#this is the one and only smut request i'm willing to do | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

punkshort · 2 months

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Thank you Anon for this request!

A Deeper Purpose

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except for one.

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, breeding kink (given the request, obv), language, friends to lovers, mentions of anxiety, infertility, pregnancy, angst, pining, alcohol

WC: 3.4K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you first asked him, he thought you were crazy.

He stared at you in complete disbelief, his gaze flickering down to the drink in your hand, trying to recall how many you had to propose something so insane. But it was only one.

"Are you fuckin' serious?"

"Mhmm," you said confidently. "I've thought about it for a long time. I want a baby and the men in this town are either taken or have the mental fortitude of a child," you joked nervously. "You're neither of those things. Besides... I trust you."

His eyes softened for a moment and he dropped his gaze to the table. You had known Joel for the better part of five years, and while at first he was brash and gruff, throughout countless patrols and fights against infected where you had to have each other's backs, you had grown rather close. Neither of you ever crossed the line past friendship, and you had never even thought about it until recently when your anxiety was keeping you up late at night, wondering if you would ever find a man and settle down to start a family.

It was a luxury in this life, to be sure. The population of Jackson wasn't very large, but in five years you had come to get a good read on most of its citizens. And you kept coming back to the same conclusion: the man for you was not there.

So after much thought and self-reflection, you worked up enough courage to get a drink with Joel after your route and ask him if he would be willing to give you a baby.

You followed up by telling him you would be solely responsible, that you would do all the work and he could be as involved in the child's life as much as he wanted to be, if at all, while he sat there dumbstruck.

Now he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck nervously as he weighed your proposal.

"Can I think 'bout it?" he finally asked.

"Oh, god, of course!" you exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise that he was considering it at all. "However much time you need."

But that was almost a month ago. Each day that passed you became more anxious, more impatient, and it was beginning to sour your mood.

On that particular day you were checking out the park rangers outpost hidden deep within the Wyoming forest. The building was up within the trees, providing the park rangers in the past a bird's eye view of the forest, and now it gives Jackson the same.

Joel was scribbling something in the log book while you strolled aimlessly around the cabin, opening and shutting drawers loudly, already knowing what was in them but just looking for something to do.

"Somethin' on your mind?" he mumbled over his shoulder, his focus still on the book.

"No," you said defensively, but when you angrily began to struggle with a window that refused to open, it became clear you were lying.

"Here, lemme help," he offered, dropping the pencil and walking to your side of the room.

"I'm fine, I don't need your help," you snapped, though you obviously did.

His hands gripped your shoulders and forcibly moved you out of the way before he took hold of the window and gave it a quick jerk, loosening the window in it's frame and finally allowing fresh air in.

He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes before breezing past him.

"This attitude 'bout the window or 'bout what you asked me?" he challenged, stopping you dead in your tracks. Slowly, you spun around, unsure what to say.

"The window," you finally answered, then shifted your weight and shrugged. "Okay, maybe a little of both."

"Mhmm," he said, advancing toward you. "Thought so."

"Well... have you thought about it or are you just trying to come up with a nice way to say no?"

He frowned and propped his hands on his hips. "Now why d'you think it's a no?"

"Because you haven't said a single word about it in a month," you told him like the answer was obvious.

"Well maybe the answer's yes but I don't know how to casually bring up into polite conversation that I'm ready to knock up my goddamn friend!" he argued.

You stared at him, jaw hanging open in disbelief.

"Wait, really?" you whispered.

He nodded and scrubbed his palms over his face. "Yeah, I mean... if you still wanna or... whatever," he grumbled.

The first time was bad, to put it mildly. Your kisses were all teeth, chins and noses bumped together awkwardly. You had hoped once you got down to it that it would have gotten better, but you were wrong. Your rhythms were all off, you hit your head on the end table, and Joel nearly fell off the couch at one point. Needless to say, you didn't come. It was a miracle he did by the end of it.

Afterwards, you both sat there, catching your breaths and wondering if you made a huge mistake.

No, it wasn't a mistake. It was always a means to an end. Ultimately, it didn't really matter if the sex was good or not, the end result would be the same.

Still...

"I'm not usually that bad," you finally said, breaking the thick silence. He groaned and tipped his head back to rest on the couch.

"Me either. I swear, I ain't lyin'. I never usually..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. "We'll try again. Back home. In a bed. That's the problem. It's gotta be, right?"

"Yeah," you nodded, not fully believing him but at that point, what could it hurt?

The next time was the following day at your home. It was a little better than the first time, but not by much.

"It doesn't matter, Joel," you assured him, tugging your blanket over your chest.

"Matters to me," he said defensively. "I'm too in my head or somethin'. It's still weird, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it's weird," you agreed.

"It's too planned out. Maybe it's gotta be more natural. More... spontaneous."

"Yeah," you agreed.

A couple evenings later one of the other men on patrol was having a bonfire at his home and invited a handful of others, you and Joel included.

Ten or so people sat around a roaring fire, tossing back whiskey and playing cards or swapping war stories. The alcohol made you feel warm and relaxed, your limbs as loose as your tongue when you joked around with the others, joining in on the teasing when a seasoned patrolman admitted to shooting off a crossbow at a leaf that fell just a little too loudly in the woods.

Then you felt a hand on the small of your back and you turned, your eyes glassy and face warm from the booze and the laughs. Joel stood beside you looking just as at ease as you and he gave you a knowing look.

For once, you were on the same page. Neither of you said a word.

You made your excuses, said your goodbyes, and slipped into the night. It was quiet, the rest of the town asleep, so it was easy to hear Joel's voice carry over the wind a few minutes later when he announced his departure, your heart skipping an excited beat in your chest.

He didn't hurry to catch up with you and you were glad. It helped. The anticipation built up on the walk home, and for the first time you felt a warmth bloom between your legs. Your fingers shakily worked your front door when you heard his steps growing closer, the crunching of gravel growing louder and louder until your door swung open and the squeak of old wood under his boots as he walked up your stairs echoed in your ears.

You didn't bother to turn the lights on. His hands were on your waist instantly, kicking the door closed behind him as his mouth crashed against yours with a groan. All you could hear was your shared breath and the rustling of fabric, each of you working to strip the other of their clothes as quickly as possible.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the spontaneity of it. Whatever it was, it was better. Oh, so much better.

Somehow you had made it to your bed and you had never been more grateful to have a small ranch home in your life. When he first pushed inside, you moaned and arched your back off the mattress and his teeth gently grazed your collarbone, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. Instantly, you found a rhythm. Your hips rolled to meet his at the perfect time, his hands squeezed and pinched your breasts while his tongue invaded your mouth, only sliding down to cup your ass when he sensed it was becoming too much.

"More," you moaned into his mouth, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He alternated between snapping and grinding his hips, the mix of sensations quickly bringing you over the edge.

You could feel the excitement in his body when he finally made you come. Like he was reenergized and focused, like he had finally accomplished what he set out to do.

"Come for me, Joel," you whispered in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. You could tell he was close by the way his muscles tensed and the deep groans emanating from his chest.

"Yeah? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?" he growled, the dirty talk sending a jolt of surprise through you. Before, he had been so quiet. This was new.

"Yeah," you whispered back, "want you to fuck a baby in me. I want everyone to see what you did to me."

He groaned so loudly you wondered if it could be heard from outside. His teeth sunk down into your shoulder when he came, muffled words being spoken into your skin as he shot thick ropes of his seed deep into your womb, only slowing when his legs began to shake and he collapsed on top of you with a huff.

"Fuck," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath on top of you. "That was..." he trailed off with a chuckle and you felt him swallow tightly. "That was much better."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes sliding shut as your fingers gently raked through his hair. You didn't even realize you were doing it or how intimate it seemed considering your arrangement, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he leaned into it a bit as he waited for his heartrate to slow.

Once he collected himself, he propped himself up on his hands and slowly eased out of you with a hiss.

"Can you hand me-"

"Yeah," he said, already knowing you were asking for the small, firm pillow you used last time to prop your hips up, and gave it to you. With a groan, he got to his feet and went to your bathroom while you tucked your knees against your chest, hoping you were getting the angle right.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he handed you a wet washcloth to use when you were done, then began to dress.

He glanced at your face, then your hips propped up in the air.

"You need anythin' else?"

"No, I think this'll do," you joked, and he chuckled before he stood.

"Alright then. See you tomorrow?"

"Yep," you said with a smile, then watched him as he left your bedroom and listened while he slid his boots back on and quietly shut the door behind him, leaving you all alone.

"Fuck, it better work this time," you muttered as you bounced up and down on Joel's lap, your hands digging into his shoulders for support as you slid up and down on his cock. His hands held your waist, guiding you while you rode him on his couch, his eyes transfixed on where you were connected.

"Gotta relax. I told you, it ain't gonna work if you stress yourself out," he replied, eyes still glued to the way his cock emerged from your clutch even wetter than before.

"It's been six months, Joel," you whined, but he shushed you by slanting his mouth over yours. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't mind when you came to him each month with a look of dejection when your efforts inevitably failed. He felt bad for you, don't get him wrong, but he had grown very fond of the one week every month you found yourself wrapped around his cock.

His thumb found your clit and he felt you tense and your mind went blank. Perfect.

"'S'right," he murmured, watching your face go slack, "just turn off that pretty little head of yours for a minute and lemme take care of you."

You nodded, eyes sliding shut as your hips began to work faster, rolling and grinding down on him until your nails dug into his skin and you cried out his name. Fuck, he loved hearing that. It didn't take much more for him to come, his hands gripping your sides so tight, he was afraid he might leave bruises as he thrusted up into you, giving you every last drop of his release.

"Goddamn," he whispered, head falling back onto the couch as he panted for air.

"Shit," you gasped, voice a little cracked. "Shoulda finished with me laying down. It's gonna leak out when -"

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you and, still plugging you with his cock, twisted around so you were laying flat on the couch and he was hovering above you.

"Better?"

"Much," you giggled, playing with a stray curl over his ear. You gazed warmly at one another, neither of you saying a word as your pulse slowed and his cock softened.

"Thank you for doing this for me, Joel," you whispered, your eyes drifting all over his face, taking in every little detail.

He nodded and swallowed then forced himself to look away. If he didn't, he was worried you would see too much.

He slid out of you and grabbed a pillow, handing it to you blindly before standing and strolling to his bathroom. After he cleaned up, he leaned over his sink, hands curled around the cracked vanity, and stared at his reflection in the mirror with a pit in his stomach.

How did he let this happen?

He should have known. The morning before you came over, he had a bad feeling. Like something had shifted in the air, something had changed without his permission and it left an empty feeling in his chest.

The overly excited knock on his door as he sipped his coffee almost made him want to pretend he wasn't home, that you weren't about to bounce into his kitchen holding two white sticks with a huge grin plastered across your face. But he didn't, and you did.

Either he really sold his reaction to your news well or you were too elated to notice his heart being ripped from his chest.

It was over. You were pregnant, and you no longer needed him. You would no longer come by every month and keep his bed warm. You would no longer share breakfast with him or talk to him about the books you were reading. He would go back to being utterly and completely alone.

It took a good month or two, but he adjusted back to his normal life. You still did patrol runs with him, which he protested, but when you finally began to show around five months, you agreed to stop and found a different job in town, instead.

That made his chest crack back open. Now he hardly ever saw you. It was bad enough he didn't get to be with you, taste you, fuck you anymore, but now he didn't even get to hear your voice. Occasionally he would see you in the dining hall or in the street and you would always talk to him, but it wasn't the same. Meanwhile, you walked around Jackson with his child growing in your belly, your shirts straining against the swell of your womb, the life he put inside you blooming before everyone's eyes. And all he wanted to do was claim you, right there in the center of town for everyone to see. For everyone to look in awe at what the two of you had created together.

One evening he was sitting alone in front of his fire, sipping whiskey and staring blankly into the flames. He had a decent life, considering the circumstances. So why couldn't he just be happy?

Then a rap came at his door. Urgent and loud. He placed his tumbler down and quickly went to open it, surprised to find you waiting on the other side.

"Hey," you said breathlessly, one hand over your round stomach. His eyes dropped down to take you in before he met your gaze again.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you replied with a look on your face that told him you didn't realize he would obviously panic about your wellbeing at this point in your pregnancy. "Sorry, I just - can I come in?"

"Yeah, 'course," he said, stepping aside to open the door wider. You toed off your boots and shrugged off your jacket, allowing him to take it from you and hang it up before you wandered into his living room. Your eyes fell on his abandoned glass and you smiled.

"I miss drinking," you said longingly. He grinned and, leaving the whiskey where it was so as not to tempt you, sat on the couch.

"What're you doin' here so late? Is the baby okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded, tearing your eyes away from the glass and sitting down near him on the sofa. "Baby's good. I just was thinking about you and I wanted to see you."

He perked up at that, he couldn't help himself. "Oh, yeah?"

You grinned and bit your lip shyly before looking away. "I miss you, I guess."

A smile spread wide across his face. "Aw, how sweet."

You swatted an arm out to smack him on the shoulder and he laughed, his heart finally feeling like it was mending a bit.

"Jerk," you muttered, and he laughed again.

"I missed you, too," he finally admitted, his cheeks rosy from the fire and the whiskey as he gazed at you, the reflection from the flames making your skin glow. Maybe it was that pregnancy glow that everyone used to talk about. Or maybe you always glowed and he just never allowed himself to notice until it was too late.

He watched your throat work, swallowing dryly while your fingers fidgeted in your lap and he realized you were nervous.

"What if I told you I missed you as more than just friends?" you whispered, your eyes pinned to the floor, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze.

His breath caught in his throat. Surely, he must have misheard you. But then you finally turned to look at him, tears welling in your eyes, and his heart lurched in his chest.

"What if I told you I'm in love with you?" he bravely whispered back.

Your eyebrows pinched together and your face crumpled before you reached forward, curling your arms around his neck and pulling him close, your lips pressing together earnestly before opening your mouth and letting his tongue lick behind your teeth.

He wasn't sure how you both made it upstairs and into his bed. He couldn't remember peeling your clothes off, one by one, revealing more and more of your changing body to him for the first time. But he did remember seeing your bare, swollen belly underneath him while his hand slowly slid across your skin in wonder. And then he felt it. A little flutter. A little jolt. And he looked up at you in surprise.

"She's kicking," you explained, and his eyes fell back to your stomach.

"She?"

You nodded, placing your hand over his lovingly. "I think it's a girl."

He smiled as tears began to cloud his vision, then bent forward to press a kiss against your stomach, letting his lips linger so hopefully his unborn daughter could feel him there and feel the love he had for her.

You had to pull him away by his shoulders, the both of you laughing softly, unable to believe how much things had changed in just a year.

Because not only were you a couple months away from finally being a mother, but you also realized you were very, very wrong all those months ago.

The man for you was, in fact, right there all along.

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chloe-petrichors · 2 months

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cradling constellations // jace x reader

when rhaenyra brings her family to court to celebrate the king's fiftieth name day, there was but one thing on your mind: getting to see jace, the boy you'd loved in secret, once more.

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. —emily brontë

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!aunt!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon-typical incest, canon-au (it's viserys' birthday party baby), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s) idiots in love, instant attraction/love at first (second) sight, childhood sweethearts (kinda?), soulmate vibes, love confessions, switching povs, smut (mdni !) including masturbation (m), p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex, mild marriage kink if that’s even a thing, body worship, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, mild overstimulation, soft dom vibes, jace being a tits man. word count; 15k+ (oops) notes; me, obsessed with jace? more likely than u think. this whole fic spawned from the fact that i noticed jace's freckles on a gif and lost my gd mind. this was meant to be a quick smut fic. and then i took 11k+ words to get to the smut part. i'm sorry (i'm not). this is totally self-indulgent, soulmates, love at first sight kinda fluff-to-smut and i regret nothing. way too much time of writing this was me trawling through the asoiaf wiki pages to find details that are relevant for one whole sentence. why am i this way. valyrian is pulled straight from a translator i found online, pls let me know if you notice any errors! requests; are open !

the first time you laid eyes on jacaerys velaryon, you knew he was something special.

you had just been children, then, uncertain of each other due to the discontent between your families. but he had been kind to you, dark eyes warm, and it had been an easy thing to be kind in return. your brothers make it difficult, of course, as they seem to do with everything they get involved in. aegon had been the worst at first, spouting off the same vitriol your mother had always whispered into your ears, but aemond had not been far behind him.

after the events of laena’s funeral and the loss of aemond’s eye, the hostilities only grow and grow. helaena keeps herself apart from most of it by virtue of her typically distant manner, but your brothers insist on drawing you into the same arguments again and again. it's tedious, laborious, but they are your family.

jace and luke are too, of course, not that anyone else seems to want to admit it. for all that they are velaryon’s by name (and strong in heart, mayhaps, yes), they are your nephews. your brothers only seem interested in remembering this when it serves them, however — which is usually when they’re lording it over the dark-haired boys.

in truth, the velaryon’s are hardly innocent either. it seems like the two sets of boys bring out the absolute worse in each other without fail, and it’s usually left to you to try and be the voice of reason.

away from your brothers’ taunts, jace is like a different boy entirely. endlessly curious and ceaselessly kind, the brunette seems to always have time to talk and jape with you. your friendship grows surprisingly easy as children, and with early adulthood comes the bloom of a different kind of affection, too. you never say anything, knowing all too well that if your brothers catch even a whisper of your feelings that there will be no end of hells to pay.

it matters little, regardless. your mother will never tolerate a betrothal between the two of you and you know better than to even attempt to broach such a topic. it had been sheer miracle that she hadn’t tried marrying you off to aemond after securing aegon and helaena’s marriage, and you aren’t willing to tempt fate by giving her ideas now. so what if you spend countless nights dreaming of freckled skin and dark hair? it matters not in the scheme of things.

rhaenyra flees kings landing after daemon’s return to westeros, leaving you feeling strangely bereft without your nephews’ company. years go by with no contact from your sister’s family, and so you let your old daydreams fall to the wayside. there’s no use dwelling on what you can’t have, and no point bringing it up since even now just a mention of luke or jace is enough to inflame aemond’s temper.

and then, of course, the news comes that rhaenyra is returning to court for the king’s fiftieth name day. there are great feasts and celebrations planned in honour of your father, which you privately think silly considering it’s unlikely he would be well enough to attend half the festivities. still, there’s no denying your excitement at the idea of seeing jace again. he would be a man grown, now, his twentieth name day having passed only a few moons ago.

for once the majority of your family will be under one roof, and you are certain it will end in disaster — but you intend to enjoy it while you can.

going flying the morning of the velaryons arrival is perhaps not your smartest idea.

your nerves wake you well before dawn. you feel as if you’re going to crawl out of your skin if you don’t do something, and you know your chances for flying will be limited with the celebrations expected to start tomorrow. so you decided to take the chance while you can, dressing quickly in your riding gear before creeping to the dragon pit well before any of your family wake.

silverwing likes it when you take her for unexpected flights, so she makes no complaint when you have the dragon keepers release her. you go through the motions of saddling her yourself, as you always do, taking the chance to reinforce the bond with your dragon.

silverwing hadn’t been your hatched dragon. the egg that you had slept beside as a babe had never hatched, just as aemond’s and helaena’s hadn’t. it had infuriated aemond when you were children, that jace and luke’s dragons hatched while he was left without. it had made him an easy target for the other boys; aegon had often led the others in riling him about his lack of dragon until he had claimed vhagar. you can admit now that the others had oft been cruel to him in their japing, and it had ended poorly for everyone involved.

your claiming of silverwing had been incredibly boring in comparison. she had found you, in truth, a year after aemond claimed vhagar. she’d been your great-grandmother the good queen alysanne’s dragon before your own, and had not taken a rider since the queen’s death. she’d flown from the dragonmont to find you, and you’ve been nigh on inseparable since. your mother despairs over it, hating how her often her ‘perfect daughter’ has shown up to court late with windswept hair and flushed cheeks.

but, to you, flying is freedom.

there’s nothing else like it in the world; the sensation of silverwing beneath you, the seven kingdoms at your fingertips, and only the sky above. your mother has never really let go of her fear of the dragons, and you can understand it in a way; she is no targaryen, and she’ll never know what it is to bond with a dragon, to have that presence so alien and yet so familiar nudging against the corners of your mind. any attempts to explain it to her are met with bemusement and wariness, and you’d long ago learned to stop bringing it up.

silverwing’s joy to fly merges into your own as you climb atop her, running a soothing hand over the gleaming silver spikes at her neck as you adjust the straps. her impatience thrums loudly through the bond as you settle yourself into the saddle, and you feel her heart beat through you like a second pulse as your own anticipation rises.

“ivestragī īlva sōvegon, ñuha raqiros! [let us fly, my friend!]”

she needs no further nudging than that, and with a delighted roar she launches into the air. your laughter is stolen by the wind as she beats her wings, propelling you higher and higher before sweeping over the towering peaks of the red keep. with a shouted instruction she banks sharply to the left, flying out over blackwater bay as the sun finally crests the horizon. the dark sea lights up with reds and golds beneath you, the sky gloriously blue above, and silverwing’s distinctive scales shine in the breaking dawn.

a glorious morning, you think, and as the two of you climb higher to the sky you feel all your nerves and excitement for anything but the flight leave you. this is what your mother will never understand; flying is an escape, yes, but not from your duties as she assumes it is. this is an escape from your worries, from the petty machinations of court. in the sky with your dragon, you need worry only about how chill the wind will be, or if aemond is out with vhagar, who’s a grumpy old beast at the best of times and silverwing is feeling mischievous.

you find peace, here, in the sky. this is what you were born for.

long minutes pass as you fly leisurely, circling over the bay and the keep and back again in ever widening circles. sometimes silverwing dives just to do so, plunging so close to the blackwater that you could reach out and skim your hand over the dark depths. you lose track of time as the two of you fly, contentment bleeding across the bond so completely you can’t even tell which one of you it’s coming from.

a dragon’s cry in the distance catches your attention, and silverwing pulls up from where she’d been ducking her head into the water to snatch fish. she propels you rapidly higher into the air, crying out in response as you break through the thin cloud cover. you expect to find aegon’s dragon; sunfyre is the only dragon silverwing likes, rather than tolerates, to be making such a noise in greeting.

but it’s an unfamiliar dragon that greets you, olive green scales shining with the damp from the high altitudes. your mind races as you struggle to place it, and it’s only when you catch sight of a head of dark curls astride the dragon that you realise who it is.

vermax.

and jacaerys.

your heart skips in your chest, silverwing’s unexpected excitement tangling with your own nerves as she swoops towards the much smaller dragon. it’s only her sheer happiness that stops you from panicking or shouting a command to halt in valyrian, and moments later you recall she’d have known vermax from her time on dragonstone.

she somersaults over and around vermax playfully, and you release an exhilarated laugh in response as you cling tightly to the saddle. you see only snatches of jace as your dragons fly complicated patterns around each other, but the quick flashes you do get find an easy smile on his face.

the dragons spend a long while flying together, racing and diving and spiralling to new heights. they move so quickly that you have no chance to try and greet jacaerys, can offer nothing more than quick smiles as you pass him. it gives you the time for your nerves to settle back down, time to reassure yourself that any childhood feelings are long faded and that you will be able to act perfectly composed when it is time to greet him.

eventually you realise your dragon is not going to land until you tell her too, and vermax is clearly just as willing to chase after the larger she-dragon for as long as she is willing to be chased.

“māzigon, silverwing. istiti tegun [come, silverwing. we must land],” you shout, laughing again when the dragon whines her displeasure. she listens regardless, soaring down in tightening circles with vermax following close on your tail. her landing in the dragon pit is far from smooth, but you’re well used to compensating for the jostling as she settles onto the ground once more.

you’re quick in freeing yourself from the saddle, murmuring warm thanks and praise to your dragon as you walk to the side of her great head to meet a single burning eye. “kirimvose, ñuha raqiros. kesi sōvegon arlī aderī [thank you, my friend. we will fly again soon],” you tell her, and she responds with a content grumble as she nudges her head gently against your chest in affection.

you leave the dragon keepers to return her to her cave, instead turning to watch as jace shares his own goodbyes with his dragon. you take the chance to look at him, properly look, and find yourself suddenly warring with self-consciousness and a burning in your chest.

despite the acrobatics of the dragons, he looks perfectly put together with his dark curls brushing his shoulders and a pleasing tan to his skin. you fear you must look a ruin, with your hair undoubtedly a mess and cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. your breath is still a touch laboured from the exertion of the flight, while he looks perfectly composed in his fancy black and red doublet. you curse the old gods and the new that you’d picked out your old riding gear this morning — comfortable, yes, but certainly not ideal for greeting the heir to the heir and the man you’d once daydreamed about marrying.

you push the thoughts away with determined stubbornness, refusing to dwell on the warmth in your chest when jace finally turns to look at you. he’s grown, you note immediately, now standing at least a head taller than you. any traces of baby fat have left him, leaving behind a strong, square jaw and strong yet slim shoulders. his dark eyes are warm, though, and his smile friendly as he takes you in.

you dip instinctually into a curtsey, a perfectly respectable greeting ready on your lips, but you’re startled into straightening back to standing when jace laughs.

“come now, princess,” he says, fond and teasing he approaches you. he’s the only one who’s ever been able to make the title sound more like an endearment. “since when have we been ones for formality?”

it sets you at ease immediately, tension relaxing from your shoulders as you beam at him. “i suppose we never have been very good at that, have we?” you let your eyes skip over him again, something like relief settling in your bones at the sight of him. “it’s good to see you again, jace.”

“aye,” he returns, dark eyes sparkling. “it is good to see you, indeed.”

for a long moment he simply looks at you, and it makes that peculiar warmth in your chest blaze a little brighter. there’s something in his face that you’ve never seen there before — but then you think of course there is. you haven’t seen him in so long there’s probably all kinds of things about you him you no longer know. it aches, almost, to think it, but in a way he’s a stranger to you; a man with the kind eyes of the boy you’d loved in secret, once.

you clear your throat as you drop your eyes from his stare, glancing at the bustling keepers as they tend to your dragons instead as you cast about for something to say.

“are the rest of your family not flying in?” you query after a moment.

he shakes his head, dark curls swaying with the movement. “no, arrax and tyraxes are still too small to fly luke and joff for such a journey, and mother would rather stay with my brothers on the ship.”

you nod in acceptance, shifting slightly on the spot. “well then, let me be the first to welcome you back to king’s landing, my prince.” you take the formality out of your tone with a playful wink, and are gratified to see the way he chuckles at your antics.

“i had hoped you’d be the first i’d see.” he admits this casually, as if this doesn’t set your heart and mind racing. “i have missed you, aunt.”

you duck your head again to try and hide the smile spreading across your face. you tell yourself sternly to stop acting like some lovesick child, all the while that small flame continues to burn away inside of you. “and i you, nephew.” you glance up at him shyly from beneath your lashes, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, and you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement.

he’s the one to clear his throat, this time, stepping a half-pace away from you and gesturing for you to proceed him. “shall we head to the keep, then? my mother’s ship should have arrived by now and we wouldn’t want to miss the formal welcome.”

“as you say,” you agree, and the two of you set off.

you spend the long walk to the keep catching up on the long years between you. you’d expected the time apart to be like a gulf between you, a canyon that could not be crossed, but if anything it’s the opposite. it’s as if you’d last seen each other only hours ago. it should startle you, how simple it feels to fall into your old friendship, but you don’t have it in you to be surprised. that’s always been the thing with jace, after all — it’s easy. being around him, speaking to him, listening to his odd tangents. it all comes as natural to you as breathing, as if there’s a part of you that was just born knowing him.

he's dodging your questions as you finally arrive at the keep, having let slip something about an old secret from the days of your childhood that he’s never shared with you. it makes something flutter in your chest, the way he looks at you as he says it. the way he’s looked at you the whole time, in fact, has you having to bite back a smile. he looks at you as if he is looking at something precious, expression tender and fond and uncomplicated. it threatens to steal your breath again, and so you make an effort to try and act as unaffected as possible, because he cannot mean it in the way you think you might want him too.

“oh, but you simply must tell me!” you wheedle cheerfully, a mischievous smile on your lips. ��you wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, my prince?”

you pout at him, fluttering your lashes in the way you usually do when trying to get your way with your brothers. jace swallows audibly at the sight, some emotion you can’t read flickering across his eyes as his gaze drops to your mouth and then lower again before returning to your eyes. something in his expression makes you flush, cheeks burning as your lips part slowly. a heat rises in you, unbidden, as he steps ever so slightly closer into your space. you’re overwhelmed with the smell of him; sea salt and dragon smoke and something almost woodsy underneath it, something entirely jace.

he murmurs your name so quietly you almost miss it over the sounds of courtyard. his hand twitches as if to reach for you as he ducks his head slightly, and you think if you lifted yours just so you’d be able to brush your lips over the strong line of his jaw. you realise suddenly how much you want to — how much you want to drag your tongue over his skin and taste.

oh.

you want him. that peculiar feeling that had been burning in your chest — you recognise the desire for what it is, now. the easy camaraderie that you’d fell into on the walk to the keep subsides in the wake of it, and abruptly all you can think of is what his mouth will feel like on your own. the palpable tension between you makes your hands tremble with the urge to touch, heart pounding so loudly in your ears it drowns out anything that isn’t him as the rest of the courtyard fades away.

you sway the barest inch closer, inhaling his scent deeply, and watch as jace’s nostrils flare in response. with a shaky breath you lift your chin, eyes dropping to his parted lips, and you bite your bottom lip as his tongue sweeps over his own.

“jace…”

“brother! there you are!”

luke’s voice startles you both back to reality as you spring apart. you hadn’t realised just how close you’d gotten, your chests almost brushing with every breath, until the gap between you widens. you drop your eyes to your feet, cheeks blazing with embarrassment as you realise how close you’d come to kissing him in an extremely public place. you chide yourself internally for forgetting yourself, and take another second to gather your composure before lifting your head with a smile.

“hello, nephew,” you greet luke warmly, doing your best to ignore the way jace’s eyes burns into the side of your face. “it is very good to see you again.”

“aunt!” luke fairly cheers, and you note how the youth still clings to his face. while certainly older than the last time you’d seen him, he still seems like a child to you. his limbs are long and gangly, in that awkward stage at the cusp of adulthood where he’s not quite grown into himself yet. he bounds closer, drawing you into a hug that you allow and return with a fond laugh.

“luke, honestly,” jace tuts, shaking his head as the two of you separate. “we’re at court, now. at least try to remember your manners.”

the younger boy winces. “ah, right, yes.” he sketches a quick but perfect bow your way. “it is a great honour to see you once more, princess.” he flashes a cheeky smile and a wink your way as he straightens out, and you press your hand to your mouth to smother a giggle at the exasperated look on jace’s face at his brother’s antics. he’s hardly one to talk, you think, considering how quickly he had dispensed with manners when greeting you.

in return, you dip into a practiced if impish curtsey. “it is a sincere pleasure to see you as well, prince lucerys.”

luke does giggle, then, as jace rolls his eyes so hard you think they’re at risk of falling out of his head. despite his dramatics, you spot the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watches you jape with his brother.

“the queen is looking for you, dear aunt,” luke says after the greetings are done, and your amusement flees you as your stomach drops.

it’s only then you realise that with both luke and jace being here, you’ve certainly missed the official welcome of princess rhaenyra back to court. you wince at the thought of your mother’s ire, resigning yourself to a long lecture about your responsibilities and how dragon riding is ‘not one of them’. jace catches your expression, concern creasing his face as his brows furrow.

“alright?” he checks, and you do your best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“yes, i’m sure all will be well.” you hesitate a moment before offering a one-shouldered shrug, ignoring the voice in your head that sounds far too much like your mother telling you how unladylike such a motion is. “i expect my mother will be displeased with me for missing the official welcome, but the festivities will surely distract her quick enough.”

luke and jace both offer you a commiserating smile as the three of you head into the keep. you expect your mother will be waiting in her solar, which is on a close route to the guest suites set aside for the visiting royals, and so you walk with the velaryons as far as you can. when it comes time to part, jace lingers at the entry of the hall as luke continues down the corridor. his dark eyes are fixed to yours so intensely it steals your breath as you slow to a stop as well.

“i’ll see you at the feast,” he says quietly, capturing your hand in his much larger one and bringing it to his mouth. your breath hitches in your chest, eyes widening as he brushes his lips tenderly over your knuckles. your lips part in surprise, tingles racing up your arm from where his mouth makes contact with your skin. before you have chance to respond, jace dips into a sweeping bow and then bids you farewell, leaving you staring after him for a long moment.

well. if your mother doesn’t kill you, you think jace certainly will.

jace sinks into the hot water of the bath with a deep sigh of relief.

after meeting with his mother to explain why he’d been late to the formal greetings — or, rather, offer excuses as to why he’d been late, since he doesn’t think his mother will take well to the idea he was so busy enjoying himself flying with you that the thought of any formal welcome party left his mind entirely — he’d sought his chambers. the bath had been ready and waiting for him, tendrils of steam wafting from the clear water, and he’d wasted no time in shedding his clothes. he’s keen to wash the dragon stink from his skin before the feast, and he makes quick work of scrubbing his skin clean. when he’s done, he allows himself to relax against the metal of the tub, arms draped carelessly over the metal rim as he soaks.

king’s landing from dragonstone is not too long a journey on dragon back, but flying for such a stretch causes its own particular aches. vermax had enjoyed the chance to stretch his wings, at least, and had enjoyed the playful flight with silverwing even more.

he can admit to himself he’d enjoyed it, too, the sight of you astride your dragon lighting something within him. it’s been so long since he’d seen you, not since the aftermath of laena’s funeral, and he hadn’t been prepared for how the sight of you — breathless and flush and beaming at him — would make him feel. he’d almost managed to push back his boyhood adoration and childhood daydreams of marrying you one day with the years passing, but seeing you again brings it all rushing back and he feels as hopelessly enamoured with you now as he did as a child.

you’ve grown well, there’s no denying that. where childhood had left you sometimes awkward and gangly, you’ve become a woman grown now with all the curves and delights that come with it. he’d been embarrassed at how hard it had been to pull his gaze from you on the trip to the keep, but you’d not seemed to notice. too occupied with filling the air between you with light chatter, you’d been oblivious to the way his eyes had dragged over your form again and again.

you just — you’re so unlike anyone else he knows. he’d let himself forget how lovely you were, but there was no way to ignore it now. riding the high of your flight and genuinely happy to see him, you’d been like something out of a dream. your face had been as open to him as ever, plainly delighted to see him, and seeing you had eased some ache he’d become so used to he’d not even know it was there until he felt the lack of it.

he’s not some foolish child. he knows better than to think of things like love when his head must lie with his duty. but the thought remains regardless, lingering in the back of his mind that you would be as easy to love now as you had been when you were younger. it had been a childish love then, of course; innocent and sweet in the ways only children could be. but it had been there, unspoken and unacted upon, but no less real for it.

you’re not children anymore. it would be impossible to think otherwise with the way your riding gear had clung flatteringly to your chest and hips. your mouth looked so pretty stretched into a smile, a smile for him, and he thinks it’s a testament to his restraint that he’d not kissed you on the spot when you’d pouted so prettily up at him. he’d thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps you were going to kiss him with the way your eyes had darkened, how you’d gravitated into his space as if without intention.

heat pools in his stomach as he thinks about how the neckline of your riding dress had cut low enough to allow him a peak at your chest, heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. he wonders what your mouth would taste like, what noises you would make if he’d slid his tongue against your own. gods, he feels like a green boy seeing a woman for the first time — almost undone at just the thought of you. he won’t be able to get through the welcome feast like this, he thinks, so on edge with his lust for you burning him from the inside out.

it’s not even a conscious choice to curl his fingers around his cock, half-hard already as he thinks of you. jace’s head tips back against the rim of the bath, eyes drifting closed as a quiet gasp escapes him. the warm water eases his way as he strokes himself, and he lets himself imagine it’s your slick, instead.

he pictures you before him, pretends it’s your hand teasing at the skin at the head of his cock. your hands are so small, so dainty, he thinks you probably wouldn’t be able to wrap them all the way around him. he imagines they’re a little calloused — soft, mostly, but with the fingertips just rough enough from years spent riding and caring for your dragon. they’d drag so deliciously against his skin, and you’d take to the task with the same voracious enthusiasm you do with everything else. you’d watch him closely, pick up on the cues of his pleasure, and he’d unravel for you so quickly it’d be embarrassing if it was anyone else.

“fuck,” he hisses out, thumb dragging over the liquid leaking copiously from his tip. his head tips back even further, water dripping from his curls onto the stone floor as he chases his release. his imagining splinters into disconnected fantasies; you, on your knees with your mouth stretched around him, lashes damp with reflexive tears as your eyes fix on his. you, sprawled beneath him and writhing as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved. you, babbling in high valyrian as he sinks into the tight wet heat of you. you, clenching and shuddering around his cock as you come for him, blazing and beautiful. you, you, you.

his release hits him hard, a low groan tearing from his throat as his hips thrust up into his hand as he drags out those last few moments of pleasure. his panting breaths sound loud in the silence of his chambers, and jace is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is alone. there is, of course, no trace of you.

he knows in that moment he has to have you. he cannot tolerate the thought of anyone else — not for himself, and certainly not for you. he wants you as his wife, his queen, the mother of his children. jace doesn’t care how he must do it — as long as you’re as willing as he is, he is going to make you his.

the feast has started by the time jace arrives.

his indulgence had cost him time, and then he’d spent longer than usual readying himself while trying to ignore the fact he was doing so only to impress you. by the time he makes it to the hall his family are already seated and the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune. his eyes seek you instantly, and he resists the urge to frown in disappointment as he sees you sat between helaena and aemond. he’d hoped to sit beside you and use this time to see if there was any hint of you returning his feelings. no matter — there would be time enough later. if he has his way, there’ll be all the time in the world.

you look beautiful, he notes. you’re dressed in your usual deep green, the gown cut flatteringly for your shape. your face is animated and happy as you chat to aemond, and though he finds the idea of anyone enjoying that grumpy prick’s presence bizarre, he enjoys the sight of you so at ease.

as he approaches the head table and the empty seat between his mother and luke, your eyes linger on him. he’s gratified by the way you light up when you spot him, offering him a warm smile in welcome for all that you’re quickly entangled into a conversation with your sister. it eases some of the sting at finding you unavailable, and he’s helpless but to smile back at you even when your gaze slides back to helaena.

luke eyes him strangely as he settles into his seat but says nothing as jace reaches for a goblet of wine. his mother greets him absently, entangled as she is in conversation with the king, and he takes the moment to glance out at the hall.

it’s a relatively small feast. large enough to not cause offence to the heir to the throne, but not so grand as to detract from the festivities planned for the next fortnight. he recognises a few faces in the crowd, people from different houses from across the kingdoms. the king’s birthday celebrations are no small affair, and he spots representatives from all the great houses as well as some of the more minor ones.

it makes him want to slump in his seat, for all that he keeps his posture straight. he knows the next few weeks will be full of politicking and double speak, and it grates. as the heir to the heir, jace knows it’s partially his responsibility to ensure their alliances still stand while seeking out any news one that might present themselves. he has no doubt that some of the lords in this crowd will have brought their daughters, planning to parade them in front of him and his brothers in hopes they might pick one as their betrothed.

his lack of betrothal has been a point of contention for many of the court, he knows. most had assumed he would be betrothed to his stepsister baela, and he’d thought the same for years. it was only when his mother had confided that baela had no interest in being queen and, in fact, was so strongly opposed to the idea that she swore to fly to essos and never be seen again if they tried marrying her to him that he realised just why such a betrothal had never been announced.

it had left him free, in a way, to pursue his own desires; without a betrothal attached to him he’d shed any guilt about seeking company at the pleasure houses. but, in turn, it had left him open to the machinations of the other houses who all sought to have their blood on the iron throne. it’s incredibly tedious, but he knows he must grin and bear it for the sake of his mother and his house.

the food arrives then, and he busies himself with the meal and talking to his siblings. his grandsire makes a speech welcoming his daughter and her family home, and jace notes the sour faces of alicent’s sons. they keep their tongues, at least, which shows a maturity from them he truthfully hadn’t expected. perhaps they’ve grown just as you have, he thinks, but dismisses the thought when aemond catches his eye and only sneers in response to jace’s tentative smile.

he's often wondered at the conflict between the two sides of the family. the animosity now he can pinpoint, of course; aemond losing his eye. but there had been years before that of tense, standoffish behaviour interspersed with camaraderie when everyone seemed to forget they weren’t meant to be friends. he remembers playing pranks with aegon while luke trailed after them, and he remembers sitting with helaena while she perused the dirt for bugs.

he remembers you, most of all. kind and fearless and smart, you’d enamoured him from the moment he was old enough to recognise girls were different to boys in interesting ways. even before then you’d been fast friends, something in your similarly mischievous behaviour drawing you into each other’s orbit. he’s always been drawn to you, he thinks, to the uncomplicated joy you took in your life. there was so much to be miserable about, so much duty on all your shoulders, but you always found something to smile over. your unfailing optimism would no doubt be irritating to some, but to him it has always been one of his favourite things about you.

his gaze, predictably, shifts to you. he startles to find you looking at him already. you flush immediately as your eyes lock, presumably embarrassed at being caught, and he enjoys the colour it brings to your cheeks. you don’t drop his stare, though, not until helaena says something to draw your attention back to her once again. he catches sight of a private little quirk of your lips as your head turns, and something like satisfaction settles in his chest as he hides his own smile in his goblet.

perhaps this feast won’t be as tedious as he’d feared.

“are you enjoying the festivities, princess?”

jace’s voice pulls you from where you’ve been staring into your wine as if it holds all the secrets of the world. you’ve lost count of how many goblets you’ve had, chattering away with your siblings before aegon had started to become cruel in his inebriation and you’d all opted to split apart through the hall. you glance up to find the velaryon prince standing before you, hands perched loosely on the hilt of his sword. he looks unfairly handsome, you think, with his tumble of curls and well-fitted doublet, and something about the slight smirk on his face makes you think he knows it.

“i am enjoying them well enough,” you allow, flicking your gaze from his to look out at the dance floor. aemond is dancing with helaena, aegon far too deep into his cups to bother thinking of his wife. your mother is as tense as she has been since you’d found her earlier; her stepdaughter’s arrival to court has set her incredibly on edge, and the lecture she’d given you earlier had certainly been one of her worst. and your father is oblivious to it all, simply too pleased at the presence of his favoured daughter to care about the way the rest of his family are fracturing apart.

he's not been a good father to you, the king. he’s called you and helaena rhaenyra more than once over the years, and even when his eyes are you on you, you never feel like it’s you he sees. your mother had tried to soothe the ache of his absence, of his blatant favour for a woman who was not here, but as the years stretched on even she had seemed to fade further and further away from you all. for so long it’s just been the four of you, clinging to each other and tearing each other apart in equal measure. you’ve oft thought that daeron is the luckiest of you, able to thrive at the hightower and away from the mess of your family.

you pause at the maudlin turn of your thoughts, peering contemplatively into your wine again before offering jace a slightly sheepish smile. “i… fear i may have indulged in too much wine,” you admit, startling a laugh from the darkhaired prince.

it’s aegon’s fault, you decide; before he’d gotten belligerently drunk he’d been so cheerful, seemingly pleased to have the pressure of being the eldest targaryen child in court off of his shoulders. in his cheer he had plied you with wine, laughing and japing with an arm over your shoulder as you reminisced on simpler times of your childhood. happy to see him so, you’d not resisted, but now you find yourself regretting those choices as your thoughts tumble sluggishly through your mind.

jace shakes his head fondly at you, reaching out to carefully steal your goblet away. his fingers brush against yours as he does so, the barest of touches and yet enough to set your heart racing as you blink slowly up at him. he sips from your wine deliberately, amber eyes darkening as he holds your stare, and your lips part with an unsteady breath. something about him drinking your wine from your cup has your stomach fluttering pleasantly.

gods, i want him.

the thought is enough to startle you, heat suffusing your cheeks as you avert your gaze. jace doesn’t, though, and you can feel the weight of his stare on you like a tangible thing. it makes your skin prickle with warmth, and you lurch a touch unsteadily to your feet before you can say anything silly like ‘kiss me, please’.

“i think i should retire to my chambers before i make a drunken fool of myself,” you announce, fingers smoothing over the green velvet of your dress.

“i’ll escort you,” jace returns, tone leaving no room for argument.

he sets aside the wine and offers you his arm, quirking an eyebrow as if in challenge. you hesitate for barely a second, taking a steadying breath, before looping your arm through his and allowing him to lead you through the crowd towards the open doors. the woodsy smell of him you’d noticed before is clearer, now, and you take another deep breath of the scent. it calms your nerves and yet inflames your desire, and your fingers tighten infinitesimally against his bicep.

you stop at the doors of the feasting chamber for long enough to let ser erryk know that you’re retiring for the evening, leaving it to him to pass the message on to your mother, and then you and jace are alone in the halls of the keep.

of course, you’re not truly alone. guards litter the corridors and even at this late hour servants bustle along, busy with their chores. but in the quiet of the keep as jace leads you to your rooms, you can almost imagine yourself alone with him. the thought threatens to overwhelm you, mad fantasies of him tugging you into a dark alcove to devour you flashing through your mind, and you scold yourself internally.

you’re really very cross with aegon. he and his wine have left you in this state, too far into your cups to keep control of your dangerous wonderings. if only he had not kept calling for more of that gods-be-damned arbor gold, you’d have been able to keep your wits about you. you’d wanted to dance at the feast, too, mayhaps even with jacaerys but at the very least with your brothers. instead, you’re being led back to your rooms like a child who’s had their first taste of wine with dinner and let it go to their head.

jace’s presence helps your intoxication little. seeing him again, touching him, smelling him — it’s all too much when all your defences are down like this. you feel like a girl again, staring breathlessly after him and so full of certainty that you love him, and it’s just— ridiculous. you’ve spent mere hours in his presence and you’re like some lovelorn idiot with no thought in your mind beyond being as close to him as is possible. it’s foolish, reckless, absurd. but it’s there, regardless, unfurling in your chest with a lovely kind of agony.

you keep quiet on the walk, too afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll beg him to have his way with you or, worse, confess your re-blooming infatuation for him, and jace seems content enough to walk in silence for a while. eventually, though, he speaks.

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you drunk before,” he observes, tone light.

you glance at him sidelong, pursing your lips at the teasing smirk curling on his mouth. “it’s aegon’s doing,” you tell him solemnly. “my brother is something of an expert on the subject of wines, and his tolerance is… much higher than mine own.”

jace snorts. “aye, i had noticed.”

you lapse into silence, again, only now you find yourself stealing glances at him. he really is very pretty, you think, though in quite a masculine way. something about the sharp line of his jaw and the curl of his eyelashes keeps drawing your attention, and you suspect you are not being subtle with your admiration in your inebriated state. as you walk by an open window moonlight floods into the hall, sending jace’s profile into sharp relief, and your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his smooth skin. something about the pattern makes you think of the stars, and you realise too late that your quick glances have turned to a lingering stare.

“is there something on my face, princess?”

jace’s mockingly innocent words draw your eyes to his. he’s smirking down at you, eyes dancing with amusement, and your cheeks flush. gods, you don’t think you’ve blushed so much in moons compared to the mere hours you’ve spent in his company. the things this man is doing to you — it is unconscionable. you don’t know how much more of this you can take before your resolve breaks.

“i apologise, my prince,” your respond after a beat, teeth biting at your lip. “i did not mean to… i was leagues away.”

his eyes darken, mischief fleeing them in favour of flickers of something else as they linger on your mouth, and that damnable heat in your stomach blazes. you want desperately to surge forward and kiss him, or for him to take you in his hands and kiss you. you just want, and ache, and burn. and it’s too much, far too much for your wine-addled brain to process, but you know if anyone was to happen upon you in this corridor, starting at him with your mouth parted and your breaths shuddering through your lungs, there will be consequences.

“we should— we are almost at my chambers.” your words are stumbling, loud in the sudden quiet that had descended over the pair of you, and jace startles a little, eyes darting away from yours as your stomach plummets. gods, what are you doing? staring at him in such a way? he must think you a simple-minded fool, gaping at him for the sake of a few freckles. you step away from him, rubbing your arm as you turn your eyes to stare intently at your feet instead. “i can make it the rest of the way from here. you should return to the feast.”

jace is quiet for a long moment and you peek up at him to see him watching you with an indecipherable expression for a charged breath before nodding slowly and taking a step away.

“as you wish,” he murmurs, ducking his head in a simple bow. “sweet dreams, princess.”

you stutter out your own farewell, half-convinced you’ll be dreaming of nothing but his hands and his mouth this night, before turning and all but fleeing down the hall.

oh, yes. jacaerys is certainly going to be the death of you.

jace spends the next few days at court so entangled in his responsibilities he feels he barely sets eyes upon you.

he and his mother are roped into starting the celebrations in the absence of the king himself. his grandsire’s health is failing, of that there is no doubt, and after enjoying himself a touch too heartily at the welcome feast he requires a few days to recover. he thinks perhaps that’s why these festivities are so important; it’s unlikely the king will make it to his five and fiftieth name day, and almost certainly not his sixtieth. it leaves him with… complicated feelings.

when his grandsire dies, he will no longer be the heir to the heir, but the heir to the iron throne itself. it’s a daunting thought; for all that his mother has seen him well prepared to sit his throne one day, it feels such an impossible task. he doesn’t understand how he’s ever supposed to be ready for such a thing.

the thought rises, unbidden, that it would be easier with you by his side. with your kind heart but sharp mind, you’d make a fine queen. he finds himself daydreaming of it still and scolding himself all the while for acting the green boy, and yet unable to stop. it’s as if his every thought leads back to you in some way or another — he sees a flower and wonders if you’d like the smell of it, or sees a dress and thinks of how much lovelier it would look on you. at night he indulges in more sensual wonderings, and he swears he’s not felt the urge to touch himself so much since he was a boy of five and ten just starting to discover the pleasures the touch of another can bring.

for all that you’d appeared to reject him the night of the welcome feast, he finds himself certain you desire him just as he does you. in fact, he fancies it’s that very desire that had led to you fleeing his company and avoiding him in the days after.

because you are avoiding him.

yes, he is busy with the festivities and you are perhaps equally so. but he does not think it’s busyness that drives you to seek conversation with absolutely anyone else when he looks for your company, and it is not busyness that has you clinging to aemond’s side so fiercely either. you know he won’t approach you when you’re with your brother, knowing how it hurts you to see them trade barbs and knowing himself well enough to know he will not be able to bite back his rancour if aemond says a word about his father.

jace is not an idiot. he knows what people say about him, the words they barely bother to whisper behind their hands about who his true sire is. he has complicated feelings about that, too, but it all boils down to one simple thing: he is his mother’s son. she is heir to the king, and he is her heir. for him, that’s all that can matter.

he knows it’s all that matters to you, too. for all that your brothers had spit bastard at him for as long as he can remember, you’ve never done so. you’ve never looked at him differently for the rumours of his birth, and it’s just one thing among many he treasures about you.

perhaps it’s foolish, to cling to these childhood feelings so tightly, but he cannot let the idea of the two of you together go. he knows luke has noticed how he stares after you in longing, since his brother has never been shy about teasing him relentlessly. he thinks his mother has noticed, too, from the few carefully inane comments she’s made about betrothals and duty.

he supposes an argument could be made for the fact that with the years without contact between you, he doesn’t really know you anymore, not as he once did, but he doesn’t feel it matters. he can learn anything new about you and will in fact do so joyfully, but the important things? the things that speak to who you are at your core? jace has always known those, has always felt connected to you in a way he never has with another, and he loves you now just as he did as a boy.

it would be easier in a way if he felt sure you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. at least then he could try and move on from them, put to bed his endless wonderings of you. but for as often as he turns his head to look at you, he finds you looking away from your own watching of him. the few, brief interactions he has with you over the next few days feel loaded, the desire and affection between you a palpable thing, and he’s tiring of pretending there’s nothing there anymore.

he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t miss you.

so, at the halfway point of the celebrations when there’s another, larger feast held with plenty of chances for dancing and sneaking away into dark corners, he makes it a point to keep an eye on you. the moment he spots you, finally alone, he beelines for you. your attention is on your necklace, readjusting the pendant that rests on your chest, and he cannot help but let his gaze linger on the swell of your breasts as he approaches. he’s found himself staring at your chest more often than is wholly appropriate over the last few days, but then he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to a woman’s form.

“p-prince jacaerys,” you greet weakly when you look up from your necklace, hands smoothing over the skirts of your dress. your eyes dart about the room as if seeking a rescue from someone, and he tries not to feel how such a response to his presence stings. “how are you enjoying the feast?”

“well enough,” he returns, echoing the words you’d spoke to him days ago. gods, has it only been days since that conversation? it feels like an age, and he has felt more distant from you in these passing moments than he is in your years apart.

“that is… good.” your fingers twist around each other, teeth catching on your bottom lip, and he has to swallow back the sudden rush of desire to be the one nipping at the pouting flesh.

“would you do me the honour of a dance, princess?”

his request startles you, eyes widening as your fingers drop back to your side in surprise. he thinks for a wild moment that you’ll say no, make some excuse to remove yourself from him, and he feels himself bracing for the rejection. but you hesitate, searching his face, and whatever you find there seems to soften something in you as you nod.

“of course.” you offer him your hand, an unsure smile on your face.

he takes it with relief, trying not to react at the sensation of your hand in his own. he was right in thinking your hands are smooth, but as he leads you to the dance floor and your fingers slide over his palm he feels the drag of callouses as he’d expected. it pulls him back into that heated imagining of before for a moment, and he has to shake his head slightly to keep himself from losing his wits.

you stay quiet as he guides you into position, dainty hand resting on his shoulder as he places his own at your hip. he leads you through the first few steps in quiet, too, taking the moment to enjoy having you in his arms, having you close. but he realises after a silent minute that you’re obviously not going to say anything, and even as he looks beseechingly at you appear to avoid meeting his eyes.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he speaks lowly, watching you carefully as you stare purposefully at the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes.

your eyes flicker away and back and then away again, fingers tightening around his own as he leads you through the steps of the dance effortlessly. “aye,” you admit quietly. “i have been.”

“why?” he doesn’t mean to sound so desperate nor so accusing, but the quiet hurt that your absence has caused him surges forth before jace can stop it.

you finally meet his gaze, eyes helpless and wanting and aching, and his stomach twists at the sight of your conflicted expression.

“i— jace, i can’t.” your voice cracks with the weight of your emotion and without thinking he pulls you closer, arm wrapping tight around your waist to provide you some semblance of comfort. “i can’t. not here, please.”

wordlessly he alters the steps of the dance, drawing you with precision through the crowd of dancers until you come to one of the balconies. it’s blessedly empty of anyone else, and as soon as you realise it some tension seems to shake loose of you.

you step out of his grip slowly, almost reluctantly, and walk to the railing, palms splaying on the stone. he joins you after the barest hesitation, drinking you in as you stare out at the courtyard and beyond. he notices how tightly you grip the banister, colour leeching from you knuckles with the strength of your grip, and almost without thinking jace rests his hand beside your own, pinkie fingers brushing. the touch seems to release something in you and he hears how your breath shudders before you speak.

“i embarrassed myself on the night of the welcome feast,” you confess miserably. “i drank too much, and the way that i behaved— staring at you in that way— it was not becoming behaviour of a princess, nor of a, a friend. i did not wish to make you uncomfortable again, so i thought it best i keep my distance from you.”

he blinks in surprise. “uncomfortable?” the mere idea of such a thing is maddening. he recalls the sight of you before him, lips parted and oh so kissable as you’d stared at him with such intention it had set him ablaze. how in the name of the gods can you think he found such a thing uncomfortable? “princess, i can assure you, the only feeling i took from your admiration is delight.”

your head snaps around, eyes finally meeting his own again, and he shakes his head in bemusement at the sight of your desperate hope. “truly? you do not jest?”

he resists the urge to chuckle, knowing you’ll take any kind of laughter, no matter how well meaning, poorly. instead he reaches for you, grasps your hands in his own and tries not to bask in the way you lean into him as he steps recklessly into your space. he feels your trembling breaths puff against his jaw as he ducks his head to stare intently into your eyes, and if he were a weaker man jace thinks he’d be on his knees in prostration for you in that very moment.

“surely you must know how i feel for you?” he murmurs, tracking the way the flush in your cheeks travels down your neck and onto your chest with greedy eyes. “how desperately i adore you?”

“jacaerys—.” you huff, shaking your head in denial for all that with every breath you take you sway ever closer to him. “we hardly know each other anymore. i won’t deny there is, is a yearning between us, mayhaps, but you cannot claim to adore me when you know me not. it’s been years since—"

“—do you think time matters?” he talks over you, strong in his conviction that you and he share a bond that transcends time or distance or duty. “that any distance between us could change what i know in my bones? i loved you before i had a name for it. i loved you when we were children and, yes, i love you again now. mayhaps i don’t know your favourite sweet or if you prefer to watch the sun rise or set, but i know you. i know who you are, princess, for all that i might no longer know the rest of it. i know your good heart, your quick mind and i know that i love you.” he hesitates, drinks in the dawning, open wonder on your face, and then adds, “and i think you might love me just the same.”

you sigh out his name sweetly, fingers tangling with his own as he squeezes your hands tenderly. you tilt your chin towards him as your eyes flutter shut. his nose slides against your own as you turn just so to the side, and your mouth is so close. he could kiss you, right now, and he knows that you would not pull away. but he’s too aware of the noise of the feast, the crowd of people that at any moment could find you in a compromising position.

he wants you, gods does he want you, but he will not ruin your reputation, will not sully your virtue for the sake of a stolen kiss on a balcony when he desires no less than forever with you.

“i will not push you,” he murmurs against your lips, breathing the air right from your lungs as he presses his forehead to yours for just a moment. “if you do not want this — if you do not return my feelings — i won’t push you nor pursue you. i hold too great a respect for you for that.” he cradles your jaw, thumb dragging at the corner of your mouth, and he glories in the way you shudder at his touch. with an unsteady breath he separates himself from you, hands clenching into fists at his side in an effort not to immediately reach for you again.

“but if you decide you want me as i want you, that you love me as ardently as i you, then my chambers will be unguarded and unlocked for you.” he sketches a bow, heart thundering in his chest as you stare at him in wordless shock. “i hope to see you later tonight, my princess.”

you have no chance to respond before jace leaves you standing on the balcony.

he leaves you with your mind swirling, one thought after another coming so quickly you have no hope in processing them. you’re glad to be outside, at least, the cool breeze helping soothe the heat that blazes through your veins as you press your hand over your racing heart. you don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. all you can think about is jace, earnest and honest and in love with you.

he’s in love with you (!).

it’s too quick. too much time has passed with too little contact. in the years since he left court you’ve grown into new people, people who for all intents and purposes are strangers to each other. the lust is there, there’s no point in denying that with how your body warms at the smallest glance from him. and that old familiarity that blossomed as friendship as children and now into easy companionship as adults, that remains as it always has. and mayhaps you’ve thought to yourself, in the dark quiet of the night, that you’ll surely love him once more. that to know him any better at all is to love him again, because how can you know him and not love him?

but there’s been years and leagues between you for so long. time and distance have their ways of changing a heart, and he might say it doesn’t matter but it does. it does.

only it doesn’t, not at all, because giddiness is bubbling up in you so sudden that you cannot fight it, a helpless laugh escaping you as you press your hand over your mouth in unabashed amazement. your brave prince, plunging headfirst into the long-unspoken feelings between you. it incites you to act, drives you back into the hall where you catch aegon for long enough to tell him you’re retiring for the night before escaping into the quiet corridors.

you feel like your heart is going to burst in your chest, nerves and excitement and awe twisting together inside of you until you feel like you might vibrate out of your own skin. the walk to jace’s chambers is a haze, and in the morning you expect you’ll panic, wonder if anyone saw you walking so shamelessly towards the prince’s rooms. but now, in this moment, all you can think of is how fervently you want him, how guilelessly you love him.

the knock on his door — unguarded, as he had promised — echoes loudly in the silent corridor. you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as you wait for him to answer, and when he finally does he takes your breath away.

he’s shed his doublet and sword belt, standing in only his breeches and a billowing off-white tunic. the ties are loose on his neck and you’re entranced by the peek of tanned skin there, the freckles you can see disappearing beneath the shirt. he says your name, once, and your eyes snap back to him in time to see the relief and wonder coalesce into smouldering fire.

he curls his fingers around your wrist, thumb swiping over the delicate skin in a way that makes you shiver, and he uses the hold to wordlessly tug you into his chambers. you step into the space, eyes darting from the large bed to the roaring fire and back to the bed again as he locks the doors behind you.

you are finally, blissfully, alone.

you feel his presence behind you, heat and woodsmoke radiating from him as you turn to face him. something in your chest loosens at the blatant awe in his amber eyes, like liquid gold in the light of the flames, and before you can pause to think you’re speaking, your feelings escaping you in a flood.

“i shouldn’t be here,” you say shamelessly. “i know my being here is—. i shouldn’t be here. but i couldn’t not be, jace, not when you left without giving me a chance to tell you how i feel. because, gods, of course i feel for you. it’s unreasonable, insensible— there’s so much about each other we just don’t know anymore.” you shake your head, smiling at him wide and helpless and hopelessly, hopelessly in love with him. “but despite all the rationality in the world, all the good sense — despite knowing the trouble this is sure to bring us — i am completely and utterly in love with you, jacaerys velaryon.”

he kisses you, then, surges into your space and cups your cheeks and slots his mouth so sweetly against yours. you gasp into his lips as he kisses you deliberate, slow and tender in a way that makes your chest ache. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him as close as you can as his own arms wrap around your waist. your noses bump and your teeth clash in your eagerness and it’s still glorious, it’s the best kiss you’ve ever experienced because it’s him.

it’s always been him.

you part after a few minutes, remaining close together as he runs his hand through your hair before cradling your face once more. “tell me again,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing your breath.

“i love you,” you say, smiling so wide it makes your cheeks ache. “i love you, i love you, i lo—”

he kisses you again, a quick press of his mouth against your this time, and then he’s laughing softly as his golden eyes shine down at you. “i have loved you forever,” he tells you, indulgent and affectionate as his thumb traces over your cheek. “i will love you forever, my princess.”

he draws you closer still, holds you tightly against him but far enough that he can drink you in, and for long moments you simply bask in the presence of each other, of this slow unfurling of happiness in your heart. this close to him, you can once again see the freckles dotted across his face. without even thinking of it your hand rises, and with butterfly-gentle fingers you trace a path over the constellations mapped on sun-kissed skin. jace sighs softly with your touch, dark lashes fluttering closed as his lips part.

“iksā sīr gevie [you are so beautiful],” you murmur, slipping into high valyrian in the quiet of his chambers.

he exhales shakily, breath hitching in his chest as your fingers brush gently over his eyelids, the slope of his nose, the furrow of his brow. you want to remember him like this forever – bathed in the soft firelight, trembling beneath your tender touch, wholly and entirely yours.

“ñuha dārilaros [my princess],” he breathes, and hearing him speak possessively of you in your mother tongue ignites something within you so suddenly you cannot fight it.

arousal roars to life, deep in your belly, and you are helpless but to do anything but lean forward and press your lips to his once more. jace meets you just as greedily, hands gripping tightly to the flesh of your hips as he hauls you closer until your chests press together. your hand moves from his face to fist in his hair, tugging at his curls until he whines against your lips. he kisses you deep and open mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding against yours so deliciously that you can feel heat pulse between your legs.

one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling until your head is tilted back. he trails hot, wet kisses along your neck and you hiss at the sensation, pressing his head closer to your skin. you feel him smirk against you before he mouths at your pulse point, teeth nipping just enough to send a thrill of pain and pleasure through you.

“jace,” you moan, grinding against him shamelessly as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your throat. you want him so fiercely it makes you reckless, makes you insatiable as the hand not buried in his curls drags down his back to grip at his ass. he groans against you, your name spilling from his lips so deep and husky that you want to do whatever you can to make him say it like that again and again and again.

“this is— we shouldn’t,” he says into your skin. he pushes at the shoulder of your dress to expose more of your bare skin to his greedy eyes, lips trailing the path his fingers have taken. “we should wait until we—. if anyone knew of this—”

“—no one will know,” you assure him, fingers flexing into the taut skin of his ass to drive him closer to you.

“i don’t want to, to besmirch your honour.” even as he speaks he’s dragging his tongue against your collarbone, chasing a bead of sweat down to the swell of your chest.

“fuck my honour,” you burst out, and your language has him moaning. you hitch your leg around his waist and his hand drops instantly to grip you at the knee, pulling you just so until the hard length of him is grinding deliciously against your core. you can’t think, can’t breathe, for wanting him. his touch and his scent and his taste consumes you, inflames you, and you care for nothing but the feel of him against you.

he pulls away from your chest, mouth swollen and pupils blown as he pants hotly. he presses his forehead to yours, squeezing your hip to still you as you shamelessly try to rub yourself against him. “this will bring ruin to you if it gets out, do you understand? it would break me to be the cause of such a thing.”

his desperation makes you hesitate, something about the fierce tone breaking into the haze of lust that consumes you. you take a moment to look at him, and you know with certainty that if you ask him to stop right this second he will.

but you don’t want him to stop. you’ve never wanted anything less.

“jace.” you cup his cheek, thumb dragging over his bottom lip as you force him to keep your gaze. “i know the risks of this as well as anyone.” you lean in closer, your nose sliding against his before you tilt your head to pepper soft, deliberate kisses along his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “i love you.” he sighs softly in pleasure before turning his head to capture your mouth again, and this kiss is a softer, slower thing.

when you break apart, you stare deeply into his eyes, making sure he can see the truth of your words. the heat in his amber eyes threatens to splinter you to pieces as you swallow thickly, almost overwhelmed once more with your desire for him.

“i am yours, jacaerys velaryon,” you say steadily. “no matter what happens from here— i belong to you.”

it’s like a dam breaks in him. his hands are suddenly everywhere as his mouth devours yours relentlessly, leaving you gasping and arching into his touch. he backs you towards his bed as his hands fist in your skirts, bunching the material up to your hips. he breaks from your mouth long enough to tug your dress over your head, leaving you in your thin small clothes, and despite the sweltering heat of the room your nipples harden beneath the sheer material.

“look at you, pretty thing,” he says reverentially, the weight of his heated gaze tangible as he stares at your heaving chest. “is this all for me?”

“yes,” you hiss, head tilting back as he trails kisses down the column of your throat. “all for you, jace. only ever for you.”

he groans at your words, deft fingers making quick work of the complicated stays of the brassiere, and when the material falls from you he stares for a long moment as if transfixed by the sight of your bare breasts. it makes you smug, knowing that those times you’ve caught his eyes lingering on your chest haven’t just been in your imagination.

“you are perfect,” he murmurs worshipfully, large hand cupping the side of your breast tenderly. “such a perfect girl for me.”

his thumb sweeps over your nipple, featherlight at first before returning more firmly when you sigh and lean into his touch. his other hand grips your hip once more, pulling you close to him as he lavishes more attention on your neck. he nips and kisses his way down your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast until he’s hunched slightly in front of you, sucking bruises into the tender skin of your chest.

“jacaerys, please.” you know not what you’re pleading for, only that you need something, and it’s as if he can read your mind as his mouth closes over your nipple. his hand, now free, gropes at your other breast as his tongue swirls tight circles around your nipple and your head tips back with a moan. it’s somehow enough and yet not, your hips bucking aimlessly as heat and slick pools between your legs, and you crave.

“more, please,” you beg shamelessly.

jace drops to the floor in response and the sight of him on his knees for you has your head spinning. he presses open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your abdomen, bites gently at your hip as his hands slide steadily up your legs. you tremble beneath his careful ministrations, and he murmurs wordless assurances into your sweat-slick skin.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your smalls, dragging them agonisingly slowly down your legs until you can step out of them. standing completely bare before him you expect to find yourself shy, but the way jace looks at you rapturously has liquid heat licking through your veins instead.

he leaves lingering kisses on your thigh and down your leg, and when his mouth brushes over the tender skin at the back of your knee you feel them buckle. he huffs a gentle laugh against you, warm hands cradling your waist as he urges you to sit back on the bed. you do so unsteadily, planting your hands against the soft feather mattress and watching him with intent ardour.

he nudges your legs apart and settles between them, his shoulders spreading you wide around him and you release a soft breath as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your thighs. “let me take care of you, my princess,” he pleads, eyes wide and soft and beseeching as he gazes up at you. you nod hesitantly, not wholly sure what he intends, but then his eyes finally drop to your core and darken so quickly it makes your mouth dry.

“gods, look at you.” he drags a finger through your folds and your head cants back, a whine escaping you at the touch. “you’re so wet for me, love. so gorgeous.” he brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean of your slick and it has your mouth dropping open because he’s obscene, you think. he’s glorious.

“you taste so good,” he says, his voice so rough with arousal it makes you shiver. “wanna taste more of you.”

with no more warning that that, he licks a deliberate strip along your slit before circling his tongue over your clit. your hand shoots to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he feasts on you. his name falls from your lips over and over again like a prayer as he laps at your core, tongue pressing deliciously inside you. you grind wantonly against his mouth, panting as he laves at your cunt.

your pleasure climbs sharply, rising so high you’re helpless to resist the way your stomach tightens. as if sensing your approaching high jace shifts his focus to your pulsing clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves.

“jace, gods, feels so good,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his curls to press his head impossibly closer. “please don’t stop, ‘m so close—”

he sucks harshly on your pearl, ever so carefully dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh, and you fall to pieces as that tightly wound ball in your stomach snaps. he coaxes you through the trembling release, gentling his attention on you to drag out your pleasure until you’re squirming away from him in sensitivity. when he pulls away from your core his face is shining with your slick and the sight makes you feel feral. you bend to reach him and he presses up to meet you, kissing you hot and messy as you drink the taste of yourself from his mouth.

“you did so well for me, my princess,” he pants into your mouth as he crowds you onto the bed and the praise blooms hot in your chest. “need you to be good for me a little longer, okay? need to prepare you.”

you whimper, capturing his mouth in another sloppy kiss and nipping thoughtlessly at his lips as he settles between your legs. you can feel the heavy length of him against your hip, kept from you by his breeches, and you’re suddenly insensible with desire to see more of his skin. you tug wordlessly at the hem of his tunic, pulling it free from his trousers, and with a huff of fond amusement he separates from you to pull it over his head and toss it aside.

you drink in the exposed planes of his chest, leaning up to drag your tongue from freckle to freckle along his collarbone, and jace groans out your name in response. you follow the map of constellations down his chest, pressing kisses and gentle bites to the skin until you come to one of his nipples. hesitantly you flick your tongue out, curl it around the puckered skin just as jace had done to you earlier.

“fuck,” he hisses, fingers clenching in the sheets as his arms tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady above you.

emboldened by his response you lavish the pebbled bud with attention, switching to the other when the fancy takes you, until jace is shuddering with desire and pushing your shoulders back into the bed. he swallows your protests with a flurry of kisses as his fingers trail down your chest, your abdomen until he reaches the heat between your legs. he presses a finger against you again and you arch into the touch, tossing your head back into the pillows.

“i want you so badly,” he confesses in a whisper as he sucks another bruise into your neck.

“yes,” you respond senselessly, hips bucking up to meet the slow stroke of his finger. “want you, jace, please.”

“i need to prepare you first, love,” he tells you again and you whine in displeasure. “i don’t wish to hurt you, so i need to get you ready for me.”

you’ve heard that it can hurt, what happens in bed between a man and a woman. you can’t comprehend the idea with how good you feel right now, how good he’s made you feel already, but you nod in acquiescence at jace’s stubborn expression and he beams down at you.

“that’s my good girl,” he utters affectionately, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

the finger that’s been sliding leisurely against you shifts, pressing inside with a familiar stretch. you’ve touched yourself before, explored what pleasure you can draw from your own body in the late of the night. you don’t know if it’s different because it’s the angle or just because it’s jace, but the feeling of his finger pumping into you is so much better than anything you’ve managed with your own clumsy digits and you moan with the pleasure of it.

“you’re so tight,” he says in amazement, burning gold eyes staring down at you worshipfully. “can’t wait to be inside you, my princess.”

you moan at his filthy words, hips bucking into his touch as he presses a second finger into you. this one pinches more, makes it almost uncomfortable until jace starts to rub slow circles over your clit with his thumb. any discomfort melts into liquid pleasure as he mouths at your neck once more, fingers crooking inside of you just so until stars burst behind your eyes.

“fuck, jacaerys—”

he shushes you softly even as his eyes gleam with smug pride. he picks up the pace, now, fucking you with his fingers as your pleasure starts to climb once more. just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore he slides a third finger in, the stetch burning deliciously this time, and you come apart on his fingers with a strangled moan of his name. he doesn’t relent this time, though, even when you writhe helplessly beneath him; he just chases another release for you without giving you a chance to recover, and the thrill rises so quickly it almost makes it a little hard to breathe.

“just one more,” he soothes as you whine, pressing delicate kisses to the corner of your mouth as he drives his fingers into you relentlessly. “you’re doing so well. just one more for me.”

your third climax hits you so hard your back bows up from the bed, mouth parting in a silent cry of pleasure as jace coaxes you through it before pulling his fingers from you. you ache at the loss, mewling your displeasure as your cunt clenches around nothing. he breathes a laugh at your impatience, kissing you so sweetly in such contrast to the delicious heat between you that it almost makes you weep.

with shaking hands you reach for the ties of his breaches, fumbling with the laces while he kisses you languidly. you make a triumphant little noise when you finally untie them and he smiles at you, adoring and soft and yet somehow feverishly aroused as you push the leather trousers down his hips. he helps you the rest of the way, kicking them off before returning to hover over you.

your hands brush his abdomen as you reach for him, fingers curling gently around the hard line of his cock, and he realises a shuddering breath in response. he watches you intently as you stare at his arousal, fascinated by the way your fingers barely close around the thick girth of him. he’s going to fill you so well, you realise, and you bite your lip as your core clenches again. the tip of him is leaking fluid, and you drag your hand up his cock to swipe your thumb over the head.

jace moans at the movement, so you do it again and again, watching in inflamed curiosity at the way his stomach contracts as he thrusts into your hand, the wet noise of it making you flush down to your toes as desire sparks in your core. his hand covers your own abruptly, stopping your exploration, and you pout up at him as he fixes you with a blazing stare.

“if you keep doing that, i’m not going to last,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of his desire.

“fine.”

you huff, pretending at annoyance even as you eagerly lie back and spread your legs for him. you fix him with an expectant look, raising an eyebrow, and he chuckles fondly as he settles himself between your legs once more. you’re not expecting the velvet heat of him dragging against you and you gasp at the sensation, grinding against him as he thrusts shallowly against you.

“are you ready for me, love?” he checks, cradling your face in his hands as his thumb rubs over your jaw.

you turn to press a kiss against his palm, near overwhelmed with your love and affection for this man. “yes,” you say simply, and it’s all the permission he needs as he ducks down to kiss you unhurriedly.

his head catches at your opening on the next thrust, and with the slightest shift of your hips he’s pressing inside of you. the stretch of him burns, pinches, but just as he did with his fingers, he worms his hand between your bodies to drag circles over your clit. you do your best to relax, keeping your eyes fixed on his golden stare as he slides into you, agonisingly slow.

the whole while he keeps up a litany of praise, calling you good and precious and perfect as sweat beads along his forehead. when he’s finally fully sheathed inside you he stills his movements, kisses you hard and wanting as he thumbs at your pearl, and when you’re ready you tilt your hips. the stretch of him burns, still, but in a way that sets your skin alight as you cling to his shoulders.

he moans your name like a prayer, drawing away from you until the tip of his cock catches at your entrance once more, and this time when he sinks back in your eyes roll back into your head. he feels so good, stretching and filling you so completely that you’ve no room to think, to breathe, to do anything but take it as he thrusts into you. he buries his head in your neck, resting on his forearms as he plunges into you again and again and again, and between your own choked breaths and the sounds of skin against skin, you hear him muttering in high valyrian.

“sīr sȳz syt nyke, sīr ȳrda, sīr lōz. vēttan syt nyke. ñuha dārilaros, mirre ñuhon [so good for me, so tight, so wet. made for me. my princess, all mine].”

it drives you wild, his voice and his words and hearing him speak in valyrian combined with the exquisite torture of the slow drag of his cock inside you. it’s too much, not enough, and leaves you with nothing but the need to feel as much of him as you possibly can. your hands drag up and down his back, fingernails leaving raised red lines in their wake as you seek to be as close to him as you can bear.

“more, jace, gods, please, i need—”

he cuts you off with a hard thrust, your breath punching out of your lungs as he starts to drive into you harder and faster. it’s so good, so fucking good, but still not quite enough and you whine, seeking something you’re not sure you know how to verbalise.

“whatever you need, love. i’ll give you whatever you need.”

understanding your need even when you don’t, jacaerys rears up, grips your legs and presses your knees to your chest before bearing down on you. like this he reaches so deep it hurts in the most unbearably, searingly pleasurable way. and it’s perfect, exactly what you needed, feeling him so far inside you that it soothes you and ignites you and makes you ache all at once.

“y’feel so good,” you manage to slur out, head lolling as you lose yourself to the feel of him taking you apart so expertly. “so— fuck— so deep. so good, jace, so good.”

jace groans your name, pounding into you so hard and so deep that it’s unconscionable, has your eyes rolling back into your head as your hips buck up to meet him recklessly. your peak approaches again, searing heat blazing through you as you inch closer to another climax, and all you can do is whine and moan as he fills you over and over again. he starts to lose the thread of his rhythm as you clench around him, valyrian and common tongue mixing senselessly as praise spills from his lips.

“avy jorrāelan [i love you] my perfect girl, gūrogon nyke sīr sȳrī [take me so well], can’t get enough of you, hells, i love you, ao sagon ñuhon [you’re mine], my love, my princess, my queen, ñuha ābrazȳrys [my wife].”

you come so hard you see stars, walls pulsing around jace’s cock as he curses. he thrusts sloppily into you, chasing his own release and dragging out your own as you keen, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. he finds completion with a drawn out noise, seed spilling hot and thick inside of you as he lazily pumps his hips two, three more times before collapsing on top of you.

you press absent kisses to his temple, brushing back the sweat-soaked curls from where they’ve matted on his forehead as he shudders against you. you feel lethargic, body aching in the sweetest of ways as you fight to catch your breath. eventually the heavy weight of jace on top of you becomes uncomfortable and you squirm beneath him in protest. with a sigh he slides himself free of you, rolling over onto his back and wrapping an arm around you to pull you with him so that you sprawl over his chest.

you bury your smile into his neck, satisfaction settling bone-deep as his hand runs up and down your back idly. for long moments the two of simply lie together in the quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets and the crackle of the dying fire.

“i’ll speak to my mother and the king on the morrow,” he says into the quiet and you raise your head to look at him. he looks serious, amber eyes contemplative as he peers down at you. “i’ll not let another night pass without you as my betrothed.” he smiles at you then, a little crooked as his eyes crinkle, and without thought you reach up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.

“i love you,” you say, eyes shining with mischief. “ñuha valzȳrys [my husband].”

jace swallows your laugh with another kiss, doing a poor job of hiding his own amusement as his smile presses to yours, and as the candles burn down you let all of your worries and doubts fade.

you love him. he loves you.

there’s nothing else that matters.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys smut #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #jacaerys targaryen #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen smut #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys targaryen imagine #jacaerys targaryen fanfic #my writing

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tojirights · 7 months

Note

I'm sure we've all the "Alastor in a rut" fics but can I mix it up a little and request Alastor in a rut and so needy he's willing to give reader control?

a/n: omg baby's first rut, spawned by his attraction to you and he doesn't know how to get it to stop so he asks for help? :'))) i am def a subby person but every now and then i can write our mens being the needy ones 🩷

tags: 18+ smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, alastor cums a lot

you had an unexpected knock at your door late at night after you'd already gotten into bed, and at first you ignore it. then, it happens again. you groan and throw off the blanket, about to get up when alastor appears from the shadows next to your feet.

you go to scream, not even able to comprehend who or what is grabbing you in the darkness, but there's a hand covering your mouth before you can do so. there's also something... stiff hitting your back. you calm when you recognize the hand and you take a deep breath when he removes it. "what the hell alastor?" you whisper-yell, spinning around to face him. you barely recognize the demon standing in front of you.

he's disheveled, shuddering, and looks completely exhausted. he's in what you assume he sleeps in, which is an interesting looking robe. "al?" you frown, reaching out to touch him but he grabs your wrist before you can. "please, darling... for your own good, be careful with your next move..." even his voice is shaky. your eyes finally catch his, and you gasp when you see the deep, dark desire seeping through them.

“i need… need you.” he speaks, still breathless and you’re sure you’ve never heard something so sexy. your eyes widen, taking in the fact that alastor's cock is what was poking you when he grabbed you. alastor has barely said anything other than a quick casual sexual remark in your direction the entire time you've been here at the hotel, and now he's asking for your help.

"o-oh um... yes! i mean-" you speak way too fast, embarrassing yourself with how fast you're interested in 'helping' alastor. before you can say anything else, alastor's lips meet yours and you're instantly melting against him. he steps backwards until he's falling flat onto the bed, tugging you on top of him. your hips straddle his, and the friction against his cock has him arching into you. you swear he whines when you grind your hips, that you can feel his cock pulsing under the small layer of clothing.

you've heard of demons going into a rut, but you've never seen alastor acting quite like this. his hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his ears stand more alert. he physically looks... needy. and his breathy pants beneath you only spark your desire to help. you decide to push your luck just a little bit and interlock your fingers with his before pushing them above his head and holding them there while you rub against him.

alastor looks mad at first, that you dare try to pin him down, but the second he feels the sweet drag of your cunt over his barely clothed cock, he almost cums. "please." you're not sure alastor's ever begged for... anything before, but his pleas make your core pulse, heat pooling between your legs. "mmm, please what?" you smirk, watching frustration bubble up in his eyes. "please- i just... i need to be inside of you." he sighs, not putting up as much fuss as you thought.

you hold back a moan of your own, wanting to maintain some semblance of control over alastor, since you're sure this won't happen again. "ah~ good boy." you coo, again watching as something flashes in his eyes that's a mixture of anger and lust. "need you, darling." he pleads, grinding his aching erection against you. biting your lip, you tug off your shirt and wiggle your hips enough to slide down your sleep shorts. "make me cum." he gasps, giving into every carnal desire flooding his system.

as soon as the head of his cock presses against your pussy, he's trying to push you to take it all. "ah ah..." you warn, once more reaching to pin his hands above his head. "i will make you cum. don't move." your tone is strict, and alastor hates how much it makes his cock throb. he'll get you back for this brazen attitude at a later date...

for now, all he can think about is emptying every last drop of his seed deep within your sweet, wet cunt. after an agonizingly slow descent, you find yourself fully sat on his cock. alastor's eyes are shut, his chest heaving as every breath he's holding back the urge to cum. "hey al..." you whisper, leaning down so your nose touches his. alastor swallows, his hips wiggling ever so slightly. "y-yes darling?" he shudders, feeling every inch of your pussy squeezing around his leaking cock.

"cum as many times as you need..." the hitch in his breath is so audible, and all the tension in his body snaps like a twig. "you-" he gasps, legs spasming as he tries not to lose it just yet. "-don't know what you're getting yourself into." it's a warning, and you know that, but your cunt clenches at the idea of spending the rest of the night like this. "use me." you murmur, watching as alastor's eyes roll into the back of his head.

the groan that follows is primal, and you give in to his thrusts from below you. the force pushes you forward, your chest flat against his, every thrust upwards pushes more and more of his seed so deep inside of you. and even with his cock nuzzled deep against your cervix, the amount of cum seeps down his cock and covers your inner thighs.

you expect alastor to look worn out, but he looks even hungrier now. wasting little time, alastor flips the two of you so you're now under him. "now then..." he begins, his head slightly clearer now and he's not going to tolerate your behavior from earlier. "i think i like you beneath me a whole lot better, dear." you bite your lip and smile, mischief forming in your eyes. "i like this too."

the look in alastor's eyes tells you that you won't be getting any more sleep tonight.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel imagines #alastor smut #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin alastor smut #hazbin hotel alastor smut #alastor x reader imagines #hazbin hotel alastor x you #alastor hazbin hotel smut #hazbin smut

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vivalarevolution · 6 months

Text

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓑𝓮𝓷𝓮 𝓖𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓽

Request: „Lady Margot is sent to Giedi Prime to seduce Feyd Rautha, yet na-Baron doesn't give in to temptation, showing how much he loves his wife and how far his obsession with her truly goes.‟

A/N: Request from @hskskdk , the request itself was slightly rephrased by myself but the context remained the same. Nevertheless, I hope you will all like it and you'll enjoy reading it.

Please remember that english is not my native language and mistakes might happen.

Work contains smut , minors do not interact.

The Bene Gesserit was a female order constituting one of the most important pillars of the Empire. They were devious , cold and remarkably exalted. They struck fear as much as they did awe.

Yet in the eyes of young na-Baron, they were nothing more than witches manipulating the weak minds of even weaker men.

But that changed. She changed it.

She was one of them. She was just as manipulative, just as devious. Yet one look from her was enough to make Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen bend to her will.

She became his wife, his lover, his goddess. He was willing to kill for her, to cause suffering to those who were against her.

When lady Margot Fenring tried to break him the same way , make him hers , she failed. Because she wasn't her. She never could've been.

And with her failure came the raw rage of her sister.

-First you enter my house uninvited and then you have the audacity to try seduce my husband when my eyes are not focused on him- she said in a cold and harsh tone , looking at the older woman.

-I am not obliged to explain my actions to you Y/n - she replied, looking directly into the eyes of her younger sister -Because you know that the actions of our order have a greater purpose.

-And yet here you are - na-Baroness remarked.

-I'm here because you failed my dear sister - Lady Fenring said , her face still remained stoned and unmoved- In the place of the male heir there are three daughters. To have one child like that is a mistake but to have three is an insult.

Feyd Rautha's wife looked at her with composure , but her blood was boiling like wildfire , ready to burn everything in its path.

-Bene Gesserit needed me to give birth to a son. But my husband wanted daughters - Y/n proclaimed , walking slowly towards the blonde-haired woman - I gave them to him and I plan to give him as many daughters as he wants because it is my husband who has control over me. Only him.

-Even if this is what you allow yourself to believe , don't you think that eventually the need for a male offspring will occur? - she asked her - Feyd Rautha is still a man , a man who is the heir of the Harkonnen House. His love for you will fade away.

-His love for me is dangerous - Y/n declared - But it is not dangerous for me. It is dangerous for others - she whispered , standing in front of her sister - He is ready to kill for me , he is ready to destroy everything my heart desire - she confessed, looking into her blue eyes - He has already done it…and he will do it again, all it takes is a mere word from my lips. His love will not fade away…it will only grow.

-Are you threatening me? - asked Lady Fenring , looking closely into the eyes of the na-Baroness.

-I warning you - she answered, measuring her with a disdainful look - I suggest you go to your chambers dear sister. Do not continue to tempt the creatures in the shadows who are watching you.

Her words were not commanding, but their hidden meaning made the woman walk away, leaving Y/n Harkonnen with her husband, who had been watching her in the darkness since the beginning of the conversation, following her like a hunter follows his prey.

-Do you wish me to kill her , my darling? - he asked , approaching her slowly , watching her intensely.

-You cannot - she replied , closing her eyes when his large palms rested on her body.

-She disrespected you , she insulted your children and tried to seduce your husband - he whispered , kissing her neck -You have every right to kill her. I will do it for you , just say the word my beloved- he said , capturing her face so she would leveled gazes with him.

She looked at the male for a long time , having a silent discussion with him, but no matter how much she tried to deny it ,her decision was made long ago , even before her husband had spoken.

-I want the life to escape from her eyes - she demanded - But I want her to wait, I want her mind to be filled with nothing but the awareness that she won't live to see the next morning - she said, sliding her hand along na-Baron's torso - And I want her to hear exactly how great your love for me is and what she can never have - she whispered sensually into his mouth - I want you to make love to me - she announced quietly, kissing his pale, full lips.

Feyd pulled her into his arms. His possessive grip left marks on her that she never wanted to get rid of.

He took her to their chambers. His hungry mouth could not refrain from tasting her soft flesh , marking it with blue marks. The woman in response tilted her head , exposing her neck , so that his teeth and tongue could have fuller access to her. He attacked the exposed patch of her skin almost immediately, relishing in the taste of his beloved , trapped in his embrace.

His wife allowed herself to close her eyes , giving herself over to the arms of pleasure. His kisses made everything inside her cease to exist , only raw hunger remained.

When the man moved away from her body , and her back met the cool satin sheets , her gaze rested on him , and her brow furrowed.

She wanted him close , she needed him close.

Grabbing his neck with her hand, she pulled him towards her , bringing their lips together again. Their tongues moved in a passionate dance , as their teeth rubbed against each other , and saliva lazily ran down their jaws.

His hands destroyed the clothes between them , as his teeth marked each new piece of her skin with his teeth . Her legs wrapped around his waist , feeling his thick, veiny shaft rubbing against her wet and trembling womanhood , and as he entered her , assaulting her insides , she drove her long nails into him ,scratching them across his pale back , leaving an angry red trail behind.

Feyd bit down hard on her neck , savoring her sweet blood. In response , she grabbed his hand, bringing it closer to her throat , needing to feel more of the pain which mixed so deliciously with pleasure. And the man immediately knew what the woman wanted from him.

He squeezed the skin of her neck , restraining the access of air to her lungs , smiling sinisterly as he felt her body tighten , and her climax approaching drastically fast. Her eyes rolled back , and the image before her became blurry as her body was flooded with rough pleasure , that only her husband could give. Moaning loudly ,she felt his hot cum fill her , running lazily down her thighs , staining them black.

Na-Baron kissed the red , soft lips of his lover , tasting her with extraordinary tenderness as well as possessiveness.

-My knives are yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my riches, all these belong to you - he vowed to her ear , kissing its lobe - You have bewitched my body and soul and there is no one who can take me away from you.

The woman smiled gently , stroking his jaw with her fingertips.

-I believe you my husband - she stated , looking deeply into his blue eyes.

-Rest now my wife- he muttered at the hollow of her neck where he placed a single kiss - Rest because when you wake up I will make sure that you leave the chambers with another daughter under your heart.

She obediently followed his command , allowing sleep to envelop her exhausted body. And when she finally awoke , she was met with the sight of her husband.

He was covered in blood , kneeling in front of her lying figure , holding in his hands the head of Lady Margot Fenring.

#dune x reader #dune smut #dune #dune part 2 #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x fem!reader #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x wife!reader #austin butler x reader #my writing

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prael · 12 days

Text

A Bargain To Remember

Kinktember Day 13: Car sex

(G)I-DLE Miyeon x male reader smut

words: 4,950 Kinktember Masterlist

"Finally, a face to the name."

You know all about Miyeon, of course. She's the type of girl whose face is plastered on every screen and every street in every corner of the galaxy, a darling of the interplanetary conglomerates. From the spaceports to even the most downtrodden of back-alleys, you can probably find her face on some poster or flyer or some massive digital billboard high above you—those corporate powers that be sure want to squeeze as much out of her as possible.

The surprise is that she knows you.

Of course, it's on those screens, or the ones at home, or the ones in their pockets, that most people become acquainted with a girl like Miyeon. Those glossy eyes, her effervescent smile, her delicate but fierce features, of course, they leave an impression. They sell you dreams, products and promises. That's why you can find her all over the place—but the versions of her you can interact with— ones to purchase and enjoy—are another beast altogether.

"Can I help you, miss?" you feign ignorance of her identity as she takes the chair at the other end of your desk.

"I would like to make a purchase."

"A purchase? From me? What could I possibly offer to someone like you? I sell scrap electronics to junkies and fix the broken implants of low-life thugs. How could that possibly interest you?"

She crosses her legs, and says, "Don't play with me. I have seen your work, quite the artist you are, though I wouldn't say you exactly have my mannerisms down. The curve of my mouth, the cadence of my voice—not exactly up to par with the real deal. But as fakes go, you do well with what you have."

You scratch at the back of your head and then catch a bead of sweat forming at your temple, "Think you have the wrong guy, miss. You're talking AI and Virts here. Not my thing, definitely not my forte."

She's quiet as you look around at anything but her face. The grey concrete walls and steel beam of the roof are awfully fascinating suddenly, and then the holos playing on loop above the screens of your makeshift booth—really anything than to have to admit that your life's work consists of making and selling forgeries of people like her. She knows why she's here—the least you could do is be brave and admit to your craft.

"I tried your work myself. Quite the experience. Can't say I ever planned on fucking myself—but well, there's a first time for everything I guess."

There's enough power across your desk to not only shut you down and make it so the only tech you would ever touch again is a pair of electrified cuffs at best, and at worst she could have you put down and silently disposed.

Miyeon continues, "As I say, it wasn't entirely accurate, I'm not actually that loud or aggressive, for the record. But it was fun, so if you're thinking I'm about to expose you, not the case—I'm actually here to invest in your skill. Your art is fun, and I dare say your tastes in women, are spot on."

You let out a small nervous laugh and then say, "I don't usually take requests."

Her pink-painted lips, the gloss shimmering slightly from the bright fluorescent overhead light, form into a delicate, mischievous grin. "I'm willing to make you an offer, one you won't refuse. You get me what I want, and I'll license your work. Think about it. An official Miyeon VirtueX™, think of how lucrative an asset that could be. The whole galaxy's lining up to get a taste—and you would be the only real supply."

You lean forward in your chair to peer at her and ask, "Let's say I was who you think I am, what is it that you want from me?"

"What I want from you," she pauses and tilts her head, her eyes glance across your features briefly and her tongue traces the edges of her teeth. "Is to show me the past." She places a drive on the desk—old-tech, the kind that would never run on any kind of systems that are sold today. "You can get this working, right?"

"Is that a government stamp?" You point to the symbol on the drive. "I plug that in and I'll have execution squads here in under a minute."

"It's all above board. Officially disposed and untracked. I just need to live it, once." Her voice is quiet and pensive.

"Alright. Deal. But those two lumps of metal you call bodyguards have to stay out there, and you're coming through to my studio. If I'm gonna help, you have to play by my rules."

She flashes you a winning smile. You thought you had her pegged down but all this has proved you wrong—there was more to Miyeon than the flashy clothes and the blinding lights, a lot more. And your curiosity is getting the better of you now.

"You know, you're only the third person to ever step in here," you open up the secret passage into the back room, and gesture for Miyeon to step in.

You close the door behind you both and feel the heavy metal slide lock with a hiss.

"The first was me, naturally, and the second left it in a body bag a few years ago."

She doesn't flinch, just brushes past you and sits on the edge of your desk, running a finger along the steel as if surveying the conditions of your equipment. "Hard to imagine you make the stuff you do from a place like this," she says.

"The drive," you say as you hold out a hand.

She passes it over and you examine the shape and material. Most drives these days are designed to interface with neural implant ports or organic docks directly—this is true vintage work. It might have been what some would have called groundbreaking tech a hundred or so years ago. You hook the little device up to your primary work machine and start running tests.

She slides off the table, her hands resting on your shoulders. She bends down, her body pressed into yours as she murmurs near your ear. "How is it?"

"A mess. But a fixable mess. Should have something you can use soon enough."

Miyeon breathes gently in your ear before placing a hand on your arm, "Please, whatever you do, do not look at the contents. It's personal, just let me view it, and live it, one last time. Then you can lock it away again for all eternity and erase the copy from your server. And then you get exactly what you want from me."

You breathe in deeply, a mixture of her perfume and the thick oily scent of hot electronics flooding your brain. "Whatever, it's none of my business anyway. Now take a seat will you." You nod to the chair on the other side of the room.

The drive whirrs softly and a data scan runs to gather all the fragmented encryptions left behind on the device. Miyeon lies flat back on your chair and waits for you to connect her—she holds out her forearm expectantly.

"Come on then," she smiles sweetly and pulls a loose curl behind her ear.

You clamp your eyes tight and inhale. "Here goes nothing." You run the system at the push of a button and all the data you scraped compiles in a memory, one for Miyeon and Miyeon alone to relive. You walk over, drawing the connection from the chair and readying to insert it into her arm. "Connections like these, they can hurt, okay? Are you ready?"

"Do it." She's insistent.

A quick stab of your fingers later and the tiny prongs slide into the barely visible organic slot on her skin. Her head tosses violently and for the first time, there's fear on her face. But as soon as you have her connected, her eyelids begin to flutter. You sit a while, watching her as a million synapses all spark to life behind rolling eyes—whatever the moment is, she is in it. You leave her in peace and sit back at your workstation, waiting.

There's an artificial sensation of the atmosphere becoming slightly humid all around, the lights are a soft pastel blue, and the world is swathed in cotton wool. Silent. You find yourself completely frozen in time. It drags and yet somehow comes to a finish just as you're still adjusting to the quietude.

Miyeon's connection beeps and you turn around, removing the port from your system. She pulls the connection from her arm.

"So, tell me, was it worth the trip down memory lane? You get everything you wanted?" You unplug the old-school hardware and await the confirmation that all the corrupted data's safely expunged from your hard drives.

"Almost everything. But most things, in the end, never get a happy ending, do they?"

"Sounds heavy. The stuff that happened on there, pretty rough, huh."

Her pupils are dilated, the whites of her eyes flooded red. "Like you wouldn't believe." Miyeon climbs from the chair, finding her feet back in the real world after living in another for a precious few minutes. She blinks twice and there's a distinct film over her corneas.

"So that's it? My end of the bargain was fulfilled. And I get my licensed content?"

Miyeon turns and you wonder if that's a tear that's been cast down her cheek. "Sealed and guaranteed. Now let's give you some real data to work with. The right anatomical model, an authentic Miyeon behavioural pattern, every single unique vocal calibration, every erogenous spot, every subtle expression in real-time—have it all. One more condition. I have another memory, a real one in my head, if you make me relive that, you can record it and scrub every detail you need. Are we agreed?"

You nod. "Done. Sit there and we'll connect."

"You're going to manually record?"

"How do you think I get it all so accurate?" you tell her with a smug smile.

She sits and gives a nod. "If it's got to be done." You take a seat behind her, and you both reach over your shoulder to pull the neural connector into your napes and slot them in.

A brief flash of many realities as you slip into her consciousness and she welcomes you to her memory.

A calm setting, sitting in a car, you were driving and she's in the passenger seat. You're parked beside a winding hillside road and looking out over a city. A city you don't recognise. Miyeon's fingers dancing across your thigh with a suggestive gentleness, a sly smile.

"Where are we?" you ask.

"Seoul." Miyeon smiles.

"When are we?"

"2024."

"2024? That's over seventy years ago!"

She laughs. "Yeah? You wanted the real authentic Miyeon, didn't you?"

"Sure, but in 2024? That's just unbelievable. You look the same. How are you so—"

She leans close and traces a finger across the line of your jaw. She stares directly into your eyes and says, "We'll worry about the details later. Right now, you want what I've promised, and you've come this far, so you know what has to be done. We're already where we need to be."

Your senses are engulfed in an emotion and memories that are not your own. All a simulation and all a vivid and overwhelming experience. You're in love with her, that's the overriding feeling—the feeling of whoever she was really with at this time.

"This is the memory of the best sex of my life." She leans close to whisper to you. "So do try your best."

"This is just..." You don't get to finish, she's grabbed your shirt and pulled you close. She kisses you deeply. There is nothing of the daintiness or composure that you're used to, you've lost all your will and she is dragging you out of control. You find yourself consumed with an overwhelming and perplexing ecstasy and the idea of restraint or of reason seems unimportant now. You're driven purely by passion and by instinct—she has to have you and you have to have her, it's almost a compulsion. She's yanking off her seatbelt and reaching for your trousers, clawing at them desperately.

And just like that, you're scrambling at each other's clothes, almost frantic. You have the sensation of her breath across your face, the heat of her lips against your skin. Hands, everywhere. Exploring the curves of her body. A hungry desperation to peel back every layer of fabric to feel more, and more of her. She bites your bottom lip and looks at you with pleading eyes.

"I want you and I want you now." Her lips move like liquid lust and her hand like electricity, the energy tingles when she wraps her fingers around your cock and pulls it free from your pants.

She gasps and then giggles as if pleasantly surprised, a cute and kittenish squeal, she hums with her own approval of her actions.

"I'll be gentle," she whispers, her eyes shining with mischief. She rubs you from tip to base, taking the full length, slowly and teasingly over and again until the blood's pumping and you're at full salute. She's on her knees in the passenger seat and leaning over you. A smirk on her lips, she goes lower and lower still, her tongue warm and wet. Taking your crown into her mouth and enveloping you, her pace slow but sure.

Your hand in her hair, not to control or pressure, just to feel her in the moment. Encourage her, caress the back of her neck and appreciate every moment of pleasure. She takes you deep, deeper into her throat, the heat of her lungs, the power in her movements as she comes off and plunges again and again. It's effortless and instinct, and not for anything other than her own desire to please, and that itself is thrilling, you have to admit.

It's a strange new world for you to have sex without the enhancements of technology. It's so raw.

You sigh and whimper at every suckling pull, your nerve endings raw and singing. Her palms firmly pressing down onto the tops of your thighs, her movements grow slower, more sensual but she sucks harder, the vibrations from the moans of her enjoyment humming through the root of your shaft—fuck, it feels so fucking good, too good. She releases you with a slight gasp for air and a drooling line of spit.

She wipes her lips with a knowing glint in her eyes. "Outside, now." Miyeon doesn't hesitate. Her shirt pulled off and tossed into your face and she's leapt over to the rear passenger door, flinging it open wide, the warm night air rushes in to greet you, along with the sound of crickets. She slams the door shut and you open yours.

You climb out and head to meet her at the front of the car, she's already leaning against the metal hood. The car is one of those muscle cars from back at the time, a real classic ride that suits a woman like her. "Hey you," she rubs her hands against the metal as she leans forward and sprawls herself over it. "Get behind me already," her tongue dancing across her red-stained lips, her chest heaving in excitement, you're as hot and as hard as you'll ever be.

Miyeon tilts her head, watching you closely with half-opened eyes, her pretty pink tongue sticks out between her perfect teeth, and a teasing wink follows. She wiggles her hips, an inviting gesture, her skirt raised to reveal the gentle wobble of her cheeks—she doesn't have underwear, what a perfect minx she is—all bare for you.

She runs a hand down over the hem of her skirt and then raises it fully up over the top of her ass. As glorious as the very stars overhead. You have an overwhelming urge to run your hands across her bare flesh and as you take the first steps towards her, you find your arms reaching and touching and tracing every inch of skin that's exposed.

You run your hands over her cheeks, spreading them, kneading them, Miyeon's letting out soft little noises, encouraging you, inciting you—but fuck, this view... it's exquisite. It's so clear now, that all those fakes, the painstaking hours of recreation, simply did not live up to the real deal, and not just the view, everything is magnitudes superior.

You smooth your palm between her thighs and you part them, pulling her ass to the edge, sliding her legs open, watching as her wetness shines. "Just how badly do you want me?" you ask her.

"Look at me, how can you say something like that? Of course, I fucking want you. I hate having to wait. Come and fuck me."

You guide your cock to sit between her cheeks and rock into it gently, enjoying how those perky cheeks cradle your length and the way her whole body rocks with every movement. "Is it wrong that I love watching you squirm?" you ask, running the palm of your hand over the bare skin, digging your fingers in, grasping a handful and appreciating how it yields under your fingertips.

"Only wrong if I mind, and I don't," Miyeon groans, lifting her hips against you and smothering your dick in her deliciously juicy flesh. She is irresistible. "So what are you waiting for," her voice soft and suggestive. "Go on, you know you want to. You know how much I need it."

You grit your teeth and trace her lips with the tip of your cock, and it's like lightning flashing between you both. Fuck. Her lips are so wet and hot—they're so tantalisingly puffy. She wiggles and gyrates against you as you rest inside her opening. She groans and you're shuddering.

You slide the first few inches and gasp. You both moan softly together as you glide in, she's so much tighter than you had imagined she might feel—every inch that slides inside makes her clench you more.

"Yes," Miyeon is urgent and breathy, her muscles are contracting as though attempting to swallow your entire length. And she's hungry for it. "That's it baby, nice and deep," her words as electrifying as the sensation of her snug walls quivering as she clings on with greed.

"Like this?" you whisper in her ear as you lean over and pin her petite frame against the metal, letting her feel you, all of you. Every inch. And as she moans and shivers under the weight of your body. Your hands reach her shoulders and your fingertips find her neck, circling and caressing and massaging in all the right places—she turns her head as far round as she's able to gaze at you as she hums and gasps with each rolling movement of your hips.

Her teeth biting her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed pink, a complete dream in motion. Her body arches as she urges and wills herself back on you. You groan in return. Everything about her feels unreal in its perfection. She's squeezing against your cock, and her most hidden recesses begin to melt for you.

Miyeon cums like this, and it's without warning. She tenses, her eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open—her silky tunnel clamps tight as a vice grip. And the way she gushes all over you, covering you, she can barely breathe, she can barely let out a cry or a single noise, only ragged breathing as you hold her firmly in place and fuck her through it.

You fuck her without shame or inhibition. She whimpers, a feeble cry, every thrust powerful and deliberate. Miyeon moans what feels like your name and you give another forceful snap of your hips, both hands firmly on her slim and shaking waist. There are no words that can possibly encapsulate her.

"That's it," her breath erratic and shaky. She grinds her ass into you with every forward push, working into a perfect rhythm and going balls-deep with each pump. "Hard." You slam against her ass, the clapping sound of skin against skin—it fills the warm and humid air.

Miyeon cums again. So fucking easy to make her cum. Her beautiful brown eyes are desperate with desire. She shakes, she is panting, "Just like that, keep doing exactly that and I'll lose my damn mind. God, you feel so fucking big."

She's limp now, just taking rough, powerful and blissful strokes—her cries a series of hoarse grunts and weak moans.

You grab her by the waist, hard, she lets out a yelp, and then you're manhandling her, throwing her delicate figure over onto her back. There they are, those perfect little tits, grown red being forced against the metal of the car. Her soppy mess drips out from her thoroughly fucked hole.

"This, is all you wanted right?" You gather her legs and thrust them roughly up and over your shoulders, sliding easily back inside. Her pussy gushing and absolutely soaking. "A good rough fucking. You just love to be used don't you, baby. This is the side of you I've been missing, seeing how you have always been so prim and proper in front of everyone."

"That was your problem, all those homemade VirtueXs made me all commanding when I really just love to be taken." Her breaths are ragged.

"Maybe that's just how I'll be selling you in future then," you say.

She gives a throaty chuckle. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but for now," Miyeon takes a tight hold of her knees, and draws them against her chest. "Make me cum again, please."

You have her absolutely filled with every inch of cock and stretched tight with every savage drive of your hips, again, and again, and again. Sweat forms a light film over every curve and groove of her form. She's gorgeous, she's taking it, and she's loving it. "Let me feel you cum," she breathes between pumps and thrusts, her fingers kneading the flesh of her thighs as she spreads herself as open as is physically possible.

A combination of pressure and adrenaline, you're hammering deep. Miyeon is groaning and pleading. A loud moan, a series of short sharp exhales and whimpers. Those narrow hips are trembling, her slim thighs shake, toes are curled. Her orgasm and invitation for you to join her come as a surge.

You explode. Locked, sheathed so deep and full, you fill her. "Cum so much..." Miyeon sighs in awe. Your climax is euphoria.

Both a sweating, quaking mass of interlocked limbs, you pull away and your drenched cock slips out. "How are you real," you exhale. "Never felt anything like you."

"I am one of a kind." Miyeon laughs gently to herself. "Now let's get back in there and you can fuck me some more."

You're in the backseat now, Miyeon's slender body climbing all over you. She leans in and takes your lips, her sticky lip gloss and the sweet taste of her mouth as she invades with her tongue and leads yours into a frenzy. Her fingertips drag down across your chest. She's positioning herself over your cock.

The beauty of simulation is there's no recovery, only the chasing of the next orgasm, and she's keen to provide the means. She takes you with her eyes closed, a small, grateful moan and she slides herself slowly up and down. Your head arches back with a cry as she holds onto your shoulders and glides her lips down over your shaft.

"Gonna ride you," she whispers as she rocks herself in time with the rise and fall of your breaths. "Ride you until you explode again." Your fingertips squeeze into the supple curves and muscles of her torso.

It is a euphoric ecstasy. Miyeon looks perfect riding a dick. She sinks down low, grinding back and forth. She moves like waves, her hair stuck against her cheek. You take hold and move the strands out of the way, before trailing down the bare skin of her neck and to her tits, groping them firmly.

"Been so long since I last got to do this. Missed how big you are." She grasps the headrest as the speed and intensity of her motions increase. "Yeah, that's it, baby."

Her eyes flutter and her head starts to fall further and further back. Erratic, out of control, wild—she starts slamming her ass down hard. Fucked-slack and oozing, her juices dripping down. She's growing quiet and you watch her expression transform, her eyes turn glassy. You watch her face strain in her pleasure, it's a wonderful sight—pure bliss. Then she erupts into moans as her body convulses and spasms, and all you can do is hold her steady, her hole throbbing tight around you. She gasps, desperate for oxygen, every fibre and nerve singing in harmony.

From one, right into chasing the next, Miyeon lifts herself, turns, presents her ass to you and sits back on your cock. You watch it slip up between her cheeks and disappear inside her cunt once more, she hums a content sigh and leans forward. Miyeon braces herself against the window of the car, looking over her shoulder as she moves.

Her groin rocks and grinds on your shaft in a rolling motion and it's heaven itself. That cute, perky ass smacks on your groin in a sensual motion. Her hand snakes between her legs. Her moans grow in strength and volume. Wet, slippery, soft, Miyeon's fucking you and riding herself to her own orgasm. She starts to tremble. You start to tremble. She's squirming wildly, desperate for her climax, that gorgeous cunt squeezing every inch and driving you crazy.

And you lose it. Another intense explosion that makes you clasp onto her ass and hold it steady. A groan rips through your entire body, and you empty everything you have. She cums the instant she feels the heat spread through her. A unified orgasm. Pure heavenly relief. The energy seems to drift into the air and the car rattles beneath you both. It is incredible. The euphoria is otherworldly.

"Tell me that was good," she asks softly.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Again. Again. Please, one more time?"

"It's your head, sweetie. Have at it."

"Hmm, I suppose it is. Then I want to sit on you, and I want it in my ass." Miyeon giggles and slips herself off you, a mixture of your cum and hers falling down her thighs.

"Whatever the fuck you want," you groan, delirious as Miyeon pulls you up to the seat and then takes her place on your lap, she spread her legs out over yours and you take her hips, guiding her ass onto your cum-soaked cock. Everything is a fucking blur but the sensations are turned up to eleven, and there is nothing else that is comparable.

You plant kisses on her hot, sweaty back as you slide her down onto your length. She's twitching, and squirming. You hear her let out a soft gasp of delight at the invasion. The tightness, the constricting squeeze is just...

"Oh yes..." Miyeon breathes softly. "Let me... let me do the work now, let me fuck this big hard dick with my tight ass." She circles her hips, drawing on your cock with a slow, tight, merciless motion. Your world starts spinning all over again. She's slick with sweat, her cheeks grinding on your thighs, the scent and the sex drives you fucking wild. "What a perfect dick. I could do this all day."

You lean your head forward, and sink your teeth into the muscle of her shoulder—a flurry of loud moans from Miyeon as she bounces on your shaft. The sloppy sounds, the music of her pleasures, the clapping slap, it's insane and exhilarating. You lick her sweat from her flesh, tasting her.

She's slick and stretched, clamping around your cock as her pace quickens and turns ragged and urgent. It's a whole other level, it's unparalleled and all-consuming. You're just about ready to blow inside her ass.

"Hold onto me," She pants, grasping your left wrist and bringing it over to her mouth, placing your fingertips upon her tongue and sucking. It is lewd and erotic and exciting and your insides begin to churn and ache.

There's no stopping you now, you erupt again, gripping her waist as your hips buck up on instinct, jamming yourself deep and blowing. Miyeon moans around your fingertips—taking your load while still rubbing her swollen little clit.

"Yes, I love it when I make you cum like that," she murmurs, sliding herself slowly off your half-mast cock and crawling off your lap. She throws herself down on the seat in a heap, peering down at the thick mess of cum dripping out of her freshly fucked orifices, a dazed smile, satiated.

You blink and try to get her into focus but it's to no use—she blurs and vanishes before your eyes. And soon, you're back. Your workshop, in your chair, and still hooked into Miyeon. Still sitting back-to-back, your foreheads damp, breathing hard and ragged. The lights flickering a bright electric blue.

"Incredible," you breathe.

Miyeon sighs. "Yeah..." She detaches the link from behind her ear. Miyeon climbs to her feet, shakily making her way around your workspace. "I'm such a mess," She says, touching under her dress.

"Fuck, yeah me too," you sit there trying to process what just happened.

"I want a copy. The whole thing." Miyeon places a card down on the desk.

"I'll get started."

#kinktember #kpop smut #Miyeon smut #gidle smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #m reader #smut #Miyeon x reader #Electric play #Electrophilia #Cho Miyeon smut #(g)i dle smut

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spencerscoven · 4 months

Text

the alternate … art donaldson

Art has a proclivity for giving attention to his enemy. He hates her— but particularly hates how she has Patrick wrapped around her finger even more.

warnings ; smut .. slutty drunk freshman art x Patrick's gf, infidelity .. unedited for now! oops!

It didn’t take much time for Art to settle into Cornell— it wasn’t just the tennis or the girls, of which he quickly learned were rather women, or even the academics. His hesitation on his attendance was especially foolish, especially in moments like these as he rolled over, crushing the red solo up beneath him. The buzzing in his jean pocket persisted, just like it had for the last five minutes before, causing him to utter another affirmation to ignore it into her mouth.

Maybe the women had one or two things to do with it.

"Maybe just get it?"

"Why?"

"So you... can tell them you're busy."

He hummed into her mouth as the girl above him detached herself, moving to grab the stitch of her top to remove it as he tilted his hips to reach for his phone.

Patrick.

His calloused hands came up to push her thighs over his hips, sitting up to read the rapid series of text Patrick had sent. And Art soon saw— was still sending. All of them ranged from different ways of him asking Art to check up on you, letting your attendance be known. Patrick's texts detailed the simple request of him checking to see if you were taking your alcohol well. Another saying he hoped you wouldn't get roofed. And one that blatantly asked that he didn't let any of "those Ivy League assholes" fuck his girlfriend.

Art rolled his eyes, resentment laced in his actions as he muttered condolences and pledged to "be right back", his large hands taking the knob of the door and peering out into the dark hallway to find you. When a look wasn't enough, he left the room door slightly ajar, stepping completely into the hallway filled with red cups, colored lights, almost sidetracked by his team that pulled him by the neck and fought to put a drink in his hand. With a light smile still gracing his face and beer in a can, his eyes wondered up to your face, watching as your lips wrapped around a bottle of Corona, some leaking out the side of which you swiped away with the back of your hand. He felt the same kind of resentment he usually felt when he saw you when Patrick visited fill him from his chest out. He watched as you leaned against the wall talking to someone. He took in your skimpy skirt and top with less resentment, though.

He especially didn't like it when the next time he looked for your face, you were staring at him, eyes hooded and smile nasty and condescending.

"He told me to look for you."

"I know." You raised your eyebrow dismissively, almost wanting to laugh at Patrick's good intentions. He knew what you'd say about Art. Just like you assumed what Art said about you, yet he asked him anyway.

"And by that, he means look after you." Art leans in, lips close to your ear as the music sounded. You roll your eyes as he lingers there a moment too long and you expect him to say something more, but he never does.

"We both know I look fine."

It takes a beat before he responds. "We both do."

"And we both know you don't want to babysit."

"But I'm a good friend."

"I've known corrupt politicians that are better friends than you, Art."

He sways away from you, facing the rest of the party as he rolls his eyes with the kind of insularity he only reserved for you, tipping his head back to finish the rest of his beer and tossing it towards the trashcan, only to miss.

He turns to you, irritation flaring as he stabilizes himself on the sticky wall behind him by holding your hips. It's something you're willing to let go of, your breath clicking as he whispers: "You smell like pot."

"It's a free country."

"Okay," he challenges, pursing his lips as he leans closer. "What's in your cup?"

"What? Yours and Chelsea's not good enough for you?"

His upper lip raises, in a look of both disgust and toleration as he grasps your wrist, forcing you to bring your own bottle to his mouth. The contents of it are mostly able to be swallowed but the rest flow from the corners of his lips, down his chin, to his throat where his Adams apple bobs as he swallows. You wipe it instinctively, causing you to both freeze for only a moment. He shutters before he opens his mouth again to slur,

"Chelsea?"

You look at him quizzically, your mouth opening once, twice, three times, only to say nothing but erupt in laughter that rocks your head backwards and your body closer to his. Art looks around frantically, his mouth tilting downwards as he looks around, grasping your hips forward and gritting his teeth as he repeats himself.

"Chelsea? What's the fucking joke I'm not getting?"

"The girl that you just— my fucking god, Art. I know you look the way you do, but you couldn't even remember her name?" You tilt your head towards the doorway, insinuating the room you're sure his cologne still lingered in. He groans, his head falling forward in a laugh as his right hand on your hip runs up the side of your torso, his head spinning.

"I'm not a very good date, am I?" You can nearly taste the alcohol on his tongue and you're out of laughs, humor gone as a consequence of being so close to him. And maybe he's too drunk to realize it's happening, but you're too cross to care when his thumbs rub circles on your hipbone, of which he had to invade underneath your waistband to do.

"I almost finished my night like this." It's so quiet that you're unsure if it was for you to hear. But it doesn't matter, as your hand runs up his arm and shoulders, eyes following over the ripples.

"This is not the same."

Your other hand trickles down to his waistband, guiltily skating over his bulge as you feel his pocket for his phone.

"Arthur, Patrick told you to check on me. So, tell him I'm okay."

"I told him that I'd check on you. I also told him you were a bad idea, like I always do," He saws it lowly, as if it's not supposed to slip out and has only found it's way because of his level of intoxication. You scoff, pushing him backwards as you're suddenly slightly more sober. You rock back and forth, eyes rolling back, but the distance is not created before you can hear him finish: "but I never said he didn't have good taste."

You don't like that it's still said in the way only drunk and resentful Art could deliver it. "You're not a very good fucking friend."

"To who, you?" He makes it his personal duty to invade your space, his face in somewhat of a snarl. You know that some would see this as uncharacterized for Art, but it's most familiar to you. It feels somewhat like home. Albeit, a house fire, but home.

Your first encounter with him was glancing behind yourself at move in, and seeing his blonde locks brushed back by calloused hands as he looked at you, then to your racket.

Your second encounter was only minutes later, when he stood next to his raven haired friend who asked for your number as he rolled his eyes with a knot in his jaw, as if he didn't find you worthy. He tugged on the shirt of his friend, telling him there were better things to do. Better, he had said.

And that never made much sense to you. Because in your relationship with Patrick, there had always been the inconsequential three.

"You're not my friend," You begin, mind calculating how many rooms and doors of Cornell's largest final club you'd have to go before finding somewhere, anywhere, that would fit just you. "Never was."

Art's only silent for a moment, nose flaring and eyes squinting. his shoulders are tense, and if you were to look down you'd see his hand balled in a fist.

"What? What now, Art?"

"You never gave me your number."

He watches as your eyes furrow in confusion, the heat in your eyes rising rather than deflating. And he speaks again:

“You gave it to Patrick. But you never gave me your number.”

Without your bottle, your hands search for something to do, blinking frantically. They resort to touching yourself in the same places he just had, your fingers running down your torso quickly, your hip bone. When you touch your shoulder is when the two of your gazes meet once again. Art watches through blue as you nod your head slowly in both horror and understanding.

You're quick on your feet. He's watched countless of your matches, even when he had no business doing so. But he is too. So when a short string of curses land out of your mouth and you march down the hallway, he's on your heels.

And all you can think is that you know his gaze better than any other. It wasn't something you intended but through these sporadic games, your body and soul had bargained to be familiar with Art more than any other. If he leaned against the net or lunch table, it became the kind of resourcefulness of movement that was so particularly him. It was rare you called on him, yet necessary when it was a matter of Patrick. He was always there, steadfast and urgent. It'd be days before you learned of the lecture he missed because of it. And while your boyfriend was off being a pro, Art never was slow to tell you how good his female counterparts around him were, while you were "only barely whopping college ass".

But somehow he was always there. You found his gels and handle tape in your tennis bag. You had more than half your dining points still because you were just "a casualty of being present” when he was buying his own lunch. And it all made you feel as if he was just very...

"You're a fucking con artist," You shoved him against the door of which he only narrowly made it "A fucking wolf in sheep's clothing."

It made you even angrier that he was stronger than you but willing to let his body fall back, lips pierced in a thin obedient line as his back hit the door repeatedly under your assault until he grasped both your forearms, holding them closely together. A wince escaped your mouth, his strength relenting and becoming lighter but still he held you. He leaned down, attempting to meet your face that now focused on the hardwood below.

"I know I'm the bad guy. Still, what's it gonna be?"

You didn't look up at that. But you did at the vibration that sounded in his pocket just seconds later. There were always three.

Art doesn't waste a moment to release your arms, wrapping his own in an enclosure around your head to reach your lips, tugging you impossibly close to him. You can't help but not move-- letting him twist your head and invade your lips. It's only until you release a small moan you latch back.

After Art's kiss, your night was haunted. It was distorted beyond your eyes' power of correction. So when a pair of lips landed on yours again, you came back home. You gave in.

His hands ran down your body, invading each and every corner of you. Your hips, your waist, the small of your back, the back of your thighs which he used to hoist your body upwards and against the doorframe, caging you. As the wet kisses sound on your neck, you look past his head to the room you two now occupied, no bed. Just various pieces of miscellaneous covered in cream sheets. When you look towards the window, releasing another whimper as you feel his middle and index finger prod at your cotton panties, you can see dust aligning with the moonlight.

Like everything else he does, he's good at the way he touches you. No, nearly instinctual. Art's fingers curve and level themselves out inside of you, yet he leaves his palms frigid, rubbing your clit back and forth with the surface of it. It makes you all so weak, Art murmuring your name as the two of you lower to the floor, you're suddenly reminded of the urgency of the matter.

"Art, I need--"

"I know,"

I know,

I know.

He repeats the sentiment into your skin and it almost makes your eyes brim with tears as you feel his bulge covered by denim slot against your soaked underwear. The feeling is delicious, so you excuse your decorum when you buck your hips against his. You watch as he detaches himself from you, the depth of his blonde hair twinkling in the moonlight. His lips and chin are swollen and wet from your messy kisses that appeared to be more tongue than anything. He lifts your hips to remove your skirt on his own once he catches the way your eyes watch him, still. He looks at you, sick with the same fever, but now you're not quite sure what this illness even is.

His hands move to tug your shirt up, yet you push his hands away, making them double up on his belt as both of you scramble to slide his jeans below his ass. You also help him when he leans to grab your right leg, sliding it up and against his hip as he sways above you. You watch as he thinks, only for a moment, places a feather right kiss on your knee, whispers something you can't hear, and promptly shoves his dick inside of you.

The force of it slams your head against the door, the hinges rattling but the surprise of his size makes it so you hardly notice. You close your eyes immediately until you're struck with the realization that you hope this never happens again. You hope you're never drunk enough, or lucky enough to have your boyfriend's best friend's dick rocking you back and forth ever again. You near your eyes open, willing to at least let yourself savor what little you have now, gazing in the middle of you two where you can see him disappear inside of you repeatedly.

Art huffs above you as your name escape his lips repeatedly as if it hadn't been the first time. You find yourself unable to cope, grabbing the hardwood until you realize there's not much give. So you resort to firmly biting his shoulder between your gasps and yelps. which only surges him on to drive into you faster, his hips snapping and the sounds of both your flesh filling the room.

You feel his clammy hand reach for the hair at the nape of your neck and you allow yourself to submissively follow regardless of your confusion. Art's breath mingles with yours as he asks:

"Is it good?"

You don't answer.

"Does it feel good?"

Your brows furrow together as you nod your head up and down as if you’ve been doped, chest heaving uncontrollably. He meets your lips and it feels as if he's kissing you solely for himself as he drags his hand on your cheeks and forehead, ridding your face of your sweat and hair. His other hand circulates your clit with a firm hold and you feel the familiar sensation approaching. Your skin felt both as cold and hot as it ever had, your teeth penetrating your bottom lip, biting Art in the process.

"I don't think we should do this.." You spit out quietly in intervals, because it feels like the right thing to say right before you come all over his cock and he leans down to look at the mess you've made in bliss. The results that it gives are fruitful, as you feel his fingers' relentlessness on your clit still. But you can tell he's struggling to stay where he is, trying to milk every moment he can inside of you.

You use your feet to push his hips back, arms reaching above your head as you untangle your limbs. Your legs remain sprawled out on his thighs, of which lay on his calves. The silence between you two is like molasses, and he stares at your core as you brush your socked toes against his abdomen, then cock.

You see a frown form on his face, but you're also met with the needy repeated rise of his hips that meet your foot and help you grind against him. You watch in awe as his eyes don't leave yours, confusion filling the air. You bring your feet faster, rubbing against his tip and watch as Art's whimper fills the air and his cum shoots to his lower stomach and your sock, his eyes closing, throat repeatedly bobbing as he rides his high. You watch as the thrusts into you become increasingly slower until they stop completely and the two of you are left still once again. You marvel in the way it seems almost as if he always gets what he wants. And Art isn't quite sure of what to make of you at all anymore, with his ears ringing and chest warm.

On his knees, he cascades towards your body that slumps against the door frame. He moves towards you slowly at first, hesitating if you wanted any of this at all. But you don't decline the warmth of his chest as he pulls you in, wordlessly. You let him bury his nose to your scalp as he takes you in.

And you both agree that if this may be a story of tonight alone, you both might as well melt indistinguishably into it once again.

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x you #art donaldson /reader #art donaldson /you #challengers movie #challengers 2024 #art donaldson fic #art donaldson imagine

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gingersxng · 8 days

Text

Dominate Me

Pairing: f!reader x Mingi

Genre: smut 18+

Summary: your boyfriend allows you to be in charge for one night but the urge to be the one in charge gets too strong when he instead ends up dominating you.

Notes: switch!reader, switch!Mingi ( Mingi’s a dom!), Mingi has a big dick! (OFC), handcuffs, dirty talk, pet names (big boy, horny boy, naughty boy, doll, my girl), blowjob, deep throating, reader is a tease, cowgirl, unprotected sex (DONT), cum cum cum, slight breeding kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, handjob, kissing, mating press, creampie, nasty nasty.

a/n: I’ll be answering more requests soon, I’m sorry for not being very good at that but I promise I’ll be better. Hopefully will write other members more too but being Mingi biased makes it hard to keep my hands off writing about him… I don’t even know if you guys enjoy these anymore??

Words: 1.4k

It was usually Mingi who played the dominant role in the bedroom and you would lie if you said you didn’t like it but you had a secret wish to flip the script and take control for once. And only for tonight, Mingi was willing to indulge you.

You prepared yourself, you put on his favourite new lingerie in dark red lace that he bought you for your 23rd birthday, your heart raced as you laid out the handcuffs on the bedside table, it was the only thing Mingi allowed. You wanted to give Mingi something special, a night where you would show him your dominant side that maybe would get him to change his mind, let you take control from time to time.

Mingi finally entered the bedroom, his tall, muscular frame filling the doorway. His dark damp hair and intense gaze sent a shiver down your spine, he really knew how to make you nervous but it wouldn’t stop you from doing this. He smirked, knowing what was about to unfold and allowed himself to be guided to the bed. You pushed him gently onto the soft mattress, he was scanning your delicate body. His eyes didn’t seem to let go of your soft tits, the push up bra worked as it was designed to.

You snapped him out of it and reminded him that you’re in charge, so it would be non of his perverted actions.

"Tonight, you're all mine," you whispered seductively, your voice laced with a newfound confidence. You straddled his waist and leaned in close capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Mingi responded eagerly, his tongue dancing with yours as your mouths locked together. You could taste the desire in his kiss, a hunger that mirrored your own.

With deliberate movements, you trailed soft kisses down his neck, nipping gently at his sensitive skin. Mingi let out a low moan, his hands instinctively reaching for your tits but you gently pushed them away, reminding him yet again of your roles tonight.

"No touching, my horny boy," you teased, your breath was hot against his ear. "Tonight, I'm in charge."

You reached for the handcuffs, the cold metal contrasting with the heat of his skin. With a quick click, you secured his wrists together to the bedposts, rendering him helpless and at your mercy. Mingi's eyes widened with surprise and a hint of nervous excitement, his cock twitched in his boxers.

"Oh, you naughty boy, enjoying being restrained," you purred, running your fingers along his muscular arms. "Let's see how long you can last before begging for release." You traced your fingers down his chest, playing with the light dusting of hair that led to his happy trail. Your touch was feather-light, sending shivers of anticipation through his body. You kissed and nibbled your way down his torso, paying attention to every inch of his skin. Reaching the waistband of his boxers, you paused, teasing him by gently blowing on the bulge that was already straining against the fabric. Mingi squirmed, his dick throbbing with need. You giggled softly, enjoying the power you held over him.

With slow, deliberate movements, you pulled down his boxers, revealing his impressive erection. His dick stood tall and proud, thick veins pulsing with each heartbeat. You admired his cock, knowing the pleasure it could bring but tonight you wanted to tease and torment him first.

Leaning forward, you ran your tongue along the underside of his shaft, from base to tip, making him gasp and arch his back. You took your time, savoring the salty taste of his skin. Your mouth enveloped the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip making Mingi moan and buck his hips.

"Fuck, you're driving me crazy" he groaned. You smiled around his length, taking him deeper down your throat. You sucked and bobbed your head, your wet mouth providing relentless pleasure. Mingi's breath quickened, his body tensed as he fought the urge to climax.

"Not yet, big boy" you whispered, releasing his cock with a pop. "I want you to last."

You dragged your fingers lightly down his enormous length and grabbed the base of his cock, you straddled his waist again, pulling your panties to the side you positioned his throbbing cock at your entrance. With a slow, deliberate motion, you sunk yourself down on his length, taking him deep inside your hot, wet pussy. Mingi's eyes rolled back as he felt her tightness envelop him.

"Fuck, you feel so good" he grunted, his hips thrusting upwards, seeking more contact.

You set the pace, rising and falling on his shaft, your pussy muscles squeezing and massaging his cock. Your breasts bounced with each movement and Mingi couldn’t keep his eyes off them. You leaned forward letting your nipples brush against his chest, teasing him more.

"You like it when I ride you, don't you?" You taunted, your voice was breathless. "Do you like being my personal fuck toy?"

Mingi could only nod, too focused on to not come. You increased your pace, your pussy gripping him tightly, riding him like you’ve never done before. Your hands grasped his broad shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as you neared your peak.

"Cum for me, big boy" you urged, "Fill me up with your kids”

Your dirty words were all it took to send Mingi over the edge. He arched his back, his cock twitching as he released a torrent of hot cum deep inside you. You cried out, your own orgasm crashing over you as you felt his warmth filling you up. You continued to jump up and down his cock to ride out your orgasm, his body tensed more and more with each move you did and he was almost about to burst for the second time.

You slowly got off him and he watched how his softened cock slid out of you, all covered in your mixed juices. “Fuuck”

Hovering over him you placed small kissed on his neck down to his chest, all the way back down to his pubic bone. Mingi let out a deep moan when you grabbed his cock and began to pump him, the blood rushed down his dick and in just a few seconds he was fully hard again. “You want me to fuck you again?” You looked at him through your lashes. “Just fuck my cock so I finally can get my hands on you” he begged.

You did as he wished, you placed yourself on his cock and gave it everything you had left to give. Rocking your hips back and forth, round and round and clenching around him hard. You made him cum for the second time tonight, you got off him to undo the cuffs.

Mingis wrists were red and sore, his breathing heavy. He caressed your body as you lied on top of him giving you kisses on your forehead, he told you what a great job you did but he had to get his ways with you before calling it a night.

He rolled you over swapping places with him so you were at the bottom, he quickly grabbed the handcuffs and tied your wrists to the bedpost. You were shocked but not surprised by his actions. “You couldn’t let me have this one night could you?” You snapped. Mingi traced his hand grabbing the hem of your panties, pulling them off you, he guided his cock to your entrance and swirled the tip around coating it with your arousal. “Of course I did, you got to dominate me but now it’s my turn to dominate you as always doll” he purred before shoving his cock all the way in your warm wet pussy. You swallowed a gasp when he hit your sweet spot, his cock rubbing all the right places inside you. “You love it when I fuck your tiny pussy with my big cock, don’t ya”

He grabbed the underside of your thighs, pulling your legs up trapping you in a mating press. It was all back to the ordinary, having Mingi’s fat cock plunging your tight cunt, breeding you full.

“Who’s in charge?” Mingi growled, your words were stuck in your throat and nothing came out. “I said who’s in charge!” He went rougher on you when you didn’t answer. His hard thrusts against your hips made you stutter your words. “Yo-you’re in-in charge mmm ah, you always fucks me the best”

The sheets were stained and sticky under you, so was your insides as Mingi creamed inside you yet again with a big load of cum.

“mmhh that’s my girl”

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #kpop smut #mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut #song mingi #mingi imagines

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imagining-in-the-margins · 2 months

Text

CM Friends-with-Benefits Challenge

Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of August AND September, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including friends with benefits/situationships using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Characterships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed! Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.

There are a LOT of prompts below the cut, so keep going!

(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)

🥰 Song Prompts 🥰

"Sex" by The 1975

"Too Sweet" by Hozier

"dress" by Taylor Swift

"august" by Taylor Swift

"Casual" by Chappell Roan

"Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier

"Close to You" by Gracie Abrams

“Stuck in the Middle” by Tai Verdes

"Good Luck, Babe!" by Chappell Roan

"I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys

“Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?” by Arctic Monkeys

💌 Dialogue Prompts 💌

“I’m just in it for the snacks.”

“No wonder you’re single…” (joking?)

“So... what’s the stance on cuddling?”

"You deserve something real. I want us to be real.”

“We’re just friends with benefits.” // “Right, and the benefit is being madly in love.” (sarcasm?)

“We’re… friends. With benefits.” // “Without sex? What’s the benefit?” // “My delightful company, asshole.”

"I'm your boyfriend without the benefits." // "Do you want the benefits?" // "Yes—No... I'm your fluffer!" ('New Girl')

“What is up with those two lately?” // “They’re sleeping together.” // “Yeah, right. Imagine… wait, seriously?”

General & NSFW Prompts Below!

🌹 General Prompts 🌹

Someone figures out the situation. A and B try to figure out how.

A is blindsided by jealousy when someone shows an interest in B.

A and B try to be normal so no one knows. Literally everyone knows.

A is so worried about B falling for them that A fails to realize A already fell for B.

A realizes they are happier with B than any actual significant other they’ve had.

A is totally B’s type, which has never worked out before. As a result, A keeps sabotaging things.

A agrees to a situationship with B because they think it's the only way they'll be able to have them.

A reaches out to B for a hookup but gets rejected, and they each struggle with their disappointment.

A is treating the arrangement like a formal business deal. B gets tired of it and shuts them up with a kiss.

A and B used to be friends with benefits. When they meet again later, the arrangement is still appealing.

A has to leave town for a long time. They have one last night with B but don’t tell them. They’re gone in the morning and leave B wondering what they wanted to say the night before.

Anything else you can think of!

💋 NSFW Prompts 💋

A completely defies B’s expectations of what they’re like in bed.

A and B decide to hook up one last time (or maybe not the last...)

A agreed to take B’s virginity as long as B didn’t catch feelings. It seems like B didn’t. A did, though.

A and B's no-judgment rule means they're finally comfortable to ask for what they've always wanted to try in bed.

A is annoyed with B, so they start loudly complaining/joking about their situationship. Angry/playful sex ensues.

A and B have never felt truly satisfied in bed until there were no strings attached... it definitely wasn't because of finding the right partner.

The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check.Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.

Have fun!

The Masterlist of fics will be posted around Sept. 30. If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!

Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️

Happy Writing!

460 notes · View notes

joosthead · 3 months

Note

SMUT PROMPT 2 PLZZZ

just too soft for all of it || j.k. f!reader

₊˚⊹⋆ prompt(s): 2S) crying crying during sex that leads to a pause or early end to comfort and take care of whatever emotions bubbled over & 3F) gently pushing their hair behind their ear to see their face better

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader, no pronouns, reader gets referred to as his “favourite girl” one time. notfamous!reader lol also does not speak dutch

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 4.4k

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (fingering, piv), a good amount of negative self thought (i may have gone overboard—feeling inadequate as a partner, reader is very hard on themself and quite sensitive), mentions of anxiety/stress/being overwhelmed, a very fluffy and healthy joost :( aur i love him anyways, pls heed the prompt cuz that in itself is a content warning teehee, 🧀🧀🧀alert i can’t lie!!, a variety of dutch terms of endearment i'm not sure i’m using right but it’s for the sake of no y/n

₊˚⊹⋆ track of the fic: "sweet nothing" by taylor swift

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: i resonate heavy with this 🙃🙃 had the worst last few weeks of this uni year but i’m FREE!!!! thanks for requesting this, i combined this with a few other asks stated above! happy first juno joost fic to meee yippeee

rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it!! you've been warned. please do not repost this on any other platform.

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni.

To say the utter least—it had been a hard few weeks for you.

The whims of life carried you away like a tsunami to your normal routine—work and classes and friends and family and life, life that you couldn’t ignore or get away from like you wanted to do, nothing to do except doing it. And you’d been doing it, just fine for the most part, but one thing led to another, and the last week was a whirlwind of commitments, obligations, your procrastinating on all of them, somehow. You got yourself into a mess of your own making.

It certainly didn’t help that your boyfriend, Joost, was away for his own life: a festival performance in Canada, one in Belgium, one in the Netherlands but not one you could attend easily with all of the work you had for yourself. After that, he worked on the new album in Germany, putting the final touches on his 9th project, filming new content and preparing for his upcoming tour.

He left around the beginning of when your life started getting busier. If you added it up—23 days you hadn’t seen him in person, but it’s not like you were counting (you were counting, and sad the entire time about his absence.). It felt like the same amount of time you hadn’t even seen or talked to him, through the phone, on Facetime, even texting each other.

Voice memos in the bathroom at work, always apologizing for how rushed you had to be; leaving him on delivered for hours as you studied, or had an event you needed to be at, or had a person you needed to talk to, someone else who needed your time more than Joost needed yours, and it was too much. All of it was too much. Too much for you to handle easily, every second taken by someone else.

You felt like a terrible partner, not being able to speak to him as much as you wanted. Seeing all of his messages, the reassurance that he understands how busy you are and that in the end, you'll always make time for each other…his ability to be such a good partner held up next to your perceived inadequacy made you even more stressed.

In the end, it’ll all work out—today, Joost flew back home, though you still had a number of commitments and assignments to get to and couldn’t pick him up from the airport. Your mutual friend picked him up, and you bit your nails at every update given; willing the time to go slower so you could tidy up more, work on that one last piece of paperwork so you wouldn’t have to worry about it, make sure everything is perfect so Joost can have a good welcome back.

In the nick of time, you were able to get everything done, but it still felt as if there was something missing, like you'd be hit with a missed deadline in the midst of your time back together, and it would all come crumbling down.

As you opened the door, right as your friend pulled up to your street, you tried to put it aside, and you did—for now. Late afternoon and you stand at the top of your townhouse steps, watching in nervous excitement as Joost unloads his luggage from the trunk. Your friend closes the trunk and waves at you.

You wave back, but your eyes are on Joost as he gathers the two suitcases and starts rolling them to you in a sort of disorganized frenzy, just as excited as you are; you would come forward and help, but it’s cute to watch him, clumsy and stumbling over his long pants and tote bag and everything—your Joost, finally back with you.

He wears a heavy black jacket, sunglasses, a black cap that he takes off and shakes his hair out of; the sun shines off him, and you can't help but smile at the sight. His hair grew out a little, the darker blonde roots growing in. Those jeans are ones you’ve never seen before, new glasses, new clunky boots that look greatly uncomfortable but perfectly his style. Evidence of the time passed, and for some strange reason, it brings a pang to your chest that you try to ignore as you come down the steps of your house.

“Come here, come here, come here, baby, I missed you,” Joost exclaims, arms open and leaving his bags behind him to come meet you halfway, laughing.

You say as you hug him around his neck, his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t pick—”

“Don’t worry about it, I know you were busy.”

You nod as he moves his arms around your neck and you go around his waist, Joost pecking your cheek several times and making you laugh. “I still feel bad I couldn’t pick you up.”

“Never feel bad, you’d still be the best even if you left me on the side of the road.” You give him and his compliment a weak smile as you pull away.

—

The first time you get a moment to yourself in a month: Joost’s head lays in your lap as you both watch some cartoon on the couch together after eating.

You cleaned most of yesterday and some of today; you cooked most of last night since you knew you had more time, preparing Joost’s favorite meal—it was the best you could reasonably do, considering all of the other obligations you had in these last two days.

As he ate, you pushed around your own food; would’ve made it fresh, could've had a nice table setting for dinner, should’ve prepared more for all of this. You still gave him a sheepish smile as you watched him happily eat the microwaved meal you warmed up for him, no indication at all that he’s disappointed or unhappy like you are with yourself. You shouldn’t feel like this, but you do. It’s getting increasingly difficult to shake.

The colors and lines dance across the TV, spouting raunchy jokes that you can half understand with the few years of Dutch you have under your belt; the air conditioner is on, and you can finally rest. Joost is changed out of his airport outfit and into some shorts and a shirt. He’s home, and you did the best you could do, and now he’s in your arms again.

You don’t even mean to, but you sigh, perhaps louder than usual, because Joost looks up at you from your lap, brushes a lock of your hair out of your eyes, says, “You’re the best, you know?”

It catches you off guard enough that you shake your head almost instinctively, not fast enough to hide…whatever feeling this is you’re feeling. “I don’t feel like it, Joosty.”

“You don’t?” He gets up from your lap, sitting next to you, and brings his face close to yours. “You should, because you are.”

Your noses are brushing, and even in the midst of your racing thoughts, you can't help but smile at him. His face grows into a smile, and you come forward and kiss him, deeply; you know it takes him by surprise, how he takes a little to kiss back, like trying to learn each other again. Nonetheless, he kisses back, holding your face in his hands, grinning into it—he's so pleased, so content, you know it by how sweetly he holds you.

The TV becomes background noise to you, the air conditioner no use with how hot you feel when you move to sit atop him in his lap, one of his hands on the small of your back, the other on your ass as you grind down on him, licking into his mouth.

“You're so tense,” Joost says when you pull away, thumbs rubbing into your back where there are sure to be knots in your muscles.

You roll your eyes. “Can you blame me?” you snicker and he smiles.

“I’ll relieve some tension for you, then.”

Nothing but a few layers of clothes separate you—he smells so good, tastes so good, feels so good that you pull away, run your hands underneath his shirt, feeling his warm body, his stomach. You move to take it off of him, and he’s a step ahead of you, taking it off himself and attaching his lips to yours again, like a magnet.

“You’re not wasting any time,” he says as you rest your hands on his chest and kiss down his stubble covered jaw to his neck, on top of Lola Bunny and back up again.

“I need you, Joost,” you breathe in between kisses, and he pulls back and groans which makes you giggle, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You can't just say that, oh my god,” Joost whines, looking up at you pathetically, pupils blown and lips swollen from yours. “That’s so hot,” he laughs, and it makes you laugh too, how ridiculous he is. “Fuck, I love you.” He comes back in for one more kiss before he shifts so you can lay down on the couch, and he's on top of you, kissing again. He helps you shimmy down your shorts, your underwear, and in no time—his hand is between your legs.

“I would have taken it slow but—I’m too excited,” he breathes. You palm his hard cock through his shorts, coaxing a sigh out of him. Joost hovers above, leaning on one elbow and using the other hand to run his fingers through your slit, wetting them with how aroused you are. Involuntarily, your legs twitch, your breath catches in your mouth, and Joost gives you a soft laugh. “You’re so sensitive, schat.” Fingers still touching you so gently, he noses at your cheek—you’re a hairpin trigger, how reactive you are to him. “Has it been that long?”

Breathless, you nod as he presses his thumb to your clit, petting at it. “Too long, I was waiting for you.”

“I could say the same for you.”

You sit up, pushing up against him, still kissing like you can’t bear to be separated from him, but he pulls back from you—brings two fingers to his mouth, wetting them with his spit, and the sight brings your heart to your stomach with how arousing it is.

Sure, Joost sends videos; yes, you have…homemade…videos of your own between the two of you; his deep voice through the speaker in your late night Facetimes, talking you through it or his incessant compliments when you send him some pictures of your own.

Nothing compares to the real thing—the smell of his cologne on his collar even after he’s taken a shower; his blonde hair in your eyes as he kisses you; holding onto his strong arms as he fingers you, the wet sound music to your ears though normally, it would make you sheepish at how filthy this all is.

Sometimes it makes you laugh that the random guy you met with a Crazy Frog tattoo on his forearm is now your boyfriend, but it feels so serious now more than ever. You realize now how much you’ve missed him, and how much you’ve pushed down that feeling in favor of everything else.

Joost crooks his fingers inside of you and you moan into his mouth, which he smiles at. “You like it?” he asks, both of you knowing the answer. He knows you so well, inside and out. Knows that spot inside of you that renders you unable to speak, how to hit it just right like it’s muscle memory to fuck you with his fingers. He rubs your clit at the same time, using his spit and your wetness to do so, and God—you wish never leaving this spot was an option.

Your climax fast approaches you; Joost kissing at the side of your lips, your chin because you’re too lost in your pleasure to kiss back. With a few more pumps of his fingers, he brings you there, a choked moan tumbling from your mouth as you cum, almost falling into him as he takes you through the last waves of your orgasm. “Thank you,” you breathe, pressing a deep kiss to his lips again now that you have the ability to.

“Thanking me? Nothing to thank me for,” he says, but you shake your head.

“I disagree,” you say quietly, palming over his erection once more now that you’ve gathered yourself. “I have everything to thank you for,” you think, but can’t say out loud. You move so you can be on your knees on the ground in between his legs. It’s been quite a bit, enough so that the program on the TV is completely different now, the AC has turned off—he’s still so hard, still hasn’t been taken care of.

You're about to lower his shorts, take him into your mouth, but Joost takes your hand and says, “Can we skip it? I wanna be inside of you, lieverd.”

Almost a whisper, you reply, “Whatever you want,” nodding, and he cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“You’re so quiet today. Is anything wrong?” He can read you like a book, the furrowing of your brow at his suggestion an easy giveaway.

“Nothing’s the matter,” you lie, but he still looks disbelieving. “I just wanted to give you something back.”

“This is something back and more, baby. Lie down.”

You do, too tired to argue for your side—the side that wants to give Joost everything you have and more, pay him back for the time you’ve been so absent, so distracted from your relationship and all the things Joost had been doing in the time away. It’s not as if you don’t want to lie down and have him fuck you—it’s just that you feel that you haven’t earned it yet.

Your body language gives you away—“Still so tense, lieverd,” he says, squeezing your shoulder as you adjust, legs on either side of his thighs. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Of course I do,” you purr, because of course you do, reaching into his briefs—Joost Klein branded, of course—and pulling his cock out, jerking it a few times and making him groan with the sensation. “You're so sensitive,” you quote him from earlier. “Has it been that long, schat?”

The pet name makes his cock twitch; a month away, hard work on his album and music videos, content and marketing, coming back home to his favourite girl gazing at him starry-eyed with a hand around his dick and ready to take him inside. If you peered into his mind, this is what he’d be thinking. No thoughts match your worried thinking about how you may or may not have let him down—you didn’t. That would be impossible, at least to him.

“Much too long.”

You rest your head on a throw pillow that Joost has laid for you, and he lines himself up with your entrance. Fingertips on his stomach, you stop him for a few seconds from coming forward, and you wrap your hand around his shaft, swiping it through your slit a few times, collecting your wetness and his pre-cum on the head of his cock.

Loudly, he swears in Dutch, and the latter half sounds more like a strangled whisper than any real word. “You…fuck, my god…you are evil,” he laughs, even though he’s now rubbing the head of it against your clit, making you mewl.

“You ready for me?” he asks, and you nod, licking your lips, trying to control your breathing. Your initial apprehension is long gone, though it could creep back every second—who cares? You’re finally together again. “You’re so wet,” Joost breathes as he eases the head of his cock into you. The stretch is something to get used to after so long away, but he gives time for you to adjust—seems like he might need it more than you do, how he sucks a breath in through gritted teeth, the snail’s pace he's going at. “I might cum right now.”

“You promise?” you tease, watching the slow slide of his cock inside of you, watching just like he is.

“I might have to promise with how this is going.”

“You can do it,” you giggle and then moan because he's managed to fit half of his length into you. “I believe in you.”

“Yay,” Joost smiles as he bottoms out in you, then gives you a kiss. “We did it!”

He holds his hand up for a high-five and you laugh—”I’m not high-fiving you while you're inside me.”

“When has that ever stopped you before?”

Rolling your eyes, you give him the high-five he so desperately wants and he beams at you with a toothy grin. “Never, I guess.”

“Never,” Joost repeats, and then straightens up. You look up at him through your eyelashes—his mullet is mussed from the tangles of your fingers through his hair, his chest moving steadily up and down with the exertion of this all. He moves your legs so your left ankle rests on his shoulder, the right wrapped around his hips.

His hand creeps up your shirt, and you do the rest, exposing your tits to him. Joost is normally so clumsy, so heavy-handed—what a contrast that he can be so calm dragging his fingertips around your nipple, making it pebble in the cold.

He cups your cheek after you moan, then runs his tattooed knuckles down it, slips his thumb between your lips and hooks it on your teeth momentarily—you chase it, but he continues down your chest and to your belly until his thumb is finally back on your clit and circling it slowly.

The drag of his cock out of you is wonderful, so wonderful it makes you shudder when he does it, combined with his terribly slow treatment of your clit.

“My baby, did you miss me?” Joost says softly, kissing at your calf, your ankle as he sinks back into you. The sensation robs you of a response, a sigh tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop it, but he takes it as a response enough. The smile on his face—the beauty mark under his lip, those deep dimples so prominent—you could never tire of it. “I missed you more, schatje.”

It feels so good, it feels like heaven being with him again. He comes back from such a busy time in his life, where you’ve done little, and all he has is praise and warmth and affection for you—fingers you within an inch of your life and doesn’t even ask for anything in return, just takes care of you in the way you need most.

You know that he benefits from this just as much as you do—this isn’t so one-sided. But your brain is so frazzled from this last month, the nerve endings fried and in want of a fuck up to cling to like they have been whenever you’ve made a mistake at work, in class, in your relationship.

Joost interrupts your thoughts: “I was so happy to see you on the steps, I could’ve sprinted to you if I wasn’t wearing those damn shoes.”

All of the times that you forgot to reply to Joost, getting a text saying your name and a sad face right after; the times where you were too distracted to give him your full attention and could only hum your acknowledgement to him, having to be reminded about what he said later; that one time just a few days ago you fell asleep on call with him in the middle of him excitedly speaking about a breakthrough with a bridge on the most important song of the album.

The pleasure you felt earlier is now overshadowed by your racing thoughts.

“I wrote a song about you, you know?” Joost says, his voice so gentle. I was only going to let you know when the album came out, but I can’t keep a secret.” Rocking against you, his pelvis rubs against your clit and it makes you cling to his shoulders. “The voice memo I sent you earlier—it was my first draft, just me. Did you like it?”

“You…you wrote a song about me?”

Only now do you remember the voice memo Joost sent you in the morning when you were still cleaning, the one that you saw and made a fleeting mental note to reply to later on, which you promptly forgot as you vacuumed, dusted, folded.

Such misplaced priorities, and now you're paying the sad price.

“Joost,” you say, eyebrows screwing up, that all too familiar pulling feeling behind your nose and eyes—you realize quickly that all of the emotions bottled up inside of you from the past month have come out with vengeance at the new knowledge of Joost’s song about you. The knowledge wouldn’t have been new if you just paid more attention.

You try to hold it back, pushing down the feelings again, but it just won’t work. All of it spilling over at the worst possible time, tears streaming down your face before you even know it. You fail to wipe the wetness from your cheeks—Joost stops his movements, asks in a panicked and concerned voice, “Oh my—are you crying, schat?”

Attempting to pull it together once more, you cover your face with your hands and shake your head silently, but your already sniffly nose sells you out. Your shoulders shake with your crying. Too far gone now.

“I wanted—“ you sniffle, and he hands you a tissue from the side table for you to blow your nose into as he stumbles out and off of you. “I wanted to be with you tonight, but I just—so much—I never—I never listened to your memo, I couldn’t, I had to finish so much before you got here and I couldn’t and I feel so bad, like, you wrote a song about me and I didn’t even have the time to listen—”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” Joost coos, brushing your hair out of your eyes as you sob. “Baby, please.” His expression is so concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he pats your back. “Wait, shit,” he says, getting up from the couch and looking down at his still bare bottom half. “Let me put everything back on, I’m sorry schatje, give me—“ In a hurry, he puts his underwear and shorts back on, tripping over himself and almost falling over. “I just can’t do this naked, I’m sorry.”

That brings a laugh out of you and a laugh out of him, and you start explaining as he sits back down next to you, rubbing your arm. “I don’t—I don’t deserve you.” You shake your head, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands. “I should’ve listened to what you sent me, I should’ve been there more.”

“Bro,” he deadpans, beckoning you to come and sit on his lap.

You do, still trying to get the tears out of your eyes as you settle into his arms. “Shut up, don’t call me bro while I’m crying,” you laugh, voice weak but lighthearted.

“Bro. I will do it again.” Joost gives you a second to let it out more, to breathe as he smooths his hands back and forth on your back. “You did everything perfectly, lieverd. Perfectly. We were both so busy, and you still made time to call me and text me. I would have been lost without you, I know for certain.”

You shake your head. “I forgot to reply and pick up your texts so many times, Joost, I felt like such a bad person for doing so.”

“You did? I didn’t notice. All I cared about was that you replied. You’re not a bad person at all,” Joost says, and the sweetness of his words just make you want to cry more. “I appreciate more from you the effort that you put into everything, into what we have. Not what you couldn’t or didn’t do.”

“You’re so nice,” you whisper, sniffling. You can’t think of a better compliment with how overwhelmed you are, so you kiss him, instead, and he kisses back. Even with this, you can tell how gentle Joost is holding your cracked pieces back together.

“I’m nice?” he asks, smiling. “Best compliment I’ve ever gotten.” For a little, you both sit there in the silence together. “How about this—tomorrow, we can have a day to ourselves. You can lounge and study by the pool, and I’ll be your little butler or whoever and we can just relax for a bit, hm? Order food, drink, smoke, whatever.” Pausing, he grins. “We can even listen to the whole album, if you want.”

“You finished it?” you ask, sitting up more and incredulous. That’s complete news to you.

“This morning, right before I flew back here,” Joost says, nodding proudly. “I also texted you, but duty calls, no?”

“You texted me?” He texted you? And you missed it?!?!? Again, the new information makes you cry, and he holds you tight as you do. “You should be mad that I didn’t see it,” you say in between dry heaves into his shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I could never be mad at you, lieverd, and I’m sorry I made you cry again,” he says, rubbing your back, petting your hair. “I just wanted to let you know when I did it—it was just a timestamp, that doesn’t mean you needed to know right that second.”

“But I wanted to know.”

“You know now, and I know how proud you are of me. That’s enough, that’s even more than what I wanted.” You trust him and his words so fully, every passing second with him is another way to help you feel better. “I love you,” Joost says your name so seriously, a punctuation to his love letter. “I mean it.”

“I love you too.” You kiss him, deeply, moments passing that you use to thank everything you can that he’s so good with your worries, your anxieties. “I’ll take you up on that offer for tomorrow, Joost,” you say, finally calmed down enough. Your eyes are incredibly bleary—you didn’t know that was possible. But at least you aren’t actively crying anymore. “Thank you for everything.”

“Thank you for giving me something more to look forward to, schat. Now—let’s go run a bath together and listen to my song for you.”

#joost klein #joost klein smut #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost x you #joost klein x you #joost #joost smut #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfiction #juno's fics #answered prompt #smut prompts #juno’s smut

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pathologicalreid · 2 months

Note

you can wait if you dont want to do another smut right now but id love a fic where spencer has been helping reader study for her finals and after last exam is over she thanks spencer for all his help if you know what i mean 😉 (this has been stuck in my head all day)

ofc he is like no!!! you dont have to thank me but obviously reader just wants to finally celebrate being done with finals with her mans

i liveeee for your fics! im so happy youre doing requests again!

earned it | S.R.

when you finish your college course work, you only have one person to thank - your tutor

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: oral sex (m receiving), borderline ass play, fingering, established relationship, mild manhandling, i think that's it. word count: 1.46k a/n: so this request is definitely from when i reopened my requests last but i wanted to let y'all know that I'm probably gonna close them again soon so like get ur requests in ahahaha thank you for requesting please don't worry if this is incoherent

“How do you feel?” Spencer asked over the phone.

Smiling into the receiver, you made your way up the steps to the second floor of his apartment building as you answered, “I feel liberated,” You answered, balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder so you could knock on his front door.

He cleared his throat over the phone, “Hold on, someone’s at the door,” he told you, moving to open the door. “Hey,” he said, obviously surprised to find you at the door, “I thought you needed to pick your parents up at the airport?”

You shrugged, ending your phone call and stepping inside his apartment, “Their flight was delayed, so I’m now free as a bird for the rest of the day.”

“Most people want to relax after finishing their final exams,” Spencer suggested, setting his phone down before reaching out to you, pulling you closer to him by your waist, “How do you think it went?”

Beaming up at him, you slung your arms around his neck before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “I think I aced it, and it’s all thanks to my tutor.” Slowly, you ushered him in the direction of the couch, hoping to coax him to the supple leather.

Following your lead, your boyfriend hummed thoughtfully, “Well, as your tutor, I’m glad to hear that.”

With a careful touch, you settled your hands on his shoulders and pushed him down, “And now that I’m done, I figured it was time to return the favor.” You offered, settling yourself down on the couch next to him and smoothing out the skirt of your sundress.

“I’m not in classes anymore,” he reminded you confusedly, tilting his head to the side so that he was closer to you. That much you remembered, he finished his philosophy degree rather unceremoniously last year, not even willing to humor you by putting on a cap and gown.

You nodded, adjusting yourself so that you could lean over until he pulled you into his lap, one knee on either side of his hips. “Yes, but I needed to figure out some way to express my gratitude,” you said, cocking your head to the side as you gave him a knowing look.

Spencer raised his eyebrows at you, “I helped you study because I love you, not because I expected anything in return.” This, of course, you knew, Spencer was too much of a gentleman to outright accept your offer of sexual favors in exchange for your study sessions.

“No, I know, but I don’t believe in unpaid labor,” you informed him, intertwining your fingers at the back of his neck, catching some of the hair at the nape of his neck, forcing him to lean his head back. Taking the opportunity that had presented itself, you attached your lips to the side of his neck, placing gentle kisses as you felt his grip on your hips tighten. “I just finished school and maybe I want to celebrate a little,” you murmured against his skin, reaching your hand up and fiddling with the knot of his tie.

Another thing that you knew was that Spencer was too much of a man to turn down head, so you weren’t surprised when the next thing he said was, “Then let’s celebrate.”

Moving away from him slightly, you giggled, “You’re so easy to convince.”

He rolled his eyes in response, “And you’re so pretty,” he mumbled, dragging your lips down to his as you grinned, letting him touch you everywhere he wanted as you moved to palm his half-hard cock through his slacks.

Getting him hard was easy, you had been so stressed during finals that the two of you hadn’t done much more than make out, but now that all you had to do was cross the stage, you each had a lot of pent-up hormones that needed to be released. You tried to undo his belt without pulling away from him, but you eventually needed to see what you were doing, leading you to pull away before undoing the belt buckle.

Desperate for more contact, Spencer ducked his head and kissed your shoulder, leaving open-mouthed kisses around the thin strap of your dress as you continued undoing the button and zipper of his slacks with ease. You let out a soft moan in response to him moving to your neck, watching the way his cock twitched beneath his boxers.

You gently slipped your fingers under the elastic band, taking his entire length in your hand, just holding him caused his head to fall back and lift his hips from the couch to move his pants and underwear down, giving you more access. You crouched down on the couch, ducking your head so that you could press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock, continuing your motions by pressing similar little kisses down the shaft until you hit the base.

Skimming your fingertips down his member, you smiled at the way his hips bucked off of the couch before wrapping your lips around him, taking him as far as you could without gagging and staying like that while Spencer gathered your hair at the nape of your neck and secured it with his fingers. You bobbed your head slightly, resting one hand on his hip and moving the other to hold his free hand before you lifted your head to swirl your tongue around his bulbous tip.

“You’re so good at this,” he murmured, his hand holding your hair gripping tighter as you bobbed your head again, “fuck, baby.”

Even as he let go of your hand, you continued bobbing your head even as you felt Spencer’s hand fiddling with the skirt of your dress, letting out a gentle moan when you realized what he was doing.

Spencer pulled your panties down your thighs by the gusset, giving him perfect access to your pussy as you kept your lips around his cock, “My pretty girl,” he praised while gently pressing his index finger at your entrance, circling the wet hole before pushing it in. Because of the angle you were at, he couldn’t get his fingers very deep, but it did enable him to press his thumb against your clit.

You moaned around his cock, the vibrations causing him to hiss and leading you to reach your newly freed hand to gently cup his balls, squeezing them as you bent your finger and pressed the knuckle to his taint, massaging the sensitive area that always made him finish.

He slipped another finger into your cunt easily as he released a shuddering breath, “I’m close,” he let you know, grip on your hair tightening as he did.

Humming, you just continued your ministrations until he let you know that he was going to come, the white, hot liquid spurting directly into your mouth while you continued to work him through his orgasm, your movements slowly coming to a halt so you didn’t overstimulate him.

Swallowing his cum, you released him from your mouth as he pulled his hand from your wet hole. Careful not to get anything on your dress, he maneuvered you so that you were facing him, his hooded eyes had a hint of determination as he pushed two digits into your pussy, you whimpered at the depth he got at this new angle.

You rocked your hips so that you were riding his hand, placing your hands on his shoulders for support while he used his thumb to stimulate your clit. “Spence,” you whined, breath hitching as he curled his fingers inside of you.

“What is it, baby?” He asked without pausing his movements.

Opening your mouth to respond, only a high-pitched noise came out in place of words, causing your head to fall forward onto his shoulder. “Come,” you mumbled.

Continuing to curl his fingers inside of you, he gently kissed your temple, “Come on my fingers, baby. You earned it. You can let go,” he encouraged.

You gasped as you did just that, feeling your walls clench around his fingers as he continued moving them, “Fuck, yes, thank you,” you babbled into the crook of his neck, lifting your head and looking him in the eyes.

His cheeks were flushed pink as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips, instinctively, you pulled back.

“I have cum dribbling down my chin,” you explained to him when he frowned at the rejection.

Shaking his head, he leaned back in, “I really don’t care,” he said, kissing you chastely – as if to prove a point – and placing his hands on either side of your waist before settling you on his lap. “When does your parents’ rescheduled flight get in?”

You hummed contentedly, “Not until tonight.”

“Perfect,” he responded.

837 notes · View notes

punkshort · 4 months

Text

Night Shift

Thank you anon for this request!

Pairing: Joel Miller x nurse!reader

Summary: It was a relatively quiet night in the emergency room until a handsome contractor gets admitted and adds some excitement to your life.

Warnings: language, descriptions of wounds/injuries/blood (typical hospital junk), needles, drugs (the medical kind), fluff, flirting, rom-com vibes, soft!joel, just a little smut (18+ MDNI)

WC: 7.3K

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

A/N: I'm fully aware some things I'm about to describe is probably incorrect (medically) but let's suspend that disbelief for a fun, fluffy story, shall we?

"Dr. Fisher wants you in room 504, but if you're too busy, I would be more than willing to go," Lily said, leaning over the counter with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"I haven't had anything to do other than charts for the past two hours, how on earth could I be too busy?" you asked, standing up and draping your stethoscope around your neck. Then you froze, realizing Lily never tries to take a patient off your hands. "Wait... why are you offering?"

She grinned and flopped down in the swivel chair next to you, crossing her legs. "The guy is smokin' hot," she whispered with a wink. "I just got a glimpse when I brought Fisher the computer cart, but..." she exhaled loudly and fanned her face. "Even with all the blood, you can tell he's a fox."

"Blood?!" you exclaimed, jogging around the nurse's desk, "why didn't you tell me?"

"He's stable, it's not-" Lily began, but you were already hustling down the hall. When you skidded to a stop outside room 504, you were relieved there wasn't a flurry of staff running in and out of the room, indicating whatever was waiting for you wasn't life threatening.

As you entered through the open door, you rapped two knuckles on the wood to announce your presence. Dr. Fisher, standing at the patient's bedside and blocking your view, glanced over his shoulder and nodded while you washed your hands. You heard him talking to a man with a deeper southern drawl than you were used to, and by the sound of it, he was in pain. You plucked two gloves from the box on the wall and snapped the latex on, turning around with a practiced smile right as Dr. Fisher introduced you by name.

Lily was right. Your eyes landed on a painfully good looking, dark haired man sitting up in the bed with one leg draped over the side, as if he was getting ready to bolt. You tried to not let your gaze linger, but the way his thighs stretched out his worn, bloody jeans and his shoulders filled out his ripped flannel held your attention longer than you expected. He first glanced over at you right when you noticed the laceration on his forearm and you went into autopilot.

You began to pull various instruments from a cabinet without instruction, already anticipating what the doctor would need before he began to rattle off requests, which you mentally jotted down and nodded in acknowledgement when he was finished.

"I'm gonna give you a local anesthetic and then clean and stitch this up. Are you allergic to anything, Mr. Miller?" Dr. Fisher asked.

"No," he said, his eyes still stuck on you as you worked. "Call me Joel," he added, his eyes flicking up to the doctor once he realized he was staring. Tommy smirked from the corner of the room and tucked his chin to his chest.

"Only thing he's allergic to is askin' for help," Tommy joked. You startled and glanced over your shoulder. Somehow you had missed the second man in the room when you first walked in. Joel scowled in his direction.

"Ignore my brother," Joel muttered with a roll of his eyes.

"Can you prep him and give him 20MLs of the local? I'll be right back, I have another patient waiting to get discharged," Dr. Fisher said to Joel, who nodded and lifted his leg onto the bed, resigning himself to a long night.

Your gaze drifted over his clothes, ruined by all the blood that had gushed from his arm. "This looks pretty nasty. What happened tonight, Joel?" you asked, using your typical distraction technique while you worked unwrapping instruments and lying them out on a tray. When he didn't answer right away, you met his gaze and smiled, assuming he was squeamish and doing to do your best to reassure him.

He blinked and cleared his throat.

"Sorry. Um, got hurt at work."

You frowned, your eyes roaming over his face now that you were closer and hoping he didn't notice the way you stared a moment too long at his soft looking lips. "What do you do that you're working so late?"

"I'm a contractor," he said, mesmerized by the way you effortlessly moved around, probably just going through the motions but to him, it looked so impressive. The monitor next to his bed beeped faster and he glared up at it, angry at the heart monitor for betraying him.

"Lots of things need to be built at midnight?" you teased, making him chuckle.

"I'm behind on a project and my daughter had a sleepover tonight so I figured I'd do a little extra work," he explained, wincing when he moved his injured arm.

You nodded, latching on to the new piece of information. You loved it when patients had kids. It was a great way to keep them talking and calm. But right as you were about to ask her name, the second man chimed in.

"Yeah, 'cause otherwise he'd be home alone," he said, making the both of you stop and stare at him. His eyes bounced back and forth between you both. "'Cause he's single," he added after a beat, making both you and Joel blush.

"Jesus, Tommy," Joel muttered under his breath, and you forced out a polite laugh before switching gears.

"Alright, let's see," you said, gently lifting his arm and peeling back the sleeve of his flannel. You made a face and Joel tensed.

"What is it?"

"I wish I had better news," you sighed, locking eyes with him. "I'm gonna have to cut the sleeve off this shirt," you said solemnly.

His face broke out into a huge smile, one that reached his beautiful brown eyes and creased his tanned skin, and you giggled before reaching for the scissors.

"It's alright, darlin'," he said, still smiling as you began to cut through the fabric, "ain't got no fashion sense, anyway."

"'Cause he's single," Tommy said again from across the room. Joel swiveled his head and mouthed something angrily in his direction but you just grinned and stayed focused, pulling the sleeve away and making sure not to brush up against his wound.

"Okay, Joel, how are you around needles?" you asked, turning your back to him and blocking his view while you prepped a syringe with local anesthetic. "Do I need to call someone in here to catch you if you faint?"

He scoffed. "Hell no, I'll be -" you turned around with the needle in your hand and he gulped, "-fine."

You eyed him carefully. "Are you sure?"

He nodded and looked up at the ceiling, so you decided to just make it as fast as possible. Cleaning the skin with some alcohol, you slid the needle into his arm near the laceration and injected the medicine. After, you pressed a piece of cotton against the injection site and hid the needle behind you on the tray.

"All done, you did great," you said, and he looked at you in surprise.

"That's it? Hardly felt a thing."

You smiled and shrugged. "I've been doing this a while," you said. You always loved when patients commented on how gentle you were. It made you feel proud and good at your rather thankless job.

"Yeah? How long?" he asked, watching as you pulled out another vial of medicine.

"Almost five years," you told him, filling another syringe and wiping an alcohol pad on his inner elbow.

"What's this?" he asked.

"It's for the pain," you said, "it's mild but you might feel a little out of it for a couple hours. It will help you relax so the doctor can stitch you up."

He nodded and you quickly slipped the needle in and out, just like before.

"Okay, all done with needles, I promise," you told him, disposing of them both in a red sharps container bolted to the wall by the sink.

"Whoa," Joel said softly after a minute, and you looked up at him then smiled when you saw that familiar, spaced out look in his eyes.

"Feeling it?" you asked, and he slowly nodded.

"Reckon I am."

"That's good. Just try to relax, the doctor will be back soon," you said, turning your attention to the computer cart. You were typing in your notes and scanning the vials of medicine to log into Joel's chart when Tommy's phone rang.

"It's Maria, probably wonderin' what the hell's goin' on," Tommy told Joel as he stood up and headed for the door. "I'll be right back," he said right before you heard him answer the phone and walk out into the hallway for some privacy.

Joel's head rolled to the side and he gazed over at you, smiling like a fool at the way your eyebrows pinched together as you focused on whatever you were typing.

"You're real good at this," he mumbled. You glanced at him, taking a break from the computer, and smiled.

"Thank you."

"How long you been doin' this?"

You stifled your laughter and answered the question again. "Almost five years."

He nodded, completely unaware. His eyes looked glazed over and he gave you a lazy smile. "You're real pretty."

Even though you knew it was the drugs talking, your heart still skipped a beat and you felt your cheeks heat up.

"You must be feeling better, huh?" you joked, wrapping a blood pressure sleeve around his arm. He lightly took your wrist in his hand, making you pause and catch his eye. He looked so earnest and sincere that you almost believed him when he said, "it ain't the drugs. I mean it. Can't keep my eyes off you, darlin'."

Your mouth suddenly felt dry as the two of you silently assessed the other. You searched his face but all you could find was a raw vulnerability while he waited for you to say something. And you really wanted to be honest, but you knew it was unprofessional and you had no idea what was even allowed but you had to assume your job would be at risk if you said what you really wanted to say.

Fortunately, you didn't have to say anything at all because Dr. Fisher chose that moment to return, breezing into the room with his white coat fluttering behind him.

"How're you feeling, Joel?" he asked from the sink as he washed his hands. You stepped back and focused on the computer screen, still feeling the heat of Joel's gaze on your face as you typed.

"Much better," he said, slowly dragging his eyes away from you. Tommy reentered the room, stuffing his phone back in his pocket and dodging Dr. Fisher as he turned around to face Joel.

"That's good. Let's get you patched up and back home, how's that sound?" he said, and you abandoned the computer to stand at his side, your eyes cast down as you awaited the doctor's instructions.

Dr. Fisher worked quickly and had Joel's laceration closed up in under thirty minutes, the whole time checking in with him to make sure he didn't feel anything. You caught Joel staring at you more than once during the procedure and you had to bite back a grin, but each time he noticed and he smiled that same dazzling smile that reached his eyes.

Once the stitches were done, Joel - but mostly Tommy - listened to Dr. Fisher's instructions on how to keep it dry and clean and to follow up with his own practitioner the next business day to schedule an appointment. Then he left, bidding the brothers a good night after he explained you would wrap up the wound and process his discharge papers.

You were very gentle as you wrapped his arm, quietly asking if it was too tight or if anything hurt. He would shake his head and continue to just gaze adoringly at you while you worked, completely unbothered by his brother just a few feet away witnessing his utter captivation.

"Okay, Joel. Let's get you out of here," you sighed, turning back to the computer cart.

"Already?" he asked, and you had to hold back your laugh at the bewildered look on his face.

"It's a slow night, we were able to get you in and out much quicker than normal," you explained, hitting the print button on the computer screen.

"Well, but..." he trailed off, looking back and forth between you and Tommy as he struggled to find the right thing to say. "I'm single!" he practically shouted when you gave him a pen to sign his papers. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and Tommy laughed from his chair in the corner of the room.

"I know, your brother mentioned it a couple times," you replied as your face grew hot once again. "Um, can you just sign here, and-"

"Are you single?" he asked, cutting you off. You looked up from the papers to find his beautiful brown eyes all wide and hopeful, completely ignoring the clipboard in front of him.

"Yes," you finally answered, shyly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

"Great!" he exclaimed, throwing his good arm up in the air with a huge grin. Tommy cleared his throat and stood up.

"I think what he's tryin' to do is ask for your number," he said. Joel nodded, not even sparing a glance in his brother's direction.

"Yeah, sorry," Joel said sheepishly, then he rubbed his face like he could make the brain fog dissipate. "Can I get your number? I'd love to take you out sometime."

Your heart was pounding in your chest now from excitement. You bit your lip and glanced over your shoulder at the open door before turning back to Joel.

"I don't know, I might get in trouble..." you began, and he quickly sat up in bed.

"I won't tell anyone," Joel said, and his voice was so serious that you couldn't help but laugh. Tommy grinned and pulled out his wallet.

"How 'bout this. What if I left Joel's business card, in case you ever needed a contractor?" Tommy offered, holding out the card between two fingers. You gingerly accepted and briefly glanced down at it. "That's his work number but this one is his cell," Tommy continued, pointing to each number respectively, "you're better off gettin' ahold of him on that one. Y'know, for any projects you might need done."

Joel gave Tommy the most grateful look. "I love you, Tommy."

"Alright, that's enough. I oughta get you back home," Tommy said with a crooked grin. You laughed and pocketed Joel's card, standing by in case he needed any assistance getting up. But before Joel and Tommy exited the room, Joel turned to you and reached out for your hand. You hesitated for a moment before stretching out your arm and allowing his thick fingers to wrap themselves around your hand.

"Thank you for saving my life," he told you, his tone deathly serious. You fought back a smile and instead gave him a firm nod.

"You're very welcome, Joel."

His business card stayed folded up in your scrubs pocket for a week, your fingers occasionally brushing up against it like a talisman as you worked.

You never told Lily about that night but you did try to sneakily look into the legality of potentially dating a former patient, but you got too nervous someone would see over your shoulder and didn't get very far.

One day, a fellow nurse who had been working at the hospital for nearly fifteen years made a comment about a patient saying something suggestive to a male doctor and she thought the doctor in question didn't handle it properly.

"What do you mean?"

"He laughed and said something along the lines of I'm too old for you," she had scoffed. "He should have shut it down right away. If the wrong person heard it, he could get into serious trouble."

That was all you needed to hear to put you off from the idea.

That evening, you took Joel's business card out of your pocket and threw it in the trash, then went to take a shower. But afterwards, when you had poured yourself a glass of wine to celebrate the start of three days in a row off from work, you found yourself hovering over the garbage and staring at the folded up piece of paper, sitting right on top of a napkin.

With a sigh, you plucked it out of the garbage and stuck it to your fridge, then forced yourself to leave the room.

There was nothing wrong with keeping the card if you weren't going to call. Right?

It pained you to go so close to the hospital on one of your well deserved days off, but you couldn't resist the chocolate croissants sold at a café around the corner. They were baked fresh daily and always served warm and after a grueling four days in a row at work, you felt you deserved a treat. So that was how you found yourself waiting at the counter for your usual order, surrounded by various professionals hurrying to grab their coffees before chaining themselves to a desk for the remainder of the day. It was busy, but the barista who usually took care of you made sure to prioritize your order, shooting you a quick wink before she slid your croissant and coffee across the counter. You mouthed thank you and turned to leave, bobbing and weaving through the crowd of people waiting for their drinks.

When you stepped outside, out of habit you glanced towards the hospital, then froze. You blinked a few times, your coffee halfway to your lips as you stared at the familiar looking man pacing back and forth on the sidewalk with his head angled toward the ground. You began to walk in his direction, squinting against the sun and wondering if your mind was playing tricks on you, but it really was him.

"Joel?"

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" you asked, your eyes drifting around to see if he was with anybody.

"Huh?" he asked, then immediately shook his head, "yes, I mean... no, everythin's fine." He nervously jammed his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight. "I, uh, came to see you, actually," he said, glancing down at your clothes, noticing you weren't in your scrubs. "Are you workin'?"

You looked down at your jeans before meeting his gaze again. "No, I have the day off, I was just getting coffee," you jutted your thumb over your shoulder, back towards the café, and you realized how bizarre the conversation was so far. "Why are you here to see me?"

He gave you a nervous smile and looked away, watching as an ambulance veered noisily into the parking lot. "I came to apologize. 'Bout the other week. Tommy told me what I said and I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Wasn't my intention, I guess it was all the meds." He finally dragged his eyes back to you and watched as something flickered across your face.

"Oh," you managed to squeak out. Even though you assumed as much, it still stung to hear he didn't mean what he said. "It's fine. It didn't make me uncomfortable. It comes with the territory," you told him with a soft laugh, hoping to lighten the mood. He nodded and looked behind you, trying to think of something else to say but when the silence became too much, you took a step back.

"I should go, but it was nice to see you. I'm glad the arm-"

"Wait - uh," he scratched his beard and took a deep breath. "If I didn't make you uncomfortable, why didn't you call?"

You blinked rapidly and thought about it for a moment before frowning.

"I thought you said it was the drugs talking?" you countered, avoiding his question with one of your own.

"I lied."

"You lied?" you repeated, raising your eyebrows. He nodded.

"More like I panicked," he added, then raked his fingers through his hair with a dry laugh. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'm terrible at this, ain't I?"

You giggled and his face brightened at the sound.

"A little, but it's okay. It's cute," you told him, feeling your cheeks warm at your own admission. He grinned.

"Alright, then why didn't you call?" he asked again.

"I panicked," you replied, then after a pause, the both of you burst out laughing at exactly the same time.

"Goddamn, reckon we don't stand a chance, do we?" Joel said, tilting his head to the side, those beautiful brown eyes sparkling playfully.

"Well, I don't know about that. Why don't we find out?"

He immediately pulled out his phone.

"It's the least we could do. Y'know. For research."

"Research, huh?" but you couldn't keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

"Yeah. Can two panicky individuals who can't seem to properly flirt their way out of a paper bag make it work?"

"Sounds like a tagline for a terrible book," you teased while simultaneously snatching his phone out of his hand and typing your number into a new text. "How could I resist?"

"I promise this is where the cheesiness ends," he chuckled, pocketing his phone.

"Oh, come on. Where's the fun in that?"

Joel thought about it for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Careful what you wish for, little lady, or else we'll be havin' a picnic in the park and watchin' the sunset for our first date."

You laughed heartily at that. "Pulling out all the cheesy stops?"

"Absolutely," Joel winked, making your heart flutter.

"Alright then. Do your worst," you said, a stupid grin still plastered across your face as you took a step back the way you came.

"I'm plannin' it all out already," he said, tapping the side of his head. You giggled and gave him a little wave goodbye before turning around and heading towards home.

Joel didn't waste any time.

He had texted you within an hour with just a link and nothing else. You clicked it and immediately grinned when a website to a paint and sip place in downtown Austin opened up.

You: starting off strong - Painting with a Twist?

Joel: Get it? A twist? Because they serve alcohol there.

You laughed out loud alone in your living room. You thought the meds made him funny but you were delighted to discover he was still just as funny all on his own.

You: I got it, thanks. Very cheesy :)

Joel: So when can I take you? I want to see you paint the next greatest masterpiece.

You: I'm off the next two days and then I work the following four

Joel: You feel up for it tomorrow night? Or is that too soon?

You: tomorrow is great!

Joel: Looking forward to it, little lady.

To keep up with the cheesy theme, Joel picked you up the next evening with a singular red rose, which he had hidden behind his back so he could reveal it to you with a flourish, immediately making you laugh. He offered his arm as he led you down the driveway to his truck while commenting something about the weather but you weren't entirely certain because you couldn't stop staring at his hair, which was slicked back a bit since the last time you saw him and the longer you stared, you began to think he might have trimmed his beard, as well. You bit back your smile at the endearing effort he was putting into your date while trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of your head that still wondered if this was going to get you in trouble at work.

When you arrived at the painting studio, you quickly realized the two of you were the youngest ones there, and not only that but Joel was the only man there. You stifled your laughter as you grabbed a couple drinks and picked your seats. Once behind the safety of your easels, you cupped your hand over your mouth and giggled into your palm. Joel chuckled and ducked down so nobody would overhear him.

"Am I allowed to be here?"

You began to laugh even harder, drawing the attention from some of the older women. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes and you shook your head.

"I don't know!" you wheezed when you finally got ahold of yourself. You took a deep breath and wiped your eye. "You couldn't have planned this any better." He laughed and rubbed his palm over his mouth when he began to get looks.

The painting that evening was a bouquet of white hydrangeas in a wide vase. Simple enough, or so you both thought. It became quickly apparent that Joel didn't have a creative bone in his body, and while you thought you weren't much better, when you glanced over at his and noticed his vase and flowers were beginning to take on a decidedly more phallic shape, you completely lost it.

He grinned when you had to drop your paintbrush so you could clutch your stomach while you doubled over, doing your best to keep as quiet as possible, but you were failing miserably. A lady nearby cleared her throat to convey her irritation so you slid down from your stool and told Joel you would be right back, then disappeared into the bathroom to collect yourself. By the time you emerged, the teacher who was leading the class had jumped in to try and help Joel create more distinguishable flowers, but it appeared to be a lost cause.

Once the class was over, the teacher went around to take pictures of everyone holding up their paintings with the people they came with that evening. When she got to you, Joel wrapped his arm around your shoulders and tugged you close. Right before she took the picture, you leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek, causing his face to flush and his smile to reach his eyes.

When he dropped you off at home, he walked you to the door.

"So I was thinkin' for our second date we can either do bowling or trivia night," he said with a little smile. You cocked your head to the side as you thought about it.

"Both are excellent options. You can tell a lot about somebody by the way they handle winning and losing," you mused. He grinned and leaned his shoulder against your doorframe as he gazed down at you, waiting for you to decide. "Let's do bowling," you finally said. He gave a firm nod and straightened up.

"Bowling it is."

"After tomorrow, I work four nights in a row," you reminded him.

He shrugged. "So let's do it tomorrow."

"Really?" you asked, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Are you sure? What about your daughter?"

"I'm sure Tommy can watch her. And even if he can't, she's old enough now to stay on her own for a few hours."

You nodded and glanced down at your hands, clutching your painting at your side.

"What does she think about you dating?" you asked nervously, chewing on the inside of your cheek and glancing back up at him.

"She's all for it. She's fourteen now, practically kicks me outta the house every chance she gets," he said with a chuckle.

You nodded again and tried to sound casual when you asked, "are you seeing anybody else, or..." You trailed off as you felt your face warm up, feeling slightly vulnerable, but he quickly put your mind at ease. He stepped forward and pinched your chin between his fingers, making you look up at him through your eyelashes.

"No," he said softly, "are you?"

You shook your head slightly, not wanting to lose his touch just yet. "No."

He smiled. "Good."

He tilted your face up a bit more then swooped down to press a gentle kiss against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine even though it was rather innocent.

"I'll see you tomorrow, little lady," he murmured before dropping his hand from your chin and taking a step back. You bit your lip and smiled.

"Can't wait."

While Joel wasn't a very good painter, he turned out to be a rather good bowler. Better than you, at least, which wasn't saying much. So after a couple beers, you flirtatiously asked him to help you with your form, to which he eagerly agreed. He walked you up to the lane and stood behind you, squaring your shoulders and planting your feet just so while the bowling ball dangled at your side with a stupid grin on your face.

"Alright, now you're gonna wanna swing this leg back," he said, tucking his chin into your shoulder and reaching down to tap the front of your thigh. You giggled as his beard tickled your skin, which just caused him to do it even more. You laughed harder and tried to squirm away but he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and pulled you back against him, nuzzling into your neck enthusiastically. You twisted your head towards him, trying to protect your neck, but it was no use, so instead you pressed your lips against his, finally stopping his assault. Both of you were well aware of the public setting, surrounded by families, so you fought the urge to deepen the kiss but you did linger a little longer than was necessary before breaking away with a sigh. He smiled down at you, his cheeks a little pink, either from the alcohol or the public display of affection.

"I like you," he said earnestly.

"I like you, too," you whispered, watching the way his eyes sparkled. Even if it was only two dates, you could tell the connection you had was strong. You had to make it your mission to figure out the policy at work before things went any further.

"Hey, Lily," you said the next day, getting the other nurse's attention.

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever dated anyone from here?" you asked as quietly as you could. She grinned and leaned against the counter.

"Oh, yeah. A few," she said mischievously before glancing around and leaning forward. "I went on a few dates with Dr. Adams last year. When I first started, I was hanging out with Richie, the pharmacist downstairs, but I swear when I found out he was married I broke it off. I felt bad about that one," she said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "Oh! Then there was that one resident who worked here for a few months... Mike? He was tall with brown hair and had that tattoo-"

"No, I mean like, patients?" you tried again, and she pursed her lips.

"I've had a few ask me out but I never took them up on it. Why?"

"No reason," you said quickly, "but if you were interested, could you? Like, would we get fired or get our license revoked or something?"

She frowned and shook her head. "Absolutely not. Once a patient is discharged, it doesn't matter. If we worked in a doctor's office and it was a regular patient, that would probably be a different story, but we see so many people in the ER it's impossible to enforce something like that."

You breathed a huge sigh of relief and smiled. "That's great."

She grinned and raised an eyebrow. "So are you gonna spill or what?"

"Me?" you squeaked, shaking your head innocently but Lily saw right through you.

"Who are you seeing?" she pressed, smacking her gum between her teeth. You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the heat from reaching your cheeks.

"Remember that guy last week? The fox with the arm laceration in 504?"

Lily gasped. "Shut the fuck up!"

You smirked and nodded. "We've just been on two dates, nothing serious, but before I continued to see him I wanted to make sure I wouldn't get in trouble."

"I'm so jealous!" she groaned, stomping her feet dramatically. You laughed and turned back to your computer. You began to get back to the chart in front of you but she pulled up a chair and got a little closer so nobody would overhear. "How is he in bed?"

You gave her a look. "We haven't slept together. Did you not hear me say we've only been on two dates?"

She scoffed and tossed her hair behind her shoulder. "That doesn't mean anything. If I went on two dates with a man like that, I wouldn't waste any time climbing him like a tree."

You both dissolved into a fit of giggles before the phone rang, warning you to get an exam room ready for a broken arm.

Waiting four days to see Joel again was a lot harder than you expected, but lucky for you, on your last day, Joel surprised you at work with a coffee and chocolate croissant from the café you liked.

"You remembered!" you exclaimed when you opened the bag. He shrugged sheepishly but you could tell he was pleased with your reaction.

"'Course I remembered," he said, glancing around when Lily walked into the waiting room to call back a patient. Her eyes locked on the two of you and she gave you an exaggerated wink before leading an elderly man to the back. Joel grinned and looked at you.

"Friend of yours?"

"Unfortunately," you said sarcastically, making him smile. You glanced down at your watch and made a face. "I'm so sorry, I gotta get going but this was so sweet of you," you said, motioning towards your coffee and pastry.

"I just really wanted to see you again," he admitted, "it was a completely selfish move."

You giggled. "Well, thank you for the selfish coffee and treat."

"You're welcome. Still on for tomorrow night?" he asked, and you nodded.

"Picnic and stargazing. You're really checking things off that cheesy date list," you said with a laugh.

"You asked for it, don't you forget now," he replied before leaning in and giving you a quick kiss.

After he left, you made your way back to the nurse's station so you could deposit your goodies and pull up the next chart.

"Third date tomorrow?" Lily asked, rounding the desk. You nodded.

"Yep," you answered distractedly, reading the chart of a young boy with a minor head injury from a fall.

"You know what typically happens on the third date?"

You felt your skin heat up at the insinuation. "I'm going to regret telling you about him, aren't I?"

"Sure are. That was so close to being me, I'll never get over it."

You laughed and shook your head, leaving her question unanswered as you made your way back to the waiting room.

As it turned out, a picnic and stargazing was incredibly romantic. Joel packed a simple meal: some cold pasta in olive oil, a light salad and some fruit. He had found a spot off a highway that overlooked downtown Austin, which was by far the cheesiest part of the date.

"Did you used to take girls here back in high school or something?" you teased as you sat on the hood of his truck, leaning against the windshield so you could see the stars.

"Me? Never. I was very respectable in high school. Never got into trouble, never skipped class and definitely never took the captain of the cheerleading squad up here after prom," he said with a grin. You giggled and shoved his shoulder playfully.

"You're trouble."

"Yeah, but you like it," he said, turning his head to the side so he could look at you. You tried to give him a stern look but you weren't selling it in the slightest.

"Okay, maybe I do," you admitted.

He smiled and laced his fingers together with yours, dragging his thumb over your knuckles for a minute, staring at your entwined hands while you continued to gaze upwards, the stars twinkling in the nearly clear, black sky.

"Can I tell you somethin' without you thinkin' I'm crazy?"

You rolled your head to look at him, your first instinct to tease him but his soft tone made you stop. "Sure."

"I keep waitin' to wake up or the other shoe to drop or whatever," he said, his gaze studying your face. "You just seem too good to be true," he added with a little grin.

"That's funny, I could say the same about you," you told him, but he shook his head.

"Nah, I mean it. How don't you already got a boyfriend?"

You sighed and looked back up at the sky. "I don't know. It's always been a little tough with my work schedule. I work so many overnights and it's hard for guys to understand that and work around it. Eventually things just... die off because I never get a chance to spend any real time with anyone."

He frowned and inched a little closer. "Their loss," he said. You turned to smile at him.

"You're not like that, though."

He shrugged. "I get it. I'm no stranger to havin' a busy schedule. I'm always haulin' Sarah 'round town to soccer games or friends' houses or after school activities. Don't bother me none."

You squeezed his hand affectionately before impulsively leaning over and pressing your lips against his. You could feel his surprise but he quickly reacted and brought a hand up to cup your face. He licked at the seam of your lips and you smiled before opening your mouth a fraction, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

The whole drive back to your place had you thinking about Lily's comment from the day before, and the closer and closer you got to home, the more nervous you felt.

When he walked you up to your door and kissed you goodnight, you reached up to hold the back of his neck, keeping him close. He slipped his tongue into your mouth and you let out a small moan. He grabbed your hip and began kissing you harder, pushing you up against your door and sliding his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, stroking your skin there. You tipped your head back, breaking the kiss, both of you panting for air.

"Do you want to come inside?" you asked nervously. His gaze darkened and he licked his lips, but then you saw a tortured look flicker across his face.

"I can't," he said, sounding almost like it pained him to utter the words. "I can't leave Sarah alone overnight," he explained, taking a step back and rubbing his palms over his face. He dropped them to the side and you quickly blinked the disappointment from your eyes.

"It's okay, I understand," you told him, then reached out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

"I promise, I really wanna come inside," he told you.

"I know," you said, "maybe next time."

He chewed the inside of his cheek and nodded. "Yeah, next time."

But it wouldn't be the next time. Or the time after that. Understandably so, Joel was waiting for a night where Sarah was at a sleepover to coincide with one of your free nights, explaining that he felt uncomfortable letting her know he wouldn't be coming home.

"Does she know about us?" you asked him one night.

"'Course she does. But it's just... awkward. At her age, she can read between the lines, y'know?"

"I get it," you had told him, trying to imagine what it would be like for you if at fourteen, your dad had essentially announced he wouldn't be home that night because he was going to get laid.

It made sense, but it didn't stop both of you from practically swallowing each other whole every chance you got, all your pent up sexual tension bubbling just under the surface with every glance and touch.

And finally, nearly two months into seeing each other, the stars aligned. Sarah was going on a school field trip to The Alamo, which coincidentally was scheduled on one of your rare weekends off.

Joel had every intention of taking you out to dinner and a movie, but when you opened the door and locked eyes, suddenly take out and a shitty movie on TV sounded much better.

You practically dragged him to your bedroom while shedding your clothes as quickly as you could, desperation rolling off both of you in waves as you fell into bed.

"Beautiful girl," Joel mumbled against your throat, sweat coating your skin as your writhed underneath him, his thick length slowly dragging in and out, making sure you felt every inch of him. "Wanted this for so long," he continued, then groaned when you clenched around him. "Fuck, you're so wet, baby," he whispered when your slick began to spread over his thighs.

"Only for you," you managed to say, too focused on how your body thrummed with anticipation as you got closer and closer to your release.

"Yeah, that's right," he growled, nipping at your earlobe. "All for me."

When you came, you whimpered his name into his shoulder, clutching onto him as the heat of your orgasm spread through every vein, reaching every inch of you. He followed shortly behind with a guttural moan muffled by his mouth pressing feverishly against yours, then you felt his muscles relax under your fingertips and his body sag. You pulled him down and he nuzzled against your throat as he fought for air, still nestled deep between your legs.

Neither of you felt much like leaving the bed, so you didn't. You ordered Chinese food takeout and watched some action movie you didn't really care for but it didn't matter because it primarily served as background noise while you pretended to fight over shrimp lo mein and shared an egg roll, the cartons spread out over your nightstands and your plates balancing in your hands.

You fell asleep before the movie ended but when you woke the next morning, tucked safely into Joel's side, the cartons of food were gone and the TV was off. You pressed a little kiss against his chest, silently thanking him for taking care of everything while you slept, but the movement made him stir. He sleepily opened his eyes, then a lazy smile spread across his face when he saw you already looking up at him.

"Mornin', little lady," he said, voice all rough and gravelly. You felt a pull in your lower stomach at the sound.

"Morning," you mumbled, pressing another kiss in the same spot.

Joel sighed and wrapped both arms around you, tugging you even closer and kissing the top of your head.

"I want you to meet Sarah."

He felt your muscles tense under his hands and then you slowly tipped your chin up to look him in the eye.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Only if you wanna," he said quickly, but you shook your head and grinned.

"Y-yeah, I would love to, of course," you told him.

He planted a kiss on your lips, both your mouths curving into smiles.

"Good. Then it's settled. My two best girls are gonna meet," he said, sliding out from under the sheets to stand. You bit your lip, adoring the way he referred to you as one of his girls. "She's gonna love you. How 'bout a baseball game or the fair?" he offered, slipping his boxers on.

"Both sound great," you said dreamily, watching him saunter out of your bedroom. And as you ate breakfast across your kitchen table, sharing little smiles over eggs and toast, you couldn't help but feel hopeful and excited for what your future held together.

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