dedicated to everything i love

elle | @softspiderling | rec blog

[ellesrecs]

⁺˚⋆｡elle°✩₊ she/her/bestie, 18+!!

main @elletalking active on @softspiderling library @softspiderlinglibrary

reblogging all my fave fics on here <3 i will reblog 18+ fics on here, so MDNI

tagging system:

character xyz x reader

smut / angst / fluff

[moonqz]

COMMUNICATION : Yeon Sieun

pairing : Yeon Sieun x american!fem!reader

genre : fluff

description : As a transfer student to Eunjang, and not speaking Korean very well, Sieun takes it upon himself to find different ways to talk to you.

requested by : anon! thank you so much lovely! 🤍

note : anything sieun says would be in Korean unless i’ve specified otherwise 🤍 (this probably isn’t very good but bare with 😞)

Sieun doesn’t talk much. You were pretty much the same as him in that sense. Except instead of choosing not to talk, it was difficult to talk in another language in a school of people you didn’t know.

Not to mention you didn’t know a lot of Korean. The sentence structure was confusing, the particles were brain hurting. But you understood more then you could say.

Familiar words would come up and you’d pick up what the mean. And you knew enough to get by. Sorta.

Like Hello, thank you, no, yes, excuse me, please.

Moving from America was difficult enough, but trying to study when the homework was in a different language?

You had asked most your teachers if they could translate the homework for you or get an English version. To no avail.

Google translate it is.

You’ve only been in Korea for a month, and already the walls of Eunjang feel taller than they should.

The syllables your classmates speak blur together like static. You nod a lot. Smile even more. Laugh when someone else does, just to keep up.

Not at first.

Yeon Sieun doesn’t speak to you.

He doesn’t avoid you, just watches quietly when the teacher asks you a question and you freeze, but pretends he’s not watching.

When you whisper into your phone’s translator. When you scribble a vocabulary word three times in the margin of your textbook like maybe repetition will make the meaning stick.

You hadn’t heard the rumours of him around school. The ones about him killing his classmate. You didn’t understand what they were saying but it was obvious to tell that it wasn’t good.

Who were you to judge? The boy didn’t seem harmful or cold. More misunderstood. Everyday was the same, sitting with his head on the desk in most lessons, most of the time asleep. At least that was what people were fooled to believe.

He wasn’t asleep most of the time, how could he?

You were assigned to sit next to him. You didn’t mind. It was more peaceful then when people would try to talk to you and you had to pretend to understand.

But on a Tuesday that smells like chalk dust and rain, your pen ran out of ink. Your last one of course.

Glancing to your side, there’s one boy who’s busy talking to his friends. And they don’t seem like the kind to be considerate of the language barrier.

Your only other option was Sieun. He wouldn’t mind right? The boy must have at least ten pens on him. You’ve seen the way he clicks his pen and grips it tighter in his hand whenever someone’s frustrating him.

His head was on the desk as usual but you could tell he wasn’t sleeping. He seemed more emotionally drained then physically. You could understand that.

Gently, half hesitant you tapped his shoulder. And the first time he ignored you. Until you muttered a dodgy, quiet ‘excuse me’ in his mother tongue with an accent.

Sieun looked up, eyes not as cold as others say. And you can feel the eyes of some people staring at you two as if to say ‘why are you talking to him’

You motioned towards your pen, slightly awkwardly hoping he’d understand, adding a small ‘please’ in Korean to be polite.

The boy looked at you for a moment, his eyes not giving anything away except for a rare tiredness he couldn’t put into words.

Not that you would understand it anyway.

Then he gave you his pen. The one he was using. Before getting a different one for himself and going back to his work.

You slightly nervously say ‘thank you’ before going back to your work. Honestly it was hard having to switch from the translator to the page.

It was just writing the same thing twice but one in another language.

The next day was the same. Wordlessly translating meaningless words, ignoring the looks of other people seeing a foreigner in their class, either one of disgust or odd intrigue.

You sat back on your seat, noticing that Sieun wasn’t here yet. To be honest you were a couple minutes early to this class. But Sieun seemed to always be there before anyone else.

Then as if on cue, he walked in. His eyes still carried the exhaustion, and his bag hung loosely off his shoulder. He walked towards his seat, not even glancing at you.

He placed a blue sticky note on your textbook before going back to his seat next to yours.

You blink.

In deep ink, he wrote,

책 = Book

Book, you repeat in your head. That’s one more word to your vocabulary at least. And it was appreciated more than he knew. Or maybe he did know.

You glance up.

His head is already buried in the uncomfortable wood, and his eyes are closed tightly, as if he was trying to rid of a headache.

That afternoon, he doesn’t sleep through lunch. Instead he finds the empty stairwell you go to during breaks.

It’s quite, empty. But it doesn’t feel omelet. Just a break from the all too overbearing boys there.

You don’t look up from your phone when you hear the door open. Just assuming it was someone trying to get through.

Until he drops next to you, legs out in front of him, backpack abandoned next to him.

“You okay?” he spoke, unsure if you would understand. Luckily it was a word you had heard enough to get.

You nod with a small, polite smile unsure why he was here, but not exactly disliking the company.

He doesn’t say anything else for a while. Just pulls out his phone, same as you, but doesn’t scroll. You catch it from the corner of your eye, his screen’s blank. Just dim light reflecting your outline beside him.

You think maybe he’s waiting for you to leave.

But when you shift your bag to stand, his hand suddenly moves, not touching you, but palm facing out like a stop sign. Then he opens the translator app on his phone.

He types something. Tilts it toward you.

“You always come here?”

You blink, then nod. You tap your fingers twice against your knee, thinking, before gently nudging your own phone toward him. He passes his without question.

You type slower than he did.

“Quiet. Easy to breathe here.”

He reads it for longer than necessary, mouth tugging into the faintest almost-smile. Then types,

“You don’t like the cafeteria?”

You shake your head.

“Noisy. And… hard to listen. Fast.”

He nods like he understands, not just the words, but the feeling under them. Then, as if out of nowhere, he pulls something from his bag. A small, beaten-up paperback.

He flips through the pages. Not in Korean. English. A translation copy of some old Korean novel, pages full of scribbles and circled words. He taps a sentence, then hands it to you. You squint down at the faded line under his thumb,

“Sometimes, being near is louder than being loud.”

You look at him. He’s not looking at you, just resting his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. But you get it.

He didn’t come here to talk.

He came here to be near.

And for the first time since coming here, your heart calms in a way you can’t explain with any of the words you know yet.

The following week, the folded notes stop.

Instead, he brings you something else.

A small stack of flashcards, clipped together with a binder ring. You blink down at them as he hands them over, plain, rectangular cards, some already marked with faint creases like they’ve been flipped through too many times.

You glance at him. He doesn’t explain. Just nods, nudges his backpack to the side, and sits like always, legs out, back against the wall.

You flip the first one over.

A doodle.

A square stairwell, two stick figures sitting side by side, and a little speech bubble with a heart drawn outside of it, not inside. Almost like he’s saying, this isn’t about words.

The second card, a drawing of a tray of food. One side scribbled out, the other circled in soft highlighter.

You grin. The cafeteria again. He’s teasing you.

Third card, a sad face with spiraling lines above its head. You touch your temple.

He nods, understanding, headache.

But it’s the fourth card that makes you pause.

Just a sketch of a coffee cup. Steam curling from the top. Below it, a tiny envelope drawn open, like it’s meant to contain something. A message, maybe.

You turn it toward him, silently asking.

He pulls out a second stack. His set.

One by one, he flips his own cards, stopping on one that matches yours, the same coffee cup, same steam, same open envelope.

He taps it twice with his thumb, then leans his head back and closes his eyes. Not asleep. Just… resting.

You mirror him, pressing your shoulder just slightly closer this time.

And just like that, the system forms,

No language yet. Just picture cards. Shared symbols. Matching decks.

Some cards are more complicated. One day, he shows you a sketch of a hand holding another. No faces, no background. Just the gesture. Then places it between you both without saying anything.

You don’t pick it up. You don’t need to. You let your pinky hover near his on the cold stairwell step, barely brushing.

It says enough.

Another day, you walk in to find a card already placed where you sit.

An open book. But one of the pages has a bandage on it.

He doesn’t look at you when you pick it up. Just waits, eyes on the far wall, unreadable.

You hold it, studying it quietly. Then you slide out your phone, open your drawing app, and sketch your reply with trembling fingers.

A closed book.

Bandage removed. Page wrinkled, but healing.

You show it to him.

He finally looks at you, and you see something shift behind his eyes, like the moment when clouds break and sunlight filters through, slow and pale.

Still no words. Not a single one exchanged. Yet, at least. You didn’t mind that though. Throughout the school days you could both tell the other was too exhausted or drained to communicate properly. So maybe this way was easier in that sense too.

But it’s more than enough.

That’s how it goes.

Some people build a friendship on conversation. Get to know each other solely on words you can’t promise are true.

You build one in the white space between sentences, in quiet drawings, flicked glances, and unspoken invitations.

In this stairwell, silence isn’t empty.

It’s fluent.

What neither of you realise throughout this though, is that you were both learning each others language. Slowly, but surely.

Not that the effort wasn’t enough already, but it would be nice to understand each other through words too.

Sieun honestly was learning English quicker then you were Korean. But that was to be expected when the homework he had to balance was already in his language.

You however, were trying to balance learning a new language, and translating your homework into your native one.

Another couple weeks later. You had picked up the language technique - if you could even call it that - way better then before. And it was more fun than anything. Maybe drawing what you felt was easier than saying it.

You know what the card means before he even gives it to you.

It’s a door. Drawn a little crooked, but clearly open, just slightly, just enough. A keyhole with no key. A welcome, not an ask.

He slides it across the step toward you. No eye contact. Just his usual slouched posture, hood half-up, fingers twitching faintly from cold or nerves. Maybe both.

You look at it. Then at him. His soft, dark eyes looked even more hypnotising through the lighting of this room.

Then you nod once, a hint of a smile on your face.

And that’s all it takes.

His apartment is exactly what you expect.

Sparse. Neat. Quiet. Everything placed like it has a reason to be there.

The shoes by the door lined up. The blanket on the couch still folded in sharp corners. The books stacked without titles visible, like he doesn’t want to be asked about them.

He watches you walk in without saying anything. But when you stop in the doorway, uncertain, he raises one hand, flat like a barrier.

Then curls his fingers slowly, beckoning.

Come in.

No words. Just the same language you’ve built between you.

He motions toward the floor cushions near the coffee table. You settle down, glancing around while he ducks into the kitchen.

A beat later, he returns with two mugs of something hot. You try to thank him in Korean, quietly, and he pauses.

Then replies in slow, clumsy English,

“Warm. Good for… um. Cold.”

It’s not smooth, but it hits you square in the chest. You knew he understood a tiny bit of English but you could tell that this was something he truly cared about getting.

You grin, can’t help it. He glances down, ears going pink with the fear of getting something wrong. Or maybe the sight of your smile and slightly crinkled eyes had more of an effect on him than he would let on.

You take a sip, hum a little, “mmm,” followed by a thumbs-up. More than grateful that he was trying.

It’s more than most people have done before for you. Who would attempt to learn a whole language just to understand someone they spend time with.

His shoulders ease.

And for a while, you just sit like that. Cross-legged. Quiet. Familiar. Steam rising. City noises muffled by the window.

Then, Sieun opens the small notebook sitting next to his phone. He flips to a page and turns it toward you.

What do you call this?

Below the question is a sketch of the tea kettle.

You blink. Then answer, spelling it slowly aloud, writing it in your own little travel notebook, the one you’ve been secretly building since the second week you met him.

Then you point to the same drawing and ask, in halting Korean,

“And… Korean?”

He pauses. Smiles faintly.

Says the word, slow. Clear. You repeat it. He nods.

Then he points to the word you wrote.

“Tea,” he says.

It goes back and forth like that.

No pressure. No lessons. Just gentle exchange. And the fact he was trying to understand you better meant more to you then he could ever realise.

You were in his home country, the effort should be from you to him. And whilst you were doing everything to understand the language and culture more, it felt safer knowing you had someone who was helping you along the way.

Sieun looks at you. Really looks at you. The kind that says he’s paying more attention to you than anything else in his world.

And whilst most of the time, his eyes are unreadable, you understand it more than the words in your vocabulary.

“I like you” He speaks in easy English. Practised. And it almost takes the wind out of you. Because before you could reply, he’s leaning forehead and placing the most gentle kiss to your cheek.

He pulls back quicker then he leaned it, slightly awkward sitting there waiting for a reaction.

Had he read the situation wrong?

Instead of ignoring the turmoil in your mind right now, you smile, barely visible and return the ministration, your soft lips placed upon his upper cheek.

Yours was more stable. Slower, More sure now that you knew that your feelings were mutual.

Sieun could’ve forgotten how to breath right there if it wasn’t for the fact his heart was going a hundred miles per hour.

Your faces were close now. Not close enough to be considered romantic but enough to suggest something intimate.

“I like you too” You reply. In Korean. And when you had learnt them words just a few nights ago, you realised you recognised them. Not from around school, or on TV. But from Sieun.

When he would murmur quiet Korean in the safety of the stairwell, as if he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Soft mumbling, barely audible, things you didn’t understand yet. But you recognised them words when you learnt them.

For someone who doesn’t smile much - at all - Sieun’s eyes are glistening with something more heartfelt than before.

Adoration.

And the corner of his lips are turned up slightly, not a smile, but almost. And you notice it straight away, point it out as if it was the rarest sight on the planet. And maybe it was.

He attempts to brush off the fact he was close to breaking his facade, furrowing his eyebrows slightly as if he was confused, but the ghost of a smile still plays at his lips.

And you giggle. Soft, warm, warm enough to fully break the mask behind his eyes and he smiles, really smiles.

Something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not since Su-Ho.

[ylvra]

WELCOME TO EUNJANG — chapter one!

synopsis: there’s always been one thing no one expected: a girl at eunjang high. no one really knows why her parents sent her here, or why she agreed to come, but it’s clear she doesn’t want to be there. she was once the social butterfly in her old school, she made friends everywhere—but keeping up with everyone left her grades sliding, and now her parents think an all-boys school is the “solution” since she quite literally..can’t stand boys—but hey, at least she’s in the same class with her two friends!

HI?

masterlist — next

taglist: @minghaosimp @thethreeeyed-raven @yourbeautifulfairyprincess (taglist is open!)

author’s note: kind of a weak start but bare with me y’all 🙏 i’m gonna cook something up with this. trust the process😈

[chanifesto]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 mr. fix it | yeon sieun

pairing: yeon sieun x afab!reader (weak hero)

synopsis: yeon sieun was notoriously known as your program’s tech handyman. when he wasn’t hunched over calculus problem sets, sieun was busy fixing his peers' laptops, for a price of course—one that was nonexistent for you because you seemed to make his software hard.

genre: another smutty university au

word count: 6.9k

warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, grinding, making out, oral (f rec.), pussydrunk!sieun, piv sex, protected sex, many consent checks, sieun is so so gone for you, you are literally his pretty little angel, if devotion was a person it would be him, sieun can’t figure out his goddamn integral

reader notes: written with afab reader in mind. reader has breasts and a vagina. reader is described to look ‘small’ at one point. all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.

this fic was requested – thank you so much, i loved coming up with the concept .ᐟ

۶ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐ park jihoon uggghhhh need need need him. had the most exquisite time picking out the concept pictures.

“You broke it again?”

  His voice sounds flat, but there's a tinge of hope, a sense of subdued anticipation perking his last few syllables.

  Sieun stares at the half-solved integral on his desk, phone pressed to his cheek, screen cold against his skin, fingers loosely gripping the sides. The warm glow of his lamp casts a nimbus over the mess made of a barely punched in calculation and his calculus textbook, pages worn from flipping back and forth between the chapter problem sets and appendix answers. Outside his window, the campus sky is dim, too gray for six in the evening.

  “I didn’t break it!” Your voice crackles through the line, scratchy with frustration. Sieun can hear your breath over the receiver, rough and rushed.

  “It just won’t turn on,” you continue, “I don’t know what happened. I just opened my tabs, and then—dead.” 

  He exhales. “And you tried plugging it in?”

  “Yes, Sieun. I tried everything you taught me—nothing worked,” you huff, “I have an essay due Monday, and everything I need to write it is on this damn laptop.”

  You sound slightly breathless, your voice hoarse with the kind of air that clings to lungs on chilly evenings. Wind rushes past the speaker, muddling your words with static. Sieun’s ears pick up on this.

  “Where are you,” he asks, dull, but more abrupt than intended.

  You’re silent for a few beats.

  “Outside.” Another gust of wind bleeds through the receiver.

  He feels the warmth of perspiration prick across his palms. “Where?”

  The brisk, hollow rustle of plastic, and then, “Walking to your dorm.”

  Sieun feels his breath dissipate in the back of his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” you start. Sieun squeezes his eyes upon hearing these words in your soundwaves, words he thought were too unnecessary when masked in your voice.

  “I saw the forecast, there’s going to be rain—shoot, I forgot my umbrella, I knew I was forgetting something—anyways, I figured I'd head over to yours before it hit,” there’s an unmistakable sincerity in your voice, “I really need you right now, Sieun.”

  Need to murder him, he thought. Clearly, that was more fitting for the illusive objective of your last sentence, one that roused his hand to the back of his neck, called his fingers to smooth over his golden skin, wailed for them to curl against his flesh in hopes of helping him get a grip of himself. Literally.

  He sighs, half flustered, half enlivened. “You’ll be here soon?”

  “Yeah, just five minutes more.”

  There’s a pause. “Okay.”

  A quick exhale breaks past your lips, a restrained puff of air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, waiting for a green light to let it loose. “Thank you, Sieun.”

  He can still feel the ghost of icy plastic against his cheek when you cut the call. Unfocused eyes cloud over the sheets and pens and smudged writing lazing atop his desk.

  Of course. 

  Of course you’re coming over. Because why wouldn’t you? Your laptop’s dead, and he’s the tech guy, and this is just what happens. He fixes things.

  And right now, you need him to fix your things. He couldn’t help but feel his heart jump at the idea, an eagerness creeping into his chest, fogging up his lungs and grabbing hold of the air that dared to escape up his trachea.

  Sieun, as cold as he seemed, felt warmth fixing your things, like he’d swallowed the sun and it dissolved into his blood. Unlike the peers on your campus, he does it for you free-of-charge—hell, he thinks he’d pay you just to let him fidget around with your laptop’s battery that burns to touch or the program functions you can’t seem to figure out even after using the ‘help’ tab. He’d never admit to it though.

  Not yet, at least.

  His eyes flicker to the unfinished problem adorning his notebook, numbers and symbols half-formed, abandoned mid-line. The solution sits just out of reach.

  Much like you.

  His unfinished integral mocks him.

  Your cheeks are flushed, supple and radiant, the dermal symptom of cool drizzle and dewy autumn air. Sieun’s eyes surf the strands of your hair, glinting from subtle rain droplets that catch even in the dim fluorescent light of his dorm hallway.

  You look small like this in his doorway, backpack straps sagging over your shoulders, your sweater sporting little wet spots that are sure to smell like petrichor. Your hands tightly clutch a white plastic bag to your abdomen, the vertices of a cardboard box poking out at him.

  You smile at him, small and sweet and a little flustered. “There was some drizzle when I turned onto your lane.”

  Sieun’s gaze, currently traveling across the ridges tenting your plastic bag, snaps to your face.

  “Oh.” It’s a soft expression, a barely-there phoneme he manages through concern for you—how dare the clouds cry over your angel face?—and some muffled curiosity.

  Sieun just can’t help the fall of his gaze. He stares blankly at the bag in your hands. He’s not surprised when you take notice.

  “It’s brownie mix!”

  He peers at you again.

  “Brownies?”

  You grin sheepishly, fiddling with the plastic handles. “Yeah, I thought, well– you work so hard, you deserve a fun break, one you can get a sweet treat out of!” You pause. “And, I guess it’s also thanks for my laptop. You’ve saved me a lot of money I already don’t have, more than once now.”

  He’s still staring at you, face blank, unreadable, lips sealed in a line, but his eyes gleamed. Whether it was annoyance or humour, you weren’t sure, but his dreamy, tired eyes gleamed.

  Your eyes go wide. “Oh gosh, I should’ve asked you if brownies were okay. They looked so good on the box, I just had to pick them up. You could be allergic to chocolate, or maybe you don’t even like brownies–”

  “Brownies are cool.”

  Sieun watches your lips halt their rambling, configured mid-sentence, before they slowly spread into a toothy grin, one that radiates a warm feeling into his bones and almost—almost—makes his lip twitch up to match yours.

  All you needed to do was force start.

  That’s all.

  No hardware to trifle with, no delinquent software meddling with your computer programs.

  All Sieun had to do was press a couple buttons in tandem before your screen lit back up to life, resurrected from its cry of wolf.

  Your cheeks had heated, bashful from your ignorance, but also a little humoured.

  They blazed further when you caught sight of the calculus massacre on his desk, hurried apologies spilling past your pretty lips to wash out the guilt that crawled up your chest.

  Sieun reassured you all was well—It’s fine, I was almost done anyways—with a look in his eyes that had you capitulating to his sincerity.

  “Can I repay you with brownies?” you had prompted, fingers twiddling behind your back as if it would have subliminally helped rouse the answer you sought after.

  Sieun slowly flattened your laptop to a shut before his Bambi eyes peaked at you and whispered exactly what you needed to know, exactly what you wanted to hear.

  So, you’d both clambered in his tiny, cozy dorm kitchen, ingredients and bowls and utensils scattered across granite, instructions serenading the walls in your voice, Sieun’s hands working to mix the dark sea of cocoa batter.

  You had assumed the role of a conductor but managed to pull a mess over you like a magnet. Whatever hadn’t been mixed into the warm batch of brownies basking atop Sieun’s countertop had found consolation on your being—cocoa powder and melted butter and drying batter decorated your skin and sweater.

  Sieun thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

  Of course, Sieun had missed any defiant ingredient attacks entirely.

  You’d both picked up a piece each, melted chocolate furnishing your mouths while Sieun, starry-eyed and attentive, listened to you babble about your stress baking and how, no matter the many times you made something, you’d always be left with a bit of a messy souvenir from the process.

  It was during this instance when the rain had hit.

  Hard and harsh and pattering ferociously against the window of his measly living room. You and Sieun had snapped your heads at the sound, sticky embellishments of chocolate coating your fingers.

  You’d looked so worried, so consumed in the thought of how you’d walk home through what was practically a typhoon. You hadn’t checked for a storm warning, all you’d known was a chance of rain. Your umbrella wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  You’d looked so worried, so it felt almost natural when Sieun suggested you just stay over.

  “...Really?” Your eyes were breaking past their sockets, and Sieun had nerely felt the weight of his words crash over him until your orbs softened and he saw the ghost of a smirk brush past your lips.

  “Yeah, you can’t get home through that,” his voice had been tinged with his radiation of care for you. His eyes swept over your chocolate-covered frame. “You can use my shower if you want. I’ll give you some clean clothes to wear.”

  You’d obliged. Quite happily.

  And now, Sieun sat at his desk, unfinished integral staring up at him, the muted sound of his shower silking through the wall, almost louder than the merciless storm outside his window. 

  Sieun hadn’t touched his sheets or pens since he’d retreated to his room, changed into his own set of nightwear, and lowered himself into his desk chair. He couldn’t focus.

  How could he? When you were just a dozen feet away, naked and wet under the rush of his shower.

  He knew he shouldn’t think about it, begged himself not to, but when his mind slipped over the way you had chocolate powder flowering your neck and underneath your sweater, he couldn’t help but let his mind run, just a little.

  Run over the way your fingers probably tucked under the bottom of your sweater, dragging it up along your beautiful body and over your head. What had you worn underneath? Had you even worn anything? 

  In Sieun’s little fantasy, you hadn’t. You’d been bare for him under your clothes, and he’d been ready, quick to ravish you, to kiss and suck and bite at your warm skin.

  But, that was just a fantasy.

  In reality, it didn’t matter whether or not you’d worn anything underneath your sweater. Sieun had just helped you out, made things a little easier for you, eased your anxiety by offering an innocent sleepover so you wouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself to what was the making of an ocean outside his dorm.

  It didn’t matter, just like his integral, still unfinished. Deferred. Mocking.

  The blood had barely made it to his cock before it was rushing back to his brain.

  A couple minutes more of unsuccessfully undressing the math symbols littering his half-blank page and you were padding your way into his room, feet bare, heels marginally lifted off the cold floor of his dorm. Your clothes were folded, carried atop your forearms, and your cute body was swallowed in his t-shirt and shorts, sleeves too long, neck hole too wide, fabric swaying just over your knees with each of your scampered steps.

  You gaze at Sieun from the edge of his bed, clothes now tucked away in your backpack, the hem of his shirt twirling in your fingers. 

  God, Sieun thought you looked ethereal, bare-faced and in his clothes. The warm, mellow glow of his desk lamp illuminates your face like a halo. Your sweet angel eyes are drowning him far past the storm outside.

  Sweet oblivious angel eyes. If only they could see the mess he’d made of you in his head.

  “Are you ready to sleep, or do you want to study some more?” Your voice is so soft, so melodious bouncing within the confines of his skull, and your eyes twinkle just right, brightened from his lamp and the mere cast of moonlight simmering through his window.

  “I’m done,” Sieun starts, “You take the bed. I’m going to sleep in the living room.”

  He’s about to push himself up when you cross your cute arms, defiant and determined. He watches your eyes narrow, eyebrows dip with a scrunch.

  “Absolutely not!” you chide, your squint piercing. Sieun stares, half stood. He sits back down.

  “It’s not fair to you! I showed up, practically unannounced, had you press a couple buttons on my laptop because I was too incompetent to figure it out myself, then made you make brownies with me against your will since you don’t take any economic compensation! And I know you’re not done with your problem set, I can see it from here. It’s exactly how you left it before we made those godforsaken brownies! I completely butted into your evening and messed up your studying, so you best believe you’ll be sleeping in your own bed and getting a good night’s rest!”

  You puff at the end, like you’d said it in one breath, forearms glued to each other, fingers digging into your biceps.

  Sieun is still staring at you, face blank, eyes gentle.

  “You’re not incompetent.”

  You blink.

  “That’s not the point, Sieun.” You huff, pointing to his blankets. 

  “Now, get to bed.”

  His eyes flick, your attention on his bed now shared. There’s an ease in the air, one that helps to hoist Sieun from his desk chair, click his lamp off, and carry himself over to the side of his bed. He lifts the corner of his duvet, slides underneath, and lets it fall over him. All without a peep.

  His eyes scan to your frame, still at the edge of his bed, still in his too-baggy clothes, still looking too ethereal for him to indulge below the moonlight’s gaze, even in your quarrelsome stance.

  You stare back at him.

  “Okay… good.” You sound stifled, almost suspicious of his obedience.

  Your arms unclasp, a little dazed at how fast he’d listened to you. With a hesitant scratch to your neck, you shuffle to what would be your side of Sieun’s bed, just for tonight.

  Even though Sieun wishes it could be a less transient arrangement.

  But he was doing this to help you. 

  Afterall, you’d looked so worried.

  Sieun watches your warm body roll onto his mattress, feels it dip with your added weight from across. You shamble to face him, the duvet bunching in your hands, a relaxed, content tilt gracing your lips. Your cheek presses against the pillow, eyes squinting with warmth and kindness and gratitude and what Sieun could describe as a fatally contagious ray of tranquility.

  You look so sweet like this, cuddled into his bed in clothes—his clothes—that swallow your body whole. The rain had slowed, granting permission to an even larger crowd of moonlight to flow over your face.

  Sieun thought you were unreal, a mythical being from a dreamy world far beyond the current celestial limits.

  A mythical being who saw him only for his technological abilities.

  You were only here for tonight. Sieun was just helping you.

  Because you had looked so worried.

  So, he rolls onto his side, nearing the edge of the bed, hands tittering close to an abyss.

  “Goodnight,” he grumbles. He doesn’t bother to pull the duvet to his front, lets it hang just over his side, as if any extra movement would make him appear more visible to you.

  You gape at his back.

  “Sieun!”

  Sieun closes his eyes. Perhaps the world around him wouldn’t see him if he couldn’t see the world.

  You puff, a frustrated push of air that has Sieun squinting his eyes shut further. He feels the duvet minutely ruffle behind him, feels the dip of the mattress sink gradually.

  “I don’t get it, are you actually upset?” Although you were quiet, you sounded so disgruntled, confused. Sieun could only wish he was better at this so he wouldn’t have to bear your honey-like voice convey such emotion, like thrones stuck in a cloud.

  But, Sieun was Sieun. A man of minimal words who spoke the truth and nothing but—until now.

  “No, just trying to get a good night’s rest.” Just trying to keep my mind off you, so close, for just one night.

  “Ugh! Will you just turn around so I can talk to you?”

  Your hand reaches out and grips the collar of Sieun’s shirt, a tight grip pulling him towards you, a gentle grip to avoid attempted murder.

  His eyes pop open, a hand catching onto the taut fabric around his neck. If there was the slightest chance Sieun’s conscious was to succumb to strangulation tonight, he thinks he’d only remember the warmth of your fingers fogging over the back of his neck.

  Sieun yields to your force, falling onto his back. Why are you so damn strong?

  With a hatch of his neck, his eyes find yours in the dark room, the patch of moonlight from his window dimmed from the roar of thunder and familiar strikes of heavy droplets against the glass.

  There’s light provocation simmering through your face, playful like a child in a game of tag.

  “Talk about what?” His voice is quiet but firm, his body a statue sandwiched between the mattress and sheets, daring not to move a millimeter.

  You peer at him, words hanging along the tip of your tongue, as if debating whether they were worth speaking into the medium shared between your beings.

  You decide they are.

  “I know you take a fee from others when you fix their laptops.” There’s a quirk in his neck, a twitch at the corner of his lips that urges you further. “You’ve never taken one from me, even when I mention it. Why is that?”

  Sieun feels a gradual quickening of his heartbeat at this concoction of your voice, and, like the start of a tornado, the thoughts in his head rampage into a whirlwind.

  To be or not to be? Sieun, who previously seemed to lack any cognitive resources to solve his monster integral, was now calculating his next move with rigorous intricacy.

  Maybe it was the kick in adrenaline that had him instigating your little game.

  Sieun chose to be.

  “Why do you think?”

  Your eyes narrow in an instant, the entire play a chain reaction. Were you also debating your next actions, words? Were you also aware of the string snapping taut between you, tense and nearing a strong, sudden tear?

  Sieun definitely was. Like always, he knew what he was getting himself into, knew he was igniting something far beyond repair, unlike the many laptops he’d resurrected.

  Sieun knew what he’d started. He’d calculated it, perhaps from the very beginning, from the moment he uttered the word “stay.”

  He was just helping you, for one night. Just one night.

  You’d looked so worried, of course.

  Perhaps Sieun had wanted your eyebrows to furrow from another force of nature—him.

  Say something.

  A quirk to your lips. Dark shadows in your eyes.

  And a hand reaching out for his neck, this time to pull him to the plushest centre of your visage.

  His lips graze the fullness of yours when you whisper in a breath.

  “I knew to force start.”

  Sieun isn’t spared a chance to retaliate his sockets stretching back when you press into him.

  The dense pressure molds his own lips flush against yours, an electric fog swarming your face and down the flanks of your neck.

  It’s a reflex, an abrupt, consuming, greedy reflex, when his arm curls over your back, big hand hastily grazing along your spine to knot into your hair.

  Had Sieun fallen asleep?

  This has to be a dream.

  But your lips were too soft against his, too warm.

  And your back curved so well along his forearm, strands so luxurious curled around his fingers.

  Your hand on his chest, basking down his torso… Sieun believes he doesn’t possess even a speckle of the imagination required to muster a feeling as heavenly as that.

  Definitely not enough to muster a feeling as heavenly as your hand sliding over him through his thin flannel pajamas.

  You were a fallen angel who had come to play unsacred games.

  And Sieun proved to be a worthy opponent.

  His fingers grip around the base of your skull to pull you from his lips.

  His eyes are heavy with a murmur of inquisition, flitting over your lips before boring into your own with words unspoken. You mirror his gaze with equal weight, savouring his quiet inhale when you push further down over his hardening curve, feathering your hand up to rest against the supple part of his abdomen.

  “You know where this is going.” It was a statement, a quiet, breathless, almost restrained mutter carrying all the responsibility and uncertainty and anticipation littered within Sieun.

  You gaze, knowing, unbothered.

  “This is what you want? This is what you came for?”

  “Yes,” you whisper, “Take it as part of my thanks.”

  “I thought the brownies were your thanks.”

  You smirk. “That was just the appetizer.”

  Sieun scoffs quietly, a humble pfft to accompany the fingers gently rubbing over the bottom of your scalp, a means of easing into his next utterance.

  You were drowning in his milk chocolate orbs, a velvety sea full of nothing but care and adoration and awe for you.

  “Are you sure you want to go further?” Any quieter and the storm battering upon his window would have drowned his sound completely.

  “Yes, Sieun.”

  That was everything he needed to hear.

  A gentle push to your neck has your lips pressing back into the plushness of his own.

  It’s a slow kiss, chaste but blazing with the need you’d both been bearing for months. You move against the other, the ghost of anticipation urging you further into it.

  Sieun definitely is not dreaming.

  All his prior frustration, graced from his still unsolved practice set and the many long, agonizing weeks of indirect contact with you, melts away, leaving a tender warmth to dry in its place. Your lips feel as soft as—no, they were softer, so much softer, and warm like sun rays on cold skin—the many times he’d imagined the ghost of them wisping against his.

  A transient ghost, barely lasting a mere tortuous ten seconds. He’d stop himself from savouring it, pry the ghost away before his hopes shot higher than the sky above him.

  But now, you were here, tangible, with your mortal lips on his. They were so supple, so plush and warm and real. And they were flush against his. No one else but him.

  Sieun had spent so long denying your fabricated being, the one who would distract him from his problem sets, urge him to isolate from the many gadgets his peers would throw his way in times of technological misfortune.

  Sieun decided it was finally time to show you what your ghost had been doing to him.

  He sucks in your bottom lip, hands grazing over your hips to pull you over his growing hardness with a delicate hold, treating your vessel like original vintage artwork. Fragile. Authentic. Godly.

  The duvet shifts against your back while you shift over him, the core of your heat finding solace over his own. The hem of his borrowed t-shirt rides up your torso like it knows what’s coming.

  It’s an abrupt, consuming, visceral feeling when you first connect with the stiff rod bulging against the stressed material of Sieun’s pajamas.

  It’s the same for Sieun, so when a small groan muses from the depths of his throat at the feeling of your heat radiating along his length, he remains basking in its aftermath.

  Lips still working into each other, you almost don’t acknowledge the slow, tantalizing roll of your hips.

  Sieun does, and it drives him crazy.

  Sieun, who was always so cool, composed, and distant was now growing hot and undone, all while pressing himself further into you, meeting you at an undefined middle, ridding any and all separation from your heating bodies from the insufferable vexation of need.

  His hands knead into your hips, bearing your heat further along him, before they configure to push himself up while embracing you flush against his chest.

  You’re consuming him, physically and mentally. Your lips on his, your body wrapped tightly around his own, hot cunt slowly grinding over the hard curve of his cock, a barrier of too much fabric plastered between your beings and pushing you both into frustrated desperation.

  Your name, your scent, the suppleness of your skin, they all fog his head, conquer it with the ghost of you.

  Both your mortal and immortal forms had possessed him, consumed him whole until he was nothing but a spec of utter devotion to you and you only.

  Your hips grind again, slow, sinful, and Sieun’s breath stutters against your mouth.

  You feel the shiver that rebounds through him like a tremor, feel the tight grip of his hands at your waist falter before steadying again, tighter this time, as if he needs to anchor you, or maybe himself.

  His lips leave yours only to trail hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, your crescent of skin beyond the shirt’s collar, the devotion in each press of his mouth turning you molten.

  “You feel…” he murmurs, barely audible, like he’s speaking to himself, “…too good. Too good to be real.”

  You tilt your hips forward again, slower, answering him with equal desperation, and Sieun’s head tips back, a ragged exhale pulling from his throat. The sight strikes you—his lashes trembling, his brows knit together in pleasure so raw it borders on pain. He looks ruined.

  Kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, shades of pink colonizing his visage in the shower of eventide luminosity.

  You don’t realize you’ve gasped until his gaze finds you again, pupils blown wide and gleaming with disbelief. His thumbs rub along your hip bones, a fragrant sensation even through the fabric of his shorts you adorned.

  Your hands glide under his shirt, pushing up until he’s reaching for the edge himself, prying the shirt past his head and letting the fabric fall to the cold hardwood beneath his bed.

  His hands slip beneath the hem of your own, and his touch is hesitant, wavering, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he reaches too far.

  “Can I…?” he asks, voice husky and threadbare, already tugging at the fabric.

  You nod. His hands glide up, slow and reverent, brushing over the curves and valleys he’s only ever imagined, each touch leaving heat in its wake. 

  He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been thirst-starved for days, gentle eyes falling over your face and down to your taut peaks. You weren’t a ghost anymore—you were a dream, glowing and radiant beneath the muted haze of damp moonlight.

  And when your bare chest presses to his, skin to skin, nothing between you but the thundering pace of your hearts, Sieun chokes out a soft, desperate moan.

  The ghost of you has vanished.

  What remains is you—real and soft and warm and all his.

  And he’s no longer a boy haunted by longing. He’s a man who’s finally allowed to feel.

  Your fingers find the nape of his neck, weaving into the soft strands of his hair, and the sound he lets out—broken, hushed, completely unguarded—settles somewhere deep in your chest.

  Sieun’s lips return to yours with more urgency now, less caution, the kind that only comes when desire and restraint blur into the same overwhelming thing. His tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, gentle, exploratory, worshipping, like he’s memorizing you.

  Every movement of his hips under you is hesitant but needy, as if he’s still trying to slow himself down, still trying to process that you’re not slipping away.

  “You’re driving me insane,” he whispers against your mouth, voice hoarse and cracking like lightning behind the storm-glassed windows.

  He kisses you again, softer now, almost like an apology for how his hands are now gripping at the swell of your thighs with mounting desperation.

  Then, with a breath that shakes against your lips, Sieun pulls back. Only just.

  “Lie back,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you’ve never heard from him before. Anticipation, maybe. Hunger, definitely.

  You do, painfully unlatching from his warmth and sinking into the pillow behind you.

  Sieun follows, crawling down the length of your body like a man crossing sacred ground, his drowsy gaze never leaving you. It lingers on the slope of your neck, the lines of your collarbone, the tender stretch of skin bare to the cool air of his bedroom. Each inch he memorizes like scripture, utterly fascinated and unspeakably enamoured.

  “You’re…” he begins, almost too quiet to even comprehend, but trails off, like no word quite fits what you are to him.

  And then you see it. The way adoration turns to ache.

  A valley of creases between his brows, a marginal slit parting his pout, the quickened wisps of air trailing out of him. He’s wrecked, far past.

  And you had barely touched him.

  Sieun’s hands slide up your thighs, calloused fingertips brushing along the waistband of the very shorts he lent you, the ones riding too low on your hips, the ones he's dreamed about you in far too many nights to count.

  He kisses the inside of your knee.

  Then your thigh.

  Then the soft dip just above your hip bone.

  His hands move, thumbs hooking into the waistband. There’s a beat—one last, wordless check—and then he draws them down.

  And stops breathing.

  You’re bare beneath them. No panties. Just slick, glistening proof of how long you’ve wanted this too.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, like it’s been torn from him. His jaw goes slack, eyes shadowed with affection and disbelief. “You didn’t wear—?”

  He doesn't finish. He can't.

  His hands twitch.

  You’ve rendered Yeon Sieun speechless.

  Sieun blinks once, twice, like he’s trying to process the sight before him, trying not to let it undo him entirely.

  But it does.

  It does.

  He swallows hard, jaw flexing as his eyes drag along the slick sheen glistening between your thighs, warm and glimmering and pooling out of you sans constraint.

  His hands settle on your hips again, firm, needy, desperate.

  “You’ve been like this this whole time?” he whispers, voice hoarse, eyes flickering up to meet yours, the question half-shattered already. “Wearing my shorts… like this?”

  You don’t have time to answer.

  Because Sieun leans in, drawn like a man starved, mouth ghosting just above your heat and breathing you in.

  His composure fractures there.

  A low, guttural sound breaks from his throat as he presses a slow, devoted kiss to your core. Just one.

  Then another. Then again, deeper, wetter, until his tongue slides through your dampened heat with a shuddering groan of restraint and craving colliding all at once.

  Your hips twitch and Sieun’s grip tightens instinctively, his fingers digging into your waist to anchor you to him like you might vanish otherwise.

  His tongue moves again, slow and patient, still trying to worship even while losing his mind.

  But you’re so wet, and he’s so gone.

  Each soft moan that slips from your lips draws another shaky exhale from him, each roll of your hips a crack in his control.

  He tries to keep it measured. Gentle.

  But then he hears you gasp his name, all broken and raw, and something inside him snaps.

  His pace quickens.

  He licks into you deeper, more desperate, tongue flicking, flattening, circling like he’s chasing a high that stubbornly runs just a step out of his reach. His nose brushes your clit and he doesn’t even think to pull back.

  He wants it all.

  You feel his moan against you, deep and wrecked, and you realize:

  Sieun isn’t composed anymore.

  He’s hungry.

  Possessed.

  And completely, unbearably devoted to the taste of you.

  You’re gasping now, each breath shallower than the last, and Sieun can feel you trembling beneath his palms.

  It spurs him on, wrecks him in ways he never knew were possible.

  His thumbs rub slow circles into your hips, as if to soothe you, steady you, but his mouth is relentless, nose tirelessly working into your nub. His tongue is languid one moment, then firmer the next, lapping through your folds with aching, focused precision, memorizing all that makes you fall apart.

  You roll into a nimble arch, head tipping back, and your thighs quiver where they rest over his shoulders.

  “Sieun—” you whimper.

  His name breaks in your throat, and that’s what crumbles him.

  He groans into you again, the vibration shooting straight through your core as he licks you harder now, deeper, more rhythmic, mouth coaxing you right to the edge, right to the place he’s been aching to take you.

  His hands are cradling your hips now, keeping you spread open, helpless, vulnerable, his.

  And then he whispers it, barely audible, a prayer into your skin.

  “Come for me.”

  Your breath catches.

  “Let me taste all of you,” he mumbles again, like he’s asking for divinity, like your pleasure is holy.

  And when you finally do, when your body tenses and your thighs clamp tight around his head and that beautiful cry of his name leaves your lips, Sieun doesn’t stop.

  He groans into you, licking you through it, drinking it in like he’s never tasted something more sacred.

  Like he’s never belonged more to anything—anyone—than he does to you in this moment.

  And even after the tremors still, even when you’re limp and gasping and glowing beneath him, he keeps kissing you softly, as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.

  As if this is how he says I’ve wanted you like this forever.

  You’re still panting when he pulls back, lips slick and pink, eyes hooded and blown wide with awe. He looks stunned. Disheveled. Like a man undone by worship.

  But you, squirming and aching and desperate to have all of him, manage to find your voice.

  “Sieun,” you whisper, reaching for him. Your fingers trail along his jaw, coaxing him up until he’s hovering over you again. “I want more.”

  His breath hitches.

  Your palm slides over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his ribs. “I want you inside me.”

  Sieun stills completely.

  And then his eyes close, jaw tightening as if your words alone could undo the last shreds of his composure.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough with disbelief.

  He kisses you, not hard, not hurried, but slow and deep, like it’s all he can do to keep from losing control. You savour the heady taste of your slick coating his lips. He presses his forehead to yours, and mutters shakily, “One second.”

  You watch as he reaches for the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a condom from the crumpled blue box Hu-min had shoved at him weeks ago with a stupid grin and no explanation.

  He’d meant to throw them out. He hadn’t.

  He tears the foil open with controlled fingers and slides his flannels and boxers off his body, finally bearing himself free.

  He’s thick, flushed, already leaking from the tip. He hisses under his breath as he rolls the condom on, fingers twitching like he’s barely holding it together.

  When he settles between your thighs, eyes drowning in your sight, the air changes.

  Gone is the boy who’s too quiet, too closed off, too powered from the urge of indignation.

  What remains is Sieun drowned in passion, eyes wide and dreamy and dazed by the sight of you spread open for him, the warmth of your body beckoning his own.

  “You sure?” he asks again, voice almost too tender.

  You nod, pulling him down into a kiss, and guide him with a soft whisper, “Yes. Please, Sieun. I want all of you.”

  He exhales shakily.

  Then he lines himself just beyond your heat, and with a leisurely push of his hips, he slides inside.

  You both gasp.

  You’re hot and wet and hug onto his inching cock, and he sinks in like he’s always meant to belong there. 

  “God—” he grits, arms quavering on either side of you as he tries not to lose it too fast, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

  “You’re…” His voice cracks. “So good. So—gosh, I don’t—”

  You wrap your legs around him, anchoring him to you, and moan when he rocks forward again, deeper this time. You feel everything, every inch, every pulse, every lazed drag.

  He starts slow, shallow, testing your fit, his own restraint. His hips roll into yours with a tender kind of ache, like he’s afraid to break you, like each inch of him inside you is a miracle he can’t fully comprehend.

  But your body answers with desperate softness, clinging to him like silk caught in wind. You tilt your hips, chasing more friction, and whimper at the way his cock presses deeper, fuller, perfectly where you need him.

  Sieun moans, a sound so broken and quiet it nearly guts you.

  “Please,” you breathe, clutching at his back, your voice hitching with each movement. “Don’t hold back.”

  His jaw clenches. His eyes flutter shut.

  And then he moves deeper, hips rocking into you with a fluid rhythm that makes your breath stutter and your legs tighten around him.

  The friction is delicious. The stretch, overwhelming yet cosmic.

  Sieun presses closer, burying his face further into your neck, panting softly against your skin.

  “You’re so—” He chokes on a groan as your walls flutter around him. “You feel unreal.”

  You drag your nails lightly down his spine, whispering back between moans.

  He fucks into you slowly, like it’s sacred. Each thrust is a vow, a prayer, an unraveling. His hands are everywhere—one gripping your thigh to anchor you to him, the other cradling your jaw like you’re too precious to let go.

  Your body sings for him. You meet each movement with your own, hips rising to greet him, rolling and shifting to take him deeper, to keep him close.

  Your moans mingle with his gasps, the heat between you building with every thrust, until there’s nothing left of restraint, only the desperate, languid drag of two bodies finding rhythm in devotion.

  Sieun lifts his head to look at you—really look—and what he sees makes his hips stutter.

  Your face, flushed and shining, lips parted, still pink and swollen, eyes glassy with bliss and admiration.

  You’re breathtaking. And right now, you were his.

  He moans again, broken and stunned, and leans down to kiss you like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t, slow, messy, teeth grazing lips, all while his hips begin to move faster, harder, chasing something he’s never dared imagine before you.

  Your bodies are slick with heat and need, the world around you reduced to nothing but the way he fits, the way he fills, the way he worships you with every thrust.

  Sieun is whispering your name like a lifeline, like it’s the only word he knows, murmured into the skin of your throat, your jaw, your lips, as if it can tether him to reality while he teeters on the edge of something vast and consuming.

  “You feel so good,” he rasps, voice hoarse and reverent. “So perfect—you’re perfect.”

  Your back arches, body shuddering as he angles his hips just right, deep and slow and precise, hitting that spot inside you that makes gush over his length.

  Your moans turn high and breathless, desperate.

  “Sieun—” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “I’m close—oh god—”

  He knows. 

  He feels it, the way you start to flutter and squeeze around him, the way your breaths collapse into whimpers. And even through the haze of his own rising pleasure, Sieun slows down just enough to draw it out for you, to feel every quivering second of it.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispers, breath stuttering. “Come, please.”

  And you do.

  It rushes over you in waves—white-hot, pulsing, unstoppable—your climax washing through your entire body with a strangled moan, your limbs tightening, your voice shaking as you cry out his name.

  Sieun swears under his breath, something desperate and soft, and then he loses it.

  The way you clamp around him, slick, pulsing, so warm, is all it takes to send him spiraling. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, muscles trembling as the pressure finally breaks. He groans, deep and guttural, and spills into the condom with a few last shallow thrusts, his whole body curling into yours like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.

  And when it’s over, when the tremors in both your bodies begin to subside and your chests press together in exhausted, blissful rhythm, he stays. 

  Buried in you, breathless, consumed. His forehead pressed to yours, his lashes fluttering, lips ghosting your cheek.

  And finally, his lips quirk at the corners, gracing his features with a small, gentle smile.

  Because he decides he won’t be washing his shorts.

  And he thinks he’ll get you to ruin another pair when you bring your laptop over for him under the guise of fixing it again.

৬ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝘰𝑠𝘵𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐  i decided for a soft, feral rendition of sieun’s university au. this will be the last weak hero fic i write before i move onto skz and atz! need more? you can read hyuntak’s version over here  ⌯⌲  smart girl

───── how do we feel about starting a taglist?

© chanifesto

[ellesrecs]

oh!

[moonqz]

COMMUNICATION : Yeon Sieun

pairing : Yeon Sieun x american!fem!reader

genre : fluff

description : As a transfer student to Eunjang, and not speaking Korean very well, Sieun takes it upon himself to find different ways to talk to you.

requested by : anon! thank you so much lovely! 🤍

note : anything sieun says would be in Korean unless i’ve specified otherwise 🤍 (this probably isn’t very good but bare with 😞)

Sieun doesn’t talk much. You were pretty much the same as him in that sense. Except instead of choosing not to talk, it was difficult to talk in another language in a school of people you didn’t know.

Not to mention you didn’t know a lot of Korean. The sentence structure was confusing, the particles were brain hurting. But you understood more then you could say.

Familiar words would come up and you’d pick up what the mean. And you knew enough to get by. Sorta.

Like Hello, thank you, no, yes, excuse me, please.

Moving from America was difficult enough, but trying to study when the homework was in a different language?

You had asked most your teachers if they could translate the homework for you or get an English version. To no avail.

Google translate it is.

You’ve only been in Korea for a month, and already the walls of Eunjang feel taller than they should.

The syllables your classmates speak blur together like static. You nod a lot. Smile even more. Laugh when someone else does, just to keep up.

Not at first.

Yeon Sieun doesn’t speak to you.

He doesn’t avoid you, just watches quietly when the teacher asks you a question and you freeze, but pretends he’s not watching.

When you whisper into your phone’s translator. When you scribble a vocabulary word three times in the margin of your textbook like maybe repetition will make the meaning stick.

You hadn’t heard the rumours of him around school. The ones about him killing his classmate. You didn’t understand what they were saying but it was obvious to tell that it wasn’t good.

Who were you to judge? The boy didn’t seem harmful or cold. More misunderstood. Everyday was the same, sitting with his head on the desk in most lessons, most of the time asleep. At least that was what people were fooled to believe.

He wasn’t asleep most of the time, how could he?

You were assigned to sit next to him. You didn’t mind. It was more peaceful then when people would try to talk to you and you had to pretend to understand.

But on a Tuesday that smells like chalk dust and rain, your pen ran out of ink. Your last one of course.

Glancing to your side, there’s one boy who’s busy talking to his friends. And they don’t seem like the kind to be considerate of the language barrier.

Your only other option was Sieun. He wouldn’t mind right? The boy must have at least ten pens on him. You’ve seen the way he clicks his pen and grips it tighter in his hand whenever someone’s frustrating him.

His head was on the desk as usual but you could tell he wasn’t sleeping. He seemed more emotionally drained then physically. You could understand that.

Gently, half hesitant you tapped his shoulder. And the first time he ignored you. Until you muttered a dodgy, quiet ‘excuse me’ in his mother tongue with an accent.

Sieun looked up, eyes not as cold as others say. And you can feel the eyes of some people staring at you two as if to say ‘why are you talking to him’

You motioned towards your pen, slightly awkwardly hoping he’d understand, adding a small ‘please’ in Korean to be polite.

The boy looked at you for a moment, his eyes not giving anything away except for a rare tiredness he couldn’t put into words.

Not that you would understand it anyway.

Then he gave you his pen. The one he was using. Before getting a different one for himself and going back to his work.

You slightly nervously say ‘thank you’ before going back to your work. Honestly it was hard having to switch from the translator to the page.

It was just writing the same thing twice but one in another language.

The next day was the same. Wordlessly translating meaningless words, ignoring the looks of other people seeing a foreigner in their class, either one of disgust or odd intrigue.

You sat back on your seat, noticing that Sieun wasn’t here yet. To be honest you were a couple minutes early to this class. But Sieun seemed to always be there before anyone else.

Then as if on cue, he walked in. His eyes still carried the exhaustion, and his bag hung loosely off his shoulder. He walked towards his seat, not even glancing at you.

He placed a blue sticky note on your textbook before going back to his seat next to yours.

You blink.

In deep ink, he wrote,

책 = Book

Book, you repeat in your head. That’s one more word to your vocabulary at least. And it was appreciated more than he knew. Or maybe he did know.

You glance up.

His head is already buried in the uncomfortable wood, and his eyes are closed tightly, as if he was trying to rid of a headache.

That afternoon, he doesn’t sleep through lunch. Instead he finds the empty stairwell you go to during breaks.

It’s quite, empty. But it doesn’t feel omelet. Just a break from the all too overbearing boys there.

You don’t look up from your phone when you hear the door open. Just assuming it was someone trying to get through.

Until he drops next to you, legs out in front of him, backpack abandoned next to him.

“You okay?” he spoke, unsure if you would understand. Luckily it was a word you had heard enough to get.

You nod with a small, polite smile unsure why he was here, but not exactly disliking the company.

He doesn’t say anything else for a while. Just pulls out his phone, same as you, but doesn’t scroll. You catch it from the corner of your eye, his screen’s blank. Just dim light reflecting your outline beside him.

You think maybe he’s waiting for you to leave.

But when you shift your bag to stand, his hand suddenly moves, not touching you, but palm facing out like a stop sign. Then he opens the translator app on his phone.

He types something. Tilts it toward you.

“You always come here?”

You blink, then nod. You tap your fingers twice against your knee, thinking, before gently nudging your own phone toward him. He passes his without question.

You type slower than he did.

“Quiet. Easy to breathe here.”

He reads it for longer than necessary, mouth tugging into the faintest almost-smile. Then types,

“You don’t like the cafeteria?”

You shake your head.

“Noisy. And… hard to listen. Fast.”

He nods like he understands, not just the words, but the feeling under them. Then, as if out of nowhere, he pulls something from his bag. A small, beaten-up paperback.

He flips through the pages. Not in Korean. English. A translation copy of some old Korean novel, pages full of scribbles and circled words. He taps a sentence, then hands it to you. You squint down at the faded line under his thumb,

“Sometimes, being near is louder than being loud.”

You look at him. He’s not looking at you, just resting his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. But you get it.

He didn’t come here to talk.

He came here to be near.

And for the first time since coming here, your heart calms in a way you can’t explain with any of the words you know yet.

The following week, the folded notes stop.

Instead, he brings you something else.

A small stack of flashcards, clipped together with a binder ring. You blink down at them as he hands them over, plain, rectangular cards, some already marked with faint creases like they’ve been flipped through too many times.

You glance at him. He doesn’t explain. Just nods, nudges his backpack to the side, and sits like always, legs out, back against the wall.

You flip the first one over.

A doodle.

A square stairwell, two stick figures sitting side by side, and a little speech bubble with a heart drawn outside of it, not inside. Almost like he’s saying, this isn’t about words.

The second card, a drawing of a tray of food. One side scribbled out, the other circled in soft highlighter.

You grin. The cafeteria again. He’s teasing you.

Third card, a sad face with spiraling lines above its head. You touch your temple.

He nods, understanding, headache.

But it’s the fourth card that makes you pause.

Just a sketch of a coffee cup. Steam curling from the top. Below it, a tiny envelope drawn open, like it’s meant to contain something. A message, maybe.

You turn it toward him, silently asking.

He pulls out a second stack. His set.

One by one, he flips his own cards, stopping on one that matches yours, the same coffee cup, same steam, same open envelope.

He taps it twice with his thumb, then leans his head back and closes his eyes. Not asleep. Just… resting.

You mirror him, pressing your shoulder just slightly closer this time.

And just like that, the system forms,

No language yet. Just picture cards. Shared symbols. Matching decks.

Some cards are more complicated. One day, he shows you a sketch of a hand holding another. No faces, no background. Just the gesture. Then places it between you both without saying anything.

You don’t pick it up. You don’t need to. You let your pinky hover near his on the cold stairwell step, barely brushing.

It says enough.

Another day, you walk in to find a card already placed where you sit.

An open book. But one of the pages has a bandage on it.

He doesn’t look at you when you pick it up. Just waits, eyes on the far wall, unreadable.

You hold it, studying it quietly. Then you slide out your phone, open your drawing app, and sketch your reply with trembling fingers.

A closed book.

Bandage removed. Page wrinkled, but healing.

You show it to him.

He finally looks at you, and you see something shift behind his eyes, like the moment when clouds break and sunlight filters through, slow and pale.

Still no words. Not a single one exchanged. Yet, at least. You didn’t mind that though. Throughout the school days you could both tell the other was too exhausted or drained to communicate properly. So maybe this way was easier in that sense too.

But it’s more than enough.

That’s how it goes.

Some people build a friendship on conversation. Get to know each other solely on words you can’t promise are true.

You build one in the white space between sentences, in quiet drawings, flicked glances, and unspoken invitations.

In this stairwell, silence isn’t empty.

It’s fluent.

What neither of you realise throughout this though, is that you were both learning each others language. Slowly, but surely.

Not that the effort wasn’t enough already, but it would be nice to understand each other through words too.

Sieun honestly was learning English quicker then you were Korean. But that was to be expected when the homework he had to balance was already in his language.

You however, were trying to balance learning a new language, and translating your homework into your native one.

Another couple weeks later. You had picked up the language technique - if you could even call it that - way better then before. And it was more fun than anything. Maybe drawing what you felt was easier than saying it.

You know what the card means before he even gives it to you.

It’s a door. Drawn a little crooked, but clearly open, just slightly, just enough. A keyhole with no key. A welcome, not an ask.

He slides it across the step toward you. No eye contact. Just his usual slouched posture, hood half-up, fingers twitching faintly from cold or nerves. Maybe both.

You look at it. Then at him. His soft, dark eyes looked even more hypnotising through the lighting of this room.

Then you nod once, a hint of a smile on your face.

And that’s all it takes.

His apartment is exactly what you expect.

Sparse. Neat. Quiet. Everything placed like it has a reason to be there.

The shoes by the door lined up. The blanket on the couch still folded in sharp corners. The books stacked without titles visible, like he doesn’t want to be asked about them.

He watches you walk in without saying anything. But when you stop in the doorway, uncertain, he raises one hand, flat like a barrier.

Then curls his fingers slowly, beckoning.

Come in.

No words. Just the same language you’ve built between you.

He motions toward the floor cushions near the coffee table. You settle down, glancing around while he ducks into the kitchen.

A beat later, he returns with two mugs of something hot. You try to thank him in Korean, quietly, and he pauses.

Then replies in slow, clumsy English,

“Warm. Good for… um. Cold.”

It’s not smooth, but it hits you square in the chest. You knew he understood a tiny bit of English but you could tell that this was something he truly cared about getting.

You grin, can’t help it. He glances down, ears going pink with the fear of getting something wrong. Or maybe the sight of your smile and slightly crinkled eyes had more of an effect on him than he would let on.

You take a sip, hum a little, “mmm,” followed by a thumbs-up. More than grateful that he was trying.

It’s more than most people have done before for you. Who would attempt to learn a whole language just to understand someone they spend time with.

His shoulders ease.

And for a while, you just sit like that. Cross-legged. Quiet. Familiar. Steam rising. City noises muffled by the window.

Then, Sieun opens the small notebook sitting next to his phone. He flips to a page and turns it toward you.

What do you call this?

Below the question is a sketch of the tea kettle.

You blink. Then answer, spelling it slowly aloud, writing it in your own little travel notebook, the one you’ve been secretly building since the second week you met him.

Then you point to the same drawing and ask, in halting Korean,

“And… Korean?”

He pauses. Smiles faintly.

Says the word, slow. Clear. You repeat it. He nods.

Then he points to the word you wrote.

“Tea,” he says.

It goes back and forth like that.

No pressure. No lessons. Just gentle exchange. And the fact he was trying to understand you better meant more to you then he could ever realise.

You were in his home country, the effort should be from you to him. And whilst you were doing everything to understand the language and culture more, it felt safer knowing you had someone who was helping you along the way.

Sieun looks at you. Really looks at you. The kind that says he’s paying more attention to you than anything else in his world.

And whilst most of the time, his eyes are unreadable, you understand it more than the words in your vocabulary.

“I like you” He speaks in easy English. Practised. And it almost takes the wind out of you. Because before you could reply, he’s leaning forehead and placing the most gentle kiss to your cheek.

He pulls back quicker then he leaned it, slightly awkward sitting there waiting for a reaction.

Had he read the situation wrong?

Instead of ignoring the turmoil in your mind right now, you smile, barely visible and return the ministration, your soft lips placed upon his upper cheek.

Yours was more stable. Slower, More sure now that you knew that your feelings were mutual.

Sieun could’ve forgotten how to breath right there if it wasn’t for the fact his heart was going a hundred miles per hour.

Your faces were close now. Not close enough to be considered romantic but enough to suggest something intimate.

“I like you too” You reply. In Korean. And when you had learnt them words just a few nights ago, you realised you recognised them. Not from around school, or on TV. But from Sieun.

When he would murmur quiet Korean in the safety of the stairwell, as if he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Soft mumbling, barely audible, things you didn’t understand yet. But you recognised them words when you learnt them.

For someone who doesn’t smile much - at all - Sieun’s eyes are glistening with something more heartfelt than before.

Adoration.

And the corner of his lips are turned up slightly, not a smile, but almost. And you notice it straight away, point it out as if it was the rarest sight on the planet. And maybe it was.

He attempts to brush off the fact he was close to breaking his facade, furrowing his eyebrows slightly as if he was confused, but the ghost of a smile still plays at his lips.

And you giggle. Soft, warm, warm enough to fully break the mask behind his eyes and he smiles, really smiles.

Something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not since Su-Ho.

[ellesrecs]

the way i giggled while reading this… i loved it😭

[writtenapoiogy]

dreamin'; miguel diaz

pairing: miguel diaz x f!reader

summary: "miguel waking up w morning wood 🫠🫠🫠"

word count: 600 (yes this is short i knowww)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, smut, MINORS DNI, unprotected sex, underage sex, penetrative sex, choking, dirty talkish, and porn WITHOUT plot there is no plot just fuckin like almost immediately

a/n: i got the urge to write this at 11pm and finished it in like an hour i hope it's not terrible

Miguel woke up from his sleep, hot and sweaty. He caught his breath and then reached down and felt his hard-on. He bit his lip to keep from moaning. He had a very intense dream of you sucking his dick. One he had frequently, actually.

You were peacefully asleep. You were laying on your stomach with both of your arms under your pillow. You had your left leg hiked up. And you were wearing a tank top that was riding up your back and that was it. The two of you fucked before going to sleep, like you did most nights. You fell right to sleep after Miguel made you come about 4 times.

Miguel was obsessed with making you come. Anyway he could. He loved the way you tasted when you came on his tongue. He loved the way you shook, the way you moan his name. How sometimes it’s too much for you so you start to babbel as you come all on his dick. He ate it up. Miguel loved to give and please.

Miguel felt precum leak from his tip as he stared at your bare ass. He remembered how you had talked about wanting him to fuck you while you were asleep; what a better time than now to make your wish come true.

He immediately pulled his dick out of his boxers and crawled over you. He pushed his cock through your exposed lips, letting out a little moan.

Miguel heard you let out a barely-there hum. That spurred him on more as he kept rubbing his cock up and down your exposed slit, hitting your clit every now and again. He slid his cock to your entrance and slowly pushed in.

“Miguel!” You breathed as you felt your cunt engulf him while he entered you. A perfect fit.

He smiled down at you as he pushed all the way in, eliciting a gasp from you.

“Oh my-.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He whispered in your ear seductively. “I just can’t enough of you.”

Miguel started fucking you like his life depended on it. Like if he didn’t come, the world would fall off its axis.

The room was filled with moans and grunts and your whining. This angle was so good, soooo fucking good. He was hitting your G-spot repeatedly. You were losing your mind. Miguel was kissing the back of your neck. He shifted all of his weight onto his right arm and wrapped his now free left hand around your neck, and started fucking you harder.

“You gonna come for me, hm?” He asked between grunts and groans. Your pussy felt so good around his cock. Miguel knew he was close, and he wanted you there with him. “Don’t hold back. Let it go mi corazón. Come for me.”

You got wetter, and all you could hear was his hips hitting your ass over and over again and the squelching of your pussy milking his cock.

Then out of nowhere, Miguel let out an obscenely loud and hot moan as he came and filled your cunt up with his come. He didn’t stop fucking you, though. His thursts may have stuttered a bit, but he never stopped.

You choked on a gasp when you felt him come deep inside of you, and your release took over your body. Miguel fucked you through your orgasm till you were both spent.

“Fuck, Miguel.” You mewled. “I want you to wake me up like that every fucking day.”

He laughed in response as he pulled his cock out of you. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

[dreammfyre]

dragon rider ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the only daughter between Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and Sir Harwin Strong. The war for the throne had begun and they had to be alert to any attack from King's Landing and the greens, which is why the queen ordered to send Joffrey, Aegon and Viserys to the Arryn Valley under the responsibility of Rhaena Targaryen. You and your older brother, the prince Jacaerys Velaryon are saddened, finding comfort in each other.

WARNINGS. +18 Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest (brother and sister) virgin!reader. +4000 words.

Jacaerys Velaryon had locked himself in his chambers after saying goodbye to his younger brothers, Joffrey, little Aegon and Viserys had gone to the Valley of Arryn under the tutelage of lady Rhaena Targaryen to keep them safe from the dangers of war by order of the queen Rhaenyra. Sadness consumed him and after embracing them for the last time before they go, he disappeared into the corridors of the castle, he needed to be alone for a while, nor did he seek to hide in the most hidden corner of the castle so he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling for a long time. Not even a night had passed and he missed them so hard, but he had to convince himself that even if the decision was painful, it was the best thing they could do to ensure the safety of the children.

How much more would they have to sacrifice?

Before falling back into another spiral of guilt and remorse, the door rang twice. He remained silent in the hope that whoever was on the other side would be convinced of his absence, but persisted.

"I will not attend to anyone!" he shouted angrily, an explicit order that anyone would have understood and much more importantly, obeyed. Once again the noise of the door got him riled up, annoyed he quickly got up almost running to the door, opened it ready to yell at anyone who had dared to disobey, but to his surprise he found the figure of his sister on the other side.

"Jace, you're here." You sounded relieved.

The prince leaned against the door frame watching you impatiently to enjoy the quiet solitude again.

"Yes, are you okay?" he asked unwilling to make conversation, but he wasn't going to take it out on you, you were his sister and had an obligation to take care of you.

You fiddled with your hands anxiously, not wanting to disturb your brother, nervous about the question you were about to ask. "May... I come in?"

Your brother frowned in confusion and concern then looked both sides of the hallway making sure no one was watching to avoid malicious rumors. It was frowned upon for a princess to sneak into her betrothed brother's chambers.

"Sure, come in."

You did the same as he did -tried to avoid being seen by foreign eyes, avoiding any kind of rumor- and entered quickly before being discovered.

"Are you busy?"

"No." He replied closing the door. Seeing you in his chambers was strange, it had been a long time since you had knocked on his door, couldn't even remember the last time. "Is something wrong, sister?"

It was hard for you to speak because you were so sad about the unexpected departure of your brothers and Jacaerys was the only person on the island who could understand that feeling. You were always the most sensitive of all Rhaenyra's children, tried to understand what was best, but you were going to miss reading stories to your broyher Joffrey, playing with little Aegon and Viserys who were beginning to say their first words, you visited them every day and said good night. Now, they were gone, the worst part was the feeling that tightened your chest, a horrible feeling that you would never see them again.

"I miss them... so much." You whispered looking down at your hands, twirling the gold ring on your finger. You took a deep breath to keep from shedding more tears. "I don't want to tell our mother, she has enough to carry."

Jacaerys felt a lump in his throat burn when he noticed you sad, you always had a kind smile that highlighted your natural beauty, but now and before him you looked dull, your appearance was enough reflection of your low mood, your eyes of a slight red color gave away that were crying not long ago. Jace took your hands between his, caressing your knuckles trying to comfort you with the physical contact, you closed your eyes letting a couple of tears escape that fell like waterfalls down your soft pink cheeks. Your brother hugged you immediately, his closeness did you good, Jacaerys always made you feel safe in your worst moments and this was no exception.

"It's for the best, sister. They have to be safe and unfortunately that far away from us." Though his words were more to himself than to you. "This will be over soon…I promise." He broke away only to look into your eyes and wipe your face himself with the gentleness you deserved to be treated with. Your gaze shone in admiration of Jacaerys' beauty, he looked so concerned for you that he had forgotten his own pain to heal yours. "Don't cry more, please." He begged.

Jace's hand on your cheek was gentle but firm.

"Did you realize that now it's just us left?" you whispered as a heart-breaking reality check. Your brother's face turned to absolute sadness, he had no encouraging words that even he couldn't believe. Jacaerys rested his forehead with yours closing his eyes feeling your scent, you were right, unfortunately you were only the only children of Queen Rhaenyra on the island.

Jacaerys' breath against your face felt so warm, he had his eyes closed in a quiet silence, it was just the two of you. Your brother sighed heavily, looked so peaceful, you had never seen him like that, almost vulnerable. Your hand went hesitantly to his face, caressing his skin with your fingers slowly, the prince didn't complain, he only felt a shiver in his body when you brushed his cheek very gently. Jace swallowed saliva with difficulty, trying to control his deepest and most forbidden impulse.

Impulsive, your other hand went to his curly hair, Jace still had his eyes closed because if he opened them he was going to give in to the temptation of your closeness. The truth is that you weren't thinking straight, for years your brother had been provoking things in you that you couldn't explain and other mens never, maybe it was the intense way he looked at you, how much he protected you or how inexplicably good you felt with him. That was one of the reasons why you decided to decline the request of your mother who had offered you to travel to the Arryn Valley to take care of your brothers and not suffer their remoteness, but you had to refuse because the real torture was going to be to leave Jacaerys in Dragonstone.

"Si-sister…" murmured the heir squeezing your wrist. "Don't do this to me."

Fuck. Your cheeks turned red realizing what was really happening. You took a step back to take distance almost falling over from your clumsy steps.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have to. I… I have to go." You apologized in agitation, unable to look your brother in the face because the shame that invaded your body after confusing you. You were a correct princess, daughter of the rightful queen, her blood, you couldn't jeopardize your reputation for an impulse you had managed to keep for years, much less an engaged prince. "Yes, I have to go."

Ashamed of your actions you walked towards the door dragging your long red dress, tearing yourself away from hell. You needed to get out of there before the situation with your own brother led you to make mistakes you might regret. You opened the door without waiting for a goodbye from him imagining that he must be paralyzed without understanding what had happened, however, Jacaerys closed the door preventing you from leaving.

"Don't go... please." His voice sounded more like a command than an invitation. You looked up meeting his dark eyes on you, you glued your back to the wooden door unable to take any more steps back. "And I don't want you to apologize."

Your heart was beating so fast you could hear it inside, Jacaerys carefully analyzing you.

"Jace, I…"

"You can do it." He interrupted needing you more than as a sister.

"It's not right." You tried to convince yourself, your eyes fixed on his parted lips waiting for you. "It's... stupid."

You were the most correct princess who had set foot on the island and that Westeros had seen grow, blameless in her actions and pure for what the knights fought for your attention. But your attention was on the heir, it was always with him.

Jacaerys knew perfectly you were never going to dare take the first step too guilty to live with regret, you were too attached to the rules to break them. So he took your waist breaking the minimal distance between you in a delicate and fragile kiss, a groping touch where his lips touched yours for the first time in a slow rhythm. The prince took your chin with his fingers holding it, he opened his eyes noticing your pink cheeks lit up and your lips moistened.

"Open your mouth." He whispered softly over your lips. You frowned in confusion, but Jace would never do anything bad to you, you trusted him to question it. "You're going to like it."

Jacaerys kissed you again, this time you listened fearing to do it wrong separating your lips a little more feeling his tongue entering your mouth invading your space, exploring and tasting you for the first time so hard that you clung to his shoulders. Jacaerys pressed you with his body against the door, you moved your tongue brushing it against his, had never experienced anything so incredible.

"Let me touch you, sister." He begged against your lips, running his hands down your dress, being the restraint he needed.

"Do it." Amidst the kisses and caresses you were spiraling into madness losing your princess modesty. Jacaerys had you cornered, he pulled your dress up just enough to slip his cold hand underneath, lifting your leg to the height of his hip, squeezing your skin if I understand your softness snatching a sigh from you. The prince's mouth left your lips and went down your neck, leaving traces of burning kisses, kissing your collarbones lost in the moment.

To both your brother and the people you were like a flower, the most delicate, the one Jacaerys always loved, you were his only sister and he had cared for you every day of his life repressing his deepest feelings. But always a dark seed was planted in his mind, he tried to make it disappear, but it clung to him growing, the desire for you.

"You're perfect." Murmured against your skin, intoxicated by your scent and your little moans. He pressed his body against yours in the perfect way for his erection to press against your center.

"Holy crap."

Those words on your lips sounded very wrong, but exciting to Jacaerys.

Just to fuck you he repeated it again, this time deeper, making your body tremble feeling it against you, he also couldn't help moaning against your skin when he pressed his hips against your legs open for him. He reached for your other leg taking you in his arms, started walking in the direction of his perfectly laid bed, you kept kissing him with euphoria, addicted to the sensation between your legs that he unleashed by touching you. Your thighs squeezed his body imprisoning him, one of your shoes had fallen somewhere on the way to the bed. Your brother sat with you on his lap, put one knee on each side of him, lying on his tense body.

"I can't take you, sister." He said caressing your waist, his labored breathing making it difficult to speak so neatly. "I can't do that to you."

You kissed his neck hungry for pleasure, ignoring his words full of reason. "I want you, Jace, you have to do it, not another."

Jacaerys closed his eyes clenching his fists over your dress as the prince heard you so needy, he was trying to push you away being useless, your kisses following a meaningless path.

"You are my downfall." He confessed enjoying your lips claiming his skin. He hugged you tightly around the waist, preventing you from pulling away too far.

"I think I like the sound of it." You responded with your lips millimeters from his, the heat of his breath on your skin sending a shiver down your spine.

And, fuck, it felt better than it sounded.

Jacaerys leaned into you and his lips finally met yours in a deep and passionate kiss. His hands on your back pulling tight against him as he deepened the contact and his tongue sought to enter your mouth again. You opened your mouth for him like the first time, he felt you lose control as you complied with his command.

"We can do it... another way." Jacaerys said breaking the kiss. He watched you for an eternal moment, your face flushed, your dark eyes with dilated pupils, your swollen mouth ajar desperate to keep quenching your thirst for him. Jace touched your face arranging a lock of crossed hair, your skin was burning, imagining his was similar. The heir was dying to make you his at that moment, had waited too long, but he couldn't disrespect his only sister like that. He felt walked into the abyss playing with your virtue and maidenhood wanting to take it knowing it wasn't right.

"What?" you asked with furrowed brows.

"Do you trust me?"

"T-tell me what you want me to do."

Did you want to kill him by hesitating like that? Jacaerys questioned, if only you had any idea of the effect you have on him, that he would give you anything to have you around.

"I want you to stay exactly here…" His hands found your hips underneath your dress, holding you tightly on bare skin, anchoring you to him like two pieces fitting together perfectly. You were comfortable in that position where you could feel a hard nub pressing against your sensitive center, Jacaerys moved your hips over his body slowly re-activating the sensation between your legs that ran up your body like a shiver. "Do it."

His imperative tone made you feel pressured to live up to expectations, wanted to make him feel the same way you were experiencing.

With your knees sinking onto the mattress you moved back and forth carefully feeling his length, never took your eyes off him at any moment too attentive to his reactions, the prince let out a deep sigh as your folds brushed against his throbbing erection for you. Jacaerys felt a surge of desire as you began to move over him gaining more confidence, the slow deliberate friction sent shivers down his spine. His hands on your waist held you steady not letting you go anywhere because that was your place, he encouraged your movements guiding you against him, his breath hitching in his throat as he watched you with burning eyes.

"It feels... good." You said with heavy breathing. You didn't understand the reason, but you couldn't complain, the rubbing between your legs against him wasn't something imagined possible.

"Gods, you have no idea." The prince murmured hoarsely and strained from the effort to contain his growing need to penetrate you if kept speaking in that dulcet tone of voice.

You were so wet that the fabric of Jacaerys' pants was immediately stained by you, you were so ready for him, but Jace was clear with his condition not to take your innocence. You leaned on his shoulders swaying faster rubbing your cunt against his member trapped in his clothing, a torturous but necessary barrier. With you on his lap the prince unraveled the simple ribbon on your back by simply pulling one end of a silk bow, taking the audacity to pull it down just enough to leave your breasts uncovered as you continued to sway your hips increasing the pace guiding by desire.

"I... I c-can't, Jace." You groaned clinging to his shoulder in desperation, your legs were starting to tire but it was the feeling taking over your body that wouldn't let you think straight, unaware of yourself. "Jace-" asked him for help sure he knew what to do.

"Like this… just… a little more." Gasped watching you so perfect on top of him, he wasn't going to be able to get you out of his mind nor did he know how many sluts he was going to need to satiate his desperate need to fuck you. He squeezed your ass leaving marks on your skin, your round breasts moving to your rhythm made him want to take them in his mouth once and for all, he looked at you one last time, the rubbing on his member only made him desperate, brought his mouth close to one of your breasts sucking just out of desire to see your reaction. You were fucking delicious.

"Jacaerys!" You called out to him, closing your eyes tightly. The warm sensation of his tongue circling your nipple made you move faster, claiming him for his foul play.

The correct prince heir could barely form a coherent thought as you spoke when you rode him like the wildest of the dragons, the sound of your broken voice sending another wave of desire through his tortured body.

"Just-a little more... Stay like this." He begged desperately for your mercy. His hands gripped your hips more firmly, guiding you against him, the friction between you was wet and delicious at the same time with a forbidden touch that only made it better. Your folds fit perfectly with his member, spanning his entire hard length, you opened your eyes for a moment finding your brother with his jaw tense and his head back as if instead of enjoying it he was suffering from his desires. For a second, you questioned where Jacaerys had learned to do these things, how long he had kept himself under the mantle of the right prince devoted to duty.

"Like this?" you asked innocently. The prince moaned at your question as the only way to communicate, he was ecstatic under your legs, grip on your hips tightened burying his fingers leaving marks. This time, the innocent tone of voice didn't fool him for a second, he could see the same spark of mischief and desire in your eyes.

You could ride him as many times as you wanted and he would find it insufficient, it was just a way of not feeling so guilty about what you were doing. He was so needy especially for you that he was about to give in to his orgasm just at the thought of pulling down his pants releasing his desire by sliding into your tight interior.

Jacaerys felt himself losing control, right now he didn't care at all if the door opened right now and he was found taking immoral pleasure in you. The feel of your body against his was something he had only fantasized about, the way you rode him letting out gasps at every movement, it was driving crazy. His hands roamed your body as if this was the last time, caressing it gently and squeezing it possessively, his breath hitching against your skin was the sign that he was about to come.

"You feel so good, love. So fucking good…" He murmured almost angrily, in a voice charged with desire you'd never heard coming out of him before, now his hips moved involuntarily in time with your movements. Couldn't get enough of you, he wanted you.

"I can... feel you." You said resting your forehead on Jace's who kept his eyes closed holding his release from giving you the pleasure you deserved. The truth of your statement was hard to ignore, the reaction of his body to you was undeniable. You could feel him very hard beneath you.

"Yes… you can feel me, sister…. I can't take it… not when you're like this…"

"But I want to feel you." Your request was only adrenaline for Jacaerys who obedient to your wishes lifted his lap with you on top so hard you had to stop to take it in, you felt his member harder than ever trying to enter being stopped by the fabric, this time you moaned differently, it was a different adrenaline. You squeezed your legs tighter taking in the sensation. "More."

"I'll give you anything you want… just… please…" he gasped with difficulty. "Don't stop."

You had become his most precious and wrong object of pleasure. Your brother let out another strangled moan, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his hands on your hips gripping tightly as he held on to the tide of pleasure that threatened to consume him. It was the first time Jacaerys had ever cared about female pleasure, specifically yours, wanting to give you the best with what little he had to offer at that moment.

"Oh, Jacaerys!" You exclaimed in a high pitched tone squeezing his shoulder, legs shaking moving fast on top of him so much it burned, Jacaerys lifting his hips in response only dragged you to orgasm, the friction of your body on him was driving him mad making question the fragility of his morals at the thought of taking you as his right there and then and stop fucking himself. Desperately knowing that at some point it was going to end, you sought his mouth to kiss him, however, both of you moaned echoing in your mouths waiting for the other to give in to let you go together. Jacaerys bit your lower lip trapping it between his teeth forcing you to stay close, he wanted to look into your eyes as you fell into sin, your hot skin was red from the effort and the rising pleasure rising from between your legs until a string of higher and higher pitched cries escaped your mouth as you reached the peak of pleasure, your body stopped moving over the prince falling in surrender and exhaustion. Jace let out a deep moan as he watched you reach orgasm feeling his crotch wet but satisfied.

You lay silently on top of him resting on his body, Jacaerys lifted your dress covering your nakedness. Your breathing needed regulating as you felt short of breath and heavy, the heir merely admired you, kissing your neck like a treasure that would soon dissolve from his hands.

"We have to report to the Council." You whispered, delighting in your brother's lips with the same guilt as at first time. "Our absence will arouse suspicion."

"I know… just one more minute." His arms still held you tightly against him, not wanting to let go just yet. He closed his eyes as you rested your cheek against his shoulder, inhaling deeply to take in your natural scent. "I cannot present myself in these conditions."

You laughed under your breath. The moment of calm disappeared when the door to Jacaerys' chambers rang another time. They didn't catch a glance as you immediately stood up and fixed your dress, your hands trembling as you tried to tie the damn knot but your fingers were so clumsy that Jace had to help you.

"One moment, please!" the prince shouted, fixing the messy hair he had been stroking for the last few minutes. The door rattled again, making them both desperate making the adrenaline rush through their blood again. "Just a moment!" Jacaerys repeated so angrily that even you were startled, he grabbed your hand pulling you with him to the door asking you to stand behind it. Your body trembled with fear, what if it was the queen seeking her heir and entering the chambers? They were a mess, their clothes gave them away, even the bed showed their sins. Jace approached your face as slowly as the soft whisper came from his mouth. "You have to be quiet, do you understand?" You nodded immediately, he couldn't resist leaving one last kiss taking advantage of the closeness.

He opened the door to find lady Baela Targaryen, his betrothed.

"Are you well?" She asked with genuine concern for Jacaerys. When you heard his voice, you had to cover your mouth with one hand to keep from saying anything.

"I feel... better, thank you."

The silence that fell was so uncomfortable you'd rather faint than have to endure it. Seconds which guilt took hold of your body.

"Are you coming to the Stone Table?"

"Sure… I just need a second." Her answer sounded so matter-of-fact that Baela nodded, but deep down she felt that something didn't sit right with Jacaerys. "I'll introduce myself in a moment."

"Have you seen your sister? I'm worried about her state of mind after her brothers left."

You closed your eyes praying to the gods to get you out of that horrible situation once and for all. Jacaerys had to lie in a way he was going to feel guilty about for the rest of his life. He shook his shoulders appearing carefree and confident.

"Did you look in the sky? She must be with her dragon, I assure you, my sister is a very good rider."

[writtenapoiogy]

relief; miguel diaz

pairing: miguel diaz x f!reader

summary: miguel was having a very rough and stressful week AND WHATS AN AMAZING WAY TO RELIEVE STRESS??

word count: 1.9k

warnings: nsfw, 18+, smut, MINORS DNI, unprotected sex, underage sex, penetrative sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, handjob, oral (f receiving) and porn WITHOUT plot there is no plot just fuckin like almost immediately again, use of pet names (papi, mi amor, & princesa)

Miguel was having a rough week. Johnny had just told him he was seeing his mom. Plus he was singling him out during karate. He felt like he wasn’t learning anything and with the tournament in a few weeks, Miguel was stressed and a little on edge.

He showed up to your apartment and you could just tell he was having an off day.

You swung the door open after seeing his handsome face outside the peephole.

“Hi, baby.” You gripped his shirt and pulled him into your apartment.

He shut the door behind him before putting his hands on your waist and pulling you closer to him. “Your mom is at work, right?”

“Yea. Why?” Your gaze went from his eyes to his plump lips as he licked them right before he said-

“Because I need to fuck you.”

“Oh.”

Miguel smirked at you, then he cupped your face in his hands and started kissing you with fervor.

You felt yourself almost go limp as you two kissed. Miguel’s lips were so soft. You couldb’t get enough of them. You gripped the back of his shirt and pulled him closer to you.

You moaned into his mouth as he slipped his tongue into yours. Miguel wrapped his arms around your shoulders. The both of you started moving toward your bedroom, not taking your lips off each other.

When you two reached your bedroom, you immediately started ot take each other's clothes off. And as soon as you both were naked, Miguel’s eyes became glued on you.

“Ah, mi amor,” Miguel breathed as he scanned your body. You were so beautiful to him. Every square inch of you was perfect.

You often caught him staring at you intensely when you were naked in front of him. He has told you how much it turns him on that he is the only person to have ever seen you like this.

He quickly pulled you against him and grabbed your ass with one hand and used the other to put your hand on his hard cock. “Do you feel how bad I need to fuck you?”

You gasped. He felt so good in your hand. You couldn’t help but wrap your hand around his pretty dick.

You lifted your head and looked into Miguel's eyes as you bit your lip and started pumping him.

Miguel let out an obscenely loud moan, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and his head lolled back. He looked and sounded so sexy. You wanted to keep him moaning for you. You never wanted his pretty moans to end.

You sped your hand up, focusing on that sensitive part of his dick that connected his head to his shaft.

He whimpered as you brought him extremely close to his release. You kept going, wanting him to come on your stomach. But you didn’t get what you wanted because he firmly moved your hand away, making you frown.

Miguel shook his head, out of breath and whispered, “No. Not yet.”

He put his hands on your hips and picked you up, so you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders.

You felt yourself get wetter. You loved it when he picked you up. It was so hot to you, plus feeling his hard dick on your ass cheek, made you want him even more. You started to grind your hips, wanting something from him.

Something to please you.

“Miguel,” you whined.

“I know, princesa,” Miguel said, pressing light kisses to your neck.

He carried you a few more steps over to your bed and tossed you on the lightly.

You started playing with your wet pussy, putting your finger inside of you. You made sure he could hear how wet you were for him.

You were pumping your finger fast. “Papi, I need you.” You mewled out to him.

He groaned and then dropped down into the bed on his knees. He crawled towards you in between your legs till his face was right over your hot wet cunt.

“You’re so wet for me, huh? And I’ve barely touched you.” Miguel chuckled.

You jutted your hips up towards his pretty face as you whined his name.

“Nuh-uh pretty girl you gotta use your words. Tell me what you want.” Miguel said firmly, right before putting his thumb on your clit and rubbing circles and figure eights on it.

You couldn’t even muster up a response. He kept playing with your clit. Just the little touch was making your brain turn to mush.

Miguel then dragged his thumb from your clit down your wet folds. He just barely pressed his thumb inside you, eliciting a moan from you.

“Hm?” He slowly pressed his thumb inside of you. “Tell me what you want. C'mon, princesa, I can’t give you what you want unless you tell me.”

“I want your mouth on me, please. I want you to eat me out.” You basically whined at him as you began to move your hips down onto his thumb.

He quickly removed his thumb from inside you and licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit.

At this point, you couldn’t control the filthy moans leaving your mouth. Miguel loved eating you out it was one of his favorite ways to please you.

And he love love loved making you moan.

He ate you out with a lot of tongue and a lot of spit. He was messy and you loved it so much.

He gripped your thighs as he flicked his tongue on your clit.

Sucking on your clit.

Humming around it.

He was doing everything right, just like he always does. You ran your fingers through his hair and tugged at it, moaning his name. That made him moan, which made you gasp due to the fact that his mouth was on your clit.

“Fuck. Miguel.”

Miguel started to fuck you with his tongue. His arms, which were wrapped around your thighs, pulled you even closer to his mouth.

You started to squirm, desperately trying to push his head away. It felt so good. You were so close.

“Miguel…,” You breathed. He knew just how close you were.

He brought his thumb over to your clit to rub circles on it as he continued to fuck your cunt with his tongue.

You let out a loud moan as you came on his tongue. You gripped his hair even harder making him groan.

Miguel didn’t stop when you came either. He just kept going. He moved his tongue from inside of you to repeatedly flick at your clit.

“Baby, I can’t,” You whimpered as you pushed his head away.

He smiled at you as he climbed towards you and aggressively laid his lips upon yours. This kiss was forceful and hot and uncoordinated.

It was sloppy and a wet mess because his mouth and chin were covered in your juices. It turned you on so much when you got to taste yourself on his lips.

He had one arm planted by your head and the other ran down your side, caressing you. He ran his hand down your thigh till it was under your knee. He hiked your knee up and quickly moved his hand to grab his cock and line it up with your entrance.

You pulled away from the kiss to ask him with labored breaths, “How do you want me?”

Miguel smirked down at you hotly. He sat up then put his hands on your hips to flip you over. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked. I’m about to fuck you into this mattress”

You felt your stomach tighten with excitement when he pulled your hips up so you were ass up face down.

Miguel quickly lined himself up with your wet hole and sunk into you fast. “Fuck, mi amor, you feel so good.”

You moaned when he hit your gspot as he slid into you. You already knew he was going to have you coming undone for him in minutes.

This angle was always going to hit the right spots and his strokes were always perfect. And when he showed up at your door today you could tell he was stressed and he wasn’t about to go slow and gentle with you today. He needed to relieve his stress.

When he said he was going to fuck you into the mattress, he did just that. Miguel started pumping his cock into your cunt roughly. In seconds, you were screaming into your bed.

You pushed yourself up on your arms and started to fuck him back. Pushing yourself back on his dick. You wanted to show him how good you can take him.

“Fuck. Look at that. You’re taking me so good, baby.” Miguel grabbed your hair and tugged slightly. You let out a small whimper.

Miguel sped up his pace with his right hand in your hair and his left crossed on the right side of your hip, pulling you back against his cock. Fucking you hard and fast.

You two had been dating for a little over a year and had only been having sex for about 7 months now. You were each other’s firsts, and you wanted to wait till you knew you were both ready. The two of you got into a motion of having sex pretty fast and you were really good at it. It was like every time you had sex with Miguel, it just got better and better than the last.

You had slumped back down against the bed, your arms having gone weak. You didn’t think you could make it much longer, not with the way Miguel was pounding into you. All you could feel was his cock sliding in and out of you and his balls slapping your clit. It was sending you into overdrive.

“M-m-miguel. Please come. I want you to c-come in me. Please Miguel…” You couldn’t do anything else but keep muttering that. He had fucked you into a puddle of nothing.

“Oh, trust me, that’s the plan.” He leaned forward so that his chest was against your back. He continued to hit your gspot till you tensed up and his thrusts lost their pattern. “All I’ve been able to do is think about coming inside this pussy.” He whispered in your ear.

The two of you moaned in unison as he slammed into you one last time.

Miguel came inside of you with a loud moan. Your pussy squeezed him for everything he had as you both came down from your orgasms. He slowly pulled his now limp dick out of you with a wince.

He watched his come trickle out of you and then his eyes gazed over your exhausted body. His eyebrows furrowed when he realized you were just lying there completely still. “Ah, mi amor!? Y/N?? Are you okay? Was I too rough? I’m sorry..” Miguel was rambling.

“Baby, I’m fine. Was just really fucking good,” You smirked against your pillow.

“Oh.” He beamed. “Well if that’s the case, I’m going to go get a towel to clean you up.”

Miguel placed a quick kiss on your lips before departing from your room. When he came back, he had a warm wet towel and a cup of water. After he cleaned the two of you up, you guys cuddled until you drifted off to sleep.

[writtenapoiogy]

stretch; miguel diaz

pairing: miguel diaz x f!reader

summary: "hi how are you!!!? i’ve been thinking about this a lot, but reader being the only person to take care of miguel after his surgery / incident and it just creates so much attraction; since she’s always touching etc 😵‍💫😵‍💫 just pure smut"

word count: 1.4k

warnings: nsfw, 18+, smut, MINORS DNI, dry humping, unprotected sex, underage sex, penetrative sex, slight choking, dirty talkish, and porn with plotist again

a/n: i had a very busy weekend but i really wanted to get this out i hope everyone enjoys!!

When you found out Miguel got into a fight at school and then was in the hospital in a coma, when you were out of town, your heart shattered.

You had your mom get you a flight back to California, as soon as possible.

You didn’t know if he was gonna wake up. You don’t even know how he survived a fall like that.

It had now been about two weeks since the surgery and Miguel was still in the wheelchair. You came by every day to cheer him up. You loved putting a smile on his face.

Plus the two of you haven't really been able to be intimate. His mom and Yaya were out running some errands. You had offered to go for them but Miguel's mom insisted you stay with him while they were gone. She said she loved the way you brought a smile onto his face, especially right now.

You took your spare key out of your purse and opened the door.

“Hey, migs.” You said, walking into his room.

“Hi, baby,” he smiled up at you.

You showed up with a bag of his favorite snacks from the corner store.

You sat the bag of food down on his desk, “Okay before we get to the rewards. Ready to do some stretches?”

“I’d like to stretch something out..” he muttered under his breath, low enough that you couldn’t hear him.

“What was that?” You said before placing a kiss on his lips.

“Nothin,” he mumbled against your lips, right before deepening the kiss a little. He felt his dick harden a little.

You, unreluctantly, placed your hand on the back of his neck, kissing him back before pulling away.

“C’mon,” he reached for your waist.

You backed up swiftly and smiled at him. “We’ll make out later. First, stretches.” You smiled at him.

You went out into the living room to grab a pillow off the couch. When you returned to his room you stuffed the pillows behind his back so that he was sitting up.

You lifted up his left leg and sat down in front of his right leg. You placed your right hand on his ankle, your left moved to his upper thigh, lightly moving his basketball shorts down to his upper thigh.

He inhaled a sharp breath as he felt your hand inch very close to his mid region.

“You ready?” You asked.

Miguel nodded at you with his bottom lip between his mouth. He loved and missed your touch so much. He felt himself fully harden when he glanced down and saw your hand that close to his dick. He knew that if he didn’t keep his mouth shut he might've let out a moan.

You pushed your right hand that was holding his ankle towards his lower stomach. The action made the hand that was already extremely close to his dick graze it and you inhaled lightly feeling the hardness.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Please.”

“Miguel…”

“Y/N, Please. It’s been so long. I wanna feel you around me any way I can. Please.” Miguel practically whined.

You put his leg down and crawled into his lap, placing your knees around his hips. His clothed cock rubbed against your heat as you sat down in his lap. Miguel’s hands shot up to your ass to guide your grinding when you leaned down to lay a searing hot kiss upon his lips.

Miguel moaned when you moved your lips down to his neck, “Fuck, yes.”

You started to moan into his ear as you kept grinding your hips against his. Miguel’s hands stayed on your ass helping you move your hips with his.

He wanted to come so bad and you knew he didn’t want to in his own pants. 

He wanted you. 

He needed you. 

He needed to come inside you. More than he needed air. More than he cared about being able to walk again. All that clouded his thoughts was you. And especially right now, all he could think about was feeling your hot wet heat squeezing him as he released his hot seed into your pussy. Deep inside of you.

Staying deep inside you until he was sure he was spent. He wanted you to have all of his come. Not wanting to waste a drop.

You stopped moving your hips and practically had to rip his hands off your ass. You quickly removed your pants and underwear and pushed his just below his ass. 

As much as you loved being against him. Skin to Skin. You needed him to be inside of you right that moment. And you needed to feel him come inside of you

You swiftly grabbed his cock and put it at your entrance and started to slowly sit down on him.

Miguel moaned your name when you slid just right past his head. “Mmmm, babe. It’s like you read my fucking mind.”

All you could manage to get out was a low whine, making him smirk. Since it had been so long it was feeling like the first time you two had sex. And it was almost too much for you to handle.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you were completely sitting on his cock. You felt like he was in your stomach. You placed your hand on your stomach like you had a baby in there. Miguel bit his lip then grabbed your ass even harder, eliciting a moan from you. He started to lift you up slowly, slamming you back down onto his cock. You couldn't help but let out a loud moan.

“M-Mi-Miguel, oh fuck!” You gasped. You may have been on top but he was still in control. He was making your mind go dizzy. You had to drop your hands onto his chest to bind yourself.

Miguel kept letting out groans, hearing your pussy squelch around him. He was so close to coming so fucking close. He started to bring you up and down at a faster pace. Saying a slew of curse words in Spanish.

“Y/N, I want you to come for me. Do you wanna come for me?” Miguel spoke in between his grunts. 

You tried to get out the words to respond to him but your words came out in babbles as you reached the tip of your climax you were so close and-

“Did you fucking hear me?” He growled as he took one hand from your hips and wrapped it against your neck.

You’ve never felt your climax hit you so hard and so fast. Your eyesight went spotty from how hard you shut your eyes. You love it so so sooo fucking much when he’s assertive. 

You couldn’t help yourself but moan out his name over and over again as you felt yourself get wetter as you milked his hot. Begging him to come not using so many words.

“Si, esa es mi chica.” He smiled at you and then you felt his dick twitch inside of you. He removed his hand from around your neck and put it back on your hip. Miguel quickly moved you no more than an inch up before slamming you right back down on his cock. He came while moaning. You will never get over how good it feels when he comes inside of you. Claiming you.

Miguel's climax made you come again

You clenched your pussy around him making sure you got every last drop of his seed. You bent down and gave him a slow kiss as you cut your breath.

“I love you so much handsome.”

“I love you most, mi amor.”

You lifted yourself off of him with a wince, having gotten used to him inside of you again. You went on to clean the both of you up.

You climbed back into the bed and then laid on his chest. You loved his afterglow after you two finished. You loved staring at his face and taking in every single one of his features as if you were outlining a picture of him on a piece of paper. He was so goddamn beautiful and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. 

You didn't realize you were dozing off til you woke up about an hour later and you continued to examine his face like you had been doing before you fell asleep. You could do this for the rest of your life.

[immarsss]

Vulgar Display of Power [Miguel Diaz x fem!Reader] (Cobra Kai)

You can never fucking beat him in a fight and it's getting frustrating.

Request: omg more miguel please!!! smutty if u can xx already dating if you want? Fic title comes from my (second) favorite Pantera album. Word count: 4,350 Warnings: SMUT. established relationship, theres plot but it only serves to justify the sex lol, i use present tense in this, degrading, first time sub!miguel kind of, handjob, fingering, oral sex, penetration (p in v), semi-public sex (i guess? no one's around but the location isn't exactly private), a lot of use of pet names (baby, babe, love, mi amor), so much swearing. obviously no one is a minor here I don't mention much context but can be read as hs senior year or later, doesn't really matter. if you're a minor kindly keep away from my blog and this fic please

“Fuck!”  You yell out as Sensei Lawrence announces Miguel’s win. In turn of your frustration, Miguel sports a grin that playfully mocked you.

Now don’t get it twisted, you’re not a bad fighter. You’re not even a good one- you’re great. The best, except for…

“Diaz! Good one.” Sensei Lawrence praises.

“Nice, dude!” Hawk comes to fist bump him.

Tory comes to you. “Girl get it together! You’re better than that!”

“I’m fucking trying.”

Miguel hears the two of you talking and decides to insert himself into the conversation. “Come on, it’s not a big deal.”

“I say this with love but it is a big deal and I’m gonna find a way to beat you.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

[. . .]

“Hey,” you hear Miguel call from behind you, turning around for a split second to look at him before getting back to packing your stuff to leave the dojo. 

“Hey.”

“So, are we still on for tonight?”

“Yeah. I just wanna go home first and take a shower.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Hey are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something seems… weird.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, babe,” you tell him, bringing a hand to his face and lightly tapping his cheek.

“You sure?”

“Yes! I just said it is!” You realize you blew up at him for no reason, immediately feeling bad for it and apologizing, not managing to look at him. “Sorry.”

“See? That’s what I mean!”

“I really am sorry.”

“Okay, but something’s clearly wrong.”

You stay silent, and he walks up to you, cornering you so you’d face him.

“What’s going on?”

Honestly, you don’t want to tell him. Because it would sound stupid. Because it is stupid. You don’t even exactly know why it had gotten so under your skin this time. 

“It’s fine. I’m just a bit off today.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, but you don't have to lie either.”

“Fine. You wanna know what’s wrong? I’m frustrated because you keep beating me.”

“What?”

“Every single time we’re picked to fight I just can’t fucking beat you. And yes, I’m glad you don’t go easy on me, cause that would be like a million times worse, but I'm frustrated with myself. You’re the only one I've never fully beat in a match. The closest I’ve ever gotten to that was a tie.”

“Well most of the time it ends up in a tie.” 

“Yeah but none of the time did it end with me winning.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

“Of course you don’t. I just feel like if I still can’t beat you then have I really been getting better?”

“What? That’s nonsense, babe. You know that, right? Of course you’ve been getting better. We all have.”

“See I told you it would be stupid. I don't even know why I'm feeling this way.”

“That’s okay. We can just sort that out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll ask sensei for the keys.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna stay here and fight and we’re not gonna leave until you win.”

“That’s really not what I was trying to get from this-”

“What, are you scared?” He knew just how to tug on your strings. 

“Oh fuck no.”

“Then we’re doing this.”

“But what about the date?”

“We can go tomorrow. If you need my help today, I'll help you today.”

“Okay.”

[. . .]

“Alright, ready?”

You only nod your head yes, too focused to even speak.

“Okay. Round one.”

You get a couple punches in, but he’s faster than most of your hits. He wins..

You huff, annoyed. “Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Okay that’s it. Again.”

This time, determination runs through your veins, as tired as you were. Every single moment of feeling weak or inferior or as though you were seen by others as basically the female equivalent of Miguel, and not yourself, not someone capable of being better than him in any way, channeled into this round. 

And you won. This time, you fucking won. 

“Wait that’s three,” you realize.

“Yeah! You won!” Miguel celebrates.

“What?”

“You won, babe!”

“Oh my God. Holy fucking shit. I won?!”

He laughs, coming up to you. “You did.” He places a quick kiss on your lips, but you’re taken over by the adrenaline, pulling him back to you by the collar of his shirt when he went to pull away, tangling him into another kiss, deeper and more passionate this time around. “That was hot,” he comments, as you finally did let him part ways with you to breathe, your bodies still flushed together. 

You feel your cheeks burn at his comment. “I just kicked your ass,” you joke.

He doesn’t even seem fazed by the comment. “Yeah you did,” he grins.

“I did not expect that to unlock some sort of loser kink in you.”

“Hey! That’s not what this is!”

You lift an eyebrow, amused. 

“What, you’re telling me it’s a crime if my insanely hot girlfriend looks insanely hot while kicking my ass?”

“Should I kick your ass more often then?”

“You’re welcome to.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Shut up,” he retorts, finally having enough of the playful bantering, unable to wait a second longer to have your lips on his again. 

Miguel pulls you even closer to him- if that were even possible- by pulling on your waist, not wasting a second more before diving in again, pulling you into a kiss that is much more feral this time around. His actions scream that he wants you, and the high from having reached your goal and beat him in the last round mixed with the lust forming in you from seeing him so affected, so attracted to this, it feels good.

You suppose some people would maybe come into an issue if they found themselves in your place. Men aren’t exactly known for being great at dealing with women being better than them in… well, anything. But Miguel acted genuinely proud of you. Hell, he’d canceled your date night to help you with this because he realized it was important to you. And more than being supportive, he was turned on by your display of power. 

His kisses start trailing out of your lips, to your jaw, to the space below your ear. “You did so well, love. You should get something in turn, huh?”

Your mind was getting a bit foggy. Still, you join in playing his game. “I suppose I should. What are you gonna do?”

“Whatever you want me to,” he breathes out. Oh. That was definitely new. 

“Whatever I want?” He only nods, looking up at you, waiting to be told what to do. Holy shit, that was hot. “That sounds good.”

“Just tell me, please, I’ll make you feel so good, I promise,” he pleads. It was almost pathetic. You decide you’d never get enough of hearing him plead like that. You loved the times in which he was more dominant, but you could definitely get behind this too, no issues whatsoever.

You pretend to think. “I don’t think I will.”

“What? Why not?”

“I want you to guess.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I- Uh- Ih-” he takes a deep breath. He liked that. You smiled. “I can do that.”

“Good boy,” you try, hoping he didn’t find it weird. 

Apparently, he didn’t. “Fuck. Fuck,” he lets out in almost strangled sounds, wordlessly dropping himself to the floor. He looks up at you with doe eyes, as if pleading for permission. You smile at him, signaling everything was okay. You cage his jaw with both your hands, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting you play with his hair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you coo, and he feels it down his spine, his eyes fluttering open. 

“Sit.”

“What?”

“Sit,” he repeats himself, but it isn’t demanding. Not this time. 

“I heard you.”

“Sit, please, baby.”

You grin. You didn’t know you’d like this this much. “Of course, baby.” You sit down on the bench, legs closed. He parts them confidently, eyes not leaving yours as he does so slowly, positioning his body between them. With his face mere inches from yours, he looks up at you again. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He guesses. His cheeks red, he clearly looks embarrassed. It turned him on and it turned you on too. 

You nod eagerly, signaling he’d guessed right. He smiles and closes the distance between you, pulling you down and attaching his lips to yours. It starts out slow, tender, experimental- testing the waters. He grows eager pretty fast, though, kissing you harder, his hands traveling to either of your thighs and planting themselves there firmly, squeezing in a way that makes you gasp slightly in surprise. 

He pulls away just to tease you about it. That’s the kind of little shit he is.

“What was that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“Not this then?”

He squeezes your thigh again and you try to act unbothered.” He notices though, pleased with himself.

“Oh shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He pulls you into a kiss again with no warning, more feral than before, his hand traveling upwards, inside the legs of the shorts you were wearing. 

“Take it off,” you pant out, a stern tone overtaking your words, and he complies without questioning. You smile, pleased with that. You lift your hips slightly for him and he throws the shorts somewhere on the floor behind you. 

He stares at your underwear for a few moments, as if lost in a trance. You laugh. “Hello? You here?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

“Used to what?” You move a hand to caress his face. 

“The fact that I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

“Aw, do you like that, baby? Does it turn you on?” You ask, your tone almost mocking him.

He only nods his head yes, looking embarrassed.

“That’s good.” You make a show to slowly take off your shirt, a sudden surge of confidence running through your veins at his words, discarding it along with the shorts behind you.  His eyes widen and he mumbles a few words, the volume of his words so low you couldn’t make it out for the life of you, before he just surges forward again, not aiming for your lips this time, but for your jaw. 

“What was that?” You manage to breathe out as he continues his trail of kisses along your jaw.

“What?”

“If you’re gonna talk you’re gonna let me hear it. Got it?”

“Oh-okay.” He continues to place quick, slight pecks along your jawline, but you know exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re not distracting me from that. I wanna know what you said, baby. Wanna hear you.”

“I said- I said uh-“ he gulps. “It’s dumb.”

“That’s okay.”

“I just said ‘fuck me’.”

You let out a small laugh. “Oh. It was dumb,” you mock him again, and you can see he didn’t expect that.

“What?”

“I though you wanted to fuck me,” you joke.

 He doesn’t take it as a joke. “I do. I do I just meant- it was just-“ oh. This was for real. 

“I know, love. I was just teasing you. Okay? You’re being so good to me.”

His eyes almost sparkle at the praise. 

“You know I think I changed my mind.”

“What?” 

“Maybe I should fuck you.”

“What do you mean?”

You look down on him and smile, a genuine sweet smile. “Get up.”

“But-“

“I thought you said you’d do whatever i wanted you to,” you fake-pout. 

He doesn’t say a word before standing back up. You do the same, keeping your body flushed to his. You slowly turn the two of you around, cornering him until the back of his knees hit the bench and pushing him to sit down on it. 

Standing in front of him, you tilt your head to the side as you take in the view. He looked disheveled as ever. You loved it. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes.

“I- I can take it off.”

“Yeah I think you should.”

“What… what do you want me to take off?”

“Let’s go with the shirt first, baby. How about that?”

He nods furiously. “Yeah I can do that,” he takes his shirt off in a millisecond, throwing it with your clothes on the floor. 

“Oh, you look so pretty,” you coo, stepping closer to him and lifting his chin up to look at you. You make your way around the bench to be behind him, and you can see him gulp in anticipation. Fuck, you were loving this a little too much. You trace his biceps with your finger. “Your arms, I love your arms, you know that? So big and strong,” you exaggerate, and he quirks an eyebrow at the suspicious comment. This doesn’t sound like it was getting to a nice praising place. “And your body, I mean your abs. Your thighs, your thighs are so pretty, baby,” you crouch a bit, still behind him, wrapping yourself around his back so you could snake your arms to his thighs, still only tracing them with a single finger. “So how come you lost to me like a bitch?”

That seems to remind him very well of what was happening.

“It- it was one time.”

“One time you lost to me. But you’ve barely ever won, have you?”

He stays quiet. 

“Come on, baby, talk to me…” you pout, snaking your arms around his torso and kissing his neck.

“N-no.”

“Did you like that you lost to me baby?”

Quiet again.

“Did it turn you on?” You whisper in his ear and you can feel him take in big a breath. .

He couldn’t even look at you .

“Oh, pretty boy, I wanna hear your voice!”

He gulps again. “It- it turned me on,” he confesses. 

“I never knew you were into this sort of thing.”

“Me- me neither.”

“Do you like it when I’m stronger than you? When I tell you what to do?”

You remove yourself from his body entirely, and he whips his head at record speed to look at you, desperate for your touch again. You circle the bench once again, standing in front of him. You grab his jaw and lifts his head up to look at you, your other hand messing with his hair. “So pathetic. I’ve barely done anything to you and you’re this hard.”

You finally sit yourself down on his thighs, legs on either side of his torso, and he immediately and instinctively grabs your ass ‘for support’ as he’s always insisted with a grin. 

“You’re so fucking pathetic you’ll do anything I tell you to. Won’t you?” You pout, tilting your head.

“I’ll- I’ll do anything you want.” 

“That’s a good boy,” you mess with and pet his hair again. You loved it when it was just long enough for his curls to appear. 

He shivers. “Can you say it again?”

“Oh, no can do, baby. You’ll have to keep being a good boy to earn it.”

“I’ll- I’ll be a good boy, okay?”

You nod silently, your arms draped around his neck, and you pull yourself closer to get access to his face. You kiss along his jawline slowly, paying extra attention to the spots just under his ears, which made him shiver like crazy. When you find it sufficient, you move down to his neck, and he lets you, tilting his head to the side. You kiss down his neck, trying your best to not leave any marks. He’s still shivering now, and you know him well enough to know he’s okay, but can’t resist teasing him a bit more. 

“Oh no, baby, you’re trembling! Is everything okay?” You feign ignorance.  He doesn’t reply. “Aw are you too horny to speak to me? Is that the issue?” You mock.

He lifts his hips for some friction, an involuntary tell that he was enjoying this too. “Aw, do you like it when I’m mean to you? Huh?” You lift his chin again. He begrudgingly nods his head yes. You smile and move your hand from his chin to his cheeks, squeezing both off them. “Does my baby like it when I’m in control? When I handle you like this? When I call you names?” 

He tries to reply, but can’t really with you squeezing his face like that. 

“Oh I can’t hear you baby!” You let go of his face. “You’re gonna have to say it again.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I- I like it when you’re mean to me.” 

“I know, baby boy. I can feel it.” With no other warning, you palm him through his shorts. He was impossibly hard. Knowing he was liking this was for sure improving your confidence. The moment your hand meets his crotch his breathing becomes unsteady and he thrusts his hips up again, wanting more. You start kissing along his neck as you keep feeling him up through the shorts, and then he is gone. He lets himself let out delicious moans you would play on repeat if you could, tilting his head back to grant you better access to his neck. He wants more, and you know he does. But you want to hear him say it. 

After a few minutes, he does. 

“Please take it off.”

You press a gentle kiss to his neck, containing a grin. “What are you talking about, babe?”

“My shorts, take them off, please. Please, take them off.”

You press a quick peck on his lips this time. “You beg so pretty, baby. I think I’ll need more of that.”

He looks confused.

“Anything I tell you, right?” 

He nods. 

“Good. Eat me out.”

His eyes widen at the bluntness of it all. And then he realizes what you meant by needing more of his begging: you weren’t going to solve his little problem all that soon. 

“I- yes. Yeah.” 

You pull yourself off of him and he stands up as quickly as humanly possible, grabbing your hand and yanking you to Sensei’s office, rushing to move everything that was on his desk. You catch his drift and pull yourself up to sit on it. You’re so enthralled you don’t even really have the time to rethink what you’re doing and where you are. Miguel gets himself on his knees, and the sight of it from above is breathtaking. 

“Are you sure you wanna be on your knees? They’re gonna hurt.” You ask him, seriously this time.

“I don’t care,” is all he says, dismissing the thought. He pulls you closer to the edge of the desk, and you let yourself lean back on your elbows. He brings a hand up your thigh and takes off your underwear, you lift your hips up to help. 

He brings both his hands to your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, opening your legs. 

He wastes no time before diving in, startling you when, in a second, his head is between your thighs while his hands squeeze them hard and his mouth is suddenly on you. 

He moves his tongue up and down your clit, occasionally circling around it. Now and then he takes a long lick, from your hole to your clit, letting out a moan from time to time as he tastes you, and he picks up on the shaky breaths and loud moans you let out at that (and the way your hands fly to his hair, slightly pulling it.) 

He moves his tongue to your hole, licking and kissing around it before getting it inside.

It makes you almost want to scream out his name. 

“Oh my god. You’re being so good to me, baby. Please don’t stop-” 

You can feel his smile. 

He takes one of his hands off of your thigh and moves it to thumb at your clit as he keeps fucking you with his tongue. The feeling is heavenly, but you can’t help but want more. 

“Your fingers.” Is all you say, and he gets it.

Normally in a situation like this he’d be teasing you in some way, but right now just the thought of upsetting you with that and having you leaving him to finish himself off, or something down that lane, got him quiet. 

He changes what he’s doing, going back to flicking your clit with his tongue, and slowly inserting one of his fingers. You decide you want to tease a bit more. “That all you got?” You challenge him, knowing exactly what you’re doing. He inserts another finger, not taking the care to do it slowly this time, and he pushes them deep inside you, curling them upwards to make sure you felt it.

You let out a moan that’s so pornographic you’re almost embarrassed at it, but you can feel him grin at it, pleased with the reaction. He keeps on, but at a slow pace. In other instances, you didn’t mind some slow, passionate sex. You loved it, even. But right now you wanted to be fucked.

“Harder.”

He pulls his head up to kiss you. You let him. As you make out, your taste still on his tongue, his fingers thrust harder, deeper inside you, making you moan into his mouth, which Miguel seemed to enjoy a little too much.

You can feel yourself brimming an orgasm, and your words become nonsense as he keeps on, your noises becoming so higher-pitched you can barely register you’re the one making them. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum. Baby, I’m gonna cum. Holy fucking-“

It hits you suddenly, killing your train of thought. Your body trembles as he keeps thrusting his fingers into you, letting you ride out your high. He laps it all up gladly, but you pull him away, your clit oversensitive. 

That doesn’t mean you didn’t want more.

“Everything okay?” 

“Yes, baby. You were such a good boy. But I want you to fuck me now.” 

Miguel was still not used to you being this blunt. And honestly neither were you, for the matter. The words just kept coming out. 

“What- what do you want me to do?” 

You get close to his ear and whisper. “Whatever you want, baby.”

His eyes widen. Whatever he wants. 

 He pulls you off the desk and wordlessly takes you back to the locker room. He leaves you for a second to retrieve a condom from his bag. A prepared man, you’d say.

You manage to take a better look at him and laugh. He furrows his eyebrows together. “What?”

“You look so fucked out right now.”

He rolls his eyes at you and takes off his shorts, kicking them away. He goes to pull his boxers down but you stop him, stroking him in an agonizingly slow pace. He lets out a groan. “Please stop, I’m not gonna last.”

“Oh poor you.” You yank his boxers down. His dick is so hard it must be painful. And all from losing a fight and being called mean names. He walks the two of you backwards until your back is against a wall. He puts the condom on and looks at you for a green light. 

“Go on, baby.” 

He nods, pressing his cock into your hole slowly, letting you adjust to the intrusion.

“Fuck.” You breathe out.

“Was that a good fuck or a bad fuck? Does it hurt?”

“I’m alright. It was a good fuck.”

“Okay.” He hikes up one of your legs to his waist, and you think he’ll be content with that position, but he hikes up your other leg too, pressing your back even more firmly to the wall and supporting your weight by holding firmly onto the back of your thighs. 

“Woah what are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother responding, thrusting into you experimentally. 

“Holy shit.”

That is enough for him. His thrusts become harder, deeper, faster. He hadn’t realized just how desperate he was until now. 

Hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars with every thrust, it doesn’t take long for his breath to quicken and his thrusts to become sloppier. “I’m gonna- can I-“

Was he trying to ask for permission to cum? Holy fucking shit, that was hot.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. You’ve been so good. You can cum.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he chanted.

 You laugh as his desperation, but it quickly turns into a moan, with Miguel eager to cum and fucking you so hard now you can’t even understand how he could still hold up your weight while doing that. Bless you universe for giving you a strong, strong boyfriend. But all of that didn’t matter now, because he was fucking you so good you could feel the familiar sensation of an orgasm building again.

“Please don’t stop.” That was the first time you begged him for something the whole time.

“I won’t, mi amor.” Oh, that broke you. That one pet name didn’t come out all that frequently, so when it did, you felt giddy on the inside. 

With a few more thrusts, both of you reach your high, and at that point Miguel did have to pull you down, although your legs currently trembled so hard it was a little difficult to stand, but he helps you out after tying the condom up and throwing it away.

“Holy shit,” you finally let out. 

“Holy shit,” he agrees. 

“What were you saying about your loser kink again?”

“Will you shut up about that?” He smiles.

“Was I too mean to you? I might’ve gotten a little carried away."

He looks down to the floor in embarrassment as if he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion. “I liked it.”

“That’s good baby. So, shower?”

“Yeah you stink,” he makes a disgusted face, plugging his nose and everything just to irritate you. 

You roll your eyes at him. 

A/N: pls be kind to me and cut me some slack i've never posted smut before 😭 i promise ive had sex before 😭 fighting for my life lmao

[sylasthegrim]

Home is Where the Heart Is

Pairing ❅ Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Tags ❅ post-Dance, fluff and smut, p. in v. sex, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, mild breeding kink, consensual somnophilia

Wordcount ❅ 3,280

After almost two years of absence, your husband Cregan finally returns home from war. The two of you spend a long, heated night rediscovering each other's body.

Cregan Masterlist

This is a gift for my dearest friend @thenameswinter99 ♡

A frantic atmosphere had taken over Winterfell as your husband’s banners had been spotted on the horizon, estimating their arrival within the hour. After almost two years of a bloody war ending with a child on the throne, the Northerners were finally coming home to their mothers, wives, and children. 

As the sound of hooves and cries of merry welcomes came from the Winter Town, you felt your breath leave your chest, and soon the first horses were crossing the gates of the stronghold.

You held onto your composure as best as you were able, your nails digging into the back of your hand as tears rose to your eyes—finally, your lord husband entered the courtyard, his noble bearing recognizable among his men.

Sitting atop a large mare, he cut the perfect image of the victorious warrior, a heavy cloak of furs wrapped around his shoulders and the wide, ancestral swords of his family strapped to his back.

His dark curls were pulled back into a bun at the back of his head, a thick beard covering the lower half of his face—you could not hold your tears at the sight of him, your heart bursting from sheer relief and joy.

You cried out as your husband dismounted from his horse and ran to his side, mindless of the company. The solemn air on his face dropped in emotion and he caught you easily, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him roughly.

He crushed his mouth to yours with a deep hum—his lips were cold, but his tongue was heated as he pushed into your mouth. The kiss was rougher than you remembered, his hand curling painfully at your waist.

However the relief that seeped through your bones made you so pliant you were grateful for his hold on you, lest you would have collapsed at his feet.

“How I missed you, wife,” he groaned against your lips as you pulled away for a breath that turned into a grateful laugh. “I prayed every night that the war would be short, so that I might return to you.”

He held you as you sobbed in his neck, breathing in the smell of him as he pressed grateful kisses into your hair. “Oh, how I prayed you would return to me safely,” you cried.

Around the two of you, servants were welcoming their lord home, and he could only thank them briefly before he turned his attention back to you.

“Let us get you out of the cold,” you pulled him along, and he went gratefully. 

However as you crossed the threshold into the castle, Cregan pushed you against the wall, crushing his mouth against yours again, and you kissed him back passionately. You unbuckled his cloak, letting it fall to the floor, eager to feel his touch after so long an absence, and it only spurred him on.

He removed his last buckles, propping his sword against the wall and almost lifted you off the floor in his eagerness to drag you along. He pushed you into the nearest hall, which was being prepared—a fire was being lit, along with candles, and fresh wine was being poured into the jugs.

“Out! All of you,” he barked to the servants. “You’ll carry on later.”

The maids scurried out, giggling behind the piles of linen they were carrying, and you laughed when he kicked the door closed, backing you against the large table at the center of the room. You unlaced the front of your grown, sighing as his lips descended from your neck to your chest, sucking the soft peak of your breast into his mouth.

“I need you now, I can hardly wait,” he groaned against your skin, his hands seeking the bare skin of your thighs. 

You propped yourself up on the tabletop and he stepped between your parted legs, his hips bucking into your touch as you pulled at his belt. You tugged at the buckles and laces until you could press your hand into the cloth of his undergarments—he hissed at the cold feeling of your hand, but his desire was so that he still throbbed against your palm.

The mounting need at the base of his cock drove him forward and soon he was pressing in the cradle of your hips, his swollen head parting your soft folds. “How I missed you,” you sighed as your core clenched, a deep ache that made your head spin.

He pushed into you in one hurried thrust and it was your turn to hiss, the burning stretch almost overwhelming. The broken sound he made was quick to make the pain fade, and you rocked your hips into the delicious heat as he thrusted into you, crazed and imprecise. 

You were unbearably tight from his absence and he found himself in a similar predicament—it was as though he had become unpracticed, the eagerness and clumsiness of the first embraces returning, and his whole body was alight with an uncontrollable fire.

Within a few thrusts he found himself breathless with shame, as his stones tightened and he was powerless to stop it, the tension at the base of his cock snapping suddenly. 

He groaned, deep and rough, and you felt yourself flush all over when you realized what was taking place. 

“Fuck, fuck—” he cursed into the soft curve of your shoulder, quivering in your hold.

You moaned breathlessly into his hair as he spilled his seed inside of you, holding you tight as he pulsed, hot and deep within your core. You kissed him through the last quivering shudders, finding yourself almost dizzy with excitement—it was always a sight to see him lose control, and this display of ungovernable passion had excited you.

“I am sorry,” he sighed as he finally stilled, hiding his disappointment in your shoulder. “It has been too long.”

“Did you not… share your bed with anyone else?” you inquired, swallowing your nerves but holding onto your compassion, hoping you would find it in yourself to be gracious and to forgive—war was long and arduous, lonely, and you would not blame a man for seeking a quick relief. 

“Never,” he vowed, pulling away far enough for his gaze to bear into yours, fierce and honest. “I would never betray you in this way.”

You smiled, caught between relief and your unsatisfied arousal, and he pressed a firm kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry, this is not the welcome you had expected.”

“I am happy you are home, safe and unhurt,” you said sincerely, your fingers trailing in his beard. It was longer now than it had previously been, and you couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy this new length. “Are you, though, unhurt?”

“Just a few aches and healing wounds,” he said against your lips.

“Let me take care of you,” you offered, pushing him back gently and sliding off the table top, feeling his seed trail down your inner thighs as you did so.

A hot bath had been run in your chambers, and Cregan almost groaned in relief as he saw it, the vision of steaming water a truly welcomed one. As lady of Winterfell, you had made sure that everything was ready for the return of your men. A feast was awaiting your warriors, along with hot baths in every room—the whole castle had rationed resources for weeks to allow for this, but it wasn’t much of a sacrifice. 

A few weeks of bland soup and fewer fires were nothing compared to the sacrifices the men had made for the realm, securing its peace and stability.

The chambers you shared with your husband were no exception, a deep fire was ablaze and a copper tub was full with steaming water. The Maester had prepared a tea for pain, along with several oils and ointments for wounds in various stages of healing.

Even though the custom was different in most of the realm, with ladies having their separate rooms from their lord husbands, Cregan had welcomed you into his own chamber and insisted that it wasn’t natural for a man to be apart from his wife. 

You had appreciated his warmth, and how comfortable he had made you feel during your first night as a wedded couple. He had been assured and slightly commanding, with an underlying tenderness you would have never expected from such a hardened man. 

You had only been apart for a few nights at a time when he had left for war. It was far different than him leaving to visit a vassal house, and time had dragged. You had thrown yourself in matters of your estate, in making sure your people were provided for during the long and harsh winter.

His thick leather doublet was soon discarded, the belt still undone from your hurried embrace, and you were happy to leave him to kick it aside, throwing his boots on top. You stepped behind him as his linen undershirt was revealed, stained and wrinkled, and pulled it up. It revealed a long scar that ran along his shoulder down his upper back, and you stifled a sob. 

You rested your forehead against his shoulder blade as he pulled the garment up and over his head. Your arms wrapped around his thick waist and he welcomed your touch, leaning back into your tender embrace, his hands coming to cover yours.

“How I missed you,” you lamented, rubbing your face into his cool skin, inhaling the scent of him. Your core was still running hot, your desire unsatisfied, and the smell of his sweat and musk was only incensing you more.

“I thought of you, every spare moment that I had,” he confessed, his calloused thumb tracing tender circles on the back of your hand. “Every night when I laid down to rest, I prayed that I would see you again.”

“I never washed the shirts you wore before you left. I curled up on our bed every night, clinging to them,” you admitted as he turned to you, tracing the swell of your bottom lip with his calloused thumb.

“You made me train and sweat in them on purpose,” he replied, amused, but his grin was quickly swallowed by a deep kiss, in which he leaned in eagerly. You pushed yourself up, your hands mapping his shoulders and chest, your fingertips digging into his skin—your desire was still running high, and it made his hunger simmer anew in the pit of his stomach.

“Allow me to wash for a minute, then I shall give you what you deserve,” he said, his voice a warm rumble. 

You licked your lips, your gaze roaming appreciatively along the curves of his muscles, admiring the firmness of his backside as he turned again, discarding his trousers and undergarments before stepping into the bath.

He groaned as he lowered himself into the hot water, reaching to cup some into his hands and bring it to his face. You were quick to grab some soap and dip it under the surface before lathering it between your palms—Cregan groaned as you washed his hair, rubbing his scalp firmly.

You worked in comfortable silence for a minute, unwilling to bring up matters of the estate or the settling peace—you had exchanged letters on these topics, and now you wished to forget you were the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. In this room, you were merely husband and wife.

Cregan pressed heated kisses into your neck as you leaned over the edge of the tub, brought a cloth to his hairy chest and abdomen, then his strong thighs, and he felt himself stiffen again under your gaze.

He had often thought of the way you would welcome him upon his return, and while you had never been shy with your desires, you were looking at him with a hunger he had never seen from you before.

“Let me see you,” he commanded gently, and you were quick to undress, unlacing your gown and removing the layers of cotton and wool that kept you warm. You shivered under the slight chill of the room and the intensity of his gaze—your breasts rose in two firm peaks and your thighs pressed together, looking to ease the ache in your core.

“I need you,” you whined as he reached for you, bringing you into the bath easily. He sucked a bruising kiss to your breast as you came to straddle his thick waist, pressing you against him with one hand cupping your behind.

He encouraged you to rock against him, seeking your pleasure against his stomach while his spent cock slowly regained vigor, hardening against your backside. You pressed your core to his stiffening length, sighing in relief as the swollen head dipped between your folds, catching on the sensitive dip leading to your entrance.

Cregan sucked on your breast greedily, and the hard pull was making you mewl. The tub was narrow, and you could hardly move as you wished to, and soon you were whining in frustration. Ever eager and unwilling to slow down your endeavors, he rose in one smooth push, carrying you out of the bath easily. 

He wrapped a linen around your shoulders, then pushed you to lay down on the pelts in front of the fire. He wasted no time climbing down your body, pressing face between your thighs, his mouth open against your wetness.

“Fuck, how I missed that cunt,” he groaned, making you flush, your toes curling into the soft furs. Never before had you heard your husband speak in such a way. You supposed the company of men had roughened him and loosened his tongue.

“Husband,” you cried out as he licked a broad stripe up your folds. 

The burn of his beard on your inner thighs was delicious, and you keened as he sucked on your pearl, his tongue curling against you in a manner that made your head spin. It wasn’t long before your back arched, your pleasure cresting to impossible heights. He did not relent, wanting to swallow your pleasure, to feel you pulse against his tongue, and he groaned in time with the quivering of your hips.

He didn’t wait for the aftershocks to subside, only climbed up your body and pressed his cock into you with one deep thrust. The sudden stretch made you keen, and the quick rhythm he started kept you afloat, not allowing you the descent after your peak, the aftershocks of your climax turning into great waves of sharp pleasure. 

“How sweet that cunt is,” Cregan groaned, looking down at you, gauging your reaction. You arched your back, a pleased smile gracing your face, and your husband pressed his own grin to your mouth.

“Every night that I was alone, I regretted that I was not carrying a part of you inside me,” you said, and it seemed to spur him on. You had mourned the arrival of your blood a few weeks after he had left, sobbing in the privacy of your rooms, devastated that you would spend this war alone. “Please do not leave me empty ever again.”

“I won’t,” he vowed, his hips grinding into yours, seeking the angle that would make your back grow taut and your stomach quiver.

“I want a babe, husband, I beg you,” you whined, clenching around his cock.

Cregan moaned, louder than you had ever heard him—he had always been more reserved, if only a bit rough and impatient sometimes.

“I’ve already spilled in you once, perhaps it is already done,” he breathed into your mouth. 

“Once is not enough,” you replied, your legs wrapping around his waist and keeping him close, forcing him to bring your body with him when he rocked back, picking up speed. 

“I shall make sure it takes this time,” he promised, his hips snapping into yours sharply. “I promise that you shall be round with my pup before this winter ends.” 

You didn’t think it possible, but somehow you were sure a second peak would soon take you. Your breasts were bouncing with each thrust and your pleasure was almost painful in its intensity.

Sweat running down his temples, Cregan kept his dark gaze on you, a winter storm pulling you into its fierceness. Your heels dug into his backside as you threw your head back, your peak ripping through you and Cregan swallowed your moans from your mouth.

He spilled once more a second later, your nails leaving crescent moons on the skin of his back as you clung to him, praying that his seed would take root.

Cregan was awoken by the peace and quiet of the room, the fire had turned to warm coals and crackling embers in the dark. He had become so used to the urgency of battle and the ever-present tension of the war camps that this first night back in his chambers, in his home, felt like a pocket of borrowed time.

He slipped out from under the linens and furs, calming his frayed nerves with a long drink of wine, but what soothed the crawling under his skin was the sight of you burrowed under the pelts.

He realized there was nothing that meant home quite like the vision of his lady wife in the warmth and comfort of his bed, the sigil of his house embroidered on the pillow peeking from under your splayed hair.

He stood at the foot of the bed for a long while, gazing at you, a breathless feeling swelling in his chest—pure adoration, he knew, and a devoted love that had only grown in the long months you had been apart. His loins stirred again as you shifted slightly, sighing in your sleep. He slid a hand between his legs and gave himself a slow pull, his hardening length twitching in his loose grasp.

He climbed back onto the bed, crawling over you who were lying on your side, and pulled the covers aside, pressing his hips against your backside. “Cregan?” you whispered, your closed eyelids fluttering.

“I need you again, my love,” he murmured, his large palm curling around your thigh and pressing it upwards, exposing your folds. His cock was hard as it pressed against you, sliding along the dip of wetness that remained from your earlier embraces.

“Yes,” you murmured, and your lord husband was quick to push into you. The stretch was comfortable as you were still loose and pliant from sleep, and the angle burned a delicious heat in your core.

“It won’t be long,” Cregan grunted, on his knees behind you, his hips snapping forward in short, desperate thrusts. As he lost himself to the pleasure of your cunt once more, his groans and grunts falling from his lips with each push into your tight warmth, you found yourself floating above your own body. 

Eyes still closed and sleep still clouding your mind, you remained motionless and quiet, save for a few whimpers and sighs. Cregan hadn’t lied and it was over quite soon, with him gripping your hip tightly and grunting aloud, his cock pulsing deep inside of you.

Your own peak was just as fast and sharp, your core clenching around his throbbing length in a way that rendered you so light-headed you could only be grateful to be lying down, a breath away from slumber.

You whined as he pulled out of you, but your dismay was short-lived as he came to lie down at your back, cradling you against his hard, hairy chest. “Sleep now, my love. I shall have you again in the morn,” he promised, and the warm rumble of his voice eased you back into the land of dreams.

Dividers by @arcielee

Thank you to my lovely @/arcielee for beta reading it ♡

Please reblog if you enjoyed reading. Reblogging is how you can show support to authors and keep their stories alive on this platform.

Comment to be added to the taglist.

Cregan taglist: @kateris-world @elleclairez @watercolorskyy @praline357 @whodis-26

@elle-28 @mari0302 @hb8301 @flawroses @random-shit-i-like-2

@heavenly1927 @thegeminithrone @vixemi @rockerchick05 @maniccrystalhippie

@melsunshine @siimiasoi @mxtokko @arcielee @apollonshootafar

@thenameswinter99

[sylasthegrim]

Salt of the Stars

Pairing ✶ Gwayne x Jace's twin reader x Jacaerys

Tags ✶ arranged marriage, infidelity (briefly), mild angst, eventual polyamory, threesome, shameless smut, p. in v. sex

Wordcount ✶ 5,545

Soon after your marriage to Gwayne, he notices the love between you and your twin Jacaerys, and decides to invite him to your marriage bed.

Gwayne Masterlist ✶ Jacaerys Masterlist

To taste the salt of the stars in the sea. To love another more than oneself. To know this, is to know everything.—Anne Michaels

Duty was sacrifice, you had learned early on in life. It meant sacrificing personal preferences or indulgences for long-term stability, alliances and peace, and it was a notion you were familiar with as you had seen your mother and father share friendship rather than love, and occasionally caught the tail end of disputes over appearances. 

You knew you were a Velaryon by name and little else, save perhaps the love Ser Laenor had for you and your siblings—your twin brother Jacaerys shared this knowledge, one you both kept close to your hearts. Love was sometimes meant to be sacrificed on the altar of keeping another house close, and of appeasing relationships, whether they be political or otherwise. 

This became painfully clear to you when your grandsire King Viserys arranged a match between you and the Queen’s younger brother, Ser Gwayne. It was unexpected, and perhaps a bit unconventional, motivated by the discontentment of House Hightower about Prince Aegon being passed over as heir.

You were a bride of appeasement, more Targaryen blood given to the Hightowers, but the motives of your match did not worry you as much as your chances at happiness within such a marriage.

Upon learning the news you had feared Ser Gwayne would be much like his father Ser Otto. However as you were sent to Oldtown to wed him, you were delighted to find out that it was not the case. He did share his father’s sharp way with words and his good education, but he was much gentler. You were almost ashamed of yourself at how enchanted you were with your husband, who was as beautiful as he was galant, with fiery red hair and piercing eyes.

Your wedding night was a delight, although the lack of pain could be explained by the fact that you had lost your virtue to your own twin, Jacaerys, given time and time over in the weeks before your departure for Oldtown. The love the two of you shared had always been apparent, but it had burst into uncontrollable flames at the news that you would be taken from him—Jace was proud and protective, and you loathed to leave him behind.

However you did as you were bid by the King, swallowing your sorrows and ignoring the longing that bloomed like a bush of thorns as the months passed. They were only soothed by the tentative happiness you found in this arranged marriage. Over the months you grew to learn of Gwayne’s ways, of his keen mind and his sharp sense of humor, and a friendship grew that soon turned into trust and the first embers of love.

You found yourself caught between the two loves that inhabited your heart as your twin flew across the realm half a year after you had come to Oldtown and spent a fortnight as a guest. Gwayne was delighted to entertain a prince of the realm, and seeing the two young men side by side troubled you greatly—you felt as though your very soul was split into two.

“I would not break my vows to Gwayne, Jace,” you pleaded one evening as Jace found you alone in one of the parlors and pulled you into a tight embrace. “He is a good man, and although I suspect him of knowing I was not a maid upon our wedding, he has never brought it up against me.”

“Does he please you? Keep you happy?” he asked against your cheek, his breath still heavy from your kisses, his lips flushed a dark pink.

You nodded silently, and the crestfallen look on his face as he pulled away made guilt curl deeply in your gut. “Do you love him?” he asked, his voice wavering.

“Not in the way that I love you,” you pleaded, curling your hands in his doublet, feeling him slip through your fingers. “You are my twin, another half of me.”

“But you have grown to love him, as a wife loves her husband,” Jacaerys pressed, and despite your heartbreak, you found no lies in his words.

“I know this must come as a betrayal to you, and I am sorry for it. I did not mean for it to happen, you know I came here intent on resenting him!” you hissed, and your twin smiled gently, pained.

“He is a decent man and an accomplished knight, I am glad you are able to find love in this arrangement,” he replied, holding on to his values and beliefs, no matter how shattered his heart was. “I should take my leave tomorrow, surely your lord husband will not begrudge me for returning to my duties on Dragonstone.”

That night you cried into your pillow, biting your lips against the sobs that threatened to alert your husband as he settled to sleep beside you. “What has you so crestfallen, my love?” Gwayne asked, curling at your back, but you could not answer. 

He held you as you cried and did not pry, even though he burned to have his doubts confirmed. He had known of your closeness with your brother early on, such was the way of twins, but he suspected your bond to run deeper. He had had suspicions since a banquet held for Prince Daeron’s name day while the two of you were courting, a mere month before your wedding.

He had walked into charged situations a couple of times, always feeling like he was walking in on the tail end of a conversation he was not privy to. It did not help that your twin Jacaerys had spent the banquet looking like he was caught between fury and heartbreak, and was much more curt to him than he ought to be.

Gwayne knew the Targaryens to have queer customs and hold strange traditions, and he supposed the natural bond between dragon twins would favor such an attraction, yet he feared to consider it. You were his lady wife, a young woman of character whom he had learned to adore, and he did not want to suggest such an outrageous thing if it was not the truth.

You had eventually fallen asleep, but as the morning came Gwayne could see you had not rested much, no doubt plagued by what was causing you sorrow. He kept himself busy for most of the morning as the prince’s departure was being prepared, allowing you as much space as he suspected you required to tell him your goodbyes.

He was making his way down to the outer courtyard where the prince’s dragon, Vermax, was waiting, when his eye was caught by two familiar figures hiding in an alcove. The corridor was deserted, and Gwayne stopped dead in his tracks, surprise and something akin to anticipation curling in his gut as he watched the pair of twins. 

He waited with bated breath, and finally, the inevitable, irrevocable occurred—Jacaerys pressed a kiss to your lips, and you surged up against him. It was unmistakably a lover’s kiss, passionate and hurried, and it made his heart ache to witness it. His loins stirred despite himself, and he lowered his eyes as though he was the one being caught in a compromising position before taking a few steps back.

He kept his eyes on the two of you, making sure that he was not seen, long enough to see you push away and turn from him, your hands rising to your face. He walked away, heart hammering in his chest—the confirmation of your bond with your twin did not pain him, he was surprised to find out, but instead left him curious and strangely incensed.

He could not deny the Prince was handsome, with a temper and a wit that he found most entertaining. He was the perfect mirror image of you, with sharper features but the same elegant way to his movements. The pair of you made a striking sight, and Gwayne had considered commissioning a painting of the two of you, to offer you for your name day, only for him to share in the pleasure of gazing upon beauty. 

To see the set of you in the flesh would make an enticing sight, and Gwayne was nothing if not a collector of pretty things.

Jacaerys had been surprised to receive an invitation from Ser Gwayne, rather than you, especially since it demanded that he keep his visit a secret—a surprise for his wife who had been rather morose in recent weeks, the letter said.

“I’m afraid your usual rooms are unavailable, my prince, as a leak from the attic has made its way along the wall,” Gwayne explained as he led him instead to the main quarters upon his arrival. “I have had the rooms next to ours be prepared. After all, you are such a frequent guest, you might prefer a more permanent quarter.”

“Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” Jace replied politely as he was led into a large room decorated with refined taste.

Embroidered tapestries of various shades of green and blue hung on the walls, no doubt reminiscent of House Florent, and numerous settees and lounging armchairs were available. Facing the hearth, a wide poster bed with curtains was pushed against the wall—the one where, on the other side, his sister shared a bedchamber with her husband.

“You ought to call me by my name, we are brothers by marriage after all,” Gwayne said amicably, his head bowing slightly, although there was an edge to it that turned Jace’s blood cold. 

As the man left him to settle and the door to his new rooms closed behind him, Jacaerys rested against them, shutting his eyes against hot tears—there was hardly any doubt left now, the man knew of the feelings he held for his sister, and was intent on tormenting him for them.

However he could not say a word, or chastise him, for fear of revealing his own sister and thus endeavored to bear the concealed japes. He held his tongue through supper, forcing himself to be agreeable for his sister’s sake, but you could tell something was amiss.

Fear of accusations kept him quiet, biting his own tongue—he knew the truth being put into words would be considered a betrayal at the least, and indecency at the worst.

“Jacaerys behaved rather strangely today,” you commented later that night as you removed your earrings and set them down in one of the little dishes on your dresser. 

“Did he?” Gwayne hummed, dipping his face into the back of your neck, pressing kisses to the freckles that bloomed there. 

“Yes,” you answered nervously. You wet your lips and swallowed, feeling your mouth go dry. “You have not quarreled with him upon his arrival, have you?”

“I would have told you. But enough about your brother now, my love,” Gwayne replied gently, pulling you toward the bed and onto his lap before toppling you onto your back. “I have missed your radiant disposition, and now that he is here and all is well, I am intent on enjoying it…”

“Are you saying my mood is linked to my brother’s presence?” you asked, biting your lower lip, as your husband pressed you to the pillows.

“Very much, but I wouldn’t dwell on it. You are twins after all,” he said before pressing a passionate kiss to your lips, cutting off any reply you could have had.

It wasn’t long before you were both rid of your robes and your husband was buried deep inside of you, rocking smoothly in and out of your tight heat, pulling delighted sighs from your parted lips.

Gwayne seemed particularly incensed, focused on dragging the head of his cock against the spot he knew made you unravel. The bed creaked as he picked up speed, and you covered your mouth with the flat of your hand to silence your moans.

“Let me hear you, my love,” he said, taking your wrist in hand and pressing it to the pillow, intertwining your fingers.

“He will hear us,” you gasped, already conscious of the way the bed knocked against the wall with each of his thrusts, the very wall where on the other side, Jace slept. 

“Let him hear,” Gwayne replied, then dipped his head to suck one of your nipples into his mouth—he knew how sensitive you were, to the point that he had once brought you to your peak by this mean, without a single touch between your legs.

Shame curled in your core along with your pleasure, and you found yourself caught between your fear of revealing yourself, and the utter temptation of the situation. You knew of your husband’s sense of teasing and flair, but this went beyond what was proper. However your body decided against your reason and apprehension, and soon you were lost to the pull of Gwayne’s mouth and the drag of his cock against your sweet spot.

The more sighs and moans fell from your lips, the harder your husband was thrusting into you, sweat pearling at his temples and pleasure turning his freckles into specks of fire—a jolt of heat went through you as he found his peak once you had reached yours, his groans and whimpers louder than usual.

Such passion left you languid and unwilling to part from your pillow too early the next morning, encouraged by Gwayne, who seemed invigorated. “Stay abed a while if you wish, I shall entertain our guest,” he pressed into your temple along with a kiss.

His vigor carried into the training yard as he invited his good-brother to a sparring match, a way to shake sleep from their frames and get their blood pumping before breaking the fast of the night. Jacaerys agreed, albeit hesitantly, but his competitive nature soon took over. 

A grin etched onto his graceful features, Gwayne was taunting him with his training sword just as he had taunted him the night prior, drawing moans and wails from his sister while Jace laid awake, unable to do anything but listen and wait it out.

Shame was still heavy in his stomach as his desire remained unsatisfied—the peak he had drawn from himself at the sounds of your coupling had barely scratched the surface of his longing. 

He put his frustrations into fending off Gwayne’s attacks, their swords clashing swiftly, and into his own attacks, which were perhaps too bold and vicious for the training yard. However Gwayne was taller and seemingly amused by Jace’s anger, and his frustrated mood eventually became his own downfall as he grew clumsier, until he found himself defeated.

“Have I done something to anger you, my prince?” Gwayne asked amusedly as he held the point of his sword to Jace’s chest, who was lying into the dirt, resting on his elbows.

“Not at all, ser,” he replied, falsely cheerful. 

Footsteps echoed in the small staircase leading down to the training yard, and your joyful tone resonated when you leaned over the railing, smiling at the sight of your brother refusing to take your husband’s outstretched hand. “There you are,” you called. “Breakfast is being served in the solar.”

The meal was a tense affair, and neither your husband nor your twin seemed inclined to speak. Instead they seemed caught in some sort of silent confrontation, Gwayne looking rather amused and conniving while Jace only appeared more upset with each passing minute.

Hot tea was served, along with sweet cakes, and you focused on pouring the hot beverage through the small sieve instead of the two men’s silent sparring. 

“I have an offer,” Gwayne suddenly announced after a sip of tea, startling both you and your twin. You watched as your husband licked his lower lip, then his gaze raised to Jacaerys, piercing and clear. “Join us,” he simply said.

“Join us where?” you asked, a confused smile pulling at your lips as nervousness grasped your heart slightly.

“He knows what I mean,” he replied rather solemnly, his eyes fixed on your twin who rose abruptly,  pushing from the table. Jacaerys was white as snow, looking both rattled and furious, and your smile vanished from your face.

“This jest has lasted long enough, you might have amused yourself but I cannot—” he started, and Gwayne interrupted him gently.

“Do ease, my prince. I mean no offense,” he said, and it seemed to rather spook Jace even more, who swallowed unshed tears.

“I don’t understand,” you pressed. 

“I am aware of the bond you two share. I witnessed your—” Gwayne said, then licked his lips, gesturing with his hands as though he was picturing the scene again. “Your parting kiss, the last time your dear brother visited.”

Your heart sank at this revelation, your breath vanishing from your chest; your mouth dropped open to catch it, but instead you choked on it, your hand reaching for Jace’s arm. You could not look at your husband, for shame consumed you, and you feared to see revulsion on his handsome features.

“I should not have toyed with you to this extent, my prince, it did not mean for it to seem so cruel. Please forgive me,” he said, and you could hear no lie in his voice—your gaze rose to him and through your tears, you tried to decipher his intentions.

Jace shook his head, looking down in shame. “You had every right. She is your wife.”

“And she is your twin,” Gwayne said with conviction, as though it explained everything. “I understand it pains you to be parted, and I am not completely unfamiliar with Targaryen customs.”

“Husband, what are you saying?” you said with waveringwords, wiping your tears on your sleeves. Across from the table, Gwayne was looking at you tenderly, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“I have always prided myself on being a generous lover. I would not stand between the two of you, be the reason why your love remains… unfulfilled,” he explained, then a small smile appeared on his face, kind and benevolent. “Although I can only guess it was fulfilled, in the past.”

“Before we were wed, never after,” you rushed to reassure him, but he did not seem to give your words much thought.

Instead he turned his piercing gaze to Jacaerys once more, who appeared to be frozen in his spot. “You are quite pleasant to look at, if you would allow me to say so, my prince,” he started. “And you might blame my vanity and frivolity, but I take immense pleasure in collecting handsome things.”

“Are you suggesting Jace joins us, in our bed?” you asked hesitantly, your grip on your twin’s arm tightening. 

“Yes, that is one option,” Gwayne replied, bringing his teacup to his mouth once more. “If you would prefer me not to be present, I’m sure I can find duties to attend to.”

“You would give us leave to…” Jacaerys said, sitting back down tentatively, his wrists turning in your grasp until your fingers intertwined.

“To live your love as you wished,” Gwayne continued, his eyes briefly glancing at your joined hands atop the table. “You have a permanent residence here if you so wish it, and are welcome to my wife’s bed as much as you desire.”

The pair of you watched him, slightly amazed at the proposal, and you almost wanted to laugh at the surreal situation your husband had pushed you into. “Although we might need a second room… A man needs a bed to sleep in, if his is occupied,” he added with a touch of humor, hiding his smile in his cup, and you bolted from your seat to round the table, coming to his side. 

To his surprise, you dropped to your knees, grabbing his free hand and pressing it to your lips. “Husband, I thank you, and I am in your debt,” you vowed.

“You are not, my love,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Anything to keep you happy.”

The darkest hour of the night later found you and Jacaerys huddled under soft, silky sheets, defiling your marital bed, with your own spouse’s enthusiastic permission.

That fact alone was a thrill you had never expected, and the utter joy of being reunited with your twin had only added to it. Jacaerys had taken you a first time with unconcealed longing and relief—you could hardly believe you were one with him again. 

The languid kisses of your afterglow had slowly turned passionate again, and he was teasing his length along the cleft of your cunt when a quiet knock startled you. You both untangled yourselves and sat up, pulling the sheets at your waist—it’s Gwayne, you whispered to Jace, who relaxed slightly. 

“I hope I am not interrupting,” your husband said in a quiet voice, as though he was entering a sanctuary. 

“Not at all,” you replied, sitting up against the pillows, your flushed chest bared to both men’s gaze—it was unfamiliar to be so exposed, but you felt safe while in their company, even though you were still amazed at the ease of your husband in this situation. 

“I simply came to fetch—” he said, reaching for the dresser, but your twin interrupted him. 

“You might stay,” Jacaerys offered tentatively.

“The bed is large enough for three to sleep, I suppose,” Gwayne said, sitting at the foot of it. The room smelled of sweat and musk, and the scent got stronger at its source, where it was permeating the sheets. His loins stirred as he leaned against the bedpost, considering the two of you.

“If sleep is what you wish to do then we would not keep you awake, but that was not what I had in mind,” Jacaerys said with the hint of a mischievous smile.

“A most enticing offer,” Gwayne remarked as he stood up and rounded the bed, pulling the armchair he kept near his bookshelf closer. “By all means then, carry on, if you do not mind a spectator for now,” he said as he sat, crossing his legs at the ankles, resting them on the edge of the mattress. “I did interrupt you, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” you said, biting your lower lip as a genuinely happy smile pulled at your lips.

“Would you show me what I interrupted?” he asked then, his tone darker. 

Jacaerys and you shared a smile, then a deep, slow kiss before he settled atop you again and pushed into you in one, smooth stroke. The slight stretch was comfortable and you allowed yourself to sigh aloud, sinking back into the sheets as your twin thrusted into you. 

“By the Gods you are a marvelous sight,” Gwayne murmured—the long lines of Jacaerys’ legs and back were cradled between your creamy thighs, your knees hooked at his hips, your ankles curled together. Your twin’s dark curls fell into his eyes as he thrusted into you, and you were quick to push them behind his ears, holding his head like a lifeline. 

With his eyes Gwayne followed the path of your hands, from the luscious mane to the back of your twin’s neck, then down the wave of his spine, pressing down his lower back, guiding his thrusts. He uncrossed his legs, unable to help his own hands wandering, up his thighs and in the crook of his hips were his cock was filling. He pressed his palm down on it, parting his lips on a breathless sigh and your gaze turned to him.

“Husband,” you called in a whine as Jace sucked a kiss into your neck—the sight of your spouse watching your own twin take you while he teased himself was proving to be your undoing, and you could hardly remain coherent, let alone alert.

You closed your eyes, surrendering to Jace’s mouth and hips, and to Gwayne’s gaze and words. “The pair of you are the most beautiful, most arousing sight I have ever laid eyes on,” he praised, and Jace’s back erupted in shiver under your hands. Your fingers tightened at his hips, your cunt clenching around him as you whimpered.

“Harder,” Gwayne suddenly ordered, pulling a grunt out of Jace as he sped up, and you couldn’t help the way you fluttered around him, as he obeyed the orders of your husband. One of your hands flew out, grabbing and pulling the sheets in frustration when you could not reach him.

“My sister wants you to join us,” Jacaerys gasped, his eyes throwing a dark look over his shoulder, and Gwayne felt a thrill at this glimpse of the prince’s fire. 

The way he had referred to you didn’t go unnoticed but instead of making possessiveness erupt in him, it sent another shiver down Gwayne's spine—to see his precious jewel in the arms of another man was heady and addictive, and he knew he would be forever changed by it.

“What does my prince want?” he replied, almost a croon. 

He did not wait for an answer, instead he unfolded his long frame and pushed from his seat, working the laces of his shirt and trousers easily—they came off in soft sounds drowned by the subtle creaking of the bed and your sighs of pleasure. You whined again as your husband stood in all his glory, his long fingers cradling the length of his cock loosely, working his hand from the nest of red curls at its base to the weeping tip.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Jacaerys slowed his pace, unwilling to see it end too soon. Restraining himself was agony, especially under the watchful eyes and praiseful words of your husband, but as he followed your gaze, a thrill went through him.

He had never been one to find charm in a man, but he had to admit the Hightower lord was a lovely sight to behold, and he could not fault you for falling for him. His pale skin was flushed pink at his cheeks and chest, his red hair falling into his eyes, his slim frame quivering slightly as he stroked his cock slowly.

“Your prince wants you to take your place at your princess' side,” he instructed gently, and grateful tears came to your eyes. Gwayne smiled and complied, letting go of his cock as he came to sit on the side of the bed where you could finally reach him.

Your nails scratched his arm in an effort to pull him to you, and soon he was stretching his long frame alongside yours. You clenched around Jace’s cock as Gwayne slanted his mouth over yours, kissing you with expert passion.

“Watch as I make her come undone,” Jace whispered, incensed by the way your body was growing taut under his, a sign of the mounting pressure in your core. “What a marvelous sight indeed,” he added with unconcealed awe, witnessing the obvious love between you and your husband.

He dipped his head slowly, allowing either of you to push him away, and as neither of you did, pressed his lips to the corner of yours, where they were still locked with Gwayne’s.

The older man made a pleased sound, then broke the kiss only to press his lips to the side of Jace’s jaw, chaste and tender. “How does it feel to be inside of her again?” he asked, both serious and teasing, and the sight of both your lovers hovering over you was proving to be your undoing.

“I am on my knees with gratitude,” he answered impertinently, and Gwayne chuckled.

“Gods have mercy, please,” you whined, rocking your hips desperately, grinding your core against your twin’s abdomen—his pace was torturously slow, only just enough to make you dance on the edge. 

“She does beg prettily, doesn’t she?” Gwayne asked—he was the most brazen of the two, but you could tell a fire laid dormant behind Jace’s eyes. Your embraces had always been forbidden, hurried, but now that you were free to explore your love and enjoy each other’s skin, you were curious to find out what sort of passion lurked in his bones. 

Gwayne’s hand curled around his own cock again, his mouth dropping open on languid sighs. Your eyes flitted between his face and that of your twin, unable to decide, until you finally closed your eyes to the onslaught of pleasure as Jace picked up his pace. You could tell from his soft grunts and the subtle shaking of his thighs that he was reaching the limit of his patience.

Gwayne bit his lip, heat flashing through him and making his cock throb in his hand as you arched your back, sweet moans falling from your mouth. He saw the moment your twin brought you to your peak, your moans turning to silent screams, your thighs quivering around his hips—Jace was groaning through his teeth, and it was with a sob that he pulled out as soon as you settled again, spending across your belly in violent ropes of white. 

“Gwayne,” you whimpered, looking down between his legs as the last quivers of pleasure shook you.

You looked aside at your twin in slight hesitation, but he smiled and stretched his slim frame along your side. You leaned into him as he curled a hand under your thigh, inviting your husband to take the place he had been enjoying mere seconds ago. 

“I would not overwhelm you,” Gwayne whispered as he kneeled between your parted knees.

Jacaerys watched, a scalding blush erupting all across his face. You smiled at him, bright and victorious, as Gwayne found his pleasure in the cradle of your hips, burying his moans in your neck. You were wet and pliant under him, languid from your recent peak, and you welcomed Jace’s gentle kiss as Gwayne rocked into you.

“Skorkydoso gevie se lanta hen iksā hēnkirī. Zȳhon perzys iksis isse zȳhon ōghar, issa iā sȳz iderennon syt ao. How beautiful the two of you are together. His fire is in his hair, he suits you,” Jacaerys said, tender and solemn.

“Perzo vūjita. Kissed by fire,” you crooned, your fingers tangling in Gwayne fiery strands, pulling them gently as he stilled in your arms. He had not an inkling of what your twin had said to you, and what you had replied, only that the High Valyrian had rolled off him like a lover’s caress.

He groaned as he spilled inside of you, aware of the dragon prince’s envious gaze on him, and the mere idea of allowing him the same pleasure next time was a thrill. He longed to watch the two of you again, to praise and guide you, and to see your reaction as he encouraged your twin to spill inside—that particular taste of the forbidden was one he would not deny himself, or Jacaerys. 

He knew it would be glorious to watch, as would many other kisses and caresses. His mind was reeling, filled with them and he was eager to share them with the two of you. “May this night be the first of many,” he sighed as he laid at your side, a bone-deep satisfaction spreading along his limbs.

Mindless of the mess on your skin, you curled at his side, resting your head on his shoulder as Jacaerys molded along your back, hooking his own chin over your shoulder. Gwayne’s arm laid trapped under you, his fingers reaching along the side of your twin’s neck and upper back. The young prince shivered, pressing his hips into you as Gwayne teased the curls at his nape tentatively.

“How many nights of this will there be?” Jace asked, and you smiled at his need for reassurance.

“It is as I said. I would not keep the pair of you apart,” Gwayne said, his eyes fluttering close as you nuzzled into him. The combined smell of his sweat and that of Jace was slowly lulling you into a state of near slumber, your limbs growing heavy, pressed between their bodies. 

Jacaerys pushed himself on his elbow, his head resting atop yours, close enough for Gwayne to feel his breath when he spoke. “Surely rumor will stain us,” he whispered regretfully.

Gwayne said nothing, instead glancing at a tapestry in the corner of the room where he knew a hidden door laid, used by the previous generation to connect the two rooms that used to be nurseries. “I will protect you,” he replied, and you made a small sound of approval. He kissed your forehead at that, his face pressing closer to Jace’s for a moment. 

“Many men in this realm find their pleasure in the arms of whores or mistresses. Many ladies find similar contentment with lovers,” Gwayne explained, reaching up with his free hand to tuck a stray curl behind Jace’s ear—the young man stayed still, not leaning into him, but not rejecting the touch either. “It is the way of the world, but this is different…”

“We came into this world together, we belong together,” Jacaerys said, his hand curling possessively at your hip, his tone sealing the finality of this arrangement. 

Gwayne only smiled, a gentle laugh building in his throat—he would gladly keep the two of you here, wrapped in lace and silk until the end of times, simply for the thrill of seeing twin flames dance together, and the selfish desire to know the intimate ways of dragons.

Dividers by @/saradika

Author's Note: Thank you to all the anons who gave me the idea for this fic, and even for some of the scenes. Thank you for all the asks, the unhinged thoughts, the wholesome ones... This fic is yours ♡

Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for reading the smut over and making sure it make sense.

Comment if you'd like to be tagged in a sequel.

Gwayne Taglist: @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose @multyfangirl @purple-1995 @tumblin-theworldaway

@caterina-caterina @oldtowrs @targaryenswhxre @tabiitha @lothiriel9

@thenameswinter99 @maeriontargaryen @peachysunrize @majoso12

Jacaerys Taglist: @aegonswife @hobisinterlude @bunbunbl0gs @brevlada24

@thenameswinter99 @v0relino @jacesvelaryons @nanaldy @multyfangirl

@fallout-girl219 @cookiesnfeesh @notvitocorleone @ghostface-00 @justbelljust

@lechat-rouge @ladyofvelaryon @alrightyxaphroditee @poetatorturadaa @nanaldy

@darlingcharling-blog @ladyofvelaryon

[sylasthegrim]

Spoils of Surrender

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Lannister reader

Tags: arranged marriage, loss of virginity, plus-size reader, tent sex, oral sex (female receiving), p. in v. sex, hopeful ending

Wordcount: 3,490

As the Lannister armies are defeated by the Northerners and Rivermen, your father Lord Jason surrenders and pledges your hand to Lord Cregan Stark, to seal his change of allegiance.

Cregan Masterlist

Sun was rising over the Riverlands, its warmth barely enough to stop the shaking of the officers gathered in a line in front of Lord Cregan Stark. No doubt had they expected to prevail, but now their arrogance was wiped off their faces and even their commander, Lord Jason Lannister, looked frightful.

The Hightower armies had marched first, emboldened by the presence of Prince Daeron and his dragon, the young Tessarion, and were now stuck in the Riverlands. Caught between the formidable threat of Caraxes, along with a rather large portion of the Rivermen and the Arryn armies, they had been unable to fall back and provide any assistance to the Lannisters. They had been ambushed by unexpected garrisons from the Riverlands and the Northerners, coming down just in time.

“It is a rare quality in a man to admit when he has been bested,” Lord Jason tried to reason as he stood in front of the victor, and Cregan Stark loathed his self-important demeanor. “But I would gladly admit you have prevailed over us, and I would pledge my armies to yours, my lord, so that we might avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Why should I believe your intentions? You are an oath breaker,” he said, his tone low but enough to make the man twitch.

“What would appease you, Lord Stark?” he asked, a slow smile spreading over his features. “Are you in want of a wife, by any chance?”

Cregan almost bristled at the suggestion, mildly insulted that the promise of a lady to warm his bed would be enough to mellow him.

“Mine own daughter is currently being escorted to King's Landing to marry King Aegon,” he explained, referring to the tragic passing of Queen Helaena at the hand of her own despair, following the death of her son. “I am sure she could please you.”

The fact that the man would be so eager to offer his daughter to his enemy displeased him greatly, but he had to admit that marriages were an old way of solving quarrels, and that many a clan in the North had allied itself with others in this way in the past. 

“They should not be far, we had hoped to shield the escort with our own garrison," the Lannister lord continued.

“Send for them to turn back,” Cregan agreed. “And prepare your parchment and quills, I will seal your surrender with a proper treaty.”

It was barely sunrise the next day when an inconspicuous carriage arrived at the campsite—since the surrender the morning prior, they had sent word to Harrenhal and Dragonstone, awaiting their next orders. 

The small door to the carriage opened and you were assisted by a sentry to get down the few steps. Soon you were met with the sight of a full military camp bearing the Stark and Tully banners, and your father came to greet you, looking defeated and uncertain. You had been informed of your house’s defeat on the way back, but the messenger had been unwilling to tell you more, and now your stomach was heavy with worry.

“I don't understand, father,” you exclaimed as he took your hands in his.

“I am afraid our odds have changed, my darling. Our armies are detained by Lord Cregan Stark,” he announced, and you gasped in sudden fear. “But he will release them, and me... on one condition. If the peace treaty is sealed with your hand in marriage. You were ready to do your duty for our family and now that duty is this.”

“The Wolf of the North?” you asked feebly, looking over your father’s shoulder to a group of men dressed in blacks and grays, bearing dark beards and hard expressions. You had heard of Cregan Stark before, and how he had crushed his own uncle's rebellion, and the prospect of being given to him filled you with dread.

“He is not the most delicate man I have encountered, if anything he seems a bit brutish and boorish, but I'm sure you will be able to soothe his rugged edges,” Lord Jason said, curling his fingers under your chin. “Won't you, sweetling?”

“If I must,” you replied tearily.

“You must, my dear,” came the answer, whispered against your forehead with a kiss.

The ceremony had been short, perfunctory, and nothing else had been celebrated—your union wasn’t one to be cheered, but a necessity in a time of war. With no courtship and barely a few words exchanged between you and your husband, you found yourself in a large tent later that evening nervously clutching the cloak he had wrapped over your shoulders.

You tried to reason with your nerves, telling your anxious mind that perhaps a healthy warrior would be better than a wounded king. You had heard of Aegon's promiscuous ways from your uncle, but from what you knew of Lord Stark, he was not inclined to such proclivities. 

“My Lord, may I ask?” you tried to initiate a conversation and your newly wedded husband turned to you, setting his sheathed sword aside. 

“Of course, my lady.”

“Why marriage? Why could my father not swear his allegiance to you and fight at your side?” you grasped at straws, hoping you could still undo what had been done in front of Gods and an entire army of men.

“I am afraid I do not trust your father's word, my lady. Twenty years ago he and his brother swore allegiance to Rhaenyra as King Viserys' named heir,” he recounted, his deep voice rolling easily from his large frame. “They have broken that oath.”

“You think him to be without honor, and yet you accepted me as wife?” you replied, feeling strangely scolded, but he did not answer, no doubt unwilling to indulge your emotional outburst.

You looked around nervously, and this time he came to soothe you. “No one will hear us.”

“You cannot know that. We are in the middle of a war camp,” you replied, stepping aside. 

“I know this is not the comfort you would have wanted, but this is all I can offer,” he said, dipping his head slightly. His calm demeanor unsettled you, and you did not know how to react to his unwillingness to respond with as much emotion as you were showing him.

“I do not care for comfort,” you retorted, very much aware that you sounded like a petulant child.

“Is it the pain that worries you?” he asked gently, and this time you couldn't contain your tears. “I may be in conflict with your father, but I would not hurt you to get back at him.”

He allowed you a moment to breathe and collect yourself, instead turning to a corner of the tent where a table and two chairs had been put. His boots made soft, muted sounds on the carpet that covered the ground, his long cloak grazing his ankles.

You watched timidly as he removed his pelts and unbuckled his leathers, draping them over the back of one of the chairs, and leaving his belts on the table. He looked less intimidating once he was left in his shirt, his gambeson draped over the cloak. His boots were soon discarded as well, leaving dry mud on the carpet.

To your surprise, he didn’t turn to you but to a basin not far, first bringing water up to his face with his large palms, then to the back of his neck; almost as an afterthought, he pulled his linen shirt over his head and used it as one would a cloth, rubbing at his chest and under his arms. You felt your breathing pick up as you could hardly tear your gaze, admiring his thick waist and broad back, tracing with your eyes the healthy layer of fat stretched over bulky muscle.

You swallowed, tearing your gaze away as he turned to you again. He frowned, no doubt wondering why you were still dressed. “I would need help with my gown,” you said quietly and he was quick to come and assist you.

You shivered as he kissed the nape of your neck as soon as he had pulled the laces, then your shoulder once it was exposed. You forced your arms to remain at your side when the gown was dropped to the floor and you realized he had unlaced and lowered your shift as well. 

You gasped aloud as his large hands came around you to cup your breasts, kneading them in his large palms, thumb pressing their peaks. You found yourself leaning back against his sturdy frame, as he was gentler than you expected. Heat pooled between your thighs, surprising you, as his mouth found the soft spot under your ear and he buried the low rumble of his pleased breaths in your hair. 

One of his palms made its way down your abdomen, enjoying the soft hills of flesh, until the tips of his fingers stroked you, rougher than you were used to. You squirmed and he lightened his touch, one of his fingers swiping the swollen nub at the top of your folds until you breathed your very first sigh. 

“Lord Stark,” you called gently, flushing under his endeavor. 

“Might you call me by my name?” he murmured in your ear, pressing himself into you until you felt the hard line of him against your backside. You startled as he lifted you easily and carried you to the bed; you did not know if you would sleep much but if you did, you knew it shall be comfortable. The cot was thick and covered in furs, soft and warm. 

“I would make you comfortable, perhaps breach you first,” he said as he looked upon you, placed among the pelts while he pulled at the laces of his trousers, and you stammered.

“What do you mean?”

“Breach your maidenhead first, before I take you,” he clarified. “The pain will be lessened.”

“Lord Stark…” you flushed, and he only looked at you more intensely at the use of his title. “I would give my maidenhead to you, if only I still had it. The Maester said horse riding no doubt took it…”

He smirked, looking strangely pleased. “I am glad of it. Better that you lost it to a good horse than an inconsiderate husband.”

“I'm sure you would have made me comfortable,” you said politely.

“I would have, and I will,” he replied, dropping his trousers along with his smallclothes, and you averted your eyes. 

You brought your gaze to the ceiling of the tent and the beams that kept the cloth stretched as he climbed atop you, but to your surprise he didn’t push himself up as he settled between your legs. 

Instead he bent down and kissed your core, and you startled at the sudden heat. Gently, he lifted your legs over his broad shoulders. "You may pull my hair if you need to,” he murmured, and you couldn’t find your words before he pressed another kiss between your thighs. 

His tongue was hot and daring, curling inside you, his lips catching on your pearl. His tongue traced your folds, not forgetting a single spot to try, figuring out what made your back arch. He sucked your pearl inside his mouth.

You indeed clung to his hair as you rocked into the wet heat of his mouth, and his large hands wrapped around your thighs encouraged you. He reveled in how your soft flesh yielded to his touch. His own arousal was throbbing between his legs but he willed himself to ignore it—there would be time to satisfy it soon, however it might cause you pain and he would rather you found some pleasure first. 

His jaw was aching by the time you arched into him, finding your peak, and it only fueled his desire. He had been blessed, he thought, to be given such a luscious, pleasant creature. 

As you caught your breath, he got up to get you a drink of wine, and he smiled as you blushed upon seeing his hard cock hanging between his legs.

“Should I not be pleasing you now?” you asked timidly after handing him back the cup—he finished it, cleansing your taste from his mouth in case you would be inclined to kiss him. 

 “You are,” he replied as his gaze roamed your body from your toes to your eyes, taking in your heavy breasts, your round hips and the lovely swell of your stomach.

He allowed a small smile to pull at his mouth as you watched him crawl in the middle of the bed, his long, large legs stretched in front of him. He pulled you to straddle him with confidence, sighing as your weight settled on his lap. 

With a hand to your lower back he pulled you in, rubbing your wet core on his length. He held on to his restraint, allowed himself this simple pleasure until you grew more comfortable. Hands on his shoulders, you watched the contained groans spill from his lips, and he gladly craned his neck as you dipped your head, tentatively seeking him. 

He looked younger up close, with full lips and wise eyes on his smooth face, and you suspected he had shaved his beard for the occasion, as most of his men bore hairy faces. You pressed your lips to his, soft and searching, enjoying the low moan you pulled from him as you curled your tongue against his. 

You kissed slowly but deeply, and he allowed you to take the lead as you were still sensitive from his mouth, your hips rocking steadily. A different kind of heat built in your stomach, less sharp than when he had licked you, but no less enchanting. 

“Cregan,” you murmured as he guided you gently, his rough hand on your hip. 

“I will guide you, my lady,” he reassured as you bore down on his cock. The feeling of its swollen head pushing past your entrance made you gasp, and the stretch burned from his girth as he pushed inside firmly. 

“Shouldn’t you call me by my name?” you gasped, attempting to distract yourself from the discomfort. 

“I would rather call you by mine,” he murmured as he nestled his face in your neck, hiding his groan. The tight grip of your walls around his cock was making him lose his composure and loosening his tongue. “Lady Stark.”

The pain slowly eased as you rocked together, his hands on your waist and thigh to hold you in place. You could tell he was holding himself back, his large frame trembling from the effort as his cock throbbed inside you. 

As he started sucking on your breasts you remembered his earlier words and raked your fingers through his long hair. It was thick and luscious, and a good distraction, but eventually you grew tired, your thighs burning. 

“Allow me to take over,” he hummed against your lips, and you nodded gratefully.

“Tell me how to please you,” you asked, and for a moment he hesitated. 

“Let me know if it causes you discomfort,” he said as he dislodged you gently, and turned you to face away away from him, pushing you atop a pillow. “Would you allow me?” he asked.

You blushed, but nodded, and soon he was kneeling behind you, pushing back into your body as you knelt on the sheets, propped on a large cushion. The angle was deep, the stretch reaching much further into you, and it made you mewl. Cregan could not contain his groans then, hissed behind clenched teeth.

His hips snapped up into you, his large hands holding your waist, one of them occasionally wandering up and down your spine, teasing the sensitive dip of your tailbone. 

You could not deny there was an appeal to it, and you easily lost yourself to the rocking of his body into yours as well as his grunts and groans. They made heat lick at your core, and when his hands tightened you curled your spine in, chasing a different angle, and it earned you a pleased expletive. 

The heavy line of his body molded against your back, his mouth pressing warmth between your shoulder blades, and you mewled again as his fingers wandered between your thighs, seeking your pearl. The sharp heat of his previous attempt when he had disrobed you returned tenfold, and soon you could hardly contain your cries as his hips snapped forward. 

Cregan moaned as he felt you clench around him, growing wetter as you fell apart, and his control snapped. The strong pace he started was selfish, desperate as he was to find his peak and spill within you. 

Your body was a temple he wished to worship, a great expanse of skin and curves made for love, for pleasure beneath the furs. The wildest side of his soul howled at the implication—that you were fruitful, ripe for the taking, in perfect health to bear many healthy children. From your large breast that fell perfectly in his palms, to your thighs and hips that called to be gripped, every inch of you made his mouth water. 

“Cregan,” you called rather timidly, and your hand came to rest on his, guiding his fingers at your core to quicken.

“My golden beauty,” he groaned in your neck as you trembled against him, and his own peak crashed over him. He buried his moans in your nape, and you cried out in the pillow you were resting on, a gentle wave rocking you into its cradle as your husband pulsed and spilled inside of you.

You closed your eyes, your limbs heavy and languid as he lowered you to the furs, mindful of your hair and the seed that was coating the inside of your thighs. He went back to the basin he had cleaned himself at earlier, and brought a wet cloth to wipe at your skin—you flushed as your eye caught the way his manhood hung heavily between his own legs, even now that he was spent.

His chest was flushed as well under his dark hair, and after he had tossed the cloth aside, you pulled him back on the bed to nestle your head upon it. 

"We march east on the morrow,” he explained gingerly as you stretched the glorious expanse of your skin along his and rested your head near his heart—he was not used to softness, you could tell. "A small garrison will escort you to Winterfell."

You hummed quietly, unhappy at the thought of being brought up North to snow and cold, and without your newly wedded husband at that. A mere day ago you were a maiden of House Lannister, to be given to the wretched King Aegon whose claim was challenged, and now you had been taken as a prize of war by none other than the Warden of the North. 

"Unless you would rather remain in the Reach,” he added, no doubt sensing your discomfort. “Perhaps the weather will be more agreeable.”

However you saw through his words and worry curled in your stomach. “You are not sure you will come back,” you concluded, pushing yourself from his chest and looking down at him—his eyes were serious but warm, which was unexpected for two icy gray pools.

“This night with you has filled me with enough warmth to last this war, but only the Gods know. If I do not prevail, you will return to your home,” he informed you with a small, pained smile, and your heart ached knowing you wouldn’t have the time to know more of the warmth held in him. There was a kindness carried in his large frame, but you would get to see more of it.

“I would not go to your home and wait for a raven to cast me out…” you said with slight sorrow. “Neither can I go back to my home, to my father who gave me away to clear his dishonor. I will remain in Riverrun, as I’m sure Lady Tabitha would not turn me away,” you decided, shaking your head at the prospect of returning east. “Come and fetch me when this war is over.”

“I shall, my lady,” he replied as he pushed himself up, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before he climbed off the bed and marched to the chair, picking up his clothes. “Us Northerners are made of harder stuff,” he vowed, turning to look at you, catching your impressed eye. 

“Indeed,” you blushed, and for a moment he hesitated, linens and leathers still in hand. 

“The night is still young…” he swallowed under your gaze, feeling his loins stir again. 

“Lions and wolves aren’t so different… We both share the same vigor and appetites, don’t we?” you tried timidly, allowing your knees to fall apart slowly. With a grin, Cregan dropped his clothes and crawled back on the bed, only to allow you the upper hand, and you toppled him into the furs. 

Dividers by @arcielee. Thank you @zaldritzosrose for beta reading ♡

Author's Note: As the oneshot came to an end, I started thinking of their reunion and I really want to write it. I know I already did a post-war reunion fic but in that one Cregan and his wife knew one another; here they have barely met, it would be quite different. Would anyone be interested in reading that?

Cregan taglist: @kateris-world @elleclairez @watercolorskyy @praline357 @whodis-26

@elle-28 @mari0302 @hb8301 @flawroses @random-shit-i-like-2

@heavenly1927 @vixemi @rockerchick05 @maniccrystalhippie

@melsunshine @siimiasoi @mxtokko @arcielee @apollonshootafar

@thenameswinter99 @maeriontargaryen @youbetterneverknow @multyfangirl @r-3dlips

@yujyujj @lessdepressy @blessedbymoon

Comment to be added to the taglist.

[cregansdingdong]

ʀᴇꜱᴛʟᴇꜱꜱ.

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, p-in-v penetration, swearing, dirty talk, sofa sex, quickie that became a longie, making-out, dry humping, Jace is desperate and he needs to take his frustrations out somehow, theres a brief pussy slap bc it felt right, cream-pie at the end, fully clothed raw dogging; They’re betrothed and this takes place at the start of the DoD, I didn’t make any other specifications cause they were too busy fucking. This is very heavily inspired by his scene in the season finale :3

Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

He’d been pacing in his chambers for the better part of an hour with only his thoughts as company. Jacaerys felt useless, to say the least. Useless, needlessly coddled, suffocating between the walls of Dragonstone. He wanted to be of help to his Queen, to fight for the realm on dragonback against the Greens as was his destiny. His calling. Instead, he was made to spectate at council meetings and wait endlessly for a moment that would never come, it seemed. The ‘what ifs’ kept him spiraling, uncomfortable in his own mind, and he found his feet moving before he could consider a destination. He knew where to go. It was too easy not to. And she wouldn’t mind. His hesitance sent a bit of doubt down to his stomach on whether or not he really wanted to bother her, but she would’ve figured out his sour mood anyway. It was better to face up to himself than keep it locked away inside. The hastening of his footsteps echoed off the spacious corridors, and as if she had sensed he was on his way to her, the doors to her chambers were left ajar—just enough for him to see her peaceful face trained down on her book.

His knuckles gently tapped against the threshold, announcing his presence as he entered. His betrothed glances up, looking twice as she realizes who her visitor is. “Good morrow.” She hummed, legs tucked up and under her comfortably on the divan. His pretty brown eyes took in her room, a place he found himself in considerably often. Depending on the circumstances, obviously. And the hour. Everything was kept neat and tidied, but he could still see the traces of her, where she’d made a sort of home for herself. Books and tomes stacked three or four each on various surfaces, the tea she’d left nearly untouched on the nightstand. He loved it. “Good morrow.” Jace responded, gently shutting the door behind him, head tilted back against it for a moment, unable to hide the frustration that had grown in his own chambers. He said nothing. Unsurprisingly, the words caught in his throat on the way out.

She pats the spot beside her on the divan, the book not yet closed, but her attention had shifted from the pages to his furrowed brows. He obeys, crossing the room to sit by her without second thought. His mind had quieted, at least. Their shoulders brush together lightly as he finally manages to say something else. “What are you reading?” She could tell already that something was off with him, but still indulges in his question, turning it over to show him the cover. Something vaguely historic, he catches, but he was too distracted by her soft hands clutching the book to see much else. “I figured I’d better read a bit more to catch up with the talk of war. This one isn’t entirely as dull as I thought it was going to be, thankfully.” With that, she closes it shut, putting it down on the stand beside the divan, shifting her body just enough to face him. “How are you faring, Jace?”

“I’m well enough.” He muttered, leaning back slightly. It was a lie and she saw right through him without much else. “I just…my mother is worried. She’s trying to hide it behind orders but it's catching up to us now. All this.” He was gesturing to the war, of course, fingers tapping in his lap anxiously. “And I can’t help her. She won’t let me help. I don’t know what to do. I’d much rather be out there, making a real difference to tip the scales, and instead I’m stuck here at Dragonstone doing nothing but waiting.” His betrothed nodded along as she listened, digesting his admittance before considering her own words. “You’re restless, dragon.” There was a truth to it, despite the statement mostly being a gentle tease. The corners of his lips lift just a little at the nickname. “I can’t help it. I feel antsy knowing I have the capabilities to do something, and I’m not allowed to.”

“We’re still in the beginning of this war—and you’re the heir, Jace. Even if there was a battle taking place just outside of Dragonstone, you and the Queen must stay here.” He’d heard that a thousand times before from his mother and the members of her small council, and a thousand times he felt undignified—but hearing it from the lips of his bride-to-be, there was no malice or taunt or scold behind her tone. She was reminding him of a painful candor. His safety mattered. “I feel powerless.” He admits, frustration accompanying the embarrassment that came with the insecurity. “I feel like a little boy begging to add his opinion during council meetings. They respect me because I’m the Prince of Dragonstone, her son, not because I’m good at my responsibilities. What good am I in this war if I can’t help my mother get her throne back?” The last few words exited his mouth with bite, self-loathing and irritation cutting him like a double-edge sword.

“You’re wrong about that.” She reaches out to take his arm, her hand wrapping around his bicep as she intertwines their fingers with the other. “Your living and breathing is the strongest power of all. You’re strengthening your mother’s claim by doing just that. I know you want to fight, to do something that matters. But true power is not just grandiose displays of strength or victories in battle, it's also purpose. The meanings behind our choices. People are raising the Queen’s banners—and those are your banners too. They want to fight for you as much as they do for her, because the two of you are the rightful heirs to the throne. The Greens can try as they wish to Usurp what belongs to the Queen, but their actions are unjustified. King Viserys made his choice and he stuck to it until his passing. That is power.”

“All this book reading is making you wiser than me.” He grumbled, although there wasn’t any malice behind it. “I’d still rather be swinging a sword at some idiot knight instead of sitting within these walls looking pretty—but I understand that you’re right.” He concedes, a small smile gracing his handsome face. She chuckles at that. “I’m sure you’d be pretty no matter what, even muddied and bloodied on the battlefield.” She sighs though, glancing out at the daylight swarming into the room through the window, hand still nestled in his. The gentle touch sent goosebumps up his neck, tightening his trousers with every second her warmth continued to seep into his leather doublet. “The meeting is likely starting soon.” Her voice interrupts his thoughts of nipping at the supple flesh at her neck.

Jace groaned aloud, head dropping back against the divan in pure annoyance, good mood spoiled at the reminder. “I’d honestly rather get swallowed by dragonfire than sit in that room for the next three hours, listening to those old fools drabble on about who knows what.” He turns his body—not unlike a roll—to shield his face on her shoulder, unwilling to part from her. “I want to stay here with you, alone and in peace as we were.” She snorts lightly as he inhales deeply, arm snaking around her waist in want. “The Queen will be expecting us, my prince.” She looks down at his dark curls, twirling one around her finger. His breeches certainly tighten now. “...My interests are elsewhere.” He murmurs, annoyed at the thought of being pulled away, face inching closer to her neck until his lips press against her smooth skin. “Jace.” She warned, although there wasn’t as much resistance in her tone as he’d expected, and a quiet sigh flows past her lips. “We can’t be late. That’s disrespectful to the council members.”

“The denial of devouring you because of those ancient rats only serves to make me want to go even less.” He shifts in place, head still dipped by her jugular, hands bracing the back of the divan with newfound purpose, trapping her between the corner of it and his own scalding body. She gasps as his teeth sink into her skin, earning a low sound of pleasure from his throat. “We can be quick if the meeting matters to you that much.” He mutters against her, a slight tease as he nips at her harder this time, his nose nudged into her jaw. “I don’t need to wait until nightfall to make you see the stars, my Lady.” Her remaining restraint crumbles at that, hands coming to undo the lacings of his breeches. “..Fine. But you can’t touch my hair.” He seemed like he wanted to protest at the idea of limited touching, but that gleam in her eye meant she was serious, and it was likely they’d miss the meeting as a whole trying to figure out how to braid her hair that way again. “Okay. Deal.”

His mouth returns to her throat, biting and sucking greedily with reverence, his hands finding purchase at her hips to start bunching her skirts up. “Jace..” She exhales, shuddering at the way he was marking her skin—he wasn’t leaving any stones unturned, and they were going to show. Her fingers plucked at the lacings with success, tugging him closer to her now by the waistline of his breeches. His fists clench around the fabric of her gown, a deep grunt echoing from his chest as his clothed cock pressed into her plush inner thigh. “Gods—I need more.” Jace retracts himself from her neck, pulling her body down the divan, just enough to lay her flat on her back. She wraps her thighs around his hips, a strangled moan failing to come out as he kisses her, pushing himself against her core. He rolled his hips down with a fury, nothing deliberate about it—just to feel something, to get out the pent up desperation he’d felt for weeks since his return.

His tongue explores her mouth with an eagerness that made them both flush, using her skirts as purchase to buck himself harder into her cunt. “You make me this way.” He grunts against her lips. His stomach was already tightening with every bit of friction they could get. “Do you understand? You’re just so pretty and you smell divine—fuck.” Jace grits his teeth, biting at her lower lip. She was a panting mess beneath him, unable to do anything other than take it, digging her nails into his shoulders to cope with how good it felt. His weight pinned her down deliciously, hips still incessant and rubbing against her with enough force to make the divan squeak. It was like music to his ears. “I’m already close just feeling your sweet cunt, my love.” Jace pulls up her gown a bit more, almost up to her ribs, to watch the tent in his pants glide up her glistening folds like a man bewitched. “You need to see it–” He grunts, bracing himself on the armrest behind her head, lifting himself just enough to make a space between their bodies. The sight was a wicked one.

“Look at the way you take me.” He urges, voice hoarse this time, eyes meeting hers from above. “Soaked enough to wet my breeches—and I’m not even inside of you yet.” Her nails dig harder into him, a breathless whine at the disbelief of it all. “Please Jace!” She mewls, shivering, and he grins, snapping his hips against hers with reverence. “Please what, my love? Use your words.” His tone was mocking, teasing, and eager to make her squirm. The quiet shuffling of their clothes was driving her to insanity—and she wanted more than anything to pull it all off, but they had places to be very soon. “I need—Gods! I need you, Jace!” He was more than pleased by that, and he somehow carries enough restraint to stop himself from finishing right there. Jacaerys pulls himself back to tug down his breeches down just enough, his cock momentarily springing back to hit his stomach.

She melts at the sight of his tip—red and leaking shiny precum back toward his shaft. He was the perfect size for her; not too big or too small, and pretty just like the rest of him. Jace hisses quietly as the sensitivity hits him, dipping himself between her folds just to savor the moment. “Mmm look at your pretty cunt, my love. So beautiful.” He murmurs, his own thighs trembling as he slides his shaft through your slick. “Thighs up, sweet girl.” Her eyes roll back as his tip presses into her little bud, the motion agonizingly slow, and she nearly hadn't heard him. She braces her thighs to her chest as much as her bunched up gown would allow, gaze locked on Jace's angled face that was furrowed in concentration. She watches, face reddened, as he spits down onto himself, lubricating the way even though it probably wasn't needed with how soaked she was. Suddenly, his palm comes down on her clit, surprising her with equal amounts of pain and pleasure—she nearly came with a meek gasp of his name, inadvertently yanking his hair. “Jace!”

“Sorry. Couldn't help myself.” He grins, lips meeting hers in a sweet peck. “I want you to look at me when I slip it, love—look nowhere else but right here.” As he guides his tip inside, her breath hitches, captivated by the stretch of him and the glossy brown eyes staring down at her, hazed with lust. A growl erupts from his throat, feeling suffocated now by her walls, and he couldn't get enough. Jace wasn't one to swear often in front of his wife-to-be, but the obscenities flew from his mouth like she was his prayer, sinking himself slowly inch-by-inch. Not that his betrothed was in any better condition. She was clawing at him now, whining and squirming uncontrollably at the delectable sting that came with taking Jace. It hurt so good, and she was sure she'd throw a fit if he dared to pull out for whatever reason. Meeting be damned. Seated fully in her hot cunt, Jacaerys grips the back of her right thigh, pacing himself to allow her to adjust first.

They wait in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, no noise in the room other than their soft pants, and a few breathless giggles as Jace shields her eyes from the attacking sunlight. Silently, she cues him to continue. “Good girl.” He murmurs, starting slowly with gentle strokes that make her stomach warm. “Taking me so well, my love.” He hovered over her still, his other hand braced against the armrest as he watched himself disappear inside of her, a shiver rolling down his spine. “So good.” She mewls, leaking around his cock. Jace leans his head down to connect their lips again, tongue darting into her mouth like he owned her, his free hand taking a greedy handful of her breast through the gown. Moans swallowed down between kissing and breathing, the only sounds that could be heard were the chirping birds and the vulgar slapping of skin as the pace quickened. She could only hope no one would come looking for them—or walk down the corridor even. She couldn't recall Jace locking the door behind him. “I'm close—” He grunts, pulling back from her lips to rock his hips with fervor. “I'm so fucking close, love.”

The divan beneath them was far more noisy now than it had been when they were grinding. Jace had half a mind to let the damned thing break, especially with how tight she squeezed around him, sucking up every inch he provided. Outside, the bells of Dragonstone rang, signaling high noon was upon them—Gods, the meeting. “We need to hurry up!” She pants, thigh hooking around him, just as eager to come. “You promised this would be quick!” Irritation bubbles up in his stomach, and Jace gathers her in his arms, fed up with the thought of having to sit through yet another council meeting. “You want me to hurry up?” He grunts, although it came out as a hiss more than anything, his left foot planting firmly on the floor beside the divan. “Fine.” She couldn't make herself regret her demand even if she tried. Jace stood up straight as a board, his sweet girl being gripped by her gown as he fucked up into her with reckless abandon. She couldn't even remember what it felt like to breathe when her release came, senses flooding with pleasure like she'd been numb her entire life. His cock was hitting that spot like a bullseye, not stopping even after she started yanking on his hair from the overstimulation.

“Do you like it when I hurry, love?” He rasped breathlessly by her ear, one arm around her middle now while his right hand cradled the back of her neck. “You certainly like when I take out all my frustrations on your pretty cunt—Gods, I'm coming. I'm fucking coming sweet girl.” Jace chokes, exhaling sharply through his nose as his hips began to stutter, losing his brutal pace. “Can I come inside of you? Please?!” The beg falling from his plush lips sent a thrill down her spine, and she moaned out her agreement even after he asked twice for confirmation. That's all it takes for Jace to press her into the divan again, fucking her hard, fast, and sloppy, his body laying over hers in the desperation of chasing his release. He buries himself against her chest, coming deep within her as a long, drawn out groan escapes him. The relief was instantaneous; anxiety gone, frustration fucked out of him, and only bliss was left behind. Balls deep, he couldn't tell where she began and he ended. Silence. Rapid breaths. Stilled hips, other than an occasional twitch as they reeled from their orgasms. He lifts his face from her chest weakly, a lazy, sated smile gracing his handsome features. “Sweet girl..” He starts. Her eyes flick up to look at him, equally as spent and satisfied. “Mmhm?”

“I think we're late for the council meeting.”

[alrightyxaphroditee]

nsfw alphabet for jacaerys velaryon

word count: 2.02k words pairing: jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader warning(s): explicit sexual content, minors dni author's note: just a quick self-indulgent set of headcanons to warm up my writing muscles! I haven't written in 3 years so I figured this was the perfect way to get back into it. hope you all enjoy ₊˚⊹♡

nsfw content beneath the cut!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jace is not one to shy away from aftercare. He loves the feeling of vulnerability as he lays with you in the afterglow, his arms encircled around your body tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Sometimes he’s very chatty, other times he allows his actions to do the speaking for him. Gentle caresses of your skin, chaste kisses pressed to your cheeks and forehead, soft squeezes of the supple flesh of your thighs - his worship of your body extends beyond the act of sex. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hair is both his favorite and least favorite part of him. On the one hand, it’s a stark reminder of the reality of his parentage, something that haunts him day in and day out. And yet the feeling of you tugging on his hair as he slowly slides in and out of you nearly sends him to heaven prematurely. He takes pride in the way that he looks, and always makes sure that his hair looks perfect.

His favorite part of you is your lips. He adores the way that you bite your lip when you’re deep in thought, often imagining that it was him biting it instead. He loves to run his thumb along your bottom lip as you’re on your knees preparing to take him into your mouth. He shivers at the feeling of your lips trailing down his neck as you ride him, the action magnifying all pleasurable sensations by tenfold.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jace will always take the opportunity to finish inside of you. Even if you are not actively trying for a pregnancy, he sometimes cannot bring himself to pull out first. If you specifically tell him not to come inside of you, he’ll likely spill on your belly or your thighs. He would never do anything that you were uncomfortable with.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Bonus points if you have silver hair and/or are a Targaryen Hahaha what (credits to my bestie bc I actually couldn’t come up with this on my own, thanks @tasha-writes)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jace is a virgin the first time you lay together, but that does not mean he has no tricks up his sleeves. He is familiar with female anatomy to an extent, and knows the basics of how to please you. Although clumsy at first, he is an attentive lover, and quickly picks up on what makes you shiver, what makes you clench your thighs, and what makes you gasp in pleasure. He prefers to focus on giving you your pleasure, and takes pride in bringing you to your peak over and over again - that blissed out look on your face brings him to his knees every time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Jace favors any position that allows him to kiss you with no problem and that gives him an unobscured view of your face. A few favorites are the mating press, lotus, cowgirl, and missionary.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

To him, sex is an act of love, so he does not mind laughing during the act. After all, what is the point if you cannot have fun with it?

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jace has exceptional hygiene, although he doesn’t put a lot of thought into grooming down there. Occasionally he will do a quick trim, but otherwise he leaves it all natural. His hair is dark and curly, just like the hair on his head.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

This man is incredibly romantic, every time you have sex it’s a tender and intense experience. He is huge on making eye contact with you, savoring the expressions you make as he drives in and out of you, reaching the deepest parts of your body. When he’s close, he almost always presses his forehead pressed against yours, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. When he comes, he presses his face into your neck, compliments and declarations of love rolling off his tongue over and over again.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Only once before he married you, and he felt immensely guilty afterwards, as though he had dishonored you. Only when you are unavailable to him after marriage. When he leaves you behind for a political meeting, or when you are away visiting family without him, he will indulge himself. It is never satisfactory, as he has grown accustomed to the warmth of your body, leaving him to miss you even more.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jace is pretty vanilla as a whole, however, he does have a few mild kinks that he enjoys exploring with you. He has a pretty strong praise kink - if you compliment him during sex (or at all really), an involuntary whimper will likely fall from his lips and his hips will stutter. He’ll have to fight the urge not to finish right then.

His praise kink goes both ways, though. He’s very chatty during sex and 99.9% of the words coming out of his mouth are compliments directed towards you.

Additionally, he enjoys being edged on occasion, especially if you’re on top of him taking your own pleasure. 

The idea of you carrying his heir fills him with pride, and a fiery heat unlike anything he has ever felt before. There is a reason he loves to spill himself inside of you, beyond simple pleasure. Jace is a family man through and through, so the idea of making you round with his child definitely spurs him on.

Also, hair pulling. This one is pretty self explanatory. Have you seen this man’s hair?

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Preferably in private, he’s not shy about the way that he feels about you, and sometimes the thought of someone overhearing gives him a spike of adrenaline, but overall Jace is opposed to anyone potentially being able to walk in on you. Because of that, he sticks to pretty mundane locations - your bedchambers, his bedchambers, the bathing chambers, and when he’s feeling particularly adventurous (typically after a couple goblets of wine) once or twice in the dragonpit.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It really does not take much to get Jace going - a caress of his cheek, you playing with his hair, a soft smile at him from across the room…any attention that he gets from you has the potential to rile him up.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Jace would not be willing to share, and would probably feel a bit hurt if you were to ask for a threeesome. He already feels as though he is not good enough (for you, for his mother, for the realm, the list goes on…), so this would be an especially cruel stab through the heart. 

Jace likes for sex to be a way for him to worship you, so anything that could potentially harm you is completely out of the question. This includes choking, slapping, biting, and anything else that could be considered rough. In the same vein, he would be entirely unwilling to participate in degradation towards you of any kind. After all of the whispers that he has endured throughout his life, he would hardly want to bestow the same upon you, regardless of the intentions behind the jabs. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jace definitely prefers giving, enjoys receiving sometimes but prefers not to finish that way. He’s awkward and clumsy at first, but as I mentioned above, he’s very quick to learn what you like. He particularly enjoys pressing his tongue all the way inside of you and using his thumb to rub gentle circles on your clit, reveling in the reactions he pulls from you. 

He loves the feeling of your juices all over his lips and chin, but loves the taste of you even more. Jace is prone to making lewd comments about your taste, completely shameless and drunk on the high of giving you pleasure. 

He would be content with you being his last meal.

He enjoys receiving as well, but never asks for it outright. He prefers getting his pleasure from other acts, so he would honestly be content without it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jace tends to be more slow and sensual - he loves to take his time with you. He’s very romantic, and knows how to hit each and every angle that has you squirming and sighing in pleasure. If he’s feeling particularly in the mood, he’ll sometimes fuck you with slow, hard strokes, or fast, shallow strokes. He refuses to be rough with you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If the two of you have a quickie, there's never any penetration involved. He’ll push you against the wall of your chambers before a council meeting and lap at your core until you’re begging him to stop, but that’s as far as he’s willing to go when it comes to quickies.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jace isn’t much of a risk taker when it comes to sex. He’s willing to experiment from time to time if you suggest it, but he is very, very rarely the one to suggest it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last a good bit. On average he’ll push for two rounds - one round where he spends the majority pleasuring you in a way that does not include penetration (aka eating you out), then fucks you and finds his release a bit…too early. The second time he fucks you for a good while and pulls another orgasm from you both. Unless one of you is too tired to follow through, this is typically the route he will take.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

If it was up to Jace, there wouldn’t be the use of any toys. If he did use them, it would not be his idea, but he would use it for you. He wouldn’t be comfortable with the use of toys on himself, though, so the only toys you two would ever use would be for you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jace is definitely not one to tease by nature. He loves to bring you to your release, and wastes no time in doing so. But, if you’re into teasing, he’ll try it out (and might even like it) for you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Definitely vocal. Lots of soft groans, definitely moans if/when you give him head, whimpers if you run your tongue up the side of his neck. Overall, he’s very reactive to your touch both physically and audibly.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He bites his lip and screws his eyes shut when he’s concentrating really hard on not finishing too early.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

7in/17.78cm , curved upward, thick. I don’t know, I feel like it’s pretty and he knows it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jace has a very healthy sex drive for someone his age. He isn’t insufferable about it, though.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He tends to fall asleep thirty minutes to an hour afterwards. He will not sleep until he feels that he has shown you the proper amount of attention and affection. Sometimes he’ll suggest taking a bath together before heading off to bed. He’ll take any excuse to take care of you ◡̈

author's note: thank u for reading! I hope I did him justice, this is my first time writing for him :,)

my requests are OPEN! ◡̈ dividers by cafekitsune

[netegf]

So We Won't Forget

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you meet rafe cameron at a grief support group while he struggles with the loss of his father. he's trying to be a better man, and you can't help but love him for it.

warnings: 18+, sensitive topics such as death and mourning, use of Y/N, fluff and flirting, challenging sibling dynamics, smut (P in V, size kink, lots of praise, some teasing), mentions of past drug use, rafe is reforming (?) lol

word count: 7.7 k

Rafe didn’t know what he was thinking.

He knew Barry had given him the bright pink flier as a joke more than anything else. And he’d taken it as a joke, at least after the initial roll of his eyes, too. Ended up crumpling the sheet of paper and chucking it into the garbage can near his bedside, muttering some iteration of ‘yeah man, that’s real funny’.

His dad was dead. For real, this time. He didn’t need some corny grief support group where people sat in a circle and sang their sorrows.

He needed a fucking time machine.

Still, he had done it.

Sleep was getting harder and harder to find these nights. The temperature never felt right.

Too hot when he pulled white sheets up and over his bare hips and too cold when he let them slip down to his feet.

He rolled his body over to his side with the intention of scrolling through his phone which had become increasingly dry since his return from Guadeloupe.

But then his hand was reaching down into the garbage can and he was squinting in the dark to make out an address he’d never seen before.

It was no wonder why. The Church was so far in the outskirts of Figure 8, it might as well have been on the Cut. But it wasn't, and that was one of the only reasons why he'd reconciled with making the drive.

It was a shoddy building with peeling paint and a slanted roof, and it took him a whole twenty minutes to step outside of his truck and through the front doors.

The place gave him the chills. He felt better thinking it was because it was so run-down and he was a Kook through and through, but a part of him knew it was for a different reason entirely. He wasn’t completely sure he wouldn’t burst into flames upon entry. It wasn't long ago that he’d melted a fucking cross for Christ’s sake.

Like the man standing at the entry-way can read his mind, he claps a hand on Rafe’s shoulder and flashes him a reassuring smile. He must've been staring guardedly at the blocked off pew.  

“We just use the space on this side of the building.” The man says, gesturing to the large room with groups of scattered chairs and a long table at the back with pastries and refreshments. “There’s no, uh,” he clears his throat, then continues with a knowing glance, “religious affiliation.”

Rafe manages a nod, his fingers feeling numb and jittery all at once. His eyes rake over the room once more. More specifically, the people in it.

Some of them look like they’re itching to talk, while others look so boxed up it makes the silence in the room more chilling. Rafe decides he connects more with the latter, but there’s a spot he can’t quite reach at the swell of his shoulder blade that suddenly feels like it could use a good scratch.

“I’m Leon, by the way. The program manager.” The man, Leon, introduces himself. “Help yourself to some snacks, then grab a seat. We’ll start shortly.”

Leon shoots Rafe another smile, then saunters over to the front of the room where he sits down by a dingy whiteboard. 

Briefly, he wrestles the impulse to sprint out through the double-doors and scrub the very essence of the place off his body in a scalding shower. Sterile and dizzying, just how he likes them. 

But then his feet are trudging clumsily toward the snack table, and he downs a hot cup of coffee that splashes uncomfortably against the acid in his stomach before filling an empty chair at the back. 

"Let's see. As you take your seats and feel out the room, some of you might be asking yourselves why you even bothered to show up. Why don't we take a moment to remind ourselves why?"

To you, the introduction by the man you now know as Leon leaves something to be desired. A reminder wouldn't be necessary because forgetting wasn't the problem. 

The problem was your best friend was gone, and nothing in the world could get your mind off it. It was a strange kind of irony, really, talking about her so you could end up talking about her less. 

What better place and time was there to mourn than the beautiful Outer Banks in the summer?

At least, that's what your mother had said in a chipper tone as you rode the ferry off the mainland together.

Taking in the ambience of your surroundings, you seriously doubt she's right. The AC is blasting and you still feel sweat beading on your forehead. The place had the humidity of a greenhouse and none of the natural light. 

"We'll start our conversation small. With a partner." Leon says, breaking you out of your trance. "I'll walk around the room and pair you up."

The friendly man that Leon is, it takes him a while to get to the back of the room where he pauses in front of you.

"Alright, so that leaves... you two!"

Leon points vaguely to a figure sitting at the far corner, who lifts his head for a second to meet your eyes. A flash of blue before he looks back down again. You notice that he's not moving a muscle and probably doesn't intend to. 

"Guess I'll come to you." You mutter shortly under your breath, dragging your chair behind you as you move closer. 

Taking a seat in front of the quiet stranger, the first thing you notice is that the top of his head is pretty. Then he lifts his chin and you come to realize that the rest of him is even prettier. 

Dirty blonde hair that seems to be growing out after a cut sticks to his forehead, slightly damp with sweat. Angular jaw, beautiful blue eyes, soft pink lips pressed into a frown. He gazes at you suspiciously. 

"Rafe." 

Your eyebrows furrow, temporarily stalling your ogling. "What?"

"My name." He squints at you, pointing a slender finger to the whiteboard on which Leon has messily scrawled the words: 'introduce yourselves and explain why you're here'. 

"Rafe." You repeat, trying the name out in your mouth. It feels harsh but satisfying. Like a swear word. "I'm Y/N." 

He nods, but doesn't say anything else, his eyes flickering between the floor and a black truck you can make out through the window - like he's worried it might disappear. 

You steal a glance at the pairs around you who seem to be getting far deeper into conversation than the two of you. 

"I think we're supposed to talk." You mumble.

Rafe nods again, and his lips part for a moment, but then they close again. You fight the urge to glare at Leon for dooming your progress before it could even begin.

"I can go first." You offer with a shaky breath. "I'm here because my best friend, Stacy... died. It was, um, a car crash." 

Hating the way the silence intensifies between you, you continue. 

"I don't really know what to say. Just that she was kind of my favourite person. And she, uh... always made me feel like I was the only one in the room, you know? She just wanted to make you laugh and it was like nothing else mattered. Just us, living in our own little world."

Rafe feels a certain tightness in his chest, pressing down on his sternum.

"You're lucky." He scoffs.

It makes your face fall.

He'd tried to make it sound like a good thing, but it came out ugly, like it always seemed to. 

"I'm... lucky that my friend died in a violent car crash? Gee, Rafe. Your empathy has no bounds.” 

The turn of your voice makes Rafe's spine stiffen, his brows stiffly pinched together as he attempts to soothe over his words.

"No, I didn't mean it like that, okay?" 

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Suddenly, the lips that you once thought were pretty look more like what they really are. Annoying, when they move. His crisp blue polo and stupidly expensive watch are starting to get on your nerves.

"I just meant that you - look, at least you had her. That's more than a lot of people can say."

That was rich coming from a guy that looked like he had everything in the world at his disposal.

"Who'd you lose? Your gardener?" You quip. 

Rafe stares bitterly then looks down at his lap where his fingers are fidgeting.  

"My dad."

You feel your stomach churn with guilt, face getting hot.

It's the way he says it that pains you. Like it hurts him physically to get the words out. You know that feeling like the back of your hand. You wish you didn't, but you do.

Suddenly, Rafe's rigidity feels less abrasive and more heartbreaking. You wonder how long it's been, hesitant to ask because it might make you feel worse. Maybe you deserved it for leading with pettiness instead of compassion. You remind yourself that you're grieving and messy, too. 

"Oh." You choke out when an apology feels tight on your tongue.

He lifts his head up to meet your eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. "Yeah. Oh."

"I shouldn't have said that, Rafe. I'm sorry." 

"No, I get it. I shouldn't have said that either. That way, at least. I'm trying to be better at... not saying the wrong thing." He breathes, shoulders falling. "I fuck it up constantly."

"You're not, you didn't." You shake your head. "I'm just on edge. Plus, I get really cranky when I'm hot, and it's boiling in here. Promise." 

You feel a sense of relief when he cracks a smile at that, wanting to savour it. 

"And...," you trail off, catching his attention. 

"And?"

Your gaze runs over him, from the top of his handsome face, down to his shiny designer boots. 

"You're textbook Kook. I guess my whole 'eat the rich' thing got the best of me." 

Rafe laughs softly, feeling a rush in his chest. For a second, he's not thinking about a certain series of events that looms over him everywhere he goes like some sort of 'never off the clock' paralysis demon. Nor any of the bad decisions he made that led him up to that point and drove him deeper into the ground after the fact. He remembers back when he was just a regular asshole. An arrogant rich kid with poor impulse control and penchant for adrenaline. 

He's debated if he would choose to go back thousands of times. 

Part of him wants to.

He had a lot less to worry about. More parties to throw, more girls to take up to his bedroom after very little flirting on his part, more blow to keep him heady and distracted.

Help keep his mind off of the arguments with his dad.

His dad, who blew a hole in his life, and now, was gone... forever. It's something he'd imagined more times than he could count, but he would have never guessed this feeling. 

Nothing felt good anymore. Like he didn't deserve any release because his dad wasn't here to give him shit, so he'd endured nothing to warrant it. He'd started feeling guilty, more than usual, and in a more physical sense. He could feel it when he woke up. Maybe it was the guilt that woke him up every day, gasping for air and clutching his chest. It was starting to sink in and sometimes he spent the whole of the night crying. It was like his soul was being reformed. He drove to a Church, instead of calling Barry, to feel something again. 

He secretly hoped for a big, ambiguous power that would slap him awake and help him trek forward like a strong wind behind his back. But believing took a certain lack of resistance and if his father's eyes were anything to go by, Rafe was stubborn like a grease stain.

Then there was the risk of believing and still watching everything spin into chaos around you. Feeling stupid that you hoped for something different.

But things are different now. 

He's still an asshole, sure. But he's trying to work on that. 

"You're not wrong." He admits, grinning slightly. "You been to the island before?"

"Couple times. I know how you guys talk." You shrug, amused at how the jargon piqued his interest. "It's been a pretty long time, though. Don't think we've ever met."

He nods, like that makes sense to him. You shiver when his blue eyes run you up and down. 

"I would've remembered you."

Before you can respond, Leon makes his way over to the two of you, smiling to himself, mostly, because the conversation he'd manufactured appeared to be a success.

"You two look chatty." He says brightly, eyes flickering over Rafe's posture, far more laid-back than when he first walked in. 

"Just doing what you asked." Rafe replies shortly.  

"Yeah, 'course. Just that you two seemed quiet, but turns out, you're chatty. It's nice, that's all. Keep up the good work, folks!" Leon says the last part loud enough for the room to hear, enthusiastically clapping his hands together while he does it. 

"Dude's weird." 

You chuckle at Rafe's comment, watching as Leon eagerly prods at another pair. You turn back to him and shrug. 

"Definitely weird. Kinda sweet, though?"

The rest of the session continues with Leon speaking to the group, promising that next time, sharing would take place in a larger circle for deeper community. You don't miss the way Rafe's knee bounces up and down next to you. At one point, you gently put one of your palms on his knee to keep it still. You feel his stare burning a hole in the side of your face, but you don't look at him. Just a hint of a smile on your lips. 

It makes Rafe nervous. He feels something different, and he likes it, but it makes him nervous. 

"Hey... you gonna come next week?" You ask him as you sling your bag over your shoulder, trying to make sure your voice doesn't sound so hopeful. 

He pauses for a second. 

"Uh, maybe. Maybe, I'm going to have to check on a few things first." By a few things, he meant Barry. Though they'd unloaded most of the cross gold, they still worked together sometimes. Mostly because they wanted to.

He was an unlikely friend. Gruff and hard to control, but in his corner.

If Rafe was going to show up again, he didn't want Barry finding out. He'd never hear the end of it - 'you're getting soft on me, Country Club!'.

"Okay." You chirp, turning to leave and taking all of three steps before stopping again with your bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

Fuck it. 

"Hey Rafe?" You spin back, sounding hopeful and a little desperate, but honest, at least, because you are those things. 

"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes falling all around you. 

"I really hope you come."

Quickly, you turn back around and make your way to the door, hand barely gripping the knob when you finally hear his voice.

"Y/N."

You look over your shoulder to meet tender blue eyes. 

"I'll be there."

Turns out, sharing circles are harder than they look. For Rafe, at least. 

You spoke about Stacy so easily. You spoke well of her so easily.

When Rafe heard your shaky exhales next to him, he clamped his warm, calloused hand over yours on instinct, listening thoughtfully to the way you described her favourite hobbies. The ones you loved along with her, and the ones you loved to make fun of her for. It was a good reminder for him, that the fruits of his instincts could be tender. An animal with at least some softness. He wasn't always so sure.

He spent a fair amount of time comforting Sarah and Wheezie when they cried as kids, but he was also usually the reason they started crying in the first place. 

After that first meeting, you awkwardly made your way out of the Church and Rafe followed behind you shortly after. When he watched you undo your bike lock, he puffed his red cheeks out and approached you with a slight shake in his knees. He wasn't nervous, it was just hot out - is what he tried to convince himself. 

He offered you a ride back to the house you were staying at with your mom in exchange for your number. You strapped yourself in his passenger seat with a smile on your lips and a special kind of spark flared up in your chest, the kind that makes you acutely aware of the sweat coating the back of your neck, sticking the hair to the skin, when your eyes met his in the rearview mirror. 

Rafe didn't look like the kind of guy that seemed well-intentioned when he asked for a girl's number. But he surprised you when he texted you once he got home. Then again all through the evening. And, in the days that followed. 

Between the texts and the phone calls, you covered a lot of ground. Now, Rafe knew about the time you peed yourself at an elementary school book fair, and you knew that he slept with his first dog's collar months after she died. You gushed about your favourite kinds of junk food while he raved about the hand-spun milkshakes at the club. 

Rafe's turn to speak in the circle was a mess, to say the least. He could hardly spit a few words about Ward, too busy navigating pregnant pauses and his newfound habit of stuttering. He thinks he might've called Ward 'nice', then very quickly grimaced after. When he heard his own voice through the rush in his ears, he thought it sounded nothing like him. He could barely even feel your gentle hand rubbing at his back when his words broke and cracked, leaving his throat with a nasty burn. 

Though Rafe knew his relationship with his dad was strained, he loved him.

It wasn't a comforting feeling, but it was the truth, and all he had. They both could have done better, he reminds himself. God knew that was true.

But at one point, he'd just been a kid. He needed help. He needed his father who always seemed to find business elsewhere. It made sense that talking about Ward was hard.

It made mourning him harder.

A perpetual flurry of emotions that kept his mind up at night and his hands restless. Anger and sadness always dominating the rest, but fighting their own fight with each other.

Anger when he thought about the ways his dad favoured Sarah.

Sadness when he remembered those rare early mornings Ward woke Rafe up for a surprise boat trip, just the two of them.

Back then, Rafe used to stay up entire nights in excitement at the prospect of spending some time alone with his father. Eventually, he had to force himself to accept that their last trip together had long passed, and right under his nose.

"Was it bad?" He groans, eyes screwed shut as he rubs a hand over his taut jaw, working lazily on a piece of gum.

He's still sitting when the room clears out. You stand to haul your bag over your shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile that he absorbs fully. Bright blue eyes drinking you in. 

"No, Rafe. It was fine. Everyone's too busy focusing on their own shit. You got through it just fine."

He gives you an unconvinced look, quirking a brow. Then he tugs at your bag, holding it instead. 

"You're lying." He frowns. With a hint of amusement in his voice, "God, and you're a bad liar, too."

Biting your lip, you take Rafe's hand in yours and drag him towards the exit, giggling quietly to yourself. He trails behind you, slowly shaking his head. He grins when you skip past the metal rack at the front of the building and pull him into the parking lot. You didn't bring your bike today. 

"C'mon, big guy. Let's get you a milkshake." You tease. "I know a place."

He rolls his eyes and laughs, letting you lead him in the opposite direction of his truck.

"You're going the wrong way, dumbass."

"I don't know, Rafe. It tastes kinda funny."

"That's because you mixed chocolate, vanilla, and peach. Who the fuck does that?"

Rafe sips on his chocolate milkshake as he sits across from you in the booth, an amused smirk tugging at his pink lips. The Island Club is somehow nicer inside than it is outside. The cherry-wood of the tables shines under the mood lighting and even near capacity, there's enough room for decent conversation. 

You pout, stirring your paper straw around in the metal cup. You perk up with an idea. 

"Let me try yours."

Rafe starts to laugh, eyes widening in protest. You're sweet, he thinks. He'd probably give you anything if you asked.

But that didn't mean he'd do it. He liked to think he was a little more challenging than that. 

"No, you made your bed." He shakes his head, gulping down another sip. It makes his Adam's apple bob. You stare mostly unashamed and lick your lips without thinking. "Now lie in it."

He watches your eyes get big for all of three seconds before realizing he'd lie right beside you.  

"Fuck, fine." He relents, taking his lip under his teeth, pang in his chest. "Don't look at me like that."

With two fingers, he pushes his cup in your direction and you hum happily as you sip from it. A sort of warm feeling in your stomach as you realize Rafe's mouth was on the same straw you're sucking on just moments before. 

"Do you know that guy? He's staring at you really hard." You mumble through the milkshake, but Rafe's eyes are fixated on your saliva-coated lips. 

"Huh?"

You turn your gaze to a guy at the bar. He's been staring at the back of Rafe's head for the better part of five minutes, squinting his eyes every so often as if to confirm it's really Rafe he's looking at. As he starts to come closer, you begin to understand why - his button-up shirt is half undone, his tawny brown hair disheveled, a far-away look in his blue eyes - he's drunk off his ass. 

Rafe turns to look. 

"Shit. Yeah, he's my sister's... long story." He sighs, forcing a smile as the guy approaches your table. "Hey, Top. What's going on, man?"

"Rafe!" The guy, Top, slurs excitedly. "I never see you around anymore, man. Where you been?" 

Then his eyes run over you and he chuckles. "Maybe I should be asking who you been with." 

It was true, Rafe had been sort of MIA since Sarah had returned with the news about his dad.

Well, except for that one incident. He hoped Topper was too drunk to remember that. In any case, he hadn't felt that guilty about their fading friendship - Topper had been MIA, too, ever since he went 'Rafe-crazy' and lit up the Chateau. He supposes that was his fault, too. 

Maybe he was avoiding him on purpose.

Topper reminded him of all the skeletons in his closet. It was hard enough living with the shame without a walking, talking reminder of his past. A lot of bravado and hair gel, is what it was. He regretted nearly everything now but sometimes he worried that if he spent enough time in the same places he used to, with the same people he used to, he'd somehow switch back. 

Rafe stiffens a little, but he gazes at you warmly. "This is Y/N. We met at, uh... she's..." 

"New." You finish for him. "Rafe's been showing me around."

At that, Rafe gives you a look. It made it sound like...

"Ah, that famous Cameron hospitality." The guy snorts. "I'm Topper."

The words 'Nice to meet you, Topper' die on your lips when he rams a hand aggressively on Rafe's shoulder and starts to laugh to himself, as if recalling memories. "Me and this guy? We go way back, Y/N. Best of friends, really."

You nod half-heartedly, shifting awkwardly in your seat. The leather of the chair underneath your bare thighs is starting to stick to the skin uncomfortably. 

"Alright, man, well it was good seeing you-," Rafe attempts to wave him off, but Topper doesn't let up.

"Look, dude." He whispers, lowering his head to Rafe's ear. He's not being as quiet as he thinks he is, and the next part of what he says makes you shudder. "I heard about your dad."

Rafe feels a wave of defeat wash over him. So, Topper wasn't too drunk to remember. 

It was one of the first nights after he'd heard about his dad. He'd spent as long as he could in the Island Club, ordering drink after drink, until he stumbled outside and spent a good chunk of the night puking his guts out. Unfortunately, that wasn't before letting his tongue fall a little too loose, and explaining to Topper how his dad hadn't really died on My Druthers because he was in Guadeloupe swimming in gold. But now, now he was really dead. And he wasn't coming back. And he'd barely said goodbye. 

"I'm really sorry, man. I know things have been really fucking weird, to say the least. But I'm sorry you're going through that. Again." Topper spills, feeling completely uninhibited. "Well, I guess it's only real this time around. But... you wouldn't have known that at the time." 

Topper winces at himself. He rubs a hand down his red face and stumbles away from the table. "Shit. Sorry. I'm just gonna-,"

"See ya, Top." Rafe cuts him off dryly. 

You look at Rafe cautiously as Topper makes his way, albeit clumsily, back to the bar. He lets out a deep breath and then slowly starts to shake his head, lifting his chin to meet your eyes with a look that seems to say - 'are you seeing this shit?'. 

"That guy used to be your best friend?" You ask with a hint of a smile, trying to diffuse the tension. You spare a glance at Topper who's slurring through his order of another drink. 

Rafe shrugs, letting out a wispy laugh. "We had our moments."

Moments he wasn't particularly eager to tell you about, but moments, nonetheless. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?"  

"What, Topper? Fuck no." He laughs harder. 

"No, not Topper. The meeting." You say sincerely. "Why you feel like you can't talk about your dad."

You feel your heart race a little at the question, wondering if Rafe is going to use it to be vulnerable. His face falls for a moment, but then it recovers. For a second, he considered it. But there's something bigger that's been weighing on his mind. 

"I was kinda hoping we could do something else." He says softly and moves in closer, cupping your cheek.

"Yeah?" You whisper, meeting his intense gaze. Hot breath fanning over his face. "And what's that?"

He tenderly moves a strand of hair out of your eyes, trying so hard to be soft that his hand is shaking. His blue eyes have specks of something else at this distance. It's the best colour you've ever seen. 

"I really need to kiss you."

He nods while he says it, like he's giving himself an affirmation. Then he's closing the space between you and pressing his lips over yours with a controlled kind of pressure you're really tempted to see snap one day. The way your mouth opens for his tongue nearly immediately almost makes it happen right now. And that'd really be a shame, he thinks, because he wants to ruin you when he has time and space to play with. 

"Stay with me tonight?" He mumbles breathily as you pull apart, and you nod as his thumb cradles your cheek.

You think you can maybe make out Topper whistling, but it's hard with all the blood rushing to your ears.

Rafe kisses like affection has been missing from his life for a long time. 

His hands are almost frustratingly gentle as they caress your jaw, but his lips, which haven't detached from yours since you entered his bedroom, more than make up for it.

They're hungry and wet with spit, entirely unsatisfied until your panting underneath him and have to bury your face in his neck to take deep, deep breaths of oxygen and his fading cologne.

He bites at your mouth and neck in the meantime, then soothes over the tender spots with his tongue while you whine and claw at the silky material on his still-clothed back.  

"This. Off." You murmur throatily, parting from his lips to tug up on the hem of his shirt. You stare unabashedly at the defined v-line that peaks out from underneath, tongue darting out to wet your lips in anticipation.

Rafe laughs, but humours you, throwing the garment off over the side of the bed so that it hits the floor somewhere. 

Still hovering over you, he leans down to press several kisses to your lips, and you take the opportunity to run the flat of your hand down his warm and muscular chest, the other hand curling around the sweaty strands of his dirty blonde hair. 

Rafe actually moans out when you tug on his hair, and the pretty sound brings a rush of heat to your core.

You squeeze your thighs together and plant open-mouthed kisses along Rafe's jaw, when his phone starts to vibrate on his bedside table. 

You turn your head to glance at the bright screen and Rafe scrunches his eyebrows together, fingers pinching at your chin to turn your focus back on him.

"I don't give a fuck who it is." He laughs breathily. "I'm not picking up. I'll break the stupid thing if I have to." 

You playfully roll your eyes before Rafe's lips attach to yours again, and you hum happily against his lips as he works them raw. Then his phone starts buzzing again.

"You wanna reconsider?" You giggle. Rafe slumps his face into your chest and groans loudly, arm extending to the table to pick up the device. He lifts his head up and glances at the notification, face twisting in what looks like shock.

"It's my sister." He says, confusion evident in his tone. "My sister never calls me."

He moves to stand up and passes you an apologetic glance.

"Sorry, I gotta take this." He mumbles in a stray kiss to the crown of your head. "Gimme a sec." 

A few seconds turns into something much longer. 

It turned out that Rafe's sister, Sarah, was calling him because of some kind of commotion that was happening at a bonfire she and her friends were at.

Apparently, the person causing the commotion was someone Rafe knew.

Based on Rafe's initial surprise and the way he's been chewing through his bottom lip the whole way to the beach, you assumed Sarah calling was a last resort for her. You got the sense she and her brother didn't talk often.

"I'm gonna handle this, alright? I need you to stay right here." Rafe says sternly, nervously running a hand through his hair.

You sit in the passenger seat of his truck, which has quickly become one of your new favourite spots, with a frown on your pretty lips that makes Rafe's chest hurt. He reaches up to cup your cheek. 

He'd tried to convince you to stay in his room while he dealt with the situation, but you were adamant about coming with. You needed to make sure he was safe. It didn't feel like there were many people that had his best interests at heart. 

"If you think I'm going to let you go out there by yourself, you really don't know me, Rafe." 

His lips twitch at that, his thumb caressing the skin under your eye.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" He murmurs softly. "Fine. C'mon."

The beach is pretty at this hour, too. The sky is dark, but not completely so - an expansive dark blue that blankets the moon. In the distance, you can see the reddish-golden flames of a bonfire that illuminate a group of people. 

"You had the cross!" An exasperated voice yells. "How was that not enough for you?!"

"Yeah, I'm afraid that's old news." Another man with long dark hair retorts humourlessly. "I'mma need my fucking money. The money your punk asses stole from me, or did you forget that shit?!"

Getting closer, you can see that this group is separated from the much larger crowd behind them. Four guys, and two girls. One of the girls has shiny blond hair that glows under the light of the bonfire flames. Sarah, you guess. 

Three of the guys stand beside the girls. The other one stands opposite the rest of them, hands smoothing over something his pocket.

A soft gasp leaves your lips when you realize it's a gun.

Rafe stops suddenly. He turns to gaze at you with an intense look in his eyes, pupils hard as one of his hands grips your shoulder. The other reaches for your face, thumb brushing over your lip tenderly. 

"Don't move." He whispers. "Promise me." 

You feel your stomach churn at the request, wanting nothing more than to tug him by the hand all the way back to his truck. But you nod, hoping it helps alleviate the tension in his forehead. 

"Barry!" Rafe calls out as he turns around and approaches them. 

The man with the gun tucked in his jeans, Barry, looks over his shoulder and huffs. Rafe roughly pushes him away from the rest of the group and they divulge into a heated conversation. Rafe's jaw ticks as he listens to Barry and receives a firm shove to the chest. But he manages to placate the other man by whispering something into his ear. Barry ends up nodding, and he casts one more angry glance at the rest of the group then begins to retreat. 

"Y'all have a good night, now." He chuckles grudgingly before leaving. 

Rafe makes his way back to the rest of them, nodding at his sister. You slowly come up behind him. 

"Thanks." Sarah seems to hesitate to say. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and there are frustrated tears in her eyes.

The relationship between Rafe and Sarah has been strained for a long time. They seemed to fundamentally disagree with each other.

It wasn't always that way. Or at least, Rafe thinks, it wasn't always that way. One day, his sister upped and left it all - the big house, the fancy clothes, the nice cars - for 'Pogue life'. It still made his nose crinkle in disgust when he thought about it. But the truth was, he hadn't thought about it in a while... their dad dying worked to break them out of that feud. There were bigger things to worry about, and despite everything that went down in the last few years, they'd lived a whole life together before that.

That still meant something to Rafe. 

It meant something to Sarah, too, he thinks, because she'd been less appalled by him lately. She checked in every once in a while. A few months back, he'd formally apologized to her, and of course, it would never be enough, but he felt a weight off his shoulder when she accepted it. When he realized she wasn't scared of him anymore. 

Maybe they could move passed everything. It would take a long time, sure. But he could wait for family. The only family he has. 

One of the guys next to Sarah, wearing a backwards baseball cap, stiffens.

"Don't thank him. He's Barry's bitch." He bites like Sarah's words are absurd, then stares hard at Rafe. "In fact, he's probably just here to score some more coke."

Rafe's grits his teeth, eyes fluttering shut for a second. He opens them and shakily exhales. 

"I'm clean, now." 

Your heart clenches at how raw his voice sounds. You watch with wide eyes as the same guy scoffs at him.

"Yeah, like anybody believes that." He mumbles under his breath. Before you can try and defend him, Sarah steps in. 

"Guys, I called him." She admits, fatigue evident in her voice. It makes you wonder how long the confrontation between them had gone on before you and Rafe showed up. Another guy, one wearing a bandana across his forehead, casts Sarah a sour glance and she sighs. "You know I had to, John B. Did you want Barry to leave, or not?"

He didn't have anything to say to that. 

Sarah steps away from her friends in an attempt at some privacy. She approaches Rafe, and by extension, you, while the rest of the gang diffuses around the bonfire. Whatever had gone down in the past between these people, it was clear they wanted nothing to do with Rafe moving forward, and it was perhaps only because Sarah was family that she even entertained speaking to him. You appreciated her for that. 

"It's been a while." Sarah comments. "You've been... doing okay?"

Rafe shuffles nervously in front of her, nodding without meeting her eyes. 

"Yeah, I've been good. You?" 

Sarah nods and a silence falls between them. 

"You're still hanging around Barry?" She asks, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. 

"He's not that bad."

"Yeah, I'll try to remember that when he's not threatening me and my friends for 25 thousand dollars."

Rafe shakes his head with a new-found confidence, raising his chin to meet her stormy and inquisitive eyes. "Nah, I talked to him. He won't bother you guys anymore."

Sarah nods again, and another silence falls between them. 

"You're really doing good?" She asks again, bottom lip wedged beneath her teeth.

"Yeah, I am. I'm, uh, getting help. Got this... group thing."

At the mention of a 'group', Sarah's eyes sweep over to you, drinking in your slightly turned face and averted gaze as you try to give the siblings some space for their conversation. She feels her lips twitch a little. So much had happened. A lot she didn't think she would ever forgive, maybe should never forgive. But she couldn't deny that it was more complex than that, nor could she deny that she missed her older brother. The one from before. Who she'd make eye contact across the dinner table with when Rose waxed poetic about their new marble counters. If they could find their way back there, she'd be lying if she said the idea didn't make her happy. 

"I'm really happy to hear that, Rafe. Honestly." 

Rafe smiles weakly. They say their goodbyes and manage an awkward side-hug with each other. When he turns around, you silently take his hand in yours, and you walk along the roaring beach back to his truck. 

Back at the truck, you lay your head on Rafe's shoulder as he sits in the driver's seat, still parked at the side of the road. Rafe keeps his eyes closed, taking a deep breath before he starts to speak. 

"My dad scared me." 

Instinctively, you reach your hand over the console and tangle your fingers together. You give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

"I fucked up a lot, embarrassed him. And I, uh, I don't blame him for that. I was high all the time. Angry. Violent." He continues, sniffling slightly. "He wasn't scared of me, though. Never was."

"I guess I just wanted him to look at me and not be ashamed, you know?"

Rafe gulps, trying to let the sound of your soft hums and the warmth of your body keep him steady. 

"I did some really bad things to people. Things I'm not proud of." He whispers with his head hanging. "They didn't deserve it... and now, I have to live with that."

He shuts his eyes and exhales. 

"It's, uh... it's really hard living with that."

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you bite your lip as you take in Rafe's words, fingers reaching forward to brush away the spare tears that collect on his cheeks. He leans into your touch, finding comfort in it. 

"Hey." You say softly. "Look at you, talking about your dad. You're doing a really good job, Rafe."

He smiles weakly, his eyes trained on his lap. "Sorry tonight was a bust."

"It wasn't." You protest. "Plus, it's not over yet."

Rafe lifts his chin to look at you, his curiosity piqued.

You lick your lips and trace your fingers along his jaw, maneuvering yourself over the console to firmly grip the sides of his face and pull his lips to yours in a long and messy kiss. It's clumsy, with your noses bumping, and teeth scraping - but it's hot and it makes you feel tingly.

Rafe nips at your bottom lip shamelessly, kisses trailing down the column of your throat. "In the truck?" He asks, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice.

"In the truck." You breathe, holding back a moan when Rafe sucks on your skin. 

One way or another, the two of you find your way into Rafe's backseat. He's sitting with his legs wedged apart while you grind on top of him, muttering obscenities under your breath and weaving your fingers through his hair.

The sounds of your pleasure do more for him than he'd care to admit. When you unzip his slacks and stick your hand into his briefs to pull out his leaky cock, he throws his head back against the headrest and hisses at the contact. He is so fucking sensitive already.

"No, don't." Rafe protests breathlessly when you stroke his hard cock a few times, his hand slipping from your hip to wrap around your wrist and pull it away. Your eyes widen and you unfurl your hand immediately, only to smile when you realize why he wants you to stop. He tries to calm himself down, but can feel it building. 

"It's been a while." Rafe defends, and you giggle on top of him, pressing a sloppy kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

"Honestly, Rafe. That's really fucking hot." 

You pull your top over your head and toss it to the floor, then quickly unclasp your bra. Rafe groans immediately, half-lidded eyes so pretty and pitiful as one of his hands reaches up to grope you, while his mouth latches on to one of the hardening buds. You raise your hips to pull down your shorts, but it's not quick enough for Rafe. He tugs impatiently at the lace of your panties. 

Rafe sits you down on him, letting you control the speed as he enters you. Your mouth falls open as you attempt to take him fully, eyes screwed shut, gasp after gasp leaving your lips. 

"Fuck." You pant as he bottoms out, unable to move for a second as your head slumps in his chest. Rafe chuckles underneath you, large hands squeezing your hips. 

"You okay, baby?" 

"It's just big." You murmur, taking your bottom lip under your teeth. "It's really big, Rafe."

"I know," he coos softly as you begin to rock your hips on top of him, his own face twisting in pleasure as your pelvises kiss. "But you're doing so good, huh?"

You can barely respond, too taken by the feeling of your tight walls squeezing around him. By the sound of Rafe's deep thrusts, pistoling up into you as your hips knock into each other sloppily. Your slick dripping from where you're connected down to your thighs, squelching obscenely inside Rafe's truck, definitely staining the seats. 

"Taking my cock so well." He praises. "Splitting you in half, and you're taking it like a champ." 

You moan brokenly as Rafe hits your spot, his hand trailing down at the same time to rub circles on your aching clit with his thumb. 

"My good girl, huh? Always will be?"

You reach your climax as he presses searing kisses on your shoulder, shuddering with the kind of white hot pleasure that has your toes curling and a high-pitched whine vibrating from your throat that Rafe is sure he'll never forget. 

He comes shortly after, the way you clench around him through your orgasm enough to send him reeling. He groans, pumping his hips a few more times before he stills completely and fills the condom with his spend. He holds you tightly as you both come down, the sounds of your heavy breathing overlapping with each other.

Before his cock softens, he pulls out slowly and disposes of the latex. He presses a soft kiss to your cheekbone when you frown at the loss of contact, whimpering sweetly.

"Don't pout, princess. You need to get filled up? Right here?" A slender finger trails down to your slit, bumping your sensitive clit in the process, and it prods at your wet hole. 

He chuckles, brushing the sweaty hair from your face with his other hand. "I got that. Just gotta be patient and wait 'til I get you home. You can do that for me, right, pretty girl?"

The next morning, you strap yourself into the passenger seat of Rafe's truck as he drives to a busted Church at the outer edge of Figure 8. He takes his seat amongst a circle of foldable chairs and you take your seat next to him. His hand reaches out to grip yours not different from how it did last night, through fucking and sleeping alike.

When it's his turn to speak, you squeeze his hand encouragingly and he takes a deep breath.

"My dad, Ward Cameron, passed away about a year ago. He was a lot of things..."

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

[netegf]

Hate It When You Leave

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. he's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want... including him.

warnings: 18+, best friends to lovers trope, use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and past drug use, non-graphic references to violence, some angst & jealousy, fluff and smut (public sex, teasing, oral female receiving)

word count: 6.5 k

There are parts about wearing your heart on your sleeve that no one ever talks about.

For instance, that it's hard to fix your face when the threads keeping that heart together feel like they're getting tugged, cut, and re-bunched into an ugly knot. 

The water bottle you're holding hardly has any life left. Even Kelce comments as much when he rounds his kitchen island, limbs swinging and loose thanks to the red Solo cup in his hand. He takes one look at the tight smile on your lips and tilts his head to the side, fingers twitching upward to your chin as he turns your head to face him. 

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, voice a little slurred, but thick with concern.

That was Kelce. Polarizingly good at getting to what someone was hiding underneath. 

But appearances went a long way for him. And he was so agreeable, it made him easy to lie to. Especially when he and Topper had practically begged you to come to this party, his first one since graduating college. Everyone would be there, he'd said.

And he was right, they were. 

"Nothing, Kels, it's just my stomach being a little funny." You tell him with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. You gaze at him warmly and quirk a brow, smiling genuinely. "How do you always know?"

"We've known each other our whole lives!" He barks in a laugh. "There's nothing I don't know about you."

You feel your heart squeeze again, like there's a too-tight belt around it. But you humour him with a sweet giggle and convinced nod, and it's all Kelce needs before he's walking away to mingle with another. 

How shocked he'd be to know that there was something you were hiding. 

You keep the water bottle you're holding close to your body as if it would fall straight out of your hands otherwise. When you watch the brunette seated next to Rafe on the couch squeeze his bicep again, you think it might just fall anyway. 

Some things don't change. 

The sun goes up and down. The moon makes a nightly appearance. Kelce never dresses for the weather. Topper claims everyone else is cheating when he loses. 

You love Rafe Cameron.

"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" A voice rings next to you.

You slowly turn your head from where you're sitting on the kitchen island to see a familiar face lounging on one of the high-chairs. 

Topper, apparently, had always had an inkling. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Top." You grumble, casting your eyes away from the blonde protagonist of most of your dreams. Some of your nightmares, too. 

You watch as Topper rolls his eyes without so much as glancing at you, a small scoff escaping his lips. He takes a hearty sip from his cup of brown liquid. Tracking his eye-line, you're unsurprised to find that he's staring wistfully at the very same blonde's sister. 

Sarah Cameron is dancing in the corner of the room with John B., her boyfriend. 

A Pogue at a Kook party... the thought still makes you skeptical.

Not because you didn't like John B., or more accurately, like him for Sarah. But because a few short years ago, all this seemed entirely impossible.

Nonetheless, Sarah was important to all of you. 

And, like she'd said, Rafe listened to you better than he did anyone else.

When you explained to him how smitten his sister was with the boy, and considering how their relationship had endured far past those murmurings of 'young love' to, what was at this point, years together, he'd begun to understand that John B. wasn't going anywhere. 

Much to Topper's devastation. 

He promised he was over her, and he dated like it, too. But there were those moments where he had a few drinks in him and it made you think otherwise. 

"Oh, okay. My fault." Topper replies sarcastically, downing what's left in his cup and finally turning away from the couple he's burning holes through. "I thought we were being honest."

"I am being honest."

He glances at you sharply. 

"Uh huh. Hey, don't freak out, but, your nose is like, growing really long. Never seen anything like it before. It's like in that movie! What's it called, again? Puppet boy? No, that can't be right..."

"Very funny, Topper." You say dryly, but the hint of a smile on your lips sells you out and he chuckles next to you. 

"I was thinking Pinocchio." He fake recalls, nudging your elbow. 

This time, you laugh with your chest, and when you lift your head up to take it all in again, your eyes meet familiar blue ones from across Kelce's living room.

By now, you know how to mediate the warmth that blooms at the base of your spine and consumes you completely. 

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before Topper starts speaking again. 

"You know he would do anything for you, right?" 

You chew on your bottom lip, still holding eye contact with Rafe who gives you a crooked smile. The girl next to him leans in to whisper something in his ear. He keeps looking at you. 

"Yeah, I know." You mumble half-heartedly. "I just feel like I might need to cut my losses at this point." 

Topper frowns for a moment, then stands up from his seat. 

"Well, you suit yourself." He pinches your cheek affectionately. "Because I, for one, want to crash and burn."

You snort at Topper's words and just as quickly watch him round the kitchen counter to grab another drink. 

Preoccupied with the way he extends that gesture to you, fixing some gross concoction of different sodas for you to sip on, a shiver rolls over your skin when it feels like Rafe's smouldering eyes are still lighting a fire on your face. 

Aron Andersen is a douche, but he means well. 

At least, that's the excuse you aways placate Rafe with when Aron inevitably runs his mouth, the blonde's fists tightening nearly every time in conjunction.

Typically, you opt for the pacifist approach because blood is a bitch to clean, Rafe whines when you clean him up with saline, and frankly, Aron isn't worth it.

But tonight, he seems to enjoy testing your threshold for patience like no one else before him. 

You suppose he's not entirely to blame. Kelce makes his drinks strong, and half of Figure 8 is sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

Maybe that was why Rafe had almost swung on John B. only a few minutes prior, claiming the younger man was feeding his sister lies about him. Perhaps it was just one of those nights. 

Still, you sigh when Aron drunkenly makes his way over to your new spot in the backyard, and press your lips tight together when he shoves a beer in your direction.  

"I'm not drinking tonight, Aron." You tell him plainly. 

Aron haphazardly plops down into the lounge chair next to you with his glossy, red eyes narrowing.

He grudgingly pulls the beer back from you and takes a sip that pools around the sides of his mouth, then drains down his throat slow and loud. 

"That sucks. You're more fun when you do." He scoffs.

Your mouth falls open as the words leave his lips, head spinning to meet his annoyed gaze. The faraway look in his eyes makes you gulp.

In no particular mood to be berated, you have half a mind to scoff back and get up to leave. But there's something about the way he speaks completely unadulterated that keeps your body locked in place.

Like you're dying to know what someone really thinks of you.

"Why not?" He presses, gesturing with his finger accusingly. 

"I'm driving."

He continues to stare at you blankly.

"I'm driving." You reiterate, irritation seeping into your tone. "And drunk driving is illegal, Aron. You do know that, right?"

Unintentionally, your eyes flicker to a slightly rowdy and staggering Topper across the room. Aron zeroes in on that and rolls his eyes emphatically. 

"Now it makes sense. You're taking your boyfriends home." He pitches the word in a scornful taunt, squinting over your shoulder. "Where is Cameron, anyway?"

You feel your heartbeat rage in your chest, tongue numb and mind in disarray. 

"Don't be a dick, Aron. They're my friends." You bristle. But he seems unfazed, lazily quirking an eyebrow. 

"Please don't tell me you're that stupid, Y/N. Friends?" He laughs obnoxiously. "I get you're in love with the guy, but you run around for them like a maid. You ask me, the least you should be getting out of it is a good fuck."

Your fingers twitch at your side as you shoot up from your seat, really and truly considering that pouring his beer over his head might be the best option.

Given that Aron routinely takes up two parking spots to park his Range Rover and cheats on his girlfriends, you think it might be a long time coming. 

His words hurt for more than one reason. Of course, because he'd sooner die than recognize that you very much could maintain a healthy, platonic, and meaningful relationship with your friends of over a decade.

But also because, when it came to Rafe, he was goading you with a kind of intimacy you knew you'd never be able to access. At least not in the way you wanted. 

When a firm hand grips Aron's shoulder strongly and whips his body around, you soon realize you don't have to resort to such a physical display. 

While it was true that Rafe's face didn't make him look particularly kind, he'd only been seriously pissed off, to the point that his stomach felt like caving in on itself, a few times. Like in those months right after he'd graduated high school and felt like a big question mark. Every time his dad looked at him disapprovingly, it affirmed that sinking feeling in him, and he learned that he sometimes articulated his sadness in anger.

These days when he's mad, he mulls the feeling over a few times in the interest of scraping for another feeling underneath. 

Now, though, all Rafe feels when he meets Aron's arrogance with an intensity of his own, is unbridled rage. 

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Rafe speaks at a low register that makes your breath quicken. His movements are a little clumsy, blue eyes slightly glazed over, and his dirty blonde hair kisses his forehead that's speckled with sweat. Cheeks dusted red in that way that you love, more prominent when he's inebriated.

His fingers are still pressing harshly into Aron's shoulder, pressure concentrated and steady if the way he winces is any indication. For a second, his eyes flit over to you and the frown on your face, and they begin to soften. But then Aron is sputtering and stealing his attention and he hates him all over again for it. 

"My bad, bro." Aron offers lamely, hands jutting upward in surrender. He attempts to step away, but Rafe keeps him locked there. 

"Yeah, it's your fucking bad, bro." Rafe sneers.

He roughly shoves Aron backwards as he lets go of him and the man quickly scurries away knowing that if he sticks around, Rafe will probably force him through clenched teeth to apologize to you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest for a different reason.

Your mind is trapped in a loop, repeating every word you said to Aron over and over again, wondering how incriminating they were, and debating how much exactly Rafe had heard.

And if he had, if he was coherent enough to either dismiss or believe the accusation that you loved him. No, not love, you shudder... in love. Aron had said, verbatim, that you were in love with him. 

"I would've handled it." You mumble with your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe sighs as he turns his body to face you, rubbing a hand over his jaw, now partially relieved of the tension it was holding. He chews on his bottom lip cautiously, like it'll help break the fall of the words bound to spill out of his mouth, a little too unrestrained in his drunk state for his liking. 

"I know that." He nods slowly. "I just wanted to help to help you... handle it."

He stumbles a little as he moves toward you and you instinctively wrap an arm behind his torso, holding him against your body as a human splint. 

"Plus, I kinda have a reputation going for me. No one's losing their shit if I fight a guy."

"Or two." You say pointedly, thinking about his almost altercation with John B. earlier in the night. 

Rafe buries his head into your shoulder, groaning loudly into the bare skin as it heats up and vibrates. 

"Fuck, not you, too."

He lifts his head up to continue, and you lug his body towards the living room where you spot Topper talking with Kelce and some others. Without speaking, Topper seems to understand what you're saying, nodding then pointing to himself followed by the stairs. 

He'd driven you to Kelce's and you promised to stay sober and drive him back home. But now, it seemed like the plan was going to shift.

Topper would stay the night at Kelce's and take his car back in the morning. You would take Rafe's truck back to his place and walk the rest of the way. You were practically neighbours, anyway. 

"If she wants to talk shit about me to her boyfriend, that's one thing. But him, talking shit about me, to her? What's he trying to do? Turn my own sister against me?" 

"I get it, Rafe. I really do." You nod, an amused smile on your lips as you tug him out of the front door and towards his truck. "But you promised Sarah you'd be nice, remember?"

"I am being nice." He protests with his hands tapping at his chest. "I didn't even fucking touch him."

You scoff lightly as you strap Rafe in his passenger seat, noting the way his eyes begin to flutter shut. Humming softly, you poke a cold finger at his cheek and watch as they blink open again. 

"I'm taking you home, okay?" You murmur gently. 

"No!" He objects, large hand circling your wrist. He rubs his forehead with the other one, trying to remember something. "Got a meeting in the morning. Ward is gonna flip if he thinks I've been out all night fucking around."

You look at him uncertainly, waiting for the thing that you don’t want him to say, but know he will.

"Your house? Please?"

There was a time when sleepovers with Rafe were a common practice. Sometimes, after parties like this, with Kelce and Topper.

Other times when you convinced the boys to binge a new movie or TV series, usually ending with at least two of them falling asleep. Rafe made a habit of grumbling his critiques of the things he watched, but always stayed up with you. 

For a while, when he hit an especially rough patch with his dad and spent more nights than he would've liked getting high out of his mind.

As much as he'd tried not to pull anybody else into it, he found himself seeking comfort in the warmth of your bed. It helped that you always received him with open arms, even when his early morning phone calls were disorienting and he cried silently into your shirt in the hours after. 

Those nights felt so distant, and yet, like you could touch them if you reached out just far enough.

Rafe had girlfriends on and off, and sometimes that version of him felt like a stranger. You felt a strange pity for yourself when you realized that it might've been a good thing. That he was getting better and without falling back on a crutch, even if that crutch was you. Suddenly, him sleeping at your house felt weird and misplaced more than anything else. 

"I don't know, Rafe...," you begin to trail off, but the blue desperation in his eyes makes you reconsider. He's still holding tenderly at your wrist. "Fine. But if you puke on my sheets, you're done. Do you hear me?" 

Whether or not Rafe hears you is unclear, but you take the delirious smile forming on his lips as a non-verbal affirmation. He huffs out a long breath as if he can feel himself finally relaxing. His eyes start to close again, too, as you start his truck and drive the short way to your house. 

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, Cameron. I am not lugging you up the stairs."

"You're strong." He reasons smoothly, lids still shut as he smirks. "You were about to deck the shit out of Aron Andersen when I found you."

Getting Rafe up to your bedroom goes better than you'd imagined, now with a few years of experience under your belt. 

You get him to sit down on your bed, and he fiddles with the items on your nightstand while you rummage through your armoire for an old pair of his pajamas. He complains when you throw him a pair of sweatpants and a sports t-shirt he used to wear in junior high, claiming that it'd be too tight over his arms and chest.

Plus, he'd added, it was far too hot to be wearing a shirt, anyway. 

"I love these." 

Changing into sweats of your own, you exit the bathroom to find Rafe sitting up in your bed, part of his bare torso obscured by your white sheets. His attention is fixed on a small group of rings on your bedside table, silver and gold hues reflecting under the dull rays of your lamp.

He slowly picks one up.

"Yeah, I'd hope so." You snort, tentatively slipping into bed next to him and painfully aware of the sorry excuse for space between you. "You got them all for me... kook."

Rafe cracks a sleepy smile, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You wouldn't tell me which one you wanted." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world. 

He sets the ring back on the table and switches off your lamp, blanketing the room in a stroke of darkness. Rafe lies on his back and you opt to turn to your side, facing the wall.

Looking at his face only a few inches away from yours, when he's about to sleep in your bed, feels like it will be too much. 

"Asking for what you want is weird, Rafe. Nobody likes it."

You chew on your bottom lip in the dark.

"I do." He says in a scoff that turns into a yawn. "How else is anyone gonna know? People don't usually stop you and beg to find out."

You swallow roughly. That was true enough, they didn't.

But Rafe did. He always did. You revered him for it.

There's a long silence between you and all that echoes against the wood framing of your bed are the heavy and sometimes irregular sounds of your and Rafe's breathing.

Against your better judgement, you think he might've fallen asleep and almost turn around to check. 

"Is it me?" He asks quietly, voice scratchy with exhaustion. "... what you want?"

You feel your shaky breath hitch in your throat. 

"Because if it is... you don't have to ask."

His words linger in the air for as long as it takes your wildly beating hard to calm down.

By the time your body regains some feeling, the sound of Rafe's soft snores pierce the oddly crisp air clouding your room, and the choice to unpack what he said right now, or in the morning, is made for you. 

A shiver runs down from the nape of your neck to the tips of yours toes. 

Rafe is gone by the time you wake up.

The harsh but comforting sound of rain clangs against your roof, and you stretch your limbs to the thought of a cloudy and obscure summer day. 

It's better this way, you think. The absence of Rafe's warmth next to you would feel worse if the sun was shining, teasing. 

Your fingers play underneath your comforter to locate your phone. Scrolling through your notifications, you frown seeing that none of them are from Rafe.

In his defense, it was only about 9AM now, and he'd probably just had enough time to take a quick shower, get himself the smallest bit presentable, and still barely make it to his meeting with a client.

The used bathroom towel in your hamper and flannel pajama pants hastily thrown on his side of the bed are compelling indicators. 

In his defense, he was drunk, and there was no telling if he remembered anything about last night. 

Drowsy proclamations of desire and confession, included. 

You wrestle with the idea of calling him and letting it all spill out.

Kissing him on your front lawn, in the rain, with dewy blades of grass nipping at your feet. Hands threading through his wet hair and tugging, hungrily, because you're starving and happy, and these are liberties you can afford in imagination.  

But you settle on seeing him later tonight, in person. It's your dad's charity after all. 

"I just wish you would have told me earlier." Your disappointed words hang in the air for a few moments as you play with the hem of your silky baby blue dress.

Your father had mentioned to you once before that his new business partner had a son about your age, newly graduated from UC Irvine. 

He hadn't mentioned, though, that this mystery guy would be attending the charity tonight, and he'd offered you up as his own personal tour guide.

Your father hadn't used the word date explicitly, but that's what it felt like when you were handed an odd-smelling bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly next to the brunette who you were apparently to keep the company of all night, though he might as well have been a stranger. 

Daniel was nice enough.

He complimented your dress and your makeup, smiled and pulled out your chair before you sat down at your assigned table.

But it felt weird accepting praise and chivalry from him when your heart was busy beating erratically at the simple thought that your dress matched Rafe's eyes.  

The venue is extravagant like it always is, what with it's elaborate crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and floral center pieces larger than your head. 

At your table, you note your and Daniel's name cards labeling your seats. Next to them, are Topper, Kelce, and Rafe's. There's a sixth seat that has no label and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully, considering that Topper or Kelce must be bringing a date. 

"This place is incredible. Your dad is so impressive." Daniel says in awe from the seat next to you. His eyes trail around the room, wide in amazement, reflecting back all the vibrant lights in the brown of his pupils.

You smile weakly at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear that always seems to take flight despite your attention to detail.

"Yeah, he's really something. Likes to orchestrate a big show. You should see him at the winter ball. Live doves, and everything." 

Daniel nods, moving on to say something that starts to sound unintelligible when something else piques your interest. Someone else. Multiple someones, entering the banquet hall. 

Craning your neck, you make out Topper and Rafe. And a girl. 

No. Topper... and Rafe and a girl. She has her arm tucked around Rafe's as he escorts her in the direction of your table. He's wearing the grey tux you like, the one he wore to Rose's sister's wedding with the ornate thread detailing. His smile makes the two halves of your heart squeeze together. 

"Hey, you okay? You're squeezing that wine glass pretty tight there."

Daniel likely means well, eyeing the way your fist clenches around the stem of the glass you've yet to take a sip from. You shoot him an embarrassed smile and release your straining fingers.

An emotional support water bottle sounds like it would be really nice right now. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous... my dad always gives a speech at these things." You explain.

As the trio begins to approach, you realize it's Shelley Thompson gripping Rafe's arm, a sweet girl you knew from the Kook Academy.

Even now, she always waves when you run into her at the Island Club, and she has a swing on the golf course like no other.

She's a good match for Rafe. You hate to admit it, but it's true.

When Daniel speaks again, you can barely hear him.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Daniel chuckles. "I have a hard time imagining that your dad would be bad at anything..."

Topper, having heard the tail-end of your conversation, plunks himself down in the chair across from yours and rubs his forehead tiredly. You shudder at the way he smiles empathetically at you. Like there's something to be consoled about. 

"Hangover?" You ask, shoving the shaky feeling down and shooting him a teasing smirk.

He groans loudly and buries his face in his hands.

"That's the understatement of the year. Feels like I'm getting my skull bashed in." He mutters through the skin, then he peels his head away and grimaces at the screechy music being played. If there was one thing your dad was bad it, it was decent music taste. Topper laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe I am." 

The lightheartedness is interrupted for a moment as Rafe and Shelley pull up to the table, taking their seats accordingly. Rafe rakes his eyes over Daniel for a few seconds, but otherwise stays silent and it makes you frown. You look at him, desperately trying to uncover if he remembers any details from last night, but his expression is unreadable.

Shelley, on the other hand, grins at you enthusiastically and starts to chat with you about the time she interned at your dad's company. 

You find yourself glancing at Rafe every so often, each time catching him staring blankly ahead or at his lap, and always fidgeting with his fingers. 

"Who's this?" He asks suddenly, nodding his head at the man next to you. 

"Oh." You swallow. "This is Daniel."

Finding that insufficient, Daniel takes it as an opportunity to formally introduce himself. 

"That's me." Daniel waves sheepishly, gently squeezing your shoulder with his other hand. "Y/N's been showing me around. Well, her and her dad. I really love what Mr. Y/L/N's been doing with his company. He does some incredible work out here. It's not often that you see-,"

Topper snickers when he cuts him off. 

"Maybe he should've been your date."

Daniel laughs it off, blushing slightly and concealing it in a short cough. But you kick Topper under the table in retaliation, ignoring the way he holds his shin and groans out a soft "Ow!". 

After that, Shelley, Topper, and Daniel divulge into conversation, shifting from topic to topic and at some points, sharing boisterous laughs together.

Rafe keeps his lips pressed together and his words concise. While you fiddle with your utensils, you feel his eyes on you, igniting heat under your skin. 

He stares at you hard, like he's waiting for you to say something. Begging, even, with the way his forehead tenses and his brow stays quirked.

But you didn't know what to say.

Or maybe you didn't know how to say it. Especially not here. Especially not when he had a date. 

Rafe rolls his eyes and chews on the inside of his cheek, standing from the table abruptly, the movement making the cutlery tremble.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says while tugging on Shelley's hand. "Let's dance."

You watch as Shelley squeals with excitement, jumping from her seat to follow Rafe towards the center of the large room where the music is playing. 

"Couldn't pay me to get closer to that band." Topper mumbles offhandedly. You're sure he's trying to make it sting less, but some pains don't have a perfect antidote. 

Daniel sends you a look, silently asking if you want to join them. 

"Maybe later." You reply quietly. 

Watching Rafe wrap his arm around Shelley's waist, you feel your heart sink slowly into your stomach.

In the middle of Daniel's rambling and Topper's occasional acknowledging hums, you rise from your seat and stumble into the courtyard for some fresh air.

Surely, your heart would keep sinking if you saw any more, and your heels were too tight to fit anything else. 

The courtyard is a beautiful mix of greenery, fairy lights, and concrete statues, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You sit on a stone bench and try to control your breathing with your head between your knees. 

Though it's turbulent and shallow at best.

"What's wrong?"

You know it's Rafe without looking up. Sighing into the palms of your hand, you slide them down from your face and lift your head up. Surely, your makeup is smudged, and the thought makes you more miserable.

"Nothing." You say more sharply than you intended. "Nothing's wrong. Just go away, Rafe."

He looks at you completely scandalized. 

"Are you... mad at me?"

You let out a deep breathe, averting your gaze to the ground as you collect yourself. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?"

Rafe scoffs, entirely unconvinced. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. 

"Well, fuck, if this is 'not mad', then I don't want to see what mad looks like." 

"Can you just drop it? Please, Rafe? Drop it?" You beg, sniffling slightly as you stand. You hadn't noticed when your cheeks started to get wet. Likely too much in denial.

Despite the way it's honoured you in the past, crying was offering no release at this point. It's not like any of this was Rafe's fault. Even if he had gotten your hopes up last night, he wasn't obligated to act on drunken pillow talk. Maybe he hadn't meant it in the first place and was only trying to make you feel better.

"You won't talk to me." He says sadly.

You bite down on every explanation you want to give him. Chest pain heavy and unrelenting.

"Just... go back to Shelley, Rafe. She's probably waiting for you."

Rafe looks puzzled when the words fall weakly out of your mouth.

Then, he nods, like something finally clicks for him. He meets your eyes with fervor as he presses his lips together.

"So, this is about Shelley?" He asks.

Your head hangs and silence intensifies between you. It speaks for itself.

"The same Shelley that's been fucking Kelce on and off for the past two years?"

He watches your mouth fall open and eyebrows furrow, continuing as you stare at him.

"Kelce promised to take her out on a real date, but then he got caught up at work... asked me to keep Shelley company until he showed up. We didn't come here together, together, Y/N. I thought you knew that." 

Your mind buzzes as he speaks, bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

So, he wasn't here with Shelley. And he probably did remember both what he heard and said last night if he could recognize that you were jealous.

Jealous. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling was always two-fold. A person would feel jealous, then humiliated that they had. You don't know which one is worse.

You peak an eye open, chewing through your words. "Why couldn't Topper do it?" 

"Have you met Topper?"

That was a good point. 

Still reeling from the new information, you look down at your lap pensively.

"But you did." Rafe begins after a few beats of silence. When you frown in confusion, he clarifies. "... come here with someone."

You crane your neck up to look at him. There's something you can't place in his eyes, but it's cloudy and all-consuming. His hair is a mess from the way he's been ruffling through it, and his cheeks are flushed and tight.

"What, Daniel? Are you kidding me? I only brought him because my dad ask-," you begin to explain, but Rafe cuts you off. 

"I don’t care why he thinks he can touch you. I just want him to stop.”

Despite the small gust of wind that blows past you both, you feel a warmth at the base of your neck... in the palms of your hands. Maybe it was the beams of light overhead, illuminating your bodies amidst the greenery.

Or, maybe it was just Rafe's words.

The intensity of his gaze. The way he steps towards you as he speaks them, warm hand eventually reaching out to graze over your cheek in a way that makes you gasp in a mixture of shock and excitement. 

For a moment, you think about yourself and the many soul-crushing nights spent watching Rafe talk to and touch and kiss other people, the overlapping visuals making you queasy. 

"I know the feeling." You say quietly, hot breath fanning over his face.

Rafe frowns a little, soaking up the meaning of your words. He nudges his face closer to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips just barely graze over the pair he desperately wants to taste. He draws back suddenly, suspending all the air in your lungs. 

He eyes you cautiously, challenging silently as he licks his lips.

"Not gonna do anything unless you ask." 

You nearly cry out in response. "Rafe, please. I... I want you." Ignoring the way your desperation makes your skin feel tingly and your head spin, you shut your eyes tightly, realizing that only really skimmed the surface. You try again, gulping. "I've always wanted you."

"Fuck." He breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. "Never stop saying that." 

Stifling the sound of another whine from your lips, Rafe kisses you feverishly.

He moves his soft lips in tandem with yours, swallowing each of your breathy moans. One of his hands traces over the swell of your jaw while the other stretches tenderly around your throat. "Know what I wanted to do when I saw you sitting there next to him?" 

You nearly scream in protest when Rafe pulls his lips off yours, but fall silent when he trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, sloppily sucking the skin then laving his tongue over the afflicted areas. Unsatisfied until your pushing his head away from the sensitivity. 

"Wanted to knock his fucking teeth out." He murmurs with his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and leaving searing kisses. "But I don't do that shit anymore. So I'll ruin his night a different way."

Rafe moves your body with his until the backs of your knees hit the concrete bench. Your mouth falls open as he sits you down on it, kneeling in front of you. He presses a ticklish kiss to your knee and his bright blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. When you nod, he parts your thighs and pulls your panties down in a single unbroken movement, committing every second to memory.

He stares longer than he should, groaning at the way your wetness collects on his finger when he traces a finger over your slit, spreading you apart. 

"Can't believe," he moans into your mound, running the flat of his tongue over your center again and again. "... you kept me from this pussy for so long." 

You throw your head back at the sensation, finding nothing but air and Rafe to support you as pulls you closer to his mouth.

"That," you say in a broken moan at the feeling of Rafe's tongue inside you. "That's your fault, remember? I was always here — shit! Waiting for you.”

Rafe hums against your pussy at that, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His nose nudges your clit as he tastes you greedily. You tug at his hair to dissipate some of the energy building inside your core, but it only makes Rafe work harder. 

"Didn't think I deserved you." He admits, pink lips mesmerizing and wet with your slick and his spit. Rafe takes your clit into his mouth and sucks obscenely, the slurping sound sending a flash of heat through you. "Doesn't matter now. I'm good at making up for lost time..."

Your thighs clamp around Rafe's head as he fucks you with his tongue. It's only now, as gasps and high-pitched sounds fall wantonly from your lips that you come to the reality that you're letting Rafe eat you out in the courtyard, and anybody from the party could come here and find you. Still, you moan less controlled than you would have hoped when he suckles at your clit again, drinking at your sopping pussy.

"Hey, have some common decency, huh? There's some very nice people in there trying to enjoy a party." 

Rafe smirks when you pull at his hair even harder, mostly at the thought that you think it could be reprimanding when he likes it so much. His teasing does more to turn you on than you'd care to admit and he can tell with the way you gush around him.

"One of em's your date." He adds, laughing slightly as he curls his tongue inside you. Entranced at the way it makes you whimper and writhe like putty under him. He starts rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time, chasing the crest of your orgasm. "C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Come all over my tongue." 

Your release makes your back rise off of the slab of cement you're seated on, thighs slotted over Rafe's shoulders as he licks you through your climax.

The pleasure is insurmountable, your mouth falling open and your eyes screwing shut as that familiar feeling completely overwhelms your senses, the burn of your elbows against the cement keeping you anchored to the ground. 

Rafe smiles when you pull him by the belt of his dress pants to capture his mouth in a long and sweet kiss. It helps clean up the residual wetness. 

By the time Kelce makes it your father's charity event, he sighs tiredly into the crown of Shelley's head, pressing a wet kiss there in greeting. On his way in, he got trapped in a conversation with your father and some guy he'd never seen before named Daniel who was more inclined to kiss your dad's ass than he was to breathe.

Finally taking his seat next to a very drunk Topper, he squints his eyes at the sight before him. You and Rafe, unable to keep your hands off each other, giggling at nothing in particular. And when not giggling, kissing.

"Are you seeing this shit?" Kelce asks Topper, gesturing towards his two closest friends shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Shamelessly, at that.

"Dude." Topper groans, sighing like this was no surprise to him. "Where the fuck have you been?"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!