#experimenting with reader x format

[jesuistrestriste]

Android art whos dick is changeable…just hear me out ok😭

cw (18+) : android!art, fake cocks that art buys for mutual benefits

the android engineers coming out with a variety of detachable “appendages”. thick ones, long ones, short ones, skinny ones; squishy (and firm) in all the right places and all the right ways, too. once an android attaches one to the port at the front of their pelvis, they can sync with the sensation simulator built into the fake dick in order to “feel” the temperature, tightness, and dampness of whatever orifice they choose to slide themself into.

android!art buys only one of the add-ons at first, has a mind-blowing orgasm (the android version of one) from finally getting to penetrate and please you, and then goes out the next day to purchase three more. one is ribbed, another is two-and-a-half inches longer that the original one you two tried, and the third vibrates.

he puts you through the mattress that same night while he continuously cycles through the three new toys, your name on his lips and his hand pressing over your tummy, feeling himself inside of your walls. his moans are so loud and desperate—anguished, even—that you have to stick your fingers in his mouth just to save his vocal systems the strain. he sucks them like he’ll die if you pull them away. the noises he lets out turn staticky when he comes; wet, broken, crackling in his chest as he pummels your wetness. the LED ring on his temple blinks and shifts red every time he tips over the edge with a keening cry and spills the flavored lubricant as deep as he can reach.

“tell me you like it when i’m inside you,” he shakes, “please, tell me—i need to hear it, i need to hear it so badly, i feel like im falling apart—!”

[bonesvoid]

BREAKING NEWS ★ local 24yo loser engages in panty theft

jayce talis has a problem.

he can’t stop popping a hard on whenever you do some remotely attractive to him… which is nearly everything.

wear a short skirt and have to bend down to pick something else, flashing your cheeky cut panties? boner.

recite a passage of knowledge with the utmost passion? boner.

get within ten feet of jayce? boner.

at first, he could handle it; simply wait until he got home to address the conundrum. however, as your friendship grow closer and closer, his decorum wavers and wavers until—

fist wrapped snug around his cock, jayce finds himself jerking off in your bathroom; he strokes his length in quick succession, 'fwap! fwap!' echoing off the walls.

you and him were studying earlier when you excused yourself to grab a snack from the kitchen. in your absence, jayce rose from your bed and stepped towards the door to use the restroom, his hip bumping into your laundry basket. it fell to the carpeted floor with a soft thud and its contents spilled from the opening. jayce tried to clean it up and hastily shoved dirty laundry back into the hamper, but something grabbed his attention.

a pair of baby pink panties.

jayce fucks himself raw with his calloused hand, as he inhales the scent of your cunt off the used panties. he fantasizes of the times you worn this pair, is this the pair you had on when you flashed him by mistake in the library? fuck! your smell is overwhelming and sends waves of arousal throughout jayce's muscled body. precum drips onto his hand and lubes up his shaft, as jayce presses his nose deeper into the pair's crotch.

he imagines you riding his face, allowing him to savor the sweet slick and heat of your pussy. jayce would do a great job eating you out, he promises! he would worship you like the princess you are. his strokes become more erratic and needy, as jayce approaches orgasm; he muffles his moans by stuffing the panties in his mouth, climaxing shamelessly on his hand and onto the porcelain of the sink counter.

what a perverted man, there's no going back for jayce talis; he's now too eager to stop himself from engaging in such debauchery moving forward.

[cardinalcopulate]

Some Kinda Hate // Frater Imperator x Reader

Posted a new story on ao3! You can also read it below the cut.

MDNI!! 18+ ONLY!! - dividers by @/cafekitsune ♡

Summary: Copia is angry over the popularity of his twin brother. You help him release his frustrations and stress.

Tags: pwp, second-person POV, no use of y/n, blow jobs, cock worship, deepthroating, forced orgasm (kinda?), boss/employee relationship, established relationship

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's note: Please do not repost or scrape for AI (or however that works, idk. also? can't believe I have to say that)

Read it on ao3 here!

“Fucking V!” Copia hissed.

You couldn’t help but smirk a little at his childlike anger over his twin. It was almost endearing. His eyes were trained on the small TV playing “Satanized”.

“He can’t just come in here and replace me! This song,” he scoffed. “That was my song! He steals my music and my fans! What a dickhead.”

Copia’s frustration, perhaps even jealousy, with V was understandable; Change was always difficult for him but this change involved being stripped of performing around the world. He felt like his passion was being torn from his hands and he had no choice but to let it happen. He was the face of The Clergy for far longer than his predecessors which made the transition from Papa to Frater even more difficult, even if it was technically a promotion. It just didn’t feel that way to him.

“Fucking V,” Copia muttered to himself again as he stuck a paperclip into his keyboard. With a small click, the keycap for the letter ‘V’ came off. “Ha-ha!”

You smiled again. Despite the genuine pain he felt watching his twin brother from the sidelines, his antics were amusing. Did Copia really think that popping the ‘V’ key off his computer would hurt the new Papa? It was hard to say; sometimes, he seemed to lose his grip on reality.

“Love, do you want to talk about it?”

He only grumbled in response. Copia threw himself on the couch of the parlor room that he was using as his temporary office. His gloved fingers dug into the cushions with a creak.

You pursed your lips and sunk to your knees before him. “How about we try a different kind of stress relief?”

“Ah, tesoro, you always know just what I need.”

“Of course I do, Papa.” You ran your hands up his strong thighs and used one hand to palm at the crotch of his slacks.

Copia whined at your use of his former title. His cock began to fill as his body’s blood ran south.

“You’re so tense.” You leaned forward, mouthing at the tent in his pants and squeezing his thighs. The insistent touch of your hands made him shiver.

“It’s just—ugh! He’s not even a good singer! Fuck,” he panted. His hands gripped your hair at the roots. Copia ground his clothed hips into your face. His heady scent seeped through his slacks. You could almost taste the precum dripping from his erection.

“I know, baby. Go on. Just let it all out.” You looked up at him while your hands undid his pants and freed his cock. Thank the Unholy Father for Copia’s eternal aversion to underwear. It slapped against his soft, hair-covered belly. A fat bead of precum squeezed out from his slit. You were always taken aback by how thick he was and how the veins throbbed when he was hard. By the looks of it, Copia was close to cumming from your attention already. “You’re all leaky, my love,” you teased.

“Sh-shut up.”

“Oh? Am I making Papa mad?” You kissed his cock’s tip then outlined your lips with it, smearing precum along the delicate skin.

“Yes, you are and you know it, you little shit!” He groaned when you cupped his balls with one hand, using the other to exert a vice grip on the base of his cock.

“Do something about it if I piss you off so much,” You challenged.

Without hesitation, he pulled your head all the way down his dick. Your nose brushed against the coarse hair on his groin and lower stomach, at the point where the two became inseparable. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat. The feeling made your mind cloudy and pulse race. Your body’s response was immediate: drool immediately trickled from your mouth down your chin. A soreness in your jaw already began to spread from the girth of his heavy cock in your mouth. For a few, dragging moments, Copia kept your head still; he savored the velvety softness of your mouth wrapped around his erection. He didn’t ask if you were ready for him to move; He didn’t care. You were just a hole for him to fuck. At the realization, you gulped and he whimpered in response. “Shit.”

Copia settled his hands on each side of your face. He moved you up and down his cock like you were a fleshlight. Each rough thrust made you choke. Tears ran down your cheeks as you moaned around him. “Mine, mine, mine,” he grunted in time with each slide of his dick down your throat.

You hummed in affirmation. You were his: His to fuck, to objectify, to play with. You were his to own in mind and body. He didn’t doubt your loyalty, even with the rise of a new Papa. Copia knew you’d always be his. He watched you take him in your mouth over and over. The communion that bound you to him for the rest of time. You swallowed around him; Precum coated your tongue and made your head spin. Hollowing your cheeks, you pushed him impossibly further down your throat with each rut of his hips against your face.

A knock echoed through the room. “Frater?”

“Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered. “I forgot that new sister is coming today.”

You released his cock with a wet pop. “You’d better cum, then, Papa.” You spread his dripping precum around and stroked him from tip to base. “First impressions are everything. What kind of impression would it leave for her to see her big, bad boss face-fucking his assistant?”

“Just a second!” Copia called out. His cock throbbed and twitched. “I-I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. And you’re going to. The way I see it, my love, you either cum now or we shove this back in your pants and deal with it later.”

“Fuck,” he whined.

Your other hand found his balls; Copia shuddered as you alternated between light squeezes and gentle tugs. You guided him back into your drooling, waiting mouth until the tip hit your throat again. He made eye contact with you. In that brief glance, he understood your message: Fuck my mouth until you fill it with cum. Now.

Copia’s hands found your hair again. He pulled you back and forth on his leaking erection, desperate to take advantage of your offer. Your throat was certainly going to be bruised in the aftermath of his rough, quick thrusts. You both moaned in tandem. There were few things either party loved more than you kneeling before him with your mouth stuffed. Copia squirmed in response to plethora of sensations centered on his cock.

“Frater?” The voice outside the door called louder.

“Just-Ah!-a second!” He grunted.

You whispered and rubbed a finger against his taint, “Last chance.” You swallowed around his erection again.

“Fuck!” Copia moaned. He bit down on his gloved hand to muffle the wanton noise as his cock kicked and flooded your throat with cum.

You watched as he screwed his eyes shut and a few drops of sweat ran down his face. Copia continued to push his cock in and out of your mouth, riding out his orgasm. You swallowed around each spurt of cum as he quivered and moaned. A few thin, sticky strings threatened to overflow from your spit-slick lips. The sight of you swallowing the evidence of his orgasm, nearly making a mess, burned into his mind. When he finished, you released his softening dick and helped him tuck it back into his pants.

A gloved thumb reached down, wiped a tear away and then a stray drop of cum on the corner of your mouth. Copia brought it to his mouth and sucked it clean, making searing eye contact with you. “What a good boy. Taking everything your Papa gives you.”

“Always, Papa,” you smirked up at him. He helped you stand and resettle on the sofa.

There was another hard knock on the door. “Frater!”

“Coming!” He huffed. Copia pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and headed to the door. He greeted your visitors and introduced you to them. They were none the wiser that you had just finished worshipping his cock like your own personal God.

Hope you enjoyed!! If you like what I write, please consider buying me a coffee. I might be opening c0mms soon, stay tuned if you're interested!! Thank you for reading :]

[cyberllfe]

I got 1300 words! (Which you can absolutely shorten if you don’t feel like writing that much, absolutely understand as a writer.) and I would adore a “Shag me” prompt with Connor 🥴 if you feel up for it. My thoughts on this request (and you can adjust and add to because you’re a great story writer and I trust you) would be a female reader who works as a receptionist at the station (human preferably) and has known Connor since he first came to the department. Soon after his deviancy, they navigate a sort of awkward almost-friends-nearly-more type of relationship and stumble unto a slow romance, until Connor discovers the human emotion horny. It would be amazing if it could be at an awkward time too, like while watching a movie together or at work. I’ve been reading your pieces on AO3 and I truly think you are a talented writer, sending you all my love and inspiration💞💞💞💞

thanks for waiting, anon. connor will see you now. (ao3 link) 1300 words, rated E.

want a turn? prompt me.

It’s been raining all day—classic Detroit November—but all anyone can talk about is the guy who died, his escaped android, and the android investigator in the precinct. You’ve caught a glimpse of him more than once since yesterday, and this time is no different: he comes trotting in after Lieutenant Anderson, covered in glistening droplets of rain and speaking very insistently about something you can’t hear.

“That’s him.”

Your eyes would have slid right past him if not for the intensity in his face. He’s single-minded, emphatic... for all the good it does him. Anderson rolls his eyes and pushes Connor out of his path, leaving him standing there, recalculating. Only then do you notice the LED.

It’s barely two seconds before he’s started after Anderson, calling his name.

“Looks good wet, doesn’t he?”

You don’t offer anything but a soft hum. The thought follows you for the rest of the day.

*

Connor precedes Hank into the building today. He surprises you by speaking to you instead of simply scanning in, and you feel… strange. The look in his eye is so human, almost anxious. With an awkward smile, you offer a reassuring platitude. You’re earnest, but the offer seems to confuse Connor. He thanks you anyway and leaves your desk.

Between jobs, you keep an eye on him. He’s so animated. It’s marked, the difference a handful of days makes—he paces back and forth, oscillating where Hank is static, following his trail of thought as if it were physical.

Neither notices you. The rude FBI agent doesn’t notice you either; too intent on getting into the Captain’s office, he chucks his ID at you with a cursory here you go, sweetheart and goes back to his phone.

The ID is fine. You let the jackass through, and hope he gets shouted down by Fowler, who could probably do with a good outlet for his repressed frustration.

You laugh, later, as two uniforms perform a dramatised version of Anderson’s right hook on Perkins, but it’s brittle. Your eyes are on the news, and the demonstration in the street, and the news anchor’s silent mouth framing the words what do they want? without listening to the answer. Connor had raced out of the station earlier, and caught your eye as he went. You hope he's okay, wherever he is.

*

“Excuse me.”

Brown eyes meet yours, familiar intensity tempered with... caution? Nerves? It’s hard to tell them apart on a face that was built to display but not feel.

Connor wears plain clothes with all the ease of a soldier. There’s no tie to straighten, so he clenches and unclenches his hand and lets his eyes wander. They find you smiling, tentative but warm behind your professional attitude.

“How can I help, Connor?”

He’s clearly unused to the question. It’s endearing, really, to watch him like this—the self-possessed turned self conscious, attempting to hide in the shadow projected by his own image, broadcast endlessly on the new cycles at Markus’ left hand.

“Is Lieutenant Anderson here?”

“No. I don’t think he will be, either. He left about an hour ago.”

When Connor sighs, you wonder if he picked that up to blend in with humans or to help him communicate better with them. Both, probably. His fist coils up again, but he gives you a slight smile as he turns to leave.

“Connor.”

He turns, mildly surprised, to face you when you call his name. His smile is late but warm.

With one hand you reach for his, and with the other you slide a business card into his palm. The touch seems to surprise him further, and he stares at your hand even as you withdraw it.

“If you’re looking for Hank, he’s here. Diner out on the edge of town. I thought you’d come by looking for him.”

You’re glad to notice that he doesn’t look as guarded as before. Connor’s not around every day, not anymore, but you see him often enough to watch him relax into himself—to laugh when you make a self-deprecating joke, or hold the door for Officer Miller’s excitable son. Instead, Connor seems thoughtful, like you handed him something heavier than a wedge of paper with a cartoon burger on it.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

To your surprise, he lingers. Spends enough time to ask you about your family, about the plant you keep on your desk, which you should water, by the way. You talk quietly with him about almost-dead houseplants, why you’re not allowed to play Monopoly at home over the holidays, and show him the family dog. All the while he’s leaning against the counter, one arm crooked atop it and grinning… you’re more than distracted. He leaves the foyer, eventually, but not your thoughts.

*

Laughter covers cheesy Christmas music. You’re wearing half your wine glass in the colour of your cheeks, but Connor thinks the flush becomes you.

You notice when he glances at you, and you smile in that shy, self-conscious way. He returns your smile, adjusting his posture to face you, and you turn away, pretending that you barely noticed, and noticeably trying not to check back. He basks in private amusement.

The party draws on a little long—someone pulls out a bottle of something strong and definitely against regulation, and when Connor leans down to ask you if you’d like another drink, you jump.

You’re never in danger of falling, of course. Inhuman arms encircle you and hold you steady against an equally inhuman body—and for the first time, Connor feels a response that correlates with your change in expression. The slow pull that binds you and builds to something far stronger than he’s felt before until letting you go is unthinkable.

He makes a plausible excuse for you to leave. The charge in the air grows to fevered sharpness, a harmonic buzz that doesn’t break until he has one hand in your hair, the other encircling your waist, and that insatiable need to get closer.

Connor doesn’t leave any of you untouched. When his kisses would deny you air, he leaves them in trails down your neck, then undoes a handful of buttons to continue down your chest, hands restless and hungry, so much warmer than you’d ever imagined, so much more demanding.

When he whispers I don’t want to wait, it’s as if he read your mind. A shiver runs through you when he parts your legs and leans his weight into you, pushing inside with a growl that thrills you.

You tense around him. It’s not intentional, but he grabs your chin and holds you still beneath him, feeling the burning heat of your shaky breath past his thumb. He caresses your lower lip, and when you realise you can’t nod, you whisper please, and reach for him with both hands, in case he doesn’t understand how much you want him.

Connor leans back and pulls out almost all the way. You whine loud, desperate and frustrated, until the hand on your face tightens, cutting off your mumbled demand and making way for the moan he fucks out of you.

His fingers claw your jaw and throat and it’s heaven: the sharpness against your skin, the deep pressure inside you, building with every rock of his hips, chased with a mouth that suffocates and teases you until you’re dizzy.

You feel heavy, waves of sensation breaking over your body with increasing frequency and intensity, and no outlet except your nails in Connor’s back, scratching until he presses in deep again. You tense, on purpose, and half-feel, half-hear the stuttering moan, then the frenzied motion of his body as he pushes himself to the brink and drags you with him, tangled and messy, sharing breaths, but sated at last.

[emeritus-fuckers]

loved your post about the papas reacting to their s/o teasing them in public so... can i request the same prompt but with copia's ghouls?

How would Copia's ghouls react to their s/o teasing them in public?

They glance at you with a confident grin and wink. They'll get back at you when you get home.

Cirrus, Aether

They get startled, but roll their eyes fondly and keep going about their day. There's a small chance they'll get back at you when you get home.

Sodo, Cumulus

They pretty much yelp in surprise and get all flustered. They act like a needy puppy when you get back home.

Rain, Mountain, Phantom, Sunshine, Aurora

OH GOD PLEASE NO-

Swiss

~

Written by Nosferatu.

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

"What will you do once I pass away?" The question came out of the blue, but such strange questions were par for the course at this point. Gamigin was nuzzling to your neck when you spoke, but he wasn't phased.

"I'll revive you. Death won't be permenent in Paradise Lost for as long as I'm around to stop it." You were running a hand through his blue hair, playing with a strand of it.

"But what if you don't revive me? If you can't revive me? What will you do then?" The dragon stopped kissing up your neck and shifted so he would be at eye level with you on the bed. He looked confused and hurt which almost made you ashamed that you asked the question.

"My staff can bring anyone back from the dead."

"Ok, but I age and demons don't what about that? What if I get so old I want to die to end my mysery."

Gamigin looked even more confused by your words. He didn't quite understand why humans aged so fast. He pouted in thought and stared at the ceiling. After a while, with a stern voice he asks "How long do humans usually live for?"

You try to remember your anthropology classes and what the avarage age of death was for your country, but you just can't put your finger on it. "I don't know, 70 or something like that." "70! Only 70 years!?!" He pushed you to the bed and pinned you to it with a shocked expression. His mind was working overtime trying to calculate just how long that timespan felt like.

Finally, he turns to you and holds your hands softly kissing them both. He stares determined in your eyes. "You are going to have the most exciting life ever. I promise you. What do you wish to do before you die?"

You've never seen him so stern, but the question was one that you've many times asked yourself yet never seemed to have an answer to. Gamigin's glare was starting to intimidate you so you gently slap his face.

"Don't look at me like that! You're making me nervous! I don't know what I want to do before I die. I just kind of want to see where life takes me."

Gamigin smiles like he usually does and pins you to the bed with a hug. His staff, which he kept in one hand at all times, jiggled lively as you both collapsed on the cottage bed.

"Well then, I want to cuddle with you and rewatch the 'How to Train Your Dragon' trilogy. And then we can play blackjack and whoever wins has to wash the dishes after dinner!" Gamigin proclaimed before kissing your cheek and nuzzling into it.

"Who tought you blackjack?" It was strange hearing your usually innocent boyfriend putting forth the idea of blackjack of all things.

"My brother Buer. He also thought me the dishes strategy as well. Jokes on him, I won." His giggle was contagious and you two ended up just cuddling and watching movies for the better half of the night.

If your relationship with Gamigin thought you anything, it was that you didn't have to live through bombastic experiences to enjoy life. You were having the time of your life just being close to him.

[rodeoxqueen]

Revealing to Eustass Kid Your Nipple Piercings

Eustass Kid/Reader

Getting your nipples pierced was definitely a choice, and a painful one. You don't know how to explain to Killer why you're holding a tub of ice cream so closely to your chest and eating the contents. You don't have to explain, he already knows.

You stave off sex from Kid, luckily he's been busy the last few days in his workshop.

When you finally get some alone time with Kid, you beckon him over on the bed and take off your shirt. He gives a pointed stare before a wicked smile comes over his face.

"Bet these were a bitch to get done, huh?" He smirks, cupping your chest and playing with the piercings with his thumbs. You bite your lip at the sensations.

Uses his powers to make you feel tingles in your chest area in public. You'll blush amongst the crew members, with Kid smirking a distance away, like the cat that caught the canary.

You don't know that you're killing Kid when you start wearing shirts that show the piercings more.

He wants to take you in public whenever he catches those pierced buds in his sight.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Hello! how you doing?? may i request for your event , epel with a fluffy platonic ''long distance relationship" ?

and as my backup i thought of riddle with ''farmer's market'' , like a funny romantic outing

and i think you said 2 backups ... if you then stargazing with azul , romantic hurt/comfort

i'm not used to requesting so if i did anything wrong sorry oopsie i didn't mean too 😅

Long-Distance Relationship; Epel Felmier

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, platonic

Word Count; 650+

AN; Everything looks great, no need to worry! I hope you enjoy this, and the friendship with Epel! As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

This summer had been quiet, with Professor Trein basically threatening Crowley to let you stay with him. But it was nice. You had a nice room with overstuffed pillows and old quilts. And an actually nice bed that didn’t have any springs poking out of it. After the chaos that had been the school-year, it was nice having a stable home environment. Also Trein gave you the freedom you needed, and didn’t hover, but was there when you needed him.

“Another letter arrived for you,” the older man said while waiting for his morning cup of tea to cool down. “From Felmier.”

Epel couldn’t come to visit as often as the others, as he was busy at the farm and doing promotional work to help bring Felmier Farms into the public’s eye. But he sent a letter every week, each with an apple stamp.

You opened the letter, curbing your excitement. There was rarely anything super exciting in them, but it was still nice to read what Epel got into.

Meemaw says I should be able to visit next week! So be prepared for a lot of stuff; could ‘have sworn you’re her grandkid an’ not me. Hope you like kitschy apple-themed clothes.

Epel is coming. Epel is coming! You hadn’t seen him in over a month, and the last time you did he was working the family stand at the farmer’s market. You couldn’t really catch up then, but now, now you could. You could finally catch up with your best friend. “Is it okay if Epel comes over?”

Trein looked up from the book he was reading and gave you a curt nod before going back to his book and morning cup of tea

Places to go with Epel; 

You had started to make a list, but nothing was really coming to you. You didn’t know many other places save for Night Raven College, and the small village where Trein, and now you, resided. Sighing, you spun in your chair, thinking. Epel was arriving tomorrow and you had jack-all planned. And sure, just catching up and hanging inside the home or out in the yard was nice and all, but you wanted to do something. “Come on brain, be smart,” you sighed, plopping down on the bed and groaning. Maybe some sleep would hel- “Epel?”

And standing outside your window was none other than Epel Felmier, carrying a backpack and an amusingly large box. He was moving his mouth, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. Getting up, you moved towards the window and pushed it up.

“-et me in, these damn skeeters are eatin’ me alive,” is what you heard upon opening the window. And there were indeed a few mosquitoes trying their hardest to make a midnight snack out of your friend. “Long time no see, huh?”

You moved aside so he could let himself in. he was early, in the letter he said he’d be arriving tomorrow right after lunch. But Epel was here, in the middle of the night, hauling a large wooden crate into your room. “Yeah, but what are you doing here Epel?”

He let out a grunt as the wood crate finally got through the threshold of the window. “Visiting, like I said… Pa dropped me off early but I had some runnin’ around to do.” He reached into his pocket and handed you a small bee keychain. “Gotcha this in town, since you’re a busy bee.”

You lightly punched his shoulder, as you knew Trein would give the both of you a questioning look, but you were happy to see Epel. “So, what horrors did Marja send?” You peaked into the wooden crate.

Epel grabbed out a cardigan made of granny squares with apples and apple blossoms instead of daisies. “Matching sweaters,” he said with mock fear in his voice.

The two of you laughed though, as it was a sweet action, and once it started to cool off, the both of you would wear them together; like the cheesy matching outfits parents put siblings in.

[akechis-special-case]

Sorry, this went on in my head as it just kept hurting like crazy (it is somewhat better now). This is anything but a drabble but... Yeah. Something short I did as a warm up. Also I usually never write in first person but I wanted to try it again after years (last time I wrote in first person was almost a decade ago I think).

The Right Medicine

A Collection Of Very Short Stuff

Words: 400

“Goro, my head hurts~” I mutter, though despite the pain in  my voice it sounds more like a pleading tease. 

It is enough to get his attention however, making him turn to me with a sigh. “And what do you want me to do about it?” He asks, rolling his eyes before looking down at me. Is it a hint of annoyance in his tone or is he sounding like this because he is used to it?

In any case, seeing his expression never gets old. And, well, who would I be if not his whiny, little thing sometimes? So I respond: “Make it feel better. Please?”

“Feel better? Really?”

I nod.

“How am I even supposed to—” Yet he pauses, putting two and two together before it hits him. I can see the flush on his cheeks, the sudden fumbling around. He is trying to keep himself together now. “Y… You mean…”

I nod again, eagerly waiting as I lean myself a little forward, waiting for his next move. He turns his gaze, shifting it from spot to spot. I then hear a mumble under his breath, a faint ‘Fine’ before he leans forward for a moment.

It is only for a short moment, a second at most. One of his hands moves some of the hair aside so he can press his lips against my forehead no problem. My own cheeks burn up, they always do. And yet it always makes me unable to hold back a smile.

He pulls back, our gazes meet again. “Th… There. Better?” He asks, visibly bashful yet trying to mask it by seeming calm. It only makes him look a little grumpy though.

I chuckle softly. “Yeah, a little, Thanks.” I respond. Though just when he things he is off the hook I step closer and add: “Though I might need more. Please?”

Despite me pulling stuff like this all the time it seems that he cannot help his reactions at all. He lights up so much that he may as well look like a fire hydrant. The words seem to be stuck in his throat yet he seems to be able to open his mouth again, even if it starts with yet another sigh. “You’re impossible sometimes…” He mutters in the end yet I can see that faint smile on his face. Secretly he doesn’t mind this at all, does he?

[sknyuz]

hello!! I want to make a request ; is it alright if you can write about how seong je would be with a mute!reader? i just think it’d be an interesting dynamic ..! hmm other details i’d add is the reader often giving affection in a form of gifting (letters mayb?), cooking him a meal or quality time :) you may write this in whatever format you want!! thank youu and have a nice week (ps love your writing)

synopsis — seongje is a whirlwind of noise and chaos, but he finds unexpected peace in your silence.

now playing — sweet - cigarettes after sex pairing — geum seongje x gn!reader (hard of hearing, selectively mute) genre — hurt/comfort, slowburn, angst with soft moments, unconventional romance (nothing is conventional with seongje) cw — ableism/mocking of hearing disability, bullying, violence (including implied offscreen physical assault), power imbalance, toxic behavior, minor blood/bruising, strong language wc — ~2.1k

note: this was a pleasure to write <3 i hope i did ur request justice, anon. and please do not hesitate to tell me if i wrote something wrong or inaccurate to the experiences of hoh individuals.

masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event

seongje doesn’t do “quiet.” he doesn’t do subtlety, either. his entire existence is loud—his presence is a storm that makes everything feel tense and unpredictable. that’s how he’s known: the unpredictable, impulsive force, the mad dog. so, when he sees you for the first time, it’s almost like a challenge.

you’re sitting there, silently, in the bowling alley, a forced audience to the bullying happening around you. the union’s delinquents have gathered, sneering as they taunt you. they wave your hearing aids in front of you like a sick joke, expecting you to react. but you don’t. you’re quiet, your face unreadable, eyes glued to the floor, trying to stay as small as possible, like you’ve done countless times before. it’s a game for them, nothing more than a way to make you feel like an outsider.

“hey, freak, what’s wrong? can’t hear us?” one of them mocks, swinging your hearing aids back and forth with a smirk.

the noise is deafening to you in a different way—a slow, rising pressure in your chest. you want to speak, to make them stop. but your voice won’t come, and the words you want to say die in your throat, replaced by that quiet ache of helplessness.

that’s when seongje steps in.

he’s not supposed to be there. he’s supposed to be in baekjin’s office, probably arguing or being a general pain in the ass—but the noise coming from the alleyway catches his attention. he comes striding out, a curse on his lips as he surveys the scene, his eyes lighting up with the familiar flash of anger.

“what’s with all the fucking noise, fuckers?!,” seongje shouts, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyes the delinquents, but his gaze lands on the one holding your hearing aids, who freezes up as soon as he realizes who’s standing in front of him.

“aww, you guys are really fucking pathetic,” seongje steps forward, his mood shifting from bored to dangerous in an instant. he slaps the delinquent’s face, knocking the hearing aids out of his grip, and catches them before they hit the floor.

the delinquent stumbles back, startled, and seongje doesn’t miss the way his bravado slips. “hey, if you want to get your ass kicked, i’ll be happy to oblige. otherwise, get the fuck out of here,” seongje growls, and his voice carries an unmistakable warning.

the delinquents scatter quickly, realizing they’re not really looking forward to get beat up by the wolf himself. seongje watches them leave with a bored smirk, but his eyes return to you, where you’re still sitting silently, your gaze downcast. his anger bubbles under the surface, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at you—it’s more frustration at how they treated you. and, maybe… it’s confusion. because why would he be frustrated?

he despises those who put on a front, acting all tough and dominant when they're around someone they know is weaker, but turn into cowards the moment they face someone like seongje. the hypocrisy makes him sick—they don’t even have the balls to face him.

you look up at him then, your lips parting as if to say something, but the words stay locked inside. seongje stares back, a little too long, before he gestures to the now-empty bowling alley with a roll of his eyes.

“shit, it’s way too quiet in here now,” seongje mutters, half to himself. “i need a fucking drink. you coming?” his fist reaching out to you, making you flinch, but he simply turns and opens his palm to reveal your hearings aids, offering it back to you, his gaze not even meeting yours.

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. seongje doesn’t wait for a reply. he knows how this works—he doesn’t need words from you to tell if you’re okay. you’ve already said more than enough with that silence of yours.

it’s a few weeks later when seongje starts to notice something he wasn’t expecting—something soft. you’re not the type to speak, but you show him things. you leave him little letters. they’re simple at first, just words on paper—carefully written, neat and soft. but each one has meaning. you might leave him a note after a chaotic day, telling him, thank you for helping me today—a gesture he’s not used to.

seongje can’t stop himself from reading them over and over, even if he pretends they don’t matter. he tosses the first one aside in an exaggerated motion, but later, when he’s alone, he pulls it out again, trying to make sense of it. there’s something oddly comforting in your words. something real. his usual sharpness dulls just a little when he reads them.

it’s a typical night, and you don’t expect anything to go wrong. seongje has always been unpredictable, but you can’t stop yourself from trusting him. there’s a strange sort of understanding between the two of you now. he doesn’t need you to speak, and you don’t need him to be anything but… himself. still, you don’t expect what happens when he calls you to meet him in a parking lot late one evening.

the dim light from the streetlamps makes the whole place feel cold and detached. you spot him standing there, leaning against the hood of a car, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees you approach. but there’s something different tonight—something unsettling in his stance.

"come here," seongje says, his voice almost too casual for the tense atmosphere.

your breath catches in your throat as the boy on his knees comes into focus. you've seen him around before—he’s one of the delinquents from the union. the same one who’d been taunting you in the bowling alley, waving your hearing aids like some cruel joke. that memory hits you sharply, and your stomach churns with discomfort as you recognize him now, his face bruised and bloodied, a lip split open, looking like he’s been through hell.

but why is he here? why is he on his knees, shaking in front of seongje? what happened to him?

seongje stands over him, his posture casual, his grin wide and wicked as he watches the boy with almost bored amusement. he kicks the delinquent’s side lightly, like it’s a game, and the boy flinches.

"come on, kid," seongje says, his voice teasing but edged with something darker, something almost amused by the kid’s fear. "just like we practiced."

the delinquent on his knees doesn’t speak, his eyes downcast, probably too terrified to even look up at seongje, but his shaky hand lifts. you watch as he tries to make the "a" handshape, his fingers clumsy as he attempts to sign. seongje looks down at the boy, his grin stretching wider as he watches him fumble.

the delinquent hurriedly completes the sign, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short bursts as he struggles to perform it correctly. he spins his hand in a half-hearted clockwise motion, and you can tell how hard it is for him to even try. he looks humiliated, and maybe that’s what seongje wants—to make him feel small, to show that he’s the one in control now. like how the boy probably felt back in the bowling alley with you.

“sorry.” he signed.

as the boy finishes, seongje pats his shoulder with an almost affectionate thud, a grin still plastered on his face. “good job,” he mutters, voice dripping with mock praise. but his eyes flick to you, then back to the delinquent, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

the delinquent scrambles to his feet, not daring to say a word, but you can see the fear still fresh in his eyes. without another glance, he stumbles off into the shadows of the parking lot, and seongje doesn’t follow him, not bothering with any more theatrics. “now that’s how you apologize,” he sighs contentedly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he walks back to where you two came from.

you don’t respond, but you follow him. because, despite everything—despite how messed up all of this is—he’s still the one who, somehow, happened to feel like the safest person to be around. despite his… unique antics.

despite the way he does things no one else would dare to. because even if he’s rough around the edges, unpredictable and loud, seongje never made you feel small. and that, weirdly enough, was enough.

seongje’s desk at the bowling alley becomes a quiet sort of shrine to you—littered with your letters and notes, half-crumpled from him rereading them over and over. he never bothers to clean it up. they’re scattered across the surface like leaves in a storm, but he knows exactly where each one is. it’s an organized mess, chaotic in the same way he is. but if anyone even looks at them too long—tries to pick one up, makes a joke about the handwriting, even breathes too close to the edge of his desk—they’re basically asking for a death wish.

“touch it and you die,” he’ll mutter without even looking up, one foot kicked up on the desk, cigarette dangling from his lips. it’s not even a threat—it’s a promise.

somewhere in between the late night meetups—where the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you—and the stolen moments in back rooms lit by vending machine glow, seongje softens. not in a way that’s obvious to most, but in ways you catch. like when he plays bowling with you late at night at the union headquarters, just the sound of pins crashing echoing through the empty lanes. he’s terrible at it, but he doesn’t care. he would fair better hitting someone at the back of the head with these bowling balls. he only really lights up when it’s your turn.

you roll the ball, knock down every pin, and before you can even react, he’s throwing his hands in the air, exaggeratedly signing applause, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“that’s what i’m fucking talking about!” he shouts, clapping loudly on top of the sign for applause he just made, just because he’s still him—loud, obnoxious, impossible—but now he’s loud for you.

yeah… to seongje, you’re like a stray puppy at first. small, quiet, following him around without saying a word, eyes always wide and watching. at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny—endearing, even. you don’t talk back, don’t flinch when he’s loud, and you’ve got this habit of showing up with little notes or food like some soft, strange ritual he doesn’t understand. he starts calling you “puppy” just to mess with you, ruffling your hair whenever you come around.

but somewhere along the way, that fondness stops being just a game. no, you’re not a pet to seongje. but maybe, you became an equal.

he starts waiting for your notes. starts leaving his office door slightly cracked, just in case you come by. he catches himself watching you instead of his phone. gets weirdly pissed off when other people so much as look at you wrong.

and the night he realizes it’s different—that it’s not just him babysitting some quiet kid—it’s when you sign “stay” with soft hands after a long night, and he does. no grumbling, no jokes, just settles next to you and doesn’t leave.

after that, it’s not a question. you’re not a puppy. you’re his person.

and yeah, maybe he never said you were dating. but everyone knows. you leave your food in the union’s fridge, your letters in his desk, your comfort in the chaos of his life. and he protects you, respects you, listens to your silence more than he’s ever listened to anyone’s voice. and no one in the union dares to bring it up or even question your soft presence in the nitty gritty bowling alley.

seongje is loud. like, really fucking loud. he talks with his whole body, yells when he's annoyed, laughs like he owns the air around him, and never knows when to shut up. he's noise and motion and chaos wrapped in one, dangerously sharp-edged boy. but you—you're quiet. not just in voice, but in presence. you move gently, offer kindness without demanding attention, speak in ways that don’t need sound.

and somehow, in all the noise of his world, your silence is the only thing that ever made sense. he used to think silence was empty, but now it’s where he finds comfort. he’s still loud, still volatile, still the type to throw a punch first and maybe ask questions never. but now there’s this... softness around the edges. a space he carves out just for you. like you’re the eye of the storm, and he’s always, always circling back to you.

in your quiet, he feels understood. and maybe that's the wildest thing about this whole mess—that a boy made of sound found peace in someone who never had to say a word.

note: aaa i feel like this so short >><< i wanted to give them more of a backstory but for now this is what i’m going with. if you’d like to see more of them that’d be nice 🫶 this is such a different take from collarless tho, and it’s nice to also write a softer character to contrast our tough collarless!reader to explore more dynamics with seongje.

i don’t aim to reform or soften seongje, but have the peaceful presence of the reader be incorporated into his life without changing his ideals and personality.

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[macabrebatz]

JUST THE TIP (Grommash Hellscream/Reader)

Summary: Grommash is determined to have you as his mate. There’s only one problem: Grom is too big.

Author’s note: Oh, boy. I have been OBSESSED with orcs lately. Especially the orcs in the Warcraft movie. Disclaimer btw: I don’t know a lot about Warcraft beyond the movie. I know some lore beyond that. So I apologize in advance. Also I wrote this in a way that you, my dear reader, don’t need to know anything about Warcraft either. Hopefully it can also be enjoyed as just a orc x human fic. And this is my 4th time writing smut, 2nd time writing it in oneshot format so I’m still very new to this lol. Also I don’t know orcish and the internet gave me very mixed translations, so I pieced it together the best I could.

Warning/tags: 18+ MDNI, fem! Reader, Grom might be a little OOC but I don’t care, teratophillia/monster fucking, orc x human, oral sex (f! receiving), size differences (Grommash is bigger than you no matter your size, these orcs are big, okay?), fingering, overstimulation, squirting, just the tip but not actually, unprotected p in v, missionary position, mating press, slight breeding kink if you squint, Grom is secretly a sweetheart, change my mind, love confessions, self indulgent filth, not beta read, yeah I know having sex with an orc this big would be borderline impossible but I don’t care, I swear I made straight A’s in all of my anatomy classes

Also just a for some fun references check out this post and this post about the hand size of the orcs in this movie. I find their size absolutely fascinating and I had to make a fic exploring that.

Word Count: 3.3k

Being the mate of an orc is an interesting experience. It was already uncommon for a horde member to pick a human as a mate. And it was still frowned upon by many orcs. Grommash didn’t care though. Nobody could tell him that he couldn’t have you. From the moment he first saw you he felt himself being pulled towards you.

For the most part, picking you as his mate had been smooth sailing. He had asked you to go on a hunt alone with him. Orcs hunted all the time but asking someone to hunt alone with them tended to be an indication that they were choosing a mate. You didn’t know this when you had agreed to go. But it became obvious when halfway through the hunting trip Grom had pressed you against a tree, his large frame encapsulating you. Soon the hunting trip had turned into a heated make-out session.

Everything was going according to plan. He had gotten you back to his tent and sat you on the edge of his bed. There was only one problem in his plan to make you his mate: Grommash was too big.

There was simply no way that all of him could fit inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it.

There was one undeniable fact about orcs and that was that they were massive. They were bigger than all humans. It didn’t matter your size. They outweighed and towered over every human they came across. And Grommash was no exception. He was a warrior and the Chieftain of the Warsong clan after all, not to mention one of the biggest orcs in the clan.

His biceps were rounder than your head. His hands were bigger than your face. His fingers were incredibly large compared to yours.

You honestly weren’t sure what you were expecting but when you removed his pelt you were at a loss for words.

There was no way.

His cock was heavy and hard, hanging down in front of your face as you sat on the edge of the bed. It was green like the rest of his skin, the head was flushed a purple color.

You lifted it up a bit with your hand, feeling the weight of it. It was long and thick. You couldn’t even wrap your hand around it, your fingertips nowhere close to even meeting your thumb. You were too stunned to speak and your brain was scrambling to figure out the logistics of this massive thing going inside of you.

Grommash seemed to read your mind. He brought his thumb up to your face and rubbed your cheek. He smirked as he looked down at you.

“You don’t have to worry about it just yet,” he said.

As much as Grom wanted to plunge his cock all the way inside of you, he was content with pleasuring you in other ways for now.

His large hand moved down, resting on your shoulder. His thumb grazed your throat as he gently pushed you onto your back. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he knelt in front of you.

His hand found its way to the hem of your pants, hesitating for a moment to look up at you. After giving him a swift nod of approval his fingers latched underneath the hem. He mumbled something about “humans always wearing too much clothes” as he slid off your pants and underwear.

Grommash hummed to himself as he placed his hands on your knees, spreading your legs as far apart as he could.

“Look at that,” he said.

He was staring at your glistening cunt in awe. You could hear a growl rumble in his chest as he brought his large fingers up to you, gently rubbing across your folds with his thumb. He grazed against your clit causing a gasp to escape your lips.

“So wet for me already,” he said, rubbing slow circles against your clit.

He paused for a moment causing you to whine. He shushed you as he spread apart the lips of your cunt with his large fingers. His index finger dipped down, lingering against your entrance but not entering. He looked as if he was deep in thought.

Maybe, just maybe.

Grommash leaned down further until his face was level with your pussy. He wrapped his hands around your legs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. He nuzzled his head in between your legs, tusks pressing into the skin between your thighs, as he licked experimentally up your folds.

You moaned, rolling your hips ever so slightly. Grommash chuckled before licking again, this time dipping his tongue into you. There was another rumble from his chest, the taste of you on his tongue unlocking something feral inside of him.

The grip on your thighs got tighter as he lapped at your cunt, licking and plunging into you in a desperate attempt to taste more of you.

Your hand snaked down, resting on his head as you moaned his name. Your fingers entwined in his raven hair, gripping just a bit. He growled in response, sending vibrations through your body. You shuddered a bit at the sensation.

He dragged his tongue against you, occasionally wrapping his large lips around your clit, sucking at the bud before dipping back down, fucking his tongue into your hole.

“Mmm…Grom, it feels so…good,” you moaned.

Without warning you felt Grom’s thick index finger begin to push inside of you. A guttural moan left your mouth as your back arched, grinding yourself against his face mindlessly. His finger stretched your walls as he entered you. There was some pain but your wetness let him slide in easier than either of you would have expected. It felt so perfect.

His tongue licked upwards before focusing on your clit, sucking it into his mouth once more. Your hips bucked against him causing him to groan. He slid his finger out before pushing it back in. He curled it inside of you, sliding it against your spongy walls. This was pleasure you simply had never experienced until now.

Before you knew it, he was pushing a second finger in, stretching you out more. Your mouth fell agape as you struggled to make any sound. You had never felt so full before. There was more pain than before but he didn’t give you much time to think about it as he plunged both fingers inside of you, thrusting his hand at a faster speed than before.

“Gods, Grom,” you moaned as gripped his hair a bit tighter.

The tent was soon filled with lewd, wet sounds as Grom relentlessly pumped his fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your cunt squelched, clenching around his digits.

“Grom, I’m gonna…”

It felt like your breath had been knocked out of you. You squeezed your eyes shut as your orgasm overtook you. Your legs involuntarily clamped down around Grom as he continued to curl his fingers into you, massaging and prodding at that spongy spot inside of you. His tusks pressed harder into your legs as he continued to devour you. You were sure you’d have bruises there by tomorrow but you didn’t care.

Your entire body shook as you rode your waves of pleasure, falling apart under Grom’s touch. You squirmed, your entire body felt too sensitive. Grom continued lapping at your clit, swirling his tongue around it.

“Grom, please,” you whined.

He pulled away momentarily, giving your clit a break. His fingers slowed but continued to slide in and out of you.

“Please what?” he questioned.

He leaned forward, placing his free hand beside your head. You tried to speak but found yourself at a loss for words, too entranced by the texture of his fingers inside you.

“Use your words, my dearest,” he cooed.

You tried to speak but you just couldn’t form the words. All you could do was moan as warmth pooled at your core. Your mouth hung open as Grommash’s hand began to speed up again. He watched you intently, studying your face as it contorted with ecstasy. Something inside of you was building and he knew it, bringing his thumb up to your clit as he continued to work his fingers inside you.

It felt different from the orgasm before. It felt just as pleasurable if not more, but it felt so different, so foreign to your body that it almost worried you. You weren’t fully sure what was happening to you.

“Wait, Grom, wait,” you pleaded.

But it was too late. Another orgasm hit you causing your cunt to clench around his fingers. It felt like something snapped inside of you as his fingers curled, hitting that spongy spot once more. Your hips bucked into him as you gasped, your head falling back onto the furs below you, eyes squeezing shut. Your body trembled, tensing up as you rode out your climax.

“Mmm, look at the mess you’re making,” Grom said, groaning.

Your eyes fluttered open, looking at him in confusion. Your eyes drifted down watching yourself in amazement and mild horror as you squirted around his fingers. The clear liquid spurted out onto his large hands and the bed underneath you with every thrust of his fingers.

You moan at the sight, the euphoria of the new sensation overtaking you. Grom’s hand slowed and then pulled out of you slowly. You whined at the sudden feeling of emptiness, your entrance clenching and fluttering around nothing.

Grommash brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking them.

“Who knew humans could taste so good?” he said.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” you said quietly.

The orc leaned down, pressing his body into yours and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Well, now you know,” he replied.

You hummed, bringing your hand up to his chest, grazing one of the piercings on his nipple.

He then kissed you on your lips. The cold metal ring on his tusk pressed against your cheek as he did so.

His hand pulled at your tunic, ripping it off completely underneath him. You were now completely bare.

His large hand kneaded at your breast, occasionally pinching at the nipple. You moaned against his lips, letting his tongue slip into your mouth.

As he pressed into you more, you could feel his erection between your legs, occasionally sliding against your sensitive skin. He ground his hips against yours, cock slipping against you, causing himself to groan as he feverishly kissed you.

You knew what he wanted but you weren’t confident that he was going to get it. It’s not that you didn’t want him to fuck you, you were just worried still about him being inside of you.

As you pulled away from his lips you met his gaze, looking into his eyes. They were glazed over, lust-filled, and full of admiration. He wanted you. He needed so much more of you.

He ground his hips against you again.

“Need to be inside of you. Need to make you a proper mate,” he said in a low voice.

His hips bucked, causing you to moan as his cock slid across your folds, desire building up inside of you.

“I know. But I don’t think it’ll fit, Grom,” you said, quietly.

“Nonsense,” he grumbled as he got off the top of you.

He took his cock into his hand. It was already glistening with precum as he gave it a few lazy strokes.

“If you can take my fingers, you can take this,” he stated.

Just the sight of him jerking off was enough to make you spread your legs. You were basically salivating at the sight of him. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you, although the fear of being ripped apart still lingered.

“Take it slow, okay? Don’t put all of it in, Grom. I really don’t think I can take all of it,” you said.

He spread your legs further apart before sliding his cock against your swollen clit, causing yet another moan to come out of you.

“Whatever you say, my dearest,” he said.

You took a deep breath as Grom began to push the head of his cock into you. You hissed as it stretched the tight band of flesh around your walls. You were practically dripping from your last orgasm but your wetness only helped so much.

Grommash let out a low groan as he pushed his member into you at an agonizing pace. Pain was surging through you, bringing tears to your eyes. He was only a few inches in before you placed a hand on his chest, silently stopping him.

“Are you okay?” he questioned, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I’m okay. I think that’s as far as you can go for now,” you said.

He hummed in response.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he said, rubbing circles on your thigh with his thumb.

You sighed, leaning your head back for a moment. Eventually, the pain began to subside. You brought your hand up to him, sliding it down his chest before giving him a nod to continue.

He pulled out the few inches that were inside you before thrusting them back in. It took everything in him to not push every inch in. He wanted to so badly. He wanted to fill you up so badly but he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you.

You whimpered as his hips snapped forward, pushing part of his cock into you. The stretch was otherworldly. You knew if he hadn’t fucked you with his fingers earlier there was no way you would’ve been able to take the tip of him. It may have not been much but it felt divine.

“Oh, Grom,” you moaned as he fucked into you.

You could hear your pussy squelching around him as you became more wet by the second.

Your hands found their way to his large arms, holding on to stabilize yourself. Your body had a mind of its own as you rolled your hips forward. Grommash growled, halting his movements.

“Grom, why’d you stop?” you whined.

“Look,” he said with a grunt.

You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked down between the two of you. When you had rolled your hips moments ago, you had taken another inch of him without even realizing it. Too caught up in your pleasure to notice.

Grom rocked his hips into you, almost like he was silently asking you a question with his movements. He wanted to go further and you knew it. You moaned as he slowly began thrusting his hips again.

You were getting so wet. Surely you could take a bit more, right?

“I know you can take it. Let me show you just how good it can feel,” he said.

His shallow thrusts were already threatening to send you over the edge and you couldn’t deny it any longer, you wanted more of him.

You bucked your hips against him causing him to groan.

“Do you want all of it?” he asked.

“Yes…please. I need you,” you said in between broken moans.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Grommash hooked his hands under your knees, forcing your legs up as far as they’d go, pressing them against your chest. He replaced his hands with yours, making you hold your legs up. He then leaned forward, climbing on top of you. One of his hands was placed beside your head while the other lined up his cock to your entrance, slowly pushing in. He used his body weight to help sink into you, pushing in further than before, taking his time as he did so.

A choked moan left your mouth as your eyes welled up with tears. It was such a strange sensation. It hurt, a burning feeling seared into your core as Grom stretched you out. But the pain was also laced with pleasure.

Grommash’s hand left his cock, bringing it up and resting it by your head. He was a little over halfway in, sinking into you as he covered over your body. He hadn’t even begun thrusting yet and you already felt like you were becoming unglued.

“There you go. Taking it so well.”

He slid in deeper, another inch. Then another. And another. You whimpered, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“My sweet human,” he cooed.

He wasn’t all the way in but his hips started moving, thrusting into you slowly, working the last of his way into you.

“You like that, huh? Like being full of my cock,” he said, picking up the pace.

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded your head and moaned.

Grommash pulled out all the way to the head of his cock before slamming back inside of you. You yelped as the sound of wet skin smacking together filled the tent. You could feel low rumbles vibrating from Grom’s chest as he growled, getting louder with every thrust. You were slowly becoming a babbling mess as waves of ecstasy began to overtake you. The pain had subsided and all you could think about was Grommash and how good he felt.

Grom moved one of his hands, bringing it down between the two of you. He circled your clit with his thumb. It felt as if sparks were igniting. Every raw nerve was crackling with pleasure.

You were panting underneath him, growing closer and closer to the edge. You could feel his cock twitching inside of you. His movements were becoming more erratic and you knew he was close to. An all too familiar feeling was forming and your body began to shake.

“Oh, fuck. Grom, I’m gonna…”

“Cum for me, my dearest,” he said.

And that was all you needed. You let out a wail as your vision clouded. Your body spasmed as your cunt tightened around him, somehow managing to suck him in more as if your body wasn’t ready to let go. He kept fucking into you, chasing his own release until his hips stuttered, bucking into you harder than ever. He let out a roar and you were sure the whole clan could hear both of you as the two of you rode out the pleasure, not that any of the orcs would’ve cared.

You could feel his cum, hot and leaking out of you as he slowly pulled his cock out. You closed your eyes as your legs fell from your chest, splaying out in front of you. You were still in a daze as Grommash sat on his knees for a moment, admiring you like you were an art piece. You were officially his mate and he was overjoyed.

You felt the bed shift as he got up. He was only gone for a moment and returned with a washcloth, cleaning you off gently.

You felt yourself drifting off. You were so warm and so very exhausted.

“Falling asleep on me?” Grommash joked as he laid down beside you.

You opened your eyes, looking up at the orc.

“Maybe,” you chuckled.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his side. You kissed his chest, moving up to his neck, and then his jaw, pecking the inked skin. He held onto you tight as if he was afraid you’d be snatched away from him. You heard him mumble something in orcish that you couldn’t understand.

“What was that?” you questioned.

“Na dova dra,” he repeated, this time hearing him more clearly.

“And what does that mean?” you asked.

He brought your hand up to his lips, placing a kiss against it.

“I love you,” he translated.

Your heart fluttered and you smiled. Admissions of love were another uncommon thing amongst the horde, especially towards humans. But it was true. Grom loved you very much.

You brought your hand up to his face, guiding him to yours. You kissed his lips gently before pulling away.

“I love you too, Grommash.”

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.

༆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as lady-in-waiting to rhaenyra targaryen, you find that her eldest son, jacaerys, is the only true friend and comfort you have amidst a brewing war that threatens to tear the realm apart.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

{ FORMAT: one shot — requested.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.5K (this is a long one, not sorry!)

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, inexperience from both reader & jace, loss of virginity (mutual), first time sexual experiences, sexual tension, p in v sex (unprotected), missionary position, lots of kissing and sweeter antics, slight risk of getting caught, oral sex (fem!receiving), handjob, fingering, hair pulling kink, brief overstimulation, tiddy sucking, this whole thing is soft & sweet smut, nothing disgusting here, jacaerys is the epitome of a perfect lover :))

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am lowkey transitioning into becoming a Jace girl, I absolutely love him and I’m really enjoying where his character is going! This was a request from an anon user who wanted something freeform! I hope you all enjoy it, thanks so much for all of the recent love & support for my work! It makes me so happy! ❤️

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, harkened in from the gentle roll of the tides. Saltwater and dampened rock filled your nostrils, aided by the fluttering breeze as it danced across the obsidian cliffs of Dragonstone.

The castle stood the testament of time, a monolith to the rule of the Targaryens. It loomed overhead, less frightening in the lighter hours, blanketed by glittering rays of sunlight. A cloudless day — good for sailing, you thought, as vessels ushered in goods to the shoddy harbor below.

Beneath the vibrancy of a cloudless sky, you could see the shadow of a dragon soaring overhead — the Princess Rhaenys, from the horned shape above. You cupped your hand around your eyes, squinting to see, constantly mesmerized by such creatures.

In your fantastical dreams, you flew upon the back of a dragon, letting the wind scrape across your visage, feeling the weight of something so powerful beneath you. Of course, you were neither Targaryen nor Velaryon — possessing a dragon wouldn’t be in the cards for you, and perhaps that was a good thing.

As much as you enjoyed the beauty of Dragonstone, you much preferred the outdoors. The weather was splendid, and you took small victories wherever possible. With war on the horizon between your Queen Rhaenyra and her usurper brother, any chance at happiness was worth chasing after and holding onto, while you could.

House Celtigar had bent the knee to Rhaenyra, and your father sat at her council. You were made to be a lady-in-waiting, much your initial disdain. The station you held would’ve been considered a great honor to most young women, but you were inclined to be out in the ocean or on the back of a horse.

Now, you found enjoyment in it, wherever you could.

Oceanic air filled your lungs in a singular inhale, tinged with a saltwater sting. You stood near one of the many stone terraces lining the lengthy walkway to the castle’s entrance, accompanied by Joffrey. The boy had become your greatest joy amidst the brewing chaos, and you were rather grateful for it.

“Would you like to see the ocean, little Prince?” You held the boy’s hand, stooping down to wrap your arms beneath him, standing him up along the cobbled bannister. Joffrey’s laughter could brighten a whole room, and it did — it certainly lifted your spirits.

“When will I be able to ride a dragon?” He questioned, pointing towards the shape of Meleys in the sky. Joffrey was rather inquisitive — a sharp mind, one that would become a great leader someday.

You were unsure of how to answer such a question. Tyraxes was young and still small, just like Joffrey. “Whenever you grow up,” You hummed, a smile playing at either corner of your mouth. “You must be as tall as your brother, first.”

Joffrey toyed with the wooden dragon clutched between his hands, gaze falling toward the ground. “Luke wasn’t much taller.” He mumbled, and it nearly crushed your heart completely to hear the confusion and despair in a child’s voice.

Youth knew more than most, and in the mind of a child, something heinous could appear innocent, or something tragic was beyond their comprehension. Joffrey knew that Luke was gone — he wasn’t coming back. Silence drifted between the both of you, and you found it difficult to change the subject from Lucerys to something lighthearted.

“I miss him.” Joffrey’s sweet voice rang out like the pealing of bells, crystal-clear and downtrodden. You turned him around within your grasp, keeping your hands slotted underneath his arms to ground him. His eyes swam with unshed tears, prompting you to bring him into your embrace.

“It’s alright, my Prince. He’s still here,” You whispered, hugging the boy as tightly as you could. It was enough to rip at your heartstrings, tear you asunder as melancholy began to eat you alive. The fate of Lucerys was a tragic one — unfair and unwarranted, and now, a catalyst for destruction between kin. “We will remember him.”

From afar, Jacaerys observed you and his brother, standing along the ramparts with a palm atop the pommel of his shortsword. The emotional turmoil he continued to feel in regards to Lucerys happened to swell the moment he saw Joffrey clinging onto you — and he knew.

Wisps of a tempered breeze stirred his curled tresses, drifting across his regalia as it caught against his cloak. After the death of his brother, he had come out to the ramparts nearly every night, to sob and to curse the world, to pray to any God that would listen — return Lucerys, bring him home. He had lost count, and in turn, lost a bit of faith.

Remaining optimistic in the face of unavoidable danger was a difficult thing — fear had gripped him once, but no longer. He knew that the only time a man could be brave was in situations like these, where terror stared him in the face and dared him to submit.

Many still referred to him as a mere boy, with little experience and no real understanding of the world and its cruelty. Jacaerys had shed the raiment of boyhood the night he flew blindly into the darkness in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

With the man born, he knew that whatever would come next, he was prepared to face such challenges head-on. Brazenness was not in his nature, but he had learned to adopt stoicism when it mattered most. It was easy to shed the facade around his family, and around you.

His friendship with you was a calm within the storm, a lull in the tempestuous hurricane you were all trapped within. You now had as much stake in this game as he did — your father served on Rhaenyra’s council with Celtigar bannerman pledging to fight in the war to come, and you served as his mother’s lady-in-waiting.

Your blossoming bond was a great comfort, and the tender way in which you cared for Joffrey was a wonderful thing. You had a soft heart — a good heart, and that was something rare to come by. The two of you were both of a similar feather, and the admiration he held for you only seemed to grow stronger each day.

The word friendship often tormented him, on days where you wore beautiful gowns and stood beside his mother, or whenever you smiled. It tormented him when you held Joffrey within your arms and protected him just as fiercely as Rhaenyra would.

Honor demanded that he simply remain just that — a friend, but Jacaerys found himself smitten with you in a way that transcended propriety. To cross that line, especially with you, invited the disdain of his mother and the ire of your father, amongst other things.

Betrothal would be upon him soon enough, likely with a young maiden from the Vale or the Reach to secure an alliance, but it left a sour taste within his mouth. He had little desire to be with anyone else when you were right there.

Jacaerys steeled himself, abandoning his whimsical line of thinking in regards to you. It was a fool’s errand, and he couldn’t afford to be a fool. He stepped closer, the crunch of stone resonating underneath his boots as he approached you and Joffrey.

“My Lady,” Jacaerys’s tone was amiable, like the comforting lick of a warm hearth. His gaze flickered toward Joffrey, bemused with his brother’s antics as you balanced him along the bannister. “What are you doing up there?” He asked, playful in the presence of his little brother.

“Flying,” Joffrey’s head lifted from your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. You happened to carry him in such a way that he called it flying — and he was asking you to do it again. “Flying!”

With a giggle, you picked the boy up, swinging him up enough to let him get some air. His melancholy turned to jovial laughter as you soared him over to Jacaerys, who was more than happy to pick him up. Joffrey clung to Jace, hugging his brother with all of his strength.

“You are getting too big to fly,” Jace mused, holding Joffrey in one arm as he motioned for you to accompany him. His tousled curls and amicable smile sent your heart fluttering as it had many times before. It wasn’t subtle, your liking of Jacaerys, but you understood the nature of your affections. “Big enough for Tyraxes, soon.”

Jacaerys was perfect, with all of the hallmarks of what a true King should be. He was gentle and eloquent, honed with a blade, learned — and above all, he was kind. The rage that plagued him now was justified, and it pained you to see him become coiled with anger, but you understood why.

As Joffrey regaled the two of you with tales of childlike wonder, soaring his toy dragon around Jace’s head, Jacaerys seemed inclined to converse with you regardless. “I always know where to look, whenever I need to see you.” He mused, walking alongside you as you made your way up the ramparts.

“Is that so?” You chuckled, head canting to one side. “What did you need to see me for, your Grace?” It was a force of habit — he was the heir to the Iron Throne, after all. Jacaerys regarded you with a brief laugh, knowing that formalities were often abandoned whenever the two of you were together.

“Do I need a reason?” Jacaerys mused, voice light and inviting. The crash of the tide upon the beach provided a rather serene ambience, accompanied by the calling of gulls as they circled the bay.

You shook your head, skirts gathered in one hand as you narrowly avoided an upturned plate of stone. “Of course not,” You hesitated, gaze sparkling as your nose wrinkled in mild amusement. “Jacaerys.” You ensured to exaggerate his name, allowing for your conversation to become personal.

At the end of the ramparts, a flock of crimson-clad handmaidens awaited your return. It was likely that they were waiting for you to hand Joffrey over, much to your dismay. The black-headed boy looked to you as you neared the end of your walk.

“I don’t want to go,” He protested, reaching for you as you stepped forward, taking a hold of his hand. “When can we fly again?” Joffrey asked, lower lip jutting out in a rather innocuous pout. He leaned forward, partially out of Jace’s grasp to give you a hug.

“Tomorrow, my Prince. I will let you fly as much as you’d like.” You assured him, reciprocating his hug with one of your own, with all of the warmth one could muster. It was motherly in-nature, and you watched as Jacaerys planted him onto solid ground.

Joffrey took the outstretched hand of a handmaiden, glancing back at you and Jacaerys before they disappeared behind the castle’s massive gates. It always hurt you to leave him, but you knew that tomorrow would come swiftly. A begrudging sigh escaped you before you looked at Jacaerys, countenance somber.

Jace knew what you were about to say — something about Lucerys. The gaping wound left within his heart was barely healed, still oozing with pain, but he was making every effort to mend it. You helped — your resolute reassurance and shoulder to lean on, but sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

Instead, you reached for Jace’s forearm, giving it a brief squeeze of comfort. Whatever sentiments he held, you seemed to echo it, leaving it all unspoken. You and Jacaerys had already spoken about it all at-length — sometimes, he had little desire to tear himself open again.

His head hung low, heap of dark curls billowing in the wind. Jacaerys’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, and he imagined plunging his sword into Aemond Targaryen’s other eye — and then it passed, just as quickly as it had appeared.

A forlorn silence settled between the both of you, one that was born out of mutual understanding and empathy. Jace went quiet often, and you were content to sit in it for as long as he pleased. Instead, you stepped toward the bannister, palms planting themselves atop the stone as you gazed out toward the land surrounding Dragonstone.

“You are good with him,” Jacaerys broke the silence, deliberately stepping towards you as he stood by your side. Joffrey and his half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys, were all he had left. He would die for them if he had to. “He talks about you often.”

An exuberant smile crept onto your features, one of a sweet fondness in regards to Joffrey. “He is a sweet boy — very sharp-witted, though. I would imagine he will grow to be very wise.” You replied, idly tracing your fingers around some of the rocks socketed into the bannister.

“I remember the day he was born,” Jacaerys recalled, remembering the day that his mother, pale skin glistening with sweat, had wobbled into the drawing room, a newborn Joffrey in her arms. “It was a beautiful day, and Ser Harwin was there, and Ser Laenor …” He trailed off, recalling the way that Lucerys had begged to hold his younger brother.

The topic of both Laenor and Harwin were bitter ones — both men playing the role of father. Jacaerys loved them both, as any son would. Another gust of saltwater mist brushed along the ramparts, dusting your cheeks with wisps of moist air.

Wordlessly, you reached for Jace’s arm, looping yours around him as you let him lean against you for support. As much as Jacaerys insisted that he would recover and move on, you ensured him that grieving took time — it came in many shapes and forms.

Jace’s smile was wistful and threadbare, made sorrowful by memories of Lucerys. He didn’t want to sully the moment with his melancholy, holding his head high as he glanced toward you. You were not looking, but it allowed him a moment of appreciation and admiration.

Your beauty was unparalleled, your features delicate and smile like the warmth of a summer sunshine. The way in which you carried yourself was of a kindly disposition, made to be nurturing and helpful instead of imposing. Admittedly, you took his breath away — the feeling was a constant one.

Sunlight sparkled across your countenance, gaze soothing and full of empathy. The way in which you grasped his arm, kept yourself tucked away within his side, it invoked feelings of protectiveness — and newfound affection.

A dragon’s shrill cry reverberated throughout the skies, prompting Jacaerys to immediately look ahead. It was the familiar shriek of Vermax, his bonded dragon, who had grown exponentially. He was larger than Moondancer, with olive-colored scales and orange fins, eyes the color of a burnished gold.

“Māzigon, Vermax!” Jacaerys called, gaining the attention of his dragon as it began to approach, causing your heart to gallop within your chest. He looked at you with a hint of amusement, head canting to one side. “Would you like to see him?” Jace inquired, moving along the wall.

As majestic as dragons were, the wonder within your eyes had quickly shifted to wariness as it landed along the ramparts, rocks scraping underneath its talons. Vermax was much larger when in close proximity than he was flying overhead. “He is wonderful, Jace. Though, it is best if I keep my distance. He might not like me.”

Jacaerys laughed, amber-brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Might not like you?” He mused, knowing that such a thought was outlandish. If he liked you, then Vermax most certainly would. A dragon could always pick apart friend from foe, and you were as far from an enemy as one could be.

“Yes, what — Jacaerys, that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say,” You countered, flustered by Jace’s reaction to your skepticism. His smile was cheery and heartfelt as he stared at you, and then offered his hand. “I do not think that this is a good idea.” A soft utterance emerged from under your breath.

“Trust me.” His tone softened exponentially, shifting from playful to gentle, reassuring. You hesitated before taking a hold of his hand, and Jacaerys nearly brushed his thumb across your knuckles out of sheer instinct. Whatever thoughts he had, he pushed them to the far recesses of his mind.

You trusted Jacaerys more than most, prompting you to nod as he ushered you closer to Vermax. His grasp was tender, as to not frighten you, which only made your heart flutter with affection. The dragon bristled and made a series of noises, some more serpentine than others.

Vermax lowered his head, pushing closer towards his rider as the dragon bowed to Jacaerys. You were close enough to feel the waves of heat wafting from his breath, close enough to outstretch your arm and feel his scales beneath your palm.

The scent of brimstone and dragonscale lingered upon Vermax, like a crackling fire and smoke. You watched with bated breath as Jace’s palm moved to Vermax’s snout, digits tracing along the olive-hued scales, and down toward his jaw. “Sagon iēdrosa,” Jace murmured, stepping closer to his dragon. “Sȳz.”

High Valyrian was an exquisite language, a beautiful symphony from an ancient era. Jacaerys had become proficient in such a tongue, and the way he spoke it had you mesmerized. With a gentle smile, he still held your hand, gesturing toward Vermax.

“What are you saying to him?” You inquired, losing some of your fear. It gradually waned the closer Jacaerys had inched you toward the dragon, who showed no ill will towards you at all. Instead, Vermax’s burnished hues glimmered with intrigue — you were a familiar scent, emblazoned upon Jace, but not a familiar face.

“I told him to be still for you,” Jacaerys replied, fingers flexing around your own as he carefully guided you toward Vermax’s neck, where the scales began to flare and thicken. Olive turned to emerald in some places, verdant shades clashing together. “Place your hand here.”

Your breath hitched within your throat as Jace became in close proximity to you, closer than he’d been before. His grasp was a tender one, placing your palm atop the dragon’s throat. Warmth crept along the length of your spine, filling your belly with an eruption of butterflies.

You made the mistake of glancing at Jacaerys for the briefest moment, able to spot the rosy flush of color within his visage and the gleam within his stare. As soon as you’d made contact, he happened to glance away, making a soft noise as it stirred within his throat.

Vermax chortled, the dragon’s attention fixated upon you as you brushed your fingers across his scales. Jace had dropped your hand, realizing the sliver of space between you both as he stepped aside, content to observe you with his dragon.

It was your enchanting laughter that lifted his spirits, the gentle way in which you stroked across Vermax’s neck and shoulder. “He is beautiful,” You hummed, countenance bright with a joyous radiance as you looked at Jacaerys once more. The gap between you had grown, much to your dismay. “How do you say that in High Valyrian?”

Jace hesitated, lips parting just slightly. His heart nearly skipped a beat when you smiled at him, expectant and awaiting his answer. He became so easily distracted in your presence, and it was somewhat vexing to behold. “Gevie,” He replied, briefly clearing his throat. “Gevie means beautiful, in High Valyrian.”

With a soft hum, you looked to Vermax, your grin toothy and amused. “Gevie, Vermax.” You spoke clearly, but the dragon did not seem to understand what you said — it wasn’t a command. Instead, he let out a series of reptilian noises, nostrils flaring with snort, almost like that of a horse.

Vermax’s lack of reaction made you frown, but Jacaerys appeared amused by it, at least. “Gevie isn’t a command,” He mused, head canting to one side. “Your High Valyrian needs improvement.” His tone was jocular, teasing — it made your heart stir within your chest.

“Fortunately, I have the perfect teacher standing before me.” You countered with a giggle, noticing the way in which a shade of pink settled into his features. Jacaerys was beautiful and handsome, but his flustered behavior only made him more perfect to you.

The dragon shook its head, seeking the embrace of his rider before he began to take flight. A massive gust of wind from the flap of his wings nearly knocked you down, causing you to crouch and grip the stone of the ramparts.

Jacaerys smiled, watching as Vermax ascended, taking to the skies above Dragonstone once more. You watched with a semblance of awe, slowly rising to your feet as the dragon became a mere specter amidst the cloudless sky. He did not stray too far, circling around with the likes of Moondancer and Syrax.

“Someday, I will take you flying with me,” Jace suggested, nose wrinkling slightly at your bewildered expression. “I would keep you safe.” He reassured you before words could emerge from your mouth, his chuckle amicable as he led you back toward the gates of Dragonstone.

“I trust you, but flying?” To see the world from such great heights sounded wonderful, but you feared the fall — and you feared the unknown of it all even more. “That might take more convincing than this did.” You mused, walking alongside him as the gates became closer.

A huff escaped him, hand dropping from the pommel of his shortsword to his side, a symbol of letting his guard down. A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, occasionally accompanied by a brief bout of laughter or tender smiles.

As the gates loomed over the both of you, Jacaerys hesitated, deliberating on what to say next. There were so many things he wanted to say to you — where did he begin? The nerves of first affection grabbed hold of him, but he remained resistant, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much you meant to him.

“Perhaps an exchange is in-order,” Jacaerys began, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “You come flying with me, and I will teach you High Valyrian.” He mused, smothering his grin at your expression. You were clearly wary and unimpressed.

“Danger for something that I could learn in the comfort of a book? I think not, your Grace.” With a grin of your own, Jace happened to snicker, his visage invoking an unspoken challenge, albeit playful. “If I am ever feeling bold and spontaneous, I will inform you as soon as possible.”

Jacaerys hummed, head ducking for just a moment before he met your gaze again, doting and overflowing with a subtle warmth. “Thank you for this,” He began, tone heartfelt and genuine. “I would not know what to do if it weren’t for your company and comfort. I’ve found it difficult to remain jovial as of late, but it’s rather effortless in your presence.”

His genial compliments made your stomach turn with excitement, and you could soar away. Jacaerys would be an excellent ruler, should he take the Iron Throne — such grace, compassion, and gallantry were true hallmarks of what would make a good King. You felt the familiar, smitten flush dance along your skin.

“Of course, Jace — you never have to ask for it,” Your fingers twisted into the silk of your gown, an outlet for your growing nerves. “You’ve no idea how much your company means to me. We will get through this together, that much I know.” With a brief nod, you felt his stare grow in intensity.

Before he could bear his heart to you on a whim, the gates opened, revealing several Targaryen bannermen and Kingsguard. It was sudden and somewhat jarring, placing the two of you back within reality — in a realm on the brink of war.

“I should return to your mother, I fear I’ve neglected my duties enough today,” You murmured, offering Jace a kindly smile before dropping to curtsy. He seemed starstruck, as if caught within the depths of his own thoughts. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

Formalities reappeared again, much to his disdain. He loved it when you called him Jace or Jacaerys, or your Grace whenever you teased him. To hear it used in the context of nobility made him feel distant, but he understood. You possessed a strong sense of propriety.

“My Lady.” Jace replied, watching as you took your leave to rejoin the other handmaidens and guardsmen. Jacaerys cursed himself for not making the most of the moment, but he knew that he could make his own opportunity, forge it if it never came about.

He intended to do just that.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋, with braziers dancing across the obsidian interior. Stars sparkled above a clear night sky, dragons dancing above. It was almost like something from a fairytale or a painting, mesmerizing to behold as you gazed up at the scaling ceiling of your bedchambers.

Your quarters were small and homely, befitting of your status as lady-in-waiting. Rhaenyra had ensured that your lodgings and that of your father were enough — more than suitable, really. The feathered mattress you slept upon was made for royalty, you thought.

The constant flicker of candlelight provided a source of warmth as you rolled over within your bed, blankets hauled up beneath your chin. It was too early to fall asleep, too late to do anything of substance.

A knock at your door gave you pause, brows furrowing together as you retrieved your robe, lacing it around the sheer gossamer of your nightgown. Bare feet traveled across the cold stone, until you reached the metal hoop slotted atop mahogany.

With a pull, you opened the door, surprised to find Jacaerys, who had abandoned his traditional Targaryen regalia, hands occupied with a stack of various tomes and scrolls. His mop of dark curls framed his face, and even he seemed just as bewildered as you were.

“Jacaerys,” His nightly visits were rather uncommon — in fact, this was only the second time he’d come, the first following Lucerys’s passing. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stepping aside to allow him inside of your chambers. “Is everything alright?”

Jace placed the stack of books atop the table that sat amongst small lounge chairs, ensuring to clear his throat before he spoke. “Of course,” He replied, gesturing toward your newfound reading material. “I’ve brought you scripts to learn High Valyrian.”

You blinked, touched by such a thoughtful gesture. You smoothed your palms across your robe, stepping forward to inspect the books, many of which appeared ancient and weathered. “You didn’t have to,” You replied, head canting to one side. “Many of these seem important. Are you sure that no one will miss these?”

A brief chuckle escaped him before he shook his head. “The Maesters might, but they’ve read them a hundred times over, I’m certain of it. You will find more use.” He replied, retreating toward the threshold of your chambers. Jacaerys wanted to keep his visit brief — visiting a young woman’s quarters in the dead of night was not exactly an intelligent move.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Your inquiry held a twinge of disappointment, hoping that he would stay and converse with you, at the very least. “Jacaerys, I assure you that no one will admonish you if you stay for a few minutes longer.” The softness of your voice enticed him, and he very nearly confessed then and there.

The weight of growing sentiments felt as if they would swallow him whole if he did not speak them into fruition. With the threat of a looming war and the potential for oblivion, Jacaerys was unsure of what gave him pause. The fear of rejection, perhaps? That wasn’t it.

It took a moment for you to adjust, and when you did, you noted his own attire — a billowy tunic and dark trousers that happened to make him appear softer in the candlelight. The sharp black and crimson of his house’s colors made him intimidating and poised, but no longer.

You saw Jacaerys himself, doe-eyed and magnificent.

“I fear what will happen if I stay,” Jacaerys confessed, squaring himself with the door. If he continued to linger in your chambers without restraint or without additional eyes, he knew what would happen — he did not want to sully your honor. “I won’t.”

“Jacaerys,” You whispered, brows furrowing together to form a look of confusion and startlement. Out of concern, you stepped closer, abandoning the scripts of High Valyrian now scattered across your table. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

The inner war he waged within seemed to reflect upon his countenance, as Jacaerys exhaled — it was laced with stress, a heaviness that you struggled to understand. He seemed flustered, not wanting to meet your amiable gaze. “It is best if I leave it alone.” He replied, taking a hold of your hands. “I would not tarnish your honor.”

That is what he meant.

Something boiled over inside of you, the butterflies and blossoming affection turning into a tidal wave that threatened to swallow you whole. As Jace held your hands, he seemed desperate to convey such a message — whatever he wanted, he could not have.

A brief exhale escaped you before you steeled yourself, thumbs brushing across his knuckles, over the veins of his hands. “You wouldn’t tarnish it,” You whispered, stomach churning with molten heat. “I know that you wouldn’t, Jace. I trust you the most.”

Jacaerys felt the stirring within his chest, the first inkling of arousal settling into his very bones. It was somewhat foreign — a new feeling, but exciting and exhilarating. “I would never hurt you,” He insisted, and you believed him wholeheartedly. “What I feel for you, I do not wish to feel this way with anyone else.”

If you could’ve collapsed then and there, you would’ve — you thought it would happen, with the way your knees rattled together beneath your nightgown. The beating of your heart accelerated into a violent crescendo, and then you felt the rush — the love you had for him, desire, admiration, neediness.

A tenuous silence drifted between you both, the tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. Jacaerys had inched closer without thinking, able to peer down into your eyes, swirling with affection and bewilderment. “If I told you I felt the same?” Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

Deliberately, Jacaerys released one of your hands, allowing his palm to fully envelop your face, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “I would never difile your virtue, or take it for granted. You must tell me if this is something you want.” He insisted, jaw tightening as he anxiously awaited your answer.

You knew that he wouldn’t — Jacaerys Velaryon was the most honorable man you knew, one that would never lay a finger upon you unless you consented. You couldn’t imagine a return to friendship if you happened to reject him — you didn’t want to reject him, either.

“I do,” A shudder ran down your spine, bringing a wave of thrill and anticipation with it. “I want this — and I want you, Jacaerys, if you’ll have me.” Part of you became nervous, knowing that you had never bedded a man before, but you pushed the thought aside.

“A hundred times over.” Jace uttered, dipping down to press his lips against yours. The kiss was incredibly sweet and delicate, something brief to test the waters as the two of you began to explore uncharted territory. Your hands reached for his chest, flat atop his sternum.

Allowing the kiss to linger, you tilted your head just slightly, enough to permit a sensual progression. He kissed you so sweetly, treated you as if you were precious, something to be worshiped. When he inevitably pulled away, you felt a twinge of nervousness.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Your confession was a strenuous one, and you hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed by your lack of experience. Most men already had a plethora by the time betrothals and first love emerged. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Jacaerys reassured you with a gentle squeeze, brows furrowing together with insistence. He hesitated, somewhat sheepish to admit the very same, but he knew you wouldn’t admonish him for it. “I haven’t either, if that’s alright.” He mused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

A sweet bout of laughter escaped you before you nodded several times over, unable to keep from withholding your happiness. “I suppose that this will be quite the learning experience.” You felt his thumb stroke along your jaw, his lips molding themselves to yours in another kiss.

Passion and tension began to mount, a continuous climb of affection, prepared to turn into something fiery. Jacaerys worried that he would disappoint you, or perhaps feel clumsy and awkward, but those were mere insecurities — he knew that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

One of his hands dropped, finding the pliant curve of your hip as he sank his digits into you, able to haul you closer, until there was no space left between the two of you. Kissing felt effortless with Jace, despite your inexperience — he was gentle and deliberate, ensuring that he took his time with you above all else.

Your fingers wandered from his chest to his broad shoulders, finding the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys exhaled, a shiver rolling down his spine as you began to gently tug at his tresses. He canted his head slightly, enough to deepen the kiss and hold you close.

It was Jace who slowly broke the kiss, but just enough to speak, warm breath fanning across your face. “May I take you to bed?” He murmured, tracing across the silky plane of your jaw. His excitement began to grow, heart hammering within his chest.

In such close quarters to one another, you noticed the faint dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose, spreading just underneath his eyes. You pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You may.” Eagerness replaced any nervousness you were experiencing, then and there.

Jacaerys found your hand, twining his digits with your own as the two of you inched toward your bed. It was plush, lined with furs and enough blankets to warm the Seven Kingdoms. He stood at the precipice of a cliff, preparing to dive headfirst — and it felt incredible.

He watched with bated breath, rapturous and enamored as your digits settled along the many ties of your outer robes. You began the sluggish process of untethering each one until the garment loosened, enough for you to shrug it aside and drape it over the chest at the foot of your bed.

Even with the veil of sheer, silky fabric, Jacaerys quietly admired your physique, shapely and beautiful in every way imaginable. “You are perfect,” Jace uttered, hands coming to settle around your hips, searching for any sign of hesitation on your end. “Beautiful.” He exhaled, feeling you coax him in for another kiss.

Through the slip of silk and gossamer, Jacaerys deftly felt his way along your body, taking his time savoring you. Every curve and dip, every little detail he committed to memory, lost within a sea of you. Your kiss became passionate, and he was more than happy to reciprocate, the intensity burning between you both.

Jace felt your fingers tease the hem of his tunic, enough to elicit a subtle gasp from him. The sensation of your flesh against his caused goosebumps to spread from where your digits brushed against his waist. He released you for a moment, long enough for him to assist you in removing his nightshirt.

A pang of admiration struck at your stomach, breath hitching within your throat. He was pretty — well-muscled for a young man, with sunkissed skin, smatterings of freckles along his shoulders. Jacaerys felt your lips press against the hollow of his throat, warmth fanning out from the simple contact.

“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.” Jace murmured, insistent on pleasuring you above all else. He knew very little of what ensued between a woman and a man within the confines of their bedchambers outside of the simple act itself, but it was easy to imagine.

Your lips parted, heat sinking into your bones as you reached for his curled tresses, digits slipping through his soft, dark locks. “Yes”, Your voice was barely above a whisper as you coaxed him in for another kiss, one charged with arousal and desire. “I want you, Jace.”

The heady, wanton way in which you spoke his name caused him to shiver, bare chest pressed snugly against your own. Even the veil of silken fabric could not hide your supple frame from him, the peaks of your breasts soft and pliant.

His kiss was so gentle — it was charged with lust despite its tame nature, not that you minded. You felt his hands fall to your hips, melding into your curves before he began to gather the fabric within his hands. Jacaerys looked to you before continuing, and you gave him a nod to signal your approval.

Silky gossamer slowly crawled up the length of your legs as Jace gathered your gown, sliding it upward. You couldn’t fight against the onslaught of molten heat that churned violently within your stomach, shamelessly pooling between your legs.

Jacaerys hesitated, likely thinking of what to do next. He had been educated on what consummation was, the act of making an heir — but there was more to it, more of you to explore. Curiosity consumed him as he placed his palm atop the bare skin of your thigh, using the other to ease you down onto your bed.

He sat beside you, leg to leg as he continued to push your nightgown up toward your hips, skirts gathering around the middle of your thighs. “May I?” Jace’s voice seemed to grow husky with arousal, desire burning its way through his veins.

Instead, you gingerly took a hold of his hand, guiding it underneath your gown as you parted your legs enough to allow him unhindered access. He caressed you wherever he could, shuddering when you held the trail of your nightgown in one hand to push it up around your hips.

You nearly squeaked when his palm brushed along your inner thigh, lips parting with a sharp exhale. Jace moved closer, as close as he could as his mouth graced your neck, digits inching toward the slick heat between your legs. When he found it, you let out a simpering whine, reaching for his forearm.

A hushed moan escaped you as two digits trailed across your cunt, exploratory and feather-light. Your hips canted forward into the sensation, desiring more — and Jace obliged, pushing both fingers inward until they slipped past your folds.

“Jace,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to pepper strings of sweet kisses along your neck, gown sagging enough to let him kiss your shoulder. “Do not stop, please.” That breathy plea exuded some power over him, and he was enthralled, prepared to do whatever you asked of him.

“Is that alright?” Jacaerys asked, digits becoming a touch more vigorous as he stroked at your slit, surprised at how wet you were. If it were a common thing, he would know what to expect in the future. His thumb grazed your clit, and you gasped.

With a soft hum of approval, you nodded, shifting your legs apart just a little more. “Y—Yes,” Absentmindedly, your fingers slipped from the taut muscle of his forearm to his hand, the one wedged underneath your gown. “I — Like this.” You instructed him to touch you how you had touched yourself.

Jacaerys watched through a half-lidded stare, beyond entranced with you. You were beautiful — so painfully ethereal that it made him want to kneel before you, a goddess made to be worshiped. You adjusted his fingers, ensuring that his thumb pressed against your clit with continuous pressure.

Despite his nonexistent experience, he was doing wonders for you — he was attentive and willing to learn your body as you saw fit. He was so handsome, lips curling into an affectionate smile before he kissed your jaw, digits continuing from where they’d left off.

Your palm fell across his thigh, nails beginning to dig themselves into the muscle there as he touched your clit, digits tracing around the rest of your cunt. The candlelight highlighted his features in such perfect detail, the illumination slight.

Reverence seeped into each action, every stroke of his fingers evoking a string of whimpers from you. He was passionate and careful, willing to learn your body better than you. He continued to caress your clit, the sensation sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

His name became your prayer, devolving into desperate moans and whispered pleas as you rocked your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Jacaerys,” You sighed with passion, feeling the stirring within your stomach. Arousal consumed every part of you, just as it did him. “Jace.”

The dark-haired Prince let out a soft groan into the hollow of your throat, wanting you more than anything, and the hand you had perched atop his thigh did little to ease the fever. He kissed your neck again, scarlet-faced and beyond eager, whispering sweet nothings in High Valyrian against your skin.

Excitement and the heat of the moment seemed to get to you, as you used one hand to sloppily unlace the leather ties of his trousers. You wanted to touch him too, let him feel exactly how you felt — how he made you feel.

Jace shivered, not objecting, but he wanted to focus on you above all else. “What about you?” He asked, feeling his cock twitch with want. The ache he had for you was almost painful, threatening to tear him apart if he couldn’t find relief.

“Together,” You suggested, turning enough to crawl into his lap, much to his delight. Jacaerys held you steady, lips clamoring together in a messy flurry of tongue and adoration. It was the anticipation of youth — the desire and sentiments overrode everything else, made duty disappear. “You are perfect.”

His brief smile made all of your worry dissipate, fading into mere background noise. Your hands returned to the leather ties of his breeches once more, sluggishly loosening them. Jace steeled himself, a fire burning within his belly as you reached down.

A low, satisfied groan tore past his lips when your hand gently wrapped around his cock, searching his visage for any sign of discomfort. There was none — only desire, lust festering within his gaze. He resumed touching you, digits circling your clit once more.

Within your delicate grasp, his length hardened, your palm finding a careful rhythm. Your hips twitched, rolling into the sensation of his hand. It was heavenly — the way in which he handled you was gallant and gentle. Arousal continued to gather between your thighs, a new and sticky feeling.

Intermingled gasps and groans filled the air, the both of you clinging to one another. Jacaerys leaned forward, mouth seeking yours, the kiss hot and gentle. Between your careful, uncertain strokes along his length and his digits teasing your cunt, the both of you were lost within the throes of passion.

He slipped his other hand underneath your nightgown, with enough leverage to remove it, if he so desired. Jacaerys broke the kiss long enough to ask, chest heaving with heavier breaths. “May I?” He whispered, voice husky and hoarse with lust.

You nodded, maneuvering your arms over your head as your nightgown slipped to the floor, leaving you bare before Jacaerys. The saltwater breeze which fluttered through your quarters left you shivering, both from the brief chill and anticipation.

The awestruck way in which he stared at you left you hot, body feverish beneath his tempered gaze. He kissed your collarbone, eyes warm and affectionate. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He stated, nearly breathless. His heart was yours — every fiber of his being devoted itself to you.

Smitten beneath his sweetly-spoken compliments, you trailed your fingers throughout his soft curls. The other slyly descended to reach for his cock again, but Jacaerys seemed to place your hand aside. You seemed confused, head canting to one side. “Do you not like it?”

His bemused chuckle filled your chambers, amiable and as warm as a cozy hearth. “Of course I like it,” Jacaerys murmured, kissing along your jaw and neck, holding you as close as he could. “I’d like to focus on you. There’s something that I wanted to try, if you’ll allow it.”

Surprised, you seemed open to whatever he wanted to try. “Anything you want, you will have. It’s yours.” You expected him to put you on your knees or turn you on your stomach. Instead, he coaxed you down onto your back, getting you to lay down as he crawled between your parted legs.

His mouth pressed a string of affectionate kisses along your shoulder and collarbone, beginning to dip lower toward the perky swell of your breasts. You squirmed slightly, uncertain of where this would lead to. You trusted Jace to follow his own instinct.

Your back arched when his mouth graced your breast, pressing kisses all around the pliant flesh. A moan escaped you, signaling your pleasure as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, gingerly suckling on the pebbled bud.

“Jace,” You squeaked, one hand flying to his mountain of dark curls, pushing your fingers through. He touched you in a way that evoked a sense of yearning, as if you were the only woman in the realm. His hand kneaded into your chest, a shiver coursing through him whenever you moaned his name. “Please.”

Heat simmered through him, a wave of desire that only seemed to grow in intensity, demanding to be extinguished. Your flesh tasted saccharine upon his tongue, but there was something else he wanted to taste. As he kissed your chest, he released his lips from your breast, continuing his descent.

He kissed you everywhere, reverence seeping into each brush of his mouth as he traversed your body. Jacaerys pressed his lips against your stomach, and then to your hips, palms sliding against your thighs.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he peppered a string of kisses along the inside of your thigh, showering you in little pecks of affection before he flattened himself entirely. You swallowed the lump within your throat; the sight of Jace’s face wedged in between your legs made you shiver, arousal following suit.

Everything was gentle, even the way in which his veined hands gripped the pliant flesh of your thighs to let them rest against his shoulders. He hesitated, allowing you a moment to adjust and steel yourself before he dipped forward, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt.

The singular, experimental stroke of his tongue caused you to shiver, hands curling into fists. If you could melt away into your furs, you would’ve, feeling his mouth press kisses against your core. “Jace,” You whined, attempting to hold still and cease your squirming. “Don’t stop.”

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, digits soothingly caressing along your thighs as he began to lap at your cunt, adopting a pace that was a little less sluggish. He nearly groaned when he felt your hand grasp at his curled tresses, sinking in toward the base of his skull.

In the nighttime gloom of Dragonstone, you found warmth and comfort in one another — affections intensified, and whatever bond you had before was now redefined entirely. Jacaerys loved you, he had never been more sure of himself until now, dutifully bringing about your pleasure.

A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he buried his mouth in the apex of your thighs. His tongue vigorously lapped and traced over your core, savoring your taste, committing it to memory. Bathed in moonlight, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Jacaerys made sure to savor you, letting it flick across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You’re perfect,” Jacaerys whispered, ensuring that you could hear it. Soft utterances of High Valyrian were etched into the flesh of your thigh. “Perfect.”

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

As he lapped at your clit again, you whimpered, moaning his name as if to keep his attention there. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head bobbed up and down against the furs, flesh beginning to glisten with the first inklings of perspiration. Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you sat. Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt.

Jace shivered at the sounds you made, enticed by each whimper and moan, every twitch of your body. He suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves, alternating between that and greedy, vigorous laps of his tongue. He let himself be lost within bliss, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he wanted to have again and again.

He was at your mercy, the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone — and you hadn’t the slightest clue. Jace’s brow creased in concentration as he focused on what spots made you squirm the most, continuing to dutifully lap at your clit until your knees trembled.

“Jace,” A needy moan left you, reverberating within the obsidian confines of your chambers. Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I think I’m close.” You groaned, unsure if it was just the throes of ecstasy or reality.

Nevertheless, you were on the verge of reaching your peak, and you didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you urged his head forward, fingers laced within his dark curls, right at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys groaned in delight, thoroughly enjoying the way you continued to coax him inward — he happily devoured every drop.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable within Jace’s hands. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that didn’t simmer immediately. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

His gallant smile gave you pause as you studied the rosy flush within his features, the glistening sheen of your arousal upon his lips. Jacaerys seemed entirely unphased, basking in your aftermath all the same, his curls tousled and disheveled.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Your tone was sheepish, realizing how much you’d tugged at his hair. If it were you, a tender-headed maiden, you would’ve been batting his hand away. Jace’s bemused chuckle caused you to duck your head.

Jace disarmed you with a charming, doting smile and a simple look of those earthen-brown eyes of his, and shook his head. “You could never hurt me,” He replied, his attempt at gentle flirtation. “I worry more for you.” His confession was soft-spoken.

The act of consummation was not intended to be a comfortable one — for a woman, at least. Jacaerys knew to broach this with care, to make sure that you were well enough before all else. He inched forward from between your thighs, resting his head atop your stomach.

He allowed you a moment of composure, feeling your digits trace the lines of his countenance, stroke at his tresses. Jace pressed a string of kisses all around your body, wherever his lips could reach. The moment was incredibly tender, lingering with the tension of a blossoming ardor.

Through the comfortable haze of silence, you cleared your throat, staring down at Jacaerys with what only could be described at a look of complete and utter adoration. He was so kind, so noble and gentle, yet with the fervor of the dragon’s blood, a desire to do good. You felt so fortunate, even moreso when he smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your hip.

“I want you, Jacaerys,” You whispered, watching as Jace began to sit up, letting your legs trap him on either side. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.” It was the hitch within his throat that made you shiver, heart hammering beneath your breast as you began to confess your feelings — it was inevitable.

Jace reveled at the sight of you, naked and glimmering within the moonlit dusk, candlelight bathing your physique in shades of flickering orange. His descent was slow as he covered you with his body, lips parting to allow a shaky exhale before he kissed your brow. “You have my heart,” He uttered, forehead resting against yours. “Everything I am, is yours.”

Your palms moved to cup either side of his face, thumbs caressing along his cheekbones before you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I am yours.” You assured, your commitment resolute before the Gods — before Jacaerys Velaryon.

It was a poignant moment, one that seemed intermingled with the seriousness of your words, yet still tinged with the youthful excitement of a first love. He kissed you, slow and amorous, full of an unrestrained affection that no longer seemed weighed-down by unspoken sentiments.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?” Jace asked, his voice a soft caress through your haze of kisses. He would not fault you if you wanted to stop now — and he would if you wished it of him. As much as he desired you, he valued your virtue above his own.

“Yes,” You replied, your palms gliding from his soft visage to the taut muscle of his shoulders, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. “Are you certain, too? I worry that you might regret lying with me.”

Jacaerys shook his head, brows furrowing together to reflect a semblance of disbelief. He reached down to caress your cheek, making sure that you understood every word. “Nothing in the world would ever make me regret this,” He murmured. “I’ve never been more certain about anything before.”

A brief stirring of adoration fluttered within your chest, and you knew that you wanted no one else ever again. You pulled yourself off of the mattress enough to kiss him, sinking into the sweet bliss of the moment as he reciprocated. His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, eyes beginning to flutter shut.

His hands planted themselves into the feathered pillow on either side of your head, but it didn’t last long. Jacaerys leaned back, maneuvering out of the leather of his trousers, flush against you once they were removed. You were so soft, like an ocean of silk beneath him.

He felt one of your legs hitch around his hips, bodies together beneath the furs. The chill of your chambers dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your skin. You kept your hands poised against his shoulders, dancing across the smattering of freckles there as you continued to kiss him, as if each one would be your last.

The hardened swell of his cock pressed against your lower stomach, and you could feel his breath grow heavier between kisses. He was perfect — flawless, so handsome that it made you ache with want.

Jace kissed you again and again, feeling the soft peaks of your breasts brush against his chest. He adjusted his weight, shifted his hips as he pressed the head of his length against your slick cunt. He was somewhat nervous — perhaps not as much as you, but anxious enough. He made sure to be careful, feeling your legs nudge themselves apart.

A look of mutual preparedness passed between you both, between your doe-eyed gaze of anticipation and Jace’s mounting look of want, there was little room left for uncertainty. He sat up enough to position himself against your aching core, his cock splitting past your folds before it prodded at your entrance.

You steeled yourself, and Jace made sure to be slow, afraid of hurting you enough to cause true discomfort. As he tilted forward, his length filled you, sheathing himself inside of you, inch by inch. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good feeling — not initially, anyway.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he bottomed out, staying still atop you as he allowed you time to grow accustomed to him. Waves of complete and utter bliss rolled through him, his own pleasure nearly overwhelming. You were tight, maidenhead intact for the next few moments until he began to move.

“Are you alright?” Jace whispered around the shell of your ear, pressing against you once more as he reassuringly kissed along the side of your face. He felt despicable for causing you any amount of pain, but you seemed to dismiss his concern.

“I am,” You placated him with a smile, coaxing him in for a kiss. It was best if you didn’t think about it — and with time, it would feel better. Everything was awkward and clumsy, the follies of youth, but as Jace began to move, a fire began to burn within your belly. “Jace.” You sighed, keeping your leg around his hips.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things so quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to the act itself. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

Bliss soon replaced discomfort, the more you allowed yourself to adjust. You shifted your legs further apart, one hand falling toward his bicep, the other remaining tangled at the nape of his neck. The sounds of your lovemaking soon filled your chambers, with your foreheads pressed together.

Your name fell from his tongue in a needy groan, and it made you shiver, body reacting with a barrage of gooseflesh along your spine. Perspiration grew upon his brow as he maintained his pace, digits curling into the furs on either side of you.

The sound of your pleasured moans made him feel better, a sign that you were no longer riddled with soreness and irritation. Jace pressed a trail of hot, messy kisses along your face, reaching to the sweet spot beneath your jaw. He kept himself anchored there, feeling your hand squeeze at his bicep.

“Jace!” You squeaked, flushed at the growing lewdness of the noises — the squelching, the passionate groans and heavy breathing. He was perfect, cock filling you in a way that left you completely satisfied. Jace felt your hand fall away from his bicep, reaching for his own, interlocked hands falling back against the cushions.

He shuddered, reveling in the way your cunt tightened around him, the sensation of your hand within his hair, hands joined at your side. Jace’s pace began to quicken, but only somewhat, enough to really feel the myriad of pleasure take hold.

You yearned for him in every way imaginable; your body ached with each movement, every thrust as he leisurely moved in and out of you. His cock pulsated with a dull throbbing, enough to fill his belly with a raging fire. He kissed you again, lips traversing wherever they saw fit, peppering every inch of your sweet skin.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow in your presence — Jacaerys wouldn’t want it any other way. If he could capture this moment, he would’ve. Every moment was graced by a warm intimacy that sank into his very bones, his adoration for you furthered with each roll of his hips, sheathing himself inside of you.

His soft lips graced your collarbone, continuing to make love to you in the only way he knew how. It was passionate and gentle, in a way reserved for the deepest of lovers. Jace grunted when your hips involuntarily rolled upward to grind against him, lips parting as he squeezed your hand.

At last, he lifted his head, your eyes locking together. Your countenance was exceptionally beautiful, especially when painted with the shade of desire, and it had him aching with want. His jaw tensed when you brushed dark curls away from his eyes, palm lingering long enough to pull him down for a kiss.

His cock continued to hit your cunt with a tame fervor, filling you completely, testing your limits as he neared his peak. Jacaerys knew that there would be more moments like these in the future — his energy was waning, and perhaps, the unfamiliarity of it all contributed to this.

Your name spilled from his tongue, throat echoing with a soft groan as his pace became slightly erratic. It was difficult to control himself amidst chasing after his release, but he maintained what little composure he had, gritting his teeth together as he thrust into you again.

Pleasure contorted into ecstasy, becoming an unstoppable wave that was quick to take hold of him. Concentration intermingled with bliss were etched into his features, face pressing against yours, nearly breathless as you kissed him again.

With a groan, Jacaerys rocked forward again, spilling himself inside of you. In hindsight, it was both brazen and feckless, done in the heat of the moment, but he cared little of it for the time being. His cock throbbed, thrusting into you again a time or two before he stilled completely.

Heavy pants resonated between you both as you caught your breath, flush against one another in the aftermath. You pressed a kiss against Jace’s cheek, trailing your fingers throughout his hair. He was quick to kiss you, gathering his composure before he pulled himself out of you.

A rush of sticky warmth slathered the inside of your thighs, leaving behind a feeling of slight discomfort. Jace gathered a cloth for you to clean yourself with, returning to lay beside you as he rucked the furs up around your bodies. The air was colder at nightfall, injected with a saltwater mist.

“I apologize if I hurt you,” Jacaerys uttered, dark brows furrowing together as you wriggled closer, resting your head atop his bare chest. Your arm draped over him, allowing yourself to be close, a feeling that he wanted more than anything else. “It was not my intention.” He kissed the top of your head.

“You didn’t,” You replied, tracing soft patterns against his skin, angling your head up enough to kiss him. Jace cupped your jaw, leaning in to deepen the tender entanglement, lost within the bliss of your lips. “You would never hurt me.”

Jacaerys was fiercely protective over you, that much was true — even from himself. He kept an arm wrapped around you, cradling you at his side as he gazed into your eyes. He could see you, then — his beloved wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but he knew.

As the both of you settled in together, your maidenhead now lost, you couldn’t help but smile. Jacaerys had made your first experience more than anyone ever could — you hoped that it would stay that way forever. “Does your offer of teaching High Valyrian still stand?” You mused.

A huff of amusement left Jacaerys as he turned his head enough to look at you, a smile playing at either corner of his mouth. “I thought you wanted those dusty old books.” Admittedly, his offering of those damned texts is what started this in the first place — he had to be grateful.

“I knew that you would be kind enough to bring them to me,” You confessed, nose wrinkling in amusement. “An excuse to see you.” The look on Jace’s face was one of theatrical shock, and you erupted into a fit of laughter when he squeezed your hip.

“You might grow tired of me, if I am to teach you High Valyrian.” Jacaerys mused, his smile one of complete and utter warmth. Anyone would know that his love for you was obvious — there wasn’t any subtlety about it.

You shook your head, comfortably sinking against him, your upper body lounging atop him. “I could never grow tired of you, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You exhaled, exhaustion beginning to grip you. It was bound to happen eventually, given the abnormally late hour.

Jace was thankful that you weren’t looking — his face was dusted with a rather obvious layer of pink, and yet, the feeling was beyond satisfying. The two of you allowed the silence to sink through, accompanied by the sound of the encroaching tide as it broke upon the jagged rock and cliff sides surrounding Dragonstone.

“Will you stay?” You asked, hoping that he would be agreeable to it. It was a risky proposition, but Jace knew that he couldn’t leave you after this — he didn’t want to, either. No one would come clamoring about within his chambers at first light.

“Of course,” He murmured, lips twitching into a sweet smile. “Though, I should go at the first light of dawn.” Jace’s tone was one of clear disappointment, but it was best to keep suspicions low. You knew that he had duties that transcended you — he was the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir — and you were not betrothed.

A sense of understanding settled onto your features, but you still wanted him by your side — you wished that you could wake up next to him. “I hope that dawn never comes, then.” You whispered, taking his hand within yours as you pressed a kiss against his palm, knowing that there would be many more dawns to come with him at your side.

copyright @ swordgrace; please do not translate, steal, or copy my works and post them onto other platforms or claim as your own.

[flowersforbucky]

practice

john walker x ex widow!reader

"Was that your first kiss since your divorce?"

"That bad, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

word count: 4.2k

author's note: imagine the conversation between steve and nat in the winter soldier but make it reader and walker 🤭

warnings/tags: 18+ only, kissing and suggestiveness, sensuality, tension, bickering, canon level violence, undercover couple trope, no use of y/n

“I swear to God, Walker. You're making this so obvious. Stop staring.”

You kick his shin beneath the table where you sit across him. The two of you are nestled in the corner of the overcrowded room full of party-goers, trying your best to remain inconspicuous.

You're trying your hardest to remain inconspicuous. Your partner, on the other hand, has been ogling the target from across the room for the last half hour.

He shoots daggers at you with his eyes. “Oh, I'm sorry,” he spits under his breath. “Is that not what I’m supposed to be doing? Keeping an eye on the target?”

“There’s a difference between keeping an eye on someone and eye-fucking them,” you hiss.

Walker scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not eye-fucking him. Jesus. We don’t all have backgrounds as highly trained spies, you know.”

Maybe you’re being a little too harsh on him. This is his first true undercover operation since the formation of The New Avengers. He’s a soldier, after all – not a spy. It's no secret that he hadn’t exactly been jumping at the bits to put on a fancy suit and pretend to be your date tonight, but at least he’s kept his bitching and moaning to a minimum.

Despite his little staring problem, he’s otherwise played his part well. Touchy enough for it to be believable that you’re here as each other’s dates, but not too touchy. An arm around your shoulder here, a light hand on your waist there. Hesitant, and a little awkward, but you’re the only one who notices – everyone else here is too busy stroking each other’s dicks to read into your forced public displays of affection.

You lean over the small table, taking his hand in yours in an effort to play your part. “Just glance in his direction regularly,” you advise lowly. “We aren't here to analyze his every movement. Until he goes to meet the seller, we can relax.”

Which is exactly what you’ve been doing since you first arrived at the estate this evening. Mingling, sipping on mocktails to keep up appearances, just trying to blend in while keeping watch on the man that you’d been tasked to spy on.

This entire party is supposedly a cover for the owner of the estate to meet up with a vibranium arms dealer – based off of the limited information Valentina had provided, the owner of the estate, Alexander Sokolov, had arranged for a meeting with a vibranium arms dealer to take place here tonight. Your and Walker’s objective – wait for Sokolov to excuse himself from the party, follow him, and eavesdrop. Valentina wants you to find out who this dealer is and when this deal will go down.

To sum it up, you’re only here for intel. As long as things go according to plan, there should be no reason for either of you to get your hands dirty tonight.

“I’m just a little on edge. I’m not used to missions looking like… this.” He nods down at where your hand holds his, and then vaguely gestures with his free hand to your surroundings – the grand piano in the corner of the room, the full service bar, the extravagant décor and all of the ridiculously rich assholes in attendance.

His lack of experience in this area is exactly where you come in, you suppose. Undercover ops, taking on someone else’s identity – you’ve been there, done that more times than you can count. It’s second nature to you.

Normally, you’d be right in your element. But this – holding hands, soft touches, close whispers, exaggerated longing looks with a teammate, a partner, someone that you actually care about – is brand new territory.

You’re just a little better at hiding it than he is, is all.

“Just look at me more than you look at him,” you suggest lightly. “Like it or not, I am your date.”

He snorts a laugh, then lifts his drink to his face in an effort to conceal the light blush on his cheeks. “I’m a bit out of practice, I guess. I haven’t been on a date since—”

“He’s leaving,” you interrupt him, your eyes trailing after Sokolov as he struts to the opposite side of the room. You stand up, not dropping Walker’s hand. He follows your lead, rising from his seat.

He's been a little unsure of himself so far this evening, so it surprises you when he puts his hand on the small of your back and begins to guide you across the floor. No one seems to notice that Sokolov exits the room, except for a security guard that follows him when he exits.

“Remember,” you murmur as you make you way through the throng of people, “If anyone asks where we are going, we are just looking for the bathrooms.”

“The bathrooms are in the opposite direction. There’s only about a dozen signs for them,” he hisses under his breath.

“Well, we better not get caught, then,” you retort through gritted teeth as you poke him in the side with a saccharine smile, just in case anyone is looking your way.

He responds with an exaggerated laugh that earns glances from a group of older women congregated by the door that Sokolov had just walked through moments before.

“Smooth,” you grunt as soon as the two of you are out of ear shot of the other guests. Sokolov and the guard turn left as they reach the end of the long corridor, leaving it vacant except for you and Walker.

As silently as possible, you both follow them, unsure of exactly where they are headed within the mansion. You assume a private room; an office or a study – but then they exit the house completely through a door on the opposite side of the house from the party.

You peak out of a window as Walker stands obnoxiously close to your backside. You’re unsure if it’s due to nerves or general lack of spatial awareness, but you bite your tongue and focus on the scene at hand.

It's dark outside, but there’s enough flood and path lights to see that Sokolov and his guard are standing in the middle of an extravagant courtyard garden. A moment later, a third man appears from an entryway on the west side of the courtyard. You don’t recognize him as a guest of the party, but Sokolov obviously knows him well by the way he greets him with a chummy grin and enthusiastic handshake.

“Any idea who he is?” You whisper to Walker.

“Not a clue,” he grunts lowly, close enough that you feel the vibration of his chest against your back. “How should we proceed?”

It takes you by surprise that he asks for your direction. It goes against Walker’s nature to take orders from anyone, and being the shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy that he usually is, you halfway expected him to forget that you're only here for intel and charge at the guy on sight.

“Can you hear anything that they're saying? Read their lips?” You ask hopefully, glancing around dark room - an open floor kitchen and dining room – to brainstorm. Your regular human hearing and eyesight can’t make out the first word from inside the house, but you hold out hope knowing that the super soldier serum that courses through Walker’s veins heightens his senses.

“No,” he sighs. “They’re too far away, their voices are mumbled.”

If the two of you were to attempt to exit out of the same door they did, you’d be spotted right away. But to your right, on the other side of the dining room, there’s a sliding glass door. If you can ease it open, you'll be able to sneak outside and listen from behind the exterior wall of the house.

Walker follows your gaze, noticing the door and realizing what you’re thinking without you needing to say a word. You walk as quietly and quickly as you can manage in your heels, flipping the lock to the door and slowly easing it open until the there's a big enough opening for Walker’s large frame to squeeze through. It creaks a bit, but Sokolov and the seller keep talking, oblivious to your presence.

Right at the edge of the house, there’s a large potted plant that helps to conceal you both. You stand the closest to the plant, with Walker right behind you, still close enough for his chest to brush against your back. You listen in silence, waiting for Sokolov or the seller to mention anything of value. They talk lowly – still too quiet for you to make much out other than a random word here and there.

“Next weekend,” Walker whispers next to your ear. “Deal’s going down next Saturday night. Over two million in vibranium weapons.”

“Have they said where?” you whisper back. “What about a name? We need to get an ID on this guy.”

He shakes his head, exhaling in frustration.

Goddammit. They aren’t making your jobs easy.

You open your clutch, reaching inside to retrieve your cell phone. If you could just part the branches and leaves on this plant enough, you could zoom in to at least get a photograph of the seller’s face to run through facial recognition programs…

“Shit, shit, fuck—”

As you’re trying to zip the clutch closed so that nothing falls out of it, you lose your grip on your cell phone and it falls out of your hand, onto the cement pavement at your feet. It makes a loud enough noise to cause both you and Walker to freeze.

Sokolov and the seller both go silent. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.

“Let’s go—”

“No time to run,” Walker cuts you off.

“Who is there?” Sokolov’s voice booms from a few yards away. “Show yourselves!”

Their footsteps grow louder as they walk towards your and Walker’s hiding spot. You have maybe five seconds to think of a game plan that doesn’t involve shooting your way out of this –

“Don’t kick me in the dick for what I’m about to do,” Walker mumbles, shaking his head.

You open your mouth to ask him what he’s talking about when he maneuvers you up against the side of the house. Your back collides against the wall, and his large hands caress the sides of your stomach. You gasp in surprise, but the noise is muffled by his lips capturing yours.

Oh. So this is the game plan, then.

You run with it, knowing there’s no time to flee or think of any plausible explanation as to why the two of you are so far away from the party, in an off-limits part of the estate.

Your hands instinctively fly to his head, your fingers weaving through the short tufts of his blond hair. It’s rushed and messy, his tongue dancing with yours for dominance. For a split-second, you forget where you are and why this is happening. There’s no fear or worry at the fact that you’re seconds away from being caught – there’s only the scruff of his beard tickling your jaw, the musky scent of his cologne that infiltrates your senses, and an undeniable heat between your legs.

His movements are uncertain yet enthusiastic – you’re sure it’s due to the rather unusual predicament that you’ve found yourselves in, but there’s a part of you that wonders if the kiss would be the same under different circumstances.

You can hear voices yelling at you, masculine and angry, but you can’t make out what they are saying over the deafening rush of blood in your ears. Walker pulls away with a low groan that snaps you back to reality.

There’s a small voice in the back of your mind scolding you for actually enjoying that, but you’ll have to process that later. When you're far the fuck away from here and Walker isn’t still gripping your hips like a lifeline. Your eyes meet for the briefest of moments, just long enough for you to see his dilated pupils and then kiss swollen lips before the gravity of the situation sets in.

“Can you two not fucking hear?” Sokolov yells. “I said who the fuck are you and what are you doing here? This area is off-limits to guests!”

Sokolov and the seller both stand several feet behind Sokolov’s security guard, who has a Glock 17 pointed right at the two of you. You recognize the pistol right away – its little sister, Glock 19, is concealed in your clutch.

“Oh!” You exclaim, feigning shock and embarrassment. You smooth down your dress where Walker’s hold had bunched up the fabric, and then wrap your arms around his bicep as the two of you turn to face the three men. “We’re so sorry. We were on our way back to our car when we saw the garden and just couldn’t help ourselves—”

“Right,” Walker agrees, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. “We apologize. We just lost track of time. We’ll be going—”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Sokolov barks. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you?”

You feel him tense beneath your hold on his arm. You give him a reassuring squeeze as if to say don’t escalate. Before you can attempt to bullshit Sokolov further with your undercover names, the seller steps forward with a look of apprehension.

“I recognize you,” the older, paunchy looking man grunts at Walker. “I’ve seen you somewhere. What's your name?”

You glance up at your partner to see that he looks like a deer in the headlights. It takes you back to the time you had first met him – when you’d been tasked with killing him, only to join forces with him, Yelena, Ava, and Bob in an effort to escape the warehouse facility Valentina had sent you all to burn alive in. During the attempt to steal a Humvee while in disguise, you had been asked to identify yourselves.

Walker’s response to that demand had been “no”.

Perhaps lying under pressure isn’t his strong suit.

“My name is Isobel Callaway, and this is my date, Mason Aldridge,” you answer when Walker hesitates for an awkward amount of time. “I have our invitations right here, if you’d like to see—”

“He wasn't talking to you,” Sokolov snaps. It takes everything in you to not pull your pistol from your clutch and end this all right here and now, but if Walker can manage to keep a level head, then so can you.

“No, he’s right,” Sokolov muses, stepping forward to take a closer look at Walker. His lips contort into a sinister smile. “I know you. You’re that knock-off Captain America. Well, you were. What the fuck are you doing creeping around my property?”

Another brief moment of awkward silence, and then Walker lunges forward, wrapping his hand around the barrel of the security guard’s pistol. The guard fires a shot, but Walker easily overpowers him in strength and the bullet goes flying towards the night sky. Within seconds, Walker takes the gun and sends the guard flying backwards from a mere punch to the sternum.

Walker grabs you by the arm as Sokolov and the seller both start scrambling to retrieve their own firearms from the their coat pockets. You run as fast as you can to keep up with Walker as he all but hauls you across the courtyard, all while internally cursing the fact that you’d chosen to wear the pointiest stiletto heels that you own.

Both men fire a series of bullets in your general direction, but they only succeed in hitting Sokolov’s garden statues. Right as the parking lot comes into view, you see several more guards running towards you and Walker from the opposite direction. You scramble to retrieve the car keys from your clutch, tossing them to Walker as you dive into the passenger seat. He wastes no time throwing the car into reverse, speeding away from the estate as dozens of bullets bounce off the vehicle’s bulletproof windows.

“Damn it,” you breathe. Adrenaline courses through you as you try to catch your breath. The security guards and the estate grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “That was a bust. Val is gonna be so pissed at me. And I left my phone. That phone was brand new, too…”

“Who gives a shit about Val,” Walker grunts in what sounds like discomfort. “We’ll tell her that the seller never showed and Sokolov spent the evening getting shit-faced off of his expensive bourbon collection.”

His response takes you by surprise – you had been bracing yourself for him to bitch you out for dropping your cell phone and biffing the entire operation. You side-eye him, noticing that his face is contorted into a grimace.

“You good?” you ask, angling your body to get a better look at him. It’s too dark to see him very well, but judging by his facial expression, he’s in some sort of pain.

“Yeah,” he hisses, removing one hand from the steering wheel to turn the car’s interior light on. “I’ll be fine, just got graz—”

“Holy shit, John!”

He pulls back the right side of his coat, revealing his white button-up shirt to be dyed bright crimson across his abdomen. He yanks the fabric upwards, revealing a bloody gash where a bullet had skimmed his right side.

“We need to get somewhere safe,” you tell him, trying not to panic. It doesn’t appear to be too deep, but he’s already bled quite a bit. It needs to at least be cleaned and dressed, if nothing else. “You need to apply pressure to that. There’s a first aid kit in the trunk—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts you. “The bleeding will slack off soon enough. Let’s just get back to the Watchtow—”

“No,” you shake your head with finality. “We’re three hours from Manhattan. We're stopping for the night. There’s a safe house twenty minutes from here.”

You put the address to the safe house in the GPS, and to your surprise, Walker doesn’t object any further. You consider offering to drive, but you know he'll insist that he’s fine – and he will be fine, thanks to the super soldier serum that causes him to heal quicker than most would. But he’s still human, so it's still important that he bandages a fucking gunshot wound.

That’s your rationale for insisting on stopping at the safe house for the night, anyway. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that him pushing you up against the wall and kissing you like your lives depended on it is clouding your judgment.

It was for the mission. He never would have kissed you otherwise. You know this, and yet you can't stop replaying it in your head. The scruff of his beard, his hold on your waist, the slightly awkward yet eager way his lips moved against yours…

You clench your thighs together where you sit in the passenger seat, internally cursing yourself for even thinking about Walker in the way that you are. He’s bleeding out beside you, and you're getting worked up over a fake kiss.

After what feels like an exceptionally long car ride, you arrive at the safe house – though it can hardly be called a house – it's barely bigger than a shed. You’ll be lucky if there's one bed, let alone two.

Walker goes inside while you retrieve the first aid kit from the trunk of the car. When you enter a few moments later, he's already shed both his jacket and button-up. He sits on the couch, blood caked across his abdomen.

No one should look that good covered in blood. It isn't right.

“See?” He sighs as you lock the door behind you. “It has already stopped bleeding.”

“Good,” you hum, breaking your stare on him. You glance around the small kitchen for some additional supplies to distract yourself from how warm your face feels. You manage to find a singular hand towel, which you run under warm water to use to clean the blood off of him.

When you walk over to him with the first aid kit and towel, he reaches out to take the supplies from you. You sit down beside him on the small couch’s limited amount of space, shaking your head.

“Let me,” you insist. “It’s my fault this happened, anyway.”

He stares at you for a moment, his expression indecipherable, and then nods. He raises his right arm to give you access to his side, resting it on the back of the couch.

You delicately swipe the damp cloth across his stomach, starting with the dried blood matted in the hair around his belly button. The intimacy of the situation isn’t loss on you, but you don’t let yourself dwell on it. He’s perfectly capable of cleaning himself up, but there’s something compelling you to be close to him.

You clear your throat after a minute of thick silence. “I have a question for you. Which you do not have to answer – I feel like if you don’t answer it though, you’re kind of answering it, you know?”

He exhales in annoyance, though his stare is curious. “What?”

“Was that your first kiss since your divorce?”

He chuckles, throwing his head back against the couch to stare up at the ceiling. “That bad, huh?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well, it kind of sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”

With his skin now clean, you move onto dressing the wound. Any normal person would have definitely needed stitches, but the gash already looks smaller than it did when he had first showed you in the car. Still, you proceed with applying an antibiotic ointment before bandaging it.

“It was,” he sighs. “My first kiss since the divorce. First kiss in almost two years. Guess I’m kind of out of practice.”

You pause, looking up at him. He meets your gaze again, his cheeks slightly pink in embarrassment.

“It wasn’t bad,” you assure him sincerely. A heavy ball of nerves settle in the pit of your stomach. “Really, I mean… despite the circumstances, I enjoyed it. I don’t exactly get a lot of time for practice myself,” you laugh awkwardly.

It's true. Maybe it hasn’t been almost two years like it has for him, but this line of work doesn’t exactly leave you much time for dating or even casual intimacy.

“That makes two of us, then,” he chuckles softly, and then leans in closer to you. The already too small safe house suddenly feels even smaller, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m sorry, though,” you murmur with a small smile. You avoid his gaze, staring down at the bloodied towel in your hand. “I hate that your first kiss in years had to be wasted on a fake mission kiss.”

He snorts. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who kissed you, and I’m definitely not sorry. Unless, of course, you didn’t enjoy it or it made you uncomfortable or my breath was bad or—”

“Jesus, Walker,” you groan, shutting up his rambling by leaning forward and pulling his face to yours for the second time tonight.

For a second, he’s still. Just when you fear that you’ve imagined the tension between you and wonder if you should pull away, his lips begin to move with yours. The same enthusiasm from earlier is still present, though there’s now less uncertainty in his movements. His hands once again settle on your sides, pulling you closer to him.

Now that the two of you are alone, and there’s no threat of dangerous men shooting you at any given moment, you quickly see that he had been holding back earlier. In the privacy of the secluded safe house, he doesn’t hesitate to pull you onto his lap. You straddle him, being careful not to brush against the wound on his side.

Your hands trail down the expanse of his bare chest and his do the same to your back. He groans into your mouth, deep and guttural, and the heat between your legs flares once more. Your dress is hiked around upper thighs, allowing you grind down against the growing bulge beneath the smooth material of his pants.

You break the kiss, feeling light-headed and hazy, and look down at him. “So…” you hesitate, sweeping the pad of your thumb over his kiss-swollen bottom lip. His eyes flicker between your eyes and lips, his hands planted firmly on your hips, keeping you rooted against him.

“Is there anything else you’d like to practice, while we’re at it?”

☆☆☆☆☆☆

thank you for reading!! as always, comments and reblogs are very appreciated 🥰💕

[chaes-tea]

── // feeling the dream .

// kpop demon hunters fic. // jinu x reader. // a/n: hi! i hadn't planned on expanding living the nightmare, but here you go! his pov: living the nightmare ⚠️!! WARNING: kpop demon hunters spoilers !!

Your eyes shoot open, your vision blurred by tears. Blinking them away, you grab your phone from your nightstand.

3:48 am.

You had that dream again. Well, not exactly again, but this is the only one that's recurring. These dreams specifically always seem to take place in the same time period, with the same people. A mother, a little girl, a young man, and... you? At least, that's the perspective these dreams always put you in.

Dressed in rags, surrounded by a variety of medicinal plants, you figured that 'you' were a low class physician. Glimpses of the noble class attire in other dreams suggested that all of these dreams take place in Joseon, Korea. Though no two dreams were ever the same, they always involved the same mother, little girl, and young man. Despite the muffled voices and the blurred faces, you couldn't help but feel that they were related to 'you'. The terms 'in-laws' and 'lover' comes to mind. Were they family? Were they 'your' family?

It's strange, you think. These dreams are starting to feel more and more familiar to you. Nostalgic, like you've experienced them before. A cold winter night, a scorching hot summer, a warm embrace, a kiss under the starry sky– all with that man.

You decided to tell Rumi about it the next night.

"I've had them for a while now," you said. "I don't really know how to explain it. It's almost like... they're my own memories? But not really. It feels like I'm living someone else's life."

"Have you talked to Celine about this?" You shake your head.

"No, though that probably isn't a bad idea."

"It wouldn't hurt to try, she might know a thing or two." She says. "So, you've had these dreams for how long and never told me?"

"Rumi, please-"

"Just kidding~"

You and Rumi have been friends since childhood, way before the formation of Huntr/x. With both of your mothers being a part of the Sunlight Sisters, it was inevitable that you two would stay friends.

The two of you chat about anything and everything else, until a wave of tiredness hits you.

"Okay, Roomba, I'm getting tired," you say, holding back a yawn, "I'm gonna head out now. Good night."

"Hehe, goodnight, [Name]."

You didn't end up telling her about your latest dream, though, which woke you up in tears. In the dream, 'you' reached a hand out to a person's back, large wooden palace doors closing behind them. The distress, the sadness, the pain, you felt it all. But this time, you got a name.

You drift off to sleep, thinking of the name from the dream.

"Jinu!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Is this place even credible, Zoey?" You ask, staring at the entrance suspiciously.

"Don't you ever listen to Bobby, [Name]? The internet. Never. Lies!"

It was the day after Rumi lost her voice. Zoey suggested to get tonics from a shady looking alleyway doctor.

"There's no way he's legit, Zoey." Mira replies.

"The reviews were so good though!"

Needless to say that that whole ordeal was an experience to be remembered. After losing the staring contest with Mira, the doctor gave Rumi a box of the tonics– or, as Mira calls it, 'voice juice'– and the four of you went off on your merry way.

"We got the tonics! Yay!" Zoey exclaims. "Once your voice is fixed, we can get back to the important stuff, like the fans!"

"What exactly is in this 'voice juice' anyways?" You ask, taking a peek into the box.

Before you could take a better look at the tonics, the four of you see shadows in front of you. Five young men turn the corner. Tall, photogenic, straight off the cover of a magazine. A few of them talked amongst themselves, some listening into the conversations. One of them, a man with black hair, trails behind them, lost in his own thoughts, until he directs his gaze forward, past the men in front of him, and he looks at you.

The moment he sees you, it's like something in his expression changes. Not visually, but the way he looks at you with his chocolate colored eyes feels like he knows you. Not in the way that a fan recognizes their favorite artist, but like he knows knows you. And you don't know why, but you also feel like you know him.

He looks away and gently pulls the cyan haired man closer to him, making space for your group to pass.

"Excuse us."

You can't say for sure, but you feel like you've heard that voice before.

Later that night, you have another dream about 'you' again. This time, it's dark, 'your' eyelids are heavy, about to fall asleep. The sound of crickets fill the night, and there's a gentle breeze in the air. A comforting touch tucks a strand of hair away. Your conscious knows it's the young man again. He presses a kiss to 'your' forehead before whispering.

"Good night."

[hhhwnr]

ꨄSweet enough — S.R

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author’s note: a soft little scene I couldn’t get out of my head <3. This is my first time writing in tumblr format and in English, which isn’t my first language, so please be kind. I will appreciate any input on how to improve my writing/ tips / etc, but only in a respectful manner ! :)

genre: fluff/domestic. word count: 774.

pairing: soft!Spencer x reader. (established relationship)

Warnings: none! Just domestic fluff about Spencer and reader cooking together on their day off. Reader is a scientist in research but I’m not sure if it’s relevant to the story.

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“You know baking is a science, right?”

Spencer asks, raising one eyebrow as you crack an egg into the bowl with reckless confidence.

“I thought I could get away from work for one day,” you say with a smile. “But no—science still finds me.”

It was the first quiet moment you’d shared in weeks. Between his cases, your research, and flights across the country—not for vacation, unfortunately —this lazy afternoon at your place felt like stolen, precious time. Domestic, slow, and completely yours.

“You know, back in the 1960s, boxed cake mixes were really popular because they were quick and convenient,” Spencer says, handing you a spoon. “Originally, you didn’t even need to add an egg—the mix had everything included. But sales started to drop because many women felt like they were cheating, like they weren’t really baking. So, companies changed the formula. They made it so you had to add an egg, just to give people the feeling they were more involved in the process. And it worked—sales went back up.”

You smile as he talks. God, how you loved his facts. You let him ramble non stop, even if you were a little lost in the amount of information he had reserved in his mind, you made sure to listen.

Most people don’t. They dismiss his excitement, call his facts useless and tune out attempts to share those little pieces of knowledge— like that time on the jet when Agent Seaver said, “Sorry for asking,” right as he started one of his rambles you would’ve found fascinating. It stung, even if Spencer didn’t say anything.

Besides, it’s Spencer Reid, your boyfriend we’re talking about here. How could you dismiss the ramblings of the love of your life, standing in your kitchen with a ridiculous pink apron on, rolled up sleeves that revealed his absolutely beautiful hands that you adore so much.

“I think that’s stupid,” you chuckle, looking up at him. “People complained about baking being too easy?”

“Apparently,” he says, laughing softly.

You pour the batter into the dish and slide it into the oven, brushing a bit of flour off his chin. “Good thing we’re doing it the hard way. Just for the authentic experience.”

“Very authentic,” Spencer agrees, leaning lightly against the counter. “Flour everywhere, questionably measured ingredients, and a complete disregard for time.”

You bump your hip into his. “It’s called freestyle baking. You wouldn’t get it, Doctor.”

“On the contrary,” he says, his voice softening. “I think I’m starting to like it.”

There’s a pause—not awkward, but familiarly charged, in the sweetest and most domestic way. The kitchen hums around you, the oven ticking, the warm smell of vanilla starting to fill the room.

You glance up at him, already watching you with that look—gentle, curious, like you’re a puzzle he’s happy never solving.

“What?” you whisper.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head slowly. “You just look really… happy.”

“I am,” you say, stepping closer. “Are you?”

“Mhm, very.” He almost purrs.

And then he kisses you—soft and unhurried, like there’s nowhere else to be. You taste sugar on his lips and warmth on his fingertips as they slide to your waist, his palm settling there with easy familiarity.

Your hands glide up to his shoulders, pressing yourself closer, closer, closer — so there will be no way to tell where you end and he begins.

Spencer’s kisses are never rushed, never urgent. Just good. Familiar. The kind of kisses that makes you want to forget the cake entirely and just stay in the moment.

He holds you close, one hand warm and steady on your waist, the other one on your cheek, caressing it like the slightest pressure might break you. His lips move in slow tandem with yours, and you can taste the sugar and the raw, sweet batter he insisted on trying “for research purposes”.

Spencer’s tongue brushes against your lower lip in a silent question for slipping in, and you let him. You don’t devour each other — not really. Rather slicing piece by piece from each other — gently, tenderly, incredibly sweetly so, like you’re the most precious thing in the world, and so is he.

Eventually the natural need for oxygen wins, and both of you pull away — slightly flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

“You know,” you whisper, your voice hoarse a little. “You’re going to make me burn this cake. No chance it turns out edible.”

Spencer’s grip on your waist tightens slightly, and his hand returns to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.

“I’ll eat it anyway, even if it’s terrible.” He says with a boyish grin.

Thank you for reading ♥︎

[jeonstellate]

the best day

carlos keeps a watchful eye on his daughter [first name] as she explores the paddock.

★ᝰ carlos sainz jr x toddler!daughter!reader

★ᝰ no warnings available — fluff!

★ᝰ paragraph format — 1.3K words

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[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

★ᝰ title from taylor swift’s the best day.

★ᝰ all the spanish — and toddler talk — in this are from google, unfortunately.

★ᝰ the random inspo for this was those vids of toddlers in fluffy onesies. it prompted the idea of toddler!yn in a stitch onesie who refuses to answer to any name other than ‘stitch.’ alas, to my astonishment, that idea didn’t even fit *insert person standing emoji here*

With the Spanish Grand Prix underway, the paddock is [first name] Sainz’s to conquer. She toddles along pass the motorhomes as fast as her little legs can, one squeaky step at a time.

Her father, Carlos Sainz Jr., follows her a step behind, eyes simultaneously soft and focused. [First name] may be wearing an outfit that covers the entirety of her legs, but he doesn’t really trust that it’ll save her from scraping them if she falls.

In his humblest opinion, his daughter is a little too young to refuse to walk next to him and hold his hand, but alas. What [first name] wants, [first name] gets.

Carlos almost bumps into [first name] when she suddenly stops and pivots to face the motorhome on her right. "Papa, ca!" She exclaims, pointing excitedly upwards. "Ca! Iiiih!"

He turns to see for himself, only to be hit with the proud and overly familiar Ferrari red. His darling daughter, as it turns out, is captivated by the prancing horse above the door.

He squats next to her. And, like an instinct or another, she moves closer to stand between his bended legs. "Bien hecho, mi amor," he praises, "es un caballo." ["Well done, my love, that is a horse."]

She giggles as he presses a kiss on her cheek. It’s always been the best sound he’s heard, especially when he’s the one who elicits it from her. "Itch too, Papa," she says, moving her stuffie closer for him to kiss.

Naturally, he obliges. "Claro, no podemos olvidarnos de Stitch." ["Of course, we can’t forget about Stitch."] In a fit of inspired parenting, he returns her attention to the building in front of them. He points towards the red walls. "¿Qué color es ese?" ["What color is that?"]

[First name] unconsciously crunches her nose as she thinks. "Jojo," she eventually answers, still not quite able to say rojo properly.

"¿Y Stitch? ¿Qué color es?" ["And Stitch? What color is he?"]

"Asu!" She replies rather quicker — and notably more excitedly. "Bwoo!"

Carlos awards his daughter with another affectionate kiss on her cheek. "Muy bien, mi amor!" ["Very good, my love!"]

She kisses her Stitch plushie this time, very reminiscent of what he just did to her. "Itch es asu."

"Sí, Stitch es azul. Bien hecho!" ["Yes, Stitch is blue. Well done!"]

He sneaks a look at his watch. An idea forms as soon as he sees he still has plenty of time to spare before the team meeting. He scoops [first name] on his way up to straighten his legs. "C’mon, [First name]. We can get some practice in before we have to go back."

In lieu of answering, his daughter makes herself comfortable in his arms. Her own are securely around her precious stuffie.

Her eyes wander as he proceeds their parade across the paddock.

He stops directly in front of the green accents on the Aston Martin motorhome’s wall. "Venga, mi amor." ["Alright, my love."] He points to the green, "¿Qué color es este?" ["What color is this?"]

"Be’de," she mumbles.

"Eso es. Muy bien, mi amor." ["That’s right. Very good, my love."] He praises. "You’re a genius!"

In response, she giggles once more. His Mamá says she got that from him, but he doesn’t really believe that. But, then again, he doesn’t remember being her age.

Before he can say anything else, [first name] starts wiggling out of his hold. "Down, Papa."

Carlos’ thirty-three months of experience has taught him a lot of things, including his daughter’s cues. "¿Quieres andar?" ["You want to walk?"] He asks for confirmation.

"Sí." ["Yes."]

He obliges, but not before he plants another kiss on her cheek.

And like any other toddler who has mastered the art of walking, [first name] zooms as soon as both of her feet touch the concrete. She doesn’t even give him a chance to ask if she wants to hold his hand while she explores the rest of the paddock.

And, of course, like any other toddler parent, he’s hot on her tail — laser-focused on not losing her in the slowly increasing chaos. He’s starting to regret forgetting the safety tether backpack Nico gifted him when he heard his daughter has learned how to walk.

Her resumed fast toddling eventually leads them to the Red Bull motorhome — exactly in front of the halved Red Bull insignia. "Muuu!"

Carlos can’t stop himself from laughing. The mental image of Red Bull’s infamous bulls being replaced with cows is somehow funnier than it really should. "Mi amor, eso no es una vaca." ["My love, that is not a cow."] He miraculously manages to correct between his laugh. "Es un toro." ["That’s a bull."]

To her part, [first name] looks up at him with utter confusion. "Muuu?" She says again, but with less confidence this time — almost as if she’s asking a question.

He wraps up his laughs to make sure she can actually understand him. "No," he starts the correction gently. "Es un toro. Un toro." ["That’s a bull. A bull."] He repeats slowly, carefully pronouncing each syllable on ‘toro.’

She hesitates before following. "Do’o?"

"Sí, eso es. Muy bien!" ["Yes, that’s right. Very good!"] For good measure, he repeats the word — slowly, still. "Toro." ["Bull."]

"Do’o," she copies with more confidence. And more thoughtfully, somehow. He watches as she plays with her Stitch plush’s ear almost absentmindedly. "No muuu."

"No muuu," he echoes in agreement.

[First name] doesn’t seem to like that, based on how she hmphs and turns her back on the painted red bull. Suddenly, she’s no longer captivated — as if her attention is solely dependent on the fact that she thought it’s a cow.

Her small back simultaneously looks disappointed and offended as she waddles away. She doesn’t even spare the Red Bull motorhome another glance.

Carlos follows with an amused shake of his head. His daughter can sure be dramatic at times.

Contrast to how she stopped in her tracks and ran toward the Ferrari and Red Bull motorhomes respectively, [First name] walks by the McLaren motorhome like she doesn’t see it. He can’t really blame her for doing so, as McLaren doesn’t have an animal in its insignia like Ferrari and Red Bull do, but it’s a little funny considering he can see Lando watching from the other side of the glass walls.

He waves to his former teammate before calling her back. "[First name]." He gestures for her to walk back towards him as soon as she responds to her name and looks back, "come."

[First name] turns her whole body around, but stays planted on a spot. She tilts her head slightly. "Why?"

"Tío Lala’s inside."

"Tío Lala?" She echoes. Lando’s name almost becomes a magic word, except she appears to have thought better about her excitement for seeing her uncle again. She ultimately shakes her head. "No."

"No?" He echoes this time, but for a completely different reason than hers: Utter disbelief. "Why not?"

She points behind her, towards the section of the paddock she hasn’t explored, "Itch quiere allí." ["Stitch wants there."]

Carlos makes a conscious effort to ignore the slight pout of her mouth. He hasn’t quite built an immunity to it yet. "¿Stitch no quiere ver a Tío Lala?" ["Does Stitch not want to see Uncle Lala?"]

She makes a sound of realization. It’s clear she didn’t think of it until he asked. It’s further proven when she takes a moment to consider his question.

Unfortunately, her contemplation doesn’t end with his unconsciously desired response. "Des-pués." ["Later."] As it seems, her desire to explore her new environment exceeds her usual excitement about her ‘favorite’ uncle (or so Lando claims he is).

He knows he can very well just usher [first name] into McLaren or carry her in. She’ll only fuss in the beginning, but she’ll ultimately forget about it most likely once she sees her uncle.

But, again: What [first name] wants, [first name] gets.

And he really has nothing against her wishes to explore. His Mamá told him it’s better for her to move a lot so her muscles develop strong.

So he just turns back to Lando to mouth "We’ll come back" before he promptly follows her already retreating form. "Wait for Papá, [first name]."

Carlos should’ve known that only encourages her to toddle away faster.