint irritation or envy. 

You clear your throat, holding his steady gaze; you repeat the word again, though it lacks the melodic quality with which he speaks. “Rudhy.” 

For a moment, he simply holds your gaze; until, as though jolted from a trance, he nods, letting out a soft breath. “Good,” he murmurs, barely audible.

A heat you dare not name, and the clearing of your own throat. “Well, if you must know, it was no one of consequence,” you reply with a sigh, skimming the page before you. 

Your gaze flickers over words: gaomilaksir and rigle - you pay them little mind at the moment. “He was rather brilliant at making grand gestures, but sadly, that is not what I truly desire.” Your words are light, but as clear as you can put it; Though some armor or defense between you both as the crooked grins and wry grins come back. 

Sparse noise - the ruffle of parchment rows away, where a worker returns scrolls. The distant clink of a blacksmith in the distance.  

“Is that not what you want?” Jacaerys quips, a playfulness in his voice; you’ve always so loved when he finds that light, when he forgets about those princely duties, about the crown he will one day wear - when he lets himself laugh and tease and smirk and enjoy his time with you as he pleases. 

His head tilts in that way you adore, “-Am I not making grand enough gestures?” 

A moment in the silence of the library where you grin - you and Jace, and that odd line you so love, straddling truth and tease. And he, cheeks pink; certainly, it was not his intention to come off so coy - but you don’t mind, no, in fact you flourish under his attention. 

You let out a small laugh, eager to soothe his apparent fluster. “You? Oh, you’re quite grand, but not in the way you might think.”

He clutches his heart; he knows how you laugh whenever he does so - always one for the dramatics, he groans in false pain. “You wound me.” 

And he watches for your reaction; your giggle comes muffled by your palm. 

A brief moment where a cloud passes the sun behind your backs, light blotted and red with the stain of glass. Your soft laughs die down together, you and Jace’s breaths drawn together, threaded from the same ancient string. 

His back is straight - a princely figure as his shoulders brush your own. You hide the wash of shivers down your spine at the faint scent of him.

 “Well, do tell, what kind of grand gestures would meet your exacting standards?” He murmurs with a grin. “I should take notes to distribute to all the men lining our Keep, waiting for a lone moment with you.” 

Our Keep. You don’t let yourself think too much on the phrasing, covering your flush by a finger to your lips, pretending to consider his words. 

As if the gesture of teaching you a language you wished to know did not set the very standards he also exceeds every moment you spend in his presence. 

As if the small gifts - a flower plucked from those hidden bushels in the garden, books slipped from the rows and slid under mattresses until the Maester is gone, sips from his own cup of wine when your father deems you’ve had plenty - isn’t enough. 

As if simply spending time with him isn’t enough; As if you would not deny every single gesture in the seven kingdoms, no matter how grand, if he were to simply offer his own hand to you. 

But you wouldn’t dare admit such things, not when his grin is so wide, when his eyes are alight with that joy of jest. 

“Well, it might start with being genuinely interested in who I am, rather than what I might bring to the table.” You mutter, opting for a less revealing honest answer. 

A lithe finger toys with the bands around his others; he pretends to consider such a thought. “Quite a tall order.” He mocks, “I worry if I can do that, gevie.” 

His voice betrays the lie as he says it, and then, as an afterthought: “Besides, you didn’t bring anything to the table today.” He adds, lifting a brow. You roll your eyes; Jacaerys and his ravenous, insatiable appetite. 

“Septa Jaenna took my by ear to kneel before the Seven when she caught me bringing you sagecakes last.” You defend, shaking your head, “I would do many things for you, Jace, but enduring her spittling rants is no longer upon that list, I’m afraid.” 

He shakes his head in mock disappointment, taking it upon himself to flip to the correct page of the book you share between you; his palm, calloused as it brushes your own, though if he notices, he does not mention it, still caught on your words. 

“You, enduring a lesson from Septa Jaenna…” He hums, eyes searching over the Valyrian upon the book, “A gesture too grand for the likes of me. I understand.” He jests, a small smirk growing on his face. “I hope your future husband does not succumb to the same ill fate.” 

His ribbing tease settles something less than pleasant within your stomach though, a cold wash off reality hitting you in the chest. Swallowing, you fight for a weak smile, knocking your shoulder into his. 

The motion, gentle as it was, sets his cloak askew upon the brooch which holds it to his shoulder - it slips off, but he smiles all the same. 

You do your diligence in haste - fingers fastening it properly for him once more, hiding your soft smile and shaking fingers. 

You pretend not to feel his attentive gaze upon you as you do so. 

FOOTSTEPS ECHO IN CORRIDORS; A RHYTHMIC TAP OF BOOTS BESIDE YOU. 

Another blistering day - sweat gathering upon the peak of your hairline, sliding down the skin that welcomes beams of sunlight - a shiftier gown, light and breezy upon your frame. The young lord at your side is amiable enough; his voice smooth, words flowing of his family’s lands, ancient tales of the Riverlands. You, with suppressions of yawns, humming along as you look out to the gardens, a spot you’d much rather be. 

His stories fluctuate - yet your thoughts, leaves caught in a breeze; pulled inexorably towards a head of dark curls, of crooked smiles, of metal rings stamped with signet of dragon and seahorse. 

Your father’s voice echoes in your mind - consider the advantages of such a match - and a well-practiced young maiden you can play, as you smile and nod in all the right places. 

Your heart may not be in it - but your head is, and as you turn a corner, your gaze is drawn from the fluttering of hummingbird wings upon honeysuckle bushes in the near distance. 

A pair, boisterously striding down the corridor opposite you; The Royal Princes. 

Some quiet excitement, a lurch in your heart at the sight of him: Jacaerys, with such proud shoulders - dark hair tousled, cheeks beet and freckled with exertion. 

Beside him, Lucerys - an image of Jacaerys years past - hands, animatedly recounting some tale with a boyish enthusiasm. A flicker of relief at the sight of such familiar frames; you nearly forget yourself in an urge to abandon your unvaried duty and join their sides, to hear the tale from Luke’s lips, to fall into worn chaises in their drawing quarters; to laze with them on fruits and cakes, hiding in the shade before the duties of the afternoon call. 

But Jace’s eyes, sharp as a hawk when your presence is noted - and within a moment, they become rather fixed upon the man beside you.

A drop in your stomach of surprise rather than any kind of true consternation, unused to such blatant show of opposition from him. 

In that impressive way he can, Jace’s visage is quickly schooled into indifference; but you know Jacaerys, you know the tightness in his jaw, recognize the cool in his gaze. A heavy silence falls as you come upon the princes; some levity within your stomach at his gaze, stuck upon your arm in another’s. I do not want this, you hope he hears; I solely want you. 

“My lady,” Luke’s smile is mercifully amiable. “It is good to see you.”

You incline your head in return, your heart pounding beneath your ribs. “And you, Prince Lucerys,” you reply with a practiced smile; memories of youthful jaunts in the outcroppings of court - a boy prone to mischief, whose company you’ve always enjoyed.  

Jacaerys offers no such courtesy; with shock, you regard Jace’s icy gaze, a disposition well prepared to freeze over the Narrow Sea.

A moment before Jace parts his lips - “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says, his voice low, clipped - any semblance of amiability you’ve grown accustomed to has all but dissipated.  

Lucerys’s eyes meet your own in a quick glance; exasperation must hang upon the downturn of your lips, for he glances sidelong to his elder brother. 

Your suitor, rather taken aback by the chill in Jace’s tone, quickly introduces himself; the prince merely nods, offering no more than that - your jaw clicks shut in disapproval, any amusement you’d drawn at the taste of his envy dissolved with an overhanging dread, some sad misery. 

Ask for my hand, Jacaerys - you bite your lip to quell your foolish mind. Ask for my hand, and I will be yours. 

In some half-decent attempt to bridge the gap of tension that burgeons, you weakly mutter, “Were you sparring in such heat?” 

Jacaerys meets your gaze briefly; seeking something he is too proud to ask for, before a flush of some shame flickers over his countenance. 

“Yes,” he replies curtly, eyes falling to look away, seemingly finding the wall behind your head infinitely more interesting.

A breath, in which the breeze through the windows plaster a new sheen of sweat upon your spine. It’s almost as if some green-eyed beast has taken your friend; no flicker within his eyes, only a sullen gaze leveled down the slope of a regal nose. 

Lucerys seems to take the reins, in a step forward and bright, princely smile. “Jace bested me, as always,” and if you knew him any less, you’d think his laugh was simple, of amiability; though a lilt at the end, some strain to ease the tension of his elder brother’s rather serrating gaze upon the man beside you.

“Perhaps you might join us next time, my lady? I imagine it would be a welcome change from the dullness of court.” His voice, joking; you send him a wry grin imagining yourself attempting to wield a sword - though it falters with unspoken words - the man beside you, stiffer than a board beneath your hand. 

“I would like that,” you reply, though your eyes stray to Jace - he, not daring to spare you a mere glance. Silence, stretching between the four of you tighter than frayed string; And then Jace’s voice, quieter now, almost reluctant.

“Well. I’m sure you have more important matters to attend to,” he decides dismissively; it stings you, brows furrowing. 

Your suitor is rather unaware of the undercurrents - thankfully, he merely delivered an awkward chuckle, suggesting that you continue your walk. It is with force that you nod, following though each step is excruciating. 

You pass Jace with a brief moment of brushing shoulders - a scent of steel, of salt, of citrus; and an immaculate success of personal discipline as you continue forward, head not daring to look back. 

The gaze of Lucerys in the corner of your eye, some small comfort of sympathy and confusion in his stare; your suitor has begun to prattle on inconsequentially once more. 

You wonder if your father would have you hanged, were you to deny the betrothal right there. 

PERHAPS IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN OBVIOUS.

Maybe, it was obvious - it is indeed hard not to notice when eyes pierce you all night. 

A feast, you’re at; a wonderful one, with many lords and ladies and music and laughter. You’ve danced yourself to the edge of the room, yet you can still feel those eyes upon your frame as you converse lightly with a woman you vaguely recognize. 

You’ve quite enjoyed the feast, though you’re afraid Jacaerys has not. 

He’s been stuck to you; eyes, unrelenting, yet neither body nor mouth approaching. You nearly asked him to dance several times, but each attempt to cross the massive room to him resulted in you becoming whisked away for another dance. 

The cups of wine come quite easily; you’ve never been one to shy away from a feast, and the spirits are quite high. A man before you, speaking at you; you don’t find yourself too bothered, enjoying the fuzziness awarded to you by the contents of your cup. The wine on your lips is light, and you give minimal effort to focusing on the man’s words. 

“-Should I be worried?” 

You blink, frowning at the man in front of you - several years your senior, his brow furrows as he glances just over your shoulder, gesturing with a cup of wine. The son of Lord Royce; intelligent, handsome… not any interest of you, however. 

Frowning, you turn slightly; following his gaze. Your stomach flips. Jacaerys, across the way, watches you as a hawk does a mouse; intense, open - sharp. Though at the turn of your head, he has the audacity to look away - pushing the food around in front of him half-heartedly upon the plate. 

He is sat next to his mother at the large table before the entire procession; barely a moment before his gaze befalls you and your company once more. You lift an inquisitive brow - if you won’t provide me company, your look says, I’ll find it elsewhere. 

He simply looks away.

You shake your head, turning back and suppressing the flutter in your heart. “He’s just protective,” You reason, hoping you sound casual. 

The son of the lord lifts a brow. “Protective? The Crown Prince looks ready to challenge me to a duel.”  

But eventually, the son of the lord is replaced with a new one; You enjoy another dance with the young man, who turns red as Highgarden Beets when you accidentally spill a drop of wine upon your chest. 

It is not until you find yourself reposed at a banquet table with his younger brother does Jacaerys finally find his way to you. 

“-and then his foot caught on his cloak and he tossed over,” Lucerys recalls, grin wide. You smirk, amused by his story, sipping on water. “He tried to play it off but, Gods, he looked so pompous-” 

You let out a short laugh, “At least he had a sense of humor about it.” You defend - but Luke’s eyes have fallen behind you, where a shadow appears. 

“Jace!” Luke greets the figure behind you with a friendly grin, his eyes lighting up. Your stomach warms, turning with a lifted brow behind you. Jacaerys’ eyes are already on yours when you turn, and you’re struck by his proximity. 

“Luke,” Jacaerys greets smoothly, nodding to you with a small smile, “My lady.”

You return his smile, feeling a pleasant flutter at his attention. Your mouth opens to greet him - perhaps sneak a comment on his lingering attention this evening, but Luke speaks first. “We were just recalling that boy who made such a spectacle of himself asking for her hand before the festivities,” Lucerys continues, his laughter light.

 He takes your hand in his, playfully mimicking the young lord’s desperate plea as he falls to one knee before you; you laugh in surprise, Luke’s voice high as he mimics, “Please, my Lady, I’d even take your house name—”

You laugh, swatting Luke’s shoulder with a gentle nudge. “Hush!” you say with poorly concealed amusement. “He could be near, Luke.” 

A hand comes to the back of your chair; as you lean back, fingers trail slowly through the strands of your hair, grazing the nape of your neck. A warmth stirs as Jace leans around you, fixing his brother with a look. “Yes, well, Luke.” His voice is rather tight; you can hear the hint of tension. “I think it’s time you bother someone else.”

Alarmed, you send Jacaerys a rather bewildered look - an irritable sentence, never one to be so forward. Lucerys similarly seems to pick up on his brother’s mood, shifting uncomfortably.

 “Oh, come now, Jace,” he says lightly, hoping to ease the tension. It is rare that Jacaerys displays such an attitude towards his brother in your company, nor at all,  “We were just having a bit of fun.” He defends. 

Jacaerys gives a tight nod, his hand unmoving from the back of your chair. “I’m sure you were.”

Luke’s eyes flicker between you and Jace, reading whatever either of you refuse to say. A small understanding that lurks within his mirthful gaze, eyeing his older brother, “Oh, I see.” 

Jacaerys simply tilts his head with a withering look, one that prompts you to hold back a laugh of amusement. 

“Well,” Luke says, standing up with a nod. “I think…” He squints, humming, “Oh, yes- mother’s beckoning me, I see her just- well, I’ll leave you two to it.” He turns to you, bowing with a grin poorly concealed. “My lady.” 

After you’ve bowed back, you resist a sigh - Jacaerys watches Lucerys go, his hand still resting rather possessively on the back of your chair. Half exasperated and half amused, you murmur Jace’s name; his head swivels to you, the scowl melting from his face. “Sit,” You gesture. 

He takes the seat beside you, the bitterness seemingly having worn off, steadfastly avoiding your eyes. “You need not be so discontented, Jacaerys,” you say, leaning in slightly to meet his gaze. “It’s just Luke. He was only providing me company.”

Jacaerys raises an eyebrow, his eyes dark though he tries to conceal it. "Of which you've had no shortage all night," he retorts, his voice low.

You sigh, shaking your head. Jacaerys, by nature, is a friend of great kindness and patience; Yet, of late, he has grown increasingly impatient and possessive, having apparently decided he must vie for your attention with greater urgency than usual. 

It would be both a lie and a sin to deny that you relish such devoted attention from a man like him.

Perhaps this is his way of grappling with the unspoken affection that binds you both—a matter you have both struggled to address openly, and of which you have taken in better stride than he as of late. 

His attentiveness is flattering, though the extent of his possessiveness comes as a surprise; your cheeks grow hot at the look in his eyes.

There is a piece of lint upon the top plane of his shoulder, just near the junction of his neck; you pinch it, ridding him of the slight imperfection with a sigh. Your Jacaerys; so handsome, so chivalrous, so bold - so unwilling to cross certain lines, yet so ready to dive headfirst over others. 

He relaxes under your touch, and you cannot help but speak the truth.

“You look quite handsome this evening,” you murmur softly, observing the blush that creeps up his neck. 

“Thank you,” he accepts, his voice carrying that slight hint of shyness you so adore. Jacaerys is not blind, nor is he a fool; he certainly knows of his looks, though despite this, he so often grows bashful at each compliment you deliver. 

A group of children rush past your table; you watch fondly as the two kids at the front avoid running into the dancing couples. A small laugh from you as the child in the back trips over a gown train.  

“You look quite beautiful, as always.” Jacaerys says; you snap back to him with a small smile. He, too, is no stranger to showering you with praise nor flattering remarks; and you, just as well, always find yourself exceedingly pleased. 

You both sit in a comfortable silence for a moment before he clears his throat. “Would you care to dance?”

A thrill of delight courses through you, though you mask it with a serene smile as you take his offered hand. “And here I thought you quite content to brood in the corner,” you tease gently. 

“I was not brooding,” he retorts, guiding you towards the dance floor with soft hands. “I was merely allowing you to enjoy the company of others.” 

You find his protests endearing, though you say nothing as you follow him gracefully. “You know I prefer your company,” you reply sincerely; he takes your hand and places it on his shoulder - you let your thumb soothe over the muscle, feeling the tension slide away. 

His pleased smile is tilted down at you, and you provide a half shrug as you begin a gentle dance, murmuring, “Besides, you’ve done a splendid job of deterring any potential suitors away from me.”

A hint of satisfaction crosses his face briefly, though he tries valiantly to hide it; a subtle smirk tugging at his lips before he schools his expression. “Have I?” he asks - eyes light with that underlying warmth. You roll your eyes good-naturedly. 

“You have, my prince,” you affirm, leaning in closer as you guide his hands to your waist. Your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you continue in this manner, you may well spoil my chances of finding a decent husband of the lot.”

Jacaerys’s smile broadens, and his gaze softens. “I would not dream of it,” he replies with a playful grin, leading you in a gentle dance. You roll your eyes, unable to resist his charm this evening.

“Of course not,” you say with a smile, enjoying the moment.

You find it rather soothing to dance with him; you always have. The lights are dim - music smoother, laughter soft and smiles gentle when he steps on your dress skirt - or you on his toes occasionally. 

Swaying rather gently, you enjoy each other’s company - discussing his training, your academic endeavors, how Vermax is faring after having not flown in a few days. 

Perhaps the wine has helped; the room is amiable, dark - cinnamon, cloves, amber. Jacaerys is warm against you, his own cheeks reddened with the wine coursing through his veins. A giddiness slips into your veins, content with his company. 

And then Jacaerys whispers quietly to you, a teasing joke about the inebriated couple to your left; a laugh that flies out of your lips before you can remember your courtly manners - stark and unladylike, it turns the heads of several couples around you.

In sharp reaction to your disturbance, he tugs you to him tenderly, shushing you only slightly - his own laughter stifled in your hair to save face, concealing both of your giggles in a short embrace.

Laughter from you, trying your hardest to resist - another glance to the man beside you, drunkenly letting the woman dip him low, fumbling with his weight - your hands find their place upon Jace’s neck, fingers grazing the soft fabric of his red cloak as he laughs again, ducking his face into the gentle curve of your shoulder. 

Your gaze lifts at the tailend of your ungraceful bout of amusement with a mindless wander, enjoying the pressing warmth of Jace in your arms - the rest of the evening second to him. 

Your eyes trail up to the dais: catching a penetrating stare that washes you cold. 

In the midst of the entire court, you catch the eyes of his mother, the Queen.

Mid-laugh, your stomach flips as a chill runs through you. The warmth of Jace’s breath does little to nothing for the sudden cold creeping over your face - he, oblivious to his mother’s gaze, pulls you even closer, his laughter a warm breath against the nape of your neck. 

And for a moment, you hold her regal gaze; any urge to step back and maintain a more appropriate distance with her son is suddenly discarded when you find the warmth in the Queen's eyes, the hint of a smile growing upon her expression. 

And then a slight nod from her, crown glinting in torchlight - some acknowledgement, some permission; with a mixture of nervousness and respect, you return the gesture, your heart pounding as Jacaerys pulls away, resuming a dance with you. Blissfully unaware. 

THE NIGHT STRETCHES LANGUIDLY.

Low burnt torches are replaced with fresh flames; you lean into Jacaerys's embrace, lulled into a tranquil haze by the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm, by the melody played in the corner.

“I believe we’ve heard this tune already,” you muse softly, breaking the spell once your heart has calmed from its earlier flutter.

Jacaerys glances toward the quartet in the corner, their music weaving through the evening air. “I had not noticed,” he replies, his gaze lingering on you with a hint of surprise.

A smile dances on your lips with ease—hours have passed since the festivities commenced, yet this is the first time you have seen Jacaerys take to the dance floor. Though princely duties might have called him elsewhere, you are warmed by the knowledge that tonight he chose only to dance with you.

“You know,” you tease, lifting your eyes to his, “if you had asked any lady here to dance, she would surely stumble over her skirts to accept.”

He raises a brow at this; regarding you down the bridge of his nose as his hands squeeze your hips in a slight tease. “You’ve seemed perfectly fine on your two feet, gevie.” 

You shake your head, laughing gently - You have no clue, you fool, your mind sings to him.  “Only because I’ve danced with you countless times before, ñuha darilaros.” You reason. My prince. 

The High Valyrian term rolls off your tongue, and though you stumble over the pronunciation, you catch the glint of satisfaction in his eyes - anything to see that fleck in his eyes, that flash of pride that you so crave. 

“Dārilaros,” he corrects with a lift of his brow, making your heart flutter despite your best efforts to remain composed.

Biting back a grin of your own at his correction, you send him a disappointed look. Always so dutiful - you purse your lips, “Jace, you mustn’t be so harsh on me.” You jest, fingers flexing over the fine material of his doublet. “It’s a feast. Have mercy.” 

He gives you a look, “Is that a pout I see?” He muses, eyes flicking to your lips and back to your gaze, your hands warm as he guides you in a small pattern dance. You simply tilt your head - he shakes his head shortly, though you see the pink upon his cheeks. “If you’re trying to sway me with such a look, you might try a bit harder,” He lifts a brow, “I’ve seen you use such charm on far less deserving targets.”

You bite your lip, a flash of memory at his icy stare, you arm-in-arm with some far-off Riverlord’s son. The dragonclaw clasping his doublet is crooked; you righten it with your thumb and forefinger gently before returning your hand to his shoulder. 

A flash of desire, wishing to provoke him - you crane your neck, pretending to search the crowd.  “Perhaps I should seek out one of these less deserving targets to practice my charms on, then?” You hum, “They’d surely appreciate them more than you do.”

His grip on your waist tightens, and abruptly, he halts in his steps, ceasing your dance. The music continues, yet you stand still amidst the swirling crowd, eyes locked on his in surprise. 

“I would sooner meet the Stranger than let that happen.”  His words are dead-honest. 

 Your heart leaps, mouth drying as you try to find some joke in your mind about his dramatics. 

You open your mouth, but in that peculiar way in which he always seems to read your mind, he insists. “I do not jest.” He adds, shaking his head. 

Your eyes take in his own; warm pools of honey. Some familiar urge - that yearning to pull him down to your height, to kiss him soundly - you toss the thought away, instead licking your bottom lip, heart thundering. 

“Nor do I,” You whisper, searching his eyes, feeling a pull towards him that you cannot resist; anticipation drips from your body as you drift closer, feeling his warmth. 

A shaky sigh from his lips, eyes searching your own. “Then I beg, do not feign ignorance,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged - the music is less than background noise. You are lost in him, just for a moment.

“It drives me mad to see you surrounded by suitors. Truly. I cannot say I find pleasure in watching others vie for your attention.” 

You look up at him, the heat in your cheeks likely quite evident despite your effort to remain nonchalant. You intend to keep the conversation light - though you know such a task would be impossible with how you stand motionless, holding each other in a crowd of swirling bodies. 

Yet before you can respond, an elbow jabs into your back; you gasp and stumble, but Jace’s hands wrap around you, pulling you to him as he avoids the flick of a woman’s hair - his body shielding you from the encroaching crowd of dancing lords and ladies. 

Without another thought, you and Jacaerys resume your dance, slowly swaying, his hands flexing against the fabric at your waist as you bask in the heavy air of his words, your eyes tracing over the gold laced in his doublet.

There are those within earshot; Lucerys and Rhaena dance just aside you now, and you press slightly closer to him, looking up into the freckle that lies just within the ring of his left iris. 

“Jacaerys,” You start, a brief whisper; still warm from his possessive words, “How should I interpret your words?” You ask, breathless, hoping. “You say you do not enjoy seeing others bid for my hand - though you’ve seemed quite absorbed in their efforts as of late.”

He delivers you an incredibly knowing look, one that douses you in warmth.

A long knowledge between you and him - between every being that takes a breath within the walls of the Red Keep.

He lets out a short breath, tugging you into his - as if unable to look you in the eyes as he speaks, your face nestles into the crook of his neck. “Believe me, it is certainly not your allure I dispute. Rather,” He wets his lower lip, “I detest the notion that another dare try to know it as intimately as I. To know you as intimately as I.” He breathes lowly. 

Heat spreads through you at such words; a flattery, yes, but a confession that is much too genuine to be of the aloof coy nature you and Jacaerys often share together. 

Despite the shock of his confession after such a long yearning, you smile against him; a giddiness in you when your warm breath raises goosepimples upon the skin of his throat. 

Gently, you press a light kiss to the space below his ear, feeling his spine shiver under your touch. 

As you pull back, your lips still close to his ear, you whisper softly, “You can become so wonderfully jealous, Jacaerys.”

One hand slides from the nape of his neck to cradle his sharp jaw in palm, watching his face contort in mild irritation at your tease. Your brows lift at his sheepish blush, tilting your head in amusement. “Did you truly believe you were being subtle?” You question, hiding your laugh for the sake of his pride. 

The apple of his cheeks darken, his jaw tight as he presses his lips together, but you soothe his expression with a murmur, “I suppose if you find it so troubling,” your finger soothes over the muscles of his shoulder, swaying along with the dance though the external world is long dissolved, “perhaps you should focus less on guarding me from others and more on ensuring I remain by your side.”

A flicker of hunger; inhaling deeply through his nose, his eyes pin you before him, hands impossibly tight against your dress. You brush against a back in the crowd as Jace spins you slightly - pools of honey do not leave your gaze. 

“I would gladly take every opportunity to ensure such a thing,” he says quietly, his breath mingling with yours as the music begins to change - no longer slow, but a jaunt. He tilts his head down in that way you so love, “Yet to act upon my desires here would be…” He swallows thickly, his throat moving visibly, “...less than appropriate.”

Heat licks through you at the admission, at the candor in his tone. Your voice, no more than a murmur. “I can be a patient woman when I must be.”

His nod; flushed cheeks, darkened eyes - the ghost of a smirk. “Good.” 

You do not trust yourself to speak; a hunger that devours you - so you lean into the music, allowing yourself to enjoy the moment.

Jacaerys, his hands firm upon you, thumb tracing over the fabric of your gown with a heat you’re unable to ignore. 

IT IS NOT SO SOON AFTER THAT YOU TIRE OF WAITING. 

Patience; you must have lied to him, when you’d promised such a thing. His hands, so warm through your dress - his eyes, so affectionate - the gaze of his mother across the hall, returning to you and him every few minutes with a ghost of a smile. 

Your hands have begun to sweat. 

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze as you sluggishly follow his lead. “Have you tired of dancing?” You wonder, searching his face for any lack of enthusiasm. 

Jacaerys, his eyes filled with adoration, simply brushes a stray flyaway from your cheek. The gentle shake of his head that gifts you the soft smell of amber and soap upon his skin. “Only if you have.” 

Feather-light, a thumb gently caresses your jaw - faint before fleeing, knowing better than to display such actions in the eye of public. 

A warm smile spreads across your face, touched by his consideration, and you bite your lip. “Perhaps a breath of fresh air,” you whisper, your voice soft.

He catches on, as he always does with your veiled words - a slow smile spreading across his face, he nods just as gently. “Lead the way, gevie.” he says; Despite what would be otherwise considered unbefitting of people unwed as yourselves, you take his fingers intertwined with yours, guiding him away from the crowd. 

THE AIR IS COOL AT THIS HOUR. 

The birds have gone to rest; in the twilight of evening, the moon leaks silver onto the balcony, Jacaerys’ palm warm in your own. Your gown, ruffled sleeves from a small breeze - you sigh, letting yourself repose against the stone, looking off towards the gardens. 

His own gaze is directed towards the training yard, upon the other side of view, as if imagining himself below, sword in hand. It is calm, in the silence; a sweet respite, a stark contrast to the intensity of the four walls inside the hall. 

You’ve been out here, on this particular balcony, before - you quite often find yourself leaving the duties of court with Jacaerys, finding forgotten corridors or courtyards to hide in, to study, to enjoy each other’s company. Quiet jokes in the heat of the afternoon, a breath of fresh air when a roll of storm clouds loom in the distance. 

“I realize I have perhaps been a bit overbearing,” his gaze is on the yard below, sighing as if letting you in on a secret. You fight the look of impression upon your face. 

“I regret that I have made things difficult for you.”

You shake your head with a smile; always so polite, even when seeing green - and you, pushing buttons just to shy away from the reaction. 

“Well, I’m relieved you no longer look as though you’re ready to kill any man who looks my way,” You sigh coyly - the dock upon the Blackwater in the distance sways; Jacaerys’ profile illuminates in the silver of the moon. “Though I admit I do not mind your passion.” 

A brief flash of flattery and some mild embarrassment in his expression; his eyes, darting from yours to the stone ramparts that give way to the winding streets below. 

In the distance, the royal fleet rocks gently, flying the flags of his house’s sigil. You watch them with a trancelike interest as you wait patiently, heart in your throat. You know Jacaerys enough to know when he is gathering his thoughts.  

“A few nights ago, after…seeing you,” He hesitates for a moment; his voice wavering, warm. “I…spoke with my mother. About us.” This, near a whisper. 

Oh.  

Red blossoms from his ears, cheeks, neck; a sheepish expression that he schools - and your smile, growing in flattery, touched that he would think so much as to confide in his mother, the Queen, about you. 

He clears his throat. “It seems she has…already been in discussions with your father about a potential betrothal.” A smile, shy - almost sheepish - but your own is warm, elated. You’d wondered if such plans were being discussed. He clears his throat, “It indeed did not take much convincing at all.” 

Your heart warms at the revelation, your cheeks flushing anew. “Oh?” you murmur, unable to keep the bashful relief off your face.

Jacaerys nods, tinged in that regal glow; the same one he shares with his mother, brothers. He nods. “I hope you’re not too upset that we were kept out of the initial discussions.” He looks down to where your hands rest against the stone balcony; he lays his hand upon yours, and a jolt of affection rolls over you. “And…I would not impose upon you an unwanted proposition. If you wish to consider other suitors, you have the freedom to do so.” 

You hold back any playful remark about his valiant effort - casting daggers with his eyes at anyone who dared approach you too closely - but indeed, it matters not to you. As if there was ever any doubt that you would choose Jacaerys over any other.

You opt to brush the hair that blows over his temple in the cool breeze, soothing the tresses until you cup his jaw gently. Jacaerys's breath catches in his throat; a flutter of dark lashes over cheekbones as he swallows. When he opens them again, you whisper. “Jace. There is nothing to fret over.” Your hand slides to smooth over the contours of his cheek, “I hope you know just as everyone else does that I have been yours since the moment I first laid eyes on you.”  

He indeed beams at this - a wide, flattered smile, dimple carved by a kiss from the Maiden as he tilts his head. Hands find your hips again, pulling towards himself as though he cannot help it. “As I have been yours.” He murmurs, pressing a fleeting kiss upon your hairline, letting his forehead meet your own. 

His breathing, soft as yours, though your heart pounds hard in anticipation. 

The faint music from the hall, your breaths. 

The distant crash of waves, your breaths. 

Your heart beating in your chest. His breath, with yours. 

Jace’s voice comes no louder than a whisper, then, “I want…” he seems to retract his thought - you, hopeful, keen into him, “What do you want?” 

He looks at you, and it strikes somewhere deeper than your heart; He shakes his head. “I want to kiss you.” He admits. 

A dip in your stomach at the thought of doing so. 

His lips, trailing ever so closer to your own as he looks down at you, eyes nearly pleading. The line of his jaw is warm under the gentle trace of your fingers; your stomach, fluttering. “You need not ever ask,” you whisper back, your voice tender and reassuring. 

A lift of a brow, his head tilting to you; yours, craning up, his lids low as he considers your words - never one to throw out your thoughts, no matter how inconsequential. 

Fingers, curling around your hips rather possessively, tugging you into the cradle of his embrace. “Not ever?” He muses, and you, intoxicated by the proximity as he leans further, your lips nearly touching. 

His eyes, dark pools against the kiss of night; you whisper, “Never.” 

He seems to enjoy the flush upon your skin, the rapid beating of your heart - as if he himself is not a flustered mess. “Not even in the midst of a feast?” He wonders, eyes amused, “With everyone watching?” 

A flutter as you shake your head gently, words lodged in your throat as your heart pounds. 

The corner of his lips, twitching, torturous - you have half a mind to jump up, press your lips against his; but patience is indeed quite a virtue.  

A mumble from his chest, nose brushing your own, lips faint as he murmurs, “Daor isse Valyrio Eglie?” He wonders; your breath catches. Not in High Valyrian? 

You are much too wound up to consider his tease, nor to worry if you’ve translated his words correctly; with a shaky huff, you murmur, “No…Lo ziry…raqagon ao, ñuha Dārilaros.” You take the time to ensure your pronunciation mimics his own, rolling and smooth: He seems very gratified with your response - unless it… pleases you, my Prince.  

A slight, almost desperate noise from the back of his throat - his hands, around your waist as he pushes you back against the bannister, stone cool through the fabric of your dress, murmuring, “I am going to kiss you.” 

And his cheeks, growing a shade red as he sends you a boyish grin; a reminder of the Jacaerys you know, you’ve known, you will always know. Giddy, you grin back at him, voice coy as you tease him. “Are you? It seems you’d rather talk about it than actually do it-” 

 A flutter of pleasure and relief one and the same when he decides to silence you with his own lips. 

Messy, he presses into you eagerly; your nose upon his own, lips sliding together. Warmth. His hand sliding up your spine, tugging you in a motion against his own chest, a kiss rushed and filled with shy fervor. 

You, tugging at him by the lapels, as if he’d dare step away from you; He tastes of mulled wine, spices, sweet like sagecakes -  the feeling of a smile, shy and still proud, as you lean under him. 

A sudden rush of need overtakes you both. Jacaerys’s lips capture yours in a fervent kiss, one that sends your heart racing, heat tickling your heart. The music drones in the distance; a whisper in your mind - indecency - but who is to care? Jacaerys is to be your husband, after all. 

You gasp as his grasp threads through your hair with a desperate urgency; fingers, tangling in the ribbon of your hair. 

He groans dramatically against your lips, “Gods-” tugging your hair between his fingers, he mumbles against, “damn this ribbon.” 

And without another thought he tugs it free, the sudden release of your hair sending a shiver down your spine; what if someone were to find you and Jace, now? A lick of possession as you see him pocket the strip of ribbon, his hands rising to cup your cheeks as your hair falls more free around you.  

A heat in your stomach as you press up into him again, chasing the dizzying feeling of his sigh against you. “Beautiful,” He all but groans into your mouth, tongue running along the seam of your lips, “You’re so beautiful.” 

Footsteps in the hall just inside the balcony; You snap back to reality, the public setting crashing into your consciousness. 

A flush of embarrassment colors your cheeks, and you pull back slightly, your heart pounding wildly.

Jacaerys's eyes flutter open, his breath ragged and uneven as a freshborn doe. A moment suspended in the air as voices and footfalls rush past; you and your Jacaerys, staring wide-eyed, hungry, your cheeks warm against the fine fabric of his ceremonial doublet. 

And then his voice, rough and low with desire as he mumbles, eyes flickering just inside the hall, “M-my chambers are just up the stairs in the royal apartments-”

It is nearly embarrassing how quick you keen, murmuring eagerly, rushed lips brushing against his chest, “Yes.”

Even in the widening of his eyes, his lips quirk in a grin - his hand, trembling as he grasps your own, guiding you with poorly concealed urgency towards the staircase. 

Soft chuckles when you duck away from sparse guests that linger outside the hall, hand in hand, cheeks flushed. His hand, pressed over your lips as he peers around a corner, waiting for the guards to cross the corridor of his chambers - and you concealing a giggle, pressing your lips gently to his palm as he does so. 

His hand on the small of your back, ushering you into his chambers with a molten gaze. 

The swallow of a groan as you finally press him back against the wood of his door inside, warm with his touch, murmuring husband into the shell of his ear. 

He, as your lips press into the warm skin of his neck, whispering wife in return.

translations - gaomilaksir; duty. rigle; honor. gevie; beautiful.

feedback is appreciated.

tagging my list & loves: @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @jottositto @chloe-petrichors @elaena-aerrin @smurfelle @greenvita @alyssa-dayne @uhnanix @princessvelaryon @softspiderling @xxselenite @benjinotes @princessbellecerise @bryscorner @v3lary0ns @vee-mage @hxtd @earth4angels @dipperscavern @swordgrace @useralba @mckennah123 @astrxq

[i-cant-sing]

TIME TRAVELER AU PT 2

Original post/idea here. Part 1 is here. Part 3 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

I fucked up.

You thought as you sat on the bed, holding your head in your hands.

I fucked up so baaaaaad.

Not only have you healed Baldwin of his leprosy, forever changing history of the LEPER KING, but also managed to somehow be his bride. To make matters EVEN worse, you cant just up and leave right now because you dont know the disastrous effects it'll have on the future now that Baldwin wont die of leprosy, which means that the kingdom of Jerusalem wont fall to Salauddin and his muslim army and after that its just a domino effect.

You tried to view your options here.

I stay here, marry Baldwin and fuck up the fabric of time and space because how can someone from the future marry someone from the past? Wouldnt I cease to exist?

I leave, return to my time where authorities arrest me for fucking around with time- that is, if I even exist in the future now that I've altered history. Who knows if my ancestors survived/were born after this?

No. Neither option is good. I need to stay here and fix this. But in a way that i dont draw too much attention to myself so that im so insignificant that nobody remembers, let alone writes about me in the history books.

You were drawn out of your thoughts with someone knocking on your door. "Come in." You said, straightening yourself.

A couple of servants walked in, all women. "Princess Y/n." They all courtesied. "We've been sent here by his majesty to prepare you for dinner with him."

Princess? Ah yes. Only a couple of hours ago, Baldwin had proposed to you, I guess the concept of asking wasnt a thing here as he just slipped on the big beautiful ring on your finger.

You narrowed your eyes at them. "First of all, Im not a princess. You will address me as Y/n only. And secondly, Im not going to join him for dinner, so there's no need to prepare me" The maids all shared a look of confusion before the head servant spoke.

"But we cant address you as anything else until you wed the king, after which you will be our queen, princess."

"Didnt I just tell you not to call me princess? Just call me Y/n!" The head maid shook her head. "Princess, we can not do that. If we do, then we would be punished. And we must prepare you for dinner with his majesty!" The maids moved ahead to start helping you but you raised a hand, halting them.

"I said, no." You said sternly.

"What... what will we tell the king, princess? He's expecting you-"

"Tell him i cant come because Im sic- no, Im not feeling well and Id like to be alone." You cant say "sick" in this era, because that means "death sentence" here and you dont want to be fretted over and bring attention to yourself as "the king's fiancee got SICK!". Besides, you do need to be away from Baldwin as much as possible and have some time to plot your moves.

-

You had pulled out your notebook and began writing out dates and historic events of this era to plan your escape. You're trying to find some sort of shortcut where Baldwin gets sick again and dies, leaving his kingdom in the hands of his sister and brother in law, who will bring its downfall-

Someone knocked on your door gently. "Princess?" You quickly hid your notebook. "Come in."

Baldwin walked inside and towards you, eyes worried as they scanned you up and down.

"I heard you're not feeling well?" He asked and before you had a chance to back away, he had cupped your cheeks in his hands tenderly. "What's wrong? Shall I fetch the royal physician?"

"No." You replied with your face smushed in his hands. "I'm fine." You pulled your face away his large hands.

Confusion spread through his blue orbs. "Then why did you not join me for dinner?" He asked, using a hand to push your hair over your ear, not taking the hint that you didn't want him touching you.

"I just-" what possible excuse could you come up with that would be both effective and not insulting enough to have your head chopped off. "you- you dont care about me."

Baldwin looked at you in bewilderment. "I dont... care about you? Princess, how can you say that?" He tried to cup your cheek again but you backed away before he could, putting on a face of hurt.

"How can I not? You dont care about what I want, or even ask me what I need?" You feingned pain in your voice, turning away from him for dramatic effect.

He grabbed your shoulders and turned you towards him, his pupils grew wide as if trying to search for what it is that you need. "My love, what do you want? Just say the word, and I'll give it to you."

You looked down, again for the theatrics, and Baldwin lifted your chin. "Go on."

"You never- never asked me to marry you."

"Huh? But I did today-"

"No, you stated it- demanded I marry you." You furrowed your brows and looked down again.

Baldwin smiled. Of course, how could he have not asked you? You were a girl after all, you want to be courted the traditional way. Its not your fault that you dont know that kings do not ask permission for things. They just get it, because who would refuse to marry a king?

He kissed your forehead, lifting your chin again to meet his eyes. "Im sorry, princess. I shouldve asked." He took your hands in his and had that charming smile again. "Will you marry me, Y/n?"

"No." You shook your head. "I... I cant marry you, your majesty." You said, adding tears into your eyes. His brows furrowed in concern.

"What? Why?" You tried pulling your hands away but he didnt let go, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

"I-" well, you could say that youre not catholic and the church would never let you two get married, but you also dont wanna be tortured for being a "heretic". Maybe religious differences could be the last plan. Taking your silence as hesitance, Baldwin spoke. "I can offer you everything and more. Jerusalem would be yours. What is it that I lack that anyone else could offer?"

"I am not a good match for you!" Ah yes, lets do the typical "its not you, its me." You bit your lip as you yanked your hands out of his and walked towards the window, your back to him (theatrics). "You and I are not equals- no we are nowhere close! Youre a king, your father was a king, your family is royalty. I come from nothing, as did my ancestors. There will never be stability in our marriage when we come from such different backgrounds!" You never thought that you would be putting yourself down and call yourself "inferior" to break up with a man.

Silence hung in the air, as you held your breath.

"Youre right." You heard him say behind you. "We are not equals, we never will be." For some reason, instead of being relieved, a chill ran down your spine. Baldwin wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. "I may be a king, but youre far superior to me. You're an angel, sent to me by God, and you saved me. I wouldnt be king anymore if you werent here, princess."

Warmth spread from your cheeks to the tip of your ears, both due to the close proximity and his words. Sensing your bashfulness, he chuckled, kissing your cheek as he turned you around to face him. You could hear your own heart beat at how close he was.

Baldwin tilted his head, half lidded eyes staring at you. "Youre everything and more that I could ask for, princess. Never put yourself down and compare yourself to me, hm?" He said, giving your arms a gentle squeeze before moving away, but not detaching himself completely as he took ahold of your hand and looked back at you.

"Now that this is settled, let us go eat. I've had the servants prepare a feast for us and then we can discuss wedding arrangements-" shit shit shit shit shit fuck it!

"I'm not catholic!" Baldwin halted at that. You've already said it, might as well dig yourself a deeper hole. You let the tears form in your eyes. "Im... Muslim. I didnt tell you because I didnt want you to think I was working for Salauddin and spying on you for him, you know I wasnt! I really did only want to know about you. Please believe me, I wasnt-"

"I believe you."

What? Just like that.

"You- you believe me?" You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Once again, Im sorry i didnt tell you I was a Muslim, but dont worry, I'll pack my things and leave tonight-"

"Why? We still have to get married."

You blinked slowly. "But... Im Muslim?"

Baldwin shrugged. "So? It doesnt change anything."

You looked at him in bafflement. "It does! It changes everything! We cant get married! Im a Muslim! The church wont allow interfaith marriages, and I dont intend on converting to catholicism either if thats what youre suggesting!"

"I am not suggesting that. You can be a muslim if you want to, but we're still getting married." Baldwin stated matter of factly.

"The church wont allow it-"

"The church will do as I say. I am the head of the church. Besides-" He smiled.

"I dont remember angels having to prove themselves to be a catholic. You saved my life, you cured my incurable disease. As far as the church is concerned, youre a miracle sent to me by God. Youre the Chosen One!"

Is he... is he hearing himself? Can you try to convince him?

"But... but Jerusalem deserves a Catholic Queen-" you tried weakly, but he cupped your cheek and smiled gently at you.

"I am Jerusalem, Y/n. And I deserve you." Was all he said before pecking your forehead.

He tugged you along with him. "Now, we have to eat."

You dont want to eat. You want to stay behind and think of another strategy because clearly you cant talk yourself out of this wedding.

"I'm- I'm not hungry." You said, making him frown.

"How is that possible? You havent had anything since morning. I dont want you getting sick before the wedding." Baldwin continued to pull you along.

Does he not listen?

"I dont want to eat- I- dont feel like it." You said a bit harshly this time, hoping he'd take the hint.

And he did, finally stopping. He sighed and let go of your hand. "Okay. I suppose if you really dont want to, we can skip dinner tonight." Fucking finally. "Its just... I seem to have developed a habit of enjoying meals with you. And now that my leprosy is cured and I have no more diet restrictions, I just- I had the kitchen prepare some of my favourite dishes that I was able to enjoy before my disease disabled me."

You stared at him. Is he- is he trying to guilt trip you? Baldwin once told you that due to leprosy he had ulcers in his mouth, and he couldnt eat different types of food, and was only able to have bland, soft goo.

You looked away from his big sad eyes. He's not getting to you. You need to go back to your room, make yourself scarce, be far away from him as often as possible.

"You can still go and eat dinner alone."

With one hand, he cupped your cheek. "Princess, you know I cant eat until you eat too. But its okay, if you dont want to eat, then I wont too. I guess I'll just have the servants finish the chicken roast and oh-! They even made strawberry cream cake for dessert. But- maybe another day."

You looked into his eyes, those blue orbs that were filled with sadness, resembling a kid who was just told "no candy!"

Sighing, you held his hand. "Maybe I can have a few bites."

His face lit up. Ah, he knew you'd come around. "Lets go!"

-

The next day, youre helped by the maids to get ready for the day. Apparently, Sibylla wanted to meet you and discuss some things, and you suspect she wants to talk about the wedding preprations.

The maids had prepared your bath and were very insistent on washing you themselves but you made them all leave the bath chambers. Finally, they compromised when you told them that they could dress you up if they wait outside.

Setting your old clothes on the bed, you entered the bathroom and settled into the warm water. The essential oils and flower petals soothed your mind and body, and you finally had some desperately needed silence to hear your own thoughts.

Last night at dinner, Baldwin was very- well, "happy" would be an understatement to how he felt near you. And all those forehead kisses and skin contact doesnt go unnoticed by you either. You suppose that since he had leprosy, he never really had or was allowed to touch anyone else. But now that hes cured, all thanks to your dumb ass, he craves the physical intimacy.

You closed your eyes as you sank deeper into the warm water. Gosh, did I really have to give him the water? Had I not done that, he would still be ridden with lepro-

Your eyes snapped open. Thats it. You just have to make sure he never drank your water in the first place! Yes! You can go back in time and sure, its always dangerous to go back in the same time period more than once, but you really dont have any other option now, do you?

After half an hour, you finally exited the bathroom and the maids practically ushered you to sit in the chair as they finally, FINALLY got to dress up the future queen of Jerusalem and after a whole hour, they're finally done. And... well you look good. Your hair has been done nicely, and a delicate golden headpiece, almost like a elegant hair band sits on top of your head. They added some color to your cheeks and lips with crushed berries. As for your clothes, they dressed you in a dark blue tunic with loose, flowing sleeves. The tunic itself was made of silk, probably brought in from the Byzantine empire and was only available to the upperclass of this time.

"I am not wearing those!" You said when they opened the jewellery boxes. There were diamonds and other precious stones adorning the earrings and necklaces.

"But princess, you must wear these. It is royal protocol for the king's bride to be, and the future queen to wear the royal jewels." The head maid said. She doesnt know that you dont plan on sticking around and if you leave wearing these jewels, who knows what havoc would that cause?

"No. I dont want to wear them."

The maids shared a look of concern. "What?" You asked them.

"Its just... his majesty picked these out for you himself. He would be mad at us if you were not wearing these." One of the younger servants spoke as she fumbled with her fingers. Through the mirror, you looked at everyone's worried expression. You doubt that someone as calm and collected as Baldwin would lose his marbles over his fiancee not wearing jewellery.

"I dont think the king would be mad at you if I dont wear some jewellery. He isnt one to get angry that easily, you know?" You said chuckling, but it died when you saw them share the same concerned looks again. This time, you turned away from the mirror to look at them directly. "What? Go on, no secrets."

Another maid mustered up the courage to mumble. "Well- it's just- the king- I mean- his majesty is calm but um-" she paused to look at the other maids for help but they all avoided eye contact. "Out with it." You said a bit sternly.

"His majesty... gets... emotional- yes, emotional! When it comes to matters concerning you."

"Emotional? What do you mean? Speak clearly, no word will get out of this room, I promise." You spoke all while glaring at the other maids to make them silently comply to not tattle on their friend.

The maid bit her lip. "His majesty... gets mad when he thinks that you're not being treated well." You gave her a look to continue. "A few weeks back, while you were strolling out in the garden, his majesty reprimanded some of his knights for not escorting you. He asked them why they weren't guarding you?"

A few weeks back? It may have made some sense for Baldwin to be protective of his bride to be, but you two weren't engaged until yesterday. And before that, his relationship with you was barely platonic, more like a king-servant thing.

"Tell her about the kitchen incident too." Another maid whispered.

"What kitchen incident?"

"Um, 2 months ago, when the kitchen had prepared a feast for his majesty, he almost fired the entire kitchen staff for serving olives with the entree." You gave them a quizzical look. "Well, his majesty had told them that you can't eat olives and had told them not to include it in the palace's food. But it was a feast to celebrate his victory and the staff thought it'd be best to add olives because the king likes them."

Your eyes widened at that. He almost fired the kitchen staff because you said you can't eat olives? I mean, it's not like you're deathly allergic, you just didn't like how tart they were and when Baldwin saw you picking them out on your plate, all you could manage to blurt out was that you can't eat them. Perhaps, he thought you had diet restrictions like him.

You huffed. That still didnt warrant such a reaction from him. "That isn't nice. Don't worry, I'll talk to him."

The maid looked at you in horror. "No! I mean, his majesty would not like that we- um..." she tried to come up with appropriate words that wouldn't be insulting. Her scrunched up face as she thought hard made you giggle.

"Fine, fine. I won't say anything to him. You have my word." You said, smiling at them assuringly.

The head maid then held out the pearl necklace to you. You sighed and nodded, and they all cheered as they started picking out the jewels for you.

Its okay. You told yourself. I can always drop them somewhere before time travelling.

-

As soon as you were dressed, one of Sibylla's lady-in-waiting came to fetch you. She hurried you, saying something along the lines of "you must see princess Sibylla right away!" And you couldn't stop her from pulling you along, so time travelling will have to wait.

"Princess Sibylla needs to see you right away, princess!" The maid said as she pulled you towards a room. Knocking on it, the door swung open and you were met with the sight of different gowns hanging on dummies with maids tending to them, and right in the center of the room was Sibylla, practically jumping on her heels.

"Y/n!" She yelled out as she ran towards you and engulfed you in a hug before her lady in waiting, the same one standing beside you, cleared her throat. It caught Sibylla's attention who gasped softly before backing away and immeadiately giving you a courtesy. "I mean, princess Y/n." You gave a nasty look to the lady in waiting before shaking your head at an embarrassed Sibylla. "You don't need to courtesy to me, princess Sibylla."

She immeadiately beamed. "Of course I do! You're not going to be just my sister in law, you're also going to be Queen of Jerusalem! Of course i bow to you."

Me, a queen? Yeah, we'll see about that.

"Still, I consider us friends before anything else." You offerer her a small smile. "You called for me?"

"Oh? Oh, yes!" She immeadiately grabbed your hand and pulled you further into the room. "I didn't know what colours and material you preferred, so I ordered them to bring everything with the best seamstresses in kingdom!" She pointed at the seamstresses, who bowed to you.

"But... I don't need clothes. I already have a wardrobe." Your statement made Sibylla laugh as did a few of her hand maidens.

"Ahh, you're so naive!" Sibylla giggled. "That wardrobe doesn't exist anymore. You're a princess, soon to be queen, you need a royal wardrobe!" She said as she dragged her hand over one of the gowns, feeling the material. "And! You still have to select your bridal gown!"

For the next 3 hours, Sibylla had the maids show you different gowns and materials, even helping by giving her input as to what would suit you.

"I still like my old clothes, they're quite comfortable." You sighed. Designing your new wardrobe was not something that needed your urgent attention at the moment. You need to return to your room and get the time machine from your old dress and leave this era.

Sibylla nods. "I understand what you're going through. I still remember how they burned away my entire wardrobe when I married Guy. But I suppose its poetic in a way. Since you're starting a new life, so why not start one by getting new clothes!"

Wait.

"They burnt all your old clothes?" Sibylla nods. "Mmhmm! In a way, you're burning away your past! And starting a new-" You didn't stick around as you immeadiately rushed out of the room and made your way towards your own.

You can't- your old clothes has your time machine. If they burn it, you can't ever leave!

You burst into your room, looking at the empty spot on your bed where you'd left your clothes before going in the bath.

"No." The maids, they must've put it in your closet. You searched it, searched your entire room but to no avail.

A maid walked into your room, watching you tear apart the bedroom. "P-princess? May I help-"

"Where are my clothes?!" You walked upto her, the poor maid's fright apparently on her face. "WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES!?"

"They- they're burning it-"

"WHERE?!"

"The gardens!"

You ran out of your room, and made your way towards the royal gardens as fast as you could, but with how huge this palace was, getting there took a while. Not to mention when you did get to the gardens, you didn't spot anyone there, but you did notice the smell of something burning, which lead you to the back of the gardens, that was away from everyone's sight.

There you found them, two maids burning your clothes in a small bonfire.

"PUT IT OUT!" You yelled as you rushed towards them, startling them.

"Princess-" they began bowing.

"Didn't you hear me? PUT THE FIRE OUT!" They scrambled about trying to find some water, but of course, they didn't have it.

"I'll get it from the fountain!" The two maids ran to get a bucket of water for you, but it would be too late by the time they came. So when you spotted your old dress burning, you pulled it out with bare hands, not caring about burning yourself.

The dress was mostly burnt to ashes, while only few bits remained that were still on fire. You managed to wrangle out your time machine out of it, the small metal box that was burning hot and left marks on your skin as you tried to hold it.

But even from here, you could see the damage was done. The area that displayed the year had now completely melted off, as did some of the buttons.

No. No. No. No. No. NO!

You couldn't help but cry as reality began to set in. You're stuck here.... you're stuck here forever.

Heart wrenching sobs wracked your body as you tried to hold the hot metal machine in your hands, your skin burning as you tried. Even when the servants came and poured the water on the fire, you still kept on crying, clutching your machine to your chest, partly to conceal it, partly from helplessness.

The maids looked at each in worry as they tried to console you, tried to pacify you, lest you had them executed. But it didn't matter, you were inconsolable. While one of the maids sat by your side, trying to soothe you, the other one ran in to get help.

Moments later, when you were able to hide the machine in your clothes again, someone came up and touched your shoulder from behind.

"Y/n?" You looked up through your tears. It was Baldwin. For some reason, seeing him only made you cry harder as you finally realised that you were stuck here with him. That you fucked up permanently.

"Oh princess. What's wrong? Don't cry- shhh, I'm here." He pulled your body towards him, letting you sob into his chest heartbreakingly. Exhaustion, frustration and shock must have overtook your body, as you fainted in his arms.

"Princess? Y/n?" He tried waking you up before collecting you in his arms and rushing back into the castle.

-

Hours later, you woke up to find yourself back in your room, lying in your bed. Your eyes looked down at your hands which were now wrapped in bandages. They only served as a reminder of what youd lost- your time machine.

Tears welled up in your eyes again. Am I- am I really stuck here? You sniffled.

A hand came up to caress your cheek, startling you.

It was Baldwin. "Princess? Do you want to tell me what happened?" His soft tone made you even more sad, and you raised your bandaged hands to wipe your tears, but he caught your wrists and lowered them back gently, using his own hands to wipe away the tears.

"No, you cant use your hands for sometime. The burns need to heal." His hand remained on your cheek, thumb caressing the area under your eye. "What happened, Y/n? Why were you so upset?"

You cant avoid the topic for long, and now that your way of escape is gone, you need to be careful of what you say and how you act around the king.

You let out a shaky breath. "They... they burned my clothes."

"Mmhm. Dont worry, I will have them bring in the fanciest clothes for you. Sibylla will make sure of it. Only the best for my princess." You shook your head. "Its not- its not that... They were my clothes... they burned away-"

"I know... but its a tradition. The maids burn away the bride-to-be's old clothes to signify that youre detaching yourself from the past and starting a new life." He explained, watching as you sniffled. Clearly, you were still upset over this.

"But the maids, they still should've informed you of this tradition before doing anything. I know how emotional of a transition this could be for girls." You nodded sadly, heart still sinking at the loss of your machine. "Dont worry though, they will be punished harshly for it. I have them in the dungeons tonight, and tomorrow-"

"What? Punished? No!" You cut him off. You dont want anyone to die because of you, especially when you dont know if anyone these people could potentially be an ancestor of yours.

"But they caused you harm. You burned yourself due to their-"

"No, no. Please, don't punish anyone- I- it was my fault for not knowing about royal traditions! Please, your Majesty, I beg you- don't do this- i- i-" You pleaded.

"Shhh, okay. Okay. I won't punish them for it." He patted your hair. "On one condition."

You looked at him in confusion.

"You call me Baldwin from now on." He grinned. "We are to be husband and wife soon, I don't want us to use royal titles with each other."

Your eyes widened. Is he- is he really giving up titles? You're not that blind to see his attempts at intimacy, but what you don't understand is why or even how you came to be on the receiving end of it.

What exactly is it about you that has made him want to marry you? Surely, Baldwin would've preferred to marry someone of this era, someone who is more compatible with him. Despite you trying to blend in the past months, you allowed Baldwin to see how you're not... as Conservative as most people of this time period are. One could say that he may be impressed by how intelligent you are than others, but it also brings up the factor of being "threatened" or "insulted" by the same intelligence.

Even though you consider beauty to be a "subjective" thing, the whole "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", you're not blind to how attractive others are. So why not them?

Did he only like you because you're intriguing? Does he still think you're a spy? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?

Probably. Or maybe he really does believe all that mumbo jumbo about you being "an angel sent to save him."

"As you wish... Baldwin."

-

Last night, after Baldwin had left you to rest, you stayed up and tried to figure out if you can fix your time machine, and if not, then can you built another one?

Fucking hell. You closed your eyes. I made it once, I can build it again. But it's easier said than done.

Back in the present, you had the technology to build it. Now? You have to first make the technology and the tools from scratch before you could even get on making your time machine, all while keeping your science project discrete, which was easier before because you weren't going to be married to a fucking King!

Right now, you're sitting in Baldwin's private dining room (yes, there are more than one dining room. He's royalty, what did you expect) having breakfast- well, being fed breakfast.

"You really don't need to do this." You said as Baldwin fed you another spoonful. He smiled as he wiped your lips with a napkin. "I don't need to, I want to. Besides, I don't want my princess starving."

Involuntary, your face flushed. "I- the maids could've fed me. And im not a princess." He frowned slightly. "Why would you- open wide, princess- why would you want the maids to feed you when you have me?" He pushed the spoon to your face as you parted your lips, but then he pulled it away and brought his face close to yours. "Do I make you nervous?"

You backed away immediately. "I- no- I mean-"

He burst out laughing. "I'm- I'm sorry princess, but you are just too endearing!" Baldwin chuckled as he grabbed the spoon again and fed you.

Your cheeks reddened, this time more out anger than embarrassment. "I don't want to eat anymore." You muttered, turning your face away.

He smiled as he brought the spoon to your lips again. "Ah ah, but you still haven't had enough." However, you rejected again, looking away instead of replying.

He sighed, placing the spoon back on the plate. "I'm sorry, princess. I shouldn't have laughed at you."

"You shouldn't have." You mumbled, face still turned away from him.

His lips quirked up a bit. "You know, for someone who insists that she's not a princess-" He turned your face to him gently. "- you sure have all the blandishment of one."

"Blandishment?"

"Flattering actions of a princess." He nodded.

You frowned. "Are you calling me a spoiled princess? A brat?"

"I would never!" Baldwin gasped. "I enjoy you acting like royalty, demanding respect and attention. You deserve it and more. Besides-" He picked up some food on the spoon again and brought it to your lips. "Even if if you were a spoiled, bratty princess, I wouldn't mind. I would enjoy spoiling you, hm?" He nudged the spoon to your lips softly.

You parted your lips, making him smile. It really is hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you with his baby blue eyes. They just- they draw you in.

"Also, before I forget, I will be leaving the castle today to meet Salauddin. So you can either hand out with Sibylla, who still wants to help you design your wedding gown, or your can-"

Salauddin? "Why are you meeting Salauddin? Isn't he your enemy?"

He chuckled. "Only on the battlefield. He and I have developed a friendship, or a mutual respect over the years. As to why I'm going to meet him, is... well, you."

"Me?" He nodded. "Since you told me that you're a Muslim, I thought that we could perhaps have a discreet Islamic wedding- what is it called? Nikkah? So, I could go and learn more about it from Salauddin."

You opened your mouth to protest. You don't need to be part of history as the "king of Jerusalem's Muslim wife" or "the Muslim-Christian wedding that took place during the Crusades", even if it might make the world more progressive.

But then, you didn't protest. "Can I come?"

Baldwin raised a brow at you. "You want to meet Salauddin?" You shook you're head. "Well, no, not really. I mean, I don't mind meeting him, but I just want to get out of the castle for a bit. It's been months since i left this place, I just want to get some fresh air." This could be the perfect opportunity for you, because if memory serves you right, Muslims of this era had made significant advances in science. Maybe you can use their help to get some tools to make the time machine again.

Baldwin looked unsure. "I don't know if it would be safe for you-" you held his hand with your bandaged ones. "Please, Baldwin? Can't you take me with you? And wouldn't I be the most safe when I'm with you?" Ah yes, stroke the male ego.

Finally, he smiled.

"Alright. I supposed it would be fine, after all, you should see the kingdom you're going to be the queen of."

Thoughts? (Also, I need to go shower rn, so I'll put the read more later. Doing so much effort for u guys, my spoiled greedy children)

Part 3 is here.

[daycourtofficial]

Wingspan Matters

Summary: based on this request, you, Nesta, and Feyre catch your mates in a pissing contest over their wingspans

Author’s note: silly little crack hehe

Word count: ~1k

You poured yourself another cup of tea as Feyre and Nesta began squabbling over something you really couldn’t bring yourself to care about. You looked out the window, taking in the nice spring weather. A light breeze was flowing through the trees, causing the branches to move in a dance to the wind’s patterns.

You watch as the birds flit by, their song a lament to the end of winter, as if they too were sending their thanks to the Mother for spring to return. It’s the first warm day in months, the first day that your forearms won’t get cold being exposed to the air.

The life around you seems to dance and sing at the joyous return of spring - insects buzz past the windows, their high pitched frequencies a delight to your ears. You don’t let yourself think for too long about how the resurrection of spring will cause Cassian to snore even louder than before.

Perhaps you and Azriel can plan an escape to the Summer Court for a few weeks. Hopefully the distance and the crashing of waves will be enough to block out Cassian’s loud snoring.

You get lost in a daydream of laying on the beach with Azriel, either in the sand or in hammocks, applying a protective balm to his wings. The sun is warm on your skin, the salty spray of the ocean in your hair.

Muffled shouting disturbs both your daydream and whatever quarrel Nesta and Feyre were in the middle of. The three of you open the doors to the balcony, leaning over the railing to find your mates in a circle in a clearing on the property, their tan skin and large, dark wings making them stand out amidst the greenery that surrounds them. 

Azriel was standing to the side, looking incredibly smug with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches his two brothers. Cassian has a piece of ribbon that he was holding up to Rhysand’s back. The two kept bickering, over what you couldn’t discern.

Before any of you could question what the two were discussing, Rhysand took the ribbon from Cassian and pushed him off. Cassian landed on the ground, but immediately sprung back up, his hands coming up and shoving Rhysand off the rock he was perched on.

“Looks like the bats are finally measuring themselves,” Nesta muses, bringing her cup to her lips.

You could hear Rhys’s laugh from the balcony as he sprung up, keeping low to the ground as he charged at Cassian, his shoulder hitting Cassian’s hips. He pushed Cassian into the ground, causing Cassian to push his weight upwards so the two of them begin rolling around on the ground, punches and curses being shared to and fro. 

Feyre chuckles, “it seems Azriel’s already won.”

Nesta peers back to you over her cup, “I don’t think it’s just Azriel that’s won.”

“Don’t draw yourself up too short, Nes. I think Cassian’s in second place.”

Nesta looks back at you, eyes roaming up and down your frame, “I’m more surprised he hasn’t broken you in half yet.”

Feyre laughs as you reply, “you’d be more surprised if you saw some of the things we do.”

You waggle your eyebrows at Nesta as Feyre continues laughing, but Nesta’s not quick enough to hide her smirk without your notice.

“How long do we wait until we have them measure Feyre’s wings?” you ask.

Feyre thinks for a moment, hand on her chin, “maybe when Azriel gets a little too cocky.”

“Or Rhysand gets too pouty,” Nesta adds.

From across the courtyard, you could see Azriel’s amused smirk as his eyes met yours, a light tug on the bond urging you to keep your gaze on him. You smile, pulling back softly. He raises his eyebrows up and down a few times, and you send some amusement down the bond as you roll your eyes at him.

He stretches his wings out at your attention, making them as large as he can. You’re pretty certain you’ve seen birds do similar things in mating rituals, but the unfortunate thing is seems to actually be working on you.

He looks over to his brothers, still rolling around in the dirt, and gently takes off for a short flight up to the balcony the three of you are on. He lands softly in front of you, his wings creating a small wind, his chest glowing in the sunlight as his hands reach for you, pulling you into him by your hips.

You melt into him, arms going around his waist, your head resting over his heart as he supports your weight with the railing behind him. The warmth from his skin is soothing without being overbearingly hot.

“They make me want to gag,” Nesta tells Feyre, and you move your head so you can see the two pairs of eyes looking back to the two of you. Azriel wraps his wings around you, making you nearly impossible to see if it weren’t for your feet. You can hear the smile on Nesta’s face at her words, though.

You weasel an opening between Azriel’s arms so you can make eye contact with Nesta as you tell her, “he makes me gag too,” as you make an obscene gesture with your hand.

Nesta’s face immediately goes into her hands while Feyre chuckles, but her laughs are drowned out by the male in front of you, his laugh rumbling in his chest beneath your ear.

He peers down at you, one eyebrow raised in question. You nod slightly, and the two of you vanish into his shadows, leaving Feyre and Nesta to watch their mates continue to fight in the dirt, forgetting who really won the competition.

[roanofarcc]

THE ALCHEMY

pairing. tyler owens x boone’s sister! reader

summary. the reunion of you and your high school sweetheart, years after your split, brings back all those long-lost feelings you tried to bury. (based off of taylor swift's "the alchemy")

warnings. ex-high school sweetheart tyler owens. fem!reader. reader was a pageant queen. bull rider tyler lives rent-free in my head (I need to write more bc oof...). a little bit of angst but with a happy ending!

word count. 5.3k || masterlist

‘What if I told you I’m back?... I circled you on a map… I haven’t come around in so long,  but I’m coming back so strong.’ 

The sweet smell of rain filled your senses the second you stepped out of your car. The gray sky overhead spat little droplets onto the red dirt road, instantly causing the dirt to stick to your boots. You pulled your jacket closer to your body as the wind picked up.

“We couldn’t have met up at a gas station or something?” you shouted, cupping your hands around your mouth to draw the attention of the group huddled around a red pickup truck parked off to the side of an empty road, which was split between two freshly planted fields. 

“Oh, shit!” A wide grin broke out on your brother’s lips as he rushed towards you. He tackled you in a hug that quickly became him hooking an arm around your neck as he brought his knuckles down against the top of your head, screwing up your hair. With a huff, you shoved him off, playfully punching him in the arm as you mirrored his smile. 

“You could have at least told me we’d be meeting up in the middle of bumble-fuck,” you said. 

Boone rolled his eyes. “Everywhere around here’s bumble-fuck,” he said. “We’re waiting for a storm to come through here and the closest building is school fifteen miles north.” 

You didn’t get a chance to say anything else before it was Lily’s turn to tackle you in a hug, nearly knocking you to the ground. The rest of the Wranglers surrounded you excitedly, all talking over each other, but you had gotten good at following their chattiness from the years Boone had been a part of the internet famous storm chasing group. 

“I can’t believe Boone finally talked you into chasing with us,” Dani said. 

“He didn’t tell me you guys were chasing this weekend until I landed,” you replied, glaring slightly at your brother. “It felt too late to back out.” 

“Damn right!” Boone said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “You’re gonna love it; right, Ty?” 

Compared to him in the group’s livestreams, Tyler Owens stood unusually quiet and lingered back in the group that swarmed you. Since you often tuned into their streams, he didn’t look too different, but it had felt like a lifetime since you’d seen him in person. The last time you met his gaze, he had just hit his last growth spurt as high school neared the end. He wore his tattered cowboy hat nearly every day and the same old pair of boots that you used to get excited about when you saw them discarded in your mudroom. The Tyler looking at you now was grown and broad, in a new hat and boots. 

“Yeah,” Tyler answered, sending you a quick, unsure smile. 

You returned it before turning to Boone. “Great. Can you help me with something first?” He nodded and followed you back to your car. You opened the driver’s side door and pretended that you really did need your brother’s help. “Did you not tell him I was coming?” 

Boone sucked air between his teeth, his tell-tale sign that you were right, but he was going to try to lie about it. You glared at him, and he sighed. “No, not exactly. Not until this morning…” 

“Boone!” you groaned. It was one thing being in awkward proximity to your high school sweetheart, it was another when he had no idea you were coming to crash his party. You two had kept it weird but civil, considering Tyler and Boone were best friends and had been since the day they met at the county fair, but you two had grown exceptionally good at avoiding each other, up until then. 

“I’m sorry! But you already planned to come out this weekend and Mother Nature had her own plans. It’s been years, can’t you two just get along?” 

It was more complicated than ‘getting along.’ You could get along with Tyler, probably pretty easily if you had let his presence slip from your mind since you ended things with each other before you split up for college. But you still found him stupidly charming through your screen; seeing him in person was a different ball game. You never outgrew the space you had carved out in your heart for him, and it was embarrassing. 

“I’m sure we can get along just fine,” you said. “But that doesn’t make it any less weird.” For you, probably not for Tyler. He seemed to be doing rather well for himself. If you were being honest with yourself, he probably hadn’t thought about you in years, not too deeply anyway. You were just some girl he dated in high school and the sister of his best friend who never came around anymore. 

“If it feels weird, just make that weird face you do when Grandad makes a bad joke and I’ll try to buffer it out.” 

You rubbed your temples. “Fine,” you huffed, peering around the door at the group invested in their conversation. You looked at Tyler, standing with his hands on his hips and a small, genuine smile on his lips as he listened to his friends. You couldn’t help the memories the sight of him dredged up. 

‘Call the amatures and cut ‘em from the team. Ditch the clowns, get the crown. Baby, I’m the one to beat.’ 

Cotton candy was sticky on your fingers as you plucked it from the stick. You resisted the urge to wipe them off on your brand-new dress, knowing your mom would have a fit even, though it was impossible to stay clean while doing your duties strolling around the fairgrounds, greeting guests, and getting pictures taken. A sash was placed across your chest, sparkly and bright, declaring you the winner of Fair Queen, a beauty pageant you’d been dreaming about since you were a little girl in 4-H, watching the pretty girls up on stage in their gowns and cowgirl boots. 

You walked with pride, head held high to keep your crown upright and a smile stuck on your lips. Just as you finished your cotton candy, you spotted your older brother set up a picnic table. He was with another boy, the two talking excitedly to each other despite you never having seen the kid he was talking to before. He sat opposite of Boone, dressed in a dirty pair of boots and a hat that covered wild blond hair that poked out from underneath. 

You absentmindedly fixed your hair, as you had been doing all day in the summer heat, before heading towards them. The blond spotted you first, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Boone,” you called out, gaining your brother’s attention. He waved at you with a mouth full of pizza. You noticed the spread of food between the two boys. “You didn’t spend all of mom’s money, did you?” 

He winced, swallowing his bite and slowly pushing a half-eaten basket of fries toward you. “I saved you these…” You narrowed your eyes, and he threw his hands up in defense. “You’re fair royalty! I didn’t know you had to pay for food!” 

“I’m not the queen of England,” you said. 

“Here,” the blond piped up, holding up a fresh slice of pizza. You looked at him, confused and a little dazzled by his soft smile and the smear of dirt across his cheek. You knew for sure he’d never hung around your brother before because you’d remember a face like that. The boys at school and that your brother hung around weren’t nearly as cute as the blond cowboy. 

“What?” you said after a beat too long. 

“You can have it; we can’t let the royalty starve, now can we?” 

You felt heat rush to your face but played it off with a shake of your head. “No, it’s okay.” 

“Technically, I think it’s yours. Boone bought it for me. Besides, I gotta get back. My dad will have my ass if I skip out on feeding the bulls…again.” The blond all but shoved the pizza into your hands.

Boone groaned dramatically. “Aw man, I was gonna say we should try to sneak onto the rides.” 

The blond grinned, standing up and stretching his lanky limbs. He was a head or two taller than your brother, and you noticed the paper pinned to the back of his shirt. 

“You’re one of the bull riders?” you asked, an impressed tone dripping into your voice. 

The blond adjusted his hat before he tipped it in a nod. “Yes, ma’am. Tyler Owens,” he said, stretching out his hand toward you. A little too quickly, you shook his hand, matching his toothy grin. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. 

“Right back at ‘cha, your highness,” he teased before turning to Boone. “I’ll be here all week. When I’m not practicing for the rodeo next weekend, I’ll get us those wristbands for free.” 

Boone gasped. “You got a double agent carnie?” 

Tyler laughed, patting Boone on the shoulder before he started walking away. You smiled sillily down at the slice of pizza in your hand, knowing there was no way that cowboy would leave your mind any time soon. 

‘What if I told you we’re cool? That child’s play back in school, is forgiven under by rule.’ 

As terrifying as it was, you had to admit, storm chasing was incredibly thrilling. Boone had been doing it for years, but you never tagged along. You’d been taught to run away and shelter in the face of storms, but that didn’t stick for Boone like it had for you. 

Racing down the backroads in the back of Tyler’s truck, you found yourself incredibly stressed and entertained at the same time. From the front seat, your brother hollered as he live-streamed, clearly having the time of his life. 

Tyler stopped on top of a hill, throwing the truck into park before everyone rushed out to snap some pictures as the tornado raged on across the wide-open fields. The deep gray clouds were captivating, swirling around in a dangerous but beautiful display. It hurried further from where you stood, taking your anxiety along with it. You held your camera up to your face, capturing the moment in a way you’d never before. 

You laughed in disbelief, riding a kind of adrenaline high that made you begin to understand why Boone loved chasing. “That was incredible!” you said, a little breathless. 

“Did it live up to your expectations,” Tyler asked, appearing beside you. You faltered, seeing him face to face up close. He had the same smile, one that made him look freshly seventeen again. Only he was no longer the lanky kid who used to pick you flowers before every date and entertained your family game nights with zero complaints. It was a hard pill to swallow, especially standing in front of him, but you didn’t really know that Tyler Owens. The internet-famous Wrangler was worlds away from the rodeo star you used to know like the back of your hand. 

“Yeah,” you replied, voice soft in the afternoon air. He turned his gaze out over the expanse of field that started at the bottom of the hill and stretched beyond what your eyes could see, staying quiet as the rest of the Wranglers excited chatted somewhere behind you guys. You didn’t look at him either, focusing elsewhere while your mind conjured up the pretty little memories of you and Tyler from high school against your wishes. “I’m sorry Boone forgot to tell you I was coming.” 

Tyler was quiet for a moment, letting out something between a sigh and a chuckle. “I don’t think he forgot. I think he thought I’d tell him not to bring you.” 

“Would you have?” 

You felt his eyes shift onto the side of your face, and you turned your head. “No, ‘course not.” 

Relief flooded your chest. You didn’t know why it was important to you if Tyler wanted you around or not. In hindsight, you had dated years ago, back when you were kids, so it probably hardly counted as a real relationship in his head. But it was more than that to you. As silly as it sounded, you’d always hold a soft spot for Tyler. That’s why you tried to avoid him face-to-face. It made you feel weird, plucking at the abandoned teenage heartstring you once tied to him. 

‘These blokes warm the benches. We’ve been on a winning streak.  He jokes that it’s heroin, but this time with an ‘e’.’ 

The fair week raged on in a wonderful storm of non-stop chaos and action. You were there every day, dressed up all pretty with a sash and a crown, grinning from ear to ear at every little kid who tugged on the skirt of your dress to get a picture and front row of every competition. 

When you eventually got a little downtime from your queenly duties, you met up with your brother, who had resorted to hanging out at the grandstands. He didn’t technically need to be at the fair all day, every day like you did, but he was your ride. Instead of making trips back and forth, he used you as if free entry into the grounds and spent his days bouncing between the food stands and his new friend, Tyler Owens. When Tyler was busy practicing for the big rodeo on the very last night of the fair, Boone cheered him on from the bleachers. 

“How’s he lookin’ today,” you asked, taking a seat beside Boone. 

“A shoo-in for stayin on that son-of-bitch the longest, which I think is the point but to be honest I haven’t been paying that much attention. Did you know all elephant ears are half-price if you order a lemonade? It’s a steal,” he said before taking an obnoxiously large bite, letting the cinnamon sugar spill onto his lap. 

You rolled your eyes before you turned your attention to Tyler. He was standing against the fencing, listening to the man beside him talk, who you assumed was his dad. He must have felt you staring because he turned around and squinted upward at you and Boone before a grin broke out across his face and he waved you over. 

“Shit,” you hissed, smoothing out the skirt of your dress and the fabric of your sash. “Is he calling you or me down?” 

Boone wiped his mouth. “You for sure. I was just down there, and he kept asking, ‘where’s your sister?’ ‘what’s she up to today?’” he said, a slightly mocking tone in his voice. Your heart quickened in your chest, a little flutter like a butterfly wing forming inside your stomach. “I told him you were so not interested in some wannabe cowboy; you’re welcome.” 

Your eyes widened before you smacked your brother’s arm, hard. He nearly dropped his elephant year. “Shit! What the hell?” 

“Why would you tell him that?” 

Boone looked at you like you had grown two heads. “Those were literally your own words when mom asked you about any cute boys at the fair!” 

If you weren’t in public, you’d strangle him. Of course you weren’t interested in most of the boys strolling around the fair with their high and mighty attitudes, but from the little you’d been around Tyler, he didn’t seem too much like them, and he was much cuter. 

“Idiot,” you muttered before you climbed down the bleachers to where Tyler was. 

“Afternoon,” you greeted him and the older man. 

Tyler beamed. “See dad, I told you I met her. She’s even got the crown to prove it.” 

Tyler’s dad chuckled and shook his head. “And here I thought my son was making up meeting the queen herself.” He extended his hand just as Tyler had when you first met him a couple days prior. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope my son hasn’t been causing you too much trouble.” 

“No, sir. Not at all," you said.

“Good.” He checked the watch on his wrist and seemed to contemplate something. “Ty, you got an hour and a half. Buy her and yourself some dinner, but don’t be late, got it?” 

Tyler nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. “Yes, Sir!” He snatched a couple of bills from his dad’s hands before he shoved them in his pocket. His dad wandered away while Tyler practically bounced on his toes. “How does a pizza sound?” 

Between you, Tyler, and Boone, you finished off a whole pizza, comfortably seated at a picnic table. Your bother offered to buy everyone a pop, leaving you and Tyler alone. You propped your chin up on your hand and gazed at him from across the table. 

“Boone says you’re a shoo-in for winnin’ the rodeo,” you said. 

Tyler ducked his head and shrugged his shoulders. “My dad wants me to win more than anyone, I think. I don’t know if I will though.” 

“Well, I’ll be rootin’ for ‘ya,” you said. 

“Really?” He looked at you all stary-eyed.

You’d had plenty of crushes on boys before, but there was something about Tyler that settled differently in your chest. Maybe it was his tinted pink cheeks when he talked to you, or the little creases by his eyes when he smiled widely. Maybe the summer heat and crown on top of your head made you woozy with confidence and flushed with admiration. Whatever it was, all you knew was that in the very short time you’d known Tyler Owens, you wanted to keep on knowing him. 

‘Cause the sign on your heart, said it’s still reserved for me.’ 

The Wranglers and you pulled off at a little motel a couple miles off the interstate, near where a cluster of storm cells were brewing over the next couple of days. Tailgating was all a part of the storm-chasing experience, according to the Wranglers, and you were happy to join them. 

You sat on the tailgate of Tyler’s truck bed, watching with amusement as your brother shot-gunned a beer with Dani. She threw the can down first, earning a round of cheers. Dexter offered you a beer, and before you could decline, Tyler appeared beside Dextor, returning from where he had disappeared to. 

“She’s not a beer drinker,” he said. “Unless you’ve had a change of heart?” 

You were surprised he remembered. There had been countless summer bonfires where Tyler’s friend had tried to get you to drink a beer, and every time you tried it you didn’t change your mind about the taste. You’d hand it off to Tyler for him to finish. 

“No, still can’t stand it,” you replied. Dexter moved on with the cooler while Tyler hopped up beside you, leaving a fair gap. He held out a pop that he must’ve gotten from the vending machine, offering it to you. “Thanks,” you said. 

As the night stretched on, you found your attention drifting away from the Wranglers and onto the sky. It was stunningly clear, putting the stars on display. You rested back on your elbows, peering upwards. You had missed catching Tyler's curiosity until he knocked his shoulder with yours. 

“What can we see tonight,” he asked, the same way he once had when you found yourself in a similar position as teenagers. Tyler would ask you about the constellations, but he often paid more attention to you than the sky. That wasn’t the case anymore, though; his eyes were actually fixed on the dark expanse of sky overhead, glittering with stars as far as the eyes could see. 

You pointed out the ones you could see, tracing them with your finger until you had run through all of the ones you could make out. The two of you continued to watch them, listening to the Wranglers’ conversation in the background. It was unnervingly peaceful, something you hadn’t been in a long time. Even when you’d visit home, there were too many differences to make it feel fully like the home you had left when college rolled around. You knew that was the nature of growing up, things changed; they had to. But there was something about the laughter of your brother that you could almost pretend was from a room just across the hall, and the presence of Tyler beside you that made you feel seventeen again. 

It lulled you into a false sense of peace that you were okay with. You weren’t sure when your eyes had fluttered closed, head resting on your crumbled-up sweatshirt as you lay in the bed of Tyler’s truck. The smell of spring and the hum of the wind put you into a light sleep. 

It wasn’t until someone gently shook your shoulder that you woke up with a little start. It was still dark, but the parking lot had emptied of tailgaters. You rubbed your eyes, unblurring the world around you until the face of Tyler came clearly into view. 

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, a flush of embarrassment crawling up your spine. “Sorry.” 

Tyler chuckled lightly. “You can still do that, huh?” You furrowed your brows, confused. “Fall asleep anywhere.” 

“Oh,” you said, sheepishly sitting up right. “I guess so.” 

He ran a hand through his hair, a smile softly playing on his lips that you found yourself looking at for a moment too long. He caught you but didn’t drop it. Instead, he outstretched his hand and nodded his head toward the building. 

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk ‘ya to your room.” 

You didn’t think before taking his hand, some kind of old muscle memory, but the second your fingers curled around his, you felt that stupid flutter reemerge in your chest. It made you feel childish; a crush you couldn’t kill despite having outgrown it. For a second, as he helped you off the tailgate, you thought you saw the same light blush that crept across his cheeks when he shook your hand the first day you met, but you wrote it off as a trick of the dim lighting. 

When your two feet were on the ground, you both let go and you let him lead the way to your motel room. Boone had left your keys with Tyler, and he handed them off to you as you approached the door. You hesitated for a second. 

“Tyler,” you rushed out. He hung back from where you stood, leaving a stretch of space that felt like a world apart. “Thank you for letting me tag along today.” You weren’t sure what else to say, how to voice the hot creep of old feelings refilling your gut. 

He searched your face for something, before he said, “I’m glad you’re here.” That felt like a step closer, even though you two maintained the distance. 

“Me too,” you replied. “Good night.” 

“Good night.” 

‘Cheers chanted ‘cause they said, ‘“there was no chance trying to be the greatest in the league.”  Where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me.’ 

The last night of the fair blew in with a light breeze and a clear sky. You and Boone had raced to the grandstands and sat as close to the front as you could to get a good view of Tyler’s bull ride. Energy swirled across the bleachers, painting you in jovial unease. You bounced your knee and kept a steady gaze at each bull rider who attempted to win the prize. 

When Tyler’s turn came around, you weren’t sure you had ever cheered so loud for someone. He still wore his dirty pair of boots and hat that was nearly too small for his head, but he claimed they both were his good luck charms. Under the bright lights, he glowed with pure determination and pride. The entire time he was out there, you held your breath. It happened so fast. One second, they’re calling his number and the next he’s being announced as the winner. 

You stood up alongside Boone, hooting and hollering at the top of your lungs as Tyler smiled in disbelief at his luck. Through the people lining the stands, you raced down toward the fence that circled the ring. The crown nearly toppled from your head as you climbed the fence just enough to stand tall among the crowd. The excitement that filled you was on par with your own win earlier that week. 

The announcers stood in the middle of the corral, announcing the prize as you locked eyes with Tyler. He broke out in a grin when his eyes met yours, even bigger than the smile of a winner he already held. As he was supposed to stay with the announcers to claim his prize, he took off toward you instead. 

He climbed the fence on the opposite side, meeting you eye to eye a couple of feet off of the ground. You threw your arms around him, a little unsteadily. Above the cheers from the crowd, you spoke into his ear, “You did it!” 

Tyler pulled back just lightly, just enough to see your face. His eyes shined, stary and bright, chest heaving with excitement and adrenaline. For a second, he just stared at you, looking for something until he found it in the twitch of your lips and the reflective shine in your eyes. He crashed into you, kissing you quick and sweet. 

All in a quick second, somewhere over the speakers the announcers laughed, the flash of a camera went off, and Tyler pulled away before racing back to claim his prize. You stood in a daze, fuzzy-headed and lovesick. 

‘Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?’ 

You still had the photo of your and Tyler’s first kiss. You kept it in the locket he got you for your birthday. You never wore it; it never left your jewelry box. But for some reason, it had found its way in with the other jewelry you packed for your trip. How, you weren’t sure, but as you got ready for the next day, you found it. You traced your finger across the small heart, almost missing a light knock at your door. 

It wasn’t until your name was called that you snapped out of your daze and rushed to the door to find your brother. Boone greeted you with a cup of coffee before he pushed his way into your room and jumped onto the bed with a tired huff. 

“Ready for day two? Rader’s lookin’ like we’ll have some good ones today,” he said. 

Sipping your coffee, you nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” 

He opened his mouth to say something else, but his hand knocked against the locket you left on your bed. He grabbed it before you could, holding it up to the light before his face filled with recognition. “Holy shit, you still have this thing.” You knew he only recognized it because you had talked about it non-stop after Tyler gave it to you. But to confirm his suspicions, he popped the locket open to reveal the little picture of you and Tyler inside. 

“I didn’t mean to pack it,” you blurted out. “I-I don’t…” You sighed heavily, plopping down next to him. Boone handed the locket back to you. 

“You know, he asks about you, a lot,” he said after a beat of quietly contemplating. “He tries to be nonchalant about it, but I think he forgets that I’ve known him forever. He’s not nearly as smooth about it as he pretends to be.” 

You fiddled with the necklace in your hands. A part of you didn’t believe your brother, even though he’d have no reason to lie. You opened your mouth to retort, brush off his words, but another knock echoed from your door. You kept the locket held in your palm as you opened it to see Tyler. 

Wide-eyed, you faltered in a greeting. Boone beat you two it, appearing from behind you with a stupid smile as he patted your shoulder. “I’ll meet you two downstairs,” he said, slipping out of the door past the two of you quickly, but shooting you a smirk before he disappeared down the stairs and towards to parking lot. 

The morning sun caught the metal locket, reflecting off of it and drawing Tyler’s attention right to the piece of jewelry. Before a greeting left his lips, he said, “You still have that?” 

“Yeah,” you replied with a sigh. “I couldn’t get rid of it after…” You two broke up in what was disguised as a mutual split but didn’t feel as much. The second you were out of Tyler’s sight after the conversation that ended it all, you bawled the whole drive home. Your momma had tried to console you, and Boone threatened to beat up his best friend, but nothing mended the split in your heart. Even a college fresh start didn’t quite rid Tyler from your mind. He had always been there, a ‘what-if’ and ‘what could have been.’ Getting rid of the locket felt like a final nail in the coffin that you couldn’t, even after all that time, make. 

He seemed touched by the sentiment, smiling softly down at the object in your hands. “I remember that old picture you used to keep in it,” he said. “The one of us at the rodeo. You know, my ma still has it on our fridge? She says it was because the only picture he had of that day, but I know she’s lying.” 

You unclipped the little latch on the side of the locket and flipped it open with your thumb to reveal the same photo that existed inside. A rush of different emotions you couldn’t quite pinpoint flashed across his face he as stared at the photo. You two had been so young, so flushed with pretty emotions. Just two kids not sure what love was but found themselves at the start of it. 

“I don’t know why I packed it,” you admitted. “I didn’t even know I’d be seein’ you until I landed, and Boone suckered me into chasing with you guys. I just…I’ve thought about this lot, an embarrassing number of times.” 

“Thought about what?” 

“Seeing you again. What’d I say to you. But, I’ll admit, actually seeing you in person again I…” You weren’t sure where the sudden rush of words found the confidence to leave your lips, but you knew they needed to get out. “I don’t know how you do it.” 

Tyler stepped closer to you, lingering in the doorway. His brows were pulled in confusion, but his eyes shined with something between his usual starriness and softness. “Do what?” 

“Just being ‘round you,” you sighed. “I feel like the girl in this picture again.” 

You half expected him to look at you with pity, gently let you down in the way only he could. Maybe you could catch an early flight back home and spend the rest of your life avoiding the boy you fell in love with as a teen who never quite left you. You’re sure Boone would understand, and he wouldn’t suggest you go with them again. It would be fine, really it would be. 

But Tyler didn’t. He reached out, brushing a thumb across your cheek before he let it rest cupping your jaw. There was a slight hesitance in his movement, giving you enough time to move away if your words hadn’t meant what he thought they did. But you stayed, and the second you smiled at him he closed the space between the two of you with a hot rush of feelings. His lips moved against yours with familiarity mixed with a newfound excitement as his hands held onto the side of your face like he was scared you’d slip away from him all over again. 

It felt like something that only happened once in a few lifetimes; almost too good to be true but standing right there.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Mesmerized.

Pairing: Yandere!Lyney x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 0.8k.

TW: Hypnosis, Unhealthy Relationships, General Lose of Autonomy, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Stalking, and Obsessive Behavior.

[Commissioned piece. Donate to Palestinians in Gaza here.]

“You’re getting crueler, brother.”

Lynette watched you stir at the sound of her voice, nearly identical to that of your dearly beloved, but you slackened as soon as you realized it was only his sister, melting back into place against Lyney’s side. Your expression was one of vacant bliss; all glassy eyes and careless smiles, worry only visible in the dark circles laced under your eyes, the pained creases folded into either corner of your mouth. A poor imitation, altogether. You looked more like yourself when you were angry.

Lyney hummed, resting his head on your shoulder. As if trained to, you cooed softly and raised a hand, carding your fingers through his hair as he spoke, self-satisfaction heavy in his voice. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Is it cruel to want to spend time with one’s dearly cherished?”

“Father said not to let the public see them until—”

“—until we’ve fallen in love,” Lyney finished. It was a clipped summary, to say the least. In reality, Lord Arlecchino’s order had played more closely to the tune of ‘until you’ve collared your pet properly’, but admittedly, Lynette might’ve missed something. She and Freminet had been listening from the other side of a steel door, and Lyney hadn’t been eager to discuss their conversation after her lecture ended. “And I’m sure, if you bothered to ask, you’d already know that we’re quite in love. Aren’t we, beautiful?”

“Quite in love,” you parroted. There was something strange about your inflection, as if you were trying to speak in a language you hadn’t yet mastered, but Lynette chose not to dwell on it.

“And I’d hardly call this the public,” Lyney went on, when Lynette made it clear that she had yet to be impressed. He made a quick, sweeping gesture to the rest of the backstage area – as if the technicians and stage-hands rushing between lighting rigs and half-assembled props were no more real than the silhouetted figures painted onto the set dressing they were hauling into place. “Think of it as… a trial run, to see how much we’ve improved. If everything goes well tonight, perhaps we’ll be able to attend Father’s next banquet together, too. I’ve been dying to introduce them to the rest of our family – preferably without all the screaming and biting, this time.”

That, Lynette could admit, would probably be for the best. She still had a bruise in the shape of your teeth on her left wrist from the day she’d met you, but Lyney still claimed it’d been one of your better first impressions.

“I’ve always wanted to see one of your shows.” You were cupping Lyney’s face, now, using your thumb to draw tender circles into his cheek. “I’ve always loved the opera. You’re playing the male lead, right?”

Lynette pursed her lips, her eyes widening slightly as she turned her attention pointedly towards her brother. He looked away. “I’m still working out the kinks. By this time next week, it should all be right as rain.”

Reluctantly, Lynette let her attention shift back to you. Your sleeves were long, dense with lace and tulle, but a patch of reddened, raw skin where the shackle had been wrapped around your wrist was just barely visible underneath the frivolous material. There was a slight tremble in your stiff shoulders, and when she looked closely, she could see that you were swaying; your legs weak from disuse, barely able to hold your own weight. Her brother, on the other hand – she could remember the last time she’d seen him smiling so widely. He been in a state of pure, untethered euphoria since the moment you were dragged, kicking and swearing, into one of the Fatui’s lesser-used underground holding facilities, and she rarely saw him without a glint in his eye and a light flush painted over her cheeks. It was almost upsetting, to see a face so much like her own so distorted. If she hadn’t been so used to his sudden flurries of passion, she might’ve been disturbed.

“It can’t last.” Lyney straightened, but she didn’t give him a chance to cut in. “The—the trance, I mean. You’re a magician, not a hypnotist. It’s going to wear off, eventually.”

“I’ve always hated stage magic,” you muttered, dreamily. “I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I hate feeling like I’m the only person who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It doesn’t need to last forever, just long enough.” This time, it was Lyney who caught your chin in his hand, pulling you just close enough for a quick, shallow kiss. Lynette looked away before she could be forced to endure yet another unabashed show of affection, but she could still hear him far too clearly when he spoke seconds later, his voice now nearly distant as your own.

“Until we both manage to forget how we could ever live apart.”

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Sharing - Twin Rafe Fic (Part 1 of 2)

+18 Minor DNI

CurtainBangs!Rafe x BuzzCut!Rafe x GF!Reader

⭐ republished ⭐

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 warning: SMUT, language, drinking, name calling, choking, pet names, sharing kink, ownership kink, fingering, unprotected p in v, choking, public sex, rough sex, shower sex

📖 After meeting Rafe's (CurtainBangs!) twin brother Cam (BuzzCut!) for the first time, Rafe gives you a proposal you can't help but accept: sharing you.

✨ “Pretty sure you know what I want to hear, princess,“ he grunts. "Just tell me you want him. Tell me you want us to share you. Tell me you want his cock and mine, y/n. Let me hear it.” ✨

3.8K

Reader's POV:

“Touchdown, Bulldogs!”

The stadium erupts with applause as Rafe gets swallowed up in a team hug. The school fight song blares through the open arena as a massive homecoming crowd clamors to storm the field in celebration. You hang back slightly with the other players’ girlfriends, watching as Rafe shuffles over to an equally massive #2; Cameron scrolled across his back as well. The two of you have only been dating for a few weeks, but you could tell, like quintessential twins, those two were close.

Cam was always Rafe’s second call after you, no matter what, good or bad, and it almost seemed like Cam was two steps ahead. He knew how to calm him down; he always seemed to know what to say. But, then there was the rivalry; Cam knew how to push Rafe’s buttons. What to say to trigger a classic Cameron bitch fit.

Rafe wanted nothing more than to win this game. You could see his chest puffed out a little more than usual, his shit-eating grin a little more sly. Rafe tugs off his helmet, skimming his fingers through his sweaty fringe as his brother removes his helmet as well.

You squint your eyes, stomach fluttering as you take in the difference from all the Instagram and Snapchat images you’ve stalked prior: a fresh buzz cut. Jesus Christ. Rafe pulls him in for a big hug, slapping his shoulder pads.

Your nerves creep in fast, a combination of anxieties about meeting Cam for the first time. I want to impress him. I want him to like me. I want him to think I’m good for Rafe. That’s his twin brother, after all. Sure, I met Ward and Rose, Wheezie and Sarah, and that went great, but this is the big leagues. This is his twin; this is make-or-break.

But, on a separate note, should I be this nervous? I mean, in this way? Seeing Cam gave me butterflies… Maybe it’s ‘cause he looks so much like Rafe? I can’t deny that when he took off his helmet, I felt something. Fuck, I’m in trouble.

“There she is," Rafe groans as he pulls you off your feet and into his strong arms. You cup his sweat-glistened cheeks, kissing him deeply.

"Hi, Rafey," you mumble against his sweet lips.

"How’d I do?" He smiles against your pout, nose nuzzling yours playfully.

"So damn good,” you praise as you scratch your nail into his hair, pulling him closer.

“You look so pretty, baby - love seeing you in my jersey.” Rafe sets you down on your feet, kissing you again before pulling you to his side.

“This her?” Cam pipes in, stealing your attention away.

“Sure is. Cam, y/n; y/n, Cam,” Rafe smiles down at you proudly. You turn your attention to Cam, feeling that same flutter from before, a blush creeps in your cheeks as you see the same look in his eyes that Rafe gave you the first night you met.

“Well, shit,” he rasps as he steps a little closer. Cam takes you off Rafe’s hands, drawing you into his embrace, hugging you before pulling back ever-so-slightly. “Fuck, you’re stunning," he praises.

Cam reaches up, fixing the little "R” pendant on your chest, brushing your clothed cleavage as he sets it in place. Your heart races at the contact between you, banging so loudly you swear Cam can hear it. “Thank you,” you breathe. A grin slides across Cam’s lips; Cam’s smile is stunning, just like your boyfriend’s. But there’s a fire behind it that once again gives you the most delicious deja vu. Cam likes what he sees.

“So…” Rafe teases, head cocked slightly, arms raised, holding open your spot at his side.

“Oh shit. Sorry, Rafey,” Cam snickers as he passes you back to his brother. Rafe wraps his arm around your shoulders, tugging you in, pressing a rough kiss on your hair. Cam’s eyes return to his brother, a smirk spreading on his rosy lips. You look up at Rafe, catching the mirror image.

“Well, this one’s gonna help me with my post-game routine; why don’t you come over in like an hour-” Rafe continues to talk; Cam cocks his eyebrow, seemingly stuck on the first part of the plan for the evening. He smiles sinfully, eyes falling down your body, making you blush as you see his wheels turn. These two talk about everything; your little post-match shower session was most likely a topic of discussion already. 

“We drinkin’ tonight?” Cam drawls.

“Literally just said that, dumbass. Maybe if you stop starin’ at my girl’s tits, you could focus. Yeah?” Rafe taunts, shoving his brother away.

“Not gonna apologize,” he bullies as he wets his plump bottom lip.

If Cam was anyone else, he’d gone - erased from this earth for his wandering eye. Rafe, no stranger to roughing up a guy or two on account of you - his brother seemingly the exception. “You’re a fuckin’ dog, buddy.” Cam shrugs and smiles, owning the title as Rafe hooks his finger under your chin. “I don’t blame him. My girl’s perfect,” he whispers before meeting your lips.

“This is my favorite part of Game Day, baby," Rafe hums as he tears his shirt off his athletic body. You pinch the bottom of your top, drawing it over your naval. ”Lemme,“ he smiles, stripping you of his old jersey before tossing it to the side, lifting you off your feet. Rafe pulls away only briefly to turn on the water, walking with you to the countertop. It’s dim, the perfect amount of light thrown from his open bedroom door. Admittedly, it’s your favorite part of Game Day as well: getting this time with Rafe, the two of you unwinding before a night of drinking, the pair of you coming down from his post-game high together.

Rafe sets you down on the cool top, sending chills up your warm body as his hands quickly get to work. One weaves into the nape of your hair while the other grips the plush of your hip. ”You know I love you,“ he whispers as his rough fingers trace over the top of your thigh, disappearing between your legs.

”Of course, Rafe.“

"M'not sayin’ this to start a fight; m'not callin’ you out for anything. Alright?”

“Okay," you giggle nervously. ”Is everything okay?“

"More than okay," he grins. You let out a little gasp as he runs two fingers through your wetness, lifting them to his lips tasting you. "You have a crush on my brother. Don’t you, sweetheart?" He whispers. Your eyes widen in surprise, lashes fluttering as he calls you out.

"I - Umm… Rafe-”

“I said, 'It’s more than okay, honey," he mumbles as his fingers press through your entrance. ”You don’t believe me?“ Your brows knit in confusion as you stare into his beautiful blues. How could Rafe Cameron be okay with this? I mean, he almost got arrested last weekend for a fight after someone bought me a shot. How is he okay with me having a crush on his brother? 'And, it’s more than okay?’ No way.

"No…" You whisper feebly as your gaze falls to his lips.

A smirk stretches wide, Rafe’s breathing increasing with yours. "No, what, princess?”

“I don’t believe you," you reply before returning your eyes to his. Rafe pouts his lip teasingly, pumping and scissoring his long fingers.

"Alright…" He shrugs, continuing to tease you. You grip Rafe’s thick dick in your hand, rubbing his precum into his swollen tip as he quickens the speed of his hand, thrusting his fingers at an insane pace. ”He’s got a crush on you.“ Your pussy tightens around his digits at the sound of his words, making Rafe smile wickedly. "Baby girl…" He mocks as he moves in even closer, wrapping his muscular arm around your waist. Rafe tucks himself into the crook of your neck as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten.

”M'gonna cum,“ you whine.

”You sure, y/n,“ he whispers against your warm skin. ”I don’t believe you.“ Rafe repeats your words as he slows his pace, edging you; prompting you to grind against his palm, craving a release.

”Rafe…“

”Hmm?“ He chuckles through a throaty laugh. ”S'alright, baby. We share.“ Rafe baffles you with his admittance as he spears his thick cock into your drenched pussy.

”Rafe!“ You wail, mouth hanging open as he circles his hips nice and slow, buried balls deep, letting you adjust to his size. You cling onto his shoulders, nails digging into his tan skin as he stretches you out. Steam swirls all around the two of you, the room burning with vapor and sex as Rafe walks toward the walk-in show, drawing back the glass door. ”This could be a really good night for you,“ he mutters as the stream of water pours from the spout, washing over your naked bodies.

Rafe’s eyes fall down your bare frame, watching as the little rivers of warm water cascade through your dips and curves, glistening over your already dewy skin. His blonde fringe hangs wet on his forehead, framing his beautiful face. You look down as well, eyeing the place where your bodies connect; Rafe’s thick cock sheathed deep. "You share girls?" You whisper. Rafe moans as he presses you back into the icy shower wall, forcing himself as deep as possible, making you exhale a deep breath.

“'Course we do." He starts to pound you into the wall, making you cry out in pleasure.

"And, you want to share me?" You ask, weakly between rough thrusts.

”That not clear?“ He rasps, drawing out of your cunt, whirling you around before bending you over, pounding back into your aching core.

"Fuck!” You sob, feeling him deep in your guts. You take hold of his wrists, his hands steadying your hips, clawing into the fat of your ass. Rafe spreads your cheeks, coaxing his cock in slower as he feels you tighten around him again.

“Bounce for me. Yeah?" He groans, slapping your ass before letting you take control. You throw your bum on his cock; cheeks clapping against Rafe’s wet skin. Your curves recoil with each slap of his tight body against yours, knees buckling, causing Rafe to chuckle darkly as he watches you go weak on his dick. "Please," you whimper, knowing he won’t let you cum until he hears you say it.

”Pretty sure you know what I want to hear, princess,“ he grunts. "Just tell me you want him. Tell me you want us to share you. Tell me you want his cock and mine, y/n. Let me hear it.”

“Rafe.”

He winds up, slapping your thigh harshly, making you scream, voice bouncing off of the shower walls. “I want him. I - I want you to share me. Fuck. I want your cock and his." You squeal Rafe’s name as you gush around his cock; your entire body shaking as he keeps you standing through your climax.

"I want you to beg,” he huffs, tugging your hair, pulling you close, back pressed against his heaving chest, Rafe not letting you come down from your orgasm before he starts working on your next. One arm wraps around your throat in a chokehold, squeezing tightly while the other arm binds around your waist.

“Please.”

“No. Not enough," he sneers, constricting your airway with his biceps. Rafe starts rocking in and out. You can feel every ridge and curve of his cock as he gives it to you, slow and deep, making your eyes roll back. You feel yourself getting lightheaded at the lack of air, but Rafe doesn’t let up his hold. ”Beg.“

Holy shit.

"Please, Rafe. I fucking need it," you pant wearily. ”I want to please you both… I wanna feel you-“ Your voice trails off as you feel your orgasm building again, vision fuzzy, mind muddled like you could fall to the floor.

"Baby? You got awfully quiet. You a'ight?" He growls; a low tone rumbled against your skin.

”I want you both to ruin me!“ You choke out the words. “I’ll do anything for your dick. Please.”

"Mmm… Atta girl.” Rafe pulls out, taking his time with you as he looks down at you lovingly. He guides your chin, lifting your lips to his. Rafe kisses you soft and slow as you try to catch your breath. You look down at his throbbing dick, the creamy ring of your arousal rinsing off his hardened flesh, ready for more.

“You think your brother wants me, Rafey?" You whisper, biting into your bottom lip as you bat your lashes, playing into his game.

”'Course he does. That bastard always wants what’s mine. Lucky for him, we’re brothers… N'I play nice.“ Rafe loops his bicep under your thigh, plunging his cock back in. He rolls his hips deliciously slow, finding that perfect angle that makes tears leak from your eyes. ”Gonna fuck that tight little ass of yours, baby. Fill you up,“ he groans. ”We haven’t done that yet? You ready, f'me? Think you can handle us both?“

You can’t even form words; all thoughts in your mind run wild at the idea of having them. "You’re squeezing me so tight, baby… Think you could cum for me again?" He whispers against your ear, teeth, tugging at your lobe as he draws out, slamming his cock back into your pussy. You let out a cry of pleasure, your cracked sob reverberating off the walls. "Gonna have you creamin’ on our cocks all night. Just a little whore for Cameron cock, aren'tcha?" Rafe throws his hips again and again as the knot in your stomach starts to twist tighter. You pinch your eyes shut, nodding frantically as you feel your orgasm within reach, completely cock-drunk. "Say. It.”

“M'just - Fuck, daddy-”

“M'just what?" He mocks your fucked-out tone.

"A little whore for your cocks. M'just a hole for you, Rafe.”

“Ugh. Yes! Fuck. That’s my girl. That’s it, baby. Cum for me. Yeah? Cum on my cock.”

“Fuck…”

“Cum." Your walls spasm around his cock; waves of your finish crashing down on you again and again as you call out his name. Rafe yours as he floods you with his seed. You can feel his dick twitching inside you, your body milking every last drop of his cum.

Rafe’s forehead falls to your neck in exhaustion. ”Goddamn. I fuckin’ love you, honey,“ he breathes as he kisses his way up your neck. ”Mmm… We’re gonna take real good care of you tonight, baby,“ Rafe moans. You can hear the excitement in his voice, matching your own, but you can’t help but feel a slight apprehension.

What if this ruins what Rafe and I have?

Your demeanor must have changed because Rafe notices instantly. "Talk to me, princess,” he respires as he holds you tight, lips resting on your shoulder as he rocks the two of you lazily.

“I’m a little worried, Rafe. This doesn’t really feel like something you’d do with a girlfriend… Someone you wanna end up with. This seems like something the two of you would do with some random girl - maybe a fling. I wanna be with you… I don’t see us not being together. I’m crazy about you, Rafe,” your voice cracks with emotion, making him expel a soft pity laugh like you have nothing to worry about.

“I’ve got no doubt in my mind that it’ll be us, Y/n. Rafe and y/n…” He pinches the gold "R” he bought you between his fingers. “I’m crazy about you too, baby. You gotta know that. Yeah? Here.” Rafe tugs off his gold Cameron Family ring, gliding it on your thumb instead. “I want you to have this, Y/n.”

“Really?” You gasp.

“'Course. You’re mine. Alright? Tonight doesn’t mean I think anythin’ less of you, or I’m not serious about our relationship. M'so fuckin’ serious, y/n.” Rafe pulls out of your pussy, making you wince; his large palm quickly soothes the ache. Rafe turns you into his chest, wrapping his towering frame in yours. “How could I not be serious about you, baby?” He mumbles warmly against your lips. You look up at him, matching his gaze. ”S'no question who you belong to, honey. Cam knows you’re mine. I had you first. M'gonna have you when he’s gone. Alright? Just let us take care of you like you take care of me. A'ight?“

"Okay, daddy,” you smile as you rest your hands on Rafe’s muscular chest, trying to contain your excitement as you see his ring adorned on your tiny finger. Rafe glances down as well, chuckling to himself as he sees how happy the gesture made you.

“Looks good on you, baby," he croons. "Let’s have a good night. Yeah?”

“Let’s do it.”

You start moving your hips to the music; the bass bumps in your chest. Your friend quickly grabs you by your hips, turning you away from her; you start grinding on her. Your hands drift up your thighs, working back down as you roll your body nice and slow. “Where’s Rafe?” One of your friends screams over the track. You smile and shrug as you continue to move. “You think you could introduce me to Cam?” She wiggles her eyebrows in your direction. No way.

“Sure," you breathe, brushing her off.

Where are they? Tonight has been fun. Cam is every bit as gentlemanly as Rafe. He asked me about school, my major, and my friends, but it was all very "normal”, almost as if that conversation with Rafe in the shower hadn’t happened.

Was he genuinely interested in me like Rafe said he was? Or did he change his mind? You look out into the packed college bar; a deep sea of students grinding and moving to the beat. Your dance partner gives you a sloppy kiss on the cheeks before getting whisked away by her boyfriend, leaving you solo again.

The void is quickly filled as your body is claimed by Rafe, taking you from behind. He presses his chest against your back, rough hands working up your bare thighs, resting on your hips. “You look good, baby girl,” he groans. “This fuckin’ body." His lips meet your neck, kissing and nipping his way to your ear as you grind to the beat. You can feel his rock-hard cock through his jeans, pressed against your ass. His rough fingers move down, drifting lower and lower, making your pulse below. "Bet this pussy’s so wet,” he groans, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

Rafe applies a little more pressure, pressing his fingers on top of your clothed pussy; rubbing small circles on top. Oh my god. Your body tingles, warmth coursing through your system as you feel little spurs of pleasure between your thighs. You breathe deeply, taking in his cologne, eyes widening when you take in a subtle differences.

This isn’t Rafe.

You look ahead, watching as Rafe lifts his red SOLO cup to his lips, his smirk half-seen as he stares you down. He gives you a flirty nod before tossing back the rest of his gin and tonic. You look down at the large set of hands on your body, seeing his twins matching gold Cameron ring on his finger. Cam’s body is familiar, the shape of him fitting perfectly with yours, but his hold is heavy, touch not as gentle as Rafe’s. His kisses are rough, sending chills up your spine as you rest your hands on top of his, guiding them closer to your sweet spot as Rafe watches on.

Cam’s fingers trace your inner thigh, toying with the soaked lace of your panties. “Y/n…" He moans against your skin. You lean back against him, tipping your chin up in his. Your heart skips a beat when you see Cam’s face, the sight of him making this all that more real. He looks so good, so fucking good; Rafe’s double in every sense of the word, donning a black v-neck instead of a white. His gold chain lays on his chiseled chest, glinting in the laser lights. The only visible difference is his buzzed hair. Cam wets his lip, blue eyes sparkling down on yours.

He pushes your panties to the side, causing you to gasp; Cam quickly claims your lips, stealing your breath. Rafe’s brother teases your entrance with the tip of his rough finger, making you whimper on his lips. He draws his hand away, bending you over. You rest your hands on your knees as you throw your ass back into him. Cam’s grip tightens on your hips, pulling you closer; the two of you fucking clothed.

Rafe pinches his jeans, adjusting himself clearly, loving what he sees. He calls over to the bartender, yelling for his tab, making your heart pick up pace as you see the plan set in motion.

Cam grabs you by your waist, turning you around; pulling you close to his chest. One hand works around the back of your neck, guiding your focus toward his eyes as his other hand continues to massage your clit. You feel a heat building in your belly, lashes fluttering as you look up at him.

"Rafe said you were a good girl, y/n. That true?" He rasps in a voice just a little deeper than Rafe’s.

"I - I’m a good girl," you whimper.

"Then cum for me." Cam pulls you in a little closer as you feel yourself about to lose control. Fuck. Am I gonna cum in front of all these people? You look around, the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd off in their own worlds. "Eyes on me? Wanna see your face, princess. Wanna see my brother’s pretty little slut cum on my hand in front of all these people," Cam taunts. He leans in, lips brushing against yours. "Our hands.” Ours? You gasp as Rafe grabs you by the waist, plunging two thick fingers between your thighs.  He fucks them into your pussy effortlessly, curling and stroking with precision.

“He told you to cum," Rafe warns.

You grit your teeth, gripping onto Rafe’s wrist and Cam’s shirt as your orgasm claims your body. The two boys work you through your release. Cam watches you closely, taking in your beautiful features as you cum for him for the first time. Rafe slips his fingers out of your pussy, sucking the mess clean as he always does. "What do you say, brother? Let’s get our girl outta here. Hmm?”

Part 2

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[cherrycolored-punk]

can you keep a secret?

pairings: modern! brother's best friend! Steve Harrington x fem! Reader

author's note: ok, ok, ok. I've had these two in my head since I first wrote it. I needed to repost it and decided to make it a one-shot instead. These two were too horny for a second part, let's be so for real.

w/c: 5.1k

warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral (reader receiving), praise kink, sorry if I forgot anything 💙

Pool water trickles down your spine, summer heat almost suffocating as you lay out to dry. The air is filled with the buzz of cicadas and crickets, the sound of sprinklers running on nearby manicured lawns. Music plays faintly from the radio on the side table, and you hum along. The sky was a watercolor blue with a stroke of tangerine and cotton candy pink; cirrus clouds were brushed delicately into the vast canvas. 

Being home from college meant you finally had time to lose your head in the clouds and get lost in the stars once the sun had set. There wasn’t the constant worry of a term paper or an early morning class you swore you’d get to despite all the warnings from the student advisors. There was only possibility. You could feel it—the turn of a page, the change of a season. Things would be different. You just didn’t realize how different they would be.

“Hey, Punky,” a familiar voice calls out, drawing closer as it did. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know who it was, the sound of his steps and the smell of his cologne giving him away. Bergamot and cedar, a slight hint of tobacco.

“Hi Stevie,” you greet around the lollipop you’d been sucking on, eyes still closed, enjoying the sun. 

You could feel his eyes on you, gaze roaming over the expanse of your legs and up to your chest. The seconds pass like minutes, silence settling between the two of you as he takes you in. The way your bikini hugged your curves and the way your nipples were pebbled beneath your skimpy top. He swallows hard, words getting lodged in his throat. You did your best to hide the way his gaze affected you, the way your breathing sped up, or the way you squirmed in your seat.

“Have you seen your brother?” He clears his throat, shakes his head, and hopes you don’t question the time it took him to ask a simple question. 

You smirk to yourself, a cherry lollipop pulled out of your mouth with a loud pop. You open your eyes and tilt your head. Gaze trained on him so they didn’t linger on the swell of his biceps.

“Probably inside setting up for the party,” you shrug, completely casual and not at all having palpitations from how he looked at you. 

You press the lollipop to your lips, swirling your tongue over it, and watched his adam’s apple bob as you did. It had always been cat and mouse, a game of boundaries and lines never crossed. You turn onto your stomach, head turned away from him as you do. He looks at the curve of your ass, the way your bikini bottoms got lost in it. Steve’s shorts feel tighter, strained. He clears his throat again, pointing towards the sliding glass door even though you weren’t looking.

“I’ll go see if he needs help,” he vanishes behind the door, eyes lingering before disappearing into your home, and you could finally breathe.

—————

Music pulses through the speakers, overwhelming and all-consuming. Your welcome home party was full of people you didn’t know or didn’t talk to, strangers that your twin brother was acquainted with. You eye the mass of people over your cup from your corner of the room. Watch as they dance to an early 2000s Spotify playlist, get lost in the sound, or play tonsil hockey on your couch. Tequila settled in your chest, warm, and you felt like you were floating. 

Mingle. Mingle. Mingle. Your inner voice screams, clawing its way to your cerebellum so that you’d move. So that you’d do anything besides stand on the wall at another house party. But you walk past everyone, through the crowd, and to the pool house that sits on the edge of your yard. 

The moon was bright, light illuminating everything around you in a glow. Lightning bugs buzzed around you. You could still hear the music, the sounds of the party muffled by the sliding glass door. You take another swig of your drink before placing your plastic cup on the table next to you and reclining on the cushioned seat.

“Having fun?”

“A totally rad time,” you nod, words laced with sarcasm, watching Steve as he approaches. 

He gives you a sideways smirk; eyebrows raised as he takes another sip of whatever fills his red solo cup and sits near your feet on the edge of the chair. Steve had always been attractive in an obvious way. His hazel eyes bore into yours, and you avoid his gaze focusing on the new freckles that dotted his cheeks and created a path to his jawline. His caramel-brown waves were shorter, sat just above his ear, and defined his cheekbones in a way that made you want to trace them. He is wearing a dark blue t-shirt that clings to the muscles of his arms and black jeans that accentuate the meat of his thighs. 

You want to sink your teeth into them.

“You’ve never been a good liar, Punky,” he’d caught you, watching as you took him in, and did the same in return. Steve works to keep his jaw from going slack and takes too many sips of beer as he eyes the way your hips flare under the satin of your red dress. You nudge his shoulder lightly, ignoring how the brief contact felt like electricity, and grab your cup to take another swig of your drink.

“You look really pretty tonight,” he manages, the roll of your eyes making his smirk grow wide.

“Not pretty enough for anyone to flirt with me,” you sulk, and takes a few more sips of the amber liquid.

“That’s because Derek would actually kill anyone who touched you,” he laughs as he thinks of how often he’d be warned not to go anywhere near you. He had his King Steve reputation to thank for that.

“Perks of being Derek’s annoying little sister. No one even sees me,” you huff with a dramatic sigh.

“That’s not true,” he tiptoes around a confession, the truth that lingers between the two of you but was never spoken.

“Oh please, I am a pariah in my own house.” You lift a hand towards the two-story tudor, your welcome home party evidence that no one necessarily gives a shit whether you were there. You play with the lip of the cup, rubbing your thumb over the sticky lipgloss left there.

“We can have a little party of our own out here,” he wraps a warm palm against your knee.

“Don’t throw me a pity party,” you pout.

“Ms.College Elite is the only one who has my attention tonight,” he urges.

“What do you say, Punky?” And you debate, mouth twisted to the side as you look at the hot tub and back at him.

“We’ll need more beer,” you shrug. What was better than a party of two?

“Atta girl,” he gives your knee one last squeeze before sneaking back through the glass door and towards the kitchen. 

You stand and strip out of your dress, staying in just your bra and panties. The summer night feels cold against your skin and sends a shiver through your spine. You sink into the hot tub, wincing slightly as your body adjusts to the temperature before lazing back and watching the stars. Steve returns moments later with a six-pack in hand.

“You got in without me?” He teases, eyes focused on your face and ignoring the way the water made the fabric of your bra just a bit more translucent.

“Sorry about it, King Steve,” you mock, splashing water at him as he pulls at his shirt and flips off his shoes. He hesitates as he unzips his pants, suddenly unsure and looking back at the house.

“Is this a party of one?” You tease, hiding the way the possibility stung.

“Not a chance,” he pulls his pants down, green boxers clinging to his sun-kissed skin, and you try not to linger at what they reveal. There was truth to the whispers around school and you giggle to yourself as he climbs into the jacuzzi.

“Not what a guy wants to hear when he’s stripped nearly naked,” he pokes at your side before grabbing a beer. He holds one up as a question, and you nod as you reach for it, his fingers brushing yours.

“I promise my giggles have nothing to do with the way you look,” even though they kind of did, you just don’t want to talk about his endowments.

“Sure thing,” he chugs his beer, red blossoming in his cheeks the longer he sits in the warm water.

“I mean it, I promise. Scouts honor,” you hold up four fingers.

“It’s three fingers, you dingus,” and he splashes water at you as you laugh.

“Watch my beer,” you whine and try to block it from the onslaught of water. 

You press one palm against his chest, turning your back to him as he continues. His chest flexes under your hand, rough hairs rubbing against your palm. Steve tries to reach around you, big hands grabbing for the can of beer as you lean in to take a sip, back flush against him and ass pressed to his center. You feel his arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer, lifting you in the air until your beer can slips from your hands and plops into the water.

“My beer!”

“Way to go, Punky,” he laughs, warm breath fanning your ear, and you turn to look at him.

“It’s not my fault. You’re the one who attacked me!” You push away from him, palm pressing into his pec once more.

“Only because you laughed as soon as I took my pants off. Talk about a blow to the ego,” his hand presses where yours just was.

“Oh please, Harrington. Like you haven’t always been told you’re something out of a Calvin Klein ad,” you roll your eyes, back pressing into the side of the jacuzzi. 

Steve’s cheeks darken to a shade of red, the tips of his ears crimson at your words.

“Something out of a Calvin Klein ad?” He teases, inching closer until he was floating in front of you.

“Like you don’t know you’re some kind of beautiful, Stevie. I’m sure all the girls you’ve dated said as much,” you ignore the way your heart races being so close to him, the way his gaze makes heat pool at your center.

“Maybe cute, sometimes hot, but never some kind of beautiful,” his words come out lower, nearly a whisper. You lift your shoulder, attempting to bring levity to the butterflies springing free and taking flight in your abdomen.

“Well, now you know, don’t let it go to your head,” you nudge him, a small giggle escaping from between your lips as you turn to the side to put distance between you so that you can breathe, but he holds onto your hand and pulls you towards him, chest to chest. 

Your breaths come out shallow, eyes searching his for an answer. He shakes his head, words lost, as he takes you in and looks at you how he’d always wanted to. 

He was cast in a glowy haze, string lights shining orange and yellow against his sun-kissed skin. Steve eyes the pout of your lips, debating, adam’s apple bobbing as he throws all caution to the wind. He closes the small space between the two of you, watching as your eyes flutter close as an answer to an unspoken question. Do you want this too? 

Your noses brush, breaths shaking as his lips hover over your pout before he takes the plunge. His kiss was softer than you had imagined as his lips eased over yours. Tasting like beer and a hint of spearmint mixed with the taste of your strawberry lipgloss. Your hand brush against his bicep and up to his neck, twisting into the waves of his hair. You pull lightly, bringing him closer, lower, swallowing his gasp of surprise as the kiss becomes hungrier, more urgent. 

The world around you disappears, the noise of the party ignored as you focus on the way he felt pressed against you. The way his hands explore the skin of your abdomen, the curve of your ass, and the lines of your thighs. His touch consumes you, leaving a line of electricity wherever the two of you are connected. He kisses you like he’d wanted this, like he’d wanted you, for years. 

He rubs your face with his hand, thumb pulling at the side of your lips so you’d open up for him. Steve slides his tongue over yours, lifting you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as the kiss turns filthy and his fingers dig crescent moons into your sides, pushing your center onto his arousal. He sucks at your bottom lip, swallowing your moans as you begin to grind against him. The water sloshes against your hips, the sound covering his groans and your sighs. 

You wanted him, needed him. Steve pulled away, hands firm and stilling your hips as he looked at you with glassy eyes. The realization hung in the air, lines already crossed, and boundaries breached.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says it like a question. Like he needs convincing, but you were just as lost, lips bruised and a little dazed as you took him in. Your chest heaves, breaths coming in shallow as you shake your head. You shouldn’t be doing this.

“Can you keep a secret?” You ask, and he nods, his lips back on yours rougher than before. 

Steve’s fingers dig into your flesh, jutting his hips up to meet yours as you rock against him. He swallows your whines, nose pressing into your face as he tries to get closer. His fingers trail up your thighs, slip under the fabric of your panties, and rests them on the fat of your ass. Steve pulls away and eyes the way your lips are pouty and bruised.

“Is this okay?” He asks, eyebrows raised, and you nod, needy for more. For him.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, and he presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck, nipping at the tender flesh as he trails to your cleavage. 

Your chest arches under his touch. Head tilted back as his tongue dances along the line of your bra, nipples hardening under his warm breath. 

You are lost in the moment, head under water, electricity coursing through you like a live wire wherever Steve touched. You want to blame the alcohol, want an excuse for making out with your brother’s best friend in your hot tub as you circle your hips against his length and swallow his groans. You kiss a trail from his jaw to the space between his neck and shoulder, sucking a bruise and kissing it sweet. Steve tilts his head, giving you more space to make your mark, eyelashes fanning his cheekbones as he watches you.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admits, breathy and eyes a little hazy. 

You pull away from him, hands resting on his shoulders as you took in his darkened gaze. Questions swirl in your head, the answers found in how he still holds you close, almost like a plea.

He opens his mouth to say more but a loud bang from the house had the two of you scrambling, heads turned and looking for the source of the noise. Afraid you’d been caught, and your chests heave as you wait, moments passed in shared silence, watching as people began leaving the house.

You weren’t ready to stop. Needy to feel his lips pressed everywhere they could reach. Your fingers pressed into his jaw until he faces you.

“Pool house,” you instruct and climb out of the hot tub, pulling him along. He follows without question, the sounds of his wet footsteps trailing right behind you as you push the door open. 

The moment that it closes, he turns you around and pins you to the door. You suck in a breath as his lips hover over your skin, warm breath causing goosebumps to sprout in anticipation. 

Steve chuckles, enjoying how affected you are by him. His knee slots between your legs, balancing you against him as his teeth graze your exposed shoulder. He runs one hand over your hip and the other twines with your hand above your head. Electricity shoots through you, hips rolling back against him as you search for the friction you desperately need. 

He tugs at the strap of your bra with his teeth, pulling the fabric down before switching sides and doing the same to the other. You feel his absence as he pushes off of you to unhook your bra, his fingers making quick work of the hook. The lace loosens from your body, and you allow it to fall onto the floor before turning to him. 

You watch as he swallows hard, his eyes dancing over your exposed skin, highlighted by the moonlight streaming through the curtains, painting you in a pale glow. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, fingers itching at his sides to reach out and touch you. 

Slowly, you approach him and reach for his hand guiding it up to your supple flesh. He cups you with a groan, his thumb brushing over your perked nipple. You push on his chest, guiding him backward towards the couch at the center of the room until he plops onto the cushion with a huff. 

His hands automatically reach out when you straddle him, one leg on either side of his lap. He wastes no time, his mouth creating a hot trail along your naked flesh, making your brain melt. 

Steve’s tongue swirls over one of your nipples, and he sucks it between his lips, watching you with hooded eyes as your head falls back in bliss. Your hands curl in his hair automatically, holding him against and tugging as you swirl your hips against his hardening length. It drives him wild, watching you like this. An image he’d always pictured, but his imagination definitely didn’t do it justice. 

His fingers push under the fabric of your panties once again and grip your ass, spreading your cheeks apart as he begins to meet each swirl of your hips with a rut of his own. He needs you, wants you, in a way that he’s never wanted anyone before.

“Baby-” he groans against your skin, releasing your nipple and pressing his face between your breasts.

The nickname makes butterflies swarm at your center.

“Steve,” You whine, desperate for there to be fewer layers separating him from where you need to feel him most. 

He flips you onto your back suddenly, caging you between his arms and kissing down your body. 

“I need to taste you,” he groans against your skin, dragging his tongue against your abdomen and to the tops of your panties. He hooks a thumb underneath the fabric, and you lift your hips so he can take them off, watching as he discards them absently. 

You’re completely exposed, every inch of you revealed to him, but the look in Steve’s eyes has never made you feel more beautiful. He watches you with an intense regard, almost reverently, as he takes in every inch of you.

“Fuck, honey,”  he breathes and swallows harshly, “so fucking perfect.” 

Steve kisses over your hip bone and down the tops of your thighs, savoring the feel of your soft skin beneath his lips. The stubble along his chin rubs against you just right, and you reach out to curl your fingers back into his hair. 

He’s trailing kisses back up your legs and to your inner thighs, creating an agonizing pace. Teasing, licking, sucking. Leaving his mark. Your hips rise involuntarily, seeking the release you need, desperate for his touch, and he obliges with a swipe of his tongue along your slick folds. 

“Oh,” you gasp, hips falling back against the couch. His chuckle against your sensitive flesh sends vibrations straight to your core, and before you can protest, his tongue is dragging against your slit. Pushing deeper until his nose is pressed against your bundle of nerves.

“Taste so sweet,” he murmurs, sending another wave of vibrations through you, and your cunt clenches at his words. Lost in the feeling of his movements and what was to come. 

His tongue pushes at your entrance, dipping into your center and humming as he tastes more of your essence. 

“Steve,” you grip his hair as his tongue darts in and out of your cunt, creating a lewd noise that fills the pool house. 

He groans against you, nearly losing his mind at the way you moan his name. Watching as you buck against him with each swipe of his tongue.

You whine as he pulls away from you and raise yourself onto your elbows to look at him, jaw falling open when you see his chin glistening with your arousal. 

He watches you as he traces his middle finger over your slit, gathering your slick before pressing it against your cunt. You stretch over him, sucking his finger into your sopping hole until he’s knuckle-deep inside you. 

The sensation has you falling back against the couch, head swimming with need.

Steve bends down and flicks his tongue against your clit, curling his finger inside you as he does. His pace is slow at first, gradually picking up speed to match the flick of his tongue and you’re already close to coming undone. 

The sound of his fingers sinking into your center is vulgar, his pace making your breath quicken.

Every nerve in your body is on edge, and you feel close to combusting. Each lap of his tongue sends a jolt of electricity through your body. He adds another finger, stretching you more, and you hum at the sensation. Your hand cups one of your breasts, fingers pinching your nipple, as your breath quickens and you approach the edge.

“Oh, fuck, Steve,” you moan again. 

Steve’s lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks, making you jolt against his face. You hold him there, grinding as you chase your orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans against you, eager to make you come undone. His words sending you ever the edge.

Your hips lift as your center unfurls, your body stiffening as it courses through you. A feeling that takes your breath away, makes your toes curl, and is felt through every inch of you. Your screams are trapped in your throat, focused on the feeling as you clench around Steve’s fingers and grip his hair. 

Seconds drag on like minutes, and your legs begin to shake. A guttural moan escapes your lips, and goosebumps sprout along your skin as you continue to hold him there.

“Steve,” you keen, and he swears you’re driving him crazy. His fingers don’t stop, and his mouth doesn’t slow as he laps at your release. Groaning as he licks you clean. 

You’re panting, core sensitive, and aching as his fingers continue to drive into you. 

“Please-,” you plead, and he smiles against your skin, his fingers slowing before pulling out of you. You watch him with half-hooded eyes as he licks your spent from his digits, groaning as he tastes your sweetness.

He kisses your bud, the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, and creates a trail up your body. Taking his time to savor the way your soft skin feels underneath his lips. You gasp when they press into your neck, when his tongue swipes before his teeth graze your pulse. 

“So fucking pretty,” he whispers and kisses your jaw, his hard length pressed into you.

Your hand reaches between your bodies, and you run a hand over his boxers, gripping his cock - slowly stroking him through the fabric. Satisfaction thrums through you as you watch his jaw go slack, his hips bucking to meet each of your movements.

“It’s my turn,” you whisper and kiss his jaw, but he shakes his head, swallowing hard.

“Next time,” he insists, and your heart thuds at the thought—next time.

You continue to stroke him, dragging your tongue across his lower lip and humming when you taste yourself there. 

It’s all too much and not enough.

“I need you,” you whisper and pull his lower lip between yours. 

“Baby,” he groans, one hand gripping your hip and the other cradling your face. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, pulling away and meeting your gaze. Measuring your sincerity. 

You nod rapidly and move your hand to the top of his boxers, pulling at the fabric. Holding his gaze. He springs free against your center, and you inhale deeply, hand running along his hard flesh. You stroke him once, running your thumb along the vein on the underside of his cock before swiping it over his tip coated in precum. 

You yearn to taste him, to feel his length against your cheek as you pull him into your mouth, but he’d said next time. You bring your thumb to your lips and lick the precum from it, your gaze never leaving his as you suck it clean.

“Fuck-” he shakes his head, and you push at his chest until he’s seated. You straddle his lap, one leg on each side of his, and reach between your bodies to line him up with your entrance. His tip pushes at your entrance, and you gasp at the pressure, anticipating the stretch that he’s going to be. 

You sink onto him slowly, and he watches your face as you take every inch. The way you gasp, how your eyes squeeze shut, and the grip you have on his shoulders is enough to send him over. He lets out a groan when he’s feeling seated in you, his fingers gripping your hips and leaving marks.

“So fucking tight,” he breathes, jagged and affected, “So perfect.” 

You’re hyperaware of every place you’re connected; his naked chest pressed against yours, his hands on your hips, and his throbbing cock deep in your center. It drives you wild, makes you feel a little drunk on his touch, and slowly you lift your hips. He cups your ass to help your movements, guiding you up and down his shaft. 

“Oh my god,” you moan as you increase your pace. 

He drags a tongue over your pebbled flesh and kneads your breast as he pumps up into you. The sound of your skin slapping against each other intertwines with your breathy moans spilling from your parted lips, and your nails dig into his shoulders. He ruts up to meet the rhythm of your hips, pumping into you at a brutal pace, and watches how well you take him with hooded eyes.

“Take me so good, honey,” he mewls against your breast, and your grip on his shoulder tightens. His hand leaves your tit and traces over your abdomen until his fingers meet your clit. 

“Fu-,” you breathe, words lost as he begins to draw mean circles against your sensitive bud. 

“I’m gonna,” you try to say between moans.

“Come for me, baby,” and the desperation in his voice makes it sound like he’s begging. 

Your legs squeeze shut, hips faltering, but he pumps himself into you. He watches the way your tits bounce with each thrust, the way your head falls back, and your mouth falls open as you come undone. 

“Holy shit, Steve,” you cry, and a strangled groan leaves his lips when he feels you clench around him. 

The orgasm rushes through you, even more intense than before. Heat creeps into your chest as your walls flutter around him, and you dissolve into pleasure. He grips your hips, continuing to pound into you as he chases his own release.

“I’m so close,” he grunts, his hips stuttering and abdominal muscles tightening. He lifts you off of his lap as his release spurts onto his stomach in white streaks, and you moan at the sight of it. Wishing you could feel him fill you. His fingers press into your flesh, his breaths shaky as he holds onto you.

He looks beautiful and disheveled, his chest red from the intensity of his orgasm. Unable to form a coherent thought, let alone speak. 

Steve taps your thigh and you move off of him, watching as he disappears into the bathroom. You sit there, suddenly nervous, suddenly feeling exposed, and begin to look for the little clothes you wore when you led him inside. 

When Steve returns, he finds you pulling your panties back on near the door. Your bra already pulled back into place.

“Running off?” He laughs and reaches down for his boxers near the couch. You spin around to face him with a nervous smile.

“I just thought you’d want to,” you pause and wave your hands around, unsure of yourself, “y’know?” 

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips as he pulls his boxers into place and approaches you, his hands wrapping around your waist.

“Making me feel a little cheap, honey,” he teases and kisses your cheek, holding your face between his hands. Surprising you with how tender he was being.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and he catches the way your brows furrow. 

“What is it?” He asks you softly, studying your face.

“I just didn’t know if you meant what you said and thought I’d spare you the awkward conversation,” you sigh deeply and meet his gaze.

He doesn’t speak but presses a kiss to your lips, softer and slower. Sweeter. You follow the path his lips create, sighing at the feel of them.

Steve pulls away and smiles at you, his hooded gaze dancing between your tired one.

“I mean everything I said,” he states and rubs a thumb over your cheekbone.

You nod, trying to hide the wide grin that threatens to overtake your face.

“Next time?” You repeat and rolls his eyes, affectionately.

“Next time, I’m taking you on a date,” he promises and leads you back to the couch. He pulls you on top of him, rubbing circles against your arm.

“Oh, a date with King Steve?” you tease and poke him. Just like before. 

“Shut up,” he responds, his voice thick with fatigue and something that sounds like affection. 

He pulls you closer, tucking you between his arm and his chest. His head pressed to the top of yours and the sound of his soft snores lulls you to sleep. 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Race

Grace Clinton x Hamilton!Reader

Summary: Racing at its finest

"And Verstappen comes around the second to last corner! It's tight! It is tight! But he's got it!"

Grace stares at the screen, eyes wide.

"The Hamilton siblings come out neck and neck on the same turn."

You battle it out with your brother, slamming your foot down as his attention wavers.

You'd been waiting for this for a while. It had always been harder for you than Lewis, you always had to push harder, further, faster just because you were a girl.

But you were good.

You knew you were good.

He knew you were good.

"And Hamilton's Mercedes makes way for Hamilton's Ferrari!"

Ferrari knew you were good.

You floored it, leaving your brother in the dust.

Grace clenches her fists.

"Hamilton is gaining on Verstappen on the last corner. Verstappen attempts defensive manoeuvres but...Verstappen still in the lead! Hamilton is trying to get past...On the straight now. And...And...Hamilton is leading! Hamilton is leading in the last seconds of the British Grand Prix! Verstappen tries to reclaim but-but- She's done it! Y/n Hamilton, the first woman to win a Grand Prix in F1 history!"

The room erupts as you cross over the line and Grace can hear you over the radio.

"Thank fuck!"

"Congratulations, y/n. First win for you."

You pant over the radio as you begin to slow down your car. "Where did Lewis rank?"

"Third. You beat Verstappen by two tenths of a second."

"Is Grace there? Can I talk to Grace?"

She grabs the radio. "I'm here, babe. I'm here. I'm so proud of you."

You cheer in the car. "D'you like it? I told you you'd like it!"

Grace laughs. "I could do without the near misses. Is your brother going to be annoyed you passed him?"

"Hey, there's a reason he's moving to my team's greener pastures. You coming out to see me, superstar?"

Your car rolls to a stop and Grace comes bursting out to see you. You're standing up on the frame of your car, looking at the fans as you take off your helmet, fist pumped into the air.

You jump down when you notice her, crushing her into a hug.

"You're sweaty!" She laughs.

"Like you have anything to say. Sweaty footballer, you are!"

Grace just keeps laughing, letting you pick her up and spin her around.

Lewis pulls up next as Grace fists the front of your outfit and tugs you into a heady kiss.

"Well done," He says to you," But do you have to do that in public?"

You grin. "Yeah. Not to brag but I just won. I think I'm allowed to kiss my girlfriend."

He groans good naturedly, bumping your shoulder with his. "You're going to use that as an excuse all the time, aren't you?"

"You know me so well."

You keep your hand laced with Grace's as you head up to the podium through the backways of the building.

"World Champion next year then?" She teases, completely relaxed under your arm.

You flash her a grin. "Is that what you want? 'Cause I can do that for you. I want a WSL title in return though."

"I can arrange that."

There's no one else around you. It's just you and her and you steal another kiss while no one is there to complain.

She gasps into your mouth but reciprocates quickly, one hand on your hip while the other cups the back of your neck.

"What would you say if I tell you that you looked so fit driving that car?" She whispers against your lips.

"I'd say that I was wearing a massive helmet that covered my face so there's no way I looked fit at all."

"Then I'd say it must have been your voice," Grace replies," All rugged and angry when Norris cut you up in the ninth lap."

"That sounds more reasonable," You say," You look fit when you kick around a ball for ninety minutes."

"Good." Grace draws back, lacing your fingers with hers as she pulls you to start walking again. "Now, go get that trophy so I can capitalise on just how fit you actually are."

[hiddenonyx]

Borrowing Their Clothes | Obey Me! Brothers

A/N: I have some writing done of this for the side cast, but it's not finished and I wanted to put something out. This is several months old and I think edited, but no promises lol written in second person, no mention of gender.

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

Lucifer honestly, didn't even notice that you had swiped something from his closet until he saw you in it. It was late at night and Lucifer, still ever working, decided to stop by the kitchen for another cup of coffee. When he saw the light already on, he had assumed it was Beel getting a head start on his midnight snacking. He was surprised to see you, getting yourself a glass of water when he turned the corner. He was even more surprised (and a bit flustered) to see that your choice of sleepwear is a too-big black dress shirt and matching underwear- wait a minute. 

You can see the gears turning in his head as he slowly (either from the late hour or being flustered or both) figures out that it's one of his dress shirts you're wearing. You have to bite the inside of your check to resist snickering as he simply stands there, looking dumbfounded. Does he chide you for taking something of his? Does he fuck you? Does he say anything at all?

Mammon is the type of person who never remembers what stuff he has or where it is until he suddenly remembers and wants to wear it. Thus he's angrily digging through his closet for this one grey long-sleeved shirt. He could've sworn that he still had it and that it was here, with all the other shirts he had barely worn. Did Asmo comb through his closet again and take stuff? After almost ten minutes of angry searching, Mammon decides to hell with it - he'll just sulk all day, it's fine. He makes his way to the music room - maybe watching some TV will make him feel better. That's when he notices you, already watching TV, wearing that same exact grey long-sleeve shirt with black leggings.

"Oi!" he snaps at you, drawing your attention to him, "That's my shirt. Where'd ya get it?!"

You tilt your head at him slightly, "Your closet?"

"And what makes you think you can just root around in the Great Mammon's closet without permission, huh?"

You shrug, "You weren't wearing it."

"So?!" He gives his dumbfounded look as if he can't believe your logic.

"Well if you want it back that bad, you can come take it off me."

Levi keeps careful track of all his anime and fandom hoodies (they are one of his top three favorite merch items after all). So one could imagine his panic at the realization that he's missing one. At first, Levi hopes that he just forgot to hang it in its proper spot. But after going through every single one, the anger of the realization that it’s actually gone sets in. Did Mammon take it and sell it? He better not have or not even Lucifer will be able to help him! He storms out of his room, his demon form standing out from the other seeming humans in the house.

"MMAAMMOONN!"

"He already left for the casino," the voice that makes him pause is yours. You look up from the sitting room couch setting your book and mug down, "What happened this time?"

"That bastard took one of my hoodies and probably sold it —" he stops mid-sentence as you stand up, wearing the very same hoodie he's been looking for, "Where did you get that?"

"Huh?" You look down at yourself, "Oh this ended up in my laundry basket. It's cute so I figured I'd wear it, but I don't know who’s...it's yours, isn't it?"

A blush starts to creep onto his face as he nods and bites at the back of his hand to stop from squealing: you look so cute in it.

Satan is used to having his clothes "borrowed" by Asmo. He's used to walking into his room and seeing Asmo going through his closet to find something to finish his outfit or to peruse the fourth born’s shocking amount of sweaters. What Satan is not used to is walking into his room and seeing you trying on a thick, oversized, woolen sweater. He stands at the entrance of his room, watching as you hum thoughtfully to yourself as you twist back and forth in his full length mirror. He holds his breath, you haven't noticed him, nor did you hear him come in, and he doesn't want to startle you. He watches on in silence, a soft smile warming his face as he takes in just how cute you look. Maybe he'll let you keep it.

Asmo has no problem sharing clothes. Any kind, any style, he has at least five options for you. Mini skirts? Check? Ripped denim jeans? What wash would you like, darling? Honestly, it feels like half your closet is his closet - he doesn't have any problem just giving you his clothes. Asmo often buys clothing that he knows that both of you would like just so you two can share. You also find yourself sharing or even wearing clothes from Satan and Solomon, and even Mammon sometimes (huh who knew Mammon owned long-sleeved shirts?)

Beel will absolutely hand you his jacket because you mention that you're a little chilly and then completely forget that he did. He frowns a little as he looks around his room, confused as to where it's gone. Belphie didn't borrow it and isn't using it as a blanket...so did Asmo take it? But why would he? Asmo said that his jacket "wasn't quite his style" so where did it end up? Perhaps he left out in one of the common spaces? Beel hunts through each room before finding you in the planetarium, sitting on the floor, looking up, and wearing his coat. He snickers quietly - it's far too big for you; it swallows you up so that only your head pokes out. He rests against the doorframe, watching you watch the stars. He'll let you wear it for a moment longer.

Belphie is a little miffed when his daily sweater goes missing. It's not the first time something like this has happened - laundry occasionally gets swapped around in the house, but he could've sworn that he had gotten his sweater back this past laundry day. Maybe he left it in the attic? One tiring climb up the stairs and search around the attic later, Belphies sighs and pulls out his phone.

[House of Lamentation]

"Hey has anyone seen my sweater? I can't find it anywhere." -Belphie

"Did you check the laundry room?" - Lucifer

"Yeah, it's not there. Checked the attic too." -Belphie

"Actually you left it in my room the other day." -MC

"Oh. I'll come get it." [Thanks sticker] -Belphie

It's only a few minutes before Belphie knocks on your door. He blushes once you open your door, surprised to find you swearing his sweater.

"Thought I'd keep it warm for you," you tease.

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

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[bratzforchris]

Inked Daisies (Chapter 1)

A series

Summary: For the past year, you've been running the flower shop that's next door to your friend, Matt's, tattoo studio. But what happens when the feelings start to get more than friendly?

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Matt x floristfem!reader

Warnings: There will be individual warnings for each chapter. No warnings in this one!

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Soooo...my first series on here ♡ In this universe, Matt has a nose ring and his usual tattoos, plus some other tats and piercings that'll be added later hehe<3 Let me know how you like it!! 💐💐

“Nope,” Matt shook his head as you stepped inside the shop, looking at you from behind the counter. “You can’t bring those in here.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, setting the small Mason jar of flowers down on the glass case that held a variety of glittering body jewelry. “They’re flowers, Matt. Not a bomb.”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask. Plus, they ruin the look.” Matt kept his eyes trained on whatever he was looking at on his laptop, but you could see a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“You’re so grumpy,” You tsked, maneuvering yourself behind the counter and peering over his shoulder. “Whatcha doin’?”

Matt sighed, running his hands through his hair and spinning himself around in his chair to look at you. “This dude keeps changing his fucking design even though he’s put his deposit down. And guess what? His appointment’s tomorrow,” he sighed again, brushing a hand across his nose. “Fuck, I forgot that’s a new piercing.” 

Your face dropped into a pout at Matt’s stress. You had known him since freshman year when you had become friends with Chris and the other two triplets by extension. Although you didn’t see all the inner workings of Matt’s mind, you knew that he struggled with anxiety and stress. A particular instance at Six Flags during your sophomore year had told you that much. 

“Let’s see the design,” You offered, filling up a paper cup from the water jug behind the counter. “I’m sure there’s something we can do to make him happy.”

“What? Give him the tattoo for free and then change once it’s already on his body?” Matt raised a brow at you as you poured the water into the jar of flowers. 

“You’re such a pessimist, Matt,” You shook your head, placing the now-full jar of flowers next to his computer. “If it helps take away the awful, vile sight of big, scary flowers, these are the outcasts. Their stems were too short and a few of them are missing some petals. They’re the rejects.”

Owning a florist’s shop had been your dream ever since you were a little girl. You had been captivated by flowers since the day your granny had taken you into her expertly tended garden, leading you around and telling you all the meanings for the different plants. In a way, it almost felt like you were carrying on her legacy by owning such a dainty, girly shop that sold her favorite things. Maybe she wouldn’t have liked the fact that your shop was directly across the street from an all black tattoo and piercing parlor that just so happened to be owned by your best friend’s brother, but she definitely would’ve liked the aesthetic of your business. 

You drew yourself out of your thoughts, pulling up the chair of another piercer who had left earlier in the day. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Matt moved a few things around on his laptop, opening up Procreate and clicking onto a design. In your opinion, it was absolutely gorgeous. The tall oak tree in the drawing had large branches that extended outwards, but instead of leaves, the tree held clocks that were all stuck at midnight. Underneath the actual drawing was the carefully lettered sentence ‘Until Time Stops’ in swirly letters that matched the chains of the clocks. 

“That’s beautiful,” You said softly, your eyes entranced by the drawing. “It’s…wow, it’s gorgeous.”

“I think so too.” Matt mumbled, clearly more lost in his artistic mind than here with you. 

This reminded you of the nights during high school sleepovers. Chris and Nick would pass out early, leaving just you and Matt. You both struggled with insomnia, so some nights you would both stay up, pouring over the brunette’s sketchbook together while Matt explained each and every drawing in great detail to you. You had noticed that, similar to you, Matt had an eye for the natural world. You’d never brought this notice up to him of course, but you often thought about it during the early morning hours when you were doing opening duties in the shop while waiting for your employees to arrive.

“But he doesn’t like it, so it’s a scrap,” Matt shrugged, closing out the application and leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. “God, I’m fucking tired.”

You sighed sympathetically, hopping out of the chair. “I understand. I guess I’d want something I really like if it’s going on my body permanently. Doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying, though.” You acknowledged, bustling around behind the counter as you stacked papers up, put pens back in their cups, and locked the jewelry case. 

“I get that you like flowers and animals and shit, but you don’t have to do that. You’re not Cinderella. I’ll do it later.” he sighed. 

“Later? Matt, it’s almost nine,” the only reason you had come into the shop in the first place was because you had finished cleaning and locking your own store rather early and had seen Matt sitting behind the counter. “You need to go home and eat and sleep. A) You gotta be hungry and B) No offense, but I wouldn’t want someone who’s sleep deprived to be giving me a tattoo or piercing.” You joked, bumping his shoulder lightly. 

As if on cue, Matt’s stomach growled audibly, making him fidget with embarrassment, but not so much that he couldn’t open one blue eye to glare at you. “Says you. How many times have you gotten Astrids and Hydrangeas mixed up because you stayed up all night reading.” the brunette chuckled to himself, remembering the time that you had employed the triplets’ help to create a brand new bouquet less than an hour before a certain bridezilla’s wedding. 

“Now that’s not fair and you know it.” You huffed. 

“Is too.”

“Is not.” 

“Is too.” Matt insisted, smirking triumphantly once he saw you sigh in defeat. 

“You’re annoying,” You grumbled. “I like Chris much better.”

“Sure ya do, sweetheart.” Matt didn’t even look in your direction as he closed his laptop, shoving it into his black tote bag.

Something about the way Matt said such a simple sentence had you fighting your blush, grabbing your own bag that you had sat down earlier. You tried to ignore the funny feeling in your stomach, fiddling with your phone while Matt finished the tasks you hadn’t completed. “You think Nick and Chris would kill me if I brought pizza over instead of their elaborate orders from five different restaurants?” You asked, eager to move your mind away from the implication of his words. 

“You’re coming over?” Matt turned to look at you, an expression you couldn’t read on his face. 

“Nick invited me. You know we don’t see each other as much as we did when we were kids. I miss our sleepovers.” You smiled softly. 

Matt’s eyes crinkled with nostalgia. “Yeah, I remember that. They were kind of nice, I guess.”

“You guess? Wow, way to treat us like chumps. You got a girlfriend you’d rather be hanging out with or something?”

“No.” it was a single word, yet the boy’s tone changed from one of fondness to something much deeper and almost angrier. 

“I’m sorry, I…” You trailed off, studying him as he picked up his bag, trying not to focus on the tattoos that snaked down his muscular arms and connected to the chunky, silver rings on his fingers. “I didn’t mean to hit a sore subject.” Even though you two were close, you knew Matt didn’t tell you everything about his life. 

“Let’s just go, okay? I’m sure the ruffians are hungry.” he grumbled, walking towards the door. 

You scrambled after your friend, each of his broad steps equaling four of yours. “They’re not so bad.”

“That’s because you don’t live with them,” Once you were both outside, Matt turned and locked the door to the shop behind him. “Trust me, when Chris burps in your face for the fiftieth time that day, it gets less funny and more annoying. Do you have a ride?”

“...no…” You admitted. 

“Can no one in my life get their license?” Matt sighed, not even waiting for you as he started the trek to his car. 

“Actually,” You corrected him, practically jogging to keep up. “I have my license. I’m just saving for a car.”

You believed city transportation was a perfectly valid form for getting from point A to point B, but as you slid into the passenger seat of Matt’s car, you couldn’t help but to admit that having your own personal vehicle was a much nicer alternative. Matt pulled out of the parking space without speaking, but you could feel his warm presence beside you in the car. As he migrated the car through the narrow city streets, you found yourself wondering what your life would be like if this is how every single day went for you. You knew Matt would drive you home in the evenings if you asked, but a part of you wanted to keep the rare occasion of rides together just that. Rare, special, something seemingly so mundane that it was almost silly you were even thinking about this. 

Time spent alone with Matt was rare, despite working across the street from each other. Between being a triplet and your friendship with Chris, the one-on-one actions were few and far between. But for some reason, on nights like tonight, when you thought about how he interacted with you, you wished that you could make them happen over and over and over again.  

tags ♡:  @jake-and-johnnies-slut @chrissfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @herxysc-blog @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @spencereidenthusiast @crazychrisl0v3r @sturnioloxlver @whicked-hazlatwhore @blahbel668 @sturncakez @junnniiieee07 @biggesthat3r @sturniolowhore @patscorner @julesgrl @0strawberrysorbet0 @strombolilovr @matt444nixi @remussbitch @devthepoet1221 @mattyblover07 @loisnotaa @mollyquinnxoxo @graysturns @pepsicolapussy333 @ginswife @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @m00n-0n-paws @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @raysmayhem-72 @faygo-frog @oobleoob @billsslutt @aemrsy

note ♡: if you'd like to be added to my taglist, click here <3

[innaillus]

Drawing Ryōmen Sukuna

Development notes

This post has been in the making since last year, before the manga has reached its current arc. My aim was to respond to comments that pointed out that my version of that time didn't look like the one in the anime. I calculate everything I do and the way I do it. My current goal is to share my thoughts on the development of my take on him - simply because I'm a nerd when it comes to anatomy and I love figuring things out. It involves a lot of thinking, questioning, analysis, dissecting information and building theories. So I totally understand if it's not anyone's cup of tea.

MANGA SPOILER WARNING

The very beginning

I used to have a serious case of lack of self-confidence. My earliest art of Sukuna dates back to 2021, but it always felt like my skills are not worthy of this particular character. I never shared my art. I was also struggling to find my artistic voice. I was obsessed with the idea of semi-realism, but even if I managed to pull it off after weeks of stylisation practices, I didn't like the results.

Due to personal reasons, I stopped trying to draw him for a long time.

The development of "my" version

It was an entirely conscious decision to draw him differently.

The top reasons for the change was that I didn't want to sexualise him in his host, Yuuji, who is a minor. Back then I thought he inflicted the deformation on himself (extra limbs, eyes, etc), for the sake of efficiency, and I was curious what he looked like before that - or what he would look like in a civilised environment.

During the process, I considered a number of factors:

the beauty standard of the other JJK men - I wanted him to fit the lineup - his original appearance made him stand out quite much

in a setting where he adheres to the rules of society, more or less, I believe his MBTI personality type (ENTJ) would dictate a lot of his choices when it comes to appearance, at least to a certain extent. I thought he would choose to have an appearance that fits the beauty standards of the era

I kept his tattoos because it's a very distinguishing feature of him, but I also exercise freedom in the way I draw them, to make them as stylish as possible

Reincarnation

I used to believe once he reincarnates, his proportions would be closer to that of a "normal" human, even if he has some extra limbs. However, his size and features are above and beyond of what we are used to, and even the story emphasises their malformed appearance. So a a whole new era of Sukuna started in my art. I chose my favourite manga panels of him and mix-and-matched the most attractive features into a figure that I consider on the fine edge of monstrosity and unconventional handsomeness.

Even when I draw him with a regular number of limbs, I keep his usual mass and proportions. I dubbed this form "true gains" form.

I also realised that some of the tattoos Yuuji's body displayed was a product of the partial reincarnation stage, like we see it on Tsumiki's forehead.

NOTE: Did anyone notice that Sukuna is getting progressively more and more human/handsome in the manga? When he took over Megumi's body, I also noticed that as the story progressed, he started to look older and more mature. I'm curious of it was a conscious decision.

Twin dilemma and speculations

According to the Japanese wikipedia page, the mythical figure Sukuna could have been a conjoined twin. Despite my extensive digging in the matter, I was shocked by the recent lore drop.

My question: what does Sukuna look like in a universe where he did not absorb his twin in the womb during development?

It hasn't been confirmed, but I find it very possible now that he was born with his extra limbs, eyes and mouth, as well as the deformed, wide features. (...as opposed to my first theory about him altering his own body for the sake of efficiency)

This, however, would mean that in a universe where both him and his brother are born healthily, he would look different. There is the obvious lack of extra arms, eyes and mouth - but I believe he would also be closer to the JJK beauty standard of men, as far as proportions go (eg. more narrow face, anime-esque nose, larger eyes).

At first I was hesitant to accept this idea, as I'm very attached to the 4-arm hulk / "true gains" form now, but then I realised: this would mean that "my"version of him actually has logically explainable place in at least an alternate universe.

Thank you if you got this far.

I may edit this post later. Let's see where the story takes us.

[miguelhugger2099]

Punk!Miguel who’s proud of his tattoos. At least most of them. He has some professionally done and others were stick and pokes from when him and Gabriel were younger.

Punk!Miguel who watches you with a smile when you touch up and down his arm. He hides the shivers down his spine when your perfectly manicured pink and green nails rake across the art decorated on him.

“What’s this one?” You poke at a terrible done smiley face, it was a little blobbed but barely noticeable with the much nicer ones done around it.

“One of the first tries my brother did on me when he was starting out.”

“And you kept it?” You tilt your head with a scrunch of your nose. Miguel laughs.

“Sentimental value.”

You scoff. “No way.”

“Yeah, way.” He takes your hands and pulls you closer, lugging you forward onto his lap where you belonged. Getting yourself comfortable you placed your hands on his chest.

“Are you just gonna have them on your arms?” You ask, tugging down his shirt for a peek at any new ones. Miguel smirks and stops your peeking by tsking and shaking his head—a knowing look on his face.

“Course not but tattoos cost money, babe.”

“You should get one of me.” You pout your lips, crossing your arms that makes you seem snobbish.

“What? Like get one of your face?” He laughs and leans back on his hands.

“No! Like—I dunno! Something sentimental about…me?” You look away, feeling the prickling embarrassment crawling up your neck. “Never mind!”

“Oh, so you want to be on my body, huh?” He teases, taking your hand and sliding it under his tank top to feel his warm stomach, faint dips of abs.

“You know what I mean!” You whine, feeling frozen with him holding your hand in place. He can’t help but find you adorable. Letting go of your hand to come around your waist as he leans up again, one hand coming down to cup your ass. He swallows your squeak with a kiss, unable to stop himself from biting into your sweetness.

Punk!Miguel who—even if he teased you about it—actually adored the idea of having a tattoo of you on him.

Punk!Miguel who thought day and night of what could represent you. Flowers he felt was done often, your name was cute but basic and anything else could very well be mistaken for something else. He wanted something that was obviously you.

Punk!Miguel who was rearranging his room again, bustling through various boxes for some spring cleaning.

Punk!Miguel who found his box of memories from when you two first began dating. It had been filled with all your gifts and letters you’d given him—every last piece saved securely in the corner of his room.

He smiles as he opens the box up again. Some pieces of papers falling out and the little broken keychain you got to match with him until it snapped when he accidentally sat on it.

He sits at his desk, flipping through the pages and tiny plushies you’ve given him. His heart swelling at the swirls in your writing with blue ink—the bunny pen you always wrote with.

The smile on his face continues as he reads through your words of love for him—words that you often found too difficult to say. He slams his forehead on the desk, blush coating his cheeks and ears while he groans loudly.

Each letter you’d given him ended with a print of your kiss mark at the very bottom. Some of it was a matte red, others was a faint glitter stain, but most of it was a soft pinkish color. The kind that was glossy and gave you just enough color that it looked tinted and natural.

His finger grazes the mark, an idea popping in his head.

Punk!Miguel who goes to a tattoo shop he was very well acquainted with, with an artist he knew extra well.

He slams his arm on the counter where a man was behind it, sucking on a lollipop and doodling in his sketchbook. The guy raises an annoyed brow.

“Do you have any space open for a walk-in client?” Miguel asks with a smirk.

“I don’t have space for annoying ones.” He sighs and puts his drawing pad away.

“I have money this time, Gabri. Plus, family discount.”

Punk!Miguel who is both afraid and excited to show you what he’s done to himself. He feels his heart hammering while he preps himself to show you. He’d done the aftercare as precisely as possible, taking extra care of it because this was no ordinary tattoo.

Punk!Miguel that lets you take off his shirt when he tells you he’s gotten a tattoo of you.

Punk!Miguel who smiles with amusement when you gasp and hit his arm that you were joking before! That tattooing is a permanent thing! He tells you that he knows.

His heart stills when you eyes land on his chest. On his left side, where his heart would be was your kiss mark. Just like the ones you left on the letters you used to give him.

You touch your lips subconsciously, your other set of fingers hovering over his lifted skin. You look up for permission and he nods, brining himself closer.

You marvel at the piece of work that replicated your lips. “Oh, Miguel…” You sigh, blinking back tears.

“Are you getting emotional?”

“No!”

He brings you to his chest in a tight hug, your hand still resting beside your kiss mark now permanently etched on his person—a permanent reminder that he is yours and that he loves you.

[kquil]

REGULUS BLACK | HOLD HER! PART 0.5

SUM. : you have a bizarre encounter with regulus because james couldn’t help himself —but his heart was in the right place at least (a prequel to part 1)

TAGS. : fluff ; grumpy regulus ; sunshine reader ; grumpy x sunshine trope ; you don’t have to read the first part to read this ; James being a defensive, protective older brother type ; James doesn’t condone slander ; inspired by a scene in demon slayer ; we love James ; but he can be a little much sometimes… ; but he’s perfect~ ; my James simp is showing ; excuse me~

LENGTH : 0.7k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

PART 1

“Regulus!” You call, waving enthusiastically towards the aloof Slytherin. It was break time between morning and afternoon classes and most people were on their way to the dining hall for food, except Regulus and his few friends who were going the opposite direction.

Beside you, the marauders give you an incredulous look. They understood how bubbly and bright you were, able to befriend anyone you came across, however, when it came to Sirius’ younger brother, hardly anyone was a tough enough contender to break through Regulus Black’s stone walls.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” the older Black brother utters in disbelief from beside you. His voice is a whisper and whether anyone heard him or not, they never showed it.

As expected, Regulus narrows his eyes at you and scowls deeply. He looks both offended and disgusted at your greeting towards him.

Sirius frowns deeply at his younger brother’s antisocial behaviour while Remus tries to keep a neutral face despite his instincts wanting to kick in and protect you. The lycanthrope has grown a sisterly fondness for you, all of the marauders have, but him especially seeing as you were the very few people who could actually cheer him up before and after a full moon. Naturally, Peter cowers slightly at the confrontation but tries to mask his fear — although unsuccessful from the intensified glare directed his way and the satisfied smirk that followed on the small circle of friends around Regulus. James doesn’t seem to mind the interaction at all, smiling harmlessly throughout the interaction. Look at you making friends! He’s so proud!

“Aren’t you going to eat lunch?” You ask with an adorable tilt of your head as Regulus feels his eye twitch. This has to be a sham…nobody really acts like this.

“That’s none of your business,” Regulus is loyal to his principle of keeping all interactions brief; his response epigrammatic. However, it’s forced through clenched teeth, his tone biting and a direct opposition to the calm demeanour he famously displays.

“But what if you get hungry later on? Won’t you get stomach pains?”

“Again,” the younger Black brother emphasises his irritation with the narrowing of his eyes, “that’s none of your concern,” you want to continue arguing, saddened by his resistance; nobody should feel hungry during classes, it makes the hours drag on far longer than necessary, “now move out of my way, this whole act of yours isn’t cute —you’re not cute,”

Sirius scoffs and begins to pull you into his side as Remus steps away with Peter to make way, both frowning deeply at the way the Slytherin spoke to you. James, however, was stock still, the world suddenly moving at a snails pace around him.

‘Not cute?’ James looks at you, his earlier smile slowly slipping away as he blinks his face between you and Regulus, ‘Not cute…NOT CUTE?!’

“WhaT dID YoU SAy?!!” James screeched loud enough to draw the entire hall of students’ attention, “LIES!” He continues to defend as everyone looks at him as if he’s lost his mind, even Regulus who was an expert at keeping his expression some cold.

“Jame—“ You’re cut off when James reaches over and holds your face with one hand, cupping his palm under your chin as his fingers and thumb press into your cheeks and turn your lips outwards, rendering you unable to speak.

“ShE’S thE CUTEst! JUST lOok at HER! Her BEAutY is LiKe NO OthEr! Do YOu KNow hOW MaNy PeOPLe I’ve HAd to SCarE AwaY from APPrOchInG Her wITh bAD InTenTIONS?!” James emphasises by pulling you close to his side with his other arm and stepping the two of you closer to Regulus who steps back. He doesn’t know how to describe it but Regulus felt threatened by the fire fiercely blazing in James’ eyes, “YoU JUsT nEEd to See heR in BeTTEr LiGHTinG! THATS ALL! ThESE STupiD HaLLWay CanDLes ARen’t ENOUGH!” James reaches for the younger Slytherin, a game plan already forming in his head, “CoME wITh ME!”

“Get away from me, Potter!” Regulus hurriedly steps away from the older Gryffindor’s grip, flustered and avoiding your adorably squished face. Paired with your large, round eyes, puffed out, pouty lips and dinky nose… your winsome features are nowhere near cute!

Regulus makes his escape by forcing his way past, his heart racing from the adrenaline of the bizarre encounter just adrenaline.

You’re not cute. You’re not cute. You’re not cute. YOU’RE NOT…cute…

A/N : i wrote this incredibly sleep deprived but inspired. i hope you enjoyed <3

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @veryberryjelly @th3-st4r-gur1 @sousydive @delusional-4-fake-people @linaax @girl-detective16 @riaa-moony @ericityyy

[pure-smut]

radioactive.

featuring: Togame Jo x f!reader

contains: angst with comfort, mentions of a fight, blood, oral (male and female receiving)

word count: 2.6k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

series: 1. off limits | 2. radioactive

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Your eyes are on the TV but they’re not focussed, your nails chewed down to the quick. You’d gone out to buy yourself a new phone but now you wish you hadn’t because you keep looking at it every two seconds, checking for a message.

Togame Jo had gone to talk to your brother, Choji, about an hour ago. He’d promised to message you when they were done but you haven’t heard anything yet. You’d cleaned your whole studio apartment, went to buy groceries, picked up your new phone, and you still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You’d wanted to be there while he did it but Togame didn’t think that was a good idea – he didn’t want Choji to feel ambushed. So he’s gone by himself, leaving you to anxiously wait.

Your phone buzzes and you immediately grab it, only to see it’s a message from your phone provider. Grumbling, you throw it back into the couch cushions and turn to the TV, drawing your knees up to your chest.

And then you hear a knock at the door.

You leap off the couch and sprint to the door, flinging it open. Togame stands there and your heart jumps into your throat.

His face is bloody and he’s holding up his phone, the screen smashed.

“Sorry,” he says, his lazy smile still somehow on his face. “Couldn’t message.��

“Oh, Jo,” you sigh, shoulders sagging.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen Togame in this state – he’s second-in-command at Shishitoren after all – but it’s the first time it’s made your heart ache. You usher him in, closing the door behind him as he sits heavily on the sofa.

You wet a cloth and bring it over, kneeling on the sofa next to him. Togame stares straight ahead as you start to gently wipe the blood from his face.

There’s a gash across his nose, he has a split lip, and there’s a fresh bruise blooming under one of his eyes. You cup his face tenderly with one hand while the other cleans him up.

“It didn’t go well, I take it?” you gently probe.

Togame’s green eyes slide over to you. He catches your wrist, pulling your hand away softly.

“I should have challenged him,” Togame says slowly. “When he said no. I was weak.”

You swallow hard, looking at the injuries on his face, pretending it doesn't break your heart. You glance down at his hands and notice his knuckles are clean. He didn’t fight Choji – Choji fought him.

“He would have put you in the hospital,” you say, shaking your head. “You made the right call.”

Even as you say the words, your voice shakes. Togame watches you carefully so you try to smooth your features into something more neutral. You try to pretend you didn’t get your hopes up.

“So, I guess that means…” A lump forms in your throat but you swallow past it. “Friends?”

A notch forms between Togame’s brows. You can see the internal struggle in him. He’s fiercely loyal to Choji, his best and longest friend. But when he locks eyes with you, there’s a flicker of something there. A spark you don’t quite recognise but makes your breath catch.

“I don’t want to make you break your loyalty to my brother,” you eventually say even though it feels like broken glass in your chest. “I won’t make you choose.”

You give him a watery smile.

“It was a long shot anyway.”

You make to stand up but Togame’s hand shoots out to grab your wrist again, this time firmer. Before you realise what’s happening, he pulls you towards him and kisses you.

You gasp with the sudden movement as Togame drags you onto his lap, his lips never leaving yours. He kisses you like he’s suffocating and you’re the only oxygen he has, his hand at the back of your head while the other wraps around your back.

You know it’s a bad idea, you know it’s only going to break your heart, but you can’t help yourself. You open yourself to him, feeling his tongue slide over yours, his lips so soft and familiar even though you only kissed for the first time yesterday.

You taste blood from his split lip, the coppery tang mixing between your mouths. Togame pulls you closer, deeper, his lips flush against yours. You only realise you’re crying when you taste salt.

“T-Togame,” you half-sob against his mouth. “Jo.”

“It’s okay,” Togame says, kissing the tears from your cheeks. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” You sniff and pull away. “We can’t do this.”

“Y/n-”

“I’m off limits,” you say and the words are choked. “No, more than off limits – I’m fucking radioactive. You shouldn’t even be here. If Choji knew-”

“Choji doesn’t have the right,” Togame says and his voice is louder than you expected, cutting you off.

You blink at him and realise his face is different. His easy smile is gone, his jaw is set, and his eyes… they’re sharp enough to slice skin. You’ve never seen Togame in a fight but you get the feeling this is what he looks like.

“He doesn’t get to choose for you,” Togame says. “Or me.”

You go quiet, sagging. Togame sits back, his grip loosening on your waist.

“I’m not giving you up,” he says quietly. “Choji’s been on the wrong path before and I didn’t say anything. I’m not doing that again.”

You sit with his words for a few minutes, silence falling over you both. Fresh blood is smeared across Togame’s face from his split lip so you reach across and gently brush it away, thumbing the corner of his mouth. The first hint of a smile plays on his face.

“Come here,” he says and you do.

You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you rest your head on his shoulder. Togame envelops you in a bear hug, squeezing tight.

“I’m not giving you up,” he repeats.

“I’m not giving you up either,” you whisper back.

When you draw back, Togame kisses you again but this time softer. The hardness has gone from his eyes, leaving only the sleepy, relaxed Togame you know so well. His kiss is sweet, his tongue dipping into your mouth as his arms stay around you.

You melt into him, your back arching slightly as you press your chest against his. Togame’s hands start to wander, moving lower until he reaches your ass. Still locked in a kiss, he slowly gropes the plush flesh of your cheeks, making warmth pool between your legs.

You haven’t discussed what this means for you, what’s crossing the line and what’s not. But when you pull back slightly to ask Togame, “Can I take care of you?”, he gives you a wide grin and says, “Absolutely.”

You press a few more chaste kisses to his lips before sliding off his lap. You kneel between his legs and when you look up at him from this position, Togame’s semi-hard cock immediately goes full mast.

He reaches down to trail his fingers along your jaw before thumbing your bottom lip. You lightly catch his thumb in your mouth, sucking on the tip, keeping your eyes on Togame.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, his voice low and throaty.

You smile, his praise making your cheeks tint pink, and run your hand up his inner thigh. You palm his cock through his sweatpants, surprised to feel how hard he is already.

“Is this all for me, Jo?”

“No one else in the world even exists right now, sweetheart.” He grins down at you, resting his arms on the back of the couch.

You try to stem the explosion of butterflies in your stomach to no avail. You tug down the hem of Togame’s sweatpants, watching his cock spring free. It’s as beautiful as the rest of him and your mouth waters at the sight of it.

You lean forward to lick along the fat vein running up the underside of his shaft, feeling his cock twitch as you do so. The tip is shiny with precum so you lick that up too before swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. Togame groans, his hips bucking slightly. When you look up at him, you see him watching you intently.

You lick your lips before wrapping them around the tip, your hand clasping him at the base. Softly sucking, you start to bob your head up and down, slowly taking more of him each time.

“Ah, fuck,” Togame grunts, his hands fisting the top of the couch cushions. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re so good at that.”

You pull back to dribble more saliva down his shaft before taking him in your mouth again. He feels so hot and hard against your tongue and every throb makes the heat between your legs grow.

You push him deeper in your mouth, splaying your hands on his thighs to angle yourself better. Togame’s groans of pleasure spur you on, encouraging you to go further. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag slightly, your throat constricting around him.

“Shit…” Togame’s hips buck again on instinct.

He reaches forward to tangle his hands in your hair, holding your head in place.

“Stay there for me, baby.” Togame starts to thrust up, sliding his cock past your sweet little lips. “Look at me, angel.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes watering slightly. Togame’s never seen someone as beautiful as you, his eyes locked on yours as he fucks your mouth.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck. Fuck. You ready, baby? You want my cum?”

You moan around his cock in affirmation. Togame’s lips part, his cock throbbing as he unloads his cum down your throat. It’s thick and tangy and you struggle to take it all but you try your best, swallowing his load.

When Togame pulls his softening cock free, some of his cum spills from the corner of your mouth. He grins and swipes it away with his thumb, letting you lick it off him.

“Good girl,” he says and you beam up at him.

You pull Togame’s sweatpants back up and make to climb onto his lap. But before you can, he stands up, picking you up easily.

“Ah!” you squeal at the sudden movement.

Togame crosses the few steps to your bed and throws you onto it.

“Your couch is too small for this,” he says with a lazy grin before climbing on top of you.

“Maybe you’re just too tall,” you giggle before his words catch up to you. “Wait, too small for what?”

Togame says nothing but his eyes glint. He presses soft kisses against your neck, making your eyes flutter closed as you sigh contentedly. His mouth trails down slowly, lazily, taking his time with you.

“I’m gonna take care of you now,” he whispers in your ear.

Your heart sets off at a gallop at his words. You watch him as he kisses his way down your body, hooking his fingers under your pyjama shorts and panties to tug them off. The cool air tickles your bare pussy, your lips glistening with arousal. Sucking Togame off had turned you on more than you expected and as soon as he plants soft kisses against your inner thigh, you find yourself suddenly desperate for his touch.

Togame teases you, kissing you everywhere around where you need him to. You whine and buck your hips as he smirks at you.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he coos. “What d’you need?”

You make another desperate whine.

“Your tongue, Jo, please.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely…”

Togame dips his head, inhaling the intoxicating scent of you. The fact that you got so wet from giving him head is enough for his cock to start hardening again but he’s focused on you right now. You were so good to him, took him so well, he’s more than happy to return the favour. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t going to enjoy himself too.

You’re not surprised that Togame moves slowly. You inhale sharply as he licks a stripe along your glistening lips, parting them with his tongue to gather your slick. He hums happily when he tastes you, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold you in place before dipping his tongue between your folds once more.

You want to buck your hips again, want more of him, but he holds you tight and you can’t compete with his strength. You fist the bedsheets instead, needing to hold onto something.

Togame moves down to your needy hole, pushing his thick tongue inside you. He flicks it against the sensitive nerves at your entrance, tasting your arousal before pulling back to suck on your puffy lips.

“You taste so fucking good,” Togame mumbles against your pussy before dipping his tongue inside you again.

You struggle against his grip, desperate to grind against his mouth as Togame continues to lazily make out with your pussy. He’s driving you crazy, pushing you to the brink of an orgasm but not letting you tip over.

“Jo…” you beg. “More.”

“What’s the rush?” When he grins up at you, his mouth is shiny with your arousal.

You let your head fall back against the pillow, making a desperate noise from the back of your throat. Togame takes pity on you, wanting to play with your hole a while longer but he can see how needy you are for a release. He licks his way up to your throbbing clit, brushing a few tender strokes over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh, fuck.” It’s just what you need.

Togame laps at your swollen bud, each stroke of his tongue sending a million little sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling it at the root as Togame keeps up a steady, languid pace with his tongue. The moans you make are magical, making his cock stir again. He releases his grip on you slightly, just enough so you can grind against his mouth.

“Ah… Jo, that’s it… that’s it!” Your back arches as Togame swipes his tongue over your clit. “Fuck!”

A tsunami of pleasure crashes over you, almost threatening to drown you, washing through every muscle in your body. Togame doesn’t let up, feeling your thighs tremble as you come undone on his tongue. He licks up your slick, his mouth flush with your pussy as you writhe against him.

He only pulls back when you whimper, pushing his head away from being too sensitive.

Togame watches you collapse against the bed before crawling up to lean over you, an easy smile on his face.

“That was hot,” is all he says.

“Yeah,” you half breathe, half laugh. “It was.”

Togame grins and dips his head to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You snake your hand around to the nape of his neck, scratching your nails over his scalp. When you break the kiss, Togame presses his forehead to yours.

“I’m not giving you up,” he repeats from earlier. “I care about Choji but I care about you too.”

“I care about you,” you say, voice soft.

Togame looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky. You cup his face, looking at the marks and bruises on his face, and your chest aches. You know you’re hurtling head first into something deep, something that you can’t come back from. But when Togame brushes your hair from your face and kisses you again, you know you don’t care.

If it’s Togame, it’s worth it.

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