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Hey friends how are you guys today I hope you enjoyed this ngl the comeback photos are so teaaaa they all look so good it’s insane and guyssss comeback season is nearrrrrr can’t wait ok baiiiii💋

You never understood the metaphor of ‘melting’ in a relationship until you met Kim Seungmin. 

It is no secret to anyone that you have that man wrapped around your finger. Seungmin loved you way before the two of you became official, but only then did his infatuation become that much more apparent. 

Once the two of you started dating, Seungmin never bothered once to hide his love for you. Why would he? He finally scored the girl that he had been longing for since the moment Hyunjin introduced you two years ago. 

It’s almost become an inside-joke with the boys. The moment you walk into a room, Seungmin zones in on you and only you — he can’t even hear the obnoxious kissing noises the boys are making to tease him. Cartoonishly, his eyes glaze over with adoration — you swear you can see hearts in his eyes if you look close enough. Then, when you place your hand on his, he submits completely: ‘melting’ in ways you only knew to be fictional. 

You hadn’t planned to visit Seungmin today. While it was your day off, you knew that your boyfriend had a very packed schedule as he prepared for the new comeback and upcoming performances. 

Unfortunately, you couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in your head that practically begged for some Seungmin-time — even if it was simply a passing moment. Ultimately, you decided to do a coffee run for the boys. You’re sure they will appreciate the gesture regardless of the true intent behind your actions. 

This is definitely not the first time you have done mini deliveries to mask your desire for time with your boyfriend. Thankfully, this makes ordering so much easier. By now, you practically remembered each member’s order better than your own (Seungmin always made fun of you for being so indecisive). 

With nine drinks in tow, you made determined, but cautious, steps toward the practice room. While the drink carrier you had was assisting you tremendously, the last thing that you wanted to do was bump into a wall and watch ₩74,000 hit the floor. 

You couldn’t help the small smile that crept upon your face the moment you heard familiar laughter down the hall. While it wasn’t clear exactly what had happened, you’re sure the muffled noises coming from the practice room was a result of Minho scolding another boy for messing up the routine. That was a comedic scene that you had seen one too many times. 

Just as you reach the door to the practice room, you hear the backtrack for one of their newer songs start to play. You haven’t had the chance to see any of the new choreography, so you honestly aren’t even sure if it’s okay for you to step inside. However, you figure that it’s worth the risk, knowing that Chan would immediately wrap things up if it were truly confidential. 

With practiced skill and full hands, you open the door with your elbow, shimmying your way into the practice room. At first, nobody seems to notice that you have snuck in other than a staff member whom you were familiar with. She gave you a gentle smile and quietly helped you unload the variety of drinks in your hands. 

Finally free, you lean against the wall and watch the boys move in sync with one another, their bodies perfectly swaying alongside the rhythm of the track playing in the background. With one move, Felix turns on his heel and notices you hanging out in the corner of the room. As you wave, he politely smiles back. Yet, when his eyes drift from you to the pile of drinks to your right, his smile is immediately replaced with a look of relief. 

“You are such a lifesaver, Y/N,” Felix sighs just as he goes to turn once more, never once missing a beat. Immediately, you take note of the way that your boyfriend’s ears perk up. 

“Y/N’s here?” Seungmin’s voice is laced with excitement as he twists his body to find you. 

Unfortunately for the poor boy, his excitement overpowered his agile coordination. Misplacing one of his steps, Seungmin unsuccessfully ends his twirl by crossing his ankles and ultimately landing flat on his face. A loud smack is heard as his head makes contact with the hardwood flooring. Everyone in the room stops their movements and stares in disbelief. 

“Dude, are you okay?” Han crouches down to meet Seungmin on the floor. 

When Seungmin only musters a faint grunt in response to Han’s question, you decide to rush over to check in on your clumsy boyfriend. Kneeling in front of Seungmin’s sprawled out figure, you gently run your fingers through his hair; you’re cautious as you aren’t sure how hurt he truly is. 

When he feels the familiar sensation of your fingers soothingly scratching his scalp, Seungmin faintly lifts his head. Though his eyebrows are scrunched from pain, his eyes light up the moment they lock onto yours. 

“Hi, baby,” Seungmin says through pouty lips. At this moment, he looks identical to a sad puppy, his eyes being the only sign that he is actually ecstatic to see you. 

“Are you okay, Min? You took quite the fall there.” Your voice is laced with concern as you move your hand to caress his jaw. When you lift his head to assess the damage, you notice his cheekbone already turning a bright shade of red from the impact. Rather than wincing in pain as your free hand traces the injured part of his face, Seungmin simply melts into your embrace, a small smile adorning his lips as he closes his eyes with content. 

“I guess you could say that I am head over heels for you,” Seungmin quips, earning a groan from the other seven boys in the room. 

“Did he really—?”

“I can’t believe this mutt.”

“He is demonstrably down bad.” 

As the boys are expressing their own disbeliefs to this ridiculous situation, Jeongin steps forward and lightly kicks Seungmin in the butt. 

“Yah! You almost took me down with you. Learn to control yourself around your woman,” Jeongin complained, but you could hear the teasing tone in his voice. 

Instead of responding, Seungmin simply flips over and lays his head on your thighs. Upon seeing how red his face was, the boys each shared winces and gasps. 

“I think that it’s time for a break,” Chan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seungmin, you’re going home for the day.”

“Oh no…Boss is putting me in time out,” Seungmin manages to quip, but immediately winces when he tries to look Chan’s way. 

“Alright, I am taking you home before you hurt yourself again,” you stifle a laugh at the blissful look on his face. 

“Oh, God,” Hyunjin faintly moans in the background, “Thank you so much for the treats Y/N-ah.” Everyone laughs at how Hyunjin is too fascinated by his coffee to be concerned for his member. 

“Maybe you can use Seungmin’s americano to soothe that welt growing on his face,” Minho snickers. 

“Welt?” There was a tinge of concern in Seungmin’s voice. 

“Don’t listen to him, pup,” you comforted him even though you knew that he would eventually have some swelling on his face from the fall. 

“That’s it – you’re done. No more pet-names. Skidaddle before I get sick,” Jeongin dramatically shooed the two of you away with a giant frown upon his face. 

“The fox is just jealous,” Seungmin said as if Jeongin couldn’t hear him loud and clear. 

Rolling your eyes at the comical, offended look on Jeongin’s face, you decide to make a plan to get Seungmin off of the floor so the two of you can head home. 

With a little bit of a struggle, and some help from Chan, you two made it home safely. Seungmin was now resting in bed with an icepack pressed against his cheek. You had gone to get him a glass of water when you heard pitiful whines come from the bedroom. Concerned, you rushed in to check on your boyfriend. 

“Are you okay, angel?” you ask, setting his water on the nightstand before assessing his face. 

“Why did you leave me?” he pouted. 

“Is that why you were whining?” you scoffed at the ridiculousness of your needy boyfriend. “I was just getting you some water, goob.”

“Mmm, I don’t need water. I just need you,” Seungmin smirked, reaching out to tug you back in bed. 

“Nuh-uh,” you tsked, “Not until you get these painkillers in your system.” 

Seungmin pouted but eventually gave in to the princess treatment. Only after you saw him swallow his pills did you crawl back into bed with him. Legs tangled together, Seungmin laid his non-injured cheek on your chest and snuggled closer to your side. 

The two of you stayed just like that for about an hour before Seungmin moved again. Sitting up slightly, Min took the now melted ice pack off of his cheek and placed it on the nightstand. His face definitely looked better, but his cheekbones were still slightly pink. You watched as he ran his fingers against the cold, numb parts of his cheek where the ice once was. 

“You feeling okay, baby?” you checked on him, pushing the hair away from his forehead. 

“Yeah. I am feeling a lot better than earlier; thanks to you,” Seungmin reassured with a smile. 

"Really? I was going to offer to kiss it better,” you teased, watching the gears shift in his head. 

“Oh — I am actually dying, then.” You burst out laughing at his antics. 

“You’re dying?” you rolled your eyes, deciding to play along. 

“Mhm,” he nodded before pointing to his lips, “You should start your treatment here, please.” 

“What would you ever do without me?” you smirk before leaning in to capture his lips with your own. Seungmin softens into the kiss, slightly pouting when you pull away. 

“I’d simply die, Y/N. Speaking of which, it is going to take a lot more where that came from to fully heal me. Unless you want me to wither away," Seungmin dramatically sighed as he placed a hand against his forehead, feigning severe illness. 

“You are a fool,” you chuckle at the serious look on his face.

“Maybe, but I am your fool,” Seungmin agrees through puppy-dog eyes and a giant smile. 

“How many kisses does this fool need to be healed, exactly?” you joke, loving the way his facade breaks once more at your words. 

“I’ll tell you when to stop,” he decides, trying to mask his excitement with a smug face. The moment that your lips met his cheek, that smug expression went away. 

As you peppered his face with kisses, one thing was clear: Seungmin was exactly where he wanted to be.

Letters exchanged between the Prince and Princess (Age 6), slipped beneath chamber doors in King’s Landing; 122AC

Jace,

I knocked on your door but you didn’t answer

Do you want to go see the dragons later? Aegon says there are new babies

I have Valyrian lessons before dinner. Put your reply under my door like I did with this one

Y/N

Y/N,

Yes, I do want to see the dragons very much. Mother says the new babies are very small though so we should be careful

Maybe one of the new dragons will be yours!

Meet me after dinner outside your room

I hope your Valyrian lesson goes well!

Jace

Letters exchanged between the Prince and Princess (age 7), slipped beneath chamber doors in King’s Landing; 123AC

JACE

You will never believe what happened- I claimed a dragon!

Father finally agreed to let me visit the unclaimed dragons in the dragonpit. Uncle Daemon came with me

She is so pretty, Jace. Her name is Silverwing- because her wings sparkle like silver! And she is huge!

Please write back as soon as you get this. Your mother said you were at training this afternoon

Y/N

Y/N

Are you serious? You actually claimed a dragon? A full grown one?

That is amazing! Vermax will be happy to have a friend to fly with once he is big enough

I knocked on your door, but the Septa said you were gone back to the dragonpit with Daemon

I'll see you at dinner. I can't wait to hear about Silverwing

Jace

An exchange of letters between the Prince and Princess (age 10) following the movement of Princess Rhaenyra’s household to Dragonstone; 126AC

Jace,

It has been a week since you and your family left for Dragonstone. The castle is quiet, and I spend a lot of time with Helaena now. We went to the Godswood earlier, and I helped her collect new bugs for her collection.

I love my sister, but I miss you. And Luke and Joffrey.

I hope Dragonstone is as beautiful as you hoped it would be, and I hope Vermax loves flying above the castle and over the cliffs.

I was very sorry to hear of the passing of your Aunt Laena. My family will be going to Driftmark soon for the funeral, and father says you will be there too.

I know it has only been a week, but I will be glad to see you. I hope the weight of your loss does not feel too heavy.

Sincerely,

Y/N

P.S: Tell Luke he left one of his wooden dragons here. It was in my chambers. I will return it to him when I see you all at Driftmark

Y/N,

I am glad you wrote. I miss you a lot, Joffrey has already asked about you many times. I had to tell him you had to stay in King’s Landing. I think he understands, but he does miss you- not as much as I do though.

Dragonstone is very beautiful. There are white sand beaches at the bottom of the cliffs, and the horizon stretches for miles. Vermax loves the freedom- im surprised you haven’t heard his happy cries from King’s Landing.

But it is still empty here. I keep waiting to hear your laugh around corners, or to see Silverwing flying over the coast with Vermax.

Aunt Laena’s death was very sad. I did not know her very well, but my mother and father are very upset. I feel sad for Baela and Rhaena- we will have to do something to cheer them up when we all arrive at Driftmark.

I will be glad to see you too. A week has already felt like too long. You make things feel easier.

Sincerely,

Jacaerys

P.S: Luke says he left it with you on purpose. Keep it.

Letters exchanged between the Prince and Princess (age 10) following the death of Ser Laenor Velaryon; 126AC

Jace,

Are you alright?

My family and I received word of Ser Laenor on our trip back to King’s Landing. I wish I had known sooner- I would have begged to stay with you at Driftmark.

I did not know your father well, but he was always kind. He would say hello to me whenever our families met, and when we were little he always called me Princess like some noble knight from fairytales.

I have prayed for you and your brothers and your mother every day since hearing the news. I prayed for your father, too- that he may find rest and peace.

I know that does not make your pain go away, but I wanted you to know.

If there is anything you need from me, say the word. I will fly Silverwing to Dragonstone myself. Father says I’m not old enough to fly her yet, but now that Aemond has stolen Vhagar I’m afraid he can’t hold that argument anymore.

Sending you love,

Y/N

Y/N

I am glad to hear from you. Even just reading your letter has made the grief feel easier.

Losing my father has been difficult, but I’ve had to stay strong- for Luke and Joffrey, and for mother. Luke is beside himself, Joff is still a little too young to understand. Mother grieves in her own way- she’s been quiet, almost distant.

She plans to remarry Daemon now. She claims it will help our family battle the rumours about my brothers and I. I told her I don’t care about the rumours, but she just wants to make things easier for us. What happened at Driftmark has weighed on us all.

Thank you for your prayers. Though I am not sure the gods will hear you, but I appreciate the effort. I too hope that my father finds rest and peace. He is with Aunt Laena now.

As for Silverwing, your father doesn’t have a leg to stand on with that argument. You’ve been ready to fly for years, but there’s no way he can stop you now the Aemond has Vhagar- it wouldn’t be fair.

I miss you, Y/N. I hope our families reunite again soon.

Love,

Jace

Letters exchanged between the Prince and Princess (age 13); 129AC

Jacaerys,

I have wonderful news! I suspect your mother may have received word already, but I wanted to share it with you myself even if you already know.

Father has agreed to let me come to Dragonstone as a ward to your mother! My mother is not happy about it, but I think my father has been attempting to restore peace between our families since that night at Driftmark all those years ago.

He mentioned to me once that Rhaenyra proposed a betrothal between you and I when we were only children, to strengthen the bond between our houses. My mother refused it, but father still thinks about it. He thinks it is a splendid idea, and I suspect it is why he betrothed Aegon to Helaena instead of me.

It would be nice, I think. If we were betrothed.

I have always been worried about being married off to some stuffy old lord in a castle somewhere, but it doesn't seem so bad when the stuffy old lord is you instead. We would be together all the time, and we could fly Vermax and Silverwing together whenever we wanted.

It sounds a bit like a dream.

Anyway, enough about betrothals and dreams. I shall be arriving at Dragonstone by the turn of the next moon. Father says I will only stay for a year, but I suspect I can convince him to let me stay longer.

I shall see you soon. I suspect you will hear Silverwing before you see us- she has been missing you and Vermax immensely, I think.

Love,

Y/N

Y/N

Mother told us about the news, but I am glad to hear it from you. We are all very happy- Luke nearly jumped from his seat, and I think Joffrey may have cried.

But none are so happy as I am. To spend a whole year with you, here on Dragonstone? That is what sounds like a dream. I can't wait to show you everything- the beaches, the cliffs, the Dragonmont.

You will love it here. I know you will. And I know we can convince my grandsire to let you stay longer.

As for betrothals, I agree. I think being betrothed to you would be very nice. My mother speaks about it often- she is quite protective over you. I think she wants to see her sister happy as much as her son, and she doesn't want to see you shipped off to some 'stuffy old lord' like Tyland Lannister.

I know a lot of people marry for alliance or power, but my mother and father still truly loved each other. They were husband and wife, but they were also friends beneath it all. Our house was always happy growing up. I think I would like to have something like that someday.

I think that's what it would feel like if we were married- a partnership rather than a duty. I think we would be very happy.

My mother talks all the time about how I will be King some day after her. The idea terrifies me- having to sit the Iron Throne, rule the Seven Kingdoms. I don't know if I will be much good at it, but as I think about it now it does not seem so daunting a task if you were by my side.

I will be the King someday. And you will be my Queen.

I cannot wait to see you at Dragonstone. Vermax and I will be waiting for you.

Love,

Jace

Letters exchanged between the Prince and Princess (age 15) following the Princess' return to King's Landing; 131AC

My dearest Jace,

It has only been a week since I returned to King's Landing, and already I miss you more than I know how to describe.

I wish my father had not had to call me home from Dragonstone, but alas I suppose we already had more time than he initially gave us.

He has not been feeling himself as of late. I pray it is nothing serious, and that it passes without issue. My mother assures me that all is well, that I have nothing to worry about.

But of course I worry. I always do.

I worry about Father. I worry about Helaena- her marriage to Aegon has been trying, to say the least. The twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, are lovely though- they have grown so much since I left for Dragonstone, and I have been helping take care of them since returning just to have an excuse to see them.

I worry about you too. And Luke, and Joffrey. Not for any reason in particular, I think it is just in my nature to worry about those I love.

I hope things are going well on Dragonstone. If I think hard enough, I can still feel the spray of the sea on my face, the wind in my hair at the edge of the cliffs, and your hand in mine. Your hands are always so much colder than mine.

I hope to see you again soon,

Love,

Your Y/N

My sweet Y/N,

This week without you has felt like a weight on my chest, but receiving this letter has given me some reprieve to breathe again.

I miss you like the moon misses the sun.

I am glad the twins are doing well, and I hope Helaena is too. She is a saint for putting up with Aegon the ways she must.

I am sorry to hear of the King's illness. I'm sure he will recover quickly, as he always has. But of course you will worry, it is how you are.

Empathetic. Kind. Good.

I could continue describing you, but I'm afraid this letter would be too long to send by raven by the time I was finished.

You do not have to worry about me or my brothers, I assure you, sweet girl. Things at Dragonstone are well- peaceful, though your absence is certainly felt. But we are all well, and all safe.

When I visit the cliffs, or the beach, I can still feel your presence in the air. The wind whistles in the distinct tone of your laugh, and the grass seems to bend around feet that are no longer there.

My hands feel colder without yours to warm them.

But we will see each other again soon, I assure you. And I shall be counting the days until then.

Love,

Your Jace

Letters exchanged between the Prince and Princess (age 16); Early 132AC

Jace,

Things are growing troubling in King’s Landing. I find myself fearful for the months ahead.

Father’s illness is progressing fast

There are whispers, here in the Keep. That my grandfather, father’s Hand, wishes to challenge your mother’s claim to the throne when the Stranger comes for him.

This is absurdity, as your mother’s claim has been reinstated by my father many times since Aegon’s birth.

But alas- the idea of a woman in power will always frighten a man, I suppose

I don’t speak much to anyone these days. Helaena is busy with the children, and lord knows Aegon and Aemond are horrible company. My mother spends most of her days by my father’s bedside.

I have spent much time in the Godswood lately. Did you know that many people in the North still pray to the Old Gods? It is different than our prayers to the Seven, but lately I find myself praying to any gods that will listen that peace remains, and that my father does not suffer.

I hope Dragonstone is serving you well. I would love to see you soon, but a part of me hopes I do not- because I fear the next time I see you will be father’s funeral.

These next few months will be trying, but I hold on to my strength as I know you would tell me to if you were here.

I miss you terribly, Jace. I wish you were here.

Love,

Y/N

Y/N,

It pains me to hear of your suffering in the Capitol. I hope Helaena is well- I cannot imagine having to care for children at our age (especially children of Aegon’s.)

I hate that you cannot be here at Dragonstone, with us. The air feels heavier here since you left, the halls quieter without your laugh.

The news of the King has reached us. My mother is not handling it well, and Daemon pretends to but I can tell he is upset about his brother. I am upset too. My grandsire is always kind to my brothers and I, even when others do not think to be.

Your talk of the Old Gods intrigues me. Perhaps the next time I see you, you can teach me how to pray to them. Maybe someday we can fly North, on Vermax and Silverwing, to pray in front of a real weirwood tree if we find the Old Gods kinder than our Seven.

But sometimes I think that not even the Gods can make death feel kinder.

The whispers you have been hearing about your grandsire, the Hand of the King, reek of treason. You have nothing to worry about, sweet girl- your grandsire has made questionable choices in the past, but I suspect even he is not silly enough to move against the King.

I wish I could be there, or you here, but you are also correct- I hope that our next meeting is prolonged so that you have more time with your dear father.

Losing a father is not easy, and I wish you never have to bear the sorrow, my love.

Until we see each other again,

Your Jace

A letter from the Princess to the Prince (age 16); written in haste, unanswered; 132AC

J,

The King is dead. My grandsire and mother move to instate Aegon as King. Your mother’s claim is in danger

Everything is chaos. I’m scared.

I miss my father, and I miss you.

[your initial]

Letters exchanged between the Prince and Princess (age 16) following the coronation of King Aegon II; 132AC

Y/N,

Please tell me you are alright. Your last letter frightened me. I am sorry I could not reply. Dragonstone has been thrust into chaos, and my mother temporarily stopped all communication leaving the castle, until our household had proven its loyalty.

I sent this letter to one of our trusted allies within the Keep in hopes that it will reach you well. If you are able to respond, bring your letter back to him. He will ensure it reaches me safely.

I wish I could be there with you, to hold you through the pain of losing your father. I miss him too. Everyone here does. He was good, and he would hate every second of the violence that has been raised in his passing.

I know that you are alive, because Rhaenys tells me she saw you on the dais at Aegon's coronation, when she escaped on Meleys. I hope you know I do not blame you. The schemes and deceit of your family are not yours, and I have made sure everyone knows it.

Are you safe, in the Keep? I will never ask you to spy on your family, I just need to know that you are safe there. If I have to, I will fly to King's Landing on Vermax myself to rescue you.

I fear this war will try its hardest to drive a wedge between us. I promise you I will not let it happen, my love.

Write back as soon as you can,

Jacaerys

Jacaerys,

I am so relieved to hear from you. I feared you may think me a traitor like the rest of my family. I think I could not bear it if you did.

Helaena and I are safe. I've taken to spending most of my time with her and the children. They are a welcome distraction, a beacon of peace and hope in these troubling times.

I am glad that Rhaenys made it safely to Dragonstone. I was not aware that she was being held here- I think my family distrusts me because they know of my fondness for you.

The pain of losing my father has not quite sunk in yet, I don't think. My grief has been stolen from me by this needless violence. Instead of mourning the man who raised me, I instead have to fear every day for the lives of my sisters and friends.

Please tell Rhaenyra that not everyone in the Keep is against her. My support may not mean much, but I want her to know she has it. If there is anything I can do from this side, I will.

I need no rescuing yet, but I do not doubt for a second that you would come running if I did. You always seem to know when I need you.

I pray this violence ends soon, and that the succession can be restored without further bloodshed, and that you and I can be together again.

I will try to write as often as I can, but in case I am stopped, know that I love you, Jacaerys.

Y/N

Letters exchanged between the Princess and the Prince (age 16) following the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon (age 14); attached to a wooden dragon figurine; 132AC

Jace,

Oh Jace.

I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry feels insignificant, but they are the only words I can muster right now.

I have spent the last few days in agony- I cannot imagine how you must be feeling. I wish I was there with you, to give you a shoulder to cry on, a safe place to land.

I attempted to flee King’s Landing on Silverwing the second I heard the news, to fly to Dragonstone to be with you, but my mother guards me night and day. She fears for my safety, but she fails to realize that I would be safer with you than anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms

This war is needless and cruel, and has gone on too long. I have begged my family to see reason- my brother, my mother, my grandsire. I beg for peace, for this ceaseless bloodshed to end before it takes any more innocent souls with it.

Because that is what Luke was- an innocent soul. He was so good. So kind. Too kind to have been touched by war and cruelty in the ways he was.

I cannot stomach to look at Aemond. I’m not sure I will ever be able to again.

Lucerys loved you so much, Jace. He looked up to you, wanted to be just like you. When we were little, he would always tell me stories about you, and he had a way of making the simplest actions of yours out to be the acts of a noble knight in shining armour.

He was the best of us. I will carry him with me in everything I do, as I know you will.

You do not have to respond to this if it feels too much. I understand. I simply wanted you to know that I am here for you, and that I share in your grief.

I will see you soon, and when I do I will hold you tight until the grief feels an ounce more bearable.

We have already lost too much in this war. I pray we do not lose anything else.

My love is with you always,

Y/N

Y/N

I’m sorry it has taken me so long to reply to your letter. The weeks since the incident have been difficult, and in truth I could not bring myself to read your words until days after the raven arrived.

And yet, in the time it took me to reply, the war has claimed its next casualty.

I have not stopped thinking about you and Helaena since the news of little Jaehaerys arrived. Mother is furious at Daemon, and beside herself that the child was murdered in the name of her cause.

This was not her order. That you have to know.

Give Helaena my love, but mostly I am worried about you. You have suffered so much loss in the small amount of time since this war began.

Losing Lucerys is a pain I don’t think I am ready to talk about yet. I’m unsure if I ever will be, but if such a day comes, I will come to you- like I always do.

I wish you could be here. I wish we could comfort each other through these days of war and bloodshed. I often think about what it would be like, to leave the war room at the end of a day of meetings and sit with you by the hearth.

The thought brings me a sliver of peace and light in these, the darkest days.

If Silverwing wishes to fly, and your mother’s guards fancy a nap, you would always be welcome here at Dragonstone.

Think about it.

In case something were to happen, now that this war has become what it is now, I need you to know that I love you too.

I love you every single day, even when we are apart, my sweet girl.

We will be together again soon.

Your Jace

A letter written from the Princess to the Prince (age 16) following the Battle of the Gullet; tear-stained parchment, unanswered; 132AC

My dearest Jacaerys,

Tell me it isn’t true.

Messengers arrived at the Red Keep saying that the Velaryon fleet battled the Triarchy at the Gullet, and that they were joined by dragonriders. The account says a bronze-scaled dragon sunk into the sea with its rider.

Tell me it isn’t true. Write to me and tell me that you are alive, that it was not Vermax these witnesses watched sink below the waves.

You stupid, stupid boy. You foolish idiot of a man.

This is not how this is supposed to go. Not how it is supposed to end. This war is supposed to end, not rage on and take you with it.

We are supposed to have our second chance. Our families finally no longer feuding, our mothers some semblance of friends again.

We would be betrothed, or we would simply force them to betroth us if they still refused. We would be wed, happy like your mother and father were, like we talked about all those years ago.

We are supposed to have time, Jacaerys. We are supposed to watch this war end, watch your mother take her throne. We are supposed to be here, again, where it all began- running through the gardens like when we were six, only now the weight of the crown weighs a little heavier on us.

You are supposed to be King someday. And I am supposed to be your Queen.

First Father. Then Luke. Now you.

Tell me it isn’t true. Please write back as soon as you can.

Love,

Y/N

A letter written from the Princess (age 16) to the Late Prince from the Red Keep; unsent; Late 132AC

My dearest Jacaerys,

I don’t know why I’m writing this.

Perhaps because I am painfully alone now, and you were the only one it felt like truly understood me.

So much has happened since you left us left me.

Everyone is gone, Jace.

Helaena is dead. Aemond. Joffrey. Daemon. Aegon. Your mother.

All of them- gone.

Silverwing is gone, too. All of the dragons are gone now. It was a horrible thing that I do not wish to relive for the rest of my days- but I miss her so deeply it aches in my bones.

I can only hope, at least, that she and Vermax have been reunited.

There are only three surviving members of House Targaryen now- Jahaera, your brother Aegon, and me.

The once mighty House of the Dragon, reduced to this.

Aegon will take the throne, though he is only a child. Jahaera will be wed to him, though she is only a child.

They wanted me to marry Aegon instead, to rule as the Queen Regent until he is old enough to sit the throne himself. I refused, so sweet Jahaera was put in my place.

Her care has been entrusted mostly to me for now, but every time I look upon her all I see is my sweet sister Helaena. I wonder if her death was painful, or if in her last moments as she fell from the window she finally felt free- free from this cage we learned to call home, from this senseless war started by fearful men who thought they knew better.

I wonder if you felt the same. I wonder, selfishly, if you thought of me in your final moments.

The Red Keep is full of ghosts now. Everywhere I turn, there is a memory of someone who no longer walks this earth.

I don’t know what will happen to me now that I have refused to marry Aegon. There are whispers that the small council wishes to marry me to Lord Cregan Stark, as an acknowledgement of his help in ending this war. I would become the Lady of Winterfell.

A part of me thinks that wouldn’t be so bad. Cregan Stark is kind. I met him after the war had ended.

My first thought was that you and him would get on well. I was both pleased and heartbroken to find out that he had gotten the chance to meet you, before everything, and that he thought you a brother.

We spoke of you at length. It felt nice, to have someone to talk to about you, who understood your goodness instead of just seeing you as the enemy’s son or bringing up the rumours that were spewed about you.

I would also have to go North if I marry him, which means I would never have to see the walls of this castle again, the ones that have haunted me so in the years since this war began. A part of me thinks maybe that is for the best.

But the other part of me wishes never to leave, because leaving may mean forgetting.

Leaving means not being able to walk through the Godswood and remember your laugh as we chased each other between the trees.

Leaving means not being able to walk past the rubble of the Dragonpit and remember two tiny figures sneaking in through the darkness, or the distant sounds of Vermax and Silverwing inside.

Leaving means not being able to see your face in every corner of this castle anymore.

But I also know that I will carry you with me in my heart for the rest of my days.

Even if I do marry Cregan Stark, my heart will always belong to the boy who snuck me lemon cakes from the kitchens when we were seven, or who slipped letters under my door just because he thought it was fun.

My heart will always belong to you, Jacaerys Velaryon. And my memories of you will never fade, no matter where in this kingdom I go.

Until we meet again,

Your Y/N

A letter written from the Princess (age 19) to the Late Prince from the halls of Winterfell; unsent; 135AC

My dearest Jacaerys,

It is the first moment of reprieve I have had in days, and of course the first thing I think to do is write to you, even though you will never read it.

I try not to think too much about that part.

So much has happened since I last wrote to you, but I fear I do not wish to talk about the crown anymore.

It has been three years since I left King’s Landing. The small council decided that the North was too valuable an ally to pass up, so the union between myself and Lord Cregan Stark was written.

I was scared, in truth, to leave King’s Landing. It was the only home I had ever known, but by the end it didn’t feel much like home anymore.

Nowhere really feels like home anymore, not without you, but Winterfell is the closest I think I will ever have now.

It is very beautiful here, in a different way than King’s Landing. The North is quiet, but never uncomfortable or eerie. I feel like I can breathe easier up here.

The snow is more beautiful than I ever imagined. It covers everything all of the time. It took a long time to get used to the cold and the fur cloaks, but I find a certain comfort in them now.

I also find a certain comfort in knowing you walked these halls once. Winterfell is not haunted with ghosts as the Red Keep was, but I can feel your presence around me if I search for it.

On my second day here, Cregan showed me the Godswood. It is almost ethereal, and the white snow and the white bark make the crimson leaves of the weirwood trees seem to glow.

I remember, long ago, you and I spoke about the Old Gods, and how we would ride North when the war was over to pray beneath a real weirwood tree.

I pray to the Old Gods much more now. Sometimes with Cregan, sometimes alone. It took me months to be able to do it without crying.

Cregan is a lovely husband. He understands me- not like you did, but in a way a friend would. In many ways, that is what he feels like- a friend. I know he feels the same.

It is nice, just like we thought it would be. To be married to someone who feels like a friend rather than a husband. He understands that a part of my heart will always belong to another, but he loves me anyway. And I understand the same about him- that a part of him will always belong to the wife he buried.

And I have grown to love him, in the ways I can- in the ways I have not been scorned by loss or war.

We have both known tragedy. It makes it easier, to accept the weight the other carries. We both understand a semblance of the grief the other bears, and we help them bear it the best we can.

I trust him, and he trusts me. We talk about everything and nothing. Sometimes I wonder if he ever runs out of things to talk about.

I wonder if you thought that about him too, when you met him. I suspect you did- you were always horrible at small talk.

Cregan and I exist most days as each other’s most trusted friend. But duty is duty, of course.

I’m writing this letter with my son cradled in my lap, sleeping against my chest. He is two years old now, and the future Lord of Winterfell.

He looks every bit a Stark, to the point where I may doubt my own involvement in his creation if I had not carried him for nine months.

But his name? Cregan and I agreed that there was only one name to call our son.

His name is Jacaerys. Jacaerys Brandon Stark.

I wish he could have been born with a dragon’s egg in his cradle, but I suspect he will not need a dragon to grow just as fierce as his ancestors.

I will tell him every day- of the strong queen Rhaenyra who never gave up fighting for what was right, of my sweet sister Helaena who kept her kindness even when the world was not kind to her. I will tell him about times when dragons ruled the skies, about how the wind felt whipping through my hair while soaring above Dragonstone with Silverwing, what the dragons sounded like when they were happy.

And I will tell him about his namesake- the bravest Prince there ever was, who would lay down his own life to protect those he loved.

I miss you every day. I don’t believe a day will come when I do not.

My daughter has started crying from her cradle, which I suppose is a sign to end this letter. She is only three days old and already causing trouble- a true Targaryen.

I wish you could know them, Jace. I hope that somewhere, maybe you’re watching, smiling down on us from somewhere better- somewhere that never felt the cold grasp of war.

I will join you there some day, on the other side. But for now, I have children to love, and many stories to tell them.

That is enough.

Forever yours,

A month after the Gullet, the castle still smells faintly of medicines, as though the sea itself has followed Jacaerys home and settled in the stone with him.

You have grown so accustomed to it that you hardly notice anymore.

A month ago, you would have given anything to smell it. A month ago, there had been blood. So much blood. But now there are only maesters, all the time.

Three of them stand gathered around the table right now near the window, speaking in low, serious voices while Jace sits in a carved chair looking increasingly irritated with every minute.

Sunlight spills through the narrow panes behind him, catching in his dark curls and turning the edges of them gold, softening him in a way that makes him seem almost boyish despite everything he has endured in the last couple weeks.

His injuries have faded from terrifying to merely alarming. The worst of the bruising is gone, the cuts have begun to heal, and colour has returned to his face, though not yet enough for you to relax.

Unfortunately for everyone else, so has his stubbornness.

You stand beside him with one hand resting lightly on the back of his chair, partly affection but mostly precaution if you're being honest with yourself, because the prince has developed an unfortunate habit of forgetting that nearly dying is supposed to slow a person down.

"Your Grace is recovering admirably," Grand Maester Gerardys says at last.

Jace straightens immediately, as if the words themselves have restored him. Gerardys clears his throat with the patient air of a man who has spent his life delivering unwelcome truths to the powerful. "Recovering admirably, however, does not mean recovered."

Jace slumps back with all the theatrical suffering of a man condemned to the Wall. Gerardys continues as though he has not noticed the prince's offence.

"Your ribs are still mending. The wound to your side has not fully healed. The fever has passed, but weakness remains. Any unnecessary strain could set back his recovery considerably."

Jace folds his arms. "What strain?"

The three maesters exchange a glance, and you immediately become suspicious. Jace notices it too, his brows drawing together. "What strain?" he repeats, sharper this time.

Nobody answers.

The silence stretches, and stretches, and then stretches a little further, until finally the old maester clears his throat again, looking faintly pained. "This includes physical exertion."

Jace nods at once. "Yes, I gathered that, obviously."

"Excessive physical exertion."

"Yes."

"Particularly..." Gerardys pauses, and one of the younger maesters suddenly finds the floor fascinating. "...marital exertion."

The room falls completely silent.

For a single moment Jace simply stares at them. Then his face changes all at once, horror and outrage arriving together.

"I beg your pardon?"

You turn away quickly because you can already feel laughter rising in your throat and you know if you let it out now you will never stop. Beside you, Jace looks scandalised beyond measure. "What do you mean?"

"My Prince-"

"No." The word echoes off the stone walls. "Absolutely not. This is absurd and I refuse to accept it."

Gerardys remains maddeningly calm. "It is only temporary."

"Temporary?" Jace sounds personally betrayed. "You are forbidding me from bedding my own wife."

The younger maester goes slightly red. You stare very intently at the tapestry across the room, because if you look at Jace now you will lose whatever dignity you have left. He points an accusing finger at the entire collection of healers. "I survived a naval battle."

"Indeed."

"I was shot."

"Yes."

"I nearly drowned."

"Correct."

"And your conclusion is that my greatest threat is my wife?"

The maesters look vaguely embarrassed. Jace looks outraged. And suddenly, despite the lingering ache that still lives in your chest whenever you remember the sight of him bleeding on a bed, you feel lighter, because this is familiar. This is your Jace. He's alive enough to argue and complain. Alive enough to glare dramatically at innocent old men and be stubborn.

Your hand slips from the chair to his shoulder, and immediately he covers it with his own. Gerardys notices, and his expression gentles. "My Prince," he says, "the restriction is not punishment."

Jace groans. "I would beg to differ."

A few of the maesters smile despite themselves. Gerardys gathers his papers, "It is only another month."

Jace nearly chokes. "A whole month?"

"Perhaps less, if recovery continues."

"A month."

"You survived the Gullet. Surely you can survive a few more weeks."

Jace mutters something deeply disrespectful under his breath, and you squeeze his shoulder in warning and affection both. His fingers immediately tighten around yours as he looks up at you, exhaustion and frustration playing on his features.

You smile at him, and his expression softens immediately.

Then Gerardys speaks again, and the spell breaks at once. "And separate beds may also be advisable."

Jace's head snaps around, "No."

Silence settles over the chamber. Jace's hand remains wrapped around yours, firm and warm and immovable. "I nearly died, so I am not sleeping without my wife."

They exchange glances and then, wisely, surrender. "Very well."

You lower your head to hide your smile, because truly, there are battles even the maesters cannot win.

That evening the matter should have been settled, at least in theory.

The maesters had spoken, their instructions delivered and their warnings had been repeated no fewer than six times over supper, as though saying them often enough might somehow make Jace more inclined to obey.

Instead, he is attempting to negotiate, which is perhaps exactly what you should have expected from him and yet still feels faintly absurd when he is sitting there shirtless on the edge of the bed, looking incredibly offended by the very concept of restraint.

You sit beside him with a fresh roll of linen in your lap while he holds one arm lifted so you can reach the wound along his side.

The chamber is quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the distant, steady sound of waves striking the cliffs below; night has fully settled beyond the windows, leaving only darkness on the other side of the glass and the warm gold of candlelight within.

Carefully, you peel away the old bandage, and he hisses through his teeth at the movement. You glance up at once. “You are being dramatic.”

"Three arrows pierced my body.”

“A month ago.”

“It still counts.”

You make a skeptical sound and reach for the ointment, though you cannot quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. For a few moments silence settles between you. You smooth the salve across healing skin, studying the angry scar that is beginning to form there, the sight still makes something twist painfully in your chest.

There are moments when you look at him and see only Jace; your husband, your best friend, the boy who once raced you through castle corridors and stole lemon cakes from the kitchens with the shameless confidence of someone who had never once been told no in his life.

Then there are moments like this, when memory comes back all at once and with it the blood, the fever, the endless waiting, the terrible certainty, however brief, that you might lose him. Your fingers pause before you can stop them.

Immediately, his hand settles over yours.

He notices. Of course he does.

You lift your eyes, and his expression softens at once. “I am all right,” he says quietly.

“Mm.”

His thumb brushes slowly across your knuckles.

Then, because Jacaerys Velaryon possesses the survival instincts of an overconfident golden retriever, he says, “I still think the maesters are being unreasonable.”

You close your eyes for a brief, weary moment. You had been wondering how long it would take.

“You are recovering from grievous injuries.”

“I am recovering exceptionally well.”

“You still tire walking up stairs.”

“Well, I dislike those stairs.”

You begin wrapping the fresh bandage around his ribs. “They are not unusual stairs, Jace.”

"They are steeper than other stairs."

Despite yourself, you laugh, and his grin appears immediately. He tilts his head, thoughtful in the way that always makes you suspicious.

“What exactly constitutes marital exertion?”

You nearly drop the bandage. “Jacaerys.”

“It is a reasonable question.”

You finish tying the linen perhaps just a little tighter than necessary, and he winces. You feel no guilt whatsoever.

“They were quite vague,” he says after a moment.

“They were not vague. They were, in fact, extraordinarily clear.”

Jace considers this with the air of a man weighing evidence in a trial he has already decided to win. “Perhaps to you.”

“To everyone.”

“Not to me.” His smile widens, and you are suddenly struck by the realisation that the maesters should perhaps have prescribed confinement in separate castles.

“They said strain,” he says, as though he's continuing a perfectly sensible conversation.

“Yes.”

“And exertion.”

“Yes.”

“So theoretically-”

“No.”

“What if-”

“Jace.”

He stops, though only because he is laughing now, actually laughing, and the sound fills the room so easily that for a moment you forget everything else.

“You are impossible,” you inform him.

“I have been told.”

He reaches for your hand, and you let him take it. His fingers close around yours with a warmth that feels almost unbearably familiar, and when he speaks again his voice has lost its teasing edge. “Another month is a very long time.”

You shake your head, smiling softly, but before he can begin constructing another ridiculous argument, you lean forward and press a kiss to his mouth.

The effect is immediate. Jace falls silent, blessedly, wonderfully silent, and when you pull back he blinks once, then twice, as though he has forgotten every thought he was having.

A second kiss lands at the corner of his mouth, then another against his cheek, and with each one his smile grows slower, softer, warmer, until by the third he has entirely abandoned his campaign against the maesters.

You feel rather proud of yourself.

He grins and reaches for you, and you allow him to pull you nearer. The blankets shift around you both as you settle beside him carefully, because he is still healing and you are both painfully aware of it.

His arm slides around your waist. Your head finds its familiar place against his shoulder.

The first week after the maesters' decree is irritating.

The second becomes ridiculous.

By the third, it's infuriating.

Jacaerys Velaryon approaches recovery the way he approaches every obstacle in his life: by refusing to accept that it is truly an obstacle at all.

If the maesters insist upon restrictions, then he will simply find exceptions.

One evening, as you sit beside him on the bed with your book open in your lap, he glances over and says, almost casually, “I stand by my opinion that their instructions were imprecise.”

You do not look up. “No.”

“They never actually provided definitions.”

You turn a page. “They are maesters, Jace, not scholars debating philosophy.”

He sighs, long-suffering and theatrical, and shifts a little closer.

Recently, he has become fond of finding excuses to sit beside you, or hold your hand, or drape an arm around your shoulders, or rest his head in your lap while insisting he is 'too weak' to move despite having spent the entire afternoon arguing in council.

“What if,” he begins. You close your eyes.

“What if,” he repeats, undeterred, “the concern is specifically overexertion?”

“It is.”

“Then surely the solution is simply avoiding overexertion.”

At last you lower the book and look at him properly. His expression brightens at once, as though he has won something merely by drawing your attention.

“Jace.”

“Yes?”

“No.”

He groans, and you return to your book.

Three nights later, he appears to have developed a new argument. You discover this when he is sprawled across the bed with his head resting against your shoulder, warm and comfortable and entirely too pleased with himself.

“What if,” he says thoughtfully.

You nearly laugh. “Again?”

“I have had several days to refine my position on the issue.”

“Gods preserve me.”

“What if I simply did not move very much? You could do all the... moving... uh, like difficult parts.”

You lower your embroidery hoop and glance down at him. He looks entirely sincere, which somehow makes it worse.

“Jacaerys.”

“I am not going to do any part because we are not going to do anything.”

He studies the ceiling for a moment, then turns his head just enough to look at you. “I think you are dismissing my proposals too quickly.”

“I think you enjoy hearing yourself talk.”

“I enjoy talking to you.”

Oh, you hate how good he is at being charming.

His arm slips around your waist. “You know,” he says quietly, “I do understand why you’re worried.”

The humour fades a little. You look at him, but his gaze remains fixed on your joined hands.

“You frightened me,” you admit.

Something flashes behind his eyes. “I know.”

Silence settles between you, gentle and sad and comfortable all at once. Then, because he is incapable of allowing a serious conversation to remain serious for too long, he lifts his head and says, “So that is still a no?”

You stare at him.

Jace immediately begins laughing, and when you throw a cushion at his face he catches it easily, looking delighted by the rejection.

Which, unfortunately, only convinces you that recovery is proceeding exceptionally well.

One morning at the beginning of the fourth week you're standing at the edge of the bedchamber, the salt-laced wind moaning through the open shutters as the last embers in the hearth crackle low.

Jacaerys is desperate today, even more than usual

He lies propped against the pillows, his bare chest rising and falling with quick, restless breaths, the angry red scars along his ribs and hip still mapped in fresh pink, but they are scars now, nonetheless.

It's been two months since the Gullet.

To the naked eye he seems fully recovered — he partakes in council meetings, goes on long walks with you along the shore, is no longer winded by those particularly steep stairs — but the maesters’ edict remains iron.

No strain, no exertion, no touch that might tear what they say has barely knit. Yet here he is, dark eyes fixed on you with shameless hunger, voice low and frayed.

“Please,” he murmurs, the words thick with frustration, his hand extended, palm up, fingers flexing as if he can already feel the shape of your waist.

“I cannot do this, I’m not some broken thing anymore. I feel you every night in my dreams, and then I wake up and you won't even let me touch you properly. I need your hand, your mouth, anything. Just… let me feel you again.”

He sits up a little straighter, a small grin finding his lips, voice dropping to a growl. “You’re aching too, I know it. Two months without feeling how wet you get for me-"

"Jacaerys, stop being so crude, you cannot possibly think-" but he continues, completely disregarding your objections.

"Gods, I’d give anything to see you under me like I used to, but I won’t move. I swear it. Just you, I'll even lie still.”

Your fingers tighten on the bedpost, because you cannot dent he's right. You do miss him, painfully so. You miss the feel of his hands on you and the stretch of him inside you, but reluctance still coils tight in your chest.

You take one hesitant step closer.

The cool stone floor beneath your bare feet gives way to the softness of the mattress as you perch carefully at his uninjured side, your fingers brushing the edge of the linen without yet touching him.

“Jacaerys,” you whisper, “I cannot, the maesters said-” But the way his hips twitch, just once, desperate and involuntary, stops the protest on your tongue.

A soft, helpless sound escapes him, and something shifts inside you, because this, in a way, is also him in pain, except this time you actually have the power to help him.

Your hand drifts over the sheet, hovering just above the bulge you can just start to see emerging beneath the linen.

“You must promise me you’ll lie perfectly still,” you remind him, the words gentle but unyielding, “There are reasons they forbid it; you could open one of the wounds.”

His dark eyes flash, jaw tightening as if he might argue, but apparently the months of forced stillness have left him too raw, too aching, and he nods once, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple.

You smile then, small and maybe a little teasing, and let your fingertips graze the linen over the head of his cock.

Slowly you peel the sheet down, then work on the laces of his breeches before pulling them down and finally revealing him fully to the firelit air.

His cock thick and flushed dark, the vein along its length pulsing visibly as you wrap your fingers around the base with deliberate lightness, still not quite sure how this is going to go.

He groans, low and broken, head tipping back against the pillows, but he holds himself rigid as promised, muscles trembling with the effort.

You lean in, breath ghosting over the sensitive head, and press the softest kiss there, tasting the salt of him while your free hand rests lightly on his uninjured hip to remind him of the boundary.

“Only on my terms tonight, dearest husband,” you whisper against his skin, stroking him once, slow and torturous, savouring the way his breath hitches and his fingers clutch the bedding instead of reaching for you.

“I will give you this, you just lay there and let me take care you.”

You tighten your grip just enough to draw another shuddering groan from him, your thumb circling the slick head of his cock in slow, deliberate strokes that make his thighs tense against the sheets.

He’s so hard it must be painful, the heavy length twitching in your fist with every pass,

The sight of your big, strong husband, normally so commanding, now reduced to biting his lip to keep from thrusting stirs something warm and aching in your chest.

It feels like the biggest relief.

You still remember every moment of the last two months, watching him wince at every breath, lying awake beside his bandaged body while fear gnawed at you both, and now here he is, flushed and leaking for you, trying so hard to obey even as his hips give one tiny, involuntary roll.

It’s adorable, that stubborn flicker of dominance surfacing in the way he grits out your name, only for it to dissolve into a whimper when you lean down and drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft.

His fingers fist the bedding harder, knuckles white, and you can see the war in his eyes, the urge to grab your hair and guide you deeper warring with the maesters’ warnings and his own fragile healing.

“Fuck… just like that,” he rasps, voice cracking with need so raw it makes your own neglected body clench.

You take him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks with a soft suck that has him arching his head back.

It's as if you're watching him heal in real-time, because he’s becoming himself again, that fierce, passionate man who once pinned you laughing to the furs.

You hum around him, savouring the salt-bitter taste of him while your free hand strokes soothing circles over his tightening stomach.

You pull off just enough to murmur against the flushed skin, teasing the slit with the tip of your tongue until his breath stutters.

“Still, Jace.”

Then you resume your rhythm, slow, twisting strokes of your hand paired with wet, deliberate licks. He trembles beneath you, every suppressed sound proof of how desperately he’s craved your touch.

You quicken your pace with deliberate mercy, not seeing a point in dragging this out any longer than you have to, lips sealed tight around him as your tongue swirls and your hand pumps in steady rhythm, feeling the way his thighs quake despite his vow to stay still.

His voice breaks on your name, half-command and half-plea, while one of his hands finds your hair and grips tight, not that you mind at all.

Finally, he spills hot and pulsing across your tongue, thick spurts you swallow with a soft moan of your own. You keep stroking him through it, gentling your touch as the last tremors fade, watching the tension drain from his battered body until he lies boneless and breathless, dark eyes glassy.

For a long moment afterward, neither of you says anything.

The chamber is quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire and the distant rhythm of the sea beyond the windows. The candles have burned lower than either of you realised, leaving the room washed in warm gold and shadow.

Jace lies beside you with that same dazed, contented smile still lingering on his mouth, as though he has not quite remembered how to put it away.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye and shake your head. “What?”

His smile only deepens. “Nothing.”

“Mhmm.”

He gives a quiet, breathless laugh and reaches for your hand where it still rests atop his stomach, threading his fingers through yours. His thumb moves over your knuckles, warm and absentminded.

The sight of him like this, softened and unguarded, makes something in your chest loosen.

You fuss over him out of habit more than necessity, fetching a washcloth, straightening the blankets around his hips and making certain he is comfortable, searching his face and posture for any sign that he has overdone himself despite every promise he made.

Jace watches the whole business with open affection, his expression growing gentler by the moment.

“My darling,” he murmurs, though there is no real complaint in it. You ignore him. “You are checking on me.”

“Someone has to.”

His teasing fades then, leaving something softer in its place. For a moment he simply watches you, and when he lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles, the gesture is so familiar that it catches you off guard all the same.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You look up at him.

The words are not playful nor triumphant, not even particularly clever. Your chest aches unexpectedly, because beneath all the bargaining and persistence and impossible shamelessness, you know what this has really been about.

Weeks of fear. Weeks of recovery. Weeks of being careful. Weeks of wondering whether life would ever feel normal again.

You squeeze his hand, and his fingers tighten around yours at once.

“You do not need to thank me.”

“I do.”

His voice is gentle. “I know I was insufferable.”

You giggle softly. “Do you now?”

Without either of you needing to say anything, Jace opens his arm toward you. You move into it at once, as naturally as breathing, as though you have done it a thousand times before. Because you have. Your head settles against his shoulder, his arm folds around your waist, and the blankets shift around you both as you settle more comfortably together.

Eventually you feel his lips brush lightly against your hair, a sleepy, lingering kiss that makes you smile before you can stop yourself.

“Tired?” you murmur.

“A little.”

“You should sleep.”

“So should you.”

The waves continue their endless song beyond the walls.

LEE LEEKNOW MINHO

Minho is a teasing sadist even when he’s losing control. He has you on all fours, one hand fisted in your hair as he fucks you hard from behind. Every deep thrust makes him groan, and instead of letting the sounds out freely, he leans down and sinks his teeth into your shoulder blade.

The bite is sharp and deliberate, meant to muffle his pretty moans. “Quiet… or I’ll bite harder,” he whispers, voice sweet but threatening, right before his teeth dig in again. He loves the way you whimper when he bites, the way your pussy clenches around him. He alternates between soft, teasing nips and hard, possessive bites that leave clear teeth marks.

He’ll bite the back of your neck, your shoulder, even the curve of your waist if he can reach it. Each bite is accompanied by a low, muffled groan that vibrates against your skin. When he’s close, his rhythm becomes punishing and his bites turn almost feral. He cums with his teeth sunk deep into your shoulder, groaning loudly into your skin as he fills you. Afterwards, he licks the bite marks almost apologetically while calling you his pretty kitten.

SEO CHANGBIN

Changbin is loud, intense, and completely unable to stay quiet when he’s lost in you. He has you bent over the edge of the bed in a deep doggy-style position, his powerful body completely covering yours from behind. His thick, muscular thighs slap against the back of yours with every brutal thrust, the sound wet and obscene in the room.

Every time his fat cock slams deep into you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your toes curl, a deep, guttural groan builds in his chest. He tries to hold it back, but he can’t. Instead, he leans forward, pressing his broad, sweaty chest against your back, and sinks his teeth hard into your shoulder. The bite is strong and possessive, his jaw clenching as he muffles a loud, animalistic moan against your skin.

“Fuck— baby, you’re so tight,” he growls, voice deep and rough, the words vibrating through his teeth into your flesh. His massive hands grip your snatchable waist tightly, fingers digging deep into your soft skin as he uses your body like a handle to pull you back onto his thick cock. The contrast is overwhelming. His huge, muscular frame against your smaller one, his teeth sunk into your shoulder while he pounds you mercilessly.

The position lets him hit even deeper, and his muffled moans become louder, more broken. He growls into your skin, teeth clenched tight as his hips stutter. He cums with a loud, deep, muffled roar, sinking his teeth hard into your shoulder as thick ropes of cum flood deep inside you. His whole body shakes against yours, muscles flexing as he holds you in place, refusing to let go until he’s completely emptied himself.

HWANG HYUNJIN

Hyunjin turns even something as raw as biting into something almost poetic. He has you riding him slowly, his back against the headboard, hands gripping your hips as you sink down onto his cock. His head falls back at first, long hair messy, lips parted in pleasure. But as the intensity builds and his thrusts become deeper, needy moans start slipping out.

He suddenly leans forward, burying his face in the curve of your neck and shoulder. His teeth graze your skin teasingly at first, then sink in with a low, breathy groan that vibrates against you. “You feel too good… I can’t stay quiet,” he whispers hotly before biting harder, teeth pressing into your soft flesh as he snaps his hips up sharply.

The bite is firm but graceful enough to leave a clear imprint, but never truly painful. He loves the way your body jolts when he bites, the way your pussy clenches around him in response. His long fingers dig into your waist as he uses your body to bounce you harder on his cock. Every deep thrust is paired with a new bite. On your collarbone, the top of your breast, the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder.

Then he'd moans against your skin, teeth grazing before sinking in again. His voice is breathy and beautiful, even when muffled. As he gets closer, his bites become more desperate, almost frantic. He holds you down on his cock with one hand on your waist while his mouth stays latched onto your shoulder, moaning loudly into your skin as he cums deep inside you. Afterward, he gently kisses and licks every bite mark, admiring how pretty they look on your skin while whispering how perfect you are.

HAN JISUNG

Jisung is loud, desperate, and completely unable to stay quiet when he’s inside you. He has you in missionary, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you hard and fast. His face is buried in your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin with every thrust.

Every time his cock hits that perfect spot deep inside you, a loud, broken moan tries to escape him. He solves it by sinking his teeth into your shoulder, muffling the sound against your skin. “Fuck— baby, you feel so good I can’t—,” he whimpers before biting down harder, teeth digging in as his hips snap forward desperately.

His bites are messy and needy, lots of small, overlapping marks all over your shoulders, neck, and collarbone. He can’t control himself. The harder he pounds into you, the harder he bites, using your body to muffle his loud, whiny moans. “I’m sorry— you’re too tight,” he whines pathetically against your skin, teeth still latched on.

When he gets close, his thrusts turn frantic and sloppy. He buries his face completely in your neck and bites down hard on your shoulder as he cums, moaning loudly into your flesh while filling you up. His whole body shakes against you. Even after he finishes, he keeps his teeth gently pressed against your skin for a few seconds, breathing heavily, before he starts kissing and licking the marks apologetically.

LEE FELIX YONGBOK

Felix’s deep voice makes his muffled moans incredibly sexy. He has you in missionary, body pressed close to yours as he fucks you with slow, deep rolls of his hips. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin.

Every time he bottoms out, a low, rumbling groan builds in his chest. He muffles it by sinking his teeth into your shoulder, the vibration of his deep voice traveling straight through the bite. “You feel so fucking good, angel,” he groans against your skin before biting harder, teeth pressing firmly into your flesh as he grinds deep.

His bites are sensual and possessive. He loves leaving a trail of marks across your shoulders and chest. The combination of his deep voice, his teeth on your skin, and his thick cock stretching you open is overwhelming. He’ll switch between soft, teasing nips and harder bites that make you gasp. “Can’t stay quiet when you’re this tight around me,” he moans, voice beautifully low even when muffled.

When he’s close, his thrusts become deeper and more intense. He holds you tightly and bites down on your neck as he cums, groaning deeply into your skin while filling you up. The feeling of his teeth and his low, vibrating moans pushes you over the edge with him. Afterward, he gently kisses every bite mark, his deep voice soft and loving as he tells you how perfect you felt.

KIM SEUNGMIN

Seungmin tries to stay composed, but you feel too good for him to stay quiet. He has you pinned beneath him, fucking you with sharp, precise thrusts. His face is in your neck, and every time a moan threatens to slip out, he bites down on your shoulder.

The bite is firm and teasing. “Can’t even stay quiet for me?” he mocks softly against your skin before sinking his teeth in again. His bites are tender, never too painful, but hard enough to leave clear marks and make you whimper. He loves the way you clench around him when he bites. “Pathetic… getting wetter every time I bite you.”

He keeps one hand in your hair, pulling your head to the side so he has better access to your neck and shoulder. His thrusts are relentless, each one paired with a new bite. When he’s close, he bites down harder, muffling his rare but beautiful moans as he cums deep inside you. And even that bite couldn't hide how desperate his moans are spilling ending up with his whole body rigid. Afterwards, when you tried to open it up with he'll act as if that thing never happened.

YANG JEONGIN

Jeongin gets surprisingly possessive and eager when pleasure overwhelms him. He has you in doggy style or spooning, body pressed close as he fucks you hard. His face is buried in the back of your neck or shoulder, breathing heavily.

Every deep thrust makes him moan, so he solves it by biting down on your shoulder. “Noona… you feel too good,” he groans before sinking his teeth in, trying to muffle the sound. His bites start a little shy but quickly become more confident and possessive. He loves leaving marks on you, clear evidence that he was there.

As he gets more lost in pleasure, his bites become harder and more frequent. He grips your waist tightly with one hand while biting your shoulder, using your body to pull you back onto his cock. “I can’t stop… you’re too tight,” he whimpers against your skin, teeth still latched on. When he cums, he bites down firmly on your shoulder, groaning into your flesh as he fills you up, making up pull his head up just so he could gasp the pleasure out. Afterward, he becomes very soft and clingy, kissing the bite marks gently while asking if he was too rough.

permanent taglist: @hime-honne, @dxllyhorror, @thepoeticpurplepotato, @verslyns, @channlust, @leewayout, @zosauce, @kloversung, @1-aria-1, @vxyselectric, @urfavleobiscuit, @written-by-music, @fanficwriter5, @minniebitesfr, @pedropacals0l0s, @iheartkentonanami, @ncityswrld, @danielle143, @persassyismysecrettwin, @trisha-dear, @pineapple-burgah, @luv4innie, @bunbunbl0gs, @marlboropuffs, @morgangrice18, @33peach33, @peskybirdysya, @ogerontheside4, @theyknowagus, @zerefdragn33l, @melodyladean, @ebnabi, @emeraldgem22, @fweakygyatt, @taekwondoe, @sue-reads, @shinygubbins, @lilmissfergy, @binniebb, @clairementsolo, @nclabels, @genuinelybrittleidol , @parkthothwa8, @daphnnie, @hyunnjynn, @sagetakami, @hanniesbubuwife, @hycnsung, @matzduo, @hwang97janet,

You push open the heavy glass double doors of your apartment complex’s main entrance, a hoodie up. It's tied so tight that you're peeking out of the tiny peephole you've created in order to see what's in front of you. It feels silly, it looks silly. A woman in the elevator watched you do it and looked at you like you were an idiot the entire time.

Chris is already leaning against his car in his usual parking spot, waiting for you to surrender the goods so he can make his rounds for the evening. He's on his phone sending a dm when the front doors click back into place. He looks up, then shuts his eyes with a smirk and deep breath.

“Mmm, you are so…” He clears his throat, masks a laugh. His eyes reopen and he's looking at you with equal parts judgement and admiration. “Should I be offended by this?”

“Mhm.” You nod from within your hooded safety helmet, or at least that's what it looks like. Any hairstyle that was previously done is disregarded, poking out awkwardly and creating a lovely abstract shadow on the ground.

“Well, I'm not.” He shakes his head, reaching for the strings to undo the ridiculously thick knot keeping the hood so taut.

“Stooop,” You complain through laughter, slapping his hand away but he doesn't care.

“You look fuckin’ scary like that.”

“How can I look scary if you can't even see my face?”

“That's why it's scary. Take the damn hood off–”

“I'm protecting my forehead–”

“Take the hood off, woman,” he's infiltrating the protective dome you've created. Your forehead is vulnerable.

“Intruder!” You swat him away, galloping backwards like a startled pony. Chris just watches you, saunters over and closes the distance.

“Shut up, someone might believe you. Your landlord’s scared of the fucking sunrise for fuck’s sake.”

“You right,” You stand still now, hands by your sides and casually pretending you didn't just cosplay a police siren a second ago. “You can't assault my forehead though.”

“Come here.”

“You can't assault my forehead.”

“I'm not gonna assault your forehead.” He comes to you instead, approaches you and finally unties the string of your hoodie.

Your face emerges from the self-inflicted fabric cage, eyes meeting him with a nonchalant grin.

“Hey.”

He scoffs, pulling the hood off your head. “Hi, got my hat?”

“What's the magic word?”

“What's that for?”

“Security.”

“It's my hat.”

“Then you should know the magic word.” You smile at your infallible logic. He lifts a brow at it.

“Gimme my hat.”

“What's the magic word?”

“Give me the hat.” There's a hand on your shoulder now, fingers squeezing like they're giving you a warning.

“What's the magic fucking word?” You laugh, pulling away from his grip in anticipation. His smile grows once he realizes that you're realizing.

“Aht, that's not how this works, love.” He takes another step, feet planted on the ground. You cringe expectantly.

“You better not,” You grit playfully, already knowing what's next. “I swear to god, Christopher.”

“I'm not doing anything.” He definitely is doing the thing he's pretending not to be doing, glancing between your face, his hand on your shoulder, and your forehead. If he could just manage a second to swoop in—

“I will hurt you with my bare hands.”

“And I'll say thank you afterwards.”

“I swear, dude–”

He leans in, or at least pretends like he will, and you take off with a shriek and a smile that might as well leave an indent in your cheeks for good.

“C'mere and take my forehead kiss!” He watches you take off, giving into the chase immediately.

The sound of his feet hitting the pavement behind you lights a fire under your ass that makes you take off with more urgency, looking behind you with your hair flowing in the wind like a train to a gown.

“No!”

“Gimme it–” His fingers graze your shoulder. You dodge like you've been training for this moment your whole life. “Damn, you're fast,” he mutters to himself.

⎯ 10:52 pm

“How is it?” Chris asks, sitting one of the brown bags of fast food in the center console of his car. There are two burgers wrapped up nicely now sitting in his lap, and he's waiting for your verdict on the “new” chicken sandwich that just dropped. The streetlights illuminate your view, that and the lights from the dashboard.

You bite into it generously, following up with a napkin for the corners of your mouth. You wait. Then decide.

“It's mid.”

“Damn.” He unwraps his burger, points it in your direction as a silent offer.

You raise a hand briefly in dismissal, “No thank you, gnabby.”

Chris bites into his burger, but not before pausing with a chuckle to repeat it to himself, “Tch, gnabby.”

“What, you don't like it? That's your name in my phone.”

“Is it really?”

“Yes, really. You don't have a fun nickname for me in your phone?”

“I have a nickname, I don't know if it's fun.”

“That means it's offensive.”

“It’s not,” He laughs, covers his mouth with a loose fist, “And you call me alpha all the time anyway, like that's not offensive.”

“It's not offensive, you just don't like it because it's true.” Your chicken sandwich has a pickle on it. You cringe, open the bun and take it off, then hand it to Chris. He accepts it without question, throwing it into his mouth without hesitation.

“Whatever, if you want a nickname go ahead and give yourself one.” He hands you his phone.

“I got you right now.” You take his phone and unlock it with your fingerprint, headed for his contacts to change your name. You have a few options, but decide on something that's the equivalent to a matching best friend t-shirt.

“Done.” You hand it back, watching his reaction. There's a car passing by with high beams blinding you both just as Chris looks up, but as soon as he's done squinting he takes the phone back. His brow raises reading it, glances at you.

“Luna?”

“And Alpha.”

That makes him smile. He thinks it's cute, which by default means it's gross.

“You're such a furry.” He resorts to teasing.

“You clearly never had a wattpad growing up.”

“I did not.”

“Well, that's my nickname. And I'm not changing it, so address me as such or be ignored.” You take another bite of your sandwich and sit tall, firm in your decision.

He watches you for a second, the clench in your jaw when you chew. His smile fades into concentration. “What's that?”

You pause, side eye. “Hm?”

He leans in, inspecting. It's all a lie, he rushes in and presses a kiss to your forehead before you can dodge.

“AAH, IT BURNS,” You pretend to be melting, to be actually on fire.

Chris dies with laughter, the wheezy kind that makes his eyes crease at the corners.

“Stop screaming–”

“I can't believe this. When I die, stay away from my funeral.”

“Shut up.” His elbow nudges your shoulder, eyes lingering on the spot he kissed, contemplating another sneak attack. “You know you missed me.”

You huff, exaggerating and rolling your eyes but ultimately giving in with a reluctant smile.

“I do,” you admit. Not did, do.

Chris softens for a split second, intrigued by the distinction. “Like, actually?”

“You idiot.” You scoff and nudge him back, distancing yourself from the vulnerability of your admission. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I mean, yeah, obviously you'd miss me. It's me.” He feigns cockiness, his own distance. You laugh along with him.

“You suck.”

“Indeed I do.”

“Freaky ass–”

ding—

Chris looks down at his phone as it chimes with a notification. His expression is unchanging, all but his eyes, which widen slightly with excitement like he's a vampire that's been invited into someone's home.

You narrow your eyes, curious and nosey, peeking over. “Who's that?”

He has no gripe with showing you his texts, so he flashes his screen in your direction. The first thing you see is the username, @/yumiiii_k.

“She replied.”

಄ part one

಄ more fake texts

಄ masterlist

TAGLIST; @ysljoon, @numberonesimpintheuniverse, @saranghaenunbitt, @viccyzsasz, @xotinytinaxo