Jam’s Alcove

20 + ໒꒰ྀི • ﻌ - ꒱ྀི১

[osarina]

maybe I should spoil myself with a jace x reader x aerion fic for my bday ..... what should the plot be someone help

[barnesonfilm]

the mask stays on

★ summary: when spider-man comes to yelena for help, he doesn’t expect you to be there. you don’t expect for him to be so hot

★ pairing: spider-man x widow!reader

★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, public sex, accidental vouyerism, web kink, web play?, enhanced!sperm, cum play, cream pie, mask stays on during sex (but reader is into it)

★ word count: 5.7k words

★ notes: putting myself in horny jail for this one

The steam curling on top of the water was thick enough to blur the edges of the room, hot enough that every inhale burned pleasantly at the back of your throat. It clung to your skin in a permanent sheen, damp strands of hair sticking stubbornly to your temples while eucalyptus hung heavy in the air. Next to you, Yelena dissolved into another fit of laughter, the movement of her shoulders sending a wave across the pool that splashed directly into your face and soaked the hair you’d spent the last ten minutes trying to keep dry.

“Сестра,” you hissed through a laugh of your own, swatting uselessly at the water before shoving her shoulder. “I told you to stop doing that.”

“Your hair,” She droned on, eyes rolling dangerously hard. “You look fine, hair will be fine there’s good essential oils in the water.” 

“I find that very hard to believe.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very untrusting?” She raises a brow playfully. 

Your eyes narrowed, already preparing another comeback when the heavy grated iron door groaned open from the other side of the room. Years of training settled over you before you even realized it had happened, your gaze snapping toward the entrance before flicking immediately to Yelena.

“Were you expecting company?”

She made an exaggerated show of thinking about it, lips pursed and finger tapping thoughtfully against her chin before her expression broke into an impossibly smug grin.

“Oh. Right.”

A figure in bright red stepped hesitantly through the haze, stopping just inside the doorway as though he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d walked into the correct room. Spider-Man looked between the two of you, then back toward the hallway as if debating on running. As if seeing two naked widows was the biggest threat he’d seen all day. 

Yelena didn’t give him the chance. “Take off your clothes.”

“W-what?” 

“You don't wear clothes in the banya, ditch the leotard.” She ordered. 

“This is not a leotard.” He shuffled awkwardly, his arms moving around his sides aimlessly. “Uh, your tech told me this was your office?” 

Yelena’s arms went up, “This is my office. Get in.” 

His entire body tenses, “I’m fine thanks-“ 

“Waa, waa.” Yelena laughs, “My office, my rules.” 

He’s not biting, which makes you stifle a laugh. The silence stretched just long enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.

Yelena leaned forward conspiratorially, as though she were making him the deal of a lifetime.“You get to enjoy a very nice, relaxing soak..“

You finally took pity on him, and picked up where she intentionally left off. “And we get confirmation you aren’t carrying any weapons. Everybody wins.” 

His masked head turned toward you, the eyes on his suit getting animatedly larger. 

“…Seriously?”

You smiled sweetly. “Seriously. I’ve learned to stop fighting her on it, it’s very nice in here.” 

His shoulders sagged in the unmistakable posture of someone realizing resistance was entirely pointless. With a defeated sigh, he shuffled toward one of the wooden stalls. The stall door clicked shut behind him, and almost immediately the muffled rustle of fabric echoed through the room. At the same time, Yelena lazily stirred the water with one hand, looking altogether too pleased with herself.

“He said it was some small potato problem,” she murmured, effortlessly slipping into Russian. “Figured two Avengers could help him with intel.” 

You hum, “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming by?” 

“I forgot.” 

“I don’t believe you.” You rolled your eyes, earning another satisfied grin from her just as the wooden stall creaked open. Spider-Man stepped out clutching a white towel around his waist with both hands like it was a lifeline. His shoulders were tense enough to rival a man walking into an execution, his face hidden behind the mask he’d somehow insisted on keeping despite surrendering the rest of the suit.

You had expected him to be lean, scrawny almost. 

Instead, you found yourself staring for half a second longer than intended.

The suit had done him absolutely no favors. Beneath it were years of relentless training, packed onto a frame that looked carved from stone, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every muscle defined by years of keeping the city safe. His arms alone looked capable of lifting a car without much effort, his biceps so absurdly large you were fairly certain one of them rivaled the size of his own head.

You caught Yelena watching your expression from the corner of your eye. The smug little smile spreading across her face told you she had noticed your momentary lapse immediately. 

Yelena burst into laughter, which stopped abruptly when she realized he was in fact not actually going to take the mask off. 

“Wait, you’re serious? You’re not going to take it off?” 

He slips into the water, “It would defeat the whole anonymous thing.” 

“Even for your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever.” She trails off, “You know there’s fanart-“ 

You tuned her out almost immediately, letting the words fade into meaningless background noise while she enthusiastically listed the bizarre piece of online fan art she’d stumbled across. You had long ago accepted that Yelena somehow found herself on the strangest corners of the internet imaginable, usually against her own will and yet somehow always with enough curiosity to constantly send links to the group chat. Bucky had blocked her long ago. 

The first night she downloaded Twitter, she had run into the common room, her tablet clutched in her hand her eyes searching for Bucky as he very innocently was eating his popcorn. “Barnes, have you ever heard of Sambucky? Or a website called AO3?” 

You’re pulled out of the memory when Spider-Man speaks up again. 

“- Look, I don’t have anyone. I kinda keep to myself.” 

“All by yourself? All the time?” Her voice falls. “No wonder you’re so sad.” 

“I’m not so sad.” He lies, his voice rising a pitch. 

“A little bit.” She mumbles, then her shoulders straighten as if she just got the idea of a lifetime. “You know, my sister here is very lonely too. She says she is not, but yet every weekend she is with me or eating ice cream pretending we cannot hear her watching those horrible American movies through the walls.”

You turn your head to her, expression blank. “Yelena.”

“Can we talk about what I came here to talk about? The attack on Damage Control. ” Spider-Man buts in, making you nod in agreement. 

“Yes, can we?” 

“Right,” The shit-eating grin is still wide on her face, “So that is more your area. Like small potato, whereas the New Avengers are focusing on big potato stuff.” 

“Right, there’s more to it than that.” He adds. Going on about what he had learned the past day and giving details of the incident that had not been made public yet. 

The warmth of the water settled around you as you absentmindedly dragged your fingers across its surface, watching small ripples spread between the three of you while you pieced together everything he was saying. After a long moment, you glanced toward Yelena.

“So you think it’s something like what they used on us?” you asked quietly. “The conditioning. Whatever they did to the other widows.”

“That was my first thought,” Spider-Man admitted, looking toward Yelena.

“It’s not,” She replied without a second’s hesitation.

Spider-Man frowned beneath the mask. “You’re sure?”

”It is more like possession."

You hum, your hands still moving the water around in front of you as they talk, letting Yelena fill the two of you in on what she knew. Unfortunately, every road ended exactly where it had begun. The New Avengers had no additional intelligence, no active investigation, and no plans to divert resources toward Damage Control while larger threats occupied their attention.

Spider-Man didn’t argue, but disappointment settled visibly across his shoulders all the same. The hopeful energy he’d arrived with slowly disappeared beneath the weight of another dead end, and after sitting quietly for a moment, he let out a long sigh before pushing himself up from the water.

“Fine,” he muttered, reaching for the towel he’d left folded on the bench. “I’ll just go ask Damage Control myself.”

You very intentionally kept your eyes fixed somewhere above his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the beads of water slowly tracing paths over abs that the suit had done an excellent job of concealing. Or the way the veins in his muscles flexed when he pulled himself up. Or the way his boxers clung to his thick thighs. 

“You know,” Yelena said with far too much innocence to be trusted, “you’re not completely anonymous anymore.”

Spider-Man paused in the middle of grabbing his clothes. “What?”

“I’ve seen your belly button.”

All you could do was sigh, letting your body sink further into the water until your chin was covered. 

“…Uh,” Spider-Man finally managed after several painfully long silent seconds, “okay.”

“Goodbye, Yelena,” he said, already halfway through the doorway before remembering to glance toward you. “And… goodbye, Y/N.”

The heavy iron door barely had time to swing shut behind him before he was gone, leaving a trail of wet footprints stretching down the hallway outside. You waited until the echo of his footsteps disappeared before leaning over and bumping your shoulder against Yelena’s.

”You’ve scared him off.” 

“Hmm, something is telling me you’ll see him again.” She smirks.

Before you had the chance to ask what exactly that was supposed to mean, Yelena slipped beneath the surface without another word, disappearing completely beneath the rippling water while you were left staring after her, equal parts amused and unconvinced.

News of the attacks seemed impossible to escape days later. Every television hanging in an airport terminal, every radio crackling through military transports, every phone notification carried another version of the same story, each one somehow more unbelievable than the last. 

 The majority of your updates came from Yelena, whose texts arrived at all hours of the day with the urgency of someone who had remembered a detail halfway through another conversation. It was a lot of, “Just talked to Spider-Man;)))))) u wish this was u huh?????” 

You and Bucky had spent the better part of the week chasing leads that dissolved into nothing before you could ever get close enough to investigate. Reconnaissance, surveillance, more reconnaissance, another anonymous tip that turned into an abandoned warehouse with little more than stale coffee cups and dust to show for it. By the time your transport finally touched back down stateside, you felt like you’d spent more time staring through binoculars than actually accomplishing anything. 

“Remind me why people still choose to live in New York,” you muttered as you dropped a thick stack of mission reports onto Val’s desk with enough force to make the folders slide apart. “

“I’ve stopped wondering.” Bucky admitted, “It was nicer in the 40s.”

You sighed, rubbing absentmindedly at the side of your neck where the edge of your Kevlar vest had spent the last several days digging relentlessly into your skin. The movement earned an immediate wince as the irritated patch protested beneath your fingertips.

“You should put ice on that,” Bucky said, noticing before you’d even finished reaching for it. He shrugged off his own tactical vest with considerably more irritation than necessary before tossing it onto the chair beside him. “Couple more days in these things and it’s going to rub you raw. These vests are garbage.”

“They’re definitely not sized correctly.”

“They’re not sized correctly because procurement buys whatever’s cheapest.”

A tired laugh escaped you. “I think Val just hates us.”

“I’ll have her order us different sizes,” he continued, already looking toward her office despite knowing she was deliberately never here. “These are shit.”

You smiled despite yourself, unfastening the last strap before setting your own vest aside. “Thanks, Bucky.”

“So what’s next?”

“I think…” You stretched your shoulders until your back gave a satisfying pop. “I might stop by Yelena’s office.”

He raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Checking on your sister?”

“And Spider-Man.” You said casually, “Heard he got shot, she’d know how he’s doing” 

“Oh? That’s it huh?” 

“I just want to know how his Damage Control adventure went.” You defended yourself, despite there being no reason to. 

Bucky laughed quietly through his nose. “Good luck with that.”

“Yelena?” you called as you nudged the heavy iron door open with your shoulder, expecting to be greeted by either an insult or something thrown in your general direction.

Instead, silence answered you.

The bath sat empty, steam lazily drifting through the room while the familiar scent of cedar, herbs, and eucalyptus lingered in the warm air. The water rippled softly beneath the lantern light, untouched except for the occasional drip falling from the ceiling into the pool below. You still wondered how this building managed to keep up with the humidity. 

You frowned, pulling your phone from your pocket.

I’m at your office. Where are you?

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

running 2 get food

Another notification popped up before you could even lock your screen.

do u want blini

wait no dumplings

there's an ice cream cart do u want 

of course u want why do i ask

Then another.

I'll get them all brb

there's new vodka stashed under the third bench, landlady got a new bottle from home country 

You couldn’t help smiling. 

thanks. I’ll warm the bath for you. bring me a tea 

Her reply came so quickly you wondered if she’d been holding the phone the entire time.

yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy girly time 

Chuckling to yourself, you slipped your phone onto one of the dry benches before slipping your clothes off in an untidy pile until all that remained was the comforting humidity wrapping around your skin.

You eased yourself carefully down the stone steps until the water climbed past your ankles, your knees, your waist, every aching muscle loosening a little more with each inch. The heat seeped deep into your bones, unraveling tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying since boarding the quinjet days earlier.

By the time the water reached your shoulders, the exhaustion finally caught up with you.

A quiet, involuntary moan escaped your lips as you leaned your head back against the smooth stone edge of the bath, your eyes slipping closed while the warmth wrapped around every sore joint and bruised muscle. For the first time in what felt like days, your breathing slowed, your shoulders finally relaxed.

So completely, in fact, that you never heard the heavy iron door slowly creak open behind you.

”Uh, Ms. Y/n?” A timid voice spoke, making the tension rise back in your shoulders as you jumped. The bright red suit made your heart race out of shock and a weird sense of nervousness at being here alone with him.

“G-God, I’m so sorry,” he blurted, spinning around so quickly he nearly lost his footing on the damp stone. His back was to you before you’d even managed to respond, his hands raised awkwardly as if surrendering. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you. Yelena said she’d be here today and I just… I thought…” He groaned quietly to himself. 

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice softer now as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. “Really. She’s just getting food. She should be back any minute.”

“I’ll just wait here.” 

“Spidey,” You pout playfully, splashing the water to beckon him in, “Join me.” 

“Are you sure?”

”Yes.”

“I was actually…” He hesitated, sounding almost embarrassed to admit it. “I was kind of looking forward to the soak.”

That pulled a genuine laugh from you. “Right?”

He glanced over his shoulder just enough that you caught the sheepish grin tugging beneath the edge of the mask. 

“I wasn’t sure if it was weird that I was, I’ll just change.”

“It took me a while too,” you admitted, as he disappeared into the stall, “The first time Yelena dragged me down here I thought she’d finally lost her mind. Now I’m her after almost every mission.”

”Man,” He says through muffled fabric, equipment dropping on the wood bench, “I’d love to come and soak after a long day.” 

“I’m sure Yelena would allow it, as long as you don’t throw a party in here or tell anyone or make a mess.” You drag on, smiling as he came into view. This time with no towel wrapped around him, just his boxers clinging expertly to him as he stepped inside the water.

He leaned back against the stone edge with a contented sigh, finally allowing his shoulders to drop. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked… peaceful.

It was then your eyes caught the scar.

Angry red tissue stretched across his side just beneath his ribs, the wound still fresh despite already being sealed shut. The edges remained inflamed, the skin surrounding it slightly pink from rapid healing that no ordinary body should have been capable of.

He followed your gaze and instinctively looked down at himself. “Oh, that.”

One hand brushed lightly across the mark before he flexed experimentally, watching the skin pull without discomfort.

”I was going to ask, how you were doing. Yelena was giving me updates.” 

“Doctor’s said it will leave a nasty scar, but I heal faster than most.” His voice is quieter now, reflective as you stare at him. “I can barely feel it.” 

“This was a gunshot that almost killed you, just days ago?” 

He nodded, sensing your hesitation. “You can touch it.” 

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d offered. Maybe because it didn’t hurt anymore, or maybe because the concern written so plainly across your pretty face made something warm settle in his chest. There was something strangely comforting about it, enough that he found himself hoping you would say yes before he’d even realized he’d been hoping at all.

You held his gaze through the mask for a brief moment, silently asking if he was certain, and when he gave another small nod you pushed gently through the water until barely a foot separated the two of you. The movement sent soft ripples across the surface, brushing against his shoulders as you lifted your hand. Instead of pressing your palm directly against the wound, the backs of your knuckles grazed lightly across the newly healed skin, careful enough that it almost wasn’t a touch at all.

“I heal faster due to a diluted version of the serum they give us widows, but nothing like this.” Your fingertips traced lightly around the edge of the injury without putting pressure on it, fascinated by how smooth the tissue already felt. “But nothing like this. This shouldn’t even be closed yet.”

“Y-Yeah…”

The word caught somewhere in his throat.

A visible shiver rolled across his shoulders, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the water. It was the realization that you were standing impossibly close now, naked underneath the murky water, and close enough that he could count the droplets of water clinging to your shoulders, close enough that every sensible thought he’d had moments earlier evaporated into steam.

His eyes betrayed him.

For only the briefest second, they dipped downward before he caught himself, snapping immediately back to your face with an expression that could only be described as horrified with himself.

“I’ve…” He cleared his throat a little too forcefully. “I’ve been having some issues with my DNA and the spider thing.” 

“The spider thing.” You echo, urging him to continue.

He rubbed the back of his neck, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere but directly at you.

“It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but my arachnoid DNA started climbing way higher than it’s supposed to. I was acting… not exactly like myself for a while.” He gestured vaguely with one hand, struggling to summarize weeks of bizarre mutations. “I’ve started shooting webs out of my actual wrists instead of using web shooters, and apparently that’s only one of the side effects. Everything is stabilizing now, though. I’m… mostly normal again.”

Your expression shifted from amusement to fascination almost instantly. “Out of your wrists?”

Before he could answer, your hand had already slipped from his side to his forearm. Your fingers wrapped gently around his wrist, turning it over in the warm water until the small opening nestled against his skin came into view. 

“I used to make web fluid, but now it’s all homegrown.” He jokes, but goes silent when you don’t laugh instead you’re too fascinated. 

“Do you shoot webs from other places?” 

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. No, no.” He shook his head so quickly a few damp curls escaped the edge of the mask. “Just… just the wrists. I’m very normal everywhere else.”

A small hum escaped you, thoughtful more than anything else.“That’s a shame.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“I said that’s a shame.”

“No, I heard you. You sound… disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed,” you corrected with a sheepish smile, finally releasing his wrist. “I just think it would’ve been kind of interesting.”

For a long second he simply stared at you.

“What? I like spiders too, you know?”

Then a laugh escaped him, bright and completely unrestrained, echoing warmly off the cedar walls. He shook his head, still smiling to himself as he looked down at the water between you.

“You widows,” he shook his head, “You guys are something else.” 

“Hmm, and what about you, Spidey? What are you?” 

He pauses for a moment, his mind going back to the first night he officially met you in this bath, the towel clutched around him while Yelena spoke enough for the both of you. 

“I am lonely,” he admitted at last, the confession coming softer than he’d intended. There wasn’t any self-pity in his voice, only a quiet sort of acceptance. “It’s… gotten better lately. A lot better, actually. But your sister was right.” He laughed weakly to himself, shaking his head. “I hate giving her that satisfaction.”

Your smile widened despite yourself. “So do I, but alas she keeps being right.” 

He shifts a little closer, either consciously or subconsciously you don’t know. Close enough that you could make out the constellation of freckles scattered across his shoulders. Close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing over the gentle splash of water against the stone. Close enough that every time either of you shifted even slightly, your knees threatened to brush.

For reasons neither of you could explain, the room suddenly felt much warmer than it had a moment before.

“I’m not very good at… this,” Peter admitted with a nervous smile, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Talking to people, getting close to people. I mean I think you’re the first person to touch me in years. Is that depressing?” 

“A little.” You admit with a playful smile. “But I understand. Our lives, it’s impossible to have normal relationships.” 

“You don’t know the half of it.” He breathes out, and neither of you move. You both just sit there, relaxing against the concrete wall. The tension between the two of you is electric, it’s like every drop of water is drawing you closer to him.

The silence is only broken when he decides to speak up, “She sure is taking a while.” 

“She sure is…” You turn to him, “You really never take the mask off for anyone?” 

He shakes his head, “I try not to.” 

You watch the fabric strain against his lips, and you yearn to see how plump they are. What shade of pink, how they’d feel against your own. You wanna see his nose, feel it pressed against your skin, to watch his eyes as you touch him.

“Not even a little?” You ask, your palms moving up to cup his cheek. 

“It’s easier this way.” He says and he’s not sure if he’s telling you, or trying to convince himself. His body ignites with each rub of your fingers against the fabric. 

You sit up, your hands falling to his shoulders.

“Is this okay?” 

“More than okay.” He whispers, in awe as you practically tangle yourself in his lap. He holds you gracefully, and respectfully as you straddle him. You can feel his boxers against your inner thigh as his hands hover respectfully on the outside of your ribcage to keep you balanced. 

Your fingertips trace the outline of his face, trying to memorize the feel of his cheekbones. 

“I’ve spent so long wondering what you look like under there,” you admitted, your voice barely louder than your own breathing. 

“Just like anyone else.” He managed to get out, his mouth going dry as he all but melted underneath your touch. 

“I find that,” You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his fabric-covered forehead, “Very hard to believe.” 

He shivers, fingers digging into your skin as you press long kisses down his cheeks right to where the mask ends and his skin begins. 

“Would you,” The warmth of your breath makes the hair on his neck stand up, “Be willing to move the mask up about, an inch or two?” 

“I-“ 

“You don’t have to.” You remind him, leaning back to catch his eyes again. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable-“ 

One hand leaves your skin, pulling the mask up just enough to expose his plump and waiting lips. There’s barely enough time to stare at the new part of him before he's pulling your lips into his. It’s a little clumsy at first, awkward with the bunched-up mask rubbing against your nose, but you make it work. His lips were warm against yours, opening his mouth at the first swipe of your tongue against it. 

He pulls away with a gasp, “Can I touch you?” 

You’re nodding before he can get it out, letting his head drop down so his mouth could suck and bite at your chest. Your nipples are pebbled by being exposed to the cool air, only warming once he pulls one into his warm and waiting mouth. 

One of his hands is already guiding your legs apart, his fingers slipping in between your folds. 

“You’re so wet.” He whispered against your tits. 

“We’re in water.” Your eyes were closed, relishing the feeling of the gentle circles he was rubbing into your aching clit. 

“And I’ve been able to smell you since I walked in, you can’t hide from me.” 

Your heart rate picks up, and he no doubt feels that too as he slips a finger inside of you. You’re all but grinding against his fingers, your clit brushing against the raised spot on his wrist. 

“F-fuck,” You cry out, “Can feel your wrist throbbing against me.” 

“It wants to shoot webs at you, wants to wrap you in them. Keep you all for myself,” He whispers, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You want me to fuck my webs into you.”

There’s no shame to be had at the fire that licks in your lower belly at his words as you nod frantically. 

In a split second you’re being pulled up from the water, and laid down on a towel. Your head propped up by his discarded suit bunched up as he hovers above you. 

He leans down and licks a strip of water droplets from your tits, before his hand travels back down to your cunt. 

There’s a soft hiss as his webs disperse onto you, they’re warm and sticky and practically dissolve into your wetness as he slides two fingers inside of you. With each brush of your clit against his wrist, he dribbles out fluid that only makes him fuck into you faster. His fingers curl expertly, and the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bath are lewd. 

“You’re so dirty,” He growls against your skin, feeling every nerve on his body stand up. The inhibitor did little to quell just how feral he felt pressed against you. His cock was hard in his boxers, rutting against the soft skin of your leg to dull the ache. “You know, this is how spiders mate. They roll their sperm into webs and fuck them into the female.” 

Your moan is broken off into confusion as you watch him, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah?” 

“Sorry,” He whispered, his fingers still prying the nastiest sounds from your heat. “This is really hot.” 

“You know, widows kill their mate after sex.” You manage to stutter out. 

“Are you gonna kill me?” He asks, pressing harshly against your clit with another messy ooze of his webs. 

“G-god no, I’m gonna cum.” You’re all but gasping as he pries an orgasm out of you 

Your legs are shaking, chest heaving by the time you come to. He’s still sitting between your legs, boxers still on as he presses gentle kisses to your thigh. 

You try to take him off guard by flipping him over onto his back, as gently as you could. He lands with a huff, and you pretend he didn’t see that coming. The view of you on top of him has him reeling, your tits bouncing as you tug briskly down at his boxers, pressing your lips to his.

“I can’t,” He pulls away from your lips reluctantly, “I can’t take the mask off.” 

“I don’t care.” You sigh pressing your lips harshly against his again. 

When he pulls away this time, a thread of spit connects your mouths. “I'm sorry, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you can’t see me-“

”I don’t care,” You echo, “I just wanna feel you.” 

“The mask stays on.” He asks, once more to confirm. 

“The mask stays on.” You agree, digging your nails into his shoulder blades as you reach down to guide his aching cock to your entrance. You slide down on him with a satisfying hiss, gasping at the stretch of him. His cock is so thick, you have to pace yourself before your hips meet his.

“God.” He seethes through his clenched jaw, his eyes rolling back into his head. You wished so badly to see the pathetic, fucked out look on his face. “You feel so good.” 

“You’re huge.” You sigh contentedly, rocking your hips lazily against his as his tip presses gently into your sweet spot each time. 

You ride him slowly, relishing the moans leaving his glossy lips. Or the way his abs tense every few seconds as you bounce and grind against him. It’s frantic, but intimate as you fall apart above him. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He pants, watching your thighs shake as the thick curve of his cock pressed against the deepest parts of you. 

“Spidey.” You moaned, your palms heavy on his chest as you tried to keep up your rhythm, failing when the pleasure overtook you.

“Right there, baby. Fuck.” The term of endearment leaves his mouth recklessly as he leans up, the soles of his feet hitting the ground as he fucks up into you. His hands are on your tired hips, picking you up and fucking yourself on his cock as if you weigh nothing. He hit every single spot inside of you, the bulge of him pressing deep against your stomach as you cried out for him. 

“I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“ 

“I got you,” He cooed, “Cum for me, let me feel you.” 

He felt every second of it, as you spasmed and came around him. It wasn’t too long before he followed behind you, letting your cunt milk him for every drop of his cum. It was warm, and thick. You’ve never felt this full before, it felt like he was coating your insides, claiming you as his. 

“Spidey,” You mumbled, “That was…” 

“I know…” He sighed dreamily, rubbing gentle circles into your hips from where he still lazily held you.

You pull off of him with a lewd pop, his release dribbling down your inner thighs. 

“It’s so thick.” You stare in amazement, a finger gliding through the thickened cum.

He sits up quickly, head tilting in confusion. “That’s- it’s not webbing.” 

“Definitely not normal.” You giggle like a schoolgirl,. “Don't worry. I’m into it. Majorly.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief, watching each sway of your hips as you slide into one of the shower stalls. He just lays there, chest still heaving in disbelief that the past twenty minutes have even happened. 

“You not gonna clean me up, Spidey?” You speak through the haze of the shower spray and a smirk falls on your face when you hear his feet frantically slapping against the wet concrete.

That’s how Yelena finds the two of you, your back pressed against the metal of the stall door. The water long gone cold as Spider-Man had your eyes shut in pleasure while he fucks up into you harshly, blubbering out pathetic moans of your name. 

You’re still sensitive and so full from his last release by the time he slides into you again. He leaves no stone unturned as he urges you to come apart around him again, and again. 

“Yes, yes,” He grunted, “Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” You cried out, your legs locking around his ass to prevent him from stopping, as if he’d ever dream of it, “Please don’t stop. I’m right there, right fucking there.” 

The metal stall was shaking with the ferocity of it, the sound of his hips slapping against yours drowned out by your cries. 

“Are you gonna cum?” He panted, his fingers already rubbing at your swollen clit, “I need you to cum for me.” 

“I’m gonna cum,” You nod, “Just keep going. Yeah, like that fuck. Fuck, Spidey I’m cumming.” 

“M’behind you.” His hips stuttered as your cunt suckled him in and drank in every drop of thick cum he released deep inside of you. 

“Fuck.” You laughed lazily, pressing your sweaty temple against his shoulder. He shuddered when he tried to pull out, his cum plopping out of you and clinging to his cock like glue. “Guess you gotta stay inside of me.” 

“There’s worse places to be.” He laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to your head. 

The blissful afterglow was interrupted by a loud throat clearing, Yelena’s voice carrying through the steam.

 “Are we done? The food is cold now.” 

[trumpkinhotboy]

even cuter | j.b

pairing. jacob black x reader

type. best friends with a dash of something more typa fluff, requested

warnings. gender neutral reader, none!

SUMMARY: seeing your best friend in his wolf form does not have, in his opinion, the desired effect on you. instead of having you running and screaming in the opposite direction, it creates a surge of emotion that can be identified as nothing else than cuteness aggression.

The first time you saw Jacob in his wolf form, you could tell that every member of the pack held back a worried breath. They didn't know how you would react. Jacob, for his part, made sure to keep a good distance between the two of you, not wanting to be too overwhelming. However, the initial shock of seeing your best friend quite literally shred into a huge wolf passed in a matter of seconds. While you didn't exactly launch yourself in his direction to stroke his fur, you calmly approached him, looked in his eyes, and immediately recognized your best friend in the weirdly familiar gaze of the beast standing before you.

Months later, you are still completely in awe when you get to see your best friend's russet wolf form. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, you can't help but stare at him with something akin to admiration in your eyes.

After a walk down one of the quieter beaches of La Push with Jacob, Quil, Embry, and Jared, you watch in wonder as the three boys, itching to let loose in the woods, change into their wolf forms. Jacob stays by your side as you applaud and cheer like an excited toddler. The three wolves puff up their chest with pride before hitting the wet sand with their paws, disappearing from view in a matter of seconds.

You're still looking in the direction they left, trying to catch one last glimpse, when Jacob's chuckle brings you back from your reverie. "You're so weird."

"Why?"

"Because my friends just turned into huge wolves, and you didn't even bat an eye."

"Why would I?"

He looks at you, stupefied. "Because we’re used to it, it's part of our history, but come on. You learned that we're shapeshifters and you don't even give me the satisfaction of seeing you cower a little."

"Cower?" You scoff. "You say that like I should be scared."

He softly kicks a pebble with the tip of his shoe, and it flies off in the distance, a subtle reminder of how not completely human he is. "You should be. Honestly, it's a little insulting that you're not."

"Jake, I'm sorry, but you are not scary in your wolf form. At least not to me. You just turn into a very big puppy."

His head whips in your direction, "A puppy?!"

You nod with a nonchalant lift of your shoulders, not realizing how much of a challenge those words are for him.

"Not scary, uh?"

You’re busy looking at the waves crashing against the sand, when you distinctly hear the sound of clothes ripping. You sharply turn back, but Jake is no longer standing behind you. In his place, a giant wolf stands, fangs bared, his paws leaving deep traces in the sand.

He inches towards you, head and ears lowered, as a deep rumble shakes his body.

He's trying to scare you, and it's not working at all.

"Jacob Black, you stop that right now. I know this beach is remote, but anyone could show up."

Hands on your hips, you stare him down until his ears lift back up and you see a shadow of shame fleeting in his eyes. You brazenly step up to him, "I'm really sorry to mess with your little stunt, but I told you. You’re not scary."

You look around for any sign of human life, but you're in a secluded bay, and the dense woods are your only companions. Reassured by this, you allow yourself to relax a little and take another step towards him. "In fact, you should be scared."

Your hands go up to grab his muzzle, your fingers sinking into his warm fur. "You're so cute, I just want to smother you, but in a good way. I think it’s cuteness aggression. You basically give me the same feeling as when I see a cute dog. Except you're much bigger and I know I can't hurt you."

Your hands trace the lines of his canine face, while his eyes flutter shut. "See, just a big innocent puppy."

Your jaw tenses up as the urge to squish him rises in you. Incapable of resisting, you squeeze as hard as you can, softly shaking his big face from left to right, "You're just too cute!"

Impulsively, you kiss the tip of his nose. You would never dare to do this normally, but somehow, it feels different when he is in this form. It's all less intimidating. Probably because, like this, he can’t flash you that knee-weakening grin of his or taunt you.

He seems frozen for a second, but you've gotten pretty good at deciphering his expressions, even with a completely different morphology.

There's a twinkle in his eyes, and without warning, he licks your cheek, earning a mix between a laugh and a groan from you. "Jacob, that's disgusting!"

Goofily, he grins, showing off his large canines. "Listen, you might be even cuter in this form, but I won't forgive you for this."

Immediately, you see his stance change, his mind focusing on the words that left your lips. He tips his head to the side, a mocking glow in his eyes, his wolfish eyebrows (if you can call them that) raised to the sky.

"Oh, shut up," you mutter, embarrassed by your slip-up.

He leaves you alone for now, but later, when you jump in your truck to return home, he looks at you with a grin, "So, even cuter, eh?"

[msgorillagripcoochie]

feel it twice

pairing(s): jacob black x fem!reader, slight mention of bella swan x jacob black

summary: short fic where bella swan realizes jacob isn’t orbiting her anymore and she soon finds out you’re the reason why.

warning(s): reader is a rich girl and a little bit of the spoiled type, bella lwk has bi-panic, obviously not fully canon to the og storyline #thisismyworldnow and unedited work.

a/n: this idea formed while watching new moon, i hope you like it and thank you for your time if you do read <3

bella couldn’t place where exactly things between her and jacob changed. that was the worst part.

there wasn’t one big moment she could point to, no dramatic fight or heartbreaking goodbye. it felt smaller than that. quieter.

like one day jacob was there the way he’d always been, warm and loud and impossibly devoted to her in ways she’d stopped questioning a long time ago and then suddenly… he wasn’t.

he left for the summer almost out of nowhere.

some small town a few hours away that bella barely remembered the name of because at the time she hadn’t really thought it mattered. jacob had always been restless in this boyish sort of way, always talking about wanting to leave forks for a little while, wanting to see something bigger than rainy roads and broken trucks.

so bella hadn’t looked too deeply into it.

she remembered standing outside his house while he threw bags into the backseat of his truck, smiling at her like he always did.

“you’re seriously leaving me here alone with the vampires?” she teased lightly. jacob laughed instantly. “you’ll survive a few months without me, bells.”

and maybe that should’ve felt strange.

the way he said it.

because usually jacob acted like the idea of being away from her for even a few days physically pained him. usually he looked at her like she was the center of every room he walked into.

but bella had been distracted then.

edward had come back.

and whenever edward came back into her life, everything else blurred around the edges.

including jacob.

at first she barely noticed the distance growing between them because it happened in pieces too small to catch immediately.

his texts stopped coming first.

bella would send him something in the afternoon and not hear back until midnight. phone calls became shorter. quieter. sometimes she’d catch background noise she didn’t recognize behind his voice, laughter and music and once what sounded suspiciously like a girl teasing him about something before he abruptly hung up.

she remembered staring at her phone afterward feeling strangely irritated by it.

which was stupid.

jacob was allowed to have a life outside of her. wasn’t he?

except some ugly selfish part of bella had grown used to jacob revolving around her no matter what happened. no matter how many times she ran back toward edward, jacob always stayed. always waited.

until suddenly he didn’t and by the time bella fully realized it, summer was almost over.

their friendship had turned awkward somehow. conversations that once came naturally now had gaps inside them neither of them knew how to fill anymore.

then jacob came home.

except even that felt wrong immediately.

bella remembered pulling into la push after almost three weeks without seeing him, expecting things to settle back into place the second she did.

instead she found him distracted. he felt different yet still the same but there was something calmer about him now, something less desperate. the constant pull he used to have toward her had dimmed into something quieter and bella hated how quickly she noticed it.

he smiled when he saw her but it didn’t light him up anymore and for some reason that bothered her far more than it should’ve.

after that things only got stranger.

jacob started disappearing randomly again. sometimes bella wouldn’t hear from him for days at a time and when she did, he always sounded busy.

happy.

that part unsettled her most.

because jacob used to tell her everything. every stupid thought that crossed his mind, every little thing that happened during his day now it felt like entire pieces of his life were happening somewhere far away from her.

once bella called him late at night out of habit and he answered on the third ring sounding breathless.

“bella?” he said distractedly.

then softer.

muffled away from the phone.

“baby, hold on.”

baby.

bella remembered going completely still at the word.

her stomach twisted so sharply she almost felt embarrassed by it.

“are you with someone?” she asked before she could stop herself.

there had been silence for a second too long before jacob answered carefully.

“i’m on a skype call on my laptop.” he spat out quickly and then said noththing else.

bella told herself she didn’t care. she absolutely cared and after that, curiosity started rotting at her slowly because jacob never brought the girl up directly. not really. if bella asked vague questions, he’d shrug them off or change the subject entirely but somehow that only made her more irritated.

because why was he hiding her?

and worse.

why did it feel like he was protecting whatever this relationship was from bella specifically?

eventually the distance between them became impossible to ignore entirely. bella noticed it most whenever edward wasn’t around because jacob stopped trying to fill the space.

stopped chasing her attention. stopped looking wounded every time she chose someone else over him.

and maybe that should’ve made things easier.

instead it made bella feel strangely… untethered like something she assumed would always exist suddenly didn’t anymore.

so one rainy afternoon she found herself driving toward jacob’s garage without fully planning to.

she told herself she just missed her best friend. he barely looked at her when he saw her “hey, what’s up?” he asked working on the engine to this car, leaned over under the hood. that made her more annoyed, how could he be so nonchalant? did he even miss her. “you tell me” she sounded bitchy.

she knew she did but it didnt stop her from saying it as she dropped her bag onto one of the old chairs near the wall harder than necessary and the sharpness in her voice made jacob glance back up immediately.

confused.

“what?”

for a second bella just stared at him.

he looked the same.

same broad shoulders hunched over the car. same dark hair falling messily into his face. same grease smudged across his cheekbone from working all afternoon.

but somehow he felt different now.

quieter around her like there were pieces of him she no longer had access to and maybe she was reading too much into it but she couldn’t shake that feeling.

“you’ve been weird,” she finally said.

jacob blinked once before letting out a small breath through his nose, almost amused.

“weird?”

“yes, weird.” bella crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “you disappear for months, barely answer your phone anymore and every conversation feels like i’m interrupting something.”

his expression shifted slightly at that. “bella…”

“no, seriously.” she cut him off quickly before she lost momentum. “did i do something or are you just over being my friend now?” that finally made him stop working entirely.

the wrench clinked softly against the counter as jacob straightened up slowly “i’ve been busy.” the statement only makes her more upset, she ran a hand through her hair huffing at him “busy? with what?” he shrugged “life. i don’t know.” his laugh is dry like he wants to avoid this conversation more than anything but bella won’t let him off easy.

“jacob, you used to tell me everything..” she sounds genuinely hurt when she walks closer to him and for a moment jacob feels guilty. guilty for abandoning the girl that needed him but this girl… she wasn’t his and he had been sick of doing the boyfriend job for a girl who chose someone over him every time. “bella.” he didn’t know what to say “come on, aren’t you tired?”

she looks confused “with what?”

“you know..” he doesn’t wanna say it, because saying it makes it real. makes it final. makes it something he can’t take back. this whole thing between them, this cycle, this thing that kept looping back into itself no matter how many times he tried to step out of it.

him.

her.

edward.

a triangle he never agreed to be in but somehow always ended up standing inside of anyway.

the truth was, jacob had fallen in love and it wasn’t with bella. and it wasn’t complicated anymore the way it used to be in his head, it was just simple now, clean in a way that hurt less than staying tangled in something that never really chose him back.

and that clarity made everything else easier to walk away from.

“i’m not doing this anymore,” he says finally. bella’s face tightens immediately “doing what?”

his jaw clenches slightly, like he’s trying not to make it sound harsher than it already is. his hands flex once at his sides, a small restless movement like his body is already stepping out of the conversation before his feet do.

“all of it.”

a pause.

it hangs there between them, thick and unfinished, like he’s refusing to dress it up into something softer just to make it easier to swallow.

“i’m not waiting around for you anymore, bella.”

the words hit bella far too hard than she expects, like they land in her chest before her mind even catches up. she can feel it immediately, that slow, sinking realization that this isn’t him being emotional, this is him being certain.

she hates the way it sounds decided.

her breath catches slightly, and before she can stop herself she steps closer, placing a soft hand on his chest.

not forceful, not angry, just instinctive like she can still anchor him there if she tries hard enough. her palm presses against the warmth of him like that alone could rewind whatever has already started unraveling between them, like skin-to-skin contact is enough to undo distance.

“jacob…” her voice comes out quieter than she means it to, almost careful now, like she’s afraid of pushing him further away just by speaking too loud.

“you’re my best friend.” jacob almost wished the words sounded true from bella’s mouth like if they felt true he’d feel better about himself and this friendship. it wasn’t even about the romantic aspect anymore, jacob had found love but it was just about the fact that bella didn’t treat him much like a friend when edward was around. like their friendship only existed in spaces where she was lonely.

that’s when he steps back away from her hand, he’s quick to create distance between the two of them like she had some disease “you should go, bella.” he wiped his grease stained hands slowly against the rag hanging from his back pocket, avoiding her eyes for a second because looking directly at her right now just made something ugly twist in his chest.

she blinked at him immediately, hurt flashing across her face too fast to hide. “what?” but her being hurt didn’t hit him the same way it used to; he didn’t run to fix it, protect her because she was no longer his priority, his priority was on her way here and a part of him didn’t want bella to meet his new girlfriend.

bella only stared for a moment.

“my girlfriend’s a little of the jealous type.” he chuckled to himself softly but bella doesn’t find anything comical. maybe because some ugly part of her assumed jacob would always be there waiting. orbiting around her no matter how many times she pulled away from him. she hated herself for hating the idea of him with someone else.

and it’s the way he says it. girlfriend. he says it casually but with this unusual about of love, it was only the idea of what bella imagined she sounded like when she talked about edward. she didn’t know why she felt jealous, maybe because she did love jacob and in her heart she knew she also loved edward. she was just confused and before she was to make that decision within herself jacob already subtracted himself from the situation.

“since when do you have a girlfriend?” bella asked too quickly, pretending not to already know the details he had been fighting to keep to himself every time she had asked but jacob almost shyly shrugged at her like a boy with a crush as his lips curved into a soft smile. “a while.”

a while. bella could only assume he meant months.. months that they hadn’t talked besides awkward texts and ignored phone calls, months of him slowly disappearing while she’d been too wrapped up in edward and her own confusion to notice it happening in real time. suddenly, she felt left out like she was on the outside of a locked door of a room she was desperately fighting to get into.

“you could’ve told me.” she hates how her voice comes out weakly and for the first time jacob looks at her like actually looks at her and suddenly she can see how different he is. still the same jacob but with a different look in his eyes, that very specific light in his eyes that was once reserved for her had gone out. he just looked almost content.

“yeah, i guess i could’ve.” it didn’t sound like he meant it in a bad way but she felt it that way, her jaw tightening at his words because he seemed to have already made peace with the distance between them months ago while she was only now noticing it existed.

she knew she didn’t have a right to feel wronged but it didn’t stop her from feeling it. uncomfortably she crossed her arms over her chest suddenly the room felt too warm, thick with the smell of motor oil and rain drifting in from outside while jacob leaned back against the workbench watching her carefully and for the first time, bella couldn’t read him.

jacob used to look at her like every emotion sat directly on the surface.

now the space between them was too strong and she knew she was at fault for it but a part of her was to prideful to admit it, admit that she had been too busy chasing after edward to see jacob’s distance. “you didn’t think i deserved to know?” his eyebrows furrowed at “it wasn’t like that.” he sputters back quickly.

“then what was it like?” silence fills the area as he struggles to answer for a moment because the truth sounded bad out loud.

because there was no version of this conversation where bella walked away without realizing she had missed something important while she was busy looking somewhere else.

jacob looked down briefly, outside, tires crackled softly against gravel somewhere down the road and Bella caught the smallest change in him instantly. His attention flickered away from her without thinking, subtle but automatic, like part of him was already waiting for someone else. like he could sense his other half arriving.

her. bella comes to that conclusion very quickly once he stands up fully, his whole emotions changing from this awkwardness to nervousness, his hands wiping at the grease stain on his jeans as if it’d disappear if he rubbed hard enough. he suddenly cared about how he looked.

and that hurt bella in a way she wasn’t prepared for because jacob had never been nervous around her.

not like this.

never quietly anticipating someone’s arrival like his entire body recognized them before they even appeared and for a moment bella just watched him the realization settling ugly in her stomach as he began adjusting his clothes to look perfect in his own way.

“jacob?” bella called quietly when he stopped listening halfway through the conversation entirely.

he blinked once like he’d forgotten she was standing there before clearing his throat quickly. “sorry, i just…”

another crunch of gravel echoed closer this time then came the flash of baby pink through the trees.

bella turned instinctively just as the convertible rolled into the driveway smooth and shiny against the dull reservation roads. it looked expensive. out of place, almost like someone had dropped a barbie dreamhouse accessory into the wooden area by accident.

her eyes dragged to jacob when the car came to a halt just to see the jacob’s entire expression changed instantly.

it was subtle but devastating.

his shoulders loosened first then came this unconscious softness around his mouth, his eyes warming in a way bella hadn’t seen directed at herself in a very long time.

the gravel hadn’t even finished settling when you stepped out of the car. you were beautiful, you looked far too expensive for a town like this. your body looked beautifully drawn from an old greek painting and your clothes looked out of an expensive magazine and your face... god, you were just perfect in a way that almost made bella’s heart race.

your car looked far too out of place for the reservation roads, sat there like it didn’t belong and knew it. like it was already offended by the idea of dirt existing. the door shut behind you with a soft, expensive click that felt louder than it should’ve been.

you paused the moment you settled into the gravel, your shiny expensive heels getting dirty with it. you looked down, particularly slowly.

then up again at the wet grass like it had personally wronged you.

“jacob,” you called, already unimpressed, voice carrying that soft bratty edge like you were trying not to be annoyed but failing anyway. “why is everything always… damp here?”

jacob huffed something under his breath that almost passed for a laugh. “it rained.”

“i can see that,” you said immediately, like he’d insulted your intelligence by stating it. you lifted one foot slightly, staring at your shoe with open betrayal. “this is ridiculous.” this time jacob laughed again openly and bella watched him, watched the way jacob moved toward you without thinking.

no hesitation or awkwardness. he was a complete different person than who he was in this whole conversation.

like a switch had been flipped the second you existed in his space. he grabbed your waist softly when your knees wobbled from almost slipping, bella watched the way your manicured nails held onto his bicep and for a second, she didn’t know who to be jealous of. “i told you,” jacob said softly, now closer to you than he had been to bella all afternoon, “don’t wear those here.”

his chuckles were borderline giggles at this point.

you scoffed, but it didn’t land harsh, it sounded more like affection disguised as annoyance. “you didn’t say it like that,” you corrected him, gripping arm immediately like you had every right. like you’d done it a hundred times. “you said it like you were joking.” he was careful the way he guided you into the garage before settling in with you. hardly acknowledging her presence or perhaps in your love you hardly even registered her being there.

jacob didn’t move away, he didn’t even look like the thought crossed his mind and that was the part that made bella’s stomach tighten. she hated how closely she watched jacob lean down to press his lips against your perfectly glossed ones, she felt like a perv for how closely she watched your lips perfectly mesh together like you were meant to fit together. like you had been jacob’s missing piece.

finally, bella cleared her throat and you had to basically push jacob away from you because he kissed you like he was starving for your lips. you finally looked at bella, your eyes scanning her like you were dissecting every piece of her, jacob was careful wiping the smeared lip gloss off his lips “this is-”

“bella” you finished for him with a soft nod at him, you pulled away from him creating the tiniest bit of distance between you and your lover with a soft kind smile that seemed oddly real but with a hint of something else. bella snorts trying not to seem threatened by you but on the inside she was screaming. you were insanely beautiful. “you know me?” she tries to sound strong but the words die off at the end.

“yeah, he talked about you.” jacob was quick to cut in the second he caught the edge in your tone. “y/n,” he scolded softly, the warning gentle more than anything, but you only shrugged one shoulder like you didn’t really care.

“not in a weird way,” you corrected smoothly, glancing at him with a small roll of your eyes like you already knew exactly what he was trying to prevent. then your attention slid back toward bella again. “just… mentioned.”

bella hated that instantly.

mentioned.

like she was some passing story jacob casually brought up between conversations instead of the person who used to take up entire pieces of him. as if she had been reduced down into a few harmless anecdotes told to a pretty girl between kisses and late night phone calls.

“right,” bella answered quietly before the bitterness slipped out anyway. “i’m sure i come up a lot.” she hated how catty she sounded about it and it didn’t help the way jacob’s expression changed instantly.

his shoulders tensed and bella caught the brief flash of exhaustion across his face because he knew her well enough to recognize exactly what she was doing. poking at something just to see if it still hurt.

but you only looked mildly amused by it. if anything, bella’s reaction seemed to confirm something for you.

slowly, you stepped away from jacob then, heels hitting softly against the floor as you moved closer toward bella. far too confident for bella’s liking. the kind that came naturally to girls who had never needed to question whether they were wanted.

up close somehow you looked even prettier, expensive perfume mixing with the smell of the rain in the air while your glossy lips curved slightly at the corners.

“yeah…” you said softly, eyes dragging over bella slowly enough to make her chest tighten. “i expected you to be a lot prettier.”

silence.

bella physically felt the insult settle into her stomach because your tone wasn’t loud or dramatic. if anything, you sounded almost thoughtful about it.

like you were genuinely underwhelmed.

“y/n.” jacob’s voice came out sharper this time, disbelief flashing across his face as he caught your wrist gently and tugged you back against him before you could say anything else.

the movement was automatic.

practiced.

bella noticed that too.

the way your body folded back into his without hesitation, his hand settling against your waist instinctively while you tilted your head up at him with wide innocent eyes that didn’t match the smug little smile threatening your mouth at all.

“what?” you asked sweetly, like you hadn’t just insulted her to her face. “she started it.” but jacob shook his head at you, the two of you practically having an intense conversation with just your eyes. unspoken yet effective from the way you rolled your eyes again but leaned further into him once more.

and suddenly bella became painfully aware of herself standing there in the middle of it all like an outsider interrupting something intimate. there was history here she couldn’t touch, small habits and looks exchanged without thought, conversations happening silently in glances alone.

she didn’t fit into this space anymore.

maybe she hadn’t for a while.

“i’m gonna go,” bella said suddenly, the words coming out quicker than intended as she reached for her bag before either of them could stop her.

jacob looked up immediately. “bella”

“bye bella!” you shouted over him waving “drive safe!” though from the way bella was out of there jacob wasn’t even sure jf you beard.

then the second her truck disappeared past the trees, jacob slumped slightly beside you like the last ten minutes had physically exhausted him.

you looked up at him immediately, unimpressed.

“no more history, my ass.”

jacob let out a tired groan at that, dragging one large hand down his face before covering his eyes completely. “y/n,” he mumbled through his fingers already sounding defeated.

“mmhmm.” you crossed your arms over your chest, one heel tapping against the concrete floor impatiently. “because that looked super over.”

his hand dropped slowly and immediately found your waist again like it belonged there. “it is over,” he promised quickly, voice softer now. “i swear.”

you stared at him for another second then laughed directly in his face. “oh, baby,” you murmured sweetly, reaching up to smooth your fingers lightly through the ends of his hair where the rain had curled it slightly. “i’m not worried about you.”

jacob’s expression softened instantly at the nickname alone, completely gone for you in a way that almost looked embarrassing.

“then what’s the problem?” he asked quietly. you tilted your head slightly toward the driveway bella had disappeared down moments ago, lips curving with something dangerously amused.

“she seems to think it’s still happening.”

jacob blinked once then sighed hard enough to make you laugh again because the worst part was he knew exactly what you meant.

bella hadn’t looked jealous because of history. she looked jealous because she still thought she had a place here.

and maybe once upon a time she did.

but that space was no longer hers to fill, you were here now and honestly, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

a/n: hi! omg thank you so much for reading if you made it here!! i’m very happy you chose my fic and i really would love if you gave me your thoughts in the comments and hearted if you liked the fic! ❤️

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ ✩₊˚ .⋆ ☾⋆ ⁺₊. ✧

JACOB BLACK and your little skirt. you strut around in a place like forks wearing a frilly piece of fabric that sways with your hips. the guys don’t need to be in a pack to know what jacob’s thinking when he glances back at you, when his head tilts in that undeniable boyish way that conveys he’s checking you out—that he’s watching you walk n catching a glimpse of the underside of your ass cheek when the wind kicks up. you ask him about it later, hands fiddling with the dark hair at the base of his neck. “you’re dinner and a show, babe.” he relents, handling your waist, the webs of his thumbs cutting in to the plush flesh. you manage to drag the information out of him after a fair bit of pestering, goading him to admit he was shamelessly scanning your figure out in the open. his tone lets you know he didn’t like how the guys thought it was a free ticket to watch and then get on him about it later. “don’t stop on my account or anything,” he’s quick to add, drawing you into his chest. “jus’ don’t want the guys to get confused, you know? they might think you’re for the pack.” you roll your eyes n hit him playfully when he flashes you those white canines in a grin at his own joke. “don’t be like that, c’mere,” his grip on you is unyielding, and when you try to leave, he just guides you right back into him. “let’s see if we can get his outta our way, huh? been teasin’ me all day…” he muses, and he lets you squeal and try to push his hands away when he starts riding up your skirt to get at what’s underneath.

[msgorillagripcoochie]

you can find me in the space between . . .

pairing(s): jacob black x fem!reader

summary: y/n's touch is the only thing that calms the storm under jacob's skin, but staying close to him is starting to feel far more dangerous than leaving. between quiet confessions in the rain and bitter jealousy over vampires, neither of them is ready for what this softness actually means (or) y/n is the only thing that makes jacob's change into his wolf better.

warnings: mild angst, jacob being a ittle jealous, y/n is a lil strange, implied supernatural abilities, y/n can calm wolves down and make there transition smoother, not a lot of back story because this was js a one shot idea i had!!, soft touching/hand holding, late night bedroom setting, unresolved feelings and twilight lore tweaks.

y/n/n = your nickname

“are you scared?” there’s a morbidly curious look in y/n’s eyes, her soft eyes staring at jacob like he was a science project but for some reason jacob felt fond of the sweet look on her face. he let out a shaky breath

“not when you’re here.” a sickeningly sweet admission that was true, it calmed when she was here. the burning in his chest didn’t stop but it suddenly didn’t feel as bad when she was touching him. she blinked at him a few times head tilting like a curious pet and jacob found himself feeling jealous of every other person who got to see her so close, to feel her presence this way. the thought flashed of y/n standing with edward before he had gone away, that stupid interested look in edward’s eyes almost made his blood boil right there.

the idea that y/n might’ve liked edward felt like a knife in his chest. “bella is in love with edward.” he sputtered out before he coukd stop it like if he said it out loud she’d crush any chance she might’ve thought she had with edward. her eyebrows furrowed at that suddenly leaning back away from him “i’m aware.” her hand slides off his chest and quickly, he regretted saying anything at all when y/n moved away from him “what is your point?”

the loss of her hand on his chest hits harder than it should.

not because it hurts.

because it changes the air.

jacob shifts slightly against the bed, still half-lying down, still trying to ride out the heat in his bones, but now everything feels louder again. the burn in his chest doesn’t spike the way it did before, but it sharpens in a different direction.

restless, watching and waiting for her to leave to set him on fire once more.

y/n is still beside him, but not touching him anymore and that feels wrong in a way he doesn’t like thinking about.

his jaw tightens as he exhales through his nose, eyes flicking toward her the second she leans back. “what is your point?” she asks again, softer this time, but it doesn’t lose that curious edge.

jacob doesn’t answer right away because his brain is still stuck on the shift, on the absence of her hand and how quickly his body noticed it was gone.

his fingers curl slightly against the sheets. then, almost without thinking, it slips out again

“and edward liked bella.”

it lands heavier this time but feels all the more unuseful.

y/n’s expression barely changes, just a small furrow between her brows as she leans back a little further like she’s giving him space to explain something she doesn’t actually care about.

“i’m aware,” she says again, calm as ever. a knit of confusion in her brows at his words, jacob exhales sharply through his nose, gaze dropping for half a second before snapping back to her face again.

y/n shifts slightly, still kneeling close to the bed, but now there’s distance where there wasn’t before.

he hates how his mind drifts to her with edward, the way edward eyed her like he was far too interested in her life, his voice comes out rougher this time. “edward liked you,” he mutters. her head tilts almost shocked at the sudden change of his word, she takes note of his off tone

jacob’s throat tightens slightly. he doesn’t answer immediately, eyes flicking over her face like he’s trying to keep track of something that keeps slipping just out of reach. she doesn't reply to him but there's a stitch of confusion on her face.

“did you like him?” jacob asked finally, voice rougher than before like even asking it was getting him upset.

y/n blinked slowly like she was trying to understand why the question mattered enough for him to ask it. she lets out a soft hum placing her hands in her lap “would it change something for you if i did?”

the room went strangely quiet after that.

outside, rain tapped softly against the roof in uneven patterns while the old fan in the corner pushed warm air around the bedroom without actually cooling anything down. jacob could still feel the fever beneath his skin, violent and restless beneath the surface of him, but now it had shifted into something worse.

something personal.

his jaw tightened hard enough to ache because the answer was yes.

yes, it would change something.

the idea of y/n looking at edward the way she looked at strange things, soft and quietly intrigued, made something ugly twist beneath his ribs.

edward understood things jacob didn’t. he belonged to the same cold unnatural world y/n seemed carved from.

that was the part jacob hated most. she fit too well beside the cullens when he saw it in his head.

too beautiful, too eerie, too strange and too calm around monsters.

he could still remember the way edward had looked at her that day before leaving forks. cautious but fascinated, like he’d found something he couldn’t fully understand and wanted to anyway.

and jacob hated how much that look haunted him.

the heat beneath his skin flared sharply at the thought.

his fingers curled hard into the sheets tighter beneath him before he even realized he’d moved.

y/n’s eyes flickered downward immediately, noticing.

“you’re angry,” she murmured softly like he hadn't noticed his own emotions, jacob let out a humorless laugh beneath his breath, dragging one hand over his face roughly. “you think?”

she watched him quietly for another second before leaning closer again, slow enough that he could’ve stopped her if he wanted to.

he didn’t. he couldn't because the second the thought crossed his mind he felt sick even thinking it. he watched the way she folded her arms on the bed leaning a little closer to his face and the second she moved nearer, the burning under his skin eased just enough to make his chest ache for an entirely different reason.

“you dislike them,” she said eyeing him curiously like she was trying to read any one of his thoughts before he was able to say them. he clears his throat suddenly avoiding her gaze “they’re vampires.” he tries to make it sound certain, like it was the truth but it was only part of the actual truth.

“that isn’t the reason.” her voice stayed soft. certain. and jacob hated how easily she pulled things out of him he didn’t even understand himself yet.

there was a pit in his stomach because she was right, it wasn’t just that edward was a vampire.

it was the way y/n stood beside the cullens like she belonged in the same haunting painting as them. impossible beauty and eyes that looked at people too closely.

sometimes jacob caught himself staring at her and thinking she looked less like someone who arrived in forks and more like something the fog dragged in by accident and the thought of her leaving with them someday made something vicious twist low in his stomach.

y/n tilted her head slightly, hair slipping over her shoulder as she studied him with that same strange fascination she always carried. “you looked relieved when you found out he left,” she said quietly.

jacob froze.

the words hit directly somewhere ugly because he had been relieved.

relieved when the cullens disappeared.

relieved when bella stopped running after vampires.

relieved when forks finally felt quiet again.

relieved because y/n stayed.

his silence answered for him.

y/n’s expression softened slightly then, something almost thoughtful flickering across her face before her eyes dropped briefly toward his chest where the heat still pulsed violently beneath his skin.

“you shouldn’t be so close to me when i’m like this,” jacob muttered after a moment, voice low.

y/n looked back up immediately. “why?”

because he could hear her heartbeat, because every time she leaned closer, the wolf inside him reacted like it recognized her, because some violent unfamiliar part of him wanted to pull her directly against his chest and keep her there until the heat stopped entirely.

jacob swallowed hard.

“it’s unsafe.”

y/n stared at him for a long second then slowly, carefully, she moved closer anyway sitting up more and using one of her hands to lift her up to sit beside him and now she was close, close enough that jacob could feel the coldness of her skin before she even touched him. the bed dipped softly beneath her weight as she leaned in, er eyes stayed fixed on him with that same strange endless curiosity she always carried.

like she was studying a storm without fearing it.

“you don’t feel unsafe,” she said softly, almost thoughtful. her soft eyes made his heart race “that-“ he cleared his throat looking up at her fully “that's not the same thing.” he tried to remain calm but he could smell the sweet scent of her vanilla perfume and suddenly, he took notice of the small beauty marks on her tan skin. she was enchanting almost.

“do you think you'd hurt me?” she asked softly raising her hand and placing it on his warm chest, jacob’s breathing changed instantly the second her palm settled against the center of his chest again.

the burn eased. it wasn't gone but quieter.

manageable. “i don't know.” his voice was shaky like the thought scared him more than he liked to admit. she hummed again something he couldn't read in her soft eyes, her hand moved slightly sliding over his heart.

his eyes fluttered shut before he could stop himself, his body reacting to her touch before his mind even caught up to it. it wasn’t normal. he knew that’s what her powers were but this felt so much different than what the others had described it was like the wolf under his skin paced relentlessly around everyone else but around y/n it quieted like it recognized her somehow.

or wanted her.

and that thought terrified him more than anything.

rain filled the silence between them for a moment before y/n spoke again unexpectedly.

“you like bella.”

jacob’s eyes opened immediately. the words caught him so off guard he almost laughed.

instead he just stared at her while she sat there impossibly calm, fingers still spread carefully against his chest like she could physically hold the anger inside him still.

“what?” he muttered.

y/n tilted her head slightly. “bella,” she repeated quietly. “you like her.”

it didn’t sound accusing.

if anything, she sounded curious like she was trying to solve him.

jacob exhaled hard through his nose, gaze dropping toward the ceiling for half a second before returning to her face again. “it’s complicated.”

“human feelings usually are.”

that makes him smile because she says things strangely sometimes, like she learned emotions from books instead of people. y/n always spoke carefully, observing everything with those soft eerie eyes that made jacob feel overly seen in ways he couldn’t explain.

“says the human girl.” that made her smile and jacob swore the sight was one of the best things he’d ever seen. he never got this feeling around bella despite the fact he knew he liked her but with y/n it was something entirely different, something he couldn’t explain with words. her smile faded after a few beats.

“i don’t feel human sometimes.” she admitted tapping her fingers on his chest “like i was meant to be something more.” her eyes softened when she spoke about it like it was something she never told another breathing person. “i’m not normal, what i can do to wolves isn’t normal. what i feel isn’t normal.” jacob didn’t intervene only listened laying on his back fully staring up at her as she spoke.

he realized he had never imagined her feeling this way, like she was so perfect he couldn’t imagine her feeling any other way besides confident but the way she spoke about herself was like she was a broken doll that needed to be fixed. “you like bella because she’s normal?” her eyes fluttered back up to his face and his body felt warm not in the burning kind of way but the kind of warmth where he felt so much affection in his heart without knowing where to place it.

he cleared his throat “no,” he shook his head quickly, the answer leaving him before he could properly think through it.

y/n watched him quietly waiting on a response.

jacob swallowed once, eyes dragging over her face without meaning to. the dim bedroom light caught against the soft curve of her cheekbones, against the dark lashes resting low over those strange thoughtful eyes and suddenly bella felt very far away.

“bella’s easy,” he admitted eventually, voice rough from exhaustion and something deeper he didn’t fully understand yet. “i’ve known her forever. liking her just…” he paused, brows pulling together slightly. “made sense.”

y/n stayed still beside him, hand still spread carefully over his chest while listening in that silent intense way she always did like every word mattered more than people realized. for a moment she thinks about telling him about how bella came looking for him, worried about him but for some unknown reason within herself she decides not to.

and then her nose scrunched the way it did when she was deep in thought before she took a breath “do you think i’m strange?” her voice sounds insecure in a way that makes jacob’s chest tighten at the thought of her feeling any less than perfect. “yeah,” he answered immediately, the word coming out with a soft scoff like the answer was obvious.

y/n’s expression fell just slightly anyway and in that moment jacob realized his opinion mattered to her more than he realized.

“not bad strange,” he corrected quickly, fingers tightening gently over hers where it rested against his chest. “just… you’re weird.”

that only made her look more uncertain. her nose scrunched again, eyes lowering toward their hands like she was trying to decide whether he meant it cruelly. the sight alone made something ache painfully in jacob’s chest because somehow y/n, with all her eerie certainty and strange impossible gifts, still didn’t seem to understand how people looked at her.

or worse.

how he looked at her.

jacob shifted slightly against the pillows, turning more toward her despite the lingering heat still simmering beneath his skin.

“you say unsettling stuff all the time,” he continued softly. “you stare at people like you’re reading something written under their skin.” his thumb brushed absentmindedly against the side of her hand. “and sometimes you know things before anybody says them out loud which is…” he exhaled a quiet laugh. “honestly kinda terrifying but i don’t know, i kinda like it.”

y/n blinked at him carefully. silence filled the room immediately after that his own words seemed to catch him off guard too.

y/n looked up slowly, those soft brown eyes widening just slightly while jacob suddenly became very aware of how close she was sitting beside him.

too close to take the words back now. heat crawled slowly up the back of his neck.

“i mean,” he muttered quickly, trying to recover while avoiding her eyes for half a second, “normal’s overrated anyway.”

that tiny smile returned to her face then, so warm and sweet in a kind of way that made something in him settle instantly at the sight of it.

like making her smile had become important without him realizing when it happened.

“you don’t look at me like other people do,” she said quietly after a moment. for as long as she could remember everyone looked like they feared her, or wanted her to help them, like she was just this weird creature made for other people to use. jacob frowned slightly at that as he let his fingers wrap around hers holding them in his hand. “how do they look at you?”

y/n hesitated before shrugging trying to seem unphased “like they’re waiting for me to say something wrong.”

jacob’s grip on her hand softened slightly before he finally shrugged one shoulder.

“they’re stupid then.”

y/n laughed softly under her breath at that and god, jacob thought he could spend the rest of his life chasing that sound.

“i must leave,” she murmured after a moment, the words quiet as she shook her head slightly like she was forcefully yanking herself out of the fantasy she had started to make in her head where jacob was in it. “home awaits me.”

something inside jacob immediately recoiled at the sentence.

his body tensed before he could stop it, fingers tightening instinctively around her hand where it rested against his chest. the warmth beneath his skin flickered violently again at the idea of her standing up and walking out that door.

his wolf reacted worse.

restless panic scratched beneath his ribs so suddenly it almost made him nauseous.

y/n noticed instantly of course she did. her eyes dropped briefly toward the way his hand tightened around hers before lifting back toward his face again.

“jacob,” she said softly. he tried to be normal, to contain whatever it was inside him that needed her so badly. “when will you be back?” his voice betrayed him because the desperation still slipped through anyway.

thinly hidden beneath the roughness of his voice.

y/n studied him for a second observing him in that quiet unsettling way she always did, like she could see directly into the center of a person if she stared long enough.

“after school,” she promised softly.

jacob physically relaxed at the answer. the smallest drop in his shoulders, the tension easing slightly from his jaw but y/n noticed that too. she noticed everything.

her thumb brushed once against his chest again, absentminded and soothing.

“it’s hard not to when you’re the only thing keeping me from exploding.”

y/n laughed softly at that, shaking her head once like he was being dramatic but there was something different twisting quietly in her chest now.

something she didn’t entirely understand.

and y/n hated not understanding things.

her eyes lowered briefly toward where her hand rested over his chest, feeling the violent rhythm beneath her palm gradually steady itself again. jacob’s heartbeat always changed around her faster than the others. sharper. more immediate.

more aware of her.

with sam and paul and the others, soothing them felt exhausting sometimes. like holding back a storm with her bare hands while it fought her every step of the way.

but jacob…

jacob’s wolf didn’t fight her.

it listened.

that was the part she hadn’t told anyone yet.

because she didn’t know what it meant.

she felt it every time she touched him. the heat beneath his skin easing almost instinctively beneath her hands, his anger quieting not because she forced it down but because something inside him responded to her willingly.

like the wolf recognized her.

like it wanted her there.

the thought should’ve unsettled her.

instead it made something warm bloom strangely beneath her ribs.

jacob shifted slightly beneath her touch, brown eyes flickering back toward her face when she went quiet for too long.

“are you okay, y/n/n?”

the nickname made something inside her shiver unexpectedly.

before jacob, y/n had never let anyone call her anything except her full name. every shortened version had always sounded wrong in her ears, too familiar, too soft around something that wasn’t meant to be softened.

but jacob said it differently.

y/n.

like it belonged to her.

like it belonged to him too.

and somewhere along the way bella had started saying it as well after hearing jacob use it enough times and for the first time in her life hearing her name changed didn’t feel unpleasant.

because when jacob said it first, it stopped feeling like something was being taken from her.

instead it felt strangely intimate.

y/n realized a second too late she’d been staring at him again.

his eyebrows furrowed slightly beneath her silence, concern flickering softly across his tired face while his hand shifted against her wrist unconsciously like he was making sure she was still there.

that strange feeling in her chest worsened immediately.

dangerously warm.

too much.

“yeah,” she cleared her throat softly, finally pulling her eyes away from his. “goodnight, jacob.”

the words came out quicker than intended.

almost rushed.

because suddenly staying here felt dangerous in a way wolves and vampires never had.

jacob noticed the shift instantly.

of course he did.

the second she began pulling her hand away from his chest, his entire body reacted before his mind could catch up. his fingers tightened briefly around her wrist, not enough to stop her, just enough to feel the loss already happening.

“oh,” he breathed out quietly.

and y/n hated the strange disappointment in his voice far more than she should have.

she moved off the bed carefully, smoothing her skirt down with slightly unsteady hands while avoiding looking directly at him again because every time she did, that warmth inside her chest spread further.

jacob pushed himself up slightly against the pillows watching her too closely now.

like he didn’t want her to leave.

like his wolf didn’t want her to leave either.

“goodnight, y/n/n,” he said softer this time.

the nickname sounded rougher now.

sleepy.

fond.

y/n paused halfway to the door.

just briefly.

then she looked back at him over her shoulder and immediately regretted it because jacob was already staring at her in that open earnest way he always did, curls messy against his forehead, warmth still lingering in his tired brown eyes from where she’d touched him.

something in her chest physically ached.

“sleep,” she told him quietly instead, almost avoiding the goodbye entirely.

then she slipped out of the room before he could notice how shaken she suddenly was.

but even once the door shut behind her, jacob could still feel where her hand had rested against his chest.

and worse.

he could still feel the wolf inside him searching for her.

a/n: hey!! i wrote this awhile back and decided to release this! thank you so much for your time and i hope you truly enjoyed this! please let me know your thoughts and like n reblog if u loved!! it means sm.

[lar3ine]

soo goooodd

[julez-5]

okay like Jacaerys Velaryon and the battle of the gulet BUTTT reader trys to tell him not to go, he goes. as reader hes him flying off reader (on Vermithor) flys after him taking some ships down saving Jace, maybe some angst with some a happy ending!!

WHERE YOU GO I SHALL FOLLOW—Jacaerys Velaryon

Jacaerys Velaryon x Targ!reader

summary: Jacaerys is off to the gullet, and despite your protests you follow anyways.

words: 2k

cw: MDNI 18+ targcest, premarital kissing, canon typical violence, established relations, reader is a Targaryen, but not stated how nor are any features described, reader rides Vermithor, high valyrian found on google so possibly wrong, allusions to sexual themes, not proofread, lmk if I missed any

a/n: oh my prince we all miss you 😔

You had thought you were dreaming for a moment listening to what the young man in front of you currently told you, because this could not truly be real life,"You locked your mother in her room?" you asked, your eyes flickering back to Baela who stood behind him nodding in confirmation.

Though she held a wariness to her, the same one that you could feel deep within your bones the longer the day progressed. Jacaerys immediately reached out hands gripping yours, bringing your attention back to him, "We are going to the Gullet, and it is my wish you join us. We can secure victory with the Queen."

You blinked at him, once, twice, waiting for the moment you would wake up, because in what world was this reality. The imagine did not fade away like you were hoping only cause the unease starting to flow through you to grow.

"Jacaerys," you whispered. It sounded desperate, because that is what you felt. The fear of something happening to him, was overwhelming. His dragon was not that large, and could not handle much damage, if any at all.

"Vermax and…." You turned look to Baela, the same sense of fear for her filling you as well. You loved them both, you cared for them both and could not fathom having to deal with something happening to either, "Moondancer are both quite smaller…and the Queen did not wish for you—"

"So she should risk her own life?" he asked, cutting you off. The emotion was clear in his voice. He was scared. For his mother, for his queen, and he would do what it took to keep her safe. You both mirrored each other, frightened for another more than yourself.

You sighed, "That is not what I said…but this is treason. You are acting against her orders. She clearly did not wish for you to go into battle yourself. Either of you or she would have sent you," you tried to reason once more.

But he would not be persuaded, not from this, and you understood why. You truly did, but it did nothing to persuade you even further, only wanting to lock him in his own room to protect him like he had done to Rhaenyra.

He nodded knowing that you would stay here, and perhaps that was for the best. He took a step forward, cupping your cheek before your lips met each other. The kiss held a sense of frantic nature, the same one he very possessed.

You could not push down the growing pit in your belly, as his lips stayed to yours, longer then normal, lingering as if this was a just incase, which made it feel so, so, so much wore. He only pulled away when air could not be prolonged any longer.

"I would prefer you to stay here. It would give me a piece of mind knowing you are safe," he whispered, pulling away pressing a kiss to your forehead, before the heat of his body left you completely and you were alone in the hall.

Your hands shook in his absence, it was the very first thing you noticed, as you made your way out to the balcony. The windy air, smashing against your face as you stood in the chilly reality, watching, awaiting to see the two smalls dragons flying through the air.

And when they finally did, your hands shook more, your breathing picked up at the sense of dread that took over your entire body. This was wrong. Something about this felt very, very wrong.

Mayhaps it was the fact this was against the Queen's orders or simply that the fact that he could die, as this was war and no one was truly safe.

You stood there a moment watching the flapping of Vermax's smaller wings. He was quite tiny, compared to your own mount. Your mount who could handle war, who could withstand more injury then either Vermax or Moondancer.

The pit in your belly felt like a boulder, as you rang your hands together in an anxious manner, "Oh!" you sighed, bringing a hand down running it down your face as if you were trying to scrub away grime. As if your hands could truly pull away the sense of dread, growing larger by the second.

You glanced to the castle before looking back to your heart flying away with the man you loved. "Seven fucks! Vermithor!" The Dragon's roar of response could be heard through out Dragonstone, rattling through the walls as you sprinted to him not even bothering with your riding gear.

You could not let him go off alone, not to do this. You would not sit here being some damsel while he flew off to battle, with a dragon much smaller then your own. You should have went with him the offer arose. You should have known you would not be able to stay away.

As there was a simple fact of wherever he went you would follow. To Kingslanding to fight his claim of legitimacy, to treat with Lords,and now to battle.

Jacaerys entire plan had been thrown off once he had realized it was Rhaena, on Sheepstealer rather than a green rider. His large jaw snapped at his smaller dragon, and he just narrowly escaped it.

He wondered if this was the end. If he were to die from his step-sister's new claimed wild dragon. Vermax continued to quickly fly through the air as the other dragon tried to gain on them, and as each moment passed it seemed even more likely that this was to occur.

Then there was a loud roar through the air, and suddenly the wild dragon's attention turned to a new target. Large tan wings flapped through the air, as a bronze body flew between Vermax and the Sheepstealer.

This dragon was easily recognizable, "No," Jacaerys breathed, realizing it was Vermithor. It was you. "Fuck! No, no, no," he yelled.

"You are too low! Do not follow me!" you screamed, before taking up higher yourself. Vermithor, moving without even needing the instruction. He watched as your hands, wrapped tighter around your reigns, a sense of determination filling your face before you were gone.

"Vēzot, Vermax!" he commanded, snapping out of his daze, going higher, trying to remain to the object at hand, but his mind strayed watching the wild dragon follow after you closely.

You could hear Rhaena's sounds of protest to at her new claimed dragon, as he followed after you, clearly having no control over the wild dragon. That was not something that surprised you.

Though the dragon was younger than your own he had never been claimed, he never had spent a day being commanded by a real person rather doing as he pleased. He would not learn control in one day.

And the last place he needed to be was the battle field, especially as he could have coasted Jacaerys his life moments ago.

"Pālētēs."

Evade. He needed to evade the dragon, and he would no doubt get bored and fly off. You did not wish to kill the dragon, and harm Rhaena in the process. You cared for the girl, no matter how naive she clearly seemed to be in this moment.

Vermithor dropped down quickly toward the ships, as the wild dragon followed practically on his tail, before once more, the elder changed direction. Heading back up toward the sky. It seemed to do just the trick as flaming arrows flew through the air landing the hits on the wild dragon.

The beast let out a sound, before descending higher, and off toward the other direction away from your own dragon and yourself."Umbās, Vermithor!" you ordered, as you continued to tread in the sky, watching as Sheepstealer took Rhaena away from the battle itself, and you let out a shaky breath, before turning back to the Triarchy ships.

You watched as Vermax and Moondancer continued to burn the men, lowering the threat to the Velaryon fleet. Your dragon's large head as if sensing you, turned looking down to the water once more. He let out a sound, as if he were looking for permission, something that typically would have made you laugh, but not today.

"Angōs, Vermithor!"

You had barely made it onto the ground when arms wrapped around you, practically crushing you. Vermithor let out a sound of warning, but it died in his throat as he realized the man was no threat to you.

You stumbled, back slightly, but Jacaerys steadied you, much like he always did. It took only a moment before your own hands shots out wrapping around him as he pulled you closer to his chest.

Your dragons made sounds behind you, as Vermithor nudged Vermax playfully as if he was rubbing in saving his life. The younger let out a huff turning away as if he was an embarrassed tea getting teased by his father.

Finally the adrenaline began to fade, as the tears fell down your eyes, "You could have died. You almost died," you cried, your hands clutching into him further.

One of his hands moved to cradle the back of your head gently, "I am here, and I am alive," he assured you.

You both stayed like that for what seemed like forever, holding the other, ignoring the prying eyes watching the pair of you, before you finally began to make your way into the castle.

You did not make it far when you finally turned to him, your lips turned down in a deep frown, "If you ever pull shit like that again I will strangle you," you hissed, jabbing your finger into his chest harshly.

He laughed, and it was such a glorious sound. One that you had been so close to not hearing again. He raised his hands in surrender, "I would not dare to attempt to go anywhere without you again. I have learned my lesson," he assured you.

You nodded, though your face still held a frown, "Good. If you try to do so again I will quite literally have Vermithor hold Vermax down."

"Can he even do that?" he asked, tipping his head slightly, as a humor grin filled his lips.

"Do not look at me like that," you said, crossing your arms over your chest, "I am angry with you," you insisted, turning away from him.

He smirked, moving toward you slowly, as he used his finger, turning your chin toward him. You looked up at him, anger trying to remain on your face, but that proved harder the longer you stared at him, "I am sorry," he whispered.

"You will make it up to me?" you asked, raising a brow.

The Prince nodded eagerly, "Of course, ñuha gevie."

You stared at him a moment, finally your arms uncrossing. Your hand reached out wrapping around his doublet before you drugged him closer to you. He opened his mouth in question, but as your hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

He was not given a chance to speak before your mouth planted against his own. It was more intense then the one earlier. The frantic sense of two people who had almost had to be separated by death.

You did not want to pull away, even when your lungs burned begging for breath. Even as you could hear approaching steps and knew this was improper. You did not want this to end, as there was almost a reality where you would never be able to kiss him again.

You both heard a small cough, and finally you pulled away, but still did not acknowledge the presence, "Avy jorrāelan," you whispered to him.

"Avy jorrāelan," he repeated back without hesitation.

You nodded pulling away from him completely, a small smile on your lips. Then your eyes turned to Ser Lorent, and you had to suppress a laugh, "Well. I am going to bathe. If you survive your mother you are free to join," you declared, before you were moving down the halls, no doubt toward your chambers.

He froze now remembering that he had locked his mother in her room, "Oh, shit!" he groaned, knowing there was no chance he would be able to join you. He turned looking to the knight with a sigh mentally trying to prepare himself for what was to come.

high valyrian translations: Vēzot (up), Pālētēs (to evade), Umbās (wait/stay), Angōs (attack), ñuha gevie (my beauty), Avy jorrāelan (I love you)

jacaerys velaryon taglist: @witch-of-letters @miaoteen @xinyourdreamsx

house of the dragon taglist: @msmarvelknight @madefor-softerskies

general taglist: @xkatherinexo @sacha1slytherin @qardasngan @bl3ssedp0etry @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @someonehereisstupid @honeybylove @zealousdazementality @shinewarrior01 @shipperqueen93 @sw0zzle @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @thorins-queen-of-erebor @hrh007 @leolionsthings @xostarrgirl @inturnipexplorer @umadirectioner @deltamoon666 @rotseria @exxotiic @jiminie-08

if you would like to join future taglist for jacaerys stories feel free to leave a comment :)

[vinnieswife]

Chemistry read!

Harry collet x costar!reader (2,8k)

An incredible chemistry read with Harry Collett landed you both roles on HBO, and three years later, your on screen romance became real life. @moonlightlexie

MATERIALIST

The holding area in the London audition studio felt less like a modern media hub and more like a high - stress pressure cooker, dozens of teenage actors were pacing back and forth, clutching heavily watermarked script pages, muttering their lines with rigid, overly dramatic British accents, everyone knew the stakes, this was HBO’s.

You had been sitting in a corner chair for nearly an hour, trying to steady your breathing, you were reading for a prominent original character, a fierce, fiercely loyal noble whose connection with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was described in the casting notes as an intense, deeply mature slowburn born out of political isolation and shared grief, up until ten minutes ago, you had watched a procession of polished young guys walk past, looking terrifyingly confident, trying way too hard to act like brooding future kings.

Then Harry had walked in, he didn't look rigid at all, his dark curls were entirely windswept from the London drizzle, and he was adjusting a slightly oversized jacket that looked like he’d borrowed it last minute, when his eyes scanned the crowded room, he caught you watching him, instead of giving you a competitive smirk, he had offered a remarkably warm, slightly goofy smile, navigated the maze of chairs, and dropped his backpack right next to yours. "Hi," he’d said softly, rubbing his palms against his jeans, “madhouse in here, innit? I’m Harry by the way”, there was an immediate, grounding lack of pretense about him, you smiled back, introducing yourself, and within minutes, the crushing weight of the audition had simply evaporated, running lines together in hushed whispers, you realized he wasn't trying to perform some stoic caricature of royalty, he genuinely cared about Jace’s emotional vulnerability, he matched your take on the script with an effortless chemistry that left you completely disarmed, now, standing outside the double doors of the main audition room after the casting assistant called both your names, Harry nudges your shoulder with his.

“don't stress" he whispers, his eyes warm, “we've got this, yeah?”

"You nervous?" you ask, teasingly raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely terrified" he admits with a soft laugh, adjusting his collar, “which is great, because I'm pretty sure Jace feels terrified twenty four seven"

When the doors swing open, you walk in together, the room is vast, lined with high definition cameras and a long row of folding tables, behind them sit the showrunners, the casting directors, and Ryan Condal, they look exhausted, having spent days watching kids mimic fantasy tropes with deep voices and heavy, unnatural gestures.

"Welcome, both of you" Ryan says, offering an encouraging nod, “we’re jumping straight into scene three., for context Jacaerys has just discovered the crushing truth regarding his lineage and he’s spiraling, he’s furious, his pride is completely wounded... and your character is the only person on Dragonstone who can break through his walls and understand him. Whenever you're ready”, both of you swallowed with tension.

You and Harry took your positions on the taped X's in the center of the room, the red recording lights on the cameras blinked to life as harry closes his eyes for a single beat, when he opens them, the sweet, goofy boy from the hallway is gone, his posture straightens, but his shoulders carry a heavy, suffocating weight, his jaw is clenched so tightly a muscle ticks in his cheek, and his dark eyes burn with a raw mixture of teenage rage and profound hurt.

He begins pacing like a caged animal, reciting Jace's lines with a breathless, furious cadence. “let them whisper, then, let them call me whatever they dare in the dark, I am the eldest son of the rightful queen, and I will not sit by while they tear her name and mine to shreds" In previous reads with other actors, they had shouted the lines directly at you, puffing out their chests and turning the moment into a generic screaming match to show dominance, but you remembered the subtext you and Harry talked about outside, how Jace’s anger was just a desperate shield for his terror, and instead of matching his loud volume, you step directly into his path, forcing him to halt dead in his tracks.

“Stop pacing for a second….” you say, your voice dropping into a quiet, steady cadence that anchors the entire room, “let them speak their poison, let the lords of Westeros choke on their envy, you are a Velaryon, your blood is fire, a crown is not given by the whispers of old men, Jace. It is earned by the sacrifices of the one who wears it”, you gently tap his chest with your finger, right over his heart, Harry freezes, the raw intensity in your eyes catches him completely off guard, he doesn't just deliver his next line; he reacts to yours. 

For a long moment, the space between you crackles with an electric, unscripted stillness, behind the folding tables, the executives hold their breath, nobody even dares to shift in their chairs, harry’s chest heaves under his  jacket, his breath hitching slightly as his dark eyes search yours, drinking in the unwavering calm you’re offering him in the middle of his storm. 

He shakes his head slightly, a harsh, humorless laugh escaping his throat that wasn't in the sides at all, “you speak of crowns as if they are ours to take”, he says, stepping even closer, his voice dropping an octave, raspy with unshed tears, “tell me how… how can I stand before a dragon, how can I lead an army when every lord in the realm looks at my face and knows I am a bastard? they laugh at me behind closed doors”, you could feel the fear radiating out of him, when you grabbed his arm he tensed.

“then make them bow before they can laugh”, you answer without hesitation, stepping toe to toe with him, refusing to let him retreat into his own dark thoughts, “let them doubt your hair or your eyes, but never, and listen to me...” you grabbed his face, so softly he thought he imagined it “…never let them make you doubt who you are. Stop trying to face everything on your own, you are not alone in this fortress Jace, I am here”

Step by step, the anger visibly drains from his posture, leaving behind a heartbreaking vulnerability. He takes a half step closer, closing the physical distance under the harsh studio lights. His breathing is shallow, and on pure, unscripted instinct he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your wrist, a silent, desperate plea for grounding., when he speaks, his voice cracks with genuine emotion, “they… they look at me and they see a lie... and sometimes... sometimes I look in the mirror, and what if they're right my love? What if I am just a lie?”

“then do not look in the mirror…” you whisper, closing the remaining space between you until your shoulders touch, your eyes filled with emotion as your face acted on its own, your hand moved on its own, locking your fingers firmly with his “…and come to me, I cannot promise to change how you feel, but I can make you see who you are”.

“and what if I fail?" Harry whispers back, unscripted, his forehead leaning down toward yours until your breath mingles in the quiet room, his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second before locking back onto yours with a desperate, beautiful intensity, “what if I tear everything down?"

“then we can rebuild it together”, you answer instantly, the words spilling out completely naturally, as if you'd been waiting your whole life to say them to him, “burn the world if you must, Jacaerys, but I will not let you burn yourself”, the silence that follows your sentence is absolute, for three long seconds, neither of you moved, entirely locked in an intensity that makes the modern casting room feel like a candle lit chamber in Dragonstone. Nobody in the room dares to cut the scene, completely mesmerized by the sheer weight of the moment hanging between you two.

“and... cut" Ryan Condal says softly, breaking the spell like a gentle tap on glass, behind the table, no one is typing, the casting director slowly lowers her pen, looking at Ryan with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, the director sits back, a massive smile breaking across his face as he lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head in disbelief.

“where on earth did that come from?”, Ryan asks, leaning forward on his elbows and staring between the two of you in utter awe, “guide me for a bit, uhm the physical contact, the improvisation… who told you to take it there?"

"No one, sir”, Harry stammers out, his face flushing red as he rubs the back of his neck, instantly breaking character, “we just... outside in the hall, we were talking about how terrified Jace really is under all that anger, and it just felt like what they would say to each other"

"It was pure instinct”, you add softly, catching your breath as you look over at Harry.

Ryan exchanges a stunned look with the director, tapping his pen against the table, “Mhm instinct like that is rare, very rare, you two didn't just read the scene, you completely rewrote the energy in this room, bam just like that”

"Well, well” the director says, "Sarah, I think we can officially cancel the rest of the afternoon’s auditions, don’t you think?, Kids, that wasn't a chemistry read, that was lightning in a damn bottle”, Harry slowly blinks, the heavy character melting away instantly as his ears turn a brilliant shade of red, he looks down at his shoes, then over at you, an ecstatic grin breaking across his face.

"The way you two moved together, trusting each other's rhythm... oh man you can't teach that" the casting director adds, making a massive mark next to both your names, “you two are literally them"

As you walk out of the casting office a few minutes later, the adrenaline is still humming through your veins, Harry turns to you in the quiet corridor, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes shining, “so…” he murmurs, his voice laced with that brilliant, cheeky wit, “…I guess that means we're going to be spending a lot of time together"

“looks like it my prince," you smile back, your heart doing a strange, entirely unscripted flip in your chest, neither of you had any idea then that the intense connection that stunned a room full of executives was going to completely redefine the next few years of your lives, both on top of dragons, and off.

Three long years later… (idk how to do time skips im sorry)

"If you pull my cloak one more time, I swear to God, Harry, I’m telling the directors you’re sabotaging me" you whisper, leaning close so the lavalier microphones tucked under your heavy leather costume don't pick it up.

"It’s not my fault!" Harry whispers back aggressively, though the massive smirk on his face completely gives him away, “this tunic weighs like forty pounds and the velvet on your shoulder is practically begging to be grabbed, It’s for character accuracy babe, Jace is possessive"

"Jace is a dramatic menace and so are you" you laugh, ducking out of his reach as the hair and makeup team scurries onto the set to fix a stray lock of your hair.

You two where currently deep in the production of Season 3, sitting on a massive, foam-rendered battlements set in Wales, season 1 had been a blur of nervous rehearsals, learning how to walk in heavy medieval boots, and late night study sessions in hotel rooms over cold pizza, dissecting character arcs. Season 2 brought longer hours, heavier emotional scenes, and a realization that neither of you was acting anymore when Jace and your character looked at each other like the rest of the world was burning down around them.

"Alright, and… we are rolling" the assistant director calls out, echoing across the chilly studio stage, “quiet on set! and... action!" The playful banter instantly vanishes. Harry shifts his weight, his posture hardening into the prince of Dragonstone. The wind machines kick up, blowing fake smoke and ash across the stone floor, you step up beside him at the edge of the set's ledge, looking out over the green screen that will eventually be rendered into a stormy sea.

"The fleet sails at dawn," Harry says, his voice carrying that grounded, low cadence he’d mastered over the years, he turns to you, his eyes dark with the heavy knowledge of what’s coming, "If I go to the Gullet... if I do not return..."

“do not… do not finish that phrase”, you interrupt taking his hand, your thumbs brushing over his knuckles just like you did in that very first audition room, “do not speak of loss before the blades are even drawn, you will return to me, Jacaerys, that is not a request”, he looks at your joined hands, then up at your eyes, the camera creeps in close, catching the quiet, agonizing tenderness between you, for a second, the script falls away, the way his breath hitches, the subtle soften in his gaze, that’s not Jace looking at a fellow noble, that’s Harry, your harry, utterly besotted with you, completely forgetting that eighty crew members are watching.

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, whispering the scripted line with a sincerity that makes your skin tingle, “always"

"Cut! Oh so beautiful, that’s a wrap on the battlements sequence"

The set bursts into noise, technicians start moving lighting rigs, wind machines spin down, and the heavy atmosphere vanishes, Harry lets out a long breath, rolling his shoulders back “sweet mother of jesus, my lower back is destroyed today”, he groans softly, though he doesn't let go of your hand, instead he tugs you gently toward the side of the stage away from the chaos, "How did that feel? was it alright?"

“Come on you know It was perfect H”, you say reaching up to pick a stray bit of fake ash out of his dark curls, “you were brilliant, very brooding, very tragic"

"I aim to please" he winks, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him behind a wooden prop wall, he tilts his head, kissing you softly on the lips, a slow, sweet kiss that has nothing to do with Westeros or showrunners.

When he pulls back, he’s grinning that same goofy, warm smile from the audition room three years ago, “I love that I get to do this with you, seriously, best job in the world"

"Yeah? even with the forty pound tunic and both of us dying in the next scene?”

“Yes ma’am even with the dying” he chuckles, resting his chin on your shoulder, “though I wouldn't complain if we wrapped early so we could go grab proper food, I’m literally starving”, he pressed his forehead against your shoulder.

"We have two more scenes today drama queen”, you remind him, tapping his nose. 

You're so bossy, you know that?" Harry sighs, though he's grinning ear to ear as he buries his face briefly into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath of your perfume before stepping back, “two more scenes, then food, real food, not craft services fruit platters"

“deal" you smile straightening his leather collar that had gotten twisted during the scene. “now come on, let's get back before the director thinks we ran off"

Later that evening, after the long, grueling shoot wrapped and the heavy costumes were finally shed, you both found yourselves sitting in the back of a black car heading back toward your hotel in Cardiff, the rain was drumming a steady, rhythmic pattern against the tinted windows. Harry sat close beside you, his long legs stretched out, his fingers comfortably laced with yours, he looked so tired, the faint dark circles under his eyes proof of the intense filming schedule, but his expression was entirely peaceful, he squeezed your hand gently, looking over at you in the dim light of the passing streetlamps.

“remember when we first got the call that we both booked it?" he asked softly, a nostalgic smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “my mum literally started crying in the kitchen, and I was just sitting there on the floor thinking, ‘right, don't mess this up, you've got to act with that brilliant girl from the audition room again'"

You laughed, resting your head on his shoulder, "You really thought I was brilliant?"

"Are you joking? You completely ran that room”, he said, turning his head to press a warm kiss against your hair, I knew right then, honestly, even before Jace and your character had their slow burn on paper, I was already totally done for"

"You're so dramatic Collett," you teased, though your heart warmed, leaning further into his side.

“just honest dear…” he murmured, his arm tightening around your waist as the car glided smoothly through the wet streets, “…just honest”.

the chemistry read dialogues are a big shit and trust me they were worse bc I changed them like 5 times

[dumb-bitchass]

NOT ALLOWED

ɢᴡᴀʏɴᴇ ʜɪɢʜᴛᴏᴡᴇʀ x ᴀꜰᴀʙ!ᴛᴀʀɢ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

18+

wc: 1.7k

description: Gwayne Hightower, your secret lover, has finally returned to the safety of the Red Keep after an arduous absence in the name of knightly duties. How ever will you welcome him back?

warnings//content: MDNI!!!!!!, afab reader, female anatomy but otherwise not described, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex/reader receiving, dirty talk, licking, biting, marking, premature orgasm (?? sort of), usage of anatomy words (cunt, cock etc.), pretty much vanilla, light breast play if you super squint, moaning and the works, lightly proofread

a/n: went on autopilot and wrote filth! this can be read as a sister piece to my first gwayne fic, inescapable- or as a standalone. in my head you're the same couple hehe. i'm also still new to writing smut and trying to get a better flow of it, as always feedback/things to improve on are welcome :)

After a long, lonely, and utterly empty four months, Gwayne Hightower finally returned to you. Your sweet knight, your secret lover that you had to keep at arm's length in the hours of the sun in order to have him all to yourself under the moon.

He's arrived safely to your familial castle relatively unharmed- only minor scrapes and bruises- but it's not like any marred skin would've kept you from the moment you're currently basking in anyway. 

"Fuck-" you breath, hand settling in Gwayne's hair as he buries his face between your legs.

Oh, how you've been deprived. Both of you. 

His gaze is glued to your center like a predator watching prey. He starts with little kitten licks over your exposed cunt, easing you into his tongue again after so many moons apart. You mewl, already arching into his mouth at the tingling feeling. The small strokes turn bolder, tongue flattening into your folds as he licks up from your entrance to where your clit aches for friction. He's quick to suck it into his mouth, a hum of pleasure escaping which vibrates into your skin. 

"Gods, Gwayne..." lips parted, the words leave you in a blissful moan. 

He releases the bundle with a soft pull, eyes finding violet ones over your mound. 

"Leaking for me already, love?" he says with an all-too- smug smirk, fingers that were previously indenting your thigh making their way to gently trace your entrance. 

Gwayne gathers your wetness over his middle finger and slides it into his mouth, humming at the taste. He then leans down and licks into the hole himself, an obscenely wet sound emanating. 

"Even better from the source," his words are muffled by your skin, but you can still feel his smirk. 

"Gwayne.." you mutter, a warning to quit teasing paired with a firm tug to his auburn hair.

A small, whine-like moan leaves his lips at the tug, and a grumble of acceptance follows. His tongue speeds up over your weeping cunt, switching between broad licks and pointed ones over your clit. Each suck and swirl has your lower belly tightening, the feeling he's endlessly good at pulling from you appearing once more. 

His saliva mixes with your slick, as you can see around his lips every time he rises slightly for air. He looks so disheveled between your legs, as if sucking on your cunt gets him going as much as it gets you. His tongue flicks over your clit, tilting his head slightly to earn a different angle that'll make your hips arch into his face. Naturally they do, pressing your center further into his rapid mouth. He groans at the feeling, having no choice but to inhale your sweet scent as your thighs keep him in place. 

"Ah-" a moan catches as your breath hitches, head lolling to the side as ecstasy approaches.

Gwayne's face lifts so his fingers can find your swollen cunt once again, now flushed and pink due to his ministrations. His eyes drink in the sight greedily for a moment, before fingers press into your flesh to part your folds. His head dips down, tracing your entrance with the tip of his tongue before dipping inside.

A yelp-like moan rips from you, hips twitching at the feeling, His free hand quickly presses your hips back down onto the mattress, keeping your squirming body in place. Your pleasure is only heightened as his tongues delves into you, all but making out with your opening as his nose manages to rub just right over your clit. He's all but devouring you now, mouth wholly encompassing your cunt and yet he continues to to deeper. Gwayne can feel your juices dripping down his chin, which only arouses him more so and finally causes him to break; grinding his still clothed, rock-hard cock into the mattress helplessly. 

Your moans and his muffled ones float into the heated air in sync. The knot in your stomach tightens, and your whole back arches up with the feeling. Muscles tense, his hair tangled in the death grip of your hand- but a new desire bubbles up within you.

"I- I need you inside me-" you whine, using your hand tangled in his hair to tug his head up. 

He must not have heard you between your thighs, looking quite adorably displeased at being removed from your wetness.

"I need you inside, please Gwayne.." you state once more in a quick breath.

His eyes widen- he doesn't have to be told twice. Gwayne sits up on his haunches to hastily undo the laces of his breeches, managing to slip them down at an almost inhuman pace. His cock springs free, painfully red in color and already dripping deliciously with precum.

He crawls over you, eyes completely glazed over and lust-filled. His desire for you heightened greatly with each passing day; the weak motion of his hand over his own cock was never enough, even paired with the naughtiest thoughts of you. 

"I'm not sure how long I'll last..." he breaths, "but I'm going to fuck you like a man crazed while I do."

The sheer filthy desire in his voice makes your toes curl.

"...We can make love in the morning." Gwayne jokes slightly, a small smile growing over his flushed face.

A light, breathy, all too needy giggle leaves you- 

"You talk too much." 

Your hips lift subconsciously in an attempt to find his manhood, aching at the emptiness and loss of friction. Gwayne notices, sending a knowing, salacious look your way before taking his cock to guide it into your heat. 

Both pairs of eyes flutter closed, lips parting at the sensation of him filling you. He sheaths himself fully, taking a moment to let you adjust to him bottoming out before starting to thrust. Your arms wrap around his back, pulling him closer to your sweat-slicked chest and letting your nails graze over his smooth skin.

"That's it..." a high pitched groan, feeling utterly complete now that he's filling you so well. 

Gwayne leans in to shove his face into the warmth of your neck, breath coming out in hot pants against your skin. One of his hands reaches backwards to hike a leg over his hip, squeezing the flesh hard enough to leave red imprints that'll remain- you get the hint and lift your other leg to wrap around him as well, the angle allowing for deeper strokes that forces a broken moan from both of you.

He's the missed the way your heat swallows him so effortlessly, squeezing him just right every time. Tonight he simply wants to feel you, not use any precious time while he lasts to tease and play dirty. Gwayne places sloppy, open mouthed kisses over your neck, licking and sucking bruises into the skin in a rather lewd manner simply to taste. His hand moves in tandem with his lips, moving over one of your breasts to simply grasp and squeeze.

He speeds up, rapidly pistoning in and out and throbbing inside as he feels his peak approaching. 

"Fuck, you're so perfect... so perfect for me..." he breaths against your collarbone, completely wrapped up in the feeling. 

"Gwayne-" all you can manage is a broken whine of his name. 

Your walls flutter around his cock, arms all but hugging him to you with the sharp edges of nails digging into his back. They'll definitely leaves marks for you to soothingly rub out later. 

The unexpected squeeze breaks him, a sudden, violent pang of pleasure shooting through the length of his body. His hand has to release your breast and grip into the sheets beside your head instead so as not to hurt the sensitive skin. Just then a loud whine rips it's way past his lips, forcing him to bite roughly into your shoulder to quell the noise; hips stuttering to a stop, having no time with the force of his orgasm to pull out before he's filled you with his seed. 

Mouth agape with eyes squeezing shut, his release eggs on your own. Your nails press deeper into his back before they sweep up to tangle in his hair; tugging the strands subconsciously and making an overstimulated, muffled groan escape from his wet lips. His name sputters from your own, the only thing remaining on your mind in the ecstasy of release.

After lingering twitches of your hips from aftershocks quell, your body comes down from it's high just as his tiredly collapses upon you and slips out. He's not too heavy, you can easily take his weight- enjoy it even, letting your arms wrap back around him and keeping his frame over yours. 

Pants and hot breath still escape you both, spent from the sudden releases- but it was so perfect. So blissful after months apart. Your breath gently ruffles his hair, to which you smooth down and place a kiss over the spot. The kisses continue, peppering his soft hair with endless affection. 

Gwayne purrs lowly, still hidden within the crook of your neck, basking in the love he's been deprived of. His arms slip around your middle in a desire to feel your bare skin, fingers closing and opening under you. He finally picks his head up after a calming minute to rest his chin on your chest, gaze finding yours in pure awe and reverence. 

You smile softly, both hands now pushing the hair back from his still-flushed face, raking through the strands and brushing his scalp. A light shiver runs through him. 

"I missed you absurdly, my love." Gwayne's voice is rough, a low rumble over your sternum.

"I missed you as well. I feel I am incomplete without you by my side." you reply with your fingers holding back his hair.

He softens even further, if such a thing is possible, body becoming slacker over your own. 

"Gods, I feel the same. I love you," your name slips lovingly from his lips, the sincerity deafening.

"And I love you, my sweet knight-" 

Gentle lips find his face, placing chaste kisses over his cheeks, chin, and temple before you lean in to finally capture his waiting mouth with yours. Warm, soft, and almost painfully affectionate to the point where the corners of your mouth curl into a smile against his. One of his hands slide up to cup your cheek, pressing his lips firmly into yours to ensure zero doubt remained that he was irrevocably, horrendously in love with you.

And yes- you did end up making love the following morn.     

[amyposts34568913]

YEARNING FOR HIS FUTURE QUEEN.

jacaerys velaryon x tully!reader!female

warnings: 18+, very very sweet fluff, no war and dance of the dragons au, tully's family is not book canon, smut, face-sitting, p in v, kissing, making out, teasing, pet names, breeding kink.

summary: You and Jacaerys are betrothed since you were children. He's visiting the Riverlands to see you again... being so sweet in front of your family but craving the feel of you after being apart for so long.

taglist: @claerysa

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jacaerys had been betrothed since childhood, your engagement arranged to strengthen the bond between your two houses.

You spent much of your early years in King's Landing, chasing one another through the winding corridors of the Red Keep. You watched him train tirelessly in the castle yard, wooden sword in hand, only for the two of you to sneak away afterward and steal lemon cakes from the kitchens before anyone could catch you.

Those became some of your fondest childhood memories.

When Jacaerys moved to Dragonstone with his family, the atmosphere within the royal family grew increasingly strained. Rather than asking you to travel to him, he began visiting you in the Riverlands whenever his duties allowed.

Neither of you cared where you met.

Whether it was Dragonstone, the Red Keep, or your family's castle in the Riverlands, the place never mattered.

What mattered was being together.

You had loved one another for as long as either of you could remember. As the years passed, your childhood affection quietly blossomed into something deeper, growing stronger with every reunion and every reluctant farewell.

Now, a grand tourney was to be held at Riverrun.

The moment you heard the news, you wasted no time sending a raven to Dragonstone, inviting Jacaerys to attend. The tourney itself was little more than an excuse.

In truth, you simply wanted to see him again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I waited for you..." you said with a playful pout, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. "But I think you'd rather see my brother than me."

‎To your surprise, your sweet betrothed hadn't come to greet you first upon his arrival. Instead, one of your maids informed you that he had been welcomed by your older brother, Grover.

‎Curious, you made your way to the Great Hall.

‎There they were.

‎Jacaerys and Grover stood near the great fireplace, each holding a goblet of wine that a servant had just poured for them. Deep in conversation, neither of them noticed your arrival at first.

‎Only when your voice broke the silence did Jacaerys turn toward you, his face instantly softening into the warm smile you had been hoping to see.

‎"Forgive me" he says, walking up to you "You know I can't say no to my future brother in law." He says grinning.

‎He reaches out then—gloved fingers gently brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. The gesture is tender, almost reverent. Behind him, Grover Tully watches silently with folded arms and an unreadable expression.

‎Grover genuinely liked Jacaerys. The two of them often spent their days hunting through the forests or crossing swords in the training yard, and he had come to respect the young prince both as a warrior and as a friend.

‎There was only one thing he didn't particularly care for.

‎The way Jacaerys was always so affectionate with you.

‎It wasn't that Grover was angry or disapproved of the match. If anything, he trusted Jacaerys more than most men. He was simply a protective older brother, always watching closely, determined to make sure his little sister's heart would never be broken.

‎Jace ignores the weight of his audience - In this moment, there’s only you.

‎Without another word, he closes the distance and pulls you into a tight embrace. His armor is cold against your cheek—but his heartbeat thunders beneath it: strong, fast… alive.

‎A beat passes. Then two.

‎And then—finally—he kisses you.

‎The kiss is gentle at first—hesitant, like the brush of a summer breeze. But then it deepens, fueled by months of longing and separation. Jace cups your face in his hands, thumbs tracing your cheeks as if memorizing you.

‎Your brother clears his throat loudly from across the hall.

‎Jace breaks the kiss reluctantly, his forehead resting against yours for a breath—just one more second of closeness. When he pulls back, his silver eyes are bright with joy and love.

‎He turns to Grover slowly, straightening up into the posture of a prince who knows he’s been caught in an intimate moment on foreign soil.

‎"Lord Tully" Jace says formally—though there's no real formality left in him after that kiss.

‎Grover steps forward, his dark eyes sharp with unspoken words.

‎"Keep your hands to yourself, Velaryon." He says warningly smacking him gently on the arm.

‎Jace meets his gaze without flinching. He gives another firm nod—respectful, solemn.

‎"Understood" he says simply. No excuses, no empty promises. Just quiet acknowledgment of the weight his actions carry now—not just as a prince, but as the man who will marry his sister.

‎Grover studies him a moment longer… then turns and strides toward the door without another word.

‎The tension in the hall eases slightly with his departure.

‎"You really had to do that in front of him?" You said trying not to laugh.

‎Jace grins—wide, unapologetic, boyish. The kind of smile that used to get him into trouble as a child.

‎"Of course I did" he says with mock pride. "If I was going to kiss you after all this time… I wanted your brother to see it. Let him know—right now—that you're mine."

‎He winks at you, then laces his fingers through yours like it's the most natural thing in the world. Around them, guards and servants pretend not to stare—but they do.

‎The Great Hall feels warmer somehow.

‎"I think everybody knows that I'm yours." You say quietly.

‎Jace squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The pride in his eyes is impossible to miss—bright and unguarded, like a dragon finally allowed to stretch its wings after being caged.

‎"Good," he murmurs. "Let them all know."

‎He leans down and kisses you again—quickly this time, a soft press of lips—but with no less meaning. Then he rests his forehead against yours once more, whispering:

‎"I've got something for you," Jacaerys said, slipping a hand into his cloak.

‎"I hope it's that wonderful Dornish wine we drank at the Red Keep," you replied eagerly, your eyes lighting up.

‎He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head.

‎"Not this time, my darling. I'm not making the mistake of letting you get that drunk again."

‎You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

‎"You're impossible."

‎"So I've been told."

‎At last, he opened his hand.

‎Resting in his palm was a delicate silver ring, its band shaped like a dragon coiled around itself. The tiny scales shimmered in the firelight, each one catching the glow from the nearby hearth.

‎For a moment, you could only stare.

‎"I know we've been betrothed for what feels like forever," Jacaerys said softly. "But I've never given you anything that was truly ours. Something to remind you of me whenever we're apart." His eyes met yours. "And something to let the world know that your heart already belongs to someone."

‎You looked at the ring in silent amazement, watching the silver gleam in the dancing flames.

‎"It's beautiful, my love," you whispered. "I can't believe you did this for me."

‎A gentle smile spread across his face.

‎"It's a promise ring," he said as he carefully slipped it onto your finger. "A promise that one day we'll stand before the gods and be married." His thumb brushed lightly over your hand. "And from that day forward, we'll never have to say goodbye again."

‎You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

‎Every time he looked at you that way... every time he did something so thoughtful, so effortlessly charming, your heart swelled until it felt as though it could no longer contain the love you had for him.

‎You wondered how it was possible to love someone so completely, yet with every passing day, your feelings for Jacaerys only seemed to grow stronger. "I love you with all the fire." You whispered against his lips.

‎"I love you, my love, my everything."

Jace hums against your lips—content, happy—as you peck him again. Each little kiss feels like a secret shared between just the two of you, a rebellion against all courtly decorum.

‎He doesn’t rush to deepen it this time. Just savors the softness—the sweetness of your affection—before returning it with another gentle press of his own.

‎Suddenly, you pulled away from him breaking the kiss and walked towards the door with a smirk on your face.

‎Jace’s eyes follow you instantly. That grin of yours? It’s dangerous. Playful and tasing. And it makes his heart leap.

‎He doesn’t move right away—just watches as you glide toward the door, your steps light and deliberate. The game is on.

‎A slow smirk spreads across his face—the kind that says: Oh, so we’re doing this now?

‎Without a word he starts walking after you.

‎Jace follows at a leisurely pace, hands tucked behind his back—deceptively calm. But there’s fire in his eyes.

‎The corridor outside the Great Hall is quiet, torchlight flickering on stone walls. You’re ahead… but not too far ahead.

‎Then—suddenly—he breaks into a light jog and closes the distance between you.

‎One arm wraps around your waist from behind as he pulls you gently against him.

‎The sudden warmth of his body pressed to your back sends a shiver through you—his breath tickling the shell of your ear. Jace doesn’t speak, not yet. Just holds you there for a heartbeat.

‎He lowered his head, pressing a trail of lingering kisses along your neck, each one feather-light against your skin. His hands rested gently on your shoulders, holding you steady against his chest as you melted into his embrace.

‎"You’re impossible," he murmurs against your ear. "Running off like that… you knew I’d chase you."

‎"I know... That's why I did that." You say, looking sweetly at him.

‎"Little tease." He spins you around with surprising grace and captures your lips again - this time deeper and hungrier.

‎His hands slide up to cradle your face as the torches flicker around you both.

‎"I need to go..." You said between kisses, trying to catch your breath. "And get ready for the feast."

‎Jace sighs—dramatic, exaggerated, the pout of a man torn between love and duty. The feast. Of course. Dinner with lords and ladies, politics barely hidden under polite conversation.

‎"Already?" he murmurs against your lips one last time before reluctantly pulling back.

‎He smooths his hands over your shoulders like he’s memorizing the feel of you in this moment—and then steps aside to let you pass.

‎"Go," he says softly, "but I’ll be waiting at the table for you."

‎A small smirk returns.

‎"And I won’t stop looking at you all night."

‎"I know you won't." You wink at him and started to walk towards your chambers.

‎Jace watches you walk down the corridor, your steps graceful, the sway of your gown catching the torchlight. That wink? Devastating. It lingers in his mind like a spell.

‎He stands there for a few extra seconds—long after you’ve turned a corner and vanished from sight—just smiling to himself.

‎A passing servant clears their throat awkwardly. Jace blinks, remembering he’s supposed to be a prince now—not some lovestruck boy daydreaming in hallways.

‎With one last glance toward where you disappeared… he straightens his cloak and heads toward his own chambers that were placed in completely different direction than yours. Not that your brother had anything to do with that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‎The Great Hall is transformed—long tables laden with roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and dark breads stretch from one end to the other. Torches blaze brightly overhead, casting golden light on silver platters and polished armor.

‎Lords and ladies filled the benches, their voices blending into a constant murmur of conversation. Soft piano music drifted through the hall, weaving gracefully between the chatter and lending the gathering an air of quiet elegance.

‎And there at the high table sits Jace—already in his place beside Grover.

‎Jace scans every guest entering… waiting for your arrival.

‎Then the doors swing open—guards announcing your arrival with quiet formality. The hall hushes slightly, not out of awe for a noblewoman, but because everyone knows who you are: Lady Tully, Betrothed to Prince Jacaerys.

‎The murmurs begin instantly—whispers about your gown, your grace, how young and lovely you look beside the prince.

‎Jacaerys rises as soon as he sees you.

‎No protocol stops him from coming down to meet you halfway.

‎Jace strides toward you with purpose—ignoring the stares, ignoring Grover's sharp glance from the high table. The moment he reaches you, his expression shifts: all softness and warmth reserved only for you.

‎He takes your hand—gloved in black velvet—and presses a respectful kiss to your knuckles. But when he lifts his eyes? That quiet fire is back.

‎"Beautiful," he murmurs just for you to hear.

‎Then offers his arm like a true prince escorting his lady.

‎Jace finally guides you to the table, keeping his arm firmly around you. He serves you first - plucking a juicy piece of roasted pheasant and placing it on your plate with deliberate care. He fills your goblet with wine, then lean close to murmur: "Eat. I can see that you're starving."

‎How the hell does he know that? You started thinking how he could notice such a thing about you.

‎"How do you even know that?" You said with a sly smile.

‎Jace smirks, taking a sip of his own wine before answering. "I notice everything about you, my love." He says simply like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

‎And it is. Jace pays attention - the way you braid your hair, the way you chew your lip when you're reading a book.

‎A servant passes by with a fresh bread; Jace grabs a warm roll and hands it to you without being asked.

‎You take a bite of the food and tug a curl of his hair behind his ear. "You're such a gentleman."

‎Jace leans into your touch, the gesture is so soft and so affectionate that it makes his eyes close for a brief moment.

‎"Only for you" He murmurs, and place a kiss on your fingertips.

‎You returned to your meal, trying your best to hide the smile spreading across your face. You lifted your hand to cover it, hoping no one would notice the blush warming your cheeks at the sight of your beloved.

‎Jace sees it- of course he does. The way you hide your smile, the flustered eating, the slight pink in your cheeks. He knows exactly what's happening: you're head over heels for him.

‎And gods, that makes his chest swell with pride. He grins like a smug fool. A slow knowing smirk as he watches you chew.

‎Jacaerys feels the nudge of your knee and his smirk softness into something fond. He nudges back immediately.

‎Under the table his knee stays pressed against yours now. A secret point of contact- a way to stay connected even when people bustle around you.

Across from you sat your younger siblings, a lively group of children with bright blue eyes and fiery red hair. They watched Jacaerys with barely concealed amusement, having adored him for as long as they could remember.

‎He always brought them sweets from King's Landing. Once, he had even introduced them to Vermax, much to their excitement. And somehow, despite having no idea what he was doing at first, he had even taught himself how to braid hair just for your youngest sister.

‎It was impossible for them not to love him.

‎"Do you always drink so much wine, Jace?" Your brother asks giggling.

‎Jacaerys nearly choked on his drink at the boy's boldness. He set his goblet down, trying to suppress his laughter.

‎"No. Only at feasts."

‎"Don't ask questions like that!" you whispered to your siblings, lightly kicking their feet beneath the table.

‎The children yelped—not from pain, but from surprise—and immediately shot you deeply betrayed looks.

‎Jacaerys, however, couldn't help but chuckle. There was something refreshing about the bluntness of children. No politics. No careful words. Just innocent curiosity.

‎"It's all right," he assured them with a small smile before adding mischievously, "But if I drank wine all the time like some of the lords do, I'd be drunk by noon."

‎The children burst into giggles, clearly charmed by him.

‎"Where did you get that ring?!" your younger sister suddenly exclaimed.

‎Before you could answer, she reached across the table and took your hand, examining the silver dragon ring with wide, fascinated eyes.

‎"Jace gave it to me—as a gift."

‎You couldn't miss the suspicious look Grover sent in Jacaerys's direction.

‎"It's so pretty!" your sister squealed, squirming excitedly in her seat. "You're so lucky... I want pretty things like that, too..."

‎Her excitement faded into a small pout.

‎"Don't worry," Jacaerys said gently. "You will have something pretty of your own one day." He considered her for a moment before smiling. "Perhaps I could have a necklace made for you."

‎Your sister gasped. ‎"Really?"

‎"Really."

‎She nodded enthusiastically, already imagining it.

‎You couldn't help but smile as you watched Jacaerys with your younger siblings. He was so gentle with them, so patient and kind. Something warm stirred in your chest as you found yourself imagining a future with him—a home of your own, children running through its halls, and Jacaerys looking at them with that same tender smile.

‎Then, as though she had somehow heard your thoughts, your sister spoke.

‎"Are you going to have children with my sister?"

‎The question struck the hall like a thunderclap.

‎Several nearby guests immediately choked on their wine. ‎Jacaerys froze.

‎His entire face turned scarlet, his eyes widening as he stared at the little girl in complete disbelief.

‎Your mouth fell open.

‎Even Grover looked momentarily stunned.

‎Your sister, completely oblivious to the chaos she had caused, simply waited for an answer.

‎Jacaerys opened his mouth. ‎Nothing came out. ‎She tilted her head impatiently ‎"Well?" she demanded. "Are you going to?"

‎Jacaerys finally found his voice, though it came out an octave higher than usual. ‎"I mean... yes. Eventually."

‎Your sister gasped before immediately turning to her younger brother.

‎"Do you know what that means?! Our nieces and nephews are going to have dragons!"

‎Your brother's eyes widened.

‎The two children bounced excitedly in their seats, already imagining tiny Targaryen children running through the halls with miniature dragons at their heels.

‎Jacaerys, still recovering from the question, managed a weak smile at their enthusiasm.

‎The thought of having children of his own—children with dragons—wasn't entirely foreign to him.

‎He would be lying if he said he had never imagined it before.

‎You, however, could only roll your eyes at your siblings for embarrassing both you and Jacaerys.

‎"Enough with the questions. Go play with someone your own age."

‎The children pouted but obeyed, hopping from their chairs and scampering toward the dancers, where other children were spinning in circles to the lively tune of the fiddles.

‎Jacaerys released a long breath once they were safely out of earshot.

‎"That was... a lot."

‎He reached for his goblet and took a long drink, clearly attempting to compose himself after the most unexpected interrogation of his life.

‎Around you, the hall gradually returned to normal. Lords resumed their conversations, ladies giggled behind their hands, and the musicians continued playing as though nothing had happened.

‎"I'm sorry," you murmured to Jacaerys. "They can't keep their tongues in their mouths."

‎"No, it's fine," he replied with a quiet chuckle. "I liked her questions."

‎He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

‎"Besides..." His eyes softened as they met yours. "I don't mind talking about children with you."

‎The simple confession caught you off guard.

‎You had never truly spoken about it before.

‎Of course, you both knew that one day you would be expected to provide heirs. It was simply part of marriage, especially a marriage between two noble houses.

‎But neither of you had ever admitted whether that was something you actually wanted.

‎For the first time, you wondered if perhaps Jacaerys had imagined the same future you had quietly dreamed about—a family of your own, with little children carrying pieces of both of you.

‎You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could say a word, a servant appeared to refill your goblets. You turned toward her and offered a quiet, "Thank you."

‎Once she had moved away, you reached beneath the table and took Jacaerys's hand.

‎With the lightest touch of your fingertips, you slowly traced a single word into his palm. ‎MINE

‎He shivered.

‎The possessive little claim sent his heart pounding, and a slow, amused smile spread across his face.

‎You little tease, he thought.

‎Without looking down, he gently turned your palm upward and traced his own answer against your skin. ‎YOURS.

‎You focused on the sensation of his fingertips, following each letter until the meaning became clear.

‎A quiet smile touched your lips.

‎Jacaerys wasn't accustomed to this kind of intimacy between the two of you—not in public, where every gesture had to be measured and every glance carefully controlled.

‎But he loved it.

‎Every fleeting touch. Every secret glance. Every small gesture meant only for him.

‎Above the table, he remained perfectly composed—the picture of a prince raised to hide every emotion behind a calm expression.

‎But beneath it all, your touch had left him thoroughly flustered.

‎Then your hand moved away from his palm.

‎You rose from your seat and began making your way toward the dance floor, leaving him wondering for a moment what you were doing.

‎As you passed behind him, your fingertips brushed lightly against the back of his neck, disappearing beneath his dark curls for the briefest moment.

‎Jacaerys inhaled sharply.

‎His shoulders stiffened for an instant before slowly relaxing as warmth spread from that tiny point of contact.

‎And then you were gone.

‎You walked toward the dancers with effortless grace, leaving Jacaerys sitting there as though he had been struck by some strange spell.

‎He watched you disappear into the crowd, unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips.

‎Jacaerys finally blinked, coming back to reality like a man waking from a dream.

‎The harpist had begun a lively dance, and couples were already rising from their tables.

‎His eyes immediately found you.

‎You joined the other dancers, moving with effortless grace. Every step seemed almost poetic—elegant, confident, and utterly distracting. All Jacaerys wanted was to be the one holding your hand.

‎Instead, he waited.

‎Patiently.

‎At least, he tried to.

‎The dance wasn't particularly fast, a gentle waltz beneath the warm glow of the torches. Jacaerys watched every movement as you glided across the floor with some nobleman's son who had been bold enough to ask you first.

‎A tiny spark of jealousy flickered in his chest.

‎Irrational. Fleeting.

‎But there nonetheless.

‎Then the music ended.

‎The dancers applauded politely, and before anyone could approach him, Jacaerys rose from his seat.

‎He crossed the hall with purpose, ignoring the curious looks following his every step. Protocol could wait. The musicians were already preparing for the next dance, and this time, he intended to be your partner.

‎He reached you just as the first notes of a soft lute melody filled the hall—a slower, more intimate tune than the one before.

‎Without asking, he extended his hand toward you.

‎A silent request. ‎Dance with me.‎The entire court seemed to watch. ‎Neither of you cared.

‎You placed your hand in his without hesitation, your palm fitting naturally against his. Jacaerys led you toward the center of the floor as the other couples formed around you.

‎The music swelled.

‎His hand settled gently at your waist while his other held yours, raised gracefully between you. There was no need for words. You simply moved together, matching each other's rhythm as though you had been dancing this way all your lives.

‎Then you looked up at him, a knowing smile playing on your lips. ‎"Got jealous?"

‎Jacaerys's steps didn't falter, but his eyes betrayed him immediately.

‎A guilty little flicker passed through them.

‎He let out a quiet breath, leaning closer so only you could hear. ‎"...Maybe a little."

‎There was no point lying to you. Not when you knew him so well.

‎His gaze softened.

‎"You know I only want you, right?" you murmured.

‎For a moment, Jacaerys simply looked at you.

‎Then a warm smile spread across his face.

‎"I know," he whispered. "And I only want you."

‎His fingers tightened gently around yours as the music carried you both across the floor.

‎"Come with me," Jacaerys murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

‎"Where?" you asked, glancing at him in confusion.

‎He only gave you a knowing look.

‎There was something mischievous in his eyes, something that told you he had already made up his mind.

‎Without another word, he took your hand and guided you through the dancing couples. You followed quickly, trying to keep your head down and your steps discreet so no one would notice the two of you slipping away.

‎At last, you reached the doors.

‎Jacaerys pulled one open, and the two of you slipped into the corridor. The door closed behind you, muffling the music and laughter of the feast.

‎You released a quiet sigh.

‎"We're going to be in trouble for this."

‎"I don't care," he replied simply.

‎His fingers intertwined with yours again as he began leading you down the corridor toward your chambers, a faint, mischievous smile lingering on his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‎The kiss was sloppy and desperate. The two of you stumbled into your chambers, barely giving the door time to close before you reached for him.

‎Jacaerys met you halfway, pulling you into a breathless kiss filled with all the longing you had both been trying to suppress.

‎Your fingers tangled into his dark hair, holding him close as the kiss grew more desperate, neither of you willing to be the first to pull away.

‎He pulled your body flush against him. The warm of his body made the spot between your legs ache. You tug at his tunic but rather than allowing you to undress him, Jacaerys breaks from the kiss and turns you around, so now your back was facing him.

‎"Gods, you were teasing me all day... touching me." He said while nipping at your neck, kissing your skin with open-mouthed kisses. "I missed having you like this."

‎"Jacaerys I-..." You wanted to say something but you couldn't. The tension was just too much.

‎"Say it." He demanded. Jacaerys begins to tug at your laces, removing your gown with ease and allowing it to fall at your feet. You just whimpered when you felt the cold air hitting your bare skin.

‎"Tell me." Jacaerys asked again when his fingers made contact with your clothed clit over your small cloth.

‎"Oh." You whimpered and let your head fall on his shoulder. "I want you... So bad." He nipped at your neck harder than before. "I crave the feel of you, we've been aparat for too long." You started to move your hips when you felt his hand wandering over your clothed folds.

‎"I know darling, don't worry, I will take care of you." He murmured to your ear gently sucking at the skin. "Lie down on the bed."

‎You immediately obeyed him and made your way to the bed, almost running so eager to have him already with you. He took of his tunic standing above you, then his belt followed hitting the floor. "Take this off." He said to you pointing at your small cloth that was already wet in one place next to you core. That sight made him shiver.

‎The two of you took the last pieces of clothing and he lied down next to you. "Come here, darling." He gestured for you to sit on his lap. He wanted you to be on top? That was new.

‎When you sat down on his body your hand wandered behind you to grab his hard length but he immediately stopped you. "No, I meant, come here." He said smirking at you. Your face was filled with confusion when you realized he wanted you to sit on his face. But then, you knew Jacaerys loved tasting you. He preferred that more than his own pleasure.

‎You quickly crawled to him. Your core inches from his face. He smiled like a little kid on his name day when he saw presents. "Gods...I've missed you." he only muttered when he grabbed your waist and pushed you down on his face.

‎When you felt his tongue against your folds your whole body felt forward to grab the headboard to have something to hold while he was eating you out like a starved man.

‎He hummed against you when he kissed your folds spreading them aparat with his tongue. Your clit bumped into his nose when you tried to match his rythym.

‎"Oh Jacaerys." You moaned so loudly you were afraid someone near your chambers might hear. But the sounds he was making were driving you insane, only adding to this sensation.

‎He enjoyed being this close to your intimate part that was stealing his whimpers and grunts.

‎You slightly lift yourself up for him to catch his breath and he played with your cunt only with the tip of his tongue. This feeling was so delicate that it made you twitch.

‎But he wasn't satisfied. Jacaerys wanted to devour you. "I said sit, my love." He mumbled before lowering you back to his mouth, but slightly lower than before so he could tease your clit with his mouth.

‎Jacaerys sucked your clit into his mouth and released it with a soft sound while his gaze stayed on you. "You're close aren't you, sweetheart? I can feel you dripping on my face."

‎"So close, Jacaerys. Please-" He started to place open-mouthed kisses and then he allowed his tongue to lick at the same spots over and over again.

‎When you reached your peak you felt the pleasure buzzing in your whole body. High whimpers and whines left your lips. Jace still holds you, softly kissing you.

‎When you came down from your high you pushed yourself from his body to lie down next to him. He hugged you tightly and stroked your back. "You were amazing my love. It wasn't too much?" He asked with the softness in his voice.

‎"No, it was really new but perfect." You smiled brightly when you saw him breathing heavily still trying to catch his breath.

‎Jacaerys intervined your hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles and to your ring when he found himself blushing at your praise.

‎You reached between your bodies and grabbed his hard leaking length and started to stroke him.

‎"You don't have to-" Jacaerys went to stop you but you only smiled sweetly.

‎"I need you inside me." You mumbled against his mouth.

‎"You sure?" He stroked your cheek gently. "I don't want you to be sore later."

‎"I don't care." You replied already laying on your back. "I just want you."

‎He looked at you like you were sent from the Gods to be his. You gave his weeping dick some merciful strokes when he buried his face in the crook of your neck slowly sinking into your warm.

‎He was in heaven when he looked deep into your eyes, every part of you connected. You clenched around his cock when he started to pick up a pace.

‎At first it was slow thrusts but you felt them deep inside you. You just enjoyed being this close together, happily looking at each other when your bodies moved.

‎But after a time he started to go faster and deeper, pining your tights into the mattress with his hands so you could feel every cure of him deep inside you.

‎"Jace- Oh, gods." Your whined softly when he pounded into you, his eyes never leaving yours.

‎You touched his shoulders and played with his hair as his thrusts were losing their pace as he felt it approaching. A groan left his mouth when you clenched your walls around him once again.

‎Skin slapping against skin with the same rythym he moved above you. There was no rush in the way your lips found each other, his tongue against yours. Only the feeling of his dick against your oversensitive walls was enough to make you come apart.

‎"I'm not gonna last long..." He confessed, his brows frowing while rolling his hips forward. "You feel so good, all mine."

‎"Let go for me, my love." You said against his lips, your hot breath tickling his face. "I know you need it."

‎Something inside him broke with the last thrust. He cried into the crook of your neck when he slowed down his pace, he felt his seed spilling inside you.

‎You couldn't help but falling over the edge the second time, your whole body shaking and twitching. The two of you hugged each other desperately still coming down from your peak.

‎Not ready to let go, Jace sighed and rolled down from you but not without pulling you with him and tucking you safely. You tangled one of your legs into his and hummed happily.

‎"I love you so much." He confessed. "I can't wait to marry you so we could be together all the time."

‎"I love you." You said and kissed his cheek sweetly. "Soon, my love. Soon we will be husband and wife."

‎He kissed your forehead breathing the scent of you before taking a towel from your nightstand and cleaning you up.

‎You were so overwhelmed by the love you felt for him that tears gathered in your eyes.

‎Of all the places you had been, of all the moments you had lived through, you had never felt more at peace than when you were beside him.

‎Jacaerys had been there through every chapter of your life.

‎Your childhood companion. Your best friend. Your betrothed. And, somehow, the love of your life.

‎You were the happiest with him.

"Perhaps we should take a bath..." Jacaerys offered before dropping the towel on the floor. "And maybe air out the room...?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‎

[valyasinkpen]

it's a kindness, highness

part 2

pairing: daeron targaryen x fem!baratheon!reader

summary: in which, daeron finds himself longing for the baratheon heir even though it scares him half to death, maekar low-key berates himself for not traveling to storm's end w the kids sooner, and lyonel is a girldad!

words: 4,7k

c.w: mentions of blood, alcoholism, suggestive themes

a.n: so when i said this was gonna be posted yesterday i fucking lied. in my defense, i had a terrible migraine, but at least it's here now! also, no cats will be harmed in his fic

random disclaimer: reader may be a baratheon but there will be no physical description of her whatsoever besides having hair long enough to braid and her mother's appearance is not mentioned.

By the time the royal family is settled and they’re shown in their chambers, you find yourself thinking of them far more than you care to admit.

The air around them is eerie, as if the ghosts of long-dead dragons and gods from distant lands walk with them everywhere they go. You hope that’s not the case. Storm’s End had already faced the wrath of gods before, and managed to survive it. You did not think that the fortress would remain standing if faced with a war against Valyrian gods this time around. 

You have seen people like them before, though not quite. You’ve seen lords far too proud for the halls they walk through, ladies who smile without warmth behind their eyes, heirs who’ve been taught from infancy that the world will bend itself to their will if they intimidate it enough. 

Titles never impressed you much. Your father had made certain of it. 

A crown, he once told you, did not make a fool any less foolish, and a dragon sigil embroidered over one man’s chest did not make him any less mortal. But still, there is something peculiar about them. 

Prince Baelor is the easiest to understand. The Hand of the King. Firstborn son. A perfect prince. He carries himself like a man who has spent his whole life being watched and somehow learned not to resent it, not too much. You can see why your father likes him more than he likes other lords, more than he likes other knights. Baelor listens when others speak, remaining entirely present for conversations who would bore other people to death, your father included. He laughs when something amuses him, and does not consider the act beneath his dignity. He seems so steady, you think, like nothing could ever break him. He resembles the castle in a way, you laugh at the thought. 

Prince Maekar is… another matter entirely. 

He is his brother’s polar opposite. You cannot decide whether the man is perpetually irritated or if his face had simply decided to stay that way after years of never-ending disappointment. Though he also, like his brother, watches everything. It is a talent, you decide. To be able to pay enough attention to his surroundings, his three sons, his brother, his nephew, your father, and you. All that with just two eyes. Gods. Even as he says nothing, you have the uncomfortable impression that he is measuring the room and finding it lacking in a way. 

His sons are stranger still. 

Prince Aegon, the magnificent child who has not stopped questioning you regarding the castle or the cats he saw by the entrance since he dismounted his horse and all the way into the halls. If he had noticed the way his father glared at him with the intention of silencing him, he paid it no mind. 

Aegon is easy enough, too young to have mastered whatever composure is expected of princes and far too curious to pretend otherwise. You suspect Storm's End will suit him perfectly. 

Aerion is not. You decide it almost immediately. 

Aerion is sharp and cutting in the way of broken glass beneath clear water. You feel the sting when it already drew blood. You had disliked the way he looked at you and further, you had hated the approval in his eyes when your gaze did not meet the ground and remained on his. You can make this work, though, there has to be something to him that could be… appealing enough. Or at the very least, something you could respect. 

You have a new mission now. You are determined to enjoy your father’s nameday celebrations and no overly pampered, ill-tempered princes will ruin that. No matter how pretty they are. 

You think of Daeron. You frown almost instinctively. 

Your meeting with him had been odd, at best. Visibly uncomfortable for everyone involved at worst. And he had given you his name. You had spent enough time around noblemen to know that princes did not simply forget they are princes, if anything— they weaponize it. Men born into that kind of power ended up remembering it and using it even when everyone else wished they would not.  

Unlike Aerion, his staring had not felt like a challenge. Unlike Valarr, it had not felt polite. Yet you could not place the emotion behind the lavender gaze. Was it dread? Perhaps recognition? The real question, the one nagging and eating you from the inside– what could possibly be the reason for him to look at you in that fashion? 

Not that you minded much. You find yourself wishing to have his eyes on you again. 

By the time supper is served, your father has already challenged some knights from the Vale to an army-wrestling contest, accused a lesser lord of cheating in a game of dice, and loudly informed Prince Baelor that his refusal to participate in either activity is precisely why being the heir to the Iron Throne has made him boring, while the prince quietly laughs into his cup of Arbor gold wine. 

You watch the exchange from your place at the high table, shaking your head as you keep an eye on your father, who had deserted his place beside you a few moments prior to honour his self-proclaimed title of the most entertaining host in the Seven Kingdoms by tormenting the future king without the slightest concern for whatever dignity either of them is supposed to possess. 

Storm’s End has never been particularly good at dignity. 

The great hall is packed tightly enough that you can scarcely make out the tables beneath the seemingly endless assortment of food, wine and ale. Music carries from one end of the hall to the other, apparently, the singers your father had spent the better part of the morning terrorizing had been forgiven for their early crimes against his ears. Servants weave through the crowds with practiced ease, dodging drunken knights, overexcited squires and tipsy lords and ladies, while cats wait beneath the tables for unattended pieces of meat to inevitably find their way to the floor.

The Targaryens, you observe, are considerably quieter.

Perhaps not Prince Baelor, who seemed perfectly content listening to your father, laughing at stories he has undoubtedly heard before, offering a few comments when Lyonel allows him enough time to speak. His brother Maekar, however, looks as though he has been seated in the middle of enemy territory. His back remains impossibly straight as he eyes your father while he grows his head back, laughing at something a lord from the Reach says. And every so often, his eyes wander onwards his sons.

You wonder what he is looking for. 

Prince Aegon has required very little convincing to participate in the festivities. Whatever shyness he possessed upon arriving at Storm’s End appears he left it at the gates, before the impressive black stones and before the horde of kittens that caught his eye. He is currently engaged in an animated conversation with one of your younger cousins, waving a chicken leg around as he speaks and nearly striking Prince Aerion in the face with it twice. 

The third time, Aerion catches his wrist, and Aegon freezes in place, chicken leg still held aloft like some ridiculous little war banner. You have to bite the inside of your cheek, though your face betrays you, you’re unmistakably amused. 

“Aegon,” Prince Maekar warns from farther down the table.

“I did not hit him.”

“You nearly did.”

“But I did not.

“That is hardly the point.” Prince Maekar responds, sending him a stern look. 

Aerion releases his brother with an irritated sigh and smooths the sleeve of his doublet as though he has narrowly escaped some grave indignity.

You glance between them. A thought crosses your mind. You want to disrupt them, you find yourself feeling as if you need to see them interact further. Surely they're not so well behaved in Summerhall, you've heard stories from servants who quit their station in order to escape the family chaos. 

What better place for chaos than Storm’s End. 

“I think the boy makes a compelling argument.” You state. Several pairs of lilac eyes turn toward you and Prince Maekar does not hide how his brow furrows, as Aegon does not hide the absolute delight on his face to have someone on his side, for once. “He, in fact, did not hit him.”

Aegon nods enthusiastically. “Precisely.” What a funny child, you ponder, you want to keep him here with you and feed him lemoncakes, take him as your squire on your hunting trips to the Rainswood to keep him entertained. You cannot keep him though, you would probably be hanged for crimes against the crown for endangering a prince, or something.

“He nearly struck me with a chicken leg”, Aerion says. Now properly glaring at you as if you have offended him deeply simply by opening your mouth, because how dare you do so in your own home, at your own table. You think he looks like an angry kitten, you find it cute. 

“Nearly being an important word.” You respond, now with an open smirk. You take your time looking at Aerion. He has fire in his eyes. Not due to the mild rage he seems to be experiencing courtesy of your unwanted comments, but it seems to be a fixed state for him, as if he’s been inhabited his whole life by one of the dragons his family used to ride into battle centuries ago. You wonder if he would dare to insult you in front of his family and yours. Gazing into his eyes, you can definitely discern that he wants to.  “And if Prince Aerion is quick enough to catch his brother’s wrist every time, then clearly no lasting harm has been done.” 

Aerion seems either at a loss for words, or is mentally evaluating the possible consequences for jumping across the table and throwing you to the ground. He chooses silence, and when you notice and seem pleased by the fact, he opens his mouth–

You do not let him speak, though.

“Besides, Your Grace, I would think being bested by roasted poultry would be far more embarrassing than being struck by it.” 

There is a brief silence, Prince Baelor’s attention is now solely concentrated in what's transpiring between you and his nephews. He sees you notice, just as he sees you glance at his son, and directs his gaze towards him just in time to see him lowering his head, and to catch the unmistakable shake of his shoulders. Baelor looks at you once again. 

Too late. 

You point at Valarr once. “See? Prince Valarr seems to agree with my statements.” To this, he looks up, caught entirely unprepared, mouth opening and closing while struggling to form a sentence. Little fish, you think. 

“I said nothing of the sort.” He answers, glancing at his father with an expression that betrays the fact that he’s struggling to contain his amusement and is equally frustrated at his own failed attempts. 

“You were laughing.” You respond. 

“I may have breathed somewhat forcefully” He states, his defence poor. There is no anger in his face, his expression is open, and looking at you as though he is evaluating what he believed he knew about you and your character. Finally, he appears to accept this is a lost battle, and surrenders with a small smile directed your way. You may start to like him more, and you wonder what it would take to make him laugh in an undignified manner, another small task added to your list of things to keep yourself entertained during this event.  

But that's for later. You’ll leave him be for now. 

A boisterous laugh is heard echoing in the hall, obviously belonging to your father. He makes his way back to his seat at your side and continues his previous conversation with Prince Baelor, and everyone at the table welcomes the interruption. You take the opportunity to throw a small piece of bread to Aegon’s plate in order to catch his attention, and offer him a big smile when his gaze finds yours. He offers a smile of his own. 

Across the table, someone shifts. You are immediately drawn to the sound of movement. Daeron.

He is staring at you again, and you find yourself staring back. Ignoring seems impossible now, it would be considerably easier to do so if the prince were not so terribly pretty. The thought comes so suddenly that you almost resent yourself for it. 

He’s beautiful. Annoyingly so. 

His brother and cousin are handsome men in their own ways, certainly. Valarr possesses the sort of beauty singers would compose the most tedious songs about, every feature placed exactly where the gods intended it. Aerion is pretty and alluring in a sharper fashion, something somewhat dangerous lurking beneath the silver hair and lilac eyes.

Daeron is different. 

He looks as though someone had taken all the Targaryen beauty and then refused to polish it. His hair is golden instead of silver, slightly too long and perpetually untidy, falling around his face however it pleases. There are shadows beneath his lavender eyes that ought to make him look sickly and somehow only succeed in making you wonder what he looks like after waking. 

Oh, that is an unfortunate thought. 

You are no blushing maiden, you are well past the typical age when ladies marry, and you are no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh. Partly because your father’s moans can sometimes be the reason you fail to rest properly at the hour of the owl. Partly because you have had your share of scandalous paramours yourself. You were not like Lyonel, you were careful, chose your men –and the occasional lady– wisely. Made sure they would not speak of it afterwards, few of them you would now consider good friends. You made certain that type of reputation would not follow you, even if your father insisted there was no need for you to marry, since once he passed, Storm’s End would be yours to rule. So, the wanting is not what spooks you–

It's wanting a prince. You reach for your wine. No longer lost in thought, you gaze at him again. Perhaps you should stop looking. You take a sip. You look at him again. He's still staring.

Strange man. 

Handsome, though.

Very handsome. 

Unfortunately. 

You wonder whether he knows it. Of course he does, men who look like that always know– and princes? Even worse. Yet there is something about the way Daeron watches you that does not feel particularly arrogant. Which might be what bothers you the most. There is no smugness in it, no lazy appraisal of your body, no self-satisfied smile of a man waiting for you to notice his attention. 

He simply looks. As though he cannot help himself. 

And the wine is already catching up with you, head tilted backwards, resting against the back of your chair. Most undignified for a lady. You’re not really a lady, at this moment. 

Now, you feel as if you’re just a woman, looking at a man, who is just a man. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, his eyes immediately drop to his plate.

Your mouth twitches. Interesting. 

Daeron has been with enough women to know when one is looking at him. And enough men, for that matter. 

There is usually a pattern to these things. A lingering glance. A smile held for too long. Fingers brushing his wrist while passing a cup. Finding an excuse to stand closer than necessary. It’s a simple game, comfortable, and predictable. He likes predictable, he knows exactly what to do when desire is uncomplicated. 

He would smile. He would lean closer. Perhaps say something improper enough to make them laugh, let them decide whether the rest of the distance should disappear. There have been serving girls, and tavern girls, daughters of merchants, widows who knew exactly what they wanted from him, young lords who had a preference for dark corners and discretion. He has woken in enough unfamiliar beds to have long since stopped pretending he remembers every name attached to them. 

This should not be any different.

Lady Baratheon is looking at him.

And she’s so beautiful. Painfully so. And it should make everything easier. But he remembers the dream, and he feels the same eyes on him now, as the ones he felt when he was getting swallowed by a blood lake and he has yet to know how he feels about it, nevermind what it all actually means. 

She catches him staring. One eyebrow raises. He feels almost compelled to look down. 

Coward. 

Gods, he almost scoffs at himself. 

When has he ever looked away first? Perhaps the problem is the wine, or rather, the lack thereof. He is too sober and his fingers begin to shake when they curl around the cup. The conversation between the families has long been resumed, and across the table, you laugh at something Valarr says. He finds his attention snapping back without willing it to, and before he can stop it. 

You look at ease with Valarr. Worse. Valarr looks at ease with you. Which is absurd, he has known you for less than half a day, surely he is just being polite, it would be rude not to entertain a conversation with the heir of the host and with– in all ways that it matters, the actual head of the household. You must be merely being polite yourself. There is absolutely no reason for the sight to irritate him.

It does so anyways. 

And you are not helping the situation. You seem intent on making Valarr laugh again, over-articulating with your hands as you tell some random story, accompanied with some quips from your father here and there. Of course you like Valarr. Everyone likes Valarr. He is handsome and courteous and knows how to properly introduce himself to a lady without staring at her like some half-witted stable boy who has never seen such a pretty face before in his life. 

He must have been staring daggers at his cousin, causing him to turn his attention from Lyonel to himself. “Are you well, Daeron?” He says, as he looks at him with a strange look on his face.

“Perfectly fine, thank you, cousin.” He answers. Gods, make him shut up. 

Valarr says nothing, he merely smiles that little smile of his when he’s being a polite little shit, and tilts his head sideways while he continues to look at him. After a moment, he looks away, paying attention to Lyonel and yourself once again.

Insufferable cunt.

You have stopped pretending not to watch Daeron. At least not openly. You do possess some dignity, regardless of what your father has taught the realm to expect from House Baratheon. But curiosity has always been among your more persistent weaknesses, and Prince Daeron Targaryen has become something of a question you would very much like answered.

Why has he looked at you that way in the courtyard? You doubted he had not seen his fair share of pretty ladies, and his look was no one of a flustered boy.

And why does he keep doing it now?

Why had he given you only his name?

Why does he look so exhausted? And why does he keep drinking?

And why, by all Seven gods, does he look so lovely when irritated? This last question being considerably less important than the rest. 

His cup is empty once again, and you are not the only one who noticed. A servant approaches with a flagon of Dornish red. Daeron glances towards it. For the first time all evening – and unbeknownst to you, probably his entire life– he hesitates. He places two fingers over the rim. 

“No, thank you” His eyes are not on the servant, rather on the table. The servant pauses before bowing and moving away. You blink. 

Suddenly, from beside you, comes a yell that makes your ears ring. “You are too quiet!”

You close your eyes. There is no need to look, you know precisely whom your father is addressing. He entirely seems to know.

Daeron slowly raises his head, and looks at your father. “Am I, Lord Baratheon?”

Your father responds immediately. “Yes!” He points accusingly at him from several seats away. “You’ve been sitting there looking miserable and barely saying a word for half the night.”

“Father,” you murmur. “You cannot just tell that to a guest.” You spare a glance to Prince Maekar, who had seemed about ready to jump at his son’s defense, even if you suspect he had thought the same thing himself. 

“I can if he looks miserable.” Your father replies without even looking at you. His eyes still fixed on Prince Daeron.

Daeron stares back. For one terrible moment, you wonder whether you are about to witness a diplomatic incident over roasted boar. But then Daeron’s mouth twitches. 

“I assure you, Lord Lyonel, this is simply, and unfortunately, my face.”

For a second, everyone is quiet at the table. Unbeknownst to you, due to your lack of overall assessment of the members of the royal family, you notice entirely too late that Prince Baelor seems flushed, slightly red in the face, and his eyes are a bit glazed over. 

It is him who laughs first. And it’s as polite a laugh as he can manage without making an absolute fool of himself in front of the guests, who are about almost all of the most important lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms.  

Baelor’s laugh, though not the loudest, triggered a chain reaction from everyone at the table, including yourself. Perhaps excluding Maekar. And Aerion was… nowhere to be found, for some reason. You’ll make sure the servants and the knights keep an eye on him. 

Your father slams one enormous hand against the table and you quickly grab your wine cup in a panic, to stabilize it. “I knew I liked you!” Once again, yelling in your ear while gesturing at Daeron, who almost looks regretful. When you glance towards him, his eyes find yours at the same time. He smiles this time.

There it is. You had wondered about that mouth. A mistake, apparently. He looks much prettier when he looks happy. 

Terrible. You are going to have to do something about this fascination before it becomes embarrassing. Yet you refuse to be the one who looks away first. His smile slowly fades, though he does not look displeased. Quite the opposite, if the sudden flush creeping towards the tips of his ears is any indication. 

Oh. 

Your amusement deepens. How easy it is to gain a reaction from the prince, you find yourself wanting to explore more, to push, to see how far this goes, even if it's unwise. You tilt your head.

Daeron swallows. 

She knows, Daeron realizes with mounting terror. 

She knows he finds her attractive, even worse, she finds it amusing.

There is something almost challenging in the way she stares at him now, as though she has discovered some secret about him and intends to poke at it simply to see what happens. He should dislike it. 

He does not. 

He has flirted with women far more forward in their approaches than this. Women who have climbed into his lap before bothering to ask his name. He has been propositioned in taverns, corridors, gardens, once rather memorably during his grandfather’s nameday feast by someone whose husband had been sitting less than a table away. None of them had made him nervous.

The only thing Lady Baratheon did was to raise one single eyebrow and suddenly he cannot remember where to put his hands. Ridiculous. 

Their staring contest continues a few seconds more and at last, he looks away. When he spares her one more glance, she is already looking away. He exhales, he did not notice he was holding his breath in the first place. He looks at Lyonel now, he is speaking with you in more hushed voices. He watches the way you answer to him without hesitation. The manner in which you interrupt him when he talks. The way Lyonel interrupts you back. Neither appears offended. 

At one point, he reaches and steals something directly from your plate. 

You slap his hand away. 

And Daeron holds his breath. 

“You have your own,” he hears you say “why do you always have to take things from my plate?.” You do not sound angry, not really. Vaguely irritated, perhaps. This seems to be a recurring thing. 

“Your food always looks better!” Lyonel tells you with a big smile, while he chews whatever food he was eating. He seems to be trying to irritate you purposefully, he notices. He wants to keep watching. 

“It is the same fucking pie!” You answer him, now more indignant, but with a smirk still. 

“Then you have lost nothing.” He’s beaming now, as he appears to have outsmarted you. 

An impressive feat, Daeron thinks.  

You take a second to glare at your father, while Daeron cannot seem to look away from the two of you. What a peculiar relationship the two of you have, he ponders, almost sadly. He had never seen anything like it. 

You take a piece of your pie and place it on your father’s plate. You look at him now, no longer vexed at him. In your eyes, he finds a warmth he had not seen in his siblings, or in himself, for a long, long time. 

Something uncomfortable settles beneath Daeron’s ribs, and his chest begins to ache.

He cannot remember the last time he touched his father without being instructed to.

The feast grows louder as the evening wears on. Ale loosens tongues. Music becomes faster. Somewhere below the high table, two knights begin arguing over which one of them has the better singing voice, despite neither possessing any evidence of having one at all.

Your father is delighted. Prince Maekar looks less horrified than he had an hour ago, which you consider remarkable progress.  Baelor has surrendered entirely, though he had not drunk any more wine after the incident. Aegon has acquired one of the cats, it’s the white one with orange and black spots, a fluffy one, it's one of your favourites. Aerion has disappeared. Valarr has relaxed enough to lean back in his chair. 

Daeron is watching you once again. 

And for all the times the two of you have played this little game in the course of the evening, it has yet to lose its novelty. 

You catch him staring, he does not look away. Good. You give him a smile, not the smile you offer guests, nor the polite curve of the mouth that is expected of Lady Baratheon. You offer him something smaller. More intimate. You decide to do something different this time around. 

You lean forward. He mirrors you immediately. 

“Prince Daeron” you say to him.

Daeron’s eyebrows raise, surely he must not have been expecting this. You do not blame him. “My lady?”

Finally, a conversation. You had begun to think you might have to drag one out of him. “Are you enjoying Storm’s End, my prince?”

You observe as his eyes flicker briefly onwards the chaos surrounding the both of you. A serving boy is currently attempting to retrieve a sausage from beneath the table while being thwarted by three cats. Daeron appears to consider his answer. 

“I haven’t decided, my lady.” He says. 

“Oh?,” you respond. “You have been here for hours.”

“I like to be thorough.” 

Oh, I’d wager, you think.

“And what have you discovered, your grace?” You place a hand beneath your chin to support yourself, as you stare at him with nothing short of want. Gods, this fucking wine. 

His eyes return to yours. “That Baratheons are loud.”

You do not know half of it.  You smile. “Took you hours to discover that?”

His mouth twitches once again. “And impertinent.”

Fuck

“That one took you longer?” you ask him. 

“Only slightly.”

You laugh at that. Lazily. 

He watches you do it. Once again, that strange intensity. As if he knows all about you already, every one of your secrets, and he’s just waiting for you to tell him. You can recognize his own want beneath it, as well. He is not a subtle man. Your stomach tightens pleasantly.

You know that type of look. But there is still something else behind it, something that does not belong to simple attraction. You need to know what it is. 

Odd man. 

Pretty, though. 

Gods, so very pretty. 

a.n: fuck i need himmmm. give it up for these two who managed to have an entire conversation without bursting into flames!!!! woohooooo

 get ready for the insane amounts of aura farming that reader is gonna be doing next episode when she leads the hunting party into the rainswood, daeron won't know what fucking hit him omg

also there's some of u that i tried to tag and couldn't:( hopefully u see the post anywayss

taglist: @mayyvxc @oh-miniso @nixtape-foryou @justalonelyslytherin @chickencrispers69 @starlitflora @sexytwerkerr69 @nestaaelin @canyonmoon-2 @nicoall12 @divineslautr @bella-saurus @katpaws07 @meepdog138 @tinenotfound @derailedfiction @znbbbbbbbb @lucycarlisleswife @istealvideohomesystems

[directedbygubler]

I am having a blast reading all the reactions you wrote. It's really good! Can I request hc's for asoiaf men and how they treat their pregnant wife?

how they treat their pregnant wife .ᐟ.ᐟ aegon, aemond, daemon, aerion, daeron the drunken, ser duncan

mdni nsfw ⤷ ゛asoiaf masterlist ˎˊ˗ reqs open

aegon – he is unbearably proud and a little obsessed. his hands are on your belly constantly in court, in bed, in the middle of conversations. he’ll lean down and talk to it like the child can already hear him. “hello…i’m your father… the king.” he’d treat you like a walking goddess and everyone would be in your service, no matter what you wanted. he’d even clear a room just to ease your pain in your back or the swell in your ankles with his hands, clumsy as they are. in private he’s softer than usual but still needy. he likes you on your side or straddling his lap so he can hold the swell of your stomach while he fucks into you slow and deep. “look at you,” he groans against your neck, “full of me… fucking perfect.” he gets embarrassingly hard just from watching you walk around carrying his child and you know it. but he never wants you away from his side.

aemond – intensely protective and quietly attentive. he notices every shift in your mood, every wince, every time you get tired. he’ll cut conversations short to make you sit, pour your water himself, and rest a hand on the small of your back like he’s daring anyone to come too close. like aegon he will make sure everyone is getting you what you need if he himself can’t. he watches you like you are one of the seven gods. in bed he is careful but still thorough. he prefers you on your side so he can spoon behind you, one hand cradling your belly while the other works between your legs. “tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, thrusting slow and deep. “I need to feel you…is it helping…yeah?” he’d make you come to ‘relieve’ your discomfort. he comes quieter than usual just a deep groan, face pressed to your shoulder, hand never leaving your stomach. his aftercare would change completely into fussing over you, if your too hot? he’d open the balcony doors, dehydrated? he’s watching you to make sure you drink what he brought you..

daemon – possessive in a way that borders on reverence. daemon loves you pregnant, he looks at you like you’ve given him something no one else ever could. his hands are always on you the curve of your waist, the underside of your belly, the inside of your thigh. he’ll pull you into his lap in front of others just to rest his palm over the bump. or walk next to you in court and place a hand over the bump to make it very clear who put it there. he’d stand behind you and lift your bump just to give you a few minutes of relief kissing the back of your neck whispering how beautiful you look swollen from him. when you’re alone he takes his time. slow, grinding thrusts while he mouths at your neck and talks low. “carrying my child… fucking look at you.” he keeps one hand spread over your stomach the entire time he fucks you “mine, the mother of my child...”

aerion – he announces it to anyone who will listen and treats you like you’re carrying a living dragon. “isn’t my wife amazing? have you told her? no? tell her, now.” he’ll have servants bring you whatever you want and then dramatically dismiss them when he thinks they won’t ease your properly and so he can be the one to feed you or help you sit. in bed he is still demanding, but there’s a new edge of wonder. he likes you on your back with pillows under your hips so he can watch your belly while he thrusts. “look what I put in you,” he pants, hands stroking over the swell. “a dragon. my dragon.” he gets almost overwhelmed when you come around him, burying his face against your neck and murmuring how perfect you are like this, he’d make little broken sounds as he thrusts into you.

daeron – soft, a little overwhelmed, and very affectionate. he keeps drifting close to rest his cheek against your belly or press lazy kisses there. he’ll bring you wine (watered down) and then forget half of what he was saying because he’s too busy staring at you. sometimes he just talks to the babe already speaking in length to your belly, he’d drunkenly ramble about everything his mouth and nose pressed to your skin. in bed he prefers you in his lap or spooned against him so he doesn’t put any weight on you. he sinks into you with a quiet, happy sigh and rocks slow. “mmh… you feel different… warmer somehow...” his hands stroke over your sides and stomach the whole time. “love you… both of you.” he finishes gently, stays buried afterward, and just holds you while he nuzzles your neck, murmuring half-coherent praise until he falls asleep still inside you.

duncan – endlessly gentle and quietly devoted. he anticipates your needs before you voice them extra pillows, cooler water, a steadying hand when you stand. he looks at you like you’re something holy. in bed he is almost reverent. he lays you down carefully, spends a long time with his mouth between your legs until you’re soft and open, he’d be pretty reluctant to actually fuck you with his cock but when you give him reassurance that it’s fine he’d then eases into you with a low, shaky breath. “tell me if anything hurts… please.” he keeps the pace slow and deep, one big hand spread protectively over your belly, the other laced with yours. “you’re so beautiful like this, mi’lady… carrying our child…the gods above have truly blessed me.” when he comes he’s holding back even now, still holding you as if you might break.

⤷ ゛taglistˎˊ˗

@wolfe-02 @1mamutdisi @idontfuckingcare321 @marauderswhoree @rhiannon1800 @deliberatelywaryraider @wishfairies @huacheng-girl @zoa-23 @cillianlove @unknownunseens @imasunhee @minsvibes @blacksnake13 @lilcutiepie234-blog @jade10077 @ladynihility @gojoswaterbottle @lexinaffex @i-live-for-fantasy @angel-2713

a/n: this didn’t specify if it was fluff or smut and fluff so i did the latter 🤞 i hope that’s okayy

[bladeoria]

gwayne hightower x targaryen!princess!reader who absolutely despises him. I mean dagger to throat, will not under any circumstances let him bring her to the greens in peace hatred. she gets furious when he doesn’t fight back. he just stands there and smiles while she attacks him, knowing very well that he could take her out with one swift strike. which makes her rage with anger – that quickly turns into something else, when he pushes a strand of hair our of her forehead. softly. almost mockingly. “you’re striking when you’re angry. did you know that?” he whispers.

after that, it won’t be long before he tears down all her walls, until she’s finally writhing beneath him, whimpering his name. “this is what you needed, wasn’t it?” his voice in her ear, thrusting deep inside her. that is the moment when she straddles him, holding the dagger to his throat again, and satisfies herself while that stupid smirk won’t leave his face.

gwayne is right where he wants to be.

[bambieyedoll]

EDWARD CULLEN HEADCANONS

you’re bella‘s sister and his mate .

𝒲hen you move to forks, bella is already hopelessly fascinated by edward cullen. she talks about him constantly, her voice dropping into that dreamy, distracted cadence she uses when she thinks no one is paying attention. she tries to hide the sheer, clumsy obviousness of her crush, burying it under complaints about the rain or deflection, but you see right through it. you don't think much of it, though. to you, he’s just the mysterious, weird boy your older sister is infatuated with… until you meet him.

the moment edward looks at you at school, the entire room seems to lose its air. he freezes. it’s an incredibly subtle shift, imperceptible to anyone else, but you catch the way his gold-flecked eyes widen, the sudden, rigid tension in his hand as his fingers grip the edge of the desk. you don’t understand it then. you don't know that in that exact fraction of a second, the universe has just shifted violently on its axis for him. you don't know that he has just realized what you are to him: his mate. his singer. his perfect, devastating other half.

for edward, it is instant torture. the cosmic joke of it all is suffocating. it’s not just the agonizing pull of the bond; it’s the fact that you are bella’s younger sister. bella has already staked her claim in her mind, weaving her fragile human hopes around him. edward, guilt-ridden and desperately selfless to a fault, is instantly paralyzed by the morality of it. he looks at you and sees everything he has waited a century for, but when he looks at bella, he sees a betrayal waiting to happen. he doesn't want to cause tension between you two. to desire you, to even look at you the way his soul is screaming to, feels like an unforgivable sin against the sister who looked at him first.

bella notices the shift immediately, though she completely misreads the map. she catches the way the air goes entirely still whenever you walk into a room, and how edward’s intense gaze lingers on you for a fraction of a second too long before he violently tears his eyes away. to her, this quiet intensity looks like the tentative, electric spark of a mutual attraction. she thinks it's only edward being interested in her life and family. it only fuels her crush, blinding her to the truth, while edward spends every waking second silently beating himself. he loathes his own weakness, furious that his centuries of discipline are crumbling under the weight of how desperately drawn he is to you.

driven by a mix of terror and misplaced nobility, he chooses exile. he keeps his distance, cloaking himself in a cold, aloof armor that occasionally sharpens into outright harshness. every clipped response, every deliberate exit from a room the moment you enter, isn't because he dislikes you, it's because he is utterly terrified. he is terrified of what being close to you will do to his control, terrified of the fragile glass castle of bella’s feelings shattering, and most of all, terrified of ruining you.

but his restraint backfires, acting as a pendulum that only makes the predatory pull of the mate bond snap back tighter.

he tries to block you out, but your presence is a magnet. across the loud, chaotic clamor of the cafeteria, his hyper-attuned senses automatically filter out the noise until he is listening to the steady, rhythmic skip of your heartbeat. without meaning to, he begins memorizing the exact cadence of your laugh. and when fate forces you to sit near him in biology, the proximity is pure, exquisite agony. he doesn't just feel your presence; he feels the literal burn of your nearness radiating against his cold skin, a scorching heat in his chest that makes the thirst and the longing blend into one beautiful, unbearable torture.

you feel it too, though the feeling has no name in your vocabulary. every time edward’s gaze lands on you, your stomach twists into a tight knot, leaving you breathless. there is an intensity in his golden eyes that feels entirely too heavy for a stranger, a look that feels as if it’s reaching directly inside your soul, stripping away every defense you have. yet, the moment you try to hold his stare, to demand an answer with your eyes, he flinches and looks away, leaving you stranded in the cold.

slowly, bella’s infatuation with him begins to drive a silent, invisible wedge between you. at night, she gushes about him in the bedroom you share, her voice full of hopeful wonder, entirely unaware of the dull, phantom ache blooming in your chest. you swallow the bitter feeling and try to be the supportive sister she expects, but it kills you inside. it is a quiet, maddening torture to know that the boy bella is so certain she has a chance with is the very same boy who looks at you with such intensity making you feel in a way you've never felt before.

the torture only thickens as the rainy forks days blur together, because despite his best efforts to stay away, edward’s armor is cracking.

you start noticing the cracks. you notice how, even when he is trying to be cold, his voice automatically softens whenever he speaks directly to you. you notice how, on the days when the grey sky feels too heavy and you’re visibly upset, he suddenly appears at your side out of nowhere, a silent, comforting anchor in the crowded hallway. and most of all, you notice the dangerous dark flicker in his eyes, an expression of raw possessive territoriality you can't quite name, the second another boy tries to flirt with you. he is trying so hard to let you go, but everything he does proves he is already entirely yours.

every night, while the rest of forks sleeps beneath the heavy cover of clouds, edward is left alone in the dark with a mind that refuses to quiet. he paces the floor of his bedroom, locked in a brutal, cyclical warfare against his own nature. she is my mate. the universe made her for me. then, the crushing counter-strike: she is bella’s sister. you will ruin them both.

he tries to logic his way out of a cosmic pull, arguing with the silence. i can’t. i shouldn’t. but the vampire nature in him, the part that has waited a century for a reason to exist, fiercely overrides it all: but i need her. i am dying every second i stay away from her. what am i supposed to do? there are no answers, only the agonizing truth that his restraint is a thread ready to snap.

inevitably, the fragile peace at home begins to splinter.

bella’s hopeful wonder gradually sours into a restless, sharp frustration. she isn't blind; she begins to notice that for all her efforts, edward’s responses to her remain polite, distant, and flat. he looks through her, not at her. but what truly poisons the air is what she catches in the periphery. she notices that the rare, fleeting smiles edward tries so hard to suppress, the ones that actually soften his marble features and bring a genuine, brilliant light to his eyes, are never meant for her. they are always, invariably, directed at you.

at home, the atmosphere shifts from comforting to suffocating. the silence in the house grows thicker by the day, heavy with unsaid words and suspicion. bella stops gushing. instead, her eyes follow you around the room, filled with a quiet, hurt confusion that makes your stomach churn, while the unspoken truth sits like a ghost between you.

one rain-lashed night, the fragile peace finally shatters. the bedroom door slams shut, and the dam breaks. bella confronts you, her voice trembling with a potent mix of deep hurt and mounting anger. she accuses you of playing games, of subtly going after the one boy she has bared her heart about. you defend yourself, desperately denying it, and technically, you aren't lying. you’ve never flirted, never initiated, never done a single thing to draw him in. but beneath the panic of your denials, a sickening wave of guilt washes over you. deep down, you know her instincts aren't wrong. you know there is something between you and edward, an invisible, terrifying wire pulling you together even if you don't understand why yet, and it feels like a silent betrayal.

after the lights go out, the silence in the room is deafening. you bury your face in your pillow, crying yourself to sleep in muffled, shaky breaths. the heartache is suffocating as you stare into the dark, wondering if this strange, unnamed bond with edward is fated to destroy one of the most important relationships in your life.

outside, hidden beneath the shadow of the ancient trees wrapping around the house, edward stands perfectly still in the pouring rain. he hears everything.

his flawless vampire hearing catches every venomous accusation, every sob, and the agonizingly fast, panicked rhythm of your breaking heart. it breaks him. to listen to the two people he is most desperate to protect tearing each other apart because of his mere existence is a torment worse than the thirst. every sob you draw feels like a physical blow to his chest. in the freezing rain, a century of rigid discipline finally cracks, and for the first time, edward makes a definitive choice. he can't keep pretending anymore. he can't let you drown in guilt for a bond he is supposed to be carrying.

slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild creature that might bolt at any sudden movement, edward begins to dismantle the walls between you. the cold armor melts away, replaced by a raw, quiet vulnerability. in whispered conversations in the quietest corners of the school library or beneath the shelter of the courtyard awning, he begins confessing pieces of his heart. he looks at you with a fierce, burning clarity and gives you the validation you’ve been drowning without: you are not imagining things. he tells you that the invisible, magnetic pull between you isn't a delusion, nor is it one-sided. it is a cosmic gravity and it can no longer be ignored.

the exhausting months of slow burn finally begin to pay off, yielding a secret world made entirely of stolen, breathless moments.

it’s in the electric shock of his cool fingers brushing yours as he hands you a textbook in class, a touch that lingers just a fraction of a second too long. it’s in the way his rich, velvet voice automatically drops an octave, softening into a tone meant exclusively for your ears, even when the chaotic noise of a crowded hallway surrounds you. he is still fighting his conscience, still agonizing over the shadow of bella’s hurt and the guilt of being the cause of the distance between you two, but his heart is no longer listening to his head.

the last barrier finally breaks completely one rainy afternoon. cornered by the sheer weight of his own devotion, edward leans in close enough for you to feel the chilling, intoxicating static of his presence. he looks at you, his golden eyes wide with a desperate, beautiful finality, as if he is drowning and you are the only breath of air left in the world.

when he speaks, his voice trembles with the weight of a hundred agonizing years of waiting.

“i've lived in the dark for a century,” he whispers, his breath a cool brush against your skin, his fingers hovering just millimeters from your cheek, aching to touch you but terrified to break the spell. “i didn’t know what i was waiting for, or if my soul even existed anymore. but it’s you. you're my soul, it's always been you. and i am so tired of fighting the universe, my love. i am yours, desperately, completely yours, even if it ruins me.”

the truth doesn't come out in another explosive fight, but in a quiet, inevitable realization. bella sees it on her own one afternoon, catching the exact way edward’s gaze anchors to you, a look of such absolute, desperate devotion that the world around him ceases to exist. in that moment, the fog of her crush finally clears. she looks at him, then at you, and she simply knows. she realizes she can’t compete with something that deep, a force that feels older than time itself. it hurts. a sharp, stinging bruise to her heart, but you're her sister and she loves you. looking into your eyes and seeing your shared guilt, she knows this isn't your fault. you didn't steal him; he was simply always yours.

the heavy, suffocating angst of the past months finally dissolves, paving the way for a beautiful, hard-won acceptance. bella gracefully steps back, releasing her hold on a fantasy that was never meant to be, and with her blessing, the shadows vanish. edward no longer has to hide the ocean of what he feels for you.

you finally get to breathe. you get to step out into the light and be together openly. yet, beneath his joy, edward remains quietly haunted, he looks at you and remembers the agonizing precipice he stood on, terrified of how close his own self-loathing came to costing him the only soul he has ever loved.

but once you are officially, undeniably his, all the hesitation burns away. he’ll never let you go.

the cold restraint and calculated distance of the past are entirely gone, replaced by an endlessly tender, fiercely protective devotion. edward claims you with a quiet, breathtaking certainty. he laces his cool fingers through yours every single chance he gets, grounding himself in your warmth. he presses his lips to your forehead, kissing you with a gentle, lingering intensity, as if he’s still afraid you might vanish like a dream if he lets go.

and when the rest of the world fades into background noise, he leans in to press his forehead against yours, his breath a cool caress against your skin. he whispers those three words: "i love you", not with the casual ease of a teenager, but with the aching, sacred reverence of a soul that has spent a hundred lonely years waiting for you to finally come home.

[falsokay]

𓍯 “human” nature

pairing: edward cullen x fem!reader

summary: edward is afraid to indulge himself around you… or basically you guys are getting down and he almost bites u but it’s ok

tags: fem reader, cunnilingus, dry humping, grinding, almost biting, slight temperature play? cumming untouched, cumming in pants, service top edward, vampires being sexy as usual.

warnings: edward almost bites you. that’s kind of it? some mention of death but very minimal.

word count: 1.5k

a/n: hi! this is my first fic on here and also my first time writing smut!! enjoy and lmk if it’s ok because idk 😪 I just know i had fun writing it lol

cross posted onto ao3

Edward didn’t like to indulge himself. Strict, unyielding discipline was necessary for his very existence as a being whose survival primarily depended on the death of others. He applied it to all things: to habits, to meals, to interaction. But you… you made it hard. His discipline was tested every time he was around you.

It was attraction. That much was obvious. Edward felt awkward about it, no matter how long he had lived. Attraction to your face, your body and especially your blood. He preferred not to think about it. Delicious rivers of it pumping through you like an oasis just for him… yes, he really did struggle through spending time with you.

One other thing he applied discipline to was sex. He was a monster after all. It stripped away his finesse, which was again quite awkward. Well, at least he thought it did. Although his innate vampire desire was for your blood, some of his sexual desire remained human.

Every heated moment, anytime you two made out or touched in any sort of intimate way, his focus was split between you and your perfect body, and the blood rushing through you, thrumming with arousal.

Because of that, and of course his nerves when it came to holding himself back, what you two did with eachother was limited. But when Edward got to you and you coaxed him into relaxing, he was amazing, if a bit too self concious. He just couldn't let himself go.

You had never believed him when he awkwardly told you how his wants changed with the makeup of his existence. But now you weren’t so sure.

Your room was the same as it always was that night- dim but warmly lit by your bedside lamp, your window open a slip to let Edward know he was welcome in any time, your clothes for tomorrow planned out and hung up on your closet door. But there was a change in the atmosphere. Usually, it was relaxed and quiet. Tonight it was tense and electric.

"Do you like that?" You purred, your warm hands sliding beneath his shirt and petting his cool skin. Beneath the pillow he had shoved over his head, Edward's groans and grunts were muffled. He always insisted upon it, because according to his logic if he were to be without it he would either pulverise your pelvis or scream- both equally unsexy. You liked to taunt him.

Beneath you, his hips bumped and slid against yours, cock so hard it was inhumanly possible. It was sad he never let you touch him. Again, according to his logic, if you were to ever give him one of the delicious handjobs he craved, he would immediately snap and eat you. Not in the sexy way. Although, it sounded sexy to you. He didn't appreciate you joking about it. He treated his limits very seriously, no matter how badly he wanted to break them. If he did, Edward promised you it would be the first- and last time you two were both completely satisfied. Primarily you. Because you'd be dead.

Your pussy was drooling through your panties just from the feeling of his desperate hips beneath you. The friction that dragged between your bodies was immaculate, a rough, grating feeling that opened your floodgates. How long had you two been at this- an hour? maybe half of one? Time lost all meaning when it was just the two of you getting hot and heavy like this. The crotch of his trousers were soaked. You couldn't tell if it was because of you or him.

After a particularly deep, rough grind from you, Edward growled into his pillow. Twisting the two of you over into missionary, said pillow was quickly discarded. His hips humped against your needily. You cupped his handsome face in your hands, trying to kiss him. It was a heat of the moment thing when you tried to use your tongue. Edward gave you a quick peck instead, before a long groan escaped his perfect lips and his face was buried in your neck, nose right against your pulse. His mouth opened, and you felt his cold breath against you, making you shiver. Your pussy welled up as you felt his lips get closer, kissing your skin hurriedly. He was obsessed with you. It made him careless. So, so careless. "Edward!" You gasped, feeling the edge of one of his fangs slip lightly against your neck.

Quickly, he took his head out of the crook of your neck. His expression mirrored a mix of intense lust and need. Edward seemed to refocus himself, his thick eyebrows furrowing "Sorry." He murmured "Maybe I should..." He looked away, like he was about to stop. Against his suddenly static cock, your pussy throbbed. Out of primal, bursting need, you jerked up, grabbing him by the arm. "No! I mean... it's okay." You whined, tugging slightly at his shirt sleeve. His eyes met yours, and all of a sudden, that hunger was back.

"Are you sure?" He asked lowly, his soft fingers sliding under the sides of your underwear, up your thighs "I don't want to end up hurting you. You know that... that's always a possibility." He said, his eyes still on yours. He was trying to be earnest, but the feeling of his cold skin on yours was far too distracting. "Mhm..." You mumbled absently, your eyes going wide as the soaked fabric slid further down your thighs. Edward inhaled sharply. The scent of your effluence was too much for him. "You just make it so hard for me to control myself." Edward whispered. A certain electricity had formed between your bodies, between his hands and your sweet, sensitive thighs.

As your panties were finally stripped from you, leaving you bare from the bottom down, Edward pulled your thighs around his shoulders. "You're beautiful." He murmured simply, before his cool mouth laid itself down against your warm folds. Almost immediately, the pleasure became overwhelming. "Oh!" You gasped as his tongue met your clit, your hands falling into his hair. Edward looked at you with those gorgeous hooded eyes, which despite their golden colour looked hungry as a starving man’s. He never stopped looking at you, not once. The thought made you blush.

Edward held your hips down with an almost bruising pressure, his hands like cold marble against your sweltering skin as you attempted to squirm. “Edward…” You panted, your hips bucking up into his mouth. He lapped at you like a starved dog. Somehow, probably because of his teeth, he’d learnt to use his tongue like a weapon. He preferred to eat you out rather than finger you, when it came to that. He just preferred to use his tongue. He said he didn’t get as much taste out of blood as he got out of your sweetness.

"Do you like that?" He murmured. You nodded, your thighs tightening around his head as he swiped over your clit with such skill it made you jerk with how good it felt. "I know you do." His tongue dragged through your folds, your juices slathering onto his tongue. Edward groaned. You whimpered. He laved against your clit, rubbing and sucking on it, until finally your hands tightened hard in his hair. "Edward!" You gasped, squirming hard "Edward!"

When you came, he didn't stop. He kept going, tongue pressing into your weeping pussy, pleasuring you to the point of near torture. As a second orgasm rolled through you, your hips starting to shake, you gasped "Let-let me-" You mumbled weakly, trying to bring your hand down to the erection that had to be painful by now. Edward guided your hand away, looking a tad embarrased "No... I'm fine." He murmured. Upon looking down again, you noticed he'd gotten much, much softer. He'd came just from eating you out. The thought of it turned you on to another level. It made you dizzy with arousal.

"Oh fuck." You whispered. Your pussy drooled with you.

As if nothing had happened, Edward started again. Your hips rolled and shook, and your attention was quickly brought away from the discovery you'd just made about yourself. "Oh- too much!" You moaned "Stop! Please! Too much!" Primal, lustful whimpers were torn from your throat. You were so loud. It only spurred him on further. It came all at once- your final orgasm. It was only final because you're weren't sure you could take another.

Your back arched, and your fingers in Edward's hair tightened hard. The moan that escaped from your throat was a noise you'd never heard yourself make before. Guttural and too much. Everything was too much around him. And you loved it.

Finally, after letting you come down from your peak, Edwards hands slid around your waist as he pressed you against his chest. You were still shaking. "Fuck..." You mumbled, cuddling closer to him. "Was that good?" He asked lowly. You sighed and nodded, your head lolling against him weakly "So good. Don't run off yet, okay?"

He nodded, a hand sliding through your hair. Perhaps another night you'd reach your goal of getting him to let you touch him. Not tonight though. You were exhausted.

[lunarify]

SWEET ESCAPE — DUNK

⋆ SUMMARY — you escape to the river, to get away from the summer heat and insufferable family members, only to meet a certain hedge knight.

⋆ TAGS — targ!reader (no physical descriptions), nudity, suggestive, teasing, post-ashford, canon divergence (baelor’s alive bc i can’t handle it, therefore aerion isn’t sent away), aerion being a possessive shithead brother, fluff

⋆ FAE'S NOTES — oh no i’ve once again fallen for a father figure tasked with caring for a special small child… kinda nervous posting since i’ve never written anything got or asoiaf so pls pls let me know if there are any lore/world inaccuracies!! hoping to write more dunk fics bc there are wayyy too little for him!! i’ve got a few ideas already so hopefully you enjoy this one div: @strangergraphics

⤷ NAVIGATION • READ ON AO3

It is too hot to care about propriety. Layers of cloth fall around your ankles, leaving you completely bare and exposed to the river's surrounding. If any traveling merchant or hunting party were to come wandering by in search of a fresh water source, the treeline would do nothing to hide your modesty.

Your father will surely have a heart attack if he knew you were out, without guards, frolicking around with reckless abandon completely nude.

As if your three brothers were not enough of a fucking hassle to deal with, he would groan.

The weather has been unbearable ever since the arrival of summer. And with unbearable weather, comes unbearable family, constantly irritated and snappy, more so than usual. It would be a lie to say that you were the only one unaffected by the weather.

This morning you had yelled at your younger brother, Aerion, for cutting the hair off your younger sisters' dolls as they cried and clung to you. With their arms curled around you, warm tears bleeding into your skirts, and Aerion's aloof attitude to your lecture, you could not help but fling the disfigured dolls at him.

The first hit him in the face. The shock of it could not even register until the second slammed against his chest. Then his quick temper morphed his features into anger.

He lunged at you, grabbing your arms. You did not flinch when he got in your face, too used to his little outbursts. "You stupid-!"

That was when your father came into the room, already flushed red with anger. "Quiet, all of you! Enough with this nonsense!"

That shut all of you up. Your father ripped Aerion off of you, and you gave each other one last nasty glare as he was hauled away.

Instead of returning to your chambers to stew in heat and frustration, you slipped past the guard, utilizing tricks you learned from your eldest brother whenever he would sneak off to the tavern or brothel.

Of course you knew the way to the river, often coming to play here with your siblings or accompanying Aerion or little Egg fishing when you were younger, before your beloved mother passed.

Freedom from the restricting dress provides temporary relief. The sun is still at it's peak, relentlessly beating down on your poor, sweltering skin.

You abandon your folded clothes on a rock nearby and shuffle into the gentle waters. It flows around your calves, cold, refreshing, and quickly washing away the heat and frustration that consumed you. The water is clear enough for you to see your toes wiggling against the rocky shoal.

You kneel into the water and splash it on your face, hissing when the cold rivulets spill down your body, but the sun is quick to heat you back up.

"O-Oh, I'm so sorry!" It's a stuttered exclamation, followed by what sounds like footsteps fumbling on the grassy bank. "I didn't mean to-"

You rise slow, looking over your shoulder, as you eye the stranger who has his back turned toward you. Dirty is one word you can use to describe him. Covered head to toe in mud like he just finished rolling in it. His short hair is matted, hiding true color of his hair, which you can only assume is blond by the stray strands that are not coated in dirt. The tips of his ears burning red.

Other than the dirt covering him, he is absolutely massive. You would have to crane your neck just to look him in the eye. A very similar stature to someone you only met in your family's tale upon returning from Ashford.

Your lips curl into a smile.

No one is allowed to talk about the events at Ashford, not just for the sake of Aerion's bruised ego, but because of the near fatal injury your father caused your uncle.

The lack of information about that day only increased your curiosity. A simple hedge knight faced your brother and won? He fascinates you. Honorable, kind, someone true to their oaths. Someone so unlike Daeron and Aerion.

"No harm done, Ser Duncan." You glide in front of him. You don't shy away from his gaze either. His eyes widen, and somehow his face becomes even more flushed pink.

"Sorry, have we met?" He asks, sparing a quick glance at you to try and figure out who you are. He would remember meeting pretty lady like you. Especially one that smiles at him so sweetly.

"Of course. You are the rouge who spirited my brother away."

The realization washes over him, eyes widening as bows his head, only to get an eye full of your breasts. He snaps back up, staring straight ahead into the treeline. "Princess," he stammers.

You offer your hand, and he's quick to take it. The kiss on your knuckles is just a shy peck and you're released as if he's been burned by you. He takes one large step back, nearly stumbling into the river when his foot slips on a rock.

"I'll leave you be. Again, I'm s-so sorry to disturb you, princess."

You giggle behind your hand. Coy eyes slide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, the sweat that glides down his neck toward the loose collar of his shirt.

"No need to run off on my account, Ser. Stay."

It's less of a friendly offer, and more like a demand—everything you say is a demand, such is the luxury of being a princess. You get what you want, and right now, you want him.

His lips part, a weak retort forming on the tip of his tongue before shutting. He nods instead, deciding he is unable to argue with a princess. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, both out of habit and nerves. He clears his throat, standing straighter, somehow taller, "I will stay on guard then."

You huff, "guard… I do not require a guard. I want you to join me."

You've had enough of feeling suffocated today.

"Your father will have my head," he chuckles nervously.

"He won't find out."

Even if your father did find out, all it takes is a few stray tears and a pouty lip for him to forgive his precious first daughter.

But it had always been Aerion who found out about your dalliances first. He seldom favored any man who had a desire to court you, running each of them off with sharp words and an even sharper blade.

Overprotective, possessive, maybe even obsessed—he loathed to share you with anyone else. It was like a cat and mouse game the two of you played. Choosing your newest toy to sneak around with before he catches wind of them and chases them off.

But Dunk has already faced Aerion and survived. Now you're wondering how far this game will go.

Dunk's lips purse again, a furrow in his brow, and you add quickly, "I swear it."

He glances around at your empty surroundings before finally nodding.

Pushing down your triumphant smile, you turn and settle at the edge of the river on a flat rock, ignoring the temptation to turn around and watch as he reveals the muscles beneath his tunic. Instead, you bite your lip and sink your feet into the water.

"Did you stop at Summerhall before coming here?" You question, noting the lack of Egg at his side.

"Aye. The prince wasn't much pleased to see us covered in mud," he chuckles, crouching down a safe distance away from you. He washes his face and runs his hands down his chest to get rid of the caked on mud. Dark water flows down the stream. "Sent Egg off for a bath before he could even say hello."

"And you did not stay for one yourself?" You ask as you lay back. You stretch, arms rising above your head and back arching over the grass.

The small moan that slips from you as your body stretches out is not an accident. Nor is the way his eyes can't help but drift over your curves before he catches your satisfied smirk and averts his attention back to the water.

"N-No, I prefer the river. Especially on days like this."

You hum, "how fortunate for me then. So, what were you two doing?"

At that, Dunk launches into an story about settling a petty dispute between a minor lord, he had been in service to, and a stable hand.

"And then he fell face first in the mud."

You gasp, "no! How humiliating!"

The two of you have immersed yourselves in conversation, and you find it hard to remember one of you is completely naked, trying to seduce him back to your chambers, and the other is only shirtless and trying not to stare at your breasts as a blush creeps down his freckled chest.

"That's not even the best part of it!" He adds eagerly, "he started flinging mud everywhere like a babe having a fit."

The image of a minor lord flinging mud at everyone sends you into a laughing fit. It's certainly not a flattering laugh, but you find it hard to care. Especially when his own face lights up with a boyish grin each time yours does.

You rise from your position and lean in close, breasts just barely brushing his arm.

"You have a stubborn spot," you say, reaching up to his cheek, "right here."

His eyes widen, body tensing as your thumb rubs over the spot that hadn't washed away.

"You have such pretty eyes," you muse, enjoying the way they widen and look anywhere but you. Blue, bright, and entirely innocent.

"I- thank you. And you're-," he stumbles over his words, flustering himself further as he tries to get the words out, "you- you're beautiful, princess."

Empty words you've heard plenty of times before—flattery for favor. Typically, you'd offer a demure smile and pretend to be flattered. He's so unlike all the other knights in your father's service. They were desperate to please you to curry favor with your father or bed you, sometimes both, but you didn't mind entertaining yourself with them. They meant nothing in the end anyway, especially with Aerion always hovering.

But with Dunk, an honest blush and transfixed expression, the compliment makes something in you want to hold him close and make him yours.

"It is a shame we did not meet sooner." Your fingers drift down to trace the edge of his jaw, guiding his face closer to yours. "I would have liked to keep you by my side instead."

Something in the distance snaps.

"There you are, sister."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the cocky tone in Aerion's voice. You look over your shoulder to find him glaring at Dunk. His hand grips the hilt of his sword.

Dunk pulls his shirt over his head. The fabric clings to the soft shape of his body. "Your grace," he mutters. His face becomes so severe, you'd think he were being sent off to the executioner.

Aerion bares his teeth. "And you, lumbering buffoon. What are you doing alone with my sister? Trying to sully her honor?"

That's when you roll your eyes, standing to face him. "Don't start with that," you snap. "Haven't you learned your lesson or do you need another reminder?"

There is a pale scar across Aerion's nose, left from their last encounter. He scoffs, turning his attention from Dunk to you. "Why are you entertaining this oaf?"

Dunk hands you your chemise. Your fingers purposefully brush against his wrist as you take it from him. Aerion's eye twitches.

"I like him," you admit plainly. That earns you a shy, toothy smile.

"Like one does a mangy stray," Aerion drawls with crossed arms. He stares Dunk down with a challenging glare.

"Have you only come to be insufferable or is there a purpose?" You snap as you pull the chemise over you.

Dunk shifts his feet and clears his throat. "I should take my leave now."

"Yes, be gone with you," Aerion says with mock politeness, waving his hand dismissively.

"Goodbye for now, Ser."

"Goodbye, your grace," he nods, blue eyes flickering over to Aerion, who is glowering again, then quickly correcting, "graces. Your graces."

At that, Dunk nods his head and departs, giving you one last polite, yet awkward, smile. You hate to see him walk away from the peace the two of you created. No matter, you'll see him at Summerhall.

"Come—father is looking for you." Aerion pulls your hand onto his arm, guiding you on a different path than the one Dunk took.

"Must you chase away every man who comes near me?"

"Of course," he scoffs, resting a hand on yours curled around his bicep, "no man will ever be good enough for a dragon, especially a hedge knight."

You smile to yourself as a scheme begins to form in your mind. You'd like to see him try and run off this hedge knight like all the others. Though you certainly doubt it will be as easy.

A/N — let me know what you thought!!!! might write similar premises for the other akotsk characters if inspiration strikes hehe :3

[therealbaelatargaryen]

͙͘͡★—Interrupted During Sex

Includes: Duncan the tall, Daeron Targaryen, Aerion Targaryen, and Valarr Targaryen x f!reader

Summary: How they'd react to being interrupted during the act

Warnings: Freaky nasty smut, I really went the extra mile for my actual real boyfriend Aerion. This is 18+, read at your own discretion.

A/N: Thinking of writing more fics instead of just headcanons and trailer trash Aerion is speaking to me

Dunk had been knuckle deep inside you, stretching and turning his fingers, thumb dragging back and forth against your clit, murmuring softly into your ear. Your skirt was rucked up to your thighs, and there was a noticeable bulge where his own arousal grew. "That's it. Come on, tad bit more for me." He was trying to coax a third orgasm out of you when a knock sounded from the door. Raymun's voice was on the other side, inquiring on whether or not he was going to him for training. "You coming along with the rest of us, mate?" You hadn't touched Dunk yet, but that didn't mean he wasn't trembling from the need running through him like lightning. Every part of him froze save for his fingers, still pumping in and out of you, warmth trailing up his neck and ceasing at his ears. He rested his head on your chest for a moment, breathing hard and fast, then turned to the door. "Er...I'll need a few m-minutes! Just wait by the...fuck...far, far, away. Go. Just g-go! I'll be out soon 'nough!" You could hear Raymun falter, leaning against the wall. "Everything...decent in there?" Dunk would stifle a groan, vowing he was just tired, and would come shortly. (Like you were about to.) After Raymun left, Dunk silenced your flustered protests with a soft kiss, hastily pulling down his trousers and replacing his fingers with his cock. "Quickly, I'll do it quickly. 's alright, you're alright with that?" He questioned, soft thrusts punctuating his words. Your fingers interlaced behind his neck, cunt clenching in sync with the plunges of his length within you. He'll ensure you finish but will leave in a hurry, kissing your cheek and promising to make it up to you. "I'll give you my tongue, my fingers, whatever you want, I just—I really have to go. I'll make amends, I swear it. I love you, I do. Bye. Fuck. I love you, goodbye."

Daeron would be entranced by you, as he always is when his head is in between your thighs while you sat on his desk. He’d notice that you’d been interrupted when your moans abruptly ended, and your hands stopped grabbing at his hair. His hooded eyes gazed up at you, and your focus was on the door behind him, motionless. He sighed, not bothering to turn around, rather irked by the disturbance if anything. "Leave us." The servant, holding a basket of sheets, mouth agape, quickly nodded their head in a reluctant bow and closed the door behind them. Daeron went right back to his task until you ungracefully pushed his head back. "My love?" He wouldn't let you leave him, hands bracketing your hips, his lips in a tiny pout to convince you to stay. "Daeron, that unfortunately-timed intrusion was mortifying! That poor maid could have seen my...or, or your...they could've seen certain...things, you understand!" He was thoroughly unimpressed with your outburst, resting his cheek against your thigh and toying with a stray thread on your dress. "Yes, I realize. May I continue? I fear you haven't been satisfied." He'd attempt to lift your skirts for him but you would scoff at his apparent indifference, stalking off into the other room. Daeron would groan, doing his best to coax you back to his bed with soft words and gentle pleas. "I'll remember to lock the doors next time, just let me fucking finish, please. I need this."

Aerion has you under his desk, fingers threaded loosely in your hair, manspreading as you sucked him off. He was in the middle of writing back to a few of his comrades, if you could call them that, from nearby kingdoms when his father walked in, no knock, no warning, no announcement. The Anvil himself intruding on you performing oral sex on your husband. Your first instinct is to move off of his cock, terrified, but Aerion holds you there, the once gentle grip now achingly stern. You would've protested had you not seen what he was doing. Maeker couldn't see you just yet from where he stood by the door, so as long as you remained where you were, your mouth on Aerion, Maekar needn't know of the very explicit deed unfolding only a few yards away. "Aerion. You neglect your courtly duties. I am not one to frown upon the happiness of newlyweds, but you have missed several gatherings, including a banquet. This behavior cannot persist." Aerion could only nod. He could not trust his voice to stay calm, nor his words to stay even. "You will answer me when I speak to you, boy!" You didn't mean to swirl your tongue around his slit, you were simply uncomfortable with the position, still, Aerion looked down at you with a gaze that could melt a glacier. "I-I'll be at the next one, father." He grit out. You had a beautiful epiphany in that moment. You liked seeing him like this. And you liked the risk even more. You bobbed your head, taking him deeper, an experimental gulp, and his eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenching. "Are you well?" Maekar inquired, lips pulled into a scowl. You traced a vein on the underside of Aerion's shaft with your tongue. "Get out." He grunted, eyes narrowed in a glare at his father. "I beg your pardon?" Maekar questioned softly, bewildered. "Get. Out." Aerion repeated, venom coating every syllable. "We will have words about this, son. Remember this." Right as the door slammed and Maekar departed, Aerion turned his steely gaze to you, and your epiphany morphed into regret. He hauled you up into his lap, your lips red and slick with spit, grabbing your chin. "You are going to suffer for this, wife."

Valarr never does sex halfway. There will be no quickies, no head, no handjobs. He'd do it for you if you asked, but it would be wrong of him to ever let you get him off without doing the same for you. The majority of the time, your sexcapades end with him finishing inside you. Therefore, you were in one of the secluded stairways of the Red Keep, hardly ever used this time of night, breaths mingling in the winter air. You sat in his lap, slowly grinding up and down on his cock where it was sheathed inside of you, muffling your noises as best you could. "Gods. Keep going, please, just like that." He whined, pulling your hips down harder to meet his tender thrusts. You'd nearly reached your second peak, eyes shut and head hiding in the junction of his neck when the sound of Valarr's strangled gasp had you cease. "Seven hells...I'll be on my way." A voice that was most definitely not Valarr's said. You couldn't force yourself to look, feeling the heat of shyness rise in you, but you knew that voice. Baelor Breakspear, the Hand of the King, the fucking crown prince. "Father, I can explain—" Valarr began, but Baelor must have held up a hand because he spoke no excuse. "I wish not to see this again, in my lifetime, if that's quite alright with the two of you. Son. My lady...er...enjoy yourself. Goodnight." You raised your head once you no longer heard the retreating footsteps. The skin of his high cheekbones were a faint shade of pink, growing deeper with your eyes on him. "He is going to annihilate me tomorrow. I hope this was worth it. We will never do this outside of our chambers without the doors securely latched ever again."

© therealbaelatargaryen — i do not consent to my work being translated, plagiarized, or fed into ai. it’s weird and mean guys, don’t do it.